Nobody was quite sure how they had finished up in Brussels. Not literally of course, that was through a mixture of taxis and Eurostar, but several months ago Mallorca had seemed the hot favourite in all senses. "Brussels in early April is not my idea of a break," said Doug. "No swimming pool, no beach, and not much sun. What the hell are we going to do for 3 days apart from the match?" "I can't say I'm that bothered about the match," Jack responded. "Anderlecht v Standard Liege is not the most exciting game I can think of. It's not as though the title is up for grabs or anything." Bob had a handle on it. "You know how Wilco is. Once he's got his agenda he'll make sure he has his way. He probably wanted to see Standard Liege because Fairport Convention once had an album called 'Liege and Lief'." "That's pronounced leej not lee-age," said Mick. "Get him, didn't know you were so up on music if it wasn't Blondie," said Tim. "Nothing wrong with Cropredy on a fine August week-end." "Got to be better than Belgium on a wet afternoon," Doug added. "Never thought we'd hear you ever say anything good about Cropredy," said Jack. After all they don't even sell Smooth, only real ale like Timmy Taylor's." By now the Duvels and Leffes from previous bars were taking their effect. Beers of six to nine percent were not to be treated lightly. "Wish Wilco would hurry up and organise us," said Mick. "I think I can only sit here and look at the Atomium for another couple of hours." "Well at least I can say I've seen the big thing with metal balls," replied Jack. "I can add that to the big ruin in Rome and the Gaudi stuff from Barcelona." "We ought to head down to the Grande Place, there's a better choice of bars round there," suggested Bob. "The bus should be along in a few minutes." "What's wrong with stopping here? We find a decent Irish pub and you want to go into some poncey Belgian bar to eat chips with mayonnaise and be served by waiters,鈥 Doug went on. "What's the point of coming to Belgium to sit in Maggie O'Shea's and drink Guinness?" challenged Bob. Some things never changed for the Aston Cobblers. They always had to catch the city tour bus, stop off at least every third bar, find an Irish pub and wonder if they really wanted to watch the football. Eight years now and apart from Lazio v Inter barely a decent game to remember. All were Northampton Town supporters, mostly from Dukes Aston and edging towards growing old but not growing up. Wilco came back from his tour of the Atomium and declared himself happy to have found a really good Burger Hut. "And I've heard there's a great steak house in the European quarter. Why don't we go there tonight?" said Wilco. "They even have bands on." "That'll do me" said Doug. "I hope they have a veggie option. They hardly seem to know the meaning here," Tim added. "Anyway, I think I've got the match sorted," Wilco carried on ignoring this last remark. "If we go up to the stadium early tomorrow morning we can buy tickets. They're only 40 Euros, but we'll need to take our passports." This was the cue to remind Jack that his passport had fallen down a lift shaft five years earlier. "Thought you were going to be stuck in Rome for weeks Jack. Bet your missus wouldn't have minded though," said Mick. "I don't think she'd have been worried. She's never worried about me for the last twenty years." Jack was legendary for hapless error. Take the World Cup in Germany last year. "Why won't this key open my room door?" asked Jack, with additional words that people from Cologne may have recognised as an older version of English. "That, Sir, is because you are in the wrong hotel," replied the bemused receptionist. The tour bus hove into sight and swift disposal of the last little drops were accomplished. Back on the way into the city, the rain seemed relentless and they had no choice but to sit inside. "Wouldn't have had this problem in Palma," said Tim. "Yeah, but who wants to go and see a second division Spanish game?" replied Wilco. "And exactly who wants to go and see a Belgian first division game?" asked Doug. "Belgian football fans?" ventured Bob. "Don't be so bloody silly," Doug responded. "I mean, what are we doing here instead of lounging around the pool?" "Ah, well, we don't want to enjoy ourselves, do we," said Wilco. "That would never do." "Fleetwood Mac" shouted Mick. "What are you taking about?" Tim asked. "Ah Well - Fleetwood Mac, 1969 I think," said Mick. "It was 'Oh Well' and 1968 actually" said Bob "Bloody clever clogs" from Doug. "Yeah, but he鈥檚 right," said Wilco. They got off at the nearest stop to the Grande Place. It was still raining. "Let's go to 'A La Morte Subite', it's not far," suggested Bob. "It's got a great selection of Belgian beers. It means to the sudden death." "A bit close to the mark for some of us," said Jack. "I hope you know where it is, I don't want to be aimlessly wandering," said Doug. "It's all right, I've got a map. Picked it up at the Atomium," said Wilco, ignoring the fact that it showed mainly Burger Hut restaurants. "That's it!" exclaimed Mick. "We should drop the Aston Cobblers tag. Half of us don't live there any more. From now on we can become 'Aimless Wanderers'." "Shut up you tart," came the response in unison. By now the third bar rule came in to play and they disappeared out of the rain into the warm comfort of the 'Irish Rover' for another pint of Guinness and more profound discussion. | 
