Author’s Note

What follows is a behind the scenes look at some of the personalities, events, accusations & revelations that were Jersey 2022. This review is a memoir from an A Team perspective as that’s where the editor largely was, so B Squad players and events are mentioned only fleetingly in comparison. The balance is restored in the B Team blog however, where the reverse will no doubt happen.

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this piece are those of the editor and should not be mistaken for those of GPSFA, any other member of the association or indeed anyone residing in the civilised world. This is (mostly) a work of non-fiction and as such, any resemblance to actual persons, living or otherwise, events or locales, is entirely intentional.

Dramatis Personae

Players

Jacob Bennett. Captain. Midfielder. Future Poet Laureate.

Harry McLarney. Right back. Sausage eater. Proper fringe.

Clark Vaile. Left back. Keeps a great straight face. Orders salad but doesn’t like it.

Ben Hanlon. Centre back. Calpol King. Model. Awful eater.

Charlie Buckland. Right mid/right back. Pacy eater. Loves lettuce.

Jacob Hayes. Centre back/centre mid. Utterly nice. Goal machine.

Samuel Clifford. Midfield. Super sub. Doesn’t like clothes.

Archie White. Midfield/striker. Loves proper names. Fashion guru.

Tommy Manning. Left midfield. Free kick expert. Future export to NFL.

Henry Brooks. Striker. Hilarious. Mad. Skint.

Leo Folley. Goalkeeper. Jersey’s Number One.

Others The Chef (Andrew Foran). Cook. Driver. Conversationalist. Bruce Forsyth lookalike. Gloucester man desperately seeking friendship.

Romeo (himself). Eats. Sleeps. Eats. Chef’s carer.

Coach Wilson. Director of the Royal Institute of Room Inspectors. Diary marker. Attitude hunter. Sudoku solver.

Coach Wixey. Good manager. Good motivator. Good man. Good Cop.

Coach Harris. Creative. Innovative. Large. Bad Cop.

Coach Stalley. Tactical. Technical. Trustworthy. Tweeter. Once.

The Editor. Old. Grey. Tired. And they’re the good bits.

King Pat of Jersey. Festival organiser. 46 years. Legend.

Saturday 9th April

7.20am. The great day is here and so is the Aston’s coach. Nice Harry McLarney isn’t last and sets the tone for what may just be a personally successful week. Buckers has finally found his long-lost polo shirt which is the kind of omen you want ahead of what’s sure to be a challenging seven days in the keep-a-tab-on-your-possessions-stakes. Vaile arrives sporting a fine-looking bruise which looks a bit like a Cyclopean eye in the middle of his forehead.

We have ‘Wheels on the Bus’ and ‘This is the Earth’ prior to reaching the M5 and a very loud, Folley-inspired, ‘Everywhere we Go’ as we speed through south Gloucestershire’s lanes before circumnavigating the airport twice with the driver attempting to discover a drop-off spot that won’t cost him twenty quid.

There are no problems at check-in, though The Chef finds a tall man with thinning hair and shoulders like tallboys and a diminutive lady wearing a pink blouse and horn-rimmed spectacles to talk to, both of whom scoot to the back of the queue as soon as he’s momentarily distracted by a sudden tannoy announcement that has nothing at all to do with us. If previous Jersey tours are anything to go by, this could well become a recurring theme during the days and nights ahead.

Both the flight and landing are smooth once The Chef and Romeo have been relocated to the front of the plane to balance out the weight as Coach Harris is seated at the back, before Vaile gains himself an early attitude point by helping to load everyone’s cases and bags on to the mini bus that’s waiting patiently for us in section C of the Jersey Airport car park.

Lunch is taken on arrival at the hotel, the car park having been discovered by taking a right, right, right after racking up at the entrance and popping into reception to ascertain its carefully hidden location. Second floor rooms are apportioned and Hayes finds himself partnering Folley in 204, while the nicest room, 205, houses Bennett, McLarney and Manning. The door of 206 swings open to begrudgingly admit Clifford and The Model, while Vaile and White take up residence in 207. Brooks and Buckland complete the tally by making themselves at home in 208 and the bets are on as to who will finish second in the ‘Tidiest Room’ competition.

Belongings unpacked and lunch completed, we head west to Portelet Bay, a picture-postcard cove with a long flight of steep steps designed to keep casual visitors away, an interesting little island reached at low tide along a spit of perfect sand, some tantalising rocks and rock pools rising to the left and a very impressive café tucked away to the right. Spying the latter out of the corner of his eye, Coach Wilson, for the first time today and the seventh occasion in sixteen previous Jersey tours, threatens the beginnings of a very small smile.

All Under-60s are in the sea within three minutes of arriving and all are out within three and a half minutes, the sparkling blue water not quite as warm as it originally appeared to be. Clifford and White take advantage of the sun-drenched beach to cavort around in as little as possible, while the rest of us cross the sand spit and climb up to Janvarin’s Tomb on the aforementioned island, where Vaile, for the second occasion today distinguishes himself, this time by remembering the story of the plague-ridden sea captain that he’s read about in the Jersey handbook. ‘Janvarin?’ frowns The Model. ‘Handbook?’ frowns The Brooks.

