Pontefract Collieries 2-2 Carlton Town

It's Tuesday teatime and I'm sitting in the back of DJ Murph's car with 'Cafe Catherine' and daughter Chloe. In the front is Carlton Town legendary club photographer Lou Lardi. We're on the A1 northbound, heading towards the West Yorkshire town of Pontefract. It's the birthplace of notable people such as: rugby league player, Rob Burrow and cricketers Chris Silverwood and Tim Bresnan.

Carlton Town's plight is perilous. It's too complicated to explain, suffice to say that points are required on the board. DJ Murph cheers us (me) up on the trip north by playing the album 'Grotesque' by Greater Manchester post-punk band The Fall. Mark E Smith's mural, on the side of a chip shop wall, in Prestwich, is still the finest I've ever seen.

Ponte are doing an end of season 'two for £10' offer on the gate. I have a can of Pepsi in a gloomy bar that is without windows and minus any music or vibe.  The ground is 'work in progress.' I stand close to the Carlton Town dugout. The sun goes down and a stiff breeze kicks in. 

Pontefract are handy with their elbows and are committed to the cause of gobbing off. They take the lead after a bucket load of hoof-ball and long-throws. The Millers' Niall Davie has gone down with an injury after being caught with a stray elbow. Concussion protocol is carried out by both physios. He is given the green light to carry on playing. Ten minutes later he falls to the ground. He's sparked out. Temperatures begin to plummet as Niall is covered in coats to keep him warm. A decision is taken by the referee to abandon the game.

I spend Wednesday, down at an area south of the city, called Lady Bay. Notts 2nd XI are entertaining Derbys 2nd XI in a four day cricket game. The previous two days have been washed out due to standing water on the bowler's run-up.

I sit with 'Ticknall Terry', Derek, Tony, 'Crazy Steve' and Faggsy as the visitors pile up the runs. A paper-thin Notts batting line-up have to see out 20 minutes until lunch. They end up following on after an all familiar middle-order collapse. The Derbyshire attack is strong and includes former Sri Lankan captain and fast bowler, Ranasinghe Lakmal. The highlight of the day is a trot down Trent Boulevard to Lady Bay Fish and Chip Shop for a five star lunchtime special. I bang on a Google review to continue the high scoring.

I have a hospital appointment before the close of play. Crazy Steve very kindly runs me down to the Queen's Medical Centre University Hospital. I've a season ticket at the Eye Clinic that has been renewed for three consecutive seasons. It's bad news from the doctor. I have a granular lump in my eye that requires moving. He writes 'URGENT' on my file as I'm sent off to the pharmacy for some steroid eye drops. I manage to catch the final hour's play, back at Lady Bay, where highly-rated 20 year old opener, Dane Schadendorf, racks up 50 runs in double quick time before stupidly being run out.

We're all back in the car, on Thursday, heading back up to Pontefract Collieries for the rearranged fixture. The word up is that Ponte Carlo's 'management' aren't too chuffed that the game was abandoned. Where is the duty of care and human well being? 

A few of us head into town and are pleasantly surprised about how good a spot it is. We wander past the War Memorial on our way to a Good Beer Guide entry called 'The Old Grocers. I sink a pint of Citra Pale Ale, from Nailmaker Brewing Company, a micro brewery from nearby Barnsley.

Credit to Ponte Colls as tonight is FREE entry. The Twitter feed is friendly as are a few supporters who engage with us as we wander around the ground. Sadly that welcome isn't extended to the technical area of the Colls dugout. Their cocksure, unlikeable, angry manager has a personal vendetta against Carlton. His sewer-mouth is in full flow from the off. 

A string of 'see you next Tuesdays' are aimed at Lewis Durow, Kyle Tomlin, Mikey Emery and Niall Hylton. "You're going down you cnut; put that on your CV fatty" is repeated again and again. It's only him that laughs, the rest of us laugh at him. Remember folks, it's Lancastrians that have all the comedians, wit and repartee. 

