Hucknall Town 0 Southport 0

Sunday nights are grim in our front room, as ITV pull out all the stops to proper cheese me off. First up is Strictly Dancing on Thin Ice starring squeaky Schofield. After two hours of this dross being shown, whilst I peruse the Times Sport or the Non League Paper, they follow it up with a third series of Wild at Heart – has there ever been a more dire programme shown in the history of Independent Television? For those of you who saw an antelope writhing about in agony on the ground as if he’d been clattered by Julian Bennett, I can confirm that he just had a mild bout of rabies which an African witch doctor soon cured. Anyway it’s been crap since Amanda Holden got burnt alive in the jungle.



Sticky junior arrived at home from school the other day waving a Notts County v Port Vale ticket in my face. Of course he’d not paid for it; apparently there was a buy one get six free at the school tuck shop. The rumour was that the girls’ football team won a competition which meant the school received 200 free tickets. I’d also heard the head teacher was dishing tickets out rather than pupils serving detention.

We were round The Architect’s house last night for the D***y v Forest FA Cup clash. Forest were a tad fortunate to come away with a draw, but would have been encouraged by the second half performance. We did see a red card; unfortunately it was given to Mrs P’s Godson for a minor off-the ball offence in The Architect’s lounge.



It’s Saturday morning and I really do need to increase my scouting activities; the weather is killing me. ‘The Skipper’ has a big cup tie this afternoon versus Dunkirk. The manager lives in Heanor, so I do him a favour and pop down to our home ground and inspect the pitch. It’s white over and there is a small patch of ice in one goal area. The sky is sea blue and the sun shines brightly; I give it the green light. It’s on to West Park to check out some junior games but the place is deserted.

Clubs have a nasty habit of overreacting when it comes to postponing games. Council grounds and local clubs become overprotective about their pitches. Secretaries get caught up in the pomp and ceremony of it all. How can all these amateur games be called off so quickly when no rain is due for twenty four hours? At least you can take a rain check in the morning.



White Van Man and I had been looking forward to seeing ‘The Mighty Lairds.’ I’d arranged to meet Cammell legend Glocko at the New Manor Ground. I check the White Ball Project forum to find the pitch is waterlogged. I phone Glocko; he’s just warming up ‘The Rattler.’

I scour the internet for alternative fixtures. I’ve never seen Southport play in my life; north-west teams are normally good value. I’ve enjoyed watching Marine, Skelmersdale, Burscough and the beautiful Cammell Laird over the years.

I phone White Van Man up; he doesn’t fancy travelling too far. Hucknall it is then.



I watch the first forty minutes of ‘The Skipper’s’ cup tie against staunch rivals Dunkirk. We are one goal to the good when WVM appears on the scene tooting his horn. I’m wracked with guilt that I can’t be here for the end of his game.

We drive down the ring road. WVM has been driving down ‘The Smoke’ all week and tries his normal party trick at Crown Island, darting into the right hand lane, only to drive straight on, cutting up all and sundry in his path. He roars his head off with laughter.

We arrive at Watnall Road a good half an hour before kick-off. WVM snaffles up the final programme; it must be a small print run. I take a few snaps.



It’s £9 entry and a staggering £2.20 for the programme. The publication is fine .... but £2.20??

Everything seems expensive; I begin to smell a rat, this club have fallen on hard times. Tea is £1 and marked with a six out of ten. Hucknall Town only remained in the Blue Square Conference North because of the financial struggles of other clubs. Mick Galloway, their former manager, was sacked a few weeks ago. The veteran Bryan Chambers has taken over, ably assisted by former Middlesboro and Notts County defender Richard Liburd.

Hucknall is seven miles north-west of Nottingham and has a population of 30,000. Footballers from the area include: tough tackling Crystal Palace midfielder Shaun Derry and ex-Spirerite Stephen Blatherwick.



The actor Robin Bailey is from the town. The poet Lord Byron is buried in the local church.

The biggest employers in the area are Rolls Royce and the insecticide firm Doff Portland. Hucknall Colliery closed in 1986; an Aldi supermarket is now on the site of the old mine. Hucknall is the northern terminus for the Nottingham tramline.

Southport is a seaside town in Merseyside and has a population of nearly 100,000. Famous people born in the area include: Soft Cell singer Marc Almond, the historian A J P Taylor, the actress Miranda Richardson, Red Rum’s trainer Ginger McCain and English Indie rock band Gomez.



