Sheffield FC 0-0 Carlton Town

I've a spring in my step the day after the Notts Senior Cup upset in Mansfield. I whistle "We are the Millers, the mighty Millers", all the way down Listergate. It echoes around the empty buildings, in an area that was once vibrant. The blot on the landscape, an eyesore called Broad Marsh Shopping Centre, still hasn't been knocked down. Nottingham City Council's money jar is empty. The spiteful Tories made sure WE missed out on any 'levelling up' money. The Council haven't covered themselves in glory; a lot of the taxpayers money has been frittered away on disastrous investments in energy companies and propping up Nottingham Castle.

I have to say the new bus station is pretty damn smart. It's my mode of transport today. The rail lads and lasses are on strike again - good on 'em too. Up the Mick Lynch. Tony Mac and I board the National Express coach to Leicester; our second visit within four days.

Shouty, Teesside issues-based indie band, Benefits, are in town at Firebug. It'll be the fourth time we've seen them. They never, ever, disappoint. We tick off the Black Horse on Foxon Street, before heading miles out of town to check-in at a couple of craft ale bars in Stoneygate and Clarendon Park. It's an interesting walk that takes us close to the Leicester Rugby Club ground, on Welford Road, and the King Power Stadium, where there is a statue of former chairman, Khun Vichai Srivaddhanaprabha, who tragically died in a helicopter crash, close to this very spot.

It's 7 am, Saturday 4th February. Ms Moon and I are in a taxi: destination East Midlands Airport - well it's six weeks since I've been in Tenerife ..lol. The flight goes smoothly and we're all checked in by 3 p.m. CD Tenerife are at home up in Santa Cruz this evening, with CD Marino playing on Sunday lunchtime in nearby Playa de las Americas. I've given my word to Ms Moon that I won't be attending either game. 

It was so close to being a football-free holiday, but I couldn't resist joining Craig Farina and 'Dave' to watch Nottingham Forest v the 'Dirty Ones' at the Anchor Bar in Costa Adeje. After all, it is my 59th birthday. What a weekend it is too, with most of my favourite teams winning and none of them conceding a goal. I was particularly chuffed for Carlton Town, who won in Tadcaster, to end a wretched run of form.

Seven days fly by in the blink of an eye. We celebrate both our birthdays at two first-class eateries called Coeur De Filet and Restaurant Sebastian - thanks for the heads up Craig and Non League legend John Ramshaw. We're back at home for 8.30 pm on Saturday evening. It's just in time for Ms Moon to catch up with her rubbish TV schedule (Soaps) on ITV X. I'm washed out and turn in for an early night. 

It's nice to return to real ales; boy have I missed them. Sunday lunchtime is spent in the Sneinton Craft Ale Quarter. I enjoy a few scoops in the King Billy and Partizan Tavern before raiding the beer fridge at Neon Raptor for some take-outs. The Mansfield v Millers blog is well received, with over 1000 hits. It's lovely that folk still read 'em, as I've often thought of retiring this diary.

It's Monday evening and there's a bit of a set to in the Woolpack Inn between folk hero Cain Dingle and Kim Tate's fella, who is as thick as a slice of bread. They would have both been shown the door on Amos's and Mr Wilks's watch. A banning order would have been served with names added to the Pub Watch list. I give out a little yelp. "Ooh .... has Cain startled you darling? says Ms Moon, whose eyes are transfixed on the TV screen. I peer over my laptop screen, "it's better than that Love, I've just found out where Brian Clough is laid to rest.

It's Tuesday afternoon. I'm on the 2.15 p.m. train to Derby. The plan was to tick off a CAMRA pub called York Chambers in Long Eaton, have a potter around Derby and grab some tea before taking my seat in the West Stand with the bleating enemy. The mighty Lincoln City are the visitors at the 'Sheep Dip. A team I have supported for over 50 years.

The Clough resting place revelation, from last night, has turned my day on its head. It's the biggest celebrity grave I've visited since Sir Matt Busby in Southern Cemetery, Manchester. I make the short train journey to the picture postcard village of Duffield, in the Amber Valley district. I wander up the High Street before turning up Makeney Road. I climb a narrow path that leads me up into the churchyard. Brian Clough is laid to rest with his beloved wife Barbara. Today is Valentines Day. Fresh roses lay by the graveside.

I end up back in Derby with time to kill. I peg it across to the suburb of Normanton; an interesting part of the inner city. Falstaff Free House is tucked away in the back streets. I quaff a pint of pale ale before making the long trek to Pride Park.

Lincoln are unbeaten away, when I sit in the home end. It worked a treat at Barrow and Barnsley this season. I'm superstitious and keen for this trend to continue. I park my backside in the West Stand. 'The Lincoln' have brought 2,500 fans and they are making a right racket. The Imps are rapid on the counter-attack. They take the lead shortly before half-time. Sticky Palms is sat on his hands and unable to celebrate.

The DJ doesn't stick to the corporate script. There's no 'Freed From Desire' or 'Insomnia.' We're treated instead to Althea and Donna's 1978 Number One hit 'Uptown Top Ranking.' There's a gamechanger on 55 minutes when Lincoln's petulant striker, Ben House, is sent off for his second stupid tackle of the evening, after being mugged off by the impressive veteran striker David McGoldrick.

