‘Have you ever been more confident of a defeat?’ I asked on the train down. ‘No’ was the inevitable response. My last remnants of positivity suggested we might put in a decent display after the incompetence of Tuesday but I could see little hope of coming away from Upton Park with anything other than zero points.

Trig did his best to miss the train but just made it with seconds to spare; joining PL and I aboard the 09:34 to London Kings Cross via Grantham which, incidentally, must be one of the coldest spots in Britain. We arrived well before midday and made the short journey to Shoreditch to meet Cags and took in a couple of bars; The Bricklayers Arms and The Last Blue Spot. Trig was visibly shaken at having to pay £4.15 for a pint!

The only pub in sight between Upton Park station and the ground was the Queens but, after queuing for a short while, we decided that it simply wasn’t worth it so we headed inside. A short line had formed at the turnstiles where two burly looking chaps were frisking selected individuals with serious intent. I initially thought I had been spared this moment of intimacy but, as I sauntered by, one of them grabbed hold of me to stop my progress and, without a single word, thrust his hand in the direction of my jacket pocket and squeezed so he could determine the contents. If I had had a carton of Capri Sun in there I swear it would have exploded such was the force used. As I continued on my way I remarked that some forewarning would have been nice and this caused him to shoot back some angry but inaudible comments at the same time as performing the process on PL, whose programme plastic wallet was sadly destroyed by the ferocity of the search.

A healthy enough following from Nottingham was joined by an annoying contingent of Cockney’s. I have nothing against the majority of these people but a few of them are absolute clowns with little grasp of the basics of football. I think they stand out mainly because Cockney’s are generally loud and abrasive and have ridiculously stupid accents. We were unfortunate to have one of these types behind us who continued to shout ‘ABSALUTE CLARSE’ after every simple pass was made. While a completed Forest pass was certainly a shock to us all, this guy was taking it to extremes.

The performance was 100% improved from Leicester but that doesn’t really mean we were fantastic. At times, we looked very good and created numerous chances that were wasted. Mcgugan and Tudgay (twice) were the primary culprits and, as in previous games, we failed to turn dominance into testing the opposition ‘keeper. As things began to settle immediately before half-time we were all stunned to concede a penalty for handball. It is up there with any of the bad decisions we have witnessed this season and the replays on the giant screen during the break were enough to produce a collective groan from the away contingent.

We failed to maintain the standards in the second half but still could easily have grabbed that elusive goal. Instead, we went two down through another handball. I never saw a thing and nobody appealed but the linesman flagged. Nobody panicked at first and then PL screamed that a penalty had been awarded. I couldn’t believe it. Trig insists it was the right call but I never it although TV replays, which I am yet to see, may show it more clearly. Either way, it was game over. The last minute goal brought some slight relief but, even though it ended our drought, there was little delight from us Forest fans.

I couldn’t bring myself to clap them off at the end due to my anger still existing from Tuesday but it had undoubtedly been a vastly improved effort and I won’t often ask for much more. If we had lost most games like that I sincerely doubt I would be anywhere near as disappointed with either the players or the manager. While welcome, I unfortunately possess little faith that it will be repeated in our next game against Burnley because I cannot recall us putting in two acceptable performances on the spin all season. We are now entering the category of games that will be labelled ‘must win’, especially at home and anything else is unlikely to be good enough. Despite the positives we are looking in deep peril more than ever due to other results. It was definitely better but things are now looking far worse. If the four point gap gets extended we are going to find it ridiculously difficult to climb out of danger.

After that it is Pride Park. It is hardly a game many of us are going to relish but I would hope that the players see this as a major opportunity to win back some favour and show that they possess some fight for this club. And I don’t care how crap we are, how embarrassing it may be or that it’s on the television; everyone should be making the effort to get themselves there. If we can’t sell this one out then we, as fans, are simply not doing our bit. For me, everything else goes out the window for this one.

COME ON YOU REDS.

Written by Oldroyd

It's been a depressing 635 minutes since Marcus Tudgay's last gasp goal against Ipswich on November 19th 2011. The optimism that had grown since Cotterill's arrival has been destroyed and replaced by nightmares of an imminent return to the hell of League One. The manager, to some extent, has been right with his post-match summary of the games but his claims of misfortune could only really last so long. In truth, we didn't deserve to win six of those seven games because of an inability to create any damn chances. Only Brighton was an example of real injustice but, even then, we hardly tested the opposition 'keeper.

It, of course, would have been easier to stay in bed and enjoy the Bank Holiday but 800 Reds made the effort to find their way to Portman Road, including PL and I. It was hard to be too positive as the train departed Nottingham at 08:34. Seven games without a goal speaks for itself and the journey was done purely on hope rather than belief. Some, however, was on its way...

I say it every year but, as away trips go, Ipswich is about as reliable as they come. It's a luxury these days to step off a train and be five minutes from the ground and the town centre which is full of decent pubs. We had time for a couple so headed to familiar haunts in the shape of Wetherspoons and The Rep. Team news was anticipated more than usual with expected changes and the possible return of our old mate, Marlon. The formation and the inclusion of Boateng were maybe a surprise but our conversation pre-match had centred around the need to change things around; something that Cotterill has been reluctant to do of late.

As I reached the top of the steps into the stand the very first person I saw in front of me was Harewood. He is still an odd looking creature but it was good to see him back in the Garibaldi, even if it was only for fitness purposes for the time being. What was quite remarkable was the lift that it gave us. Marlon was the last to leave the pitch and his farewell salute geed up the crowd to the extent that I convinced myself we would score. Quite what the logic behind that was I do not know but this suddenly felt like the day. Something I certainly hadn't felt half an hour earlier.

When a game is important, there is always something I pick up on. It's doesn't necessarily have to be a massive 'do or die' encounter for this to happen but I feel it occurs when it's needed most. It's the sound of 'Come on You Reds' moments before kick-off. In my head, hearing that is the signal that this one isn't just another game. At Portman Road, it blasted out of the upper tier of the Cobbold Road Stand and I, for reasons I am never too sure of, grew a few feet taller and prepared for battle. I genuinely think I need help but something just gets hold of me. Weeks of increasing apathy evaporated and I remembered NFFC are the greatest football club in all the world. 'Come on You Reds'.

The mood of the away support was buoyed further by an impressive start from the boys in Red. We were having chances but we have been here before I told myself. And then... it happened...

Where were you when JFK was shot?

Where were you at the fall of the Berlin Wall?

Where were you on 9/11?

And where were you when Marcus Tudgay scored at Portman Road after seven minutes?

Add it to the list and, for once, I was there. The scenes were hilarious, people were screaming in a combination of delight and relief that we had yanked the monkey from our back and shot the fucker in the face. I didn't, as expected, die of shock but joined in with the general craziness of 800 people remembering how to celebrate a goal!

And it wasn't long before we got another!

The rust had gone and this was full pelt as we danced and sang. 'Just like fucking buses, just like fucking buses' I kept shouting like an absolute lunatic! Quite why I felt the need to shout this out rather than just keep it to myself is beyond me but this was a rather jovial moment of mine, you understand. The drug was back.

'Who scored' I asked?............... 'Garath McCleary' came the reply and I died of shock*.

When I came round a moment later, PL was in tears. I surveyed the scene and thought to myself that I should probably try and not get carried away, there was a long way to go but the relief was immense. It's ridiculous what a game of football can do. This was, after all, Forest winning at Ipswich; hardly the stuff of legends but the smiles restored on the faces of fans and players was a sight to behold. If we lose the next ten I might just cling to moments like this one.

Inevitably, we had to make it a little hard for ourselves. The penalty was especially cruel in how it hit both posts and then returned to the original upright which sent it spinning into the net. The home crowd smelt the blood of a renowned feeble Forest team but they held firm and, remarkably, decided to go and score another. The damn cheek! Three!

