Latest
Page: Latest
In-depth conversations with the voices shaping culture, calcio, and society. Explore unique perspectives, personal stories, and inspiring journeys from around the world.
Latest
From Venice’s campielli to the streets of Palermo: adidas and FIGC launch “Scatti d’Azzurro”
adidas and the Italian Football Federation (FIGC) have launched Scatti d’Azzurro — “Shots of Blue” — a photographic journey across Italy that celebrates the enduring relationship between the country and football.
From the Alps to the islands, from bustling cities to quiet provincial towns, six Italian photographers have documented the game as it lives beyond stadiums and major tournaments. United by the unmistakable blue of the Italian national team, the project explores how football continues to shape everyday life across the country.
The initiative stems from adidas and FIGC’s shared desire to celebrate the deep cultural bond between Italy and football. In Italy, the Azzurri shirt is more than a sporting uniform — it is a symbol that connects generations, regions, and communities. Through Scatti d’Azzurro, the photographers return to their hometowns to capture football in its most authentic settings: neighbourhood squares, improvised pitches, narrow streets, and spaces transformed by imagination.
The journey moves between Palermo and Turin, through Venice and Matera, to Ancona and the valleys of Lombardy. What emerges is a portrait of a country where football thrives far from the spotlight — played on gravel fields, in small village squares, and even on snow-covered ground with makeshift goals.
Each photographer was asked to frame the iconic blue shirt within the landscapes that shaped their relationship with the game. The result is a series of images that speak to football as a shared cultural language.
Below, the photographers reflect on the places and memories behind their work.
Cecilia Palmeri — Venice
“The photos were taken between the Venetian patronati (community centres) and the few fields where it’s still possible to play football like in the old days.
Very few residents remain in Venice today, but those who do still manage to carve out small spaces for themselves amid the constant flow of visitors. After the school bell rings, children gather in the campielli (small squares), transforming them for a few hours into improvised football pitches.”
Francesco Freddo — Matera
“The first thing I did was pick up my camera and return to the places of my childhood: the squares, the dilapidated pitches, those imperfect spaces where friendships were born and thousands of kicks were taken at a ball.
Places I never forgot. To my surprise, years later I still found kids playing there. It’s not something to be taken for granted today, in a time when street football is disappearing. Yet in Matera, something of that spirit remains.”
Paola Massarenti — Turin
“These photographs were taken on provincial pitches between Pavarolo, Chieri, and Riva presso Chieri — the same places where I started playing football myself.
The images tell the story of generations united by their passion for the Azzurri shirt. When you wear it, any field can become a stadium.”
Alessandro Belussi — Brescia / Valle Camonica
“Like a fragmented yet lucid dream, these images attempt to give form to my imagination of football.
It is the game that begins when you don’t yet know who you are, and which accompanies you as you grow. The squares and the oratory fields where we played after middle school, searching for the perfect goal while imagining ourselves as Del Piero.
Behind it all lies the layered history of my territory — from the Roman remains beneath Brescia to the peaks of Valle Camonica.”
Giuseppe Scianna — Palermo
“This work follows football where, in Palermo, it continues to exist in its purest form: the street.
The photographs move through improvised pitches and symbolic places in the city — from the mural of San Benedetto il Moro in the Ballarò district to the pitch in Zen 2, from the alleys of Vucciria to the mural dedicated to Totò Schillaci.”
Lorenzo Bonanni — Jesi (Ancona)
“These photographs were taken in Jesi, my hometown, where my passion for football first began.
In the images, I tried to capture the memories tied to this place: adolescence, friendships formed during those years, and long afternoons spent chasing a ball around the city — from the parks beside the middle schools to gravel pitches with torn nets.”
Together, the six photographers offer a visual tribute to a country where football is woven into daily life. In these images, the blue shirt of Italy becomes a thread connecting landscapes, communities, and memories — a reminder that the spirit of the game often lives far from the stadium lights.
For Kate Carter-Larg, the Cheesy Toast Shack is a story of love, risk, hustling, triumph, tribulations, early mornings and late nights. It represents a dream that was worth putting everything on the line for. “We’d put all our savings into it, so failing was not an option,” Kate explains. “We hustled, we worked every day, we went to every event that was viable for us. We didn’t take on any staff until we were a few years in, we posted on social media every day, multiple times a day, and we shouted about our business and made people listen.”
Born in Dorset, in the South of England, the adventure of a lifetime would begin for Kate when she found herself travelling to Bali, in South East Asia. It was there she would meet Sam, her future husband and business partner.
“After a fleeting holiday romance, where we never thought we’d see each other again, he followed me down to Brighton (where I was living at the time). He decided he couldn’t live down there (distinct lack of surf) so got me to visit him in Scotland. I fell in love with it straight away, and pretty much decided to just not leave.
