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

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.

journey from hell

Anyone offering any excuses for non attendance would do well to read this epic.

Friday 20 July

14:02 Steve - Just seen Norman Whiteside on Alty station. Must be some sort of omen for the weekend.

15:55 Andy - Superb!

16:12 Steve - What the fact that I might get as far as Lem if I'm lucky or Norman ? Are you on your way yet ?

16:19 Pete - Travel is proving a little vexing. Give me a call when you get to Banbury !

17:17 Steve - Where are you ? I may have to go to a hotel at International. What larks. Has it been raining down here or something ?

17:18 Andy - Nr Oxford.

17:19 Steve - Doing well then. Keep going to Birmingham and you can pick me up.

17:26 Pete - Are you on route ?

17:33 Steve - Going home. Sorry guys. See what's what tomorrow. Looks like it's going to be next year now.

17:37 Pete - Train to Oxford. Where are you ?

17:39 Andy - Get a bus.

17:46 Steve - Yeah right you ought to see it here. It's like World War 3. People walking around like zombies.

17:47 Andy - 4 a drop of rain or has a bomb gone off ?

17:49 Steve - I think it's the former but it feels like the latter

17:51 Steve - Change of plan. Looking for a bus...

17:54 Andy - Effort !

18:02 Pete - Just thought. Are you near Oxford ? As I am not sure I can get from there yet ?

18:15 Andy - No. Well past Ox.

18:26 Pete - I am on train to Ox! Hurrah.

18:28 Andy - Roads flooded at Hook. Boo.

19:31 Steve - On a train to Brum Int. Hope to get one from there to Lem and then on to Ban. Keep the faith and save me a pitch.

20:00 Pete - The lure of Hooky Best is working its charms. I am on a train to Ban. Maybe 10-15 mins. See you there.

20:01 Andy - I am supping Hooky. Tent is up (sort of). What's ur status ?

20:06 Steve - At Moor St. There is a rumour that a London train is coming, I have been here before mind. Could be there by 21:30.

20:15 Andy - Keep the faith !

20:25 Pete - Arrived at station entrance !

20:26 Steve - I'm in the vault. Next stop Banbury. Well Solihull but you know what I mean.

Sunday 23 July

10:37 Steve - The nightmare continues.

2007 Agenda

Friday night

17:28 - Erect tents.
17:30 - BBQ - no-one has brought burgers or rolls, just lard.
18:01 - Beer in Pear Tree
19:28 - Aunt Sally tournament @ The Bell
21:21 - Food somewhere

Saturday

12 noon - Festival opens - beer
13:00 - Londoners arrive
13:15 - Brighton contingent arrive
14:29 - Londoners finally 'get it up' (the tent)
13:00 - Football fans forums (West Ham, Man Yoo, Citeh, Seagulls in heated discussion)
14:00 - Comedy half-hour - Sven Goran Eriksson and Manchester City
14:30 - Torrential downpour. Adjourn to play chess.
15:00 - Rain relents. Adjourn to park for real-life football
16:12 - Twilight zone - Queues build for Roddy Doyle's (Fish&Chip) Van
17:09 - Some barrels start to run dry
19:45 - Pear Tree for community singing
23:27 - Police encourage locals to go home and stop fighting

Sunday

08:26 - Full English Breakfast is served. Unfortunately, no-one brought bacon, eggs, mushroom, sausages or ketchup (just lard)

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.

2005 match report

[ We had lengthy tedious discussions about the chronology of the GHS/HK festivals - what year was the parrot sanctuary, what year did Cowling buy a round, what year was lard so I thought a write-up was required ]

Stung by Steve Priest's harsh criticism in previous years and mindful of the fact that it takes a little longer to get to Hook Norton than you might think, I set my alarm clock for 05.30 prompt on Saturday morning.

The weather was cloudy as I drove up the M40 and I was a little concerned that I omitted to pack my winter style fleece, thermals and a 15.5 tog Arctic-Meister sleeping bag. However my worries proved to be unfounded as I travelled through the winding, country lanes up over the oh so familiar hill and as I entered Hook Norton, the blazing sun broke through.