It was enough to shatter the oppositions assault and hand the points to Forest. 'We're Nottingham Forest, we'll score when we want' we sang followed by the humorous 'We only beat Ipswich' as time ticked towards a very, very precious victory. Quite possibly a vital one. We now have achieved the rather odd record of having scored 29% of all our goals this season against Ipswich in addition to scoring six goals in our last nine games - all against them!

Despite the delight at the win, the big question is how we will react. The party line has been that one goal will sort us out and signs were encouraging in the immediate aftermath of that one goal but consistency is certainly needed otherwise this victory will be consigned to a lonely high point. 800 of us have seen they can do it, now its time to show the rest.

Don't let us down.

*This is, of course, a poor attempt at humour that subscribes to the totally incorrect notion that Garath McCleary is a bit useless. Anybody at Portman Road will tell you that he is actually a footballing God and makes Messi look like Chris Allen. And I didn't die of shock, I just feinted.**

**For anyone that's taking that a bit too literally, I didn't feint at all... PL did though.

What's the old saying? The league table doesn't mean anything until Christmas. Bugger.

Talk of relegation has become more frequent in the last couple of weeks and it was a primary theme in mine and PL's pre-match as we braved the cold to take in a couple of pubs a short walk away from Ashton Gate. There are a few bars next to the ground but all have a strict home fans only policy which is enforced by no fewer than five bouncers at each pub. We've been in all of them in the past but it's getting harder by the year so we looked for pastures new.

The car park steward was only too happy to direct us past the ground and in the direction of a couple of places we could try which weren't too far away. We couldn't find his main suggestion, the Tobacco Factory and so ended up in a place called the Hen and Chicken which, bizarrely, had its own cat wandering around. Not long later we found our original destination which, I must say, is up there with the living room at Southampton for the pub that looks least like a pub title. It was more like a classroom with desks which people gathered tightly around and a small stage that didn't feature seats but bloody poofs to sit on. Not queers, bean bags!

The game was the standard template that we have seen throughout this recent run of ours, Leeds aside. We played okay and probably were the better team but, with the exception of a Marcus Tudgay header that we all thought was in until James clawed it away magnificently, we once again didn't look like scoring. Tudgay had commented in Saturdays Post that he was 'not worried' because we are creating chances and we should only 'be worried' if we weren't. Well...er...Marcus, we aren't creating chances and we certainly aren't scoring and that run without a goal has extended to five games now which is frankly unacceptable. In the last three games we have played reasonably well but have created about four decent chances in all of them combined. We were desperately unlucky at Brighton in fairness but we can't keep claiming to be unlucky with such a pathetic ability to score a goal.

Time of course is still on our side for now but these months are soon going to disappear as we found out in 2005. A bloke who sat in front us in the away end said that this side, for all their ability, seem to lack the character and the fight to get us out of the mess that they have got us in. It's difficult to disagree with his thoughts on what we have seen of late. For all their fist pumps and pre-match huddles I think most are losing faith in these players by the week which is apparent by falling crowds, particularly on the road.

The festive games are massive now. Come the 3rd Round we could be marooned if we're not careful. Simply we need to score some goals but quite how this is going to happen I'm not sure. It's not time to panic just yet but its getting nervier by the week; if we are still in the bottom three in two months time then I'll be really fearing for us though.

Just how has this all gone so wrong? The sacking of Davies is the obvious answer but it still shouldn't be this bad, no way should it. Changes are needed in January and if that means getting rid of some players then so be it. Names like McGoldrick, Derbyshire and Boateng are being banded about but who is going to give us anything for any of these? That's without taking their wages into account. There are seven players from the squad I would be truly sorry to see leave... Camp, Gunter, Lynch, Wes, Moussi, Majewski and Cohen and of those the only one I would really be devastated with is Cohen who is obviously going nowhere soon.

As a few sang at the end of the game yesterday: All we are saying, is score us a goal.

The feeling at full time was as bad as anything I've experienced all season; longer in fact. I didn't feel so gutted after Derby, Burnley or Leeds even though they were much, much worse. After witnessing one of our better performances this season it was plain awful when the ball hit the net in the final minutes. It was not what we deserved. A point would have been a travesty but losing was simply ridiculous. Still, we paid for a continuing inability to score a goal. Our shots on target figure of two, despite our dominance, tells the story.

It was the first ever visit to the Amex for us. It deserves credit for straying from the standard template but, as some of the Forest fans sang 'They've only got one stand'. That one stand sure is a humdinger though. Perhaps its biggest positive is that it hasn't been built miles away from anywhere. Falmer station already existed and sits a mere number of metres from the ground while the main road into Brighton isn't far away. The town centre is miles away but you can't win them all!

Pre-match began with a pint at the Black Lion Harvester which also doubled as our accommodation for the coming night. Five of us (PL, Trigs, Dan and his mate, Chris plus yours truly) had travelled down from Nottingham with Cags meeting us from London. From there we made our way to the stadium and into Dicks Bar within the ground.

Come the end, many were trying to put a positive spin on the game. A common conversation revolved around our ability to get ourselves clear of danger with similar performances in the future but it's a position we've been in before. There is no doubt that in my mind that we possess the ability to be able to do so but we are bottom three for a reason. And that reason is that we deserve to be. It's truly horrific that we are in this situation after our highs of the last two years but we can only hope that is isn't another terminal slide. The parallels are certainly there though...

Some solace could be found in the immediate future with a night on the town to look forward to. After something of a feast at the hotel we headed out at 8pm. Our first call was Mesmeris which was influenced by bumping into Gerb's accomplices who were heading in there. I couldn't spot a single one of them who didn't look like he was away with the fairies. There were Forest everywhere you looked all roaming around 'The Lanes' which are narrow streets full of bars and restaurants. We never had the time to see it all but we tried our best to take in as much as possible.

After getting the need for something a little more happening we found our way into Madame Geisha; a small but busy club which included the one and only Rob Brown. Our numbers had further swelled with Family Bethell in attendance although we would soon be going our separate ways. We left still as a six but having left Trig but acquired Rob. He was in a state and a half and was talking to anyone in range. We were heading down onto the beach when he inexplicably tried to jam his foot in the back wheel of a passing bicycle. The cyclist shot Rob a nasty look before riding on. This upset Rob who shouted at the top of his voice: 'Who does he think he is? Johnny Metgod?' Bizarre but hilarious.

Inevitably, he wasn't allowed in our chosen club due to being too heavily intoxicated. Instead I ended up walking into town with him where I put him in a taxi before heading back to join the fun. The club was Digital and it cost a small fortune to gain admission but it proved to be money well spent. Previous stays in Brighton have ended in a degree of disappointment but that was not to be the case on this occasion.

There was the added bonus of an array of on stage entertainment on offer such as a singer, saxophonist, fire eater and a trapeze artist who looked like she was always seconds from plunging into a horrible mess on the floor. The thing that often bores me with clubs is that all the tunes are very similar with no words to anything. So we added our own... This was so successful that we had people joining in with us!!! All that she wants, is another baby...

We left at 3am and scampered onto the beach like children, beginning a lengthy game of sea chicken where we got as close as we possibly could to the water before running away as the waves hit. One particular large one took me by surprise and left me with water above my ankles leaving a clear water mark around my jeans. After further play which included picking PL up and pretending we were gonna throw him in the sea and frolicking around in a boat, we made for the taxi rank. The heartbreak of the previous day lost in a haze of alcohol and sleep deprivation.

Week by week the reality of relegation seems a bit more likely. I still think we'll get out of it but things need to start happening soon. Glimpses of promise are regularly drowned in swathes of ineptness and this is the fear for our next game. If they team can reproduce the performance levels as 2,500 of us saw at Brighton then we won't have a problem. But will we? If the crap returns against Palace then I think I may start to become worried. At the moment i'm living in a land of ignorance where May is a long, long way away but that world isn't too far away from being unmasked. More of the same, please. And scoring a goal every so often might help a little.