His 'leadership' sets the tone for the rest of his team, who only seem interested in haranging the official. He's irritated that Niall Hylton has given Carlton the lead and spends the rest of the half trying to get the lad sent off. They fortuitously restore parity on the stroke of half time.

I've enjoyed chatting to Sheffield FC manager Ryan Cresswell in the first half. He's a proper football bloke who has made over 200 Football League appearances. There was no abuse or ill behaviour from him at Carlton when his team were 2-0 down.

Pontefract, after a series of 'Rory Delap' throws and long punts, take the lead and look to have sealed the Millers' fate. But the football Gods look down on us. Nat Watson takes three players out with a ball down the line. Durow, who has had dog's abuse from the Ponte clown, fires a cross into the danger area, it's met by Kieran Watson who guides the ball home from close range. What a moment it is for us. Justice is done.

I'm dog tired on Friday morning as I throw off the duvet and head to the bathroom. I meet up with Tony Mac at The Avenues cafe, that's tucked away at the back of Sneinton Market. It's a bargain-buy £6.50 for a builder's breakfast.

It's the Friday Club monthly away day. Today's trip is to the city of Cambridge. It's a full platoon turnout. Coops and Limon join Mac and I on the EMT choo choo to Ely. Ackers travels from Peterborough and 'Mad Dog' from Melton Mowbray. It's a cracking day with the lads as 15 pubs are chalked off. We have a football quiz and there are high jinks too. I've little recollection of the last scoop in BeerHeadZ adjacent to Nottingham train station.

I awake from my slumber late on Saturday morning. If I'd been a Non League footballer I would have thrown a sickie. I slope down to Oceans chippy for chicken kebab meat and chips, as I've had nothing since that monster breakfast in Sneinton yesterday.

Today is possibly one of the biggest games in the Club's history. A win is a must and other results are to be relied upon. I sit in the corner of the clubhouse, with my head in my hands, nursing the biggest hangover since Lincoln beat Big Sean's Burnley in the 6th round of the FA Cup in 2017. DJ Dan is burning the building down with another first-class set. 'Boys Don't Cry' by The Cure lifts my spirits as does pre-match speaker, George Lyall, who made 116 appearances for Nottingham Forest in the 1970s.

Dunston, from County Durham, are in town. Footballer Paul Gascoigne and AC/DC lead singer Brian Johnson grew up in the area . Its winner takes all from today's game; be it play-offs or relegation. Both clubs will rely on others.

Carlton take the lead in bizarre circumstances. A goal-line clearance ricochets off a defender and ends up in the back of the onion bag. Dunston pour forward but threaten little in front of goal.

The nerves are jangling in the second 45 minutes. Dunston fluff their lines from the penalty spot and see a free kick whistle  by the upright. A Nat Watson tap-in, at the death, sees the Millers over the line. I'm so pleased to see the likes of Alan Murphy, Dan Thorpe, Joe Standen, Nigel Harlow, Jonathan Hand, Jon Hartstone, Edward Hartstone and Jason Simpkins (sorry to those I've missed), who have followed the club through thick and thin, jumping for joy.

Man of the Match: Khyle Sargent

Attendance: 246

Lincoln United 1-0 Carlton Town

It's 5 pm on Saturday evening. I'm standing outside Carlton Town's clubhouse with young Millers fan Kieran Harlow. We're basking in the late afternoon sunshine, chinking plastic glasses, filled to the brim with sumptuous Castle Rock citra pale ale, as we celebrate our third home win of the season. The mood is uplifting and the DJ set even better. Morrissey and The Smiths are left off the playlist: from out of the cold comes in Gloria Gaynor with 'I Will Survive', as we hover above the relegation places. We push the boat out on my return to Chez Palms - a Marks and Sparks Chinese banquet, including crispy duck, is washed down with some rocket-fuelled high percentage craft ales.

