Belper Town 1-3 Carlton Town

ITN News has somehow found its way onto Ms Moon's TV set. I was a big fan of BBC News until Huw Edwards was found out to be a wrong 'un. It also cheesed me off that he continued to be paid his £475,000 salary, plus a £40,000 pay rise, out of the TV Licence fee payers pockets. Clive Myrie hasn't covered himself in glory either, by failing to declare £65,000 (admin error) earnings he made from public appearances. What an absolute omnishambles. The late, great Sri Lankan-born newsreader George Aligiah (Murphy, my budgie loved him) will be turning in his grave.

It's during the ITN broadcast that I kick off and start gesticulating towards the TV screen. 'Boring Alex Beresford' is doing another pointless, drawn-out weather forecast. He's skiving, undercover, in the warmth of the Royal Botanic Gardens, in Haywards Heath, Sussex, as another storm blows across the Irish Sea, where it later batters the north of England. Beresford can be often seen basking in the sunshine on a promenade in Eastbourne or Brighton on a sultry summer evening. But when the weather turns for the worse the wimp takes cover in the studio or in this case a botanical garden. Give me BBC's Northern correspondent, Danny Shaw, any day, dressed in a Mackintosh raincoat and wellies, standing on a bridge that's about to collapse due to a swollen river in Hebden Bridge.

It's Wednesday morning 5th February. It's my first Wednesday off work for three months as MSR Arnold legendary shop manager Dave 'Chippy' Fryer has returned to the shop floor following recuperation and physio after a full knee reconstruction. It's also my 61st birthday.

I swing by the Hungry Pumpkin on High Pavement, in Nottingham, where I grab a bacon sandwich and a piping hot Americano coffee. I take a stroll to Nottingham Train Station where I board the 9.55 EMR train to the world's greatest city, London.

I listen to possibly the best podcast that the BBC have ever produced; it's called Stakeknife. In Northern Ireland from 1978 to 1994 the IRA killed over 40 alleged informants. Astonishingly, the man who carried out many of these killings was himself a double agent, who was working for the British government as a secret agent. In the blink of an eye, after listening to two episodes of the podcast, the train is pulling into London St Pancras.

I'm meeting my brother today, as Ms Moon is working in Sussex for most of the week. The plan was to head down the East End, as I fancied a trip down memory lane, around the Upton Park area, home to West Ham United for 112 years. Plans are scuppered, for now, as there are severe delays on the tube line from Liverpool Station. A friendly customer service lady says it is best if I catch a train on the Circle Line to Tower Hill, where I can pick up Docklands Light Railway. 

A memorial catches my eye, as I loiter outside Tower Hill station, whilst waiting for Our Kid to arrive. 32,000 merchant seamen gave their lives during the Second World War. Those without graves are remembered at the Tower Hill Memorial, in Trinity Square. Each vessel is named, along with its crew members who lost their lives. It's a humbling moment to begin my day out down the Smoke.

Our Kid and I have a smashing day out as we clock up 10 miles of walking. We lunch in Spitalfields market before chalking off a few CAMRA Heritage Pubs that are in close proximity. I'm gutted that the three star Dolphin, in Hackney, looks to be closed. It's soon forgotten, when entering The Boleyn, home to Hammers fans over the years. It was built in 1899 in a free Renaissance style. The architecture is stunning and the beer choice is breathtaking. We finish the day admiring the World Cup Sculpture that's across the road. It features Bobby Moore, Martin Peters, Geoff Hurst and Ray Wilson. Moore is held shoulder high holding the Jules Rimet Trophy aloft.

It's Friday morning and I'm in the back of Cotgrave Trev's car, with Little Al sitting to my left and Crazy Steve sat in the passenger seat in the front. It's a Victoria Cross Memorial/Famous Graves and Heritage Pub day out. Destination is the much-maligned town of Middlesbrough.

We pay our respects to Stanley Hollis, who has the distinction of receiving the only Victoria Cross awarded on D-Day 6th June, 1944 for gallantry and bravery. He was decorated by King George VI in October 1944.

I'd noticed, when perusing Crazy Steve's itinerary, that we were to visit Eston Cemetery. Middlesbrough FC legendary centre forward, Wilf Mannion, was laid to rest there in 2000 at the age of 82 years old. He scored 99 goals in 341 appearances - his career was interrupted by the Second World War, where he fought in France and Italy. After his death a statue of Mannion was erected at the Riverside Stadium. He's still the only Middlesbrough player ever to score at a World Cup finals.

