Portsmouth 2-0 Cardiff City

Burton manager Gary Bowyer races onto the Meadow Lane pitch to usher away his angry coaching staff, who are about to confront referee Kirsty Dowle. The players haven't made it an easy afternoon for the official, particularly the Dirty Brewers, who have mastered the dark arts of the tactical foul. It looks like it's all being stage-managed by Bowyer, as he himself chases Dowle down the tunnel.

I hang around the Trent Bridge area for a few hours after the match, as I'm attending the 60th birthday celebration of Notts, Non-League, charity football legend Roberto Pietraforte. The party is being held in an upstairs room of The Embankment - formerly Boots Social Club.

I stroll over the bridge and partake in a couple of craft ales at Stratford Haven. Last week's readers will know that I've misplaced my debit card and cancelled it with Nat West Bank. Annoyingly, I found it later on, laid on the bedroom duvet, where I was last seen placing a football bet. Cash is king until Ms Moon tips up in an UBER.

On Sunday lunchtime I have a couple of pints in the King Billy, a wonderful Victorian pub, which is located across the road from Sneinton Market. I graze on a couple of pints of Snake Eyes and a New Zealand pale ale, Ngaru Nui; both are from local brewery Black Iris. I chat to a couple of Brighton fans who are head-in-hands after conceding two early goals at Stamford Bridge, in the 2pm kick off.

On Thursday I clock off work at midday from MSR News, Arnold's number one paper shop. I alight a Trent Barton bus outside Victoria Centre, where some buffoon thought it fit to close the train station back in 1966 due to a decline in passengers and the Thomas Beeching cuts. A huge faux pas. 

I wander through Market Square, where 'Nottingham Beach' is being dismantled. Let's be honest, I'd rather take my granddaughter, Romy Palmer, there, instead of catching the EMR train from hell to Skegness. I have to collect my Portsmouth train tickets from the station in readiness for Friday's trip. I usually have a QR code on my phone, but because I'm using the Tube, it's saying 'tickets collected ONLY' Sting, Greta Thunberg and the Amazon rainforest won't be happy.

A delightful afternoon is whiled away at Trent Bridge Cricket Ground. Notts are in a pickle when I waltz through the gates just after lunch. We're 5 wickets down with not many on the board. England prospects Jack Haynes and Liam Patterson-White won't have done their chances any harm with a remarkable 257 run partnership. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

After close of play I down a pint of a murky New England pale from Pentrich Brewery. I'm sat outside the Fox and Grapes with Faggsy, but not for long as I've an early start in the morning. Ms Moon is in tears on my arrival home. Jimmy from Emmerdale has died in a road accident. I mention he wasn't much cop at acting and was never going to scoop up a TV Times gong. I'm told not to speak ill of the dead. I daren't tell her it's not real.

I wolf down a breakfast early doors on Friday morning at Hungry Pumpkin, a stylish deli cafe that has been run by an Italian family for over 13 years. My train trip takes me to St Pancras, Waterloo and finally Portsmouth and Southsea station. The latter has been open since 1866, and thankfully Dr. Richard Beeching didn't get his grubby mitts on reshaping the future of that particular station.

I wander past Guildhall, The Cenotaph and a statue of Queen Victoria. I'm staying at an IBIS in the city centre. Because it's still the sailing season, hotels at Portsmouth Harbour are still sky high. Check-in is seamless. I'm soon out, about and on my way to Hilsea. I'm still trawling my way through visits to CAMRA Heritage three star and two star pubs. I'm currently approaching the 350 mark, and a couple in the vicinity are on my radar. 

The white fluffy clouds are clearing as I peg it 3 miles to The Phoenix. My replacement debit card hasn't arrived so cash is definitely king again for the weekend. Oh FFS what's happened here?  The arm on my spectacles has sheared off. Even worse than that is that my phone won't charge. I fret over a pint of Guinness as cheery tradesmen poke fun at one another (bants) after a hard week of graft.

I chance upon a tiny mobile phone shop on a street corner up the road. Dave, the owner, is a saviour; what a guy. Looks like my plug has blown up. All is good in the world again. I follow my CAMRA good beer guide for the rest of the evening.

Faggsy tipped me off that the best pubs are situated in Southsea, a seaside resort and residential part of the city. It's cool, hip and 'bougie' as the kids say. The beer entry pubs are classy, with a massive nod to its naval history. My favourite pub is the Auckland Arms, with its jaw-dropping tiled frontage.

I sleep like a log with 10 miles in my legs and 200 miles by train travel. I'm back down Southsea in a 'bougie' cafe. I wait outside for it to open. Within 15 minutes customers are being turned away. The full English, with locally sourced sausage, is mouth-watering. I stretch my legs on the seafront and take a stroll along the 147 year old Pier. The waters are calm and the skies are as clear as a bell. 

