Jersey Tour has become one of those things that feels bigger than just a football trip.
It’s a week of football, food, chaos, tiredness, laughter and memories that the boys will keep for years… and the coaches will probably need a sit down after. 

Helping the B Team get around the island for the week is Driver Foran, who has been part of GPSFA for approximately 91 years and driving the minibus for 76 of those. Alongside him is his grandson Romeo, who started coming to Jersey around 10 years ago at the age of 4, already looking like he’d been sent as some sort of support worker for his Grandad. He’s a brilliant addition to the group and the boys absolutely love him. 

Joining me in charge this week is Coach, Chairman, Videographer and full-time Memory Maker Stalley, whose knowledge, directness and encouragement for the boys were brilliant throughout, which came as a surprise to absolutely no one.

Obviously, joining us were the A Team and their coaches. 

Leading that group is the legend that is Bob… Mr GPSFA himself. Without him, none of this happens in the way it does for so many children. Even the Festival now leans on him more than he’d ever admit, and he’d absolutely hate me saying that. 

Alongside him are Simon, who is brilliant with the boys and helps me bring down the average age of the group….only just, and Steve… later known as “Smokey Steve” (I’ll let your children explain that one).

Anyway, on with the blog.

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Everyone arrives at Longlevens in outstanding spirits. Tour day has a very specific parental energy.

Some look like they’re about to miss their child deeply. Others look like they’ve just regained full control of their lives and can’t quite hide it.

Drew, whose family have done this before and therefore should absolutely know how time works, is the last to arrive. We’ll let them off.

There are hugs and kisses all round. Mainly from parents. Very few of them invited. The boys either accept this with a sort of quiet embarrassment or are just utterly rejecting.

Seats are then chosen for the journey to Southampton. This is where mistakes are made.

I take one look around and instantly realise I’ve played myself.

Badara, Squibbs, Glover-Hook, Faluyi, Bah, Ogungbangbe and Campbell are all within close proximity. Not just talking… projecting. At volume. Constantly. Like a surround sound system no one asked for.

At that exact moment, I briefly consider relocating my entire life to wherever Pearson and Callaghan are sitting.

We haven’t even reached Swindon before the first “how long until we’re there?” is asked.

Not once. Not twice. Repeatedly. With confidence. As if the answer might suddenly change if they just keep checking.

By the time we actually get to Swindon, it’s been asked roughly 217 times. That’s a conservative estimate. At one point I thought about just opening the doors and saying, “There we go lads, Jersey,” and seeing who committed.

Somewhere along the journey, talks begin about something called “The Jiggyman Empire.”

Membership is being handed out to selected members of the B Team. On what criteria? No idea. What does it involve? Also no idea.

From what I can gather, to gain access to this exclusive club, you have to “smack a Jiggyman gently.”

Which, as a sentence, raises more questions than it answers.

Who is the Jiggyman?

Why does he need smacking?

Why gently?

And why is this the entry requirement?

No one knows. Not even the people explaining it.

There’s then a full-scale debate about whether Drew should be allowed in after apparently messing up his lines. Standards are clearly high in this organisation, despite no one understanding what the organisation actually is.

Badara steps in to defend him, confidently stating, “He’s cold!”

At this point, doing my duty as a responsible adult, I head straight to the back to get him a blanket.

I’m then informed that “cold” actually means… good. Of course it does. Who knew that? No one.

Arrival at the airport quickly turns into an unofficial weigh-in.

Not for the boys themselves, obviously. For the suitcases. Priorities.

Badara comes in lightest with a very respectable 7.7kg. Efficient. Minimalist. Almost impressive… until you notice his carry-on bag, which appears to weigh roughly the same and is being carried like it contains bricks.

At the other end of the scale, Squibbs takes the title with a solid 16.7kg. No one knows what’s in there. There are suspicions. None of them good.

Stalley is the heaviest Coach. Enough said.

We also discover that oracle Bob Owen has, somehow, forgotten to bring actual footballs to the football festival.

Let that settle for a moment.

A football festival.

No footballs.

Impressive …. Or Numpty?

The rest of the coaches process this information in the only appropriate way, by immediately docking him at least 5 Attitude points. Some argue it should be more. There are calls for a full investigation.

Bob takes this well, mainly because there isn’t really a defence available to him.

It’s a tough look.

Even tougher to explain.

Somewhere in all of this, news filters through that Liverpool have been comfortably beaten by Manchester City. This results in Callaghan losing Attitude Points purely for supporting the wrong team.

Fair? No.

Correct? Also no.

Happening anyway? Absolutely.

Security is where things really come to life.

A surprising number of the boys suddenly look like they’ve got something to hide. No evidence of anything. Just… behaviour.

Callaghan, Drew and Whiting stand out immediately. Not for doing anything wrong, just for looking like they might have. Which, as it turns out, is enough.

They are all pulled aside and searched. Nicely, to be fair. Very polite. Still completely unnecessary if you ask them, which they will. Several times.

Badara, meanwhile, appears to have completely ignored the concept of liquid limits.

He confidently attempts to bring through a full bottle of shampoo. Not a travel bottle. Not “just under the limit.” A full, proper, “this will last a family of four” bottle.

This is, quite rightly, taken off him.

A tough lesson.

One he seemed surprised to learn.

We board the plane alongside both Newbury teams, meaning the general public are now sharing a flight with four youth football teams.

You can actually see the moment it dawns on them.

There are quiet glances. Subtle sighs. One or two people looking like they’re weighing up whether jumping out mid-flight is a viable option. Even once we’re in the air.

Badara, on his first ever flight, is understandably a bit unsure. To be fair, Squibbs is excellent with him. Very calm, very reassuring. Genuinely sweet.

Faluyi, meanwhile, announces that he doesn’t trust small planes. This is followed by him being spotted holding Campbell’s hand in what can only be described as a light prayer situation.

Cox is having a completely different experience, mainly because he’s sat near to Denslow, who is so overexcited he looks like he might actually burst. At one point his face is so red it becomes a concern.

As we get closer to Jersey, we fly past the edge of France. I point this out. Faluyi immediately dismisses it because he can’t see the Eiffel Tower. Which, in his defence, is apparently the only recognised indicator of France.

Members of the public nearby take this information in quietly, with the sort of expressions that suggest they didn’t expect an educational experience on this flight.

The landing is… wobbly. Very wobbly.

This is, of course, celebrated like we’ve just won a cup final. Full cheers. Applause. Probably unnecessary, but fully committed.

We collect the luggage and do a head count. Sadly, we still have everyone.

To the hotel, where it becomes immediately clear that I have learned absolutely nothing from previous tours, as I put Faluyi and Denslow in a room together.

A decision that will, without doubt, age me.

