Carlton Town 0-2 Shildon AFC

 

I ring the 'next stop' bell on the 3A Nottingham to Mansfield, Trent Barton bus. I hop off in Kirkby in Ashfield - 'Tory Ashfield' - an area decimated by pit closures. I fish my phone from out of my coat pocket. There's one incoming message from 'Sticky jnr.' It's really sad news. 'King Arthur' has passed.

As a kid, I grew up in the village of Keyworth, in south Notts. We had a village green where football was played in winter and cricket in the summer. At the time there was no youth set up. In the mid 70s, with the village growing due to Frank Goulding, Wimpey and Constain estates being built quicker than you could shake a stick at, a new complex was opened on the outskirts of the village. Platt Lane sits adjacent to the British Geological Survey; Keyworth's largest employer.

A local builder, and friend of my Dad, Arthur Oldham got hold of the football club by the scruff of its neck and laid the foundations. He was a visionary and a shrewd cookie. Keyworth United were, back then, revered and feared. 'King Art' built one of the greatest sides in the Club's history. It was at a time when all the Miners' Welfares had teams as well as works' teams like Boots, Worthington and Simpson and John Player. It would hold its own in Step 5 level, had it been now, Arthur's recruitment was canny too. He sold on David 'Biddy' Riley to Nottingham Forest and Mickey Waitt to Notts County. Brian Clough even brought a Forest XI to play Keyworth on a balmy summer afternoon in 1988.

Arthur later went on to have further success at Arnold Town and Quorn FC. He was a football man who loved nothing more than chewing over a game, late into Saturday evening. He always dressed immaculately; sporting a smart jacket and a turtleneck jumper. Rest in peace Arthur. They don't make 'em like you any more, mate. 

I continue my walk in north Notts. I chance upon three statues in the precinct, outside the library. Test cricketers Harold Larwood and Bill Voce were born in nearby Nuncargate and Annesley Woodhouse. Both were involved in the Ashes 'Bodyline' series in the 1930s against Don Bradman's Aussies. The statues are amazing. Larwood is bowling at Bradman, whilst Voce fields at silly mid-off.

I quench my thirst at a Pub People Company watering hole called the Duke of Sussex, in Sutton in Ashfield. There are three Blue Monkey beers on offer. I plump for a BG Sips and take a seat in the corner as U2's 'Beautiful Day' is piped out of the public bar speakers.

I stroll into Sutton town centre; it's as dead as a dodo. Pubs are boarded up and the high street is littered with 'To Let' signs. The electorate have sold out to BREXIT. 20,000 voted 'Remain' with over 46,000 wanting to 'Leave.' I don't see any 'Levelling Up' money being made available right now, to spruce up the town centre, although the Sherwood Observatory and a reservoir have recently been awarded £3 million. Is that what you voted for?

Wednesday evening is spent at The City Ground. Manchester United are in our manor for the first time in three decades. I decide to make the 3 mile walk to the ground. I'm sat in my seat, in the Lower Brian Clough Stand, just shy of an hour before kick off - even the keepers haven't come out to warm up yet. The pre-match music is boring and stale. Carlton Town's 'DJ Dan' would soon liven the place up.

'United' warm-up close to where I'm sat. All the young kids are mesmerised by the presence of a bang in-form Marcus Rashford. The No.10 is fully focussed on the drills. He starts the game like a train; a high speed one too. Like a greyhound out of the traps he speeds past a stationary Freuler and a pulled out of position Worrall, before unleashing a left-footed shot into the net.

United canter to a 3-0 victory. Their fans are magnificent. They are relentless in their chanting and have endless amusing ditties. They take the rise out of the silent NFFC fans who leave in their droves from 80 minutes onwards. They finish their 'set' with "Fred ... Fred, will tear you apart again" a sample from Manc band Joy Division's 1980 single 'Love Will Tear Us Apart.' 

I've proper 'cocked up on the catering front', as Reggie Perrin once said. Thursday night's chicken and mushroom gnocchi is ruined because some idiot (obvs me) has forgotten to add sour cream to the dish. All you can taste is the chicken stock.

Unfortunately, for me, a double bill of Coronation Street is on the TV set. A ginger-haired youth is bleating to his missus about having no money. "Is that Chesney?", I enquire. The reply is affirmative. "He might save a few bob towards his four bairns if he sent 'Schmeichel' (his Great Dane) to the Dogs' Trust." "Schmeichel died in 2011 Babe", says Ms Moon. I get my coat and head out towards the doghouse.

