Two things I'm certainly not used to when watching Liverpool are visas and snow, but we landed in the Russian capital in a snow blizzard, before waiting in long queues while the highly disagreeable staff examined our visas and documentation. As we waited, a supporter in fancy dress featuring an enormous Afro wig kept us entertained, even forcing a smile from the resolute Russian passport officers, to which the Liverpudlian in question duly reacted by saying 'Don't laugh at me, I've been in the green house for six weeks growing this!' Maybe you had to be there.

Our over-informative guide dropped us at our accommodation, the imaginatively-named 'Hotel Russia' - officially the biggest and unofficially the least-organised hotel in Europe. But with a bar on every floor and a superb view of the Kremlin, the 600 Scousers making use of the facilities could hardly complain.

About 4.00pm we decided to go for a quick pint in the hotel bar, an establishment in which we could still be found some fourteen hours later. After four or five hours in the same spot, we decided to risk life and limb and head out into the big smoke and explore what the Russian capital had to offer after dark, despite stories of Spartak hooligans on the rampage looking for English fans. As we made our way across the Red Square an almost overbearingly friendly Muscovite, eager to swap scarves, stopped me in my tracks. So the deal was done, much to his delight, after which we made our way to find a place to sample some authentic Russian cuisine. After a meal of mashed potato, onion, warm cucumber, toast, and what I could only hope was some kind of meat we headed back to the hotel in search of some laxatives, and a pint or two to wash down the 'food.'

As we sauntered towards St Basil's Cathedral we inadvertently walked through a large group of local men, and, as they approached, it became obvious that they weren't interested in improving international relations. 'Hooligan!' one of them yelled at me. But we got out of that situation alive, which was a bonus. We decided to head back to the hotel bar given that the surrounding area was disappointingly quiet. As we approached the hotel entrance however, a few fans I apparently met in a bar in Valencia dragged us into a taxi, with the promise of an all-singing all-dancing reds bar close by, which they had decided I would be the instigator of.

Some thirty minutes later we poured out of the ageing Lada, met up with a few fans and did the rounds in a couple of bars, before ending up in a fairly plush all night cafZ bar. We swapped stories and drank the night away, with flags hanging from the walls, the pick of the bunch being Oaksey's effort, 'Reds go Spartak, Blues go Spar', which featured on CNN and ITV after an illegal appearance at a Liverpool training session in the Dynamo ground earlier that day.

It was about 3am when we got back to the hotel, which was a minor miracle in itself, and it was then that the night really got going. People met, fresh from different adventures, eager to relay their accounts, and continue the flow of ale. Subsequently it wasn't long before the singing started and the flags were out again, despite protests from the unbearably unfriendly bar staff. As the singing became more raucous, so the subject matter of the vocal expression deteriorated, with songs of the glory of the Anfield Road replaced with chants in celebration of the Munich air disaster, where some of Man United's Busby babes perished. This is a rare subject matter, in that Liverpool fans are divided in their views. I've seen Liverpudlians fight amongst themselves at Old Trafford in years gone by because of opinions on the subject. Some take offence, whilst others see it as an expression of loyalty. I am of the former persuasion, yet am not arrogant enough to force my opinions on Scousers who devote as much of their life as me to the club. One fan who was similarly opposed to such songs however took his protests too far to the wrong group of fans, and was duly punished. But save for that minor altercation, the night was a huge success.

Just before 6am we decided, or rather the hotel staff decided, that enough was enough, and we left the bar in search of our hotel room. Looking for one door from six thousand is never an easy task, yet it took five minutes after fourteen hours drinking, compared to twenty minutes in an almost totally sober state shortly after checking in. We woke the next morning not quite sure where we were, but the Russian television network soon reminded us that we were a long way from Scotty Road. And as we joined the rest of the fans, it became clear that there was an air of anticipation in the camp, for this was match day on another European away trip. I can tell you, there's nothing quite like it in the world.

After taking pictures of our flags erected in the shadows of sacred monuments in Moscow's Red square (much to the annoyance of the numerous Russian tramps and policemen in the area), we went for a meal and a drink in a Sushi bar. None of us are quite sure how or why we ended up there, but it seemed to make the day more amusing. It was there were one of our group revealed his ageing flag, which simply read 'Kemlyn Rd', with a Hammer and Sickle sown on. The Kemlyn Road end of Anfield was renamed the Centenary stand for obvious reasons ten years ago, to give you an idea of the age of this masterpiece, and there can't have been a more fitting venue to display the banner than Moscow's Kremlin. Conscious of the time, we soon removed the flags before heading back to the hotel bar for some heavy refreshment.

