I’VE travelled everywhere from the Alexandra Stadium to Zampa Road to watch Wanderers this year but most of the time, the football is only part of the fun.

Like the fans, I have often had to find my own amusement in a largely dismal 12 months, so I thought I’d share a few experiences from the press box in the spirit of festive fun.

During 2014 I have suffered third degree burns in John McGinlay’s passenger seat, ate my weight in roast beef at Chelsea, risked my own personal safety at Neil Lennon’s first press conference, munched on a bar of Plopp and racked up enough receipts on the M6 Toll Road to make a life-sized papier-mâché version of the Spirit of Sport.

I feel I should explain the whole Plopp thing. Back on Wanderers’ Scandinavian tour in July I developed a rather sinister preoccupation with finding the rudest-sounding foods I possibly could.

This led to me purchasing chocolate bars such as Plopp, Pigall, Kex and Japp, a box of biscuits called Crack, and a few items which couldn’t possibly be printed in a family newspaper.

Yes, it was puerile, but then there wasn’t much to do on a tight budget in Copenhagen, believe me.

Scorelines, scorers, names, faces – none of them particularly stick in my head, and that isn’t a good thing in this job. But I do have a knack of recalling the odd anecdote, so let me tell you one from my journey to Leeds United in August.

My opposite number at the MEN, Trev Baxter, had agreed to meet me and John McGinlay at a rendezvous point off the M62.

I’d nipped into Birch Services to grab a coffee – plus one for Trev – and as I walked out into the car park, John pulled up and suggested we travel in the same car.

Little did he know I was carrying a ticking timebomb.

We only needed to travel one junction but before we’d even got off the slip road, the lids on the cups had given up completely and steaming hot coffee was seeping on to my lap.

Every tiny bump spilled more and more, turning me into a human tiramisu. Helpfully, the Wanderers legend sat beside me was too busy laughing, driving and generally taking the Michael to do anything about it.

By the time John put his foot on the brake to stop the car (rather too forcibly for my liking) I was soaked.

When we got to Elland Road another ex-Wanderer was waiting for us in the press room, and it was good to catch up with Andy Walker.

I did notice he didn’t get too close to me, though, probably well aware of the damp patches around my midriff.

Now I’m no food snob. I don’t expect red carpet treatment and I’ve been just as happy sipping a cup of Bovril at Shrewsbury as munching on lamb cutlets with a redcurrant jus at Manchester City.

Well, okay, that’s not strictly true. You definitely favour grounds where the food is good and when Wanderers drew Chelsea in the cup my stomach did a little dance of celebration.

A few weeks later, confronted with an endless supply of rare roast beef, luxurious salads, seafood and enough puddings to put you immediately into a diabetic coma, I’m ashamed to say I overdid it.

I should have stopped after the second plateful. Instead I ate myself to a complete standstill and at one point in the second half felt like I was actually sweating smoked salmon.

I can’t remember much about the game but I gather Wanderers played well.

On that note, I should add the food and media facilities at the Macron Stadium have improved a lot this season and are as good as anything in this division. Well done to those responsible.

It’s all well and good having tasty nosh but the welcome and help you get from staff at a ground is also important too. In that respect I have to pick out Yeovil Town and Millwall as two places I have really enjoyed visiting during 2014.

Neither Huish Park nor The Den are especially plush but the people behind the scenes were so friendly, it just made the job that bit easier.

When Neil Lennon was first touted as Wanderers’ new manager in October, I’ll admit I had a little bit of trouble believing it.

I assumed the Northern Irishman was a shoo-in for a Premier League job and to take over at the Macron after the disastrous start we’d had – it required a bit too much of a leap in faith.

After a few checks it became apparent he really was the main man. And from the moment he walked in, it was impossible not to be impressed.

Before he’d even taken charge he gave us a great story, demanding players took off their wooly hats on the training ground.

In the spirit of good fun me and a few other local journos decided on the Wednesday night we’d wear hats to his first press conference the next morning.

Unsure whether the gag was going to get a laugh or land me a punch in the nose, I didn’t sleep that well. But I’m glad to say he took it in good spirit – in fact, we thought he’d ignored it altogether at first.

“Just thought it was a way of breaking the ice,” I assured him.

“That might not be the only thing broken today,” he glared back, half-serious.

Interestingly, while Lennon has banned hats from training, I’m disappointed he is yet to ban BBC Manchester’s Jack Dearden from wearing khaki safari shorts to press conferences all year round.

Those perma-tanned knees put me off my line of questioning.

I can see next year being a fun one with Neil in charge, especially as things are looking up on the pitch.

I haven’t been to Wembley for a few years... And the food there is smashing.