The Taxman walks down his drive and opens the front passenger door. He looks flustered and in the mood for a whinge and a moan. Nat West Bank on Tudor Square in West Bridgford and Trent Barton buses are the latest to suffer from a complaining email from our man - I hope to God tonight's meal goes smoothly and that the game doesn't end up 0-0.
I love the town of Stamford with its 17th Century buildings and five medieval churches. British heavyweight Leicester showman Daniel Lambert died in the town back in 1809. He weighed in at 52 stone 11lbs. It took twenty men half an hour to put the coffin into the trench. The local football team Stamford AFC are nicknamed the Daniels in his memory.
We take a stroll around the quaint, historic streets on a sweltering summer's 'evening. We view the menus at The Crown Hotel and Tobie Norris - both are ridiculously overpriced. The Taxman shouts up a pint of lager and a lime and soda for his chauffeur at the London Inn on St John's Street, as the dulcet tones of Morrissey and The Smiths, singing Ask Me, are heard on the pub jukebox.
Stamford's Zeeco Stadium is a few miles out of town. We're watching Ilkeston Town again, as I liked what I saw at the New Manor Ground last Saturday. I say hello to Ilson 'keeper Ross Durrant who is warming up - his Dad, Dick, is a good mate of mine. Dick dashes off in the direction of the pie stall after we share our thoughts on last Saturday's game versus Cleethorpes.
Ilson are work-in-progress and spend most of the first half with their backs to the wall. They are in debt to Durrant, who pulls off a string of acrobatic saves. Incredibly they take the lead through the impressive Cameron Dear, who finishes off a fine flowing move.
The lead doesn't last too long in the second half after a player is caught dilly-dallying on the ball, instead of launching it into orbit. Ilson play with heart, and with fortune on their side take the lead with Dear doubling his tally. The Daniels restore parity and then go in front with the goal of the game from substitute Pearson Mwanyongo. A fourth goal doesn't flatter Stamford, who are more streetwise and tenacious on the night.
Wednesday evening is spent down at Stoke Lane watching Carlton Town v Sutton Coldfield Town. Sticky's favourite, Oliver Clarke, loves a tackle and a yellow card. He doesn't disappoint his number one supporter, leaving his foot in, just a few yards from where I'm stood, and sadly for him, in full view of the referee's assessor. I tease him on twitter later in the evening. He takes the joshing in good spirit.
Carlton win the game 1-0 through a penalty, but the highlight of the night is meeting the three-piece band from Sutton Coldfield who went viral with their 'Tequila' song last season. I enjoy the evening supporting my local club. The only downside is that I've been bitten to high heaven by mosquitos and gnats. I wake up in the morning more pock-marked than Dennis Potter's Singing Detective.
I've got a sporting extravaganza lined up next week. FA Cup action on Saturday, two T20 games at Trent Bridge, Forest v the Sheep and hopefully 'The Lincoln' v Everton. I'm worried and anxious that I won't get a ticket for the Imps v Toffees at Sincil Bank. They go on general sale on Friday evening at 7 p.m.
I sit in the garden waiting to hear the theme tune of Emmerdale Farm strike up; it's my alarm call to log onto the Imps website and try and bag a ticket. An hour later, after fruitless attempts, and the internet spinning wheel of misfortune, I finally give up the ghost. I'm blowing a gasket. The world is rubbish, particularly the event organiser, Eventbrite. I go off to bed in a huff.
I trudge down the stairs in the morning cussing and complaining. I flick on the kettle and make a nice brew of Yorkshire Tea. I crank up the laptop and have one final go at securing a ticket for 'The Lincoln.' Minutes later I'm doing the Conga around the room to an Orange Juice and Edwyn Collins back catalogue on YouTube. Life is brilliant, I love Eventbrite; they're the World's best events organiser. Sincil Bank here I come. Yippee, a chippy tea too.
What a day to be alive; the Amazon driver has just tipped up with a bottle of limited edition Hendrick's Midsummer Solstice. I skip down to Tesco to buy some cucumber and orange to garnish it with. I clock that birthday boy Trumpy Bolton is up in Inverness for a week's 'sightseeing' (drinking). Extra staff have been drafted in from the Highlands to serve his needs.
Staveley is only a short drive away. We're both excited to see what years Gambo's Pick of the Pops are today. Christ on a bike, it's 1971 and it's absolute pants. Ms Moon isn't impressed with Atomic Rooster; neither am I. We switch to Union Jack, who are playing the excellent Bronski Beat and Cry Boy Cry.
The main car park is choc-a-bloc at Staveley's Inkersall Road ground; luckily there's an overflow car park. I've not been in ages and have a guilty conscience, as I admire Staveley owner Terry Damms, who always makes me feel so welcome.
I first clapped my eyes on Staveley, and met Terry, over 10 years ago at an East Midlands Counties League game at Borrowash Victoria. (You're going to bore us with the Lee Gregory story again aren't you Sticky?) Yes, I am. I saw a 19-year-old Gregory, who had been released by Sheffield Wed and had fallen out with football, play that day at Step 6 level. His rise since has been meteoric. He has made over 200 Football League appearances for Millwall and Stoke City and has bagged 64 goals.
I've banged on all week that there's a sniff of an FA Cup upset here today. Lincoln United have started the season badly and are shipping goals for fun. I watch their warm-up and observe body language. Two players exchange words after a sloppy drill goes pear-shaped.
I didn't want to bother Terry in the clubhouse; he has a lot on his plate, as well as the £2900 prize-winning money on offer, which is a lifeline for clubs like Staveley, as it's never included in the season budget. I clock him wandering around the ground and introduce him to Ms Moon. The guy's so chilled, but I know inside that his stomach will be churning with nervous excitement and the expectation that his young guns can compete with a team from a League above.
The Trojans of Staveley are ON IT from the first whistle. They've done their homework and have had Lincoln watched midweek during a 5-0 drubbing in Cleethorpes. Everything comes down their right-hand side as the Lincoln left-back is overloaded. The first goal has been coming for donkeys.
The second half is as you were. The Trojans are a joy to watch; they get the ball down and bamboozle their opponents. They want it so badly and get their just desserts with a curling left-foot sublime finish.
Lincoln pull a goal back; there's a nervy finish, but only one team deserves to win. I'm chuffed to bits for Terry and the committee. I look forward to hearing who they draw in the next round, because we'll be there!
Attendance: 141
Man of the Match: Terry Damms
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