In the beginning there was a Tour Manager, Nick McPherson. And he decreed that there would be a tour to Eastbourne. Eastbourne, we said? But that’s full of old geezers. Suits you then was the response. Then he found a hotel – a rather splendid building overlooking the beach, called the Cumberland, thenceforth known as the Sausage Hotel. Then there was the matter of a coach. Due to a past mishap, Nick was rather limited in choices but he finally found one coach company who were willing to give us a chance. Of course, we needed a game, and finally after weeks of scouting around, seemingly from Cranbrook to Bournemouth, Hove RFC agreed to a game. So, with a certain amount of excitement, the tourists began to assemble at the Club for pre-tour cocktails – thanks to Sue and Shirley – who I think weren’t necessarily there to dispense cocktails as much as making sure we all departed giving them some peace and quiet for a few days. And where would we be without bacon butties? Matt slaved over a hot griddle, the boys enjoyed Matt’s Baps, a few more beers to help the digestive processes. Nick then introduced the Tour Fags, a record number. Rob Sidnell and Matt Jones were designated Senior Fags, thus forgoing the traditional Fags dresses. Sam Tye, Freddie Barrett, Lewis Pitchell, Harry Lingham, Jay Wardrope, Tom Cox, Daniel Burgin and Ben Carter were issued their rather fetching outfits, whilst everyone received their Tour polo shirts and zippered jumpers, not quite appropriate as the Met Office were predicting temperatures in the 30’s for the weekend.
Nick began to sweat – not from the heat – but from the non-arrival of the coach, which eventually arrived just before the swelling of the traditional chorus ‘’Worst Tour Evaaaaa’’. However, the relief turned to some horror when the first boarders discovered there were no on board facilities, or indeed Air Conditioning. The coach ready to go when it was realised that Brad Coltham was absent . Hooray, Brad arrives. Time to go. Fortunately, Eastbourne is a only few hours away. And off we went, minus a few layers of paint as the coach found it a tad difficult to manoeuvre through the gate. ‘’That’s alright, driver, nothing a dash of T-cut won’t fix’’, came from the rear seats.
So far, so average, but Nick had put in a tremendous amount of work to make the Tour memorable. Leading up to D-Day, Nick had been slowly eking out details of the itinerary, rules of engagement, Fitz had diligently been collecting deposits in the beer kitty, either through the Spoon Club or Immunity Fees. One only had to look at the potential team, and look forward to the prospect of a good result. Needless to say, there would be many barriers before that team took the pitch – losing players to sunstroke, alcohol poisoning, predatory pensioners, visits to the A&E or the cop shop, all factors to consider, but on paper, a team that would have no doubt kept us in Kent 2. By the time we got to the bottom of Wrotham Hill, Nick was being asked where we would be stopping for a comfort break by those rather more age challenged, whose prostate would be sorely tested.
Adam collected the bus fare, an additional surcharge to keep the beer kitty swollen, and turned down Alan Caarleton’s attempt to use his Senior Citizens Bus Pass. Winding through the leafy and narrow country lanes, the temperature rising all the time, the tourists tried to stay hydrated, naturally. The coach caused some consternation to oncoming traffic, which hastily pulled up the verges to avoid Will The Driver from collecting more multi-hued scrapes. There was even more consternation when Will The Driver had to assay a 3-point turn at Frant, on receiving news of a road blockage ahead, but luckily Will The Driver was able to receive input from Will James, whose own HGV experience was used to good effect.
Our way station turned out to be the splendid Nevill Crest & Gun at Eridge Green. Again there were looks of consternation, dare I say horror, among the clientele enjoying their goats cheese and fig relish brioche buns and glasses of Chardonnay on the extensive lawns in the sun as the coach slalomed into the car park, where many fine cars were stationed. But, we vacated the coach, and enjoyed a thoroughly pleasant bevvy or three at this lovely pub. The staff soon overcame their horror, only asking us once to keep the noise down, but that was a tad surprising as this was one of the quietest, well behaved group I have witnessed in my 50 odd years of touring. The noise level did increase a little when Nick called the Naming of Rooms, a traditional ritual, where the Tour Manager tries to pair up suitable room-mates, sometimes with limited success (Max and Liam? Need I say more?) Both worthies immediately got on Tripadvisor trying to find alternative accommodation in the area.
