tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62684926138152930042024-03-18T09:05:34.262+00:00The GroundhopperTales from Sticky Palms, as he trawls the Midlands and northern England searching for the soul of football.Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.comBlogger633125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-30397059221134305342024-03-17T19:55:00.000+00:002024-03-17T19:55:18.252+00:00Lincoln City 5-0 Bristol Rovers<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueBu4-dr4H25Ad-3Ih5_MqxAu4n0uORObnanKDmNoF6PaAGYIU0-nrDKm-fSKNb_ewFkavftaXBBT8zz_4uDt-AgOgdV7b8oXyBrU_pSRfIqDY9iK78qnvDA_Sg7N1T0D-N7VIWaIgnjw11Gty7uS6sSduAJC_V8IEwibQ4RoFfaSyOw7F73DUK1XN8s/s4032/IMG_0274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgueBu4-dr4H25Ad-3Ih5_MqxAu4n0uORObnanKDmNoF6PaAGYIU0-nrDKm-fSKNb_ewFkavftaXBBT8zz_4uDt-AgOgdV7b8oXyBrU_pSRfIqDY9iK78qnvDA_Sg7N1T0D-N7VIWaIgnjw11Gty7uS6sSduAJC_V8IEwibQ4RoFfaSyOw7F73DUK1XN8s/s320/IMG_0274.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I arrive home on Saturday evening after Carlton's narrow defeat to Stockton Town. My mood darkens when I see that Ms Moon is watching irritating 'comedian' Michael McIntyre on the TV set. I crack open a strong can of craft ale and boot up my laptop. I scroll through all the scores. 'The Lincoln' have battered Barnsley 5-1 away at Oakwell. The time has come to make a call to get the band back together.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Sunday afternoon I fish my phone out of my pocket and swipe down my list of contacts to the letter T. I press the green 'call' button. I feel my heart flutter, and my face light up, when the person on the other end of the line says "Hi Chap." This 20 year old diary has unearthed some blog legends over that period of time: Tosh, Big Glenn, Big Man, Tony Mac, The Taxman, Crazy Steve and Ms Moon are amongst many - but I'm sorry folks, nobody comes near to Trumpy Bolton. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjKqY6WR5J0JqQd6XS1Uqd3asq_Wlws-3SSbSPpjmxd6u8DBFDClgSi4vy2DCiBXm-npyDOuegeYk3oPUJWKgQ-cnUTfMSSLZpOd8iSoiOcSxPFc42c1ghBVkWQ7sNatDbF_Xq6IDHwF-bA346CxIcq8FIEr3wDFnk-IMRz-Dd1JALOpGEOUqQ-SLTUY/s4032/IMG_0407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRjKqY6WR5J0JqQd6XS1Uqd3asq_Wlws-3SSbSPpjmxd6u8DBFDClgSi4vy2DCiBXm-npyDOuegeYk3oPUJWKgQ-cnUTfMSSLZpOd8iSoiOcSxPFc42c1ghBVkWQ7sNatDbF_Xq6IDHwF-bA346CxIcq8FIEr3wDFnk-IMRz-Dd1JALOpGEOUqQ-SLTUY/s320/IMG_0407.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not sure whether it's interference or incoherence on the line, but I piece together that he's on his way home from Kingston upon Hull after viewing a disappointing 2-2 draw for the faltering Foxes at the KC Stadium. Him and wife Jayne are stopping off in Newark-on-Trent for a 'couple of glasses' and a bite to eat. 16th March has been pencilled in for some time. The resurgence of Lincoln hasn't gone unnoticed. The following day I ring up the LNER Stadium at Sincil Bank. Two tickets are secured as is the 10.38 train to Lincoln. As Peaches and Herb said in 1979 'Reunited,' </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and I'm slogging it up Talbot Street in Nottingham city centre, to the iconic music venue Rock City. Tony Mac and I, earlier in the evening, had sunk a couple of jars in the Barrel Drop and Yarn. Tonight I'm seeing a band I've watched many times over the last 40 years.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmetoXPxw7NzSclyv9UCj05N-p8Dm8GyCZGXDyVOLCDu2XFAPpcYmxiAm5a-RYYBSBBx-c1Yc-vIYRUJmwLp0_xdF97OOqbv6EmZqW-hiwzIKH4sWg8EuEyFNnaHF6sSwPqjkxhjptFJDCXHsnARHGBpx3KsD1aTygm3NqM4WqjhPaRwibQeVW-ZMlJ0/s220/IMG_0506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="220" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmetoXPxw7NzSclyv9UCj05N-p8Dm8GyCZGXDyVOLCDu2XFAPpcYmxiAm5a-RYYBSBBx-c1Yc-vIYRUJmwLp0_xdF97OOqbv6EmZqW-hiwzIKH4sWg8EuEyFNnaHF6sSwPqjkxhjptFJDCXHsnARHGBpx3KsD1aTygm3NqM4WqjhPaRwibQeVW-ZMlJ0/s1600/IMG_0506.JPG" width="220" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I was into Echo and the Bunnymen from the off in 1980. I remember the cool kids in South Wolds sixth form, in Keyworth, used to wear long green raincoats and combat trousers. As a teenager I wanted to be the Liverpudlian lead singer Ian McCulloch, who was as cool as Clough.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I recently read part one of the Bunnymen memoirs, written by guitarist Will Sergeant. It's a riveting, captivating capture of growing up in poverty stricken Liverpool in the late 60s and early 70s. Tonight, Rock City is packed to the rafters. It's fair to say that McCulloch is struggling to reach any notes of significance. The music is spellbinding. Show of Strength, Over the Wall and Killing Moon are my favourite three from tonight's two part set.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgIpDaNi_XdVLfQ-GR1PiKBpwaxz5HCrjvM0QctKtayYXqtNx00BwG6LoCX8f8EdGwfsK5S5oHmaqkVREhRnrJIcUQAMGg7RPBGaZu2P81cHjXy_rtPY9FQ9HPG391WKFvO8dfJkFiMSwB7NKOMqI4iXcsyF3FZYNPGAVYvsjPXMAZKDzxn-y_6j6mhQ/s615/IMG_0494.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSgIpDaNi_XdVLfQ-GR1PiKBpwaxz5HCrjvM0QctKtayYXqtNx00BwG6LoCX8f8EdGwfsK5S5oHmaqkVREhRnrJIcUQAMGg7RPBGaZu2P81cHjXy_rtPY9FQ9HPG391WKFvO8dfJkFiMSwB7NKOMqI4iXcsyF3FZYNPGAVYvsjPXMAZKDzxn-y_6j6mhQ/s320/IMG_0494.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday is Ms Moon's day off and the beginning of a four day break from the shop for Sticky. We lunch at Delilah Fine Foods, on Victoria Street. Nothing tickles our fancy at the flicks. I've got a good 'un lined up for us both next week, called Cabrini.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I took a stroll down to Nottingham Central Library later in the afternoon. Former BBC Midlands Today, Radio 4 and Radio Nottingham broadcaster John Holmes is giving a talk about his 50 year career in the media. He tells some charming, amusing anecdotes about Spike Milligan and Joan Collins, but of course the best one is based around Brian Clough.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSffIAmDvwg3LpT-imlmMJ4RyvHA-4wC-9QRtTG5AIVUVx34YELs-q1kEZ_DDBQcgYetRJssElqLkSGbz3IVSVFLaEW-jImVWyrbzxgyOaqthrqKoS_Wmp-AEpPUSkW2z1Uh7fVt8hIFcZVAbPDdz6YLiJDdF8B8d_vMzz88qIQUnCVnoqNEx6-_dfi8/s512/IMG_0541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="370" data-original-width="512" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSffIAmDvwg3LpT-imlmMJ4RyvHA-4wC-9QRtTG5AIVUVx34YELs-q1kEZ_DDBQcgYetRJssElqLkSGbz3IVSVFLaEW-jImVWyrbzxgyOaqthrqKoS_Wmp-AEpPUSkW2z1Uh7fVt8hIFcZVAbPDdz6YLiJDdF8B8d_vMzz88qIQUnCVnoqNEx6-_dfi8/s320/IMG_0541.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Cloughie and Taylor had arranged, at short notice, a testimonial game at The City Ground, and needed some publicity. Clough phoned up Holmes at home to pull him in for a favour. John asked old Big 'Ead into the studio for a phone-in with the supporters, so he could publicise the match.. Everything was going swimmingly well until Beryl from Beeston called in. "I've been a supporter of the club for over 35 years Mr Clough and was hoping with the development of the new stand that you might consider installing more than one 'Ladies' toilet as the queues are long at half-time and we are missing some of the game. Clough replied: "We won't be building any additional toilets, Beryl, and I suggest that you make time to go to the loo before arriving at the game" .. lol</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyk7QqwyBGBhZ9pFdupzc5GVYzzEwqvo13zd7qOND03UDAKQZfUxBnp6PbLNiDBECxaSdbAPsUURw0zk7oXrJTOxdofyOFSaUmqTtAy7_FPKkNCU-oVDeEWUTHi-ZgoAoy_3kud9JTO8_T15E5i5xrMJ__nq6CDSt5gSLQb5_gxuQehHdW0fiJG9vO0g/s4032/IMG_0289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiyk7QqwyBGBhZ9pFdupzc5GVYzzEwqvo13zd7qOND03UDAKQZfUxBnp6PbLNiDBECxaSdbAPsUURw0zk7oXrJTOxdofyOFSaUmqTtAy7_FPKkNCU-oVDeEWUTHi-ZgoAoy_3kud9JTO8_T15E5i5xrMJ__nq6CDSt5gSLQb5_gxuQehHdW0fiJG9vO0g/s320/IMG_0289.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday and I'm on the train to Doncaster after bagging a bargain £15 choo choo return. God, I love my senior railcard. I'm meeting my brother for a few scoops and a mooch about. Donny has a population of 90,000 and is well known for its railway history and horse racing. 69% of its population voted to 'Leave' the EU. Famous people from the city include: Last of the Summer Wine writer, Roy Clarke, Jeremy Clarkson, Louis Tomlinson from One Direction and the footballer Danny Rose.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I wait for my brother I stand in awe looking at one of the best murals I've ever clapped eyes on. It's a commissioned piece of urban artwork. It captures Doncaster's historic past and took the Nomad Clan two weeks to complete.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2rvf0GNVWJovCET6m1NDs8Cc85l0dCiGy51KrCZOkJIB4iQSYuzkvi4i1BDkmLVezC5wwCm2FhwdM2FbRXbUdHbKkxi5_T4FFDnhkDzBR9CU-OQbNnQg1zWzZFOG8BHOMZAO87agnoM_zfMkCPaLtnsSCRxcRN4byUGgNvw58AOVeP8H000vHsfc3G0/s4032/IMG_0276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj2rvf0GNVWJovCET6m1NDs8Cc85l0dCiGy51KrCZOkJIB4iQSYuzkvi4i1BDkmLVezC5wwCm2FhwdM2FbRXbUdHbKkxi5_T4FFDnhkDzBR9CU-OQbNnQg1zWzZFOG8BHOMZAO87agnoM_zfMkCPaLtnsSCRxcRN4byUGgNvw58AOVeP8H000vHsfc3G0/s320/IMG_0276.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Around the corner is another beautiful piece of architecture, it's known locally as 'Little Plough' and was remodelled in the 1930s by Doncaster's largest pub owners at the time, Hewitt Brothers, from Grimsby. A few blokes start piling in for an afternoon of betting and boozing as the Cheltenham Festival is on TV. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We visit a few other CAMRA pubs including Queen Craft where the barmaid excitedly told us that they hold comedy nights. My reply of "I presume all the comedians come from over the border, in Lancashire" is met with a stony face. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GNjYt6v7VrZ4tj804OsB1AuRgM0EoxKzOp6BlFHq_HABedj7GGXNtbLhQ036MICb466dfexJ_TyhCglIV78eSEsHz0K1bFblBDN7buONd4SpWmuQkx5n-3OeGXV3LIRw3PyQimvB3dZ8N4ZSu1eVqYvWuwJmiy3_RXcRJ8-Y6bUGXCkr3xaF0GkovhQ/s4032/IMG_0269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GNjYt6v7VrZ4tj804OsB1AuRgM0EoxKzOp6BlFHq_HABedj7GGXNtbLhQ036MICb466dfexJ_TyhCglIV78eSEsHz0K1bFblBDN7buONd4SpWmuQkx5n-3OeGXV3LIRw3PyQimvB3dZ8N4ZSu1eVqYvWuwJmiy3_RXcRJ8-Y6bUGXCkr3xaF0GkovhQ/s320/IMG_0269.jpg" width="320" /></a> Alehouse</div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I say goodbye to Our Kid on the platform at the railway station. I enjoy a pint at the Draughtsman as I wait to begin my journey home. I even manage time for a swift one at the newly opened Brew Tavern, in Nottingham, which in old money was BeerHeadZ. It's located at the old Transport Police hut on the corner of Queen's Road.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I have Friday tea time drinky poos at crowd favourite Lillie Langtry's and the more modern Copper City, which was Cafe Royale back in the day. We enjoy a lovely dining experience at French Living, a 30 year old family-owned restaurant at the top of King St. I plump for snails soaked in garlic. We wrap up the evening at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton where I enjoy a pint of Dr Rudi Smash from the Lenton Lane stable.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfAp0N6q7Zlg_hjUWGHVBnyDTozq1ZYhxWuNfqGVKEhxc4c79ZELMfIEVaV3mPVq0-ZAgCc-_3d67Fhh7iDu_M2txf3tO0ecW1l12gby2b6FfXd0-EOaRrzuLTrZkDGVDbmv3BySMwOq2uxCo8dJ3JsmX9rwZhmBlX-n9ArXktF7izls2JgsULUvLaRo/s4032/IMG_0380.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHfAp0N6q7Zlg_hjUWGHVBnyDTozq1ZYhxWuNfqGVKEhxc4c79ZELMfIEVaV3mPVq0-ZAgCc-_3d67Fhh7iDu_M2txf3tO0ecW1l12gby2b6FfXd0-EOaRrzuLTrZkDGVDbmv3BySMwOq2uxCo8dJ3JsmX9rwZhmBlX-n9ArXktF7izls2JgsULUvLaRo/s320/IMG_0380.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Saturday morning and reports are coming in (by text) that Trumpy Bolton has been necking a glass or two, very early doors, in Spoons' Joseph Else since 9 a.m. Else sculpted the iconic Left Lion and Right Lion that form part of the Council House. An hour later I chance upon Bolton at a dive bar called Industry. I have half a Guinness as the train is due to leave soon.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">For first time readers here is the drop your bacon sandwich news: for the last 45 years Trumpy Bolton's mission is to make a financial transaction in every village, town and city in England, Scotland and Wales. He has more box files than GCHQ. A crumpled atlas has each place visited highlighted. Every new pub is recorded in a book that holds more value than the Crown Jewels.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbzqPjD77V8WYogFqnYx85aUHGWI6xJ_YNorbInXjwKuEPd-0lQDoBhaXi35ppX9vIAO4MGHIuU3AfJXBhyirLxwlrUWb4ImZVB4E8TfuKDmhI8Y6Z1LcZ-HHqddqFlRbmor3wt0C3Vc8xUCAkNIg3CwmUDH7ZF6eKgpKeypGkAHZm9vAT0M2BgHT9DI/s4032/IMG_0447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbzqPjD77V8WYogFqnYx85aUHGWI6xJ_YNorbInXjwKuEPd-0lQDoBhaXi35ppX9vIAO4MGHIuU3AfJXBhyirLxwlrUWb4ImZVB4E8TfuKDmhI8Y6Z1LcZ-HHqddqFlRbmor3wt0C3Vc8xUCAkNIg3CwmUDH7ZF6eKgpKeypGkAHZm9vAT0M2BgHT9DI/s320/IMG_0447.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Sticky Tours take Trumpy down High Street, where there are a few alehouses he's never been to before including: Golden Eagle, Imp and Angel and Tiny Tavern. He engages with some Bristol Rovers fans in the pub and asks if Jason Roberts is in the squad. For any younger readers,Roberts is 46 years old. The whole pub erupts when Coventry City's USA forward, Haji Wright, scores a last gasp winner in an FA Cup tie at Molineux. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're sitting in our seats ten minutes before kick off. Bolton's beer count is at the bottom of this blog. The Red Imps are in a hot streak of form which has resulted in a late charge for a play-off position. It's been masterminded by their new head coach Michael Skubala, a Nottingham lad, who has pitched up from Leeds United academy, after serving time there under the popular Argentine, Marcelo Bielsa.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdvreFJJ844ZnnOsd5ThbTnpEt4DUo9ZRfkYEDfDPCiRjh1YtrUaI3WnC0lxmEKynQr04XS3T8RM2E6nLIdD4urCD0WPoJm3nuAWWQC6ADj9bF9GNB65zbVjzhvGs_rCfc5kdCYfixgaL-zxcQgG9CgpEPu2uJT5KwqFNh1Vozrp5FogOtQ2eAHcoR70/s4032/IMG_0461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdvreFJJ844ZnnOsd5ThbTnpEt4DUo9ZRfkYEDfDPCiRjh1YtrUaI3WnC0lxmEKynQr04XS3T8RM2E6nLIdD4urCD0WPoJm3nuAWWQC6ADj9bF9GNB65zbVjzhvGs_rCfc5kdCYfixgaL-zxcQgG9CgpEPu2uJT5KwqFNh1Vozrp5FogOtQ2eAHcoR70/s320/IMG_0461.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Pirates of Bristol are blown away by a fired-up, foot forward Imps. They're 3-0 down inside 23 minutes and have two of their players hooked before the half hour mark. Remarkably honours could be even had it not been for some outstanding 'keeping from the Imps' 24 year old Danish stopper, Lukas Jensen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Trumpy is miffed at the lack of alcohol available at the bar. He enjoys a light lunch instead (a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and a Twix chocolate bar). Things go from bad to worse for Rovers who miss from the penalty spot. Lincoln play the last 20 minutes with ten men after a couple of quick yellow cards for the impressive Ethan Erhahon.</div><p></p><p>Attendance: 9,392</p><p>Man of the Match: A return to form for Trumpy Bolton</p><p>Beer Count: a tin of Charnwood at home for breakfast, 2x pints in Joseph Else, a glass in Industry</p><p>5x pints on High Street, Lincoln. Tame by his standards, but no clubhouse to get</p><p>spangled in during the game. I'll get him down Carlton Town one day.</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-19953692359376536382024-03-10T20:21:00.001+00:002024-03-10T22:02:22.011+00:00Lincoln United 2-2 Eastwood CFC<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopJ9zRA14rlqA4uAtj8F5NFOEcEQAZJyol5Zs7zYoaNH5CsWu_3o0_0Zil7V01qY07dOuSAJzJgzhx9yclCKgdPcmPVpxJ4YrdpR_rHvRloY089Gbr-Wov1ah-O3PJHJkX2HXWCfemHGJDmz8M6R7ypltp8C6LRX8Z_aQPd2CKxnZkCbDRI5B2EclqTY/s770/IMG_0139.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="634" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgopJ9zRA14rlqA4uAtj8F5NFOEcEQAZJyol5Zs7zYoaNH5CsWu_3o0_0Zil7V01qY07dOuSAJzJgzhx9yclCKgdPcmPVpxJ4YrdpR_rHvRloY089Gbr-Wov1ah-O3PJHJkX2HXWCfemHGJDmz8M6R7ypltp8C6LRX8Z_aQPd2CKxnZkCbDRI5B2EclqTY/s320/IMG_0139.JPG" width="263" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday teatime and I'm hanging around at the bottom of Westdale Lane East, in Gedling, outside the Royal Kebabs takeaway house - it's a tad early for one of them. I've just demolished a chippy tea at The Plaice. The bloke who dished up was proper grumpy. He best cheer up for fish 'n chip reviewer Danny Bhoy, when he tips up on his next spot check.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">'Chief Wiggum' arrives at bang on six bells. Club Shop Ken and Herr Harlow are waiting in the village of Burton Joyce. We sail through Newark-on-Trent as we zip up the A46 towards the cathedral city of Lincoln - for once Sincil Bank is not the final destination.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaCPbnHKeEGgrwF6sHUBeVHlSnObOodGb2c32HU-Uwf2NnB9GQn5oAsY_Z3_UZu-rpEqOpLUcHlYvFfOunR9lnuJqNLmArGbJNIMWU8pG0wa9dDtoKzxtejBA_M4C2xzQlgSJpiWIuMIif0n5LoDamPMSh2HxAw-BAJ3uM4Iw6kZnvNqGbGAMIlKTA80/s4032/IMG_9915.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhaCPbnHKeEGgrwF6sHUBeVHlSnObOodGb2c32HU-Uwf2NnB9GQn5oAsY_Z3_UZu-rpEqOpLUcHlYvFfOunR9lnuJqNLmArGbJNIMWU8pG0wa9dDtoKzxtejBA_M4C2xzQlgSJpiWIuMIif0n5LoDamPMSh2HxAw-BAJ3uM4Iw6kZnvNqGbGAMIlKTA80/s320/IMG_9915.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There is a massive Carlton Town connection and gathering at Lincoln United's Ashby Avenue this evening. Former Millers cult hero Jack Steggles is in the nets, whilst a number of Eastwood players have played at El Stadio Stokeld, including the joint managers. We have a quick chat with Carl, who is Jack's dad, and a lovely bloke.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After a light refreshment in the clubhouse I pay £9 on the gate and part with a few quid for some raffle tickets and a go on the golden goal. I won a tin of out of date biscuits here a few years ago. The Taxman and I often used to chuckle about that. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4BMSnL3YjfJoumKbbaNurz76Gq24M2tQD0L81i7Iz1U-7Gz4lzD4cEQFt4w-nF5TN3D5ME2RbGGL3S7Uv__79gxTkrPJitFSAFVZmtyjQA-y56QvMM1zl8q1ly7f5W5urT6TPE4Rp5_FMmPrVRc9hkk1rhdswitY2eTztCXoMQKkdmCbeD3KwA_MsfU/s2048/dc13310c-c9e2-4439-a094-8559d7535319.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR4BMSnL3YjfJoumKbbaNurz76Gq24M2tQD0L81i7Iz1U-7Gz4lzD4cEQFt4w-nF5TN3D5ME2RbGGL3S7Uv__79gxTkrPJitFSAFVZmtyjQA-y56QvMM1zl8q1ly7f5W5urT6TPE4Rp5_FMmPrVRc9hkk1rhdswitY2eTztCXoMQKkdmCbeD3KwA_MsfU/s320/dc13310c-c9e2-4439-a094-8559d7535319.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I browse at the Eastwood CFC line up. An astonishing, jaw-dropping 47 different players have donned a Badgers shirt this season. This comfortably surpasses any previous records held by Barry Fry when managing Barnet or Birmingham City circa 1990s. It would also explain why they have only won two games in the last 15 outings. A measly 13 pts chalked up from a possible 45 pts available, sees them requiring snookers to reach the play offs, when only two months ago it looked a formality.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hopes were high at the beginning of the season, as was the budget. The last few post match interviews, with the gravel-voiced Carl from Badger TV, (he should audition for a Guy Ritchie film) has painted a picture of Stan Laurel head scratching and Brian Blessed beard-stroking from the management team, as they mull over another disappointing outcome. Key players have left. A promising, aggressive, committed centre half is one of them, after being called out on Carl TV, He'll push on and play at a higher level than Step 5.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0kNuNAvgC5s_wozfE1crlx8jrOHbsJFG9nykQQqYWixPH3CHkLmQjTyzbltYvCJjeJ3h7XsZ0_9Fuz3Ul2aF4ry1E3L2SqTZsNfmSTuhXGyN9yotQlKQov565RnDd_9ypkX1lMATAmcAHqSUJBUYDMGOCAKrygXLkUVgBapu_A6L2WjRhHHEevqh9pE/s2048/IMG_9914.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0kNuNAvgC5s_wozfE1crlx8jrOHbsJFG9nykQQqYWixPH3CHkLmQjTyzbltYvCJjeJ3h7XsZ0_9Fuz3Ul2aF4ry1E3L2SqTZsNfmSTuhXGyN9yotQlKQov565RnDd_9ypkX1lMATAmcAHqSUJBUYDMGOCAKrygXLkUVgBapu_A6L2WjRhHHEevqh9pE/s320/IMG_9914.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Eastwood's players put a shift in for the first 45 minutes. 40 year old Aaron O’Connor is psyched out from the penalty spot by Steggs, who stands his ground and gives him the eyes. OC's stop start run up sees his spot kick smash into an advertising hoarding instead of the back of the onion bag.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">They deservedly take the lead on 55 minutes through the on loan Eratt-Thompson. But their joy is short-lived when McMenemy evens things up after some schoolboy defending. Robertson looks to have earned the Badgers three deserved points. The goal of the game from Park, after a flowing move down the right, sees Lincoln steal a point. They’ll have to improve on Saturday when Deal Town from Kent rock up for an FA Vase quarter final clash. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGoptlUMrZbCnloCLtvg6ZMEC5ppKfaQyXR6nLsMvuZtrDZ4hkJxQwlzcoKJ5Po5908bXrBLeM4tW70mURFGD8CprKZOoqIoq3Z2fPh6n3CWkVrOVJB_Fmifr1jBABFmil-62r5wVCq5rbhKrjMlJwt3sydr37QTLR7MEWYCwdM97VDtX_yPoBTphzdmY/s400/IMG_0132.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGoptlUMrZbCnloCLtvg6ZMEC5ppKfaQyXR6nLsMvuZtrDZ4hkJxQwlzcoKJ5Po5908bXrBLeM4tW70mURFGD8CprKZOoqIoq3Z2fPh6n3CWkVrOVJB_Fmifr1jBABFmil-62r5wVCq5rbhKrjMlJwt3sydr37QTLR7MEWYCwdM97VDtX_yPoBTphzdmY/s320/IMG_0132.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I somehow manage to visit Trent Bridge Cricket ground twice in the space of a few hours on Wednesday. I renewed my season ticket for the summer and bought some nice Adidas clobber from the club shop. Within a few hours I'm walking back down to the ground with Faggsy for a Notts Cricket Lovers' Society speakers' evening.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Five Live journalist and presenter Eleanor Oldroyd is tonight's guest speaker. She is staying with relatives in West Bridgford, before driving up to Media City on Salford Quays, where she will present the weekend breakfast show on Saturday morning. The BBC studios, in the north, have been christened by Radcliffe and Maconie as the Piazza de Stan Ogden, named after the layabout, chain-smoking, beer-supping slob from Coronation Street. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwntRck5QzDxnbZpwn7iaGJ2QzVFyj82CY5FRp9Ou_1QWzXef4Icel2GNaXp1mxUQHFm_3SQ8uN_Szvumu-WJnrnKWxKxwLTuhZU2flXnL0rMQsY1DK-UuYpeGumBBZ4eBSqiJsHeTDI1Ab3KKzhv5f41k2XuOffeGL1ywaEKL60UcNTFHqy1UamgYOAQ/s976/IMG_9855%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="976" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwntRck5QzDxnbZpwn7iaGJ2QzVFyj82CY5FRp9Ou_1QWzXef4Icel2GNaXp1mxUQHFm_3SQ8uN_Szvumu-WJnrnKWxKxwLTuhZU2flXnL0rMQsY1DK-UuYpeGumBBZ4eBSqiJsHeTDI1Ab3KKzhv5f41k2XuOffeGL1ywaEKL60UcNTFHqy1UamgYOAQ/s320/IMG_9855%20(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Oldroyd describes her tough journey in journalism, as a female in a male-dominated industry. Fleet Street and TV closed any doors on her that were slightly ajar. It was BBC Radio Shropshire where she made her breakthrough. Later she moved onto Radio 1's Newsbeat team before joining Radio 5, which was later to become Five Live. She became the first woman to present Sports Report in 1995. Eleanor has also covered for the BBC the funerals and marriages of the Royal Family. I ask her what her favourite venues are. "Trent Bridge, Lord's and Adelaide", she replies, with an interesting anecdote to match each ground.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have a lazy one on Thursday. I view the final episode of the excellent Channel 4 documentary: 'The Miners' Strike.' It's another tough watch. In 1984 over 73% of Nottinghamshire miners voted against strike action. Citing intimidation by Yorkshire flying pickets, and a flouting of the constitution, with no national ballot held by NUM President Arthur Scargill. The courts ordered that all the assets of the Union be seized. Thatcher's advisor, David Hart, played a major part in the break up of the strike. He was her eyes and ears on the frontline. Nonetheless, it was a very sad, tearjerking moment, when the mineworkers' returned to work, after a poverty-stricken and anxious year, without income.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBcIhvH82hUYoMbhK3JzO63H1u_WpkE49__qXsRBC5R-5fMSlZ4Glb_x0fHjpv9D4ayi1Pmtsp6agAQZf32FN9bmtDFr3Tcjywrdiub3HoqfleRg7o6jGXHEYDzWhyphenhyphenLgvx5mKUDvDcKQS1Wnxt_dDvNdfNy0eFQ5nSEnAMjCOw_is83-GcZIQEKv244s/s4032/IMG_9971.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBcIhvH82hUYoMbhK3JzO63H1u_WpkE49__qXsRBC5R-5fMSlZ4Glb_x0fHjpv9D4ayi1Pmtsp6agAQZf32FN9bmtDFr3Tcjywrdiub3HoqfleRg7o6jGXHEYDzWhyphenhyphenLgvx5mKUDvDcKQS1Wnxt_dDvNdfNy0eFQ5nSEnAMjCOw_is83-GcZIQEKv244s/s320/IMG_9971.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Friday morning and I'm sat in Bear, a coffee house in Hockley, whose story began in the Staffordshire town of Uttoxeter. I've been tipped the wink by ex work son Tommy T that they do a mighty fine full English. He ain't wrong folks, as Mac and I mop up what's thrown at us.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We catch an early train to South Yorkshire, stopping off at Sheffield, where no excuse is needed for a quick jar in the taproom on the station platform. The next port of call is not far up the line. Rotherham has a population of 100,000. Labour hold a slender 3,000 majority with only 57% of the constituency bothering to vote. 13% more rocked up to vote LEAVE in the BREXIT vote with a 67% majority.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZYWPuNi5SlbiBnwO7Y-sIjBfA2KbA0WhqfAgINHjVJBkqvj_op2lommV_EDY2U8Z1L2NWH5rrmqNUbhETJeo2D6BM0-uTtQJBTW-51AkkaoXNoL4sN0rfrLuU2fK6W_qi87q1zS1BDrHVIpOvCQrsk9vNmroIJsTkBZUMpNRhWAsKI20T6cFQAoitPA/s4032/IMG_9985.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZYWPuNi5SlbiBnwO7Y-sIjBfA2KbA0WhqfAgINHjVJBkqvj_op2lommV_EDY2U8Z1L2NWH5rrmqNUbhETJeo2D6BM0-uTtQJBTW-51AkkaoXNoL4sN0rfrLuU2fK6W_qi87q1zS1BDrHVIpOvCQrsk9vNmroIJsTkBZUMpNRhWAsKI20T6cFQAoitPA/s320/IMG_9985.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Famous people to come from Rotherham include: Lynne Perrie (Ivy Tilsley), the Chuckle Brothers, Jive Bunny, Paul McShane, Howard Webb and David Seaman. I'm in charge of today's itinerary, so anything could happen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We stand on top of the railway bridge taking in the breathtaking view of a viaduct to our left and the forgotten Millmoor football ground to our right, with it's old school floodlights that tower above the town. After a wander up to the new ground we walk back into town to tick off pub number one, New York Tavern. The theme for the day will be Chantry Brewing, whose ales are scrumptious and to die for.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzox7lPYIFYZWfyL8aqmjtOA_eL0SbyteQQa43rz1cbjVaGzk4byDExWZhbwU4GbNVmeGN05AVHQ_x-7z82vcC6fkYg2ibK2vOg040J3TgihkYuklIiD8sKSNtXb6ytklXC9dD9ZA6dC5I_WkzORoLtpumQLvAUwhfVS62N9vM3YGoCxHe7Euq7SVv2g/s4032/IMG_9998.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzox7lPYIFYZWfyL8aqmjtOA_eL0SbyteQQa43rz1cbjVaGzk4byDExWZhbwU4GbNVmeGN05AVHQ_x-7z82vcC6fkYg2ibK2vOg040J3TgihkYuklIiD8sKSNtXb6ytklXC9dD9ZA6dC5I_WkzORoLtpumQLvAUwhfVS62N9vM3YGoCxHe7Euq7SVv2g/s320/IMG_9998.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Across the road is the Cutlers Arms, it's a Grade II listed building and a CAMRA heritage pub. It dates back to 1825 and was rebuilt by Stones Brewery in 1807. It was saved from demolition in 2004. I love the Art Noveaux architecture and green tiles.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We head up, after, to the town of Mexborough, where the real Brian Blessed is from, as is former Formula One world champion, Mike Hawthorn. The two breweries we visit double up as music halls. So not only does the beer flow, but bands play too.. Tony Mac is mortified to see Nottingham St Ann's cheeky chappies, The Chase, are topping the bill later in the month. He had a strop at one of their gigs at Beat the Streets a few weeks ago,</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0lvPSWtUmt6fFk28BHeQQCdkXcb3Zg8nJdAPQQAlzxkR6uUvSVO3XN9yKPRlbZL4-4F3B5YDyR2dWqHPDSK6Z1S04Ypr_ZLPxTKPsr8Ia8-vOVgtjBcqsSlydjuhEWcOKBK-Di1YxmNUmE19Ef2zV5UNzYjiMxcG1gM3bT4vG5s8KPbzVV8GGp4gqxg/s4032/IMG_9990.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO0lvPSWtUmt6fFk28BHeQQCdkXcb3Zg8nJdAPQQAlzxkR6uUvSVO3XN9yKPRlbZL4-4F3B5YDyR2dWqHPDSK6Z1S04Ypr_ZLPxTKPsr8Ia8-vOVgtjBcqsSlydjuhEWcOKBK-Di1YxmNUmE19Ef2zV5UNzYjiMxcG1gM3bT4vG5s8KPbzVV8GGp4gqxg/s320/IMG_9990.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Saturday morning and I'm knocking up a bacon and Stilton sandwich as I prepare a slow cooker Chinese chicken curry for this evening. The clouds clear and the sun peeps out as I make the 30 minute walk down to Stadio El Stokio. I grab the final can of Castle Rock citra craft ale. I catch up with Casually Dan who has it all on playing a DJ set whilst doubling up as Director of the Millers' Creche.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I stand with Smiffy who is doing some opposition scouting for Belper Town. Carlton are still rubbing sleep from their eyes when they get caught cold and concede an early goal. It should be two after another faux pas, but 'Felix the Cat' comes to the rescue. Playing with a stiff breeze at their backs the Millers gain momentum without troubling the Stockton stopper. Jebbison fails to get a shot off despite being one on one with the 'keeper.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1fck9MeA5V-tKKiYn0-9pWbSbrZtTLxc4UquJPUtKOaulxPgbye5zTlU1BkgM63P4KoxKa2BceyNYoQZSWk3OzjvpvXU_IcmRcn5Q1kYYXZ1icpcWzCaDvpkDI2C5gt5R4lfhs-k2eiPVFOpAm46J6HK1KYMWgUCZVZkK_nQ7X5VZ9FdZxi5iAFbibQ/s4032/IMG_9987.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr1fck9MeA5V-tKKiYn0-9pWbSbrZtTLxc4UquJPUtKOaulxPgbye5zTlU1BkgM63P4KoxKa2BceyNYoQZSWk3OzjvpvXU_IcmRcn5Q1kYYXZ1icpcWzCaDvpkDI2C5gt5R4lfhs-k2eiPVFOpAm46J6HK1KYMWgUCZVZkK_nQ7X5VZ9FdZxi5iAFbibQ/s320/IMG_9987.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I check on the half time scores. Lincoln are on my mind, as in City and United. I've piled on the Imps as they are in a rich vein of form. United have their big day out with up to 1,000 attendees expected.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Khyle Sargent scores a beauty to peg back the League leaders. The Millers can only hang on for a few minutes. A cross from the left hangs in the air like a pitching wedge shot on the 18th at St Andrew's. A big 'un, who plays in the heart of their defence, nods a looping header into an empty net. </div><p>Attendance: 136 and 155</p><p>Star Player(s) Eleanor Oldroyd and 'Felix the Cat'</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-52289746517953607072024-03-03T19:49:00.001+00:002024-03-04T11:37:44.032+00:00Gedling MW 2-0 St Andrews<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jV9bAUC0WgPgDIgh52aMh-4toYM_CeZ4DCUCHeubisETyGyfgCONNrtwmHA_fTCH50tDxsTk_RdjE8sx-FnhsuUSRaftLtdvZfEq7aesI1AaYx1Rw4xMDYs_-ty3cgEt1HM-9xvv1AzuOuH7HlXjMvirkIlAula3icXRRxj7Pzj8HFTDbHYf2pWiAdk/s640/IMG_9858.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="640" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jV9bAUC0WgPgDIgh52aMh-4toYM_CeZ4DCUCHeubisETyGyfgCONNrtwmHA_fTCH50tDxsTk_RdjE8sx-FnhsuUSRaftLtdvZfEq7aesI1AaYx1Rw4xMDYs_-ty3cgEt1HM-9xvv1AzuOuH7HlXjMvirkIlAula3icXRRxj7Pzj8HFTDbHYf2pWiAdk/s320/IMG_9858.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It’s been an intense TV soap watch for Ms Moon this week. Corrie’s Steve McDonald has taken his eye off the ball, whilst clocking up overtime by ferrying too many folk around in his Street Cars cab. I’m not sure how many weeks work painter and decorator Tommy Orpington quoted for, to decorate the two up two down terrace, but it's not just the wallpaper he’s been stripping. The former Weatherfield Rovers striker, an idol of Steve's, can certainly score on and off the pitch. They think it's all over for Steve and Tracy; it is now.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It’s Wednesday lunchtime and we’re heading up to Mapperley Tops in Ms Moon’s daughter’s car. It’s the same drill as last week: Capital FM is on the car stereo. They are spinning a rank awful version of Coolio’s Gangsta’s Paradise, which was a chart number one on both sides of the Atlantic in 1995.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-0bfyspwKshsHLw9b911dkvEwB8diP794PtJJNxOAsjc588KpH6CDPWfa-bWrvE2n2lCGa9-Te2-KLvnZzTtDgHC11LmUrezZ3FiLWmumSirycOpyBqrtTk7H7PcbI4l8VM24FBpJ3QZmo5nuLdeUBIVv1w3u6E3WPlBIFNhGoWbKXuJgBqPYHJKt6I/s4032/IMG_9725.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-0bfyspwKshsHLw9b911dkvEwB8diP794PtJJNxOAsjc588KpH6CDPWfa-bWrvE2n2lCGa9-Te2-KLvnZzTtDgHC11LmUrezZ3FiLWmumSirycOpyBqrtTk7H7PcbI4l8VM24FBpJ3QZmo5nuLdeUBIVv1w3u6E3WPlBIFNhGoWbKXuJgBqPYHJKt6I/s320/IMG_9725.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I thought I’d have a gleg at how Coolio was getting on these days. Sadly, he died in Sept 2022 from an accidental fentanyl drug overdose, at the age of 59 yrs old. The rap that made him famous is a sample of an old Stevie Wonder song from 1976 called 'Pastime Paradise', which is from his classic album Songs In the Key of Life. Listen to it; it’ll blow your mind.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I switch off Capital FM as Ms Moon parks up. We walk through a passageway that leads us onto Mapperley high street. Lunch is spent in a popular Asian-fusion restaurant called Tamasha. We enjoy some tapas accompanied by some bread and soft drinks. A 20% discount voucher comes in handy when settling up the bill. Tamasha has a sister restaurant called Rawsha Grill, on Gordon Road, in West Bridgford. The Google reviews at 4.7 suggest a visit is well worthwhile. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQCdbuO5-B3AopFn2llVQcnUHX26M-hWD6SSkfp8pMN4BUPwCtNcyP-Ak415BkoOJvst3WGxe8G42PfTR63HWj_4aV4T2VCXzuNP58Ax41MwPz-xrcJzn7Yx805grTCqzW3xqFg_s81vxntaJv4NSxTqSvJWjlwTrhB-2sggnOjOfCNNWMH1cWtwAkVQ/s238/IMG_9861.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="238" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQCdbuO5-B3AopFn2llVQcnUHX26M-hWD6SSkfp8pMN4BUPwCtNcyP-Ak415BkoOJvst3WGxe8G42PfTR63HWj_4aV4T2VCXzuNP58Ax41MwPz-xrcJzn7Yx805grTCqzW3xqFg_s81vxntaJv4NSxTqSvJWjlwTrhB-2sggnOjOfCNNWMH1cWtwAkVQ/s1600/IMG_9861.JPG" width="238" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I had hoped to watch a film at Broadway Cinema in the evening. It’s a 2014 documentary called Pantani: The Accidental Death of a Cyclist. I’m gobsmacked to find out that tonight’s showing is completely sold out. Not bad eh, for a 10 year old film.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I rent it out on Amazon Prime for £3.49. Director, James Erskine, tells the tragic story of cyclist Marco Pantani, who became the first Italian to win the Tour de France and Giro d'Italia, both in 1998. It documents doping charges and Pantani's six year battle with cocaine addiction. I buy the book written by award-winning author Matt Rendell.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Thursday is one of the saddest days I've had for many a year. My close friend Steve Belz ('The Taxman) is laid to rest in the village of Stragglethorpe, close to Cotgrave. Steve was a season ticket holder at The City Ground for over 51 years. At the service he requested that some of the NFFC pre-match tunes were played such as 'Right Here, Right Now' by Fat Boy Slim and 'Born Slippy' by Underworld. It brings a smile to my face.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-SZ4s3JhPb0FINw8v8nJEMOL3q6b8VRBKbKejfgIlY4gOetY9RHuB_N5nF6xHb5Cy6cMr-cv6z_rJk9xpi-FSUg5M6ZhCV1WR29N-YQK1j-btc9iA4tm4jbKhgNgRmitdrJsbfEYHDsjsy_jJfjeje-je6YQaypCDmflxs_M3TriBzh1iQZX-grD9Ls/s976/IMG_9855.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="976" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO-SZ4s3JhPb0FINw8v8nJEMOL3q6b8VRBKbKejfgIlY4gOetY9RHuB_N5nF6xHb5Cy6cMr-cv6z_rJk9xpi-FSUg5M6ZhCV1WR29N-YQK1j-btc9iA4tm4jbKhgNgRmitdrJsbfEYHDsjsy_jJfjeje-je6YQaypCDmflxs_M3TriBzh1iQZX-grD9Ls/s320/IMG_9855.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The wake is held at the Carriage Hall which is behind Perkins Bistro restaurant in Plumtree. I meet a few of Steve's colleagues from the Inland Revenue. We exchange amusing anecdotes of our time spent in Steve's company. I decide not to drink any alcohol, as I know I wouldn't be able to stop.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I feel sad, empty and flat on my solo journey back home. My mood isn't lifted when I watch the second episode of Channel 4's documentary on the Miners' Strike from back in 1984. It covers off the Battle of Orgreave, when Margaret Thatcher gave the Met Police carte blanche to behave in any way they chose. Pickets were charged by police on horseback who converged on the pickets from three fronts. They were ran back into town. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0K8VupJWGCZb6fJ_p28EThmm30wISAFGoVHQdL3iZdociVhILhgSp2fyUAQZJEcL-twM8-CkEe1q86Moocs3gT6GfJzOeSEkWFJfBu0-_9mvVExhDShoVBZygIGDnC4vFtvVjtvVCYMhmb6COhCZJJOWcbHsdf586i-WIXFqNzs0QZC548QVQnOmUhM/s2000/IMG_9862.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="2000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0K8VupJWGCZb6fJ_p28EThmm30wISAFGoVHQdL3iZdociVhILhgSp2fyUAQZJEcL-twM8-CkEe1q86Moocs3gT6GfJzOeSEkWFJfBu0-_9mvVExhDShoVBZygIGDnC4vFtvVjtvVCYMhmb6COhCZJJOWcbHsdf586i-WIXFqNzs0QZC548QVQnOmUhM/s320/IMG_9862.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">123 miners were injured. 95 were arrested. 55 mineworkers were charged under the Riot Act which carried sentences of up to 25 years imprisonment. All 55 were cleared of the charges and set free from court. It makes my blood boil when I watch the TV footage. This was all on Thatcher's watch.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On Friday morning it's pelting it down with rain when Ms Moon and I dash out of a taxi at Nottingham railway station and onto an escalator that leads us up to the platforms. I'd earlier had an alert on my Trainline app to say that the Norwich to Liverpool train had been cancelled due to a signalling fault between Ely and Peterborough.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPPfPieXfxO90QSmXIkHAy93bwkRumoAuREL6xe8pkGh2Z9ulZxYdLGyi_tHYjW1NxKLEZqhhADTluiZD1Ol7oS6MrwT9jNwipTOgn3JqiStgDOCzXSpRicUoDG0xo1ID_JhM9cWwV7-N7tU2fNLAYwWyNicvJOAApXzKCk7WVBKRYiyfVhW2jHVNPtU/s669/IMG_9863.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="669" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmPPfPieXfxO90QSmXIkHAy93bwkRumoAuREL6xe8pkGh2Z9ulZxYdLGyi_tHYjW1NxKLEZqhhADTluiZD1Ol7oS6MrwT9jNwipTOgn3JqiStgDOCzXSpRicUoDG0xo1ID_JhM9cWwV7-N7tU2fNLAYwWyNicvJOAApXzKCk7WVBKRYiyfVhW2jHVNPtU/s320/IMG_9863.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It looked like we were going to have to catch a train to Derby, in an effort to reach our final destination, York, where my brother Mark lives. There is a rare moment of commonsense from the usually underperforming and incompetent East Midlands Trains. They cobble together four carriages and find a driver, so we can get to Sheffield where we change trains.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The weather isn't much kinder to us in York. We dive into a cafe called Cocoa Joe's on Museum Street whilst we wait for 'Our Kid' to pick us up from outside York Minster. The incessant heavy rain puts paid to any visit to one of the abundance of National Trust gardens that are nearby to York. We drink tea and chit chat in Mark's kitchen until booking an UBER back into town at teatime.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsc2l3yn7HHIVOCX2VX3nKN6LsLH0Bbj_z7k6kyikDdrCSPp6cGOnq5S9nv0mcTXPLrROVmRbJl_YtoD8d0neOQU78tLOnKVkYML1xvJC-5AYSjFIdSEfy58V9qJ9e5KLW86nhh_EI394lMdD4m0a1h1libNTCpMiaRYdULk_5TuE9nKwUezIX8YJsPIo/s2000/IMG_9848.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="2000" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsc2l3yn7HHIVOCX2VX3nKN6LsLH0Bbj_z7k6kyikDdrCSPp6cGOnq5S9nv0mcTXPLrROVmRbJl_YtoD8d0neOQU78tLOnKVkYML1xvJC-5AYSjFIdSEfy58V9qJ9e5KLW86nhh_EI394lMdD4m0a1h1libNTCpMiaRYdULk_5TuE9nKwUezIX8YJsPIo/s320/IMG_9848.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The first port of call, on the cobbled streets of Jubbergate, in York City centre, is a Thornbridge Brewery tap house called The Market Cat. I enjoy a pint of creamy vanilla 5% stout called McConnels, as we sit at a table at the top of this three storey pub that's bustling with weekend revellers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My brother very kindly treats us all to a meal at an Italian cellar restaurant called Delrio's, which has Sardinian influences. It's to celebrate my 60th birthday. We sink a couple of bottles of red wine during the meal. The scallops followed by medallions of beef, melt in the mouth.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlsC5e-7PvS9nhwgJKgmiroHrCD963lTr561HaJpK-c86VetZguxO6KFBY-DjcP5g9ZpDSHqTMjZ3JS-7bTd3QQevt-0sVX-GvSRPBzYEREOfsCFJCsIqb4-f9xfBFYvpmDniOaYjGyiG257SwiA9-7bO7PSvluxAnEAdzcPDXMuHvcc-QvLkVji6v_98/s4032/IMG_9810.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlsC5e-7PvS9nhwgJKgmiroHrCD963lTr561HaJpK-c86VetZguxO6KFBY-DjcP5g9ZpDSHqTMjZ3JS-7bTd3QQevt-0sVX-GvSRPBzYEREOfsCFJCsIqb4-f9xfBFYvpmDniOaYjGyiG257SwiA9-7bO7PSvluxAnEAdzcPDXMuHvcc-QvLkVji6v_98/s320/IMG_9810.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The plan on Saturday was to travel back to Nottingham before dashing down to El Stadio Stokeld to watch Carlton Town versus Ossett Town, who are from West Yorkshire. Despite the valiant efforts of a hardy band of volunteers, the match fails a mid-morning pitch inspection. Realistically there is only other game I can go to, but complicated logistics will all need to fall into place.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Northern Rail do their utmost to muck my day up. The connecting train from Chesterfield to Nottingham is running late due to having 'too many trains to repair.' I've never heard so much tosh in my life. Time is against me as I scurry up Lister Gate towards Queen Street.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVZaf9_HjLEQSXNvLPkkdmvenB_UnVqZKkvlyXr5DquUvXmnsUG27R9WyufEcVpHgqMRw00flSCRSStweQn5cZwetdnS6fMCsCETPIhibZPjq1Q0Pkz-vW6uVFWxPs4eoL7hdXpSX9Im2ChulsGJHRwWK9HFRRkt4f5r1vlyP5Ui7hySuZBmIJdeF29U/s4032/IMG_9804.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVZaf9_HjLEQSXNvLPkkdmvenB_UnVqZKkvlyXr5DquUvXmnsUG27R9WyufEcVpHgqMRw00flSCRSStweQn5cZwetdnS6fMCsCETPIhibZPjq1Q0Pkz-vW6uVFWxPs4eoL7hdXpSX9Im2ChulsGJHRwWK9HFRRkt4f5r1vlyP5Ui7hySuZBmIJdeF29U/s320/IMG_9804.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I part company in the Market Square. The good lady is jumping on a 24 bus: destination is Marks and Spencer Food Hall on Victoria Retail Park in Netherfield. It's a very proud and exciting moment for Sticky Palms. A tear rolls down my eye as I set foot on the Gedling 45 bus for the first time ever. I know how trainspotters feel now when they chance upon a locomotive that they've never set eyes on before.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I make the short walk from Mapperley shops to Gedling Miners Welfare, Plains Road ground. Despite my best endeavours I arrive five minutes late to the game. The groundhopping Gestapo will haul me before a kangaroo court in the morning for a disciplinary meeting. I dash to the loo as that's been on my mind for a wee while.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeWNe1K2aB8Cxewx_kXANflYYz2hKrEdBzV9N8XLbaybbYwSWey3nN_YcwJE5nckgbrx3ChRvNpw-r4ZYB53K6fUHlsg19nXojqajxuToSmDn5vqD48gc2w4mt1dNgocccru2CEs-tAijX4xOuFUAb8t2N-SVYYP5LO93rgGpJiE1x262GAbaP6qGSsA/s4032/IMG_9818.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeWNe1K2aB8Cxewx_kXANflYYz2hKrEdBzV9N8XLbaybbYwSWey3nN_YcwJE5nckgbrx3ChRvNpw-r4ZYB53K6fUHlsg19nXojqajxuToSmDn5vqD48gc2w4mt1dNgocccru2CEs-tAijX4xOuFUAb8t2N-SVYYP5LO93rgGpJiE1x262GAbaP6qGSsA/s320/IMG_9818.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's a large Carlton contingent in attendance. Club legends Jon Hartstone and Clubshop Ken are sat in the stand. On the far side are Faggsy, Chief Wiggum, Herr Harlow and Lou Lardi. The visitors are St Andrews from inner city Leicester. It is them who look the more likely to break the deadlock in the opening half.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's an incident in the clubhouse at half time. Carlton diehard Stuart from Stoke Bardolph has brought Millers legendary dog mascot 'Joey' (Barton). The Carlton mutt has kicked off with another dog in the bar. Joey has previous for banning orders in a number of East Midlands clubhouses including Lincoln United. I catch Stuart on his way out of the bar and ask him what's gone off. "I don't want Joey fraternising with any dirty dogs from Leicester" he remarks.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0aTJiYeJCI10clPFVn4r21ybhsU-Yt1gqIwolNEsR-_ig6fkAzZIebTHurjPhflR74lwarac71hCOiQwzJ-WKIrBgwjscTNB8q7re_PV5_yJQAYsrp58yvUwi8v3jjNPEshMCOFj4PC_wjoUZKktEnfzD8AVlGY3PWxoBg-xLohr66OJvPG8kj53v6M/s2048/cc38790c-4dcc-4999-bf96-d9866f94cf34.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI0aTJiYeJCI10clPFVn4r21ybhsU-Yt1gqIwolNEsR-_ig6fkAzZIebTHurjPhflR74lwarac71hCOiQwzJ-WKIrBgwjscTNB8q7re_PV5_yJQAYsrp58yvUwi8v3jjNPEshMCOFj4PC_wjoUZKktEnfzD8AVlGY3PWxoBg-xLohr66OJvPG8kj53v6M/s320/cc38790c-4dcc-4999-bf96-d9866f94cf34.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Two moments of class from the Miners put the game to bed in the second half. 'Kezza' keeps his head as he rounds the 'keeper and rolls the ball into an empty net. Substitute Gianfranco Ciaurro hammers home the final nail in the coffin with a smart finish. I can't 'arf pick 'em.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Attendance: 103</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Man of the Match: Stuart, Joey's owner</div>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-11316515662374660392024-02-25T19:57:00.000+00:002024-02-25T19:57:59.890+00:00Mansfield Town 5-1 Salford City<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivz9PXT3YMauKG-iVamuZs4qcm3wGMtYIzwvi7k7jDrlPCJRtLp1hgOmJmR3Sb4X1vonLVb-uOmwaNEjQFdgP71MlKE-t0UVbN82S1xuxbbIXPEzKvWXDMyuB0_dCJG8ytTqSDg_5JO1NlfatvNaFdzZe9rf0fis6u32p0ESeB_NRKKTRpmLANVNyDV2k/s4032/IMG_9584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivz9PXT3YMauKG-iVamuZs4qcm3wGMtYIzwvi7k7jDrlPCJRtLp1hgOmJmR3Sb4X1vonLVb-uOmwaNEjQFdgP71MlKE-t0UVbN82S1xuxbbIXPEzKvWXDMyuB0_dCJG8ytTqSDg_5JO1NlfatvNaFdzZe9rf0fis6u32p0ESeB_NRKKTRpmLANVNyDV2k/s320/IMG_9584.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Wednesday morning and I'm sitting in the front seat of a Citroen C1. Ms Moon is driving her daughter's car over Carlton Hill towards the suburb of Lady Bay - it's a well-to-do place known for cafes, takeaways and a couple of good watering holes. I clocked a breakfast place there last summer, whilst watching Notts 2nd XI playing cricket. It's on Trent Boulevard and called Bread and Lard Island.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Capital FM is playing some God damn awful tune, as we cross over a swollen River Trent, via Lady Bay Bridge. Remember folks, this is a 'radio station' that only ever spins the same six records every day. I still have nightmares, from years ago, when my two lads Jack and Joe were in the car, about a record they flogged to death by Swedish House Mafia called 'Don't You Worry Child' - it's absolute poppycock readers.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3YiYZ3FgtAex739facbbTxFfkzUi3aDn5Bb_CN-pw_SqaLDKoLowKvsEeQPzUyZJZFMCNqWV_UDRPsKbx6uNGxlnvBPzHwNvg8R5gmGB_YK55dDtkTMYU0dNvzGmDDmpAFvmEWu7vXXSkp-mCzsE_sBZ-TeZB7dHy3gimAGA-s8GmDNRk9paYzZgE1U/s4032/IMG_9403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR3YiYZ3FgtAex739facbbTxFfkzUi3aDn5Bb_CN-pw_SqaLDKoLowKvsEeQPzUyZJZFMCNqWV_UDRPsKbx6uNGxlnvBPzHwNvg8R5gmGB_YK55dDtkTMYU0dNvzGmDDmpAFvmEWu7vXXSkp-mCzsE_sBZ-TeZB7dHy3gimAGA-s8GmDNRk9paYzZgE1U/s320/IMG_9403.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We are quickly seated on entry into the cafe. The eatery is stacked out with folk clogging up sought-after table space, as they tap away on laptops, whilst taking small sips of Espresso coffee, as they rob (take advantage of) the free wi-fi that's available. I gaze at a menu, chalked up on a blackboard, that hangs on the wall. I rub my eyes in disbelief that there's no full fry up on offer. You're quids in if the vegetarian option is your fancy. Two bacon and egg ciabattas, a latte and an Americano comes in at £30. The folk who run it are friendly people and the service is first-class, but I think I'll stick to greasy spoons in Sneinton and the city centre in future.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was down Carlton Town's El Stadio Stoke, the previous evening, with Faggsy. Thanks to a massive effort from the amazing, dedicated supporters group, and with some advice from the ground staff at Trent Bridge Cricket Ground, the game manages to survive a pitch inspection.