Some Experiences of a Deputy PM
“Two-Jags” John Prescott (aka Tony Bowers) takes his Christmas break in Cambridgeshire and relates his experiences at the Boxing Day Hockey match between Prior and Bulbeck.
WEDGY BENN keeps a diary. Has done for years and he’s a proper Socialist. So why not me? Betty says it will come in handy when they give me the push. “You can hold it over their heads like a Sword of Daffocles,” she said. “Threaten to publish, then sell the rights to the Mail anyway.” Sounds like blackmail to me. Here goes!
Pauline’s got a pension for big hats and funny friends. “We’re going to spend Christmas with Frank and Dorothea, in Cambridgeshire.”
“What’s wrong with Yorkshire?”
“Full of Yorkshire men.”
“Well what’s Cambridgeshire full of? Sugar beet and a few fox hunting farmers, Tories to a man. Oh yes, and snooty academics,” I said. Still, at least it’s not Cherie and Tony’s magna carta. Cambridge reckons to have a ‘radical tradition’ (whatever that is). Just so long as it’s not all bloody New Labour!
Right! Let’s put a foot in the lion’s mouth then. Turned out to be one of those posh, old houses that should have been pulled down years ago; the sort with two sets of stairs so you don’t meet the servants on the way to bed; and stables that still have horses in them. Fact is, there was only room for his Roller and her Range Rover. The Jags had to stand outside, covered in frost. The husband, Frank, Sir Frank, sells machines at a £100,000 a throw to bankrupt farmers. Lady Dorothea, Pauline’s friend, is a Professor of Mandolin Chinese. I said she’d be right useful down our local take-away. Got it in the neck later from Pauline. Had pheasant for Christmas dinner. Not much to them is there? Give me turkey any day. Frank shot them his self. “Hope you like them well-hung.” This to P. She didn’t half give him an old-fashioned look.
“Best enjoy them while you can,” I said. “Now we’ve put our shoulders to the plough and got fox hunting by the tail, it’ll be the bird in the bush next.” No one seemed to have an answer to that.
Listened respectfully to Liz Windsor (didn’t let on that’s Cherie’s nick name for HMQ, come the Republic). Don’t remember much about the evening. Sir Frank’s port went down a bit too well. Still, Pauline said I made as much sense as usual, so that’s all right.
Boxing Day, I managed to slide out of going to church. Not keen on the God stuff. Get enough of it at work. What with Tony banging on about G.W’s direct line to the Almighty, and Cherie’s spiritual experiences while burning essential oils in her navel. And now there’s this new Kelly woman. Scary or what? Pauline loves church though. Great opportunity to wear a big hat.
Afterwards they all said I couldn’t miss one of the highlights of the year –the Boxing Day battle of the Swaffhams. A hockey match. My God! Murderous middleclass girls, I thought, egged on by Volvo loads of middle-class mams and dads. “Time to meet your public,” said Frank. “More like meet my Maker,” thought I. “I’m on holiday. I prefer to stay synonymous.” It was a bit difficult, but they got the message in the end and dressed me up in a tweed cap, duffle-coat and green wellies. I looked just like one of the locals. Hate to think what they would have made of it in Hull.
Turned out to be a rum do all round. For a start, the teams weren’t lasses at all. There was the odd girl among the men. Bit like Tony’s token women in the cabinet if you ask me. Then there was the pitch. Didn’t reckon much to that either. More mud than grass and even I could see it was a football field. I said so to Frank. Apparently there isn’t a hockey pitch in the villages. “So why do they play hockey?” I said. “Why not football like they do in Ashbourne on Pancake Day and kick the ball from one village to another?” Dorothea thought that football was flea bitten ( I think that’s what she said) and anyway how lots of Swaffham people had played hockey at school or college, and how there were even one or two blues on the field. Must remember to ask Betty what all that meant.
