Dunkirk 1 Alvechurch 4

There’s no new ground to tick off today, but I will be attending my first ever Bar mitzvah. It’s an 11am kick off at the Nottingham Synagogue just off Mansfield Road. Today our friend Joshua Kingsley becomes a man in the eyes of the Jewish faith.

He reads from a precious Czech scroll which comes from a Synagogue in a small town called Austerlitz in Czechoslovakia. Almost the entire Jewish population of the town perished in the Holocaust. His delivery is beautiful and is read in Hebrew. It brings a lump to my throat.

His father is The Ribbonmaker, and is one of my closest friends. We partake in the ‘Kiddish’ and eat bread and drink wine.



We arrive back home at 1.45pm. We’re due at part two of the Bar mitzvah at the Nottingham Albert Hall this evening at 5.30pm, to celebrate even further. But I’ve got itchy feet, and don’t fancy kicking my heels around the house this afternoon.

It’s twenty years to the day since I first clapped eyes on the beautiful Mrs P across the smoke-filled bar of the Salutation Inn in Keyworth. I race up the village and spend a stunning £3.99 on a bunch of flowers; it’s the thought that counts. I hand them over them over, peck her on the cheek and say: “Happy anniversary darling, just nipping down Dunkirk FC for their first ever FA Cup tie. Back at 5pm.”

I’m parked up at the home of The Boatmen on Lenton Lane within ten minutes. Step Five club Alvechurch from Worcestershire have arrived in an executive coach.

It’s an FA Cup Extra Preliminary Round today. Dunkirk qualify for the first time as they now play in the inaugural East Midlands Counties League at Step 6 level.



It’s £4 admission and a £1 for the programme. I poke my head in the bar and chat to a few coaches I know. You are always ensured a friendly welcome down here. Framed shirts still hang on the wall belonging to Wes Morgan and Jake Sheridan.

Dunkirk FC were formed in 1946 and finished a creditable fourth in last season’s Central Midlands Supreme League.

Alvechurch were formed in 1929 and play in the Midland Alliance. Former players include: ex Wolves and Republic of Ireland striker David Kelly, former Gunner Alan Smith and Crazy Gang member John Gayle. I saw them at the business end of last season battle hard for a point at high-flying Loughborough Dynamo.

I‘m having a natter with a few away supporters. I ask where their manager Shaun Cunnington is; apparently he has flown the nest to Unibond Division One side Willenhall and took a few of the team with him.



Dunkirk have hardly been stretched in the pre-season, choosing to play, on the whole, inferior opposition. Alvechurch, in contrast, have already played two league games.

It’s a gusty old day, and the wind blows down the pitch off the nearby river. Dunkirk elect to kick with the breeze behind them.

Alvechuch waste an early opportunity from a close-range free-kick. The Boatmen’s Neil Thompson sees a thirty yard effort whistle over the bar.

The visitors look fitter and slicker and take the lead on fifteen minutes. A ball is played inside the Dunkirk full back, Church winger Jamie Rogers races away and is hauled down in the area. ‘Keeper Darren Wheater-Lowe gets a hand to Rogers’ spot-kick, but it’s not enough to prevent the deadlock from being broken.



One becomes two on twenty minutes, with Alvechurch striker Dave Dainty (great name) heading home a right wing cross from James Ince. Dunkirk already look tired and one or two are breathing out their backsides. They look demoralised and beaten. Crowd favourite Joel Wilson is on the bench and my personal favourite Tyrone Cairns is nowhere to be seen.

On a positive note the Dunkirk right footed left winger is always in acres of space and has the beating of a very poor Alvechurch right back, but no one has the nous or ability to pass the ball to him. On the rare occasions he sees the ball he fails to pull the trigger.

Further goals before the break from Williams and Gittings put the game to bed for Alvechurch. “We’ve let ourselves down” mumbles Dunkirk’s joint-manager Ian Upton as we all troop off the pitch at the interval. The Legend, better known as Dave Harbottle is on holiday and on this showing so are half his team.

I was hoping to catch up on all the half-time scores in the clubhouse but unfortunately the BBC’S Olympic coverage prevents this. I settle for a Diet Coke instead. White Van Man has texted in from Stamford FC v Shepshed; he’s watching his mate Screats. It’s goalless.



The second half is a non-event although Dunkirk show some spirit. They pull a goal back through Michael Evans. Ben Moore continues to give his all from the left back position and plays with a heart and desire that his colleagues lack. He is marking the white-booted winger Gareth Williams, who prises open the Dunkirk defence with ease.

There’s a huge cheer from a group of kids behind the goal. I presume that Forest have taken the lead at Swansea. I’m disappointed to hear that in fact it is the Swans who have scored from a hotly contested penalty.

The game is gone for Dunkirk and they haven’t done themselves justice. I race home to get changed again.

I’m in the reception hall of the Albert Hall, eating canopies and drinking pink Champagne. The last time the bubbles of this wine passed my lips was at York Racecourse nearly a year ago. Regular readers will know it was a huge session with Mad Dog and The Architect. It got really messy. I was tucked up in bed before the National Lottery Draw.

But tonight is about Joshua Kingsley and not about me.

Dunkirk 1 Alvechurch 4

Attendance: 93

Man of the Match: Joshua Kingsley

Nottingham Forest 0 Reading 0

Lynmouth, north Devon, should be one of those places you visit before you die. It’s a delightful village on the edge of Exmoor. It’s more tragically remembered for its river banks bursting on August 16th 1952, which cost the lives of 34 people.

