WOT NO LUNCH?
The week before the Stroud game Mr Lewis reported that he was playing golf at Wotton in the morning so he would not be travelling with the Supporters Club up to Stroud. Instead he would meet them for lunch in a pub in Stonehouse. He described the pub to TGGW and amazingly TGGW knew the pub so getting there, without Mr Lewis, would not be a problem. TGGW asked Mr Lewis who was going to organise the trip in the absence of the Transport Manager (Mr Lewis). Mr Lewis did not know the answer to that question.
TGGW waited until Saturday morning and no one had rung him to tell him where and what time to meet. TGGW rang Mr Bignell who said he was not going to Stroud because he had family visiting. What family could this be, wondered TGGW … half of Mr Bignell’s family lived in America and the other half was Pete who always, when he visited his father, came to watch the Rugby. Maybe Mr Bignell had some more family that the Supporters Club knew nothing about … this was unlikely … ergo … the Supporters Club had been travelling to 1st team away games for a few years now and sometimes, on long trips, the conversation might falter a bit as news of Mr Lewis’s exploits on the golf course or Mr Pinders draconian captainship of the skittle team or TGGW’s latest woodwork project somehow came to seem …. how should we put it … bleedin’ boring. It was into these lapses of tittle tattle and gossip that Mr Bignell had been inserting his family history so that now the Supporters Club were very familiar with every aspect of the Bignell dynasty right back to the time when they were in the Crusades. Anyway Mr Bignell was going to be absent so that only left Mr Pinder and TGGW to do the trip.
TGGW rang Mr Pinder who did not answer his phone. Mr Pinder later explained why this had been so but TGGW forgot the reason … it is not important to this story anyway. TGGW left a message on Mr Pinders phone and went away to paint some cupboard doors he was making ofr Daughter No.1. These doors had been a bit of a problem. TGGW had made three prototypes before he found a reliable way to do it. The problem was that Daughter No.1 (greatly influenced by the Chief Fairy) had insisted that the doors be flush on the outside to prevent the build up of dust / grease / muck in the rebates so favoured by TGGW in the doors he had made so far. The trouble was that TGGW had been forced to use plywood to build the doors (seven of them) and plywood is not very smooth, it has lots of little cracks and imperfections in it. TGGW had rang round lots of wood suppliers asking if they had any smooth plywood but they didn’t. One wood supplier said that he could get some from a place at Yate but it was very expensive and wasn’t open on Saturdays … so that was no good. TGGW had tried staining and varnishing a practice door but it had looked awful so he had had to paint the doors. He had thought that the paint would fill in all the imperfections in the wood but it hadn’t and TGGW was now onto his fifth coat of paint (2 undercoat / primer). I f this didn’t work then he would just have to pretend that the cracks and stuff were a feature to give it some character. He thought that Daughter might accept this or at least be too polite to make a fuss but he knew the Chief Fairy would be having none of it and complain about how the dust / muck / grease would get into the little, tiny, barely perceptible, cracks. Where were we … oh yes … whilst TGGW was over the garage painting, Mr Pinder rang back. Unfortunately Mariamu answered the phone and if Mr Pinder had left a message, then the conduit of TGGW’s 3 yr old grand daughter was never going to have sufficient bandwidth to enable an error free reception of said message. TGGW rang Mr Pinder back and they arranged to meet at the TRFC clubhouse and go to the pub from there. Mr Pinder was anxious to ascertain that TGGW knew where the pub was because he had looked on the Internet and there was no pub in Stonehouse called the Wheatsheaf which is what Mr Lewis had told Mr Pinder the pub was. TGGW did not know what the pub was called but he definitely knew where it was.
TGGW drove and the pub was easily found but it wasn’t called the Wheatsheaf … it was called something else that sounded a bit like the Wheatsheaf and may even have begun with a ‘W’. There was no sign of Mr Lewis’s car. Mr Pinder whipped out his mobile brain tumour machine and rang Mr Lewis. No answer. TGGW was sure this was the pub but there was one other pub in Stonehouse but TGGW was sure it wasn’t that one so he and Mr Pinder went into the pub they were at with a name that has momentarily slipped out of TGGW’s RAM. On entering the pub there was the choice of two doors, one to the left end t’other to the right. They went in the left hand door and found a few old age pensioners sat round a fire drinking glasses of Barley Wine and talking about the war. Wrong door. The other door had a sign on the door which said ‘Lounge’ and promised a more salubrious setting for the now depleted Supporters Club lunch. There were a couple of birds in the pub and a few lone, old males in dirty macs. Nobody was eating and the pub stopped serving food at 1400hrs. It was 1401hrs when Mr Pinder got the beer and the barmaid said there was no chance of lunch.
TGGW/Mr Pinder sat down on some tiny little chairs. Mr Pinder doubted whether he would be able to get up again. TGGW noticed that the chairs had only one arm rest and thought they must be some kind of Gloucestershire special chair made for dwarves who had lost an arm … maybe in the war. Then TGGW noticed that the chairs had not originally been constructed with one arm but the arms had been sawn off at a later stage … Why? Mr Pinder texted Mr Lewis on his machine then he texted Mr Crabtree (who was accompanying Mr Lewis on the Golf Course). Neither of them replied to the text so Mr Pinder texted again. It was getting on for 1430hrs by now and Mr Pinder had given up texting. They decided they had better head off for the ground but first TGGW said they could go up to the other end of Stonehouse and look at the other pub just in case it was called the Wheatsheaf but TGGW was sure it wasn’t. It wasn’t and TGGW drove in great big loop to eventually fetch them almost back where they had started at the pub with no food.
Right lets get to the ground and stop messing about decided Mr Pinder and TGGW. Where is it exactly asked TGGW for although the Supporters Club had visited Stroud Rugby Club several times before it was always difficult to find and in the past they had always approached from ‘over the tops’ where there were loads of nice country pubs that served food. TGGW confided in Mr Pinder, however, that he was not too bothered about the lack of lunch because he felt a bit sick. TGGW thought that this was due to the Walnut bread he had purchased at Tescos the previous evening when that was the only bread on the shelves. The bread tasted nice but it was heavy and after a few slices began to make you feel sick. TGGW drove on towards Stroud and was slightly alarmed at the noises coming from Mr Pinder. Mr Pinder kept mumbling that he had no idea where they were and he had never been here before and was TGGW sure this was the road to Stroud. TGGW interrupted Mr Pinder’s ramblings to make sure that he did know where the Stroud ground was. Mr Pinder said it was next to Sainsburys but … yes you’ve guessed … Mr Pinder did not know where Sainsburys was. Neither did TGGW. Mr Pinder said he thought that TGGW did no where the ground was. TGGW replied that NO … he had only claimed to know where the pub was and he had taken them to the pub with unerring accuracy … it was Mr Pinder’s job to know where the ground was … why hadn’t he looked ont’ Internet or brought his SatNav. Because, said Mr Pinder, he had thought that TGGW knew where the ground was … NO … The conversation went on like this until the centre of Stroud was reached. On previous visits they had never had to go into the centre of Stroud so they knew they were on the wrong track. Mr Pinder wound down the window and asked a couple of local thugs (they may have been taxi drivers) the way to the ground … the instructions sounded simple enough and the thugs said we couldn’t miss it. Unfortunately TGGW thought that Mr Pinder had been listening closely to the instructions and Mr Pinder thought that TGGW had. They ended up driving out into the countryside towards Cirencester. Both members of the Supporters Club agreed that this could not be right so they turned round and drove back … into the centre of Stroud. They tried another exit off the roundabout they thought they may have gone wrong at the last time and came to a dead end. Another exit took them back to Stonehouse then they were in the middle of Stroud town centre again. Time was ticking on. They knew they were near to the ground and if they knew the way they could be there before kick off … just. Mr Pinder wanted a pee. He had been saying this for some time but TGGW had ignored him. They had decided at the pub with no food that there was no need to go to the bog because they were only five minutes from the ground … this was a mistake because Mr Pinder’s notoriously weak bladder was now causing him severe discomfort. TGGW pulled into a big Supermarket (unfortunately it wasn’t Sainsbury’s) and Mr Pinder scooted off for a pee. He came back, eventually, clutching a piece of paper with the directions to the ground on it. The lady at the Sainsbury’s help desk had provided the instructions so they now set off again with a modicum more confidence. Then they were back in the bloody centre of Stroud again. TGGW wanted to scream. Mr Pinder, deprived of his internet / SatNav and other IT tools had turned out to be the worst navigator in the world. Kick off had, by now, come and gone. TGGW decided to take matters into his own hands and set off for a point on the circular route they had been following for the past half hour, that he vaguely recognised. Then they were on the road to Cirencester again. OK maybe it was the other exit off the roundabout then. They went back took another exit and almost immediately recognised the road to the ground. As they drove up to the club gates Mr Pinder searched in his pockets for the exorbitant entrance fee that Stroud always charged. TGGW put on his OAP face because they got in for half price. Hah!! The gate was unmanned and TGGW/Mr Pinder got in for nothing … noting however that Stroud had reduced the entrance fee to £3 and £1.50 for OAPs. Stroud was now cheaper than TRFC if you were an OAP!! The committee must be informed intoned Mr Pinder.
