Rivals but not a fist to be seen

Every now and then, it is essential to move from the cosy armchair and go and watch a football match on someone else's television set. As the occasion was Barcelona versus Real Madrid, it seemed a bright idea to venture to a place where Spanish passions would be engaged.

Pepe's Bar in Queensborough Terrace was suggested by the Spanish Embassy, so that is where I went.

It would be foolish to deny that things went well from the kick-off. For a start, the bar was packed to the gills. The television in the far corner was doubly obscured by the head of the tallest person in the room and a lamp bracket on the wall. This would have been okay, were it not for the fact that the commentary was in Spanish.

I can recognise the names Zidane, Kluivert, Raul, Overmars, Roberto Carlos and the rest in any language, but when the screen is obscured one rather depends on the narrative which links the proper nouns to make sense of the proceedings.

What was extraordinary was that a relatively small space was occupied by supporters of both teams.

To say of Catalans and Realists that there is no love lost between them is to presume, falsely, that there was ever any to lose in the first place. It would be difficult to conceive of many British matches between sworn enemies - the list, sadly, is a long one - taking place in such surroundings without spontaneous and illconsidered redecoration of the premises taking place. Here, there were just groans and laughter and the very occasional outburst of chanting.

In the second half, matters improved. Certain people could not take the heat any more, with result that I could glimpse half of the screen from underneath the tall bloke's armpit. More importantly, I had bumped into Rafael, who could provide a translation of the commentary and was unwearied by my constant enquiries as to when Steve McManaman was going to appear.

"Ah, Macca," he would nod benignly. "Very good player, very brave. But, you know, Zidane, Raul, Figo . . ."