With the taller fellows in black and amber sauntering forward for the corner just before the hour, a collective groan was heard as Stuart Green elected to play the ball short.

Short corners? I hate them.

In attack, when you need a goal, they negate the whole point of a corner kick. You still have the ball near the flag and now a defender has the right to puncture his ten-yard boundary and try to rob you of the ball. Central defenders on lucrative goal bonuses wait impatiently for the kind of sailing, dream-like ball which would make their gasping amble from the sanctuary of the halfway line worthwhile.

So, Green prodded the ball short to Andy Dawson. He then ran behind the recalled left back and took a return, and to City's distinct benefit, Ipswich had not seen fit to send more than one to do the cover job. Green had, therefore a new angle - and now he chose to get the cross in.

It was a sweetheart of a ball, curling and dipping and ripe for a well-proportioned forehead. It just needed a glance, no more. And we have Leon Cort there to do the glancing.

There were 56 minutes on the watch as the ball left the Cort frown and nestled triumphantly into the corner of Shane Supple's net. City were level.

I've always liked short corners, y'know...

We deserved it, actually. Ipswich were better than us in all but fandom in the first half (that ground's daftly quiet - heaven only knows how silent it could become against a less well-supported away team) but couldn't take their chances. That the chances were created is immaterial - finishing goes against you if the net doesn't nestle and City's rejuvenation after the break could have taken us all the way to three splendid points.

This was one of the more enjoyable away trips of the season, despite the mystique of the journey along the never-ending A14, which chooses to signpost Harwich at 100 miles away but doesn't mention Ipswich until you can almost smell the Suffolk sugar. However, the weather was good, the mood after two crucial home wins was buoyant, the crowd was plentiful and the atmosphere was nothing but friendly. Ipswich have this reputation. It was good to be there; even better to play well there.

Peter Taylor, knowing that a win would reach his 47 point threshold for safety, made changes of subtlely in position, if not in numbers. Five of them, actually. There was a whole new left flank, with necessity prompting the withdrawal of Alan Rogers from contention; luckily (for team and player) Dawson was ready again after his busted foot against Villa had sufficiently healed. Ahead of him, the grotesque display by Stuart Elliott last week saw him relieved of any duties in the whole 16, and Kevin Ellison was given another cameo of humour and endeavour down the wing.

And of course, we had a debutant. Rui Marques, a defender from Angola who put in 90 minutes which can be summed up thus:- unconvincing in approach, ruthless in practice. He was excellent. This prompted a shift forward for Damien Delaney to the midfield, with Mark Noble also being excused any role in the whole 16. And we had a beefier attacking duo, with the effectively immobile Billy Paynter supporting Jon Parkin. So...it was Bo Myhill in goal; Scott Wiseman, Cort, Marques and Dawson as the protective film; Green, Keith Andrews, Delaney and Ellison as the linkmen; Paynter and Parkin as the punishers.

The first 15 minutes weren't great, but Ipswich were clearly a team who were comfortable in controlling the pace and City, the great backsitters that they are, contentedly let them. Matthew Richards was especially visible as the main lynchpin, doing the sort of dictatorial routine that our own camp-running Andrews occasionally manages (Millwall, second half against Plymouth) but largely flatters to deceive in doing so.

Richards nearly set up a sickener for City after 20 minutes when he crossed perilously close to Myhill, and the serpent-like keeper took the bait, relinquishing his grip on the ball to Alan Lee, whose goalbound shot was headed gymnastically off the line by a backpedalling Dawson.

Cort then bravely got himself in the way of Lee's sliding toe from a killer low ball delivered by Luis Castro Sito. City weren't putting much together at the opposite end at this point - width was suffering, with no natural wide outlet on the right and the underuse of Ellison on the left. It came as no surprise when Ipswich scored, though it was with some fortune as Darren Currie clipped in a teasing free kick which touched no-one on its way past a rooted-to-the-spot Myhill, although it certainly picked up a bad bounce from the divoted penalty area.

I used to like Tom Hark, as a song. I remember watching the Piranhas mime it on Top Of The Pops via a black and white portable in the caravan during a family holiday in Dorset in the late summer of 1980. I still like it, despite its bastardisation by many a football supporter over the years (in our case the "we all hate Leeds" chant) but I went right off it when the speaker not five yards above my head at Portman Road blared it out at wax-removing volume upon the ball entering our net. If ever the FLC needs further evidence to take to our iconic chairman as to why music after goals is A Bad Idea, this would do.

No matter. City started to press, as if they too were determined that our Tom would stay on pause mode for the rest of the game. We won a corner; it was half cleared to Andrews, who thwacked a volley just wide. The game bypassed him many times again - and he's starting to get stick for it - but you just know that Andrews' first goal is imminent, and it'll be from way out of the penalty area. Then Parkin, showing as delicate a touch as any Beast-like human being could have, fired one into the side netting after getting room through the inside left channel.

Then a stunning City move, using both flanks, nearly got us on a par. Parkin swivelled nicely from the left touchline and arrowed a fantastic pass into Green's scampering stride. With no inkling to be forced wide, he heard the call and slipped in a weighted ball for none other than a high-speed Wiseman to take on, and the left foot shot was very close to the near post.

