Atherstone Town 1 Quorn 0

We’ve all headed off north to see my brother and his family in York. It’s evening time and me and my bro are in the York city centre buying an Indian takeaway. There’s a real ale pub in York I’ve been meaning to chalk off for years; it’s called The Maltings, and I’m not disappointed. It’s opposite the railway station and looks fairly ordinary from the outside. It’s a hidden treasure. I have a couple of beers from the York Brewery and a micro brewery from Knaresborough.

On the Friday we head off to Flamingo Land, I’m pranging out, real scared, they’ve some awesome, terrifying rides at this theme park, which the kids are going to force me to go on; I dip out on just the two.



We head back home on Saturday morning; Mrs P knows I’m keen to get a game in. It’s my second FA Cup preliminary round game of the season. I’m trying to specialise in the FA Cup, FA Trophy and FA Vase this season.

White Van Man fails to make the trip once again, he’s at a wedding. You can guarantee for sure that he’ll be at the front of the queue for the evening buffet.



The Nuclear Scientist is back from France and rearing to go; he’s chauffeuring me in the Jaguar today. The Taxman appears at 1.30pm.

The Nuclear Scientist can’t get his sat nav to work. We cruise down the M42 and along the A5. I drove this route for a while, many years ago, during a short spell at what must now be Britain’s largest working coal mine: Daw Mill Colliery.

As we enter the commuter town of Atherstone an ambulance shoots out in front of us from its station, its lights flashing and sirens wailing.



Atherstone is in north Warwickshire and has a population of 8000. It was once famous for making hats. The golfers Paul Broadhurst and Steve Webster were both born in the area. Broadhurst is president of Atherstone Town FC.

The town is also well known for its Shrove Tuesday Ball Game. It’s played with a ball weighing 4lb, filled with water. Hundreds of people in the streets of Atherstone down tools for the afternoon and throw the ball around for two hours, in what can only be described as an almighty ruck. The game has been played on Pancake Day for over 800 years. Pancake Day, another special day in White Van Man’s diary.

The Adders have had a chequered history. They were originally formed in 1887. They have gone into liquidation on two occasions in recent times. But the current management are doing a sterling job in navigating the Adders back up the Non-League Pyramid where they belong. They currently ply their trade in the BGB Southern League, Midlands Division.



I saw them play in the Vase, just under a year ago at Gedling Miners’ Welfare. They turned up in their big posh bus, thought they’d won it before a ball was kicked. Reality kicked in after seven minutes when they were 2-0 down. They clawed it back to 2-2 after 12 minutes, but finally bowed out 3-2. It was, in non-league terms, a giant-killing.

Quorn FC were formed in 1924 and are from north Leicestershire. They play in a different league than the visitors, the Unibond Division 1 North, but it’s the same level, Step 4. Dion Dublin and Luke Varney have both played for the club. Quorn is famous for fox-hunting; it was one of Prince Charles’ favourite hunts.

We hit Atherstone in 50 minutes. NS fills up the car with petrol, whilst I continue my fascination or obsession with the Co-op supermarket, by using their cash point machine. The Sheepy Lane ground is on the outskirts of the town.



I’m having a read of the Atherstone Recorder that NS kindly picked up at the petrol station, and I have to say it’s all kicking off. The paper reports there are plans for a Gypsy Site in the area, and there are pictures from the Austrey Open Gardens Day. There’s also a Tribute Night on at the Atherstone Red Lion Hotel starring: ‘Neil Diamond, ‘UB40’ and ‘Blondie.’ It’s £25 per night. See you all down there.

We reach the ground and car parking is free. It’s £6 admission, I pay NS in for driving. The programme is £1.20. It’s quite a thin publication, but it’s packed with information and players’ profiles.

We pop into Adders Nest Bar. NS necks a shandy in three gulps, The Taxman is left standing with three quarters of a pint of lager. I’m dying of thirst and drink a Lucozade Sport.



All the officials and staff are really friendly. The bar, despite being one of the tiniest I’ve been in on The Hop, is full of memorabilia and photos.

After waiting for an age for The Taxman to finish his pint, we take a wander around the ground. The pitch is on a slope and has a few bumps and hollows in it. Both ends of the ground are open and raised. There is a long main stand on the side the players walk out from and a covered terrace opposite it.