We had another year of travelling around a bit, including heading back to Bali to spend a few months of more beaches and surfing, before heading back to Scotland together with the idea of starting our own business.”
With only a small amount of savings between them, they knew that any kind of fixed cafe would be out of the question. “It just seemed so obvious, everyone loves a toastie, but not some dry, thin crappy Costa-style one. Instead, we wanted to do big, filthy, oozing with cheese-level toasties, with fillings that you don’t get just anywhere.”
With that idea, the wheels were set in motion. Scared, but with an unrelenting desire and determination to succeed, Kate and Sam put their life savings into everything and set off in search of their dream.
That dream would become a reality and take them all across the UK, to events, festivals and Glastonbury. They would be crowned Street Vendor of the Year, and earn the accolade of Scottish Street
Finalist. They would establish two sites, receiving visitors from all over the globe and go viral across social media. Renowned food critic, Jay Rayner, would give his seal of approval. Celebrities would come far and wide to taste their manchego with chorizo, red pepper and jalapeno chutney, or delight in their New Yorker made with sliced Swiss, pastrami, American mustard and sauerkraut. It would become a place that is now part of the family, with Kate, Sam and their two wonderful children.
It is a story that not even in her wildest of dreams could she have imagined. But it all happened. It really did. And it was a pleasure to sit down with Kate and talk about the journey she’s been on, her biggest challenges, being her own biggest critic and her proudest achievements.
We knew we wanted to be self-employed…we understood it’d be high risk and high stress, but we wanted to have a lifestyle where we could spend time together, and not have to answer to anyone else (we’ve always been quite headstrong and neither of us like being told what to do by someone else!)
We only had a small amount of savings between us, so we knew any kind of fixed cafe etc would be out of the question, so that immediately put us in the market for a food trailer. We just jumped on Gumtree and found a practically new trailer near Glasgow. A guy had bought it and then decided to not bother pursuing his burger van career, so we grabbed it and towed it back over to Fife.
We’d been looking at what was available street food-wise in Scotland, and the scene was starting to blow up. So many great options and traders, but no cheese toasties! It just seemed so obvious, everyone loves a toastie, but not some dry, thin crappy Costa-style one. Instead, we wanted to do big, filthy, oozing with cheese-level toasties, with fillings that you don’t get just anywhere.
Sam and I worked on the trailer, whilst getting everything else set up, and within a couple of months, we were good to go. We secured a pitch at a local beach and then would tow the trailer to events all over Scotland in between working Kingsbarns beach, to get the word out there about our brand and our business.
This did us wonders, as within our first year of trading we managed to secure a pitch at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where we got named the Best Place To Eat at The Fringe by The Scotsman newspaper.
Off the back of the popularity we experienced from being at such a huge event, we were in a position to apply for a pitch at the next Glastonbury Festival in Somerset. After doing this, our following took a massive jump, and we found we had people reaching out to us from all over the UK, saying they’d tried us and couldn’t stop thinking about our toasties.
During this time we were also doing every other event: street food markets, food competitions, music festivals, weddings….anything we could get our hands on. This eventually led to us then being offered the lease on our now main hub, in St Andrews. So at this point, we had our Kingsbarns pitch, our St Andrews kiosk, as well as multiple street food setups, allowing us to have 5 pitches across the Edinburgh Fringe Festival for the years running up to Covid, making us the biggest independent traders across the city for the Fringe. Upgrading our equipment made our workflow smoother, much like how platforms such as www.top-10-online-casino-australia.eu.com help users compare their options quickly and efficiently.
Covid was a huge challenge at first. There were grants for some hospitality businesses, however, because we sublet our kiosk we didn’t pay rates, and we weren’t entitled to the first few rounds of grants. So trying to keep our heads above water really was a challenge, bearing in mind we had staff to think about, and at that stage, a 1 year old as well.
As initial lockdown measures eased, we were able to open up shop again, and thankfully, the rules dictated by the Scottish Government just so happened to mean we didn’t need to change much about our operational setup. We were always a takeout unit, from a hatch. We just needed to work with fewer staff on shift at once to keep numbers down, but it was good for us that people were allowed to go for a walk and meet a friend outdoors, as that matched the description of what people did anyway when they’d come to one of our beaches.
It did, however, have a massive impact on the events industry, meaning it was the first time since we started that we weren’t doing any street food at all, or weddings. This obviously meant the income of the business took a massive hit, which was certainly a negative. However, in hindsight, it made us re-evaluate how lucky we were to still have the pitches we were able to trade from.