It's amazing what a win does for the body and soul. 'The Lincoln' (City) also bagged three points. I've a spring in my step as we drive out south of the river for Easter Sunday lunch at classy gastro pub, The Plough, in the hamlet of Normanton-on-the-Wolds. In the afternoon I write up my weekly blog whilst listening to two episodes of Radcliffe and Maconie - the best two DJs on this planet; apologies to DJ Dan and DJ Murph.

I'm up and out, early doors on Bank Holiday Monday. The north Notts town of Worksop is calling and so is Nottingham train station. A small group of us share an EMT carriage that is also filled with a gang of young Rochdale Ultras, who are on the final leg of their journey to Mansfield Town's Field Mill.

The young Dale squadron are already tanked up. A mixture of drinks include cider and WKD vodka blue. Yuk! Their main cheerleader is Kieron Babington, who has plenty to say for himself and is also a bit of a comedian. They entertain us with a few ditties. I forewarn them of the Stags Baby Squad who have a habit of running visiting supporters, after the game, up at Burger King, close to the train station.

The first port of call, for us, is a pub called Mallard that is located on Worksop station platform. It has a warm, cosy feel to it. I get chatting to a London groundhopper who is sat next to me. He's a former railway worker so doesn't have to pay for any journeys. He has a bushy beard and sounds like Uncle Albert from Only Fools and Horses. We share stories of the grounds we have both visited, as well as some of our favourite ales.

Programme editor 'Big Joe' and 'DJ Dan' have rocked up. I'm ashamed to report that I've supped five pints of Blue Monkey and Castle Rock. I'll be watching the game in a beery haze. It's probably for the best as Worksop Town have already been crowned League champions and are currently on an unbeaten run stretching back 33 games.

The Millers put a shift in, holding the Tigers to 0-0 at the break. The game is over as a contest by 53 minutes as the champions turn up the heat. It's caning it down with rain and blowing a gale, as a third goal goes in on 80 minutes. I don't hang around for the popping of prosecco corks and Queen's 'We Are the Champions.' Dan, Joe and Sticky call in to the Bread and Bitter on Mapperley Tops for a consolation real ale.

The weather forecast for the rest of the week looks rank. It will test Ms Moon's patience if I'm mooching about the house all week. I clock, on the NSL website, that one of my favourite clubs, Wollaton FC, are entertaining title-chasing Stapleford Town at the WSA this evening. I catch a number 30 NCT bus on Ilkeston Road, alighting outside the Admiral Rodney pub, in Wollaton village. I'm staying off the ale today.

I part with £3 on the gate which includes a programme packed with information. The weather is wild with driving rain and 30 mph winds. I stand under a fur tree to view proceedings. The first half is pure entertainment. Wollaton are a shade unlucky to be 3-1 down at the break. The visitors have adjusted to the blustery conditions. They bag a further 3 goals, in the second half, to run out comfortable winners. I've blown a gasket by the time I return home, at gone 9 pm, thanks to a no show from the returning NCT No.30 bus.

Somerset Cricket Club are in town (well, in West Bridgford) on Thursday morning. It's Nottinghamshire CCC's opening home County Championship fixture of the season. It comes on the back of a heavy defeat down at Hampshire's Rose Bowl last week. That's a ground I won't be visiting again in a hurry folks, due to the worst transport links in U.K. sports venue history.

I sit with Faggsy, Crazy Steve, Stewie and Drurs, as Notts pile up the runs in bracing conditions on a wicket that suits seam bowling. An in-form Ben Duckett reaches his half century with an outrageous switch-hit for six runs that ends up in the Fox Road Stand.

Crazy Steve returns from lunch with a face like a wet weekend. After making a few enquiries it appears he is, once again, minus a haslet cob from Mrs Bunns due to the factory going up in smoke. A nerve wracking afternoon session sees the Notts innings also go up in a puff of smoke. A middle-order collapse sees Notts post a disappointing 256 runs. We're still sat shivering in the ground at 6.30 pm with Somerset struggling on 35-2.

