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Chester 1 - 1 Peterborough United

Mark Wright. not a racist.

Attendance: 1905, 364 Poshies
A much more reserved day out for this writers point of view, pootling across the Pennines with Mr Wam at lunchtime, arriving in the PLC haunt of the Town Crier and rendezvousing with the various other PLC members: Poshbird, Pompey, Anderson, Nick, Zaius, German Dan, Roland Rat, Guiseley and Sam-mini-Guiseley, who seemed intent on causing as much havoc as possible. Mark shortly arrived, with motorbike, prompting the conversation to go like this: Poshbird: did you come on your bike? Mark: yes Poshbird: have you got a bike? Women! Banter was had, Dave was generally inappropriate, mini-Guiseley tried to burn out Mark's bike, Squires stated that I didn't know whether to shiver or push whilst regaling us with his medication-induced narcoleptic antics at Chester last season. Anyways, having dodged the hen parties and chavs, we made our way to the cab rank and subsequently the ground, and a trip to the ticket office was in order. Sladey was having a strop because he'd tried to hoodwink the ticket seller with his rich-man games and he wasn't falling for it. Being a richer, he managed to get away with it though and got a new ticket, when the revolution comes his lot be first against the wall, Asda bastards. So will their butlers. Anyway, Squires managed to get in as an under-16, despite the guy laughing at Squires attempts to blag it, I think he let him in through pity. The first half wasn't up to much, a glorious afternoon of sunshine ruined by the football, although mini-Guiseley tormented all those around with a pilfered horn and Polly C mark 2. Squires did the grub run, and we also spotted Boris Yeltsin in a steward's jacket. The second half was better, the football better, and Posh could've won. Renditions of early 90s dance classics aside, the main entertainment was gained form tormenting Yeltsin (who at the end of the game was holding two inflatable torpedoes oh the irony). Post-match, we all went our separate ways, and another day was over, hey ho, good craic, bit of a tan, see you all next season (if you're a pretendaposh and not coming on Saturday).

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Accrington Stanley 2 - 3 Peterborough United

Wannabe Scousers

Attendance: 1808 (415 Poshies)
What a glorious day it was for an away win. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, twas blazing sunshine and an open terrace. Sadly we didn't get an away win. Trev and Ken met in Leeds station as usual, hopping on the plotsville train with a few cans and various other Poshies dotted around the carriages. A family from Bradford chose not to sit on the table next to us across the aisle because we were obviously louts, enjoying a nice can of ale well past 11am and discussing the finer points of stoicism. Their loss. However, conversation didn't remain so intellectual, we moved onto the comedic value of DDTing midgets from the top of ladders; whether if a reality TV show of a murder mystery weekend with an actual murder starring only fictional TV detectives a la Columbo, Quincy, Miss Marple, Poirot and the Scooby Doo gang would work; and whether, if you bought a decommissioned US warship with a deck-mounted catapult and fired Joe Pasquale into the sea in a VW Beetle he would survive and get back to the ship due to his high voice meaning he could talk to dolphins. On arrival in Accy Stanley, we met the Wam-man and Poshbird, and pootled off down the road to The Railway, sat on Badger benches, and enjoyed some lovely ale in the sun, along with a nice baguette. Twas an odd pub, not least for the framed porn on the walls of the gents loo, and the sex-toy machine next to it. Knob rings anyone? No? How about some Thai beads? Your loss. We cabbed it to the ground, with a remarkably unintelligible cabbie, and popped to the Crown for a swift pint, before entering the ground, to find Anderson, Newts, and Nick all bannered up. The game itself was poor, Posh were poor, and we deservedly lost, so it wasn't especially good fun. Posh loss. We did build up a rather good rapport with the linesman down our side, and their fella Todd got a bit of mother-related-banter, although the twat later got the winner. Barry-Trapped-in-Wales joined us at the intermission, and Trev chatted to the random Charlton fan in a Leeds Rhinos shirt who was there with his mate. Dave got told off for the steward for deceptively sitting on a wall, and that, generally was that. Oh, and Nick went drum-crazy. Post-game, we blagged a lift back to the station with Anderson %G–%@ geezer! On the way we saw Barry and his chauffer. Ken, Dave and Poshbird all waved at him and gave him the thumbs up, he waved back. Splitters. We had a bit of time to kill a mockingbird, so we popped back to The Railway for one more, finding the two halves of a bank card belonging to a Ms L Brown. Something momentous had obviously happened to her mid-afternoon. Perhaps her loss? Int pub, desperate to grab the last vestiges of the sun, we were seated next to some rather inebriated Accy Stanley ÆpeopleÇ, one of whom thoroughly enjoyed spouting his puddle-drinking drivel at us, on the plus side, in his attempt to ridicule Trev's magnificently tied-up beard, his alright-looking-female-scrubber-acquaintance informed us all it was Sexual. Alriiiiiiiiiiight. We also saw a right slagbag out on the tear with a calligraphy style tattoo of the word Karl on the small of her back. Classy. But who is this Karl? What happened to him? And why was he not around? Does he have Moose on his back? There's just so many questions.. Anyway, it soon became time to go, and to the station we went, the journey home spent discussing the merits of a Glinton education, University funding and fanzines with Mowlesy. And that folks was that, I don't think I've missed owt. A fun day out, all things considered, but alas the playoff dream must surely be over now.

