It may be something to do with Bristol's close proximity to Wales, a clear sense of national identity or offering a rare chance to watch football abroad but Bristol City fans are disproportionally represented at England games abroad. Every International sees groups and sometimes very large groups of Wurzels flying out of England to watch the likes of Robinson imitating a International class goalkeeper, some Swedish twat being unable to coach perfectly good squads of players or ROOONNNNEEEEYYY becoming a International superstar.

Many may mutter about players being over rated, not putting the effort in and earning obscene amounts of money but Marcus Stewart never did get a full England cap!!!! Some also opine about xenophobic louts and indeed for decades the papers could never get beyond "Riot, Same, blah, Savages, blah, Thugs, drunken hooligans, meh, meh, meh…………! To put things into perspective I have been more threatened at Cold Blow Lane or Ayrsome Park than I have ever been on trips to Italy, Germany, Sweden etc.

The reality is most of the disorder was down to the imagination of sorry hacks of the Star and football fan loving Sun. If you are sensible you can keep out of the way just like it is in blighty. The Sun in particular is part of England fan lore where "stories" recall sad lonely journos from the Sun offering money to England fans to play up. One story in particular is recalled by City fans who attended a International in Santander Spain was reported as "England Fans uproot tree in Riot Shame! Well what happened was not as vivid a scene, a local Junky was begging for money and took exception to

I first ventured abroad to watch England in 88 to watch the ill fated as far as England were concerned European Championships .England were f#cking toilet!! Tony Adams got turned into Bambi on ice v Holland and I even missed half of the game v Russia due to over excess on the Alt beer. I did not care I was already hooked on the mad trip around Germany on what felt like planet football. Work, bills, responsibility all ceased to matter! Different City every night, Düsseldorf, Cologne, Frankfurt, Stuggart, Amsterdam on the way home, different hotels, different beers and sometimes local Darlings beds. As a young kiddie it was f#cking brilliant and for the first time in my life I got to associate with fans of other clubs which in the ultra violent world of English eighties football besieged by loony Casuals never happened at Ashton Gate.

Nearly twenty years on I am amazingly still in touch with some of those supporters from club such as Northampton and Pompey I met back in 88. Still meeting up with the same blokes on foreign shores when virtaully all I was at school with disappeared years ago. These fans have become real friends not people you can just glimpse surrounded by netting and no mans land walking into the East End. Despite all the talk of "England Fans uproot tree in Riot Shame!

Get to an England game abroad and you find City fans from Taunton, Bath, Forest of Dean, Trowbridge and of course Bristol. Next time you bump into each other the conversation

Everbody knows the football can be crap, its football, that is what is meant to happen, we support City! Football by its very nature is irrational where thousands of blokes watch small groups of blokes belting a globe of air about and we all take it as some metaphor for life. But what is more irrational than spending thousands on City when you can have a holiday, weekender or mad beano with mates instead?

Joining in fifty a side football matches in a Swedish campsite in Malmo with pissed up Swedish nubiles at 4AM is not crap. Getting one of the eighteen year old nubiles down to their knickers is not boring! Being discovered by the nubiles Daddy as the Kama Sutras Lovers knot and hard rising is about to explored is one to be remembered when Daddy just wants to talk with "AH ENGLISHMAN! About Anders Limpar "being the best winger in England yes? Over cans of Pripps while daugher nubile scowls on the sofa never gets forgotten. Sadly my lift and pump technique with spoons never materialised due to Nubiles Dad, bit of a bastard but it is a cracking anecdote and this Wurzel did get to drink all of his lager and a half bottle brandy.

Met Gazza, Becks, Adams, the Swedish twat and Keegan, went on the piss with Ron Atkinson, got left gob smacked at the beauty and poverty of Vratza before an England U21 in Bulgaria, met Kosovans in Tirana Albania whose humility taught me just how lucky I really am, slept free of charge in a Budapest Bordello after the "Ladies" took pity on a lost and horrifically pissed up babbling Wurzel, drove a jeep around deserted lakes in Finland, got food poisoning in Bucharest, marveled at picture postcard Tallinn, looked on in pride at the sheer numbers of City fans proud to be English in Lisbon during Euro 2004, had a never to be forgotten night in nurses hostel in Oslo, smoked f#cks knows what at a Warehouse party in Rotterdam, bought a nine pound beer in Paris, was invited back to a locals home prior to a game in Rome to meet the entire family and got treated like Royalty, walked up into the Tatra mountains bordering Poland and Slovakia and watched people I know to rarely show their emotions virtually reduced to tears on a visit to Auschwitz and Birkenau. All of this I have done because I support England, I realise how fortunate I am, I know I have done things I would have never had the imagintion to do as a nipper.

Watching the national side has given me opportunities to share experiences with others who are a sort of extended family. I have learnt that travel does broaden the mind and puts some things in my life into perspective while I have a bloody good time doing it.

Given the choice which would I choose? I am Bristol City but when it comes down to it I would take the national side. The lowest I have felt watching City was a rather distasteful May night at Twerton in 1990 but my hopes with City are always tempered by being pragmatic. I expect so little from BCFC. Seeing England lose on penalties in Turin in 1990 hurt more than Twerton but was nothing compared to going out to the Argies in St Etienne in 98. England toy with my emotions as sometimes the stars get touched and for every Tinnion at Anfield or Hirst at Eastville theres Owen v Argentina/Germany, Shearer in Charleroi, Munich. Rome 97,

the realisation v Croatia in Lisbon that Rooney is the real deal and watching Gascoigne for a short time outshining Keoman, Van Basten, Gullitt, Mattheus at Italia 90and threatening to become the best football player on this earth.

Then once again it all comes crashing down of course, it is meant to be like that! With England I can dream along with other hopeless cases who realise with City even dreaming is unrealistic no matter how much lovely Thatchers we smash back.

Its been beautiful in its own way and my only regret is I did not start earlier and can't afford to go more often.

Get abroad Kids as the party really is in Europe!!

COME ON ENGLAND