Wombwell Main FC 1-1 Dodworth MWFC

I'm on the 18.36 Cleethorpes to Nottingham train with Dean Gripton. Donny have well and truly dusted the Mariners 3-0. Dean is full of cold, and has nodded off. We pull into Lincoln station where hoards of rowdy Imps fans pile into our carriage. I ask one of them how 'The Lincoln' have played. They have beaten Leyton Orient 2-1. It's a proud moment for the club as the goals have been scored by Freddie Draper and Jovon Makama, both 20 year old former youth team players.

The Lincoln fans are beer-fuelled and not particularly friendly. One is pretty wound up that I've been to Grimsby's game as a neutral, rather than watch the Imps, who I've followed for over 50 years. I explain I'm not into shelling out cash for gold memberships to secure tickets and that I'll wait until their form dips and support drops off. He says Grimsby and Cleethorpes are shitholes. "Where are you from, mate?" "Newark", he replies. "Oh." His mate brags of the pubs he's been banned from in Newark. The sewer-mouthed 'Lincoln fans' alight at Newark, leaving relieved passengers to a peaceful final leg of the journey.

It's Tuesday morning and I'm tidying up the magazines at the paper shop. The front page headline on What's On TV is 'Tragedy for the Dingles' - I tip Ms Moon off on 'The Farm' TV spoiler. I say that the Dingles are all invited to Sam's for Christmas dinner and that the buffoon undercooks the turkey, so they all end up with food poisoning - Ms Moon tells me to shut up and grow up. There's a lovely moment later in the day when I inform a surprised elderly lady customer that she has won £92 on a Lucky Dip lottery ticket.

Faggsy picks me up outside the Nags Head at the bottom of Carlton Hill. It's been hosing it down with rain all day. We're ten minutes away from West Bridgford's Regatta Way ground when a text alert goes off on my phone. The message is from their manager Russ Cousins, "sorry mate, game OFF"

We drive over Clifton Bridge. Our last roll of the dice is Clifton All Whites. If any pitch can survive this deluge, it's theirs. The good sign is that the floodlights are shining brightly. A bald-headed fella, soaked to the skin, is packing away some training balls. The legend that is James 'Tosh' Turner confirms the game is on.

We stand/sit in the only covered part of the ground. Big Glenn takes the piss out of me for the first 45 minutes. On the pitch All Whites look in fine fettle. They are cruising at 2-0 up until they concede a sloppy goal on the stroke of half-time, to managerless Dunkirk, who have gone through two gaffers already this season as 'Fawaz' pulls the trigger. 

Clifton look to have it sealed at 3-1, but they have looked ill at ease with the direct tactics of the opposition. Failure to deal with the long (hoof) ball sees the 'Dunkirk Spirit' grab a deserved 3-3 draw. Callum Orange is particularly impressive with his tireless running down the channels.

Not many folk travel to Grimsby twice in five days. I'm back on the train, and on my way up to North East Lincolnshire. I've some unfinished business in the town, and the neighbouring seaside resort of Cleethorpes. As I wander out of the station, The Yarborough Hotel comes into view. This 'Spoons hotel was purpose built in the mid 19th Century for the railway industry. It's the first day of the 'Spoons Beer Festival Week. Despite not being a massive fan of their owner, I take advantage of a £1.79 mango pale ale whilst charging up my phone, with a full day of google map navigation about to burn my battery. A miserable pensioner, sat behind me with his mate, remarks, "bloody skinflint ,using the pub electricity."

I'm keen to keep out of the pub(s), seeking instead to see what Grimsby has to offer. 69.9% of the district's folk voted to Leave the EU in 2017 - even more astonishing is that in the 2019 General Election a Conservative MP was elected to represent Great Grimsby. Looking at the buildings in disrepair, endless 'To Let' signs and deserted streets, those voters have reaped little reward. It's a town that's been forgotten and let down.

I stride out of the centre towards Grimsby Docks. Tesco Extra comes in handy for a pee stop. The size of the store has certainly had an impact on the demise of the town's high street. I wander over a bridge, which underneath lies the River Freshney, which flows into the Humber Estuary. Adjacent to Sainsbury's supermarket, on Alexandra Dock, is the Grimsby Fishing Heritage Museum, which was funded to the tune of £1.5 million by the European Union in 1991. I walk past the Port of Grimsby Port Offices which is plastered with 'To Let' signs. There's an impressive statue of Prince Albert across the road. 

I chance upon a blue plaque on Grimsby Road, at the birthplace of songwriter Rod Temperton. He penned the songs: Thriller by Michael Jackson, Give Me The Night, by George Benson and James Ingram's US number 1 hit, Baby, Come to Me. I pop into a few boozers in Cleethorpes that are Good Pub Guide entries. A chippy tea is spent at the wonderful Oceans - thanks for the nod, Danny.