Stroud had just scored a try when they arrived. Thornbury were 5-0 down. It was pissing down with rain and there was a hurricane blowing down the pitch. Mr Pinder stood morosely on the touchline. TGGW went into the clubhouse to watch Gloucester vs Wasps on SKY. Messrs Lewis and Crabtree were nowhere to be seen. Messrs Stinton and Birkhill could be seen they were standing dripping wet outside the clubhouse looking miserable. TGGW left the SKY TV for a while to go and talk to them. They too, it turned out, had had a lot of trouble finding the ground. Mr Stinton said he had been distracted by Mr Birkhill’s inane chatter and had missed the turn off and they had not got to the ground in time for kick off.
The golfers turned up. Mr Lewis explained that someone had got a hole in one and they had had to stay and celebrate also Mr Crabtree had lost three golf balls which had made the game last a lot longer than expected also Mr Lewis had played particularly badly which had made the game last even more longer than expected. Then they had been unable to find the ground and had driven through the centre of Stroud three times and asked some taxi driver thugs the way but their instructions had somehow got them on the road to Cirencester. Mr Lewis said he had not answered Mr Pinder’s texts because they were not allowed to take the mobile brain tumour machines onto the golf course in case they infected other golfers. And Mr Lewis had had no lunch and was very hungry. He and TGGW bought cheese and onion rolls from the clubhouse. The rolls were very filling but no sooner had they finished them when they noticed that there was some free food hidden in a corner of the clubhouse. There was bread and ham and onions … there was no cheese and the bread was like very small round bits and it was difficult to make a proper sandwich but Mr Lewis and TGGW persevered and ended up with several small ham and onion sandwiches.
Thornbury kicked a penalty to close the ‘gap’ to 5-3 and Gloucester were beating Wasps. Thornbury scored a try to take the lead but later on Stroud kicked a penalty and the game ended in a 8-8 draw. Gloucester beat Wasps and Danny Cipriano did not make an appearance or if he did TGGW did not notice it.
On the way back to the TRFC Clubhouse TGGW and Mr Pinder agreed that it had been a very unsatisfactory day and Mr Bignell was to blame. Mr Bignell was in the TRFC Clubhouse and said it was everybody else’s fault … how could it be his fault if he wasn’t there. TGGW said it wasn’t his fault because he found the pub all right and Mr Pinder said it wasn’t his fault because he thought TGGW knew to the ground and the fact that the pub was a weirdo pub and stopped serving food at 1400hrs was Mr Lewis’s fault because he had chose it. Mr Lewis said the pub was ok the last time he had been there … about twenty years ago … and anyway it couldn’t have been his fault because he was playing golf. Mr Crabtree was serving behind the bar already and was absolved of all blame.
It was Janet and John’s Ruby Wedding Anniversary Party that night and that turned out to be a lot better than the day that had preceded it. Mr Pinder didn’t come to the party.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
HONEST TOM YOU’VE GOT TO STOP … I CAN’T HOLD IT ANY LONGER
Everyone was looking forward to the trip to Pershore as no-one had ever been before and no-one had the slightest idea where it was. Well that’s not quite true … everyone thought they knew (vaguely) where it was but none of these geographic locations were within 50 miles of each other. Another reason for looking forward to the trip was that Pershore were next to bottom of the league and a rare win for TRFC 1sts beckoned.
Roger was away in Americal visiting his Grandchildren and missing (thankfully as it turned out) the whole of the Six Nations Championship. Pont, knowing that Roger was away, had, the previous week, requested temporary membership of the Supporters Club. This had been granted despite Pont’s refusal to drive. Then, on Friday night, Pont had cried off … his spouse had, apparently, arranged a shopping trip to Tescos. Pont had contacted Ned to tell him of his conversion to New Man / House Husband. Ned had been appalled and asked Pont if he were a man or a mouse and accused him of being a spineless wimp, firmly under the thumb of his spouse. Ned’s diatribe went on for some time and the effect on Pont was to pump more and more male hormones into his blood stream so by the time Ned hung up in disgust Pont was a raging warrior … the Genghis Kahn of TRFC womanhood … Vllad the Impaler of all Tesco stores and ready for battle with his spouse. So Pont went to Sue and said ‘Pretty please could he please go to Pershore with the boys. They could, he said, still go to Tescos on Sunday’ Sue relented and granted Pont permission to travel. Pont’s Sue did, however, warn him that he must not think that he could make a habit of this sort of thing.
Ned had reckoned 1hrs travelling and 1 hour for lunch so it was a 1230 depart time from outside Ned’s house. It was TGGW’s turn to drive and as he sat in the car waiting for the others to arrive he asked Ned if we had got any further in discovering where Pershore was. Ned said not worry because Steve had looked it up on the Internet and got directions and he had (in the absence of Rog the caterer) found a pub for lunch as well. Steve and Pont arrived nearly on time and TGGW asked Steve if he was sure he knew exactly how to get to the pub and the ground. TGGW did not want to be driving round in circles whilst the rest of the occupants argued about which way to go. Steve said it was all under control … 100%. He then gave Ned a sheaf of papers which were step by step directions from t’ Internet on how to get to Pershore Rugby Club via the Pub which was called the Anchor. Steve said the pub was next door to the Rugby Club anyway. Ned said he didn’t like reading Instructions in a moving car because it made him feel sick … but he would do his best. The first set of Instructions on the list did not match at all with anything anywhere in the immediate vicinity. This was because, explained Steve, the Instructions started at his house rather than Ned’s and we would have to get on the M5 and take it from there.
The M5 was gained easily enough apart from a long wait at the daft traffic lights to get on it at Falfield. The Instructions decreed that the M5 should be exited at J07. It was a long way to J07 and TGGW attempted to listen to the radio Wales broadcast on the Wales vs Ireland game. TGGW hoped that Wales would loose otherwise they would win the Triple Crown. But he wasn’t all that worried one way or the other. Listening to the broadcast was more by way of passing the time during the long slog up the M5. It proved, however, almost impossible to hear this broadcast for three reasons. The first was that the reception was not very good on the M5. The second was that the road noise was unusually pervasive. The final, and overriding reason, was that Messers Ponting, Lewis and Pinder were making a Gawd awful racket occasioned by their discussions of the latest rounds of bloody skittles in the Thornbury Skittle League Division 7.
J07 was reached at last and the skittles discussion ground to a halt as the more important business of finding Pershore RFC took precedence. The Instructions said to take the first exit along the A44 towards Evesham and Worcester. This struck everyone in the car as a bit strange because the 3rd exit on the roundabout was marked ‘Pershore B1234’. Steve reckoned it was a good job they were going by the Internet Instructions otherwise they may have taken the B1234 and ended up … Gawd knows where. He permitted himself a bit of smugness when he thought of all the other TRFC supporters, and indeed the team, who had not equipped themselves with a set of Internet Instructions … would be heading off on a little country road to the depths of … Gawd knows where.
The Instructions were followed to the letter and were incredibly detailed …
Leave roundabout 1 exit onto A44.
Stay on A44 for 0.62 miles.
You are entering Worcester.
Enter roundabout and leave at the 2 exit onto??? (didn’t actually say onto what!)
You just left Worcester.
Follow the Swinesherd Way (A4440) for 0.75 miles.
You are entering Worcester.
Enter the roundabout and leave at the 3 exit onto the A44 (why did we leave the A44?)
Stay on A44 for 0.19 miles
You just left Worcester.
Follow the A44 for 5.9 miles.
It was at this point that things started to go wrong. TGGW was fed up hearing Ned intone over and over again about whether we were leaving or entering bloody Worcester. But this was a minor inconvenience when compared to the problem they now faced. The A44 had disappeared and been replaced by the Athirtybloodyeight! This was not good. Had they gone wrong somewhere? Were the Instructions wrong? The Instructions were discarded, they drove into the centre of Worcester. TGGW pulled into a layby, got his road map out of the boot, chucked it to Steve and Pont and told them to sort it out. This did no good at all as by the time Pont and Steve had found the right page they were back at the Motorway exit 7 roundabout. TGGW/Ned knew this would happen as they drove along the road out of Worcester … the only road … whilst Pont and Steve argued in the back of the car. Gollocks to this said TGGW and headed off down the B1234 towards Pershore. A little way down this road, which appeared to be very big for a B road, they came upon another sign which said ‘Pershore B1234 – formerly A44’. This shed a dim light on the problems they were having but it was very very dim. Why had they gone in completely the wrong direction? Why had the A44 disappeared? How could they ever have got to Pershore by following the A44 in the wrong direction. The mystery remained one of those things that make you wonder if we understand anything at all about the world we live in and the nature of space / time wormholes. How for instance does a rope mange to tie itself in knots after having been left coiled up for eons. Why do randomly switched traffic lights lead to better traffic flow than those controlled by a computer backed up by years of trials and research.
Anyway Pershore was soon reached and a left turn taken to some peculiar named place where the pub and the Rugby Club were situated. It (the oddly named village) was well signposted and easy to find but there were quite a few turnings. TGGW attempted to memorize them but was told by everyone else that this was a waste of time because it would be easy on the way back because they would just follow the signs for the motorway … hmmm. The pub had a little tiny public bar and a posh bar with tables and wine glasses and cloth napkins. The Supporters Club followed their leanings and went into the public bar but it was full up with three people and they had to go in the posh bar. Some beer and food were ordered and it was all very nice. The beer was a real ale called Piddles but it ran out before Ned could get his and he had to have 6X. The pub window overlooked the river Avon and had a lovely patio area leading down to the banks of the river. TGGW wanted to go and sit outside but Ned said he was an ill man and couldn’t sit out in the cold wind. The rest of the Southern girl’s blouses just said it was too cold. The food soon arrived … TGGW had sizzling vegetables in black bean sauce which he thought was a description of how they were cooked but they did actually sizzle as in they made a sizzling noise. Ned had Lasagne, Steve had his normal boring sausage although it had, apparently come all the way from Cumberland. Pont had ordered ham/egg/ chips but they had run out of ham so he had another two pints of Piddles which was back on by this time. Ned asked the landlord (who was a bit of an odd bloke) where the Rugby Club was. The landlord said we had to turn around and take the first left by the war memorial and just go down that road for a mile or so. So the pub was not next door to the Rugby Club as Steve’s Internet Instructions would have it. Steve denied that this was another failure of t’ Internet and claimed that 1 mile was, to all intents and purposes, next door to. Steve however declined the invitation to walk ‘next door’.
