Well, what a game that was on Monday, and what an electric atmosphere at the stadium.
After the match, when I went to take down my flag, I was besieged by Russians; men, women and families all wanting to have their photo taken with it. Eventually, I had to take it away though, as I'd arranged to meet a couple of guys from the hostel to have a drink and share a taxi back after the match.
That's what it's like with lone travellers. We meet up for a while, arrange to meet somewhere before or after the match and in between we please ourselves, which suits us all.
The England fans were fantastic and I was just behind England's first-half goal. After Harry Kane's second, we were ecstatic. I was hugging complete strangers. I think we all had the same feeling: that we had shaken off some psychological strait-jacket that had plagued us for a long time.
The Russians too had been affected by the atmosphere of the game. For the rest of the night they were congratulating us, stopping us in the street and asking for photos, talking to us, taking selfies with us.
We basked in glory. For the first time in a long time I was happy to wear my colours. I was so elated I couldn't sleep for hours. The next day I was still on Cloud Nine. We all were.
People were still approaching me, asking for photos. Yes, all we had done was beat Tunisia. But it was not just about the result, but the whole entertainment package, supplied not just by the players but the fans too and especially the England fans.
I'll miss Volgograd. Like a friend you have only just got to know, who you know you'll never see again. I'll miss the genuine friendliness of the locals and their eagerness to help me. I'll miss the Russian guys, who look tough, but which is a veneer that quickly cracks to reveal warm personalities beneath.
Yes, I liked Volgograd very much, but I knew I would. They call Russia by 'Mother Russia' - and Volgograd is her heart.
The train north to Nizhny Novgorod was made up of a 60-berth carriage, which is about a mile long. Of course, my carriage just had to be number one and I had to walk the mile to reach it.
The train was newish and air-conditioned so it was great to be out of that sun. I felt like I was floating in a small heaven of luxury.
But the train-ride is 13 hours long and we set off at noon and won't arrive at Novgorod till 3am, or so I thought...
When I woke up, I saw we had stopped at a city and assumed it was Novgorod. I grabbed my rucksack and jumped off the train. It turns out that we do not arrive at Novgorod at 3am, but 3pm. I was either misinformed, or more likely I misunderstood. But I was told by the stewardess, again in sign language, it wasn't, that there were still hours to go. Oh, how I laughed. I returned to the carriage, which was a mass of people in various sleeping postures.
By the time I arrived, I'd been on the train for about 28 hours but I knew I was on the right train as there were a few English people in the buffet.
On arrival in Novgorod, I also realised my first big blunder. I asked someone for directions to the street of my hostel and was told I was in the wrong city!
It seems there are two Novgorods, and my hostel was a 1000 miles away in the other Novgorod!
I wonder if anyone has made the same mistake but in reverse and gone to the other Novgorod to watch the match? I bet they have. This is what the World Cup's all about, eh!
After looking around, I managed to find a room above a tattoo shop. It seems like they've done it up just for the World Cup and I was their first client, followed quickly by Argentinians and Colombians.
They did not speak a word of English and we negotiated everything by sign language, even the fact they wanted to be paid in cash and that I would pay a deposit and fetch the rest later - 25,000 roubles for five nights.
There was a pleasant surprise, when I went to pay the balance on what I thought I owed, 18,000 roubles, and they gave me 10,000 back.
So, a room with a scenic-view, a double bed, a TV (though in Russian only), a large window-sill to dry my smalls in the sun, able to squeeze two cups of tea from a single Lipton's teabag, situated next to the railway station, for five nights in World Cup month, and all for just 12,000 roubles. Life is sweet! What more can a man with good health and limited means want?
But one memory will haunt me. I was having a meal when a boy of about ten years came in and cupped his hands at me. He was the saddest boy I had ever seen. He had a pale, drawn face, was thin and scrawny and clearly very afraid of something. I bought him a meal, which he chose, and he went away thanking me profusely.
