Southwell City 3-1 Keyworth United

It's 5.30 p.m. on Tuesday October 26th and I'm sat in Castle Rock's The Embankment pub. It's where Jessie Boot housed his first ever dispensary outside of Nottingham. It has an iconic black and white facade at the front of the building and was once known as Boots Social Club. If there was ever rain stopped play at the cricket across the road at Trent Bridge or it was the lunch break, my mate Ackers and I would pop across for a couple of frames of snooker. In all honesty, all I was interested in was potting a couple of pints of draught bitter.

I'm sat with my two lads, 'The Keyworth Georgie Best' and 'Our Joe.' KGB is still smarting from the Tricky Trees 0-4 drubbing by the posh lads of London, Fulham. As reported on these very pages, he headed for the exit on 61 minutes when the third goal went in. He stormed into 'The Boot Room' and shouted up a pint of full fat Coca Cola as he's on 'Dry October.' Meanwhile 'Our Joe's' initiation song at his new club has gone viral on social media. The landlady wasn't too happy at the Nags Head, in East Leake, that a few pint glasses shattered as he belted out Cher's 'Believe' which somehow hit the top of the pops in 1998.

We enjoy a natter and grab some tea. I wish the KGB a safe journey to QPR's Loftus Road ground where Nottingham Forest are playing on Friday. I cross over London Road and onto Meadow Lane. My e-ticket is scanned at the turnstile. I manage a quick chat with Alan Jackson and The Taxman who is now also a Pies season ticket holder. Jacko asks me how I managed to miss Che Adams when I was scouting for the Pies. Adams was picked out at a trial for Ilkeston Academy by former Chelsea and D***y County striker Kevin Wilson. His progress was rapid and he had the choice of many clubs. Sheffield United paid a fee for him.

I sit in the Derek Pavis Stand about ten rows from the front. The first thing I notice is how much my vision has improved. I'm back to see my specialist tomorrow so he can check on my progress. Notts are on the back of an excellent 2-1 victory over big spending Stockport County who brought a 1700 following. The Hatters showed their intent by signing Antoni Sarcevic who was captain at League One Bolton Wanderers. 

High-flying Bromley, from south London, are tonight's visitors. They are managed by Andy Woodman who was goalkeeper coach for Alan Pardew at Newcastle United. He is so funny on the Undr the Cosh podcast - give it a listen if you can.

The first half is tit for tat and cagey as both teams weigh one another up. The game is played without risk. I begin to wonder at half time if this is going to be my first 0-0 in nearly two years. That thought is soon put to bed one minute into the second half with captain Kyle Cameron scoring a pearler following a brilliant passage of play.

Notts remind me of my team Lincoln City, the rub of the green never seems to go their way. They concede a farcical goal and then Cal Roberts hits a howitzer of a shot that rattles the bar. The Pies will be disappointed to have only taken one point and now have a tough away fixture at Grimsby Town's Blundell Park on Saturday.

I complain to my specialist on Wednesday morning that my vision is impaired under artificial lighting and that I'm in considerable pain. I'm prescribed some strong anti-biotics and further drops. The improvement is amazing. Ms Moon reports some sad news on Wednesday evening, Natasha has been shot and killed on Corrie. I ask if she is the fit one. I'm in the doghouse for the rest of the evening.

I celebrate Tommy's birthday (work colleague and good friend) at The Frame Breakers in Ruddington on Thursday after work. I swing by Junkyard on the way home and browse the best beer menu in Nottingham. A couple of Basqueland beers ensure an uninterrupted night's sleep.

It's Friday evening and I'm beginning to feel a tad under the weather. There's no date night with Tony Mac in town. In fact I struggle to get a couple of cans down my neck. I watch the second half of QPR v Forest. The Tricky Trees look to be heading for a narrow defeat until a Jack Colback deflected shot flies into the net. I punch the air from my armchair. My eyes turn back to the TV set. I see a youth celebrating on the front row. He's grimacing and gasping for air as fans clamber over seats to celebrate with the players. It's none other than 'The Keyworth Georgie Best.' I go to bed with a huge smile on my face.

I'm still feeling rough on Saturday morning. I take a lateral flow test as I've a busy day ahead and don't want to put people at risk. It's negative, so it's all systems go. The plan today is to catch the 26 bus to Southwell to watch their final ever game at the War Memorial Ground. I'll then shoot back home as we are at Peggy's Skylight, in Hockley, early evening, for a James Bond night followed by a meal at Bistro Pierre in the city centre.

I catch the 11.27 outside Carlton Tesco. It's a great journey as the bus navigates around the village of Burton Joyce where legendary Notts County manager Jimmy Sirrel was laid to rest. It's then onto Lowdham and Thurgarton, villages where I enjoyed playing cricket as a 17-year-old for Keyworth. I alight the bus outside Southwell Minster.

