Organizo Bastardo and La Cucaracha (2 of the Boston Whites) set off for Europe on Wednesday Feb 28th in good spirits. What followed was seven days and seven nights of fun, footie and very little kip. After doing various family-related chores we had our first real session on the Friday night in Leeds' "Duck & Drake" with Tim Taylor explaining on many occasions why his Landlord Bitter is the best in the world. California-White Vic A. joined us, the last time Vic and I met was the Coca-cola final five years back, oh how times have changed since then. After a late night session of bar football and footie TV (Anderlecht away match, first time viewing for us Stateside Whites) we adjourned at about 4, to wake up at 8am the morning of the Scum game cursing morning kick-offs. We watched some crazy telly show called "Soccer a.m." which has presenters and audience shouting "dirty Leeds" in squeaky voices every time our lads are mentioned. Tremendous. We head off into Leeds to meet fellow Boston White Relaxos who's come in on the red eye direct from the States.

The Man United match had everything including the usual chants of "Same old Man U, always cheating.." and the modern classic "If the Neville's can play for England, so can I". Barthez should've been off, Harte suffered a brain fart and put a penalty to the keepers right for the first time in history and the French twat saved it (Ian mate, note to self, "to the keeper's left…his LEFT"), Scum scored with their first shot..after an hour+, Dacourt was absolutely fantastic and just as we thought "bloody typical, another good performance vs Man U and no points" up steps Danny boy, belts down the wing, crosses, Bowya heads on and there is Vidooks leaving FT with chance. The relief was palpable. And then, the roof is raised as Wes Brown puts into his own net only the ref's assistant astonishingly rules offside. So we leave with a mixture of relief and anger. War of the Roses, we'll have you next year Spit.

Post-match it was into town where I had chance to meet up with Canadian-White David Baker and Cal-White Wick and with fellow Cal-Whites Andy Smith and Chris Headlee, the latter two who were also making the trip to Madrid. Saturday eve saw the trip down the Larndan for a few swift pints of Sam Smith's in the "Cittie Of York" pub in Chancery Ln, highly recommended at only 1.64UKP :)

Sunday we hit Madrid. Passport control viewed us with far too little suspicion. The Madrid Metro was ace and has us in town after 3 changes in no time. Our hotel, the Emperador, on Gran Via was ideal, smack in the heart of the city and el cheapo too, 4-star triple room for $150/night. We head into town and spotted the first tell signs of Leeds fans. Tinto, tapas and our first grasp of Spanish lingo set the evening off in good style. We met up with top lad Jonesy who'd sorted our match tickets. Jonesy's a mate of Relaxos' from college days so the drinks flowed and flowed and lads caught up in an evening which consisted of bumping into a bunch of Geordies who truly believed the world revolves around black and whites stripes, 2 Mancs who were top blokes and the finest Sangria I've ever tasted. The penultimate bar was a local Irish Pub - upon entering the noise of Leeds songs was like a drug after so many drinks. There was the usual bollock naked bunch which reminded me of "Upstairs Downstairs" in Armley, anyone who knows what I'm talking about will realize how sad these bastards are. The sings were initially pro-Leeds but soon degenerated into drunken racist ill-informed wank, we left to find a cosy bar for our last drinks of the night. Retired at 4am.

Monday, we started the day off in traditional Madrileno style with huge fried calamari sandwiches for $1.20 each. We bought canasta's, visited the Royal Palace (marvellous ceilings with top chandeliers) and hit a local taverna for superb café cone leche and people watching. The evening was top, met up with Jonesy for a some tinto and bacalao (fried cod) and a tiny bar where a round of drink and food for four cost a mere $3 - Madrid is wonderfully cheap by comparison to other European capitals.

We then met up with NY-White, Nicholas Harrison in 'Los Gabrieles' a quaint bar with beautiful floor-to-ceiling tiles before heading to 'La Venezia', an old Sherry Inn (I suppose the Spanish equiv to a real ale pub) for some house fino. East Anglia branch member RH ('Ridsdale Hater'…don't ask) had tagged along by this stage. A quick stop at the hotel where we met up with Vic, Smith and Headlee before heading down past Plaza Mayor to Baja Cava. The first place we noticed was 'Casa Lucas', bit of a no-brainer really. After many toasts to Chief we headed to 'La Solea', a traditional flamenco bar. This spot was one of my highlights of the trip, impromptu sets of uptempo and downtempo flamenco sung from the heart. In a city which was rapidly turning into Leeds, we were just about the only Leeds fans in the house. A couple of bars afterwards and it's soon time to crash as the clock strikes 4.

Tuesday, we're up at 9 and hit Prado, a quite fantastic museum which has on show some of the most unique artwork I've ever seen, much of it quite bizarre in nature. The museum is full of Leeds fans. The entire city centre is Leeds. It's incredible. At 12 noon you can hear the singing Sol. Bars are jammed and it's like the biggest daytrip you've ever imagined x100. For lunch we sample a local menu and start our match preparation. Back at the hotel we hear Boston is getting 2' of snow, oh how we laughed. 6pm soon arrives and it's time for the match. One of the official club trips is staying at our hotel and we fortuitously manage to get a lift to the stadium courtesy of their coach, this could be our lucky night.

There's always that feeling you get at an away match we you first get to the ground, like it's enemy territory - a mixture of 90% excitement with 10% wariness, it equals 100% adrenalin. For us lads that grew up sneaking listens to European away games from far off places such as Oslo and Split under the bedclothes when we were knee-high, this is a dream come true. The Bernabeu is huge. 2 hours before K.O. the atmosphere builds as bars all around the ground resonate with "Harry, Harry, Harry Kewell" and "Marching On Together". There's little trouble, police batons come out a couple of times when the 17 year olds that have been drinking for 10 hours kill off their last remaining brain cell but all in all this is a celebration of football not a occasion for bother. We make our way in about 45 mins before the game starts. Our seats are great, this is the best stadium I've ever been in. The stage is set. The 90 minutes that follow have everything, Smith's goal that stuns the crowd, Raul's handgoal, the bobble over big Nige, our second where amazingly we score from a corner and the chances near the end we have to equalize. Batty is Godlike. We lose but it's a moral victory, we've come a long way. The Leeds support is fantastic, according to 3 lads sat with us, all Brits working in Madrid, the show of support from Leeds is the largest they've ever seen for a CL match. The Spaniards look on quizzically as 7000+ Leeds fans take off their shirts for WATC-COE at HT. The Spanish support too is superb for their team.

In the small hours we enjoy Madrid to it's fullest. Much bonding takes place between Stateside Whites as we regale tales of our past and swap Leeds experiences. The Spanish are great hosts and appreciate the respect we show their city. We pub crawl before ending up in a night club which is hopping at 5am…on a Tuesday morning! We make friends with three Real fans and teach each other anti-Barca and anti-Man U songs (Real and Barca, now there is a rivalry). We round off the evening in traditional Madrid style with a trip to Chocolateria San Gines for hot chocolate and churros except for Jonesy who chickening out on the Chocolateria leaves via cab to a chorus of "Are you Barca in disguise?". We get to our hotel at 7am, pack our bags and head straight to the airport for our long haul back via LHR. By 6pm EST when we arrive in Boston, we are shells of men.

It was a priceless week, we'd all do it again at the drop of a hat. There are a few occasions in life when surges of euphoria are so frequent that you know you are living life to the full. Living in this country where workaholism is accepted as the norm, we forget sometimes what life is all about. I sit typing this almost a week after returning and am still buzzing. Next time, forget the office nonsense and come and join us.