There was some food at the Rugby Club. Not very much because all the other supporters had come via the B1234 and got there long before the Supporters Club. There was just time for a pint before k.o. Pont had two pints … nobody else bothered. TGGW had a bit of food and talked to the lady who had prepared it and explained how they had got lost. She said exactly the same thing had happened to them the previous week when they had relied on t’ Internet to get them to Chosen Hill. The Wales / Ireland game was on the TV but Wales were winning and Shane Williams had just scored another brilliant individual try so most people went out to watch Thornbury and Pershore. Pont and Steve stayed in the warm and drank some more beer.
The wind howled along the length of the Pershore Rugby field and the whole area was desolate looking. There were miles and miles of barren, flat looking farmlands stretching as far as the eye could see. Ned said that one of the Pershore blokes had told him that when the winter floods came in 2007 the water had got up to within two feet of the crossbars on the Rugby field. This was hard to credit because the flat area must have covered several square miles, there was not a hollow where the rugby field was so the whole area must have flooded to the same depth. There must have been trillions of gallons of water. Where did it all come from and where had it gone to? Another of life’s mysteries. Thornbury were fielding a weakened side due to unavailabilities so a victory was not guaranteed. By half time, however, they were twenty odd points up and even taking into account the gale at their backs they looked well in control. TGGW went to watch England / Scotland on the TV. England were terrible and lost. Thornbury won easily 36-0 and Pont drunk some more beer. So did Steve / Ned /TGGW. The Pershore kitchen had not yet recovered from the floods and the Supporters Club departed just as a van load of fish and chips arrived for the TRFC 1st team. As they left the club TGGW glimpsed a TRFC 1st team player (may have been S Adams) cramming handfuls of chips into his gob … with both hands.
The trip back was not easy as Steve/Pont/ Ned had predicted. They didn’t find the B1234 (formerly known as the A44) and ended up on the new A44 heading towards Evesham. It was, by now, too dark to read the road map so they just kept going. It had taken a while to realise that they were not on the road they had come on because TGGW kept thinking he could recognise some landmarks. He was wrong, on every occasion, but was encouraged, by the rest of the car occupants, to recognise even more landmarks in a doomed attempt to bolster their dreams that they might not be lost again. After a long long time they saw a sign for the motorway. This cheered everyone up so TGGW put a cd on to sing along to. Nobody liked the cd (All time greatest C&W hits) so TGGW changed it for a cd by a Welsh Male Voice Choir. The choir sang some good songs but they sang them so slowly that nobody could sing along. So TGGW switched the cd off and he and Ned sang ‘The Old Wooden Cross’. This didn’t take long because they only knew 4 words of the song. Steve and Pont started to talk about skittles again and it seemed a long long time before they reached the Motorway. Before they did so Steve had started to get an urge for a pee and had made half hearted requests for a pee stop. TGGW ignored him and Ned said if he could hold his pee, after consuming all the water tablets he had to, then Steve should have no trouble holding his. As they got closer and closer to the Motorway TGGW also developed the first signs of wanting a pee. He alleviated the urge by holding the end of his willie between the thumb and first finger of his right hand. Steve’s mild requests became more urgent because he knew once they were on the Motorway there would be no stopping until Michael Woods Service Station. They got on the Motorway (J10) without stopping for a wee. Steve’s pleadings to drive faster were pathetic. Steve said he would have to pee in TGGW’s car if they didn’t stop soon. Steve said he really could not hold it much longer and they just had to stop. They passed the 1 mile sign for Michael Woods service station and Steve renewed his pleas. Ned pointed out that it was only two miles from the service station to the Rugby Club. Steve said he would never hold out that long. TGGW turned off, at the last possible moment, into the service station. Steve was not satisfied with this and wanted TGGW to stop the car as soon as they entered the car park rather than driving the 200 yds to the café (and bogs) down the other end. TGGW compromised, mainly because Steve was now becoming incoherent and more than slightly unbalanced. The car stopped next to a camper van. TGGW got out and wandered off towards the bogs. Behind him Ned got out of the car and followed obeying the Supporters Club rule that you should never pass a toilet. Behind him Steve unzipped his flies and started to pee against the front of the camper van which afforded him at least a modicum of privacy. Behind him Pont remained in the car, incredibly unaffected by the 8 pints he had consumed that afternoon. TGGW had got about half way to the bogs when Ned came sprinting after him. Ned was pissing himself (metaphorically not literally) because he said that as Steve had pulled his plonker out and started to pee a great big bloke, eating sausage and chips, had appeared at the window of the camper van. Ned had run quickly away and TGGW now joined him in the run away from trouble and towards the bogs. Steve joined them in the bogs and said that the great big bloke, who may have been Henry Cooper, had got out of the van and asked Steve what the f*** he thought he was doing. Steve had ran away shouting over his shoulder ‘sorry mate’ whilst frantically trying to do up his flies. Pont had been left to face the music because, apparently, the great big bloke could not run even as fast as the tortoise that Steve had become. Steve/ TGGW/Ned waited at the entrance to the café until the camper van drove away the they strolled back to the car to see how Pont was getting on. Pont was snoring softly, had noticed nothing amiss and still did not need a pee.
TGGW got safely back to TRFC, they had another pint then everyone went home.
Everyone was looking forward to the trip to Pershore as no-one had ever been before and no-one had the slightest idea where it was. Well that’s not quite true … everyone thought they knew (vaguely) where it was but none of these geographic locations were within 50 miles of each other. Another reason for looking forward to the trip was that Pershore were next to bottom of the league and a rare win for TRFC 1sts beckoned.
Roger was away in Americal visiting his Grandchildren and missing (thankfully as it turned out) the whole of the Six Nations Championship. Pont, knowing that Roger was away, had, the previous week, requested temporary membership of the Supporters Club. This had been granted despite Pont’s refusal to drive. Then, on Friday night, Pont had cried off … his spouse had, apparently, arranged a shopping trip to Tescos. Pont had contacted Ned to tell him of his conversion to New Man / House Husband. Ned had been appalled and asked Pont if he were a man or a mouse and accused him of being a spineless wimp, firmly under the thumb of his spouse. Ned’s diatribe went on for some time and the effect on Pont was to pump more and more male hormones into his blood stream so by the time Ned hung up in disgust Pont was a raging warrior … the Genghis Kahn of TRFC womanhood … Vllad the Impaler of all Tesco stores and ready for battle with his spouse. So Pont went to Sue and said ‘Pretty please could he please go to Pershore with the boys. They could, he said, still go to Tescos on Sunday’ Sue relented and granted Pont permission to travel. Pont’s Sue did, however, warn him that he must not think that he could make a habit of this sort of thing.
Ned had reckoned 1hrs travelling and 1 hour for lunch so it was a 1230 depart time from outside Ned’s house. It was TGGW’s turn to drive and as he sat in the car waiting for the others to arrive he asked Ned if we had got any further in discovering where Pershore was. Ned said not worry because Steve had looked it up on the Internet and got directions and he had (in the absence of Rog the caterer) found a pub for lunch as well. Steve and Pont arrived nearly on time and TGGW asked Steve if he was sure he knew exactly how to get to the pub and the ground. TGGW did not want to be driving round in circles whilst the rest of the occupants argued about which way to go. Steve said it was all under control … 100%. He then gave Ned a sheaf of papers which were step by step directions from t’ Internet on how to get to Pershore Rugby Club via the Pub which was called the Anchor. Steve said the pub was next door to the Rugby Club anyway. Ned said he didn’t like reading Instructions in a moving car because it made him feel sick … but he would do his best. The first set of Instructions on the list did not match at all with anything anywhere in the immediate vicinity. This was because, explained Steve, the Instructions started at his house rather than Ned’s and we would have to get on the M5 and take it from there.
The M5 was gained easily enough apart from a long wait at the daft traffic lights to get on it at Falfield. The Instructions decreed that the M5 should be exited at J07. It was a long way to J07 and TGGW attempted to listen to the radio Wales broadcast on the Wales vs Ireland game. TGGW hoped that Wales would loose otherwise they would win the Triple Crown. But he wasn’t all that worried one way or the other. Listening to the broadcast was more by way of passing the time during the long slog up the M5. It proved, however, almost impossible to hear this broadcast for three reasons. The first was that the reception was not very good on the M5. The second was that the road noise was unusually pervasive. The final, and overriding reason, was that Messers Ponting, Lewis and Pinder were making a Gawd awful racket occasioned by their discussions of the latest rounds of bloody skittles in the Thornbury Skittle League Division 7.
