Author’s Note

What follows is a behind-the-scenes look at some of the personalities, events, accusations & revelations that were Jersey 2023. This review is a memoir from an A Team perspective as that’s where the editor largely was, so, Andrew Foran apart, B Squad people are mentioned only fleetingly in comparison. The balance is restored in the B Team blog however, where the reverse happens.

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 else residing in the semi-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 Magness (JMGK). Eats. Sleeps. Saves.

Nice Niko Clutterbuck. Great hair. Great smiling teeth. Man-bag owner.

Mckinley Oakes. Quiet. Unassuming. Doesn’t like a tackle. Hates McDonald’s.

Braden O’Sullivan. Gregarious. Popular. Bleeds black & yellow. The BOS.

Theobald Barnett. See him here. See him there. We can see him. Everywhere.

Rokokoko Bajzek. Nice, once. Dodgy team player. Needs an agent.

Hey, Jude Smit. Jack Grealish lookalike. A Warrior, nonetheless. Likes chips.

Tobias Glazier. Maths. Eating. Attitude. Top tourist.

Amo Diallo. Thoughtful. Knowledgeable. Resourceful. Alimentary issues.

Freddie (Double F) Fabian. Super skipper. Loud laugher. Always alliterative.

Damari (Double D) Duff. Eats. Sleeps. Scores.

Others

Andrew Foran. Driver. Socialite. Bruce Forsyth lookalike. Gloucester man desperately seeking friendship.

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

Coach Wilson. The Real Room Inspector. Part-time navigator. Full time Sudoku-gator.

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

Coach Harris. Creative. Innovative. Heavy.

Coach Stalley. Tactical. Technical. Trustworthy. Tweeter. And laundryman.

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

King Pat of Jersey. Festival organiser. 47 years. Legend.

Saturday

‘Yes, we’re away!’ is the enthusiastic cry from the middle of the Aston’s coach as we pull off from GL2; people on the bus are waving to the throng on the pavement – the throng on the pavement is waving to the people on the bus. One group’s arm-movements mean: ‘We’re gonna miss you absolutely, hugely, humungously terribly while you’re gone and I can’t imagine a week without you,’ while the other group’s not-quite-so-expansive gesticulations infer something ever so slightly different.

Coach Wixey isn’t in the best of moods as we roar down the A417, his luggage from a recent week-long break in Tenerife still hasn’t been returned and he’s had to part with £4.50 to stock up with enough underwear to see him through Jersey 2023. Quick change on Wednesday, then. Coach Wilson settles down at the front of the bus with his first Fiendish Sudoku of the day, while Bruce Andrew Foran Forsyth starts a dialogue with the driver in preparation for a week of accosting anyone naive enough to enter into a conversation with him.

A normal-looking bloke with a grey beard and wide-rimmed glasses standing outside the ladies’ loos at Chieveley Services is Bruce’s first victim of the tour and we haven’t even reached the airport yet. The usual chat-up line ensues: ‘I’m Andy Foran (chortle) from Gloucester (chortle) Jersey football tour (chortle)….’ Five minutes into the one-way conversation, Double D, thankfully (for the victim), catches Bruce’s eye for nothing more than a split second, but when AF looks back at the previously occupied space, the grey beard and glasses are well gone and are now crouching nervously behind the confectionery counter of WHS, perspiration dropping from their owner’s brow like the spray from a King’s Square fountain.

We have a record-quick 28-person check-in of eleven minutes nine seconds as the airport terminal at Southampton is completely deserted, Theobald’s case clocking a new ‘A’ Team record of just 7.3 kg. This is due, however, to him removing his toiletry bag and putting it in his hand luggage to reduce the weight of his ‘competitive case’, a tactic he later regrets as the upcoming security check means half of it is deposited in the ‘excess liquids’ bin. Rokokoko B, with wash bag included, weighs in at only 7.8 kg, meaning he should really win the Lightness Award, but being ultra-nice, he doesn’t make any sort of fuss at all. At the other end of the scale, Mckinley and The BOS both top 16 kg, meaning they’ll be taking home an awful lot of unworn clothes. Attempting to sneak into the prize places via the back door is JMGK, who theorises that if the ratio of body mass to luggage weight is taken into account, his 12.5 kg holdall would be a definite winner.

Coach Wilson’s iron lung and other metallic implants set the security scanner off for the twentieth consecutive year, while Amo’s hand luggage also requires attention from the hand-held scanner before we board flight SI3361 for the 35-minute up-down jaunt to St Peter. ‘We’re waiting for the pilot to be taught how to fly,’ suggests someone four seats behind when we haven’t taken off thirty seconds after sitting down, while when we touch the tarmac at Jersey Airport, there’s the cursory round of applause from both the Gloucester and Newbury contingents to signify that the aforementioned training was clearly a success.

A twenty-minute minibus ride later, we’re sitting in the hotel restaurant having lunch, trying to ignore Double F attempting to upset the non-ketchup eaters by waving multiple packets of the vile red stuff around. Rooms next, and everyone’s with people they haven’t shared with before, but far more importantly, after thirty years of trying, we’ve finally been allocated a ground floor corridor. No stairs and three late kick-offs in the first five fixtures is, quite simply, the Channel Islands’ version of Manna from Heaven.

The BOS and Double D make for an interesting combination in Number 17, while Nice Niko C has been given the top job of the week in trying to encourage JMGK to remain semi-tidy for eight whole days in Room 18. After the goalkeeper’s horror show in Hemel Hempstead a couple of months ago, this might take some doing. Box 19 is inhabited by Double F and Tobias, which on the face of it is a very nice room, though appearances can be deceptive, while Number 23, with Hey Jude and MO Junior billeted in it, just might be. Room 25, the only triple, houses Theobald, Amo and Nice Rokokoko B and is a living space which, for reasons that will become apparent later, may need some additional ventilation installed pretty quickly.

