The hangover from the night before soon wears off as the Forest lads prepare for the big match – the 1980 European Cup Final (even if the locals don’t seem bothered).

Sleep came easy on our first night in Madrid and today is the big day. The sun was bright and we dared not open the curtains fully as folks banged on the doors to get us awake. My stomach felt hollow but sickly, my mouth a desert and we hadn’t bought any bottled water for the rooms. It was a matter of getting downstairs and finding somewhere to have a drink. Eventually we got ourselves together and headed for downstairs to the restaurant.

A peep out of the window and the city of Madrid was fully awake, I wish I could say the same about myself. Across the road Rhett Butler was still kissing Scarlett O’Hara and looked like he actually did give a damn. On the pavement part of the restaurant Bronc sat merrily with a jug of Sangria, I looked once and dived inside nearly throwing up at the thought.

We decided on starting the day with a proper breakfast, first and foremost we ordered a pitcher of iced water. I didn’t know whether to pour it over my head or drink it. I sipped as best I could as the ice burned my mouth and jangled the nerves in my teeth. Pip ordered a fried breakfast but I thought about when we ordered egg, chips and ham; it might come as something totally different. He was spot on and I was gutted as my tomatoes and omelette was like something you would scrape off of an American Civil War field hospital table. It had that ravioli sick taste to it so I continued with ice water then coffee. I love how the Spanish do their coffee, through a filter which was alien to us Annesley Bulldogs. I preferred their coffee to their beer at times and especially the morning after several beers (and a dabble in the Sangria).

The sun burned high into the sky and we set out for a day meeting up with other Reds fans and maybe a Hamburger or two – I mean Hamburger as in German fans. I wasn’t sure who would have the biggest following but I expected the Germans being able to travel over land to be the best supported. We headed down to the town centre but you couldn’t tell. There were so many buildings from the Renaissance period they all looked like museums, castles or posh houses. Renaissance, by the way, means olden days to us.

We came across the Plaza Mayor, a closed in square the size of a football pitch and enclosed by old buildings with balconies. The place was public with a few posh shops on the ground floor and a café or two. Not really any bars. We strolled around eyes scanning everywhere looking for a drinking place and found one, typically Spanish. I was glad as I wanted the toilet and headed straight for the Caballeros. Inside I looked around as if someone had nicked the toilet, seat and all. Then I spied two footprints and a hole, good job I didn’t want a s***! It was back beyond the Renaissance period with the bogs and you needed a good aim.

Outside we continued our stroll and up ahead were some of the opposition, the Germans. Rube alerted me and we kept an eye out for the young ones with us. All the elders were aware in case any trouble was about to start as the Germans in their leather gear looked a bit fearsome. We neared from opposite ends and if anything was going to start it was now. Fortunately they were friendly and swapped scarves and neckerchiefs with the lads so we left them without hassle.

There didn’t look like a Marienplatz (Munich) where we could all congregate, but there was the Puerto de Sol, a big square somewhere in the middle of the place. We met up with a few Forest fans – John ‘Mado’ Maddock, Martin and Darren Carey – and compared experiences so far.

We had a few drinks of beer as we passed the time of day, but it was no Benidorm. Not much English spoke so we had to let Rube order a beer first and we all followed suit. The day was more sightseeing than drinking but whatever we saw we hadn’t got a clue what it was. Palaces, statues, monuments and more with all the plaques in Spanish, would you believe.

I suppose in our ignorance we missed a lot of stuff worth seeing but there was one main thing on our minds, tonight’s match, our defence of the European Cup. We returned to the hotel and washed and changed for the game. We waited in the reception/bar area all set for the big game. On the black and white telly was the Madrid Bullfight and while we tried to get recognition as Annesley Reds, the Spanish never batted an eyelid and continued to ‘ooh and ah’ at the barbaric bullfighting. Matadors 3 Bulls 0 as always.

Strange, it was as if there wasn’t a match, nay the match of the European season. Now I recalled: we could have been playing Real Madrid who fell to Hamburg in the semis. Yes that explained it, the locals were sulking. Mind you it would have been a bit intimidating if we were playing Real on their own ground as they were used to 100,000 crowds.

We headed for the Santiago Bernabéu and joined the growing hoards, more red and white than blue and white of Hamburg. We were in sight of the ground which wasn’t too impressive from a distance, so we had a drink or two in a bar. The main attraction was the pinball machine as we all took turns to get a replay or the highest score impressing the locals. The sun was still out as we headed for our turnstiles. Getting through the turnstiles and into the ground was like going back ten years; everything was pretty basic, all concrete with no character.

On entering the ground it was an eye opener. Ground level was actually half way up the stands and the pitch was way down below. Now the ground did look the part. It took on a rectangle shape with two main tiers. A large standing where we were and the upper part seating and no roof.

The ground was starting to fill up and we noticed that we had the largest following with lots of flags swaying and songs beginning to come from behind the goal. We took up place in the corner where there was middling of room and a good view. Just behind us in the stands was Colin Barrett, our injured left-back. We spotted him and asked if he was ever going to play again, but he had finished his career. Well I suppose he had been there when we won the League for the first time and that medal alone was something historic to show off in later years. He was pleasant and eager to chat with us and we wished him all the best and concentrated on the game to come.

• Read Gary Roe’s 1980 European Cup Final match report on Friday, the 30th anniversay of the game.