Once again, the tight head has some words of wisdom for you all.
‘What are you going to do for your stag weekend Stu?’ Bishop mused.
‘Oh, I don’t know, few pints with the lads, bit of dinner; the usual.’ I replied.
Two weeks later, I found that the PBRFC machinery had cranked into gear and the ‘Cork Tour’ had, in fact, become my stag weekend.
As a member of the three judges, otherwise known as the ‘Three Wise Men’, I felt I was pretty safe with regards to the Kangaroo court. I hadn’t counted on the machiavellian abilities of one T. Anderson.
As you will note from this picture, I am wearing an orange bed sheet, a Fez, a green apron and a pair of pantaloons to preserve my modesty.
At the time of the photo I had been so attired for 48 hours, and as you may note, was really looking forward to the next 24.
How did I get to such a pretty pass I hear you whisper? A man of my implacable will, exalted judging credentials…
‘Smithee, enough of this Wise Old T@@t stuff, you are the tour Fag.’
Slave for the weekend; get the beers, serve them, wake everyone up, get them hither and thither, drink any spare fines. (This, at least, I was modestly good at.)
Vintage Anderson, and all this from a man wearing a wide brimmed floral hat and carrying a purloined road sign.
If you were in this photo and have donated, Merci Chef, if not, then I advise you to do so lickety spit, otherwise Me, the Fez and the orange sheet may gatecrash a dinner party of yours soon.
And that would be, to use a Bishopism, not nice…
