Chapter 1 – Unlimited Chicken
It was a brisk early spring morning when 14 groggy and reluctant llamas herded themselves to Gatwick airport for 05.30am. Dressed lavishly in full tour regalia we split early and dined at Wagamama and ITSU respectively – kudos to young James Dodsworth who enjoyed his imported morning lager but most refused the customary airport Spoons' pint.

Christopher Hudson, first on the aircraft, showed great concern that he may have been on the wrong plane when no one else was on with him. The plane didn’t, and never would’ve left without us, and despite being late to the gate we boarded to the odd raised eyebrow. Hudson’s eagerness was to be a mistake.

An hour delay sat on the plane followed. This was due to the baggage driver over excitedly ramming his large vehicle once too many times into the baggage hold and getting it stuck. Many fire engines were called.

Sleep deprived and thirsty; real camaraderie and borderline friendship was formed in the dark times on the runway. Keen flyer Hudson was even awarded a lovely tour gift in the form of a prestigious novelty cap.

We were eventually rewarded for our piety and soon Malta bound.

On arrival we quickly took stock of our accommodation and surroundings – we scoured the plethora of local beaches and soon found our first watering hole. Michael Plimsoll meanwhile; not enamoured with the Plaza Regency, thought long and hard about upgrading to the Marriott.

Bar secured, it was our first encounter with the legendary local brew CISK. A very fine beverage that kept the herd well hydrated and nourished throughout our adventures.

For that evening’s cuisine we were promised a chicken extravaganza and it did not disappoint. We were led to a fine establishment that catered to our extensive needs where they plied us with games, alcohol and unlimited chicken wings.

Bibs and plastic gloves were provided and ‘chicken fiend’ Chris Mallows turned in his best performance on tour - outright demanding more from the overrun young staff - his lust for chicken knowing no bounds.

Hooky meanwhile, on his very own exponential trajectory and finally in his element, would not stop ordering jaeger for anyone in sight.

We soon exited and embarked on something equating to a pub crawl and in the midst of chaos a certain Ant of Ireland; quintessentially late to tour, managed to enter the affray having finally found his overly exuberant herd. Ant will be in a better position to describe the rest of proceedings as details from here on in are somewhat difficult to corroborate – what is certain is Mr Hook likely upset some local bar folk.

Chapter 2 – Gone Girl
Unsurprisingly, many struggled to make the 08.15am bus transfer to the ground. Whoever organised this needs flogging and not in a good way.

Mr Cross was the first victim likely due to sharing a room with the immortal Mr Hook.

The real surprise for the bookies was that Rambo made the transfer in spite of his dishevelled appearance and vomit stained white shirt.

We entered the Maltese national ground passing through several layers of security to be greeted by a very intimate and dark changing room and a very keen Old Hill CC netting pre match. It became clear that most of the Marsa Sports Club money had been spent on the tennis and golfing facilities but we weren’t to be deterred as Llamas thrive in all environments.

For his tardiness Ant was elected skip for game one. We lost the toss and fielded first. A sign of things to come.

James Dodsworth dropped the very first ball of tour. A regulation catch low to his left at cover, which in hindsight makes him responsible for everything else that followed.
21 dropped catches were to follow in the next 65 overs of cricket. Likely some sort of record and this categorically underpinned our tour.

We quickly discovered the level and tour friendliness of the prestigious 4 way competition was not what we expected and wasn’t to our liking. Nonetheless we put up admiral cricketing displays in all games; but alas it is difficult to win without catching the ball.

We had initially scoffed at the idea of playing 15 over games but soon appreciated 15 overs can become an eternity when getting pumped to all parts on 2 hours of drunken sleep. Still 130 seemed chaseable. Well initially anyway.

The batting order set, opener Chris Mallows thought it was a joke how far back the keeper was standing. It was not. Northants trialist S P Keeling Wright steamed in for a fiery spell.
As wickets inevitably started to fall and a very familiar panic engulfed the changing room, some became aware that designated batsman number 9 was awol.

The hunt for Rambo was on.

News slowly filtered in that he’d abandoned his teammates, left the premises and gone for a nap at the hotel. Unfathomable! Many spent the rest of the afternoon best deciding how this travesty should be punished and he was unceremoniously removed from the group chat and exiled.

Cricketing wise we only managed to muster 72/5 off our 15 in response.

The second game didn’t start until 4pm so the Llamas licked their wounds and regrouped in the long lull. Our very own Brummie/Peaky Blinder Steve Cross decided to grace us with his large presence for the second game and as he hadn’t witnessed the first game, he was unanimously appointed skipper. A just replacement for the useless Rambo.

