Training Camp, Coverack, September 2005

I: The Ballad of Kimberly Roach, in C.

Chariots championed, clattering convoy containing chattering, chiselled, cross-country chaps / chicks cruises chaotically: Cambridge cries, crestfallen; Coverack celebrates Cambridge’s chief chumps coming. Class cricketer calls: “Can coach come Churchill? Carry colleen Coverackwards?” “ ‘Course.” Charabanc circles, collects comrade, completes circle: Cornwall.

II: The journey to Cornwall

Following the tragic Case of the Great Big Solid Yet Seemingly Invisible Metal Post, Will George travelled to Coverack snuggled up against a bag of frozen legumes. We wonder if perhaps, even then, he was yearning for another minibus, where Someone Else sat gazing enraptured upon the same giant, orange moon (whose size, we are reliably informed, is an illusion based upon its proximity to the horizon, and whose subtle colour owes itself to air pollution.) Catharine later pointed out, poetically, that the image of the moon upon the stilly sea looked like ‘plastic.’ By that time we were safely ensconced in the Youth Hostel, and Neil had made his first U-turn of camp on the way down to Coverack.

III: The Abode

We were greeted by a building of sumptuous elegance and quirky practicality, and by Sabrina, whom several people took to be the maid. A piano lurked in one corner, each string carefully and precisely out of tune, to present the unwary listener with the most frantic discord imaginable. Phil Scard’s Russian lullabies about dead babies (you could learn something there Owain) sounded almost normal. Will George, keenly feeling the complete absence of any rare species of woodpecker, turned to more banal challenges, and made considerable efforts to convince the pool table to work for free. His paper “Induced Slave Labour in Green Baize.” 2005, Bul. Soc. Poo. Tab explains his heroic struggle in very boring detail. After interminable cups of tea and fiddling about with bikes, we went to bed, to dream wholesome dreams of mighty Northern pine forests and Ed Brady.

IV: The Morning

From sleek and dismal depths of night, the sun did quiver, upright almost, quite across the plain outshining, and lit upon a group of tiny figures stumbling, black beneath her burning rays, and shedding buckets, four times unto the doors returning, before like Lemmings led towards their doom, they came upon a path used seldom, whose course they traced beside the roaring sea. Lee Harper, on the first run of camp, managed once again to fall flat on his back. Meanwhile, five went to Tesco, and, five shopping trolleys later, lost Kyla’s purse. She was more worried about her Green and Black’s organic cocoa. We found the purse eventually under some bags of flour, helpfully deposited by Aidan. Upon our return, thirty hungry runners descended upon the minibus, plucking porridge oats and peanut butter from out the squashed wreckage of tomatoes and ‘2 ½ hours from field to frozen’ peas (keep your thighs off them, Will). The milk bottles remained intact then, I can assure you. After breakfast, the call of the sea proved too much for some, and, led by Catharine (completely against our will) we threw ourselves gingerly into the swell. A few minutes later, we were out again, and playing Frisbee on the sand. Our bold captain, nothing loathe, demonstrated Aqua Jogging, and swam off into the sunset. It being eleven am, he never found it, and returned quite soon after a quick waltz around the bay.

V: Running

Coverack and its lush environs play host to a number of delightful running trails. Chief among these are the coastal paths, whose ankle twisting, rockstrewn channels, and heartbreak hills are unprecedented outside the realms of the modern motion picture. For the runner with more to live for, the local road system offers a network of ready made tracks and trails, whose vistas over the surrounding countryside would be exceptional, were it not for the mighty Cornish hedges. One can simply go on running for miles and miles, or as in the case of the frankly insane Rowan Hooper: miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles and miles.  

Reps: hardcore sessions for hardcore hareys. These took place on a variety of beaches and fields. Particularly memorable was that session round the satellite dishes, where massive 6 minute reps and rough ground combined to make a serio (all mention of reps has been carefully edited out until after the winter training camp, ed.)

Lee and Catharine Looking Keen

Core Stability: Hareys lack the ability to stay still for a minute without making funny noises, and bizarre facial expressions. For some truly silly looking pictures of Will George, see the January 2005 training camp report here. Leika, Si and Jason took the sport to new heights, with a massive plank competition. Leika won with a time of somewhere over 3 minutes.

