JUST THE TICKET BARCA '99

MIKE HEALEY LOOKS BACK AT AN INCREDIBLE FAMILY ADVENTURE IN SPAIN

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I don't remember the flight other than it being distinctly chilly at Manchester Airport so early in the morning.

There was me, my brother Ryan and my sister Charlotte, as well as my dad Carl who'd opted to take us away on holiday to Spain coinciding neatly with the fact that Manchester United had just made it to the final of the European Cup for the first time since 1968 (what are the chances!?).

Whilst we enjoyed our holiday - visiting a water park, the beach and all the usual festivities - it was soon all eyes on the Champions League final. That's what we were all here for, even though I, unlike the rest of my family, support City.

My dad must have been a bit crazy. Firstly, he took three children under 15 abroad on his own and, secondly, he hired a car and drove us all from Benidorm up to Barcelona - a five-hour drive on the wrong side of the road.

As the Nou Camp eventually rolled into view, we parked up and went to a café for a bite to eat. The whole city was red, much to my chagrin.

I'm surprised we managed to get in anywhere, to be honest, but we found a nice little spot in between an old couple with United scarves and a gang of lads from Salford.

Then it was time to head to the game itself. The police had put up barricades every 50 yards or so in order to check that everyone coming through had tickets. Now, I haven't revealed this to you yet but we didn’t have tickets. That’s right. Not a single ticket between the four of us.

Chancers, that’s what we were. But where there’s a will there’s a way, and we'd already got this far. I immediately walked in between two people who had tickets and pretended I was part of their family, much to their bewilderment.