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19 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.
Tim Smith:
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.
James Mayland.
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.
Graham Phebey.
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.
Matt Bradshaw.
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.
Andy Pearce.
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…
Andy Betts.
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.
Chris Adam-Reynolds
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.
Jim Senior:
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…
Roger Hill:
‘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…”
Tom Montgomery:
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.
Kevin Prior.
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?
James Piper.
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.
Aaron Friend.
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 Green.
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…
Profiles for Roger Gilham and Kevin Marsh will follow soon.
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