For those of you who are new to Eastry Cricket Club, “The Big E” is a fictional and satirical view of the players and associates of Eastry Cricket Club. It is written by one of the club’s members and has provided much humour over the years to everyone who reads it.
For those of you who know and love The Big E, herein lies a treasure trove of volumes past and present.
THE BIG E Vol 1
THE OFFICIAL ORGAN OF EASTRYC.C.
WELCOME TO THE INAUGURAL EDITION OF THE BIG E, THE OFFICIAL CLUB NEWSPAPER OF EASTRY C.C.! TO LAUNCH THIS EXCITING NEW VENTURE IN THE WORLD OF SPORTS PUBLISHING WE ARE OFFERING SOME SPECIAL PRIZES!!!!!!
WIN, WIN, WIN!!!
1. Kevin Deveson’s first ever helmet
2. Jim Senior’s Official Sunday Captain Full Dress Toupee
3. An autographed muscle support from James Mayland (Only available to fellow hypochondriacs)
4. Dickie Swain’s Big Girl’s Blouse (Short-sleeve)
And many, many more………see p.400 for details
Regular Features(Number of dropped catches etc) P.1
Men in White Flannels Topless snaps of your Eastry Favourites….! P.3
At Home with my Honey Andy Pearce on how to relax Away from the demands of Updown P.3
“Who ate all the pies?” Nigel Spokes and Dickie Swain review teatime etiquette P.50
STAR PROFILE Roger Hill’s heroic struggle against Deaf umpires Review P.70
Theatrical Fielding Graham Phebey and Chris Adam-Reynolds
On how a drama workshop Revolutionised their fielding technique. P.78
Competition Tim Miles provides the questions and the prize (tea for two Near the back at C&H) P.1005
Cheesy Advert Here
(See S.Bell for details)
(Sunday League; Eastry Enemas v. Tilmanstone Turnips)
This indifferently awaited bottom of the s**t-heap clash (more of a glancing blow really) was watched by only 1 umpire, and a rabbit. With the Turnips putting out an unusually crap batting line-up, Eastry Enemas responded by bowling Adam-Reynolds from both ends simultaneously, in an effort to make a game of it. It failed, and I can’t be bothered with this anymore.
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
I would like to commend Chris Adam-Reynolds for his fantastic service to the club this season. Not only did He top score at Hawkinge, but he has taken on the role of Secretary Of the club, assistant groundsman, and now with the triumph of his first tea Still being talked about, he has taken on the role of organising the Saturday Side! Is there no ? this man will not lick? What next for the human dynamo? We await further glories…
Address and name (double-barrelled) supplied.
Has anyone noticed that Jeff Neil looks like Mark Knopfler with that fetching sweatband he Wears beneath his helmet?
Dire Straits fan.
Re: Graham Phebey.
Why, oh why, oh why?
Yours (A proper wicketkeeper)
Will Montgomery, classy bat sure, but have you seen the size of his ?
Anonymously sent in by James Mayland
THE BIG E
FOLLOWING THE STUNNING SUCCESS OF THEIR WHIRLWIND TOUR THROUGH THE NETHER REGIONS OF HAMPSHIRE, THE EASTRY CRICKET TEAM HAVE PITCHED UP AT PHEBEY TOWERS, THE COUNTRY PILE OF LORD LA-DI-DAH GUNNER GRAHAM……… NOW READ ON AS THEIR EXCITING ADVENTURE CONTINUES!!!!!!!!!!
THE SCENE IS A MAGNIFICENTLY APPOINTED 500 BEDROOM MANSION SET IN 150 ACRES OF PRIME PARKLAND –WILDEBEEST, ANTELOPE, LLAMA AND NIGEL SPOKES ARE GRAZING IN THE EVENING SUNSHINE. THERE IS A SWIMMING POOL FOR EACH OF THE NOBLE LORD’S 19 CONCUBINES, AND AN OUTSIDE TOILET TO REMIND HIM OF SOUTH LONDON. MINE HOST IS SPLENDIDLY ATTIRED IN A TOGA OF IMPERIAL PURPLE WITH A LAUREL WREATH ADORNING HIS COIFFED AND POMADED HEAD (FOR ONCE AGAIN HE HAS WON THE MAN-OF-THE-MATCH-DESPITE-DOING NOTHING-ALL-AWARD SPONSORED BY DIET BABYCHAM LITE)
A servant approaches –
“My lord, the cricket team have arrived, demanding refreshment after their long journey from the pub.”
“Oh Christ Simpkins, are the peasants here already? For God’s sake take them round the tradesman’s entrance, I don’t want them mixing with my real friends.”
“As you wish my lord, although I must warn you that the one they call Ralgex is already urinating in the ornamental pond-”
Lord La-di-dah –
“Crème de menthe and Koi carp….” (sighs theatrically)
“…and the lawyer Sponge has turned up replete with some Triffids he stole from a garden on the village green.”
Lord La-di-dah –
“By the Gloves of a Real Wicketkeeper, I swear these buffoons will not darken my door again – er, forsooth.”
(At this point cries of “Get off you over-acting tosser!” could be heard from a hedge where Dave Waring was entertaining a group of woodland creatures with a bag of dolly mixtures and some insulating tape…)
Meanwhile in the Dining Room…………
“Ah, it’s Mr Spokes isn’t it? How many plates of paella can you eat?
“How many plates have you got darlin’?
Suddenly a loud kerfuffle is heard emanating from the karaoke machine where Peter Piper is demonstrating that not only can white men not dance, they can’t sing either. He is booed off stage by the family gerbil and Frank Zappa.
(Cut to the music room)
Dave Waring dressed frighteningly like Bing Crosby with pipe and poofy cravat is paying his own peculiar kind of homage to Led Zeppelin. Accompanying him in this unwise venture are Kevin “The Plectrum” Deveson and on air coat-hanger Chris “Anything to get noticed” Adam-Reynolds. The Lord Phebey is on drums and all is going surprisingly well until Nigel Spokes removes a cymbal from its stand in the mistaken belief that it is a large, and unusually shiny, popodom.
In the ensuing mayhem, James Mayland, who has been advised by his doctor to do nothing more strenuous than talk and breathe, attempts to take some photos of this historic occasion and badly strains his camera finger. He is carted off to casualty in mild discomfort.
For legal reasons we are not allowed to tell you that Jim Senior, Andy Pearce and Dickie Swain were found upstairs by members of the Vice Squad committing unnatural acts with a bowl of seedless grapes and a mattock.
Following recent committee meetings, it has been decided that hyphenation is the way forward for the club. It was felt that results for both the Saturday and Sunday sides could be dramatically improved by the simple tactic of giving everyone a double-barrelled name. The thinking here (and it’s rare to have this type of activity at a committee meeting) is that this will strike terror into the heart of the opposition, who on seeing our team sheets, will immediately suppose that everyone is ex-public school and therefore likely to play the game properly. Accordingly, we have pleasure in attaching a suggested list with appropriate middle names.
David Aloysius Waring-Waring Steven Oleander Bell-Deckshoe
Andrew Peregrine Pearce-Corduroy Kevin Ludwig Deveson-Helmet
Alan Yosemite Geezer-Spong Dickie Afridi Swain-Gusset
Graham Gagarin Pimms-Phebey Mark Adagio Gleave-Lychee
Nigel Mantovani Spokes-Nosher James Adelphi Pluck-Mayland
William Rasputin Kenton-Ringmain Roger Deloitte Hill-Decibels
James Multipack Kenton-Slasher James Rococo Mynge-Senior
For anyone tired of watching paint dry, a full list of hyphenated names is available from ‘Pretend TOFFS’R’US’ at the reasonable price of 3,000 euros. Apply with relish to 44, King Street, Sandwich, Kent.
Letters to the Editor
As the club’s most valuable player I was very surprised to see Dave Waring not mentioned in your crappy little rag. (Big E Vol.1) He is very sensitive is David, but he never gives less than 50% effort to improving his bowling figures. Why, only last week at Boughton and Eastwell he even bowled one ball while suffering cramp in his little toe-nail- how many of your other supposed stars can match that kind of commitment?