Friday's play is washed out with rain. I'm kicking around the ground for most of the day with Faggsy. I peg it back into Nottingham mid afternoon. Tony Mac and I have a few beers around the city centre. Keans Head, on St Mary's Gate, is a crowd favourite. I'm a big fan of the new landlord who used to run Kraftwerks, in Sherwood. A 13% imperial pastry stout at Neon Raptor sees out the night. Ms Moon and I have a chippy tea from Oceans at the bottom of Carlton Hill.

It's 4am on Saturday, the day of one of Carlton Town's biggest games in their history. At 6.30 am I'm sat in the back of a taxi heading towards Eye Casualty at the QMC hospital in Nottingham. My shit eye has swelled up. After a four hour wait I'm told by an impatient junior doctor to come back on Wednesday to get it checked-out by an eye specialist.

I'm grouchy and dog-tired as I head into town on the 35 bus. I grab a sandwich and some water at Pret, on my way to the train station. I was meant to be on the 10.38 to Lincoln with all the other Millers fans. They are already potting pints at the Dog and Bone real ale pub. 

It feels weird going to Lincoln, but not to be watching the Imps, who entertain Port Vale in League One today. I'm sat with young Kieran again. He's getting stuck into a few cans of Brewdog. I don't touch their stuff because the CEO is a clown. He has scored loads of own goals on LinkedIn as well as being put under scrunity on a BBC documentary which challenges his behaviour(s) in the workplace.

Lincoln city centre will be gridlocked with standing traffic as it's matchday. I've sussed out it would be quicker to walk from Hykeham to Lincoln United's Ashby Avenue ground. It's an interesting walk down muddy, isolated footpaths. The high rise flats, that tower above the ground, come into our view. Over 50 fans have made the short trip over the Notts/Lincs border. It warms my heart that folk ask me how my eye is.

It's 'pay what you want' on the gate. I handover £10 as it's a great club and the ground is a belter. I'm doing my customary lap of the stadium just over a minute into the game when Carlton concede a goal. I've already said to groundhopper Max Bailey that one goal will probably win the game. I stand with Malc Brown, father of the Millers' impressive defender, Dan. I'm not sure who moans more about Carlton's powder-puff first half performance: me or him. They are second to every ball and way off the pace.

I try to remain positive at half-time, believing that Lincoln will tire after a full-on 100% effort in the first 45 minutes. Carlton up their game in the final 20 minutes. The pressure is caused by a series of long throws by substitute Lewis Durow. Lincoln are resolute in defence.

The referee might need to go to Specsavers, or even swing by Eye Casualty at the Queens Medical Centre hospital, in Nottingham, on his way home, to have his 'mince pies' checked out. He somehow misses Nat Watson being wiped out in the penalty box, much to the rage of the visiting supporters behind the goal.

It's been a miserable day all round. Carlton legendary mascot 'Joey' (fans call him 'Barton') a cross breed King Charles/Pekingese dog, has got kicked out of the Lincoln clubhouse for barking - that's what dogs do innit? He has got previous for this, but all the Millers love him and his owner Stuart.

I ride shotgun with Joey on the way back home to Nottingham. Stuart's a lovely bloke and a diehard Miller. Him and Joey stopped in a Cleethorpes bed and breakfast the other week, after a 3-2 win. We could have done with 'Barton' the dog in the first half today. At least he would have closed folk down and put a tackle in.

Attendance: 281

Men of the Match: Stuart and Joey ('Barton')

Carlton Town 2-1 Consett Town

 

An update:

A Nottingham Forest supporter made a valid point about this 19 year old blog, last week, on the 'Lost That Loving Feeling' message board. He mentioned that I'm not groundhopping much these days and that I spend most of the time watching Carlton Town and Nottingham Forest.