A slightly different approach this time. There will be no Away Days on here; instead go out any buy an Evening Post on Monday and look out for my name in the sports section!I have written the fans report for the Cardiff game which should hopefully feature somewhere.

For the first time ever I have to meet a deadline on a bloody Sunday but decided to get it done on Saturday night and it's now gone off to Paul Taylor at the Post. It's obviously a bit toned down and I had to fit everything into 350 words but hopefully it will come across okay. I won't post it up here until after for the risk of being sued. Can't believe I've sold my soul...

Normal service resumes at Brighton with a weekend on the coast.

UPDATE: http://www.thisisnottingham.co.uk/Reds-fan-view-ndash-Matt-Oldroyd-26-Kimberley/story-13977716-detail/story.html

There was still twenty five hours until kick off when I completed half of the journey to Portsmouth. I was in London for a few beers and to visit an exhibition of photography. Certainly a first!

From St Pancras I made my way around east to Shoreditch, a rather trendy little area full of swept fringe types and shops with what looked like only six items of clothing for sale. A tad pretentious, maybe but I soon decided it was a great little place to spend a Friday afternoon. My stay in Shoreditch lasted well into the evening and included a meet with Cags late afternoon and a foray around a few bars in the area including the superbly named Red Dog Saloon! Another visit somewhere down the line is a must. Our visit to West Ham in January would be an ideal opportunity.

The following morning the two of us set off from Victoria to Portsmouth. Two hours later we were arriving at Fratton, a little before midday. We wandered into town and eventually found ourselves in Lloyds. Despite having stayed down for the game last season my recollection of the city centre was sketchy at best. What I definitely could remember, however, was this Lloyds which is like no other one I have been in anywhere. It was a touch more tranquil in the early afternoon but no doubt it would be jumping again several hours later.

The rest of the bars were about somewhere but we couldn't find them and thought we'd head towards the ground to try our luck. We gambled at the Rifle which was a supporters club type place that we expected to deny us entry but we got in with no questions asked.

From there it was into the ground which was instantly hilarious when Ebby's mrs went for a tumble down the stairs. She milked it for all it was worth and people stopped laughing thinking she was badly hurt while I got some stares due to my continued chuckling! At half-time we were unlucky to be behind but we had wasted our various chances, including a glorious one for Mcgugan which got stuck under his feet. There was further laughing at half time during the prize draw when the winner of a new TV was announced as Mr Brian Rice! Cue a loud cheer from the away fans which must have bemused the rest of the ground and particularly Brian Rice himself! The weird thing was that this had followed the previous winner which was announced as Cotterill. I began to think someone was having a little wind-up until the name was later corrected to Coppell. Stupid Pompey fans and their football manager names!

The game was far from bad and there were a number of positives to take but I found it hard to justify us being that unlucky. You don't lose games by that scoreline by being unfortunate, you lose them like we did; not taking our own chances and letting the other team score with ease. The difference was perhaps best seen in the goalscorers; Kitson and Huskelepp who, between them, provided a goal scorer and a constant creative force who also managed to grab himself a brace. We just don't have those type of players who can do that on a regular basis.

Because of that very fact we, the fans and Steve Cotterill, were left to the mercy of the jubilant home fans. To their credit they didn't barrack their former boss in the way that I had expected but they sure enjoyed rubbing it in when the game was all but won. It all transpired to turn it into a torrid afternoon and I couldn't wait to get out of there. We have played far worse this season but our decent (ish) performance made the result even worse in many ways. We trudged back to the nearby train station along with PL who I saw for the only time that day. He was treating the Woman to a relaxing weekend on the South Coast and was preparing for a night on the town.

It was a long old trek back into London where Cags departed and then onto Nottingham. Some drunk Forest fan recognised me at St Pancras and began embarrassing me by shouting 'You Reds' across the platform before coming over for a cuddle as the dozens of people looked on! Other than that I was on my own to gather my thoughts on another defeat. Once again we have that frustrating trait of losing in a poor manner before an international break.

See you in Cardiff. Anyone, no?

I don't think you could ever get two more contrasting feelings at 5pm on consecutive Saturdays. After the Coventry defeat the club was in crisis and, in the minds of many, heading for League One. At Bloomfield Road we were all singing E I E I O at full time!

It was perhaps a tad premature and probably rather unrealistic but I'm happy to grab hold of any positivity at the moment and my word have we had some this week. It has been a horrible, horrible season so far but the new manager has obviously had a major impact on his new players and has made some of them unrecognisable. Camp, Chambers and Tudgay being the prime examples. Tudgay is the most startling turnaround going from 4th choice striker and apparent cast-off to quite possibly our new main forward. His work-rate in the last two games has been fantastic.

Following the elation at Tuesday's result I was apprehensive on the way up the M6 that it could all very easily come crashing down in one afternoon. PL and I were on board the Tricky Tree Travel coach which pulled into Blackpool not long after 11am. While many of our fellow travellers headed to the nearest Wetherspoon's we strolled along the front towards familiar territory. It's been a couple of years now since we last stayed over but there are still plenty of memories still fresh in the mind. Rob Brown's comedy break dancing in Walkabout and Trigger's discovery of that dead body who came back to life just after the ambulance arrived are always relived with much hilarity.

There is a small area at one end of the seafront where we usually find ourselves pre-match and it usually begins at the Litten Tree. This year was no different so we headed there; navigating our way through armies of street sellers and excited hen parties. More beer followed at Walkabout and the Counting House before we started to head back where we came from towards the ground. It was still only half one so we knew we had chance for another somewhere. By chance we walked past the Tower Bar which PL had mentioned earlier as a possible stop. I had figured it would be some tatty pub with a game of bingo in the back room and hen do of  middle-aged women dressed in some brightly coloured outfits and pink stetsons. How wrong I was...

Outside there was a couple effectively eating each others faces. This seemed odd amongst the hordes of shoppers ambling down the high street. As we walked in the sight that welcomed us was just unbelievable. The music was booming out and the dance floor was full! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It wasn't even 2pm in the afternoon and all these people were clubbing! We hurried inside! By the time we had even got a drink some slapper had her tits out on the screen and more soon followed. Most were pissed or at least well on their way and I struggled to apprehend the time of day. Those inside seemed to fall into three simple catergories; hen /stag do, football fans or staff. There was a fair few Forest inside and the odd NFFC related message was being texted up onto the large screen in between the tits and the DJ soon announced that he wanted a Forest fan on stage in a short while. My mind flashbacked to Rob Brown in Newcastle which was probably the nearest thing to this place I had ever experienced before a Forest match. But that was football related and at least a few hours later in the day. This was just mental. Unfortunately we had to leave eventually and continue our march towards Bloomfield Road. I couldn't believe it was still light!

As we arrived and made our way inside it seemed that quite a few lads had struggled to handle their ale and were being denied entry. Those that had made it were listing off the victims like they had been killed at war. It was, however, still a strong following from Nottingham with many, I assume, having decided to make a weekend of it. We also, for the first time, had a roof on our stand although the supporting pillars every few metres did restrict our view somewhat.

It turned into the game of football that supporters love to see. It's was not quite as enjoyable at the time but the Forest players tackled and blocked on those dying minutes bring about roars from the away end. Down to ten men our goal was under siege and every missed opportunity was met with relief from the 2,000 Reds. The whistle was greeted like we had scored again as people leapt up and down and fists punched the air both on and off the pitch. The first player over was the Mousse! He rushed through the tunnel and bounded towards us in his red tracksuit and matching bandana! His team mates followed and took the plaudits. While it was our third away win of the season it was definitely the first one that came without all the baggage of a poor display or an element of luck. Cotterill stood on the opposite side of the pitch and shook the hands of all his players and then raised his arms to clap the fans who returned the appreciation with much vigour. None of us would have guessed his first week in charge could have gone so well. There is, of course, a long way to go but, at the moment, he can only be judged on results and six points and two very good performances speak volumes.

