Gedling Miners' Welfare 3-1 South Normanton Ath

The mood is buoyant in the Millers' clubhouse after Carlton's 3-0 victory over an off-colour Cleethorpes Town. The visiting fans are in a sombre mood as they pack up their flags and head off home to the North East Lincolnshire coast. There's no post match interview with their mardy manager due to a 'technical glitch'  Not only do they sing when they are fishing, but ONLY when they win too! Compare this to the fist pumps and smiles as wide as the nearby river Trent, as the home fans party, prior to the Leeds United v Newcastle United game on the TV set.

I order an Uber taxi and head off into town. I'm meeting Tony Mac at the Angel Microbrewery, in Nottingham's Lace Market. We're due to see American post-punk band Bambara, at The Bodega, on Pelham Street, in the city centre. The pub bar (Angel) is ten deep with customers. I check my phone whilst I wait for Mac. He messages me some bad news: "gig's off mate, due to illness."

Well, there's nowt we can do about it. Ms Moon has her bestie, Jill, round for a drink tonight. I don't want to spoil their evening by arriving home unexpectedly. We get stuck into a few ales at the old crowd favourites: Six Barrels, Cock and Hoop, Kean's Head, Junkyard and the Barrel Drop.

We have a lazy Sunday. I spend the afternoon knocking up episode one of Season 21 of The Groundhopper. It can't go on forever, but I'll give it another season. I'm motivated to write by listening to four hours of back-to-back Radcliffe and Maconie on 6Music.

It's back to the grind on Monday morning, at MSR News in Arnold. There's a new sheriff in town on Front Street that needs introducing to you, the blog reader. His name is Basil the Bluenose, who is a Dachshund puppy. His mum, Elaine, works at a nearby bar. His partner in crime is Dad, Steve. They are as thick as thieves folks. Frequenting pubs not only in Arnold, but also Mansfield. 

Basil and I got off to a bad start when he chose to have a whoopsie in the shop. To be fair I let him off a yellow card as it was close to where the Daily Mails are piled up - I used a copy of one to wipe up his mess; I quite enjoyed it to be honest. Basil won't talk to me if I'm wearing a baseball cap or if Birmingham City get spanked. He's still mardy on Monday after their 2-0 reverse at the King Power Stadium on Friday evening.

I'm back in Nottingham on Tuesday evening. I dine at Slice 'n Brew, an independent pizzeria near to the Cornerhouse complex. I love their salami and hot honey thin crust pizza with a truffle and Parmesan dip. After tea I wander down to a pub at the bottom of Hockley called Bunkers Hill, a popular haunt for Nottingham Panthers ice hockey fans. Our man Mac is sat in the bar. We watch Lincoln City take the lead over Notts County in the Football League Trophy.

We take a wander past the Bath Inn in Sneinton Market before turning right onto Aberdeen Street. We're making our debut at a venue called J.T. Soar. For the princely sum of £15 they are putting on four bands. I'm particularly impressed with local group Sofftness, who I'll definitely take a second look at on their next outing. New South Wales, Aussie rockers, R.M.F.C. finish off the evening with a powerful set.

On Monday evening Ms Moon and I watch a documentary on BBC iPlayer called 'The Vanishing Cyclist' - thanks for the heads up 'Our Kid.' It's about a charity cyclist who vanishes into thin air whilst on a ride from Fort William. I don't want to spoil it, but it's compelling viewing with a desperately sad ending.

I'm up in Greater Manchester on Thursday on a Heritage Pub and Victoria Cross grave memorial day. Cotgrave Trev is piloting. Crazy Steve and Little Al  complete the quartet. On 23rd April, 2013, 25 year old Fusilier Lee Rigby, a drummer and machine-gunner, was attacked and murdered by Islamic terrorists near to Royal Artillery Barracks, in Woolwich. Rigby was mowed down by a car and then hacked and stabbed to death. He is laid to rest at Boarshaw Cemetery, in Middleton, close to Rochdale. We pay our respects at his grave.

The pub of the day is the Old Cross Inn, in the town of Radcliffe, which is near Bury. It's a relatively unspoilt heritage pub that's from the Joseph Holt stable. The landlady makes a proper fuss of us when she hears how far we have come. She takes a photo of the group for the pub Facebook page and gifts us all with a Joseph Holt pint pot - what a lovely touch. 

