Gary Roe and the intrepid Annesley Reds have arrived in Madrid for the European Cup Final and it’s time to hit the bars with their limited knowledge of the lingo…

There was no chance of getting a copy of the Daily Mirror over here. I think the local sports paper was The Marca. From back home we heard news that Stan Bowles had walked out on the Reds and we tried to pick the forward line now. To my knowledge there was no one in reserve for centre forward, how we could have done with Peter Withe!

I predicted it must be John O’Hare who fills in that role and all agreed that would be the line up. Stan Bowles, what was he thinking? A chance of a European Cup Final and he walks away! Wouldn’t his appearance in the European Cup Final have paid for some of his gambling debts? I know we tended to only use him for home games but he surely would have slotted in now Trevor Francis is out. This is where missed our local media for updates. Clough was said to be angry but quoted, ‘It means we have 15 players instead of 16′, which was a way of telling the press he had no comment, or he was seething at the bloke.

We got settled in our rooms and I shared with Pip and Cumbo again. We had some frail looking beds in on a tiled floor with a small shower. Outside the street looked busy and bustling and the first thing that struck me was the bill board opposite: Me y viva de Olviede which is Spanish for Gone with the Wind. Well, it must have meant something like that as there was a large picture of Clark Gable tonguing Vivian Leigh. Bloody hell, they were behind with the times here, that came out in 1939!

Everyone settled and unpacked we decided to go for some food and refreshments. Now so far we got the gist that there are not many English speaking natives here and it looked like a real old fashioned cultural city. Even though it is the financial capital of the country it hadn’t gone for the high rise piles of glass and concrete that has taken over the City of London.

Since the death of Franco the whole country had a more colourful westernised outlook but here the old buildings still had character. After the Romans came various factions as the Romans couldn’t spread their forces far enough to protect what they had took. The Sueves, Vandals and Visigoths all had a turn in taking it over and the last tribe were Mozarabic, which were a bit of a mixed bunch of Romans with an Arabic tendency. They named the place Madrit, but I can’t tell you who changed the T for a D.

This is a capital city like London so we expected pickpockets and spivs. If you expect the worst then you are prepared. So we stepped out of the hotel hoping to find a bar full of Forest fans who knew the route and could tell us what was what. Unfortunately we were on our own and typically like capital city the locals just walked by us as though we were shit on their shoes. This didn’t perturb us under the leadership of Rube – he soon found a restaurant and led us in. Now so far into the trip Rube thought he could relax, but with having relatively new faces among us we had to help out with the culture, coinage and general behaviour tips. We found a restaurant and sat ourselves down. The waiter brought us a menu each and said something in Spanish, then ten pairs of eyes directed him to Rube again.

He went and we all decided what we were going to eat as we had gone a long while without a proper dinner. The menu believe it or not was all in Spanish and it caused a kafuffle as we each tried to make head or tail of it. Some turning it upside down to see if there was some hidden code in this jumbled up alphabet. Eventually Rube translated: ‘That one means ham, eggs and chips’. And like ten little Indians we all agreed to have the same. The waiter looked a bit bemused but went to place the order without question.

We spoke among ourselves seriously and agreed that surviving in Madrid wasn’t going to be easy and we wished we could turn a corner and see an English Fish & Chip shop. I smoked another Ducados and imagined a polystyrene tray with cod, chips and mushy peas. In the early days of Spanish holidays the food was so bad I used to come home a pound or two lighter, so it wasn’t a shock to my system.

The waiter came round with a tray of platters of lovely – ham, eggs and… ham. ‘Wot, no chips!’ Well that is what we had ordered. Ten pairs of eyes looked toward Rube again and before he could get his hair off with them I stepped in and said well you could have ordered your own, with a few expletives. We ate up knowing things could only get better and anyway we are here for one of the biggest matches in our time, hoping they sell burgers at the ground.

We found a bar or two (as we know ‘em Jim) and tried a bottle of San Miguel which we were familiar with. The trouble in communication is, it was all pointing, ‘One of them please’, or tapping the beer tap, ‘One of these youth’. We did get in the swing of things. The night time came and the young ones were put to bed in the hotel while we hit the town. But now the workers in the city were heading home, smart dressed dark haired slim office workers carrying purses and handbags. Hold a minute, are we in the right district here? Yes we were and that was the norm. Different country and different cultures and fashions here. Then again how many English go to Madrid for a holiday? The song Viva Espana was done with Benidorm in mind.

We came across a large bar which looked more like a room in the Flying Horse or The Bell down town, perhaps it was their equivalent. A friendly barman who spoke English served us with a smile, grinning like. We made friends with him straight away as he had time to chat and give us info on the place and we also had Spanish lessons from him. He taught us how to order beer in Spanish!

Getting a bit tipsy now we started to enjoy ourselves and Bronc went a step further into Spanish culture and started drinking Sangria. It was cheap and tasty but it had spirits in and I have to give them a wide birth. However, when in Rome as they say. Cumbo, Pip and me tried a jug. And followed it up with another. By that time I was at a state under the influence where I knew I was doing wrong but I just couldn’t stop myself. We moved onto a small bar and now we all went in armed with a bit of the lingo and a thirst for cerveza like matadors thirst for blood.

‘Uno cerveza por favour’ and then we were stopped in our tracks by the fact there was a choice. The barman thinking we knew the language at this stage. He asked us in Spanish did we want draught beer or bottle and on that question our reply was, ‘Uno cerveza por favour’. As they say a little knowledge is a bad thing.

In the end they all turned (me included) to Rube. He did understand and said that he thought he meant bottled or draught and with some finger pointing and nodding we all got ourselves a bottle of beer. The bar owner enjoyed our little dabble in his language and took on conversation with Rube who politely acknowledged but only partially understood him. Bronc asked for Sangria again and as he got served I asked what was actually in it. Rube started off with the ingredients and mentioned red wine to which I replied ‘vino rocco’ and the barman immediately thought I was at Rube’s level on Spanish. So Rube craftily pushed him on to me and left the bar.

I picked up a few bits like rocco, vino and sucro and as he told me his personal recipe I kept nodding and smiling accordingly. I think Stuart came towards me and asked what he was on about. I used my hands to do a pouring motion and mentioned vino rocco and the barman looked pleased as I had conveyed his recipe to another one of our lot. Then it looked like I was the translator of the party, but I whispered ‘I haven’t got a f****** clue except there is rocco vino in it’. Stuart looked bewildered and backed away from the conversation that was going in two different directions. Well a good time was had by all and we headed back to our hotel.

The balmy night air was pleasing to walk home in and we were now relaxed and ready for some football. We hadn’t seen a Forest fan all night which was a bit disappointing, but Rube pointed out that it was a good job we weren’t isolated here and playing Real Madrid. Good old Kevin Keegan.

• ‘Annesley Reds in Madrid’ continues all this week.

• Have you got memories of the 1980 European Cup Final? Share them on LTLF by emailing alex@ltlf.co.uk.
• Check out LTLF’s coverage of the 1979 European Cup Final.