I've walked ten miles by now and I'm feeling it in my legs. It's another 4 miles to Grimsby Borough's ground at the Bradley Football Development Centre. I call for a cab. As I stroll into the clubhouse I clock Malc Brown, Dad of fans' favourite Dan Brown, and Stuart, owner of Non League top dog Joey, known affectionately to Carlton Town fans as 'Barton.' More Carlton supporters trickle into the bar including: 'Chief Wiggum', 'Herr Harlow', Danny Bhoy, Jonny Hand and his lad Aidan, 'Clubshop Ken', Pete, Dylan, Adam and Dean.

I broke down in tears at home the previous evening. Ms Moon tried to console me. The Farm was put on pause as we broke into a new box of Kleenex tissues. She didn't understand they were tears of joy, elation and celebration with the social media announcement of the return to Stoke Lane (on loan) of blog legend Ollie Clark ('The Carlton Cattermole') - Ollie can put a tackle in and ain't shy in offering his thoughts on the standard of officiating to the referee or assistants. He's bulked up and playing further up the field too. He's heavily involved in the early exchanges which sees the Millers take the lead through the in-form Lamin Manneh.

I notice Borough make an early substitution. A bald-headed fellow comes on to replace the right back. It's Bradley Wood, once of Lincoln City. In 2018 he was banned from football by the FA for six years, for spot betting offences, having been deliberately booked on at least two occasions so he and his friends could benefit from placing bets with various bookmakers. Lamin taunts him and teases him, inviting the tackle. 

The lads see out the second half superbly. They cope admirably with a string of substitutions as injuries and fatigue take their toll. The boys that come on run themselves into the ground and do no harm to their chances of starting on Saturday. The battle-hardened back four and 'keeper are commanding and resolute. It's a happy car journey home. Thanks for the lift Alan - good choice of radio station too.

I have to face the music on Thursday morning. I've cheated on my Bosnian barber, Mr Eko, by having a previous trim at The Cutfather on Upper Parliament Street. I cough up and ask for forgiveness. I give a generous tip. In return I get a nice head massage and neck rub - and no, he didn't try to strangle me.

It's a quiet Friday evening. I meet Ms Moon for a couple of scoops in 'Spoons up on Carlton Hill. Their ''Beer Festival' is in full flow. I try a real ale from Japan that is quaffable. I follow it up with a can of Blue Monkey craft ale - I should have known better, the can is two months out of date. I rustle up a curried fish pie for supper which goes down well with the judges.

I'm washing the breakfast pots as the Big Man pulls up ten minutes shy of 11 o'clock. It's back oop North again; South Yorkshire to be precise. The Big 'Un is feeling fresh as a daisy after a few days in the Reef last month. He's back over there in November and for Christmas too, the jammy so and so.

The M1 is playing up. It's 12.30 by the time we pull up outside Tunstall Cross Fisheries - which has the Matt Limon seal of approval. I immediately unsettle the owner of 20 years when I enquire whether the chips are cooked in beef dripping. "It would upset the vegetarians pal" says the man behind the fryer.

We pay our respects at the local cemetery to 'Busby Babe'. Mark Jones, who tragically passed at the age of 24 years old in 'The Munich Air Disaster' of 1958, and the cricketer Roy Kilner, who died of a fever having returned from India where he was playing and coaching back in 1928. It is said that 100,000 people lined the streets to pay their respects as his funeral cortege passed by. Kilner scored 1000 runs in a season 10x times and took 100 wickets in a season 5x times. He completed the double on 4x occasions.

We rock up at the ground five minutes before kick off. I take a photo of Terry (Main's manager) who is a legend in these parts. Dodworth look the better side in the first 45 minutes and deserve their half-time lead following a blunder by the 'keeper. It's a well kept ground with some lovely touches. It's raised on one side behind the dugouts with orange and black painted rails. We stand the opposite side, out of the fresh breeze.

Wombwell Main improve in the second half. The equaliser is a beautifully crafted move. They push for a winner with the 14 jacket missing a sitter with injury time approaching.

Men of the Match: Mark Jones and Roy Kilner.

Rest in Peace x

Attendance: 160

Grimsby Town 0-3 Doncaster Rovers

The sun is shining with painted blue skies as I exit a gate opened by a cheery steward, at Trent Bridge Cricket Ground. Division One County Championship status is all but confirmed for Notts. It will be Michael Atherton's old team, Lancashire CCC, that will be relegated. The irony is, of course, that Youth has kept us up. Atherton isn't shy to snipe, sneer or make cheap remarks about Super Notts. This is the guy who could put a glass eye to sleep with his Test cricket batting, and who, as England captain, was also caught red-handed, at Lord's in 1994, ball-tampering, by rubbing soil from out of his pockets onto the ball. 'Athers', the scaredy cat, fled to the Lake District with his girlfriend to escape from the baying Press pack, before being dobbed in by a hotel guest. He returned home to Cheshire to face the music. The fool somehow kept his job, escaping with a £2,000 fine. What if that was an Aussie, eh?

