Friday: England 2-0 Malta, Wembley Stadium. Underwhelming England ease past Malta in a drab game at Wembley. The fact Gareth Southgate’s side failed to register a single shot on target in the opening hour against a team ranked 171st in the world is mitigated slightly by the knowledge that this match was essentially a dead rubber, after England qualified with two games to spare, safe in the knowledge that a point on the road against North Macedonia on Monday evening will be enough to seal top seeding for the Euro 2024 draw in early December. The thrill of anticipation of the draw, and the prospect of Germany next summer far exceeds the entertainment value under Friday night lights at the national stadium.

Saturday: A flight from Luton Airport to Tirana. For £20 one way. Admittedly it gets me the purgatory of the middle seat as I relish the prospect of visiting three new countries and capitals over the coming days. I am picked up by an old university friend that I haven’t seen in a long time at Tirana Airport – which incidentally is far more spacious and welcoming than the Seventh Circle of Hell that is Luton Airport. My mate gives me a massive bear hug and the years fall away.

We visit a raft of vibrant bars full of energy. The country is passionate about football and while we drink locally produced lager, Switzerland play Kosovo. The match ends in a 1-1 draw, which means the Swiss qualify for next summer’s jamboree in Germany. Both goals are celebrated in the pub, because, as my friend explains, Switzerland have players of Albanian and Kosovan descent. Not least former Arsenal midfielder Granit Xhaka. Whose family moved from the former Yugoslavia when tensions with the Serbs started to rise in 1990, and the country manufactured after World War I following the fall of the Austro-Hungarian empire, fractured in the early 1990s with such violent results in the years that followed.

One of the bars we drink in is right next to the sparkling new Arena Kombetare — meaning National Arena — and the site of the former ground Qemal Stafa Stadium, which was named after the founder of the Albanian Communist Party. The gleaming new 22,500 stadium held the 2022 Europa Conference League final between Roma and Feyenoord.

Albanian football is on the rise, underlined by the Shqiponjat (the Eagles) qualifying for Germany. Led by Brazil’s former Arsenal defender Sylvinho, after a stirring campaign which saw them finish ahead of the Czech Republic and Poland. Their 1-1 draw with Moldova, the same night England laboured against Malta, to seal top spot helped spark joyous scenes – which, if the reaction to playing of the team song in the bars we visited was anything to go by, show next summer will be one to savour for the team that play in red and black.

My friend tells me that they are hosting the Faroe Islands on Monday evening, but, alas, the match clashes with England’s fixture across the border. 

We continued our late-night tour of the Albanian capital, not to mention its vibrant clubs and bars, which culminated in a 5am finish and a delicious kebab. Always a bonus when drinking far more than you should.

Sunday: Tirana sightseeing. A convivial lunch with my friend and his family, which felt like being guest of honour at a banquet, such was their wonderful Albanian hospitality. The memorable meal consisted of succulent dishes including lamb and a raft of mouth-watering local delicacies such as stuffed peppers, as well as a divine cheese and spinach pie called Byrek. Afterwards it was time to walk off the feast (and the previous evening’s hangover) and discover Albania in daylight.

Before the fall of the Berlin Wall Albania was ruled by the Communist leader Enver Hoxha, and was essentially cut off from the world after relations with Russia and China soured.  

To underline the changes over the last three decades, I walk past Tirana’s Pyramid. Built as a monument to Hoxha following his death in 1985, the bizarre white angular building fell into a state of disrepair — only to re-emerge as a hub for tech and creative industries. The building is near to the sprawling Skanderbeg Square, named for a national hero who led a revolt against the Ottoman empire in the 15th century.

I visit Hoxha’s top secret nuclear bunker slap bang in the city centre, now called Bunk’Art. The claustrophobic underground network of tunnels off Skanderbeg Square was once connected to Albania’s Ministry of Internal Affairs and, in a way, showcase just how far the country has come.

I ask my friend if his family knew about the bunkers in the 1980s. No, he replied emphatically. No-one knew anything. No-one said anything. 

The intricate 18th-century Et-hem Bey Mosque is nearby as I visit a bustling bookshop to buy a couple of works from Albania’s foremost writer, Ismail Kadare. You can always gauge the health of a country by visiting its bookshops, and the one I went to near the university was absolutely bustling with young people, motivated by a desire to learn. It was wonderful to see.