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHQj2JIrNuDWfTCgThmDlHQ7jeo89nanHpj3jHlnu9XkIGB-PEkO4PMAZM4rggIUeTPyEqntQsVEbO89Ns4qBErtwMPK4eAIWxRXAzO-bHMPJmdbYfNYWnY-ykOCdNAv3tZ2GrzCJSJVDnAUIyHNkdUbGDDzATcjK7EZapmzJwjZvNdWQlbp5NlHyAGM/s4032/IMG_9404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHQj2JIrNuDWfTCgThmDlHQ7jeo89nanHpj3jHlnu9XkIGB-PEkO4PMAZM4rggIUeTPyEqntQsVEbO89Ns4qBErtwMPK4eAIWxRXAzO-bHMPJmdbYfNYWnY-ykOCdNAv3tZ2GrzCJSJVDnAUIyHNkdUbGDDzATcjK7EZapmzJwjZvNdWQlbp5NlHyAGM/s320/IMG_9404.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">'DJ Murph' is playing 'Echo Beach' by Canadian rock band Martha and the Muffins. It's a song that reached the number ten position in the pop charts back in 1979. Martha Ladly, from the group, later became a keyboardist for Scottish cult post-punk band The Associates, playing on their second album 'Sulk.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">'The Millers are champing at the bit after a 17 day break. They steam roll a lethargic and unfit Bridlington Town on a pudding of a pitch. There's a lovely moment in the second half when David Adegbola, who has only been on the pitch for less than 30 seconds, skips past the full back before clipping in a cross that Alex Hardwick converts at the back stick. Local photographer, Steve McKeown, captures the celebration perfectly.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjT-rLykS4qGlmkmEnX4z4ibUyc1PE6r84ME3r2WKAXSF_TW_se8hxgrnXVbbT7clvaR4-x736Lufnh4ifUDKLn5WvAHFyJ9w8xxITGfCc_9anlYEv51Z0gpXjdlckzQkzPDGe0AFngaF7nez67gqjdR75ZiEmqbDuJ6-f85oMqI_ox4WcG3AEU3o07s/s2048/IMG_9659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2046" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRjT-rLykS4qGlmkmEnX4z4ibUyc1PE6r84ME3r2WKAXSF_TW_se8hxgrnXVbbT7clvaR4-x736Lufnh4ifUDKLn5WvAHFyJ9w8xxITGfCc_9anlYEv51Z0gpXjdlckzQkzPDGe0AFngaF7nez67gqjdR75ZiEmqbDuJ6-f85oMqI_ox4WcG3AEU3o07s/s320/IMG_9659.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm up and at 'em on Thursday morning. I've four days off work to look forward to after clocking up 42 hours at the shop since Saturday. 'Crazy Steve' meets me at 7.45 am at our usual rendezvous point, Laguna Tandoori curry house, just off Maid Marian Way. Fifteen minutes later we are heading towards the City of London with Little Al and Cotgrave Trev.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We catch an overground train at Canons Park, disembarking close to Kensal Green Cemetery. It's bucketing it down with rain as we take siege at the William IV pub. As regular readers know the lads like visiting Victoria Cross memorial graves, whilst I'm partial to a celebrity final resting place. The boys have 17x VCs to visit in the nearby cemetery, whilst I have a small list including: Isambard Brunel, Charles Babbage, Danny La Rue and a cenotaph with Freddie Mercury's name on it, as a service was held here for him in Kensal Green. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQQg4jYXW4lcQ6-HHPTw3zM8Zfw3wYwRaRIyXUa8RotdtCzfvRYUotSZqW1OtBf2Qu_eFQqKnwRRVTsh8nS4szYinTiLstoPmWY6arEdHT3HVfQ-oTuMDYO_P40Z1ajVJP5YIZ35kgqgV2kIdZzjHlBCDDbRTzX7LWLdHJTcTvbee2s88quS3wwPnEt0/s4032/IMG_9439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQQg4jYXW4lcQ6-HHPTw3zM8Zfw3wYwRaRIyXUa8RotdtCzfvRYUotSZqW1OtBf2Qu_eFQqKnwRRVTsh8nS4szYinTiLstoPmWY6arEdHT3HVfQ-oTuMDYO_P40Z1ajVJP5YIZ35kgqgV2kIdZzjHlBCDDbRTzX7LWLdHJTcTvbee2s88quS3wwPnEt0/s320/IMG_9439.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The lads only bag one VC and I manage to wade my way through the puddles of rain water to find the Brunel family vault before the search is aborted due to the worsening monsoon conditions. The rest of the day is spent jumping on and off tubes, visiting Grade II listed buildings that are CAMRA Heritage pubs. Elgin Arms, The Punch Tavern and the wonderful Blackfriar are all ticked off. We finish the day off at a delightful Turkish restaurant called Melissa that's located right next to the train station. Thanks for driving Trev and to Crazy too for planning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's no rest for the wicked. On Friday morning I'm lounging around in YOLK cafe with a pot of tea for one as I wait for blog legend Tony Mac to rock up. I demolish poached eggs and streaky bacon on sourdough toast with woodland mushrooms (a bit posh for you Sticky) before making the short walk to Nottingham railway station.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysCbsNGv2FJkDeMN8RyZ8XE_DCh4aKd4fRCC4HMNq8ZG-pILay89BXtCafY_q5S4WnKJmDNtQvZIXJVcIH-GloQ2HdohAXnpTgcidVoQDVJz2RrWNK2_jTXupdxjEgWQJGRGU08ixoMKg6D6ZDpJyACXXxAQbt3G086OTzHCwesIR8vSf5CHaEaqml-k/s4032/IMG_9492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysCbsNGv2FJkDeMN8RyZ8XE_DCh4aKd4fRCC4HMNq8ZG-pILay89BXtCafY_q5S4WnKJmDNtQvZIXJVcIH-GloQ2HdohAXnpTgcidVoQDVJz2RrWNK2_jTXupdxjEgWQJGRGU08ixoMKg6D6ZDpJyACXXxAQbt3G086OTzHCwesIR8vSf5CHaEaqml-k/s320/IMG_9492.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Coops joins us for 'Friday Two Monthly Club' as we catch the 10.12 choo choo to Leicester. We have a 30 minute wait at Leicester station before our train to the historic town of Stamford, in Lincolnshire. Tony Mac sniffs out a pub called Barley Mow where we have a glass of Marstons - it's only 10.45 am.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Chopper Harris joins us at Melton Mowbray. We alight at Stamford and walk over an angry fast-flowing River Welland as we stroll into the delightful town centre. It's a place where Britain's heaviest ever man (at the time) died. Showman, Daniel Lambert, weighed in at over 52 stone when he passed away suddenly. I remember when we were at school we sang "Who ate all the pies? Daniel Lambert, Daniel Lambert, he ate all the pies,"</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbD27StJ9Mfyz0SKASkxSDHwgILDtPejVbcl017ldLYn6xYdyi3z4XGbpmayhcpKJZXHxrjEVhutJs_NwlRdjt7ySYfLH6KLBftXjAULum9yJx1RyBRZL6yAOnKwjJoVBZ6gee0Tob6wZLf1mdQnCUneFeeBXuXZaAdW_CYRGJzihnNCoAgeUH1rGr3Bc/s4032/IMG_9518.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbD27StJ9Mfyz0SKASkxSDHwgILDtPejVbcl017ldLYn6xYdyi3z4XGbpmayhcpKJZXHxrjEVhutJs_NwlRdjt7ySYfLH6KLBftXjAULum9yJx1RyBRZL6yAOnKwjJoVBZ6gee0Tob6wZLf1mdQnCUneFeeBXuXZaAdW_CYRGJzihnNCoAgeUH1rGr3Bc/s320/IMG_9518.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The best pub in Stamford is the Kings Head. It's table service only, and to be fair to the bar manager he gives us all a fantastic customer experience. Tony Mac entertains the lunchtime drinkers by missing two steps and taking a tumble. By now we've been joined by Ackers, my best mate by school. Matt Limon finally tips up. Earlier he had announced that his mobile phone had been swiped at a curry house in D***y in the early hours of Friday morning. It transpires that one of his daft lad, pie-eyed, Sheep mates had mistakenly put it in his coat pocket.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Jolly Boys trip continues at Oakham, in the county of Rutland, at the Grainstore and in Melton Mowbray where some cracking hostelries are visited such as: Anne of Cleeves, Charlie's Bar and the marvellous Round Corner Brewery Tap Room. On arrival back at Chez Palms it's a straight Red card from Ms Moon.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNmvhcX3vVW1CxWEaxzZB7C7KfSggUxTnS6idCEsi1Jg-dW9XGwZv_JuHVl2iLjkfN8YmmnPnEE57J_2WFGVOYP6GwfRxx364ukMvmWOJVMJB7wjfv6BEZ2DgZYpF9dY7CYg9qtoQGqlFfHkMKnjMsbJFpi5wdQ-_GOxdVdeeJHhPfmW2Xpf4v0cAMHM/s4032/IMG_9583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNmvhcX3vVW1CxWEaxzZB7C7KfSggUxTnS6idCEsi1Jg-dW9XGwZv_JuHVl2iLjkfN8YmmnPnEE57J_2WFGVOYP6GwfRxx364ukMvmWOJVMJB7wjfv6BEZ2DgZYpF9dY7CYg9qtoQGqlFfHkMKnjMsbJFpi5wdQ-_GOxdVdeeJHhPfmW2Xpf4v0cAMHM/s320/IMG_9583.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm a bit sheepish on Saturday morning. I apologise to Ms Moon about the previous night's drunken shenanigans. As a peace offering I rustle us both up a sausage sandwich as we catch up over some Holidays in the Sun morning TV. The Princess has rubber stamped a pass out for Mansfield Town v Salford City - I can't 'arf pick 'em folks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm tapping on the Field Mill ticket office window at 1.45pm after the short walk from the station. I collect my ticket and take my seat in the lower tier of the Ian Greaves Stand after parting with £4 for a Lion bar duo and a bottle of Pepsi Max. The DJ's set isn't too bad; it includes: Blur, Arctic Monkeys, The Kinks and Manfred Man. He's no 'Casually Dan' though.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmhEYnsUscJ9bNATXzS0Iiy4Km6jOl02h_yJ7L_-unGDE2xbWRou312ov_n3I6IaZ29Bo7_XUnrQ-g-cJG1m033wcEF9RO4JyJrx7P6uU_V5ujuIELOZr0qxmKxPKtUD6LXoWD6dNuwhrPGR0zWvxYsPuLdudZ7HrzXMeYF0ygEpYpoqrRy7xHroC_VA/s4032/IMG_9604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmhEYnsUscJ9bNATXzS0Iiy4Km6jOl02h_yJ7L_-unGDE2xbWRou312ov_n3I6IaZ29Bo7_XUnrQ-g-cJG1m033wcEF9RO4JyJrx7P6uU_V5ujuIELOZr0qxmKxPKtUD6LXoWD6dNuwhrPGR0zWvxYsPuLdudZ7HrzXMeYF0ygEpYpoqrRy7xHroC_VA/s320/IMG_9604.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I love watching any Nigel Clough team. His recruitment is always spot on. Salford City arrive on the back of an unbeaten 8 match run since the shrewd appointment of excitable Scouser Karl Robinson.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mansfield have been knocking on the door before finally opening the scoring. A pinpoint, flighted cross from Williams is glanced home by former Nottingham Forest striker Will Swan. The game is open and like a cup tie. Salford's Elliot Watt is pulling all the strings in midfield. He can thread the ball through the eye of a needle. Raking passes are punched out of his boot with either foot. The visitors equalise with a superb solo goal from rapid young winger Junior Luamba. The Stags restore their lead in the ninth minute of added time. It's been a breathtaking, pulsating 55 minutes of football.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedDjLPOQZligBDTLmqk_klvoA3YX2IhpQpHQB7fTimDoTsLWE2an2z_niiLHK0tgWJCbaKfPvdwd72W7sF1_uquKbcgYfNaKq3KPaEAXkDKmrdrdv3FAQLElysfRP9eUXOakMerMEfS6JZahdkrS0s2WSJcUh8r_HmR9sZQp2Bn1QDdu47R_D5_rr5jE/s4032/IMG_9602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedDjLPOQZligBDTLmqk_klvoA3YX2IhpQpHQB7fTimDoTsLWE2an2z_niiLHK0tgWJCbaKfPvdwd72W7sF1_uquKbcgYfNaKq3KPaEAXkDKmrdrdv3FAQLElysfRP9eUXOakMerMEfS6JZahdkrS0s2WSJcUh8r_HmR9sZQp2Bn1QDdu47R_D5_rr5jE/s320/IMG_9602.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Mansfield can breath easier now that the exciting Luamba doesn't show up for the second half. He'd earlier rolled on his ankle when falling over the ball. They pass the Ammies off the park. Clough's team grab the game by the scruff of the neck. They increase their lead, just shy of the hour, when leading scorer Keillor-Dunn rolls the ball into an empty net after another faux pas by the Salford 'keeper. Akins puts the game to bed on 69 minutes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The visitors are reduced to ten men after a straight red card (trending this weekend) is shown to Vassell. Substitute Boateng makes it 5-1 at 5.05 pm - to be honest I'm waiting on the platform for my train home to Nottingham by then, where I'm joined by two students studying sports journalism at Derby University. They are great company for the 30 minute journey.</div><p></p><p>Attendance: 7.166 (152 from Salford)</p><p>Man of the Match: Matt Limon for the Currygate phone 'theft.'</p><p>Credit photos of Carlton Town to Steve McKeown. Thanks Steve.</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-88515747022645147792024-02-18T19:40:00.000+00:002024-02-18T19:40:25.408+00:00Carlton Town 1-3 Liversedge F.C.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ89mWiX_1y8J0oPG_eJ-lIMnIvyuQV5c8xo3lhjZrWIdybrsnxTZ9PCF-x4Fqpe8YTUxheBppTApuGoBV83ZBKsdrkQ5QY2ZBkS8ueNZXhuf8TVuWhlvxQZ75eumdaormP83MwkWroAp0I_ib4DxzxoiSs2RBaOMJ1pUMNQv4vRvY-ZUJ8Y6sVjwFN0c/s1024/c1359375-a313-4fe5-86bd-8e6a6656b0b5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ89mWiX_1y8J0oPG_eJ-lIMnIvyuQV5c8xo3lhjZrWIdybrsnxTZ9PCF-x4Fqpe8YTUxheBppTApuGoBV83ZBKsdrkQ5QY2ZBkS8ueNZXhuf8TVuWhlvxQZ75eumdaormP83MwkWroAp0I_ib4DxzxoiSs2RBaOMJ1pUMNQv4vRvY-ZUJ8Y6sVjwFN0c/s320/c1359375-a313-4fe5-86bd-8e6a6656b0b5.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It’s Tuesday evening and I’m walking down Burton Road, in Carlton, with Notts County diehard fan ‘Faggsy.’ The Millers are playing Liversedge F.C. from West Yorkshire. There’s only a small gathering this evening as the usual attendees will be at the World Famous City Ground for NFFC v Arsenal.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The game we're watching is thoroughly entertaining. Carlton are 2-1 down at half-time, with the visitors reduced to ten men after a rush of blood to the head for Liam Hardy sees two quick yellow cards - young refs, these days, can’t wait to issue a caution. It spoils the game. The FA and their referee assessors need to have a brainstorming session sometime, as the standard of officiating, particularly the game management side and communication to the players, is mediocre to say the least. At Step 4 many officials seem to be unapproachable. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRvOp4FjrbdCkYTXtoajzu9aYALTfZ7UzwPqJzC4REqdnlz-8PvzWid8mUaPY0bG8O6bOncLkWPAa6HwttjdnniPnQ0zDMDOiCGuqqEHbCkH7UkGW9Vlffjr_piIm1ptaL9fYN-qqcfFdaZW0pwmKfKcdcpEW5gydn9oukNjC-1TMIrjNuznA-HEJck4/s1600/63473274-a45d-49e0-88ec-76738a68068c.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRvOp4FjrbdCkYTXtoajzu9aYALTfZ7UzwPqJzC4REqdnlz-8PvzWid8mUaPY0bG8O6bOncLkWPAa6HwttjdnniPnQ0zDMDOiCGuqqEHbCkH7UkGW9Vlffjr_piIm1ptaL9fYN-qqcfFdaZW0pwmKfKcdcpEW5gydn9oukNjC-1TMIrjNuznA-HEJck4/s320/63473274-a45d-49e0-88ec-76738a68068c.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Carlton fail to take advantage of having an extra man. A superb free kick from Liversedge’s Jack Carr seals their fate. There’s an extra bitter taste to the excellent real ale at the Old Volunteer, as Faggsy and I hold a post mortem over the proceedings.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Happier times are had on Wednesday evening at Jam Cafe, one of Nottingham’s coolest bars (of course it sells craft ales). There appears to be a vibrant underground indie scene in our fair city right now. Bloodworm headlines the gig. Their music sounds similar to The Cure’s debut album, Three Imaginary Boys. The lead singer’s haunting voice reminds me of Bauhaus’s Pete Murphy. They were a Northampton goth band from the 80s. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGoOmljxd6uJSAKS1M6krzYs7sGqM_0Qidm-zvRvLBItZpFOZgWQmnLgyEsAaW9UlDoZ1j56YQdv1Qe-XDd5WolTEGZmhJtbj2HKJgmTd_5e5EZJJh0EkLstChpaOxniKASkpszeyX5T8svWgnWk06DX5VsIh6zHJJhukLcgK4KxK5EeCP28j45gSAdo/s1792/IMG_9350.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDGoOmljxd6uJSAKS1M6krzYs7sGqM_0Qidm-zvRvLBItZpFOZgWQmnLgyEsAaW9UlDoZ1j56YQdv1Qe-XDd5WolTEGZmhJtbj2HKJgmTd_5e5EZJJh0EkLstChpaOxniKASkpszeyX5T8svWgnWk06DX5VsIh6zHJJhukLcgK4KxK5EeCP28j45gSAdo/s320/IMG_9350.JPG" width="148" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Local band, The Rain Age, play a blistering set too. It’s dark wave Manchester band, The Solution, who steal the show, despite being third on the bill. They are definitely one for the notebook, providing they manage to keep their young, wayward singer on track.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I get in big trouble with Mac for buying him a 12% abv imperial pastry stout. He’s up at 5 am each day, whilst I’m on a day off on Thursday. Carlton crew, 'Chief Wiggum', 'Casually Dan' and 'Herr Harlow' are all in attendance at the gig too.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XPiqb-dSFDbJD9DeF8efMMedMY7vJ5S0nHsAtYOvrN5c67QKGfc4O_ucBaa6V969q7Btg5xIo64Un8rhNEJvR85LjUsGcUdu2g3VSmzfcGvBhi7ZYEPHA79DfkS7SdmboFcfLKEhmu0WduEeP-XpzRaepUiLoRJt-PF89UF2YkKcD12Vx3u9e1cwZpw/s1800/IMG_9351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1350" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5XPiqb-dSFDbJD9DeF8efMMedMY7vJ5S0nHsAtYOvrN5c67QKGfc4O_ucBaa6V969q7Btg5xIo64Un8rhNEJvR85LjUsGcUdu2g3VSmzfcGvBhi7ZYEPHA79DfkS7SdmboFcfLKEhmu0WduEeP-XpzRaepUiLoRJt-PF89UF2YkKcD12Vx3u9e1cwZpw/s320/IMG_9351.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I grab some tea with my two lads and ex work son Tom at Trent Bridge Inn, in West Bridgford on Thursday evening. It ties in quite nicely with a speakers’ evening at Notts Cricket Lovers, in the Derek Randall Suite. There is a question and answer session with new Notts skipper Haseeb Hameed. He is still only 27 years old, despite being on the scene for what seems an eternity. He’s stepped into Steven Mullaney’s shoes, who will now captain the Second XI.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I’m on the choo choo train with Tony Mac on Friday lunchtime. We change trains at Leicester as we head over to the town of Hinckley, where famous people come from such as: William Bass (Bass Brewery), William Butler (Mitchells and Butler), Human League singer Phil Oakey, and Alan Taylor, the scorer of two Wembley goals for West Ham United in the 1975 FA Cup final</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicw4Jw_RncXcTAZS1beqUbi_4EPO6NBtmBXRD2gqqH4s4K0h7_o-rp7atg6brdvwu4JUqpLWDcZFW05mBEN-VcF_HD3-JG7y0oeoAyZAb4mr-382jAmVdsvOTWrqk6nBN-e2cYKJ0Jo0tTv7z5INL9Wq2BCtBjKgJ5PR4CKigfVQwepQR9FKi-i4Enhy4/s4032/IMG_8916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicw4Jw_RncXcTAZS1beqUbi_4EPO6NBtmBXRD2gqqH4s4K0h7_o-rp7atg6brdvwu4JUqpLWDcZFW05mBEN-VcF_HD3-JG7y0oeoAyZAb4mr-382jAmVdsvOTWrqk6nBN-e2cYKJ0Jo0tTv7z5INL9Wq2BCtBjKgJ5PR4CKigfVQwepQR9FKi-i4Enhy4/s320/IMG_8916.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The pubs are delightful, particularly Elbow Room Cask and Craft, where I buy my beers from, after a tip off from programme editor ‘Big Joe’ at Carlton Town. They import beers from the USA that blow your mind and head off. We finish up at a CAMRA heritage pub called Wharf, located on the outskirts of the town. It has an interior of national historic interest. Hinckley certainly is another hidden gem.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It’s just after dawn on Sunday, and I’m on the phone to my taxi driver, who has overlaid for an airport run. It’s Tenerife time of year again. I’m 60 years old tomorrow and it’s Ms Moon’s birthday on Friday. The Big Man (Bish) is also out in the 'Reef' celebrating his 50th with the Squadron. We’re on the beach front by 3.30pm, at Los Cristianos, eating prawns at a restaurant called Chill Out. It’s 26 degrees with a cooling breeze. Had I come 24 hours earlier I would have witnessed another 0-0 up at CD Tenerife in Segunda B.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJNWv6qHTWShlg-f7SoHRJeGZxggO_HvFhlienmcAtUpXQ9u4_mkUB4D418IJj9JNyTLic66c2XOxd2AcQKJ6RpkVbpoM6AXAT87Mqnvh5fipXiu68Cpo_OGESLhx9CwPezswed5npyPvcI4L2tmBxzvrtaKTHzSSvQ9eoHgX7M3cblBRrLk-V514fDY/s1024/87113779-a585-45a1-ac48-6e76b469d258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoJNWv6qHTWShlg-f7SoHRJeGZxggO_HvFhlienmcAtUpXQ9u4_mkUB4D418IJj9JNyTLic66c2XOxd2AcQKJ6RpkVbpoM6AXAT87Mqnvh5fipXiu68Cpo_OGESLhx9CwPezswed5npyPvcI4L2tmBxzvrtaKTHzSSvQ9eoHgX7M3cblBRrLk-V514fDY/s320/87113779-a585-45a1-ac48-6e76b469d258.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It’s Monday morning, and my 60th birthday. Lord knows how I’ve made it this far with my unhealthy lifestyle. It coincides with my 30th anniversary of no smoking, which I commemorate with four comedy drags of Ms Moon's fag. I celebrate in style with Ms Moon at a stunning restaurant in the harbour of a fishing village called La Caleta. We sit on a terrace just a stone's throw away from the Atlantic Ocean. A guy sat behind us proposes to his girlfriend. He then spends the rest of the evening facetiming his friends. I feel like lobbing his mobile phone into the sea.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I had a couple of pints earlier in the day with some of the bruised and battered 'Battalion' at a bar around the corner from the Cleopatra Palace Hotel, where we are staying. There's a lovely touch from Dafty who has bought me a smart Lincoln City away shirt with Palmer 60 emblazoned on the back. Thanks mate.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvpXlNJd0LL-kZbCuRZU7yWgTqR4tjeF07ndofxiiCcBCpe28Bx9RB0ZqTE_dNRxU4xRjQ3z9sx9W_fx_7CZBpUhWLabiL-38Gg27DdnpBS71NoeXM8yZcmCzTaLRXJbT5JePDFPLRpzPYuhE3gt8urTn49xmFT16wR8vJRWdQkqYIhaMTtDJTbRxr4s/s1024/IMG_9348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnvpXlNJd0LL-kZbCuRZU7yWgTqR4tjeF07ndofxiiCcBCpe28Bx9RB0ZqTE_dNRxU4xRjQ3z9sx9W_fx_7CZBpUhWLabiL-38Gg27DdnpBS71NoeXM8yZcmCzTaLRXJbT5JePDFPLRpzPYuhE3gt8urTn49xmFT16wR8vJRWdQkqYIhaMTtDJTbRxr4s/s320/IMG_9348.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I receive some devastating news on Thursday. One of my best friends, blog legend 'The Taxman' (Steve Belz) passed away peacefully in the early hours of the morning. I managed to have a telephone conversation with him the night before we flew out to Tenerife. We reminisced about our groundhopping journeys around the Midlands over the last 15 years. He was such a kind, gentle and friendly man, who never had a bad word to say about anyone. I have to admit some tears were shed at the end of the call. Rest in peace, I will miss you so much, my friend x</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've lazed around the pool at the hotel for six days on the bounce. I read a brilliant groundhopping/travel book, written by Daniel Gray, called The Silence in the Stands. Gray travels the north of England and Scotland watching football during the dark days of COVID restrictions. It's a riveting read with some heart-warming stories told by the author.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfv6uIVzRzPnFk2oohj0Wl9eELq1ezkiSD8Go36-rw-FQLMKV3H8QZo7_nFimqdBkO8ZPw816jSgsmE6xtrogtzMQdmaunFnrY9v3CJsvtsxOrvttER1xi6PBrT5UR_aLrRyHJS7BGONfLYWaqxTBQhdkz7lgNkSWOGT06sxhTbfz8iXwmmGlXUvOy2ys/s4032/IMG_9136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfv6uIVzRzPnFk2oohj0Wl9eELq1ezkiSD8Go36-rw-FQLMKV3H8QZo7_nFimqdBkO8ZPw816jSgsmE6xtrogtzMQdmaunFnrY9v3CJsvtsxOrvttER1xi6PBrT5UR_aLrRyHJS7BGONfLYWaqxTBQhdkz7lgNkSWOGT06sxhTbfz8iXwmmGlXUvOy2ys/s320/IMG_9136.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The final night in the 'Reef', Ms Moon's birthday, is spent at the highly recommended Limonella Italian restaurant, which offers an authentic experience with a focus on recipes from the Amalfi Coast. It's a lovely way to end a fantastic holiday in our happy place.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's back to earth with a bump on Monday. I'm on shop duty at the world's greatest newsagent, MSR Arnold. I breeze through the afternoon, happy talking with customers about football, cricket and the weather (particularly in Tenerife).</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoA6j3MtObvYyE-tIITwm2OK6Yz6LVzJyLw88c9enX-a-n61Kgn8HLy6xqPGTXI8moBEyZkMa4G5ExOhyFR0oBxYGGXGywoOl9FUdR7uQWKbXoZ35a4JioUokQ0izSd2fL8xaRNH1rZAj-DD817DhLs6IjXGVfFxosHGjjELpuKxOQKr8tcrYsZbZzE7c/s4032/IMG_9067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoA6j3MtObvYyE-tIITwm2OK6Yz6LVzJyLw88c9enX-a-n61Kgn8HLy6xqPGTXI8moBEyZkMa4G5ExOhyFR0oBxYGGXGywoOl9FUdR7uQWKbXoZ35a4JioUokQ0izSd2fL8xaRNH1rZAj-DD817DhLs6IjXGVfFxosHGjjELpuKxOQKr8tcrYsZbZzE7c/s320/IMG_9067.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Carlton Town's Tuesday night fixture versus West Yorkshire big babies Pontefract Collieries falls victim to the weather after another deluge of rain in the afternoon. My backup fixture at Clifton All Whites is hosed off too. I settle in with another cracking book by Daniel Gray called Food of the Cods - a history of fish and chips in the United Kingdom. Ms Moon is gripped by a weeks' worth of binge-watching 'The Farm.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday is a day I have patiently waited for in a long time. I'm ecstatic when Trainline confirm that the £70 transaction has been made. I am now the proud owner of a three year Senior Railcard. Readers, you'll see me on more train journeys than Michael Portillo.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrzPGXYaYGbxXANwF6mDLuwYzH7UIVt464plWOIeJd4TFTLffdQ60NpYymMhVuf2A9faT8E5tjLu3I7A5rt5Hh_kqFWOuRg1Bd6Gk6YXvtIQnPvTso9PoyRDtrX6yrswXPdNc8zDbRSBzN3E_NcxD-gfbsUlMbECdMuMzR0WHB-9Rs8t7gxtETjmwS4s/s4032/IMG_9244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlrzPGXYaYGbxXANwF6mDLuwYzH7UIVt464plWOIeJd4TFTLffdQ60NpYymMhVuf2A9faT8E5tjLu3I7A5rt5Hh_kqFWOuRg1Bd6Gk6YXvtIQnPvTso9PoyRDtrX6yrswXPdNc8zDbRSBzN3E_NcxD-gfbsUlMbECdMuMzR0WHB-9Rs8t7gxtETjmwS4s/s320/IMG_9244.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />The rail card celebration (soft drinks only) begins at Baresca, a Spanish award-winning restaurant on Byard Lane, in Nottingham. Ms Moon's daughter, Becky, very kindly treats us both to lunch; and very nice it was too. The afternoon is spent at Broadway Cinema. I now have a concessionary membership which means I can view any film for £6. Today it's The Iron Claw, starring Zac Efron. It's the tragic, true story about a wrestling family called the Von Erichs. Wrestling hasn't really been my cup of tea since the unmasking of World of Sport wrestler Kendo Nagasaki in the ring at the Wolverhampton Civic Hall in 1977. But I'd thoroughly recommend this film.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjFeEosiqD69N0mhtDJP9g9JCMv1igdwuknUrq10fkgsUteYACKVIopcj-LSdJF3vy9AfIaV5W1-v-jXoo3SkpX_FqhiW6pPVYpU3afAh4rpC8wwhdngKmDn8E4ZElQpm1vrZwD28MyMq5yM6CddGz3fTM7nHjRXaBez-Yc4yQyZKA_z_6Bn9r1cudh0/s870/IMG_9356.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="870" data-original-width="615" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjFeEosiqD69N0mhtDJP9g9JCMv1igdwuknUrq10fkgsUteYACKVIopcj-LSdJF3vy9AfIaV5W1-v-jXoo3SkpX_FqhiW6pPVYpU3afAh4rpC8wwhdngKmDn8E4ZElQpm1vrZwD28MyMq5yM6CddGz3fTM7nHjRXaBez-Yc4yQyZKA_z_6Bn9r1cudh0/s320/IMG_9356.WEBP" width="226" /></a></div><br />Even if Carlton Town were to survive a pitch inspection there would be no Sticky Palms down at Stoke Lane this weekend as I've volunteered to do a 12 hour shift on Saturday as a colleague wants to take his lad down Forest. Friday evening is spent with Tony Mac in Nottingham city centre. We visit the Organ Grinder, Good Fellow George, Sir John Borlase Warren, Crafty Crow, The Castle and Junkyard (thanks for heads up Tim Widdowson re the tap takeover). We tip up at Neon Raptor at the fag end of the crawl for a couple of rocket fuel nightcaps. I can't 'arf pick 'em.<p></p><p>xxx</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-27041226383701200302024-01-29T20:11:00.001+00:002024-01-29T21:08:12.065+00:00Stocksbridge Park Steels 0-0 Carlton Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUZEyMD7n6xOTOb4Hp44ccJCvwLvTDnBz63Jcdro9hgkLh2lySxwxtyIZGo2cJtkcU_BcrjTHy1ce3wgb7qDU1DZEu8EkgdahsTMxxc0o0qxZSJmVzPFZLbzvDGiOOnx6ySHhrw8Ti3maFy0beVC9QGGdvWhyphenhyphenf9GohV3PJYGA6fwPUx-Eipkat8c5Ylg/s4032/IMG_8820.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUZEyMD7n6xOTOb4Hp44ccJCvwLvTDnBz63Jcdro9hgkLh2lySxwxtyIZGo2cJtkcU_BcrjTHy1ce3wgb7qDU1DZEu8EkgdahsTMxxc0o0qxZSJmVzPFZLbzvDGiOOnx6ySHhrw8Ti3maFy0beVC9QGGdvWhyphenhyphenf9GohV3PJYGA6fwPUx-Eipkat8c5Ylg/s320/IMG_8820.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There was a lovely moment, for me, the other week, whilst wandering through the backstreets of Hyson Green. A young lad, be around 9 or 10 yrs old, came flying out of a front gate and started dribbling a football down the road. “Who do you support?” asked Crazy Steve. “Pass Move and Grin” shouted out the boy. It’s a community club that does a lot for the underprivileged in the area. It brought a smile to my face and made my day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sean Paul's window cleaning services rocked up on Wednesday morning. It's a fall from grace for the 51 year old Jamaican rapper, but I guess we all have to make ends meet. He can always do a spot of Karaoke across the road at the Nags Head. I was in a taxi in the Algarve, just after the European Championship in 2004 were held there. We passed a football stadium close to Faro Airport. I said to the driver: " Who plays there?" He replied: "In July, Sean Paul and Simple Minds," .. lol</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixth2EAvRjU13YXxiio1cA_fRJuuKfb9pFJ_5ugVKkUwBPygu8uxl9RrJ3thFw9JQMnZvV7jPh704jnn_KV1xn4Z81Br0HantLsb3EqZrljfhdHHMmE-QdrCaIBuEdsaDZxcr3E4tX9Pe-azliDRJIZnRRU011i6YHqUfGqJGauzhESo87QuetmJJaKWY/s1192/IMG_8848.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1192" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixth2EAvRjU13YXxiio1cA_fRJuuKfb9pFJ_5ugVKkUwBPygu8uxl9RrJ3thFw9JQMnZvV7jPh704jnn_KV1xn4Z81Br0HantLsb3EqZrljfhdHHMmE-QdrCaIBuEdsaDZxcr3E4tX9Pe-azliDRJIZnRRU011i6YHqUfGqJGauzhESo87QuetmJJaKWY/s320/IMG_8848.JPG" width="215" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm in massive trouble with Ms Moon, later in the day, when I blurt out that there's going to be a massive scrap between Cain Dingle and Aaron on 'The Farm,' I tell her that I read at work in the Inside Soap magazine that Cain is going to kill Aaron with a monkey wrench. She's absolutely fuming folks. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday morning and I'm mooching around Sneinton Market. I call in to see my Bosnian barber, Mr Eko, for a holiday haircut. Thankfully he doesn't offer me a vodka shot; it's just a strong percolated coffee. I wander through the market, up into Hockley and down towards Carrington Street. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMToSM2kx9JPyNeGYNkub8nT4KFR2ITdDaUtarqaIV2Cvc2nO_L73j9xaF2rIcrXzdLSIcA2Z79OLzcyuehGI70_s9BIYfCO0CZ8YVl_8NMXo_djVHrfzpMGg7ukHlGCXrQKkwQQN8XDenXJ7UIx2lVQg3ZBPoc2I4HADnPhWdjl6v5fOGn8THDtYHktU/s1200/IMG_8849.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMToSM2kx9JPyNeGYNkub8nT4KFR2ITdDaUtarqaIV2Cvc2nO_L73j9xaF2rIcrXzdLSIcA2Z79OLzcyuehGI70_s9BIYfCO0CZ8YVl_8NMXo_djVHrfzpMGg7ukHlGCXrQKkwQQN8XDenXJ7UIx2lVQg3ZBPoc2I4HADnPhWdjl6v5fOGn8THDtYHktU/s320/IMG_8849.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Huge crowds are gathering outside Nottingham Crown Court. Back in June of last year an awful atrocity happened in our great City. A madman attacked a school caretaker on his way to work. and two students walking home together after a night out. All three were to lose their lives. Others too were badly injured in the attacks. The defendant has just been sentenced to indefinite hospital order after admitting manslaughter charges.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I stand amongst the Press as the grief-stricken mother of student Barnaby Webber reads out a prepared statement. She is angry that the system has let them all down. The CPS, Nottinghamshire Police and the NHS all come under fire.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdRE30qxvUvRLwQr7m1l4WP1w8yUiasC8ybmOaN6EYVQbX_ia-tY5VDPsITIJcHh7Z3IvOFw_gUhSlA7FOO4xQ1kzu4bXTwyh_toSIJR1pdBpIUiozsslyPcNEOt6DlAQ93yQC1jyGAR7CcYYIrEDOXraDqH55T3uEMs3RoAQcEBAol15DGGR0Rp8wNk/s2048/IMG_8755.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdRE30qxvUvRLwQr7m1l4WP1w8yUiasC8ybmOaN6EYVQbX_ia-tY5VDPsITIJcHh7Z3IvOFw_gUhSlA7FOO4xQ1kzu4bXTwyh_toSIJR1pdBpIUiozsslyPcNEOt6DlAQ93yQC1jyGAR7CcYYIrEDOXraDqH55T3uEMs3RoAQcEBAol15DGGR0Rp8wNk/s320/IMG_8755.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It preys on my mind, for the next hour or so of my walk, what those poor, bereaved relatives must be going through. The attacks brought our City to a standstill as there was an outpouring of public grief when a number of vigils were held. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I catch the 26 Southwell bus, on Saturday morning close to an award-winning chippy called Oceans, which sits at the bottom of Carlton Hill. Ms Moon and I demolished a chippy tea from there on Thursday evening.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvoMYMDZ2F_KySo0vv0g-H_Mga3pnCk1AIcmyx3OdNwpY81BhRWIgMVVIY_d0WxUMDr1NmnN8-9ljqkI-liW9cPCto5PV058-cbJDCWjAR8KXtK8xrdrcKN5QGA82a98pj6Lt7gj53H6VElGEK2tvll2eMNUJn9IWGe3g_M-Zw0mT174bSU9Xq2fS2BQ/s2048/6db205b0-b770-4d86-b329-7df90bcdb4d1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1537" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvoMYMDZ2F_KySo0vv0g-H_Mga3pnCk1AIcmyx3OdNwpY81BhRWIgMVVIY_d0WxUMDr1NmnN8-9ljqkI-liW9cPCto5PV058-cbJDCWjAR8KXtK8xrdrcKN5QGA82a98pj6Lt7gj53H6VElGEK2tvll2eMNUJn9IWGe3g_M-Zw0mT174bSU9Xq2fS2BQ/s320/6db205b0-b770-4d86-b329-7df90bcdb4d1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I jump off at Florence Avenue where I’m joined by Alan Murphy, who is head of the supporters group. We make the short walk down Stoke Lane, crossing the rail tracks where a Nottingham to Lincoln train has just whistled by.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There’s a small gathering of fans at the ground, as a Silverdale coach driver squeezes his vehicle through the club gates. It’s my first outing on the team coach as I usually travel by train or cadge a lift.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpumFaDLWYyAIT-qDztWOvsYHk0mXKVz0Qo-kyiVtfhCPcEF6OZ_OiNN8jKq98dgD_wcXtiDPudbR7Ix95VG7FcQ6MOkejxb427h55JZEJTabVkARnDAwS8-AXx4U8Ps29o39eLBDTa-wBiACtfAZaz_ASgMzl3fEeqXelJuVWAxlGAfVFem0Sfiv9O9k/s2532/IMG_8753.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2532" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpumFaDLWYyAIT-qDztWOvsYHk0mXKVz0Qo-kyiVtfhCPcEF6OZ_OiNN8jKq98dgD_wcXtiDPudbR7Ix95VG7FcQ6MOkejxb427h55JZEJTabVkARnDAwS8-AXx4U8Ps29o39eLBDTa-wBiACtfAZaz_ASgMzl3fEeqXelJuVWAxlGAfVFem0Sfiv9O9k/s320/IMG_8753.PNG" width="148" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The second pick up point is at Millers Barn, Phoenix Park, where there is also a tram stop. We drive past a memorial stone that’s laid on the roundabout. It pays tribute to the miners who died from fatal injuries at Babbington Colliery between 1841-1986.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My first ever day at work was on 7th September 1981 at this very coal mine. I use the term ‘work’ loosely, as I was white collar staff. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hqUgb8RkM85qzYNnh4ay43zWeMoJAqv2yupJ4C1rBIVn52wWiXKTmZCIcOb3kM-a8-CPv5Bpy2GQBXW-T-oyvbYojdHSxWd-vr1J6nPIQv5J7CoIYdpBR5V-bMBZoh5H4D_3XyYaoQvNDSC1Gslinvg-2j_uSzRMtkZTurOC2W2rm62znc9DETCJhh4/s4032/IMG_8778.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hqUgb8RkM85qzYNnh4ay43zWeMoJAqv2yupJ4C1rBIVn52wWiXKTmZCIcOb3kM-a8-CPv5Bpy2GQBXW-T-oyvbYojdHSxWd-vr1J6nPIQv5J7CoIYdpBR5V-bMBZoh5H4D_3XyYaoQvNDSC1Gslinvg-2j_uSzRMtkZTurOC2W2rm62znc9DETCJhh4/s320/IMG_8778.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Memories came flooding back, the other evening, when Channel 4 screened a documentary called ‘Miners Strike 1984: The Battle of Britain. It was Margaret Thatcher versus National Union of Miners leader Arthur Scargill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It was a long, bitter two year feud with neither side willing to compromise. The notorious, cocky, baton-wielding Metropolitan Police were based at Linby Colliery where I later worked, at the height of the strike.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimuONFkdEeLZAMi_4vEX8W4fatpPZ0Wf5dekY7Pxn_KGVhJCLpm1YeAXreJRUmXYrbQui0JHsfjrqTkEYyOlbov5QwfAwc9zrzdVjAoSszQN2KEOge4smBaXZhJwjoZroTiA9Gh8fdyWstJOXo2t09h3yeuk8NjDTtdfrBupQS05DmDe-kRiLyKRWhSWw/s4032/IMG_8772.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimuONFkdEeLZAMi_4vEX8W4fatpPZ0Wf5dekY7Pxn_KGVhJCLpm1YeAXreJRUmXYrbQui0JHsfjrqTkEYyOlbov5QwfAwc9zrzdVjAoSszQN2KEOge4smBaXZhJwjoZroTiA9Gh8fdyWstJOXo2t09h3yeuk8NjDTtdfrBupQS05DmDe-kRiLyKRWhSWw/s320/IMG_8772.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Management team and players are picked up, as are a few more at Junction 29. The Woodhead Pass is a pig of a road as we approach Stocksbridge. We sit in standing traffic for what seems an age.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The players and staff seem in a relaxed mood as the club look to continue their good form as the race for the play-offs enters the final stages. There’s plenty of chit chat and banter as the bus drops off some beer thirsty supporters on the high street.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIcOvwT8kTNnIr6_2Ykt4sNhac_aTh22OZW3SfcInp7tJTm6iklxepfVAbJtVK6QcBA1OUM07-6m0gjfijAINfRlveoShM-dW1YcaceEDao727t-K0Mbyr7emHFkSwAYb9WQqsDylPDoWlGuJBTx8oOgxI_YMU8sVirpiKNf7VRsRj625iHoKeT4k8kw/s4032/IMG_8775.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIcOvwT8kTNnIr6_2Ykt4sNhac_aTh22OZW3SfcInp7tJTm6iklxepfVAbJtVK6QcBA1OUM07-6m0gjfijAINfRlveoShM-dW1YcaceEDao727t-K0Mbyr7emHFkSwAYb9WQqsDylPDoWlGuJBTx8oOgxI_YMU8sVirpiKNf7VRsRj625iHoKeT4k8kw/s320/IMG_8775.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The pubs don’t look all that, and I’m not one for viewing a game through beer goggles. I tag along with the infamous fish and chip reviewer ‘Danny Bhoy’ and his 12 year old lad Reuben.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It’s a steep climb up the hill towards the highly-rated Shelly’s chippy, that’s been open for over 30 years. I’m gasping for air but admiring the panoramic views of the Pennines, as the kind lady behind the counter throws us in three fresh haddocks, coated in two lots of batter, into a piping, red hot fryer.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCEXrF5cPEtk4sb1Bkmpa3Xn2HYy6lgukZLd8slEKPMVV2hOqN8UZthkzGQon9PVlE0zN3C_tMWpDscVh8qpkhk7mDP64dD-UMlgE04bJxDn1tfYvE8tT_cECJDn4FK25YKd5IYko1EhEjLq8YIoe0MsOMuhKvSV0JAuxx_CgIRaTC7aEDdOhu4OUwcc/s2048/07b58be8-e479-4537-babf-28fd71b3f760.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1537" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOCEXrF5cPEtk4sb1Bkmpa3Xn2HYy6lgukZLd8slEKPMVV2hOqN8UZthkzGQon9PVlE0zN3C_tMWpDscVh8qpkhk7mDP64dD-UMlgE04bJxDn1tfYvE8tT_cECJDn4FK25YKd5IYko1EhEjLq8YIoe0MsOMuhKvSV0JAuxx_CgIRaTC7aEDdOhu4OUwcc/s320/07b58be8-e479-4537-babf-28fd71b3f760.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The long wait for the chippy lunch bears fruit. Underneath the crisp batter is thick, fleshy meat. The chips melt in your mouth. Danny is suitably impressed, although he’s disappointed that they’ve ran out of curry sauce. The lady, behind the counter, mistakenly gives my haddock away to another customer. There’s no fuss or drama as I settle for a huge piece of cod. For good measure, and as an act of goodwill, she wraps up a couple of fish cakes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There’s a hive of activity in one of the best clubhouses in Non League Football. Maidstone have just pulled off a major Cup upset at Portman Road, despite defending an astonishing 38x shots. The Millers field a strong team. Speedy winger Lamin Manneh is missing as is Lewis Durow, after a final whistle misdemeanor the other week. It’s a shame as both have looked in fine fettle. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnioB6GLnJrVK8UXQNM1L9jOJWJpxFsRSHAPRuIaiGbE7kxWx2_dPSfgBaYzCE0cN-CmPWw4CbTPbYlTzBhrh7EaFnBMFVSZBxlcwrHpv4O59i442Lk21G0mxUhyphenhyphenH40mWENAuiUA9WaPjxYR9APYHUHKIMXNR7IW758kVWVhYHKq1CrvKVP7TgpBorkBA/s4032/IMG_8791.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnioB6GLnJrVK8UXQNM1L9jOJWJpxFsRSHAPRuIaiGbE7kxWx2_dPSfgBaYzCE0cN-CmPWw4CbTPbYlTzBhrh7EaFnBMFVSZBxlcwrHpv4O59i442Lk21G0mxUhyphenhyphenH40mWENAuiUA9WaPjxYR9APYHUHKIMXNR7IW758kVWVhYHKq1CrvKVP7TgpBorkBA/s320/IMG_8791.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I bump into Carlton supporter Stuart and his legendary dog ‘Barton’ (Joey). They’ve had a bit of lip off the 'Stocksbridge Baby Squad' behind the goal. I suggest to Stu that he unleash Joey on the young ‘uns. Stuart says he’ll probably lick them to death.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Entertainment levels are zero in the first half, it’s an absolute snooze fest. Steels look most likely to score with their 9 jacket looking lively. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS8jjJraWtUBRMNV6h4Qs9nd2MinF-MCDBZACLL0yasZpZVBp7T5DYGgcp9ZlBmUk9AlGLPtLlX2QidzqNRp3etPro6az3FLYNydw2u_qJ03Ddf-vNYwRur5KNoXWFcWtzJssIgP_BigHYdAPt9n4gNWEIQFsyUmzTOnZV-06RILEhG4V7imtToukSXc/s4032/IMG_8792.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXS8jjJraWtUBRMNV6h4Qs9nd2MinF-MCDBZACLL0yasZpZVBp7T5DYGgcp9ZlBmUk9AlGLPtLlX2QidzqNRp3etPro6az3FLYNydw2u_qJ03Ddf-vNYwRur5KNoXWFcWtzJssIgP_BigHYdAPt9n4gNWEIQFsyUmzTOnZV-06RILEhG4V7imtToukSXc/s320/IMG_8792.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We agree in the clubhouse that we’d take a point as it stands, as Steels are our bogey team. This stat is repeated throughout the second half by DJ Murph. Carlton improve in the final half hour with debutant Jebbison stinging the hands of the home ‘keeper.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I’ve stuck up for referees on here for years. The FA seem to fast-track the younger ones up the Pyramid too prematurely. The latest trend, for the men in black, is to get their cards out way too early, instead of letting common sense prevail. Today’s buffoon has zero man management skills and is another FA robot. Jebbison is sent off after two harsh yellow cards.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I don’t do 0-0s, but will take one today. It’s a tough place to come to. and Steels are a better side than their League position suggests.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJOct0EvgZhwSmTbwn5obPoHJ7x6CZ1D5bDz4giN0uGTwVZDU2QAlmI-5y5MEb4O0E7MClDJjqcG9XBtm5W1vpBA98Puq5HNs-vTh4-RjWRXUZHna9g1vN8_0fkjdt4B5_e7ZLuzZq4yf-vNWS-VBmwuQx8Oh_-2h0y-bhef_0e2hcwBgbC9VUjBrHNY/s4032/IMG_8782.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJOct0EvgZhwSmTbwn5obPoHJ7x6CZ1D5bDz4giN0uGTwVZDU2QAlmI-5y5MEb4O0E7MClDJjqcG9XBtm5W1vpBA98Puq5HNs-vTh4-RjWRXUZHna9g1vN8_0fkjdt4B5_e7ZLuzZq4yf-vNWS-VBmwuQx8Oh_-2h0y-bhef_0e2hcwBgbC9VUjBrHNY/s320/IMG_8782.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I jump onto a tram at Phoenix Park, alighting at Queen’s Walk in the Meadows area of Nottingham. The Big Man is having a gathering for his 50th birthday, at a gin bar called The Botanist on The Avenue, in Sticky’s favourite place, West Bridgford .. lol.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I manage to get lost in the Meadows, which is easy to do with its rat runs and ginnels. I finally emerge onto Trent Bridge. I swing by the TBI pub where Ms Moon and daughter Becky are drinking following afternoon tea at Josephine’s, opposite Nottingham’s Theatre Royal. A well oiled Trumpy Bolton gives me a hug following Leicester City’s FA Cup win over the Bluenoses.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GdWX300KD8QinQNfwExfMTubBwuyjnsHDYTWzmmIyErPI3wjcbeX4A5Y8ffHeudIh4oY3hZOFUWSfteSxSHKmIXDzI6jZNodth79iqGuA_t4z7AXRXrQcLzj6aRD_9CRF7Hrc8YXfPpgW_hZ38TIRoVW_5EkZS9JOnsP1GAWlj1WY9wvUuPUfjp2JYQ/s4032/IMG_8804.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5GdWX300KD8QinQNfwExfMTubBwuyjnsHDYTWzmmIyErPI3wjcbeX4A5Y8ffHeudIh4oY3hZOFUWSfteSxSHKmIXDzI6jZNodth79iqGuA_t4z7AXRXrQcLzj6aRD_9CRF7Hrc8YXfPpgW_hZ38TIRoVW_5EkZS9JOnsP1GAWlj1WY9wvUuPUfjp2JYQ/s320/IMG_8804.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I’m on shop duty early doors on Sunday morning. I’m back home just after 9 am. I grab a couple of hours kip. I’ve had my pass stamped by Ms Moon to attend a charity event for the homeless called Beat the Streets. I meet music aficionado Tony Mac in the Barrel Drop on Hurts Yard.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It’s a cracking afternoon’s entertainment. The Rain Age and Bloodworm knock it out of the park in the Rescue Rooms. I'm seeing them both again at the hipster Jam Cafe on Wednesday evening. We bump into newlyweds Casually Dan and Katie. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWCThWFR4ECj4PrN6nQQzvv1_d7oJt2h3k9EkCIez-uSVLkUj0au_P4_xf8h4uszbTt5TBTHLf6XOpj53i2psTcfWRxBc_xK1-FMWFzR03GKTsiLE5uTeBly0s-wUh1CG3ogFOZ8vB0SdJnB9bkrmrXCgrtP09b-VKI-Mq4BcJ-Jvk64-ZZiYv07Z0Fw/s4032/IMG_8819.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWCThWFR4ECj4PrN6nQQzvv1_d7oJt2h3k9EkCIez-uSVLkUj0au_P4_xf8h4uszbTt5TBTHLf6XOpj53i2psTcfWRxBc_xK1-FMWFzR03GKTsiLE5uTeBly0s-wUh1CG3ogFOZ8vB0SdJnB9bkrmrXCgrtP09b-VKI-Mq4BcJ-Jvk64-ZZiYv07Z0Fw/s320/IMG_8819.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We take a short break in Junkyard where we partake in a couple of rocket fuel craft ales from Amundsen, Norway and Basqueland, Spain.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Local band, Board Marsh, are playing upstairs at Rough Trade. The place is mobbed out with gig goers. They play a rip roaring set, and are definitely one for the notebook.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The night ends in tears for our man Mac. He’s totally unimpressed with feel good factor band The Chase (from St Ann's) - I liked ‘em. He announces he’s off. I’m dog tired so join him. He misses his tram home to Hucknall by seconds. He can’t ’arf pick ‘em.</div><p>Attendance: 210</p><p>Man of the Match: Danny Bhoy for picking that chippy out</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-42712397960324453002024-01-21T19:27:00.001+00:002024-01-21T19:27:26.970+00:00Carlton Town 0-2 Basford United<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCuSHQ1FtRQMkrs6J0m1E_6vpekAWUWqVqzC4Tt8b1qOoI6iCD7UGqNio2EV2-WjgcGvUtXZR-yKPakQrSoQOLUIW-DIz8O3XLvIZleEemuDRqrawuO5ZDnEq2JbKoc0unS4utQC9mkZ2mFxpN0Xij9prNo_S3Q27fJix-OUSpokC4-v4vusO7Iug0ogo/s615/IMG_8678.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCuSHQ1FtRQMkrs6J0m1E_6vpekAWUWqVqzC4Tt8b1qOoI6iCD7UGqNio2EV2-WjgcGvUtXZR-yKPakQrSoQOLUIW-DIz8O3XLvIZleEemuDRqrawuO5ZDnEq2JbKoc0unS4utQC9mkZ2mFxpN0Xij9prNo_S3Q27fJix-OUSpokC4-v4vusO7Iug0ogo/s320/IMG_8678.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Radford FC have been turned over 2-0 by UCL Div One leaders Bourne Town, from Lincolnshire. I don't think Radford Director of Football, Big Glenn Russell, will be knocking me up a cheese and onion cob anytime soon, as my jinx from the terraces tightens its grip.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We turn off Selhurst Street onto Radford Road. It's my favourite area of inner city Nottingham. I'm with Faggsy, Little Al and Crazy Steve. We chew over the fat at The Lion, a corner pub on Mosley Street. It has a magnificent beer garden and a community feel about the joint. It has an array of real ales and craft beers to choose from. I could quite easily settle in for the evening. I jump off the tram in Market Square and say cheerio to Faggsy, who I'll see again down 'The Bill' on Tuesday evening.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyht4REkI3EjV-OXu8Cds2M-84L4FU_Jv_RhkRKp4aCCI_2UMNqsJUVBiYc3_I05tZD_JI81kgCQSM8c741MK0QMgYPlejQnFG5ZrVH2OvuTFEkCY7tOqoJXYOPbVzw_5yDp6XYAzY0UWUCS8us3FPAeAZ641CGQ9E2EW16xIJH_U3d_bBFvKSHUehNjQ/s550/IMG_8679.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="550" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyht4REkI3EjV-OXu8Cds2M-84L4FU_Jv_RhkRKp4aCCI_2UMNqsJUVBiYc3_I05tZD_JI81kgCQSM8c741MK0QMgYPlejQnFG5ZrVH2OvuTFEkCY7tOqoJXYOPbVzw_5yDp6XYAzY0UWUCS8us3FPAeAZ641CGQ9E2EW16xIJH_U3d_bBFvKSHUehNjQ/s320/IMG_8679.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Sundays have been a bit lazy of late. I'm usually up at 4 am for an early morning shift at the paper shop. I tend to have a kip on return to HQ. Afternoons are spent listening to episodes of Radcliffe and Maconie, whilst writing up notes for my blog. Ms Moon is usually as happy as Larry watching a chick flick from the sofa's edge.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and I'm hanging around outside the Nags Head at the bottom of Carlton Hill, waiting for Faggsy. It's not a pub I frequent, as a ten minute walk away is the glorious Old Volunteer with its stunning frontage and good selection of guest cask ales.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_UPGOsA6IJo2RGYLrhpj_QWBSxPQ-zvdW4SFrEAjUurW3p1mKAiGVAS_koSBt6rX8ypuJfaZRMfGjMpck9g2vuf5uKodMwdEmb-1HfBylBLPS4Dj_S7E3DuUSAACXut8VGtZtzDk7UXHWMMUWjab8HdCcGOJcBR7PAdYMxl4-rdjGk25xQvhocKe2nk/s1600/bc3686ea-4d5a-4f12-be53-5df320b84a35.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1127" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6_UPGOsA6IJo2RGYLrhpj_QWBSxPQ-zvdW4SFrEAjUurW3p1mKAiGVAS_koSBt6rX8ypuJfaZRMfGjMpck9g2vuf5uKodMwdEmb-1HfBylBLPS4Dj_S7E3DuUSAACXut8VGtZtzDk7UXHWMMUWjab8HdCcGOJcBR7PAdYMxl4-rdjGk25xQvhocKe2nk/s320/bc3686ea-4d5a-4f12-be53-5df320b84a35.JPG" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Mighty Millers of Carlton are playing noisy neighbours Basford United in the quarter finals of the Notts Senior Cup. The visitors, as a club, aren't my cup of tea. They've had more managers than the Rovers Return. They are battling to stay in the Northern Premier League and rely on visiting supporters to swell the crowd. Not many have bothered to make the six mile journey across town.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's £8 on the gate and £2 for the best value programme in East Midlands Non League football. It's superbly headed up by Joe Standen and a small band of volunteers who contribute with regular columns. There's a huge gulf in class between the two sides in the first period. It's astonishing that it takes a whole 45 minutes for a fully fired-up, but off target Basford, to take the lead. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTl4W0cXYKMI_3BnanmEsNEuVYlkld1QwA9E-Rnv9dVCNwPPjGWSkMXX9flmQDUEJ6dtO8wA8mzHs7MpSbaI9wzb9F240RJ9siC2kTZbPv5yt_C-uno1xHDtLAheQzcROB6YXWRmvbLwUFr-9Ntkt3EeWx5cq1KCA9XX_zBmoiigjMBHFANkexgw1DbhY/s2048/653519ec-dcb9-4033-a953-44fdbefb2799.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTl4W0cXYKMI_3BnanmEsNEuVYlkld1QwA9E-Rnv9dVCNwPPjGWSkMXX9flmQDUEJ6dtO8wA8mzHs7MpSbaI9wzb9F240RJ9siC2kTZbPv5yt_C-uno1xHDtLAheQzcROB6YXWRmvbLwUFr-9Ntkt3EeWx5cq1KCA9XX_zBmoiigjMBHFANkexgw1DbhY/s320/653519ec-dcb9-4033-a953-44fdbefb2799.