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Another day, another MUST WIN game for Forest down at the World Famous. With Wolves threatening to ‘beat’ D***y’s record as the worst PL team EVER, you can soon see how such hyperbole comes into play. Yes, the PL is bat shit crazy. Win, headlines, repeat. It’s a vicious treadmill, but not one that makes me romantic about a return to the Championship and away days at Fratton Park.

Harry Hodge on BBC Radio Nottingham already had us booking return train tickets to Portsmouth for next season. I was surprised at the level of his DOOM with the pre-match build up. Sir Colin of West Bridgford also came across as the most deflated I have heard him since the dark days of Houghton. I knew things looked bleak, but in the back of my mind, I never really thought that we are in serious danger of relegation. WISE UP, SUCKER.

The team news didn’t exactly extend my optimism. Morato. Oh. But to be fair, he somehow got through the game without the usual one kick away from a major mistake approach that has characterised his season so far. Morato may do a reasonable job of being a back four clogger, but the absence of Murillo always highlights how much we miss him.

I’ve no bad feelings towards Wolves, apart from the MGW nasty jibes from their away fans in recent years. As a club they have a proud - albeit limited - history. Midlanders need to stick together. I didn’t have much time for the pigeon shit style away kit. I couldn’t get Liverpool ‘89 out of my mind throughout the entire game.

The game soon resembled a Championship club Vs a club that looks like it might also be heading back down to the Championship. I really don’t want to return to endless Saturday lunchtime KO’s against D***y and all the stress that brings. Neither did MGW, it seems. He was one of the few players that came out of the game with any credit. He bloody loves playing against Wolves.

Up front and Pizza Crouch was showing why the £30M possible transfer fee over the summer should never be triggered. The TNT cameras kept on cutting away to the Big Fat Greek. He didn’t seem a happy fella. The BFG only seems to turn up for these midweek games when he knows he has a decision to make come full time. SHOUT OUT to his box fresh white T-shirt. He may be a portly chap, but he knows how to keep the fast fashion industry alive. Buy it, use it, bin it. And we’re not talking Forest managers here.

The Forest fans never gave up - and neither did the team, to a certain extent. They kept on pressing, but it was clear there was little game plan. Despite all the possession and the ridiculous 35 shots on target, there was always the risk that Wolves might catch us on the break. It was fun for the first 60 minutes or so, but the final half hour was spent thinking JUST BLOODY SCORE and let’s shit house our way to three points.

It wasn’t to be. Dyche headed straight back down the tunnel at FT. He knew what was coming. The BFG did stay until the final whistle, but he also wasted no time in heading back down to his lair to make his next move. I listened to Sir Colin pad away for almost 45 minutes, waiting for Dyche to emerge. It seemed at any stage that a corner flag photo would be posted on X, and Dyche wouldn’t come out for post-match. It was much to my surprise that he did.

Fast forward six hours later. I had little sleep, I had a very early work shift. And I support Forest. Oh woe is me, etc. But yep, the corner flag variation of a photo had landed shortly after midnight. SHOUT OUT to Forest Focus for getting in two pods before the evening was out.

How can a team with Murillo, Anderson, Sangare, MGW and CHO get relegated? OH HAI Pearce, Keane, Stone, Webb, Clough. Oh, and Rosario. That ‘26 pinstripe replica should be burnt and never be seen again.

The planning documents submitted for the Peter Taylor Stand back at the start of the season declared that it is “unlikely” that Forest will be relegated. Even back in August, this raised an unlikely smile. We’re in Europe for the first time in 30 years, and we’ve just spent £200M on improving what was an already outstanding team.

This season has been a shit show, with all the mess created internally. It’s far too easy to blame Edu, but make no mistake, he really should be knee deep in it with the Big Fat Greek right now. He’s come into a club on the way up, and somehow managed to make the whole operation considerably worse. Ditto Dyche with his coaching. He’s made decent players poor. He had to go, Manager of the Month nomination or not.

