Carlton Town 0-2 Stockton Town

 

'Aussie Brian' drops us off close to our hotel in Bewdley town centre. I will never see the bloke again, in my lifetime, but he will always hold a special place in my heart, as he has saved me from the mother of all bollockings. Ms Moon still has the face on after climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, in Arctic conditions, to get to Bewdley Town FC. She goes back to the hotel for some rest and recuperation (Tipping Point is on). Sticky is on the loose on the real ale trail.

I've a few CAMRA Good Beer Guide entries to tick off. I partake in a Lenton Lane brew, ironically from our neck of the woods, in the Real Ale Tavern. Folk are packed in like sardines watching Ireland v England at 'funny ball'.

I then take a stroll down the river, as darkness descends on the town. I sit outside the Bewdley Brewery Tap, as the temperature plummets, sinking a pint of Baldwin IPA, named after a former MP of the town, Stanley Baldwin, who served three terms as Prime Minister for the Conservative Party - a bit like Darren Ferguson at Peterborough United.

There's a 'Gincident' in The Arches Bar, later in the evening. Ms Moon and I are having a quiet drink in a secluded part of the bar. A large group of young women suddenly burst in. They are eating junk food out of polystyrene trays; having purchased food from the takeaway next door. They share a can of coke between six of them. Most are dressed in green; it was St Patrick's Day yesterday. They plonk themselves on our table and are causing a general nuisance about the place. They get the death stare off Sticky Palms. They announce to all and sundry that "they're off." I reply "good", which they are affronted by. They bang on the windows outside and flick me the Vs.

Sleep is disturbed by an early hours racetrack outside the bedroom window of our hotel. Wacky Races goes on until 4 am. The revellers' behaviour is noisy and raucous. We have a bang average breakfast on the riverside before seeing the morning out at Clent Hills, a National Trust trail that is 27 miles long. The views are breathtaking and the walk blows away the previous night's cobwebs.

On Monday I manage to get an hour's walk around the hilly streets of Carlton. The top of Foxhill Road, which leads to Standhill Road, usually gets my heart pumping. The evening is spent at Broadway Cinema again - tonight's treat is the 30th anniversary of the award-winning film Age of Innocence. It is directed by Martin Scorsese and stars Daniel-Day-Lewis and Michelle Pfeiffer. It's a period drama that isn't, as a rule, my cup of tea. 135 minutes running time soon flies by. I mustn't grumble at £5 entry.

It's Tuesday teatime. I've just hoovered up some leftover tea and I'm now heading up towards a pick up point on Buntings Lane. 'Cafe Catherine' and daughter Chloe are also waiting for a lift. DJ Murph picks us up at five bells. We drive over to Daybrook, where Carlton Town Commercial Manager Gary Clarke is waiting for us.

The Mighty Millers have another six point relegation meet up; tonight's rendezvous is at Ossett Town, in West Yorkshire. The Club will be looking to build upon an impressive three consecutive victories - all on their travels too. Optimism is high in the car journey oop north. Catherine is excited. as she never gets to see the lads playing, as at most of the games she works her socks off serving up hot food to supporters. 

DJ Murph sails up the M1. We're parked up an hour before kick off. I can hear the dulcet tones of Shaun Ryder's Happy Mondays coming from the ground's sound system, as 'Kinky Afro' is belted out. Gary knows the Ossett media man. He's a Yorkshire Tricky Tree. He proudly gives us a tour of the supporters club bar which is perched above the pitch. It's well snug and reminds me more of a Swiss log cabin.

The Millers play with the stiff breeze at their backs. Some uncouth local youths make a bigger nuisance of themselves than those lasses in Bewdley. If it was a swearing competition they'd win hands down. Unfortunately for them, Ossett concede early doors, through a close range bullet of a shot from Niall Davie, after a bursting run down the flank by Kyle Dixon.

Both 'keepers are excellent in the first half, somehow the score remains at 1-0 to Carlton. 'Boatsy' slopes off to the cosy 'log cabin' for a 'prawn sandwich' and a coffee. Sticky keeps it real and watches the fag end of the first half televised game between Barnsley and Sheffield Wednesday, that's being played 15 miles down the road.

