Gamesley of Life

Gamesley v Crewe, Hallmark Security Cheshire Football League

The realisation that the Scottish Junior leagues were still being played changed my original plan of Lugar Boswell Thistle V Saltcoats Victoria, to the last weekend of English football.

The most enticing was Gamesley v Crewe in the Cheshire League. Gamesley is a large council estate adjacent to Glossop. This was the first weekend of the summer Saturday only Huddersfield – Glossop bus service, and was also the Glossop North End FC beer festival, so was win, win, win.

My outward move was from Sowerby, one stop to Brighouse, for a +5 on a unit to Huddersfield.

Huddersfield station is a real sign of 19th century opulence, wonderfully preserved.

In the square outside the station is The George Hotel, the birthplace of the Northern Rugby Football Union, where the non-subservients decided they didn’t like being crippled without any recompence, for the sake of entertaining the monied gentry, so starting Rugby League. And at the same time making rugby a watchable sport. In the foreground is a statue of Harold Wilson, the town’s most famous son.

I moved on to the bus station, with a couple of ex-Dublin bus Olympians parked up, as a pensioner awaits the free bus to the Mecca Bingo.

However, this was no match for the queue for my bus, for which I was the only person under 70 and certainly the only fare paying passenger. Why or how it had such an aged following I don't know, but I as definitely the only person under 70.

And we waited, and we waited, and we waited. The wait consisted of old women moaning about how they were going to miss their connection to Buxton at Glossop. They were using free bus passes, it is an hourly service on to Buxton and they didn't have anything planned, but by god did they moan.

What I wasn't expecting was for the journey to be the gayest experience a person can Experience without penetration of the anus. Unbeknown to me, there is a new bus operator on the route, a local operator entitled Ladies Only Transport, who describe themselves as Yorkshire's leading gay friendly transport operator. I am unaware as to how much competition they have, but they certainly lived up to their claim.

I rather shocked the driver by being the only one of the 30 or so passengers to be buying a ticket. Camp doesn't go anyway near to describing the demeanour of the driver, who's only moment of none perma-excitement was when I had to let on that no, I wasn't a career for any of my companions, but instead was someone trying to get to Glossop.

With everyone on the bus, my experience turned full on Cocoon v Priscilia Queen of the Desert, as the driver jumped out of his seat and demanded that he wouldn't leave until everyone said they were happy. I was fully into it by now, whooping vigorously from the back of the bus, however, the mood was dampened by a number of elderly dissidents at the front who expressed concern that they were now going to miss their connection to Buxton. It really got heated when the trainee driver at the front got heckled as a 'fatty'.

We proceeded on our journey. On our way, we picked up more pensioners. All of whom it seemed needed a five minute rant at the bus driver that the bus was late so they would miss their connection to Buxton, thus making the bus even later, so they were in danger of missing the connection an hour later.

My ‘cool kids at the back’ companion was Sidney. I know this because early on he introduced himself and proudly boasted his carrier bag contained over 800 bus timetables. This would have been quaint if Sid didn't then talk me through at least 750 of them.

We passed through Holmfirth, famous for being the setting for Last of the Summer Mine. Disappointingly, the museum is now the Wrinkled Stocking Cafe.

Thankfully, Sid got enveloped in a rather hostile viewpoint with the ladies infront regarding Hetty Wainthorpe Inestigates, so I was left to my own devices as we crested Woodhead Pass. As we ascended the summit, we had dipped to about 10mph so the driver, who's tone was now that of a Redcoat at an S&M night, demanded we all peddled, and spent rather longer than he should have, facing backwards demanding everyone assume a peddling motion. Here he excitedly points out the stones signifying we are entering the Peak District.

I had been trying to take in the scenery, which wasn't easy, considering on one side I had Sid trying to catch my eye to talk me through the latest MetroRider publicity, and on the other, a fuck off big pink heart on the window, enshrined with 'Lady's Only a Transport'.