Monday: Tirana to Skopje – North Macedonia 1-1 England. A glorious day. One that will live long in the memory. A deep, bright blue sky frames our journey across the Qafe Thane mountain range to the border via the most stunning view of Lake Ohrid and the snow-capped mountains beyond. We stop in a village that seems to be peopled only by the elderly. A woman in a shawl offers us a fruit shaped like a beefy tomato, but bright orange. We buy a large bag for a matter of pennies and bite into what is called a persimmon. The texture is apple, but the taste, apricot. Delicious.

My friend tells me all the young people in the town have left for a better life. “To Tirana?” I ask. “London,” he replies.

We cross the border and head to Skopje, and end our six-hour drive by meeting some old friends from England in the city’s atmospheric bazaar. 

As dusk falls, the haunting lilt of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer fills the air. I look up to see an evocative minaret lit by a half crescent moon and feel the wonder — and no little bewilderment — that comes from travel to new and unfamiliar places. 

Images of Skopje reminded me of certain sights I saw travelling through Central America more than two decades ago, when I spent six months juddering around on local buses along that fascinating link between North and South America. Particularly cities such as San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador. Places where hardship mingled with scarcity, and a deficit of goods and resources led to a searing feeling of downtrodden citizens. Of course, as in all such states, spending on the military and police far outweighed any semblance of capital programmes intended to help reverse a depletion of resources.

So, it was no wonder, the authorities seemed to outnumber supporters ahead of kick-off at the Todor Proeski National Arena in Skopje, as water cannon trucks and a disconcertingly large number of riot police lined the area near to the dilapidated 33,000 stadium. Peckish I picked up a large bag of pumpkin seeds for about 2p. It certainly kept me going until my next late-night kebab.

An underwhelming England grab a 1-1 while certain players fluff their lines. Ollie Watkins missing a good chance early on was a case in point. Manchester City’s Rico Edwards impressed on his debut, while Harry Maguire had another poor game. I catch up with everyone after I cover the match from the press box, and we find a venue willing to let us in, and we drink until daylight.

Tuesday: Skopje to Pristina. Kosovo 0-1 Belarus. The joke in Skopje (population 640,000) among locals is there are more statues than people. The place is absolutely full of statues. They’ve become a tourist attraction in themselves. Which, given high unemployment hovering around 30 per cent, at least offers a few enterprising locals the opportunity to share their knowledge with a tour. The most impressive offering is a huge Alexander the Great riding his horse. Yet, in a microcosm of the Balkans’ propensity for argument among its peoples, the North Macedonian government refuse to call the iconic soldier by his name due to an ongoing political dispute with Greece. So the statue is simply called “the great warrior.” As someone said: “Who builds a 50ft statue then refuses to call it by its name?” The area is near to the Stone Bridge, a construction over the River Vardar that flows through the city. Originally built in 1451, most of the present bridge relates to the Ottoman era. Nazis wanted to detonate it during their retreat from the Balkans in 1944, but thankfully the intended destruction never materialised, leaving a beautifully appointed crossing.

After sweet baklava and strong coffee we make it to Pristina at sunset. A stout little city not entirely devoid of charm – but a place packed with a friendly welcome. We catch up with pals in a bar near the 13,000-capacity Fadil Vokrri Stadium slap bang in the city centre. The owner asks us what our favourite Stone Roses song is, and promptly sticks on I Am The Resurrection, prior to us taking in Kosovo’s plucky 1-0 defeat at the hands of a well-drilled Belarus side.

Kosovo is 90 per cent Albanian, and is a place where, two years after proclaiming its disputed independence in 2008, it had yet to secure its own web domain.  

As the late-night beers flow to bring an end to such an indelibly interesting and enjoyable week, my friend tells a story. 

Following the 1999 Nato war that split Kosovo from Serbia, many locals named their children “Bill Clinton” or “Tony Blair” in appreciation of the war that established the new state.

When the former US president returned recently — naturally to the nearby Bill Clinton Boulevard — authorities called for everyone who named their children after Clinton to come forward.

Apparently more than 500 did so, much to Clinton's amusement.

It seemed fitting that after a week of following underwhelming Englishmen from Wembley to the Balkans, one had to feel sorry for the handful of youngsters who were also named after the discredited Blair, so little cherished elsewhere. 

The difference, we noted over a table full of beers in the early hours of a Kosovo morning, was that Southgate can claim redemption in a sporting battle to be held next summer — while the disgraced Blair will never be able to.