Blaby & Whetstone Ath 0 Boldmere St Michaels 1

It’s Sunday November 8th. The Groundhopper has got his scouting hat on today. He’s at Melbourne Park, Aspley, in Nottingham. I’ve come to watch an all Asian team. I’m sat on a park bench chatting to a few of their parents. Both teams are warming up when all hell breaks loose.

Some moron, with a limp, lets his Staffordshire bull terrier of its lead. The beast runs amok. He’s biting some of the boys who are screaming with fear. A couple of them hang on the crossbar to avoid a foaming at the mouth canine creature. The parents I was speaking to have also scarpered.



It was a distressing moment to see all the kids trembling like that. We have a bit of a laugh about it once the offender and his owner had been frog marched off the premises. Someone quips that they are not surprised that the dog’s owner has a limp.

Everyone crowds around the TV set in the evening. The X Factor has reached a crescendo. Ten million eyes fall on smug Simon Cowell. Even Sticky Palms is torn away from the Non League Paper. Cowell has the chance to put the nation out of its misery.

I can still hear Mrs P’s cry of despair. She’s had a couple of Chardonnay’s. She shrieks at host Dermot O’Leary, as he announces that those pair of Emerald Islanders (Jedward) has survived the public vote. I haven’t the heart to tell her it’s all a fix.



I have a very quiet week by my standards. I’m down the training ground on Monday. I sample a few real ales the next three nights, while I ferry my boys to football training. Star Bitter from the Belvoir Brewery is the pick of the bunch at the Plough Inn, in the affluent village of Wysall.

It’s Saturday morning and old Sticky Palms is feeling as rough as a badgers arse. It was like a who’s who of blog legends up the Salutation Inn last night. I was with: The Architect, Chopper Harris, Barthez, The Nuclear Scientist, The Canadian, White Van Man and Jacko. I was on Guinness and despite skipping a round or two still feel decidedly dodgy.

I’ve arranged to meet my boss in the Hemlock Stone car park. We’re heading up to north Notts – I seem to spend half my life up there!



Mick is a real character. He makes me chuckle with his sharp observations and amusing anecdotes. He knows his onions and made over 600 League appearances in goal for Halifax Town, Notts County and Chesterfield.

We briefly visit a ground in Kirkby-in-Ashfield. We’ve been tipped the wink about a centre forward. The boy has an arrogance and swagger about him.

We shoot over to the village of Bagthorpe to watch a junior game. The sloping pitch is situated behind the Dixie’s Arms public house. They are still making breakfast cobs. We don’t miss out on the opportunity.



I’m talking to a young goalkeeper after the game. He’s sporting a Lincoln City keepers’ shirt. I tell him that the Imps are the team I support. His dad replies that they were giving the shirts away. Sounds about right.

I finally arrive home at 1pm. Mrs P has took ‘The Skipper’ to his cup game in Newstead village. I’m just locking up when I hear the toot of a horn at the front of the house. For the first time in three years of Groundhopping the White Van Man is giving me a treat. We’re riding in the white van.



It’s the death ride from hell. Lord only knows what the trip to Middlesbrough’s Riverside Stadium is going to be like next week. His part time job should be as a getaway driver. He smokes off an Asda lorry at the Hobby Horse roundabout and tares up the M1 for a junction.

He’s already had an incident with a Chinese cyclist in Cambridge this week. It certainly hasn’t put him off from white knuckle- riding.

Bruiser phones in. He has a hot date tonight and is cooking dinner. WVM calls him ‘Candle’ – because he’s always being blown out.



We’re close to the ground but can’t quite find it due to a complicated one way system. An attractive young lady walking a black cocker spaniel dog guides us to the ground. It certainly made WVM feel a little hot under the collar.

It’s £4 entry and £1 for another splendid programme. The pitch looks perfectly playable despite it pelting down with rain for most of the day and night.

We amble past the small stand and rock up to the right of the Blaby dugout, shielded from the gusty conditions by a perimeter fence.



Blaby & Whetstone Athletic play at Warwick Road. They play in the Leicestershire Senior League at Step 7 level.

Today’s visitors are Boldmere St Michaels (the Mikes) they are from the Sutton Coldfield area of Birmingham. They ply their trade in the Aspire Midland Alliance at Step 5. On paper it looks to be a comfortable away win.

The Mikes look a class above in the opening twenty minutes. Lee Osbourne has already gone close for the visitors when they take the lead on seven minutes. Ricky Baker hugs the touchline and collects the ball from inside, he beats the full back for pace and clips a ball into Osbourne who spectacularly and skilfully steers a volley into the top right hand corner of the net.



The Groundhopper and White Van Man applaud the goal. It is beautifully executed. We have had our money’s worth already. We don’t do 0-0s readers!