They’ve painstakingly rebuilt their community. We spend an interesting half an hour in the Lynmouth Memorial Hall looking at all the press cuttings and pictures from that dreadful day.

We visited this quaint seaside village last week. Whilst Mrs P and the mother-in-law scoured the dinky shops, ‘The Skipper’ and I took on The Angler and Sticky junior on the putting green. It was all square coming down the last and yours truly was left with a tricky four foot downhill putt. The wind was blowing and the flag was fluttering. I held my nerve. We celebrated with a cream tea.



It’s a 1.15pm kick-off at The City Ground today. I’ve already got two tickets but ‘The Skipper’ announces that he wants to come too. I scurry off down the ground two and a half hours before kick-off. Reading fans already mill around outside the main gates.

I race back home to pick up the boys and watch them narrowly beat Attenborough at cricket.

We park in West Bridgford Library. There’s a splendid blue sky filled with glorious sunshine. We stroll past the awful Fire & Ice, there’s not a Bridgford wife in sight.



I’m taking a couple of photos outside the Larwood and Voce pub, when an ex work colleague shouts me over. We both agree that there won’t be much in it today. Sticky junior says he’ll settle for a 0-0.

Reading is in the county of Berkshire, 40 miles west of London. It is considered one of the biggest towns in England and has a population of 150,000. It‘s twin town is Dusseldorf in Germany.

White Van Man and The Nuclear Scientist will be delighted to hear that their favourite culinary establishment the Little Chef opened its doors for the first time in the town back in 1958. Bill Gates’ mob Microsoft is a major employer in the town.



Famous people from the Reading include: comedian Ricky Gervais, the late great rally driver Richard Burns, chief executive of prawn sandwiches David Gill, film director Sam Mendes, musician Mike Oldfield, TV presenter Chris Tarrant (wonder if he’ll be back for a curry in Nottingham soon??) footballer Neil Webb, actress Kate Winslet and ex sheep shagger Deon Burton.

On our charity football tour of all the grounds in England and Wales, Neil Webb very kindly donated some old NFFC tracksuits for our cause. Unfortunately we arrived at the Madejski Stadium at 3am and all the lights were out.

We’re sat in the Main Stand ‘F’ Block. We’re surrounded by WAGS and injured players. Nathan Tyson, also born in Reading, and his family sit behind us. Andy Cole and his father sit three seats down from the boys. They are overawed by it all.

I notice that Peter Davenport is guest of honour today. He joined the Reds back in 1982 arriving from my all-time favourite Non-League club Cammell Laird in Birkenhead It’s hard to imagine him and Cole sharing a pot of tea for two and a plate of complimentary Rich Tea biscuits at the break, as they have previous. Read Cole’s autobiography.



Ironically Reading were nicknamed The Biscuitmen before the closure of the Huntley and Palmers biscuit factory in the 1970s. They then changed their name to The Royals.

Steve Coppell has hung onto his employment at the club following last season’s mid-season slump. Four wins in the last eighteen games sent them tumbling into the Football League Championship, and one of those was at The Sheep Dip, so it doesn’t really count. Coppell's a decent human being and I hope he repays their faith in him.

There have been a few outgoings, with the only new arrival being Stephen Hunt’s younger brother Noel from Dundee United. They still have 40 squad members named in the programme though.

Forest have injury problems today and are a little light up front; Tyson Cole and Anderson all miss out.



I’m sat next to Forest substitute Matt Thornhill’s parents. I ask his dad how long his lad has been at the club, he replies since the age of fourteen. He signed from Pelican Colts.

There’s nothing much happening in the first half. Forest keep possession well and could have scored in the first few seconds, when the ball finds its way to Cohen on his weaker right foot and the chance is wasted.

Le Grand Fromage, Guy Moussi, is orchestrating proceedings in the centre of the park. His first touch and movement are better than anything on the field. He’s never afraid to shoot from distance.

Influential Royals’ midfielder, the Czech, Marek Matejovsky, is stretchered off before the break following a clash with James Perch. Reading retreat into their shell and are happy to soak up the pressure.



Robin Hood and the Royal Marines abseil down the Brian Clough Stand and we are treated to some armed combat. I’m fully expecting Bennett and Morgan to sneak out the dressing room and give us all an exhibition in arm-wrestling.

The Forest disc jockey just manages to squeeze in (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?

Forest begin to move the ball around quicker and slicker. They have a ten minute purple patch, with Moussi still pulling all the strings. Unsung hero James Perch sits in a disciplined role, protecting the back four, mopping up any stray balls, allowing the Frenchman the freedom of the park.

Player of the season Julian Bennett improves with every game, Reading struggle with his strength and determination.



Reading’s American international goalkeeper Marcus Hahnemann has not particularly floated my boat. He rarely comes out to collect a cross, relying instead on his giant defenders to knock away and head the endless corners and crosses coming in from both flanks. When he finally does come it’s a case of ‘Beadle Hands’ and he’s fortunate to hear the referee's whistle.

Wesley Morgan has been on top of his game this afternoon and, for most part, has snuffed out the attentions of Republic of Ireland striker Kevin Doyle, who has spent a majority of the time bouncing off the big fellow. For once he shakes off the big man, heading a Stephen Hunt cross goal wards, only to see Forest ‘keeper Paul Smith brilliantly tip it onto the bar.

Lewis McGugan is subbed close to the end, following an act of petulance, which results in a yellow card.

