The faces were wide-eyed, mouths parted in anticipation and a babble of  excited conversation filled the air. What next? Where will we go? How long can we stay up for? They had, indeed, waited a long time for this moment and now at last it had finally arrived. Yes – the mini bus had just disappeared out of the gates of Gloucester RFC, and the parents couldn’t wait to begin the three days of freedom they had so looked forward to ever since that first meeting back at the beginning of September.

Meanwhile, at the same time, ex-player and Internet Whizz Kid David Hickey was making his way by bus, tram, train, ferry and foot from Hackney in South London to Clayfields near Fawley for the first engagement of our half term weekend away. He arrived an hour and a half before the team bus, though this was purely coincidental. “Wight,” said the Chairman with some authority, as we approached the penultimate road junction of  a trip made noticeably longer by the M27 road works. “Left,” hinted the map which was hastily adjusted so the print faced the correct way and the mini bus turned (almost) unerringly into its destination. Although he didn’t realise it at the time, Mr Stait’s first mistake was to prove to be somewhat prophetic.

Six minutes gone and Southampton took the lead as a long range effort went straight through Alex Morris. The wrath of the Chairman however was vent, not on our goalkeeper, but upon the two managers who between them had managed to forget the footballs and therefore had left our custodian somewhat bereft of his usual pre-match warm up. The threat of the removal of the officials’ corned beef & mustard rolls as prepared by the Chairman’s good lady was withdrawn, following promises that this oversight would not happen again. Thankfully Tyler Weir equalised from the edge of the box shortly before half time and our unbeaten start to the season continued as the game ended 1-1. The Chairman smiled a little easier at the final whistle, and all was well once again in GPSFA Land.

The ferry crossing was smooth and with the sun shining we descended the chairlift to Alum Bay of the 52 different colours of sand. Scott Claridge decided to maroon himself on a rock aka Robinson Crusoe, but thankfully no Man Friday appeared to keep him company. On returning to dry land the fun fair attractions proved that no-one could climb a rope to ring a bell, dislodge six cans with three soft balls or knock a heavy box off a shelf with a cork fired from a rifle with little power. The fact that these discoveries cost a collective £50 to make is incidental, though eventually eight people did manage to win (or buy) some great big inflatable rubber hammers. Success at last.

Sunday morning again dawned fine, with Blackgang Chine the first port of call. After a 45 minute spell on the water slides which saw Messrs Pritchard and Hawes get stuck on the first descent and a somewhat overweight Scandinavian couple prove that velocity is increased proportionate to the weight in the raft as they crashed into the far perimeter fence, we moved on to the maze. No-one has yet owned up to the idea of telling Mac Brown to hide and then leading the rest of the party off to Dinosaur Land – but it certainly worked. It was left to the Chairman to try to rescue him, though after ten minutes of his “Left,” “Wight,” calls failing to remove the player from the maze, Mac decided to make his own way out.

The Crooked House, Rumpus Mansion, Frontier Land, Hell’s Mouth and most popularly the ice cream shop were among the other attractions at Blackgang, before it was back in the mini bus to head north to Robin Hill Country Park. “Wight,” claimed the Chairman at Rookley crossroads. “Wong,” came the universal reply.

Lunch was followed by the second maze of the day and the annual races from left to right were won by the team which did not feature Curtis Watts. Whether or not he was following the Chairman’s directions or not is unclear, but he managed to find more dead ends than any other player in GPSFA history, or so we think – Keith Steadman is checking the official records as this very piece is being written.

After a quick crawl through the rabbit holes, the toboggan rides proved to be a popular excursion, though Internet Dave didn’t agree after deciding to partner Mr Claridge and discovering that his driver, if he did actually know where the brake was, certainly didn’t fancy using it. The man with the terrible sideboards was not amused – and neither was Dave.

Squirrel Tower was climbed before leaving Robin Hill for Sandown - and an hour’s swimming at the Leisure Pool was followed by a walk along the beach at Shanklin, only to discover that Robinson Crusoe had now taken on the guise of King Canute – and deservedly met a similar fate. The roast dinner at 7.00 was well received and after diaries and telephone calls to home were completed, nobody minded retiring to bed as an exhausting day came to a close.

The sight of GPSFA players at 6.45am is not a pretty one, but an early breakfast of boiled eggs and toast was required if we were to leave Rocklands in time to catch the 9.00am ferry. With the mini bus departing at five past eight for the twelve mile drive to East Cowes, there seemed little to worry about, though the navigator’s reluctance to pay much attention to the map should have cast grave doubts amongst the rest of the party. “Left,” exhorted the Chairman at Newport’s large roundabout with such presence that the driver  immediately followed his instructions, only to discover several minutes later that the bus was now in West Cowes, with only a passenger ferry connecting it to the Red Funnels port across the estuary. A hasty U turn and complete disregard for the speed cameras along the A3021 saw the GPSFA party hurtle through the ferry gates at 8.59am, with the ship casting off no more than sixty seconds later.

Maybe the Chairman had had an inkling of what was to come, and decided it would be best if we didn’t play the morning’s scheduled fixture, because Gosport  completely overpowered us from the first whistle to the last, and our undefeated start to the season was ended in some style as the home side netted four without reply. Alex Morris did his best to keep us in the game, but apart from Tom Stannard’s penalty which hit the post, we offered little in the first half and even less in the second.

However, a day which had brought little success before lunch did indeed end with a major triumph. After 56 hours of navigational misery, the Chairman finally came into his own. As the mini bus made its way along Kingsholm Road with the rugby club fast approaching , Mr Stait thrust out his arm and announced in his most confident manner yet, “Wight!”

And just for once, he was.

      Happy Days.