The Zetland is our first Heritage pub tick off of the day. A chatty owner explains that Zetland is Gaelic for Shetland. It came at a time when the Royals were taking a keen interest in Scotland. The Zetland was built in 1860 as a pub/hotel which served the nearby railway station. Today it's a bar brasserie.

Lunch is taken at fake 'Spoons called Issac Wilson. One or two of the natives look quite handy. I admire the photos of Middlesbrough's old ground, Ayresome Park, as Trev chooses the dish of the day, a local delicacy called chicken Parmo, which the town is well known for.

I'm up 'em, at 'em and sat down in The Avenues in 'Nottingham Covent Garden' by 9.30 on Saturday morning. I'm joined for breakfast by Carlton Town superfans 'Murph' and 'Unders', who incidentally is a Smoggie - we sometimes require an interpreter to understand what he's saying, particularly after he's had a few scoops.

Today is an away day to high-flying Belper Town, who ain't shy on social media. or quiet in their recruitment either. We meet the rest of the gang on Platform 4A. The EMR train to Matlock predictably leaves late, albeit by only a few minutes.

I'm chatting to the Hand family who go above and beyond as volunteers for the Mighty Millers. Dad, Johnny, is on another level; generously giving his time up when it comes to pitch maintenance and general repairs, particularly out of season. Johnny and Sonya's son Aidan has broken his leg - he's currently  wearing a protective boot, but the previous eight weeks have been spent in a wheelchair. Their youngest son, Elliot, aged 8 years old, is a real character. He recently chewed off the ear of the NFFC community lady so much so, that she let him be a mascot for the Ipswich game to give her 90 minutes rest .. lol.

There are some cracking pubs in Belper. We begin at Arkwrights where I enjoy three different real ales accompanied by a cheese and onion cob. We move onto the George and Dragon, near to the ground. Murph sets up a darts competition with the end game being hit the bullseye to win. 13 year old ski-booted Aidan duly obliges - 'Herr Harlow' ain't happy.

All the Millers fans congregate behind the goal Carlton attack. I've barely parked my backside on my padded seat in the Directors' Box (I blagged it) before Lamin Manneh opens the scoring on two minutes following hesitation in the Nailers defence.

I grab a chat with a couple of Danish groundhoppers who are sat directly behind me. They are staying in Duffield. I tell them that one of the greatest managers the world has ever seen is buried there in the churchyard. Brian Howard Clough is laid to rest there with his wife Barbara. I also chat with 'Smiffy' who I became mates with on a charity walk in Liverpool.

Carlton are putting on a show but can't bag a second. Belper go close from a free kick on the stroke of half time. Everyone is chipper in the clubhouse and are confident that the Millers can add to their tally. We don't have to wait long for Liam Moran to lash the ball home. Once again, four pints in, I jump out of my seat.

The Millers are coasting and making a mockery of both clubs league placings. Davie releases Watson, the outcome is never in doubt: 3-0. I keep the fans WhatsApp group updated. It's safe to leave my lucky seat. I walk towards the away following who have sung non-stop in support of their team. "Sticky give us a wave" - I duly oblige, smiling like a (drunken) Cheshire Cat.

A late consolation goal can't dampen our day, but it does annoy me. Folk are buzzing in the bar afterwards. We finish up in Lincoln Green's Railway pub, adjacent to the station. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 576

Unsung Heroes: The Hand family

Beer of the Week: Steam Power, Ampersand Brewery in Diss, Norfolk

Song of the Week: H.O.O.D. by Kneecap

Heanor Town 2-0 Crook Town

We're driving up the A42 towards Nottingham after a lovely afternoon out in Melbourne. Ms Moon is listening to Rylan Clarke's Saturday show on Radio 2 - to be fair, the guy is quite funny, particularly when he rings up his mum, Linda, for their weekly 'on air' chat.

I fancy watching the fag end of the T20 game between India and England that's being played in Chennai. Ms Moon drops me right outside the King Billy, in Sneinton. A three minute walk away is J.T. Soar's recording studios, where cult indie band Sleaford Mods made albums such as: Spare Ribs and UK Grim.

A gang of lads from Lincoln, on a pub crawl, have settled in the corner of the cosy back room, near the TV screen, where the cricket is being played out. I sit down with my pint of Kipa, from the fantastic Sheffield brewery, Neepsend. One of the lads asks how 'The Lincoln' are getting on against Peterborough United. "We're 5-1 up mate" I reply. We engage in conversation, mainly about the current state of English cricket.

