IT WAS a little white stone. A small, unprepossessing little stone that someone had carefully laid outside a busy football ground.

Amid the bustle of fans hurrying and scurrying, the sights and sounds of familiar activities amplified by cries from programme sellers, the scene framed by police horses in the background and distracted by the unmistakable smell of frying burgers and onions wafting in the air, you would have missed this humble little white stone, hidden as it was by busy feet striding by.

If you hadn’t been looking at the ground in that split second when you walked near it, you’d never have seen it. But I did. Intrigued, I took a closer look.