It's 4.55 pm and I'm traipsing down eight flights of stairs at Sunderland's Stadium of Light. 'The Lincoln' have put in their worst 45-minute shift since 1983, when, in atrocious conditions, they found themselves 0-4 down at Sincil Bank to Newport County, with John Aldridge and Tommy Tynan both bagging a brace.
Ms Moon and I join the hordes of Sunderland fans walking back into town over Wearmouth Bridge. They are as happy as Larry and I'm as miserable as sin. I'm seething and ashamed of our performance. Moments later, as we approach the Premier Inn, we bump into a small group of Lincoln fans. We share a moan and a groan at our ineptness. An elderly 'gentleman' earwigs our conversation.
"You were crap, you were." "Yeah I know mate, should have been 8-0 or 9-0 to you" You were crap, you were." "Yes, we were mate." (*How many more times?*) "Crap, that's what you were." Like you were at Sincil Bank mate when we cuffed you 2-0." "Crap" "Sacked your manager after that loss, didn't you?" Crap you are" he says one more time before disappearing into the night,
We enjoy a great night out in Sunderland and meet some lovely, down to earth folk in Isis, Museum Vaults, The Cooper Rose and Ivy House. We're back in Nottingham at just after pm on Sunday. I enjoy a couple of pints in the Bread and Bitter on Mapperley Tops before settling in for the evening and writing the blog. It goes down well with the Black Cats supporters. The hit counter has more than 2000 visits.
Tuesday night sees the return of a chipper Taxman to the groundhopping scene. He's full of beans about his beloved Nottingham Forest, who have won three League games on the bounce. He picks me up and we head out to Arnold (they actually play closer to Calverton, but have been shunted out of town away from their community).
It's a Notts Senior Cup tie versus Southwell City. It's a closely contested game with the visitors taking the lead through a 30-yard wind-assisted wonder strike by Tom Robinson. Arnold improve in the second half; using the wind to their advantage. They score three times without reply. It's a shame, as I like the visitors who encourage playing youth in their set up.
It's a big night on Thursday evening with the return of Death in Paradise on BBC One. Murphy the budgie used to love that show. He'd whistle his wee head off when he heard the theme tune. DI Jack Mooney has the case wrapped up two minutes shy of the 10 O'Clock BBC News bulletin.
I'm in the dentist's chair on Friday morning (not the one the England squad frequented in Hong Kong prior to Euro 96). Halfway through a deep cavity filling, I start waving frantically. "Are you in pain with the tooth, Sir?" "No, that's fine, but can you turn Radio 1Xtra off, please? I can't abide RnB" I have a few pints at Kean's Head on St Mary's Gate and Head of Steam on High Pavement, in Nottingham city centre, as the numbness wears off, before suffering the Soaps back at the ranch.
The plan had been to travel up to Lancashire and take in Longridge Town versus Newark Flowserve in the FA Vase. I was anxious about the weather and didn't fancy another five-hour return car journey. We're both disappointed as we were looking forward to staying over in the picturesque town of Clitheroe. Newark will find it hard up there against Lee 'Peggy' Ashcroft's Longridge Town. Striker Greg Smith has departed for Gainsborough Trinity and the in-form Zak Goodson is ineligible for the tie.
I shoot up to Morrison's on Saturday morning as I'm rustling up a Chilli at Chez Sticky's this evening. The brilliant Colin Murray is hosting Fighting Talk on BBC Five Live. I used to love his show on talkSPORT until Jim White rode into town with his name-dropping and click-bait tweets. I'm going to work at Morrisons once I retire (or get sacked) from the world of selling Governance, Risk and Compliance software. I'll be like Reg Holdsworth off Corrie, when he got the gig at Freshco's, after a successful spell replacing 'Big Alf Roberts' at the Corner Shop.
I whizz around the aisles throwing in all the ingredients into my trolley. I usually ask other customers if I can't find a product. I don't like to bother the staff. A little girl is having a tantrum and has been sent to the naughty step at the back of the tills. Her bottom lip is trembling and her face is twisted and contorted. It reminds me of 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' when I used to sub him on 65 minutes to save him getting sent off or sin-binned.
We hit the road at 2 pm. We go up the back way onto the A60 towards Mansfield. I immediately tune into Paul Gambacinni's Pick of the Pops on Radio 2 - it knocks the spots off 1Xtra. 'Gambers' is on a roll. The year is 1993. He plays Jesus Jones, Lisa Stansfield (that mole, eh?), The Prodigy and The Frank and Walters from Cork in Ireland. I'm tapping my feet as we drive through the village of Linby. I'm saddened to see red paint daubed on the Horse and Groom pub frontage in a senseless act of vandalism. It's a village close to my heart as I spent three happy years there, in the mid-80s, working at the coal mine.