As we rolled out of the car park past the main stand a large group of Forest fans congregated around the team bus and applauded the players as they emerged before being stopped for conversations and to sign autographs. At the same time the week before an angry mob had waited for the players to leave their dressing room at the Ricoh and board the coach. What a difference a week makes...

Up the Reds.

After the circus of the last couple of weeks, it was good to be able to look forward to actually watching a game of football. It seems to me that the main event has almost been forgotten by many as boardroom shenanigans and managerial departures grabbed the headline. Negativity has well and truly set in and some have seemingly revelled in the 'I told you so' line whether it be concerning McClaren, Doughty or Arthur. This frankly ridiculous green and white thing is an absolute embarrassment. The whole campaign couldn't even focus its anger on one aim or, indeed, one individual resulting in an array of different messages and logos cheaply emblazoned on scarves. It's also pathetic that they chose to nick the United method of green and gold rather than engineer their own idea which would hardly have been difficult to do. Instead the ring leaders lazily tried to attach some sentiment and reason behind the chosen colours; green for Clough and white for, er, er, er, peace. Because this was a peaceful protest. You absolute fucking geniuses. For me, the use of green is completely jumping on the bandwagon of Clough and that truly spectacular game against West Ham game in 2004 when the crowd wore green in the great mans name and sang his name throughout. I do not ever want that to be associated in any way with a measly little protest that has been thrown together by a few idiots on Facebook. You also have to wonder who is making a nice little earner on the back of all this...

A further thing that I have grew to despise this season is this desire for people to try and elevate their status from ordinary fan to some type of leader or hero. The couple of blokes who started this banner fad against Derby decided to pose for a photograph before the game which subsequently founds it way onto various online pages. The photo very conveniently was taken outside of their business with the shop sign featuring prominently; of course providing the added bonus of a bit of free advertising once it started doing the rounds. Another chap who kept popping up everywhere around these protest debates even uttered these words '...if/when I get the chance to sit down with Doughty I would like to point out exactly what the fans want'. That is not a direct quote but is more or less the wording used. Now, what has got into this guy's head exactly? For the record, as a run of the mill, average fan of NFFC I can say without hesitation that I would rather have Zippy, Bungle and George speaking on my behalf. I have even seen a fair amount of comments which state anyone not partaking in the protest before the Birmingham game is NOT a supporter of the club. Was this the same protest that attracted approximately 200 people out of a home attendance of 18,000+? And the TV footage that I saw (peeping through the gaps in my fingers) showed quite a few were young girls boosting the total who probably thought they were in line for JLS tickets rather than joining the 'revolution'. If, incidentally, anyone would like to discuss my merits as a supporter of the club I would dearly love the opportunity to show you my ticket stubs and talk you through the delights of Tuesday nights in Oldham, Gillingham, Woking and Carlisle among many, many others.

Following McClaren's and subsequently Doughty's departure, there was a jovial mood among them although it did eventually dawn on some of them that nothing had really changed. Doughty was still in charge and had said nothing about selling the club while Arthur found himself arguably in even more power. Of course, it was plain to see that the protests had zero impact on the drama on Sunday evening as it soon became apparent that McClaren was due to walk anyway which was directly connected to Doughty's own resignation. The apparent spawn of Satan himself still remains though so we shall probably see some more activity in the coming home games. As I doubt Arthur is going to go anywhere I would think the protests will unfortunately roll on and dwindle in numbers by the week.

My own view on Mark Arthur is mixed. He does seem  a touch smarmy and he has made a couple of whoppers during his tenure with the 'Serious about promotion' campaign and the Prattingham comments last year but I can't help but think he is simply an easy target. Most seemed reluctant to call for Doughty's head for fear of losing his investment so his CEO seemed the next best bet to release some fury. But nobody can really provide a definitive and, above all, accurate catalogue of how exactly he is 'destroying our club'. I'm more playing devil's advocate here because I don't really have any feelings on him either way. If he left tomorrow I wouldn't care and when he is still here tomorrow I will feel the same. Ultimately he is/was (whatever) doing the job that Doughty asks him to do and Doughty himself, even after the Birmingham game, has emphasised he is pleased with his role. With the widespead approval of Frank Clark as new chairman it will be interesting to see how that relationship works. I will leave my judgement to him. But people really have got to stop finding things to attack him with. With Cotterill's appointment, because people weren't happy it was blamed predominantly on Arthur whereas you can bet your bottom dollar if O'Neill or Billy would have got the job it would have been Clark getting the praise. The same applies with the Routledge story where we apparently agreed to a weekly wage of £x but then changed the contract to a lesser sum, maybe hoping it wouldn't get spotted. I mean, come on! If you believe that then you really are deluded. The Kenny Burns sacking was also placed solely at the door of Arthur with no real idea of what went on or consideration that Burns' comments were maybe overstepping the line. Indeed the story I heard had nothing to do with his column in the Post but, as I am trying to point out here, who knows? I could go on and on. If someone could show me some supporting documentation of how he is actively engineering the death of the club then I will happily admit he should go. Until then I will refrain from following those that simply shout loudest.

Now, where we definitely do have a problem is on the pitch. Remember that?

We stepped off the train into a lovely day in Coventry. Myself, Matt and Chris met the full Brummie contingent (Ian, Stu, Dave and Carl) at the station and wandered into the town centre. After a quick pint at the Litten Tree we eventually found ourselves in The Gatehouse which is apparently Ian's local. It was a great little boozer with a beer garden three times the size of the inside which was handy considering the mild temperatures. Nobody appeared to be over confident of our chances of success at the Ricoh although we knew that we would probably be disappointed with anything less than victory.

One major flaw with the stadium is it's distance from town and the station. We had changed at Nuneaton on the way down which was about a ten-fifteen minute journey into Coventry. We actually passed directly by the ground half way through this and frustratingly carried on for ages until the train stopped. While it is very handily places for those travelling by road, it is going to be a particular problem for any foreign travellers who make their way to the Ricoh next summer for Olympic football. Hopefully they will have the good sense to install a stop by the ground and save them and us any further hassle.

Our taxi dropped us a short walk away and we headed into the casino which was typically rammed. After a while we decided to give up and head straight in. I cannot possibly think of anything worth saying about the game itself, it was that dull. If nothing else at least SC will have an instant idea of how bad the situation is that he has been tasked with. We had the odd chance but there does seem to be a problem developing with these players. It's worryingly reminiscent of the Megson days when they just couldn't be bothered. What's more frustrating with this team though is that it contains some talented players who we have all seen are more than capable of performing well in this league. Megson's lot were always distinctly average by and large. This, for me, is where McClaren's argument always fell short. He had been given funds which, by my reckoning, was the fourth most spent in the league to add to a decent team. We lost a few players but not many of these were regulars although my God do we miss McKenna. And for all the (deserved) criticism for not signing a left back, McClaren made it clear that he was happy with what he had ie Cohen and Lynch followed recently by Hill. I don't think he could justify why this team was not performing better which is a primary reason why he walked away. For all his complaints about being misled, does anyone think he would have walked away if we were sat in the top six? Or even the top half? I don't.

Shit, back on track...

The only other things of note were that Greening got booed again upon getting subbed. He wasn't great but he was no worse than anyone else and such abuse is disgraceful. As he turned to clap the away fans I couldn't help feel sorry for the guy. I've been a big critic of his but no-one in Red should receive treatment like that from his own supporters. The other was a new p.b for time added on at the end. The ten minutes was largely due to a nasty looking injury to Joe Murphy in the Cov goal but helped beat the previous highest I had seen at Tranmere which was eight. I guess this shows how rubbish it really was!

Welcome Mr Cotterill. I hope you know what your letting yourself in for.

