ITN News has somehow found its way onto Ms Moon's TV set. I was a big fan of BBC News until Huw Edwards was found out to be a wrong 'un. It also cheesed me off that he continued to be paid his £475,000 salary, plus a £40,000 pay rise, out of the TV Licence fee payers pockets. Clive Myrie hasn't covered himself in glory either, by failing to declare £65,000 (admin error) earnings he made from public appearances. What an absolute omnishambles. The late, great Sri Lankan-born newsreader George Aligiah (Murphy, my budgie loved him) will be turning in his grave.
It's during the ITN broadcast that I kick off and start gesticulating towards the TV screen. 'Boring Alex Beresford' is doing another pointless, drawn-out weather forecast. He's skiving, undercover, in the warmth of the Royal Botanic Gardens, in Haywards Heath, Sussex, as another storm blows across the Irish Sea, where it later batters the north of England. Beresford can be often seen basking in the sunshine on a promenade in Eastbourne or Brighton on a sultry summer evening. But when the weather turns for the worse the wimp takes cover in the studio or in this case a botanical garden. Give me BBC's Northern correspondent, Danny Shaw, any day, dressed in a Mackintosh raincoat and wellies, standing on a bridge that's about to collapse due to a swollen river in Hebden Bridge.
It's Wednesday morning 5th February. It's my first Wednesday off work for three months as MSR Arnold legendary shop manager Dave 'Chippy' Fryer has returned to the shop floor following recuperation and physio after a full knee reconstruction. It's also my 61st birthday.
I swing by the Hungry Pumpkin on High Pavement, in Nottingham, where I grab a bacon sandwich and a piping hot Americano coffee. I take a stroll to Nottingham Train Station where I board the 9.55 EMR train to the world's greatest city, London.
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I listen to possibly the best podcast that the BBC have ever produced; it's called Stakeknife. In Northern Ireland from 1978 to 1994 the IRA killed over 40 alleged informants. Astonishingly, the man who carried out many of these killings was himself a double agent, who was working for the British government as a secret agent. In the blink of an eye, after listening to two episodes of the podcast, the train is pulling into London St Pancras.
I'm meeting my brother today, as Ms Moon is working in Sussex for most of the week. The plan was to head down the East End, as I fancied a trip down memory lane, around the Upton Park area, home to West Ham United for 112 years. Plans are scuppered, for now, as there are severe delays on the tube line from Liverpool Station. A friendly customer service lady says it is best if I catch a train on the Circle Line to Tower Hill, where I can pick up Docklands Light Railway.
A memorial catches my eye, as I loiter outside Tower Hill station, whilst waiting for Our Kid to arrive. 32,000 merchant seamen gave their lives during the Second World War. Those without graves are remembered at the Tower Hill Memorial, in Trinity Square. Each vessel is named, along with its crew members who lost their lives. It's a humbling moment to begin my day out down the Smoke.
Our Kid and I have a smashing day out as we clock up 10 miles of walking. We lunch in Spitalfields market before chalking off a few CAMRA Heritage Pubs that are in close proximity. I'm gutted that the three star Dolphin, in Hackney, looks to be closed. It's soon forgotten, when entering The Boleyn, home to Hammers fans over the years. It was built in 1899 in a free Renaissance style. The architecture is stunning and the beer choice is breathtaking. We finish the day admiring the World Cup Sculpture that's across the road. It features Bobby Moore, Martin Peters, Geoff Hurst and Ray Wilson. Moore is held shoulder high holding the Jules Rimet Trophy aloft.
It's Friday morning and I'm in the back of Cotgrave Trev's car, with Little Al sitting to my left and Crazy Steve sat in the passenger seat in the front. It's a Victoria Cross Memorial/Famous Graves and Heritage Pub day out. Destination is the much-maligned town of Middlesbrough.
We pay our respects to Stanley Hollis, who has the distinction of receiving the only Victoria Cross awarded on D-Day 6th June, 1944 for gallantry and bravery. He was decorated by King George VI in October 1944.