It's a hike and a half to Heritage pub number two, but well worth the hard yards. The Jolly Taxman dates back to 1914. The landlady is extremely friendly. I've already walked past  Fratton Park on my way to the pub. Traffic is building up as I head towards the North Stand. I'm already blown away with the exterior of this historical ground.

My seat gives me a bird's eye view of proceedings. Song of the day is 'Sound of the Crowd' by Human League. It's my second look at Cardiff City. I was impressed with their pattern and speed of play at Pride Park a few weeks ago. There's a nervousness amongst the Pompey faithful following a lacklustre display against Derby, in midweek, that ended in a 2-0 reverse.

Pompey legendary goalkeeper, Alan Knight, passed away a few days ago at the age of 65. He made over 800 appearances for the club. Imagine that happening in today's game. The minute's silence is impeccably held and moving (I have goosebumps as I write this).

From minute one the game is played at a fast and furious pace. The Bluebirds fly out of the traps with 'Super Jack Moylan' on top of his game. A back stick header sails over the bar. Pompey have a couple of speedboats bombing up and down their left flank. Brentford youngster, Jayden Meghoma, on debut, catches the eye. He's like a gazelle and eats up the ground. Tyrese Shade is also making his first appearance after Pompey splashed the cash on transfer deadline day. His huge long throw is headed home for the opening goal by Shaughnessy.

The home fans are incredible (as are Cardiff). They both sing their hearts out. Pompey are brave in the challenge and quick on the ball too. Serbian striker Milovanovic looks to have seen them home and hosed. "We've got a big f***ing" Serbian" booms out of the North Stand.

Colby Bishop comes on to play a cameo role. He was released by Notts County at the age of 19, during the rudderless Ray Trew era. He has scored approaching 90 goals for Accrington and Portsmouth since that farcical decision. 

Back come Cardiff, but they are having one of those days. Shots are blocked or skew wiff, just like they were in Derby a few weeks ago.

Attendance: 20,459

Player of the Match: Jayden Meghoma

Beer of the Week: Thundercloud Gardens, Pentrich, at Stratford HavenRecord of the Week: 

Rose Villas, Life Dealer

Notts County 2-1 Burton Albion

I peg it to Derby train station from Pride Park after a 2-2 thriller. Cardiff City were going to win the game, but 'Magic Man Moylan' and skipper Rubin Colwill limped off injured. I'm fortuitous to catch the 5.18 from 'The Sheep Dip', over 'The Cattlegrid' and back to 'The Queen of the East Midlands.'  In Brew Cavern I quaff a mango, banana, coconut crumble cake (it's a craft ale) from the Scottish brewery, Vault City.

It's Sunday morning and I enjoy a lie in, as I don't work weekends any more, unless the Mick McMurdoch media empire is short-staffed. Ms Moon and I dine at an independent restaurant in the minster and market town of Southwell. This is a place that was rumoured to be where former Spurs, Arsenal, and England international, Sol Campbell, was house-hunting during his ill-fated spell at Notts County during the Munto Finance scam in 2009.

Sage serve up a mouth-watering Sunday roast. The beef is pink and the roast spuds are dripping in fat. I give them a five star review on google. Some posh, entitled customer gives them a scathing review after a vegetarian meal goes belly up (obvs not pork). We were at the same sitting and I don't recall any commotion. Some folk, eh?

It's Tuesday evening and I'm locking up the shop on Front Street, in Arnold. I've time on my hands as the Gedling Miners Welfare v Clifton All Whites Cup game doesn't kick off until 7.45 pm. I decide to have a stroll up to Mapperley Top, a vibrant, elevated high street awash with multi-cultural restaurants. 

I've had easier walks in the Lake District or on Steep Hill in Lincoln. I'm proud not to be short of breath, but admit that my calves are aching as I gingerly open the front door of the Bread and Bitter Castle Rock pub, a former bakery that's nestled away on Woodthorpe Drive. 

I enjoy half a pint of Laze, from Beak Brewery as I peruse the bar food menu. It's a bit too hot for sausage and mash, so I opt for another English classic: ham, egg and chips. It's a short walk away to Gedling's ground. I say hello to a few committee members. The team has a young feel to it, with a finger-in-the-air guess that 21 is the average age of the starting line up.

I'm very fond of the opposition (Clifton) as my son played Sunday and under 19 football there. I helped coach at All Whites. There were some great people at the club who gave up their time and volunteered like: Sean Cochrane-Smith, John McNicholas and James 'Tosh' Turner - they all helped develop my boy, Joe, from a child, to a boy and then a young man - I thank them all for that.

