Author’s Note

What follows is a behind-the-scenes look at some of the personalities, events, revelations & smells that were Jersey 2026. This review is a memoir from an A Team perspective as that’s where the editor largely was, so, Andrew Foran apart, B Squad people are mentioned only fleetingly in comparison. The balance is restored in the B Team blog however, where the reverse happens.

Disclaimer

The views expressed in this piece are those of the editor and should not be mistaken for those of GPSFA, any other member of the association or indeed anyone else residing in the semi-civilised world. This is (mostly) a work of non-fiction and as such, any resemblance to actual persons, living or otherwise, events or locales, is entirely intentional.

Dramatis Personae

Players

Noah Knight. Goalkeeper. Eats. Sleeps. Eats. Plays. Eats. Repeat.

Remy Campbell. Right back. Loud. Best smile. Good eater. Would-be accuser.

Kodi Field. Centre back. Likes a header. Loud. Surprisingly tidy.

Albie Steadman. Left back. Pig farmer. Likes bacon. Likes hash browns. Likes little else.

Ralph Culley. Versatile. Tenacious. Brightly coloured. Steady.

Ashton Edwards. Right mid. Hard worker. Decent diary writer. Mussel-eater.

Seb Hadley. Centre mid. Captain and Patron Saint. Good with DREAM marks. Bad with tickets.

Taylan Mann. Left side. Dead ball specialist. Surprisingly good eater. Lifeguard.

Isaiah Ogungbangbe. Usually midfield. Likes perfume. Great hat. Horrid crocks.

Chase Glover-Hook. Midfield. Best hair. Best set of initials. Best scrambled egg eater.

Habib Bah. Up front. Quiet when sleeping. Loud when awake. Likes swimming. Premiership Eater. Not.

Others

Andrew Foran. Driver. Socialite. Bruce Forsyth lookalike. Gloucester man desperately seeking friendship. And completely mad.

Romeo (himself). 10-year Jersey veteran. Eats. Sleeps. Bruce’s carer.

Coach Wilson. The Real Room Inspector. Diary marker. Coffee drinker. Sudoku-gator.

Coach Beardsell. Apprentice Inspector. Part-time linesman. Full-time navigator. Almost a Pathfinder.

Coach Harris. Creative. Innovative. Photographer. Less heavy than last year. Slightly.

Coach Stalley. Chairman. Linesman. Coach. Likes a selfie.

The Editor. Old. Grey. Forgetful. Deaf. And they’re the good bits.

Hotel Staff. Attentive. Efficient. Helpful. Patient.

King Pat of Jersey. Festival organiser. 50 years. Legend.

Saturday: First Steps

Each year, the anticipation and excitement as we congregate outside Longlevens’ big green gates at the beginning of April is palpable. Everyone’s poised to begin the Easter Tour to Jersey, and as the bus pulls away to begin the journey down the M4 to Southampton, the anticipation and excitement reach fever-pitch. Whether it’s the inmates savouring the prospect of being away from their parents for nigh on eight days or whether it’s the parents savouring the prospect of being away from their children for the next 174 hours is a debate for another time, but you’ll be able to see it and feel it when the first group photo of the week is viewed by Mother Isaiah. Besides the 22 smiling faces and 44 excited eyes, she’ll also realise that Young Isaiah is wearing one of the best pieces of headwear ever seen next to a KB coach – a floppy black thing which is a cross between a gardener’s bucket hat and a number from The Great Gatsby. And it looks great in the centre of the picture.

At the airport, CGH weighs in with the lightest luggage at just 8.1kg which probably means, taking into account his zebra-striped case weighs 7.9kg, that he’s brought little more than a spare pair of pants and a toothbrush. Bear Grylls has survived for years on considerably less, so there’s every chance our man will make it through, completely unscathed, to next Saturday. At the other end of the Richter Scale, The Great Habib has brought virtually the entire contents of his bedroom, while Chairman Stalley’s case is so full of hair products that he’s without doubt the heaviest coach in the party.

Andrew Foran, the B Team bus driver and fervent seeker of social contact, scans the airport terminal in an effort to catch someone’s eye, but only seeks to make semi-visual contact with an older lady in a smart brown outfit and lilac scarf who’s sitting on her own reading a copy of Vogue. ‘We’re from Gloucester,’ begins Bruce, before starting to describe each of his last 20 visits to the Jersey Festival in slightly more detail than is probably necessary. Fifteen minutes later and halfway through his portrayal of the 2012 event, the nice lady taps him on the forearm and points to her left ear. ‘I’m sorry, young man,’ she says. ‘I just need to go to WHS. I think my batteries have run out.’