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Ilkeston Town 1-1 Telford

The one true left back plays 90 minutes. And gets injured!

With the fans swaping ends at half time, a dog in a fottball shirt and a bumper crowd of 758 it can only be Non-league shit. Our Dennis lines up as the left sided centre back in a 3-5-2 formation, marking fellow Posh reject Martin Carruthers for the most part. The game quickly settles into hopeful lumps forward and tubby forwards being caught offside. Telford certainly don't look like a promotion chasing side, if anything Ilkeston look the more likely to score, but it gets to half time and there score is still 0-0. The telford fans take this opportunity to pack up there flags and banners and migrate to the other end, something I'm glad we don't do. Almost immediately a long ball over the top of telford's defence leaves all 3 centre backs looking for a flag and the Ilkeston striker is left with the simple task of rounding the keeper to score. The Ilkeston fans find their voices and among other things call the Telford fans inbreds. It's certainly a case of pot and kettle. If Deliverance had been a British film it would certainly have been set in around Ilson. The Telford manager decides to switch things around and makes three substitutions in quick succession. Our hero will get to play a full ninety minutes. Telford keep pushing with little joy until about twenty minutes from the end when a hopeful punt, or precision ball from our Dennis is knocked down and the arriving midfielder hammers it home. At this point Ilkseton embark on a series of time wasting substitutions beginning with the ineffectual Carruthers. Nothing he's done today would suggest that he could be prolific at this level let alone in professional football. With about fifteen minutes to go Dennis and a striker both chase a long ball over the top inside the penalty area they both go down and the ref whose been a bit over a homer awards our Den a free kick, but while the striker walks away unhurt Dennis stays down. After some on the field treatment and then strapping his left thigh on the side line it is obvious that Dennis will play no further meaningful part in this game. Telford reshuffle and Dennis tries gamely to limp around midfield but with liitle joy. The game peters out, there's just enough time left for ex-forest cunt Nigel Jemson to make a small cameo, be abused by Telford fans (for Shrewbury connections) and almost get sent off. After the game I managed to grab a quick word with Dennis. I told him I was a Posh fan at which point he looked a little surprised, but I left him a couple of Blue Moons and my phone number and asked him to get in touch about an interview.

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Grimsby 0 - 2 Peterborough United

