Bootle 0-1 Hednesford Town

Faggsy, DJ Murph and I walk up Radford Road following Stapleford's last gasp winner, in what was a pulsating game of football at Selhurst Street. We quaff a couple of pints at a bustling Lion, in Basford. It has a rustic look about it with its brick walls and wooden floors, not forgetting its superb range of cask and craft ales.

Murph slopes off as blog legend Fags (BLF) and I jump on a return tram into town. We wander up Friar Lane and call in for a final pint of the evening at Ye Olde Salutation, a Grade II listed building that dates back to the year 1240. I enjoy a pint of my favourite current tipple, a Porter. It doesn't half warm you up on a chilly Winter's evening.

Ms Moon is back from her girly weekend away in Manchester. She has enjoyed tapas, bubbles, James Blunt and Bridget Jones. Tonight (Monday) she is tucking into a Sticky Palms chilli con carne. I can't 'arf make 'em.

The good lady's eyes are transfixed to the TV set. A number of TV Times gongs are up for grabs this week as icy waters hit the set of Emmerdale Farm. I've not seen this calibre of acting since an episode of Acorn Antiques from the Victoria Wood Show.

Obviously I'm up to date on events as I've been reading an 85p latest issue of What's On TV, during a 'market research' moment at Arnold's number one newsagent. Let me set the scene. It appears a Limousine full of drunken Dingles (aren't they all called that in The Farm?) has careered off Hoton Road before tipping up on an icy lake. Here's the irony folks, Leyla, who is in the limo, is skating on the ice. "She could be in trouble here", I shout out to Ms Moon. "Wasn't she knocked out in the early stages of Dancing On Ice?" Yep, 'Leyla' doesn't make it. It's one out of five from Jayne Torvill.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm queuing up at the Meadow Lane ticket office. I've been refused entry at the turnstile for the Notts County v Colchester United League Two fixture, due to my electronic ticket being issued for this Saturday's forthcoming fixture versus Tranmere Rovers. You would need to be a masochist to endure Rovers twice this season (sorry Steve Mack). It's swapped over with no fuss, but I'm not happy as I've missed a majority of the warm ups.

I take my seat as 'Wake Me Up' by the excellent Foals, who were formed in Oxford 20 years ago, booms out of the pa system. Danny Cowley's Colchester arrive in Nottingham as the form team. They'll be a tough nut to crack. They were great times at 'The Lincoln' when the Cowley brothers were at the helm. A few of those players have been reunited with their former manager at the U's.

The Magpies are down to the bare bones. There's no Bedeau, Jones or McGoldrick this evening. It gives opportunities to the likes of Kellan Gordon to stake a place in the starting line up. He fires in a pearler of a cross which is turned into the net by Grant. Colchester miss two gilt-edged chances shortly after, much to the annoyance of Cowley, who prowls the technical area whilst bending the ear of the fourth official.

Colchester score a beauty in the second half with a raid down the right hand side. The game fizzles out. The bloke behind me constantly refers to the visitors as 'The Colchester Diving Team' as Cowley runs down the clock - it wasn't funny the first time mate .. yawn.

It's Friday morning and I'm tucking into a £6.50 medium fry up with toast and tea at The Avenues in the 'Nottingham Covent Garden.' It's the Return of the Mac to 'Friday Days Out Club', after a short spell on the sidelines.

It's a trip that's required meticulous planning as our hands are tied to the railway gods. We change trains at Stoke-on-Trent where there's time for a swift Titanic Plum Porter. The captain of the ocean liner, Titanic, Edward Smith, was born in Hanley, Stoke-on-Trent, in 1850. Not sure who thought him competent to be the captain aboard a ship, when Stoke is further from the sea than most towns in the UK. I hope he hadn't had a snifter of a plum porter when he hit that iceberg, as it weighs in at 4.9% ABV.

We tick off a couple off Beer Guide entries in the picture postcard village of Penkridge where I enjoy a huge cheese and onion cob that Staffordshire often offers - it even has the crusty top of the cob slightly singed like they should be.

We get the train back to Stafford where we visit a few more historical watering holes. But it's the town of Stone that is the star of the show. On 22nd Jan, 1971, the greatest centre forward ever to have worn the Garibaldi Red of Nottingham Forest, was born in Stone.

I first clapped eyes on Stanley Victor Collymore at Filbert Street in 1993. He didn't score that evening during a 4-2 loss for Southend United (Brett Angell bagged 'em both). You couldn't take your eyes off the athletic prowess, strength and running style of Stan. To this day I couldn't tell you what his stronger foot was. The rest is history, and so was Stan after an abhorrent incident in Paris back in 1998, when he attacked and assaulted his then girlfriend Ulrika Jonsson. 

Stone is a beautiful old coaching town. The Royal Exchange is the pub of the day. We finish up in the Barley Twist, opposite Broad Marsh centre. We toast to the demolition of the brutalist old bus station and shopping centre which has finally been given a £30 million sign-off 20 years too late thanks to the mismanagement of a Labour City Council and the lack of funding by the Conservative Party. Politics, eh?

