9.50am: “The Chalet”, David Gold’s Victorian mansion in Caterham, Surrey, nestling in a 55- acre £6 million estate. A chalet it is not. Daisy, the Yorkshire Terrier, frolics at the feet of the visitors. Paula, the housekeeper, fusses around “Mr David”. “I’m not really a breakfast man,” Gold says, nerves already kicking in. Coffee suffices.

10.15am: The Long And Winding Road plays on automatic on the Yamaha piano. Lesley, Gold’s girlfriend, enters the kitchen. “I’ve been to most matches this season,” she confides. “A lot of good that’s done. I’m not going today. It’s so stressful for him. I don’t like to see him suffer.”

10.50am: Bill, the driver, positions the Bentley Blue Train, the only one of its kind in Britain, on the driveway. It is newly delivered, only 143 miles on the clock, £187,000-worth of beast. A shade more injection than Gold’s first car, a yellow Vauxhall Victor. “I paid £600 for it,” he says. “That was a lot then.” He searches for his lucky diamond-encrusted DG lapel badge.

10.54am: Leave for St Andrew’s via the M25, M40 and M42. Gold struggles with the sat-nav, the female voice droning on. “How the hell do we shut her up?” he pleads. “Buy her a fur coat,” Bill replies. Birmingham fans recognise the D6OLD numberplate and wave. “I always wave back,” Gold says. “There’s nothing worse than if you don’t respond.”

12.20pm: Gold takes a call from the publisher of his autobiography (Pure Gold, The Ultimate Rags To Riches Tale, £18.99). A reprint is already under way, the proceeds going to charity. Paul Scally, the Gillingham chairman, rings to offer his best wishes.

1.15pm: St Andrew’s looms, the trapdoor beckons. “It’s the hope that’s excruciating,” Gold says. “When it’s done, it’s done. You move on. Just put me out of my misery.” The Blue Train pulls into the car park, a small, bearded figure alights. “I just want to shake your hand,” a fan says. Gold obliges.

1.30pm: The boardroom. Freddy Shepherd, the Newcastle chairman, sits down to eat with his entourage. Still no food for Gold. He is quieter, intense, yet needs to keep on the move. He walks around the pitch, speaks to the supporters, visits Steve Bruce, the manager, and the players, talks to the media. The ultimate meeter-and-greeter.

3pm: Kick off. In the directors’ box, the co-owners, Gold, Ralph Gold, his younger brother, and David Sullivan, stare coldly. Transfixed. Ralph squeezes the hand of Paula, his girlfriend. David chats with Michael Wiseman, a director. Karren Brady, the managing director, wears dark glasses and tucks a blanket across her lap. Rose, 92, the Gold matriarch, sits quietly. Together, locked in private torment.

3.45pm: Half-time, no goals. Premiership survival is still possible. Time for sweet potato and spinach soup and pastries. Sullivan and David Gold talk. “We always give each other five minutes,” Gold says.

4.05pm: Second half. Portsmouth equalise against Wigan, then go ahead. Ralph juggles with the mathematics, David knows the score. “As we speak, we are relegated,” he whispers. A late Birmingham rally, to no avail. The missed chances of Mikael Forssell and Emile Heskey confirm the club’s return to the second tier after four years.

4.51pm: Brady bites her bottom lip, Gold gazes blankly into space. Misty eyed, momentarily lost, condemned. He hurries off. Downstairs in the lobby, Bill reveals the growing anxiety of his employer. “It’s been like this for months,” he says. “Every game has been s*** or bust. It’s evil.”

5pm: In the boardroom, the photographs of the 2002 play-offs final victory portray a cruel reminder of good times. “It’s ’orrible, innit?” Sullivan says. “But we’ll be back.” Shepherd offers his condolences. “We’ll see you next year,” Gold says.

6.15pm: A brave-faced Bruce arrives and asks for a beer. “Don’t worry, the board are still with you,” a guest informs him. At last, Gold eats a meal, washed down with white wine. Jeremy Peace, the West Bromwich Albion chairman, has called from the Caribbean to commiserate. Albion are down, too.

7.20pm: Outside, Gold signs autographs for the blue-nosed loyalists. The Blue Train departs for the Victoria & Albert Museum in London, where John Madejski, chairman of Reading, winners of the Coca-Cola Championship, is celebrating his 65th birthday. “I think I feel better already, I’ll have a glass of champagne with John,” Gold says. “It’s sad that as Reading make that amazing leap to the Premiership, we’re going the other way.”

10.45pm: “The Chalet” is in darkness. A sign by the gate warns: “Firearms in continuous use on these premises.” There is no option. Gold — and Birmingham City — will have to bite the bullet.