FILLARD AND FISH’S FALMOUTH FOIBLES

As was befitting a weekend with a cricketing flavour the intrepid twosome left Birmingham in a blaze of red- hot sunshine on a stifling Thursday afternoon. After a short stop for petrol the journey got off to a poor start when Phil’s radio decided that it’s long wave button would no longer transmit news of big Harmy’s demolition of Pakistan so it was left to mobile phone technology to keep the travellers abreast of happenings at Old Trafford, sadly depriving them of the opportunity of listening to Blowers’ descriptions of butterflies, pigeons, number 7 buses and cream cakes sent to him by Mrs J of Halifax.

The journey passed without incident, except for

1.   Phil’s route planner proving to be wildly inaccurate, with the estimated distance of 235 miles being somewhat short of the 271 miles actually covered and

2.   A slight delay due to roadwork’s between Bodmin and Indian Queens (a place name whose origins were subject to much conjecture-Fujita and Bumjit were mentioned as the founding fathers amongst others)

Arrival at Falmouth involved a lengthy search for the hotel. Phil insisted that Dave flag down and ask a shapely blonde girl for directions (no idea why)-but this turned out to be a good move as the hotel was reached soon afterwards.

With the hotel perched virtually right on the beach and the sun still beating down it was down to shorts and tee shirts (though Philda Marcos had to choose between one of his five sets of shoes/trainers before heading out) and straight to the beach café (via the gym and hotel pool for Dave) to sup a couple of cool lagers and watch the sun go down.

A walk into town followed to the Quayside Inn. Phil had found a flyer buried in a hedge (as he tends to do) for a pub called the Boslowick Tavern, advertising what sounded like a good covers band, playing on Saturday night. The heavily-pierced barmaid in the Quayside Inn informed the two travellers that she had worked there once (for one night only !!!!!! hmmm).

Friday dawned hot and sunny so it was down to the beach again-tee-shirts off and shorts on , leading to the scaring (or should that be scarring) of several young children. Ships were spotted in the bay and it was debated if there was a harpoon with Phil’s name on it. Anyway he duly survived, retired to the beach bar for midday snifter and then it was off for a boat trip down the Helston River for the afternoon. There were some serious pads (none less than £750k) dotted around the side of the river-so come on Tonebez-get your finger out and buy one. Unfortunately Dave underestimated the power of the sun, whilst at sea and managed to burn his shoulders to a frazzle -Phil’s face also took on a similar crimson hue as the day wore on.

Back on dry land and a pleasant hour in Nancy’s bar was spent watching Ian Bell complete his century at Old Trafford.

Friday night entertainment began with a beer outside by the harbour and then a visit to the (oo me!!!) Grapes Inn, where Dave managed to take on the local 20-something boys (called Nash, Steve and Matt) and beat them all at pool, showing that us old geezers can still do some things well. Next port of call was the M.I. Bar, something of a Broad Street beep beep bar, but boasting an excellent live ska band for about an hour and a half. Phil amused the bar staff by falling off his bar stool and some bloke then came up and said “excuse me mate has anyone ever said that you look like Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall ?”-result !!!. Some young ladies then put on quite a show of tequila slamming for the chaps at the bar. The night finished with the search for food ending up at the local kebab joint-meeting up with Nash and the boys again, who greeted the Brummies like long lost brothers (well they were seriously pissed by now). Phil had a chicken concoction that appeared to be covered in elephant sp$&k-it may have been mayo-and the trek home started. Another encounter with some longhaired rave types ensued and the boys were invited to a beach party. By now though the excesses of the day had taken their toll so the old duffers retired to bed at 2 a.m.

Up for brekkie the following day and greeted by slate grey skies, which progressively got greyer and wetter. Chap sent text a message confirming that he and Jan had made a pitch inspection at St Mawes and the prospective day’s cricket would not be taking place. This left a hole in the schedule, that Dave filled by hitting the pool, Jacuzzi etc. and Phil went shopping (at a shop called Fat Face amongst others-wonder if he’s a part-owner?).

Pre-evening food was this time found, Dave, having his first experience of tapas food, needing to ask Phil for ordering tips like some three year old kid. But this provided excellent sustenance and then it was back in the beer saddle.

Saturday night proved to be slightly more low-key, the idea of a taxi ride to the Boslowick Tavern sounded far too much like hard work so it was spent in Finn McCouls’ Irish bar, a place that seemed to have a very high customer turn over, starting with various hen parties, some old blokes, one or two local chavs (these were mercifully few and far between), the tequila-slamming girls from Friday and finally ending with some local girls in deep conversation, one of whose clearly visible bum-cleavage had Phil engrossed for ages (this was a recurring theme as was girls showing their underwear on many occasions throughout the weekend god bless ‘em). Another 2 a.m. dismount proved the limit for the middle-aged merrymakers.      

Sunday arrived in glorious sunshine and the chaps bade farewell to the hotel. Contact was made with Chap and the cricket match was arranged. Following a short trip on the Prince Harry car ferry proceedings commenced at about 1 o’clock . To say the chaps were rusty would be a slight understatement-Chap and Dave concentrated on gentle off spinners, only Phil seemed keen on coming in off the full “Fillard/Hoggard”run. Bearing in mind that the opposition was Chap’s son Alex (aged 10) and his step-grand-daughter Jade (aged 12) , this seemed to be rather too energetic for gentlemen past their 40^th birthdays. The mid-wicket area was soon declared out of bounds, i.e. 4 and out, for all those of drinking age-this was due to the ball getting stuck under the carousel/roundabout thing positioned in that area several times and it soon got fairly tiresome lobbing Alex under there with his magic stick to retrieve lost balls. The first drinks break was taken fairly quickly-cartons of orange followed down with lashings of Red Bull for the slightly more mature players. Chap took his break at a 180 position under a tree whilst Phil, Dave and the kids went off for a go on the monkey bars, in retrospect probably not a wise move.

The game recommenced Chap unfurled a couple of nice cover drives but didn’t score many, Dave followed suit, only Phil, who batted for far too long for 47  seemed intent on sticking around. Step Granddad did manage to roll back the years in a “competitive dad” moment when he went down in instalments at extra cover to take a stunning one handed catch to dismiss his first born.

The old three chaps then had a three over slog at the end scores Dave (clean bowled)…1, Chap…0, Phil…0-all dismissed by Jade in the space of about 12 balls. Anyway great fun was eventually had by all. After this the old chaps ran out of steam and the young numpties ran out of interest so it was down to the local pub for…………shandies and pop all round and then down to the sea front for an ice cream to round off a thoroughly enjoyable weekend, before setting the compass back to Birmingham and heading towards the torrential rain between Bodmin and Okehampton.