There's no rest for the wicked. I have breakfast with Mac at The Avenues, in Sneinton Market, bright and early on Friday morning. An hour later we board the 8.41 EMR train to Ipswich. On board are Coops and Matt Limon. It's another Keyworth Jolly Boys Outing. We change at Ely, where we hook up with Mad Dog and Ackers. By twelve bells we're basking in the autumnal sunshine at the Steamboat Tavern, a popular, historic riverside tavern.

Sticky Palms gets in bad books when he drags the lads on a long, uphill hike out of town to the Margaret Catchpole CAMRA Heritage pub, only to find it's been shut down for a week. I try to make amends by shouting a round up at the Fat Cat Brewery pub, another half an hour walk away.

The day is great fun until I receive an email at 7pm. Those tossers at EMR have cancelled our train home due to a shortage of train crew. The sickness culture created by full pay for illness, fought for by the Union, needs reviewing, as this is prevalent, particularly at weekends. We arrive back in Nottingham, via the Leicestershire pork pie capital, Melton Mowbray and an expensive Uber ride.

I'm still blowing a gasket on Saturday. It's not helping me that Ms Moon is watching the back catalogue of Little House on the Prairie on the Great TV channel. I crank up the laptop and fire off a complaint to Trainline, who immediately agree to compensate me. Ms Moon says it's probably not a good idea to connect with the cowboy CEO of East Midlands Trains on LinkedIn as I might receive a lifetime ban. I agree for now to let it rest, or at least until I've had a couple of stiff Hendricks gins.

Ms Moon and I have lunch at the Old Flower Shop on Mapperley Top. The food and service is excellent. The cheesecake that I have for dessert is to die for. They've certainly upped their game since knocking through into the old fruit and veg shop next door, which has enabled them to double their capacity.

It's a short trip up to Gedling MW's Plains Road ground today. It doesn't take long for Sticky's favourite, Joel Stevens, to open the scoring after a powerful run. The goal deflates the visitors who started the game brightly. They restore parity shortly after half-time, but soon lose heart after two stunning goals from the Miners. 

It's the wee right back, Orlando, that catches the eye. He's only a young 'un but already has an excellent football brain. He's neat, tidy and comfortable on the ball. The lad has no interest in being petulant or immature, he just gets on with his game. Hopefully he gets another outing at Southwell on Wednesday evening.

Woman of the Week: Landlady at the Old Cross Inn

Attendance: 84

Best Track Heard This Week: 'Echoes', by Sorry

Favourite Ale of the Week: Wylam, Frenzied Reveller, Fox and Grapes, Sneinton

Carlton Town 3-0 Cleethorpes Town

It's Sunday 27th July and I'm back in Scotland where last season's blog ended. We're on the A96 adjacent to RAF Lossiemouth, where tomorrow the world's biggest buffoon, Donald J Trump, will be flying in for a summit with Sir Keir Starmer. Crazy Steve makes a right hand turn as he drops down the gears. We're about to visit Highland League club Lossiemouth FC. As Crazy picks up speed he can't get the car in gear. His clutch is kaput. The Scottish tour is curtailed.

I scratch my head as Crazy rummages around in his glove compartment trying to unearth his breakdown cover documents. I'm 500 miles away from home and on media duties early on Tuesday. Crazy and Little Al jump into a tow truck as his Hyundai is taken to the scrapyard in the sky - they will stay the night with friends in Turriff, who we met yesterday at a game between Buckie Thistle and Nairn. I have a day and a half to get home on my Jack Jones.

Scott's Taxis fleece me for £22 for the five mile journey to nearby Elgin. I reconvene in a Wetherspoons pub in the centre of town, where I wolf down a huge American breakfast whilst planning how the chuffing hell I'm going to get home. I hatch a plan to stay in Aberdeen for the night, as I've already booked a room for £35 at the Premier Inn.

Before departing by train I take a stroll up to Elgin City's Borough Briggs ground. It's a beauty folks and has two wonderful old stands. I make a mental note to return and watch a game. It's hosing it down in Aberdeen when I arrive at just after 3 pm. I go on a five hour mini pub crawl, avoiding D J Trump like the plague. A drunken old Scotsman, who's slouched in his seat at a CAMRA Heritage pub called The Grill, asks me who is the greatest ever player to pull on a Nottingham Forest shirt. "That's an easy one pal   ..... John Robertson." He argues that Trevor Francis was a better player. "Goodnight pal", I say, as I edge near to the exit door. 

The hotel is packed with journalists from around the world, who await the visit of President Trump. If only they knew that I work for the Media too ... lol. Earlier, at the Queen Victoria, England's Women's team won the Euros final. The winning penalty was met with a stony silence in a packed out bar.