The security sensors burst into action as Coach Wilson (iron lung), Coach Beardsell (titanium leg) and Remmington Steele (metallic name) enter the scanning booth, the former clearly disappointed it’s a hirsute man with bulging eyes and a heavy hand that administers the obligatory search.

Thankfully, both propellers on Flight LM556 are working and we’re up and down before KF can say too much, which is a result in itself. Bags and cases are hauled into our designated Mont Nicolle minibus, the Bs having been assigned the much newer and swankier La Moye vehicle, the choice apparently having been made due to the JPR (Jersey Pranging Records) of the respective drivers. It’s a harsh statement to hear within 20 minutes of arriving, but one that’s perfectly justified.

The allocation of Ambassadorial rooms is always a greatly anticipated Day One event and the slightly upturned mouths of both St Sebastian and Nice Ashton E suggest 217 will be home to two pretty happy chappies. There are knowing nods from KF and RC3 upon the realisation that both are fairly tidy people and as such, 211 will likely be a leading contender for the ‘Room of the Week’ award. CGH and The Mann are billeted in 219, while The Room Inspector’s eyebrows reach the top of his forehead when Young Isaiah and HB are paired together in 210. RC2, The Eating Machine and Uncle Albert make up a pretty pleasant Gang of Three in 221.

Unpacking completed, a walk along the beach is called for, after which the much-awaited, IPL-style auction to determine who is owned by whom in this year’s JFL (Jersey Food League) takes place in the hotel lounge. In the Premiership, KF and Nice Ashton E each go for £7 to Coach Wilson and Coach Beardsell respectively, while from a personal perspective, I’m sure RC3 (£5) and Eating Machine (£12) will both prove to be astute long-term purchases. St Sebastian (£8) and HB (£3) find themselves the property of Coach W, while Young Isaiah (£3) and RC2 (£5) are both bought by Coach Beardsell in the Championship. This season’s Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League is inhabited by CGH (£3), The Mann (£2) and Uncle (£5), though the latter only costs that much as Coach Beardsell has a whole green ‘un left. Let’s be honest, Uncle Albert’s estimated value in food terms is something like a tenth of what is actually paid, but he’s not bothered. ‘Why am I in The Championship?’ complains HB in his first moan of the week. The question is a good one as things turn out, but not in the way he anticipated.

Dinner options include champagne sorbet and minestrone soup (both initially pronounced phonetically across the board) for starters and enough spaghetti bolognese to feed an army as one of the main course options. Nice AE has a pasta disasta, which is rhyming slang for Minus 3, TM is close behind in losing spaghetti marks, while HB starts as he means to go on, though starting is a bit of an exaggeration. The RC Twins, St Sebastian, KF and the Eating Machine all latch on to the new rule that you get an extra point for ordering a starter and finishing it and as such lead the nascent table in their various divisions at dinner’s end.

Sunday: Cafes

There’s a range of early-morning activities taking place as room doors are opened between 8.00 and 8.05. Room 211 (KF & RC3) are lying on their beds, chatting away (sensibly), while 217 (SH & AE) are playing an early-morning game of poker. 219 (CGH & TM) are busy tidying everything apart from their room, 221 (AS, NK & RC2) are indulging in an animated 3-way conversation about all things Jersey and in 210, Young Isaiah is chilling on his bed while HB is locked in the bathroom, attempting to beautify himself for the day ahead. It doesn’t work.

CGH’s breakfast-time, mouth-open eating style allows whoever’s sitting opposite him the opportunity to observe the first stage of the digestive process of a forkful of scrambled egg in intricate detail: from entering, to mashing, through pulping, to layering on both sides of the tongue, to virtual liquidising and finally, and thankfully, to swallowing (note to self: move seats as soon as possible).

At the FB Fields, the pre-match minute’s silence in memory of our great friend Malcolm Elias of Fulham FC is put on hold for ten minutes while the referee lectures Linesman Stalley in the art of flag-raising prior to our first match of the festival versus Hackney. When we finally get underway, the game turns out to be a tight affair, though the better chances fall our way and with ten minutes remaining, HB eventually latches on to KF’s through ball to secure a 1-0 win.

The first chicken nugget-dominated lunchtime passes without incident and we soon head west to Portelet Bay, a secluded cove with a tidal island and 180 steps that triple in number on the way back up. The assemblage splits into thirds (three 3s and two people alternating between divisions) – there’s a rock scrambling group, a rock and water group and a sand-based group, with Mother Hadley’s Haribos split evenly between the three. The nice people dig and play in the sand while the adventurous people clamber over the rocks. Of the others, CGH laments that his sodden tracksuit is covered in sand, HB moans: ‘I’m wet and I don’t like it,’ and KF repeatedly shouts: ‘I’m wet and I love it’ before wetting himself all over again.

