Minibus mayhem, Madness Misery and more May 20, 2008

Rugby Tours usually involve a LOT of comedy moments, some drunk tearful episodes and a bit of bundling.  Last weekend’s 2008 tour to Whitley Bay in Newcastle, was no exception!

In previous years, we’ve literally had scrapes with minibus trips (I crashed one within 30mins of collecting it) - and this year was no different. This time, we were in the club bus and got it checked a few days before by a local garage, who told us to sort out a tyre, which we duly did (or so we thought).  On the trip up there, about 90 mins in, we were up the M1 and suddenly the bus started shaking. 

We were due a wee stop anyway so after we’d all piled in and out of the services in our dapper tour hats, we checked the tyres.  Only to find (gulp), one had a hole in it the size of a fist.   Being proactive and not keen on waiting for 4 hours for the AA to tow us, we set off again at a very slow speed, coming off at the next juntion.  One dodgy looking garage stop later, we were off to Aston Tyres to see Billy, who apparently, could sort us out.  Billy’s eyes widened as 14 women piled out of the minibus that drew up outside, swigging lager and cider (apart from the drivers of course!) and cajoling him to fix the bus.

Billy - what a star! The man is a leg-end and sorted the bus out for £40 in record time.  We were on our way again, but not before a photo opportunity with our new favourite tyre supplier!!

On arrival in Whitley Bay we realised we only need visit one street - that which we were staying on. OUr hotel was flanked on one side by a strip bar, and the other by the pub the Hairy Lemon (nice!) - we were in The Zone…

The usual mayhem soon descended, as we found ourselves walking for an hour to a fish and chip shop that was closed, playing beach olympics in the freeeeezing wind on a deserted beach, diving into the even colder sea water and singing rugby songs in a random local pub on saturday avo.  I was not keen however on the new drinking game, the “Finger of Fire” - involving sambuca, a lighter, and one’s own finger.

It was Saturday night that the tears struck, and I was the culprit! No sooner had Baggy trousers come on, than I was moshing on the dance floor - it was all too much for my dodgy knee, which promptly gave up.  Frustrated, in pain and facing the prospect of ANOTHER season out of rugby, the tears flowed down my pink glittery face (flamingo outfit, of course) for a good few songs following Madness. Boo it. 

After a few hugs, blowing my nose on my sister’s wings (owl outfit) and getting some trainers on, I was back on it and boogying slightly less manically for the rest of the night.  We stood out from the hen-party Police uniforms, in our wide array of “Birds” fancy dress (Thunderbird, Jail Bird and lady bird were in there, as well as Cuckoos and Parrots). 

Sensibly, I sat out of this year’s post-clubbing bundling fiesta, which involves forward rolls across a bed full of people, pile-ons and a bit of head bashing on radiators (not deliberately). 

Despite my fears, I lived through another rugby tour and what the heck - bring on 2009!