I arrive back in Nottingham the following day at 5pm. It's a decent effort by Scot Rail. The less said about Cross Country Trains the better. I'm looking forward to a revisit across the border next April where Edinburgh, Dundee and Aberdeen are on the agenda.

It's been a long hot summer that I've thoroughly enjoyed; particularly the break from football. I've parked my backside at Trent Bridge a few times for County Championship games and the T20 Blast. It's been pleasing on the eye (well the good one) to see the development of Freddie McCann, Liam Patterson-White and Jack Haynes. I'm booked in for a few days at The Oval in mid September when the title decider takes place between Surrey and Notts.

I've been to a few games already this season. I ticked off Bromley FC a few weeks back after spending a few days in Hastings, Rye and London, where I ticked off 16 CAMRA Heritage pubs. The following week I was told to 'eff off' as I squeezed through the turnstile at Radford FC's Selhurst Street ground. They were up against another team I like, Stapleford Town. As The Smiths said in 1984  'Stop me if you've heard this one before'  .. yep Radford were 1-0 up and looking in control, suddenly they're 2-1 down and it's game over. I'm out the gate before I catch Big Glenn's eye  ... lol.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm alighting the 25 bus opposite the Nags Head on Carlton Road. I dive into Oceans fish bar for a chippy tea, as Ms Moon is down in Brighton, working. I'm back on the 25 bus an hour later. I jump off at Mapperley shops and take a wander down Plains Road.

I've already viewed Gedling Miners Welfare a few times this season and have liked what I've seen. Their 17 year old striker Joel Nana Tweneboah Kodua Stevens is absent tonight as he is on trial at League One, Reading. It's going to be expensive to get his name on the back of a replica shirt.

I stand with Faggsy, Jon Gilbert and Keyworth legend Chris Frame. The game isn't all that. A late Pinxton goal is enough for the visitors to take home the three points. I manage a pint from the Magpie Brewery at the Old Volunteer on the way home.

It's a quiet night in with a Tesco pizza on Wednesday evening after a 12 hour shift at MSR News in Arnold. I'm worn out having handed out copies of the Daily Mail all day. I watch 20 minutes of Rangers (that's enough for anyone), followed by Fenerbahce v Benfica, Jose's last game and finally the eventful shoot-out at Blundell Park, where Grimsby Town pull off a giant-killing.

Ms Moon is back on Friday afternoon. We have a couple of drinks at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton. I notice they have a Black Iris beer on. I presume that it's a cask ale. Ms Moon returns from the bar with a face like thunder. She slams a can on the table  .. "£7.75 that flipping cost" - I can't 'arf pick em folks.

We dine at Raymond's on Stoney Street, opposite the Angel Microbrewery. It's a tapas restaurant that we've visited before and thoroughly enjoyed. I've saved enough pennies for a repeat visit. We enjoy some crab flatbread, crispy potatoes and salt-aged sirloin. It's washed down with white wine. I go as white as a sheet when presented with the bill.

On Saturday morning I have a couple of coffees and place my football bet before venturing out on the front to do some weeding. Ms Moon very kindly drops me off on Emerys Road as I don't feel like walking after my foot swelled up following another 12 hour shift at the land of the Daily Mail on Friday.

I can hear DJ Dan's set as clear as a bell following an upgrade to the sound system. 'Frankly Mr Shankly' by The Smiths is the tune of the day. I pay £10 on the gate. Today is a First Qualifying Round FA Cup tie against Northern Premier League Cleethorpes Town, who not only play a level above, but also turned over the Mighty Millers twice last season without breaking sweat.

Rumours are rife around Stoke Lane amongst the gossip mongers,sewing circle and Daily Mail readers (Edward) that Sticky's favourite, 'The Carlton Cattermole', is AWOL at a Coldplay concert at Wembley Stadium. If this is true it will be headline news in tomorrow's Non League Paper and Hello magazine.

I get chatting to a Nottingham bus driver, Bart, who is wearing a Radcliffe Olympic football shirt. The club sponsor is post-punk duo Sleaford Mods. I wander over to the far side of the ground to take my place in the 'Malc Brown Stand.' There's a no show in the Cleethorpes dugout from their gobshite manager Craig Rouse. It's no surprise to hear that he has a touchline ban. The clown is stood under the camera tower just a few yards away from Malc and I.

