Choice Cuts 18

Following the success of the recent unforgettable luxury cruise on the Thames (an excellent Dinner and Dance if you like chips and dancing in a phone box), Roscoe has at last realised his greatest ambition, namely a major tour of the home of rugby - Bournemouth. Bearing in mind that T.R. arranged the whole expedition without the aid of the ubiquitous "Hammy" Pullin, it is easy to see why his present employers wanted his organisational abilities so badly. Enough of this chit-chat, on with the tour....

An early morning start was made on Good (sic) Friday and all arrived safely at Bournemouth except Nick Allen, who thought we were touring Southampton, funnily enough, Roscoe was in the same car, and the M. McClelland gang who managed to join us in the evening. Unfortunately we reached our destination fifteen minutes before opening time and so we passed the minutes until said hour watching our host taking down pictures, securing the dried biscuit machine (snacks available 24 hours), nailing down furniture, checking the insurance and stopping his waitress (I've seen more fat on a chip) showing us her own personal touch.

Needless to say the lunchtime session was heavy, so heavy in fact that T. McLaughlin (the only player in the U.K. to flap at a line-out) offered to buy a round. It was no coincidence someone said cynically, that we still had fifteen pounds left in the whip!

Nobody can remember much about the rest of the day, for obvious reasons, so I shan't dwell on it except to say that Stockwell and "10p" (I don't understand the rules) Pendred picked up two lovely girls who drove them to a wine bar ten miles away and left them there (nice one!). Stockwell said later that she had her eye on him all night (Silly D. Bankseque joke - Girl rumoured to have glass eye - Asst. Ed.)

Meanwhile back at the Hotel, the lads were having kittens worrying about Red Rover Morrison.

After a quiet morning, (Saturday) saw fifteen fit and keen athletes turn out to play Old What'stheirnameagains. Unfortunately the fierce heat precipitated some bad injuries and five players left the field 'out of order':

Roscoe Hamstring 3 mins
Allen Hamstrung 34 mins
Barker Ham Fisted 47 mins
Johnston Hamaching 79 mins
Harvey Ham and tomato sandwich (Developed overnight caught in throat).

We lost and made for the bar.

In the evening we all got togged up (Barker changed his training shoes) and 'did the clubs'. Did quite a few actually, but didn't get into any. Many thanks to Kim 'I've been here before' Peirson. Thanks also to Seamus who chose that night to turn round to have a chat with me in the Gents. I realise now that I shouldn't have taken his mind off the task in hand. Luckily I was wearing T.R.'s trousers. Anyway everyone spent a very enjoyable evening which ended jovially in the luxurious sitting room of the hotel with a subtle rearrangement of the carpet tiles. It also ended with someone (wishes to remain anonymous but he'd been to Bournemouth before) thinking he could smell a fire, and in his panic, setting off an extinguisher all over the M.D. of R.E.E. Ltd. He made a mistake, there was no fire after all.

Sunday was, perhaps, the most successful day of the weekend. After a good hearty english breakfast (You would have enjoyed it Alan) it was down to the crazy golf for the second day of the Bournemouth open. This was notable for Tim Stephens having to ask for a junior putter and getting one, Tom Barker losing his rag on the Tricky Dog Leg 10th (Par 3) and Foley who hadn't got the strength to get round at all. Also interesting in retrospect (looking back - Ed) is the fact that this challenging course just proved that Chris Simmons may be 0.K. round mickey mouse Moor Park, but he can't handle a real man's game!

After losing so many players on Saturday, our team for Sunday was seriously depleted. Jes Harvey's Ham and Tomato sandwich had now spread to his calf muscle and the other injured had not recovered either. This problem led to two unfortunate consequences. Firstly we had to borrow three players from Bournemouth R.F.C., secondly (and perhaps more demoralising) we had to ask Pooley (Don't forget your 35 pences) to be captain. For those who don't know, we were down to play a "Festival" side made up of all the best youngsters (Ho! Ho! some of them must have been as old as Tom McLaughlin) of all the clubs present over the three days. 'A daunting task' I hear you say. You're right, but in keeping with S.N.O.B. tradition we raised our game (T. Stephens using a biscuit tin to raise his) and wopped them 13-3. I have to say that we played with great style and panache in heat that was unbearable.

Needless to say, we all got plastered immediately after the game, not least Tommy Roscoe and Nick Allen who had been drinking all day to ease the pain of not being able to play. Nick endeared us all to the female police on hand when one of them chastised C. Simmons for breaking a glass. Immediately summing up the situation and realising that tension had to be eased Nick shouted 'Book him Danno'.

From this point on, behaviour deteriorated drastically, Tim Stephens and yours truly both attempted Cardinals and both of us ended up speaking into the big white telephone in the clubhouse. Nicky by now was completely out of his tree and began running around threatening all with police no-parking cones.

The most distressing part about the whole episode was that it was still only 7.00pm and now we all had to go down to the pub for a song and a few beers. Dunno deserves a mention here for his superb work in keeping the drinks coming. Also worth commenting on, the filling of Tommy's left boot with beer and the horrific smell coming from Seamus. This was most mysterious until one noticed the large quantity of vindaloo spread across the front of Stockwell's 'Huggers'. The evening ended with the landlord ripping off Dunno very nicely for some take away lagers (B.D. actually thought he was getting a bargain) and Foley practising his origami on the remaining pictures in the hotel.

That's about it really. Monday morning was spent leisurely after yet another nice breakfast (You really would have loved them Morry) and then it was the journey home. (After a couple of lunchtime pints of course). One of the highlights of a slow journey home in an enormouse solid traffice jam, was the sight of Seamus having got out at a Gents, as we crawled past, having to sprint two miles to catch up with us again.

All that remains is to thank Tommy Roscoe for all his efforts in getting the whole thing off the ground in the first place and to print the list of official tour awards.

TOUR AWARDS 1979

NAMES TITLE PRIZE

Clyde Pooley Most Married Man Handcuffs
Kim Peirson Economy Class Award Purse
Tim Stevens Most Homesick Award A framed photo of Mum and Dad
Dave Banks Most Sick Award A blue plastic basin and a pair of marigolds
Alan Morrison Most Home Award Red Rover Bus Ticket
Nick Allen Best Girl-Repellent Award Roget's Thesaurus and Gold Spot
Shay Foley/Pete Stockwell Vile Habits Award A sizeable stretch in Broadmoor