I wander up to the Saracen's Head, a pub built in 1463, which I've frequented on a few occasions before heading up towards Market Place. I chance upon a posh bakery where I buy a granary smoked bacon cob smothered in Brie and mayonnaise. I still feel peckish and fancy something sweet. I spot a Birds Bakery. I can't resist a caramel doughnut. I wash it down with a Ribena soft drink. There's no real ale today, which is a shame as the place is snided out with some quality pubs.

Southwell is a Minster town in the Newark and Sherwood district of Notts with a population of 7,000. The Bramley Apple was first seeded in Southwell back in 1809. I take a stroll around The Minster admiring the three towers and two spires that are bathed in glorious late autumnal sunshine. 

I walk up the road that leads me through an archway and into the War Memorial Recreational Ground. There's a Bowls Club and Tennis Club as well as the football ground. The leaves have changed to a beautiful golden colour on the trees. I do a few laps of the ground whilst the teams warm up. I recognise Southwell's Blair Bryant. He's a great lad who used to play for the Clifton All Whites Sunday team with 'Our Joe.'

Ironically, today's visitors are Keyworth United, a village I lived in for over 45 years. Word up is that they are resting up a few senior players as the League is their priority; today is a Cup game. If true I find this astonishing as they only play 22 games due to many teams dropping out of the League. The NSL is not what it was. I miss the best message board in the world. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than waking up on a Sunday morning to read a drunken posting made by Big Glenn in the early hours of the morning after a beer-fuelled evening in town following a controversial defeat for Bilborough Pelican. 

I stand next to Tom Siswick's mum, Caroline and a guy from Newark who used to live in Keyworth back in the day. There is a minute's silence in the memory of Southwell stalwart, Mick Gregory. The young Keyworth side are under pressure from the off. City exploit gaps down the visitor's right hand side and finally take the lead on 18 minutes. Wolloch misses a good chance for Keyworth with his shot going the wrong side of the post.

The Southwell centre back has a torpedo of a throw-in. He can actually land it to the far side of the penalty spot. He gets an assist on the stroke of half-time. The game looks over on 54 minutes when Southwell make it 3-0.

Keyworth pull a goal back a few minutes later through Siswick and enjoy a good spell of pressure. Wolloch strikes a free kick inches wide and Ben Healey sees a header bounce off the underside of the bar. I'm walking back up to the War Memorial gates when the ref blows the final whistle for the last ever game on this ground. I'll miss it for sure.

Attendance: 153

Man of the Match: That caramel doughnut at Birds Bakery.

Nottingham Forest 0-4 Fulham

It's 5 p.m. on Tuesday, 19th October. The traffic is gridlocked on Loughborough Road due to another set of roadworks the Bradmore side of Ruddington. I peg it up the A60 towards the Esso petrol station. I was sat in bed last night listening to the fag end of 'The Arsenal' v Crystal Palace game on Five Live, where the Gunners fortuitously grabbed a point with a last-minute goal. I'm alerted to an email that has come through on my mobile phone. A fellow Imp at work has very kindly offered to pick me up and drop me off at home as 'The Lincoln' are entertaining AFC Wimbledon tomorrow evening.

'Bansky' (my mate, not the well known street graffiti artist) is putting some air in his tyres. Because it's half term there's little traffic on the road as we sail through Newark and hit Lincoln city centre just shy of an hour. It's my first visit to Sincil Bank since 14th January 2020 when the Imps trounced a beleaguered Bolton Wanderers 5-1. Tyler Walker, at the time, was in the form of his life. Covid struck shortly after, followed by a detached retina, a few months later that, has prevented me from driving and dominated my life.

'Banksy' is a Lincoln lad and knows the backstreets of the city. He sticks his car on Dunlop Street, a 60 second walk away from the turnstiles. We take a wander up the High Street as I want to buy him a chippie tea from the Regal fish bar. I'm a tad disappointed as the fish is overcooked - I should have taken 'Banksy's advice and bought some snap from the local vendors in the Fan Zone behind the KryptoKloud End. We grab a pint of pale ale and hook up with one of 'Banksy's pals. They're both looking forward to Saturday's game at Sheffield Wednesday - 'The Lincoln's' first visit to Hillsborough in over 40 years.

In 1978 Jackie Charlton's Wednesday rolled into town. 'The Lincoln' rolled 'em over 3-1. I wasn't there that day as I had a Saturday job. Unfortunately my brother was. He was pounced upon and punched in the face by an Owls thug, on his way to my Nana's, where he was going for his tea. She had to bathe his wound.

I take my seat in the Selenity Stand, excited to view proceedings perched up here for first time in nearly two years. The Imps are slow out of the blocks and could easily be a goal behind before they are eventually punished from the penalty spot, after only 5 minutes, for a needless foul. They huff and puff for the rest of the evening but fail to trouble the visiting keeper. We're in good hands though and have recruited shrewdly. Players brought in on free transfers now have value. We should finish in the top half if our small squad can steer clear of injuries, which are hampering our progress right now.

