Lincoln City 0-2 Gillingham

It's Wednesday 22nd July 2009. I work part-time as Head of Recruitment at Notts County FC Academy. I'm sat at my desk, my full-time job role is at Ergo Computing, on Mere Way, Ruddington. I'm having the usual banter, on our pod, with my colleagues Phil, Emma and 'Trav' when my phone bleeps. It's my 14-year-old lad, Jack. He's texting live and exclusive from his English lesson at South Wolds Comp, in Keyworth. "Dad, are you sitting down? Sven-Goran Eriksson has been appointed as 'Director of Football' at Notts County. It's commonly known as a 'dropped my bacon sandwich moment.' Unless he's pranking me.

I'm reminded of this monumental part of the Magpies' history this week when a podcast from the brilliant Five Live series 'Sport's Strangest Crimes' was released. It's called 'The Trillion Dollar Conman' and is narrated by the  presenter Alice Levine, who is from Beeston, in Nottingham. Give it a listen. It's enthralling and fast-paced.

I remember being phoned by the Academy Manager, Mick Leonard, that day, and told to report to Meadow Lane for a meeting at 7 p.m. in the 1862 suite. It was all doom and gloom. Folk in that meeting knew their time was up (me included) if this was a genuine acquisition. It got stranger and stranger as the days passed by. Kasper Schmeichel was signed from Manchester City and former Spurs and Arsenal defender Sol Campbell arrived from Portsmouth on a five-year deal.

Of course it was an elaborate con, masterminded by a fraudster called Russell King - who had previous. He was finally jailed for six years in April 2019. One of the oldest football clubs in the world nearly went to the wall and First London Bank was wound up in the courts.

I'm still stewing about the late postponement of the Nottingham Forest game at AFC Bournemouth last Friday. Bungling officials have tried to deflect the blame onto the EFL. I fire off a couple of rude and curt tweets to both parties, calling them out. The game has been rearranged for Tuesday May 3rd at 7 p.m. I might stay down the south coast for a few days and tick off the Rose Bowl and Hove, as both have County Championship fixtures.

It's Tuesday tea-time and I'm holed up in the 'World Renowned Trent Bridge Inn' with 'Our Joe' and 'The Keyworth Georgie Best.' 'Tom Siswick Scores Goals' is also with us. He is the greatest striker I've clapped eyes on that hasn't played Step 3 football or above. An oversight by the Keyworth United senior set-up meant he wasn't on their radar until he was 22-years-old (I tipped 'em off). He's scored 13 goals in 16 outings but is out injured for the rest of the season.

I grab some tuffies (Rowntree Fruit Pastilles) from the Co-op on Bridgford Road, opposite Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club. I make the short trip over Trent Bridge and onto Meadow Lane. Promotion-chasing Conference National teams Notts County and F.C. Halifax Town are locking horns this evening.

I take my pew in the Derek Pavis Stand. The Shaymen have brought around 400 fans. It's an incident-packed first 45 minutes. Halifax are razor sharp and pour forward. They take the lead after a faux pas by 20-year-old Czech 'keeper Vitezslav Jaros, who is on-loan from Liverpool. 

The game changes in the blink of an eye. Two silly yellow cards see Halifax reduced to ten men with the sending off of the influential Jack Senior. The Pies take advantage, playing some champagne football in the process. Eli Sam equalises before half-time.

Halifax are a tough nut to crack in the second half thanks to some stoic defending. It will feel like a win for them after playing for 55 minutes with ten men. County will look at it as a missed opportunity and two points dropped.

Ms Moon is away in Murcia, Spain, this week, working. I had a phone call from Virgin Media on Wednesday asking when it would be a good time to come round to fix the TV. I said to them that it wasn't broken, I've just not switched it on .. lol. I do watch Atletico Madrid v Manchester Utd in the Champions League. 19- year-old Swede, Anthony Elanga, scores a vital goal as United share the spoils. It's great to see another young 'un roll off the Old Trafford conveyor belt of endless youth. 

It's Thursday tea-time and I'm already catching my fifth bus of the day into Nottingham city centre. Tony Mac and I sink a few strong craft ales at Junkyard, our favourite bar in town. It's a short stay, as we have more pressing matters. In the first time in over 40 years I'll be paying-in to a gig at The Bodega on Pelham Street. It's a gem of a venue and has craft ales on too. I bump into Ergo Computing legends Johnny Haslam and Scott Smith. The reason we are all here is to see a band called The Benefits who hail from Middlesbrough. They call themselves an 'issues-based collective from the North-East.'

It's a jaw-dropping, powerful shift that frontman Kingsley Hall puts in. He gets emotional at the drop of a hat. It's not for the faint-hearted or right of centre. But I bloody love it. His performance is on my mind as I wrestle with my sleep. I can't wait to see them again.

Tony Mac and I meet at Friday Club HQ, a place called YOLK in Hockley. We have breakfast before strolling up to the Victoria Bus Station. Coops, an old friend from the Keyworth Tavern, is joining us on an all-dayer (cultural tour) in the Derbyshire town of Ilkeston. We've secured a Zig Zag Trent Barton day ticket for £15 which covers the three of us.

