Carlton Town 3-1 Ossett United

It's Monday 3rd March and I've plonked my backside in Nottingham Forest's 'A' Block for the first time since the Steve Cooper days. I miss my midweek outings to The City Ground. I look back at my blogs gone by when Reading, Millwall and Hull City were the visitors and wonder where the additional 13,000 fans were hiding in those days; not to mention the 11,000 who are on the season ticket waiting list.

I'm sat with Sticky jnr, who to his credit has supported the Tricky Trees through thick and thin; mostly the latter. Aitor Karanka and Mark Warburton seem a distant memory. The Tractor Boys, from Ipswich, are tonight's visitors for an FA Cup tie. I engage with a steward, who is actually a Lincoln City fan. He says only 8,000 NFFC season ticket holders have taken up the option of watching tonight's game - bet they'll be at Wembley, should fortune be on Forest's side.

The Tricky Trees aren't really at the races. Danilo and Sangare are way off the pace. It's the leadership, grit and sheer determination of skipper Ryan Yates who gets Forest back in the game, after somehow they had fallen behind to a George Hirst header.

'A' Block are on fire with their witty ditties. I join in with the 'Tax Dodging Farmers' chant that's aimed at the away following. The penalty shootout is never in doubt. Belgian 'keeper Matz Sels gets down well to push away the final spot kick to see Forest into the quarter finals. I have more pressing matters to attend to as I peg it up London Road, I've a 2.30 a.m alarm call, and for once it's not for 'media duties.' (MSR)

Wayne the taxi driver arrives at 3 a.m. on the dot. I've actually had zero hours kip for the first time since an all-night party at Mark Brown's house, on Selby Lane, Keyworth, back in 1978, when I inherited the nickname 'Sticky' as I was about 8 stone wet through back then.

We've a Ryanair flight out of East Midlands Airport at the ridiculous time of 5.45 a.m. I (we) sleep for three hours during the flight. It's fantastic to return to the sunnier climes of Tenerife after over a year away. For two weeks as well, folks: happy days indeed.

We're staying at Port Royale, a complex at the back of Los Cristianos. The climb from the harbour to our apartment can only compare with 'Donkey Hill' in St Anns or the walk from Matlock train station to the Thorn Tree pub. If you aren't gasping for air after either of these hard slogs then you should donate your lungs to medical research.

Tenerife never disappoints. The walks up the coast, meals in La Caleta harbour, the tribute bands in the bars, the seven mile stroll through Los Cris, Playa de las Americas up through to Costa Adeje, that is dripping with sunshine.

I manage to get three games of Canarian League football in. The standard isn't great, but it always puts a smile on my face. The first game was up in the hills at San Isidro, where the visitors were from Las Palmas, in Gran Canaria - there's a deadly rivalry between the two islands, and if it all kicks off then I'm tooled up with a bucket and spade with the Reef lads. The visitors arrived on the back of a four month unbeaten run. Their goalkeeper was red-carded with ten minutes remaining for almost decapitating Isidro's 9 jacket. 2-2 felt like a win.

The following day I treat Ms Moon to a lunchtime kick off at CD Marino, whose stadium is at the back of Kn Columbus hotel in Playas. A 3-0 reverse doesn't dampen my enthusiasm or love for Marino. The final match was miles up in the mountains. I foolishly under-clubbed it on the clothes front. It was 23 degrees and sunny when I left Los Cris. I was the only supporter wearing shorts at San Miguel's stadium. Most have thick coats on and are clutching brollies as black clouds began to blow in. I asked for a San Miguel, the barman said they only have Mahou - "but the village is called San Miguel" I exclaimed, as I was comforted by the warmth of the bar. The game was awful, but thankfully there was a goal which brought some cheer and a glow for the locals.

There were a few tears shed by Ms Moon when the devastating news was received from blog regular Mr John Harris (by twitter dm) that ITV's flagship show Dancing on Ice is to be axed from their winter schedule. I have to pay the cleaner an extra 20 euros to mop up the river of tears that have flooded the apartment. I thought I'd cheer her up by playing cards (rummy) on the balcony each night. Unfortunately she lost 80-65 over the two week period. I celebrated with my annual cigarette, which coincides with my 30th anniversary of 'No Smoking.'

The holiday ends on a high note when we lunch with fellow Carlton Town fan Nigel Harlow and his partner Sue, in the harbour at La Caleta on Sunday lunchtime. I don't think we'll return for Cheltenham Week or St Patrick's Day, as all the resorts were full to the brim, making it hard to get served or book a table.

I'm sat in the Stratford Haven, in West Bridgford, an hour after landing at East Midlands Airport. Tonight Carlton Town are playing up near Wakefield, in West Yorkshire. The Mighty Millers are on a great run of form, it's a game not to be missed. Club sponsor and an old school friend of Ms Moon's, Jon Gilbert, picks me up outside the Co-op. We enjoy some banter on the journey up the M1, grabbing a chippy tea a few miles from the ground.