I'm whacked out after walking around Wolverhampton the previous day, so as I head from the ground, towards the city centre, on late Saturday afternoon, I decide to jump on a bus that drops me off on Angel Row, just off Market Square. There's a restaurant up in Hockley called Mesa that Ms Moon and I quite like dining at. Recently the head chef there has upped sticks to work at a new eatery called Raymonds, opposite the Angel Microbrewery.

I'm greeted on the door by a friendly maitre d'. Walk-ins are advertised on the website. We are shoe-horned into an eating area by the bar. The menu is small but varied. We tuck into some fried chicken, bbq lamb and a charcuterie plate. I quench my thirst with a session pale ale from Deya Brewery, based in Cheltenham, that's up there as one of my favourite craft ale taprooms of all time.

We've time to kill as the Just the Tonic comedy evening isn't due to begin until 9 pm, up at the Metronome, that's located at the bottom of Huntingdon Street. The Fox and Grapes, in Sneinton, is just around the corner. I grab another craft ale. Faggsy is in there. He gives me an update on the final hour's play down at 'The Bridge.' He's feeling rather chipper after the Pies grabbed a late equaliser up in Morecambe. He's looking forward to his midweek jaunt up to Carlisle United's Brunton Park ground to watch the Magpies. He'll also complete his final (214th) Wainwright walk, up in the Lake District the following day. That's an achievement to be proud of.

The comedy evening is a good laugh and great entertainment. There's three acts on the bill plus witty compere Jon Pearson. The Chase's Paul Sinha delivers a blistering 30 minute set. Boris Johnson and Philip Schofield are the butt of his jokes. At £18 per ticket it represents fantastic value.

There's chuff all live football worth watching on the East Midlands midweek circuit. Ms Moon is in Sussex working again. The TV set is all mine with a festival of European football to choose from. Accompanied by a glass of cheap Tesco Sauvignon Blanc wine I watch Arsenal v PSG, Villa v Bayern and Porto v Man Utd - all three are enjoyable games.

Tuesday is always a massive day at MSR Newsagents, on Front Street, Arnold, where I work part-time. It's the best job in the world folks. For 79p the publication of the day is the magazine What's On TV. The soap addicts are getting all giddy whilst queuing out of the door to bag one. The big news is that EastEnders wide boy, David Wicks, is back in the game on Albert Square. "Whatever next?" says an overexcited elderly lady, as I hand her over 21 pence change. "Probably be Ethel and Winnie the Pug dog, next", I reply, through gritted teeth, as I bid her farewell for the day.

It's Friday evening and I'm sitting in Carlton Town's Stoke Lane clubhouse on a table that includes club sponsor Jon Gilbert and Millers' assistant manager Andy Clerk. The club is raising much-needed funds after only two home League games since early August. Former Newcastle United and Nottingham Forest full back Frank Clark is tonight's guest speaker.

My favourite anecdote of the  night is superbly delivered by Clark. Following a game in London one Saturday afternoon in the 1970s,his goalkeeping colleague, Northern Ireland international Willie McFaul. invites Frank to Stringfellows nightclub in the West End, where they are due to sit on the same table as flawed Manchester United genius Georgie Best, a mate of Willie's. The recently crowned Swedish Miss World, Mary Stavin, makes a beeline for Clark, or so it seems. "Do you like to dance?", she asks Frank. "Well of course" replies a gooey-eyed Frank. "Well piss off onto the dance floor, as I want to sit with George", said Stavin  .. lol. I thank Jon Gilbert for his hospitality and wish 'Clerky' good luck for the game against Liversedge tomorrow, before jumping into an UBER, as I'm up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

I'm on the 7.37 EMR train to Cleethorpes. Sat with me is fellow Millers fan and Football Manager Head of EFL Research, Dean Gripton. We catch up on the latest gossip since our last trip to St Andrews, a few weeks ago. Dean is the oracle on football, and great company to spend a day out with too. We change trains at Lincoln, but are soon arriving on the east coast at a sun drenched Cleethorpes.

The google reviews on Oliver's Eatery on the sea front are mighty impressive. The food is first-class and the service is five star - there 4.5 average rating is more than merited. I've only ever visited Cleethorpes on three occasions, each time I've been blessed with gorgeous weather. The first involved a pitch invasion by Norwich City fans at Blundell Park in 1986, resulting in Canaries manager, Ken Brown, being ordered by Grimsby plod to go on the microphone to plead with fans to clear the pitch so the game could be restarted. The second time was a 'Desmond' 2-2 versus Torquay United back in 2015, which was a National League game.