I would like to reiterate the comments made in the above letter, even though I am of course writing this before I know what’s going to be published on this week’s letters page. I would just like to say that not only is Dave Waring a fantastic bowler and batsman, he is also extremely good in bed.
I don’t want to go on about it, but isn’t it time Dave Waring got the recognition he deserves? Week after week he turns up, a piece of sculpted mahogany amongst planks, beats the opposition single-handed and never shares his fags round. What a guy! Surely it’s time he had his own E.C.C. branded merchandise?
(Manager – Daring Wave Hair Stylists)
Re; Graham Phebey
Why, oh why, oh why?
(A proper wicketkeeper)
I’m sure we had the previous letter in last week’s issue. Why the repeat?
Editor’s Reply: Incompetence must be stamped out wherever it is found, Nobby.
THE BRITNEY SPEARS FIELDING AWARD
Dave Waring vs Betteshanger (dropped catch)
“Whoops! I did it again…”
LOST 1 Fur lined (mink) gentleman’s leather glove. Last seen with Official ECC Tour Skin Mag – sorely missed. (Contact “the Studmuffin”.)
MISSING Line and Length (Any information on the whereabouts of this pair, please contact D.Waring)
FOR SALE Anxious to get to the bar? Is it leg-over night? Are you running late for a Scrabble game? The last thing you want is a cricket match meandering towards a boring draw. You need the “ADAM-REYNOLDS GAMEOVER KWIK KIT”. In this easy to use pack (which comes with a pair of gold lame hot-pants) The Hyphenated No-Hoper shows you how to bowl the full range of wides, no-balls and leg stump full-tosses as if by accident, thus ensuring a quick finish with no questions asked.
Full Price: 3,000 euros
Concessions (Colts,OAPs, UB40) – P*** off you scroungers
Next week – My double life as ‘Neighbours’ Sex God Darcy Tyler, by Graham Phebey;
Adam-Reynolds – Naturally Hyphenated or Peroxide Toff?
Eastry’s Pedigree Gent Will Montgomery-Poshbloke Investigates
THE BIG E
THE BIG E est. Quite recently
Motto: Extracto Urinus In Perpetuam
SPECIAL FILM EDITION
The tiny village of Eastry near Sandwich in East Kent was electrified today at the news that a Hollywood mogul had announced plans to make a ‘Sex and Six Sizzler’ epic about the exploits of the village’s legendary cricket team. Early indications are that the film will be shot on location in Kevin Deveson’s garden. If not, there’s room on his Subutteo cricket pitch. There is a frenzy of speculation as to which Hollywood stars will feature in what promises to be the saviour of the ailing British film industry.
Already Ladbrokes and William Hill have reported unprecedented activity in their shops nationwide and have quoted the following prices to ‘The Big E’:
Chuck Norris 4-1
Steven Segal 5-2
Natasha Kinski 69-1
Boris Karloff 100-30
Thora Hird 7-4
Ms Hird’s stunt double No more Bets
Free Willy 9-4
Joe Pasquale 10-1
Barry Chuckle 5-4
Darcy Tyler 5-1
Darcy Bussell 5-1
Lord Lucan 20-1
Alvin Stardust 4-5
Bernie the Bolt Evens
Auditions will commence on Saturday August 17th. It should be noted that poor hand-eye coordination, inability to run in a straight line and an insatiable capacity for falling over after the ball has gone are specific requirements for a part in the movie. The director, Milton Checkpants, is particularly keen to represent the on-field feats of the team as accurately as possible. Anyone who was not a fat, wheezy school kid always excused from games is probably wasting their time.
In case anyone is tempted to merely feign incompetence there will also be a written examination on Eastry team tactics, and history. All candidates for audition will have to consent to a lie-detector test while taking this exam.
TO FURTHER DETER ANY TIME-WASTERS THE FILM COMPANY HAVE ISSUED A SMALL SAMPLE OF THE TYPE OF QUESTIONS YOU WILL BE ASKED.
1. Steve Bell has made himself unavailable to play for all but a handful of fixtures for the current season. Why?
a) Why not?
b) As the European Co-ordinator of a massive drugs ring that conceals its evil harvest within the soles of designer deck shoes for kids he’s a bit tied up at the moment?
c) Steve who?
d) All of the above?
2.Which of the following roles does Chris Adam-Reynolds NOT perform?
a) Low budget porn star?
b) All-rounder of rare talent and enthusiasm?
c) As b) but read ‘no’ instead of ‘rare’?
d) Understudy abdominal protector in West End musical “Men in White”?
3.Darren Piper has been involved in a number of spectacular run-outs in his Eastry career, but who once said of him: “Seeing Darren run is like watching a hyperactive centipede on skates?”
a) Peter Piper?
b) James Piper?
c) Sandra Piper?
d) Boutros-Boutros Ghali – former General Secretary of the UN and anonymous benefactor of Eastry CC?
e) Ray Charles?
4. Using your skill and judgment which of these bowlers do you think James Mayland most closely resembles?
a) Muttiah Muralitharan?
b) Sir Francis Drake?
c) Fred Flintstone?
d) The style of hat formerly worn by city gents?
5. Before Kevin Deveson joined the Fire Brigade he had a secret career ambition. What was it?
a) To be a Tiller Girl?
b) To eat his own bodyweight in pop tarts?
c) To corner the market in sun-dried tomatoes?
d) To walk like an Egyptian?
6. Jim Senior’s head is very sparsely populated with hair follicles. There have been many rumours as to exactly why this is, but which of the following is true?
a) While serving with American Special Forces in ‘Nam he mistook a pot of napalm for Brylcreem, and lost that Brylcreem bounce forever?
b) Shocked to be shagged senseless by the Beverley Sisters several years ago, new hair growth has only recently become possible?
c) As a keen conservationist and eco-warrior Jim has offered his head as a helipad for small birds in high winds?
d) He is one of 5 East Kent residents taking part in a pilot scheme to assess the viability of bald men as solar panels?
Letters to the Editor
For some time now I have been pondering the potential benefits of an in-out field, particularly when using a left-arm seamer to jag it back into right-handers from the pavilion end at Updown. Please can you tell me what I am talking about?
Re: Graham Phebey
Why, oh why, oh why?
We have been instructed by Mr G.G. Pimms-Phebey of Enormous House, Southern England (postcodes available on request) to serve notice of our client’s intention to sue your scurrilous organ for defamation of character. It has been noted that week after week you lampoon our client’s brave attempts at wicket-keeping, suggesting that he is an impostor, or worse, a ballet-dancer with osteoporosis who can only fall on the ball by accident with the prevailing wind. As you can imagine, this has been a source of insufferable suffering for Mr Pimms-Phebey and his whole household. Things have got so bad that his third under-gardener (in charge of bindweed, moss and shooting undesirables) was laughed out of a local garden centre recently when the identity of his employer became known.
Unless a full retraction is made in the next issue of your organ, my client intends to bring the full of weight of the law to bear in his struggle to clear his name, and restore his reputation as one of East Kent’s finest village idiots, – er, wicket-keepers.
Wigg-Ribbon and Groper Solicitors
I am interested in ordering items from the Jeff Neil & Co. Autumn Corduroy Evening Wear Collection, can I use Luncheon Vouchers to make my purchases?
The BIG E
(Soft, strong and very, very long)
After months of bitter legal wrangling, the E would like to print the following.
FOR A WICKETKEEPER.
Corporal punishment being re-introduced to schools? Mrs Hussain giving Saddam a hand-bagging for hiding bazookas under the bed? The sound of Duraglit being applied to Jim Senior’s head? No, of course not…it’s the smack of leather on willow old boy, and with the promise of a new season of spectacular incompetence on the cricket field, the Big E is pleased to announce some forthcoming dates for your diary.
July (or maybe not)
Jim Senior’s 80th Birthday memorial match
One not to be missed, as gorgeous Jim celebrates stalwart service to the Eastry cause by inviting along some of his chums from down the years.
