Camogie in London - Join Us

What a weekend! To anyone in Ballyhaise that's reading this, thanks a million for your hospitality! And we're only havin "D'Craic" below, no offence intended!

Have to start on Friday evenin. We finally get the gear bags, well 25 of them instead of 35. Mel and Harry are first to arrive to pick up a bag. Dwyer calls round and we open the box and pull them out. Look at one another, there's somethin not right here. They're too deep and too short. Fordie dives for the laptop to check the order. Dwyer tells her she ordered the wrong ones. Fordie nearly cries, big bully Dwyer. Out comes the measurin tape (impressive that I could find it!). 59 x 35 x 30. They were supposed to be 62 x 26 x 25. Phew! Twasn't Fordie's mistake. Right what'll we do? Give them back and write a stinker? Keep them and write a stinker? Take a bag Mel and we'll let ya know.

Mags, Rita, Marie and Peig are next. "Say nothin" says Dwyer til we see their reaction. Marie, Peig and Rita think they're great. Mags is not too sure. Tell them what happened. "They're grand", they say. Fordie's still not convinced. Karen is next to call. 7 of us standin around lookin at a gear bag. Pigs lookin into engines rings a bell. Ah sure, we'll keep them. Sure we'll be ages waitin for other ones. Right so, sorted. 3 more to call. Niamh (and Jack!) are next. She likes them. Where are them other 2? After 10 the last of them arrive - Spam and Burtchaell. "A free bag", they're delighted. "Not too bad", says Fordie, "they won't be givin out to me tomorrow". 10.45 now, see ye in a few hours, don't forget the passports.

Text from Mammy Mary. She's lookin after the water and oranges tomorrow. "Sound", says Fordie, bed so.

Who's missin? Mags, Rita, Jack & Jesse. Not too late. Martin. That fella's always late. Have ya your passport? Dwyer shouts up the bus "does everyone have their passports?" Nobody says no. Now where's Mairéad? Is this the sign of things to come? Clock is tickin. Call from Mairéad. Has been driving around East Croydon with a contrary taxi driver for ages. Karen steps in. Get out and I'll meet ya at the station. Good woman Karen, sorted. Off we go at last. Rita wakes up. No passport. Herself and Jack will have to go home and drive to Stansted. Not a good start.

Can things get any worse?! Twas lookin good. The bags were comin out, and the hurleys. The trolleys were loaded. We better count the stick bags. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.....we should have 6! Dwyer's are missin. Report them. Won't deliver them to Cavan. Mary O's father has a Dublin address, that'll do. Sign the form. Fingers crossed, again.

We're on the road again. Stop for brekkie in Navan. Carroll starts whingein. Where's the Roscrea bacon? Bit of patience Martin. Aren't you after havin chicken and wedges. Louise's Mam pops in to say hello, and give Louise a few tips on cookin breakfast for 26 the next mornin.

Off again. Give out the programmes. Well done Rita on the poem. Well done Dwyer on the profiles. Some new nicknames emerge. Little Hitler delivers some bad news. Elma has been tryin all week to get the day off, but no good. We're another down. Sure we'll give it a lash anyway, heads up.

D'locals are out in force. We've a little welcoming comm-itt-ee to greet us. "Der's d'local parish hall where we'll be havin the buff-ay. Der's d'pub beside it. Der's d'pitch d'other side of it". Very compact little village. Sure we'll have a look at the pitch. Lovely location, down a little hollow. But tis big. Crowe loves it, can't wait to get out there. Fordie hates it, looks at d'pub.

Load up again. D'Agricultural College is just up the road. Grand spot. We've single rooms in 2 houses. Some smart ass says they're a bit like prison cells, but reckon they'll be very welcome later on. Right, everyone to bed. Little Hitler and Fordie will be callin ye at 3. Tea and hang sangwidges at 3.30. Jayz, they like their hang sangwidges, plates and plates of them. They'll leave the canteen open for us and we can go in after d'pub and make ourselves tea, and eat the remaining hang sangwidges of course.

Mary O decides to tell us that we don't have enough skirts. Nice of her. Carroll wants to go down "town" to buy a few skirts. I wonder is it his first time....

Puck-around on the training pitch. Some of us reckon we should play on this.

Team is announced. Mary O, Peig, Mags, Karen, Cliodhna, Dwyer, Fordie, Marie, Sharon, Crowe, Mel, Rita, Niamh, Louise, Róisín. Subs: Mary MacArthur, Angie Maguire, Pamela, Laura, Mairéad. Right, let's go, tog-out. First fifteen get the skirts, sorry to the rest of ye.

We lost the toss. We lost the match. Nuff said.

Ah no, suppose we should acknowledge it. We started well......

...action-packed it was. For the defence.

And Crowe made an odd burst down that spacious wing. But overall, it was.....disappointing! Time to move on. Loopy Lou's thoughts me thinks....

More hang sangwidges. No, seriously, a great spread. And a great local turnout. The PP himself is there. Someone even made a cake to mark the occasion, fair play to ya.

Some speechin. D'pub is callin, hurry on let ye. Little Hitler spouts some rubbish. Invites Castletara over for a tournament next year. Don't know who'll do the caterin. Suggests that d'women put something in the hang sangwidges to slow us down. Clutchin at straws...very short ones.

No particular order here. Random things that I remember....