It's just grim

Attendance: 5164, a good several hundred Poshies, 500-1000 maybe?
Not a usual PLC day out, with little beer consumed, and a member (fnarr fnarr) actually driving there that wasn't Mark cos he'd missed the train due to his drinking problem. Trev and Nick were in Haddock land early to play in .nets brilliant 3-1 away victory. Post-game, the incredibly, dingy and shit Leaky Boot pub was the only viable destination (copyright Matthew Squires). A funky paint job, some superb 80s music did little to improve the quality of the back room of the pub. But in there were fellow PLCers Dave, Ken, Mark, and Sladenstein (due to the square-ness of his haircut and the bolts in his neck). Such was the paucity of quality of the pub, the PLCers went off to the ground and were in with 15 minutes to go til kickoff!!! Trev's dad also turned up. The game wasn't great, the performance wasn't great, but the win was. It's not really worth talking about much more than that to be honest. The trip back to the car was via a very dog-shitty road with a bridge to Wales and then the journey home was begun. Mark and the member in the front talked house, sorry shop, while Ken, Trev and the perv that is Sladenstein sat in the back and talked a lot of rubbish. Sladenstein was uncovered to be a little rich boy, sending his butlers out to Asda and Tescos for his rich-boy food while beating a few serfs and peasants on the way. On arrival back at Leeds, Sladey was left at the station, and then the wallet he'd been playing with all the way home was left in the car!!! Fecking numpty. And that, in essence, was that. So there we go. Roll on Stanley!

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Maccelesfield 2 - 1 Peterborough United

Twats in hats

Attendance: 2274 (307 Posh fans)
The PLC do it again! Another cracking day out ruined by football once more! Coming from around the country to watch a gutless and pathetic capitulation to a Conference reject side, it's a good job we know how to have fun! The usual Leeds meeting point was graced bright and early by Ken, Guiseley, Trev, Squires and a pilgrimage making CanadaPosh for brekky and a pint! Guiseley and Trev took the Mr Posh day thing truly on board and spent the day in crazy get-up! Although many thought we were a) going to a wedding, or b) to an undertakers convention. Mark as usual was hungover or something so he joined us later, Dave was, surprise surprise, at a wedding. Enjoying a ride in the vestibule all the way to Manchester we got to the Balcony Bar, former home of Les Battersby, currently hosting a poor Shaun Ryder lookalike and a need to code-break to have a slash. Here we met up with Anderson, Dr Zaius, Pompey, fledgling PLC member Jonno the Mackem, Nick, Shop Tim and the Greebo. Beers were supped, comedy prevailed with the usual inane banter, Nick made some paper top hats Guiseley had mugged some kids for, and people laughed at Squires for being a numpty. We nipped on the train for Macclesfield, stopping at Stockport with a woman taking one look at us in the carriage and going to another one! We all decided that someone should write ÆSquires: The Musical. Very much in the vein of South Park, or Jerry Springer, the comedy potential is there, and there's more than enough to sing about. I think Elaine Paige would make an excellent lead. If anyone can remember the songs that were sung, please fell free to mention them, so that work can begin. Once at Maccs we popped across the road from the station for a few ales at the Old Millstone. A few arrows were thrown, Poshbird turned up with Boozy Leics in tow, Mark appeared and the Panda, fresh from his use of the countries public transport also graced us with his somewhat rotund presence. On arrival at the Moss Rose we were told that the terrace was closed, disconsolate, we had to sit down with the other Poshies including Outlaw, Nipper and co, but we did decorate the terrace with an amazing array of Posh banners! The flags and banners were a triumph by all involved in them! The game was garbage. We conceded, we scored and cheered, we conceded again, and then lost. However, it was during the game that the comedy moments of the day truly came to the fore. Some members missed the goals due to drinking. Squires did his usual first half trick of wandering off for minutes at a time. Half-time saw Jonno flogging Blue MoonÇs to all and sundry including one of the official haters themselves, no names to be mentioned. Beginning the second half, Squires was sans chair, so a couple of rows back settled in next to some old fellas. And proceeded to fall asleep in a drunken stupor much to the amusement of all around us, especially the old fellas sitting next to him, it seemed to make their days going by their toothless laughter. He proceeded to fall asleep again during the half, he really is a liability. After the game, we hung around in the x-factor pub for a bit, before leaving Panda, Squires and Diego as we headed back to Manc. The journey back was memorable for two reasons. Firstly, a rather attractive member of Virgin Rail staff, doing an ungodly and smelly shit in the loo we were standing near. Secondly, the emergency alarm going off at regular intervals, prompting a rather worried sounding member of the train crew asking all passengers to check what they were doing. Cue discovery of Ken leaning on the alarm. The big yob. We said our goodbyes at Manchester, and headed back to Leeds or Lancaster of Sheffield accordingly, Sladey departed at Huddersfield and we all went home, a good day out had by all. I later learnt that Squires didn't get back to Manchester til 10pm, so whether he got to his gig or not, no-one knows. He is officially, a waster.