Unpacking completed, we’re back in the bus and heading west to La Corbiere, as the tide’s out and we’re able to navigate the causeway to the rocky outcrop on which Jersey’s most photographed lighthouse stands. Four thousand miles west is North America, which means that if it rains, there’s an awful lot of Atlantic Ocean to collect the precipitation from. We have a ‘Follow-My-Leader’ around the rocky outcrops and gullies that lead back to the main island, then nip round the corner for an ice cream at La Baye and a run into what turns out to be a very cold sea at St Ouen. The Martello Tower of La Roque is still surrounded by water, so it’s a game of ‘Push Me Out of The Sandy Square’ instead. Theobald claims an unlikely victory, but everyone knows this is impossible due to the presence of Double D and Jacob M, so following a fifteen-minute footwash, it’s back to the Norfolk Hotel where the IPL-style eating auction takes place.

Based on previous tour eating performances, Double D and Jacob M are shoe-ins for the Premiership, while after a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, they are joined by Nice Rokokoko B and The BOS. Hey Jude, Tobias and Double F make up The Championship, while Nice Niko C, Theobald, Amo and MO Junior are no-brainers for the Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League. MO Junior moans that he should be in a higher division, before saying: ‘Don’t worry, I won’t let you down,’ six minutes before leaving some of his mixed leaves, which is the posh 2023 way of saying ‘lettuce’. I knew I shouldn’t have invested in him. Complete waste of three quid. I’m a really good eater,’ claims Theobald, then promptly leaves his prawns. ‘I’m definitely a Championship player,’ announces Amo, shortly before leaving 90% of his first Jersey meal. Bucking the trend in the PFD7RL is Nice Niko C, who finishes his starter and sits back proudly, licking his lips with a smug grin beginning to form on his cherubic face. ‘I’ll eat everything,’ say Double D and Jacob M in unison – and they do, before eyeing Mckinley and Amo respectively as they scan the table looking for seconds.

JMGK makes a promising start to the first diary session, scoring an impressive, first-night eight out of ten and all the rooms turn out to be reasonable, despite the presence of TRRI (The Real Room Inspector), who makes an early-tour announcement that ‘Parallel & Perpendicular’ are of the utmost importance over the seven days to come. Thankfully (for Room 25, anyway), the inspection is carried out prior to Amo desecrating the toilet, much to everyone’s collective disgust. Words of the Day are: ‘Affluent’ and ‘Spectacular’, though maybe ‘Horrific’ would have been far more apt when it comes to AD’s day one lavatorial encounters.

Sunday

Jacob M and Nice Niko C look utterly stunned when their curtains are drawn back and the early-morning Jersey sunshine floods into Room 18, suddenly awakening them from a thousand nightmares of the Amo variety. In Number 22, Hey Jude’s Jack Grealish-style hair is pointing skywards in a pretty decent impression of Theobald’s Isle of Wight porcupine spikes, proving to TRRI that he fully understands what perpendicular looks like. The BOS and Double D are already up in 17, kit bags on their shoulders and shin pads in their socks, having forgotten that there won’t be too much football played until after they’ve been down to the breakfast room.

There are several versions of the first meal of the day, from Double D’s and Jacob M’s full-on attack on a full English, plus toast, plus cereal, plus whatever/whoever else they can get their paws on, to Nice Niko C, who plods sedately through his Not-So-Full-English like a man without a care in the world. Meanwhile, Plymouth, dressed in an immaculate, all-white number, have already left the hotel to start an extended warm-up.

Yesterday afternoon, we took King Pat’s usually sound advice and parked the bus a few blocks away at Victoria College, rather than in the somewhat cramped hotel car park, but resolve to never do so again when, halfway through the trek back to VC, Double D announces he’s left his inhaler in his room. Minus one attitude mark and a return to Number 17 to effect a rescue.

First up on our match schedule is St Albans Blue and we make the perfect start, Double F sending Double D away to give us an early lead and shortly afterwards, Tobias sees his well struck drive cannon back off the crossbar. We allow the Hertfordshire side the opportunity to nod a leveller following a corner shortly before the break, though, causing Coach Wilson to issue a vexatious address at said interval and the second-half momentum is much better.

Double D sets up Amo for a far post finish, Hey Jude finds Double F in space just inside the box and Freddie Fabian’s Famous Foot does the rest. Other chances come and go, but we’re happy enough in the end to get the week off to a winning start. There’s the first of the obligatory A/B love-ins after the B’s game with Jersey Whites is completed, a footballing get-together that leads JMGK to describe, for the thirty-fourth time over his lunchtime chicken goujons, how his wondrous free kick nestled ‘top bins’, but far more worryingly, how he feels he should now take all dead ball kicks for the remainder of the festival.

Hey Jude reveals the secrets of home cooking on Elmleaze prior to the fun bus heading north to Greve de Lecq, a lovely little beach which, like our Norfolk Hotel corridor, is one of the very few that can be accessed without negotiating any steps. There’s an afternoon of rock climbing, with a few technical routes located not far above the sand and a team effort that sees a trio of ‘hot tubs’ constructed in the wetter part of the beach, though when tested with the local thermometer (my right hand), ice baths come more readily to mind. There’s a mid-digging break for ice creams at Colleen’s on the far side of the bay, as two and a half hours of kids being kids with not a shred of technology in sight flies by and before we know it, we’re back aboard the bus, heading up the picturesque valley road, past a pair of grazing fields on the right-hand side. ‘Look at those reindeer,’ shouts The BOS, in a moment of unfettered awe & wonder as we pass a herd of long-eared goats. Coach Wilson does his level best to suppress a spluttering cough and tries desperately to provide a riposte that will make an important point without upsetting anyone. He fails abysmally, and for once in his life, is registered completely speechless.