J07 was reached at last and the skittles discussion ground to a halt as the more important business of finding Pershore RFC took precedence. The Instructions said to take the first exit along the A44 towards Evesham and Worcester. This struck everyone in the car as a bit strange because the 3rd exit on the roundabout was marked ‘Pershore B1234’. Steve reckoned it was a good job they were going by the Internet Instructions otherwise they may have taken the B1234 and ended up … Gawd knows where. He permitted himself a bit of smugness when he thought of all the other TRFC supporters, and indeed the team, who had not equipped themselves with a set of Internet Instructions … would be heading off on a little country road to the depths of … Gawd knows where.
The Instructions were followed to the letter and were incredibly detailed …
Leave roundabout 1 exit onto A44.
Stay on A44 for 0.62 miles.
You are entering Worcester.
Enter roundabout and leave at the 2 exit onto??? (didn’t actually say onto what!)
You just left Worcester.
Follow the Swinesherd Way (A4440) for 0.75 miles.
You are entering Worcester.
Enter the roundabout and leave at the 3 exit onto the A44 (why did we leave the A44?)
Stay on A44 for 0.19 miles
You just left Worcester.
Follow the A44 for 5.9 miles.
It was at this point that things started to go wrong. TGGW was fed up hearing Ned intone over and over again about whether we were leaving or entering bloody Worcester. But this was a minor inconvenience when compared to the problem they now faced. The A44 had disappeared and been replaced by the Athirtybloodyeight! This was not good. Had they gone wrong somewhere? Were the Instructions wrong? The Instructions were discarded, they drove into the centre of Worcester. TGGW pulled into a layby, got his road map out of the boot, chucked it to Steve and Pont and told them to sort it out. This did no good at all as by the time Pont and Steve had found the right page they were back at the Motorway exit 7 roundabout. TGGW/Ned knew this would happen as they drove along the road out of Worcester … the only road … whilst Pont and Steve argued in the back of the car. Gollocks to this said TGGW and headed off down the B1234 towards Pershore. A little way down this road, which appeared to be very big for a B road, they came upon another sign which said ‘Pershore B1234 – formerly A44’. This shed a dim light on the problems they were having but it was very very dim. Why had they gone in completely the wrong direction? Why had the A44 disappeared? How could they ever have got to Pershore by following the A44 in the wrong direction. The mystery remained one of those things that make you wonder if we understand anything at all about the world we live in and the nature of space / time wormholes. How for instance does a rope mange to tie itself in knots after having been left coiled up for eons. Why do randomly switched traffic lights lead to better traffic flow than those controlled by a computer backed up by years of trials and research.
Anyway Pershore was soon reached and a left turn taken to some peculiar named place where the pub and the Rugby Club were situated. It (the oddly named village) was well signposted and easy to find but there were quite a few turnings. TGGW attempted to memorize them but was told by everyone else that this was a waste of time because it would be easy on the way back because they would just follow the signs for the motorway … hmmm. The pub had a little tiny public bar and a posh bar with tables and wine glasses and cloth napkins. The Supporters Club followed their leanings and went into the public bar but it was full up with three people and they had to go in the posh bar. Some beer and food were ordered and it was all very nice. The beer was a real ale called Piddles but it ran out before Ned could get his and he had to have 6X. The pub window overlooked the river Avon and had a lovely patio area leading down to the banks of the river. TGGW wanted to go and sit outside but Ned said he was an ill man and couldn’t sit out in the cold wind. The rest of the Southern girl’s blouses just said it was too cold. The food soon arrived … TGGW had sizzling vegetables in black bean sauce which he thought was a description of how they were cooked but they did actually sizzle as in they made a sizzling noise. Ned had Lasagne, Steve had his normal boring sausage although it had, apparently come all the way from Cumberland. Pont had ordered ham/egg/ chips but they had run out of ham so he had another two pints of Piddles which was back on by this time. Ned asked the landlord (who was a bit of an odd bloke) where the Rugby Club was. The landlord said we had to turn around and take the first left by the war memorial and just go down that road for a mile or so. So the pub was not next door to the Rugby Club as Steve’s Internet Instructions would have it. Steve denied that this was another failure of t’ Internet and claimed that 1 mile was, to all intents and purposes, next door to. Steve however declined the invitation to walk ‘next door’.
There was some food at the Rugby Club. Not very much because all the other supporters had come via the B1234 and got there long before the Supporters Club. There was just time for a pint before k.o. Pont had two pints … nobody else bothered. TGGW had a bit of food and talked to the lady who had prepared it and explained how they had got lost. She said exactly the same thing had happened to them the previous week when they had relied on t’ Internet to get them to Chosen Hill. The Wales / Ireland game was on the TV but Wales were winning and Shane Williams had just scored another brilliant individual try so most people went out to watch Thornbury and Pershore. Pont and Steve stayed in the warm and drank some more beer.
The wind howled along the length of the Pershore Rugby field and the whole area was desolate looking. There were miles and miles of barren, flat looking farmlands stretching as far as the eye could see. Ned said that one of the Pershore blokes had told him that when the winter floods came in 2007 the water had got up to within two feet of the crossbars on the Rugby field. This was hard to credit because the flat area must have covered several square miles, there was not a hollow where the rugby field was so the whole area must have flooded to the same depth. There must have been trillions of gallons of water. Where did it all come from and where had it gone to? Another of life’s mysteries. Thornbury were fielding a weakened side due to unavailabilities so a victory was not guaranteed. By half time, however, they were twenty odd points up and even taking into account the gale at their backs they looked well in control. TGGW went to watch England / Scotland on the TV. England were terrible and lost. Thornbury won easily 36-0 and Pont drunk some more beer. So did Steve / Ned /TGGW. The Pershore kitchen had not yet recovered from the floods and the Supporters Club departed just as a van load of fish and chips arrived for the TRFC 1st team. As they left the club TGGW glimpsed a TRFC 1st team player (may have been S Adams) cramming handfuls of chips into his gob … with both hands.
The trip back was not easy as Steve/Pont/ Ned had predicted. They didn’t find the B1234 (formerly known as the A44) and ended up on the new A44 heading towards Evesham. It was, by now, too dark to read the road map so they just kept going. It had taken a while to realise that they were not on the road they had come on because TGGW kept thinking he could recognise some landmarks. He was wrong, on every occasion, but was encouraged, by the rest of the car occupants, to recognise even more landmarks in a doomed attempt to bolster their dreams that they might not be lost again. After a long long time they saw a sign for the motorway. This cheered everyone up so TGGW put a cd on to sing along to. Nobody liked the cd (All time greatest C&W hits) so TGGW changed it for a cd by a Welsh Male Voice Choir. The choir sang some good songs but they sang them so slowly that nobody could sing along. So TGGW switched the cd off and he and Ned sang ‘The Old Wooden Cross’. This didn’t take long because they only knew 4 words of the song. Steve and Pont started to talk about skittles again and it seemed a long long time before they reached the Motorway. Before they did so Steve had started to get an urge for a pee and had made half hearted requests for a pee stop. TGGW ignored him and Ned said if he could hold his pee, after consuming all the water tablets he had to, then Steve should have no trouble holding his. As they got closer and closer to the Motorway TGGW also developed the first signs of wanting a pee. He alleviated the urge by holding the end of his willie between the thumb and first finger of his right hand. Steve’s mild requests became more urgent because he knew once they were on the Motorway there would be no stopping until Michael Woods Service Station. They got on the Motorway (J10) without stopping for a wee. Steve’s pleadings to drive faster were pathetic. Steve said he would have to pee in TGGW’s car if they didn’t stop soon. Steve said he really could not hold it much longer and they just had to stop. They passed the 1 mile sign for Michael Woods service station and Steve renewed his pleas. Ned pointed out that it was only two miles from the service station to the Rugby Club. Steve said he would never hold out that long. TGGW turned off, at the last possible moment, into the service station. Steve was not satisfied with this and wanted TGGW to stop the car as soon as they entered the car park rather than driving the 200 yds to the café (and bogs) down the other end. TGGW compromised, mainly because Steve was now becoming incoherent and more than slightly unbalanced. The car stopped next to a camper van. TGGW got out and wandered off towards the bogs. Behind him Ned got out of the car and followed obeying the Supporters Club rule that you should never pass a toilet. Behind him Steve unzipped his flies and started to pee against the front of the camper van which afforded him at least a modicum of privacy. Behind him Pont remained in the car, incredibly unaffected by the 8 pints he had consumed that afternoon. TGGW had got about half way to the bogs when Ned came sprinting after him. Ned was pissing himself (metaphorically not literally) because he said that as Steve had pulled his plonker out and started to pee a great big bloke, eating sausage and chips, had appeared at the window of the camper van. Ned had run quickly away and TGGW now joined him in the run away from trouble and towards the bogs. Steve joined them in the bogs and said that the great big bloke, who may have been Henry Cooper, had got out of the van and asked Steve what the f*** he thought he was doing. Steve had ran away shouting over his shoulder ‘sorry mate’ whilst frantically trying to do up his flies. Pont had been left to face the music because, apparently, the great big bloke could not run even as fast as the tortoise that Steve had become. Steve/ TGGW/Ned waited at the entrance to the café until the camper van drove away the they strolled back to the car to see how Pont was getting on. Pont was snoring softly, had noticed nothing amiss and still did not need a pee.
TGGW got safely back to TRFC, they had another pint then everyone went home.
Monday, February 04, 2008
The answer to all present and future I.D.C. members prayers. Never again restricted by capacity, free to roam as we will! Bouch can use it with total confidence whilst standing at the bar or even when waiting in the queue for his chips at the kitchen hatch. Safe in the knowledge that the ladies committee will not clutch at their bosooms and have an attack of the vapours at the sight of his manhood on display.
