I'm stomping my way down to the worst store on this planet. Carlton Tesco is a five minute walk away from my crib. It's a necessary evil that is so bloody convenient during an hour of need e.g. when you've run out of toilet roll or in Ms Moon's case, fags and bubbles. The shelves are often laid bare, the staff are unhelpful and rude and it suffers from the worst mismanagement since those pair of clowns, Reg Holdsworth and Curly Watts, ran Freshco's into the ground in Corrie. Alf Roberts could run it standing on his head.
I've already popped a couple of extra Ramipril blood pressure pills to prevent a nailed-on cardiac arrest. The red mist usually appears when there are no shopping baskets available at store entry, or when I see the three ladies on customer services gossiping instead of serving a long queue of folk who are bringing back torn clothes, crushed cans of beer or out of date custard powder.
The good folk of Carlton have recently been 'treated' to a 'store revamp.' This has been ongoing for four months now. I use the word revamp loosely. They've replaced tills, where banter was available, and put in a load of new self-service tills to remove any staff interaction with the customers - probably a good thing. The new fridges are the star of the show. They mostly remain empty. I pass a manager on the aisle and remark that 'Rome wasn't built in a day', and that luckily Tesco weren't involved on that particular job - it falls on deaf ears; a Tesco tumbleweed moment.
Ms Moon has been away in Tenerife all week. So if you're tuning into this blog looking for the latest happenings on Emmerdale Farm, Corrie, Four in a Bed or Place in the Sun (she probs watched this in the Reef) then I'm sorry to disappoint you. In fact Virgin Media phoned up during her absence from the U.K. to see if everything was okay, as the TV set hadn't been switched on for three days.
It's Tuesday evening. I'm off to a rearranged game up in Mansfield. It should have been played a few months back, but was postponed as the country mourned the loss of Queen Elizabeth II. I decide to catch the train, as the bus takes an age to get up there. £7 for a return journey is good value.
I've never caught the train on this route before. It goes through the old pit towns such as Bulwell, Hucknall, Newstead, Kirkby-in-Ashfield and Sutton-in-Ashfield. It's blowing a gale and spitting with rain as I alight the train at Mansfield station. I'm taken aback with a heavy police presence. Perhaps Carlton Tesco have tipped local plod the wink that I'm good at windmilling or having a fit of pique.
Bradford City are in town. I saw them dump Hull City out of the EFL Cup, earlier in the season, up at Valley Parade. I was very impressed with the City of Bradford. The architecture is stunning and they have a cool, underground beer scene up on North Parade. It's in Tony Mac's tour diary for next year. The football team play a beautiful game too, and are managed by Manchester United legend Mark 'Sparky' Hughes.
I retrace my steps to the ground and back to the station as the lighting is dim. My poorly eye isn't much cop in the dark. I've time to kill and don't feel the need for an alcoholic beverage or pub tick off. The lights are still on at Greggs, on a retail park, 90 minutes before kick off. I slump into a seat and peck away at a cheese salad cob, followed by a white chocolate cookie. Frankie Valli's 'December 1963' (Oh, What a Night) is on Radio Greggs.
I slog it up to Field Mill. The weather is turning. I sit high up in the Ian Greaves Stand. It's a filthy, cold evening. I give my Stone Island beanie hat its first outing of the season. It should scare off any Bradford fans, back at the station, after the game .. lol. I wish I'd stopped in and watched Emmerdale Farm. No I don't.
Nigel Clough's Mansfield are stuttering in the League a wee bit. They arrive here on the back of a good FA Cup away win, up at Barrow-in-Furness last Saturday. Some of the natives are restless. A supporter behind me remarks that last season the average age of a player on the books was 30 years old. I agree with him that it's a young man's game these days.
The Stags are nervous and tentative with their passing. Their decision-making is poor. Bradford smell blood. Elliott Hewitt, a former Pie, is out of position at left back, and being run ragged. The Bantams take the lead through a fine strike by Richie Smallwood. Andy Cook, an ex-Stag, rubs salt in the wound. He catches 37 year old ex Tricky Tree, James Perch, dilly-dallying on the ball. He robs him close to the corner flag and finishes emphatically, bagging his 14th goal of the season.
