After the war memorial, I visited StanleyÃ¢ÂÂs football pitch, which was occupied by grazing geese as big as Andy Reid.
Then the office of Penguin News, the newspaper of The Falklands. Bizarrely, a football story was front page news.
Wayne Clement, one of the islandsÃ¢ÂÂ most promising players, had tripped in a hole on the pitch and broken his leg in three places, dislocating his foot too.
The hospital on the islands doesnÃ¢ÂÂt deal with that type of injury, so he went by air ambulance to Chile where his leg was re-set. Islanders Ã¢ÂÂ or Bennies or Kelpers as they are called Ã¢ÂÂ are worried that he wonÃ¢ÂÂt be back in time to represent the Falklands in the Small Island games next year.
Dr Prado, the bone specialist in Chile, said that if the accident had not happened on a Friday the delay in getting him to the clinic could have meant he would never have played again.
I also visited Globe Tavern, one of eight or nine pubs in Stanley. Many of the British forces at Mount Pleasant have drunk in there and the roof is covered in union flags with the names of the soldiers marked on them.
Flags adorn the Globe Tavern
IÃ¢ÂÂd missed a United game being televised by a day, but was told about an islander called Steve who was named after Steve Coppell. Coppell is one of the brightest men in football. IÃ¢ÂÂve interviewed him a few times and heÃ¢ÂÂs come closer to articulating what it feels like to make a debut in front of 50,000 than most footballers.
Ã¢ÂÂMy heart was jumping out of my chest and IlÃ¢ÂÂve never had another experience like it,Ã¢ÂÂ Coppell said. Ã¢ÂÂI wasnÃ¢ÂÂt running; I was floating across the grass. Words do not do the experience justice; it was a drug-like euphoric trance. IÃ¢ÂÂve had a few operations, and it was like that little pleasant stage after the anaesthetic. Only multiplied by a hundred.Ã¢ÂÂ
In the pub, I got speaking to Don, 82, who had been a driver to the islandÃ¢ÂÂs governor when the Argentinian troops invaded. As we spoke, two Tornados did a low-level fly past before shooting almost vertically upwards. You could literally feel the tremendous noise they made in your bones.
Ã¢ÂÂThatÃ¢ÂÂs to remind any visiting Argies that weÃ¢ÂÂre not asleep,Ã¢ÂÂ Don said. Ã¢ÂÂSome of them come by ship and refuse to present their passports because they claim they are still in Argentina.Ã¢ÂÂ
Along with the 30 or so British marines in Stanley in 1982, they had to surrender. ItÃ¢ÂÂs a tenuous thought, but itÃ¢ÂÂs good job Paddy Crerand wasnÃ¢ÂÂt the governor.
For one, he would have kicked the Ã¢ÂÂThatcher DriveÃ¢ÂÂ signs and, for two, I reckon he would have fancied his chances against 9,000 Argentinians - partly out of revenge for Estudiantes beating United in 1968.
Not that Paddy would ever work for the British government. In Tokyo, we were both interviewed by a Japanese journalist who is writing a book on English football.
Crerand went first and within five minutes he was telling the poor girl about Irish politics. She was too polite to stop him.
Ã¢ÂÂPaddy, sheÃ¢ÂÂs writing a book on English football, not internment,Ã¢ÂÂ I interjected.
And IÃ¢ÂÂll never forget the image of him on the same trip struggling to work out a translation machine.
The idea is that you wear headphones and click to the language of your choice as the various players and coaches spoke in their own language. Thus you could hear Ferguson in Spanish or Japanese as his words were immediately translated.
"I'll be answering the next question in Swahili"
Crerand, who only briefly owned a mobile phone before throwing it in the River Mersey because Ã¢ÂÂit was driving me crackers,Ã¢ÂÂ tried to wear his on his arm before I fixed it on his ear. Except he fiddled with the switch.
Ã¢ÂÂThe managerÃ¢ÂÂs speaking in Spanish,Ã¢ÂÂ he whispered, nodding approvingly as Sir Alex spoke, Ã¢ÂÂvery clever man, the manager.Ã¢ÂÂ
Ã¢ÂÂHeÃ¢ÂÂs speaking in English, Pat,Ã¢ÂÂ you are listening to the Spanish translator.Ã¢ÂÂ I wish I hadnÃ¢ÂÂt set him straight.
Another time, a Japanese fan presented him with a picture of him playing. HeÃ¢ÂÂd never seen it before and was visibly moved. Out of courtesy, he was wished a safe journey back to Manchester.
Ã¢ÂÂNo, I wish I had a Tardis which could transport me back to Sale,Ã¢ÂÂ he replied crossly.