WHAT GOES ON TOUR...
B
ACK IN the 1970s,
I played rugby for
Coventry Welsh RFC,
writes RW reader
Trefor Jones. One
particular caper happened when
visiting Cardiff for an Easter tour.
When tryingto book our
accommodation, we found that
once we mentioned we were
a rugby club none of the local
hotels were prepared to host us.
So we hatched a cunning plan.
We told the next hotel we rang, in
Richmond Road, that we were a
Male Voice Choir – and it worked.
However, once the assortment
of broken noses and cauliflower
ears trooped into the lobby when
we arrived, the hotel proprietor
soon realised that he had been
conned. I guess he needed the
income as he didn’t kick us out.
We had overbooked by three
rooms and he said if we behaved
and didn’t upset any other guests,
he would refund the price of the
those rooms. It sounded fair.
In the early hours of Sunday
following an ‘eventful’ night out
in Cardiff – among other things,
our fly-half threw up on a yellow
Ferrari after a curry – one player
staggered back to the hotel. Ray
had forgotten his key and the door
was locked. He was about to ring
the bell when he remembered
that it sounded like Big Ben on
steroids. He would doubtless
wake up everyone within half a
mile, so he looked for alternatives.
He tried the door of our bus. No
luck. But the boot was unlocked,
so Ray spent the night cuddled up
with a load of damp, smelly kit.
When he climbed out at 7.30am,
looking like Dracula, a passerby
nearly died with fright. Still, he’d
saved the day by not ringing the
bell and we got our money back.[ Goes in Rugby World]
Front Row
ILLUSTRATION
David Lyttleton
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