As we wander along the front, we stare out to sea in amazement. A car is abandoned and stranded on the beach, sinking in the sand as the tide goes out. I thought for one moment that there had been a reunion of the Derby County car share club starring: Tom Lawrence, Mason Bennett and Richard Keogh. An uber fact for you: Michael Jackson's song Thriller was written by Rod Temperton, who was born in Cleethorpes. He used to work shifts at the Ross Foods frozen fish factory, in Grimsby docks.

The game is close to being a sell out. The visitors, Doncaster Rovers, finished like a train last season due to some shrewd recruitment during the January transfer window. Grimsby have taken nine points in their last three games after impressive wins against Bromley, Carlisle and Gillingham.

Rovers blow the Mariners away in the early stages of the game. They are rampant down the left hand side. Gibson gives them a lead after two minutes. Veteran striker Billy Sharp should have doubled that after a glaring miss at the back stick after another raid down the left flank. The game is over as a contest by half-time. Donny are three to the good, whilst 'Town' are down to ten men after a needless Red card.

I bet the prawn sandwiches are top notch here in corporate hospitality. I clock Grimsby super fan, the comedian, Lloyd Griffith, in the bar at the break. He's not cracking too many jokes today, nor is Mariners manager Dave Artell who makes three changes to his team at the break.

The visitors run the clock down and play keep-ball in the second half. It gives me the chance to admire this wonderful iconic ground with its old school floodlights which can be viewed from miles around. After the final whistle is blown, Dean and I peg it a couple of miles to a bar called Docks Beers, who have produced artisan craft ales since 2018. It's packed upstairs as there is an 'Docktober' Beer Festival on. We sample a few of the superb range of ales on, as the football scores come in.

We finish off the day at The Barge in Grimsby town centre before catching the 6.30 train back to Nottingham via Lincoln. More on that eventful journey in next week's latest installment. Might even make the Whats on TV magazine Tuesday issue ..lol.

Attendance: 7,693

Man of the Match: Jordan Gibson 

Nottinghamshire CCC v Warwickshire CCC

We're driving out of the prosperous, coastal village of Saltdean, near to the city of Brighton. I stare out of the car window admiring the chalk cliffs and shingle beach. The stunning Saltdean Lido comes into view with its open-air swimming pool and public library.

Ms Moon drops her brother, Andrew and Sticky off at the Hairy Dog, a farm-based microbrewery near Haywards Heath. The good lady speeds off to Sainsbury's to buy some ingredients for a spag Bol she's preparing for supper this evening.

There's a comedy moment after I've ordered the beers up. As I quaff on my mango real ale, Andrew is about to spark up a Lambert and Butler Silver king-size cigarette. A majority of the customers are as fit as a fiddle and serious dog walkers. Not one person at the brewery either smokes or has a lighter. I laugh out loud as Andrew nervously fiddles with an unlit cigarette, until his sister returns from the shop.

Bad weather blows in overnight. Rumbles of thunder and fork lightning keep me awake. The skies look threatening as we enjoy a five star breakfast at the Orange Square on the high street near the railway station. Despite travel disruptions we speed up the train lines to London Victoria and by tube to King's Cross. A LNER high speed train drops us off at Grantham. Even the usually unreliable jokers, East Midland Trains, get us back into Nottingham on the final leg of the journey.

Football is thin on the ground this week. Not only is there little midweek action, but nothing really catches my eye for the weekend either. I hatch a plan for Saturday that will see my first blog without football since COVID in 2020 when we were all crawling up the walls. Had my biggest hits then too ...lol

Brownie points always go down well at our crib when I rustle up a dish for tea. I flick through the cooking books I amassed off the Net (probably during COVID). Thirty minute speedy midweek dinners is a crowd favourite, and doesn't half come in handy after a day at the shop selling Daily Mails whilst talking to excited Nottingham Forest supporters who are getting all giddy and dizzy about their unbeaten start to the season. 

An award-winning creamy chicken in peppercorn sauce is enjoyed during the latest episode of 'The Farm'  on Tuesday evening. I ask Ms Moon how Matt and Dolly Skilbeck are these days? She tells me to shush as Yorkshire's latest psychopath starts wielding an axe which ends being put through a door frame.

It's Wednesday and the beginning of four days off. I don't like to stand still or waste time. After hoovering, cleaning up and a general tidy around the house, I head into town. I call by MSR Newsagents on Angel Row where I grab a drink and a bag of jelly beans. The shop is open until 11pm now that the 40,000 students are back at University of Nottingham and NTU. 

The Market Square is alive and kicking. There are no expensive fairground rides or tacky market stalls. People just sit and chat with friends as the Council House clock strikes two bells. It's been a while since I used my membership card at Broadway Cinema. A subtitled French film called The Goldman Case caught my eye when going through the listings for Wednesday afternoon.