Those appearing: W.G.Grace, C.B Fry, C.B. Radio, The Nawab of Pataudi,
D. Bradman, L. Constantine, Rula Lenska, V. Trumper,
Hedley Verity, The Tweenies, Sir J. Hobbs
J.Mayland (12th man*)
*Useless D. Pringle recovers from strained buttock **
Hairpieces will be supplied ONLY on a first-come-first-served basis.
Now a firm favourite in the East Kent sporting calendar, come along and see the following attractions:
- Dave Waring improving his run-out stats
- Jim Senior getting burgers on tick
- Big blokes from New Zealand
- Graham Phebey
- Graham Phebey’s jock-strap
- ‘Grey Adonis’ The complete range of men’s toiletries from the House of Phebey
- Irish rap star Duff Paddy
BRING A TORCH
** Should read unless (shouldn’t – Mrs Pringle)
Letters to the Editor
I can’t help noticing that the Treasurer, Secretary and both the Saturday and Sunday captains are as good as bald. Is being a slaphead a requirement for high office at Eastry cricket club?
Jim Senior and Chris Adam-Reynolds, both bald, both crap – and we never see them together. Are they in fact the same person?
Re: Graham Phebey
Wally Grout, Farouk Engineer, Alan Knott, Godfrey Evans, Les Ames, Rod Marsh, Romney Marsh, Derryck Murray, Jeff Dujon, Adam Gilchrist, Wasim Bari, Hans Blix, Badly Drawn Boy
*Our legal department have advised that reproducing the complete contents of this letter could lead to something highly unpleasant.
PLAYER PROFILE – DAVE WARING
This week, in the absence of any drying paint, the E sent roving reporter Vic Delve along to windy Kingsdown, home of legendary electrician Dave Waring. As many of you know, Dave is the son of Fred Trueman and Gracie Fields, a love match that came to fruition during one of Gracie’s summer seasons in Scarborough. It is clear to anyone who has watched Dave bowl and play fantasy guitar for Led Zeppelin where his lack of talent comes from. Young Fred played 3rd reserve bugle in the Nickety-Nackety-Noo Colliery Boys Band, while Gracie once had bowling figures of 1-0-38-0.
Unfortunately, things got off to a bad start – Dave, hard of hearing after a bugle-dominated childhood, thought that Vic had come round to do an edition of ‘Through the Keyhole’ and immediately dropped his trousers. However, once that little misunderstanding had been cleared up, an extraordinarily moving interview took place, the full transcript of which is printed below:
VD: Dave, or may I call you your Robert Plantship?
DW: Yes, peasant you may.
VD: It has been said of you that you bat like an eyelid and bowl like a very fat man rolling down a steep hill. A lot of our readers want to know how you can receive such accolades and not let them go to your head?
DW: Well, it’s quite simple really, I was brought up on coal. We had it for breakfast, dinner, and tea. My best friend was a piece of coal called Clive, and we actually lived on a coal-face. My fondest memories are of my father wielding his pick at imaginary home counties cricketers whose faces he swore he could see in the coal by the light of his Davey Lamp, shouting ‘take that you mincing southern jessie’. After an upbringing like that, it’s hard to get above yourself. In fact it was rather hard to get above ground.
VD: Ha-ha! What a fantastic anecdote! Do you have any more?
DW: No, but do please help yourself to some anthracite slag muffins, they’re really rather good.
VD: Sir, many commentators have remarked on your close – some might say almost telepathic – relationship with Kevin Deveson. It has been said that you know exactly when and how he is going to drop an edge off your bowling. How do you explain this unique bond?
DW: I suppose it all goes back to my early days really. Apart from Clive the piece of coal, I had no real friends, until one day I befriended one of the pit ponies. It was strange, but I could tell there was something almost human about him, and I knew that one day, when I became a fantastic cricketer, this was the sort of beast of burden I would want next to me, rolling the wicket, cutting the square and waving his enormous hose around.
VD: Top-notch, Your Gorgeousness, our readers will love that! Now, it is well-known that you have single-handedly propped up the Saturday side for some years – in fact sometimes even when you aren’t there, players have reported spectre-like sightings of you on the boundary urging them on to great deeds, often resulting in magnificent Eastry victories. How do you explain the extraordinary powers you so clearly possess?
DW: Funnily enough, it’s really down to an old footballing injury. (His Highness was once the finest shot-stopper since Ronald Reagan’s bodyguard and appeared several times for Deal Town, sometimes without gloves!!!). I was swinging from the crossbar one day eating a banana – we were playing Nancy Boy’s 11 from Broadstairs – when I felt something rip or tear. Yes… (DW breaks off interview in emotional distress)… I’d…well…I’d laddered my tights.
VD: (Moved to tears)…My God!
DW: Yes, it was one of the darkest hours of my life. I fell to the ground in a heap and almost landed on a pair of comedy breasts that I always used to keep for emergencies, (Dave is a noted Thespian) just inside the near post. In my anxiety to avoid crushing them I reached out my hand and fell awkwardly…
VD: Even more awkwardly than the heap you’ve just mentioned?
DW: Just so – don’t interrupt again.
If anyone is still reading, and to cut a long story shorter than one of Dickie Swain’s…than one of Dickie Swain’s, Dave was rushed to hospital with a bad ganglion.
DW: (continues) The surgeons operated at once, but unfortunately the anaesthetist was so over-awed at treating such a celebrity, she overdid the gas. As a result I had an out of body experience, and to this day, I can be in two pubs at once.
NEXT WEEK – FIND OUT HOW HOUSEWIVES FAVOURITE JAMES MAYLAND KEEPS HIS SKIN SO SOFT AND YOUNG LOOKING
The Big E
NEW FEATURE! NEW FEATURE!
Ever keen to roll back the boundaries of sports journalism the Big E is not a little over-the-moon to announce a newcomer to the popular stable of interesting, provocative and downright libellous features. You know, cricket isn’t just about 11 white-clothed blokes making an arse of themselves on a summer afternoon. It’s about passion, intrigue, back-stabbing, power-struggles and political in-fighting that make Alistair Campbell look like a nancy boy. Oh yes, beneath the genteel façade of straight bats, spirit of the game, stiff upper lip and all that jazz there is a dark, seamy underside… It is with great pleasure therefore that the E introduces you to Nigel Vitriol and his weekly ‘Sweaty Box’ column that probes into the hidden corners that most clubs would rather you didn’t see
PLAYER PROFILE – ALAN SPONG
Born Dmitri Alanovich Sputnik in St Petersburg the man we all know as Alan Spong never dreamed that one day he would be the Father of Eastry Cricket Club. Of course, St Petersburg is several miles down the Whitfield by-pass from Updown, and to this day it remains a mystery as to exactly how Alan got here. Theories abound.
One bizarre story that emerged from the early 80’s was that groovy Alan, inspired by the famous Billy Joel song, came to England to find an Uptown girl to marry, but owing to the vagaries of the Russian alphabet the ‘t’ and the ‘d’ became confused (as of course is Alan) in translation, and he turned up in the wrong continent.
Some of the more far-fetched tales include the one that as a roadie for the Russian Women’s Gymnastics team he had an altercation with Ludmilla Tourescheva after being found sniffing her leotard and was unceremoniously dumped off the team bus between Kent Salads and Tilmanstone Colliery. Flagging down a passing motorist, who turned out to be none other than Steve Bell, Alan looked like the sort of bloke who could make the other slip fielders look good. And so it proved. In a club noted for it’s Tefal fielding, Alan has shown himself to be the doyen of butter-fingers, often confusing action replay speed for real time, he is usually tottering to his right at first slip just as the ball streaks over the third man boundary for four.
Alan is 304 and has his own set of action dentures.
PLAYER PROFILE – CHRIS ADAM-REYNOLDS
“Some people are in the tea-hut…they think it’s all over…oh, he’s got the Mr Kipling Country Slices out … it is now!”
