Masterblaster (Jammin')

I love Timpson.

They had already got a massive thumbs up from me on Wednesday for being the only place on Gosport High Street where you can get passport photos done. This morning, passing the shop on my way to the ferry, I decided to pop in on the offchance that they might sell roll-up umbrellas. Sure enough, they do, at £4.95 - less than I'd have paid in London. I am now a fully-fledged member of the Timpson Appreciation Society.

Train to Victoria, a very tasty chicken Big Meal Deal at Oporto, and from there out to Longfield station, then by taxi to Corinthian FC's picturesque Gay Dawn Farm ground. No-one else from Fisher had yet arrived; as it was lashing down with rain, I wondered if the game might be off thanks to a waterlogged pitch, but it wasn't long before Mark, George and his wife, and Joe and his partner and baby arrived.

The bar, to my delight, served both Bulmers No 17 and Hürlimann, the beer that I've been meaning to try since they sponsored the Kent Premier League for this season. Joe got a round in, so I went for a Hürlimann, which to my surprise was of Swiss, not German, origin, and brewed here by Shepherd Neame. I'm a big fan of Shepherd Neame beers and this one didn't let me down - very nice indeed. Coming back from giving the team sheet to the referee, Mark revealed that we had a lady linesman again this week "and she's rather nice".

The travelling Fish hardcore took up a position at pitchside by the half way line and burst into 'We love you Fisher, we do' just after kick off, drawing amused glances from a couple of home fans nearby. Steve O'Donnell put us in front on 17 minutes with a sublime strike into the bottom corner, sending us into 'Walking in a Stevie wonderland'. Joe pointed out that this could be interpreted as 'a Stevie Wonder land', and all our further renditions of the song were followed by either Tim or me singing a line from one of Mr Wonder's hits.

Soon after, though, the ref harshly awarded a penalty against Danny Tipple. Danny Firkins' luck finally ran out and the Corinthian striker sent him the wrong way from the spot for the equaliser.

The Fish, though, were on top all through the second half, and on 65 minutes Frankie Warren set up Super Steve to put us back in the lead. That was how it ended.

For the second week in a row I missed winning the 'balls out of the ground' sweepstake by one. I had ticket number six. With the tally on five, in time added on a wayward Fisher shot went into the shrubbery behind the goal - but bounced back out onto the perimeter grass. Adjudicator Mark ruled that that didn't count as going out.

Taxi back to the station.

M&S at Victoria had vanilla bean and maple syrup smoothies. The good news was that I arrived at Waterloo with half an hour before the Portsmouth train left; the bad news was that the Bagel Factory was nowhere to be seen. I had hoped that its absence two weeks ago was just temporary, caused by the building work; but now, although the spot where it stood is now free of building works, it is also free of bagels. This simply will not do. Bring it back ASAP.

Had to settle for an Upper Crust Italian baguette.

The Ferry To The Isle Of Wight

Over to the Isle of Wight today. The Hawk Ladies were playing a friendly against the Island's representative side this afternoon, and I wanted to drop my latest poem into the Binstead poetry box, so I took the catamaran over in the morning and took a bus from Ryde to Binstead. After depositing my poem in the box - no new poems appeared to have been put up since February, so I hope the keyholder comes and checks the box soon - I went for a leisurely walk over to Fishbourne, where the girls would be arriving on the car ferry.

It's good to get a decent walk in in lovely surroundings like the Isle of Wight, especially when the Fishbourne Inn is waiting for you at the end with Stowford Press on tap. I had two hours to wait before the girls' arrival, so passed the time very pleasantly in the pub thanks to Stowford, the Non-League Paper and my iPod - all the sweeter for the rain bucketing down outside.

The rain had thankfully reduced to spits by the time I had to venture out to meet the ladies. The girls had come over as foot passengers; we were to be given lifts to the ground by our hosts. One of the Island players took me, Sheriden and Frank; she was impressed when I said I'd been there to cheer the Island ladies on at the Island Games this summer.

Several of the Island people remembered me from the Games, ensuring that, in a marked contrast to last week, I got a warm welcome. The serving hatch in the clubhouse served excellent burgers and the bar had a friendly barmaid and, joy, Stowford Press.

The Hawk girls dominated the game and won 4-0. Yzzy wasn't smiling once we got in the clubhouse, though; her beloved Gunners had been trounced 8-2 at Old Trafford. "Wenger's got to go," she said. As the afternoon's results cycled on Ceefax on the bar's telly - Trev had already given up trying to avoid the day's scores after Sheriden and Sally blurted them out while sitting on the bench late in the second half - one of the Isle of Wight coaches and I got talking about footie; he was a Liverpool fan.

The lady who'd given me a lift beatled off early before we were all ready to go. Sheriden squeezed in with another carload, but Frank and I were left stranded until the Liverpool-supporting coach, though he hadn't been planning on going to Fishbourne, kindly offered to run us over there. As we pulled out of the car park, Frank phoned Sheriden and gave her a telling-off for disappearing and leaving him behind.

On the boat back, Laura O thanked me for emailing her my match reports. I said I'd send her last week's tonight, and apologised in advance for the row of question marks in the place of the opposing goalscorer's name - "they were unfriendly arseholes who wouldn't give me all their names." Laura said she'd heard about them from Kim, and added with spirit "Ignore knobheads like that, we want you here." Sabrina and Jenna asked if I'd be joining all the girls at Route 66 for their birthday drinks when we docked at Portsmouth; I regretfully declined with thanks, explaining that I had to compose my report and fire it off to Trev tonight then had an early start for my trip to Kent tomorrow. Tuts and 'aww's all round.