It's Friday evening. A ruddy-faced man, driving a pick-up truck, switches off the radio after listening to his hero, Boris Johnson, give his daily media briefing. He's shaking with rage and feeling betrayed as he reverses his truck close to a beer cellar trapdoor. Not only has the British Prime Minster taken away his love of watching the beautiful game that Brendan Rodgers' Leicester City play, but has now delivered a further, devastating hammer blow.
That blithering toff, Johnson, has announced that all pubs and restaurants will have to close for business at midnight until further notice. Imagine absorbing that information when your life revolves around taking your missus away to watch footy each weekend and tick off pubs you've never frequented before (one or two folk fall into that category, Sticky).
'True Blue' Trumpy Bolton barges his way through the front door of the White Lion in Rempstone, shouts up two pints of Bass, wanders over to the pub jukebox, puts his ten pence in, makes his selection and returns to the bar to negotiate with the landlord on pricing for a couple of barrels of Bass to get him through one of the bleakest weekends in his lifetime. 'Cry Me a River' by Justin Timberlake booms out of the dukey as Trumpy breaks down in a flood of tears. He has a sneezing fit and races to the toilets, but they're out of bog roll (aren't we all?). For the first time in a 43 year devoted, drinking career, our man, T Bolton will not be gracing any U.K. licensed premises this weekend. A couple of barrels of beer is merely a consolation goal for the blog legend #prayfortrumpy
Ms Moon and I enjoyed a cracking weekend in Edinburgh and feel fortuitous that the desperate measures put in place by BJ weren't rubber-stamped a week earlier, as it would have taken away a lot of pleasure and fun away from our Scottish experience.
It's Monday morning and we're checking out of a deserted Hotel Motel One in Edinburgh. Ms Moon wanders over the road to a kiosk to grab a coffee. We make the short trip to Waverley Station. Pret A Manger is deathly quiet as we pick up some food for the three-hour journey to Newark Northgate. All the talk on the train home is COVID-19 - the travelling American citizens are particularly vocal and anxious about it.
It's a bit of a walk to Lovers Lane, where we've parked the car up for three nights, at a bargain £12. Ms Moon suggests we call by Waitrose in the town. I'd normally enjoy perusing the selection of beers, wines and cheeses on offer, but today (Monday afternoon) is utter bedlam. The shelves are bare. Shelf-stackers and till staff are stressed, rushed and harried. It's good to finally get home.
I work for a fantastic company that provides governance, risk and compliance software. They put the employee first, unlike many others. I read an email on Monday evening from our operations director that says we are to work from home until further notice - I shed more tears than Trumpy Bolton.
Many folk would be doing handstands and cartwheeling down the street given this option; Sticky Palms isn't one of them. I chuffing hate working from home. I took the decision, a year ago, to come off the road, which included home-working, and swapped my role to an office-based account manager, as I was seriously concerned about my well-being. Working in an office has been like a breath of fresh air, even if I'm the oldest member of staff on the sales floor by a country mile. The young 'uns have made me welcome and included.
I drive into the office on Tuesday to pick up my headphones. It's eerily quiet with only a few colleagues scattered around the sales floor. I build a siege mentality for the rest of the week, working from home, rewarding myself with walks at the end of each day.
I bury my head into a book called Test Match Special Diary, that I bought for £20 a few months ago. It's 500 pages long and beautifully written by Jon Surtees, who captures the highs and lows of a wonderful summer of cricket from the TMS commentary box, including the World Cup and The Ashes. Ms Moon meanwhile enjoys Emmerdale, Corrie, Masterchef and Hunted. I wound up the good lady and the Big Man (Bish) on social media earlier in the week when I posted that filming on Emmerdale Farm was to be suspended until further notice. The Big Man fell for it hook, line and sinker, taking a massive bite,' but as Gabriel said in 1993 'Dreams Can Come True.'
