Graham St Prims 0 Greenwood Meadows 0

It’s Sunday afternoon. Sticky Palms is on the front drive hand-washing the ‘Rolls Royce’ and ‘Sally Gunnell.’ Mrs P is in the back garden hoovering up leaves that have fallen from the copper beech and silver birch trees.

Finley Palmer is giving Mum a helping hand. He flicks a leaf up with his right paw, bunny hops and snaffles it up in mid-air. He’s the rabbit world equivalent of Wayne Rooney.

I sidle down the back passage to check on the little fellow. He’s laid out on the grass next to Mrs P, basking in the late autumnal sunshine. Suddenly he’s up on all-fours. He scampers across the lawn and dives under a hedge.



I march down to the bottom of the garden. I’m shouting his name out and whistling. There’s no response. It’s half an hour since I last saw him. I’m beginning to panic now. I’ve checked-out his usual haunts – under the shed, next door’s garden and in the ‘grassy glade’ – nothing, not a sausage.

The sun’s disappeared, the cold and dark is beginning to set in. I’ve knocked on neighbours’ doors, searched their gardens – there’s naff all response, no sightings. I’m flapping readers. Where is he?

Mrs P knocks up some ‘Missing Rabbit’ posters. We deliver them to households close by. I can’t eat my Sunday roast – it’s pork belly on special offer from Marks and Sparks. I take one final look around the garden. I walk past his empty cage. A bowl of half-eaten food sits on the sawdust in his bedroom.



The kids are watching the ‘Strictly’ and X-Factor results. Sticky Palms is in bits. I can hear the howling wind and the pitter-patter of rain on the window. God, I hope he’s alright. What if he’s been cornered by a fox, cat or rat? I hardly sleep a wink.

I’m up at first light. I grab my torch and scour the garden. It looks like he’s gone forever.

I’ve had a few sympathetic texts ranging from ‘have you found the little man yet?’ to ‘has the crafty, devious little so-and-so arrived home yet?



I’m sat at work feeling all sorry for myself when the display panel on my mobile phone lights up – it’s Mrs P with some terrific news. After a night on the tiles Finley has returned home. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and fill up the teapot.

Eight hours later, I walk down the passageway, towards his yard. It’s an emotional reunion. He wraps his paws around me and nibbles my ear – welcome home son.

The rain returns on Tuesday. I scan the web for a local game. Radcliffe Olympic v Bardon Hill tickles my fancy. Olympic run out 4-0 winners at a rain-sodden Wharf Lane. The scoreline flatters them somewhat. It takes two goals in two minutes, early in the second half, to see off the visitors.



I have a quiet night in on my lonesome on Friday evening. Mrs P is on a shindig in Nottingham with the girls. She can’t last the pace these days. I guarantee she’ll be on the 10.30pm bus home.

I’m laid out on the sofa watching Ken Loach’s brilliant 2009 film ‘Looking for Eric.’ I don’t quite make the end. The noise of Mrs P opening the front door stirs me from my slumber.

It’s a full on day (Saturday). I’m back home from helping out with junior’s papers again. I rustle up a couple of poached eggs, before flying out the door towards D H Lawrence country.



I scout a player and offer him a 6 week trial. I’ve had a barren run in the last few weeks; this boy was worth the wait.

I shoot across to the Manor Farm Recreation Ground in Toton. ‘The Skipper’s’ team have a league game. We play against a stiff breeze in the first period and are well below par.

The coach of the team asks if I want to say a few words at the break. It’s not out the FA coaching manual, folks. The boys get a bit of a hair-drying. The penny seems to drop, as we control the game in the second period, running out comfortable 3-1 winners.



‘The Skipper’ and young Garts speed off to The City Ground for the clash between Forest and an unbeaten QPR. Sticky Palms has a date in Spondon that has been on his radar for a few years now.

I’m straight onto the A52 and parked up in Borrowash within 15 minutes. It’s a bit of a one horse town. I’d spotted a Co-op on the corner of the high street. I’m starving Marvin. The doors are locked though; the shop is having a makeover. I’m denied a ‘Meal Deal.’