The Andy Rammell Stand is named after the Adders’ former forward who they sold to Manchester United for a then club record fee of £40,000 back in 1989.

Quorn coach and former Notts County legend Charlie Palmer is warming up the visiting team. They have had a miserable start to the season and have yet to have won a game.



Atherstone kick down the slope in the first period and still play a John Beck style of play. Left back Dominic Reece, despite having a cultured left peg, always hits the ball early into the corners, where it’s always met by one of the industrious forwards, unfortunately it’s either offside or the move comes to nothing. They look for corners or throw-ins. It’s from one of these set pieces that Barlone heads over from close range.

White Van Man’s not a big fan of Quorn’s Justin Jenkins, we’ve seen him a few times now, and he has yet to break sweat. The big fellow will have to take an aspirin tonight, as he wins countless headers, one of which is point blank and straight at the Adders’ ‘keeper Williams.



Quorn are superior in the first half and play the better football. Byrne and White find success on the wings but there’s no end product.

The bar is packed at the break. I manage to pop in, but don’t hang around on receiving the grim news that the Tricky Trees are 4-0 down at Molyneux.

The snack bar is mobbed out. We decide to have a tea later and stand nearer to the goal that Quorn attack, as they look more likely to score.

Atherstone Town give a rousing second half performance and play far more of a passing game up the hill. The turning point is when substitute James Dance is thrown on. He works tirelessly and Quorn have no answer to his energy and strength.

Quorn ludicrously sub their best two players in Jenkins and Byrne. Their two replacements Hearn and Beard have no effect on the game.

The queue at the Adders Snax Bar has subsided somewhat and we are finally served refreshments. Minestrone soup is a steal at 60 pence, but we plump for tea instead. It’s marked with 6 out of 10.

Former Forest trainee and Chasetown cup hero Nick Hawkins hits the base of the post for Quorn. Williams is injured in attempting to save his shot and is stretchered off with a sore head and knee.



After a long spell of pressure from the home team, they finally take the lead. Bates whips in a cross from the left, which Barlone heads home.

The Adders have further chances to increase their lead and look particularly dangerous down the left.

Quorn have lost their shape since the substitutions and are dire in the second 45 minutes. I ask one of their subs warming down if Byrne or Jenkins were injured; he says he doesn’t think so.

Atherstone 1 Quorn 0

Attendance: 178

Man of the Match: James Dance

.

Awsworth Villa 3 Attenborough 3

It’s 7am, the Tuesday after the Bank Holiday Monday, I’m lying in bed and it’s time to go to work. Every single bone in my body is aching. Yesterday I turned out for my local village cricket club’s annual Twentytwenty fixture. Sticky junior and I were on opposite sides, the little rat got me out. Pocket money has been stopped. I trudged a sorrowful, lonely walk of shame back to the pavilion. 300 spectators found it hilarious.

An hour or so later I felt a lot better when I took a steepler of a catch to dismiss my good friend Bobby. I took it in my stride and kept the celebrations to a minimum. Remember that goal Giggs scored against ‘The Arsenal’ a few seasons ago, when he waved his shirt around his head, well it was a little bit like that.



Awsworth Villa were formed in 1963 and have raised a few eyebrows in the last week, when they thumped the defending NSL champions Caribbean Cavaliers 4-1 at The Shilo. They‘ve not been shy about it on the greatest football message board in the world either. The Nottinghamshire Senior League message forum is a gold mine. Already we’ve had managers resigning, banned players playing when they shouldn’t be and even the placid Barthez upsetting a referee. Thankfully they’ve since kissed and made up. I often have a ten minute lurk on there at lunchtime, to catch up with all the gossip.

The Taxman picks me up at 5.45pm; White Van Man is watching Keyworth United and The Nuclear Scientist has just arrived back from vacation in France. We sail up the Nottingham ring road and arrive in Awsworth within half an hour. A guy pushing a pram directs us to the ground.



Awsworth is a village in Nottinghamshire with a population of 2500. It lies between the towns of Kimberley and Ilkeston. We are back in the old coal mining territory. It’s my favourite part of Nottinghamshire and I can see why it influenced David Herbert Lawrence to write so beautifully.

