For my weekly writing spot on this site, see the One-Minute Mystic, with a new meditation posted every Monday. Also see The Village, the story of Misty Longings, England's most beautiful village, posted episode by episode earlier this year.       We met in Manchester. He had journeyed from Edinburgh, and I from London. My son and I were here for Armageddon – United against hated local rivals Liverpool. It was an early Christmas present from my daughter. I had said one afternoon that my only ambition left in life was to go to the Theatre of Dreams – Old Trafford, the home of Manchester United. Secret family plans were hatched, until one day she danced into the shop, and beaming by the beans, announced: "You’ll never guess where you’re going in October!" On arrival, the day before the match, my son and I walk to the ground. It is said the journey to the shrine, is the shrine itself. This is true – unless you get lost, of course, in which case the journey is just irritating. We did get lost. The cathedral which is Old Trafford includes a megastore. Inside it, as in a church, all shoppers are very polite to each other, saying "excuse me" and "sorry" because of shared allegiance. And it’s not just for blokes. Amid manly things like sweat bands, there is a large ladies section – United in pink. Here is football made all snugly, fluffy and Ronaldo-shaped. His name is the girl’s choice on their shirts. I talk to a security guard at the stadium. He is a graphic designer by day, but his wife makes him do this job as well, so he doesn’t get drunk at the pub. He lets out that shortly the United team will arrive at the ground in their cars, to be whisked away by coach to a hotel for the night. Clearly, the club want to ensure an early night for everyone – and none of last night’s Indian in a bap, for an inappropriate pre-match breakfast. And suddenly, there they are! Am I in heaven? The players drive in, pull up, leave their expensive cars on the forecourt – and walk on to the coach. We call out "Hiya Gary!" "Good luck Scholsey!" – and fancy they notice us. I talk to a man watching with me. All nationalities are here, but he is from the North. He says he hopes our best two strikers aren’t playing. I am surprised, until I discover he is a Liverpool fan, but that his small boy supports United. Greater love has no father than that. Match day, and the stadium tannoy tells us to get behind a project called "One United, One Community". Its purpose is "to bring together races, genders and religions". Excellent. I think this is what Messiahs used to do, before we all went niche market. These days, OUOC could just be our best bet. And now the match is underway. Ritual hymns of both love and hate are sung – again, like church. And then we score! We are leaping, shouting and hugging when someone’s mobile goes off. They answer it. "You’ve rung at a good time," he says. And it was. More writings © Simon Parke