Thankfully, they are next to Coach Stalley, which makes them… his problem. A tactical masterstroke.

Drew and Price are paired up and handed over to Driver Foran, who will no doubt enjoy that thoroughly. Cox and Thompson are together, while the slightly more concerning trio of Squibbs, Badara and Whiting are placed next to me, which feels like a personal error.

Callaghan and Pearson take the middle room of the corridor. During unpacking, Callaghan loudly announces that his Mum has only packed him one shoe.

A strong claim. Delivered with confidence.

Within seconds of me checking his suitcase, the second shoe is found. Not hidden. Not buried. Just… sticking out the top of a pocket.

It’s going to be a long week.

With the boys unpacked and rooms looking… surprisingly reasonable so far, we head off for a walk to FB Playing Fields, where the games will be taking place this week.

The pitches look immaculate. Proper surfaces. The kind that make you think, “Right, we’re going to have to actually play well here.”

Next door is a race track, which naturally means only one thing. Racing.

Callaghan takes the first race. Strong performance. Minimal controversy.

Badara wins the second. Less graceful, more chaos, but a win’s a win.

We then move onto what is, without doubt, the most serious part of the tour… Food Scores.

This year, the boys are split into three leagues so everyone has a chance of competing:

The Premiership – Denslow, Badara, Thompson & Price

The elite. The veterans. The ones who haven’t dropped a point across previous tours.

In this league, everything that lands on your plate gets eaten. No excuses. No negotiations.

The Championship – Cox, Drew, Whiting & Pearson

Solid mid-table energy. Capable, but with potential for collapse.

The Pig Farmers Division 7 – Callaghan, Faluyi & Squibbs

A league that exists… and that’s about all we’ll say on that.

At tea, the menu arrives and immediately causes problems.

Minestrone soup is the popular starter. Safe. Sensible.

Drew, however, finds himself undone by what can only be described as a rice-salad… situation. It’s unclear what it was. It’s even less clear why it beat him. First point dropped.

Faluyi and Pearson both opt out of a starter altogether. Which, in this system, is a bold move if your aim is to immediately lose points.

Pearson then makes the first transfer of the tour, swapping leagues with Squibbs after quickly realising he may have aimed too high. A sensible decision, made early.

For mains, Coq Au Vin appears. A dish that is both funny to say and, for some, with all the bones difficult to trust.

To their credit, a number of the boys do well and get through it.

Denslow, however, produces the shock of the night.

He becomes only the second Premiership player in my time to drop a point on the opening evening, leaving some fish because he’s “full.”

Full enough to stop eating.

Not full enough to refuse ice cream.

This won’t be forgotten.

After tea, Denslow pulls out a Bumble Bee Teddy Bear and names his Buzz. Buzz has no choice but to be this week’s mascot. Nice touch.

Diaries are introduced to bring things back under control, as the boys were just starting to tip into full chaos mode.

The ice cream hasn’t helped. Particularly not for Faluyi, who appears to have entered a different energy bracket entirely.

The final scores of the day bring some solid diary efforts.

Some genuinely thoughtful entries. Some that suggest thinking may have briefly occurred.

Squibbs, however, manages to produce a strong 9… and then completely throw it away by forgetting to put his name on the front and not including strengths and weaknesses.

This is despite being reminded three separate times.

It’s an impressive level of self-sabotage.

Room inspections see Drew and Price as the only pair to achieve a perfect 10. Standards set early. Pressure applied to everyone else.

Buzz somehow ends up sleeping in with Badara, Squibbs and Whiting and some questionable things have happened to him already.

Whiting takes top spot for Attitude, after turning up with a pack of football cards for every player. A genuinely thoughtful gesture, and a clear attempt to secure early goodwill.

It works.

Overall, a successful first day.

No major incidents.

Everyone accounted for.

Standards set.

Plenty of time for that to unravel.

Sunday

Morning wake-up call reveals that Callaghan and Pearson are the only ones still asleep.

Apparently they “couldn’t get to sleep until midnight,” which, judging by the tone, was clearly traumatic. Vampire behaviour.

Faluyi and Denslow manage to lose a point before the day has even properly started, after locking themselves out of their room while going to ask Coach Stalley a question.

A short trip.

A long consequence.

Squibbs, Whiting and Badara’s room has a slightly different feel to the others.

“Chaotic” would be one word.

“Unsupervised energy” would be more.

Meanwhile, Thompson and Cox are sat in their chairs like a pair of retired men enjoying a quiet morning. Thompson in particular looks like he should have a pipe in hand, calmly reading and judging the world.

And, speaking of details, by Thompson’s bedside is a picture of his new kitten, Lumi, thoughtfully packed by Mother Thompson.

A strong emotional touch. Unexpected. Fully embraced.

In the final room, Drew and Price are up, ready, and… watching Thomas the Tank Engine.

A bold start to the day.

At breakfast, Squibbs approaches it like it’s his last meal.

Croissants, cereal, and a full English. Three courses. No hesitation.

Pearson and Drew take a more measured approach with just cereal, showing a level of restraint not often seen on tour.

Callaghan, meanwhile, should lose a point after a tooth comes out mid-meal, meaning he leaves something on his plate. I will let him off this time.

Squibbs’ eyes, as it turns out, were significantly bigger than his stomach. He’s eventually beaten by eggs and bacon, dropping two points in the process after a confident start.

Cox looks like he’s heading down the exact same path. At one point it’s looking bleak. But somehow, he finds something from somewhere and manages to finish, keeping his tally intact.

A quiet but important victory.

The game finishes 4–2 against St Albans B, with goals from Cox and Callaghan.

A game where we created plenty of chances, while also generously handing a few back the other way. Sloppy goals conceded again, but overall a much better performance than the last time we met them.

Progress. With a side of chaos.

A particular highlight from watching the A Team game was the referee falling over and then attempting to style it out with a roly poly.

Commitment to recovery. Mixed execution.

Drew is wrapped up after going down unwell, but interestingly seems to improve the further away he gets from his parents.

A medical mystery.

Lunch offers the usual selection of chicken nuggets, sausages or fish fingers.

Coach Stalley quietly gets through his fifth sausage of the day (behave!).

For once, no one drops any food points. A rare moment of professionalism.

The afternoon takes us to Corbière Lighthouse for what is, without doubt, one of the best activities of the week… rock climbing.

A minor moment leaving the car park as Foran stalls the minibus. Nothing to worry about. Probably just getting used to the clutch.

The boys are actually pretty good. Thompson, Price and Denslow lead the way, moving confidently across the rocks, while Faluyi and Squibbs take a more cautious approach at the back alongside Stalley.

That caution doesn’t last long.

