It's 5pm and I'm emptying the beer fridge at the World's finest taproom, Neon Raptor, in the 'Creative Quarter' of Sneinton Market in inner-city Nottingham - it forms what I call 'The Sneinton Triangle' along with Castle Rock's Fox and Grapes and King Billy on Eyre Street.
I settle up with the proprietor and dash out of the pub with my large stash of cans boxed up. I swing through the front door of the Fox and Grapes as a BBC Breaking News alert flashes up on my phone. Bumbling buffoon Boris Johnson has announced that all pubs are to close from midnight until further notice (probs three months). I down a pint of Snow White pale ale before wishing the barman farewell.
I zig-zag up Carlton Road whilst balancing my two boxes crammed full of craft ale; peering over them to catch the eye of any oncoming pedestrians.
Ms Moon is revving up the car in Lidl car park like a getaway driver whose accomplices have just robbed a bank or jewellers. We speed off up towards Carlton, heading home, where we will spend pretty much the next three months together, holed-up in our crib.
We've both tried to remain positive during dark times. I've walked and cycled for miles and miles. I've discovered parks, alleyways, nature reserves, lagoons and millionaires' rows that I had no idea existed. It was difficult to even contemplate thinking about football as over 40,000 people lost their lives to Covid-19.
A chink of light and ray of hope appeared as the lockdown was eased. How did I cope with the closure of pubs? Pretty easy really. I readjusted like most folk did. I joined more beer clubs than Trumpy Bolton. I found a passion, an expensive one mind yer, for craft ales. Left Field Beer, Polly's in Mold, North Wales, Verdant in Cornwall and Deya Brewery, based in Cheltenham, have had some serious shilling(s) off me, and have kept many a DHL courier from going on furlough. Add to that beer shops called Hopology in Bread 'n Lard Island, The Bottle Top on Ruddington High Street and Brew Cavern in Flying Horse Arcade, Nottingham - it's pretty safe to say I've done my utmost to keep the craft ale industry afloat.
Wales was a blast. We visited Bala (a beer shop was involved), Porthmadog, the beautiful seaside town of Criccieth on the Llyn peninsula and completed a 10-mile return walk up the estuary to the coastal village of Fairbourne. You were only allowed to frequent the beer gardens in Wales as drinking inside is still not permitted. Blog legend, Mr Trumpy Bolton, tipped us off on a couple of beauties in the villages of Penmaenpool and the historic town of Dolgellau.
In 1966 a pleasure boat called the 'Prince of Wales', carrying 42 passengers, hit a toll bridge in Permaenpool. 15 people, including four children, lost their lives in the water. What should have been a straight forward eight-mile trip up the estuary from Barmouth to the George III Hotel ended in tragedy. All 42 people aboard ended up in the water and only the brave actions of hotel staff prevented a heavier loss of life.
Thursday is a glorious day with the sun dripping like honey. I finish work at 4.30pm and drive along the A60 Loughborough Rd before turning into County Hall. I whip out my old faithful boneshaker from the boot, fresh from the repair shop. I cycle in a westwardly direction down the Trent, past the delightful riverside apartments that sit above the water. I jump on a track that runs along the back of the Michelin two-star restaurant Sat Bains and Dunkirk FC. I pass Unity Casuals Cricket Club and pick up the route again at Grove Farm Sports Complex.
I love riding down here past 'Owen's Place', through Beeston Marina and onto Attenborough Nature Reserve. I'm proper fagged out folks when I arrive home and slump into my garden chair. I'm soon refreshed with a Rhubarbra Streisand craft ale from the Brew York stable.
I jump in a cab at 7.30 and head south of the river for a few looseners with some pals at a mate's house in West Bridgford. The lads have been hacking it round Radcliffe On-Trent Golf Club in the sweltering heat all afternoon. We head back north over the river. A table has been booked for food at Brewhouse and Kitchen on Trent Bridge.
The evening ends with the usual omnishambles that is expected of The Avenue in West Bridgford. We've already walked past a perfectly good watering hole called Waterside Bar and Kitchen, adjacent to the Tricky Trees City Ground. I'd previously done a reccy of the joint a few Sundays ago and was mightily impressed with the sun terrace renovation - the lads are having none of it, preferring the poncy gin and cocktails bar of Fur Coats and No Knickers territory. CV19 restrictions curtail the evening for Sticky Palms.
The trip is a breeze. We shoot up the A60 turning off at Papplewick, going through the back of Hucknall and the village of Linby before joining the M1 at Junction 27. It's a hefty £3 to park the car for a few hours in the village centre. We walk up the narrow, cobbled streets peeking into shop doorways. Sadly for Sticky the local tap house and beer shop is closed for now.
The Recreation Ground is a mile away from the village centre. The ground is a beauty, with the added bonus of a cricket match on too. We do a full circuit of the boundary prior to the football starting. An elderly gentleman takes his place on a memorial bench. He says he's excited to be viewing his first cricket fixture of the season. We wander past a deserted bowling green and hop over a fence before taking up a viewing point on the halfway line.
Man of the Match Bill 6 Jacket for Wirksworth. Only player over 30 years old and looked like he enjoyed every second of the game.
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