The Millers switch off at a set piece. A diagonal ball is knocked back across the face of goal and is nodded home by the huge 5 jacket. 'Murph' ain't happy and takes his frustration out on an advertising hoarding. The winner for Carlton comes six minutes from time. Aaron O'Connor guides a header home after a brilliant cross from Dean Freeman. There's proper limbs and hugging going off in the away end.

I struggle to sleep after night games, as I play the key moments from the match, in my head, over and over again. I need to be on the ball tonight (Wednesday) as it's Big Al's Foxy Quiz at the Fox and Grapes on Sneinton Market. We come a respectable third and win some beer tokens which we spend immediately.

It's Thursday teatime and I'm holed up in the Partizan Tavern on Manvers Street in Sneinton. I sink my final ale just as Harry Kane puts England 2-0 up from the penalty spot. I make the short walk through the marketplace and onto Lower Parliament St. One of my old favourites, Badly Drawn Boy, is playing a 25th anniversary tour at the Metronome. 

I don't bother with a beer, as I fight my way through the packed bar area into the main auditorium. I'm impressed with the venue. Someone is on the money when they say it reminds them of a small aircraft hangar. The crowd limit is 400. Badly Drawn Boy is dead engaging with the crowd and complimentary about our fine city. He is open with the audience about his mental health issues, anxiety, Crohn's disease, diabetes and his battle with alcohol addiction. It's one of the most enjoyable gigs I've ever been to. He hasn't lost his touch.

I'm back in town the following night with Mac and Limon for Friday Club. I get drunk under the table by those pair of Herberts. Strong crafts are had at BeerHeadZ, Barley Twist, Keans Head, Jam Cafe, Neon Raptor and Partizan Tavern. As Jim Bowen would say it's BFH for Sticky Palms at ten bells.

It's a champagne socialist breakfast on Saturday morning - or as I like to call it 'A West Bridgford One.' I butter some bread and spread on some pesto, crushed avocado, sprinkle some grated cheese on and plonk a fried egg on top. I then fry the bread on both sides in a pan. I squeeze some Tabasco sauce on it. It's scrumptious.

Ms Moon is dining out with her sisters and family today. I wander down to Stoke Lane, surviving a sharp shower on Burton Road. DJ Dan is spinning his 45s as I enter the clubhouse. Today's set is mainly 2 Tone and reggae. Uptown Top Ranking by Althea and Donna is the toon of the day. There's a fantastic vibe created by both sets of supporters in the bar.

Guest speaker, prior to the game, is former Watford and England U21 footballer Nigel Callaghan. There's a huge boo from all and sundry when it's announced by compere Mick Garton that 'Cally' once played for that club across the cattle grid at 'The Sheep Dip.' I can also remember him being the star of a show on Sky donkeys ago called 'Greece Uncovered', where he was a guest DJ in a resort called Kavos, in Corfu.

Stockton take advantage of the windy conditions. They could be two up before they take the lead from a spot kick after a needless handball. Carlton manage to see out the first half without any further damage inflicted.

I chance across Carlton supporter 'Edward' in the second half. I've hunted him down for a few weeks now after he announced on the WhatsApp group that the 'Manchester Ripper', Stephen, off Corrie, would get his comeuppance, following a number of murders in Weatherfield.  I presume that the Mancunian plod are being led by Phil and Nige off 'Early Doors', as there's no sign of Stephen having his collar felt any time soon. I recently spent a nerve wracking night up in Manny. Mac and I double locked our apartment in Ancoats, after a heavy sesh, in case Stephen was on the loose.

The Millers can't make any inroads in the second half. There are a few half chances, but there's little to cheer the large crowd up. Some of the players seem more interested in arguing with a good referee (imo) rather than concentrating on reducing the deficit. Leadership and character is required to survive, not backchat and sulking.

Man of the Match: Dan Brown - mature, composed and classy.

