Carlton Town 1-3 Stamford

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

Woodthorpe Park Rangers 4-2 FC Sez

It's early on Monday afternoon and I'm in the back of a taxi travelling south up Loughborough Road, in West Bridgford. There's been little dialogue with the cab driver as my mind is on other things. He turns left off the road which leads up to Wilford Hill Cemetery. There's a huge gathering of mourners outside of the chapel.

I'm attending the funeral of Kevin Garvican, who was the owner of Pro Windows in Old Basford. Kev's daughter, Emma, is my all-time favourite ever co-worker. Kev was taken ill in October, after contracting Covid. He passed away in Nottingham City Hospital. I only met Kev once, at Emma's 30th birthday party at The Sun Inn, in Gotham. He gave up half an hour of his time to talk to Ms Moon and myself on his daughter's special day.

He was a lovely, kind generous man, who had built up a very successful business. Kev was a family man and a passionate 'Dirty Leeds' fan. He was a member of the 'Nottingham Whites' who follow the 'Dirty Ones' on their travels home and away. The 'Nottingham Whites' have turned up in numbers. They line up and unfurl their plethora of flags as the funeral cortege arrives at the crematorium. 

It's an incredible send-off, full of fun, laughter and even better, swearing. The anecdotes are laugh out loud as we watch the service huddled around a phone. Emma has the heart and courage of a lion. Ms Moon and I love her to bits. She makes a speech remembering her Dad with warmth, love and razor sharp wit. I have a lump in my throat as the 'Nottingham Whites' belt out the Leeds United anthem 'Marching On Together.' 

I walk from Wilford Hill to Sneinton Market, swinging by The City Ground to collect my ticket for the Forest v Luton Town match the following evening. I can't feel my toes as I jump on the bus home. Emma and her family are in my thoughts for the rest of the evening. Life can be so cruel at times.

I stay at work late on Tuesday evening. I'm mooching around Trent Bridge by 6 p.m. It's the usual drill. A pork cob filled with stuffing, crackling and apple sauce from Relish on Pavilion Road I do a couple of laps of the ground before going through the turnstile an hour before kick-off.

The first half is fairly dull. Forest get around the back a few times but rarely look like scoring a goal or testing the Luton stand-in 'keeper, who looks shaky on his first League start of the season. Luton are rapid on the counterattack. I always think of my favourite comedian, growing up as a kid, Eric Morecambe, whenever the Hatters are mentioned. Raddy Antic springs to mind to, with his last gasp winner at Maine Road in 1983 which guaranteed them top-flight football for another season. Who can forget David Pleat galloping onto the pitch to celebrate with his beige suit on?

I sit with Jitz and Dringy in the second half. Forest's plan of giving it a real go falls flat on its face, on the hour, when Jack Colback, a walking yellow card at the age of 32, receives a second one after wrestling a player to the floor. Brice Samba saves the resulting penalty with his feet and produces a masterclass in goalkeeping including a point-blank save at the death. Steve Cooper's tactical nous, with strategic substitutions, sees the Tricky Trees gain a valuable point. At the final whistle Samba laps up the plaudits from the crowd. I love every minute of it with my gammy eye improving each day; even if it was 0-0.

With Ms Moon in Spain 'working' for the week the TV set hasn't booted up. There's no crappy shows such as I'm a Celeb, Cheshire Housewives and Tipping Point. I might need to ring Virgin Media as I haven't a Scooby how to work the remote controls. I enjoyed watching some Italian football last Sunday evening. Genoa v Roma in Serie A was my match of choice. With his team struggling Jose Mourinho threw on 18-year-old Ghanian, Felix Afena-Gyan, who obliged with a brace; the second one was a stunner.

Friday night can only mean one thing: date night with Tony Mac. We hook up at Barley Twist, a two- floor craft beer and wine cellar, housed in a former sweet shop on Carrington Street. It's the usual trot around the city centre. Castle Rock stablemate Keane's Head is frequented too. We've not checked-in at Jam Cafe on Heathcote Street since the nights have drawn in. It was outside drinking only during the summer. We push open the door and are greeted by Bradley the bar's owner. 'Mirror in the Bathroom' by The Beat is playing on the dukey as we enjoy table service at this cool cafe.