Meanwhile, five miles away in a straight line, the Bs are at a different beach on the south side of the island, when Bruce Forsyth Foran accosts a very nice, older couple with a cocker spaniel sporting a worrying-looking limp in tow. Fifteen excruciating minutes later, on a call from Coach Wixey, Bruce’s attention is diverted for no more than a second, giving both man and wife and previously limping dog the opportunity to reach the sanctuary of the rocks a good sixty yards away in no time at all. ‘What’s she left these for?’ asks Bruce, picking up the old lady’s pair of walking sticks. ‘Some people….’

Back in the restaurant, MO Junior stares at his minestrone soup, hoping it will evaporate in front of his eyes, but it doesn’t, before electing to go on temporary hunger strike when he sees the roast beef arriving. Minus one followed by minus two. ‘Do I get an extra eating mark if I eat Mckinley’s?’ asks JMGK, more in hope than expectation. He doesn’t, but eats it anyway.

Nip up to the corner shop to get some diary-writing Smarties, only to be confronted by a sign that’s advertising bottles of ‘Prime’ for £12.50 a throw. ‘Prime’s sick,’ says The BOS when he hears about the price tag, which apparently means it’s good, though you could easily make the adjective into a noun as this is what you’d be if you actually bought any of it at that price.

Tonight’s Diary Room is most notable for Amo’s wonderfully erudite explanation of how to apply the past progressive tense to any piece of text, which impresses the coaches hugely as they’ve no doubt used the PPT many times in days gone by, without ever realising what it was. Amo’s visit to the bathroom isn’t quite as impressive as his command of the English language, however – well, not in a positive way, that is. We had to report a blocked toilet to the management early this morning and by the looks of things, we may be heading down the very same road again tomorrow.

The room marks are starting to diversify as, amazingly, Number 23 (Hey Jude & MO Junior) has taken an early lead, while sadly, Numbers 17 (Double D & The BOS) and 19 (Tobias & Double F) have moved in the opposite direction. ‘Usurp’ and ‘Adamant’ are the words of the day, while eight of the eleven diary marks show an improvement on yesterday’s effort. It’s been a really good first full day on the island, but the knowledge that it’s a late kick-off tomorrow morning is the very best bit of all.

Monday

Plymouth are wearing their flashy green kit this morning when we finally surface for a gloriously late breakfast, having sported their Persil-white version yesterday. The Hallowe’en look on Nice Rokokoko B’s face when he returned to consciousness half an hour ago suggests he might have foreseen the change in the Devonian’s matchday attire, much like Nostradamus once foresaw any number of nasty things that related to both the end of the world and Gloucester City’s future promotion prospects during his sixteenth century ramblings. Or maybe the old French astrologer’s two most famous prophecies are inextricably linked in some deep and meaningful way….

Mckinley’s decided to end his hunger strike with immediate effect and wolfs down sausage, beans and half a loaf of toast as he attempts to make up for lost time. Theobald, on the other hand, is doing his best to create a new method of eating, coming away from the tried and tested: Insert, Chew, Swallow, to a far more revolutionary, though not necessarily as effective: Insert, Chew, Chew, Chew, Chew, Chew, Chew. Insert, Chew, Chew, Chew…. Come on Theobald, it may be a late kick off, but we need to get there before Tuesday.

Double F has discovered a full bottle of Lemon & Lime Prime, passing it round for the coaches to sample as we shuffle down the corridor to the minibus, which is now safely wedged in the hotel car park. At £12.50 a shout, I’ve just drunk a couple of quids’ worth in two tiny swallows.

Wokingham are the opposition on Matchday Two; they’re a skilful side, backed by a noisy contingent of scarf-twirling fans, much to the chagrin of Coach Wilson. Double F leads an excellently focused warm-up, showing what a fine leader – in an extremely good, understated way – he undoubtedly is, and after a dodgy first few minutes, we establish a shape that begins to frustrate The Stags’ impressive patterns of play, reaching half time with parity ensured.

The second half follows a similar theme and while MO Junior and JMGK take the eye, we’re solid down the sides, the midfield work tremendously hard to constantly get goal side of the ball and Double D is always a threat up front. As the final whistle blows, one team is slightly more pleased with the outcome than the other. It’s been a top display of character and endeavour – but nothing compared to the individual performance of the ‘I’m great at taking corners’, Braden Of Sullivan. Entrusted with delivering the flag kicks on the right-hand side, his first attempt sees him kick the flag at the same time as the ball, with utterly disastrous results, while given another go in the second-half, he runs into the stick itself – with equally disastrous results. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he will lament later, ‘the pole was in the way. If we didn’t have flags, I’d be great at taking corners.’

Lunchtime is notable for the arrival of Coach Stalley, resplendent in GPSFA tie and jumper and wearing a look that says ‘I’m as fresh as a Spring daisy,’ having been resting up in Glorious Glawster for the previous two and a half days. He’s also arrived to meet a team that’s unbeaten thus far, so if anything does go wrong….

The weekend’s sun has decided to hide from view today, so both As & Bs head up to the ‘Amaizin’ Maze’ to discover that both Newbury and Plymouth have had exactly the same idea. Jersey’s only Adventure Park is a haven for 11-year-olds who want to charge around, get wet, slide down shoots, bounce on trampolines, run across wooden platforms and drive miniature tractors. Looking at it from a neutral perspective, it’s a very expensive pile of tat dumped in a reclaimed farmer’s field. The café’s good, though and the adjacent wooden fence is perfect for starting the drying-out process for an assortment of wet t-shirts, jumpers and socks. Come 4.45, at one end of the Moisturisation Scale, Double D is wandering around in nothing more than a pair of completely sodden shorts, while at the other end, two-thirds of those whose four-letter names end with ‘O’, plus Hey Jude, are all pretty dry. Everyone else is somewhere in between.