The fifteen miles to Dynamo Moscow's ground took ninety minutes by a facility-less coach, by which time my bladder was damaged beyond repair. More importantly, we were left with only twenty minutes to put three large banners up, and the police in the ground blocked our every move, which did not aid our plight. We were not to be deterred however, and were rewarded with a television appearance, so I'm told. The ground was eerily quiet - there seemed to be more soldiers and policemen in the ground than fans, with a pathetic attendance of less than fifteen thousand.

The game was soon underway, and reminiscent of Kiev last season, this year we became the first English team to win this time in the Russian capital, thanks to a Michael Owen hattrick. But playing on a terrible pitch in Baltic conditions, we started poorly and even went one down on twenty- six minutes, with a goal from some Russian fella. Baros had two good chances early on, neither which he was able to capitalise upon, but we had to wait only six minutes for an equalising goal. St. Owen headed his first from a Jamie Carragher cross that seemed to be aided by the ball bobbling off the turf.

With a little over twenty minutes remaining, with Liverpool in full control, Owen scored his second after skipper Sami Hyypia had headed against the crossbar, with Michael following up from close-range. The victory was then rounded off a minute from time as Owen completed his hattrick, knocking the ball in from close-range from a Danny Murphy pass, before fighting the referee for the match ball after the final whistle. 'Spartak 1, Dynamo 3' the Daily Mirror reflected the following morning.

It wasn't a virtuoso Liverpool performance, though in truth it didn't need to be. Spartak performed marginally better than they did at Anfield last week, but were still mediocre opposition at best. Importantly we got the win, which, with two disappointing defeats in our last two European away games, the die-hard travelling contingent and indeed the team sorely needed.

The following day I was trying to find the words to summarise the week's events, and read the following quote in the press from Monsieur Houllier that seems to do the trick: "The win in Leeds was an anniversary in itself but to come here and win after falling behind is a great sign for the future. It shows we are raising our standards and are getting better. I wanted to do as well as Phil Thompson did without me in Kiev last year. He won 2-1 so 3-1 is even better!" Indeed it is, Gerard.

Meanwhile on Saturday highflying Tottenham came to Anfield confident of making an upset, and ending our winning run. The Spurs side had former Liverpool captain Jamie Redknapp in their side, who was given a great reception by the home fans. That was where the niceties stopped however.

The game was something of a stalemate in the first half, with both sides looking neat and tidy, retaining possession well without really looking like threatening their opponents' goal. Indeed, clear-cut chances were few and far between, at least until the final twenty minutes. Then, with nineteen minutes remaining, Danny Murphy beat two men on the edge of the Tottenham penalty area, and curled the ball around the Spurs defence who were inadvertently blocking the view of keeper Kasey Keller.

The Londoners looked to have stolen a point, much to the delight of the travelling support, when Richards headed home from close range with eight minutes left. Yet Liverpool clearly refused to accept the one-all draw that was on offer, and pushed for a winner. In the end it was European footballer of the year Michael Owen, who again proved to be the difference between Liverpool and their opponents. With five minutes remaining, the number ten broke down the left, taking on Chris Perry before being upended by the otherwise impressive Irish fullback Steven Carr in the penalty area.

The crowd raucously celebrated the winning of the penalty, before realising that Michael Owen, complete with his abysmal scoring record from twelve yards, had placed the ball on the spot. It was clear that the fans were more nervous than him, as although it wasn't the greatest penalty you'll ever see, importantly it hit the back of the net. So we sent another London team home broken-hearted having denied the Cockneys a draw they may have felt they deserved, as Chelsea did when they came to Anfield recently.

But while the press will keep talking about the 'invincible Arsenal' and the soon to-be-rejuvenated Man United, labelling Liverpool lucky, we'll just get on with winning games, letting our football do our talking. It might not be pretty - but as the old adage goes, playing poorly and winning is the hallmark of champions. Talking of champions, we have the visit of the reigning titleholders of Europe's best league to look forward to this Wednesday, and I can't wait to see us exact some revenge for the embarrassing defeat Valencia inflicted on us at their place in September. But one thing's for certain, their extravagant keeper Canizares will get an even better reception than the Kop normally dish out to visiting keepers following his admission that Liverpool are Britain's most famous club. How insightful those Spanish footballers are.

On to Red Diary 12

Joel Rookwood

The views expressed here are those of the author and are not necessarily endorsed by Soccerphile Ltd.

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