It's Thursday, 8.15 a.m. It's a crisp, winter's morning as I stroll down King Street past Brian Clough's statute. A homeless person is slumped by the monument, shivering in the cold, whilst downing a strong can of cider. Market Square is packed to the rafters with fairground rides and tacky Christmas stalls. This is Nottingham. A Nottingham that was put through the mill during peak COVID, with crazy decisions by the City Council, including allowing a Christmas market. and outrageous behaviour(s) by drunken, foolish, 'entitled' students.
I drop into Hockley. I've arranged to meet craft ale aficionado Tony Mac for breakfast at the high-scoring Google review Fox cafe, on Pelham Street. Two young girls, who quite frankly couldn't give two hoots, have just opened-up. They're not firing up the grills for another 15 minutes. It's met with resistance by a 'hangry' Mac. A verbal volley is delivered in their direction. The door is slammed shut.
We traipse down towards Sneinton Market. I've spotted on maneuvers a trendy build-your-own- breakfast place, on my walks home after work, down Goose Gate. I suggest to Mac that we chance our arm at a cafe called Yolk. It's adjacent to a cool bar, where young couples date, called 31K. Ms Moon is waiting to tick this cocktail bar off. I usually blame my dodgy 'mince pie' and claim I've never seen it.
We're greeted with open arms by a bearded guy who rustles up eggs Benedict heaped with smoked salmon and bacon on toasted muffins, accompanied by the 60s sounds of The Beach Boys. We head towards Nottingham station. It's the official 'Friday Club Christmas Party.' Two days have been booked oop north in Ramsbottom, Bury and Manchester.
Those blithering idiots at East Midlands Trains have tried to scupper our plans and have announced a two day strike which could complicate our return journey home. The trip to Manchester Piccadilly is without incident; most folk on the train are masked up.
First port of call is the market town of Ramsbottom, in the Metropolitan Borough of Bury. It has a population of 20,000 people. It lies on the River Irwell, in the West Pennine Moors. It is home to the Peel Monument, a memorial to Sir Robert Peel, a former Conservative prime minister, who was born in Bury.
The X41 from Chorlton Road to 'Rammy' is running 20 minutes late due to a broken down bus. Tony Mac doesn't suffer fools and is already blowing a gasket as an unsighted and unmarked bus finally pulls in. Sticky Palms gets an earful off Mac for 'bad planning' before we pay a stressed out bus driver £4.50 each for a single ticket. The journey takes us through Prestwich and up onto the M66, by-passing Bury, where we're staying tonight. To make up for time the coach driver puts a shift in similar to the film Speed; failing to break 50 mph on the speedometer.
We're dropped off in Market Place, in this quaint northern town, where a lot of BBC staff have moved up from London after being relocated in Media City, Salford. The bar staff are welcoming and friendly at Holcombe Tap. They tip us off a few new pubs and bars which include Northern Whisper and Casked. Both are ticked off as is the well established Irwell Brewery Tap. Each bar sticks to its roots, playing that 'Manchester Sound' which includes The Smiths, New Order and Inspiral Carpets.
A cab is booked to take us over to Bury, the home of black pudding. We drop our bags off at the Premier Inn. We freshen up and grab a bite to eat in their Thyme restaurant before the evening session commences. Trackside is the pick of the pubs, an ale house in situ at the station on Bolton Street. We finish up the evening supping Thwaites in a cosy boozer on a street corner. Manchester United v Arsenal is on the TV screens, but it appears of little interest to the ale drinkers in town.
Anthony 'Jonno' Johnson, the former manager of Salford FC and Chester FC, has recommended an eatery in Bury for breakfast on Friday morning. Racconto Lounge lives up to its burgeoning reputation. The Bury Metrolink is a five-minute walk away. It's only £4.95 for an all-day ticket.
We jump off in Prestwich and make the short walk to Clifton Road. There is a purpose to all this. Singer-songwriter Mark E Smith, once of post-punk band The Fall, has a beautiful mural painted on the chip shop wall of him drooling on an Embassy Number One cigarette, smoke exhaling from out of his mouth.
The rest of the day is spent in Manchester, the craft ale capital of England. We hunt them down one by one. The beers at Cloudwater and Track Brewing are sublime and scored highly on the Untappd beer app. There's time to visit the Ian Curtis mural in the Northern Quarter before the journey home to Nottingham, via Sheffield ..... thanks EMT!
It's Saturday morning and I'm in bed reflecting on the last few days away. We finished off with a couple of scoops in the Barley Twist. I walked down Station Street, up London Road and onto Sneinton Market before hopping onto a bus. It was lights out on arrival at Chez Palms.
It's freezing cold outside. I sit with Ms Moon in the lounge catching up on the last few days events in Emmerdale and Corrie. The good lady is off to a Christmas Fair at The Plough in the up market village of Normanton On-The-Wolds. We will be dining in the same venue with friends later this evening.
I'm feeling worse for wear after two days on the sauce in 'Manny,' 35,000 steps have been completed in my Adidas Hamburg trainers in the course of two days. I break usual protocol and decide to nip down to the best chip shop on earth. I have my first Pukka pie in ages and a portion of chips at the award-winning Oceans Fish Bar. It's the usual drill of dressing up in four layers of clothing before heading up towards Stoke Lane, home to one of my favourite teams, Carlton Town.
I left my mittens on the 7.49 p.m. Northern Rail train from Manchester to Sheffield. It's a rookie error. The temperatures have plummeted and the wind is biting as I part with £9 on the turnstile. I can hear sirens blaring and a bass guitar strumming as The Ruts 1979 hit 'Babylon is Burning' blasts out of the ground's PA system. Lead singer Malcolm Owen was to die a year later from a heroin overdose at the age of 25 years old.
Stamford are today's visitors. They are nicknamed 'The Daniels' in the memory of Daniel Lambert who weighed in at 50 stone before his death in the town in 1809. They are managed by the pint-sized Graham Drury who is one of the biggest wind-up merchants on the Lincolnshire Non League circuit.
Carlton aren't at the races and are slow out of the blocks. It's not helped by kicking into a strong wind. The visitors look sharper and pass the ball with purpose. They take a well deserved lead when Cotgrave lad Connor Bartle wellies a shot into the roof of the net from 22 yards. Jitz Jani's favourite, Aaron Opku equalises on the stroke of half-time; it's harsh on the visitors.
I've hooked up with Crewe Alexandra groundhopper Max Bailey for the afternoon. Max is a mate of the 'Keyworth Georgie Best' who is currently on tour in Barcelona (piss up). Max was a big fan of Newark Flowserve, but sadly it's all gone tits up there.
The second half is a fantastic advertisement for the Northern Premier League. The Millers come out all guns blazing. Stamford are different gravy on the break despite being battered by the wind and rain. They score a couple more goals and can even afford the luxury of missing a penalty. Carlton are out-of-sorts on the day and are well beaten without complaints.
Attendance: 161
Man of the Match: Owner of Yolk cafe in Hockley, Nottingham
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