Arron Davies is withdrawn in the dying moments too; he’s not had the best of games and looks in need of a good meal. “You should have done that half an hour ago Calderwood” shouts the bloke behind me. It’s harsh. He’s had to switch wings throughout the game and has given his all.

Neither team can break the deadlock, as the defences come out on top. Reading are workman like and look nothing special.

Nottingham Forest will fear no-one and will welcome back the injured and wounded.

Nottingham Forest 0 Reading 0

Attendance: 21,571

Man of the Match: Wes Morgan

Holwell Sports 0 Huntingdon Town 4

We’ve had a week in north Devon and I’ve had my fill of full English breakfasts, cream teas and fish n chips. We’ve played beach cricket and cards at night. It’s been a lovely family holiday. I had wanted to check out Barnstaple Town FC and had even got the resident drunk in the Inn on the Square public house to give me directions. Sadly even I hadn’t the bottle to disrupt my time with the family.

Mrs P and I are strolling by the sea shore, hand in hand, at Putsborough Sands. Surfers ride the huge waves. The sun glistens on the crystal clear waters. We have decided to travel back tonight, a day early, as the forecast is for heavy rain tomorrow and I don’t fancy the M5 on a Saturday.

I’ve been meaning to broach the subject of football for most of the week but haven’t quite plucked up the courage. The setting is perfect. I look into her eyes and say: “Is it ok if I go to Holwell Sports FC on Saturday and Forest on Sunday?” It‘s a long, silent 250 mile drive north on Friday night.



White Van Man can not get his fat arse out of bed today and The Taxman is on holiday in Worthing. The Nuclear Scientist fancies a run out though and I pick him up at 1.30pm.

It’s a short trip today; just the ten miles. We stop off at the recently refurbished Sugar Loaf Inn at Ad Kettleby. The famous grey racehorse and Gold Cup winner Desert Orchid lived in this village for many years. It’s a pint of Bass for Sticky Palms and a Black Sheep for NS. And very nice it is too.

Just down the road is Wartnaby. They have a lovely cricket ground there where former British Airways chairman Lord King lives. I used to play for a travelling cricket side many moons ago. We played Lord King’s X1 every season. Lord King used to donate a bottle of wine from his cellar for a raffle at tea. Oh, happy days.



The Nuclear Scientist is telling me of his last trip to Melton Mowbray. He bought a showroom demo plasma TV from Radio Rentals at a heavily reduced price. He’s grinning like a Cheshire cat and is very proud of his bargain.

Melton Mowbray is in north-east Leicestershire and has a population of 25,000. Famous people from the town include Monty Python star Graham Chapman and Forest winger Paul Anderson. It’s the home of the pork pie. White Van Man once applied for a job there as a pork pie taster.

Stilton cheese is made down the road at Long Clawson. Pedigree Pet Foods are a major employer in the town; The Angler used to fish for them. Sticky Palms scored a rare header there for the British Geological Society back in 1987 during a Sunday morning 4-0 romp. I’m hoping to blog Nottingham Racecourse one day as I bagged a brace there too.



Asfordby Mine was a ‘Superpit’ opened in the 1980s just down the road from here. It was plagued with geological problems and closed in 1997.

The Holwell Works is just down the road from the ground. At its peak it used to employ around 1500 people. There are only a few hundred there now. It’s an ironworks that mainly manufacturers manhole covers.

Holywell Sports were formed in 1904. This season they are to play in the newly formed East Midlands Counties League. They will be up against the likes of Gedling MW, Gedling Town and Dunkirk. It’s a good standard.

The ground is outstanding for this level of football. There’s a little wooden hut where you pay the £2 admission fee. There’s no programme or team sheet as it’s only a friendly.



As we walk through the gate I can hear the worst song I’ve ever heard on the non-league circuit: 'I’m Having the Time of my Life' by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes. Thankfully we are not put off by this woeful tune.

Holwell play in similar colours to Norwich City. There are touches of green and canary yellow all over the ground. The rail which runs around the perimeter of the pitch is painted green.

Huntingdon Town, from Cambridgeshire, are today’s visitors. They finished 4th in Division 1 of the United Counties League last season. Oliver Cromwell was born in the town. Former Prime Minister and serial coal mine shutter John Major was MP for the area for many years.

We’re having a chat with one of the home supporters; he’s explaining that quite a few Holwell players are on the razzle in Greece. Despite this they still beat Sleaford Town easily in a friendly earlier this week. He tells me to keep an eye on Holwell’s number nine, who’s called Scott.



The teams trot out five minutes late. The visitors look fresh faced and young. There’s a strong cross wind but thankfully the rain has subsided.

I get my first touch of the match ball in the first minute and another one after two minutes. Holwell begin the game at a good tempo and have a well taken goal ruled out for offside.

Huntingdon take the lead on the half hour. An excellent cross from 7 jacket is bundled home by number 10.

The cup of tea would enter the hall of fame. It’s poured from the pot into China mugs; we mark it with a nine. The staff are friendly and The Nuclear Scientist has his eye on a ‘Rooster Burger.’

At the break we take a saunter out of the ground to visit The Stute Sports and Social Club. En-route we pass the wooden hut where we paid to get in. There’s a TV on and a remote control lying on a table. I press 319 and I’m disappointed to learn that my team Lincoln City are 1-0 down at the Don Valley Stadium against crisis club Rotherham United.