Attendance: 224

Nottingham Forest 1-2 Newcastle United

Thanks to those birdbrains at East Midlands Railway, the trip home from Manchester, after a two day sesh with Tony Mac, is long and tiring. Northern Rail has come to our rescue, the only downside is that the train makes 10 stops from Sheffield to Nottingham. Usually I'd be eugolising over beers to be taken at places such as Bamford, Eyam and New Mills, but right now all I'm thinking about is some shut eye.

I arise from my comatose slumber on Saturday morning, and gingerly head down the stairs. Ms Moon makes me a strong Nescafe Alta Rica coffee, as we are reunited after a hectic few days away on a 'culture tour' oop north.

I slump into my armchair and regale Ms Moon with some tales from my travels. I'm dead on my feet, folks, when Ms Moon catches me off guard. "Do you fancy going for a walk up to Sherwood?" I'd usually jump at the chance, but after clocking up 20 miles, around Manchester city centre, over the last two days, I could go without. "Of course we can, love", I say through gritted teeth.

The outing is going swimmingly, as we head down 'Millionaires Row' on Mapperley Park. Ms Moon spots a new cafe as we walk away from Carrington and into the Nottingham suburb of Sherwood. I stare across the road and to my horror notice that the cafe in question has a 3G front garden - as we all know, Sticky doesn't do 3G. I decline her kind offer of a coffee on the grounds of 3G, and suggest, instead, a 200 Degrees latte at Birds Bakery, just over the top of the hill.

I don't take the news too well that they haven't got any sausage rolls or caramel doughnuts. Ms Moon says I'm to stop being grouchy as I'm embarrassing her. I sulk as I gnaw my way through a pork cob which is minus any apple sauce or stuffing due to no stock #BREXIT

I have the misfortune to listen to click bait broadcaster Adrian Durham on TalkSport in the afternoon, as I soak in the bath, resting my weary limbs. The BBC have nowhere to go after the Lineker fallout; his colleagues show solidarity and refuse to broadcast in his absence.

There's no football this weekend; a rarity indeed. I owe Ms Moon big time, after my four days oop north last week. We enjoy a fantastic lunch together at The Plough, Normanton-on-the-Wolds, a village located in the south of the county. Sue's daughter, Becky, is General Manager at the gastro pub. She looks on for approval as I sink a pint of real ale. It's a beauty and worthy of the Cask Marque accreditation the pub has recently been awarded.

It's Tuesday teatime and I'm sitting in the bar, with Tony Mac, at the Cock and Hoop pub, a Grade II listed building on High Pavement. Older readers will remember this watering hole was previously called County Tavern. Sticky Palms has got the face on. I watch in envy, as Mac sinks drink after drink. I'm off colour and have an unsettled tummy. I stare at a diet Coca Cola for an hour or so.

Another reason for my mood swing is that I'm missing out on Grantham Town v Carlton Town, as the Millers continue their fight against relegation from NPL East. Angry duo, Sleaford Mods, are on their U.K. GRIM album launch tour at Rock City this evening. I'm going to have to follow the relegation scrap on the Carlton Fans WhatsApp group during the gig.

Lead singer, Jason Williamson, emerges from the dressing room at 9 pm on the dot, as messages appear from Grantham; ironically it's his hometown. Neither the Gingerbreads nor the Millers have broken the deadlock yet. Williamson is playing a blinder and has a fantastic stage presence. He has the crowd eating out of his hand and singing along to his to-the-point lyrics. I frantically check the latest score after each song finishes, as my anxiety begins to heighten.

At 9.40 pm I aim a clenched, raised fist in the direction of Tony Mac, who is taking some snaps on his phone. A last gasp winner from Nat Watson has seen the Millers over the finishing line. I celebrate with a pogo to 'Tweet Tweet Tweet' by the Mods.

It's Friday afternoon and I'm pushing open the front door of The Loxley pub, on Pelham Street, in the heart of Nottingham city centre. I have no memory of ever being in here before, so at least it's a tick off. Dringy is sat in the corner supping a pint of Guinness. It is St Patrick's Day after all. We're joined by a group of Forest Welsh Reds who are sat with blog favourite Jitz Jani.

