2007 match report (Saturday)

Saturday morning at Hook Norton prior to the festival was a new experience for me. Steve and Peter walked purposefully to the village shop where the kindly shop owner was helping an elderly lady find the right change and placing her shopping into a bag for the tottering journey home. Well he was until he exploded...

'Here - put that flaming butter back. You haven't paid for that. Jesus. What the hell do you think you're doing ?'

The walk back to the campsite took 35 minutes as we had to say 'Morning' to every single person we met and helped to break up a vicious dog-fight.

We broke our journey at the lovely 16th century church who were holding the regular Saturday coffee morning. Not very laddish behaviour but when you're camping and the two portaloo vans haven't arrived yet, the chance of hot coffee, biscuits and a spotless toilet are all very welcome.

The kindness and generosity of the locals never ceases to amaze at Hook. Within minutes, we were brought proper filter coffee ('just tell me if it's too strong') and shortbread with a hint of cinnamon. Steve made a real mess trying to surreptitiously consume a croissant and simultaneously conceal the Sport 'newspaper'.

We met Paula, a lovely lady who actually owns the Hook Norton brewery, who offered us all manner of hospitality at her house (shower, bath, massage, backrub) but best of all, the location of her most coveted asset - an outside lavatory with peach Andrex toilet paper and privacy.

We also met four visitors who were staying in The Sun because they didn't want to catch pneumonia by camping on the flood plain. Inevitably, one middle aged lady immediately made a play for me. Not even 11 o'clock and the first proposition is marked up on the blackboard.

She opened with the highly unimaginative and original line: 'Don't I know you from somewhere ?' After foolishly divulging my home town, employer and Facebook username, she gave up. Finally, in a flash of inspiration, I said 'Do you ever watch Pop Idol ?'

After we heard the parish of Hook was home to 25 widows (and only two men died of natural causes), we rapidly used the facilities (Pete wasn't quite so rapid taking a full 27 minutes) and made our excuses, together with a contribution into the symbolic red teapot.

Pete and Steve then gave an exemplary lesson in speedy and sturdy tent erection and we were ready for action at 11:55. Purchased tokens, beer list, pint glass and pencil and started drinking.

Went to secure 3 benches (with umbrella) to accommodate all the hordes who cried off last night but were definitely, definitely coming today. Watched a gazebo spontaneously rise and walk over from the camp site which was pretty spooky.

Rain started. Chatted to old friends - Cowboy in big jeans, Mym and a Slovakian gymnast who was keen to top the pyramid.

Rich arrived to cheers from the masses. Steve discovered Jude had sent him a text. It was all coming together nicely. Rain forced us into the music tent where we listened to a teenage band who weren't too bad until they launched into covers of Rock Anthems.

A Welsh man (Dyfed Jones, boyo) played a set in a band, acted as compere, played an acoustic set, served at the Pear Tree, cleaned the toilets, did some stand-up comedy and finally headlined.

Football was calling. Pete was sent outside for a pitch inspection. His verdict was 'soft underfoot, playable but will need a 3 inch stud'. Our verdict was 'No'.

Unfortunately, the formation of a pyramid was also cancelled due to the inclement weather conditions (much to the Serb gymnasts' disappointment). Neither was the Hog Roast present this year so the BBQ stall and the Chipper Van saw brisk trade.

Best beer of the festival was undoubtedly Robinson's Dizzy Blonde. Fans Forum was held at the correct time (14:00) but was bitterly disappointing, missing two much needed panelists and the chaps from Burton.

A band played some jingly-jangly Irish music. Their only novelty was a heavily tatooed Hell's Angel. Their music was tedious in the extreme. The lead singer insisted on a lengthy and pointless 'Hey what shall we play next ?' ritual which he thought was amusing. Pointless because they simply played the same song again. It was so bad I stood outside in the rain and did RiverDance impressions.

Suddenly, God in the form of Dyfed interjected 'Two songs left, lads' and we all applauded. The singer responded 'Aye OK but one is a 12 minute epic'. If I'd had any beer left, I would have chucked it at them. In a moment of madness, Pete purchased a CD for £10 (1 track repeated 12 times).

More beer. More rain. Squelchy queues. Jude, the glamorous deputy head teacher, now blessed with a black eye, pointed out a lad in a brown pinstripe jacket and a tribly. She said 'That guy's a real nutter. Stay away from him. He is banned from all football grounds and has an exclusion order banning him from travelling whenever England play.' I thought he was an idiot who liked Babyshambles and walked around telling everyone: 'I am the only Babyshambles fan in the village'.

More vouchers. Morris dancing. More beer. A glimpse of sunlight. More music.

Adjourn to The Bell for Aunt Sally. We had the misfortune to happen upon two members of the the Cotswold Division 2 Champions (2005) who thrashed us 6-1 (well done, Pete). Some boring opponent claimed we had wagered a pint per point so we made a quick exit and left Steve to argue. Rich denied all requests to visit The Sun (for food) as part of the traditional crawl and the only sustenance available now was 'more beer'.

Evening (and more rain) fell. The headline band, the compere's urgings and 168 gallons of real ale got everyone up and jumping around in the mosh pit. 'Will I stay or will I go' resulted in a pint of beer being thrown over my head. Hmm. Druid's Fluid - No 81. Quite strong.

As I stood back trying to identify the culprit, 'I Predict A Riot' became a self-fulfilling prophecy as I witnessed Mr Babyshambles launch a vicious and unprovoked attack by head-butting a random bloke. Maybe Jude was right, after all. Two security men moved in, looking menacing but doing nothing.

Adjourned to Pear Tree. Last orders called very promptly (11:30) much to general disappointment and rioting.

Rich went to the car park to fetch his Thomas The Tank Engine pyjamas and, frustrated at the early close, lack of footy or human pyramids, decided to embark on his very own moonlit 'Horse of The Year Show'. He was unable to undo the catch on the gate to the campsite (hint: there was no moon) so he attempted to hurdle it and ended up flat on his face, covered in mud.

An excellent festival and plenty of laughs, despite the weather and low turnout.

Present: Andy C, Pete, Steve, Rich, Inglis (Saturday twilight zone only).
Apologies: Leo/Darce ('please excuse me from gym, I've a terrible cold coming on'), Wheeldon
Status unknown; Anson, Mez, Ben, Con, Mullins, Thompson