It's all hands to the pump and like the Alamo as the Rams camp inside our half. We can't quite hang on, but the defending has been heroic and resolute. We have the game's best player in Jack Diamond. He has ran 'the Sheep' ragged, turning them inside out. "Thank God he's gone off" says the bloke behind me. Remember his name; he'll be in Sunderland's first team next season. 

I'm back in Nottingham city centre on Thursday and Friday evening. I have a few scoops with Tony Mac and 'DJ Dan' in Junkyard before viewing indie band Pale Blue Eyes at The Bodega. 'Murph', Roger Wilson and the Horsburghs are all at the gig.

The following evening, I've some creeping to do, as I was AWOL for Valentines Day. Ms Moon and I enjoy a few drinks at Lillie Langtry's. We take a stroll up to Hockley and climb up the steps that lead us to Broadway Cinema. Armed with two bags of popcorn we watch a film that is up for 9x Academy awards, called Banshees of Inisherin. The film is set on a remote island on the west coast of Ireland. It's dark, bleak and not for the faint-hearted. We finish the evening up in the Fox and Grapes, in Sneinton. There's no room for a dirty kebab, that popcorn has done for both of us.

I'm out of the house by 10 am the following morning. It's my first proper away day with the 'Mighty Millers' as a gaggle of fans head towards the Derbyshire town of Dronfield, where the World's oldest existing football club, Sheffield FC, play their home games to the rear of the Coach and Horses pub.

There's another healthy turnout despite a poor run of form. First port of call is the Dronfield Arms. The beer scoreboard is tip top. I have a couple of pints of Wild Light from the Temper microbrewery, based in the town.

Our group is joined by 'Pat' a Sheffield FC stalwart. Gary Clarke gets a football card going in the bar. Pat, a Rangers fan, has to pick Celtic, much to his displeasure, as they are the only remaining team left on the card. Alan Murphy scratches off the winner. Blow me down it's Celtic. A huge roar goes up in the pub as a smiling Pat collects his winnings.

The pint of the day is Thornbridge's 'Jamestown' in the Coach and Horses.  We arrive in the ground shortly before kick off. The DJ adds to the atmosphere by playing 'Heavyweight Champion of the World' by Sheffield band 'Reverend and the Makers.

There's nothing much doing in an evenly matched contest until the Sheffield 'keeper inexplicably handles the ball miles outside of his area. With no sub 'keeper on the bench an outfield player bravely volunteers to go in the nets. Surely Carlton will take advantage. Incredibly it's Sheffield who come the closest to scoring when a 25 yard shot clatters against the crossbar.

The DJ continues his good form at half time by spinning a couple of Badly Drawn Boy tracks - I'm off to see him in a few weeks time at the Metronome in Nottingham. Carlton can't break down the hard-working 10 men of Sheffield. They lack any nous, craft or guile. The best route appears down the left hand flank which Hylton and Howes work well together. The strikers can't get on the end of a succession of crosses.

The fans are frustrated. It's two points dropped and feels like a loss. Fair play to Sheffield, they have toughed it out just like 'The Lincoln' did on Valentines in Derby. Every cloud has a silver lining. A late Chris Wood equaliser at The City Ground sees 'Boatsy' do a little jig of delight.

Man of the Match: Niall Hylton

Attendance: 354

Mansfield Town 1-1 Carlton Town (2-4 on pens)

I'm in Tory Mansfield. I repeat this through gritted teeth. Tory Mansfield. A town betrayed and decimated by the Conservatives during the 1980s and 1990s, with the closure of coal mines and the associated supply chain. Those Tories should club together and build a statue of MP Ben Bradley. He overcame a Labour majority of 5,000 to win the seat in 2017. The majority vote was over 16,000 in the 2019 General Election. For 31 consecutive years Labour's Alan Meale served as the town's MP. Add to this the 40,000 Herberts in the town who voted 'Leave' in the BREXIT referendum - almost two and a half the number who voted 'Remain.' 

I want to really dislike Mansfield as I alight an EMT at the station at 2 pm on a Tuesday afternoon. I've seen plenty of run-ins and battles with the Stags and my team, Lincoln City, over the years. They used to have this manager called David Flitcroft (brother of Blackburn Rovers' Garry Flitcroft). Not sure, out of the two of 'em, who looked in the bedroom mirror the most. 

'Flickers' was rough around the edges, a blunt, to the point, northerner. He didn't take too kindly to the track-suited Essex PE teacher(s) Cowley brothers at Lincoln City, during an epic head-to-head promotion tussle a few years ago. I remember 'Flickers' and Nicky Cowley being pulled apart at Sincil Bank at the end of a bad-tempered Auto Windscreens cup clash. 

'Flickers' proper fancied himself on the touchline. He used to dress like the man from Burtons Menswear, Often sporting a three quarter length rain mack. On this blog I used to refer to him as 'Gene Hunt' the 70s copper from the brilliant BBC police drama series 'Life on Mars.' He'd chew gum furiously and act dead hard. I still laugh out loud when I remember the Imps scoring a last ditch 93rd minute equaliser to edge us closer to the League Two title. It was even funnier that I was sat on my hands in the home singing section.

