2002 match report

The day dawned sunny and bright. Arrived in Hook Norton a little late at 1.45pm. Parked up in the field by the cricket pitch. Fond memories of the footy 2 years ago. Ended up almost running down that hill arms outstretched. Was accosted by some idiot in a blue Beanie heat arms aloft, shouting 'Andy. Thank god you're here' ! Yes - Steve Priest was holding court, getting increasingly worried about the prospect of spending 36 hours alone under smelly canvas with just Pete and the Daily Telegraph for company.

Had some catching up to do so immediately purchased a Starter Pack comprising a fine, engraved 1 pint glass with 7 vouchers. Steve recommended sticking to low numbers (1-31) not because of the quality of the ale or shorter queue but because a slim redhead with a small but pert bust was serving on that side.

Steve and Pete had secured a fine vantage point just outside the Pear Tree (no parasol). Already made mates with a couple who had seen the Festival advertised in 'Sainsbury Magazine' that very morning in deepest Cheltenham. Not even bothering to return home to unpack their frozen goods, they drove like bloody maniacs over to Hook for the Ale Festival. Fellow Hurlers take note.

We were tantalisingly close to a Sharon Stone lookalike who was wearing a summery dress/skirt combination and was sitting on the grassy knoll and appeared to be trying to give us all a fine view of absolutely everything including her own 'grassy knoll'. However, the only blot on the triangular landscape was her nerdy boyfriend and/or friend who would insist on sitting/squatting/kneeling/lying just in the vital zone.

More excitement as Steve leapt up from his seat, knocking sections 1,3,5,9 and 23 of the Daily Telegraph to the deck exclaiming 'He's here. The Silver Fox is here' as Mr William Ingles bounded down the hill. There had been concerns that a Gliding Competition would mean the non-attendance of Bill.

However, a combination of low flying Nimbus, too much sun, not enough wind, cows on the runway, ice on the wings and Bill not being arsed meant the Gliding was off and Bill was here. The ultimate act of self-sacrifice for the GHS. If only others had shown a similar committment to the cause.

As always, tasters had to annotate the beer list after each ale with a full, comprehensive review such as 'Fruity/Browny/Strongy/Hoppy/Cloudy (unlucky Bill). Queues started to form. Queues for the beer tent. Queues for the toilets. Queues for the pub. Queues to look up Sharon's skirt. I kept wondering why Steve came back within 2 mins instead of my 30 with 'more beer'. The answer was he bypassed the queues, walked straight up to the readhead and ordered exactly what he wanted but normally had to settle for 'half of 69 please'. If challenged about queue jumping, he simply replied : 'Oh I'm awfully sorry. I thought that queue was for Pig Roast'

A real sense of Deja Vu and groundhog day descended. Same old Chip Van, same weather, same lack of totty on our table. Evening fell. The young 'uns went to get the fish & chips in (immediately behind the redhead in the queue oddly enough) while the old men (Pete, Ingles) went for a quick nap and to don their warm, winter fleeces as it was getting a little colder. Even Sharon pulled on a pair of knickers, stockings and suspenders.

Adjourned to the pub. Installed ourselves in corner. A couple of fruity screamers from Pete cleared the vicinity. Joined by the Morris Men troop for some community singing where we joined in the choruses with a few 'HEY!'s.

A lady called Mary joined us and chatted for a six hours without interruption. Strangely reminscient of Grandma Buggins from the Pie Shop in BlackAdder with massive heaving breasts. Asked her about in-breeding to try to get rid of her but apparently it does happen but mainly around the council estates. 3 years ago at The Festival, an in-bred went beserk with a machete and chopped someone's ear off. Two years ago, a set of 6 pissheads were abducted, held against their willies and subjected to no sickening, sexual acts of depravity at all (even though they asked nicely) after the Festival closed and detained for 3 hours, drinking Ouzo in a Parrott sanctuary. God - that lady had some tall stories.

Even though only 4 hurlers in attendance, still managed to drink the pub dry. Ended up drinking bloody Mild (just a half for Peds, please). The only sadness was the lack of footy and any human pyramids at all.

Next GHS event : Fresher's Week, Warwick University, October. 'Ah Ben, I remember when yer Dad and me.....'

Next years Hook festival will be the GHS Bicentennial Event. Action on Pete to design and print T-shirts (4 should be enough) although hopefully with 363 days notice, more than four Hurlers will be in attendance.

Present: Pete, Steve, Bill, Andy

Apologies received : Bob H.

No apologies and a stony silence : Mez (Wedding), Leo (under 10 cricket) Eyles, Rich (Wallplanner) Gibson, Mike (Caravan Club outing) Keenan, Steve (surprise, surprise) Bland, Thompson (photo shoot, too far), Tim (puncture while cycling from Doncaster to Hook) Anson