This was a full five hours before the Juventus vs. But I was heading south. I had sorted out the timings. I was sure it would all work itself out. There was no need for a jacket or top.
The weather in the Northern Italian city had been exemplary, a surprising antidote to the increasingly changeable weather back home. I set off out into the warm afternoon wearing the football staples of a polo, a pair of jeans and trainers. In my camera bag, in addition to my Canon SLR and lenses, was the small Sony camera that I had purchased specifically for Porto in May, just in case the stewards at the Juventus stadium were overzealous and would decide that my long lenses were unable to be taken inside.
Also inside the bag was my passport, my match ticket and my proof of two vaccinations against COVID On my last visit to Turin in , I had enjoyed a very fine meal at the rather posh restaurant on the roof terrace, and had walked around the test-track, a life-time wish fulfilled. Lingotto was the nearest metro station to my first footballing port of call; Stadio Filadelfia which was around a mile or so to the west.
However, when I checked the quickest way to reach this famous old stadium, I was mortified to see that there was no quick walking route from Lingotto. It was perhaps typical that my plans had quickly taken a turn for the worse. In the build-up to this away game, there had been much anxiety as I struggled to come to terms with what exactly I needed to do to get myself to Italy.
There had been tests, forms, emails, pdf attachments, vouchers, and stress at every turn. What a palaver. Even on the seemingly straightforward drive from deepest Somerset to Stansted in the small hours of Tuesday, there was extra worry. With many garages short of fuel, I became obsessed at how fast my fuel gauge was fading. I was sure that I was OK for the trip to Stansted, but I needed to fill the car with petrol in readiness for my return trip on Friday evening.
