Melbourne Dynamo 4-0 Newhall United

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Attendance: Over 75

Man of the Match: Mark Goodier

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

Song of the Week: Desperate Journalist, Unsympathetic Parts

Beverley Town 4-0 Frickley Athletic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Attendance: 422

Man of the Match: Nathan Ofori

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

Notts County 1-2 Walsall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man of the Match: Liam Gordon 

Rainworth MWFC 1-2 Stapleford Town

I exit Chesterfield FC's SMH Group stadium to be met with a 50 mph howling wind. The rain stings my skin like it did on my arrival four hours ago. I trudge across the road, making my way towards the railway station. It's a 25 minute walk that I'm not particularly looking forward to, as Storm Darragh blows through. By chance, a public service bus pulls up down the road. I leg it and hop on. A £2 fare is paid to a grumpy driver, who gets me to the town centre. I sit in the station waiting room as the EMR train from Sheffield to Nottingham is delayed by 15 minutes.

I'm scrolling through my Twitter timeline when I notice a direct message from Steve Mack, a Notts-based brilliant Non League photographer, who also happens to be a big Tranmere Rovers fan. We sit together on the train. Steve's not too downbeat about the final score. He agrees that Rovers will be in a relegation scrap unless there's much-need investment or a long-running takeover bid rumour is signed off before the end of the year, in time for the January transfer window, as fresh blood is needed.

I enjoy a couple of pints of Stargazer, a decadently poured stout, at Barley Twist, on Carrington Street. Steve has joined me, but he has to shoot off up to Rescue Rooms for a gig later. It's gone 8 pm by the time I jump off the Carlton 27, at the bus stop that's located outside the worst supermarket in the world. I grab a pizza off a shelf at Carlton Tesco. I'm pushed for time, as I need an early night. The irony that Wilson Pickett is belting out the lyric "I'm gonna wait 'til the midnight hour", as shoppers queue at the self-service checkout, is not lost on me. "We probably will be" I say out loud to nobody in particular.

Sunday afternoon is spent listening to back to back Radcliffe and Maconie shows followed by my weekly staple of Steve Lamacq from his 6 Music Monday evening show. I hit the wooden hill before 10 pm - two nights in York, a wet and windy day in Chesterfield and a Sunday morning shop opening have done for me.

It's Wednesday morning and I'm hanging around outside the Laguna curry house on Mount Street. I have managed to negotiate a day off from the shop. This can only mean one thing: it's a Heritage Pub and Victoria Cross memorial day out in Norfolk and Suffolk with the following blog legends: Crazy Steve, Cotgrave Trev and Little Al.

'Crazy' is fresh as a daisy after a week on his tod in Jamaica - you've got to have massive cahoonas to go to Kingston town on your 'Jack Jones' - he did seek advice from a mate on the do's and don'ts. He watched a few days of the Test match between the West Indies and Bangladesh, which was held at Sabina Park.

The first town we visit on our arrival in East Anglia is Swaffham. It's often name-checked by Alan Partridge on his Radio Norwich show. There is a funeral taking place as we walk through to the rear of the churchyard to pay our respects to Sir Arthur Kynet Wilson, who was awarded a Victoria Cross for his bravery during the Mahdi Rebellion, in Sudan, in 1884.

The grave that I want to visit is in the village of Woolpit. He was a 'soldier' too. A member of the Home Guard in the fictional seaside town of Walmington-on-Sea. Ian Lavender played the part of Private Pike in the hugely popular BBC comedy series Dad's Army. Lavender later went on to appear in the soap opera EastEnders - I bet that was a barrel of laughs. Lavender sadly passed away in February this year. There is a wooden cross on his grave with a plaque attached to it. 

Lunchtime is spent in Bury St Edmunds. The Nutshell, a heritage pub in the town centre, opened as a beerhouse in 1873. Its interior measures at 15ft x 7ft, making it one of the UK's smallest pubs. The lady behind the bar is good fun. In recent months a few celebrities have called in for a drink including: Leo Sayer, Fatima Whitbread and Reverend Richard Coles. I ask if Leo Sayer was on an all-dayer.

Crazy drops me off on London Road, in Nottingham, where traffic is at a standstill. I stroll through the city centre before dropping down into Sneinton. I have a couple of small glasses at the Partizan Tavern. I stroll back across the road and through the marketplace. 

Faggsy is sat in the dimly lit Bath Inn. The landlord, the son of former Dr Who, Tom Baker, has done a cracking job with the Christmas decorations.I enjoy a catch up with Faggsy who has recently returned from a week away up in Keswick, in the Lake District. It's the usual topics of conversation: Notts County, Carlton Town and Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club. We finish the night up in the King Billy.

