Off, then, to Aldershot. The season may end here, it may not. And if it does, no I didn't think it would end in Aldershot, but, hey, it could be much, much worse and it still might be. There is much to consider and the conditions are cramped in which to consider it.
I haven't been to the, ahem, EBB Stadium in years, unless going to see Chelsea reserves on one of my more misguided missions counts. In fact I haven't been since it was the Recreation Ground (which it sort of still is, but I'm confusing myself here). And it's not really suitable for league football.
This means there's no seat for both me and a host of Sunday hacks in the hackbox (there are sandwiches; no thanks). In turn this means we have to sit amongst the fans in ordinary seats. Yes, I know, your heart is bleeding and I should really telephone for an ambulance, but much as I don't mind some banter, it's hard to operate a laptop in a plastic top-up seat build for children. That's all. Luckily the kindly people in front don't stand up, but there's no power.
Again I don't really mind. I know it's not Helmand, but it's quite inconvenient Still, we soldier on, bringing the words to the people. The Aldershot people are friendly, helpful and apologetic enough and that they normally get closer to six than 60 means they shouldn't waste precious space on hacks. At half-time they bring cups of tea waitress-style (and I didn't get that at Old Trafford last week) and anyway what did I expect? It's Aldershot and I've never covered a game from here before (except Chelsea reserves, blah blah blah) for a reason.
All things considered, the club are doing OK. Before your could say Spencer Treworthy, they'd crashed out of the league, re-formed as Aldershot Town, began at the near-bottom in whatever the Isthmian League Division 3 is and survived such nonsense as Gary Waddock defecting mid-season to Wycombe Wanderers, who promptly went down thus proving that karma may actually exist. They scraped into the play-offs, but so what? It's been a good season and next year should be better still. And judging from the tone in the programme I'm not sure they feel they;re ready for promotion this year.
Some of the nice people are here: Greg from the NOTW, Ralph from I forget where and a couple more. There's a bit of moaning about the facilities, but everyone knuckles down. Aldershot are playing Rotherham United (heaven knows where the report is) who I've got an enormous soft spot for. And for a play-off, the game isn't bad at all. Rotherham have more quality and greater belief, perhaps because the play-offs was the least they expected and, in Kevin Ellison they have a Nosferatu-esque pantomime villain for the crowd to harangue (in fairness to their baying there is one especially nasty elbow on the referee's blind side).
It all seems to be petering out to a 0-0 when Aaron Brown misplaces a backpass, Adam Le Fondre nips and nature takes its course. What is shocking is how few Rotherham fans have travelled. There's something wrong here; they just haven't turned up at their biggest away game of the season and there's space to spare on the tiny away corner. Live TV? Hard times? The silly cup final? I don't know, but I do know they're not here.
Afterwards, it's scrummage time as we hacks gather round the managers. Ronnie Moore is his usual self - cocky, but a good cocky - and Aldershot's Kevin Dillon is similarly upbeat.
Afterwards, I walk out towards the army base near where my hackmobile is parked. It'll be a while before I'm back. The again, I thought the same thing about Old Trafford last week.

Playlist

Sisters Of Mercy
This Corrosion
Jim Steiman and Andrew Eldritch. They said it couldn't last and they were right, but this is obviously a work of genius. Gimme the ring, indeed.