Mansfield are given a lifeline when Bradford's Alex Platt stupidly gets a second yellow card for needlessly booting the ball away. The visitors see out the final 40 minutes (including ten minutes added time following some brilliant time-wasting that Danny Cowley would be proud of) despite the Stags pulling a goal back.
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I bag a last minute £25 ticket for the Forest v Spurs sell-out Cup clash, thanks to Big Al (Williamson, not Hardy). Forest are magnificent all over the park. Brazilian full back, Renan Lodi, gives them the lead with a curling right footed shot after a surging run. A revitalised Jesse Lingard nods home the winner.
Spurs bring on £50 million misfiring misfit (zero goals in ten outings) Richarlison. This is a man who disrespected The City Ground fans and players, back in August, with a pathetic display of keepy-uppies. His shooting is skew-whiff. He throws himself to the ground at every opportunity. The crowd give him the bird. He looks like he's about to burst into tears. I'm laughing my head off.
It's Friday tea-time. I head out of the Trentside Medical Centre, in Netherfield, and jump onto a 44 city bus. I'm making hay whilst Ms Moon is in the Reef. It's the Friday Club Christmas Party Planning Meeting with Tony Mac. We meet up in The Barrel Drop, on Hurts Yard, adjacent to that swanky bar, Six Richmond House, which local celebrity, 'Big Sean Dyche' likes to drink in (and Jitz and Dringy).
Barrel Drop is full of fans of a South Yorkshire indie-rock outfit called The Reytons, who are playing at the 'World Famous Rock City' on Talbot Street, later this evening. We get gassing to a couple of lads who have come on the train from Lincoln. We compare notes on the best pubs to drink in Lincoln and Nottingham.
It's the usual trot around Hockley and Sneinton. Tony Mac looks worse for wear after too many 8% DIPA's, as we part company at the bus stop outside the Fox and Grapes. I have doner kebab in some pitta bread. No chips though, as I'm an athlete.
I've arranged to go to the West Midlands with 'Crazy Steve' and the best map-reader in the business, 'Faggsy', on Saturday. It's the usual drill; a bacon cob and Americano at Greggs and a 10.45 a.m. meet up outside Laguna curry house on Mount Street. There are a few Crystal Palace fans kicking around the city centre.
'Crazy Steve' doesn't piss about when he's piloting. He upsets a driver on Clifton Bridge. They exchange Rodney Trotter middle-finger insults for a full mile. The lads are on song after a well earned point for their beloved Magpies on Tuesday evening at Southend United's Roots Hall.
Steve introduced me to the CAMRA Heritage Pub Guide a few months ago. Today we're hoping to tick off three watering holes in the Dudley area. We visit the Britannia in Upper Gornal, Beacon Hotel in Sedgley and Ma Pardoes in Netherton. Two of them are Grade II listed buildings. The pint of Bathams at the Britannia is one to have on your deathbed. The crusty cheese and onion cobs or pork and stuffing are priced ridiculously at £1.90.
We park opposite the ground. It's £7 to pay-in. I buy a couple of raffle tickets. It's not often I visit a ground outside of Notts twice, but this is rare and a beauty. There's a stand behind the goal and another running along the far side of the ground. There's a steep bank at the furthest end of the ground. The other side is where the cricket club play. Someone is actually netting today. How mad is that?
Ollerton Town, from north Notts, play a step below Lye. They have travelled light today as two strikers have cried off this morning. I spot their media man, Liam Kent, in the crowd. The playing surface is heavy and the pitch is rutted. Lye throw the kitchen sink at the visitors who are courageous and brave in defence, throwing their bodies on the line. It's 0-0 at the break, but I fear the worst.
'Crazy' and 'Fags' have got the cob on. They've just heard that Morgan Gibbs-White has put NFFC 1-0 up. I love their contempt. That's how rivalries should be. Ollerton run out of steam in the second half. 4-0 is a tad harsh, but fair play to Lye, they've never stopped running.
Player of the Match: Tony Mac - put a shift in for the second week in a row.
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