They are former members of the Football League and play their home games for over 100 years at Haig Avenue. I visited it four years ago on my charity whistle stop tour of clubs to have played in the League since 1964. It was a beautiful summer’s evening and the players were training.

Liverpool captain Steven Gerrard was recently arrested in Southport following a late night brawl at the Lounge Inn in the town.

Earlier in the season Southport sold winger Craig Noone for a record fee to Plymouth Argyle. He had trials at Royal Antwerp a few seasons ago. I saw him play for Skelmersdale at Belper a while back; he was quality. The rumour is that the Premiership awaits him.



The Hucknall DJ is spinning Michael Jackson’s Greatest Hits. To make the Southport fans feel at home he plays a duet featuring Paul McCartney; it’s called ‘The Girl is Mine’, I can feel my cup of tea coming back up.

We observe a minute’s silence for a club and League official. I spot an old friend in the crowd who I used to work with at Linby Colliery. We holidayed away in Ibiza, Corfu and Tenerife in the mid eighties. Dunkirk director Mark Harbottle is also here, spying on the opposition they have been drawn against in the Notts Senior Cup. I get a text from Mrs P, it’s bad news for Mark’s team, they’ve just been knocked out the YEL Cup, ‘The Skipper’ will be ecstatic.



We stand near the end that Southport attack as they are third in the League, whilst Hucknall are rooted to the bottom. But you wouldn’t realise it in the first 45 minutes. Hucknall look organised and determined. The visitors play like they just have to turn up to get the three points.

Ricketts and Sucharewycz go close for town. Southport’s only real effort is a curling shot from midfielder Alan Moogan. The pitch is not in great nick but they’ve done well to get the game on.

The highlight of the half occurs on 41 minutes. WVM is digging me in the ribs; I look up from my programme to find him frothing at the mouth. She’s tall, blonde, wearing leather boots and tight jeans. Now I know why we were charged £9 at the gate.



I treat WVM to a hot dog and I’m fleeced for £2.50; I wouldn’t mind if it went to the club but it appears to be ran by an outside catering company. They have already run out of pies and peas. WVM appears to be slavering again; it turns out to tomato ketchup from his hot dog.

We go in the social club; it is on par with any other I’ve been in. WVM gets me a Grolsch. I chat to a Mansfield Town fan who’s wearing an Alfreton Town scarf. He’s relieved to hear that his team are one up at Lewes. We briefly see the half time scores before someone puts back on the Channel Four Racing.



The second half is a scrappy encounter; Hucknall play five at the back and are hard to break down. Players I’ve seen perform so well for Burscough and Marine in the past are distinctively average today. Kilheeney and Booth flatter to deceive. Hucknall Town scrap for everything but lack the quality to upset the applecart.

The girl with the boots and jeans has another outing. I turn to WVM and say: “It’s a football match not a bloody catwalk”, but he is mesmerised.



Southport push forward in search of a winner but they have neither craft nor desire: how on earth are they third? A lady Southport supporter, sitting close by to us, complains all the time about Hucknall stealing a few yards at free-kicks and throw-ins. Her bleating and moaning irritates me. Robinson, Moogan and Duffy waste opportunities for Southport.

Timons and Sucharewycz defend resolutely; they put up the shutters. It’s petering out to be a 0-0 bore draw: “We don’t do 0-0’s son.” At least the Hucknall PA man didn’t play Michael Jacksons Thriller at the end of the game, now that would have been a good Mickey take.

Sticky junior rings in from Meadow Lane, he's seen a six goal thriller. It must be the first time Notts have scored four at home since about 1906. He's ripping me to shreds: "0-0 dad, 0-0." We can't half pick em!

Attendance: 354

Man of the Match: Gary Sucharewycz

Dunkirk 1 Borrowash Victoria 3

There’s certainly not room for two in our rabbit’s hutch; I can vouch for that after Saturday evening’s events. Finley snored for most of the night and he had more of the blanket than me. I didn’t think much to breakfast either; those bloomin pellets aint half hard to swallow. I will probably get a solitary carrot for Sunday lunch. I didn’t dare ask Mrs P whether they won the jackpot on Family Fortunes.

I am in the doghouse for arriving home late from groundhopping duties at Glossop North End. I don’t really care as ‘The Hillmen’ played a beautiful game on a gluepot of a pitch. I notice that they have rearranged fixtures at both Alsager and Congleton; I hope to be at both.



