WHAT I’m looking forward to most is the noise. Or, more specifically, the roar – a guttural, hearty cry to arms that entwines with a blur of crimson surrounding the stadium as far as the eye can see.

I know all about the sea of red. I’ve seen it on television, I’ve looked at pictures in books. But I’ve never experienced it in its true glory for myself.

In the next few days, I’ll clap eyes and ears on it for real.

As you read this, I’ll be 30-odd thousand feet in the air, hurtling towards the southern hemisphere.

I’ve spent months scrimping and saving to afford this trip – what every rugby union fan I speak to tells me will be the journey of a lifetime.

I’ve always been obsessed with the idea of the British and Irish Lions.

I abandoned a trip on my Italian honeymoon four years ago so I, and my new and I am happy to say still wife, could catch the midweek dirt-trackers take on Natal Sharks in a Rome pub.

I’ve rescheduled meetings and outings. I’ve stood up friends and risen at unearthly hours to make sure I didn’t miss a match.

My favourite ever sporting moment came in the cauldron of the Millennium Stadium, eight years ago, when the Lions met Argentina in a pre-tour Test.

The cheering was ceaseless, the match drawn 25-25, and we all, English, Scottish, Irish and Welsh alike, drank Cardiff dry and sang songs until dawn broke.

Now I’m on my way to Australia.

Sir Ian McGeechan, the legendary Lion who played on two tours, coached on another five and is now executive chairman at Leeds RUFC, says the concept is special.

He reckons it changed his life. I’m biased, I know, but I agree.

What makes it so priceless is its aspiration.

Players who have spent the past four years beating the living daylights out of each other in the Six Nations suddenly have to become best buddies.

And they’ve got to do it in less than eight weeks.

They must blend – putting aside personal rivalry and enmity – into one harmonious collective if they are to have a chance of victory.

It is still only a chance. The last victorious Lions series was in 1997. There have only been four in 60 years.

So why do we travel? In huge numbers, in tens of thousands, to the other side of the world to cheer on a group that history shows is almost always doomed to fail.

Because experiences cannot always be measured on whether your team wins or loses. Because touring is part of rugby lore.

Whether it is the Lions on a ten-game journey to the ends of the earth, or the minis taking in an overnight stay in Northumberland, battling and supporting in unfamiliar climes is one of the game’s greatest joys.

What support head coach Warren Gatland’s men are set to receive over the next couple of weeks.

Twelve years ago, the last time the Lions visited Australia, the home players were so stunned by the red army that greeted them on their entrance to The Gabba that they promptly folded 29-13.

Australian chiefs, concerned at the impact the visiting supporters had on their side, gave away thousands of free scarves in the second Test at Melbourne to try to stem the crimson tide.

This time around they are equally worried.

They’ve printed 50,000 gold-coloured safari hats – lion-hunters they call them – for fans to wear during the Test series, which gets under way next Saturday at Suncorp Stadium.

“Be bold wear gold” has been the Wallaby cry. But it will need more than that to drown out the tourists.

I am looking forward to enjoying one of sport’s great adventures. For the Lions, glory has been fleeting. I travel in the hope that this time it will be different. I honestly can’t wait.