As Faluyi grows in confidence, it quickly tips into overconfidence, resulting in multiple wet shoes and eventually landing in a rockpool. This earns him a well-deserved Attitude Point deduction after already being warned.

Badara and Whiting also manage to acquire wet shoes, joining what is becoming an exclusive club.

Denslow cuts open his knee, putting his place at the swimming pool in slight doubt. A concern… mainly for him.

Photo opportunities follow, with Price, Callaghan, Pearson and Denslow all wearing the same top and very much believing they’re modelling for Nike’s next junior campaign.

The confidence is there.

The coordination, less so.

Attempts at pose-jump photos over the rockpools prove challenging. Drew and Squibbs struggle to get the timing right, while Badara and Whiting, in contrast, look… “cold.”

We head to the pool, only to discover it’s closing in half an hour.

Poor planning. We’ll blame Stalley.

With that plan quickly abandoned, we head to the beach instead for what is likely the first of approximately 300 ice creams the boys will consume this week.

St Ouen’s Beach is selected for the rearranged plans, mainly because it involves ice cream.

The ice creams go down very well. A few of us are thrilled to see the single cone with a flake comes in luxury pink. Mopped down beautifully.

The ice cream lady is absolutely delighted to see Driver Foran again for what must be the hundredth year in a row. There’s a knowing look between them as he pays in cash.

No one asks questions. No one wants answers.

We then head down to the beach, which involves what can only be described as a hike, given the sea appears to be somewhere near France.

Eventually, we reach it.

Thompson, Faluyi, Squibbs and Whiting are the first in. Straight in. No hesitation. Poor judgement.

The rest follow, briefly.

Most last around 0.8 seconds before reacting like they’ve stepped into liquid electricity.

Cox looks like he’s questioning every life decision that’s led him to this point. Denslow’s knee gets a rinse it didn’t ask for, and Price is screaming “IT BURNS” like he’s been attacked.

Thompson, Drew and Whiting are then absolutely taken out by waves that have no business being that aggressive, with Thompson immediately deciding his time in the sea is over.

A short career. Brave while it lasted.

Then comes the changing.

This is where things unravel.

The boys decide the best method is to form some sort of human shield system while getting changed into boxers. A plan that might have worked, if not for the minor detail that directly above them is a steady stream of members of the public.

Anyone who happened to glance down was treated to a view from Squibbs, Badara and Faluyi that will stay with them forever.

There were moments where I genuinely thought we might have to start explaining ourselves.

At this point, counselling cards are handed out. Not to the boys. To the public.

At tea, things start to unravel again.

Faluyi manages to lose an eating point within seconds by loudly announcing he doesn’t like mushrooms… despite having ordered the Chicken and Mushroom Vol-au-Vent. Muppet.

Callaghan takes on Prawn Cocktail for the first time, which feels like a gamble, but to his credit, he gets through it. A small victory in what becomes a difficult evening.

Badara, meanwhile, orders two starters.

This is despite having already eaten what appears to be seven meals across the day.

No one questions it anymore. We’ve accepted this is just who he is.

Callaghan, who had ambitions of being promoted to The Championship, sees those hopes disappear quickly.

He loses two points after being unable to finish his pasta, before being defeated by profiteroles that he describes as “too sickly.”

A tough double blow. Promotion dreams over.

Pearson follows a similar path, also dropping a point and quietly accepting his fate.

Whiting steps in to help me finish my scampi, which is both appreciated and slightly concerning in terms of appetite levels across the group.

Faluyi orders a second beef with gravy, which is impressive in itself, but then leaves the Yorkshire pudding… costing himself a bonus point in the process.

A decision that will haunt him.

Diaries are completed to a much better standard tonight.

A noticeable improvement… despite Price’s bottom making some very questionable noises throughout, which does slightly take away from the reflective atmosphere.

Squibbs, Pearson and Drew all pick up a strong 9. Solid work. Names included. Instructions followed. Progress.

Elsewhere, there’s a sudden spike in room-related issues.

Callaghan, Pearson, Badara, Squibbs and Whiting all manage to lock themselves out of their rooms. Not a one-off. A group effort. Impressive in its own way.

Room inspections, however, tell a different story.

Price & Drew, along with Pearson & Callaghan, pick up full marks. Standards clearly depend on whether they can actually get into the room in the first place.

Cox is less impressed after discovering Thompson has attempted to hide their damp towels.

“Attempted” being the key word.

The towels are found almost immediately, poking out from under another towel on the floor in what can only be described as the laziest cover-up of the week so far.

Buzz finds himself in between Drew and Price tonight. I don’t know how a Teddy can look scared, but somehow he does.

Overall, it’s been a great day.

Lots of fun.

Plenty of lessons learned.

Very few of them taken on board.

Monday

The morning starts with… noise.

Not normal noise. Coordinated noise.

The boys have discovered they can open their hotel windows and communicate across the building like they’re hosting a live broadcast.

Shouting. Replies. Ongoing conversations.

All before most people have even blinked.

Warnings are given. Strong ones.

After that, everyone’s suddenly up and ready for breakfast like model citizens.

At breakfast, Callaghan loses points for leaving hash browns. A poor decision, especially this early in the tour.

Pearson is then asked, repeatedly, what cooked breakfast he’s ordered, despite calmly explaining every single time that he’s only having cereal.

By the end, he’s not entirely sure what he’s ordered anymore.

Squibbs, learning from yesterday’s collapse, limits himself to two courses. Growth. Still unnecessary.

The game against Jersey B finishes 3–1 thanks to goals from Drew and a brace from Badara. Like yesterday, quite a convincing performance – in particular from Denslow who looks calm and composed throughout.

News filters through that the parents were a bit lively at The Merton the night before.

So lively, in fact, that Mother and Grandmother Callaghan have been placed in a disabled room.

The issue?

“No bath.”

This has been described as “unacceptable” and is currently under investigation.

After two hours of football, the boys are given some free time.

They choose to play more football.

Of course they do.

Whiting is offered hugs by parents but reacts like it’s a genuine threat, while Denslow states he’d rather lose an Attitude point than hug his mum.

A decision he seems very comfortable with.

Lunch arrives. Yellow and black napkins are noted by absolutely no one because it’s chicken nuggets across the board.

No points dropped. No drama. Suspiciously smooth.

The A Team then express interest in joining us for the afternoon.

We respond by finding out where they’re going… and going somewhere else.

Plans are made for swimming after repeated chants of “swimming… swimming…”

Quennevais Leisure Centre is chosen. The same place that shut its doors on us yesterday, which still feels personal.

Before leaving, I check on Drew and Price.

I open the door and immediately regret it.

There’s a smell.

Drew walks out of the bathroom.

“Phwoar… what’s come out of your bum, Lucas?”

“Poo.”

