Birmingham City 2-1 Wigan Athletic

It's August Bank Holiday Monday and I'm gnawing my way through a Birds cream slice outside their Sherwood branch, on Mansfield Road, a couple of miles away from Nottingham city centre. Ms Moon is shouting up the coffees 50 yards further up the street. My phone vibrates. I fish my mobile out of my pocket. I feel a pang of sadness and my heart sinks as I read the breaking news of the passing of former England manager and Notts County Director of Football, Sven-Goran Eriksson. 

I was working at Meadow Lane, as Head of Recruitment at Notts County Academy, when the 'Munto' bandwagon came rolling into town, along with the razzamataz and bonkers decision-making. Everyone has a Sven story. I'll tell you mine, in full, when I finally write my memoirs (lol). Basically, I chanced upon a 16 year old Nigerian boy playing football (kick-about) with his mates on Forest Recreation Ground, where Nottingham's Goose Fair is held. I had a hunch, so I brought him into the Club. Sven took a liking to him after a cameo role off the bench versus Mansfield Town under 16s one Sunday morning.

I was later summoned to meet Eriksson, who was intrigued and interested to hear more about the boy's background and story. The lad had been trafficked into the U.K. from Nigeria, and was homeless on the streets of Peckham, in London, for a year. He was taken off the streets by a kind-hearted taxi driver, who relocated his family up to Nottingham. Sven just wanted to help the lad. He had contacts in the Foreign Office, and arranged for the teenager to attend four interviews at immigration centres all over England. He was granted a four year visa. Sven's help enabled the boy to go to university where he studied for a degree in Business. My point is that Eriksson didn't have to help him, but he did. Rest in peace Sven.

I'd been looking forward to watching a film called Kneecap at Broadway Cinema. The plan was to go straight from work on Tuesday evening. The film is set in Northern Ireland and is a comedy/drama about the rise of a hip-hop trio from Belfast. Any plans of a viewing are scuppered by the late arrival of the EVRI courier at the shop where I work at. I settle, instead, for some tea at the highly-rated Pizza Pilgrims in hipster Hockley, followed by some super strength craft ales at Junkyard, a cool bar down a passageway off Weekday Cross.

It's Wednesday evening and I'm taking a steady 3 mile stroll up to Carrington in inner city Nottingham. The rush-hour traffic is already grid-locking the city centre roads. Nottingham Forest are entertaining Newcastle United in a Carabao Cup tie at The City Ground in a few hours' time. It's not my game of choice this evening, despite it being nowhere near a sell out.

I swing off Mansfield Road onto Loscoe Road where one of my all-time favourite pubs comes into view. The Gladstone, which nestles in between Victorian terracing, is a hidden gem and community pub, The 'Beer Gestapo' (CAMRA) does not have this 130 year old pub as an entry in its latest guide - it's who you know folks. Schmoozing ain't everyone's bag. I enjoy a pint from a small microbrewery in Arnold.

Ex work son and Spurs season ticket holder, Tommy, picks me up from outside the boozer. We avoid the football traffic in town like the plague and head down the ring road to the south of the river. Destination tonight is my old club Keyworth United.

I shout up Tom a pint of Guinness in the clubhouse and also catch up with Sizzers and Stolly who I've both coached in the past. 'Our Joe' is playing right back in tonight's Notts Senior League fixture against Aslockton and Orston. The game is over as a contest early on. The Green Army coast to a 5-1 victory. I'm impressed with the calmness and maturity of Keyworth's 16 year old centre half.

Another four miles are banked on Thursday morning when Faggsy and I walk to Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club at Trent Bridge. Sunscreen is applied as Surrey win the toss and elect to bat. 16 year old off spinner, Farhan Ahmed (Sticky's favourite) becomes the youngest ever player to represent the club in a First Class fixture. He's handed the ball in the 13th over to settle his nerves. He doesn't disappoint, ending the day with four wickets including the dismissal of former England Test player Ben Foakes for a first ball quack. I celebrate with a couple of potted beef sandwiches.

