Lewis Jones on his nightmare Tuesday night in Nottingham where QPR's sad capitulation was merely the final act of a thoroughly depressing day.

As away days go, this was about as disastrous as it could get. Tuesday January 26, on the disaster scale would rank alongside the likes of sending a text message meant for your mate to your misses, declaring something unknown to her. And most certainly as disastrous as leaving your flies undone as you stroll into an interview for your dream job (I’m not talking from experience I swear).

I would declare myself extremely lucky to be able to watch my beloved club via the passage of a press pass – but it does give me no excuses now to travel to away games. The opportunity for a complimentary ticket for all Rangers games really is too good to turn down and my Rangers-itus gets the better of me. Doncaster tempted me enough earlier this season and a trip to Nottingham on a Tuesday night also did the same – both utterly demoralising performances.

The train journey up to Nottingham has to be the most depressing journey of my life. Firstly, a 1.45 p.m train on a Tuesday afternoon as you can imagine is not the busiest. So, a nice relaxed, spacious journey was on the cards, just me and my fifth season in charge of Tottenham Hotspur on Football Manager - Champions League semi-final and a League title push was my aims for the next two hours.

On a carriage where I counted the number of 19 people, the space which was left could have seated eight couples of the Michelle McManus/Rick Waller variety. But a man called Gavin from the school of Alan Carr annoyingness decided to park himself next to me – what can you do? Say excuse me mate, can’t you sit on another chair because I won’t to be in the mental zone for my Champions League push? No, me being me, I just sat there and smiled as Gavin for the next two hours played with his extra limb. His extra limb, you’re probably glad to hear, did not put him in the category for a sex offence, his extra limb is known by many as an I Phone.

Don’t get me wrong, I like my phone, and I’m casual to the odd wacky ringtone or long drawn out conversation but this guy was in a league of his own. “Hey girl you got e-mail”, “You better check your text girlfriend” - on loud, for two hours going off every bloody five/ten minutes, sandwiched by three or four phone calls with someone called “Hun”. At one point I seriously looked round for hidden cameras, thinking I would become the next star of a TV prank show. Unfortunately this was real life. This guy drove me within inches of pulling the emergency handle to the right of me, curling up into a ball and calling for the straight-jacket. Gavin, was seriously lucky he was sitting next to me and not an aggressive head case; otherwise I believe the Iphone may have been deposited where the sun doesn’t shine.

Extraordinarily, this was not the tip of the disaster ice-berg. Disaster struck at around 2.35 p.m, just as we were pulling out of Market Harborough station. I’m sitting here writing this with tears in my eyes, as this was probably one of the lowest moments I’ve had on a train - including getting dumped at the age of 13 whilst on the way back from a day trip to Southend. “Tickets please” was the cry from what looked like a very jolly ticket master – he briefly gazed upon Gavin with an expression that can be only described as northern. Then as I handed him my ticket you could see his eyes light up and Mr. Jolly Ticketmaster turned into the biggest jobsworth I have ever had the pleasure to meet. “I’m sorry son, your young person’s railcard has expired” he said. I gazed upon my railcard with disbelief – 25th of January 2010, it had expired yesterday. “Your ticket is invalid mate, which will be £74 please” (the price of a return from London to Nottingham without a railcard). Seeing that an hour and a half ago I had just paid £37 return at the kiosk, with the no input from the women behind the screen that my railcard had expired – this came as quite a shock.

For the next five minutes there was a heated exchange of words between me and Mr. Jolly – I was adamant I would pay the difference but I would not pay an added 74 notes. The jobsworth would not budge and even called his senior manager to imply about me being rude and advise on how to deal with me. My railcard had been expired for one day, surely a little leeway could have been granted, but no. The pleasure he was getting from me squealing at the thought of having to fork out over £100 for a return journey to Nottingham was sickening – some people in this world do not deserve to be in society. Of course, being the law abiding citizen I am, I coughed up and Mr. Jolly went on his way – quite clearly knowing he had ruined my day and had given himself sufficient wanking material for the evening. Additionally my finances had taken a severe dent. Tosser.

Just to make matters worse Tottenham were knocked out on penalties to Milan in the semi finals, and Lewis Jones was sacked after his side failed to sustain themselves as a top four side. 11 days, 22 hours and 23 minutes of my life had been wasted.

Being now out of pocket; my thinking behind a serious attack on a heavy QPR defeat had gone out of the punting window. The plan had been to spread about £20 over QPR loosing from 3-0 to 6-0, simply because on recent viewing against WBA, Forest’s attacking play would be to hot for our clumsy defence to handle. Nottingham Forest to win 5-0 was 80/1 – oh well it’s only money.

After making it to the City Ground, the talk in the press room was of course about Routledge’s move to Newcastle and the sorry state of affairs at our club. It really was pretty heartbreaking to hear experienced journo’s talking about our club in the manner they did – but it was hard to disagree with any of their arguments. After a quick chat with the legend that is Tony Gale, who bantered me quite severely for getting the QPR formation wrong (I predicted a 4-5-1 – we lined up 4-4-2 with Faurlin on the left), I made my way to my seat and had to witness one of the worst performances in my ten year QPR history. Clive summed it up perfectly as ever so I won’t go on.
Just a few quick points:
Nigel Quashie spent 90 minutes chasing shadows; it was his fault for the two opening goals – who is signing these players? Quashie struggled to make a significant impact at MK Dons – no wonder he looked like a lost puppy on his second debut for the club.

Mikele Leigertwood is probably a millionaire at the age of 27 years old, now surely to be a millionaire you need to be bloody good at your job. My mum is one of the best educators in the land and she earns no-where near the amount our so called captain does, it really is a disgrace. He lacks ability of moving the ball quickly through the midfield, slows most of our attacking play down – the sooner he gets fed up and jumps ship like Routledge the better.

Matt Hill looked reasonably solid and I believe he is an improvement on Borrowdale. Looked to get forward and support in the second half, also seemed to be pretty decent in the air.

Nottingham Forest were undoubtedly a very good side, who’s attacking relentlessness was on a different level to our defending which at times in the first half was embarrassing. But Rangers should not be loosing 5-0 – it’s as simple as that. This is without doubt the lowest point of the Briatore era; the system installed at the club is not working - from the signings to the ticket pricing. Where do we go from here? It’s going to take a much more educated man than me to answer that question.

Photo: Action Images

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