I'm not here for 'The Lincoln.' 'Cup Fever' is sweeping through the town of Carlton, east of Nottingham, where Sticky Palms and Ms Moon reside. Don't accuse me of jumping on the bandwagon. I watched them in every round of the Notts Senior Cup last season, only to miss them winning the final, due to it being played at Basford United and on 3G. Petty, I know.

I've invested in a season ticket to watch the Millers this season. Despite a poor run of form since the turn of the year, I've enjoyed every moment and made some really good friends too, who are like-minded proper Non League folk too.

I have a sweep around the train station, spotting for any lurking squadron members of the 'Stags Baby Squad' - school isn't due to finish for an hour. I head to Field Mill to buy a ticket for tonight's Notts Senior Cup semi-final. Some buffoon at the club has said there will be crowd segregation (we're expected to bring 40 fans lol). I moan about this ludicrous decision with the ticket office lady as I part with £3 to sit in 'H' Block - not to be confused with the Maze Prison in Northern Ireland where terrorists were locked up during the Troubles in the 70s.

I head up town for a mooch about. There are some lovely buildings and a stunning railway viaduct. I actually quite like the place. It has some character. I flick the 'V' sign at Ben Bradley's constituency office window, as I head up Church Street. Pathetic and childish, but I get the same buzz after a similar incident in Nottingham, a few weeks back, as I wandered past the office of Department for Work and Pensions, following an unsuccessful application for Job Seekers Allowance (beer money). At least I haven't Ms Moon here to chastise me and clip me round the earhole.

Tony Mac has said the Brown Cow pub on Ratcliffe Gate is a must-visit. Once again the real ale aficionado is spot on. There are eight cask ales available and a range of craft beers. The lad behind the bar, like most folk in Mansfield, is warm and friendly. I don't ask him if he voted BREXIT. I have a chocolate and cherry mild and an ale from Belper Brewing Company.

Darkness now descends upon the deserted streets of the town, as I head back towards the station and the Railway Inn, with the 'Carlton 40' expected to tip up anytime soon. I hoover up a homemade steak and onion pie and wash it down with an ale from the Full Mash stable from Stapleford, in Notts. 

The lads arrive in dribs and drabs. Some have driven, others are on the train. Blog favourites 'Murph' 'DJ Dan' 'Big Joe' and 'Nige' have all clocked in. We make the short walk to Field Mill and congregate in the Sandy Pate Bar - named after the legendary Stags defender who made over 400 appearances for the club in the 1960s and 1970s.

Gary 'Boatsy' Clarke, Carlton's tireless Commercial and Marketing Manager, heads upstairs with the 'Prawn Sandwich Brigade' for a bird's eye view of the proceedings, whilst we are ushered into the notorious 'H' Block. Over 500 fans are in attendance, which is to be applauded on a fresh and breezy evening.

Nigel Clough is certainly taking the game seriously, with the likes of George Maris, Ollie Clarke, Jordan Bowery and on-loan NFFC defender Riley Harbottle, first team regulars at some point, all in tonight's starting line-up. Word up is that last year's loss to Carlton didn't go down too well upstairs. There is little expectation from the travelling contingent after a poor run of form since Christmas.

The Mighty Millers play the opposition off the park in the first half. Chance after chance are created, with shots whistling wide of goal or blazed over the bar. Shortly before the break, Carlton are awarded a spot-kick. The Club's leading January goalscorer, 'keeper Mikey Emery, makes no mistake from the spot. The 'Carlton 40' go mental.

I was expecting a bit of homegrown Alvin Stardust at the break ('the Mansfield Elvis'). But there's no sign of 'My Coo Ca Choo' on the Stags DJ set list. The lads and lasses are all back in Sandy Pate's sinking a few more scoops and enjoying the moment.

The Stags come out of the traps and soon restore parity. The Millers still impress as the young Stags begin to tire. Carlton defend for their lives and throw bodies on the line. The 'Mansfield Baby Squad' have finally turned up and have congregated in 'G' Block. Some good-natured banter commences. "Take your scarves and f**k off home" is as good as they can muster from the school playground. 

The game goes straight to penalties.Mikey Emery scores another from the spot - the third penalty he has put past the same 'keeper this month (a young lad who was loaned out to Long Eaton United). All eyes are focussed on Alex Howes who needs to score the 5th penno to win the game. It hits the inside of the post and rolls into the back of the net. There are wild scenes of celebration and jubilation in 'H' Block. Grown men (and women) hug one another, some are in tears. I wipe the steam off my glasses.

The 'Baby Squad' make a hasty exit with "take your scarves and f**k off home" ringing in their ears as the Mighty Millers fans twirl their yellow and blue scarves above their heads. A Dad and two lads boot the shelter we are standing in at the train station as they pass us by. We all just laugh out of pity. Some of us neck a pint back at The Railway as the EMT is delayed by 15 minutes.