It was my intention to combine the Watford and Burnley games into one account; primarily due to illness depriving me the opportunity to write something following our win at Vicarage Road. Now, however, that victory seems to pale into insignificance against that horror show at Turf Moor. Make no mistake, it was horrendous. I think it may just have ousted some of the old 'favourites' like Plymouth and Chester out of the way in the 'Worst Ever' category. It was a shameful, pitiful performance that probably didn't get the abuse it deserved from the travelling fans, maybe due to a marginally improved second half performance and our collective surprise that we didn't concede another four goals. 

There was not a single player that could claim to score more than a 3/10. They couldn't pass, they couldn't tackle and they certainly couldn't defend. There must be an all so easy instruction drilled into opposition players... cross it into the box. Their inability to defend a ball into the box is almost laughable. Many seem to follow a similar route too with a long, high cross nodded back across goal and converted with ease.

At 3-0 the game was all but over and the Forest fans turned. Instead though, they decided to sing about removing Mark Arthur. It was blatantly obvious that he was the wrong target as were the subsequent 'sack the board' chants. The players and management have to take FULL responsibility for such a spineless performance. The chairman and Chief Executive cannot be blamed for yet another misguided pass or another conceded goal from a cross. If last night showed anything it was that our current problems lie on the pitch. These are fundamentally the same players of the last two seasons who are now doing their best to undo everything they achieved in that time.

They were subject to a level of abuse at half time that I don't remember experiencing since Megson. What a load of rubbish. The favourite theme of conversation during the break was listing the numerous comparisons between the two sides. Top of everyone's list was the belief that these players weren't trying for their manager. A nasty little problem if so as we found before. You have to wonder if McClaren's comments about the current side during his disappearing act a few weeks ago are playing on their minds a little too.

The farce even continued at half time although it wasn't all the fault of Forest. The players were back on the pitch very quickly while SMC took a place on the bench leaving the impromptu training session to Rob Kelly. Their early presence, however, played havoc with a large-scale performance from some kids which had planned to take up the entire playing surface. These poor kids ended up having to dance around the players while Burnley officials remonstrated with them to shift. They appeared to be told in no uncertain terms by Rob Kelly to 'Piss Off'. The home fans added to the pantomime by starting to boo the Forest team. I was relieved when the whole thing ended.

During the second half the support once again slid into protest but this time Billy and a desire for a refund were the hot topics. We crawled towards full time, most with our head in our hands for the majority. The players trudged past with a few raising their arms to clap but were roundly jeered. Then SMC nervously endured his walk past. To his credit, he stopped and clapped while he was loudly booed before carrying on with sagged shoulders. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had quit within ten minutes and I wont be surprised if he is gone by the weekend. That said, I think he will still be in charge on Sunday but I think this display may just be the beginning of the end.

I don't usually like to call for the managers head, especially this soon into a tenure but there is obviously a major problem at NFFC. Say what you like about failings at the top but not many teams have spent more than we have and we have a stronger squad than the one that managed to secure top six finishes for the last two seasons. Quite simply there is no excuse.

Aaaah, a penalty! 'Silly 'keeper' I mused. Just point at the spot, ref. What a wanker, he isn't going to give it but no bother as the linesman is. Hang on his flag his pointing the wrong bloody way. YOU ARE JOKING ME! A yellow card for diving? An utter, utter, shambolic, awful, cheating, bottling decision. For all his poncing about and pointing his finger Kelvin Davies will know that he had gotten away with murder. Actually the act itself was more akin to rape as he attempted to grope Derbyshire into submission. He didn't even manage to execute his initial lunge very well at all, missing both the man and the ball but, unquestionably, his leg completely took Derbyshire out at the second attempt.

All this happened yards in front of 1,777 Forest supporters and I don't think I have ever been so sure about a decision in my life. Most were beginning to celebrate. I believe that hesitation from both the referee and his assistant cost us. Each wanted the other to make the call but neither wanted to make such a big decision in front of a big crowd so close to the end. I believe it was simply easier to upset 1,777 people than 22,000.

And of course they went up the other end and scored. Absolutely marvellous. Forest are masters of sticking to the cruelest of scripts and so no-one was surprised when we conceded moments later. Added to our earlier woe of conceding an equaliser a minute after taking the lead it was the perfect summation of how things are going for us at the moment. And i'm not talking about luck. The non-penalty was our one moment of bad luck; the rest was, and has been, just plain crazy defending.

With numbers lacking, PL and I joined the regulars aboard Tricky Tree Travel (formerly the Test Match bus) which departed at 8am from the Brian Clough Stand car park. The coach was only half full although we still had to pick the organiser in chief, Uncle Al, up from Junction 21 of the M1. This was achieved following a telling off from a traffic officer who wasn't too pleased that we decided to park on the slip road waiting for our final traveller to arrive!

It was only half eleven when we arrived into Southampton. The group usually pre-plan a pub several miles away from the ground to stop off on the way but this had been shelved on this occasion due to travel warnings with both the football and a popular boat show taking place on the same day. A quick straw poll conducted over the bus microphone decided that we would instead head to the marina.

There didn't seem to be much about other than a Wetherspoons so we all headed in. While the rest stayed put, PL and I opted to make a slow walk towards the ground taking in a few pubs on the way. Our first find, the Royal London, turned into something of a disaster. From the outside it looked decent enough apart from the lack of punters inside. As we stepped inside the only other customer was a middle aged fellow sporting a very tight looking vest. 'This isn't a gay bar is it?' I asked. Despite Freddie Mercury over there I said it more in jest than anything. We continued our slow, hesitant walk towards the bar. I can only thank God that the barman wasn't stood there waiting to take our order, as we soon began to learn the true horror of the place. Pictures of drag queens adorned the walls along with various other homosexual trinkets and paraphernalia. 'Let's get out of here' I announced and we hot footed it out of the place probably leaving the vest man with a grin on his face I expect. Or maybe he was disappointed! *Shudder*

The Grapes sat just down the road and I don't mind admitting I entered with no small part of trepidation. Was this a gay area that we had set foot into? I could see a young blonde girl serving drinks behind the bar and on closer inspection she looked to be a genuine female so we headed in. Thankfully, everyone seemed to be human.

I believe it was in this bar that the two of us began a conversation about creating a Forest XI based on players that for whatever reason have just never quite made it. These could be players who we have signed but never made an appearance or who only ever featured sparingly before leaving. We were able to create about half a team but needed more time to build the rest. These can't be players who were given a chance but never made it because they were shit, but more that their time with the club just became a mystery. Our effort to date looks like this... Any further suggestions on a post-card.

GK: Padapoulus

RB:

LB: Davy Oyen

CB: David Tarka

CB: Benjamin Gavanon

RW: James Henry

LW: George Boyd

CM:

CM:

ST:

ST:

After asking a local for directions and potential pubs we eventually found the Chapel Arms a short stroll from St Mary's. It was more a living room than a pub and the bar was more like a temporary version that over enthusiastic people sometimes set up at house parties consisting of a spare sheet of MDF and some beer crates / assorted domestic furniture. Still, there weren't many other options about unless we wanted to return to Michael Barrymore's Fun House. We eventually drank up after getting sick of watching the SPL on TV and headed into the away end.

Despite another defeat we can take big positives in the performance at least. We absolutely battered Southampton in that second half and I cannot believe we didn't win. To leave with nothing whatsoever was a horrible experience. I thought that, for the first time this season, there was a sense of pride in the team again from the supporters. It's always good to see that we can give the players such a good ovation at the end even in defeat and show that a good performance will be recognised.