I used to love to watch football at Ilson's New Manor Ground until they went down the 3G route. Yes, yes, I get the commercial gain, blah blah blah  ... but Sticky doesn't 3G/4G, unless it's by accident. The Burnt Pig is the first pub on the agenda. There's already a crowd stretching into double figures when we enter the bar at 11.30 a.m. There's a roaring fire and a cosy backroom. Quite honestly, we all agree that we could stay here and while away the afternoon.

The pub crawl continues. The Crafty One, on South Street, is a crowd favourite and has beer to die for. We hop on and off the bus as Sawley Junction, Crown Inn and The Star (in Beeston) are ticked off. Tony Mac and I polish off a sumptuous cheese board. We bump into Keyworth United legend and Pies fan Malcolm Healey MBE in The Crown. He is a lovely bloke, who gave his all for KUFC and charitable organisations. The night is curtailed in town. Well, Five Guys actually, for Sticky P.

I'm on Platform 1B, bright and breezy, on Saturday morning, at the train station. A jam-packed EMR 11.37 departs on time: destination is Lincoln. The Imps are in the mire after a poor run of form. Sticky 'the Jonah' is hardly going to help matters.

 
I peg it up the High Street towards Lincoln Cathedral. She shines like a beacon in glorious sunshine. The bastard that is Steep Hill has to be negotiated. I surprise myself and soon zip up it. I enjoy a couple of session craft ales at Beer Head Z on Eastgate.

I call by Greggs to grab a sausage roll and a caramel custard doughnut. I hoover them up as I amble down the aptly named Scorer Street, birthplace to ex Nottingham Forest and 'Dirty Leeds' striker Lee Chapman, who scored over 200 goals.

The Lincoln DJ plays a set only bettered by our man at Carlton Town. Pick of the bunch is 'Where's Me Jumper?' by The Sultans of Ping FC, a band from Cork, in Ireland. We used to dance to that at beer-fuelled nights in Keyworth.

The first half is a dull as dishwater. Gillingham like to get it forward early. They are well marshalled and orchestrated by new manager Neil Harris. The lad Lincoln have on-loan from Arsenal does well again. It's also good to see the return of Tom Hopper from a long-term injury.

The Gills deservedly win with goals from ex-Imp Vadine Oliver and Ben Thompson. I walk past a steward on the way out. "Surely Appleton has to go now?" he shouts out. "Not on your Nelly mate" I reply. "He's the best Manager, Coach and Mentor we've had since Graham Taylor."

Attendance: 8208

Man of the Match: Lincoln DJ

AFC Bournemouth P-P Nottingham Forest

We're on our way home from Boston United, having ticked off their brand spanking new stadium. We pull onto The Green at Car Colston. The Royal Oak was voted Vale of Belvoir and Nottinghamshire CAMRA Pub of the Year in 2020. Trumpy Bolton leads the charge to the bar. Six Nations Rugby is on the TV. The cosy bar is packed to the rafters.

We head back to the Keyworth Tavern. I'm staying the night at the Big Man's. There's no urgency to go home as Ms Moon and daughter Becky are at a James Blunt concert at the Nottingham Motorpoint Arena. I enjoy a couple of pints with Trumpy before picking up a Chinese from Jasmine House on The Parade. The rest of the evening is spent slouched on the Big Man's sofa watching football.

On Sunday morning mine host rustles me up poached eggs on toast for breakfast. Dafty picks me up at bang on 10 o'clock. He's got Mabel the black Labrador on the back seat. We drive over Lady Bay Bridge and turn onto the Colwick Loop Road. The car is parked behind Victoria Retail Park, in Netherfield, adjacent to a car auction site.

We spend the morning wandering around Netherfield Lagoons before dropping down to the River Trent and walking in the direction of Stoke Bardolph. Dafty drops me off at Chez Palms at lunchtime. There's no Sunday pub drinks today. I collapse into my armchair and knock up the Boston blog which is well received by over 1000 readers.

It's Tuesday tea time and approaching 5 p.m. A colleague and I race down the stairs at Ideagen HQ and jump into a car. 'Banksy' is a Lincoln City season ticket holder. He has very kindly offered to drive me to Sincil Bank this evening for the visit of Doncaster Rovers who are involved in a relegation dogfight.

We hit Lincoln city centre in less than an hour. The schools are on half-term this week, so there is only light traffic. 'Banksy' parks up on Robey Street where my nana used to live. A short walk away on the High Street is The Shakespeare. I down a pint of Guinness whilst 'Banksy' chats with his mates.

There are some food outlets at the back of the Crypto Currency Stand at the ground. We both enjoy a curry before parting company as we are sitting in different areas of the LNER Stadium. 

City's form has been patchy and our home record is poor. The Imps huff and puff but can't blow the house down. Donny finally have shot at goal just shy of half-time. There is gallows humour from the away support who sing "44 and we had a shot." It brings a smile to my face.