The game is played at a high tempo from the off. Ashley Chambers gives the Millers the lead after nipping in, rounding the keeper and scoring with a left foot shot from a tight angle. Khyle Sargent, who has been nothing short of magnificent this season, makes it 2-0 with a terrific header from a pinpoint Niall Davie free kick. The visitors are shellshocked and Rouse is raging. The Owls fight back. Brave blocks, last ditch tackles and a clearance off the line keep the score intact. It's been a breathtaking 45 minutes of football.

The mood in the clubhouse is upbeat, but these are proper, savvy football folk down here who are well aware that any complacency can't set, in particularly after a 98th minute equaliser was conceded at Long Eaton on Bank Holiday Monday. I didn't speak to Ms Moon for ten minutes, on the way home, when she said "it's only a game babe" as we exited the ground. DJ Dan completes his set with some Northern Soul classics.

Carlton see out the game superbly in the second half. Chambers puts the game to bed with a sublime goal of the highest quality. He curls a shot from 20 yards out that looks to be missing the upright, only for it to catch the wind and draw back in squeezing under the angle of the post and bar. There's been an edge to the game but it's all handshakes after  - even the rarely humble Rouse congratulates Carlton on his socials.

Attendance: 230

Man of the Match: Ash Chambers

Song of the Week: JONNY, Monster Florence

Beer of the Week: Scorching Haze, Black Iris

Dumbarton 3-1 Annan Athletic

It's Thursday 24th April and I'm propping the bar up at a laidback craft ale haunt called Junkyard, that's tucked away down a ginnel off Weekday Cross, in Nottingham city centre. It's the beginning of five days away from the 'Media World' (paper shop). I sink a couple of beauties from the Pressure Drop stable, a brewery based in Tottenham, north London.

I make the short walk across the road to Pelham Street, where Nottingham's coolest music venue, The Bodega, is. My ticket is scanned on the door. Tony Mac is AWOL this evening. Well actually he's just around the corner at Fletchers restaurant, wining and dining with his wife. He's about to miss a treat on the music front.

Noisy, shouty, left-wing issues-based, Teesside collective, Benefits are in town, showcasing their new album Constant Noise. The right wing Press have been dishing out rave reviews in their Tory rags. Charismatic lead singer, Kingsley Hall, is at his angry best. He even takes a swipe at Sir Keir Starmer, which takes me by surprise. I manage a quick chat with an old work colleague (and ex boss) Scott Smith who is accompanied by Ergo Computing legend, Johnny Haslam. I'm back home by 10.30pm with a huge smile on my face after an electrifying performance from the north eastern Smoggies.

It's Friday morning and I'm grabbing a coffee and a bacon cob from the Hungry Pumpkin, a Lace Market family-owned cafe deli on High Pavement. I'm at the train station by 8.30. It's a three day trip up to Glasgow that Tony Mac and I have looked forward to for months now. I booked the tickets so far in advance that they are a steal at £44 each.

There's a 40 minute change at Manchester Piccadilly. We see three arrests by the police outside the station. One shoplifter in particular is distraught and in tears - it's so sad to see this played out in front of our eyes. The Trans Pennine Express train arrives at Glasgow Central at 2.30pm on the nose.

Mac has booked a plush apartment that forms part of the Glasgow Royal Infirmary - at least we won't have far to walk should one of us fall ill or have an accident. There are 12x CAMRA Heritage Pubs in the vicinity that I want to chalk off as well as a fair few Good Beer Guide entries. 

Before checking-in at the digs we visit a few watering holes including Babbity Bowster which I have frequented on another occasion. I used to work for a company called Ideagen PLC, who sell governance, risk and compliance software - they are now a major sponsor for Nottingham Forest Football Club. They had an office up in East Kilbride, so I've spent a fair amount of time up here, but still have to cock my ear and listen intently when deciphering the dialect.

The plan was to go and watch a Scottish Championship top of the table clash between Partick and Falkirk. Unfortunately, for us, the match has been brought forward 24 hours to satisfy the TV companies. We've already bought tickets for a gig to be held on the same night.

We're in the dark and dingy basement of a venue called Room 2, on Nelson Mandela place. The drinks available are nothing to write home about. Local darkwave/electronic band, Mercy Girl, open up the gig. The main event is Bambara, a post punk/grunge band that hails from Athens, in Georgia, but who are now based in Brooklyn, New York. It's a blistering, high energy, boisterous set which is led and steered superbly by frontman Reid Bateh, who has the look of Elvis, with his black leather jacket, white T-shirt and snake hips. It's gone past midnight when we finally roll into bed (not together).

