Is this how a bomb was planted at Old Trafford?

9.05am He felt sick to his stomach with nerves. He’d never been to Old Trafford before. This would be his first time. The first time to witness all the moments he’d seen on television, heard on the radio, or read on the internet or in the paper the next day. For as long as he’d been aware of football, he’d supported Manchester United. People had made fun of him, being from Kent and supporting United was a cliche that he was well aware of, but he wasn’t going to let that get in the way of what the club meant to him. He’d come up for the night in Manchester the night before to make sure he was fresh, to enjoy it all.

11.05am First, he had to eat. He was too excited to do so at the hotel so he met some friends and colleagues who were also going to Old Trafford today, and they planned to have breakfast together. They’d talk about their previous experiences, and tell him what to do so as not to stand out and look like a yonner or another out-of-towner. He managed to force down a full English breakfast in the company of others, and the nervousness was no longer quite so bad.

12.05pm On his way to the ground on the bus, he went through on his phone, looking at all the highlights he’d grown up with without being there. Mark Hughes at Bramall Lane, booting David Tuttle up the bum. Hughes again, at Wembley, equalising against Oldham. All of the 1999 campaign, against Juventus, or Liverpool in the FA Cup. It wasn’t just Old Trafford, obviously, but the regular demolitions of Arsenal that carried well into Alex Ferguson’s time at the club were there. More than two decades of memories, and he was going to make sure that even with the season coming to an end, that he’d make sure to appreciate the ground.

1.35pm With the coach pulling into the stadium, he was given a quick run through of the details. While those alongside them pulled faces to hear just how many times they’d heard it all before, and were patently not listening to what they were being told, he didn’t dare miss anything or mess anything up. He was too keen to impress those around him to make a stupid mistake or let anyone down with a mistake borne of inexperience. He checked where he had to be, and looked for the directions to the North West quadrant.

2.03pm But first, he had to go through the museum, as had been agreed. He scoured every inch of it, careful not to miss anything, and seeing the trophies, the photographs, the kits and paraphernalia. It was oddly quiet in the museum at this time of day, but to him that just made the experience that much more personal and memorable. He heard his friends outside, who’d already done the museum at other days at the ground, and they told him to get a move on, impatient with him spending all his time there. He left to join up with them, slightly slower than jogging.

2.34pm Looking at the pitch, he felt shivers run down his spine. He couldn’t believe it had taken him 33 years to get to Old Trafford, and on the week of what would probably be Louis van Gaal’s final game at the ground. He considered for a moment all the players at the club now, players like Daley Blind, Jesse Lingard, Phil Jones and Memphis, and he just couldn’t square it with all that had come before: Cantona, Hughes, Bryan Robson, David Beckham, Cristiano Ronaldo and so many others. The club had fallen off dramatically in the years since the Glazers took over, but it had got even worse under David Moyes, and now Van Gaal. He wondered if Jose Mourinho would be able to turn it around. Feeling a little depressed, he decided to take a break by himself and watch a few clips that he’d seen this morning, to remember the good times.

2.46pm With nowhere private to go except the toilets, he locked himself in a cubicle and picked the 8-2 destruction of Arsenal, something that was to his mind Fergie’s last hurrah. Watching a depressed Arsenal get bashed about as if they were nothing contrasted so strongly with the pitiful displays under Van Gaal against almost every side, even the lower league rubbish that they’d occasionally played. And with that, he looked at his backpack and realised he had to attach the device somewhere soon, and email his bosses about where it was. He stuck it to a pipe, making sure it was attached as the security firm told him was necessary to look realistic. He opened up an email on his smartphone to take a photo and email it to his boss ,but then he heard his mates calling him again, as they’d done their own tasks and wanted to get away to the pub. He made a mental note to himself that he would email that picture a bit later, and rushed out to meet them.