A Sober Bruffman's Diary of the Cardiff Trip
If all of the pictures don't come up the first time, it helps to click on the link on the left again or else right-click on the text here and click "REFRESH" to reload the page. This is because of the size of the pictures, one of these days I'll rewrite it and make the pictures smaller which will speed it up a lot.

Weeelllll, here we go, it's 9:40 p.m. approximately on Thursday, 23rd May, I've just packed the bag, and red jacket and red tee shirts, (Don't know whether we'll be able to wear them or not). The Weather is absolutely savage outside tonight, and we're going to be leaving Bruff in about six and a half hours or so for the Coach/Boat trip. The wind and rain which had died down earlier seems to have picked up again, and I've not experienced seas that are too rough, so I don't know what it's going to be like. (Bit of a fair weather sailor, only good weather so far myself, I'm dreading it). News earlier that the "SEA-CAT" is not sailing so they are twiddling with times to try and get more boats sailing over during the day tomorrow.
Twenty thousand tickets allocated to Munster are gone, another possibly ten thousand had already bought tickets from Ticketmaster on the chance that Munster would win. There's probably another couple of thousand going in the hope of getting a ticket over there (I personally know sixteen going like this), but my mates in Blighty have told me there's none available.
I went daft during the week and bought a digital camera to bring with me rather than the usual flotilla of accessories with large bag that I haul with me on a trip away. I'm going to try to get access to upload some pics and news from Cardiff, (Depends whether I get time and internet access) so keep an eye out here over the next day or two and I'll keep updating this from Cardiff. If all else fails I'll fill in the diary on return. Rock on Munsters, Give Gaillimh and Claw a bit of gold to finish up with!

11:30 p.m., Thursday night, I've dropped the car at the Mother's house, she's going dropping myself and the "Yung Brudder" to Bruff to meet the bus. I end up watching some daft thing called "Red Light Girls" on the telly while trying to sleep on the couch in the sitting room. The alarm is set on the phone, trying hard to sleep and failing.....

3:00 a.m. Phone alarm goes off... washed and ready for brekky by 3:15, Yung brudder is prettifying hisself, there's a stink of deodorant and aftershave that'd knock two horses. I've had breakfast and all the gear is in the car by 3:30, he's still prettifying himself at 3:45, god almighty, there's 47 fellahs and three females (one married, one almost) going on the bus for gawds sake why is he taking so flaming long? He's finished in time to swamp down a bowl of corn flakes and we're away.

4:00 We're on the bus, waiting for people to turn up. Our retiring Hon. Sec. Dave O' Keefe has posterised the bus to a serious extent by the time we kick off. Gino SNR. has given out copies of a rough itinerary and maps etc. (Good isn't he?) and we're on the road by 4:25 a.m. First hiccup is when we go to pick up the next crew at Grange, Georgy is trying to get the "Barlow" out of bed, we're delayed by about 15 minutes waiting for him and when they eventually surface there is an almighty cheer. Whatever about anything else, if we leave without him and Munster win there will be an almighty row.......Ten minutes later we stop to pick up the Conways at Ballyneety. Jenny is obviously just out of bed and has brought a duvet and pillows along for the drive...Last stop before the big haul is to get "Dunnser" and his big brother at Keogh's garage on the tipperary road, finally we're ready for the off.

7:00 a.m. Dessie is not a happy camper, I'm sitting beside him on the bus and his stomach is not at all well, this doesn't bode well for the crossing as the wind hasn't dropped that much even though the rain has stopped. We stop at the first shop/petrol station that we have found open, somewhere on the road between Waterford and Rosslare. 50 people converge on the poor misfortune behind the counter who's shift was about to end in fifteen minutes. In his own words "Good job that ye're nice people, I'm not about to start an argument with you lot." Someone (Dessie is getting the blame) drops a large mug of tea on the ground just to leave our mark. I fail to get coffee from the machine so I have to make do with tea and a big lump of a ham and cheese roll.

