CMS Football Club 2-4 Poets Young Boys FC

I climb out of my sick bed on Sunday March 13th. I've been holed up in my room for time. It feels longer than a week in prison. There's been no moaning and groaning about Ms Moon watching Emmerdale Farm, Four in a Bed and Tipping Point. I've been living on a diet of pea and ham soup, Five Live, Podcasts and Desert Island Discs - Arsene Wenger and Tony Adams are different class if you get the chance. 

I smother two slices of toast in butter and thinly spread some Marmite on them. I pour a strong pot of Yorkshire Tea for one, with a drop of milk, into my 'The The' tea mug. I open the French door window for the first time in nine days, and take in a huge breath of fresh air, as I wander down the passageway towards the bottom of Carlton Road.

There's a Notts Senior Cup semi-final taking place at Carlton Recreation Ground - some call it 'Dog Shit Alley' - personally I think it's a proper old school venue for real football. None of your soulless 3G cages. A bumpy playing surface and a stiff breeze that will test a footballers ability playing at any level. I stand with a good friend called Bobby Oldham, whose lad Jack is playing for Poets Young Boys. PYB are on top in the first 45 minutes, but only have a one goal lead to show for it.

They are wasteful from dangerous set pieces. Phoenix Top Spot gain confidence and score a brilliantly-worked equaliser. They fluff their lines, missing a sitter with the clock ticking towards closing time. PYB seize on the opportunity presented to them. Dan Neary fires home a spot kick to see them through to the final. Sadly, the game will be played at Basford, so I'll have to follow it on social media.

On Wednesday night I enjoy watching NFFC play their best 45 minutes of the season versus 'Dirty QPR.' It wasn't on the cards at half-time, with a 1-0 deficit to overcome. They pinned the opposition back in their own half and passed them off the park in a breathtaking second half display. A clueless, out of his depth, Mark Warburton, looked a broken man during the Press conference. 

We're out of bed in the early hours of Saturday morning. Our regular taxi driver rocks up at 4.15 a.m. We enjoy a full English breakfast at Castle Rock Tap Room and Kitchen in East Midlands Airport. Our Ryanair flight kisses the tarmac at Tenerife South Airport just shy of midday. Cases are quickly unpacked at Hollywood Mirage hotel, located at the top of the hill in the resort of Los Cristianos.

The walk back to the hotel would test Sir Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing - it makes Steep Hill in Lincoln look a doddle (Up the Imps). We both gasp for air after a nine-hour sesh on the seafront. I managed to fallout with a Bluenose fan, in Cafe Ole, who told me Lyle Taylor is the best thing since sliced bread - my loaf of Hovis is worth more and falls over less.

It's Monday evening. The sun is beating down on Zizzi's bar and Daft Punk's 'All Around the World' is on the bar dukey. We're hanging about with around 20x die-hard CD Tenerife supporters waiting for the ex-pats supporters coach to turn up. Ms Moon is in for a treat tonight folks. I'm taking her on a 140 km return trip up to the island's capital, Santa Cruz, oop north, for a Segunda B promotion-chasing clash versus Almeria. It's a club who splashed out a reputed £7 million for Nottingham Forest winger Arvin Appiah - once of AFC Vernon Colts, Basford, in Nottingham.

We stop off halfway up on the coast for a toilet break and more beers. These trips have been organised for years by a guy called Chris Todd. It's a bargain €30 for ticket and travel. We all congregate at a small bar close to the ground. Incredibly Ms Moon bumps into a young lad, who used to work for her, who is visiting family on the island and is also going to the game.

Regular readers will remember me going to a game at Estadio de Tenerife a few years ago with 'Mad Dog', after a five hour session in Santa Cruz. It ended 0-0. My first in over two years. I didn't speak to anybody for the rest of the holiday. I was that cross. I don't do 0-0s or 3G.

CD Tenerife couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo. The bar is rattled and the visiting 'keeper pulls off a worldy save. I'm getting rinsed on social media by folk back in Nottingham who are saying the game has 0-0 written all over it - it would be my third consecutive blankety blank in the Reef if it happens.

CDT don't come out in the second half. Almeria win a penalty that is converted. The bus journey home is in silence as folk realise that CDT have blown a chance of automatic promotion to La Liga, with the only route possible being the lottery of the play-offs.

The rest of the holiday is spent relaxing around the pool sun-bathing and reading. We even get the chance to spend a few hours drinking with blog legend Trumpy Bolton and his wife Jayne, down at Playas de las Americas. Obvs it was a struggle to entice him out of his all-inclusive hotel, but he seemed pretty chipper after the Foxes beat the Bees 2-1. He reminisced about the time he took Mrs Bolton to Leith, a few miles outside of Edinburgh. I asked him if he took the good lady to see Royal Yacht Britannia. "No, but I took her to the Royal Oak" he replied .. lol.

The plane journey home is so, so long. Ms Moon watches three episodes of Bridgerton on her phone - don't ask me, haven't got a Scooby. I flick through the latest issue of cult football magazine When Saturday Comes.

I'm aghast to find that I only have two cans of craft ales left in the fridge. I sup 'em both as Ms Moon chuckles away at Ant 'n Dec (somebody has to). Attention turns to twitter. There's a gentle reminder on Poets' timeline that they have a big semi-final tomorrow away at CMS Football, in Clifton.

I'm dog tired from that bloody flight back from the Reef. Ms Moon drops me off at Farnborough Academy at just after 10.35. A huge crowd has congregated. I can see with one eye that it's more than Basford United got in the Northern Premier League yesterday on Non-League Day. 

There's a huge cheer, and a mass celebration, early doors, when CMS open the scoring. Hello, hello, this could be tasty. Sam Harbottle restores parity. Poets go further ahead with two more goals, but CMS always look a threat. Zydane Richardson's long throws are a weapon. Arrears are reduced further following another missile that's launched.

We all drew for breath after a five-goal thriller of a first half. 'Our Joe' is here and a load of lads from Keyworth, who sadly don't play for the club anymore. Most of Keyworth's reinforcements have arrived from Big Glenn's Radford FC. Not that they are missing them. The Big Man (Glenn Russell) is smiling from ear to ear after dishing out a 7-0 drubbing to Borrowash Victoria yesterday, which leaves them in a Champions League spot. 

I was 'banned' from Radford earlier in the season by Big Glenn as they always lose when I rock up. They then went on a club record nine match winning run in my absence. I ask Glenn if I can watch them in the play-offs. "Only if we're away, Sticky" he replies.

Sam Harbottle completes a hat-trick early in the second half to spoil it for the neutral. It puts the game to bed. The match is played in a fantastic spirit, most of the lads know one another. There are two unnecessary second yellow cards waved by referee Dave Southern which reduces both sides to ten players. He certainly got himself into a pickle on those occasions. Aside to that, he has refereed it well and let the game flow.

CMS miss the energy and surging runs of midfield powerhouse Callum Barratt. His experience and presence would have made a difference. I enjoyed coaching him a few years back when he was returning from injury. Unfortunately he's on holiday today. Not on my watch, he wouldn't have been!

I manage a quick chat with Dave Harbottle, dad of hat-trick hero Sam. His other lad Riley is impressing folk in NFFC under 23s. I'd love to see him at my team Lincoln City on loan next season. Our manager Michael Appleton would be a brilliant mentor and coach-educator like Steve Cooper is.

There are a few rumours that the final could be at Meadow Lane. I can smell the mown grass already.

Attendance: 332 (I've only got one eye -'Carlton Stevie Wonder' headcount)

Man of the Match: Sam Harbottle