It's Friday 6th October and I'm in a car with Ms Moon, who is driving down London Road, Nottingham, in rush-hour traffic. Notts County's Meadow Lane ground is to our left. The Magpies have played there since the ground opened in 1910. I walked to 'The Lane' with Faggsy a few evenings ago for the Pies' League Two clash with Swindon Town. It was undoubtedly the best game of football I've seen this season; played at breakneck speed.
The show put on by Notts in the first 45 minutes was breathtaking and jaw-dropping. They blew away the visitors, or so it seemed, with three goals before the break. One, a deft chip over the 'keeper by the impressive David McGoldrick. The second was a penalty by Macaulay Langstaff - his 50th goal for the club. The third was fired home at the back stick with a first time volley by former Arsenal and Morecambe midfielder Dan Crowley.
I said to 'Our Joe' on socials at the break (he was sitting in the same stand) that Swindon's left wing back would be hooked - and so he was, as well as former Southampton and QPR striker Charlie Austin. The visitors pegged a goal back but continued to fluff their lines in front of goal on several occasions. Notts County ran out worthy winners. There was no time for a post-match beverage with Faggsy after the match, as us Media lads had an early start in the morning.
I say goodbye to Ms Moon in the car park of Castle Rock's Embankment pub. I sit in the Dispensary, called so because it was one of Jesse Boot's (the chemist) first ever pharmacies, that opened in 1907. It's a beautiful Grade II listed building that has Chesterfield leather armchairs dotted around the bar area. It's real ale and craft ale heaven.
I settle down in my chair as I quaff a pint of Friday Night, a New Zealand pale ale from the Magpie stable, that's brewed across the road in the Cattle Market area of town. I peer out of the window towards Trent Bridge where I notice a Ford Mondeo hurtling down the inside lane. The car driver takes a left hand turn into the pub car park. Its driver comes bursting through the door, roaring with laughter before shouting "Evening Hopper."
It's the 'Big Man' (Bish). It's a while since we've seen one another. Tea's on me. He mops up a rump steak and chips in no time. The reason for our rendezvous is that we have an early start in the morning - we're spending a week in Tenerife, the largest of the Canary Islands. We settle in for the evening, watching an excellent game of football between Birmingham City and WBA, before lights out and an early night.
Some headlights appear at the top of Spinney Road, in the village of Keyworth, at just shy of 5 am on Saturday morning. I'm usually marking newspapers up at this time of day. 'Chopper Harris' throws our luggage into the boot of his car.
Seven hours later Ryanair flight number FR3152 taxis the runway at Tenerife South airport. We breeze through passport control and pick up Chopper's luggage which has already appeared on the baggage carousel. The resort of Los Cristianos is a short drive away. We're stopping at a three bedroomed apartment on the Jardines de Canarios 'complex' close to the beach and local market.
Like most folk we tend to go for it on the first night. The three of us came for 9 nights last November during the World Cup in Qatar. Memories of England wins versus Wales and Senegal are blurry and faded. We have a spot of tea at a refurbished bar at the back of Los Cris' called Chicago's - it was previously named Manhattan's Cocktail Lounge before a revamp under new ownership.
Crystal Palace v Nottingham Forest is the 5.30 pm kick off. It's as dull as dishwater folks. Missed opportunities see Forest fans feeling a wee bit disappointed that it's only one point they will be taking back north up the M1. I'm spitting feathers that the game ends 0-0 - as I don't do them folks. If Hodgson's Palace were playing in my back garden I'd shut the curtains.
'The Reef' has been experiencing some extreme weather of late. Temperatures reached the late 30's in the few days before our arrival. It's already hit 35 degrees Celsius as the Big Man and I wander towards the resort of Playa de las Americas where Wales fans, in their daft bucket hats, had a dust up with the Three Lions lads during the World Cup.
We're both gasping for air as we both part with 8 Euros each at the Estadio Antonio Dominguez Alfonso ticket office, home to the mighty CD Marino who play in Division 13 of the Canary Islands League. It's a multi-purpose stadium at the back end of 'Playas' across the road from the KN Columbus Hotel - a crowd favourite of the Big Man's.
I normally partake in a couple of pints of the local beer at the game. Such is the heat and humidity, that it would be foolish to do so today. Added to the tricky conditions is a strong wind too. The standard ain't the best - probably equivalent to Step 5 in the English U.K. Pyramid system. The Tarmac running track plus my dodgy 'mince pie' means you need a pair of binoculars to gain a decent view.
The game is the usual Spanish comedy gold. The Marino 9 jacket hits a toe-stubber of a penalty at the visiting 'keeper. UD Tamaraceite, from Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, take all three points following some sloppy defending by Marino. I spot later in the day that 10 men CD Tenerife won 2-1 in the Segunda League. They currently top the table and could be playing the likes of Real Madrid and Barcelona if their good form continues. I took the lads up to Santa Cruz last season to watch CD Tenerife. Unfortunately we were all deathly white and nursing the worst hangovers known to man following the 3-0 demolition of Wales the night before. Not a drop of alcohol passed our lips that day - a first for 'Chopper Harris.'
The whole of Monday is spent on a sun-lounger at the local beach following a hearty breakfast at The Vault, which not only plays cool indie tunes, but also has a well stocked craft beer fridge. I've brought a couple of books with me, one of which is called 'The Full English' written by the esteemed travel writer and broadcaster Stuart Maconie. The author re-enacts the 1933 book, An English Journey written by Bradford author J.B.Priestley. I get so enthralled with Maconie's own journey that I end up getting sun-burnt on my chest despite sitting under an umbrella for most of the day - I told you it was hot.
The following day 'Chopper' and I wander 6 miles up the coast, walking up and over Costa Adeje and onto the harbour village of La Caleta. We sit in a restaurant, with the sun glistening on the Atlantic Ocean, whilst sharing three plates of tapas and a carafe of wine. It's approaching 38 degrees as we jump into a taxi after lunch. Chopper and I laugh at the irony, in the cab, with the air con blasting out, as the radio DJ plays David Essex's 1983 hit 'A Winter's Tale.'
It's Thursday evening and we're sat in Taylor's Sports Bar at the back of Los Cris. The referee is blowing his whistle for kick-off in Seville, as Spain play Scotland in a European Championship qualifier. The place is mobbed out with nervous, twitchy Scots. They currently top the group with a 100% record. It all ends in tears when a Scott McTominay 'goal' is ruled out after a VAR check. Spain score two late goals to break some hearts and keep the group alive.
The holiday comes to an end. We've enjoyed some great meals at Restaurante Fortuna, Mint of India and Tai-Pan - all recommended if you are ever holidaying in Tenerife. There have been a few comedy moments with the Big Man missing a night out after overlaying due to a lunchtime vodka binge. The lads made it out to The Dubliner (I didn't). As I approach my 60th birthday I mak e the sensible decision (boring) to retire to the Big Ben pub, adjacent to our complex, to read my book. How times have changed from 5 years ago when I have no recollection of leaving The Dubliner after a Super Sunday session.
I can't 'arf pick 'em.
Attendance: 3
Men of the Match: Big Man and 'Chopper Harris.'
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