Cumbria calls for me next week, as Simon Parker very kindly has agreed to use a week’s holiday so I can sample the delights of Barrow and Holker Street on a Tuesday night.

And given my track record on Bradford City away days, I’m not expecting it to be smooth sailing.

This season alone, Notts County away and Accrington away have brought plenty of drama, to the point where the latter could almost be regarded as trouble-free (spoiler, it wasn’t).

So, I’ve already steeled myself for third time unlucky, as I first take you back to mid-November.

Due in at Nottingham for 9:59am ahead of a 12:30pm kick off, I made the fatal mistake of relaxing and thinking I would arrive with time to spare, even allowing for a few delays.

But amid what was already an edgy atmosphere on the train down, with some young, dumb misogyny coming to the fore, we stopped dead in Sheffield.

A carriage of the train had been smashed up, leading to arrests in South Yorkshire and a lengthy delay, only brightened up by one angry bald fella softening up notably after being heckled with Michael van Gerwen chants.

We eventually got on our way, but we were soon barely at a trundle approaching Chesterfield, where we were told the train was broken and would be terminating there.

Not ideal, and even less ideal when someone caused chaos by letting off a flare on the platform in over-excitement.

And even less ideal than that was the news the only direct train from Chesterfield to Nottingham before kick off was too full of Bantams fans to let any more on.

Eventually, we were all shunted on to a service to Derby, where a disgruntled elderly German couple were less than impressed by the City young team noisily invading first-class, as I acted as peacemaker.

All calmed down, we then connected for the trip to Nottingham and finally rolled into the correct station 30 minutes before kick-off.

I get lost easily, so I was pretty happy being part of a police escort, though less happy to get bounced around by officers either side.

Finally arriving at 12:20pm, I was immediately directed to completely the wrong place in the stadium, eventually finding my way into the press box FORTY-FIVE seconds before kick-off.

Bradford Telegraph and Argus: All that effort to make it for kick off and I get that two-word message!All that effort to make it for kick off and I get that two-word message! (Image: NQ Staff.)

At least City made me feel better by not going into the break 4-0 down, right?

The second half that day was memorably poles apart from the first 45 minutes, and ushered in a period of fine form, even though, as always seems to be the case with City, it did not last.

And in keeping with a much improved second half that saw the score end 4-2 at Meadow Lane that afternoon, I spent a far more relaxed rest of the weekend with one of my best mates and his girlfriend, who live nearby, and we even went to the UK’s oldest pub, where we shared nachos just like they did back in the 12th century.

Bradford Telegraph and Argus: Sorry Saturday, solid Sunday...Sorry Saturday, solid Sunday... (Image: NQ Staff.)

No such nearby pals in Accrington last month, meaning that would be a there and back in a day job, though this trip can be filed more as “quirky”, as opposed to “ridiculously stressful”.

My head was on another planet, as this trip to Lancashire did coincide with me having finally arrived home from a wedding in South Africa, unexpectedly via Ethiopia, less than 24 hours earlier, having initially been delayed by a day due a mass transport strike in Germany.

But exhaustion aside this was actually a fun train down, involving an excellent array of decisions for my lunch, chatting to a Stoke supporting husband and wife on their way to Preston, or possibly a Preston supporting couple on their way to Deepdale to see their team face Stoke (the Potters actually won 2-1 so I hope they were away fans), and a surprising Harry Lewis appearance while I sat on a Northern bog.

Bradford Telegraph and Argus: Didn't expect to bump into Harry Lewis in a Northern toilet, but then life is full of surprises...Didn't expect to bump into Harry Lewis in a Northern toilet, but then life is full of surprises... (Image: NQ Staff.)

And because I’m now getting far better at timing my trains, rather than being my usual lastminute.com self, I arrived with a hefty chunk of City’s away contingent, meaning I just followed them to the ground and arrived about 90 minutes before kick-off.

The game itself was pretty incident-free, other than the Bantams playing like Brazil before half-time to help seal an easy 3-0 win.

It is a tight press box there mind, and one angry Accrington fan vented frustration at one of City’s media team with a wholly unnecessary insult, which fortunately his wife sternly made him apologise for.

After pretending I was Scott Banks at Sutton away in November 2022, whipping the ball into the top corner from outside the box while I waited for Graham Alexander, he then appeared, questioning my ability as a footballer (Graham pls) but then kept me listening for 10 minutes in our one-on-one post match interview, to the point where I had to wrap it up as my freezing fingers had turned purple.

Apparently, despite being one of the coldest ground in England, Accrington do not allow journalists inside anywhere, so with no access to headphones, which I’d smartly left at home, I headed to the pub round the corner to write up my post-match interview.

But in farcical scenes, I managed to sit myself in the middle of preparations for a young man’s 21st birthday at the pub that night, with the place adorned with old photos of him.

Alas, I was allowed to sit there while activity buzzed around me, provided I bought a drink.

But attempting to hear the Alexander audio meant holding my phone to my ear, and I don’t know if you’ve tried typing with one hand, but it ain’t easy.

It was also too loud, but when I tried sitting at a bus stop to do it, that was also too loud, and freezing, so I headed back in anyway.

I eventually got everything written up, even if I had to virtually re-spell every word once I had both hands back in use, wished this random 21st kid happy birthday via his older sister (still time to flirt even when on the clock) and headed back to the train.

That was when I encountered the glorious nature of platform banter between rival fans, with the Bantams of Platform 1 comfortably outdoing their opposition on Platform 2.

And the post-match winners were still at it on the train, even if puzzled commuters guessed they were fans of virtually any other club, despite the clear pro-City chants.

Then some drunk teen threw a load of ice at his mate, except it hit me and went all over my laptop, though luckily, I was too tired to care.

Of course, there was no time to make my connection, because why wouldn’t the train from Leeds to Accrington arrive at 9:29pm and the train from Leeds to Horsforth leave at 9:29pm?

An hour and 10 minutes and an exhausted half-pint later, I was back home for 11pm, then after some toast, worked until 1:45am.

Sunday was always intended as a rest day, and you’d better believe that’s exactly what I used it for…