2007 match report (Friday)

In a London pub back in March, Steve had persuaded the southern based Goat Hurling contingent to commit to a full weekend at this Hook Norton beer festival.

On Friday morning, as I watched a monsoon over SW London and cars floating around under Kingston bridge, I desperately wanted to reconsider my pledge. Still, I am nothing if I am not a man of my word. After lunch. the sun came out and the rain stopped so I packed up and ignored The AA's sage advice 'Please, please do not even contemplate any journeys unless they are absolutely necessary'. Well this is the Hook Norton Festival of Fine Ales so yes it is absolutely necessary.

My journey was slightly shorter and less eventful than my unfortunate fellow hurlers. However, just as I was licking my lips in anticipation a mere 1.5 miles from Hook Norton, I encountered a ford in the road. I was about to slowly proceed until I realised this ford was actually about 5 foot high. So I diverted around Swerford and arrived at 18:30.

I extracted a thing called a tent from my boot. It had lots of plastic bags, green and orange material, loops, zips, ties, some extendable poles and rusty metal pegs. There was a fine drizzle as I attempted to 'get it up'. Seasoned caravanners (on the moral and literal high ground) took delight in my confusion and tardiness in completing this simple task.

The fine drizzle then turned to heavy rain which improved my mood considerably. I decided to secure a brilliant pitch at the foot of the hill with spectacular views of the mobile loos and pyramid tent.

Three hours later, the tent was finally up. Fortunately, I hadn't missed any ale as Steve and Pete were still en-route from Stockport and Reading respectively.

Rich and Leo simultaneously texted me for a weather update. I replied 'Fine drizzle. Not too bad. Definitely on'. As I walked down the hill, I noticed sandbags piled up outside the Pear Tree. I decided not to share that piece of information and enjoyed a celebratory Hook in the Pear Tree and onto Banbury to collect Steve and Pete.

Stupidly followed signs to Banbury BR station which deposited me in an industrial park 10 minutes from the railway station.

Surprised seven passengers by emerging from the rear entrance and bellowing 'Taxi for MORRELL. Taxi for PETER MORRELL !' Inevitably, Steve text'ed with yet another transport delay so we adjourned for a drink while we waited.

Finally, back to Hook and the Pear Tree to enjoy the different flavours of Hook. Oddly, resident Mild connoisseur extraordinaire, Peter, barely touched his Hooky Dark claiming it was weak, watery and horrible. Well - that's Mild for you.

Although the barmaid wasn't too impressed by Steve's journey from hell, ('8 hours from Manchester, you say - why that really is interesting. That'll be £6.90 please'), the tired and weary travellers got their reward with a welcome lock-in.

Sergeant-Major Priest then conducted a detailed worthiness check on my tent erection skills. He quickly found loops without pegs, loose flaps, a beautiful Roman archway that was completely wrong. He re-pegged a couple of guy ropes and realigned my diagonals before spotting a schoolboy error and a cardinal camping sin - the inner was touching the outer. He screamed 'It's leaking in this bottom right corner. Have you never put up a tent before, you 'orrible little man ?' He then mopped it up with my lovely clean, dry, pink bath towel and swapped places so he remained dry and I ran the risk of sleeping in the suspect corner.

As he possesses very short legs, Pete kindly offered to sleep in the glove-box to avoid getting mud on the car seats.