Seventeen year old Hollywood actress and Nashville born singer, Miley Cyrus, made a surprise visit to neighbouring Spondon on Wednesday. She visited a local school and the Asda superstore, to promote her new range of clothing. Lucky she didn’t try popping into the Borrowash Co-op for a two for a tenner special offer on Jacobs Creek Cabernet Sauvignon.



Dressed in thigh-high leather miniskirt and rock chick biker jacket, Miley sang her hit ‘Best of Both Worlds’ as two pupils joined her on stage – it’s a NO from me.

I finally pull into the car park of the Asterdale Sports Ground at 2.45pm. Borrowash Victoria and Graham Street Prims play within spitting distance of each other. The Vics are entertaining Gedling Miners Welfare.

Graham Street Prims were originally founded in 1904, being formed from a Methodist church.



I came to Borrowash three years ago. I went away without any snaps when my camera malfunctioned. Fate strikes an ugly blow at the turnstile today, when history repeats itself and the battery dies an untimely death.

It’s £5 on the gate, including a well produced programme. I walk past an old, covered stand with black tip up plastic seats behind the goal.I position myself to the right of the Greenwood Meadows technical area. I like to study their manager Nev Silcock.

Prims play in a strip similar to Sunderland, Greenwood are more Plymouth Argyle. The first half is pretty turgid stuff. Prims allow the visitors a ton of possession and seem content to catch them on the break.



A lot of the Greenwood players are familiar to me: Craig Meakin is one I had with me at Notts County when he was 15. He’s still good on the ball but needs to work on his discipline.

The biggest disappointment is striker Alex Haughton who looked the part at Grantham Town earlier in the season, but appears on this outing to look sluggish and lacking match fitness.

Nathan Robinson looks busy in the engine room though. He ends up in a heap on the floor after coasting past three players on a mazy run and is denied a penalty. Both teams have half chances but are poor in the final third.



I give Mrs P a tinkle at the break just to make sure Houdini hasn’t made a break for it from his cage. The good lady informs that the Pies and the Imps are both losing, whilst it’s deadlock at The City Ground.

I strike up a conversation with Danny Prance’s dad. His lad is warming the bench today for Greenwood ,as he continues his rehabilitation from injury. His father is disappointed that the boy hasn’t started the game. He says he is an impact player.

He manages to scoff his way through an entire packet of Minstrels. Poor old Sticky Palms doesn’t get a whiff of one. Finley and I often share a chocolate drop.



I manage to grab a quick chat with Nev. I suggest they pop a few more shots off. He has a calm exterior and seems confident that they will win the game.

It’s all Greenwood. You sense that they are minutes away from opening their account for the day. Haughton hits the post. Prance and Lee Day are thrown on by Nev. They have an immediate effect on the game. Day plays Prance in; he unleashes a shot which bounces off the frame of the goal.

Prance plays with some fire in his belly, as if he has a point to prove. His father is a nervous wreck whenever his son gets on the ball. Maybe they weren’t Minstrels he was eating after all.



Danny Boy puts a header over the bar and sees a shot trickle the wrong side of the post. The home side seems content with a point. They even play out a short corner in stoppage time, just to run down the clock.

Prims give Greenwood way too much respect. After all the visitors have an average age of just 21 years old.

Attendance: 35

Man of the Match: Finley Palmer

Thurnby Nirvana 1 Gedling Miners' Welfare 1

Tomorrow is his debut. Football is a matter of life and death to him. He’s been in training for over a year now. He never misses a session.

He stays overnight in accommodation that’s close to the venue of the match. He flatly refuses to watch ‘Strictly’ or the X-Factor. He wants to remain focused on the job in hand. He turns his nose up at a fish and chip supper and climbs the wooden hill, instead, to bed.

He’s up at the crack of dawn. That extra hour on the clock means he’s left kicking his heels. The youngster kills a bit of time by watching a double episode of Drake and Josh on the Nickelodeon channel. Granny makes him sausage and beans for breakfast. He washes it down with a glass of semi-skimmed milk.

