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THE WRATH OF THE GRAPE.
Stuart Vernon24 Dec 2018 - 10:56
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The Alies staggered there way to the end of an eventful year, both on and off the field.
There was much gnashing of the teeth, hand wringing, rug chewing, coupled with intakes of breath and general signs of distress when the Sommelier announced he would not be available for the ride through East Lancashire to Rossendale. However, Doctor Foster stepped into the breach; he needed no arm twisting, head down the toilet, matchsticks under the finger nails, hints of blackmail, and he arrived equipped for his duties with a selection of “Frozen” paper cups adorned with pictures of Elsa. Well before noon the liquid was splashing into the sophisticated containers which included a snappy little, bouncy Italian number from the Major which had all the simplicity of a Fiat 500 and the finesse of a Ferrari.
Eleven Alies made the trip to Rossendale and although the weather was quite hostile over the tops a warm welcome awaited the Vale in the clubhouse and before lunch was served Mark Nelson, a real favourite at the Vale, came over for a natter and left a pile of photographs taken on the Florida tour.
He also wrote in glowing terms about the time he spent at the Vale as both as a player and coach in the match programme. A few of the Alies still remember the impact a young Mark made on his debut at Kendal in March 1997 when he scored two tries in a 22-6 victory. In his first season Mark ran in 15 tries from 12 appearances, and in the 1983/84 he established a club record of 36 which was subsequently broken by Nick Royle with 41, and last season Damon Hall raised the bar even higher with his total of 43.
From the Alies point of view there was little to get excited about at Marl Pits. The Major made the long slog up to the pitch, but on reflection was it really worth all that effort? Still the ale was good, the company excellent, the food substantial and the cracker type joke in the programme is worthy of repetition. “What would you get if you crossed a rugby player with the Invisible Man?” “Rugby like no one has ever seen.” Thankfully Gilly had not made the trip so the editor of the “In the Ruck Page” in the programme escaped a slap or three.
Wirral’s superb band of travelling supporters arrived in force after staying overnight in Lancaster, having enjoyed sampling a number of the local hostelries. They were none the worse for their perambulations and were soon downing the pints which were being ferried in their direction by the Loafer in his Presidential role. They were a terrific group and to be in their company was a real pleasure; the Alies are already gearing up for the return fixture on April 6 which is the last scheduled away game of the season.
With heavy rain falling the Press Secretary and Accountant eventually had to seek sanctuary in the stand. It was a most illuminating experience to listen to the Borough Treasurer and Mr Chips in full flow offering advice to all in sundry but all their exhortations were in vain as another defeat unfolded.
Despite the weather the clubhouse was busy after the game and it was great to see Sutty again. He has been having a rough time but he was in fine form in his usual position at the bar, smiling and joking, a courageous, battling, character who is example to us all because if anyone is having a so called bad day, step back, and think of what Sutty is going through.
Between distributing Christmas cards and chomping on Mrs Scott’s delicious mince pies and Mrs Tower’s sweets, the Alies were focussing on the game at Wilmslow to close out the year. Arrangements had been made for a late return but even though Matron could find no objections the Alies were given a gentle warning, despite it being the season of goodwill, liberties were not to be taken! There would be no “rocking around the Christmas tree,” well it sounded like that, on their return clutching a battered sprig of mistletoe, or frightening pussy by singing “You’ll never guess what you’ve got from me!” at full volume while struggling into their jim-jams.
Despite the demands of the season there was an above average turn out for the fixture at Wilmslow. Sparky brought along a party of local money men, these movers and shakers rapidly bought into the atmosphere and instantly tucked into the in-flight nibbles and liquid refreshments, and by the time the Memorial Ground was reached they were all in lively mood.
The Sommelier returned to the front line, although his replacement at Rossendale, Doctor Foster had performed admirably and was a hard act to follow, as the Platelayer pointed out at frequent intervals. But after sorting out the Press Secretary’s seating arrangements, which were strategically linked to the dispensing of the grape, everything flowed. Woggle had brought along some delicious homemade mince pies and in between the munching matters financial, not a million light years away from the subject of travel contributions, were passionately debated by a murmuring herd of “Cash Cows.”
Heavy rain and the gale force winds that had rattled the coach down the M6 and M56 had not abated by the time Dwayne swung the 51 seater onto Wilmslow’s gigantic car park and as always the Alies were greeted by an immaculate dressed guard of honour.
Minimus organised the kitty but was quickly told to put the money away because a round had been organised by the hosts and after the Major had sorted his drinking vessel out a generous Barry ushered the Alies to their table.
Out on the balcony, after lunch, the wind still howled, the silver rain cascaded down but a good humoured bunch of supporters hunkered down under an awning which emptied its contents at regular intervals, usually when Wilmslow’s highly respected Press Officer, David Pike, happened to be wandering past.