Another team to concede five goals this afternoon are Nottingham Forest - at least it means the socials will be quiet this evening. I'm not sure how this drubbing will go down with all the new 'drama supporters' they've found since arriving in the Premier League. England lose a tight game by two wickets.

It's the same drill at MSR Newsagents for the next few days. I lock up the shop at five bells on Tuesday evening and jump on a 58 bus that's heading towards the city centre. I alight on Upper Parliament. I ponder on whether to go for a quick slurp at The Barrel Drop, a micropub on Hurts Yard. I'm uncomfortable watching football through beer goggles, as you miss so much. An exception will be made next Saturday when the Mighty Millers of Carlton visit NPL East League table-toppers Belper Town.

I head towards another crowd favourite on Long Row. Five Guys do the second best burger in our city centre - BOHNS, in Hockley. are streets ahead of the remaining field. I gaze out of the window watching the rush-hour traffic, along with office and shop workers jumping into taxis or hopping onto buses. I walk off my burger as I wander down Lister Gate, onto Carrington Street and into the Meadows.

Relegation-threatened Cumbrian team, Carlisle United, are in town tonight. I backed them at 3/1, up at Fleetwood Town last weekend - they duly obliged, as did most of my coupon apart from Huddersfield Town. Not one player who started their first game of the season, down in Gillingham, back in August,  makes tonight's starting XI.

I take my usual pew halfway up the Derek Pavis Stand. I'll miss seeing Dan Crowley running rings around the opposition, now he's defected to the Voldemort of football clubs that thou shalt not mention. Matty Palmer isn't on the team sheet either, due to a facial injury. It's a shame as he's such an intelligent player in and out of possession.

Notts take the lead through a Jatta header following brilliant interplay between Spurs on-loan youngster George Abbott and fans favourite Jodi Jones. The warning signs are there to see for all. Carlisle play a beautiful game of football. Joe Hugill, on loan from Manchester United, is a constant threat. On another night he could have had a brace, but it's not to be, Carlisle show enough fight and heart to suggest they can survive relegation from League Two.

It's Friday morning and I'm on the 7.53 Nottingham to London train with blog legend Matt Limon. We've bagged some day return tickets to the Smoke in the train sale at £35 each. It's a short tube ride to Farringdon. I clock my old schoolmate. Ackers sat at a table in the Sir John Oldcastle. 'Spoons. Matt orders a pint up which is accompanied by a large breakfast which will set us up perfectly for the day.

The plan is to tick off as many Good Beer Guide and CAMRA Heritage pubs as is possible in a seven hour session. The areas we concentrate on are: Hatton Garden, The Strand and Fleet Street. We're joined by 'Chopper Harris', and later Coops.

It can be a bittersweet moment(s) when visiting watering holes in London - the pubs are amongst the best on earth, sadly the beer they serve up often looks and smells like dishwater. It's why a guide is a must, to increase the chances of hunting down a good ale.

It's a cracking effort by the Regiment as we tick off 14 pubs. London is my favourite city and I can't wait to return for my birthday on Wednesday, which I will be celebrating with Our Kid. The day out ends in Brew Tavern, a cosy micropub adjacent to the railway station. Matt treats us to a craft ale called Putty from legendary Cornish brewer, Verdant.

I don't sleep particularly well (probably alcohol). I have a few friends who are in poor health at this moment in time. It preys on my mind and makes me feel sad. I'm downstairs by 8 am with a pot of tea for one and some Marmite on toast. It finally lifts my mood. I listen to Dermot O'Leary interview Spandau Ballet's Martin Kemp. He explains that their hit song 'Through the Barricades' was written about a member of the band's crew who was murdered during the Troubles in Belfast during the 80s.

Ms Moon is looking forward to the trip to Heanor as it's one of her favourite grounds. Today is a last 16 FA Vase tie versus Crook Town, who are from Durham. Mark Goodier has taken a turn for the worse - well his music choices have. I have to suffer Elaine Paige, Barbara Dickson and Janet Jackson. To make matters worse Ms Moon is singing her head off - Auto Windscreens are on standby in case any small cracks appear, as we sail down the A610.

I get some cash out near the town centre. It's a good job too as card payment is taken only in the bar. Crook have brought a fair few on what is a 280 mile round trip. I bump into Marko Markelic who has managed a few teams at Step 6. His lad, Sacha, is 10 jacket for Heanor.

I had hoped Mr John Harris and wife Jackie, would make the short trip up the A610. Sadly, they are babysitting for son Sam, who has gone to watch The Nutcracker Ballet - as Dad, John says, "the game's gone."