At the same time as we descend on the Beach Café and order the afternoon’s ice creams complete with flakes, Coach Wilson, who has already consumed three lattes and completed The Sunday Times’ Fiendish Sudoku, surreptitiously leaves by the back door and begins to wend his way up the never-ending stairway back to the cliff top car park. Coach Beardsell, meanwhile, is struggling to haul himself up the final thirty steps, so takes a time-out to consider the wisdom of going ahead with his pre-booked summer vacation to The Alps and makes a mental note to cancel both flight and hotel at the earliest possible opportunity.

Four and a half miles north, the Yellows are visiting Plemont Bay, another spectacular cove with a couple of hundred steps and a café halfway down. The owner is initially hugely pleased at his unexpected ice cream bounty, but less enamoured when Andrew Bruce Forsyth Foran remains at the window, engaging his new-found mate in incessant conversation for just shy of 25 minutes after Lee, Ade and the players left for the beach, meaning the owner finishes up losing twice as much as he’s just taken as 90% of the queue clear off elsewhere for their mid-afternoon refreshment.

It’s early closing due to it being Easter Sunday, so we only get forty minutes swimming at Les Quennevais, though that’s time enough for RC2 to nearly lose his trunks in an unedifying moment that would have scared the locals if there’d been anyone else in the pool.

CGH is encouraged to: ‘Eat it for Kingsholm,’ but not enough roast beef disappears down the hatch that earlier in the day showed off the delights of an Ambassadorial breakfast – minus two. Earlier in the meal, St Sebastian and TM were tutored in how royalty eats (pea) soup (by moving one’s spoon away from one’s person) and for a full two minutes they exude an impressively regal posture before returning to type. HB, meanwhile, lapses into moaning mode with: ‘I can’t eat this; it’s too posh.’ Better get omelette on the menu tomorrow then, as he claims this is not only something he likes, but is the type of food the hoi polloi is used to consuming.

Only RC3 scores more than 6.5 when the first night’s diary marks are shared, while Room 211 leads 221 by 18 points to 17.5 with two days of the Best Room competition completed. The Eating Machine and St Sebastian maintain their 100% start in regard to Attitude marks with Uncle and NAE close behind on 18. Words of the Day are ‘picture-postcard’ and ‘exhausting’. Both refer to Portelet Bay. The first is the view that you get when walking down the steps. The second is what you feel like when walking back up them.

Monday: Results

The Eating Machine begins today with an additional sausage to supplement his Full English, last night’s gargantuan roast clearly but a distant memory to his alimentary canal. CGH’s attempt to avoid a full-blown laryngoscopy, results in a closed mouth but painstakingly slow completion of his breakfast duties, while Uncle has no problem polishing off bacon, hash brown and toast. HB has moved to a breakfast omelette in an effort to improve his standing in the Championship and after a disappointing first day, TM is endeavouring to enter the title race, albeit in the Pig Farmers Division Seven Reserve League. Everyone else begins Monday as they started Sunday – by clearing their plates with some aplomb.

One of the great things about the location of the Ambassadeur, apart from its proximity to the seafront, is that the gate to the Athletics Stadium that is part of the Florence Boot Fields is just 72 steps from the rear door. The team straggles across the track and field to reach Pitch One before TM gives us a first-half lead against East Cornwall, his wickedly inswinging corner meaning he’s just scored in the most southerly goal in the United Kingdom.

The performance is patchy to say the least, but HB’s late penalty completes a 2-0 win. Lunch (nuggets) completed and sun cream applied, we head north-west to Greve de Lecq, a bay as picture-postcard as Portelet was yesterday, though with 166 fewer steps to negotiate to reach and retire from the beach. There is sand and rocks, a proper stream with mini-waterfall, rock pools and sun, Wokingham and St Albans in situ and an ice cream van that acts as a ‘Welcome Break’ service station halfway through the afternoon. The RC twins cement their relationship by wearing identical ‘Coventry blue’ shirts and shorts, while a couple of others wear considerably less. Coach Wilson takes one look at the blue people, sniffs out the café at the far end of the bay and lumbers off to take care of his daily caffeine/Sudoku fix.

The Eating Machine requests a personalised climbing expedition, so we head up and along some interesting gullies and ledges that are only a couple of metres above the sand in one of the little inlets on the eastern side of the cove. It’s technically challenging enough for it to be fun, but safe enough as long as you don’t mind eating a mouthful of sand should you fall off. Nothing wrong with an afternoon snack thinks TEM, though as with most mountain goats, he spends most of his time looking up rather than down.

It’s just over three hours before we’re back in the van for the drive back up the picturesque Le Mont de Ste Marie valley. As we near the top, there’s an animated discussion which seeks to determine whether the agricultural aroma that’s wafting around the bus is emanating from the cows lowing beside the bubbling stream or HB’s trouser area, the consensus being that even cows can’t be that bad.