The Cheltenham Gold Cup is about to start. I landed a 40/1 winner yesterday thanks to a tip from former Notts and Durham cricketer Will Smith on social media. I haven't a Scooby Doo about horse racing, but listen to folk that do. I only had £1.50 each way on it .. lol.

The Welsh Reds are in fine form and are out-singing the Irish, who are all dressed in emerald green. They've all had an each way bet on a horse that's priced at 33/1. It takes a tumble a few fences from home. It opens up the race for the favourite to canter home. It doesn't dampen the Welsh lads' spirits as they sink a few more beers and sing a few more songs.

Nottingham Forest are playing Newcastle United in an 8 pm kick off at The City Ground this evening. We're joined by Dringy's dad, John, who was my first ever cricket captain, and a man who I highly respect. He looks really well and has been doing some family tree research in Netherfield, close to where I live. We continue drinking at Six Barrels, before parting company at Herbert Kilpin.

Dringy and I continue boozing at Barley Twist and Cured, a bar that sits on the canalside. I tread on an outstretched dog, on my way to the loo, in the dimly lit downstairs bar. The mutt's owner is upset. I play the Stevie Wonder card. We wander through the Meadows on our way to the game. We part company on Trent Bridge after an enjoyable few hours together.

NFFC sell the best sausage rolls at a bargain-price of £4. I snaffle one up and wash it down with a bottle of water. The game is a sell out. Newcastle arrive on the back of one victory in their last six Premier League outings. 

A sitter is missed by the visitors in the opening exchanges. The woodwork is Forest's best friend in the first half. The goal post may require a fresh coat of paint in the morning. Against the run of play NFFC take the lead with a smart finish by Dennis, after being gifted the ball by Botman. Forest can't see out the half. Swedish striker, Alexander Isak, has looked lively. His finish in added time is insane and has a touch of genius to it.

NFFC are in debt to Costa Rica 'keeper, Keylor Navas, who pulls off a string of first-class saves. A half fit Brennan Johnson forces Tom Pope to block a shot with his legs on a rare foray into enemy territory. A blatant handball by Niakhate presents the chance for Isak to seal Forest's fate from the spot. 2-1 to the visitors isn't a true reflection of how the game has panned out. 

Ms Moon and I are away for the weekend in Bewdley, an attractive Georgian town in Worcestershire, that is nestled on the River Severn. 'Spoons have a nice hotel there, that is good value. We pitch up in the bustling town just before midday. Lunch is taken at Mug Shot Inn, a pub that sits by the river.

I had mentioned, earlier in the week, that 'the princess' might want to wear suitable footwear for the tricky 1.5 mile walk to Bewdley Town's Ribbesford Meadows ground. She's puffing, panting and slipping in difficult, trying conditions, which include a heavy rain shower. I'm no longer the flavour of the month as a number of foul-mouthed sayings are aimed in my direction.

It's £7 on the gate. The ground is a pearler. It's best to leave Ms Moon to ponder on a cigarette at moments like these. She's clearly still cross about the long uphill walk. I take my pew on a carpeted-seat in the wonderful, high stand that rewards you with a bird's eye view of proceedings. The white flag is raised and Ms Moon joins me.

The game is entertaining from start to finish. It sounds the same up in Cleethorpes, where a large Carlton Town contingent is gathered, with bellies full of ale and fish and chips. The visitors, Whitchurch Alport, score a worldy goal to open their account for the day, but are soon pegged back by a young Bewdley side. Whitchurch run out deserved winners with two late goals, the last of which is another fine finish.

I chance upon an Aussie called Brian in the toilets. He's been in the U.K. for a few months now. I notice he has a limp. I quickly click my brain into gear, knowing full well that Ms Moon isn't up for the long slog back to Bewdley. "Hey Brian, don't suppose you could give us a lift home mate?" I can't 'arf pick 'em.

To top the day off, Carlton Town make it three victories on the bounce, with a 3-2 win, up on the coast of Lincolnshire. Like Pele said 'the beautiful game.'

Man of the Match: 'Aussie Brian.' and that sausage roll.