• Cliodhna and Crowe decide to go on the wine. But that's not enough for them, they want to know what they're going to be drinkin. Young wan behind the bar nearly has a fit. Mairéad overhears her. "Daddy daddy, do we have wine?! What type is it?!". D'poor publican probably hasn't been asked for wine since the last bunch of sophisticated Londoners "descended on d'village". Far from wine you were reared Crowe.
• D'Song Contest. We won hands down. Not because of d'singin but becaue of d'spirit. Fordie singin Croydon's call and 20 odd idiots standin up on the seats as if we were in d'George. Looked good from the stage girls.

• D'abuse over the sangwidges. Fordie gives some stick to one of d'women who made d'hang sangwidges. Sorry about d'at.
• Little Hitler. Definitely a gallon of brandy in her. And a can of coke. Started spoutin you know what again before we left for the club. "I hope ye win the final cos we can say that we were beaten by the best! We may not have won the match, but we've drank them at the batin!" Classic Hitler.

• Baby Guinness. Think Mairéad started it off. 22 Baby Guinnesses there please. Panic behind the bar again. But their tills won't have been as full for a while.

• D'Song on d'bus. Castletara girls started singin our song on the way to the club. They comment on our team spirit. The secret? Probably drink!

• D'Phone call from Niamh. Fella on crutches falls down outside the club, not sure if he was knocked down but Niamh dials 999. Ambulance to such a place in Cavan town please. Oh, hang on, you may as well send the police as well as a fight has just started. Police arrive, we call them the Gardaí in Ireland Niamh. "Who called us?" Niamh has legged it, she's a date with a farmer.
• D'Phone call from Mairéad. Can I have a cab from Navan please?!
• D'Carpet Burns on Phoebe's (Pamela's) knees!
• Where's d'kit?! Fordie arrives back at the college around 3 (???), just a wee bit inebriated. And decides that she needs to find the kit, and needs to find it now. "I'm not goin to bed til I find the kit, if I have to search every room in the 2 houses". There's a gang eatin hang sangwidges in the canteen. Mairéad, after trying unsuccesfully to calm Fordie down, goes in search of someone who might know something about the kit. Karen to the rescue. Sends Fordie a text to say that kit is on the bus. In the meantime, Fordie finds her own gear and conks it.
• "A pizza hut, a pizza hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken and a pizza hut". Pamela, Cliodhna and Sharon wake Fordie and probably everyone else at some unearthly hour singing this crap. I'd swear Burtchaell was there too.
• The canteen. Little Hitler: "Would you like tea or coffee?" Carroll fallin asleep!

• Little Hitler's not in her room. Check the bath and the toilet there Róisín. We find her, but she's cross, say nothin.
• Why the hell did Karen send Fordie a text about the kit being on the bus?! Like I give a damn! Karen you freak!
• Ettie reckons Martin Carroll was strutting proudly about at 7 this morning. There's a few s.... (girls, see the member area!)
• Alot of strangers at breakfast....
• Oh no. Your wan that Fordie was abusin about the hang sangwidges is servin breakfast. Better not go back for seconds.
• Where's Jack? He headed down to the village this morning, that was hours ago. Later discovered that he was in the pub all the time, and poor Rita going around lookin for him.
• D'locals coming from Mass are smilin (laughin?!) and wavin at us as we sit on d'side of the road. Looking in at d'pitch we are. You could land a concorde on it Dwyer reckons. Take a photo there Louise for posterity.

• We're lookin at d'goalposts. We'll have to put Little Hitler on Angel Dust before we come back again.
• Walk back to d'college. Meet Carroll. Jayz, he's struttin proudly again. Walk on in the yard. Jayz, them s.....
• Right, time to go. Load up all d'gear. Louise says goodbye to d'sister. Fordie tells d'sister not to worry, she'll look after her. "I'll put her on a plane to Frankfurt or something".

• We'll pick the rest of them up at d'pub. Some head to the shop when d'bus pulls up. Fordie and Dwyer offer to round up d'pub crowd. Ettie issues a stern warning to Fordie.
• "Drink up", says Dwyer. "We're grand as long as Ettie doesn't come in". "Too late", says Fordie, "she's in". Carroll buys her a pint. That buys a few minutes for us.

• Take-out sorted. Jack buys a crate of cider.
• D'Wavin Goodbye comm-itt-ee is here now. They really know how to look after us in Ballyhaise. As d'bus pulls away, they wave, and we salute them with our cans. Glad to see d'back of us? Or thinkin of d'money they'd make if we stayed for a week?
  

Great sing-song. And all the above stories start to come out. Nicknames start flyin (or was that on the bus from Stansted? - very hazy now!).

We decide at Dublin that we better count the stick bags again. 1, 2, 3, 4....we should have 5 now! Marie's is missin. But Dwyer gets hers back, only 24 hours too late. The cans of cider go in the gear bags at Dublin. The cans of cider come out of the gear bags at Stansted. The cans of cider disappear on the journey back. Elma calls. She's still apologisin. Reminds Fordie that Livi had also sent her best wishes. Sure I'll pass them on now.

Discover that Dwyer used to be a champion singer. Scór na Páistí at the age of 12. Fordie explains Scór to d'city crowd - the social side of the GAA that appreciates the Irish dancin, singin, recitin, etc. Loada bull really, no surprise that she's a champion at it. Very foolish to let that slip.

D'Grunt's complainin about d'bruises on her arm. Dwyer reckons that the farmer couldn't find her neck. D'Grunt produces her teddy. Phoebe comments that she hopes d'Grunt covered d'teddy's eyes the night before. Conclusion is that d'teddy was lying face down on d'farmers eyes, hence he couldn't find her neck. Makes perfect sense.

We're at d'George. Thank God. We'll just have 1 and head off home then. Or will we go the Gardeners for 1 as well? Go on then, ya twisted my arm.