The massive National Lottery win of £173 is put to good use. On Wednesday evening we're booked in at the upper circle of Nottingham Playhouse for the 6.30pm showing of Punch. Ms Moon soaks up the evening sunshine with other theatregoers outside the venue. She has purchased a couple of baby bottles of prosecco from the bar inside. She declines the offer of a Jelly Bean, as I unearth a bag from deep inside my pocket. They're only £1.25 from the Friar Lane MSR store - a bargain buy in comparison to the Playhouse prosecco.
For those of you unaware of James Graham's play, called Punch, here is the narrative. In 2011, trainee paramedic, James Hodgkinson, travelled from southern England, up to Nottingham, to watch a day of Test Cricket with his father and friends at Trent Bridge, in West Bridgford. After the game James, his dad and some friends walked into the city centre for a few drinks on the Saturday evening. Another large group of mates, from an inner city area called the Meadows, were also drinking in town.
A Meadows lad called Jacob Dunne had become separated from the larger group and was drinking in another pub called the Pitcher and Piano when he received a phone call from a friend to say that trouble was brewing outside Yates Wine Lodge, in Market Square. Dunne dashed across town and after appearing at the scene, unprovoked and without questioning, threw a single punch at James who fell to the floor.
Nine days later the life support machine, keeping James alive, was switched off by doctors. A bleed to the brain caused catastrophic organ failure. Dunne was found guilty of manslaughter and was sentenced to 30 months at Glen Parva Young Offenders Institution. It's an incredible story full of forgiveness, bravery and courage. The audience is reduced to tears when the father of James shakes the hand of Dunne; the hand that punched and killed his son.
Easter is spent mainly at the shop where Sticky's Independent Traders has an Easter egg stall on Front Street. I forgive folk who buy the Daily Mail and vote Reform, for four days only, as record sales are recorded. I should have carved out a client relationship role when I left school and not delayed it until I was in my early fifties as I have loved every minute of it.
We dine at Raymonds restaurant opposite The Angel Microbrewery on Good Friday evening. Earlier, I had enjoyed three pints of Black Iris session beer at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton.
Easter Monday sees me down Stoke Lane for the Carlton Town v Basford United NPL Midlands fixture. I'm tired and mardy after a 4 am - midday shift at the shop. It was only last week that I saw these two sides tough it out in a Notts Senior Cup semi-final at Greenwich Avenue. I'm no fan of Basford nor their 'plastic pitch.' They deservedly won the tie after a lacklustre second half from the Millers, who still appear low on confidence and short of energy and ideas going forward. The highlight of the night was tea and a pint with Nige Harlow at The Lion.
The Millers volunteers are to be applauded for the welcome to fans of Nottinghamshire Non League football. There's a good choice of food, fine craft ales and crystal clear music booming out of the sound system.
Carlton take a very early lead. Lamin Manneh skins his full back alive and is clipped. Chambers scores from the spot. Again Basford are excellent in the second half. They equalise and push for the winner. Only the brilliance of Felix the Cat and a missed sitter prevents the Ambers from taking all three points. I walk home in a sulk. My nose is streaming and my throat is on fire. As Morrissey said back in 1985 'please excuse me, I've got this terrible cold coming on' (The Headmaster's Ritual).
It's work and rest for three consecutive days as I struggle to fight off a virus. I pass a late fitness test on Friday morning and head down to Mrs Bunns Cob Emporium on Musters Road, in Bridgo. I gnaw my way through my bacon and tomato cob as I queue at the ticket collection point at Nottinghamshire Cricket Club where I have renewed my membership.
Faggsy shouts me up a coffee in the Barrel and Bean. We wander around to the Lower Radcliffe Road where we take our seats. The usual cast of characters are in attendance: Drurs, Horsey, Kev, Kimberley Al, Neil and Ken. We are joined later by an old school friend called Gary Robson, who I also played cricket with for Keyworth.
Over 350 runs are scored for the loss of 14 wickets. We spend most of the day bathed in the glorious spring sunshine. It's bloody freezing for the final two hours. Circulation is restored to my body when we finally leave the ground at 6.50pm. A couple of pints of Harvest Pale ale are quaffed in Sneinton Market.
Dean Gripton messaged me yesterday to say that a couple of tickets have been confirmed in the home end at Cambridge United's Cledara Abbey Stadium. I hastily book an advanced return train ticket with a change at Ely. The 8.32 Nottingham to Norwich train sees cheery, hopeful Pies' supporters in good spirits, including Kimberley Al and Tony Perkins, the landlord of the Partizan Tavern, which has some of the best kept beer in our city.
'Grip' is a football encyclopedia and a great lad too. He's keen to visit the Polar Museum that's just a short walk away from the railway station and it's free admission too. It's well worth the while. It documents a history of exploration in the Arctic, Antarctic and surrounding areas. I'm blown away with some of the stories told about courageous men such as Captain Scott and Roald Amundsen.
The Kingston Arms comes highly recommended and is a Good Beer Guide entry. It re-opened in 2023 after falling on hard times. It's wet-led with a small selection of bar snacks. I have a Black Forest Gateaux stout. I chance upon another lad from Keyworth who I haven't seen in over 45 years. His name is John Bell who is now a London Pie. I remember him being a mighty fine footballer. His late sister, Tracey, was a big Pies fan too.
We dine on the hoof with a peri peri chicken wrap and some chips. Tickets are collected and our seats are taken. A stanchion blocks my view of the nearest goal. I like the ground with its low-roofed stands and narrow rows. Notts look to be down to the bare bones. There's no Jones, Tsaroulla, Platt, Robertson or the ill-disciplined Jatta.
The Magpies don't cope with the swirling wind from the off. Cambridge 'keeper Eastwood pings a diagonal 50 yard ball, Bedeau is drawn out of the centre of defence, but fails to win his header there's a scramble in the box and a save before the rebound is netted.
Everything is coming down the left hand side. By 33 minutes it's 3-0. A long throw isn't dealt with and Lavery fires home. Another set piece is clipped in, nobody attacks it, the first touch is sublime, the second is smashed into the back of the onion bag.
Notts offer very little, although an Ndlovu header bounces back off the cross bar following the dismissal of Eastwood for deliberate handball outside the area. Manager Martin Patterson (we call him Fagin in the shop at work) hurries down the tunnel; he is raging.
Changes are made but the pattern of play is unchanged. The ten men of Cambridge make it 4-0 after more shoddy defending by Ness. Opposition scouts and analysts will have noted Notts' weakness from an aerial bombardment. With the uncompromising Barnet, Bristol Rovers and Colchester United still to play they are going to have to fight tooth and nail and show they have the stomach for it, otherwise it's the play-offs once again.
Attendance: 7,983
Player of the Match: Captain Scott
Best Record I've Heard on the Radio: Opus Kink, Come Over, Do Me Wrong
Best Ale Supped This week: Black Iris, Demon Cleaner