It's Friday evening and the usual drill. I waved off Ms Moon and daughter Becky, earlier in the morning, as they are London bound for a weekend of Lion King, Madame Tussauds and glasses full of bubbles. Tony Mac and I hook up in the west side of Nottingham for a change. Barley Twist, a cosy Castle Rock pub on Arkwright Street, is the pick of the bunch. We finish the evening in an old crowd favourite, The Dragon, on Long Row. I grab a Five Guys burger on my walk home, down Hockley, and onto Sneinton Market.

I hear his car revving up outside the house at 9.30 a.m. The Big Man hasn't been to a game since our visit to Heacham, in Norfolk, back in July. I try and distract him with some chit chat so he doesn't put Century FM/Smooth on his car radio. He's fuming about 'Emmerdale Farm Week' that has featured on ITV. It was meant to be gripping viewing. The Big Man says it was utter tosh. His 40-year association with the show (he's never missed an episode) is hanging on a thread. I suggest he rings Ms Moon if he wants any counselling.

We're off to watch some Hope Valley Premier League action up in the Derbyshire Peak District today. We park up in the picture postcard village of Ashover. The folk are so friendly around here. Each person we chance upon greets us with a 'good morning.' After completing a circular walk we decide to dine at the Miners Arms up the road, as the reviews on the Good Pub Guide entry, Old Poets Corner, are mediocre since a change of ownership.

It's posh nosh at the Miners Arms; we only want a pub lunch. The owner re-directs us back to the village and recommends the Black Swan. I enjoy a pint of Proper Job from the St Austell Brewery. The Big Man wolfs down gammon, egg and chips.

The game takes place at the back of Ashover Parish Hall. Chapel Town are the visitors. The pitch is on a huge side slope, which you can only appreciate from the far side of the pitch. We stand adjacent to the roped-off cricket pitch. The visitors from Chapel-en-le-Frith currently top the table. You wouldn't have thought so as they start slower than Lincoln City.

Ashover take the lead but remarkably concede 2x late goals in the first half. The visitors have a drunken, loud-mouthed yob with their entourage. He abuses all and sundry and is a total embarrassment. He's inebriated by 2.30 p.m, which is a feat in itself as he's necking cans of Fosters (Maids water 4% abv). Ashover peg it back to 2-2 but hang onto their lead for barely 60x seconds. Big Neville, a 10-year-old Newfoundland dog, is unimpressed and asks his owner if they can go home early.

The evening is spent in West Bridgford where many Fulham fans tomorrow will enjoy an artisan breakfast accompanied with Earl Grey tea. I tick off The Boot Room, a Forest pub housed outside The City Ground.

Sunday is another matchday. I sink a pre-match pint of Bajan Breakfast from the Black Iris stable at the Fox and Grapes in Sneinton Market. I usually enjoy the walk to the game, but it's somewhat spoilt by some blustery showers.

I take my pew in B4 in the Peter Taylor Stand. I've been stalked and flamed on twitter by Tricky Trees fans as Forest rarely win on my regular visits to The City Ground. I did see them play Huddersfield Town off the park a few weeks back up in West Yorkshire. They are in a rich vein of form since the arrival of former Swansea City manager Steve Cooper.

The ground begins to fill but it doesn't seem to have that edge, vibe and feel that a Saturday afternoon brings. 'A' Block aren't on song as the game has no tempo and is played without risk. A Spence own goal from a Fulham corner puts the visitors ahead. Forest fail to register a shot on target, with Brennan Johnson fluffing his lines and hitting fresh air after great work by Spence down the right hand side.

The day plummets to an all-time-low, at the break, when the Forest DJ plays the dreadful 1996 hit 'Return of the Mack' by Mark Morrison; a man who has had more court appearances than Judge John Deed.

Lewis Grabban balloons a sitter over the bar. It's a turning point as a mix up in the forest defence sees the Serbian, Mitrovic, double their lead. Two further goals see some of the crowd head for an early exit, with an eye, no doubt, on the Man Utd v Liverpool Super Sunday teatime kick off. *It's later reported that frustrated season ticket holder, Sticky jnr, upped and left on 61 minutes.

The game is controlled by Fulham's Ivory Coast 30 year old central defensive midfielder Jean Michael Seri. He has an impressive CV having played recently on loan for Galatasaray and Bordeaux. Fulham broke their transfer record for the Ivorian, splashing out £27 million for him from Nice. His passing is through the eye of a needle and is often his first touch.

Remarkably 'A' Block back their man Steve Cooper with a number of ditties despite a 4-0 drubbing. It's uncomfortable but encouraging to see him acknowledge their support after such a disappointing second half display. I'm the last person to leave the ground as I enjoy seeing the players applauding the support of the fans.