Eventually, we arrived at the Sausage Hotel, which happened to be very impressive, gaining the approval of everyone. Quick change, quick shower, and the lads were ready to sample the delights of Eastbourne. Nick had organised dinner at Chuck ‘n Blades, which was very good, before we went to the Duke of Devonshire to watch the Montpellier vs Ulster match, won pretty convincingly by the French outfit. Then off the lads went to sample the delights of Eastbourne’s night life. I have to say that my perception of Eastbourne was shattered upon conducting, for research purposes only, of course, that far from being God’s Waiting Room, the town has a vibrant night life, the many bars and pubs full of youngsters, many of whom (of the female persuasion) seemed to be in various stages of undress. Needless to say, the more elderly amongst us – well some of us – returned to the hotel and enjoyed a much quieter drink on the hotel terrace. Needless to say, certain tourists caroused the night away, with the Group Chat on Whatsapp pinging with such messages as ‘’Where am I?’’ ‘’I’m lost’’; ‘’What’s the name of the hotel?’’ and ‘’ Where are you all – I’m on my own in such-and-such a bar’’.
SUNDAY COURT SESSIONS. After a rather splendid breakfast – The Cumberland does a superb spread for breakfast, it has to be said, the tourists retired to a back room for the traditional Court Sessions.
Judge – Nick McPherson
Prosecution – Inspector Cox of the Yard
Defence – David Dunn (about as much use as a chocolate tea pot)
Driver Will’s case was heard, being guilty of various traffic offences, and in his absence case adjourned.
Naturally, Max Gregory was called to the bar – in fact, he had rarely left a bar of one description or another, all Tour. Inspector Cox had hoped that this would be a breakthrough year for Mad Max; that on eventually receiving his green tie, this would be the year when Max would finally attain responsibility and a modicum of adulthood. Alas and alack, those dreams were shattered when Max managed to knock a full pint over Inspector Cox. Thus, Max was found guilty of an offence under the Assault On Emergency Workers (Offences) Act 2018. It was then shown by video evidence that the spill was actually caused by Max’s best friend Liam creating a hazard with a chair causing Max too spill the aforementioned pint. Max was still found guilty as was his nemesis.
There then followed a case brought against Will James. Whilst many of us watched the rugby match at the Duke of Devonshire, a small group repaired to the chairs and tables outside, to watch the Eastbourne equivalent of the paseo – watching young ladies strolling past. Up came a street person with a battered guitar to entertain the captive audience and possibly earn a few coins and thus fund his next indulgence whatever that may be. Apparently, said street person had very little skill at playing, even less at singing. This caused our lads to feel a certain amount of bonhomie and feeling most philanthropic after a few bevvies, made a donation of a good few quid to the unfortunate. Then, Brad Coltham, who is a decent troubadour, took over the guitar and banged out a quick tune, earning a round of applause from all and sundry. Will James, who had come late to the party, became enraged at this largesse and began to harangue his fellow tourists pointing out that the street person would likely be spending his unexpected windfall on more drugs, thus resulting in even more problems. So, he lectured all and sundry on the foolishness of giving money to unworthies, and tried to demonstrate his argument by offering £10 to a random passerby out for a stroll with his girlfriend. Obviously, the random stranger refused the money wondering if he was being set up for some nefarious jape by Will. Eventually, after Will had followed his prey down the street brandishing his Ayrton Senna (for our Cockney readers), until the stranger finally accepted the note with a bemused look. In his defence, Will pleaded a case of PSTD, after being traumatised by an incident in Rochester High Street, when he was approached by a stranger who had a heart-rending tale of having been mugged on his way to visit his terminally ill sister in Medway Maritime Hospital. The stranger showed good faith by taking Will’s phone number so he could reimburse him the £40 as soon as he could return to his house to get his spare wallet. Funnily enough, that was the last Will saw of his money. Wiping a tear from his eye, Judge McPherson found him guilty of an offence under the Vagrancy Act 1824 – but in reverse.
