I don’t remember much about what took place at the Stade de France on 12 July but I remember most of what happened afterwards – it was epic
It would have been about five in the morning, Monday 13 July 1998. I was on a dodgem car in the Place de la Bastille and very drunk. I had just bitten into a merguez sausage and burning red fat had splattered all over the front of my shirt.
I was still a half-hour’s walk from my hotel. I was expecting a call in three hours from CNN to talk its worldwide...
Read this story at The Guardian