Attendance: 27,470

Man of the Match: Big Neville the Newfoundland. He'd have left on 61 minutes too.

Carlton Town 4-1 Loughborough Dynamo

It's Thursday 14th October, 7 a.m. I wander down the passageway of our house, as a DG taxi crawls down the road. It stops outside the driveway where my Ford Mondeo has sat stationary for close on 14x months. I've got butterflies, a bit like you get when you are about to take your driving test or GCSE's. 

I've made this miserable journey over 20x times since August 2020. Today, at last, there will be an outcome. Following a detached retina with 4x large tears, I'm finally on the road to recovery. They won't be able to call me 'The Carlton Stevie Wonder' at work anymore and if they do, I'm grassing them up to HR.

The automatic doors slide open at the Ear, Nose and Throat entrance at the QMC University Hospital in Nottingham. I press a button on a passenger lift and exit on Floor D. I traipse down the corridor and check-in at Reception.

Ben Shephard is presenting on GMTV - what I'd give right now, to cheer me up and to take my mind off this operation, would be to see one of the thick-as-a-brick contestants on Ben's Tipping Point quiz show. Ms Moon has seen all 1000 episodes. She recently applied to be a contestant on the show but never heard back. I said to her to take it as a back-handed compliment - basically, because she filled the application form out without any spelling mistakes, she was deemed not thick enough to appear on the programme.

My name is called out early doors, much to the dismay of the other fingernail-biting patients awaiting their fate. The anaesthetist slowly sends in a needle into the side of my eye that should numb me up. It doesn't work due to scar tissue. Another couple of injections are administered through either side of my cheekbone and up into the eye (apologies if you are squeamish) I'm a pussy folks, but when it's the last throw of the dice you will take any crumb of discomfort. The surgeon asks me if I've been watching Squid Game. What?

The operation gets off to an awful start with the surgeon shining a torch into my eye whilst Smooth FM play the woeful 'Zoom' by Fat Larry's Band. Half an hour later a battered and bruised Sticky Palms gingerly leaves his wheelchair, dunks his 2x NHS gift-wrapped malted milk biscuits into a weak cup of tea, before making the return journey home by cab to Carlton.

I sleep it off for the rest of the day. Ms Moon gives me a running commentary, live and exclusive, from Emmerdale Farm. Kim Tate is having some nooky with the Vicar's ex boyfriend. The blithering idiot confesses to burying the body of a copper, the other Christmas, on Kim's Home Farm estate - would never have happened on Alan Turner's and Mrs Bates' watch.

I remove the bandaging from my eye on Friday morning. I look like I've had ten seconds in the round with Tyson Fury. I chill for most of the day as I'm determined to return to work on Monday as I can't abide working from home. There's no real improvement in my vision, yet.

Tony Mac is on manoeuvres in the Sneinton Market area of town. I ask Ms Moon for a pass out as I need some fresh air - I've been self-isolating all week. I time to perfection my arrival at Bunker's Hill, Mac is at the bar and shouts 'em up. We have a quick bat round 'The New Covent Garden' - I take it steady. Something remarkable happens in the Partizan Tavern, the fog and mist lifts from my sight. It's a surreal and happy moment. It's early days but the signs look promising.

The following morning, I rustle up some bacon sandwiches, smothering them with Somerset Brie. I love supporting our local butcher, Robin Tuxford, in Netherfield. He diced some shoulder of lamb for me yesterday as I'm cooking a Lamb Rogan Josh for the good lady tonight, whilst she puts her feet and watches Strictly Come Dancing.

Where to go and watch football today?  One place I'm not welcome at is Radford FC. Big Glenn has put the kybosh on me attending any matchdays at the Club until further notice. I'm considered a Jonah. It falls on deaf ears when I try to explain that I'm not the buffoon who picks the team. I've heard negotiations between Margaret Thatcher and Arthur Scargill in the early 80s went smoother than mine did with Big Glenn.

Every cloud has a silver lining. Blog favourites Carlton Town are playing at home this afternoon. Loughborough Dynamo make the short journey down the A60. Keyworth United and Keyworth Tavern legend Alan 'Jacko' Jackson has made contact to say he will be in attendance as the captains of both teams, Tom Maddison and Rob Norris, both played under his management at KUFC.

There's a great quiz question on Five Live from Alistair Bruce-Ball, who is commentating from Vicarage Road, where Watford and Liverpool are playing in the lunchtime kick off. Which three players reached 100 Premier League goals without scoring a penalty? Answer at the bottom.

I pick a letter up from off the doormat. It's an invitation to a neighbourhood app called Nextdoor. It's comedy gold folks, putting Spotted in Carlton and the even funnier Spotted in Keyworth to shame. Some of the notifications on the timeline are different gravy. Alisha has got some 'brand new' rabbit hay for sale and Lyndsey from Gedling has somehow managed to lose three cats. 