Blaby kick with the wind and take an age to settle, showing their opponents far too much respect. But they begin to find their feet. Their young, athletic 6 & 8 jacket stamp their authority on the game.

They have two glaring misses before the break – one a header by Pallet, the other a shot well saved by Mikes’ ‘keeper Sean Butler.



To be honest we’ve lost a little interest in the game, not because of the lack of quality or excitement (it’s a decent game) but because today has thrown up one of those characters that you could only find at a non league ground.

The guy’s name is ‘Dorset John’ or ‘Lord Bath.’ He has a casual acquaintance with a lady in the Midlands and has dropped her off at a few charity shops in Leicester, while he ticks off another ground. He’s from Poole in Dorset.

He wears a bright orange jacket. He reminds me of Uncle Albert off Only Fools and Horses. He has more tales than Hans Christian Anderson. He was assistant kit man at AFC Bournemouth back in the 1990s when Stoke City manager Tony Pulis was in charge of the Cherries.



I remind him that Lincoln City beat Bournemouth 9-0 back in 1982. Harry Redknapp was manager at the time. It turns out that John and I were both at the game.

He reels off one anecdote after another and has Sticky Palms and WVM in stitches. We take a breather from the old fella and head towards a chaotic clubhouse. I can hear WVM’s stomach rumbling so treat him to a ham cob and a cup of tea. There’s no rating for the tea as it isn’t poured from the pot.

I glance up at the TV screen. The Pies are drawing 2-2 at Bury’s Gigg Lane. Predictably, Chris Sutton’s Lincoln have failed to trouble the scorers.



Dorset John must be enjoying our company as he hooks up with us both in the second half. I think WVM may have had enough though as he sticks his i-phone headset into his tabs and checks out a few scores.

I’ve lost all interest for the game now and only have eyes and ears for Dorset John. He’s told endless gags from the Pulis era and has now moved on to when Mel Machin was manager. Apparently Machin was a miserable old sod and John decided to move on to pastures new.

Blaby bust a gut in search of an equaliser. The Mikes’ Jason Holmes had earlier seen a shot deflected over which would have surely clinched the tie.


There’s plenty of huff, puff and endeavour but Blaby fail in the final third. It’s been a sterling effort to match a side two leagues above them but they just fall short.

There’s time for one final shaggy dog story from Dorset John. He recalls the time that Chelsea’s Russian international goalkeeper Dmitri Kharine signed a match ball while sitting on the toilet in the away dressing room.

We bid farewell. What a character. The van is revved up and we exit out the car park. WVM flicks on Heart FM, they are playing the 80s hit ‘Midas Touch.’ Where’s Dorset John when you need him?

Man of the Match: Dorset John.

Attendance: 122.

Notts County 2 Bradford City 1

We’ve known each other for twenty one years, for sixteen of those we have been married. I like groundhopping, she likes channel hopping. She irons the clothes listening to Boyzone. I wash the car to Bauhaus on the i-Pod. We rarely row. She is placid, even in the stickiest situations.

We have a ripsnorter of a bust-up once a year. It’s normally November 5th and it involves Sticky’s favourite furry friend – Finley Palmer - the rabbit.

It’s firework night and already I can see that Finley is looking a shade uncomfortable with the racket of a few firecrackers coming from close by. He shuffles nervously about his cage. I try and reassure the wee man but he’s shaking like a leaf. I broach the subject, with Mrs P, about the little fella coming in the house for the night. I’ll even turn the fire up for him to gas mark 3. Mrs P is having none of it.



Finley is serving a life ban. His appeal at the dinner table was unsuccessful. I let him in our crib three years ago. He got a bit familiar with the layout of the joint. He squeezed his way through to the back of the TV set and gnawed his way through the Sky TV cable. We were without Coronation Street and EastEnders for two days. It was the happiest day of my life. Finley gained cult status that evening.

Racked with guilt I head down to the Griffin Inn at the Plumtree for a firework display. My godson and his cheeky monkey of a brother - ‘Gangsta.’ – are at the same gig. It’s all a bit la-di-dah. You can’t move in the car park for 4x4s, BMW’s and Mercs. The fireworks are spectacular though.

I start thinking about the Notts County youth team. They have a potential banana skin of a cup tie at Malvern Town tonight. I text my boss Mick for the final score. I breathe a huge sigh of relief when the return text comes through: Notts have won in extra-time. ‘We’ were down to the bare bones.



It’s Friday, the day of the game against Bradford. I start the day off with a ‘Fat Rascal’ from the Munch Box in Ruddington. It’s a chaotic shift at work, the phones are red hot. A quiet pint at the Rancliffe Arms in Bunny, with some colleagues, makes a welcome change.

I arrive home from work. The kids are excited about tonight’s game. A few years ago, when Gudjon Thordarson was manager at ‘The Pies’, the football was dull and uninspiring. If the kids were naughty, or back-chatted me, I’d threaten to take them down to Meadow Lane. They soon started to behave. Now they beg to go down as the new era begins.