Midway through the afternoon, Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran mooches over to a pair of the Newbury coaches who are sitting at a picnic table having just ordered a Cappuccino, only to find that by the time he’s lowered himself onto the bench seat next to them, they’re a hundred yards away, supervising no-one at all on the go-kart circuit. ‘Why’ve they left their coffees?’ asks Bruce, picking one up and taking a very loud, frothy slurp. ‘They’re still warm. Some people….’

It’s roast pork (or omelette, salad or vegetarian option) for dinner, a menu that finds out both Double F and Theobald (who each finish Monday with Eating 7s), though Nice Niko C and Mckinley are in fine form as they each complete the day with spectacularly high eating marks of 9 out of 10. There are six Bo Derek’s (The Premiership Giants, Tobias – the early leader in the Championship and, somewhat surprisingly, Amo), while Hey Jude loses his first two marks of the week-long contest after a particularly disappointing munching display.

As well as being assigned to different Eating Leagues, each of the players has been bought by one of the three coaches – Double D, Hey Jude, Amo & Theobald are in #TeamSteve, Jacob M, Nice Rokokoko B, Tobias & MO Junior are in #TeamBob, while The BOS, Double F and Nice Niko C are in #TeamAde (the last three having been ‘bought’ in the to-be owner’s absence). But a revolt isn’t far away and the cordiality of #TeamGPSFA is about to be tested to the limit.

‘Nice’ Rokokoko B has had to sit with the members of #TeamAde for the first three days, due to there being no seats left on #TeamBob’s table and once we’re in the Diary Room, a folded napkin is produced and handed across: ‘Dear Bob. I am writing to ask for a transfer from your eating team. I clearly do not fit in with your future eating formation or plans, so I see my future elsewhere. You should accept any bids for me in order to get some of your money back. Thank you. RB.’

There are a few emotive tears shed, one of which makes the ink in which the previously nice Rokokoko Bajzek’s name is written in the ‘DREAM’ marks book smudge horribly, but deservedly. The dye is cast; things will never be quite the same again on the eating table – or elsewhere. Unless you’re in Room 25’s bathroom, that is, where nothing at all’s changed. ‘Amo!’ shouts everyone at once. ‘I can’t help it,’ comes the plaintive reply.

Words of the day are ‘Tenacious’ and ‘Buoyant’, which describe both the matchday performance and the feeling afterwards. Coach Stalley, keen to get in on the act and show off his command of the King’s English, suggests the aftermath of RB’s message has created an atmosphere in one corner of the room that is rather ‘unbuoyant’. While the feeling may be reasonably accurate, the grammar is atrocious and Amo scratches his ear, shakes his head and rolls his eyes, all at exactly the same time, making him look a bit like the pinball machine in an episode of ‘Friends’. But a pinball machine that knows its Past Progressive from its Present Continuous, that is.

Tuesday

Plymouth are wearing purple at breakfast today, a fact that doesn’t escape JMGK’s attention as he imbues half a rasher of bacon, a large piece of sausage, two-thirds of a fried egg, a triangle of toast and three button mushrooms, all at the same time. On the other table, Nice Niko C is involved in a battle with a Continental Breakfast minus the ham and cheese (ie, a croissant plus yogurt), while Once-Nice Rokokoko B is attempting to smooth over the distress caused last night while attempting to swallow a very large forkful of baked beans. It doesn’t work in either case.

We rack up at the ground, where Romeo has to bale out Hey Jude, who’s forgotten his shin pads and King Pat has to bale out the traffic warden who’s decided to make a name for himself by dishing out parking tickets to all and sundry in the front car park. ‘Bin them,’ is the King’s monarchical proclamation. So bin them we do.

The Bs have just won their first game of the week, strikes from Lucas Barnard and Toby Winters overturning St Albans Blues’ early opener and we begin as the Yellows ended, Double D destroying Jersey Red with a first-half hat trick following assists from Double F, Amo/Theobald and once-nice Rokokoko B. The second period sees a huge about-turn, though, as the hosts stage an excellent comeback, only for Amo to net a last-kick of the game winner. Having missed the opening two matches, the GPSFA Media & Communications guru, who was in danger of being blamed for our capitulation based simply on the fact that ‘We were okay before you came’, redeems himself by carrying out a post-match interview with the scorer of the winning goal. ‘I saw the space in between the last two defenders and pointed to it,’ says Amo from his parallel universe. ‘Thankfully, Jude managed to drop it in there and I fired it home.’ ‘From twenty yards?’ asks the interviewer. ‘Not quite,’ says Amo, ‘probably about two.’

The pre-lunch Calpol Queue contains Double F, Mckinley and Hey Jude, with Double F being diagnosed as having lost his voice, which is great news for everyone else, particularly as the weather has taken a turn for the worse and we’re heading over to St Brelade’s with the Bs for a couple of hours swimming at Les Quennevais. This is a quiet pool, largely because none of the other teams know about it, meaning there’s an air of calm about proceedings – well, there is from behind the glass screen in the viewing area which houses a small café that does a steady afternoon trade in both lattes and hot chocolates. If Carlsberg did swimming pool viewing areas….

‘Andrew Foran from Gloucester Sch….,’ starts Bruce to the Barista, just as the metal shutter comes hurtling down in front of him and silence reigns as everyone regains their poise following the sudden crash. ‘What’s all that about?’ he says, shaking his head with a rapidity that’s bordering on dangerous. ‘Some people….’