I'm still chuckling as I stroll down past Tesco and onto Burton Road. I admire the extraordinary building of the Old Volunteer public house which I will be frequenting for a refreshment after the long slog home. 

It's £9 on the gate and £1 for a raffle ticket. I've arrived early so I can listen-in to the greatest music playlist on the Non-League circuit. There are always a few The Fall and Buzzcocks tracks to listen out for. 

I chance upon 'Jacko' doing what 'Jacko' does best - sparking up a Hamlet cigar and sinking a pint of bitter. He's on good form following an improvement grant that has been awarded to Keyworth Bowls Club, where he is a committee member, by Rushcliffe Borough Council. His beloved Notts County are away to Tamworth in the 4th qualifying round of the FA Cup. His son, Stuart, usually taxis him around, but he's down Trent Bridge Cricket Ground at the Nottingham Beer Festival.

I stand adjacent to the 18 yard box at the end where the Millers attack in the first half. It's a scrappy opening half an hour with nothing really doing. The game springs to life with Kieran Knight opening the scoring. He doubles his tally three minutes later. Corey Grantham reduces arrears on 40 minutes following good work by the impressive Kevin Da Silva Bastos.

There is an extraordinary moment just before the break. Nat Watson wriggles down the by-line like an electric eel, he crosses the ball with his right foot behind his left leg, it's commonly known as a 'Rabona' and is an outrageous piece of skill. The ball floats over the 'keeper's head and is headed home gleefully at the far post by Toby Moore. There's still time for a glaring miss from the visitors after a breathless final 15 minutes.

I do a lap of honour at the break whilst checking a few latest scores. The deadlock is yet to be broken at The City Ground, Sincil Bank or The Lamb (Tamworth). 'Jacko' is breaking into his second packet of Hamlet. A cloud of smoke appears from out of his mush - it reminds me of my eyesight.

Carlton are on the receiving end of a few tasty challenges in the second half. There's an inevitable sending off which kills off any chance of a Dynamo recovery. Knight seals their fate and completes his hat trick with a deflected effort. 

There's a lovely vibe and feel about Carlton Town. The fundraising efforts of the committee are tireless and rewarding. The team are respectful on the pitch and play the game the right way. I stood with Martin Ball's Dad in the first half. What a warm and engaging fella he was. He stood proudly watching on at his son's comeback match after nearly a year out with a knee injury. Ball is magnificent. He leaps like a salmon and tackles like his life depends on it. I've admired his work over the seasons at Grantham, Shepshed Dynamo and Clifton All Whites. It's great to see he's got his mojo back. Tommy Brookbanks and Mark Harvey can take a lot of credit for that too.

I peg it back home with a spring in my step with victories for the Imps and U Reds too. I can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 144

Man of the Match: Kieran Knight

Quiz Answer: Les Ferdinand, Emile Heskey and Sadio Mane

Credit Martin Ball photo to Steve Mack

Guisborough Town 0-1 West Auckland Town

Two days on the Pop in West Yorkshire with Tony Mac have taken their toll on me. I'm dog-tired folks. I stay in Saturday evening, summing up enough energy to rustle up an award-winning chilli con carne. I notice, after supper, that Radford FC won again without my presence. I can't emphasise enough how much of a Jonah I am when I rock up at Selhurst Street. I decide it's time to patch things up (wind him up) with their legendary manager Big Glenn Russell who says I'm banned from the ground indefinitely. I drop him a text to say I've bought a season ticket at Basford United (it'll never happen folks). The daft lad falls for it hook, line and sinker. My phone console lights up. We exchange a few insults and I'm told I'm still barred whilst results continue to improve.

I'm slumped in my armchair for most of the day, researching and blogging. There's no sloping off to town for a few real ales in Lillie Langtry's. Ms Moon is as happy as Larry watching her box set of Place in the Sun. I retire to bed, early doors, as us bus lads are up for work at 6 a.m.

I spot that F.C.United of Manchester are in town (Basford) on Tuesday evening. It's a moral dilemma: I don't do 4G and ain't that fond of Basford. I'd quite enjoy it in the away end as F.C.United have some cracking ditties. A few years ago Ms Moon and I enjoyed a rain-soaked away day with them in the West Midlands at Sporting Khalsa, in an FA Cup tie. The game ebbed and flowed with the visitors running out 3-2 winners.

I make the rookie mistake of stopping in as rain sweeps in from the west. Basford is so bloody awkward to get to when you're not able to drive. Jesus wept, The Great British Bake Off is on the gogglebox. I mention to Ms Moon that Mary Berry looks a bit like Dame Edna Everidge. She replies that Mary didn't come across on a Bosman free transfer from BBC 2 to Channel 4 and that the baking judge is in fact Prue Leith (me neither).

