Author’s Note

What follows is a behind-the-scenes look at some of the personalities, events, accusations & revelations that were Jersey 2024. 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

St Francis Lake. Fine goalkeeper. Good eater. Alimentary issues.

Harry Eckford. Defender. Eater. Trouser-less. Goalscorer.

Will Cornell. Joint captain. Quiet. Unassuming. Doesn’t like a tackle.

La ‘Vai Ellis. Pig farmer. Regal soup eater. Winner.

Tyler Field. See him here. See him there. We can see him. Everywhere.

Harry Lake-Kelly. Joint captain. Would-be mannequin. Likes mayonnaise.

Charles Darwin Martin. Creative passer. Meat eater. Likes dogs.

Oscar Cunningham. Nice left peg. Effortless eater. Enjoys birthdays.

Reginald Smith. Confectionery king. Loses lots. Everybody’s friend.

Jojo Hannis. Dependable. Athletic. Versatile.

Oscar Webb. Eats. Sleeps. Scores. Repeat.

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 Harris. Creative. Innovative. Heavy. Bad cop.

Coach Butler. Jersey debutant. Young. Light. Good cop. Sometimes.

Coach Wixey. Good ex-manager. Good motivator. Good man. And good that he came back.

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. 48 years. Legend.

Reginald Molehusband. Infamous character in a 1960s TV advert.

Saturday

‘Yes, we’re away!’ is the enthusiastic cry from the middle of the Aston’s coach as we pull off from GL2 at precisely 8.05am: 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, 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 that is ever so slightly different.

Yesterday, Good Friday wasn’t that great. Brackley’s last-gasp equaliser means Gloucester City are almost down, while the number of Jersey diaries in the pile wasn’t the number that should have been in the pile, meaning an early-evening trip to Tesco to buy eleven A5 journals and a fistful of 35p rulers. Today, though, the sun is shining, the mood is similar and Coach Wilson is at the front of the bus completing his first Fiendish Sudoku of the week. Behind him, Jersey debutant, Coach Butler, displays a demeanour that silently says: ‘What am I letting myself in for?’ while Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran begins a dialogue with the driver in preparation for a week of accosting anyone naive enough to enter into a conversation with him.

Despite the 30-strong Newbury party being first in the queue, we have a pretty quick 29-person check-in at Southampton airport, where Reginald Molehusband Smith weighs in at just 8kg (his bag, not himself, which is a few grams more), thus entitling him to the ‘Light Luggage’ prize at the end of the week. The only noticeable delay is caused by Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran, who has entered into a one-way conversation with a bespectacled man of indeterminate age and a lady wearing a deep red jacket and a rather perplexed frown. ‘We’re from Gloucester,’ chortles Bruce, before entering into a ten-minute dialogue that no-one at all pays any attention to. ‘We really must go,’ says the red-coated lady when AF finally pauses for air, ‘our train is due to leave five minutes ago.’

Amazingly, and for the first time in twenty-one years, Coach Wilson’s iron lung and other metallic implants fail to gain the attention of the security scanner, though St Francis isn’t as fortunate. ‘Have you anything in your pockets?’ asks the man looking at the X-ray screen. ‘Only a plastic bag,’ replies FL, holding it up before putting it back. ‘Have you anything else in your pockets?’ says the man without looking up. ‘Only a plastic bag,’ replies FL, completely oblivious to the fact that he probably should have put the offending item somewhere else. ‘Are your pockets now empty?’ says Security. ‘Apart from the plastic bag….’ says Francis, a reply that mystifies the uniformed man so much he buzzes him through without so much as another glance at the screen. LVE has no plastic at all on him, but manages to ‘lose’ his boarding pass, though Coach Wilson, exultant at both his Sudoku and Security successes, eventually manages to retrieve it from the bottom of a pile of big, grey trays before we board flight SI3361 for the 35-minute up-and-down jaunt to St Peter. As we touch down on the tarmac at Jersey Airport, there’s the cursory round of applause from both the Gloucester and Newbury contingents to signify either relief or appreciation at the pilot’s ability to give us a pretty bounce-free landing.

A twenty-minute minibus ride later, we’re sitting in the hotel restaurant tucking into a selection of ham & cheese sandwiches, a lunch which sees LVE, Reginald and TF drop early eating points due to their non-consumption of crusts. Room allocation follows, with Charles and Reginald allocated Number 128, while Webby and St Francis begin unpacking in 130. Room 131 will be a home from home to HE, Jojo and Oscar C, TF and LVE will inhabit 132, while William and HLK are billeted in the Captains’ Suite which, while being of no greater metreage than any of the other rooms, features a very long internal corridor that connects the sleeping area to the bathroom. Let’s hope no-one gets caught short in the middle of the night, then.

The afternoon is spent on the St Ouen Bay sand, with team ice creams in the popular beachside café preceding lots of running in an out of the very cold sea, TF, LVE & OC entertaining (or being entertained by) a posse of golden retrievers playing chase-ball amidst the surf and St Francis being buried alive in the sand by an enthusiastic group of (grave)diggers. Charles Darwin Martin, meanwhile, surveys the scene from the safety of the long beach wall, partly because he’s found a whole group of people that matches his theories regarding the ‘Evolution of Species’ and partly because he’s extremely scared of dogs.