We're up, at 'em and having a Scottish breakfast by 9.30. The black pudding melts in the mouth, whilst the Americano is much-needed after a heavy day of travel on Friday. Glasgow has a superb underground rail system. £4,50 all day travel is great value. The first stop of the day is a HP pub called Brechins in the town of Govan, which was once famous for its shipyards. Brechins is open from nine in the morning and closes at teatime - it's more of a community pub that sadly doesn't sell real ale. It's early in the day, so we settle for half of Tennent's lager.

Ibrox is the next stop on the outer line. The football stadium is a short walk away. There's a statue of former manager Walter Smith as well as a number of memorials to people who lost their lives in several tragic incidents at the ground. In 1971, 66 supporters died following a crush on an exit stairway; over 200 people were injured too.

Lunchtime is spent in the smart town of Partick where we partake in a couple of beverages at some GBG pubs. It's a short train journey to Dumbarton, home to 'The Sons' and the infamous Dumbarton Rock that towers above the main stand.

Dumbarton are a club in crisis and are currently in administration. £122,000 has been raised in a crowdfunder. They are already relegated, but can play their part in how things will shape in the final standings. Annan Athletic, a Borders team, are today's visitors. Peter Shearstone, a fellow fan of Carlton Town, is a big supporter of the Galabankies.

It's sub standard fayre served up by both teams in the first half an hour. Clearances are shanked and chances are spurned. The visitors dominate proceedings, but somehow, totally against the run of play, 'The Sons' take the lead, much to the surprise and delight of most of the 581 in attendance.

There's the usual sending off that I tend to witness North of the Border; although this one is a tad harsh. An old warrior of a centre forward restores parity for the visitors. The game is suspended with 15 minutes remaining as a fire alarm has gone off. We all end up on the pitch which affords us a bird's eye view of the Dumbarton Rock. Once the game restarts 'The Sons' score two further goals to confirm Annan's fate, which will be a relegation play-off game. My mate Pete won't be happy. There's time for a quick drink at the 'Spoons in the town centre before boarding a train and heading up to Hillhead, Kelvinbridge and back into Glasgow city centre. It's gone midnight again when we finally return to base camp.

It's a lot warmer on Sunday as we take a wander and a gander at the superb street art and statues that are dotted around Glasgow. We have a posh breakfast at Cafe Gandolfi, with its high ceilings and old world vibe. We take a ride out on the overhead train to the town of Shettleston. We are greeted by a friendly old drunk in the doorway of The Railway Tavern - we can't understand a word he says.

We jump on another train to the town of Paisley, which is famous for its weaving industry, with its name given to the Paisley shawl and Paisley pattern. The actors Tom Conti and Gerard Butler were born here, as were the footballers Owen Coyle and Gordon 'Jukebox' Durie. 

It's an impressive town with some superb buildings. Four pubs are ticked off before returning to Glasgow in time for the second half of the FA Cup semi final between Manchester City and Nottingham Forest. We chance upon a table close to a TV that's mounted upon a wall at the Drum and Monkey, a grand old building that was once a bank. Forest are magnificent in the second half, but once again Gibbs-White achilles heel is his finishing.

We wander the streets of Glasgow in the evening ticking off more historical pubs. We're so far out of town that we have to UBER it back to Ben Nevis (the pub not the mountain). We finish up at a Spoons before the long slog back to the digs with just a Sainsbury's cheese and ham sandwich for company.

Attendance: 581

Man of the Match: Tony Mac. Planned the trip superbly

Best Beer Supped this Week: Lincoln Green, Hang in There

Best Song Heard on the Radio: Father John Misty - I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us

Notts County 1-3 Salford City

I'm queuing at the bar in Carlton Town's clubhouse. Sticky's splashing out on a big round of drinks following a Grand National shock win for Nick Rockett. Liquid Light's Day Tripper is always available on tap in the Millers' bar.

Carlton have drawn 1-1 to Brighouse Town, but the mood and talk amongst the fans is still upbeat. There is a presentation to two very popular players, Lawrence Stewart-Gorman and Lewis Durow, who have both made over 100+ appearances for the club.

I sit with 'Gilly', Framey and Duds as the Aston Villa v Nottingham Forest evening game kicks off. In the blink of an eye the Tricky Trees are 2-0 down. Sat adjacent to me is NFFC legendary supporter, Gary Clarke, who is clearly distraught at what he is witnessing He asks if the TV set can be turned off. Edward and I pipe up that it might be better if we watch the Brookside omnibus edition on Channel 4.

