We'd just hammered Walsall 3-0, with the Moose scoring what turned out to be the goal of the season, for our first win of 2010, with a display that offered real hope we could get out of the mess we were in on the pitch, whatever Uncle Ron was messing up off it.
The Gasmen of Bristol had a very outside chance of the play-offs but safe, a good side to take on in the circumstances, show the same fight as the previous Tuesday and the points could be ours, followed by a couple of winnable games against Yeovil and Gillingham, blimey I was dreaming of safety by Easter!
And the beer was going to be very good.
Well, that bit was true.
Well worth the walk, just!
Of course I still had to climb up that bloody hill, my Southend colleagues were arriving by car, I had to pay for grabbing a very cheap £3 coach from London, (and the same cost back.)
I deserved that drink, it's a big hill!
As the four of us left the still excellent Highbury Vaults pub and a few pints of Young's Gold there was still a spring in our step as we waited for our chauffeured lift to the Memorial Ground, a 20 minute drive away.
The poor driver then having to find a parking space before joining us in the stadium where the weather was quite good in one of the few open away ends, or section to be honest, left in the football league. (Then again, we might find a few more with the season to come!)
It was windy though, very windy, and a good toss to win which Adam did and we were kicking with it at our backs. A good start needed lads. How about 2-0 up after 12 minutes? Yeh, that will do, and we were.
This football larks fun.
With Johnny's throws causing havoc in the home defence one more and we could pack up and go back to the pub early.
And it was at this point, on about the half hour mark, I truly believe the footballing Gods decided that there was to be no great escape, no victory against the odds, we were going to be relegated, it was going to be Barnet away next season, not Brentford.
Rovers had hardly got in our half when the ball was lost needlessly in central midfield when it should have been launched again into the Gasmen's penalty area, a quick ball forward, a slip by Baldwin, a lob over Mildenhall. 1-2.
Soon after, down goes a Rovers forward, ref doesn't have to point to the spot, he does, 2-2.
Half-time and depressed, how is it level, I fear the worse.
Early in the second half 3-2.
Some joy when Vernon scores through a sea of defenders and a point would be great, though it should have been more.
The Moose sent off, a mate tells me he was wound up because he's had his nipples twisted in the first half by a Rovers player, I think he was serious.
I leave to go up the other end as the clock hit 90 minutes to make an easy escape for my coach back to London; "Oh well, I'll take a point", says another friend as I depart; "I was at Norwich", I reply.
Another four minutes of torture, an own goal gives the Gasmen an undeserved win, we were even denied that bloody point, again, and this time I was surrounded by smiling Rovers fans screaming into mobiles; "Yes, we won, bloody lucky". What a miserable season.
No more drinking. Home by nine. Not looking forward to remaining games, start to feel a real growing sense of dread that the chance has gone. Back to the basement awaits.
Of course, felt back up for the fight seven days later but a horrible goalless draw against Yeovil at the Hall soon sent be back into depressed mode again!
Gillingham on Easter Monday really had to be won. I had a master plan for this which was to get a touch merry in Rochester before meeting the same mates driving up from Southend in the Livingstone Arms. Sadly, best plans and all that.
Had some work to finish, the downside of being a freelance, and caught a later train from Charing Cross than planned straight in to Gillingham, not quite what the Kent tourist board had planned when they thought up 'the garden of England, and found the first pub on my crawl 'The Frog and Toad. After this was to be the 'Will Adams', then the Arms and meet the mates.
All aboard the Magic Bus at the Frog and Toad!
Except I didn't leave the Frog. They had this real cider at 6% plus, the magnificently named Magic Bus, it was a warm day, and I had four pints with a bag of salted peanuts, your lucky I can remember anything, then again by five I wish I couldn't.
What a horrible game, left twice. Once when the Gills hit the side netting so we were still one down, so came back; then after they really got a second. Didn't see the third. Has another drink in seedy little place opposite the station, suited my mood.
And that turned out to be it on the away front.
Leeds, tickets for Enio Morricone from a long way back, (what an evening, 'the Good, Bad and the Ugly' with a full orchestra and the Crouch End choir, all one hundred plus of them); Oldham, the Germans' birthday, tickets booked for Paris from even longer back, (relegation confirmed from a text received as sitting outside a cafe in the left bank close to Notre Damn, a lot of Ricard sunk that night).
Southampton, had the train tickets booked, all two pounds worth on the south west train special, (so not a great loss), when work reared it's ugly head again, luckily before a match ticket was purchased, and I missed out on another last match party on the south coast.
So another season of travels had come to a premature end, as many miles as last year even with missing those last three, only two missed before that, and the thoughts turn to Accrington, Boston and Chesterfield next season.
Can I go through all that again, as long as there's no overnight trips involved, (though you know the Stanley will be a Tuesday night in November), of course I can.
COME ON YOU BLUES!!!!!