On the trip back to the hotel, HLK asks: ‘What are we doing next?’ ‘Carpe Diem,’ replies Coach Stalley, the expulsion of air behind him a clear indication of HLK’s feelings on the matter.

Prior to going in for dinner, one of the most important rituals of Jersey week is performed, the IPL-style eating auction. This year, based on previous performances on the Isle of Wight and London tours, there are five people in the Premiership – St Francis, Jojo, Harry E, Webby and Captain Cornell, three in the Championship: TF, Oscar C and Charles Darwin Martin and three in the Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League: HLK, LVE and Molehusband. Some eaters are popular with the buyers – Jojo is recruited by (Eating) Coach Wilson for a whopping £13, others less so, the same owner paying a Jersey record low for Reginald, who enters the Wilson stable for the princely sum of 75 (pence).

The week’s eating teams are thus finalised: Coach Stalley has Will.I.Am, HLK, Charles & Oscar C in his ranks, Team Bob comprises Harry E, LVE, TF & Webby, while Coach Wilson has plumped for Jojo, St Francis and, as no-one else was left, Reginald Molehusband Smith.

It’s roast chicken and vegetables for most people at dinner and an omelette for Reginald, but everyone finishes everything which is a promising early sign. Only Harry E and Jojo claim a bonus point for having the Cream of Mushroom soup as a starter however, meaning they are immediately installed as favourites to compete for the Premiership Eating Crown. Webby, after adding his name to the soup list, makes a very late decision to withdraw based on the fact that if he doesn’t finish it, he’ll not only lose the bonus, but another point, too. He may live to regret this last-minute change of mind. Highlights from the eating itself include LVE overcoming his dislike of carrots, HLK swapping his gravy for mayonnaise and JH displaying the most methodical of techniques, eating each item in turn, making it look as if he’s consuming a whole pie chart segment by segment.

A post-dinner walk around the block precedes the week’s first diary and DREAM mark session. Of particular interest on Day One are the room marks, with deductions largely based around only partly unpacked bags, clothes not being allocated the correct storage area (ie not the floor), various items not being parallel or perpendicular to the room walls and floor and a raft of lavatorial abominations, the naming of which are almost all followed by the same three, pass-the-buck, words: ‘That was you!’

Sunday

With the clocks having gone forward last night, we’ve managed to secure the 11.15 kick-off slot, meaning we have an extra hour in bed – or at least, rise and shine at the same time as if there’d been no alteration in the summer GMT hourly settings. As it is, only the Webby/St Francis room is up, changed and ready to rock when the round of morning wake-up calls begins, though no teeth have been scrubbed and no curtains opened, so there is still work to be done in Room 130 before they can be allowed anywhere near the general public.

There are good and not so good happenings at breakfast this morning. The good is that it’s Oscar C’s birthday and he arrives at the table to find a fully-signed card and a nice, edible present; the not-so-good is that LVE is very quickly accused of bacon-laundering. It’s reported that Harry E is in receipt of a covertly passed piece of bacon that LVE wasn’t too keen on eating, but given that it’s Harry E, no evidence whatsoever of the so-say crime remains and no points are ultimately deducted, despite Coach Wilson’s relentless attempts to discredit both the accused. Meanwhile, at the juice counter, Reginald holds his empty cereal bowl beggingly in front of him while forlornly staring at the camera in an extremely good impression of Oliver Twist, which means his mode of address is likely to be changed at regular intervals over the next seven days.

The B players show little sign of their minus one hour’s sleep as they perform well in an entertaining, 2-2 draw with St Albans Blues, though their young (everything’s relative) coaches are already displaying pale cheeks and furrowed brows – and we haven’t been here twenty-four hours yet.

Our game v St Albans Yellows sees us take the lead, somewhat against the run of play, on twelve minutes, Webby finishing emphatically following HLK’s free kick. The Saints hit back to score twice before half-time, though and with no goals in the second period, we go down to a disappointing, opening day defeat. At least everyone can have a good gulp of Lucozade afterwards, as Harry E’s very nice grandparents have ferried 120 Andrew Foran-sponsored bottles across in the back of their car.

‘What are we doing next?’ asks TF on the short minibus journey back to the hotel. ‘Carpe Diem,’ comes the almost instantaneous reply from Coach Stalley.

The weather closes in as lunch is completed, meaning a change in schedule as we head west to St Brelade’s for a two-hour swim at Les Quennevais Sports Centre alongside the B Team plus Romeo. Quennevais has two pools and a couple of hot tubs and for the first hour there’s a full set of inflatables to float on, climb on or, in the case of the ‘assault course’, queue up then run on. The other good thing about this centre is that none of the other teams know it’s there, so apart from the general public it’s shorn of other youngsters, meaning it’s far less congested (and far cheaper) than Aquasplash, the main such complex in St Helier.

Wishing he worked at Aquasplash though is the first lifeguard who, on completing his shift at 4pm, is looking forward to getting home quickly to watch the Man City v Arsenal Premier League game on his brand new, 55” flat screen TV. Unfortunately for him, he is met by Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran, who blocks his exit with a mixture of hopscotch-type, side-to-side movements accompanied by a five-second chortle each time he changes feet and eventually accepts a lukewarm Cappuccino in exchange for a thirty-minute, one-way conversation about absolutely nothing at all.

