The man with the cap was sitting at a small table, with a pen and paper lying on it. The table was under a plum tree. He patted the seat next to him. I sat obediently. He poured some liquid from his bottle into two medium-sized glasses.

“Bulgaria,” he said pointing at himself and swallowed his drink. “England,” he said pointing at me and indicated with his eyebrows and eyes that I should celebrate this fact. I barely tasted the liquid as it slid down my throat, but somehow I knew it was quite strong. He filled up the glasses straightaway. Oh hell, I thought, this guy is a professional drinker. I tried to work out, while I still could, how many glasses would be in the bottle and thought there would be around ten, five for him and five for me. I started to eat my bread roll vigorously.

After a couple of minutes grinning at each other, the man suddenly wrote down on a piece of paper the following soccer result: Bulgaria 2 England 0, Sofia, 1974. He drank the contents of his glass triumphantly and said “Hahahaha”. I picked up the paper and nodded my head,”No, no.” Such things are the other way around in Bulgaria, nodding your head means you disagree with someone, shaking it means acknowledgement.