Attenborough is a village in the south west of Nottinghamshire. I aim to visit their ground before the start of the monsoon season. They have a former pro in their ranks: Steve Scoffham has found his way into the NSL after short stops at Notts County, Burton Albion and Alfreton Town. Freak injuries cost him the chance of another contract at Meadow Lane. He certainly roughed up the Lincoln City defence a couple of years ago when I was down there.



Former Nottingham Forest and Manchester United striker Garry Birtles’ son, James plays for the visitors.

The Shilo ground is built into hill and has a steep grass bank enabling the supporter the luxury of an elevated view. In the distance is the town of Ilkeston and the Swedish superstore IKEA. The Taxman is in dispute with IKEA following a customer services blunder. He is master in the art of writing letters of complaint. I wish I’d known beforehand, because I could have slipped an Abba CD into his car for a wind-up.

The start of the match is delayed due to the home team forgetting to put out the corner flags.

‘Boro are straight on it. They make a mockery of theirs and Villa’s league position. They play with style and a game plan. Villa in comparison prefer to hit their pacey front man Kieron Saxton early.



Attenborough waste numerous chances before finally taking the lead through Birtles, who blasts the ball home from close range off the underside of the bar. Attenborough are stronger in every department, it takes Awsworth an age before they win their first header. How did they beat Cavs’ so convincingly? Attenborough spurn chance after chance before Leith fires home to make it 2-0. Villa’s only serious threat, Saxton, has the ball whipped off his toes by ‘Boro ‘keeper Ivanov, following a mazy run.

The linesman on our side is a portly chap, he has a heavily bandaged knee, and looks like former Coronation Street butcher Fred Elliott. But he keeps up with play superbly and all his offside calls are correct.

There’s more dogs here than Battersea Dogs’ Home. I can only assume we’re close to a footpath as there is a procession of canine creatures throughout the first period. Amongst the 40 strong crowd are two Greyhounds, a Staffordshire bull terrier, an Alsatian, a Labrador cross, a Jack Russell and a Heinz 57.



I’m chatting with a groundhopper from Swadlincote, we both remark how we are mightily impressed with the visiting team.

Awsworth manager Kevin Buxton must have tore a strip off his team at the break as they look rejuvenated and fresh in the second half. They are back on level terms on the hour. Firstly defender Baker bravely heads home a corner despite a valiant attempt by ‘Boro to prevent the ball from crossing the line.

Saxton has his tail up now and it’s not long before he twists and turns the Attenborough defence inside out, and finishes with a fine left foot strike.

The Taxman has turned down the offer of a cup of char. I stroll into the tea bar and I’m served a cracking cup of tea by a very friendly lady. There is a memorial plaque on the wall, pictures of the youth teams and plenty of trophies. I remember when I scouted for ‘County’ a few years ago that Villa had a terrific U11s side; they’re probably U14s now.



Attenborough are beginning to rue all those missed chances. Their forward Steve Oldham has been a thorn in the home side’s defence. He’d unluckily hit the upright at 2-0, but scores a beauty to make it 3-2, leaving his marker for dead.

The referee awards a late advantage free-kick to the Villa; Awsworth’s number 11 sportingly kicks the ball back to the ‘Boro ‘keeper. You wouldn’t see that at Old Trafford.

I’m walking back to the clubhouse to return my tea cup when a Villa player nods a corner ball wide. I catch the ball and return it to the ‘keeper. That’s two catches in two days.

They are having a ‘Moaner of the Season’ poll on the NSL forum at the moment, Awsworth Villa have a player who would win an Olympic gold medal in the sport of moaning. He has spent the entire second half snapping, snarling and sneering at the excellent linesman Fred Elliott. His grand finale is to sarcastically clap the official having once again been correctly called offside. RESPECT?

Dave Barrie scores the equalizer. The Attenborough ‘keeper, who has been solid all night, comes charging out to meet a free-kick, he gets nowhere near it, and the ball skims off the back of Barrie’s head and into an empty net.

Awsworth have Attenborough on the ropes, but for once the visitors hold firm.

It’s been a pulsating game of football, a terrific advert for the NSL. The referee has been superb, and that’s not the first time I’ve said that about a ref in the NSL.

