Tour 2011 - Mick Fisher
Cars, Cuts and Cock Ups!
Sunday
Tour began with the usual mass assembly outside the stately home of Pie on the Sunday morning and I soon realised that having a small car was not going to be accepted as an excuse for not humping large quantities of kit. After cramming in about two tons of luggage in the back I finally set off, with Pie riding shotgun. We arrived in Crowcombe for the annual Trophy match with the clouds gathering ominously. After the rain commenced a delayed start was agreed. It was a good job that we were delayed as half our party were still AWOL by this time. Reports started to come in about Shae’s dodgy brakes and Nathan’s 1971 Beetle being overtaken by his roof rack on the M5. However, all eventually arrived and we had the unusual situation of beginning with a nice Crowcombe tea before the match, which was reduced to 20 overs. JT arrived and was press-ganged into playing, as we were still a man short at this time. The curse of Crowcombe came back to haunt me after I sustained a cut to my hand following a dropped catch (fined of course!) But a couple of balls later I found myself actually holding onto one to take the catch of the match – it says here! Crowcombe posted a useful 175 for 7 after their 20 overs. Our reply was hindered somewhat by the Pieman’s scintillating innings of 14 not out over what seemed an eternity. To cut a long story short we lost (of course) and once again failed to lift the trophy. After some nice hospitality we carried on to our new North Devon base of South Molton and got set for the evening’s fare.
The charity disco at the Coaching Inn was slightly underwhelming, with perhaps the worst selection of music known to man. The only saving grace was the absence of The Birdy Song. Unfortunately I disgraced myself after some over indulgence and had ‘words’ with the bouncers – over what, I simply can’t remember. Anyway we were all pals again at the end (this is definitely the last time I drink ‘Beast’!) Other highlights were the socks and sandals combo worn by the Rhoose contingent, Laurence O’Sullivan getting into his stride before losing his radar and falling flat on his face and Tommo getting it down his neck like it was going out of fashion!
Monday
Myself and Pie arrived at the breakfast room and duly demolished a full English. It must be said that I was not a well man at this stage! Other members of the party were in a variety of states, but, fair play, Laurence was still with us – although, only just. A visit to Barnstabubble was on the cards for some, but others were still recovering. The match today was just up the road in North Molton, so a minibus was ordered so that we could swill after the game without having to drive back. I sat this one out, as I was feeling ever so slightly wobbly by this time. However, Tommo and Ryan were determined that I should top up my alkyhol levels and proceeded to ply me with various drinks while I was trying to do the scorebook. Biggun hit a nice 95, just missing out on his first ever hundred when he attempted to hit the man in the blue top over the boundary only for the ball to knock his poles over! Laurence opened the batting, which was heroic considering his condition the previous night, and Lloydy Lloydy Bruce hit a half century in spite of being very, very unwell! We actually won this match by 150 runs, so we must have done something right! However, the mystery of Piehead’s missing glove and pad began after the match. No-one owned up to hiding them and he was destined never to find them (not a happy bunny!)
On the ‘social’ side, Tommo was well cidered up and ‘farked’ to quote the man himself. Several of the crew went to the Chinese restaurant in the evening, with me sharing a table with Laurel and Hardy (aka Pie and Dougy). DPS misread the menu and when the 80p for side of chips turned out to be £2.80 he went quite pale indeed, and didn’t stop moaning about it for the next two days. That evening also included the first two days fines – my usual for ‘being ginger’ and some new ones, including Ricky being fined for ironing on tour!
Tuesday
This was the day that John and Jemima arrived and was also the day of the Cock Up! We duly arrived at the delightful cricket ground at Filleigh and waited for the opposition to arrive....and waited....and waited. Ryan declared the whole situation ‘lumpy’. By 2.30 we were beginning to suspect a phantom was being played out, so DWS made a call (on my phone, as miraculously, his mobile was out of credit!). We eventually discovered that Filleigh couldn’t raise a team and had tried to contact us the previous day, but couldn’t. A mystery that, like the missing glove and pad, was never solved. So the majority of the party decided to go Go Karting in Barnstable – I didn’t fancy it and neither did Pie, so we went for a drive to Bideford, where, would you believe it, he found Bideford Town’s ground and greeted the bloke in the office like an old friend – talking about old Bideford players and managers etc, etc, etc. Tommo and Laurence went home!
As we were back early the two Chuckles and I went up to watch the crunch South Molton v Pilton match. It was 5-1 to Pilton at half time and I had completely lost the will to live. We left it there and then and trundled back to the Inn to join the others for some grub. As we were allegedly rather boisterous, we were given a table all to ourselves behind a reinforced steel door (actually it was wood, but I was being dramatic!) After dinner we retired to the bar where John and Jemima were given cement mixers to drink as a punishment for being late on tour. It was starting to get just a teensy bit messy. I was downing Pimms in large quantities (no glasses, just a jug and straws). I then joined Mr and Mrs Williams and Shae for a pint or two in the pub across the road before rejoining the troops at the Coaching Inn for the remainder of the evening. Nathan was getting into his stride and was destined to lose the power of speech, the use of his legs and the ability to think! Aunty Caroline took over the nursing duties for a while, for which Nathan would have been truly grateful if he had been able to remember it!
Wednesday
I woke up with a serious sore throat and a hangover (well, would you Adam and Eve it?). I was also finding it difficult to move my neck. I spurned the full Monty and opted for bacon and egg, but Ryan was upset that his beans on toast took half an hour to arrive. Pie and I then visited North Molton’s ground in a vain attempt to locate his gear. We eventually made our way to Newton Tracey for the last match. The opening partnership of Ryan and Donny made 51, with Ryan getting 46, extras 5 and Don a big fat zero! He was out for a ten over duck, easily outdoing Pie’s Crowcombe marathon! A decent 41 from Ricky, a nifty 18 from Nick and a superb 3 ball duck from me were the highlights of our 191 all out. A special mention must also go to Nathan Cuddihy, who made medical history by batting (and later bowling) after being pronounced clinically dead!!!
After the interval we all agreed that the £60 we paid for the teas was well worth it!!!!!
The Newton Tracey innings was helped along by their guest player, who obviously plays at a much higher standard as he slapped our bowlers all over the shop! The undoubted highlight was the 32 he hit off one over from Biggun, the first four balls going for 6! Donny shuffled in and took a couple of wickets. Young Adam pitched in with one, and I bowled 8 balls of exquisite filth to lose us the game in style, with 10 overs still remaining.
After this we slid into our cars and made the journey home. We arrived back home in the dark of night feeling cream crackered in the extreme. The tour was over for another year, but my aches and pains will live on for a while yet!
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 2009
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
Tour 2008
Drink, Downpours and Donkey Bites