There's a controversial start to proceedings on Row E at Screen 4. A couple of students, who I might add have already cheesed me off by arriving ten minutes into the film, have plonked themselves two seats up from me. The buffoon of a bloke starts rummaging through a rucksack before unearthing a family-sized bag of cheese and onion Ringos. Not only do they stink the place out, but the noise of the crunching and rattling of the packet makes my blood boil. I feel like grabbing the bag off him, stamping on it and pouring the crumbs all over his head. I've been dead grumpy since I turned 60 ... lol

The film is a gripping real-life two hour courtroom drama - 'Chief Wiggum' at Carlton Town would have loved it. It chronicles the second trial of a left-wing activist who is charged with the murder of two chemists. The subtitles help me concentrate and not miss out on any of the plot. I won't spoil the ending, but would definitely recommend watching the film. It's highly rated on Rotton Tomatoes.

Thursday is Day One of the final Liverpool Victoria Cricket County Championship fixture between Notts and Warwickshire at Trent Bridge. Heavy overnight rain and a prolonged afternoon shower mean that there's only time for 15 overs of play. It doesn't dampen our enthusiasm as a gaggle of supporters sat in the Lower Radcliffe Road Stand including Faggsy, Drurs and 'Seadog Paul' cover off a range of topics before retiring to the Fox and Grapes for a couple of pints of Castle Rock's Harvest Pale ale.

I head towards Birmingham on a Cross Country train on Friday. I've only five minutes to catch my connection to the city of Wolverhampton that lies in the heart of the Black Country. New Street Station hasn't seen such a turn of pace between platform 10 and platform 7 since 'Tricky Trevor Francis' used to motor down the wing for the Bluenoses in the 1970s at St Andrews. An out of breath Sticky Palms jumps on an Avanti West Coast train to Blackpool North with seconds remaining.

Wolverhampton has a population of 260,000. During the Industrial Revolution it became well known for coal-mining, steel production, automotive industry and lock making. I walk out of the station to be greeted by clear blue skies and a cool breeze.

Tony Perkins, the landlord at the Partizan Tavern, in Sneinton, tipped me off that Great Western Pub is a must visit. I enjoy a pint of Holdens Golden ale at this red-bricked watering hole that's adorned with endless railway memorabilia.

I take a stroll up to Molineux, home to Wolverhampton Wanderers. As TV crews unpack their camera gear I wander around the perimeter of the ground, taking photos of statues of Wolves legends Stan Cullis, Billy Wright and Sir Jack Hayward.

The city of Wolverhampton gets a poor press in my opinion. The cathedral is a beautiful building and some of the architecture is phenomenal. As the saying goes 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder - it's created by the observer.

I wile away time in a number of the city's historical pubs. None is more famous than The Posada on Lichfield Street. It has art noveau architecture that dates back to the 19th Century. It also has a lot of drunken loud-mouthed oafs in here too, and it's only 4 pm. A customer rises above it all by playing Prefab Sprout's classic track 'Life of Surprises.'

I'm watching The The for the second time in three weeks. The venue, University of Wolverhampton, The Halls, is excellent, with a sound system superior to Rock City. Lead singer, Matt Johnson, is on fire. I love his anti-right lyrics and socialist values. I cadge a lift home. Thanks mate.

I rise early on Saturday morning. The M6. near Wolverhampton last night, was alive with blue lights hurtling towards Wolverhampton city centre - it turns out that three women were hurt in a drive-by shooting just as we left the gig at 11 pm, at an event a 15 minute walk away.There's just enough time for a greasy spoon full English fry up at The Avenues on Sneinton Market before I peg it down to Trent Bridge for a 10.15 am presentation. One of the most popular cricketers on the County circuit, and a legend at our Club and in our City, is leaving today, after a 17 year career at Notts.

Luke Fletcher says a few words to a large crowd of supporters. He says he's surprised that it's taken 17 years to finally sack him ... lol. There's hardly a dry eye in the house as Fletch leaves the field of play for the final time as the curtain is drawn on a fantastic career. The Big Man is visibly moved. Even Drurs' missus, Jude, has pitched up to show her support and wave the Big 'Un goodbye.

I chance upon my good friend Edward, who is also a supporter of the Mighty Millers, Carlton Town FC. I ask him what he has tucked under his arm. He turns as white as the newspaper sheet he reveals and starts to stutter. It's the BLOODY DAILY MAIL. I don't speak to him for ten minutes as he hangs his head in shame. I grass him up to his Dad, Jon, who arrives for the afternoon session. Jon is a big fan of the iNews paper. I suggest to Ed that he takes a leaf out of Dad's book. I accept his apology, on the condition that this unsavoury incident isn't repeated again!

Notts's season has been saved and salvaged by an 18 year old and 16 year old, as the introduction of youth begins to reap rewards. I slope off at 4 pm, crossing over the bridge as NFFC and Fulham pit their wits against one another at The City Ground. There's plenty of oohs and aahs, but it's the visitors who run out as winners. It ends the Tricky Trees unbeaten start. The customers in the shop won't be as jolly this week.