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Bury 0 - 3 Peterborough United

Sit down shoot up

Attendance: 2,025. probably c.200 Posh
Another PLC journey to gak-town ended with another handsome Posh away victory. Squires was hungover and already in Bury by Saturday morning raring to go for the .net match, having walked into a car and giggled at a house on the way to the pitch. Trev schlapped across from Leeds bright and early, meeting Poshbird in Manc before heading off to the game on what can only be described as a joke of a pitch. A 3 inch deep puddle in the centre circle, and boggy, marshy conditions were of no help to anyone really. Except the Bury lot, who tonked us 9-2. Trev scored a great own goal, Squires managed to come off the pitch cleaner than when he went on, which is incredible considering the mud was trying to envelop you, and Sam got thrown in the afore mentioned puddle. Post-match, we went back with the, it must be said, superb Bury lads for grub and giggles at their social club at the ground. Anderson joined us soon enough. Nick, Sladey, the PLCaedophile and Pompey met us at the ground. For those not in the know, before leaving the social club, Squires went to the loo. He was in a cubicle and managed to break the loo. On relaying this news to the rest of the group, he was asked why he was in the cubicle. He informed us it was Because I fancied a sit-down. Genius. Posh played really well, excellent football, superb to a man. In the first half we got to the 18 yard box and it went wrong, in the second half it went right. Squires spent the day in a hat informing us Boys R Good. Sladey gave us a riveting story about his mates sexual antics with some bird on the blob. Half-time wasn't especially notable, although the marvellous tannoy (sorry, public address system) announcement that Happy birthday to Katie, she's 24 today, she's the one in the new white coat, was quite amusing. The second half, Posh scored some decent goals and it was thoroughly enjoyable. But the real drama was in the terraces. Sam was told off for filming on her phone in case she was filming children. Lots of people amused themselves by annoying Squires (ear flicking, fork poking, hat hitting, the usual), Sladey was disconsolate that Ken wasn't there for him to hug and to hold. We also met a random fella called Dan, who was mates with a mate of Sladey from Huddersfield, whom was given the schpiel about the PLC, hopefully he'll sign up. On the wander back to the station, we bumped into two lost Norwegians, who had come to Manchester for the weekend, intending to watch Man City v Chelski, but because of the Rumbelows Cup, it was cancelled. So they chose to go and watch Bury v Posh, and to support Bury. Poor buggers. So we guided them to the tram-stop. Out of pity. Bravo those fellas though. After that we just headed back to Manc, everyone cleared off, leaving Trev as the sole drinker in the Oyster Bar, next the Weed Pub, waiting for me mate to turn up. I got back home in Leeds at 5 to 1, having drunk a lot, bumped into me sister and friends on the train home, and then walking home from the centre of Leeds via a garage. Nobody cares, but that was my day so it gets put in! Bravo the Posh, bravo the PLC. Roll on the next one!

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Darlington 3 -1 Peterborough United