There doesn’t seem much point in mooching about the house (hutch) this morning, as I’m getting the Sunday silent treatment. I head off down ‘The Academy’ to watch Leicester City soundly beat “our” Under 14s. I like ‘The Foxes’, they are a steady, family orientated club. I’ve fond memories of trips away with Coops and Trumpy Bolton during Brian Little’s reign at the club.

‘The Skipper’ has an indoor cricket league game at Bingham this afternoon. I’m ducking and diving out the way of Mrs P and volunteer to head off up the A46. I drop him off at Bingham Leisure Centre and sneak off to The Horse and Plough for a pint of Batemans. The pub is bustling, but I spot a small table in the corner, and a single chair. I take a pew and pen the Glossop BLOG.



I return to watch ‘The Skipper’ in action for the final hour. His team are playing a smug-looking outfit from Radcliffe-on-Trent; they attract all the best players south of the river. They are cricket’s version of AFC Vernon (a top boys’ football club in inner city Nottingham.) Joe runs out their star batsman without him facing a ball; it’s made his day.

Tuesday evening is spent, coincidentally, in Radcliffe-on-Trent. Sticky junior’s team, somewhat bizarrely, have to train there, despite having similar facilities in our village. I’m not complaining though, as it gives me the chance to sample a real ale or two at The Horse Chestnut, on the Main Road.

Games locally are a little bit thin on the ground tonight; it’s either Dunkirk or Gedling Town. We choose the former ,as it’s a wee bit closer to home.



It’s slinging it down with rain as I drive round to The Taxman’s crib. I hand over some Family Tax Credit literature, via Mrs P, for him to give the once over. Mrs P reckons a Mr G Brown is taking the piss.

It’s a short ten minute drive down the A52 Nottingham ring road. The ground is on Lenton Lane, close to Boots and the Players’ cigarette factory. Ooh John Player Blue, those were the days. Also on the same stretch of this narrow lane are Bilborough Pelican, Greenwood Meadows and the Michelin star restaurant, Sat Bains.

The car park is chock-a-bloc. Car crime is rife down this dimly lit area, but thankfully there is security on the gate.



It’s still teeming it down with rain so we head straight for the bar. The Taxman queues for a cup of char. I don’t enquire whether it was poured from the pot; I doubt it though, and mark it with a 6 out of 10. I know my marks are so harsh these days.

Coronation Street is on the TV set in the corner of the bar. Mrs P and ‘The Skipper’ will be tuning into it back home, watching this gritty, enthralling, northern soap opera ( ... cue Harry Hill big yawn.) Boring builder Bill Webster is bleating about some Manc scallywag who has arf-inched some lead piping from the yard. Erm .... I wonder who’s committed that crime readers? Perhaps producers will call in Belgian sleuth Hercules Poirot to crack the case. Thankfully, the players are coming out the changing room.

Dunkirk FC were formed in 1946 and are called The Boatmen. They play their home games by the banks of the River Trent. Nottingham Forest muscleman, the vastly underrated Wesley Morgan, used to ply his trade here, as did former Notts County winger Jake Sheridan.



Borrowash is on the outskirts of D***y. The club were first formed in 1911. They currently top the table of East Midlands Counties League.

I am a bit of a Jonah when it comes to watching The Boatman. Looking back at two years of groundhopping I have watched them five times and they have lost the lot.

The pitch looks heavy and is bound to cut up. Dunkirk play with two wide men called Theo Smith and Adey Bascombe. They have electric pace which we probably won’t see tonight because of the heavy surface.

Borrowash quickly find their rhythm and produce a crisp passing game. I saw them a year ago at their Asterbowl ground, but tonight they are unrecognisable from that abject performance. The shaven headed number six in centre midfield is already calling all the shots. Their front pairing of Spencer and North have rattled in 32 goals this season.



They take a quick throw in on our side of the pitch after 15 minutes, the ball falls to Tom Leighton on the edge of the box, he takes a swing at the ball with his left foot, which Dunkirk ‘keeper Wheater-Lowe can only help into the net.

It’s not long before they are two up. With their confidence rising by the minute, a measured cross comes in from the right, giant striker Channon North miscues a header which fortuitously falls to the left footed Jamie Pawley who drives the ball home, leaving Wheater-Lowe with little chance.

Dunkirk play too narrow, their balls forward are aimless. They need to get their clever striker Aaron Brady involved.

On thirty five minutes the visitors take a short corner and make a complete hash of it, Theo Smith is lurking 80 metres from goal, he picks the ball up and drives forward , splashing through the mud and standing water, he leaves a trail of players in his wake, his finish is emphatic; Dunkirk are back in the game.



