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The morning after the night before, with four hours kip, I needed some caffeine and some food.

Dave (Liverpool) and John (Newcastle) had joined us at the AirB&B after heading down from London on the train, via Paris, and had read the Vieux Port clash reports via social media as they sped through the French countryside, understandably, they were concerned. I left them to have a lay in.

The backstreet square we’d sat in the previous afternoon had transformed into a fruit and flower market, with locals milling around, or sat enjoying Saturday morning coffee, with their friends and family. A typical Marseille weekend scene.

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I managed to order myself a vaguely ‘coffee’ looking coffee and thumbed my way through Twitter… thankfully the video of the Ultras’ unprovoked attack on England fans had gained some decent traction, and with it, a more honest representation of what had happened on the boulevards around town. I looked up and watched a kid having a kick-round with his dad… The football was half French tricolour, half Union Jack.

Reading some of the national media’s reports on my mobile there was clearly some reluctance to move into the relatively uncharted waters of balance, but as the day wore on most would be reluctantly converted. There were also dozens and dozens of complimentary messages on our YouTube page for ‘telling it as it is’ – but coming out here we had simply intended to ‘share the vibe’… it’s what we enjoy doing.

With everyone up and ready to head into town we arranged to hook up and start a slow walk down to the port, then gauge the atmosphere before deciding where to make base camp. We didn’t really want to return to the exact spot of the previous evening’s shenanigans, however, as we walked onto Cours Honoré d’Estienne d’Orves – the scenes were excellent.

It was pretty much wall-to-wall England, no prizes for guessing that, but there were groups of Russian, Austrian, Swedish, French and German fans milling around too. All were greeted with hand shakes… beers were exchanged, as well as some good humoured banter. I even spotted a Palestine shirt and had a quick chat with the fella wearing it as I’d never seen one. There was a very uplifting, party-like atmosphere, so we decided to stay for a second beer.

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They talk about booze bans in areas likes this, a knee jerk suggestion offered by people who form their opinions, but not by coming down to these squares, full of peaceful enjoyment, and witnessing how it really is first hand.

An hour after arriving, around three o’clock perhaps, the police presence increased noticeably… First on their bikes, then the riot police vans drew up and the officers got out and started to don their Robocop outfits in full view. Odd behaviour.

The bar staff then started to pack away the chairs and tables… Obviously tipped off my the police that something was about to happen… Shame they didn’t tell us, as moments later, pandemonium broke out. There had clearly been a ‘dog whistle tip off’. Good job I’m not a conspiracy theorist, eh?

A mob of balaclava-clad Russian ‘militia’, then systematically battered their way through the square and we tried to take shelter in the bar, much to the annoyance of the owner, who was clearly seen trying to push people back outside. Happy to take our Euros moments earlier though.

A table just missed my shoulder as I pushed my way in, and so did a tear gas canister, which billowed smoke straight up into my face. I’d be a liar to say I wasn’t struggling and I mopped my eyes with a wet dish cloth I found… I then started gagging, so I walked back outside to find some fresh air. The platoon had vanished as quickly as they arrived, without a single arrest being made.

Coughing and spluttering my way up to the corner there were a fair few who weren’t fortunate enough to have evaded the Russian invasion, and the poor Portsmouth fan who had suffered a heart attack, then beaten, was being tended to by the emergency services. Poor bloke. Obviously we all hope he continues to make a recovery.

My friends finally all re-emerged and we decided to head to Stade Velodrome, but we’d have to walk, as there were no trains. We’d arranged to meet Stan and Frank, the two Marseille fans who feature in our mini documentary, in which both had predicted the depressing scenes that were unfurling on the streets, and had questioned the police and the authorities ability to cope with Euro 2016. Still, UEFA think they’re doing a great job, so that’s alright then.

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Around the stadium, in our area at least, the queues were moving and there was plenty of gallows humour, but thankfully, we could now switch into ‘game mode’, with predictions and formation opinions being exchanged as we waited for the security checks. Although I’m still not sure my bag was given a thorough search to be honest and no wonder the Russians were able to take their pyrotechnics and a flare gun inside.