Baby of the Tour, Tom Cox, was then led to the dock and asked to explain why, during the evening, a most comely wench had approached him and insinuated that she had a bit of a desire to discuss biology with him. Tom spurned her advances, citing he wished to remain faithful to his girlfriend. Cox Sr. asked if he had a girlfriend? ‘’Well, no, actually, but I am rather fond of a young lady back at Maidstone’’. ‘’But has she offered any encouragement to you, Tom?’’ ‘’Well, no actually. And she has gone on holiday to Aya Napa with several of her friends both male and female’’. So, for the first time in legal history, Tom was found guilty of not taking advantage of a young lady who was intent on exploring her sensual side. Cox Sr. also asked for a DNA test wondering if he had indeed fathered such a paragon of virtue.
Sam Tye was called up for a distinct lack of captaincy skills on accusing Jay Wardrope of being without a club tie. Ironic, really considering Sam’s surname. And the fact that jay’s only game for the club had been when he had his nose re-arranged playing for Sam at New Ash Green brought little sympathy. Sam and Jay were both given electronic tags to be worn for the rest of the day.
Freddie Barrett was accused of being drunk in a public place but as it seemed that Freddie appeared to have been continuously inebriated since 9 a.m the previous morning, the case was thrown out as being too complicated to pursue.
Max again was brought to Court as having arranged to meet with a rent boy. Max explained that the ‘rent boy’ was in fact an old Uni friend. David Dunn successfully argued that this was a distinct case of Habeas Corpus, and without proof i.e the body, there was no case to answer, thus winning his first ever case in his fifth year as Defence Counsel.
So, Saturday Sessions drew to a close, and the tourists readied themselves for the short(ish) trip to Hove RFC, our hosts for Saturday’s match. Needless to say, because of the Carnival, many roads were shut, so Will the driver was forced to find an alternative route, meaning the coach was late. As we boarded the coach, T.M. McPherson asked Sam if he still had the shield, which we would be presenting to Hove RFC. A look of consternation came to Sam’s visage. ‘’Oh, er, I put in my bag for safe keeping’’, said Sam, ‘’um, I’ll just make sure it’s still there’’. Off he dived into the luggage compartment to find his bag, which, of course, was buried under everyone else’s bag. Nick, shook his head sadly. ‘’Just one job, that’s all he had, just one job’’. Sam returned rather crestfallen. ‘’It’s not there. It must be in my room’’. Off he rushed to turn his room upside down. As he disappeared back into the hotel, Dave Dunn sheepishly approached Nick. ‘’Er, I think I might have it. Er, I saw it lying around, so I picked it up for safe keeping. It’s probably in my bag''. Off went Dave, diving back into the luggage hold, only to emerge five minutes later. ‘’It’s not there. I’ll check my room’’. Dave disappeared back into the hotel, passing Sam on the way out (without a shield). By now, every tourist was checking overhead lockers, under the seats, behind the seats. No shield. Dave returned. Still no shield. ‘’ Right, let’s go,’’ said Nick, by now pretty exasperated, and half hour late.
For some reason, Will the driver took the coach on rather a circuitous route out of Eastbourne, partly perhaps because of the Carnival, partly because his SatNav was acting capriciously. The ageing coach actually struggled to go up any sort of incline, no danger then of exceeding the 20 m.p.h. limit, but when an octogenarian nun on a pushbike sailed past us, there were dark mutterings from the tourists. Nick checked his watch, a worried expression clouding his chiselled features. His carefully crafted itinerary in danger of dissolving, he instructed Lewis to lead the players in a stretching session on the coach. Suddenly an almighty bang shook the coach. An overhanging branch had removed the side mirror on the nearside. ‘’Shall we stop and retrieve the corpse of your wing mirror, Will’’ cried a tourist. ‘’No’’, said Will the Driver’’, I’ll pick up another coach from HQ’’. ‘’Any chance you could make it one with AC or a toilet’’, beseeched another tourist. Ian ‘Deano’ Chapman observed that Will the Driver had caused more damage to his own coach than we had inflicted on any coach in the near past.