We’re back in the clubhouse at the break. We’re all staring at the television again. Detective Chief Inspector Jack Meadows from TV’s The Bill is scratching his head at another unsolved crime for Sun Hill Police Station to deal with: whilst you are at Jack can you find out who nicked Bill Webster’s lead piping?

Dunkirk are on the ascendancy and play with spirit in the second period. Brady is excellent on the ball and brings others into the game. They start to create chances. The Borrowash ‘keeper comes flying off his line, with Dunkirk winger Adey Bascombe through on goal, he rounds him, but can only find the side netting from a tight angle, with an empty goal gaping.

There’s a goalmouth melee, with the Borrowash ‘keepermaking two brave saves, it just won’t go in. It looks like Sticky’s jinx has struck Dave Harbottle’s men again.

In the dying moments, with persistent rain still falling from the skies, Pawley spots Darren Wheater-Lowe off his line, he’s over 40 metres from goal, he hits a nonchalant, curling shot over a despairing Wheater-Lowe, into an empty net. He’s mobbed by his teammates.

It’s harsh on The Boatmen who have given their all in the second half. Centre half Dwayne Soar has been outstanding for them in the heart of the defence.

It’s back to the Normanton Plough for a pint of Jennings Bitter. We meet up with a bigwig from the Referees’ Association. We tell him how good tonight’s ref Stuart Boswell has been. He had the game in his pocket and allowed for the conditions. He’s contributed towards another excellent night out. Now where’s that lead piping?

Attendance: 68

Man of the Match: The two Borrowash centre-halves.



.

Glossop North End 2 Stewart & Lloyds 1

The detox diet is over and boy did I celebrate. The kids and I made our debut at the new KFC, which was the old Magpies pub, close to Notts County’s Meadow Lane ground. We didn’t mess about and ordered a ‘Family Bucket.’ Mrs P missed out she was chilaxing at the Eden Hall Spa.

It’s Saturday morning and Sticky Palms is in big trouble. Nottingham Forest Academy have asked me to go and scout a game at the glorious setting of Wollaton Park, and from there it’s straight to Glossop. Er indoors is not best pleased, as I won’t be around for most of the day.



My sole contribution to the upkeep of the house is to clean the bathroom; Mrs P has nipped up to the ‘Under Wraps’ lingerie store in the village ....... steady on readers, Match of the Day is on at 10.15pm!

BLOG sensation Trumpy Bolton calls me up as I’m pouring Domestos down the toilet to arrange our impending trip to Deeping Rangers on Jan 31st. He’s currently on a tour of duty (on the piss) in Oxfordshire.



I jump in the ‘Rolls Royce’ (Mondeo) and drive to Wollaton Park. The game is an under 8 fixture. I feel very uncomfortable scouting at this tender age. It feels immoral to take these young boys away from their mates and shove them into the harsh environment of a football academy. But the proof is in the pudding. For example both Jermaine Jenas and Lewis McGugan were both at NFFC at the age of nine. You normally get a good brew at Wollaton Park, but sadly the tea bar is closed today.

I pick up The Auctioneer in the Plank and Leggitt pub car park in Sawley, Leicestershire. He lives a quiet life on a narrow boat on Sawley Marina.

He immediately puts some toons on the CD player. There’s some good stuff on it, including New Order and The Charlatans. He has a Punk CD tucked up his sleeve for the journey back.



We take the scenic route down the A50 and travel up through Ashbourne and Buxton. ‘Sally’ on the Tom Tom is annoyed that we’ve not took the motorway, but we’re in no rush.

The D***yshire Peak District is bathed in glorious sunshine. It’s stone walls are a feature throughout the journey.

We drive past Chapel-en-le-Frith and arrive in Glossop at 1.30pm. We park at the back of Glossop railway station, in the Co-op car park. We’ve bought the Good Pub Guide with us and intend to hunt down The Star Inn and The Globe, with its micro brewery.



The Star Inn is a spit and sawdust real ale house, with no frills. The Auctioneer has Timothy Taylor’s and The Groundhopper a weaker 3.8ABV golden ale. It’s only a swift pint as the music from the CD player is none too tasty. REO Speedwagon and Dean Friedman ensure a hasty retreat.

We stretch our legs around this old, quaint mill town. It’s unspoilt and has kept its beauty. We find a local bakery and tuck into a bacon barm cake and a steak and onion pie. There’s no sign of The Globe, so we head towards the ground.