Electing to field for some reason this time we tried our luck against an All-Star Marsa CC XI. Cider 1 (C Gurbutt 3-21) and the shouty Skipper S Cross (1-16) bowled well with little to no support from the field and J Dodsworth, ever trying to redeem himself, was the pick of the bowlers taking 5 –14 including a priceless maiden.

Marsa CC 119-9 off their 15 - we really thought we would be in with a chance of chasing this.
We posted 113-3 in response; we probably didn’t go hard enough with blokes in the shed toward the end but what would I know.

The evergreen A Ireland 45* off 36 and A Hook 25 off 22 batted well but clearly not well enough.

J Miller with shot of the century, hitting the rapid opener for 6 over cover with a serene classic drive. This for many was the highlight of tour and lives on in the minds of many to this very day. Look out for any attempted re-creations this season. Joel avoided the bouncer narrowly next ball too and was politely told to try and drive it again.

Back on the bus and hotel bound to freshen up for dinner and another night on the sauce.

Rambo sheepishly emerged from his slumber to join the walk into town for steak – the best known cure for everything.

It was a gorgeous evening walk along the harbour until it became a little seedy. Que a very awkward and ‘eye’s forward’ walk through the red light district which had some questioning the route but we made it to the night’s steak restaurant nonetheless.

The very fancy steakhouse had many baffled by the selections of cow available; fortunately the more sophisticated Llamas guided the group. We learnt what Langoustines are and even Michael Plimsoll, who was out of his seat every two minutes to look at bottles of wine, seemed content with life.

The group made sure Rambo had his portions tightly controlled and was lucky to find himself with a literal T-Bone to chew on.

Heading back through the now very lively red light district, Cardiff Tour Enthusiast Toby was halted by a charming ‘female’ local and given some very practical intimate advice. Hopefully he’s worked on this since.

Chapter 3 – Merciful Afternoon Game
A blissful morning to ourselves was just what the Llama gods had ordered and we turned up much fresher than normal and with high hopes of securing our first tournament win. It was not to be.

Fielding still not our strong point we conceded 149-4 off Marsa CC’s 15 overs. This was supposedly another configuration of Marsa CC’s pool of players several of whom play for their national team.

Rambo and Cross, fresh from their recent ski trip, were the designated openers for this one and did not disappoint. Both chewed extensively and refused to be dismissed, as they continued setting the much needed platform against a backdrop of abuse from the sideline. Some say their actions would go on to be proved correct, as the platform enabled us to post by far our best total yet. Some small minded folk however, will disagree.

Other highlights include former Captain Hook rightfully squaring up to the opening bowler during the world’s worst and most over exuberant send off.

And T. Briggs (Cardiff Tour Enthusiast) on Tour debut, after having to be bullied into bowling in the first innings; managed to survive a mere 13 deliveries before dramatically going down on all fours and having to retire hurt with the air ambulance on stand-by.
128-7 chasing off our 15. Getting closer.

Having regrouped back at base and smelling fresher than earlier, the herd once again strutted the streets of Sliema, this time searching for suitable watering holes that were showing the rugby. England v Wales to be precise, and it would be a long evening for part time Welshman Mallows, who enjoyed the Welsh performance to the bitter end.
In between the games we squeezed in some delightful local Maltese cuisine and provided strong vocals in a rapturous rendition of Happy Birthday for the restaurant children.

After dinner we walked the streets at something of a loose end, trying to decide where we should head next. A few desserts later and the group had split in two. One half taking in a road side wine bar with some of the slowest service you’ll ever experience; and the other aiming for something closer to HQ. The trouble with this is too many developed a yearning for their beds, being so close to home.

The vanguard pressed on and despite losing a few good men, including keen triathlete Cider 1, they managed to establish another base in what can only be described as the best pub on the island. It was Hook and Rambo, like Armstrong and Aldrin before them, that first crossed the precipice.

With the initial intentions of just one ham and cheese toasty and a jaeger night shot each, it quickly led to something far more beautiful. The locals loved us and we sang many, many songs. We were delighted to be hosted by Maltese Hooky (slightly shorter but similar build), who plied us with lots of free shots and got into a long drawn out and slightly disturbing dance off with the real McCoy.

There was jaeger and ‘exotic’ dances for all and some lucky young local girls got far more than they could ever have imagined.

Ham & cheese toasties and an insight into the last days of Sodom, the pub did eventually have to close to in order prevent a police presence.

We brave few had been roundly rewarded for our pig headed perseverance.

Chapter 4 – Cricket is the Winner
Another 08.15am start; 11 bewildered llamas took to the field relieved that the cricketing end was in sight but also keen to get that elusive win.

Now a 20 over game, we were put in the field by Old Hill CC. We were this time relieved to see they were using a few more squad members and that this could actually be a good natured and evenly matched tour game.