There can have been few more emotional scenes at Updown than the afternoon Chris unveiled his first tea for the club. Purists were a little shocked at the profusion of fairy and cup cakes, but as one senior pro’s father was heard to say “There’s nowt new about that at Eastry”, and pretty soon the players feasted on Lobster Thermidor, moules marinieres,artichoke vol-au-vents and pork scratchings. One Vice-President broke down in tears, and between choking sobs, told our reporter that it was the finest example of cucumber sandwiches since the reign of Queen Mary. The pathologist afterwards confirmed that it probably was, ironically, a piece of cucumber on which the V-P, Reginald Greensleeves-Chipchase, choked to death.
Regarded by many as the finest postman of his generation, Chris’s rise to prominence at Eastry Cricket Club can be explained in one simple phrase; complete lack of talent. One look at those trademark leg-stump full tosses with a generous side-order of wide no-balls makes everyone else feel that by comparison they could walk into the Sandwich Fourths without an audition. This is Chris’s gift to the club – the ability he has to make others feel fantastic about their game. Modest as ever (and don’t forget, modest people often have a lot to be modest about) he chuckled at the suggestion from our reporter that he looks bad on purpose.
“Au contraire, mon brave” (Chris has literary pretensions) “I’m afraid it’s all 100% organic and natural, I still have a B for Top and T for Bottom written on the wooden thingy just so I know which end of the racket to use.”
So what drew him to the game? And why Eastry?
“Well, there’s no doubt that I look good in white, but not being smart enough for medical school, failing a trial for Real Madrid and narrowly missing election as Pope last time round, the only way I could indulge my passion for white clothing was to join a cricket club,” chuckles Chris.
“As for why Eastry” he continues, still chuckling, “well, a lot of people say that don’t they? But no, seriously… thank-you… no really… please…you’re too kind… it all came about because of Roger Hill and his liking for salami.
I had just been parachuted in to the area as part of a Royal Mail Special Ops force, and happened to be reconnoitring the local retail establishments for some toothsome comestibles. I found myself adjacent to the Chilled Processed Meats Department of the local co-operative when round the corner, hotfoot from Carbonated Beverages, came Roger Hill wearing a cricket jumper.
‘Are you a cricketer?’ I quizzed shrewdly.
‘Yes,’ he replied, looking wildly around for a security person.
‘Really? I’ve just moved in to the area. I’m looking to join a club’
“Of course you are – Good Lord, look at the price of that salami, I must snap up this two-for-one offer!’
With that he was gone. Hurrying to the checkout I found that he’d simply left his basket in one of the aisles, gathered up his children and swept out of the store past bemused staff and customers.
‘There’s only one cricket club that finishes this early on a Saturday’ said the checkout girl when I asked if she knew which club Roger played for
‘that’ll be the Eastry Enemas, in fact I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long today.’
So I made enquiries and the rest as they say, is subject to investigation by the Serious Crime Squad.”
Chris is 39 and one sixteenth and regularly takes mood-altering substances.
Letters to the Editor
Re: Graham Phebey
I was outraged and indeed somewhat apoplectic to see that my favourite feature of the Big E – the ritual abuse of the wicketkeeping impostor G Phebey was missing from your last issue. What has happened to incisive, controversial and on-the-edge journalism?
I can’t help noticing that I keep saying I am rubbish hoping to be told otherwise – I wonder if anyone else has too?
(Yes we have, but you’re still rubbish – Chris’s mum)
I am setting up a new physio-faith-healing-free range-herbal clinic in Eastry and would like to offer your club an introductory special offer. If I can’t source the origin of James Mayland’s chicken-run approach to the wicket, my Swedish assistant Freya Gudlishagg will give your first eleven a rubdown with a hot smorgasbord.
HOW BIG ARE YOUR BLOKE’S TROUSERS?
For some time now, it has been a widely held myth amongst the Eastry team that their womenfolk come to watch them play because it is thought that to the female sensibility these 11 chaps are, to put it crudely, eye candy. This was a piece of accepted wisdom, public knowledge, something, if you will, that went without saying.
The E can now reveal in fact, that nothing could be further truth. A chance conversation, overheard by roving reporter Nigel Vitriol, revealed the true motive behind the women’s ogling.
“He’s never a 46 inch waist! Not with all them pork pies he eats… he’s a right chubster is your (insert name)”
“Oooh, you’re a filthy liar – at least my (insert name) can see his (insert something else)”
“Right then, we’ll have a bet among us girls..who’s got the bloke with the biggest trousers?”
And with that, the Tubby Hubby Sweepstake was born. It regularly pulls in more money than the fantasy league, and it certainly pulls in more than most of the players can pull in their stomachs
THE BIG HEAD
There were unprecedented scenes at Updown on Saturday July 12th (‘the Glorious Twelfth’ as it was instantly dubbed by me) after Chris Adam-Reynolds was chaired off the field by a grateful nation, having secured victory for Eastry against Boughton and Eastwell. Even the most sober commentators were likening the heroic exploits of the captain to Ian Botham’s knock against Australia at Old Trafford in 1981, when Lillee and Co were dispatched to all parts with contemptuous ease – and until Saturday, this had been the most prodigious feat of batsmanship ever seen in this country.
After a champagne reception in his imagination, the victorious – but still modest –skipper, spoke to the press straight from the heart….
“Of course, this is a dream come true – 3 slices of Rowena Pearce’s cake, Scaramanga Phebey almost being decapitated by Mayland, and a 70 year-old donkey-dropper coming on to bowl the last over…what can I say? The pressure was on and I was magnificent. I would like to thank myself for having the courage and foresight to promote myself up the order, but not so far as to have to face the opening bowlers. Copies of my autobiography are on sale in a corner of the pavilion, and my match-winning box will be auctioned off to raise money for a 60 foot marble bust I’m having erected on the boundary where I hit the most towering of my three towering sixes.
Finally, I would like to thank all the women who threw their underwear at me on Saturday, and I feel truly humble that since the match, blind people have been able to see, cripples to walk and James Mayland’s rash has disappeared just at the mention of my name…I’m off to walk on water now, and by the way, who is David Waring?”
And with that trademark cackle of his, the skipper was off, pausing only to fall into one of the rabbit holes he’d filled in earlier in the day….
Are you young, good-looking, and knowledgeable about German haute couture? Do you know the difference between a reinforced gusset and an inside-leg measurement? Can you keep wicket without pads? Following his latest debacle behind the stumps on Saturday, Eastry Cricket Club is seeking a stunt Graham Phebey. You must be able to talk a good game, slog anything to leg and stop James Mayland’s once-in-a-lifetime quick ball without acquiring a third nipple in the process.
Much-loved Pekingese/toupee, answering to the name of Snaffles. ‘Forever in my thoughts, I especially need to find him/it before the Autumn as I look ridiculous in a bobble hat’ – Jim Senior
The Mike Green Pre-Match Aerobic Warm-up Kit – Available from all good tobacconists at £4.75 for 20, ECC can offer you a 0.00001% discount.
‘The Day the Mower Came’. A must-read Summer sizzler for beach or garden, pre-order your copy of Matt Bradshaw’s thrilling account of the day he and Devy picked up the new sit-on mower!
‘Return of the Native’ – Old favourite Steve Bell marks his comeback to Eastry colours by dropping two dollies in the slips
Letters to the Editor
Not that I want to go on about it or anything, but I was superb on Saturday.
Yes I was.
I really do think that journalism of this quality – so rare in this day and age of pop culture, Spice Tarts and Roddy Williams – should command a high premium. It’s high time sir that your organ, a shining beacon amidst the detritus of modern reportage, was put on sale to the general public. I think an introductory price of £5 would be more than reasonable.
Wing-Commander (Retd.) Brian ‘Chocks’ Carpett-Bomm
PLAYER PROFILE – KEVIN DEVESON
Kevin, Kev, Devy, Mr Chairman, Fireman Sam – do we really know the man behind the name? In actual fact, the shock revelation is that Kev, or Kevinda to give him his correct Punjabi title, is actually second cousin to Kapil Dev, the famous ex-Test player from India. Descended from a long line of well-to-do Naan bread makers, Kev’s speciality is Peshwari Naan, and each morning he bakes a fresh pair to put down his cycling shorts to protect his chuddies on the bike ride into work at Pfizer.
