I'm stood on the banks of the River Trent, with a rather chipper Taxman, on Tuesday evening, adjacent to Sat Bains restaurant - the only two-star Michelin eatery in Nottinghamshire. We're not here for the posh nosh - it's more muck 'n nettles as Dunkirk and Radford go into battle on Lenton Lane.
Radford manager, Big Glen Russell ain't too pleased to see Sticky rocking up, as I'm a proper Jonah. He says 'eh up' but that's about it. It's a wonderful game of football with an ebb and flow about it. Radford claw their way back from 2-0 down, but finally run out of steam and ideas. Glen's on his best behaviour this evening after a misdemeanour the other week. I sneak past the dugout without catching his eye. I bump into a smiling Ian Upton when exiting the ground. I loved blogging the Boatmen when 'Uppo' and Dave Harbottle were joint managers.
It's been a frustrating week at work. I'm pleased to knock off on Friday afternoon. I stroll up to Enterprise car hire on Daleside Road, as my new Ford Mondeo Titanium is not due for delivery until Friday. I need a runaround for Monday and Tuesday as I'm in Southampton on business. 'Kip Keino' has given up the ghost. I think the clutch or gearbox is kaput.
I wander down 'Bread 'n Lard Island' (West Bridgford) before returning to Trent Bridge. I saunter past County Hall and cross over the Wilford Suspension Bridge, before heading through the Meadows where great footballers such as Jermaine Pennant, Wes Morgan and Pedro Richards were born and raised.
It's a glorious day. I have my fleece draped over my shoulder. I'm sweating buckets and gasping for air when I finally reach Listergate. I grab a copy of the popular cult football magazine When Saturday Comes from WHSmith and have a browse through it, whilst sinking a few real ales in the Herbert Kilpin, Six Barrel Drafthouse and the Curious Tavern in the hipster area of Hockley, next to the Lace Market.
I'm fagged out when I finally return home at just gone 6 pm. I must have clocked up some miles on the old 'plates of meat.' Ms Moon and I try to book a cruise, but there's no room at the Inn. I quite fancied Dubrovnik and Athens. We'll have to wait until next year. Southern Spain will do for now.
I wake up early on Saturday morning. I'm usually excited and looking forward to a random Non-League game. Not so this morning. I'm a jibbering wreck and have already got that jabbing, knotting pain you get in the pit of your stomach. I'll make no bones about it, I'm really worried about the Imps run of form, as they enter the final furlong of a long title race. They've played something like 52 games already. Canny manager, Danny Cowley, has recruited shrewdly in the loan market. It takes time to bed-in new recruits; time we haven't got.
I took Sticky Jnr to his first Imps' game back in 1998. Falklands veteran, Phil 'Sergeant' Stant, was in the managerial hot seat. His assistant was former Mansfield Town player/manager George Foster. Lincoln were on a miserable run of form and lost again, 3-2, to Leyton Orient. 'Stanty' was a popular guy amongst the supporters. Sadly, not the same can be said of his pal, George. "Foster out" rang around the stadium, with 3-year-old Junior leading the chanting. Foster was relieved of his duties on Monday morning. I often remind Sticky Jnr that he cost somebody their job.
Ms Moon and I potter up to Nottingham Railway Station. Tickets are collected and a much-needed coffee shouted up, before jumping on the 11:29 am train to Lincoln Central. We're treated to some old lady ringing her entire contacts from her phone. We get the whole potted history of her dysfunctional family. I can't alight the choo choo quick enough onto the platform.
We head towards the Brayford Waterfront - it's England's oldest inland harbour. After eyeing up a number of eateries we opt for the Handmade Burger Company. James Brown's 'Sex Machine' is on the dukey. I have a Belgian blonde (beer) and wolf down a burger soaked in blue cheese sauce, quicker than Scooby Doo. There's a nice ambience about the place and it manages to take my mind off the football for a short while until I check the Live Scores app - Tranmere Rovers have beaten Wrexham 1-0 at the Racecourse Ground. They're now top and slowly turning the screw. My stomach begins to churn again.
I collect the matchday tickets. We park ourselves to the rear of the Software Europe Stand. The DJ's set is not a patch on Salford City, Radcliffe Borough or Brackley Town. I'm clutching at straws when I say that 'Sweet Caroline' by Neil Diamond is the pick of a very average set.
Bromley FC are the visitors. I recently read a hilarious book by devoted fan Dave Roberts who followed them home and away for the whole of last season after returning home from the USA. Notable folk born in Bromley include: H G Wells, Pixie Lott, Peter Frampton and Clash drummer Topper Headon.
Ten minutes before kick-off, 95-year-old George 'Johnny' Johnson, the last surviving Dam Buster pilot from 617 Squadron, emerges from the tunnel to rapturous applause from the Sincil Bank faithful, and the 80 Bromley fans who have made the long trip north. It's right up there with any moving, touching and emotional moment I have ever witnessed in 45 years of watching football.
The game is scrappy. Lincoln hit the ball forward early. We look disjointed, nervous and short on confidence. Nathan Arnold is like a fish out of water on the wide left. Harry Anderson's first touch, on the right flank, deserts him time and time again, as the pressure begins to mount with a hard-working Bromley putting ten players behind the ball.
There's an opportunity to alleviate the pressure on 25 minutes, but a poorly taken penalty by Alan Power is comfortably dealt with by the Bromley 'keeper. The visitors enjoy a good spell of possession. Minshull and Higgs look comfortable on the ball. A cleverly worked free-kick sees a thunderous 20 yard shot cannon back off the woodwork.
Lincoln are desperate for a goal. I'm getting uptight. I've barely breathed a word to Ms Moon at the break. I'm not the only one who has 'got it on him.' Lincoln 'big cheese' Matt Rhead has moaned and groaned at anyone willing to listen to him for most of the game. It's hardly appropriate to go 'big time' when you only notched four goals in five months.
The Imps are well off colour and can barely string two passes together. Cowley makes a double sub. The impact is instant. Ginnelly and Lee Angol tee up Billy Knott, who sweeps home a daisy-cutter into the bottom right-hand corner of the net. The relief is enormous. Lincoln see the game out to grab what might turn out to be a valuable three points, come the end of the season.
Attendance: 6,843
Man of the Match 'Johnny' Johnson RAF 617 Squadron
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