Glossop is in High Peak Derbyshire and has a population of just over 30,000. It’s 14 miles from Manchester and 25 miles from Sheffield. If Mrs P finds out I’ve come this far I’ll be heading for the divorce courts! She never reads the BLOG; only the first paragraph.

The fashion designer Dame Vivienne Westwood was born in the area. Porn publishing king Paul Raymond also grew up in the town.



Glossop North End Football Club were formed in 1886. They were members of the Football League between 1898 and 1915. It is said that they were the first football league club in the world to register its strip as all-white.

The Hillmen have played at Surrey Street for over 50 years; it has a capacity of 2500. We take a hike around the ground; it’s surrounded by an industrial estate. There is a Tesco’s, Wickes and a KFC. The views up into the High Peak hills are stunning. At the back of the ground is a huge chimney where there was once a steel works.



Stewart and Lloyds are an old iron and steel works’ team and were formed in 1935. They are currently in third position in the Eagle Bitter United Counties Premier League.

It’s £5 on the gate and £1 for an out of this world programme. The Auctioneer shouts the teas up; we mark it with 6.3 out of ten. There’s too many people here for them to start pissing about making pots of tea.



We stroll past the Chris Ringland Lounge; it’s named after a player who was tragically killed in a plane crash whilst on business in Turkey.

We meet a groundhopper from Leicester who supports Northampton Town; he’s not your stereotypical groundhopper who bores the pants off you about his trips around the European non-league circuit, he’s actually interested in the football.

I spot people wearing hats from the following clubs: Yeovil Town, Oldham Athletic, Arnold Town and Curzon Ashton.



There’s a carnival atmosphere inside the ground. Behind one goal small children play in a sandpit, bantering with the visiting ‘keeper. At the opposite end teenagers congregate with a variety of inflatables that they wave in the air. The community have come together, as a whole, and the moment feels special.

Glossop North End mean business and start the game at a furious pace. In the second minute a ball is threaded through to tricky winger Dave Hodges, he knocks it out his feet and finishes with confidence.



Stewart and Lloyds are hit by wave after wave of attacks. The chances stack up for The Hillmen, who have a shoot on sight policy. A couple of shots fizz over the bar. It’s only the awareness and courage of the red headed Chris Logan that keeps them in the game. He spends the entire first period fire fighting the Glossop attack.

Glossop have incredible energy levels, we hope they don’t burn themselves out for the second half on this heavy surface.



S&L’s goalkeeper Richard Lavin makes an incredible save before the break, somehow turning a point blank volley onto the upright. Glossop will be anxious that they’ve not sewn the game up.

Cheerful news arrives by text: the Tricky Trees are two up, whilst D***y are two down. Nigel, you’ve made your bed, you better lie in it ‘young man.’

There’s no improvement from S&L as The Hillmen continue to pour forward. Steve Young is the Glossop coach, we have stood next to his dugout in the second half and analyse his behaviour.. Despite the numerous chances wasted he remains calm and positive, always encouraging his players, draping his arms around the waist of the substitutes going on, to gain their attention and deliver instructions.



S&L substitute Edward Matthews wastes a golden chance, but redeems himself moments later, producing a stinging shot which 17 year old Glossop ‘keeper Ashlea Gotham can only help into the net.

Glossop come fighting back. They hit the post. Morris, Bailey and Hodges all see efforts fly past the post. Steve Young encourages his youngsters to play a short passing game to tire out their opponents.

Extra time is moments away; Mrs P will never believe me. I’ll be sleeping in the rabbit hutch with Finley tonight. It’ll be gone 8pm by the time I get home.



Glossop win a corner in the 92nd minute. The manager’s son Dave Young whips the ball in, it’s inch perfect and met by the forehead of Dave Hodges, it canons into the roof of the net. Hodges has saved my marriage. There’s pandemonium and delirium. Everyone runs to the bench, there’s a massive pile on. People are in tears. Inflatables are thrown into the air. The Auctioneer and I raise our clenched fists with joy. I wouldn’t have missed this moment for the world. What an exceptional bunch of honest players this club has, led by an inspirational manager.

The final whistle is blown. The kids race onto the pitch to cheer their heroes off. What an amazing day out. All for a fiver.

Attendance: 393

Man of the Match: The whole of Glossop

Footnote: That clown, The Auctioneer, took me back home up the A57 and through Sheffield, where he reminisced about his university days during the rush hour traffic. There was a crash on the motorway. I walked through our front door at 8pm. Mrs P had a face like thunder. It was chilli for dinner and a chilly atmosphere in the lounge. The night ended abruptly when I refused to watch Family Fortunes.

