WERE HS2 configured like the Railroad to Wembley, it would probably end up in Inverness.

The instinct, one swallow, is always to head south. The reality, luck of the draw, again took us north on Saturday – Newcastle Benfield v Coleshill – things further complicated by engineering work at Newcastle Central.

Thus it is that we enter the station from the north, a concept as confusing as that Electric Brae thing, where water seemingly flows uphill.

Five of us head past the Anglican cathedral, past Amen Corner – Bend Me, Shape Me, number three in 1968 – and seawards along the Quayside to the area they call Ouseburn.

Going with the flow, England has three lengthy rivers all called the Ouse. The Ouseburn, short but perfectly formed, doesn’t even leave Newcastle.

Once heavily industrialised, the area’s now a vibrant cultural hub, attractions including an urban farm, Seven Stories – the National Children’s Book Centre – and some cracking pubs.

In the Free Trade, Tyneside Camra’s pub of the year, a sign urges “Gan radgee: buy a pickled egg.” In the bar of the Cluny, part of a major arts centre, they’re staging the “first annual” cheese festival.

Whilst there are those of us who believe that if we were meant to eat cheese we’d have been born with whiskers, grey fur and an arch-enemy called Mr Jinks – who, it may be recalled, hated those meeses to pieces – others are greatly enthusiastic.

Mr Tim Duncan buys across the cheeseboard, and some sourdough rolls with which to sandwich his feast. Mr Harvey Harris goes free sampling and pronounces the Weardale wonderful.

Up the hill is the Cumberland Arms, popular with musicians from pipes to punk and much loved by the folk dance fraternity. A notice on the piano says “Musicians only after 5pm.”

Mr Duncan essays a few notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. It’s only half past one; he is not a musician.

One of numerous posters for forthcoming attractions promotes Alcohol Fuelled Violence – “live”.

Enough supped, it’s time to head to the match.

BENFIELD play at Sam Smith’s Park, named not after the beer baron but after the chap who brewed up Rington’s tea.

The Northern Echo:

Writ large on the tea hut wall is a quote from Sir Bobby Robson; in the clubhouse there’s another from the great Arsene. “If you don’t believe you can do it, then you have no chance at all.” Goodness knows what decorates the dressing rooms.

It’s the last 32 of the Buildbase FA Vase. Coleshill’s in Warwickshire, once nicknamed the Rabbits because of the reputed excellence of the half-time rabbit pie but more prosaically now known as the Colemen. They’re top of the Midland Football League – that of Boldmere St Michael’s, Sporting Khalsa and Coventry Sphinx – and have travelled with National Holidays.

Some go to Torremolinos, others to Torquay. Football sends you to Tyneside.

Benfield have been buoyed by a good luck message from Alan Shearer. “It’s been a while since a team beginning with N got to Wembley,”

he says. Even then, it was probably Norwich City (or, possibly, Nenthead.) After 12 minutes they’re awarded a penalty, the kick entrusted to 40-year-old Paul Brayson, formerly with Newcastle United and Cardiff City and still a prolific scorer. The diminutive Brayson fluffs the big chance, the ball mooching harmlessly wide.

“Aa tellt him to lace the bugger not place the bugger,” says a supporter at the other end of the ground.

The Colemen score after 79 minutes, Scott McCarthy’s immediate equaliser one of those which most would suppose a cross but which the lad will forever claim was pinpoint perfect for that very top corner spot.

It goes to extra time, ends equal and half frozen to death at 5 40pm.

They try again on Saturday, a pretty big ask for Benfield – but as doubtless they say at the embattled Emirates, if you don’t believe you can do it, then you have no chance at all.

TRUTH to tell, Saturday’s fixture of choice had been Marske United’s tie, weather beaten like so much else. Cricketers are more hardy.

Drawn to the column’s attention by Tony Taylor, the Cricket Yorkshire website listed the St Chad’s Broomfield Charity Cup last Saturday and the annual fixture between Appletreewick and Malhamdale (known to their friends as MCC) on Sunday.

Sadly, we haven’t been able to discover the result – but the MCC Facebook page reports that the pheasant was delicious.

….AND finally, the two brothers nominated as Wisden cricketers of the year (Backtrack, January 4) were the South Africans Graeme and Peter Pollock.

Terry Simpson was first with the answer, if only because he recalls a perishing cold day at Chester-le-Street Riverside and the late Alf Hutchinson’s observation that he was freezing his Pollocks off.

Don Clarke recalls seeing Graeme Pollock in a Cavaliers game at Ashbroke, Sunderland – “hitting the ball so hard clearing the boundary that I was genuinely in fear of my own safety.”

Somewhere on the page opposite, a paragraph refers to Peter Billingham’s time at West Bromwich Albion around 1960. Readers are today invited to name his team mate, known as The Tank, who became the only footballer from Ripon ever to play for England – and, for good measure, to name the only former Ripon Grammar School boy to win an Olympic gold medal.

Ripon yarns, the column returns next week.