The mobile phones that had brought much joy in Feyenoord and meant that the fans knew the news from Kiev before the players did were once again much in evidence. This time howeve,r the word was starting to spread that conditions were less than ideal in the Nou Camp and pitch inspections were being planned.

While some fans remained near the Ramblas awaiting news, many joined the exodus of those leaving for the ground and were ultimately to gain admission only to get a good soaking and enjoy a grandstand view of players and officials sheltering under umbrellas and vainly attempting to make footballs roll rather than float across the pitch.

That the game wouldn't go ahead wasn't in doubt, but the major problem then revolved around when the restaged tie would go ahead. As is usually the case confusion was the order of the day and numerous stories were relayed across the city and via contacts in England with TV and radio updates.

(Never mind rebooking hotels and flights or buying more beers, the mobile phone bills will probably be crippling enough to ensure that many Tyneside bairns get little more than an apple and and orange for Christmas).

At the time, a decision to postpone the game for 24 hours seemed like a brave one given the state of the playing surface but those aware of the local weather patterns were to be proved correct and the pitch was almost perfect the following night.

That was of course of little consequence to a great many of the travelling toon fans, many of whom were unable to delay their return due to work, financial or other commitments and some of whom faced the prospect of leaving Spain just before kickoff on the Wednesday - we subsequently heard of one such party who boarded their flight with the score at 1-1 and were informed in mid-air by the trolley dolly that the toon were 2-1 ahead. Now that's cruel.

So, as the disconsolate away fans drifted away from the ground, or shrugged their shoulders and ordered more cervezas, por favor, the battle for plane seats had begun.

Internet cafes were the order of the day for many, while others went directly to the airport to sort out return travel face to face. And while the organisers of the official club trips re-planned the fates of their parties, for independent operators big and small an unwanted problem needed resolving. Never try to stand between a Geordie and his team at times like this.

The locals of course were barely evident, most having not bothered to set off for the game at all. 

Wednesday:

Conversations you don't want to have: toon fan in England calling toon fan still in Spain: 

"So is it still raining then?"

"Don't be daft, the sun is beating down here - there are people surfing on the beach at the bottom of the Ramblas."

click.....brrr....

The morning after the night before and a full day to contemplate hangovers, enjoy/endure a spot of shopping or try and think up an excuse to placate an unsympathetic employer who wonders why you've not turned up at work.

A large chunk of the support had obviously disappeared overnight, while those remaining seemed a little more sombre. At least it was easier to get served in the Irish bar....

If it were possible there was even less local interest in the game, aside from a local workman passing a comment directed at those in black and white as he drove past, dementedly hooting his horn.

Our favourite though was a gaggle of school bairns being shepherded (bad choice of word that) up the Ramblas in crocodile formation, all singing "Newcastle!" at the tops of their voices as we walked past. Presumably they were from the Espanyol part of town....

Seeing Roger Tames enter the same eaterie prompted a prompt departure to the ground and the same mad metro journey as the previous night, with commuters interspersing goggle-eyed expressions of incredulity with studied aloofness at the sight of Tyneside's finest on tour.

A quick beer in a deserted ale house and then up to the ground, where we were granted admission then led around to our stairway by the Barcelona constabulary's answer to Peter Sellers - "you must come quickly!" as he attempted to quick march a squad of toonies across a car park. And failed.

After a level 7ish climb to the open upper tier, it became apparent that more toon fans than expected had managed to stay the extra day and there was certainly an air of whatever the geordie version of Dunkirk spirit is in the air. 

We were caught with an early goal which temporarily took the collective wind out of the sails of players and fans, but both reacted positively and when back on level terms caused the home side some problems. A few anti-Van Gaal and Gaspart banners were in evidence and the appearance of the manager on the touchline elicited the second biggest crowd reaction of the night - the biggest being when the scoreboard flashed up that Real Madrid were losing.

A small outbreak of panolada (white hanky waving) followed Shola's leveller, but the militant home fans were temporarily soothed by further goals from Barca. Defiant sums up the mood of our lot, who kept up the support throughout.

However the killer moment was the third goal, which punctured any hopes of a sensation only seconds after Ameobi had one cleared off the line. It was all for pride after that, on and off the pitch. 

Shame really, as we were never outclassed and played a full part in proceedings. One or two chances did go astray for Barca as we tried desperately to get back in the game, but overall Senor Robson could leave justifiably proud of the effort shown by his team.

Given - again looked in pain every time he kicked the ball, appears to be hiding an injury.
Griffin - certainly knew he'd been in a game as Overmars pulled him back and forward, but resisted the temptation to dive in and held his ground to good effect most of the time.
O'Brien - hard-working display and a confidence booster be preferred to the Greek.
Hughes - happier in the middle back on the ground where he got his big break.
Bernard - much improved from his mediocre league displays thus far.
Solano - great surging run for the goal but still not in the set-piece groove.
Dyer - shame that his far post shenanigans were so obvious. Played well in fits and starts.
Speed - typical battling and unflamboyant but vital covering as we tried to make a game of it before the killer third goal.
Robert - faded badly after looking early on as if he was in the mood to impress. Quite who we weren't sure...us? Robson? Van Gaal? the Catalans?
LuaLua - overshadowed by Shola, no more than the odd meaningful touch. Hampered by being faced with speedy defenders.
Ameobi - see below.

Shola was our man of the match by the length of the Ramblas, and we're delighted to record that. We've never been slow to criticise him in the past for being quite frankly a bit of a plank, but tonight he undoubtedly grasped an opportunity to establish his reputation. 

We had our doubts about how he would fare against quality players, but he seemed to have won a mental battle as well as the physical test. Self-belief from the lad saw him rise to the challenge of leading the line, and in the process he showed a few new tricks.

Daft as it may sound his balance was better, in that he stayed on his feet and looked less like "Bambi on ice" (as he was christened by one fan). He's also been getting some heading practice and goal was as cool as anything big Al would have come up with.

Had I not been here I'd have struggled to believe that Shola had it in him to compete with European veterans in such an assured manner, and show such a level of maturity. That he did it for the full 90 minutes was nothing less than sensational.

He fully deserved the applause that greeted the players at the final whistle from the toon sections and although the result wasn't particularly memorable, the overall mood of the departing toon fans seemed to be that this had been a special trip. 

Like the Bilbao adventure a few years ago, the result was almost secondary to the experience, and while the Catalans didn't take to the streets to welcome us like the Basques did, there were enough good memories to take home and at least a hope that we can make our mark when Barca come to toon in March.

Before that though we've got the Leverkusen expedition where tickets will be limited. Hopefully though, the world and his significant other will turn out for the San Siro and make it another geordie party night - you simply cannot miss out on nights like these. 

Qualification looks even more unlikely than it did before the Inter home game, but then we've been written off before and two wins against a struggling Bayer would certainly make things...interesting.

PS: To those who had to go home, we did give them a cheer for you. Gutted that you weren't there to see it though. Only in the world of Newcastle United, eh?