Man of the Match: Big Luke Fletcher

Saltdean United 3-1 Shoreham FC

I promised myself since 'semi-retirement' that I'd visit at least two new cricket grounds each season, tying it in with a football match and some decent beer in the surrounding towns and cities. A terrible run of form for Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club has seen them plummet down the County Championship table. I like to watch a team when their backs are against the wall, to see if they have a spine or play with any courage or heart.

A two day pass out was signed off by Ms Moon a few weeks ago. I caught a Cross Country train to Newcastle. The first night I was booked into a 'Purple Palace' close to the famous Quayside area of the city centre. Once checked in I walked up the Tyne towards Byker. Thankfully, Ant n' Dec weren't knocking about - I felt a lot safer as a pedestrian that the former wasn't driving in the vicinity too. 

I chalked off a few pubs I'd got my beady eye on. The first was a late 19th Century watering hole called the Cumberland Arms. The second was called The Central, across the water in Gateshead, where I sat in the old Buffet Bar, gasping in awe at the ridiculously long list of cask ales that were available on a Wednesday teatime.

I made the ludicrous decision to take the 60 minute walk to Dunston UTS FC's stadium. It's an area of Gateshead where former Newcastle United, Spurs and Lazio footballer Paul Gascoigne grew up. AC/DC lead singer Brian Johnson is also from the town.

I took in an FA Cup replay between Dunston and Whickham Town, who are a village team just a couple of miles down the road. Nearly 700 fans turned up on a breezy evening. The game ended up being something of a damp squib. The visitors deserved praise for staying in the game for so long against much higher league opponents.

I got the train to Chester-le-Street the following day, where I plonked my backside in the stand at Durham CCC for the first two days of play. I sat with a NFFC fan and European groundhopper called 'Red Dog Roly', who is currently ticking off football grounds in Belgium and Holland. My brother arrived after lunch as the Notts threadbare bowling attack was dispatched to all parts of the ground. 

A pleasant Thursday evening was spent in Durham city centre. Any beer drinkers on here ought to make the effort to visit Victoria Inn who the CAMRA Heritage website describes as having the 'best historic multi-room pub interior in the North East.'

Fast forward the clock a few weeks and Notts CCC are further in the mire after a disastrous, fruitless, almost pointless few days in Chelmsford. I clocked a while back, on a long range weather forecast, that settled conditions were expected in south eastern England. Kent is not a part of the country I'm particularly au fait with. I saw Notts County get tonked at Gillingham in the mid 80s - two of the lads in our car got arrested for scrapping in the home end, when the Pies went 2-0 down ten minutes into the game. I've been on a booze cruise from Dover and visited the site of Maidstone United's old ground on a charity tour of 106 grounds in 2004. That's Kent and I in a nutshell. It's time to explore.

I book a single ticket to Canterbury for a bargain £50 - God I love my senior railcard and the Trainline split ticketing system. It's a 25 minute stroll through the charming, money-paved streets of the town centre up the Old Dover Road towards 'The Spitfire Ground, St Lawrence.' I purchased a ticket online with an early discount priced £16 for Day 2 of the game between Kent and Notts.

As I amble through the gates of one of English cricket's oldest grounds a red ball is sailing up towards the fluffy cloud-leaden skies. Sadly for First-Class debutant Dane Schadendorf it's a comfortably taken catch for Daniel Bell-Drummond. Notts are all out for 433.

It's Luke Fletcher's birthday today. He is amongst one of my favourite all-time Notts players. It was announced a few days ago that the 'Bulwell Bomber' is to leave Trent Bridge at the end of the season. He's fully fired up and roaring in, on what turns out to sadly to be his final ever game for the club. He bags two wickets before lunch is taken.  Kent are rolled out for 225. Resistance comes from former Notts player Joey Evison who scores a stylish and swashbuckling 76 runs. Fletcher has left the field with a side strain.

I'm spending two nights in the Premier Inn, at nearby Faversham, a couple of stops down the line, as hotel prices were extortionate in Canterbury. I tick off three Heritage Pubs in 'Fav' before lights out. The following day I meet a lovely old couple whilst sitting in the 'Colin Cowdrey Stand.' As Kent's middle order collapses they tip me off on the best eateries and hostelries in the area. Notts canter to a ten wicket win. I celebrate in the sun-soaked streets of Canterbury and dine like a king at Ossies chippy back in Faversham.

A bleary-eyed Sticky emerges from his hotel bed at 8 am on Friday. Some buffoon set off the smoke alarm in the middle of the night. All the guests congregated in Reception whilst the farce and false alarm story unravelled. I'm off to Brighton today. Unfortunately it's back into London again and back out of St Pancras on a Thameslink choo choo.

