Every single one of us has our own story to share about that incredible promotion winning-weekend in London.

This one started in 2017 as relegation from the Premier League was confirmed. Walking back across the bridge into town, my dad, (then 81 years old) said to me that he thought he’d seen his last Premier League game as a Sunderland fan.

On the same day Dan Ballard scored his header against Coventry, my dad celebrated not only our place in the play-off final, but also his 89th birthday.

As we left the ground that night, he broke his pessimistic habit of a lifetime when it comes to all things SAFC and retracted his 2017 prediction and declared that we were going up. This is a big turnaround for him. The phrase that typifies his SAFC pessimism is ‘I’d take a draw now’. Even when we are winning.

He didn’t consider for a moment not going to Wembley. And I have to say, he didn’t miss a beat the whole weekend.

We arrived in Stanmore on Friday afternoon and jumped on the tube to central London and our digs in Piccadilly. We even had the pleasure of sitting with the Little General, Bobby Kerr on the way in. Out to meet the Wise Men Say gang in their regular London pub near Kings Cross. Then off to a brilliant ex-Vaux pub, The Princess Louise in Holborn.

On a side note, this is a group of not only loyal and knowledgeable Sunderland fans but good people as well. There were few Da’s and parents with the group and we weren’t just accepted but engaged with and welcomed. Special mention to Jim who sat and listened to my dad’s stories for about an hour.

Being the age he is, my dad was amazed at the fast pace and youthful profile of what he was seeing on the tube, in the pubs and on the streets of London, He stayed with it, mind.

On the day of the game, we arrived early-ish on Wembley Way (I think they call it Olympic Way now), about 12:30. Sat on a bench halfway up and people watched for a while. We saw Tony Mowbray pass us surrounded by Sunderland fans wanting photos. He didn’t turn any of them away. A true gent. We then experienced what I consider, a peculiar Wembley phenomenon. We met six of the people who sit around us in the East stand. It’s happened several times at Wembley, and I always find it a pleasant if bizarre coincidence.

During the game my dad stood when he had to stand. He sang and waved his flag. At 1-1 he was questioning whether his heart could take it, but a bit of deep breathing calmed him down. Then up stepped Tommy Watson and sent everyone wild. Hugs and kisses and tears and roars. Not knowing how long was left to the final whistle but at the same time, just knowing we’d done it.

Our original plan was to head straight back to Stanmore and off up the M1 but we decided to head back to see my daughter Eleanor, Rory and their WMS mates.

As we got close to the pub, she spotted us a ran down the street to greet us with a tear-fuelled hug. We left them to head off to Trafalgar Square and eventually made it back to the car and the tired but happy journey home.

By the time I dropped him off in Seaham at 2am, my 89-year-old dad had walked up and down thousands of steps, along endless London Underground corridors, walked, talked, drank and sang his way through a memorable weekend.

Sunderland fans are great, so many shook his hand and acknowledged his age or stood up on packed tubes and gave him their seat.

In August, he will happily prove himself wrong and watch Sunderland in the Premier League again.