Joe Nice is playing left back for Heanor Town. I coached him when he was a wee lad at Keyworth United. He was immense for us as a kid. We were all gutted when he left for pastures new. Sam Brown is another lad I came across when he played for Clifton as a youth. Both lads play with their hearts on their sleeves and are as hard as nails.

AC/DC and Dandy Warhols form part of the DJ pre-match set. I struggle to hear today's teams as the Norman Collier dropped microphone routine keeps breaking up the sound system.

The first half isn't for the faint-hearted. Tackles fly in as the ball bobbles on an uneven and battered playing surface. The club announced it's going 3G in the near future, so that's me done - Ms Moon can go on her own.

The game needs a goal and it's a good un when it comes. John King, ex Arnold Town youth, puts Heanor Town 1-0 up. I chat to Sam Brown's mum and dad at the break. He hasn't given the Crook number 9 a sniff. Neecey is having a disciplined game at left back - rarely venturing forward, with safety coming first.

Sleigh is on a marauding run, "where's he going?" says the bloke behind me. In a blink of an eye, including my shit one, the ball is nestling in the back of the net. The 9 jacket has had enough. He has too much to say which results in a Red card. Heanor see out the remaining minutes superbly. They are two games away playing at Wembley Stadium. 

Attendance: 615

Men of the Match: Joe Nice and Sam Brown

Beer of the week: Two Flints, Santiago, on cask.

 Song I liked on the radio: Brassneck: The Wedding Present

Melbourne Dynamo 4-0 Newhall United

Midweek football has drawn another blank. I could have gone to Selhurst Street and taken in Radford v Clipstone in the Notts Senior Cup, but I'd already seen those two teams pit their wits against one another a few months ago. I spend the evening with blog legend Faggsy, having a couple of pints during quiz night at Six Barrels, in Hockley. I enjoy a delightful slurp of mild from the Hollow Stone stable, who brew in Old Basford at the old Shipstones Brewery.

Nothing has tickled my fancy at Broadway Cinema of late, but it's like waiting for a bus when two come along together. As I sit with my bag of Skittles and a bottle of 7 Up waiting for the start of The Brutalist (running time 210 minutes) they play a trailer for a film called September 5. It's the true story of the live coverage, by a USA broadcaster, of Israeli athletes being held hostage at the 1972 Munich Olympic Games. That film goes straight into the notebook.

I spend the next four hours in the cinema. The Brutalist is an epic. We even have a 15 minute intermission, that's been unheard of since the McVicar/Tommy double bill at the Classic cinema on Market Street circa 1979. I quench my thirst at Neon Raptor with a NEIPA and a DIPA before settling in for the evening.

Ms Moon is gripped to the sofa for the final of The Traitors, another middle-class, reality TV trash show. Our Joe, who is meant to be the brains of the outfit, is quoted on social media as saying "It's one of the best episodes I've ever seen on TV" He clearly didn't see a scene from Corrie, in 1989, when a clearly distraught and heartbroken Curly Watts was kicked into touch by Shirley Armitage in his bedsit above Alf Roberts grocer's shop. Curly cried a river of tears whilst playing 'Thieves Like Us' by New Order. It has the greatest lyric of all time: "It dies so quickly, grows so slowly, but when it dies, it dies for good, it's called LOVE." Then again, 'Our Joe' wasn't born until 1998.

We enjoy a lie-in on Saturday morning. I rustle up a West Bridgford breakfast - scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on sourdough bread, that's lightly buttered and toasted. It comes in at £4 per head, with the added bonus that there's no Tarquin, Darcy or Hugo wreaking havoc in a Bridgo breakfast haunt.

I study the betting coupon. Bottom-placed Carlisle United, away at Fleetwood Town, stares out at me. They are priced at a juicy 3/1. I noticed that their manager, Mike Williamson, is getting the band back together from his time at Gateshead. I include them in my accumulator and get the nod from my syndicate partner 'Chippy Fryer.'

There are roadworks all around Nottingham at the moment, particularly down our endz. We avoid Clifton Bridge like the plague, choosing instead to cross over Trent Bridge, before the traffic begins to build up for the Notts County versus Bromley FC game.

Wilford Lane is one the busiest roads south of the river. Some buffoon at the Council planning department decided it would be a good idea to rubber stamp having: two senior schools, two gyms, a health centre, a supermarket and numerous housing developments, all in the space of a mile or so on a single track road.

Mark Goodier is on 'flames' on Radio 2. 1984 is the chosen year for Pick of the Pops. He plays: The Smiths, 'What Difference Does it Make?' and 'Killing Moon' by Echo and the Bunnymen. At this rate old 'Gooders' will be playing a guest pre-match set for the Mighty Millers at Stoke Lane, if his good run of form continues.

