The U13s had been organised to have an away day surfing and camping at Langennith by team manager Sergeant Major David Cole. There was an early retirement from the lads and dads beano however when the unfortunate Mr Cole pulled up injured before a single stick of firewood had been hewn. The remaining group stuck to Dave's meticulous plans though, ably led by Matthew Ace and Leighton Hopkin.

We all met up at Llangennith in dribs and drabs, some arriving late due to an insignificant game of wendy-ball between two arch rivals - most of the lads playing for one or other of the teams involved.

The weather was kind to us, unlike the camp commandant at the gate who could take lessons in customer relations from Basil Fawlty. We pitched tents and circled the wagons well away from other campers around a substantial gazebo under which we arrayed chairs, tables and barbecue paraphernalia.

Steve Cheyney rolled up in his massively well equipped van toting kayak, surfboards, wetsuits, oil-drum barbecue and, incredibly, a TV and satellite dish. Unfortunately there was no electricity to run the thing.

The boys instantly left the dads to their communal cursing while struggling with tent poles, guy ropes and pegs and went off to play man-hunt in the dunes. They returned only to thoughtfully deposit piles of sand, grass and empty cans of energy drinks in the newly erected tents.

After a little light refreshment the majority donned wetsuits and grabbed surfboards and set off for the sea, for those of us not that way inclined this proved to be an amusing diversion as we sat smugly cradling a beer and humming a helpful selection of Beach Boys favourites and the theme tune from Hawaii Five-o.

With all parties returned safely from the surf thoughts turned to the evening's main attraction, a barbie under the stars and taking it in turns to water the nearby hedge.

Mr Cheyney set up his impressive monster barbecue at one end of the gazebo and lit it just in time for the wind to change and waft the smoke straight into the seating area. Undeterred, we carried on regardless subjecting sausages, burgers and chicken to the flames and ourselves to too much liquid to counteract the eye-watering smoke.

While this was going on the carefree boys were off in the neighbouring fields playing cricket and then football, the size of the ball increasing as the light diminished. They then descended on the barbecue en-masse sensing the readiness of the food with amazing accuracy and leaving a trail of crumbs and sauce in their wake as they swept through like a plague of oversized locusts before running off back to the dunes.

The star of the food had to be our token nod towards the vegetable family, a large pot of boiled potatoes supplied by Lewis and forgotten by all at the carnivore's feast. All, that is but Steve, who amused himself greatly by lobbing them one by one over the hedge at the boys.

By now the smoke billowing through the gazebo had forced everyone outside apart from Leighton Hughes who alone persevered manfully by the tried and tested technique of rubbing his eyes and coughing violently.

Eventually sense prevailed and the barbie was moved to the other end before being piled up with wood for a campsite pyre worthy of Dave Cole himself. Indeed, we commemorated his absence by thoughtfully texting him a bombardment of photos just to remind him of what he was missing.

We all wandered wearily off to our tents at the end of the evening for an uncomfortable night's sleep punctuated by some magnificent snoring, wind breaking and desperate calls of nature.

The next morning dawned fair and mercifully dry for the packing away of tents. The brief, sleep deprived adventure had been a great success and another event we can all look back on with fondness for the camaraderie, laughs and lasting friendships forged from the shared experience. Cheers Dave, hope you make the next one.