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The fifth major OC overseas tour was four years in the planning and few doubted that the destination - India - would be the most arduous trip yet. That proved to be the case. The gruelling travel took its toll - alcohol and late nights contributed to the increasing weariness of the squad - but the emergence of a new and much younger group of players got us through largely unscathed.
Whereas the previous four trips had involved largely the same group, this time we boasted a plethora of twenty-somethings who brought new energy on the field and a remarkable ability to party off it.
We started in Delhi, setting the tone with a bone-shaking trip to the Taj Mahal, one of the wonders of the modern world which Pete Hobbs described as being no better than Cranleigh's Stockland Square. The cultural tone established, we won our opening match against a weak British Embassy XI by 18 runs with Alan Cope making 76 and then Henry Watkinson chipping in with three wickets.
From there we headed north to Chandigarh for a game on what the organisers assured us was the highest ground in the world. We never got to find out as snow and thick fog meant we abandoned the coach trip to the venue after an hour. The weak among the party, with head honcho Rick Johnson to the fore, were already faltering.
It was then from snow to sun as we travelled to Goa for a hedonistic five days interrupted by our second game against a useful Ablem Breweries side. We started well, Cope notching the first overseas hundred for the club, but in the field we wilted and lost by seven wickets. We responded as only we can ... we partied all night.
Goa was the lull before the storm, with days by the pool or at the bar inventing new cocktails, evenings indulging in increasingly brutal fines, usually aimed at Tristan Rosenfeldt, the club's new whipping boy, and nights exploring the local nightlife.
From there we hit Bombay for the business-end of the tour. The contrast was marked, with endless traffic, noise and pollution. However, lodged at the Brabourne Stadium, India's own Lord's, we were largely sheltered from the human storm outside.
Our third game, at the Brabourne itself, which was not quite filled to its 36,000 capacity, ended in a 57-run defeat after we lost our main run-scorers, Cope and Nathan Ross, early on when chasing 252 and never recovered. Hobbs, who landed with a broken hand in a splint and acquired a severe rash and a coldsore soon after arrival, suddenly declared himself fit - thanks to industrial quantities of painkillers used on local elephants - and bowled his heart out before collapsing in a drug-induced stupor, a party trick he repeated in the remaining games.
We bounced back the next day with a two-wicket win over a World Cricket Academy XI in our most impressive performance of the trip. A young opposition batted too slowly against tight bowling from Cope, Ed Henderson and Damian Hill, wearing more facepaint than Joan Collins. However, we appeared down and out at 33 for 5 chasing 184, but Ross, aided by Rosenfeldt and Steve Bailey, straight from the airport, rallied the innings. Within sight of victory we again wobbled but Johnny Gates, who was far from well, and Tom Hufton steered us home.
The last match against Payyodes, again on the Academy ground, was the opposite as we somehow threw away a game we had sewn up entering the last half hour. With five overs remaining we needed 25 to win with seven wickets in hand and Ross hitting the ball to all parts with ease. Then he tried to pull a bouncer only to spoon a catch to midwicket. Watkinson fell next ball, feathering a catch to the keeper as he tried to run the ball to third man, and off the last delivery of the over, Johnson drove a catch to the one man on the cover boundary. The experience had almost all gone in one breath and three run-outs in the final over finished us off.
We had a ball for sure, but after a time the constant battery of stomach upsets - many self-imposed - heat, noise and, to be blunt, inefficiency wears you down. Even those who had been mocking Rosenfeldt for his endless quest to find western fast food were beginning to hanker for something with beef and without a sauce to blow your brains out.
The hospitality was equally appreciated and lavish, and while India was an eye-opener to those who had not been there before, we were rather protected from the grim reality by our five-star hotels. One could leave Mumbai without really seeing the extremes in the people's fortunes which mean that almost one million people live in a single shanty town without a toilet between them. It's worth thinking about when someone in the UK complains they are poor because they can't afford a Sky Sports subscription.
The conclusion of the tour also marks the end of tour organisation by Johnson and Martin Williamson. Five trips, with recent ones increasingly luxurious and audacious, have been undertaken in a decade, and so good is Rick at meeting the right people and saying the right thing that there is a danger that people think it's not all that hard after all. Trust me, it is. The hours that Rick puts into preparing and then double and treble checking itineraries, hotels and fixtures would floor almost anyone else.
It's time to pass on the baton and this trip has shown that there is a really excellent crop of young players coming through the ranks, and the remarkable success of the school should ensure that the club goes from strength to strength.
Tour Squad Mike Chase, Alan Cope, Eds Copleston, Johnny Gates, Ed Henderson, Damien Hill, Pete Hobbs, Tom Hufton, Rick Johnson, Sam Langmead, Rob Merry, Tristan Rosenfeldt, Nathan Ross, Henry Watkinson (captain), Martin Williamson. Mark Cope, Paul Cope, Melissa Johnson, Milly Johnson, Osha Mason, Anna Moorby, Mike Payne, Alice Smith.