The second half is a car crash for Lincoln. The only bright spark is the full debut for Arsenal on loan 18-year-old full back Brooke Norton-Cuffy. His marauding runs have the crowd on their feet applauding the youngster. Remember the name; you heard it here first.

Play is suspended on 64 minutes following a medical emergency in the crowd. Thankfully the gentleman is breathing as he's stretchered into the back of a waiting ambulance. Doncaster score totally against the run of play. Walsh handles the ball after a corner. The spot kick is hit high into the roof of the net by Dan Gardner. The score stays 1-0 with Lincoln barely threatening an equaliser. It's 11.30 p.m. by the time I return home. Thanks for the lift 'Banksy.'

I manage a couple of pints with Tony Mac in Junkyard, Nottingham early on Thursday evening after a stressful bus journey from Ruddington. Ms Moon and I enjoy a chippy tea from Oceans at the bottom of Carlton Hill.

It's Friday morning and the day of the match. I won't be seeing much of Ms Moon as she is off to Murcia in Spain with work on Monday. I work myself, for a couple of hours, as I need some time off for a funeral on Monday afternoon. The next few hours are spent refreshing twitter as AFC Bournemouth have promised an update in the morning as Storm Eunice sweeps through the country. The plan was to meet Dave for breakfast at the Quayside Cafe near Nottingham Racecourse in Colwick. The storm is disrupting plans. Piers and 'Bruiser' are travelling down in another. car. We agree to leave no later than 12.30 p.m.

There's still no word from Bournemouth as Dave picks me up. We're expecting carnage on the roads as the gusts of wind are expecting to be 80 miles plus. By the start of Steve Wright in the Afternoon Show we have made good progress on the M40. The eastbound traffic is gridlocked due to an overturned lorry that lays on its side across the three lanes. Recovery workers are also pulling a lorry from out of a ditch.

The inevitable news comes from that tinpot of a club at 3.45pm when we're 15 minutes away from Bournemouth. Allegedly there has been damage to the stadium roof. The fact of the matter remains that the clowns who run the club have chosen not to communicate with supporters until four hours before kick off. My lad Jack posts on Facebook 'You can't 'arf pick 'em, Dad'

Unperturbed we check-in at the Park Central Hotel. It's not particularly windy as we head out towards the seafront. The pier is shut off due to the high winds. We walk towards Sandbanks a small peninsula crossing the mouth of Poole Harbour. It is known for its high property prices and award-winning beach. I remember scoring 49 retired hurt at beach cricket against Jack and Joe Palmer when they were 8 years old and six years old respectively Stubbed my toe on a pebble dashing back for two runs to complete my half century.

Sandbanks isn't all that. We were hoping that local celebrity residents Harry and Sandra Redknapp might knock us up a jam roly-poly. Sourcing any food or drink is problematic. There's no room at the inn at Rick Stein's or Lazy Jacks. The latter very kindly book us a cab back to Bournemouth.

The helpful taxi driver is like a tour guide. He drops us on the High Street where there are plenty of choices for food. A table for four is available at a Greek restaurant called Zorba. We enjoy (well Dave and I do) some Raki and Ouzo shots courtesy of the owner. We tuck into a mezze and some lamb kebabs. It's washed down with a bottle of Rioja. We end the evening at Cosy Club. The craft bars and real ale houses can wait until tomorrow evening. First stop will be Main Reception at AFC Bournemouth where I be asking for an explanation and demanding an apology.

We meet for breakfast at 8.30 a.m. One or two of us are bleary-eyed as a cranked up bass turned up to the max was banging out tunes until 4 a.m. at a nightclub next door. My mood isn't helped when the waiter announces that I will be charged extra for ordering an Americano - not a chance pal.

We walk up the coastal path, in the opposite direction, to Boscombe. The excuse for a football ground (and club) is a ten-minute walk inland. The car park is deserted but there is movement in Reception. A security guard dashes out the front door demanding to know what we want. I ask to speak to a club official and I'm told nobody is in and that the ground is under a prohibition order. A suited and booted club official runs away from me up some stairs when challenged what position he holds. The security guard says that they've all been told to keep shtum. I smell a rat and lose my temper before turning on my heels and heading back up into town. The Club couldn't give two hoots about our 430 mile round trip in a Force 10 gale.

I cool off and keep dry in the Russell-Cotes Art Gallery and Museum. It whiles away an hour. It's a lavish cliff top house with panoramic views of the sea. The exotic seaside villa is filled with objects bought from 50 different countries that the couple visited on their travels. It's well worth £7.50 of anybody's money.

I had looked at the possibility of a Non League game close by. Poole Town are away. The games at Wimborne Town and Christchurch have been washed away by the rain. There's a good shout from 'Barthez' that Southampton v Everton is game on, but it's too late to sort anything out. And as we all know Sticky doesn't do 3G/4G.