Clifton have an experienced spine that sees them home and dry, well before the final whistle is blown. There's plenty to be excited about with Gedling's display. They have some gifted youngsters who will benefit from game time this evening. 

I'm not a big TV fan. To be honest I don't get much of a look-in with Ms Moon's soap operas: Below Deck, Four in a Bed and Place in the Sun. An advert on Facebook has caught my eye (the good one). The Murder Detectives documentary has been 7 years in the making. It's a complex, high-risk investigation into the murder of journalist Lyra McKee.

The opening part of episode one begins in the Creggan area of Londonderry, in Northern Ireland. Reggie Yates, an egotistical, supposed documentary maker, better remembered as a lightweight Radio 1 DJ, is on the streets of Derry during a riot. The aftermath of this is that shots are fired and a young journalist is gunned down. The family of the deceased are angry and point the finger at Yates and his entourage for inciting the riot. The following two episodes should be an interesting watch.

 

On Friday morning I'm in YOLK, a coffee shop and that allows you to build up your own egg breakfast. It's located on Goosegate, in Hockley, a fashionable part of Nottingham city centre. It's a short walk to Nottingham railway station where Mac and I board an EMR train to Derby. I've bought a bargain £26 open return ticket to Royal Leamington Spa. It's where the World champion boxer Randolph Turpin was born. There's a statue of him in Warwick.

Tony Mac and I meet up with 'Chopper Harris' at a 'Spoons called Benjamin Satchwell (why not Randolph Turpin?) We move onto the Boiler Room, adjacent to the old Baths. We jump on a train to Warwick where we wander down a footpath to the 'pub of the day' - Cape of Good Hope, a canal side watering hole. We enjoy a pint in the warm sunshine as boats pull in for refreshment.

There's no time for a visit to nearby Kenilworth as there is too much on offer in Warwick. The craft ale selection at Thirsty Bear and Craftsman is off the charts. There's a comedy moment on the train back. Mac wakes me from my slumber and gets me off onto the platform. The station is New Street and not Derby, where we are due to change. You stupid boy, Mac.

I have my usual £5 bet on three away wins on Saturday morning. I fancy 'The Lincoln' at Bolton as the Trotters were awful when I watched them last season. I've a doctor's appointment early doors - don't worry I'm not going anywhere yet. Blur are on the NHS dukey as my name is called out. 

I finish up at Tesco for a few bits 'n bobs. I have to fetch my own basket from self service, which always gets my back up. For God's sake I've misplaced my debit card. I settle up the shopping bill on Apple Pay and turn the house upside down on my return. I can't find the chuffing thing. I report it as a lost card. Fancy losing your card on a Bank Holiday weekend.

Ms Moon drops me off at the bottom of Carlton Road. I walk up London Road in showery conditions. The Magpies fans, hanging outside Hooters chicken restaurant, are celebrating an Alexander Isak equaliser for Liverpool against Nottingham Forest at Anfield.

I'm sitting a few rows above the Burton Albion dugout. The Brewers have had an excellent start to the season as have The Pies. Notts are in the hunt for a striker to help support Moneyball Aussie signing, Luka Smyth, who has arrived from the Finnish League. Number one target was Michael Mellon, but he has signed for Stevenage. They have also been linked with young Charlton striker Daniel Kanu who bagged 17 goals for Walsall last season.

Notts are sluggish in the opening 45 minutes and play without an orthodox striker. In comparison Burton look slick, particularly down their left hand side. They score a beautifully crafted goal. The only bright spark for Notts is the debut of 18 year old Rory Finneran on loan from Newcastle. He's comfortable on the ball with a good range of passing. 

There's a touching moment on ten minutes when both sets of supporters stand to applaud Quevin Castro who died two weeks ago whilst playing football in Portugal. He represented both clubs and was only 25 years old.

I love the County manager Martin Paterson. His after-match interviews are a joy to behold. He has taken some stick from the noisy, travelling support, as he had a short spell in charge at Burton. Smyth is introduced to the game at the break. County are all over Burton like a rash. The boy from Palace, Mustapha is having a field day now the shackles are off. Tsaroulla floats a peach of a cross in, Smyth leaps like a salmon and guides a header home.

Burton are on the ropes. They have tactically fouled for most of the game and have been given the benefit of the doubt too many times by referee, Kirsty Dowle.  Curtis Tilt has been on borrowed time and has had more lives than a cat. He shoves Smyth to the ground and is shown a straight Red. Smyth buries his spot kick. The Kop End have a new idol.