NS has a pint of mild and Sticky Palms half a Stella. We are entertained by the resident drunk, who gives us a detailed history of the Holwell Works.

NS was a bit slow downing his mild and by the time we return to the ground Huntingdon are already two to the good.

They call Holwell’s number nine ‘Rooney’ God knows why as he is more Mickey than Wayne. He’s frustrated with the poor service in the first half and has spurned a couple of chances. He rolls around at every opportunity, holding an injured arm, leg, head or whatever part of his anatomy comes into contact with an opposing defender.

Meanwhile the Huntingdon 7 jacket is coming into his own. He creates another goal for number 10 with a fine cross, which is finished sublimely. The goal of the game comes 10 minutes from time. 7 jacket picks the ball up 30 yards out with his back to goal, he turns on a sixpence, pokes the ball round an ageing and tiring defender, meets it the other side and smashes a low hard drive into the bottom corner of the net. It was worth a tenner, never mind two quid.

I flick on the Ceefax as we exit the ground; both Lincoln and Notts County have been beaten. I’m certainly not having ‘the time of my life.’

Holywell 0 Huntingdon 4

Attendance: 50

Man of the Match: 7 Jacket

Nottingham Forest 0 Sunderland 1

Joey Barton speaks out: "The first day's the toughest, no doubt about it. They march you in, hand you your uniform and force you to pose for the photographer while loads of fat, tattooed, skinheads shout at you. That's when you know it's for real. A whole life blown away in the blink of an eye. Nothing left but all the time in the world to think about it. That's when it hits home. That's when you realise you've signed for Newcastle United."

Sally Gunnell (not much to look at but a bloody good runner) has her MOT tomorrow. I drop her off at the garage and walk up the road to Sainsbury’s to meet White Van Man. He’s in the shop rummaging around the reduced section in hope of a cheap pork pie or slight seconds sausage roll.



We drive down Tollerton Lane, past both the Chinese and Indian restaurants. Nottingham Airport is to our right hand side. There are signs for Cotgrave. There is a huge Geordie/Mackem population in the village. They came down here in the 1960s to work at Cotgrave Colliery.

White Van Man is bobbing and weaving his way through the rush-hour traffic down the A52. I exit his car outside the main ticket office. He works match days at Nottingham Forest. I too, will be soon, as a scout for the Academy.



The girl in the office is efficient and friendly. She manages to squeeze me in Main Stand Block E. I pay £36 for three tickets.

I take a stroll around the back of the Main Stand and take a few photos. I walk back out onto Pavilion Road, past the recently refurbished Nottingham Forest Supporters’ Club. I cross over the Radcliffe Road, jaywalking between the traffic. Sunderland fans swarm outside the ghastly “world renowned” Trent Bridge Inn. They bask in the evening sunshine, downing cold pints of lagers.

I turn left down Bridgford Road and head away from the ground. A guy stands at a bus stop; he’s wearing a Stranglers t-shirt with a rat on it. I’m next to the cricket ground, it’s nearing close of play. We are playing Durham. They have made 266. I peer through the wrought iron gates, England exile Stephen Harmison is steaming in. Notts are one for none.



I carry on walking, past the overpriced and overrated Fire n Ice bar and all its pretences. My heart beats faster as I near my favourite pub: the Stratford Haven. A miserable lemon-sucking barman pulls me a fine pint of Slater’s Queen Bee Bitter. It’s £2.60 and is brewed in Staffordshire.

It’s a sultry summer’s evening and I‘m standing in the yard at the back. Three guys next to me are talking about God.(not Keano) The place is mobbed with Mackems.

I’m feeling thirsty and return to the bar to order another. Barthez saunters through the door and kindly shouts them up. We are joined by The Repairs Manager. We briefly talk shop and I get another round in.

We arrive at the ground as the teams are running out. I manage to snaffle up the last available programme for £2.

Sunderland is in north-east England and has a population of 180,000. The River Wear runs through the centre of the city. It’s well known for its history of ship building and coal mining. The car manufacturer Nissan is a major employer in the area.



Famous people from Sunderland include: BBC news reporter Kate Adie, actor and one of me and Mrs P’s favourites from the excellent light comedy series New Tricks, which we watch together on the settee on Monday nights, with a pot of tea for two and the biscuit tin: James Bolam,, the composer Edward Gregson, former Liverpool manager Bob Paisley, ex England cricketer Bob Willis and indie band The Futureheads.

I visited 106 football grounds in five days, a few years ago, to raise money for charity. I wrote to every club for gifts. Sunderland FC were fantastic, which is more than can be said for that black and white lot just down the road.

I’m thinking of a friend now who took his own life a few years ago. He and his family took me up to Tanfield Lea back in 1978. We caught the bus to Roker Park twice. I saw Sunderland beat Notts County on the Good Friday and lose to Blackburn on the Easter Monday. I remember Jim Holton, Shaun Elliott and Gary Rowell. I’d never experienced an atmosphere like it before. The Roker Roar was magical and left a lasting impression on me.



The prodigal son has returned and is lording it in the Directors’ Box. He signs autographs. He seems relaxed.

Roy Keane is a bigger legend in the city of Nottingham than Robin Hood. He was wild in his youth and disrespectful, particularly on nights out. It’s all water under the Trent Bridge now. His autobiography is excellently penned by Eamon Dunphy.

My father was a news reporter for the Daily Mirror. He was once sent out to Jersey after news broke that Clough had sent Keane packing following a remark he had made to a waitress in a hotel the players were staying in.