Forest react well to adversity. Shots are fired in, that narrowly go wide. They pull a goal back and miss a string of chances in the second half. It's a fantastic advertisement for the Premier League. But fortune is hiding today for U Reds, as the referee blows the final whistle.

It's 9am. on Sunday and I'm walking down Milton Street towards Victoria Centre, a shopping centre and social housing complex, in Nottingham. This brutalist building was constructed by Taylor Woodrow between 1967 and 1970. Victoria Market has all but closed. It was the place to be in the 1970s, when you could buy fish, poultry, fruit and lace amongst many other products. Nottingham can be a sorry and sad sight at this time of day. The shops are closed and it's eerily quiet. The homeless are wedged in shop doorways, buried in their sleeping bags.

Foodies and coffee aficionados are packed in like sardines at crowd favourite YOLK, which sits at the bottom of hipster Hockley. I decide to have breakfast at BEAR, a red-fronted diner, that's located in the heart of the creative neighbourhood. 

It's more worthy of praise than the 3.9 average google review score. I opt for Turkish eggs, served on Greek yoghurt, with crispy chilli oil and pink onions on warm flatbread. It's a best seller a mile away on The Avenue in West Bridgford. Fair play to the lads and lasses of 'Fur Coats and No Knickers Land;' it's an absolute banger when accompanied with a piping hot Americano and some warm milk - alright John Torode  .. calm down.

After walking off my breakfast, down Arkwright Street, and through the Meadows, I'm fumbling through my bag to find my phone, so I can show my members' pass to the steward who is on the gate at Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club.

I sit with Drurs, 'Acko', 'Seadog Paul' and the Horsburghs. Notts put themselves in a strong position following a century by 'one of our own', vice-captain Lyndon James. Drurs and I manage to get a couple of bollockings in the space of an hour. The first one is from an overzealous (bored) steward who says we aren't allowed to sit in the 'players area.' At lunch we feel the wrath of Durham's lead bowling coach and ex England Test cricketer, Graham Onions, when a stray, hurtling cricket ball narrowly misses us in the practise area on the outfield, as we saunter around the ground on the in-field.

It's Wednesday evening and I've finished up work for a few days - when I say work I mean talking to customers about football, cricket or the soap operas when all the TV magazines are published on a Tuesday. I've not been to flicks in ages. Why would you want to be cooped up in a tiny cinema whilst the sun is shining and the beer is flowing?

Mr Burton has been receiving some glowing reviews from the film press. What sways it for me is that the brilliant Toby Jones stars in the film, as an inspirational mentor and teacher, who encourages, cajoles and eventually adopts a young, promising Welsh actor called Richard Burton. Two hours flies by in a very busy Screen One at Broadway Cinema. I get my third bollocking of the week when an eagle-eyed usher clocks me checking the time on my phone. It's going to be one of those weeks folks.

I'm as happy as Larry on Thursday evening when I chance upon a half-price sale at Tartarus Brewery, who sell high end craft ales, up in Leeds. I bag 12x cans for £34. I explain to Ms Moon that they are soon to be past their best before date, so I'll need to drink 'em pretty quickly. "Any excuse", she replies.

I make the 4 mile walk to Trent Bridge Cricket Ground on Friday morning. I am accompanied by blog legend Faggsy (BLF) who has just spent the last five days walking the south west coastal path in Cornwall with Crazy Steve.

It's definitely a day to be lathered in Factor 30 sun cream as we sit like starfish in the Lower Radcliffe Road End. I've eaten most of my lunch only a few hours into play. Drurs and I retire to a shaded area in the upper Fox Road Stand for the afternoon session.

Managing director of England Cricket, Rob Key, is here to cast his eye over Essex's opening bowlers Sam Cook and Jamie Porter. It's worth the long trip as Notts are reeling at 78-5. 27 year old South African wicket keeper/batsman Kyle Verryenne comes to the rescue with a brilliant century on his seasonal debut.

Faggsy and I wander over Trent Bridge after the game. There's no time for a post-match beverage. We part company outside the Notts County ticket office. I queue for what seems an age as a few folk renew their season tickets. It's £27.50 to watch tonight's game - bloody hell, good job I won the Grand National.

Salford City are tonight's visitors. Trumpy Bolton and I saw them play away at Warrington about 15 years ago, when they only took three fans. 155 make the journey on a Coronation Street night (one for you there Edward).