We hurtle down the A453 past the huge cooling towers of the now redundant Ratcliffe on-Soar Power Station, as decommissioning of the plant begins. We're soon exiting the A50 and out into the countryside. The first port of call is the village of Ticknall, which is close to Calke Abbey, a National Trust Grade 1 country house, where 5 years ago, during COVID, enraged car drivers and angry walkers took offence to me driving up a no entry track for two miles - it was like something out of Wallace and Gromit with hikers diving for cover whilst shaking their walking sticks at a beaming Sticky Palms.

Ms Moon parks up outside St George's Church. I can already see the grey, granite stone of the grave we've come to visit. Ted Moult was a farmer who became a well known radio and TV personality in the 1960s. He was also the face of Everest Double Glazing, with the well known catchphrase "you only fit double-glazing once, so fit the best: Everest" - yep, some berk got paid a king's ransom for thinking that slogan up. In 1986, Moult, aged 60, took his own life with a single gunshot wound, having suffered from some severe bouts of depression.

Melbourne is just a short drive away. It's the birthplace of the travel agent Thomas Cook. There's free parking in the library. We were going to lunch at The Spirit Vaults, an award-winning, upmarket brewpub, located close to the village church. But Bavette steak flatbread, in roast pear, stilton and rocket, looks a tad pricey (and pretentious) at £18 a pop. We've ticked it off before anyway.

Melbourne was rated by the Sunday Times as the 15th most desirable place to live in the U.K. You can see why, as we have a pre-match amble around the streets. The Brewhouse pub and Bank of Beers micropub both catch my eye. St Michael With St Mary's Church is stunning, as is the War Memorial.

Melbourne Dynamo is a club I've been meaning to visit for many a year. Either the inclement weather or a fixture change have gotten in the way. I've been engaging with a lovely chap on their twitter socials all week. I had hoped they would play Linby Colliery Welfare in a Central Midlands League fixture - I used to work at Linby pit in the early 1980s. I'm informed on Wednesday that it is now to be a Derbyshire County Cup semi-final clash versus Newhall United, who are from down the road in Staffordshire.

The friendly twitter guy said it was free entry. I pledged a small donation as I always like to pay in. They very kindly threw in a free programme and club badge, which was a nice touch. The ground, which also provides rugby and cricket for the villagers, is perched on the summit of Robinson's Hill, which affords sweeping views of the village which nestles at the bottom of the hill.

The rugby lads are built like man mountains. They are doing their version of the Haka as we walk past the rugby game on our way to the football pitch. We stand on the opposite side to the allotments, out of the wind. The expectation of the home supporters is a routine win as the visitors play a Step below. 

There's a decent turn out of folk from the village on what is turning out to be a beautiful, sunny day - albeit with a biting wind. The football served up in the first half is not for the purist. Dynamo certainly aren't coasting, if anything it's the visitors who impress. Dynamo take the lead through a smart finish and then double their lead on 44 minutes, when ironically 30 seconds earlier Newhall had rattled the woodwork for the second time in the game.

We're straight in the modern clubhouse for a warm at the break. I had hoped the walls of the room would be adorned with pictures of a glittering past for all three sporting clubs that use it; sadly they are blank and make the room look cold. We venture out for the second half which sees the home side canter to a 4-0 victory. The programme guy is a lovely chap. He tells me that the chairman is ambitious about the club's future. Funding has already been secured for floodlights. They will need hard-standing too if they are to progress up the Pyramid structure.

Attendance: Over 75

Man of the Match: Mark Goodier

Beer of the Week: Pentrich: Such Good Heights 4.7abv Pale Ale

Song of the Week: Desperate Journalist, Unsympathetic Parts

Beverley Town 4-0 Frickley Athletic

It's late in the evening on Saturday 4th Jan, and I'm relaxing in the bar at Hotel Indigo, in Chester, having a final drink (gin) following a fabulous, football-free weekend in the cathedral city. Ms Moon has sloped off outside for a cigarette. I begin to engage with a couple of American tourists who are sat next to me. I exchange pleasantries for a short while before the subject of U.S politics rears its ugly head. It emerges that the two sisters are massive Donald Trump supporters. Readers of this blog are well aware that I don't receive bad news or right wingers too well, particularly after a large Tanqueray 10. A Gincident appears on the horizon. I feel the red mist descending. I rise from my chair as one of the women eulogises over Trump - "goodnight ladies", I shout, as I usher away a confused Ms Moon who has returned from her ciggie.