The sojourn at the beach is followed by the formation of the 2022 Jersey Eating Leagues, which for the first time see five people (Hayes, Folley, Bennett, Clifford & Hanlon) making up The Premiership. Only time will tell if they all deserve to be there. Making up the three-boy Championship League are Vaile, McLarney and Buckland, while adorning the Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League are White, Brooks and Manning, with only Manning accepting his position amongst the have-nots with any sort of propriety.

‘I’ve got a headache,’ announces The Model, seconds after surveying the evening meal menu and promptly retires to his bed, while White’s claim that he’s ‘Definitely a Premiership eater’ is proved to be a complete and utter lie as he consumes precious little of note. Manning fights doggedly with his roast chicken and trimmings to return a first-day eating mark of nine, a score that surprises himself as much as anyone else. Buckland, meanwhile, also scores a nine which is equally surprising in its own way, not because he’s a poor eater, but because he eats so slowly it looked unlikely at one stage that his plate would be cleared this side of Tuesday afternoon.

Sunday 10th April

The Model is up and running after a proper 12-hour sleep, Clifford having thoughtfully resisted the temptation to turn on the telly and sing an untuneful song on retiring last night. It’s clear the patient is better as, minutes before the practice fire alarm sounds throughout the hotel, his is one of four heads (Clifford, Vaile and White are the others) that are peering around their door jambs well before the early-morning knock-up is due to take place. All lose 0.5 of an attitude point under the long-standing rule that the fraction of the body jutting out beyond the threshold is rounded up to the nearest half.

Father Brooks is at the FB Fields bright and early, which is great news as he’s in possession of 132 bottles of Lucozade and a bag of training balls which he’s brought across on the ferry. We can do without the balls, but with the forecast suggesting hot weather to come, the Lucozade really is a ‘must-have’.

The opening game’s underway and St Albans take the lead with a well-taken goal midway through a first half that sees the Hertfordshire side on top, with Folley, Hayes and McLarney in particular doing well to repel the Yellows’ attacks. We have the better of the second period, though despite enjoying more of the possession, rarely look as if we might conjure an equaliser. 0-1 at the final whistle. The Bs open with a defeat against a big and very good St Paul’s U12 side in a game where three notable things happen. Firstly, Jaicob Stokes nets his first goal of the season with a cracking free-kick, leaving NJH as the only outfield player in the two squads not to make the scoresheet. Secondly, we recover from three down to three-all, before St Paul’s late salvo. And thirdly, The Chef accosts no fewer than five random spectators during his spell running the line in the second half, each of whom disappears at the first possible opportunity, meaning that with five minutes still to go, the number of people remaining on half the left-hand touchline has dwindled to absolutely no-one at all.

Lunch taken and we’re off to Rocco’s Crazy Golf on St Ouen Bay, a clever course based around a variety of Jersey landmarks that most people have never seen. The squad is split into two teams of awesome quality, each of which demonstrates a number of rarely-used qualities in order to not find the target – over-hitting, under-hitting and not hitting at all being amongst the most often used. Nice Jacob Hayes uses all three before incongruously achieving a hole in one from the eighth tee and indulges in a hugely impressive celebration to mark the occasion.

The first nine holes have taken so long to complete, we’re in grave danger of missing the swimming at Les Quennevais, so we curtail the competition at the halfway point and head back along the coast road. Just before we reach La Pulente, someone points out that there are a couple of very large sea mammals basking in the bay. To most observers they look like rocks, but the inquest has already started. ‘They look like blue whales to me,’ says someone who probably attends Longlevens. ‘No, they’re humpbacks,’ counters someone, who probably doesn’t.

At the top of the hairpins, the players sight their first plastic farm of the week and are intrigued that this type of material actually grows in fields. ‘Only in Jersey,’ is the simple explanation. ‘Really?’ says someone who doesn’t go to Dinglewell (or Longlevens or Highnam). ‘Absolutely,’ comes the reply, ‘and just like their potatoes, it costs twice as much as the normal stuff.’

Quennevais is a great pool as none of the other sides know anything about it, so it’s always devoid of any of the remaining festival personnel. We considered sharing its location with the other teams’ coaches circa 1993, but shelved the idea for a couple of years and have never contemplated it since.

One of the pool highlights is five people inside a black rubber ring, which is the equivalent of the 1980s question: ‘How do you get twelve people in a mini?’ but at least this one actually works. Talking about cars, there’s a collective ‘Oooh’ as we exit St Brelade and see a dark, red Lamborghini speed past, though the following ‘Ooohs’ and ‘Ahhhs’ every time someone spies a Ford coming the other way are oddly much funnier to all concerned.