We’re in the car driving through Plumtree. The Melton Road is snagged up with traffic and has come to a standstill. Sticky junior is getting stressed that we might miss the game. I turn right in Tollerton and head down past Nottingham Airport and enter West Bridgford the back way.



The kids are bouncing up and down to Tinchy Strider’s ‘You’re Not Alone’ which features a sample of Olive’s 1997 hit (I know my toons readers .. lol). We park in County Hall which is free of charge tonight.

Sticky junior doesn’t want to sit with Dad anymore. He hooks up with some mates and ends up in the Family Stand behind the goal. He’s cadged a loud haler off one of his pals but I’ve banned him from bringing it. The Groundhopper meets up with The Nuclear Scientist in the Derek Pavis Stand. We sit halfway up, level with the eighteen yard area.

‘The Skipper’ and Snooksy spot a pal three rows back and decide to join him. My mood feels good. The DJ spins 'Living for the ‘Weekend’ by Staines indie band Hard-Fi. Gone has the crackling PA system and Norman Collier esque microphone. Notts County are in the money. Even near neighbours Nottingham Forest look on in envy.



Former Panathinaikos and FC Copenhagen manager Hans Backe makes an abundance of changes to the Notts County team – there’s no Schmeichel, Moloney, Jones, Lee, Thompson, Rogers or Hughes. In come Hunt, Clapham, Hoult, Akinbyi, and Hawley. Captain Neil Bishop plays in an unfamiliar role at right back.

Tonight’s visitors are the Bantams of Bradford City. They were on the receiving end of a five star performance by the Pies back in August. Revenge was swift and sweet, when they knocked Notts out of the Johnstone Paints Trophy a few weeks ago on penalties.

Bradford is situated in the foothills of the Pennines and is in the metropolitan borough of West Yorkshire. It has a population of just under 500,000. It was once famous for its textile manufacturing.



Twenty five per cent of the city has southern Asian origin. Local celebrity include: the singer and X-Factor runner-up Gareth Gates, rugby coach Brian Noble, the boxer Richard Dunn (he fought Muhammad Ali,) the late Richard Whiteley, actor Timothy West, Girls Aloud star Kimberley Walsh , Britain’s last hangman Albert Pierrepoint, the author J B Priestley and the original Peter Crouch – Ian Ormondroyd.

Saturday May 11th 1985 was the most horrific day in the club’s history. Fire broke out under the main stand, due to a discarded cigarette end, during the game between Bradford City and my team Lincoln City. Sticky didn’t travel that day because he was playing cricket. Fifty six people perished in the fire, with a further 270 also injured.

The Bradford Disaster Appeal Fund raised £3.5 million for the victims of the fire. Two Lincoln City supporters were among the dead that day. Sincil Bank’s Stacey West Stand was named in their memory.



I went to the Osdal Stadium a year or so later to watch a League Cup tie between Bradford and Nottingham Forest. It’s a venue that hosts speedway, rugby league and stock car racing. The Tricky Trees won 5-0 but lanky forward Ian Ormondroyd rattled the woodwork twice at 0-0.

There’s a minute’s silence for Remembrance Day. It is immacutely observed. The moment is beautiful. I think of My grandad and those poor victims that died at Valley Parade on that awful day.

The opening half an hour is as dull as dishwater. Notts pass the ball around but the tempo is at testimonial game pace. Bradford play an ugly long-ball game.

Former Carlisle Utd and Preston North End forward Karl Hawley looks a tricky players for the Pies. He twists and turns and has an exquisite first touch. His partnership with Akinbiyi is in its infancy. They play like strangers. Hawley appears to be pulled down as he is about to release the trigger. Referee Ilderton waves away claims for a penalty.



Ricky Ravenhill – Sticky calls him ‘Rocky Ravenhill’ – takes a stranglehold of the midfield. He plays every game like it’s the last one of his career. He’s tenacious in the tackle and supreme in the air. He’d be the first on The Groundhopper’s team sheet. I’d throw him the captain’s armband too. I first saw him play in the red and white hoops of Doncaster Rovers in the Conference at Burton Albion’s old Eton Park ground years ago. He was the cream of the crop that night too.

Bradford begin to get some joy and test the makeshift Notts backline. Hanson sends Evans scampering away; he beats Bishop for pace and blasts a ferocious shot at Russell Hoult who beats his effort away.

The game hots up with Notts having further chances but finding Bradford stopper Simon Eastwood in fine fettle.



The half ends with a terrific ebb and flow. Jet heeled winger Scott Neilson, a recent signing from Cambridge City, and the grandson of Tottenham Hotspur legend Cliff Jones, bursts down the middle and unleashes a shot which once again Hoult deals with superbly.

