By An Alternative
October 14 2002

So that was South Wales then! A roller coaster weekend that saw emotional highs and lows, a lot of drinking and a few friends made here and there. Quins comfortably won the rugby watched by a very large contingent of traveling fans. Locals put the number at 500 in a crowd of about 1600

For me the weekend started with a dash to Reading, so to speak, then a bumpy journey down to Cardiff. By 9.30pm I was in an Italian restaurant with nineteen other members of GITS (Geezers International Travel Services). The group quickly split into two, the noisy ones who had spent the best part of the afternoon on Brains and the few who were knackered from traveling. Well the bill came to about £600, which wasn’t too bad at all considering all the alcohol that was consumed. For some of us, that was the cue for bed, or floor in a few people’s case. No names.

Pulling the curtains in the morning, a glorious view awaited me. The shunting yard! The fun of the day was just starting. Our hotel sells itself as one of the coolest places in Europe/Britain/Wales/Cardiff or somewhere or other, so that gives them the right to mess with the taps? What happened to the days when there were hot and cold ones and the gently reassuring words of Armitage Shanks were written on them? We had one unmovable mixer tap that didn’t like contact with my nose (a slight aiming problem one morning!) and two separate taps with buttons? Buttons you ask? Well I think the one on the left was a thrust and the one on the right either a fire or a joke button. If you wanted a drink of cold water you either went without or asked someone with a degree in Astral Physics. I ask you, why is life so complicated? And don’t mention the seats in reception. There’s plenty of photos knocking around with many of us sitting on the carpet. Why, I hear you ask? `Cos we kept slipping off the seats (I hesitate to call them chairs)!

After a quick brekky, enlightened by someone nicking NGA’s toast and the hotel running out of food we set sail for the station for the short trip to Caerphilly. On route we met the obligatory Scottish drunk and the east European beggar. After a minor mix up with tickets, totally my fault of course, we joined our train and waited with expectation our arrival. There was only one question on our lips ….. how many pairs of shoes would Mrs. B buy today? Our numbers had been severely shrunk by a shopping expedition. Onwards the brave ten went.

Our first port of call was the castle. A seriously impressive structure it is. If you’re ever in the vicinity if is well worth the detour. It’ll be even better when they finish it! Groan groan. We quickly slipped into divvy mode, hence a tirade of stage whispers ….. “Didn’t something move behind that bush”, “Would a keep out sign really keep the English out?” (Possibly if lead by Clive Woodward.) And … “INCOMING!” Oh well it seemed funny at the time.

I have this opinion that when normally sensible people are in a group they behave with half the intelligence of the thickest person there. We fully lived up to that! NGA briskly strolled up this tower with all the eagerness associated with his youth, he promptly came back. “Nothing up there except a locked door.” Sensible enough so far. However, the next twenty minutes were taken up with people asking each what was up the stairs, “Are you sure”, “Did you try the door” and worst of all “Was there a toothpaste concession up there?!” Sorry that was me, and I’ve no intention of explaining it.

Next we headed for the Pontygwindy Alehouse, our agreed meeting point with the shoppers. This was achieved with some difficulty as drop kerbs haven’t reached this part of the country yet and don’t even think about ramps! Our numbers were starting to swell, conversation finally turned rugby. But only briefly, as the Medussa Effect was starting to work, snaring up the trains. Our match tickets were now in a taxi that was somewhere between Cardiff the pub and the ground. Finally it was all sorted. Our calling cards happily left, with one or two highly embarrassing photo opportunities we wafted down to Virginia Park.

Imagine our amusement to discover that we had a French referee called Derrière (well Darriera actually, but he performed like one). The game itself was nothing to write home about. Nathan kicked nine out of eleven conversions. Now, which member of the management told me he couldn’t kick? The oppo were game but out of their depth. Their pack just about held their own, both wingers looked quick, one of them got a good try. The centres couldn’t tackle and they chose too many wrong options. Quins played Ben at 10, he had a so-so game. Too much aimless kicking and he missed touch too often. No-one really caught the eye. Pat seriously damaged his knee again just before half time. He’ll be out for about three months. So as Scotty said “It was a costly trip.”

The game got very silly in the last few minutes. The Cheesemakers had used all their replacements when one of their number got binned. At one point there was three different scraps going on and Richard Skuse took a cheap shot at a grounded and already being held Pablo Cardinali. So he walked leaving them with 13. Moments later Tani was binned for a rush of blood, probably a hint of retaliation. He should have known better. It spoiled what had been a good game for him.

Before I continue, I have to mention the behaviour of one or two Quin’s fans. One very irritating little child managed to bring forth several comments about shot guns and sniper rifles. Alex Codling’s comment was a succinct “Taxi for one!”. What ever happened to active parenting? Then there were the group that kept singing a song everytime Ace, the water boy for the day, came on the pitch. The first time it was funny. The forty seventh time it wasn’t. Then there was the Quin’s member who declined to move out of the way as we carried Lurcio plus wheelchair down the stairs. I see that disability awareness and common sense hasn’t reached everywhere yet.

So to the bar. Cracking time had by all. I spent most of it hob nobbing with some of their committee. The woes of Welsh rugby go deep and far. I wish Caerphilly well and hope that they enjoy their day at The Stoop as much as we did at Virginia Park. None of them appeared too upset by some patronizing comments written by a name I dare not mention. After a tight squeeze back in a taxi. It wasn’t tight for me, I’ve got some brains, I sat in the back, so Smiler, BaldRick and Prof squeezed in. A front row in the back row, so to speak.

Some Far Flung Geezers

Other things happened after that, but mainly in smaller groups. I went off with the Brighton Brigade and spent twenty minutes walking to a curry house that was three minutes away. It was that type of evening!

So what lessons can we learn from this trip? Not a lot, apart from Nathan’s kicking and his inability to iron. Tani is getting better and better. Ben is more confident than a season ago, but isn’t necessarily always choosing the right option. The backs are starting to play with real pace. The squad is clearly developing and we have genuine competition for some places.

Big thanks must go to Rugby Bird who organized so much of the trip. Well done and a round of applause. On the subject of rounds, thanks also go The Prof who carried the whip with gusto. A thankless job for anybody!

So roll on Saturday.

As a footnote I would add that having taken barely two hours to get from Cardiff to Reading it then took me five hours to get from Reading to Sutton. Cold, wet and tired. Ho hum!

Oh look, Railtrack complaints department are in my favourites folder …..