Major and Jonty remained inside accompanied the odd glass of red and indulged in a wide ranging conversation which included reference to the “Saturday Suppers” page in the classy “Match Day Magazine.” The recipes on offer were “Cured Salmon or Gravlax” and “Roast Shoulder of Lamb with Cider and Mint Pickled Apples,” but it was the choice of wines that caught the Alies’ eyes. They are all familiar with robust Rioja reds and wines from the Southern Rhone, unfortunately the tip about removing the cork three hours before serving fell on deaf ears; the advice from the Alies usually demands that the screw top is removed as quickly as possible so that the glugging can begin without too much ceremony.
There was little sophistication in Minimus’s cracker type joke but it had some of the Alies holding their sides, while others rolled their eyes and banged their fists on the table.
“What’s red and smells like blue paint?”
“Red paint!”
Thankfully Gilly was wrapped up warm at home so there were no ugly sights and sounds of skulls being crunched.
Before leaving a Boat Race was organised, quite like old days, but the Alies were not required to bolster the team which was not a bad call because they had not brought along their wet suits or incontinent vests with flaps and it might have got very damp and messy by the time they sat down or collapsed.
It was a quiet Cocktail Hour on the Saturday before Christmas, although the Solicitor was in good voice solving any problem that was slung in his direction. The mild beer on offer did not go down too well with the Alies, neither did the suggestion to switch to IPA by the Accountant, who was worried about the percentage price rise, but he was outvoted; later there was a whip to order a bottle of Shiraz.
Maximus brought up the topic of wine when he asked the Major what would be the ideal plonk to accompany pork. This was meat and drink, sorry Gilly, for the Major, who reeled off a huge range of palatable vintages that left Maximus speechless.
The evening ended with a real buzz when the Oil Tycoon said there was a possibility of a tour to Vancouver in 2020; such excitement with Rudolph being made ready in the background and the sleigh bells ringing sent the Alies homeward with a glow.
The Alies were well represented at the “200 Club Draw,” Gilly was one of the winners, which as usual was superbly organised by Steve Ralston but unfortunately his co-conspirator, George Dickson, was unable to attend following a recent accident, but Ruth of popping cork and bubbles fame, proved an able assistant.
A sumptuous buffet was prepared and the honesty bucket collection more than covered its cost and the whole afternoon was enjoyed by one of the largest gatherings at this long running event for a number of years, which once again provided the opportunity to meet up with old friends.
Maximus kindly supplied the photograph at the top of this article when, in one of his more sober moments in the Isle of Man, he whipped out his “Brownie” in “The Station Hotel” in Port Erin.
The Winter Solstice has passed, the days are staying lighter longer and the Alies will be hoping that the second stanza to the season will contain a little more brightness, but remember “Que Sera Sera.”
Eleven Alies made the trip to Rossendale and although the weather was quite hostile over the tops a warm welcome awaited the Vale in the clubhouse and before lunch was served Mark Nelson, a real favourite at the Vale, came over for a natter and left a pile of photographs taken on the Florida tour.
He also wrote in glowing terms about the time he spent at the Vale as both as a player and coach in the match programme. A few of the Alies still remember the impact a young Mark made on his debut at Kendal in March 1997 when he scored two tries in a 22-6 victory. In his first season Mark ran in 15 tries from 12 appearances, and in the 1983/84 he established a club record of 36 which was subsequently broken by Nick Royle with 41, and last season Damon Hall raised the bar even higher with his total of 43.
From the Alies point of view there was little to get excited about at Marl Pits. The Major made the long slog up to the pitch, but on reflection was it really worth all that effort? Still the ale was good, the company excellent, the food substantial and the cracker type joke in the programme is worthy of repetition. “What would you get if you crossed a rugby player with the Invisible Man?” “Rugby like no one has ever seen.” Thankfully Gilly had not made the trip so the editor of the “In the Ruck Page” in the programme escaped a slap or three.
Wirral’s superb band of travelling supporters arrived in force after staying overnight in Lancaster, having enjoyed sampling a number of the local hostelries. They were none the worse for their perambulations and were soon downing the pints which were being ferried in their direction by the Loafer in his Presidential role. They were a terrific group and to be in their company was a real pleasure; the Alies are already gearing up for the return fixture on April 6 which is the last scheduled away game of the season.
With heavy rain falling the Press Secretary and Accountant eventually had to seek sanctuary in the stand. It was a most illuminating experience to listen to the Borough Treasurer and Mr Chips in full flow offering advice to all in sundry but all their exhortations were in vain as another defeat unfolded.
Despite the weather the clubhouse was busy after the game and it was great to see Sutty again. He has been having a rough time but he was in fine form in his usual position at the bar, smiling and joking, a courageous, battling, character who is example to us all because if anyone is having a so called bad day, step back, and think of what Sutty is going through.