It's another day off on Friday. I'm actually in Arnold for midday. More to the point I'm in a 'Spoons called The Ernehale. My boss, 'Chippy Fryer' is recovering from knee replacement surgery. We're having a shop get together to celebrate the festive season. 'Fred', Tony 'Calamity' Crabtree and Sean are all in attendance. The plan, in my fuzzy head, was for a couple of pints, followed by some shopping in town. Eight hours later I'm still holed up in Arnold with Chippy, having ticked off The Greyhound, Sasha's and Cross Keys. I have a vague memory, on my return to Chez Palms, of watching Gogglebox as I fought to stay awake in my armchair.

'Fred' has set up a chocolate market stall outside the shop on Saturday morning. Muggins has drawn the short straw and 'he's' also feeling a tad delicate. We do a roaring trade with cheery customers on a busy Front Street, that's bustling with Christmas shoppers.

Ms Moon picks me up on the nose at 2pm. We head north to the village of Rainworth, which is well known for the capture of the murderer and kidnapper Donald Neilson, who was nicknamed by the Press as the Black Panther. He was overpowered by the afternoon shift of Rufford Colliery outside a local chippy after taking two policemen hostage, back in 1975.

I fight my fatigue as 'Mr Personality' (Mark Goodier) is on his Pick of the Pops show again. He plays Cry Wolf by A-ha and 'So Cold the Night' by The Communards. My Jimmy Somerville impersonation goes down a storm with Ms Moon (not!) 

I was going to quickly tick off a Good Beer Guide entry in the village called The Inkpot Micropub, sadly it's closed for the weekend. The guy on the gate is dead friendly - I could have paid in as a concession, as in my hungover state I look in a right two 'n eight (he asked me how old I was?) I part with £12, as every pound counts at this level. I also buy a golden goal ticket.

I had hoped to see Carlton Town loanee David Olatomide playing for today's visitors Stapleford Town. There's no sign of him during the warm up. A team sheet. shown to me by a club official. confirms his absence. It proper cheeses me off.

Upo's lad, Jack, is playing for 'Stabbo.' I can neither see nor hear Upo, which suggests he's AWOL too. The first half is a hard watch, but Rainworth are good value for their one goal lead. Stapleford appear lacklustre and give the ball away too cheaply. We're straight in the clubhouse for a warm.

The visitors up their gears in the second half, snatching an unlikely victory with two great strikes. It's bloody freezing up here. I can't wait to get home to my armchair where I'll crack open a couple of craft ale cans whilst studying the day's results from all corners of the world.

Attendance: 56

Man of the Match: Crazy Steve

Chesterfield 3-0 Tranmere Rovers

The customers at the newsagent's (where I work) in the Nottinghamshire town of Arnold - the artist formerly known as 'Tory Arnold' are having a fit of pique on Tuesday morning. There's no Christmas cheer on Front Street with the news spreading like wildfire in Birds Bakery that What's on TV and TV Choice magazines have both risen in price by three pence to 82p and 85p respectively. Folk whinge and moan more than Pep Guardiola after another Premier League defeat. It's poor old Sticky that gets it in the earhole - anyone would think I printed the flipping publication. It was the same when the Daily Mail went up to £1.10 - on that occasion I was quite happy to field complaints, from the Blue Army entourage, as they chuntered on exiting the shop.

The Winter Fuel Allowance is the biggest bone of contention for the pensioners that come in the shop - it was a policy Boris (as the Tory voters like to call him) always liked to boast about to keep the electorate sweet, following the buffoon's and his mates' crass behaviour during COVID. The Labour Party announced they were to abolish the payment, unless you were on pension credits or means-tested benefits. I had an elderly lady kicking off about this the other day. She complained that her and hubby didn't qualify for the payment, so couldn't afford to have the heating on much, and that they would have to tighten their belts when food shopping with the energy price increase imminent. She followed this up with "can I have 60 John Player Red Superkings and a bottle of Smirnoff please love."

It's Thursday evening and I'm locking up after another busy day at the shop. The street is deserted and the temperatures are plummeting as I scurry across the market place toward High Street. I catch the 58 bus outside Keith Hall Hair. It begins to rain cats 'n dogs as I jump off on Parliament Street. By the time I'm sitting down in the cosy Barley Twist on Carrington Street, I'm like a drowned rat and smell like a wet dog.

I dry out for around an hour whilst enjoying a couple of craft ales from Verdant in Cornwall and Shiny Brewery, who are based in Little Eaton, just outside Derby. Shiny are an under the radar brewery who very rarely brew a bad 'un. Their taproom is well worth a visit too.

I've taken a punt on beating Storm Darragh, which is on its way from Ireland. East Midlands Railways, who are spoken in the same breath as Carlton Tesco and artificial football pitches, do their best to muck up catching a connecting train from Grantham to York. Luckily that's a few minutes late too.

I'm as snug as a bug in a rug on the LNER high speed train, with my head buried into the latest publication by the razor-sharp broadcaster Martin Kelner. His book, called Wrestling in Honey, takes a nostalgic look at sports on TV from back in the day such as: Snooker, Rugby League and Darts.