The usual suspects are holed up at the ground - DJ Murph, Danny, Dean, Justin, Johnny, Aidan, Pete and his carer Dylan. The Millers play a beautiful game and deservedly take the lead through the in-form Liam Moran. Chances are spurned to be out of sight. The inevitable happens after a mix up. Immediately from the restart Nat Watson sees a speculative shot from 60 yards just dip the wrong side of the post with the Liversedge 'keeper stranded.

It's a brilliant game for the neutral in the second half. Carlton shade it 3-2, but overall deserve the win. It maintains their good run of form. We're as happy as Larry and euphoric on the journey home.

Thursday tea time is spent with Crazy Steve in the VAT and Fiddle and TBI before attending a Notts Cricket Lovers' Society meeting where the guest speaker is Derbyshire CCC captain Wayne Madsen who has some entertaining anecdotes as well as an interesting journey and successful career.

The pace is relentless since returning from the Reef. On Friday I grab a bacon sandwich and Americano at the Hungry Pumpkin before meeting up with Tony Mac at Nottingham Railway Station. We catch the 9.16 to Stoke-on-Trent where we have some Good Beer Guide unfinished business.

We wander down the Trent Mersey Canal towards Etruria where the Holy Inadequate pub will be opening at midday. The only times, over the years, where I've had to wait for a pub to open, have usually been in the company of Mr Trumpy Bolton.

A few miles up the road is the town of Newcastle-under-Lyme. It has a population of over 75,000. Notable people from the town include: ex Stoke City kitman 'Nello', who starred in the best film ever, 'Marvellous', footballer Robbie Earle and cricketer Dominic Cork.

We're taken aback at how smart the town is. There's a park which houses statues of Queen Elizabeth II and Queen Victoria. The pubs are magnificent. Ones for the notebook include: The Hop Inn and Bridge Street Ale House. 

We jump in an Uber and head up to Burslem where one pub was closed on our last visit. A new entry is Ye Olde Crown. A few early Clash tracks see out a brilliant end to another superb trip out.

A long overdue lie-in is taken on Saturday morning. Ms Moon's friend Jill has come round for coffee as I slip out of the door and head down to Carlton's number one chippy Oceans. The owner is grumpy today and chooses not to engage in small talk - at least the fish, chips and curry sauce are on form.

It starts to rain as I make the half an hour walk down to Stoke Lane. On arrival the supporters are seeing out a game of Sticky 13s in the clubhouse. DJ Murph plays a cracking track by Leeds band The Sunshine Underground called 'I Ain't Losing Any Sleep.

'Today is 'Niall Davie Day' as Carlton's Captain, Leader and Role Model makes his 300th appearance for the club. A presentation is to be made after the game in the clubhouse - more on that next week.

The rain has set in and is falling quite heavily as the players emerge from the changing rooms. It's a scrappy opening with the visitors having the better of the exchanges. The Ref has worse eyesight than me, when Manneh is sent tumbling, a penalty isn't awarded, despite the whistle being drawn to his mouth.

Watson scores from a peach of a free kick. Moran doubles the lead after picking the pocket of a dozing defender before slotting the ball past an advancing 'keeper. Two to the good, they'll take that, despite being nowhere near the levels required by Tommy Brookbanks and his backroom team.

Ossett pull a goal back. but are soon behind again following a pinpoint corner and flick on which sees a smart finish by Dean Freeman at the back post. If it wasn't for the efforts of the visiting stopper then half a dozen goals wouldn't have flattered the Millers.

Attendance: 286

Man of the Match: Ossett 'Keeper

Record of the Week: The Sunshine Underground, 'I Ain't Losing Any Sleep.'

Beer of the Week: DouGall's, Hazy APA (Spanish microbrewery)

North Gawber Colliery 4-1 Kiveton Park

I'm on my laptop planning meticulously a sojourn to Sheffield, where I require a further five watering holes to complete the steel city's Good Beer Guide 2025 pub entries. I peer over my screen as I hear a pot of tea being poured in the kitchen of Corrie's Ken Barlow's gaff. Claire Sweeney brings two mugs of tea through to the back room. It's a lounge that's barely been touched since Albert Tatlock died from a heart attack, at the age of 88 years old, in 1984. Ms Moon shouts out "don't drink it Ken, it's laced with antihistamines."

I enquire as to what the hell Claire Sweeney is doing in Barlow's abode? "Ricky Hatton won't be happy if he gets wind of it, he's Claire's boyfriend isn't he?" Ms Moon explains that Hatton isn't in the show and that it's only people acting. "Well Ricky only lives down the road in Hyde, he could get the tram in and he won't be mithering Granada TV for hotel expenses, although the Rovers Return bar tab might reach four figures. Ms Moon tells me not to be so stupid. 