Tweet of the night is sent by 'DJ Dan.' it says "Keith Curle, Sandy Pate, Liam Lawrence, and Colin Calderwood  ... your lads took one hell of a beating." Ben Bradley, Alvin Stardust and Rebecca Adlington are soon added to the list.

Man of the Match: All 11 of them.

Attendance: 545

Carlton Town 0-2 Shildon AFC

 

I ring the 'next stop' bell on the 3A Nottingham to Mansfield, Trent Barton bus. I hop off in Kirkby in Ashfield - 'Tory Ashfield' - an area decimated by pit closures. I fish my phone from out of my coat pocket. There's one incoming message from 'Sticky jnr.' It's really sad news. 'King Arthur' has passed.

As a kid, I grew up in the village of Keyworth, in south Notts. We had a village green where football was played in winter and cricket in the summer. At the time there was no youth set up. In the mid 70s, with the village growing due to Frank Goulding, Wimpey and Constain estates being built quicker than you could shake a stick at, a new complex was opened on the outskirts of the village. Platt Lane sits adjacent to the British Geological Survey; Keyworth's largest employer.

A local builder, and friend of my Dad, Arthur Oldham got hold of the football club by the scruff of its neck and laid the foundations. He was a visionary and a shrewd cookie. Keyworth United were, back then, revered and feared. 'King Art' built one of the greatest sides in the Club's history. It was at a time when all the Miners' Welfares had teams as well as works' teams like Boots, Worthington and Simpson and John Player. It would hold its own in Step 5 level, had it been now, Arthur's recruitment was canny too. He sold on David 'Biddy' Riley to Nottingham Forest and Mickey Waitt to Notts County. Brian Clough even brought a Forest XI to play Keyworth on a balmy summer afternoon in 1988.

Arthur later went on to have further success at Arnold Town and Quorn FC. He was a football man who loved nothing more than chewing over a game, late into Saturday evening. He always dressed immaculately; sporting a smart jacket and a turtleneck jumper. Rest in peace Arthur. They don't make 'em like you any more, mate. 

I continue my walk in north Notts. I chance upon three statues in the precinct, outside the library. Test cricketers Harold Larwood and Bill Voce were born in nearby Nuncargate and Annesley Woodhouse. Both were involved in the Ashes 'Bodyline' series in the 1930s against Don Bradman's Aussies. The statues are amazing. Larwood is bowling at Bradman, whilst Voce fields at silly mid-off.

I quench my thirst at a Pub People Company watering hole called the Duke of Sussex, in Sutton in Ashfield. There are three Blue Monkey beers on offer. I plump for a BG Sips and take a seat in the corner as U2's 'Beautiful Day' is piped out of the public bar speakers.

I stroll into Sutton town centre; it's as dead as a dodo. Pubs are boarded up and the high street is littered with 'To Let' signs. The electorate have sold out to BREXIT. 20,000 voted 'Remain' with over 46,000 wanting to 'Leave.' I don't see any 'Levelling Up' money being made available right now, to spruce up the town centre, although the Sherwood Observatory and a reservoir have recently been awarded £3 million. Is that what you voted for?

Wednesday evening is spent at The City Ground. Manchester United are in our manor for the first time in three decades. I decide to make the 3 mile walk to the ground. I'm sat in my seat, in the Lower Brian Clough Stand, just shy of an hour before kick off - even the keepers haven't come out to warm up yet. The pre-match music is boring and stale. Carlton Town's 'DJ Dan' would soon liven the place up.

'United' warm-up close to where I'm sat. All the young kids are mesmerised by the presence of a bang in-form Marcus Rashford. The No.10 is fully focussed on the drills. He starts the game like a train; a high speed one too. Like a greyhound out of the traps he speeds past a stationary Freuler and a pulled out of position Worrall, before unleashing a left-footed shot into the net.

United canter to a 3-0 victory. Their fans are magnificent. They are relentless in their chanting and have endless amusing ditties. They take the rise out of the silent NFFC fans who leave in their droves from 80 minutes onwards. They finish their 'set' with "Fred ... Fred, will tear you apart again" a sample from Manc band Joy Division's 1980 single 'Love Will Tear Us Apart.' 

I've proper 'cocked up on the catering front', as Reggie Perrin once said. Thursday night's chicken and mushroom gnocchi is ruined because some idiot (obvs me) has forgotten to add sour cream to the dish. All you can taste is the chicken stock.

Unfortunately, for me, a double bill of Coronation Street is on the TV set. A ginger-haired youth is bleating to his missus about having no money. "Is that Chesney?", I enquire. The reply is affirmative. "He might save a few bob towards his four bairns if he sent 'Schmeichel' (his Great Dane) to the Dogs' Trust." "Schmeichel died in 2011 Babe", says Ms Moon. I get my coat and head out towards the doghouse.

It's the 'Friday Club' monthly 'Jolly Boys' outing to Leicester. The plan was to have breakfast at The Avenues on Sneinton Market. It's snided out with workmen, who are building new apartments, which dwarf the market. Oh well, YOLK it is again.