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">They've fluffed their lines in the final third on many occasions. There's a comedy moment from the penalty spot when one of their forwards is wiped out by 'Felix the Cat', who is in the nets for The Millers. The resulting scuffed spot kick hits the bottom left post, rolls across the line and smacks the inside of the right hand post. A rebound finally falls to another player whose shot is well saved by Felix.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tommy Brooksbank, the Carlton Town manager, will have the Sir Alex Ferguson hairdryer on full blast after a sub standard first half performance. Basford will be fuming that they aren't out of sight. The Carlton players are dropping like flies. Felix is playing on one leg, the dangerous Lamin Manneh has pulled up with a tight hamstring, Alex Hardwick limps off and Niall Davie is in the wars again. The visitors put the game to bed and coast to victory. The Millers, to their credit, put a shift in for the final thirty minutes.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBrd63YGrP8K080cVpL-0c1uSn1cp51KLnK_-HzJZN6j8m0aPxQYCJOsbrpLjhNJB7skBe6LkTOrfRCTgBpaNxfebSm_wsgwHtkmAkH_YomPd2G2cteoj6sd8cfXDN1xcwku8fu_65OC8iA3cLMm2qxDN9M7ZlvBHOUvZoTqQ1N3aC8aWy7ty2WJz1Xo/s756/0a382ff3-c7f3-4c49-ae43-1b65e9bf9be8.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="756" data-original-width="545" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXBrd63YGrP8K080cVpL-0c1uSn1cp51KLnK_-HzJZN6j8m0aPxQYCJOsbrpLjhNJB7skBe6LkTOrfRCTgBpaNxfebSm_wsgwHtkmAkH_YomPd2G2cteoj6sd8cfXDN1xcwku8fu_65OC8iA3cLMm2qxDN9M7ZlvBHOUvZoTqQ1N3aC8aWy7ty2WJz1Xo/s320/0a382ff3-c7f3-4c49-ae43-1b65e9bf9be8.JPG" width="231" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The highlight of the game is another relentless set by DJ Murph. This has also been picked up by When Saturday Comes reader Martin Naylor, who actually wrote into the cult football magazine, singing the praises of our esteemed DJ. Alan has two rules with his music: he plays what he likes and always includes a track by The Fall. His killer track this evening is 'Pssyche' by Killing Joke from back in 1982.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's bad news to report for the rest of the week, reader. I fall victim to a vicious virus that lays me low and bedridden for four days. I'm excused (relieved) from Emmerdale Farm and Corrie duties. I use my time effectively to finish off a mighty fine travel book by the broadcaster Stuart Maconie called The Full English: A Journey in Search of a Country and Its People.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuAyh4WEQZ5jHsQtjllKIS-CytyJW8gZuyRTC8su8mdtrMqDtuQUH8D_Biq1W8mVp9NVZFe17n4ueh6KwfBNP1LqZsTDuDFEPK3RY32DtqS_JK-FHfMdB1pXTu_J6ZTuUjDTGoGwhk12__MHmHWuPlQqtw5S1WPknyb9UYdAh8t8RsDR4ybYEyItpRps/s1600/5e46f5d9-d309-4efa-806b-851fe9ff9aff.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1127" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWuAyh4WEQZ5jHsQtjllKIS-CytyJW8gZuyRTC8su8mdtrMqDtuQUH8D_Biq1W8mVp9NVZFe17n4ueh6KwfBNP1LqZsTDuDFEPK3RY32DtqS_JK-FHfMdB1pXTu_J6ZTuUjDTGoGwhk12__MHmHWuPlQqtw5S1WPknyb9UYdAh8t8RsDR4ybYEyItpRps/s320/5e46f5d9-d309-4efa-806b-851fe9ff9aff.JPG" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">I also listen to a few podcasts from the BBC Sounds app. I'm amused by 'My Mate's a Footballer' which features the comedian Joe Wilkinson, who plays the postman in Ricky Gervais's After Life, and the Leeds United, Nottingham born striker, Patrick Bamford. I've always been a fan of Bamford, who not only gives insightful interviews to journalists, but also scored some extraordinary goals at youth level for Nottingham Forest, when I used to take a keen interest in their academy. By chance he scores a worldie in an FA Cup tie at Peterborough United. which is the main topic of conversation in the latest episode.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdM-8BNKrv3V4wVIdhCK3TVJQjcihztJ74fz8WjYEECLmFNV4q-wbI72L5HDAGZKPXTs3ML92KY7u9X6Nc9qxMU7t8z10GBWrzYMmvOyiSBr3T1H_nsbAab1iaik6LAGQHRpKKxy88kHViq67gt7GVhBy39U3D7aeUR2WTIi24MXif5IKr8otPU-tHASo/s4032/IMG_8589.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdM-8BNKrv3V4wVIdhCK3TVJQjcihztJ74fz8WjYEECLmFNV4q-wbI72L5HDAGZKPXTs3ML92KY7u9X6Nc9qxMU7t8z10GBWrzYMmvOyiSBr3T1H_nsbAab1iaik6LAGQHRpKKxy88kHViq67gt7GVhBy39U3D7aeUR2WTIi24MXif5IKr8otPU-tHASo/s320/IMG_8589.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday lunchtime is spent in Nottingham city centre. I've shaken off my ailments. I meet Ms Moon outside a new restaurant located on Heathcoat Street called Taquero. It's the brainchild of the folks who brought into Nottingham, Iberico World Tapas and Bar Iberico. It's highly-rated on Google review and good value at just over £30 for lunch for two, including a service charge.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's 8 am on Thursday morning and I'm sitting in The Hungry Pumpkin, a family run cafe on High Pavement. Tony Mac and I hoover up a full English before walking it off up to the railway station. We've planned our return to Manchester for an age now, following the publication of Manchester's Best Beer Pubs and Bars, by Matthew Curtis. We've both ticked off 61 out of the book, leaving another 140 to go at.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeijY_UoQP41l3sKOZx6VcVPtxjfocMzrNQkwcJyFN-hMOuU_3hul0OkcEOojrueqOsA2ceM5V8ZxPleHOkvmVqPzA5jiLAhUyjatxksSZD8QiZRxDYW89Q2tszU92hJv5b2qgoMRj-ozFkvlwGup1wxnz4lrCUJuNBOCNbHtfNNRQYHQPApIzvElzOEQ/s4032/IMG_8592.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeijY_UoQP41l3sKOZx6VcVPtxjfocMzrNQkwcJyFN-hMOuU_3hul0OkcEOojrueqOsA2ceM5V8ZxPleHOkvmVqPzA5jiLAhUyjatxksSZD8QiZRxDYW89Q2tszU92hJv5b2qgoMRj-ozFkvlwGup1wxnz4lrCUJuNBOCNbHtfNNRQYHQPApIzvElzOEQ/s320/IMG_8592.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We alight the Norwich to Liverpool EMR train at Manchester Victoria at just shy of twelve bells. We're tucking into a paddle of craft beers at Bundobust, on Oxford Street. We decline the kind offer of some Indian tapas, as we're booked in to have some street food later in the day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There is time to call into a few more bars before checking-in at our Airbnb, located in the heart of the Northern Quarter. We're soon out and about in town. One of the picks of the day is the newly opened Pomona Island craft ale owned bar called North Westward Ho, on Chapel Walks. This splendid building was a former Thai Restaurant. It's named after a pub ship that moored in the Pomona Docks in the 1970s.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8QLz529IPOAdEW_fYMyyiYLkU4Ex_-lbmV85M0e0iWS1ngzEb6ZZtIPHYj9jwv61K7Nf2mTRVG_jXqI3CBcNnaxol1K55worzmbeCD_1gwpP-I9im_qzz3-l2C2mioGejztON47veNPcal86Mhuoanus726V5yRsHb7U8VioCrzdcrVmPOKrszQnfjOc/s4032/IMG_8607.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8QLz529IPOAdEW_fYMyyiYLkU4Ex_-lbmV85M0e0iWS1ngzEb6ZZtIPHYj9jwv61K7Nf2mTRVG_jXqI3CBcNnaxol1K55worzmbeCD_1gwpP-I9im_qzz3-l2C2mioGejztON47veNPcal86Mhuoanus726V5yRsHb7U8VioCrzdcrVmPOKrszQnfjOc/s320/IMG_8607.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Tony Mac has grabbed some tickets for a beer festival that are a steal for £3. It's being hosted by GRUB who are based in Cheetham Hill, just a short walk away. Former Wimbledon and Norwich City striker Efan Ekoku was born in the area, as was the brewer Sir Edward Holt, playwright Jack Rosenthal and Grime artist Bugzy Malone.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Curtis describes GRUB as a 'trailblazer on the Manchester food and drink scene.' On entry we can see why. There are 18x taps downstairs with further choices from Sureshot, Neon Raptor, Cloudwater and Northern Monk upstairs. We tuck into some food too. Tony enjoys some South Korean chicken. The rest of the evening is murky and hazy; a bit like the beer. 14x pubs in a day is a good return though.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaOOKVrydhYp1CjhIuScaG5fC0qU5166BhMeedLAlLHaQpP4PqmwYacJGlX1Pfja83IKXOYxZXMe8m58zO_8PRn5pb1lR6jeKVy85TDbenskhu3EoDQwYNJaOoNs-vC9ccY8ucFjcPNDEmefXO97QYqboGDVQ7iyqksEY3e97B02qpkrLn4K4zdTdzvM/s4032/IMG_8620.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbaOOKVrydhYp1CjhIuScaG5fC0qU5166BhMeedLAlLHaQpP4PqmwYacJGlX1Pfja83IKXOYxZXMe8m58zO_8PRn5pb1lR6jeKVy85TDbenskhu3EoDQwYNJaOoNs-vC9ccY8ucFjcPNDEmefXO97QYqboGDVQ7iyqksEY3e97B02qpkrLn4K4zdTdzvM/s320/IMG_8620.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Breakfast is taken at Koffee Pot. It has American-based breakfasts during the day and serves tacos and craft beer by night. Refuelled, we cross over the road and board a tram to Bury, where Gary Neville and Phil Neville are from.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not a 'Spoons fan nor an admirer of their Tory donor owner, the recently knighted Sir Tim Martin. But you have to admire the architecture and pub fronts of some of his pubs. The Art Picture House is a tastefully restored 1920s cinema.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG58FV1iQWghGe9xI4KlDUzky_CLnMKfpYQ9M4sf9vR2Zym9v2mM_VANH5Ditti3bhcHepfEBPWHla5hvdbciGMocGx1LM62BLQw5wFM2TON6EQasJJWJ98wvlyOXsK-TcRuPeOgkANBUNCgXI97UTlTMF3sCWdFrrjDAZzDPJdxN-R7OEAqQ9EKa3Hk/s4032/IMG_8622.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG58FV1iQWghGe9xI4KlDUzky_CLnMKfpYQ9M4sf9vR2Zym9v2mM_VANH5Ditti3bhcHepfEBPWHla5hvdbciGMocGx1LM62BLQw5wFM2TON6EQasJJWJ98wvlyOXsK-TcRuPeOgkANBUNCgXI97UTlTMF3sCWdFrrjDAZzDPJdxN-R7OEAqQ9EKa3Hk/s320/IMG_8622.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Across the road, just past the Robert Peel statue, is a three star CAMRA Heritage pub called the Old White Lion. Again, it's a stunning building with a jaw-dropping interior. They only have Timothy Taylor on cask. I have a Boddingtons for old times sake.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We hop back on the tram down to Prestwich. The lights are out at Church Inn, so we tick a few more pubs off on the main drag.. We give a punter short shrift as he sits on his laptop whilst hosting a Teams call. We talk loudly to cheese the poser off. The landlord at The Crooked Man is a lovely bloke and a Bury fan too. He's surprised to learn that his bar is an entry in the Curtis book.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOIAQxEwGm5XhZoVfLN0SVA7ZGwY8cMMgVlElXwB2h4vP2VjxmUUu__6prJvwEf6QqiRIuZrj-zQHxH2YmGYiNLaF7QQFfvs_2e7jjPrp7rijBTsrN7RIdUq4lt7RzDdyJbKM7CSfZwVdx8UNgKNPtLmK6gWIgiuoNcbWjKkj6MSdDiJVvvmooo-8MJk/s4032/IMG_8628.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGOIAQxEwGm5XhZoVfLN0SVA7ZGwY8cMMgVlElXwB2h4vP2VjxmUUu__6prJvwEf6QqiRIuZrj-zQHxH2YmGYiNLaF7QQFfvs_2e7jjPrp7rijBTsrN7RIdUq4lt7RzDdyJbKM7CSfZwVdx8UNgKNPtLmK6gWIgiuoNcbWjKkj6MSdDiJVvvmooo-8MJk/s320/IMG_8628.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We bump into Gary Neville on Deansgate as he poses for a selfie with two ladies who have pounced upon him. There's time for a swift one in Rain Bar before the 7.38 pm train home to Nottingham.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Man of the Match: DJ Murph</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Attendance: 181 </div>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-16801315146890195482024-01-07T20:07:00.001+00:002024-01-07T21:13:40.772+00:00Radford FC 0-2 Bourne Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqet9lyWtprsXatCHT5E3WD5CeBe_43d7uWg4SL76q19BUc37Kj1n1_gCvrj4Bb9UGwUpXEWKJUbugHgaXkTh8T4ZyHWBOy0UIxgDkQ1CLxirtNo5P_Yl8X2SgN6dKBPw1c3P7YsFK4YnojUB8DhuKSABwWE833DCMFN2qfntHWXmrcvk4NlAGZ8_LnA/s2048/6bae6f88-b097-454d-b719-d269ff87ae02.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisqet9lyWtprsXatCHT5E3WD5CeBe_43d7uWg4SL76q19BUc37Kj1n1_gCvrj4Bb9UGwUpXEWKJUbugHgaXkTh8T4ZyHWBOy0UIxgDkQ1CLxirtNo5P_Yl8X2SgN6dKBPw1c3P7YsFK4YnojUB8DhuKSABwWE833DCMFN2qfntHWXmrcvk4NlAGZ8_LnA/s320/6bae6f88-b097-454d-b719-d269ff87ae02.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's been 28 days since I last put pen to paper. It's a winter break that Jurgen Klopp can only dream of. Christmas has been and gone in the blink of an eye. It's been action packed both pre and post Santa.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday 14th Dec and I'm sitting in the car with Crazy Steve and Little Al. Cotgrave Trev is at wheel and is about to turn off the M1 at Junction 35A. We're not all that far from Stocksbridge Steels FC which has sweeping views of the Pennines. It is, of course, where Foxes striker Jamie Vardy began his career. Just my luck he was on an electronic tag the day I went to watch him play v FC United of Manchester in 2010.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzwHYeR0eF_Cnig4UfC1NwcEUPDeONut-JbPYb9xXJYhzJoOZ-YrPYgHcmIflfUFrFUSI7dwGIce0vT3vVx3k6Uw_yWCnXBeA0Czgg4__MH5SveU4GDPWHHT6Sy8GvtqPe-lGAoFJwa6LKvKfEz2JVTtoJhwameopQSbfuQjSAc2HRjHhc4klgYkvZlI/s4032/IMG_7689.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzwHYeR0eF_Cnig4UfC1NwcEUPDeONut-JbPYb9xXJYhzJoOZ-YrPYgHcmIflfUFrFUSI7dwGIce0vT3vVx3k6Uw_yWCnXBeA0Czgg4__MH5SveU4GDPWHHT6Sy8GvtqPe-lGAoFJwa6LKvKfEz2JVTtoJhwameopQSbfuQjSAc2HRjHhc4klgYkvZlI/s320/IMG_7689.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm on a day out with the gang, looking for Victoria Cross graves, CAMRA Heritage pubs and celebrity graves. The first pub we visit is The Old Bridge Inn, in picturesque Ripponden. It's a Grade II listed building which is reputed to be one of the oldest pubs in West Yorkshire. It's also home to the Annual Pork Pie Competition where butchers flock from far and wide. Hinchcliffe's Farm Shop, in Huddersfield are the 2023 champions. There's no Melton Mowbray pork pie on the counter, so I have a smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich instead.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The highlight(s) of the day for me are the visit to the grave of former 'It Ain't Arf Mum' actor Don Estelle ("Lofty") and a game of cribbage with Crazy Steve, supervised by the landlord and landlady in the games room of the Bridge Inn, in Rochdale, a town where the singers Gracie Fields and Lisa Stansfield were born. It reminds me of Rave On's quiz in Phoenix Nights where a few folk are huddled around Young Kenny's table. The quizmaster shouts out: "And the answer is ... the Shroud of Turin." What did we put?" asks a confused quizzer. "Lisa Stansfield" is the reply. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaChlSTxDwdgHxri88EbyqCZ4dBU3coe8dRJIA7QzsjYXxQ6sjEhxzDYv9OZDClAiCJaLxFuEHO3HfzgKdnGtiGzvGCoyO6oQ3oIs-xnM2Vy7KjClhtug2OHijkCv4K9XKTKu2AZ9vtFs1p_XLlgTCItyJ5-KKuft1mDLXeMD3kUnMQF3cFJi5RbRxlf8/s1024/74eca5d6-72e9-4e08-8be7-c4a4e2cc85a5.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaChlSTxDwdgHxri88EbyqCZ4dBU3coe8dRJIA7QzsjYXxQ6sjEhxzDYv9OZDClAiCJaLxFuEHO3HfzgKdnGtiGzvGCoyO6oQ3oIs-xnM2Vy7KjClhtug2OHijkCv4K9XKTKu2AZ9vtFs1p_XLlgTCItyJ5-KKuft1mDLXeMD3kUnMQF3cFJi5RbRxlf8/s320/74eca5d6-72e9-4e08-8be7-c4a4e2cc85a5.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm back out on manoeuvres on Friday. It's bad news for Tony Mac and I at our favourite breakfast haunt, YOLK, in Hockley. The manager Jan and his partner (the eggs Benedict chef) have upped sticks and opened a new joint in Bristol. We have a below average fry up at Hockley Kitchen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's the 'Keyworth Massive' Christmas party in Peterborough. Matt Limon and Coops join us on the train and we're met in Posh by 'Chopper Harris' and my old school chum 'Ackers.' Hand and Heart is a big heritage tick off for Sticky. It has an art deco frontage and a Second World War memorial inside the front bar - one of only 60 such memorials in the UK. A cracking day is had by all as we visit some more Good Beer Guide entries in a residential area of the city called Werrington.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkw_OGd36g6oB6Jaj1B5rLkp3LXhuIz2QoMqxQpnuutdTKIsGrMgKQvOhc5kkDyUh2v03DEhoEeL-Z6AjG3dH9LgDXqvsXdoiCVC3qJ8vmmPJGG8bxWzzhIJi7DM4u3y9xl9eRoJcbvNEVTkmiuP7quOgD94UG1MtAtC5wYdPdnoRprtIjM3EVDZG4-bs/s1600/fa93c7b3-1af5-4b82-ac54-1965969d1944.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkw_OGd36g6oB6Jaj1B5rLkp3LXhuIz2QoMqxQpnuutdTKIsGrMgKQvOhc5kkDyUh2v03DEhoEeL-Z6AjG3dH9LgDXqvsXdoiCVC3qJ8vmmPJGG8bxWzzhIJi7DM4u3y9xl9eRoJcbvNEVTkmiuP7quOgD94UG1MtAtC5wYdPdnoRprtIjM3EVDZG4-bs/s320/fa93c7b3-1af5-4b82-ac54-1965969d1944.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's no football on at the weekend as I'm on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory duties at MSR Newsagent, on Front Street, in Arnold. A table is set up outside the shop where I sell chocolate to the general public. The British shopper has a weakness for confectionery, particularly during the festive season, and this is despite blustery conditions and squally showers - it's bloody freezing folks; the new set of thermals, recently purchased from Blacks, don't 'arf come in handy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm down Stoke Lane on Tuesday evening after hoovering up a wonderful chippy tea at 'The Plaice.' Newton Aycliffe, from County Durham, are the visitors - a 250 mile round midweek long haul trip. Carlton's poor disciplinary record is questioned again with yet another ridiculous sending off for retaliation - it nearly cost them relegation last season, as well as valuable funds being drained from club coffers in payments to the FA. Playing with ten men, for well over an hour, results in a 3-0 reverse. It's annoying as the visitors aren't all that - they only raise their game in the final half an hour when some fresh legs are sent on from the bench.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXMStZOJBNk6cEGpxipAZBtiGQfUSCYTK5edLlH1dwt_Dhq_Eu1tWHESXTDUIyqHZ-R7P-skF3X2ox6_gwwuoN46aW9n4Hsvkb9X2_Q3NAWUgqNHSvsi2fDlxl78QhrpV8SFo-ctl2VbJn_-8G3zQ3sHFQZlCL-QJAuvSA73NOOEhOwoKrFAZ0padF3g/s600/IMG_8383.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXMStZOJBNk6cEGpxipAZBtiGQfUSCYTK5edLlH1dwt_Dhq_Eu1tWHESXTDUIyqHZ-R7P-skF3X2ox6_gwwuoN46aW9n4Hsvkb9X2_Q3NAWUgqNHSvsi2fDlxl78QhrpV8SFo-ctl2VbJn_-8G3zQ3sHFQZlCL-QJAuvSA73NOOEhOwoKrFAZ0padF3g/s320/IMG_8383.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I barely move from my armchair over the three days of festivities. I've an annoying dry cough and the sniffles. The two Paddington films cheer me up somewhat. I suggest to Ms Moon that we pick up a jar of marmalade from the worst supermarket in western Europe (Carlton Tesco) on our next visit, so I can make some sandwiches.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The afternoon of Friday 29th December is the Carlton Town Supporters' Club Christmas Party. A gaggle of supporters gather in the back bar of the King William IV, on Eyre Street, in Sneinton. We finish up at the glorious Bath Inn to the rear of Sneinton Market. Regular readers will know the landlord of the pub is the son of former Dr Who actor, Tom Baker.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfO8L-MtkkhXroEuvm-AyDXnT5oqb72YlGqAq3HUT6r3XKqiqD9bKyGG-0MmME5VtvGml6PGNRULFEgk9UNEWFtiiVzeTWnh4ih961VsGWR_1VHFHsWzeD7XIqCu8xtss3huQLzCartKcEQ7I1gvV1gZ3nu_rmxYtVzcIDk-xTzXk9MjceXrGF2wz5ISA/s1600/664c1876-e549-4e63-8a02-920d759ae20b.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1126" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfO8L-MtkkhXroEuvm-AyDXnT5oqb72YlGqAq3HUT6r3XKqiqD9bKyGG-0MmME5VtvGml6PGNRULFEgk9UNEWFtiiVzeTWnh4ih961VsGWR_1VHFHsWzeD7XIqCu8xtss3huQLzCartKcEQ7I1gvV1gZ3nu_rmxYtVzcIDk-xTzXk9MjceXrGF2wz5ISA/s320/664c1876-e549-4e63-8a02-920d759ae20b.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A few of us jump on the 26 Southwell bus, which drops us close to the Millers' Bill Stokeld Stadium. Grimsby Borough are tonight's opponents. Carlton have shown character and bounced back from disappointment. On Boxing Day they beat Margaret Thatcher's (the milk snatcher) Grantham Town 3-2. Fortune is hiding for Tommy and Mark's young guns this evening. The woodwork is Grimsby's saviour, although they themselves fluffed their lines from the penalty spot earlier in the game. Another home loss is a tough one to take, as is a malfunctioning sound system that has cheesed off East Midlands DJ of the Year, 'Casually Dan' no end.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's the first Wednesday of the New Year and the beginning of four days off work. Ms Moon and I have lunch at a traditional and elegant restaurant called Josephine's, which is opposite Nottingham's Theatre Royal, a stunning building, which is where Laurel and Hardy played at the fag end of their career in 1952.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYVs73IfAy15Vwv1WfXNqoWZ8G4tw2izhNyfXYcsb6gaazwZbBnIHCkkBJaehaSD5zggKamueyBPbPUvLPNA4_slBO4I7qIBYVLpsFc5ZMkOd1oh5jukkL7JYFiWQrOXA1ihO6ywKEtKL5tjyytJu8C4Xx2iDEa_44rk-v8W9DdPss5OZ0c-W1CTdajc/s1481/IMG_8239.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1481" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYVs73IfAy15Vwv1WfXNqoWZ8G4tw2izhNyfXYcsb6gaazwZbBnIHCkkBJaehaSD5zggKamueyBPbPUvLPNA4_slBO4I7qIBYVLpsFc5ZMkOd1oh5jukkL7JYFiWQrOXA1ihO6ywKEtKL5tjyytJu8C4Xx2iDEa_44rk-v8W9DdPss5OZ0c-W1CTdajc/s320/IMG_8239.JPG" width="216" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The afternoon is spent at Broadway Cinema where we watch a tear-jerker of a film called One Life. It stars the Welsh actor Sir Anthony Hopkins. It's the true story of a London stockbroker who rescues more than 600 children from Nazi-occupied Prague. Your heart must be made of stone if you don't weep at the ending. I fought long and hard to fight back the tears. But boy did they stream.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's the first Friday Night Club outing of the season. Because of the inclement weather, we thought we'd keep it local. We witness scenes of devastating floods, particularly in Newark, where the banks of the Trent have burst like a party balloon. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JKU3xHtRQZP1EPhL9g1yVQWEwyydwgwbJmBBDpbK5emWMJArQb2IgCjdkrzDyccT4rZB3mb0B0WCSPnHinbnTVNcFIEINsZJ20KBgJLgHFU1ezaGyuGgGR-SFlcZrJe_mcPWJmNNJJvShAUm0uZnfNrpW2P-OOkyo0ZmM3rzTV84cjGz7zLzr1Gf27k/s4032/IMG_8298.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JKU3xHtRQZP1EPhL9g1yVQWEwyydwgwbJmBBDpbK5emWMJArQb2IgCjdkrzDyccT4rZB3mb0B0WCSPnHinbnTVNcFIEINsZJ20KBgJLgHFU1ezaGyuGgGR-SFlcZrJe_mcPWJmNNJJvShAUm0uZnfNrpW2P-OOkyo0ZmM3rzTV84cjGz7zLzr1Gf27k/s320/IMG_8298.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I was born in Lincoln in 1964. It has never felt like home, but I enjoy my visits to Sincil Bank and the city's magnificent hostelries. Mac and I head down High Street to begin our session at the Golden Eagle. It's a tough area of town, with groups of undesirables hanging around on a few street corners - this will only grow in a few weeks' time when D***y County's flock rock up in town.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We tick off a further 8x pubs which include some beauties such as: Imp and Angel, Tiny Tavern, BeerHeadZ and Adam and Eve. The train conveniently stops at Carlton on the journey home. I'm back at HQ for 10 pm.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzsRH_T99DE5uVih5QQRN5sFPk3e_HJiJAiHzq680U1u1h3DxMFFetqbgjGAjMMB3Kb8I1fQDmpFFtt-YVMz_O4i3VfZdv0ArTBTu7KMhQYZEzgPMMggj2Dl7EbCHqnHQcAmQVedWGJQJx5dsYsayf0Eie67fRW7WAs6dQp4hXMAXN8F5zweKHEx7xpss/s4032/IMG_8334.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzsRH_T99DE5uVih5QQRN5sFPk3e_HJiJAiHzq680U1u1h3DxMFFetqbgjGAjMMB3Kb8I1fQDmpFFtt-YVMz_O4i3VfZdv0ArTBTu7KMhQYZEzgPMMggj2Dl7EbCHqnHQcAmQVedWGJQJx5dsYsayf0Eie67fRW7WAs6dQp4hXMAXN8F5zweKHEx7xpss/s320/IMG_8334.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Millers are away at North Ferriby, up in the East Riding of Yorkshire on Saturday. I've had my eye on Radford FC v Bourne Town for some time now. Big Glenn confirms the game is 100% ON. Ms Moon fails a late fitness test due to an Emmerdale Farm back catalogue series record frenzy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have a chat with Our Joe on the bus into town. He's buzzing after Keyworth United recorded their eighth win in a row, The feelgood factor has returned to the club now it's ran by, and played by, Our Own. I meet Crazy Steve and Little Al in Six Barrels Drafthouse. We have a couple of pints before jumping on the tram towards Noel Street.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIL2ugzJKLrakWjinM6RUaFHROg9lr02cL52s0HQtLryEinv5bpH2uuXgBHyQSrCf6BCFUnNtIU0TjmWbuE1HP6EeRB7hA-PVr6f_UYYDljxMd0G7AuioLYxJuiCaSo296B5sa9s8sIIWe7EjDR_sftRODeXKurtiHlZH-XTbGHPmOnVMDrn5JKFM9tU/s4032/IMG_8333.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIL2ugzJKLrakWjinM6RUaFHROg9lr02cL52s0HQtLryEinv5bpH2uuXgBHyQSrCf6BCFUnNtIU0TjmWbuE1HP6EeRB7hA-PVr6f_UYYDljxMd0G7AuioLYxJuiCaSo296B5sa9s8sIIWe7EjDR_sftRODeXKurtiHlZH-XTbGHPmOnVMDrn5JKFM9tU/s320/IMG_8333.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Big Glenn kindly shouts me up a cheese and red onion cob from the kitchen whilst I sup a pint of chesnut mild. Crazy is invited into the kitchen to see what meats are available. He turns up his nose at beef tongue and corned beef, prefering instead chicken tikka.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I say hello to 'Asbo', 'Tank', 'Daisy Reilly' and 'Shoey' before joining the lads and Faggsy. The first half is uneventful apart from an unfortunate own goal after an in-swinging corner isn't dealt with by the 'keeper.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3t39LVUPlSEikbzLDZs676eTaU2pXzekWLcR3Qn6WfqIFN6tmQbyBCseMk9SFcwTKhVYGxI-X51aSmpNTY3-c6v00x6bYMGNublB9U_TMY7L3FbfjMH0jG9Ne1c8nkFbxD88mErLcGUdxKkf-DkfUH4j2bbAT8YJ4uhsILy9-LBPfJ0eo7lqGJ82id0/s4032/IMG_8328.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3t39LVUPlSEikbzLDZs676eTaU2pXzekWLcR3Qn6WfqIFN6tmQbyBCseMk9SFcwTKhVYGxI-X51aSmpNTY3-c6v00x6bYMGNublB9U_TMY7L3FbfjMH0jG9Ne1c8nkFbxD88mErLcGUdxKkf-DkfUH4j2bbAT8YJ4uhsILy9-LBPfJ0eo7lqGJ82id0/s320/IMG_8328.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I avoid Big Glenn like the plague at half-time. as I've previous form here. that Radford usually lose when I attend. It's a good game in the second half. League leaders Bourne have strength and energy in abundance. A free header from another corner seals Radford's fate. The only thing to cheer us up is a little ditty from the Raddy Army congregated behind the goal. They sing "Oh Hyson Green ... is full of fun ... it's full of crack, prossies and Asda, oh Hyson Green is full of fun"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Attendance: 107</div><p></p><p>Man of the Match: Bourne 8 jacket</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-61958157710039812472023-12-10T20:15:00.001+00:002023-12-11T13:15:47.050+00:00Keyworth United Res 2-6 Bilborough Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHql0HWkhcP8QPIanpzoqakl_h0Zxxvs736gD7kPEP42I48POlk2JqGpQ9qu8T4rjNg6qutPqv9GBxBq97Qyv9qDkWNBgSk_ljvk-VziRDTIDENF9urqGT6CkjYLUHnND7zcdydc028Zgu8gUvJcmznGpL1dJa5-QrrxkTVseo7MDayEdMrTaQ62BKUnA/s637/IMG_7618.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHql0HWkhcP8QPIanpzoqakl_h0Zxxvs736gD7kPEP42I48POlk2JqGpQ9qu8T4rjNg6qutPqv9GBxBq97Qyv9qDkWNBgSk_ljvk-VziRDTIDENF9urqGT6CkjYLUHnND7zcdydc028Zgu8gUvJcmznGpL1dJa5-QrrxkTVseo7MDayEdMrTaQ62BKUnA/s320/IMG_7618.JPG" width="264" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Tony Mac and I have a stroke of good fortune on our journey back from Birmingham New Street Station, after 24 hours on the sauce in the city centre and neighbouring suburbs. We catch an earlier train than anticipated, as we were concerned about the build up of traffic from the 'World Famous City Ground' following the Forest v Everton late kick-off. We both receive an email from Cross Country Trains to say our later train had been cancelled at short notice. It's a lame excuse from another inept and underperforming train operator. Please put them back in the hands of the People like Northern and TransPennine Express are.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm dog tired as I bid farewell to Mac on arrival back in our great City. I jump into a taxi outside Loxley House, that heads back up towards Carlton. Grim news is breaking from NFFC. Big Sean Dyche has turned up the heat on NFFC's head coach, Steve Cooper, with a 1-0 win. The goal has come from Dwight McNeil, a player Dyche helped develop during his time at Turf Moor.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-t2gSFEnT2-V_E03ccKShDW4_W-4LDpb5OOdyTGyGq7kjeCXXVrhpxZquSpfhLPgrXevB9WOPV1ScpauwGLAq5quSibHpf1kg3i-W8OZOWLol2Vpi7DC_tHv2LUkso2MewIo2-61ZLHx2rVvSy_Z6FzBncsl4tpS0QRJKXmnlJBdbuaJHMUHUNcBTTs/s615/IMG_7631.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-t2gSFEnT2-V_E03ccKShDW4_W-4LDpb5OOdyTGyGq7kjeCXXVrhpxZquSpfhLPgrXevB9WOPV1ScpauwGLAq5quSibHpf1kg3i-W8OZOWLol2Vpi7DC_tHv2LUkso2MewIo2-61ZLHx2rVvSy_Z6FzBncsl4tpS0QRJKXmnlJBdbuaJHMUHUNcBTTs/s320/IMG_7631.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon isn't interested in my boring, endless anecdotes of high jinks and drinking escapades with Tony Mac in Brum, as she is engrossed in the fag end of Strictly Come Dancing. I ask her if the lass from Corrie is still in poll position, before climbing the wooden hill and falling into a coma, dreaming of 13% abv boozy pastry imperial stouts with Bourbon and Cognac flavouring.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My alarm beeps at 4 am. Us Media lads don't have time to rest on our laurels - I work at a newsagents by the way. I fire up the kettle and pour a treacle-coloured Nescafe Alta Rica coffee, with a splash of milk in it. I can usually flop into my armchair and book an UBER ride to the shop in two minutes at this God forsaken unearthly hour of the morning. I draw back the curtains and notice, to my horror, that around three inches of snow has fallen during the night. In my drunken haze I had totally ignored a severe weather warning on my Accuweather app the previous evening.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSw2s9hXJfzKgTW1jCJI6bPToA7zxTnAfN6m4DNF7ppXV2DPpak3IX7kT7j9mtf5_5tceCC-ooguleN50ic5iDcTh4p2M7C4njdv-42Kshne4SeJkbV7cI-msUVwIPLhgMjNb57Vk_7xJmY1C-ce7JKpnRFAI-woV6UotZ0JdJyvuOpvg8Jf_z8kI4hGk/s976/IMG_7632.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="976" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSw2s9hXJfzKgTW1jCJI6bPToA7zxTnAfN6m4DNF7ppXV2DPpak3IX7kT7j9mtf5_5tceCC-ooguleN50ic5iDcTh4p2M7C4njdv-42Kshne4SeJkbV7cI-msUVwIPLhgMjNb57Vk_7xJmY1C-ce7JKpnRFAI-woV6UotZ0JdJyvuOpvg8Jf_z8kI4hGk/s320/IMG_7632.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I start to panic as I get the wheel of misfortune on my UBER app. A lot of these Herberts can't drive in ideal driving conditions, what are they going to be like on untreated, snow-covered roads? I finally get a booking, after what seems like an age. Miraculously, the papers arrive from 'the Smoke' in good time to be delivered. A massive hat tip must go to Dayne Lowe, in our shop, who delivers the shop's papers to hilly areas of Nottingham such as: Mapperley, Sherwood and Arnold.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I flick the Vs at UBER for the journey home to Chez Palms. A £4 bus fare for two rides on the excellent Nottingham City Transport bus numbers 58 and 27, see me back home for 3 pm following a nine hour shift at the MSR branch in Arnold.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATOGCu5syigYvEem9wOB_s5pAAQvxGckvC34Yt6el5c7dZJwOH0yHsXoJmFvQ44Tne6aZnI6NQJU9Bl5-xKChhXk9TPRr35QTsZYTqdFU77fJwLUrRXW7xjTQewHJWQ5U_IK0zbwSAr301_45bgUxRte5J821wLi-lL0RNvrZWKNLcvi0XowMkWyZwmI/s1600/8d169bc2-9053-479d-93b7-a478d64bed72.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiATOGCu5syigYvEem9wOB_s5pAAQvxGckvC34Yt6el5c7dZJwOH0yHsXoJmFvQ44Tne6aZnI6NQJU9Bl5-xKChhXk9TPRr35QTsZYTqdFU77fJwLUrRXW7xjTQewHJWQ5U_IK0zbwSAr301_45bgUxRte5J821wLi-lL0RNvrZWKNLcvi0XowMkWyZwmI/s320/8d169bc2-9053-479d-93b7-a478d64bed72.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and I'm back on that 58 bus heading into the city centre. I turn a blind eye (my bad one) to the monstrosity that has pitched up in our Market Square. I remember back in the day how beautiful Slab Square used to look with its huge, towering trees, fountains and flower beds.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I meet 'Our Joe' and ex work son Tommy, in Hooters on London Road. I always feel uncomfortable there, if I'm honest, but the snap isn't too bad. On arrival at Carlton I'm asked by the lads if my glasses steamed up whilst I was eating my tea. I blame it on the cold, Baltic conditions.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaQpySTJ9LgsY1P3Np4_EbxRBs-GuBq2v_J95DSVlL0L31FdDGcXk8pxtNOMiqP34ZI9otxCt4xUFKeeK8nbYNG-I0_m7tyM7YZWN3SoowYU98VfRjrpyp9FsFdUwDXDxNrc6A6bHhIkgaV4BGUGPJwBQeao2j1xWrSAqRwId3ENBCbhCY2QyEOrcC38/s591/IMG_7633.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="591" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyaQpySTJ9LgsY1P3Np4_EbxRBs-GuBq2v_J95DSVlL0L31FdDGcXk8pxtNOMiqP34ZI9otxCt4xUFKeeK8nbYNG-I0_m7tyM7YZWN3SoowYU98VfRjrpyp9FsFdUwDXDxNrc6A6bHhIkgaV4BGUGPJwBQeao2j1xWrSAqRwId3ENBCbhCY2QyEOrcC38/s320/IMG_7633.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Carlton Town versus Cleethorpes Town has somehow avoided a postponement despite a downpour of biblical proportions. The Carlton faithful have been starved of games of late, this is despite the valiant efforts of the World's greatest groundsman and blog legend Swifty.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I stand with 'Herr Harlow' for the first half. We're nearer to the end that the Millers attack. On reflection this looks a foolish decision as it's the visitors from Lincolnshire who have the better of the first 45 minutes. Thankfully they snatch at their chances as they raid down the flanks.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmxH7TqSj9-qg-_6QmaDDiXvEDBcApPzCAJFY-uayW-2ylkPIuID415ZGxIxDxKihWh3cxXsXKCJJnfeWurY2YvKnuKvO7tM9q3zf6vrQOe8ocPk2Hwe3TCh6EWU-fzZ4o14r2y2nwACK1R7NC525y-rAJek4nNxzrBiEFlv92Z6HV33D4P-6pkb8jIik/s2048/811356d6-3f49-48eb-8355-cda3947ea890.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmxH7TqSj9-qg-_6QmaDDiXvEDBcApPzCAJFY-uayW-2ylkPIuID415ZGxIxDxKihWh3cxXsXKCJJnfeWurY2YvKnuKvO7tM9q3zf6vrQOe8ocPk2Hwe3TCh6EWU-fzZ4o14r2y2nwACK1R7NC525y-rAJek4nNxzrBiEFlv92Z6HV33D4P-6pkb8jIik/s320/811356d6-3f49-48eb-8355-cda3947ea890.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">DJ Murph, aka 'Chief Wiggum', is in charge of the decks in the clubhouse this evening as 'Casually Dan' is on babysitting duties for 7 year old daughter Lily - although I must add both are attendees on a school night. 'Murph' plays a stunning, jaw-dropping set at the break that draws admiration from all quarters. He starts with Gangsters by Coventry-based Two Tone band The Specials. He follows this up with 'Love Like Blood', by post-punk band Killing Joke, whose guitarist 'Geordie' Walker passed away in Prague two weeks ago. The final track is 'Babylon is Burning' by The Ruts, whose lead singer Malcolm Owen died of a heroin overdose in 1980 at the peak of their fame.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This magnificent trio of records has fired up and galvanised the Mighty Millers both on and off the pitch. The ever consistent Niall Hylton scores a beauty from distance with his trusty left foot as Carlton look to run riot. The referee has spent most of the evening making a mountain out of a molehill, as both sides just look to play the beautiful game. Things boil over just as Gaz Bee is fleecing me for £4 on the football card (who won it btw Gaz?).</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcNjRiIMAHPxW2eCQv7siso8zcVMbdlE-59JNi7ybNSJDbU_PzdEABam5UEW386kWL8GynkpCRPxsFzzxR7_oB0UAKibX4b7uxCB25K3AGa25r2eRX6crgs_1gj-Udss6yG9na_icWpHukNyv3lrBhYg4LyhEMN7HK1A8mHPHyMDvyIzXAz5mN87tWWKA/s2880/IMG_7634.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2880" data-original-width="1944" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcNjRiIMAHPxW2eCQv7siso8zcVMbdlE-59JNi7ybNSJDbU_PzdEABam5UEW386kWL8GynkpCRPxsFzzxR7_oB0UAKibX4b7uxCB25K3AGa25r2eRX6crgs_1gj-Udss6yG9na_icWpHukNyv3lrBhYg4LyhEMN7HK1A8mHPHyMDvyIzXAz5mN87tWWKA/s320/IMG_7634.JPG" width="216" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My back is turned as a huge roar goes up for a 'cast iron' penalty. It's a NO from tonight's referee Mr Richard Morris, but more importantly no flag is raised by assistant referee Grace Lowe who is only a few yards away from where the assault took place. She feels the wrath of Chief Wiggum's tongue with language I haven't heard since I worked in the coal mining industry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At the final whistle the squad walk across to acknowledge the Millers support congregated behind the goal. One of the management team shouts out a derogatory remark aimed at the official(s) inept performance. "Put that in your match report" he shouts, before an about turn. It's another strong second half performance by Tommy and Mark's brave, young warriors.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7PgYOxRV3U7f0bFHIxYDcvrzfXFWOPBNU745aO4qjO1iioDmSdqrXxs723ki55OBJ40Om45IBrTsSaoMw9upKUCDX-nQ1K4mN_y-f8pBR8EnWOPvKaxsKP9lqwkkdJlaQFJ25lv-iSWQwk6B2FRn92O6zWnAxSOrrOYja3LHNPMXERRlWB457DaN0m8/s4032/IMG_7572.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE7PgYOxRV3U7f0bFHIxYDcvrzfXFWOPBNU745aO4qjO1iioDmSdqrXxs723ki55OBJ40Om45IBrTsSaoMw9upKUCDX-nQ1K4mN_y-f8pBR8EnWOPvKaxsKP9lqwkkdJlaQFJ25lv-iSWQwk6B2FRn92O6zWnAxSOrrOYja3LHNPMXERRlWB457DaN0m8/s320/IMG_7572.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday lunchtime and afternoon are spent once again in Nottingham. Ms Moon and I have a long lunch on the mezzanine floor at Delilah Fine Foods on Victoria Street. I buy some thermals from Blacks as Winter sets in and I browse the shelves of second hand book shops in hipster Hockley. I call by The Bell Inn for a soft drink before strolling up to the Cornerhouse on Burton Street.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a change of scenery on the film front today. Broadway Cinema is swapped out for Cineworld, which I must say is a lot cheaper and has comfier seats too. I'll always support the independent cinema that relies on donations. Saltburn isn't on the screens at Broadway. The film is set at Oxford University and stars Richard E Grant who plays the wealthy, eccentric father of a student who has been befriended by a scholar from Prescot, in Merseyside. It's a black comedy and psychological thriller that I would wholeheartedly recommend when it reaches our TV screens.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZOexu6illgzdhOZlr3fhIyKmC7u_2RTJG9RtYIB9rrY-f8pi9jTXH7_vMlt7U2cL_WO-XcMPqL2_SfmqcvGeqsasKek34PzKdKNr3KKhDX-hmNxU4pxAd7d07WxXOy6GBoRXeqCVmlcO1L1JVE8RsGpyzBDG991Eq3yLNY4Np51Qts3HDpw6O8r6vLxk/s4032/IMG_7575.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZOexu6illgzdhOZlr3fhIyKmC7u_2RTJG9RtYIB9rrY-f8pi9jTXH7_vMlt7U2cL_WO-XcMPqL2_SfmqcvGeqsasKek34PzKdKNr3KKhDX-hmNxU4pxAd7d07WxXOy6GBoRXeqCVmlcO1L1JVE8RsGpyzBDG991Eq3yLNY4Np51Qts3HDpw6O8r6vLxk/s320/IMG_7575.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Friday evening is spent with Ms Moon and our good friends Roberto and Joanne who volunteer tirelessly for the AC Wollaton football charity, which raises monies and enhances lives through the power of football. We enjoy a few drinks at the TBI in West Bridgford, where the drinks are as cheap as chips and the company is first class.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd already made my mind up to go and watch 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' play for Keyworth United Reserves at 'the Theatre of 3G' - Sticky doesn't do 3G, but blood is thicker than fake grass. I jump on the Keyworth 6 that crosses over Trent Bridge, with views of the swollen banks of the river. Just two passengers are on board for the entire journey.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfeC2IBgPdG4lj-DfVFPHiWmW8OUzfYec-vT1QoFnlSJH11an1IgnGmWg8qwtsB4LCGcTayrKRNY1w8KAHR1qAHfENVDqCwmMDr0Svm1V4Cjb0xh9q8vvbjHbugkWc_A-bWAtDDHBzOPLskW6bYuy9qfanc8V7hhcHVU-1QyyXBywiUNFs9gSf6Fy53M/s4032/IMG_7579.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfeC2IBgPdG4lj-DfVFPHiWmW8OUzfYec-vT1QoFnlSJH11an1IgnGmWg8qwtsB4LCGcTayrKRNY1w8KAHR1qAHfENVDqCwmMDr0Svm1V4Cjb0xh9q8vvbjHbugkWc_A-bWAtDDHBzOPLskW6bYuy9qfanc8V7hhcHVU-1QyyXBywiUNFs9gSf6Fy53M/s320/IMG_7579.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Johnny Harkins is filling out the team sheet as I seek the warmth of the clubhouse where on the TV screen Harvey Elliott has secured a late win for Liverpool, which means Sticky is through to the next round of MSR's Last Man Standing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I briefly watch the teams warm up in the blustery, showery conditions. I catch up with Ressies manager Chris Thompson, who makes me feel very welcome by treating me to a cup of tea, The teams pay their respects to very popular Bilborough Town player Kail Thurman, who tragically lost his life in an accident.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lh_SqZ-x0z8teKVXmvgwgSB8g81Q-asSHQoNdOtpZTqBZiHy_JOIe9HEmAUgmAVWwHABcpURKW_vbMoMh63wsMBZbKMu7bP3ULGaUu1zNGd7vGBfsxfTW7G5qbDzsw3-OOPkTpL04nArVzzUT1n0vT6WUQ05zrjvG-HLNIQIcbH1X9O8td3OgBzs50Q/s4032/IMG_7590.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lh_SqZ-x0z8teKVXmvgwgSB8g81Q-asSHQoNdOtpZTqBZiHy_JOIe9HEmAUgmAVWwHABcpURKW_vbMoMh63wsMBZbKMu7bP3ULGaUu1zNGd7vGBfsxfTW7G5qbDzsw3-OOPkTpL04nArVzzUT1n0vT6WUQ05zrjvG-HLNIQIcbH1X9O8td3OgBzs50Q/s320/IMG_7590.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />I stand with Roberto as we feel the full force of a westerly wind accompanied by squally showers. Bilborough's 17 year old striker, David Olatomide, is posing problems. He's already missed a couple of chances before he opens the scoring. The Green Army also has an exciting young striker called 'Junior.' I've seen this kid open the bowling for Nottinghamshire CCC U18s down at Lady Bay Sports Ground - he's only 16 yrs old. He gets a deserved equaliser as Keyworth grow into the game.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosYf54ybE4bymU4gpgE3_yCfkMfV8mhIWBDBHhwEa-5vm24ybjmWkuZ4gj4zEtL14dESUM40yyvcihPgV5gzsM-jv4QSJZrw9SIXftGTkJ6z3aXtq0Bn_DtSZa9a2x8uFt0119MpN6drjZXIk2Die0MsSvRvjkqSXraRvJaeRgE-QLCaM4etzKOHSsjw/s4032/IMG_7587.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosYf54ybE4bymU4gpgE3_yCfkMfV8mhIWBDBHhwEa-5vm24ybjmWkuZ4gj4zEtL14dESUM40yyvcihPgV5gzsM-jv4QSJZrw9SIXftGTkJ6z3aXtq0Bn_DtSZa9a2x8uFt0119MpN6drjZXIk2Die0MsSvRvjkqSXraRvJaeRgE-QLCaM4etzKOHSsjw/s320/IMG_7587.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The wind advantage is Bilborough's gain in the second half. They go 3-1 up, but are then pegged back with a tap-in at the far post by 'The Keyworth Georgie Best.' He departs the game on 80 minutes, clearly yearning for a pint and a fag. The final scoreline is harsh on the Green Army young guns who have plugged away. The two in midfield are outstanding. The Ressies are in good health, as are the first team with six wins on the bounce. It's great to see the Keyworth community enjoying their football again now that the toxic atmosphere from seasons gone by has been extinguished.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Bilborough Town team and management come into the bar for after match hospitality. What a smashing bunch of lads they are too. The game has been played in an excellent spirit and has been well refereed too. I can't 'arf pick 'em. The night is only to get better. More on that next week, if I get a game in.</div><p>Man of the Match: David Olatomide</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-5104451516790184252023-12-03T20:13:00.004+00:002023-12-04T11:37:01.430+00:00Notts County 3-1 Crawley Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNDVB5YEKgeXUQkgsHU8bTY49o_0Mq6dZjKZ1c8xhAIXPbtMcIgU0a8grUdtjLN6U3bLc9wN9Vk99UHaDeyfeGHbpt5lUKtJtsnfGakFNkvmeY2T0eDXSSW5ppqnHNRGP3s7x9fD0eznco6d_6E5fRhWOE7SNIcKdluPtF-Bqrp7VKiCtToiU8H97OqM/s2048/IMG_7448.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNDVB5YEKgeXUQkgsHU8bTY49o_0Mq6dZjKZ1c8xhAIXPbtMcIgU0a8grUdtjLN6U3bLc9wN9Vk99UHaDeyfeGHbpt5lUKtJtsnfGakFNkvmeY2T0eDXSSW5ppqnHNRGP3s7x9fD0eznco6d_6E5fRhWOE7SNIcKdluPtF-Bqrp7VKiCtToiU8H97OqM/s320/IMG_7448.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I bid farewell to John Harris and wife Jackie in Kimberley high street after viewing a hard-fought game versus Lincoln United. Kimberley Miners Welfare gave their all and left nothing out on the pitch. John assures me that there is a No.1 bus to Nottingham every ten minutes. The scoreboard, at the bus stop, begs to differ, as it displays in neon lights that there's a 25 minute waiting time - it's one of those frustrating moments us bus wankers have to suffer now and again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A guy is hanging around waiting for the delayed bus with me. I had him down as a groundhopper to be honest, due to him having a rucksack hanging off his shoulder. I was going to ask him whether his mum had made him jam sandwiches and packed them in a Tupperware container. It turns out that he's a Lincoln United supporter. He has to catch a bus into Nottingham, a train to Lincoln and then make a 45 minute walk home. And here's me bellyaching about waiting 25 minutes for the next bus.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCsyj9WYgpwsXFM-u49kwsBjF13HnsYUiINbZkGfkPREa98uRqx_O-7xBYJjAJt9R7R3DDiSxoLH-CM7ymIqlbk4DcXRy_iVj16jOpbtlVO55eGQsYBINBf-p33mK95JIBepny_aJ31b2g_3PItWtQtYEz-1xvrStAcp58qM7GwFniiVd-dgDTVE7Tt4/s4032/IMG_7355.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCsyj9WYgpwsXFM-u49kwsBjF13HnsYUiINbZkGfkPREa98uRqx_O-7xBYJjAJt9R7R3DDiSxoLH-CM7ymIqlbk4DcXRy_iVj16jOpbtlVO55eGQsYBINBf-p33mK95JIBepny_aJ31b2g_3PItWtQtYEz-1xvrStAcp58qM7GwFniiVd-dgDTVE7Tt4/s320/IMG_7355.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm down on the rota to work over 40 hours at the paper shop in Arnold this week. It's a busy newsagent at the best of times and is only going to ramp up with Christmas around the corner. It's an EVRI parcel shop too, and that proper keeps Sticky on his toes as 500 parcels are booked in and out of the shop each day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The EVRI driver is a massive Benfica fan, as he used to live in Portugal. I asked him for his thoughts on the Nottingham Forest 'keeper Odysseas Vlachodomis, who the Tricky Trees signed from Benfica. He says he is a fantastic stopper and that he helped his club reach the Champions League semi-final last season. His achilles heel is that he can't play it out from the back, which is a prerequisite in the Premier League these days.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GB4BKgtd_Gl-e8Qj8sm1PnOpr66o454Ax7vyeQn73_Higo4Fv_Ika8q6GEuWmkdEpOk8wq4hNp-dseV0IIeC6wcryOVoN2wCItGPY7Rr-Jbw7lhOUML9tHclKhNCJ_3C4EBYpBjPPUdH6sb_La3LLz6wpJ65-H3LgSejJJ6MXlz1N8Um1T5cArWf3UQ/s1200/IMG_7450.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GB4BKgtd_Gl-e8Qj8sm1PnOpr66o454Ax7vyeQn73_Higo4Fv_Ika8q6GEuWmkdEpOk8wq4hNp-dseV0IIeC6wcryOVoN2wCItGPY7Rr-Jbw7lhOUML9tHclKhNCJ_3C4EBYpBjPPUdH6sb_La3LLz6wpJ65-H3LgSejJJ6MXlz1N8Um1T5cArWf3UQ/s320/IMG_7450.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and I'm in one of my favourite old school pubs in Nottingham called Lillie Langtry's, which is located opposite the Theatre Royal and Royal Concert Hall. I enjoy a pint of Tribute from the St Austell Brewery, in Cornwall. I walk to Notts County's game versus Crawley Town with one of the customers at the shop called Phil, who, when he worked, was a painter and decorator, taxi driver and courier.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's £22 to sit in Block B of the Derek Pavis Stand. The Pies paper-thin squad has been stretched of late. Cedwyn Scott and the influential Matty Palmer have both been ruled out for the season. Their away form is a worry, as is the defence who are leaking goals like a sieve.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKWTlnYq1hEuabkjsGm4kQifgHyfb8YWz3wusPJ2lJSTUwa76dMdidSgTezt9z8BV9U5OkfpyeNy5F54gjuYtOl8CIERht_wsH-PrGAR4J5hdGD1T4-mjCNFWW1URCBqRCX0W-fZ_S_2sv5ANlfPpJD03O0ZMpAGclbzk2DY5jUzPksSxHzmjdrfjv5c/s624/IMG_7457.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="624" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKWTlnYq1hEuabkjsGm4kQifgHyfb8YWz3wusPJ2lJSTUwa76dMdidSgTezt9z8BV9U5OkfpyeNy5F54gjuYtOl8CIERht_wsH-PrGAR4J5hdGD1T4-mjCNFWW1URCBqRCX0W-fZ_S_2sv5ANlfPpJD03O0ZMpAGclbzk2DY5jUzPksSxHzmjdrfjv5c/s320/IMG_7457.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I stare across the pitch during the minute's applause for former Barcelona, Tottenham Hotspur and England manager Terry Venables, who recently passed away at the age of 80 years old. Housed in the Jimmy Sirrel Stand are 136 visiting supporters from Crawley, most of whom will have made the tiring 340 mile round trip. It's those loyal, die-hard fans that cheer first, after former Pie, Adam Campbell, hits a pearler of a shot from distance to put the Red Devils one to the good.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Jodi Jones and David McGoldrick are running the show. The latter restores parity as the game ebbs and flows. Crawley, to their credit, more than deserve to be on level terms at the break. The visitors commit hari kari in the second half, gifting the Pies goals following sloppy defending from a set piece and trying to be too clever by playing out from the back. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrugAk74d6K1Bxx1mJ6eJp8mWVVbIOSzp8LqitYLSX-4aicf1gbmIYtEt2tVTkFCJiqfMMzSNgIZ4S3HPNPSFRu3JlUiIHJOJPsV_7TsuHZ8dDG76NrXmsjnwEXLNsTpepn3M4ggQHYTJg47_DfdTIINBchFgfetk2ayc7R638oxtrLBG0bVub8BnG3M/s1200/IMG_7458.