Return of the Ged-Eye. This time, it's serious.

Yesterday, I returned to Champion Hill for the first time in 11 months. It was a day of high drama, an afternoon for which The Stone Roses' “I Am The Resurrection” would make the perfect soundtrack, and not just because it was Easter weekend.

The visit of Leiston marked my season debut at the hallowed ground. The last time I was at the old place, that wondrous final game of the 2012/13 season against Burgess Hill, the beautiful Xavier Vidal sparked scenes of wild celebrations with his equalising pile-driver. That dreamy strike sealed the Hamlet's first championship win for 35 years.

As has been well documented, the mayhem that ensued that day spilled over a little in the dressing room after the game and I suffered a series of horrendous injuries. While rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated, it was touch and go for a while and, as I lay in pools of booze, football boots repeatedly thundering into my cranium, I wondered if I'd ever again be on the railings at the car wash end singing 'Edgar Kail in my heart, keep me Dulwich'.

Let it be known, I hold no grudges towards robust midfielder Luke Hickie for the pain he inflicted that day and the months of corrective plasmatic psycho surgery I have gone through since. In fact, the whole episode has made me stronger. I have grown as the months have passed, both emotionally and physically. Indeed, some of my old chums down at the Hill had trouble recognising me, and no wonder - I'm a good 2ft taller than the last time we danced the terraces together.

Before the game, it was very honourable of the great man Gavin Rose and his coaching team to invite me into the dressing room to meet the players, lay a wreath of leaves at the memorial to my honour in the shower cubicles and deliver a heart-guzzling team talk to the boys. It was highly emotive stuff. Clunis and Ottoway, that fancy-dan new lad with the statement-making surfboy hair, were roaring like lions and punching the walls. I glanced over to the far corner and Okoye and Deen were heads bowed, in floods of tears.

I can only think that had some bearing on events early in the first half. Our lads at the back had barely got into their stride when Leiston smacked in the opening goal. Nay bother, lad. The Turkish magician Erhun Otzumer soon started pulling the strings in the middle of the park. Harry H-bomb Ottoway with his brilliant locks and dazzling ball trickery, and Nyren Clunis, the Messi of the Ryman with his jaw-dropping pace and agility, were on song and giving the Leiston back four a torrid time. Before long, we were 2-1 up, galloping towards half-time and on course for the 3 points our superiority surely merited.

Unfathomably, we were caught cold at the start of the 2^nd half as Leiston made it 2-2 and we struggled to re-impose ourselves on the game after that. We went down 3-2 to a stinker of a last-minute concession as the mighty Okoye unfortunately stumbled when some pundits may say he'd have been better off hoofing it. But hoofing it is not our style and I'm happy to continue our pursuit of liquid football perfection and unprecedented ball art if it means the odd slip-up at the back. It's not the result the matters, it's the manner in which you achieve it.

The crowds have gone up quite a bit during my enforced absence from the Hill. The new breed of new-veau are a marvellous bunch of sexy football buggers. They do like a banner (Lord knows what they sleep on – I'd be surprised if they have any bedsheets left) and they sure can belt out a tune. The lady with the drum was my personal favourite for the day. As for moment of the match. I'll never forget the Vornstyle tunnel manoeuvre after the final whistle. A tactical reshuffling of pure genius. 

We will no doubt need to emulate such wizardry in the coming days if we are to salvage a play-off berth and buy ourselves a ticket to the extended season of non-league festival football.

Oh. And we bought a fucking gnome! Brilliant.

#giraffes at the back

#gnomes upfront