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All words and images: Matthew Thomas
‘Get to the fucking mixing desk now. Turn the music off, the game is still on!’
In the wake of Sunderland’s monumental win at the Wear-Tyne derby, PA Announcer, Rory Fallow, reveals all about 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 his dream job into reality.
May 12th, 2025. 10:26 pm. Wearside, Sunderland.
Rory Fallow is sprinting through the Stadium of Light. He is bursting through doors, jumping down from halfway up staircases and crashing into walls as he desperately tries to make it to the pitchside below.
Sweat is pooling on his forehead as he races through the corridors of the Jimmy Montgomery Stand. His cheeks are red from the effort. He is clutching a microphone in his right hand, his pre-match notes in his left, and his ears are ringing with instructions from a frantic security team.
He makes it to the player’s 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 bang on the walls of his chest. Emerging from under the canopy, he usually sees a flurry of 11 red and white shirts zipping across the turf.
Instead, there’s a horde of supporters on the pitch tonight. They’re screaming. Some are giggling. Others are crying uncontrollably. A few are running, jumping and waving their hands in the air. Adrenaline, stress and fervour have taken over their bodies.
Rory is motionless. He is dazed. His eyes are transmitting visual scenes to a brain that cannot comprehend what is unfolding in front of him. This wasn’t in the pre-match briefing. This wasn’t in the training manual. Utterly stunned, it’s not until his earpiece crackles into life with an exasperated security team screaming down the line that Rory becomes present:
“Rory! Rory! We need you to keep going. You need to tell people to get off the fucking pitch!”
“RORY!?”…
…
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.”
“AGAIN!” Snaps the voice in his earpiece.
“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!” barks the security team.
“It is a criminal offence to enter the pitch. Please make your way back to your seat.” Rory is now pleading down the microphone; it’s not for another handful of minutes until the melee begins to settle and people begin to leave the pitch.
“I kept saying this over and over. I was on autopilot. It was surreal. I’m standing in the technical area next to Regis Le Bris and Kyril Louis Dreyfus. Jobe Bellingham has just sprinted past me, screaming his head off.” said Rory.
“During the chaos, Eli Mayenda has found a pair of sunglasses from somewhere and Dan Ballard is looking for his shirt that has been swallowed up by the crowd. Wilson Isidor has a fan on his shoulders and here I am telling people that it’s a criminal offence to be on the pitch.
“I had just watched my team secure their place at Wembley with the last-minute kick of the game. My throat was wobbling with tears, quickly filling the corners of my eyes. My hands were shaking and my knees were trembling.”
It was always red and white
From his first steps stumbling around the family living room in an oversized home shirt, to his first game with the family at the Stadium of Light in 1997, it has always been Sunderland for Rory and the Fallow family.
A local lad born no further than a 20-minute car ride to the city centre who became the envy of his adults and friends with the ‘Sunderland room’; a shrine in the family house that became talk amongst classmates, family and neighbours.
“Growing up, any visitors, such as family, friends or neighbours who were invited inside the house were told about the ‘Sunderland room’. There were shirts pinned to the wall, red and white bed sheets, scarves draped over cupboards, and cutouts of Kevin Phillips and Kevin Ball from programmes were plastered on all four walls. It wasn’t until I started heading to college and the idea of bringing girls over that it dawned on me: ‘actually, that A3 print of Niall Quinn staring back at people is a bit weird’.”
“I still remember bits of my first game in 1997. The Stadium of Light had just opened and Norwich beat us. I loved going to the match with everyone. My mam and dad, with my sister and me in tow, there are so many great memories. We still went together right up until I began my announcing at Sunderland.”
A season ticket holder since the age of seven, Rory began getting involved with local fanzines as another way to get closer to the club. He’d spend his working days thinking about an intro to an article on Will Grigg or a tactics piece for the weekend game ahead as he began writing for Roker Report before becoming the host of the Wise Men Say podcast.
It started with a lift…
Rory’s story would not have been possible without Frankie Francis. The once PA and now club commentator for Sunderland, Frankie, originally fronted a local DIY indie band called Franke & the Heartstrings back in 2011 and had stints as a presenter for Amazing Radio. Rory, a young kid studying music at college, was instantly hooked after first hearing ‘Hunger’ by the Heartstrings.
“I’ve known Frankie and the guys a while now. I used to go on tour with his band, which, for an 18-year-old fan, was the stuff of dreams. I’ve been across the UK with the guys, where we’ve all been bundled into a van racing to pubs and clubs with Frankie & the Heartstrings. I was selling t-shirts, records and other merchandise across the UK.
“I remember the situation that led to me becoming more involved with the band. It was a 5:30 pm kick-off at the Stadium of Light back in 2011, and I had plans to finish the match and head straight over to Middlesbrough Empire to catch the band playing.