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyrugAk74d6K1Bxx1mJ6eJp8mWVVbIOSzp8LqitYLSX-4aicf1gbmIYtEt2tVTkFCJiqfMMzSNgIZ4S3HPNPSFRu3JlUiIHJOJPsV_7TsuHZ8dDG76NrXmsjnwEXLNsTpepn3M4ggQHYTJg47_DfdTIINBchFgfetk2ayc7R638oxtrLBG0bVub8BnG3M/s320/IMG_7458.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Wednesday evening and Ms Moon is up on Carlton Hill at the Christmas lights switch-on. I flick on the TV set and settle down in my armchair whilst Galatasaray and Man Utd commence battle in the Champions League. It's an incredible, breathtaking, fast-paced game of ball with chances galore going begging. 3-3 is the final score.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A shivering cold Ms Moon wrestles control of the remote. She flicks down the TV schedule and selects the Northern soap opera Coronation Street, which has been running on our TV screens for just shy of 63 years.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cZVq8c2mYRWfwvZSdsMBPyHdR1CcPAPjEslLzv2RhFMER0iv8Uw5Yh7mZ4jXlmhmk1gwyzs3H3jdvEiCawM9cpAwKCrgGNOGLyMksZzZgzDoAcTQewD5gvdGxTEn1FfSwvNeRi5GX1CSgylD7jJJkMdSJtA5SIpYMVvuiFpg0ID2506qPjTel-fOmZc/s4032/IMG_7394.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cZVq8c2mYRWfwvZSdsMBPyHdR1CcPAPjEslLzv2RhFMER0iv8Uw5Yh7mZ4jXlmhmk1gwyzs3H3jdvEiCawM9cpAwKCrgGNOGLyMksZzZgzDoAcTQewD5gvdGxTEn1FfSwvNeRi5GX1CSgylD7jJJkMdSJtA5SIpYMVvuiFpg0ID2506qPjTel-fOmZc/s320/IMG_7394.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's a scene that features Chesney and his wife Gemma in the living room of their house on the cobbled streets of Weatherfield. I make a comment to Ms Moon that all that Gemma seems to do is loaf about on the sofa munching on snacks all day. And another thing whilst I'm on one, they've got five kids including quads, and yet I've never heard a peep or seen his missus break sweat once; well only when Chesney brings one of his kebabs back from the shop. I ask Ms Moon how they can afford dog food for Schmeichel. She says the Great Dane died years ago.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday evening and I'm arriving in the city centre on the Nottingham City Transport No.58 bus. I wander through the Market Square, ignoring that bloody chavvy market. The cosy Barrel Drop pub, tucked away up Hurts Yard, is packed to the rafters, as its pay day. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxk9RDtWzZmIyWZb8HhVxck_72pSSvYm1fovBIRu7v5ZFskMwL7x-N7yR9Vva6mHU-RhuEBT3yo9yMslbuF0AkgbIAqvWxAKMpRHe5OTN4iUdZ0TnPK00qcnB1O7zVwvKyq8c4-xgn74ljgXgy_3kROKbTZ1-fjq0wiO1oTYs_itc_GC3Vs7_3n_kWKA/s1200/IMG_7449.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxk9RDtWzZmIyWZb8HhVxck_72pSSvYm1fovBIRu7v5ZFskMwL7x-N7yR9Vva6mHU-RhuEBT3yo9yMslbuF0AkgbIAqvWxAKMpRHe5OTN4iUdZ0TnPK00qcnB1O7zVwvKyq8c4-xgn74ljgXgy_3kROKbTZ1-fjq0wiO1oTYs_itc_GC3Vs7_3n_kWKA/s320/IMG_7449.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I haven't been in the Bell Inn, a 15th century pub just off the Square, in ages. I manage to find a table to the rear of the main bar. I graze over a rich and fruity Plum Porter from the Nottingham Brewery. Half an hour later I venture out into the dark and freezing conditions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I jump onto a NCT tram that takes me out of town, past Nottingham Trent University, through Forest Fields, where Goose Fair is held each year, before I alight at the Noel Street stop. I wander through Asda car park and cross over the road towards Selhurst Street. There isn't a game on at Radford FC this evening but there is entertainment (including Big Glenn). There's a comedian on, followed by the guest speaker, who is Hull City legendary striker Dean Windass.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytpJcc-4_H5qXrwLbjruaWOERAQDQyfrcATnrLeG8SsfraIl6DYz9MxsueimXzVw4TxmF6wInQI1rFhwPm2x8N7kZ8IEZMM9hMZ2cItH9FiozHyET7tP5bOiwhgDcgY6AGpnw4ucuiTB60je5LKKKhUuVfDaewyRzQ1axIkna8wsYbnjTqXl9a69Pdv4/s4032/IMG_7399.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytpJcc-4_H5qXrwLbjruaWOERAQDQyfrcATnrLeG8SsfraIl6DYz9MxsueimXzVw4TxmF6wInQI1rFhwPm2x8N7kZ8IEZMM9hMZ2cItH9FiozHyET7tP5bOiwhgDcgY6AGpnw4ucuiTB60je5LKKKhUuVfDaewyRzQ1axIkna8wsYbnjTqXl9a69Pdv4/s320/IMG_7399.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I exchange insults with Big Glenn, whose table I am on. I love him to bits really and his Club too, I also catch up with blog legend Swifty who is still producing first-class playing surfaces in Notts Non League football that are flatter than the whole of Lincolnshire. I'm introduced to Leigh Palin, an ex pro with Hull City, who has kindly driven Windass to the gig. I chat with Dean who is keen to learn about the local Non League scene; he's a smashing fellow.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The comedian warms us all up with some razor sharp wit and amusing gags. Dean Windass is on stage for an hour. He is a warm, humble, down to earth guy. He recognises the 'working class' audience immediately and embraces this, changing his set accordingly. He says "I knew you were for me lads as soon as I walked through the door. You're my kind of people", he adds.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWD-oDxyrhFORNjbGnz6vReplqhHBjlvO3qyjgGMdSpvAzZJ0T7MPUXCvlAue4mmfDfeynG8SFck9Waqz6dzg2KCmwqCLabEpDeSolFQCoZfb7hlpC9zYLAHsq3Q5De6b_pNvYDkucWmptseyYMlUSMKoKQ3cNXZS8QR80EHn7aOpN_Vx1W_bwIfGYOnQ/s4032/IMG_7431.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWD-oDxyrhFORNjbGnz6vReplqhHBjlvO3qyjgGMdSpvAzZJ0T7MPUXCvlAue4mmfDfeynG8SFck9Waqz6dzg2KCmwqCLabEpDeSolFQCoZfb7hlpC9zYLAHsq3Q5De6b_pNvYDkucWmptseyYMlUSMKoKQ3cNXZS8QR80EHn7aOpN_Vx1W_bwIfGYOnQ/s320/IMG_7431.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'd forgotten the list of clubs he'd played for, they include: Hull City, Aberdeen, Oxford Utd, Bradford City and Sheffield United. He talks openly about the death of his father, his struggles after retirement and two attempts at suicide. It's tear jerking stuff as he reminds the Men in the room to speak out and share if they are struggling to cope in any walks of their life. It preys on my mind and makes me feel sad as I wait for an UBER outside Japatti Junction on Radford Road.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I meet Tony Mac on the 2pm Cross Country Trains, Nottingham to Birmingham New Street. It's the Friday Night Club Christmas excursion. We've booked an apartment in the heart of the city centre with two separate bedrooms, so we don't wake each other up snoring.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYvZ1WgZtgJwubBlqK12cpAkZtMn8fwDoeTwczy5dum1h704mzHMiJTgCypvDwAPO0BJG1MbpJ_se4n4Pmac8JX_sBSy5CrPCMRCYTgmbQpuE3etnBHBd4tYAqtrbBPh1f-dG7X89UqNFvbLzvbEuVwp4R4RXDFavt2RaR8ia0F3dg2e8Be61UiPS4oo/s4032/IMG_7434.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUYvZ1WgZtgJwubBlqK12cpAkZtMn8fwDoeTwczy5dum1h704mzHMiJTgCypvDwAPO0BJG1MbpJ_se4n4Pmac8JX_sBSy5CrPCMRCYTgmbQpuE3etnBHBd4tYAqtrbBPh1f-dG7X89UqNFvbLzvbEuVwp4R4RXDFavt2RaR8ia0F3dg2e8Be61UiPS4oo/s320/IMG_7434.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The idea is to tick off as many CAMRA beer entries that we've left to do, as well as visiting some of the Heritage Pubs that this great city has to offer. I've targeted the Digbeth area this evening. Some of the pubs are outstanding and mostly Grade II listed buildings. A few to visit, if of any interest are: Lamp Tavern and White Swan.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We jump in a taxi and visit some classic boozers in the Harborne area before returning to the city centre for some heavy duty nightcaps at craft bars called Tilt and Kilder. It's bitterly cold and I've lost my beanie hat. We arrive back at our centrally-heated apartment at well gone twelve bells. Some session that was.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7rBaf9my7c468QP-zXOBH5FtU7A8O3fEIf9lclubt47IMEHHOdRpVQlhuGoKQ6pV5Pux9eq603bbPVmzVE2qzPE-TpDDb4KTXmoEI3vCMnIRxTQJUaO1iuJ_05rWfTGCW2FnbQxYj_fuivh1xwL5OYo5qZnx-hBTka0IzVjceog5GJ3dJS53f0dx18o/s4032/IMG_7436.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7rBaf9my7c468QP-zXOBH5FtU7A8O3fEIf9lclubt47IMEHHOdRpVQlhuGoKQ6pV5Pux9eq603bbPVmzVE2qzPE-TpDDb4KTXmoEI3vCMnIRxTQJUaO1iuJ_05rWfTGCW2FnbQxYj_fuivh1xwL5OYo5qZnx-hBTka0IzVjceog5GJ3dJS53f0dx18o/s320/IMG_7436.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We catch the train to Northfield in the morning and have a 'Spoons breakfast at the Black Horse. It has a timbered exterior and carved woodwork. There's a few sprogs running around but on the whole the punters are well behaved. I tend to trip 'em up to be honest, so they end up back in their high chair.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's three pubs on our radar in a suburb called Stirchley. We arrive at the British Oak at 11.57. It's a nail-biting three minute wait for the pub front doors to be opened - 'Trumpy Bolton Time' I call it. We finish up in the Erdington and Aston area before fortuiously catching an earlier train home so we don't get caught up in football traffic following the Nottingham Forest v Everton game.</div><p>Attendance: 7,716</p><p>Men and Women of the Match: The Crawley 136</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-14681833806452307002023-11-26T20:14:00.000+00:002023-11-26T20:14:25.687+00:00Kimberley Miners Welfare 0-2 Lincoln United<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9S0QqhokfgQf5r7Ow8d7ks6Vdg6GlSJvZc7HJrs40JRy3Ycx7faHONRxcyGzgu8RZuTtp6HKfWvl5bN1owxZ0twWDCkzGvY6aPNPMFh3wE_rNIi-qCX97mD8-4A8rwM1aSNdbHnJRdh5q4vbsvMmHg7cVgsREX2R_hQ5VwbyGq6OtbrGb6zE6BNeRUHA/s1401/IMG_7326.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1401" data-original-width="1401" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9S0QqhokfgQf5r7Ow8d7ks6Vdg6GlSJvZc7HJrs40JRy3Ycx7faHONRxcyGzgu8RZuTtp6HKfWvl5bN1owxZ0twWDCkzGvY6aPNPMFh3wE_rNIi-qCX97mD8-4A8rwM1aSNdbHnJRdh5q4vbsvMmHg7cVgsREX2R_hQ5VwbyGq6OtbrGb6zE6BNeRUHA/s320/IMG_7326.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It has proved a bridge too far for Angela Rippon on Strictly Come Dancing at the Blackpool Tower Ballroom. Ms Moon has been calling it for weeks. Let's be clear on this folks, Rippon is a one trick pony. That high-kick manoeuvre, where she lifts her leg in the air, famously shown on the Morecambe and Wise Christmas Special in 1984, isn't so pleasing on the eye these days. I've had 50p on the lass from Corrie to win it. She's bound to have been to dance school on her journey from being a young actress. 4/11 on, are the best odds I can find.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sunday evening is like pulling teeth; and trust me my back molar is decaying by the day. 'We've' already had to suffer Four in a Bed, Undercover Boss and the 'Strictly Results.' I hear the jungle drum theme tune at bang on nine bells. That bloody awful programme with its Zzzzz-list celebrities and boring, predictable Geordie presenters, is to be aired on ITV for the next three weeks. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvksPKg0ugt5ZyBopjGUhTlOrmhnz2eifVKe4aFp-hk95yiY6WN-l0t_YwP6rJKEdZhy2Jdr8V8pqyX7wYKNPqzQHbDalUK7AIwWjdS1e0TD5Q38THebtuE5rw8Kh7CBzdysM97uOdepDVNi-NPlpmLwwWtUF3d-C5Z-WJ6XyhG0JOqtIuuQboBh9pQ_Y/s1200/IMG_7330.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvksPKg0ugt5ZyBopjGUhTlOrmhnz2eifVKe4aFp-hk95yiY6WN-l0t_YwP6rJKEdZhy2Jdr8V8pqyX7wYKNPqzQHbDalUK7AIwWjdS1e0TD5Q38THebtuE5rw8Kh7CBzdysM97uOdepDVNi-NPlpmLwwWtUF3d-C5Z-WJ6XyhG0JOqtIuuQboBh9pQ_Y/s320/IMG_7330.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm sulking in bed whilst that wack TV show is on. I listen to the final two episodes of the brilliant BBC Sport podcast called 'Nothing Will be the Same.' As mentioned last week, it's a fly-on-the-wall, behind the scenes documentary on the last 18 months' happenings at Everton's Goodison Park.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sean Dyche and Director of Football, Kevin Thelwell, feature heavily at the fag end of the podcast. Thelwell gives a brilliant insight into the jigsaw puzzle of how a club recruits and the pecking order that comes with this. Dyche is bloody magnificent. I love the way he drills down into how their talismanic, injury prone striker, Dominic Calvert-Lewin, keeps on breaking down. Dyche says they've even looked at the mattress he sleeps on and the car he drives, to see if this could be the root cause. There's a jaw-dropping quote from 'Big Sean' "I was at Burnley nearly 10 years and have probably got a book in me. I've been at Everton for four months and could probably write three.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWyz_gsRXo0PWmiz_Dwgcjlx8tdHoyioK6aihTPpOsTj9XZ5wpZu27uwOzJET5KqoqdnU3tqbTSK4f2B0Mf5r_jjWnWeu7JFEbc1CWXyQBBWP6X-IEjwOY6aabFvPwhCOxHpggPHg-2AueKMhPzyx3JI8K0_46Lz6hIeHZRXElVeB6U6n1exj1yeq44A/s615/IMG_7333.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="615" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWyz_gsRXo0PWmiz_Dwgcjlx8tdHoyioK6aihTPpOsTj9XZ5wpZu27uwOzJET5KqoqdnU3tqbTSK4f2B0Mf5r_jjWnWeu7JFEbc1CWXyQBBWP6X-IEjwOY6aabFvPwhCOxHpggPHg-2AueKMhPzyx3JI8K0_46Lz6hIeHZRXElVeB6U6n1exj1yeq44A/s320/IMG_7333.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and the pain in my tooth is still dulling and aching. Talking about cry babies, Sam Dingle in Emmerdale Farm is shedding a few tears. I mention to Ms Moon that in real life the actor is from Nottingham and what's he bellyaching for. Things are great in our county: NFFC are in the Prem, U Pies are playing sexy football and the Stags remain unbeaten in League Two. Ms Moon says that Emmerdale is real life and that this scene in the soap is a very sensitive subject. She says the only person who is crying is Sticky because tonight's game between the Mighty Millers and Stockton Town has been waterlogged off.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm on the phone to Treeline Dental Care, in Keyworth. I can't stand the pain anymore. The lady on reception very kindly shoehorns me in for an emergency appointment. I'd feared the worst and the X-ray confirms this. At tooth hurty it's a molar extraction. After four numbing injections and 15 minutes of twisting, turning and cracking, the offending member drops onto the surgery floor. I decline an offer to keep the decay-riddled, rotten, black fang.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtuT7X8pgZ-xLgciTGq5doaydmj3am_8CowpQ9NVd3jSckJc8Hy0Dt5FeIbkH6aI_XFse3ePy7_zi3wpQ-xXn0WNkfXnIhxSzbg5-RNxxDRYjcIA34AytvNibn0fWB43728vgE-yQS1jz6IbYwalYAu5KJj4EuHPyRv2JelA-VQym8axhxlAVVtt48-I/s4032/IMG_7216.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtuT7X8pgZ-xLgciTGq5doaydmj3am_8CowpQ9NVd3jSckJc8Hy0Dt5FeIbkH6aI_XFse3ePy7_zi3wpQ-xXn0WNkfXnIhxSzbg5-RNxxDRYjcIA34AytvNibn0fWB43728vgE-yQS1jz6IbYwalYAu5KJj4EuHPyRv2JelA-VQym8axhxlAVVtt48-I/s320/IMG_7216.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Whilst I'm on my old manor of Keyworth, I take a stroll up one of the village's oldest streets. It leads me to a 350 year old pub called The Salutation. One of my best friends, Paul Keeling, has recently taken over the running of the pub, with his partner Tracy. It's been shut for time but has recently had a £300,000 refurbishment. I book a table for 9th December, when my good mate 'Babs' is over from Spain.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Christmas haircut time on Thursday morning. I jump off the Carlton 27 bus, opposite the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton. The best barber in inner city Nottingham is located on Bath Street. The man with the scissors in his hands is from Bosnia and is called Eko. He has won more awards than Vidal Sasoon.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJkMpHzjbHb6LZMnClQ3ZlHxIw2yE5jcZhBs1a0aySLkDW8LuiieQY_sISYCxhyyH1X9uKn4VaAffr1X-w8OPcVAndGWOEuPwdTXeEfci8U61zfAeM0NUunPX8mYWIKyeuLfJwXNb94e5q3XkVjx5X6zRpfQ-6F3r4skcmBbnTFgAAJsA5x_YzwI8QAg/s4032/IMG_7215%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJkMpHzjbHb6LZMnClQ3ZlHxIw2yE5jcZhBs1a0aySLkDW8LuiieQY_sISYCxhyyH1X9uKn4VaAffr1X-w8OPcVAndGWOEuPwdTXeEfci8U61zfAeM0NUunPX8mYWIKyeuLfJwXNb94e5q3XkVjx5X6zRpfQ-6F3r4skcmBbnTFgAAJsA5x_YzwI8QAg/s320/IMG_7215%20(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Thirty minutes later a bright-eyed but less than bushy-tailed Sticky, with ears lowered, is pounding the streets of Nottingham. I wander past the embarrassing Nottingham Christmas Market, with its tacky stalls. Remember when Nottingham City Council allowed the market to open during the height of COVID restrictions, only for it to be closed down eight hours later?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I admire the wonderful old Debenhams building, on Long Row, which is now sadly derelict, before shooting up Castle Gate and back round into the city centre via Hounds Gate. I look upwards all the time at the stunning architecture that our fantastic city is so proud of.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-f6V0M4SfJs6I4hUONWGRpBbzr9IqNblNZ8x9sIyYz8AmrnKYmQYK_njKtATNuu17jZCcFL90mPFFIvlwXbB6snZs9OTUv_LntAU6pSeYUSHdW_VwKAXTkZDNHne_Q7mwoTROEmqtZPkrS3tnm733ltK875OD2umg2hDN9hhsBwkMSylTyKerP6JfvyM/s400/IMG_7334.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-f6V0M4SfJs6I4hUONWGRpBbzr9IqNblNZ8x9sIyYz8AmrnKYmQYK_njKtATNuu17jZCcFL90mPFFIvlwXbB6snZs9OTUv_LntAU6pSeYUSHdW_VwKAXTkZDNHne_Q7mwoTROEmqtZPkrS3tnm733ltK875OD2umg2hDN9hhsBwkMSylTyKerP6JfvyM/s320/IMG_7334.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I meet 'The Taxman' for lunch. We take a steady walk up the banks of the Trent towards the village of Wilford. We've not been to football together for ages due to us both suffering from poor health. I no longer have a car and have taken the decision to never drive again, much to the relief of the road users, particularly the Deliveroo cyclists of this shire, who to this day, even as a pedestrian, I try to knock off their bikes, given the opportunity.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I call by a Lincoln Green pub called The Brickyard on the top of Carlton Hill. There's a man sitting with his dog and another guy reading a book. A bloke walks into the bar and asks for six bottles of wine. The landlord explains that they are £15 each. My ears prick up as you can get a bottle for £7 across the road at Tesco Express. The guy hands over £90 which the barman puts in the till. He then changes his mind and asks for a refund. The money is handed back, but the guy claims that he's only been given £60. It's clearly a scam and a 20 minute stand-off ensues. To be honest I'm up for a scrap and so is the man and the dog. Thankfully the scammer does a runner once the threat of a call to rozzers is made.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6znMDtWAYEbJT-pSaHyEiBzQMlH5vvqv71PpDoBGujiv9WoTi_WfIuzmvt8DcaG84UdyO-zzKUxGl3Zho8Gi3X3cvYqGdv3rzCabCMqg4ZlyfD49sfdEVyj8pAe50wzKFCqyI7znqC2jm9zJ8Rdy4WChlGnIRtytRL1CamJ3cIw75IMeHC115rDxQJs/s647/IMG_7328.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="647" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6znMDtWAYEbJT-pSaHyEiBzQMlH5vvqv71PpDoBGujiv9WoTi_WfIuzmvt8DcaG84UdyO-zzKUxGl3Zho8Gi3X3cvYqGdv3rzCabCMqg4ZlyfD49sfdEVyj8pAe50wzKFCqyI7znqC2jm9zJ8Rdy4WChlGnIRtytRL1CamJ3cIw75IMeHC115rDxQJs/s320/IMG_7328.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Friday lunchtime and I'm walking down Burton Road towards Carlton Town FC. It's a crisp winter's day with crystal clear blue skies. It's the Millers' Christmas Luncheon which is being hosted by club chairman Mick Garton (my boss). The guest speaker is former Nottingham Forest 'keeper Mark Crossley.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been kindly invited by Jon Gilbert, a club sponsor from Gilbert Wealth Management. Coincidentally, Jon was in the same year at school as Ms Moon at Bread 'n Lard Comprehensive. 'Big Norm' is on stage at 3.30pm. The captivated audience have been on the sauce since 1pm. As well as making over 300 appearances for the Tricky Trees, Crossley was also capped 8 times for Wales.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-Q_z0aUWLcQqrW1rCwrj2H_v-2nnNi770Oz4aKf0MEIcZk0jvWoDO0d-PdDEhtPvaZAx3kzyo-Vfoa44OmzbUvL7iSC4r3a0KyvecKWn4edA1xS1cVfsKT36v5x_eof8j5NcfZuwWMdKKw05BUToOLvCxAvc4xx5vsQNpYDK0J6Uc4QO19wByHJACOU/s4032/IMG_7267.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-Q_z0aUWLcQqrW1rCwrj2H_v-2nnNi770Oz4aKf0MEIcZk0jvWoDO0d-PdDEhtPvaZAx3kzyo-Vfoa44OmzbUvL7iSC4r3a0KyvecKWn4edA1xS1cVfsKT36v5x_eof8j5NcfZuwWMdKKw05BUToOLvCxAvc4xx5vsQNpYDK0J6Uc4QO19wByHJACOU/s320/IMG_7267.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">I've heard most of the stories before, they include: the Wimbledon ghetto blaster, Barbara Clough's kettle and Big Norm playing Sunday pub football for Simon Clough's team in D***y. He mentions his debut v Liverpool in 1988 and his second game away at Newcastle. I was at the latter game. When Newcastle fans go on about being a big club, just remember that only 13,000 bothered to turn up at St James' Park that day. Mark Crossley tells a fantastic yarn. A fun-filled hour passes by in the blink of an eye.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Day falls into night and gets really messy, as we end up at Dr Who's son's pub, tucked away at the back of Sneinton Market, called the Bath Inn. Tom Baker's lad is the landlord. Amy Winehouse's Back to Black is played in full on the dukey. The group I'm in has a few Notts County fans, whose lads are in the club's academy system. It's that decision time of season when pro deals are awarded. I used to be head of recruitment at the club's academy when they were top end League One - so understand their angst at this time of year.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTB52TUdTVs2_eTq1hoaq6pVGgvN59h2vl-g9ycNOC-iBzo3NN2KY4T_afvOVNyi4HEEmqOMp5YGCdufxJhNNBpiR8GD5sMTWR9FEZAEUUuAXe6_-8NiPz4Z0V4JtFpkO13_Qfsolz9__bfYewGyXGVCDN_ajVzB_JOjUMRHoj1OIOhHRWQIdVrJjTzY/s4032/IMG_7284.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTB52TUdTVs2_eTq1hoaq6pVGgvN59h2vl-g9ycNOC-iBzo3NN2KY4T_afvOVNyi4HEEmqOMp5YGCdufxJhNNBpiR8GD5sMTWR9FEZAEUUuAXe6_-8NiPz4Z0V4JtFpkO13_Qfsolz9__bfYewGyXGVCDN_ajVzB_JOjUMRHoj1OIOhHRWQIdVrJjTzY/s320/IMG_7284.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I feel a tad fragile as I pull back the duvet late on Saturday morning. I've ummed and ahhed on where to go to watch football today as Ms Moon is away in Brighton visiting her brother for a few days. I was thinking about watching Wayne Rooney's Birmingham City versus rock bottom Sheff Wed, but canned that idea when Tony Mac and I decided to have a 24 hour pub run next Friday and Sat in Brum.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mr and Mrs John Harris have said they will be in attendance at Kimberley MW v Lincoln United today and it's over a year since I've seen them. I head into town and nearly get mown down by a couple of electric scooters on a zebra crossing (adds them to the hit list) before jumping on a Number 1 bus up to Ripley. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55kaYaOanRTyecL-3OPzqIt8RdfCPCa8dkbrbmwB3HBqQEEONh_VgVZAFr5lMxXgitCYE2s9gm8M3AeSZH2egzrgYT5uHUL-2HmqmlJFZrj8Q-wMPTyMgGwvp99QeKx3CrnHAQe5WAVpLvoajg7BlI61-Xy1QNKQ0w0uebv9e6PWjOpzJ935SZi1C_TY/s4032/IMG_7287.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55kaYaOanRTyecL-3OPzqIt8RdfCPCa8dkbrbmwB3HBqQEEONh_VgVZAFr5lMxXgitCYE2s9gm8M3AeSZH2egzrgYT5uHUL-2HmqmlJFZrj8Q-wMPTyMgGwvp99QeKx3CrnHAQe5WAVpLvoajg7BlI61-Xy1QNKQ0w0uebv9e6PWjOpzJ935SZi1C_TY/s320/IMG_7287.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I've been recommended Olde English Chippy - known locally as 'Linda's.' I order up a 'Fish Special' that doesn't disappoint. Word up is that customers were queuing out of the door onto the street for four hours last night. One of the ladies said she received a standing ovation at the local pub at the end of her shift at 10pm.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I stand and stare in awe at one of the UK's great war memorials. As I read the names of the fallen, my spine tingles and my stomach wrenches. One of Kimberley's own, Jack Bamford, became the youngest ever recipient of the George Cross in 1953, after saving his two brothers in a house fire. He passed away last month at the age of 86 years old.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X2kKZ7KubbEVfpt2Q4sCg5VjwDWNu1aa1tdgQ4GfgT8V_T7MemfgdD951uUTSernu5Nr1jwNKaPJrelhbsriOST4_BHANXdB5m_rW70sFZ9uGvOvv8KYjWW8_nyWgqhEoCkdSpGB0hAcIK8SW3B2DJwjqscC-4MUQd00M-cFODSj-h1jF1SMOv8F42g/s4032/IMG_7288.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X2kKZ7KubbEVfpt2Q4sCg5VjwDWNu1aa1tdgQ4GfgT8V_T7MemfgdD951uUTSernu5Nr1jwNKaPJrelhbsriOST4_BHANXdB5m_rW70sFZ9uGvOvv8KYjWW8_nyWgqhEoCkdSpGB0hAcIK8SW3B2DJwjqscC-4MUQd00M-cFODSj-h1jF1SMOv8F42g/s320/IMG_7288.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's an emotional moment in Roots micropub when John Harris and wife Jackie present me with a packet of haslet from Birds, after a shopping trip to D***y this morning. What a lovely touch. It's freezing cold at the game. High flying Lincoln look in the mood to continue their good form. Dan Cotton gives them the lead after a catalogue of errors in the Kimbo penalty box.The match-defining moment happens after Kimbo are awarded a penalty. Aaron Coyle scuffs his kick, 'keeper Jack Steggles gets down well and makes a great save as well as blocking a rebound. It's not Coyle's day. In the second half he fizzes a shot from distance that beats Steggles all ends up, only to see it cannon off the upright.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The impressive Cotton puts the game to bed, but the visitors still have to rely on some acrobatics from ex Miller Steggles before the ref blows the final whistle. It's great to catch up with people like Danny Staley and Steve Hobster who are the heart, soul and lifeline of the club.</div><p>Attendance:</p><p>People of the Match: Jack Steggles and Mr John Harris and wife Jackie.</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-60034067596452428802023-11-19T20:05:00.001+00:002023-11-19T21:02:25.872+00:00Carlton Town 3-0 Brighouse Town AFC<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rUgM65HLg_BVUzUL35XgH-X8EqzrG_RDmVOqaJz9c4kYCOYhpefioBNKMvczaUncEuvIAahHQW-Z6qmph4DHTM_EK2CF7517CFD2bAuMWY5xcInDhUszGb3QNAy3P9mS9ogzfGkTz1iLtmUDSwqoE2ntudZ4Kczpq5WQqG4DpyVjfHSitedY4c0gmFM/s1200/IMG_7142.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2rUgM65HLg_BVUzUL35XgH-X8EqzrG_RDmVOqaJz9c4kYCOYhpefioBNKMvczaUncEuvIAahHQW-Z6qmph4DHTM_EK2CF7517CFD2bAuMWY5xcInDhUszGb3QNAy3P9mS9ogzfGkTz1iLtmUDSwqoE2ntudZ4Kczpq5WQqG4DpyVjfHSitedY4c0gmFM/s320/IMG_7142.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Faggsy, Ms Moon and I exit Gedling Miners Welfare Plains Road ground, after witnessing a breathtaking six goal thriller, which ends with honours even. We chew the cud over a couple of pints of real ale at the Woodthorpe Top. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I return home to a slow cooker chilli con carne with dark chocolate, which I knocked up earlier on today. Ms Moon is as happy as Larry as she watches Pointless, Strictly and Blankety Blank. I join in, when I can tear myself away from checking all the Non League results online.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIRT-FZDLrFFfGkDQQmv8r6tvc1ySTxmkKIDv9GEm_elIEO5l0BIv9zPVOisYNo9LX-VJzdqC0DzF327P9J1Cev5PJPY9W4JNfoYy5xzByONANOCrcgHIhmO7ul2B8JdZ2iWEoqIVPYdDwuhFjZlItun5gUEWhe7CR5VWBHgYP7P9pZaAj1vUfHvKiVA/s4032/IMG_7025.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIRT-FZDLrFFfGkDQQmv8r6tvc1ySTxmkKIDv9GEm_elIEO5l0BIv9zPVOisYNo9LX-VJzdqC0DzF327P9J1Cev5PJPY9W4JNfoYy5xzByONANOCrcgHIhmO7ul2B8JdZ2iWEoqIVPYdDwuhFjZlItun5gUEWhe7CR5VWBHgYP7P9pZaAj1vUfHvKiVA/s320/IMG_7025.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My working hours have now changed. I no longer work on Saturdays, which will give me the opportunity to travel further (north) for games by train, as we have sold the car. This means a 4:am alarm call on a Sunday morning and a 5:am start at the newsagents in Arnold.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday is the start of my four days off. I Mr Sheen blast the house as Ms Moon takes her granddaughter, Bonnie, to the play park at Colwick. I spend the rest of the day studying the CAMRA Heritage Pub Guide, in anticipation and with a feeling of excitement of planned days out in London and Leeds. I've also listened to the brilliant BBC podcast 'Nothing Will be the Same', which is narrated by Mark Chapman. It's behind the scenes at Goodison Park during the Lampard reign and the early days of Sean Dyche. Big Sean makes it a must-listen documentary, as does his engaging assistant Ian Woan.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmGPcR_gjzxC2h995z0b9iWmordm5LxpBO5kV7sW5CIGS2uAVbCDxsfUZuXD9m-oD__VVRzYHPV6F2D7MVgR_KwZ_4ld0LQQOqBqui6858-uRxxk8dqKRH0Bgz8nKVvPUYIDpxkEwKvrRmoRSwhjHvAd_DVsTTcEPLBGLUqaAVG73nW5-5UpZ-JovHHA/s4032/IMG_7041.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmGPcR_gjzxC2h995z0b9iWmordm5LxpBO5kV7sW5CIGS2uAVbCDxsfUZuXD9m-oD__VVRzYHPV6F2D7MVgR_KwZ_4ld0LQQOqBqui6858-uRxxk8dqKRH0Bgz8nKVvPUYIDpxkEwKvrRmoRSwhjHvAd_DVsTTcEPLBGLUqaAVG73nW5-5UpZ-JovHHA/s320/IMG_7041.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">East Midlands Railway try their best to muck up my day out on Thursday. I bag a cheaper ticket, but have to change trains at Long Eaton. There is a six minute waiting time. Unfortunately (for me) the buffoons cock up as we arrive a full six minutes late. I make a dash to the opposite side of track to catch the connecting train. Luckily, EMR’s incompetence works in my favour, as this train is also late.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I alight at St Pancras and make my way towards King’s Cross, where my brother and I are to have breakfast at place called Morty and Bob’s, in a swanky place called Coal Drops Yard. The full English is hoovered up in no time. We jump on a tube up to Kilburn. The idea was to tick off the Black Lion on the High Street, but the place is plunged in darkness, as it’s not due open until 4 pm. We decide to stretch our legs by walking up to the Maida Vale area of the city. It has elegant Victorian housing and Little Venice waterway. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56btdMvTl-Nsbg5e17PYwHdnSzdlCERkvuyiiWJoDuIEKeOY7FTODxQETMp6tdNDqX1WJzpfWUmSpuom0WCiYPXwGOLwf_E9NxgeEOByKM0B3GvtWH7hmHzLH2klnYi3uwMzbkHMvLhXNCjyZkJrDGaU3FBYUoPPNhLSYfYv2HwraArKFT_a_KAvhCgE/s4032/IMG_7031.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi56btdMvTl-Nsbg5e17PYwHdnSzdlCERkvuyiiWJoDuIEKeOY7FTODxQETMp6tdNDqX1WJzpfWUmSpuom0WCiYPXwGOLwf_E9NxgeEOByKM0B3GvtWH7hmHzLH2klnYi3uwMzbkHMvLhXNCjyZkJrDGaU3FBYUoPPNhLSYfYv2HwraArKFT_a_KAvhCgE/s320/IMG_7031.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We stroll up to the Maida Vale recording studios where bands such as The Clash did sessions for the John Peel Show. We also spot a blue plaque commemorating the birthplace of the famous mathematician and scientist, Alan Turing, who is also well known for cracking the Enigma Code in the Second World War. Benedict Cumberpatch plays the role of Turing in an excellent film called The Imitation Game.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We tick off three CAMRA pubs in the area before shooting up to Notting Hill and then Baker Street. A further two historical boozers, including Scottish Stores, are paid a visit in the Kings Cross area. I arrive home at 10.30 having walked 10 miles and drank 8 halves of southern dirty dishwater. Whilst the beer is piss poor, the Grade II listed buildings are a thing of beauty.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqW5MAQrpk0W4a9GprLVgGDsPUEwYTjIIXKX6ZJz2R_3NRW_MiGxVzKXgbskjaPXS69WXTmQl2WueHFLLI-5cpU7pKfGkmIxRicqRDHZ4aY1xFcBvpWhhTJuwlucx1osLV08DRDXoKeobM1HsNgMJLYy0sVrs3xzHK1EgnaJRU43A2joZ0zhpRj8WCuA8/s4032/IMG_7040.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqW5MAQrpk0W4a9GprLVgGDsPUEwYTjIIXKX6ZJz2R_3NRW_MiGxVzKXgbskjaPXS69WXTmQl2WueHFLLI-5cpU7pKfGkmIxRicqRDHZ4aY1xFcBvpWhhTJuwlucx1osLV08DRDXoKeobM1HsNgMJLYy0sVrs3xzHK1EgnaJRU43A2joZ0zhpRj8WCuA8/s320/IMG_7040.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There’s no time to rest on my laurels or bask in the glory of a wonderful day out down ‘the Smoke, yesterday. Ms Moon and I are about to hit the north for an overnight stay.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We’ve not been to Leeds since COVID. I bagged a good deal through Booking.Com at the Radisson Blu, in the heart of the city centre. The Northern train pulls into Leeds Station at just gone midday. We take a wander around, admiring the wide range of architectural styles of notable buildings. Granary Wharf is stunning, with its cobbled bridges and working waterway.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDs7NnBhSPM2W3R0_N7j8Q-Z8V8Va0rvvo4H4VDnhHy2-otxrRrvU9X766GTjBh3_bWoUBNrEyuvOpYfoJxbJrBfwMpc1fHXQLTjDESMwwwHOaF1-IOOhOYIDH3eGl9sZJ7wRwgLfhg7WT2vB-_5JkC2dy8UnOwiu7BrIXipenPWlolXzlQQRvApaj8E/s4032/IMG_7065.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDs7NnBhSPM2W3R0_N7j8Q-Z8V8Va0rvvo4H4VDnhHy2-otxrRrvU9X766GTjBh3_bWoUBNrEyuvOpYfoJxbJrBfwMpc1fHXQLTjDESMwwwHOaF1-IOOhOYIDH3eGl9sZJ7wRwgLfhg7WT2vB-_5JkC2dy8UnOwiu7BrIXipenPWlolXzlQQRvApaj8E/s320/IMG_7065.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm on my best behaviour today, as I have a few trips lined up before the end of the year. We dine at Browns restaurant, which ironically is located next door to our hotel. Like a lot of their buildings, it's housed in a former banking hall. A three course lunchtime deal is a steal at £21 per person. We spend another hour walking off the meal before checking-in.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Whilst Ms Moon has some rest and relaxation, Sticky Palms pounds the streets hunting down a couple of CAMRA pub entries that I've yet to visit. The Bankers Cat, on Boar Lane, is part of the Thornbridge Co Estate. I enjoy a hazy pale ale called Galaxy and Simcoe. I manage to squeeze in another pub called Duck and Drake which has 16 cask ales available and is also a live music venue.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnsZQ8Wi0q2alsTs9v4iGPYXgwn_GE_y9u7n0Dx38Zwem4cZXkWo-0JQxxhDr00zqqxDZOtX7BVetXmM7dZzv46HNsWkwVoZUkv5bEYQDcRkfs1cAmu5bAQUCvuogT0E_goYAM5Ii1tY94ojJABoS7wNGeVujKXhYPFMVI6nsMHABTrmukfH9h-GrBIc/s4032/IMG_7067.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnsZQ8Wi0q2alsTs9v4iGPYXgwn_GE_y9u7n0Dx38Zwem4cZXkWo-0JQxxhDr00zqqxDZOtX7BVetXmM7dZzv46HNsWkwVoZUkv5bEYQDcRkfs1cAmu5bAQUCvuogT0E_goYAM5Ii1tY94ojJABoS7wNGeVujKXhYPFMVI6nsMHABTrmukfH9h-GrBIc/s320/IMG_7067.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I have an enjoyable evening with all the other weekend revellers. We arrive back at the hotel to find the bar is still open. It is then that a 'Gincident' happens. I order up a Hendricks. It arrives minus a slice of cucumber - a big no no in the world of gin-drinking. Regular readers will be aware that bad news doesn't go down well with Sticky, particularly after four pints of real ale and three large Tanquerays. Aghast, I complain to the barman who says he will have to check in the storeroom for some cucumber. He's gone that long that I thought, for a moment, the said room was in neighbouring Lancashire. To add injury to insult the tonic water is flat too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back in the room Ms Moon is flicking around the TV channels. I wish she hadn't, as the good lady chances upon the final scene of Shane Meadows' dark psychological thriller, Dead Man's Shoes. 'Richard' played by Paddy Considine, one by one rounds up a group of drug dealers who tortured his mentally-impaired brother Anthony. He forces the ringleader to plunge a knife into his heart. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmI9aMNlv9SXmnzRuOsa8EsSoxQgV_UK0Bhl013k9YIq6LQHqM0UaeH1XF3o1BbGxvoBqrQFq-nZqKHaIf3awQRLn82mYKomznLQFaX85FsziO64yYpC_f_mb8R7hPEISvJG9JYI7fJzxRnfDM6Fsic6gikxCeE1WLj2naojIIAFhSAokP9pMT0RScQk/s500/IMG_7139.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="500" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvmI9aMNlv9SXmnzRuOsa8EsSoxQgV_UK0Bhl013k9YIq6LQHqM0UaeH1XF3o1BbGxvoBqrQFq-nZqKHaIf3awQRLn82mYKomznLQFaX85FsziO64yYpC_f_mb8R7hPEISvJG9JYI7fJzxRnfDM6Fsic6gikxCeE1WLj2naojIIAFhSAokP9pMT0RScQk/s320/IMG_7139.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We're back in Nottingham for Saturday lunchtime. The train journey was long and drawn out. but not without incident, when a revenue protection officer caught a couple of fare dodgers red-handed, who were sat close by. Ms Moon says it's probably not the right time for me to play the chorus of 'Cry Me a River' by Justin Timberlake on my phone as the statutory penalty notice fines are being issued to perpetrators.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm in the clubhouse at Carlton Town's Stoke Lane ground by 2.15pm. Chairman, Mick Garton, is introducing former Notts and Leicestershire fast bowler, David Milnes to a standing room only audience. Milnes is now an international umpire, so he has a number of amusing and witty anecdotes. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmv38d0ZS4m8uQVnJuRk-jR6tBj-mYTc9JskYel8l_5YxH-ndomtfaJsXcFKu_gYJQDPC4tNGVa0E3odKt6mNpDWXnxvO4PTW0glo4DkBCD7bmSGvD3s2-KGO8RggOp5hX0GHT9QwI7Q2DYdZ4_fg012wloYVgrjocV3xj2o-ysrMAR8gCqGZN3k-BDI/s640/IMG_7133.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmv38d0ZS4m8uQVnJuRk-jR6tBj-mYTc9JskYel8l_5YxH-ndomtfaJsXcFKu_gYJQDPC4tNGVa0E3odKt6mNpDWXnxvO4PTW0glo4DkBCD7bmSGvD3s2-KGO8RggOp5hX0GHT9QwI7Q2DYdZ4_fg012wloYVgrjocV3xj2o-ysrMAR8gCqGZN3k-BDI/s320/IMG_7133.JPG" width="224" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">He was discovered in a 'Find a Fast Bowler' trial held at Trent Bridge on 12th June, 1984. The reason I know that date was because me and my mate Rick Heeley were there too. We watched the second half of the European Championship final between France and Spain in the Trent Bridge Squash Club after an unsuccessful trial. Richard Hadlee was the judge. He was particularly grumpy that evening. I ask Milnes who is the fastest bowler he has seen from his end. He replies that it would probably be Tymal Mills or Mark Wood.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I visit the club shop where birthday boy, Jon Hartstone, and Ken are manning the fort. I purchase a Millers beanie hat for £10. Manager Tommy Brookbanks will be looking for a reaction after last weekend's drubbing up at Ashington in the north east. Main striker Alex Hardwick is suspended after a stupid red card in that said game.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrn55d85e3H_gPfme3OFgg4ZypBZ7WwnEDNgeHpTh-veCAJm7bFw_-w3UWBx-s9wFcUDTPUFFVRHoWOXySodaQF9PkeyqeNd8M-XmviA8RRd8BNbvMXe55m_2FDG8XzeMRPy1Bh6KJuzFSj9Pb1rJga3ChYJI_GNtr8ZWsBd8X4isUBfzGXZV_yKQQN0/s4032/IMG_7096.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrn55d85e3H_gPfme3OFgg4ZypBZ7WwnEDNgeHpTh-veCAJm7bFw_-w3UWBx-s9wFcUDTPUFFVRHoWOXySodaQF9PkeyqeNd8M-XmviA8RRd8BNbvMXe55m_2FDG8XzeMRPy1Bh6KJuzFSj9Pb1rJga3ChYJI_GNtr8ZWsBd8X4isUBfzGXZV_yKQQN0/s320/IMG_7096.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's not much happening in the opening exchanges. The young Millers grow into the game, looking particularly strong down the left hand side where Durow and Hylton enjoy a good understanding. 'Casually Dan' spins some classic 45s at the break, including the 1984 hit 'Rip it Up' by Glaswegian post-punk band Orange Juice. Dan's daughter, 7 year old Lily, is still miffed with last weekend's lacklustre performance. It's a no show from Lily in the home end as she prefers to crayon-in her colouring book.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Blog favourite Edward has turned up all flustered after a busy morning of shopping, attending engagements and another fresh-look trim, styled by Alison up on Mapp Tops. He's also been clocked sneaking out of the sponsors lounge after ploughing his way through a large plate of sandwiches. He was joined by Dad, Jon, who is today's match sponsor.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2sDVk9MDNSW3h8u5dlY_lF7eWo1nHOp27i_wKxHJXUDwJLYF35poBAjXNYKarLr9ZFY2Vt3v2Lsnmk5YmXruvV7sMnQujyrotx9AQjkiML0Eg4oogu2Z4y5_YPzR0OzRzbig2yjohzhj4g8pCHCXDev128NUAyjjYoiuFELDoXyqlu4px3w351TgZqo/s4032/IMG_7105.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2sDVk9MDNSW3h8u5dlY_lF7eWo1nHOp27i_wKxHJXUDwJLYF35poBAjXNYKarLr9ZFY2Vt3v2Lsnmk5YmXruvV7sMnQujyrotx9AQjkiML0Eg4oogu2Z4y5_YPzR0OzRzbig2yjohzhj4g8pCHCXDev128NUAyjjYoiuFELDoXyqlu4px3w351TgZqo/s320/IMG_7105.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Carlton turn up the heat in the second half. The all important first goal is fired home by captain Niall Davie. He puts the game to bed from the penalty spot after the excellent David Adegbola is upended in the box. Niall's mum, Lynn, says she is being 'greedy' in hoping her son can bag a hat-trick. He duly obliges with a neat header from another well taken corner. The icing on the cake is afterwards in the clubhouse when Davie pulls his father's number out in the 200 Club first prize draw. He can't half pick 'em.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Attendance: 155</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Man of the Match: Niall Davie </div><p></p><p><br /></p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-38959491561581692422023-11-12T20:12:00.003+00:002023-11-12T21:49:50.689+00:00Gedling Miners Welfare 3-3 Radford FC<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uY-vuF4UifRY3RX4j1SFXIY5jdl6p1YclTStjryYb9J1q8pkhFHbutDW95RGBad5D14XM0K9daIeed0Dj_ZDFp41J8GZ9oO_f_GwkKoTXox-lXWk_nlPxrzE1KwBdzw7DeQXbQR8Q6Xauy3oafZfnAi164dNQ3OceRgtUpj_chpus5dtCl-huk-wmdU/s2048/IMG_6916.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="2048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uY-vuF4UifRY3RX4j1SFXIY5jdl6p1YclTStjryYb9J1q8pkhFHbutDW95RGBad5D14XM0K9daIeed0Dj_ZDFp41J8GZ9oO_f_GwkKoTXox-lXWk_nlPxrzE1KwBdzw7DeQXbQR8Q6Xauy3oafZfnAi164dNQ3OceRgtUpj_chpus5dtCl-huk-wmdU/s320/IMG_6916.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's an early exit from the FA Cup for Lincoln City. They are well beaten by the Shrimpers from Morecambe. We troop out of Sincil Bank towards the railway station. Julian, the Morecambe fan, is grinning like a Cheshire cat, as his team will be in the hat for tomorrow's draw. Wycombe away is a poor reward. I probably won't ever speak to him again. He poses for a '2-1' photo on the train home before alighting the train with Dean Gripton at Lowdham Station. I wish Julian well, through gritted teeth.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Monday evening and I'm pouring a can of session craft ale from Azvex Brewery, who are based in Liverpool. I flick on the TV set and scroll through the channels. Tottenham Hotspur v Chelsea is the game of choice tonight. I stay gripped in my armchair for 111 minutes as the teams play out a spine-tingling game of football. There are 25 shots, 5 disallowed goals, 7 bookings and 2 red cards. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqzu1d0vdSmLvHM4a6hZhWwR0Oi5fuklHLYGp_DK8Y5X8TIOLv1BFZKfypBiRnjXQMJ0JFMIBNkqfQR1gmUrw3C09TcFHHWOYyAFXlThbF3FqABMSnxE__Joou7TFOSFAy0tkf20aWBWDKumUo7Kyi7q7hjlLas0dyVWnNo7ARvvoNWTOOBMD63LBY54/s4032/IMG_6655.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqzu1d0vdSmLvHM4a6hZhWwR0Oi5fuklHLYGp_DK8Y5X8TIOLv1BFZKfypBiRnjXQMJ0JFMIBNkqfQR1gmUrw3C09TcFHHWOYyAFXlThbF3FqABMSnxE__Joou7TFOSFAy0tkf20aWBWDKumUo7Kyi7q7hjlLas0dyVWnNo7ARvvoNWTOOBMD63LBY54/s320/IMG_6655.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and I've just finished the Dolly Parton eight hour shift at the shop. It's Euromillions day and I'm out on my feet, as I loiter at the bus stop on High Street, in Arnold town centre. The chuffing bus is late again. It's half an hour before another one rolls up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I stand outside The Willowbrook pub, in Gedling, with Carlton Town official photographer Lou Lardi. A Skoda estate pulls up. It's DJ Murph, also known as 'Chief Wiggum' on the fans' WhatsApp group. Clubshop Ken completes the quartet.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl8PZG8B_GcU07WfYolxrKxtS7uPiE3C2j-f34i26SpuMx8NtHbNRfliMa6mfxZV0Z6AQwBYm2Okz-oOZ-FqgQ7SdiJ9tZtkHlZHgGdVewgA6DqeWHx2ICfvm3swcQ8uVUbkVn7WFQxl2CFRhRbbd9vWa0KOsYlpeCMiSyaUzMggQsjDy2Kpa43GTT9M/s2048/1f7298cf-9734-4f92-a586-00e134262005.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl8PZG8B_GcU07WfYolxrKxtS7uPiE3C2j-f34i26SpuMx8NtHbNRfliMa6mfxZV0Z6AQwBYm2Okz-oOZ-FqgQ7SdiJ9tZtkHlZHgGdVewgA6DqeWHx2ICfvm3swcQ8uVUbkVn7WFQxl2CFRhRbbd9vWa0KOsYlpeCMiSyaUzMggQsjDy2Kpa43GTT9M/s320/1f7298cf-9734-4f92-a586-00e134262005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We're driving out towards the village of Collingham, which lies on the edge of the Notts/Lincs border. The Mighty Millers are pitting their wits against Newark and Sherwood in the Notts Senior Cup. There's a drop-your-bacon-sandwich moment when 'Wiggum' confesses to being a big fan of the reality TV show I'm a Celeb, presented by those pair of Herberts, Ant 'n Dec. It knocks me for six to be honest. I try to concentrate on 'Bela Lugosi's Dead' by Bauhaus, that's playing on the car radio, whilst coming to terms with Murph's confession.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The chippy is mobbed with folk; most of whom wear the yellow and blue scarves of Carlton Town. The hard-working staff are rushed off their feet. There's the added pressure of the presence of famous fish and chip reviewer, Danny Bhoy. Fish is cooked to order and doesn't disappoint. The locals are miffed as queues snake out of the door.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqHvFd-uBx0upFJ45ysb6qJmLcRYfzD8sA2A-kby1a2LCTfZPPh3q2ivKBqjzgBM6_ufad4TY40EwagPT58A3IGCQm0x_xYXugPEDtoH5DWkgDI4JUIu6T40hH_wW1iRNkwY2BbI1PWFsOoLm05J5YNj1pEQDOYCdLiaiTpSMHgloYHkUWVmZzsGoh9s/s4032/IMG_6771.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpqHvFd-uBx0upFJ45ysb6qJmLcRYfzD8sA2A-kby1a2LCTfZPPh3q2ivKBqjzgBM6_ufad4TY40EwagPT58A3IGCQm0x_xYXugPEDtoH5DWkgDI4JUIu6T40hH_wW1iRNkwY2BbI1PWFsOoLm05J5YNj1pEQDOYCdLiaiTpSMHgloYHkUWVmZzsGoh9s/s320/IMG_6771.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's £6 on the gate. I dive straight into the bar as temperatures plummet. It's good to see a couple of real ales on draught, including one from the Beermats stable who are located in Newark. 35-40 supporters have made the trip from Carlton. I clock a pasty-looking 'Casually Dan' who has recently returned from a three day drinking binge (his stag) in Budapest.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Millers are in cruise control and coast to victory. The second goal is comedy gold. I'm walking out of the clubhouse with MSR colleague and friend, Kieran Harlow. I ask a guy if the score is still 1-0 as Alex Hardwick pulls the trigger, firing a shot like a tracer bullet into the roof of the net. Hardwick runs to the travelling support, to be met with a shower of steaming hot chocolate, topped with marshmallow, courtesy of 'Casually Dan.' It's a good night for Millers' commercial manager Gary Clarke and his dog Gizmo. They've won a tin of sweets in the raffle.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6KS40KLtPUqMvZ62u17U-nV1OQ9eKS0k0fmrEckuemOV9GPkKvgRm7jl2S1VLZWqwD0n9yQ-RihrKLRtFIQiU9-Sf-X6OARCZS2f9cXKL1Youy9HItlPb0YR2f2rg7Y8Y6hr2Uwpyo89aGOnvRSH8sSbxfvFjld2Hg7v3MnzrkDPrK_-OoyyMOU6QXw/s1600/d77fc332-acdf-4337-9d14-aefa5ca94f3f.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg6KS40KLtPUqMvZ62u17U-nV1OQ9eKS0k0fmrEckuemOV9GPkKvgRm7jl2S1VLZWqwD0n9yQ-RihrKLRtFIQiU9-Sf-X6OARCZS2f9cXKL1Youy9HItlPb0YR2f2rg7Y8Y6hr2Uwpyo89aGOnvRSH8sSbxfvFjld2Hg7v3MnzrkDPrK_-OoyyMOU6QXw/s320/d77fc332-acdf-4337-9d14-aefa5ca94f3f.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I love my days off and always put them to good use. I get good value from my Broadway Cinema membership. There's a matinee showing of Killers of the Flower Moon, the latest blockbuster from the American filmmaker, Martin Scorsese. Its running time is longer than the Spurs v Chelsea game. Actually it's 100 minutes longer than the said game. It starts and finishes in the blink of an eye. Robert De Niro gives a masterclass in how to be manipulative and cunning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've time to kill and a rumbling tummy. I stroll up Broad Street and turn through the doors of the award-winning, trendy eatery, Bohns Best Burgers. I hoover up a peanut butter jelly double smash patty burger, topped with Shropshire blue Stilton and pickled gherkins.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdNuoNgxpekRsMsWjrBJcYn_qjYiCLAuNsleaZz1UVeZ3K2G3i6jkM3BLwrB1HBkPbloIO4Uxcjm6YXsWrnge8Bb5xIObTGTEZbKYEOvSTLRv1IjVKv8T-joamRhNnszazIWi03olAsjFQhmLbbEuUVsBl_Y0pTJ1-ianGuhG37O8yFbdr2anvZO0cr4/s3000/IMG_6853.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKdNuoNgxpekRsMsWjrBJcYn_qjYiCLAuNsleaZz1UVeZ3K2G3i6jkM3BLwrB1HBkPbloIO4Uxcjm6YXsWrnge8Bb5xIObTGTEZbKYEOvSTLRv1IjVKv8T-joamRhNnszazIWi03olAsjFQhmLbbEuUVsBl_Y0pTJ1-ianGuhG37O8yFbdr2anvZO0cr4/s320/IMG_6853.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I wander up past my second home, the railway station. before crossing the tramline and heading up through the Meadows area of Nottingham. I'm meeting up with a few mates I haven't seen in a while. I'm not a big fan of the Waterside Bar, a stone's throw away from the 'World Famous City Ground.' It's owned by the Red Cat Company, whose CEO is ex Greene King. So imagine my surprise, on arrival, to be told there's no real ales on. Thankfully the company is better than the watering hole. 'The Mayor of Keyworth', 'Chopper Harris', 'Soup', 'Beef', 'Barthez' and 'Jenko.' are all on fine form.