Ascending the Woodhead pass, we were limited to little above walking pace as the bus seemed to have the all the power of a Ford Fiesta. This gave the opportunity for the driver to throw the doors as we passed any weary cyclists, and invite them on board. This seemed to startle them, as for some reason they weren’t expecting a pink bus full of pensioners, being driven by Alan Carr, offering them a lift.

Continuing uphill, between the various love hearts adorning the window, could be spotted what appeared to be microlights.

However, they were actually some premature Darwin Awardists in canoes attached to parachutists.

Eventually, we crested the summit, with a misty looking Huddersfield and Calder Valley spreading out beyond.

With the service now some way off schedule, the driver took the opportunity to make up time by not using the brake at all on the ferocious downward descent to xxx reservoir. I have never really considered how I want to die, but certainly it is not akin to a fictional Cliff Richard character by plummeting over a precipice in a bus. This appeared to cross other minds as there then broke out a fraught debate with the driver, between those that were't happy with their imminent death, and those that saw it as a fair risk if it meant getting to Buxton an hour earlier so they could make a pot of tea last three hours.

The life preservationists won out over the see Buxton or die brigade, and a more orderly descent was made to Woodhead reservoir.

One of the greatest spectator sports on public transport, is 'pensioner window open cluedo'. Basically, one of them detects a draft. They relay this to their companions, who look around for unlikely sources such as speakers, but on this occasion my IPad was seen as a potential mobile air con unit. After that was discounted by incredulous stares from myself, instead they majored on the open window directly opposite them and an abrupt instruction for it to be closed immediately. They went on to complain how stuffy the bus was.

Eventually we arrived into Glossop, which also heralded our arrival into Derbyshire. Sid marked this by some unique pensioner bigotry, that he didn’t trust people who dressed wells.

Passing down the high street gave the driver an encore as he made use of some euphemistic shop names, and then perhaps the most entertaining bus journey I have ever been on was at an end.

I made my way out of town to the Crown, one of the town’s three guide pubs.

It is mainly listed due to its remarkable original interior, and is a Sam Smiths outlet which means questionable beer but £2.60 for an Old Brewery bitter and crisps.

I headed back into town to the indoor market and the cheese stall, more details later.

Randomly named fast food outlets.

The next GBG was the Star Inn right outside the station, which was cleared with a Howard Town – Super Fortress (which does sound like tramp’s lager), and a Pictish – Brewers Gold.

After quickly nipping into the Holt’s adjacent to the station for a House Bitter and Moeen making his century, I headed to the station for a Northern 323 heading for Manchester.

The pidgeon (so called because they make a cooing sound when recharging the air compressor) was taken one stop to Dinting.

Dinting is one of the few triangular stations remaining on the British network. On the right is the line to Hadfield (aka Royston Vasey in League of Gentleman), which was previously the LNER main line to Sheffield via Woodhead. It was one of the first main lines to be electrified in the 1950s and was used to transport Yorkshire coal to the Lancashire power stations. However, it was shut in the 1980s with the demise of British coal. As the line heads to Manchester, it immediately passes over Dinting viaduct.

It was a walk to the ground, down the valley side…..

…giving a great view of the viaduct and the additional brick support pillars that have been added.

Then under the viaduct……

….before emerging into the estate.

Gamesley P v Crewe P, Hallmark Security Cheshire Football League

The ground is situated inbetween the woods and the housing estate. The google maps satellite image appears to show a tractor being joy ridden around the pitch, like Micro Machines meets Grand Theft Auto on a SNES

If a late running bus can cause a cerfuffle amongst pensioners, this had nothing on what was to happen. Arriving for kick off approximately five minutes late, I could hear familiar shouting. However, this transpired to be kids on a rope swing. Instead, stood at the ground was one of the glorious sights of non-league football; pissed off ground hoppers.

This being one of only six games in Northern England today, it was Always going to draw a healthy contingent of stadcrankums, however, the open fences of the ground showed that there was no football in progress, and no sign of any imminent action either.

The Stone Island of the ground hopper is Sports Direct lightweight rain wear and Farm Foods bag-for-life. At least two of the assembled hoarded showed their ultra credentials.