8:00 a.m. We arrive at Rosslare, I get a phone call from my good mate Willie slagging me about the manner in which the Bus managed to jump the queue to get on the boat. I eventually spot the car and Willie has the two girls with him. Flask of coffee is produced and I manage to get my Caffeine hit before getting on the boat. The lads have gone into the terminal and managed to snaffle a wagonload of the "Heineken/Munster" foam hands being given out for free at the terminal. (I don't get one but I steal one from Dessie or someone later). Panic stations, the bus is moving, I have to run from Willie's car and jump on the bus. I make it but some don't and there is a major panic attack by Gino Jnr. (The first of many over the weekend I'm sure). Things calm down after a few minutes when all of the bodies have returned, including Jack Clancy's crew who had driven down from Limerick to Rosslare themselves. We're on the boat by 8:15, we pick up a crew member who directs us down the bus side of the boat. He spots the captain on the left hand side and tells us that they refer to him as "Willie Schumacher". When we ask him why, he tells us that no matter what time we leave that he's the fastest guy we could have to get us there. This makes Dessie very nervous....... By 8:30 I'm sitting down having coffee with Wille (Returning the favour). Willie Schumacher (our captain) comes on the intercom, telling us that we're a bit delayed because of the weather, that the crossing will be rough enough due to the fifty to sixty mile an hour winds, Pembroke is bad, but his main problem is actually getting away from the quay. He says he's going to try to spend fifteen minutes getting off but if he fails that he'll have another cut in an hour after that. His last words are " We'll get you there folks". I'd love to see Dessies face after hearing this.......At 9:30 we eventually get out into the open seas and we're away, (this man is in my mind, a giant among seamen, we heard later that the Stena line ship failed to get away until much later that evening, I prostrate myself in humble respect to "Willie Schumacher" and hope his place in history is recorded somewhere, I must try and get his full name). I wake up at about 11:00 and we're midway across the Irish sea. It's fairly rough out there and my mate Willie is not feeling too good. We make our way up to the top deck where the heli-pad is, Willie needs air and I want to see the storm. It's brilliant. There are 10-12 metre swells Willie reckons (he is a sea dog type, rowing, boating and the like) and the gale is whipping the spray off the top of the water.
First shot, taken on the top deck.
I must have a fairly good sea stomach I reckon judging by the number of people who were getting sick in the toilets on every level. We meet some poor misfortune who is very ill and asks us if we're safe, would he have taken off if it wasn't safe, (Schumachers words on the intercom frightened him I think), we reassure him that we'll make it and move on. I meet John Cooke from our crew on the top deck and he's out there because he can't take the heat in the Lounge. We head back down to the Bar and have another coffee. I fall asleep again......

1:15 p.m. We're back on the bus moving off, first in the queue and ready to hit the road. We stop at a "Little Chef" which has a "Burger King" alongside for Lunch, thank god there's no bar or we'd never shift em out of it.
Little chef stop
Gino snr. threatens to take over command in a coup and wants to know whether there's enough committee members on the trip to form a quorum according to the constitution of the club. We hear that a rumour that Roy Keane has been sent home, that there's a Private jet en route from Manchester United to pick him up, Teflon Bertie has gotten involved in the Row but things are not looking good.

5:00 p.m. We arrive at the Commodore Hotel in CWMBRAN, pronounced kyim-burran with rolling R's. Straight to the bar, pint of Red Bull to kickstart the bloodstream while Gino jnr. having survived the coup attempt (mainly due to the fact that big brother would have to do all the work) went upstairs to get all the room keys sorted. I was allocated a room with my little bruvva (which meant that I'd likely have it to myself for the whole weekend). We're given the keys and in his usual Sergeant Major booming voice (Stronger and braver having survived the coup) Gino jnr throws keys in all directions screaming that we have to get back on the bus by 6:00 to get to Cardiff. I go have a shower, change and head back to the bar, resisting the impulse to lie down and watch telly after the fiasco in Belfast last year (I fell asleep and woke up the following morning, it's on the News page somewhere). More red bull and we discover the first split in the ranks. The "Simons" crew have decided to go to Newport rather than into Cardiff.
Room in Commodore Hotel, CWMBRAN Bathroom

