In the tradition of these tours it was not long before the conversation turned to the main reason for this gathering of the cream of London’s sportsmen. The tactics to be adopted to counter the technical superiority of our French hosts? The measures to be taken to ensure the heat and consequent fluid loss did not adversely affect our level of performance? The odds on the top scorer of the weekend (Simon Clare 1-2, Matt Wigham 3-1, Keith Cave 10-1, Chris Hithersay 40-1, Dave Patterson 50-1, Steve Donnelly 50-1, Dick Stoker 100-1, John Thoroughgood 1000-1, Buzz 5000-1, Trevor Carpenter – no price quoted)?

"I’m after your crown Trevor. I’m going to drink you under the table. Just you wait" HMS had thrown down the gauntlet. Trevor just smiled and replied "We’ll see, Dave. This your first trip is it?"

We arrived at Portsmouth four pints better off thanks to a rush stop in Petersfield. Once aboard we immediately made for our sumptuous accommodation with en suite physio. On finding there was no such thing and JT had made it all up, we headed for the bar. Found Trevor already there. The casino did a roaring trade throughout the night! At breakfast I could just about hear the conversation from the table that had stayed up all night. On it HMS was still goading Trevor – Round One shared. "You’re mine. That trophy is practically in my mum’s cabinet. I’m going to keep you up all tour and drink you under the table. I haven’t even started yet." We all smiled at HMS, who by this time had broken into a feverish sweat. Trevor smiled knowingly "We’ll see, virgin."

Needless to say, by the time we left the boat, HMS was fast asleep in the back of the coach dribbling from every orifice. Trevor on the other hand was opening another can of John Smiths! If ever there had been a doubt about Trevor’s stamina it was dispelled when we stopped for breakfast in a quaint French town with a massive cathedral. While most of had coffee, bread and a Calvados, Trevor excelled himself with 11 (eleven) glasses of Calvados!! As HMS wallowed in his own saliva on the coach, Round Two certainly went to Trevor.

Spirits on the coach were high. The banter was top drawer. Dennis Philpott bought the most extraordinary pair of sunglasses that gave us enough ammunition for hours of comments. They can only be described as a virtual reality helmet meets Darth Vader. Patterson’s lack of consciousness helped the banter twofold – firstly he didn’t contribute and secondly he was the butt of so many jokes. Actually "butt" was his only contribution and while he slept the atmosphere at the back of the bus was so polluted that many of us opted to stay in the stench infested toilet rather than share the air with Dave.

Friday lunch was a pleasant affair with a couple of hours to stretch our legs and bask in the sunshine. Our elite players took the opportunity to play spoof – the rules of which are quite simple – Trevor and Dave Patterson end up drinking all penalties – Trevor with a grin on his face and HMS with a grimace.

Arriving in Montreuil Bellay in mid afternoon we were to take the opportunity to acclimatise to the foreign conditions - 34° C heat, fresh country air and a grassy pitch. On to a reception and billeting. The mayor gave the welcome speech and informed us that the place we were standing was the spot where Richard The Lionheart died. "And this is the spot where Trevor Carpenter threw up in 1999" added Trev.

After a quick break for a shower / shit / shave, it was off for a meal. The Frogs have it sussed. A group of about 5 families with their guests come round to someone’s garage which is set up as a dining area. Food consists of bread, cold meat, cous-cous, seafood salad, rabbit pate and of course potato salad. Red wine flows and barriers are quickly broken as the French demonstrate their grasp of the English language while we demonstrate our grasp of pigeon English. Why do we always end up speaking in this ridiculous manner? By the end of the evening more groups turn up and the evening’s entertainment is provided by our hosts and John Thoroughgood. Having been duped into believing that he is about to be initiated into an elite Club, John is persuaded to remove his socks and shoes, kneel in front of a chopping board with a machete on his hand and be blindfolded. I’m sure that the red wine had something to do with it, but I couldn’t help get the feeling that the French weren’t too concerned about the state of our team if John was our manager!!

He was instructed that 5 corks were to be place in front of him and all he had to do was slice them – with a time limit of 30 seconds. I’ll leave it to your imagination exactly what happened, but basically when John went to put his socks back on they were shredded. I am working on how we can persuade visiting teams next season to kneel trouserless in the bar next to a chopping board!!!

At 2am we venture off to the town disco, by this time very much the worse for wear. Trevor, Bourkey, Simon et al treat the Frogs to some culture – every Beatles karaoki track they have. Simon must be the only person in the English speaking world who doesn’t know the words to any Beatles track. By chucking out time (4 to 5am) Trevor has thrown up on Shaun Swan twice and HMS has adopted his accustomed position – flat out on the seats. Trevor’s hosts collect him in a transit van. He wakes up with HMS on top of him with his suitcases in the back of the van being thrown about as his loony hosts travel at breakneck speed through the country lanes. Trevor is convinced he is being kidnapped!