I had a life-changing moment in Sept 2020. Most of you will know that out of the blue I was diagnosed with a detached retina, accompanied by four large tears. My eyesight was saved, at the height of COVID, by the greatest surgeon the U.K. has ever seen. Sadly, the vision in my poorly eye isn't, in my opinion, good enough for me to feel comfortable to drive - particularly at night. There is the option to wear an eyepatch and sing 'Dreams Can Come True' by Gabrielle - but as for now, and the last two and half years, I won't be driving.

It does limit one's travel. Ms Moon can't be clocking up the miles everywhere, and the train strikes haven't helped. Every cloud has a silver lining. Over the last five years I've been looking for a local club that I could follow. Keyworth United wasn't an option. I enjoy watching Radford FC and Gedling Miners Welfare, but I was trying to find something where there was a togetherness and a resilience behind the scenes. I was looking for like-minded people who travel on away days together, have a passion for music, real ale and fish and chips, and who stick together, win or lose.

I invested in a season ticket at Carlton Town, back in July, as I live in the town and believe in supporting local businesses. What I found, when I went down to Stoke Lane, was a similar story being told by supporters who I met and chatted with. I joined the 150 Club and made a small contribution towards the programme with a few quizzes. I then started to attend fundraising/guest speaker events and stayed behind after games in the clubhouse for a few sociable ones, with folk who have now become good friends. Sometimes we swing by the Old Volunteer, on Burton Road, on our way home.

The point I'm trying to make is that I'm comfortable in my skin that I'm staying closer to home to watch football. There are still visits to Sincil Bank and Meadow Lane, when time permits. And of course I will still travel north with Ms Moon, or by train, to watch random games in Yorkshire, Lancashire and County Durham. Sorry for the ramble, I just wanted to make it clear that groundhopping isn't my priority.

The NFFC v Wolves blog caused quite a stir on the Forest forum. There were 35 replies, with not one comment on the match. People chose to tell anecdotes from their childhood about how they used to eat Haslet sandwiches with Grandma and Grandad and whether brown sauce, mustard or God forbid, salad cream was the best accompaniment. This was in response to the devastating news that Mrs Bunns Cob Emporium had none of the pork, herb-based, spicy meat in the house.

Monday late afternoon is spent holed-up at Broadway Cinema, in Hockley. All films are £5. I picked one out called God's Creatures. It's a psychological drama, set in a close-knit Irish harbour town. A mother tells police a massive fib to cover up for her son. To be honest that's about all that really happens. "That was grim", says the bloke behind me, as we all file out of the exit door.

It's Tuesday teatime and I have the misfortune of spending an hour or so in a Wetherspoons pub. It's the Trent Bridge Inn, in West Bridgford, which sits outside Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club. 'Our Joe', 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' and ex work son 'Tottenham Tom' are wolfing down some tea. 'Our Joe' has recently returned from 17x nights in Thailand. The 'KGB' has had some eye trouble himself, as a splinter of timber has scratched his eyeball.

I jump on a bus outside Jesse Boot's first ever dispensary at The Embankment pub (Boots Chemist). I alight on Weekday Cross and walk into Market Square, which is thankfully an open space today and not filled with tacky stalls selling tat. I wander into MSR Newsagents, on Angel Row, to grab a chocolate bar and a bottle of water. I head up Derby Road where I bump into Tony Mac who has had a few beers up on Canning Circus, en route to watching punk rock band, The Damned, at Rock City.

I bid farewell to Mac and continue my walk onto Alfreton Road before taking a right hand turn onto Bentinck Road. I'm soon on Selhurst Street and parting with £6 on the turnstile at Radford FC. "Don't let him in" is shouted in the direction of the turnstile operator who is called 'ASBO.' 'The Radford Barry Fry' (Big Glenn) has clocked me queuing up at the gate. I'm the biggest Jonah in the club's history.

