When in Rome...

In seven hours, at 0400hrs GMT, I leave home on my last jolly boys outing.

Portugal is our destination. The city of Braga to be exact. We're going to watch Spurs play the away leg of their UEFA Cup tie against FC Braga.

I'm not really bothered about the footy, I'm not a Spurs fan. I'm only in it for the cultural experience of a trip to the continent with the boys.

And, as Braga is known as the Rome of Portugal, I'm sure they'll be plenty to keep a culture vulture like me occupied.

The stadium itself is a sight to behold by all accounts. Built, seemingly, into a small valley with a steep rock face behind each goal, spectators only occupy two sides of the ground. A surreal viewing experience awaits us, I suspect.

Then again the surreal can become the norm on these trips, generally as a result of the strict alcohol consumption rules in place.

This is another 'last' for me. My life, at the moment, is full of these milestones. 'Last this, last that', 'this will be the last time I/we do this before we leave for Oz' and so on. Seems to happen almost daily.

Barring deportation, detention or death we return on Saturday morning. Whilst our outings usually last only two or three days they always manage to contain a whole heap of laughs, memories and never-to-be forgotten experiences. I hope and expect this one, as it will be my last, will be no different.

I'll let you know.