Shepshed Dynamo 0 Lincoln United 3

We crossed the border to watch Sticky junior and his crazy quick feet on Sunday morning. His team were at Long Eaton United’s Grange Park and even graced the first team pitch. Sadly it was only fit for growing spuds and the wings were one of the few areas of the pitch that sported grass. I’d lost count of the number of goals we had conceded by the hour mark; we were appalling. And furthermore those cheeky sheep shaggers charged us a £1 each for a cup of tea. It only got a five out of ten. I couldn’t get out of D***yshire quick enough.



I had hoped to pop into Greenwood Meadows’ Lenton Lane ground on the way back to watch Scots Grey play the holders Hetton Lyons CC in The FA Carlsberg National Sunday Trophy, but we were late back, and so I missed out on another cup upset. I might catch them in the next round.

White Van Man had asked if I fancied my first visit of the season to watch Shepshed at The Dovecote; we’ve watched them away often enough. I think WVM has become a little bit insecure with the emergence of BLOG superstar Trumpy Bolton. Trumpy has certainly sparked a lot of interest on the World Wide Web. People have left comments on the message board asking when he will be back; I’ve had e-mails enquiring about him and even had people stroll up to me at games asking of his whereabouts. Poor old WVM is used to being the star of the show, and I reckon he feels a bit threatened by our new groundhopping companion. If you’re reading this WVM, you’ll always be my number one son.



WVM is shouting and yawping outside my house at 7pm. He’s phoned me three times to tell me he’s outside waiting, but my phone is on silent. I don’t recognize the car. ‘We’re travelling in style tonight groundhopper’ he says. The car’s a Ford Focus with an all-leather interior. I’m introduced to WVM’s mate ‘Bruiser.’ I decide not to enquire how came to acquire his nickname.

‘Bruiser’ has some trance music on the CD player; it certainly beats WVM’s favourite radio station: Heart FM. They’re both talking excitingly about the impending FA Cup clash between ‘The Sheep’ and the ‘Tricky Trees.’

We drive through Bunny and Hathern and hit the town of Shepshed inside 20 minutes. We drive down another main drag littered with ‘To Let’ signs.



Shepshed is in north Leicestershire and has a population of around 15,000 people. It was once locally known as Sheepshead due to its familiarity with the wool industry. On 31st December 1915 a German Zeppelin was seen flying over the town.

I can’t find anyone particularly well known born in Shepshed but can report that the beer swilling, all-round entertainer and groundhopping legend Trumpy Bolton ‘works’ in the town. There will be no economic downturn in the pub industry of Shepshed whilst Trumpy is on tour in the town!

We turn up Butthole Lane and park in the Black Swan car park. It’s £6 entry and £1.50for a programme that never lets you down. I’m pounced on by a lady who twists my arm to buy a raffle ticket. Over two seasons of buying tickets and not a whiff of a prize yet. You’ll be the first to know readers, when I break my duck.



Lincoln United are tonight’s visitors; they’ve won their last three away league games. Lincoln is the birthplace of Sticky Palms The Groundhopper. This evening I will be in the away end.

The food bar is always worth a visit; strangely the shutters don’t go up until just before kick-off. The lady serving is friendly and very efficient. The tea is quality and comes streaming out an already brewed urn. It’s got to be an eight out of ten, and take note Long Eaton United, only 50 pence a cup.

Terry Fleming is playing right back for Lincoln tonight. He is a Sincil Bank legend. He was often captain during John Beck’s reign at ‘The Bank.’ He’s an excitable but wholehearted character. I look forward to his tussle with Dynamo wing wizard Rob Norris.



It’s a case of round holes and square pegs for Shepshed tonight. Ian Robinson has to play right back because Ricky Hanson is unavailable, Sam Saunders plays centre midfield and Norris plays in an unfamiliar role on the left flank.

WVM has picked this game and is under pressure for a goal as ‘we don’t do 0-0’s son.’ The first half is diabolical. The ball spends more time in the night time skies than the endless planes coming into land at nearby East Midlands Airport. Apart from a couple of Sam Saunders’ efforts Shepshed fail to trouble Lincoln ‘keeper Mario Ziccardi.

Shepshed are in a poor run of form. It’s not a happy camp. In recent weeks both the management team and a number of players have been sent off. They are squabbling and bickering out on the pitch. They are not together. Lincoln sense this and go close through the impressive Sean Cann.



