Go Ghana Go was the exuberant cheer which enveloped Ghana's participation in the Africa Cup of Nations. I often heard Go Black Stars Go.
And the chant was valid until the semi final defeat against Cameroon 11 days ago. It was in currency for the third place play-off against Cote D'Ivoire nine days ago.
But now all the Black Stars are back with their clubs around the world. And me, the faithful follower of their footballing fortunes, well I'm back in Paris.
Gone Ghana Gone.
I was whistling Soul to Soul's song Back to Life as I wended my way through Schipol this morning to catch the connecting flight to Paris.
It's a summery tune and it seemed apt as heat is where I had come from. It was -4 in Amsterdam.
I was wearing my flip flops and a tee-shirt. I was also wearing a pair of trousers.
And because I'm a sober sort I had packed an anorak, a pair of socks and shome deck shoes for the final thrust home.
The night flight is perhaps the best way to do the airwaves for me.
The food was wheeled out and I took a couple of small bottles of red with my pasta bolognaise concoction.
I was so becalmed - hardly surprising since it was about 11.15pm - that I couldn't dredge up the energy to watch Elizabeth The Golden Age. Cate Blanchett, who regales us as the regina, is one of my favourite actresses. Maybe it's because she reminds me of a girl I used to step out with.
But not even La Blanchett's cheekbones rising wrathful towards the red thatch could halt the march to slumberland. Go Bess Go. Paul's Going, Going. Gone.
I was perhaps still sleepy as I went through the baggage check at Schipol. It didn't seem too horrific.
I was obviously reintegrating into my natural context.
Gone Ghana Gone.