Dobry den (hello) from the Ukrainian capital of Kiev, scene of our latest lazurus-like reincarnation..... somehow a team totally lacking in firepower managed to cast off a two goal deficit thanks to the nineties equivalent of Bobby Moncur, that man John Beresford again.

Another venture to the far-flung corners of the Champions League Empire meant that only the truly foolhardy, sorry loyal made the journey to "Little Russia". For those of us who travelled to the climactic Croatian conquering a few weeks before the story was much the same: either have a couple of nights away with Keith Barrett and the redoubtable Toon Travel, make your own way or take Freddie Fletcher's Airbus charabanc.

The opportunity to get there and back in a day meant giving club 1892 three hundred notes for the privilege of checking at 5:30am, and the usual faces were propping up the bar before daybreak. 

After an incident-free three hour flight, Kiev was reached at 13:00 local time, the only annoyance having been the unfunny Jim Carrey vehicle "Dumb and Dumber" about a man who has to stop lying and face the consequences - inspired by the bloke who set up Sunderland's ticket office allegedly...

Arrival at Kiev was a somewhat elongated process as the customs and immigration boys and girls took nearly two hours to process our planeload (the lass who stamped my passport looked like the little one out of the Krankies, not very fandabidozee.) 

However, the airport bar did a healthy trade until everyone was processed and even sold bottles of Caffreys - how civilised. Eventually a fleet of coaches took us 25 miles to Kiev with the bonus of an official guide extolling the virtues of independence and pointing out items of interest en route: grim monolithic tower blocks giving way to views up the river Dnepr, which freezes solid in the Winter. 

The city itself is surrounded by a green belt and as 60% of it was battered to rubble by the Jormans, is a mixture of various styles of architecture. Predominantly Gothic Stalinist, broken up by plentiful fountains, a large metal rainbow (apparently symbolising Russian/Ukrainian friendship) and the impressive 190ft War Memorial statue. 

(This is in danger of turning into a pretentious Sunday supplement travelogue, so i'll move swiftly on to the drink and footie content.)

Bars, while not exactly plentiful, were tucked away down stairs etc. and beers ranged from £1-£3 depending on the hipness of the surroundings. Large grocery stores of the old fashioned - non serve yourself style offered a bewildering range of spirits and champagnes, local vodka starting at around 40p a bottle.

As the day wore on and darkness fell, the temperature dropped steadily to around freezing point and the lazy amongst us went the couple of miles to the ground on the buses (again with the official guide pointing out more flats....)

In much the same way as Zagreb, a large military presence greeted our arrival and we were ushered into our section past a crowd of Dynamo fans half-heartedly trying to look intimidating. 

A lack of programmes and souvenirs proved a problem solved by five minutes of waffling to an official looking soldier and pointing at my hat. Eventually a blind eye was turned and I was able to wander right round the stadium as the crowds built up. 

The locals seem to be keen on home-made programmes; three different ones in evidence and others finding different versions elsewhere. The official Champs League programme was much the same as the Barca version, except it appeared to be printed on blotting paper. 

The obligatory scarf-swapping and incomprehensible banter was enjoyed with friendly locals and I eventually managed to get back in with the Toon fans who by now included various yanks, expat paddies and The Moscow Mags.

Darren partly atoned by clearing one off the line moments later, but half time couldn't come quick enough, for some desperately needed calming down and re-organisation of the visiting side. 

It was at this point that the travellers found out the reason for the particularly lush verdant greenery around the ground - there being no toilet facilities, but an awful lot of giant bushes.

Baldy Kets replaced the struggling Lee for the second half and although the crowd continued their Mexican waves unabated (shades of Bilbao at home) Kiev saw less of the ball as time wore on. 

However they still forced two more great saves from the assured Given, while United struggled to make positive passes to put the Ukrainians under any sort of pressure. 

Barton continued to take up good positions and generally run himself daft, while Gillespie was back his usual underachieving ways. In fairness Newcastle desperately needed a focus to the attack as Tomasson was never allowed time or space.

Just as time seemed to running out, Bez stuck out a foot and the ball passed through the Kiev keeper, seemingly by osmosis. 

The home side seemed taken aback by this and the crowd were noticeably quieter. The travelling fans were back in good voice, and more than one repeated the classic Joe Harvey quote about getting a goal and foreigners collapsing like a pack of cards. 

Straight from the kick off United headed back upfield and continued to enjoy possession without troubling keeper Alexander Shovkovski. Finally the ball came to Beresford and he belted it in off a couple of dozen deflections, the ball seemingly hanging in the air until plunging into the corner of the goal, whereupon mayhem ensued in the away enclosure.

The silenced locals had one more near miss to cheer, but started heading into the night rather quickly as the euphoric Toonies ran through the whole repertoire, in particular "Geordies here, Geordies there etc.." as the final whistle blew and the lads on the pitch celebrated a totally unthinkable point and another half million in prize money.

It's pleasing to report many locals stayed to congratulate us on the fightback and handshakes and pleasantries were exchanged with them and the uniformed presence, now noticeably more relaxed.

Back to the airport, there was more fruitless standing around, but this was apparently to allow the team and pressmen to get away and they duly appeared to a round of applause, some sheepishly (most of the buggers) happily (Bez) and looking absolutely delighted (a beaming King Kenny.) 

Once we were allowed onto our plane after three circuits of the terminal and innumerable boarding pass checks, the flight back was uneventful and Newcastle was reached at 04:30am. 

Normal people then went home to bed, while I showered, changed, breakfasted and caught to the first train to Derby for a day at work. It's now 14:30 and I feel absolutely fine...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....