Awsworth 3 Attenborough 3

Attendance: 40

Man of the Match: Steve Oldham

Shirebrook Town 0 Bridlington Town 4

It’s Friday night and I’m on a leaving do in West Bridgford. Swatts is leaving Ergo Computing after 8 years as Marketing Manager. It’s a good turnout, all the old school are here. Taggart has made an appearance; he normally gets himself in a right two and eight. Last time, following the Ergo Strictly Come Dancing Christmas Party held at the Nottingham Council House, he got so pished that he fell into a taxi and ended up in KEGWORTH rather than KEYWORTH. He is a real character though and from Glasgow.

It’s 10pm, I’ve had six pints of Yorker from the Leeds Brewery, I feel more off balance than Ronaldo. I had a George Best undercoat before I came out (a pint of milk) but it’s made no difference, I feel terrible. There’s mutterings of us going to the Monkey Tree or some other dreadful dive (Fire n Ice) I bail out and catch the bus home, I’ve a big day out in Shirebrook tomorrow.



Mrs P is having her hair done, that’ll be a financial blow. I leave the kids playing cricket in the back garden with strict instructions not to hit the ball into George and Mildred’s garden.

One of junior’s friends accidentally smashed their greenhouse a few months ago. The Cockney geezer came racing round; he talks like Inspector Blakey off On the Buses. I was all apologetic, but he told me the kids shouldn’t be playing cricket in the garden and threatened to report us to the Rushcliffe Noise Abatement Society. Unfortunately I had partaken in a couple of Stella’s. The conversation was short and sweet. It’s a family blog and I can’t repeat what I said, and we haven’t spoken since.



I’m driving down the A60, according to radio reports the M1 is clogged up with traffic. I skirt round Mansfield and head towards Worksop. Radio Nottingham are interviewing Stags’ manager Billy McEwan. It suddenly dawns on me that all Nottinghamshire’s big clubs are managed by Scotsmen. They’ve made the long haul up to Barrow Town’s Holker Street; I’ve been there myself.

Shirebrook is another community decimated by Mrs Thatcher’s pit-closure programme. I was saddened to hear that she now has senile dementia; at last she will have forgotten the wicked things she has done.

Shirebrook is in the north-east district of Bolsover, Derbyshire and has a population of 10,000. Famous people from the town include: Elephant Man actor John Hurt and England World Cup winner Ray Wilson.



According to Wikipedia it has The Auctioneer’s and my favourite shop the Co-op. I have a quick drive round but I’m unable to find the Co-op. The streets are deserted, a few pubs have shut down and many premises have 'To Let' signs outside their windows. It’s not unpleasant or scary, it’s just a bit of a ghost town.

Shirebrook Town Football Club were formed in 1985 and play on Langwith Road, at The Staff Ground. It’s £5 admission and a further £1 for a programme that has fallen apart due to a lack of staples. I remember legendary groundhopper Richard Panther complaining that the same thing happened to him in his wonderful book 'Dennis the Astronomer.' The content of the programme is good.

The pitch does not look in particularly good nick. There’s more weeds and clover than on my back lawn. It has plenty of humps and hollows and the grass is dead in parts.



On one side of the ground are two large stands seating around 400. The seats are the blue tip up type from the old Carling Stand at Leicester City’s Filbert Street ground. On the opposite side is a covered area. Behind both goals are two small grass banks. Lots of the buildings appear to be portakabins. The ground is railed off and fenced off.

The droning and irrating Adrian Durham from Talk Shite bellows out from the Shirebrook speaker system. He is ably assisted by the dulcet Black Country tones of Stanley Victor Collymore who has taken an afternoon off from ‘walking the dog.’

It’s a beautiful summer’s day with a gentle breeze. I’m hungover and dehydrated, so I buy a bottle of fizzy orange from Marilyn’s Cafe.

Shirebrook Town are in disarray. The management team have resigned following two league defeats. It’s a situation shrouded in mystery. There’s a short announcement on the web site but no mention of it in the programme. No-one wants to talk about it; the silence is deafening.



Another strange thing has happened, last season’s Northern Counties East leading marksman Ant Lynam (44 goals) was signed from Dinnington by the club in the summer. Apparently he wouldn’t or couldn’t train and has since been released. There’s a bit of a Royston Vasey feel to the place. They’re lapping all this up on the unofficial Northern Counties fans’ forum.

