Six home wins on the bounce as a decent Brentford side are sent away pointless after a tidy Tigers display crowned by two fine Stuart Elliott goals.

Back to winning ways, back to getting the better of another decent side in this division on our own midden, back to what we do best, where we do it best. Back home. Last week was curiously enjoyable, in a nostalgic sense; not so many of us, miles from home, standing on open terracing behind a goal, peering through rain, sleet and snow at a game which we gradually lose. We could have been anywhere from Darlington to Macclesfield to Exeter to Barnet any time in the mid-nineties. Look carefully and that could have been Chris Lee missing that tackle, Craig Lawford standing still.

Yes, that really is the sort of nostalgia which you only want one game's worth. Yesterday we banished the Swindon experience by virtue of the excellence of Green and Barmby, supported by a defensive and midfield cast that, whilst not wholly convincing, can still cut the mustard at home. And of course because we now have, in Stuart Elliott, the division's leading scorer, by virtue of a most handsome brace, the first a very fine header at the end of a good move, the second a genuine contender for goal of the season. Elliott's finishing was really the difference between the teams; long may it continue.

We lined up:

Myhill
Joseph Cort Delaney Dawson
Green Ashbee Lewis Elliott
Barmby Walters

against opponents in a horrible blue-and-white striped outfit which made it virtually impossible to read the numbers. But our boys were not distracted and in the first few minutes Barmby was involved twice, once to put through Walters, then to feed Joseph who found Green, both times their efficient left back Andy Myers snuffed out the danger. We were clearly up for this, though, and the ubiquitous Barmby stoked the increasing pressure with a crisp half-volley from the edge of the area that was comfortably pouched by their keeper. Then Walters did a very creditable impression of the old anti-Vietnam war poster on the edge of their area, hands thrown up, body crashing to earth with no-one near him, an agonised cry of 'Why?' wrenched from his lifeless body. Referee Hill was moved to tears, but composed himself, blew his nose noisily and awarded the free kick. Greeny fancied it and hit it sweetly enough but onto the roof of their net.

But for the most part this was the Nick Barmby show. Nimble Nick's instinctive first-time passing was at its most impressive, precision fireworks that prompted star-burst running from Green, Walters and Elliott as they pulled their various markers hither and yon. One ball fell victim to a dubious offside, one put Green through beyond the defenders, he shot coolly and well to the keepers right, but Netman Nelson got down well to turn it aside. They scrambled it clear but Elliott picked it up and ran before shooting wide. Barmby's understanding with Walters and, especially, Green, seemed a definite promise of a goal and after 33 minutes one duly arrived.

Ashbee, Green and Barmby were all involved before Joseph was found cantering uncharacteristically forward. Instead of the standard defenders' chip-and-lump pass he curled his foot round the ball, got plenty of work on it and hit it at pace diagonally towards the back post where Elliott was waiting to out-jump the defender, flex his neck muscles and launch the header high into the net. An excellent goal, fine work from Joseph, but the main credit to Elliott for an uncanny Nat Lofthouse impression.

Brentford were roused somewhat by this and showed that they could pass the ball nicely, and again there was a thrill for nostalgia buffs as Chris Hargreaves, once a famous non-scoring striker in the black and amber now somewhat improbably re-invented as a ball-winning midfielder for the Bees, put a header wide from a good position, just as he used to do for us. You don't lose that sort of ability.

But we did lose the ref. He didn't look injured, but he went off to talk to his linesman and it was clear, as he handed over notebook, cards and whistle, that he'd had enough. Perhaps it was just a recognition of what he was doing: 'Look, this is just no fun. The crowd think I don't know what I'm doing, Ashbee says I'm a cheating wanker and Martin Allen is making silly gestures at me behind my back. I'm off.' Better yet, there was a tannoy appeal 'Is there a class one referee in the stadium able to act as fourth official?' Brilliant! We held our collective breath. What if a class one referee was here but had, unaccountably, forgotten to bring his certificates? Would we get another announcement, 'Er, is there a class two referee, or perhaps even someone used to boring the arse of his wife and children by illustrating the off-side rule at mealtimes by moving around the salt pot and a bottle of ketchup?' Thankfully we found someone able to take on the monumental task of holding up the electronic number boards and we could continue. Half-time saw us happy and ahead.

