It was an ocean of black and white, washed from every street, avenue, estate and tower block of this joyous city, a force-of-nature convergence on the tarmacked tributary running the mile between St James’ Park and the Town Moor.
You would not have known what lay beneath their feet, for all that was visible was the swaying sea of heads, bopping and arching in search of sight of their heroes. Old men, young women. Old women, young men. Teenagers. Babies. Goodness, one fan had brought their dog, cradled like a newborn!
The Haymarket bus station, ordinarily a hub of double-deckers and exhaust fumes, was decommissioned for the day.