It's too much for Burton manager Gary Bowyer; apparently a good man off the pitch. He enjoyed some good-natured banter with the crowd earlier in the game. But he's proper frothing at the mouth now and being a right mardy bum. He petulantly refuses a Paterson handshake at the final whistle. He ushers his players and coaching staff away from the referee before chasing the official down the tunnel.

Attendance: 11,701 (1,138 away fans)

Man of the Match: Luka Smyth

Best Song Heard on the Radio: Bjork, Hidden Place

Best Beer Supped: Azvez. Sleeping Beauty Problem. In Warwick.

Derby County 2-2 Cardiff City

I've enjoyed the summer break under the calm, crystal clear blue skies and sweltering conditions. I've spent most of my time either crouched under the air conditioning unit (set at 16 degrees) at MSR Newsagents, in Arnold, where the Monster energy drinks have been flying out of the door, or sat in the garden, downing craft ales, planning trips, reading books and planning the book I'll finally write.

I've made more memories with journeys to Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen, London, Southport, New Brighton, Accrington, Blackburn, Burnley, Colne, Clitheroe, Darwen, the Peak District, Sheffield, London and Louth. The trip to East Lancashire with Tony Mac was a belter - I loved the mural of Vincent Kompany, and of course we swung by the Royal Dyche, a watering hole close to Burnley's Turf Moor ground.

Attention has turned to football, after another cricket season has been spent slouched in my seat behind the bowler's arm in the Lower Radcliffe Road End, at Trent Bridge, home to Super Notts.

I've already watched a couple of games up at Gedling Miners Welfare's Plains Road ground - they were given a reprieve and remain in the United Counties League after a miserable second half to the season. I travelled over to the old mining village of Cotgrave last Saturday to watch Gedling exit the FA Vase following a 4-1 defeat to a West Bridgford side who caught my eye with their pace and clinical finishing. I enjoyed a couple of pints of cider in the Welfare after the game with my good friend Jon Gilbert.

It's Sunday morning and Jenko is waiting for me outside my house in Carlton. We cross over the water towards the south of the county. We head through the villages of Edwalton and Tollerton - my two lads play Sunday morning football for the latter. Jenko turns off the A606 Melton Road into the upmarket village of Normanton-on-the-Wolds. It has a population of just over 250.

Seventeen lads, mainly from Keyworth, where we all grew up, are gathered in an upstairs room of the award-winning Plough Inn. In 1992, my mate Ackers and I set up the Keyworth Dream League (in new money a fantasy football league). We stopped doing it when we all got busy with work and bringing up our children. Like a phoenix from the flames it rose from the ashes, back in 2024.

I've worked on an A-Z list of over 600 players from England, Scotland, France, Germany, Spain and Italy, complete with a three year goalscoring record. The auction lasts for three hours. It's ferocious, aggressive and good fun. We share a few pints afterwards before I finish up basking in the afternoon sunshine outside the Brew Cavern in Sneinton Market.

Faggsy and I stroll down Burton Road on Tuesday evening as we head towards Stoke Lane. Carlton Town are playing Coleshill Town in the Northern Premier Midlands League. The Millers did a 'Devon Loch' at the fag end of last season, falling on the final straight with the winning post in sight. Not gaining promotion after accumulating 90 points was a bitter pill to swallow. I was gutted for the die hard fans.

It all began to unravel on a stormy, windswept night in late March, when a 12 goal swing was gifted to title rivals Anstey. They never recovered from that dreadful horror show; finally losing out in the play-offs on penalties to Racing Club Warwick. A lad, drafted in, who missed a penalty, had never even kicked a ball for the club all season. A penny for the thoughts of those players sat on the bench that evening.

Key personnel have left for pastures new. The one that hurts and saddens me the most is the departure of club legend Dan Brown, who has signed for Barwell. I'll miss his dad too; we all will! Player of the season Ewan Robson has penned a contract with Alfreton Town. Rumours are rife that crowd favourite Lamin Manneh will be plying his trade in the National League North. Add to that a 5-0 drubbing in the West Midlands last Tuesday and a 2-0 reverse to Nuneaton at home last Saturday. No wonder there's a nervousness about the place as I greet a few folk I've not seen for a while.

We stroll over to the far side of the ground to view the game from 'The Malc Brown Stand. Not much is happening in the first half. Coleshill are quite direct, whilst at least the Millers try and get it down and play.