I understand that they come in a variety of colours, tailored to match the seasons, red for Summer, brown for Autum and white for Winter. An ideal Christmas gift that can be slipped into your stocking, so to speak!
Another bebefit is that it can be worn permenately, Imagine the reaction when entering the club in your expanding waistband, extra stretch grey linen trousers with this bulge on display... well I know it will be the undoing of Janet Arrowsmith..
This is a must have in the car, ditch the mobile phone and your iPod and fit this to the dashboard of your car. It has a mounting bracket that attaches to the dashboard and can be a conversation piece on those long and boreing journeys.
The mens come in three different sizes: Small, Medium and Your having a laugh! I think the womens are one size fits all but I dont know too much about those things.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
TROUBLE AT T’ SKITTLE ALLEY AND HARLEQUINS GET THEIR CUMMUPPANCE
It was TGGW’s turn to drive. He picked up Ned and they drove up to Rog’s house to pick up Rog. Rog appeared dressed for Artic weather (it was approximately 11deg C, no sign of rain and quite a nice day). Rog dumped all his Artic clothing on the parcel shelf, completely obscuring TGGW’s view out the back, handed a great big black thing to Ned and told him to attach it to the front windscreen. There was a sucker thing on the big black thing that required the operation of a lever to activate the suction cap thing. Ned accomplished this task but now TGGW’s view out the front was nearly as restricted as that out the back. Rog instructed Ned on how to release the suction cap but Ned was unable to accomplish this task so Rog leaned over the front seat to help him. The car was by now chugging along the A38 and TGGW’s ability to change gear was severely compromised by Rog’s head which was wedged between the handbrake and gear stick. The big black thing was eventually re-positioned, Rog moved his Artic clothing a tad to allow TGGW at least some visibility out the back and all was sweetness and light. Rog then explained that the big black thing was a GPS sat nav device that would enable them to navigate to the pub that he had chosen for lunch. Ned asked Rog what the name of the pub was because he might know where it was thus negating the need for the sat nav thing. Rog refused to tell and instructed Ned on how he was to fix another piece of the sat nav onto the piece already stuck to the windscreen. Ned accomplished this task quite easily but Rog was not finished. Ned had to detach a stylus from the sat nav and use it to set the sat nav going by pointing at certain items on the sat nav touch screen. Ned could not find the stylus so Rog had, once again, to lean over the front seat and do his stuff. Fortunately they were stopped at traffic lights and changing gear was not a problem for the moment. The lights changed from red to orange to green. Ned did not realise this because he is colour blind. TGGW tried to drive the car in neutral, the car made a lot of noise but did not move. TGGW forced the gear lever into first and the car leaped forward. Ned jolted forward, Rog jolted upwards, banged his head on Ned’s knee and dropped the stylus on the floor. Everyone returned to their normal positions, Ned retrieved the stylus and followed Rog’s instructions about which bits of the screen to touch. The Sat Nav sprang into life with a loud beeping noise. Rog said that that meant there was a speed camera coming up … TGGW slowed down. The sat nav said that they had to turn left at the Almondsbury Interchange and go up the M4. But what the sat nav didn’t know was they had to first go and pick up Steve from Bradley Stoke. All the way to Steve’s the bloody sat nav kept telling TGGW to turn around. Rog said the sat nav would correct itself as soon as it realised they were going to pick up Steve. Hmm the sooner the bloody better, thought Ned and TGGW. Steve was picked up, the sat nav corrected itself and they were on their way.
Ned started to tell the story about the trouble at t’ skittle alley. He was continually interrupted by Steve (who was, apparently, part of said trouble). The story took quite some time to unravel and is summarised below ..
The opposition to Steve’s skittle team (Steve is the captain) had arrived with two people short. This, apparently, meant that they had no way of winning unless Steve’s team agreed to let them play two of their players twice. Steve had no doubts to his decision on this … he was going for the win … the opposition would NOT be allowed to play two men twice. Howard disagreed. It should be pointed out that Howard regularly talked to the opposition, clapped when they made a good shot and sometimes bought them a drink. This sort of behaviour in skittles was, before Howard came on the scene, unheard of and was frowned on by Howard’s team mates. A blazing row erupted. Steve swore at Howard in a loud voice. Howard surrendered. Steve had nine players at his disposal but only six were required for a team. The game has two rounds and Steve was allowed to use all his nine players over those rounds. So he picked two teams, one for each round. The first team would be the weakest team (for reasons not immediately clear) and included Howard and indeed Ned. The second team did not include Howard nor, indeed, Ned. Steve’s reasoning, he explained to the occupants of the car, was that the opposition included Pont who was very capable of getting up Howard’s nose and disrupting his game. Therefore Howard would only be allowed to play once. Steve himself would, of course play in both teams, partly becaue he could get up Ponts nose and put him off his game but mostly because he was the captain. Ned at this point interrupted to ask why he too had been excluded because he was the best player in the team and anyway it didn’t matter because they would win anyway because the opposition only had four men even if one of them was Pont who could get up Howard’s nose. Steve ignored Ned and continued his story .. after the game Howard approached Steve and asked, somewhat belligerently according to Steve, how he (Steve) knew who had played which game and who therefore had to pay their match fees twice rather than the people who had only played once and would, therefore, only have to pay one match fee. Steve said that he was the captain and told Howard to **** off. Howard took this the wrong way (according to Steve) and started swearing and shouting at Steve. Steve then admitted to Howard that he had a bit of paper on which he recorded which players had played in which round. Howard said he did not believe Steve. Steve stomped off to the far end of the skittle alley picked up his team sheet and shoved it into Howard’s face. Howard then, according to Steve, apologised. The car swerved and nearly hit a truck because TGGW had dozed off for an instant. Was this, wondered TGGW, what he really wanted to be doing on a Saturday afternoon. The swerving of the car woke up Rog who had dozed off completely.
By this time the sat bloody nav was going full blast. First they went to Hambrook, then Frenchay, then Downend … why were they not going on the ring road everyone asked … what was the matter with the sat bloody nav … the ring road was the easiest and quickest way to get to Harlequins … where was this bloody pub Rog? Rog refused to say but did point out that he used have a paper round in Downend which they were just passing through. TGGW was following the sat nav’s instructions and was getting truly pissed off with it. They were going round back streets, across treacherous junctions, through red lights … continually stopping and starting. TGGW’s mpg figure had gone down from 45.6 to 44.4 since they started the trip. They reached Hanham where Rog, informed the other occupants of the car, he had met Mary in a youth club many many years ago. The other occupants of the car stifled a collective groan as they had heard this story several times before (every time they played Barton Hill at Barton Hill in fact). The collective groan was clearly stifled a bit too much because Rog went on to the tell the story all over again. They reached Soundwell just as Rog finished his story but unfortunately Soundwell was where Rog had had his appendix removed and this prompted another story. Then they passed the place where the Clarkes pie shop used to be and all the occupants of the car (apart from the driver who was now seeing his mpg figure drop below 44mpg) joined in extolling the virtues of these sort of pies. Eventually they reached a place called Hanham and this was where the pub was, announced a jubilant Rog. He didn’t know exactly where it was because it had been twenty years since he last visited but not to worry the sat nav would take them to the door. The sat nav told them to turn down this very very narrow road. Then it told them to go down an even narrower farm track. TGGW protested that this could not possibly be right as the car would not fit down the road. Everyone else called TGGW a coward and urged him onward. TGGW prayed, with little hope, that this was a one way farm track. The high walls flanking the farm track were inches from the wing mirrors of TGGW’s car and the car was skidding about on the farm slime that coated the road. Then, Hallelujah, they came to the pub, the road opened out into a large car park and everything was hunky dory.
The occupants of the car climbed stiffly out of the car all complaining that it would have been quicker on the ring road. Rog was not sure the ring road was on his sat nav but Stev pointed out that he (Rog) had probably asked the sat nav for the shortest rather than the quickest route. Rog pondered this and muttered, in a barely hearable voice, something about this pub (called the Chequers) being a well known haunt of bikers. The Chequers was on the edge of a river in a very scenic location. In fact it was the prettiest location the Supporters Club had ever been to and in the summer would have been a very nice spot for an al fresco lunch. Today though was a Saturday in mid February and the Supporters Club would be eating inside. The pub smelt strongly of damp and decay and was occupied by bikers. Well they looked like bikers but there were no bikes in the car park so it was a bit of mystery. Also two of the bikers had Alsatian dogs with them and they couldn’t have brought them on a bike … could they? But bikers they definitely were … old bikers admittedly but bikers none the less. One bloke had a long grey goatee beard and a biker jacket. His hair was encased in a hair net and he had a pony tail. He wore the sort of sun glasses with mirrors on the outside of the lenses. The biker women had long blond hair that was straggly and greasy looking with split ends. Their faces were … lived in. None of this, of course, bothered the Supporters Club … so long as the beer was warm and the food eatable they would be satisfied … and they soon got used to the smell. TGGW ordered a cheese coated veggie and everyone else a chilli.