You can still have fun during dark days, even if it's for only ten minutes or so. A few of the lads on twitter set up a group to take part in Ken Bruce's Pop Master on Radio 2. I've not listened to the show for over 12 months as the music he plays is bloody awful, but do have a soft spot for the quiz. Jitz Jani, Mr John Harris (wife Jackie too busy working at Sainsbury's) and a few other folks participate. I'm a bit ring rusty on Thursday, but post respectable scores of 21pts and 24pts on Friday. I look forward to recommencing battle on Monday at 10.25 a.m.
It's Friday evening, a time of day I usually get all excited about. A glimmer of light appeared on twitter earlier in the week. Neon Raptor Tap Room announced that take-out craft beers will be available from the fridge at their Sneinton Market HQ - a two-mile stroll from Chez Sticky's.
I walk up over Carlton Hill past empty takeaways, pubs and shops; it's so bloomin' depressing and doesn't even feel like the weekend. I pop my head through the Neon Raptor Offy and watch my booty get bagged up. 4x cans of Night Time Radio and 4x cans of Levitating Tactics. £26 might seem a bit steep folks but it's the crack cocaine equivalent of the craft ale world.
I'm not slogging it back up that chuffing hill. Ms Moon is leaving work and says she'll be 20 minutes. It's just a few minutes before BJ addresses the nation. I shoulder my way through the double doors of Castle Rock's Fox and Grapes and shout up a pint of Snow White before distancing myself on a barstool in the corner of the pub. BBC Breaking News music is played on my phone. Johnson has taken drastic measures. I neck my pint, wish the barman good luck in his job search and trudge up the road to Lidl where I'm picked up by Ms Moon.
The Princess and I plan the weekend. I'm one of those blokes that has to look forward to something even if it's eight hours of back to back episodes of Heartbeat. Ms Moon fires up the grill on Saturday morning as I'm dispatched down to Carlton Tesco. I beat the hoarding, stockpiling imbeciles to a pack of bacon medallions from their finest range yesterday. All we need now is some bread.
Jesus wept, Tesco looks like it's had Supermarket Sweep filming here for 12 weeks - Trumpy will be pleased to know Rylan isn't in sight. I somehow locate a few stray cobs that I find here and there. I have a laugh and joke with the girl on the till - actually I was telling the gags and rest assured she wasn't laughing.
Neither is Ms Moon folks, as I've lined up an 8-mile walk that'll test her stamina after the hike up Arthur's Seat last weekend. We walk down Carlton Road, bathed in early spring sunshine, before turning right towards Netherfield. We cross the road at Tommy Thompson's Boxing Club, also the Fox and Hounds (they're always scrapping in there). It leads us onto a narrow track and onto a woodland path called the Midland Railway, which is alongside the Nottingham to Lincoln line.
We finally reach our destination, Colwick Country Park, close to Nottingham Racecourse. The scenery is spectacular with trees beginning to blossom, you can also enjoy the views of the lakes and the River Trent. Fagged out, we take a short water break. Nottingham Forest diehard fan Jitz Jani walks by with his family. We enjoy a brief chat and discuss how we're coping with the Coronavirus outbreak. Jitz says he's called by Aldi every day to food shop, but has ended up buying a bottle of red wine and a bag of crisps each time .. lol.
We're settled in for the day at 4 p.m. Ms Moon's trash TV continues with Tipping Point, Catchpoint and Ant 'n Dec. The star of the show is the Diego Maradona documentary on Channel 4 at 9 p.m. It's a beautifully crafted piece of work that lasts for over two and a half hours. It's not for the bitter and twisted, but for the football purist. Let's not forget he played in an era when tackles were brutal and eye-watering, particularly in Serie A where he won two League titles and a UEFA Cup.
As Ms Moon summed up, "a dislikeable bloke and a flawed genius."
Attendance: 2 (Sticky and Ms Moon)
Man of the Match: Neon Raptor Off Licence
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