Snow has fallen overnight and we're both fretting at the breakfast table about how the hell we are going to get home to Nottingham. We fight our way through the sludge to the railway station. Our fate is firmly in the hands of the British railway gods - thank the Lord the worst train operator in Europe, East Midland Railway, won't be getting involved.

It's all change at Crewe, but sadly not towards Derby, as there are rail replacement buses due to track work. We change trains at Tamworth, and I'm back in my armchair, in Carlton, Nottingham by 1.15pm. Big shout out to Avanti West Coast. London North Western and X-Country for getting us home safely. The latter TOC has had some hammer on this blog over the last 12 months, so I just want to redress the balance.

The freeze sets in over the week. There's 'Bob Hope' of any football taking place. Keyworth United call off an evening fixture (on 3G)  because it's too cold - who ever heard of an 'all weather surface' being called off for frost? Suitable footwear should suffice.

Us train lads defy the odds on Friday morning. I jump on the 10.17 destined for Worksop. I'm joined by blog legend Tony Mac at the Hucknall stop - there's some unfinished business (pub tick offs) in the north of the county. We catch a connecting choo choo up to Retford, the birthplace of one of Nottinghamshire's finest cricketers and greatest fielders. Derek Randall, nicknamed 'Arkle', after the racehorse, due to his prowess and speed in the field, was the reason why I loved cricket so much. Every kid I knew wanted to field in the covers.

There's a Heritage Pub, just off the market square, called the Turks Head, that we need to tick off. We enter through an oak door. It has retained many of the features from its original 1930s build. We shoot back to Worksop where we jump on a bus towards Carlton in Lindrick, a village where the wife of Antarctic explorer Captain Scott was born - Scott would have been a happy bunny in these Baltic conditions today.

We finish the day up in Mansfield at Stella Taps, a good beer guide entry, after visiting a few hostelries in Worksop that we'd both not supped at before. I'm back home before 8 pm after jumping on a Pronto Mansfield to Nottingham bus - although a miserable, grumpy driver is not accepting an all day Stagecoach ticket I bought earlier in the day.

There's chuff all chance of a game of ball on Saturday after another overnight frost. Sticky Palms and Ms Moon Cleaning Services are in full flow. I get the slow cooker fired up and run a hot bath whilst listening to the second half scores coming in from the FA Cup third round ties that are being played up and down the country.

On Sunday evening I have my head in my hands, with my mental health plummeting faster than the freezing temperatures. A new series of Dancing on Ice has appeared on our TV screen. I reach for my headset and put on some music. A wee little ginger fella, skating on the ice,  catches my eye. "Is that Chesney off Corrie?", I ask Ms Moon. The good lady replies in the affirmative. "Is he still on gardening leave from the 'Prima Doner' kebab shop on the cobbled streets?" I enquire. "Yes, it's still shut down," says Ms Moon.

The next few days are longer than a week in prison. There's no football on offer, just Arsenal v Spurs on Wednesday evening, which wasn't all that. Monotony was broken the previous evening, which was spent in the charming company of Faggsy in the Fox and Grapes, at the bottom of Sneinton, where we enjoyed some fine ales and a good chinwag as Forest and Liverpool played out a 1-1 draw, a mile down the road, at The City Ground.

It was announced on Friday that the former Manchester United and Torino centre forward, Denis Law, had died at the age of 84. He was the only Scottish footballer ever to have won the Ballon d'Or. He is also remembered for scoring six goals in an FA Cup tie (the match was abandoned) and for back-heeling a goal for Man City that saw United relegated to the second tier of English football. If you are ever in his hometown of Aberdeen then checkout his statue; it's a beauty.

It's Saturday morning and I'm wandering up towards Mrs Bunns Cob Emporium on Musters Road. A blue Hyundai car pulls up outside. It's Crazy Steve and Little Al. Today's destination is the market town of Beverley, in the East Riding of Yorkshire.

'Crazy' has a fuller diary than Samuel Pepys - actually that's not true as the said diary has been through the washing machine following a faux pax by Steve. Anything entered in the diary in marker pen has been washed away ..  lol,

He's just returned from a four day break in Belgium and Germany. He watched Frankfurt's 4-1 mauling of Freiburg. He was impressed that you could walk around the whole concourse of the ground. He's excited about an up and coming 4 day trip to Malaga where he'll take in some football and a T10 cricket tournament.

The drive to Beverley is a breeze as we bypass Newark and Lincoln before turning off the M180. We park the car up at a Tesco superstore where I clock a chap with a Beverley Town FC rain jacket on. He gives us directions to the ground, which is a short drive away.