We're on the road by 6:30 and get dropped off at a clock where the driver agrees to pick us up at 1:00 a.m. The first major row erupts here on St. mary st. as there is confusion over which O' Neills bar we are supposed to meet up in. It seems that the O' Neills that the Gino's thought we were meeting in is not the one on St. Mary St. Everyone is placated enough and agrees to the St. Mary St. one for simplicity. The city is a sea of red and I'm beginning to wonder where all the Leicester fans are, as we're not seeing too many of them.

We leave O' Neills to go walkabout and head across the road to the Royal Albert. We decide to head for grub at about 8:00 but young paudie calls me from a Restaurant where Dessie is after having dinner and when I turn around, I've lost the Gino's crew and Fr. Joe. I end up having coffee with Dessie and we go for a stroll around the Stadium grounds with the two youngsters.
Millenium Stadium at night
Security lamp us however and a voice over an intercom politely asks us to leave as the tours have finished for the evening. We decide to head back to the hotel to see my first ever live boxing match (There is an underage competition in the hotel later). We head to the taxi rank and try to explain to a gombeen taxi driver where we want to go and try to get a price. Eventually after producing all the maps and him spending ten minutes on the blower we quotes us twenty five quid (The lady in one of the bars had told us that it should cost about eight, boy was she wrong!) so we walk away to head to the station. After spending about ten minutes trying to figure out the automatic ticket machine, we get directions to the right train and get on. We meet Dowling on the train, he is staying in Newport with friends of friends of friends or something. After a half hour journey, we're in Cwmbran, but its floggin out of the heavens and there's no taxi (or anything else for that matter) in sight.. eventually we find our way out and get directions from one of the crew cleaning up the buses in a Station across the road. Half an hours walk later we're back, and I watch my first boxing competition ever.

I venture to the disco in the hotel but it turns out to be the bar where we had drinks earlier and is mobbed with all makes, shapes and ages of Welsh so I'm away to me bed till tomorrow. I set the alarm ont he phone, charge the camera batteries again, and fall asleep reading the camera manual.

9:15 a.m., Saturday 26th
Phone wakes me up, head down for breakfast to discover that they've stopped doing the fries. Dessie tries to take the head off the poor misfortune managing the dining area but Seoirse moves in with his usual diplomacy and manages to secure eight more fries for those of us left without. I get a phone call from Ronnie, he's on his way from London and wants to meet up in Cardiff. by 11:15 we're all on the Bus but there's no sign of Gino Jnr.
Gino late
He arrives to much abuse and slagging and we're on the road again. En route some fool in a sports Merc. tries to cut in front of the bus and scratches his wing mirror. Then he starts stopping and jerking in front of us so we overtake him. Gino jnr. almost moons at him but baulks at the last minute. The last we see of him is when he pulls over to get out , takes one look at a busload of very big and hungover rugby players/fans and decides that discretion is in order and just writes down the number plate of the bus. While stopped in traffic we see a Munster fan on the side of the road, I recognise him as being one of the McMahon brothers who played seconds with us about ten years ago and talk the bus driver into stopping and letting him on (Thanks by the way to Joe, the driver who was great over the weekend and who picked us up and waited patiently and uncomplainingly for us despite the foibles of carrying a rugby crew). We get a warning to keep the beer and cider hidden as a busload of fans were fined £3,000 sterling at fishguard for having drink on the bus, so all open cans are held below window level.

11:50 we stop outside city hall and the party is on. A gorgeous babe hands out neckties with a load of maps and stuff to everyone after we get off. A panic then ensues as Seoirse finds a match ticket on the ground, after five minutes it turns out to be Dave Conway's, much hugging and cries of "thanks Seorsh" ensue and we're on the move again. O' Neills is flaming mobbed but there's a rumour that Fr. Joe was able to get in and send a message home by radio and join in the singing of "The Isle" (95 F.M. were transmitting to Limerick from there). The Gino's crew, their cousin and myself manage to get into the "Royal Albert" across the road. It is mayhem, A sea of red, more and more and more the farther into the town we get.

