Tour Report - Page 2

Philip Goulstone flicked agitatedly through the pages of his small, black book. He was desperate. It was thirty-six minutes since he had last made love and beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead. The middle-aged Swedish women he had met on the flight back from Palma had their Norweigan fly-fishing course that afternoon, and everyone else was at work. Reluctantly, he put down his book and slumped on the sofa, casually flicking through the January edition of Reader's Wives. Playing tonsil tennis in Chivas was all well and good, but he needed more, and even hurling abuse at the hapless LOBS defenders had not settled his mood. He jumped with a start as something fell through the letterbox. Dashing into the hall, his curiosity aroused, he spotted the trademark brown box. Ripping it open, pulling out the video. Into the machine. Deidre does Dundee was rolling within seconds….

"Yeah. Yeah. You want it baby. Tell me. Tell me." Charlie Martin ripped off his newly-acquired vest and tossed it onto his bed. Continuing to look in the mirror he flexed his bare torso, growling at his reflection. He knew that the rest of the LOBS were only jealous when they had mocked him for buying the tight, blue vest from the beach front store. None of the others could carry it off. No way. Not even wiping out on the beach in front of a group of bewildered German tourists after three halves of lager could detract from the fact that Charlie had been the principal figure on tour….

Pieter Heyn woke up on the Ramblas. He carefully removed the wedding ring from the finger of the random girl lying in bed next to him, and stuffed it into his top pocket. He was back in Barcelona after a brief sojourn to join up with the LOBS in Mallorca, and as he sauntered out in the crisp spring air he reflected on a momentous weekend. The cheers which greeted him on his arrival in Mallorca were still ringing in his ears; he had arrived mid-session on the Friday afternoon, and after making his way past a prematurely drunk Mark Watson, he settled down for a couple of swift sherbets before disappearing off again 'on business'. A steady performance at the back on the Saturday had satisfied him, before he made himself scarce after the post-match drinks to sort out 'some business' back in Barcelona…

*****

This is a tale of four days, three nights, two football matches, and a giant-sized lollipop. A tale of 16 men brought together with a common goal, displaying great valour, determination and some interesting bolting techniques. Sand, sea and surf provided the backdrop for a long-weekend which will live long in the memories of those fortunate enough to experience it, and which your humble and obedient servant shall here endeavour to bring to life to those men, women and Teme House members who prefered to stay at home….

Imagine your worst nightmare. Then add Austrian lap dancers with a predilection for bodily hair and hot fish flavoured milkshakes to wash it down. None of this compares to the horrific experience confronting our heroes on their Go Go Go Go Go (Get on with it) flight to Palma. For they were confronted with 13 fearsome ogres, clad in yellow, sporting the words BIG STU'S STAG DO - 'AVIN IT LARGE IN MAGALUF'. Evans struck back quickly, refusing to sit near the pikey blighters, and the rest of the team carried this spirit forth and retained their composure for the arduous challenges. That said, if 'Road Trip' (an especially abhorrent pleb) had found himself alone, facing the LOBS, then the restraint of a few may well have been tested.