The rest of the day is spent diving in and out of pubs. The Hop Inn was taken over by NFFC fans last night. The drinking and singing lasted long into the night. There are still a few Tricky Tree fans in there when we rock up at just after 3 p.m. I manage to sneak in a couple of real ale pubs called The Goat and Tricycle and Poole Hill Brewery. 

Evening meal is eaten in an Italian restaurant called El Murrino. We finish the night up listening to 90s bangers in a trendy bar called 1812. I even manage a gin and tonic which is a rarity these days.

Man of the Match: Dave Marshall for driving through Storm Eunice.

Rest in Peace Paul 'Willy' Gee a proper Keyworth United legend. Love you mate xx

Boston United 1-1 Southport FC

It was my birthday weekend, so apologies for the lack of blog content. It was full steam ahead and an action-packed weekend that actually began on Thursday evening. It was a table for two at the much-talked-about Amores Italian restaurant, on Gedling Road, Carlton. It was quite busy for a school night. The Beef Stroganoff was the main event. I washed it down with two glasses of Merlot.

It's Friday tea-time (4th Feb). I hare out of the back door after jumping off a Teams call. I alight the bus at the top of Carlton Hill and slog my way up to the inner-city suburb of Carrington, a stone's throw away from the Goose Fair site. It's HQ to Notts No.1 chippy, The Cod's Scallops. First port of call is  Doctor's Orders micropub, a Magpie Brewery dwelling. Its sister pub, the Crafty Crow, located opposite Nottingham Castle, announced it's permanent closure last week.

Real ale aficionado, Tony Mac, is on board, of course. The next stop-off is the welcoming back street boozer called the Gladstone. The cheery, enthusiastic landlord shares his views on the local beer scene. I have an Oakham Citra and a Gold Star from Shipstones. Plans to spend a couple of hours in Kraftwerks craft ale house are well and truly scuppered when the landlord says that all tables are booked up until 9.30 p.m. The rest of the evening is spent in Nottingham, at the usual haunts such as Junkyard, Jam Cafe and the world-famous Neon Raptor. 

I feel as fresh as a daisy on Saturday morning, the day of my 58th birthday. My two lads have bought me some beer vouchers for the House of Trembling Madness store in York. Ms Moon has very kindly put together a photo album of my past and present. It's lovely to piece together the memories of my two lads growing up before there were such things as camera phones. 

Ms Moon was meant to be on a hen night in Nottingham this evening but was a late withdrawal as she is running a temperature and feeling a bit yuk. I've a day out booked in with the 'Mayor of Keyworth.' Today's match of choice is Notts County v Grimsby Town in the Conference National. 

There's no better feeling than walking to the match. I zip up Carlton Hill; it gets my heart beating ten to the dozen. I cross the 'Gaza Strip' into Sneinton. I turn up London Road, walking adjacent to Nottingham Canal. There's a 'bit of a cock-up on the catering front' as Basil Fawlty used to say. The ticket office have managed to hand me tickets for the Barnet game on Tuesday evening. The issue is soon resolved. Grimsby have sold out their 2,600 ticket allocation.

The game is superb and played at a furious pace. Cal Roberts scores a screamer. The Mariners blow the chance of levelling terms by missing a controversial spot kick. Grimsby turn the game on its head in the second half. They not only deservedly equalise but send the travelling faithful into raptures with a last gasp winner nodded home by ex-Lincoln skipper Luke Waterfall. Sadly, there's no sign of 'Harry the Haddock' inflatables circa 1989.

Post match we have a couple of pints in The Embankment and some chicken at Hooters before heading into town for scoops at Barley Twist, Herbert Kilpin and Six Barrels. The evening is curtailed at midnight. I'm bushed folks.

It's Sunday and another big day out. Lunchtime is spent in the south Notts countryside, at the ivy-cladded Plough at Normanton-on-the-Wolds. Ms Moon's daughter, Becky, has joined us. She is the general manager at the pub. After a mouth-watering Sunday roast accompanied by a pint of real ale and a gin and tonic, Ms Moon drops me off at her mum's on Melton Road, West Bridgford. The weather has turned and the wind has whipped up. I get a soaking from sharp, short, blustery showers.

FA Cup holders Leicester City are in town and so is die-hard fan and blog legend Trumpy Bolton. He is dining (getting spangled) at the Poppy and Pint in Lady Bay. I couldn't get a seat in 'B' Block. I'm housed up on the penultimate row at the top of the Brian Clough Stand. It's a shaky start from Forest as Leicester race out of the traps. The game is out of sight for the Foxes by 32 minutes after a three-goal blitz by the Tricky Trees. On-loan sensation, Djed Spence, scores a goal of beauty as he hammers home the final nail in the coffin. Trumpy's phone was switched off at half-time.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm sat upstairs at Portello Lounge on The Avenue, West Bridgford, with 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' and 'Our Joe.' I enjoy some chicken and a catch-up before saying cheerio. I swing by the Co-op to buy a bag of Fox's glacier mints to suck on during the game. I'm back down Meadow Lane this evening. Barnet, from north London are the visitors.

