Mansfield Town 5-1 Salford City

It's Wednesday morning and I'm sitting in the front seat of a Citroen C1. Ms Moon is driving her daughter's car over Carlton Hill towards the suburb of Lady Bay - it's a well-to-do place known for cafes, takeaways and a couple of good watering holes. I clocked a breakfast place there last summer, whilst watching Notts 2nd XI playing cricket. It's on Trent Boulevard and called Bread and Lard Island.

Capital FM is playing some God damn awful tune, as we cross over a swollen River Trent, via Lady Bay Bridge. Remember folks, this is a 'radio station' that only ever spins the same six records every day. I still have nightmares, from years ago, when my two lads Jack and Joe were in the car, about a record they flogged to death by Swedish House Mafia called 'Don't You Worry Child' - it's absolute poppycock readers.

We are quickly seated on entry into the cafe. The eatery is stacked out with folk clogging up sought-after table space, as they tap away on laptops, whilst taking small sips of Espresso coffee, as they rob (take advantage of) the free wi-fi that's available. I gaze at a menu, chalked up on a blackboard, that hangs on the wall. I rub my eyes in disbelief that there's no full fry up on offer. You're quids in if the vegetarian option is your fancy. Two bacon and egg ciabattas, a latte and an Americano comes in at £30. The folk who run it are friendly people and the service is first-class, but I think I'll stick to greasy spoons in Sneinton and the city centre in future.

I was down Carlton Town's El Stadio Stoke, the previous evening, with Faggsy. Thanks to a massive effort from the amazing, dedicated supporters group, and with some advice from the ground staff at Trent Bridge Cricket Ground, the game manages to survive a pitch inspection.

'DJ Murph' is playing 'Echo Beach' by Canadian rock band Martha and the Muffins. It's a song that reached the number ten position in the pop charts back in 1979. Martha Ladly, from the group, later became a keyboardist for Scottish cult post-punk band The Associates, playing on their second album 'Sulk.

'The Millers are champing at the bit after a 17 day break. They steam roll a lethargic and unfit Bridlington Town on a pudding of a pitch. There's a lovely moment in the second half when David Adegbola, who has only been on the pitch for less than 30 seconds, skips past the full back before clipping in a cross that Alex Hardwick converts at the back stick. Local photographer, Steve McKeown, captures the celebration perfectly.

I'm up and at 'em on Thursday morning. I've four days off work to look forward to after clocking up 42 hours at the shop since Saturday. 'Crazy Steve' meets me at 7.45 am at our usual rendezvous point, Laguna Tandoori curry house, just off Maid Marian Way. Fifteen minutes later we are heading towards the City of London with Little Al and Cotgrave Trev.

We catch an overground train at Canons Park, disembarking close to Kensal Green Cemetery. It's bucketing it down with rain as we take siege at the William IV pub. As regular readers know the lads like visiting Victoria Cross memorial graves, whilst I'm partial to a celebrity final resting place. The boys have 17x VCs to visit in the nearby cemetery, whilst I have a small list including: Isambard Brunel, Charles Babbage, Danny La Rue and a cenotaph with Freddie Mercury's name on it, as a service was held here for him in Kensal Green. 

The lads only bag one VC and I manage to wade my way through the puddles of rain water to find the Brunel family vault before the search is aborted due to the worsening monsoon conditions. The rest of the day is spent jumping on and off tubes, visiting Grade II listed buildings that are CAMRA Heritage pubs. Elgin Arms, The Punch Tavern and the wonderful Blackfriar are all ticked off. We finish the day off at a delightful Turkish restaurant called Melissa that's located right next to the train station. Thanks for driving Trev and to Crazy too for planning.

There's no rest for the wicked. On Friday morning I'm lounging around in YOLK cafe with a pot of tea for one as I wait for blog legend Tony Mac to rock up. I demolish poached eggs and streaky bacon on sourdough toast with woodland mushrooms (a bit posh for you Sticky) before making the short walk to Nottingham railway station.

Coops joins us for 'Friday Two Monthly Club' as we catch the 10.12 choo choo to Leicester. We have a 30 minute wait at Leicester station before our train to the historic town of Stamford, in Lincolnshire. Tony Mac sniffs out a pub called Barley Mow where we have a glass of Marstons - it's only 10.45 am.

Chopper Harris joins us at Melton Mowbray. We alight at Stamford and walk over an angry fast-flowing River Welland as we stroll into the delightful town centre. It's a place where Britain's heaviest ever man (at the time) died. Showman, Daniel Lambert, weighed in at over 52 stone when he passed away suddenly. I remember when we were at school we sang "Who ate all the pies? Daniel Lambert, Daniel Lambert, he ate all the pies,"

The best pub in Stamford is the Kings Head. It's table service only, and to be fair to the bar manager he gives us all a fantastic customer experience. Tony Mac entertains the lunchtime drinkers by missing two steps and taking a tumble. By now we've been joined by Ackers, my best mate by school. Matt Limon finally tips up. Earlier he had announced that his mobile phone had been swiped at a curry house in D***y in the early hours of Friday morning. It transpires that one of his daft lad, pie-eyed, Sheep mates had mistakenly put it in his coat pocket.