Eventually, as we limped into the outskirts of Hove, Andy Carslaw announced the team that would start against Hove RFC.
F.Barrett; L.Pitchell, T.Barrett, B.Carter, B.Coltham; N.McPherson, N.Covill; D.Cox, G.Rawlings, W.James; D.Burgin, T.Cox; M.Gregory, M.Hunt; D.Dunn.
Replacements: S.Tye, J.Wardrope, A.Fitzgerald
Of course, on arriving at the ground, all this carefully constructed team was demolished when Hove RFC ( a team roughly the equivalent of Kent 1, and boasting 3 men’s teams – and 2 Ladies’ teams) only had 12 players. A coterie of players were on the sidelines but couldn’t play because the coach wanted to keep them fresh for an important Cup match the following week. So, Vigo lent them three players who constantly swapped with other tourists to ensure a game was played. Oh, by the way, let me take you, dear readers, back a little while to the Shield Saga. As Dave Dunn emptied his kit bag to get kitted out for the game, would you like to hazard a guess as to what was lurking in his bag? Yup, you got it – the Club Shield & Tie, which was eventually presented to our hosts.
The match, as you might surmise was a rather light hearted affair, with Dom Mickelburgh opening the scoring after about five minutes. One highlight was greeted with much hilarity when Max was absolutely smoked by Hove’s outstanding player, Milad. Ben Stevens for the home side, soon crossed, converting his own try before Marcus Hunt, Nick McPherson and Dominic (again) all scored as Vigo’s backs revelled on the bone hard pitch under the blazing sun. Each converted their own tries. Lewis Pitchell added another before Ben Stokes – not the renowned England cricketer, hit back for Hove, converting his try. Tommy Barrett and Adam Fitzgerald both scored (Adam converting his try) sandwiching a late try by the aforementioned Stokes. Thus, Vigo turned round at half time, comfortably leading 21-43.
Perhaps the bewildering swapping of players, a surfeit of sun and sangria addled the tourists’ brains, or they thought it was all over, but Hove struck back hard. Dom Mickelburgh scored for Hove, before tries by Mild, Alex Walsh (converted), Nick Mcpherson (who had also swapped) brought Hove right back into the match, in fact by now leading 50-43. However, Brad Coltham scampered over, converting, to level the scores. Marcus Hunt added another to take the lead 50-55. There then followed a spell of Hove setting up camp on Vigo’s line, aided and abetted by some highly dubious refereeing - actually no-one really objected, as Tyler Russell, the referee, had been an excellent referee, and the Hove team had been a thoroughly pleasant bunch. Unfortunately, even with all that Hove just could not score, so Vigo broke from their own line, travelled the length of the field, Nathan Covill scoring a thoroughly deserved try to wrap up the match.
Both teams repaired to Hove’s splendid clubhouse for some grub, and (surprise, surprise) a few bevvies, presentation of the Shield and Tie, awarding of MoM (the remarkable 59 year old Dicky Swann for Hove and the rather hungover Freddie Barrett for Vigo) and we watched the rather one-sided Leinster vs Bordeaux match, before Will The Driver arrived with a replacement coach – with AC (but sadly, no toilet). Naturally, we were late departing as we waited for Max who had ordered from Ubereats a Maccy D Happy Meal – which didn’t arrive. Unlucky, Max, let’s go, only for Will The driver to slam on the brakes as Brad had discovered that he had left his mobile back in the Clubhouse. Even with this further delay, Max’s Happy Meal had still not arrived.