His assistant is his best friend Tony Loughlan, they were together at Forest. He rescued him from the relative obscurity as coach of Leicester City Academy U14s.

Forest begin the game in the ascendancy. Guy Moussi, 23, has recently signed from French League 2 side Angers. He looks the real deal. Barthez comments that he is a black Johnny Metgod.



Forest enjoy a good spell of pressure. England U18 international James Reid slams a shot over the bar. New signing Robert Earnshaw darts in front of Nyron Nosworthy and heads over, he also fires a 25 yard free-kick above the upright.

Barthez has noted that former Manchester United midfielder Kieron Richardson is in the Black Cats’ starting line-up. He certainly doesn’t snap and snarl like his cousin Charley did on Big Brother 8.

Senegal bad boy El-Hadj Diouf is Sunderland’s star man. We’re sat in the relative safety of Row M, knowing that even he can’t spit that far. He is worth the gate admission alone. Either foot will do. He twists and turns Forest inside out. They can not get near him. What a class act.



Ex-Waterford striker Daryl Murphy leaves Kelvin Wilson for dead but can only fire wide. Forest ‘keeper Paul Smith turns a Danny Higginbottom header away following a wicked free-kick from former crowd favourite Andy Reid.

I nip to the loo at the break as that Queen Bee Bitter has a wicked sting to its tail. I bump into Homebird’s missus; she works for the BBC and is with a cameraman covering the game. We exchange pleasantries.

The Forest DJ plays Justin Timberlake and the excellent Kasabian at the break. Glad to see he can still spin a tune. He’s one of the best DJs on the football circuit.

Moussi fires agonisingly wide from 25 yards, the shot appears to take a slight deflection.

Annoying substitutions disrupt the flow of the game in the second period. Andy Reid is running the show for the visitors. His passing is precise and swift. Forest get caught short at the back. Former Arsenal trainee Anthony Stokes finds acres of space on the left and pulls a ball back for Richardson to thump home.

It could have been more as Sunderland finish strongly and with only ten men. Keane explains later he wanted to see how his side perfomed one light as it seems to happen quite a bit in the Premier League games. No surprise there then.

The final whistle has blown; there are positives on both sides. Worryingly for Forest Tyson’s guitar strings have snapped again. They miss the quality and final ball of Kris Commons. Where will all the goals come from this season?

Nottingham Forest 0 Sunderland 1

Attendance: 12,573 (2,273 marvellous Mackems)

Man of the Match: El-Hadj Diouf

Chasetown 0 Port Vale 1

I took a days holiday on Friday to look after the kids. Dirty, dirty, cheating Yorkshire Cricket Club were visiting Trent Bridge. We set up passport control on the gate to check out their nationalities. The laws of the game clearly state that you are only allowed to play one overseas player. This is something they overlooked in a recent Twenty20 fixture with the Outlaws. Luckily they didn’t field on Friday, otherwise we’d have been checking they didn’t sneak twelve players onto the field of play.

Revie's "Dirty Dirty Leeds." Bremner, Giles and Hunter. It's just history repeating itself.

We spanked their backsides. Our veteran bowler Mark Ealham rolled back the years. A mediocre Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club top the LDV County Championship. “We are top of the league; I say we’re top of the league.” It’s proper cricket, not the carnival Mickey Mouse Twenty20 version.



Mrs P is livid, she has invited round The Architect, his wife and sons for a barbeque. It had completely slipped my mind to tell her that I’m off to Chasetown for the afternoon. The barbeque is rescheduled for a 6.30pm evening kick-off. I’ve cleaned the car, mowed the lawns and generally kept my head down for most of the morning.

I watch the first few overs of the Twenty20 game between Essex and Kent. Robert Key is clubbing the ball to all parts of the ground. Sticky junior and ”The Skipper” are booing every shot. Key refused to sign them an autograph last season. They’ve never forgotten it!

White Van Man makes his seasonal bow this afternoon. He picks me up at 1.20pm. It’s a 100 mile round trip to Staffordshire, so I’ve said I’ll pay him in.

We roar through the streets of our village. He’s tooting his horn and waving at all and sundry. It’s like working a shift with Postman Pat. His piloting is legendary. He overtakes a little old lady driving a Subaru Mpresso on Bunny Lane; he’s roaring with laughter.

He’s looking tired and drawn after his long weekend in Poland. There’s tales of lap dancing clubs and full body massages; no extras involved.



It’s down the A50 and along the A38. White Van Man drives his car as if he’s on a gaming machine in some seaside arcade. We hit Chasetown in fifty minutes. We are held up en-route to the ground by a wedding. Car Parking is free.

The ground is in a delightful setting. It’s £6 admission and £2 for the League Programme of the Year 2007/2008. It’s a gem with no stone unturned. There are match reports, player profiles and it’s packed with statistics.



Chasetown has a population of 9000 and is an old coal mining area. Former Forest legend and serial “dog walker” Stanley Victor Collymore is well known in the area. Northern Irish comedian Frank Carson is on the board of directors.

Chasetown were formed in 1954. They play in the eighth tier of English football and are the lowest ranked club ever to have reached the third round of the FA Cup. Their magnificent run was finally ended by eventual finalists Cardiff City. It cost the Staffordshire club promotion.

Their manager Charlie Blakemore has been here for years. Today he is on holiday. Last Friday Mick McCarthy’s Wolves came to Church Street and won 4-1. Player-coach Andy Turner was once the youngest player to have scored in the Premiership, when netting for Spurs in 1992 at the age of 17.

