Sportsworld were opening a new shop last Thursday evening and as per the norm the shop was opened by world famous sports direct enthusiast and clothes horse Jamie Carter. This left a space open at the Stockingford Pairs competition and that space was duly filled by the Chuckle brothers.
With the weather set fair we entered the directions into the satnav and were told it should take us 30 mins or thereabouts, but with the road works as they are and rush hour to boot we set out with over an hour to spare. I had gone about 50 yards before I guessed the route the satnav would take us was going to suck. Remembering a rough map I had seen of Nuneaton’s relationship to Birmingham, I decided to wing it. For the next twenty minutes the lady voice was telling me to turn round, her suggestions turning into proclamations to orders and then on to threats but I pressed on undeterred. The traffic heading through Coleshill was problematic, and being stuck in lower whitacre (or some such village) behind a lorry that shared the size and turning circle of the USS Nimitz was a scary experience.
The time was getting on and we were dangerously close to being late but the traffic cleared and we found our way to where the satnav reliably informed me was my destination. Apparently it was well hidden, so we stopped and asked some slack jawed youths who, judging by their answer, had been glue sniffing. We stopped at a nearby school and asked some parents who also appeared to have been glue sniffing. The young daughter of these feckless adults, meanwhile was coming up with a suggestion that the parents adjuged to be rubbish and loudly announced that was a different club. If I am ever lost in Nuneaton again I’m listening to the five year old who just had the bad parents evening report and as it turns out she was spot on. From the adults garbled answer of "hit Wall left turn shops before and bobs your uncle aye lad" we cobbled together some kind of plan. We turned at the wall before the shops and there it was behind a 10ft locked gate that was patrolled by East German soldiers with vicious yapping German Sheppard’s. We decided discretion was the better part of valour and turned around and asked a few more Yokels if there was an alternative entrance. It was at this point we started to believe that our Birmingham to Nuneaton phrase book must have been misinterpreting phrases like “where are Stockingford allotments” into “my nipples explode with delight” and promptly gave up looking. I dropped Scotty out by the gates and, dodging between the search lights, he bravely made his way over the barbed wire and into the club in time to sign us in. I took one last desperate attempt to find an entrance and was quite disgusted to find it was exactly where the failing school child had suggested it was. Perhaps she is failing at school as she is spending to much time planting spuds, marrows and such like at the allotments.
There were plenty of friendly faces about - the Baldwin Bunch with new superstar finals day performer Mick Tandy, The Moseley mad house were represented by Dave Clarke and Billy Kinchin and The Millers were flying the flag for the Brookhill. The rather clement weather allowed us to settle down with a pint and watch the competition. In the top half of the draw county stars like Mark Burdett, Paul Evans and Craig Barker were entertaining themselves by impersonating the goon show in between the quality bowls. Bill and Dave were on for close to two hours and the Millers lost a very close encounter to a pair that qualified. The Baldwins first pair of Bob Marklew and Emily Kernick also just fell short. Once Bill and Dave had completed their magnum opus of a bowls game we were called to the green to face Tony and Paul Freeth. You drive out of the county and you play someone from a club with roots two minutes walk from our first club. That said, we have bumped into Tony when holidaying in Torquay as well so I suppose these things happen. The game started with both pairs swapping ends before we settled into a rhythm and were holding a commanding lead. Freethy though, playing with one yellow wood and one wood that looked like he found it while rummaging through bomb sites during the blitz, gave it one last big push and pulled a few ends back before falling to the handsome brothers with the cheeky smiles.