10 things you didn’t know about Kev.
- His garden is huge – last week a Japanese soldier was found in one of the herbaceous borders, unaware that Steve Bell was no longer chairman of ECC.
- He acted as technical adviser for all the fire scenes on ‘Trumpton’, and counts Cuthbert, Dibble and Grubb as close personal friends
2a) Has an off-centre belly button
- Is allergic to Pop Tarts
- Looks fabulous in magenta
- Admires the style and manners of 1920’s New Orleans
- Doesn’t floss
- Is currently working to introduce corduroy to the club cricketer’s essential wardrobe
- I can’t remember anymore
- Gave Aretha Franklin her first break in show business
What he says:
‘I just go about my business quietly, being kind to children and animals and following my grandfather’s great principle: if you do burn the cakes, join the fire brigade, then you’ll know what to do. I can honestly say that this advice has stood me in good stead all my life, and that’s how I got to be where I am today.’
What they say:
‘He’s undoubtedly the finest chairman we’ve had since Steve Bell’ – Dave Waring
‘I’m not bitter or anything, it’s just I think I have so much more to offer the club than being vice-chairman, and really I probably should have got the job, but I can’t drive a fire-engine – I think that’s probably what counted against me, although I can make the noise and everything…so, well, I don’t want to go on about it or anything, but who is it I ask you, that all the birds come to see? Who is it who can act?” – an emotional Dave Waring after the bitterly-contested election at the AGM
“And another thing……..aaaargh!” – Dave Waring being mobbed by Pro-Devy supporters
“Devy? He’s a real gent, he is. Our members would follow him anywhere” – Rex Homepride, Grand Doughnut of the White Knights of Baked Pastries (East Kent Klavern)
“Who?” – Kapil Dev, Kev’s slightly more famous cricketing cousin.
IT’S BACK! OLDER,WORSE AND SMALLER THAN BEFORE!!! IT’S…
THE BIG E – LUVVY EDITION
Of course it had to happen, we knew it, and, you know, in a way it’s a kind of relief. At long last, Kev Deveson is striking back at arch-rival Dave Waring. Avid readers of the E (sadly missing from news-stands these last few months) will know of the, at times, bitter power struggle between these two smaller-than-life characters. First it was Waring, using all his electrical cunning to try and seize the top job of chairman at Eastry CC. Deveson hit back with the devastating ploy of being the only non-gay in the village and using this as accreditation, was swept to power by his loyal clique of bottom-hand specialists and a tin of anchovies.
All was quiet for a while, with Waring snatching whatever publicity he could from his spurious role as Chief Luvvy of the Eastry Theatrical Company. Indeed, things seemed to have settled down, and the two fierce rivals even appeared together – sometimes in the same crease – until recently when Deveson launched what could be a knock-out blow. Please don’t be fooled by the Mother Theresa look in the Mercury People section: behind that affable, big-brother next door demeanour, is concealed the ice-cold, ruthless brain of an utter Conservative.
“Of course, I’m no Dave Waring”, smirks Deveson in reference to his directorial debut last Christmas , playing the false-modesty card like a real pro. “Au contraire, I’d liken myself more to a Spielberg or Scorsese.” These words must have felt like an ice-cube in the cod-piece to Waring, who made no secret of the fact that following his defeat for the chairmanship of Eastry CC, his only solace was his S Club 7 albums and his theatrical performances. “David Waring may be offered work as an extra, or even a stagehand, from time to time, although obviously, with budgets being tight these days…” Deveson broke off with a Gallic shrug, indicating that perhaps even this consolation has now been denied his former rival.
Kevin is 94 and is sometimes allowed to drive a fire engine.
PLAYER PROFILE – GRAHAM PHEBEY
“Until I saw Graham Phebey batting, I thought the term “leg-side theory” was merely a euphemism for the infamous Bodyline tactics used against me in the notorious Ashes series of 1932-33” The E has unearthed this startling quote from Sir Donald Bradman, while Chief Feature Writer Sid Weasel was doing some research on the great man, as a forerunner to a controversial new book – “Bradman: The Updown Years”. Apparently, in the early 90’s, just before his death, Australia’s legendary batsman was employed by Phebey as his “gentleman’s gentleman”, without the latter ever knowing that he was hiring the antipodean maestro himself.
But anyway, as Graham will tell you himself, he is a much better batsman than Bradman, and besides, as he puts it, “Did the Don ever keep wicket without pads? Did he bring German haute couture to the British high street? Did he ever play drums for ‘Squeeze?’ End of.”
It later transpired that Phebey did once catch the old man oiling his wand lovingly, for which Bradman was of course soundly thrashed. About this incident, his Lordship was very voluble indeed. “I didn’t get where I was last Michaelmas without keeping the lower orders down you know,” he smirked. “In fact, the only way to treat the peasant is to start off with your foot on his jugular and keep it there until it’s time for tea. It really is the only language they understand, and you know, I think really, they respect you for it in the end.”
So what, in fact, do we know of the man calling himself Graham Lancelot Espadrille Phebey? Actually born into the family of a high ranking Luftwaffe officer in 1944, Gerhard Farber as he was then known, was smuggled out of the country following the collapse of Nazi Germany in May 1945. Clearly, his country of origin has left an indelible mark on his psyche – goose-stepping to the wicket, getting his beach-towel down over half of Southern Portugal, and smoothly bagging a seat at the front of the tour bus next to the Chairman, despite his late arrival in Eastbourne.
But there’s no doubting his tremendous work ethic. Anyone who has seen him toiling relentlessly to improve his average, run out as many opening partners as possible to finally seize the coveted title of Batsman of the Year, or heard him removing umpteen hind legs in a donkey sanctuary can attest to that. Yet there’s more to Graham than Teutonic whistles, leg-side heaves and off-side…er…wing mirrors. (Are you sure? Ed.) Sensationally, the E has learned that after mortgaging East Kent and his other dukedoms in the Western hemisphere, Graham is set to save the ailing EU Jet. In an exclusive interview given beneath a life-size portrait of Hermann Goering, and dressed in a Prussian blue Air Marshal’s uniform, Graham announced the re-birth of the stricken airline under the new name of ‘Stuka Airways’ and the catchy slogan “Where the competition are dive-bombed”.
An elated Graham- “Call me Gerhard – I’m going back to my roots” – could hardly contain his excitement. “It’s the proudest day of my life, I feel I’m honouring my heritage, and I’m looking forward to total European domination…er…healthy rivalry…” with that he broke off, muttering something about “urinating round Manston to mark my territory”.
FOR SALE: ‘Z’ bed – unused, should suit non-ginger people under 6 feet with sunny disposition and no history of orthopaedic impairment. Contact Eastbourne 1212.
WANTED: Sensitive, caring yokel, seeks purple nose with matching thread veins for authentic relationship – “ Oi looks in the shavin’ mirrer, and summink ain’t roight.”
DESPERATELY SEEKING…trousers with elasticated waistband. N.B. Genuine request following pie-and-lifestyle change – ABSOLUTELY NO GIMP SUITS! (D.Waring c/o The Chubster Electrical Co.)
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Ich bin ein Berliner!