We catch the 10.50 train to Leicester. It's a full squadron and a strong line up that includes: Tony Mac, 'Limon', Coops, Ackers and 'Chopper.' Leicester is a place full of hidden gems that are often unearthed when hunting down real ale pubs. The Blue Boar, The Salmon and King's Arms are a must visit. There's a statue of Thomas Cook in the city centre and lots of King Richard III related stuff. 'The Jumper Knitters' need something to cheer them up as Brendan Rodgers plans his exit, with the Foxes in freefall.

There's no sore head or feeling rough around the edges on Saturday morning. I'm up, at 'em and ready for matchday. I've been given a reprieve and allowed back in the kitchen. I'm knocking up another award-winning lamb curry. Firmly sticking to the guidelines of the BBC Good Food recipe. 

I have a trot down to Carlton Tesco, which is an ordeal in itself. The staff seem rather chipper. Well they would be, as its self service checkouts ONLY. Suits me down to the ground. I'm quicker at scanning than those lads and lasses on the tills, any day of the week. A hat tip to the Radio Tesco DJ for playing 'Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy' by Queen. Not heard that in donkey's years.

I'm down Stoke Lane, home of Carlton Town, at just gone 2 pm. 'DJ Dan' has already started his set. It's an eclectic mix of indie through to soul. I thumb my through the 48 page stunning programme as I tap my feet to The Police and 'De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.'

 

Today is a massive relegation six-pointer versus Shildon AFC, who make the long 266 mile-round trip from County Durham. Alan Murphy dishes out the team sheets. A few changes have been made of late following one win in the last seven League outings.

There is one late addition to my clobber, with Ms Moon bringing down my snood, as it's always a tad chilly stood close to the water. We could have had a little jig together, minutes earlier, to warm ourselves up, when Dan played 'Le Freak' by Chic. We stand close to the end that the Millers are attacking. hoping and praying that it's them that can break the deadlock first. It's a scrappy, edgy opening half with not much to report on either team.

There is, however, an action-packed 15 minutes in the clubhouse during the break. A 7 year old rescue dog called Po, a Shar Bei breed, is enjoying a bit of fuss from most folk and is lapping up the attention. Unfortunately, a small white dog, sat close by, name unknown (enquiries continue) is affronted and quite cross about this. She has a go at Po, who isn't shy in the tackle. I break 'em up and tell them both to behave before waving two yellow cards.

Gary 'Boatsy' Clarke and Jitz have rocked up. Gary has a book launch down at the club on Sunday 19th February. I promise I'll be there 'live and exclusive' for the release of his new book with co-author Paul Lowe called 'Angels With Dirty Faces.' 2 pm kick off, if you fancy it. Be a few celebs there too.

The opening goal is crucial and is always going to be scruffy or have an element of luck about it. Poor Dan Brown, often the Millers' best player, turns a cross into his own net. It's game over, eight minutes later, when a shot from the right hand side evades everyone before nestling into the bottom corner of the net.'DJ Dan' consoles himself by downing another 'Newkie Brown.' 

There have been some bright moments, mostly from Tyler Blake and John White, but right now, on a losing streak, the Millers are staring down the barrel of the gun, with relegation a possibility, unless there is a reversal of fortune.

Attendance: 124

Man of the Match: John White

Rest in Peace Arthur Oldham. A Keyworth Legend xx

Derby County 2-1 Bolton Wanderers

It's Tuesday morning. I'm sitting in my armchair ploughing my way through a huge bowl of porridge, whilst plotting my movements for the week ahead. There's a huge commotion coming from Ms Moon's office upstairs. I hear a "oh God" and a "oh nooo" followed by a huge shriek. I lift the bowl of porridge from off my lap and place it on a small table. I dash up the stairs to find the good lady in a flood of tears. What could have happened? "Has Cain Dingle met a grisly ending on 'C' Wing at HMP Armley?" (near to the Emmerdale Farm studios in Leeds). "No babe, it's much worse than that, Ken Bruce is leaving Radio 2 and taking his PopMaster music quiz game with him.

"Bloody hell, I thought it was something more important like life and death or an announcement of Series 3 of 'Early Doors.' Let's face it, the Ken Bruce Show is pretty pants apart from the quiz. It looks like the BBC haven't renewed the grumpy Scotsman's huge contract (he'll be on £500k plus) which expires in March. We can still fall out over PopMaster as the princess will be tuning in to his new home at Greatest Hits Radio, where one of Sticky's old favourites, Simon Mayo, spins some 7s.

I open my diary, and flick through the pages to this week. It's an action packed schedule. Monday evening was spent in the hipster area of Hockley, in Nottingham city centre. Teatime is whiled away at Sexy Mamma Love Spaghetti, on Heathcote St. It describes itself as serving authentic Italian food and is walk-ins only. I grab the last available table and plump for Bolognese in penne pasta and Ragu - I could have rustled up something better myself, and a damn sight cheaper too, than the £14 that was chalked up on the blackboard.

Pasta tea isn't the real reason I'm in town this evening. The star attraction is the film 'Till', which is produced by Whoopi Goldberg. It's a biographical drama about the activist Mamie Till-Bradley, who pursues justice for the lynching and murder of her son, Emmet, down in Mississippi in 1955. It's a powerful and emotional film. I toss and turn in bed on my return home, thinking about that poor kid and his family.