The booing of the Russian anthem was a little awkward and thoroughly regrettable under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances. On reflection, it was the perfect way to demonstrate our collective outrage regarding what had been witnessed in the previous 36 hours. We’d not quite finished all the words to ‘Vladimir Putin Is Funding The Hoolies, Bring Yer Tear Gas and Yer Water Cannon’ quite yet, so a good old fashioned ‘boooooo!’ would have to suffice for the moment.

The Russian fans were housed in about a fifth of the stadium – a big chunk to our right in Laterale Ouest, and a little over half of Virage Nord behind the opposite goal – where they were separated from the other mixed section of supporters by a thin, one-man line of stewards. There was not one policeman inside the ground from what we could see.

England played pretty well in the first half, there was a real spirit of attacking confidence that bodes well. If only we had taken our half-chances, or the final ball had been more accurate, then it could have have been game-over at the break. England were clearly the superior team and the singing and support was equally impressive… unlike the €6.50 price of the 0.5% Carlsberg.

England seemed to change down a gear after the break, with Harry Kane looking fairly anonymous up top without the right service. Hodgson was once again hesitant to implement changes, however, in the 73rd minute, fortunes changed with the award of another free kick outside the box and England went ahead through an unlikely source – Eric Dyers excellent free-kick making the net bulge beautifully right in front of the England fans. Cue wild scenes of celebration, mixed with a good measure of relief.

In my head, and at that stage of the game, I’d thought the first goal would win it… the Russian team had offered almost nothing coming forwards, but that defensive Achilles heal I’d spoken of so often in the build up to the tournament had cost us the win… Whether the players already thought they’d clinched it, or we were plain unlucky, I’m not sure, but the substitutions had been made to ‘see the game out’ and they had failed. Not the end of the world, of course, but typically, it felt we’d thrown the victory away.

Two people housed in Russian end then let off bright white flares, perhaps in celebration, perhaps to signal an advance, as the majority of fans around them danced with joy… then there was a loud bang before pandemonium broke out at the opposite end of the ground. Whether it was the loud bang, or the final whistle, that was the cue, or there had been an orchestrated plan to launch an attack on the rest of Virage Nord, who knows, but dozens of Russian fans steamed through from left to right (as we looked), skittling down whoever stood in their way. A dad held his child up as a human shield we later saw on Twitter.

A huge swathe of empty white seats now showed, where non-partisan fans had been sitting – people who had got their tickets through the UEFA ballots or enthusiastic locals – and we looked on as the escaping supporters crammed into a thin slice of seats in the corner. It looked as though the tide had gone out. With literally no place to hide some started jumping off the edge of the stand to escape, with one desperate man running across an advertising banner that spanned over to Laterale Est. There was still not a single policeman inside the stadium, and what little stewarding presence was at hand, proved totally ineffective. The non-Russian people in that stand were 100% unprotected by the authorities. There must have been innocent Russian fans in that area scared out of their skins too.

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Like a lot of England fans, we hung around and let the crowds disperse before leaving the ground, not quite sure of what we’d face outside. To be fair, it was fine back on the concourses and surrounding streets. We spotted Stuart Pearce popping outside the safety of his VIP area to check things out, but fans of both nations were walking past one another without any provocation or trouble… from what we saw anyway. We then started the long, long walk back into town, as the Metro still wasn’t working.

There was no way we were going back to Vieux Port, we all just wanted to sit down and chat about the day’s events and relax over a few drinks… this was supposed to be a holiday after all. We eventually found our way to where we’d ended up the night before, in a bar up the hill above Noailles. You can hear what we thought by listening to the podcast we recorded by clicking the link here or above.

We didn’t need a a crystal ball to know what was going on elsewhere – the sound of the police vans gave that away, as did the continued smell of tear gas, which was blowing up through the city streets from several kilometres away.

What a day.

Dave Lane

We will be doing the usual blogging, blogging and podcasting – all on the Beesotted channel as Beesotted travels around France.

With tickets all the way through to the final – assuming England qualify – plus other random games here and there, it’s going to be an action packed month.

You can check our blogs on the Beesotted website.

You can also check our our videos on our Euro 2016 Video page and podcasts on our Podcast page once the tournament starts.