Tour 2010 – Shiggles and Rizzlas and All That
Sunday
While half of the club were either en route to Cambridge for the 20/20 competition, or were already there, us hardy bunch of tourists were congregating at the House of Pie for a final briefing and mission instructions from Mr P Head himself. I found myself driving Gethin ‘Love’ Stone and Nick ‘Biggun’ Jones all the way to Williton. The journey started with breakfast at McDonalds in Barry (strangely enough, Nick’s choice). Once the journey had started the two passengers staved off boredom by arguing over which of my CDs were worth listening to. The Beatles won and we sang along merrily for a while until Biggun discovered a black case in the back of the car. It belonged to none other than The Club Treasurer, who had asked if I could take it down for him, but he had made the schoolboy error of not locking it. So, pork pies in the shoes, a pork pie on the end of the toothbrush and a mini Scotch Egg inside the cap of his deodorant. It had to be done! On arriving at the Royal Huntsman I found that I was rooming with Pie. Oh well, at least he never complains about my snoring! The pub had (how shall I put it delicately?) gone downhill big time since we had last been there. The barman looked very strange and the locals were obviously extras from ‘The Hills Have Eyes’. So, on we went to Stocucumber for the first match. It was freezing, with a promise of rain. So, after volunteering to do the toss, I won and decided to bat, as you do! We started badly and basically got worse. Jimmy and Jon Ord arrived during our innings and Jim was drafted in to bat. However, only some very friendly bowling towards the end gave us anything like a decent score and we finished on 139 all out. I was out for a golden duck for the second time in two days, having wound up my league season the same way. It only took a dozen or so overs for the home team to get the runs required – aided by Brucey getting the treatment and me being hit for three successive sixes. Another highlight was the debut of Neil Spear, who took slightly longer than me to get out and fielded like, well, someone who'd never played cricket before - a natural! We heard the good news from Cambridge (semi final victory) then the bad (final defeat) and traipsed back to Williton where most of us had a curry and went back to the pub for a good night’s supping. Gethin decided it would be a lark to do a Jonah Lomu impression and drag me down to the floor – in the process doing serious damage to my back – I may still sue! Jimmy was his usual self, drinking well until a certain moment when he just slid to the floor. He was in bed before 10 o’clock – poor show. I limped to my room and heard all sorts of strange noises from outside, but thought it best not to investigate.
Monday
I awoke to the news that somebody had stacked three beer barrels outside our door. The perils of rooming with the most popular man in Sully, I suppose. Gradually, Pie discovered the various pork pies and I had to feign ignorance of everything. At breakfast we heard tales of last night which basically explained both the noises I had overheard and also the quietness of the breakfast room. Gillo had disgraced himself and had a fit of what was described as the ‘shiggles’. I won’t elaborate..... It was decided that we would take a trip to Minehead, where Ben Spear, Terry and Caroline Williams and I played a game of crazy golf. I hate that game, as it reinforced the fact that I am no good with bat, ball or indeed club! Terry won, or so he told me. Then a pleasant trip around the prom to look back at Wales across the water and a cheeky ice cream in the park and we were Crowcombe bound. The journey to Crowcombe was interesting, as I somehow managed to go about twenty miles out of the way, approaching the village from what felt like the summit of Snowden! Apart from the unrestrained laughter of my passengers, Biggun and Ordy Junior, I was also given helpful comments such as “I think you’ve missed the turn, Mick!” The Crowcombe match was another interesting affair. JT Bulge esquire joined me in the scorebox and proceeded to tell me he had spent the previous night reading the 3rd XI scorebook and counting up the wides for the season. There are no words to describe the sheer mind numbing tedium of the conversation so I won’t bother. The match was lost (of course) and the trophy stayed in Somerset. That’s 4 years without a win, but the teas were once again legendary. The free booze was nice, as was the renowned Crowcombe hospitality. Gethin did penance for crippling me by umpiring 74 overs of the Queen’s Finest! That evening we were treated to several singalongs, such as ‘See it Off’ and other delightful ‘down it one’ refrains. The mixed grill was largeness personified and it almost defeated Pie, but he got back on the horse and forced every last morsel down his gob. Muzzy Ord spent most of the evening avoiding the large lady he had been chatting up the previous night. Tommo, who had arrived from Cambridge along with Ryan, Lloyd Bruce, Donny and Buster that morning, shook off his travel fatigue to sup some heroic amounts of ale. Gethin and Biggun thought it would be a wheeze to unscrew the legs of his bed and he duly fell through it and slept on the floor like the man he is!