It's the 'Friday Club' monthly 'Jolly Boys' outing to Leicester. The plan was to have breakfast at The Avenues on Sneinton Market. It's snided out with workmen, who are building new apartments, which dwarf the market. Oh well, YOLK it is again.

We catch the 10.50 train to Leicester. It's a full squadron and a strong line up that includes: Tony Mac, 'Limon', Coops, Ackers and 'Chopper.' Leicester is a place full of hidden gems that are often unearthed when hunting down real ale pubs. The Blue Boar, The Salmon and King's Arms are a must visit. There's a statue of Thomas Cook in the city centre and lots of King Richard III related stuff. 'The Jumper Knitters' need something to cheer them up as Brendan Rodgers plans his exit, with the Foxes in freefall.

There's no sore head or feeling rough around the edges on Saturday morning. I'm up, at 'em and ready for matchday. I've been given a reprieve and allowed back in the kitchen. I'm knocking up another award-winning lamb curry. Firmly sticking to the guidelines of the BBC Good Food recipe. 

I have a trot down to Carlton Tesco, which is an ordeal in itself. The staff seem rather chipper. Well they would be, as its self service checkouts ONLY. Suits me down to the ground. I'm quicker at scanning than those lads and lasses on the tills, any day of the week. A hat tip to the Radio Tesco DJ for playing 'Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy' by Queen. Not heard that in donkey's years.

I'm down Stoke Lane, home of Carlton Town, at just gone 2 pm. 'DJ Dan' has already started his set. It's an eclectic mix of indie through to soul. I thumb my through the 48 page stunning programme as I tap my feet to The Police and 'De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.'

 

Today is a massive relegation six-pointer versus Shildon AFC, who make the long 266 mile-round trip from County Durham. Alan Murphy dishes out the team sheets. A few changes have been made of late following one win in the last seven League outings.

There is one late addition to my clobber, with Ms Moon bringing down my snood, as it's always a tad chilly stood close to the water. We could have had a little jig together, minutes earlier, to warm ourselves up, when Dan played 'Le Freak' by Chic. We stand close to the end that the Millers are attacking. hoping and praying that it's them that can break the deadlock first. It's a scrappy, edgy opening half with not much to report on either team.

There is, however, an action-packed 15 minutes in the clubhouse during the break. A 7 year old rescue dog called Po, a Shar Bei breed, is enjoying a bit of fuss from most folk and is lapping up the attention. Unfortunately, a small white dog, sat close by, name unknown (enquiries continue) is affronted and quite cross about this. She has a go at Po, who isn't shy in the tackle. I break 'em up and tell them both to behave before waving two yellow cards.

Gary 'Boatsy' Clarke and Jitz have rocked up. Gary has a book launch down at the club on Sunday 19th February. I promise I'll be there 'live and exclusive' for the release of his new book with co-author Paul Lowe called 'Angels With Dirty Faces.' 2 pm kick off, if you fancy it. Be a few celebs there too.

The opening goal is crucial and is always going to be scruffy or have an element of luck about it. Poor Dan Brown, often the Millers' best player, turns a cross into his own net. It's game over, eight minutes later, when a shot from the right hand side evades everyone before nestling into the bottom corner of the net.'DJ Dan' consoles himself by downing another 'Newkie Brown.' 

There have been some bright moments, mostly from Tyler Blake and John White, but right now, on a losing streak, the Millers are staring down the barrel of the gun, with relegation a possibility, unless there is a reversal of fortune.

Attendance: 124

Man of the Match: John White

Rest in Peace Arthur Oldham. A Keyworth Legend xx

Derby County 2-1 Bolton Wanderers

It's Tuesday morning. I'm sitting in my armchair ploughing my way through a huge bowl of porridge, whilst plotting my movements for the week ahead. There's a huge commotion coming from Ms Moon's office upstairs. I hear a "oh God" and a "oh nooo" followed by a huge shriek. I lift the bowl of porridge from off my lap and place it on a small table. I dash up the stairs to find the good lady in a flood of tears. What could have happened? "Has Cain Dingle met a grisly ending on 'C' Wing at HMP Armley?" (near to the Emmerdale Farm studios in Leeds). "No babe, it's much worse than that, Ken Bruce is leaving Radio 2 and taking his PopMaster music quiz game with him.