Today’s visitors Port Vale are from Burslem in Stoke. Famous people from the area include: heavy rock hard man Lemmy from Motorhead, darts player Phil “The Power” Taylor and local pub singer and Stoke’s Karaoke King, Robbie Williams

.

Former Farsley Celtic manager Lee Sinnott is now the Vale manager, and he has sent a full first team squad. It includes former Chasetown pair Kyle Perry and Chris Slater, who were snapped up from the Scholars following the successful cup run.

The heat at the Church Street ground is stifling. We dive into the modern clubhouse and order two pints of blackcurrant and soda. I know I will get some stick for this, as I’m meant to be a connoisseur of fine ales and strong lagers, but it’s way too hot for alcohol. The bar is busy but the service is swift and friendly. Chasetown is a wonderful club.

We hunt for shade from the scorching sun and stand beneath the huge trees and woodland that tower above the ground. White Van Man is sweating up like a racehorse in the starting stalls. He eyes up the talent as he wanders past the burger bar.



The Chasetown PA man plays some random tunes: Nine Till Five by Dolly Parton and Change by the Lightning Seeds are the pick of the bunch.

The players struggle with the heat and there are endless water breaks. Chasetown look a useful outfit and try to play it out from the back. But they rarely work the highly-rated Port Vale ‘keeper Joe Anyon.

The purse strings have been pulled tight at Vale Park. They have a young and hungry squad, mostly between the ages of 21-26. Perry goes close with a header and flashes a shot across the face of the goal.

I notice that former Shrewsbury and Crewe forward Luke Rodgers is in the visitors’ squad, although it’s a no show today. He has often courted controversy in the past. Five years ago he had to serve 100 hours community service, and was forced to pay £5000 in compensation, after being found guilty of disfiguring a 16 year old girl with a firework.

Louis Dodds plays on the wing for Port Vale. He has recently arrived from Leicester City, but spent the whole of last season on loan at Lincoln City. I saw him score a peach of a goal at Field Mill last September. He has a change of pace and an eye for goal. Vale fans, enjoy him.



Neither team can break the deadlock in the first period. Message for Frank Carson: You’re not missing a cracker Frank.

It’s back in the bar for another blackcurrant and soda. WVM has clocked an attractive, slim, young blonde sitting on the next table to us. I remark that she is a WAG. She is drinking WKD, a revolting alcopop that WVM drinks in large amounts on nights out in West Bridgford. He is drooling over her and is convincing himself that they have something in common. A guy in his fifties joins her at the table. It must be the player’s dad.

The players trot out to Dance the Night Away by The Mavericks. We pick a spot level to the eighteen yard area where Port Vale will attack.

It’s a good choice, as Port Vale finally take the lead, just before the hour. Their impressive captain Sam Stockley hurls a ball into the box from the right, sought after striker Marc Richards leaps between two defenders to head home. Richards is up for it today, and loses little in the air. He’s as strong as an ox. He could have made it two but for the outstretched leg of Scholars' ‘keeper Evans.



Like most friendlies, the game turns into a procession of farcical substitutions. We leave with a couple of minutes to go. WVM is in top gear. He turns on Heart FM, his favourite radio station. The Bee Gees track Stayin Alive is on the airwaves. It will be a miracle if I can survive the next 50 minutes.

Chasetown 0 Port Vale 1 Richards

Attendance: 622 (loads from Burslem)

Man of the Match: Marc Richards and White Van Man

Leamington FC 1 Newport County 1

Mrs P, like D***y County defender Claude Davis, has been out of sorts this week. I have generously shared my throat infection with the good lady and she has done nothing but cough and splutter. I’m a firm believer in equality though: she has spent six nights on the bounce sleeping on the downstairs settee

The Nuclear Scientist picks me up at 1pm. We have spent a large amount of the summer getting pished and playing table tennis. He plies me with real ale and tries to take advantage, but I hold the upper hand.

It’s down the A46, M1, M69 and back onto the A46. The Nuclear Scientist talks fondly of the Little Chef Olympic Breakfasts he has troughed his way through on this road. He sheds a tear as we pass yet another boarded-up Little Chef.

We’re in Shakespeare’s County: Warwickshire. We pass signs for historic Coventry. We drive through Warwick and past the castle. NS loves driving his Jag; he thinks he’s Inspector Morse.



Royal Leamington Spa has a population of 45,000 and lies on the River Leam. The New Windmill Ground is out of town. Famous people born in Leamington include: the boxer Randolph Turpin, actor Nicholas Ball, racehorse trainer Peter Chapple-Hyam and footballers Ben Foster and Riccardo Scimeca. They film the cringe worthy BBC “comedy” (?) Keeping up Appearances in the town. For two points what is the name of Hyacinth’s son?

Today’s visitors are former Football League club Newport County. Animal Magic’s Johnny Morris, Stoke City manager Tony Pulis and indie rappers Goldie Lookin Chain are all from the area: youse knows it.

Football in Leamington goes as far back as 1891. They are nicknamed the Brakes and play in Step 4 of the Pyramid. They were cruelly knocked out the play-offs by Stourbridge in front of over 1000 people. A record crowd. British Gas Premier League team Brackley Town have raided the Brakes for three of their best players. There will be a few strangers on show this afternoon.