Roast lamb is on the dinner menu, along with some pretty hot spring rolls, a fact to which both JMGK and Once-Nice Rokokoko B attest. Hey Jude’s feeling a bit under the weather, but loses three eating marks nonetheless for making little headway, while Double F’s sore throat results in a similar points deduction as he’s struggling to swallow. Makes no difference to Theobald’s eating, so unsure what he’s moaning about. Tobias, who has a wheat allergy and therefore precedes each meal by fishing out both a wrap and a list of banned substances, has now added the Caesar in his Caesar Salad to his growing list of can’t-eats and in so doing maintains his hundred per cent consumption record.

Up to the Diary Room and ONRB produces a second napkin: ‘Dear Bob. I am disappointed that you are withholding my transfer, claiming to have not received funds when there is an ongoing investigation into whether you even owned me. So, like that Gordon bloke who moved from Everton to Newcastle, a precedent has been set and I will now go on strike to force through my move. From your dearest, RB.’

Nothing to do with Napkin-gate, there follows a very articulate explanation of how ‘Brexit’ gave its name to a tackle from both Amo and Rokokoko, leaving everyone stunned by the technicality of the description, but still none the wiser as to what one has to do with the other. A bit like Double F squeaking that you can buy empty bottles of Lemon & Lime Prime for a fiver a time (very poetic), with both The BOS and Tobias nodding in enthusiastic support. Whatever is the world coming to?

Words of the day are ‘Satisfactory’ and ‘Fastidious’. The first might be used to describe Room 19 (Double F & Tobias), while the second chronicles the approach of Nice Niko C (and possibly even JMGK) and Super Jude S (and possibly even Mckinley O) to take Numbers 18 and 23 to a Perfect 10 – the first time this week that the Full Parallel & Perpendicular Monty’s been achieved.

Wednesday

After yesterday’s downer of a 10.15 kick-off, we’re back on track with an 11.15 start, so rack up at breakfast at 9.29, just sixty seconds before the chefs are looking to put the frying pan back on the top shelf. Plymouth, apparently wearing one of their fifty-odd shades of grey, are long gone.

Sadly, Super Jude’s side condition that’s plagued him at different points over the course of the season has returned and he’s out of contention for today’s clash with Carpe Diem who, in this instance, turn out to be Newbury Green. Double D, meanwhile, is having to use a makeshift headband as the original’s been misplaced, but it has no negative effect on his early-morning eating, with only the plate surviving his ninety-second assault on a Full English. ‘Glutton,’ mutters JMGK, who clocks in at around ninety-five, but for twenty seconds of that he was savouring a cup of hot, sweet tea, so in his mind, he is technically first.

We follow the same procedure as for our previous 11.15-er: sit in the bus for ten minutes until the opposition arrives in the car park, let them go, sit in the bus for five more minutes, drive very slowly to the FB Fields, have a team-chat in the bus, then go out for a warm-up orchestrated by Double F, this time with a little help from Coach Stalley.

It seems to work, Double D putting us a goal up before a sweetly-struck left-footed drive (roller) from Nice Niko C doubles our advantage shortly before the break. Theobald gets in on the act with our third, ten minutes after half time, while a great counter following a Newbury corner involving Theobald’s break and pass, Double D’s first-time lay-off and Double F’s ‘Arm of God’ finish completes the tally. Overall, it’s a decent performance and a good result on a very windy morning, and that’s got nothing at all to do with Amadou Diallo.

The Head of Media & Communications carries out post-match interviews with Tobias and Once-Nice Rokoko B, as the needle on the Beaufort Scale ratchets up another notch. Both do well to prevent their thatches from being blown away in the ever-increasing gale, something the interviewer doesn’t now have to worry about. Eight years ago to the day, the Head of M & C was the victim of a sudden FB Fields’ gust that cut straight through his cranial Velcro like a knife through butter, leaving him bereft of any topping whatsoever. Putting a positive slant on it all, however, he’s now a good four figures better off, having not had to invest in a single bottle of shampoo for the last 416 weeks.

Taking one look at the local weather forecast, Coach Wilson offers to forego the afternoon entertainment and stay behind to nurse Super Jude back to life. As SJ’s fast asleep for the afternoon, in practice the ‘nursing’ looks like: Read today’s Times – Complete Fiendish Sudoku – Read the next chapter of Joshua Yaffa’s ‘Between Two Fires (Truth, Ambition & Compromise in Twenty-First Century Russia)’ – stretch his legs – do another Fiendish Sudoku – Doze – Repeat.

Several miles away, the minibus Think Tank takes one look at the fast-approaching storm and heads into a beach-side café for a tranche of 3pm ice creams that are incongruously eaten amidst the flapping canvas sides and Orwellian howls of fast-moving air. And, once again, neither of these phenomena has anything to do with Amo.

A sandstorm-walk down the incline to take in the spectacular sight of some pretty big waves crashing in is followed by a ten-second survey to see how much swimming kit we can rustle up between us and with nine out of ten men catered for, we head up La Pulente and back to Quennevais for the rest of the afternoon. Thankfully, the centre sells swimwear (though not quite at Tesco Express prices) and Double D, now festooned in a pair of men’s XL bright-blue water-shorts, joins the happy gang. It’s more drinks in the poolside viewing area, with no sign whatsoever of the shutters coming down, as is not the case up at Plemont, where the Yellows have headed for a spot of very wild wave-watching. The café at the top of the steps has mysteriously concluded its operations, with the former owner saying recently from his padded room at the local sanitorium, that his decision to lock the doors for the final time had absolutely nothing to do with some bloke from Gloucester racking up at the counter in April 2022 and chortling: ‘See you next year.’