I bump into NFFC fan and fellow groundhopper Trevor Gillies. We while away the time towards kick off catching up on what grounds we have both recently visited. We're joined by 'DJ Dan' and 'DJ Murph.' Second-placed Birstall look sharp in the first 45 minutes, but it's Radford who run out easy winners after a powerful second half display with some ruthless finishing. Big Glenn is grinning from ear to ear. That smile is wiped off his face the following morning when a three point deduction appears on the FA Full Time United Counties League table for an unexplained misdemeanour. 

Rainy days and Wednesdays always get me down ...lol. I'm back at the cinema. Carlton fan Nigel has recommended a French/Spanish subtitled collaboration called The Beasts. It's a banger folks. It puts me in a good mood for the quiz at Sneinton's Fox and Grapes. We just fall short, finishing in second place, missing out by one and a half points. A £25 drinks voucher is a good return.

I dive in and out of charity shops, buying vinyl records on Thursday afternoon. There are bargains to be had and it makes me feel happy to find some gems from my youth, that I wanted in the 45s bin, at a shop that raises monies for the partially sighted. I turn up a tight alleyway off Long Row, called Hurts Yard. Rob's Records has been up here for donkey's years. The place is a tip; it's part of the attraction. I bag 'Actually' by Pet Shop Boys for £4. I celebrate up at Good Fellow George where I sink an 8% DIPA from a brewery in Enderby, Leicester.

Ms Moon and I have breakfast at the award-winning YOLK on Goose Gate on Good Friday morning. We then take a stroll up through the Park Estate, a posh area of Nottingham, where the Castle is located. The highlight of the day (according to me) is a homemade Lancashire hot pot, made by my own fair hands. There's not a sniff of the barmaid's apron all day - just a couple of cans in my armchair.

Today's game for Carlton versus Consett Town, from County Durham, is massive. To take my mind off it, I clear out the garage and pile high the rubbish, we've accumulated, in the boot of the car. We queue at the recycling centre, close to Nottingham Showcase Cinema, for what appears an age.

Ms Moon drops me off at the ground at two bells. I shout up a can of Castle Rock citra pale ale and flick through the excellent programme produced by 'Big Joe.' 'DJ Dan' is spinning an eclectic set. I'm looking forward to hearing 'Up the Junction' by Squeeze.

The guest speaker is a U.K. karate champion from Nottingham called James Wells. His journey and story is a tearjerker. He has twice overcome blood cancer. The room is in awe as James holds his audience. The talk is once again interrupted by a yapping white little mongrel dog, who cheesed off Frank Clarke a few weeks ago. He might be a Miller (the dog) but he (Joey) needs to show a little more respect.

I stand with Nige and Reuben, a Mancunian, who lives in Lowdham. I enjoy the chat, but not the football in the first 20 minutes. Consett score from long range early doors and see a lob bounce to safety off the inside of the post; this would have been a mountain to climb for the Millers had their fortunes differed.

The visiting 'keeper has had a shaky 45 minutes. He looks to have carried a corner kick over his own goal line. The referee's assistant begs to differ. All the lads behind the goal are convinced the ball was a foot over the line.

I've a good feeling, as the Millers have finished the half strongly. There's a touching moment at the break. Edward's Dad, John Hartstone, gives me a book written by his wife Hazel, that is about her father, who was a Second World War POW. It took Hazel four years to write up his memoirs. It's a lovely, warm moment and only validates my decision to follow the club.

I stand with John Dring and Matt Dring in the second half. John's feeling chipper having won a bottle of red wine in the raffle. Niall Davie restores parity in the 47th minute. Big Alex Troke holds his nerve to score from the penalty spot to give the Millers their first League at home in over five months. 

Man of the Match Niall Hylton

Attendance: 150

Nottingham Forest 1-1 Wolverhampton Wanderers

A short explanation of my interest in the Munich Air Disaster.

It's 6th February, 1958. A rookie 24 year old Daily Express staff reporter is just beginning his afternoon shift on the Manchester news desk. He'd previously done his national service before learning the ropes at the Lincolnshire Echo and Liverpool Echo.