Cycling: Emma, Pete, Tom and Sabrina brought bikes to training camp, and rode all over the place, popping off to the Lizard and stopping off at sweet little coffee shops along the way. I am pleased to say that this blatant, and systemised attempt to routinely increase their mileage by unfair means, gained them no points on the point tally. Emma, after randomly handing out large amounts of chocolate, vanished. We hear she turned up in the middle of a sizeable cycling competition in Spain. Luckily, she had her bike with her.

VI: Food

On Monday night we were greeted by Catharine Wood’s mysterious concoction: minced lamb or vege-mince with baked beans, tomato soup, onions, carrots, dribbled generously over Tesco’s finest pasta. It was unexpectedly glorious, as were the three fruit crumbles which followed: apple with a choice of blackberry, sultana or cinnamon. On the Tuesday, we were enticed with a fine chicken or chickpea curry, delicately warming but not outrageously hot. Emma Pooley rounded the meal off with a delightfully unhealthy looking caramel-topped apple shortbread, which I hope tasted absolutely horrendous, as it vanished before I could get a look in. Leika presented a plum surprise. I’m not sure what the surprise was, but it definitely had plums in it. Wednesday saw us tucking in to chilli. Thursday followed with Beef or Tofu, and a remarkable broccoli cake:

The Broccoli Cake Incident

“Don’t play this game Andy, it makes you weird.” Catharine Wood, on chess.

Andy Bell placed a head of broccoli upon a bread and butter pudding provided for Thursday’s repast. It looked quite attractive and floral, but Sabrina responded by throwing broccoli at Andy. Andy took offence at this, and stuffed a pineapple into Sabrina’s bed. Mysteriously, the pineapple migrated to Andy’s bed, and Andy’s big, red bag disappeared. The following morning we awake, all ready to leap into our running shoes, and find that Andy Bell has lost his orthopaedic insoles (which are in the bag.) Ali Connell is the first to get the blame, which is fair enough, as he’s bound to have done something. Eventually, however, after Ali’s heartfelt protestations, Sabrina owns up to having smuggled the bag into the drying-room corridor. It is not there. We search the rooms, the corridors, the girls’ showers (frequently) and even the gardens. Rich Mathie helpfully draws a  giant pink handbag on the blackboard, demanding “Has anyone seen this bag?” Eventually, Sabrina heads off on a mighty cycling expedition with Pete and Tom. Just as we are about to go for a run, Andyless, Catharine bounds into the youth-hostel, crying “Andy, I’ve found your bag. It’s in the minibus.” or words to that effect. As we set off upon our run, Andy Bell included, each of us privately ponders the Deep Mystery: which yellow-bellied toad moved Andy’s bag to the minibus? The answer we discovered only hours later, upon returning from another dip in the sea: Andy Bell had hidden his own bag in the minibus. Andy had asked Si for the minibus keys the previous evening. Unfortunately Si later asked to borrow Andy’s leg-stretching band, which was in the bag, in the minibus. Si, returning to the hostel exclaimed: ‘I didn’t realise your whole bag was in the minibus, Andy!’ However, nobody noticed that evening, and Andy proceeded to bring his Master Plan to its strange, pointless fruition. Andy Bell, you’re completely bonkers.

VII: Cakes.

A few boxes of confectionary delight accompanied us to training camp, among them Andy Bell’s mother’s flapjacks, and Pete’s delicious chocolate brownies. More delights materialised during the week, a date cake from Pete again, a chocolate, almond, apricot and raisin cake from Aidan (does anyone know what happened to the other fifty grams of dark chocolate?), and Si’s raisin scones, replete with Rich Mathie’s persistently hand-whipped cream. Sarah’s Anzac biscuits also made an appearance, and will be coming soon to a tea run near you. The most mysterious contribution was a carrot cake, which nobody, as far as I know, has owned up to. Ulrich Paquet’s inexhaustible supply of Jaffa cakes also came in handy, and according to one Owain Bristow, were completely indispensable while waiting for the shoppers to return on Monday morning: “In the meantime hungry runners must share bourbons, jaffa cakes and a packet of ready salted crisps.” The recollections of Owain Bristow.