He arrives at the ground an hour before kick-off and changes into the famous green and black striped kit. He gently massages his V05 styling gel (firm hold) into his tiny scalp. Not a hair is out of place.



Scouts from all over the Midlands will be scrambling for his signature next season. His team mates play piggy backs, blow bubble gum and chase around. He coolly plays keepy uppy with a size 3 ball.

The referee blows the whistle to begin the game. He breezes down the right wing, ghosts past the full back, cuts inside and pulls the trigger. The ball sails into the top left hand corner of the net. It’s a dream start for the youngster.

His pace is frightening. Once again he breaks away, he coolly draws the ‘keeper off his line and rolls the ball into the corner of the net. He smokes an imaginary cigar.



Minutes are remaining when the youngster is pole axed in the box. It’s a cast iron penalty and a chance to claim the match ball. He places the ball on the spot and winks at the ‘keeper. He calmly steps forward and blasts the ball towards goal; the keeper tips it around the post.

Well played Gangsta, (aged 6). It’s an early lesson in life for the youngster, that the English are crap at taking penalties.

It’s Thursday November 4th, 7am, 15 years to the day since Sticky jnr arrived in this world. I hear him slam the backdoor, take his shoes off and dash up the stairs. He’s out of breath and in a flap.

He explains that the police have shut two roads on his paper round. It means 118, 120, 127 & 137 will have to fetch their own Daily Telegraph this morning.



I surf the Nottingham Evening Post website. ‘Breaking News’ reports that two roads have been closed as police investigate an ‘overnight incident.’ It later transpires that there has been a kidnapping. Some poor sod has been swept off the street and bundled into a van.

I’m wracked with guilt for the rest of the day. Tonight I’m attending an FA Talent Identification Course at the Don Masson Suite at Notts County’s Meadow Lane. Sticky jnr, ‘The Skipper’ and Mrs P are going out for a meal to celebrate junior’s birthday. I should be there but have to lead by example.

Shifty, my mate at work, tries to cheer me up by playing Swindon DJ producer, Para’s latest album, from the Breakin Bread record label. He throws a few shapes in the Warehouse and brings a smile back to my face.



Former Wigan Athletic full back, Barry Knowles, is running the course. He has a dry northern wit and plenty of anecdotes from his career in football. He tells of the time Everton released a 14 year old player from their Academy. Wigan took a punt on him and the boy developed. The Latics sold him back to the Toffees for £6 million, 7 years later. The lad’s name was Leighton Baines.

We spend Friday night at a firework display at the Griffin Inn in the hamlet of Plumtree. Gangsta is with us. He doesn’t want to talk about his penalty miss last Sunday. His brother, Will, is pretty chipper though, his side kept a clean sheet at the weekend.

We arrive home. I immediately scour the Net for the FC United of Manchester v Rochdale final score. Michael Norton’s stoppage time goal puts the Rebels into the 2nd round. Oh for a third round draw against Manchester United.



It’s Saturday morning and I’m filling in for Sticky junior on his paper round again, as he’s had a fireworks sleepover. The news headlines are interesting. Apparently Gunners’ gaffer Arsene Wenger has been ‘playing away from home’ which is more than can be said of his team during their 2-1 defeat in the Ukraine at Shakhtar Donetsk.

I pull back Finley’s curtains on his cage and check the wee man is okay after a fun-filled night of rockets, fire crackers and Roman Candles. I can tell he’s had an uncomfortable evening: his bowl is full of sawdust and he’s been donkey-kicking his door all night, because he was frightened. I let him scamper around the garden for half an hour or so.

The Skipper’s team are playing a crack outfit from the New Newark League in a Notts FA Shield tie. They’ve won seven on the spin. It would be rude not to check them out. It’s champagne soccer from Keyworth United Under 13s Green. The opposition are passed off the park. We score five goals and continue our good cup run.



The Nuclear Scientist knocks on the door at just gone 2pm. It’s a straight forward run down the A46.