I try to ring Ronnie but keep getting "Network Busy" signals. Eventually it turns out that he's met Garry O' Malley and Joe Moran and they're heading towards the Ground as they can't get in for a drink anywhere.

1:20Music in the Albert is fabulous, we're getting everything from Queen to Bon Jovi, "THE TOM" to Elvis, Both sets of fans in the Royal Albert have joined up to sing along with arms around each other to the strains of Elvis's "Glory, Glory Halleluyah". The hair is standing on the back of my head, this is what it's all about, it's brilliant, the atmosphere is fabulous, Gino jnr. manages to scam a Leicester tigers badge from a guy without parting with anything. Roll on the game.

1:45 We've moved on to "Yates's" beside the stadium, we get in the door and straight away meet up with Patsy Davern and a few others who have come over on a corporate freebie trip from Roadstone. More drinks then it's time to get inside.

2:00 I've never got in a gate so easily, quickly and without having to crawl/cramp through a tiny little tunnel before. Up to the bar on our side for a drink, its a sea of red, heineken flowing like the shannon, we have a jar, nerves starting to show a little, biting sarcy remarks flying worse than usual. I go down the steps under the overhanging second tier and look up............
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2:40 I've just spent the last half hour or so looking around with my jaw dropped, I'm gobsmacked, I can't put into words what I feel at this moment. I've never been to a place like this, there a Dancer strapped below a balloon floating around above me. It feels like I can walk out to her on the air here, the atmosphere is so thick with excitement and anticipation.
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It's strange, surreal somehow. I have never been to any major tournament match where the roof was closed and I can't explain how I feel. Its' one big party, "The fields of Athenry" shakes the ground every ten minutes or so, we're jumping up and down singing, laughing, joking. Ten minutes later the teams come out onto the pitch, there is a magnificent roar. (I meet a Leicester fan later who tells me that when the Tigers came out there was the usual hand clapping etc. on his side of the pitch, then Munster walked out and the stadium shook with the roar, he put his hands over his ears and said "oh god, what are ye doing to me, what are ye going to do to us.....) Having the roof closed amplifies every shout, every roar reverberates around and around, I've never heard or seen anything like it. The hairs are nearly curing on the back of my neck they're standing up so long.. The kick off....The roar goes up again... we're away.......God almighty what is the full back doing letting the ball bounce like that in front of him, oh nooooooooooo..... they've scored, one minute into the game and we're down seven points cos he'll definitely kick the conversion.....The relief is unbeleivable when we eventually see the ref call the players back for some infringement, close one Munster........Doesn't bode well though.
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3:45 Half time, mixed emotions, we haven't done as well as I thought we would, A guy and a girl have just walked past alongside the touchline in front of us, he has a wedgie, she helps by pulling his trousers down to his ankles. Then another walks past, suit, shirt and tie, very stern, proper, correct and formal-looking except he has a green face.... A Devilish looking guy with a red painted face follows on twenty yards behind him and stops behind one of the stewards who doesn't see him. It's all abit of a play on the two types of fans in the stadium (Leicester green formal, proper and correct; Munster red, devilish, playful, quite fitting actually) She turns around and jumps about four feet into the air when she sees his red face and horned head two inches from hers... The party atmosphere continues, we're ahead, just, by one point and I always reckoned that Munster were definitely a second half team, they've won most of their big matches with a massive performance in the second half, I'm confident we'll do it again. Lineout is a big worry though, its doing very poorly, but Frankie is back on and things are settling down.. I have received about six text messages from home telling us that the Bruff Banner has been seen on the telly about six times, and I feel great, we're all on the map. well done Dave O Keeffe, noone else would have thought of it. Here we go, kick off, second half, COME ON MUNSTERRRRRRR.......
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4:45 Tears, there's Grown men crying all around, most of us are just sitting slumped in our chairs unable to speak, the unbeleivable has happened, again, we've come this far and lost. I wasn't there the last two times but I now know what it feels like, I can't talk, there's a lump in my throat, my eyes burn and if I try to speak I'm afraid that all that will come out is a choked sob. I see faces all around me that have changed from excitement and elation to utter horror and despair within a forty five minute period.
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Back's parentage has been cut asunder by everyone all around who saw the replay of the "BACKHANDER" on the big screen. "Swing low, sweet chariot" starts up , we're disgusted, they wait until the end before they start singing the damned song, Munster fans all around me boo and hiss, but yet when the Leicester players walk around in front of us they get clapped, we can show them the respect they earned from us. Back hasn't the guts to do it or maybe I just can't see him. There's Munster players lying on the ground, burying their faces into the dirt, hiding their tears, Gaillimh is in bits, I can see his face from where we are four rows up from the touchline, he carries his Daughter in his arms, tears on his face. Oh god, poor Peter, this is the end for him, I feel so sorry for him, the cheer that went around the ground when he came off, fitting for a player of his stature and calibre, the essence of Munster rugby, gutsy, hard, tough, rough. Now he must be devastated. I get a flashback of when we first met, working together on the Building sites in Shannon, playing soccer at lunchtime with himself and his brother Ger (a Munster wing-forward in those amateur days) in the heat of the hottest summer that I can remember. They were plastering, I was drilling holes in concrete working for my father. We never dreamed then that now, thirteen years later that we would all end up over here....
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We clap and cheer as the guys do a quick walkabout, interrupted by the Medal ceremony, but afterwards they start it up again, circling the ground and we roar, we cheer and we share the grief.... I look towards Gino Jnr. walking towards me along the line of seats and have to look away because the expression on his face and the tears in his eyes makes my eyes burn again. We shuffle up the steps, not looking back at the field of green that tore a provinces heart out.

