Tabard Diocese News

Incumbent: The Bishop

Guest Editor: The Rev. Boris from the diocese of Gold Coast, Australia, The Other Side of the World

TOUR GOES TERRIBLY WELL EXCEPT FOR A FEW MINOR INCIDENTS THAT ARE SCARCELY WORTH MENTIONING

An Englishman and an Australian walked into a pub. The Australian muttered something incomprehensible, the Englishman’s reply went straight over the Australian’s head, like their 20-20 bowling in the world cup final [Crikey, you’re way off the wicket there Bish, like Harmison’s first ball in the 5-0 flogging]. And verily the tour was born. To add a touch of continental difference Rev. Boris (for it was he) suggested he make this his English Pilgrimage or Stag [we call it our ‘Bucks’]. I went on my brother’s Stag last year and we shot some peasants, or pheasants – I never can remember, but I digress. Plans were laid, sat on and hatched over several pints of wine and some ghastly concoction called lager. The Warden, Old Mr Younger, put together some lovely pictures with the over 50’s drawing class and stamped them on a T-shirt. The Church we were visiting put on some lovely rooms at discount prices and Madam Boris kindly offered the services of her international choir (at least I think Rev. Boris said something about tremendous lungs) to stiffen the morale of the troops come match day.

And so to the day of the tour, where young master Juggs and I enjoyed a leisurely drive around the arse end of nowhere spoiled occasionally by the Phillips hoodlums and their constant obsession with whining (or winning – one of the two). It turns out there was some sort of race that day which was won by Phillips senior, followed by an ex-pat member of Rev. Boris’s clergy [work experience Will] and the middle Phillips (who started to look a little tired, as did I). Other Pilgrims filled up the places, and all was well with the world [Frodo was leading with a lap to go and only just made the podium. Kommander and Boris had an encounter of epic proportions for fourth place with Boris getting his nose in front at the chequered flag]. Old Mr Younger had a senior moment on the M3 and nearly decimated the lower order when he thought he was still in a go-kart. Traffic held up play for the best part of a couple of hours and we arrived, relatively unscathed, at Horsington Parish Church. The only casualty was an Australian who apparently fell asleep on/by/with representative(s) of the Church of England and missed his departure (at least he didn’t arrive too early), leaving Boris bringing up the rear with a novelty toy, a Scotsman called Ed and a blow up doll [Her name was Taunting Tanya and she was willing and able 24/7]. An impromptu meal was hastily arranged in a charming local restaurant called Morrisons, where we nearly lost Moggie to their strict no drinking cans of alcohol in a supermarket café rule (these countryside types with their ways).

Next on the agenda was the Crazy Cricket in the local leisure centre [due to the bloody English weather] which saw an extraordinary array of talent on offer, and the costumes weren’t bad either. Juggs got in touch with his feminine side and found it made him a better fielder [His first five throws literally decimated the stumps]. Everyone shouted a lot, especially Frodo & The Bishop which left them exhausted and Juggs & Moggie won, with Hansie & Frodo second and Junior & Kommander third earning them valuable points in the overall competition. Best costume was won by Juggs narrowly beating Hansie, who added years to his son’s therapy sessions. We were delighted to be joined by our Beloved Leader, who remained unusually calm and happy throughout the tournament, but still managed to drop a couple of catches as usual [Other costumes of note were a lion suit, the Blues Brothers and something only Danny la Rue would be proud of – only the photos can explain].

We then retired to our place of rest to begin the evening’s drinking. Moggie & Juggs decided they couldn’t wait for the female contingent to join us, so brought their twin sisters with them – one of who rather caught the eye of Whippet in the photographs the next day [Everyone else was in toga]. Rev. Boris decided the best way to make the tour a memorable one was to have his name carved on a loo seat [on the wall] by drinking all 17 taps. A feat of manliness only let down by the fact they were half pints [Boris only had three hours and a call for the third umpire regarding a ruling on his previous drinks was swiftly rejected by the Landlord]. The rest of the evening became a blur of darts, alcohol and amusing anecdotes. Frodo and yours truly decided the responsible thing to do was to retire to bed to compile a report of the day’s endeavours when, overcome with exhaustion from the day, sleep came. The Rev. Boris kindly brought the party to us on two occasions, the last of which including a lovely young parishioner from Essex, apparently to console the Bishop’s new singledom – 48 hours too early – not the first time Boris and premature has been included in the same sentence [Think of Margaret Thatcher, drinking sour milk, nails on a chalkboard, seeing Hansie put on his jockstrap in the dressing room, bugger... Margaret Thatcher, Margaret Thatcher]. I leave reminiscence of the remainder of the evening to my partner in cricket. [Bad move. Flamin’ hell, the truth is this: very inebriated Essex bird willing to leave the boys with extremely happy mammories, jumped on their bed in a lion suit, minus the head. It was like a rendition of Moses parting the red sea. Frodo went one way and The Bishop went the other with the latter picking up the closest thing to read. The Bible. The drongo continued to read it (48 hours!) while Frodo turned the cheek and acted to be asleep all while this seven out of ten’r was within eating (blessing) distance of both of them. Back downstairs and none of the single Pilgrims wanted to play two-a-side with her. So, to the disgust of Hansie and Boris, she ended up retiring on nought. Thinking they were Caesar and Brutus and still dressed the part, Will and Ed made a last-ditch effort and tried their luck by giving the rat-a-tat-tat on her door attempting to court the lass with numerous cans of warm Carlsberg. Too little, too late].