It did get me thinking, though, about the actor William Roache. He single-handedly bled ITV's coffers dry with the longest contract since Newcastle United awarded Alan Pardew an eight year deal back in 2012. 92 year old Nottingham-born (in Basford) Roache, has blagged a 65 year career playing the boring, womanising, academic on the cobbled streets. Fair play to him though, he did manage to pull Stephanie Beacham.

I'm feeling rather chipper on Wednesday evening as I leave work. I've three days off to look forward to. Next week Ms Moon and I are flying out to Tenerife for a fortnight. Don't worry folks, I've a couple of games lined up and a new ground to tick off.

I alight the 25 bus close to Carlton Square. I fancy a couple of pints to start the 'weekend' off. The Old Volunteer has a plethora of mouth-watering range of ales on; mostly from local breweries. I plump for another Bang the Elephant New Zealand pale ale called Gnarly. I slump in a chair in the corner of the room. There are kids running around, dogs continually barking and a game of bingo being played. I pretty much down my pint and head home. I get that pubs have to think out of the box to stay open. But Bingo at 6pm is not the one. And only eight people were playing. My Carlton pals say it would have been better to embrace it. Not at £10 per bingo book, it wouldn't.

My grumpy mood continues for most of the evening as Nottingham Forest and Arsenal play out the dullest of 0-0 draws - a Ken Barlow lecture would be more entertaining than the dross these two sides serve up. The NFFC drama darlings on social media are happy enough with a point. Well I wouldn't be, as the Gunners were there for the taking!

I'm on a Northern train that's heading up to Wakefield, which is another city I need to finish off following an evening spent there, a few years ago, with some Herberts in the Wakefield Labour Club, who took an instant dislike to a steaming Sticky and Tony Mac post BREXIT vote.

I've set myself the task of walking 10 miles around Sheffield today. This would be easy peasy in most cities, but unfortunately Sheffield has hills as high as the Matterhorn. I'm soon striding out into the leafy suburbs with their artisan bakeries, local family butchers and independent cafes and bars.

I'm blown away by the frontage of Broadfield, a pub that dates back to 1896. Sureshot, a brewery located under the railway arches in the Piccadilly East area of Manchester, have a cask ale on called Hysterical and Useless. It's a belter of a pint folks which barely touches the sides.

I continue my walk to the next scheduled stop, Rising Sun, in Nether Green, which according to Google maps is an hour away. I had contemplated jumping on a bus, but it's a beautiful day for a stroll and you see so much more on a wander.

Pub three is Blind Monkey. It turns out to be the final one of the day as an attempt to book an Uber up to a heritage pub, in Heeley called the White Lion, is aborted due to a lack of availability of taxis.

I'm out on my feet by the time I reach the station, six hours after I first arrived. 11 miles have been chalked up on my phone app which also records 26,000 steps ... ooh get me. I can't pass the Brew Tavern without swinging by for one. A disappointing pint of a session Deya pale ale called Friend of the Podcast sees the day out and lights out too.

I'm down Europe's worst supermarket, Carlton Tesco, first thing on Friday morning. Ironically 'Push the Button' by Sugarbabes is on Radio Tesco. When demolition day is announced I'll be at the front of the queue to perform that task. Evening dinner is bagged as I'm on cooking duty this evening. I then head over to south of the river to see what's on offer at the Trent Bridge Cricket Shop sale. It's not a lot, if I'm honest. I purchase a half priced shirt for my holidays.

I have a teatime pint in the Fox and Grapes and a swift half pint of craft ale at neighbouring Neon Raptor, who are hoping to move into new premises in the next few months. This is not without complications as news has leaked out that the brewery will be staying put where they are, and that the new taproom will be drinking inside only. Unless you buy a can, and then wander down The Avenues and ask for a glass at the brewery, so you can sit outside on the wooden benches, soaking up the summer sunshine.

It's Saturday morning and I'm sitting in the armchair doing a couple of hours admin for the Keyworth Dream League fantasy football thingy we first started running back in 1993. I place a £5 football bet on three away wins for the syndicate 'Chippy Fryer' and I are in.

I hear a car engine revving up outside, at just gone 11 o'clock. The Big Man is piloting up to South Yorkshire, so I can tick off another ground in the Sheffield and Hallamshire Senior League. Bros are singing 'I Owe You Nothing' on Greatest Hits radio, which is ironic, as I will be contributing £10 petrol money towards the trip.

The Big 'un is green with envy that Ms Moon and I are flying out to the 'Reef, as it's his favourite holiday destination. He often enjoys a drink in the back bars of Los Cristianos, just off 'Heart Attack Hill', with Mancunian ex-boxer Ricky 'The Hitman' Hatton, who has a place out there. Sweeney best not make a brew.

In just over an hour we're parking up in the church hall car park in the village of Maplewell. We'd previously visited a top chippy in nearby Darton. Unfortunately it's closed for two weeks, and they hadn't bothered to update their google page. You're never that far away from a good 'un in Yorkshire though.