Former Stag, Jason Law, settles the uneasy feeling of the crowd with a fine strike to put the Millers ahead on 48 minutes. A flurry of chances arrive but are spurned and wasted.  Coleshill, themselves, will wonder how they didn't equalise as the Carlton defence lives a charmed life. They are in debt to 'keeper Dan Jezeph in the nets who makes a series of saves and blocks. There's a crazy end to the game when the Coleshill stopper is caught high up the pitch. He commits a professional foul and is shown a straight Red. He loses his head. Another Red is brandished with further disciplinary action bound to be taken. 

The Daily Mail readers in the shop are apocalyptic with rage on Wednesday morning when I point out to each customer at the counter that the artist formerly known as Prince Harry is to return to the U.K. I love it when Harry tips up in St Ann's, (an inner city part of Nottingham, that has its social problems) to see how the projects he has funded are progressing; just like his mum, Princess Diana, used to, back in the 1980's, when she visited our city.

It's Friday morning and I'm on the train to Lincoln. I noticed the glass recycling bin hadn't been emptied by Gedling Borough Council AGAIN. I keep my voice down as I have a whinge and a moan to a dippy customer service representative. Can I wait until the next collection? No, I can't. She clearly hasn't seen how many bottles of Prosecco Ms Moon and her daughter Becky can pot on a sesh.

I wander down Dixon Street to the birthplace of my father, it always cheers me up. I sup a couple of pints before returning to Nottingham. I sink a pint of Quiet Heartbeat, a hazy pale cask ale, from the Pentrich stable, at the Cock and Hoop on High Pavement.

I'm worn out folks, as up to yesterday I'd worked 13 out of the last 14 days, including a 9 day stretch of 3 a.m. alarm calls - stop moaning Sticky. MSR legend 'Chippy Fryer' is on long-term sick following a complex ankle fusion operation - get well soon pal. I wake to the sound of glass being emptied by GBC,

I fancy some Football League action. Tickets for Lincoln will be tricky to come by this season. Derby v Cardiff catches my eye. Should be a good game, and Derby is a piece of cake to get to; well so I thought. Those buffoons at EMR announce a platform change for the 12.50 train to Derby. Minutes before the train arrives, it's cancelled. They have a list of excuses as long as my arm. Even their CEO has had enough and stood down. He arrived home to a burnt tea that night, as his train was delayed.

I'm now in the hands of the train gods - even worse than that I'm relying on bottom of the performance table perennial strugglers Cross Country Trains. It's a 20 minute stroll to Pride Park. I've paid £39 for my ticket in the West Stand Upper. I grab a Twix duo and a bottle of Coke Zero for £7.10 - half the price at MSR folks. 

The DJ is obviously playing what he wants to. Saturn 5 by Inspiral Carpets is the pick of the toons - it's quite random how he plays Squeeze and Scissor Sisters. I like Derby as a city and the folk are usually dead friendly, but I have the misfortune to be sitting next to a right miserable sod. He berates the referee, moans at the players and isn't too chuffed when I point out that the Rams should have been 3-0 up in the first six minutes.

The Bluebirds hit the bar after a shot is tipped onto the woodwork by their 'keeper. They take the lead shortly after with a close range finish from Ashford. Carlton Morris bundles his way through the visiting defence to restore parity. Ironically it's Morris who loses possession 70 yards up the pitch. Cardiff are like lightning on the break. Rubin Colwill sets up Salech for a simple finish. The travelling support are in fine voice and are winding up the Rams fans.

At the break I point out to misery guts sitting next to me that Rubin Colwill is running the show and Derby need to man mark him. The mardy sod turns his back on me and puts his headphones in. Ironically Special Brew by Bad Manners is blasting out of the PA system. I thought my man was going to bust a blood vessel when Salech scored Cardiff's second goal ..lol. The DJ plays an 80s classic, Dolce Vita by Ryan Paris. It's certainly an eclectic set.

Derby's best player, Bobby Clark, equalises early in the second half. It should set up a grandstand finish but Cardiff have to settle for a point following the substitutions of captain Colwill and 'Super Jack Moylan, their two most creative players; a key factor.

Attendance: 28,926

Man of the Match: Rubin Colwill

Best Beer: Year 6, Vault City, at Brew Cavern

Favourite Song on the Wireless: Hercules and Love Affair, My Journey

Credit Slacky and Steve Mac for the photos. Thanks Lads.

Cambridge United 4-0 Notts County

The massive National Lottery win of £173 is put to good use. On Wednesday evening we're booked in at the upper circle of Nottingham Playhouse for the 6.30pm  showing of Punch. Ms Moon soaks up the evening sunshine with other theatregoers outside the venue. She has purchased a couple of baby bottles of prosecco from the bar inside. She declines the offer of a Jelly Bean, as I unearth a bag from deep inside my pocket. They're only £1.25 from the Friar Lane MSR store - a bargain buy in comparison to the Playhouse prosecco.