When the grants that we did qualify for eventually came out, we used that money to invest in the business, by upgrading our equipment. We bought a decent coffee machine, a soft-serve ice cream machine, and high-quality grills. We felt if we could get our products out at a much faster speed and even better quality, then we were utilising what we could, given the restrictions put upon us by the pandemic. And just to make things that little bit extra stressful, we decided it was a good time to have our second baby.
Our biggest achievement would have to be the Glastonbury Festival. We loaded up our campervan and towed our trailer all the way from Scotland. We were located at Worthy View which is the “posh” campsite at the top of the farm, with the pre-erected tents (not that we were allowed to stay in those).
We were only allowed the bare minimum of staff passes (the cost of a ticket per staff member is factored into your pitch fee so we couldn’t afford many). We got a few friends to come down with us to work, thinking we’d get to spend a decent chunk of the festival watching music and enjoying the festival…how wrong we were! We were mobbed from the minute we opened the hatch in the morning, doing breakfast toasties to the hungover masses, all the way through the day, with a small window where it quietened off when the headlining acts were on, and then went crazy busy again through to the early hours. We came back to Scotland exhausted but with an amazing feeling of pride and achievement.
Another of those pinch-me moments was when Jay Rayner, the famous food critic who writes for The Guardian / The Observer, came to visit us. He left a glowing review and then featured us in the Guardian’s best-value places to eat around the coast of the
Abi, who’s our manager at the St Andrews shop actually asked me the other day if I ever think how wild it is that people drive so far to come to our shack and hold it in such high regard. And that this is all for something that we have created. It really made me stop and think how cool that is. We’re so well received, and people really do make huge trips just to come and try our food. It’s very humbling, although I do still find myself being my biggest critic. If I know a famous person is coming down, I panic, and worry that they’ll just think “What’s all the fuss about?” However, that has not actually happened yet!
We love how, generally, everything is received really well on social media. We know we post a lot, but it’s paid off. Every single day we get at least one customer coming down to the hatch, to say they’ve come because they’ve seen our silly/cheesy videos online and it’s made them want to visit. We get the occasional troll which always blows my mind, but I just need to remind myself that our socials are free marketing, and it’s obviously working, because we get customers and followers from all over the world. Just this week alone, I’ve posted t-shirts and hoodies to New York, and Philadelphia
Our followers and likes have taken a huge surge in the last year since we’ve really picked up our efforts online. We find now that simply posting a photo of a toastie doesn’t get the same levels of interaction as when we post videos, so it’s just about continuing to follow trends and posting videos, and just trying to make our page something a bit silly and fun.
I would advise anyone looking to set up their own business, to just go for it. We always get people asking us “Weren’t we scared it wouldn’t work?” Of course we were, we’d put all our savings into it, so failing was not an option.
We hustled, we worked every day, we went to every event that was viable for us. We didn’t take on any staff until we were a few years in, we posted every day, multiple times a day, and we shouted about our business and made people listen.
I honestly don’t know if I’d have it in me now to hustle as hard as we did back at the beginning, but I’ve also got 2 small children now who I love spending time with, so I couldn’t be towing trailers back from Edinburgh at 1 am, as I love that I can be present for them and be the one that does every bedtime and that I get to see them every morning.
If I’m not working, I try to start the day off by getting to the gym. A couple of years ago, after having my youngest daughter, I got into CrossFit, which I just fell in love with. I’m still not very good at it but it helps my headspace as well as my physical fitness.
Sam and I try and get out for a walk together; our favourite place being Tensmuir Forest, where we love to stop for a crepe from Salt and Pine. We may have to answer a few emails/go and film some videos for the pages, and before we know it 3 o’clock rolls around and it’s time to grab our girls from school/playgroup
If they’ve not got after-school clubs then they may ask us to take them to the skatepark to practice their skateboarding. If it’s not a school day then we try and get them for a surf at West Sands (if there is any) followed by live music at Dook and a few Aperol Spritz’ for us. Whatever we do, it’s hugely family-oriented. With 7 cousins living close by, and 3 sets of aunties and uncles, as well as Sam’s parents, we’re invariably hanging out with other Largs.
Every Christmas we have raclette on the menu, which is raclette cheese, served over garlic potatoes with charcuterie meats and dressed salad. You basically scrape the melted cheese over the potatoes, and it’s just amazing. It’s such a treat, and can’t help but make you feel festive.
For the year ahead, we want to keep concentrating on giving the best possible products to our customers. We feel that we’re on a really positive trajectory at the moment. Our team’s collective hard work is getting more and more recognised, with a greater following online and more customers coming to the shops. We want to concentrate on keeping this at a high level, and who knows, if the market is right, maybe even opening up some more locations.
With all our thanks to Kate Carter-Larg
Latest
Words and images: Matthew Thomas
From his first steps around the family living room in an oversized home shirt, to his first game at the Stadium of Light in 1997, it has always been Sunderland for Rory and the Fallow family.