11.30 on Saturday morning represented my earliest ever start to the Festival of Fine Ales so I was relieved to see Steve had completed his morning ablutions. Apparently, he was queuing up and knocking on the Portaloo doors from about 07.00am. The festival wasn't even open yet so I had a quick Hooky from the Pear Tree. Surprisingly Pete declined my first and last kind offer of a drink. Maybe he was feeling a little delicate having supped 3 pints of shandy in the Pear Tree the night before.

The Festival opened and as the queues were tolerable, got a few different halves of different ales in. Tip - sometimes you get a generous half in a pint glass.

News of Rich Gibson's arrival reached me on the grapevine so pretended I was fully occupied in the Hog Roast/Toilet/Ale queue to avoid being roped in to help him 'get it up' over in the camping field.

Darcy arrived from Laandaan. While he had remembered to pack the tent that was no longer required and a warm sweater and fleece, he had forgotten the sleeping bag that was so had to divert via Black's in Banbury to buy another one. Obviously, he was not feeling that confident of pulling a buxom young, country lass with rosy cheeks with
a warm, inviting bed to share. Darcy had made yet another far more serious oversight. He was supposed to give Mark Harden a lift from Stratford tube station but forgotten. Oh well. Maybe next year.

Unfortunately, Peter Mullins joined the long list of no-shows. He came over to Melton Mowbray two weeks previously to visit his mum and avoid the festivities at Hook Norton.

Richard Gibson was sporting a lovely goatee, silver beard which looked very stupid - sorry - distinguished.

The 52 bus rolled into Hook Norton and deposited Michael Wheeldon into our midst.

Some ale was supped. Pete got some mild and claimed it was a mishtake - honest. More ale was supped. A innovative new stall appeared at the festival this year - Chutneys, jams and marmalades which was absolutely fantastic. God - those lightweights will be even more sick they missed the festival.

The afternoon drifted along (with music from Coldplay in the Pyramid Tent) and we entered the twilight zone - people starting buying more tokens than their drinking prowess merited so Darcy will be looking to shift 40 1 quid tokens on eBay Monday morning.

Time for the pyramid on the grassy knoll and it was an absolute rock solid example of the art. We maintained it for 7 minutes without a wobble and safely dismantled it without serious injury to participants or amazed spectators. Pity it was only a 3-2-1'er !

Off to the park for the traditional footy match. We had Des, Jed, Dominic and a fair haired accordion player making up the numbers this year. Andy Cowling played superbly - blocking goals with breath taking saves at one end and then popping up in the opposition box, screaming 'IF YOU WANT, IF YOU WANT' to score the winner.

The recreational theme continued as we made out way to The Bell for the Aunt Sally tournament. A massive kitty was started to buy loads of ale (fiver in). Darcy unsuccessfully tried to contribute tokens. The manic landlord with bulging, staring eyes got out his best, polished mahogany missiles which are usually reserved for Pub competitions against Swerford.

We took on an AllComers team from as far away as Oxford featuring a lovely, bubbly girl with Red hair (think Ginger Spice but worse), who Rich insulted by calling 'Ginge'. Also, Iris and Jim, a quietly spoken couple who looked very much in love.

We were all on excellent form and beat them handsomely in the evening sun (6-1, 4-1, 3-0). Clean hits, no metal.

So, on to The Sun, packed with locals who despise the festival and all who attend it. Cold, hard stares as we walked in. Even colder, harder stares when Darcy fills their lavatories with his own version of Festival Mix.

Back to the Pear Tree to the sing-song in time honoured fashion. Thankfully, Wheeldon is present to recount correctly the 18 verses of 'On The Railway'. We succeed in cornering a young couple, who are very much in love and enjoying a quiet little, romantic drink. She was an optician from Oxford but lives in Cardiff with a lovely smile and great figure. He was her husband.

Gibson was the first to weaken and was heard to utter 'Why can't we just go to bed now ?' which was a good line but failed to impress hubby that much.