For those of you unaware of James Graham's play, called Punch, here is the narrative. In 2011, trainee paramedic, James Hodgkinson, travelled from southern England, up to Nottingham, to watch a day of Test Cricket with his father and friends at Trent Bridge, in West Bridgford. After the game James, his dad and some friends walked into the city centre for a few drinks on the Saturday evening. Another large group of mates, from an inner city area called the Meadows, were also drinking in town.

A Meadows lad called Jacob Dunne had become separated from the larger group and was drinking in another pub called the Pitcher and Piano when he received a phone call from a friend to say that trouble was brewing outside Yates Wine Lodge, in Market Square. Dunne dashed across town and after appearing at the scene, unprovoked and without questioning, threw a single punch at James who fell to the floor.

Nine days later the life support machine, keeping James alive, was switched off by doctors. A bleed to the brain caused catastrophic organ failure. Dunne was found guilty of manslaughter and was sentenced to 30 months at Glen Parva Young Offenders Institution. It's an incredible story full of forgiveness, bravery and courage. The audience is reduced to tears when the father of James shakes the hand of Dunne; the hand that punched and killed his son.

Easter is spent mainly at the shop where Sticky's Independent Traders has an Easter egg stall on Front Street. I forgive folk who buy the Daily Mail and vote Reform, for four days only, as record sales are recorded. I should have carved out a client relationship role when I left school and not delayed it until I was in my early fifties as I have loved every minute of it.

We dine at Raymonds restaurant opposite The Angel Microbrewery on Good Friday evening. Earlier, I had enjoyed three pints of Black Iris session beer at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton.

Easter Monday sees me down Stoke Lane for the Carlton Town v Basford United NPL Midlands fixture. I'm tired and mardy after a 4 am - midday shift at the shop. It was only last week that I saw these two sides tough it out in a Notts Senior Cup semi-final at Greenwich Avenue. I'm no fan of Basford nor their 'plastic pitch.' They deservedly won the tie after a lacklustre second half from the Millers, who still appear low on confidence and short of energy and ideas going forward. The highlight of the night was tea and a pint with Nige Harlow at The Lion.

The Millers volunteers are to be applauded for the welcome to fans of Nottinghamshire Non League football. There's a good choice of food, fine craft ales and crystal clear music booming out of the sound system.

Carlton take a very early lead. Lamin Manneh skins his full back alive and is clipped. Chambers scores from the spot. Again Basford are excellent in the second half. They equalise and push for the winner. Only the brilliance of Felix the Cat and a missed sitter prevents the Ambers from taking all three points. I walk home in a sulk. My nose is streaming and my throat is on fire. As Morrissey said back in 1985 'please excuse me, I've got this terrible cold coming on' (The Headmaster's Ritual).

It's work and rest for three consecutive days as I struggle to fight off a virus. I pass a late fitness test on Friday morning and head down to Mrs Bunns Cob Emporium on Musters Road, in Bridgo. I gnaw my way through my bacon and tomato cob as I queue at the ticket collection point at Nottinghamshire Cricket Club where I have renewed my membership.

Faggsy shouts me up a coffee in the Barrel and Bean. We wander around to the Lower Radcliffe Road where we take our seats. The usual cast of characters are in attendance: Drurs, Horsey, Kev, Kimberley Al, Neil and Ken. We are joined later by an old school friend called Gary Robson, who I also played cricket with for Keyworth.

Over 350 runs are scored for the loss of 14 wickets. We spend most of the day bathed in the glorious spring sunshine. It's bloody freezing for the final two hours. Circulation is restored to my body when we finally leave the ground at 6.50pm. A couple of pints of Harvest Pale ale are quaffed in Sneinton Market.

Dean Gripton messaged me yesterday to say that a couple of tickets have been confirmed in the home end at Cambridge United's Cledara Abbey Stadium. I hastily book an advanced return train ticket with a change at Ely. The 8.32 Nottingham to Norwich train sees cheery, hopeful Pies' supporters in good spirits, including Kimberley Al and Tony Perkins, the landlord of the Partizan Tavern, which has some of the best kept beer in our city.

'Grip' is a football encyclopedia and a great lad too. He's keen to visit the Polar Museum that's just a short walk away from the railway station and it's free admission too. It's well worth the while. It documents a history of exploration in the Arctic, Antarctic and surrounding areas. I'm blown away with some of the stories told about courageous men such as Captain Scott and Roald Amundsen.