The White Horse, known to locals as 'Nellies,' is another CAMRA Heritage pub. It has a number of rooms with roaring open fires. Crazy has a fetish for putting logs and coal on fires. He gets the green light for permission to do so - I get a telling off for taking a photo on my phone, as mobiles are banned in Sam Smiths pubs.

The local pubs are well supported by the community. We have to scrap for a seat in the Dog and Duck and Monks Walk Inn. We watch Newcastle United take a battering from an in-form AFC Bournemouth.

It's a good value £6 on the gate. Crazy and Al queue for overpriced food at an outside caterer's food hut. The guy takes an age in serving up. Why they couldn't just provide pie, chips and peas in the clubhouse, I do not know. I decide to starve and suck on a throat lozenge as Beverley attack the goal I stand behind. They go close twice before breaking the deadlock on the stroke of half time. They're well drilled and play a beautiful game.

The visitors are Frickley Athletic, who are based in South Elmsall, in West Yorkshire. I had a bit of bother in that area earlier in the season, whilst watching a Sheffield and Hallamshire League game, from some sewer-mouthed Neanderthals who felt it ok to abuse match officials.

Crazy and Al are holed up in the cosy and warm clubhouse watching the latest scores on Soccer Saturday. I venture out and brave the elements. I stand on the far side where Beverley have caused the most damage. I meet a lovely couple from Hull who have been following the Beavers for a few seasons. They tell me that the team managed to get to 103 points last season, which wasn't enough to win the League. They also say that their leading scorer left the club this week to join Bridlington Town.

I say that I rate the 4 jacket Nathan Ofori just as he gets on the ball inside the Frickley half. He goes on a mazy run before unleashing a curling left-footed shot from distance which beats the outstretched hand of the visiting 'keeper. It's his 100th appearance and first goal of the season. He has been a colossus in the middle of the park.

I drag Steve and Al out of the warmth. We head to the car for a quick getaway as the 400 pluscrowd will walk down the narrow drive we drove up. Beverley Town is a lovely, friendly club that's well worth a visit.

Attendance: 422

Man of the Match: Nathan Ofori

Beer of the Week: Magical Twilight, Pennine Brewery 3.7% ABV

Notts County 1-2 Walsall

It's 3pm on Christmas Eve and I'm packing up the stall outside MSR News, on Front Street, in Arnold, after ten consecutive days of selling chocolate in wintry conditions. Today has been a bumper sales day as panicking husbands, sons and boyfriends look to buy a last minute gift for their loved ones. Panic on the streets of Arnold. The 1 kg Toblerone bar, that's going for £10, is a steal and the star of the show - even I manage to bag one to gnaw on during the festive period.

Jim Royle has moved out of his armchair more than Sticky Palms over the next few days. I make the occasional journey to the garage to pluck another craft ale can from out of the festive box that was supplied by House of Trembling Madness in York.

I meet 'Our Joe' and Sticky jnr in enemy territory, at Portello Lounge Cafe Bar, on The Avenue, in West Bridgford, early on Friday afternoon. We enjoy some late lunch with soft refreshments as the lads are driving. I hook up with blog legend Tony Mac as I swing through town on my way back to Chez Palms. We enjoy a few ales at the Cock and Hoop (the artist formerly known as County Tavern) having previously dropped down Hockley, where we found a bustling and lively Six Barrels on top form. It's the time of year for plum porters and cinnamon stouts, that can warm up the beer coat in these cold and biting conditions.

Ms Moon drops me off down Stoke Lane on Saturday afternoon. The visitors today are Garforth Town AFC, a town which is in the metropolitan borough of the City of Leeds. You may remember the pioneer and founder of Brazilian Samba Soccer Schools, Simon Clifford, was involved at the club back in the early noughties. He even persuaded, in 2004, the legendary chain-smoking Brazilian international Socrates to turn out for Garforth at the ripe old age of 50 years old. Clifford was later to join Clive Woodward at Southampton FC as Head of Sports Science.

There is another player who I've an interest in, who plays for Garforth. Matty Antcliffe lived at the top of my road and was an exciting young prospect for Keyworth United. He played elsewhere at 18 years old as he would have never developed under the senior regime at KUFC at the time. I recommended him for a two month trial at Notts County when he was 16 years old. The academy director was former Wimbledon and Millwall centre forward Jon Goodman. He was impressed with Matty but was unable to offer him a scholarship.