It’s roast beef with all the trimmings for dinner, though both HLK and Charles Darwin Martin mistakenly opt for the chicken salad, with disastrous results. ‘I don’t like tomatoes, the chicken is cold, I can’t eat that….blah, blah,’ laments HLK as he realises his hoped-for assault on the Pig Farmer’s Division Seven Reserve League title is already hanging by a very slender thread and CDM’s attempt at the Championship’s top spot isn’t in much better shape either.

At the other end of the table, Oliver Reginald Molehusband Perrin Smith is struggling to manipulate his knife and fork. He can prong with his fork and cut with his knife, but after five minutes of pronging and cutting to no great effect and with the first pangs of hunger beginning to set in, he receives a course of practical instruction from Coach Wilson and immediately saws off a small piece of cow to begin his evening meal, three minutes after everyone else has finished their ice cream. It’s not the altruistic act on Coach Wilson’s part that everyone thinks it is, however, in that he’s not at all interested in ORMPS’s welfare. In fact, the only thing he’s concerned about is that his 75p investment is going to lose his team eating points if ORMPS doesn’t finish his meal this side of midnight.

Diagonally opposite ORMPS, LVE, without realising it, has displayed a wonderfully regal method of ladling his soup from bowl to mouth (repeatedly moving the spoon AWAY from one to avoid splashing on oneself), just like the Queen used to do (but the current King probably doesn’t). We set our own standards and LVE clearly sets high, soup-related ones.

Following the week’s first post-match interview featuring Oscar C, tonight’s post-dinner walk takes us round a different block, passing an estate agent which is advertising a £19,000,000 house in its front window. ‘I wonder how many bathrooms it has?’ ponders St Francis who, immediately on returning to the hotel, rushes straight into the toilet for the first of three such visits in a thirty-five-minute period. The second and third lavatorial appointments are thankfully taken in his own room, but as Webby was already making use of the facilities in their temporary home as soon as we returned, Charles kindly allowed the Saint to use theirs. Suffice to say, he very quickly wished he hadn’t.

Coach Wilson, who in his other life is a Fellow of the Royal Institute of Room Inspectors (FRIRI), spends the best part of half an hour checking every little bit of each player’s gaffe and is happy to report that all rooms apart from the Captain’s Suite have improved their marks on yesterday’s pretty miserable showing. Already excellent attitude points are further bolstered by two bonus marks each as a result of a very nice member of the public telling us at the end of dinner that: ‘Yours is the best-behaved team in the hotel and they really know how to conduct themselves in a restaurant.’ Two bonus points, too, to all the boys’ parents, who are the real instigators of this impressive display.

Diary scores are always communicated a day behind everything else as they take a while to mark, but Jojo’s total for today must surely be reduced due to him writing in his ‘Best Bits’ that one of his favourite Sunday moments was: ‘Bob running over a traffic cone.’ Words of the day are ‘Productive’ and ‘Focussed’. Let’s hope tomorrow’s performance is more of the first and the minibus driver’s attention is more of the second.

Monday

The Jersey sun is beating down as the curtains in Room 130 are whipped back, but the infusion of morning light fails to shake St Francis awake, so far under the quilt is his blond head buried. With roll-call eventually completed, breakfast is imbibed with little fuss, the exception being that TF is now accused of the disposal of a slither of bacon, an incident that quickly becomes known as ‘Napkin-Gate’. Coach Wilson, still reeling from his inability to discover any evidence at all in regard to LVE’s supposed food-laundering scam exactly twenty-four hours previously, now inspects every square centimetre of table within TF’s reach and immediately enters a one-point eating deduction in the little blue-black book that he carries everywhere in an attempt to record every possible indiscretion of the tour. ‘It’s fat,’ whines TF. ‘Minus one,’ replies Coach Wilson.

Today’s gaaaaaaaaame, as Brendan Rogers would pronounce it, proves to be a one-sided affair versus Newbury Orange, as goals from Tyler, Reginald and Will.I.Am put us three up at half-time. Substitute Webby, who’d given a very decent impression of a caged tiger during every minute of the first period comes on at the interval to score after just thirty seconds of the second half and further efforts from Tyler and Charles make it six. The final goal though proves to be the footballing highlight of the week, as good build-up play in midfield sees the ball find Oscar C on the left and his pinpoint cross is neatly headed home by Harry E for his first goal of the season. The ‘Glaws Army’ that takes up two-thirds of the far touchline unite as one to celebrate this long-awaited moment, the detail of which the goalscorer later describes very humbly in his post-match armchair interview: ‘I made the run, it was an open net, so I just tapped it in with my head.’ Sadly, he gets his present perfects and past participles mixed up immediately afterwards, by commenting: ‘We done well,’ and in so doing puts a very black mark against the quality of grammar education on offer at Heron Primary School. Peasant.

After spending four days in Lisbon on son Daniel’s (GPSFA 2000/01) stag ‘do’, Coach Wixey has flown into Jersey to assist the B Team coaches and attempt to dry out, both at the same time. He’s tucking into chicken goujons and chips while engaged in a one-way conversation with Bruce as we arrive in the restaurant for lunch, which is a pretty good way to converse if you want to keep eating. On the next table, Coaches Harris and Butler, despite having had the early kick-off for the second day running, seem suddenly less haggard, their faces now lineless and temple veins less bulging, suggesting that the stress lines of yesterday may not have been caused by tiredness alone.

