Choice Cuts 20

Easter Tour Report (Rugby). Newsletter No. 85, Jan-May 1981

This year the Rugby Club wives (many of whom were last year's girl friends) were much happier with the tour venue. The sights of Paris in spring could only bring joy to any culture lover's heat unlike Amsterdam's coloured bulb district!

A somewhat motley bunch assembled at 5.45 am on Good Friday and after much to-ing and fro-ing set off, picking up Steve Jones, Tom 'What's a passport' McLaughlin and Fred 'Cliff Baby' Fomm en route. Once again Martin Nichols who is reputed not to have slept in 19 years, snored from start to finish of the tour, taking the odd break to swill down some more booze.

Dover was reached and the ferry boarded by all including Mr. McLaughlin, now the proud owner of a 60 hours identity card - typical Paddy we were to be away for 72! With the boat under way (it was a vast improvement on last year thanks Tom) the rough necks were soon assembled around the bar knocking back Skol Specials quicker than Pete Stockwell hoes into steak and kidney pies ... and so to sunny Boulogne.

As usual several people were in for a rough time, Eh Stu? Poor old Telfer was given stick from the first mouthful of duty free Scotch until he brought most of it back up all over himself, a couple of bags and his seat .... they always said you shouldn't drink and drive (in this case people round the pole). Johnny Allen however was a less likely victim. The party soon found his weakness, 'Poundstretcher' was safe, Mega 'Francstretcher' was here (Diamond!)

It was nice to see those debonair brothers the Suzukis, Sozełoski, Sokofski, Andy and Richard enjoying themselves on their first tour and playing such good rugby, albeit in Andy's case for about 10 minutes on with the journey the coach arrived at a wayside inn (parlez-vous) around midday whereupon the locals were engulfed with a horde of semi-drunk pidgin French speaking idiots demanding ham and French bread, beer and ricard (?). We eventually left even more drunk but with French accents actually improving.

Dave, the coach driver, made good time to Paris and at the hotel we were met by our guide, Mick Owen. Once we'd all found our rooms or cupboards in some cases Mick marched us off to Pigalle Station where we piled into the metro which took us to a nice little restaurant he knew. Inspite of having about 100 tables there were no seats to be had. Some of the lads, disappointed, sloped off for MacDonalds and chips - silly boys! The brave table hustlers who stayed, enjoyed the reasonably priced good food and wine.

Thinking about the game next day everyone got quite drunk except for Chris Gislingham who was doing his Martin Nichols impression. and Alan 'Horizontal' Morrison who was so paralytic that even 'Hamstring' Roscoe couldn't stand it.

However on to the game. With Alan hooking and feeling like death warmed up along with one or two others, the party were somewhat surprised to learn that they were in fact to play two full games that afternoon Tom 'Psycho' Barker immediately developed athlete's foot, Al Bishop left his kit on the bus, Stu Telfer was ignored and Jess. 'Oh do stop taking the p-ss' Harvey said he was suffering from schizophrenia.

Anyway on a beautiful afternoon, the Saints played some of the most attractive rugby the two French sides had ever seen. There was an abundance of tries in both games with even Pete 'Smelly' Stockwell scoring. Possibly the man of both matches was 'Psycho' Barker who seemed to leave a trail of destruction every time he got the ball. Without doubt, however, the try of the tour was a splendid half the pitch run by 'Francstretcher' Allen. It was sheer delight to see his skinny little legs (in comparison with his vast beer gut) going hell for leather knocking meagre froggies out of the way to score under the posts. Byron Mason led the side (in the absence of Dave Banks and myself) to two great victories.

The evening that followed was one of wine, women, food, song and general all round revelling. Al Bishop very kindly donated one his subtle presents to the French team captain and Stu 'Bluebottle' Telfer donated his t-shirt, albeit under some duress. Stu carried his warrant card with him in case Inspector Clousseau should need a hand. Anyway he got caught by a 74-10-4 rubber duck (fuzz lingo for someone nicked it) only to be 86-9-23'd later (returned). Paris also revealed what Jimmy Huddleston looks like after mega bottles of wine not a pretty sight.

Having prepared so thoroughly on large glasses of wine for Sunday's game against Paris University Club (Puc -pronounced Puke, Eh, Alan?) the side was gutted when they never showed. The only answer was for another alcoholic tour of the city. As evening fell a small group who had been drinking solidly for five hours became singing stars in the Restaurant Cathèrene with their repertoire of rugby songs. They were showered with gifts, coins, the odd bottle, glasses and rocks even the local cats wailing on the roof tops could only listen in awe. Al Bishop was even given two diabolical paintings (he told everyone he'd paid for them).

Even the most timid of tourists went garrity that night, sucking in the culture, the French bread and booze. There were a few however who took in too much culture and regretted it the next morning. The journey home was virtually uneventful although we learned that the Szelewski's couldn't play 'Buzz' (or even count!) Pete Stockwell couldn't drink Scotch and Jez Harvey couldn't stay sober.

This tour report has been written without prejudice, malice of forethought and with little comprehension of the English language (I'd second that and add the French language Ed). If there are any complaints, libel actions, or contracts being drawn up, please blame Dave Banks.

Chris 'Poundstretcher' Simmons