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We finish up in a 'Spoons called the Trent Bridge Inn, adjacent to the cricket ground, as it's the only pub still open. It's where I had my 21st birthday party, upstairs, back in 1985. Lincoln City played out a 0-0 draw, the following day, versus D***y County. I was literally spewing all day. I don't do 0-0s.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKB8-TtshyaZLZ7Woj1JIsYyLH8zKHrPK7RmPerxWZOnX8-fHPBZQYkQgteHBAtvRU6GDAZj4579avyQh_QSiIVA0b0IouWTYWKdoMrdZ_hGUBfBv9_JgqACZxmxK0CQamo5xbn_HAH-J9MiLubITq-df-vFPDnN1ruqp7iG-G86R6InR-fLuG4bkJuD4/s4032/IMG_6878.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKB8-TtshyaZLZ7Woj1JIsYyLH8zKHrPK7RmPerxWZOnX8-fHPBZQYkQgteHBAtvRU6GDAZj4579avyQh_QSiIVA0b0IouWTYWKdoMrdZ_hGUBfBv9_JgqACZxmxK0CQamo5xbn_HAH-J9MiLubITq-df-vFPDnN1ruqp7iG-G86R6InR-fLuG4bkJuD4/s320/IMG_6878.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I rise early on Friday morning. I didn't arrive home until 12.30 am the previous evening. I'm back at the train station on Platform 1A where the 11.17 Northern service to Leeds is set to leave. Another day has been mapped out by Tony Mac. Today it's Chesterfield, the birthplace and final resting place of George Stephenson, renowned as the "Father of the Railways.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"We've already ticked off a couple of CAMRA entries in the town centre as we begin to head out to the famous 'Brampton Mile.' An eagle-eyed Mac spots Brampton Brewery. Not only do we receive a lovely, warm welcome from the lady behind the bar, but she also very kindly draws us out a map of the area with recommendations on the best pubs to visit.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhyGtPwaS0AiOzXz0jaxlatBIJ0xpJmYu2EeCFmO5K-INLNg91mXz3lGPdyZStmaYCgClHayi3sycFacNmOt2oIIE1YDJBcSHrFoRKU78T9CHT5lSONqVgUHxNRqr0awHCpSr0DJB2vEHpXg1fqaVC0hOv7BU23clFu0kZ91iO-9KakmADDCXtB53kFg/s4032/IMG_6879.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhyGtPwaS0AiOzXz0jaxlatBIJ0xpJmYu2EeCFmO5K-INLNg91mXz3lGPdyZStmaYCgClHayi3sycFacNmOt2oIIE1YDJBcSHrFoRKU78T9CHT5lSONqVgUHxNRqr0awHCpSr0DJB2vEHpXg1fqaVC0hOv7BU23clFu0kZ91iO-9KakmADDCXtB53kFg/s320/IMG_6879.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We both agree on a 7.15 cut off time as we need to catch the train to Ilkeston as there is a CAMRA pub called The Dewdrop, a short walk from the station, that we've been dying to visit for ages. It's just our luck that on arrival we find that the pub is closed for cellar work. Stranded and nowhere near the town centre, we have no option other than to order an Uber into Nottingham.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I enjoy a lie-in on Saturday morning. I'm treating Ms Moon to lunch at Tamasha, on Mapperley Tops. It's an Asian fusion restaurant which serves delicious sizzling grilled food and speciality tapas. The staff are first-class and the food is high in quality. We have fishcakes, lamb chops and smoked garlic mushrooms. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzDJQ84556L4-9txrhSqc-9OXUFL2DX5R42J-MYXdvdfjKg9VAvjbfm0QUP8q0JD7RRTzvQUwUjgFXRJ_ogJaNTt_5zjvQkYGvuiGk2yYcx9CDWGYJtC5Hvv5cnh39X6pjmH2jqPfm5kPU9epUGDZO11y0WOZhOOEmBvS12IXTy7RmZ997lzKEaZKfWM/s4032/IMG_6936.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzDJQ84556L4-9txrhSqc-9OXUFL2DX5R42J-MYXdvdfjKg9VAvjbfm0QUP8q0JD7RRTzvQUwUjgFXRJ_ogJaNTt_5zjvQkYGvuiGk2yYcx9CDWGYJtC5Hvv5cnh39X6pjmH2jqPfm5kPU9epUGDZO11y0WOZhOOEmBvS12IXTy7RmZ997lzKEaZKfWM/s320/IMG_6936.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Dessert is the United Counties Division One League local derby between Gedling Miners Welfare and Radford FC. It's £5 on the gate. Radford FC 'Director of Football', Big Glenn Russell, isn't best pleased to see me. I'm greeted with "What are you doing here Jonah?" I promise to fire over £25 for a speaker's evening with Hull City legend Dean Windass, that's being held at the end of the month.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We observe a minute's silence for Remembrance Day. I think of my granddad. The game gets off to a flier with the visitors fortunate not to be behind after ten seconds. I try to do a quick circuit of the ground, but keep bumping into people that I know. Faggsy, Chris Widdowson, Roberto and Edward and John Hartstone are all in attendance.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bYRXdc6QpYoAunI0ARy9GQT4oKzJdGycZg8mbfBWIRKWnzglQ4brXN6aSWwIEMbadrEndbSBplVsfn4uT1_a0kd2qpV96zZIewC686-586jwGc8HW2h54g8t_6y_NxAAjmcZnbDnWTnAEvljp_Kqw7TaT_GNVVZ8Yoo3idsOKsSKQLcoTxg6nYPKD8o/s4032/IMG_6940.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bYRXdc6QpYoAunI0ARy9GQT4oKzJdGycZg8mbfBWIRKWnzglQ4brXN6aSWwIEMbadrEndbSBplVsfn4uT1_a0kd2qpV96zZIewC686-586jwGc8HW2h54g8t_6y_NxAAjmcZnbDnWTnAEvljp_Kqw7TaT_GNVVZ8Yoo3idsOKsSKQLcoTxg6nYPKD8o/s320/IMG_6940.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Radford take the lead with a stunning goal from university student James Reynolds. The Miners quickly and deservedly equalise shortly after. On the stroke of half time Jevin Seaton hits a worldy strike from 25 yards out to put the visitors 2-1 up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're joined by The Hartstones and Faggsy for the second half. The game is overshadowed by Ms Moon and Edward constantly chinwagging about the TV soaps. I've a good mind to call the referee over so he can show them both a red card. Apparently the cafe in EastEnders has burnt down. It'll just be another fraudulent insurance claim for Ian Beale. Next time I'll bring them a copy each of the magazine Inside Soap from the shop, so they can both pore over it at half-time in the clubhouse.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0b4NFP3rfLhNDi1SdQfXjFgzKcIVlhQ6DZjQXmZgCjfhNTUi40sF4RYT0AK58THZaoXF0ynP7fyj00KNp5ArD5C-0REXqqKXYcrBCYmTP_uWl68Oy8KQMJZzIX5af7jUUqoDAqLe-Oc6txr9Ds2G3FQ739mjzBAvA4pPxg1LGWmx0pUTHV0rqOeaytWk/s4032/IMG_6956.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0b4NFP3rfLhNDi1SdQfXjFgzKcIVlhQ6DZjQXmZgCjfhNTUi40sF4RYT0AK58THZaoXF0ynP7fyj00KNp5ArD5C-0REXqqKXYcrBCYmTP_uWl68Oy8KQMJZzIX5af7jUUqoDAqLe-Oc6txr9Ds2G3FQ739mjzBAvA4pPxg1LGWmx0pUTHV0rqOeaytWk/s320/IMG_6956.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">On the pitch, two strikes by substitute Zac Hill have put Gedling MW 3-2 up. Radford have another goal in them. A free kick is expertly clipped into the box where it skims off the head of Conor Moore and into the roof of the net.It's been a pulsating game of football, with no quarter given. On reflection a draw is a fair result, although the Miners have twice hit the woodwork. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The bush telegraph is reporting a 6-0 drubbing for Snowflake FC, dished out by the Keyworth United Green Army. A 16 year old kid, who plays for the badge, has bagged 4x goals. The seafood restaurants and champagne bars on The Avenue, in Bread 'n Lard Island, will be as quiet as a mouse this evening, as the senior team have also been defeated by bottom-placed Sandiacre Town. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p>Attendance: 170 </p><p>Man of the Match: Robert De Niro</p><p>Credit photos: Steve McKeown and Nigel Harlow. Thank you.</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-50727392755531158332023-11-05T20:07:00.000+00:002023-11-05T20:07:31.255+00:00Lincoln City 1-2 Morecambe<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhks14WBYnYyvi8dTUuYQxfmE-FZtffVe4jMbndXkcQL1QCuelu5JFalsFO4ezz2Gq7ufHH1_sci1AGLMmSUQSIHhguhoxm9D8EjP9YCRslbodlGawomsPtDyKjFqXGK4QgRPg3daIGZc-SJuCM3Qvz7dnHDV9ZqHY8Tr01nhpDvZHFLcXvZpsx9vugFHg/s960/IMG_6638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="936" data-original-width="960" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhks14WBYnYyvi8dTUuYQxfmE-FZtffVe4jMbndXkcQL1QCuelu5JFalsFO4ezz2Gq7ufHH1_sci1AGLMmSUQSIHhguhoxm9D8EjP9YCRslbodlGawomsPtDyKjFqXGK4QgRPg3daIGZc-SJuCM3Qvz7dnHDV9ZqHY8Tr01nhpDvZHFLcXvZpsx9vugFHg/s320/IMG_6638.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">You see this lad in the above photo, well, he is a very rare breed in Notts grassroots football and I will tell you why. When he was five years old I took him to Keyworth United Soccer School, where he fell in love with the game. He was 28 years old this weekend, and still remains at the same club. At a rough estimate I would say he has easily made over 500 appearances. 23 years continued, dedicated and loyal service. How many local players can say that? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Over the years he has been treated appallingly by certain managers. Unperturbed, he's just kept his head down and cracked on. He's a foot soldier; not a leader. Lee Harper got the best out of him. Looked after him, Lee did, when Jack was 17 years old. I'll never forget that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2Otbn_yWdKe6JOLh0ZY5CWsU4n-YK9YXwqD9xe7_f4vsRYjtP-1Zn38V4O2zkrztXcdcn5T8hawR33u63zqcaUKHT6o0fFvG_G5QZEXzh3ic1hYmIKRx_iUKZrT9hozv1xjyR-3kqz_Q6-bbFheSOYKlfwNgEOjAdr4clI_NtwQeYzp-Qp5Xx35gCGQ/s960/IMG_1901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2Otbn_yWdKe6JOLh0ZY5CWsU4n-YK9YXwqD9xe7_f4vsRYjtP-1Zn38V4O2zkrztXcdcn5T8hawR33u63zqcaUKHT6o0fFvG_G5QZEXzh3ic1hYmIKRx_iUKZrT9hozv1xjyR-3kqz_Q6-bbFheSOYKlfwNgEOjAdr4clI_NtwQeYzp-Qp5Xx35gCGQ/s320/IMG_1901.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />I'd be the first to admit that 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' is an emotional character on the pitch, who takes a bit of managing. but he is a lovely lad off it. He never misses training, or kicks up much of a fuss. The club foolishly allowed a charlatan to bring players (mercenaries) into a village Community Club from all over the county - and yet after a decade of this tiresome shit show of a policy the trophy cabinet is still laid bare, despite trying to 'buy' the NSL Prem Division last season. They won diddly squat. The first team didn't even train when I coached there. How embarrassing is that? They actually came and joined in with my sessions with the development squad.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyg9RfB_Kkl9nMWB14QpqZn-EwtGtkbXmY0Ln7Flg7G6wXNSKuqNlmtpeTQtMzo3M-6HE7maGbMF8JwfZIoHWXclQ4pgHreeCNthM-yTldfSrSDasHdp53rIn0anS880OyakoATAAZ2qkJ9VrOTPx2ltEOla3uRVYETTLrbG9D-NGxbt2ciZsLZUYErjw/s1024/6d4a14f2-086a-4044-ab5e-9fca1c43fb54.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyg9RfB_Kkl9nMWB14QpqZn-EwtGtkbXmY0Ln7Flg7G6wXNSKuqNlmtpeTQtMzo3M-6HE7maGbMF8JwfZIoHWXclQ4pgHreeCNthM-yTldfSrSDasHdp53rIn0anS880OyakoATAAZ2qkJ9VrOTPx2ltEOla3uRVYETTLrbG9D-NGxbt2ciZsLZUYErjw/s320/6d4a14f2-086a-4044-ab5e-9fca1c43fb54.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">28 players, mostly big time Charlies, left the club (in the shit) in the summer. A large majority of them pitched up at 'Bread 'n Lard Island FC'. Step 6 has proved too challenging for the journeymen snowflakes. Zero wins in the last nine games the last time I looked. As for the Management, nobody wanted them. Still putting cones out the last I heard. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtgufMx01_IMw-dcMGf2goKtfTgwzOpjca7hU51W0vv3SvbJCG3Ak6biX6HH6maEL_MzAvnwwT0WSgbqwrBksyqogLOrao6_et2nT6Mz9dKQav3mzFBYylj77jOc-oRrbYeJpPrhlW5xg-EmyQdnSwQmKVsgTg1iPV5lZVx9A1_7m9aRTxeeQtaEe6W4/s680/IMG_6555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="680" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtgufMx01_IMw-dcMGf2goKtfTgwzOpjca7hU51W0vv3SvbJCG3Ak6biX6HH6maEL_MzAvnwwT0WSgbqwrBksyqogLOrao6_et2nT6Mz9dKQav3mzFBYylj77jOc-oRrbYeJpPrhlW5xg-EmyQdnSwQmKVsgTg1iPV5lZVx9A1_7m9aRTxeeQtaEe6W4/s320/IMG_6555.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Gedling MW v Loughborough Students game was a cracker. Ms Moon and I exit the Plains Road ground and head up towards Mapperley Tops. I'm not a massive 'Spoons fan, but Ms Moon is partial to a pint of Strongbow. 'Spoons sacked them off for Stowford Press, post COVID, but it seems recently that 'Bow is back in favour. The Woodthorpe Top is the best Wetherspoons in Notts. There's no numpties in there like you get on Carlton Hill, where you have to wipe your feet on the way out. I do have to change a cloudy (probs past the sell by date ) Castle Rock pale ale. It's swapped out with no fuss by a friendly barman.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA9iaK655WBM8ghLyDXZXUeL2ZvHBdW2kIaJ4m8YOgeVMjvUx_meWPr2Z6AIF9uXPdrVx8p6tw8hXstNCUuzc3uW5WjSDdkd66zaMXespx5_5c__Y_PzE4LUSKylvVusAWHI5UEXOOzw51mwo0ykFzleXAXX-MW9II2LUrCNurIdRE2BCRnWt8e6Frp0/s4032/IMG_6551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUA9iaK655WBM8ghLyDXZXUeL2ZvHBdW2kIaJ4m8YOgeVMjvUx_meWPr2Z6AIF9uXPdrVx8p6tw8hXstNCUuzc3uW5WjSDdkd66zaMXespx5_5c__Y_PzE4LUSKylvVusAWHI5UEXOOzw51mwo0ykFzleXAXX-MW9II2LUrCNurIdRE2BCRnWt8e6Frp0/s320/IMG_6551.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday evening and I'm holed up in Junkyard Bottle Shop and Pour House, on Bridlesmith Walk. The craft scorecard is a joy to behold. I sink a Neon Raptor and a Black Iris - two of Nottinghamshire finest breweries. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I sit down I feel uncomfortable. I rifle in my back pocket and fish out a pair of scissors that I must have used in the paper shop today. Bloody hell, I'm off to gig at The Bodega later. What if I get stopped and searched on the door? 59 year old man arrested in possession of a pair of scissors.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGClkvsffZnbwJ77HnYfOrkHYnS5HJGUpc-SRCW4kAvE74ApLimd4MjyEgNnFEZr2IK18EMbgMkxRtl1CrFhCc-JQDu0fspfeSCQdbtmGAAlx7nYSmk3bb5jkrtYlEX-F2BWGaPUieG-M-w1BMMeruOVQW39hDrwiYeSW75tA68GjwJcUsONKtOZ5IDA/s1888/IMG_6574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1888" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGClkvsffZnbwJ77HnYfOrkHYnS5HJGUpc-SRCW4kAvE74ApLimd4MjyEgNnFEZr2IK18EMbgMkxRtl1CrFhCc-JQDu0fspfeSCQdbtmGAAlx7nYSmk3bb5jkrtYlEX-F2BWGaPUieG-M-w1BMMeruOVQW39hDrwiYeSW75tA68GjwJcUsONKtOZ5IDA/s320/IMG_6574.JPG" width="244" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Indie band Deadletter, who are causing quite a stir in the music world, are in town tonight. They remind me of Yard Act, also from Leeds, as they play their way through a blistering one hour set. I stand at the back as I must be the oldest swinger in town.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday afternoon is spent in town. Ms Moon and I lunch at an authentic, classic Italian restaurant called Piccolino, on Weekday Cross. The welcome is warm, and the service is first-class. I wash a chicken Caesar salad down with a glass of white wine.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Broadway Cinema is around the corner in the hustle and bustle of hipster Hockley. With its trendy bars and cool recycled and second hand clothes shops. We watch a beautifully put together film called Typist Artist Pirate King. It's a warm, sympathetic story of a woman's mental health illness and a journey back to her birthplace. I finish the afternoon off, reflecting on the film, in the back bar of the King William IV, in Sneinton.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXQDzZguKuSdMXBJbI3-LiFV2nopBK8jjfTu75Lv9KYeJEOcjanncqWMEQSMiKH5ULLZKydiz51IoOIhHkpiDpj1bDQRBGpinK4BIonl_cgX7jHH6ndi6PXdNTscrkB0_2ZUP2kqUvnV-pPBk9n9EDPWzDJLFrH-EeSnBh3scH9fzONBBWQerouONeZ4/s800/IMG_6714.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXXQDzZguKuSdMXBJbI3-LiFV2nopBK8jjfTu75Lv9KYeJEOcjanncqWMEQSMiKH5ULLZKydiz51IoOIhHkpiDpj1bDQRBGpinK4BIonl_cgX7jHH6ndi6PXdNTscrkB0_2ZUP2kqUvnV-pPBk9n9EDPWzDJLFrH-EeSnBh3scH9fzONBBWQerouONeZ4/s320/IMG_6714.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The heavens open for most of Thursday as torrential rain bounces off the windows. I jump on a bus at 6pm outside Victoria Centre. I alight on Hound Road in West Bridgford. I've been looking forward to this evening for many months now. I walk through the doors of the Derek Randall Suite, at Trent Bridge Cricket Ground, for the first time since Sept 11th 1993. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I pay my £15 subscription to the secretary of the Notts Cricket Lovers' Society. I chat with three old friends who I used to play cricket with at Keyworth CCC. The star of the show this evening is the ever popular fast bowler Luke Fletcher, who was awarded a testimonial this season after 15 years of service to the club. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFweccQBdiFPYrBAOM8LN8MB8IIZaDu1nGZp2ge62UlKkc5xWGvwnBruzel-vh4E0j1Q2zirljBzhk4WHHqA_k5mX81iQWibbLirznHbYmfEHpbQvLG_S3nahXWYIDv6XwKLUwax5MFvVOAkIfdTlhREY4CcgtP2dAKvEuA2kc7Cde0FAZ_HVVEQi5RAo/s4032/IMG_6584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFweccQBdiFPYrBAOM8LN8MB8IIZaDu1nGZp2ge62UlKkc5xWGvwnBruzel-vh4E0j1Q2zirljBzhk4WHHqA_k5mX81iQWibbLirznHbYmfEHpbQvLG_S3nahXWYIDv6XwKLUwax5MFvVOAkIfdTlhREY4CcgtP2dAKvEuA2kc7Cde0FAZ_HVVEQi5RAo/s320/IMG_6584.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Fletch is so engaging and open. He talks of his early life as a goalkeeper at Notts County academy and as a pot washer at Hooters, a sports bar and grill that's famous for its chicken wings. There is a turning point in Luke's life when he joins Papplewick and Linby Cricket Club. He's mentored there by former Leicestershire, Lancashire and England bowler Phil DeFreitas. If you get the chance go and watch Fletch at a speakers' event, he's well worth the time and money as he has an abundance of stories from his life at Trent Bridge, and his anecdotes are laugh out loud.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Friday morning and I'm sitting with Tony Mac at YOLK, an independent coffee shop and breakfast joint, where you can build your own egg breakfasts. We enjoy some banter with the manager, Jan, before heading down to the train station.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLzlBa-NAy3q5eE_fK4tuljXUOLgQRyg3W4ZiZbOjME0ps44seLEKpfTuXNUv_vi5cmsvSCMQ67bEtTu3rmGqo4Wl64metgTM8KGgi2NpCyK9330ct7Xikd9kiuNZd_xzcPOgXuMDnZb0zHgKzOkGU1Bar7bNjU3qQjQzLp2s0V2KZaoKfELe6t330BE/s4032/IMG_6593.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVLzlBa-NAy3q5eE_fK4tuljXUOLgQRyg3W4ZiZbOjME0ps44seLEKpfTuXNUv_vi5cmsvSCMQ67bEtTu3rmGqo4Wl64metgTM8KGgi2NpCyK9330ct7Xikd9kiuNZd_xzcPOgXuMDnZb0zHgKzOkGU1Bar7bNjU3qQjQzLp2s0V2KZaoKfELe6t330BE/s320/IMG_6593.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The city of Stoke-on-Trent, in Staffordshire, has been on our radar for some time now. It's just over an hour on the train. We dive straight into Bod, a micropub that's located in the station itself. Mac has mapped the day out. We'd usually pound the streets and rack up 12 miles or 30,000 steps. Uber is going to come in handy today.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're dropped off outside Port Vale FC. Whilst researching I'd come across a blue plaque in the memory of former Motorhead frontman Lemmy, who is Burslem born and bred. We locate the plaque close to reception. There is also a fantastic statue of Roy Sproson, another one club man, who made 837 starts for the club.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgun1uhVo2NUevbNeCeSFLh1PoY4mrw0h9dFS4Evmq62FNmjdBms0F00qJzSxd_Ea5AJBRpLGzzuWGeYZl1wHYlmimFiYhyNqCmGfLzXevPsj2Jf4Zb2ewweKsN1khdju7nL7lexxuibz1upaUpSd85Yb__jBmnE2x5aj_vSTEg16E6jM3XJTI7_bCBMxc/s4032/IMG_6596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgun1uhVo2NUevbNeCeSFLh1PoY4mrw0h9dFS4Evmq62FNmjdBms0F00qJzSxd_Ea5AJBRpLGzzuWGeYZl1wHYlmimFiYhyNqCmGfLzXevPsj2Jf4Zb2ewweKsN1khdju7nL7lexxuibz1upaUpSd85Yb__jBmnE2x5aj_vSTEg16E6jM3XJTI7_bCBMxc/s320/IMG_6596.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Burslem, despite being a wee bit run down still, has some wonderful pubs and old buildings to admire. The landlords are dead engaging and interested that we've travelled all the way from Nottingham. There's a retro jukebox in one of the pubs. It's 2 plays for £1. I put on 'All Day And All of the Night' by The Kinks. Mac chooses 'Ghost in my House' by R.Dean Taylor.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's another class day out as we tick off loads of CAMRA and Heritage pubs in Hanley, Stoke, Newcastle under-Lyme and Hartshill. It gets messy in BeerHeadZ back at Nottingham Station when we clock an 8% Pentrich DIPA is available on tap.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhglgi-rdxvU54HzIYqjpenUpR_yksOa6dE8aPfp5fy_NDu48nsDoOS4KhGN0Bc28RrprXmTkp4U7UjfLJle-ZLAaxMZGUdSDr26Wr6hGocRuNXXC-T1NCBIQAS4MIckFPBuoSHdBNQJ0_vcm_kVWfKivHCc7vO8pxBcV1hpCQhwflKy1NWMNet3MlHA44/s4032/IMG_6597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhglgi-rdxvU54HzIYqjpenUpR_yksOa6dE8aPfp5fy_NDu48nsDoOS4KhGN0Bc28RrprXmTkp4U7UjfLJle-ZLAaxMZGUdSDr26Wr6hGocRuNXXC-T1NCBIQAS4MIckFPBuoSHdBNQJ0_vcm_kVWfKivHCc7vO8pxBcV1hpCQhwflKy1NWMNet3MlHA44/s320/IMG_6597.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm fresh as a daisy on Saturday morning. Bad news comes over the social media airwaves that Carlton Town's home game versus Newton Aycliffe has been hosed off. I contact Julian, a Morecambe fan, to see if he fancies the Imps v Shrimpers FA Cup 1st Round tie at Sincil Bank. He answers in the affirmative and says fellow Carlton Town fan Dean Gripton will be travelling too. I bag three tickets on the Lincoln City website.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I catch the train a 15 minute walk away at Carlton train station. The lads jump aboard at the village of Lowdham. We have to change at Newark Castle, but it does give us the opportunity of a quick pint at the Castle Barge and a go at a quiz on the longest-serving players at each Premier League Club.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrK-6s9K3EK5LSSzRqL9rcM75KEceHNrp37A9VDt0J7ZsB0hP60kcx_ruqZ4YYKhq3VD40ytZTgUXtJombvH1RNcfUU4gIrijuLFWzbR2byVkQuXKLvIMCkg4iTu3zdc11B9luIzeQBPq0UpRs23ROF5A1Iy7zfJmPSsX-6lP2knTF_I9FbxFrWarTKqQ/s4032/IMG_6657.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrK-6s9K3EK5LSSzRqL9rcM75KEceHNrp37A9VDt0J7ZsB0hP60kcx_ruqZ4YYKhq3VD40ytZTgUXtJombvH1RNcfUU4gIrijuLFWzbR2byVkQuXKLvIMCkg4iTu3zdc11B9luIzeQBPq0UpRs23ROF5A1Iy7zfJmPSsX-6lP2knTF_I9FbxFrWarTKqQ/s320/IMG_6657.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The train arrives in Lincoln Central at 12.30pm. I ask Julian if he's ever walked up Steep Hill before. He says he hasn't. I can tell that as he gasps for air halfway up before asking "are we there yet?" I'm in my second BeerHeadz pub in just over 12 hours. The lads love it. It's better than the High Street where the pubs will be packed out with football supporters.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We clocked a pie shop on our challenging walk up the hill. We dive in for a late lunch. I opt for a haslet sausage roll, a first for me, and it's bloomin' lovely too. We've spent that much time talking, drinking and eating that we arrive at the game as the teams kick off. Our seats in the stand give us a bird's eye view of proceedings.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU57n3gh1_ZKM1sZMaQV7QVY0lUl9d2_dDf9KUe9o1BHhGgWVQzRJwdeZdnsi7i4xVIBeoH0uWdzfLVlzLe90dOeFZMbOCC_OQ6doMD0NKzPTWHOXihgwZOxVZaD1QG2_I8dB75MwK0Za4wrrbqS-PIgg0w_IBrwOm-MJNWA70_EflI24fqc0cHkW1h-w/s4032/IMG_6689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU57n3gh1_ZKM1sZMaQV7QVY0lUl9d2_dDf9KUe9o1BHhGgWVQzRJwdeZdnsi7i4xVIBeoH0uWdzfLVlzLe90dOeFZMbOCC_OQ6doMD0NKzPTWHOXihgwZOxVZaD1QG2_I8dB75MwK0Za4wrrbqS-PIgg0w_IBrwOm-MJNWA70_EflI24fqc0cHkW1h-w/s320/IMG_6689.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Morecambe released their best players at the end of last season due to budget cuts. Lincoln have invested heavily in a young squad, but have been missing strikeforce pairing Ben House and Tyler Walker for most of the season. The Imps sensationally sacked Mark Kennedy a few weeks ago. It came out of the blue. I wasn't a big fan to be honest.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's nip and tuck in the early stages. The Imps take the lead through the impressive Dane, Lasse Sorensen. The Shrimpers are always in the game. They deservedly equalise shortly before half time with a soft goal from a set piece.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTNUMJVES5Lc2XvLRqXAlfzeNhD-O5xDKwYeamYUzu7nPFXGW83Jsfi9sil3D9pf_uz0WlikbVeZDI2bLfxEJzkGkG54K0USMnUK_2ueBnHfTXMT2oFmP_hCgV2gfNIJE1tbx0pGcm_aN3gxEOoGYw2FdqLa4LuVMWIxq81kEqb30OnFWNA33QArA5mc/s4032/IMG_6691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTNUMJVES5Lc2XvLRqXAlfzeNhD-O5xDKwYeamYUzu7nPFXGW83Jsfi9sil3D9pf_uz0WlikbVeZDI2bLfxEJzkGkG54K0USMnUK_2ueBnHfTXMT2oFmP_hCgV2gfNIJE1tbx0pGcm_aN3gxEOoGYw2FdqLa4LuVMWIxq81kEqb30OnFWNA33QArA5mc/s320/IMG_6691.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Morecambe take the lead with a brilliantly taken goal following a flowing move. They waste further chances to increase their lead, but Lincoln ain't going to score in a month of Saturdays.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Man of the Match: Deadletter</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Attendance: 200 (sellout at The Bodega)</div><p><br /></p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-67625306225085540432023-10-29T19:57:00.002+00:002023-10-29T20:43:14.580+00:00Gedling Miners Welfare 1-2 Loughborough Students<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaYO0x4IYLBkLSo4Gv9xtXHYKlGdY_tgwigVE8BNwi3QcXJ45uWJXRmXKoTZsM9l4OAmhxeLSBYkqV_ScQfg43ocYx1ro9CYK3otKqUgcsi2zevWHL9ziZ4W-rLWtOdSSCLoeGUgzuw5xBUZobDgN6ifjYlePNzQ_NlFoLLA6Fu6g3s-N2duW8nNBrJU/s2620/IMG-6478.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1970" data-original-width="2620" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjaYO0x4IYLBkLSo4Gv9xtXHYKlGdY_tgwigVE8BNwi3QcXJ45uWJXRmXKoTZsM9l4OAmhxeLSBYkqV_ScQfg43ocYx1ro9CYK3otKqUgcsi2zevWHL9ziZ4W-rLWtOdSSCLoeGUgzuw5xBUZobDgN6ifjYlePNzQ_NlFoLLA6Fu6g3s-N2duW8nNBrJU/s320/IMG-6478.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I wake up on Sunday morning lathered in sweat and with a banging head. I've got a high temperature too. The day is written off as I sleep a virus off in bed. I'm gutted, as I'd looked forward to writing about the previous week's happenings. Only a bowl of piping hot chicken soup can cheer me up from my man flu.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last week was a busy one folks. Tuesday evening was spent down Carlton Town's Stoke Lane ground. League leaders Belper Town were down our endz. I spent the first half standing with Dave 'Daisy' Reilly, who coached at junior level for Keyworth United in the mid noughties 'Daisy' is a casual groundhopper, as well as being a Bhoys (Celtic) supporter and closet Nottingham Forest fan - they're in the Premier League you know.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4Q84ciQxfhuHDe25Ek0L_AT0tde4x76D0Hv2bcANv4fpmYkd6ibEt87or5_qNIC2JF7ouV0MVWoqtuVGBlR_BnUyHs27kOwkAIeIM3xIvd1q-55QTeOxlYmbJsheoDLuiPc907dsyU5rvIx6az6g8a65FvUeqkj29_Rudqd1mK12k7qdVc_SbHpFs8Q/s1600/adaa0989-3c9e-4908-9828-cb94d5811847.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1127" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4Q84ciQxfhuHDe25Ek0L_AT0tde4x76D0Hv2bcANv4fpmYkd6ibEt87or5_qNIC2JF7ouV0MVWoqtuVGBlR_BnUyHs27kOwkAIeIM3xIvd1q-55QTeOxlYmbJsheoDLuiPc907dsyU5rvIx6az6g8a65FvUeqkj29_Rudqd1mK12k7qdVc_SbHpFs8Q/s320/adaa0989-3c9e-4908-9828-cb94d5811847.JPG" width="225" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Mighty Millers blow away Belper in a frantic, fast-paced first half. The visitors are lucky to be only 2-0 down at the break. I wander over to the far side of the ground to catch up with my good mate Faggsy, who is standing with Hull City fan, Malc Brown; a friend of the blog and father to Carlton Town legendary defender Dan Brown. We're all chuffed to bits with the first half display. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGsj2PT1Y4lGNyY_eBwULhSkiN8T_pGleu6ch3vR84zV6uxz2l74Heeti8DiLT_hKXiSryD0d4mZWs6u7xQ5wFQyp0HZMIwtUe6SgmoqGwB9s5cuIOx4tm21POQwiZ1Hop03k8cH9UeDC4hpRpeol0n6r1TGAyEOVzW6uEU7orsXbOJRr4GGuXb5ruDw/s2048/01b61dbf-5d80-498d-a5ac-330cd9fe34c1.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGsj2PT1Y4lGNyY_eBwULhSkiN8T_pGleu6ch3vR84zV6uxz2l74Heeti8DiLT_hKXiSryD0d4mZWs6u7xQ5wFQyp0HZMIwtUe6SgmoqGwB9s5cuIOx4tm21POQwiZ1Hop03k8cH9UeDC4hpRpeol0n6r1TGAyEOVzW6uEU7orsXbOJRr4GGuXb5ruDw/s320/01b61dbf-5d80-498d-a5ac-330cd9fe34c1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The game is much tighter in the second half. Belper pull a goal back to set up a grandstand finish. But the Millers backline are magnificent and fully deserve their victory. They'll be dancing in the streets off Carlton Hill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I rise early on Wednesday morning. I grab a coffee and a bacon sandwich at Greggs in Nottingham's Market Square. Crazy Steve picks me up just off Maid Marian way at 7.30 am. We head over south of the river Trent to the old mining town of Cotgrave, where I 'worked' at the coal mine for a couple of years in the late 80s, before Thatcher's pit closure programme.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitiBZl8RqRVngAEsVkxsuJUlnCVVHtAZZoIn6cH-nD4z2_3EGQ4LYPlQV9BGH_T_GOfJy2_69aT9D6K0xtrtTxCpfx5h-2cKOsMaeoqJYuj2PMdx_5PTnJbSBCfbU5ZpVq7IMgh-ZKJ4eK1qtHa2KExMzWxV0MDPUHqcW4-HYq4RJe4PDoExoRroKUSm4/s1024/64388558-04a8-48fb-a03c-64237f49d46d.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitiBZl8RqRVngAEsVkxsuJUlnCVVHtAZZoIn6cH-nD4z2_3EGQ4LYPlQV9BGH_T_GOfJy2_69aT9D6K0xtrtTxCpfx5h-2cKOsMaeoqJYuj2PMdx_5PTnJbSBCfbU5ZpVq7IMgh-ZKJ4eK1qtHa2KExMzWxV0MDPUHqcW4-HYq4RJe4PDoExoRroKUSm4/s320/64388558-04a8-48fb-a03c-64237f49d46d.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We jump into Cotgrave Trev's car and head down the A46 towards Leicester, where we merge onto the M1 southbound. Within a couple of hours we're parked up at Canons Park train station, close to Barnet FC's ground, in North London.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After a couple of tube trains we alight at West Brompton station. The lads, including 'Little Al', enjoy paying their respects at Victoria Cross graves and memorials. The cemetery, in Brompton, has a dozen or so VC graves. It is also the final resting place of one of my favourite actors, Brian Glover, from the cult film, Kes. Glover, a former professional wrestler, also appeared in the popular 70s sitcom Porridge. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwQqiEdm8uSOCS-VBCA5W75e1DPrA0DhlEwr6BYoB2QDywqne6A2kkkKA7I05aPKidr0_rJCW23qA_4UDfQOj7pGsQiNcQ4EVO9Xf34dGf2vgkeXuE2wLCC2OHVigUNtT9NO4Mdo7s1CYBjDMD8RMsnMj5Zzp4oVKvQNvVgWVo-8wIvzJx5zXFveQWGA/s4032/IMG-6095.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwQqiEdm8uSOCS-VBCA5W75e1DPrA0DhlEwr6BYoB2QDywqne6A2kkkKA7I05aPKidr0_rJCW23qA_4UDfQOj7pGsQiNcQ4EVO9Xf34dGf2vgkeXuE2wLCC2OHVigUNtT9NO4Mdo7s1CYBjDMD8RMsnMj5Zzp4oVKvQNvVgWVo-8wIvzJx5zXFveQWGA/s320/IMG-6095.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Other graves in the cemetery that we visit include: British political activist Emmeline Pankhurst, who organised the UK suffragette movement, journalist and author Bernard Leven and John Wisden, cricketer and author, who launched the Wisden Cricketers' Almanack back in 1864.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a fantastic day out, as we tick off six CAMRA Heritage pubs in Covent Garden, Soho and Fitzrovia area of London. We polish off a meal at a Turkish restaurant, a stone's throw away from where the car is parked. On the way home we check our diaries and book in another trip for late January. I love my days out with these guys and Cotgrave Trev, a Posh fan (the football club and not Beckham's wife) is a legend for volunteering to drive.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OV00WcBBBepfQNHjU9l8HGYQ781qrlDff6TRop9okgfMWPAMGQNJfYcPaBssvvObMN_8t-1_XfX2f46uiFwGVpZ1tGBukdCyDpmFvCjyWHFOvqYRDdfc9PLls0KOJiGPZWO6GIt9O0hhown9eDQedbw5BkdoSa_dEufnYl65R6aYmVtDQisOWZxlliw/s4032/IMG-6181.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OV00WcBBBepfQNHjU9l8HGYQ781qrlDff6TRop9okgfMWPAMGQNJfYcPaBssvvObMN_8t-1_XfX2f46uiFwGVpZ1tGBukdCyDpmFvCjyWHFOvqYRDdfc9PLls0KOJiGPZWO6GIt9O0hhown9eDQedbw5BkdoSa_dEufnYl65R6aYmVtDQisOWZxlliw/s320/IMG-6181.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm fagged out on Friday, but have already committed to a gig with Tony Mac at the Rescue Rooms in Nottingham. Ms Moon and I have some lunch at our new favourite haunt, Delilah, on Victoria Street. I note, for future reference, that the deli also sells bottles of Magpie Brewery beer and cans of Neon Raptor. I love it when a company has a partnership with another from our great city.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Storm Babet is coming through Nottingham today. I wander through the train station and gaze at the electronic timetable, as a number of trains are cancelled or delayed. Stranded passengers scratch their heads or express dismay. Tony Mac has the journey from hell as he finally tips up from Hucknall, a town submerged in flood water.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's the usual bat around the backstreets, alleys and ginnels of Nottingham. We arrive at Rescue Rooms just shy of 8.30 pm. Shouty, issues-based left wing collective, Benefits, from up in the 'Northern Powerhouse' of Middlesbrough are centre-stage. Mac and I have watched them on seven occasions now. They're on top form despite some glitches in the early stages of the set.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEity0ODOPXeHtkobN-lMmne8RyvBXTrOfqlMLozlo6nFht-JNfJAtyT0ADM_vddXiJrBDxclAtppuyWYzAcnjlJe1fXEW5C3AsuSgny6NmuvHVdhtKcm5OnrZ3Gt3edVaEifAr7vCWbGSCqoKOBWW2dZylFpTlQWA3F9tSTw9LL4vHAccHWFH4Twe8Rb0o/s4032/IMG-6202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEity0ODOPXeHtkobN-lMmne8RyvBXTrOfqlMLozlo6nFht-JNfJAtyT0ADM_vddXiJrBDxclAtppuyWYzAcnjlJe1fXEW5C3AsuSgny6NmuvHVdhtKcm5OnrZ3Gt3edVaEifAr7vCWbGSCqoKOBWW2dZylFpTlQWA3F9tSTw9LL4vHAccHWFH4Twe8Rb0o/s320/IMG-6202.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">After an early start and seven hour shift at the shop with MSR newsagent stalwart Dave 'Chippy' Fryer, I make my way down to Carlton Town's clash with Jamie Vardy's former club, Stocksbridge Steels, who are from South Yorkshire.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Casually Dan is playing his set as I poke my head in the clubhouse. The deadlock is yet to be broken at the break. The Millers are lacking the fluidity and energy that were in evidence on Tuesday evening. I stand behind the goal in the second half, with the cast of characters that I've introduced to this blog in the last 18 months. They always put a smile on my face and make me feel warm and happy.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOaPTlVn0TRawyXx-uUpRgosH-uuv01FZe6CHq1Zov7fBC0iwwPuHPVMRZ5V1PiYCW3T-Fng-M-efszTL4JETe88tqDTMfRj7B2mTN4oPMIHMdkUfzuG_ew3gjc5bETR-Bs-0yzqMblDuhC3jwM7PzPj-UMEP-TZPOHx7COeafvkBuDBg9UX1AwhoePk/s4032/IMG-6205.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOaPTlVn0TRawyXx-uUpRgosH-uuv01FZe6CHq1Zov7fBC0iwwPuHPVMRZ5V1PiYCW3T-Fng-M-efszTL4JETe88tqDTMfRj7B2mTN4oPMIHMdkUfzuG_ew3gjc5bETR-Bs-0yzqMblDuhC3jwM7PzPj-UMEP-TZPOHx7COeafvkBuDBg9UX1AwhoePk/s320/IMG-6205.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Blog sensation, Edward, has rocked up today after mysteriously missing one of the great nights on Tuesday evening. He's looking fresh after a sharp haircut by 'Alison' at Hairline up on Mapperley Tops. We've both been in massive trouble on the fans' WhatsApp group for discussing soap operas, cricket and Strictly Come Dancing. I've recently returned to the group following a 14 day ban dished out by 'Chief Wiggum' and 'Herr Harlow' for discussing Angela Rippon's five star performance on Strictly. Edward came out in solidarity.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The news isn't all good. Malc's lad, Dan Brown, doesn't emerge from the dressing room for the second half due to a niggling knee injury, which may need an MRI scan to assess the damage. It ends a run of 71 consecutive games for Dan, who will be sorely missed until his return. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We enjoy some banter, fun and laughter as on the pitch the young Millers are well schooled by an experienced Stocksbridge team, who run out 2-0 winners. It doesn't dampen my evening or affect my mood, as I sink a couple of pints with Faggsy in the wonderful Old Volunteer watering hole on Burton Road, a five minute walk away from Chez Palms. I am sad to hear that Manchester United great, Sir Bobby Charlton, passed away earlier today.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpMl3LAURd4krXq0FPYGbBvU7I46SMvIaOT2OFunJjkG-tjxYxkMQx773VDC23c4_6JuCgBkgNRwZKwQPQFGrO3a90fXHAGQ0ZwxIPW_pL2_alpU2FqhCmoY3bMm5eUN22qKtlBDkJhrhuhpqCpu_F9uagqUjWm1pFSX-zJIzyXNksDBQrl8_IBWTOHo/s4032/IMG-6393.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpMl3LAURd4krXq0FPYGbBvU7I46SMvIaOT2OFunJjkG-tjxYxkMQx773VDC23c4_6JuCgBkgNRwZKwQPQFGrO3a90fXHAGQ0ZwxIPW_pL2_alpU2FqhCmoY3bMm5eUN22qKtlBDkJhrhuhpqCpu_F9uagqUjWm1pFSX-zJIzyXNksDBQrl8_IBWTOHo/s320/IMG-6393.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">This week has been a quiet one as I recover from the lurgy. I work for three days on the bounce. Carlton Town's home game versus Stockton Town, scheduled for Tuesday evening, is called off at lunchtime, as the floods send the water table sky high. It's a blessing in disguise for Sticky Palms as I rest up and get ready for a big day out on Friday.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm sat on the 8.13 train to London St Pancras with Friday Club members Matt Limon and Tony Mac. The plan, later, is to meet up with 'Chopper Harris' and Steve Ackerman - my best friend from school. We have the misfortune to have breakfast at a place called the Betjeman Arms. Matt sends a flat beer back as we wait over 40 minutes for a full English. The place isn't exactly bustling with folk.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CzmhJ87d6j9fFHYp_dF1aMevs6msgTL8LgLrCIVAFVdLjVnnXytWxcMBMjyIbjslzxh0p-rcHsOsmSy4qUzmi21TkjmtFH7COTuT2-PLT06tU3txfdnwBgxZO5TyXR37yYiCWIrw_cu60XKzv83NTZKvCg4bqX-2CI7WXIrHW9fJaR9iZgvxJM8ospw/s4032/IMG-6401.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CzmhJ87d6j9fFHYp_dF1aMevs6msgTL8LgLrCIVAFVdLjVnnXytWxcMBMjyIbjslzxh0p-rcHsOsmSy4qUzmi21TkjmtFH7COTuT2-PLT06tU3txfdnwBgxZO5TyXR37yYiCWIrw_cu60XKzv83NTZKvCg4bqX-2CI7WXIrHW9fJaR9iZgvxJM8ospw/s320/IMG-6401.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We have a blast as we dodge a few squally showers, whilst walking around Waterloo, Southwark and Borough Market. The star of the show is The George. You stand in a courtyard and get served in a hatch. It has two balconies that houses noisy weekend revellers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're a man down as Tony Mac does a Zorro at the Skinner Arms. I'm in my pit at midnight, but back up at 4 am to mark the papers up at the shop. I grab an hour on my return home before jumping into an Uber taxi that takes me up to Plains Rd for my fourth visit of the season.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGMl_qt5DKFYkFFQ8a9aEwo8PxGA6Xk4R05cY7EjVJhoQz2BZnN6UYHj4P6voV2dktktc7VYXUh85bTsrt495MRpjzFHT31fqEsVN6S4Vw3iG-4LYX2rtNG84Zre6b-kIU6lYo6RQD2Wo_zArtrLBXoAijOe1bLtqJa7DOSaL3TazaOku6MwXQYOpGMw/s1286/IMG-6464.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1286" data-original-width="965" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGMl_qt5DKFYkFFQ8a9aEwo8PxGA6Xk4R05cY7EjVJhoQz2BZnN6UYHj4P6voV2dktktc7VYXUh85bTsrt495MRpjzFHT31fqEsVN6S4Vw3iG-4LYX2rtNG84Zre6b-kIU6lYo6RQD2Wo_zArtrLBXoAijOe1bLtqJa7DOSaL3TazaOku6MwXQYOpGMw/s320/IMG-6464.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon comes to the rescue on the food front. She rocks up with a haslet cob and a caramel doughnut from Birds. I bump into 'Ticknall Terry' a big Students fan and also a keen watcher of 2nd XI and local cricket. I enjoy spending time with Terry when we watch Notts 2nds at Lady Bay Sports Ground.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfAb1Bh8ghb6aoE_HUsCPfsmtbofieTSJw3F2_Q7e75YjtWG0SdBCtgar8P6aZbP74SN_e0rdbbBJG2HoCt1H1yWs-lta1-Wq53tcUjs39SnOh2iHaWWtgzIl-RXTKHfufneTvnNYxVdMsRPjMq2M_sp2Uxp6F-N-WAMLat9zbi7aSOKY1cdxKUDsPGw/s4032/IMG-6437.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfAb1Bh8ghb6aoE_HUsCPfsmtbofieTSJw3F2_Q7e75YjtWG0SdBCtgar8P6aZbP74SN_e0rdbbBJG2HoCt1H1yWs-lta1-Wq53tcUjs39SnOh2iHaWWtgzIl-RXTKHfufneTvnNYxVdMsRPjMq2M_sp2Uxp6F-N-WAMLat9zbi7aSOKY1cdxKUDsPGw/s320/IMG-6437.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Students are 2-0 up and strolling to victory. The second goal came during a 10 minute sin bin for Miners' skipper Josh Thornton. They pull a goal back with a brilliant finish from Kieran Harrison. The stage is set for a grand finale finish. Striker Courtnay Hastings ruins the day by getting sent off after receiving a Red card for abusing the referee.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I manage to grab a chat with Chris Widdowson who I met on twitter. We grew up together just a mile apart and yet only met one another a few weeks ago. He's a keen craft ale enthusiast and a Non League fan too. It's been another great game and a lovely afternoon out. I can't 'arf pick 'em.</div><p></p><p>Man of the Match: Tony Mac</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-6378442727801340222023-10-15T20:18:00.000+01:002023-10-15T20:18:39.758+01:00CD Marino 0-1 UD Tamaraceite<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRap66BLC5cTabosw5qWp7dBFNUKhXYhx925aIPEgmHP_C7GV0z2BtuYCX1czRkePTGxB3n7TvOssR4DuQ7VMZEihoC7ygKNf7Hr4pXvuJiT9aj2cff7vJGMe9w6BX4uN854KqktOtqjCpcmB1vrYmd7xSh5DVVw7wKtv-pnlC76FXcExKzyjd9hcAnYU/s1440/IMG-5946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1440" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRap66BLC5cTabosw5qWp7dBFNUKhXYhx925aIPEgmHP_C7GV0z2BtuYCX1czRkePTGxB3n7TvOssR4DuQ7VMZEihoC7ygKNf7Hr4pXvuJiT9aj2cff7vJGMe9w6BX4uN854KqktOtqjCpcmB1vrYmd7xSh5DVVw7wKtv-pnlC76FXcExKzyjd9hcAnYU/s320/IMG-5946.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Friday 6th October and I'm in a car with Ms Moon, who is driving down London Road, Nottingham, in rush-hour traffic. Notts County's Meadow Lane ground is to our left. The Magpies have played there since the ground opened in 1910. I walked to 'The Lane' with Faggsy a few evenings ago for the Pies' League Two clash with Swindon Town. It was undoubtedly the best game of football I've seen this season; played at breakneck speed.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The show put on by Notts in the first 45 minutes was breathtaking and jaw-dropping. They blew away the visitors, or so it seemed, with three goals before the break. One, a deft chip over the 'keeper by the impressive David McGoldrick. The second was a penalty by Macaulay Langstaff - his 50th goal for the club. The third was fired home at the back stick with a first time volley by former Arsenal and Morecambe midfielder Dan Crowley.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8K7rAlUd54wA9fkGZCUA1z2IEexQ_xNvITHbWRpBZSpkrx-pUj17g3tttnWhlHvJHo8ggEXxUc8R5NdiVBQiw3-3nJnZFh5ESkqWbuLXy2RtNA7kNv0HmajkQZuXO6gNSnoisk3hlIEj7u17Ojszq3pYL8sLFr6UizQ_4Qel4Ge-PE9exoaHuswu3ndY/s400/IMG-6040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="400" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8K7rAlUd54wA9fkGZCUA1z2IEexQ_xNvITHbWRpBZSpkrx-pUj17g3tttnWhlHvJHo8ggEXxUc8R5NdiVBQiw3-3nJnZFh5ESkqWbuLXy2RtNA7kNv0HmajkQZuXO6gNSnoisk3hlIEj7u17Ojszq3pYL8sLFr6UizQ_4Qel4Ge-PE9exoaHuswu3ndY/s320/IMG-6040.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I said to 'Our Joe' on socials at the break (he was sitting in the same stand) that Swindon's left wing back would be hooked - and so he was, as well as former Southampton and QPR striker Charlie Austin. The visitors pegged a goal back but continued to fluff their lines in front of goal on several occasions. Notts County ran out worthy winners. There was no time for a post-match beverage with Faggsy after the match, as us Media lads had an early start in the morning.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I say goodbye to Ms Moon in the car park of Castle Rock's Embankment pub. I sit in the Dispensary, called so because it was one of Jesse Boot's (the chemist) first ever pharmacies, that opened in 1907. It's a beautiful Grade II listed building that has Chesterfield leather armchairs dotted around the bar area. It's real ale and craft ale heaven.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGX-1Q5_as1o2S10bopFCa-GB019fLeZHvgsri6CONgREseFR7CKWQRgRUqVvnYSCHq6vUwb5rmNF8oI8BTPCu3TrrpVM4WFTl8KifWZw7qAejTNlf8RJzNwMZwlz5sm8Vx2Xpt1nIsvLsNuNcYJM-bKNU03aW-uY44Hs61TS8xo-aAuQYiYJJH4ktHyw/s984/IMG-0913.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="984" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGX-1Q5_as1o2S10bopFCa-GB019fLeZHvgsri6CONgREseFR7CKWQRgRUqVvnYSCHq6vUwb5rmNF8oI8BTPCu3TrrpVM4WFTl8KifWZw7qAejTNlf8RJzNwMZwlz5sm8Vx2Xpt1nIsvLsNuNcYJM-bKNU03aW-uY44Hs61TS8xo-aAuQYiYJJH4ktHyw/s320/IMG-0913.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I settle down in my chair as I quaff a pint of Friday Night, a New Zealand pale ale from the Magpie stable, that's brewed across the road in the Cattle Market area of town. I peer out of the window towards Trent Bridge where I notice a Ford Mondeo hurtling down the inside lane. The car driver takes a left hand turn into the pub car park. Its driver comes bursting through the door, roaring with laughter before shouting "Evening Hopper."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's the 'Big Man' (Bish). It's a while since we've seen one another. Tea's on me. He mops up a rump steak and chips in no time. The reason for our rendezvous is that we have an early start in the morning - we're spending a week in Tenerife, the largest of the Canary Islands. We settle in for the evening, watching an excellent game of football between Birmingham City and WBA, before lights out and an early night.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimAk5WXQe8M2TKPgeDEERDF0yIBTH4gCCe_MBD3_uLjozf6uAA_d5m5DOhuaXFZGyoKEDt5Dn8gkdAN63ZGFFjc7BFzBznL7bcllJnuni5NDTVvS-hxqsJ1oR8XaMQoaLgavA3qlysJvJsY24heVz8bp0yxxiyrXv2U6BO1aP-KhCIVWEF9Q6vLnrNw8/s4032/IMG-5994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjimAk5WXQe8M2TKPgeDEERDF0yIBTH4gCCe_MBD3_uLjozf6uAA_d5m5DOhuaXFZGyoKEDt5Dn8gkdAN63ZGFFjc7BFzBznL7bcllJnuni5NDTVvS-hxqsJ1oR8XaMQoaLgavA3qlysJvJsY24heVz8bp0yxxiyrXv2U6BO1aP-KhCIVWEF9Q6vLnrNw8/s320/IMG-5994.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Some headlights appear at the top of Spinney Road, in the village of Keyworth, at just shy of 5 am on Saturday morning. I'm usually marking newspapers up at this time of day. 'Chopper Harris' throws our luggage into the boot of his car.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Seven hours later Ryanair flight number FR3152 taxis the runway at Tenerife South airport. We breeze through passport control and pick up Chopper's luggage which has already appeared on the baggage carousel. The resort of Los Cristianos is a short drive away. We're stopping at a three bedroomed apartment on the Jardines de Canarios 'complex' close to the beach and local market. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7z0HeMktuU5KDmD8FnDsDubS2YAxmZOdvhv3cQAP0wGMP7kgSWH3mYvPaYg-aJgKM3b4rADnxX3Xidd0Jb5Ik6nYbeYQaOz4NyRv1yu56H7Zder1J9YK_xnLG0H38tXYoUWa3_t7g3r3WqcyhIdshg97_oofFIx6B3f2Q-XVuveHRFBIg_7tB_9dFzc/s1024/ec8c6ab2-2b87-40ac-9de4-2dc36f53c8d6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7z0HeMktuU5KDmD8FnDsDubS2YAxmZOdvhv3cQAP0wGMP7kgSWH3mYvPaYg-aJgKM3b4rADnxX3Xidd0Jb5Ik6nYbeYQaOz4NyRv1yu56H7Zder1J9YK_xnLG0H38tXYoUWa3_t7g3r3WqcyhIdshg97_oofFIx6B3f2Q-XVuveHRFBIg_7tB_9dFzc/s320/ec8c6ab2-2b87-40ac-9de4-2dc36f53c8d6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Like most folk we tend to go for it on the first night. The three of us came for 9 nights last November during the World Cup in Qatar. Memories of England wins versus Wales and Senegal are blurry and faded. We have a spot of tea at a refurbished bar at the back of Los Cris' called Chicago's - it was previously named Manhattan's Cocktail Lounge before a revamp under new ownership.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Crystal Palace v Nottingham Forest is the 5.30 pm kick off. It's as dull as dishwater folks. Missed opportunities see Forest fans feeling a wee bit disappointed that it's only one point they will be taking back north up the M1. I'm spitting feathers that the game ends 0-0 - as I don't do them folks. If Hodgson's Palace were playing in my back garden I'd shut the curtains.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHnefpmUrmt-MVYMLuNI6jMgzMCRZQjbfC06XcVd-2tupItelBBghGY482vPycVhN4ZSOvatuGvV05Anv7IXWdd9lsHnNfmv9y8UWtMw483vRXcZC1HZh9gka4uAicAQ6cv7E9qh5SewTtbhZeQL-_x7Ys_bZKYuh199Af5mx4ccjXTH9RiYBRcINkEY/s1024/91f063ac-5960-4cf9-9594-e136f8b19fa6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHnefpmUrmt-MVYMLuNI6jMgzMCRZQjbfC06XcVd-2tupItelBBghGY482vPycVhN4ZSOvatuGvV05Anv7IXWdd9lsHnNfmv9y8UWtMw483vRXcZC1HZh9gka4uAicAQ6cv7E9qh5SewTtbhZeQL-_x7Ys_bZKYuh199Af5mx4ccjXTH9RiYBRcINkEY/s320/91f063ac-5960-4cf9-9594-e136f8b19fa6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">'The Reef' has been experiencing some extreme weather of late. Temperatures reached the late 30's in the few days before our arrival. It's already hit 35 degrees Celsius as the Big Man and I wander towards the resort of Playa de las Americas where Wales fans, in their daft bucket hats, had a dust up with the Three Lions lads during the World Cup.