'Wales on Sunday' on July 10th, day of the Euro Final and Wales are not there, yet the paper's full of joy and celebrations.
On one page my younger daughter's best moment is quoted, teaching Belgium fans 'Don't Take Me Home' who then sing it in the stadium at Lille.
On another, my older daughter Bethan ( who initiated the campaign for fanzones) comments on the bitterly jealous condemnation of our homecoming ceremony by TV presenter Piers Morgan, saying ' As a nation we are proud and your words will never ruin that for us.'
Elsewhere in the paper politicians like Ken Skates and Alun Cairns see it all as a huge marketing possibility. Brand Wales has gone global.
But it has been so, so much more.
A family and national affair, fans and team as one : chanting, singing, raising the players to new heights.
Those England and Russia fans who fought and abused in the early stages saw it all as a kind of invasion.
Fans of tim pel droed Cymru have viewed it as exactly the opposite : a chance to party, a series of momentous happenings and something we have waited for for so long and never believed would materialise.
For my family it's been extraordinary : my son has seen the worst of times alongside me from Arms Park to Millennium and following the Bluebirds from the age of five, has known how to suffer as a football fan.
Even my wife - who thought Mickey Rooney was captain of England - joined in with the fervour, flew y ddraig goch on our car and taught her pupils football songs.
The homecoming in Cardiff was in praise of a magnificent achievement : 58 years since we'd qualified for a major tournament and we reached the Semis, only to be knocked out by Portugal, the eventual winners.
Yes we lost, but on the way we'd played some wonderful football (especially v. Russia and Belgium), scored great goals and oozed enjoyment and passion.
If you ever wanted to define 'hwyl' it would be those times when players joined fans at the end of games to chant and sing, or when the stadiums rang out with Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau before and during games.
And so it was when, eventually, the team's open-top bus arrived at CC Stadium.
I was there, right there, underneath it next to my younger daughter, who could hardly take photos her hands were shaking so much!
There, right there, when Gareth Bale led us singing 'Don't Take Me Home' and clapping high the Icelandic hoot-chant everyone wants to adopt.
I do feel for those fans who couldn't make it ; the players need to go north as well. Why not to Wrecsam, the birth-place of Welsh football?
On Grangetown station afterwards we spoke to a father and daughter who we knew as regular Bluebirds and who simply couldn't afford to go to France as we had.
Not every dedicated fan could get out there, but they will be there for the forthcoming World Cup qualifiers and they'll be there even if we lose and glory-seekers disappear, just as they have from Cardiff City.
Because being a fan is about losing and desperate disappointment and then, appreciating success so much more, with a wonder akin to revelation.
We never expected to qualify ; we never expected to get through the group stages ; we certainly never expected to reach the Semis.
Looking back, many crucial moments stand out and not all of them goals scored.
Ben Davies' brilliant interception in the opening minutes v. Slovakia saved a certain goal and spurred us on.
Ramsey's reactive movement to hand-ball and then get booked meant he missed the Semi.
Could we have beaten Portugal if our key player ( and one of the best in the whole tournament) had been on the field?
Should Coleman have selected the more forward-thinking Jonny Williams, instead of the more cautious King in that same game?
It doesn't matter, the World Cup is only a few months away and expectation levels will now be very high.
Can we cope with not being the under-dogs any more?
At least there are a crop of good young players coming through : the likes of Huws, Isgrove and Bradshaw are all good signs for the future.
It's possible to be highly cynical about the 'plastics' who have suddenly become football fans of our national team.
Watching the Belgium match in a pub in Caerleon ( because I was reading at the Festival there ) was revealing.
On 80 minutes the rugby fan next to me asked - 'Are we in injury time now?'
When the whistle blew and we'd beaten the team ranked two in the world, this rugby-orientated pub was befuddled.
Max Boyce on the juke-box and then 'Delilah', a rugby and Stoke City song!
I helped the landlord choose others, but 'Bing Bong' never came on and there was no sign of the Manics 'Together Stronger'. Someone yelled for the Stereophonics, who are rugby fans (though the late Stuart Cable was a notable exception).
On the streets of Bordeaux I wore my Cymru baseball cap and overheard one boy tell his dad - 'Mae e'n Cymro go iawn!' ( He's a real Welshman).
Outside the Millennium Stadium after the fanzone there, one drunken drongo nicked it and made the Rambo-less defeat v. Portugal harder to bear.
But I'll get another one, maybe a warmer hat for the coming winter matches at our stadium, where manager and team all want to play ; where we belong.
IF ONLY OUR NATION
If only our nation
was like our football team.
After years of down
and out of qualifications,
of dubious decisions, missed pens
and just not performing,
after years of gibes -
'Sheepshagging bastards, we know what we are!'
North, south, west and east
under the banner 'Together Stronger'.
A confidence, a self-belief,
as Bale pounds the dragon on his chest.
If only we could celebrate
Cymru as a country
finally coming home to itself,
with 'region' and 'principality'
washed away in waves of red.