The hotel staff, thoughtful as ever, have decorated our tables with black & yellow napkins (Wokingham’s area has blue) and this seems to inspire everyone to have a starter, the allure of a potential bonus point the second factor in the decision-making process. The chicken noodle soup (yes, it’s got noodles in) is the popular ‘go to’ choice, while the roast pork proves popular, too. Uncle, however, is foolishly tempted by the macaroni cheese in much the same way that Aden Baldwin was on Thursday 15^th April 2008 and leaves virtually all of it. AB was top of the Premiership at the time, six days after ‘promising’ he’d go through the week without leaving a thing and persuading me to fork out £14 to buy him. Even CGH, this time round, won’t prove to be as big a waste of money.

Everyone else returns 10s or 11s with Remmington and St Sebastian, along with TEM and KF, still leading the way with 33 out of 33 in the eating stakes. RC3 declines dessert however and drops to 32, a decision that, even at this early stage of the JFL season, could end any chance of sharing the Premiership title, considering TEM shows absolutely no sign at all of easing up.

The Easter weekend’s football results are now virtually all in. Coach Beardsell was busy deducting attitude points at the airport on Saturday afternoon to people commenting humorously on Liverpool’s pathetic submission to Manchester City, while Uncle had a down-up-down Sunday as West Ham scored twice in added time to equalise against Leeds before losing on penalties. This morning’s second GPSFA win of the week has been offset by GCFC’s miserable Easter Monday performance against Taunton, though news filters in that AB, just a week shy of the anniversary of the macaroni cheese disaster, has just scored the winner for Bradford City at Wycombe. It’s no consolation.

There’s a further disaster not far away. Room 210 (IO & HB) has been inspected and the result isn’t good: Lights on, bathroom door open, clothes trying to escape drawers, items on the floor, items on the bed, items on the bathroom floor, sand in the shower – and, possibly worst of all, both the TV remote and the ‘Welcome to Jersey’ magazine failing to be parallel to the table’s edge/window sill. Zero.

Words of the Day are ‘idyllic’ (Greve de Lecq) and ‘optimistic’ (what we are about tomorrow). Maybe ‘pigsty’ would be more appropriate.

Tuesday: Incidents

There’s a particularly strong smell of children as the curtains are pulled back, windows opened wide and two sub-human heads with bleary eyes and ruffled hair emerge from beneath the duvets in Room 211. Also completely comatose are the inhabitants of 210, presumably due to last night’s feverish attempt at room correction. The other side of the fire door divide is much more awake and full of the joys of a Jersey spring – the residents of 217 are having a card-less chat and 221 are lounging (still sensibly) on their beds, while 219 haven’t a word to say between them as they’re brushing their teeth so intently that there’s a real danger they’ll remove a layer of enamel before going down for breakfast.

CGH does manage to trap his finger in a drawer for the 65^th time in 64 Jersey hours though, and the pain continues throughout the first-half of our game against an excellent Orpington & Bromley side on Pitch 2 as we find ourselves three-goals down at the break. The second period is much better in every way, with St Sebastian, who Wikipedia tells us is the patron saint of athletes as well as GPSFA, having an excellent game in centre midfield.

The final whistle is followed by a presentation to King Pat Cullinane by Gavin Rusling of the ESFA in recognition of his organisation of (all) 50 Jersey Festivals – a remarkable achievement in every way.

Gavin, as it turns out, is a follower of Poole Town (a proper team, unlike your Liverpool’s, Manchester’s and Arsenal’s) and, having booked into the Ambassadeur, asks to join us for our post-nugget visit to St Brelade’s. The afternoon’s a scorcher and the golden sands are well populated, though Coach Wilson declines the offer of a sun-drenched beach sojourn, retiring instead to La Brise, the terrace café that takes up the front area of St Brelade’s other Golden Sands – the hotel where the Gloucester parents stayed in our early days at the Jersey Festival before the delights of the Merton were discovered.

The first ‘incident’ of the day is not far away however, as the back of the minibus clips a tight corner on the way to Quennevais, which is just five minutes up the road. A sidelight is removed and the step mechanism outside the passenger door ‘compromised’, meaning that, along with the dislodged driver’s mirror that was removed by Coach Wilson’s head within 12 seconds of climbing into the bus on Saturday afternoon, we now have three things that need fixing.