The usual crew are assembled in the Lower Radcliffe Road stand, behind the bowler's arm. Pies legend Acko and his Notts County chums are sitting a few rows in front of us. I sit with Faggsy, Kev, 'Kimberley Al' and 'Big Andy' I enjoy a couple of post match scoops with Faggsy at 'Pretty Windows' adjacent to Sneinton Market before, as Jim Bowen used to say on Bullseye, that its BFH time.

It's rinse and repeat on Friday. I catch the bus down to the bottom of Carlton Road. I join 'Crazy Steve' and 'Little Al' at a greasy spoon called The Avenues. We hoover up a full English with toast and a cup of tea for £6.50 a pop. Farhan completes a seven wicket haul and leaves the field to a standing ovation. It's no mean feat that this performance is against the best County side in the country. I slip away after tea as I'm meeting my brother and sister in law for tea in town. We have a quick drink in Castle Rock's Barley Twist before dining at a warmly lit Mediterranean bar and restaurant called Dino, located on Warser Gate.

After the meal I make a huge faux pas. We called in at the Angel Microbrewery on Stoney Street, in the Lace Market. The place is stacked out with folk, with no seating available. I foolishly suggest Curious Tavern, a bar that's part of the Mercure Hotel. It's a doghole now and is completely down the pan. Don't bother folks.

As you can tell, Ms Moon is down south on business and leisure. I'm making hay whilst the sun shines this weekend. Carlton Town have a tricky home FA Cup tie versus Stamford AFC. The Millers have frustratingly been struggling to keep 11 players on the pitch at times this season, as old habits die hard. The lack of discipline annoys me. I decide to travel further afield after an invitation of a day out by a mate I met through the strong social scene that the diehard supporters have created at Stoke Lane. Dean Gripton and I are aboard the 9.07 Cross Country train to Bournemouth. Destination is St Andrews, home to League One Birmingham City FC.

We've time to kill as we alight the train at New Street station. Savage cuts by the bankrupt Labour City Council mean we're kicking our heels for a further 15 minutes as we wait for the doors of the Library of Birmingham to open. It has ten levels. The rooftop affords sweeping views of the skyline of the city. I always have a quick look in the crime fiction section to see if any of my Dad's books are still around.

I've a Good Beer Guide entry I want to tick off in Hockley, which serves the Jewellery Quarter part of the city. 1000 Trades is situated close to the Pen Museum. It has a plethora of ales on offer. We enjoy a real ale brewed in nearby Walsall, as the dulcet tones of The Cure's Robert Smith belt out on the i-Pod shuffle.

We wander through Digbeth with it's regeneration and street art. We hook up with Dean's mate, Keith, who is a Wigan fan, at a pub called The Ruin. He says he'll settle for a 0-0. " I bloody well won't", I reply. There's pandemonium at the turnstiles. The scanners are freezing, The game is well underway by the time we take our seats behind the goal the Bluenoses attack.

It's not long before leading scorer Alfie May races away from his marker to put the Blues ahead after 18 minutes. Wigan end the half strong as they string some passing and movement together. The Latics continue to impress in the second period. Dean says an equaliser is only a minute away. Aasgaard duly obliges after a howler from the 'keeper Peacock-Farrell, who Dean is less than impressed with. The game is there for the taking. Shots are blazed over and the decision-making is poor. 

The Blues make a flurry of substitutions as some of their big guns enter the stage. Wigan are camped in their own half for the final 25 minutes and are down to ten men due to injury. They pay the price for endless time-wasting when Scott Wright bursts the back of the net in added time. St Andrews almost shakes with the noise from the celebrating 26,000 fans.

Attendance: 26,136 

Admission: £25 Gill Merrick Stand

Man of the Match: Tommy T for chauffeuring me on Wed.