5:45We've had a few jars, things don't feel so bad, the indomitable spirit of the Munster fan kicks in and we are beginning to smile and joke a little. Another female munster supporter walks past while I'm lining up some of the lads for a Shot and she offers to take it while I jump in. At least by now we can smile for the camera.
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The Heineken bar has been drank dry of Heineken and the lads are drinking Strongbow. Myself and Dunnser walk down into the now empty stadium for one last look, I couldn't face it before now. We strike a conversation with a steward from cardiff who is as disappointed as we are and informs us, as the roof rolls back at a cost of £6 and twenty-five minutes, that they are going to lay down gravel around that hallowed turf and there's going to be Speedway racing there on wednesday night. A sense of perspective returns after this statement, after all, it's only a game, the cleanup has already begun, it's another night on the job for him and we have another night in Cardiff to face before we return. We'll make the most of it, as only we know how, and just as Kathy Halloran lines up the camera for an interview with Peter Stringer on the Halfway line, we climb up the steps for the last time and file out of the stadium to meet the lads in Yates's bar beside the ground.
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7:30 The party is in full swing, The Leicester fans in Yates's think that we are totally off the wall asking us what we would be like if we had won. We reply, "you'll see next year". I get a text message from Mairéad (My good lady) which simply asks "Whats the mood like" I look around me at the antics, and reply that we're "Having a ball, dancing, singing, joking. Just one big party, I'll see you Tomorrow". I get another telling me that my three year old daughter kept asking what the "big red finger on the telly" was so make sure to bring one home, and that when she was told that I wouldn't be home until tomorrow stated that "Daddy is still in the shower after the rubby match" God bless her three year old perspective on things. I'm feeling a lot better now, A minute ago I turned to Gino jnr. at the bar, saw the expression on his face, looked him straight in the eye and said "F*** it, now we have a crack" With a Grin his voice boomed out the words of "Delilah" which was being played by the DJ and we're off again.
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11:30 Some of the lads are well on it now, Dunnser and the Gino's have bailed out for dinner somewhere, dancing leg's are flagging but the mood is upbeat, Welsh girls line up to chat to us and we're feeling no pain at all. (Remember that I'm not drinking so I'm okay, can't speak for the others at this stage). The D.J. has gone through his complete record collection and has started from the beginning again. We decide that it's time to move on but are told by the girls that it's nearly impossible to get in anywhere with rugby jerseys or runners on. They inspect us and make some changes to our apparel by swapping where necessary and off we go. We are being brought to a place called "Life" on St. Mary St., But they're jammed, there's a queue and they're not letting in single fellahs anymore. One of the girls just grabs me by the arm, (Thanks, by the way, for the offer Michelle, you absolutely gorgeous, welsh, amazonesque, five foot ten or so, twenty-four year old Policewoman complete with leather trousers, chain link belt, high heeled boots and halter top, I felt ten years younger, a great feeling when you're grey, to get the offer is nice) and in I shoot though the crowd of yung fellahs at the door, gorgeous babe on my arm, to spend Half an hour trying to get a drink at the bar. I succeed eventually but we decide that enough is enough, we're away to somewhere else less dance music-like.

