Match Report
High as a kite
The previous evening’s cocktail of drink and drugs and a strenuous morning on the golf course did nothing to improve our appalling tour record, as we were well beaten by strong opposition. After studying his array of addicts, pushers, alcoholics and general neer do wells, Spud through double vision, wisely elected to field to enable some of his players to return from trips to the stars. With most of the side hallucinating however, Old B's soon found gaps in the field and despite reasonable bowling from the people that were still all there, started to amass an impressive total. As the innings progressed, so players began to drift back into consciousness. Jim took a fine catch at cloud point and Steve Whelan very nearly fielded theball. A final total of 168 was reached and quite frankly we didn’t stand an earthly. After a quick round with the needle and some spliffing up we set about an attack on the target .We scored at an incredible rate of about 5 an over, but that was all there was to say about it, as we only lasted sixteen overs. The jinx of Meyrick Park had struck again. No one seemed to give a toss, as we headed off to our night time recreation in Poole. With Nick' He's so cool it's unbelievable ' Manchip sadly absent, there was no rapid harbour crawl this year. Instead we were treated to the dulcet tones of Luciano Gibson's rendition of Nessun Dorma and there was no way anyone could sleep through that. That loud chap McMahon, despite the presence of his family was as raucous and abrasive as ever and only the calming influence of the skip prevented major conflict with a quayside Street Entertainer. After an obligatory game of 'strip the skip' we returned to the previous night’s haunt for a spot of sky-diving. A midnight rendering of Do the Hucklebuck was gratefully received by Limp Timms and the skip took a brutal beating from two of the tourists. The following morning we made grovelling apologies for our weekend behaviour and packed up our chickens and headed to Christchurch to view its fine cathedral. Fortunately it could be sighted from most of the eight hostelries that had the pleasure of our visitation that lunch-time. A quick game of upset everyone on a crazy golf course was followed by let’s take over a family beach with a fully-fledged game of murder ball five a-side. The result was never in doubt - mass bruising and chronic injuries and a score line that no one remembers. A sobering swim and the now famous debut of the Boscombe Pier Jumper rounded off a tremendous week-end.
Also present Chris Fat Wilsdon who was very fat all day Sunday and probably still is now.