I decide to have a soak in the bath. I tune into Radio Nottingham as the Pies are away at The Shay in the wonderful old mill town of Halifax, where I mopped up on the craft ale bar front a few weeks back. Notts County are, as their old commentator Colin Slater would say, "two to the good" and in cruise control. Halifax are down to ten men. What follows is an extraordinary 20 minute passage of play, brilliantly captured in the moment by BBC's Charlie Slater. The Shaymen claw two goals back. Ten minutes of added time are played. In the game's last breath Matt Warburton sends The Shay fans into delirium with a 100th minute winner. 440 Notts fans make the miserable journey home empty handed.

It's Friday morning and I'm about to clock off at lunch for the weekend. The ringtone on my phone goes off. My heart skips ten to the dozen, it's the Eye Clinic from the QMC in Nottingham. It's a call I've waited patiently for. I'm given seven days' notice of a lens replacement following a detached retina. I clench my fist and punch the air as I run down the stairs with tears of joy falling down my cheek. What a way to start a long weekend away in North Yorkshire.

We're in the Ferrari - sorry my eyes are playing tricks on me - it's a Fiat 500. The traffic is nose to tail on the A1 close to Doncaster Racecourse. The pain is worsened with Steve Wright in the Afternoon on the car radio. We stop for some food in the picturesque, vibrant market town of Pickering. Neil Warnock, when managing Scarborough, signed Craig Short and his brother, Christian from Pickering Town in 1987. The former went onto to play for Notts County, D**y County, Everton and Blackburn Rovers, fetching millions in the transfer market and clocking up over 500 first team appearances.

We arrive at Whitby at 4 p.m.  We're spending tonight in Trumpy Bolton's dream accommodation - a Wetherspoons hotel called The Angel located on the quayside. The room, a steal at £85 for the night, gets the Ms Moon seal of approval following her 1000th episode of Four in a Bed.

The skies are blue and the weather is warm as we wander up to the West Cliff. The tide is high as waves crash against the beach wall. A couple of disappointed surfers head up to Sandsend with their boards tucked under the armpits, unaware that the sea was up to the wall. The night will be drawing in by the time they pitch up there.

Ms Moon relaxes in the hotel whilst Sticky Palms ventures out into town. I tick off the Waiting Room on the railway station platform. I get chatting to a couple of beer enthusiasts from Clitheroe and Blyth who tip me the wink on a few new pubs in the town that have opened since our last visit in 2016.

I cross over the bridge to visit a tiny taproom, but there's no room at the inn. I swing by The Endeavour before meeting up with Ms Moon in 'Spoons. The real ales aren't great. I have to settle for Shipyard. We finish the evening off at The Station which is bustling with friendly locals and cheery bar staff.

After a good night's sleep we head over bridge for breakfast at Sanders Yard, which is highly rated on Google reviews. Lord knows why; it's bloomin' awful. The staff are surly and the food is cold. The card machine is broken (that old chestnut). We settle up the bill, but there's no 10% tip for service after that omnishambles.

'Breakfast' is walked off up towards Sandsend - the surfers haven't washed up just yet. The rest of the gang from Nottingham rock up at midday. They meet and greet us at Resolution over lunch. We catch up over a pint or two before they stretch their legs on a culture tour of the town (pub crawl). I've already eyed-up a football match in the Northern League.

Guisborough is a market town in the Borough of Redcar and Cleveland in North Yorkshire. It has a population of 17,000. Notable people from the town include: the brilliant Early Doors actor Mark Benton, Grand National winning jockey Bob Champion and footballers Sean Gregan and James Coppinger.

The trip is uneventful on the A171 up to Guisborough. There is, however, a moment that will live in the memory when Ms Moon belts out Dancing Queen by Abba which is played on Paul Gambaccini's Pick of the Pops from 1976. I'm comforted by an Auto Windscreens van parked up in a layby as Ms Moon makes a brave attempt at the high notes. The windscreen on further inspection comes through unscathed.

We stick the car on the road outside the tennis club opposite King George V Playing Fields. It's £7 on the turnstile and £1 each for a Golden Goal ticket. There are no programmes available. The ground is well shielded by huge leylandi trees. 

Both of us are 'Hank Marvin' following that feeble attempt at a breakfast. Ms Moon pokes her head through the serving hatch and shouts up a couple of steak mince pies. I enjoy some banter with the home 'keeper who is pulling off some acrobatic saves in the warm-up - "save 'em for the game youth."

We chance upon a suited and booted FA official. I ask him if he's the referee's assessor? They prefer to be called 'Match Observers' these days. I'll be sending one down to Radford's ground sometime soon unless Big Glenn lifts that 'temporary ban.'

