First blog in a while, first of 2023 in fact, so excuse the rather 'scattergun' approach to content in this one. Forest continue to be, errr, enigmatic. Tremendous fun at home, a difficult watch away. From the joy of 'that moment' against the fraudulent sportswashers to the implosion on Saturday at West Ham. There's been some remarkable optimism on social media and much calling out of those of us who still think 17th would be a major triumph. I'm sticking to that, though would obviously love anything better. Hard to see it happening unless we start picking up points away though.
In between those, particular high and low points have been, amongst others, wins against Leeds (who I thought looked pretty decent) and Lesta (who didn't) , a draw with Chelsea, humbling at Blackpool and the League Cup mullerings at the hands of United.
Away tickets still being stupidly difficult to get hold of, the only outings for yours truly of late have been the Vegas of the North and the Theatre of Dreams. Blackpool was grim in every respect. Thirteen year old Zagger had his scarf nicked by a threatening older local rascal on the North Pier back in the 76-77 promotion year, but I've still got fond memories of regularly popping up to join my dear old Nan for bits of her annual week there back in those days. Big name shows; Little and Large, Doddie, Monkhouse, Bobby Crush, Lena Zavaroni. We did them all, good bad and indifferent. All of which felt implausibly glamorous by comparison to the Blackpool of today, from the bleak dereliction just behind the Golden Mile to the horrors of the portaloos in the temporary stand at Bloomfield Road. Many of the sights made for great social documentary photo opportunities, but both Zagger and companion Martin (@GroundDesigns) began to feel a bit too 'Holidays in the Sun': "a cheap holiday in other people's misery..." and soon put the phones away. I can't bring myself to use any of what we did take here for a snide laugh.
The match was what it was and there's nothing to be gained by reporting on that here. Sad to hear a small contingent of the travelling Reds booing the taking of the knee and the "Blackpool's a shit-hole, I wanna go home" felt a bit awkward. Too close to the truth to be amusing and I'm no fan of poverty or deprivation mocking.
United away, footballing waste of time as it was, proved to be an enjoyable trip in the company of 'Brian' Julie and @GroundDesigns again, amongst others. We found a great, welcoming bar in funky Chorlton and had a decent session in there pre-match, served mostly by a barman originally from Arnold. Again, nothing to add to what has already been said about the match, other than to note disappointment at the flat home atmosphere, which bordered on apathetic with many gone well before the end. OK, so the outcome was inevitable, but drifting away ten minutes before the end of a cup semi final seems a bit entitled. The irony and arrogance of "You've seen United, now fuck off home," wasn't lost on us and under the circumstances would have been better directed at the home tourists. Half and half scarf anyone? In fairness though, I should just add here that for the leg at the City Ground, United were probably the best support I've seen/heard in quite a while - noisy, original and witty with lots of variety. A (very) few 'murderer' nob heads, briefly when Neco came on, but that aside... In other news, a first experience of safe standing felt perfectly OK.
To those travels can be added a jaunt up the M1 to Emley, away with the mighty Maltby Main, a second trip there for me and just as enjoyable as the previous one. The gathered 263 (away, probably about a dozen of us, all kindly invited into the clubhouse for tea and sarnies), saw the Miners take a two goal first half lead but ending up really hanging on for a two-two draw. A nice ground, Emley, with a decent bar and plenty of cover. If only they could put some sort of tall landmark near it to make finding it easier!
(Tallest tower in Britain, apparently!)
February also brought another trip to Liverpool for a meeting of the HSA. A good turnout for this, including three first-time attendees, one of an LFC persuasion, the other two Forest fans profoundly affected by their experience at Hillsborough. This support group continues to do fantastic work for survivors, primarily Liverpool fans, but also reaching out to Forest fans who witnessed the events of that terrible day. Alongside the sharing of narratives, updates on the aftermath of Paris and general chat, arose fledgling plans for some sort of action against hate chanting when Forest play up there in April, the Saturday after the Anniversary. These are at an embryonic stage, but now look likely to involve something from a Forest contingent - a banner and a 'presence' outside the away end - and maybe a display on the Kop. Fans of some club other than Liverpool need to kick start a revolt against the horrors inflicted on survivors and victims' loved ones in the name of 'banter' and there's plenty of reasons why Forest should be the first to take that stand. It'll not be universally popular, but...