"Bloody hell, I thought it was something more important like life and death or an announcement of Series 3 of 'Early Doors.' Let's face it, the Ken Bruce Show is pretty pants apart from the quiz. It looks like the BBC haven't renewed the grumpy Scotsman's huge contract (he'll be on £500k plus) which expires in March. We can still fall out over PopMaster as the princess will be tuning in to his new home at Greatest Hits Radio, where one of Sticky's old favourites, Simon Mayo, spins some 7s.

I open my diary, and flick through the pages to this week. It's an action packed schedule. Monday evening was spent in the hipster area of Hockley, in Nottingham city centre. Teatime is whiled away at Sexy Mamma Love Spaghetti, on Heathcote St. It describes itself as serving authentic Italian food and is walk-ins only. I grab the last available table and plump for Bolognese in penne pasta and Ragu - I could have rustled up something better myself, and a damn sight cheaper too, than the £14 that was chalked up on the blackboard.

Pasta tea isn't the real reason I'm in town this evening. The star attraction is the film 'Till', which is produced by Whoopi Goldberg. It's a biographical drama about the activist Mamie Till-Bradley, who pursues justice for the lynching and murder of her son, Emmet, down in Mississippi in 1955. It's a powerful and emotional film. I toss and turn in bed on my return home, thinking about that poor kid and his family.

It's 9.44 a.m. on Wednesday morning. I'm on an EMR train that runs from Norwich to Liverpool. The first stop off is Sheffield. There's a short wait for a Northern train that's heading up to Leeds. I alight the train at Wombwell station. It's an old coal-mining town close to Barnsley. Wombwell Sports Association's ground catches my eye, as does the roped off, frost covered cricket wicket, and the brightly coloured football dugouts. 

Three old guys are sitting in the groundsman's shed. I wander over and engage with one of them who later tells me he's from Portsmouth, but has settled in the area. He escorts me over to the football changing rooms and unlocks the front door. The purpose of my visit is to see the final resting place of 'Busby Babe' Mark Jones, who lost his life in the 'Munich Air Disaster' in 1958. Jones was only 24 years old and had already racked up over 100 appearances at centre-half for Manchester United. A memorial plaque is mounted on the wall. I walk up to the cemetery to pay my respects. A legendary Yorkshire and England Test cricketer, Roy Kilner, is also buried in the churchyard. It is said that over 100,000 attended his funeral in 1928

I call by the 'Butty Box' on the way back to the station. A couple of ladies, sat outside, are puffing on king-sized cigarettes. I enquire about a sandwich. "Just let me wash my hands love", says one of them. I'm invited back to the hut to have a brew with the lads. Two of them used to work at nearby Houghton Main Colliery, until it was closed by Margaret Thatcher in 1991. We chew the cud for over half an hour. They make my day with their friendly welcome. Their anecdotes of days gone by make me feel warm and fuzzy. One of the guys used to accompany Mark Jones's son, Gary, to Old Trafford every fortnight, until his passing three years ago.

I head back to Sheffield and have a bat around the place, clocking up almost 7 miles. I tick off CAMRA pub entries called The Wellington, The Harlequin and a Heritage Grade II listed watering hole called The Bath Hotel.  The latter is located close to some Turkish baths. I loved the curved leather seated bench in the cosy snug.

I hook up with my brother, who has travelled down from York. The lucky bugger has retired now. We down a quick real ale at the glorious Sheffield Tap before heading back to Nottingham on the 17.05. I take him on a whistle stop tour of some of Nottingham's finest hostelries. BeerHeadZ, Barley Twist, Keans Head and the Fox and Grapes all impress the judges. Add to that, supper taken at the award-winning Bohns Best Burgers, another trendy eatery.

He treats me to breakfast the following day at crowd favourite, YOLK. We walk it off with a 12 mile round hike to Beeston, and back, via the Trent and the canal; only stopping for a quick liquid refreshment at The Victoria Hotel, adjacent to the station. I'm propper fagged out on my return home as Ms Moon finishes her working shift. 

