Stapleford Town 2-2 Clifton All Whites

I love this time of year when the end of the cricket season overlaps with the beginning of the nine month grind of football fixtures. Crazy Steve, Little Al and I, had our annual pilgrimage up to Scotland, at the back end of July. The plan was to watch cash-strapped Inverness Caledonian Thistle versus Arbroath, and then, the following day, head east to Broughton Ferry, near Dundee, to take in a Cricket World Cup qualifier between Namibia and Oman.

To break up the journey we spent the first night in the historic cathedral city of Carlisle. A CAMRA Heritage pub was chalked off on the outskirts of the city centre before partaking in the traditional holiday Nando's. Sadly, there was no pre-season friendly at Brunton Park. 

The following day was a long trek up into the Scottish Highlands. We pitched up at our digs in Inverness at teatime. We went through the card on the town's Good Beer Guide entries before jumping in a cab to the Caledonian Stadium, which lies on the banks of the Moray Firth.

Crazy Steve made sure we sat behind the home dugout; the reason being that 'Caley' are managed by former Everton, Rangers and Dundee United striker Duncan Ferguson. It was fascinating to watch, at first hand, the coaching style of 'Big Dunc.' He encouraged and cajoled his young charges. I thought, at first, he'd lost that fire in his belly and had gone a wee bit soft. A contentious offside decision, that went against Caley, saw the Big 'Un racing up the touchline to have it out with a terrified assistant referee, whose legs turned to jelly.

We sacked off the cricket the following day. Instead we visited five Highland League grounds including: Inverurie Loco Works, Huntly FC, Forres Mechanics, Nairn County and Rothes. There was a friendly, warm welcome by a club official at each ground, making time for us whether they were cutting the grass, painting the clubhouse or carrying out maintenance. The mini break ended with fish and chips in the harbour of Anstruther, a coastal town south east of St Andrews.

On the 16th September, 1993, 21 year-old Duncan Ferguson assaulted a 29 year old local fisherman at Anstruther Royal Hotel. He was found guilty and narrowly escaped a jail sentence. In 2001 two burglars made a serious error of judgement when breaking into Big Dunc's house on Merseyside, as he loafed on the sofa, whilst binge-watching episodes of Balamory. One suffered injuries that led to him being hospitalised for three days. Ferguson later said he'd thought he had killed him.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm locking up the newsagents in Arnold after a full 'day in the office.' I've four days off after working ten in a row 'at the coal face,' The 25 bus drops me off on Mapperley Top. There's no point in going home as Ms Moon is working away in East Sussex. I've time to kill before a Notts Senior Cup first round tie between Gedling Miners Welfare and West Bridgford.

An engaging barman pours me a pint of 'Badly Drawn Gun' from Pentrich Brewery, at Castle Rock's Bread and Bitter pub. I take a seat in the restaurant and choose fish, chips and mushy peas from a varied menu. I'm just about to exit the pub when 'Chief Wiggum' comes breezing through the door. He kindly shouts me up a pint of Porter.

We join Faggsy at the game. It's as Jason Williamson says, from Sleaford Mods, 'a shaky start to Tuesday' as the visitors are 2-0 up at the break. GMW manager, Reuben Wiggins-Thomas, has a clash of heads with a team-mate - both are withdrawn from proceedings.

I chat with 'Skid' before going for a warm in the tearoom. Martin, a customer at the shop, says the game is all over. GMW are a second half team though. They claw two goals back, only to then end up losing 6-5 in a penalty shootout.  

It's Wednesday morning and I'm on bus wanker manoeuvres. I'll be catching three buses up to King's Mill Hospital, near Mansfield, as my best mate Tony Mac has been taken ill. He's moving rooms as I arrive. As it's closer to the exit door, he's hopeful of being discharged soon. We talk about more towns we can visit and gigs we can go to, when another mate of his rocks up. I leave them to chat and return to bus hopping duties.

It's Thursday morning and I'm sitting on a bench on Platform 3B at Nottingham railway station. I'm off to East Anglia on my 'Jack Jones.' The journey time is just shy of two and a half hours. After a wander around and a few jars I check into an apartment on King Street, close to the Cathedral Quarter. I tick a few more pubs off as I wander the cobbled streets in the city centre. I jump on a swanky Greater Anglia Train that puts the ramshackled EMR fleet to shame. A lady on the train borrows my phone charger to avoid a fine as she can't show her ticket to an eagle-eyed train manager. The village of Wymondham is only a ten minute journey away. The Green Dragon pub is timber-framed with a fireplace, snug and carved mantelpieces. It's a beauty, folks. 