South Normanton Athletic have asked folk not block up Lees Lane and cheese off the residents. We pull into The Hub and park up for free in there. It's £6 on the gate. I buy a couple of 50/50 tickets too.
There's a hum about the place; the FA Vase final will be played at Wembley. It's the once in a lifetime dream of any amateur footballer.
South Normanton is an ex-mining village in the Bolsover District of Derbyshire, with a population just shy of 10,000. Framework knitting was another of their main industries. It is also home to the East Midlands Designer Outlet (McArthur Glen).
The Monocled Mutineer, Percy Toplis, was educated in South Normanton. He was superbly played by Paul McGann in a BBC dramatization in 1986. He was a criminal, murderer and imposter, who posed as an Army Captain whilst on leave from the First World War. On 6th June 1920, whilst on the run, Toplis was shot dead by a police officer from Cumberland. He's buried in an unmarked grave near the top of Penrith's Beacon Edge (I'll let Ms Moon hunt that one down).
Nottingham Forest goalkeeper, Jordan Smith, is from the village too. When the Tricky Trees signed him he was an outfield player and only 10 years old. He's turned into a fine 'keeper and will certainly make a living from the game in League One or League Two.
South Normanton Athletic (originally known as South Normanton Miners Welfare) were founded in 1926 and are nicknamed The Shiners. I usually attend evening games when the temperatures are at their lowest.
The ground is situated on top of a hill and is susceptible to windy conditions. A St George's flag, hoisted up a pole, flutters in the stiff breeze. Bolsover has a Tory MP for the first time in history and people voted in this District to Leave the EU with 70% of the vote.
We get gassing to some Wroxham fans who have made the 260 mile round trip from Norfolk. They are lovely people and proper footballing folk. I say to them that I fancy their chances, but 'Normo' won't give them an inch, so they will have to earn a victory.
We do a lap of the ground and bump into former Norwich City and Nottingham Forest striker Grant Holt. I tell him I really enjoyed his anecdotes on the brilliant Undr the Cosh podcast and wish him good luck today.
We position ourselves on the far side of the ground out of the breezy conditions. 'Normo' kick down the slope with the wind at their backs. It's not long before a group of 15-20 lads start hurling abuse at the visiting support and in particular Grant Holt, who is sat on the sub's bench on the far side. The 'Normo' Neanderthals sing: "We are Normo. We are Vile. Grant Holt is a paedophile"
We're both appalled and shocked by this. The visiting support are told to 'go home and play with your kids.' There's a string of abuse hurled in their direction. A massive hat tip to the away following who carry on singing their amusing ditties.
On the pitch, Wroxham look lively from the off. 'Normo' score against the run of play with a strike by Hanslow, that somehow deceives the 'keeper. I'm a tad disappointed in Wroxham (The Yachtsmen) who pass it around without any urgency or final ball. Half time arrives and Ms Moon treats herself to a Mayfair Sky Blue tab in the 'Smoking Shelter.' I put my head around the clubhouse door, the Team Leader of the 'Normo Neanderthals' is lining up shots of Bass Shandy. I ask Ms Moon if we can start up a chant of 'Percy Toplis ... he's one of your own?' She says it's for the best that we don't.
Wroxham are getting nowhere as 'Normo' keep a stranglehold on the game. On the hour there's movement on the bench. Big Grant, who signed a professional wrestling contract back in May 2018, is thrown into the fray.
I say to a groundhopper, stood next to me, that Holt will only need one opportunity. A ball is clipped to the far post and headed back towards the burly striker, who nods it into the far corner. He brushes away his colleagues and runs up the hill towards the unruly mob, who have given him dog's abuse. We clap and cheer as he cups his ear at his detractors. There's no comeback from the 'Baby Squad,' as they retrieve their spat out dummies.
Wroxham put the tie to bed, at the fag end of the game, as we make a hasty exit, with trouble looming. Credit to both sets of players for putting on a show. What a shame the Club chose not to deal with the morons who brought shame on their village. Not a steward in sight, on our side of the ground, for the whole game.
Attendance: 172 (Need Rachel Riley to re-count that)
Men and Women of the match: Wroxham Supporters - real football fans. Good luck next round.
NB: The Non-League Paper reported unsavoury scenes after the match with fighting and the police called. More on this next week. For sure, I won't be visiting Lees Lane again. I'm blocked on Twitter by the Official account for telling the truth.
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