Notts pour forward. ‘Rocky’ sees two shots blocked. Hawley pounces onto the loose ball to fire home through a crowd of players. The best two chances have fallen to Bradford and yet it’s Notts who take the lead.

I have to reprimand ‘The Skipper’ at the break for acting the goat. He’s singing stupid chants and annoying folk nearby.

Notts score the goal of the game immediately after the break. Following good work by Clapham, Akinbiyi and Hawley, the ball falls to Jackson. He waltzes through the Bantams’ defence and finishes clinically.




Bradford’s long diagonal ball poses the Notts defence problems for most of the evening as the tie starts to get tasty. A fiery Neilson gets in a tangle with Hunt and flicks a foot out in frustration. The Pies rearguard struggle to contain his pace and power.

The Bantams pull a goal back ten minutes from time through ex tennis pro and former Mansfield Town striker Michael Boulding.

Backe throws on Westcarr to inject some much needed pace. The Bradford ‘keeper makes another brave block with his legs. There are a few close scares as Notts try to close the game down.

There have been twenty six shots and twelve corners in an entertaining cup tie, in which the goalkeepers were king.

Fiery flame-haired Bantams' boss Stuart McCall remonstrates with the officials at the end of the game. What a player he was with City in his first spell there all those years ago.

Attendance: 4213 (493 from Bradford)

Man of the Match: both goalkeepers.

Referee 7 out of 10.

Kirkby Town 3 Louth Town 2

We met on an autumn evening at Causeway Lane, the home of Matlock Town FC. I was stood with The Taxman and he was with ‘Screats’ Dad. We live in the same village but were somehow acquainted 30 miles away. It quickly became apparent that we shared a passion for the non league scene. It was the perfect combination: I enjoy the beautiful game and he enjoys the half-time tucker.

But now my relationship with White Van Man is in tatters. What he has done to me is unforgiveable. How could he do it? I feel sick, repulsed and angry. It’s broken me. He’s only phoned-in to the worst radio station in the world – Heart FM – to speak up for them pair of potato pickers off the X-Factor – John and Edward (Jedward). He was live on the airwaves and called himself ‘David from Keyworth.’ Shame on you WVM!



I took ‘The Skipper’ on the Par 3 at Edwalton Golf Course. He proper got the hump as Sticky Palms burnt the course up like Tiger Woods. I made par at the 4th, 5th, 6th & 7th and chipped in twice off the green. It made the Chicken Legend at McDonalds, after the game that little bit more enjoyable.

It’s Saturday 8am and The Groundhopper has the hangover from hell. I appreciate how Trumpy Bolton must feel every morning. I was in West Bridgford last night at a real ale house called the Stratford Haven. I over-indulged in guzzling copious amounts of Golden Wunder bitter from the Thwaites brewery in Blackburn.



Mrs P had kicked me out the house because she was having a girlie night. Allegedly it was a strategy meeting for their impending weekend in London( no groundhopping that weekend readers). In hindsight I’d have been better off sharing a table for two in Finley’s hutch.

I staggered onto the 11.30pm bus from Trent Bridge. There were one or two exuberant Leicester fans on the back row celebrating their second away win in less than five days.

I’m committed to being in Sutton-in-Ashfield on a scouting job by 10am. It’s going to take more than two poached eggs to crank me up today.



I’m driving up the A60 chuckling away at the Danny Baker Show on Five Live. Baker is asking folk to phone in if they’ve ever been inside a football managers’ house. I immediately phone JK as he once went to Walter Smith’s gaffe in Glasgow and disturbed him from his painting and decorating. Walter even invited him in for a cup of tea. JK tries to phone the show but can’t get through.

I watch an under 8s and under 9s game in Sutton-in-Ashfield. The kids play the game with a smile on the face. Both games are quality. I really enjoy it and invite a couple of boys to come in and train with Notts County.



It’s been a good morning’s work. I pop into The Fieldings, the home of Sutton AFC. Mansfield Town u18s and Notts County u18s lock horns. The Stags score an injury time winner. It’s somewhat took the gloss off the morning.

I drive up to Kirkby-in-Ashfield. I’m in the Rolls Royce and have bags of time on my hands. I swing into a Tesco Express to buy some lunch. My headache and upset stomach are a distant memory. I grab a chicken Caesar wrap and a bottle of Oasis orange.



Within 50 metres of the shop is a huge Co-op which I’d somehow failed to spot. I perform a u-turn and head back towards the Summit Centre, which is a not for profit community enterprise, developed by the East Kirkby Welfare.

Kirkby-in-Ashfield is a market town in Nottinghamshire with a population of 25,000. It was once at the heart of the Nottinghamshire coalfields. Most of the collieries were closed in the 1980s.