Attendance: 29,362

Hebburn Town 0-2 Carlton Town

It's Sunday lunchtime and I'm wandering up hipster Hockley towards Nottingham's Market Square. The weather is brassic. I'm wrapped up to the nines, but already sweating. There's no cosy pint by a roaring fireside. I call by Pret a Manger, where I bag a chicken sandwich to eat whilst on the hoof. It's only when I take my first huge bite that I remember we have roast chicken for tea. What a nincompoop I am.

I stroll up past the train station. There's no choo choo today. One of my favourite meanderings is through the Meadows, where a number of footballers from Nottingham Forest and Notts County were born and bred. A police Maria is positioned, in view, just off the Bridgeway Centre.

I'd seen a number of Everton fans drinking outside Cured, a canalside bar, just down from the station. Everyone was behaving and there was no sign of disorder. I cross Trent Bridge and take a sharp left turn where I follow the water. I look across the river towards where Everton manager Sean Dyche now lives. He could actually swim to the game. Be better not to though, as not many come out of that body of water, once in; not alive anyway.

I'm in my seat nice and early, positioned in the Lower Brian Clough Stand. The DJ, probably under instruction, plays the same boring set every home game. Doesn't every club play 'Freed From Desire' by Italian electro-pop singer Gala? I suppose it's better than Nana Mouskouri and Demis Rousoss, who are probably on the set list at owner, Evangelos Marinakis's other club, Olympiacos, who currently sit in third place in the Greece Super League.

Everton start brightly, particularly in midfield, where they pass it around Forest with some lovely two touch and give and go football. They take the lead through a Demarai Gray penalty, but are pegged back through a Brennan Johnson tap in. Forest are off the boil and off the pace too. They are caught napping and concede a sloppy goal, scored by the impressive Mali international Abdoulaye Doucoure.

Dyche deploys some dirty unsettling tactics in the second half, sitting on a 2-1 lead, when a third goal would have put the game to bed. Players theatrically fall to the floor as the game threatens to boil over. Felipe, Shelvey and Gibbs-White fall into the honeytrap, as their emotions get the better of them.

The game's best player, Brennan Johnson, is on fire and sending the Everton full back dizzy. He scores a brilliant equaliser after cushioning a clever pass from the returning Ryan Yates. He goes desperately close to getting the winner too. It's a breathtaking game for the neutral and I have good fun with the Everton fans, who I accompany back to the train station.

Monday afternoon is spent at my new favourite haunt, back in Hockley, coincidentally. It's £5 to watch any film on a Monday at Broadway Cinema.  What I like about this independent picture house is the different array of films from around the world. 'Close' is a coming-of-age drama about the intense friendship of two Belgian schoolboys, who drift apart at senior school. It premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in 2022. It makes me feel really sad as I leave through the exit doors. I soon cheer up after a couple of beers at the Herbert Kilpin on Bridlesmith Walk.

It's Tuesday afternoon and I'm sitting in The Wheatsheaf at Burton Joyce. Nige Harlow sinks a second pint of Guinness as I stare at my lime and soda. We're picked up by 'Club Shop Ken' and 'DJ Murph.' The Mighty Millers are playing up at Hebburn, in South Tyneside, this evening. It's a 300 mile round trip, but it's at a ground I've wanted to tick off for some time.

On the car radio, Five Live is broadcasting a Press statement from prime minister Rishi Sunak. He announces new legislation to stop illegal immigrants, arriving on boats, from applying for asylum. The whole car is stunned into silence. The speech is made with neither compassion nor apology.

We roll into the car park of the Green Energy Sports Ground just shy of 6.45 p.m. I tag along with Murph and manage to grab a cup of tea and some biscuits kindly laid on by the Hebburn Town committee, who are friendly and welcoming. Carlton Town manager Tommy Brookbanks enters the room. He points at the teapot and says "Well Sticky, we did say we'd meet for a drink one day." It's great to see Tommy with a smile on his face again, as times have been hard for him and Mark Harvey of late. Support for these guys has never waivered.

In the bar we meet up with some of the players' parents as well as another supporter, Jason Simpkins, who is sounding rather chipper and predicting, to those who are listening, that the Millers will take away all three points.