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're both gasping for air as we both part with 8 Euros each at the Estadio Antonio Dominguez Alfonso ticket office, home to the mighty CD Marino who play in Division 13 of the Canary Islands League. It's a multi-purpose stadium at the back end of 'Playas' across the road from the KN Columbus Hotel - a crowd favourite of the Big Man's.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi5HrcGDUTqySCBW94ejGuo0z6HkvxDYVor8Pf5pr5y24Y2-QDwQcnFC-lBZrmglb9zssIPb_jU5JQEWnl9AjmRRDoFkNTLxYPNjQcX7C1P_BSdsAjnpL6-bih9QtuexxxMQ7kQZUfmFLjdSJXxB-qXCR_zZ1pivEDzBWAuYR0Nouiwvg0LzdelvZMmU/s1024/8506178f-0a7a-4d5e-9c0f-bd4ae8b46536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqi5HrcGDUTqySCBW94ejGuo0z6HkvxDYVor8Pf5pr5y24Y2-QDwQcnFC-lBZrmglb9zssIPb_jU5JQEWnl9AjmRRDoFkNTLxYPNjQcX7C1P_BSdsAjnpL6-bih9QtuexxxMQ7kQZUfmFLjdSJXxB-qXCR_zZ1pivEDzBWAuYR0Nouiwvg0LzdelvZMmU/s320/8506178f-0a7a-4d5e-9c0f-bd4ae8b46536.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I normally partake in a couple of pints of the local beer at the game. Such is the heat and humidity, that it would be foolish to do so today. Added to the tricky conditions is a strong wind too. The standard ain't the best - probably equivalent to Step 5 in the English U.K. Pyramid system. The Tarmac running track plus my dodgy 'mince pie' means you need a pair of binoculars to gain a decent view.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The game is the usual Spanish comedy gold. The Marino 9 jacket hits a toe-stubber of a penalty at the visiting 'keeper. UD Tamaraceite, from Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, take all three points following some sloppy defending by Marino. I spot later in the day that 10 men CD Tenerife won 2-1 in the Segunda League. They currently top the table and could be playing the likes of Real Madrid and Barcelona if their good form continues. I took the lads up to Santa Cruz last season to watch CD Tenerife. Unfortunately we were all deathly white and nursing the worst hangovers known to man following the 3-0 demolition of Wales the night before. Not a drop of alcohol passed our lips that day - a first for 'Chopper Harris.'</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhS2CEphPyxBWUqe8L8ElGD3-LyyDyf765TGtQM2Psoi3h0ImnFmcXIFIaDmO-BA15IuSMDl2vlKiq618JDa1CQ7_Vw6zZpLo9_qGCmNJsItUj1O1mJKJ_wnZWNqZ87a8m0brMtqJuZZlULrgH1yP6OVNOW6ta9vW2qBx8zP3paOE6f1Tu7GNX7URBck/s4032/IMG-5931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhS2CEphPyxBWUqe8L8ElGD3-LyyDyf765TGtQM2Psoi3h0ImnFmcXIFIaDmO-BA15IuSMDl2vlKiq618JDa1CQ7_Vw6zZpLo9_qGCmNJsItUj1O1mJKJ_wnZWNqZ87a8m0brMtqJuZZlULrgH1yP6OVNOW6ta9vW2qBx8zP3paOE6f1Tu7GNX7URBck/s320/IMG-5931.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The whole of Monday is spent on a sun-lounger at the local beach following a hearty breakfast at The Vault, which not only plays cool indie tunes, but also has a well stocked craft beer fridge. I've brought a couple of books with me, one of which is called 'The Full English' written by the esteemed travel writer and broadcaster Stuart Maconie. The author re-enacts the 1933 book, An English Journey written by Bradford author J.B.Priestley. I get so enthralled with Maconie's own journey that I end up getting sun-burnt on my chest despite sitting under an umbrella for most of the day - I told you it was hot.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The following day 'Chopper' and I wander 6 miles up the coast, walking up and over Costa Adeje and onto the harbour village of La Caleta. We sit in a restaurant, with the sun glistening on the Atlantic Ocean, whilst sharing three plates of tapas and a carafe of wine. It's approaching 38 degrees as we jump into a taxi after lunch. Chopper and I laugh at the irony, in the cab, with the air con blasting out, as the radio DJ plays David Essex's 1983 hit 'A Winter's Tale.'</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_F6kDZhwpx9F807dS3SqPEkXn8uRlCy0RofPytt0HdvaNnFrsrzmmPl8ZjtJKKnTZ3q0-rkiRQMquvnKKrPgD8vOnojADdXaz01HK9gzcXRRgx-o8QUpfW0zEmqf2DC9Pmz0GKuu6IJWHDbIJEj6-nPxjhZB1Srnlyc-dRW5VGnMUcnlsy5hMu4CxmYc/s1024/5fcbae96-7889-48e7-9046-a3f6eed90bbd.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_F6kDZhwpx9F807dS3SqPEkXn8uRlCy0RofPytt0HdvaNnFrsrzmmPl8ZjtJKKnTZ3q0-rkiRQMquvnKKrPgD8vOnojADdXaz01HK9gzcXRRgx-o8QUpfW0zEmqf2DC9Pmz0GKuu6IJWHDbIJEj6-nPxjhZB1Srnlyc-dRW5VGnMUcnlsy5hMu4CxmYc/s320/5fcbae96-7889-48e7-9046-a3f6eed90bbd.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday evening and we're sat in Taylor's Sports Bar at the back of Los Cris. The referee is blowing his whistle for kick-off in Seville, as Spain play Scotland in a European Championship qualifier. The place is mobbed out with nervous, twitchy Scots. They currently top the group with a 100% record. It all ends in tears when a Scott McTominay 'goal' is ruled out after a VAR check. Spain score two late goals to break some hearts and keep the group alive.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcwQfigToLfvcgj_f3CB8QUMIvUqSUxa1pFNlbOZcbCwDC9kiOUqPnHmSDrMuueuWdDi8wqvZnGi3OD_bVgiIccMBp1qqhVTsv8i2tbHurB_5NAatJRTEEaRlUmmRXbX2qhoCWIA-GREyn2zpXJXSxXgiAz1BdTsfuvJVTB9sftCk2J9vMEXseVt8D78/s1600/0816d796-3d37-4ad3-b1b1-727449668014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcwQfigToLfvcgj_f3CB8QUMIvUqSUxa1pFNlbOZcbCwDC9kiOUqPnHmSDrMuueuWdDi8wqvZnGi3OD_bVgiIccMBp1qqhVTsv8i2tbHurB_5NAatJRTEEaRlUmmRXbX2qhoCWIA-GREyn2zpXJXSxXgiAz1BdTsfuvJVTB9sftCk2J9vMEXseVt8D78/s320/0816d796-3d37-4ad3-b1b1-727449668014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The holiday comes to an end. We've enjoyed some great meals at Restaurante Fortuna, Mint of India and Tai-Pan - all recommended if you are ever holidaying in Tenerife. There have been a few comedy moments with the Big Man missing a night out after overlaying due to a lunchtime vodka binge. The lads made it out to The Dubliner (I didn't). As I approach my 60th birthday I mak e the sensible decision (boring) to retire to the Big Ben pub, adjacent to our complex, to read my book. How times have changed from 5 years ago when I have no recollection of leaving The Dubliner after a Super Sunday session. </div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">I can't 'arf pick 'em.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Attendance: 3</p><p style="text-align: left;">Men of the Match: Big Man and 'Chopper Harris.' </p><p> </p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-65331606662295210302023-10-01T19:53:00.005+01:002023-10-01T21:44:39.846+01:00Gedling Miners Welfare 1-2 Bourne Town<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhhQiRCi98o1gI7DnVKFmidMGUM6spNDG56dzt41LQlkoWbCLBYU70YNFV9mqVuP7qIu-IhBl46HxhTHRloyfdFki_UFOvD-1A-PR0z00WrvP6NJqhP8gOX4U-OitwbhwzhjSTVVtks8j51su73Dm3Mxn15eUKR-NQ3_4NgplO0jyP5o0r6YRgrtbXZQ/s1080/IMG-5647.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhhQiRCi98o1gI7DnVKFmidMGUM6spNDG56dzt41LQlkoWbCLBYU70YNFV9mqVuP7qIu-IhBl46HxhTHRloyfdFki_UFOvD-1A-PR0z00WrvP6NJqhP8gOX4U-OitwbhwzhjSTVVtks8j51su73Dm3Mxn15eUKR-NQ3_4NgplO0jyP5o0r6YRgrtbXZQ/s320/IMG-5647.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm strolling up Plain Roads towards Mapperley Tops. I wear a broad smile on my face, as I think back to just five minutes ago, when a Kieran 'Kizza' Harrison wonder strike, from 60 yards out, put Gedling Miners Welfare into the next round of the FA Vase.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I sit on a settee in the cosy Bread and Bitter pub, and quaff a delicious pint of 'Golden Fields of Green' from Pentrich Brewing Co, based in Amber Valley, Derbyshire. I engage in some small talk with a young guy sitting next to me. He's babysitting a British Bulldog, who is salivating over a bag of pork scratchings that are sat in the palm of my hand.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8Tdl-SwDu4gtXGSv5CbPVC44_ieW2UuWB1ADRzZK8f98UWSWYwiHTBFZ32a4zkynV3m_xtQR0URqcRl1dlOO2biNKkxqO1wTPPZYhpWeN4A-FPW2gnf6nC5DNeFYn0Zgx9wF3z7GrimVnd2Q6fzHnejbulYhMEoWGiiwX7nAt-AJJ1AAJb13uVHe1k4/s800/IMG-5741.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8Tdl-SwDu4gtXGSv5CbPVC44_ieW2UuWB1ADRzZK8f98UWSWYwiHTBFZ32a4zkynV3m_xtQR0URqcRl1dlOO2biNKkxqO1wTPPZYhpWeN4A-FPW2gnf6nC5DNeFYn0Zgx9wF3z7GrimVnd2Q6fzHnejbulYhMEoWGiiwX7nAt-AJJ1AAJb13uVHe1k4/s320/IMG-5741.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The lad I'm chatting to originates from West Bridgford, but now lives in London. Turns out he's a music producer who goes by the name of 'Son of Philip.' He has had his music showcased on 6 Music's Mary Anne Hobbs show. He also lets it slip that he is going on the road with the 80s synth-pop band Blancmange. You may remember their hit 'Living on the Ceiling' or the brilliant cover version of Abba's 'The Day Before You Came.'</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I arrive home in time to catch Ms Moon watching Season 19 of Strictly Come Dancing. Former BBC newsreader Angela Rippon looks light on her feet. I confess to Ms Moon that I had a crush on Rippon as a teenager. I'm banished to the kitchen and told to get the supper on.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHebdyYpCYE6lNkr_KYqDb9JyjNZWKlV1psha9yrkaoAjQ6BH4K-T2l0GdgHLsmFFX-f0V8n4ekGf0U1ScbTzqDfzSdEmeev08SIOU7n4u_yulnoBx4aIZvz4PNoMz0JQMpph3yjrrhqAI4-mUcqZ7TUdRq9pxxYuB37b5cI6nMmzbS7WpxU24Kj5JHvQ/s769/IMG-5534.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="769" data-original-width="615" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHebdyYpCYE6lNkr_KYqDb9JyjNZWKlV1psha9yrkaoAjQ6BH4K-T2l0GdgHLsmFFX-f0V8n4ekGf0U1ScbTzqDfzSdEmeev08SIOU7n4u_yulnoBx4aIZvz4PNoMz0JQMpph3yjrrhqAI4-mUcqZ7TUdRq9pxxYuB37b5cI6nMmzbS7WpxU24Kj5JHvQ/s320/IMG-5534.WEBP" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I laze around for most of the day on Sunday. I can't be tempted out of my armchair by an advert on the BeerHeadZ facebook page, saying they have just put on a 15% IPA beer called Ladon from Tartarus. That boozy 'Dirty Leeds' bad boy would have seen an early finish to the day for Sticky Palms.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tuesday evening is spent once again at Gedling Miners Welfare. Clifton All Whites are tonight's visitors. It's a club that I have a strong affinity with. I see a little bald fellow picking up some bibs and cones after finishing off a drill. It's blog legend James 'Tosh' Turner. We enjoy a catch up before he races to the dressing room for the pre-match talk.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYmCmnYgMsBMD2amXP45wVZ_4ShLrnRRjpQbZin8o2MNn8H777GPnda-A_8D1rQ24P0r8IEQplcFNIzZrlydxx5MhHFnM7_k3_Awz4wjUCXVjGS8rvP8jehdsdM8Ao81dPIJJ9yo6yRfGt4HufV76JaE99AeAiUqZog6N32Jss2iLAgWPzCHPGZncoY0/s1792/IMG-5535.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1792" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYmCmnYgMsBMD2amXP45wVZ_4ShLrnRRjpQbZin8o2MNn8H777GPnda-A_8D1rQ24P0r8IEQplcFNIzZrlydxx5MhHFnM7_k3_Awz4wjUCXVjGS8rvP8jehdsdM8Ao81dPIJJ9yo6yRfGt4HufV76JaE99AeAiUqZog6N32Jss2iLAgWPzCHPGZncoY0/s320/IMG-5535.PNG" width="148" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I stand with Faggsy, 'Murph' and Steve Mack as the Clifton young guns give Gedling the runaround. To a man they are magnificent and very pleasing on the eye, The final scoreline of 4-1 in the visitors favour flatters the Miners. They have been well and truly dusted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Wednesday morning and I'm already up and over Carlton Hill at just gone 9 am. I loiter on the corner of Lancaster Road as I wait for Faggsy. We walk a further 3 miles through the eastern side of the city which is undergoing huge regeneration. We drop onto the canal which runs adjacent to the London Road with its noisy traffic.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ5bkbuHJrba5LvryZTlnfUDpkXfg9TgEn4g6Su-Gpd9Q14hyRiLGnNgBypZixz9j6-MH6qjBaxxDsCXGtrJvODngLx6C7F7950-G-ti811e1sbIDd_aUSjB2yHjVFM02uMLbKYLwyjW_IjMpxGBH94Z0ZXMLYsoTtzkr2oxbcKrhv32xaPUkXYul0O6Y/s2048/IMG-5623.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="2048" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ5bkbuHJrba5LvryZTlnfUDpkXfg9TgEn4g6Su-Gpd9Q14hyRiLGnNgBypZixz9j6-MH6qjBaxxDsCXGtrJvODngLx6C7F7950-G-ti811e1sbIDd_aUSjB2yHjVFM02uMLbKYLwyjW_IjMpxGBH94Z0ZXMLYsoTtzkr2oxbcKrhv32xaPUkXYul0O6Y/s320/IMG-5623.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Day 2 of a four day County Championship fixture between Nottinghamshire and Middlesex. Yesterday's play was rain affected. I was working at the shop, so was unable to attend. We sit behind the bowler's arm in the Lower Radcliffe Road End. Notts County fans 'Kimberley Al', 'Tomo' and 'Seadog Paul' are sat with us.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I stroll across the road at lunchtime to grab a roll from Mrs Bunns Cob Emporium. I sit in the West Bridgford War Memorial Garden. It's serene and tranquil. The peace and quiet is shattered by the arrival of 'Crazy Steve' whose breaking news includes zero stock levels of oxtail soup and haslet at Mrs Bunns.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnGx5F8bwrG3vIEUJE6kWzF7Lzb3Pz4mEGY9_GN1eXBpfmNWjP9Q-SRchhTZmiRg707eZV6M8ke0hu_ybSNhhYk-tZe4aZG-W1o4E8CboYjGzBRBP3h8msxTuhdjvSK45c1UxCEIdBKYqrrYM5QoCjrPjPMPYV8yIbfz3osKLZsTT5ZAuQI9y_h4si3YE/s4032/IMG-5622.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnGx5F8bwrG3vIEUJE6kWzF7Lzb3Pz4mEGY9_GN1eXBpfmNWjP9Q-SRchhTZmiRg707eZV6M8ke0hu_ybSNhhYk-tZe4aZG-W1o4E8CboYjGzBRBP3h8msxTuhdjvSK45c1UxCEIdBKYqrrYM5QoCjrPjPMPYV8yIbfz3osKLZsTT5ZAuQI9y_h4si3YE/s320/IMG-5622.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Middlesex are all out for 366. There's a presentation at tea for Notts stalwarts Samit Patel and Jake Ball who are set to leave the club at the end of the season after a long period of service. It's quite a moving moment with families of both players in floods of tears. Faggsy and I call into The Embankment and Fox and Grapes on our journey home back to Carlton.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Corrie is on the TV set as I slide back the French window patio door. I play on my phone as I hunt for a fixture at the weekend. Regular readers will know that I lived in the village of Keyworth for 45 years. I coached at the local football club for 10 years, as well as following the first team when it had respected managers such as Arthur Oldham and Dave Fisk.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFWG-w6js0m7oSL1Ng_oLU7tD3gvwqReDs1iIHiDfJWPle2I2_82jBMFIhMixIxXYqs64BVYNcwq8CfFjTS2Tg7t06Q3J7f3NqvoeoUedBTkDX4ucSiRO5pdaXZ1cuBqnXCyyuj97eEpj836kFKtTBtGJncSa6_pYeQsIDFG12HujYI_vEFq1CAAs_Pc/s4032/IMG-5662.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtFWG-w6js0m7oSL1Ng_oLU7tD3gvwqReDs1iIHiDfJWPle2I2_82jBMFIhMixIxXYqs64BVYNcwq8CfFjTS2Tg7t06Q3J7f3NqvoeoUedBTkDX4ucSiRO5pdaXZ1cuBqnXCyyuj97eEpj836kFKtTBtGJncSa6_pYeQsIDFG12HujYI_vEFq1CAAs_Pc/s320/IMG-5662.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A dark cloud that has hung over the club (KUFC) for the last few seasons has blown a few miles north. Keyworth people, who understand the club and embrace a valuable, envied youth policy, now run the senior set up. 24 players (sheep) have exited the club. They've only managed a measly 6x wins out of 24 games, between them, at pastures new. I was blocked on the club's twitter page (a few seasons back after a sesh in Bournemouth) for calling the first team 'Radford Ressies' - as Management looked to buy the League. The entourage said "we're here to win pots." The trophy cabinet is still laid bare and gathering dust. Good luck to Ross Frame and Chris Thompson as they look to rebuild the club. Up the Green Army.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's deja vu for the next few days as the County Cricket season draws to a close. It's something I struggle to come to terms with as I love my time down 'The Bridge' and enjoy the company of the folk I sit with. Crazy Steve tips me the wink that pork cobs with stuffing, crackling and apple sauce are on a special offer at Birds Bakery on The Avenue. My tooth aches for most of the afternoon after chomping on the crackling.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_p8F2oDXPKEvRHXu9OoO3EepJtYDl5FpaWEZu4Po2IOOsAvuwAhycPQBCYAZVAnGFv1jR7VnAiNk6Z4FcAITSUKycowGxB66EYfA5LCtnNph2IlBJB3hCpzlw3zch7kCdLh41O4WXoUilJqyHfgsQ2SHwUEv2G962xm40XppLsDHd1xdp7UOdhVA8AM/s899/1927d498-f1ff-4ede-86bc-b02d87e7d050.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="834" data-original-width="899" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA_p8F2oDXPKEvRHXu9OoO3EepJtYDl5FpaWEZu4Po2IOOsAvuwAhycPQBCYAZVAnGFv1jR7VnAiNk6Z4FcAITSUKycowGxB66EYfA5LCtnNph2IlBJB3hCpzlw3zch7kCdLh41O4WXoUilJqyHfgsQ2SHwUEv2G962xm40XppLsDHd1xdp7UOdhVA8AM/s320/1927d498-f1ff-4ede-86bc-b02d87e7d050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">There's another presentation on Friday lunchtime and another goodbye too. Stuart Broad has retired from the game. To honour him the club announce that the Pavilion End is to be renamed the 'Stuart Broad End.' The game looks to be petering out. Middlesex have to win to avoid relegation. Notts are set 206 to win off 60 overs. It should be a formality.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Two hours later we are all basking in the sunshine biting our fingernails - Notts are tied up in knots. They have collapsed from 106-2 to 157-7. There's further bad news incoming: I'm meant to be meeting Ms Moon for Friday Club in Lillie Langtry's in town, for 6 pm. I'll definitely be late for that. You couldn't write the script as Jake Ball hits the winning runs in his final game for the club. A little tear rolls down my eye as I exit the ground for the last time this season.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9r2ZFB5XzYQ5xAv51J6cq_bWH5tC9Ez1pBkmCWeDOmORPEabriI7JGCQRaFMyEew7icMOnVZzIG3av1cZ7E0ZD5XzVibq3nZ2oobdZmncu_D8WN7clJXr7Yr2qxE-bGHBB-lEmgfHst2eCrTr_mDXho-22ACA-ky4cyEa6N8eFH4mDh8twKk2dVOAGMs/s2560/IMG-5764.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1707" data-original-width="2560" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9r2ZFB5XzYQ5xAv51J6cq_bWH5tC9Ez1pBkmCWeDOmORPEabriI7JGCQRaFMyEew7icMOnVZzIG3av1cZ7E0ZD5XzVibq3nZ2oobdZmncu_D8WN7clJXr7Yr2qxE-bGHBB-lEmgfHst2eCrTr_mDXho-22ACA-ky4cyEa6N8eFH4mDh8twKk2dVOAGMs/s320/IMG-5764.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I jump off a Nottingham City Transport bus on Beastmarket Hill, in the city centre, as the Council House clock strikes six bells. I wander up Market Street, where the record shop Selectadisc once had two stores. I cross over the road near to the Theatre Royal. Thank the Lord that Ms Moon is late due to a no show from the Carlton 27 bus. I shout up a pint of Tribute pale ale from the St Austell Brewery, in Cornwall. Lillie's is one of my favourite pubs. It has proper Nottingham folk in it and the music played is often classic tunes from the late 60s, 70s and 80s.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">After a couple of drinks Ms Moon and I wander along Upper Parliament Street, another bloody eyesore that is in desperate need of some tender loving care. I've booked a table for two at Casa Italian and Seafood Restaurant. I enjoy a fish stew and a couple of glasses of Merlot. Ms Moon goes down the pasta route which is washed down with a couple of glasses of bubbles.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRbF4WNRkoIdc0Cst817JslLmTQT3QHZCvSeYL0NYP69e-pmkSmGwcjlUnUxcQ0cAj4YJg2_5SRApCJ2UF7vcPeRH00CZGazSv2-vtuiX5SoniSCW4o63BixXSw87NcXg97kjDpgdPvj1BdU8mz9VrOJfl-WlOi8oN_rlNz8xoEHq6Hho1BFurkbSFPA/s4032/IMG-5690.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBRbF4WNRkoIdc0Cst817JslLmTQT3QHZCvSeYL0NYP69e-pmkSmGwcjlUnUxcQ0cAj4YJg2_5SRApCJ2UF7vcPeRH00CZGazSv2-vtuiX5SoniSCW4o63BixXSw87NcXg97kjDpgdPvj1BdU8mz9VrOJfl-WlOi8oN_rlNz8xoEHq6Hho1BFurkbSFPA/s320/IMG-5690.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I only work a few hours at the newsagent on Saturday morning. A trip to Lincoln City is ruled out due to Mick Lynch's lads downing their rail tools for the day. Carlton are away up at Hebburn Town, which lies only a few miles south of the river Tyne. It's to be Gedling Miners Welfare for the third time in eight days.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I dive into Deli-icious. They are about to close and don't have much snap left. The lady behind the counter knocks me up a cob with salami, Swiss cheese, French Brie and mayo on it. The weather is miserable as drizzle sets in. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNd-pxb5t-13OYOXZO51WC7Kys2Rj4cXDzYmKi36XYVF80StYYqKWwctNNsGqcMSvyEts3w5CLG1g43nSI3TdP4v_KMlAfB4B3qJOYVvfF7-AA3Ok1HyCwWk3v6KzcXWlpnS7Za94I1oKsSad2Ng7-_mEcBZHbd6Ngk3nU9QeBLlnfOEmaVX_laPl2xgA/s4032/IMG-5691.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNd-pxb5t-13OYOXZO51WC7Kys2Rj4cXDzYmKi36XYVF80StYYqKWwctNNsGqcMSvyEts3w5CLG1g43nSI3TdP4v_KMlAfB4B3qJOYVvfF7-AA3Ok1HyCwWk3v6KzcXWlpnS7Za94I1oKsSad2Ng7-_mEcBZHbd6Ngk3nU9QeBLlnfOEmaVX_laPl2xgA/s320/IMG-5691.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I stand with Faggsy on the halfway line. We both saw the visitors Bourne Town put in a poor shift at Radford a few weeks back. The Miners deservedly take the lead through a fine goal by 'Kizza' again. Bourne Town are off the pace and short of ideas.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We sit in the bar at half-time as the bad weather is setting in and there is a dampness in the air. Gedling pay the price for missing gilt-edged chances. Two goals in the final five minutes see the visitors to an unlikely victory. I finally get to meet Chris Widdowson, who I have followed on twitter and the untappd beer app for years. He's gutted that the Miners got sucker-punched at the death.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p>Man of the Match: Ross McCaughey</p><p>Attendance: 96</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-83266990068386389982023-09-24T20:24:00.000+01:002023-09-24T20:24:11.685+01:00Nottingham Forest 1-1 Burnley<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAB-b-A8EqgpxMdGpRlPUisVrSZGPOBWKB5VhRrvC7m8a5SM13fm7v9VNzyGDgb3oqeM9uc_8PzFRhVfTTAqk6uydVxL-H4qGqv-XH-UqAIaXOcIVzQ-wLdltRMZErpkxMa4iRKoUFiFjNfoc3eEoT8ATO4g9JsOnUIX8dTn25fxXOAh4fC_OzYGvc8c/s1350/IMG-5564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAB-b-A8EqgpxMdGpRlPUisVrSZGPOBWKB5VhRrvC7m8a5SM13fm7v9VNzyGDgb3oqeM9uc_8PzFRhVfTTAqk6uydVxL-H4qGqv-XH-UqAIaXOcIVzQ-wLdltRMZErpkxMa4iRKoUFiFjNfoc3eEoT8ATO4g9JsOnUIX8dTn25fxXOAh4fC_OzYGvc8c/s320/IMG-5564.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's the evening of Friday 9th June. The sun is shining over the Bill Stokeld Stadium, home to the Mighty Millers (Carlton Town). I'm in the beer garden enjoying a few aperitifs with the usual cast of characters who are mentioned in this blog so frequently.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are assembled here for an 'Evening With Michael Dawson', the former Nottingham Forest, Tottenham Hotspur and Hull City (I didn't forget Malc) defender. Dawson is from the North Yorkshire market town of Northallerton, an excellent spot for a tipple if you are passing. In our house it's called 'North fecking Allerton' following a goalless draw I saw back in 2016 which still makes my blood boil. As you know folks, Sticky doesn't do 0-0s. Dawson was scouted by Forest playing football with his hometown junior club on York Racecourse. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0axL6WnS46BUN-ajVGpYpLlhwZ5Ir3fKuGQKp9WFw597zGInTWX7sC8-fRKoetelNSJPkWxPj2vQK2MG6WViLvecnPJTo2DOWYmyrLkm4naY_RWLg3DWygfTPSXcz4nE3CCqWNou5Yzds3RBAgvflaLs9BjdPsu2iE1VxDbYx-TGDTuZfSKaDbpkgRRg/s550/IMG-5539.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0axL6WnS46BUN-ajVGpYpLlhwZ5Ir3fKuGQKp9WFw597zGInTWX7sC8-fRKoetelNSJPkWxPj2vQK2MG6WViLvecnPJTo2DOWYmyrLkm4naY_RWLg3DWygfTPSXcz4nE3CCqWNou5Yzds3RBAgvflaLs9BjdPsu2iE1VxDbYx-TGDTuZfSKaDbpkgRRg/s320/IMG-5539.WEBP" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I sit on a table with blog legends Jitz Jani, 'Dringy', music aficionado Craig Farina and the film producer and broadcaster Jonny Owen, who is a good friend of the club. Dawson is engaging. He tells a few amusing anecdotes. At the end of the evening it's raffle time. One of the big prizes is a night in an executive box for the Nottingham Forest v Burnley, Premier League game, which includes a meal for two. Carlton diehard fan Nigel Harlow strides up to the front of the clubhouse, to pull out one of the numbers from out of the hat. I nearly fall off my chair when my name is shouted out.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've suddenly become very popular now that I have the golden ticket. People are breaking their necks to say hello on facebook, twitter or in person at Carlton Tesco. Even the staff crack a smile. I would have taken Nige, to be honest, as after all he pulled my ticket out. I broached the subject with Ms Moon, who immediately puts the kibosh on it, making herself available for the said (big) game. The Betamax timer is set for 'The Farm' and Corrie.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Monday afternoon and I've just had a wee nap after a couple of early starts at the paper shop. I jump on the bus that goes up and over Carlton Hill, through the 'Gaza Strip' (the border between Carlton and Sneinton where it can get a bit tasty) and up past the Motorpoint Arena, where Lily the Carlton mascot will be eyeing up a gig when her favourite 'pop group' Busted top the bill.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC_2uiSblQRuMKO6haRhsFC6XB8LbdZCLMm4tXs8eRCFF5oW3gPIyuI1Gr5o0Rw2ytnWy-dcTaabLlAQjko-DT80s3n8I3-g2eXCV81IHUnN9bzyRaVA-lYR83opUUq6P6dCZQGL7DsMrjJozcH2wv1Hin7TfXVUH5HlmwQLQYv5pkI0AyrHYn6HAQwM/s1600/0e45cdb4-b5fc-4d36-8380-5f891e599d33.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1600" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGC_2uiSblQRuMKO6haRhsFC6XB8LbdZCLMm4tXs8eRCFF5oW3gPIyuI1Gr5o0Rw2ytnWy-dcTaabLlAQjko-DT80s3n8I3-g2eXCV81IHUnN9bzyRaVA-lYR83opUUq6P6dCZQGL7DsMrjJozcH2wv1Hin7TfXVUH5HlmwQLQYv5pkI0AyrHYn6HAQwM/s320/0e45cdb4-b5fc-4d36-8380-5f891e599d33.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I stroll down Lister Gate, which was once an exciting, vibrant shopping area in Nottingham city centre. To my left is the city's biggest blot on the landscape, the ruins of Broad Marsh Centre - Nottingham City Council's elephant in the room. An uglier building I have yet to see - take into consideration that I spent a day in Luton last year too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I pass my second home, the railway station, and then cross over the tramlines before venturing into the Meadows. I appear from out of the sprawling housing estate outside Castle Rock's flagship pub The Embankment, which is already full to the brim inside and outside with excited, beer-swilling Tricky Tree fans.Nottingham Boat Club members are packing away their rowing boats and equipment as I glance at the former music venue where I saw bands such as The Associates, Orange Juice and Bow Wow Wow in the early 80s. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsoklvdkTmK1isolWmS9A0pos34v5AS4aQg7T8osORe0KTSyFa49HeFRMiRbAVF5s8ssd1YVYC0Q4mQWW4Q70_oBdcnzwTLYlJHjBTK6OsngmCFZ4GnPYA8kNGmT6e2UMx7ZE9YJCf-JDs5BJe2OreWAAGvT7lHcck1sbjuL5N2qlljGRJl6hHBpsTP4/s707/IMG-5538.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="707" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZsoklvdkTmK1isolWmS9A0pos34v5AS4aQg7T8osORe0KTSyFa49HeFRMiRbAVF5s8ssd1YVYC0Q4mQWW4Q70_oBdcnzwTLYlJHjBTK6OsngmCFZ4GnPYA8kNGmT6e2UMx7ZE9YJCf-JDs5BJe2OreWAAGvT7lHcck1sbjuL5N2qlljGRJl6hHBpsTP4/s320/IMG-5538.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I bump into NFFC and Carlton Town legend Gary 'Boatsy' Clarke. Gaz is a great lad, whose tiresome fundraising for the Millers and charities neither goes unnoticed or is taken for granted. He's with his lad Charlie, a goalkeeper, whose remarkable last minute winner for his team, Gedling Southbank Panthers, in March 2022, went viral. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I walk into the reception area, where all the executive boxes are housed. We are given a complimentary drink. I quench my thirst with a Coke Zero after the long walk through town. Ms Moon asks for a glass of prosecco. We are presented with a bottle that costs £36!! I ask if a St John's ambulance volunteer is available as I feel I'm going to faint. Thirty six chuffing pounds!!</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40E1NDjxLE_W43tVmJjnPaIJH0EvPukrTXTA4qZTBa-NiP-Te8ycJvNbEJ4Oc3iJBTVOdAn7OQm9vEwJbdk2XJ1VHrtJiD4iJyGHGWEL4cOupXaDhdYiKrCYKMTajuPnxDibMRZiZ7ePXeLvXtbE2eSGaA6GqsANoFie9xJDMZX-_3lTgOEriBfpPgXU/s4032/IMG-5476.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40E1NDjxLE_W43tVmJjnPaIJH0EvPukrTXTA4qZTBa-NiP-Te8ycJvNbEJ4Oc3iJBTVOdAn7OQm9vEwJbdk2XJ1VHrtJiD4iJyGHGWEL4cOupXaDhdYiKrCYKMTajuPnxDibMRZiZ7ePXeLvXtbE2eSGaA6GqsANoFie9xJDMZX-_3lTgOEriBfpPgXU/s320/IMG-5476.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The dinner is three courses, with the experience better than I'd expected. The seats, in the executive box, are in the shape of a dugout. My only previous experience of a 'prawn sandwich view' was with RJB Mining back in 1996 when Steve Stone did his anterior cruciate ligament in a game versus Leicester City.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One good thing about being in the box is that you can't hear the DJ set. If I'm to suffer 'Freed From Desire' one more time then I'll jump in the Trent. 'Casually Dan', the Carlton Town resident DJ, is available at £1,000 a pop. Trust me, that's great value, and he will get the supporters of both teams bouncing pre-match.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Burnley's left winger, Luca Koleosho, is running Argentinian World Cup winning full back, Gonzalo Montiel ragged. The 19 year old looks a steal at £2.6 million from Spanish team Espanyol. He hoodwinks Joe Worrall which leads to the opening goal of the game.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNutXWLBqXnayhLSfL1lm1cNvCYiyi4ypwVx_oiqDl0HRgzPDBl6Svmte-5gyOJdbD2F2Z0iW3Ua-ZFwRCruG734O47t6hnAOItxxwmK9Oa-wT_6wf5eoiaplNJj1gwEKYO-rTQuZc6RYB27xoCzpJq3WYGpqb802m39OfeP6R3HVL7Iq3YPcs1vU72g/s959/IMG-5541.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="959" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNutXWLBqXnayhLSfL1lm1cNvCYiyi4ypwVx_oiqDl0HRgzPDBl6Svmte-5gyOJdbD2F2Z0iW3Ua-ZFwRCruG734O47t6hnAOItxxwmK9Oa-wT_6wf5eoiaplNJj1gwEKYO-rTQuZc6RYB27xoCzpJq3WYGpqb802m39OfeP6R3HVL7Iq3YPcs1vU72g/s320/IMG-5541.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's a decent match for the neutral. New signing Callum Hudson-Odoi scores a stunning equaiser following good work up top from 'Big T.' I'm sat near Carlton chairman, Mick Garton, who also happens to be my boss. He rants that NFFC never get any VAR decisions go their way. Moments later Burnley have a goal chalked off for a harsh handball decision. Mick holds up his hands as an apology. We all laugh as one.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon is down London on business, so I have the run of the house, and more importantly the TV set. I'm working eight days on the bounce as cover for shop manager 'Chippy Fryer' who is on another Mediterranean cruise. I have to go steady on the drink as I watch a couple of Champions League games.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAxhTBcRDP6A8GAxFthCtjeVFPl2zNnBfsBr109LDycTqR58b1uxGPtJrTIF-xO-PDqkdlBdTV5uiyJSoieiQBOQ7qUS-dmSZ2zh6CuHe_kV6BeEgCMZXqfBJLq2smvvt4EB8r7BHz7XNSAQPI4syEzZArftwexbhSUkmkWQKSCtIDyl6cAfcvQ8gFCU/s4032/IMG-5481.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAxhTBcRDP6A8GAxFthCtjeVFPl2zNnBfsBr109LDycTqR58b1uxGPtJrTIF-xO-PDqkdlBdTV5uiyJSoieiQBOQ7qUS-dmSZ2zh6CuHe_kV6BeEgCMZXqfBJLq2smvvt4EB8r7BHz7XNSAQPI4syEzZArftwexbhSUkmkWQKSCtIDyl6cAfcvQ8gFCU/s320/IMG-5481.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">An out of sorts Manchester United are rolled over in Munich. The following night is far more entertaining as Brighton Hove Albion make their European debut versus AEK Athens. The Greeks run out the victors 3-2 in a breathtaking game of football. The Seagulls put up a brave fight. They were also missing two of their talismen: Lewis Dunk and Shane Ferguson.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I saw NFFC lose 1-0 at Brighton back in 2015. The two things I remember most about that game was that we paid £46 each to sit in the home end (in the Championship) and that Jamie Ward made his debut after his agent somehow blagged a four year contract after triggering a Bosman from over the cattlegrid at 'The Sheep Dip.'</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyh-Roypjx1BZ3qontupRl5oIHct4KI05uSShFKStzN6lZraRtSgZ2QXc9Z6LUf8YG5XZfkSbI_fmwfQbxYRsoTfzDWzX35R49MTjsI-2JLOk4ZIG2galDzRvxULcZxayIaiYarQmneMfoPKBjcML6O9YnNb7FV9FZtImZOofnHNjZOEh2paG2loC1REQ/s4032/IMG-5510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyh-Roypjx1BZ3qontupRl5oIHct4KI05uSShFKStzN6lZraRtSgZ2QXc9Z6LUf8YG5XZfkSbI_fmwfQbxYRsoTfzDWzX35R49MTjsI-2JLOk4ZIG2galDzRvxULcZxayIaiYarQmneMfoPKBjcML6O9YnNb7FV9FZtImZOofnHNjZOEh2paG2loC1REQ/s320/IMG-5510.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I meet Tony Mac for 'Friday Club' up at Canning Circus. We sink a few at the Organ Grinder, Sir John Borlase Warren, Barrel Drop (on Hurts Yard) and Nottingham's number one craft ale bar, Junkyard, adjacent to the Herbert Kilpin, an ex favourite of Sticky's until an unsavoury incident back at Christmas 2018. We finish up with a 12% collaboration from Black Iris and Bang the Elephant. A small kebab is hoovered up from the Carlton Fryer on the walk back to Chez Palms. I'm tucked up in bed for 10.30pm.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Saturday afternoon and the 25 bus up to Mapperley Tops is running ten minutes late. Hopes of a trip to Dodworth Miners Welfare FC were dashed earlier in the morning. The FA Vase is my favourite Non League trophy. Gedling Miners Welfare are pitting their wits against Selston FC, from the north of the county.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3WPE5CDnUMbivgcSDKCscg1NQ6bevhstH2pcQRNjqYa9CXnronmrs9PV1gkDVG-l_sDYJ58yTKHlsPIbk-mL2xs1C2q4XizOOtEoG44ZvM8iiKU0cT7rLuyCX-NnqatyBJM62lKKHWTgKsIRcAnnGyC0dkIBkvKysL2kaWwZIE9QvufG4M4TZvxLo8w/s4032/IMG-5511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3WPE5CDnUMbivgcSDKCscg1NQ6bevhstH2pcQRNjqYa9CXnronmrs9PV1gkDVG-l_sDYJ58yTKHlsPIbk-mL2xs1C2q4XizOOtEoG44ZvM8iiKU0cT7rLuyCX-NnqatyBJM62lKKHWTgKsIRcAnnGyC0dkIBkvKysL2kaWwZIE9QvufG4M4TZvxLo8w/s320/IMG-5511.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />I make the ten minute walk from the bus stop to the ground. I arrive just as the two teams emerge from the changing rooms. It's £5 on the gate. I part with a couple of quid for some raffle tickets. I position myself on the opposite side to the dugouts. You can't fault the effort but the game isn't easy on the eye. Selston are a shadow of their former self, after another club did a raid on their players. I like the Gedling lads as many have stuck together during tough times, and not walked away like a lot of Non League big time Charlies do.<div><br /></div><div>I meet a groundhopper who has travelled up from Horsham, in Sussex. That's a staggering 350 mile round trip. He says he should be home for Match of the Day. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Miners look home and hosed at 2-0 up with just a few minutes remaining. Selston score what looks to be a consolation goal. They quickly retrieve the ball from out of the net and place it on the spot for a Gedling kick off. The ball is played back to Kieran Harrison who is 60 yards out from goal, he spots the keeper wandering around his area before hitting a shot goal bound that hangs in the air for an age, it sails over the 'keeper and into the net. I can't 'arf pick 'em! </div><div><br /><p>Man of the Match: The Burnley winger</p><p>Attendance: 28,958</p></div>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-61727269140392825822023-09-17T19:45:00.000+01:002023-09-17T19:45:25.667+01:00Lincoln City 1-1 Carlisle United <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uXd8xwUVoTTXxPsnC7tYSvN7ajik6A_GS5pqnmw1DT-6w0sVYBpEZ6NHJlwojtHPTRX5ONLRCqzEVOjcagdjEDEdRwukkzC84DtLvziHV38z3-PPF1t1cTiq8w3F3f-ZhnaPH7I7Jt5CVlEdkDLLrwDctiuakWh-S35ZqkxiSEaGwe36Awat6JMLn7s/s1200/IMG-5363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0uXd8xwUVoTTXxPsnC7tYSvN7ajik6A_GS5pqnmw1DT-6w0sVYBpEZ6NHJlwojtHPTRX5ONLRCqzEVOjcagdjEDEdRwukkzC84DtLvziHV38z3-PPF1t1cTiq8w3F3f-ZhnaPH7I7Jt5CVlEdkDLLrwDctiuakWh-S35ZqkxiSEaGwe36Awat6JMLn7s/s320/IMG-5363.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Faggsy and I head towards the exit of Radford FC's Selhurst Street ground. Big Glenn will be grinning like a Cheshire Cat after seeing his team comfortably beat Bourne Town, from Lincolnshire, 2-1. We turn left onto Radford Road, one of Sticky's favourite areas of inner city Nottingham.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Three youths are 'dancing' on the corner of Shipstone Street as some God damn awful Grime music blasts out of an amp that's sat in a shop doorway. We pass Black Iris Brewery, one of Nottingham's finest tap houses. We walk up the steps of The Lion, on Mosley Street. There is no end to the searing heat. I sink a pint of Wheelbarrow, an extra special bitter from the highly-rated Lenton Lane stable. We jump on the tram and head back into town. More beer is quaffed at Ye Olde Salutation on Hounds Gate and the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton, before heading home for an early night and a good night's sleep.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxxxUbyp1GDDA5-wV6duy6ImKAJPsUo75dGjwQou-RpJ5-xhNyY14BSxpnShOr-1sV9WzMWQ7Svkalz5cl1T0NHDR9iqnlt1TadswsdSa9GuIafPKCy26lMdQd2rZNZYl3wRE56I3pyOMaasOUGjDx0IxRl_YGtUcxMqQ_78Dz3cO1X09pmg26mXDQ00/s4032/IMG-5100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLxxxUbyp1GDDA5-wV6duy6ImKAJPsUo75dGjwQou-RpJ5-xhNyY14BSxpnShOr-1sV9WzMWQ7Svkalz5cl1T0NHDR9iqnlt1TadswsdSa9GuIafPKCy26lMdQd2rZNZYl3wRE56I3pyOMaasOUGjDx0IxRl_YGtUcxMqQ_78Dz3cO1X09pmg26mXDQ00/s320/IMG-5100.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm having a quiet day in the house on Sunday. Ms Moon is still holidaying in the Costa del Sol. I traipse all the way down to Victoria Retail Park, in Netherfield, to buy some clothes from Next. It's so hot, that I make the call not to buy any food from Marks and Spencer Food Hall or Morrisons supermarket. It's a decision that I will come to regret.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I need to get some food in for the week. Carlton Tesco is just a few minutes walk away from my crib. I'm met at the door by a member of the customer service team. This is a miracle in itself, as in seven years of shopping, I've yet to witness anything above average service at the worst shop in Europe. Their poor run of form continues with the breaking news that all the fridges have broken down and won't be back in action until Wednesday.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PV9CbQJxP4wtLOgq3--ecwKmG0FO7mgcS7W18YRR7-iLGKL38j9f-JApJJDsGUXoiNjWE_1w7rFb0oOR1sjYowTcgsAU1vKHMZQfyID5tjKNVyMe0EPaBTzv08BKJLWdwbpQT5y8Exwoh0MHiTwcUe_YEkAzjEr-ZwxxGnN0hCcw6i9FL-BejpWnh2c/s1300/IMG-5366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1091" data-original-width="1300" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9PV9CbQJxP4wtLOgq3--ecwKmG0FO7mgcS7W18YRR7-iLGKL38j9f-JApJJDsGUXoiNjWE_1w7rFb0oOR1sjYowTcgsAU1vKHMZQfyID5tjKNVyMe0EPaBTzv08BKJLWdwbpQT5y8Exwoh0MHiTwcUe_YEkAzjEr-ZwxxGnN0hCcw6i9FL-BejpWnh2c/s320/IMG-5366.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm out on my feet and can't be bothered to trudge up the hill to Tesco Express. I settle on a couple of tins of tuna. I'll have to make a sandwich for tea. The curse of Tesco strikes again. Monday and Tuesday are spent working in the best paper shop on this Earth, and, where I might add, the customer service is second to none.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can't be bothered with any live midweek football action. I settle in on Tuesday evening and view the 150th Anniversary Heritage Match between Scotland and England, up at Hampden Park, in Glasgow. The Three Lions barely break into a sweat. One or two of the players are on top of their game. Let's hope this continues during Euro 2024, particularly when it matters against top opposition. I'm still fuming we couldn't beat France in the World Cup, with five Les Bleus regular starters unavailable through injury.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUdp6kwd2fBykOqZE5q0A8CXQy_SsbtIRrjj6nxB7JGpbqX1XvgBsL_yAA9CU0HEB8I5o7gWUSLrOCN-o5rSN-Z00Wy9dFXAypQUfxVXHW0XvQKBLmdx0KngUVZCykvruPUJMaTW1cNS2ifkhZeD2RC37XNS3YKswRAswPGZHGwahCswFXTaSR7R_qas/s1888/IMG-5371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1888" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMUdp6kwd2fBykOqZE5q0A8CXQy_SsbtIRrjj6nxB7JGpbqX1XvgBsL_yAA9CU0HEB8I5o7gWUSLrOCN-o5rSN-Z00Wy9dFXAypQUfxVXHW0XvQKBLmdx0KngUVZCykvruPUJMaTW1cNS2ifkhZeD2RC37XNS3YKswRAswPGZHGwahCswFXTaSR7R_qas/s320/IMG-5371.JPG" width="244" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Wednesday morning and I'm walking through the gates of 'The Bay' (Notts Sports Club) home to Nottingham Rugby Club, Boots Hockey Club and more importantly Notts CCC 2nd XI. I sit and chat all day to 'Leeds Tony', Derek, 'Ticknall Terry' and Wayne as Notts 2s and Northants 2s play out a rain-affected draw.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The opening bowlers for Notts are Jake Ball and local legend 'Big Luke Fletcher.' Fletch is returning from ankle surgery which has hampered his testimonial season. Drurs and I catch him grazing on the boundary down at fine leg. Fletch is a cheery character who always enjoys some craic. Drurs says to him that he's noticed that Fletch is a guest speaker at the Notts Cricket Lovers Society in October. He remarks that he has a couple of tricky questions lined up for the Big 'Un."Fire away" says a chuckling Fletch.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vXaBAioha_UutHSY118c_DMJzCYGG9-We-KrJuW_LUq0oOjOwrFI8jpqMCVO6V2vBRXPJ6K7X7Mxa8AHDEWbkeIhT6ho7i3F7sUzCqFkI3Y13E8ot1RWB2Kgu3OyUECsUhbzb15MnIp46-g0__Gq9t6V6qi9MzyRSjr8osj3YLAog3uOWnvHpBKmPvI/s4032/IMG-5246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vXaBAioha_UutHSY118c_DMJzCYGG9-We-KrJuW_LUq0oOjOwrFI8jpqMCVO6V2vBRXPJ6K7X7Mxa8AHDEWbkeIhT6ho7i3F7sUzCqFkI3Y13E8ot1RWB2Kgu3OyUECsUhbzb15MnIp46-g0__Gq9t6V6qi9MzyRSjr8osj3YLAog3uOWnvHpBKmPvI/s320/IMG-5246.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Lady Bay chip shop, on Trent Boulevard is the highlight of the day. The batter is perfect and the fish is succulent and fleshy. I bump into Lynn, who works at a local primary school. She is the mother of Carlton Town skipper Niall Davie. I wish her well on the club's big day out in the FA Cup on Saturday.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I meet up with Tony Mac on Platform 6B at Nottingham Railway Station on Friday morning. We hop onto the 7.45 to Sheffield. There's a short wait for a Northern train to Scarborough. Today's 'Jolly Boys' outing is to port city of Kingston upon Hull, the birthplace of William Wilberforce, who was the leader of the movement to abolish the slave trade. One of my closest friends, Ackers, is also on the trip, as he went to university there 40 years ago.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDJKsVFJ6020qhEf69wsDvQ8o7ZjYpebIfGIpdyxwGZ9nc_pA5dCXZwbpiJF4IFE8fOHbohsuE-uAAiB7I93AwE7Ns7Mw-H7F_zDJOXGPxdcPmIv5pQJBPr0O6ZXd4mNyrbfH_BC3MXc-0wmTGhzv-7Z0xGFz5Z9bvZwdUtjFOBOSIuXlGMIK-6TBmls/s4032/IMG-5258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCDJKsVFJ6020qhEf69wsDvQ8o7ZjYpebIfGIpdyxwGZ9nc_pA5dCXZwbpiJF4IFE8fOHbohsuE-uAAiB7I93AwE7Ns7Mw-H7F_zDJOXGPxdcPmIv5pQJBPr0O6ZXd4mNyrbfH_BC3MXc-0wmTGhzv-7Z0xGFz5Z9bvZwdUtjFOBOSIuXlGMIK-6TBmls/s320/IMG-5258.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We're holed up in Thieving Harry's Cafe on the marina by 10.30. We look out onto the sun-kissed estuary as we demolish a full English breakfast accompanied by a pot of Yorkshire Tea. Hull is another northern gem. We end up walking 12 miles, finishing up in the historic Old Town, with its Grade II listed pubs and cobbled streets.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a lovely trip down memory lane for Ackers, who you can see is trying to fathom out the changes to the city as he retraces his steps at old haunts such as Peel Street and student digs towards Cottingham. I love the architecture, statues and street art. One mural, which has replaced a graffiti-covered gable end in Russell Street, has a painting of guitarist Mick Ronson, Fine Young Cannibals lead singer, Roland Gift and The Housemartins Paul Heaton.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23mi-pdnGdapMnahwLMhtLo_gDJxwC8CqkLGW6AcgBbhRgD8yIdEJCG4rzQ64P98VTLHh7wONFc1jQIr04nzBvtax6jDj5e1iJ7oIYRjyW8TCJ4_xm7lKenxAxhOnsjuWA4DS84QKNehWkLQz7KaEpWHbc18iqMOhO2emLTh4qlfWBqgzn-oofvk-PWU/s4032/IMG-5269.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23mi-pdnGdapMnahwLMhtLo_gDJxwC8CqkLGW6AcgBbhRgD8yIdEJCG4rzQ64P98VTLHh7wONFc1jQIr04nzBvtax6jDj5e1iJ7oIYRjyW8TCJ4_xm7lKenxAxhOnsjuWA4DS84QKNehWkLQz7KaEpWHbc18iqMOhO2emLTh4qlfWBqgzn-oofvk-PWU/s320/IMG-5269.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We are both fagged out on our arrival back into Nottingham at 11pm. I have forty winks before arriving at the shop for a Saturday morning shift. I feel all warm and fuzzy after yesterday's brilliant trip oop north. Thanks for organising Tony Mac. I know it made Ackers' day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Bloody hell, I'm back at the train station again today (Saturday). I'm on the 12.38 East Midlands Train to Lincoln Central. I'm a bit gutted, to be honest, as I'm missing Carlton town's biggest game in their history, as they try to qualify for the next round of the FA Cup, at Rushall Olympic, near to Walsall.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjEPBsrO_qC-ZUF0dRkn49xkD1lZXNBMTIrATvl-A-08cgRJgMJvLXj3v5bcJkkizV_9RF6fRjwifMXr8VfCvHkHVCV74-dyXtodtksKljPmecSf2tmdBYEzA4xQv2EbEcYmMrD_VFfa-ql58R2ydgIxwxy3f4KnmVG-qLB7_nLnqmfgxcOpzHASCWDE/s4032/IMG-5318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjEPBsrO_qC-ZUF0dRkn49xkD1lZXNBMTIrATvl-A-08cgRJgMJvLXj3v5bcJkkizV_9RF6fRjwifMXr8VfCvHkHVCV74-dyXtodtksKljPmecSf2tmdBYEzA4xQv2EbEcYmMrD_VFfa-ql58R2ydgIxwxy3f4KnmVG-qLB7_nLnqmfgxcOpzHASCWDE/s320/IMG-5318.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Imps are at home to Carlisle United. I alight a packed out train and walk in the opposite direction to Sincil Bank. I find a Batemans pub on a back street called the Dog and Bone. A flirtatious barmaid with plenty of chat, pours me a hazy pale ale from Sharps Brewery.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I wander down to the city centre and take a left turn through the Stonebow and onto the High Street. I stop at a confectionery store to grab a cold drink and some sweets. I've paid £25 to sit in the SRP Stand. I arrive ten minutes before kick off as nothing took my fancy on Poachers' Playlist apart from Primal Scream.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWSVzAzKHXaFD7VMmon5V9qfBtQsGRUMHSdDZTpI37m8AcFA22HutUtRBfDcc_mudN7G6B8hk9cg9r1ZPJF5-F04HPuB9Tk1jHb4DJFAPZmXUw2eeK_rOVk5NtYGmWw0GapI-KZX3z7s6vTf5sURAN9Su96-UDPdeX-q8WGPJbpTSTZkxTX_iCLgNrAw/s4032/IMG-5316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoWSVzAzKHXaFD7VMmon5V9qfBtQsGRUMHSdDZTpI37m8AcFA22HutUtRBfDcc_mudN7G6B8hk9cg9r1ZPJF5-F04HPuB9Tk1jHb4DJFAPZmXUw2eeK_rOVk5NtYGmWw0GapI-KZX3z7s6vTf5sURAN9Su96-UDPdeX-q8WGPJbpTSTZkxTX_iCLgNrAw/s320/IMG-5316.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I sit close to the Directors' Box where Hall of Fame inductee and former legendary manager Colin Murphy usually sits. There's no sign of his presence today. The Imps have announced a depleted line-up, with four attackers missing through injury. Reeco Hackett-Fairchild ploughs a lone furrow as centre forward.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Nottingham Forest loanee Fin Back is playing right back for the visitors. I also notice a Nottingham born midfielder, Callum Guy, is making his 150th appearance for the Cumbrian side today. We had him at Notts County Academy before D***y County swooped, after Howard Wilkinson closed down the Pies' youth set up in 2006.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's an impeccably observed minute's silence held for club stalwart Doreen Ashton who passed away recently. The first half isn't up to much. Carlisle take the lead from a set-piece; it's Lincoln's achilles heel according to the knowledgeable guy sat next to me. The Imps make a change at half-time and appear on the front foot in the opening moments of the second half. Recent recruit, Ethan Hamilton, who has arrived from Accrington Stanley, hits a long range left footed shot to equalise. There are chances at either end before the ref blows his whistle at 5pm on the nose.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5X3vB_jUiyWWZmjRe_g4jw-Ezj6-Zah6JC_3I8mkQdx5dyQqkfjUIDZ5jV8SFO61flI-uuDF9IkhqenutORbR9NVcJT3Dys41sLRYCVBE1Y3hoC5bTauoWkTrNBIplRS-DsyaWMOuwyF4URT-aSlCwDj0xe4fmAuPDfSNKA4q3QNQXdoQLfvewlAs0Rc/s850/IMG-5358.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="759" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5X3vB_jUiyWWZmjRe_g4jw-Ezj6-Zah6JC_3I8mkQdx5dyQqkfjUIDZ5jV8SFO61flI-uuDF9IkhqenutORbR9NVcJT3Dys41sLRYCVBE1Y3hoC5bTauoWkTrNBIplRS-DsyaWMOuwyF4URT-aSlCwDj0xe4fmAuPDfSNKA4q3QNQXdoQLfvewlAs0Rc/s320/IMG-5358.WEBP" width="286" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I check Lincoln City's Twitter feed on the train journey home. I'm devastated to read the news of Colin Murphy's passing today. He was one of Lincoln's greatest managers, building two amazing sides and discovering umpteen players who were to go on to greater things such as Trevor Peake, Glenn Cockerill and Gordon Hobson. