Leaving Carluke at 7am on the Wednesday morning and tavelling down to Manchester 4 up in the car. Park up at my aunts house, drop the overnight bags off, buying our cargo and heading into the carnage that was Manchester City Centre.
All I remember was the heat, the overcrowdedness in Piccadily Square, undercooked sausage rolls from Greggs, men pishing anywhere they could and then the fighting.
Got to HT and we decided enough was enough and we jumped on the train to Chorley and caught the last 30 minutes of the 2nd half in a pub with a hot barmaid. Drunk, burnt, pissed off but smiling.
Then there was the final itself. Not a great performance but a day I'll never, ever forget.