EVEN now, it seems strange to think that we travelled so far for so little action.

It lasted just over nine minutes. There were more than 20,000 of us there.

It could hardly be described as a sombre occasion. It started with a regal lunch at the invitation of an Irish bookmaker in Chinatown, spilled into a party involving all manner of interesting, enticing characters in his hotel suite and ended with someone tipping a bucket of water over me at 5am to make sure I was up for the first train back across the border.

As stands against extremism go, it was a pretty good way to spend a day out.

Don’t get me wrong, the decision made to attend the re-run of the 1997 Grand National at Aintree was based around making a point, to some degree.

The 150th running of the event should have been a special occasion. At 2.49pm on the Saturday, less than an hour before the off, a bomb threat containing an authenticated codeword was made by telephone to Fazackerly Hospital in Liverpool.

A matter of minutes later, a second call to police was received and the race was cancelled. Thousands were left stranded on Merseyside, left to depend on the kindness of the many local residents who opened up their houses.

The television pictures of the course being evacuated, of the trainer Jenny Pitman in tears over being instructed to leave her horses inside, of the fear and bewilderment among those who had gone along in anticipation of one of the great social events of the racing calendar were most affecting.

It is, for me, a little melodramatic to talk of making personal stands against terrorism or suchlike. That is best left to the politicians.

A friend and I had simply watched this unfold with great sadness and felt compelled to support the Herculean effort of the racing community to make sure such a significant event in their little world would go ahead on the Monday regardless.

That is not to say there was not a degree of tension around the re-run. There had been concerns over further threats. There was an air exclusion zone over the course, with nothing other than a police helicopter monitoring the crowds.

For all that, the people came and kept on coming. The attendance exceeded expectations. There was a trademark roar to welcome the raising of the tape at the start and the usual mix of exultation and exasperation among the punters as Lord Gyllene – ridden, perhaps fittingly, by a Northern Irishman by the name of Tony Dobbin – came home in a canter.

My fancy trailed in mid-division. Normality had, indeed, been restored.

Football supporters now find themselves faced with similar issues to contend with following the attack on the Stade de France last Friday. Are other big matches to be targeted? Will we go to the next big Scotland game or just watch it from the comfort of our armchairs to be safe?

These are natural things to ask. We should be scared by what happened in Paris and what is unfolding elsewhere in the world.

Us ordinary citizens, though, are somewhat removed from the frontline of those battles. The most pertinent question we all face, as individuals, is whether or not we are prepared to let recent events stop us from doing the things we want to do in life.

I had always been a Cheltenham man. Events in 1997 gave me the chance to take in a National on a day off work.

How I still relive the joy of finishing the Boston Marathon, being high-fived and bummed up to the nines by almost everyone on the sidewalk on the hobble home. The thought of that incredible camaraderie being destroyed by the bombs that wreaked havoc on Boylston Street in 2013 was too much to bear.

They didn’t destroy it, though. If anything, they strengthened it.

The race went ahead, as planned, in 2014. More than 36,000 participants registered, the second biggest total ever, with local reports estimating that a million spectators, almost double the usual number, took to the streets to create an atmosphere more marvellous than ever.

My good lady and I recently bought tickets for an upcoming concert. “I am beginning to wonder if we should go,” said La Duquesa, for obvious reasons, as we settled under the goose down earlier this week. Of course we will. She has waited a long time for her favourite band to come to town.

We will not be sending out a message to any kind of violent fundamentalists by going along. We will be having a drink and a dance and enjoying ourselves.

If living life as you please does send out some kind of message to those opposed to western civilisation, so be it.

No reasons are required for living life as you please, though, and nothing ought to prevent you from doing it. You'll need a much better reason than terrorism to get out of sitting through's Scotland's next tale of glorious failure at Hampden.