Βι¶ΉΤΌΕΔ

Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, England

People keep asking me how I'm getting on with my producer, Garth. After all, we are spending up to 18 hours a day in each other's company.

I tell them that now we've got over him not knowing his right from his left at roundabouts, the relationship is going swimmingly.

The truth is, we are bound together by a mutual hatred for the lady on our Sat Nav system. Some of the routes she takes us beggar belief. We've actually started taking the wrong turn just to spite her.

Thankfully, the 200-mile route from Birmingham to Newcastle-Upon-Tyne was pretty straight forward.

The Turkish community in the north east is small in number with an estimated 500 of the UK's 300,000 based in the area. We used a Facebook site to find the ones we met up with at the city centre Sports CafΓ© on Wednesday night. They get together on a regular basis for social occasions and arrived determined to cheer their team to victory against Switzerland after Saturday's disappointing opener with Portugal.

Our main contact, Unsal Kurtulus, had told me the previous week that English fans lacked passion and that the Turks would provide us with a masterclass. Pre-match, he was as good as his word. Chants of "Ooh-Ah-Turk-aye-eh" were all done with synchronised pogo-ing that wouldn't have looked out of place at a Sex Pistols concert in 1977.

By half time, having shaken their heads in disbelief at the monsoon conditions in Basel, even the most vociferous of them were stony silent. Two Turkish goals later and they were "dad-dancing" in the direction of the Bigg Market.