Justice served amid beers and bonhomie in beautiful Girona

A long day heading to the beautiful little Catalan town of Girona is capped by good news before catching up with old pals and drinking merrily late into the night

Hello!

Happy Wednesday!

Or hola, felix miercoles, mercoledì, seeing as I’m here in Spain.

In the wonderful little old town of Girona, here in Catalunya, an hour north of Barcelona, to be precise.

I must admit I’m feeling it a bit this fine morning (it’s sunny and 18 degrees)

I’m typing this from the most incredible room in the old town that I’m sharing with my old mate Eko.

After I’d finished Mikel Arteta and Riccardo Calafiori’s press conferences at FC Girona’s compact stadium, the Montilivi - as an aside, there surely can’t be many smaller grounds that have hosted Champions League football in the modern era, and I really liked its quirky ramshackle nature while nosing around last night - I caught up with him and two other old pals, Ginger Mark and Grumpy Glen last night.

And, well, to cut a long story short, we put the world to rights drinking until around 3am, ending our carousing in a pub, which you could say was packed full of proper Arsenal. It was great to see so many familiar faces amid the beers and bonhomie.

Justice served

You could tell it’s Girona’s first season in the Champions League as their newly fashioned media room smelled like an IKEA. Not least because all the newly installed comfy seats that had pine legs and armrests smelt of fresh pine.

As we waited for the Arsenal contingent to attend, there was a frisson of excitement when the news broke that the FA, in their infinite wisdom, and because, well, there was no other verdict they could have reached if they still wanted to be taken seriously, had thrown out Myles-Lewis-Skelly’s three-match suspension.

To say Arteta looked delighted would be an understatement, yet, unlike some managers you could mention, the boss remained dignified in victory, refusing to gloat or score points, even if his smile and general upbeat demeanour and ready smile suggest that justice was most definitely served.

Arteta said simply and with no little dignity: “We’re very happy that decision has been made and Myles is going to be able to play for us again in the next three games.”

As the chisel-jawed Riccardo Calafiori noted (he really is even more handsome in real life it has to be said) whose turn it was first to speak with the press, “We are all happy - we knew it was a mistake.”

However, as I tweeted, where does that leave Michael Oliver and PGMOL in terms of not only making and upholding such a dreadfully poor deciosn, but then doubling down on it on Sunday, when they should really have held their hands up by then.

A body that has no London representation which opaquely polices itself is not, I repeat, fit for purpose, and must be overhauled.

Girona via Barcelona

It is instructive to note that I made as many changes to get from the front door in England, to the hotel room in Girona, as I will have to make to get to Arsenal vs Manchester City on Sunday. such is the appalling lack of consideration for 60,000 football fans while TFL close large swathes of the northern end of the Piccadilly Line, as well as the majority of overland trains heading to North London from Beds and Herts (more of that shocking state of affairs later this week).

Anyway. flying into Barcelona, it was nice to get an aerial view of a city I love - and, it has to be noted, a football team I intensely dislike, mostly for their arrant sense of self-entitlement, and the fact they poached some of my favourite Arsenal players of times’ yore, then promptly turned them into lesser gods.

Having ten minutes to spare, and finding myself only a few stops from Barcelona’s most iconic building, Gaudi’s incredible Sagrada Familiara, it would have been rude not to stop by an old friend.

The structure never fails to awe. Under a pleasant sky punctuated by intense bursts of sunshine amid pale grey clouds that made it feel more like late spring than midwinter, I simply stood and marvelled (while making sure not to be pickpocketed of course, well it is Barcelona) at the intricate carvings of biblical characters, created as a visual guide to the scriptures for the masses.

They’re still building it of course, I mean, it’s only been a century since Gaudi’s fantastical plans were first transferred into concrete, and the large crane lurking behind the towers was almost reassuring in its relentless lack of industry.

Apparently, one day soon- though don’t hold your breath - it will reach 172 meters, to become the tallest church in the world, with its 18 spires invoking the Apostles, the Evangelists, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus, in an ecclesiastical building intended to portray Christ’s life.

No wonder it’s a World Heritage Site, even if one of my heroes George Orwell called it “one of the most hideous buildings in the world.”

Whatever your opinion, you can’t say it’s not majestic. It certainly left me spellbound, as it does every single time I visit.

From there it was onto the Sants railway station, Barcelona’s main terminus.

While there seemed to be an amorphous mass of humanity milling around the ticket office, on closer inspection, their ‘Sainsbury’s deli take a ticket and wait your turn’ style worked well, as I waited to speak to someone behind the counter.

Who knew you could find smiling, helpful, customer service people, who took pride in finding you the cheapest price, on a clean fast and punctual train.

As someone who absolutely detests our dreadful railway network - and the fact shareholders are put before the needs of commuters - I could have wept at the polite and efficient human interaction that led to a gleaning train with comfy seats, which, while busy, was not overcrowded, and therefore something of a pleasure to ride.

And that’s coming from someone who was nearly seasick after the constant motion of a 14 hour train ride from Kings Cross to Berlin to cover the 2024 European Championship final in the German capital - and swearing there and then, as I desperately avoided puking up in the nearby Brandenburg Gates that I would, never, ever get on a train again in my life.

Anyway. under a blue January sky, the views were agreeable, as the dark ridges of forbidding black mountains in the distance, capped by gentle puffs of dawdling clouds, framed my view as I looked out.

My agreeable view on the train from Barcelona to Girona

The road to Montilivi

I was really excited about visiting Girona - not just to take in Michel’s progressive team that create a lovely mix of pleasingly adept, highly-technical, possession-based football intended to help them break through obdurate defensive lines - but because I’d heard it was a beautiful place.

I decided to walk from the station to FC Girona’s unprepossessing stadium, the Montilivi, a half hour stroll that I thought would let the beautiful city unfold before my eyes.

Unfortunately, I was distinctly underwhelmed, as the nondescript neighbourhoods leading me to the ground at the top of a gentle hill, were disappointingly bland and wholesome.

Only later did I realise that Girona’s beauty lies in its old town, across the other side of town.

As for the ground itself, as an aficionado of stadiums, I see beauty where not much exists. The Montilivi is a ground which its mother would find difficult to love.

Yet that’s where its charm lies. Its ramshackle nature, which despite only being built in 1970, owes to the fact it has undergone several mutations, all of which leave a blend of mournful dilapidation allied with the aftermath of exuberant revamps, not least in giddy preparation for the club’s first season in the Champions League.

The capacity is around 14,000 for a La Liga game, cut to around 9,000 for top table clashes against the might of the Premier League, with Liverpool visiting before Christmas, and now, The Arsenal.

Astonishing Girona

East of the striking buildings nestled on the banks of the River Onyar is the oldest part of Girona, astonishing in its beauty.

The city was built by the Romans in the first century BC as a fortress, with the stunning Jewish Quarter, and its winding, cobbled lanes and evocative narrow thoroughfares, absolutely stunning in its mesmerising charm.

The area is one of the best preserved old towns in Europe, and a wonderful way to lose yourself for a time, pondering on this beguiling medieval quarter built between the 11th and 15th centuries.

Before heading to the stadium later this afternoon, I plan to have a proper stroll in daylight, as it was majestic enough in the dark, late last night, (after, it has to be said, more than a few beers) and will report back for you in greater depth tomorrow.

Come on you Gunners

Cheers

Layth