Dinner time and both The Model and Buckers stare open-mouthed at their slab of duck liver pate, toast, pickle and mixed leaves; ‘What do you do with this?’ asks The Model, eyes wide with horror. ‘Eat it?’ offers Buckers, though there is little enthusiasm in his reply. Further up the table, Archibald is also struggling with his starter, claiming his vegetable soup is far too warm to eat. ‘I’ve tried blowing on it,’ he says, ‘but every time I do, it makes it hotter.’ Sitting opposite Archibald is Clifford, and the pair nod at each other in silent agreement by vibrating their respective quiffs. At the far end of the group, JB has polished off his starter, but has reached a slight impasse with his main, a problem he thinks he’s resolved by surreptitiously removing a roasty from the edge of his plate and relocating it on Henrietta’s, just as Coach Wilson turns the other way to check on Harold McLarney’s progress (which, by the way, is exemplary). Henrietta eats the roasty instantly, along with the pattern on his plate, an early sign that maybe his being placed in the Pig Farmers’ Reserve League is a little wide of the mark. Bennett, though, is quickly rumbled and is immediately deducted an eating point. Across the way, Thomas’s culinary enthusiasm of twenty-four hours previously is showing clear signs of waning, along with that of Vaile, who begins a week of ordering salad and leaving most of it. At either end of the eating formation, the two heavyweights of the Jersey Consumption Premiership, NJ Hayes and Leopold F leave no stone unturned and no evidence at all that, five minutes earlier, their plates had been completely full of roast beef with all the trimmings. This year’s Channel Islands Eating Title is clearly going to go right to the wire.

Monday 11th April

Plymouth are the opposition today and having played them twice already, we know they’re a very good side. The Devonians do little to dispel this theory and despite some fine saves from Leopold, we find ourselves two down early on, but get back into the game when Thomas’s fine cross from the left is diverted home by Clifford.

Suddenly, there’s a bit more belief and eight minutes after the break, Thomas rattles the far post before Henrietta hits the bar after a proper scramble in the Plymouth box. As so often happens in situations like these, however, Plymouth’s next effort strikes the far post, but two inches to the right of Thomas’s earlier attempt, and we’re 3-1 down. The Devonians seal the game with a late header from a corner, but it’s been a good second half display for the second game running, only on this occasion we’ve genuinely looked like scoring.

Having stayed at the FB Fields a little too long, back at the Norfolk we’re at the rear of the lunch queue, so people are still munching their chicken goujons when Coach Stalley walks through the restaurant door. It’s been son Lewis’s eighteenth birthday weekend, so a Monday morning flight’s been called for, as has a taxi from the airport, The Chef having forgotten to pick him up due to getting involved in a hugely meaningful conversation with a Portuguese waiter about the nutritional benefits of deep-fried food. ‘Eu concordo (I agree),’ says the waiter after every lard-ladled sentence, despite not entertaining the faintest idea of what the self-styled Gordon Ramsey is on about.

The latest lunch in GPSFA history completed, we head east to Gorey, passing the road where Coach Ed had a mini bus interaction with a moving wall a few years ago, without incident on this occasion. Mont Orgueil Castle is our second picture-postcard destination in three days, a spectacular thirteenth century monolith built atop a lump of igneous rock on the island’s most easterly point. As we start to scale the steps up to the Keep, there’s a morbid fascination amongst the group on seeing the twenty-foot high wooden ‘Weapons Man’, a sculpture showing the gory results of being attacked by a whole array of medieval weapons. The various rooms around the second level require a little bit of exploring, while the view from the main tower that extends to the western coast of France needs taking in, but, unsurprisingly, the main interest is in the toilets that overhang the outer wall just below where the condemned prisoners were shackled. ‘Like this?’ asks Archibald, an interaction which requires no further explanation.

The American tycoon, Henry Ford, once said: ‘A lesson in history should always be followed by an ice cream,’ so we drive half a mile up the coast to the Mr Whippy van that’s parked at the entrance to one of the beachside car parks. Cornets ingested, the coaches spend the next half-hour dissecting the morning’s events from a perfectly situated picnic table, while the protagonists play out a game of sand football on Gorey Beach. No-one keeps the score, which is exactly as it should be.

There’s an interesting chat at our end of the dinner table about scholarships. Leopold is clear that one of the best things about getting a rugby scholarship at Dean Close is that: ‘They have lots of food,’ while Buckers extols the educational benefits of a ‘Scholarship for Forgetfulness’ at King’s. Elsewhere, someone mistakes ‘constipation’ for ‘concentration’ amidst a fair bit of giggling from their so-called friends. Ignoring the chit-chat, Coach Stalley puts out a tweet which contains both an abject spelling error and a comma splice and two hours after taking on the job is unceremoniously removed from his much-coveted Media & Communications role at GPSFA Tour HQ.

The diaries are going well, with good focus and attitude displayed by all concerned. Some people have a longer unbroken concentration span than others mind you, with Thomas, NJH, Harold and Buckers amongst the more upwardly mobile in this regard, while others’ attentiveness needs a little realignment at times. The overall effort and standard of writing, though, are both very pleasing. Today’s Words of the Day include ‘numinous’ and ‘admirable’ and both are pretty well used.

Before and while heads are lowered and pens engaged, TRI (The Room Inspector) goes about his Monday evening duties, noting down all manner of things that are not quite right on the second-floor corridor. Today, the inhabitants of Room 208 are deducted a point for leaving their Jersey programme in a skewed position that isn’t parallel to the worktop, the Room 207 personnel have left both bags on the bed and the bathroom light on (minus 2), while Room 206 is found to have an unflushed toilet and a sachet of sugar on the floor (also minus 2). Rooms 204 (oddly) and 205 (unsurprisingly) are perfect 10s.