They're already queuing outside Aqua Fish Bar in the village of Mapplewell. For £5.50 you get a small haddock and chips. I decline the batter bits that I'm kindly offered. Across the road from the Wentworth pub is a bottle shop and bar. The lady behind the bar is dead friendly and knowledgeable about the craft ale scene. She persuades me to buy a can of DIPA from Ireland.

Woolley Miners Welfare is a short drive down the road. I wrote a list of new grounds I wanted to visit at the beginning of the season. North Gawber Colliery FC has been on my radar since August. I've enjoyed the grounds in this League, less so the behaviour of management, players and fans; particularly in West Yorkshire.

I'm taking a few photos as the lady official blows her whistle to kick off the game. Within 10 seconds the home side are ahead, It's the quickest goal I've ever witnessed in over 50 years of watching football. We can't 'arf pick em.

The ground is a beauty and is shared with the cricket club. It's fully railed off with a wonderful old stand on the far side of the ground that was probably full in the halcyon days when 2,000 men worked the seams at the nearby colliery.

I chance upon a 'match hopper' from Wakefield, who tips me off on a few local grounds of interest. Gawber score again to make it 2-0. Kiveton Park, near to Rotherham, look half asleep. Herbert Chapman was born in the town. He later managed Huddersfield Town to two First Division titles in the mid 1920s before moving to 'The Arsenal' where a further two titles were won in the early 1930s. In 2013 he was voted as the World's 9th greatest ever manager.

Kiveton Park could do with Chappers today. They pull one back but leak another two goals. A supporting dad, stood next to us, says that there's too much focus on a team-bonding night out in Whitby after the game. I can't fault 'em for that. Whitby has some cracking boozers.

I arrive home to the news that two Charlton Athletic added time goals see my £5 treble over the line. I can't 'arf pick 'em. Thanks for driving Big Man.

Attendance: Head count 31

Man of the Match: Herbert Chapman

Beer of the Week: Sureshot, Hysterical and Useless

Best Record Heard on the Wireless: Sports Team, Bang, Bang Bang

Bootle 0-1 Hednesford Town

Faggsy, DJ Murph and I walk up Radford Road following Stapleford's last gasp winner, in what was a pulsating game of football at Selhurst Street. We quaff a couple of pints at a bustling Lion, in Basford. It has a rustic look about it with its brick walls and wooden floors, not forgetting its superb range of cask and craft ales.

Murph slopes off as blog legend Fags (BLF) and I jump on a return tram into town. We wander up Friar Lane and call in for a final pint of the evening at Ye Olde Salutation, a Grade II listed building that dates back to the year 1240. I enjoy a pint of my favourite current tipple, a Porter. It doesn't half warm you up on a chilly Winter's evening.

Ms Moon is back from her girly weekend away in Manchester. She has enjoyed tapas, bubbles, James Blunt and Bridget Jones. Tonight (Monday) she is tucking into a Sticky Palms chilli con carne. I can't 'arf make 'em.

The good lady's eyes are transfixed to the TV set. A number of TV Times gongs are up for grabs this week as icy waters hit the set of Emmerdale Farm. I've not seen this calibre of acting since an episode of Acorn Antiques from the Victoria Wood Show.

Obviously I'm up to date on events as I've been reading an 85p latest issue of What's On TV, during a 'market research' moment at Arnold's number one newsagent. Let me set the scene. It appears a Limousine full of drunken Dingles (aren't they all called that in The Farm?) has careered off Hoton Road before tipping up on an icy lake. Here's the irony folks, Leyla, who is in the limo, is skating on the ice. "She could be in trouble here", I shout out to Ms Moon. "Wasn't she knocked out in the early stages of Dancing On Ice?" Yep, 'Leyla' doesn't make it. It's one out of five from Jayne Torvill.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm queuing up at the Meadow Lane ticket office. I've been refused entry at the turnstile for the Notts County v Colchester United League Two fixture, due to my electronic ticket being issued for this Saturday's forthcoming fixture versus Tranmere Rovers. You would need to be a masochist to endure Rovers twice this season (sorry Steve Mack). It's swapped over with no fuss, but I'm not happy as I've missed a majority of the warm ups.

I take my seat as 'Wake Me Up' by the excellent Foals, who were formed in Oxford 20 years ago, booms out of the pa system. Danny Cowley's Colchester arrive in Nottingham as the form team. They'll be a tough nut to crack. They were great times at 'The Lincoln' when the Cowley brothers were at the helm. A few of those players have been reunited with their former manager at the U's.

The Magpies are down to the bare bones. There's no Bedeau, Jones or McGoldrick this evening. It gives opportunities to the likes of Kellan Gordon to stake a place in the starting line up. He fires in a pearler of a cross which is turned into the net by Grant. Colchester miss two gilt-edged chances shortly after, much to the annoyance of Cowley, who prowls the technical area whilst bending the ear of the fourth official.

Colchester score a beauty in the second half with a raid down the right hand side. The game fizzles out. The bloke behind me constantly refers to the visitors as 'The Colchester Diving Team' as Cowley runs down the clock - it wasn't funny the first time mate .. yawn.