I'd noticed, when perusing Crazy Steve's itinerary, that we were to visit Eston Cemetery. Middlesbrough FC legendary centre forward, Wilf Mannion, was laid to rest there in 2000 at the age of 82 years old. He scored 99 goals in 341 appearances - his career was interrupted by the Second World War, where he fought in France and Italy. After his death a statue of Mannion was erected at the Riverside Stadium. He's still the only Middlesbrough player ever to score at a World Cup finals.
The Zetland is our first Heritage pub tick off of the day. A chatty owner explains that Zetland is Gaelic for Shetland. It came at a time when the Royals were taking a keen interest in Scotland. The Zetland was built in 1860 as a pub/hotel which served the nearby railway station. Today it's a bar brasserie.
Lunch is taken at fake 'Spoons called Issac Wilson. One or two of the natives look quite handy. I admire the photos of Middlesbrough's old ground, Ayresome Park, as Trev chooses the dish of the day, a local delicacy called chicken Parmo, which the town is well known for.
I'm up 'em, at 'em and sat down in The Avenues in 'Nottingham Covent Garden' by 9.30 on Saturday morning. I'm joined for breakfast by Carlton Town superfans 'Murph' and 'Unders', who incidentally is a Smoggie - we sometimes require an interpreter to understand what he's saying, particularly after he's had a few scoops.
Today is an away day to high-flying Belper Town, who ain't shy on social media. or quiet in their recruitment either. We meet the rest of the gang on Platform 4A. The EMR train to Matlock predictably leaves late, albeit by only a few minutes.
I'm chatting to the Hand family who go above and beyond as volunteers for the Mighty Millers. Dad, Johnny, is on another level; generously giving his time up when it comes to pitch maintenance and general repairs, particularly out of season. Johnny and Sonya's son Aidan has broken his leg - he's currently wearing a protective boot, but the previous eight weeks have been spent in a wheelchair. Their youngest son, Elliot, aged 8 years old, is a real character. He recently chewed off the ear of the NFFC community lady so much so, that she let him be a mascot for the Ipswich game to give her 90 minutes rest .. lol.
There are some cracking pubs in Belper. We begin at Arkwrights where I enjoy three different real ales accompanied by a cheese and onion cob. We move onto the George and Dragon, near to the ground. Murph sets up a darts competition with the end game being hit the bullseye to win. 13 year old ski-booted Aidan duly obliges - 'Herr Harlow' ain't happy.
All the Millers fans congregate behind the goal Carlton attack. I've barely parked my backside on my padded seat in the Directors' Box (I blagged it) before Lamin Manneh opens the scoring on two minutes following hesitation in the Nailers defence.
I grab a chat with a couple of Danish groundhoppers who are sat directly behind me. They are staying in Duffield. I tell them that one of the greatest managers the world has ever seen is buried there in the churchyard. Brian Howard Clough is laid to rest there with his wife Barbara. I also chat with 'Smiffy' who I became mates with on a charity walk in Liverpool.
Carlton are putting on a show but can't bag a second. Belper go close from a free kick on the stroke of half time. Everyone is chipper in the clubhouse and are confident that the Millers can add to their tally. We don't have to wait long for Liam Moran to lash the ball home. Once again, four pints in, I jump out of my seat.
The Millers are coasting and making a mockery of both clubs league placings. Davie releases Watson, the outcome is never in doubt: 3-0. I keep the fans WhatsApp group updated. It's safe to leave my lucky seat. I walk towards the away following who have sung non-stop in support of their team. "Sticky give us a wave" - I duly oblige, smiling like a (drunken) Cheshire Cat.
A late consolation goal can't dampen our day, but it does annoy me. Folk are buzzing in the bar afterwards. We finish up in Lincoln Green's Railway pub, adjacent to the station. I can't 'arf pick 'em.
Attendance: 576
Unsung Heroes: The Hand family
Beer of the Week: Steam Power, Ampersand Brewery in Diss, Norfolk
Song of the Week: H.O.O.D. by Kneecap
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