The lads are arriving from Nottingham tomorrow, so I opt for an early (ish) night. Matt 'Tory Boy' Limon and I have an unlimited breakfast at the Premier Inn close to the train station. We walk it off for half an hour or so to one of Norwich's greatest brewery pubs named Fat Cat.

The rest of the lads (Chopper, Ackers and Coops) join us just after midday. A fantastic day is spent wandering the quaint streets of Norwich, drinking the fantastic ales they have on offer. Ribs of Beef and Chalk Hill's brewery tap, Coach and Horses, are two of the many standout pubs on the trip. I even paid up 'Tory Boy' a £5 bet we had that the Conservatives wouldn't hold their Rushcliffe seat for the first time in over 50 years.

Ms Moon and I catch up on Saturday morning. I like to treat the good lady to the finer things in life. I chance my arm and ask if she'd like an afternoon out in the Hyson Green/Radford area of inner city Nottingham. To my astonishment she says yes.

Clifton All Whites legend 'Tosh' called me earlier from 'Chappati Junction' with some leaked team news. I was having a shave at the time whilst listening to 'Everything She Wants' by Wham - it's the only track of theirs I like.

Ms Moon and I walk from town. We could have caught the tram, but it's a beautiful day, so why would you? I'm feeling it, slightly, after clocking up 20 miles in the last few days. A guy with dreadlocks is singing a Bob Marley song outside 'The Cricket Players' - it's been closed since 2008. On arrival there is bad news coming from the Clifton camp, one of their exciting youngsters has pulled up lame in the warm-up.

Clifton look to be going nowhere in the first 25 minutes. They lack energy, creativity and forward passing. Stapleford take the lead after some sloppy marking. The introduction of 'Deaks' sees an upping of the gears. Palmer (not me) equalises after being slipped in. He also misses a sitter shortly after. There's an incident before the break when Ms Moon can't find the Malteser Reindeer chocolate bar she bought me earlier at Premier on Radford Road. PC Palms performs a stop and search of the good lady's handbag. A decent rummage uncovers the lost property.

I catch up with Dunkirk legend 'Upo' in the clubhouse at the break. He offers to buy me a drink, but I'm on my best behaviour. His big buddy, Dave Harbottle, is down 'the Smoke' watching his lad playing for AFC Wimbledon versus a club who stole their identity - "where were you when you were us?" will be ringing around the terraces after a 3-0 win.

The second half is a classic. The impressive Palmer scores a second for All-Whites who are in the ascendancy after a half-time rocket from Tosh and joint manager Greg Tempest, a former pro at Notts County. They fluff their lines in front of goal. Stapleford equalise from a spot kick. Clifton are awarded a penalty themselves. The keeper's trailing leg means the opportunity isn't taken. The spoils are shared. It's been a lovely watch with mutual respect from both benches.

Attendance: 79

Man of the Match: Duncan Ferguson for sparking that wrong 'un out.

Radford FC 3-2 Pinxton FC

Dean Gripton and I shuffle out of a jam-packed St Andrews following a last gasp winner for the Bluenoses. We're heading towards the Spotted Dog, a CAMRA Heritage Pub, in Digbeth, along with hoards of cheery, jubilant, beer-fuelled fans. It's a family-run watering hole which specialises in traditional Irish music. We share a post match scoop with Wigan fan Keith, who's not too downhearted or disillusioned after an encouraging, positive display by a cash-strapped Latics. Their young flying wingers, Dion Rankine and Silko Thomas could catch pigeons, and will find out a few League One defenders this season.

There's standing room only on the 18.07 Cross Country train to Edinburgh. There are no direct trains to Nottingham this evening, unless you catch a replacement bus service to Coleshill Parkway. We've bigger fish to fry in Derby. There's no better place to while away the time whilst waiting for a connecting train to Nottingham, than a quick drink at The Brunswick, a railway tavern terrace, a five minute walk away from Derby train station. A Porter ale goes down a treat.

It's 5 a.m. on Sunday morning and The The's jaw-dropping 1981 debut album, Soul Mining, is blasting out on the shop floor as I mark up the Sunday papers. I'm so distracted by the brilliance and genius of band leader Matt Johnson and his haunting voice, that a few folk in Arnold might receive a Daily Mirror this morning instead of their beloved Daily Mail. The afternoon is spent knocking up episode one of Season 21 of The Groundhopper, whilst listening to back to back weekend shows from Radcliffe and Maconie on 6Music.