What wasn't so pleasing to see was a few people who had gone to the trouble to produce anti-Doughty t-shirts which read something along the lines of:

'F**k off Doughty'

'11 years of being conned'

It's all very well smiling proudly wearing a stupid t-shirt like your the clubs saviour but none of these people seem to be able to put forward a sensible solution as an alternative. Where are we going to find someone else who continUously injects his own money into the running of the club? The transfer fees we have spent do not come from Nottingham Forest, they come from the bank account of the chairman effectively. This is a man with no vast personal fortune in comparison with some and I honestly don't think many people would carry on wasting their own money on it. I don't think I would. Mistakes have been made unquestionably but I really do fail to see what we would do without him. And I would honestly rather rot in this league for years than sell our soul to some foreign owner. An argument rumbled along on the coach home between anti and pro Doughtyist's which I refrained from entering. The anti-Doughty argument consisted on lets get rid of him and hope for the best and the lad placed his beliefs in the downright crazy viewpoint that 'someone' would bail us out. WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO? WHO? That to me seems to be the fundamental question to ask those in this camp. Doughty has said himself that he would never rule out selling the club but only to the right person. If he were to cut off his investment tomorrow as many apparently want then I guarantee that losing to Southampton or failing to sign a player on deadline day are going to be the least of our problems.

As for next week, its the proverbial watershed moment for the manager, his players and perhaps the board. Win and it takes a lot of this pressure off but lose and it will be a lot, lot harder for them to win many of the fans back onside. The latter isn't something i'm even willing to contemplate. Let's just destroy the bastards.

At last! It may have only been Wycombe but we produced a performance and a result that we all craved prior to kick off at Adams Park. It wasn't the hope of progressing in the cup that was the main motivation but more the hope that it could just give us that much needed springboard to really get us motoring this season. And it was the basics that we wanted to see; defenders defending, midfielders breaking up play and actually moving the ball forward and strikers putting the ball in the net. We had achieved all within a couple of minutes.

It was a rare opportunity for four of us to visit a new ground this season. My count has stagnated over the last couple of seasons so it was nice to be given the chance to tick another one  off. We departed Sandicare at a little before 3pm with Mitchell at the wheel. With the stadium miles from anywhere we opted to park up in the town centre upon arrival at 5pm where we found a couple of decent hostelries. It would have been nice to have a bit more time to explore what appeared to be a decent little town centre but that's seldom going to be possible on a Tuesday night such a distance from home.

Travelling back on ourselves we opted to use the park & ride to take us the remainder of the way and avoiding the apparent parking difficulties around Adams Park. It was easy to see why such problems exists; even the bus dropped us a five minute walk from the ground. It sits on the end of a road which housed various industrial businesses with no other real way in or out. The ground is only really in view at the last moment sat innocuously behind some huge warehouse. Behind it is just hills and trees. The habitat of the Angry Birds!

For a league cup second round game between two complete non-rivals, the stringent searches at the turnstiles were ridiculous. The steward who got lucky with me was a nice chap but he had no concept of the limits of a standard pat-down. It was more akin to a sports massage with every inch of my body rubbed and  checked for an offending item that we both knew didn't exist. God knows what he's have done if he'd found a knife or a gun. I would have been a goner! PL's was even worse with his manhood allegedly being er... manhandled! He later described it as his highlight of the season to date!

A healthy number of Reds mingled about in the away end come kick-off. I would guess somewhere close to a 1,000 maybe. We must have made up well over a third of the crowd too as the apathy of the cup kicked in for the home support. They must have wished they hadn't bothered after five minutes when McGugan made it 2-0 with a penalty that just about went in. A few Forest fans sang away to our left: 'This game is over, we wana go home'. Knowing Forest that was probably a tad premature but they were most probably going to be right. Plus, I think we all wanted to see them play well for the first time this season. And they did.

Despite high hopes for a hatful of goals to come along, there was to be no more goals in the first half. It was probably just as well as we had other things to contend with...

It all started quite comically. A few unidentified birds (the size of a large wood pigeon but definitely not a pigeon) swooped down and found themselves in various funny escapades around the ground. One was pissing about in the Forest box in front of us and had a whale of a time just wandering about and lapping up the appreciation of the away fans. Things went a little awry though when Findley broke down the right into its path. Despite it being a bird, you could almost see the panic etched onto its face! Picture it if you will... a Wycombe defender chasing Findley who is seemingly chasing this damn bird in the direction of the corner flag! The speed of this thing was incredible; head back running for its life in the most hilarious way possible. Just out of play it remembered its wings and took off and out of the ground. Nobody, well certainly not me, was even remotely interested where Findley and the ball ended up!

Every few minutes after this a few more would appear and they began to hurtle down taking a similar path each time. Down the side stand to our right and towards us. En route a few would tail off and just fly, without any fear for their safety, into the stands. And they really did just land anywhere! Peoples heads were the main target! As the first one crashed into the away end there was sense of bewilderment, panic and sheer excitement. Some bloke down at the front had copped one on his noggin and people were on their feet trying to get a glimpse of the action. More would follow and unfortunate football fans were subject to horrific attacks all over Adams Park. Reports began to circulate that W H Smiths in town had been looted and that dozens of cars had been smashed up. Terry the Kit Man was knocked down by a couple of the winged scum but as he was helped to his feet they were actually robbing the kit from his bag!

Naturally , PL was terrified. He was convinced one was coming for him but fortunately for him, and most unfortunately for us, it never happened. The situation worked itself up into such a frenzy that when more incoming birds were spotted in the distance a large roar went up in anticipation of more attacks. The birds didn't have it all their own way though. One found itself in a Forest fans lap having crash landed into him. The guy picked it up and launched it into the air towards the pitch! It took sanctuary within the advertising hoardings in front of us until a steward tried to snare it in a bin liner. The bird was having none of it and dashed for freedom; spilling onto the pitch and away! For whatever reason, their appearances were limited in the second half and there was no carnage quite on the scale of what had gone before.

Instead, attention turned unfortunately back to the game and we were apparently still 2-0 to the good. Things looked like petering out until a superb Findley goal made it three. That set up a cracking last twenty minutes or so as Forest, with the game all but won, setting off for more goals. We even got to see Kieron Freeman who looked liek he had been playing for years. 'If Freeman scores, we're on the pitch' we sang. He nearly did as well if he hadn't lost his footing as he went to pull the trigger.

And that was that. Raddy wrapped up a fine performace slotting home after great work from Garner. League Cup 3rd Round here we come. As Mitchell explained: 'We've got one hand on the cup already'!

It's been a strange old summer. Four weeks of nothing; not a peep from the club and then news gets out (unofficially, of course) that, after numerous meetings and discussions, Billy will stay. The majority seemed happy but everyone is at least in agreement that we now need to make some damn signings. A few days later the manager is gone; on a Sunday of all days. Being in Rome at the time I didn't even know about it until the next evening when McClaren had been appointed. Initially it left something of a bad taste that Davies had been removed after guiding us out of the lowest point in our recent history and taking us to the dizzy heights of the top-six in consecutive years. Sure he had his faults but his record, certainly in comparison to his predecessors, is unquestionable.

As a spectator he was the bees knees; moulding a hard working and eye-catching team while creating a siege mentality around the club. Our defeats at Derby in 2010, the Leeds debacle and his final game at Swansea stand out for me as evidence of how he could pick us up of the floor and turn a silent away crowd into a defiant and proud set of supporters. I watched McClaren skulk down the tunnel at full-time yesterday and I missed all that.

As a supporter though, maybe his removal was for the best. Following the defeat and Norwich and his subsequent outburst it was obvious that relations between him and his superiors was shot to pieces and you have to feel that if it had happened earlier in the season he may have been shown the door. I would suggest, however, it was his reluctance to turn to the academy that have been the ultimate motivation behind the chairman's decision to terminate his contract. As we have since seen and heard, the board believe that this latest batch of youngsters are good enough should be given every opportunity to make the grade which would have been difficult under Davies. McClaren's record of blooding and developing youngsters, plus the dual role of Rob Kelly as assistant manager and development coach is further indication of the boards intentions. Doughty's favourite Twitter subject, Financial Fair Play, apparently makes this all the more crucial. 

