It was the first Sunday of spring in 1998 and there I stood at Heathrow Airport and wondered if I had really thought through my decision.

Why on earth had I decided to spend my time as a ‘Management Trainee’ in Portsmouth? I had turned down offers from Mexico, the United States, Thailand and even London which was only a few miles from where I stood. No, instead I would get on a bus to travel to a city I have never visited before and which in my research has turned out to be one of England’s absolute toughest cities, once again, WHY? Well, the decision was made and it was just a matter of finding the Nationwide Express bus that would “take me to the sea”.

After a trip with no view of the landscape where I missed the sight of metropolises such as Winchester, Eastleigh, Southampton and Fareham due to the rain I was now standing in, I looked around at Portsmouth Harbour Station. That’s when I realize that I got off at the wrong stop – it just gets better and better! My confusion and irritation must have shone like a distinct aura around me and attracted attention, otherwise I have no idea what made this biting middle-aged man with a ‘Pompey for life‘ tattoo on his arm come up to me with the question “a’ight mate?”. After quickly telling the story of my day so far, he dragged me by the arm towards a car while a long string of words left his mouth and the only thing I perceived was something like everything would be fine. My first contact with the local dialect was slightly confusing. My anxiety about getting in a car with an unknown person in a strange city eased when I saw that the car he threw my bag into was equipped with a taximeter, but I was not completely calm as the car had no taxi sign on the roof. Well, you should be able to trust people, I naively said to myself and jumped in. However, the worry increased again as the man never turned on the taximeter when we left, but I had studied enough maps of the city before my arrival to know that we were at least going in the right direction.

After a journey of about 10-15 minutes where I gained a little more understanding of the local dialect, we stopped in front of Hilton National Portsmouth, my new home and workplace for the next six months. When I wanted to do the right thing for me, the man just shook his graying head distinctly and meant that this trip was his welcome gift to me. He gave me his mobile number and said I could always call him if I needed a guide, a ride or just wanted to have a pilsner at the local pub. It turned out that he lived more or less across the street. My mood had risen noticeably when the first person I met turned out to be genuinely nice and that the hotel looked nicer than I dared hope for. The taxi driver, whose name was Barney, would become a recurring acquaintance during my months in the city, I sometimes mourn that I did not continue to keep in touch with him after I left the city.

After settling into the hotel room that would serve as my apartment during my time in Portsmouth, I decided to take a walk in the surroundings. I could soon state that the hotel was really “in the middle of nowhere” and that it was far to everything. I decided to give Barney a call and ask how I would go to get to a good pub. He recommended his ‘local’ because he understood that I had a great interest in football and that pub showed all the matches that went on SKY Sports. A brisk walk later I came to the pub The Sunshine Inn. If a name was more distant from its surroundings, I doubt when England showed its worst side and the rain was pouring down. As unpleasant as the atmosphere was outside, it was just as nice indoors and I didn’t have time more than inside the door before the man behind the bar looked up and happily stated that “you must be Nick the Swede?”. Barney had already called and warned of my arrival and asked them to take good care of me, what a guy!

After several hours of pleasant time in front of the big screen with new acquaintances, I walked home, well towards the hotel, and thought about everything that had happened in the last 15 hours and came to the conclusion that I would probably enjoy my new hometown. This is despite the fact that I have not yet set foot in the city center yet.

After a couple of days of work and no further excursion than The Sunshine Inn, I decided to go on new adventures and asked one of my new colleagues if he knew if there was a football match being played in the local area, and indeed – Portsmouth’s reserves were going to face Crystal Palace at Fratton Park in the evening. Then it hit me, I had chosen to go to Portsmouth for two reasons; the football team and the fact that I would most likely not run into other Swedes during my time in England. Don’t think that I was a Pompey fan for that matter, it so happened that even though my interest in English football was born in the 70’s, I had not yet settled on any team that I called ‘mine’, but I liked what I had read, heard and seen about the team and maybe this club would be the one I call mine in the future. As you can imagine, it didn’t turn out that way, but a charming club from London would become my love.

Well, I got on the bus after work with Fratton Park as my destination, and true to my habit I chose the wrong stop to get off at. This unplanned extra stop turned out to be a very good one when I found a small kebab restaurant that served me the tastiest chicken kebab that could ever have been sold outside of Turkey. Strengthened by the good food, I chose to walk the last bit to the arena with associated pilsner stops along the way. The match itself was neither well-played nor well-attended, but I liked what I got to see anyway and was met with warmth and friendliness by all the people I met that night as well.

After this evening, I would become a regular visitor to all the first team’s home games as well as several away games during my time in the city. I have an insane number of sick, funny, astonishing, different stories from these days, but they will have to be told at another time in some other context, but as a taste there are episodes such as when I realized that parts of my company belonged to CREW 657, or when we meet up in Reading by several famous faces from Chelsea who wanted to clash with the 657 boys, or when a middle-aged antique dealer from Eastbourne runs onto the pitch and knocks the assistant referee unconscious. Well, “another time, another place”.

Now it’s almost time to move to the present and check what applies before Monday’s match between Fulham and what could have been my favorite team, Portsmouth FC. To tell the truth, I still like Pompey, but right now my greatest wish is that we beat the boys from the coast and bounce back after the disappointment of Charlton.