Tuesday 12th April

The best meal of the day is the first one, as many a fine quotation reads and this particular group seem to buy into that mantra with a fair amount of enthusiasm. Cereals are downed and toast tucked away before various combinations of ‘cooked’ are consumed. Vaile, Thomas and The Model settle for just bacon, while Harold is a sausage and nothing else man/boy. The others are all ‘fusion eaters’, a scholarly term meaning beans and something else. It may be better if Clifford in particular rethinks his early-morning (and lunch and evening) dietary mix, but no-one’s sufficiently brave to get close enough to him to suggest this. Archibald is an impressively quick bacon, sausage & beans consumer, while Buckers is slightly slower with his B & B, raising fears that we may not get to the Fields in time, even with an 11.15 kick-off. Henrietta, Captain B, NJH and Leopold have nothing at all in common with Buckers’ eating methods and down everything in about three seconds flat.

As we’re exiting the restaurant in a decidedly leisurely fashion, ready for a post-breakfast/pre-match chill-out, Coach Stalley’s phone rings and the former Media & Communications man receives the news that for reasons unbeknown at this time, our KO’s been moved forward to 10.15. There’s a swift timeline readjustment, the wheels on the bus are set in motion and we’re at the Florence Boot Fields in five minutes flat.

With the appointed referee also believing that it’s a later Kick-off, a volunteer member of the coaching staff is forced to take up the whistle and sixty minutes later a well-worn track of footprints around the centre circle suggests that ‘running the diagonals’ as it’s known in the trade, is something that’s escaped this particular would-be official’s training regime.

As for the game, St Paul’s are big, quick and good and are 2-0 ahead with just six minutes on the clock. At 3-0 after fifteen, a drubbing is on the cards, but Thomas drives home a penalty, only for St P’s to notch a fourth just before the break – a stunning strike that gives even Leopold no chance of saving.

For the third successive game though, we perform better after the break than before it and pull the score back to 2-4 thanks to Nice Jacob Hayes’ first goal of the season, the new-found midfielder converting Archibald’s corner at the back post. With The Model performing well as a reluctant centre back and Harold showing great resolve in the right back position, we compete impressively and a late fifth from St Paul’s apart, Leopold has remarkably little to do in regard to direct, second period efforts on goal.

The rain’s now starting to fall for the first and what turns out to be the only time this week as Coach Stalley hares out of the car park at the wheel of the bus, heading for the airport as 2018/19 players and prospective 2021/22 coaches, Todd & Woody are due to land at the airport around 11.40. The Chef was down to collect them, but he’s currently engaged in some earnest-looking dialogue with the FB Fields’ groundsman, who doesn’t look overly happy at being made to stand in the centre of Pitch Two listening to a Bruce Forsyth-lookalike chortling away and saying: ‘Nice to see you; to see you, nice,’ over and over again while the rain’s running so far down his neck his wellies are starting to overflow.

The bus eventually returns to the FBF at 1.15 with WB and TF and their assembled luggage in tow and we finally get back to the Norfolk to find Coach Nick of St Albans bemoaning the fact that someone’s driven too close to him and knocked the glass out of his offside wing mirror. And, for once, it most definitely isn’t us.

With the rain teeming down and most teams heading for Aqua Splash, we return to Quennevais, where Woody displays his considerable leadership qualities by organising, amongst other things, a game of water basketball that keeps everyone richly entertained for a good forty-five minutes or so.

Dinner time is the usual mix of fun and deduction of eating points. Todd is adept at showing he’s retained the full contents of his 2019 diploma for moving food around his plate without actually eating any of it, while CV inspects his chicken salad with the thoroughness of a Sherlock Holmes investigation before eventually achieving a remarkably similar outcome. Leopold extols his own virtues and ensures everyone knows that he ate all his broccoli yesterday, Harold flicks his fringe after every mouthful of turkey and JB considers transferring another roasty to Henrietta’s plate but then realises the probable less-than-positive outcome. Thomas does his ‘Oliver Twist’ impression by angelically taking his plate up to the waitress, hoping beyond hope that everyone sees his cherubic smile rather than the hard-boiled egg and half a tomato that he’s trying to get away with leaving. Minus two. Buckers meanwhile is taking so long to chew whatever he’s chewing, that his ice cream melts before he’s finished his main course. ‘Global warming,’ someone suggests, but it’s more a case of the fact that none of his teeth actually work.

Diary time and today’s Words of the Day are ‘Gargantuan’ (Leopold’s eating), ‘Aplomb’ (Thomas’s penalty strike) and ‘Subterfuge’ (Thomas’s attempt to trick his way to a ten -out-of-ten eating mark). All bar Thomas use them well.