Today's visitors are West Auckland, winners of the Sir Thomas Lipton Trophy in 1909 and 1911 - you may remember the TV adaption called The Captain's Tale starring Dennis Waterman.

The first half is decent enough, but somewhat spoilt by the man in black who fails to send off the visiting No.7 following a tackle straight from a Jackie Chan Martial arts book.. He then proceeds to book all and sundry for the slightest infringement of the Laws of the Game, including a soft yellow card for the Guisborough 7 jacket. The visitors take the lead against the run of play with a well-executed goal.

The second half is below par. Guisborough are reduced to ten men with a second yellow dished out to No.7 by the overzealous referee. The visitors see the game out without breaking sweat. We race back to Whitby. We're all staying in the Royal Hotel on the seafront. It's Fawlty Towers at it's finest. I slip away for a quiet pint in town at the splendid Arch and Abbey whilst Reception field a flood of complaints from angry customers.

We meet in the hotel bar and share a list of horror stories from the bedroom to the bathroom. There's no Guinness or real ale on either. Some of our party are worse for wear following the afternoon's shenanigans. We're booked in at The Blitz for evening food and end the night at a lively Abbey Wharf where one or two folks throw shapes to floor-fillers from Depeche Mode, Erasure and Queen.

Tim, a lad from our party, is from Kent; a county I've yet to fully explore apart from seeing Notts County thumped 4-0 at Gillingham's Priestfield Stadium back in the mid 80s. I spend the evening tapping into him for tips on places to visit and the best pubs on offer. He comes up trumps with Faversham and Whistable which are firmly placed in the notebook (i-Phone notes)

There are some sore heads and sleepless nights to report in the morning. I was as good as gold though, sticking to low abv real ale for most of the evening - makes a change eh? The group head up to the fishing village of Staithes. We stroll down to the harbour in uninterrupted sunshine and take a few snaps before jumping in the car and finishing off the weekend in the Crown and Cushion in the village of Welburn, where celebrity chef James Martin grew up. A Sunday Roast, accompanied by a couple of pints of Black Sheep, is the perfect end to a top weekend. Piers and Sticky can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 349

Man of the Match: The DJ at the Abbey Wharf

Radford FC 0-2 Kimberley Miners' Welfare

It's been a smash 'n grab by 'The Lincoln' at Burton Albion's Pirelli Stadium. Ms Moon has stepped on the gas, with her foot firmly to the floor, in the Fiat 500, that has go-faster Italian stripes. We hurtle down the A38 and onto the A50. There's a quick pit stop at Gamston Morrisons, as I'm cooking at Chez Palms this evening.

By 6 p.m. I'm sat outside, lapping up the the late evening sunshine, at Neon Raptor, in the heart of 'The New Covent Garden' (Sneinton Market). In celebratory mood I shout up a 1/3 of a pint of 'Defeat the Rancour,' an Imperial Double Pastry Stout at 13% abv - my legs are like jelly and nearly give way when I run for the bus.

It's Tuesday evening. I jump off the No.27 bus outside Oceans chippy on Carlton Road. I grab some tea (fishcake and beans from Tesco, if you're interested) before booking a taxi. Tonight Radford FC are playing Kimberley MW at the Oakfield Construction Arena, on Selhurst Street, inner city Nottingham. Regular readers will know that Pheasants manager, Big Glenn Russell, has told me not to bother turning up anymore as they always seem to fall to defeat during my presence.

I've decided to go in disguise - the fool will never recognise me. I've a new light grey waterproof walking coat that I recently bought on a dismal summer's day at Mountain Warehouse in Ilkley. I put an old baseball cap on, tuck my large golfing umbrella under my arm and jump in the taxi.

I had hoped to hook up with blog legend John Harris and wife Jackie. Sadly, John is bogged down with work this evening and can't attend. I slip through the turnstile with no questions asked. This is going to be a breeze. I clock Big Glenn eyeing up the Raddy warm-up; he's definitely distracted and caught in the moment. I peg it double quick past him. "Oi  ... what the effing hell are you doing here?" The bloke must have eyes in the back of his head.

I explain that I have a new tactic that should help Radford to victory. I announce that I'm going to stand in the away end. "Good ... keep out of my sight" he shouts out loudly. I get gassing to Kimberley committee members 'Hobbo' and Danny. The club have put together a young side after losing some of their best players to Kettering Town, Loughborough Dynamo and Heanor Town. It doesn't bode well for Big Glenn that Kimbo have won 7 out of their last 8 games - add to that the fact his unlucky mascot is also in attendance.

It's hosed it down with rain all day. It's relentless and if anything it rains even harder as the teams emerge from the tunnel. The game is scrappy and disjointed. I'm more interested in hearing about Hobbo's holiday in Zante and of some of the pubs in Giltbrook and Langley Mill that I've yet to visit.