The early rate was kept well under control with Mankelow, Rambo and Hook all going for less than 4 an over. We did however make the mistake of taking a few wickets which brought out their hitter Keeling-Wright. He started teeing off straight away, hitting some huge bombs all around the ground. Mallows and C. Gurbutt were the unlucky souls to be bowling at the time but through an innate craftiness, Gurbutt did manage to get Keeling-Wright (57 off 21 with 6 bombs) to miscue one to a wide cover where Rambo, in a rare moment of clarity, managed to snaffle it. Keeling-Wright gone, we wrapped up the innings without too much fuss. Pick of the bowlers though would have to be S. Cross for his 4 overs 4-31 when the heat was really on.

131-7 was our final target and last chance for tour redemption. It would also mean that we’d actually finish 3rd in the 4 team tournament somehow.

It was a nervous sideline for some reason but despite losing a few wickets it was a masterful chase in the end. Orchestrated by the unflappable chosen one and future PM J. Dodsworth. His 62 off 58 dragging us to victory well within the last over with a sumptuous late cover drive it was the very epitome of one man’s journey and triumph within the beautiful game.
Cricket is notoriously a funny old mistress and Dodsworth going full circle from dropping the very first ball of our campaign; to almost singlehandedly batting us to victory with an exquisite chase in the last game is just ever so poetic. There has to be meaning there.
Basking in our glory we enjoyed our last Marsa Sports Club supper and warmly received their generous tokens of gratitude in the form of a small Maltese boat snow globe. Some younger readers may have received one recently as a gift.

Back at base once again we had a few hours to reflect, spruce up and prepare mentally for that evenings final Tour Court. It had weighed heavily on the minds of some more than others.

The Final Tour Court covered many and all discrepancies from the last couple of days. It was to be held in the beautiful seaside bar that we had initially enjoyed on the first day. Tour court is mandatory as was full tour uniform. Any lateness or tardiness would not go unpunished.

Captain Hook would lead proceedings with his enforcer in Chief Shouty Cross. Baz Mankelow was on the appeals panel.

One by one tour performances both on and off the field were examined and laid bare for all to hear and just punishments were soundly handed out in the form of jaeger, vodka and tequila shots along with a few other surprises.

Rambo was made to wait till last and rightfully punished severely and ruthlessly for the disgrace he is.

After the court proceedings were over we were contractually obliged to go back to Marsa Sports Club for the very final presentations and more cuisine. They had been very hospitable hosts and we were, as always very gracious and appreciative of all that take us in.

A final Pub crawl was to follow. It was initially a little awkward with both us and Old Hill CC being herded together to a bar in town where chicken fiend mallows perked up. But we soon said our goodbyes to the oppo and ventured out on our own. With the energy levels not quite what they had been previously we opted not to go for the local offers of 72 shots and instead embarked on a more traditional pub crawl, taking in our favourite haunts, trading anecdotes and talking about better times and bygone eras.

Chapter 5 – Culture
Nearly all Llamas were extremely keen for a day of high culture and set off to commandeer a vessel to cross the sliver of water separating us from Valletta. We pulled into Valletta harbour and were very pleased to be greeted by our very own Jolly Roger.

We explored the seriously hilly streets of the picturesque Valletta. Roaming as a pack, we took in the midday firing of the canons, revelled in the local cuisine (Brigga discovering Bubble Tea) and then split into two groups. One heading to the war museum, the other to a famous church thing with paintings. Not everyone was impressed by Mr Caravaggio and his attempts at ‘art’.

We played tourists for a few more lovely hours before having to head back across the water and begin the wait for our transfer to the airport.

Arriving back at the hotel we couldn’t help but notice Old Hill CC were still there waiting for their transfer, and it quickly occurred to us, with the roads rammed and closed for St Paddy’s, that they weren’t making their flight and we might not either.

Rather than face another night out on the Jaegar a few of us were prepared to march the few miles to the airport fully laden with kit. Thankfully our bus driver emerged and what a driver he turned out to be. Mr B Driver appeared immune to the mounting llama pressure to navigate the best route out of the winding, narrow lanes of Sliema. He seemed to really appreciate Captain Hook’s back seat directions as well as Google’s and had to do the world’s tightest and sketchiest 180° at a roundabout, not take out any locals or restaurants, and get us on the correct open road.

The better Gurbutt informed us that Old Hill CC still weren’t at the airport despite setting off a good 2 hours before us. This lifted our spirits no end but also had more than a few of us accepting our own fate.

We did in the end make our flight, the Hard Rock Café do not offer fast reliable service and it was the last CISK any of us ever want to thirst upon.

A week of illness lay ahead for many courtesy of Joel Miller, and rumours and machinations of future Tours began taking shape.