2006 match report

The day dawned sunny and bright and I packed all my gear (sleeping bag, two T-shirts) into the car and set off for Hook Norton.

My hefty sleeping bag completely filled the boot leaving no room for my 20 quid tent that I bought specially for this years festival to avoid having to put upon Rich and Darce. This particular sleeping bag was rated at 27.5 togs and the label said 'As used by the Norwegian military in the Arctic'. Pity the weather was a sweltering 34'C but still. At least I wouldn't be cold.

As I rolled down the familar hill at 12.18 precisely, I saw a familiar figure in the same pale blue shirt wearing the same, battered, tired old beanie hat. Two other regular attendees, proud father (Pedz) and son (Ben) were also present on the same, familiar bench in front of the Pear Tree.

I bought my festival pint glass, beer tokens and sat down to savour my first pint. Rich and Darce turned up. 58 minutes later after erecting their tent and having a quick nap, the two boys from Laandaan finally deigned to join us.

Then a strange thing happened, the skies went a funny grey colour and spots of wet stuff fell from the sky. This has never been known to happen before in 7, 8 or is it 9 years at Hook. Our glorious leader, Steve, insisted that we all simply stay put and sit it out. He had seen a TV program 'When twisters go bad', where a family were literally on the edge of a weather system and finished their picnic amidst surrounding chaos and destruction.

After 40 minutes, with our clothes dripping, sitting in total isolation in a raging torrent flowing down the hill, we thought Steve might just be wrong on this occasion and adjourned to the beer tents. Although, initially disppointed, this change of scene had some advantages. We were stood a mere three feet from the barrels. No more time wasted standing in queues.

Also, we were able to make some new friends. Steve had already been accosted by Mym, the GHS stalker and newly appointed official photographer for the weekend. Mym was camping it up (literally) and recognized Steve from his massive tool - sorry - crumpled beanie hat that morning and striking good looks.

Rich discussed his favourite real ales with this gentleman and the pace of drinking accelerated considerably while Steve broke with GHS tradition and got chatting to a female. Worse, it was a young, pretty lady.

This exciting development was brought to our attention when a breathless Pedz scuttled up the back passage, lifted the tent flaps up and breathlessly exclaimed 'Lads - come on. Quick. Steve is chatting to a GIRL !'. We all said 'Yeah, yeah, of course he is, Pete' and we all proferred another couple of tokens across the table for another lovely pint.

Anyway, when Ben arrived minutes later and breathlessly screamed 'Quick - lads. Come to the chess board. Priest is talking to TWO girls', we all deposited our pints with Rich's mate and sprinted across the muddy grass to the checkers board.

Sure enough, Steve was holding court with a teacher - sorry deputy head - and a lady from Wales. We all crammed onto a single black square, muscling old ladies and Morris dancers with broken sticks out of the way.

With pleasant female company, the afternoon simply flew by. Business cards were exchanged. Eventually Steve's companion said 'Look - it's stopped raining now and everyone's outside. Do you really have to stand so close to me ?'

With the improved weather, the deferred football fixture took place. The Hurlers took on a young, understrength Hook team with bare chests, no talent and no manners. Andy C scored the goal of the season with a delicious chip from the half-way line and celebrated with more running than he has produced in the last two festivals. Darcy won the coveted 'Most Improved Player' award.

And so to The Bell. Unfortunately, this venue has fallen into disrepair and needs some tender, loving care. Worse, the Sally was missing so a can of Stella was used instead. Someone won and one missile struck the top of the metal barrier and nearly ended up back in the lounge bar.

Steve then played some audio snips from his phone including 'Hells Angels from Hell' who interrupted his sleep the previous night and a rendition of 'Working on the Railroad' from the sadly, absent, Mr. Michael Wheeldon from last years festival.

Back to the Pear Tree for the formation of human pyramids. Firstly, a small 3-2-1 by the burger stall to get those old muscles loosened up and to check the viability of Steve's dodgy knee.

Then, to the grassy knoll, for a hugely impressive 4-3-2-1. Inevitably, Steve cajoled a young lady to form the top row. She was very enthusiastic 'Ooh. I love to go on top. Please let me. Please let me. I am really good on top.'

Then some more enthusiastic, drunken, local teenagers joined the party and we repeatedly attempted a 5-4-3-2-1 pyramid. This has only been completed once before (Warwick Graduation 1984). Unfortunately, novices tend to put their knees on backs insread of shoulders and several attempts failed in crumpled heaps much to the amusement and raucous applause of the assembled masses. Why - we even got a bigger round applause than the Morris Dancers and the Shire Horse defacating on the road put together.

Back to the beer tent to clean up the 'session' ales and into the Pear Tree for a proper glass. Another break with tradition - we actually watched some of the bands. Some big names were playing this year due to the cancellation of Glastonbury - Muse played a really good set as did 'Blues Out Loud' with three superb musicians and a guitarist to rival Hendrix but who wore glasses and looked like a Linux geek.

And back to the pub for the traditional sing-song. Lead singer, Steve Priest, was mysteriously missing in action in the disco tent and desperate messages arrived begging us to rescue him from the clutches of the teacher - sorry deputy head - but we ignored him.

As a consequence of steady drinking all day, we all seemed in good form apart from Rich ('not tonight Darce I have a headache') so we tried and failed to get more beer to take away ('Off Sales ? Sure - Coke or Lemonade'). Andy even ran all the way to The Bell carrying his 4 kilo sleeping bag but also came back empty handed.

On his return, Andy was staggered to learn that finally the Hurlers had been afforded a rare privilege - a lock-in in the lower beer tent. And what's more, in recognition of all our visits to the festival, our pyramids and contribution to the economy of Hook over the years, it was free. Well, it was free for us once Pedz had stumped up 10 quid.

A perfect night was then spoiled by some irritating young, spiky haired Charlton supporter who oscillated wildy between hugging us and looking to fight us.

The walk back to the tent saw us dodging locals fighting on the street. Curiously, it was the young lady who had straddled Pete earlier on the pyramid. Apparently, her fiance was annoyed that she had only 'gone upstairs' with another bloke to 'have some fun' and he was politely enquiring 'why the f**k did he have his top off then ?' I noticed Pedz hurriedly putting his T-shirt back on, a false beard and hiding behind a large tree.

Another fantasic new innovation for this years festival occurred on Sunday morning when Rich who was bright and breezy while we all had the headaches. Rich (Ray Mears' bushcraft) Gibson surmounted massive logistical difficulties to finally ignite his billy stove and rustled up bacon sandwiches all round.

All in all, a fantastic and enjoyable festival depite the low attendance (quality not quantity) and the weather.

Ben's already submitted his excuse for next year. He is also going to live 12,000 miles away.

StopPress: Official GHS photographer Mym has been sacked. His total output from the weekend is a photo of a fat pig here but he failed to capture any human pyramids or Jude.