It's 9.44 a.m. on Wednesday morning. I'm on an EMR train that runs from Norwich to Liverpool. The first stop off is Sheffield. There's a short wait for a Northern train that's heading up to Leeds. I alight the train at Wombwell station. It's an old coal-mining town close to Barnsley. Wombwell Sports Association's ground catches my eye, as does the roped off, frost covered cricket wicket, and the brightly coloured football dugouts. 

Three old guys are sitting in the groundsman's shed. I wander over and engage with one of them who later tells me he's from Portsmouth, but has settled in the area. He escorts me over to the football changing rooms and unlocks the front door. The purpose of my visit is to see the final resting place of 'Busby Babe' Mark Jones, who lost his life in the 'Munich Air Disaster' in 1958. Jones was only 24 years old and had already racked up over 100 appearances at centre-half for Manchester United. A memorial plaque is mounted on the wall. I walk up to the cemetery to pay my respects. A legendary Yorkshire and England Test cricketer, Roy Kilner, is also buried in the churchyard. It is said that over 100,000 attended his funeral in 1928

I call by the 'Butty Box' on the way back to the station. A couple of ladies, sat outside, are puffing on king-sized cigarettes. I enquire about a sandwich. "Just let me wash my hands love", says one of them. I'm invited back to the hut to have a brew with the lads. Two of them used to work at nearby Houghton Main Colliery, until it was closed by Margaret Thatcher in 1991. We chew the cud for over half an hour. They make my day with their friendly welcome. Their anecdotes of days gone by make me feel warm and fuzzy. One of the guys used to accompany Mark Jones's son, Gary, to Old Trafford every fortnight, until his passing three years ago.

I head back to Sheffield and have a bat around the place, clocking up almost 7 miles. I tick off CAMRA pub entries called The Wellington, The Harlequin and a Heritage Grade II listed watering hole called The Bath Hotel.  The latter is located close to some Turkish baths. I loved the curved leather seated bench in the cosy snug.

I hook up with my brother, who has travelled down from York. The lucky bugger has retired now. We down a quick real ale at the glorious Sheffield Tap before heading back to Nottingham on the 17.05. I take him on a whistle stop tour of some of Nottingham's finest hostelries. BeerHeadZ, Barley Twist, Keans Head and the Fox and Grapes all impress the judges. Add to that, supper taken at the award-winning Bohns Best Burgers, another trendy eatery.

He treats me to breakfast the following day at crowd favourite, YOLK. We walk it off with a 12 mile round hike to Beeston, and back, via the Trent and the canal; only stopping for a quick liquid refreshment at The Victoria Hotel, adjacent to the station. I'm propper fagged out on my return home as Ms Moon finishes her working shift. 

'Friday Club' legend Tony Mac is restored to the starting line-up. Ms Moon makes room after admitting to being transfixed to Series 9 of 'Below Deck' on All 4, which she's binge-watching this evening. Mac and I end up at a craft bar called Kraftwerks, it's in the hipster area of Sherwood. We work our way through the beer scoreboard before raiding the craft can fridge. Earlier. we'd visited The Winchester; Mac was less than impressed. I wasn't too chuffed either, Dave from 'Minder' wasn't behind the bar. We see the evening off back in town at Bunkers Hill, a firm favourite of Nottingham Panthers ice hockey fans. I thank Mac for tipping me the wink on a bundle package of a Sleaford Mods gig at Rock City, which includes their latest album release UK GRIM.

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. I've awoken to a deep frost. The 3G gang, with their soulless cages, are making needless noise on social media. The beautiful game was made to be played on grass. I'm gutted when I hear that Grantham v Carlton has fallen by the wayside. I fold up my 'Still Hate Thatcher' T-Shirt and return it to the cupboard. Bloody hell, Lincoln City has now bitten the dust. Only one alternative remains, and it isn't going to go down too well with some of my mates.

I step onto the escalator that drops me off at the second floor of the Victoria Centre. The 12.45 p.m. Red Arrow Trent Barton bus leaves the station ten minutes late. The driver turns a blind eye to payment. There's an inconvenient diversion that takes an age to circumnavigate. We're still in Derby for 1,30 p.m.

Nobody at the station is aware of a bus to Pride Park on matchday. The sky is blue, but the chill is bracing. I elect to walk on icy pavements littered with black ice. My footwear selection is an error. I pitch up at the ground by 2 p.m. I take a few photos and collect my tickets from a friendly member of staff. Derby are one of the few clubs that do 'print only' tickets. There's no download to your phone.

I've had chuff all to eat. A hot dog from one of the vendors will suffice. I'm seated up in the Gods of the West Stand on Row V. The players are warming up to the 1995 hit 'I Wish' by Chicago rapper Skee-Lo. Paul Warne's Rams are in a rich vein of form, and have lost only one in the last 13 League outings. Bolton are on a good run themselves.

It's my first visit here since an FA Cup 4th round tie back in 2008, when Paul Jewell's Rams were battered 4-1 by Alan Irvine's Preston North End. It was the same season that Derby broke a Premier League record for the least number of points. They only won one game.