The Pies are cutting the Bees to ribbons. They are, as Colin Slater used to say, 'three to the good' by the break. The game will be remembered for all the wrong reasons, after a five-minute stoppage in the first half when Barnet's 7 jacket Rob Hall is racially abused as he is about to take a corner. The perpetrator, sat in the Kop, is ejected from the ground and hands himself in to the police the following day.

It's Ms Moon's birthday on Thursday. I'm in good books folks as I've bought her tickets to see James Blunt at Nottingham Arena on Saturday evening. We enjoy a meal at a cool tapas restaurant called Mesa in Hockley. They sell Pomona Island and Track craft ales too. 

Ms Moon has dropped me off in Keyworth. We enjoy a bacon and egg sandwich rustled up by the Big Man at his Keyworth crib. Adrian and Trumpy Bolton rock up too. We hit the road at 11.30 a.m. for the short 60 mile trip to Boston. Trumpy Bolton has already downed three cans of real ale accompanied by two slices of toast smothered in Brussels pate for breakfast.

The Big Man is joshing Trumpy about the aftermath and fallout from Leicester's gutless display on Sunday. Add to that the disgraceful behaviour of chavvy, cowardly Leicestershire-based hooligans in Nottingham city centre. Two pubs (Fat Cat and Cross Keys) had windows put in, prior to the game.

Trumpy has picked out a pub close to the ground called the Hammer and Pincers at Wyberton Fen. London Pride is on draught; it's always a steady pint. The Big Man is as happy as Larry that Man Utd v Southampton is on the pub TV. Well  ....  at least until the game starts  .. lol.

Boston is a market town with a port in the east of Lincolnshire. It has a population of 35,000. Boston's most notable landmark is St Botolph's Church ('The Boston Stump') it can be seen for miles from a far. It's the largest parish church in England. 

Famous people born in Boston include: former chief medical officer Sir Jonathan Van Tam, who brought a glint of light to dreary, depressing COVID press conferences, footballers John Oster and Simon Garner and actor and writer Robert Webb, one half of comedy duo Mitchell and Webb. The producer of the Academy award-winning film The Deer Hunter, Barry Spikings, was also born in the town.

It's a brand spanker out-of-town stadium. The old one, York Street, was a belter. If the food outlets are looking to make a few dollars out of Adrian. then they'll end up disappointed. He's brought his own sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Ms Moon will be gutted she missed the team bus, as Costa coffee is available. Scottish post-punk band Franz Ferdinand's 2004 hit 'Take Me Out' is on the stadium dukey.

It's £16 to sit in the main stand. Paul Cox and John Ramshaw have recently taken over. John is from Keyworth and is a good friend of Trumpy, 'Big Man' and myself. The swirling wind is ruining the game. Southport play the first half with the conditions in their favour. They have a long throw in their locker which creates the first goal of the game. They also hit the woodwork.

I receive a text from Trumpy at 4 pm. He has ejected himself from the ground so he can sample some of the microbrewery ales at Ellender's Bar outside the ground. He doesn't miss much to be honest. Boston don't have a physical presence up top due to injuries to Jordan Burrow and James Hanson. West Bridgford lad Danny Elliott does his best but needs a beast to play off.

The Big Man is warming the car up. I'm not one to leave early. My patience is rewarded with a late equaliser for the Pilgrims. The game hasn't been great. The conditions have beaten us all.

Attendance: 1,552

Man of the Match: Big Man for driving and Bed and Breakfast

Nottingham Community 3-1 Rushcliffe FC

The Big Man drops me off outside The Embankment in 'North Bridgford.' He's on an 'airport run' so hasn't got time to hang about. I wander into the Dispensary and shout up a pint of Orsino, from the Newby Wyke Brewery, located in Grantham, Lincs.

There are a few stragglers left in the pub, from the early kick off at the world famous City Ground. My oh my, what a two an eight some folk are in, after the Tricky Trees 2-1 win over The Sheep. I get gassing to a couple of lads, who are slumped in leather-covered armchairs in the corner of the pub. One of them is incoherent. He makes his excuses and heads towards to the exit door. He's coaching Dunkirk Under 18s in the morning, up in Mansfield. I share a drink with the other guy ('Bolly') who has drank himself sober after a 12-hour session. Turns out he played for Hickling FC, in the Notts Amateur League, back in the 90s. Tony Mac, of this parish, was his manager and 'Barthez', another good mate of mine, was in the nets for them. Small world, eh?

It's Sunday morning and I feel bright and breezy. Ms Moon is off to do a spot of shopping and will be calling in on her elderly mother, who lives in West Bridgford. I love nothing more than to while away a couple of hours in a hostelry on a Sunday lunchtime. I have to earn it, though. I head up Carlton Hill and turn right onto Standhill Road, where Lincoln Green's The Brickyard sits on the corner of the street. I amble through a maze of  alleys and ginnels, that lead me up onto Porchester Road. I wander through Private Road in Mapperley Park, an affluent area of Nottingham. The average price of a house is a cool half a million pounds. Destination is Sherwood. More importantly Kraftwerks craft ale bar.