Thurnby Nirvana play on Daykin Road, to the east of Leicester city centre. Thurnby Rangers and Leicester Nirvana have merged to provide a pathway from the junior ranks, where over half a dozen ex players now ply their trade in the professional game.

I park Sally Gunnell adjacent to the ground. The Bulgarian, Martin Petrov has just put Bolton Wanderers out of sight against Tottenham’s fancy Dan’s in Five Live’s lunchtime kick off.



The Nuclear Scientist pays the £4 entry which includes a programme. The ground is situated in a dip. It’s tree-lined, with a beautiful autumnal setting. Behind one goal at the top of a grass bank is a small stand. There is concrete hard-standing down both sides.

The clubhouse is small, cosy and welcoming. An obliging, bearded Indian gentleman pours a cup of tea from a stainless teapot. We mark it with 8 out of 10. Had it been piping hot it would have gained another mark. The Nuclear Scientist bags a cheese cob and a Chunky Kit Kat

We position ourselves to the left of the Gedling MW dugout. Thurnby play in green the visitors sport an all red strip. The two sides clashed in the cup last week, with Nirvana running out 5-2 winners.



I saw Nirvana back in August. They demolished the then league leaders Ellistown 5-0. Jordan Smith bagged four goals that day. I’m rubbing my hands with excitement at the thought of watching him play today.

The first half is an even contest, with flowing football from both sides. There’s a desperate challenge on Smith, who’s about to pull the trigger. The resulting, in swinging corner hits the base of the far post, with Gedling ‘keeper Ross Cherry, a former Lincoln City scholar, floundering.

The referee is a young Asian guy, who I’ve already seen this season. He allows the game to flow and should be proud of his performance, despite the unwarranted stick he gets from the sidelines.



There’s some great contests all over the pitch. Gedling MW forward, the likeable ‘Westy’ locks horns with the Nirvana skipper and Nijah Frank and Craig Boulton battle it out on the visitors’ left flank. Right on half time Boulton flashes a 20 yard free kick the wrong side of the upright.

They’ve got the nauseating Adrian Durham on Talk Sport in the clubhouse. We slurp another fine brew. NS shouts out if anyone knows the ‘Forest’ score. It’s a tumbleweed moment. All eyes in the room are on us. NS has no understanding of the parochial dislike for the ‘Tricky Trees’ – after all he’s Berkshire born and bred.

Gedling begin to tire as the game becomes stretched. Anton Amoo takes a stranglehold of the midfield and begins to spray passes all over the park. Jordan Smith doesn’t disappoint, giving Nirvana the lead from close range, with the visitors appealing for offside.



Gedling manager, Graham Walker, makes a few changes, as his side up the tempo. Time is running out when young striker Stephen Cox, who I remember watching for Carlton Town Under 15s, picks the ball up 35 yards out, with very little back lift he smacks a shot which arrows into the roof of the net.

With the clock ticking Gedling have a corner. The ball is floated in only for their substitute ‘Frosty’ to head over a gilt-edged chance. A draw is a fair result.

Man of the Match: Anton Amoo, although the Gedling MW centre backs were superb.

Attendance: 35, including a charming old groundhopper from Evesham.

Romulus 1 Harrogate Railway Athletic 2

We’re on the Woodhead Pass, on our return from Mossley. The game has been spoilt by three sendings off – the Lilywhites have little room for complaint though.

Trumpy is sat in the back of the motor, guzzling his way through a litre bottle of Weston’s cider.

We’ve station hopped to Talk Sport. Rammers is a passionate Geordie and Toon fan. He celebrates a Kevin Nolan equaliser in the late kick-off at Upton Park.



I drop everybody off and head for home. I poke my head around the lounge door. It’s like a war zone. Mrs P and Sticky jnr are sprawled out on the sofa, covered in duvets. Gastric flu has wiped them out. Within the hour The Groundhopper is struck down. Thank the Lord we have two toilets.