Whilst they were drinking their beer, which was warm enough, Ned told a story about how his sister-in-law had gone to some place to have her legs waxed and had seen this bloke in there having his back waxed !! Steve immediately recognised this procedure … it was called a ‘Back Sac & Crack’ waxing and only performed on males of the species. What this meant was that the waxing was performed on the back, the scrotum and the bum!!! How did Steve know all this weird stuff? T’ Internet was his reply. TGGW was amazed that anyone would voluntarily undergo such a process and in any case who ever heard of anyone having hairs on their BUM!!! The other members looked at TGGW a bit peculiar like … it transpired that they all had hairs on their bum and wanted to know how TGGW knew that he hadn’t. TGGW’s answer to this was ‘how did they know they had?’ No one seemed to know the answers to either of these questions but TGGW was absolutely sure that he didn’t and the rest of the Supporters Club was sure they did. No-one would admit to ever having actually looked (it would, after all, have necessitated the use of multiple mirrors and would have, quite correctly, have been viewed as abnormal behaviour bordering on the certifiable). The discussion on annal hair continued until the food arrived after which is was considered to be inappropriate. Steve, Rog and Ned got their chillis and TGGW got a chicken breast covered in cheese. It was now nearly time for kick off and there was not time to change the order so TGGW ate the dead bird … it was very nice. The chilli was very nice as well. So over all the pub scored quite a lot of positive points … it really just came down to the smell … and the bikers … and the Alsatian dogs. Whilst eating their meals Ned said that he had read a story in the Daily Mail about Muir Moffats Ballooning exploits in a foreign country with lots of snow … probably Switzerland. Rog had been on this trip with Muir and reported that the reporter who wrote the story was a complete pillock. TGGW read the story later and it was a very boring story. This showed that the reporter, despite being a pillock, was very skilled because it must be very difficult to write a boring story about ballooning in Switzerland with a mad Scotsman what flew a 150ft balloon in the shape of a Scottish Piper …
By the time the meal and the beer had been consumed the game at Harlequins had kicked off and no-one had any idea how to get to the ground. TGGW went and got an AtoZ from the car but, unfortunately, Hambrook was just outside the AtoZ boundaries. The Supporters Club set off with more hope than expectation … (expectation that they could make the ground before half time). The narrow farm track was negotiated ok in that nothing came down the lane from the opposite direction. They very soon drove over a bridge that crossed the ring road. This provoked a short lived burst of optimism because if they could get on to ring road they were home and dry. Should they turn left here, or right there … nobody knew. TGGW drove very slowly waiting instructions. Steve reckoned they could use the sat nav if they got a map up on the touch screen and then pinpointed their destination with the stylus. Rog leaned over from the back seat to attempt this procedure. TGGW was then (for the reasons explained earlier) stuck in the gear he was presently using … 1st. They came to a crossroads with a pub on the corner and Rog exclaimed Eurika!! He knew the pub, he knew exactly where they were …this was the pub where he had played darts in back in the days when … everyone told Rog that it would be more helpful if he concentrated on directions to the ground rather than indulge in his 50 year old reminiscences.
The ground was reached with 10 minutes left in the first half. TRFC 1st team had already suffered two head injuries due to Harlequins well know predilection for kicking players laying on the ground. Evan Hughes sported a bloody bandage around the top of his head and Karl Boucher was wearing a scrum cap thus making him unrecognisable because his bushy hairstyle was hidden. TRFC 1st team were, however, in the lead by 5 points. The game progressed, Thornbury scored some more tries but the set scrum was a mess with Stuart Massey spending most of his time frantically clearing ball from the feet of a fast retreating second row. Stuart Adams was busy sticking his hand up in the air and appealing to the ref whilst the Thornbury winger was equally busy waving his arms doing creditable impersonations of making a tackle. The news came through that some non league football team were leading the mighty Liverpool by 1 goal to 0 goals. Joe Boucher, stood on the touchline watching his sprog, decided to phone his mate who was a Liverpool supporter so that he could gloat a bit. Joe made the call and asked his mate what the score was because he was out in the sticks and had not heard any news yet. Joe’s mate apparently replied with the news that Yate were drawing 0 goals to 0 goals and then hung up. The crowd (at least the Thornbury portion of it) booed and screamed at the ref as yet another Harlequin boot landed on the head of a prone Thornbury player. It mattered not as the final whistle went and Thornbury won the game comfortably.
The supporters Club went home via the ring road and got home in half the time it had taken to get there.
It was TGGW’s turn to drive. He picked up Ned and they drove up to Rog’s house to pick up Rog. Rog appeared dressed for Artic weather (it was approximately 11deg C, no sign of rain and quite a nice day). Rog dumped all his Artic clothing on the parcel shelf, completely obscuring TGGW’s view out the back, handed a great big black thing to Ned and told him to attach it to the front windscreen. There was a sucker thing on the big black thing that required the operation of a lever to activate the suction cap thing. Ned accomplished this task but now TGGW’s view out the front was nearly as restricted as that out the back. Rog instructed Ned on how to release the suction cap but Ned was unable to accomplish this task so Rog leaned over the front seat to help him. The car was by now chugging along the A38 and TGGW’s ability to change gear was severely compromised by Rog’s head which was wedged between the handbrake and gear stick. The big black thing was eventually re-positioned, Rog moved his Artic clothing a tad to allow TGGW at least some visibility out the back and all was sweetness and light. Rog then explained that the big black thing was a GPS sat nav device that would enable them to navigate to the pub that he had chosen for lunch. Ned asked Rog what the name of the pub was because he might know where it was thus negating the need for the sat nav thing. Rog refused to tell and instructed Ned on how he was to fix another piece of the sat nav onto the piece already stuck to the windscreen. Ned accomplished this task quite easily but Rog was not finished. Ned had to detach a stylus from the sat nav and use it to set the sat nav going by pointing at certain items on the sat nav touch screen. Ned could not find the stylus so Rog had, once again, to lean over the front seat and do his stuff. Fortunately they were stopped at traffic lights and changing gear was not a problem for the moment. The lights changed from red to orange to green. Ned did not realise this because he is colour blind. TGGW tried to drive the car in neutral, the car made a lot of noise but did not move. TGGW forced the gear lever into first and the car leaped forward. Ned jolted forward, Rog jolted upwards, banged his head on Ned’s knee and dropped the stylus on the floor. Everyone returned to their normal positions, Ned retrieved the stylus and followed Rog’s instructions about which bits of the screen to touch. The Sat Nav sprang into life with a loud beeping noise. Rog said that that meant there was a speed camera coming up … TGGW slowed down. The sat nav said that they had to turn left at the Almondsbury Interchange and go up the M4. But what the sat nav didn’t know was they had to first go and pick up Steve from Bradley Stoke. All the way to Steve’s the bloody sat nav kept telling TGGW to turn around. Rog said the sat nav would correct itself as soon as it realised they were going to pick up Steve. Hmm the sooner the bloody better, thought Ned and TGGW. Steve was picked up, the sat nav corrected itself and they were on their way.
Ned started to tell the story about the trouble at t’ skittle alley. He was continually interrupted by Steve (who was, apparently, part of said trouble). The story took quite some time to unravel and is summarised below ..
The opposition to Steve’s skittle team (Steve is the captain) had arrived with two people short. This, apparently, meant that they had no way of winning unless Steve’s team agreed to let them play two of their players twice. Steve had no doubts to his decision on this … he was going for the win … the opposition would NOT be allowed to play two men twice. Howard disagreed. It should be pointed out that Howard regularly talked to the opposition, clapped when they made a good shot and sometimes bought them a drink. This sort of behaviour in skittles was, before Howard came on the scene, unheard of and was frowned on by Howard’s team mates. A blazing row erupted. Steve swore at Howard in a loud voice. Howard surrendered. Steve had nine players at his disposal but only six were required for a team. The game has two rounds and Steve was allowed to use all his nine players over those rounds. So he picked two teams, one for each round. The first team would be the weakest team (for reasons not immediately clear) and included Howard and indeed Ned. The second team did not include Howard nor, indeed, Ned. Steve’s reasoning, he explained to the occupants of the car, was that the opposition included Pont who was very capable of getting up Howard’s nose and disrupting his game. Therefore Howard would only be allowed to play once. Steve himself would, of course play in both teams, partly becaue he could get up Ponts nose and put him off his game but mostly because he was the captain. Ned at this point interrupted to ask why he too had been excluded because he was the best player in the team and anyway it didn’t matter because they would win anyway because the opposition only had four men even if one of them was Pont who could get up Howard’s nose. Steve ignored Ned and continued his story .. after the game Howard approached Steve and asked, somewhat belligerently according to Steve, how he (Steve) knew who had played which game and who therefore had to pay their match fees twice rather than the people who had only played once and would, therefore, only have to pay one match fee. Steve said that he was the captain and told Howard to **** off. Howard took this the wrong way (according to Steve) and started swearing and shouting at Steve. Steve then admitted to Howard that he had a bit of paper on which he recorded which players had played in which round. Howard said he did not believe Steve. Steve stomped off to the far end of the skittle alley picked up his team sheet and shoved it into Howard’s face. Howard then, according to Steve, apologised. The car swerved and nearly hit a truck because TGGW had dozed off for an instant. Was this, wondered TGGW, what he really wanted to be doing on a Saturday afternoon. The swerving of the car woke up Rog who had dozed off completely.