Clear. Honest. No further discussion needed.

On the bus, the A Team are leaving the hotel and bring their chaos with them.

Bah and Mann clearly want to join us and make no attempt to hide it.

Driver Foran responds in the only way he knows how… by honking the horn.

It works instantly.

For those who know Foran, this is significant. He loves the horn. Lives for it. So to last two full days without using it gave Jersey 48 hours of peace.

That peace lasted exactly 48 hours.

At the leisure centre, things escalate quickly.

While getting changed, the boys are unexpectedly introduced to a heavy-set pensioner confidently walking through the changing room in his birthday suit.

No warning. No hesitation. Just… there.

Callaghan is seen having to take a meandering walk to avoid said crack.

Eyes are burnt. Childhoods ended.

We enter the pool, where members of the public are enjoying a calm swim.

That ends immediately.

Within ten minutes, the lifeguard is forced to step in after it becomes clear the boys have absolutely no awareness of anyone else in the water.

The bat, ball and rocket (now a rugby ball) are a huge success.

Whiting and Thompson are rarely seen without a bat for over an hour. The ball, however, spends most of its time in places it absolutely shouldn’t be.

Maximum effort. No control.

The rocket keeps Price, Denslow and Callaghan fully entertained, now committed to turning everything into rugby.

Squibbs and Badara drift around like they’re in a very loud spa, while Drew, Pearson and Cox get involved in everything, showing impressive adaptability.

Faluyi… does whatever Faluyi wants, usually whichever option causes the most disruption.

Myself and Stalley stand to one side, putting the world to rights and solving youth football in five minutes.

Which is still more than the FA have managed.

Onto St Brelade’s Beach for a quick stop.

A brief pause at a junction as the minibus stalls again. Stalley and I share a look that suggests we’re both thinking the same thing… but choosing not to say it. Yet.

St Brelade’s turns out to be a lovely little spot that I’ve somehow never visited before, despite coming to Jersey for years.

It’s one of those places that feels big and open, but still tucked away enough to make you think you’ve found something special.

The boys, of course, use it for… more sport.

Rugby. Football. Ping-pong.

And digging holes that get to about 4cm deep before being abandoned like a failed project.

Squibbs, noticing the others fussing around a rugby ball, makes the executive decision that the long walk to the water is a better use of his time.

No ball. No chaos. Just distance.

Overall, a very pleasant visit.

Which is rare. And slightly suspicious.

Before tea, I pop into the rooms to check how everyone’s getting on unpacking their swimming things.

Callaghan has taken a slightly different approach.

His towel is laid out flat across the floor, and he is… hair drying it.

Not using it. Not hanging it up.

Hair drying it.

An interesting technique. Completely unnecessary.

But you can’t question the commitment.

A for effort.

At tea, Faluyi continues to raise questions.

“Does the Chicken and Noodle Soup have noodles in it?”

Followed shortly by, “I like mango, but I don’t like the taste of it.”

Two statements. No clarification. No follow-up. Just accepted and moved on.

The soup arrives boiling.

Badara takes one confident mouthful and immediately sends it straight back out again after burning the inside of his mouth. A quick lesson in patience.

As the soup is placed in front of Callaghan, Cox decides this is the perfect moment to ask whether my vomit from earlier looked like it.

Which is exactly what Callaghan, already struggling in the eating league, needed to hear.

Macaroni cheese proves to be the most popular main. A safe choice for some… less so for others.

While a few struggle to finish, Price, Cox and Badara go the other way entirely and manage three plates between them.

“Compliments to the chef,” is heard from Price, delivered with complete sincerity.

Cox then takes on a massive éclair.

He finishes it.

But not before managing to get chocolate everywhere except his mouth.

The resulting Adolf moustache situation raises a few concerns across the table.

Despite all of this, no points are dropped at tea.

Which, given everything that’s just happened, feels unlikely.

Well played, boys.

Diaries once again do their job in bringing the boys back down to earth and are completed to a good standard.

Calm. Focused. Almost peaceful.

Faluyi and Denslow, however, manage to lock themselves out of their room for the third time.

At this point it’s less of a mistake and more of a lifestyle choice.

Later on, when checking in on them, it becomes clear they are now one step away from retirement.

For the second time today, they are found completely fixated on Midsomer Murders.

No phones. No chaos. Just… quietly watching murders in the countryside.

Concerning.

Room inspections are excellent, with everyone picking up a 9 or 10.

A big moment for Whiting, Squibbs and Badara, who have been trailing slightly up to now. A strong comeback.

In another room, Price and Drew have discovered a Bollywood music channel and are fully committed to what can only be described as their own Delhi dance routine.

Timing it perfectly for when they should be going to sleep.

Buzz is with Callaghan and Pearson tonight, and there is visible relief from the Teddy’s when he’s allowed to sleep on the side of the beds, rather than being wedged between the snorers.

A small victory for him.

Overall, the scores for the day are high, with everyone landing somewhere in the 40s. Denslow gets the first 9 of the week for Match after a stellar display.

Price currently leads the way overall. Which, at this stage, feels deserved.

Tuesday

Breakfast begins with Callaghan once again losing points for not being able to finish.

He then questions why he can’t finish.

This is followed by the revelation that he’s already had two croissants… and a full English.

The mystery deepens.

Faluyi attempts a more “sensible” approach.

Two croissants.

Cereal.

Cooked breakfast.

He fails immediately.

Whiting helps Badara channel his inner-Semenyo by tying his hair up, which is a look that gets far more approval than expected.

Denslow’s bottom, meanwhile, will not stop coughing.

The noise alone causes several boys to reach for imaginary gas masks.

Today’s toughest test so far sees us come up against a strong Hackney side, ending in a narrow 2–1 defeat. We don’t quite create as much as we’d like, but the boys dig in brilliantly and match them all the way. Pearson gives us real hope with an outrageous free kick from the halfway line, before Cox goes agonisingly close late on, only to see his effort brilliantly tipped over by their keeper. One of those games where you feel we could’ve gotten a bit more.

After the game, Price puts his lead at serious risk by not only hugging his dad, but being fully picked up.

A full lift.

If I wasn’t such a sentimental fool (or if I was like an A Team coach), that would’ve been dealt with properly.

Laws were bent.

Eyes were closed.

Lunch sees full plates eaten bar Faluyi who becomes undone by peas.

Peas!

Squibbs is then pulled aside for an after-match interview and speaks incredibly sensibly.

No one is prepared for this. Least of all him.

Greve de Lec is the afternoon destination. A proper little cove with everything you’d want… beach, waves, rocks, pools… and what appears to be a sewage pipe waterfall which becomes the main attraction at some point.

Before that, a good thirty minutes are spent kicking a ball into the sea and waiting for it to come back.