The next day dawned bright and full of promise. Wearily the Pilgrims emerged from the night before and breakfasted well, Moggie especially, having placed the contents of his previous evening on someone’s bed [Will’s bed and Boris’ shirt] the night before. Sunday morning was left to quiet contemplation until the arrival of Madam Boris, one of her choristers and a non-playing Australian [Darren officially arrived 27 hours late. A new Pilgrim’s record I believe]. Soon it was cricket time, and I shall leave the reporting of the match to young master Kommander^*, save for the best sledge from Madam Boris who, on her future husband’s dismissal for four, said that it had cost her £10 a run to come down [It didn’t help that the bowler was bowling two balls at once.]. The rest of the Madam Boris’s choir turned up in time for the second half, which was very pleasant for all concerned. After a resounding victory the competition resumed with Closest to the Pin [“Closest to the Charlie”] won by Bumpy – who turned up late and didn’t even take his shirt off. The longest throw competition ended up in a sibling grudge match between the two Crouches and could have gone on all night. The elder won with his final throw and I suspect they’re already practising for the next time [It was a colossal fight and will go down in folklore as legend]. Points were also awarded for “Hitting Charlie” to Bumpy, Kommander, Juggs and Moggie.

^*In case there is any misunderstanding about the match/tour report: Boris lost the toss and was sent in to bat under the influence of the night before and lunch, which didn’t improve his batting. A lot of silly shots and some good ones from Juggs saw Pilgrims out for 135. Tea was alchoholic. Pilgrims dismissed our hosts for 100 with some sharp catches and some suspect bowling and, but for a catch on the boundary from Juggs, the match was turning the other way. Man of the match: Will – who took two wickets, two catches and didn’t get out having never played cricket before – he’s almost too good for us.

And so to the pub for more drinking, an aborted darts game and the last competition of the day: Rock, Paper, Scissors. Juggs reversed the throw result by beating his brother, [another epic battle] Hansie beat his son (not literally) but the overall champion was Madam Boris. More drinking and merriment ensued long into the early hours, until a subdued and bedraggled set of Pilgrims set off on their way home the next morning [I hear as a late night treat that Canadian bacon goes down particularly well this time of year when served with Winchester chicken]. (Do we have to resort to crude innuendos... next we’ll be talking about Australians getting their balls lost in the English shrubbery.)

IN OTHER NEWS

Under-Age Drinking Rife in Pilgrims
A recent report shows a shocking 100 per cent increase in under-age drinking in the Tabard area. When pressed for a comment, the drunken child hurled a skittle ball at the nearest human.

To Remember in Your Prayers
Xero – who lost the use of his knee jumping out of the way of a skittle ball thrown by a drunken child [He honourably returned to the tour after the West Country doctor saw he couldn’t walk but was still breathing so gave him a pill and said go away].

Retirement
We regret to announce the now former Lady Bishop has retired from the diocese to pursue non-cricketing activities. Prospective candidates for the post should form an orderly queue in front of the Bishopric (no – there is no “k” in that word Rev. Boris) [No worries mate, keep your chin up. There’s plenty more fish in the sea. But you might have to do something about your lightweight rod and tackle. No deep sea fishing for you. Looks like you’ll be using your hand reel for a while].

Has anyone seen my Moggie?
Last seen in the vicinity of Horsington. This raggedy little pet has a propensity for spewing general rubbish out of his mouth and other more potent matter after a night on the tiles. It is possible this Moggie fell asleep 20 years ago but his body hasn’t caught up [Moggie was convinced that Boris had his clutch purse but it was in the drawer where he was told to look. He was desperate to find his herbal medicine. Bloody hippy. Yes, clutch purse].

Horsington’s Got Talent
Nearing closing time at the pub, Brealey politely asked if everyone would start clicking their fingers in time. Click, click, click and Brealey stands up on his chair. Out of nowhere he starts singing a classic blues song that was actually the first vinyl he had ever bought. It was a polished performance worthy of a larger audience and it’s something I’ll never forget. The crowd kept clicking in time until the last word was sung which was followed by a rapturous round of applause. What a legend (he almost took the tour championship with that solo performance).

Living Doll
Taunting Tanya started the tour with such promise and vigour. She was pumped up for a good weekend and supported the team at Go-Karting, the pub, the cricket and the late night parties. She even survived an assassination plot by Frodo early on in the tour. Tanya was last seen looking somewhat deflated in Moggie and Ed’s shower but I’m sure she will live a long and adventurous life as the wife to one proud local.

40p Strawberries
On the long drive back to London you couldn’t help but notice the intense competition of the strawberry stalls on the side of the road. We must have seen 20 of them in one stretch. Strangely they weren’t selling anything but strawberries. We saw a sign “40p strawberries” which was too enticing, so the Green Tomato pulled over and we all hopped out. As we were nearing the stall a sinking feeling grew upon us and we knew we’d been done. They were indeed selling 40p strawberries but the normal size punnet was £2.50. The Bishop splashed his cash with one 40p punnet followed by Frodo supporting the farmer with one large punnet for £2.50. While the boys were being served Boris observed that one 40p punnet had about 10 strawberries and the large punnet, although obviously more impressive had little more than double the 40p one. Not wanting the farmer to get one over him, Boris kept thinking to himself... just buy six of the 40p punnets, six of the 40p’s, do it. When it was time to be served, Boris had a glint in his eye. “What would you like?” asked the farmer. After a long pause Boris replied... “One large punnet thanks mate”. Boris is still livid with himself and yearns for the day he will get revenge on that crafty farmer (well – that’s 45 seconds of my life I’m never getting back...).

THOSE TOUR CHAMPIONSHIP RESULTS IN FULL...

Position	Team	Score
1	Kommander & Junior	485
2	Hansie & Frodo	470
3	Juggs & Moggie	450
4	Bumpy & Whippet	380
5	Boris & Will	375
6	Cathie & Nicola	360
7	Xero & Penthouse/Darren	325
8	The Bishop & Ed	295
9	Charlotte & Sabina	285