By this time the sat bloody nav was going full blast. First they went to Hambrook, then Frenchay, then Downend … why were they not going on the ring road everyone asked … what was the matter with the sat bloody nav … the ring road was the easiest and quickest way to get to Harlequins … where was this bloody pub Rog? Rog refused to say but did point out that he used have a paper round in Downend which they were just passing through. TGGW was following the sat nav’s instructions and was getting truly pissed off with it. They were going round back streets, across treacherous junctions, through red lights … continually stopping and starting. TGGW’s mpg figure had gone down from 45.6 to 44.4 since they started the trip. They reached Hanham where Rog, informed the other occupants of the car, he had met Mary in a youth club many many years ago. The other occupants of the car stifled a collective groan as they had heard this story several times before (every time they played Barton Hill at Barton Hill in fact). The collective groan was clearly stifled a bit too much because Rog went on to the tell the story all over again. They reached Soundwell just as Rog finished his story but unfortunately Soundwell was where Rog had had his appendix removed and this prompted another story. Then they passed the place where the Clarkes pie shop used to be and all the occupants of the car (apart from the driver who was now seeing his mpg figure drop below 44mpg) joined in extolling the virtues of these sort of pies. Eventually they reached a place called Hanham and this was where the pub was, announced a jubilant Rog. He didn’t know exactly where it was because it had been twenty years since he last visited but not to worry the sat nav would take them to the door. The sat nav told them to turn down this very very narrow road. Then it told them to go down an even narrower farm track. TGGW protested that this could not possibly be right as the car would not fit down the road. Everyone else called TGGW a coward and urged him onward. TGGW prayed, with little hope, that this was a one way farm track. The high walls flanking the farm track were inches from the wing mirrors of TGGW’s car and the car was skidding about on the farm slime that coated the road. Then, Hallelujah, they came to the pub, the road opened out into a large car park and everything was hunky dory.
The occupants of the car climbed stiffly out of the car all complaining that it would have been quicker on the ring road. Rog was not sure the ring road was on his sat nav but Stev pointed out that he (Rog) had probably asked the sat nav for the shortest rather than the quickest route. Rog pondered this and muttered, in a barely hearable voice, something about this pub (called the Chequers) being a well known haunt of bikers. The Chequers was on the edge of a river in a very scenic location. In fact it was the prettiest location the Supporters Club had ever been to and in the summer would have been a very nice spot for an al fresco lunch. Today though was a Saturday in mid February and the Supporters Club would be eating inside. The pub smelt strongly of damp and decay and was occupied by bikers. Well they looked like bikers but there were no bikes in the car park so it was a bit of mystery. Also two of the bikers had Alsatian dogs with them and they couldn’t have brought them on a bike … could they? But bikers they definitely were … old bikers admittedly but bikers none the less. One bloke had a long grey goatee beard and a biker jacket. His hair was encased in a hair net and he had a pony tail. He wore the sort of sun glasses with mirrors on the outside of the lenses. The biker women had long blond hair that was straggly and greasy looking with split ends. Their faces were … lived in. None of this, of course, bothered the Supporters Club … so long as the beer was warm and the food eatable they would be satisfied … and they soon got used to the smell. TGGW ordered a cheese coated veggie and everyone else a chilli.
Whilst they were drinking their beer, which was warm enough, Ned told a story about how his sister-in-law had gone to some place to have her legs waxed and had seen this bloke in there having his back waxed !! Steve immediately recognised this procedure … it was called a ‘Back Sac & Crack’ waxing and only performed on males of the species. What this meant was that the waxing was performed on the back, the scrotum and the bum!!! How did Steve know all this weird stuff? T’ Internet was his reply. TGGW was amazed that anyone would voluntarily undergo such a process and in any case who ever heard of anyone having hairs on their BUM!!! The other members looked at TGGW a bit peculiar like … it transpired that they all had hairs on their bum and wanted to know how TGGW knew that he hadn’t. TGGW’s answer to this was ‘how did they know they had?’ No one seemed to know the answers to either of these questions but TGGW was absolutely sure that he didn’t and the rest of the Supporters Club was sure they did. No-one would admit to ever having actually looked (it would, after all, have necessitated the use of multiple mirrors and would have, quite correctly, have been viewed as abnormal behaviour bordering on the certifiable). The discussion on annal hair continued until the food arrived after which is was considered to be inappropriate. Steve, Rog and Ned got their chillis and TGGW got a chicken breast covered in cheese. It was now nearly time for kick off and there was not time to change the order so TGGW ate the dead bird … it was very nice. The chilli was very nice as well. So over all the pub scored quite a lot of positive points … it really just came down to the smell … and the bikers … and the Alsatian dogs. Whilst eating their meals Ned said that he had read a story in the Daily Mail about Muir Moffats Ballooning exploits in a foreign country with lots of snow … probably Switzerland. Rog had been on this trip with Muir and reported that the reporter who wrote the story was a complete pillock. TGGW read the story later and it was a very boring story. This showed that the reporter, despite being a pillock, was very skilled because it must be very difficult to write a boring story about ballooning in Switzerland with a mad Scotsman what flew a 150ft balloon in the shape of a Scottish Piper …
By the time the meal and the beer had been consumed the game at Harlequins had kicked off and no-one had any idea how to get to the ground. TGGW went and got an AtoZ from the car but, unfortunately, Hambrook was just outside the AtoZ boundaries. The Supporters Club set off with more hope than expectation … (expectation that they could make the ground before half time). The narrow farm track was negotiated ok in that nothing came down the lane from the opposite direction. They very soon drove over a bridge that crossed the ring road. This provoked a short lived burst of optimism because if they could get on to ring road they were home and dry. Should they turn left here, or right there … nobody knew. TGGW drove very slowly waiting instructions. Steve reckoned they could use the sat nav if they got a map up on the touch screen and then pinpointed their destination with the stylus. Rog leaned over from the back seat to attempt this procedure. TGGW was then (for the reasons explained earlier) stuck in the gear he was presently using … 1st. They came to a crossroads with a pub on the corner and Rog exclaimed Eurika!! He knew the pub, he knew exactly where they were …this was the pub where he had played darts in back in the days when … everyone told Rog that it would be more helpful if he concentrated on directions to the ground rather than indulge in his 50 year old reminiscences.
The ground was reached with 10 minutes left in the first half. TRFC 1st team had already suffered two head injuries due to Harlequins well know predilection for kicking players laying on the ground. Evan Hughes sported a bloody bandage around the top of his head and Karl Boucher was wearing a scrum cap thus making him unrecognisable because his bushy hairstyle was hidden. TRFC 1st team were, however, in the lead by 5 points. The game progressed, Thornbury scored some more tries but the set scrum was a mess with Stuart Massey spending most of his time frantically clearing ball from the feet of a fast retreating second row. Stuart Adams was busy sticking his hand up in the air and appealing to the ref whilst the Thornbury winger was equally busy waving his arms doing creditable impersonations of making a tackle. The news came through that some non league football team were leading the mighty Liverpool by 1 goal to 0 goals. Joe Boucher, stood on the touchline watching his sprog, decided to phone his mate who was a Liverpool supporter so that he could gloat a bit. Joe made the call and asked his mate what the score was because he was out in the sticks and had not heard any news yet. Joe’s mate apparently replied with the news that Yate were drawing 0 goals to 0 goals and then hung up. The crowd (at least the Thornbury portion of it) booed and screamed at the ref as yet another Harlequin boot landed on the head of a prone Thornbury player. It mattered not as the final whistle went and Thornbury won the game comfortably.
The supporters Club went home via the ring road and got home in half the time it had taken to get there.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
It occurred to me that the (I.D.C.) Incontinence Dining Club and the (C.R.A.F.T.)Club, Can't Remember A Fucking Thing (Club) maybe associated. I say maybe as I think I am a member of the latter. I know I am a member of the former. The reason I know I am a member of a the I.D.C. is because I am aware it is a dining club orientated around rugby games and also I wet myself a lot! I am also reminded of this by the likes of Gracey, Pinder and Lewis. All associates and fellow Incontinenters, a fine bunch of chaps only they can be a trifle smelly at times.
I think there is a waiting list for membership of this organisation, as this chap Boucher who I was talking to in the bar of a rugby club, said that he had the necessary qualifications to join, this was made obvious by his actions for after drinking a mouthful of beer he ran off to the toilet. He did this seven times during the period when he was prosecuting his case for membership. He has been placed top of the waiting list and presented with a catheter in club colours to indicate his status of Incontinent in Waiting, hopefully this period, for his sake, will be very brief!
I believe that these two organisations have figured more in my life recently. You will notice that a lot of statements in this article are preceded by or succeeded by phrases like; "I think","I assume" "I believe" "Possibly" "Maybe" and the like, for reasons that will become clear.
I think I am a member of the CRAFT club because I get a direct debit with those initials on it and I haven't the nerve to ask anybody if that's what it means. Also I assume I qualify as a member as I walk around with a bemused look on my face and say to everyone I meet "Good Morning". I do this because you never know one of these people could be my wife and its better to be safe than sorry!
One of the disturbing things about the CRAFT club is that I believe there is a President, a Chairman and a Treasurer but I cannot remember who they are. This is particularly worrying in the case of the Treasurer! For all I know this could be a worldwide organisation, god knows who could be members; Bush, O J Simson (Not guilty melud"), Blair (W of M D), Margaret Beckit (I am so beautiful) for Christ sake! and many more. I suppose if we could remember who we were we could have a reunion. The trouble is we all would be saying "Who are you?" on meeting then five minutes later after circulating meeting them again and saying "Have we met?" It could get a bit tedious. Also we would probably forget to turn up in the first place.
One of the things I am sure about is that in CRAFT there is a points system. I know this because a friend, Umm... whats his name? Moffat I think. Anyway this chap who also pays this same direct debit, said that he remembers a system where for a minor forgetfulness, like putting on your underpants the wrong way, you are awarded 3 points out of 10 but for a large forget like; Mother in Laws name, how many children you have, where you live, etc, you could earn up to 10 points! These points, so he says, have a value. However we are not sure how to realise the value of the accumulated points. We have tried exchanging them for air miles or Co-op dividend cheques but have been sternly rebuked. Somebody, I can't remember who, suggested they were redeemable at "Fatima Hassans Exotic Massage Parlour" Fishponds, I have yet to test this!
