Sheffield Wednesday 0-0 Stockport County

It's been a stroll in the park at the Lido Ground for Eastwood CFC as they steamroll over the opposition, Clipstone FC 5-0. We're long gone and cruising down the A614 by the time the referee blows the final whistle. Ms Moon drops me off at the Old Volunteer (Vollo) on Burton Road, just a five minute walk away from our crib. Please don't confuse the Vollo with the pretentious Old Volunteer in Caythorpe village. With its sharing pods and sofas in the pub garden. It's like the set from Love Island.

The 192 year-old Vollo is far more humble and welcoming. It has a vast range of cask ales. Lights, Darks, best bitters and Pales are all available. I opt for a pint of American Candy from Lenton Lane Brewery. I sit on a stool catching up on all the final scores in this afternoon's football. It's my favourite part of the week.

When I arrive home I ask Ms Moon if a date has been set for the funeral of Jimmy King from Emmerdale Farm, as I was thinking of booking time off from work, so I could attend the service, and pay my respects at Hotten Church, in West Yorkshire. She tells me to grow up. Apparently it's a soap opera and not for real. Well, knock me down with a feather.

It's Tuesday evening and I've just polished off a chippy tea from Oceans, which is owned by a big Sky Blues fan. I bet he'll be in the Coventry away end at The City Ground on Saturday evening. I walk to Stoke Lane with Faggsy as the Mighty Millers are entertaining lowly Long Eaton. DJ Murph is on the decks this evening. His set list includes: Glory Box, Portishead, Lullaby, The Cure and Idiot Joy Showland, by The Fall.

The Carlton management team are slowly getting the band back together. Charlie Carter has returned on loan from Mansfield Town. The biggest news though is that club legend Dan Brown is back in the fold as well as his dad, Malc. We love them both to bits.

We lean on the railing, hugging the touchline in the Sir Malcolm Brown stand, located on the far side of the ground. The Millers play football on the front foot. The goal has been coming and what a banger it is too from Nat Watson. I catch up with a few folk that I haven't seen for a while at the break. Biscuit and Jon Gilbert are always good for banter.

Watson, a match winner on his day, looks to have put the game to bed, shortly after the break, with a tap in at the far post, following an inch perfect cross from Jack Thomas. Long Eaton show some spirit and begin to rally the troops. They have knocked on the door and had a few near misses as they get on top. They deservedly reduce arrears from the spot.

They are wide open at the back as they chase the game. A defensive howler sees Watson grab a treble and the match ball. The icing on the cake is complete with a 1-0 win for 'The Lincoln' versus Bristol City, at Ashton Gate.

Wednesday afternoon is spent in the village of Keyworth, where I resided for 45 years. My granddaughter, Romy Palmer, is on top form, once she awakens from her afternoon nap. I leave her watching Mickey Mouse (not to be mixed up with an EMR advert). I manage to grab a quick pint of a Two by Two IPA (Byker, in Newcastle) from the Cock and Hoop, on High Pavement, in Nottingham city centre, before jumping on a bus back to HQ.

At 1pm on Thursday I'm on an EMR train to Grantham. There's no drama nor any power sockets to charge my phone. I've a 15 minute change time before hopping on a LNER high speed train up to York. They are the creme de la creme of rail operators. Following a recent study by the Telegraph only Transport for Wales, GWR, ScotRail and Merseyrail bettered their performance. Cross Country finished bottom of the pile, due to the sickness culture that's widespread in the company.

My brother and I take a wander along the banks of the river Ouse. It's a beautiful autumn afternoon. First port of call is the recently re-opened Wellington Inn, on Alma Terrace, in Fishergate. I love the cosy snugs and historical pictures hanging from the walls.

Samuel Smith's eccentric brewery owner, Humphrey Smith, recently passed away at the age of 81 years old. 16 of their pubs have re-opened since June 2026. I compliment the landlord on the quality of his beer. He asks if I can put a positive review on google. "Sorry mate, but you've banned mobile phones", I jest.

No visit to York is complete without popping into the House of Trembling Madness. I neck a 6% of Verdant's finest craft ale, whilst tapping my feet to the furious drumbeat of Joy Division's Transmission.

Mark and I are up and at 'em early on Friday morning. We're parked up outside the Mallyan Spout Hotel by 10,30 a.m. It's a tricky climb over greasy stepping stones up to the Mallyan Spout Waterfall, which rises from the spring in the moorland above Goathland.

I'm in need of liquid refreshment. In the tiny village of Beck Hole is the wonderful three star CAMRA Heritage pub called Birch Hall Inn. It has a serving hatch and a selection of ales. We enjoy homemade cheese scones, pork pies and beer cake, smothered in butter, outside, in the fresh air. A chatty landlady says that the pub has only had two licencees in the last 94 years.

Goathland has become infamous due to the long-running ITV series Heartbeat. Loyal readers know I used to adore this proper cop shop. I loved it when Sergeant Blaketon used to catch PC Ventress with his feet up having a crafty fag and a cup of tea, when he should have been out and about clocking what stolen goods Claude Greengrass was fencing.

There's a fleeting visit to the town of Selby. We walk past the cathedral on our way to another CAMRA HP called New Inn. We swing by Sainsburys so I can buy a couple of bottles of wine for my brother and sister in-law, for putting me up, or should that be, putting up with me. for a couple of nights.

Another recently reopened Sam Smith's pub called The Tankard, in Rufforth, is ticked off on the way home. Once again the ale is spot on. Mark rustles up a lovely curry as we settle in for the evening. We watch the first half of Brentford v Chelsea. Gogglebox on Channel 4 is far more entertaining.

I'm in Sheffield for midday. The highlight of the train journey was four women from Newcastle cheering that they had booked tickets for a Jimmy Nail concert at Gateshead Glasshouse. It's an 80 minute walk to Hillsborough with a beer stop on the way at The Harlequin. I catch up on the latest news and scores on my phone as I quaff a Cloudwater XPA. Lauryn Hill's brilliant Everything is Everything is played on the jukebox shuffle.

There's so much that catches my eye on the walk to the game, particularly the first-class Sheffield breweries such as Neepsend and Heist. I'm sat in my seat in the upper Kop Stand by 2pm. The DJ plays The Smiths and Stone Roses before warming the crowd up with a Sheffield medley mix of Reverend and the Makers, Arctic Monkeys, Human League and Pulp.

Over 32,000 have rocked up on the back of a 0-0 bore draw last Saturday versus Wigan. The Stockport fans attend in large numbers and it is their team (the Hatters) who swarm all over the Owls. They couldn't hit a cow's arse with a banjo as shots balloon over the bar, go wide of the post, or are cleared off the line. Wednesday play the long and direct game. They gift the ball to the visitors time and time again. 

It's hard to say who is more disinterested in the game: two five year old boys mucking about in the seats adjacent to me or Wednesday forward Jamal Lowe. It begins to dawn on me that this is going to end 0-0. Stockport are streets ahead of the Owls, whose only improvement arrives from the bench with the energy and bravery of 17 year-old Harry Gray, who is on loan from Leeds. I can't 'arf pick 'em ... lol.

Attendance: 32,290

Player of the Match: Ben Osborn (could put a cross on a sixpence)

Best Beer I've Drank This Week: Two by Two, Idhao Citra

Best Song Heard on the Dukey This Week: Lauryn Hill, Everything is Everything

Get well soon to one of my best mates xx

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