Famous people from the Kirkby area include: former England fast bowler Harold Larwood (there is a statue of him in the town centre), Chris Gascoyne, who plays born loser Peter Barlow in Coronation Street (he went to school in Kirkby), former Middlesboro defender Stuart Boam, and ex QPR and Everton winger Dave Thomas (socks always rolled down).Labour politician and former defence secretary Geoff Hoon is Member of Parliament for Ashfield.

I park the car and take a walk back up the road to the main drag. The housing estate close to the ground is modern and yet already a house is boarded up and plastered in graffiti. A pit bull terrier comes tearing up the drive towards me. Thank God I didn’t bring Finley with me.



A youth roars up and down the cul-de-sac on his trials bike. The Lowmoor Inn, on the main road, is boarded up. Local youths tried to burn it down a few nights ago.

I take a wander inside the Summit Centre. It’s clean, spacious and has a vibe. The urinals are manufactured by Armitage Shanks – it’s always a good marker in my eyes.

Unbeaten Louth Town are today’s visitors. It’s the capital of the Lincolnshire Wolds and has a population of 15,000.



I take a position to the left of the home dugout. I’m joined by Tony Cook, who is a coach at the Nottingham Forest Academy. He’s on good form as Forest Youth have slapped D***y County under 18s 6-3.

The game has an edge to it and is played at a good tempo. Louth play a passing game, whilst Kirkby look for the runs of the muscular Bramwell, who’s struggling a wee bit after being bed ridden for a week with a virus.

There’s a bit of a commotion on ten minutes when Tony receives a text from his missus asking him whether he’s fed the fish or not.



I’ve already clocked the idiosyncratic behaviour of both managers, particular the lunatic from Louth. He looks to be capable of bursting more blood vessels than Billy Davies and Stan Ternant put together.

Kirkby take the lead after 20 minutes after evenly balanced opening. A well worked short corner finds Hudson on the edge of the box. He whips in an inch perfect cross for Roebuck(I used to work with his dad Malc) to force home at the second attempt. The Louth manager is in need of medication. He has a rant at the officials and retreats to the dugout.



Louth spurn the game’s best opportunity shortly before the break with their number 7 forcing a brave block by an alert Paul Stanhope in the Kirkby goal.

Bramwell is fortunate to stay on the field of play on 45 minutes having kicked out at the Louth skipper. Louth manager Paul Walden is incensed that the ref only brandishes a yellow card. He has another temper tantrum and ends up being sent off himself.

It’s been action-packed and I’m looking forward to my cup of char. I hunt down Kirkby Town legend Fred. He’s Kirkby’s Jack-of-all trades. He’s very kindly gave me the lowdown on this very friendly club.



I’m introduced to his friend Roger Rann, who scored over 200 goals for Arnold Town in the 1970s. I’m shocked to hear he wasn’t invited to the official opening of their Eagle Valley Ground yesterday.

Fred won't pose for a photo. He says with it being Halloween and all that it might scare the kids. I tend to put on old Peter Beardsley DVDs to frighten my two lads.

I’ve been that busy chatting that by the time I’m back pitchside Louth are already 2-1 up. It’s the first goals I’ve missed in years. Striker Paul Watts has bagged a brace.

Louth have a spring in their step and are helped further in the 65th minute when the referee is left with little alternative but to red card Fletcher for pulling back the Louth forward. The White Wolves can’t put the game to bed and miss a string of chances.



Kirkby pull together and play as a team. They have hearts as big as buckets. Carl Haslam is their big cheese. His feet are on a par with Sticky junior’s. He glides through the visitors’ defence and just fires over. He then picks up the ball, evades three desperate lunges but his final shot is beaten away by the Louth ‘keeper.

Louth are reduced to ten men when Haslam is hauled down following another mazy run. He dusts himself down and blasts home the spot kick. It’s the straw that broke the camel’s back for the Louth manager. He flies round to the back of the goal, has an altercation with the League chairman and resigns on the spot. He was last seen stomping towards the Kirkby Co-op. Fair play though Paul, they’ve some good two-for-one deals on there.



Kirkby manager Brett Marshall has a final throw of the dice and flings on a couple of subs. One of them is Scott Pratt, whose father I’ve been talking to for most of the afternoon. Deep in stoppage time Pratt picks the ball up 40 yards out. He knocks the ball out of his feet and pings it towards the Louth goal. The ball begins to gain momentum as it sails through the darkening north Notts skies. The Louth ‘keeper frantically begins to back pedal. He ends up on his backside as the ball crashes into the back of the net. It’s Sticky Palms’ goal of the season.

Pratt’s dad runs uncontrollably up and down the grass bank behind me. It’s like his lad has scored the cup final winner at Wembley. Manager Marshall totally loses the plot. He weaves in and out the touchline. His beetroot face is as red as his tracksuit. It’s like watching the Benny Hill Show as the entire Kirkby team chase an energised Pratt.