We disembark through the rear door in an effort to save the side step, but our stay in the main pool is cut short by the afternoon’s second ‘incident’, which sees a young girl indulging in an episode of emesis, which in everyday language means throwing up. Maybe she’s imagined the digestive process of CGH’s Sunday-morning scrambled egg, caught a whiff of Monday’s aromas from Le Mont de Ste Marie or even heard about the first half of this morning’s game. Whatever the reason, Incident Two means everyone is immediately removed and relocated in the second pool which, unlike the first one, has a deep end. Blissfully unaware that his feet won’t touch the bottom, HB takes centre stage in Incident Three when he decides to drown himself before realising we have a game in the morning. Having determined water drinking can wait until dinner time, he grabs the lane rope before courting 20 minutes of personal attention from the very helpful lifeguard before pronouncing himself fit and well, meaning we can finally begin the journey home.

The return trip to the Ambassadeur sees Coach Beardsell chuckling away about Incident One and musing about Bob Owen’s School of Motoring which, in this acronym-laden world probably isn’t the ideal title, while ESFA Gavin is blamed for all three happenings, the week having been pretty much incident-free until he arrived.

Roast lamb and fillet of hake on a vegetable stew are both prominent on the Tuesday evening menu, with one being significantly more popular than the other. Overall consumption is good again though, despite HB and Uncle each dropping a single eating mark and KF doubling that, meaning RC3 is now in equal second spot in the Premiership.

Attitude-wise, RC2 (Remmington Steele) has seemingly got over his early-tour excitement and excessive loudness to record his first ten of the competition, while his Initial Twin, RC3, also scores what will prove to be his only maximum of the tour. IO, HB and KF are at the other end of the ‘A’ Scale, while St S, NAE and Uncle are toddling along nicely, just under the radar, in the Europa League places.

Diary-wise, there is significant improvement from TM, CGH and NAE, while in the tidiness stakes, the biggest improvement of all is by Room 210. They have gone up by a full 7.5 marks from yesterday’s nil pois, which has both good and bad ramifications. The good bit is that they have made huge progress over the past 24 hours. The less good news is that they’re still bottom.

Words of the Day are ‘Incidents’ and ‘Fastidiously’. The first refers to any number of Tuesday afternoon things, the second to the care taken by both 221 and 211 in particular to make everything, room-wise, as parallel and perpendicular as humanly possible. At the halfway point of the tour, they’re equal first.

Wednesday: Sergio

A question mark hangs in the early-morning air over Room 221. While their duvets are perfectly smoothed, the bathroom floor spotless and all necessary items at right angles to everything else, there’s a particularly gaudy look to their luggage containers. Uncle has a bright green case, Remmington an unseemly pick one and The Eating Machine a receptacle covered in a psychedelic hue that looks like the inside of a Christmas kaleidoscope after a few brandies. If marks for luggage are to be deducted though, 211 will also be subject to serious consideration. RC3 has a large yellow case that ensures he’ll have no problem at all being located should the airport lights suddenly fail or the Jersey sun decides it won’t shine again before Saturday afternoon’s take-off time.

Three noteworthy things happen this morning. Firstly, Gavin, having been blamed for all three of yesterday’s incidents, has upped sticks and left, his upcoming knee op in Bournemouth hospital a poor excuse for escaping the island so soon after causing no end of issues.

Secondly, the team responds well to yesterday’s chastening defeat to put five past Jersey A, HB proving he’s fully recovered from yesterday’s water torture by grabbing a hat-trick, TM repeating his ‘direct from a corner’ party-piece and St Sebastian finishing off a neat move for his tenth goal of the season.

And thirdly, and most importantly, we eventually find Sergio’s garage, hidden amongst a labyrinth of one-way streets, ill-positioned diversions and four-way traffic lights somewhere in the centre of St Helier. There’s a decent bit of grunting and twisting and wheezing as our man eventually refixes the driver’s mirror, a fair amount of crowbar wrenching and bending and cajoling to get the step adjusted and the door properly closing and an immediate: ‘I’ll find another bulb – come back on Friday’ with reference to the missing sidelight.

We’ve given up polling everyone for their lunch order – it’s eleven lots of nuggets and three portions of fish fingers with chips, beans & peas for the fourth day running, though this time around the nice hotel manager places a bowl of mussels in the centre on our table. TEM’s hand shoots up immediately and, before a fascinated audience, prises the black, wedge-shaped shells apart and swallows the contents with the alacrity of a Professional Shellfish Eater (PSE). Plucking up a modicum of culinary courage, NAE, KF, Remmington Steele and TM each follow suit, though TEM insists on downing a mussel for every one consumed by another team member to ensure that within no more than three salty minutes, the bowl is full of empty shells only.

We return to Greve de Lecq by popular demand, only to find the ice cream van has gone and been replaced by Hackney. The sea, rocks, stream, waterfall and rock pools remain the same as before, but the allure of more football is too great to let the opportunity of a beach match go begging. Most people seem to think we won 6-4, though our cause was no doubt helped by the number of Hackney players being noticeably reduced during the latter stages of the contest.

