These are the days, my friends. Those were the words of one gentleman who was standing ambitiously on top of a bus stop with a red flare in his right hand and a can of lager in the other.
The beaming sunshine had clocked off for the day and it was now evening, the night sky outside Anfield illuminated by non-stop fireworks and pyrotechnics. But thousands were still in situ singing and dancing, celebrating a day many feared may never come.
This was the start of a mass party 35 years in the making. You could not move outside the stadium in a scene that was an assault on the senses, the stench of pyro clinging to clothes and the sheer noise causing ears to ring.