A lovely comfortable night on the rock-hard ground eventually passed.

Awoke to hear radio reports that an earthquake had struck in Chipping Norton during the night registering 5.7 on the Richter scale. This transpired to be a false alarm and was later attributed to Darcy's snoring.

Trip to the Village Shop for unhealthy pasties, pork pies and lard. Thank the Lord, Tim Anson was not in attendance. Apparently, he is auditioning to be the next Harvey on Fat Club.

Rich cooked up some delicious bacon sarnies but, for some reason, Pete declined in his very own, personal, moving tribute to the starving millions in Africa (or maybe he just felt a tad queasy).

Watched while Rich packed up. Drove home via Cheadle Hulme ('no, no Andy don't follow the signs to Banbury station') and Oxford.

Present: Steve, Andy C, Darce, Gibbo, Wheeldon, Pedz

Apologies: Leo (Ashes Tour), Inglis (training Muslim kamikaze pilots in gliders), Mez (couldn't be arsed), Anson (teetotal, health evangelist), Mullins (failed to wake up), Conrad (hates inbred country types and Darce's snoring)

The day dawned sunny and bright. I simply had to go, mainly because all the best excuses had been taken :-

- had heart attack, resulting in triple bypass surgery last night
- unexpectedly sent to outer Mongolia to do some consultancy for 9 months starting today
- impromptu trip to Boston to visit Cheers bar
- little Johnny's 12th birthday party + cricket match against Sussex second XI
- 14th Wedding Anniversary and annual blow-job imminent [thanks for the cards, lads]
- had anti-alcohol tablets inserted into stomach lining that make it impossible, 'oh go on then, a pint please' to sup ale

Arrived at Hook Norton around 13.45 - God it takes a little longer than you'd think to get up here. Simply must remember that next year. Maybe it's because I'm driving Caroline's underpowered Red Polo 1.4CL instead of my underpowered Rover 414i. Terrible journey. Caroline left me with no petrol and I couldn't fathom how to fast-forward the tape over rubbish tracks.

Anyway, rolled down the famous hill to see two of last years attendees (Pedz and Priest-meister) installed. Shurely shome mishtake. No - look more closely. The GHS Bi-Centennial Hurl had indeed convened enough members to merit two benches to be placed in an adjacent manner. Fantastic start.

New faces, Ben (WhipperSnapper) who possesses a fair head of hair for a Morrell, Paul Selby (who's from Stockport, not Selby), Mez (I got someone else to fly to Boston), Gibbo (2nd meeting in 2 weeks), the effervescent and effusive Gerard ('West aaaammmm') Darcy, Mike ('I left the Palace at home, you mucky bastards') Keano Keenan and a studious looking lecturer who I thought was on the wrong table but did sport very familiar Lennon spectacles, Mr Mike Wheeldon.

T-shirts dished out. Excellent quality and excellent value for 10 quid. Very pleased with my choice of Black XXL. Actually covered my gut which was a bonus. The odd socks didn't show in Red. Pale Blue OK but like a cheap Ciddy shirt.

Rich pontificated over the quandry of possibly being offered an interview a British American Tobacco. Opinions firmly divided.

Anyway, enough of the perfunctory greetings - to business. Stumped up 10 quid for the complimentary Pint glass and 10 tokens to be told it was 5 quid for the glass and 10 quid for the tokens. Shame. Started with a lowly rated pint and then chalked off the strongest ales, they had going.

Avoided the Lees despite Mez's recommendation. Looked like he had inadvertently picked up a stray pint glass from last year from the hedgerow, given it to a member of staff who went behind a barrel, urinated in it, added some slops, passed it back and said 'There you go, Sir. Pint of Lees. A big favourite every year.'

Good conversation, good company, fine ale, all refreshingly free of female input ('Janet called Johnny a pooh-head in the playground - what do you think about that ?'). Venue seemed busier than last year and yet oddly queues for ale less so. Bizarre. Maybe the 5 quid premium was worth it, after all.