The ground is an absolute pearler. It's everything I'd hoped for. The snow has cleared from the excellent playing surface. Tommy and Mark have tinkered with the starting line-up. New signing Alex Troke is thrown straight in. He makes an impact and is a handful. It's a presence that's been absent and missing up top all season.

The lads are at it and looking sharp. Alex Howes puts Carlton deservedly ahead. It silences a gobshite in the stand who has shouted 'snap him' each time a Carlton player gets on the ball. I challenge the clown. The folk around him are embarrassed about his behaviour. It's absolutely bloomin' freezing. We all head back for a warm in the clubhouse. Spirits are high amongst the 'Magnificent Seven' supporters who have made the long trip. 

Something extraordinary happens just before the hour mark. Niall Davie pounces on the ball, deep inside his own half, (80 yards to be precise). He deceives two players and picks up a head of steam, as he bursts up the pitch, leaving a number of Hebburn defenders trailing in his wake. He smokes off the final player and despite the tight angle he squeezes the ball past the 'keeper and into the corner of the net.

Head of the Supporters' Club, Alan Murphy, covers similar yardage in celebrating the goal. I'm on the opposite side of the ground, stood on my own. I clench my fist and punch the air, much to the amusement of the 'Hebburn Baby Squad' who are sat behind me. In over 20 years of blogging Non League football, this must go down as one of the greatest goals I've ever witnessed. Davie is immediately christened 'The Carlton Maradona.' The lad deserves it, after showing the character to come back from a number of serious injuries.

The Millers see out the game with ease. Our fans are euphoric in the clubhouse afterwards. Hebburn Town are very gracious in defeat. It's a fantastic club, like many that have come from out of the Northern League.

Despite only a few hours' kip, I'm buzzing off that win in the north east last night, as I loiter outside Laguna curry house, located just off Maid Marian. I'm chuffed to bits for the Management, backroom staff, volunteers and supporters. They are all proper football people, who deserve their day in the sun.

'Cotgrave Trev' picks up me and 'Crazy Steve. 'Little Al' is already in the car. We're heading up Manchester way to tick off some Victoria Cross graves and CAMRA Heritage pubs. I didn't think I could top last night; it comes a close second. One of the VC graves we visit is in Weaste Cemetery, near Salford. I'm gobsmacked to see the grave of Busby Babe, Eddie Colman, who is laid to rest next to a soldier who was awarded a VC. Colman made 85 appearances for Manchester United, scoring one goal.

The rest of the day is spent in Eccles - yes, where the cake is from - three of the pubs are Grade II listed buildings. The staircase in the Grapes is a stunning piece of architecture. The icing on the cake is a fifth tick off in Cheshire, as the snow begins to fall. I arrive home at gone 11 pm, absolutely out on my feet.

The busiest week of all-time continues on Thursday. Tony Mac and Sticky spend two days in the north west ticking off pubs in Stockport and Manchester. A YOLK breakfast is polished off and the snow is beaten on the train trip north. We end the evening under the railway arches at Sureshot tap house, seeing off strong craft ales. As Mac says, "it's not a game for children."

A good night's kip is had at our apartment in Ancoats. Two workmen, in the city centre, tip us the wink on NQ Kitchen, a greasy spoon, that is 5 star rated on Google. We mop up a jumbo breakfast. The rest of the morning is spent strolling around the Northern Quarter, admiring all the murals and street art.

The highlight of the day is a bar called Disorder, a tribute to the Manchester band Joy Division. There's a mural of lead singer Ian Curtis on the wall. It's by the street artist Akse P19. The music playlist is out of this world. 'Fire in Cairo' by The Cure and 'Nothing Lasts Forever' by Echo and the Bunnymen are the pick of the bunch.

Even East Midlands Railway can't put a dampner on a day. The bunch of clowns cancel our train late in the day. Government run Northern Rail save the day. The quicker the railways are returned to the people, the better.

Attendance: 205

Man of the Match: 'The Carlton Maradona.'