Tuesday
The Tuesday trip to Minehead market was undertaken by DWS, DPS and myself. Donny was beginning to resemble the Grim Reaper and he had somehow managed to acquire an upset stomach. We saw the usual crap for sale and I witnessed another fine episode of banter between the Brothers o’ Chuckle. As we walked past a jeweller’s shop, Piehead said to Donny, ‘Why don’t you go in there and play with the clocks?’ Totally unexpected and all the more hilarious for that. We stopped on the way back at the junk shop at Carhampton where David bought an antique pitchfork for £2 (a bargain, he assured me!) Then we took a detour to see the pitch at Roadwater, our Wednesday opponents. The village had a road called Clitsome View – leading to ‘Goodings’. You couldn’t make it up! Today’s match was at Bagborough and I wasn’t going to play due to my painful back (I think I WILL sue) but ended up playing as we only had ten men alive, including Donny, who was only just hanging on. Indeed, I ferried him to the nearest pharmacy during the match to buy some tablets for his (ahem) condition. He was told to take two and one every time had loose motion (and I helpfully suggested that if that didn’t work, he should shove the rest of the box up his backside). After batting for a marvellous single before being bowled by one of those horrible straight ones I then went on to take a wicket with the best ball of the game – it turned sideways, honest. Young Brucey got a couple, but not as good as mine! I must credit Gethin for an assist as he whispered 't*ts' to the batsman as I was about to bowl! We lost, by the way! The evening entertainment was all about another Indian, with Pie once again being soul of decorum and political correctness, inhaling poppadoms left right and centre. I was told that Brucey was showing videos of the salt and pepper variety and sharing his new nickname (magic lips) but I have no idea what any of that actually means! Young Bruce was also outstanding at seeing it off in a game named 'confidence'. But the best was yet to come. Later on, we all had a laugh watching the personal ads on ‘Gay Rabbit TV’ (again, I make no further comment!) Then we heard about the activities of one Jim ‘Legend’ Ord – I won’t go into details, but it involved doing something unspeakable to his cigarette papers. Ryan and Piehead went head to head about the state of Donny’s health, arguing over who works him the hardest. Fines were collected with aplomb by Caroline (as she had done for the whole tour, I may add) and we all crawled off to bed much older and poorer than we had started the day!
Wednesday
Pie and I were beaten down to breakfast by Tommo, but we were a close second. After seeing to the money we put the bags in the car and went off to Taunton, where we watched the Pakistan one day team practice at the County Ground. Pie was a model of decorum and didn’t mention no balls once (in fact he mentioned them about a dozen times). A cup of coffee and a sarny at the cafe and we were on our way again, but not before I’d had a full account of the state of the treasurers’ bowels! Roadwater was really one game too many, as we were all cream crackered. Tommo took five wickets and hit a 50 before departing off to Newport, JT was out for not many before he too was off early (he had to get to a Wallpaper Exhibition in Bolton, I’m not joking!) While we were in the throes of losing the game we learned that Biggun's phone had gone missing and unfortunately it still is. Adam Sylvester was a lovable little scamp, as he always is, and not annoying at all! Although his little taunt to Brucey (‘are you Donny in disguise?’) was much appreciated. So, 4 played, 4 lost, weather lovely, ale consumption steady – not a bad few days. On the way back I was introduced to the delights of a game called ‘Would you rather’ which just about finished me off. As I arrived home I reflected on Tour 2010's other notable points - Britney getting a half century, the 'synchronised chicken dance' and the fact that we had 188 years of experience in the covers during our final match. So, until next time – bye, and whatever you do, don’t think about t*ts!
