I have been an Everton fan since I was six. I will not write here about our golden days or indeed how bad my parenting was in allowing my son to support ‘the other lot’.

For many years David Moyes was our manger and given his limited resources he always punched way above his weight. In David’s ‘leave of absence’ the club’s fortune has been dire and the comical list of mangers we have had to suffer bring his return and associated progress into perspective. A very positive one.

This year we moved to a new stadium. On the docks in Liverpool close to where I started to work. The stadium is magnificent in many ways but its naming as ‘The Hill Dickinson” associated to a local Law firm seems something of an anomaly.

Liz and I tracked north and we stayed in West Kirby where I was brought up. It was a nostalgic experience as the Air BnB we had chosen was but 3 doors down from the laundry where I had my first job at the age of 16. (£3 10 shillings for a 40 hour week folding wet sheets with my friend Martin for what it is worth).

The train journey to Liverpool was also somewhat disturbing as I had done it so many times going to work when I was younger. A walk around the old financial district remind me of Liverpool’s heritage although it has to be said after a few years of apparently improving fortune the whole place is beginning to look run down again.

We walked to the stadium and enjoyed Scouse banter as we passed ‘pop up ‘ entertainment facilities. ‘Everton against Tories’ on one mans hat. Beer £6 a pint on a sign with the add-on Chelsea fans £10,750! We were playing Chelsea some irony in this fact

Many years ago now, when we first met, I took Liz to see Everton play Chelsea at Stamford Bridge. Everton scored a goal. Liz, oblivious to the danger of football crowds back in the day showed her delight by shouting and waving her arms. We were greeted with a shower of beer cans!

We had bought a hospitality package which involved excellent seats and free drinks before and at half time and a meal voucher. The stadium entrance for ‘privileged visitors’ is policed by a sight often seen around Liverpool. For information there is a different approach in Liverpool to ‘gender roles’ than elsewhere in the world, given my experience. The people greeting us were women but almost all of them had had some horrendous plastic surgery performed. Reshaped imperfect noses, puffed lips and expressionless faces. As if to add to their surreal appearance all had layers of make up on that was extraordinary and eyelashes longer than any nature has ever created. They greeted us warmly in their thick Scouse accents.

The hospitality suite was already crowded 2 hours before the kick off. People sat at canteen type tables. We found two seats facing each others flanked by a man who was built wearing a ‘Monclair’ tee shirt. He was with his son who was 18 the day before. By way of introduction the Montclair man announced that he had been watching Everton home games every week since the boy was a toddler. He announced proudly that this was the first time at a match his son could drink ‘legally’. Liverpudlians are very friendly but they tend to talk at you rather than enter in conversation. His poor son had endured a life as a ‘Blue’ of constant disappointment and under achievement whereas his Dad was hanging on to the glory days. Neither was sure about the new stadium as their old season tickets associated for years with the same people, whose names they never new, gave way to padded seats unobstructed view and facilities that ‘worked.’ He told us a delightful tale as to how some 20 years ago he had arrived late at Goodison Park, our old ground, and had been unable to find a parking place. Seeing a bungalow close to the ground he drove into it knocked on the door and asked if he could park there. The old woman who owned the place agreed and for many years after he was able to leave his home a mere 20 minutes before kick off drive to his parking place and walk to the ground. ‘I put a tenner through her letter box every week’ he declared. ‘I gave a her a bottle off gin too at Christmas”!

He took the time to explore our links to the club and when he found out my son was not a fan he was distressed. ‘Thats bad parenting that is’ he declared. Before revealing that the suspicious behaviour of his daughter’s boy friend had raised such concern that he finally confronted the lad and asked him who he supported. Apparently his wife was charged with telling the youth he was not welcome in his girlfriend’s home!

Much of our conversation revealed this was a hard working man who had been successful and for who values were important-crucially being Blue. I noticed he was wearing a rather smart Rolex watch and I complimented him on it. A can of worms was opened. Probably, like his teeshirt, he declared that his watch was a fake, albeit a ‘super clone’ -the very best of imitation watches. He offered me the addresses of various websites where you can but these upmarket imitation watches. Queue to the man on my left who now joined the conversation. He displayed his own watch, he too declared it was a fake. He then uttered some words I don’t think I will ever forget-imagine this in thick Scouse.