Lack of any totty to ogle at from afar. Maybe we should get Bill Inglis back next year and swap him for Mez.

16.00 and we enter the late afternoon twilight zone. Superb 4-3-2-1 pyramid is formed - just the right number. Solid as a rock too and I was at the base. Tried to get a little ambitious and go for a 5-4-3-2-1 but failed to cajole two little boys to clamber up to the top level. Mind you, I'm not sure I'd want to clamber over Pedz's, Darcy's and my very own backside for a half-hearted round of applause and embarassed laughter.

Some Hurlers had broken protocol and gone for fish'n'chips way too early but were now going to play the penalty as we headed for the rec ground for 5-a-side footy. Got two lads to help out (Skinny and Plaster Cast) - God they were shit. Fine goal keeping from Gibbo and honours ended, well, even-ish. Positive that last goal was offside though.

Some ales were running out and the initial tokens and 4 top-ups were exhausted so we adjourned to the Pear Tree and awaited the totty to approach. Experienced a personal crisis of confidence around 19.30 that was cured by having a walk outside or, maybe, it was just my round. Can't quite recall.

Thankfully, Mrs Buggins, although present, kept her massive heaving breasts and interminable conversation to herself this year. Was this a consequence of William Inglis not putting an appearance in ?

Pub ran out of ale (again) and closed to new entrants but we were fine. Don't remember Pedz having to resort to mild this year.

Bedded down in Old Man's tent with Pedz and Paul. Very hard floor and we all rolled to the bottom of the slope. God - I wish Pete had remembered his spirit level.

Drove home with Professor Wheeldon who kept me awake. Staggered and shocked to spot Darcy and Gibbo helping a damsel in distress with two young children. Christ - do those Essex boys never stop trying to pull !

Imagine that, you're driving down the empty M40 on a quiet, sunny Sunday morning. You get a puncture, lose control, smash into the central barrier and come to a halt, 90' across the carriage way, waiting and waiting for following cars to smash into you. You have had a narrow escape with death and you nearly no longer had to worry about how to fill in the long 6 week summer holiday with the kids as they ascend into heaven. All three of you will certainly be featured on the next edition of 'When reconditioned Steel Radials go wrong at 80 MPH'.

Then two kindly, Good Samaritans clad in GoatHurling 'Festival of Fine Ales' T-shirts (one Red, one a very tight fitting Blue with a moustache - hmm is that one gay ?) escort you all safely to the hard-shoulder. Strange, how they don't call the police but the driver is 3 times over the limit. You're safe, you've had a narrow brush with death. You're in shock, you're trembling.

And now you got have got the gay one asking you whether you think Dr David Kelly was murdered by MI5, whether that golfer should indeed have been disqualified or whether Joe Cole will start the season for West Ham - and all in one long sentence in 5 seconds flat.

Got home. Kids still away camping. Slumped in front of the Golf all afternoon. Hoovered lawn and mowed the lounge.

Until next year, 'MORE BEER !'

I don't understand - have I logged on to an incorrect Blog - there seemt to be no valid description of the weekend from any literary adherents. Or maybe that was it - nothing happened. I certainly don't remember anything.

stug, I will be covering this in my 15.30 lecture on blog-hurling over 3g for the 23rd century, this is right after my 12.30 presentation of a mile by mile account of my marathon effort (including training).

I think you can only leave it for a day on the other (stockport) side. there are plenty of places to put it in edgeley but i couldn't guarantee its safety.

Good News Bad News Time

Good news (for the northern lads) is that the car is now booked. so the proposal is to meet at (or around) Stockport Station (Edgeley approach) at 1pm on Friday. If anyone has any problem with this arrangement then speak now or forever hold your peace.

Bad news is that levermu is an unconfirmed non-starter.

Steve

I knew the big G wouldn't let us down.

What a hurling jamboree this is turning into.

Andy, I think you may have write a new account for 2003 and could you have it done a bit sooner this year, Monday morning doesn't cut the mustard with me, young man, I expect it on this site by teatime Sunday.

What's everyone wearing?