The Jolly Boys trip continues at Oakham, in the county of Rutland, at the Grainstore and in Melton Mowbray where some cracking hostelries are visited such as: Anne of Cleeves, Charlie's Bar and the marvellous Round Corner Brewery Tap Room. On arrival back at Chez Palms it's a straight Red card from Ms Moon.

I'm a bit sheepish on Saturday morning. I apologise to Ms Moon about the previous night's drunken shenanigans. As a peace offering I rustle us both up a sausage sandwich as we catch up over some Holidays in the Sun morning TV. The Princess has rubber stamped a pass out for Mansfield Town v Salford City - I can't 'arf pick 'em folks.

I'm tapping on the Field Mill ticket office window at 1.45pm after the short walk from the station. I collect my ticket and take my seat in the lower tier of the Ian Greaves Stand after parting with £4 for a Lion bar duo and a bottle of Pepsi Max. The DJ's set isn't too bad; it includes: Blur, Arctic Monkeys, The Kinks and Manfred Man. He's no 'Casually Dan' though.

I love watching any Nigel Clough team. His recruitment is always spot on. Salford City arrive on the back of an unbeaten 8 match run since the shrewd appointment of excitable Scouser Karl Robinson.

Mansfield have been knocking on the door before finally opening the scoring. A pinpoint, flighted cross from Williams is glanced home by former Nottingham Forest striker Will Swan. The game is open and like a cup tie. Salford's Elliot Watt is pulling all the strings in midfield. He can thread the ball through the eye of a needle. Raking passes are punched out of his boot with either foot. The visitors equalise with a superb solo goal from rapid young winger Junior Luamba. The Stags restore their lead in the ninth minute of added time. It's been a breathtaking, pulsating 55 minutes of football.

Mansfield can breath easier now that the exciting Luamba doesn't show up for the second half. He'd earlier rolled on his ankle when falling over the ball. They pass the Ammies off the park. Clough's team grab the game by the scruff of the neck. They increase their lead, just shy of the hour, when leading scorer Keillor-Dunn rolls the ball into an empty net after another faux pas by the Salford 'keeper. Akins puts the game to bed on 69 minutes.

The visitors are reduced to ten men after a straight red card (trending this weekend) is shown to Vassell. Substitute Boateng makes it 5-1 at 5.05 pm - to be honest I'm waiting on the platform for my train home to Nottingham by then, where I'm joined by two students studying sports journalism at Derby University. They are great company for the 30 minute journey.

Attendance: 7.166 (152 from Salford)

Man of the Match: Matt Limon for the Currygate phone 'theft.'

Credit photos of Carlton Town to Steve McKeown. Thanks Steve.

Carlton Town 1-3 Liversedge F.C.

It’s Tuesday evening and I’m walking down Burton Road, in Carlton, with Notts County diehard fan ‘Faggsy.’ The Millers are playing Liversedge F.C. from West Yorkshire. There’s only a small gathering this evening as the usual attendees will be at the World Famous City Ground for NFFC v Arsenal.

The game we're watching is thoroughly entertaining. Carlton are 2-1 down at half-time, with the visitors reduced to ten men after a rush of blood to the head for Liam Hardy sees two quick yellow cards -  young refs, these days, can’t wait to issue a caution. It spoils the game. The FA and their referee assessors need to have a brainstorming session sometime, as the standard of officiating, particularly the game management side and communication to the players, is mediocre to say the least. At Step 4 many officials seem to be unapproachable. 

Carlton fail to take advantage of having an extra man. A superb free kick from Liversedge’s Jack Carr seals their fate. There’s an extra bitter taste to the excellent real ale at the Old Volunteer, as Faggsy and I hold a post mortem over the proceedings.

Happier times are had on Wednesday evening at Jam Cafe, one of Nottingham’s coolest bars (of course it sells craft ales). There appears to be a vibrant underground indie scene in our fair city right now. Bloodworm headlines the gig. Their music sounds similar to The Cure’s debut album, Three Imaginary Boys. The lead singer’s haunting voice reminds me of Bauhaus’s Pete Murphy. They were a Northampton goth band from the 80s. 

Local band, The Rain Age, play a blistering set too. It’s dark wave Manchester band, The Solution, who steal the show, despite being third on the bill. They are definitely one for the notebook, providing they manage to keep their young, wayward singer on track.

I get in big trouble with Mac for buying him a 12% abv imperial pastry stout. He’s up at 5 am each day, whilst I’m on a day off on Thursday. Carlton crew, 'Chief Wiggum', 'Casually Dan' and 'Herr Harlow' are all in attendance at the gig too.

I grab some tea with my two lads and ex work son Tom at Trent Bridge Inn, in West Bridgford on Thursday evening. It ties in quite nicely with a speakers’ evening at Notts Cricket Lovers, in the Derek Randall Suite. There is a question and answer session with new Notts skipper Haseeb Hameed. He is still only 27 years old, despite being on the scene for what seems an eternity. He’s stepped into Steven Mullaney’s shoes, who will now captain the Second XI.

