I came here early one summer’s morning during Wrexham’s protracted non-League exile. Mold Road had acquired a nice new stand but everything else looked comfortably shabby. The old place basked beneath lazy sunshine; ground staff pretended to be grumpy, but still invited me inside. Ghosts walk here – international football, the Cup Winner’s Cup, Blyth Spartans and that corner flag. It was all very poignant.