JMGK shows that Britain’s Got Talent is a fraudulent assumption by giving a rendition of ‘Mama Mia’ on the way back to the hotel, a performance that would have rendered Double F completely speechless if this wasn’t already the case.

The roast turkey dinner is followed by a large piece of sponge cake that seems to go down well, though MO Junior, after giving the waiter his lap dog look and getting seconds, follows up by showing his benevolent side in deciding to share it. Nevertheless, he still notches his only Eating Ten of the week alongside the usual suspects, with Theobald & Double F on nine and Amo & Nice Niko C on eight. There is no mercy for Hey Jude however, still tucked up in his bed, and his score of zero reflects the cut-throat nature of the Jersey Festival Eating Competition. ‘Hope Damari & Jacob get ill,’ whispers someone on the next table, figuring this is the only possible way to realise his own victory ambitions. It wasn’t Not-So-Nice Rokokoko B, was it?

Theobald is fined an attitude point for knocking on number 17’s, 18’s, 19’s & 23’s doors on the way to the Diary Room and a second one for explaining: ‘I didn’t know which one Jude was in.’ The randomness of the comment takes even Coach Wilson by surprise, causing him to drop his pen while inserting the final Sudoku number in the fourth of his five-a-day challenges.

‘I don’t want to take free kicks any more,’ squeaks Double F from his position atop the left-hand pillow, following his latest effort comfortably clearing the bar earlier in the day – and for the first time this week, everybody agrees with him. ‘I could take them,’ offer both JMGK and The BOS simultaneously, causing everybody else to suddenly look down and pretend to write. ‘The bathroom’s okay tonight,’ says Amo, much to the undisguised relief of thirteen other bodies, moments before N-S-NRB’s third napkin is revealed: ‘Dear Bob. The silence tells me you are trying to ignore our issue. I thought better of you than this. You are iconic and a hero, but you are in danger of trivialising that. I would expect this type of behaviour from the moany bloke from Plymouth or the old guy who drives the B Team bus, but not you, Bob. You are better than that. There comes a time when you just have to accept things and move on, particularly a man of your considerable experience and age. I understand there is counselling available if you need it. Having served the required 47.5328 hours’ notice, I now consider myself free to move eating teams. Thank you for all you have done for me. RB.’

Wednesday’s Words of the Day are ‘Admirable’ and ‘Changeable’. The former could apply to Super Jude’s stoicism, while the latter may relate to the lavatorial situation in Rooms 25 & 17. Amo’s loo has now been given a clean bill of health, while TRRI has discovered to his cost that the mantle’s been passed on to the BOS/Double D abode which, in his own words: ‘Ain’t very nice.’

Thursday

Glory be, it’s another 11.15 kick-off, another 9 o’clock alarm call and there’s still half an hour of sleep-time to go. And we know that Plymouth always start their kit recycling on Jersey Thursday as, despite popular opinion, they don’t actually have enough different colours to complete a rainbow, unlike Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran’s wardrobe of GPSFA polos, so we don’t need to be up in time to clock their new daily shade. It’ll be Persil-white again, just like Sunday’s. And there’s no sound of rain pattering on the window pane either, while that might even be a tiny ray of sunshine peeping between the almost-closed curtains. It’s one of those rare Norfolk Hotel moments of utter and complete bliss.

Rat-tat-tat! 8.33am and there’s a knock on the door. What? Who? Why? Is this Coach Stalley’s idea of a Jersey Joke? Or Bruce’s revenge for all the things he knows will be written about him later? 8.35am. Open the door to see Mckinley and Jude standing in the corridor. ‘Jude’s better – he can play today,’ whispers Mckinley, fully aware that he shouldn’t be outside his room and as such, more than likely to lose several attitude points, if not more. Both are non-verbally banished back to their abode, courtesy of a menacingly pointing finger, seconds before the behind-closed-door celebrations begin and ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning; Oh, What a Beautiful Jude,’ can be heard ringing out over the incessant gurgle of the boiling kettle. There are definitely some things worth getting up early for.

When the Lazarus ‘Get out of your bed and walk’ Hour finally arrives for everyone else, BOS and Double D are at the sink, frantically cleaning their gnashers in a synchronised display that makes them look like a pair of squirrels that have just found their stash of winter nuts. Next door in 19, Double F is lying in the waterless bath, while Tobias is sitting in the chair, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a cap, while holding a whirring fan in front of his face. ‘We’re really hot,’ they explain to Coach Stalley, who’s already in the process of closing down the electricity supply to their full-on radiator. ‘I’ll clean them after breakfast today,’ says JMGK, just as Nice Niko C steps into his exclusion zone, before promptly stepping away, looking as if he’s just entered a room full of hydrogen sulphide.

Thurrock (local pronunciation, ‘Fuwuk’), from Essex, one of very few sides against whom we have a negative Jersey record, are today’s opposition on Pitch One, but we start with real momentum all over the pitch. Fearless Freddie Fabian’s Fabulous Fringe gives us the lead following The BOS’s assist and we create several half chances to extend our advantage before Fuwuk equalise just before the break.

NNRB limps off twenty minutes in and is replaced by 8.33 Smit, who shows why he passed his breakfast-time fitness test with such flying colours, wolfing down everything on his plate and a bit more besides, by turning in a display that fully justifies his ‘Warrior’ status.

Theobald is hugely impressive down the right, but all eleven gladiators put in a real shift and Double F almost wins it with five minutes to go, his effort coming back off the crossbar with the keeper well beaten. An excellent, all-round display against a very good side with two outstanding players, five unbeaten games, top of the group and, as if in a show of appreciation, the sun breaks out from behind the cotton-wool clouds and the sky turns a rich shade of blue.

