Clipstone FC 0-5 Eastwood CFC

There's been a commotion during the Pompey v Cardiff City game across the far side of the ground from where I'm sitting. A home fan is reluctant to pass the ball back to Cardiff defender Krystian Bielik, who has hopped over an advertising hoarding to retrieve it. It's only when I'm grazing on a Southsea Brewing craft ale called X-Ray Spex, in the cosy Brewers Tap, that i earwig that there's been an altercation between fan and player. The local plod are investigating the incident (that will be on the back burner later in the week),

I'm as happy as Larry and have a spring in my step as I peg it around the pubs and bars in a residential, friendly area of Portsmouth called Eastney. I clock off at 10 pm with a two day total of 23 miles in the legs, 12x Good Beer Guide tick offs. 2x CAMRA Heritage pubs visited and 91 grounds out of 92 chalked off. Plans for a trip to Plymouth Argyle have already been mapped out.

I'm back in Nottingham early on Sunday afternoon. I set to work on my blog and publish it just after 8 pm. I'm fagged out and climbing the wooden hill by 9 pm. What a weekend I've had.

I wake up to news of violent, disorder in an area of Portsmouth I was drinking on Saturday evening. Several police, coastguard and border force vehicles were damaged as well as police officers receiving treatment for injuries. 200 anti-migration thugs were dispersed from the area in the early hours of Monday morning. I hope they found their way home okay and didn't end up in the sea on their way to France because they couldn't see out of their balaclavas.

The Radford physio, 'Shoey', pops in the shop most Monday afternoons to discuss the weekend's football scores and to share any gossip. The Pheasants have been defeated in their last five outings. I think it's time to pay a visit. Shoey begs to differ as I have built up the reputation of a Jonah on my jaunts to Selhurst Street. I contact The HoF (Head of Football) Big Glenn Russell to inform him of my impending visit. "NOOOO" is his reply.

It's a 75 minute walk from the shop to Radford's ground. I rest briefly in Woodthorpe Park, where I used to play pitch 'n putt (golf) as a kid. I continue my walk through Sherwood, a vibrant suburb of Nottingham, before taking a right hand turn onto Haydn Road. I notice a cricket ground at the top of the road. I feel sure I played at this venue as a kid, where a works' team called Bairnswear was located back in the early 80s. They were a large knitwear firm who were bought out by Courtaulds.

I'm greeted with the middle finger from Big Glenn as I enter the clubhouse - I think it's all in jest. There's plenty of banter flying around as 'ASBO' makes a pig's ear of the raffle. I agree to sponsor the match ball in a few weeks time.

I view the game with Danny Harkin, who is a groundhopper, fish and chip reviewer and a big Carlton Town fan too. His wife Lyndsey has captained Nottingham Forest and Wolves, as well as playing for Stoke. Danny is a great lad with a good knowledge of the local scene. The game ends 1-1. There's no questioning the effort levels but the game lacks any quality. Danny very kindly drops me off at home. Thank you pal.

The cricket season is drawing to a close and it appears that Super Notts  are running out of steam. I sit with Drurs and Horsy as Australian-born batsman Jake Lehmann bravely scores a Ton in trying circumstances. His father is former Test player Darren Lehman, his uncle is former England and Yorkshire all-rounder Craig White. There's no time for a crafty pint or two with Faggsy as I'm up at stupid o'clock for work in the morning.

They've been playing up in Pompey again. A crowd of right wing thickos have stormed a Marriott hotel in the city centre and started knocking on doors of the occupants who are part of the Pakistan under 19 cricket team. They were 'mistakingly informed' that the cricketers were illegal immigrants. All 40 protesters also admitted to having applied online to be contestants on Tipping Point.

I'm sat in Junkyard on Thursday teatime drinking a splendid double Indian pale ale from DosKiwis, a Spanish brewery from Girona. As skies darken, wickets begin to tumble at Trent Bridge, as the game turns on its head. Hampshire finish on 68-7, having skittled out Notts for 104 earlier in the day.

Tony Mac and I are on the 7.45 am train to Manchester early on Friday. We're wandering around the Derbyshire town of Glossop by 10.30 am. Breakfast and a beer are taken at a 'Spoons. We sweat it off by sauntering up to the cricket club and football ground. The first black West Indian to have played county cricket also represented Glossop in the early 20th century. His name was Charles Augustus Ollivierre.

The football ground is magnificent. I saw a see-saw FA Vase tie here, in 2009, against Stewart and Lloyds from Corby with a great mate who has since passed. The club reached the final at Wembley that season. The best pub in the town is The Crown, a Samuel Smiths watering hole, where you are still NOT allowed to use mobile phones, laptops, nor bring in children or dogs. We enjoy some craic with an old boy who only ever drinks Alpine lager.

Another pint is enjoyed further up the train line at Broadbottom, before alighting at Newton for Hyde. It's a short stroll to The Sportsman where a young lass behind the bar has it all on pouring a pint of Rossendale cask ale as the gas has gone.

The town of Hyde is where the professional boxer Ricky 'Hitman' Hatton was from. He was also known as 'The Pride of Hyde' and 'The People's Champion.' He won 45 bouts out of 48 fights. His cause of death was 'suicide by hanging.' Thousands of people lined up the streets of Manchester to pay their respects on the day of his funeral.

We finish up the evening at our favourite spot on a seat outside Manchester Oxford Road Tap. The omnishambles of a company called EMR continue their miserable run of form by only putting on two carriages for the train home. The excuse is pitiful. The scaredy cat ticket inspector daren't show his face. I was fast off to be honest.

Lunch, on Saturday, is taken on the Notts/Derbys border in the village of Upper Langwith. I sniffed out a beauty called The Devonshire. I'm pleased to get out of the car to be honest as Sara Cox has been babbling on about Party in the Park in Stirling for close on an hour. True story here: if you're from Bolton you'll probably get a gig on Radio 2.

Lunch is sumptuous.  I have pork and leek sausages with cheesy mash, whilst Ms Moon plumps for steak. There's time to nip into Ruby's News (it's no MSR folks .. lol) for chocolate and water. I bump into Scott Ward, Clippo matchday secretary. I always enjoy some craic with Wardy - he's had more tracksuits than Sports Direct. 

Word up is that the Eastwood owner has asked to land his chopper next to the ground. Why can't he catch the number 16 Stagecoach bus like normal folk do? Eastwood are 1-0 up after a few minutes from the penalty spot. It's soon 2-0 with the game all over after a senseless Red card. 

I notice Curtis Thompson warming up for the visitors. I call him over and ask him if he remembers his 6 week trial at Notts County when he was 12 years old when I spotted him playing on Keyworth Rec for Hyson Cavaliers. He did. I lost him to Leicester City for four years before getting him back down Meadow Lane. He made over 250 Football League appearances at Notts County, Wycombe, Grimsby and Cheltenham. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 128

Player/Match Day Secretary of the Match: Scott Ward, proper Non League Legend

Best Beer/Ale Supped This Week: Magic Number, DosKiwis, Girona, in Junkyard

Best Record Heard on the Radio This Week: Lyn Collins, Think (About It) 

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