12:30We're away to "Kiwi's" I'm told as I'm dragged out the door, up a side street where I'm told that the rugby crowd goes to normally. Two of our crowd manage to get in a side door with a members pass belonging to someone we meet along the way, the rest of us have to queue patiently outside for about a half hour. Time is ticking away at this stage. they're letting people in as people leave. We get in and again have a struggle to get to the bar, I get introduced to more Police who are also involved in Rugby (the two must go hand in hand over here) and we have a jar or three, the craic is great, and we all slag off the English.

1:20 We have to get to the bus. I get directions to the City hall from the Blonde cop, tell her that she's a gorgeous babe (the truth), get a kiss on the cheek for my troubles and leg it out the door because we're late. Running up St. Mary St. becuase we're really late now, we have to pass through wave upon wave of Munster fans coming against us. The party mood seems to be alive and well still at this hour. Dash under the tunnell and there we are, bang on 1:30. Joe has the bus there and we all board, we have about forty returning which is good for the saturday night of a rugby tour (The yungsters never make it, having got lucky and the older ones have well bailed out and gone back to the Hotel at this stage). On the way back we are regaled with stories of who did what, I am well tired and site down on the courier seat to talk to joe, being the only sober person on the bus at this stage.

2:00, back at the hotel, the night porter lets us in looking for the room numbers to prove that we actually are staying in the hotel. Chicken replies "Jaysus, take a look, can't you see that there's no women coming back with us. Forty fellahs and not a bird pulled between them, for f*** sake will you stop and let us in". We head to the bar and the party continues. Sean Dunne is showing everyone his fifteen year old Bodhrán which some gobshite from Leicester punched his fist through on the way back to the bus. Myself and Seamus Sheehan spend the next two hours upsetting the attempts of all the yung fellahs to chat up Jenny Conway (to the great pleasure of Dunnser and the Chick). Some of the guys are sproting new nicknames after the trip, "Big T, J Co., TIT, and Mr. Ass" to name a few...

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5:00 We carry some of the flagging (Some would say flogged) bodies up the stairs as they failed to make it under their own steam. I was asked to take pictures of one particular player who had caved, and took two , but in the spirit in which I am allowed to take pictures on these away tours (Highly dangerous thing, a sober body with a camera) I delete the most offensive on and leave the other, we head off to bed at 5:45 leaving three stragglers behind at the bar. The room is empty for the second night running (Told you didn't I?) so I fall into bed (INSERT PIC).

