Ari Drivel’s Tour Diary
Weds 2nd Aug
Tour Golf Day at Celtic Manor
If you have witnessed my batting you'll understand why I was not down on the Wednesday to play golf!!
Thurs 3rd Aug
Tour Game vs Blackwood Town
Well it is with some trepidation that I set off for South Wales on yet another “Cardiff” tour with a bunch of circus animals thinly disguised as Sonning Cricket Club. I suspect they had the good sense to invite me partly because I could inject some dignity into the proceedings and partly because I’m known to be quite a cunning linguist, which is always useful in foreign parts.
My tour got off to an inauspicious start when my buffoon of a passenger, Lee Baintrigger, managed to mis-navigate us close to our destination, an event which did not go un-noticed by the Fines Committee. Nevertheless it gave me the chance to study the quaint architecture of “valleys” council houses and in particular their wide array of satellite dishes, and also it enabled me to find a charity shop where I generously exchanged hard cash for a very tacky but apparently compulsory Hawaiian shirt.
On arrival I immediately took control of selection, given my long years of experience in high-level cricket, however my hand was somewhat forced by a severe outbreak of “Tourist’s Toe”. Firstly “Benjo” who regularly spends time “away with the fairies” had run over The Thing in a golf buggy the day before and then almost before our very eyes, a rather garish chap who goes by the name of Arsene (which I assume to be a derivation of “Arse”) developed gout almost before our very eyes.
Our first game was against a bunch of callow highlight-haired youths from Blackwood, a game which I felt sure we would win with some ease, given their childish warm-up routines, which involved throwing the ball very hard at each other and catching it cleanly as if it was clever.
However we got off to a poor start when the match captain who is rather mysteriously known as “Snake” forgot that he had the services of a fine opening bowler known less mysteriously as “Trout” and instead opened with the rather pedestrian pair of Lee and Benjo who really did nothing to further the Sonning cause. To make matters worse there then ensued some very odd fielding by “Ellboy” who quite frankly just looks like an accident waiting to happen and then some dire pie-chucking by “Ali” which really handed runs to Blackwood on a plate.
Nevertheless we were always in the game, despite the fact that both Trout and Snake were run out by minors and with only 6 required off the last over, it seemed like we would win anyway. However we hadn’t allowed for the fact that our scorer “The Thing” had had to go without lager for at least 20 minutes at the start of the game, which resulted in him failing to tally up the score properly, and only discover that we had actually scored the necessary runs until some time after the match had finished, by which time we had been declared the losers. A real schoolboy error if ever I saw one, but without his medicine who can blame him?
Anyway Blackwood were conspicuous by their absence in the bar afterwards, so we hastened back to Cardiff where I anticipated a hearty meal with fine wines in intelligent company.
Oh how my hopes were dashed! Firstly we visited what appeared to be a manor house in the middle of The West Bank, courtesy of the Mayor of Cardiff, one Earl Smiekle, to witness the likes of Ali and Arsene comprehensively destroying a variety of Tom Jones and Robbie Williams classics, and then we adjourned to what is probably best-described as a cattle-shed full of Stars Wars extras. Never in my life have I seen a night-club burgeoning with such an array of overweight trolls, dwarves, midgets and indescribable figures from the underworld. Anyway I conversed as best I could with the “low-life” as Anners likes to call them and then made my way outside in such of the hearty meal that I so craved.
It was at this stage that I witnessed the first ever recorded eviction of a person from Chicken Cottage – namely Ted Baker, who by now was losing the will to live, it seems. Sadly Chicken Cottage, which had been highly recommended by Arsene, was not the gastronomic experience I had hoped for, as I found out when I sunk my teeth into a warm lettuce wrap, with just a hint of rancid poultry. However Arsene did make a similar mistake to the legendary “Harry The Duck” by declaring his burger to be excellent and offering me a bite. I think there must have been some misunderstanding as the empty crusts which I returned to him seemed to disappoint the gout-riddled fellow somewhat.
Fri 4th Aug
Tour Game vs Whitchurch Heath
The following morning we rose early for breakfast at 11.00 and after some critical analysis of Messrs Trescothick and Strauss, we set off for Whitchurch Heath to show them how it should be done. Our opposition were our long-term friends known affectionately to some of the seasoned tourists as “The Wobblers” and we looked forward to yet another close and entertaining match against them.
It was a pleasure to see the likes of Roger Coombes, Malcolm Troake and Huw Jenkins again, but picture if you will the look on Anners’ face when “The Great Man” himself appeared, sucking on what looked like a large chunk of Viv Richards’ bat. Yes it was the pipe-smoking Andrew Van Os himself, a little bit wider and a little bit shorter than we remember him, but still as perky as ever.
As for the game itself, well there was some mean bowling from the Jurassic Mr Coombes, an excellent 50 from the “Wayne Kerr” shirt-wearing Benjo, who had clearly shaken off the fairies, and we were all set for a close match. However it appeared to be drifting away from us after the Whitchurch openers had built a healthy partnership, as 6 an over was all that was required off the last 10.
To make matters worse, the normally reliable Mike Baker was single-handedly laying claim to the by now sweat-laden “Wayne Kerr” Award with his bizarre fielding, and it appeared to be game over.
There was a dangerous moment when the game looked like it may have to be called off, when the umpire, Anners, broke wind in the way that only he can and the bowler and non-striker were unable to continue for some time, but eventually the cloud lifted and play resumed.
Then cometh the hour cometh the man. Yes, unbelievably, “Snake” Foley turned from zero to hero with a remarkable 5 wickets in 5 overs and the game was snatched from Whitchurch right at the death.
At this stage I had to return to Sonning for Evensong, but I gather the chaps had an excellent evening out in Cardiff in the company of out hosts, including the manic “Woody” and all resolved to repeat the exercise next year. I’m sure there were lots of merry japes that evening, but one thing I do know is that Ellboy distinguished himself with arguably the most stupid question of the year “Do you think The Thing wants another drink?”
That’s what touring with Sonning can do to a man’s mind.....
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