Todd and Woody begin their Room Inspection Apprenticeships under the watchful eye of the Head TRI, though they need little tuition to recognise that the socks in 207 are emitting a stench similar to that of a long-dead rat. ‘Wouldn’t mind eating that,’ smirks Leopold, while NJH simply smirks. Both CV and Archibald blame each other, but completely agree that they’ll ‘definitely take that’ when awarded a rather generous room mark of seven out of ten. 204 (Leopold & NJH) and 206 (The Model & Clifford) each score eight, while 205 records a second consecutive Bo Derek (Perfect Ten). 208, meanwhile (Henrietta & Buckers) receive a list of imperfections as long as a Titan’s arm and retire to bed having been awarded a miserable three, meaning they’re propping up the Room Tidiness League at the end of day four.

Wednesday 13th April

We wake to a cloudless Jersey sky, yesterday’s rain now but a distant memory. Last night’s phone call from the Chairman’s still ringing in our ears, though, every word of his diatribe still banging around in our respective craniums. ‘You’ve got one game to save your jobs,’ he’d shouted, having not even attempted to engage in a pleasantry or two before banging the phone down in an act of ferocity rarely seen in his part of Abbeymead.

As we meet at the water table at the end of the corridor, Clifford’s smiling so broadly it’s as if he’s overheard the 11pm phone call and thinks a change at the top will improve his own playing prospects – or maybe it’s the after-effects of yesterday evening’s sprouts that have transformed his visage into something akin to a Cheshire cat with its tail trapped in a vice. The hands over faces and noses pinched to breaking point indicate that it’s probably not the phone call that’s caused this look.

Coach Stalley takes The Chairman’s threats more seriously than the other officials and decides to prepare for a new career path, just in case today’s encounter versus Jersey doesn’t go exactly to plan. ‘Collapse when I give the nod,’ he whispers to NJH, who immediately goes down like a sack of spuds in a very good simulation of an actual faint.

‘Clear away,’ orders Coach Stalley to the surprised onlookers, before moving in, confidently rearranging NJH into the recovery position and splashing a few drops of miracle water onto the patient’s head before whispering, ‘Get up now,’ and announcing him right as yesterday’s rain and ready to proceed (with his bacon, egg, sausage and beans).

For some unknown reason, Clifford comes down to breakfast wearing his GPSFA showerproof – maybe he thinks there’s a hole in the roof and yesterday’s rain is going to come cascading in. Leopold takes a ten-second break from his JCB-like eating to suggest we make a launderette visit prior to the game as his shorts have a speck of mud on them. Someone talks to Buckers for five solid minutes before realising he’s not there. This is definitely a morning like no other.

We start brightly in our fourth game of the festival against Jersey and, with The Chairman’s incantations of the previous evening still ringing in our ears, there’s a sense of optimism on the sideline. Burgess & Fieldhouse (which sounds more like a firm of undertakers than a Year 9 coaching duo) have changed the warm-up routine and it seems that things are on the up, but after a sprightly first few minutes, we create precious little and reach the interval with the game still goalless.

There is little change after the break and while The Model is showing that centre back really is a good position for him, a goalless draw is very much on the cards. With eight minutes remaining, however, Thomas is re-introduced to the fray and when his pinpoint free kick is fumbled by the keeper, Henrietta is on hand to sweep the ball home. Total relief. The lead is not to last long, though. With just a couple of minutes remaining, a Jersey forward works a bit of space inside the box and levels matters with a drilled finish into the bottom left corner. Total dismay.

After a miserable hour semi-watching the Bs turn in a fine display before going down to St Albans A, while simultaneously rotating a mental map of Jersey attempting to locate the island’s tallest cliffs, we offer to give Southampton Scott a lift back to his new hotel. It’s a noble gesture, only for SS to announce, halfway along La Route du Fort, that he doesn’t actually know where his hotel is, but if we see a big, red crane, we can drop him there (as it’s only 100 yards away). After circumnavigating the town, we finally come across the big, red crane and eject SS on to the pavement, only to realise that we’re just around the corner from The Norfolk and can be sitting down ready for lunch in five minutes flat. It’s a strange way to semi-lift the post-match gloom, but that’s exactly what our little excursion seems to have done. That, and Coach Stalley keeping his phone switched off.

It’s early afternoon and there’s not a cloud in sight as we head to the Amaizin’ Maze Adventure Park in St Peter, though as on previous visits, there’s no actual maze to be seen. But there are slides and go-karts rounds – and water, the awesome sight of H2O giving Archibald and Clifford the opportunity to remove as much of their clothing as is publicly acceptable and charge after Henrietta, who is the first person to decide that certain people in our team are in desperate need of a shower.

Having taken a ‘Can we borrow your card?’ ice cream break, Henrietta is in full gallop, pulling a seated Leopold around in what looks like a 1950s station truck, one person imitating a whipping action and one clip-clopping past the wooden fort in response. All’s well until the horse gets its leg stuck in the wheel and the nice lady in reception is forced to put it down (the wheel, that is) in order to extricate the poor animal’s left-sided limb from the drive shaft.

We depart at 5.30 as the park is closing for the day, Archibald now full garbed in a bright blue t-shirt, fluorescent green shorts and deep red shower cap, a tasteless combination that makes him look a tad like the back bit of a rainbow, seconds before people realise that there really isn’t any treasure lurking at the end of it.