It's Saturday morning and I'm tucked up proper cosy in bed. I can hear the wind howling and sleet tapping on the window. I wouldn't be too fussed if the game is OFF today. I check-in on social media. Woodthorpe and FC Sez are both saying they've not heard anything to the contrary.

I'm wrapped up to the ninepins as I slog it up onto Carlton Hill in freezing conditions. I've decided to walk for an hour or so across to Sherwood, where I'll then jump into a cab to complete the journey to Basford. The game is being played behind Basford United's main pitch. A couple of club officials point me in the direction of Pitch 2.

I don't recall ever feeling this cold at a football game. I'm shaking like the cartoon characters Scooby Do and Shaggy when they see a ghost. My lips and fingers are numb. I've liked what I've seen from Woodthorpe PR over the last few seasons. FC Sez have also been on my radar as I've never seen them play. A lad who works at my place (Ideagen PLC) plays for them although our paths have never crossed.

Lewis Quayle is officiating today's game. He's usually spot on with his decision-making and takes no nonsense from the players. FC Sez are half asleep and start the game at a slow pace. It's no surprise when Dalton Stephens gives the home side the lead. The visitors enjoy a good 15-minute spell. They score a well-worked equaliser and take the lead through a stunning free-kick. Slack defending sees them go into half-time 3-2 down.

I listen to the FC Sez team talk at the break. Not one positive word is said by the manager or the players. They are hard and harsh on themselves. They are still in the game but lack belief and have little confidence in one another.

I've done about 10x laps of the ground by now in an effort to keep my blood circulating. The second half is scrappy. The game is played in 20 mph winds. The fag end of the storm seems to blow up the hill. Stephens puts the game the bed and completes a hat-trick. FC Sez still have their chances but can't force the ball home. Referee Quayle seems in a particularly unforgiving mood. He dishes out more cards than Postman Pat. The game is played in a good spirit and the cautions, in my opinion, are unnecessary

I catch a taxi back home. I shower up, warm up and change clothes before venturing out in the cold again. I've been looking forward to tonight for ages. Tony Mac and I have a few sociable ones in the Partisan Tavern on Manvers Street. It's busy in here despite Notts County playing Dagenham and Redbridge in a 5.20 p.m. kick off. A nice pint from the Totally Brewed stable is sunk in the Fox and Grapes.

The main event is across the road at the Nottingham Arena and I'm not talking ice hockey folks. I'm late to the party but have really got into the Sleaford Mods. I even bought some vinyl of their's at Rough Trade in town. The lead singer Jason Williamson lives down the road in West Bridgford.

The gig is a pearler. The support acts Billy Nomates and Dry Cleaning are superb too. 'The Mods' are on fire. I really can't 'arf pick em folks.

Attendance: 22

Men of the Match: Nottingham Whites

Harrogate Town 0-2 Salford

I leave Jitz Jani and the 'Carlton Crazy Gang' to sup a few more beers at Stoke Lane. I'm gutted that I won't be on the away bus to Chasetown next week for 'Mad Graham's' 50th birthday. I head up Burton Road and turn onto Main Road, which leads you up to Gedling village, a place where former Nottingham Forest and Tottenham Hotspur midfielder Steve 'Harry' Hodge was brought up.

I call by The Willowbrook, a Castle Rock Brewery ale house. Back in the day we used to drink here after cricket games at Gedling Village CC. It used to remind me of the Winchester Club, with Dave behind the bar off Minder. I shout up a pint of Lemon Dream from the Salopian Brewery. Kids running about and dogs barking are pet hates of mine in pubs; both are here in abundance. I don't hang about, preferring to walk home to peace and serenity. There is time for a pint of Thieving Rogue from the Magpie Brewery at the Old Volunteer, before turning in for the evening.

I spotted that Notts County are selling £10 tickets for their first round FA Cup replay versus Rochdale - Sticky loves a bargain. I ring up the ticket office and make sure I print off a paper version at work. I  work from home on Tuesday as I have my COVID booster jab. I listen to Marlon Harewood telling some funny anecdotes from his time at Nottingham Forest and West Ham United on the popular Undr the Cosh podcast.

Prior to the match I rustle up a spaghetti Bolognese, which I batch up for tomorrow night too, as Ms Moon is at the Nags Head pub quiz with her bestie Jill and daughter Becky. It's the same matchday routine. I catch the bus down to Sneinton, alighting at Nottingham Arena. It's a brisk 20 minute walk to the ground.