Post-meridian, we elect to go shopping in St Helier, partly because the weather’s good and partly because everyone else will be going tomorrow. JMGK heads down the pedestrianised central precinct dressed in a seemingly all-in-one number, making him look like, in Coach Wilson’s words: ‘A big, blue, Smurf’. He won’t mind.

Nice Niko C immediately goes off looking for presents for his family; half the others disappear into JD Sports. MO Junior, who earlier made light work of his lunch (in that he didn’t eat it) pleads to go to McDonald’s. Fifty minutes later, several people are keeping their new-found goodies to themselves, though of the others, Double F has bought a scary-looking ET-like figure for his brother, Hey Jude’s taking home a pastel-coloured rock for someone nice, NNRB’s purchased a box of ‘Silky Premium Hot Chocolate’ and another bagful of similar-sounding/tasting delicacies, Double D’s got a bright blue, Alan Titchmarsh-style hat and a black & blue football, Mckinley a chicken burger and fries, The BOS some socks and Tobias a Nike man-bag, much to Nice Niko C’s unbounded pleasure and much to the coaches’ unbounded disgust.

Coach Wilson, meanwhile, makes a beeline for Coffee Express, closely followed by Bruce, but only one gets there before the nice lady in the ‘CE’ apron is overcome by a look of barely-disguised horror, milliseconds before yanking down the ‘Closed’ sign and jamming the door firmly shut. ‘What’s all that about?’ asks a bewildered Bruce, staring through the glass at twenty-odd people enjoying an afternoon cuppa. ‘Some people….’

Hopping on the bus after dropping most of the afternoon purchases back at The Norfolk and depositing the two footballs in Room 22 for safe keeping, we head down to St Aubin’s Bay and with the tide heading out, the narrow causeway that leads to Elizabeth Castle is just passable. There’s a scramble round the rocks for nine of the group, JMGK and Tobias foregoing the final bit due to their very odd decision to leave their footwear at the other end of the causeway, along with several of the group’s once-white towels and a bright blue Smurf outfit.

The Head of Media & Communications photographs the nine sure-footed people in front of The Hermitage where, back in the sixth century lived a monk by the name of Helerius, who, after converting many of the islanders to Christianity, was murdered and later beatified, thus giving St Helier its modern-day name. By now, Double D is wearing his hi-viz swim-shorts and matching gardener’s hat and one wonders whether, if he’d been around 1500 years ago, Helerius may not have been so prominent and the modern-day town might have a very different name to that which it has now.

Following the evening’s braised steak with vegetables (other options available), Coach Harris embarks on his annual, Thursday-evening Jersey ritual of: ‘Who’ll eat the blue cheese?’ Several of the Bs look distinctly ill after sniffing the disgusting stuff and while seven A Team noses wrinkle at the prospect, four stick their necks out to prove that, while real men might not eat quiche, they can certainly swallow a bit of stink and keep it down afterwards. Amo inserts, semi-chews and swallows, as does MO Junior, showing that Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve Leaguers they may be, but shrinking violets they’re most certainly not. Double D and JMGK insert, swallow and ask for a whole load more. No surprises there, then.

For five whole minutes, there’s the hum of great concentration in the Diary Room before the fourth (and final) napkin comes out: ‘Dear Bob. Thank you for understanding all the things that have gone between us. I know that you will take great care of your future eating plans and good tactics. Please make sure that this disagreement doesn’t change the relationship between you and me as coach and player. Thank you very much from your greatest follower. RB.’

Words of the day are ‘Resilient’ and ‘Conscientious’. The BOS and Double D could, in their own way, be described as both. It doesn’t stop them losing four room points, though. Maybe their Word of the Day should be ‘Lavatorial’. As Amo won’t hesitate to tell you, that’s an adjective.

Friday

Tobias is christened ‘The Burnley of the Eating Championship’, such is his lead at the top of the table. The BOS has started to feel a bit under the weather and as such his food input is declining at the same rate that his Calpol intake is increasing. Tobias’s breakfast is slightly larger than usual today, leading him to explain, in pure Vincent Kompany-style speak a couple of bites in: ‘You can never have too many sausages on your plate at any one time.’ Heaven knows what any of it means.

Similar to The BOS, Nice-Again Rokokoko Bajzek isn’t feeling too good and is deemed unfit to play, while The BOS is only feeling half-good, so will play half the game. Despite many people’s ideas to the contrary, fractions are important. It’s raining cats & dogs outside and by the sound of it, far bigger animals, too, so we don’t head down to the appropriately named, Florence Boot Fields until the very last minute.

We’re two-down in five minutes against an Orpington side who are National Finalists and, despite the conditions, you can see why. As the referees say later on, if it had been any other day and any other event, the games wouldn’t have been started, never mind finished, but despite being outplayed, we stick at it to the very end, conceding only one further goal during yet another resilient display. At the end of it all, the seven final-day games are (just about) completed, the previously-pristine pitches are a mess, the groundsman’s weeping in his waterlogged hut and no-one’s drowned. Finishing on a positive is always important.

There are no post-match warm-downs; it’s straight back on the bus, returning to the sanctuary of the hotel for a hot-as-possible shower as quickly as we can. Coach Stalley takes a break from his Head of Media & Communications role and reverts to launderette duties, before returning to discover Room 17 topping & tailing it in the bath together. ‘The shower’s broken,’ says The BOS, who’s quick off the mark in terms of seeking an explanation of sorts. ‘Oh, no,’ laments Double D, who isn’t quite as sharp in the fast-reply stakes.

