In the run up to the weekend, I was so excited about the start to the football season. By the end of the weekend, I couldn’t be any less enthusiastic.

Saturday I made the longest trip of the season (unless we draw Newcastle United in the FA Cup, or arrange a friendly against Grasshoppers of Zurich). My journey took me all the way to Margate in Kent.

I had a terrible day. I was stuck on a coach for almost 10 hours, in what felt like temperatures hotter than Africa. The air conditioning was clearly broken, or the coach driver too tight to turn it on. I was therefore sat in a surface, feeling sick, sweating and smelling, surrounded by loads of other sweaty, smelly people.

Margate is a shit hole. I’m not being a snob because I come from Bath, Margate is shit. Fact. I’ve been to a lot of really nice towns and cities, during my time as a Bath City fan, but I felt like Ross Kemp in one if his documentaries on Saturday.

Margate’s ground appeared to be half built. The changing rooms were porta cabins. The toilets (which were also porta cabins) had no soap (petty, but I like clean hands!).

It was nice to be out of the hot coach and watch the football in the sunshine. It was hot, but I certainly won’t complain about the heat, especially as in just a few months, I’ll be standing on a terrace, frozen to the bone.

A lot of the home fans took advantage of the hot weather – and the fact you could drink alcohol in the ground. A small minority fell victim of the “English bloke + hot weather + too much beer = twat” syndrome. I am usually for allowing supporters to drink at football matches – after all you can at rugby games – but louts like those at Margate ruin it for everyone.

The match itself didn’t do too much to cheer me up. Both sets of players huffed and puffed up and down the pitch. We didn’t play badly, but I don’t think we played great either. Both teams created chances, but it looked like it was going to be one of those 0-0 draws. That was until the 87th minute, when we were hit by a sucker punch. Margate scored. The 500-odd crowd erupted. Eugh.

I arrived back on the coach, knowing I had 5 hours ahead of me, to reflect on the defeat. You know when you open an oven and the heat hits you? That’s what the coach felt like. Eugh, eugh, eugh!

I eventually arrived back home, feeling fed up, sick and tired. My head was banging. I had never found my bed more welcoming.

I awoke refreshed and decided to put the disappointment of the previous day behind me. Leeds were on the telly at midday, against QPR. I was confident about the new season and pleased that Leeds had been chosen for TV. While Bath City took 87 minutes to shatter my season, Leeds only made me wait 3 minutes, before conceding a stupid goal.

Leeds lost 3-0 in the end. I took consolation from the fact that we may sign some more players as a result. Who am I kidding? We won’t sign anyone.

City on the other hand can brighten my spirits. They are at home to Weston Super Mare tonight. A win will put a smile on my face. A defeat and it’ll be more eugh, eugh, eugh.