I wonder if the new chief executive of Stuka Airways realises that the actual words of JFK’s famous speech – which he has repeated – translate as ‘I am a doughnut’? However, having seen him emulating Geraint Jones behind the stumps this season…
I am delighted that after a superb season of nicks, nurdles and choice Chinese cuts I am batting better than even I thought possible – Vorsprung durch Technik as we say in the Fatherland. Best of all though, I don’t feel I’ve let it go to my head, and I would just like to say that there is no truth in the rumours that after my recent successful stint as Saturday captain, I insisted on the team referring to me as “Fuhrer” – this was instead an entirely spontaneous outpouring of love for me by the underlings…
Sieg Heil etc
I keep scanning the pages of the E and am amazed to find that since the heady days of the paper’s infancy, when your postbag was obviously full of correspondence of every sort about me, there is now scarcely anything published from my adoring public. Consequently I am wondering if your paper is now operating some vicious anti-fat bloke policy? I think we should be told…
Yours in lard
NEXT WEEK – YOUR CHANCE TO WIN TICKETS TO THE SATURDAY XI’S FINAL GAME AT ASH. AFTER A SCRUMPY-AND-PORK SCRATCHINGS RECEPTION, YOU AND A FRIEND WILL HAVE SEATS IN THE NEW ‘LONG ROOM’ ALONGSIDE ASH LEGEND TIM SMITH.TO WIN THIS FABULOUS PRIZE ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ANSWER THIS QUESTION. WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING PHRASES BEST DESCRIBES MY FABULOUS CENTURY AGAINST PRESTON? IS IT:
- SUBLIMELY REMINISCENT OF IAN BOTHAM AT OLD TRAFFORD IN 1981?
- SUBLIMELY REMINISCENT OF CHAS AND DAVE AT THE HEIGHT OF THEIR POWERS?
- A FREAK OF NATURE?
- THE MOST UNLIKELY HAPPENING ON A CRICKET FIELD SINCE DAVE WARING ADDED 9 INCHES TO HIS WAISTBAND?
- ENOUGH TO MAKE A GROWN MAN CRY?
- A CRIME AGAINST THE NATURAL ORDER?
- A COMPELLING ARGUMENT FOR THE INTRODUCTION OF RANDOM DRUG-TESTING IN VILLAGE CRICKET?
ANSWERS ON A POSTCARD TO:
C/O CLOUD CUCKOO LAND
BALD, BAD AND BRAVE – IT’S ONLY THE BIG E (Volume XI)
At the very heart of the Eastry side is an enigma: we refer of course to Andy “Pancho” Pearce. On many occasions he has been confused with gentlemen of Latin American extraction, and even now, those who should know better are still somehow surprised that a famous Pearce tea does not contain tortillas, burritos, enchiladas and other spicy comestibles from the Mexican heartlands. Stories of the mature Pearce figuring in the legendary battle of the Alamo are legion, and some of the more exotic tales are peppered with rumours and hints – one such being that the trademark moustache is in fact an offcut of Davey Crockett’s racoon hat; interestingly enough, Pearce himself remains coy on the matter.
Still others look to the east rather than the west for the origins of the man many credit with the invention of the “arm ball.” For a long time now, certain sections of the tabloid media have insisted that there exists documentary evidence that Pearce was short-listed for the role of 12th incarnation of the Dalai Lama, but that he turned down the opportunity to become the spiritual heartbeat of Tibet in favour of bee-keeping and founding the Luxuriant Facial Hair Club (non-RAF branch). And yet… there is surely some suggestion of the Buddha in the generous girth of middle age, and more than a hint of the Zen master in the inscrutable lbw appeals, delivered sotto voce, which have often astonished team-mates and opponents alike with their success. Certainly there is something eerie about the way Bill Dorkings will raise a finger to a batsman so close to him he can tickle his nasal hair, in response to a Pearce lbw query – but clearly this is the mystical power which he weaves around umpires and batsmen alike, with the consummate dexterity of the master finger spinner.
And yet…it was all so different in his youth. Alleged by many – and serious social commentators among them – to have been the mastermind behind the student riots in Paris in 1968, the Exchange Rate fiasco in 1992 and the meteoric fall from grace of Barbara Dickson, it has been suggested that there is more than one Andy Pearce at large at any one time. Previously it was thought that only Blessed David Waring was capable of bi-location, but perhaps drawing on his powers of oriental mysticism, Pearce too can be in several places simultaneously.
Andy Pearce is available in aquamarine, turquoise and midnight cerise. Free delivery within buzzing range of my beehive.
The ‘Admiral Owen’ has often been the backdrop for some of the most historic and sometimes emotional episodes in recent ECC history, but none could match the outpouring of grief and bewilderment last night as Chris Adam-Reynolds announced his decision to step down as Secretary to the club after 3 years of devoted indolence.
Fortunately, the E had a third-rate stringer Caz Nippel on hand, and he it was that broke the astonishing news. Says Caz, “I couldn’t understand it, there they all were, a bunch of middle aged geezers looking ashen-faced, speechless even. His actual announcement was along the lines of wanting to spend more time with his hairline before the best years are gone, but to be quite honest…”. However, following a tip-off to our regional newsdesk, the “E” was the first to publish the sensational splash that Adam-Reynolds, always a vain man, was in fact disgusted that no-one had noticed his recent extensive dental work, which has shored up the crumbling pillars of his oral landscape. Apparently, he stormed off in a theatrical huff, laddering his surgical stockings in the process.
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
I wonder if anyone else has noticed that the logo for Robinson Motors – which has suddenly appeared without warning in the ‘Mercury’ – strongly resembles a Lowryesque giraffe doing the splits? On reflection though, as this is the posture adopted by the proprietor of said establishment whilst fielding at cover, regardless of the ball’s whereabouts, perhaps this is most apt?
P.S. Where can one obtain nude photographs of the ECC Committee?
Has the world gone mad? I’ve heard of the ‘Summer of Love’ but this is ridiculous! I refer of course to the forthcoming nuptials of not one but three – three! – Eastry stalwarts. I’m half-expecting that Updown will play host to the Reverend Alfie Moon of the Moonies as he conducts one of those wholesale weddings his sort go in for. Certainly there would be enough Kenton bridegrooms to fill a football stadium…
Yours in marzipan
I’m not sure if anyone has given much thought to James Mayland’s wedding ceremony, but given the fact that he’s consistently unable to operate off his full run up, may I suggest a fleet of golf buggies are made available to ensure he makes it up the aisle without incurring orthopaedic misfortune?
Stan Alcove RN
Is it true that James Senior has been bald since birth?
THE FESTIVE E
FORGET KING KONG – ALL HAIL
By Dave Diamond
There were ecstatic scenes at the ‘Admiral Owen’ last night, as Eastry CC recalled another legend to its colours. Alan Spong, the self-styled ‘geezer’s geezer’, made himself available for selection once more.
“To be honest, I thought my chance had gone”, said an emotional Alan, “what with the skipper scoring that fantastic century against the Venezuelan Lesbian Eleven, and ‘Fuhrer’ Phebey cementing himself in at the top of the order. But, as the great Ronnie Kray used to say, “Keep on knee-capping, and you never know what might happen.” And that’s what I’ve done, quietly taken out the opposition – I mean where’s Jeff Neil now? Under the Bow fly-over, that’s where!” Although laughing uproariously, there was still no disguising the malevolent gleam in his eye, or the sheer willpower that has, once again, propelled him to the front rank of gentleman villains.
Ignoring the cries of, “Stone me guv’nor, thought you was brown bread!” when he entered the pub, Spong quickly settled in to a bout of arm-wrestling, East-end style. After several “challengers” had been gouged, bitten and pummelled into submission, there was no doubting that the man whom some credit with dispatching Jack “the Hat” McVitie at the Blind Beggar, was really back in charge of his manor.
All the luminaries of the underworld were present – Dave “Codpiece” Waring, Matt “The Spanner” Bradshaw, Kev “Flames” Deveson, and even Andy “the Mexican” Pearce came to pay homage to the gangland’s godfather. “I’m just honoured to be here, in his presence – it’s a dream come true!” said a clearly over-awed Graham “the Dandy” Phebey, looking slightly awkward in a belted mackintosh, originally made famous by Len Fairclough. Even Jim “Hips” Senior, notorious wheel man in some of Spong’s most daring capers, could be seen hoping to get a glimpse of the great man. “Those were the days you know” he said, “working for the ‘Guv’nor’ was the job everyone in our borstal craved – when he picked me, well…proudest day of me life.”
But it wasn’t all nostalgia and swapping Barbara Windsor stories; the truth is that Alan has become something of an icon to the younger generation of toerag. Thus it was that dashing young chancers like Aaron “the Gel” Friend, and Harry “Bouncer” Kenton could be seen vying for the attentions of the great man, no doubt hoping to pick up tips on bossing their own piece of turf one day.
