Well, here we are - I got a coach at midnight and haven't stopped since then (it's 3 p.m. Polish time). As usual, flight was slightly less pleasant than dysentery at a funeral, but the fencing kids seem quite happy.
Wroclaw is beautiful in its own way, a semi-gentrified old town (looking deeply Hanseatic in places), ringed by brutalist postwar blocks. The food's good, and the locals appear not to mind being swamped by 35 swaggering kids all wearing England tracksuits. I have one too, though it's XL and therefore more like being wrapped in a parachute and landing badly. It felt a bit weird showing my Irish passport, wearing an England tracksuit, clutching a (reactionary but fascinating) book called Britons, by Linda Colley.
More pictures will appear here as I take them.
2 comments:
An Irishman representing England. They do say every action has an equal and opposite reaction. I guess you are part of the counterbalance to the Republic of Ireland's successful World Cup run in 1990.
We always knew, so stop fighting it.
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