There was little that shocked me about Saturday night in Paris.
As someone who travels regularly from this country to watch football I’ve become conditioned to expect that my presence in certain places will be seen as an ugly threat that needs nullifying.
I arrived at the Stade de France in plenty of time alongside both sets of good-spirited supporters only to be met by police vans parked to kettle us into a tiny space in an underpass, where a small band of stewards were overwhelmed and local gangs were given a golden ticket to attack and fleece thousands of sitting ducks.