All hell breaks loose an hour into the young man's shift. A chartered aircraft has crashed into a house on its third-attempted take off, in wintry conditions at Munich Airport. The British European Airways Flight 609 has 44 people on board, they include the Manchester United team, staff and journalists, who are returning home from a European Cup tie in Yugoslavia. The death toll will be 23.

It's the biggest story my Dad will ever write during a career that spanned 40 years. He took early retirement after 20 years as East Midlands correspondent on the Daily Mirror. My father rarely talked about that day or the weeks that followed. He was the first reporter to speak to Matt Busby after his recovery. He flew out to West Germany with all the grieving parents and relatives of the players. Some of their sons and husbands didn't survive, whilst others were badly injured and scarred for life. 

A mate, Robert Rathbone, also a close friend of my Dad, alerted me this week to two newspaper clippings on eBay. My father was name-checked in both. One was an interview with Matt Busby's assistant, Jimmy Murphy. I did put a few bids in for the clippings, but was pipped at the post by a crazy maximum bid. I wouldn't be much kop on Bargain Hunt.

It's 5pm on Saturday, March 25th, 2023. Carlton Town have gone down 2-0 to Teessiders, Stockton Town. We've only won two games at home all season. You would expect an air of despondency and gloom in the clubhouse post match. Far from it, folks. DJ Dan lifts the room by playing one of the greatest sets in Non League history. The room is up dancing to 'Concrete Jungle' by The Specials and 'Night Boat to Cairo' by Madness. The only thing missing is a Fall track, eh, Alan Murphy?

There's a fundraising afternoon, the following day, for the Club at The Dragon on Long Row, in Nottingham city centre. Carlton owner, Mick Garton, plays an 80s set which includes a couple of New Order tracks. DJ Dan is worse for wear (hanging) after his sister's 30th birthday party. He's sticking to soft drinks this afternoon. DJ Murph does his best to put a dampener on the day with a couple of songs from The Smiths. Most people dart for the door, even non-smokers, as Morrissey's morose lyrics are belted out. If you suffer from depression or anxiety don't put his autobiography on your Christmas list.

I have waited for Monday morning to arrive for six months. I demolish a bowl of porridge before walking up Carlton Hill. Faggsy is waiting for me on the corner of Lancaster Road. The sun begins to break through as we make our way towards Trent Bridge for the first cricket fixture of the season.

We park ourselves in the pavilion as much of the ground is closed-off. Loughborough MCCU are the visitors. I love my time down 'The Bridge' and made a lot of friends last season; particularly the lads who all support Notts County.

'Crazy Steve' tips up. We discuss having another Heritage Pub, Victoria Cross and celebrity grave-hunting day in either Cheshire or Staffordshire. 'Cotgrave Trev' is up for it too. There's disappointing news to report at lunchtime from Mrs Bunns Cob Emporium on Musters Road. 'Crazy' and Sticky don't take too kindly to the news that there is a shortage of haselet (pork in herbs) in the county.

Notts rack up the runs. Liam Patterson-White looks the business. He's shed a few pounds after a winter tour. He wastes no time in reaching a half century by striking the ball to all parts of the ground. There's time for a couple of pints with Faggsy in the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton. I'll be back here on Wednesday for Al Needham's brilliant 'Foxy Quiz.' 

Tuesday teatime is spent up at Bread and Bitter on Mapperley Tops. It's 'Burger Night.' I have a Cajun chicken one with all the trimmings and a pint of real ale from North Riding Brewery. Tonight's entertainment is Gedling Miners' Welfare relegation basement battle with St Andrews from Leicester. 

I stand with Faggsy as the teams play out a five goal thriller. Despite having to play the second half with ten men, the visitors hang on to win 3-2. I'm greeted with a two fingered salute by 'The Radford Barry Fry' (Big Glenn). He seems to have resurfaced following a return to form for the Pheasants. 