Hypothermic gauges restored to somewhere near normal, the news filters through that Aquasplash, the usual, last-day venue for most teams is fully booked, so we nip off back to our Secret Swimming Pool, while most of the other groups frantically go about seeking alternative, post-meridian entertainment. Coach Wixey isn’t the only one of the Viewing Area’s inhabitants who’s in need of a mid-afternoon stroll to keep his peepers from shutting, but everyone’s fully awake by the time we head back, via the launderette, to get ready for the final dinner. All except Friday’s Calpol Man (MO Junior), that is, who becomes the third person to see the dinner menu, decide discretion is the better part of valour and retire to his bed.

There’s a well-delivered address by the Chairman of Jersey SFA, a mention that, you never know, one person in the room might just follow in Harry Kane’s (Jersey 2004) illustrious footsteps (at which point Double D involuntarily raises his hand at the precise moment the speaker is looking at him), certificates are presented to the captains of each association, King Pat offers some closing remarks and most people settle down to an omelette of some description, as the main dish is fillet of cod in a lemon & butter sauce. Thankfully (for JMGK and Double D), no-one’s thought to tell the waiter that we’re one body light and the pair demolish the unexpected additional offering in much the same way a kingfisher imbibes a sprat – with absolutely no fuss at all.

While awaiting dessert, Amo regales us with his extensive knowledge of WWII and his views on the propogandist nature of all history teaching, ensuring that, at the season’s end, he’ll be inaugurated into the GPSFA Hall of Articulation, Knowledge & Understanding Fame (HAKUF), alongside such dignitaries as Sutton & Gare, who lit up Jersey 2008 with similar insights into the impact of Operation Barbarossa, the psychological state of the majority of the inhabitants of the capital of Bhutan and the area of any given circle to a thousand decimal places (these are all 100% true, apart from the number of decimal places. It was only about nine hundred).

Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran circumnavigates the restaurant for a final catch-up with each of the visiting teams, but for some reason, none of the coaches are present. ‘What’s all that about?’ he says to Romeo when he eventually returns. ‘Some people….’

The final room check sees Number 25 (Theobald, Amo & NNRB) crash out of contention, with all manner of unparallel and non-perpendicular objects littering the place, while Number 18 continues to impress with a last-day nine. Nice Niko C must be working overtime in there. In the Attitude stakes, Double D, Double F and NNC gain an additional point for fastidiously sweeping out the minibus, while The BOS’s and Newly-Nice Rokokoko B’s second half diary match reports are, quite simply, ‘A View from the Bus’, the vehicle doubling up as a mobile recovery centre for the rainiest bit of the festival.

Words of the day are ‘Sophisticated’ and ‘Idiosyncratic’. Most people, on discovering the meaning of the first one, claim it applies to them. Most people, on seeing the second one, spend most of their diary time trying to say it.

Saturday

It’s an early rise for tea & toast, a final Jersey teeth-clean and a swift last-morning room inspection to try to ensure that nothing’s left behind. Room 23 has a huge number of sweet wrappers in its top bedside drawer, casting suspicion as to the real reasons why its inhabitants each had an evening meal ‘off’. The threatening look on MO Junior’s mask hanging from the over -bed spotlight, though, suggests it might not be a good idea to follow this up.

In Room 17, another mask, BOS’s Ronaldo lookalike is put away for the final time this season, the cardboard version reflecting that a week in Jersey’s probably a lot more fun than a year lounging around in a Saudi Arabian desert.

Theobald mis-places his boarding pass at the airport and spends twenty curly minutes searching for it, while the lady in W H Smith’s sends Freddie Fabian into a Fiscal Frenzy by giving him 81 One P coins as she’s run out of change. We’re the right side of security, though, so it’s only his pocket that will have a problem. In the Departure Lounge, Bruce sidles across to a nice couple with two young children, each displaying clear signs that they’ve had a great holiday overseas, but are now ready to go home. ‘Southampton…,’ begins Bruce, at which point both children reply in unison: ‘Not today, mister, we’re staying for another week,’ before immediately disappearing, parents hot on their heels, out of the door they’d just walked through barely five minutes previously. ‘What’s going on?’ questions Bruce. ‘Some people….’

Aboard the plane, Coach Wilson and Coach Stalley are moved to the front to balance out the weight as Coach Harris is seated at the back, before we take off over St Ouen Bay and bear north, La Corbiere sitting atop its rocky headland, shrinking swiftly into the distance and eventually out of view altogether.

There’s sandwiches, chips and parents at the Great Western, prizes to present and tales to recount. There have been some really good diaries, some genuinely proper eaters and some pretty decent rooms, whatever TRRI has implied. There’s also been an enormous amount of Commitment, (Great) Attitude, Focus and Effort from everyone, both on and off the pitch.

The Chairman rings. ‘Did we win?’ he asks, somewhat sternly.

‘Everybody won,’ is the answer. ‘In every way possible.’

‘I never doubted it,’ comes the final reply, followed immediately by a contented sigh and the hum of a disconnected receiver. The call is ended, and with it eight glorious days on a little island near France that worked its unique bit of magic to create the widest of smiles.

Oscar Wilde once said: ‘Memories are special moments that tell our story. Once lived, forever remembered.’ He could have been writing about Jersey 2023. Today. Tomorrow. Always.

(Very) happy days

Acknowledgements

All the Gloucester coaches and players for making Jersey 2023 the fun that it was and particularly Andrew (Bruce Forsyth) 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 it all to happen and each of our fabulous sponsors and supporters for ensuring that it did.

(King) Pat Cullinane of Jersey for his 47 years of fantastic organisation of this amazing 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 who make it all happen. We love the company, the banter and the proverbial craic. Oh, and Phil & John who returned this year from the frozen north and Elias of Fulham from a bit closer to home. You probably won’t read this, but thanks, anyway.

And finally, to Mrs (Stewart) Ratcliffe. I hope you enjoy this memoir as much as you’ve enjoyed the tales of previous trips. I know we all loved being part of it. Carpe Diem.