Carlton's form has been patchy to say the least. They did show signs of improvement seven days ago when beating East Riding of Yorkshire's Bridlington Town 3-2. They lost in their latest outing 1-0 to Sherwood Colliery on Boxing Day - once again being reduced to ten men, a recurring theme.

I stand with Faggsy on the far side of the ground. We are joined, shortly after kick off, by Matt Dring. The Millers take the lead following a superb long distance strike by Khyle Sargent. Garforth looks dangerous with Antcliffe impressive. Lawrence Gorman doubles the lead for Carlton from close range. The visitors deservedly reduce arrears shortly before the break.

DJ Murph is spinning the tunes at the break. There was a stinging attack on social media from some Herbert associated with Brid, the previous week. He took exception to Casually Dan's playlist. Sorry mate we don't play the Kaiser Chiefs, McFly and Mel B 'down the lane.'

The game ebbs and flows. Carlton look to have secured victory with a magnificent solo goal by crowd favourite Lamin Manneh. But it takes two breathtaking saves from 'Felix the Cat' to get the Millers over the line. Some goon of a visiting supporter thought it would be funny to pinch the Ghanaian flag that is unfurled each game behind Felix's goal. It's a country he has represented at football. Thankfully the flag was chased down and returned to the clubhouse, to the delight of cheery, beery supporters.

It's the supporters' Christmas piss up this evening. I manage a couple in the clubhouse and a few in the Partizan Tavern and King Billy before jumping aboard the 9 pm bus to Carlton. Shop duties await in the early hours of the morning.

I volunteered to work the early (4am) shift on New Year's Day at the shop. It has an impact on any celebratory drinks, but I've never been a big fan to be honest. I've clocked that there's an early showing at Just the Tonic Comedy Club, up at Metronome, a venue that I'm fond of. We enjoy all three comedians and the compere Jon Pearson who is dead funny too. Don't sit on the front row, he'll savage you.

It's a nightmare shift at the shop in the morning because, for some unknown reason, the newspapers are late arriving from London. I'm still stressed out when Ms Moon very kindly picks me up just after midday. I have a quick nap before the good lady drops me off in Lady Bay Retail Park.

It's a League Two top of the table clash that's not to be missed. I bagged a ticket a few days ago from a very efficient and friendly member of staff in the ticket office. I take my pew in a busy Derek Pavis Stand. Walsall are unbeaten in their last 16 games. Notts have been inconsistent. The message board keyboard warriors want the manager to be removed. The Pies' Danish owners are more measured, considered and patient.

After a bright opening for the Saddlers, the Pies begin to get on top. Dan Crowley is running rings around them. Their Gambian striker, Alassana Jatta, somehow manages to miss a sitter after rounding the 'keeper - credit to the visiting defender for an incredible clearance off the line. Jatta doesn't have to wait long, as Notts get their noses in front.

The Walsall manager is seething and doesn't muck about during the break. Two of his players are hooked. They are a different force in the second 45 minutes. Notts are pinned back in their own half. Everything comes down the Walsall left hand side. The equaliser is fortuitous, but the winner comes from a breathtaking passage of play. This stunning game of football reaches its crescendo with a McGoldrick header marginally chalked off for offside, in the dying moments of the match.

It's Friday morning, and as per usual I'm waiting for a train. Ms Moon and I are away for the weekend in the Cathedral city of Chester, which lies on the River Dee, on the edge of the England/Wales border. 'It's all change at Crewe' as we hop on a Transport for Wales train.

We check-in at Hotel Indigo before walking into town. I always like to support independent restaurants if I can. We have tapas at a lovely place called Blue Bell. Never one to miss an opportunity, I notice on the Good Beer Guide app that Chester has 9x pub entries. The Cavern of the Curious Gnome is a Belgium-themed bar, that's perched upon one of the city's famous rows. I dash around a few more pubs whilst Ms Moon gets ready for the evening out.

Chester's pub scene is thriving in the Canal Quarter. We see a few more off in the evening, finishing it off in a stunning waterside bar called Telford's Warehouse.

Breakfast is spent at the delightful Zugers. We walk it off down the River Dee before climbing up the steps to do the Grade 1 listed City Walls tour, which takes you past Chester Racecourse and the Castle. We rest up back at the hotel, whilst listening to the football scorers coming in. We dine at an Italian restaurant in the city centre called La Fattoria, which has impressive google reviews. The food is fabulous and the ambience is charming. I can't half pick 'em. Where's all this snow they forecast? More on that next week.

Attendance: 12,610 (1,894 from Walsall)

Man of the Match: Liam Gordon