Newport County play in the Blue Square Premier at Step 2. Their manager is none other than Cockney wide-boy and former Crazy Gang member Dean Holdsworth. Ex-Wolves winger Kevin Cooper and Reggae Boy Paul Hall are in today’s line-up. They are nicknamed the Exiles.

It’s £6 entry and a further 1.50 for a stunning programme. It’s got the lot. We saunter around the ground, the pitch is immaculate. Leamington FC are a very organised and friendly club. There’s an army of officials and stewards at your beckon call.

The PA man has his Best of the 80's CD on. Howard Jones, Bananarama and the Human League can just be heard above the howling wind.

We enter the Ed Mullard Bar and have a Murphy's and a Stella. It costs £5.50. Kids run around the bar with their replica Man Utd and Milan shirts on. Nickelback are on the giant white screen positioned in the corner of the club.



The last time I saw Newport play was at Sincil Bank over 25 years ago. They were 4-0 up at the break courtesy of goals from John Aldridge and Tommy Tynan. I was back home in Nottingham before the game had ended.

The DJ has now moved into the modern era and is playing Dutch Euro dance band 2Unlimited’s Get Ready For This (1991) as the players enter the field of play

We stand on the opposite side to the dugouts. NS is only a little lad and I’m concerned he won’t be able to see over the barrier.



The Brakes kick up the slope with the wind behind them. They seem content to lump the ball forward very quickly, and appear to be devoid of having any game plan. Brakes’ forwards Bellingham and Corbett don’t stand a prayer, although the former misses a golden chance, with Thompson saving bravely.

The Exiles slowly make their way into the game. Adie Harris is orchestrating the midfield and cleverly spreads the play. Both full backs bomb down the wing. They are an organised and well-oiled machine. They begin to show their class.

Walsh and Hughes both go close, before they finally take the lead, shortly before the break. NS has nipped to the loo and I’m in the queue at the tea bar when a Collins free-kick is deflected into the net to put the visitors in front.

The tea is a tad disappointing. A teabag is tossed into a polystyrene cup, with hot water poured onto it from an urn. I’m left to press the bag against the cup and help myself to milk, I’d rate it a 6 out of 10.

I wander off to take a photo of Deano Holdsworth. He throws me a big smile for the camera. One of his entourage suggests I buy Holdo a coffee. I point him in the general direction of the tea bar.



I walk past the terrace behind the goal that Leamington are about to attack. There’s a Scottish flag hanging up from the Kilmarnock Branch of the Leamington Supporters’ Club. A man stands alone further along the terrace, with a Croatian scarf draped around his neck.

The Brakes are now kicking down the slope and enjoy longer spells of possession. Deano has pulled off some of his stronger players.

Large black clouds loom. We retire to the relative safety of the main stand as the heavens open.

The Newport keeper appears to be struggling with the elements. He’s waved at a couple of crosses and looks uncertain. There’s only a few minutes to go and we are making our way towards the exit. Leamington have been awarded a free-kick on the right hand side. It’s hoisted in to the far post, Newport keeper Thompson elects not to come. There’s a series of head tennis between the Leamington players before Guy Sanders heads home. They’ve deserved a goal.



The DJ can’t resist another track from his 80’s collection. We walk out to the Blow Monkeys, Digging Your Scene.

We’re driving back home. NS has put Radio 4’s Test Match Special on. England are been spanked all over Headingley. Aggers has just announced that Scooby Doo has been arrested in the notorious Western Terrace. Don’t worry he says he’ll be back as Batman next year and the police won’t recognise him. We’re doubled–up with laughter.

Leamington 1 Newport County 1

Attendance: 415

Man of the Match: Paul Hall







.

Corby Town 3 Grimsby Town 1

It’s nearly three months since I watched the beautiful game. I’ve supped and slurped endless amounts of gin, wine and beer. I’ve read the gritty novels of David Peace. And I’ve parked my backside for most of the summer in the Larwood and Voce Stand at Trent Bridge. But my craving for football has never been far away. First port of call for 2008/2009 season is the Rockingham Triangle Sports Stadium in Corby.

White Van Man has cried off. He’s saving up for his trip to Poland, where for the first time in his life he will drink kosher vodka.

The Taxman’s a good lad though, despite having a little moan and groan, as we drive through his old tax inspecting stomping ground. It’s a gorgeous evening as we navigate the Rolls Royce (Mrs P’s new Mondeo) through the rolling Leicestershire countryside, slipping in and out of picture postcard villages.



The Taxman is in his element, he’s telling me tales of businesses visited in this neck of the woods whilst working for Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Taxes. Shopkeepers and farmers must have been quaking in their boots.

We pull in at an ivy-cladded olde worldy pub in Rockingham Village, called the Sondes Arms. I’m ravenous, but have no time to eat. We settle for Black Sheep bitter.

Four Grimsby Town fans are huddled in a corner excitingly discussing the pre-season new signings that their manager Alan Buckley has made. One wears a number eleven retro shirt with Ivano Bonetti on the back. That’s the guy that Brian Laws allegedly threw a plate of chicken bones at one stormy evening at Kenilworth Road. I mention I support Lincoln City; they can’t exit the pub quick enough.



I notice a tea rooms up the road as we stroll out the pub; bless him, WVM would have loved that had he made the trip. He’s missed out on a cream tea. We pass a police van, its blue lights are flashing. It’s stationary and on the lookout for speeding motorists or travelling Mariners.

The Taxman has the AA directions but mucks it up. Ground one out of fifty and we are already lost. I immediately pull into the side of the road and do a u-turn outside the Glasgow Rangers Supporters’ Club.

