Saturday 11th January 2020

Dateline: Sheffield Meadowhall.

So, I now like gin. And so I had a little bit of a head, nothing that a slap up breakfast down in the restaurant wouldn't sort out.

So, after showering and dressing, I go down to find I was second person down, and so had a choice of tables. Nearby is an athletic's stadium, the national indoor arena, so many athletes and their families stay here when they or their child is competing. One of the young athletes is on the table next to me, tucking into a healthy breakfast to provide energy for a full day's competition. Later his parents come down to check up on the young man, I guess this is their life at weekends now, too.

I have fruit and then bacon, sausage and hash browns, and coffee.

Just as well I did eat weel at the start of the day, as food was something of a rare commodity later in. But more of that as we go on.

Ian and Ali were to meet me at half nine in the lobby, so I have plenty of time to get stuff done online, call Jools and so on, so to be all ready at the appointed time.

Meadowhall was one of the first out of town shopping malls, the US style, built in a valley beside the M1. Our hotel was on one side, the railway station on the opposite side. So, once they come down, walk past the huge Next store, through the double level car park, the size of several football pitches, up the escalators and into the centre itself.

Of course there are no signs to the station, we only found our way as my friends had stayed here before and struggled to find their way. We had to walk through the lingerie department of M&S, then at the stairwell out the other entrance is a small sign pointing to the transport interchange. Over two footbridges, I call in at the ticket office to purchase my ticket, £22, and then down on the platform, when in two minutes our train pulls in, fairly full, but I get a seat, they had theirs reserved.

For a line that runs between two of the north's major cities, the Hope Valley line is a glorified branch line. The train trundles through Sheffield then out through the suburbs and then into the foothills of the Penines, though tunnels and deep cuttings until we emerge in a deep valley that had been sculptured by glaciers in the last ice age. Small villages of stone built houses huddled together for warmth, and hardy sheep were in the lower pastures, busily eating.

Into a long tunnel, and then emerging in Lancashire, as the line descended towards Stockport and then to Piccadilly.

We get our bearings, and then comes the age old problem of finding lunch. I wasn't hungry, they my friends wanted breakfast, proper breakfast, so we find a Wetherpoons knock-off place. We get the last spare table, and they have brunch, I have an orange juice, some vitamin C might be handy, I thought.

Old Trafford isn't in Manchester, its in Salford, a separate city, and to get there is too long to walk, but there are buses, trains and trams. We take the tram, so walk to the stop on Market Square to wait for the next one to whisk us there.

The tram takes us through former industrial areas, now converted into swanky house, with waterfront views thanks to the canals that used to serve the mills and factories. Manchester was once the cotton capital of the world, not any more, hardly anything seems to be made here now.

Once off the tram at Old Trafford, there is an open air bar next to the station, it has beer and big TV screens showing the Championship game live. Only downside was that it was cold. But, it wasn't crowded, and after a beer, another beer, a burger, another beer, the cold didn't matter.

Friends of Ian and Ali arrive, they buy us more drinks. Which we accept.

Above us, the clouds darken and soon there is dampness in the air, we are in Manchester after all. Rain is forecast for later, maybe it would be wrong?

It was half two, time to walk along to the ground, that the stark metal girders tower over the terraced houses surrounding the ground. It is packed, with tens of thousands making their way to the match, buying scarves and other souvenirs, or maybe a greasy burger.

I find my way to the turnstile, am frisked, scan my ticket and I am in. The concourse is packed, people drinking, eating and singing. We felt lucky, but then we always do.

I go to find my seat, no one sits, so I stand in front of it, as in front of us, the teams come onto the pitch. We sing our songs and the air is full of hope. Then the game starts, and United are first to the ball, pressing us when we have it, forcing mistakes.

Our game never gets going, and it is no surprise when Utd score just before half time. Just before the break we nearly have a breakaway goal, showing that we still sttod more than a hint of a chance. Maybe the second half the tide could turn?

In a word: no.

A needless penalty, non-existant marking at a corner and on the hour we were three down. A fourth followed, and Utd made changes to protect their best players for harder forthcoming games. As time ran out, we saw more of the ball, but had no meaningful shot on goal.

A game with no actual positives to take from it. Horrible all round, I could not bring myself to stay to applaud the players. I am one of the first out.

Meaning I had a twenty minute wait for Ian and Ali as they did stay.

Almost the whole crowd was in front of us for the tram queue, but the bar we were at earlier was open, and the Spurs v Liverpool game was on, so we stayed, even though rain was gently falling now.

We stayed an hour, enough for two or three beers, the rain fell harder and harder. But the queue had died down, so when the bar closed, we walked to the tram stop, waited under the shelter as the rain hammered down.

We get on the next tram and go back to Piccadilly; we had 90 minutes, Ian didn't think long enough to go to a curry house, so instead we go back to the pub to watch the rest of the game and have more beers.

At eight we walk in the rain to the station, picking up the last sausage rolls from a Greggs, before getting on the train. I mean, the twenty past eight train to Cleethorps, that'll be empty right? No, it was packed. I move some luggage to get to sit in one of the fold down seats. The train is full of people returning from Manchester Airport, hen and stag nights, it was a frightening mix.

And the train rattled and rolled its way back through the Pennines to Yorkshire. It was inky black outside, so no rolling hills, no deep valleys to look at, just count the seconds and minutes down until we got back to Meadowhall.

We were 20 minutes late, and we were all shattered, wet and fed up thanks to the result. We found our way through the mall, back through the car park to the hotel.

Are you still doing food I ask? No, we stopped 5 minutes ago I was told.

It was half nine, just time and energy to get two packets of crisps from the vending machine, go to our rooms before crawling into bed.

Apart from the football, a good day.