And all I can think about is Louth manager Paul Walden. He’s missed the goal of the season.

Man of Match: Louth 5 jacket.

Referee 8 out of 10. Loads of moaning from Louth. Played lots of advantage.

Bardon Hill Sports 2 Holwell Sports 1

Where is the White Van Man? He seems to have gone off the boil in recent weeks. His whereabouts for the Nottingham Forest v Barnsley game are shrouded in mystery. He is a part time employee of the Club but failed to show in the ticket booth for the visit of our South Yorkshire brethren.

I’ve got wind of this through Facebook and decide to phone the Big Man up on our way to Banbury. He’s playing it cagey and claims it was a training night at The City Ground for new employees. As I always say though, the truth will out. He breaks down, blubbering like a little child. He confesses all like a serial killer. Instead of watching the Tricky Trees, the big, soft girls’ blouse was sat in the stalls at the Nottingham Royal Centre watching that fishmonger’s wife – Alesha Dixon – throwing a few shapes.



Mrs P knocked up a chilli on Saturday as we watched the talentless John and Edward sail through to the next round of X Factor. They did a piss-take of ‘She Bangs’ by Puerto Rican, Latin American singer, Rikki Martin. It got my vote readers.

I headed out to north Leicestershire on Sunday looking for under 15 talent. I watched four top sides but nothing caught my eye. Sir Trevor Brooking once famously said that if a boy is not in an academy or centre of excellence by the age of 12 then there’s little chance of him making a professional footballer. What a load of bollocks!

It’s Tuesday lunchtime. I‘ve broken up from work for the rest of the week. I’m in the garden chopping trees down and bagging up. Finley, my pet rabbit, gives me a helping hand by gnawing his way through the twigs and branches that lay strewn across the garden.



Finley soon gets bored and dives under the shed for a gag. It takes me half an hour to rescue the little monkey. It was a delicate operation to set my furry little friend free. At one stage I thought I was going to have to phone West Bridgford Fire Station and tare away Bluewatch from their DVDs and card schools.

Having put the little fella back in his crib, I make a brew and log on to the East Midlands Counties League message board. Daggers seem to be drawn between Radcliffe Olympic and Gedling Miners’ Welfare. There are three pages of insults and accusations. It’s school playground behaviour.

I enjoyed my visits to both clubs and I’m surprised by the hostilities. I tentatively pencil in Saturday Jan 2nd for a visit to Mapperley Plains, when the two sides are due to meet again.



Tonight will be the 14th club I’ve visited in the EMCL. St Andrews and Ellistown are the two left in Leicestershire to do.

The Reaper and surprisingly (?) White Van Man are late withdrawals. The Taxman rings the door bell at 6.45pm. The drive is straightforward enough. We’re parked up at Bardon Close 20 minutes before kick off.

Bardon Hill is near Coalville in Leicestershire and is the highest point in Leicestershire at 278 metres (912 feet) above sea level. It has been the site of a quarry for nearly 400 years.

The Club had battled its way through 3 rounds of the FA Cup this season, beating the likes of Arnold Town, Coalville Town and Barton Old Boys, before succumbing to Conference North team Northwich Victoria 8-0.



Holwell Sports are based in Melton Mowbray. It’s an area renowned for the pork pie and stilton cheese. Holwell’s grand fromage – Scott Mooney – has fled to pastures new and has joined Hyde United. He rolled around the floor and cried like a baby when Sticky saw him play a friendly against Huntingdon Town back in August 2008.

It’s £4 entry to the ground and a further £1 for another outstanding programme for this level. There are match reports, team news, a profile of the visitors and a column by a well known groundhopper. It’s an excellent read.

We stand at the top of some concrete steps, the view is decent. It’s a tad chilly. Sticky is underdressed and only has three layers on. I hadn’t accounted for a biting wind.

Stood to our right is a referees’ assessor. I do hope his presence doesn’t ruin the game. He’s an affable chap. We strike up a conversation with him. He certainly does carry out the task for his love of the game.



The game is devoid of any quality in the opening minutes. It’s all huff, puff and energy. Bardon Hill winger Liam Hebberd has the x factor. He has too much in his locker for Holwell left back Leigh Fox. Old ‘Foxy’ has to resort to shirt-pulling and body checking as Hebberd skips by him time and time again. You may remember Hebberd’s father Trevor. He used to play for Southampton, Oxford United and D***y County.

The visitors take the lead on fifteen minutes. Bardon’s Vernon Hart-Harper, who looks the unfittest player I’ve seen in three years of groundhopping, gets himself in a tangle. Seventeen year old Mark Cowling seizes upon the opportunity to poke the ball home.