Between distributing Christmas cards and chomping on Mrs Scott’s delicious mince pies and Mrs Tower’s sweets, the Alies were focussing on the game at Wilmslow to close out the year. Arrangements had been made for a late return but even though Matron could find no objections the Alies were given a gentle warning, despite it being the season of goodwill, liberties were not to be taken! There would be no “rocking around the Christmas tree,” well it sounded like that, on their return clutching a battered sprig of mistletoe, or frightening pussy by singing “You’ll never guess what you’ve got from me!” at full volume while struggling into their jim-jams.
Despite the demands of the season there was an above average turn out for the fixture at Wilmslow. Sparky brought along a party of local money men, these movers and shakers rapidly bought into the atmosphere and instantly tucked into the in-flight nibbles and liquid refreshments, and by the time the Memorial Ground was reached they were all in lively mood.
The Sommelier returned to the front line, although his replacement at Rossendale, Doctor Foster had performed admirably and was a hard act to follow, as the Platelayer pointed out at frequent intervals. But after sorting out the Press Secretary’s seating arrangements, which were strategically linked to the dispensing of the grape, everything flowed. Woggle had brought along some delicious homemade mince pies and in between the munching matters financial, not a million light years away from the subject of travel contributions, were passionately debated by a murmuring herd of “Cash Cows.”
Heavy rain and the gale force winds that had rattled the coach down the M6 and M56 had not abated by the time Dwayne swung the 51 seater onto Wilmslow’s gigantic car park and as always the Alies were greeted by an immaculate dressed guard of honour.
Minimus organised the kitty but was quickly told to put the money away because a round had been organised by the hosts and after the Major had sorted his drinking vessel out a generous Barry ushered the Alies to their table.
Out on the balcony, after lunch, the wind still howled, the silver rain cascaded down but a good humoured bunch of supporters hunkered down under an awning which emptied its contents at regular intervals, usually when Wilmslow’s highly respected Press Officer, David Pike, happened to be wandering past.
Major and Jonty remained inside accompanied the odd glass of red and indulged in a wide ranging conversation which included reference to the “Saturday Suppers” page in the classy “Match Day Magazine.” The recipes on offer were “Cured Salmon or Gravlax” and “Roast Shoulder of Lamb with Cider and Mint Pickled Apples,” but it was the choice of wines that caught the Alies’ eyes. They are all familiar with robust Rioja reds and wines from the Southern Rhone, unfortunately the tip about removing the cork three hours before serving fell on deaf ears; the advice from the Alies usually demands that the screw top is removed as quickly as possible so that the glugging can begin without too much ceremony.
There was little sophistication in Minimus’s cracker type joke but it had some of the Alies holding their sides, while others rolled their eyes and banged their fists on the table.
“What’s red and smells like blue paint?”
“Red paint!”
Thankfully Gilly was wrapped up warm at home so there were no ugly sights and sounds of skulls being crunched.
Before leaving a Boat Race was organised, quite like old days, but the Alies were not required to bolster the team which was not a bad call because they had not brought along their wet suits or incontinent vests with flaps and it might have got very damp and messy by the time they sat down or collapsed.
It was a quiet Cocktail Hour on the Saturday before Christmas, although the Solicitor was in good voice solving any problem that was slung in his direction. The mild beer on offer did not go down too well with the Alies, neither did the suggestion to switch to IPA by the Accountant, who was worried about the percentage price rise, but he was outvoted; later there was a whip to order a bottle of Shiraz.
Maximus brought up the topic of wine when he asked the Major what would be the ideal plonk to accompany pork. This was meat and drink, sorry Gilly, for the Major, who reeled off a huge range of palatable vintages that left Maximus speechless.
The evening ended with a real buzz when the Oil Tycoon said there was a possibility of a tour to Vancouver in 2020; such excitement with Rudolph being made ready in the background and the sleigh bells ringing sent the Alies homeward with a glow.
The Alies were well represented at the “200 Club Draw,” Gilly was one of the winners, which as usual was superbly organised by Steve Ralston but unfortunately his co-conspirator, George Dickson, was unable to attend following a recent accident, but Ruth of popping cork and bubbles fame, proved an able assistant.
A sumptuous buffet was prepared and the honesty bucket collection more than covered its cost and the whole afternoon was enjoyed by one of the largest gatherings at this long running event for a number of years, which once again provided the opportunity to meet up with old friends.
Maximus kindly supplied the photograph at the top of this article when, in one of his more sober moments in the Isle of Man, he whipped out his “Brownie” in “The Station Hotel” in Port Erin.
The Winter Solstice has passed, the days are staying lighter longer and the Alies will be hoping that the second stanza to the season will contain a little more brightness, but remember “Que Sera Sera.”
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