With minibuses swapped due to ours having an extra seat, we head west to La Corbiere, a lighthouse built on a rocky outcrop that is only accessible at low tide. With the next land directly west being the US of A four thousand miles away, this, even at low tide, is a wild place and it’s easy to see why La Corbiere is the most-photographed landmark in Jersey.

On the return walk, most people opt to join the ‘follow my leader’, rock scrambling group over a series of outcrops and gullies that lead us on a circuitous route that finishes just past the area’s second-most important landmark – the ‘Real Jersey Ice Cream’ van. Before striding out, Will.I.Am asks Coach Wilson: ‘If I fall off the rocks and die, will I lose an attitude point?’ ‘You will,’ replies Coach W, ‘and you’ll lose four eating points as well for not finishing your dinner.’

As we head back east, HLK pipes up: ‘What are we doing next?’ ‘Carpe Diem,’ says Coach Stalley, which in this case means both ‘Be quiet’ and ‘Elizabeth Castle’.

With Monday afternoon being the last of the week’s 2.00-6.00pm low tides, we’re now traversing the island’s second causeway, but when the rain starts falling, we split into three very distinct categories. Coach Bob heads the Adventurous Group (Will.I.Am, HLK, Charles, Webby, Tyler, Oscar C & Jojo), Coach Ade is at the helm of the Sandy Group (St Francis, Harry E, Reginald & LVE), while Coach Wilson leads the Sedentary Group, which has only himself, a minibus seat and a fiendish Sudoku in it.

The Adventurous Group reaches the walls of the 17th Century castle which is named after Elizabeth I in very good time, despite pausing on the way to stare at a place of immense historical significance – no, not the 400-year-old fortification, but the pool of water that Lee Mansell fell into on the 1994 tour. We scramble over a rocky outcrop, beyond which we find a dead fish in a discarded marine basket, a corpse that seems to frighten the life out of HLK, much as his own reflection tends to do. Only joking.

It’s 6.15 before we return to the Norfolk and nearly 7.00 before showers are completed. Six people have now cottoned on that eating a starter is a useful way of adding to your eating points total – today, Harry E tucks into egg mayonnaise, while Jojo, Will.I.Am, Webby, LVE and St Francis take in the Cream of Vegetable soup with croutons. ‘What are they?’ asks LVE, staring at the little brown cubes floating in the top of his broth, before emptying his bowl in double-quick time without waiting for an answer. ‘I can’t drink this,’ says Webby, before finishing every last drop in a little under thirty seconds. One of those not partaking in soup drinking is HLK, who instead demonstrates a properly innovative way of spreading butter on his bread. No knife is needed, only the edge of the gold foil wrapper, but the result is a perfect covering with no washing-up to follow. A must in Jasmine Close from now on, then.

Dinner time provides an opportunity to catch up with the B Squad, who’ve spent the afternoon at Plemont Bay. More notable than the towering cliffs and golden sand is the fact that Bruce wasn’t able to talk to anyone as (a) apart from our group, the beach was deserted and (b) the owner of the café halfway down the never-ending steps now boards the place up and clears off to France for a week on an annual basis when discovering the dates of the upcoming festival, after being cornered for over an hour and losing hundreds of pounds in potential sales during a visit by Gloucester B in 2018.

The roast lamb proves an easy eat across the board and having been late arriving in the restaurant (and with an early kick-off in the morning), we forego the after-dinner stroll and head straight to the diary room. Attitude marks are mixed, ranging from nine out of ten (Harry E, Jojo, HLK & Reginald) to, as a result of a number of minor indiscretions, slightly less than nine out of ten (notably St Francis & LVE). They really must remember to push their chair in when leaving the table. Rooms have reached a high standard, with 132 (TF & LVE) amazingly recording the first ten of the tour. Jojo has somehow survived a diary points deduction despite his ‘Best Bits’ abomination and remains in equal first place alongside Captain Cornell, with TF just behind in third. Words of the day are exhilarating and breathtaking and La Corbiere was certainly both of those. A third word, if we had one, might be applied to Gloucester City, who this afternoon lost to Peterborough Sports, who aren’t even a proper team. In case you’re wondering, the word is ‘Shambles’.

Tuesday

Day four and we’re properly into the swing of things now. People know where the cereal and fruit juice are, The Times appears daily on the editor’s chair and various combinations of bacon, egg, sausage, beans and toast (most/all of it in HE’s case) is ordered and duly imbibed. Everyone’s friend, Reginald, has settled into an early-morning croissant and egg-eating routine and is routinely dropping a point by not finishing it. Four people, led by St Francis, order tea, but no-one drinks it.

We have an early kick-off today, much to the coaches’ chagrin, but record a good win in a tight encounter versus Jersey Reds. There is little between the teams in the first half and the first half of the second half, until HLK’s delightful pass is well finished by Webby. St Francis produces a smart save straight afterwards to prevent a Jersey leveller, before Webby scores again following Charles Darwin Martin’s assist. Jersey reduce the arrears with three minutes remaining, but we hold on to record a second successive win.

‘What are we doing next?’ inquires TF as we’re queuing at the traffic lights on the way back to the hotel. ‘Carpe Diem,’ retorts Coach Stalley. ‘Thought so,’ says TF, slumping disgruntledly into his seat as the lights turn green and we lurch forward.