VIII: Eden

The first thing I remember about Eden is the stench of rotting milk which flooded the minibus all the way there. A giant bee hung motionless above us, guarding the garden from the ice-cream sticks, the bottle-tops, and the condescending glances, of our urban, incredulous society. Two majestic domes awaited us inside. One was humid, the other temperate. Both held a fine selection of plants, from a wide variety of onions, to a mighty stand of banana trees. On the way back, we were treated to a fine selection of Cornish  place names: Gween, Manhay, Playing Place and Water-Ma-Trout.

Eden

IX: Relays

In the fading light of a Friday afternoon, 28 intrepid runners took up their positions on the starting blocks to show what a week of hard-core training had done for them. Each team had four runners, but the course had only three legs, each of about 500m. In a vain attempt to cover up this howling arithmetic bloomer, captain Si proclaimed that each runner should run three times, moving on one leg of the course every lap. Chaos ensued when Aidan Brown of Four Pies tripped up team-mate Steve Benson at the end of the very first leg. Aidan dashed off leaving Andy Bell to wipe up the blood. Andy escorted Steve to the minibus, and bandaged him up exquisitely. Unfortunately, this left two teams with only three runners each. Paolo was enlisted to run for two teams, his own and Andy’s, at the same time, on the same leg. This proved to be an utter failure, and Kim, of Andy’s team, was once again left waiting all forlorn. The Four Pies employed a more successful strategy, two of their remaining three runners running four legs each. (At this point a diagram would be helpful: please feel free to draw one in the space provided)

Fig. A: The Coverack Relays

There followed some frantic shuffling of places, the mighty Owain Bristow drawing ahead on every third leg , but in the end, the favourites won. Four Pies, with their heavily stacked all male team, against all the odds (including some dastardly shirt pulling by Sabrina) stumbled over the line in first place.

X: Games

Chess: definitely the most exciting game on camp.

Reaction: players voluntarily electrocute themselves. I was not party to this ridiculous sport, but Owain Bristow seems to get a kick out of it: “Night: the wonderful game that is Reaction is discovered. A test of willpower and not to be played when full of scrumpy jack (as Will finds out). General admiration for girls who give it a go but frustration sets in when they drop the stick (accompanied by scream) despite Owain or Will being on the receiving end of the shock. Rules of game soon change to a) let’s just make everyone shock themselves and b) “I wonder what happens if I put the shocker on my ……..” (insert part of anatomy here) thankfully the second option was not explored to its logical conclusion.” The recollections of Owain Bristow.

Cranium: particular amusement was derived from clay modelling, which always started off looking slightly dodgy. Aidan’s intense cultural deprivation over the last few years forced him to impersonate two celebrities which he’d never heard off.. This mainly involved impersonating the other players as they impersonated celebrities he'd never heard of..

Articulate: “It’s a pudding like a penis.” Sabrina, on spotted Dick

The cereal box game: “There’s not enough room, if you want to go all the way, with your legs out straight.” Kim. This game involved picking up a cereal box with your teeth, without touching the ground except for with your feet. Each round a small strip of card is chopped off the top of the box, leading to increasingly more painful contortions as the game progresses to its inevitable conclusion, a flat strip of cardboard. 5 disturbingly flexible people succeeded in picking up this disgusting, slobbery scrap of paper: Emma, Will, Andy, Sabrina, and Joseph. “It’s better than riding a horse” Sabrina.

The table game: Competitors attempt to climb under a table, without touching the floor. This exhausting sport vanquished most Hareys, dropping some, such as Alex Gastraa, on his head. In the end, after demonstration of the method of turning round by Jo, and the manner of swinging oneself up by Emma Pooley, the table was conquered in its entirety by the brutal contortions of that bag-hiding maniac, Mr Andy Bell. Plasticman Ulrich performed the devilish tricky feat of passing a pool cue round his torso two handed.  

The Mars Bar game: People dress up and try to eat chocolate while other people roll dice.

