12^th July 2025

The airplane goes up. The pilot does her – maybe, his – thing. The cabin crew do their things. The plane does its flying thing for a while and then it lands.

We taxi, then the doors open and we are hit with a blast of raging hot air; perfect for when we are closely packed together in the aisle waiting to deplane. I’m unsure if “deplane” is an actual word but I do rather like it. Getting to the door I notice that, apart from being as hot here as it was back in Switzerland, it isn’t raining either.

“Are you sure this is Manchester? Where’s the rain?” I ask the crew member. She nods politely. Her smiles beams, “Why of course it’s Manchester, sir. The captain took all the correct turns.” But her eyes scream, “EEJIT! Why is there always one complete dick on every flight? And you, sir, are this flight’s designated dick.”

We are soon in a meandering line that snakes this way, snakes that way, before snaking back in its original direction. To and fro, fro and to, it goes. It is soul destroying. Eventually I stand, arms outstretched, while I am scanned and checked by a magical – or possibly electronic – passport/slash/x-ray machine. (I’ve no idea what they are called. Pass-ray? X-port?)

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Then we are through border control and dashing off to the van.

Some bright chap decided to park his van on the top level of the car park and leave it there – in full, blazing sunshine – for four sun-filled Mancunian days. The temperature inside the van is outrageous. The van’s A/C has been jiggered for a while and our forty-five minute drive home is only just bearable.

(*Note: If, after 12 years of perfect running, don’t get your air-conditioning refilled. I did and it has never worked adequately since.)

I come off the M62 at our junction. Home is just over a mile away. As we drive through our town we are stopped by red lights at a zebra-crossing. There is a bus stop just beside the crossing. I spot a man waiting for a bus; he’s in the perfect place. He is wearing the brand new Bradford City home shirt. This new shirt was only revealed and released for sale on Thursday night and we saw some images online while in Genève. This is the first time we’ve seen the shirt in the flesh.

I press a button and the window beside Liam drops into the van door.

“You were quick off the mark getting that!” I call across to the bus-waiter. “The new shirt looks good.”

He smiles back, although he does appear a little alarmed. I give him the thumbs up and, traffic lights now green, pull away. But I am not sure about the shirt really. It’s not an instant “wow” as some are. I suspect this one may be a a little disappointing when I get to see it up close and personal. I know immediately that I won’t be buying one. Some shirts “call” to you and you just have to have it. This new 2025/2026 kit isn’t one of those.

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#DaughterNo1 and #GrandDaughterNo1 are at my house awaiting our return. An inflatable paddling pool is on the patio and Emilia’s feet and legs are wet. The water looks inviting and so cool (so cool). 

Hugs and kisses all round when we walk in. #WifeNo1 has been busy in the kitchen and a full English is soon placed before us. I’m ravenous. That shared bagel and pastry are all I’ve had to nibble since yesterday’s picnic lunch on the train to Bern. Coffee – black as night, hot as a July Friday in Bern and my first in nearly twenty-four hours – is, to me, like ambrosia was to those Greek gods of myth.

It is so good (so good) to be home. I know how Odysseus, that old friend to the DadLadTour, must have felt on his return, after twenty years absence, to Ithaca. I can imagine his delight at being in the bosom of his family after his many years of wandering and adventuring. I have similar feelings now that Liam and I have reached the end of our own mini odyssey.

Odysseus and GrumpPa. Two men who adventured, overcame hardships, met amazing people and witnessed great spectacles. Oddy and I are men of the world. We are brothers in arms. Both of us are mighty men, fierce warriors and intrepid adventurers. We are favoured by gods and goddesses. Odysseus is an absolute hero – a bona fide one, recognised as such since the Bronze Age. I won’t presume to give myself that label though – having journeyed with us through our blog – you may deem me worthy of the title “hero”.

Odysseus and I are kindred souls.

Except I don’t now have to kill the hundred suitors encamped in my palace in order to reclaim my throne. A mythological hero’s work is never done, eh?

All I have to do is wash the dishes after our late breakfast before settling down to wait for tonight’s Euro matches on the telly (Sweden versus Germany and Poland against Denmark – both of these games the final matches of Group C). But, after being out there in Switzerland and partaking of that amazing atmosphere, a view from the sofa will now pail in comparison.

Oh, how I dearly wish my Euro 2025 odyssey could continue. If I could I would leave here tomorrow and head back to Switzerland.

The DadLadTour blog will continue…but, sadly, far away from the Swiss Alps.