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')
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