I take my seat in the Derek Pavis Stand, Block E around 15 rows back. My eyesight improves each day following a lens replacement and retinal surgery. I glance at a teamsheet and fail to recognise any of the 'Dale line-up. The fans at Notts County are quite rightly proud of their record-breaking National League attendance of 12,843 verus Solihull Moors last Saturday.

One or two supporters will be looking over their shoulders in the direction of Directors' Box where a large number of scouts are gathered. Nottingham Post reporter Leigh Curtis is saying on Twitter that Lincoln City, Rotherham United and Portsmouth are all represented. Portuguese attacker Ruben Rodrigues is attracting all the interest. He has failed to shine on my three visits, but is highly rated by the Meadow Lane faithful.

The first half is, as Pies manager Ian Burchnall puts it, 'boring.' County have a couple of efforts on target but fall behind to a thumping shot from Birmingham City on loan striker Josh Andrews. Notts look more in the mood for it in the second half. A left wing cross is bundled into his own net by White. The impressive Cal Roberts grabs the game by the scruff of the neck as Notts look to force home a winner. With the clock ticking towards extra time, Rochdale striker Jake Beesley breaks the Pies' supporters hearts with a dramatic late winner.

It's Friday evening and the usual drill. I'm on the Carlton 27 bus heading into the city centre. There's a hot bit of stuff sat next to me; it's Ms Moon. There's no date night with Tony Mac this evening. Ms Moon wants to see what all the fuss is about the 'New Covent Garden.' (Sneinton). We cross over Southwell Road and through the swing doors of the Fox and Grapes, the artist formally known as 'Peggers' or 'Pretty Windows.' The murder of landlord George Wilson in 1963 still remains unsolved.

I have a pint of 'Chasing the Sun' from the Black Iris Brewery, in Basford, Ms Moon goes big time and has a glass of bubbles. I mention that Tony Mac is next door at Neon Raptor. Ms Moon says she would like to meet him, She's proper muscling in on my patch now. Tony comes in and shares a couple of drinks with us. He's not too chuffed with a 10% Brew York stout that I shout up at the bar.

Ms Moon and I walk up through the hipster area of Nottingham called Hockley. We turn onto Warser Gate. I've been tipped off about a stylish, warmly lit Mediterranean restaurant bar by my mate 'Toff.' The place is alive with folk. We're shoehorned onto a table for two. Ms Moon continues on the bubbles whilst Sticky gets stuck into a large Brockmans gin. The food ain't bad, although a little limited for choice. We both enjoy Thai fishcakes and steak fajitas.

It's 7 a.m. on Saturday morning. My sleep has been disturbed. I shower, shave and pack an overnight bag. I flick the kettle on and make myself a strong Nescafe Alta Rica coffee. I say farewell to Ms Moon, who flies out to Spain tomorrow for a week, where she is 'working.' Dafty arrives at 7.45 a.m. We head up the A614 towards the A1.

Absolute 90s is on the car radio. They play 'Get the Message' by Electronic which features Bernard Sumner from New Order and Johnny Marr from The Smiths. The journey is without incident. The plan is to visit our good friend 'Sprakey.' We arrive at his gaff, a 5 minute walk from York city centre, just shy of 9.30 a.m. He very kindly rustles up bacon and sausages. The radio in the kitchen is tuned into Dermot O'Leary's Radio 2 show. He's playing Howard Jones' 1984 hit 'What is Love'.

We take a stroll up to the railway station. Sprakey's 14 year-old lad Henry is with us too. The plan is to meet 'Our Kid' up in Harrogate. We're in no particular rush. Sprakey has a pub lined up in the picturesque spa town of Knaresborough. 

We partake in our first scoop of the day at the York Tap that's housed inside the station. The journey to Knaresborough is only half an hour. The lads aren't too chuffed that the pubs aren't open yet as we weave our way through the medieval streets.

It's a Trumpy Bolton moment as we wait for the landlord of The Mitre to unlock the pub front door. We're that busy gassing that we nearly miss the train to Harrogate. 'Our Kid' joins us at the Harrogate Tap, an old-fashioned, wood-panelled pub. We sink a few pints or in Henry's case packets of crisps and a Five Guys takeaway before making the 25 minute walk up Wetherby Road.