'Friday Club' legend Tony Mac is restored to the starting line-up. Ms Moon makes room after admitting to being transfixed to Series 9 of 'Below Deck' on All 4, which she's binge-watching this evening. Mac and I end up at a craft bar called Kraftwerks, it's in the hipster area of Sherwood. We work our way through the beer scoreboard before raiding the craft can fridge. Earlier. we'd visited The Winchester; Mac was less than impressed. I wasn't too chuffed either, Dave from 'Minder' wasn't behind the bar. We see the evening off back in town at Bunkers Hill, a firm favourite of Nottingham Panthers ice hockey fans. I thank Mac for tipping me the wink on a bundle package of a Sleaford Mods gig at Rock City, which includes their latest album release UK GRIM.

Decisions. Decisions. Decisions. I've awoken to a deep frost. The 3G gang, with their soulless cages, are making needless noise on social media. The beautiful game was made to be played on grass. I'm gutted when I hear that Grantham v Carlton has fallen by the wayside. I fold up my 'Still Hate Thatcher' T-Shirt and return it to the cupboard. Bloody hell, Lincoln City has now bitten the dust. Only one alternative remains, and it isn't going to go down too well with some of my mates.

I step onto the escalator that drops me off at the second floor of the Victoria Centre. The 12.45 p.m. Red Arrow Trent Barton bus leaves the station ten minutes late. The driver turns a blind eye to payment. There's an inconvenient diversion that takes an age to circumnavigate. We're still in Derby for 1,30 p.m.

Nobody at the station is aware of a bus to Pride Park on matchday. The sky is blue, but the chill is bracing. I elect to walk on icy pavements littered with black ice. My footwear selection is an error. I pitch up at the ground by 2 p.m. I take a few photos and collect my tickets from a friendly member of staff. Derby are one of the few clubs that do 'print only' tickets. There's no download to your phone.

I've had chuff all to eat. A hot dog from one of the vendors will suffice. I'm seated up in the Gods of the West Stand on Row V. The players are warming up to the 1995 hit 'I Wish' by Chicago rapper Skee-Lo. Paul Warne's Rams are in a rich vein of form, and have lost only one in the last 13 League outings. Bolton are on a good run themselves.

It's my first visit here since an FA Cup 4th round tie back in 2008, when Paul Jewell's Rams were battered 4-1 by Alan Irvine's Preston North End. It was the same season that Derby broke a Premier League record for the least number of points. They only won one game.

Due to a paper thin squad and the unavailability of highly-rated Mansfield-born defender Eiran Cashin, Warne has been forced to wheel out 37 year old Curtis Davies. He's beaten for pace in the opening minutes. Like most of Bolton's afternoon, the cross comes to nothing.

The bloke next to me is a pain in the arse. He harangues an excellent referee from minute one. Derby pour forward, a player is fouled in the middle of the park, before releasing the ball out to the wing. The cross is pinpoint and swept home superbly by Mendez-Laing. "brilliant refereeing" I say to our man. 

Bolton are absolutely dire. They flatter to deceive with their crisp passing, as there is no end product. It's a matter of time before the Rams double their advantage. Again it's a well worked goal, this time from Conor Hourihane. 

I engage with the guy sat the other side of me, despite him constantly refreshing his phone to view his live betting slip. He's happy that NFFC are losing in Bournemouth. I don't say goodbye when he leaves on 85 minutes. Bolton score an undeserved consolation goal on 93 minutes. It won't cheer up their huge following, who have been relentless with their singing and chanting.

I've been on a recce. 'The Lincoln' are here on Valentine's evening. Negotiations are taking place. 

Do you want ketchup on your hot dog Ms Moon?

Attendance: 30,004

Man of the Match: Nathaniel Mendez-Laing

Nottingham Forest 2-0 Leicester City

It's a gloomy, cloud-covered Tuesday morning, and it's bucketing it down with rain. I dash up a snicket that leads me to the bottom of Carlton Hill. The award-winning Oceans chippy is in my eyeline as I wait for the 10.15 a.m. bus into Nottingham city centre.

This will make you laugh. I have an interview with those jokers at the Department for Work and Pensions. I alight the bus at a 'bomb site' (it's called Upper Parliament Street). It is an eyesore and a blot on the Nottingham landscape. It has a sea of takeaways, scruffy pubs and 'To Let' signs. 

I dive into Victoria Shopping Centre. Folk used to travel far and wide to visit the 'Queen of Midlands' back in the day. Our city is on its arse and in desperate need of some tender, loving care. The first purchase of the day is a small Collins pocket diary from WHSmith. It'll be full of football fixtures, gigs, drinking days out, holidays and cricket matches, by close of play this evening.