I take my place in the Derek Pavis Stand, as Salford win the toss and spin round the home side, so they attack the Kop End, that's usually saved for the second half. The Pies form has been indifferent. They have had more recent successes on the road. Jodi Jones has been sorely missed, as has Dan Crowley (whisper that quietly) who has departed to MK Dons ('Voldemort FC').

The first half is bloody awful. Even an overexcited young boy, sitting behind me with his grandad, gets bored and starts blowing raspberries. Salford score a fortuitous goal on the stroke of half time after a miscommunication between the two officials. The game has been crying out for goal, maybe a few substitutions can fire up the home side.

There's a triple substitution made by an under pressure Stuart Maynard, who is sat in the stands, after three yellow cards. Jack Hinchy is unfortunate to be hooked, as he has at least tried to keep the ball moving and has got it out wide, despite being under pressure. 

Notts are soon 2-0 down with the lively 10 jacket, N'Mai, reacting the quickest to a parried shot. McGoldrick reduces arrears from close range after a corner. But Luke Garbutt puts the game to bed, at the second time of asking.Tempers are frayed in the Derek Pavis Stand, at the final whistle, as two County supporters are kept apart, as a feud has been brewing.

On Saturday after a 7 hour shift at the fun factory it's down to Trent Bridge for the afternoon and evening session. We can hear the noise of fans drifting over from The City Ground. At 4.50pm a supporter sat in the stand says Everton have scored. "Who was it?", I enquire, "Doucoure." I had a £2 first goalscorer (16/1) and £2 anytime bet (13/2) on the Mali international scoring. Sorry Red Dog Roly, but that's my night out paid for. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 9,643

Man of the Match: Abdoulaye Doucoure (Sorry NFFC Fans)

Song I liked on the Radio: CMAT, Running/PlanningBest 

Best Beer Supped this week: Eunomia, Tartarus

Nottingham Forest 1-0 Manchester United

The game has ended 1-1 in the East Riding of Yorkshire. We see out the afternoon in the North Ferriby FC clubhouse. They have a session SALT craft ale on behind the bar. I sink a couple whilst the players tuck in to the snap that has been laid on by our hosts. The banter is flying around the bus on the journey home. After a rip roaring set earlier in the day, 'Disco Dave' is now taking requests. Blog legend Edward asks for Rasputin by German 70s disco band Boney M. I ask him to perform, in the aisle, the Russian cossack dance called the Kozachoc. He politely declines my request.

Aggro Nige' isn't hijacking the decks, as he is too occupied and immersed in following NFFC's quarter final tie versus Brighton, down on the south coast. The game is as dull as dishwater. Cometh the man, cometh the hour. Sticky's favourite, Ryan Yates, blasts home the final spot kick to send the Tricky Trees to Wembley.

I'm dog tired when Edward very kindly drops me off at home at 8.30 pm. Ms Moon asks me if I want to play Lee Mack's 1% Club quiz show. As previously mentioned, Ms Moon has a higher IQ than Sticky. You wouldn't have thought so this evening readers, as I breezed my way to a rare victory.

It's Monday evening and I've just alighted a Nottingham City Transport bus, adjacent to The Cornerhouse complex. The plan was to have a spot of food at Slice n Brew, one of my favourite pizza joints. It never seems to be open on a Monday. I head down King's Walk, through Market Square, where folk are basking in the glorious late afternoon sunshine, and onto Victoria Street, where Rudy's Pizza Napoletana restaurant is located.

I grab a table for one and order up a soft drink and a salami pizza with a chilli and honey dip. My oh my, it's delicious folks. I walk it off in the city centre, whilst looking up and admiring the wonderful architecture that our city is so proud of.

The doorbell rings as I enter the quaint and quirky Barrel Drop micropub that's hidden away up Hurts Yard. I nurse a half pint of a cherry Raven Magpie dark stout beer, as I've overindulged at the weekend and I'm not in the mood for alcohol on a school night. Blog legends Tony Mac and DJ Murph are also in attendance. We're joined later by 'Aggro Nige', his partner Sue, blog reader and diehard Notts County fan Sean and his wife.

The reason for our gathering is that Irish post punk band, Gurriers, are playing Rescue Rooms. The original gig was at The Bodega, but tickets sold out so quickly that there has been a venue upgrade. £14 is a steal to watch the Dublin lads. Mac and I caught them in action at the Hare and Hounds, an iconic music venue in Kings Heath, Birmingham, at the back end of 2024. They blew the house down that evening.

DJ Murph is raving about the support band from Limerick called Theatre - what a terrible name to search on Google. We're only here for the main act; they don't disappoint. The set is full of energy, shouty vocals and loud guitars. Murph slopes off half an hour into the set, mumbling that they are average. The sellout crowd would beg to differ.