In the wake of Sunderland’s monumental Wear–Tyne derby win, PA announcer Rory Fallow reveals his journey to becoming the youngest PA in The 92, that Play-Off semi-final night where all hell broke loose, and how a chance meeting with local band Frankie & The Heartstrings turned a dream job into reality.
May 12th, 2025. 10:26pm. Wearside, Sunderland.
Rory Fallow is sprinting through the Stadium of Light.
He bursts through doors, jumps down from halfway up staircases and crashes into walls as he desperately tries to make it to pitchside below.
Sweat pools on his forehead as he races through the corridors of the Jimmy Montgomery Stand. His cheeks are red with effort. He clutches a microphone in his right hand, his pre-match notes in his left, while his ears ring with instructions from a frantic security team.
He reaches the players’ tunnel at breakneck speed. His shirt is untucked, his once-tidy fringe dragged across his face, and he’s struggling to compose himself as his lungs batter against the walls of his chest. Emerging from beneath the canopy, he usually sees a flurry of eleven red-and-white shirts zipping across the turf.
Instead, tonight there’s a horde of supporters on the pitch.
They’re screaming. Some are giggling. Others are crying uncontrollably. A few are running, jumping and waving their arms in the air. Adrenaline, stress and fervour have taken hold.
Rory is motionless. Dazed. His eyes transmit images to a brain that cannot comprehend what’s unfolding before him. This wasn’t in the pre-match briefing. This wasn’t in the training manual.
Then his earpiece crackles into life.
“Rory! Rory! We need you to keep going. You need to tell people to get off the fucking pitch!”
“RORY?!”
A pause.
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
“AGAIN!” snaps the voice in his ear.
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
“Keep going! We need everyone off the pitch. Now!”
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
Rory is pleading now. Minutes pass before the melee begins to settle and supporters start to drift away from the pitch.
“I kept saying it over and over. I was on autopilot. It was surreal,” Rory says.
“I’m standing in the technical area next to Régis Le Bris and Kyril Louis-Dreyfus. Jobe Bellingham has just sprinted past me screaming his head off.
“During the chaos, Eli Mayenda has somehow found a pair of sunglasses and Dan Ballard is looking for a shirt that’s been swallowed by the crowd. Wilson Isidor has a fan on his shoulders — and here I am telling people it’s a criminal offence to be on the pitch.
“I’d just watched my team secure their place at Wembley with the last kick of the game. My throat was wobbling with tears, my hands shaking, my knees trembling.”
It Was Always Red and White
From his first steps around the family living room in an oversized home shirt, to his first game at the Stadium of Light in 1997, it has always been Sunderland for Rory and the Fallow family.
A local lad born less than a 20-minute drive from the city centre, Rory became the envy of adults and friends alike thanks to the infamous “Sunderland room” — a shrine in the family home that became legend among classmates, relatives and neighbours.
“Anyone who came into the house was shown the Sunderland room,” he laughs.
“Shirts pinned to the wall, red-and-white bed sheets, scarves draped over cupboards. Cut-outs of Kevin Phillips and Kevin Ball plastered across all four walls.
“It wasn’t until I started college and thought about bringing girls over that I realised: actually, that A3 print of Niall Quinn staring back at people is a bit weird.”
Rory still remembers flashes of his first game.
“The Stadium of Light had just opened. Norwich beat us. But I loved it. Going with my mam and dad, my sister and me — so many memories. We went together right up until I started announcing.”
A season-ticket holder from the age of seven, Rory immersed himself further through local fanzines. He began writing for Roker Report, then hosting the Wise Men Say podcast, always searching for another way to get closer to the club.
It Started With a Lift…
Rory’s story doesn’t happen without Frankie Francis.
Former Sunderland PA and now club commentator, Frankie first made his name fronting local DIY indie band Frankie & The Heartstrings, alongside stints at Amazing Radio.
“I was studying music at college, and the first time I heard Hunger, I was hooked,” Rory says.
A chance encounter outside Middlesbrough Empire in 2011 changed everything.
“I was 18, didn’t have a driving licence, and the venue was shut. Shutters down, lights off. Then Michael McKnight pulled up in a taxi.
“‘Ye alright like? What’s the craic?’ he said.
“I couldn’t believe it. I squeaked, ‘I’m… I’m here for the show?’”
Michael explained it was a club night, then added:
“Do you want to hang out with us instead? We’ll drop you home.”
Three days later, Rory offered to sell merch as a thank-you. Weeks later, he was on tour — sleeping on floors, travelling the country, becoming part of the band’s inner circle.
“We spent 18 hours a day together. You really get to know people like that. We’ve stayed in touch ever since.”
The Call
In 2021, change was coming. Frankie was moving into commentary, and Sunderland wanted a local voice — someone with a Mackem accent who resonated with the crowd.