The trip to Samur market on the Saturday morning may well have been full of local interest and an opportunity to purchase some strangely French comestibles, but is definitely one to miss after the antics of the previous night. We meet at some holiday resort and guess what – there’s more free alcohol. Certain members of the team look unplayable – others don’t even make the meet. John Thoroughgood is wearing the frown of a concerned manager – or nursing a stormer of a hangover. The central defensive partnership of HMS and Shaun Swan is looking shaky – quite literally. "I’ll be alright. Don’t worry. I just need a couple of glasses of this plonk and I’ll be buzzing again" quips Shaun. "I’m going to be sick" groans HMS.

The games have been arranged for evening kick offs, but it is still blisteringly hot when the Vets take to the field. There was a distinct lack of true Vets (Pete Griggs, Dave Rowles, Dick Stoker, John Thoroughgood, Trevor Carpenter) and a number of younger Vets were given their debuts. We ran out comfortable winners and our goals came from an unusual source. John Thoroughgood defied medical science and all logic by slamming home 4 our goals in a 6-3 victory – and some of them were really well taken!

Immediately after that it was the turn of the Club’s elite to show just why they were selected from thousands to represent the top amateur club football in Carshalton at this festival of football. Having survived some early pressure, Matt Wigham opened the scoring with a fine strike from 25 yards. By halftime it was 2-0. The rest of the game is a blur, but I remember we won 4-3 – despite the most blatantly biased refereeing display ever. It was embarrassing – we hardly got a decision all match. There was almost a diplomatic incident. There were a number of heroic displays – the central defensive partnership of Swan and HMS stood relatively firm, Steve Donnelly made some fine saves. Andy and myself kicked Frogs at every opportunity. Paul Bourke, Keith Cave, Chris Hithersay and Chris Smith worked their socks off in midfield and Simon Clare and Matt Wigham were as dangerous a striking partnership as you could hope for. JT was delighted to bag yet another trophy to round off a remarkable season.

Saturday night was spent celebrating in the style to which we have become accustomed - loads of wine and lager. We retired for food at 11pm and most of us kept going until 6am. Next day those who could manage it were back at the ground for another game. This resulted in a 3-4 defeat, which given the state of many of our players was a remarkable damage limitation exercise. Simon Clare and John Thoroughgood ended top scorers of the tournament with 5 goals apiece. Yes, John notched another in the defeat!

Next event was a BBQ where the Frogs were introduced to the delights of Spoof. The forfeits started with glasses of red wine and escalated to a glass of red wine with Bourky’s false tooth in it, red wine with salami, red wine with pork fat, red wine strained through Andy Donnelly’s sweaty sock and finally Shaun Swan drank a glass of red wine with tomato ketchup and mustard.

On to the vineyard where we were challenged to drink sherry from a large pipette and sample the various wines. In the evening there was the Club dinner, where once again we failed to impress on the singing front – we’re a football Club, not a choral society. Again most of us continued to drink through the night and passed on the option of sleep – ending up at the vineyard tasting more free wine. To celebrate Matt Wigham’s birthday, the vineyard owner opened a bottle of wine from Matt’s birth year – 1972. When Chris Hithersay, who was also celebrating his birthday gave his age he was unable to find a bottle that old!!! Vets football next season, eh Chris?

Was it the heat, the rigours of 270 minutes football in 2 days, the lack of any sleep or the ridiculous volumes of alcohol that took their toll on the road home? Whatever it was, I just wanted to get home. Matt Wigham provided the entertainment on the coach home. He celebrated his birthday along with Chris "I was 1^st XI skipper when you were in nappies" Hithersay but staying drunk throughout the coach trip and slating anyone who came into view. Trevor "Wasp" Carpenter came in for particular criticism, though MC Bourky, Dennis Philpott, Simon Clare, Jason Lock and Keith Cave didn’t exactly escape the barbed tongue.

"We must make sure we treat them in the same manner they have treated us next year. All it needs is a bit of organisation, a bit of cash and a few bodies to get involved" says Mel - prospective wife of one time starlet Simon Clare. She is absolutely right of course and hopefully some of the younger members of the Club can step in to make next year’s trip to Carshalton one to be proud of. Hopefully a few of those who were on this tour will be willing and able to organise next year.

I’ve probably missed out loads of incidents (Jason Lock’s "She speaks sign language" being one that springs to mind) and I know I haven’t mentioned plenty of people who were also on tour. It was another good tour and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves at their own pace. Well done to those who survived and positively thrived in these circumstances. Unlucky Dave, Trevor has held on to his Pisshead of the Tour title for another year – by a mile!