No rules. No structure. Just… patience.

Simple things.

The “waterfall” is next.

Freezing, powerful water pouring down while the boys attempt to stand underneath it for photos.

Faluyi, Whiting and Cox are removed from the situation fairly quickly by the force of it.

Thompson, Badara, Squibbs and Drew hold their ground slightly longer, mainly out of stubbornness.

Further up the rocks, Squibbs, Whiting and Thompson discover a rock pool.

Squibbs announces, mid-climb, that he “needs a poo.”

Thankfully, after some internal reflection, decides against handling that situation outdoors.

A decision we all appreciate.

The rest of us join them at the rock pool, where most of the boys jump in…

…and immediately get back out.

Too cold. No debate.

Whiting leads the way, while Price manages to cut his knee on the way in.

A poor decision, followed by a worse landing.

Pearson and Callaghan take the revolutionary approach of simply not getting in.

Sense prevails.

Badara loses a point for forgetting his towel, while Drew gains one for stepping in to shield Cox and lending his towel out.

A rare moment of organisation.

Whiting and Squibbs once again take an age getting changed.

At one point it feels like we might be leaving them there overnight.

Ice creams follow, as expected.

There is a large sign warning of nuts. We briefly consider the risk to Denslow.

We proceed anyway.

He survives.

Just.

We leave. Another stall from Foran pulling away. At this stage, it’s less of a surprise and more of a recurring theme. Stalley calls it “character building.” I’m not entirely sure for who.

Back to the hotel for tea, where whispers begin circulating of some… questionable behaviour.

Thompson has apparently flashed Cox a number of times. No context given. None asked for.

Faluyi has somehow lost all of his socks. Not one. Not a pair. Every single one.

Gone.

And from somewhere down the corridor, Squibbs is reported to be making seal noises in the shower.

Which, again, no one investigates further.

At tea, Badara continues his one-man mission to eat the island.

He finishes Faluyi’s pasta, my lamb, and anything else that’s left unattended for more than three seconds.

Omelette is the main choice of the evening, with most of the boys playing it safe.

Cox nearly slips up but just about manages to finish. A close call.

Denslow, meanwhile, can’t remember whether he ordered gateaux or crème brûlée, eventually settling on the brûlée.

He then complains about the “egg yolk at the bottom”…

which turns out to be mango purée.

A tough moment.

Diaries are completed to a high standard again tonight. Consistency is creeping in.

Room inspections are strong across the board, with everyone landing on a 9.

The only things catching people out are the usual suspects… crumpled underwear, loose t-shirts, and toilet rolls that have clearly given up.

Pearson and Price continue their strong form and lead the pack.

Quietly. Efficiently.

Annoyingly consistent.

Wednesday

The morning wake-up call comes earlier than expected, as Denslow knocks on my door to report that Faluyi isn’t well.

At one point, Faluyi is explaining how he feels while I give him some Calpol… and he immediately stops talking.

Instant silence.

I’ve decided this is a tactic worth keeping. I may carry it around with me at all times going forward.

The game against Newbury gives us a chance to show some quality.

The first half has its moments… but not enough of them. Goals from Thompson, Badara and Cox see us go in 3–1 up, which feels fair without being convincing.

The second half is much better.

Badara adds two more to complete his hat-trick, Callaghan and Drew both slot theirs away nicely, and Whiting grabs two good goals.

The first is a clinical header (his first ever headed goal apparently) from what can only be described as a quarterback pass from Price.

The second comes from some really good link-up play between Callaghan and Denslow, ending with Callaghan slipping Whiting through, who smashes it into the top corner.

A proper finish.

Photos follow, with all the Gloucester boys getting involved.

At one point, a random kid from Hackney tries to join in.

He is swiftly removed. We’ve got enough riff-raff as it is (not naming any names – but you know who you are!).

Everyone puts on their best smiles, and a number of the boys are dragged into family photos whether they like it or not.

My camera just about holds up under the pressure.

The afternoon trip is to Plemont.

Before we’ve even left, though, I’m briefly concerned I might be revisiting my safeguarding training after shutting the minibus door on Denslow’s arm.

Specifically, the gap between the door and the disability bar.

Why his arm was there remains unclear.

His fault, obviously.

On the way, the boys are educated.

They’re told that all the plastic covering the fields is where carrier bags are grown.

Naturally, this leads to further questions about the process.

It’s explained that the plants underneath slowly expand the plastic until it’s ready to be harvested and sent off to Sainsbury’s.

All of this is fully believed.

No hesitation. No doubt.

Concerning.

At a turning, another stall from Foran brings us gently back to reality. Stalley nods, as if to confirm this is now part of the driving experience.

We arrive at Plemont, and the boys take in the view of the bay.

It lasts about three seconds before attention turns to the rock pools.

They can’t wait to get in.

That enthusiasm lasts right up until the moment they actually do.

Immediate screams.

Full panic.

Talk of Gingangoolies falling off are heard.

In the cave, there’s a tall waterfall. Powerful. Freezing.

The challenge is set: stand underneath it for 10 seconds for an extra Attitude point.

Everyone attempts it.

Everyone completes it.

Apart from Faluyi.

Whiting, fearless as expected, leads the way without hesitation.

Cox, Drew and Pearson quickly retreat, begging to get back into the sun to defrost.

Squibbs and Thompson once again head off climbing like they’re on a separate expedition.

The rest return to the classic activity of kicking a ball into the sea and waiting for it to come back.

It doesn’t get old.

Faluyi then comes sprinting back from the seafront after spotting a dog within roughly 200 yards.

A safe distance. Not in his mind.

Meanwhile, Denslow, Cox, Drew and Thompson decide to dig Denslow his own personal pool in the sand.

Depth-wise, they look like they’re aiming for Australia.

Width-wise… it only needs to be about 2ft 4in.

Back at the hotel, things take a turn.

Cox is found with a vape in his bag and immediately launches into a very strong defence.

Too strong.

He attempts to blame his dad, claiming he sometimes uses his bag when going to the gym.

No one believes his dad goes to the gym.

Cox loses an Attitude point for what is now being described as “addiction issues.”

In the same room, Thompson is found to have brought scissors on tour.

Between them, they are one face tattoo away from looking like convicts.

At tea, somehow, no one loses any points.

Even with mushrooms on the steak.

Callaghan, however, looks deeply concerned for his own wellbeing and insists he is “going to die” after eating too much.

A dramatic end to the meal.

Mini Denslow then makes an appearance via video after apparently enjoying the boys’ team song all afternoon.

A much calmer moment.

Briefly.

Diaries are once again completed to a good standard, with Cox and Badara finally breaking into the 8s after adding a bit more detail to their day.