“I didn’t have a driver’s license as I’d just turned 18. My mam dropped me off, and the venue was closed. Shutters down, lights off. None of the usual commotion usually expected outside the Empire. I hadn’t realised that it was a regular club-night gig.
Michael McKnight, the band’s guitarist, pulled up along the road. He locked eyes with Rory and hopped out of the taxi that was barrelling down the street.
“Ye alright like? What’s the craic?” Said Michael to Rory.
Rory, being a superfan, was in total shock. He couldn’t believe someone he spent most of his teenage years idolising was speaking to him.
Rory squeaked: “I’m… I’m here for the show?”
Michael smirked, faced the venue and nodded his head.
“Nightmare, mate. It’s a club night… Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come hang out with us instead of out here? We’ll drop you back off at home, too.”
Three days later, Rory called Michael up and said he’d love to sell their merchandise as a ‘thank you’ during a Heartstrings show at The Cluny in Newcastle. Following that, Rory quickly became part of the band and he was whisked away on a three-week tour, sleeping on floors in clubs, pubs and cultural hubs up and down the UK.
“Having been with the band around two years, sleeping head-to-toe with the guys and spending upwards of 18 hours together, I got to know everyone really well. We have kept in touch ever since.”
The call…
In 2021, changes were afoot at the Stadium of Light. Frankie was moving on to become part of the commentary team with Danny Collins. It was clear that the club wanted someone local to the area, who had a Mackem accent and had experience of speaking and, most importantly, resonating with a local audience. Rory had expressed interest in the role.
Frankie had put extra weight behind Rory’s name at the boardroom level. A month before Sunderland kick off their League One campaign, life-changing news was heading Rory’s way.
It began like any other normal day for Rory. Sitting at home, typing away on his laptop with a lukewarm coffee quickly losing its appeal to the right of him. He is aiming to finish off his script for the next podcast that he’s about to record for Wise Men Say. Later on, England will be playing Denmark in the Semi-Final of Euro 2020.
“Frankie texted me asking if he could ring me. Everyone knows those kinds of texts only ever end up in bad news.” Said Rory.
But this call was different; it held a life-changing moment for Rory.
“Frankie told me that he had news and gave me the X-Factor pause that lasted way too long. He said he didn’t need an answer now, but the job of being PA Announcer was mine if I wanted it. I said yes a million times there and then. He said, “Good lad, I’ll be in touch”, and the call ended.
“My forehead had gone cold. I paced around the living room. I thought about my Sunderland room growing up and got emotional. I rang my mam and dad, they screamed down the phone and were so excited. I rang my girlfriend straight after, who was so proud. It was a beautiful day and a feeling, a memory that I treasure.”
From that moment, Rory spent every second of every day rehearsing before the season started. He’d wake up and ask his partner to test him on the current squad numbers. At lunchtime, he’d watch old videos on YouTube of how Frankie whipped the crowd up as the players emerged from the tunnel. He’d be in the shower and working on the pronunciation of players, testing different emphasis and inflexions on certain players’ surnames:
“Number 13… Luke O’NEINNNNNNN”
“Number 32… Traiiiiii Hummeeee”
“Number 11… Lynden GOOOOOOCHH”
“My first official game was against Wigan. We won 2-1 and I remember naturally adding emphasis on Ross Stewart’s surname. It felt good, it rolled off the tongue without hesitation and my friends seemed to like it too. That was the first instance of me adding my style and character to the role.”
“I recently caught up with Frankie and we spoke about the phone call and laughed about that X-Factor pause he gave me. He also said that he wouldn’t have taken ‘no’ for an answer from me. I asked him why.
“He said:
“Aside from being the best person for it, you will play a part in the history of the club. After a period of time, you will become the voice of the Stadium of Light. I couldn’t let an opportunity like that, as a Sunderland fan, pass you by.”
A steep learning curve
Frankie has been an omnipresent guide for Rory, especially during his first season at the club. He’d been there alongside Rory from the minute he walked through the doors, going through scripts with him, guiding him around the mixing desk controls and offering little snippets of guidance when it came to half-time presentations and announcements.
“The best bit of advice I’ve received has come from Frankie. He told me to let emotion and intensity of the crowd be the loudest, most present energy in the stadium. My job is to give them a boost, maybe increase the volume on our pre-match build-up if it needs an injection of emphasis, which has rarely been the case this season.
“Things do go wrong from time to time. The biggest cock-up we’ve had, which I can claim some immunity on, was during a Championship game against Burnley back in 2022.
“I was casually making my way down to the pitchside for the half-time presentation. I was pleased with myself for what was a decent job so far. I was going over the script for the half-time activities with a local charity presentation as I slowly emerged from the tunnel and started to hear the opening thumps of Bennie and the Jets by Elton John. The match was still going on, and I could see some of the players looking to the sky in confusion.
