Well, it was a grand day out. The only minor problem was the score, but, in all fairness, we didn’t deserve much better. The first half was an unbelievably inept display by City, and the second, whilst much improved, was not the stuff of champions, or even runners-up.

So that’s about it, as far as our push for automatic promotion goes. We still have a mathematical chance of finishing in the top 2, so all is not lost, but we also have a mathematical chance of finishing 8th (and therefore not even in the playoffs) – I think that most City fans, like me, would settle for somewhere in between, with a sigh of relief.

Although we didn’t have the time, or, frankly, the inclination to explore Stoke, my impression was that it’s one of those places that keeps its charms extremely well hidden. And although the natives seemed friendly enough, we were struck by how strangely miserable most of them looked after the game – when we win at Ashton Gate we go away chatting and cheerful, but maybe a downbeat appearance is part and parcel with living in Stoke, even at a moment of triumph.

Anyway, here’s a nice picture of me and my pals watching the game – don’t we look happy regardless? I think we’re celebrating one of the City players timing a pass properly… which means it must have been near the end of the game. (I’m near the bottom left, sporting the scarf and rather dapper flat cap.)

Ah well, if City’s sporting exploits at the weekend were nothing to write home about, at least the weekend started with a terrific game of golf on Friday. It ended with me sinking a putt on the final hole to halve the match for my team. In my mind it was at least 25 feet – but then these putts, like the angler’s fish, always grow somewhat in the telling. Let’s just say it was a putt that I would expect to get only once in about 25 attempts, and what was especially nice is that Stephen and Dave, our opponents, seemed almost as excited by it going in as I was.