THE response of a former girlfriend, on discovering my secret stash of Celtic European programmes, was curiously delightful. Mentally, I’d prepared for this moment and rehearsed a few plausible explanations.

“My son forgot to take them with him when he got his new flat.”

“They were my dearly departed dad’s and I can’t bear to throw them out.”

“This is actually considered quite normal in most European countries.”

Instead, I told her about how it had been the only hobby of my childhood to survive into adulthood and that the prices I’d forked out on eBay for some of the early European aways would have paid for a new kitchen. “I’ll get you a taxi,” I said, and braced myself for that familiar look that had signalled the denouement of other promising situations: a mixture of pity and disdain.

I mean, how can you expect to maintain the artifice of worldly sophistication which you think appropriate for a woman of taste and high learning when you’re trying to tell her why you paid a grand or so for the 1965 Aarhus red? Or why Dynamo Kiev issued three separate programmes for our epochal first meeting with them in 1966?

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(My sources in the Soviet post-war football memorabilia sector informed me that high-profile European games were regarded as good propaganda opportunities by various government departments who strove to publish their own match-day programme for the occasion. But who knows.) But rather than back off gingerly, she got all emotional and said: “That is just so pure and innocent,” as though I’d just told her I’d provided a home for three Labrador rescue puppies. Thus I was spared being chucked for a few more weeks … until she discovered my new Celtic toaster, the one that stamps the letters C-E-L-T-I-C onto your freshly browned comestible.

Perhaps it was my curatorship of this collection – gathered over four decades – that’s instilled in me an ethereal reverence for those occasions when Celtic are matched with some of the aristocrats of European football. And once again you’re confronted by the eternal Celtic pub question: what would you rather have, the league title or decent run in Europe? Give me Europe every time.

I still remember half-time at Bayern Munich’s Olympic stadium in 2003 when we were a goal up and giving the Germans a football lesson. Right there and then I said to God that I’d willingly sacrifice the league title if He could make it stay that way until the end of the game. Then Magnus Hedman sabotaged a BRILLIANT display by gifting them two at the end. It might only have been one but I’m blaming him for both. They’re all atheists in Sweden, right? But then Henrik and big Johan Mjallby are from Sweden too.

Plus, I don’t know what it’s like for fans of other clubs when these encounters occur, but with Celtic supporters there’s a child-like eagerness to make a good impression on your visitors. Even if they’ve just administered a right good spanking to your sorry arses.

Just been defeated 5-0 by Paris Saint Germaine? Yes, but look at all the love we’re getting on Twitter and Instagram from the Parisians. It’s pathetic, I know, but it’s all part of the tapestry of these big, sexy European encounters. And the thought that Lionel Messi and Xavi Hernandes and Andres Iniesta are all talking about the Parkhead atmosphere on the plane back to Barcelona.

That’s us they’re talking about. And for a few moments you make believe that maybe one day one of these superstars might tell his agent: “Look, I’ve got more money than I can spend in three lifetimes. I could buy Corsica and still have change for Mustique. So, now I choose Celtic. Phone and tell them I’m available.”

I’m still expecting big Zlatan Ibrahimovic to sign for us before this decade is out. He’ll only be in his mid-40s then and he clearly looks after himself. And he loves Celtic. He really does. He’s said it a few times now. Henrik will have told him all about us too.

It’s probably not conducive to good mental health outcomes at this time of your life to estimate how much you’ve spent watching Celtic abroad. Or how quickly that veneer of well-travelled culture collapses around you when it suddenly dawns on your new friend that your tour of Europe’s great cities mainly happens in early winter and coincides with Celtic’s visits to these places.

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But you feel you have to, don’t you? You don’t really have a choice in the matter. Because it’s all connected to the place you came from and the struggles your people faced to make this happen for you. And the thought that your dad and his dad and his dad before him would have loved to have been in these places too and that you’re part of something big and vital. And that this stuff – family, kinship, faith and community – is really important and that Celtic somehow bring them all together. And somehow even more so when you’ve crossed land and sea to watch them.

Scotland’s political elites will never truly understand this and they fear it. Because this is something that politics simply can’t reach. Sure, they all signal their contrived fervour for one club or another on social media once their advisors have checked it’s safe to do so. But they secretly despise us with their Offensive Behaviour at Football grift, their ban on alcohol and the way they signal horror at the first sign of beastliness or unpleasantness.

And the way they post pictures of themselves wrapped up and cheerful at Murrayfield – them and their hip-flasks - as if they’re having a day out at the Fettes sports day. I’d rather watch Rangers than cheer on Scotland at Murrayfield. I mean, you know, I like them to win but all that tartan-blanket folderol and well-fed, Charlotte Square bonhomie is insufferable.

And so tonight we continue our European journey against Jablonec after an excellent 4-2 win in the Czech Republic. Yet the sweetest memory of this game wasn’t Fyogo Furuhashi’s first goal for Celtic but the sound of one, solitary Celtic supporter giving it “Hail Hail,” after we went 1-0 up. And by the way; does anyone know if Jablonec produced an official programme for the first leg?