250 specialist craft ales from around the world are available for selection. I'm like a kid in a sweet shop. The guy who runs the bar is one cool dude. He knows his crafts and loves his music too. The Stone Roses Greatest Hits is on the dukey. I have a couple out of the taps from Black Iris Brewery, who are located in New Basford, Nottingham. I finish off with a Glasshouse brew that has overtones of honey and melon in it. With it being 8% abv it sends me to sleep in the taxi on the way home.

I've been coming down with the lurgy all day on Monday and still feel as rough as a badger's bottom on Tuesday. Forest have a rearranged fixture versus rock bottom Barnsley. I make the call at 6 p.m. that I'll go to the game. Ms Moon is none too impressed, calling me an idiot on several occasions.

I take my seat in B4, in the Peter Taylor Stand, half an hour before kick off. The DJ needs to raise his game as he blasts out the exact same playlist from previous games versus Luton and Sheff Utd. He could take a lesson or two from The Pies DJ across the water. It was some set he played a few weeks back when Wrexham were in town.

Forest start the game sloppily, giving the ball away cheaply. Barnsley's threadbare team almost snatch the lead when a shot flashes narrowly wide of Brice Samba's right-hand post. U Reds respond to the rallying cry from 'A' Block. Aston Villa on loan striker, Keinan Davis, picks the pocket of a Tykes defender to put them ahead. Ryan Yates, arriving late, like Bryan Robson used to, makes it 2-0 shortly before the break.

I spend the second half in the company of NFFC diehard Jitz Jani. He's enjoyed a few pre-match jars at the Larwood and Voce and has partaken in a prawn curry rather than a 'prawn sandwich.' Steve Cooper won't be happy with the second half display. The highly sought-after 20 year-old, Brennan Johnson, puts the game to bed after a powerful run down the right-hand flank by the athletic Djed Spence.

I have to knock off from work early on Wednesday. This bloomin' virus has finally beaten me. I retreat to bed and don't re-surface until 11 a.m. on Thursday morning, returning to work asap as the world of software never sits still.

I'm cheered up by the delivery of a couple of books by Postman Pat. 30-Minute Suppers from the BBC Good Food Guide will be a midweek ratings winner at Chez Sticky's. I will also be able to relax in the armchair and thumb my way through 'Four Iron in the Soul' by Lawrence Donegan. It's about a former member of Scottish indie bands The Bluebells and Lloyd Cole, who abandons the music scene to become a golf caddy for a pro on the European Golf Tour. Thanks for the tip Adrian, I look forward to reading it.

It's the last Friday in the month, which can only mean one thing: Tony Mac's Real Ale and Craft Ale Tours. Destination today is England's second biggest city, Birmingham. I'm first up in our house and like a kid on Christmas Day morning, despite my runny nose and hacking cough. Mac and I have breakfast at YOLK in Hockley before hooking up with 'Mad Dog' at Nottingham Railway Station. Coops is a late withdrawal.

We've 14x pubs to cram in and only a 9-hour window, with a lot of walking in between too. Birmingham is an impressive city with a mixture of modern, Victorian and Edwardian architecture. We rattle around the pubs in the vicinity of New Street before heading out into the suburbs. We enjoy tapas at an Indian craft ale bar and some strong crafts at Burning Soul and Dig Brew. We make the last direct train home with minutes to spare. The night is finished off with a couple of swift ones at Beer Head Z.

There's no trace of a hangover on Saturday morning as Sticky Palms Cleaning Services spring into action. Again, I was going to watch Bestwood, but I've heard, on the grapevine, that they've a few missing and the fixture doesn't look all that attractive (finished 0-0 lol).

I surf the Nottinghamshire Senior League website. Let's not forget folks, it's the 'Best League in the World.' Crowd favourites, Nottingham Community FC, are at home versus Rushcliffe, a team who I've never seen play before. There's one slight problem as there is 'Bob Hope' of getting a bus down there as the ground is below the Nottingham version of the Spaghetti Junction. Ms Moon hasn't seen out her four-match ban, following a hissy fit at Netherfield, a few weeks back. Beggars can't be choosers.

We jump in the 'Rolls Royce' after an award-winning Tesco Finest Prawns, rocket and homemade Marie Rose sauce sandwich. Stick that in your restaurant, you loudmouth Ramsay. Paul Gambacinni's Pick of the Pops from 1989 won't be on long today as it's only a short trip. It's a godsend, to be honest, as the music is woeful. Gambers plays Mike and the Mechanics 'Living Years'. It's a particularly sombre song that becomes even sadder when Ms Moon belts out the chorus in a high pitched chord. I'll be back at that hearing specialist, in West Bridgford next week, to make sure I haven't got a perforated ear drum or any lasting damage.