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He is the guy who plucked Stanley Victor Collymore from out of Crystal Palace reserves, where 'Stan the Man' was playing as a bit part left winger; this was when Murph was the gaffer at Southend United. Collymore went on to be one of the greatest strikers ever to play for Nottingham Forest.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Danny Cowley gave Colin Murphy the opportunity to lead his team out at Wembley in 2018 in the Imps' first ever appearance at Wembley in the Club's 134 year old history. What a fantastic gesture by Cowley and a proud moment for Murphy too.</div><p></p><p>Rest in Peace, Colin xx</p><p>Attendance: 8,514</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-1395760788958821492023-09-10T20:17:00.000+01:002023-09-10T20:17:47.613+01:00Radford FC 2-1 Bourne Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNjnclrfnUnz8oP6oyLk8MXUU3DBKaJyjA1MzE0iuxB2zSwE0Y_k-eW40BIek64r8rJiRIErJRg0sy5UVsa499cNfjg_N_TELroQOcg45L-Ces8w8CHiPoerBLHVJoSErqYQxurpGLIguahzpqkV0k-iY0xiqGn1EMQluSTovL_m4Q-HVnIBd4dDylGhY/s720/IMG-5113.WEBP" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="720" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNjnclrfnUnz8oP6oyLk8MXUU3DBKaJyjA1MzE0iuxB2zSwE0Y_k-eW40BIek64r8rJiRIErJRg0sy5UVsa499cNfjg_N_TELroQOcg45L-Ces8w8CHiPoerBLHVJoSErqYQxurpGLIguahzpqkV0k-iY0xiqGn1EMQluSTovL_m4Q-HVnIBd4dDylGhY/s320/IMG-5113.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Cup upset over at Nuneaton has proper cheered me up. I'd been feeling under the weather for most of the day. I'm in bed early on Saturday night and still feel zonked out 12 hours later. I laze around the house for most of Sunday, freeing up a few hours to knock up the Cup Special blog.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I struggle to shake off the virus over the next few days. Two full shifts at the paper shop takes my mind off it as the place is mobbed out with folks. I had hoped to catch a second viewing of Big Glenn's Raddy on Tuesday evening, as they took on UCL league leaders Clipstone FC. I fail a late fitness test and am confined to my sick bed.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbwo_OYkIfYG38ZNB6Map-3jE-o3Bq6zJRRpkMcbp4JKPVl42cQ1xRFFFrAjWw7zf-lWUhWks-vQ3nzLv9UejjI59SDHiOn_NhgHNdktjz8zF6hXPZBt01usnAq9Eu_gfmVP7hZ8RrkLzl2woDf5o93GRZoWlZkcl-qOP0Qnat0STzP1THkmsviTZ4uc/s4032/IMG-4972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbwo_OYkIfYG38ZNB6Map-3jE-o3Bq6zJRRpkMcbp4JKPVl42cQ1xRFFFrAjWw7zf-lWUhWks-vQ3nzLv9UejjI59SDHiOn_NhgHNdktjz8zF6hXPZBt01usnAq9Eu_gfmVP7hZ8RrkLzl2woDf5o93GRZoWlZkcl-qOP0Qnat0STzP1THkmsviTZ4uc/s320/IMG-4972.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Wednesday morning and guess what? I'm on a train to Sheffield. I make more train journeys than Michael Portillo. I'll ramp it up even more when I turn 60 years old next February, which makes me eligible for a senior rail card and the 33% discount it allows.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's baking hot in 'Steel City' as I pound it away up Shoreham Street, towards Bramall Lane, the home of Premier League team Sheffield United, who were knocked out of the Carabao Cup by little old Lincoln City. The reason for my visit (the second one in the last seven days) is to collect my rucksack from Reception, as I left it under my seat following a low key fist pump celebration at the final whistle. I apologise to the lady for the stench of dirty clothing before pegging it up the hill to the suburb of Heeley for a thirst-quenching pint of real ale at the Brothers Arms. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4Is_cvSwynJkEAhwT97LlRRy1fWbW0HtJMQ0OIKRYSOC_yJD65SAG-bOO37Gd7x0d-7uxz5A9vcYJ_TdJ2kN3Mt_dt66RmDjzmISgBwYRyNFc4dChc55oISgPK26RVczLKu0F0IT8FYnpX71xIT4zcDZaENSJnTf7GZaXho-g1PFlgc2wQ6fpNAyE54/s4032/IMG-4973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz4Is_cvSwynJkEAhwT97LlRRy1fWbW0HtJMQ0OIKRYSOC_yJD65SAG-bOO37Gd7x0d-7uxz5A9vcYJ_TdJ2kN3Mt_dt66RmDjzmISgBwYRyNFc4dChc55oISgPK26RVczLKu0F0IT8FYnpX71xIT4zcDZaENSJnTf7GZaXho-g1PFlgc2wQ6fpNAyE54/s320/IMG-4973.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's been announced, this week, that legendary Nottinghamshire Cricket Club all-rounder, Samit Patel, will be leaving the club at the end of the season. It's been the worst kept secret of the summer. At his peak Patel was worth rushing from work to watch at 'The Bridge.' We'll sorely miss his bowling in the T20 too, although the spin department is strong with the emergence of Calvin Harrison and 15 year old local lad Farhan Ahmed, who has been impressing the judges for England U19s v Australia U19s. I was down Lady Bay's Notts Sports Ground, a few months ago, when the England coach Mike Yardy was scouting him.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday evening and I'm like a kid on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow I'm out on a South Yorkshire Real Ale Train Trail with boozing buddy Tony Mac. It's been touch and go for Mac following a sustained bout of toothache. The offending gnasher was extracted earlier this afternoon - unfortunately the appointment wasn't at tooth hurty.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmledC62D6DzOUVPJxwR4ddDPTh_SuCVpdV_gV2agbp8TmJ5Krx7JnDwPKPdS6v7yaVMo9GYDtgs84wVqYh5pwcsCiohn7DzYoxneGpV3zLzewyFN2CgVIEIHDpG5E95hkD4rwLfFiBVtebDLgIXJEisg7kz9so5qpGV9aIbW5ixGgD9OOq64pMWXfjQ/s1819/IMG-5004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="1819" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkmledC62D6DzOUVPJxwR4ddDPTh_SuCVpdV_gV2agbp8TmJ5Krx7JnDwPKPdS6v7yaVMo9GYDtgs84wVqYh5pwcsCiohn7DzYoxneGpV3zLzewyFN2CgVIEIHDpG5E95hkD4rwLfFiBVtebDLgIXJEisg7kz9so5qpGV9aIbW5ixGgD9OOq64pMWXfjQ/s320/IMG-5004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Tomorrow we'll be catching the train from Sheffield (yes again) to Huddersfield. Villages of interest on that line - basically they have pubs or even better than that CAMRA entries - include: Penistone, Elsecar and Chapeltown.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'd noticed this week that a blue plaque was to be unveiled in the South Yorkshire town of Rotherham, which is also on the Friday Club radar. Arthur Wharton was the first black professional footballer to play in this country. The plaque will be installed at Clifton Lane, a ground where he played in goal at Rotherham Town, and will be unveiled by former Chelsea and Southampton defender Ken Monkou. The Ghanaian is buried just outside Doncaster.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghinwI9gaj4Ar1a7RknUYCQe4WIYEC65v6pTmX0vcGFW0JiIYXEiQFfNpSMBb0sXOxkcL8mllFBdwpoVmn1lXvmq80JEVOsOHcUMMuyGid46cYkxayzvLV4t9-Bybj0qXmJvEcX_wJ853_pPW8XSRuZPwUoleJTY3_-HceIKP5tl1QttP_A4xdFJlTjTw/s968/IMG-5008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="968" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghinwI9gaj4Ar1a7RknUYCQe4WIYEC65v6pTmX0vcGFW0JiIYXEiQFfNpSMBb0sXOxkcL8mllFBdwpoVmn1lXvmq80JEVOsOHcUMMuyGid46cYkxayzvLV4t9-Bybj0qXmJvEcX_wJ853_pPW8XSRuZPwUoleJTY3_-HceIKP5tl1QttP_A4xdFJlTjTw/s320/IMG-5008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's midday on Friday, and already boiling hot, as Mac and Sticky wander a few hundred yards down a hill, in Silkstone Common, towards The Station Pub. The landlord at Travellers Inn, in the village of Oxspring, is intrigued to know of our plans for the day, once he hears we're from Nottingham. He also recommends a few good pubs to visit too.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Talk about mad dogs and Englishmen going out in the midday sun. Mac is neither wearing his hat or getting any liquids on board, other than ale. I've already seen off a litre of water as we make our way by foot to the village of Penistone. Our efforts are rewarded by a visit to the outstanding Penistone Tap and Brewhouse, which is also owned by Woodland Brewery.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XY48gfm2TKU8KNKWMcW1f6tAeQk0cmLxPUVOwN0QhKrHnm_2K8k89j_O-a3R5_MJb2aCnCIJM6YElmiKCG0lxn5DOLaNBlrogsBTSnK1UrcRT7rhau7P9p27xIPhnq6b7sc1zLYB03rrC5v6Pf_SyM3y3uuBn3d5nSkDxKkQlPxOiDZl6x-TG9AHc9I/s4032/IMG-5050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0XY48gfm2TKU8KNKWMcW1f6tAeQk0cmLxPUVOwN0QhKrHnm_2K8k89j_O-a3R5_MJb2aCnCIJM6YElmiKCG0lxn5DOLaNBlrogsBTSnK1UrcRT7rhau7P9p27xIPhnq6b7sc1zLYB03rrC5v6Pf_SyM3y3uuBn3d5nSkDxKkQlPxOiDZl6x-TG9AHc9I/s320/IMG-5050.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">An Irish fella behind the bar is very welcoming as we start to go through the beer scoreboard. Mac doesn't shy away from a 8% DIPA as the barman gives us details of a shortcut to our next watering hole in the village of Thurlstone, where the Manchester City and England defender John Stones was brought up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There's an incident across the road at Wards Fish Bar. I'm 'Hank Marvin' and in need of some food. The guy at the tap house says that they do sandwiches at Wards. I order a pork, stuffing and apple sauce cob and I'm salivating as they make it. Unfortunately the idiot owner confesses to warming the pork up in a microwave. We both kick off and make a sharp exit, avoiding any chance of food poisoning.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKBP6ssT0Zpq8YCCapZSM63qAWOUDiYiu3CmpvjOht7SIYm52rmBprt6YJswgh67CBxUyPdDb9HLEYRpgk1S1H2WQodMAZHhLFlJeyaSZqOBoUJbfv8b92lGuC597nCOBm85LnGArmzeWhXjMig-rgFLYgoBDUMbjSJ95jTZzy0fCS4aOdAC7whMA3cs/s4032/IMG-5047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKBP6ssT0Zpq8YCCapZSM63qAWOUDiYiu3CmpvjOht7SIYm52rmBprt6YJswgh67CBxUyPdDb9HLEYRpgk1S1H2WQodMAZHhLFlJeyaSZqOBoUJbfv8b92lGuC597nCOBm85LnGArmzeWhXjMig-rgFLYgoBDUMbjSJ95jTZzy0fCS4aOdAC7whMA3cs/s320/IMG-5047.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's a beautiful walk down a tree-lined, shady part of the Trans Pennine Trail, which runs along the River Don. We quench our thirst at The Huntsman and tuck into a pork pie and scotch egg before heading back up the hill to the station where we catch a train to Elsecar with a few minutes spare.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Elsecar is a gem of a village and has its own Heritage Centre. Firstly, we pop into the Market Inn before enjoying some craft ales at Maison Du Biere taproom. The outside area is stacked out with folk who are basking in the evening sunshine as the weekend begins.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyPMliAgiw3MB7wLYmKuTS4rV-Fis_O9Kiadw3tzl-4AJjqzvFEzOONEI13NAsX0WVNv-tmsQqeMvSLaus8CWRtgeOwJgzOujo0C8MHO3UDrhOVErGFYiHmUGzZoKco1odoHpdjWbZQmG-TtNxPDMynx_IeeGx_GvxAKLC-tAcROE6gl8hVrc9CIzNlg/s4032/IMG-5057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyPMliAgiw3MB7wLYmKuTS4rV-Fis_O9Kiadw3tzl-4AJjqzvFEzOONEI13NAsX0WVNv-tmsQqeMvSLaus8CWRtgeOwJgzOujo0C8MHO3UDrhOVErGFYiHmUGzZoKco1odoHpdjWbZQmG-TtNxPDMynx_IeeGx_GvxAKLC-tAcROE6gl8hVrc9CIzNlg/s320/IMG-5057.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The final port of call is Chapeltown. We then have a swift one in the Sheffield Tap, where we started at 11.30 this morning. We enjoy some banter on the journey home with a couple of young Grimsby Town supporters, who are travelling to Notts for a weekend on the sauce at Rock City. A couple of nightcaps are had at BeerheadZ adjacent to Nottingham Railway Station before turning in for some shut eye.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">My alarm goes off at 4 am. I down a strong cup of Nescafe Alta Rica coffee. The Uber driver drops me off in Arnold ten minutes prior to shift start time. I'm marking up newspapers at just gone 5 am. Yesterday passed in the blink of an eye.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO04jVHEWJFuYfAZMci8X-mKby24okrtYIWnqmZXh42MbdrMS_pK3520uHRqVQlfe2_n2AAjFfAP2TGN7TJdQ7bINreVFxje8EtO-SrnrW-XtmK1N8P7cz-AuKP_3Kj14xtGj7a8OnJ7tVsC_w61wXMW0sopeAJnvVuM7olGpXba1InrmJc99vBN5Hljw/s4032/IMG-5082%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO04jVHEWJFuYfAZMci8X-mKby24okrtYIWnqmZXh42MbdrMS_pK3520uHRqVQlfe2_n2AAjFfAP2TGN7TJdQ7bINreVFxje8EtO-SrnrW-XtmK1N8P7cz-AuKP_3Kj14xtGj7a8OnJ7tVsC_w61wXMW0sopeAJnvVuM7olGpXba1InrmJc99vBN5Hljw/s320/IMG-5082%20(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I grab half an hour's kip on my return to HQ. Ms Moon is away in Spain for a week, so the house is quiet as a mouse. I clock Faggsy in the Old Market Square. He's in the shade, smoking on a ciggie, whilst waiting for a tram. We get off at the Noel Street stop and walk through Asda car park and cross Radford Road.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's £6 on the gate for this UCL cup clash versus Bourne Town from Lincolnshire. There isn't a better ground in our County. It has the lot. I immediately clock the stand where the sun sits behind it. We park ourselves straight into it. I get a bit fidgety when I notice Director of Football, Big Glenn Russell, walking in our direction. He shakes my hand and makes us both feel welcome, which makes me feel even more anxious.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjWqpW3b_VMCd3mECl4BXUwddX0ToM6hfz_7xmdYQvTbEQqEgqkIIpLsNrQ-2f59XTRkwR0g1Chm3Kqk8jEn3I6z5MWSIRgm_PnHdZ5arlBycWZVNg727QZgwph-VT38MfD2pANW0mW_4bPYXb2pHp7NkMighbm62lNsUsUq96oAxJmJlUZvZTPgFWSA/s4032/IMG-5099.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtjWqpW3b_VMCd3mECl4BXUwddX0ToM6hfz_7xmdYQvTbEQqEgqkIIpLsNrQ-2f59XTRkwR0g1Chm3Kqk8jEn3I6z5MWSIRgm_PnHdZ5arlBycWZVNg727QZgwph-VT38MfD2pANW0mW_4bPYXb2pHp7NkMighbm62lNsUsUq96oAxJmJlUZvZTPgFWSA/s320/IMG-5099.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Regular readers will know that I've probably cost Radford promotion on three separate occasions as I have the uncanny knack of rocking up during a long unbeaten run, only to see them fall to defeat. They take the lead through an own goal. I mention to the big 'un that a second might be needed. He tells me to shut up and stop being negative.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">At the break Bourne's manager chooses to do a 'Phil Brown', giving a naughty boys team talk on the edge of the pitch in the baking heat. They have been easily second best in the opening half. The inevitable happens after half-time. The referee is having a 'mare. He's booking players left, right and centre, and has dished out more cards than Clintons. He awards a soft free kick which somehow finds its way into the bottom corner of the net.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6ToTN56AJlaURZDSIiZ2ITgkSEPvVXtPNGV7rgl5uDyUMBRBPGzTt-GVAdvHM21ZdBXIQ4DsQAJ7Obmt3zb02ny_EM8CLTdku6r8zyk9VOFloBKqWFGikldy9XpajBEHARtrF1oBD3QZ9FZ6v9gYmhK2iWKnqv8cWiTIEtYJWwyuCp0MU_G3Llu4SYI/s4032/IMG-5095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6ToTN56AJlaURZDSIiZ2ITgkSEPvVXtPNGV7rgl5uDyUMBRBPGzTt-GVAdvHM21ZdBXIQ4DsQAJ7Obmt3zb02ny_EM8CLTdku6r8zyk9VOFloBKqWFGikldy9XpajBEHARtrF1oBD3QZ9FZ6v9gYmhK2iWKnqv8cWiTIEtYJWwyuCp0MU_G3Llu4SYI/s320/IMG-5095.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Big Joe McLoughlin heads home a deserved winner for The Pheasants, saving me an early exit and lifetime ban. Jevon Seaton has been magnificent for Raddy. His touch is deft and hold up play a joy to watch. He turns on the style on a scorched playing surface. I saw him many years ago playing for an NSL side called Unity FC, run by a good mate of mine, Morris Samuels. He's pushed on a bit since then.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Woman of the Match: Receptionist at Sheff Utd</div><p></p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-33445193783779069262023-09-03T20:18:00.001+01:002023-09-04T08:44:23.458+01:00Nuneaton Borough 1-2 Carlton Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pEuzSHy8vQ7bl-WDfNk4XTvA4-jx9esfKn8ZUm-O4jseixG57BeaGVwdh-Bi4bDOg1g8En6k7YcVyqeoyN8mm6h7kE_anP4fiyEJ4svrnOm3GjokFmKcpbm4tjqri9E4SvUmu56zD9VpcjJcwTKIodr1g6Wr5YBMQJF7AmDGJHG1NRMlyLvzzBAOGSY/s1024/IMG-4908.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pEuzSHy8vQ7bl-WDfNk4XTvA4-jx9esfKn8ZUm-O4jseixG57BeaGVwdh-Bi4bDOg1g8En6k7YcVyqeoyN8mm6h7kE_anP4fiyEJ4svrnOm3GjokFmKcpbm4tjqri9E4SvUmu56zD9VpcjJcwTKIodr1g6Wr5YBMQJF7AmDGJHG1NRMlyLvzzBAOGSY/s320/IMG-4908.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The unbeaten run comes to an end. The visitors, North Ferriby F.C. have won 2-1. We're all dead mardy in the clubhouse afterwards. At least it shows we give two hoots. Tucking into some leftover sandwiches doesn't lift the mood. 'Casually Dan' packs his records away. His final track is 'Nightshift' by The Commodores.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Bank Holiday Monday and I need cheering up. 'Crazy Steve' is someone who always puts a smile on my face. He has the energy of an 18 year old. He picks me up at the usual spot, just off Maid Marian Way. We drive south of the river to pick up Little Al at the Trent Bridge Inn. The little 'un has just mopped up an all day 'Spoons breakfast.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpDK18fGFC5uG8DSOGK9n2OLSOM3pyuwz3mWgN52-J6-eeGFRHKSMNUglAj_9HwfVfQEVZ1zIDSpBrWQFfBkDq_eZzZ-RS_8I3gFC-lWtCkwZTIOEsiXRZI4uWVhl4eHO9syy4Ttwq6cwpZtLFllJtQLsm3bcDEOd2Vm2OK8AzwpYdCZ-7LumbBU7roM/s4032/IMG-4617.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpDK18fGFC5uG8DSOGK9n2OLSOM3pyuwz3mWgN52-J6-eeGFRHKSMNUglAj_9HwfVfQEVZ1zIDSpBrWQFfBkDq_eZzZ-RS_8I3gFC-lWtCkwZTIOEsiXRZI4uWVhl4eHO9syy4Ttwq6cwpZtLFllJtQLsm3bcDEOd2Vm2OK8AzwpYdCZ-7LumbBU7roM/s320/IMG-4617.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We cross Lady Bay Bridge and head up the Colwick Loop Road, passing Nottingham Racecourse and the Greyhound Stadium. Southwell City's new ground is in the hamlet of Brinkley, a mile away from the minster town. 'Big Grumpy Glenn' is in the building with Radford F.C.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We grab a pint at the Bromley Arms in Fiskerton. It sits on the River Trent and reminds me of happy times in my life when I would lunch with Mum and Dad before a race meeting at Southwell Racecourse. Ms Moon and I must take a train journey out there and walk off a lunch down the banks of the Trent.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJkdzoZ4NgIOd3nFbxALzTegT2xpzcwR3DaEjKweGja40uhNCLTz4XFDJpoOd402t_kTA7zgmOlKY-RrzyuFbqSeuaMLtRbUpbmM46vvH92UrkkVE_mpDIvQQIzFro6q4LMnQ_J1Jspp5ytXhvWj_svFS7YxXIENuP9HHQYjms1ldlgDMP8ba_RA_DoA/s4032/IMG-4618.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJkdzoZ4NgIOd3nFbxALzTegT2xpzcwR3DaEjKweGja40uhNCLTz4XFDJpoOd402t_kTA7zgmOlKY-RrzyuFbqSeuaMLtRbUpbmM46vvH92UrkkVE_mpDIvQQIzFro6q4LMnQ_J1Jspp5ytXhvWj_svFS7YxXIENuP9HHQYjms1ldlgDMP8ba_RA_DoA/s320/IMG-4618.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's £5 on the gate which includes a free programme. The DJ setlist has been published in the programme. 'Do Nothing' by The Specials is the pick out track. Southwell lack experience and knowhow; they are muscled out and played off the park by The Pheasants. 5-1 is the final score. Paul Johnson, a recent signing from Borrowash Victoria, catches my eye.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday morning and I'm loitering on Platform 6B, at my second home, Nottingham Railway Station. I alight at Manchester Piccadilly before boarding a Northern train to Blackpool: destination is the town of Bolton. I fancied the idea of a northern road trip. The second round draw of the League Cup has thrown up some interesting ties and tickets are easy to get hold of.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUgVjBUTGSm-RL19Zacw8zWqqWvw7HtcK77sJac5OlWh1Efs0nRI_2nDHEhkK4vbAjH2LWKan9RMH6aIp7jj2Qyi8ifj2lnYIlPwKLGMV1aq8qmCyfcD_KW7pMNpEXByrkBTXujH3USjQNAKZaNByn7Qc83X6vhNHN0tC2cphP5YMHzi1TJ_Dl7Hw400/s1800/072581D4-76A7-4CDE-8C7F-89D968EF917E.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUgVjBUTGSm-RL19Zacw8zWqqWvw7HtcK77sJac5OlWh1Efs0nRI_2nDHEhkK4vbAjH2LWKan9RMH6aIp7jj2Qyi8ifj2lnYIlPwKLGMV1aq8qmCyfcD_KW7pMNpEXByrkBTXujH3USjQNAKZaNByn7Qc83X6vhNHN0tC2cphP5YMHzi1TJ_Dl7Hw400/s320/072581D4-76A7-4CDE-8C7F-89D968EF917E.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I tick off a couple of average CAMRA pubs in the town centre before taking a stroll around some of the tourist attractions. They are proud of their own up here. There's a statue of steeplejack Fred Dibnah and a gold post box commemorating double Olympic Gold medal winner Jason Kenny. I asked a local policeman where the post box was. He said he'd never heard of Kenny.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've treated myself to a night's stay at the Bolton Stadium Radisson Hotel. I check-in, throw my rucksack into the room and take a customary full circuit walk around the perimeter of the ground. There's a statue of legendary centre forward Nat Lofthouse who scored 255 goals in 452 appearances for Wanderers.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XMnTNyeCQnAR8oF_lhdgrE5r-q0MwJ8yiehaQEBwc4EzMRIcLTlKUSmRphaC9tHg6vycZPxE_DDFZaM7-Ph_BnTpTRZIRuh_X3JO14V27KFo4Zq-R0I7uYCRQRiDLa9LyOSoG9b3eM73lsoFjZ_6xgQvl2QfDxk3qlwOcxW_XAsja1ccwdL2W8oxFqc/s1800/D0D69F18-C038-4984-B1E8-96EC4C2AE69F%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XMnTNyeCQnAR8oF_lhdgrE5r-q0MwJ8yiehaQEBwc4EzMRIcLTlKUSmRphaC9tHg6vycZPxE_DDFZaM7-Ph_BnTpTRZIRuh_X3JO14V27KFo4Zq-R0I7uYCRQRiDLa9LyOSoG9b3eM73lsoFjZ_6xgQvl2QfDxk3qlwOcxW_XAsja1ccwdL2W8oxFqc/s320/D0D69F18-C038-4984-B1E8-96EC4C2AE69F%20(1).JPG" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm fleeced of £6 for the smallest meat and potato pasty and a bottle of water at the kiosk. I sit at the top of the lower tier in the East Stand. 'Starlight' from French electronic musician Supermen Lovers is booming out of the stadium pa system.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Michael Carrick's Middlesbrough arrive on the back of a miserable run. They fall behind to a Dion Charles close range strike. Parity is restored through Matt Crooks on the half hour. 2,867 'Boro fans have made the 200 mile round trip across from the north east. They are treated to a masterclass of total football in the second half. It's incredible that it takes two late strikes from the Australian Riley McGree and former Imp loanee Morgan Rogers, to wrap up the game. I'm tucked up in bed 10 minutes after the final whistle.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG54rZlJboTQFPD1ueE1BsESQn7PLT93YWGedpScmbo_cjcLwN6caVyvT6sBvoNbLcEj4gqCjR4B_TUALljFZ545i4WfrUWOEHYIc7Enn3S9oAsWINt7hZ8IOfT_0Spa94ik9DCGeUb75y1cQQee1-vXhiwURo015tmUB1vLmM7UCkeoeO7HEnu29N72c/s4032/IMG-4692.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG54rZlJboTQFPD1ueE1BsESQn7PLT93YWGedpScmbo_cjcLwN6caVyvT6sBvoNbLcEj4gqCjR4B_TUALljFZ545i4WfrUWOEHYIc7Enn3S9oAsWINt7hZ8IOfT_0Spa94ik9DCGeUb75y1cQQee1-vXhiwURo015tmUB1vLmM7UCkeoeO7HEnu29N72c/s320/IMG-4692.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I devour a monster breakfast before disembarking a train at Salford Crescent. 25 minutes seems a long time to wait for the connection to Swinton. I decide, with the weather brightening up, to make the 45 minute walk to St John's Church in Pendlebury.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's my penultimate visit to a Busby Babe grave and this tale is one the saddest of them all. 25 year old Geoff Bent only made the trip to Yugoslavia, for the European Cup tie versus Red Star Belgrade, as cover for any injured players. He and 22 other passengers perished in the Munich Air Disaster, on February 6th, 1958. The grass in the graveyard is overgrown. A Manchester United scarve is draped around the gravestone.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7TnNE9n9VfgOcPNKZkx4KaWUVclzUzDJiIsrVPBK8WdpQif6vIHUtgdDIv4o8D_2w9hKuDda6U5WePTkaBstNEZKm328zqaS_JgX0QvY2WcmvUEAURVsW-4cBITLvvFrk2AXCxbZUY8J0Ndj4DqVIaGK5s1hUgkvp-fSIWLHa8ZHXsogLh47MayHJMU0/s3780/18894DEF-819D-4ACB-A146-412527EC35A0.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3780" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7TnNE9n9VfgOcPNKZkx4KaWUVclzUzDJiIsrVPBK8WdpQif6vIHUtgdDIv4o8D_2w9hKuDda6U5WePTkaBstNEZKm328zqaS_JgX0QvY2WcmvUEAURVsW-4cBITLvvFrk2AXCxbZUY8J0Ndj4DqVIaGK5s1hUgkvp-fSIWLHa8ZHXsogLh47MayHJMU0/s320/18894DEF-819D-4ACB-A146-412527EC35A0.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The walk up to Swinton railway station is solemn and somber as I reflect on how England will have mourned during that heartbreaking period of time. I step off the train at Manchester Victoria and wander up to Manchester Cathedral. I sit in the 'Glade of Light', a memorial garden that remembers the lives of 22 concertgoers and their families who died in a terrorist attack in May 2017.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I lift my spirits by parting with £14 at the National Football Museum. It's a fantastic customer experience that brings back a lot of memories in my nigh on 60 years of watching the beautiful game. I gaze at L.S. Lowry's 'Going to the Match.' The PFA recently sold this painting to the Lowry Arts Centre for £7.8 million.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nmiTpHspJIR56AskRzkE41eOGGHvFuPCHlUb1GsgVrVij42sGlo73fAFt6SiG-AlfwNwIsDuoY7LrStL_PKESshmO-dldEpT9tj3cNxx4aqd1Ok7cy_ElRvs3x1ogcaoud1YMlsRtERSoN-Y1mr_aYGR2wdG4aw1RJ_qZm-k3TB5J9Aon5OgRHcc81Q/s4032/IMG-4740.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nmiTpHspJIR56AskRzkE41eOGGHvFuPCHlUb1GsgVrVij42sGlo73fAFt6SiG-AlfwNwIsDuoY7LrStL_PKESshmO-dldEpT9tj3cNxx4aqd1Ok7cy_ElRvs3x1ogcaoud1YMlsRtERSoN-Y1mr_aYGR2wdG4aw1RJ_qZm-k3TB5J9Aon5OgRHcc81Q/s320/IMG-4740.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I manage a quick scoop in the Piccadilly Tap before boarding a train to Sheffield. Tony Mac has tipped me the wink of a CAMRA pub up in the hills of a suburb called Heeley. By chance I stroll past a craft ale tap house called Triple Point Brewery, where I've been before on a Jolly Boys outing. I take advantage by charging my phone up, whilst downing a few ales and tucking into some tea.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Sheaf View, a 19th Century pub in Heeley, is well worth the visit, even though I'm fagged out on my arrival. I neck a NEIPA called Kushtaka from Neepsend Brewery. I then dawdle back down the hill towards Bramall Lane.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuMV-ohGa1RUIFlYqyd-3uaQZ2SO4hV5et7nS1CgIC8f5Hcu2FR-gCx-SSLKXenAc53Bi_O1WtgAUA431CnVAHxd3pCPjs8Am-89rF7r5qTsLpwls0FYfbamx5c2qyx_MmXWBpPh8EjEPFvQl2BRcY5kbdGo_m_NxR3sPOxhfXvU9eQNG4nhNYhE3YbQ/s2048/IMG-4757.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuMV-ohGa1RUIFlYqyd-3uaQZ2SO4hV5et7nS1CgIC8f5Hcu2FR-gCx-SSLKXenAc53Bi_O1WtgAUA431CnVAHxd3pCPjs8Am-89rF7r5qTsLpwls0FYfbamx5c2qyx_MmXWBpPh8EjEPFvQl2BRcY5kbdGo_m_NxR3sPOxhfXvU9eQNG4nhNYhE3YbQ/s320/IMG-4757.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">'The Lincoln' have been on flames since an opening day 3-0 reverse at Bolton, of all places. The Blades have yet to taste victory. The music played by the PA announcer is bloody awful. The game isn't entertaining either, although the Imps are easy on the eye. Neither team look likely to break the deadlock.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's a year since I saw Lincoln win on penalties, up at Holker Street in Barrow. Our goalkeeper is 6ft 7". I fancy our chances. John Egan balloons United's final penalty over the bar. I make a hasty exit before I get rumbled, as once again I've seen City win whilst sat with the opposition fans, plus I'm also wearing some Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club clobber. I'm in such a rush that I leave my belongings under my seat.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQKbdc_asOZD0a7rGXhFjZy-MdlIbVFtsoA19SglmVk0CQ7cfA1DeQkhBCtaxw2WrFfdJ_4HAeOhwuegQLbYeQXllWrE6zJPv7NuKNQ-OjfUNj2ugQMH5Yp80UDaxCLE4_M1wbADh5wq3-AWNYJhai7PaUj3s-6A35bYD0RTDBstO48SkEUzHe2eFQ3Y/s2048/IMG-4766.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1548" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQKbdc_asOZD0a7rGXhFjZy-MdlIbVFtsoA19SglmVk0CQ7cfA1DeQkhBCtaxw2WrFfdJ_4HAeOhwuegQLbYeQXllWrE6zJPv7NuKNQ-OjfUNj2ugQMH5Yp80UDaxCLE4_M1wbADh5wq3-AWNYJhai7PaUj3s-6A35bYD0RTDBstO48SkEUzHe2eFQ3Y/s320/IMG-4766.JPG" width="242" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Thursday morning. A bleary-eyed Sticky Palms is on the phone to a friendly receptionist at Sheffield United FC. My rucksack has been tracked down. I'll catch another train next week to pick it up and revisit Heeley where there are a couple more pubs to tick off.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I have a lunch to die for at Deliah, an independent fine food delicatessen, that is housed in an old banking hall, close to Nottingham's old Market Square. We dine upstairs as we enjoy the ambience and hum of the place. A new rucksack and atlas are bagged before catching the bus home.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgteav6qM0wmnZAZv8Tv2WW8ea3UsD9xtukQbk27M2D3KXlkfx44_r6c8SEOdaceqkQWuH5KHhLCCc9DTcbaRGuJ4Nv8EkNFz_hYQ8IsoOWHv0aJAcf1i6FtLj39VeUy5dn6LDoxm_FoIsQkkm26wO-dkp4DK0qqc6wPM3SXam1LNAg3xa1Sxv3Fc2g0OU/s2048/493a6643-dab5-4167-90b4-ff7eb6458cd0.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1537" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgteav6qM0wmnZAZv8Tv2WW8ea3UsD9xtukQbk27M2D3KXlkfx44_r6c8SEOdaceqkQWuH5KHhLCCc9DTcbaRGuJ4Nv8EkNFz_hYQ8IsoOWHv0aJAcf1i6FtLj39VeUy5dn6LDoxm_FoIsQkkm26wO-dkp4DK0qqc6wPM3SXam1LNAg3xa1Sxv3Fc2g0OU/s320/493a6643-dab5-4167-90b4-ff7eb6458cd0.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's 4 a.m. on Saturday. I'm overheating and coughing. An UBER driver picks me up and drops me off at the newsagent where I work in Arnold. I love my job and the folk I work with and meet, but today I'm not feeling it. My bed is calling me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">'Casually Dan' confirms we're departing just before 1 pm for Nuneaton. Had he not I would have been confined to bed for the rest of the day. It's an FA Cup 1st qualifying round tie. Hopefully the Mighty Millers put on a show. They bounced back from defeat by cantering to a 3-1 victory up at Grimsby Borough. Nigel also won his second consecutive away meat raffle. Joey, our mascot, didn't get a sniff again.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4lsVvNGE8c9S9JMnK4f_6fLwnBuZb35lRYXNxJJmN1QOBcjtvJLwcBaApoZSSVPvzNiBI9eEIHMUDeQ190wzCcCtnFN3LmIM4MW4prO6WkGElKTmoWblVrZXlicSuFf_Y9vW2xSdjeql89HcQQFzjdeFaNtnoJmOVgBAfxYLumrOCq9LXGH0utWLi7us/s4032/IMG-4842.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4lsVvNGE8c9S9JMnK4f_6fLwnBuZb35lRYXNxJJmN1QOBcjtvJLwcBaApoZSSVPvzNiBI9eEIHMUDeQ190wzCcCtnFN3LmIM4MW4prO6WkGElKTmoWblVrZXlicSuFf_Y9vW2xSdjeql89HcQQFzjdeFaNtnoJmOVgBAfxYLumrOCq9LXGH0utWLi7us/s320/IMG-4842.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Dan says there are rumours that the rapper Dizzee Rascal is playing an improtu pop up lunchtime gig at the skate park in St Edward's Park, in inner city Sneinton. There's a few folk gathered in there, and a stage set up, as we drive by.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Carlton faithful are congregated at the Acorn pub, a few miles away from Liberty Way, Nuneaton's ground. It's £14 pay in on the gate. Dan's daughter, Lily, aged nearly seven, has made the trip too. She's back at school next week so has been practising her arithmetic in the car - I christen her 'The Carlton Carol Vorderman.' Diehard NFFC and Millers fan, Jason Simpkins, announces breaking news that he has a large sty on his eye.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0vZJVVroNfPGecSDAwaFrMiryj35cvR7ZuQzcdytF6NeckQumD4Y_d2Xk1LWi6wonTHdcDLCXw9iXH4lE61BYoJ90TydLv6P-MjfIm0WVLufuE_p-C-ceGm4Av1OYqmRRQP4eWAmLjSkXYAEkKGvj34u2V-gCqmFM5jx1YkPlyE4oQxF03y7_wX-DAw/s1024/3a3ec985-18a1-4469-9870-607062f5f00f.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0vZJVVroNfPGecSDAwaFrMiryj35cvR7ZuQzcdytF6NeckQumD4Y_d2Xk1LWi6wonTHdcDLCXw9iXH4lE61BYoJ90TydLv6P-MjfIm0WVLufuE_p-C-ceGm4Av1OYqmRRQP4eWAmLjSkXYAEkKGvj34u2V-gCqmFM5jx1YkPlyE4oQxF03y7_wX-DAw/s320/3a3ec985-18a1-4469-9870-607062f5f00f.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">'Ring of Fire', by Johnny Cash booms around the ground. Only 300 plus supporters have bothered to turn up as the Nuneaton fans vote with their feet, during a miserable run of form. It's a horrible start for them and a giant-killing is on the cards, when a Lewis 'Drongo' Durow cross is headed home by the excellent Khyle Sargent. David Adegbola smells blood, he inflicts further pain and misery with a second goal after chasing a lost cause, forcing a faux pas from the 'Boro 'keeper.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm sat with my great friends Jon and Edward. We roar with laughter when the Head Steward races down the concourse to remonstrate with an official. Manager Jimmy Ginnelly and his dislikeable assistant look like a bulldog chewing on a wasp. Nuneaton peg a goal back in 7 minutes of 'mystery time' added on.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr24iKxxff0E5VYrLmQzGhDo4nQO-BO2GDnfFMjsRDYber-u19B_Iz6drj74xUf9zN_e4A1-eAPbSpf4y8Z4eJRYa6zZWzewr9AR8gKmwmpUG6yJ9T-1jsmxPwYPOQsByLBOhUvvAQcaO6aKvIXWQry2k6FGF3UA350j4cE4j8j723js5-hZZa2HMyEZ4/s1496/d9f97d4f-6ad4-4066-b56e-23d5a8d24edf%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1496" data-original-width="1496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr24iKxxff0E5VYrLmQzGhDo4nQO-BO2GDnfFMjsRDYber-u19B_Iz6drj74xUf9zN_e4A1-eAPbSpf4y8Z4eJRYa6zZWzewr9AR8gKmwmpUG6yJ9T-1jsmxPwYPOQsByLBOhUvvAQcaO6aKvIXWQry2k6FGF3UA350j4cE4j8j723js5-hZZa2HMyEZ4/s320/d9f97d4f-6ad4-4066-b56e-23d5a8d24edf%20(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's back to the wall for the boys in the second half. Former Bristol City forward Leroy Lita fluffs his lines from the penalty spot and Jamie Ward continues to bleat and moan like a spoilt child. Carlton's young side have heart, soul and courage. Lily doesn't seems too perturbed as she does a few somersaults on a crash barrier.The second half lasts an age. Dan and I know how the football gods can work. In the dying embers of the game, the magnificent Dan Brown somehow makes a last ditch clearance off the line.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are emotional scenes at the final whistle. The turnaround at this club has been nothing short of staggering after an unsettling period last season. The management, coaching team, backroom staff and players deservedly take all the plaudits.</div><p>Man of the Match: Nat Lofthouse</p><p>Attendance: 352</p><p>Credit Lou Lardi for main photo. Thanks Lou.</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-47119112101420859382023-08-27T20:24:00.000+01:002023-08-27T20:24:19.751+01:00Winterton Rangers 1-2 Carlton Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8Trduu0baOMcbGlCRAAPvMXlLGIk5f1OsRrdmUKoDawOhMIby2WwHNArVQcFuoQ45wzzuAmY5Y6OMh5saM7ieuqErXUSNG91PXx7sBf8RfR2ol9vGJZAia84CSkftIs0vp2BMhFih4-bJVaSA4mgX1nuYeVwoeT956RlmZ0uzb8kCz1BGn3XhWcYTYM/s768/IMG-4584%20(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="768" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC8Trduu0baOMcbGlCRAAPvMXlLGIk5f1OsRrdmUKoDawOhMIby2WwHNArVQcFuoQ45wzzuAmY5Y6OMh5saM7ieuqErXUSNG91PXx7sBf8RfR2ol9vGJZAia84CSkftIs0vp2BMhFih4-bJVaSA4mgX1nuYeVwoeT956RlmZ0uzb8kCz1BGn3XhWcYTYM/s320/IMG-4584%20(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Sunday August 20th. I'm sitting in the armchair, flicking through my diary, to see what's planned for the week ahead. My mood is good following a routine win for the Mighty Millers in the FA Cup yesterday. Minutes later I'm throwing my arms up into the air in a fit of pique. I'm raging folks and blowing a gasket.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The bastard that is 'The Hundred Whackathon' has struck again. Players fly in and fly out of the country willy-nilly, happy to grab the dollar on offer. This farce of a competition has mucked up my entire cricket-watching schedule. Due to the greedy ECB no 'proper cricket' will be played at Trent Bridge for 60 days - in the height of summer. Add to this today's breaking news that Notts leg spin bowler Calvin Harrison - one of Sticky's favourites - has been called up by the Northern Superchargers; whoever the chuff they are. Notts will be without Calvin for the winner takes all One Day Cup clash versus Lancashire at Welbeck later in the week.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqoHaTi0GjbIStK9KN7xXZ3r2dWA2d1NLDutpt-in37OeaoZcG7RCfglmG2JlMfy6TqtajtUwYyn8U_MUCXlaKwjhEkPmw66gPCLU2OjZqo_etqcxcNkTq_WankurUoj3UU0VtUCvNVcNqgDc7qT-vuPk4BBGPSsLG1RiynLlRP28-s6XGTafaENFfcY/s300/IMG-4602.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyqoHaTi0GjbIStK9KN7xXZ3r2dWA2d1NLDutpt-in37OeaoZcG7RCfglmG2JlMfy6TqtajtUwYyn8U_MUCXlaKwjhEkPmw66gPCLU2OjZqo_etqcxcNkTq_WankurUoj3UU0VtUCvNVcNqgDc7qT-vuPk4BBGPSsLG1RiynLlRP28-s6XGTafaENFfcY/s1600/IMG-4602.PNG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The FA Cup draw is made on Monday lunchtime. The Millers have been drawn away to north Warwickshire team Nuneaton Borough. Former Generation Game host Larry Grayson was born and laid to rest in the market town. I've sold my car now so it will probably 'shut that door' on any chance of visiting his grave.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday morning and I'm walking out of a Londis on Foxhill Road, in Carlton, with a carrier bag full of savouries and confectioneries. I'm heading up to the house of blog legend, Edward. Unfortunately I've got the Richard Herrod Centre and Carlton Forum mixed up - it's an easy mistake to make .. lol.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DALg8PCu-mSI6rZHuK6YmgfqjuJsOI6atFBxYdOQ6TsEp1-rjRIXfle8US3S3VOmARTTIYqfe_d-lND9NnIrcg3Oqv_vS4XyVolRWKi2Fd3VVuJuJ4VM9gTj26w-YAjJpPE8NHq9LH0Mw3H31fX8CGEU7y3xxzL1pXX1s3nm592LInJFbIOxcfjYBrA/s1600/0bce0dd6-cf3e-460b-9de1-f4b614c4737e.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DALg8PCu-mSI6rZHuK6YmgfqjuJsOI6atFBxYdOQ6TsEp1-rjRIXfle8US3S3VOmARTTIYqfe_d-lND9NnIrcg3Oqv_vS4XyVolRWKi2Fd3VVuJuJ4VM9gTj26w-YAjJpPE8NHq9LH0Mw3H31fX8CGEU7y3xxzL1pXX1s3nm592LInJFbIOxcfjYBrA/s320/0bce0dd6-cf3e-460b-9de1-f4b614c4737e.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ed's dad, Jon Hartstone, comes to the rescue by picking me up. We're heading up to Welbeck Cricket Club to watch the game I mentioned above. For the record, Jon's wife, Hazel, wrote one of the best books I've ever read. It's called Finding Stefan and it reduced me to tears.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're all members of the Club, so don't pay in on the gate, although it is £5 to park the car. The news is that a depleted Notts side have won the toss and elected to bat on a moist wicket with a green top. Notts' batting is a complete and utter shambles. 42-5 is embarrassing. The highlights of the day are the homemade cake stall, an ice cream van and the marvellous company, of course. It takes over an hour to exit the car park. We drop Ed off in a cul-de-sac. He says it reminds him of Brookside Close. Ed loves a soap opera reference.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCjmbystBh-MeoLTMZJL_fbZ2HYCwv1-4b99-wFeEJNy2BiHVV4paM9s23lXyPXrK9QVxTxahfdZ7gFgPiecx5dkhneDOMoYBCPm-C5sFvnphA6PKAEPFd4oNS4Oqrb-uBUqP3_lg7ukLqCYFqmuMH5QWYv8gh53bxcbaDG5cBrUDgzIvq_RAL7xEV6LE/s1170/ee076ed0-f18a-4faa-93ed-7a733b277ddc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1117" data-original-width="1170" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCjmbystBh-MeoLTMZJL_fbZ2HYCwv1-4b99-wFeEJNy2BiHVV4paM9s23lXyPXrK9QVxTxahfdZ7gFgPiecx5dkhneDOMoYBCPm-C5sFvnphA6PKAEPFd4oNS4Oqrb-uBUqP3_lg7ukLqCYFqmuMH5QWYv8gh53bxcbaDG5cBrUDgzIvq_RAL7xEV6LE/s320/ee076ed0-f18a-4faa-93ed-7a733b277ddc.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm on the road to Scunthorpe with the Millers on Wednesday evening. 'Casually Dan' is piloting, Big Joe is riding shotgun, whilst Nige and I are in the back. There's a nice bit of Steve Lamacq on the car sound system. Carlton Town cheerleader, Lily, aged nearly seven, doesn't make tonight's trip. We've lined up a couple of CAMRA entries in deepest Lincolnshire.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Yarborough Hunt, in the town of Brigg, has a tidy back garden, but not a great selection of cask alesare on. The 'Beer Gestapo' (CAMRA) must have been in a particularly benevolent mood during their pub visit. I have a strop at the George Hogg in Winterton as the pub are showing The Hundred on TV. My bottom lip is wobbling and my back is turned to the sideshow. Dan, Joe and Nige are giggling away.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I first visited Winterton Rangers back in 2010. If I remember right it was to be the Germany training camp had England won a World Cup bid. The Millers are under the cosh in the early stages of the game. 10 jacket Josh Walker (40 goals last season) is taking some looking after. Fortunately, for Carlton, he is withdrawn due to injury. The impressive David Adegbola scores a well-worked goal to put Carlton 1-0 up.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgirHJGU4oGxAhYDjnTxvI4zjIIb72rele71Ty8olORn9ALfs8QCf-RxH621cxiH_a_xeC3IFTrQwkIbE9Pa7EVn5t6gBnFkjF_3Ysa1uO3cuSVVbRbn6A9Wqe-V8AnMPpkZxW48KMfRTOTA3HYv8ts19fQeZFYklM9w1mHLDXXgPUtLnIo6layUcPEafo/s4032/IMG-4435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgirHJGU4oGxAhYDjnTxvI4zjIIb72rele71Ty8olORn9ALfs8QCf-RxH621cxiH_a_xeC3IFTrQwkIbE9Pa7EVn5t6gBnFkjF_3Ysa1uO3cuSVVbRbn6A9Wqe-V8AnMPpkZxW48KMfRTOTA3HYv8ts19fQeZFYklM9w1mHLDXXgPUtLnIo6layUcPEafo/s320/IMG-4435.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Nige and I tuck into a much-need pasty and chips from the food bar. I stand behind the goal with the rest of travelling fans in the second half. The Millers are pegged back after a defensive howler. I'd take a point now, but 'DJ Murph' says we have another goal in us. There's a huge cheer when it's announced that Nige has won the meat raffle. Barton the dog ain't happy, as he had eyes on those huge Lincolnshire pork sausages.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're cheering again a few minutes later when Dean Freeman guides a header home after a missile of a long throw from Lewis 'Drongo' Durow. It's a cheery ride home back to Notts for the Millers faithful.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztlB_f0hIIeSk8wmODBCFsHneoE_xK7_pevP6UkZz4fYK0RzzQCamB-28H0w470y4aKh26687EbBJBomHOp4ul1LIBoKnLTsTSa3czjI8Wtiug7WtIJzmvxMWZgLFzrDlJ6sR8ftVAaNWMtGR-x1UAxkqljvTkd63Jt6pO86fx8mz3US4pfK089lGs7g/s1024/59db69dc-9280-4f05-8814-7fa7a0fe53b8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjztlB_f0hIIeSk8wmODBCFsHneoE_xK7_pevP6UkZz4fYK0RzzQCamB-28H0w470y4aKh26687EbBJBomHOp4ul1LIBoKnLTsTSa3czjI8Wtiug7WtIJzmvxMWZgLFzrDlJ6sR8ftVAaNWMtGR-x1UAxkqljvTkd63Jt6pO86fx8mz3US4pfK089lGs7g/s320/59db69dc-9280-4f05-8814-7fa7a0fe53b8.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm taking advantage of three days off work this week. A Heritage Pub day, along with visiting the graves of soldiers who were awarded Victoria Cross medals for bravery, has been pencilled into the diary for some time. It's the usual squadron in attendance - 'Crazy Steve', 'Cotgrave Trev' and 'Little Al.' Anywhere oop north will do for me - today it's West Yorkshire.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We visit some cracking pubs at Heath, Burley and in Leeds city centre. Sadly the Garden Gate, in Hunslet, is now permanently closed. There was the added bonus of passing by and photographing the Marcelo Bielsa mural in Burley. I must buy the biography written on the Argentine, who is now the manager of the Uruguay national team. Pub of the day was the wonderful Adelphi Hotel, in Leeds. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05dHQgeL6whwJBkiPp0Tz5XErFvuGBBsfTHMRN6Plt2xr8z3zAY4uXSGE-B70eTcWDoaSnDA8i2OW-rxbnPKWGXgYcyXTsI_X03-FNMZeGVHsoA5delXxJLVKCD1D1Mb-47dDzr3omrfGEo0eQCQE5lHAe7SwpZhBnmceI4pPokAJumIolvWQsc4D3P8/s4032/IMG-4472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05dHQgeL6whwJBkiPp0Tz5XErFvuGBBsfTHMRN6Plt2xr8z3zAY4uXSGE-B70eTcWDoaSnDA8i2OW-rxbnPKWGXgYcyXTsI_X03-FNMZeGVHsoA5delXxJLVKCD1D1Mb-47dDzr3omrfGEo0eQCQE5lHAe7SwpZhBnmceI4pPokAJumIolvWQsc4D3P8/s320/IMG-4472.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I work a full shift at the shop on Friday. I'm flat out all day. I'm due on at 5 a.m. tomorrow morning, so can't go bonkers on the drinks front this evening. I meet Tony Mac for a couple in the Cock and Hoop. We wander around the corner to Keans Head where I clock an Azvez pastry stout, chalked up on the blackboard, called 'Stocking Filler Nostalgia' that weighs in at 14%. One third of a glass of that bad boy gets the juices flowing, as does 'Shattered Dreamcake' a 9% coconut-laden Danish dessert sour pastry from the Vault City stable. I grab a kebab from the Carlton Fryer on the short walk home.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I toss and turn for most of the night as I know I'm up early. I rise at 3.30 am and book an Uber taxi (I've canned DG Cars due to another cock up on their part). There's not much time for bants with 'Chippy' as the shop does a roaring trade. I fill out our football betting syndicate bets on the bus journey home.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhSB_LstHXF2XLrnXmDcLuQoNcd41lD40vDfrvHDCcQ_OJMxnnyqJECdmoB3wBXPEOES7eycBLmrsew24rvOdYp7Dphw2eYT9Th9Zj8qP6spvFosPp-DB7Hac0GpuggTrTcxSy_nRWJ3VFcnaPQEmuENf3rq0QLANqSDsEIBDRg_TNtEZp3Nzl0QdPyM/s1800/FC96E5FE-BDAB-4C27-ACC0-6FB09EE1D354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhSB_LstHXF2XLrnXmDcLuQoNcd41lD40vDfrvHDCcQ_OJMxnnyqJECdmoB3wBXPEOES7eycBLmrsew24rvOdYp7Dphw2eYT9Th9Zj8qP6spvFosPp-DB7Hac0GpuggTrTcxSy_nRWJ3VFcnaPQEmuENf3rq0QLANqSDsEIBDRg_TNtEZp3Nzl0QdPyM/s320/FC96E5FE-BDAB-4C27-ACC0-6FB09EE1D354.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I climb up the stairs and flop onto the bed. A disco nap is required before the North Ferriby league game. An hour later I'm stood at the bus stop. A lass walks by and says all the buses are being diverted due to a serious crash at Porchester Road junction. A bus sails by as I walk in between bus stops. It's five minutes before kick off when I finally enter the turnstile. I've missed Casually Dan's Soul set and guest speaker Jarrod Holmes, who spoke so eloquently at the club's presentation day.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I glance at the starting line up and am alarmed to see that there's no out-and-out striker. Michael Ford is impressive in the middle of the park before he comes off with blood pouring from a gash wound to the head. Captain, Niall Davie, himself returning from injury, is Ford's replacement. I'm stood next to his mum, Lynn, who is nervous for her son, as Niall has had a catalogue of misfortune over the last few seasons. He's had more visits to the hospital than Jerry St Clair off Phoenix Nights.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWFQaFd2HGbsh-tpJMTXfSV975FKpKNSoeww2lz1HwN36Pm3rEkXRCZXnYWALJWgysWTvY2HLTiHmr2467kQfHU4obKmUE7hk65Wy_43S2Mwy5NeuVdKUExiP3cSF6E21OHsEjeQRowkrcMPTt7JSs6lOX2YiwoyXqazqAHpkawmVMjoarpod9SX7_R4/s1600/84297856-2583-421c-b72a-adc4053a9d05.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgWFQaFd2HGbsh-tpJMTXfSV975FKpKNSoeww2lz1HwN36Pm3rEkXRCZXnYWALJWgysWTvY2HLTiHmr2467kQfHU4obKmUE7hk65Wy_43S2Mwy5NeuVdKUExiP3cSF6E21OHsEjeQRowkrcMPTt7JSs6lOX2YiwoyXqazqAHpkawmVMjoarpod9SX7_R4/s320/84297856-2583-421c-b72a-adc4053a9d05.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm with Edward and Brian Hartley. There's an extraordinary incident on 31 minutes. Edward is fumbling in his pocket as his phone is going off. It's his mum, Hazel. There's been a soap opera of its own going off in their house this week. Hazel has purchased a paper guillotine that has developed a fault, unfortunately husband Jon has mislaid the receipt. I say to Ed that I'm sorry to hear this life-changing news, but can he send my condolences and tell his mum off for phoning up during a vital league game that we need three points from.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's 0-0 at the break but I notice on the TV screen in the clubhouse that 'The Lincoln' are in cruise control at Sincil Bank versus the Seasiders of Blackpool. Carlton take the lead in bizzare circumstances following a faux pax by the Ferriby 'keeper, who up until then had been excellent.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijeW2h96MxTvFbJzHNvRUbRa5iLx41dJKrJ73WfzjpDFobL0ph9Bi5SixaMwmpddWr3lP7wpZpKjkbE2GSyopRXxzCvxqafIyAqEVbG8fQlhpu15li6i73M9jRCW8DGA2g9fjWqzVHeTT4f1WeKTvKgpXs3a0db6vNgwKUPkOzTGhBHJ5_Ui4cGPBqSU/s2048/d19630d1-ac9b-4949-834d-674cc25721f6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijeW2h96MxTvFbJzHNvRUbRa5iLx41dJKrJ73WfzjpDFobL0ph9Bi5SixaMwmpddWr3lP7wpZpKjkbE2GSyopRXxzCvxqafIyAqEVbG8fQlhpu15li6i73M9jRCW8DGA2g9fjWqzVHeTT4f1WeKTvKgpXs3a0db6vNgwKUPkOzTGhBHJ5_Ui4cGPBqSU/s320/d19630d1-ac9b-4949-834d-674cc25721f6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The visitors have always been in the game. They have one or two big lads who put themselves about. They equalise on 64 minutes and score what turns out to be the winner with 20 minutes remaining. They've brought some good support with them, it's a shame that many chose not to go into the bar. I did manage to catch up with one of their hardcore supporters Nick Quantrill, a novelist from Hull, who I met on a previous visit to Humberside.