Dinner time sees Thomas begin a one-man lettuce-eating mission and diary time begins with Clifford blaming ‘bad sprouts’ for just about everything. The rooms are good, with only 207 scoring under eight, while Wednesday’s Words of the Day are ‘Optimistic’, ‘Punctual’ and ‘Urbane’. The first one is particularly important as we have a properly late kick-off tomorrow and with a nice long lie-in followed by a 9.15 breakfast in prospect, all is again well with the world.

Thursday 14th April

7.17am. Rat-tat-tat. Open the door to see Clifford standing there in his favourite mode of dress (very little). ‘Ben’s not very well,’ he explains, but it turns out to be nothing that thirty minutes sipping Morrison’s Mineral Water won’t put right. Nevertheless, The Model returns to the 8.45 Calpol queue, which also currently includes Buckers, Harold and Thomas, with several other asking if they can sign up as they’re feeling a little bit left out.

By the time we rock up for a late breakfast (having had no lie-in), The Model’s got his appetite back, as has Buckers, but in a much more leisurely way. A close study reveals the Man from Maisemore’s masticatory method is Cut – Chew – Stare; repeat numerous times; finish the first ten beans, then start again. Using a very different style is Henrietta Brooks, who extends his tongue, Gecko-like, spoons a given amount onto the Mucosa and retracts it with a suddenness that makes even Coach Wilson look twice in his direction, something that, way back in September, he swore he would never, ever do.

Wokingham are the opposition on Matchday Five, our league game against them in Bracknell a couple of months ago ending in a hard-earned draw. The first half sees our midfield of JB, NJH, Thomas and Buckers working hard to support The Model, Harold and CV in the city backline, the combination restricting the Blues to hopeful shots from distance that Leopold fields comfortably.

No goals at the interval and more of the same after the break until a lapse in concentration with eleven minutes remaining sees Wokingham take the lead. Their advantage is short-lived, though. Clifford has an effort tipped over before fellow substitute Henrietta pressurises the Buckinghamshire side’s defence into an error and Clifford finishes well into the far corner. We almost win it with ninety seconds to go, Manning’s well struck free kick taking a slight deflection and forcing the keeper into a fine, last-ditch save. A performance far better than yesterday against a far better side than yesterday and a second 1-1 draw for the new coaching duo of F & B. Life, suddenly, seems so much better and, best of all, the phone doesn’t ring.

We stay well clear of Southampton Scott and as such get back to the Norfolk in pretty decent time, though the hotel manager’s attempt at semaphore doesn’t seem to lead to the bus being parked any faster (or better) than usual. ‘Mama Mia!’ he’s heard to exclaim on a number of occasions, though whether he means well done or something completely different is anyone’s guess.

With tomorrow being Good Friday, meaning most of the shops will be shut, we head into town where Coach Wilson distributes the envelopes and wallets containing everyone’s £50 treasure trove. We’ve highlighted certain ‘stores of potential interest’ on our walk down to the site of the old prison (an appropriate meeting point some might say) and the players now have around fifty minutes in the pedestrianised thoroughfare to buy their presents for self or family or whoever. Face masks from Giorgio Armani seem to be a popular female option, partly because they come with a mystery free gift and partly because most of their mates are buying them. ‘What will your mum do with the mask?’ is the question asked to a member of the group who can’t be named for legal reasons. ‘I don’t know,’ is the answer. ‘Maybe she’ll use it to rob a bank, or something.’ You couldn’t make it up.

Shares in ‘Jordan’ caps (£24.99 from JD Sports) rocket at around 3.12pm, as does the store’s profit margin when you’re selling merchandise with a 1200% mark-up. Thomas, resplendent in a pair of bright pink shorts pays £20 for a pair of sliders, while CV invests half his cash in a big, blue, cuddly dolphin. Henrietta, meanwhile, gets his dad a watch in a box for £15. ‘What does it do?’ someone asks, thinking it must be one of those snazzy sports things that inform you of how many calories you’ve lost, how much bodyweight you’ve shed and how many cuddly dolphins you’ve bought. ‘It tells the time; I think,’ replies HB, though his expanding frown suggests he’s not really sure.

The Chef stops off for a refresher at Coffee Express, halfway down the main street and immediately accosts a random man sitting at a table and minding no-one’s business but his own. ‘I’m his carer,’ he chortles, nodding in the general direction of Coach Stalley, a gesture that sees a look of pure horror break out on the face of the man outside the café. Seconds later he springs up, leaves his part-drunk Cappuccino where it stands and takes off down the thoroughfare at around half the speed of sound. ‘Odd bloke,’ reflects The Chef, slumping down in the now vacant seat, ‘left without finishing his drink.’

Captain B is late back to the meeting point as he’s lost his present in Blacks and himself in Pandora, but we’re at Akwer Splash (as Henrietta will describe it in his diary a few hours from now) just after four and everyone indulges in an hour and a half of slides and wave machines and an outdoor channel that on this sub-tropical afternoon is the very definition of a St Helier sun trap. Afterwards, Buckers finds all his clothes and other belongings at the first time of asking; proof, if ever it were needed, that Calpol doesn’t just cure chesty coughs and colds if taken on a regular basis.