I first visited here in 2015 when AFC Fylde ran out 4-1 winners. Since then 'the Gate' have won promotion to the Football League which has forced them to rip up their state of the art 4G playing surface. Salford have no wins in the last four games, with manager Gary Bowyer under pressure from the fans and demanding owners.

I'm disappointed that three players, I had hoped to see, are all starting on the bench. Jack Muldoon has played for Hucknall Town and Lincoln City. George Thomson used to be at Nottingham Forest. Salford's Ash Hunter played at Ilkeston when Che Adams was there.

Harrogate are awful in the first half and rarely threaten a goal. In contrast Salford play a lovely game and deservedly take the lead through Matty Lund who stabs home a close effort following a cross from the left. A couple of blokes, next to me, are making comments about the demise of Yorkshire CCC during the 'Race Storm' that has unravelled this week. I move into the aisle, away from them, as I don't like what I hear.

Salford continue to impress and double their lead through a deflected effort by Jason Lowe. Harrogate improve with the introduction of Muldoon and Thomson but the damage has already been done. We return to the Harrogate Tap and York Tap, where we hook up with Dafty's lad, Will, before ending the night at Brew York taproom - unfortunately young Henry was refused entry. A much needed Chinese takeaway is enjoyed as we watch one of the best Match of Day shows in a very long time. 

It's Marmite on toast in the morning, after sleeping like a log on Sprakey's sofa. We have a wander around York on a beautiful, crisp morning. I'm like a kid in a sweet shop at House of Trembling Madness as I bag a few cans of northern craft ales. The weekend is finished off at the graveside of one of York's most wanted, the Highwayman, Dick Turpin. 'Sprakey' can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 2814

Men of the Match: Dafty and Sprakey. Thanks for driving and putting me up and putting up with me

Carlton Town 1-2 Stourbridge

I've had a cracking afternoon out at the Wollaton Sports Association, as I continue my tour of Nottinghamshire Non-League football grounds by bus. I catch the No.30 back into town, stepping off outside Victoria Centre shops. I spot a stationary Carlton 27 bus and decide to make a run for it. It drops me bang outside Neon Raptor craft ale bar that's situated inside Sneinton Market.

There's a hum and din about the place as I order up a few DIPAs (Double Indian Pale Ales) off the beer menu. I finish off with 1/3 of a pint of Cabinets Have Future Ghosts, a double chocolate and marshmallow 13% abv imperial stout. Bus number five of the day sees me home early evening. I rustle up meatballs and spaghetti for supper whilst Ms Moon is gripped by the latest episode of Strictly Comes Dancing.

I pop down the Partizan Tavern, Sunday lunchtime, for a few sociable ones. Big Steve, the landlord, is always good for a few real ale and craft ale tips. I settle in for the afternoon, typing up the Wollo v Keyworth blog, which is well received. I make a donation to the club as I hadn't any cash at the turnstile on arrival or at the tea bar at half time.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm stood at the bus stop outside Carlton Tesco. The weather is mild for this time of year. I'm taking no chances though and have pulled my trusty Parka from out of the cupboard for its first airing of the season.

I alight the bus on Mapperley Tops. It's not only the first visit of the season to Gedling Miners' Welfare but also Plains Fish Bar's seasonal debut. I mark my chippy tea with seven marks out of ten. The tournament leader is Oceans on Carlton Road, a stone's throw away from Chez Palms.

I wash my tea down with a bottle of apple juice and break into a Cadbury's dairy milk bar of chocolate. It's £5 on the turnstile at Gedling's Plains Road ground. The stadium is only lit up by the floodlights on the far side of the ground. I've got to have my wits about me as I do a couple of laps of the ground as my dodgy 'mince pies' aren't in great working order at night.

I step inside the clubhouse to kill a bit of time. I'm met by a verbal volley from a chortling Big Glenn Russell, manager at Radford FC, a club I'm banned from because they lose every time I attend a game. It's no coincidence that The Pheasants have won seven consecutive League fixtures since my 'banning order' commenced.

Big Glenn's sidekick, 'Shoey', is with him. They rip the piss out of me prior to the match beginning. Glenn spends more time on the phone than Barry Fry in the first half, wheeling and dealing. He's looking to get a new player added to the squad for the weekend clash with Hinckley AFC who have won 9x games on the bounce. 

