It’s Operation Restart 2 – or is it 3? The last restart came with 25 minutes to go at Erdington, but shortly after coming back from five-down to draw five-all, Boris decides enough is enough and he says we can’t play for a month. ‘There’s only one person in this country that’s going to be credited with leading a recovery,’ blusters the PM in a sentence that’s interspersed with a good bit of arm-waving and fist-thumping, ‘and it’s not going to be you lot. You can all have four weeks off and by the time you restart, everybody will have forgotten about the Erdington recovery and focus on me, me, me and all my heart-warming promises again. All together now, everyone: ‘For I’m a jolly blonde fellow….’

We’re thin on the ground for our second visit of the season to the Royal County, with a three-man posse heading up to a shindig in Merseyside and Hurricane sitting at home twiddling his many thumbs for a fortnight after being sent to the Hucclecote Isolation Centre in Chosen Way. Negotiations with the B Team coaches are soon completed however and Saunders and Hardcastle are recruited from The Bright Yellow throng, followed by Leo from Leafy Longford Lane, which is an impressively alliterative title. There’ll be no Freemasonry in evidence this weekend though, as the members of the Grand Lodge are somewhere in a traffic jam on the northbound M6, so Saturday will be a time of normal handshakes – or in the current climate, conventional fist-bumps.

Friday evening at Oxstalls is reunion time, and it’s good to see everyone again – or most people, at any rate. ‘Hello team,’ enthuses Hurricane, though no-one can hear him as he’s still in his cell, two-and-a-bit miles away. ‘2.374, actually,’ mutters Smiffy, eager to make a point, even if it’s only a decimal one. His riposte draws a frown from Steadman, a grin from Black Boots and a nod from Eagle, while both Barnard and Hawkins contemplate smiling, though not for the first time this season, decide against it.

Saturday morning, coffee and toast. Fitting the chocolate bourbons into one-half of the green-lidded container without breaking off the corners takes longer than working out today’s team plan, and we’re in the car, excitedly entering the Fir Tree post code as the clock strikes eight. Coach Wilson has decided to drive himself, but is now faced with a difficult dilemma – have an extra half-hour in bed, as who needs to depart Gloucester at 8 o’clock to get to Newbury for 9.25, or leave early and go for breakfast at his favourite bacon & egg outlet – Arlo’s in Chieveley Services. He plumps for the latter, only to discover that Arlo’s shut down around six months ago and that their signature ‘Breakfast in a Pan’ (an artery-choking fry-up with a budget-style hash brown cut into little bits that was fraudulently advertised as Potato Rosti) is no more.

Coach Stalley has also decided to drive himself, as the idea of being seen in a car without a personalised number plate would be almost as bad as letting his FA folder get ruined by the rain, as happened on our last visit to this neck of the woods back in October, when all seemed well with the world. It wasn’t, but at least we were playing.

The car park changing room on this occasion is a tad less wet however, but that’s not the only thing that’s better this time around. HB has arrived, sporting a pair of magnificent new black footy boots that impress everyone apart from TD, who instantly realises that his status as ‘Coaches’ Favourite Player’ (based only on the colour of his footwear) is in jeopardy and he may well now only get a half-share of the positive attention. Coach Wilson, having vented his Arlo’s-induced spleen on the mock-concerned Newbury hierarchy, wanders over to inspect HB’s new apparel and after a cursory glance and follow-up sneer at the state of everyone else’s feet, gives the relieved midfielder a good and proper pedicural thumbs-up.

At the top end of the pitch, Coach Stalley has set up his bright yellow cones and consulted his state-of-the-art Smartphone, onto which he’s uploaded the kindle version of his ‘FA Warm-ups for U11s’ manual, having glanced out the window at half nine last night and feared the worst for his already weather-beaten paper copy. Still ensconced in a month-long, feel-good aureole of light and warmth following the Erdington comeback, he was dead set on repeating the so-say successful Birmingham warm-up routine, but at the last minute remembers what happened in the 35 minutes before the recovery began and flips the page to Number 21 instead. No-one notices.

Also ensconced, in their own half that is, are the nine Gloucester players for the opening six minutes of a contest that sees them playing up the slope in the game’s first period. There is some stout defending and a series of determined blocks from the visitors, with the Man for All Seasons, now captain and centre back for the day, starting the encounter by setting the example on both counts.

On six minutes however, Gloucester break and Steadman’s effort from just outside the box goes straight through the keeper as the opening exchanges set the tone for the rest of the half. Saunders, Eagle and Dix in the city defence, backed up by Barnard, Steadman, Smith and Hardcastle, work hard to quell the hosts’ attacks, while keeper Folley gives early notice of what will turn out to be a very impressive debut. At the other end, Gloucester break effectively, Hardcastle goes past the keeper but is forced wide, before Hawkins seizes onto Steadman’s fine pass to add a second.

The city striker is in an increasingly Beast-like mood, forcing the home keeper into a fine close-range save that quite literally knocks the wind out of him. ‘Same effect as those hash browns used to have,’ muses Coach Wilson during the three-minute recovery stoppage. When the game eventually restarts, Hawkins puts an effort just past the far post before crossing for Smiffy to sidefoot home a couple of minutes later. ‘3.97 feet, it was 3.97 feet,’ beams the goalscorer, noticeably struggling to suppress his excitement, having almost doubled the radius of his shots-on-goal comfort zone, much to everyone’s (and his own) very obvious astonishment.

The bourbons and chocolate mini-fingers don’t prove as popular as usual during the mid-point break, though Still’s not in attendance, which probably accounts for the fact. Coach Stalley meanwhile bookmarks Warm-up Number 21 and basks in (his own) reflected glory that this has somehow made the difference during the first thirty. Even Coach Wilson has the slightest hint of a smile on his half-time face, though his long-awaited Friday-evening reunion with the Nepalese Chef might have something to do with that.

The second period sees the city side build on their half-time advantage and before too long, The Beast proves you don’t need to look at the ball to score with a header and when he completes his treble soon after, eagle-eyed onlookers catch just the slightest glimpse of a miniature curl at the corners of his usually tight-lipped mouth. It doesn’t last long. Meanwhile, at the back, Eagle continues to impress, while Dix is both neat and competitive in everything he does. Folley too continues to add to his standing, twice preventing Newbury from reducing the arrears and to rub salt into the home side’s wounds, Hardcastle converts Steadman’s corner for number six.

It’s the Gloucester midfielder’s best game of the season to date, influencing many of his team’s more productive attacking moves, while working hard out of possession to deny the hosts both time and space. After Hawkins has added his fourth and the team’s seventh of the game, Steadman’s central midfield partner-in-crime, Triple B (Black Boots Barnard) sets off on a mazy run, only to be denied his first goal of the season by taking one touch too many. Both he and his footwear both appear distraught, though not as distraught as he will be when he sees that Coach Harris has stuck a Christmas hat on his thatch and included him on this month’s programme cover.

Newbury grab a last-minute consolation as reward for their non-stop effort, though they’ll be left wondering how they managed to shade the possession, yet lose by such a comprehensive margin. ‘Funny old game,’ as Greavsie used to say.

Gloucester: Folley; Saunders, Man for All Seasons, Black Boots I; Hardcastle, Triple B, No-Name, Two-Foot; Beast.