Two days of continual rain have tipped me over the edge. It's best to be proactive during these moments. I look for train times up to the South Yorkshire town of Doncaster. I bag a split ticket return for £19. I alight the train at Sheffield - it's a tad too early for a beer at the splendid Sheffield Tap. I jump on a Northern train: destination is Adwick le Street.

Redhouse Cemetery is on the outskirts of the town, just over one mile away from the train station. It's a fairly small memorial garden. I notice a Manchester United scarf that is placed beneath a graveside. David Pegg died in the Munich Air Disaster, he was just 22 years old. He made 127 appearances for Manchester United and scored 24 goals. He had one cap for England. I remove my cap and read the words on the gravestone. His parents and grandmother are also laid to rest with him. I always feel sad on my walk back to the station.

My Bosnian back street barber, Mr Eko, cheers me up. He offers me a coffee or 'something stronger' as I queue for a trim. He usually asks customers what music they want on. Mr Eko is currently playing a Lithuanian Deep House mix. I would normally say "get this shit off", but the bloke in the barber's chair looks a bit handy. I give it the swerve.

I'm back at Nottingham railway station on Friday morning. Mac, Chopper Harris and myself are on the sauce in Grantham and Retford. Those buffoons at EMT are up to their tricks again. We have to catch a different train as the driver and train manager are locked out of their cab.

First port of call is the Whistle Stop that sits on Grantham station. We head into town and tick off the impressive Nobody Inn and The Beehive. Mac points out the Margaret Thatcher statue, en route back to the station. I stare straight ahead and blank it. If I had a Carlton Town Rock sticker I'd have placed it on her hooter.

Retford is an absolute gem for CAMRA pubs. The Brew Shed, Beer Under the Clock, Idle Valley Tap and Black Boy are magnifique. It's the birthplace of my cricketing hero, Derek Randall. He is the reason why I love the game so much. There's no blue plaque but I do manage to get a snap of Mac standing outside his beloved Boots, a company he has worked at for over 45 years. I arrive home in Nottingham worse for wear. I somehow manage to fire up the grill to make some cheese on toast. Carlton Fire Station are off their Playstations and put on standby.

News comes through that Pontefract Collieries v Carlton Town has been hosed off at 9.30 am on Saturday morning. It's disappointing news as I had hoped to sit on the coach with Carlton supporter Edward, so we could discuss the incompetency and buffoonery antics of Greater Manchester Police, in their failed attempts to catch Corrie killer, Stephen. I could go and watch 'Our Joe' but the game is being played on 4G. I manage to secure a ticket for Forest v Wolves at the 'World Famous City Ground.'

Ms Moon is on a road trip to Skeggy with her daughter and son, to stay with friends for the night. I don't bother with a beer before the game and I'm already hanging around the banks of the Trent, close to the Brian Clough Stand, an hour before kick off.

I'm not that fussed about getting into the ground too early, as the DJ set is pants. The Caesars 'Jerk it Out' is about as good as it gets. DJ Dan is available NFFC people, but you will need to come through his booking agent, Sticky Palms. And you would need to get some Castle Rock ales on too.

There's still some bad blood between the two clubs after a feisty, ill tempered League Cup tie a few months back. Referee Chris Kavanagh could be in for a busy afternoon. Wolves see an effort cannon off the crossbar as a stream of crosses cause confusion in the Forest defence. Against the run of play Brennan Johnson scores a brilliant goal. 

The game boils over in the second half. Staff from both dugouts are red-carded and there are a flurry of yellow cards on the pitch. Cooper goes early with five at the back. Wolves fortuitously equalise, six minutes from time. They have dominated possession but have posed little threat. Forest are braver on the ball and always look to move forward.

There's a lot of fuss about Morgan Gibbs-White, which isn't always backed up with stats or a trained eye. But today he has looked the part against his former club. His passing and running have been a joy to behold. He just needs to add some goals to his game now.

I chat to a NFFC fan in the King Billy in Sneinton after the game. We both agree it's two points dropped.

Man of the Match: Morgan Gibbs-White

Attendance: 29,368