It's Friday morning and I'm tucking into a £6.50 medium fry up with toast and tea at The Avenues in the 'Nottingham Covent Garden.' It's the Return of the Mac to 'Friday Days Out Club', after a short spell on the sidelines.

It's a trip that's required meticulous planning as our hands are tied to the railway gods. We change trains at Stoke-on-Trent where there's time for a swift Titanic Plum Porter. The captain of the ocean liner, Titanic, Edward Smith, was born in Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent, in 1850. Not sure who thought him competent to be the captain aboard a ship, when Stoke is further from the sea than most towns in the UK. I hope he hadn't had a snifter of a plum porter when he hit that iceberg, as it weighs in at 4.9% ABV.

We tick off a couple off Beer Guide entries in the picture postcard village of Penkridge where I enjoy a huge cheese and onion cob that Staffordshire often offers - it even has the crusty top of the cob slightly singed like they should be.

We get the train back to Stafford where we visit a few more historical watering holes. But it's the town of Stone that is the star of the show. On 22nd Jan, 1971, the greatest centre forward ever to have worn the Garibaldi Red of Nottingham Forest, was born in Stone.

I first clapped eyes on Stanley Victor Collymore at Filbert Street in 1993. He didn't score that evening during a 4-2 loss for Southend United (Brett Angell bagged 'em both). You couldn't take your eyes off the athletic prowess, strength and running style of Stan. To this day I couldn't tell you what his stronger foot was. The rest is history, and so was Stan after an abhorrent incident in Paris back in 1998, when he attacked and assaulted his then girlfriend Ulrika Jonsson. 

Stone is a beautiful old coaching town. The Royal Exchange is the pub of the day. We finish up in the Barley Twist, opposite Broad Marsh centre. We toast to the demolition of the brutalist old bus station and shopping centre which has finally been given a £30 million sign-off 20 years too late thanks to the mismanagement of a Labour City Council and the lack of funding by the Conservative Party. Politics, eh?

Talking of sign-offs, I must thank Ms Moon for not kicking up a fuss on another day out today (Saturday). I keep shuffling the pack with the 'two weeks in Tenerife playing card' but that one is wearing a wee bit thin.

I'm soon haring up the M6, back to Stoke, ironically, in the front of Crazy Steve's Hyundai, with Little Al in the back checking on Ben Duckett's progress for England v Australia in the Champions Trophy tie at the Gaddafi Stadium, in Lahore.

Crazy and his entourage are flying out to Malaga on Thursday for four nights, where they have a packed schedule. They are taking in Cordoba v Granada in the Segunda Division next Sunday. I've been tasked in the car to look at both squads to see if there are any players we know. "Oh my God" .. I shout out, 'the French Glasgow Kisser', Zinedine Zidane, has both his sons playing in the same game, but on opposite sides. "Crazy, I expect a  selfie with 'The Zidanes.'

The first Heritage Pub we visit is the Scotch Piper, the oldest pub in historic Lancashire. The landlady is very sociable. She gives us a history lesson about the pub. The second watering hole is in the working class area of Walton. It's a proper drinkers' pub. There's a healthy lunchtime gathering for the Everton v Man Utd game on TV. Women breeze in and breeze out of the front door as they set up for a baby shower this savvy. Pots of Scouse stew are wheeled in.

The final pub visit is in hipster Crosby, well actually it's in neighbouring Waterloo. We throw a few darts as we neck our final pint before heading to the suburb of Bootle.

I've been trying to tick off the Berry Street Garage Stadium for what seems an age. I have another interest today too: a lad who was at Notts County as an eight year old when I was Head of Recruitment is in Hednesford Town's squad today. 12 goals, 15 assists and 35% of their goals. He's somehow on the bench?

The owner of Notts County, Ray Trew sold 14 year old Jack Bearne to Liverpool for £170,000. The day after he sold on the club to local businessman Alan Hardy. Bearne stayed at Anfield until he was 21 years old; an incredible feat. He made one senior appearance for the club in the League Cup at Aston Villa. He spent last season up at Greenock Morton, in Scotland, before returning to familiar ground in the Midlands.

Crazy Steve is grazing on a salt and pepper chicken from the food hut when Hednesford open the scoring in the opening minute. The rest of the game is drab and without incident. It's a lovely ground with two raised seated stands on either side of the ground.

The big event is Rhegan's 18th birthday party in the clubhouse later this evening. We've no time for that. nor an invite. We're back in Nottingham for 6.45pm, after another thrilling day out.

Attendance: 713

Man of the Match: Ben Duckett

Beer of the Week: Polly's - Uncanny Valley 6%

Best Song on the Radio:  'Can't Be Sure' The Sundays

Stapleford Town 2-1 Retford United

It's Saturday 8th Feb and I'm sitting on the Matlock to Nottingham train with Carlton fan Pete Shearstone. We're travelling back from one of the great away days. The Mighty Millers have played Belper Town off the park. After endless high fives and fist pumps in the Nailers clubhouse the party continues at Lincoln Green's The Railway, which is up on King Street.

