The life of a football fan is never a straightforward one. At the risk of opening this article with a terrible cliché, it’s definitely the metaphorical roller-coaster ride of emotions. This is regardless of whether you’re a plastic fan on one of the big four, or whether you’re following some part-time bunch of non-league chancers. It’s an odd thing really, comparable to very little else in life, football is supposed to be a hobby, an interest, but how many other hobbies or interests would you carry on with, knowing that they have the possibility to cause you the kind of pain that can normally only be felt when being dumped by someone you were still in love with?

This is something, that being a Forest Fan, we’ve probably felt more than others in recent times. To give you a bit of background on myself, without going into my life story too much, I was born in September 1980, which means, whilst I wasn’t fortunate enough to bare witness to the heady heights of being Champions of Europe, I did spend my formative years enjoying the genius of Brian Clough, squabbling on the playground with ‘Liverpool fans’ who’d never been further North than Hucknall and generally feeling like top-flight status was a right rather than a privilege.

Sadly, I can’t reflect on a mis-spent youth watching games from a very young age on the terraces, my Dad is a lifelong manual labourer and my mother a trained office secretary who seemed to spend her life moving from unrelated job to unrelated job. Their salaries, combined with the fact that my Dad often worked weekends and evenings meant that the City Ground was out of reach for me. I still followed Forest avidly though, through the Evening Post and The Football Post, which my Dad would bring home without fail. I was also fortunate enough to enjoy my Dad taking me to the Club Shop before the start of every season to buy me that year’s shirt. This was of course, in the days when you had to pay extra to have the sponsors logo printed on the shirt and names and numbers weren’t even an option. So, as soon as I was old enough to take myself to the City Ground, I saved up my pocket money and did so. Cloughie eventually retired and whilst we lost our Premiership status, Frank Clark arrived and with him, probably my personal high-light of visiting the City Ground, our UEFA cup run and it’s untimely end with an embarrassing thrashing at the hands on Bayern Munich. Although, as we all know, this was nothing compared with the hard times that were to come. Regardless, the like of Stuart Pearce, Stan Collymore, Colin Cooper and Steve Stone became a new generation of heroes to myself and the rest of the Forest faithful.

Now, I must make a confession, it’s about this time that I lost some interest in the club. I was now at college and had taken a weekend job, which made getting to the City Ground regularly difficult again. But thanks to the ever reliable Evening Post and the advent of the internet, I still followed from with the same enthusiasm I had done years before. Little did I know this would actually be preparing me for the life which I now lead. I made my way through University, got my degree and met my future wife. On finishing University, I moved to Peterborough in search of work and to be with my fiancé and, at the time, following Forest wasn’t even a consideration to me. During this time, Forest degenerated into a mess of clueless numpty managers, bizarre tactics and some frankly awful excuses for footballers. The days of Brian insisting on football being played the way it was intended are seemingly gone forever.

I have now lived in Peterborough for over five years. These five years have not been without their problems. Although I’m only 50 miles away from Nottingham, I have had moments of real homesickness, when I’ve considered jacking in the good job I have here (and even on occasions my lovely wife) because I miss Nottingham so much. I miss my old friends (much to my regret I haven’t proven to be completely useless at keeping in touch), my family and I miss my regular visits to the City Ground. Sure, I still keep in touch with the goings on at the club still through the Evening Post, although their website these days, as their distribution doesn’t stretch this far and websites like the marvellous LTLF…but it’s just not the same as that feeling you get when you walk over Trent Bridge and see that majestic red logo affixed to the side of the Trent End, or even the mouldy old Main Stand roof. This problem is compounded by the fact that we bought a house in Peterborough when house prices were relatively high and I can’t afford a car…don’t even get me started on train fares. Making a trip to the City Ground is, these days a rare and expensive treat for me, rather than the Brian-given right it was at one time. Does this make me less of a fan? Well, in the eyes of certain Glenn-like fans, it probably does, but to me, I still hold this club dearly in my heart and, on any given Saturday, at 3 o’clock, I know exactly where I want to be.

Oh and I nearly forgot, I also have a job working for a club that will be playing against Nottingham Forest this coming season. However, that’s a topic for the next edition…

• Coming Up: Part 2 – A wife and a mistress…