‘ There’s no point in having a proper watch, if you do, look out at the traffic lights, someone will smash your window and hack your arm off with a cleaver’! In order to enforce his dire warning he declared that 3 people had been killed in London last year in watch theft!! His suggestion was to buy a £700 watch that you like and then you won’t have to worry about cleavers!. Man number one then declared that if challenged he would hand over his watch without a fight, adding that even top jewellers would not be able to recognise the watch as a fake. They both confessed to actually owning ‘real Rolex watches’ that were locked away in their safes at home for fear of a cleaver attack or similar. It was funny and delightful and carried with it so many messages about Souse mentality, Perhaps thinking too deeply here maybe it explains why having the ‘best’ stadium in the land has been a difficult thing to adjust to for many supporters. Imposter syndrome and all that.

We made our way to our seats just one side of the half way line. The Hill Dick is an amazing stadium with the towering stands at each end of cliff like proportion. The North stand was awash with flags and banners 500 of them we learned later pronouncing former glories and supporter groups around the world all carefully placed to give maximum effect. The Z cars theme tune started up and the whole place erupted. The noise was deafening. Tears rolled down my cheeks as The Everton team marched out-Jordan Pickford saluted the crowd and an even bigger roar rang out.

Our seats brought many benefits, the view of the game of course but a special gift too. Directly behind us was a southern accent. A man seemingly caring for a whole group of others. Soon he started providing an insightful commentary into the game along with a constant humorous twist. He clearly knew his football and for good measure every Everton song that started up had him belting out the lyrics. His was an amazing story we learned after a passionate embrace I found my self giving him on the event of Everton’s first goal. He was from Portsmouth originally. Indeed he volunteered that ‘one of his party’ was his Dad. He had ‘picked him up on the way to Liverpool’. ‘This will probably be his last football match he stated as he is on his last legs!” Further down the row I spotted an old man looking somewhat frail but enjoying himself to the max. ‘I just love all things Everton’ told me.’ ‘I have cried more tears for the club than anything else in my life including a divorce and the birth of my children’ he added. The next bit was just fabulous. ‘I live in Alabama and I am a football coach for the Holmwood Club. I founded the Birmingham Alabama Everton supporters club and I have brought 15 of them over with me to watch the match. He indicated his flock including two young children who he instructed to ignore all bad language which he himself incidentally employed in his commentary’. He was encyclopaedic about the players their faults and qualities and he quickly identified patterns on the pitch. He also pointed out where Chelsea were struggling and what their options were.

Beto, or Norberto as my new friend called him, is the most frustrating of players. Seemingly so athletic he falls over easily as if his legs give way. He has missed gaols this year that I am confident even I would have scored and yet on this day he netted twice. To his all his frustrated but now adoring fans his goals created a wild euphoria. Deafening cheers followed by celebratory anthems belted out by most in the stadium.

The best was to come near the end of the game when Ndye scored an absolute peach. Positioned as we were perfectly to watch him cut inside a defender before releasing a delicious curling shot into the top corner of the goal. Bedlam ensued. I was hugged by all around me in wild scenes of exultation. The big screens displayed the ecstasy on the players faces. Bliss. We had beaten Chelsea 3 nil in allegedly Everton’s best display of the season-how lucky were we.!

The game ended and the anthems blared out. ‘Never felt more like singing the blues when Everton win and Liverpool loose ( a rare happening in recent years but today it was appropriate as Liverpool had lost earlier in the day). Jordan Pickford was heralded as ‘Dynamite’ in his own tribute anthem.

Finally as the players and their brilliant manager walked around the ground waving to the crowd I swear David Moyes looked in my direction-I certainly saluted him! As they did the song ‘I guess that’s why they call us the blues rang out’ ( a bit of history here. Back in the 1980s Everton won the FA cup at Wembley. The team they beat was Watford who had reached the highest levels in the UK due to the sponsorship and involvement of Elton John. In truth Elton was universally popular in the game at the time. Anyway as Everton came up to collect the trophy that day Elton could be seen crying in his disappointment. Scouse humour kicked in and the Everton End sang Elton his own song ‘I guess that’s why they call it The Blues’). Today it is a favourite anthem.

We walked back into Liverpool in a sort of victory parade. tens of thousands of supporters revelling in their day out and keen to belt out celebratory hymns and anthems. The train journey home was also delightful as it was like some giant social club all celebrating a special night out as if the passengers had known each other for years. One couple who had driven from Sheffield, it turned out, were given a special send off when they left the train encourage by all to drive safely etc.