Rather than write a match report myself, I just copied this entry out of Chris Pearson's diary when he wasn't looking as I think it describes the important elements of the day.

Excerpt taken from the diary of C Pearson.

As you all know, preparation is the key to success, so this story does not begin at 4pm in Peterborough, but at 8pm in my farmhouse in Lolworth the night before.

When you run about as much as I do in a game you use up a lot of calories, so it is important to prepare your body as well as possible for the game to come. Luckily science has discovered that lager is the ideal way of getting these calories into your body and also not only hydrates you but can handily just be poured in.

After exhausting my personal supply by 10pm and still having taken in nowhere near as much energy I would need, my friend suggested we go to a quiet little place called Lola's that was open until 4 in the morning to continue my preparation. Despite never remembering going there before, everyone there knew my name: I guess it's all those Man of the Match votes making me famous.

However when the lights went on and they rudely chucked us out, I did not feel my preparation was complete. So I carried on drinking, knowing that I had to be ready in just twelve hours time to take on league leaders Peterborough. At about 11 (in the morning) I realised I would also need some protein to help build muscles and give me strength for the match, so I stopped at a fried chicken shop.

This is when disaster struck. The normally ever-reliable fine dining establishment must have under fried the chicken! I started to get a headache and began to feel sick with just hours to go before the game.

My lift arrived but to make matters worse it seemed that Graveling had forgotten how to drive, swerving about all over the place – this never happens on my tractor. I had to beg him to stop so I could spill out on to the curb and sadly ruin someone’s delightful flower display by being sick. The psychopath behind the wheel did not take the hint and continued to drive like a maniac. He seemed to take great delight in pulling over on the A14 to watch me hurl my guts up again and again: the torture did not stop and I was sick a further fifteen times.

Eventually we arrived at the pitch and I thought my ordeal was over. However a passing strain of the West Nile Virus, probably escaped from the hospital next door, struck me down and I had to go and lie down in the changing rooms with a fever whilst everyone else warmed up. The only bonus was there was nothing left to throw up.

I staggered to the pitch as the umpire called out, "Two minutes." Captain Williams did not seem happy as I tried to explain how my disciplined and thorough preparation had been thwarted by poor hygiene standards, a mad man's driving and the freak contraction of a deadly disease. He told me to do my best and hope everyone else would step up to make up for my absence. The only positive was I did not have to listen to Paresh go on and on about how England had been defeated by a piece of furry fruit?

The match was slow to start and the ball never really threatened either goal for large periods of the game. The best chance of the half fell to McCulloch as he was slipped the ball from a short corner and clattered it into the keeper's face mask from point-blank range. He then volleyed the rebound over the bar but it was impressive that he got even a touch on it as there was so little time to react. I also started to notice part way through the game that my shins were beginning to hurt for some unknown reason.

Peterborough had a couple of chances of their own but the defence held firm and Parker in goal was in full casual mode as shots went wide of his goal.

The second half was more of the same: without my usual spring, South were uninspired but worked hard. Chalk typified the battling display and was unlucky to be just out of reach of a couple of through balls. McCulloch had a few more snap shots and I managed to stick tackle myself. Peterborough had a string of shorts but never had a clear shot and Parker dealt simply with any of the pea-rollers sent his way.

Still feeling unwell after the game, I was unable to take full advantage of the teas on offer and could only stomach twelve sausages, two shovel-fuls of chips and three pints of beans. I hilariously voted for Dave as LoM because he is named after a fancy car – everyone knows combine harvesters are better. I was sure my team mates would agree with me but the evil gits voted for me, some going so far as to claim I was hung over. The liars. I wish I had someone to look after and protect me from these bullies; perhaps if I can become 1^st XI captain I will get to marry the next Ladies 1s' captain.

On the way home I got my revenge on Graveling, using the earlier teas to redecorate the inside of his car. It's a shame George refused to give me a lift in his brand new Audi. On to next week and perhaps I will need to start preparing even earlier on the Friday night – there's no way such an unfortunate combination of food poisoning, sudden-onset car sickness and a rare African virus could strike for two weeks in a row is there?