Sunday is a day for convalescing. My trip to Sutton in Ashfield is aborted. I manage the occasional sip of water as I watch the Old Firm derby and Manchester City v The Arsenal.

It’s half term. My brother and I have arranged a house swap. We’re up in York for three nights. I had spotted that Pickering Town were at home on Tuesday evening and that Whitby Town were to play at their Turnbull Ground the following night. They’ve been on the radar for sometime. I sensibly decide not to mention this to Mrs P.



We have some family time in Whitby, Harrogate and Brimham Rocks. It gives me the chance to sample some fine Yorkshire real ales with The Angler at early doors.

It’s Friday evening and I’m up the Salutation Inn, on Main Street, in Keyworth. I’m catching up with the Nuclear Scientist. He’s only a little lad and has to show his ID at the bar. I wouldn’t mind but he’s just turned 50 years of age.

It’s as dead as a dodo in the pub. Thank goodness that Britain’s Beer of the Year – Castle Rock’s Harvest Pale Ale – lightens our mood.



I’m up at silly o’clock on Saturday morning. We’ve had five kids on a sleepover. It’s like a scene from The Inbetweeners. I’ve promised Sticky jnr that’ll let him have a lie-in, whilst I deliver his papers for him.

It’s a long, hard slog. Those blooming Daily Telegraph’s are difficult to push into a letterbox, with their numerous supplements and magazines. Junior has an abundance of Daily Mail’s on his round. I didn’t know that many coppers lived in our village.

I jump into ‘Sally Gunnell’ and head up towards the village of Edwinstowe, which lies west of Ollerton. I switch on Radio Nottingham; they are playing ‘The Same Old Song’ by Rod Stewart. Brian Matthew on Radio 2 isn’t much better. He spins Bernard Cribbins 1962 hit (?) ‘Gossip Calypso.’



I hook up with one of our scouts – Mickey Gould. We enjoy some craic (that’s a laugh and a joke, not to be confused with the illegal substance).

I love being in Mickey’s company. He’s in the game for all the right reasons. He’s not a mercenary like so many youth scouts of today. The money is secondary. He’s always good for a couple of Cough Candy Twists.

I say cheerio to ‘Gouldy.’ I’ve a lunchtime kick-off in the old mining village of Rainworth. It’s where the afternoon shift of Rufford Colliery captured fugitive murderer, the Black Panther, back in 1975.



I thought we’d been burgled as I walk through the kitchen door. Mrs P has gone to have her hair done and Sticky jnr has just left for his football match. ‘The Skipper’ has attempted making lunch, but has left a scene of utter devastation. I summon him downstairs for a dressing down.

I walk down the twitchell, past the vets and make the short journey to the Nuclear Scientist’s house. He drives his Jaguar down Bunny Lane, towards Rushcliffe Golf Course.

The excellent Pat Murphy is interviewing Manchester City’s Brian Kidd. They’re chewing the fat over the ‘Dogs of War’ (De Jong, Kompany and Barry). I watched these three muscle bound henchmen single out and rough up Spanish artist Cesc Fabregas last Sunday.



We’re soon in Shakespeare’s County (Warwickshire), having passed Calke Abbey on the M42. We pull off at Tamworth and end up on the A38. NS chauffeurs the Jag up a side street, away from the main drag, a two minute stroll away from Coles Lane.

Sutton Coldfield is 8 miles north east of Birmingham, with a population of over 100,000 people. It was once famous for the manufacture of blades, gun barrels, spades and spade handles.

Celebrities from the town include: Cat Deeley, Rory Delap, James Vaughan, Darius Vassell and international hockey play Jane Sixsmith. The actor, Arthur Lowe, had his ashes scattered at Sutton Coldfield Crematorium.



Romulus Football Club were founded in 1979. Famous players to have come through their junior ranks include: Zak Knight, Luke Rodgers, Luke Moore and Darius Vassell. They share the ground with Sutton Coldfield Town.

The friendly official makes me part with £7 on the gate. The programme is £1 and adequate for this level.