Pete and I chatter away on the short journey home. He's such a lovely bloke, who has a passion for Scottish football too. We while away the journey reminiscing about trips to our favourite grounds north of the border. I'm back up there at the fag end of April, on tour with Tony Mac, when we will be taking in a Partick Thistle game.

The party breaks up at Nottingham station. A few supporters drift into town or down to Castle Rock's Barley Twist on Carrington Street. Six pints, on the day, is more than enough for me. I book an UBER back up to Chez Palms. Ms Moon is settled in for the evening. Through gritted teeth I watch shouty Michael McIntyre. I hit the wooden hill halfway through Lee Mack's 1% Club - I was being a bit mardy as Ms Moon's IQ is higher than mine - then again so was Murphy's, my old budgie.

I'm on Media duties over the next few days. Ms Moon suggests that I relax on my return home on Tuesday evening when ITN News is switched on. Readers last week may remember my fit of pique when fake weathercaster - yep that's what they are called nowadays - Alex Beresford appeared on our screens from a botanical garden in Sussex, instead of toughing it out on top of Beachy Head.

Beresford is on annual leave this week, probably in sunnier climes. It doesn't stop my blood pressure from rising when that pillock Robert Peston suddenly pops up. This guy proper grinds my gears. He emphasises syllables in every sentence. I pop a BP pill and venture out to the Old Volunteer, Carlton's finest watering hole for a couple of jars, where they have gorgeous ales on from Liquid Light (Sneinton) and Bang the Elephant (Langley Mill).

It's 5pm on Wednesday evening and I've just knocked off from an afternoon shift at the shop. I'm feeling quite proud of myself as I actually walked to work this morning. It's only just over 4 miles but it's equivalent to climbing the north face of Everest when negotiating Carlton to Mapperley via Cavendish Road or Westdale Lane.

I'm shoehorned into an upstairs seat into what many consider to be the finest pizzeria in Nottingham. Slice n Brew is on the corner of Kings Walk. I plump for a thin crust Soppressata Salami, accompanied by hot honey and a truffle and parmesan dip. I quite easily could have had a half an hour nap after wolfing it down, but I've a ticket for the cinema.

I clocked a trailer for a movie called September 5, the last time I was at Broadway cinema. It's set in the Olympic village during the Munich Games in 1972. The ABC American sports broadcasting team find themselves filming a hostage siege live on air. A number of Israeli athletes were taken hostage by a Palestine terrorist organisation. The viewing figures, at one point, were higher than when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. It has a 95 minute running time and is definitely one for the notebook. Madonna's old flame, Sean Penn, is one of the producers.

I'm down at Sneinton Market on Friday morning. To be more precise I'm in the barber's chair at Mr Eko's, 'Nottingham Covent Gardens' number one Bosnian Barber. He'd had a couple of vodka shots the last time I had a trim. I mention that I didn't think he was at his best on that occasion - he says he will forgive me for my comment, but won't forget it ..lol.

I wander down Stoney Street and turn off onto the steps that lead you to Fletchers Restaurant and Nottingham College. I've booked a £4 return ticket to Long Eaton. I alight at Attenborough and make the 45 minute walk out of the village and onto the A6005 towards the town centre.

Lincoln Green refurbished the old Harrington Arms in 2019, and reopened it as the Mill and Brook, to reflect the town's contribution to the lace industry back in the day. I enjoy a pint of Porter whilst having a warm, as it's bitterly cold today.

I sit and read Martin Kelner's hilarious book called 'Wrestling in Honey.' It's a nostalgic look at some of the columns he wrote for The Guardian. He mentions a documentary he watched which involved the athletes Zola Budd and Mary Decker. Arnold's favourite paper, the Daily Mail, sponsored the bare-footed South African Budd, during apartheid, to the tune of £100,000 (her Dad pocketed £80,000 of it). The paper campaigned for her to be granted British citizenship. It all ended in tears when Budd 'accidentally' tripped up the USA track darling, Decker, at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. 

I wander down the canal, passing the Barge Inn, as I head towards the village of Sawley. I stand and admire the stunning War Memorial before popping into the White Lion, which not only serves Bass, but is also another Good Beer Guide tick off.

I fight my way through the rush hour traffic back in Nottingham. It's date night, and not only that, it's Valentine's Day. And boy do I have a treat for Ms Moon. You can't beat a £4.39 round for two at Carlton 'Spoons. The Loch Lomond 'Lost in Mosaic' is a beauty. We both can't be bothered to cook, so the good lady has bought a 'Valentine's Meal Deal' from Marks and Sparks. We have a chuckle at Gogglebox over a glass of wine.

