FIRSTLY, thanks to everyone who came to my latest London matinee show at The Dublin Castle last Sunday. It featured a long overdue reunion with my old poetic mucker John Hegley, whom I first performed with on the CAST New Variety circuit in the early ’80s. He was brilliant, as was the unique and inspirational Blyth Power, and the place was packed. Cheers John! Lovely to see you again. 

I wrote the first part of this on the long train journey to Rome, where last night I watched Brighton play AS Roma in the Olympic Stadium in the last sixteen of the Europa League.

I’m going to repeat that. 

I wrote the first part of this on the long train journey to Rome, where last night I watched Brighton play AS Roma in the Olympic Stadium in the last sixteen of the Europa League.

And I was pinching myself. 

So here’s a poem for the bloke who scored the goal at Hereford on May 3 1997 which kept us from finishing bottom – 92nd – of the whole Football League and being relegated into the Conference, knowing our ground had been sold to property developers and we were going to be sharing a stadium at Gillingham for the following season, a round trip of 140 miles. 

ONE FOR ROBBIE

Robbie Reinelt was his name 
He wasn’t very good
But like the others in that team 
He gave all that he could
He kept us in the Football League 
We drank all the way home –
We didn’t know it then, but he
Began the path to Rome.

When the team that I, and many others, battled to save for nearly two decades walked out in that magnificent arena on Thursday night, it was the final piece of the victory jigsaw against profiteers and NIMBY councils, and the most successful grassroots campaign I have ever been involved in. 

As far as my club is concerned, my work is done. 

My earliest poetic mentor Hilaire Belloc WALKED to Rome to pay homage to the Pope, which was obviously a very silly thing to do. Most people fly. I’ve given up flying, not just because of the climate disaster but because I have made countless flights in 43 years as Attila and have loathed every minute which, given the fact that I’ve toured Australia and the US four times, New Zealand three and Canada six, is an awful lot of minutes! 

And I absolutely love train travel. Sod the metal tube which picks you up in one place and dumps you down in another like a teleported lump of meat, damaging the Earth and in my case, my sanity. Savour the subtle changes which take you from one place to another, watch the world go by, talk to your fellow passengers!

I started on Tuesday afternoon on Eurostar, stayed in Paris overnight, changed in Geneva with a couple of hours to look round, and in Milan with a few minutes to do the same, and arrived in Rome Wednesday night relaxed and happy. Spent Thursday morning on a guided tour of the city from an anti-fascist Roma fan – and then the rubbish bit began.

Firstly, the news that a couple of fans had been stabbed. Then the transport to the stadium – it took ages in overcrowded buses with police escort there and back – and then the match, where our injury-ridden attack misfired, our defence fell apart and we were routed 4-0. 

But I am nevertheless thoroughly enjoying my first ever visit to Rome, and after filing this column shall be heading off to the Colosseum and another wander round the city before my overnight sleeper trip back to Munich, then Paris and home.

Our first ever European trip may have hit the buffers, but it’s lovely to be here! 

In a week’s time I’m off for six gigs in Scotland and Ireland –Dumfries, Belfast, Derry, Lurgan, Dublin and Galashiels – and I’m really looking forward to that too.

Like the Beach Boys said, I get around!