Deciding to celebrate our second win of the week over the Londoners by nipping over to the ice cream van that’s permanently located in a lay-by halfway down St Ouen Bay, we leave via Mont de la Greve de Lecq in an attempt to escape the odours of Le Mont de Ste Marie that were so evident during Sunday afternoon’s ascent. The diversion works to a tee, suggesting HB was unfairly blamed for things clearly beyond his control 72 hours ago. He’s clearly pleased by this upturn in events, meaning he only moans once in the next three minutes.

About a mile west as the crow flies, the Bs have made a return visit to Plemont Bay where the café owner, on hearing Bruce Forsyth is barely two minutes away, drops the shutters, locks the doors and self-administers a proper dose of chloroform in the hope that when he eventually comes round, we’ll be safely aboard the plane on our way back to Southampton.

The braised steak casserole and chicken pasta accounts for RC3 and CGH respectively, but everyone else scores a Bo Derek (Perfect Ten). Overall, The Eating Machine, Remmington Steele, Young Isaiah and St Sebastian have yet to score less than double figures, while NAE and TM haven’t dropped a mark since Day One, all of which is genuinely impressive stuff.

Attitude-wise, CGH returns the only Bo Derek of the day, while all rooms score 8 or more. Diary-wise, Wednesday sees RC3 joined on 8 by NAE and CGH as the quality of the written word continues to move forward. There’s another record that’s been broken this week, but not necessarily of a laudable kind. 44.4% of the 2025/26 team still don’t understand that the Words of the Day are meant to be used in their writing and not just entered in the little yellow boxes halfway down the social page of their daily diary. This beats the previous record of 0% established between 1997-2025 by a full 44.4%. Today’s offerings are ‘delicious’ and ‘usurped’, the second of which is worth taking back to school next Monday and testing your teacher to see if they have any idea what it means.

Thursday: Seven-Up

There’s a single fly buzzing around the breakfast table and The Eating Machine’s getting excited. The prospect of supplementing his Full English and accompanying toast with an in-between snack is almost too exciting for words. CGH blames the poor fly for his hash brown disaster (Minus 1), though RC3, whose hash brown intake seems to be increasing daily, shows no signs of dropping anything. Habib, following a brief moan, has also ordered a potato triangle, either in an effort to stave off a further points deduction or because it’s the only item on the menu with the same initials as his.

Having discovered that the proximity of the hotel to the pitches (and the fact that breakfast finishes at 9am) means there is little to no practical difference between kicking off early or kicking off late. As such, the usual upturned mouths savouring the prospect of an 11.15 start are not as obvious today as they might have been in previous years. Irrespective of the KO time, we score seven against Newbury, RC3 claiming our third, IO assisted, direct-from-a-corner, goal of the week, while TM’s free kick is his third set-piece score in just 120 hours. HB, meanwhile, bags his second treble in as many days and CGH finally gets his name on the scoresheet with a late brace. Just as heartening as the result is that, after a dodgy start on Sunday, almost all hugging and kissing has been eradicated from the post-match socials. Credit to RC3 in particular for never getting involved (‘Fist bump only – honest’) and to the likes of St Sebastian and NAE for limiting physical contact to the bare minimum. Encouraging Coach Beardsell to mingle (spy) has been a masterstroke, though Coach Wilson, despite initially being offered the role, effectively turned it down by virtue of being in the coffee shop when it was first suggested.

Coach Harris has given up trying to scam other people’s credit cards and booked both teams into Aquasplash, the water park situated next to the harbour, the slides and wave machine proving hugely popular with a moan-less HB and everyone else. Next up, it’s a walk into town for the annual shop, the pedestrianised thoroughfare containing a number of gift emporiums, though Sports Direct and JD Sports as ever prove to be the most popular stores. Various items of sportswear are purchased and a fair few presents bought, some of which will be eaten long before we get back to the hotel, never mind return home.

Young Isaiah seems to have been involved in a hat/sunglasses swap, while CGH has finally bought a headband to keep his flowing locks out of his eyes. He looks like a poor man’s Jack Grealish, but doesn’t care one bit. RC3, meanwhile, wanders round with his bright green knapsack on his back, making him almost impossible to lose while doing a pretty good impression of a walking-talking first-aid kit.

There’s an off-putting, pre-dinner odour in the section of the corridor closest to Room 210, but no-one mentions it. This isn’t surprising, as the smell is powerful enough to keep everyone in their rooms, fearful of the nasal consequences of venturing out even a few seconds early. Even the people billeted at the other side of the fire barriers have to be cajoled into opening their bedroom door, crawling out of their lair and heading downstairs, just in case the offensive stench makes their hair curl.