Mick
Tour 2010 – Shiggles and Rizzlas and All That
Sunday
While half of the club were either en route to Cambridge for the 20/20 competition, or were already there, us hardy bunch of tourists were congregating at the House of Pie for a final briefing and mission instructions from Mr P Head himself. I found myself driving Gethin ‘Love’ Stone and Nick ‘Biggun’ Jones all the way to Williton. The journey started with breakfast at McDonalds in Barry (strangely enough, Nick’s choice). Once the journey had started the two passengers staved off boredom by arguing over which of my CDs were worth listening to. The Beatles won and we sang along merrily for a while until Biggun discovered a black case in the back of the car. It belonged to none other than The Club Treasurer, who had asked if I could take it down for him, but he had made the schoolboy error of not locking it. So, pork pies in the shoes, a pork pie on the end of the toothbrush and a mini Scotch Egg inside the cap of his deodorant. It had to be done! On arriving at the Royal Huntsman I found that I was rooming with Pie. Oh well, at least he never complains about my snoring! The pub had (how shall I put it delicately?) gone downhill big time since we had last been there. The barman looked very strange and the locals were obviously extras from ‘The Hills Have Eyes’. So, on we went to Stocucumber for the first match. It was freezing, with a promise of rain. So, after volunteering to do the toss, I won and decided to bat, as you do! We started badly and basically got worse. Jimmy and Jon Ord arrived during our innings and Jim was drafted in to bat. However, only some very friendly bowling towards the end gave us anything like a decent score and we finished on 139 all out. I was out for a golden duck for the second time in two days, having wound up my league season the same way. It only took a dozen or so overs for the home team to get the runs required – aided by Brucey getting the treatment and me being hit for three successive sixes. Another highlight was the debut of Neil Spear, who took slightly longer than me to get out and fielded like, well, someone who'd never played cricket before - a natural! We heard the good news from Cambridge (semi final victory) then the bad (final defeat) and traipsed back to Williton where most of us had a curry and went back to the pub for a good night’s supping. Gethin decided it would be a lark to do a Jonah Lomu impression and drag me down to the floor – in the process doing serious damage to my back – I may still sue! Jimmy was his usual self, drinking well until a certain moment when he just slid to the floor. He was in bed before 10 o’clock – poor show. I limped to my room and heard all sorts of strange noises from outside, but thought it best not to investigate.
Monday
I awoke to the news that somebody had stacked three beer barrels outside our door. The perils of rooming with the most popular man in Sully, I suppose. Gradually, Pie discovered the various pork pies and I had to feign ignorance of everything. At breakfast we heard tales of last night which basically explained both the noises I had overheard and also the quietness of the breakfast room. Gillo had disgraced himself and had a fit of what was described as the ‘shiggles’. I won’t elaborate..... It was decided that we would take a trip to Minehead, where Ben Spear, Terry and Caroline Williams and I played a game of crazy golf. I hate that game, as it reinforced the fact that I am no good with bat, ball or indeed club! Terry won, or so he told me. Then a pleasant trip around the prom to look back at Wales across the water and a cheeky ice cream in the park and we were Crowcombe bound. The journey to Crowcombe was interesting, as I somehow managed to go about twenty miles out of the way, approaching the village from what felt like the summit of Snowden! Apart from the unrestrained laughter of my passengers, Biggun and Ordy Junior, I was also given helpful comments such as “I think you’ve missed the turn, Mick!” The Crowcombe match was another interesting affair. JT Bulge esquire joined me in the scorebox and proceeded to tell me he had spent the previous night reading the 3rd XI scorebook and counting up the wides for the season. There are no words to describe the sheer mind numbing tedium of the conversation so I won’t bother. The match was lost (of course) and the trophy stayed in Somerset. That’s 4 years without a win, but the teas were once again legendary. The free booze was nice, as was the renowned Crowcombe hospitality. Gethin did penance for crippling me by umpiring 74 overs of the Queen’s Finest! That evening we were treated to several singalongs, such as ‘See it Off’ and other delightful ‘down it one’ refrains. The mixed grill was largeness personified and it almost defeated Pie, but he got back on the horse and forced every last morsel down his gob. Muzzy Ord spent most of the evening avoiding the large lady he had been chatting up the previous night. Tommo, who had arrived from Cambridge along with Ryan, Lloyd Bruce, Donny and Buster that morning, shook off his travel fatigue to sup some heroic amounts of ale. Gethin and Biggun thought it would be a wheeze to unscrew the legs of his bed and he duly fell through it and slept on the floor like the man he is!