Despite a few clowns jumping the gun, we aren't going to really know if the gamble had paid off until the league starts to take shape at the end of the season. As hard as it may be, perhaps a season of mid-table obscurity awaits with next season the real acid test. That doesn't hold much water with me; the squad has arguably been strengthened from last term (now that we have a couple of new strikers anyway) and top-six should be a realistic aim once again.

But anyway, thanks for the memories, Billy.

********************

Sat in Wetherspoon's in Holborn, London at 9:45 on a Saturday morning could only mean one thing...the football season was back. It had seemed likely the game wouldn't survive at one stage in midweek due to the scum of London and beyond running amok and shaming the nation to the watching world. They aint quite so anxious to do the same now though now they have realised that that there will be consequences for their deeds. 

Myself, PL and Matt continued south to Waterloo at 11:15am to meet Cags and Karl who were sat inside the pub on Platform 1 at the station. Following a quick pint we made our way to the Inn on the Wharf at London Bridge which many may recall from our visit after the Palace game. Our presence this time was a little more low-key; no mexican waves or anything like that! We found a table next to a foreign couple who were jabbering away. 'What language is that'? I asked to the group; foolishly not considering they might actually understand. 'It's Dutch' the bloke replied! A mainly football related conversation soon kicked in when we learned he was an Anderlecht fan. Turns out although they spoke Dutch they were actually from Belgium and on a four day trip to the city. We informed him that we were Forest fans which he instantly acknowleged. '1983'? I suggested but it failed to hit home so I tried again. 'UEFA Cup semi-final. you cheated' I said leaving little doubt this time. This did the trick!

The final task before the train to South Bermondsey was to meet the Sea Beast who was in All Bar One by the station. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't there. Instead we bumped into him on the concourse as we discovered our train had been cancelled. This gave a bit more time to return to the pub but did mean k.o would be upon us by the time we reached the stadium.

The traditional approach of keeping your head down on the short ride to Millwall wasn't adhered to by a large and rowdy group of Forest aboard the train. Nothing ever materiailsed fortunately although two home fans obviously weren't too pleased but decided to wait until past the away walkway and behind a dozen police officers before returning some stick.

As for the following 90 minutes, those who weren't there could simply cast their minds back to the previous Saturday as the performance was very similar. We passed it around nicely enough but lacked any urgency and forward threat. Has an opposition goalkeeper made a save against us in the league yet? I think not. Simply not good enough.

The only real entertainment provided by those in Red were the victorious group of kids who represented Forest for the half-time race around the pitch. Having seen this a couple of times in the past; once at Leicester I believe, this remains my favourite form of interval action. It wasn't very well organised as there was no real finish. The kids, bless their hearts, just kept running and running until it just fizzled out but there was no questioning the winners. Our only reason to cheer all afternoon.

Some clapped at the end, a few booed and most just stood waiting to leave. It was Boateng who rounded up his colleagues and pointed them in our direction. He probably shouldn't have bothered because they didn't get much response. He, in my view, was probably our best player. Hardly impressive but seemed to be the only one who knew what he was doing. Nor did he give up at 2-0 as most appeared to. Vast improvements required for Tuesday and beyond.

Our mood was hardly helped when we were informed throughout the second half that there were ninety minute delays at South Bermondsey so it was advised that all fans should use alternative stations. After a hell of a walk we arrived at Surrey Quays and travelled back into the city. There we went our separate ways with the three of us making our way back to Kings Cross and home.

Hardly time to panic but a shot on target would be a lovely start at the Keepmoat. It's never been a happy hunting ground in the past but we could really do with a win even at this stage of the season.

Time stopped as the ball trickled along the front of the goal. 19,000 people stopped breathing. Our entire season rested on this ball rolling over the line and into the back of the net. Agonisingly, it didn't quite make it; bouncing off the post and into play before being hacked away. I can only picture the scenes had it of gone it.  I think my head would have come off.

We arrived at the ground fresh from our now traditional stop at the Harvester 15 miles or so short of the park & ride which dropped us by the away end. There was that second leg feel both inside and outside the ground. Songs spewed out on the Forest concourse and spilled up into the stand as kick off approached.

Swansea had the good idea to turn off the music before to try and improve the atmosphere. Until the bloke with the mike announced this I hadn't even registered this, such was the noise from all corners of the Liberty. It got louder as the teams entered the pitch.

Some Forest supporters held a large banner aloft which simply read: 'In Billy We Trust'. I was watching him, waiting for him to spot it. When he finally did he looked chuffed and waved and clapped in their direction. I do think that little exchange had much to do with his great gesture of greeting the fans of the official coaches upon their return to the City Ground in the early hours.

The mood was severly dented by half time. Despite our bright start and positive approach we looked out of it. Still, the away end raised the sound from the start of the second half and we got a response. It is usually the last quarter of play-off ties when we collapse but this time we did anything but. We rode our luck at times with Swansea having a couple of chances to kill the game but nobody could fault the resurgent Reds; they did everything they could.

Come the end, when Pratley scored the mood was defiant and mostly positive. Home fans poured onto the pitch but many of the Forest players didn't budge. Ned Kelly ran on to get Gunter off, presumably as he would have been a prime target for a jubilant Swansea supporter. Once all Swansea players had left the pitch, the home fans turned their attention to us. They congregated in front of us and seemed to be undecided whether to clap or abuse.

Suddenly, I was remarkably surprised to see who else but Billy Davies pushing his way through the masses! He and Ned clapped the Forest end and were joined by a few of the players who had managed to remain on the pitch, including Gunter. Tyson, in what was most probably his final game spent a long time down the front saying his goodbyes.

It will be a big summer with likely departures hopefully being replaced with a plethora of signings. There really isn't any point trying to predict what will happen but hopefully we might all just be pleasantly surprised.

While it has ended in heartache once again at least we can look back on some brilliant moments over the last nine months. But there will be one moment which will remain with me over the long, tedious summer months. Not the demolition of Derby at Christmas, not the great win at Cardiff, the comeback against Pompey or even the chaos when Earnshaw bagged the winner at Pride Park. For none if it even compares to the the joy of watching Trigger buy Pick 'n' Mix at a service station on the way home from Swansea! How much!?!?

See you in August.

At 2.15pm he turned the TV off and stared at the blank screen. The dream was over; the impossible was finally impossible. It hadn't seemed so impossible just a few weeks before he thought. After his own personal triumph on the 2nd April, the cards and flowers and, most importantly, the money had come rolling in but it had now all but stopped. He had tried his hardest to get the job at Selhurst Park or, at least, Loftus Road but he hadn't managed it and this had made the club furious. 'What chance do we have now'? they had said but he was powerless; something he just couldn't stand. He consoled himself with the thought of a live TV game the next day but it was the Britannia and not Old Trafford he was heading to. He cursed Howard Webb once again.

Instead he had booked the day off and settled on the sofa. He had sent a good luck text but he had heard nothing back. Flicking between the two games, he watched in horror. He would never have sent him off and he would have and found a way to rule those goals out. They had never thought this was going to happen.

He got up and kicked the cat. 'Bastards' he mumbled.

Karma.

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Sixteen of us jumped off the train at Kings Cross at 9:51am Saturday morning with the whole weekend in front of us. It was the last day of the season in London and it was Hawkeye's stag do. It promised to be a great occasion. First though was the little matter of securing a play-off spot down in South London. PL and I left the others to head to Cags' house while they made their way, somewhat chaotically it seemed, to their hotel at Waterloo.

Having dropped our bags off, the three of us ventured towards Selhurst Park. Following a quick beer at The Clifton we joined an assortment of cartoon characters, maypole dancers, Smurfs and Osama Bin Laden in the away end. In many ways it was perfect type of scenario with little danger of things going wrong but the game still retaining a degree of importance.

There was probably more drama in the rest of our party's trip to the ground than anything that would come on the pitch. They had endured something of a nightmare journey and were lucky to arrive just on kick off.