The diet is out of the window the following evening. I grab a cheeseburger at Five Guys before making my way through the Meadows on route to The City Ground. I sit on the banks of the river Trent listening to the bagpipes playing as the sun sets.

I'm in the ground 75 minutes before kick off - this is pretty impressive, even by my OCD standards. I paid £52 for my ticket - the last time I shelled out this sort of lolly was to watch The Cure in Birmingham, a couple of years ago.

I'm sitting a few rows above the players' tunnel. It gives me a bird's eye view of all pre-match activities. I can see makeup being applied to Ally McCoist, Martin O'Neill and Rio Ferdinand. TNT commentator, Darren Fletcher, who ironically lives just down the road, scurries off to his commentary position up at the top of the gantry. The Big Man (Mr Marinakis) makes an appearance on the pitch. He's dressed casually in a jacket and a white T-shirt - I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of the Big 'un.

The DJ set, prior to the turgid stuff they play 15 minutes before kick off, is excellent. A lot of it is early 90s dance music. I used to love the DJ at NFFC, a few years back, who just used to play all the Madchester stuff like the Happy Mondays, Black Grape, The Charlatans and Stone Roses.

It's a pulsating game of football. Anthony Elanga latches onto a Ryan Yates headed clearance. He leaves a few players for dead before unleashing a shot that hits the back of the onion bag. The noise is deafening. United's away support is up there with the best in the country. Win or lose, they never stop singing. The guile, skill and speed of Garnacho gives them something to cheer about. But they are toothless up top, with nothing for the 20 year old Argentine to aim at or fire into.

There's a sensational end to the game when a Harry Maguire effort is cleared off the line by the Brazilian, Murillo. At the final whistle the players fall to the ground in exhaustion. I walk home over Trent Bridge with a spring in my step and fireworks high in the sky. It was some game for the neutral to view.

I stroll down to Trent Bridge Cricket Ground on Thursday morning, via the canal, where a few nasty Canadian geese are having a hissy fit. I renew my cricket season ticket to the tune of £209 - it's incredibly good value, considering the amount of games you can go to. I wander back into town and jump on a tram that heads up to Radford. I enjoy a couple of afternoon beers in the garden of the Lion, in Basford.

It's 'Christmas Day' on Thursday morning - more commonly known as the first day of the cricket season. I take my seat in a sun-drenched Lower Radcliffe Road Stand. I'm sat with Drurs and an old history teacher from South Wolds Comprehensive School, in Keyworth, called Peter Ford.

It's a fantastic day's cricket with Durham posting 376-9. Notts's overseas Australian bowler, Fergus O'Neill, has taken four wickets on his debut. I enjoy a couple of pints of 'Plain Sailing' with Red Dog Roly in the Fox and Grapes in the 'Nottingham Covent Garden.'

I volunteered for an extra shift at the shop on Saturday morning as they are short on personnel. It's a 4 am alarm call. Chippy Fryer and I enjoy some terrific bants with the general public of Arnold as they purchase the Daily Mail. We shout to all and sundry to back 'Nick Rockett' in the Grand National. In the real world my name is Nick.

I grab a power nap on return to HQ. I head out down Burton Road with clear blue skies and a stiff breeze at my back. The expectation of the Millers' faithful today is another three points. There's an astonishing wind-assisted 50 yard strike from Nat Watson that puts Carlton 1-0 up. It's no fluke, folks. 

The visitors, Brighouse (minus the brass band) are deservedly on level terms shortly before the break.  A cross from the winger, who is in acres of space, is headed home from close range. Carlton can't get a stranglehold on the game. They'll need a reset at the break, as well as a few choice words, as the levels will need to be upped.

The clubhouse is packed as two horses jump together at the final fence of Aintree's Grand National. "What are their names?"  I ask a keen racegoer. "Nick Rockett and I Am Maximus", he replies. I've backed 'em both. I tell Jon Gilbert, Duds and Framey: "I can't 'arf pick 'em." It's my round.

Brighouse continue to impress. There are some fine saves by 'Felix the Cat' who keeps them at bay. At the death their sub fires over from a few yards out when it looked like it was easier to score.

Attendance: 233

Man of the Match: Nick Rockett

Beer of the Week: 'Plain Sailing' Otherworld Brewery, Dalkeith, Scotland

Best Song Heard on the Radio: Stones Throw, Greentea Peng