3000 Lincoln City fans bounce up and down as the final whistle is blown at the Cardiff City Stadium. The 400 mile round trip and early start, for a 12.30pm kick off, has been well worth the time and effort. Rob Street is reluctantly pushed forward by his colleagues to take the plaudits. He has run his socks off and is attracting interest from Championship clubs.
I keep my head down, as I walk back into Cardiff city centre with the home supporters. My heart is racing ten to the dozen. I ring my brother up to chew over the fat, as he has watched the game on his TV set. We both agree that 'The Lincoln' have been magnificent in the second half. It's been a smash 'n grab with two breakaway goals. The match stats are a joke. The Bluebirds have had 78% possession. I wonder what the analysts and new breed of football supporters will make of that? Get the ball in the box and stop pussyfooting about, is what I say.
My train has been cancelled by that low life train operator X-Country. Sir Keir, please return this joke of a company to public ownership. I nip into a 'Spoons, a short walk away from the railway station. I enjoy a pint of Red ale and a bowl of sticky Korean chicken.
There's all hell let loose on Platform 5. It appears 100 Imps fans have been booted off two private coaches as folk have been caught boozing on them. The police have turned a blind eye, but the coach drivers have been told by the owner to drive back to Lincoln, minus supporters. Women and small children have been abandoned and hung out to dry. An adult single fare to Lincoln is £90. "What did you pay mate?" asks a raging Lincoln fan. "£35 return pal." We don't speak again.
It's chaos and bedlam at Birmingham New Street due to CrossCountry cancelling the previous train. The buffoons are asking folk who are travelling to Burton upon Trent or Derby to catch another train, as we are overloaded. The irony, eh. I finally arrive home at 9pm after a memorable trip. To complete the day the news arrived earlier that the Mighty Millers have beaten the Anstey All Stars in a top of the table clash. What a day to be alive.
Gedling Borough Council felt the wrath of my tongue the other week. Add them to the list of underperforming organisations. I put out the glass bottle recycling bin. It was full to the brim with Ms Moon's Prosecco empties (Trumpy Bolton would be proud) with the odd bottle of Red wine thrown in too. It was embarrassing to be honest, as I had to borrow the next door neighbour's bin too. It was a failed collection, folks. A no show from the bin lorry.
As petty as it seems I decided in a fit of pique to phone up the Council. The lady who picked the phone up had a brain the size of a pea. She would have breezed through a job interview at Carlton Tesco. such was her lack of empathy and zero customer service skills. GBC are quick to send out bills for Council Tax and Green gardening waste pick-ups, but there was no communication on the website or by email to say their bin lorry was off the road. Petty, I know, but this is an organisation who allowed an employee, in accounts, to siphon off £930,000 of Public money over a 19 year period, only for him to pay a fraction of this back.
After work on Tuesday I have tea at Castle Rock's Bread and Bitter on Mapperley Top. Lincolnshire sausage, mustard mash and onion gravy is washed down with a pint of Fire Horse from Alter Ego brewery, which is located in Alfreton. Gedling Miners Welfare are pitting their wits against high-flying Stapleford Town this evening.
Big Glenn and his quick-witted sidekick, 'Shoey', are both in the clubhouse. Their club, Radford FC are dropping like a stone and are in the mire. I ask Glenn if it's true that he has won an award. He looks non-plussed. Apparently the United Counties League have said that the teamsheet he submits each week has the neatest handwriting in the League. Gedling play with a lot more energy than of late. They go down 2-0 which is a fair reflection of the play.
I'm sat in the wrong seat in Broadway Cinema on Thursday, until it's pointed out to me by an irate usher. It's pitch black in there and I've only got one eye. I'm watching a Brazilian Cannes Film Festival winning production called The Secret Agent, which is a political thriller.
It's a noisy start to the film due to my neighbouring cinema-goers munching their way through two bags of popcorn. The film is close to three hours long and scored 98% on Rotten Tomatoes. For an hour I haven't a Scooby Do what's going off. Finally things fall into place. I finish the afternoon off with a quick slurp in Neon Raptor.
Tony Mac and I are on the 7.45 train to Sheffield on Friday morning. It's a day out in the historical city of Kingston upon Hull. We still have a few pubs in the Good Beer Guide to tick off. We hook up with Ackers before making the short walk to Thieving Harry's in the marina for a big fry-up.
The first pub is The Ship Inn, a cosy, traditional watering hole with a roaring fire. The landlord/owner is so friendly, like most northerners. He tells us some amusing stories and tips us off on a couple of newly opened pubs.
The day goes by in the blink of an eye. Other great pubs, with friendly faces behind the bar, include: The Alexandra Hotel, Fretwells and George Hotel. I love Hull, especially the Old Town and marina. You should go one day, you won't be disappointed.
We book an UBER to an out of town pub called Pave. The taxi driver is comedy gold. He reels off some famous people he's had in his cab, including Tommy Steele. I ask if he tipped him half a sixpence #oneforthekids. He says that former Blackburn and Hull striker, Henrik Pedersen, changed his tyre when he was a passenger in the cab. "Don't tell Phil Brown (Hull manager) I've done this, he'll kill me as I'm playing tomorrow."
I'm having breakfast in YOLK at 8.30 the following morning, as it's an early kick off at Sincil Bank. It'll be the last chance to see the Imps this season and it's the reason why I have chosen this fixture over Notts v Chesterfield, which is bound to be a cracker. My Woodland mushrooms, poached egg and bacon on sour dough toasted bread is magnifique and a piece of art.
I gaze at the timetable as I wait for my train. Would you Adam 'n Eve it, XCountry have cancelled two consecutive trains to Birmingham due to a shortage of drivers. The train to Lincoln passes by without incident.
I wander up town on my arrival. There is an independent market on High Street. I grab a Portuguese pastry before strolling to the ground along Sincil Bank and through the fan zone. I take my seat with a cup of Yorkshire Tea for company. There is barely a soul in the ground.
Lincoln are 19 unbeaten and the Hatters are battling to stay in a play off spot. Moylan has already stung the hands of the giant Stockport 'keeper before he opens the scoring from close range following a corner. Stockport are impressive, particularly their 2 jacket Dacres-Cogley. The Imps look tired and disjointed after tough trips to Cardiff and Exeter.
A goal has been long coming for Stockport. Former NFFC player Ben Osborn has been pulling all the strings, he strikes the ball into the box which is superbly met with the head of ex Imp Jack Diamond. Parity is deservedly restored.
Stockport smell blood, so Skubala freshens things up by bringing on five subs. Wickens launches the ball upfield it falls to Darwika who strikes a deflected shot into the net. Substitute, Alfie Lloyd ,who I clocked a few months ago on loan at Leyton Orient, races onto a Wickens assist to put the game to bed. The scenes at the end at Sincil Bank are unprecedented. I just hope their tired legs get themselves over the finishing line.
Attendance: 9,759
Player of the Match: Sonny Bradley
Best Song I've Heard on the Radio This Week: Borderline, by Tame Impala
Best Real Ale Supped This Week: Black Band Porter, from Kirkstall Brewery, Wm Hawkes, in Hull.
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