In true East-end style, the ‘Guv’nor’ signed off with a “Be lucky son”, as he thrust a wad of tenners into our reporter’s hand, “remember me to your mother – lovely lady, real princess.” And with that, the tinted window rose, and the black Bentley sped off towards the Hackney marshes, the legend well and truly restored.
Given the high profile of senior members in the club, I do feel it is incumbent upon them to set correspondingly high standards of conduct, deportment and most importantly, sartorial elegance – if only to give the gelled, grunge-loving colts something to aim for. I therefore pose the question: what in the name of all that’s smelly was Graham Phebey doing wearing a belted mackintosh? What on earth was he thinking of? It is high time that this kind of outrageous posturing is outlawed once and for all – I mean, where will it all end, polo shirts with ‘King of the Algarve’ emblazoned across sagging man-boobs? After all, this is simply not the sort of thing a chap expects at his club.
Reginald St. John-Epaulette
Following exceptional performances as stand-in skipper of the Saturday side, and my impeccable connections within the corridors of power, when can I expect my own designated parking space at Updown?
Following the standard procedure of releasing sensitive information regarding events concerning national security under the 30 year rule, we are now able to reveal that the artist formerly known as Graham Phebey, is, in fact, none other than Gerald Philby – the scarcely less homosexual brother of mincing spy, Kim.
Sergei Knockabollokov (Former Head KGB- Trans-sexual Honeytrap Section)
Delighted though I am that Eastry has an inclusive membership policy, must we really be so politically correct as to harbour gay Russian spies within the upper echelons of the club’s executive structure?
The Rt.Hon. Marmaduke ‘Pixie’ Clough-Bryan
Has anyone seen my doosra? Last sighted escaping from my “Off Spinner’s Variety Pack” on the bric-a-brac stall at Woodnesborough Village Fete. Small bag of moustache clippings offered as reward.
For Sale: Gents trousers/slacks – often with original skidmarks, 32 ins waist, 34 ins leg. Bumper sale of 30 pairs, available in both kinds: rubber and PVC. Genuine offer, now that vendor has arrived at ‘active waistband’ stage of life.
Kevin Deveson reveals details of his Faustian pact with evil Bernie Bishop that keeps him young and grey hair less
Unable to nurdle from off to leg? Graham Phebey offers his bottom-hand masterclass – the results may surprise you!
21 go mad in Gloucester- The official profile of Eastry CCs ‘Treblestaggers’ Tour
David Waring :
At the age of 40 and 25 days, people may have expected gorgeous Dave to put away his air guitar and get out a copy of Gardener’s World. Not a bit of it; this rampant tourist has even altered his father’s birth certificate in order to avoid that gentleman’s 70th birthday celebrations interfering with the scrumpyfest in prospect. After a short early season lay-off to prepare his 40th birthday rockarama ‘set’ at the prestigious Kingsdown Village Hall, Dave is back, spearheading the Eastry bowling attack with that famous ‘Orang-Utan hanging from a banana tree’ action.
10th Year as Man Voted Most Likely to Be Arrested by The Vice Squad. Another year, another thread vein in the nose, as Smudger careers headlong towards gout. Tour watchers are wondering what manner of sexual deviant ‘try anything once’ Tim will attempt to lure on board the tour bus this year. It is thought that he only needs a one-legged Lithuanian transsexual to complete the set…
Kevin ‘The Chef’ Deveson:
Will the boyish Devy ever age? Has he discovered the elixir of life? Why won’t he share it? Rumoured to have done a deal with the devil himself, it is said that in exchange for first dibs on the Chairman’s asparagus, Beelzebub has decreed that the best fireman since Steve McQueen in the ‘Towering Inferno’ will remain young and chubby-faced without Botox. However, should the asparagus deal be welched on Devy will instantly sag and wrinkle. Expect Waring to be sniffing round the Chairman’s vegetable patch…
Peter ‘Totty’ Piper:
Often confused for his namesake Francesco, Peter has more presence in the air than the curly-locked Italian cheat. Never happier than when given the chance to whip out his barbecue and tell appalling jokes, Pete is the heartbeat of the Eastry Touring Machine. Expect him to say “You’re not putting that on my fucking bus” as a tired and emotional Smudger is forced to spend the night on the hard shoulder…again. A man never knowingly without a vat of frying oil to hand, Pete is the tour lubricant if you will, an absolute trooper, and something of a diamond geezer if I may make so bold.
The Lord Lucan of the Eastry side, these days Mayland is more likely to be found perusing the soft furnishing departments of East Kent’s premier retail establishments than turning out for an Eastry XI. Tubes of Ralgex, miles of lint and bandaging and boxes of Elastoplast lie mouldering in a corner of the dressing room. Having run out of golfing partners to use as an alibi for his non-appearance on the cricket pitch, Mayhem has hit upon the novel wheeze of getting re-married to avoid risking the need for reconstructive surgery. Expect fireworks.
The man once described by himself as ‘the best thing to happen to Eastry since the by-pass’ continues to amaze pundits with the range and variety of his leg-side shot. * Unencumbered by the constraints of plebeian work schedules, his Lordship normally has time for a leisurely 9 holes of golf before going home to thrash his manservant. Still in touch with his south London roots however, Phebey has been seen talking proper Cockney in a pie and mash shop off Tooley Street in Bermondsey and is also able to shout ‘Evening Standard’ in a manner likely to frighten tourists.
* For legal reasons we’re supposed to say shots.
Last year’s runaway winner of the Man Most Likely to Drive His Roommate to Suicide Award, Bradshaw’s snoring-and-bed-hopping antics certainly had the younger tourists crying for their mummies. The Rt Hon.Monty 1 wept tears of despair from bloodshot, sleepless eyes as he relived the horror of Bradshaw’s nightly Wind Symphony. Metatarsal Matt sparked an injury scare after ‘kicking a chair’, while a spokesman for the club has confirmed that the ‘chair’ in question was cylinder shaped, with red and white writing proclaiming the legend Stella Artois. Eastry watchers are keeping their fingers crossed that the toe won’t heal in time for him to cavort provocatively in the covers as is his wont.
Back from the brink of retirement last year as Lassa Fever, Legionnaire’s Disease and veruccas deprived Eastry of their Sultan of Spin, the Honey Monster has roared back into the side with a big roaring noise. But don’t expect him to Roger Hill the umpire – Pearcey the gent finds the polite enquiry the most successful way to get an lbw. Newly installed stump microphones at the Updown ground have revealed that Pearce enchants the umpire with an old bee-keeper’s spell forcing him to waggle the finger of doom…
The sort of bloke you’d want in the trenches with you, Albert is the village cricketer’s village cricketer. Able to bowl while bladdered, drive a fire engine and shut Dickie up with one twitch of his eyebrow, Albert can also talk to animals and heal chronic illnesses with a touch of his hose. Thought to be the man behind the ‘smelly cheese’ at Waring’s bash.
An idiosyncratic slower-order batsman, the man loosely described as the Saturday skipper, bats with the speed of drying paint. Inventive, if not to say bonkers, in his field placings, he has been credited with the not inconsiderable feat of making Graham Phebey look good at the other end. The TCB are still investigating his ‘maiden’ century (c’mon, are there seriously going to be any more?) amidst eye-witness accounts claiming that Adam-Reynolds was seen snorting a curious compound of steroids and miracle-gro hair mousse just before his, er, historic innings.