Lunch sees Reginald struggling through a cheeseburger, chips, ketchup and ice cream – the fact that he’s trying to eat them all at the same time probably doesn’t help. In the middle of the table, Webby enthusiastically joins in with a round of applause that begins in the St Albans ranks, before sitting down and asking: ‘What’s everyone clapping for?’

As is becoming the norm, the sunny mornings are giving way to rainy afternoons, so, by popular opinion, we return to Les Quennevais with the Bs again in tow. While entering the reception area, Everyone’s Friend, Reginald reveals he had a bit of a problem when we visited the complex a couple of days ago: ‘I couldn’t find my way out of the changing room,’ he says, ‘so I had to ask a man where the door was. The man said it was behind me, but when I opened it, it was the door to the toilet. After I’d closed it, the man was gone, so I knew there must be another door somewhere.’ As he’s here now, we can only assume he located it.

On the way out, TF reveals he hasn’t lost his tee-shirt on this occasion, so, along with Oliver managing to exit the Quennevais Escape Room, we have a brace of extremely positive results.

Trying desperately to keep at least one eye open in the chlorine-filled atmosphere, Bruce nips outside to get a bit of fresh air for a couple of minutes and returns half-an-hour later after meeting a middle-aged lady out walking her two little dogs. It isn’t until one of the Pekinese, upset at being late for its dinner, snaps hungrily at AF’s ankle that the lady is able to extricate herself and Bruce is forced to limp gingerly back to the poolside café, silently concocting an unlikely tale in which a ‘war wound’ features prominently.

Everyone bar Reginald has a dinner-time starter in the hunt for a bonus eating point, but when it arrives, Webby, having ordered Cream of Tomato Soup declares, in Connor Spackman-like speak that he likes neither tomatoes nor tomato soup (at Jersey 2008, CS ordered apple pie even though he didn’t ‘do’ apples!?). ‘But it’s Cream of Tomato Soup, not any old tomato soup,’ says someone and thirty seconds later, Webby’s bowl is empty.

Harry E is feeling a tad under the weather at dinner, but still consumes everything on his various plates and then the plates themselves, followed by two mouthfuls of faith-healing Calpol which do the trick and thirty minutes later, he’s up and running again.

After their Bo Derek (Perfect 10) yesterday, Room 132 sinks to the bottom of the Tuesday room marks due largely to clothes being left where they shouldn’t be and a rather nasty lavatorial indiscretion. ‘It was you,’ says one to the other. ‘No, I flushed mine, it was you,’ comes the exasperated reply. Room 133 (Captains’ Suite) scores 9, Room 131 (OC, JH & HE) 9.5 and Rooms 128 (CDM & RS) and 130 (FL & OW) 10 out of 10 on a day of otherwise outstanding tidiness. Both LVE and Will.I.Am fall foul of the new rule, however, that states people being out of their caves at unauthorised times now incur a room, rather than an individual attitude points deduction. On the diary front, yesterday’s journals were all in the seven or eight out of ten zone. Good stuff.

When the eating deductions are apportioned, it transpires that FRIRI, still rankled by his failure to convict LVE following Sunday’s Bacon-gate incident, is going to new lengths to prove people’s guilt. To back up today’s assertion that Captain Cornell left, then covered up a breakfast item, FRIRI stayed behind when everyone else had left the restaurant this morning and after discovering it, photographed the evidence and is now proudly showing everyone the exhibit on his mobile phone, thus ensuring WC not only loses an eating point but an attitude mark, too.

Words of the day are Joyous and Confident. They’re certainly what we all strive to be.

Wednesday

We’re into the second half of Jersey week and what better way to welcome it in than with an 8am fire alarm? Thank goodness we took an early shower. It’s only a practice beeping, though, and the general lack of activity in the hotel corridors suggests the majority of the inmates guessed as much.

We have the only morning rain of the week to date (and the rest of the week, as it transpires), and matchday four versus Wokingham is just as miserable as the worst the island’s weather has to offer. St Francis (though we’re considering selling re-naming rights after today) nips off at the end to play for the Bs, Mason Hawkins’ nausea being a Nostradamian coincidence of considerable proportions.

After a performance like today’s, if this was any of the previous thirty-one Jerseys, we’d be anxiously awaiting a phone call from the old Chairman, who’d no doubt be lounging in his armchair at Highnam Villas while delivering the ultimatum: ‘Improve or go.’ Thankfully, though, GPSFA had a boardroom reshuffle over the summer and as the new Chairman and Vice-Chairman are now part of the A Squad coaching team, they’re highly unlikely to sack themselves. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Lunch is a quiet affair, broken only by a round of applause emanating from the Wokingham contingent, but Webby joins in enthusiastically, regardless of the source. HLK pipes up: ‘Where are we going this afternoon?’, before lapsing into a sullen phase when receiving just two little words in reply. ‘Carpe Diem,’ if you’re wondering.

We stop off on the way down Belvedere Hill to drop the kit off at the launderette while giving thanks to the inventor of the ‘service wash’, before heading north west on the A12 to Greve de Lecq, another picture-postcard location that is today perfectly sheltered as the prevailing winds are coming from the south-west. This perfectly arced, sandy bay is a popular destination for several reasons, Coach Wilson’s main one being the lack of steps needed to climb down to reach it or, more importantly, the lack of steps needed later in the day to climb out of it.