It's Tuesday teatime and I'm on the 58 bus from Arnold to Nottingham. It's a testing week for 'Norris Cole' as I'm clocking up big hours at the paper shop, whilst the gaffer 'Chippy' Fryer relaxes on a Mediterranean cruise in southern France and northern Spain.

I alight the bus on Parliament Street. My hair is a bloody mess. Mr Eko, my local Bosnian barber, will be closed by now. My mop needs a chop. I poke my head around the door of The Cutfather, a Turkish scissor-hands. The guy says he can squeeze me in before closing time. Mr Eko will blow his top the next time he sees me.

I feel as fresh as a daisy, half an hour later, as I breeze up past the wrought iron sign that says Kings Walk. I saw a guy on twitter, recently, raving about an independant pizza place called Slice 'n Brew, which looks out onto Trinity Square, a vibrant area in our city centre, which is bustling with late night shoppers. I graze on a cloudy lemonade as I wait for my mouth-watering Soppresso Salami pizza, glazed in honey, spices and garlic. It's a ten from Len.

I walk off my heavy tea by ambling up to Hyson Green, via Nottingham Trent University, onto Waverley Street. I do miss driving, due to my dodgy 'mince pie', but you get to see so much more when on a stroll or on a bus or train.

It's £6 on the gate at Radford's Selhurst Street ground. I'm fleeced a couple of quid for some raffle tickets by amusing volunteer 'ASBO.' Bloody hell, 'Shoey' the physio has clocked me. "Jesus wept Sticky, you're the last person we want to see down here, when we've lost the last five matches in a row" ...  lol. There's time for some small talk with 'Big Glenn' as 'Happy' by Pharrell Williams is played on the bar sound system. I take up a position on the nearside terracing with 'Faggsy.'

Pinxton have a good following, who are a friendly and knowledgeable crowd. They take an early lead with a header from the impressive 7 jacket. They are two to the good early on in the second half. I'm on the opposite side of the ground to 'Shoey' but can still hear his words ringing in my ears - "that bloody Jonah is here again."  The Pheasants look dead in the water.

Cometh the man, cometh the hour. Crowd favourite Jevon Seaton steps up to the plate. I've watched this lad since he was a teenager at Unity FC, a club a mate of mine used to run. It amazes me that no manager has taken a punt on the lad, higher up the Pyramid. He restores parity with two stunning strikes. Only one team is going to win this see-saw game of football. Substitute, Aboubacar Sylla, scores a beauty at the death - the moment is captured beautifully and skillfully by local amateur photographer, Steve McKeown, who is also a keen supporter of Tranmere Rovers. I clench my fist and cheer as the ball beats the outstretched hands of the 'keeper before nestling into the corner of the net. Post match pints are had in Lillie Langtry's.

My blood pressure is at boiling point as I trudge through the doors of Western Europe's worst supermarket. Tesco Carlton never ever fail to disappoint when it comes to incompetence or buffoonery. I challenge a store assistant on arrival as there are no baskets on the other side of the automatic swing doors. It's a sponsored walk to find one.

The nincompoops now charge 30p for a carrier bag. It's a crushing blow to Ms Moon's piggy bank, as she has been nicking 'em for years. I vowed never to buy a bag again after an incident in the self service area recently. I proudly pack my goods in my rucksack, smiling like an assassin, as I exit the store 30 pence better off. 'Petty Palms', I know.

In Emmerdale Farm news, Moira's stuck the nut on Caleb’s wife - the Scots love a 'Glasgow Kiss', and Jimmy is still as thick as a brick. In Corrie, Chesney's front room resembles a scene from The Waltons. God knows what they'll do when the quads ask for a sleepover. Where's Schmeichel the Great Dane going to sleep?

I'm dog tired as I shut up shop on Friday evening. I'm not feeling it as I freshen up at home before heading into town. I grab a Five Guys burger and call in at the Barrel Drop, on Hurts Yard, for a quick half of Magpie Brewery's Coconut Summer, who are housed close to Notts County's ground.

I join hundreds of middle-aged gig goers in the queue at the iconic Midlands music venue, Rock City. The The today released their first album of new songs, in a quarter of a century. I don't bother with a drink as I watch in awe the band play and Matt Johnson sing. He engages with the crowd, big-upping Nottingham, where his lead guitarist is from. They finish off a two hour set with the stunning Uncertain Smile and Giant. It lifts my spirits after a tiring week on my feet.

The 3 a.m. alarm call is unheard of, unless I'm flying off to 'the Reef.' I'm acting shop manager all weekend, so need to be on my toes. With the mizzle and drizzle hanging in the air I'm expecting a quieter morning. Nothing could be further from the truth as the general public of Arnold turn out in their droves on Front Street.