I was first greeted by a Bloke in a Berghouse Cagoule and tight jogging bottoms. His initial exchange was the Masonic handshake of ground hoppers; where had I come from today and what was my Kempster username. I fended off with, “not far”, and making up a mythical invite only section of the Kempster forum where you have to post under your real name. He seemed slightly perplexed but dismissive of my response by telling me he was actually meant to be going to Poynton but his train was cancelled at Piccadilly, so he came here as he had already been to Sandbank. He then, unprompted, gave me detailed directions to Sandbank's ground from the station.


Then a car load of People in Walsall shirts turned up. The bloke started telling them how he was off to Poynton and he had been to Sandbach, only for one of them to top trump him by announcing he was good to phone none other than the fixture secretary of the Cheshire League to find out what was happening.


By now, it was turning in to a veritable Kerb Crawling World Championships with single men in beige, who live with their mum and looking like they had murdered at least one person in their lifetime, driving passed in grubby cars in one direction, then turning round and coming back very slowly, before opening the passenger window and saying 'Is it on?', before telling everyone where they had come from, and engaging in needless conversation, which is apparently what they wanted the whole time.


A very rusty Transit turned up, with a near caveman driving, and a big, manky looking dog in the passenger seat and an even bigger Shepstead Dynamo sticker on display. He pulled over and enquired if the game was on, and on being told no, tapped the Shepstead Dynamo mini kit in his passenger door and asked anyone if they could guess where he had come from today. Before anyone could answer, Mr 'was going to Poynton and have been to Sandbank' had stepped forward, and was answering the question by telling the dog he was actually meant to be going to Poynton today and had been to Sandbach and these are the directions from the station.

I left the grumbling mass of man-made fabrics, who had moved on to dissing the grounds credentials for hosting Derbyshire Senior Cup games; “imagine Chesterfield playing here”, and a staunch agreement that the Cheshire league had the worst use of Twitter of any league.

I toyed with the idea of going to the Glossop North End beer festival but this would have entailed getting the bus back to Huddersfield which I couldn’t endure, so instead headed for Staylybridge.

The bus ride gave the opportunity to start on the Delicacies; a bag of cooked meat off cuts, Cheshire blue, Gloucester mature, innkeepers pickled onion cheddar, and something else I couldn’t remember.

I’d never really done Staylybridge, having only been to the football ground and the station, which is fairly pleasant. So I got off on the outskirts…..

…..to clear the Old Hunters Tavern, which is GBG but a Robinsons tie with no guest so a house Wizard was had.

Then into the quite horrific centre for the Guide Whetherspoons, called the Society Rooms, which I suppose it is, but it did have a local Bootleg – Chorlton Pale on.

Carrying on through he town, the richest person in Staylybridge turned up in a fake Escort RS Turbo with a personalised number plate that I still can’t wotk out what it spells.

However, passing through the centre, I stumbled on this non guide outfit, which was exceptional. Eight beers on gravity, all local. So an extended stop of Greenfield – Silver Owl, Tweed – Orange County, and Green Mill – On the Tiles. Well recommended for anyone in the area.

Moving on to the guide White House to watch the cricket with a Beer Studio – Cara Bronze.

I then headed to the station and its platform located refreshment rooms. This is a legendary real ale location, but is part of the trans Pennine rail ale trail. This is for when groups of lads from Garforth do the station based pubs at Stalybridge/Huddersfield/Dewsbury, saying they are going to have real ale but actually switching to Carling and Jaeger bombs after two pints. On entering the station, I could hear chanting as a group in fancy dress heckled their leader with ‘you don’t know what you’re doing’ as they headed for the refreshment rooms.

Sensing that it might be an endurance, I jumped on a TPE unit in the platform….

….and headed back to Huddersfield.

The station has two pubs on it. I headed for the second one which is the old British Rail Staff Association and until recently, was a haven for formica and velour. However, it has now had a refit and goes under the name of the Kings Arms. There was just enough time for a Magic Rock – Ringmaster, and a Lords – Mount Helix, before heading back to the platform with the John Smiths stadium hiding behind a gas holder. The unit took me to Halifax for a +12 onto a Sowerby service.