We started the second half pretty much as we had started the first. A Green run sliced them open and a pass as cute as a bug's nose found Walters who cut in, evaded the defence and shot well only to see custodian of the leather Nelson again save well low to his right. This was Jon's best effort of the game. He didn't have a good time of it against Michael Turner, big, young and awkward to play against but not at all awkward on his feet; he looks on this showing a very good defender and Walters got very little change out of him. After Jon had reverted to early season form by volleying a corner on to the South West corner thermo-clock, Taylor had enough and replaced him with Facey.

But things were now starting to go the way of the visitors. Ancient but still sprightly winger John Salako had come on and was running at Joseph, Rhodes and Peters were starting to find each other and make inroads in the middle and suddenly we were uncertain. This is the problem with Ashbee and Lewis: having had tidy enough afternoon's they were suddenly being out-passed so, given that both are lacking in pace, they opt for standing off opponents and retreating deeper so our defence drops back further still. Thus we've suddenly surrendered 75% of the pitch to the opposition and our defence is being 'protected' by two non-tackling mid-fielders. Add to this that Delaney was having a stinker and suddenly 1-0 didn't look very secure. Happily Cort, having had an uncertain first half, started to win his headers cleanly, Dawson was largely competent in his berth and Myhill called every decision correctly. So whilst the crowd grew restive and the midfield chased shadows, though we creaked, we didn't often look like breaking.

The manager had obviously decide that the afternoons fun was over and tried to shore it up, taking of an obviously unimpressed Barmby for Keane followed by Green's withdrawal for France, sending Elliott up front. After the Barmby-Green champagne of earlier this was a real midfield hangover and for 15 minutes it was very poor fare indeed, as we lumped the ball to Facey with his back to goal who let it clang off him to one of theirs and as France trundled forward occasionally to lose the ball, we were grateful to Keane who was refreshingly different. He just kept slicing the ball first time into touch under no pressure at all.

Happily, and surprisingly, the best moment of the game was still to come. Elliott who was still running and chasing and harassing and generally showing an impressive protestant work ethic, was about to get his reward. The ball broke loose on the left a good thirty yards from goal, whereupon the tireless God-botherer was onto it immediately, turning swiftly, but not before looking up to see the keeper off his line, he swiveled, fell half-backwards to get power and body-position, and wellied the dropping ball in a vicious loop, over the keepers head, off the underside of the vibrating cross-bar and into the net. Young Stuart cavorted wildly, we bounced with joy, one of their defenders remonstrated with a linesman, presumably about it being unfair that someone in division three could posses such skill and vision and Nelson lay in the back of the net long after the ball had been retrieved by a defender. The custodian leathered.

A decent Cort header in attack and a sharp Myhill save later and it was over. Not a perfect performance, nothing to make you think that the manager doesn't need better players in a number of positions if we are to take this division by the neck scruff, but set against that I wouldn't swap Green, Barmby or Elliott for anyone I've seen in this division so far. We won, we scored lovely goals, and we looked very good for much of the game. I'll take that.

HULL CITY (4-4-2): Myhill; Joseph, Cort, Delaney, Dawson; Green, Ashbee, Lewis, Elliott; Barmby, Walters.  Subs: Facey (for Walters, 58), Keane (for Barmby, 72), France (for Green, 81), Duke, Price.

Goals: Elliott 32, 82

Booked: None

Sent Off: None

BRENTFORD: Nelson, O'Connor, Turner, Sodje, Frampton, Lawrence, Tabb, Hargreaves, Myers, Rhodes, Pacquette.  Subs: Salako (for Sodje, 45), Peters (for Lawrence, 53), Harrold (for Frampton, 84), Somner, Julian.

Goals: None

Booked: Sodje, Lawrence

Sent Off: None

REFEREE: K Hill

ATTENDANCE: 15,710