A dripping wet Sticky Palms pushes open the job centre front door for the first time in 42 years of employment. I haven't worked for over 7 months (my choice). I'm due to be grilled about the 'New Job Seekers Allowance' application I've made.' I filled out all the forms and presumed it's a formality, despite declaring a small pension that I triggered 3 years ago.

I'm met by a stoney-faced receptionist who tells me I'm too early, and that I'm to wait outside in the pouring rain. My complaints fall on deaf ears. I'm allowed back in and ushered upstairs ten minutes later. Four members of staff are milling around and tossing it off. There's no meet and greet like Jet 2 Holidays. 

My name is shouted out by a bumbling, nervous wreck. A glass panel is wedged in between us. I'm informed, within the first 90 seconds of the interview, that I'm ineligible for the £75 per week allowance, due to my pension being too high. I blow a gasket and ask why I couldn't have been informed of this during the application process. The blithering idiot can only apologise.

I hastily exit this miserable building, passing a security guard on the stairs who is built like a brick outhouse. "Everything ok Bruv?", he enquires. "No it's f***ing not, mate.", I reply. I could have done with that JSA for much-needed beer money. I thought this shit show of a government were looking to help the over 50s back into the workplace. Up yours Sunak; I'm having another summer off .. lol.

There had been a bad start to the week the previous day. I was summoned up to Ms Moon's office at 10.28 a.m. for our daily fix of PopMaster on the Ken Bruce Show. I usually end up winning as I'm a few years older than the good lady, which gives me a head start in the 1970s. Rare defeats aren't taken too well by yours truly. I'm trounced 2-0. My list of excuses include that the questions are all about Westlife, Boyzone, Take That, Robbie Williams and Girls Aloud - the sort of stuff that gives one earache. I slam the office door firmly shut and threaten to never play again.

I've calmed down by the time I part with £4 at the Broadway Cinema where i watch the new Sam Mendes movie, Empire of Light. It stars the brilliant actor Olivia Colman and is set in the Kent seaside resort of Margate, which looks like the land that time forgot. I make a note to myself to visit the town during warmer times. 

Tuesday evening is spent at Notts County's Meadow Lane. Rumours are rife that their likeable and astute head coach Luke Williams is the bookies' favourite for the vacant Pompey job, following the sacking of Lincoln City legend Danny Cowley. Further fuel is added to the fire that Swansea have put a bid in for the 'Non League Haaland', Macaulay Langstaff. Surely he'd get loaned back?

Langstaff fluffs his lines early on, missing a one on one with the Boreham Wood 'keeper. The visitors grow into the game. An off-colour County fall behind on 44 minutes with Broadbent (not Jim) firing home a rebound.

The pressure is beginning to tell on the League leaders. Bostock looks to be a luxury player at this level, his movement is hampered and his physical presence is not felt on or off the ball. Add to that the risk taking of centre half Aden Baldwin, and his reluctance to use his left foot when playing out of trouble. Notts only come away with a point. Bostock, to his credit, floats in a beautiful ball which is nodded home by the Geordie, Cedwyn Scott.

Getting hold of tickets for NFFC games is proving a tad tricky this year. A mixture of having good mates, and an excellent buying history from last season, has proved fruitful. I bagged one of the last available tickets in Block 'E' of the Peter Taylor Stand. 

As usual I'm parked up in my seat in time for the warm-ups.Willy Boly will have been a tasty 33/1 first goalscorer on the betting slip this evening. He duly obliges, against his former club, to put the Tricky Trees 1-0 up. From then on Forest struggle, as Wolves dominant proceedings. They smell blood, scoring an equaliser through Raul Jimenez, but can't put the game to bed following some resolute defending, with Worrall, Aurier and Lodi all outstanding.

The game goes to penalties. Skipper Joe Worrall, on his 200th appearance, steps up to the plate and smashes home his spot kick. Not much has gone Morgan Gibbs-White's way this evening, against his boyhood club. If anything, he's tried too hard. He takes responsibility, walking to the end where a 3,000 travelling pack of Wolves fans are baying for his blood. He nonchalantly scores from the spot, where he missed for Sheffield Utd last May, before putting his fingers in his ears -"I CAN'T HEAR YOU" Henderson saves the final penalty to send The City Ground wild.