I'm fagged out after a 9 hour shift and a 55 hour week - get out the violins folks. I drag myself up Mapperley Top for a spot of al fresco lunch at Deli-Icious. It's only a ten minute wander to Gedling's Plains Road ground. Ms Moon has cried off due to the deteriorating weather conditions or maybe it's because she's watching Season 10 of Below Deck.

The ground is deserted on my arrival. I sit in the clubhouse listening to some Coalville fans discussing the state of their town. I do my customary circuit of the ground. I bump into Ben Marsh, a volunteer from Carlton Town. Check out their media on You Tube; he's raised the bar by some distance and plays a pivotal role.

 

Legendary former Gedling MW and West Bridgford FC manager Chris Marks is here. 'Marksy' is a cracking lad. I pick his brain as he knows the Notts Non League scene like the back of his hand. The rest of the game is spent with Chris 'Skid' Widdowson, a season ticket holder and local resident. He's also a talented artist. It's a competitive game of football, which if anything the Miners edge. The visitors share the spoils. They still have a large following despite dropping three leagues due to a change of ownership.

Man of the Match: Ross McCaughey, 36 yrs old, and still a class act.

Attendance: 100 plus

Credit to Steve McKeown for some of the Radford photos. Thanks mate

Birmingham City 2-1 Wigan Athletic

It's August Bank Holiday Monday and I'm gnawing my way through a Birds cream slice outside their Sherwood branch, on Mansfield Road, a couple of miles away from Nottingham city centre. Ms Moon is shouting up the coffees 50 yards further up the street. My phone vibrates. I fish my mobile out of my pocket. I feel a pang of sadness and my heart sinks as I read the breaking news of the passing of former England manager and Notts County Director of Football, Sven-Goran Eriksson. 

I was working at Meadow Lane, as Head of Recruitment at Notts County Academy, when the 'Munto' bandwagon came rolling into town, along with the razzamataz and bonkers decision-making. Everyone has a Sven story. I'll tell you mine, in full, when I finally write my memoirs (lol). Basically, I chanced upon a 16 year old Nigerian boy playing football (kick-about) with his mates on Forest Recreation Ground, where Nottingham's Goose Fair is held. I had a hunch, so I brought him into the Club. Sven took a liking to him after a cameo role off the bench versus Mansfield Town under 16s one Sunday morning.

I was later summoned to meet Eriksson, who was intrigued and interested to hear more about the boy's background and story. The lad had been trafficked into the U.K. from Nigeria, and was homeless on the streets of Peckham, in London, for a year. He was taken off the streets by a kind-hearted taxi driver, who relocated his family up to Nottingham. Sven just wanted to help the lad. He had contacts in the Foreign Office, and arranged for the teenager to attend four interviews at immigration centres all over England. He was granted a four year visa. Sven's help enabled the boy to go to university where he studied for a degree in Business. My point is that Eriksson didn't have to help him, but he did. Rest in peace Sven.

I'd been looking forward to watching a film called Kneecap at Broadway Cinema. The plan was to go straight from work on Tuesday evening. The film is set in Northern Ireland and is a comedy/drama about the rise of a hip-hop trio from Belfast. Any plans of a viewing are scuppered by the late arrival of the EVRI courier at the shop where I work at. I settle, instead, for some tea at the highly-rated Pizza Pilgrims in hipster Hockley, followed by some super strength craft ales at Junkyard, a cool bar down a passageway off Weekday Cross.

It's Wednesday evening and I'm taking a steady 3 mile stroll up to Carrington in inner city Nottingham. The rush-hour traffic is already grid-locking the city centre roads. Nottingham Forest are entertaining Newcastle United in a Carabao Cup tie at The City Ground in a few hours' time. It's not my game of choice this evening, despite it being nowhere near a sell out.

I swing off Mansfield Road onto Loscoe Road where one of my all-time favourite pubs comes into view. The Gladstone, which nestles in between Victorian terracing, is a hidden gem and community pub, The 'Beer Gestapo' (CAMRA) does not have this 130 year old pub as an entry in its latest guide - it's who you know folks. Schmoozing ain't everyone's bag. I enjoy a pint from a small microbrewery in Arnold.

Ex work son and Spurs season ticket holder, Tommy, picks me up from outside the boozer. We avoid the football traffic in town like the plague and head down the ring road to the south of the river. Destination tonight is my old club Keyworth United.