Progress. At last.

Room scores see a slight shake-up.

Drew and Price drop a point for a crumpled t-shirt, while Callaghan and Pearson deliver a spotless room.

Not before Callaghan attempts to sabotage Cox and Thompson’s room by leaving behind a poo that refuses to flush.

A calculated move. Poorly executed.

The joys of being a coach are that you get to be part of all these lovely moments.

Squibbs, Whiting and Badara also lose points for not being ready for inspection.

Again.

At this point, it feels less like forgetfulness and more like a personality trait.

Overall, another successful day.

Lots of laughter.

Good football.

Very questionable decision-making as always.

Thursday

Happy Kaden Day!!

The morning starts with Stalley making an early trip to the shops to get Pearson a birthday card, after Pearson made the bold decision 11 years ago to be born on a day that would one day fall during tour.

Excellent planning from him, really.

A plan is quickly put in place.

No one is allowed to say anything to him until breakfast. The aim is simple… let him think we’ve forgotten.

Cruel? Yes.

Necessary? Also yes.

We walk into breakfast.

Silence.

Then… bang.

A full Happy Birthday is shouted.

Pearson, now the centre of attention against his will, is asked if he thought we’d forgotten.

“Of course not!” he says.

Nothing gets past him.

Denslow, meanwhile, is already having a morning.

Another early knock from that room. Toothache.

Magical Calpol is deployed. Silence follows. Again. He also can’t find his room key only to find it was in his pocket all along.

At breakfast, he then announces he’s glad it’s cloudy because he’s “had enough of the sun.”

A sentence no one else on the island has said all week.

Moments later, he attempts a prank by handing me salt when I asked for sugar.

It fails immediately.

Pillock.

Most of the boys are now fully committed to what’s been named The Donnie Mix.

Rice Krispies and Coco Pops, layered like a lasagne.

Which, somehow, still isn’t enough… as they all continue to order cooked breakfasts alongside it.

No one is asking questions anymore.

The game against East Cornwall is, unfortunately, an opportunity missed.

A sluggish start, despite being warned, sees us concede early and then again just before half time.

Even without ever really getting out of third gear, we create enough chances to suggest there’s something there if we wake up.

The second half is much better.

Cox produces a brilliant strike from outside the box that flies in and gives us hope.

Real hope.

But it doesn’t quite happen.

The effort improves, the football improves, the intent is there… just missing that final bit of quality in front of goal.

After the game, Pearson is circled and treated to another round of Happy Birthday.

He looks exactly how you’d expect… deeply uncomfortable.

But when a cupcake appears, the mood shifts slightly.

Red face. Full acceptance.

Lunch sees Faluyi lose his second eating point of the day.

Consistency. Just not the good kind.

We then set off for swimming and shopping.

Getting ready takes… a while.

Instructions are given. Instructions are ignored. Standard.

After a few reminders (and then a few more), we finally get on the bus.

I decide to have a quick stern word.

Timing, unfortunately, is everything.

As the boys begin asking where their wallets are, it dawns on me…

I’ve forgotten them all.

Immediate chaos.

The boys are delighted.

I’m informed I’ve lost 11 Attitude points.

Fair.

I accept it fully… mainly because I’d already built up 25 by lunchtime.

Still comfortably ahead.

AquaSplash is taken on by both the A & B Teams.

Within 10 minutes, we’ve already had to pull them out for a team talk. Which, considering the group, is actually quite impressive.

After that, things “improve” in the sense that no one is immediately endangering others every 30 seconds.

The lifeguard’s whistle only goes about 316 times, so clearly we’ve settled into a rhythm.

The tiny circular pool becomes the main attraction, as the boys decide their job is now to spin in circles and create a whirlpool.

No instructions. No reason. Just madness.

Thompson gets told off for standing on the floats and looks absolutely devastated, like he’s just been told he’s not allowed back.

Meanwhile, others continue doing far worse with zero concern. Mainly the A Team, of course.

Denslow, Campbell and Culley discover that if they go past the first few tiles, they can’t touch the floor.

This is not handled calmly.

Bah and Badara go into the wave machine and immediately start struggling, which isn’t helped by Field deciding to flip Badara off a float.

Helpful.

Cox complains the floats have given him a “belly rash.” but he will continue to Free Willy up onto them.

The slides become the main focus.

Price and Badara are racing.

Squibbs and Drew are racing.

There’s a lot of talk about technique and timing, as if this is being judged professionally.

It isn’t.

Drew and Pearson then attempt to balance on the floats together.

They both fall off at the same time.

Which is, ironically, their most successful bit of teamwork of the day.

Shopping follows.

Which is essentially a collection of grandma shops, with JD Sports and Sports Direct acting as the only places anyone actually cares about.

Drew makes me realise how much of an old man I am when he spends £40 on an all black zip-up coat.

Callaghan, Price and Cox all buy the exact same shorts and t-shirt. They’re one step away from being Summer’s version of East 17.

Denslow finally buys shin pads that actually cover his shins.

A big day for him.

Thompson and Pearson both end up in matching Nike outfits, while Whiting checks with his dad about buying Crocs like it’s a major financial decision.

It’s approved.

As it should be.

Faluyi immediately follows and buys the same style.

Trend set. Trend followed.

Squibbs buys new boots and is visibly proud of them for the rest of the trip.

Badara buys sweets and a gum shield.

No one asks why. It’s easier that way.

At one point, Price, Callaghan and Denslow are found standing completely still in a gift shop.

Not looking. Not choosing. Just… paused.

They’ve “lost £8.”

I ask Denslow if it’s in his pocket.

He says no. Very confidently.

I ask him to empty them.

£8.

Right there.

At this point, it’s not even surprising anymore.

For tea, Pearson is given the full birthday treatment.

Special seat.

Balloons.

Sash.

Hat.

The hat lasts about six seconds before being quietly removed like it never happened.

When pudding arrives, complete with candles, he’s made to stand on a chair so everyone can sing to him.

No escape. No negotiation.

Full attention on him.

When asked how embarrassed he is on a scale of 1–10, he says “9.5” through very rosy cheeks.

Accurate.

At this point, Denslow and Price draw my attention to the balloons I’ve carefully arranged next to a wall light.

Apparently, they look… questionable.

They don’t dress it up.

“That looks like a penis!” is shouted across the dining room.

Subtle.

I blame the parents.

In the Eating Leagues, as mentioned earlier, the four in the Premiership have never dropped a point across all three tours.

A flawless record. Untouchable. Or so we thought.

Badara’s ice cream arrives. Standard setup. Scoop. Wafer.

For reasons no one can explain, he casually hands the wafer to Cox.

No pressure. No confusion. Just… gives it away.

Immediate regret.

The realisation hits.

