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.
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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
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