The green was still very wet after the battering it has taken this week but was playing quite well and, despite its lack of round pegs, could be quite tricky. With the night drawing in my start time at work fast approaching we went straight on to face a lovely pair from Atleborough. After a decent start and counting 2 Kevin ran the block for four and our opponents flew out into the lead and we were struggling to find the form of the previous game. Something clicked, however, as we stormed back to take a 20 – 19 lead. We went long and with 3 woods left were counting 3 with two woods within a foot. Kevin once again pulled out a pearler, nestling next to the block. The order went up (From where I was it was more like a Magnus Pike lookalike had entered the green and was trying to flag down a bus- Ed) and Scotty duly obliged, running the block to leave us game on with the jack an inch from the edge and our closest bowl within two foot. Kevin though had been excellent all nigh and once again bowled the perfect wood to take it to twenty across. Unfortunately they took the one they needed on the last end with a very cluttered end that never really opened up to allow us a shot. Congratulations to all the qualifiers and I hope the finals day goes well thanks to Carol for running another great comp and to all at Stockingford for there hospitality - we shall see you next year even if you are a villa club. The Journey home proved very disconcerting as we came a completely different route and drove in what appeared to be a straight line home taking twenty minutes and bringing us home via the other side of the A45. Directions have never been my forte but at this minute i have no idea which way I'm facing.
There is an art to bowls teas - from the highs of the College and their roasties and Bournville with their bangers, down to the Penn offering on a Wednesday night of six sandwiches’ and half a scotch egg (which Ian Ball promptly devoured, thimking it was an individual serving) or one of Kenny Everett’s legendary Pigeon Curries. There is a charm to the good old fashioned bowls tea and great delight can be taken from any offering no matter how meagre. I recently had the pleasure of a sit down chat with the baronet of the buffet Chris Greenhill. For a small fee, and with editorial veto granted under threat of physical violence, Chris shared his thoughts on etiquette and on what makes a good buffet, his favourite items of snap and tuck and if those two words along with scram are ever sociably acceptable (They are not. Ever. Absolutely never - Ed).
What was the best away day for tea this year?
It may surprise you but my favourite, apart from a wasted journey, a personal hammering and a mini riot, was the pheasant. Not only did i get fed twice but the second of the meetings had a bit of an edge to it and as it was a Sunday not many people came in for the tea. I managed a record six and a half sittings munching threw a whole chicken, half a pig , a large tray of sandwiches and more cakes than Kipling can throw out in a week.
What was your least satisfying tea of the year?
The final home tea was a disgrace. Nothing wrong with the idea of sausages and burgers with chips but good lord, there were more buns than burgers and sausage ,no finger roles, no onions, the chips were cold and the burgers 100 for a quid from Poundland - they were made using real sawdust none of your cheap stuff. The look on their face when we asked for sauce was amazing. I didn't even go up for thirds this time.
Any honorable mentions?
The Queslett served up a chicken curry or bolognaise or something that was meaty, it was okay i suppose but the fact they brought out a veggie platter for the odd veggie we have in the club was a nice touch. I asked the Olton to do this after sausage and burger gate but they assured me there was more meat in the chips than the burgers.
What should make up a bowls tea?
Well first of all get rid of that green shit - salad i think it's called. It has no place on my plate or sitting in a buffet like a land mine waiting to go off in your mouth. To be honest what goes into a buffet is only of a mild concern to me as long as i get to keep picking at it at 6 plates an hour until about 8 o'clock. Sandwiches are good, but no egg and not a massive fan of salmon. Any pork based product that doesn't have an egg in the middle cant be bad. Chips, fries, crisps, croquet's, chicken skewers, chicken nuggets, chicken strips, black pudding, pigs blood, angels on horseback, devils on horseback, a horses back, pigs in blankets, devils in blankets, blankets covered in sauce, duck, spring roles, samosas, pakora, kebabs - sheesh and sharmi, kofka's, a cheese board, bread and cake of all varieties. Bang it all on just keep it coming - Wallop.
A wafer thin mint perhaps to finish?
God yes I'm never stuffed me. Make it a packet.
What do you think of your nickname that came from your prodigious tea eating?
You can call me anything just don't call me late for the tea.
Can any other word be used to describe the said food after a bowls game.
I love the word tuck, and snap is an aural delight. I have asked the committee if we can get it formally changed to the bowling snap tucker for tea and tuck with scram for afters.
From the Chris Greenhill archives, here he is with an appetizer from illustrious Michelin starred
restaurant Kings - open till 3am on Sunday mornings peeps