Tuesday
The Tuesday trip to Minehead market was undertaken by DWS, DPS and myself. Donny was beginning to resemble the Grim Reaper and he had somehow managed to acquire an upset stomach. We saw the usual crap for sale and I witnessed another fine episode of banter between the Brothers o’ Chuckle. As we walked past a jeweller’s shop, Piehead said to Donny, ‘Why don’t you go in there and play with the clocks?’ Totally unexpected and all the more hilarious for that. We stopped on the way back at the junk shop at Carhampton where David bought an antique pitchfork for £2 (a bargain, he assured me!) Then we took a detour to see the pitch at Roadwater, our Wednesday opponents. The village had a road called Clitsome View – leading to ‘Goodings’. You couldn’t make it up! Today’s match was at Bagborough and I wasn’t going to play due to my painful back (I think I WILL sue) but ended up playing as we only had ten men alive, including Donny, who was only just hanging on. Indeed, I ferried him to the nearest pharmacy during the match to buy some tablets for his (ahem) condition. He was told to take two and one every time had loose motion (and I helpfully suggested that if that didn’t work, he should shove the rest of the box up his backside). After batting for a marvellous single before being bowled by one of those horrible straight ones I then went on to take a wicket with the best ball of the game – it turned sideways, honest. Young Brucey got a couple, but not as good as mine! I must credit Gethin for an assist as he whispered 't*ts' to the batsman as I was about to bowl! We lost, by the way! The evening entertainment was all about another Indian, with Pie once again being soul of decorum and political correctness, inhaling poppadoms left right and centre. I was told that Brucey was showing videos of the salt and pepper variety and sharing his new nickname (magic lips) but I have no idea what any of that actually means! Young Bruce was also outstanding at seeing it off in a game named 'confidence'. But the best was yet to come. Later on, we all had a laugh watching the personal ads on ‘Gay Rabbit TV’ (again, I make no further comment!) Then we heard about the activities of one Jim ‘Legend’ Ord – I won’t go into details, but it involved doing something unspeakable to his cigarette papers. Ryan and Piehead went head to head about the state of Donny’s health, arguing over who works him the hardest. Fines were collected with aplomb by Caroline (as she had done for the whole tour, I may add) and we all crawled off to bed much older and poorer than we had started the day!
Wednesday
Pie and I were beaten down to breakfast by Tommo, but we were a close second. After seeing to the money we put the bags in the car and went off to Taunton, where we watched the Pakistan one day team practice at the County Ground. Pie was a model of decorum and didn’t mention no balls once (in fact he mentioned them about a dozen times). A cup of coffee and a sarny at the cafe and we were on our way again, but not before I’d had a full account of the state of the treasurers’ bowels! Roadwater was really one game too many, as we were all cream crackered. Tommo took five wickets and hit a 50 before departing off to Newport, JT was out for not many before he too was off early (he had to get to a Wallpaper Exhibition in Bolton, I’m not joking!) While we were in the throes of losing the game we learned that Biggun's phone had gone missing and unfortunately it still is. Adam Sylvester was a lovable little scamp, as he always is, and not annoying at all! Although his little taunt to Brucey (‘are you Donny in disguise?’) was much appreciated. So, 4 played, 4 lost, weather lovely, ale consumption steady – not a bad few days. On the way back I was introduced to the delights of a game called ‘Would you rather’ which just about finished me off. As I arrived home I reflected on Tour 2010's other notable points - Britney getting a half century, the 'synchronised chicken dance' and the fact that we had 188 years of experience in the covers during our final match. So, until next time – bye, and whatever you do, don’t think about t*ts!
Mick