I spend Friday listening to music and pretending to look for jobs when Ms Moon peers over my shoulder. I buy a few tickets for gigs at The Bodega for Ist Ist and Pale Blue Eyes. There's breaking news coming in at teatime. Tony Mac has been left out of the Friday Club squad, with Ms Moon coming in from the wilderness.

First port of call is the wonderful Lillie Langtry's pub on South Sherwood St. I'm a bit shocked to be charged over £10 for an average pint of bitter (Black Sheep Holy Grail) and a pint of Strongbow. A few pints later we are walking past the job centre, I give the JSA building the middle finger. Ms Moon tells me to grow up.

I've booked a table for two at the highly-rated Italian restaurant Casa. It's a friendly welcome. Ms Moon has a bottle of bubbles whilst I tuck into some Malbec. A lovely evening is spent eating lobster pasta and fish stew. We finish the night off at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton. As we wait for a late bus I mention to Ms Moon that the landlord of the pub was murdered at this very spot in 1963. The case is still open and remains unsolved. It seems to unsettle the princess a wee bit until the bus turns up.

I've been in a quandary about where to go on Saturday. I've ruled out Stocksbridge Steels v Carlton Town as it's unlikely to survive the inclement weather. Hucknall Town v West Bridgford is on the radar, but I'm doing my damndest to secure a ticket for the East Midlands derby. Good news arrives at 5pm on Friday. I'm tipped the wink about a spare, by a great friend. A phone call later, the ticket is confirmed and a rendezvous is set up. Thanks Daz.

One good thing that is happening, albeit at a snail's pace, is the Island Quarter in the eastern part of the city. I wander over the Nottingham Canal, peg it through a patioed garden with the biggest TV screen in the world. and pull open the back door of Binks Yard, a new addition to the eating and drinking scene. There's disappointment at the bar. The sparkler has gone on the London Pride cask ale and they only have cans of Gamma Ray craft ale. It's a nice enough place, but it will need to up its game on the drinks front if it's to compete with the Trent Navigation and The Embankment.

I say hello to 'Toppo', Kokins, Roger Wilson, Blackie and Gary Clarke, before settling in on a table with Forest superfan Jitz Jani, Nick Dobney and son James. All of the boys are confident of victory today, believing the Foxes are in decline. 

Jitz says something to me that sticks in my mind for the rest of the day. "I live for Saturdays; it's my day." That quote is quite poignant when you actually think about how many Saturday 3 pm kick offs have been taken away from supporters. But what a beautiful line that is.

  

I take my seat in the Upper Bridgford, above the travelling support. The atmosphere is electric as the music ramps up. The first half is tense, disjointed and littered with fouls. Harvey Barnes misses a sitter. There's a no show from Ryan Yates in the second half, he's replaced by the experienced Jack Colback. 

Barnes misses another gilt-edged chance. The Foxes are made to pay. Johnson narrowly avoids the offside trap to put the Trickies in the lead. He puts the final nail in the coffin on 85 minutes with a smart finish after an outrageous ball, from the outside of the boot, from Morgan Gibbs-White, who has covered every blade of grass - 10 km, only bettered by Remo Freuler at 11km.

I'm mobbed by the bloke next to me at the final whistle. I don't hang around for the fist pumps or the fireworks from Eva's Tavern. I walk back into Sneinton with philosophical Leicester fans who understand their plight rather than get angry about it.

There's time for a couple of pints in the Partizan Tavern before I catch the bus home and rustle up another award-winning tea for Ms Moon, who has her feet up watching crap TV quiz shows. She can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 29,301

Men of the Match Jitz Jani and Serge Aurier (Bosman signing of the season)

Southampton 0-1 Nottingham Forest

It's Wednesday 4th Jan. I've just polished off a full English buffet breakfast in the company of 'friends to the stars' and anti-BREXIT campaigner Jitz Jani, at Shepherds Stone, on Stragglethorpe Road, near to Cotgrave, an old pit village. It's close to where, in 1990, Stuart 'Psycho' Pearce came within an inch of losing his life, when his car was wiped out by a seven tonne dustbin lorry.

A blue van tips up in the car park at 11.30 a.m. on the dot. It's being driven by Nick Dobney, who is also the Vice-Chair at Bottesford FC, a ground I need to tick off in the very near future. Nick's son, James, is sitting in the rear of the car with his mate, Cameron.