Talking of sign-offs, I must thank Ms Moon for not kicking up a fuss on another day out today (Saturday). I keep shuffling the pack with the 'two weeks in Tenerife playing card' but that one is wearing a wee bit thin.

I'm soon haring up the M6, back to Stoke, ironically, in the front of Crazy Steve's Hyundai, with Little Al in the back checking on Ben Duckett's progress for England v Australia in the Champions Trophy tie at the Gaddafi Stadium, in Lahore.

Crazy and his entourage are flying out to Malaga on Thursday for four nights, where they have a packed schedule. They are taking in Cordoba v Granada in the Segunda Division next Sunday. I've been tasked in the car to look at both squads to see if there are any players we know. "Oh my God" .. I shout out, 'the French Glasgow Kisser', Zinedine Zidane, has both his sons playing in the same game, but on opposite sides. "Crazy, I expect a  selfie with 'The Zidanes.'

The first Heritage Pub we visit is the Scotch Piper, the oldest pub in historic Lancashire. The landlady is very sociable. She gives us a history lesson about the pub. The second watering hole is in the working class area of Walton. It's a proper drinkers' pub. There's a healthy lunchtime gathering for the Everton v Man Utd game on TV. Women breeze in and breeze out of the front door as they set up for a baby shower this savvy. Pots of Scouse stew are wheeled in.

The final pub visit is in hipster Crosby, well actually it's in neighbouring Waterloo. We throw a few darts as we neck our final pint before heading to the suburb of Bootle.

I've been trying to tick off the Berry Street Garage Stadium for what seems an age. I have another interest today too: a lad who was at Notts County as an eight year old when I was Head of Recruitment is in Hednesford Town's squad today. 12 goals, 15 assists and 35% of their goals. He's somehow on the bench?

The owner of Notts County, Ray Trew sold 14 year old Jack Bearne to Liverpool for £170,000. The day after he sold on the club to local businessman Alan Hardy. Bearne stayed at Anfield until he was 21 years old; an incredible feat. He made one senior appearance for the club in the League Cup at Aston Villa. He spent last season up at Greenock Morton, in Scotland, before returning to familiar ground in the Midlands.

Crazy Steve is grazing on a salt and pepper chicken from the food hut when Hednesford open the scoring in the opening minute. The rest of the game is drab and without incident. It's a lovely ground with two raised seated stands on either side of the ground.

The big event is Rhegan's 18th birthday party in the clubhouse later this evening. We've no time for that. nor an invite. We're back in Nottingham for 6.45pm, after another thrilling day out.

Attendance: 713

Man of the Match: Ben Duckett

Beer of the Week: Polly's - Uncanny Valley 6%

Best Song on the Radio:  'Can't Be Sure' The Sundays

Stapleford Town 2-1 Retford United

It's Saturday 8th Feb and I'm sitting on the Matlock to Nottingham train with Carlton fan Pete Shearstone. We're travelling back from one of the great away days. The Mighty Millers have played Belper Town off the park. After endless high fives and fist pumps in the Nailers clubhouse the party continues at Lincoln Green's The Railway, which is up on King Street.

Pete and I chatter away on the short journey home. He's such a lovely bloke, who has a passion for Scottish football too. We while away the journey reminiscing about trips to our favourite grounds north of the border. I'm back up there at the fag end of April, on tour with Tony Mac, when we will be taking in a Partick Thistle game.

The party breaks up at Nottingham station. A few supporters drift into town or down to Castle Rock's Barley Twist on Carrington Street. Six pints, on the day, is more than enough for me. I book an UBER back up to Chez Palms. Ms Moon is settled in for the evening. Through gritted teeth I watch shouty Michael McIntyre. I hit the wooden hill halfway through Lee Mack's 1% Club - I was being a bit mardy as Ms Moon's IQ is higher than mine - then again so was Murphy's, my old budgie.

I'm on Media duties over the next few days. Ms Moon suggests that I relax on my return home on Tuesday evening when ITN News is switched on. Readers last week may remember my fit of pique when fake weathercaster - yep that's what they are called nowadays - Alex Beresford appeared on our screens from a botanical garden in Sussex, instead of toughing it out on top of Beachy Head.

Beresford is on annual leave this week, probably in sunnier climes. It doesn't stop my blood pressure from rising when that pillock Robert Peston suddenly pops up. This guy proper grinds my gears. He emphasises syllables in every sentence. I pop a BP pill and venture out to the Old Volunteer, Carlton's finest watering hole for a couple of jars, where they have gorgeous ales on from Liquid Light (Sneinton) and Bang the Elephant (Langley Mill).

It's 5pm on Wednesday evening and I've just knocked off from an afternoon shift at the shop. I'm feeling quite proud of myself as I actually walked to work this morning. It's only just over 4 miles but it's equivalent to climbing the north face of Everest when negotiating Carlton to Mapperley via Cavendish Road or Westdale Lane.