Carlton Town 1-2 North Shields

I traipse back into the clubhouse after yet another (seven consecutive) home defeat, this time to Hebburn Town, from north east England. Whilst their team laugh and joke, as they tuck into hospitality food laid on by the Club, supporters of the Millers sit with expressions of dismay and disbelief. 

'DJ Murph' tries to lighten the mood by doing the 150 Club draw at our table. 'Heaven Knows I'm Miserable' by The Smiths would be very apt right now. The gloom is temporarily lifted when I pull manager Tommy Brookbanks' number from out of the Tupperware box. Mine's a bottle of Harvest Pale ale the next time I see you Tommy.

I swing by the Old Volunteer, on the way home. and chew over the cud with 'DJ Dan' and Lewis. I'm on my lonesome back at HQ - Ms Moon is on a hen night. I thought I couldn't stomach another football game, but Crystal Palace and Liverpool are on TV. It pretty much sums up my day that the final score is 0-0. Goodnight Vienna.

I've gotten over it by Monday. I watch the last two episodes, on BBC iPlayer, of the cult comedy sitcom Early Doors, written by Craig Cash and Phil Mealey. Tears of laughter roll down my cheeks as the vicious one-liners and banter are shared out by the regulars in the Grapes pub in Manchester.

I spend more time watching films at Broadway Cinema than I do from my armchair on Amazon. I pay £35 for a membership which includes two free tickets, a further 20% discount off any film and a fifth off any food in the cafe and Mezz Bar.

The film I watch this evening is on at Screen 4; the tiniest of them all. I have the misfortune to sit next to a lady who has a carrier bag stacked full of snacks and confectioneries. I struggle to hear the first half an hour of the film due to wrappers being opened, crisps being crunched and sweets chomped on. 

The film, ironically, is called The Menu. It's an American comedy horror film. Ralph Fiennes plays the part of a crazy chef who serves up an eight course dinner which the lady next to me salivates over despite eating enough food to feed an army. I comment on the film on Twitter and hashtag Ralph in. He actually likes my tweet. He's dead famous isn't he?

I go on one of my mad walks on Tuesday, up to Colwick Woods. The muddy, sludgy conditions make circumnavigating the eastern edge of the woods a tad tricky. It's worth the effort though as the sweeping views out towards Nottingham Racecourse are stunning. 

I call in at Oakdale chippy in Bakersfield. It's being given rave reviews on Google Review and Trip Advisor. I enjoy some banter with the owner. Much to his dismay I only partake in a small bag of chips. He throws in some samples of kebab meat. I promise to return one Friday evening. I finish Tuesday off with a few craft ales up at Bread and Bitter on Mapperley Tops with Pete and Peachy (good name for a band that).

I've been drafted into Ms Moon's pub quiz team on Wednesday evening at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton, following a poor showing the previous week. They have some cracking ales on, so I'm as happy as Larry. Nottingham legend Al Needham is mine host. I used to enjoy reading his ramblings in the cult magazines When Saturday Comes and Left Lion. We put up a good fight in the quiz, finishing 4th. Ms Moon is proud as punch, and also isn't a scaredy cat at the bus stop, as she has a one-eyed chaperone to protect her.

It's Thursday evening and there is a killer on the loose on the cobbles of Weatherfield, in Coronation Street. Audrey Roberts' lad, Stephen, is an utter buffoon. He's nailed on to win the TV Times 'best actor award.' He 'acts' out some of the most crass and cringe worthy scenes not seen since blog favourite 'Big Al' pulled endless women on Emmerdale Farm. The clown mixes up his cups of tea. He plants drugs in one of them, intended for Carla Connor, but gets the cups mixed up, resulting in him drinking a spiked cuppa full of drugs. The blithering idiot begins hallucinating and sweating up in a hotel bedroom. I sit in my armchair shaking my head in disbelief. Ms Moon is gripped by proceedings. I'm told to shush each time I speak.

The Friday Club Jolly Boys outing takes place the following day. The Board of Directors (Sticky and Tony Mac) have a morning meeting at award-winning YOLK cafe, located at the bottom of Hockley. We polish off a champagne socialist breakfast of woodland mushrooms, poached eggs, heaped with lean bacon on sourdough bread. Today's trip is out to the historic towns of Lichfield and Tamworth in Staffordshire.