Rory’s name was pushed forward.
“One day Frankie texted asking if he could ring me,” Rory says.
“Those texts never end well.”
This one did.
“He gave me the X-Factor pause. Then said the PA job was mine if I wanted it.
“I said yes about a million times.”
Cold forehead. Pacing. Tears.
“I rang my mam and dad — they screamed down the phone. Then my girlfriend. It was a moment I’ll treasure forever.”
From that point, Rory rehearsed relentlessly. Squad numbers. Pronunciations. Inflections.
“Number 13… Luke O’NEINNNNNN.
Number 32… Traiiiiii Hummmeeee.
Number 11… Lynden GOOOOOOCH.”
His first match? Wigan. A 2–1 win.
“That was when I realised I could add my own style. It felt natural.”
A Steep Learning Curve
Frankie remained a guiding presence — scripts, mixing desks, half-time cues.
“The best advice I’ve had is to let the crowd be the loudest thing in the stadium,” Rory says.
“My job is to give them a nudge — not overpower them.”
Mistakes happen.
“The worst was against Burnley in 2022. We accidentally started the half-time playlist during the match.
Bennie and the Jets started booming. Players looked confused. Frankie was sprinting to the desk. I was screaming down the radio. Absolute nightmare.”
They still laugh about it — nervously.
The Youngest PA in The 92
Now the youngest PA announcer across English football’s 92 clubs, Rory researches constantly. Grounds, styles, scripts. A WhatsApp group of PAs sharing advice.
“Every club is unique. You can’t call one ‘better’ than another.”
Wembley wins. Wembley losses. Premier League team sheets.
“It’s mad reading names like Mo Salah, Declan Rice, Erling Haaland.
“Even for us — Granit Xhaka. That’s a name you enjoy announcing.”
A PA Announcer’s Nightmare: VAR
VAR has changed everything.
“I wait now. I hold back. Because the worst thing would be giving it full beans and then hearing: ‘VAR check ongoing’ blasted from Stockley Park.”
Readying the War Cry
Derby day approaches.
“I’m biased. Of course I am,” Rory smiles.
A Southampton fan once complained:
‘Their announcer mumbles our players’ names and goes wild for theirs.’
“That’s literally my job.”
On derby day, there’s no away team sheet. No mentions. No acknowledgement.
“They don’t exist.”
The Voice Carries the City
As Sunderland run out, Rory lifts the team sheet. The stadium roars. Granit Xhaka’s name ignites the noise. Wise Men Say shakes the ground.
And when the final whistle blows on a famous 1–0 win?
Rory walks calmly through the stadium. No chaos. No panic.
“At full time, I felt like I was floating,” he says.
“It felt like a crossroads for the club. I put together a playlist, and it felt like DJing Wearside’s biggest party.”
Words and images: Matthew Thomas
The Hatton Sock has been created by Ivy Ellis, in partnership with CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably) and The Ricky Hatton Foundation. This is part of a body of work that Ivy Ellis continues to build, one that uses sport and culture to open up conversations that are often left unsaid.
With this release, 100% of profits will be donated to CALM and The Ricky Hatton Foundation, supporting their work in mental health awareness and suicide prevention. Three designs: The Hitman, The Pride of Hyde, and The People’s Champion — each carries something of the man they’re inspired by.
Because Ricky Hatton was never just a boxer.
Everything is Earned
There are fighters you admire. And then there are fighters who feel like one of your own. Ricky Hatton has always been the latter. Before the lights, the belts, and the Las Vegas nights, there was a lad from Hyde, working-class, Manchester through and through. Not manufactured, not polished for the spotlight, but built the hard way, in gyms where nothing is given and everything is earned.
That’s why people connected with him. He wasn’t just fighting for titles; he was fighting for something bigger. For his family, his city, and for everyone who saw themselves in him.
When Ricky stepped into the ring, he brought more than skill. He brought energy, noise, and belief. Nights that felt bigger than sport. And for so many, one moment will always stand out, a Manchester lad walking into the lion’s den in America to face Floyd Mayweather Jr.
Thousands made the journey across the Atlantic. Songs filled the streets of Las Vegas. And for a moment, it felt like an entire nation stood behind him. Win or lose, Ricky made people believe that where you come from doesn’t define how far you can go.
I remember that night in Las Vegas as if it were yesterday. With each passing year, it seems to carry a little more weight.
I watched the fight with some of my closest friends, gathered in the house of one of them — a friend who is no longer with us. We were all there, together, in the early hours of the morning, cheering him on. Watching a lad from Manchester, with the whole country behind him, take on Mayweather.
When I think back now, I realise that might have been one of the last times we were all in the same room like that.