There is sand-digging, wave-running, St Francis-burying and stream-crossing, while the presence of dogs on the beach means Charles Darwin Martin keeps as close to the exit route as possible. Following the disappointment of arriving at the ice cream café three minutes after it closes, we have a good forty-five minutes’ rock scrambling, Greve de Lecq having some very interesting, low altitude routes to follow on the outcrops at the bay’s eastern end. Sadly, Reginald is unable to join the first expedition as he spends fifteen minutes drying his feet, brushing the sand from beneath his toes and putting his trainers on, only to discover he’s standing on the wrong side of the stream and has to re-cross it. Mission accomplished with only partial wetness, he joins the second expedition that ends with a traverse across the big grey boulders at the foot of the main incline.

Over at La Corbiere, there are no ice creams for the Bs as the proprietor of the ‘Real Jersey Ice Cream’ van sees Bruce moving purposely up the hill just a hundred metres away and despite at least a dozen tourists waiting patiently in the line ready to part with their hard-earned, he pulls down the shutter, slides across the bolt and disappears amidst the jagged rocks and foaming waves on the other side of the road. ‘Funny lot, these Jersey people,’ muses Bruce, ‘they always seem to be running.’

St Francis, Harry E and Jojo throw caution to the wind by ordering mozzarella & tomato salad for starters. Harry E claims he didn’t order this, but quaffs it anyway, Jojo, being slightly more discerning than the rest adds a little balsamic vinegar to his plate (‘What’s that?’ ask several people and on being told it’s balsamic vinegar, ask: ‘What’s that?’ for a second time). Sitting next to JH, St Francis finally wilts and leaves a sliver of mozzarella and half a tomato slice and with it sees his Premiership title challenge disappear in a matter of ten disastrous seconds.

LVE reaffirms his status as the Luton Town of the Eating League by demolishing starter, main course and dessert without any problems at all – if we were here for another fortnight, he’d whizz through the divisions and find himself rocking the boat in the Premiership. In the Championship, Oscar C is passing nicely under the radar, quietly working his way through course after course, meal after meal, with the minimum of fuss. He’s the Ipswich Town of the division, just getting on with the job of winning eating matches and picking up a whole load of points along the way. In the Premiership, it’s Harry E and Jojo who are the Jersey equivalent of Man City and Arsenal, with Webby’s Liverpool just a point off the top. While there’s drama and tension in the footballing Premiership, Championship and EFL, it’s no more tense or exciting than this year’s Jersey Eating Leagues (the JEL), with Reginald adding a touch of National League North to the proceedings for good measure.

Back upstairs, Webby is again first to the loo in Room 130, leaving St Francis begging to use the Captain’s Suite because, ‘I just can’t wait.’ ‘That’s okay,’ says Will.I.Am, feeling strangely sorry for the beleaguered goalkeeper, ‘as long as you use the plunger and spray the deodorant afterwards.’

In Room 131, Harry E has his trousers on for the first time this week, which is good news for all concerned, but particularly Jojo H and Oscar C. Even standing at the far end of the corridor, you can hear the emittance of two very audible sighs of relief. Room 128, meanwhile, loses marks due to a drawer-load of sweets that weighs nearly as much as one of its occupants, while 132 is also in the doldrums for various reasons. 130 accrues a 9, largely because St Francis ‘went’ in 133, which also totals an impressive 9, solely because FRIRI did his rounds before St Francis paid a visit.

Words of the day are picturesque and fastidiously. Greve de Lecq was the former, while the latter describes perfectly how 132 did not tidy their room today.

Thursday

Glory be, after two days of early mornings, we’re back to an 11.15 kick-off and another 8.45am alarm call. Coach Stalley’s not so lucky, though – he’s had to embark on an early-morning jog to rescue the kit from the Belvedere Hill launderette, but at least the weather is set fair (for now) and the only moisture he’s had to deal with on the journey back is perspiration rather than precipitation. A quick check of the Captain’s Suite before we head downstairs for our fruit juice and fry-up sees HLK sitting in front of the mirror preening his hair to no great effect, before appearing in the corridor, ready to go for breakfast with his coat buttoned up and his kit bag over his shoulder.

Nosh-up completed, we head to the FB Fields in our Lemon Fresh kit, hoping the memories of 24 hours ago have been washed away along with four days’ worth of sweat and dirt and that our performance today is as clean and crisp as St Francis’s socks.

We play well in the first half v Jersey Whites with HLK pulling the strings in midfield, setting up Webby for the opener before producing a fine finish following a cut-back from Heron Harry 2, while there’s a neat back-stick finish from Reginald following an equally good assist from Oscar C. The comfortable half-time lead is thrown into some disarray in the early stages of the second period though as the Whites net a quickfire double, but HLK settles the nerves by finding the far corner to wrap up a 4-2 win.

During the lunchtime, ‘How Old Are You?’ guessing game, in which people try to please or upset you in equal measure by suggesting your age, Will.I.Am comes out with another absolute classic: ’52? I thought you were 45, Ade, because my dad’s 45 and he’s bald as well.’ There may be a tad of applied logic to this assumption, but no-one’s quite sure what it is.