There's a full squadron including: Coops, Ackers, 'Chopper Harris' and Limon. The publicans in Lichfield are dead friendly. They give us some pointers on pubs that aren't on our list. The only downside to the day is having to wait for trains with rubbish connection times at Lichfield Trent Valley Station.

The star of the show is the CAMRA U.K. Pub of the Year. Tamworth Tap has some insane beers on the scoreboard. After downing a few ales we finish off with a rocket fuel 10% barrel-aged stout from the Wander Beyond yard. A taxi is required to enable us to catch the 8.30 pm train back to Nottingham. A few more strong crafts are seen off at BeerHeadZ, an old British Transport Police hut, situated outside the station.

It's Saturday and matchday. What will today bring? As we often say, 'it's the hope that kills you.' I'm on cooking duty this evening. Unfortunately that means a trip down to the worst supermarket on this planet: Carlton Tesco. 

I walk past a building site where the Earl of Chesterfield pub once stood. 26 new flats are being built. I've clocked the site manager tossing it off for months now. He's brilliant at pointing, supping endless cups of tea and playing on his phone. I might apply for a job at that firm.

The shop at Tesco starts reasonably well. Newcastle band, The Kane Gang, are on the Radio Tesco dukey. You can't beat a bit of 'Closest Thing to Heaven', although some of you will remember them more for the theme tune to Byker Grove. There's the usual shambles in the self-service checkouts. I pop another blood pressure tablet on my return home.

I warm up some Tuscan chicken at lunchtime, it was something I rustled up the other evening. Ms Moon has failed a fitness test due to an abscess under her tooth. OUCH! I make the short 30 minute journey down to Stoke Lane by foot, in an attempt to blow away the cobwebs.

The clubhouse is packed solid with folk from both teams. The Millers have laid on a treat for us all by securing the services of former Newcastle United and NFFC legend Frank Clark as a guest speaker. The visiting supporters, from North Shields, near to Newcastle, are revelling in the atmosphere.

Frank Clark tells a lovely anecdote, from back in 1979, just hours before the European Cup final versus Malmo. Martin O'Neill, Archie Gemmill and Clark were all carrying niggling injuries. Only one spot was available in the team between the three of them. Brian Clough asked each one of them if they were fit to play. All three of the players replied in the affirmative. It was Frank Clark who got the final nod from Clough. Years later Clark and Clough's paths crossed again. Frank plucked up the courage to ask 'Old Big Head' why he was chosen in front of the other two. "Because I felt you'd be the least likely one to lie to me" replied Cloughy.

The Millers, desperate for a win, look on course for victory after taking the lead through a far post header from Dean Freeman. I spend the first half catching up with top Millers fan, Nigel Harlow, who has spent the last few weeks in Thailand, and is looking well on it. On the pitch things get better when a North Shields player is somewhat harshly dismissed from the field of play for a dangerous high foot by an overzealous referee.

Everyone's chipper and on good form at the break. I tell 'Murph' I'm 99% certain that I'll be making the 300 mile round trip up to Hebburn, Newcastle, on Tuesday. I might need to negotiate that with Ms Moon during Ant 'n Dec's Saturday Night Takeaway that's on TV later this evening, when she's under the influence of prosecco. He celebrates the news by playing 'Shot by Both Sides' by punk band Magazine.

North Shields are galvanised and united over the injustice of the first half's harsh red card. To a man they are magnificent in the second 45 minutes. They deservedly equaliser and score a brilliant late winner through their 11 jacket.

The visitors are well backed by their supporters. There are joyous scenes at the final whistle. As for Carlton, not sure where they can turn to now. One or two players have jumped ship or been pushed out. Tommy Brookbanks is deflated and low in the post match interview. It's a horrible watch. He admits to having sleepless nights. Tommy's a good man. Whoever said it was only a game, was wrong.

Attendance: 161

Man of the Match: Frank Clark and blog favourite Dan Brown.