Recently, like other fans/contributors to The Mag, I wrote about the difficulty of obtaining Newcastle United tickets.

But this isn’t a completely new experience for me.

In the mid-nineties, before our away game against QPR, I went to White City tube station without a ticket.

As people were leaving the station and heading towards Loftus Road, I was asking if there were spare tickets. Many of you will recognize the scene of the sly dude (me) asking for tickets as people leave the subway station.

A tall, well-equipped, friendly man stands with his wife and son and then says in perfect English, “yes, we have a spare ticket.”

“How much?” I’m about to have an answer.

He’s asking for twice the face value. Aahh! I’m paying out of desperation.

As I walk towards the ground, the main stand ticket proudly in my hand, I chat with the man from Norway.

It turns out that he is the principal of a high school in Bergen, and as I pass by, I point to the school where I was teaching at the time. Formerly Hammersmith Secondary School, I have been reliably informed by the illuminati of Les Feredinand and Dennis Wise.

However, it is now called Phoenix High because the kids tried to burn it down. This is the age of the “Superhead” and Sir William Atkinson has been appointed to turn around the worst school in the country (according to the Sun and Mail).

As I go for drinks on Bloemfontein Road (General Smuts perhaps? It’s been a long time now), half of them waiting to see the parents of the children on the Estate, I say goodbye to the Norwegian Headteacher.

Instead, I run into lads from Gossy and especially my sister’s ex, the biggest flag bearer to ever go to Exeter (4-0 NUFC defeat!) and also the biggest Clash fan ever.

After a few beers I’m in the main stand and the expensive tickets mean I’m really close to the concert. Newcastle fansEven though he was surrounded by Rangers’ men. Everywhere is shaking.

I can see the Gossy lads below me to my right. They came so close that they noticed and accepted me.

Because I passionately show my support for the team, people around me ask me if I’m here for a fight. What me? I sat in the main stand with a Norwegian family who loved it. There was energy at that moment and I was buzzing.

A few weeks after that game and after finishing work for the day, I was walking to the White City Metro station to go home.

There is a floodlit astroturf field nearby. QPRs Stadium on South Africa Road. Directly behind was Blue Peter Gardens. The Headmaster I worked for had a megaphone so he could control the mob (kids), or so he thought.

These White City Estate youngsters on the astroturf field noticed me on my way home and decided to use the megaphone they had stolen that day… “McPeake you’re a loser…, McPeake you’re a loser…” he boomed.

I laughed and thanked them and their intelligence.

A few years ago I chanced upon the same White City guys and realized they were the top guys now.