You're never far from a good bit of socialism in Liverpool and these unexpected murals in the hotel, just an ordinary commercial hotel in the city centre, sum up some of the appeal of the city for us lefty types.
The big, exotic jaunt came this weekend with a long-awaited trip to Arbroath, a ground high on on many people's bucket-lists due to its proximity to the sea, culinary delights and general fabulousness.
Zagger and Mrs Zagger did the LNER thing to Edinburgh Waverley from Newark; a revelation by comparison to the shambles that is East Midlands Trains. Reservation system that works, clean, modern train, app to order beer to your seat, relatively cheap and insanely quick - 3:15 journey time. Did I mention the app to order beer to your seat? Warming up with a few single malts in the bar directly underneath our accommodation on the Royal Mile and back to Waverley for the early train to Arbroath, an inter city 125 headed for Aberdeen via Dundee - a source of huge excitement for the hordes of trainspotters, by the look of it. Didn't see Renton or Spud amongst them though. Respect here to the LNER employee, asked which platform the train was due on, cocked his ear, sniffed the air and pointed us towards platform 15. "A 125, beautiful. You can hear and smell them." Good man.
The beauty of the journey is another reason Arbroath is such a popular destination. A largely coastal route, taking in the Forth Bridge, The Tay Bridge, Carnoustie and a pleasingly close passing-by of Stark's Park, Kirkcaldy, home to Raith Rovers, which looks well worth a future visit. Read up a bit on the Tay bridge disaster, only once we'd crossed. A terrible tragedy that claimed up to 75 lives when the original bridge collapsed, having not been properly stress tested. So often, it's the ineptitude and cost-cutting of business or the state that costs the lives of ordinary people. Hillsborough Law Now.
Early arrival in Arbroath gave us plenty of time to explore the town and harbour, though the plan to get to the Abbey was put on hold due to the biting cold and the need for beer. To the pub then, having made a mental note not to bother staying around for a night at De Vitos; surely the least enticing looking night club entrance in the world?
Next stop, to pick up some of the fabled smokies for those in the know at home who had put an order in. This smoked haddock delicacy has to have originated within 6km of Arbroath and there were plenty of outlets, the only concerns being the length of time it's sensible to keep haddock in your bags and the intricacies of football ground security searches. "What's in the bag?" "Fish. Loads of it." Must happen all the time here.
(Would had enjoyed a swim, were it not for the sign)
Into the pub, The Commercial, for a pre-arranged meet with Heather from Jags for Good, her daughter, mates and others travelling together under the guidance of the legends that are Manpreet Singh and his brother Amarpreet. The brothers organise the supporters' bus and are 'graduates' of the fantastic kids go free free season ticket scheme. Also in the Commercial, long-distance Jag and Clapton CFC guy, Turk, who as well as being good company has persuaded me that Clapton would be a better London call on my left-wing odyssey than Dulwich Hamlet. I suspect others reading this might not agree! ;-)
The Commercial had put aside a room and extra staff to deal with the influx and a lively sing-along atmosphere developed, despite the non-arrival of the sticks for the drum; still on a train somewhere near Dundee, reportedly. As at the home match v Ayr, the impression is of some of the most welcoming fans you could wish for. Politically 'sound', inclusive, self-depracating, and genuinely fun to be around. It was interesting, for a Forest fan, no fan of TF and F, to hear how the fanbase had collectively self-eradicated a misogynistic traditional song from the 'Great Maryhill Songbook' and that a generation of young fans was growing up with positive values, encouraged by 'the elders'. This is how it should be.