I have recently joined a bowling club, something that I looked forward to with trepidation as there would be a whole raft of new names to remember. But joy upon joy they are all members of CRAFT, they don't realise it of course but at a club melee or roll up they were all going round with that bemused half smile on their face of someone who wasn't sure if he/she should be here or in the post office queue. Also they way some of them stooped down to bowl I am sure they had their underpants on the wrong way round.
There must be some compensations in being a club member but I damned if I can remember what they are! so I will keep on paying the direct debit and next time I meet you I will say "Hello"..... again!
I think there is a waiting list for membership of this organisation, as this chap Boucher who I was talking to in the bar of a rugby club, said that he had the necessary qualifications to join, this was made obvious by his actions for after drinking a mouthful of beer he ran off to the toilet. He did this seven times during the period when he was prosecuting his case for membership. He has been placed top of the waiting list and presented with a catheter in club colours to indicate his status of Incontinent in Waiting, hopefully this period, for his sake, will be very brief!
I believe that these two organisations have figured more in my life recently. You will notice that a lot of statements in this article are preceded by or succeeded by phrases like; "I think","I assume" "I believe" "Possibly" "Maybe" and the like, for reasons that will become clear.
I think I am a member of the CRAFT club because I get a direct debit with those initials on it and I haven't the nerve to ask anybody if that's what it means. Also I assume I qualify as a member as I walk around with a bemused look on my face and say to everyone I meet "Good Morning". I do this because you never know one of these people could be my wife and its better to be safe than sorry!
One of the disturbing things about the CRAFT club is that I believe there is a President, a Chairman and a Treasurer but I cannot remember who they are. This is particularly worrying in the case of the Treasurer! For all I know this could be a worldwide organisation, god knows who could be members; Bush, O J Simson (Not guilty melud"), Blair (W of M D), Margaret Beckit (I am so beautiful) for Christ sake! and many more. I suppose if we could remember who we were we could have a reunion. The trouble is we all would be saying "Who are you?" on meeting then five minutes later after circulating meeting them again and saying "Have we met?" It could get a bit tedious. Also we would probably forget to turn up in the first place.
One of the things I am sure about is that in CRAFT there is a points system. I know this because a friend, Umm... whats his name? Moffat I think. Anyway this chap who also pays this same direct debit, said that he remembers a system where for a minor forgetfulness, like putting on your underpants the wrong way, you are awarded 3 points out of 10 but for a large forget like; Mother in Laws name, how many children you have, where you live, etc, you could earn up to 10 points! These points, so he says, have a value. However we are not sure how to realise the value of the accumulated points. We have tried exchanging them for air miles or Co-op dividend cheques but have been sternly rebuked. Somebody, I can't remember who, suggested they were redeemable at "Fatima Hassans Exotic Massage Parlour" Fishponds, I have yet to test this!
I have recently joined a bowling club, something that I looked forward to with trepidation as there would be a whole raft of new names to remember. But joy upon joy they are all members of CRAFT, they don't realise it of course but at a club melee or roll up they were all going round with that bemused half smile on their face of someone who wasn't sure if he/she should be here or in the post office queue. Also they way some of them stooped down to bowl I am sure they had their underpants on the wrong way round.
There must be some compensations in being a club member but I damned if I can remember what they are! so I will keep on paying the direct debit and next time I meet you I will say "Hello"..... again!
Monday, April 16, 2007
The I.D.C. do not have any laws, they have more codes of conduct, these COC's are not for the guidance of the ignorant or to be ignored by the intelligent but solid wisdom forged out of approximately 400 years of lifes experience. Ignore them at your peril.
The COC's are simple. They are...
Never pass a toilet.
Never trust a fart.
Never ignore an erection, even if you are on your own.
Follow these edicts and you will not go far wrong.
The COC's are simple. They are...
Never pass a toilet.
Never trust a fart.
Never ignore an erection, even if you are on your own.
Follow these edicts and you will not go far wrong.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I am what I am
That's what I'm for
You think its a shame
You wanted more.
]
"Yes I'm going to rugby, Yes its very, very, early to go to rugby, Yes I'm eating with that silly bunch of idiots, Yes, No, I wont get drunk, Yes I will remember my fibrillation, Yes I know your mothers coming tonight for a meal and Yes I wont be late! Bye!.
The Catering managers choice for the pre match lunch, prior to middle of the table clash with Chosen Hill, was The Air Balloon Inn. Set in the bosom of the Cotswold's, perfect surroundings, panoramic views, gourmet food, a setting fit for the discerning palates of the gentlemen of The Incontinence Dining Club.
Where did we eat? The Waggon & Bloody Horses, Gloucester. Totally against The Catering Managers superior judgement, advance planning, careful research and wealth of experience and solely based on a throwaway remark at a skittle match, all this was disregarded, tossed aside like a used Durex! "Rich Williams knows this smashing pub" Said, Navigation Officer Pinder backed up by Transport Manager Lewis. So that's where we went....
This place made The Bulldog seem like A Retirement Home for Genteel Ladies of Refinement. Slap bang in the middle of a Gloucester estate, huge red brick building of uninspiring architecture, circa 1950, designed by blind planners on a backhander from dodgy council members. High ceiling rooms all painted tobacco yellow and somewhere in the past somebody had a go at open planning, incomprehensibly knocking down walls but leaving doors in bits that remained standing! Christ!
We found a parking space next to a burnt out carcass of a BMW (You get a better class of car thief around here) and went into the pub ignoring the ominous pile of bricks next to our car. Ned cast a longing look at his wheels. We chose seats next to the door with our backs to the wall. On the next table were three young girls all of whom did not look over twelve. However they must have been of breeding age as the result of at least one ecstatic friction in the back of a Toyota was crawling around their feet. They were also doing their best to inhale as much Benson and Hedges gas before the June ban set in.
A gloom settled over the Catering Manager as he spotted the bright red plastic menus with "Kids eat Free" blazoned on the cover. A further perusal did not lift his spirits...Two for the price of one on an all day breakfast, two sausages, two mushrooms, two eggs, two pieces of bacon, two spoon fulls of baked beans, two pieces of fried bread, two tomatoes and a free heart valve with every meal! all for 6 pee or something like that.
Our Food critic, Mr Gracey, who does not eat anything that exhausts methane, chose some innocuous lentil dish ignoring remarks from the others "That they did not fight their way to the top of the food chain just to eat grass!" The rest opted for a cholesterol rush.
To complete the misery the boys got stuffed on the park.
Anyone with no catering experience whatsoever other than a passing acquaintance with Am Neg n Chips can apply for my job anytime they like.
That's what I'm for
You think its a shame
You wanted more.
]
"Yes I'm going to rugby, Yes its very, very, early to go to rugby, Yes I'm eating with that silly bunch of idiots, Yes, No, I wont get drunk, Yes I will remember my fibrillation, Yes I know your mothers coming tonight for a meal and Yes I wont be late! Bye!.
The Catering managers choice for the pre match lunch, prior to middle of the table clash with Chosen Hill, was The Air Balloon Inn. Set in the bosom of the Cotswold's, perfect surroundings, panoramic views, gourmet food, a setting fit for the discerning palates of the gentlemen of The Incontinence Dining Club.
Where did we eat? The Waggon & Bloody Horses, Gloucester. Totally against The Catering Managers superior judgement, advance planning, careful research and wealth of experience and solely based on a throwaway remark at a skittle match, all this was disregarded, tossed aside like a used Durex! "Rich Williams knows this smashing pub" Said, Navigation Officer Pinder backed up by Transport Manager Lewis. So that's where we went....
This place made The Bulldog seem like A Retirement Home for Genteel Ladies of Refinement. Slap bang in the middle of a Gloucester estate, huge red brick building of uninspiring architecture, circa 1950, designed by blind planners on a backhander from dodgy council members. High ceiling rooms all painted tobacco yellow and somewhere in the past somebody had a go at open planning, incomprehensibly knocking down walls but leaving doors in bits that remained standing! Christ!
We found a parking space next to a burnt out carcass of a BMW (You get a better class of car thief around here) and went into the pub ignoring the ominous pile of bricks next to our car. Ned cast a longing look at his wheels. We chose seats next to the door with our backs to the wall. On the next table were three young girls all of whom did not look over twelve. However they must have been of breeding age as the result of at least one ecstatic friction in the back of a Toyota was crawling around their feet. They were also doing their best to inhale as much Benson and Hedges gas before the June ban set in.
A gloom settled over the Catering Manager as he spotted the bright red plastic menus with "Kids eat Free" blazoned on the cover. A further perusal did not lift his spirits...Two for the price of one on an all day breakfast, two sausages, two mushrooms, two eggs, two pieces of bacon, two spoon fulls of baked beans, two pieces of fried bread, two tomatoes and a free heart valve with every meal! all for 6 pee or something like that.
Our Food critic, Mr Gracey, who does not eat anything that exhausts methane, chose some innocuous lentil dish ignoring remarks from the others "That they did not fight their way to the top of the food chain just to eat grass!" The rest opted for a cholesterol rush.
To complete the misery the boys got stuffed on the park.
Anyone with no catering experience whatsoever other than a passing acquaintance with Am Neg n Chips can apply for my job anytime they like.
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