I WAS pressed into chauffeur duties one Friday evening recently on account of Plymouth Argyle playing at home at 3pm the next day. This was because Micky won’t go out on such a Friday as he needs to leave on Saturday for the one-hour drive to the ground by 8am, to ensure parking right outside the stadium.

Of course, no-one finds Micky’s strategy odd – well, not much – but we’re not talking Old Trafford or Wembley, but it’s his preference.

Anyway, I duly collected Rog and Dave the Sand and hotfooted it to St Mabyn. Ivor was in attendance at the bar (on the customer side, of course) and was wondering where we were, my time-keeping not being as fastidious as Micky’s.

We were probably 10 minutes late but, luckily, Carley was behind the bar, enjoying the school holidays, and she served us with her usual speed and skill.

This pleased Rog no end, as he was thinking he was already a pint down on his Friday schedule. He soon made it up.

The day before, Rog, Dave and I had a lovely moorland walk from Camperdown, next to Alex Tor, to the stone circle at Louden Hill, and back to Stannon Circle, which is far more impressive.

It was a super day, a hint of a breeze and swallows hunting for flies over the tufted grass of Bodmin Moor. We were in the shadow of Bron Wennili (Brown Willy), the highest point in Cornwall, which means hill of swallows. How apt.

It won’t be long till the swallows wing their way to southern Africa, to be replaced by golden plover on the moor for the winter – the changing of the seasons, as certain as it is that Micky gets his car parking space right outside Argyle’s Home Park stadium. Marvellous.