There is a rare moment of beauty in the 40th minute. Aaron Coyle, who I clocked off the bench at West Bridgford earlier in the season, picks up the ball in space out on the left wing. He drifts inside before curling in a shot that nestles into the bottom corner of the net. Jeez  .... Sticky Palms is in big trouble again.

I try to avoid Big Glenn like the plague at half-time. Hopefully he's in the changing room slinging his baseball cap to the floor in a fit of pique, whilst handing out a bollocking to the lads. I'm queuing at the tea bar, minding my own business, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. "I thought I told you not to bother coming down this evening" says a cheesed off Big Glenn.

I hide at the top end of the ground, out of sight. It only takes Kimbo a couple of minutes to increase their lead with a brilliantly worked goal headed home by Jack Henchcliffe. They even manage to fluff their lines from the penalty spot. I successfully manoeuvre around the perimeter of the ground without coming across the Big Man. I receive a text, as I sit in my armchair warming my hands on a piping hot cup of tea. It's succinct and to the point. 'YOU'RE BARRED.' 

It's Thursday morning and I'm sat at a table for two with Tony Mac at Bill's on Queen Street, close to the Brian Clough statue. We wolf down a full English breakfast before catching the 10.15 a.m. train to 'Dirty Leeds.' We've planned this real ale trail and craft bar trip to precision over the last few weeks.

My brother, Mark, is 60 years old on Saturday and only lives down the road in York. We've already ticked off a few canalside pubs by the time we meet him in the wonderful Scarborough Hotel. We carry on supping and chatting at Leeds' oldest pub Whitelocks as well as Turks Head and Brownhill and Co. It's great to catch up with 'Our Kid' before his big day.

We catch a cab up to the Premier Inn Leeds Arena. There's time for a shower and shave before heading out to Vocation's bar, that is housed in Assembly Underground. The guy who owns Vocation, John Hickling, was a co-owner at Blue Monkey Brewery at Giltbrook. His dream was to open a pub and own a brewery at Hebden Bridge. Vocation beers are now available at most supermarkets. They also have a beauty of a bar called Society Manchester, where you can order street food to accompany their insane beers.

I wake up on Friday morning and count up the pubs and bars we visited yesterday - there are 13x in total, but I feel as fresh as a daisy. We head back to the train station and buy a West Yorkshire all-day saver. The Trans Pennine Rail Ale Trail is the peak of the trip. First port of call is Marsden, which lies at the confluence of the River Colne and Wessenden Brook. It's also home to Marsden FC which features in Mike Bayly's book called British Football's Greatest Grounds. Not only are we taken aback with the jaw-dropping panoramic views that surround the ground, but are also amazed that sheep graze on the pitch.

We're killing time before the pub opens, having already polished off another breakfast at the cosy Bistro 11. It gives us the opportunity to discover the grave of Enoch Taylor, who built automatic croppers that were smashed to smithereens with hammers by The Luddites.

The day is spent hopping on and hopping off the TransPennine Express train. We call in at Huddersfield where I was a few weeks ago when the Tricky Trees footballed the Terriers off the park. We tick off the Kings Head that is part of the station. I'm curious about the Jimi Hendrix artwork that is on the pub sign and litter bins outside. There's a re-visit to The Grove along with it's wonderful beer menu.

Day runs into evening as we call by Mirfield, Dewbury and Batley - names that remind me of Rugby League teams and the commentator Eddie Waring back in the 70s. Dark descends as we pull into Wakefield Station. I came to this city on the day Prince William married Kate Middleton with Trumpy Bolton. It was also the last game Wakefield ever played at their old ground. We pay a visit to the Wakefield Labour Club. According to the barman Wakefield was a Labour stronghold for over 100 years until the last election. The cliental are as miserable as sin. There's a sarcastic 'thanks for coming' from a beer-swilling Corbynite as we make for the exit - I've voted Labour for 40 years in every election, but first impressions, eh?

Northern Monk Refrectory, back in Leeds, is on the list to be ticked off. We rock up at 10.35 p.m. to be told last orders and the final bell was rang five minutes ago. What sort of 'pub' closes at 10.30 on a Friday night?

What a superb two days we've had. Tony Mac catches a tram to Hucknall as I slog it up London Road towards Sneinton Market in pouring rain. I swing by Neon Raptor and buy a few cans of rocket fuel that I squeeze into my suitcase. There's a brilliant end to the day. Ms Moon has flicked on Final Score. I'm on all fours praying that Lincoln equalise versus Plymouth Argyle. Two late scorers at gone 90 mins appear on the vidiprinter: Anthony Scully for Lincoln and Curtis Thompson for Wycombe Wanderers. I discovered Thompson playing football for Hyson Green Cavaliers at Clifton All-Whites back in 2005 - I can't 'arf pick 'em.

Attendance: 48

Man of the Match: Our Mark and Tony Mac.