“My forehead went icy cold with shock and anxiety. The kind of physical feeling reserved for major mistakes and mishaps. I peered over the dugout to the gantry to see Frankie launching himself past rows of radio journalists, cameramen and photographers to reach the mixing desk, desperately clawing at the volume knob to turn it off.
“We had accidentally begun playing the half-time playlist during the middle of the game. I was screaming down my radio ‘Get to the fucking mixing desk now. Turn the music off, the game is still on!’ People were so bemused and confused. That was an eye-opener and a memory we sometimes nervously laugh about.”
The youngest PA in The 92
To get prepared for the Premier League, Rory set out on a summer of research. He visited grounds up and down the country, taking notes on presenters, PAs, pre-match build-ups and goal announcements. He joined the PA Announcers’ WhatsApp group – home to presenters from across The 92 and beyond who offer help and advice when needed.
“All clubs do a great job because each club is unique to the identity of the city it serves and the people who represent it. So saying a PA for this club is below average is subjective and unfair, as they have a style to match the typical match-going experience for that fan. What I love about the group is the openness and sharing of knowledge. No one is too precious to help.”
“Rich at West Bromwich Albion, Alan Keegan at Manchester United and John Foster, who once voiced Sunderland and is now at Middlesbrough, stood out to me with little nuances of inflexion, emphasis and the structure of their script. I think going to the away games and not even football matches in some cases, is the best for research and learning new tips and tricks for this role.”
From low points to sheer ecstasy, dismay to desperation, Rory has seen it all when it comes to atmospheres at football games. The youngest PA within English football’s 92 teams, Rory’s learning curve has been steep; he’s been to Wembley as PA Announcer on both the winning and losing side. Now, he’s reading names from a team sheet he’d never imagined.
“It’s recently dawned on me the names I’d be potentially reading out this year.
“Number 11… Mo Salah. Number 41… Declan Rice. Number 10… Cole Palmer. Number 9 for Manchester City… Erling Haaland.
“Even for us. Number 34… Granit Xhaka. That is a monumental signing and luckily for me, one that I can add a bit of emphasis to every time it comes around to reading his name aloud.”
A PA Announcer’s nightmare…
One new aspect that has caused Rory to tweak his style slightly was the introduction of VAR at the Stadium of Light.
A natural line in the sand for the journey from the depths of League One to the Premier League that Sunderland, Rory and 46,000 matchgoing fans find themselves on is the introduction of VAR. A notorious entity first experienced against Brentford at home earlier in the season.
“I’m still getting used to VAR. If anything, I feel I’m a bit late in announcing goals compared to our League One and Championship games. I used to fly off the handle during those days because I’d be able to check the linesman, the fourth official and referee for any signals before jumping on the mic.
“Now, I tend to hold back until the ball has reached the centre circle for kick off before I announce the goal scorer. We have a specific volume fader for VAR that is taped up to the max on the sound system that we’re not allowed to touch. It’s the volume for the Referee Control Room 250 miles away. I’m so scared of giving it big guns for Stockley Park to come across the PA system: “VAR check ongoing”, and then it’s overruled.”
In the space of five years, the city and the club are in a totally different world, a universe where investment and infrastructure, both on and off the field, have unleashed a new identity for Wearside. The club and the city have had a hard time in recent years, but there’s a feeling of unity swirling around Wearside that translates from the pitch to the stands and flows into the streets of the city.
“Stepping outside the front door and walking to the stadium on matchdays is electric. You can feel that sense of optimism and joy radiating through the people. It’s funny looking back at what has happened in these past four years since I first held the mic. How this club has written a new chapter for itself in the Premier League. The people at the club and the players who have come and gone for better and for worse. The seasons we’ve struggled through and the lack of harmony has resulted in a euphoric feeling that seems to pocket around the city at the moment. I think the upcoming derby will serve as a timely reminder to people watching that Sunderland is mighty and on the rise again.”
Readying the war cry…
With the Wear-Tyne Derby mere days away, Rory is planning a few extra additions to his script as preparations to welcome visitors from 12 miles up the road to the Stadium of Light continue. There’s a panto-villain character bubbling beneath the surface for Rory. He’s ready to deliver a biased, partisan performance to the crowd.
“I think I won’t be anything other than biased during a derby. I remember a negative comment from a Southampton fan that actually became great feedback for me. I got sent a link to a Southampton fan forum page that said something along the lines of:
‘Uh, their announcer, by the way. Mumbling our players’ names out and doing lusty proclamations for their team. Disgrace.’
“I remember thinking, ‘Well, yeah, it’s my job.’” That comment stuck with me and sort of set the tone of what I wanted to bring to the role moving forward.”
“With the derby, I think it’ll be the quickest I’ll ever read a team sheet out. A speed run. I might challenge myself to see how quickly I can get through their line-up.
