“Oh, Lordy….”

At long last!!!

Yes, at long last, after a history of sackings, walkouts and other disorganised disasters, a Mad Social Secretary finally stepped up to the oche and hit a bullseye on July 6, 2007 – delivering a most successful day out on the piss for the Far from the MCC at England’s premier cricket ground of Lords.

Spot the Essex Boy.

Mr. N. Hebbes, better known for his arthritic displays in the field and irritatingly good spirits, had come good on his promise to organise of a fun-filled day on the Larry at the home of cricket – watching a Twenty20 slogfest between the barrow boys of Essex and the stiff upper-lip of Middlesex.

The journey to London by train was uneventful for the simple reason that it was well organised and the party were thus far still sober. A. G. Mann was a no-show due to a fourteenth bout of influenza in as many weeks, and some people even felt a tinge of sadness for him.

Morlers – getting his value for money….

Arriving in London, Mr. Hebbes guided his entourage to two differing drinking establishments prior to going to the ground itself. Both were simplistic in nature, cosy, with entertainment provided by wall-mounted LCD’s showing Venus Williams justifying the decision to award women the same prize money as the men, by destroying her Wimbledon semi-final opponent in close to 7.4 minutes on court….

Following the failed terrorist attacks of the previous week, security at Lords was tighter than Linford Christie’s running shorts. Most unfortunate then for party member T. P. W. Smith however, who was detained and interrogated at the entrance to the ground after a quick search of his satchel recovered a heavy beer glass from a nearby pub. “Expecting any trouble are we?” Were the sarcastic barbs from the stewards. Smith was quick to assert that his predicament was as a result of a really funny jape by his friends, and that he was truly sorry and wasn’t looking to glass any of the chinless cockney osser who sit under the new media stand. He was subsequently allowed in, but only after bending over in the nearby toilets.

Shame Steve doesn’t bat with a pair of these.

Finding the allocated seating for the game proved quite a task. In fact, it proved such a difficult task, that club poet, Mr. A. Morley, arrived some 50 minutes late. Nonetheless, such was the excitement and splendour of the view afforded from the grandstand, Morlers soon slipped into a drink-induced coma once he arrived….

The ill-effects of daytime drinking soon affceted Mr. Howarth’s ability to keep his swearing down to a modicum. He was soon involved in a heated spat with some righteous cockney whilst discussing Mr. Strauss’s T20 batting credentials. Mr. Shorten quickly defused the situation by allowing his telescopic binoculars to be passed about, with everyone afforded a proper view of the action – thus opinions on whether Strauss “was pissing about”, “fucking shit” and “not getting on with it” could be better substantiated….

The weather certainly played its part in making it a memorable day – no small thing considering most of England had drowned in the dreadful month of June. With the sun now descending over the east stand, shadows lengthened as the players ran about in their pink and brown pyjamas….

Someone ended up winning this game of cricket – either Essex or Middlesex; and the match did go to the last few balls… apparently. But talk and interest had long since turned to where The MAD could continue to quench their thirst and possibly even have something to “eat”….

Mr. Dobner would satisfy his expanding girth with a king-size burger on the way to the pub, and later queued with everyone else for a portion of fish and chips…

…it would be about this time of the evening that memories slide into the mists of drunken confusion, and recalling exactly who-did-what-and where becomes a little sketchy…. What one can vaguely remember is Mr. Shorten once again being harassed over the non-publication of a two month old match report; Mr. Parkinson professing Lincoln to being the greatest place on Mother Earth and Howarth being a cock; Mr. Edwards getting cold despite wearing fifteen layers of clothing for the day; and Mr. Clarke going into overdrive with his animated drunken bollocks…. Throughout it all, one also remembers Mr. Hebbes trying his utmost to keep his children under control….

Switched on???

The train journey home was lurid to say the least, with fellow passengers opting to abandon The MAD carriage altogether. The allure of drunken singing and shouting, coin throwing, paper plane throwing and head slapping simply not enough of a draw. It was with no small relief that the Social Secretary hurriedly declared his day complete when the train rocked into Oxford station; though sadly Nick missed his connection home [to Cholsey]….

Looking good, Billy Boy….

In summation, a wonderful day out enjoyed by everyone; and we look forward in earnest to burdening Nick with our drunken immaturity in the future. Hip hip hooray.

‘Spam’