The evening meal starts with an impromptu maths test for our end of the table, with HB winning the hors d’oeuvre of the Spelling Bee that follows, before the impressive NAE claims the main prize with a succession of high-end answers. It’s KP’s birthday on the next table and last night’s carrots, the spares of which have undoubtedly found their way into tonight’s bright orange soup, help TEM see what’s happening across the great divide. This is in spite of his second migraine of the week and, as with the first one, he makes no fuss, courts no attention and displays not a single inkling that his eating prowess will be compromised in any way.

Words of the Day are ‘versatile’ and ‘positive thinking’. RC3 and IO are fine examples of the first type of player, while the second is what every successful sportsperson needs.

Friday: Presentations

The weather’s still fine, but the temperature’s dropped, which will make playing conditions less taxing than those of the earlier part of the week. Coach Stalley has departed the island, giving the Bs renewed hope of a successful end to the festival. RC3 is up to four hash browns as his straight-line breakfast graph maintains its perfect ascension. HB’s straight-line graph is also perfect, but level, as one triangle a day has no gradient at all.

We create as many clear chances as Orpington, but they take theirs and we don’t on the way to a 3-0 win, yet the performance in all but goals is heartening. The Bs make the most of their backroom restructuring, leaving Newbury glad they won’t see us again for a while, but we miss their 4-0 success as we’re hot-footing it to Sergio’s to complete the week’s bus repairs. We miss the end-of-festival group photo too and, glory be, the coaches’ game – never a spectacle for even part-time lovers of our beautiful game.

The last 11 + 3 (nuggets + fish fingers) lunch sees Remmington Steele prove to be particularly annoying by repeatedly placing the ketchup bottle in front of people who really don’t like it, then showing off his front teeth in the most innocent of smiles, while there’s a dropping-off of a different kind thirty minutes later as TM is deposited with Father Edwards outside the entrance to the Merton, ready for an early flight back to Blighty.

Coach Harris has lost the Yellows’ minibus keys and three Attitude marks in the process. He scours the FB Fields, retracing his morning steps and re-enacting what John Kelly refers to as the ‘Walk of Shame’ following every home game at GL2. He finally discovers the offending items in his bathroom sink and is deducted three more attitude points as a result.

With the need to be back at the Merton for the Presentation Dinner by 5pm, we spend the intervening hour and a half popping back into St Helier, the Beach or Town vote finishing Noah 1 Back to Town 9. TEM isn’t a happy bunny as he’s already got his beach togs on and briefly considers eating everyone else in retribution for what he considers to be a very bad decision. Remembering we’ve got a game next Saturday though, he returns his Hannibal Lecter tendencies to his backpack for the time being, his team ethic trumping his appetite on this occasion.

KF soon realises the folly of buying clothes without trying them on and, having located the receipt, returns yesterday’s purchases to JD before spending some of his new-found wealth on presents for his extended family. RC3 is also on the present trail – a Jersey mug, Jersey fridge magnet and some sweets that look like Jersey pebbles (or any other pebbles for that matter), making up his haul. Not on the present trail at all is Coach Wilson, who repeats his long look of longing as we walk down King Street past Coffee Express on the left, then walk back up King Street past Coffee Express on the right, just as he did during the same caffeine-less journey yesterday. With most people carrying their purchases and TEM carrying a very noticeable glower, we return to the Ambassadeur for a 15-minute freshen-up and change (IO’s perfumery and HB’s moaning making an interesting combination) before bussing it round to the Merton.

Formalities concluded and certificates presented, the attendees descend on the sumptuous buffet which contains a huge array of aromatic dishes with something for every taste. TEM is in wonderland, while NAE is left to wonder: ‘Why, oh why, did I eat that whole red chilli?’ He’s suddenly got more facial colour than he’s had all week and his water intake in the following five minutes will be hugely greater than his usual monthly ration. On the neighbouring tables, KF and IO both lose marks for having eyes that are considerably greedier than their stomachs. Very similar to NAE’s eyes and tastebuds, then.

After a great week of room tidiness, the final evening inspection sees 221 lose three marks for various atrocities, lavatorial and otherwise, while in a strange about-turn, 210, along with 217, is awarded the highest mark of the day with 90%. St Sebastian loses an attitude mark for not getting a joke, which is a bit harsh but, according to the judge on these matters, absolutely correct. No-one is fined for accusing as everyone has finally cottoned on that preceding suggestions about other people’s indiscretions with ‘might’ (So-and-so MIGHT have left their chair out) protects them against an unnecessary points deduction.

Words of the day are ‘extravagant’ (buffet) and ‘fatigue’, though in which order they happened is anyone’s guess.

Saturday: Return Ticket

It’s 8.40am and Room 210 is still in the land of nod, though by 8.59 they’ve made it down for the week’s final breakfast where RC3 (5 hash browns today) and TEM are busy building marmalade pagodas as part of their Easter holiday science homework. There’s a post-meal presentation to our four fabulous waiters and a final half-hour in the rooms before we wend our way to the airport with a diesel stop en route.