Tricky Trees fans are making the long 350 mile-round trip to Southampton's Saint Mary's Stadium, for what already looks like a vital six-pointer. I previously visited their old ground, the glorious The Dell, to see Lincoln City in a League Cup second leg tie back in 1988. I had to pick a mate up en route in Hastings and then got caught up in traffic in Brighton, where there was a Tory Party Conference. It was 1-1 by the time we arrived at the ground. There's little chance of missing the kick off today. By 2.30 p.m. we're parked up, a 20 minute walk away from the ground. 

The young lads have been fed and watered, after a Maccy D's pit stop, just off the A34. I visited Southampton earlier in the year, during my summer sabbatical. It was the day after the AFC Bournemouth v NFFC match, and a day before Day One of a County Championship match between Hampshire and Gloucestershire at The Ageas Bowl, which has the worst transport links in modern day history. I sniffed out a cracking pub that day, on the Quayside, called Dancing Man Brewery.

We swing by the Red Lion on the High Street. It's a CAMRA heritage pub and a Grade II listed building. We have a swift pint before heading down to Dancing Man, where one or two Forest fans are already congregated. I'm like a kid in a sweet shop. I plump for a pint of Clawhammer, which slips down far too easily. 

Teatime is spent at Stein Garten, a cosy, colourful German beer hall with Bavarian eats. We sink a few more beers and tuck into Schnitzel and Bratwurst. We're joined by a few NFFC die-hards: Martin Peach, Craig Farina and 'Blackie' who has caught the last train out of London before Mick Lynch's lads down tools again. 

Just shy of 3,000 away fans are housed behind the goal. It's an astonishing amount, particularly with it being just after Christmas, during a recession and on a school night. The atmosphere reaches fever pitch. The brass band, parading around the ground belting out 'When the Saints Come Marching In,' is drowned out by the 'Forest Massive', as is Faithless on the p.a. system.

Steve Cooper looks to have picked his strongest team. Johnson, Gibbs-White and their tireless, hard-working Nigerian forward, Taio Awoniyi, are lightning quick on the break. Johnson has already seen a shot cannon off the crossbar, when on 27 minutes they take a deserved lead. Lyanco sloppily gifts the ball to Johnson who hares up the pitch. The cross is inch perfect, falling to the onrushing Awoniyi, who blasts home from close range. "It's been coming," says the bloke behind me.

Southampton offer nothing apart from huff and puff, a prerequisite and the DNA of a Nathan Jones team. The highlight at half-time is 'On a Ragga Tip' by SL2, a breakbeat and hardcore group from back in the early 90s. A hat tip to the DJ, as this foot-tapper keeps my blood circulating. It's not a patch on the Carlton Town DJ set, as you'll see later.

The Saints confidence is shot to smithereens, as you would expect of a team who have taken a solitary point from a possible 18 available. Jones is animated on the touchline; it's like a crazy dance as his arms swing and swirl above his head in slow motion.

Cooper makes four changes, expecting it to be backs-to-the wall. They see the game out with some stoic defending. The fans are magnificent; their singing and chanting are relentless and noisy.. 'Come on you Reds' and 'Forest are Back' make the spine tingle, and help their team over the finishing line. Cooper is ecstatic. He beats his heart after the customary winning fist pumps.

Jitz bumps into hundreds of people he knows after the game. They all either embrace him or shake hands. I feel like Eammon Andrews with his 'This is Your Life' red book (one for the kids there). The closure of the A34 and M1 can't dampen our spirits or enthusiasm. "What a win" is repeated endlessly on the three and a half hour journey home. Thanks for driving Nick!

I've had a quiet Christmas. The run up was hectic. I've barely ventured out apart from watching the Mighty Millers (Carlton Town). I wandered down to Stoke Lane on Boxing Day afternoon. Big spending Worksop Town and their large following were in town. 

Former Lincoln City legend Terry Hawkridge played for the visitors. He famously scored two goals, at the fag end of the 2017 season, that put Danny Cowley's Lincoln City back into the Football League. He's so light on his feet that he could dance on ice in his wellies. He glided through the Carlton midfield, picking passes that no other player could see. 