I shout up Tom a pint of Guinness in the clubhouse and also catch up with Sizzers and Stolly who I've both coached in the past. 'Our Joe' is playing right back in tonight's Notts Senior League fixture against Aslockton and Orston. The game is over as a contest early on. The Green Army coast to a 5-1 victory. I'm impressed with the calmness and maturity of Keyworth's 16 year old centre half.

Another four miles are banked on Thursday morning when Faggsy and I walk to Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club at Trent Bridge. Sunscreen is applied as Surrey win the toss and elect to bat. 16 year old off spinner, Farhan Ahmed (Sticky's favourite) becomes the youngest ever player to represent the club in a First Class fixture. He's handed the ball in the 13th over to settle his nerves. He doesn't disappoint, ending the day with four wickets including the dismissal of former England Test player Ben Foakes for a first ball quack. I celebrate with a couple of potted beef sandwiches.

The usual crew are assembled in the Lower Radcliffe Road stand, behind the bowler's arm. Pies legend Acko and his Notts County chums are sitting a few rows in front of us. I sit with Faggsy, Kev, 'Kimberley Al' and 'Big Andy' I enjoy a couple of post match scoops with Faggsy at 'Pretty Windows' adjacent to Sneinton Market before, as Jim Bowen used to say on Bullseye, that its BFH time.

It's rinse and repeat on Friday. I catch the bus down to the bottom of Carlton Road. I join 'Crazy Steve' and 'Little Al' at a greasy spoon called The Avenues. We hoover up a full English with toast and a cup of tea for £6.50 a pop. Farhan completes a seven wicket haul and leaves the field to a standing ovation. It's no mean feat that this performance is against the best County side in the country. I slip away after tea as I'm meeting my brother and sister in law for tea in town. We have a quick drink in Castle Rock's Barley Twist before dining at a warmly lit Mediterranean bar and restaurant called Dino, located on Warser Gate.

After the meal I make a huge faux pas. We called in at the Angel Microbrewery on Stoney Street, in the Lace Market. The place is stacked out with folk, with no seating available. I foolishly suggest Curious Tavern, a bar that's part of the Mercure Hotel. It's a doghole now and is completely down the pan. Don't bother folks.

As you can tell, Ms Moon is down south on business and leisure. I'm making hay whilst the sun shines this weekend. Carlton Town have a tricky home FA Cup tie versus Stamford AFC. The Millers have frustratingly been struggling to keep 11 players on the pitch at times this season, as old habits die hard. The lack of discipline annoys me. I decide to travel further afield after an invitation of a day out by a mate I met through the strong social scene that the diehard supporters have created at Stoke Lane. Dean Gripton and I are aboard the 9.07 Cross Country train to Bournemouth. Destination is St Andrews, home to League One Birmingham City FC.

We've time to kill as we alight the train at New Street station. Savage cuts by the bankrupt Labour City Council mean we're kicking our heels for a further 15 minutes as we wait for the doors of the Library of Birmingham to open. It has ten levels. The rooftop affords sweeping views of the skyline of the city. I always have a quick look in the crime fiction section to see if any of my Dad's books are still around.

I've a Good Beer Guide entry I want to tick off in Hockley, which serves the Jewellery Quarter part of the city. 1000 Trades is situated close to the Pen Museum. It has a plethora of ales on offer. We enjoy a real ale brewed in nearby Walsall, as the dulcet tones of The Cure's Robert Smith belt out on the i-Pod shuffle.

We wander through Digbeth with it's regeneration and street art. We hook up with Dean's mate, Keith, who is a Wigan fan, at a pub called The Ruin. He says he'll settle for a 0-0. " I bloody well won't", I reply. There's pandemonium at the turnstiles. The scanners are freezing, The game is well underway by the time we take our seats behind the goal the Bluenoses attack.

It's not long before leading scorer Alfie May races away from his marker to put the Blues ahead after 18 minutes. Wigan end the half strong as they string some passing and movement together. The Latics continue to impress in the second period. Dean says an equaliser is only a minute away. Aasgaard duly obliges after a howler from the 'keeper Peacock-Farrell, who Dean is less than impressed with. The game is there for the taking. Shots are blazed over and the decision-making is poor. 

The Blues make a flurry of substitutions as some of their big guns enter the stage. Wigan are camped in their own half for the final 25 minutes and are down to ten men due to injury. They pay the price for endless time-wasting when Scott Wright bursts the back of the net in added time. St Andrews almost shakes with the noise from the celebrating 26,000 fans.

Attendance: 26,136 

Admission: £25 Gill Merrick Stand

Man of the Match: Tommy T for chauffeuring me on Wed.