Bardon respond immediately with visiting keeper’ Cragg making a point-blank save from Hawker. Further chances fall to the home side but they find Cragg in inspired form and are unfortunate to go in at half time 1-0 down.

The Sports Club is a tidy affair. The Taxman spots an old work colleague and catches up on the office gossip. It leaves the poor old Groundhopper to queue up for a brew. I notice on the Sky Sports vidiprinter that my old favourite’s Eastwood Town are 2-0 up against Hyde United.



The tea is poured from the pot and is piping hot. The lady puts too much milk in and the bags are not quite mashed for the required time. It results in a weakened effort but is still marked with 6.8 out of ten.

The Taxman is loving all this tax talk. They are having orgasms over VAT returns, inheritance tax, and corporation tax. I bet they are having a right old chuckle at the number of small businesses they investigated and rumbled in the Melton Mowbray area. Lucky White Van Man’s not here, he’d be having a fit by now.

The Taxman’s mate’s son is a sub for the visitors. His brother plays for EMCL league leaders Heanor Town.

The writing looks firmly on the wall for Holwell in the second period. Only their keeper and the immense ‘Roo’, at the heart of their defence, stand firm. Their skipper is having a footballing nightmare. They are getting battered, although ironically, Holwell miss a sitter straight from kick off.



Within ten minutes Kyle Robinson races through and restores parity. Holwell somehow hang in there. Cragg, the Holwell ‘keeper, makes more spectacular saves and tips around the post, but he is left helpless by an exquisite free kick from out on the left by Jake Duffy. One or two Holwell fans behind me question the ‘keeper. You are taking the rise lads.

The game has been on simmer for a while but the referee has been brilliant and never lets it boil over. He talks to the players like adults and plays advantage time and time again. I’m no assessor but I am a qualified referee and I would give this guy top marks.



Taxman Two’s lad comes off the bench and bizarrely plays on the right wing, despite being pre-dominantly left footed. He’s only been on the pitch for a short while when a cross from the left falls to his weaker right foot in front of a gaping goal. The poor lad can only scoop the ball over the bar with an empty net staring him in the face. It’s the first time ever that Sticky Palms has ever felt sorry for a bloke from the Inland Revenue.

Attendance: 63
Men of the Match: Holwell ‘keeper and the referee.

Banbury United 0 Bedford Town 0

It’s Thursday 22nd October. There have been protests all day. The Metropolitan Police have put the boot in on demonstrators outside BBC studios in west London. The whole country is talking about it. Listeners clog the phone lines on radio phone-ins to complain about it. The programme is on TV tonight.

The kids are frightened and are threatening to hide behind the settee. This person is not fit and proper to represent the corporation. It’s vile and disgusting that this should be shown on prime time TV. I’m not talking about BNP leader Nick Griffin’s appearance on Question Time but the decision the BBC have took to allow shots of that fat, ugly lass off EastEnders - Heather - giving birth on national TV. I think I’ll eat my tea later.



There were no real plans to take a midweek game in but I had spotted Quorn and Radcliffe Borough were due to replay their FA Trophy tie on Tuesday evening.

Mrs P was curled up on the sofa, waiting with anticipation for another thrilling episode of Holby City. No doubt somebody will be rushed into accident and emergency with a ruptured spleen and two legs hanging off but somehow still survive. And yet a perfectly fit, young chap will come in with a nettle sting and end up on the hospital mortuary slab due to a complicated allergic reaction.

Former Leicester City and Aston Villa striker Julian Joachim was playing for Quorn. His team bagged six, coming back from 3-1 deficit at the break. There was no goal bonus for the ex England under 21 international.



It’s been a relatively quiet week. One comedy moment to report is that Sticky junior, who couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag, had a minor scuffle with his best mate on the front garden. There were a few haymakers and a spot of windmilling. Mrs P finally stepped into the ring and ended the bout.

It’s Saturday morning. The clocks go back one hour tonight – it’s not particularly good news for us insomniacs. I rustle up a couple of poached eggs.

The day gets off to a bad start when I turn the radio on and find that Mrs P has left it on Trent FM. Sticky junior won tickets for Cineworld on a phone-in last night. He was getting a dressing down from Mrs P when the DJ phoned back to tell him he’d won the prize.



I set the dial to Radio 2 and listen to Brian Matthews Sound of the Sixties show. He plays a classic track by USA soul singer Madeline Bell called Help Yourself. It doesn’t half cheer me up.

Mrs P has gone to the hairdressers. There’s just time to hoover out the Rolls Royce before picking up The Architect. Minutes later we roll up at blog legend Trumpy Bolton’s house. He comes waltzing down the drive with a Leicester Mercury carrier bag full of beverages.He hands me a programme from the New Mills game that I’d thought I’d lost. It’s covered in beer stains.

Next stop is the picturesque village of Willoughby on-the-Wolds, where we pick up Chopper Harris, who today makes his groundhopping debut.



