The following weeks things slowed down a little as the responsibility of employment took over. My initial weeks were spent acclimatising to taking calls on the 'frontline', frontline was put in place so clients could speak to a person instead of an automated machine message. Im sure Im not the only one who's been caught out on a late night trying to get home only to be answered by a robot saying 'We have your address at 7 Gambir Sq, Bondi, is this correct?'... 'No, its not fucken correct I dont live in Sydney you silly tart!!'
Anyway it was a good opportunity to get to meet some non cricket related colleagues. Within one short week I had already been invited out to join them for a Friday night drink at their regular haunt the (Egg and Spoon!?) and before you knew it was downing pints and enjoying the gaming machines on offer. The machines in England are much different to those down under, for starters the games were normally of the quiz variety and required some sort of brain function and took time to get through. Secondly you were playing for a pittance so there was never any chance of financial gain, so unlike Australia it wasnt a case of mindlessly slapping away the kids inheritance and college fund.
Between shifts I was still able to fit in the odd game of cricket, on one such weekend I turned up late on a Saturday afternoon to watch the conclusion of the first's team game. After a bit of a Friday session the previous night I was slightly dusty and engaged in a hair of the dog. In England its not unusual to have a beer with a 'top', otherwise known as a 'Shandy' this made it sweeter and makes for easier drinking and unlike Australia requesting it is not followed by queiries regarding your sexuality.
After the firsts had finished I was joined in the bar by the club's premiere batsmen keeper and according to himself also the clubs finest drinker Mark Hatting. 'Hatty' wasnt the world’s biggest man (roughly my size) but pound for pound could match it with anyone, so of course backing my ability, it wasnt long before the challenge was laid.
We settled into (Sleazy corner) with Mrs Sterlo talking filth and ordered some greasy pizza's before last drinks were called at 10:30. When confronted with this for the first time I was somewhat shocked, it was a far cry from the nights at Western Districts which finished well into the :am.
However on this occasion, Mennis had in hand a spare key he had acquired and we all made our way out to one of the sightboards where we waited for the cleaners to finish hoovering the clubhouse before we snuck back in. Truth be known, they were fully aware what was going on and there was an unwritten rule that said if we didnt take care of the clubhouse and tab then the key would be confiscated.
So Hatty and I continued with our beer swilling before pulling up stumps before our game the following day, declaring it a draw and leaving with a new found respect for each other. They made their way home while I made my way to the changing sheds to make myself a Bear Gryll's style bed out of left over thigh guards, miscellaneous pads then topping it off with a series of wool knit sweaters for blankets and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I woke up ROUGH, I mean REALLY rough. Now I have had my fair share of hangovers but this was something else, the seriousness of the situation was confirmed when minutes later I rushed to the change room toilets confronted with a question no man should have to answer...'Do I spew in to crap or crap in to spew?' After a moments hesitation I decided that I could handle snapping one of into some chunder but there was no fucking way I was spewing into a freshly spray painted toilet bowl. DIS-GUST-ING!!
Somehow I manoeuvred myself from the toilets and underneath a shower in an attempt to ready myself for the days play, I lay in the feotal position on the floor for the next 45 minutes with my body temperature fluctuating between FREEZING FUCKING COLD to BOILING BLOODY HOT with only the slightest adjustments of the tap.
Luckily for me the game was called off because of heavy rain, not that I could have have taken part anyway. Anyone who has spent time around cricketers knows they are not the most sympathetic of creatures and my state was the cause of great mirth around the change room. When Hatty caught wind of my state he walked in with arms raised claiming the championship with a TKO.... I was in no state to argue and when I heard once the game was called off he backed up that day I agreed he was a worthy champion.
Meanwhile I was bundled into the back of Mennis' car making my way back to his place to be laid on my death bed, his mother simply said 'what have you done to him?!' when she saw the shell of a man I had become overnight. At this stage the water I was ingesting wasnt staying put and the only relief I could gain was in the form of a cold wash cloth on my overheating forehead!!
On the Monday I felt only slightly better and was able to manage some water but food was still a 'no-no' so I called in sick and felt sorry for myself watching movies for the rest of the day.