Still mystified, we decide that, with the weather due to turn around 3.30, we’ll head into town this afternoon for the obligatory Jersey Tour shopping trip. Coach Wilson hands out the various wallets at the bottom of St Helier’s pedestrianised boulevard and everyone is told we have 25 minutes in each of the three sections. The more thoughtful members of the group drift into WH Smith to buy a few presents first, the more headstrong make a beeline for JD Sports. The most headstrong, meanwhile, feel they have to buy something regardless, leading to Coach Stalley having to walk TF back for a refund half an hour later when he discovers the same shin pads are five quid cheaper a hundred yards up the thoroughfare. Unfortunately for him, the payback is a voucher, but at least that’s his brother’s next Christmas present sorted.

The twenty-five minutes in the second section extends to nearly forty-five, as Sports Direct has two expansive floors of special interest to 11-year-old boys trying desperately to spend their parents’ hard-earned. By now, Coach Wilson has repaired to the coffee shop for his post-meridian Latte fix, so he misses an impressive piece of mannequin-ing from HLK, who stands stock-still in the SD entrance, looking every inch a supermodel for Nike Jordan sportswear.

By the time we leave the gift shop in Section Three, the rain is beating down with renewed vigour, Mother, Father & Brother Reginald have inadvertently walked past us for the 37th time this week, Coach Wilson has consumed three Lattes and completed two fiendish sudokus and we’ve bought everything from Man Utd tops to shin pads to teddy bears to chocolate brownies (of the Jersey variety). Top of the shoppers, though, is Jojo, who has purchased a plethora of presents, £36 providing him with two ‘La Corbiere’ mugs, a marshmallow loveheart, a coaster with a panoramic view, can opener, a miniature pedal bike, some sweets, a key ring, a curvy shell and a Jersey anklet (whatever that is). At the other end of the scale, St Francis (probably not of Assisi), has bought absolutely no presents at all.

Despite it being 4.40 by the time we return to the Norfolk, peer pressure wins the day and we shoot off to the swimming pool for a final three-quarters-of-an-hour swim. All goes well until Oscar C manages to put the wrong clothes on afterwards, but despite dressing twice, he still manages to arrive in the poolside café several minutes before LVE.

Dinner is notable for Charles Darwin ‘I don’t like meat’ Martin ordering braised steak ‘because I like everything else.’ His reasoning has a bit more logic to it than Will.I.Am’s lunchtime thought process, but not a lot. Minus one eating point. A round of sustained applause breaks out from the Hackney contingent, meaning Webby has the chance to lead a one-man standing ovation, before furrowing his brow and asking for the third time this week: ‘What are they clapping for?’ ‘What are we doing next?’ inquires TF. ‘Carpe Diem,’ replies everyone else.

The Skippers’ Suite is a pristine palace this evening and receives a perfect ten from FRIRI, while the Oscar C/ Harry E/ Jojo H abode, an unparallel item apart, is pretty much perfect, too. Nine out of ten. 128 & 132, however, are on the slide, registering only six on the RT (Room Tidiness) scale.

Words of the day are impromptu and usurped. FRIRI’s additional, unscheduled room inspection while everyone else was at the swimming pool was the first and what we did to Jersey Whites earlier today is a good description of the second.

Friday

With tiredness starting to set in, it’s great news that someone, somewhere, connived our fourth late kick-off of the week, but cracks are starting to appear on the culinary front as CDM, WC and RS each forfeit a breakfast eating point. We also forfeit an early goal to Jersey Reds, but despite a labouring first half, we draw level just before the interval as Oscar C plays in Oscar W for the equaliser.

The ten minutes after half-time prove decisive, as first Tyler F’s fine pass and Webby’s pressuring of the Jersey left back result in an own goal, before Oscar C finds the top far corner, meaning he has directly contributed to exactly a third of our eighteen strikes this week (five assists and a goal). Both teams effectively play out the remainder of the match as tired limbs and equally tired minds take over, but we complete our fourth success of the week which is a pretty decent return. There’s a nice touch at the end of the post-match debrief when the team presents us with a signed ‘Thank-You’ card that Will C immediately tells us cost £5.74.

There’s the traditional ‘whole festival’ photo in front of the pavilion, an event that sees WC hoisted, Bobby Moore-like, on the shoulders of anyone who’s prepared to hold him, before the photographer sends the pictures directly to the Jersey Evening Post which will feature our front-row faces and Festival tee shirts across its impressive back page in around five hours’ time.

We’re back at La Corbiere this afternoon to see the headland with the tide in, and it’s a spectacular sight. The causeway that we walked out to the lighthouse on five days ago is completely submerged beneath a sea of raging waves. The lighthouse itself, which was the first maritime concrete warning tower to be built in the British Isles 150 years ago, is now perched on an inaccessible rocky island rather than at the far end of a concrete path. Sunday’s scene of relative calm has been replaced by an angry wildness on the island’s south-western tip. But the usual suspects (Webby, Tyler, St Francis and Molehusband), still get wet. While the contrasting tide out / tide in views are wonderful to behold, it’s reassuring, in a strange sort of way, to know that some things are never likely to change.

Leaving La Corbiere, we make the short hop to St Brelade’s Bay on a bus where, for the first time this week, no one asks what we’re doing next. It’s taken six days to realise what the answer is likely to be, but as the tortoise said to its mate: ‘We got there in the end.’