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Man of the Match: Edward</div><p></p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-25952900149548390242023-08-20T20:06:00.001+01:002023-08-20T20:38:56.457+01:00Nottingham Forest 2-1 Sheffield United<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gAxRuNwplyPJV7VLRubP94GG397B3bx3C5MjRb7n-B5PDDNFbnEEezUKxru3F3A2JZc0hS0pCOhv6dLGnFlPX8Sooc1TdiwGYlTlPA9zrZy5N66z23i6tSz40-mHSYtEQbx3LH4nSx9gS2iSRPVnfBQjVkrJxJ4JaUsu3ujZhiENYiUbHQuxf4Jz3WA/s1920/IMG-4241.WEBP" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gAxRuNwplyPJV7VLRubP94GG397B3bx3C5MjRb7n-B5PDDNFbnEEezUKxru3F3A2JZc0hS0pCOhv6dLGnFlPX8Sooc1TdiwGYlTlPA9zrZy5N66z23i6tSz40-mHSYtEQbx3LH4nSx9gS2iSRPVnfBQjVkrJxJ4JaUsu3ujZhiENYiUbHQuxf4Jz3WA/s320/IMG-4241.WEBP" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm walking down London Road, mingling with the travelling Grimsby Town fans, after the Mariners 3-2 defeat to Notts County. There's no complaints from their lot, they accept they've been well beaten. I enjoy a pint of Inti, from the Alpha Delta Brewery, who are based in Newcastle upon Tyne, at the Partizan Tavern in Sneinton. Landlord, Tony Perkins, a die hard Notts County supporter, is a relieved man, now that the Pies are off the mark and running.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I write the blog whilst listening to four hours of Radcliffe and Maconie on 6 Music catch up. They have a feature on the programme called 'The Chain' where they play a song that is loosely connected with a previous song requested by a listener. Today's choice is a belter. 'Miss Sarajevo' is peak Bono and Pavarotti. The song is about a group of women who hold a beauty pageant, as an act of defiance, during the 'Siege of Sarajevo.'</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sc51atBGT1vIJ1Jt0zLBWVgmKF108BSXoWT0UGgjvG1coVsMNzP7hXuYk0ITGKdLMOsqQQT07CO3ogOtP2U2VHB-pAqgNFKTIrHH97LSLqBDsKq9auQRWXAfXoHHaA2f-CH4eUpxYjBrN3ejnnHoE3hMw3Y-_t1DcNUO9FAQKcVr3JLQEpvuI1CgnDY/s4032/IMG-4141.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8sc51atBGT1vIJ1Jt0zLBWVgmKF108BSXoWT0UGgjvG1coVsMNzP7hXuYk0ITGKdLMOsqQQT07CO3ogOtP2U2VHB-pAqgNFKTIrHH97LSLqBDsKq9auQRWXAfXoHHaA2f-CH4eUpxYjBrN3ejnnHoE3hMw3Y-_t1DcNUO9FAQKcVr3JLQEpvuI1CgnDY/s320/IMG-4141.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I cook supper, the following evening, for Ms Moon and I, whilst listening to Five Live's Monday Night Club. There's a journalist on there called Rory Smith who proper winds me up. He's 'Chief Soccer Correspondent' for the New York Times. He's dead patronising about any team that's in the bottom half of the Premier League. The matey culture on MNC is annoying and cringeworthy, as the BBC competes with TalkSport for listeners. Ms Moon loves the homemade Doner kebab.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday teatime and I'm enjoying a pint outside at Castle Rock's Fox and Grapes with a mate, Jon, who is giving me some sound financial advice. After a couple of pints I jump on the Arnold 25 bus. I can hear my stomach rumbling as I wander into 'The Plaice' on Westdale Lane - it's the artist formerly known as Phil's Plaice. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijAxp3li2XbaopKxxFs509ZEKj2Et9WyovPg84dMIV4feiq7os7gJ7mg7j3X8D8XEDx776VIXzYta7pwBHQ8evb0xsJ0zwZ6ZiwLlyWeJgwEt833jOO4L_nZ6RWDdt61p8zLdjIQtahEiHv9sMEClxCinK9NO_kNSF5S5too9rDWqfIswIAOhlOQvgl8/s4032/IMG-4142.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijAxp3li2XbaopKxxFs509ZEKj2Et9WyovPg84dMIV4feiq7os7gJ7mg7j3X8D8XEDx776VIXzYta7pwBHQ8evb0xsJ0zwZ6ZiwLlyWeJgwEt833jOO4L_nZ6RWDdt61p8zLdjIQtahEiHv9sMEClxCinK9NO_kNSF5S5too9rDWqfIswIAOhlOQvgl8/s320/IMG-4142.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Carlton Town have their own fish and chip blogger called Danny Harkin. He writes reviews on Instagram and has his own column in the Northern Premier League's best programme. I stumble upon him outside the Millers clubhouse, as the sun shines like a beacon. I share with him that I've had a chippy tea. 'The Chippy Shakespeare' says 'The Plaice' can be hit or miss. It's a solid 7/10 for me. The curry sauce was a bit lumpy.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Prior to the game, Carlton chairman, Mick Garton (my boss) does a brilliant question and answer session with Danny's wife, Lyndsey Harkin, who is Nottingham Forest Ladies' captain. Lyndsey gives a great insight into the game, as well as about her time with the England squad and Doncaster Belles.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqAgpwTOkQnjWQNFfCcCypA0VTiaCUhmMkCqE72Dbcl4KOcpUuj3k7r32XdgeTso7oXwaGf05yz_sGs-PjAUmb3Wrbdg3rTBRdRrtE21A1wpWP12dQ1uReaLSWsckEGkHGgWSdsl5Ot4nE2ekPnlHew_KiYHzb7CDmMfyLMOj8F113IjNPeXYBS7hVuk/s2048/82138bf5-29af-415a-b929-8201c905c1de.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqAgpwTOkQnjWQNFfCcCypA0VTiaCUhmMkCqE72Dbcl4KOcpUuj3k7r32XdgeTso7oXwaGf05yz_sGs-PjAUmb3Wrbdg3rTBRdRrtE21A1wpWP12dQ1uReaLSWsckEGkHGgWSdsl5Ot4nE2ekPnlHew_KiYHzb7CDmMfyLMOj8F113IjNPeXYBS7hVuk/s320/82138bf5-29af-415a-b929-8201c905c1de.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Sheffield FC are tonight's visitors to the Bill Stokeld Stadium. They are recognised by FIFA as the oldest football club in the world, having been founded in 1857. Both sets of fans have an excellent relationship. I'm also a big fan of their manager, Ryan Cresswell, who I stood chatting with at Ponte Carlo last season. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The feel good factor continues for the Millers as they make it two consecutive League wins in a row with goals from Romello Nangle and Alex Howes. A crowd of 229 is something the club should be proud of too, particularly for a midweek fixture in the middle of the holiday season.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQ8Ih3QP2qsrJpCdkka6gQ9F9amkQ2dL28co--NA_rG5OpyAeW2867SwsjEtRAabsgYJmrVAR0IBqgdKgKSEQkd6dbaXy4LJ2RpjiPiobKXsGUyNr8PlSoDmjA5McJsSYMfDVcpcCPPFhSkrqMhPgrLXu64kOvDCqFR_WqJkxwn6TZfP1tmmD1gCODr4/s4032/IMG-4198.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHQ8Ih3QP2qsrJpCdkka6gQ9F9amkQ2dL28co--NA_rG5OpyAeW2867SwsjEtRAabsgYJmrVAR0IBqgdKgKSEQkd6dbaXy4LJ2RpjiPiobKXsGUyNr8PlSoDmjA5McJsSYMfDVcpcCPPFhSkrqMhPgrLXu64kOvDCqFR_WqJkxwn6TZfP1tmmD1gCODr4/s320/IMG-4198.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">On Wednesday I put in a full shift at the newsagents before jumping in a taxi outside The Greyhound, in Arnold. I hop out on Station Street and head up to Platform 6 at Nottingham train station. I've paid a £35 return fare to York. I'm met by my brother, who lives in the village of Upper Poppleton, which lies 4 miles away from the city centre. His wife makes us all some supper before we go to the pub quiz at the Lord Collingwood. We miss out on first prize by a solitary point.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm in York to tick a new ground off. Yorkshire CCC are playing Hampshire CCC at York Sports Club, at Clifton Park on Shipton Road. Tickets are £16 for the 50 Over One Day Cup. It's a competition that has been devalued because of 'The Hundred.' I usually boo someone if I see them with a Whackathon Skips Trent Rockets shirt on.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpATAtp9HYN97T5o2D11kVfMrWnGt36vMdedmBymKdsXcF6PVs-DCTjcrBiHLdNySmKbHMBceAw3X3L845TWsh3LZUNBGgB7SGC4bISvGuOXAR_s6ZobqEOJBKVaAziWLrRBEVT8_IVM3KzKF7MS03AMWfAIboLR6lfmO8mgo2uxFA-8QmG3mM3i51cXQ/s4032/IMG-4201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpATAtp9HYN97T5o2D11kVfMrWnGt36vMdedmBymKdsXcF6PVs-DCTjcrBiHLdNySmKbHMBceAw3X3L845TWsh3LZUNBGgB7SGC4bISvGuOXAR_s6ZobqEOJBKVaAziWLrRBEVT8_IVM3KzKF7MS03AMWfAIboLR6lfmO8mgo2uxFA-8QmG3mM3i51cXQ/s320/IMG-4201.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Prior to the game there's a minute's silence following the passing of the great TV interviewer, broadcaster and journalist, Sir Michael Parkinson. He was a colleague of my father's at the Daily Express. My Dad set up a newspaper called 'Nottingham News', in the late 70s, following the sacking of 28 journalists from the Evening Post. Parkinson wrote a column each week free of charge.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Hampshire post a respectable 311-6. Yorkshire are in all sorts of trouble at 36-7. Not many of their fans are singing 'Yarkshire' today. But then again why would you when the Club have been fined £400,000 and docked 48 points following an enquiry by the Cricket Discipline Commission over the handling of racism claims by a former player? We finish up ticking off a couple of CAMRA Heritage Pubs called Golden Ball and The Swan.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_S_irkkap3SD-C1O0gk-zb1mSj1AW7a6hr_OR2s3YKPfguZT_bPothWJ5kJe4pqcu8QH1cJZlJKBpUSIkpAhnNGhQHEcLD0URw61WZlfz7_YEHTKh-4G-RSCdOgtAojf8uLA8zfpfrlV72bAUARgoLjnniWvLOJGi2dBlhPcLv0uD902ekNhDJgoTdsQ/s4032/IMG-4204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_S_irkkap3SD-C1O0gk-zb1mSj1AW7a6hr_OR2s3YKPfguZT_bPothWJ5kJe4pqcu8QH1cJZlJKBpUSIkpAhnNGhQHEcLD0URw61WZlfz7_YEHTKh-4G-RSCdOgtAojf8uLA8zfpfrlV72bAUARgoLjnniWvLOJGi2dBlhPcLv0uD902ekNhDJgoTdsQ/s320/IMG-4204.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm dashing around again on Friday evening after another eight hour shift at the shop. I wander past Nottingham Castle and up the steps of the recently reopened Crafty Crow pub. Plenty of folk are sat inside and outside of the pub, as I order up a pint of Endless Summer from the Black Iris stable. I'm joined by Ms Moon's son Jamie.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Pantomime villains Sheffield United are in town tonight. There's a lot of bad blood between the Blades and NFFC, on and off the pitch. Their whinging, bleating Scottish manager, Paul Heckingbottom, lacked any class following a loss at The City Ground in a play-off penalty shootout.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0D0CiotRBdKfQM5OhXfxTFjneXwFeDhHMUCBvovqFtERlS2aWSgjkDNzP6ZLVXxwKkBCLTcsjR6q1LHbai8S586ZBkmEt4bseqm4Ct4eJNctpzAHwnY9PERHHoRMiWyZrONeI_3PrMfyT72UWM1lWFXXwirHKAYDo_NN2dct-M43sLRrp1rxWtwEw6AQ/s4032/IMG-4261.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0D0CiotRBdKfQM5OhXfxTFjneXwFeDhHMUCBvovqFtERlS2aWSgjkDNzP6ZLVXxwKkBCLTcsjR6q1LHbai8S586ZBkmEt4bseqm4Ct4eJNctpzAHwnY9PERHHoRMiWyZrONeI_3PrMfyT72UWM1lWFXXwirHKAYDo_NN2dct-M43sLRrp1rxWtwEw6AQ/s320/IMG-4261.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Taiwo Awoniyi scores a brilliant opener after a pinpoint cross from Serge Aurier. Forest allow Sheff Utd back into the game. The equaliser is deserved and overdue when it finally arrives in the 48th minute. It's a stunning strike from new signing Gustavo Hamer, who recently joined from Coventry City.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Blades cut through the Forest midfield like a knife through butter. Tricky Trees manager Steve Cooper is forced into making changes as NFFC lose their foothold in the game. Sub Ryan Yates has an immediate impact as he drives his side forward. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ofxL0TLd1v8WS91yHcq7Hr7x8mXOl84nQ6fllqlKHU6Ot2xUd3etv2MEo6A7ZcWbRzQtM-PMsNj_8JVdCdMNx0lshkwSzg1UT98SINg-epR6AlihUB_hgiRSrp59DlV5o4cfkSjGTjwBfHE1Fl_GgamJeRDcFPEn-vpVqCRhmn9Ggvhq30lP5fMUJUU/s1694/IMG-4343.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1059" data-original-width="1694" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ofxL0TLd1v8WS91yHcq7Hr7x8mXOl84nQ6fllqlKHU6Ot2xUd3etv2MEo6A7ZcWbRzQtM-PMsNj_8JVdCdMNx0lshkwSzg1UT98SINg-epR6AlihUB_hgiRSrp59DlV5o4cfkSjGTjwBfHE1Fl_GgamJeRDcFPEn-vpVqCRhmn9Ggvhq30lP5fMUJUU/s320/IMG-4343.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A few folk behind me moan and groan as New Zealand striker Chris Wood emerges from the substitutes' bench. Little has been said about the second half performance of golden boy Morgan Gibbs-White who has fallen well below the levels expected. His shooting is skew-whiff and mistimed. It explains why he only hit the onion bag twice in open play last season.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Wood is canny and has the last laugh, scoring with a deft header, following another superb delivery from the excellent Aurier. I usually engage in conversation with visiting fans on Lady Bay Bridge, as I walk home. The visiting fans don't like it up 'em, and appear to be in a particularly foul mood on their walk back to the station.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTm7Ezs0gfesUYGkvShVI5KuexXOn96r37-cutf5Jc4iEbu7PcooxAcu0KVk25G3QRE2fCsoxjbp2eQHb07kZIi-dsM-guXHZQIykEIdYMSft9i9YRBdoe9MstWbHI8IPPeWWNqBQpDXXcyhycbx3kyXfep6MW8RWUOZOqnqbvARVbDQRIepKqxycRgg/s4032/IMG-4287.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMTm7Ezs0gfesUYGkvShVI5KuexXOn96r37-cutf5Jc4iEbu7PcooxAcu0KVk25G3QRE2fCsoxjbp2eQHb07kZIi-dsM-guXHZQIykEIdYMSft9i9YRBdoe9MstWbHI8IPPeWWNqBQpDXXcyhycbx3kyXfep6MW8RWUOZOqnqbvARVbDQRIepKqxycRgg/s320/IMG-4287.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's FA Cup day and the Millers have a tie against Maltby Main from South Yorkshire. £1,444 is the prize-winning reward. I work a few hours at the paper shop. A baby is bawling its eyes out in a pram. I ask a customer to check on whether it's Sheff Utd manager Paul Heckingbottom still crying a river.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I make the 30 minute walk down to the ground. It's £22 on the gate which includes £2 for the programme. I've written a 'Real Ale Train Trail' column for the programme of a trip I recently went on with Tony Mac to Matlock.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I visited Maltby Main back in 2009 with The Taxman. It had a huge coal mine there, back in the day. On the night in question, an alehouse clearance, from a home defender, went sailing out of the ground and landed in someone's back garden, in the old pit estate. A guy stood next to us said "You won't see that ball again, it's that rough in there, that even the police Alsation dogs hang around in pairs."</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWXSh46tdogXUK1e_N4425ZsSMB3RqlmkCsDevwpLDKods02oAWK8AsOuG15t90abnZcK1XHQblASZwxJSULNphJ27rEghPc-Mq4GJFbbOw73hg4g5JMYi9yjOap0PIAFbUUTesrX-VR_txSEHnRPdZMyNsAqucNJ7FmhB0MITTgfHG0ohr_hACRY-xQ/s4032/IMG-4295.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWXSh46tdogXUK1e_N4425ZsSMB3RqlmkCsDevwpLDKods02oAWK8AsOuG15t90abnZcK1XHQblASZwxJSULNphJ27rEghPc-Mq4GJFbbOw73hg4g5JMYi9yjOap0PIAFbUUTesrX-VR_txSEHnRPdZMyNsAqucNJ7FmhB0MITTgfHG0ohr_hACRY-xQ/s320/IMG-4295.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's a proud moment for Dan, as daughter Lily, aged nearly 7 yrs old, leads the teams out. Barton the dog will have to wait for his turn. Romello Nangle opens the scoring early doors for the Millers. I've had a sportsman's bet with programme editor 'Big Joe' that Nangle will score 20 goals this season. The rest of the half is scrappy, disjointed and without a pattern of play. Carlton's first touch deserts them on several occasions.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">'Casually Dan' plays the toon of the day at the break. It's Electronic's 'Getting Away With It" from back in 1989. The band consisted of Bernard Sumner (New Order) Johnny Marr (The Smiths) and Neil Tennant (Pet Shop Boys) </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yXffSRRlGdrm_aOvvwQuY25l3Yoz1OJLka8QWm0iS9oQkr5CjM81jn8fuohyEi5tIexmzdDc2Z1z_6Qg4HBnYl_7DOT20wnnjC0rnWxxGTCDqDzVOPtLZmLNZRn1p5zmGYJgT8KSCh-qi-5bz-7SUOy_W8r3f3zRqpGHI49yCtmv9O_U2rZadaGsxVE/s4032/IMG-4290.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yXffSRRlGdrm_aOvvwQuY25l3Yoz1OJLka8QWm0iS9oQkr5CjM81jn8fuohyEi5tIexmzdDc2Z1z_6Qg4HBnYl_7DOT20wnnjC0rnWxxGTCDqDzVOPtLZmLNZRn1p5zmGYJgT8KSCh-qi-5bz-7SUOy_W8r3f3zRqpGHI49yCtmv9O_U2rZadaGsxVE/s320/IMG-4290.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The football is as dull as dishwater in the second half. Ms Moon and Edward have a long conversation about all the serial killers that have appeared in Corrie over the years. I have to pull Ms Moon away as Edward can get somewhat carried away and too involved with Coronation Street at times. I might buy them both a Granada Studios Coronation Street set tour as a Christmas present.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Two late goals from super sub Musa Jawarra puts the Millers into the draw on Monday for the First Round qualifying stage. There's a chance of a quick chat with blog legend Jitz Jani before an exciting teatime trip to Carlton Tesco, where no doubt I'll have the face on again as soon as I walk through the doors.</div><p></p><p>Attendance: 29,432 </p><p>Man of the Match: Serge Aurier </p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-46763511574769922442023-08-13T19:59:00.000+01:002023-08-13T19:59:21.546+01:00Notts County 3-2 Grimsby Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bDWkKys4OXZ-HvaMWkjl10_O_oy8YfPeC8tNNyHrGtfZvXQL-EVvMXbDtnGDbdqze1sLXTdVSeQgkkT6DfthnRusWgqALTLrFzq48yDZjFp7d1DN9tdy8SoMZV7RSJGrDU_GXozRO3ZnxJjcwQBM8BX2dIf3kDKl5cTlFzq1G1OFffPF2BeG9zg9Bq0/s4032/IMG-4041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bDWkKys4OXZ-HvaMWkjl10_O_oy8YfPeC8tNNyHrGtfZvXQL-EVvMXbDtnGDbdqze1sLXTdVSeQgkkT6DfthnRusWgqALTLrFzq48yDZjFp7d1DN9tdy8SoMZV7RSJGrDU_GXozRO3ZnxJjcwQBM8BX2dIf3kDKl5cTlFzq1G1OFffPF2BeG9zg9Bq0/s320/IMG-4041.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">'Casually Dan' navigates his Mini Clubman up the A60, away from Loughborough, towards Nottingham. 'Big Joe' is riding shotgun. I'm in the back seat with Dan's daughter Lily, aged nearly 7 years old. Quorn AFC and Carlton Town will lock horns again in three days time, in an FA Cup replay at Stoke Lane. We finish the evening up at The Brickyard, a Lincoln Green watering hole up on Carlton Hill. I enjoy a pint of High Hoppage, a tropical and mango pale ale.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ms Moon and I chillout on Sunday. I spend the afternoon knocking up the first blog of the 20th season of The Groundhopper, whilst listening to a double bill of Radcliffe and Maconie, the best radio show on Earth. The blog is well received on social media. I'm chuffed to bits as a lot of folk will be on holiday and out of the country.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeckTzF37AnCyHVQ8kgq6aIkWeGFf5_7Z0TU8vKRxrmV7wvVknuo4zkYKGQKQwcKyFxm6d1DLcI3_5JAw9BoPz_5tfhh_nka1vOpUEFYAmLbsQYZi6XUGk1M5rA85z1Z3rhavetTKaoROyEJKVSXnPIocjuBSE88jM1bZ6NQbMTBsS5NUXr-A4IbK1m8Y/s4032/IMG-3933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeckTzF37AnCyHVQ8kgq6aIkWeGFf5_7Z0TU8vKRxrmV7wvVknuo4zkYKGQKQwcKyFxm6d1DLcI3_5JAw9BoPz_5tfhh_nka1vOpUEFYAmLbsQYZi6XUGk1M5rA85z1Z3rhavetTKaoROyEJKVSXnPIocjuBSE88jM1bZ6NQbMTBsS5NUXr-A4IbK1m8Y/s320/IMG-3933.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Tuesday teatime. I've enjoyed a day off from newsagent (Norris Cole) duties. Today has been an admin day. The first call of the afternoon is to OVO, my energy supplier. I'm fully wound up with the expectation of being put on hold for an age. Amazingly the phone only rings out once before it's answered. I've recently found out, having created an online account, that we're £500 in credit. These estimated bills are a load of old tosh, aren't they? I ask for the money to be transferred into the bank.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Further success is had at Virgin Media, who also pick up an incoming call swiftly. I negotiate a new contract so I can catch the odd Premier League game, but more importantly the Champions League and other UEFA competitions.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcM2geg5Wy_c8RjJQHUIFcll8DkOhAvu5QAfZFJiFtc9lEBW0fy9BeulV60fELCxEIrZZScMEWoV1HAXd_5sO-Kvh7zj794gEEdLT-MjlRTFweYZPzur9irK44iU15GfAppBp5UVltAqiyB6yShJ_nR4xaupwwcOBRHvvoHAsTEyqt8jMpekGuQp_fPJU/s4032/IMG-3935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcM2geg5Wy_c8RjJQHUIFcll8DkOhAvu5QAfZFJiFtc9lEBW0fy9BeulV60fELCxEIrZZScMEWoV1HAXd_5sO-Kvh7zj794gEEdLT-MjlRTFweYZPzur9irK44iU15GfAppBp5UVltAqiyB6yShJ_nR4xaupwwcOBRHvvoHAsTEyqt8jMpekGuQp_fPJU/s320/IMG-3935.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm feeling quite chuffed with my day's 'work' as I alight the bus at the bottom of Hockley. I cross over the road adjacent to the Chinese restaurant, The Mandarin, formerly a pub back in the day called The Mill, which was a popular meet up place before a sesh in town.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I push open the pub front door of Keans Head, which is located in the Lace Market area of Nottingham city centre. It remains a mystery to me why this wonderful bar isn't in the CAMRA guide. Then again would you trust an organisation that's in bed with Wetherspoons and Greene King?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A couple of Lincoln City fans are settled in the corner of the pub, tucking into one of the fine curries that are flying out of the kitchen. I strike up a conversation with them. I share with the guy that I'm an Imps fan, but explain that I won't be attending tonight's League Cup tie at Meadow Lane versus Notts County. I want to see out the FA Cup replay at Carlton Town.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfGkMV678l0eaI6DWp8GdAzn9NAX0w2xnhGFcONC1M7WBZ1wDud-Eb3dpeXJ5HPSeFmh9Zv_q10hR4pc28aKiT-u6buGjG75Uh3InRyQeDAX9ehO-FsIDFoEMhiTxeztovmyDACze-1fRexqyg5LtJuyxx56yEAsNoxDL6wdkv-wd5cmEfXyQf2tDXco/s2048/9e84468d-8eb5-4c1d-8e7d-9e116a0c6623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsfGkMV678l0eaI6DWp8GdAzn9NAX0w2xnhGFcONC1M7WBZ1wDud-Eb3dpeXJ5HPSeFmh9Zv_q10hR4pc28aKiT-u6buGjG75Uh3InRyQeDAX9ehO-FsIDFoEMhiTxeztovmyDACze-1fRexqyg5LtJuyxx56yEAsNoxDL6wdkv-wd5cmEfXyQf2tDXco/s320/9e84468d-8eb5-4c1d-8e7d-9e116a0c6623.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I receive a WhatsApp message from 'Casually Dan' who is holed up in the King Billy on Manvers Street, in Sneinton. We agree to meet for a swift one at Bunkers Hill before he picks up Lily from cheerleading classes, just around the corner at the rear of the marketplace. Dan is playing a soul DJ set prior to tonight's game. We stroll through the market past The Bath Inn. The owner, Piers Wheatcroft-Baker, is having a smoke outside. He's the son of actor Tom Baker, who played TV's Dr Who.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I part with £10 cash on the gate. DJ Murph is back from his jollies in Majorca and is manning the fort until Dan's arrival. I shout up pie, chips and peas from 'Cafe Catherine' before catching up with a few of the characters this great club throws up.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQbgzH_tbeZgOVAwuwvxIbvuLE46pLknknFeRXS3XujcB9nZZl-W2bg2XkT0DhLhxoEKAfDpnGm0czm3MN05h-v9SbV8qYQ4VREoSVg-Qa9xoHfZgSGYVG1mZkpGGYBbVNgs_eYXEu2f_aiqzzTQehB2cAGEainwFYjpHhFIgDEwb0aN31HM_rA7WoVg/s2048/IMG-4088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQbgzH_tbeZgOVAwuwvxIbvuLE46pLknknFeRXS3XujcB9nZZl-W2bg2XkT0DhLhxoEKAfDpnGm0czm3MN05h-v9SbV8qYQ4VREoSVg-Qa9xoHfZgSGYVG1mZkpGGYBbVNgs_eYXEu2f_aiqzzTQehB2cAGEainwFYjpHhFIgDEwb0aN31HM_rA7WoVg/s320/IMG-4088.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I'm joined by fellow groundhopper, Jonathan Buttery, who has also been a mate of mine for over 40 years. We used to play cricket together for Keyworth. He is also a Nottingham Forest die hard supporter. We catch up and share with one another what new grounds we are aiming to visit this season.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A decent crowd is beginning to build up, which surprises me as everyone has only really had a few days notice. Carlton start like a house on fire. The visitors struggle to contain the direct running and dribbling skills of Lamin Manneh, who they kept quiet on Saturday, until he swapped flanks.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSusvFrpEKiMlTlFsa-U2lHEO7qsHHemBZelUBEOUjn-gfvP6XnVuWSP_v1igWdEoUjG3QMgIjZ2klerz92JdsRYGFBXr3h_7sVxke6PfQIq4EV5gmZYiAhh-NpbhTy2TaPhxp34Ad_uAbvOEGPlYvVmD3NxHeK3bsgcUiictl-bJp0DqI1LWEoZJmLzQ/s1206/IMG-3940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="909" data-original-width="1206" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSusvFrpEKiMlTlFsa-U2lHEO7qsHHemBZelUBEOUjn-gfvP6XnVuWSP_v1igWdEoUjG3QMgIjZ2klerz92JdsRYGFBXr3h_7sVxke6PfQIq4EV5gmZYiAhh-NpbhTy2TaPhxp34Ad_uAbvOEGPlYvVmD3NxHeK3bsgcUiictl-bJp0DqI1LWEoZJmLzQ/s320/IMG-3940.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Former Notts County midfielder Greg Tempest is pulling all the strings in the middle of the park. He was dead unlucky to be released by the Pies a few seasons ago. He was the victim of the revolving managerial door, particularly during the Ray Trew circus era. He puts the Millers ahead with a superbly executed free kick.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Quorn are world class at fouling. The referee is going to be up all night filing his match report with the FA following a flurry of cautions. Another former Pies player, Romello Nangle, puts the Millers two to the good, with a close range header. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr4Eiq7w29yMVFaWBop-vrxLz9eXgbFrlCC0PQ7v8WNyTFNmVj3uS0a35VUAU8VY_e_5ccB4uu7Hd5Zbqoe6F5iXv1O4U2amI-vgJZmwCAmt5z2Jc0Gig1rYsPSVCn0ETwU6RgHTpJkwsnRk0e-STxoU7jR1ckLDFQnuyyXa-52EiWe9Qegz6YQs9FG4/s800/IMG-4089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNr4Eiq7w29yMVFaWBop-vrxLz9eXgbFrlCC0PQ7v8WNyTFNmVj3uS0a35VUAU8VY_e_5ccB4uu7Hd5Zbqoe6F5iXv1O4U2amI-vgJZmwCAmt5z2Jc0Gig1rYsPSVCn0ETwU6RgHTpJkwsnRk0e-STxoU7jR1ckLDFQnuyyXa-52EiWe9Qegz6YQs9FG4/s320/IMG-4089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I pop my head into the clubhouse to see how 'The Lincoln' are doing. The Imps are in cruise control, having taken an early lead through highly-rated Irish-born defender Sean Roughan. Quorn huff, puff and foul even more in the second 45 minutes. The Carlton bench becomes frustrated that the referee isn't taking more severe action. Carlton see the game out and avoid any further injuries, following a number of Jackie Chan lunges. The £1,125 winning prize money will be a welcome addition to the club's coffers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's Friday morning and I'm loitering inside the West Bridgford branch of MSR Newsagents, chatting to the shopkeeper, friend and work colleague Kieran Harlow. I grab some confectionery and refreshments as a Ford Mondeo pulls up outside Eva's Grill, a Greek restaurant on Radcliffe Road, opposite Trent Bridge Cricket Club.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Drurs is giving me a lift up to Welbeck Cricket Club, which is located a few miles east of Mansfield. Nottinghamshire are playing Hampshire in the 50 over Cup. We pick up 'Horsy' in the village of Tollerton. He's in big trouble with his missus as he's broken the zip on the Fortnum and Mason pack-up bag.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakgGNpZYjlWeBsKAS0K3VFvQnVXlW5EQamePRHkudrgsWKo_I2idq7-YEUCkxtxaid4ipRlAuzVYSLinlQQau2pREjZ8L7PhYNB_vPwCT35gXPej-6sdCVt5Nqb7VTFM8LGzVNZKR9VkkOoBHAztZzGaQAqwoSfm-jwhPo4RN2GC1-1bcuZQRX_M7gHI/s2048/IMG-4014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1338" data-original-width="2048" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiakgGNpZYjlWeBsKAS0K3VFvQnVXlW5EQamePRHkudrgsWKo_I2idq7-YEUCkxtxaid4ipRlAuzVYSLinlQQau2pREjZ8L7PhYNB_vPwCT35gXPej-6sdCVt5Nqb7VTFM8LGzVNZKR9VkkOoBHAztZzGaQAqwoSfm-jwhPo4RN2GC1-1bcuZQRX_M7gHI/s320/IMG-4014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We're all members of Notts CCC, so entry is free, although there is a £5 car park charge at the John Fretwell Sports Complex. It's quite high up where we are and there's a stiff breeze blowing in. Chairs are set up at pitch level and around a grass bank that forms a circle around the ground. It would be a fairly bleak setting on a winter's day, something I've experienced when scouting for the Pies.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We wash down a coffee and walnut homemade cake with a cup of weak coffee in one of the many marquees erected on the ground. Hampshire have been put into bat by Notts. My view is obstructed by a tall, overweight man, who is sporting the biggest hat in Mansfield. I suffer in silence.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Notts look to be in a good position on a slow wicket, but Nick Gubbins scores a patient 119 to see them to a total of 254. Drurs thinks they might be 100 runs short. Notts' attempt at chasing the runs down is pitiful and pathetic. I'm drinking in Junkyard with Tony Mac by 5.45 pm as Notts are rolled out for 163.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1olj45TX4_pRruq6gDtcuZ7-fgNCVZrGmtXyIlE41GbZ0K94cnnL3-JhFKA2htcqk4cYHOmG8GZCHUPzqw3wcWvq4o2mmDYlEKKz7HxudGsADuwexK_rgTKHQGiD8IqvrUR46vpw8x0ull5OE88K6M82pCQBfZ5ESVsEYena_n4oinatFEH9V4uLlyk/s4032/IMG-4040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga1olj45TX4_pRruq6gDtcuZ7-fgNCVZrGmtXyIlE41GbZ0K94cnnL3-JhFKA2htcqk4cYHOmG8GZCHUPzqw3wcWvq4o2mmDYlEKKz7HxudGsADuwexK_rgTKHQGiD8IqvrUR46vpw8x0ull5OE88K6M82pCQBfZ5ESVsEYena_n4oinatFEH9V4uLlyk/s320/IMG-4040.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The shop is stacked out with folk on Saturday as it's a £11 million lottery rollover. I enjoy some great banter with shop manager Dave 'Chippy' Fryer. We used to have a betting syndicate 25 years ago when we both worked at Calverton Colliery. We've recently restarted the kitty again. I'm quietly confident that Leicester, D***y and Stockport can bring home the bacon today.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I dash home to catch the first half of Arsenal v Forest, only to find the game has been delayed by half an hour. The game looks all over as I switch off the TV set with the Tricky Trees already 2-0 down. I jump off the bus opposite the Ice Centre and dive into a shop for a bottle of water.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's hosing it down with rain as I dash for cover at Meadow Lane. I chat with a supporter by the memorial wall before walking up the stairs in the Derek Pavis Stand. A lady is sat in my seat. She's somewhat affronted when I ask her to fish out her tickets.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_nkIT_Homm3ZspCGHj1B99lEgdqhECaO4pPjH1sBsksPxrGGqQ9t6ti3DZgcpSJg1WS8Q7HwC3xrdyF3OtyLi8JkeunKMzXJHgmvYScPGqxszPPTwvdrMs6f2HN2lPKMZp_CvJ-NoStYaxVBnFY0G02caWNmIp-_OFAuBnPCg4-Gmgw-1kloS8tngdw/s612/IMG-4091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="408" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_nkIT_Homm3ZspCGHj1B99lEgdqhECaO4pPjH1sBsksPxrGGqQ9t6ti3DZgcpSJg1WS8Q7HwC3xrdyF3OtyLi8JkeunKMzXJHgmvYScPGqxszPPTwvdrMs6f2HN2lPKMZp_CvJ-NoStYaxVBnFY0G02caWNmIp-_OFAuBnPCg4-Gmgw-1kloS8tngdw/s320/IMG-4091.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The new sound system is spot on. The pick of the DJ set is 'I'm Not Sorry' by West Yorkshire indie band, The Pigeon Detectives. There's a lively start to the game as both teams go at one another. New signing Dan Crowley has struck up a good understanding with crowd favourite Aaron Nemane. Ironically an error by Nemane sees ex Stag Danny Rose race away before firing home the opening goal. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On 40 minutes Langstaff sees a point-blank header beaten away by the Grimsby 'keeper. The ball is returned into the box where John Bostock flicks up the ball before blasting home a volley into the roof of the net. Incredibly Grimsby take the lead deep into stoppage time, leaving Notts supporters shaking their head in disbelief.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Gary Lund is the club's guest of honour today. He has played for both clubs. He is asked by the guy on the P.A. who he thinks will win. He turns towards the away following and apologises before saying "Notts County."</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Sq0OBrvC6e4jsZ5EBWCHjzS7k_t0i04ozybq_jsvDYhkzZAKxAT_NgfiPo6Dgtlz_91JpxS_AQTGaFe54sgqCbxMBlyFMWKnD8x8znU7z2Kmr5TfyfpCPOwkuiyHjyQeIBpCMLP2lhi7dQ7PWhLXXi9qQqaOFRPSAnzsmSW5tbv-TVKogwGLgdB-HEI/s2048/262cdc35-70cf-48c7-88f4-e7aea227b58d.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Sq0OBrvC6e4jsZ5EBWCHjzS7k_t0i04ozybq_jsvDYhkzZAKxAT_NgfiPo6Dgtlz_91JpxS_AQTGaFe54sgqCbxMBlyFMWKnD8x8znU7z2Kmr5TfyfpCPOwkuiyHjyQeIBpCMLP2lhi7dQ7PWhLXXi9qQqaOFRPSAnzsmSW5tbv-TVKogwGLgdB-HEI/s320/262cdc35-70cf-48c7-88f4-e7aea227b58d.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Notts are on level terms in the 48th minute after the impressive Jodi Jones' deflected shot balloons up into the air and over a stranded 'keeper. There's another moment of magic from Jones. He flicks a ball around a defender before firing in a cross that is met with a diving header from Crowley at the back post. Oh my giddy aunt, Gary Lund was right. County have come back from behind twice to grab three points.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It's not been a bad old day; there are victories for Lincoln City and Carlton Town. The icing on the cake is that club mascot 'Barton the Dog' has won 4x cans of Fosters and a box of choccies in the half time raffle up in Ponte Carlo. He can't 'arf pick 'em.</div><p>Attendance: 12,950 (2,818 visiting supporters)</p><p>Man of the Match: Jodie Jones</p><p><br /></p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6268492613815293004.post-60073853073406446222023-08-06T19:57:00.001+01:002023-08-08T15:17:18.961+01:00Quorn AFC 1-1 Carlton Town<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibmnTtUsW6oobfLv7gfyEsElPR4bwAYUhvcH12I6GcTPArqpX-EJ5Gf3xdQj4CidNL0SH5WswI-0F-K_POqtTBfLAB7ohSTZ-zOCz9ilvJaAl0rv46H43b_72Of3nX1vnD5gDqg40ok2pP8645M7KlYBI-rZOYKGWVTGP5PXIk0dk_wTay33zVyhtCB0/s1800/4FA676EF-E78A-4B10-84FC-0423B77A8C37.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhibmnTtUsW6oobfLv7gfyEsElPR4bwAYUhvcH12I6GcTPArqpX-EJ5Gf3xdQj4CidNL0SH5WswI-0F-K_POqtTBfLAB7ohSTZ-zOCz9ilvJaAl0rv46H43b_72Of3nX1vnD5gDqg40ok2pP8645M7KlYBI-rZOYKGWVTGP5PXIk0dk_wTay33zVyhtCB0/s320/4FA676EF-E78A-4B10-84FC-0423B77A8C37.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's early doors on Saturday morning 29th July and the time of year for my annual pilgrimage up to north of the border. I walk across Nottingham's Old Market Square and dive into Greggs where I grab a much-needed coffee and bacon cob. I then wander up St James Street and cross over Maid Marian Way as the city centre comes alive.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I loiter outside the highly reputable Laguna curry house on Mount Street. I'm joined by Notts County die-hard fans 'Faggsy' and 'Little Al.' A blue Hyundai hurtles around the corner at the top of the road. Here he is: it's 'Crazy Steve.' </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">By 1 pm we're necking a pint in the Gothenburg at Prestonpans, a small mining town, eight miles east of Edinburgh. Two games in the Viaplay Cup are on our radar. Bonnyrigg Rose v Airdrie is a 3 pm kick off later today and tomorrow Dundee FC entertain Inverness Caledonian at Dens Park.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITkPrjQIO7bQ3fh2GamR6slMb7NXIvK3QLOnH7FJbRoyO2bIkbc8X-uNuDAwJl58I_57dPEohKP87UtFl-2hEm1Q8Dc59LASxJQlwUBrabZ4TlojI9h6hy8PzD2sQ3PRnhNzsnLcmuJPTNr-xLjpj1twMx7Ng7x-ou-b8TjY4_3y9gCtBLIxRGDLWdj4/s4032/IMG-3596.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiITkPrjQIO7bQ3fh2GamR6slMb7NXIvK3QLOnH7FJbRoyO2bIkbc8X-uNuDAwJl58I_57dPEohKP87UtFl-2hEm1Q8Dc59LASxJQlwUBrabZ4TlojI9h6hy8PzD2sQ3PRnhNzsnLcmuJPTNr-xLjpj1twMx7Ng7x-ou-b8TjY4_3y9gCtBLIxRGDLWdj4/s320/IMG-3596.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Bonnyrigg has been in my sights since Nicola Sturgeon shut down all sporting events in Scotland as Ms Moon and I pitched up in Edinburgh back in March 2020. I boo her everytime I see her on my TV set - but then again so do half of Scotland.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The social club at Bonnyrigg Rose is bustling with folk. The visitors, Airdrieonians, have a 500 strong away following. The highlight of the game is a steak and haggis pie at bargain-price £3 a pop. They are to die for, as is the wonderful old ground, with its nooks, crannies and steep grass bank that affords you an elevated view of proceedings.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHp2CpIg_n-7dPjbOawgvU8G-wbznJQBESNmcF8kn48L1xu6PdoyQ_Bj34mIyzzxJ87ZflzGlPOVt0KCebuGmB08ND7Yv17H0L7MdDwQSwPH8Go4GrXFV6Dz_yUyJsLqLIQvoaOSKtXC6mweHHrO7N2LkaEDwPmqEaH-AbnJ4T5enWY5zBeH8okjGsM10/s4032/IMG-3621.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHp2CpIg_n-7dPjbOawgvU8G-wbznJQBESNmcF8kn48L1xu6PdoyQ_Bj34mIyzzxJ87ZflzGlPOVt0KCebuGmB08ND7Yv17H0L7MdDwQSwPH8Go4GrXFV6Dz_yUyJsLqLIQvoaOSKtXC6mweHHrO7N2LkaEDwPmqEaH-AbnJ4T5enWY5zBeH8okjGsM10/s320/IMG-3621.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Bonnyrigg Ultras roar on their team, but their efforts are not rewarded with a goal. Airdrie settle the tie from the penalty spot. It's a drab affair that only comes alive with the singing of both sets of supporters. It's a massive tick off for Sticky Palms and straight away becomes my favourite ever Scottish ground.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We're spending the night in Burntisland. 'Crazy' drives us up the coast as we pot a few pints at pubs in Leith, Limekilns, Hillend and Aberdour. 'Crazy' has a wee dram nightcap back at the hotel, before we turn in for the evening.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GNC9xu6wSru_8yL-3BxGfvaYdk_CYDZ0r_F6tVhkMd8AzND_Ai-NWgJecqDaTFxUAvI6HbqfGu3vPviPWTI5y3b_FgSZdJE_O3qD3VX3ArR60YBYc0BY19SfLWCTOph_cOP-JL8dPuVdIZVNkg7XDsGS6KWcYfeBqtC1mXLh-yAvq5kFHZmRFJ05G_A/s4032/IMG-3639.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_GNC9xu6wSru_8yL-3BxGfvaYdk_CYDZ0r_F6tVhkMd8AzND_Ai-NWgJecqDaTFxUAvI6HbqfGu3vPviPWTI5y3b_FgSZdJE_O3qD3VX3ArR60YBYc0BY19SfLWCTOph_cOP-JL8dPuVdIZVNkg7XDsGS6KWcYfeBqtC1mXLh-yAvq5kFHZmRFJ05G_A/s320/IMG-3639.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">After a hearty breakfast we spend Sunday morning sightseeing up the east coast. We pay our respects to darts player Jocky Wilson, a double-winning World Champion in 1982 and 1989, at Kirkcaldy Crematorium. We take in the Royal and Ancient Golf Course of St Andrews and take a peek at grounds at Raith Rovers and East Fife - there's a junior game on at the latter as some squally showers roll in from the hills.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We swing by the club shop at Dundee FC so I can collect the match tickets. I bag a baseball cap as a memento. We have three CAMRA Heritage pubs to tick off in the city centre. Two are close to the ground. The second one is a beauty. The landlord at Frews has served time for 42 years. He takes a shine to 'Crazy Steve' and gives us both a guided tour. He has 12 leather footballs perched above the bar. They are from each team in the Scottish Premier League. Each Saturday at 5.30 pm he climbs a ladder and arranges them in the order teams are positioned in the league table.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVJYnG1kk_KzWQ2jit6HD6bF4T2I9O6L8HlTR6TIY3K-ZOXrth59_kro5XuYJy7yN8khAR3vorBNilGPtpHFhnLSDvJNbbeugHrgqMwxxRZZ0pp4szJnM3uTdN_h7hs2z60WhE0x1r-dVUSoXRPCZGB0i4_WYIhyfGDXxKAcu75yIp5oGN1Bskd0oW88/s4032/IMG-3682%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVJYnG1kk_KzWQ2jit6HD6bF4T2I9O6L8HlTR6TIY3K-ZOXrth59_kro5XuYJy7yN8khAR3vorBNilGPtpHFhnLSDvJNbbeugHrgqMwxxRZZ0pp4szJnM3uTdN_h7hs2z60WhE0x1r-dVUSoXRPCZGB0i4_WYIhyfGDXxKAcu75yIp5oGN1Bskd0oW88/s320/IMG-3682%20(1).jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Bobby Wilson Stand is the only seating area open. Faggsy and I sit halfway back as Crazy and Al bask in the afternoon sunshine. We are surrounded by folk from Pennsylvania. A parent explains that their lads are on a 'soccer tour' of the U.K. I roll my eyeballs - well the one that works at least.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Inverness look quite lively but spurn too many opportunities. The introduction of Dundee's new signing Amadou Bakayoko signals a change in fortune. One goal is enough to see off the visitors. Although a winning margin of two clear goals was required for qualification to the next stage of the competition. Nobody seems particularly fussed by this.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjC_uzcmW9F8PFmpBj9CN9YHN3W5cdsJxTdYHlkdSdgFpBRH5q2VANGvKLumGMtORa4G7T42Y7I0gyNLCqOPhe_DIOd_mEoE4gTEz1lX-UvcHTwchKWXehEV9IOL4oxQ-u9jrvmj2ZErWCAIFVIbLNwo-XVNm913IhUVCRBfME4UStiaqZegV2_Pqq1b0/s4032/IMG-3735.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjC_uzcmW9F8PFmpBj9CN9YHN3W5cdsJxTdYHlkdSdgFpBRH5q2VANGvKLumGMtORa4G7T42Y7I0gyNLCqOPhe_DIOd_mEoE4gTEz1lX-UvcHTwchKWXehEV9IOL4oxQ-u9jrvmj2ZErWCAIFVIbLNwo-XVNm913IhUVCRBfME4UStiaqZegV2_Pqq1b0/s320/IMG-3735.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The drive home, on Monday morning, in blustery and monsoon conditions takes over seven hours. A massive hat tip and thank you goes to 'Crazy' for driving 720 miles over three days - that's some shift.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tuesday is spent at Notts Sports Ground in Lady Bay, a few hundred yards away from Trent Bridge Cricket Ground. Notts U18s are playing Yorkshire U18s. It coincides with call ups to the England 19s and 18s set up for Notts youngsters Farhan Ahmed, Travis Holland and Freddie McCann. At 15 years old Ahmed is the one Notts are pinning their hopes on and having watched him for two seasons, I'm also excited about him.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-TVKqfvfyygHJjtd5QE4ULANoKJ33zxSaRp2IXyf8wi7O37tMJCD7n4QGm2fRXusCW2bn3qKFv8ebOFoymTGjVDDAv9NJbN-_2jDS9ivj_wIOUSwfIDX5TitumANMrlSEQlq6KFMdXQeX33frpNinTsAf6CL7OkuTWNDmsXDDL9_xfEdNB-GnFVYwds/s2048/d4cc4e0a-12ae-4ded-b88d-297f1fda95b4%20(1).JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-TVKqfvfyygHJjtd5QE4ULANoKJ33zxSaRp2IXyf8wi7O37tMJCD7n4QGm2fRXusCW2bn3qKFv8ebOFoymTGjVDDAv9NJbN-_2jDS9ivj_wIOUSwfIDX5TitumANMrlSEQlq6KFMdXQeX33frpNinTsAf6CL7OkuTWNDmsXDDL9_xfEdNB-GnFVYwds/s320/d4cc4e0a-12ae-4ded-b88d-297f1fda95b4%20(1).JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I chill about the house for a few days and get a few small jobs done. It's back to work and a full shift at MSR Newsagents, on Front Street, in Arnold on Friday. EuroMillions day always has the customers flocking in through the shop door.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I flop into the armchair on my return to HQ. There's some breaking news coming in from Ms Moon, who is away for the weekend in Brighton, Sussex, with her daughter Becky. They've been holed-up in a cinema all afternoon watching Barbie the Movie - I presume all the pubs don't open until late afternoon.</div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVo8MHJaNSf688BRRYjJQer7jq4ozdeYDgMdZlYLQcxHD1JXnbh6P_J0NPq_v9nKLcG7TO-5ScLOb7rKKGzZuJ-UU8qq1QpHojECqZ5zjf-tty-cDv3-BV0ukYDYqJ_g5dF-OL7O5h4naSUPMSbIHfAyIq4oxWuIaMSWm2FQzLNGlGTY67DtoLYlVZ3bs/s4032/IMG-3846.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVo8MHJaNSf688BRRYjJQer7jq4ozdeYDgMdZlYLQcxHD1JXnbh6P_J0NPq_v9nKLcG7TO-5ScLOb7rKKGzZuJ-UU8qq1QpHojECqZ5zjf-tty-cDv3-BV0ukYDYqJ_g5dF-OL7O5h4naSUPMSbIHfAyIq4oxWuIaMSWm2FQzLNGlGTY67DtoLYlVZ3bs/s320/IMG-3846.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's Saturday morning and my favourite day of the year. It's the Extra Preliminary Round of the FA Cup, I bolt out of the shop door at twelve bells and jump onto the 25 bus. There's a ten minute turnaround before being picked up by 'Casually Dan' in the church car park at the back of our house. In the car are Carlton Town FC programme editor and craft ale connoisseur 'Big Joe' and Dan's six year old daughter Lily. I put Lily on the spot and ask her for a score prediction. She's too coy to fall for that one, but does admit to being a massive fan of the pop band Busted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Carlton Massive have a fan called Danny Harkin, who writes a wonderful blog review on all the fish and chip shops he visits on his travels. He even has a column on the said subject in the Carlton programme. Danny has recommended John Dory in Quorn. </div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Je8OMD0vY_IFNuOgYUMS0xG6_JrEweHuBBRwEW2J-eJy5-OXuYgzaUne6364TSW5Hp7coGss4oG8Iqs4ipqYz33bWJCSBaJ19KZfGO1ZTBLiW2o6iajYTPSy7NGrghyOeO79hiikRMWPyOXYTJ8dVeRNOi7G3LyZAYQkuqX0giUM8LU59TmXLOsQ5zk/s4032/IMG-3850.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Je8OMD0vY_IFNuOgYUMS0xG6_JrEweHuBBRwEW2J-eJy5-OXuYgzaUne6364TSW5Hp7coGss4oG8Iqs4ipqYz33bWJCSBaJ19KZfGO1ZTBLiW2o6iajYTPSy7NGrghyOeO79hiikRMWPyOXYTJ8dVeRNOi7G3LyZAYQkuqX0giUM8LU59TmXLOsQ5zk/s320/IMG-3850.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It doesn't disappoint as we join Danny and his family as well as Jason and his lad, Jack. I have a small haddock and a kid's size portion of chips. They are delicious. Danny pens his notes for the next programme as 'Friday I'm in Love' by The Cure is played on the chippy jukebox.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The ground is a 5 minute drive away. I've been many a time when it had a lush grass surface. It saddens me that they have gone down the 3G route. It looks like it needs a refurb too. It's £10 on the gate. There's a good gathering of the flock from Carlton. It's the usual cast of characters such as 'Mad Gav', 'Miller Mouse', 'Cafe Catherine' 'Club Shop Ken' plus members of the committee such as Chairman Mick Garton and Dave Hodgson. Johnny Hand is today's roving matchday reporter as DJ Murph is on his jollies.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87YNOyGYEfddBdFPhUDZK9DEqXhO6FiegSo4IE8ybxOgqipAkzLcn-9OANq9kVPfme5UfJcLX2RDaLtzr23jQjF8SceusSFQI7qtz0whb6dwLjJZdIAl06URr9AWYjr9Edl5tOQDKJX3Q4zTAdBn2tfLu8GdSQynEIZkW9fWE0xv5MYwo3yi9h8YV5wk/s4032/IMG-3857.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87YNOyGYEfddBdFPhUDZK9DEqXhO6FiegSo4IE8ybxOgqipAkzLcn-9OANq9kVPfme5UfJcLX2RDaLtzr23jQjF8SceusSFQI7qtz0whb6dwLjJZdIAl06URr9AWYjr9Edl5tOQDKJX3Q4zTAdBn2tfLu8GdSQynEIZkW9fWE0xv5MYwo3yi9h8YV5wk/s320/IMG-3857.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The DJ is spinning 'Blue Monday' by New Order - it's the U.K's biggest selling 12" single of all-time, as Dan reminds me, selling over one million copies. I've been stressing over this tie since the draw was made a few weeks ago. Quorn have a strong starting line up including four lads from Nottingham.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There has been a shift in strategy by Carlton Town FC. Some of the higher earners and old-timers have departed the club. Fresher, hungrier, younger lads have been recruited. A partnership has been formed with the inner city side Pass Move and Grin. It's a big step up for some lads, but many are flourishing during the pre-season. It's a bold move by joint managers Tommy Brookbanks and Mark Harvey, but it's a policy I applaud and believe in.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPGPxXFhNJt3-YlgiMyMMs6RO-06NY7HI2VT1L2iZn7TVGmyZSn2Qi-09ibbpzc_yzqmtAtnge9s18_g4vuE9K78Bdb7s3vve2HBqM8ZMNiliy22y9MaArTbwU4uYTrW76ksJdak3X_Frm2Jyx1zoMujUOrddI7zM7DIXon4jK3IJ5dZRMCNecfbcY1g/s4032/IMG-3852.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPGPxXFhNJt3-YlgiMyMMs6RO-06NY7HI2VT1L2iZn7TVGmyZSn2Qi-09ibbpzc_yzqmtAtnge9s18_g4vuE9K78Bdb7s3vve2HBqM8ZMNiliy22y9MaArTbwU4uYTrW76ksJdak3X_Frm2Jyx1zoMujUOrddI7zM7DIXon4jK3IJ5dZRMCNecfbcY1g/s320/IMG-3852.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Millers should be 2-0 up in the first 15 minutes as I view the game with a groundhopper from Ellistown who I haven't seen in ages. Against the run of play Quorn take the lead with a worldy strike from Tyrell Shannon-Lewis. Quorn grab the game by the scruff of the neck and are unlucky not to add to their tally. 'Felix the Cat' is in fine form in the Carlton Town nets.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Quorn DJ continues his good run by playing 'Chime' by electro-pop band Orbital as well as an old Daft Punk track. There are a few worried faces in the clubhouse as £1125 prize money is up for grabs to the winners and also a home tie against Step 5 opposition.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tommy looks to have rallied the troops at the half time break. The Millers look more aggressive and joined up, There's a bad injury to Tyree Wilson, it sees the lively youngster stretchered off after a long delay. We wish him a speedy recovery.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGI8IwXy536r4eg48M8bp6VKciilvRpWmkNroJ80acNicMmhc01i_14mLnyBCt8bhkDqLwZSNbIx8Dd0ZEko0N68oeY5Q0jCAaCa2374Fdfnqyk-KYRaXqAbYCDxfr91ncp_5gvs3aBheZ-v60sWOettg6bqL-pYpDwZd994U7jQEi7oIZgqaKD0bxbjs/s4032/IMG-3851.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGI8IwXy536r4eg48M8bp6VKciilvRpWmkNroJ80acNicMmhc01i_14mLnyBCt8bhkDqLwZSNbIx8Dd0ZEko0N68oeY5Q0jCAaCa2374Fdfnqyk-KYRaXqAbYCDxfr91ncp_5gvs3aBheZ-v60sWOettg6bqL-pYpDwZd994U7jQEi7oIZgqaKD0bxbjs/s320/IMG-3851.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It looks like it's going to be one of those days as chances go begging. Romello Nangle sees a spot kick superbly saved by the young Quorn shot stopper. With five minutes remaining Lamin Manneh skins former NFFC scholar Silivo Bello, he flicks a cross in that is met by substitute Mussa Jawara, who runs in from the blind side of a defender before hitting the onion bag. It's a well deserved equaliser, but frustrating too, for the away following, that the game couldn't be put to bed at the first time of asking.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Carlton young guns have put on a show in the second half and hopefully the job can be completed on Tuesday evening where I had planned to watch Lincoln City away to Notts County in the League Cup. The FA Cup must come first though.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p>Men of the Match: Crazy Steve (720 miles), Quorn 'keeper and Casually Dan for the piloting.</p><p>Attendance: 204</p>Stickyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09320577586492618108noreply@blogger.com0