If only the game were another reality.
On one page my younger daughter's best moment is quoted, teaching Belgium fans 'Don't Take Me Home' who then sing it in the stadium at Lille.
On another, my older daughter Bethan ( who initiated the campaign for fanzones) comments on the bitterly jealous condemnation of our homecoming ceremony by TV presenter Piers Morgan, saying ' As a nation we are proud and your words will never ruin that for us.'
Elsewhere in the paper politicians like Ken Skates and Alun Cairns see it all as a huge marketing possibility. Brand Wales has gone global.
But it has been so, so much more.
A family and national affair, fans and team as one : chanting, singing, raising the players to new heights.
Those England and Russia fans who fought and abused in the early stages saw it all as a kind of invasion.
Fans of tim pel droed Cymru have viewed it as exactly the opposite : a chance to party, a series of momentous happenings and something we have waited for for so long and never believed would materialise.
For my family it's been extraordinary : my son has seen the worst of times alongside me from Arms Park to Millennium and following the Bluebirds from the age of five, has known how to suffer as a football fan.
Even my wife - who thought Mickey Rooney was captain of England - joined in with the fervour, flew y ddraig goch on our car and taught her pupils football songs.
The homecoming in Cardiff was in praise of a magnificent achievement : 58 years since we'd qualified for a major tournament and we reached the Semis, only to be knocked out by Portugal, the eventual winners.
Yes we lost, but on the way we'd played some wonderful football (especially v. Russia and Belgium), scored great goals and oozed enjoyment and passion.
If you ever wanted to define 'hwyl' it would be those times when players joined fans at the end of games to chant and sing, or when the stadiums rang out with Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau before and during games.
And so it was when, eventually, the team's open-top bus arrived at CC Stadium.
I was there, right there, underneath it next to my younger daughter, who could hardly take photos her hands were shaking so much!
There, right there, when Gareth Bale led us singing 'Don't Take Me Home' and clapping high the Icelandic hoot-chant everyone wants to adopt.
I do feel for those fans who couldn't make it ; the players need to go north as well. Why not to Wrecsam, the birth-place of Welsh football?
On Grangetown station afterwards we spoke to a father and daughter who we knew as regular Bluebirds and who simply couldn't afford to go to France as we had.
Not every dedicated fan could get out there, but they will be there for the forthcoming World Cup qualifiers and they'll be there even if we lose and glory-seekers disappear, just as they have from Cardiff City.
Because being a fan is about losing and desperate disappointment and then, appreciating success so much more, with a wonder akin to revelation.
We never expected to qualify ; we never expected to get through the group stages ; we certainly never expected to reach the Semis.
Looking back, many crucial moments stand out and not all of them goals scored.
Ben Davies' brilliant interception in the opening minutes v. Slovakia saved a certain goal and spurred us on.
Ramsey's reactive movement to hand-ball and then get booked meant he missed the Semi.
Could we have beaten Portugal if our key player ( and one of the best in the whole tournament) had been on the field?
Should Coleman have selected the more forward-thinking Jonny Williams, instead of the more cautious King in that same game?
It doesn't matter, the World Cup is only a few months away and expectation levels will now be very high.
Can we cope with not being the under-dogs any more?
At least there are a crop of good young players coming through : the likes of Huws, Isgrove and Bradshaw are all good signs for the future.
It's possible to be highly cynical about the 'plastics' who have suddenly become football fans of our national team.
Watching the Belgium match in a pub in Caerleon ( because I was reading at the Festival there ) was revealing.
On 80 minutes the rugby fan next to me asked - 'Are we in injury time now?'
When the whistle blew and we'd beaten the team ranked two in the world, this rugby-orientated pub was befuddled.
Max Boyce on the juke-box and then 'Delilah', a rugby and Stoke City song!
I helped the landlord choose others, but 'Bing Bong' never came on and there was no sign of the Manics 'Together Stronger'. Someone yelled for the Stereophonics, who are rugby fans (though the late Stuart Cable was a notable exception).
On the streets of Bordeaux I wore my Cymru baseball cap and overheard one boy tell his dad - 'Mae e'n Cymro go iawn!' ( He's a real Welshman).
Outside the Millennium Stadium after the fanzone there, one drunken drongo nicked it and made the Rambo-less defeat v. Portugal harder to bear.
But I'll get another one, maybe a warmer hat for the coming winter matches at our stadium, where manager and team all want to play ; where we belong.
IF ONLY OUR NATION
If only our nation
was like our football team.
After years of down
and out of qualifications,
of dubious decisions, missed pens
and just not performing,
after years of gibes -
'Sheepshagging bastards, we know what we are!'
North, south, west and east
under the banner 'Together Stronger'.
A confidence, a self-belief,
as Bale pounds the dragon on his chest.
If only we could celebrate
Cymru as a country
finally coming home to itself,
with 'region' and 'principality'
washed away in waves of red.
If only the game were another reality.
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