Tour On Tourettes!

The tour began in time-honoured fashion, at Pie Towers in Sully on Sunday morning. For the first time many years I was able to leave my car on DWS’s drive as Dave Morgan gave me and the treasurer a lift in his modest little Merc!

After arriving at Williton in record time I was dispatched to The Foresters, as there was no room at the Royal Huntsman for the likes of me…. More on that scenario later. The opening game at Crowcombe was my chance to shine. 40 overs in the scorebox (as number 11 wasn’t called on) were followed by about ten overs in the field when the Curse of Crowcombe struck again. Following my spilt webbing and my groin injury, the hat trick of injuries was complete when I turned quickly (OK, slowly) and attempted to run after the ball but felt something tighten in my calf. That was it, game over. The baby cow had struck me down in my prime, just as I was about to rip through the home side with an awesome display of guile, flight and turning it square and all sorts. We lost in a close finish and used 15 players, but maintained the record of never having to bother picking up the dazzling multi-coloured President’s Trophy. The teas were lovely, as usual and the free booze at the end was very nice, too. Thanks Crowcombe - as Arnie would say, ‘We’ll be back!’

The evening’s festivities were a bit of a damp squib, as the two hotel bases didn’t lend themselves to much crossover socializing – and the least said about the cheesy chips the better. So, we went to our separate bases and got bladdered separately (as you do).

Waking up on Monday with a teensy hangover and room mate (Doely Large-Cranium) who made some remark about snoring which I didn’t quite catch, and I went off for a limp with Donny and saw the choo-choo steam trains at Williton Station, what fun, what larks. The Herbert in the fat controller outfit gave us a run down of the timetable for the next two decades and I lost the will to live. A career as a cricket scorer is his for the asking.

The game today was at Sampford Arundel, a delightful little place with a picturesque quality about it. The team were another matter. Talk about serious! They played as though it was the World Cup Final and every ball counted, not as though it was a touring friendly against a hungover bunch of chancers from Wales. They posted a very useful total approaching 300, which we had absolutely no chance of getting. Ryan had other ideas, though, and proceeded to launch ball after ball over the fences into the stream, the fields and cowsheds. When he was out for 96 the score was looking pretty healthy. Dave Morgan played a good innings until some fat ginger tosser gave him the trigger finger just because he was in front of all three!! I feared for my life as Dave gave me ‘the stare’ and then I remembered I had come down in his car (whoops!) The rest of the game petered out a bit until the last wicket when 9 year old Buster Bloodvessel was bounced and got caught. Daddy was not pleased and told the home side just what he thought of it when they came off. The atmosphere was, shall we say, a bit iffy for a while. However, I was too much of a good sport to turn down the offer of free food at their local, so sausage and chips it was... Back in Williton those that didn’t eat at the pub went for an Indian and the rest of us settled down for some quality supping.

Day three and Dave Morgan went home, as he had done something horrible to his Achilles tendon - nothing to do with not wanting to give me a lift, I’m sure. The afternoon brought a jolly jaunt down to Stocucumber where we were joined by Matt Thomas and Quimby. Matt twatted the ball for 40 and had a nice shower before saying tara and buggering off home (Thanks Matt!) Quimby also scored 40 and took 5 wickets with 9 overs of absolute quality filth. Shae Ellis got in on the act with 68 and we actually won when Adam Slyvestibule took the last wicket with an ‘assist’ from Grandad, who was umpiring at the time! However, the highlight of the day (indeed the whole tour) was the one over of sublime spin bowling from JT Bulge esquire. 14 runs and no wickets, but it was worth it just to experience such exquisite crap. Thanks to captain Terry Williams for putting the great man on to bowl.

Back to Williton and a small select group of us went for a curry before traipsing back to the pub for more ale supping. Quote of the night was from Jimmy Ord ‘ Come on Mickey, get swilling, you're drinking like a woman!' before he lost all sense of direction and went to bed.

Wednesday morning brought rain and the last game was called off. I cadged a lift off TW and Mrs TW and fell asleep in the back of the car - only snoring mildly!

Not a vintage tour, but plenty of talking points and absolutely no chance of us not doing it all again next year.

Mick