No pies?? Bastards

Attendance: a little over 2000,with a couple of hundred from the Fens.
Yet again, another fun day out is ruined by the very event that prompts it. Twas a pathetically poor Posh performance, with little idea or imagination, and an average Darlo side took full advantage to make us look like mugs. Handles N all. The day started in a civilised fashion with Ken, Mark, Dave, Trev, Pompey and Poshbird all meeting at Leeds station for a brew before catching the mid-morning train. Comedy ensued around the toilet on the Sladey train as talk turned to Poshbird drunken declaration of love to the Mirror-breaker from Preston, Dave's pederastic tendencies, and Karl PilkingtonÇs infinite wisdom. Arriving at Darlo station we were filmed off the train by the rozzers, and Poshbird thought it wise to ask one if They knew where the number 22 bar was, cos that's where everyone meeting?Ç Fine words to ask when the police are expecting a bit of bother. Some of us chose to hitch a cab ride to the pub, which was a delightful olde worlde affair with trad ale, fine whiskies and wood panelling. We were greeted by the PISA lot, the BoozyÇs, Kev, Jimboway and Squires, the latter of whom had enjoyed the train journey up drinking a remarkable concoction of Stella, Bud and Strongbow. Twat. We were soon joined in the pub by three policemen, acting on a tip off that That was where everyone was meeting. The landlord was not particularly overjoyed by this news, but we soon explained to both he and the old bill that there was nothing to worry about, much to his delight. He still put up a sign saying No large group of football fans will be served. By this time the rest of our lot had arrived on foot, and Outlaw, Nick and Anderson had also joined the throng. A rather spiffing beef sandwich was enjoyed, and then it was time to move on, with talk of the Badger pub luring one and all. Unfortunately, having undertaken a cab ride and spotted a bit of talent, we arrived at the aforementioned Badger pub, to see several police vans and some of the self-styled Posh Hard-menÇ. A short walk up the road to the ground and we were free to enjoy the Tin Shed bar, were Ken, Trev and Nick saved numerous people from the terrors of the Fag Machine (no, not Gilbert, an actual fag machine). Once in the ground, with the banners and flags duly displayed, we were settled in, with a rather pedantic steward taking issue to people standing up with no-one behind them in a ground with 20,000 empty seats. Songs were sung, with various efforts bandied around for the newbies. The game itself was dire, so I won't really mention it, other than to say Ken and Squires missed our goal, and it took Squires 10 minutes to work out what had happened. In his defence though, he was asleep. Half-time saw an away stand devoid of pies, much to the Posh fans disdain. The second-half was atrocious, but notable for the consistent abuse of the Ipod wearing Squires, and his pitiful attempts to work out what was going on. At the end of the game, we ventured back down the road, an attempt to have a pint in the Badger pub was rebuked by the staff because it had apparently been trashed earlier in the day. Distraught at this news, we finished the journey to the station, where we bumped into, and terrorised Squires once more, before grabbing the train back to Leeds. Once back in the capital of the north, we settled on the cockpit, played a bit of table football, sank a few more ales and continued to rib Dave for being a paedo. So there we go, another pathetic performance, but another fun day out for the PLC, a half-decent way to start the new year.

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Stockport 0 - 1 Peterborough United

There IS an East Yorkshire
Attendance: 4775 (255 Posh)
The first true PLC outing of the season saw the intrepid group pop to Stockport, and witness one of the worst games of football ever played. However, the fact that Posh snuck it 1-0 (but should have had three) contributed to a hugely enjoyable away day! The comedy started early, at least for this Posh fan, with the purchase of an ankle support and his subsequent inability to put it on right before ripping his sock. Trust me, it was funny. Perhaps you had to be there. With PLCers converging on Stockport from across the country, the Leeds lot convened in Subway in Leeds station for breakfast. However, due to Dave heading off to join NAMBLA, and Mark’s complete inability to actually turn up on time, twas only Ken, Trev and Trevsister. Suitably ensconced on the train, beer in hand, we notified Sladey that we were in the vestibule at the end of coach A. Having then had to explain that a vestibule was ‘the corridor bit with the bog in it’, we were joined at Dewsbury by 4 random middle-aged people off on their annual holidays with huge bags and a complete inability to work out what to do with them. Ken had to stand up. At Huddersfield they moved along and we awaited Sladey boarding the train to enjoy the rest of the journey with us. But there was a no show, he’d actually gone to the front carriage of the train (C), assuming that would be A, but no. He was then completely unable to come and find us, as ‘there was a big block of people I couldn’t get past’. So he spent the rest of the journey on his own. Numpty. On arrival at Manchester Piccadilly, Shakin’ Squires and Webby got in touch and met up with us for the short ride to Stockport. Squires by this time was remarkably not under the influence of alcohol, but had consumed 4 cans of red bull, but apparently this wasn’t contributing to the fact he had the shakes big style. Laughing at Parky thus prompted that journey’s entertainment. On arrival in Stockport we made the short walk to The Grapes, the PLC and Blue Moon Pub of the Year 2006. Here we found Poshbird, Pompey and Nick already in the PLC corner, but no-one in Ken’s seat. We had arrived, the beer began to flow and people popped out for food runs, with the local Gregg’s doing good business. Mancposh and his mates turned up, and were suitably introduced, followed by Poshimus Maximus or whatever he is now, Samuel Newton and banners, and Fred Drift and wife. Woguan to all. The landlady of The Grapes was also scared witless when, in front of the waiting press and flashing cameras, she was awarded the certificate for the PLC and Blue Moon Pub of the Year 2006. She really had no idea what was going on, bless her! Also, somewhere back across the Pennines, the enigma that is Larham actually surfaced and elected to drive to Stockport, appearing at some point prior to the game. While Nick and Newton went to banner up (good work chaps), the rest of us sank our pints, Ken tripped over a brick, and we made our way to the ground, with student discounts being the name of the game! The game itself was atrocious and our view was blocked by pillars, but the pies were pretty good. Posh broke the deadlock shortly after half-time when a quick turn and shot by Benjinho rattled into the top corner. Apart from Crow and Butcher missing decent chances to increase the lead, this was essentially all that happened. So riveting was the game that Ken passed the time arguing about counties with Poshimus Maximus, much to Mark’s chagrin. At the final whistle, and the celebration of an excellent three points, the massed ranks of the PLC, whilst taking the banners down, lured the effervescent Jamie Day across, he shook the hands of one and all and even signed his latest diary extract and artwork. From this point people started to head home, Squires had by this time consumed beer and more red bull, and presumably ran and/or shook his way home, the rest of us headed back to The Grapes for a few more ales. The PLC established their superiority on the pool table over the locals, and as the clock ticked toward seven, we decided it time to head home. Some went by train, some drove, and some got a lift off Nigel Mansell. But I think it can be safely established that a good day was had by all, twas good banter, a good result, and of course, The Grapes.