It's Saturday morning and Ms Moon is about to jump into a cab to the train station, with her daughter, Becky. They're off to Manchester for the weekend to see James Blunt - I've already sent my condolences. I'm excited as the Mighty Millers are taking on Emley. Well I was until I scrolled down my twitter timeline to see the words 'GAME OFF.'

I pin it on Faggsy to pick a game to go to. He fancies Stapleford Town v Retford United. I enjoy a bacon sandwich as I watch an hour of Leicester v Arsenal. The Gunners over do it; passing the ball to death. I switch off and head to town where I catch a tram to Radford from outside the Royal Centre.

I walk through Asda car park and cross the tram tracks on Radford Road before turning left at Chappati Junction. I've enjoyed watching Stapleford this season. They have a resilience about them and a team spirit. They seem like a good bunch of lads, who have taken to Step 6 like a duck to water. Today Michael Robb makes his 150th appearance for the club.

I had a ten minute abusive phone call from Radford Director of Football Big Glenn Russell this morning. I was hoping he'd be gracing us with his presence, but he's gone all soppy since announcing his engagement and has gone out on a couples cocktail day with his fiance, 

DJ Murph has joined us. Retford have brought a large following, like they did at Gedling earlier in the season. They enjoy the lion's share of possession, but go behind when Upo's lad blasts a spot kick home after 15 minutes. The visitors are on level terms before half-time. Earlier in the game blog legend Ian Upton had appealed to the referee for a handball when it was actually the keeper that had caught it .. lol.

The players begin to tire in the second half as running on the heavy surface takes its toll. Stapleford are always in the game. They score the winner in stoppage time to break the hearts of the travelling support. Jared Russell and Alans Voskresenskis have worked their socks off. The latter has ploughed a lone furrow. He's neat, tidy and busy. 

Attendance: 103

Man of the Match: Alans Voskresenskis

Beer of the Week: Tell Me How The Sausage Is Made, Bang the Elephant

Song of the Week: Bambara - Letters to Sing Sing

Belper Town 1-3 Carlton Town

ITN News has somehow found its way onto Ms Moon's TV set. I was a big fan of BBC News until Huw Edwards was found out to be a wrong 'un. It also cheesed me off that he continued to be paid his £475,000 salary, plus a £40,000 pay rise, out of the TV Licence fee payers pockets. Clive Myrie hasn't covered himself in glory either, by failing to declare £65,000 (admin error) earnings he made from public appearances. What an absolute omnishambles. The late, great Sri Lankan-born newsreader George Aligiah (Murphy, my budgie loved him) will be turning in his grave.

It's during the ITN broadcast that I kick off and start gesticulating towards the TV screen. 'Boring Alex Beresford' is doing another pointless, drawn-out weather forecast. He's skiving, undercover, in the warmth of the Royal Botanic Gardens, in Haywards Heath, Sussex, as another storm blows across the Irish Sea, where it later batters the north of England. Beresford can be often seen basking in the sunshine on a promenade in Eastbourne or Brighton on a sultry summer evening. But when the weather turns for the worse the wimp takes cover in the studio or in this case a botanical garden. Give me BBC's Northern correspondent, Danny Shaw, any day, dressed in a Mackintosh raincoat and wellies, standing on a bridge that's about to collapse due to a swollen river in Hebden Bridge.

It's Wednesday morning 5th February. It's my first Wednesday off work for three months as MSR Arnold legendary shop manager Dave 'Chippy' Fryer has returned to the shop floor following recuperation and physio after a full knee reconstruction. It's also my 61st birthday.

I swing by the Hungry Pumpkin on High Pavement, in Nottingham, where I grab a bacon sandwich and a piping hot Americano coffee. I take a stroll to Nottingham Train Station where I board the 9.55 EMR train to the world's greatest city, London.

I listen to possibly the best podcast that the BBC have ever produced; it's called Stakeknife. In Northern Ireland from 1978 to 1994 the IRA killed over 40 alleged informants. Astonishingly, the man who carried out many of these killings was himself a double agent, who was working for the British government as a secret agent. In the blink of an eye, after listening to two episodes of the podcast, the train is pulling into London St Pancras.

I'm meeting my brother today, as Ms Moon is working in Sussex for most of the week. The plan was to head down the East End, as I fancied a trip down memory lane, around the Upton Park area, home to West Ham United for 112 years. Plans are scuppered, for now, as there are severe delays on the tube line from Liverpool Station. A friendly customer service lady says it is best if I catch a train on the Circle Line to Tower Hill, where I can pick up Docklands Light Railway. 

A memorial catches my eye, as I loiter outside Tower Hill station, whilst waiting for Our Kid to arrive. 32,000 merchant seamen gave their lives during the Second World War. Those without graves are remembered at the Tower Hill Memorial, in Trinity Square. Each vessel is named, along with its crew members who lost their lives. It's a humbling moment to begin my day out down the Smoke.