Ha Ha Ha. Mr P will have his merry little japes at my expense. Of course I meant I was worried that the festivities on the Fri nite would negate the amount of beer available for consumption on the Sat, which of course is still a great worry to my prodigious appetite for ale, as I doubted my ability to restrict my consumption to a manageable amount, unlike Mr P, who seems to be preparing the way for his usual nite-time slumbers, albeit with some nubile female fawning over his prostrate body.

And more power to Timbo - a magnificent effort to attend, unlike some of our one-time celebrated colleagues. However, perhaps next year, we shouldn't mention the awesome quantity of ale expected to be consumed, and no doubt these feeble and puerile excuses will be no more. It'll be great to see Levermu there..

Rejoice!!!

Pedz will be pleased, he was secretly worried that as you were only going to be there for the friday you might want to consume your whole weekends worth of beer in the one evening. He likes to take it easy on the first night (even easier than the second if that is possible) and he was worried he might not be up to the festival ale on Saturday.

Now if I can just get Levermu to answer his phone........

I hope no one does top Tim's excuse.

hello.... anybody there?

The great day is approaching, and I'm sure you would all like to be dressed up to the nines to celebrate this auspicious occasion...

As is usual for these events, all attendees will receive a commemorative T-shirt commemorating the T-shirt.

The shirt will enhance your reputation, provide for the attraction of nubile females, and will keep you warm during those long winter nites. Note this is a once-only offer, and includes a newly-commissioned design , kindly undertaken by the design department of IT Facilitas.

All I need to know is...
are you coming
if you are, you may be eligible for a free T-shirt donated by the GHS. Send £10 to enter the draw. All entries who attend the bicentenary event will receive a free T-shirt. Simply state (by return) size and colour required, letting me know you have sent the cheque/it won't get lost in the post/it won't get spent on sundries like washing powder or private lard supply
Those who don't reply by end of this week I shall have to assume do not wish to be recognised as a true and trusted member, upholding the lofty ideals of our glorious icon

MORE BEER!

Actually Pete I didn't make it to the punchline as the 'joke' was so long and windy.

Indeed greetings to all from sunny limburg (it's in germany) or should I say guten tag? No I bloody shouldn't.

Welcome to stug. Travel arrangements are that you all congregate at a suitable pick up point (knutsford services) and I pick you up and take you. As I am driving I get all my beer bought for me for the whole weekend and you lot pay for the petrol.

We need to leave lunchtime Friday so book the afternoon off work (could be tricky for you Ben as I am off that day:-)

Any questions?

Thought I'd better reply to Mr P's rant about crap jokes. I found the enclosed joke rather amusing, and I don't see why Mr. P should take such a high-handed...Oh wait a minute, I think I may have an inkling now...I see the ending of the joke could possibly be construed...no surely you didn't think...I suppose if you were at all covert about the size of your...don't think this was getting at your todger Stevey, we all know the size of that (snigger snigger)...it's pretty amazing that the name in the joke was rather similar to yours - I really should have noticed that before posting. Sorry and all that

Hope your Lim is Burging ok...

Nice post Lightweight!

What's that noise? Oh yes tumbleweed blowing through the blog as the church bell gently chimes its demise.....

Any chance of a roll-call for the weekend for catering purposes?


Friday night
Confirmed - Pedz, steve, whipper-snapper, keeno, selby, mez
????? - Cowls, Lightweight, Gibbo, Tim, Thompson, Wheeldon, Levermu
Definately not - Inglis

Saturday
Confirmed - Pedz, steve, whipper-snapper, keeno, selby
Assumed - Cowls, Gibbo
????? - Tim, Thompson, Wheeldon, Levermu
Definately not - Inglis, Mez

Don't forget to mention any dietary requirements (lard, extra lard etc.) and t-shirt sizes.

House Rules.

1. No crap jokes.
2. No bears.
3. No retractable beards.

Pete you just broke rule 1, any more and I will have to censor your posts.
Ah yes but then it would only be me and Andy, unless Gibbo has worked it out yet.

Are you there Gibbo?