It was Odds-on that Absent wouldn’t be
there, but the Tour must go on and Steadyly they
made their way to Hatt where the letters of the
Holland Inn lay nestled like the letters of Hollywood in the L.A. hills. Tea
Time came and went, “You shouldn't have ordered the Goat, Boy”, was the cry
from the Doc, but it was OK, we always had a Supersub.
The Cat, resembling an Easy Tiger supped Stoggs at
the bar, Iron Handles on the toilet doors signified the class of the joint,
which was soon brought down when the landlord exited with a de-Blocker. We
stayed up into the small hours in anticipation of shouting “I've Scored” at the
wicket the next day, and off we drifted to our humble abodes to ponder the
day, as Polonius himself must have pondered what was to be or not to be.... It rained. ‘Hoskers’
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