We're going to meet Adrian down at the Dave Eastwood Sports Ground. He's really embracing the groundhopping culture after last week's debut up at Trafford FC. So much so, that today he's even brought a flask of coffee with him. Naeem Rashid, Community's secretary is one of my favourite characters on the NSL circuit. His face lights up when he sees me approaching him. He asks for a photo with Ms Moon despite me pointing out that she deserted us both, in Nottingham Community's hour of need, when they were trailing Netherfield 1-0 a few weeks ago.

The big news from Naeem is that star man 'Kante' is not back from holiday in Ghana, so not available for selection. The blustery conditions spoil the first half. We have some great craic and once again I get to meet some new people who are in it for the love of the game. A Rushcliffe unfortunate own goal, off the keeper's back, separates the teams at half-time.'McKlopp', the Community manager, is prowling the touchline, barking out instructions. 'The Meadows Pirlo' Ryan Perkins is on the injury list (man flu he later tells me) and can only make the sub's bench. It's blowing a gale as the fag end of Storm Malik nears. Community kick with the wind at their backs. 

Adrian and I shoot across to the cafe, just after the break, to grab some much-needed chocolate bars. I have a Toffee Crisp and Ms Moon a Kit Kat - thanks Adrian. Rushcliffe restore parity following a faux pas by the Community 'keeper, bless him. Two late goals see Community over the line. I'm so chuffed for them all. Special mention to Rushcliffe for their contribution as they played the game in a terrific spirit. They are in the notebook for a visit some time soon.

Man of the Match: Community 10 Jacket ('Bubba')

Attendance: 21

Trafford FC 0-1 City of Liverpool

It's Sunday morning. I roll out of bed at 8.30 a.m. I shower up and have a shave. I run down the stairs and head into the kitchen. I flick the kettle on as I need a strong Nescafe Alta Rica coffee - on offer at £3 a jar at Netherfield Co-op. I'd hurry up, as Ms Moon and I have mopped up.

I beat a couple of eggs in a Pyrex jug, add a knob of butter, a tablespoon of milk and some salt and pepper. I power up the microwave as I haven't time to put it in a pan on the hob. I wolf down my scrambled egg on toast before sliding open the French window door and scurrying down the passageway in the direction of Carlton Road. I hop on and hop off the No.26 bus, alighting opposite the Motorpoint Arena. 

The skies are clear blue and the sun shimmers off the canal still waters, as I stroll up the towpath.   Anglers dangle their poles and rods into the water, hoping and praying that they catch a whopper of a carp, that lurk in the reeds beneath the surface.

I catch up with Dafty, one of my best friends. He's brought his close companion, Mabel, an 18 month old black Labrador. We wander up the Trent towards Wilford Suspension Bridge. A tram rattles by, heading towards the Meadows and the city of Nottingham. We continue our stroll up Victoria Embankment, over Trent Bridge and past the world-famous City Ground. There will be some sore heads this morning, following a dramatic added time winner for the Tricky Trees by the 'Sniffer' Lewis Grabban, against his old club Millwall, at the New Den.

We pass Holme Road, where Notts County train these days. The Magpies are in a rich vein of form. I'm looking forward to watching them on Friday evening versus Barnet. It's a tribute night to the late, great local radio commentator, Colin Slater, who passed away last week. Neil Warnock is travelling up from his Cornwall home to pay his respects.

I say cheerio to Dafty, on The Avenue, a strip that is stacked out with chain restaurants that lack any character or imagination. I take a left turn onto Stratford Road, where one of Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club's finest ever captains lived at house No.246. How do I know that C.E.B Rice lived there? Because it was listed in the Notts phone directory.

It's just gone midday and my thirst needs quenching after that cheeky 6 mile walk. I open the door of the Stratford Haven, a Castle Rock real ale and craft ale back street boozer. I sink a few ales and catch up with an old schoolmate 'Tich Colman' who has a season ticket in here. As chance would have it Ms Moon is in the vicinity. The skies are slate grey and rain is falling, a few hours later, when the disgraced groundhopper (4 match ban) very kindly picks me up.

There's no midweek football action again for Sticky. I suffer in silence as Cain Dingle throws his weight about on Emmerdale Farm. He'll probably win the TV Times award for skulking, sulking and threatening folk - the Mitchell brothers won't be happy.

Another episode of 'Celebrity' Coach Trip tips me over the edge and puts me on the brink of phoning up the Samaritans. I seek refuge upstairs, listening to wonderful anecdotes from former Manchester United goalkeeper Peter Schmeichel and the BBC Pointless question master, Richard Osman, who are guests on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs. The only other highlight to report this week is that I had tea with my two lads 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' and 'Our Joe.' We dined at the Waterside Bar on Trent Bridge - the artist formally known as Southbank Bar.

It's midday on Friday and I'm buzzing for the weekend. I get a message off Tony Mac to say he'll meet me for a swift drink in Junkyard at 5 p.m. That's a bit odd as he was meant to be looking after his daughter, as his wife, Jo, works at Notts County. A quick check of twitter confirms the game is OFF as Barnet can't field a side, due to you know what and injuries. I blow a gasket and shout out a stream of obscenities.