We have an hour of sandcastle-building and low-level beach cricket, while half a dozen enthusiasts begin digging what they hope will be the island’s biggest-ever beach hole before spoilsports Stalley & Wilson emerge from the La Bray coffee shop to put an end to their world record attempt.

The Jersey teams join us at the hotel for the end-of-festival dinner where there’s a well-delivered address by the Chairman of Jersey SFA which includes a mention of some of the alumni that have graced the FB Fields over the years. Certificates are presented to the captains of each association, King Pat offers some closing remarks and most people settle down to the main dish of the day, which is fillet of cod in a lemon & butter sauce. More eating cracks are setting in however, with WC, CDM and TF each dropping points, but there is no such worry for Webby. Having taken the safe option and ordered a plain omelette, then waited thirty extra minutes for it to arrive, he demolishes it in barely thirty seconds, before wiping his hands on a napkin and declaring, ‘I enjoyed that.’ At the other end of the eating spectrum, Reginald is taking an awfully long time to clear his plate, but the reason soon becomes apparent when Coach Wilson takes a closer look and realises RS is only pretending to eat and is actually chewing his tongue instead.

‘What’s the best GPSFA team ever?’ has replaced ‘How old are you?’ as today’s mealtime quiz topic before we present a ‘Thank-you’ card and an envelope-full of notes to our amicable waiter, Geel. The affable Jersey boys circulate around the various tables and everyone wishes everyone else well, while Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran makes a beeline for the referees’ table in a vain attempt to compensate for the conversation he never had at Greve de Lecq this afternoon as the throng that was present when the B’s minibus parked up, mysteriously disappeared the moment Forsyth stepped on to the golden sand.

We have a timer on the diaries tonight, meaning even those of more limited focus have to knuckle down and complete everything within the allocated 35-minute time slot. Tyler F has joined Jojo on an excellent nine out of ten, which is a good job as his and LVE’s room score is eight less than that. 128 goes one better (or worse) and gets the first zero return of the week, though the HLK/WC and OC/JH/HE abodes are at the other end of the pecking order, both rooms totalling 9.5. Helped by a bonus point each for giving us the very nice, £5.74 card, attitude marks are on a par today with the very good diary scores, with Jojo scoring ten despite bizarrely attempting to wedge a soup spoon inside his left cheek at the end of dinner. Webby, Tyler and HLK are each close behind on nine. At least one of those marks was expected.

There are three Words of the Day for the final diary session: Quintessential (today’s Jersey weather), hospitable (the people at the Presentation Dinner) and persevered (what we did in the game when TLS – Tired Leg Syndrome, set in).

Saturday

It’s an early rise, a final Jersey teeth-clean and a swift last-morning room inspection to try to ensure that nothing’s left behind. The hotel restaurant has very kindly opened an hour early so we can have breakfast before we depart, with Webby spending virtually all his non-eating time describing how he’s going to train up his three-year-old cousin so he’ll be good enough to play in the team in seven years’ time, meaning Webby himself can return to the island for the 2031 Festival as assistant coach.

Check-in at Jersey Airport is always a fairly quick affair – they can’t wait to get you off the island – but after whizzing through security, we’re confronted by the electronic board that announces flights are delayed due to the strong crosswinds howling over St Peter. People accept the setback with a minimum of fuss, though and we’re kept in touch with what’s happening in the air, courtesy of Coach Stalley’s extremely clever mobile flight app.

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, alongside his trademark chortle, 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….’

Reginald has finally come of age and Alan Sugar would be hugely impressed. He’s bought a monster tube of ‘Mentos’ for a very reasonable price in WHS and is now selling off the individual packs to desperate people needing a Saturday morning candy-fix at an extremely healthy profit to himself. Absolutely top man (Smith, not Sugar).

Aboard the plane, Coach Harris is moved to the back to balance out the weight as the Jersey RFC first team is seated at the front, 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 are sandwiches, chips and most parents (the others are en route from Birmingham, Gatwick and Heathrow) at the Great Western as there are DREAM prizes to present and tour tales to recount.

Jojo, Will, Tyler & HLK (in that order) take the diary awards, with Charles Darwin Martin being the most improved diarist over the course of the week. The Captains’ Suite (133) is the best room (by a bit), with 131 & 130 in equal second. Harry E & Jojo jointly lift the Premiership eating title, leaving Webby rueing his first-meal decision to forego his starter. Oscar C wins the Championship with a bit to spare, while La ‘Vai Luton Town Ellis takes the Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League by storm. Jojo, with 70 attitude points heads DREAM mark category four, with Harry E in second and Oscar C & HLK equal third. Captain Kelly is top of the match marks with a highly commendable total of 45.5, Tyler F & Webby (43.5) are in equal second and LVE & JH level in third on 42.5. Amongst other things, Reginald Oliver Molehusband Perrin Smith takes the ‘Everyone’s Friend’ award, because he undoubtedly is.

‘Who won Jersey?’ asks the landlady, as people begin to head home for a bit of much-needed shut-eye.

‘Everyone,’ replies Chairman Stalley. ‘Absolutely everyone.’

Oscar Wilde once said: ‘Memories are special moments that tell our story. Once lived, forever remembered.’ He might have been thinking about Jersey 2024.

Happy days

Acknowledgements All the Gloucester coaches and players for making Jersey 2024 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 48 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 return year after 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.