Oh Stapenhill... how doth thy tease me so? But whence merely flashing me a tantalising glimpse of your wares, whoosh! You've slipped through my fingers and avoided my wholesome and honourable intentions yet again.
It appears to be an ongoing tale with no end... and some kind of edict, either pre-destined and/or determined by fate, or possibly even influenced by the interference of a particularly spiteful breed of shape-shifting lizards; that Stapenhill FC and myself were never supposed to get it together.
Like some lithesome and horny temptress of the night, who vanishes into thin air, while I've just nipped to the Gents, hoping that the rubber johnny machine isn't broken, the Burton-on-Trent based Swans always seem to be just out of reach, taking flight into the wide blue yonder, in spite of having egged me on several times in the past, with the pretence that we were going to finally 'get it on and bang the gong' together.
I must've pencilled in dates to visit the Maple Grove ground well in excess of a dozen times by now, but a chain of unfortunate events have conspired against my meticulous forward planning and has thwarted me from ever fulfilling my ongoing and unrelenting quest.
My first attempt was thwarted by a jay-walking reindeer. 'Twas on the road through Thoresby Park that I observed several hundred yards ahead of me, a car failing to make it around the bend at the end of long-stretch of straight-road and plunge into an hedge bottom instead... I slowed down and prepared to stop, while assuming that the driver must've tried taking the sharp right a little too quickly, but as I arrived at the scene, the actual reason for the accident manifested itself before me... a fully grown Stag was stood majestically in the middle of the road and the lady climbing out of the car had swerved abruptly to avoid ploughing into it.
Helping to tow her vehicle back onto the road was far more time consuming than I'd ever anticipated it was going to be when I offered my assistance... and it was too late to reach Burton-on-Trent by the time that we were both on our way again, so I ended up at Shirebrook Town instead, because their Langwith Road ground is only a ten minute drive away from the scene of the 'near miss'.
Numerous postponements and rescheduled fixtures, both on Stapenhill's and my own part, prevented me from rearranging my expedition several times, before I set off t'ward Maple Grove yet again.
Superstition forbid me from going through Thoresby a second time, so I went via Barlborough and the M1 this time.
It was during the lengthy spell of roadworks while those ghastly overhead smart motorway contraptions were being installed. Even though I'd given myself some extra time, just to be on the safe side, there was a problem up ahead, causing a very long and mostly static tail-back. Having sat looking at Bolsover Castle for well over and hour and twenty minutes, during which time I'd moved less than a few yards, I eventually crawled off of the next available exit, well after 3PM and plotted my way back towards home turf, via a circuitous route of back roads that would've benefited from the occasional road sign to inform people where the effing hell they actually were.
Finding myself free from my busy roster of football duties one sunny Saturday morning, I set off en route to Stapenhill once again, but... crunch!
While pulling onto a roundabout between Retford and Worksop, no further than four miles from my original starting point, the nearside wishbone arm on my less than reliable Hyundai car had corroded through and actually snapped as I moved forward. My lopsided automobile was going nowhere fast (except for the scrap yard on Monday morning) and a ridiculous amount of faults it had racked up over a short space of time led to me deciding that it was time to cut my losses. I hated that car with a vengeance already... and now spending the remainder of the day getting towed home and car-hunting on t'internet wasn't getting me any closer to finally visiting Stapenhill.
'Let the train take the strain' as the saying goes.
Well whoever coined that phrase has never used the train service that takes in: Sheffield, Chesterfield, Derby, Burton-on-Trent, Tamworth and Birmingham New Street, have they!?
The scheduled train was running approximately 92 minutes late, so the gullible fools (AKA fare paying public) who were travelling to either Burton-on-Trent or Tamworth were advised to board the next train to Birmingham New Street, which would be making additional stops at both of these destinations to minimise disruption to their journey.
Woo hoo! Stapenhill here I come! Or so I thought.
Subsequently our locomotive sailed merrily through both rescheduled ports of call without even slowing down, while the guard on the already overcrowded train back up from New Street, was most unhelpful and not entirely effusive towards the stranded travellers, who of course, through no fault of their own, didn't have valid tickets to use his train. The return leg of the journey was also subject to delays because that is what train operating companies invariably do on each and every Saturday during the football season.
I cannot emphasise just how piss-poor and unreliable this particular train route and the available information pertaining to travelling on it is for passengers...
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| "Please move along the carriage to allow further passengers to board this train" |
It's a well established fact and fairly common knowledge that you're left to your own devices and have to deal with scenarios not dissimilar to these virtually every damn weekend.
Take it from somebody who knows all too well... the crux of the matter is, I never got the opportunity to set foot in Burton-on-Trent until 3.25PM and even if I'd managed to get a taxi I wouldn't have reach the ground until half-time. It was hardly worth my while and a mere forty-five minutes wasn't any good to man nor beast for a first time visit. Thus, I missed seeing the Swans in action yet again while completely wasting yet another day, buggering about on a not fit for purpose rail network.
Fast forward until towards the last couple of months of the 2019-20 season... and I've got three potential visits to Maple Grove pencilled in... I've recently acquired a new car and have had plentiful time to research into the history of Stapenhill FC and the surrounding area, so that I can do my maiden voyage to my object of desire credit on this here blog, when I finally complete my raison d'être and reach the holy grail of Stapenhill FC... and we'll all live happily ever after.
So I checked that the fixtures were still correct on the Midland Football League website and, err... what's this Covid-19 virus that everybody seems to be going on about?
Apparently some sinister malcontent, allegedly based in China, was so desperate to thwart my efforts to visit Stapehnill, that he's smashed a phial containing deadly germs that will cause a worldwide pandemic which as a side effect, will prevent anymore football being played as a spectator sport for an indefinite amount of time.
Wow! Talk about using a sledgehammer to crack a walnut.
Obviously there are numerous grounds on my 'to do' list, in all manner of settings, but Maple Grove, Stapenhill, remains my number one priority and if truth be told, my unstinting desire to get there, is becoming a bit of an obsession by now, taking into account all of my previous 'crash and burn' aborted trips to this bijou corner of Staffordshire. And no, it's not in Derbyshire, so get your geographical bearings sorted out, before somebody offers you a job as a route-setting operative for East Midlands Trains.
"Stapenhill!" I'm frequently asked "Haven't you been there yet? I am surprised".
No! I effing well haven't!
But it's not been for a lack of trying.