Gentleman Jim just loves working with concrete! Not content with ensuring there are still oodles of the stuff waiting to set at Wembley in time for Robbie Williams Farewell Tour in 2036, he even brought some down to Updown… Never happier than when mixing and spreading, he even invited some friends along to counteract the adverse camber leading to the car park, thus lending a quixotic, if not god-awful, urban flavour to what had been an idyllic woodland drive. There were red faces all round when the chaps had to start shovelling pronto to avoid the proprietorial ire of Squire Monty who was itching to cull a few peasants before pheasant shooting begins…
‘Sonic Boom’ is a first time tourist with Eastry CC, but don’t expect him to ease his way into the tour with some friendly banter and a few looseners. Roger scares the pants off his own team-mates with appeals that make the Pakistanis look timid, and he has been responsible for the death of 19 umpires from heart failure. Jim Doddery, who narrowly survived becoming victim Number 20, said: “It was awful, I was just letting my lunch go down nicely, when the first ball hit the pads, and there I am, staring at Old Nick himself, looking like a Water Buffalo that’s burst a blood vessel…I haven’t umpired since, my pacemaker goes haywire at the sight of men in white trousers…”
After suffering the indignity of sharing a room in Eastbourne with ‘Howling Mad’ Bradshaw, things just got worse for Monty 1. As captain of the Sunday side, playing in the elegant grounds of Eastbourne College this most princely of young men was run out by some haymaking yokel on his own side. He then took the long Captain Oates route round the very perimeter of this ivy-clad establishment as he watched his team of carrot-crunchers throw away an easy victory. Gent to the last, Monty refused to apportion blame, but probably best for a certain well known fireman to keep out of the range of his double-barrelled Purdey.
There’s no doubt that this most genial of men adds something to the tour, only no-one knows exactly what. On sharing a room with KP you may be somewhat taken aback at his cavalier disregard for underpantage of any kind. He’s likely to fob off first-time roomies with an airy ‘Oh, I knew I’d forgotten to pack something’ but don’t be fooled – this man is a serial ‘Commando’, suggesting either a discrete package, leg-bag or button fly – how else can he guarantee genital safety when busting for a piss?
If anything, even more genial than the last bloke, with the added benefit (I presume) of a more orthodox approach to gentlemen’s outfitting. ‘Lightning’ has devastating pace within a 2 foot radius of roasting meat. Able to sniff out a kebab shop from 3 miles, he is a most pleasant fast-food companion. Possessor of the most authoritative “Wait on!” while at the crease. Laughs like a eunuch on helium though.
Lanky, gelled, and gobby as an Aussie behind the stumps, Aero is fast becoming something of a housewife’s favourite. Cheeky charm and clean-limbed wholesomeness are threatening to topple ‘Pies and Pies’ Waring from his self-appointed position as ‘Golden Box’. There is clearly a dark, sinister side to this young man though; despite teaching him everything he knew, Aero showed a low, traitorous streak by abandoning the Saturday skipper in favour of Betteshanger – oh yes, it’s a slur and a snub I won’t forget you ungrateful little bastard…
Mike is the third of the ‘Trebblestaggers’ bachelor boys. The lovechild of Hughie and the Jolly Giant, Mike is 9 foot tall and bowls his leg spin from the upper stratosphere. Rumoured to be handy with golf clubs, he is expected to bring out his pre-match warm up video in association with Marlboro Lights. Known to like a beverage or two, Greeny is apt to send saucy texts to senior club members while recovering from a hangover. Unofficial ECC photographer, the club’s photo library is still strangely devoid of a Phebey cover drive…
The Big Ego – Volume 15
(In which the part of Graham Phebey is played by Jose Mourinho or someone else with a very big head indeed!)
A small Pacific atoll featuring a volcanic mountain. Beneath the surface of the crater, a vast cavern is dominated by a huge rocket. In 20 foot high letters, running vertically upon the fuselage, are emblazoned the words ‘Sugar-Trump Buster’. Around the base of the rocket, and indeed as far as the eye can see, hordes of black polo-necked * workers scurry ant-like hither and yon, intent on preparing the rocket for its launch. The camera sweeps slowly around the cavern and then zooms in on a Perspex window set high up in the crater wall. At first indistinctly, and then ever clearer, we see the image of a man, slightly paunchy it has to be said, with greying locks and a smug expression. He is cradling his white cat called Super Ego, from which pet issue a series of self-satisfied purrs. The man begins to talk, crooning almost, to the cat:
“Yes, my precious, soon, soon! Soon the world will acknowledge my greatness…once I have eliminated the impostors Trump and Sugar, then I shall be crowned Superspiv, the Number One Purveyor of Bling and Schmutter in all the world, a ha-ha, a-ha-ha… (maniacal laughter ensues, swelling in volume until the whole cavern is filled with the diabolical noise)
*From an unoriginal idea by David Waring
Kelly Roberts My house in Sandwich
Reeves and Neylan
37 St. Margaret’s Street
21 August 2008
Dear Ms Roberts,
Re: Harold Limpopo Kenton-Chubster
Thank-you for your letter of August 7th requesting a reference for the aforementioned. Harold Kenton is blond with unfeasibly wide shoulders; in fact, his shoulders are so wide that we at the cricket club aren’t terribly sure if they’re real or falsies. Anyhow, I just think with them shoulders Harold shouldn’t be working in confined spaces as he is likely to become wedged between some articles of office furniture. Or ladies’ breasts. This in turn, could lead to his complete immobilisation, the consequence of which would be long periods of sleep, from which it would be devilish hard to rouse him.
In terms of ambition, I know that Harold yearns with every fibre of his being to be a fat cat; judging by the size of Messrs Reeves and Neylan, he’s certainly come to the right place. I’d just be a little bit careful about the sort of client portfolios he might be handling; it would probably be best to steer him well clear of any poultry farming clients as he has been known to sacrifice live chickens – particularly when there’s a full moon. And don’t be surprised if you find yourself suddenly plagued by dots of red light: Harold likes to shoot people he knows well and he has a whole armoury of hi-tech weaponry equipped with the latest in laser sights at his disposal. (Btw, Albert’s very jealous and has vented his spleen on the local rodent population: as of Tuesday last, there are simply no vermin living within a 4-mile radius of his house!)
Finally, about the incident with the Archbishop: it was never proved beyond reasonable doubt that Harold placed the Semtex between His Eminence’s home and away crosiers, and besides, that fat little poof the Archbishop of York is a notorious liar. Certainly, there were traces of ‘recreational’ Semtex found on Harold’s clothing, but, as has subsequently been established, this was from a device he was constructing that was designed to get his brother Joe out of bed in the mornings.
In short, Harold is, to my mind, absolutely ideal for a position with your firm and will give you years of blemish free creosote. Thank-you for listening.
Is it true that The Chairman knows all the words to every ABBA song ever invented, ever, and that not only that, but moreover and furthermore by golly, he could be seen cavorting in the aisle of the Marlowe theatre in a frenzy of ecstasy at the skill and verve of the piano playing double of the great Benny Andersson just last Friday? If so, surely this destroys the viability of the so-called Dream Ticket of Deveson and Waring; for how can the man who taught Ozzie Osbourne to bite the head off live pigeons share ultimate executive power at Eastry Cricket Club with the Botox-loving King of be-bop-a-lula she’s my Swedish meatball?
After some exhaustive detective work it appears that there are in fact 5 Kevin Devesons. Having had the opportunity of holidaying with the most powerful man in Eastry I am now able to reveal to the world what many of us have long suspected: in order to appear eternally youthful, Mr Deveson had himself cloned at a backstreet establishment in downtown Worth some four summers ago, but I was only able to beat the truth out of him in Brittany by threatening to deny him access to his jar of L’Oreal anti-ageing cream (with Elastyl) unless he came clean. It seems that while any one Kevin Deveson is at large, the other four are being steam-cleaned and revitalised at the same time. I just thought I’d point it out. That’s all.
NEXT WEEK: “Born to asset strip”
How apparently mild-mannered Harry Kenton went from board-shorted bum to ruthless Head of Paperclips at a top firm of double-entry book-keepers.
“Excellent! He’s turning into a complete Tory just like me” – N.Kenton
“Harry? No, you must mean a different one – he’s asleep at square leg as usual” – M.Green
“In charge of paper clips? Mate, I wouldn’t put him in charge of his own fackin’ eyebrows!” Bruce Nozzer outback sheep rearer, Boomerangawanga NSW, Australia
Alan Spong at 90 – the old veteran recalls not very much.
Dave Waring unveils his brown collection for the Autumn