Due to a paper thin squad and the unavailability of highly-rated Mansfield-born defender Eiran Cashin, Warne has been forced to wheel out 37 year old Curtis Davies. He's beaten for pace in the opening minutes. Like most of Bolton's afternoon, the cross comes to nothing.

The bloke next to me is a pain in the arse. He harangues an excellent referee from minute one. Derby pour forward, a player is fouled in the middle of the park, before releasing the ball out to the wing. The cross is pinpoint and swept home superbly by Mendez-Laing. "brilliant refereeing" I say to our man. 

Bolton are absolutely dire. They flatter to deceive with their crisp passing, as there is no end product. It's a matter of time before the Rams double their advantage. Again it's a well worked goal, this time from Conor Hourihane. 

I engage with the guy sat the other side of me, despite him constantly refreshing his phone to view his live betting slip. He's happy that NFFC are losing in Bournemouth. I don't say goodbye when he leaves on 85 minutes. Bolton score an undeserved consolation goal on 93 minutes. It won't cheer up their huge following, who have been relentless with their singing and chanting.

I've been on a recce. 'The Lincoln' are here on Valentine's evening. Negotiations are taking place. 

Do you want ketchup on your hot dog Ms Moon?

Attendance: 30,004

Man of the Match: Nathaniel Mendez-Laing

Nottingham Forest 2-0 Leicester City

It's a gloomy, cloud-covered Tuesday morning, and it's bucketing it down with rain. I dash up a snicket that leads me to the bottom of Carlton Hill. The award-winning Oceans chippy is in my eyeline as I wait for the 10.15 a.m. bus into Nottingham city centre.

This will make you laugh. I have an interview with those jokers at the Department for Work and Pensions. I alight the bus at a 'bomb site' (it's called Upper Parliament Street). It is an eyesore and a blot on the Nottingham landscape. It has a sea of takeaways, scruffy pubs and 'To Let' signs. 

I dive into Victoria Shopping Centre. Folk used to travel far and wide to visit the 'Queen of Midlands' back in the day. Our city is on its arse and in desperate need of some tender, loving care. The first purchase of the day is a small Collins pocket diary from WHSmith. It'll be full of football fixtures, gigs, drinking days out, holidays and cricket matches, by close of play this evening.

A dripping wet Sticky Palms pushes open the job centre front door for the first time in 42 years of employment. I haven't worked for over 7 months (my choice). I'm due to be grilled about the 'New Job Seekers Allowance' application I've made.' I filled out all the forms and presumed it's a formality, despite declaring a small pension that I triggered 3 years ago.

I'm met by a stoney-faced receptionist who tells me I'm too early, and that I'm to wait outside in the pouring rain. My complaints fall on deaf ears. I'm allowed back in and ushered upstairs ten minutes later. Four members of staff are milling around and tossing it off. There's no meet and greet like Jet 2 Holidays. 

My name is shouted out by a bumbling, nervous wreck. A glass panel is wedged in between us. I'm informed, within the first 90 seconds of the interview, that I'm ineligible for the £75 per week allowance, due to my pension being too high. I blow a gasket and ask why I couldn't have been informed of this during the application process. The blithering idiot can only apologise.

I hastily exit this miserable building, passing a security guard on the stairs who is built like a brick outhouse. "Everything ok Bruv?", he enquires. "No it's f***ing not, mate.", I reply. I could have done with that JSA for much-needed beer money. I thought this shit show of a government were looking to help the over 50s back into the workplace. Up yours Sunak; I'm having another summer off .. lol.

There had been a bad start to the week the previous day. I was summoned up to Ms Moon's office at 10.28 a.m. for our daily fix of PopMaster on the Ken Bruce Show. I usually end up winning as I'm a few years older than the good lady, which gives me a head start in the 1970s. Rare defeats aren't taken too well by yours truly. I'm trounced 2-0. My list of excuses include that the questions are all about Westlife, Boyzone, Take That, Robbie Williams and Girls Aloud - the sort of stuff that gives one earache. I slam the office door firmly shut and threaten to never play again.

I've calmed down by the time I part with £4 at the Broadway Cinema where i watch the new Sam Mendes movie, Empire of Light. It stars the brilliant actor Olivia Colman and is set in the Kent seaside resort of Margate, which looks like the land that time forgot. I make a note to myself to visit the town during warmer times. 

Tuesday evening is spent at Notts County's Meadow Lane. Rumours are rife that their likeable and astute head coach Luke Williams is the bookies' favourite for the vacant Pompey job, following the sacking of Lincoln City legend Danny Cowley. Further fuel is added to the fire that Swansea have put a bid in for the 'Non League Haaland', Macaulay Langstaff. Surely he'd get loaned back?

Langstaff fluffs his lines early on, missing a one on one with the Boreham Wood 'keeper. The visitors grow into the game. An off-colour County fall behind on 44 minutes with Broadbent (not Jim) firing home a rebound.