Brighton away, Fulham at home, Spurs away, Burnley at home is the route to safety. But it looks highly unlikely tbh. A lot will depend on who is unfortunate to take over for the final twelve games in the PL. Plus don’t forget Fenerbahçe away next week. Good luck with that one, as they say.

This was a weird one. We rocked up at The Table of Dreams. The newly installed boules court was being used for the first time - but not for boules. The details were a little shady, but it looked like a prayer group for around twenty or so chaps. Praise be! We had a captive audience. We also had plenty of mud. Conditions weren’t even soft to soft. Somehow I went 2-0 up. I still managed to manufacture a 3-2 defeat. Oh dear.

There’s an awful lot of waffle on this album. Indian Sunset in particular had me losing the plot. It’s partially saved by the delights such as Tiny Dancer. This is why punk needed to happen.

⭐ ⭐

A clean Table of Dreams was waiting for us on Tuesday lunchtime. Living out in the bloody Estuary Wilds can be harsh at this time of the year. It hasn’t stopped raining since Halloween. Slight exaggeration, obvs. But the upside is that the Table of Dreams is kept clean with all the rainfall. There was also little wind in the air. We took the strategic decision to play with the outdoor wind ball.

I was unplayable the night before, indoors at the Sailing Club. I was on a rare streak of form, pretty much winning every point and telling all that I was the best wiff waff player in Weird Wiv. Oh how the mighty have fallen less than twenty four hours later. I lost 5-0 outdoors. Ouch.

Uncle Joe’s 001 double CD. It’s a collection released after his death, capturing various bit and pieces across his pre and post Clash career. It stretches all the way from the early 101ers through to his final Streetcore album. There’s twelve unreleased tracks on there, with the usual disclaimer that demos are demos. I still find it impossible not to listen to the early pub rock of Keys to Your Hear without keeping my feet still. Oh how we miss him.

When I want dumb ass rock ‘n’ roll I turn to The Ramones. I’m finding that I want dumb ass rock ‘n’ roll more and more as life gets ever complex. This is the sound of a band learning how to play their instruments. They never really mastered this, but that’s not the point. It’s all about the attitude. It’s not Year Zero punk, either. There are some glam hangovers to be found in the guitar riffs. It could easily be a bastard version of Mick Ronson cutting out the chunky chords. This album makes me want to wear back leather for the rest of my life.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

I was very late in finding Wild Wood. I was so pissed off with the way TSC came to an end in 1990, that I dismissed the early Weller solo output as treading water. How wrong I was. I’m pleased that it took me around fifteen years later to pick up on Wild Wood. The hype had died down, I was left with the music alone. Yes, it’s rustic, laboured in places. Even bucolic. But that was the intention. A back to nature bollocks, yet still trying to plot a way forward for Weller, who was still very lost at the time. Yes he, ahem, found his way out of the Wild, Wild Wood. So did I.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

White Bike Cyclist Memorial for Irene Leardini in New Cross Road

via @Transpontine

This was a bit of a weird one. I was convinced I already had some Buddy Holly in my collection. But nope. No worries. There’s endless options on ebay. But where to start? Most of the Best Of collections looked like telly advertised K-Tel quality. I took a punt with this at £2 and hoped for the best.

Something wasn’t quite right when it arrived. It was box fresh and sealed. I pressed play. Mmmm. That doesn’t sound like Buddy. Is it a covers band? ChatGPT tells me not so. I’m not convinced. The sound quality went downhill for the final six tracks or so. It sounds like a bad pressing, distorted as fuck. No one wants that from Buddy.

A replacement was arranged, which I’m still waiting for. The lesson here is not to disrespect Buddy with cheap as chips crappy CD compilations.

B.A.D. II’s Kool Aid usually sells for a price range that is out of my reach. This copy appeared on ebay for £6. I managed to get the seller down to a grubby fiver. Small wins, etc.

Kool Aid is far from grubby. It captures B.A.D. in transition from the original band, to Mick Jones reinventing himself once again with a new set of players around him. It’s also VERY rave, not to mention a little chill out in places.

£5 seemed like a fine price to pay. My wish list still has an original B.A.D. corduroy cap. No cap is worth £100, mind.