Our Kid and I have a smashing day out as we clock up 10 miles of walking. We lunch in Spitalfields market before chalking off a few CAMRA Heritage Pubs that are in close proximity. I'm gutted that the three star Dolphin, in Hackney, looks to be closed. It's soon forgotten, when entering The Boleyn, home to Hammers fans over the years. It was built in 1899 in a free Renaissance style. The architecture is stunning and the beer choice is breathtaking. We finish the day admiring the World Cup Sculpture that's across the road. It features Bobby Moore, Martin Peters, Geoff Hurst and Ray Wilson. Moore is held shoulder high holding the Jules Rimet Trophy aloft.

It's Friday morning and I'm in the back of Cotgrave Trev's car, with Little Al sitting to my left and Crazy Steve sat in the passenger seat in the front. It's a Victoria Cross Memorial/Famous Graves and Heritage Pub day out. Destination is the much-maligned town of Middlesbrough.

We pay our respects to Stanley Hollis, who has the distinction of receiving the only Victoria Cross awarded on D-Day 6th June, 1944 for gallantry and bravery. He was decorated by King George VI in October 1944.

I'd noticed, when perusing Crazy Steve's itinerary, that we were to visit Eston Cemetery. Middlesbrough FC legendary centre forward, Wilf Mannion, was laid to rest there in 2000 at the age of 82 years old. He scored 99 goals in 341 appearances - his career was interrupted by the Second World War, where he fought in France and Italy. After his death a statue of Mannion was erected at the Riverside Stadium. He's still the only Middlesbrough player ever to score at a World Cup finals.

The Zetland is our first Heritage pub tick off of the day. A chatty owner explains that Zetland is Gaelic for Shetland. It came at a time when the Royals were taking a keen interest in Scotland. The Zetland was built in 1860 as a pub/hotel which served the nearby railway station. Today it's a bar brasserie.

Lunch is taken at fake 'Spoons called Issac Wilson. One or two of the natives look quite handy. I admire the photos of Middlesbrough's old ground, Ayresome Park, as Trev chooses the dish of the day, a local delicacy called chicken Parmo, which the town is well known for.

I'm up 'em, at 'em and sat down in The Avenues in 'Nottingham Covent Garden' by 9.30 on Saturday morning. I'm joined for breakfast by Carlton Town superfans 'Murph' and 'Unders', who incidentally is a Smoggie - we sometimes require an interpreter to understand what he's saying, particularly after he's had a few scoops.

Today is an away day to high-flying Belper Town, who ain't shy on social media. or quiet in their recruitment either. We meet the rest of the gang on Platform 4A. The EMR train to Matlock predictably leaves late, albeit by only a few minutes.

I'm chatting to the Hand family who go above and beyond as volunteers for the Mighty Millers. Dad, Johnny, is on another level; generously giving his time up when it comes to pitch maintenance and general repairs, particularly out of season. Johnny and Sonya's son Aidan has broken his leg - he's currently  wearing a protective boot, but the previous eight weeks have been spent in a wheelchair. Their youngest son, Elliot, aged 8 years old, is a real character. He recently chewed off the ear of the NFFC community lady so much so, that she let him be a mascot for the Ipswich game to give her 90 minutes rest .. lol.

There are some cracking pubs in Belper. We begin at Arkwrights where I enjoy three different real ales accompanied by a cheese and onion cob. We move onto the George and Dragon, near to the ground. Murph sets up a darts competition with the end game being hit the bullseye to win. 13 year old ski-booted Aidan duly obliges - 'Herr Harlow' ain't happy.

All the Millers fans congregate behind the goal Carlton attack. I've barely parked my backside on my padded seat in the Directors' Box (I blagged it) before Lamin Manneh opens the scoring on two minutes following hesitation in the Nailers defence.

I grab a chat with a couple of Danish groundhoppers who are sat directly behind me. They are staying in Duffield. I tell them that one of the greatest managers the world has ever seen is buried there in the churchyard. Brian Howard Clough is laid to rest there with his wife Barbara. I also chat with 'Smiffy' who I became mates with on a charity walk in Liverpool.

Carlton are putting on a show but can't bag a second. Belper go close from a free kick on the stroke of half time. Everyone is chipper in the clubhouse and are confident that the Millers can add to their tally. We don't have to wait long for Liam Moran to lash the ball home. Once again, four pints in, I jump out of my seat.

The Millers are coasting and making a mockery of both clubs league placings. Davie releases Watson, the outcome is never in doubt: 3-0. I keep the fans WhatsApp group updated. It's safe to leave my lucky seat. I walk towards the away following who have sung non-stop in support of their team. "Sticky give us a wave" - I duly oblige, smiling like a (drunken) Cheshire Cat.

A late consolation goal can't dampen our day, but it does annoy me. Folk are buzzing in the bar afterwards. We finish up in Lincoln Green's Railway pub, adjacent to the station. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 576

Unsung Heroes: The Hand family

Beer of the Week: Steam Power, Ampersand Brewery in Diss, Norfolk

Song of the Week: H.O.O.D. by Kneecap