Off to the match together and, let it be said, the coldest football experience I can remember. A snowy evening away at Doncaster with Notts a few years back might have run it close and away at Bayern Munich in '96 was proper chilly too with 6 foot icicles looming down above your head on the weird 'net' roof at the old Olympic stadium, but here it was the sea breeze that did the damage. Those more used to the conditions reckoned this was Arbroath on a mild day, but for this southerner it was truly painful.
A crowd of around 2,500 with 506 Jags present endured a pretty ropey match. A nil nil that seldom looked like being anything other than that, despite some hairy moments in goal for much loved Jags' keeper Jamie Sneddon, famously scorer of a 95th minute equaliser away at Cove Rangers earlier in the season. Arbroath played well for a team rooted at the bottom of the table and Thistle never really got going. Despite the quality of the match, the atmosphere remained lively throughout and featured a rousing chorus or three of "Fuck the Tories."
The fabled pie hut (top middle photo above) was out of range for us in the away end, but the pies made their way round and the macaroni-cheese double carb-fest will take some beating as the best thing I've ever had inside a football ground, the remarkably chewy Leeds beef soup of the early 80's finally succumbing into second place. It had had a good run.
Post match, recommended almost universally, into the Bell Rock near the ground for a Smokie supper - we went for for less traditional battered version on the advice it was easier to manage the bones. This was fantastic, but fear of batter overload put paid to plans to follow up with a battered Mars Bar. The hard work of years of trying to manage high cholesterol without recourse to statins, could have been undone in one fell-swoop.
Mahoosive fish eaten just in time, it was a quick trot back to the station for the Edinburgh train, a dive into the M&S at Waverley for wine and sweeties and getting tucked up under a warm duvet to await the thrills and spills of Forest at West Ham. Luckily, the combination of cold, Sudafed, beer, wine and battered fish, brought almost instant coma and we were spared that particular pain.
Sunday was spent exploring Edinburgh Castle; great views, loads of history, affordable and, critically, open - Nottingham City Council take note. We also did a tasting tour of the Whisky Museum, which was again great value, with an expert guide to help you figure out your palate and preferences on a sort of coloured circle of light thingy; Lowland for Mrs Z, Speyside for yours truly. Learnt a lot about the regions and the distilling process and came home with a bottle of Lindores (Lowland) and one of Douglas Lang's Timorous Beastie, a small batch blended malt promising afternotes of meringue. Why wouldn't you?
Just time for a dinner in the old town of haggis starter, burger, couple of pints of a Leith brewed IPA and finally, a stroll down to see the Scottish Parliament building in all it's brutalist glory before the train back to Newark. Another smooth LNER journey (did I mention the beer to your seat app?) and back in Gedling within 3 hours 40. Knackered.
And to finish for now, an update on the shirt obsession which is hitting unprecedented and costly new highs. Mrs Z might have been relieved that I'd decided a while back to pare down the Northern Soul collecting, but this could be just as financially catastrophic. A particularly fruitful period on EBay has resulted in the arrival of: the highly desirable and long-chased-after 1996 Forest away shirt; a vintage Palmeiras shirt in tribute to Forest's sexy signings of Danilo and skateboarding Rubik's cube genius Gustavo Scarpa, the wondrous Joma Thistle 'Kingsley', a couple of old Maltby Main shirts and then a few of the clubs featured in Stuart McGill's Roaring Red Front - Cadiz, Rayo Vallecano, Che Guevara's faves Rosario Central, AEK Athens, Esporte Club Bahia, Palestino of Chile. Given that I've got St Pauli covered and really don't want either a Liverpool or Celtic shirt thanks, that leaves just Velez Mostar, Standard Liege, Boca Juniors and Cosenza on the 'wants-list' from that project now then. What to obsess over next? That Johnny Metgod Adidas Skol home shirt still nags away at me...
Be lucky and all the best for the next few weeks of the season, whoever you support. Except 30p Lee Anderson, Tory Deputy Chair, scab, racist, enemy of the working class and all round shitbag, who made a brazen attempt to attach himself to Forest last week. In the unlikely event that you're reading this Lee, you can just fuck right off.
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