9:00, Sunday 26thThe room phone is ringing, I must have turned off the mobile and gone back to sleep. The not too dulcet tones of Gino screaming down the earpiece at me to get up for breakfast. Rinse the body under the shower and away to breakfast with the thought that he'll turn up. I turn the corner into the dining table and there's the yung fellah, big red eyes and forty sterling lighter for the taxi out from wherever he ended up. (I was the same a decade or so ago on tour so no questions asked and no lies will be told etc. etc., you get the drift...). Breakfast is a doddle this time (now that we know what to expect) so I get back to the room and get ready for the off. Gino jnr. is back in Sergeant Major mode again, regarding getting bodies on the bus and so on, so theres a quick head count to discover that quite a few are missing. Eventually we think we're all on , final head count. Two missing. Gino storms into the hotel, (I mentally picture the sight and sound of the crunching of Stormtroopers jackboots being planted on the bedroom doors), Ten minutes later, they surface, Gino having packed their bags, while they dressed after getting into their rooms and pulling them unceremoniously out of their beds. We're rolling. one of the guys is not functioning at all well. Thirty minutes on the road and we have to make the first of a few "puke breaks", he's puking we get off and smoke. Three more of these along the road (I'm sparing his blushes by not naming him, but we all know who) and eventually we hit Pembroke.

12:45 This is where it fell apart a little bit. Some of the lads (Without consulting gino jnr. of course as in their words afterwards "he'd ate them already") ask the boat staff when we'll be boarding, are told Two O' Clock and decide to head for lunch (liquid and solid) up the town a little bit. I head into the terminal and grab a coffee, a smoke, freebie indo from the pile in the corner, and settle down for a read before realising the bloody mobile is missing (I have a habit of losing them on tour) and spend ten minutes looking for the damn thing. Eventually after searching the bus, walking around in circles, crawling under things on my hands and knees, I meet Seanie Dunne (Now recovered from the loss of the fifteen year old bodhrán) who says he found it under the seat in the terminal just after I got up to go looking for it. I settle in for a read to be told that we are boarding the bus. Not realising of course that little bruv was one of the missing crew, I sat patiently for the off while Martin does a head count. Six missing...... we wait for a couple of minutes while frantic calls are made to mobiles, three turn up having left mid-lunch.......Martin's patience totally gone at this stage eventually turns to me and says "Right there's four missing, one of them is your brother, here's five tickets, you wait for them if you want, we're going......." I get off the bus, (I'm not as patient as Martin) visions of how badly my fist/boot/knee will damage someones head when I hit them, storm up around the corner to see the four eejits walking down the street towards me. I scream at the top of my hoarse and damaged voice "will ye for f*** sake move yer f****** arses". Garry knows that tone........ He broke into a run, the three with him break into a run, I turn around and get back on the bus, Martin says "Thanks Dick", I'm still seeing red and can't answer..... We get inside the checkpoint (About fifty yards) and promptly settle down for a half hour wait. When I've calmed down enough for a smoke, I get off and of course just after lighting up, we're told to move onto the boat. I remember the words "It's going to be one of those days" Crossing through my mind, as I get back on and we're on the boat. Coffee, Lunch (Chicken wrapped in ham, they forgot the ham), and a smoke or two later with the "Simon's" Bunch and I've calmed enough to have a conversation, to the point that I'm able to ignore the left nostril syndrome (Seamus Sheehan and myself have coined this phrase and he can explain this to you if you really want to know). Right, Tour of boat, get dutyfree fags to smoke in the shop, move up to the bar and settle down resting the legs, Sean asks "what the f*** was all that about by the way?" (he was one of the last four with little bruv, no doubt I will pay dearly for my outburst during a physical sometime next season, he's the fitness coach), I explain, we have a laugh (thank god), we talk about touring and he cannot understand how we do it, he's been on GAA and soccer tours but nothing had ever hurt him like this one, he's in pain he claims, I sleep..............