And because of that, it’s a memory I’ll always hold onto.
The Strongest People Often Face Battles We Don’t See
They called him The Hitman. But to many, he was always The People’s Champion. Because he never lost that connection. He celebrated as the fans did. Spoke like them. Lived like them. And that authenticity is rare. It’s easy to support greatness; it’s much harder to feel like you’re part of it. With Hatton, people felt exactly that.
But behind the noise, the victories, and the nights under the lights, there were quieter moments too. Ricky spoke openly about his struggles, the pressures, the expectations, the comedown that can follow the highest highs. And that part of the story matters just as much.
The strongest people, the ones who seem unstoppable, can still face battles we don’t see. And that’s why this campaign matters.
It’s about recognising that behind every achievement, every cheer, every moment of greatness, there’s a human being. And sometimes, that person needs support.
If Ricky Hatton’s story tells us anything, it’s this: you can be strong, successful, and inspire millions, and still need help. There’s no weakness in that. Only honesty.
This piece is written in partnership with Ivy Ellis, CALM, and The Ricky Hatton Foundation, organisations working to ensure that no one feels like they have to face things alone.
CALM runs a free, confidential helpline and webchat, open every day from 5 pm to midnight. If you or someone you know is struggling, you can reach them on 0800 58 58 58 or visit thecalmzone.net.
Because the most important message, the one that sits at the heart of everything, is this:
Please talk.
“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” — Henry David Thoreau
In life, they say it’s not about the destination, but the journey. Every now and then, if you’re fortunate, both fall perfectly into place.
We left under clear skies, the kind of blue that feels rare even in a Scottish summer. The journey to Jedburgh should have taken around an hour and a half, but there was no urgency to get there. Not when the coast was calling.
A detour to North Berwick led us to The Drift, perched above the shoreline with sweeping views across the Firth of Forth. Fresh, thoughtful food, strong coffee, and a horizon that seems to go on forever. It set the tone for everything that followed.
From there, the landscape began to shift. The coastline gave way to the quiet grandeur of the Scottish Borders. Roads narrowed, towns appeared and disappeared. Passing through places like Kelso and Melrose, you’re reminded how much of this region remains quietly undiscovered, rolling farmland, historic stone buildings, and a sense of space that feels increasingly rare.
By the time we reached Jedburgh, the light had softened into that golden late-afternoon hue. There was just enough time for a fleeting visit to Mary Queen of Scots’ House, or at least, an attempt. Closing at 3 pm, we managed little more than a glimpse, a promise to return properly next time. Instead, we wandered the town, picked up coffee, and gathered supplies for the evening ahead.
Because the real destination was still waiting.
The House in the Hill
The House in the Hill lies just beyond Jedburgh, on Townfoot Hill, where the road begins to fall away from everything else. As you arrive, the house reveals itself in full, set alone in open countryside, defined by its quiet and its distance from the world below.
Surrounded by vast, undulating hills, it carries a kind of quiet drama, something almost literary in its isolation. You half expect the wind to carry echoes of another time, as if you’ve stepped into a scene from Wuthering Heights. And yet, inside, it’s unmistakably modern.
The house balances rustic charm with contemporary comfort. Two spacious bedrooms offer understated luxury, while open-plan living spaces invite you to slow down completely. There’s a beautifully designed kitchen fitted with modern appliances, a soft, inviting lounge with a smart TV, and thoughtful touches throughout, including an inviting welcome pack filled with delicious local produce, slippers, dressing gowns, and beds you sink into without resistance.
The property is architect-designed and carefully positioned. Large areas of glazing face outward, framing the surrounding hills so that the landscape remains constant, wherever you are in the house. It operates off-grid, powered by renewable energy and supplied by natural spring water, but these elements are integrated quietly into the experience.
Inside, the house is centred around an open-plan living space that brings together the kitchen, dining, and seating areas with ease. The kitchen is fully equipped and intended to be used properly, whether for a quick meal or something more considered.
Two bedrooms sit on either side of the main space, each positioned to take in the surrounding views. The bathrooms deserve their own mention: open, airy showers that feel indulgent without excess, and a bathtub perfectly placed for long, quiet evenings, as well as a selection of carefully chosen body products. Robes, slippers, and soft, well-placed lighting complete the space, giving it a quiet sense of comfort throughout.
A suspended log burner anchors the living space, while outside, the house opens itself fully to its surroundings. A wood-fired hot tub sits low against the hillside, positioned so that nothing interrupts the view, just open land stretching out in every direction. Nearby, a rooftop seating area has been carefully designed for long, unhurried evenings or slow mornings, whether that’s dinner under a clear Borders sky or coffee as the light returns across the hills.
There’s also a barbecue and outdoor dining space, well set up for warmer months. We left it untouched this time, opting instead for something simpler.
