Manchester City 1 Reading 0

FA Cup quarter-final
Attendance: 41,150

I thought my FA Cup trail had ended at Bolton but I couldn't resist coming back for this one. My hometown team were playing at a ground I'd never visited and seeking to reach the semi-finals for the first time since 1927. So, eight days on from one FA quarter-final I was at another which, while utterly contrasting, turned out to be equally enjoyable.

The broad concourse leading up to the main frontage of the City of Manchester Stadium reminded me a bit of Wembley Way. It's walls and base are painted sky blue and white (matching the sky today) and they take you up to a mosaic of Joe Mercer, so much more original that the obligatory statue and a feature that sets the tone for imaginative design of the whole stadium, particularly its exterior.

In fact, I enjoyed the buzz outside so much outside I was almost reluctant to go inside. The place has a fanzoney, Millennium Dome-like feel. I love old football grounds but even I have to reluctantly admit that places like this sort of artists impression made real represent the future. There were open air bars and cafes with tent-style roofs and giant sheltered screens on which, just as I arrived, I caught the draw for the semi-final (something not quite right there). Shaped stones provide seating and exterior elements of the stadium's superstructure complete the odd yet somehow cohesive surroundings.

I walked up a corkscrew tower to gain admission. I felt like I was entering a multi-storey car park but the ascent brought me out onto the third level of the ground. The rake of the seats was 45 degrees; one false step and you’re on the touchline. And what seats. For a bargain £17.50 I had a Royal box sort of view over what, in my experience, is the finest new stadium in the country.

Sadly for me, it was a Royal box view in that I could see the Royals fans in an area of the ground which was sold out when I applied for a ticket. Desperate. It was never going to be anything like the same sitting among the Mancs. I didn't bring my scarf with me to wear under my jacket while those around me wore wonderfully traditional plain blue and white scarves tied just like Roberto does.

We - oops, they - sang along to the refrain of Hey Jude (why?) and then picked up their song sheets for Blue Moon. This was hairs on the back of the neck stuff. (Strangely, though, the City fans didn't sing at all during the first half, being outchanted by the 'Ding fans and not much more choral than the handful of drunkards at Dunston last week). Soon after kick-off sections of the crowd turned to face away from the pitch, linked shoulders and jigged up and down creating a Mexican wave effect while inflatable bananas pinged around. Great wheeze. The atmosphere was by now electric and, for the first time, I could begin to understand the appeal of supporting a Premiership club even one that most epitomises its maligned moneybags image.

From the start it was clear which was the third best side in the country. City outclassed Reading and should have sealed the tie in the first half. More familiar with non-league, I was easily impressed with the quality of play. Tevez was like a terrier with a tennis ball; Silva dribbled as if the ball was stuck to his toe; man-of-the-match De Jong was a tower of strength; and Wright-Phillips (remember him?) was deservedly clapped off the pitch when substituted. I didn't think much of Yaya Toure, though, who lumbered around like Frank Bruno at the pantomime end of his career.

Reading contained City well at times and McCarthy made several great saves but we didn't make the tie much of a contest. Other than a couple of half-chances, the Reading highlight in the first half was a wave from Brian McDermott (albeit not in my direction, of course). I don't think we had a shot on target in the second half. The only way we were ever going to win this one was from one of those breakaway goals against the run of play .

Having squandered many chances City got the only goal when a Richards header from a corner flashed into the net with 16 mins to go. I have to admit that a small part of me was relieved we didn't win as it would've been agony to witness possibly the greatest victory in the club's history while sitting on my hands. I've also got my mum coming for a state visit on the weekend of the semis.

OK: what sort of fan am I? Well, I was the only one in my stand pausing after the final whistle to watch the Reading players going over to salute the fans. It was the end of the FA Cup for both of us – and, for me, nine ties and just eight miles from where it began also at a club starting with an 'M'. As I left the ground the giant screens urged City fans to return on Thursday for the visit of Dynamo Kiev. Next up for me? Back to basics with Brodsworth Welfare.

Park and walk: Determined to avoid a rip-off parking charge and massive jam to get away, I parked at Clayton Bridge and walked. I felt like I was doing one of those sponsored football fan walks when I set off in my trekking boots and cagoule, small scale OS map in hand. The two-mile route (signed to Sports City) takes 35 mins and weaves beside the River Medway in the Clayton Vale nature reserve then through Phillips Park and finally along the Ashton Canal towpath. On the road to Wembley the path to Eastlands is a pleasure.

Programme notes: Brilliantly researched programme with some fascinating archive shots and memorabilia. Smelled great too.

Name of the Round: Ruud Boffin. Sounds like a flatulating professor. He was West Ham's Belgian reserve goalie in the other semi today.

Video funny: You've probably see this but click here if you haven't – a bizarre streaker incident at Havant & Waterlooville last weekend.