The game we're watching is scrappy and devoid of any quality. I'm a big fan of Harrowby Utd striker Danny Durkin, who I clocked playing for the Lincolnshire club four years ago. He's having a quiet night on the field of play. The visitors take the lead on the stroke of half time. Big Glenn misses the goal as he's got wind of burgers and onions frying in a pan - sadly it's from a nearby takeaway and not the Club food bar.

Gedling deservedly equalise in the second half but can't force home the winner. Incredibly Harrowby grab all three points with a last gasp strike from my man Durkin.

I'm back in Nottingham city centre at 1 p.m. on Friday lunchtime. One of my workmates resigned from his post the other week. He shares a passion for ales. I manage to snuck into a barbers on Upper Parliament Street. 72 year-old 'Steve the Barber' gives Sticky a fresh look. I peg it up Derby Road. I meet up with Charlie in The Sir John Borlase Warren, where we both enjoy a pint of Archer from the Lincoln Green stable. We swing by the recently re-opened Hand and Heart, but the beer fails to hit the spot. 

'Bar of the Day' is The Barrel Drop which is down a narrow passageway called Hurts Yard. The beer menu is to die for. I go big too early (memories of Lincoln and Newark, last Friday, come flooding back). I can't resist a barrel-aged bourbon stout from the Bang the Elephant brewery up in Langley Mill. It's the start of my downfall. My last recollection is Tony Mac buying two Montague and Capulet (Romeo and Juliet reference) DIPA's in Neon Raptor.

It's Saturday, 9.30 a.m. I troop down the stairs and sink into my armchair. Ms Moon asks me when I'm going to grow up? "When I'm 58 years old in February", I reply. The good lady packs her bag for a weekend away (hen night) in Stratford-upon-Avon. I slog it up Carlton Hill, worse for wear, towards Albie's where I'm hoping to recover with some breakfast.

I enjoy an Americano and a piping hot full English as 'Fluorescent Adolescent' by the Arctic Monkeys is played on the iPod shuffle. I walk off breakfast down Standhill Road and Foxhill Road before calling by Tesco where I pick up a few bits and bobs as I'm cooking for my one this evening. 

I soak in the bath listening to Five Live Sport. I head back out of the door and walk up Burton Road, past the re-named Beacon Hill (previous guise Blacks Head) and the wonderful Old Volunteer, I stroll down Stoke Lane. I can hear the dulcet tones of Morrissey singing What Difference Does it Make, as I part with £9 on the turnstile.

The ground is already bustling with folk who are looking forward to this FA Trophy tie versus Stourbridge, from near Dudley, who play in the League above. I strike up a conversation with Martin Ball's Dad, who's stood adjacent to the tunnel. I mention that the Millers could take advantage of the visitors missing a couple of players. Reece Styche is in Gibraltar's squad for tonight's World Cup qualifying tie in Turkey. I tell Bally's Dad that one of my favourite strikers, Jason Cowley, is also absent. 'That's me", shouts a guy loitering in the tunnel area.

 

Jason is a lovely guy who got given a chance at Stevenage a few seasons ago. Sadly, COVID killed any chance of progress. I wish him good luck in his rehabilitation from nerve damage to his spine. Cowley was released by Aston Villa at 16-years-old. He was in the same age group as Jack Grealish.

Forest die-hard, Jitz Jani, is stuck in traffic close to Notts County's Meadow Lane ground. Notts are attempting to break the National League attendance record against Solihull Moors today. The crowd of 271 supporters join the players and officials in remembering the loss of our armed forces.

Stourbridge look sharper than the Millers, allowing them little time on the ball. The passing is crisp and with purpose. Carlton ease themselves into the game. A plethora of Forest lads have rocked up. Gary 'Boatsy' Clarke has been relentless with his fundraising for the club. I also meet 'Blackie' and 'Toppo.' Some of us are booked in for four nights away in Amsterdam, in June next year, when England play the Netherlands at cricket. Twice European Cup winning captain, John McGovern, is today's guest of honour.

Carlton start to enjoy a good spell of pressure and take the lead on 41 minutes through their impressive talisman Aaron Opoku. Some of the lads are potting pints for fun as the bar continues to do a roaring trade. There's a fantastic vibe and feel about the place. Everyone appears to be enjoying the occasion.

Stourbridge dampen our spirits, shortly after the break, when a far post cross is nodded home by former Notts County and Grimsby Town striker Montel Gibson. The game has a magnificent ebb and flow to it. It has a proper cup tie feel as the tackles fly in and yellow cards are dished out. 