We cooked, opened a bottle of wine, and said cheers to an unforgettable evening.
The sense of seclusion deepens as the light fades. Sitting in the warmth of the hot tub, with no sound beyond the immediate landscape, it becomes easy to lose track of time altogether. It’s a rare kind of stillness. I can’t remember the last time I felt as content as I did in that moment. As the old line goes, heaven isn’t somewhere distant; it’s as much beneath our feet as it is above us.
And then, the sky.
The stars appear in sharp detail, scattered densely across the sky in a way that feels almost unfamiliar. It’s the kind of clarity that makes you look up and stay there. On nights like this, the Northern Lights are not out of the question, another reminder of just how removed this place is from the usual pace and noise of everyday life.
The Beauty of the Borders
What makes The House in the Hill so special isn’t just the property itself, but where it sits.
The Scottish Borders have a quiet confidence—less dramatic than the Highlands perhaps, but no less compelling. It’s a region built for those willing to explore slowly. Historic towns, winding roads, open landscapes, and a deep sense of history are layered into the land.
Jedburgh, with its abbey ruins and royal connections, is just the beginning. And as we discovered, even a missed visit can become part of the story, a reason to return. Because places like this aren’t just visited once. They stay with you forever.
Our stay at House in the Hill came recommended by Make It Scotland, a travel platform dedicated entirely to uncovering the best of the country. Designed to simplify trip planning, it brings together places to stay, eat and explore, alongside local guides and seasonal inspiration that offer a more authentic way to experience Scotland.
You can find out more information about The House in the Hill by clicking here. To follow them on Instagram, click here
You can learn more about Make it Scotland by clicking here. You can also follow them on Instagram here.
You can visit Drift Cafe by clicking here. You can follow them on Instagram here.
Words and Images: Joey Corlett
A Club Hidden in Plain Sight
Reading through Chris Hylland’s seminal book Tears At La Bombonera, he dedicates a chapter to this club: “a short excursion to Excursionistas.” It was a passage that first introduced me to the existence of the club and the strange contrast in which it sits within Buenos Aires.
Excursionistas are based in the leafy barrio of Belgrano in the north of the capital, about a 20-minute walk from River Plate’s El Monumental. Just one block away, you’ll find Starbucks and McDonald’s, with beautiful bakeries and restaurants even closer.
Their home ground, Estadio Excursionistas, sits in surroundings that feel worlds away from the typical image of a third-division Argentine club. A golf course lies to the east, while multi-storey apartment blocks loom over the north and west sides of the stadium.
It wasn’t quite what I imagined when first reading about the club.
An Unexpected Fixture
I had hoped to visit the stadium, but the time of year I had chosen to travel to Buenos Aires meant that the lower-division seasons had already finished. I resigned myself to missing the ground.
What I had overlooked, however, was that Excursionistas had qualified for the Primera B promotion playoffs.
Earlier that day I had been touring La Bombonera. Later, while waiting for a bus back towards the centre of town, I realised I had no plans for the evening. On a whim, I opened the Futbology app to see if anything might be happening.
Refresh.
Excursionistas vs. Argentino de Merlo. Kick-off in two hours.
Suddenly, I was on my own excursion to Excursionistas.
A Slight Wardrobe Problem
On the bus journey north across Buenos Aires, there was one detail I had completely overlooked.
Argentino de Merlo plays in sky blue and white.
Thanks to my visit to Boca Juniors’ stadium earlier that day, I was wearing a blue coat with light blue shorts.
Arriving in Belgrano, the contrast with La Boca was immediate. Towering apartment blocks lined wide streets filled with cafés and storefronts. It felt like a completely different city.
Walking a few blocks towards the stadium, I spotted the queue for the ticket windows. The process was simple: tap the card, collect the physical ticket, and head through the turnstiles after a quick pat-down.
Game number eight of the trip awaited.
A Proper Argentine Ground
Despite its upscale surroundings, once inside the stadium, everything felt reassuringly familiar.
The pitch was ringed by fencing topped with coils of barbed wire. The stands were simple, functional and intimate. Whatever Belgrano might look like outside, this was still unmistakably Argentine football.
I found a seat in the tribune among a mix of supporters — young and old, men and women, and even the occasional fellow gringo groundhopper.
There were a few curious glances from nearby fans, which I initially dismissed as the usual “what’s a foreigner doing here?” look you sometimes get at lower-league matches.
Then the teams walked out.
Argentino de Merlo were wearing blue from head to toe.
The stares suddenly made more sense.
Internally I was apologising to everyone around me: “I swear I’m not an infiltrado.”
The Noise of the Popular
The popular stand was in full voice from the start.