The pressure is beginning to tell on the League leaders. Bostock looks to be a luxury player at this level, his movement is hampered and his physical presence is not felt on or off the ball. Add to that the risk taking of centre half Aden Baldwin, and his reluctance to use his left foot when playing out of trouble. Notts only come away with a point. Bostock, to his credit, floats in a beautiful ball which is nodded home by the Geordie, Cedwyn Scott.

Getting hold of tickets for NFFC games is proving a tad tricky this year. A mixture of having good mates, and an excellent buying history from last season, has proved fruitful. I bagged one of the last available tickets in Block 'E' of the Peter Taylor Stand. 

As usual I'm parked up in my seat in time for the warm-ups.Willy Boly will have been a tasty 33/1 first goalscorer on the betting slip this evening. He duly obliges, against his former club, to put the Tricky Trees 1-0 up. From then on Forest struggle, as Wolves dominant proceedings. They smell blood, scoring an equaliser through Raul Jimenez, but can't put the game to bed following some resolute defending, with Worrall, Aurier and Lodi all outstanding.

The game goes to penalties. Skipper Joe Worrall, on his 200th appearance, steps up to the plate and smashes home his spot kick. Not much has gone Morgan Gibbs-White's way this evening, against his boyhood club. If anything, he's tried too hard. He takes responsibility, walking to the end where a 3,000 travelling pack of Wolves fans are baying for his blood. He nonchalantly scores from the spot, where he missed for Sheffield Utd last May, before putting his fingers in his ears -"I CAN'T HEAR YOU" Henderson saves the final penalty to send The City Ground wild.

I spend Friday listening to music and pretending to look for jobs when Ms Moon peers over my shoulder. I buy a few tickets for gigs at The Bodega for Ist Ist and Pale Blue Eyes. There's breaking news coming in at teatime. Tony Mac has been left out of the Friday Club squad, with Ms Moon coming in from the wilderness.

First port of call is the wonderful Lillie Langtry's pub on South Sherwood St. I'm a bit shocked to be charged over £10 for an average pint of bitter (Black Sheep Holy Grail) and a pint of Strongbow. A few pints later we are walking past the job centre, I give the JSA building the middle finger. Ms Moon tells me to grow up.

I've booked a table for two at the highly-rated Italian restaurant Casa. It's a friendly welcome. Ms Moon has a bottle of bubbles whilst I tuck into some Malbec. A lovely evening is spent eating lobster pasta and fish stew. We finish the night off at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton. As we wait for a late bus I mention to Ms Moon that the landlord of the pub was murdered at this very spot in 1963. The case is still open and remains unsolved. It seems to unsettle the princess a wee bit until the bus turns up.

I've been in a quandary about where to go on Saturday. I've ruled out Stocksbridge Steels v Carlton Town as it's unlikely to survive the inclement weather. Hucknall Town v West Bridgford is on the radar, but I'm doing my damndest to secure a ticket for the East Midlands derby. Good news arrives at 5pm on Friday. I'm tipped the wink about a spare, by a great friend. A phone call later, the ticket is confirmed and a rendezvous is set up. Thanks Daz.

One good thing that is happening, albeit at a snail's pace, is the Island Quarter in the eastern part of the city. I wander over the Nottingham Canal, peg it through a patioed garden with the biggest TV screen in the world. and pull open the back door of Binks Yard, a new addition to the eating and drinking scene. There's disappointment at the bar. The sparkler has gone on the London Pride cask ale and they only have cans of Gamma Ray craft ale. It's a nice enough place, but it will need to up its game on the drinks front if it's to compete with the Trent Navigation and The Embankment.

I say hello to 'Toppo', Kokins, Roger Wilson, Blackie and Gary Clarke, before settling in on a table with Forest superfan Jitz Jani, Nick Dobney and son James. All of the boys are confident of victory today, believing the Foxes are in decline. 

Jitz says something to me that sticks in my mind for the rest of the day. "I live for Saturdays; it's my day." That quote is quite poignant when you actually think about how many Saturday 3 pm kick offs have been taken away from supporters. But what a beautiful line that is.

  

I take my seat in the Upper Bridgford, above the travelling support. The atmosphere is electric as the music ramps up. The first half is tense, disjointed and littered with fouls. Harvey Barnes misses a sitter. There's a no show from Ryan Yates in the second half, he's replaced by the experienced Jack Colback. 

Barnes misses another gilt-edged chance. The Foxes are made to pay. Johnson narrowly avoids the offside trap to put the Trickies in the lead. He puts the final nail in the coffin on 85 minutes with a smart finish after an outrageous ball, from the outside of the boot, from Morgan Gibbs-White, who has covered every blade of grass - 10 km, only bettered by Remo Freuler at 11km.

I'm mobbed by the bloke next to me at the final whistle. I don't hang around for the fist pumps or the fireworks from Eva's Tavern. I walk back into Sneinton with philosophical Leicester fans who understand their plight rather than get angry about it.

There's time for a couple of pints in the Partizan Tavern before I catch the bus home and rustle up another award-winning tea for Ms Moon, who has her feet up watching crap TV quiz shows. She can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 29,301

Men of the Match Jitz Jani and Serge Aurier (Bosman signing of the season)