Ah! Our beautiful new stadium! You really do need to approach it on foot. Up Londesborough Street and over the footbridge … it is to escape the narrow streets of the Borgo and have St Peter's suddenly burst on your astonished gaze, it is to feel the thrilling vigour of turning away from forbidding grey concrete tower blocks in favour of the lavish decadence of St Basil's … Yesterday, as a snowstorm draped the giant orb in ghostly white in the hour before kick-off, it was to approach a new and bravely honest world. Don't miss this injection of emotional thrall to your football club. Walk. Way to go.

The stadium was the star yesterday for this was an oddly disjointed game. The League table demonstrates that Bristol Rrovers are a pretty poor side, and plenty of evidence in support of this diagnosis was on show at the Circle yesterday. Nevertheless, though some of our attacking was attractive, we never dominated the play and, in fact, we had good cause to be grateful to the Muss for more than one last-ditch save after the visitors had sliced through our defence with alarming ease. So there wasn't much basis for enthusiasm about our own long-term prospects based on yesterday's encounter. Except that … except that we won, except that we added to the mystique of the Circle as a place we never let slip a goal, much less a point, except that grinding victories like this one will, if continued soberly and sensibly for a couple of months, contribute to a serious promotion challenge.

Frost warmed by the under-soil heating had melted, and was overlain by the painfully beautiful snow shower. So it was a glitteringly wet pitch that greeted this line-up:

Musselwhite
Regan Anderson Joseph Delaney
Green Melton Ashbee Elliott
Dudfield Alexander

As ever, a "sort of" must be appended to the midfield quartet. Ashbee played deep, Melton played central, Green roamed where his muse took him and Elliott was commonly well advanced down the left. Whatever misgivings we might have about that set-up were put on hold as we made a roasting beginning. A Green corner was flicked on by Alexander to Elliott at the back post: his meaty shot was turned away by a stretching Howie in the Rrovers goal, only for Dudfield to seize on the rebound and smash a shot from a tight angle into the side netting. Ooo! A slick start, but the visitors hit straight back, and a neat backheel in our box prepared a dangerous shooting opportunity which was snuffed out by a crunching Anderson tackle.

This opening exchange of parries set the tone for a match that was not fluent enough to be labelled "end to end", but in which nonetheless both sides seemed able to take turns in puncturing dodgy defences. A free-kick towards the by-line was awarded for a challenge on Dudfield that looked perfectly fair to me, yet earned the tackler a bizarre yellow card; Green's floated kick into the six-yard box was cleared. Then a long cross from the right eludes Anderson and falls enticingly on to an attacker's nut just behind the big Scotsman, but the Bris has lost sight of the ball's trajectory and, taken by surprise, he heads tamely wide of the target. It gets more alarming still as the Muss stops a close-range header and then reacts with honed instinct to block a fiercely-struck follow-up shot. This was a marvellous double save, well worthy of the laconically murmured "Jim Montgomery!" from Ed Bacon to my right, but it was also slack marking at the heart of our defence. Shortly after Regan was culpable in missing a long cross, and was almost punished by ex-Tiger Tait, who chested the ball down and forced a corner which, happily, came to naught.

The game was moderately lively, though of a pretty poor quality that could not be attributed solely to the sodden surface. There were occasional glimpses of skilful touch play, most noticeably when Messrs Dudfield, Green and Elliot were adjacent to the ball, and so far Melton was more heavily involved in this game than in any other since his arrival, but there wasn't much evidence that the opposition were bottom-of the table fodder for our ravenous table.

So then we scored. A corner, an Ashbee header - blocked, a Melton side-foot shot - blocked, a grand stramash, and after a wild flailing of limbs another corner. This one is met by a towering Anderson leap and a thumping downward header; Howie blocks it, fubles, and Alexander sweeps the loose ball into the net from close range. A predatory strike, a vital goal.

Suddenly we are at the races. Stuart Green delves elegantly into his bag of tricks and tortures Bristol. He feeds Ashbee, who slips a clever pass forward to Melton. He transfers the ball to Dudfield who scampers to the by-line and when his low cross is half-cleared the ball reaches Elliott and a crashing left-foot shot is blocked close to the visitors' goal-line. We unleash some lovely passing as the snowfall becomes thicker, but a second goal eludes us.

Now the game tip-toes towards half-time in tamer mood. It's been an odd half. Our defence looks draughty, our attack ambitious - it's not at all like it's been most of the time of late. It's less controlled, and I prefer it that way. On 45 a ball is slipped across the face of our goal from their left, but no Rrovers toe makes contact, and we are allowed to make it to the break with our solitary goal advantage.

Into the second half, and more flashes of lively entertainment. Alexander muscles his way through the defence like the fondly remembered terrorist frontman of Autumn 2001 and sets up Dudfield inside the box. He slips the ball past the keeper but is foiled by a fingertip save that diverts the shot an inch the wrong side of the post. The ref incorrectly awards a goal kick. Then Dudfield skips down the right and sends a cross sailing towards Elliott, unmarked beyond the back post, but he cannot control a difficult spinning ball and loses possession in a sprawling jumble of limbs.

And now the game slips gradually into a shapeless phase. Bristol have slightly the better of it, though they do not help their cause by substituting Grazioli for the canny Allen up front, opting to leave the gratifyingly unimpressive Tait on the pitch. Melton is now rarely involved, Green has slipped temporarily from the radar and though, with Elliott pushed forward, we are now playing a 4-3-3, the Tiger attacks are only sporadic and marred by some consistently aimless punted crosses. The Muss makes an excellent save from a powerful 12-yard shot and then, a couple of minutes later, our offside trap is sprung with ridiculous ease and a Rrover wastes a golden opportunity by sliding a shot past the post with only the Muss barring the route to the equaliser. "Only the Muss" - ha! Our goalkeeper is in commanding form but at this stage only he and the determined Ashbee are on their game. Time for a change.

Smith. Hmm. Wouldn't've been my choice. But on comes our man with a (half) season of modest fruitfulness behind him. He takes over at left-back, Delaney steps forward into left-side midfield, while Elliott partners Alexander up front. It is a tiring Dudfield that is taken off.

Bristol promptly carve us open once again and only a superbly-judged Muss block prevents them converting a one-on-one into a 1-1. None of our defending in this match made a case for the exclusion of Justin once he is fit. And, though it gives me no pleasure to report it once again, Mr Taylor's two midfield acquisitions revealed nothing of the reasons for their continued presence in the side. Melton's vaguely encouraging first-half display has now given way to a disappointing second-half. While Delaney, pushed into midfield, was a gruesome sight. His lack of confidence with the ball at his feet is painful. He advances with all the grace of a giraffe riding a unicycle and he created no beginning of problems for the right side of the visiting defence.