There are crowds aplenty as seemingly everyone wants to exit the island at the same time with only The Saint managing to lose his boarding pass somewhere between security and the waiting room.

There are few other dramas before we board the plane, save for Bruce Forsyth Foran in the Departure Lounge accosting an elderly couple and their daughter, each of whom is displaying clear signs that they’ve had a great holiday overseas, but are now desperate to get home. ‘Southampton…,’ begins Bruce, alongside his trademark chortle, at which point the parents reply in unison: ‘Not today, mate, we’re staying for another week,’ and immediately disappearing, the daughter hot on their heels, out of the door they’d walked through barely five minutes previously. ‘What’s going on?’ questions Bruce. ‘Some people….’

The plane stutters a few times before take-off, a situation that’s resolved when the air hostess repositions Coach Harris and Romeo at the opposite end of the plane to the baggage hold in order to redistribute the weight. It also vibrates a few times during its two-minute level-out, a situation that unnerves occupiers of the front-row seats for a moment as a man bearing a striking resemblance to the pilot saunters down the aisle. At least two other people display a frown or three when someone turns round and asks them if the propeller on their side of the plane is still working. ‘Yes,’ they reply. ‘That’s good,’ replies the perp, ‘because this one isn’t.’

There are all the usual questions as we divert from the Route de Longlevens along Estcourt Road to be dropped off at Oxstalls, before traipsing over to the Arena for the post-tour prizegiving, the final event of the week.

RC3 wins the diary award for a consistently good journal with NAE in second place. CGH creates a new GPSFA record having improved his journal mark by 0.5 on a daily basis and as such has moved from a first-day 6 out of 10 to a last-day 9. Isaiah’s consistent effort sees him finish fourth.

TEM’s dream of occupying the tidiest room on all three tours metaphorically ends in tears as 221 finishes in third place behind 217 and 211, meaning KF has accrued room titles in both London and Jersey, much to the surprise of all concerned and particularly his parents.

The Eating Machine, possibly the greatest eater GPSFA has ever seen, was never going to be anything other than first in the Premiership, though RC3 took advantage of KF’s Merton Mess to steal second at the very last moment. Remmington Steele and St Sebastian, who can now add ‘Eaters’ to the other things of which he’s a patron saint, each boast 100% records in the Championship and, if we had a second week and new league, would face a red chilli eat-out to determine who replaces NAE, perfect but for the first night’s spag bog disaster, in the top division when the JFL resumes. At the other end of the scale, ‘Why aren’t I in the Premiership?’ HB would be unceremoniously relegated and replaced by the impressive Taylan Mann, who edges out Uncle Albert by four points at the top of the PF Division 7 Reserve League.

TEM makes it a trophy double by heading the Attitude League by half a mark, with The Saint having to be content with the runner-up spot. NAE comes in third with Uncle completing a good, all-round week in fourth place.

KF wins the Match prize by half a mark from Hash Brown, with St S and RC3 just behind. There are consolation prizes for CGH (lightest luggage), IO (worst footwear), HB (attempting to drown himself) and TM (ignoring popular opinion and saving him).

History tells us saints rarely win anything, but ours finishes first overall to start what might be a new trend in beatification circles. RC3 and NAE are equal second and, either due to a very consistent week or the fact that he’s eaten everyone else, TEM takes fourth.

‘Who won Jersey?’ asks the bloke on the reception desk. ‘Everyone,’ comes the synchronised reply. ‘Absolutely everyone.’

Happy days

Acknowledgements

All the Gloucester coaches and players for making Jersey 2026 the fun that it was and particularly Andrew (Bruce Forsyth) Foran for (begrudgingly) continuing to be the persona non grata of the annual Jersey resume. Of all the great signings….

All the Gloucester parents, grandparents, friends & families, for allowing it all to happen and each of our fabulous sponsors and supporters for ensuring that it did.

King Pat Cullinane of Jersey for his 50 years of fantastic organisation of this amazing event. A man of high principle and unbridled enthusiasm, rarely seen and seldom heard, but always there. In the (almost) immortal words of Sir Christopher Wren: ‘If you want a memorial to me, look around the FB Fields.’

The managers, coaches and helpers of all the teams involved – the foot soldiers who make it all happen. We love the company, the banter and the proverbial craic. Oh, and Phil & John who return year after year from the frozen north. You probably won’t read this, but thanks, anyway.

And finally, to Mrs (Stewart) Ratcliffe. I hope you enjoy this memoir as much as you’ve enjoyed the tales of previous trips. I know we all loved being a small part of it. Carpe Diem.