It's the usual drill on Friday evening, despite me still chewing on a brick, thanks to the incompetency of those Herberts at the National League. I'm consoled by North Brew, Leeds, who have a tap takeover at Junkyard, We're holed up in there for 90 minutes before the usual rat run of Bunkers Hill, Fox and Grapes, Partizan Tavern and crowd favourite 'The Rap Tap', who have a couple of killer craft ales on. I'm ashamed to say it's a small doner meat and chips for the second consecutive week.

You can hear a pin drop at Chez Palms on Saturday morning. I'm on my lonesome. Ms Moon, and daughter Becky, are in my old ends, in Lincoln, on a girly night. I stroll down Hockley. Nottingham is a hive of activity and it's only 9 a.m. Forest v The Sheep is a 12.30 p.m kick off. I hope Rams supporters remember to wipe their feet when they cross the cattle grid before entering the 'Queen of the Midlands.'

I enjoy breakfast at an independent cafe called YOLK on Goose Gate. The guy who runs it is such a friendly chap, and he plays cool music on a Spotify playlist. It's carnage in town. The queues at 'Spoons, Pop World and Lloyds stretch longer than they would do in an evening. Everyone wants to be there when U Reds hammer the final nail in D***y Clownty's coffin. 

The Number 1 bus drops me off at Trent Bridge. Match day traffic is already building up on another gorgeous day. I've agreed to meet the 'Big Man' in the Ferry Inn car park, on the banks of the Trent, in the village of Wilford, Sat Nav is sending us down the A50 so it will save him some time. I phone him up, as his close neighbour, Trumpy Bolton, (once of this parish) knocks on his door. There's some bleating that he hasn't been invited, so we pencil Feb 12th into our diaries for a trip to the north east.

Adrian is making his groundhopping debut today. I met him in Tenerife for the first time at Christmas. His property is situated in a gated community with grounds bigger than Home Farm Estate, in Emmerdale. He's fully integrated himself into the groundhopping fraternity. He has a rucksack and has made his own sandwiches. Sadly they are wrapped in tin foil and not packed into a Tupperware container, like proper hoppers do. 

The Big Man must have played Grand Theft Auto 5 on Friday evening as he smokes off a number of 'weekend drivers' on the A50 towards Stoke. A pale-faced 'The Taxman' was so shocked by a 'Death Ride' to Hednesford, Staffs, back in 2009, that he announced, after, that he wouldn't set foot in the 'Big Man's' car ever again. True to his word, he hasn't. 

We roll into the Trafford FC car park with two hours spare, after a couple of Wacky Races moments on the M6. Adrian is already tucking into his tuna sandwiches. The plan was to go for a walk in a nearby park. This was until we chanced upon the Bird I'th Hand Pub, which I'd been tipped off about by the Trafford FC Supporters Club on twitter. I'm disappointed that it claims to be Cask Marque and yet has no real ales on draught. I settle for a couple of pints of Guinness.

The Big Man is watching NFFC v The Sheep on his phone. He fails to notice that Forest are 1-0 up until the 75th minute (they scored in the 49th minute). Brennan Johnson puts the game to bed on 82 minutes. 

Trafford FC were founded in 1990  and play their football at the Shawe View Stadium, in Urmston. Famous people to come from the area include: weather presenter Suzanne Charlton (daughter of Bobby), entertainer and actor Matthew Kelly, Open All Hours actress Lynda Baron and the former Manchester City footballers David White and Michael Johnson.

It's a very reasonable £8 on the gate. The ground is tree-lined and has character. Everyone is dead friendly. I buy a programme for a couple of quid and we all have a punt on a golden goal ticket. Adrian heads straight to the food bar to grab a cheeseburger. We stand on the far side of the ground, where the touchline is nearer, as my eyesight isn't the best these days.

The Trafford 6 jacket makes an impressive start. He's a proper old-fashioned defender who heads and kicks it. I strike up a conversation with his Scouse father, who is passionate about the game. He calls his lad 'Dope on a Rope.' or  'soft lad.'

It's a lively enough start but soon turns into mediocrity. Trafford, for all their efforts, can't string two passes together in the opposition's half. City of Liverpool, on the other hand, look sharper and full of ideas. Their Number 10 glides across the surface, as well as having a deft touch and footballing brain. They should be three to the good at the break, had it not been for stoic defending and bodies thrown on the line by Trafford's defenders.

The volunteers in the tea bar are different class. An army of staff are well drilled. Queues are dealt with swiftly. I graze on a hot dog as Adrian gnaws his way through a Kit Kat bar. The game looks destined for a 0-0 draw, a score I can't abide. Thankfully the visitors convert a penalty and could easily have added to their tally on another day. Trafford, on the other hand, barely fashion a chance. Great club though.

Attendance: 432

Man of the Match: 10 Jacket for City of Liverpool