Mafia: The infallible Owain Bristow, also known as god, provides a concise record of this bizarre guessing game: "Night: Mafia game takes place. Confusion over who is spy/doctor and between the mafia themselves (Tabitha, Ulrich and Alex G) over their identity. Ends with crushing victory for mafia thanks to Rich M and Rich H’s many comments rendering them suspect in the eyes of the villagers (when will they learn it’s always the quiet ones!) Andy B and Catharine the first innocents to be dastardly disposed of: Catharine loudly wonders why and then stays pretty vocal for a corpse." The recollections of Owain Bristow. There were a few problems in this game: the spy didn't know who the mafia were, so had no way of helping them. He did know who the doctor was, however. This didn't help, as the doctor made a tragic mistake in the first round:

Rich Hewitt: Aidan, did you do it?

Dr. Aidan: Yes, I mean no.

The villagers promptly hanged him. "I like bad fun," Catharine Wood.

XI: Fond Farewells

After the relays were over, we returned to our delightful hovel, for a bit of a dress up and a splash-over with the old smelly salts. The local pub beckoned, with its fine array of local delicacies, all arranged by the meticulous Matt Sims:

The Menu

Scampi and Chips

Lasagne

Macaroni Cheese

Tagliatelle with a Mediterranean sauce

~*~

Mixed Icecream

Apple Tart

Something involving apricots

Something else

With a choice of Custard, Clotted Cream or Icecream

The moderate and representative view of Mr Bristow sums up the spirit of the occasion: "Night: Went to pub- scampi portions too small in Owain’s opinion. He contented himself by eating part of Lee’s lasagne and all of Kyla’s green pasta. Ice cream with ice cream found to be a blatant rip-off: it’s just ice cream!" The recollections of Owain Bristow. There followed a ridiculous prize ceremony. Notable are Owain's hand-crafted fun-o-meter, made to order by Andy Bell; Aidan Brown's silver shoe-laces, too small to be of any practical application, but now hanging in pride of place beside his "Robinson College fire regulations"; Will's cool, iron-post-avoiding shades (see photo); Joseph's exquisite hand-knotted paper napkin; and, of course, Rowan Hooper's animal of the week, a fluffy lion finger puppet. The old lady sitting in the midst of all this looked bemused, amused, and at times deeply disturbed. Night drew in, and Kim showed us photos of people crawling under tables. We returned to the youth hostel to find the rest entranced by another fiendish game of Cranium, which ended well, we hear, for Tabitha and Will. See attached photo and full length feature film.

In the morning some went running again. Then we went home.

XII: The Journey Home

Half way through Cornwall, we ran into some bad traffic. Neil performed a U-turn. On the motorway. Again. And we ended up on a narrow, Cornish track, with grass growing between the tyres, and humpback bridges. We next saw the other Hareys, after some hard-core gambling in the back of the bus, at a service-station. Spirits dulled by this painful, plastic, post-modern purgatory, were lifted by the memory of our dear ex captain Hope: "I'm going to get married in a Service Station." Ben Hope, Winter training camp 2005.  

Everyone

XIII: Thanks

Heartfelt thanks go to Steve Benson, Catharine Wood, Matt Sims and the incredible Si Rutherford, as well as everyone who cooked, carried shopping, or ran their hearts out in some killer reps, for making this training camp really enjoyable. You’re legendary, guys. Thanks also to Andy Bell, for his delightful pictorial diary, to Owain Bristow for his eloquent recollections, and to Jacob Eisler, for formatting this for the website being a 'human industrial waste bin' (Catherine Wood, while Mr. Eisler devoured off all leftovers at a tea run, 2005).

XIV: Random Quotes

“Oooh!” Catharine Wood

“Come on, let’s do some chicken noises.” Andy Bell

“Oooh Oooh Ah Ah! Oooh Oooh Ah Ah!” Catharine Wood

“I might have a real talent for being a porn star, but I’m not sure it would be a good career choice.” Paolo Natali.

“I’d buy porn if Paolo was on it.” Rich Mathie

“Rich. You were in the kitchen with me earlier” Catharine Wood

“If you get it moist, it warps” Joe, on cardboard.