There’s a huge sigh of relief as the half time whistle is blown. WVM is talking to Ian Screaton’s brother, so I take a stroll around this charming ground. I bump into a few folk from Shepshed I know, who all ask if Trumpy arrived safely back from Goole.

The raffle numbers are shouted out over the tannoy but of course I’m nowhere near. ‘Bruiser’ doesn’t appear to be enjoying his debut and spends more time in the clubhouse keeping warm than watching the game.

Lincoln look the happier of the two sides and begin to play with a bit more self-assurance. Their young forward Sean Cann looks a promising player and misses a golden chance early in the second period, screwing his shot wide.



The visitors finally take the lead on 73 minutes when the referee awards a penalty after a Lincoln player is pole-axed in the box. Dave Frecklington brother of Lincoln City midfield genius Lee Frecklington, dispatches the spot kick with ease.

Shepshed throw a few players forward and only desperate defending denies Matt Millns on two occasions.

Lincoln’s second goal of the game on 84 minutes is gift wrapped. Ian Robinson makes a defensive blunder leaving Cann with the simplest of goals. The defence is AWOL for the third one, deep in stoppage time, as Cann rounds Gary Hateley and slides the ball into an empty net. He taunts the Shepshed faithful cupping his ear to hear the abuse.

I’m walking out the ground; a home supporter asks if Trumpy Bolton is available for Saturday. Things aren't quite that bad, but manager Lee Wilson must arrest this alarming slide before all the good work in the first half of the season goes to waste.

Rob Norris has easily been Dynamo’s best player tonight but has played in a position alien to him. He is their creator supreme and will hopefully be restored to the right flank for the visit of league leaders Carlton Town on Saturday.

Attendance: 125

Man of the Match: The lady behind the tea bar.

Barrow Town 2 Heanor Town 2

There’s been another robbery in our village; it even made the national news. In the early hours of the morning thieves armed themselves with a forklift truck and smashed their way into our local post office. They stole the cashpoint machine, threw into the back of a 4x4 and sped away. PC Plod had to tear themselves away from their Play Station 3s and cups of tea, but burglar Bill was long gone by the time they turned up at the scene of the crime. Keyworth Police Station is a stone’s throw away from the post office, but it is rarely manned. We’re thinking of selling up and moving somewhere with a lower crime rate, like Liverpool or the Bronx.



It’s been a shocking week for yours truly. I weighed in at over thirteen and a half stone on the scales last Monday morning and immediately went on a detox diet. To put it into perspective, you can’t be called Sticky and weigh that much. I went seven days without beer, wine, Bombay Sapphire, cheese, chocolate, crisps, meat and bread. And I tell you what readers, It aint half made me miserable.

I’ve been force feeding myself with porridge and water, lemon and water, celery, peppers, fish, jacket potatoes and bloody pumpkin seeds. I’ve power walked my way around Rushcliffe Country Park at lunchtime, in freezing temperatures, and shed a few pounds, but has it really been all worth it?



Due to the big freeze there was no midweek game to go to last week. I’ve had to suffer Waterloo Road and Relocation Relocation with the irritating Phil and Kirsty, in the front room with Mrs P. That bloody woman could fall out with her own shadow (Kirsty, not Mrs P). I can’t wait until her maternity leave starts and someone fit like Sarah Beeney takes over.

It’s Saturday morning and I’m meant to be out scouting. It’s been another cold night and plenty of games are falling by the wayside. I’m pruning the Christmas tree, in sub zero temperatures, in the garden, so I can fit it into the boot of the car.



I drive down to the Rushcliffe Recycling Centre, hoping there might be some junior football on at nearby West Park, but the football fields are deserted. Sticky junior is in the passenger seat. He’s been grounded all week by Mrs P for a classroom misdemeanour, which came back to haunt him through his homework diary. I’ve had a bit of a private chuckle about it as it was during a music lesson. But Mrs P is furious, and has withdrawn all privileges.

I was meant to be watching ‘The Skipper’ this afternoon but news filters through that his match has been frozen off. White Van Man was already in a state of high alert. He tasks me to find a game.



There seems to be a plethora of games that are still on close to Loughborough. I phone the secretary of Quorn to be told that the game against Kidsgrove has got the green light.

I devour my Tuna in red onion and celery and wash it down with a hot water and lemon. Yum yum.