Eyes widen. Panic sets in.

He knows.

A lifetime of consistency undone by one moment of absolute madness.

He tries to plead his case. Asks for the point back.

There’s even a brief negotiation attempt.

But no. ‘Them’s the rules.’

Point gone.

He’s gutted.

Diaries are once again completed to a good standard to round off the day, and room inspections are, frankly, outstanding.

“I’M CLAUSTROPHOBIC DARREN!” echoes out through the corridors, as Price fully commits to I’m a Celeb like he’s next in line to be voted in.

Strong performance.

Squibbs, Badara and Whiting finally break through and get a 10, which has been a long time coming… and loudly celebrated the following morning.

Every other room follows suit with top scores as well, apart from Denslow and Faluyi, who have to settle for a solid 9.

Which, given their track record at times, is still a big win.

Genuinely impressive across the board.

Pearson, the Birthday Boy, tops the overall DREAM marks after a strong game and a very consistent day.

However, going into the final day, there are just 5 points separating the top four.

Friday

The wake-up call reveals a number of early decisions that raise questions.

Squibbs is already eating a full bar of Galaxy.

Not a bite. Not a square. Big chunks…and breakfast is not far away.

Denslow casually announces that his tooth has now come out, like it’s just another item ticked off the morning checklist. Mind you, he was wobbling that tooth yesterday like the Tooth Fairy really owed him some dosh.

Cox and Thompson are playing catch with what can only be described as a flour-filled stress ball.

Which ironically causes me stress and, quite clearly, a terrible idea waiting patiently to happen.

In another room, Drew and Price are already packing, but stop to proudly show me on Google Maps where they live.

Price tells me the street name first, which doesn’t sound promising.

Then shows me the house.

Opinion changes immediately.

Significantly.

The boys are still asking who we’re playing today.

They’ve been told “Liverpool” since tea time last night.

No one believes it.

At this point, they’re not even confused anymore.

Just annoyed.

Fair enough, really.

The boys are finally told we’ve got Newbury A, and we head over to watch the A Team finish their tour against Orpington.

A tough game. Proper battle. The kind where you can’t really relax for a second.

Ours… starts in a very familiar way. We don’t really get out of third gear, but still create enough to suggest that if we fancied it a bit more, we’d be absolutely fine.

Pearson opens the scoring with a great free kick, which is followed by Drew slotting in after Whiting’s shot is parried.

Nice. Efficient. No fuss.

The second half is more of the same.

We’re not exactly flying, but we’re never in trouble either.

Squibbs, Price, Denslow and Faluyi, protected by Pearson, keep things very steady at the back.

Reliable. Quietly effective.

We then do something rare…

Score from a corner.

Callaghan’s delivery lands perfectly for Cox, who smashes it home from about 8 yards.

No messing.

Badara then bags his 20th of the season after reacting quickest to another Cox effort being saved.

Right place. Right time.

Overall, a convincing win.

And more importantly, a very consistent week.

Bar one slightly dodgy half against East Cornwall, the boys have been solid throughout.

No one massively stealing the show.

No one letting the side down.

Just… consistently good.

Which, after everything we’ve talked about this season, is probably the most pleasing thing.

That game is then followed by what can only be described as a complete disgrace.

A one-sided, controversial, borderline scandalous match.

I take my first shot… and somehow the goal has moved about 15 feet to the left.

That’s the only explanation.

Romeo, in a desperate attempt to defend, scores an own goal.

Standard.

Then somehow avoids giving away a blatant penalty after the Jersey keeper gets far too involved for his own good.

Questions need to be asked.

Thankfully, Romeo is the one that represents the association well throughout.

Someone had to.

I’d love to say the support from the Gloucester boys was excellent.

It wasn’t.

I think they made me cry three times.

Which, given what they were watching, was probably fair.

After the game, we’ve got two hours to kill.

So naturally, we decide to go to town.

First, we need the minibus keys.

Which… have been lost by Foran Snr.

A full search begins.

Room checked.

Nothing.

Back to FB Fields.

Grass searched.

Still nothing.

We head back again, slightly defeated, and he decides to check his room one more time.

Bathroom.

There they are.

Just sat there.

Pillock.

We did need to kill time… but that was taking it a bit far. His medication has clearly worn off and he’s reminded that it’s ok, he’ll be back in his home by tomorrow evening.

We set off. Foran then signs off the week with another stall, completing what can only be described as a consistent body of work. To be fair, he does get us everywhere we need to go… just not always in one attempt.

We eventually make it into town, where Costa and Sports Direct once again become the main attractions.

Frappuccinos all round for Price (shared with Denslow), Squibbs, Badara and myself.

Drew goes for a Millionaire’s Shortbread.

No hesitation. No regrets.

More matching outfits are purchased by Cox and Price, who are now essentially shopping as a pair.

Whiting attempts to split his remaining £6 across five family members.

This proves difficult.

Very difficult. He settled on a box of fudge for all.

Denslow, meanwhile, sits on a toy giraffe in the shop and immediately regrets it, claiming the tail has gone somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.

A lesson learned.

Too late.

Next up is The Merton Hotel for the annual Gala Dinner to round off the tournament.

And this year, it’s a big one.

A proper celebration for a man who has not only founded and runs the Jersey Festival… but has been doing it for 50 years.

Fifty years!!

That’s longer than most of the boys think football has even existed.

An unbelievable effort, and helped along the way by his equally brilliant wife. A proper duo.

Meanwhile, at our table…

Denslow is absolutely gutted to be on a reduced menu due to allergies.

“Could die” is mentioned.

He still tells me that he’ll attempt to sneak a BBQ rib like no one will notice.

He is stopped.

Price then looks moments away from kicking off after the final bit of chocolate cake is grabbed—by hand—by what can only be described as a Jersey roughian.

No shame. Just straight in.

Tensions rise.

Luckily, the staff step in and bring out another cake, to keep the peace…

…or piece.

Romeo builds what appears to be a small tower out of cake slices, while Squibbs, Drew and Callaghan eat their Chocolate Cake like they’re preparing for a long winter with no food supply.

Badara asks if he can get some ice cream.

Returns with a bowl of fruit.

For a brief moment, I think this is a turning point.

It isn’t.

I’m informed this is just the pre-dessert before his actual dessert arrives.

Of course it is.

Whiting then decides, for reasons unknown, to eat a chilli.

Not part of a meal. Not hidden.

Just… a chilli.

Within seconds, he looks like he’s seen his life flash before his eyes.

Five full minutes of regret.

The waiters rush over with iced water and milk before we have to do CPR.

Then comes the annual Blue Cheese Challenge.

A tradition. A test.

And, quite often, a mistake.

Price refuses immediately, losing a point before it’s even begun.