I'm shoehorned into an upstairs seat into what many consider to be the finest pizzeria in Nottingham. Slice n Brew is on the corner of Kings Walk. I plump for a thin crust Soppressata Salami, accompanied by hot honey and a truffle and parmesan dip. I quite easily could have had a half an hour nap after wolfing it down, but I've a ticket for the cinema.

I clocked a trailer for a movie called September 5, the last time I was at Broadway cinema. It's set in the Olympic village during the Munich Games in 1972. The ABC American sports broadcasting team find themselves filming a hostage siege live on air. A number of Israeli athletes were taken hostage by a Palestine terrorist organisation. The viewing figures, at one point, were higher than when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. It has a 95 minute running time and is definitely one for the notebook. Madonna's old flame, Sean Penn, is one of the producers.

I'm down at Sneinton Market on Friday morning. To be more precise I'm in the barber's chair at Mr Eko's, 'Nottingham Covent Gardens' number one Bosnian Barber. He'd had a couple of vodka shots the last time I had a trim. I mention that I didn't think he was at his best on that occasion - he says he will forgive me for my comment, but won't forget it ..lol.

I wander down Stoney Street and turn off onto the steps that lead you to Fletchers Restaurant and Nottingham College. I've booked a £4 return ticket to Long Eaton. I alight at Attenborough and make the 45 minute walk out of the village and onto the A6005 towards the town centre.

Lincoln Green refurbished the old Harrington Arms in 2019, and reopened it as the Mill and Brook, to reflect the town's contribution to the lace industry back in the day. I enjoy a pint of Porter whilst having a warm, as it's bitterly cold today.

I sit and read Martin Kelner's hilarious book called 'Wrestling in Honey.' It's a nostalgic look at some of the columns he wrote for The Guardian. He mentions a documentary he watched which involved the athletes Zola Budd and Mary Decker. Arnold's favourite paper, the Daily Mail, sponsored the bare-footed South African Budd, during apartheid, to the tune of £100,000 (her Dad pocketed £80,000 of it). The paper campaigned for her to be granted British citizenship. It all ended in tears when Budd 'accidentally' tripped up the USA track darling, Decker, at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. 

I wander down the canal, passing the Barge Inn, as I head towards the village of Sawley. I stand and admire the stunning War Memorial before popping into the White Lion, which not only serves Bass, but is also another Good Beer Guide tick off.

I fight my way through the rush hour traffic back in Nottingham. It's date night, and not only that, it's Valentine's Day. And boy do I have a treat for Ms Moon. You can't beat a £4.39 round for two at Carlton 'Spoons. The Loch Lomond 'Lost in Mosaic' is a beauty. We both can't be bothered to cook, so the good lady has bought a 'Valentine's Meal Deal' from Marks and Sparks. We have a chuckle at Gogglebox over a glass of wine.

It's Saturday morning and Ms Moon is about to jump into a cab to the train station, with her daughter, Becky. They're off to Manchester for the weekend to see James Blunt - I've already sent my condolences. I'm excited as the Mighty Millers are taking on Emley. Well I was until I scrolled down my twitter timeline to see the words 'GAME OFF.'

I pin it on Faggsy to pick a game to go to. He fancies Stapleford Town v Retford United. I enjoy a bacon sandwich as I watch an hour of Leicester v Arsenal. The Gunners over do it; passing the ball to death. I switch off and head to town where I catch a tram to Radford from outside the Royal Centre.

I walk through Asda car park and cross the tram tracks on Radford Road before turning left at Chappati Junction. I've enjoyed watching Stapleford this season. They have a resilience about them and a team spirit. They seem like a good bunch of lads, who have taken to Step 6 like a duck to water. Today Michael Robb makes his 150th appearance for the club.

I had a ten minute abusive phone call from Radford Director of Football Big Glenn Russell this morning. I was hoping he'd be gracing us with his presence, but he's gone all soppy since announcing his engagement and has gone out on a couples cocktail day with his fiance, 

DJ Murph has joined us. Retford have brought a large following, like they did at Gedling earlier in the season. They enjoy the lion's share of possession, but go behind when Upo's lad blasts a spot kick home after 15 minutes. The visitors are on level terms before half-time. Earlier in the game blog legend Ian Upton had appealed to the referee for a handball when it was actually the keeper that had caught it .. lol.

The players begin to tire in the second half as running on the heavy surface takes its toll. Stapleford are always in the game. They score the winner in stoppage time to break the hearts of the travelling support. Jared Russell and Alans Voskresenskis have worked their socks off. The latter has ploughed a lone furrow. He's neat, tidy and busy. 

Attendance: 103

Man of the Match: Alans Voskresenskis

Beer of the Week: Tell Me How The Sausage Is Made, Bang the Elephant

Song of the Week: Bambara - Letters to Sing Sing

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