It's 5 p.m. on Tuesday, 19th October. The traffic is gridlocked on Loughborough Road due to another set of roadworks the Bradmore side of Ruddington. I peg it up the A60 towards the Esso petrol station. I was sat in bed last night listening to the fag end of 'The Arsenal' v Crystal Palace game on Five Live, where the Gunners fortuitously grabbed a point with a last-minute goal. I'm alerted to an email that has come through on my mobile phone. A fellow Imp at work has very kindly offered to pick me up and drop me off at home as 'The Lincoln' are entertaining AFC Wimbledon tomorrow evening.
'Bansky' (my mate, not the well known street graffiti artist) is putting some air in his tyres. Because it's half term there's little traffic on the road as we sail through Newark and hit Lincoln city centre just shy of an hour. It's my first visit to Sincil Bank since 14th January 2020 when the Imps trounced a beleaguered Bolton Wanderers 5-1. Tyler Walker, at the time, was in the form of his life. Covid struck shortly after, followed by a detached retina, a few months later that, has prevented me from driving and dominated my life.
'Banksy' is a Lincoln lad and knows the backstreets of the city. He sticks his car on Dunlop Street, a 60 second walk away from the turnstiles. We take a wander up the High Street as I want to buy him a chippie tea from the Regal fish bar. I'm a tad disappointed as the fish is overcooked - I should have taken 'Banksy's advice and bought some snap from the local vendors in the Fan Zone behind the KryptoKloud End. We grab a pint of pale ale and hook up with one of 'Banksy's pals. They're both looking forward to Saturday's game at Sheffield Wednesday - 'The Lincoln's' first visit to Hillsborough in over 40 years.
In 1978 Jackie Charlton's Wednesday rolled into town. 'The Lincoln' rolled 'em over 3-1. I wasn't there that day as I had a Saturday job. Unfortunately my brother was. He was pounced upon and punched in the face by an Owls thug, on his way to my Nana's, where he was going for his tea. She had to bathe his wound.
I take my seat in the Selenity Stand, excited to view proceedings perched up here for first time in nearly two years. The Imps are slow out of the blocks and could easily be a goal behind before they are eventually punished from the penalty spot, after only 5 minutes, for a needless foul. They huff and puff for the rest of the evening but fail to trouble the visiting keeper. We're in good hands though and have recruited shrewdly. Players brought in on free transfers now have value. We should finish in the top half if our small squad can steer clear of injuries, which are hampering our progress right now.
It's Friday evening and the usual drill. I waved off Ms Moon and daughter Becky, earlier in the morning, as they are London bound for a weekend of Lion King, Madame Tussauds and glasses full of bubbles. Tony Mac and I hook up in the west side of Nottingham for a change. Barley Twist, a cosy Castle Rock pub on Arkwright Street, is the pick of the bunch. We finish the evening in an old crowd favourite, The Dragon, on Long Row. I grab a Five Guys burger on my walk home, down Hockley, and onto Sneinton Market.
I hear his car revving up outside the house at 9.30 a.m. The Big Man hasn't been to a game since our visit to Heacham, in Norfolk, back in July. I try and distract him with some chit chat so he doesn't put Century FM/Smooth on his car radio. He's fuming about 'Emmerdale Farm Week' that has featured on ITV. It was meant to be gripping viewing. The Big Man says it was utter tosh. His 40-year association with the show (he's never missed an episode) is hanging on a thread. I suggest he rings Ms Moon if he wants any counselling.
We're off to watch some Hope Valley Premier League action up in the Derbyshire Peak District today. We park up in the picture postcard village of Ashover. The folk are so friendly around here. Each person we chance upon greets us with a 'good morning.' After completing a circular walk we decide to dine at the Miners Arms up the road, as the reviews on the Good Pub Guide entry, Old Poets Corner, are mediocre since a change of ownership.
It's posh nosh at the Miners Arms; we only want a pub lunch. The owner re-directs us back to the village and recommends the Black Swan. I enjoy a pint of Proper Job from the St Austell Brewery. The Big Man wolfs down gammon, egg and chips.
The game takes place at the back of Ashover Parish Hall. Chapel Town are the visitors. The pitch is on a huge side slope, which you can only appreciate from the far side of the pitch. We stand adjacent to the roped-off cricket pitch. The visitors from Chapel-en-le-Frith currently top the table. You wouldn't have thought so as they start slower than Lincoln City.
Ashover take the lead but remarkably concede 2x late goals in the first half. The visitors have a drunken, loud-mouthed yob with their entourage. He abuses all and sundry and is a total embarrassment. He's inebriated by 2.30 p.m, which is a feat in itself as he's necking cans of Fosters (Maids water 4% abv). Ashover peg it back to 2-2 but hang onto their lead for barely 60x seconds. Big Neville, a 10-year-old Newfoundland dog, is unimpressed and asks his owner if they can go home early.
The evening is spent in West Bridgford where many Fulham fans tomorrow will enjoy an artisan breakfast accompanied with Earl Grey tea. I tick off The Boot Room, a Forest pub housed outside The City Ground.
Sunday is another matchday. I sink a pre-match pint of Bajan Breakfast from the Black Iris stable at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton Market. I usually enjoy the walk to the game, but it's somewhat spoilt by some blustery showers.
I take my pew in B4 in the Peter Taylor Stand. I've been stalked and flamed on twitter by Tricky Trees fans as Forest rarely win on my regular visits to The City Ground. I did see them play Huddersfield Town off the park a few weeks back up in West Yorkshire. They are in a rich vein of form since the arrival of former Swansea City manager Steve Cooper.
The ground begins to fill but it doesn't seem to have that edge, vibe and feel that a Saturday afternoon brings. 'A' Block aren't on song as the game has no tempo and is played without risk. A Spence own goal from a Fulham corner puts the visitors ahead. Forest fail to register a shot on target, with Brennan Johnson fluffing his lines and hitting fresh air after great work by Spence down the right hand side.
The day plummets to an all-time-low, at the break, when the Forest DJ plays the dreadful 1996 hit 'Return of the Mack' by Mark Morrison; a man who has had more court appearances than Judge John Deed.
Lewis Grabban balloons a sitter over the bar. It's a turning point as a mix up in the forest defence sees the Serbian, Mitrovic, double their lead. Two further goals see some of the crowd head for an early exit, with an eye, no doubt, on the Man Utd v Liverpool Super Sunday teatime kick off. *It's later reported that frustrated season ticket holder, Sticky jnr, upped and left on 61 minutes.
The game is controlled by Fulham's Ivory Coast 30 year old central defensive midfielder Jean Michael Seri. He has an impressive CV having played recently on loan for Galatasaray and Bordeaux. Fulham broke their transfer record for the Ivorian, splashing out £27 million for him from Nice. His passing is through the eye of a needle and is often his first touch.
Remarkably 'A' Block back their man Steve Cooper with a number of ditties despite a 4-0 drubbing. It's uncomfortable but encouraging to see him acknowledge their support after such a disappointing second half display. I'm the last person to leave the ground as I enjoy seeing the players applauding the support of the fans.
Attendance: 27,470
Man of the Match: Big Neville the Newfoundland. He'd have left on 61 minutes too.
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