As legs begin to tire and the clock runs down, penalties appear to be on the horizon. The visitors break the Millers hearts with a close-range finish. Carlton bounce back only to see a Howes effort smack against the crossbar and bounce to safety.

The final whistle is blown as this epic cup tie reaches its conclusion. I'm gutted for the Millers players, staff and supporters, but what a smashing game of football was played.

Attendance: 271

Man of the Match: Lee Vaughan 2 jacket for Stourbridge

Wollaton FC 1-3 Keyworth United

I wander back into the Minster town of Southwell following the final ever game of Senior football at the War Memorial Ground. A young Keyworth side have competed but not created enough, in open play, to come away with any reward. 

I jump on the No.26 bus outside Southwell Minster. Within 30 minutes I'm walking through my front door in Carlton. There's enough time for a shower and a shave before a DG taxi pulls up at just gone five bells. We're dropped off in Hockley, a cool as Clough hipster area of Nottingham. We're having to queue outside Peggy's Skylight, a jazz club on George Street, as temperatures plummet. It's a James Bond themed night. We're here to celebrate Piers and Barney's birthdays. 

There's no sign of real ales or craft ales. It's for the best as I've been coming down with summat for the last few days. I settle for a glass of Merlot as the band strike up the Bond theme tune. A voluptuous lady singer appears from nowhere. She belts out a few Bond hits including 'Diamonds Are Forever' and 'Licensed to Kill.' There's rapturous applause and a standing ovation an hour later. We finish up the evening in a French restaurant called Bistro Pierre on Milton Street. A few of our group move onto Revolution De Cuba. I'm done in folks; it's goodnight Vienna.

There's no Sunday lunchtime stroll around Nottingham city centre, where I usually swing by Lillie Langtry's or the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton Market. I manage one solitary can of craft ale; kidding myself that an ale full of mango and bananas will form part of my two out of five a day.

I work from home on Monday and don't leave the house all day; not even to go to the dustbin. I'll take a fitness test in the morning to see if I'm up for work and more importantly Nottingham Forest v Sheffield United at the world famous The City Ground.

I jump on the 27 bus out of Carlton at 6.30 a.m. on Tuesday. I feel as rough as a badger's arse, but there's no way I'm missing football. A friend at work, Alex, runs me into West Bridgford at teatime. I have a soft drink at Trent Bridge Inn and a bite to eat with some work colleagues. I peg it out of the pub and onto Radcliffe Road before turning onto Fox Road where the Larwood and Voce pub is housed.

I hook up with Tricky Tree fan and top Twitter wind-up merchant, Jitz Jani. Dexter Blackstock is his latest victim to have had a nibble on social media. The cricket T20 World Cup is barely mentioned due to a dismal showing thus far from India. Although there is some talk of four days away in Amsterdam, next June, when England play Holland at cricket in three ODIs. Jitz says it's only £110 on the Eurostar.

Everyone is sinking pints ten to the dozen. Sticky Palms looks a sorry sight sipping on his diet coke. We're pretty much last into the ground - a stark contrast to my usual itinerary. Mull of Kintyre is at the fag end of the final chorus.

It only takes the visiting support five minutes before the tiresome, boring, predictable chants of SCAB are hurled in our direction. The first 25 minutes are a drab affair with the Blades dominating possession without looking a real threat. Forest pick up the pace with on loan right back, Djed Spence, a constant threat with his athleticism, pace and strength.

I get chinwagging to an old boss of mine at the break, who has been a season ticket holder in 'B' Block for many years. He's not too chuffed to see me, as he's well aware of what a Jonah I am on my visits to The City Ground.

Forest are excellent in the second half but fall behind to a sucker punch of a goal on the counterattack scored by on loan Wolves attacker Morgan Gibbs-White. Forest play with courage and heart. They deservedly equalise through their talisman and captain Lewis Grabban. The game has been breathtaking and played at a fast pace.

I rest up for the next few days as I've a big day out on the sauce with Tony Mac and 'Mad Dog' on Friday. We meet up for breakfast at Bill's on Queen Street. It's dished up cold, a bug bear of mine. I ask the waiter to remove the service charge before settling up the bill.