There are clear blue skies on arrival as the sun beams above Brighton. I have a quick half of Harveys bitter in the Prince Albert as I wait for Ms Moon's train to arrive from Haywards Heath, where she has been staying with her brother Andrew and his Great Dane dog, Ted. 

We wander up the seafront, paying a £1 entry fee to gain access to the Palace Pier. I buy some freshly made, piping hot doughnuts, coated in sugar. We dive in and out of some of Brighton's most historic public houses. The Cricketers is the pick of the bunch. We soak up the sunshine as we sit outside and quench our thirst. The evening is spent in Andrew's garden where the drinks flow and the sun sets. A Chinese banquet is hoovered up for supper.

We lounge around in the morning whilst yours truly interrogates the Futbology app in search of a game that's not located too far away, as clogged up traffic around the seaside towns can be a factor that eats into your time. I give a little yelp .. "I've found one."

Andrew lets it slip that Armed Forces sweetheart Dame Vera Lynn is buried somewhere in Sussex. A quick search on Find a Grave website reveals that she is laid to rest with her husband in the churchyard at nearby Ditchling. The grave is at the front of the church. Ms Moon gains bragging rights in finding it first.

Lunch is spent at The Plough in Rottingdean. Thin Lizzy guitarist Gary Moore is buried at the church opposite to where Andrew parks his car. We visited his final resting place on our last visit. After polishing off a ham, cheese and Piccalilli Ciabatta, we're treated to a jaw-dropping scenic drive along the coastline towards the village of Saltdean.

It's £23 on the gate for the three of us including a programme, which I manage to lose as I clamber up the steep grass bank that not only affords you an elevated view of the game, but also a panoramic vista of the Sussex Downs.

Shoreham, from just down the road, are today's visitors for this FA Vase cup tie. It's a lovely ground that's currently under redevelopment. It's blood and thunder football. Andrew is quite happy as he tucks into a few Moretti's. The home side fortuitously take the lead but are deservedly pegged back on the stroke of half time. The visitors batter the home goal but can't find their way past 'golden gloves' in the nets. Two late goals for Saltdean sees them go into the hat for Monday's draw.

People of the Match: The elderly couple at Kent CCC

Attendance: 94 - headcount by Andrew - probs seeing double after all the ale

Stapleford Town 2-2 Clifton All Whites

I love this time of year when the end of the cricket season overlaps with the beginning of the nine month grind of football fixtures. Crazy Steve, Little Al and I, had our annual pilgrimage up to Scotland, at the back end of July. The plan was to watch cash-strapped Inverness Caledonian Thistle versus Arbroath, and then, the following day, head east to Broughton Ferry, near Dundee, to take in a Cricket World Cup qualifier between Namibia and Oman.

To break up the journey we spent the first night in the historic cathedral city of Carlisle. A CAMRA Heritage pub was chalked off on the outskirts of the city centre before partaking in the traditional holiday Nando's. Sadly, there was no pre-season friendly at Brunton Park. 

The following day was a long trek up into the Scottish Highlands. We pitched up at our digs in Inverness at teatime. We went through the card on the town's Good Beer Guide entries before jumping in a cab to the Caledonian Stadium, which lies on the banks of the Moray Firth.

Crazy Steve made sure we sat behind the home dugout; the reason being that 'Caley' are managed by former Everton, Rangers and Dundee United striker Duncan Ferguson. It was fascinating to watch, at first hand, the coaching style of 'Big Dunc.' He encouraged and cajoled his young charges. I thought, at first, he'd lost that fire in his belly and had gone a wee bit soft. A contentious offside decision, that went against Caley, saw the Big 'Un racing up the touchline to have it out with a terrified assistant referee, whose legs turned to jelly.

We sacked off the cricket the following day. Instead we visited five Highland League grounds including: Inverurie Loco Works, Huntly FC, Forres Mechanics, Nairn County and Rothes. There was a friendly, warm welcome by a club official at each ground, making time for us whether they were cutting the grass, painting the clubhouse or carrying out maintenance. The mini break ended with fish and chips in the harbour of Anstruther, a coastal town south east of St Andrews.

On the 16th September, 1993, 21 year-old Duncan Ferguson assaulted a 29 year old local fisherman at Anstruther Royal Hotel. He was found guilty and narrowly escaped a jail sentence. In 2001 two burglars made a serious error of judgement when breaking into Big Dunc's house on Merseyside, as he loafed on the sofa, whilst binge-watching episodes of Balamory. One suffered injuries that led to him being hospitalised for three days. Ferguson later said he'd thought he had killed him.

It's Tuesday evening and I'm locking up the newsagents in Arnold after a full 'day in the office.' I've four days off after working ten in a row 'at the coal face,' The 25 bus drops me off on Mapperley Top. There's no point in going home as Ms Moon is working away in East Sussex. I've time to kill before a Notts Senior Cup first round tie between Gedling Miners Welfare and West Bridgford.