The ground is nestled between street housing. The outstanding feature is the tall, steep main stand which runs along the touchline. We will spend the full 90 minutes in there, despite it being a gorgeous, still, late autumn day.



We decide to stretch our legs and stroll around the ground. Four Harrogate Railway supporters are leaning on a wall chatting. I ask them if this is the away end. It doesn’t raise a smile from any of them.

We quench our thirst with a Coke from the Refreshment Bar. I would have settled for a can, but a friendly official collects us two pints from the bar.

The away support has now swelled to a healthy double figures. They sing to the Romulus faithful: “what’s it like to see a crowd?” The attendance is 106.



The game takes an age to get going. Matters aren’t helped by a bobbly pitch. Not that The Roms are playing much of a passing game. They punt aimless balls at the huge Rail centre halves. It’s like food and drink to Husband and Harratt.

The Romulus PA announcer is sat up in the stand. He’s already had a pop at the linesman on our side. Sensibly his microphone is switched off, unlike the fellow at Mossley last week.

Rail take the lead on 32 minutes. The cultured left foot of Colin Hunter plays a ball into the far post; it’s knocked back in for Kevin Ryan to fire home.



The young Roms are on the back foot as a resurgent Rail discover a new found confidence. The away support crank up the volume. The Roms are indebted to ‘keeper Lee Clark who makes a couple of fine saves before the break.

White Van Man has texted in from Carlton Town’s Stoke Lane ground. Shepshed are 6-1 down at the break. “I can’t half pick em son” is the predictable text.

There’s a ‘Members Only’ bar which we’re not allowed in. We try the concert room next door but there’s no vibe. NS consoles himself with a tray of chips for the princely sum of £1.10. They’re a tad greasy and not particularly hot.



As we walk back up the stand there’s an altercation between a steward and a Harrogate Railway member of staff.

I notice that Dave Barnett is playing at the heart of the Romulus defence. Barry Fry once paid Barnet £150,000 when he was manager at Birmingham City. Big Dave is 43 years old now, but still enjoys the game.

The second half is more entertaining, and more importantly for the neutral, an even encounter. Rail are wasteful in front of goal. Husband and Harratt miss headers from set pieces. Romulus improve and hit the woodwork through Brown.



Harrogate full back Ian McLean comes off clutching his chest. He’s quite a rotund fellow. A wag in the crowd enquires whether he has a sausage roll stuck in his windpipe.

Naveed Arshad comes on as a substitute on 68 minutes. His first act is to pulled up for a foul. At first I thought it was for hand ball. The referee indicates it’s for a raised arm. He’s dismissed from the field of play. There are no arguments.

Incredibly Romulus equalise eight minutes from time with ‘Captain Fantastic’ Phil Hale rising unchallenged to nod home a corner.



Almost immediately Rail restore their lead with a fine strike from the excellent Michael Duckworth (no relation to Jack and Vera).

It’s a deserved victory as the visitors have more composure and quality on the ball.

Man of the Match: Wayne Harratt.

Mossley AFC 2 Darlington 6

It’s an autumn Sunday morning in 1984. I’m lounging around the Men’s Bar at Stanton on-the-Wolds Golf Club. I’ve frittered away a fiver on the £100 Jackpot fruit machines and have played a couple of frames of snooker with my best pal ‘Keebo.’

We’re dating the Steward’s daughters. We enjoy the luxury of late bars and free food from the kitchen. This morning there is an exhibition match being held at the Club. Worksop pro, Brian Waites, is playing against TV ventriloquist Roger De Courcey.

An appeal goes out in the bar for someone to caddy for Roger – step forward Sticky Palms. Me and ‘Rog’ have an instant rapport. We’re on the 2nd Hole. He asks me what club he requires. I know the course like the back of my hand. He hits a six iron to the back of the green, 40 foot from the pin.



I line the putt up for him. I tell him to stroke it gently down the hill. The ball rolls into the centre of the cup. There are high fives and hugs from Roger. Sticky is loving it.