We catch the 10.35 a.m. train to the Metropolis (Lincoln). Sticky has some cracking pubs lined-up for the lads. Tony Mac is keen to avoid the Steep Hill area of Lincoln as it has had its fair share of victims. We try to circumnavigate the area, finally joining the Hill halfway up. 

Former Lincoln City manager, Chris Moyses, is an authority on the watering holes and eateries in Lincoln City centre. He's tipped me Morning Star, just off Steep Hill. The landlady is tossing a couple of logs onto a roaring fire as we walk. into the Lounge. I enjoy a pint of ale from the Pheasantry stable, based in East Markham, Newark, as I also do in the following pub, the popular Strugglers Inn.

It all gets messy in BeerHeadZ where 'Mad Dog', living up to his nickname and reputation, necks a 11% craft ale. The rounds start to get silly and it isn't even 3 pm yet. We share cans of 10% ales before jumping on the train to Newark Northgate.

A further three pubs are ticked off in Newark - Just Beer, The Navigation and Castle Barge. It's an omnishambles folks. We end up walking back to the wrong station before finally pitching up at Newark Castle. 'Mad Dog' catches the 8.35 p.m. bus back to Keyworth whilst Mac and I finish off the evening at crowd favourite Barley Twist. It's the usual drill for Sticky Palms, Five Guys and lights out.

I'm dog tired on Saturday morning. I had planned to blog from Bestwood village where Netherfield Seniors were the visitors. Legendary striker, John Manders, tipped me the wink late on Friday evening that the visitors had cancelled the fixture. Second choice game was Wollaton v Keyworth. The No.30 bus can be caught outside West End Arcade on Upper Parliament. Ms Moon is as happy as Larry, two-fold: her granddaughter is visiting this afternoon and yours truly is cooking this evening during Strictly Come Dancing.

I alight the bus outside the Admiral Rodney, a pub I used to take first dates to, back in the 80s. After yesterday's shenanigans alcohol is the last thing on my mind. I stand in silence, head bowed, outside the Royal British Legion

I'm greeted at the gate by Wollaton Chairman Bill Fishwick, who has volunteered tirelessly for years at the club. It's £3 on the gate including a programme. I make my apologies as I'm cashless but promise I will make a donation to the club. Bill is really chatty and says he reads my blog religiously and follows my Twitter feed too.

I bump into a good mate from back in my Keyworth CC days. Johnny Buttery is also a groundhopper. We usually meet up a couple of times a season but this has become harder as he is often on standby as an emergency driver who delivers organs to hospitals for life-changing operations.

Big Sam Ralph is on the lash in Prague with half of Clifton. Chris Thompson and Lee Clarke stand in for him as Green Army managers. The Sugarbags of Wollaton are managed by Justin Eastman. It's a scrappy disjointed opening to the game, with neither team able to string two passes together on an uneven playing surface.

A game-changing event happens with Keyworth's Daniel Chadwick limping off after a heavy challenge. He's replaced by Adam Wright whose impact is immediate, nodding home a far post cross after a brilliant passage of play. Keyworth see out the remaining half. It's worth noting that Archie Wood has been a handful for the visiting defence.

We go for a warm in the wonderful, cosy, green painted wooden pavilion which formed part of the set for the award-winning ITV sitcom 'Outside Edge.' 'Butters' shouts the teas up as I promise to pledge a donation to the club. The wind has picked up as we return pitchside for the second half.

Sticky's favourite ever striker, Tom Siswick, is playing up top for Keyworth. He oozes class. I promise Butters that he will deliver. After a couple of sighters he duly obliges. 'Tom Siswick Scores Goals' is what we called him when I was his manager.

Minutes later an extraordinary incident takes place. Wollo's best player, Tommy Street, clocks the 6' 5" Keyworth 'keeper off his line. Wind against, he hits a shot goalwards from all of 60 yards. It hangs in the air for an age before dropping over a back-pedalling 'keeper. It's a jaw-dropping moment of class and a beauty, deserving of a round of applause.

Tom Siswick does what he does best, putting the game to bed in the latter stages, lobbing the 'keeper when through on goal. It's been another fantastic afternoon out. £4.40 on the bus and £3 entry (which I will pay Bill).

I can't 'arf pick 'em

Attendance: 29

Man of the Match: Referee Kevin Guise was superb. Talking to players and not waving yellows

Woman of the Match: Morning Star Landlady for throwing those logs onto the fire.