“Not that I care,” he says. I’m sure he does.

Whiting, Thompson and Denslow step up.

Noses held.

Water ready.

Faces doing things faces shouldn’t do.

They all get through it.

Impressive.

Then Bah from the A Team decides he wants a go.

He follows the exact same process.

Holds his nose. Drinks water. Finishes it.

Even shows his tongue to prove it.

And then…. …..vomits!!

Straight onto the floor.

Chaos.

Immediate regret from everyone involved.

He loses a point.

And quite a bit of dignity.

Numpty.

Diaries are completed for the final time and the boys are sent off to pack for the trip home.

And to be fair… some of the packing is outstanding.

Neat. Folded. Organised.

Suitcases that actually look like someone cares.

Squibbs’… is not one of them.

Consistent.

I’m clearly in a generous mood, as Price and Drew are awarded 11 points for their room.

Yes, 11.

The packing is spot on, and even the things left out are laid out like a display.

It’s almost suspicious how tidy it is.

The boys are then given an hour to watch I’m a Celeb.

Within minutes, Denslow and Faluyi are both asleep.

No fight. No resistance.

Which suggests the real challenge this week hasn’t been football… it’s been sharing a room with each other.

Saturday

The final wake-up call.

Almost everyone is up, packed, and ready to go.

Whiting is desperate to show me how neat his suitcase is.

Fair play to him—it’s actually very good.

Elsewhere, Faluyi & Denslow, and Drew & Price, are both having full-blown discos in their rooms at 8am.

Music on. Energy high.

The rest of the hotel? Probably less impressed.

Thompson confidently tells me he’s checked all the drawers and hasn’t left anything behind.

He hasn’t.

But the speed in which he goes back to double-check suggests even he didn’t believe himself.

At breakfast, the boys go in one last time.

Cereal. Croissants. Cooked breakfasts.

No holding back now.

All week, the boys have been looked after by Isaac, Peris, Joshua and Paul.

And to be fair, they’ve been brilliant.

Supportive, patient, and fully on board with everything that’s come with having us here.

So it’s only right we give something back.

Cards, chocolates, and a small donation are handed over, followed by proper cheers and applause from the boys.

Genuinely well deserved.

At check-out, the boys are given the usual warning:

“Don’t leave anything behind.”

A simple instruction. Given every year. Ignored every year.

It may shock you to hear…

Faluyi leaves behind two pairs of boxers and some socks.

Squibbs, Badara and Whiting somehow overlook a random water bottle sat in the middle of the beds. Apparently, they knew it was there – even if it wasn’t their’s, but decided to do nothing with it.

Callaghan and Pearson leave behind a single, tiny shower gel lid, placed carefully next to the actual shower gels.

Not in the bin.

Just… left.

Why?

No one knows.

After receiving an 11 the day before, Drew and Price bring themselves back down to earth by losing points for not being ready and not tucking their chairs in.

I consider taking another point off purely for the smell I’m greeted with during the room check.

Strong.

Very strong.

The only perfect 10 goes to Cox and Thompson, who take it like they expected nothing less.

No celebration. Just quiet confidence.

At the airport, the B Team are, surprisingly, excellent.

Organised. Calm. Almost professional.

Then we reach check-in.

The lady behind the desk is clearly having a day. Annoyed at us for just turning up, she goes on to tell me that she’s just checked in another football team and that it was “like 50 people.”

I politely remind her that… this is, in fact, her job.

This does not go down well.

She insists we do things her way because it’s “quicker.”

It isn’t.

She then needs rescuing by another member of staff after getting herself in a bit of a mess.

We part ways.

Not friends.

At security, five members of the A Team are pulled aside for liquids in their bags.

Standard.

Faluyi looks like he might ruin our clean run, but is let off when his liquid is somehow within the limit.

A rare win.

Lunch in the café requires what feels like a small loan to cover.

But… boys gotta eat.

Eventually, we board the plane.

This time, we’re spread all over the cabin.

Callaghan manages to sneak in sitting next to Denslow, while I’m relocated to the back to sit with Faluyi.

A decision I accept… reluctantly.

As we settle in, the cabin crew begin to panic slightly as they realise passengers are missing.

Right on cue…

Bob and Hadley come jogging down the aisle and collapse into their seats.

Perfect timing.

The flight back is bumpy. So bumpy, in fact, that I’m still not entirely convinced the pilot wasn’t either enjoying himself a bit too much or having a first go blindfolded.

We do land safely in the end, and the boys are even complimented by a member of the public. I did clarify whether she was including the A Team in that, and apparently… she was.

The trip home on the coach goes quite well. Everyone is well behaved… which is usually a clear sign that tiredness has finally caught up with them.

Arrival at Oxstalls Arena, however, raises a few questions. The boys are less than impressed to learn that the final leg of the journey involves a walk back to Longlevens… and they’re not shy in letting me know it.

We make our way down the pathway, where a full gaggle of parents are already waiting, ready to reclaim their children. Hugs are handed out generously… mainly from parents… again, not always invited.

The presentations for DREAM marks follow, with plenty of laughs, applause, and a few well-earned recognitions. A really fitting way to round off what’s been a brilliant week.

As we finally make our way home, slightly more tired, slightly more worn out, and significantly poorer, it’s hard not to take a moment to appreciate what this week has been.

The boys have been, in every sense, brilliant. Not perfect… far from it at times… but that’s exactly what makes it what it is. They’ve competed, laughed, annoyed each other, supported each other, and represented the team in a way they should be proud of. And I genuinely am. Watching them grow over the week, on and off the pitch, is always the best part.

The support from the parents, as always, has been spot on. Trusting us to take your children away for a week, knowing full well what that might involve, is no small thing. The messages, encouragement, whether there or not, and general backing doesn’t go unnoticed. It makes a massive difference. For those of you who went to Jersey (or Turkey), I hope you had a fantastic week.

To the other coaches, who have once again shared the chaos, the responsibility, and the moments that no one else quite understands… thank you. The laughs, the patience, the teamwork… and the ability to somehow keep everything moving forward, even when it feels like it shouldn’t be… it’s been class. 

To Bob, who is truly one of a kind, and I’m genuinely grateful not just to have learned from and be supported by him over the years, but to be able to call him a friend.

And finally, for me, that’s it.

Sixteen years of tours. 186 B Team boys. Thousands of moments. Some I’ll remember forever… some I’ve probably already forgotten for my own sanity.

It’s been an absolute privilege to be a part of it.

A brilliant week. A brilliant group.

And, I’d say… not a bad way to bow out.

B Team 25/26 – Squibbs, Denslow, Faluyi, Price, Pearson, Callaghan, Thompson, Cox, Whiting, Drew & Badara