Diary time and the room marks are completed. Woody and Todd, now being three days into their TRI training, have been entrusted with pen and paper and a list of indiscretions to look out for. 205 and 206 return scores of 9.5, 207 gets 7 and 208 totals 6. The inmates of 204 offer an erudite explanation as to why their Jersey programme is lying open on the bathroom floor, but despite their laudable efforts, they now have to admit that their chances of breaking into the top three of the JRL (Jersey Room League) are no more than mathematically possible. A bit like Norwich escaping relegation, if you want an analogy. ‘Paramount’, ‘Productive’ and ‘Upbeat’ are the three Words of the Day and at least two of them have nothing whatsoever to do with the state of 204.

Bed is reached, safe in the knowledge that with an 11.15 kick-off tomorrow, we can at least finish the week with a nice, leisurely, lie-in.

Friday 15th April

6.00am. The fire alarm is beeping away like a 1940s air raid siren and there’s a commotion in the corridor that sounds as if Coach Stalley is marshalling the troops in order to escape the non-existent conflagration. This man is every tour organiser’s dream, which is something we get little opportunity to do as, sixty minutes after the first false alarm, the siren goes off again. Rumour has it that the tintinnabulum has been caused by the Plymouth squad warming up in the third-floor corridor, but cold water’s thrown on this theory as they usually begin stretching well before six o’clock.

For the third day running, the sun is shining on the FB Fields and the Burgess-Fieldhouse tactical influence is clear for all to see. Or maybe there’s a trick or two left in the old dogs yet as, while it’s clearly escaped most people’s attention, yesterday’s fine display against Wokingham was achieved not by adopting the diamond formation or playing a false nine or anything to do with Tica Taca; it was achieved, purely and simply, by Mini Eggs. Or, in other words, bribery. Now, the fruits of yesterday’s labours, ready to be dished out at the final whistle, are waved in front of the squad’s collective snouts in a blue & white WH Smith’s carrier bag and the effect is wonderful for all in black & yellow to see.

After applying early pressure to the St Albans Blues’ defence, NJH pokes home and soon afterwards nets his and his team’s second as the players add a noticeable spring to their collective steps. The half time drinks are nectar-like, if a little lukewarm, the Channel Islands’ sun having increased the temperature of the Morrison’s bottled water by at least ten degrees Celsius.

Unperturbed, NJH is the width of a post away from claiming a hat-trick – no goals for seven months and now three in a week; it really is London bus time. Clifford drills in our third and both Henrietta and CV are denied by last-ditch goalkeeping/defending, before the Blues reduce the arrears from the spot with seven minutes remaining. Leopold ensures there are no more goals with a fine near-post save a couple of minutes from time and T-shirts and certificates and Mini Eggs are distributed with a 3-1 scoreline well and truly in the (carrier) bag.

The victory lunch back at the ranch is notable for The Model placing sachets of tomato ketchup next to the plates of people who can’t stand the stuff and Archibald’s fascination with the words ‘Robert’, ‘Stephen’ and ‘Adrian’ reaching fever-pitch. Never liked him at the best of times.

We’re back to Aqua Splash in the afternoon, Henrietta having corrected his spelling following a menacing look from TRI and the players are joined in the pool by Scarface H and Noah B, which is a nice way for everyone to enjoy the week’s final swim. The Bs haven’t joined us today as the fella on the end of the booking line was slightly circumspect about letting us in when Coach Stalley rang them up earlier. ‘That man who kept saying, ‘Keeeeeeep dancing’ yesterday isn’t coming with you, is he?’ asked the sports complex manager, noticeably anxious that the red & yellow-clad lifeguards won’t again be indulged in a round of ‘Isn’t Gloucester great?’-type conversation every time they turn around to sort out a drowning or something similar.

We enjoy a Jersey luxury ice cream on the walk back through town, with the quantity and quality of manners speaking into the hatch as noticeable as the double scoop cornets coming out of it. Henrietta admits on the walk up the street that after buying the watch for his dad and whatever else for himself yesterday afternoon, he didn’t have enough left to buy his mum anything, but instead he will be very nice to her for the entirety of the following week and a bit. He then attempts to control a random black balloon that’s bouncing aimlessly down the thoroughfare, but, like his forthcoming attempts to pacify his Mater, fails miserably.

Cases start to be packed as soon as we return to the hotel and as Archibald and Thomas are the first to take their luggage downstairs, they take responsibility for sweeping out the bus and gain an attitude point each, meaning Archibald’s Friday tally rises to a vertiginous four out of ten.

The new Room Inspection Team, having completed their apprenticeships are let out on their own, with The Chief Room Inspector ambling round in their wake. Keeping in mind that some indiscretions are more points-deductible than others, the Friday evening room report is as follows:

205 (Captain B, Thomas & Harold): Mess on bed; bathroom door open: 8.

207 (CV & Archibald): Several towels strewn around the floor; bags not parallel to the wall: 6.

206 (Clifford & The Model): TV remote not straight; two bags on the bed; bathroom door open; jumper on the floor: 5.5.