Back to Eastbourne. A few misperceptions dispelled. Many of us had rather disparagingly dubbed Eastbourne as God’s waiting Room, but, in fact, this town has much to offer. The town is vibrant, with many bars and clubs full of youngsters. The town also boasts some fine restaurants – I recommend Ashoka in Cornfield Rd (apart from the fact, the AC wasn’t working – a recurring theme seemingly on this tour), a superb Indian restaurant. I am sure there are a few undesirables, but the Police were present throughout the evening, everyone just seeming to be intent on having a good night without shenanigans. I noticed, too, that there were no amusement arcades – well, at least not in the immediate vicinity of our hotel. And lastly, I have to credit our tourists who behaved themselves all tour.
Anyway, obviously, the tourists availed themselves of the attractions of Eastbourne after dark, whilst most of the elderly tourists retired for a quiet night cap or three on the hotel terrace.
SUNDAY COURT SESSIONS; There remained one last court session – an excuse perhaps to drain the remaining bottles of nappy liquid, cocktails and other noxious substances. Theo Gander and Aaron Cameron were both asked to explain their late arrival, and their reasonable excuses were accepted (medical grounds). Deano was accused and found guilty of drinking alcohol free beer at the Nevill; Sam Tye for not wearing a tie – more irony; Brad Coltham for stealing marmalade at breakfast. Dave Dunn offered two extenuating circumstances
1) Brad was plugging into his internal Paddington Bear
2) He was using it as hair gel.
Brad was further indicted for sending whattsapp messages to his future mother-in-law (which were in fact misdirected calls from another tourist who shall remain nameless to his cousin.) Prosecutor Cox asked to be recused from the case because of his antipathy towards IC7’s (Gingers).
The final case was heard. To protect the accused’s family, his name has been expunged from the records but apparently, the accused appeared to be the sole tourist to have actually been successful with a person of the female persuasion, who happened to have a rather remarkable embonpoint. Unable to persuade his room mate to vacate the room for a spell, he then attempted to rent another room as several nearby establishments, who, naturally, were unwilling to let a room out at 2.30 a.m. for obviously promiscuous purposes. Our hero was then forced to experience ‘’sexe en plain air’’, (under the pier). A reconstruction was performed, involving a pair of watermelons, the degenerate found guilty of ‘’handling swollen goods’’ and warned as to his future behaviour.
So, sadly, our time in Eastbourne came to an end, but not without one last mishap. As the coach was about to depart, fully laden with the tourists luggage, a hotel employee, came rushing out to explain that some other tourists had left their baggage in the left luggage room whilst their rooms were being fumigated. Needless to say, our diligent fags had then loaded them on the coach, thus necessitating the coach to be emptied, our baggage checked and the offending bags returned to their rather rightful owners (minus a sex toy which happened to have been discovered during an identity check).
A huge thank you from us all to Nick Mcpherson, who had worked tirelessly to ensure an excellent tour, to Will James who had done something to help about which no-one was really sure; to our fags, who worked diligently to complete their duties, albeit displaying a rather worrying predilection to wear ladies’ dresses; to Will the Driver who overcame many obstacles; to the staff at the Cumberland Hotel who were always good humoured and patient and above all, to you, Vigo RFC, for being such great company.
Gentlemen, it’s been emotional.

The Ensemble; N.McPherson (Tour Leader & Judge), Will James (assistant to Mr McPherson); Adam Fitzgerald (Hon Treasurer, Chief Whip), D.Cox (Prosecutor in Chief), D.Dunn (Defence Counsel); Club President R.Fitton ;G.Rawlings (1st XV Captain (no longer), D.Mickelburgh (1st XV Captain (from now); T.Newnham (Diarist & Keeper of the Records), G.Smith (Chief Sweaty) Junior Fags – B.Coltham, B.Carter, A.Cameron, J.Wardrope, F.Barrett, H.Lingham, S.Tye, T.Cox, L.Pitchell, D.Burgin; Senior Fags – R.Sidnell, M.Jones. Other Ranks - A.Carslaw, A.Carleton, I.Chapman, D.King, S.Carter, T.Barrett, B.Moorhouse, M.Hunt, A Hunt, M.Lingham, L.Wiltshire, K.Hall, N.Covill, J.O’Halloran, M.Gregory, T.Gander