As a child, I was never really in to football. Rugby was my game, although even then the decision was made for me because that was what the school played and you went along with it. An early example of democracy, if you like. I was a winger in the third XV, and if truth be known, not very good, although I’ve always liked to believe that playing in that team, they were giving me the space in which to improve.

I came to Edinburgh University to study, and even then, rugby was my sport of choice. I remember queuing at Murrayfield to go and watch international games, back in the day when you could be spontaneous, and just decide on the day to watch a game live. It was also very sociable, being over 18 and able to have a drink with your friends.

When I became a councillor in Edinburgh, my leanings were still towards rugby. I well remember the game against the Welsh when over 100,000 turned up at Murrayfield, on the day. Wouldn’t be allowed today on so many levels, but for me that is something we’ve lost.

But football, ah, football. Hearts!

When I became an MP in 1979, I had two very young sons who I just wasn’t seeing, because I’d been spending all week at Westminster, This was way before anyone had coined the phrase ‘quality time’ when it came to being a busy, morning, noon and night working father or mother.

So, I had to find something that meant I could get to do something with them, and, that would have me focusing on them, not politics or parliamentary work. Because of the time I’d spent in Edinburgh, I’d always had leaning towards Hearts, so in terms of developing into a mad Jambo, I came at it very late, not exactly ‘lifelong’ as you see on occasions.

Living in Ayr, Saturday trips to Tynecastle, especially in winter, became a real adventure for all of us. We’d set off on our drive through at around eleven in the morning, with the services at Harthill becoming something of a halfway house on our journey in either direction, even though it was nowhere near halfway.

The services had an award winning cafeteria, although I could never be sure exactly what the award was for. Ahead of the game, there was an Italian restaurant on Lothian Road we’d visit, serving three course for something like £3.50 per head. I have very fond memories of those meals, sitting chatting what our expectations were of Hearts that day, which inevitably would be, and have been ever since, something of a rollercoaster.

We had seats in the family area, then moved to just behind the directors box, and then on to the Wheatfield Stand when that opened.

Back in the early 80’s, we’d have the old paper season tickets, when you’d pull out the wee bits of paper to get through the turnstiles. And so, the love affair began, although I must say, my sons are much bigger Jambos than me – having started them at an early age – as is my grandson.

One of my lads is currently in New Zealand, and he gets up at all sorts of daft hours of the night to watch Hearts TV.

I referred to being a ‘mad Jambo’ – it is quite an accurate expression, given how I became involved with the switch from a fan in the stands to a place in the boardroom.

I was on an inter-parliamentary visit to Mexico when I got a call, asking me to consider joining the Hearts board, with an addendum thrown in at the end, “oh and become chairman.”

“You’d be mad,” and “don’t do it,” was the initial reaction from those I took counsel from. But I did.

With Chris Robinson as CEO, Hearts had made an agreement with Cala Homes and the Scottish Rugby Union, that Tynecastle be sold and Hearts would move to Murrayfield. The club was in turmoil, there were nearly riots such was the anger of the fans, who were in uproar at the proposals.

No-one wanted that, and I have to say, there was real understanding of our plight from the Bank of Scotland and Cala Homes, and the SRU who allowed us to reverse out of deals struck. So, we stayed at Tynecastle, but we still had a huge debt.

We needed investment, and none was forthcoming. There was a Nigerian gentleman who spoke to us, raided the club shop and was never seen again. But in financial terms there was no-one - except in the form of an offer from Vladimir Romanov for Chris Robinson’s shares. That part is often forgotten when people speak with the benefit of hindsight.

Romanov was another rollercoaster, slightly more terrifying at times. We were doing so well under George Burley, but Romanov didn’t want to share any glories. It was his game. Telling Burley he couldn’t play Julien Brellier was just the beginning. George went, Phil Anderton went, I eventually did the same.

Under Romanov, Hearts were at risk. But no-one was ever going to just let an Edinburgh institution, a Scottish institution, with such a rich history, from the players, to the trophies won – especially in ’98 which was fantastic – to the sacrifices made by McCrae’s Battalion at Contalmaison, just disappear.

Where the club is today is a fantastic testament to the genuine Hearts supporters and fans. And my perfect sporting Saturday, today? As it has been for nearly four decades – a Hearts win.

George Foulkes, Baron Foulkes of Cumnock, is a life pier and was a Labour MP from 1979 until 2005.