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Wrexham 0 - 0 Peterborough United

Why do you build me up, Benjamin?
Attendance: 4,706 (211 Posh fans)
Please accept my apologies once more, the computers playing up, couple of gremlins in the system, there, ghosts in the machine. Perhaps a metaphor for, er.. Wrexham hasn't changed much since last season, its still shite, but at least there were no fecking kids with air horns or that stupid bastard dragon. Trev, Szechuan, Nick, Zaius, Anderson and German Dan all attended this far-flung fixture to witness a rather dour game of football that could have swung either way, but it didn't swing anywhere. Both teams had chances to win it that weren't taken, rattling the woodwork once apiece, but a good point for Posh in the grand scheme of things. It all started bright and early for Trev and the Cheek at a Terry Woguan recommended greasy spoon a stones throw from Chez Panda. After expertly dodging a train of Chavs to Blackpool, le excurse was underway, and Chester beckoned. We were suitably ensconced with beer and quiz machine at just gone 11 in regular PLC haunt the Town Crier in Chester. Nick randomly appeared with some .comers who then proceeded to flee, and Zaius and German Dan arrived an hour or so later, good times were had by all. The formative ideas of a Mark Arber song based around Boney M's classic MA Baker were sown around lunchtime. We set off for Chester at 2.20 and our fifteen minute journey to Wrexham got us in at 3.05, a stoppage on the line caused by a sheep with a split arsehole was the rumour. However, this delay did allow for the creation of a marvellous ditty concerning Benji to the tune of Build me up buttercup. After rushing to the game and all unexpectedly getting in as stoooooooodents, banners were upped and seats were taken, for once without witty jibes from the resident comedians amongst the Posh fanbase, one of whom did rise to the occasion and exclaim numerous idiocies including a rather bemusing digression concerning the differences between Rugby and Association football. Half-time came and went, a few Blue Moon's were offloaded and the second half drifted by as poorly as the first but with a few more chances. Full-time came and prompted a mad dash to the station, and the dubious pleasure of having to sit on a train with some imbecilic, racist, uneducated and loutish yokels. If there's a god he will smite them as they deserve. On arrival back in Chester another pint was supped before all went their separate ways, Nick and Anderson had gone by road from Wrexham, Panda and Trev set off for Manc, while the Liverpudlians were left in Chester. A long day, with little quality to shout about, but a good craic all the same, bring on the Stockport!

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Peterborough United 4 - 1 Bristol Rovers
Four? Four? Thats two more than we play in midfield