We’re on the 4th tee. It’s a tight dog leg to the right. ‘Rog’ hits one out of bounds. He asks me for a replacement ball. I’m ferreting about in his bag, pulling all his waterproofs, brolly and towels out of the side pockets. “What you doing son?” the ventriloquist enquires. “Trying to find Nookie Bear” remarks Sticky. The crowd are in stitches. “I do the gags around here” says a bemused and embarrassed Roger.

It’s Wednesday teatime. I’m all set for a Notts Senior Cup clash between Gedling Town and Radcliffe Olympic, which is to be played on the banks of the River Trent. I routinely check the excellent Football Mitoo website to see what time kick off is. They announce the game is off. The changing rooms have no water supply.



It’s a crushing blow. Last night I suffered Holby City and 71 Degrees North. Tonight my brain will be numbed even more with Waterloo Road and The Apprentice. Thank the Lord that I can bury my head into William Hill award-winning author, Duncan Hamilton’s, latest offering – ‘A Last English Summer.’

It’s Saturday morning. I have a long lie-in. No scouting. No coaching. I’m on my first groundhop in 17 days. I traipse down the concrete steps to let Finley out of his cage. The wee man’s a bit miffed; he’s moving house tomorrow, back up the steps, outside our back door.

Mrs P very kindly makes me a bacon sandwich, as I fill up the car with rubbish from my old den, which she is now renovating into a fourth bedroom. I don’t remember being consulted on this matter, but hey, I haven’t a creative bone in my body.



I drive down to the tip. The boot is loaded with my old computer cabinet and a huge CRT monitor. Brian Matthew is playing Frankie Valli on Radio 2. We love his 1967 hit ‘Beggin’ at work. The guy was simply miles ahead of his time.

I quickly valet the inside of the Rolls Royce, before driving round to Rammers house to pick him up. Next stop is always the highlight of the day. I toot my horn and hear a door slam. Around the corner he waltzes. His Stone Island shirt hangs out his navy blue, Nike tracksuit bottoms. He clutches his 6.3% ABV litre bottle of Weston’s cider as if it is the £113 million Euro Lottery winning ticket.

He’s reunited with Rammers; they haven’t seen each other in years. Rammers is in between jobs (part-time non-league) after a successful coaching spell with Eastwood Town.



Despite it only being 11am, Trumpy has already had a couple of real ales for breakfast, at a Wetherspoons establishment in town.

We’re treated to a couple of anecdotes of his recent weekend trips to Bury St Edmunds and Llandudno. He begins to guzzle his super strength cider. He’s soon discussing his pet hate – the Labour Party. This is like red rag to a bull to Rammers. I feel like the Speaker in the House of Commons.

We leave the M1 at Chesterfield. Trumpy has a pub to chalk off in the Peak District. The setting is gorgeous as we pull into the car park by the canal at The Navigation Inn at Buxworth, High Peak. It was once owned by Coronation Street star Pat Phoenix, who played Rovers Return barmaid Elsie Tanner.



We sample real ales from Congleton and Derbyshire. The landlord flings some wood onto a roaring fire. With its nooks and crannies and homely atmosphere, we could easily have a session on. But Trumpy has another pub to tick off in Mossley.

We’re in the Britannia Inn on the main drag. The place is decked out for Halloween. The bar is rammed full of ‘Darlo’ supporters. No one bats an eyelid at Spurs v Everton on the TV.



We have a pint each of ‘Summit Special.’ Trumpy selects a suet pudding to soak up his cider; Rammers and I prefer the more traditional northern fayre and plump for fish and chips. We all mop up.

Rammers speaks with a textbook north east dialect. He left his hometown of Newcastle over 35 years ago. Trumpy asks him if he practises his Geordie accent?

They’re just kicking off as we enter Seel Park. It’s £7 on the turnstile and £2 for a programme. I’m immediately taken a back by the views out onto the moors – they are breathtaking.



Mossley is a town in the foothills of the Pennines, on the western edge of Saddleworth Moor. It lies within the metropolitan borough of Tameside and has a population just shy of 10,000.

