It’s Saturday morning and it’s arrival time at GL2. Vaile is first on the scene, an impressive ten minutes before anyone else and reaches the mini bus with both a fluorescent green head cushion and a hairdo that would have qualified him for Boy Band status back in the day. His dip into the ‘Pick a Seat’ container however has chronic earache written all over it, with Folley first out and therefore situated in Pew One, immediately behind the driver. It’s the last time Vaile’s going anywhere near the eleven little yellow nameplates again, while any future raffle draws are well and truly out of bounds.

Speaking of Boy Bands, the Longlevens contingent do their best to strike up a few tunes as we’re passing the breakfast van in the lay-by at Seven Springs, though NJH hears little, having brought along a light grey hoody that looks and acts like an asbestos outfit and as such insulates him from the Pandora’s Box that is visible on all four compass points around him.

‘Pull your mask up,’ barks Coach Wilson, as The Kilkenny speeds past on the left.

‘Solly,’ says Folley.

After a fuel stop at Membury South, we rack up at Reading Services where the Photographer is frantically organising the comfort break’s first photoshoot, even though the players are still in the bus. ‘I’ll get these,’ he declares, long before we even see the blue Greggs sign next to the service station’s main entrance, but we’ve wised up now and the two drinks, bacon roll and Jammy Dodger biscuit for £5.40 won’t be appearing anywhere near his 2022 tax return.

The team by and large indulge in a sensible selection of pre-match fayre made up largely of toasties and pastries, while The Model and NJH pop into Costa for an upmarket pick-me-up. Also moving forward in the social-climbing stakes is Clifford who, despite his pretty downmarket red bobble hat is allowed into M & S, from where he emerges with a disgusting-looking strawberry drink that he informs everyone will, ‘Give me extra energy in the game.’ Let’s hope so.

Bennett struggles to contain his ‘Grabber’ addiction and immediately loses £1 trying to attract a cuddly toy with a magnetic proboscis that’s had the current turned off for longer than The Lens has been running his ‘Buy One, Get None Free’ scams.

‘Put that thing away,’ barks Coach Wilson, as our goalkeeper proudly displays the ball of red & white imitation fur that passes as a cuddly toy won ten minutes previously, courtesy of a £2 investment and a slightly less compromised grabber arm. ‘Hmph!’ laments Bennett, displaying a grimace of which next door’s bulldog would be justifiably proud.

‘Solly,’ says Folly, to both Coach Wilson and Grimacing Bennett, though there’s a tremor in his diction that suggests the apology lacks a certain degree of sincerity.

The Navigator makes light work of Bracknell’s labyrinth of six-exit roundabouts and seemingly endless concrete sprawl as we move unerringly towards our destination. Larges Lane eventually appears on the right of the dual carriageway and after a 360-degree circumnavigation of the next available roundabout, we park up on what was once the old Bracknell Town FC stadium pitch. The 3G surface has been taken up and left in neatly-arranged bottle green rolls at the far end of the tarmac, while there are 244 bags of rubber crumb (Coach Stalley counted them) waiting for their final journey to a new 4G ground in the sky. The site has been sold to developers who have planning permission to build 126 apartments where the ground used to be, so someone is making a pretty penny or two out of the football club’s recent relocation.

It’s no surprise that Gatsby (Buckland), NJH and Nice Harry McLarney are changed first and ready to go and no surprise either that Bennett can’t find his shin pad, Folley can’t find his shoe horn, Vaile can’t find his drink and Clifford can’t find his right boot and when he does, he can’t get it on. For the record, White, Brooks and The Model are all members of the latter group, even though today there is currently no particular reason why they should be, while Manning, who’s not with us at all due to contracting Covid earlier in the week, is a shoe-in to join the always-nice people that constitute Group One.

Coach Stalley, having hared up the M4 from an early-morning appointment in Bristol, leads the match preparation by using FA warm-up number 179, which basically involves a fair bit of running on the spot followed by a fair bit more. ‘Solly, but I don’t fancy any of that,’ says Folley, and removes himself for a spot of goalkeeping practice behind the onion bag at the bottom end of the pitch.

With the slope in their favour from the outset, Wokingham dominate possession, but after a lack-lustre first ten minutes when they survive thanks to a couple of pieces of rather good fortune, the city side start to look considerably more solid and they defend manfully (though boyfully may be slightly more appropriate) for the remainder of the first half.

There are a couple of fine saves and a great take from a left-wing cross by Folley and resolute, last-ditch blocks by Hayes and Hanlon, while Bevan’s drive comes back off the right-hand post as the hosts are denied on several occasions. We reach half time still on level terms though, which is a relief for all concerned, apart from the jelly babies which are cowering in the corner of the food box, awaiting decapitation at any moment soon.

While the hosts remain on top after the interval, Gloucester begin to look increasingly dangerous on the break and their forays down the slope win them three corners in a six-minute spell that Wokingham defend with the same determination that’s displayed by the city rearguard at the other end.

Clifford, Bennett, Hanlon, Vaile and White all work hard in the visitors’ midfield, while full backs Buckland and McLarney each turn in particularly strong second half displays as Wokingham’s attacks are continually rebuffed. Brooks, meanwhile, is a willing front runner living off the proverbial scraps, but there is a collectivity and purpose about the effort and application of the team that has been the hallmark of many a Gloucester performance over the years.

With five minutes remaining, another Folley block followed by Hayes’s goalline clearance sums up the effort and determination of all concerned and at the final whistle, The Model, amongst others, sinks to the ground, exhaustion and pride/relief written large on Gloucester faces.

The players jog over to clap the Magnificent Seven who have made the 170-mile round trip to support the team, before trudging back down the lane to eagerly consume most of the contents of the well-stocked goody bags provided at the ground. Amidst the roll, banana, drink, chocolate bar and Walker’s French Fries, there’s a chocolate coin wrapped in gold foil that immediately catches The Lens’s attention. And it really isn’t the chocolate he’s thinking about.

The Model is fast asleep before we hit the first roundabout, though there’s still time for a bit of barking from Coach Wilson and an apparently sincere ‘Solly’ from Folley before Membury North is reached in record time. The Lens has his card out at Harry Ramsden’s, but declines to indulge in his usual large fish, chips, mushy peas and curry sauce on this occasion, as he’s paying. On a similar note, ‘It only takes cards’ rings out plaintively from each of the four KFC digital ordering machines, though McLarney ends up £2.01 out of pocket as the card holder claims there’s an unavailability of any sort of change. McLarney won’t forget about the two-pound deficit, though. And like Bennett before him, he won’t forget about the other penny either.

The Lens, anxious to reclaim as much of his £10.78 Harry Ramsden’s outlay as possible, arranges both boys’ and girls’ teams in, on and around a couple of £1-a-time children’s cars in the downstairs foyer, with the specific intention of flogging as many of the pics as possible at the next home game on 12th February. ‘I’m going with the Bs to Erdington next week,’ he announces, knowing full well that there’ll be further economic opportunities, but crucially with a different group of prospective buyers, if all goes well and Wixey and Harris consider stopping at Strensham on the way back.

‘Let’s sing as loud as we can,’ implores Captain Bennett as we turn right by The Teddy and enter Church Road. ‘Great idea,’ agree the majority of the throng. ‘Oh, no,’ groans NJH, pulling his asbestos suit firmly over his head. ‘Put your mask back on,’ barks Coach Wilson. ‘Very solly,’ says Folly, and this time he really means it.

Gloucester A: Folley; McLarney, NJH, Model; Gatsby, Bennett, Clifford, Vaile; Brooks; Druid. In spirit: Manning.