Let us take you back to Victorian times; way down darkest Stratford way.

On a bench sits the hunched figure of a young lad, somewhat hungry and looking a bit dishevelled. Standing next to him is another young man, dressed in top hat, three-quarter length jacket and an enormous bow tie. All of a sudden he leaps on the bench and belts out at the top of his voice –

“Consider yourself at home.
Consider yourself one of the familhhy.
We've taken to you so strong.
It's clear we're going to get along ……”

Seeing a smile creep gently across the face of the other lad, (like an ample-bosomed woman in a skimpy silk nightie pulling the sheets back seductively to welcome you into bed), the top-hated one ‘pumped up the volume’ and continues -

“Consider yourself well in.
Consider yourself part ‘o the furniture.
There isn't a lot to spare.
Who cares?
What,
Ever we got we share!”

Turns out that the Artful Dodger in question was actually ‘Fluffy’ Mark O’Flaherty and along with Stu ‘I love you’ Smith, Rob ‘Hanky’ Hankinson and Joel ‘I am not a prop’ Faber, they came out singing and dancing to greet the Aston tour bus through the West Stand Coach and VIP entrance of the Ossett Stadium …..

Arh, Claverdon. What is it about Claverdon?

Where else do the opposition come out to meet you as you arrive at the ground – OK, so maybe Exiles or Y&D, but they just want to see if your alloys are worth nicking and if you have any lead on the roof they can tat. Yes, Clav is one of the truly great rugby clubs and, just like the song, is a home-from-home for Aston 4ths.

I don’t remember much about the game I’m afraid (which is not a good start for a match report) but I do remember some key facts – Clav scored first in what looked like what was going to be a difficult game for the visitors. Beard went down (again, like an ample-bosomed woman in a skimpy nightie) and as soon as the ole bastard was off, Aston scored from the ‘fluffybumkin’ running of ‘Sir, Sir, can I have some more’ Marshallsay.

Daz Hamilton was awesome in attack and defence.

Andy Smith the Clav winger never smiled, but then again, it looks like he’s in pain when he tries.

Alex Green managed another whole game bringing his total playing time this season to one minute, thirty-four seconds.

In the pack, The Doc (who has sadly decided to hang up his boots) bent Cleggie up so bad, the lad from ‘Ne-chells’ now knows what his backside looks like without the aid of a mirror.

Nigel (the intellectual-looking Claverdon prop) was a total gentleman. Hard as nails and a complete bastard in the dark places, but a total gentleman none the less.

Matty Rainbow, Alex Green and James Wilson all managed to tackle an Italian International – can’t stop some fat shit from Handsworth can they, but give them a bloke with legs like tree trunks (if tree trunks could go down the gym that is) and they suddenly come to life.

Marko Stanojevic (the Italian Winger/Centre) we refer to could have splattered Rainbow’s nose across his face but chose to hand him off to his chest, and then with just enough force to keep the second row at bay (this is the bloke who scored against the All Blacks in the World Cup – Marko that is not Rainbow). A great player, playing this particular game in the spirit it so deserved. Thank you, you are a great bloke, even if you did tone it down a bit after your hat-trick (in case someone made you buy a jug we think ….?).

David Ingleby played brilliantly at Full Back. He was all over the place, tackling, running and generally showing that he’s come a million miles from the lad who turned up in a Leicester shirt (a badge of honour for those who know absolutely nothing about rugby) at the start of the season, and would have found it hard to catch a cold, let alone a rugby ball.

Mark the Clav hooker met up with Wilf the Aston hooker and it was fun and games in the front row. How great it was to have the Willetts lad back, especially since he was only supposed to be playing ten minutes on the wing!

Gilliland was once again a revelation in the back row. Some brilliant runs and breathtaking tackling.

Andy Lidsey was itchy on the touchline. He was itchy on the pitch too, so we think he might simply have fleas.

Callum ‘Top Gun’ Stafford kicked well and tackled above his weight (well let’s be honest, if there is no one on the opposition that tops the scales at six stone eight, he simply has to) and Lee (a friend of ‘Rainbow the Gay Pirate’) played his first game and had a corker. Didn’t manage to get much ball in hand but put in a couple of sound tackles and seemed quite pleased that he got a bit of a facial injury – no doubt to impress the girls down Legs 11.

Banksie was Banksie – no, not he who sprays gay coppers snogging on the side of warehouses, but the bloke who plays prop like a centre and chucks his guts up at the start of every match.

Oh and Marshallsay got another try in the second half.

After the game it was into the bar, and just like the good old days the beer did flow. The Doc kindly contributed to each side’s beer fund, and Hanky chucked a well sizable donation to keep the pumps working. I shall not go into detail about the sumo wrestling that took place in the cold rain – the pictures on this website will speak a thousand words …. and if I’m totally honest, I was bleedin speechless by this point! An indoor game of ‘Beer Pong’ (table tennis table, pints in scrum formation and consuming in one the glass that the ball lands in) followed by a classic boat race, and you can imagine the mess and fun being had.

Sadly, around eight o’clock the ‘Aston Bus of Terror’ had to depart as we were off to see Steve Hobson’s band play at the Boot. Lots of handshakes, promises to return and ten minutes trying to get a legless Clive ingleby and Cleggie (who ate a Pineapple without peeling the skin then complained it hurt a bit to go to the toilet!) into the van and we were finally off …..

We met up with the thirds in the Boot, drank more beer and Steve was brilliant (and just a tadge embarrassed at us chanting his name between sets!).

What a day.

As Oliver did sing (well Mark Leicester in the film did, as Dickens was shite at writing musicals ….)

“Who will buy this wonderful day?
High so high is where I will fly,
Who will buy this wonderful feeling?
And put it in a box for me?”