I’m on the choo choo train with Tony Mac on Friday lunchtime. We change trains at Leicester as we head over to the town of Hinckley, where famous people come from such as: William Bass (Bass Brewery), William Butler (Mitchells and Butler), Human League singer Phil Oakey, and Alan Taylor, the scorer of two Wembley goals for West Ham United in the 1975 FA Cup final

The pubs are delightful, particularly Elbow Room Cask and Craft, where I buy my beers from, after a tip off from programme editor ‘Big Joe’ at Carlton Town. They import beers from the USA that blow your mind and head off. We finish up at a CAMRA heritage pub called Wharf, located on the outskirts of the town. It has an interior of national historic interest. Hinckley certainly is another hidden gem.

It’s just after dawn on Sunday, and I’m on the phone to my taxi driver, who has overlaid for an airport run. It’s Tenerife time of year again. I’m 60 years old tomorrow and it’s Ms Moon’s birthday on Friday. The Big Man (Bish) is also out in the 'Reef' celebrating his 50th with the Squadron. We’re on the beach front by 3.30pm, at Los Cristianos, eating prawns at a restaurant called Chill Out. It’s 26 degrees with a cooling breeze. Had I come 24 hours earlier I would have witnessed another 0-0 up at CD Tenerife in Segunda B.

It’s Monday morning, and my 60th birthday. Lord knows how I’ve made it this far with my unhealthy lifestyle. It coincides with my 30th anniversary of no smoking, which I commemorate with four comedy drags of Ms Moon's fag. I celebrate in style with Ms Moon at a stunning restaurant in the harbour of a fishing village called La Caleta. We sit on a terrace just a stone's throw away from the Atlantic Ocean. A guy sat behind us proposes to his girlfriend. He then spends the rest of the evening facetiming his friends. I feel like lobbing his mobile phone into the sea.

I had a couple of pints earlier in the day with some of the bruised and battered 'Battalion' at a bar around the corner from the Cleopatra Palace Hotel, where we are staying. There's a lovely touch from Dafty who has bought me a smart Lincoln City away shirt with Palmer 60 emblazoned on the back. Thanks mate.

I receive some devastating news on Thursday. One of my best friends, blog legend 'The Taxman' (Steve Belz) passed away peacefully in the early hours of the morning. I managed to have a telephone conversation with him the night before we flew out to Tenerife. We reminisced about our groundhopping journeys around the Midlands over the last 15 years. He was such a kind, gentle and friendly man, who never had a bad word to say about anyone. I have to admit some tears were shed at the end of the call. Rest in peace, I will miss you so much, my friend x

I've lazed around the pool at the hotel for six days on the bounce. I read a brilliant groundhopping/travel book, written by Daniel Gray, called The Silence in the Stands. Gray travels the north of England and Scotland watching football during the dark days of COVID restrictions. It's a riveting read with some heart-warming stories told by the author.

The final night in the 'Reef', Ms Moon's birthday, is spent at the highly recommended Limonella Italian restaurant, which offers an authentic experience with a focus on recipes from the Amalfi Coast. It's a lovely way to end a fantastic holiday in our happy place.

It's back to earth with a bump on Monday. I'm on shop duty at the world's greatest newsagent, MSR Arnold. I breeze through the afternoon, happy talking with customers about football, cricket and the weather (particularly in Tenerife).

Carlton Town's Tuesday night fixture versus West Yorkshire big babies Pontefract Collieries falls victim to the weather after another deluge of rain in the afternoon. My backup fixture at Clifton All Whites is hosed off too. I settle in with another cracking book by Daniel Gray called Food of the Cods - a history of fish and chips in the United Kingdom. Ms Moon is gripped by a weeks' worth of binge-watching 'The Farm.' 

Wednesday is a day I have patiently waited for in a long time. I'm ecstatic when Trainline confirm that the £70 transaction has been made. I am now the proud owner of a three year Senior Railcard. Readers, you'll see me on more train journeys than Michael Portillo.

The rail card celebration (soft drinks only) begins at Baresca, a Spanish award-winning restaurant on Byard Lane, in Nottingham. Ms Moon's daughter, Becky, very kindly treats us both to lunch; and very nice it was too. The afternoon is spent at Broadway Cinema. I now have a concessionary membership which means I can view any film for £6. Today it's The Iron Claw, starring Zac Efron. It's the tragic, true story about a wrestling family called the Von Erichs. Wrestling hasn't really been my cup of tea since the unmasking of World of Sport wrestler Kendo Nagasaki in the ring at the Wolverhampton Civic Hall in 1977. But I'd thoroughly recommend this film.

Even if Carlton Town were to survive a pitch inspection there would be no Sticky Palms down at Stoke Lane this weekend as I've volunteered to do a 12 hour shift on Saturday as a colleague wants to take his lad down Forest. Friday evening is spent with Tony Mac in Nottingham city centre. We visit the Organ Grinder, Good Fellow George, Sir John Borlase Warren, Crafty Crow, The Castle and Junkyard (thanks for heads up Tim Widdowson re the tap takeover). We tip up at Neon Raptor at the fag end of the crawl for a couple of rocket fuel nightcaps. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

xxx