ALAN SHEARER has never been as closely marked in his life.

There we were, aboard Blackburn Rovers' charter flight from Blackpool to Moscow, sitting on the tarmac at Sheremetyevo Airport when the "defenders" moved in.

Armed police surrounded the plane as we were forced to wait around 30 minutes before permission was finally granted to disembark.

Normal procedure apparently for special flights like the Rovers charter to their Champions' League clash with Spartak. Welcome to Moscow!

Following a two-hour delay for "technical reasons" and the discovery that the International dialling code for Russia is 007 - there had already been a strong suspicion that this would be no ordinary trip.

And we still hadn't quite made it onto Russian soil.

There was, you see, the small matter of the customs declaration to complete, with one of the questions demanding to know what kind of weapons and ammunition we were carrying.

Shearer's right foot was definitely not considered an appropriate reply.

Incidentally, the authorities also wanted to know if you were carrying any loterry (sic) tickets. Anthea Turner would never have got through.

Still, the people were polite and courteous, even if the customs are quaint.

And, after trudging across the snow-covered pathways to the waiting coach, a bottle of Uncle Jack's special brew, courtesy of Bushy's Brewery in the Isle of Man - the owner is a Rovers fan - made the journey into Moscow much more palatable.

Earlier in the day, when our pilot had announced: "Good morning ladies and gentlemen sorry about the delay" and then gave us the good news - "there are snow showers in Moscow and it's minus five" the groans had been audible.

But the really good news when we got here last night was that it was, in fact, only minus four. Almost tropical!

So, into the city on the busy dual carriageway and its not true that everyone in Russia drives a Lada or a Skoda. Not quite everyone.

The views were limited. Imagine taking a sight-seeing tour of a sprawling housing estate. There are said to be 13 million people in Moscow and most of them must live in the block after block after block of apartments which stand guard either side of the highway which runs from the airport to the city centre.

But the drive was trouble-free, the hotel is quite luxurious and up to the highest western standards.

Once you can get in. The coaches carrying press and VIP supporters came to a sudden stop, just a matter of yards from our destination - the way barred by a set of padlocked gates.

No problem? Well, not really. The man with the key was summoned, but the lock was ice-bound. Setting fire to that day's edition of the local Moscow newspaper, he and a colleague tried to thaw things out.

Some 20 minutes later, encouraged by an exasperated Ian St John, out here for ITV, an iron bar was produced and the offending lock and chain finally dismantled!

Including the three-hour time difference, it had been 12 hours since our arrival at Blackpool for what should have been a routine journey.

But you learn quickly in Russia that all is not always what it seems, sometimes quite the opposite.

The hotel won't accept US dollars, the usual currency brought in by visitors. But they are quite happy to change your money into roubles.

Approach the bar and attempt to pay, however, and the message is short and to the point - they do not accept cash.

Okay, charge your purchase to the room and the bill to be signed comes along in . . . dollars! Franklin D Roosevelt once said: "I don't know a good Russian from a bad Russian. I can tell a good Frenchman from a bad Frenchman. I can tell a good Italian from a bad Italian. I know a good Greek when I see one.

"But I don't understand the Russians."

I'm with you Frankie.

Cocooned in the hotel from what must be the harsh realities of life for most Muscovites, a quick step outside soon shows the other side of the coin, not to mention the cold.

ASICS have provided the players with a full set of thermals for tomorrow night's game.

They are going to need them, but it will be interesting to see just who dares to wear the tights.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.