Bridlington is a seaside resort in the East Riding of Yorkshire and has a population of over 30,000. Footballers Richard Cresswell and Craig Short were both born in the town. Notts County have never had a better centre-half than Short; he was a class act.

I went to Brid a few years ago with our kid, and to be honest quite liked the place. We walked around Sewerby Park and Gardens on a beautiful Bank Holiday Monday, had a couple of hours on the beach and ate fish and chips on the sea front. We had a stroll around the harbour; it was full of people wearing Sheffield United and Barnsley shirts.



Bridlington Town were relegated from the Unibond Division One North last season, and are favourites to bounce back up again.

Both teams won their FA Cup qualifiers last weekend so confidence should be high. Bridlington have a very enthusiastic warm-up routine. They look self assured and confident. There’s a lot of high fives and back slapping going on. They look a tight-knit group.

Three Bridlington WAGS walk through the gate, White Van Man would have been having kittens over these three; they are worth the gate admission alone.

I get my first touch of the ball on thirteen minutes and throw the ball back to the Shirebrook full-back. The home team begin the game brightly and play with two wingers.



Shirebrook Town surprise me in the first period; they play a lovely passing game. Their star perfomer is 17 year old left winger Adam Kimberley. He takes on the entire Bridlington defence; he twists and turns, sidesteps and jinks. No offence, but he can clearly play at a higher level than this.

Bridlington begin to get a hold on the game. Leading scorer Craig Palmer fires wide and former Notts County trainee Chibuzor Chilaka fresh airs a header.

Brid’s tall centre midfielder Ashley Allanson opens the scoring in the 25th minute. He’d had a sighter scream over the bar moments earlier. He doesn’t make the same mistake from 20 yards out, although the ball is helped in following an appalling howler from Shirebrook ‘keeper Gavin Saxby. The passage of passing before the goal is breathtaking.

The defining moment of the game happens shortly before half-time. The Shirebrook centre half had been previously been cautioned for handball or kicking the ball away, I’m not sure which. He commits a dreadful challenge in front of the away dugout and Sticky Palms. He receives another yellow and is off. An amazing row occurs between the Bridlington manager and a spectator, who accuses him of getting the player sent off.

At the break I seek out the social club, to see what else is happening in the football world. Ping pong is on the television; these Chinese are nowhere near as good as The Nuclear Scientist and I.



The winning raffle ticket number is shouted out, I’m only a few numbers out, but have yet to break my duck. It’s a cash prize too; that would have cheered up Mrs P.

I’m leaning on the rail waiting for the players to re-start when one of the gorgeous Bridlington WAGS comes and stands next to me. She’d look more at home auditioning for a girl band on the X-Factor than standing watching her fella play football. She’s sexy, slim and swigging Fanta orange. Her perfume is overpowering. It’s all too much for The Groundhopper, he scarpers round to the other side of the ground.

Shirebrook battle away magnificently with just the ten men. “We’re getting overrun” shouts the Bridlington 10 jacket to the bench. But apart from a couple of Brady efforts they rarely test the visiting keeper;

Tricky winger Nathan Watson was sacrificed at half-time for another defender. The guy that comes on is older than me. In his heyday he was probably a good player.

Unselfish play from Phil Harrison leads to a fortunate goal for Chilaka; it takes him two attempts following a brave block from Saxby.

Bridlington are now rampaging down the right hand side and the Shirebrook sub is working overtime. The goal of the game comes on 72 minutes Craig Palmer thumping a header home following a fine cross from the right. Palmer has looked fairly disinterested for most of the game and only appears to come alive with the ball at his feet. He repeats this feat on 84 minutes with a glancing header from another right wing cross.

Shirebrook hit the bar in the dying moments, but it’s all too late.

By this time I’m chatting with a big fella from Brid. He used to live in Cotgrave for twenty years; it’s a village four miles from my home. He’s telling me to get up to Brid Town’s ground as the pitch is like a billiard table. I just might do that.

Shirebrook 0 Bridlington 4

Attendance: 121

Man of the Match: Ashley Allanson

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