The model and TV presenter, Melanie Sykes was born in the town. She rose to fame as the bikini-clad girl from the Boddington’s beer adverts. On a personal note, Tameside’s first ever Co-op opened in 1856.

The Lilywhites play at Seel Park and were founded in 1903. Previous managers include: Howard Wilkinson, Dick Bate and Terry Curran. Former Manchester City winger, Mike Summerbee, famously played one game for Mossley against Crewe Alexandra in the FA Cup in 1980.



Darlington is a town in County Durham. Its borough has close on 100,000 living in it. It was once famous for its railways.Famous folk born in the town include: the actress Wendy Craig and ex Lazio defender Giuseppe Wilson (296 appearances).

The Quakers were founded in 1883 and have a somewhat chequered history. They have recently been relegated to the Blue Square Bet Conference Premier League.

We walk in an anti- clockwise direction, past the goal that the Lilywhites defend, which also houses the numerous Darlington fans that have rocked up today. We’re perched up on the top of the terrace, with our backs facing the Pennines.



Mossley are on top in the opening stages. Darlington ‘keeper Sam Russell is tested by Chalmers from close range. The game turns on its head on 25 minutes when the visitors take the lead against the run of play. Livewire striker Chris Senior whips the ball off the toes of Andy Watson, but is upended by the Mossley goalie. The referee has little alternative but to brandish a red card.

Tommy Wright is about to take the penalty. Aberdeen once paid £100,000 for his services. He’s clearly someone the Quakers’ fans hold close to their hearts -“Come on Tommy you big, useless twat” shouts out a Darlington wag. He puts the visitors one to the good.

On the half hour, former Port Vale, Carlisle and Bradford City midfielder, Marc Bridge-Wilkinson, seemingly puts the tie to bed.



One or two squally showers break out. Rammers protects his fading sun tan by scurrying for cover. Five minutes before the break a plucky Mossley reduce the arrears with a fine strike from Mike Oates.

Trumpy’s got a thirst on. I shout him up a Guinness (in error) and leave him to sulk in the bar with Chelsea v Wolves on Sky Sports Germany for company. Rammers is checking the non league scores on his i-Phone. I take a stroll and a few piccies. I’m hunting down Mossley’s favourite postie, Mike Smith, from the excellent Six Tame Sides blog. There’s no sign of him amongst the 615 attendees (looks like there is a lot more here than that).

We stand on the opposite side for the second period. I could quite happily die on the spot, looking out to the hills of Lancashire.



Rammers has commented that the Lilywhites can’t cope with the movement of ex Altrincham striker Chris Senior. He gives his side a two goal cushion on 48 minutes.

Trumpy has returned from the clubhouse with two stragglers in toe, who recognise his picture from my blog. It’s the second time in Manchester that a stranger has walked up to him in a bar and enquired: “Excuse me, are you Trumpy Bolton?” Henry and Alex are groundhoppers from Leeds. They prove to be excellent company.

Trumpy is miffed that Henry and Alex are sober, despite catching the train from West Yorkshire. He asks them if they would like a J2o orange from the bar.



The Lilywhites’ never-say-die attitude earns them another goal, with Steve Settle cracking home an effort from 15 yards.. All five of us raise our arms and cheer.

Big Kevin Austin (what a player he was at Lincoln) gives a jittery Darlington a two goal lead on the hour. Shortly after it’s daggers drawn. Mossley’s Chris Rowney commits a dreadful challenge. A few handbags are slung in the Rovers Return Snug. Two more are off for Mossley. They are eight men standing. A Quaker has thrown a haymaker that is missed by the officials.

It’s shooting practise for the visitors. Gary Smith smacks home a 25 yard drive, whilst Senior completes a brace of goals for the afternoon.




Don’t be hoodwinked by the score line. A shaky-looking Darlington won’t be returning to the Football League on this showing.

Man of the Match: The Mossley PA announcer, who according the Non League Paper shouted on the tannoy following the third Mossley player to be sent off: “I don’t believe you referee, you’re turning this into a farce.”