As for the game, couldn’t make head or tail of it. The players all seemed to be running around like a bunch of Tories looking for a leader. Frank said I should shout for Bulbeck as I was staying in the village. “Better if I stay dumb,” I told him. Seemed amused by that. Anyway, I don’t like being on the losing side. Had enough of that under Neil. Bulbeck went a goal down inside five minutes and, trust me, or rather, to be honest. Oh, hell! What I mean is they never looked like winning and finished up losing 3 nil. Funny thing, most of the danger came from the right wing. Seemed so familiar, I wondered if Mandy, the Man of Mystery, was over from Brussels and playing for Prior. Plenty of rough and tumble. Peter would have loved that.
Bulbeck tried hard enough. I’ll say that for them. Trouble is they kept falling over and leaving the ball behind. Bit like some ministerial colleagues of mine! Prior had a couple of likely lads at the back, so their goalie had a bit of a chilly time of it. He was wearing a pair of wings and what looked like a halo. Pauline thought he might be a Christmas fairy, but I said he was a guardian angel. Pity there wasn’t a gentleman of the press on hand to depreciate my wit. Our goalie did a pretty good job in the circumstances. Kept kicking the ball though. Dorothea said the goal keepers were allowed to do that. Seemed daft to me. He was dressed all in blue and fighting a lost cause. Must have been a Tory.
Noticed the teams kept stopping to suck oranges and change players. Dorothea said most of them only played once a year and needed frequent rests. (Keep selling off the playing fields, Kelly). Every time they stopped we had a plastic cup of mulled wine fortified from Frank’s hip flask. By the end of the game I was ready to sing the Red Flag. Wonder how that would have gone down?
Went to the pub afterwards, in enemy territory. More people there than watching the game. Ale was good, I’ll say that. Plenty of chat about bell ringing, test scores, free-range turkeys, as well as post mortems on the match. Not a mention of politics. Frank thought I’d be pleased. Dorothea said people sometimes resorted to politics “when all else failed.” Just what I’ve been telling TB for years. We need more bottoms up initiatives not top down targets. Heard some muttering about eligibility of players. Thought to myself, “No need to worry. Old Charlie Jug Ears (I don’t mean HRH) and his ID cards will sort out that sort of thing”. Knew they’d come in handy somehow.
In the end I was glad to get back in the Jag and head for the M11. Told Pauline I couldn’t wait to see all that boring country densely covered in nice, tidy, little, heavily mortgaged dwelling units filled with Our People (as Tony cosily calls them). Not a hockey player in sight. In fact I think I’ll tell Tessa about that damned football field. Make a grand place for a super casino. Only snag is, chaps like Sir Frank stand to make a ruddy fortune out of land sales. Unless ‘Golden rule Gordon’, everybody’s flexible friend at Number 11, can come up with something novel in the tax line – which I doubt not. Dourly devilish and devilishly dour is our wee Scots bean counter. Who says my command of English isn’t consummated?
Pauline enjoyed her visit. Said she thought it would be a shame to lose all that English eccentricity. “Think we’ll try cheese rolling next year.” I sometimes wonder if she’s not a, what do you call it, a convent Tory?
Postscript
In case you missed it in the above report the final score was 3-0 to Swaffham Prior. £82.10p was raised and donated to Magpas.
Here is a little bit of sporting history for those who have recently arrived in Swaffham Prior. The very first hockey match was on Boxing Day 1988. Bulbeck fielded an excellent team while we turned out the usual miscellaneous rabble you associate with mixed hockey. We did very well only to lose 2-4. The same make up of teams met in 1989 and it became very war-like. We managed to draw 0-0 but it was not good news. The longest anyone had to be off work was two months and there was such bitterness the match was abandoned until 1993. In the meantime Prior had regrouped, adopted a new approach and signed on new players. Below is a complete list of the results with Prior appearing in bold when winning, draws are in italics and Bulbeck get the rest.
- 1988 (2-4)
- 1989 (0-0)
- 1993 (2-0)
- 1994 (3-0)
- 1995 (3-0)
- 1996 (4-2)
- 1997 (0-2)
- 1998 (0-2) (after this second defeat, the captain was sacked!!)
- 1999 (3-0)
- 2000 (3-0)
- 2001 (5-1)
- 2002 (2-1)
- 2003 (0-0)
- 2004 (3-0)