The Kingston Arms comes highly recommended and is a Good Beer Guide entry. It re-opened in 2023 after falling on hard times. It's wet-led with a small selection of bar snacks. I have a Black Forest Gateaux stout. I chance upon another lad from Keyworth who I haven't seen in over 45 years. His name is John Bell who is now a London Pie. I remember him being a mighty fine footballer. His late sister, Tracey, was a big Pies fan too.

We dine on the hoof with a peri peri chicken wrap and some chips. Tickets are collected and our seats are taken. A stanchion blocks my view of the nearest goal. I like the ground with its low-roofed stands and narrow rows. Notts look to be down to the bare bones. There's no Jones, Tsaroulla, Platt, Robertson or the ill-disciplined Jatta.

The Magpies don't cope with the swirling wind from the off. Cambridge 'keeper Eastwood pings a diagonal 50 yard ball, Bedeau is drawn out of the centre of defence, but fails to win his header there's a scramble in the box and a save before the rebound is netted.

Everything is coming down the left hand side. By 33 minutes it's 3-0. A long throw isn't dealt with and Lavery fires home. Another set piece is clipped in, nobody attacks it, the first touch is sublime, the second is smashed into the back of the onion bag.

Notts offer very little, although an Ndlovu header bounces back off the cross bar following the dismissal of Eastwood for deliberate handball outside the area. Manager Martin Patterson (we call him Fagin in the shop at work) hurries down the tunnel; he is raging.

Changes are made but the pattern of play is unchanged. The ten men of Cambridge make it 4-0 after more shoddy defending by Ness. Opposition scouts and analysts will have noted Notts' weakness from an aerial bombardment. With the uncompromising Barnet, Bristol Rovers and Colchester United still to play they are going to have to fight tooth and nail and show they have the stomach for it, otherwise it's the play-offs once again.

Attendance: 7,983

Player of the Match: Captain Scott

Best Record I've Heard on the Radio: Opus Kink, Come Over, Do Me Wrong

Best Ale Supped This week: Black Iris, Demon Cleaner

Gainsborough Trinity 0-0 Warrington Rylands

I leave Andy Carroll and KSI (who?) to their high-fiving and back slapping as I make a dash to Dagenham East train station. Anxiety kicks in when it comes to catching a train at London St Pancras, particularly on a Saturday evening, as you are penalised by the EMR Gestapo if your advance ticket doesn't correctly match the time of your departure. Remember folks, this is the company who made Nottingham Forest fans, including mothers and children, cry on their big day out at Wembley Stadium in May 2022. Hanging out their customer service staff to dry, with not a senior manager in sight. Telling angry supporters, in snaking queues, that there weren't enough trains going to London, having already taken their money.

On arrival at St Pancras, EMR create their own cock up chaos. The previous train has been cancelled to Nottingham. What should have been a breeze of a one hour thirty five minutes, three stop journey, suddenly has double the amount of passengers on board and two added stops at Bedford and Wellingborough. No train manager dares to show their face. As soon as I slump into my armchair, an hour later than expected, I fire off a delay repayment claim. Good old EMR, eh.

It could be said that Tuesday evening's game between Carlton Town and Anstey Nomads is the biggest in the Millers' history. The supporters and volunteers are ready for it. The pitch is in fine fettle, the food menu includes: Thai curry and chicken in Katsu sauce and there is a vinyl-only DJ set from Casually Dan. The groundsmen, Kelly and her mum and whoever is spinning tunes make it a fantastic supporter experience. Over 400 tip up on a filthy evening. Even Edward has video taped EastEnders and 'The Farm' on his Betamax.

I clocked, earlier in the day on the weather app, that we were to expect a wretched evening of high winds and squally showers. It will be a good toss to win. I just hope it was Anstey who chose to kick with the wind and not Carlton preferring to kick to their favourite end in the second half. I scan the team sheet and I'm surprised that club stalwarts and leaders on the pitch, Dan Brown and Niall Davie, aren't starting a game of this magnitude.

The game is over as a contest after 25 minutes. The Millers are 4-0 down and have had a defender sent off. They are blown away, not just by a gale but by a high octane display from the visitors, some of whom will feel that they have a point to prove, having been discarded for star studded ex Premier League players over recent weeks. Had it not been for 'Felix the Cat', in the nets, it could have been many more.

There is a doom and gloom about the place as the final whistle is blown. Anstey, and fair play to 'em, have managed to claw back a 12 goal difference in one evening, which could prove to be pivotal come the season end. 

I have dipped in and out watching Carlton this season, but have still caught them on 14 occasions. They are going to have to battle now and play with some heart, soul and energy. The Nomads can smell blood and will do their utmost to chase them down, as it is Anstey who now has the momentum.