Not quite close enough, but Ipswich were concerned. They lost midfield influence Ian Westlake to an ankle injury and were shaken by the disruption. City forced another corner, and Marques got a header in which was helped over the bar by desperate defending on the line. Another corner. Dawson drilled this one on to the blessed Cort forehead and again the ball flew just astray of the post. The home side were ahead when the half time whistle went, but the City fans were the ones applauding loudest.

Ipswich hit the bar unwittingly thanks to another "touch it if you like, I don't care" Currie set piece in the early patch of the second half before City took some control. Delaney began sticking more studs in (superbly) and a previously anonymous Ellison began finding space on his flank (conclusively). Parkin thundered down the right and laid one into Paynter's pathway to goal, but the shot was weak and directed at Supple.

Then we equalised. Cort's fourth of the season, celebrated wildly by the magnificent City faithful, although Cort - known for self-chastisement during games if he feels he's not playing well - did little more than jog back to halfway after seeing the ball hit string, although the fact that every outfield City player leapt all over him curtailed this canter a tad.

Hooray - no Tom Hark for us.

There was now a game to win, if we felt like it. As usual, we did our sitting back routine for a time and Ipswich came at us. Westlake's replacement Dean McDonald had one put on a plate - with knife, fork and garnish - after Lee robbed makeshift full back Ellison and slipped one to the six yard box, but the stars in his eyes blinded him and Myhill obligingly caught the scuff. Mark Prudhoe gives him harder shots to save in the kick-in.

Peter Taylor freshened up the midfield after the flawless Delaney got booked by withdrawing the Irishman - the first football he's missed since the one minute at the start of the season when he warmed the bench before Mark Lynch got kneecapped. John Welsh came on, while Green also took his bows for Craig Fagan, an attacking substitution of some note by our awayday standards, especially at 1-1. Fagan didn't do a like-for-like though - sensing a slower edge to Ipswich's central defence, the Fagan pace was aimed through the middle and Paynter - it has to be said, with considerable lack of success - went on to the right flank.

Ipswich plundered the City rearguard again and Myhill, despite dodginess on occasion of late, reminded us of his glorious winter form when he pulled off a stunning double save; using a reflex foot to block Lee's low shot and then getting a glove on the follow-up from Jim Magilton, whose influence was rapidly growing; but then Ipswich took him off. Good move...

City's best chance of a winner came in the last quarter when Ellison broke clear on the left and delivered a peach of a low ball to the far post with Supple stranded, and only the best piece of individual defensive play I've seen all season - from a stretching Scott Barron, well done to him - prevented the Beast from wrapping it all up from a mere yard out.

Parkin and Welsh then both had long range shots blocked and Myhill saved superbly at point blank range from the ultra-frustrated Lee. The last meaningful go came via another Ellison gallop down the left, but the cross typically rolled too far ahead of Fagan and too far behind Parkin. A luckless end for City, but the cheers were huge when the whistle went.

Either team could have won it but City will be thrilled to bits with a point. I certainly am. Mr Taylor wants 47 for safety; we've got 45 now, and although Millwall and the Wendies won, we look capable of putting a streak without defeat together now; a nice position to be in when a guarantee of safety isn't quite going to the sculptor yet.

Positives aplenty from this. Foremost, there was a fabulous City contingent at Portman Road, even though it's hard to fathom the inconvenience and monotony of a trip to Suffolk until you've done it. Like Wolves, we were in a touchline stand, though unlike Wolves we were entirely sheltered and therefore didn't get soaked and burned in quick succession. 25 quid was a bit steep, but we got our money's worth in the thrill 'n' chill stakes. We never shut up, making up for Ipswich's lack of vocal presence, and there was wit too when You Only Sing When You're Ploughing and You Must Have Come In A Tractor received a spontaneous airing. They'll have heard it all before, but it still made me laugh.

On the pitch, Delaney was a total megastar in midfield; Cort was vintage Cort, and next to him Marques had a polished, if slightly eccentric, debut. Meanwhile, Wiseman was sparkling as the kind of right back Mr Taylor has wanted him to be all season, and Dawson had the sort of comeback which suggests he's well aware of how highly his game needs to be raised with Rogers instead of Roland Edge as his competition. Parkin defied belief with his effort and genuine charisma as a target man, while Ellison put everything into a personally productive second half after seeing the first half pass him by. And a quick word of praise for Welsh who, after being terrible and deservedly dropped recently, seemed to have regained some of his old gutsiness when he came on.

Downsides were gratefully fewer, with Paynter looking as scared and put off by Parkin's activity as the defenders against him and Andrews seeming to think he can control a midfield in a way which predominantly involves underhitting passes, watching opponents run away and getting team-mates into needless trouble. What a frustrating player he is; his obvious skill coupled with a demeanour which suggests he can't always be bothered is starting to remind me of Leigh Palin. Looking forward to Andrews taking over Walkington Wanderers in 2019.

A thoroughly amiable day; good ground, excellent atmosphere, enjoyable game and a worthy point which could have been more. We're almost safe - so how poetically wonderful would it be if we passed that 47 point mark by doing over the WS next week? Bring 'em on, Blackwell. (MR)