An engaging barman pours me a pint of 'Badly Drawn Gun' from Pentrich Brewery, at Castle Rock's Bread and Bitter pub. I take a seat in the restaurant and choose fish, chips and mushy peas from a varied menu. I'm just about to exit the pub when 'Chief Wiggum' comes breezing through the door. He kindly shouts me up a pint of Porter.

We join Faggsy at the game. It's as Jason Williamson says, from Sleaford Mods, 'a shaky start to Tuesday' as the visitors are 2-0 up at the break. GMW manager, Reuben Wiggins-Thomas, has a clash of heads with a team-mate - both are withdrawn from proceedings.

I chat with 'Skid' before going for a warm in the tearoom. Martin, a customer at the shop, says the game is all over. GMW are a second half team though. They claw two goals back, only to then end up losing 6-5 in a penalty shootout.  

It's Wednesday morning and I'm on bus wanker manoeuvres. I'll be catching three buses up to King's Mill Hospital, near Mansfield, as my best mate Tony Mac has been taken ill. He's moving rooms as I arrive. As it's closer to the exit door, he's hopeful of being discharged soon. We talk about more towns we can visit and gigs we can go to, when another mate of his rocks up. I leave them to chat and return to bus hopping duties.

It's Thursday morning and I'm sitting on a bench on Platform 3B at Nottingham railway station. I'm off to East Anglia on my 'Jack Jones.' The journey time is just shy of two and a half hours. After a wander around and a few jars I check into an apartment on King Street, close to the Cathedral Quarter. I tick a few more pubs off as I wander the cobbled streets in the city centre. I jump on a swanky Greater Anglia Train that puts the ramshackled EMR fleet to shame. A lady on the train borrows my phone charger to avoid a fine as she can't show her ticket to an eagle-eyed train manager. The village of Wymondham is only a ten minute journey away. The Green Dragon pub is timber-framed with a fireplace, snug and carved mantelpieces. It's a beauty, folks. 

The lads are arriving from Nottingham tomorrow, so I opt for an early (ish) night. Matt 'Tory Boy' Limon and I have an unlimited breakfast at the Premier Inn close to the train station. We walk it off for half an hour or so to one of Norwich's greatest brewery pubs named Fat Cat.

The rest of the lads (Chopper, Ackers and Coops) join us just after midday. A fantastic day is spent wandering the quaint streets of Norwich, drinking the fantastic ales they have on offer. Ribs of Beef and Chalk Hill's brewery tap, Coach and Horses, are two of the many standout pubs on the trip. I even paid up 'Tory Boy' a £5 bet we had that the Conservatives wouldn't hold their Rushcliffe seat for the first time in over 50 years.

Ms Moon and I catch up on Saturday morning. I like to treat the good lady to the finer things in life. I chance my arm and ask if she'd like an afternoon out in the Hyson Green/Radford area of inner city Nottingham. To my astonishment she says yes.

Clifton All Whites legend 'Tosh' called me earlier from 'Chappati Junction' with some leaked team news. I was having a shave at the time whilst listening to 'Everything She Wants' by Wham - it's the only track of theirs I like.

Ms Moon and I walk from town. We could have caught the tram, but it's a beautiful day, so why would you? I'm feeling it, slightly, after clocking up 20 miles in the last few days. A guy with dreadlocks is singing a Bob Marley song outside 'The Cricket Players' - it's been closed since 2008. On arrival there is bad news coming from the Clifton camp, one of their exciting youngsters has pulled up lame in the warm-up.

Clifton look to be going nowhere in the first 25 minutes. They lack energy, creativity and forward passing. Stapleford take the lead after some sloppy marking. The introduction of 'Deaks' sees an upping of the gears. Palmer (not me) equalises after being slipped in. He also misses a sitter shortly after. There's an incident before the break when Ms Moon can't find the Malteser Reindeer chocolate bar she bought me earlier at Premier on Radford Road. PC Palms performs a stop and search of the good lady's handbag. A decent rummage uncovers the lost property.

I catch up with Dunkirk legend 'Upo' in the clubhouse at the break. He offers to buy me a drink, but I'm on my best behaviour. His big buddy, Dave Harbottle, is down 'the Smoke' watching his lad playing for AFC Wimbledon versus a club who stole their identity - "where were you when you were us?" will be ringing around the terraces after a 3-0 win.

The second half is a classic. The impressive Palmer scores a second for All-Whites who are in the ascendancy after a half-time rocket from Tosh and joint manager Greg Tempest, a former pro at Notts County. They fluff their lines in front of goal. Stapleford equalise from a spot kick. Clifton are awarded a penalty themselves. The keeper's trailing leg means the opportunity isn't taken. The spoils are shared. It's been a lovely watch with mutual respect from both benches.

Attendance: 79

Man of the Match: Duncan Ferguson for sparking that wrong 'un out.