When back at work on the Tuesday still not 100% I was asked to complete a 're-admission' into work interview (a rather invasive protocol) to answer questions on my illness. When quizzed:
'What do you think was the cause of your illness?!"
I could only reply:
'I couldn’t be sure but I think it must have been some of that greasy pizza from Saturday night!!'
Anyway it was a good opportunity to get to meet some non cricket related colleagues. Within one short week I had already been invited out to join them for a Friday night drink at their regular haunt the (Egg and Spoon!?) and before you knew it was downing pints and enjoying the gaming machines on offer. The machines in England are much different to those down under, for starters the games were normally of the quiz variety and required some sort of brain function and took time to get through. Secondly you were playing for a pittance so there was never any chance of financial gain, so unlike Australia it wasnt a case of mindlessly slapping away the kids inheritance and college fund.
Between shifts I was still able to fit in the odd game of cricket, on one such weekend I turned up late on a Saturday afternoon to watch the conclusion of the first's team game. After a bit of a Friday session the previous night I was slightly dusty and engaged in a hair of the dog. In England its not unusual to have a beer with a 'top', otherwise known as a 'Shandy' this made it sweeter and makes for easier drinking and unlike Australia requesting it is not followed by queiries regarding your sexuality.
After the firsts had finished I was joined in the bar by the club's premiere batsmen keeper and according to himself also the clubs finest drinker Mark Hatting. 'Hatty' wasnt the world’s biggest man (roughly my size) but pound for pound could match it with anyone, so of course backing my ability, it wasnt long before the challenge was laid.
We settled into (Sleazy corner) with Mrs Sterlo talking filth and ordered some greasy pizza's before last drinks were called at 10:30. When confronted with this for the first time I was somewhat shocked, it was a far cry from the nights at Western Districts which finished well into the :am.
However on this occasion, Mennis had in hand a spare key he had acquired and we all made our way out to one of the sightboards where we waited for the cleaners to finish hoovering the clubhouse before we snuck back in. Truth be known, they were fully aware what was going on and there was an unwritten rule that said if we didnt take care of the clubhouse and tab then the key would be confiscated.
So Hatty and I continued with our beer swilling before pulling up stumps before our game the following day, declaring it a draw and leaving with a new found respect for each other. They made their way home while I made my way to the changing sheds to make myself a Bear Gryll's style bed out of left over thigh guards, miscellaneous pads then topping it off with a series of wool knit sweaters for blankets and drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I woke up ROUGH, I mean REALLY rough. Now I have had my fair share of hangovers but this was something else, the seriousness of the situation was confirmed when minutes later I rushed to the change room toilets confronted with a question no man should have to answer...'Do I spew in to crap or crap in to spew?' After a moments hesitation I decided that I could handle snapping one of into some chunder but there was no fucking way I was spewing into a freshly spray painted toilet bowl. DIS-GUST-ING!!
Somehow I manoeuvred myself from the toilets and underneath a shower in an attempt to ready myself for the days play, I lay in the feotal position on the floor for the next 45 minutes with my body temperature fluctuating between FREEZING FUCKING COLD to BOILING BLOODY HOT with only the slightest adjustments of the tap.
Luckily for me the game was called off because of heavy rain, not that I could have have taken part anyway. Anyone who has spent time around cricketers knows they are not the most sympathetic of creatures and my state was the cause of great mirth around the change room. When Hatty caught wind of my state he walked in with arms raised claiming the championship with a TKO.... I was in no state to argue and when I heard once the game was called off he backed up that day I agreed he was a worthy champion.
Meanwhile I was bundled into the back of Mennis' car making my way back to his place to be laid on my death bed, his mother simply said 'what have you done to him?!' when she saw the shell of a man I had become overnight. At this stage the water I was ingesting wasnt staying put and the only relief I could gain was in the form of a cold wash cloth on my overheating forehead!!
On the Monday I felt only slightly better and was able to manage some water but food was still a 'no-no' so I called in sick and felt sorry for myself watching movies for the rest of the day.
When back at work on the Tuesday still not 100% I was asked to complete a 're-admission' into work interview (a rather invasive protocol) to answer questions on my illness. When quizzed:
'What do you think was the cause of your illness?!"
I could only reply:
'I couldn’t be sure but I think it must have been some of that greasy pizza from Saturday night!!'
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