I watch Aston Villa central defender Curtis Davies score against his old club West Bromwich Albion on Sky. He refuses to celebrate his goal. I like Davies, he is an honest individual. He once described himself, after a bad day at the office, as a ‘pub player.’



Mr Tuckwell phoned last night; he plays football for our local village. His game is off today and he’s keen to make his groundhopping debut. He’s a teacher at the local primary school and a bit of a dish. There’s always a cracking turnout of mums at the school gates when he’s on playground duty. Mrs P will be disappointed that he’s popped round whilst she’s down at the retail park.

The Nuclear Scientist is back from his vacation in the Austrian Alps. He’s only a little lad and managed to get into the kids ski school. He also got top marks for his après activities.



WVM picks the three of us up at 2pm. He has a slight tan from his week away in the Pyramids. I asked him to get me a picture of him with a fez on but I don’t think he moved his fat butt off the sunbed for the entire week, apart from propping up the hotel bar.

We’re in Quorn by 2.20pm but get turned away at the gate. Apparently the match official was a bit finicky and called the game off half an hour ago.

It’s a toss up between Loughborough Dynamo v Goole or Barrow Town v Heanor Town.



We’re back in Barrow in a few minutes and pull up at an active Riverside Park. It’s a re-visit for NS and I as we saw Racing Warwick play here in a friendly eighteen months ago.

Barrow upon Soar is in north Leicestershire, in the Soar Valley. It has a population of around 5000.

One of my all-time favourite pubs, The Navigation, is in the village. It sells an array of real ales, which you can sit and sup in the back garden whilst watching the narrow boats chugging up and down the canal.



Today’s visitors are Heanor Town who are from the Amber Valley region of Derbyshire. The town has a population of 23,000. A couple of professional footballers to have played for the club include Leicester City manager Nigel Pearson and newly installed D***y County manager Nigel Clough.

It’s £4 admission which includes a very well produced programme. There’s no PA system or team sheet so I will be blagging it about the players on this BLOG.

I spot a groundhopping mate in the ground and we exchange tales of visits to different grounds, I shout the teas up; it’s my first one for a week. It comes out the pot, and the measures are generous, but too much milk means it only gets a seven out of ten.



The temperature is plummeting so we all wimp out and go and hide in the impressive clubhouse. We don’t venture out until the referee leads the teams out.

The pitch is firm but perfectly playable. It has escaped the frost due to the area being in the lowlands.

Barrow Town play in an AC Milan strip, with Heanor Town sporting a ‘Dirty Dirty Leeds’ outfit. The home side hold a ten point advantage over their opponents.



Both defences look decidedly dodgy in the opening moments, particularly the visitors. I remark to WVM that there’s more chance of him missing out on a half-time burger than this game finishing 0-0.

Heanor captain Rob Mawer is marauding down the left wing. He has good balance and an excellent left foot. He puts his side in front on 18 minutes stabbing the ball home following a cross from the left.

Barrow are a shade unfortunate to be behind as they have played the better football, but their 9 jacket, despite his excellent technique, is unwilling to pull the trigger and often dribbles up his own backside.



Former Leicester City trainee Stuart Wilson puts his team on level terms with an in swinging, curling cross cum shot from the right. The Heanor ‘keeper and defender both end up in the back of the net with the ball.

Heanor storm forward, Anthony Bedward pounces on a through ball, drives into the box and thumps the ball into the roof of the net. It’s half-time and Barrow will wonder how they are behind.

The Three Musketeers queue for tea and burgers; unfortunately neither are on the detox sheet. I check the scores out in the bar. Forest are two to the good and Lincoln are 2-1 down. A guy at the bar asks a good quiz question: Name three clubs in England or Scotland who have two u’s in their name, but they don’t have United in their title?



I’ve not felt this cold since Holbrook Miners’ Welfare. I can’t feel any of my toes. But there are no complaints about the entertainment being served up in this East Midlands Counties League game.

The second half is disappointing and disjointed. The game becomes a scrappy and drab affair. The referee blows his whistle in long annoying bursts. The players begin to niggle one another. Ten jacket for Heanor walks the tightrope.

The Barrow right back exchange passes with his colleague and makes a dash down the wing, his cross is inch perfect and is met superbly by Stuart Wilson to stroke home his second of the afternoon.

It’s a fair result, although Barrow Town are more pleasing on the eye. We’re back home for 5.15pm where another fish salad awaits me.

Attendance: 120

Man of the Match: Stuart Wilson

Quiz Answer: Bournemouth, Stenhousemuir and Queen of the South