“I’m going to be purposefully quiet as well. Because that Stadium will be shaking and that hostile energy will be heard by their team. I don’t want my booming voice to take away from what our crowd want to tell Newcastle United that day.”
A few days later, on a cold and windy Sunday, Wearside burned with a ferocious passion of red and white.
Fans lined the city centre from as early as 6:30am and families arrived around the Stadium of Light with no plans other than to soak up the atmosphere and cheer their team on at 2:00pm. Friends hugged, drank and chanted songs about Niall Quinn’s disco pants and a Gary Rowell world outside of pubs. Some Mackems lined either side of the St Peter’s train station to let travelling Geordies know what they thought of them and their football team.
In an unexpected twist, Sunderland had plans. Plans to make the derby as hostile as possible. The club refused to show the away club crest on the scoreboard and nor would they reference their club name at any point during their visit. Rory wasn’t given an away team sheet. He was told not to mention them at any point. To not give credence to their existence.
As both teams emerge from the tunnel, pitchside, Rory is cool, calm and collected. His SAFC jumper is peeking out of his coat as he clicks the ‘On’ button to his microphone and brings the Sunderland teamsheet up to eye level. Showtime.
The voice of the Stadium of Light led his 46,000-strong Mackem orchestra through the Sunderland team to rapturous cheer. Rory brought it to a head with a lusty proclamatory pronunciation of Sunderland captain, Granit Xhaka and ignited the fire with a few extra decibels during Wise Men Say as Sunderland lined up on the pitch.
There was no mention, no speed run of the visitor’s starting eleven dribbling out of the PA system as Rory had originally expected. Instead, they were shunned, ignored and left to deal with a cacophony of toxicity, hiss and ferality of the crowd.
Minutes before the final whistle for a famous 1-0 win for Sunderland, Rory Fallow is calmly walking through the Stadium of Light. Heading to the gantry, he nonchalantly opens doors, ascends staircases in a normal fashion and is enjoying a serene realisation that Wearside is about to burst into euphoric celebrations that only a derby win can create.
Making his way through the corridors of the Jimmy Montgomery Stand, Rory’s physical and mental state is at the other end of the spectrum compared to a wild night in May, eight months earlier. Today, the security team are not barking down his earpiece and he does not have to plead with fans to get off the pitch.
“At full time. I was taking in all the celebrations around me. I felt like I was floating through the stadium. It felt like a special moment, like a crossroads for our club and our upward journey. I made my way to the gantry, entered the booth and put together a playlist of tunes to match the scenes in the crowd. It felt like I was DJing at Wearside’s biggest party.” Said Rory.
All words and images: Matthew Thomas
THE ATLANTIC DISPATCH STUDIO
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The Atlantic Dispatch Studio is the creative arm of our publication — a full-service content studio built on storytelling, design, and culture.
The voice of the Stadium of Light
All words and images: Matthew Thomas ‘Get to the fucking
The Voice of the Stadium of Light
Words and images: Matthew Thomas From his first steps around
Shades of Azzurro: A Photographic Journey Through Italy’s Football Soul
From Venice’s campielli to the streets of Palermo: adidas and
THE ATLANTIC DISPATCH STUDIO
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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.
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
All words and images by Guirec Munier
Guirec Munier made his way to Tynecastle Stadium, home of Heart of Midlothian, to witness a club who are in the midst of a dreamlike campaign, which could see them break the Old Firm monopoloy which has existed in Scotland for over 40 years.
Usually, we don’t choose our family — but we do choose our friends. In the case of Hearts, the two are one: inseparable, intertwined, beating with the same pulse beneath maroon scarves and winter skies.
As I stepped off Lothian Bus number 25 and walked up Gorgie Road towards Tynecastle Park, something unspeakable — almost unfathomable — hung in the air, as though the bricks themselves carried memory. A quiet sense of fraternity was palpable — not loud or ostentatious, but steady and enveloping, like a familiar embrace. The warmth of the Scottish people isn’t an empty phrase or a tired cliché for visitors; it reveals itself in passing words and knowing smiles — and goes beyond politeness to become something closer to communion.
To be honest, I hadn’t done my homework before heading to Hearts v Livingston. I had no idea that Heart of Midlothian is the largest fan-owned club in the UK. The atmosphere around the stadium suddenly made perfect sense, as if the stands themselves were breathing with collective ownership and pride. Hearts is a family affair — not metaphorically, but structurally, spiritually, almost genetically. And family is sacred.
Transgenerational, and with a strong feminine presence, the crowd of the Gorgie Boys resembles a photograph taken at a family reunion — slightly chaotic, deeply affectionate, wonderfully ordinary. Men, women, and children gather not merely to watch a match, but to share a slice of life, to pass down traditions, to stitch memory into the fabric of a Saturday afternoon.
All words and images by Guirec Munier
