07:30. Arrive at Longlevens to find John Kelly already present, waiting for the grand unlocking of the big green gates. The neighbours suggest he’s been here since early Thursday morning, but the man himself quashes that rumour immediately. ‘Midday,’ he says. ‘I didn’t get here till midday.’ Groundsman ‘I’ll be there at six’ Graham is nowhere to be seen, however. He’s either already been and gone, is ferreting away in the back of his lock-up or has contracted a rare form of Trypanosomiasis while buying a tin of legumes in Tesco Express at the bottom end of Grange Road.

07:35. He’s not in his lock-up and quite clearly hasn’t been near the place since Wednesday’s phone call, so it must be the latter. Get well soon, Groundsman. And give those lentils a miss.

08:00. The early-morning Work Party in the shape of Father Manning, Father Hayes, Father Folley & Father Brooks arrive. Within minutes, we take a call from The Benedictines at Prinknash Abbey, saying they’ve lost four members of their paternal throng and there’s a field of off-season spuds to tend. Thankfully, our recently-taken vows of silence mean we’re unable to respond.

09:15. Vice Chairman Adrian arrives and switches on the cooking apparatus, creating a strange smell that might be burning, but there again it might not.

10:05. The Chef finally racks up, two hours after his usual arrival time. ‘It’s my birthday,’ he explains, before anyone’s asked the question. “And you’d better switch the gas off before you blow the place up,’ he suggests to the VC.

10:15. All players, minus Bring Back Bobby Brooks are present. The Model, Folley and White are sporting follicular arrangements that explain why we need an 11am start. The Physio stares adoringly at the programme cover which bears a picture of him with a mullet and a half. ‘Those were the days,’ he hums in a tone so melodic that even Mary Hopkin would have nodded her assent. ‘Have you had your hair cut?’ Clifford asks the Vice Chair, who’s taken a welcome break from the stress created by The Chef’s eventual arrival and wandered outside for a breath of fresh air. ‘Not since 2019,’ the VC replies.

10:20. ‘I’m going to score today,’ announces Bring Back Bobby Brooks as he saunters into the changing room. Everyone ignores him.

11:10. We kick-off ten minutes late due partly to the Wycombe team being made to stare at some magnetic counters randomly placed on a picture of a pitch and The Chef needing to contact the safety people before turning on the oven.

11:22. McLarney wins the ball and plays in BBBB who, despite being under pressure from a bevy of defenders, squeezes it into the far corner before collapsing in utter disbelief. Sixty yards away, the Vice Chair is resuscitated by The Chef after looking out of the hatch at the exact moment the ball crossed the line. ‘And there’s breaking news from GL2,’ extols Jeff Stelling, a hundred miles east in the Sky Sports studio in Isleworth. ‘Oh, no,’ wails Father Brooks. ‘We’ll never get him to sleep ever again.’

11:40. Half time and we’re still 1-0 up. The jelly babies disappear in double-quick succession, with the orange ones being decapitated first.

12:05. Ten minutes to go and we remain a goal to the good. Folley is giving an assured performance between the sticks, including a virtuoso display of sweeping up with both feet. Captain for the day, NJH is competitive at centre back, while Glazier, who’s arrived on a short-term loan from the Development Squad is enjoying a fine game at left back, despite wearing a pair of utterly hideous boots that wouldn’t look out of place in the Tate Modern, where they’d probably be described as ‘Depicting the Meaning of Life’ or something similarly profound. McLarney is looking more assured at right back with each passing minute, while Clifford and The Model work hard in centre mid. White’s corner kicks offer the possibility of adding a second, while Manning’s fine in-swinging free kick isn’t far away from doing just that. Brooks, while living off scraps, is still chasing everything.

12:10. Wycombe finally level with just five minutes remaining and win it with an extra time strike.

12:30. There’s both disappointment and satisfaction at the final whistle. Disappointment with the result after holding out for so long, but satisfaction in the fact that we were as resilient as we were. The defensive shape was much better and no-one can be faulted for a lack of effort. Everyone’s blowing, which is a good sign.

12:45. As we head to the Eating Room, NJH models a fine pair of sliders that are a credit to his Highnam heritage. ‘Can’t wait to tell Miss Bussey about my goal,’ beams Triple B + 1. ‘Miss Powell still hasn’t worked out what ‘Fastidious’ means,’ moans The Model. ‘And I haven’t worked out how to spell it,’ says Folley. ‘Or say it,’ adds Mclarney.

12:53. ‘In you come; in you come,’ exhorts The Photographer, finally managing to entice three beleaguered Wycombe parents to stand in front of his BRMMM (big, red, money-making machine) while he prints off a trio of the away team’s photos. ‘Thanks very much,’ they say in unison, as he hands over the mementoes of their first-ever visit to GL2, ‘this is the nicest place we’ve ever been to.’ ‘Glad to hear it,’ replies The Lens. ‘And that’ll be a fiver each.’

14:17. We’ve managed to sweep out the changing rooms during the second half of the girls’ game with Bexley, then succeed in herding everyone out of the eating quarters by 2:17. The Lens packs up his wares and lifts them seamlessly onto a sack truck as if they weigh no more than a bagful of feathers. His pockets are a different matter however and he struggles to move more than a step at a time. ‘Full of coins, I guess,’ opines The Chef. ‘Notes, actually,’ replies The Lens. ‘And lots of them.’

14:26. Roar down Church Road with Coach Harris, who’s returned from Newbury in the front, with The Lens and his pockets taking up most of the back seat. Gloucester City versus Farsley Celtic, here we come.

14:53. Park in the High Orchard and get into New Meadow Park just as the teams emerge to a tumultuous welcome from the nice couple who clear up the rubbish afterwards and the tannoy man who does his best to ramp up the atmosphere. The Welfare Officer, who sits in the stand these days, contributes a bout of muted applause that lasts no more than three seconds. Farsley, meanwhile, fare even worse in the noise stakes. Their only fan is the right wing-back’s mum, who just happened to be visiting the National Waterways Museum in The Docks as part of a week-long ‘Cotswold Spa break’ when her son called to say he’s playing ‘Just across the road.’

15:24. Realise I haven’t eaten for about eight and a half hours and suggest to The Lens that we go halves on buying sustenance for our gang of five and everyone else within speaking distance. ‘Not a chance; I can’t afford it,’ says The Lens. ‘People didn’t buy enough this morning.’

15:45. Get back from the refreshment hut at half time to find Gloucester are 1-0 up. ‘Nice onions,’ says The Lens, tucking into his £4 horse burger. ‘Want to read my programme?’ asks Coach Harris. ‘How much was it?’ retorts The Lens. ‘£2.50’ answers CH. ‘Rip off,’ says The Lens. ‘Has anyone bought me a cup of tea?’

16:51. Five minutes of injury time are up and it’s finished 2-0 to The Mighty Yellows. Or Red & Yellows, now the colours have changed. We’re off the bottom of the table and manager and ex-GPSFA captain Lee Mansell is immediately offered a contract till the end of the season. I ring The Chairman and tell him the news. ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ he replies. ‘You’ve got two games, starting with Basingstoke away next Saturday, to save your job.’

17:17. Return to Longlevens to finish sweeping up the pavilion, clean the toilets and put new bags in the bins ready for our next home game in a fortnight’s time. After all, if it’s going to be your last one, you want it to be a nice, tidy ending.

Gloucester A: The Philosopher; Super Mac, NJH, The Loanee; The Druid, The Bingo Caller, The Model, The Physio; The Genealogist.