There’s a shaven headed guy, with an earring through his nose, walking his two Pit-bull Terriers. I wind the window down but the two canine creatures are not too chuffed to see The Taxman back in town and lunge for his throat. I reassure a shaken Taxman that we’ll have a brandy on arrival at the ground. Thankfully they haven’t scratched “our” new car.

The Rockingham Triangle Sports Stadium is not dissimilar to Grantham Town’s ground. It has a large, fine main stand, but no other covered or standing areas. An athletics track runs around the perimeter of the pitch. The stadium was opened in 1985 by Neil Kinnock.



Corby is in Northamptonshire and has a population of 55,000. It drew a large amount of steelworkers from the depressed area of the west of Scotland in the early 1930s. In 1950 it was designated a new town. By the mid-eighties it was a ghost town, courtesy of Mrs Thatcher and her butcher American friend Sir Ian MacGregor. The steelworks were closed. At least a regeneration package enabled the council to build marvellous amenities like this.

Bristol Rovers captain Stuart Campbell was born in the town and played for Corby Town junior teams. Republic of Ireland internationals Eddie McGoldrick and Mark Lawrenson have both played for the club.



Grimsby is in north-east Lincolnshire and has a population of 87,000. Famous people from Grimsby include: actress Michelle Dotrice and maverick footballer and one of Cloughie’s favourites, the Mini-jumping, golf ball throwing Duncan McKenzie.

The Steelmen are currently enjoying their 60th anniversary. It’s £8 entry and £1.50 for a cracker of a programme. It’s full of up to date player profiles for both teams. Graham Drury is their manager and he has brought one or two from his previous club Stamford. His assistant Paul Holden has a M.B.E. for services to football.



Frank Sinatra belts out a bit of swing on a placid summer evening. Normality is resumed when the DJ slips on an R “n” B track.

We choose to watch the game opposite the main stand and perch ourselves on an elevated piece of ground. There’s a sign saying it’s illegal to do so, but I can’t see some old, stuffy cantankerous FA official having the energy to walk all this way around the ground to object.

The two teams have agreed to select different starting elevens for each half to save on the disruptive substitutions you often see in friendlies.

The Steelmen open the scoring inside two minutes. A corner is pinged in from the Corby right hand side, where former Notts County defender Mark Warren plants a looping header into the top corner of the goal.



There’s the persistent droning noise of a motorbike from the nearby racetrack. The Mariners are also in second gear. They look in need of a game and struggle to get Nottingham born Alan Buckley’s trusty passing game going. He was once manager of the Imps and performed a miracle to save us from relegation one season. But we got fed up with the triangular passing pattern.

Former Leicester City player Jon Stevenson is keeping the Grimsby defence on their toes. He reminds me of Nottingham Forest’s David Johnson with his pace, movement and touch.

Grimsby striker Danny North misses a sitter for the visitors and the ginger haired Paul Bolland flashes a header wide from a corner. “We never score from a corner” roars out from the travelling contingent. There’s no inflatable Harry Haddocks or “Sing When We’re Fishing.” The Corby supporters respond with renditions of theme tunes from “The A-Team” and Steptoe and Son.



The Steelmen move the ball around nicely and are dangerous in the final third. They are good value for their lead. Grimsby, like a lot of Buckley’s teams, lack a cutting edge.

The Taxman is clearly still traumatized by earlier events in the evening, and is now buying me a cup of tea and sausage roll. He turns down my offer of a hot dog. We have a short wait as the ball boys are given complimentary hot chocolates. We collect our thoughts and give the tea 7.5 out of 10.

Tony Battersby, the Corby substitute, hasn’t time to join me for a Pukka Pie, as he’s on duty in the second period. I’m still baffled how this guy has made a living from the game and fetched over £500,000 in transfer fees. He’s already on his fifteenth club. And only 32 years old.



We are perched up in the main stand now, where the view is more panoramic. Both sets of supporters are in fine voice. There’s plenty of banter.

A text comes through on 56 minutes Sticky junior has took 2-7 off three overs for Plumtree CC. Both he and “The Skipper” have played cricket every night this week.

Grimsby look sharper in the second period. Only Newey and Tilley have shone previously. But Hegarty gives them balance and width. They miss chances galore.

Corby are exciting on the counterattack and the home faithful sense a second: “Irn Brew Irn Brew come on Corby give us two.” Last season’s leading scorer Steve Diggin obliges, latching on to a though ball after good work by ex-Nottingham Forest trainee Robert Hughes. His low drive goes in off the post. He scored 30 goals in the British Gas Premier League last season and The Steelmen have done well to retain his services.

The visitors respond almost immediately when James Hunt's cross is side-footed home by Bore.

By now the Black Sheep Bitter and half-time cuppa is beginning to take its toll: we’ve a 40 mile journey home. There’s two minutes to go in a game going nowhere. Plenty of pretty passing but hardly a decent tackle all night. We retire to a very smart Gentleman’s’ Room. There’s a huge cheer from above; The Steelmen have scored again. Worse than that, lower league journeyman Tony Battersby has scored a rare goal.

We’re gutted we’ve missed a goal, but have watched an enjoyable and incident free game.

The night is finished off with a pint of Wainwright at The Plough Inn at Normanton-On-The-Wolds.


Corby Town 3 Warren, Diggin and Battersby Grimsby Town 1 Bore

Attendance: over 200

Man of the Match: Jon Stevenson.