Carlton started brightly, but class and cash won the day. Worksop forward James Hanson played in the League Cup final for Bradford City v Swansea City back in 2013. You'd want some lolly if you were giving up your Boxing Day at 35 years of age, wouldn't you?

I must give Coventry born and bred house DJ Alan Murphy (Head of the Supporters Club) a shout out for his clubhouse Terry Hall tribute DJ set, following the sad passing of The Specials and Fun Boy Three lead singer. 'Concrete Jungle' and 'Friday Night, Saturday Morning' were both included, and are favourites of mine.

Ms Moon makes her Millers away debut at Long Eaton on Bank Holiday Monday. Most of the lads are on the 12:02 to Beeston which conveniently drops them outside The Victoria at the back of the train station. I'm being a good lad. I'd only end up shouting at the ref if I had a few shandies. A wise move, as it turned out.

Some of the lads look worse for wear on arrival. I introduce Ms Moon to Nigel, Alan and DJ Dan. The ref kills the game and spoils it for the crowd on ten minutes. Nat Watson and ex Cammell Laird legend Jamie McGuire are both waved a Red card by the official Mr Fryer, when two two yellows would have sufficed. The die has been cast and the mood is now ugly and angry. The official dishes out more cards than Postman Pat.

The chances rack up and stack up for Carlton. But when you are down on your luck nothing goes your way. The game's best player, and Millers talisman, Niall Davie, is on the receiving end of a crude, wild and brutal tackle. A broken fibula and tibia prematurely ends another season for the luckless winger. To add insult to injury, Long Eaton take the lead on 44 minutes, through ex-Miller Jamie Walker.

The second half is scrappy and disjointed. The woodwork looks to have saved the home side until a lunge on Alex Howes, in the 96th minute, sees an under pressure ref point to the spot. 'The Carlton 62' are en masse behind the goal. My heart sinks when I see it's the 'keeper Mikey Emery that is placing the ball on the spot. He sends the Long Eaton shot stopper the wrong way, placing his spot kick into the opposite corner. 'The Carlton 62' are hugging, kissing and rejoicing with one another. It's a magic moment that feels like a win. I sit in my armchair smiling like a Cheshire cat for the rest of the evening.

A hastily arranged Friday Club outing takes place with the destination being Derby. Breakfast is taken with Tony Mac at the impressive GB Cafe on Sneinton Market. It's £6 return on the Trent Barton Red Arrow. Derby has a plethora of real ale pubs. We ticked off a dozen or so on our last visit. The best one today is Five Lamps, with its large range of cask ales. We return to Nottingham on the 8.15 p.m. bus. Some strong 8% DIPA craft ales are seen off at crowd favourite bars Junkyard and Jam Cafe. I'm tucked up in bed before midnight snoring like a good 'un.

Ms Moon misses out on the team coach (walk) to Stoke Lane for Carlton v Grimsby Borough on Saturday afternoon. Her granddaughter Bonnie is paying her a visit later. I call in to one of the all-time great Carlton chippies, Oceans, for a 'fish special.' I wander down Burton Road, past the Old Volunteer, hoovering up my lunch from a polysteyrene tray.

DJ Dan's matchday set is booming around the ground as I show my season ticket at the turnstile and bag what should be a Northern Premier League award-winning programme for £2. Well done to Joe Standen for a masterpiece of a publication and to all those volunteers who contributed columns too. The pre-match music is different gravy - sorry Oceans chippy.

Everyone seems chipper in the clubhouse after the last gasp equaliser on Monday. There were some sore heads and casualties after the all day sesh across at the 'Cattle Grid' (Derbyshire border). DJ Dan has been spinning his 7s. The playlist includes The Yard Act, Working Men's Club and The Cure.

The game isn't pretty on the eye; it's mainly down to a heavy pitch. Credit to the club for getting the game on. It's got 0-0 written all over it. In the second half Grimsby take the lead with the ball falling kindly to Brody Robertson to slot home. They put the game to bed after a flowing move down the right leads to a cross being swept home by the impressive 18 year old on loan Grimsby Town striker, Edwin Essel.

It's been a bitter sweet seven days of football for the Millers, who now face a relegation scrap to survive staying up at Step 4 Level.

Rest in Peace Malcolm Storer. A gentleman and all-round lovely bloke. I'll miss our chats.

Legendary Nottinghamshire groundhopper and charity fundraiser. Will be sorely missed by us all.