My brother, Mark, picks me up from York station and drives me back to his house in the village of Upper Poppleton where the Belgian-born Leeds United defender Pascal Struijk used to live. We enjoy a few glasses of wine and prawn linguine as we catch up with one another before retiring to bed.

I love a few days up in York and always enjoy a break away from my natural surroundings. After a hearty breakfast we jump in the car and head up to the village of Aldborough. We wander past St Andrew's Church where in 1998 the Yorkshire and England cricketer David 'Bluey' Bairstow was laid to rest, having taken his own life. Bairstow suffered from depression, and it was led to believe he had financial troubles too. It's an extremely sad story, as he would have been incredibly proud of the cricketing career his son Jonny went on to have for club and country.

We're just a short drive away from Boroughbridge. We pull up in the car park of the Tap on the Tutt, which until 2023 was known as the Three Horseshoes. It's my 189th two star or three star CAMRA Heritage Pub. We're lucky that this watering hole is still in existence as it was sold off by its long-time family owners in 2003 and narrowly escaped being converted into a Chinese restaurant. The friendly barman pours a perfect pint of Jorvik Blonde from Rudgate Brewery.

We take a stroll around the quaint town centre which lay on the A1 London to Edinburgh road until a by-pass was built. Lunch is spent at an independent bakery. We peck away at our sandwich adjacent to a mightily impressive War Memorial.

A couple of pubs are visited on the outskirts of York city centre at teatime as folk finish up for the weekend. The first is another CAMRA HP called The Fox, which is owned by Ossett Brewery. Just around the corner is Volunteer Arms, which is a Good Beer Guide Entry in the 2024 edition.

The TV on offer for Friday evening is pretty crap to be honest. I barely raise a smile at Have I Got News For You or The Last Leg. Both shows are washed up and played out. Thank the Lord for Gogglebox and its real people. The 1996 Top of the Pops Christmas Special hosted by the Spice Girls and Take That, screened on BBC 4, was pretty much the death knell of the show.

Football fixtures are falling victim to the weather, and none are bigger than the Merseyside derby. After a couple of slices of homemade sourdough bread, smothered in butter and Marmite, my brother kindly drops me off at York station.

The original plan was to travel to the old coal-mining village of Goldthorpe, close to Rotherham, to tick off a chippy and take in Dearne and District versus Wakefield in Northern Counties East Division One. Having studied the weather map this would be a foolish decision to make as I can't afford to get stranded as I'm opening the shop at 4am on Sunday.

The plan is to stick to the main line. I bagged a ticket for Chesterfield v Tranmere Rovers yesterday. It was quite a painful customer experience on the phone to their ticket office, but we got there in the end. I've got an FA Trophy tie between Alfreton Town and Spennymoor Town in the back pocket should the football Gods go against me.

There are loads of Leeds fans milling around at the station, fretting that they are going to miss the early kick off at Elland Road versus Derby County. Overhead cables have been damaged on the east coast line. I have to rely on X-Country and EMR - my heart is already filled with disappointment. We arrive at Sheffield 45 minutes late, but somehow pull in at Chesterfield by 1pm. I pat myself on the back as my cunning plan and change of strategy is going well at this point.

It's pissing down with rain. It hits my face so hard that it's like someone is rubbing coarse sandpaper on my skin. 25 minutes later a soaked-to-the-skin Sticky arrives at the SMH Group Stadium. An overzealous steward has asked to look through my rucksack. I warn him that there are smelly pants and stinky socks in there; he's unperturbed. My brother has wrapped some Christmas presents, one of them is quite heavy - hopefully the latest copy of the 2025 CAMRA Guide. The nincompoop of a steward says he would like me to open it. "Not until Christmas Day, you Herbert" I reply. It's 1.30 pm and I'm the first supporter in the ground.

The wind is blowing across the pitch driving the rain into the East Stand. I've got six layers on, including thermals, but can still feel the cold. I'm cheered up somewhat by the DJ set. He plays: a couple of Jungle and Pet Shop Boys tracks. The teams emerge from the tunnel to Mr Blue Sky .. lol.

It's a one-sided contest in the first half, with Nigel Adkins' lowly, cash-strapped Tranmere Rovers spending most of it on the back foot. They are lucky to be only two goals down at half-time to brilliantly-worked goals. The DJ ups his set at the break with 'Heavyweight Champion of the World' by Sheffield-based band Reverend and the Makers.

Had it been a boxing match the referee would have stopped the game on the hour. Chesterfield are magnificent with their pace troubling the visitors down both sides. Manager Paul Cook has the luxury of saving some tired legs for another day. As for Tranmere, well the best they can hope for is the much-talked about takeover by U.S hip hop star A$AP Rocky.

Attendance: 7,923

Man of the Match: Armando Dobra