I love a Wednesday afternoon shift at the shop as it usually means I'm done for four days. I head into town for a few craft scoops at my favourite bar, Junkyard. I have a couple of Salikatt DIPA New England ales called Stardust. I didn't realise, until I hit the fresh air on Weekday Cross, that this Norwegian brew was an 8% abv.

I continue my quest to visit as many CAMRA Heritage two star or three star pubs on Thursday. I bagged a bargain £20 return to Liverpool Lime Street. The only caveat is that I have five hours to complete my itinerary. On arrival at my favourite city (outside London) I wander down to Liverpool Central where I board a Merseyrail train to Southport.

I alight at Blundellsands and Crosby where I take a stroll towards pub number one of the day. Crosby is a coastal town in the Metropolitan Borough of Sefton, in Merseyside, with a population of 50,000. Notable people to have grown up or attended school in the town include: Cherie Blair, Kenny Everett and Anne Robinson, who is now dating Queen Camilla's ex-husband, Andrew Parker-Bowles.

If I thought the landlord at 'The Dagmar' (in Dagenham) was unwelcoming then the miserable sod at the Edinburgh Inn reaches another level of grumpiness. Not a word passes his lips as he pours me a pint of Tetley. It's an Edwardian pub known by locals as 'the Bug and Bite.'

I head past Marine FC's ground towards the coast where the skyline out in the Irish Sea is filled with low white clouds. I can see the 100 cast-iron life-size figures sculptured by Antony Gormley that emerge on Crosby Beach, when it's low tide. Crows Nest is a popular community pub that has a bar, snug and lounge. There's time to visit The Vines, on Lime Street, for a quick jar before catching the 5 pm train home.

I spend an hour down my favourite all-time pub, 'The King Billy', in Sneinton, on Friday teatime. There are quite a few teachers huddled in the corner cheerily celebrating a two week end of term break, I enjoy a pint of Taj from Little Brewing, in Derby and one of their crafts too.

I rustle up tea as Ms Moon and I discuss plans for next week. We've had a win on Wednesday's National Lottery drawdown. We buy tickets for a critically-acclaimed play called Punch and book a table for two at one of our favourite restaurants, Raymonds, in Nottingham city centre. I'm under the cosh in April as both the lads at the shop are taking some time off, so I'll have to step up to the plate, including manning my Easter egg stall outside, on Front Street, in Arnold.

It's Saturday morning and I'm excited for the day ahead. I'm off to a chippy near Gainsborough that's rated highly by the fish and chip fraternity. I've arranged to meet Matt Limon at Lidl in Netherfield. I need some dollar first as the chippy might be 'cash only.' The bloody cashpoint at Tesco Carlton is usually out of order. I'm already spitting feathers at that thought as I see an elderly gentleman gesticulate and throw his arms up in the air. "It's not working mate", he says. "A bit like the staff", I josh.

Greatest Hits is on the car radio as we head towards the A46. Limon loves a bit of midweek PopMaster on the Ken Bruce Show. He posts on Facebook every time he gets a maximum score of 39 points. He's also a big fish and chip aficionado, as is Carlton Town supporter, Danny Harkin.

Upton's chippy, est 1948, has one of the last remaining coal-fired ovens. Fish and chips are fried in beef dripping. The shop is only open six and a half hours per week. There are already over 20 people queuing when we roll up at just gone midday. The half an hour wait includes lots of lip-licking and salivating. A scrumptious lunch is eaten on a wooden seat in the village. It's washed down with an Elderflower Blonde from the Saltaire stable at the Sweyn Forkbeard, in Gainsborough town centre.

If I had to name my top ten Non League grounds then The Northolme would be in it. Matt is immediately impressed. It's £13 on the gate which includes a seat in the Ping Stand - the golf club manufacturer is based in the town.

The game doesn't really live up to the billing as both clubs chase a play-off spot. The DJ is playing what he likes (as he should) it's mainly a rock set which includes Jimi Hendrix. The second half is much better. Both teams hit the woodwork and the keepers are kept busy. A draw is a fair result. 

I anxiously check the full time score at Stoke Lane. The Millers lose their third consecutive League game, this time to lowly Loughborough Students, who they easily brushed aside earlier in the season. The heat is on as Anstey have rolled over Basford Utd, who Carlton visit on Tuesday evening in a Notts Senior Cup semi-final. The lads are going to need all the support they can, right now. Sticky Palms doesn't do 3G, but he will be doing on Tuesday!

Attendance: 712

Player of the Match: Upton's Chippy

Best Record Heard of the Radio This Week: Stampede, by Genesis Owusu

Best Ale Supped This Week: Cheat Code, by Soma, Girona, Spain.