208 (Buckers & Brooks): Soap not straight; bags not parallel; unclean toilet; remote askew on the bed: 4.

204 (Leopold & NJH): Jumpers, pants, socks, paper, pad, plastic bag, remote & polo shirt all out of place; disgusting mess in the toilet (Leopold takes full responsibility for the latter, but does not gain the hoped-for award of an extra attitude point for admitting liability): Minus 4.

The final Words of the Day are ‘Ecstatic’, ‘Adamant’ & ‘Conscientious’. It’s fair to say, on hearing their room score, neither Leopold nor NJH have anything to do with the first one.

Saturday 16th April

At least today’s 4.45 beeping is neither a semi-clothed Clifford or a random fire alarm nudging us awake and with the bus already packed, we’re only a teeth-clean and flight of steps away from a 5.30am hotel departure. With the skies still dark, shirt sleeves suggest another glorious day is in prospect for the Jersey islanders, but we’re aboard flight S14472 and in the air by 7.20 and touching down at Bristol shortly after eight.

Waiting for the baggage to appear on the carousel at Bristol Airport looks to have given The Chef time for one final attempt at finding someone with whom he can engage in a deep and meaningful conversation about anything at all. Everyone else in the terminal, however, has migrated to the other side of the conveyor belt, meaning Bruce is left in thirty yards of empty space with an incoming bout of agoraphobia barely seconds away. Looks like he’ll have to wait until next year to find a friend.

The coach zooms through the lanes and up the M5 before setting everyone down at the side of Derby Road, where, ‘Are we walking home?’ is the sound coming from behind every other piece of luggage. All is revealed at the top of the alley, though, and after a couple of plates of sandwiches and two bowls of chips, a packed Great Western bar applauds each of the week’s prize winners in turn.

Diaries: 4th: Thomas (53.5); 2=: Clifford & Buckers (58.5); 1st: Captain B (63).

Rooms: 3rd: 207 (CV & Archibald; 47); 2nd: 206 (Clifford & The Model; 52.5); 1st: 205 (Captain B, Thomas & Harold; 63).

Eating: Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League: Henrietta (70); Championship: Harold (68); Premiership: Leopold & NJH (70).

Attitude: 4th: Nice Harold McLarney (67); 3rd: Nice Thomas Manning (69); 1st=: Nice Jacob Hayes & Nice Charlie Buckland (70).

Match: 4th: Harold (44); 3rd: The Model (45.5); 2nd: Nice JH (46.5); 1st: Leopold (4,798).

There are ‘other’ prizes for Archibald (The ‘Robert Award’), CV (Ability to Keep a Straight Face the Longest), The Model (Calpol King) and Clifford (Most Impactful Substitute), while the much-coveted ‘Mad as a Fish’ award deservedly goes to Henrietta Brooks, who is a very popular winner.

There’s a special mention for Woody & Todd for all their help, insight, organisational ability and room-inspecting skills, but most of all for taking the team on an unbeaten run across the second part of the week after the disappointing results of the first. If only they’d turned up earlier!

The ‘Top Jersey Tourist’ award sees Thomas Manning (266.5) in 4th place and Nice Jacob Hayes (271) taking 3rd. Harold McLarney, who has enjoyed an excellent tour is second on 285.5, with Captain B proving that strength across all five categories is the biggest asset of all in winning awards such as these and takes first place on 286.5. If only you hadn’t left that sausage on Thursday morning, Harold!

Acknowledgements

All the Gloucester coaches for making Jersey 2022 the fun that it was and particularly Andrew (Bruce) Foran for (begrudgingly) continuing to be the persona non grata of the annual Jersey resume. Of all the great signings….

All the Gloucester parents, grandparents, friends & families, for allowing everything to happen and each of our fabulous sponsors and supporters for ensuring that it did.

(King) Pat Cullinane of Jersey for his 46 years of amazing organisation of this fabulous event. A man of high principle and unbridled enthusiasm, rarely seen and seldom heard, but always there. In the (almost) immortal words of Sir Christopher Wren, ‘If you want a memorial to me, look around the FB Fields.’

The managers, coaches and helpers of all the teams involved – the foot soldiers, without whom there would be no district football, never mind the Jersey Festival. We love the company, the banter and the proverbial craic. Oh, and Elias of Fulham and Scott of Southampton for being such good fun, too. You probably won’t read this, but thanks, anyway.

All the Gloucester players who are the absolute stars of this blog. Thanks for being great fun and great company – it’s been a blast. Thanks, too, for demonstrating that CAFÉ (Commitment, Attitude, Focus & Effort) really are the most important things and always will be.

And finally, to Mrs (Stewart) Ratcliffe. Your husband tells me every year that you liked the previous season’s memoirs so much that, like Victor Kyam, you’d like to buy the company (similar to Andy Foran, I guess). I hope the 2022 blog was worth the Covid-induced, three-year, wait for another bed-time read. I know we all loved being a small part of it.

So, that’s Jersey 2022. It’s been three years in the making and seven days in the living. 168 hours of our life followed by a lifetime of memories. Not a bad ratio when you come to think of it. #CarpeDiem