It wasn't long before the game and the race for sixth was over as a real contest. Forest were one up against ten men and Leeds were losing. Despite their comeback, we were never ever going to lose and everyone was able to relax. In fact we were all so relaxed that I think I fell asleep and dreamt that David McGoldrick scored an absolute screamer from 30 odd yards to help Forest record a 3-0 away win for the first time since God knows when. Yeovil in 2007? We got promoted that seas... No, forget I said anything.

We still haven't learned from past mistakes though. 'We're going to Wembley' sang the away end while we all winced and exchanged sheepish glances. Maybe, just maybe if we are three goals up with a few minutes left of the second leg but not before. This is the play-offs and this is Nottingham Forest. It's never been a great mix up to now has it?

Mission Complete - The Start of the Stag

We decided to head to London Bridge after the game with us eventually finding the rather nice Old Thameside pub which, as the name suggests, is right by the Thames and offers a panoramic view across the river towards the City. Stood out on the balcony we found entertainment in waving to passing cruise ferries; even greeting once boat with a Mexican Wave! Our numbers were now over twenty with the Keyworth Crusader having travelled down in the car with a few of Hawkeye's old mates. One of those was David Chisnall, the sports presenter from Central News who added a touch of glamour to the proceedings.

A couple of ales later and we unfortunately had to go. Myself, Cags and PL once again branched off from the main posse to head back to get changed for the night. Having a had a few vodka and cokes at Caygill's splendid outside bar we then made our way to the bowling alley at Elephant & Castle. The couple hours apart had brought about a change in certain members. Most were just a little tipsy but it was Coy who had descended into anarchy. In fact, such was his state from this point on that it would be easy to concentrate only on him and his antics which would last twenty pages if described in full.

The bowling, in truth, went on for too long. By the end there was only a couple of people playing while most crowded around the punch bag machine and watched Hawkeye try to destroy it. We eventually left and the drink had taken hold. Forest songs echoed around the subways that took us back to the tube and then Hawkeye managed to set the station alarms off by being too heavy handed with the lift.

When we did finally reach the tube, we didn't move for an age. I was convinced that the police had been called to arrest the groom but we eventually moved away with the bright lights of Covent Garden our destination...

Things were a great deal calmer as we supped our beers outside the White Lion. The one exception was the Keyworth Crusader who was proving to be something of a pain; not just to us but everyone else in the vicinity. He grabbed random people and kept repeating his new phrase 'Bang Tidy' at just about every single female who passed. He was particularly annoying the two Dutch girls who we were talking to who didn't seem very impressed by his various attempts to snare them.

Despite his state though he failed to produce as quite a comical line as Trig who was busy quizzing the the Dutch girls about various topics. 'Do you normally have holidays in Mainland Germany?' he asked much to everyone's amusement. Being Dutch, the girls were a little offended but even they realised that he actually meant Mainland Europe.

We soon found ourselves in Henry's a short walk down the road. At midnight we were surprised to find the light turn on and the bar empty up. We had expected it to be open for a while yet but we left, undeterred, fully expecting to walk in somewhere nearby. We were wrong. The only places open were strip clubs and the odd nightclub who would only admit mixed sex groups. After a full day on the beer since 8am, some started to drift away while we ploughed through the streets towards Leicester Square.

Things weren't looking good and, with a long journey back to South London; Cags, PL and I called it quits. The few that were left did soon find somewhere before a hardy bunch ended up in some strip bar until the morning with Hawkeye spending a small fortune in the process. Glen, Stemo and Big Rob had the most exciting journey back to the hotel though as they hitched a ride on one of the several thousand rickshaws who nip around the streets. After the mile and half journey the poor lad was apparently knackered! Glen has apparently whipped him the whole way home with his belt. He had picked up the technique in Frankfurt!

Wacky Races

Everyone, including Coy, seemed to be in fairly good nick come Sunday morning. Dan, Adam and Trig opted to stay in the pub (It took six phone calls and a knock on the door for hotel staff to kick Trig out of bed) but the rest of us kitted up and hit the track.

After a thrilling hour and a half the final race got underway. I didn't feature in it 'cause I was shit although I did improve over time. If I hadn't crashed on the first lap every time I might have had half a chance. Instead, it was the celebrity among us, David who took the honours just ahead of the two Chris's; Mitchell and May.

The three of them received their trophies and took their positions on the podium. Eagle eyed viewers will have spotted 'Chis' presenting his sports report on Central News on Monday night with his winning trophy taking pride of place in the background! In fact, seeing the guy who you sat next to in the ground then present the goals a couple of days later was a rather strange one. Still, it could have been weirder, it could have been Boozehound!

The Last Leg

We were all reunited in the Euston Flyer in Kings Cross. The place was booming with people pouring in to watch the football. After some discussion we decided it was fitting to end the weekend in London at the Flying Scotsman, especially when it would be Hawkeye's first ever visit. There's never much to say about it really, it is what it is, a hole, but it has a certain cult status and has been the scene of some brilliant moments for us down the years. It's worth going in just to reminisce about that trip to Chelsea in 2007 and Mitchell's naughtiness with a marker pen. There were more chuckles this year when Hawkeye and Glen noticed the gambler was called 'BOOZEHOUND'!

We piled out at 6.15pm and into the off-licence down the road. Surprisingly, Stemo still had some cash left after all of those pound coins he had spent in the Scotsman. We said our goodbyes to Cags and Karl but the rest were aboard the 6.40pm train which was taking us home via a short change in Grantham.

The Curious Tale of Mr Tasty

As daft as it sounds the trip back was my highlight of the entire trip, one of the highs of the season in fact. It started well enough and got gradually better and better and by the time we left Mr Tasty I had tears of utter joy running down my face. I think in years to come those of us on that train will look back at the weekend and will instantly remember that half an hour from Grantham to Nottingham.

The thing is, it's not like I can really explain it either. It was certainly a 'be there' moment.

On the first train it was PL who was happy to take centre stage spinning his hilarious tales. By the end of his story (which I better not repeat), not just us but a large section of the carriage were also in hysterics. Some, in truth, must also have been rather disturbed! The yarns and jokes, aswell as an impromptu rendition of Happy Birthday for Deano's 31st, continued until we arrived in Grantham.

As we boarded the connection, Mr Tasty was fast asleep. That was until Mitchell woke him up. As we found some seats at the front of the train, Mr Tasty stumbled past and began knocking and subsequently hammering and kicking at the drivers door. I'm not sure how it started but we soon started singing songs about him which started strange and just got weirder and funnier as Mr Tasty got more angry. We believe he had overslept and missed his stop and was now desperate to get off the train at all costs.

To the tune of Jeff Back's/Alexandra Burke's/Dele Adebola's Hallelujah we made up lyrics as we went. We had so much fun that when Mr Tasty walked off, Adam went to get him on the premise that he had 'forgotten something'. Mr Tasty didn't have a clue but thankfully hung around for our songs to continue. I will never remember many of them but they all were beaten hands down by Ad's effort of:

Mr Tasty's hair is obtuse,

I blame it on child abuse.

Looking at the words now, it seems silly that we found it so funny but, even now, I cannot type for laughing. Seconds later, Mr Tasty punched the ceiling of the train. I had my back to him but, sat across from Mitchell and Dan, I saw them both collapse into laughter with the former having to spit his drink out on the floor. It wasn't us however that was making him angry; if anything he didn't seem to even realise we were there. He was just very, very mad.

I was very disappointed when the journey ended. We emptied onto the platform while the driver finally appeared and gave Mr Tasty a stern telling off for kicking his door!

Most headed down the Waterfront for another beer but I was done and headed home.

The play-offs are on us once again. It's going to be torture, it going to be hell, it's going to push every emotion to the limit and it will probably leave us as nervous wrecks before chewing us up and spitting us out on the floor as it has always done.

But... you know what? It might just be magnificent.

COME ON YOU TRICKY TREES