15:05 I wake up to the strains of some gobshite after hijacking the microphone from the onboard entertainment (who were doing very well without him, thank you) singing some godawful Ochón that noone could understand. Chicken asks "Why is it that the eejits that can't sing know ALL the bloody words". We try to drown him out after the second verse by clapping loudly and cheering but it doesn't work (these people always have leather for necks) and he carries on regardless.
Two games of forty five later, I've lost my shirt (six euro's to be exact) but manage to pawn the torn ten Euro note that I've spent a fortnight trying to get out of my wallet onto the DAV (A fullback/winger/solicitor in whatever order you like) and spend the next few minutes laughing and joking about it while losing another euro (He manages to dump the tenner into the kitty for the driver later and get five euro's change so he was happy enough not to have to buy sellotape). Game is over and we get on the bus (Some ribald comments in the elevator to deck three between myself and Ollie about weight, I wouldn't mind, there isn't an ounce between us anyway).

19:25The doors open and we get off, and promptly get stuck at the bottom of the ramp..... Fr. Joe gets out, directing operations while the driver pumps up the air in the shocks and away we go again. Gino Snr. takes over the microphone telling everyone that "there won't be a stop for three quarters of an hour, that that will be for relief purposes only, and if your in trouble just hold onto it, Fr. Joe will say novena's if necessary". One of the female passengers made the mistake of saying that that was rather sexist and asked what she would do, to be told "do one of the lads a favour and hold it for him". The gino's and myself break into an argument about the correct route home.......

20:30Relief stop at the old Roadstone plant outside Waterford. We get some stories from Fr. joe about his seminary days, relief, smoke and we're away again. Fr. Joe kicks off the singing with his own version of "Galway Bay" and Gino Jnr. discreetly arranges a standing ovation for "THE BARLOW" after his rendition of "A chuisle geal mo chroí, will you buy a box from me", and "The humour is on me now" (These are the Barlow's standard songs that seasoned tourers know off by heart, and he never fails to please). This harmless entertainment gets us most of the way home, Fr. Joe and Gino text jokes back and over to each other, I spend half an hour convincing Gino Jnr. that he's not an alcoholic (I always have to do this with someone on tour, comes with being the resident reforming one, it usually follows after the line "I Don't know how the hell you stay off the drink and listen to this shite all the time"). This passes more time for me telling my life story, Abridged version, and probably bores the hell out of Gino, who returns the favour by telling me stories about the "Little town of Emly". Deeper conversations follow (as they do) then suddenly we're in Knockainey and it's time to ring the mother to pick me up in Bruff to return me to my car.

22:45 Dave O' Keeffe does the necessary speech, and we land in the town of Bruff, and Gino was right, the bus could get around the corner (I apologise profusely for doubting). I've shaken his hand and thanked him for the trip and the organisation, because no-one else would bother their arse doing the work, and even if they did, they wouldn't do it as well. I get into the mother's car , the lads head for Clarkes with the intention of hitting the "Bulge" after, I once was able for that too but not any more, all I want is my bed and my wife, and this was the shortest tour yet, I must be getting old...........

Monday 27thIt was great, we came, we braved the storm (Thanks to Willie Schumacher), we stood in awe at a fabulous stadium, we basked in a brilliant atmosphere, we hoped, we laughed, we cried, we won Cardiff over with our good natures, our revelry, and yes, it was worth every penny, every last minute and if you guys allowed me I'd do it all again tomorrow (with my wife's permission). Thanks to a great crew of lads, Thanks again Martin, Pat and Dunnser for the effort you put in, I'll wear the jacket for ever as a reminder of one fabulous experience. Pity about the game but in the immortal words of that great poet "two out of three ain't bad". The best one yet? DEFINITELY!!!!!

P.S. Footnote: Please ignore any references to Sergeant major etc.. I do tend to exaggerate a bit (As you know) and all stories need a bad guy, Gino jnr. just happened to be the easiest target, no offence meant.......Seriously........Selector........Sir.

Tuesday 28th,
I heard a good one this morning, it appears that the Foam pads from the goalposts were swiped after being removed following the game last saturday. Rumour has it that two students in college in Galway were the culprits, well done lads, Thats about the best momento that you can get from a game like that! The trouble would be getting two seven or eight foot pads home......