There’s a bit of a conflab about the best route to take. We all agree that the M69 and A46 sounds good. It’s a 150 mile round trip.

Trumpy is already slavering over the thought of slurping his one litre of Tawny Owl cider that he purchased a gallon of on a recent beer break in Betws y Coed, in Snowdonia, north Wales. Next weekend he’s lined up a short break in Norwich, which coincides with the city’s annual beer festival.

Trumpy earwigs that Chopper Harris was once in the British Army and did a tour of duty in Denmark and Germany. Trumpy politely asks him if he visited the Carlsberg and Heineken breweries.



We hit a tailback of traffic that’s coming from the direction of the M40. We divert around Warwick and are soon sat inside the Red Lion at Northend. They’ve only got two real ales on. I’m not particularly fond of either. I dither over my choice and finally plump for a Greene King IPA.

Trumpy shouts me up a 5oz gammon, egg and chips. Everybody else tucks into a homemade suet pudding. It’s not much of a pub, but at least Trumpy can put his highlight pen through the village on his crumpled, dog eared atlas. New readers need to understand that Trumpy’s will to live depends on him making a financial transaction in every village and town in Great Britain.



Chopper is chattering away to The Architect about how many eggs his hens lay in a year. It’s like having dinner with Tom, Barbara, Jerry and Margo off the BBC comedy series The Good Life.

The ground is tucked away behind the railway station in a dingy, scruffy part of town. Banbury is a market town in north Oxfordshire and lies on the River Cherwell. It has a population of just under 45,000 people. It is the home of the biggest coffee-processing facility (Kraft Foods) which was established in 1964. Trumpy says that coffee ruins a good hangover.



The town is well known for the Banbury cake, which is similar to the Eccles cake but is oval-shaped. It’s most famous landmark – the Banbury Cross – celebrates its 150th anniversary tomorrow (Sunday).

Glam rock star Gary Glitter was born in Banbury. Not much has been heard of him since he took his computer in for repair at his local PC World.

Former Northern Ireland international and Chelsea striker Kevin Wilson was born in the town and began his career with The Puritans.



Bedford is 50 miles east of Banbury. They have a long list of cult celebrity born in the town, including: Countdown’s Carol Vorderman, comedian and actor Ronnie Barker and Pike’s uncle off Dad’s Army, John Le- Mesurier (Sgt Wilson).

It’s £8 on the gate. The Architect hands me a programme that costs £1.80. Fair play to programme editor David Shadbolt, he has produced a cracking effort. I have to say that I’m disappointed in the ground though. The John Nicholls Stand is impressive. The rest of the ground is due redevelopment.Plans are pinned up in the clubhouse.



Trumpy takes advantage of the spacious clubhouse and soon has the bar tills ringing. He’s as happy as Larry.

Sticky’s concerned about the lack of goal-scoring prowess of both teams. Banbury and Bedford have struggled in front of goal. The Groundhopper doesn’t do 0-0s.

There’s a presentation before the game of a set of football kit to Banbury United (Sierra Leone). It’s a country that has been devastated by civil war. Football enables the kids to keep off the street.



Chopper spends the entire 90 minutes of the game playing with his beloved Blackberry. He loves this gadget more than anything in the world. He caresses and holds it like a loved one. Trumpy is intrigued, but also miffed, that he doesn’t have internet access on his bespoke East German model, that looks like Dom Joly’s mobile off Channel 4s cult TV series Trigger Happy TV.

The game lacks the quality of its northern counterpart. Ironically, lowly Bedford, despite kicking into the wind, look the more dangerous outfit. They go close through Draycott and Cole.



The Puritans have the game’s outstanding player in 18 year old Oxford United loanee Declan Benjamin. He reminds Trumpy of Carlton Palmer, with his gangling stature and strong running. He strikes a couple of efforts wide of the mark from distance. Banbury begin to find their stride and finish the half on top.

Trumpy manages to squeeze a couple in at the break. We are treated to page 339 on Ceefax. The Pies are 1-0 up, whilst once again Lincoln City have failed to trouble the scorers. We have a manager who once refused to play for England. I won’t go while he’s there.



Banbury exert pressure on the Bedford goal in the second period as the visitors are pinned back in their own half. They won’t come out and play and seem content with a point. Veteran striker Howard Forinton, who once fetched £250,000, hits the bar, with the rebound somehow headed over.

The Puritans are short on quality. Their right winger lacks that yard of pace to shake off his full back. The left winger sends in sand wedge crosses all day.



There are late calls for a penalty but to be honest the game doesn’t deserve a goal. I’ve got a 75 mile journey to look forward to, accompanied by the sound of a man guzzling a litre bottle of Welsh cider, talking complete and utter twaddle.

Attendance: 348
Man of the Match: Declan Benjamin.