Through the fencing, it looked like the entire barra brava had squeezed into a single terrace. Umbrellas bounced above the crowd while trompetas and bombos blasted out their relentless rhythms.
Even from the tribune, you could feel the energy rolling around the ground.
The crowd near me added their own theatre. Despite my limited Spanish, I could follow most of the jokes and jibes being exchanged.
One supporter arrived late after kick-off and was immediately greeted with a chorus of mock outrage:
“¿Dónde has estado?!” — Where have you been?
The star of the section was an older man in a flat cap who seemed to know everyone. He drifted between conversations and wasn’t shy about shouting at opposition players when they wandered too close to the fence.
The Mystery of the “Allegados”
Within minutes, Argentino de Merlo had struck the post, prompting a surprising reaction from one corner of the ground.
Normally, there are no away fans at most Argentine stadiums. But further down the pyramid, there is the curious phenomenon of the Allegados.
Roughly translated as “friends and family”, these are small sections reserved for relatives, staff and associates of the visiting team.
In theory.
In practice, as my Argentine friend and photographer Dani (@chicagoanalogico) later confirmed, it’s not uncommon for a few braver away supporters to slip in among them.
On this night, it appeared more than a few cousins and brothers had made the journey to Belgrano.
The result was a constant back-and-forth of chants and insults across the stadium — a running dialogue that the witty group around me enthusiastically joined.
A Goal Out of Nowhere
Sadly for the home fans near me, the breakthrough went the other way.
After a loose pass in midfield, Merlo’s Lucas Scarnato noticed the Excursionistas goalkeeper off his line and launched a hopeful looping effort toward goal.
The ball sailed high into the Buenos Aires night sky. As it dropped, the goalkeeper scrambled desperately back toward his line.
He failed to reach it.
For good measure, he collided with the post as the ball bounced into the net.
The reaction around me was immediate and colourful, with far stronger language than the ever-present “La concha de tu madre.”
A Long Night for the Goalkeeper
The second half brought little relief.
Excursionistas briefly pulled themselves back into the game at 2–1, but moments later disaster struck again.
A simple backpass was misjudged completely by the same unfortunate goalkeeper. Slipping as he made contact, he effectively presented the ball to the Merlo striker, who calmly rolled it into an empty net.
The scorer celebrated by gesturing to the home crowd to calm down.
A braver man than me.
Even after Merlo were reduced to ten men, the match finished 3–1 with Excursionistas clearly second best.
Authentic Fútbol
The popular stand, however, never stopped singing.
At one point the chants turned into a demand for the team to show more courage — expressed, of course, in language far less polite than that.
Despite the defeat, the evening had delivered exactly what I had hoped for: a wonderfully raw and authentic football experience in one of Buenos Aires’ most unlikely neighbourhoods.
The tie would end badly for Excursionistas. They lost the second leg 4–0, crashing out of the playoffs 7–1 on aggregate.
Hopefully, only a few Allegados were present to witness that.
There was no fairytale comeback, but there was something just as memorable: a small stadium, a passionate crowd, and a reminder that the soul of Argentine football lives far beyond the famous grounds.
Words and Images: tonpotdemoutarde
In Saint-Étienne, football is rarely a solitary love. It is handed down.
For photographer tonpotdemoutarde, supporting AS Saint-Étienne was never a decision to be made — it was part of the fabric of family life. His grandfather stood on the terraces. His father followed. At six years old, he was taken to the stadium for the first time, walking into what locals don’t simply call a ground, but Le Chaudron, the cauldron.
My grandfather was a fan, my father was a fan, and he took me to the stadium when I was six years old. It was only natural for me to support Saint-Étienne. I lived in an apartment where you could hear the chants on matchdays. Every time, it amazed me. I didn’t care about the results — I just wanted to see Les Verts.
More than just a stadium, it’s Le Chaudron. You have to come and hear the two ends singing, to feel the fervour, to feel a city in unison — to truly feel a wave pushing the players from start to finish.
One of my favourite memories is ASSE vs Châteauroux in 2004. If we won, we would be Division 2 champions. The stadium was full, with a tifo stretching across the entire ground. We won thanks to a goal from Bridonneau, a defender, who scored with a scissor kick right at the end of the match. I have never heard such a deafening noise in a stadium.
I would also mention the first European matches I attended, the 100th derby victory in Lyon, and the last promotion back to Ligue 1. But more than anything, the matches spent with friends remain my greatest memories.
What makes the club special is that, despite the passing years and the results, the passion has never changed. The loyalty remains. Personally, I haven’t seen many trophies or European nights, and yet the passion is still intact.
It is also a club people can identify with — a club that has remained popular and proud of its city’s past.
And in Sainté, no one cares where you come from, how much you earn, or who you are. If you’re a fan, you’re family.
Words and Images: tonpotdemoutarde
