Travel – Page 3 – Deano's World

Everest: What A Difference A Month Makes

30/10/201829/12/2020Mark "Deano" Dean

After discovering quite how unfit I was on a team training weekend in the Lake District I decided to get as many miles/hours on a mountain as possible in addition to the usual cardio stuff in the gym. I suspected that there is really no substitute to pulling the boots on and getting out on the hill. I live near the North Downs so a few short treks up Titsey Hill to Botley Hill Farm were a decent boost but, being honest, not nearly challenging enough.

With a certain amount of trepidation I booked a “wedding anniversary” trip to Ambleside to treat my long-suffering wife, Buffy, to a spa break and purely coincidentally to have another crack at the Fairfield Horseshoe.

It started as all trips to the Lake District do when you live in Surrey; a bloody long drive. A stop off in Huntingdon to see a living legend called Mel Thompson helped break up the drive nicely. After a “few” Guinness had been sunk and he gave me some wise words of advice we drove the rest of the way wondering how on earth three people had managed to eat that much cheese. We were somewhere around Manchester when we finally remembered opening a bottle of Port at about 1am that morning.

After checking into the Low Wood Hotel & Spa we prepared for the next day’s walk. I decided to go the other way round (clockwise) the Horseshoe on this trip. This decision was entirely based on my assumption that going up Nab Scar could not be worse than descending Nab Scar. I should probably tell you that my decision-making is often suspect. For example, the previous trip had seen me drinking red wine in the hotel bar with Paul Jordan until 2am, based entirely on the premise that as I was fat and unfit there was no way I could feel worse the next day; I was wrong.

Much to my surprise I actually made a good call for once and the ascent went reasonably well.

For me. Unfortunately Buffy did not speak to me for the rest of the walk.

Fairfield Horseshoe is beautiful. Something I appreciated a whole lot more on the second attempt. The weather was perfect and the recent rain had not been heavy enough to turn the grass areas into a bog, meaning the going was very good. The best part however was the fact that I didn’t feel like I was suffocating with each step. I also didn’t think at any point that I wouldn’t make it round, something that certainly wasn’t the case on my first attempt the previous month.

We made good time along the ridge in near perfect weather watching the RAF running ultra low level training flights up and down the valleys below us. The breathtaking beauty of the Lake District was never more clear to see and it is no wonder it inspired Alfred Wainwright to explore and write so much about her. We made good time along the ridge from Heron Pike to Great Rigg and Buffy and I seemed to be the only people, aside from a lunatic running along carrying his mountain bike, going this way round. The weather closed in slightly as we arrived at Fairfield so we pressed on before sitting to “enjoy” the pack lunch from the hotel at the base of Dove Crag.

With the weather clearing up again nicely we set off on the return leg and started to encounter people coming the other way. There were less people than I expected given that the weather was so good for the time of year but then again it was a Monday in October. We took the stretch from Dove Crag along to High Pike and then down to Low Pike at a leisurely pace taking in the majestic views down to Ambleside and Lake Windermere. Worryingly we bumped into a family of four at Low Pike at around 2pm who were attempting the horseshoe in the opposite direction and who seemed very poorly prepared given the fact they only had two or three hours of sunlight left. It was however reassuring that there are still some people who are worse prepared than I am.

The descent was gentler on the knees going this way and this made the end of the work a great deal more enjoyable than the previous trip. The point of walking in the hills is, at least partially, to enjoy the experience and it is certainly fair to say I enjoyed this trip to Fairfield a lot more than the previous one. We arrived back to the hotel at around 1630 having left the car park at 1045 – a time of approximately five and a half hours was something I was comfortable with and I knew I could have gone faster if I had to.

As I relaxed the following day in the luxury of the Low Wood Spa I was pleased that progress has been made. I knew I was still overweight but recognised that I was at least fitter than I had been after years of sedentary life, injuries, surgery and all the associated self pity that inevitably goes with it. There was certainly some more work needed in the gym and it was vital I got back on the hill as soon as I could spare the time.

To my wife’s “delight” I had already booked a trip to Snowdonia to get some more miles under my belt on Snowdon. I figured that if it was good enough for George Mallory to train there before his trips to the Himalaya & Everest then it was definitely good enough for me.

Everest: Dinner At My Place

15/10/201829/12/2020Mark "Deano" Dean

As soon as I decided to give the Everest Rugby Challenge a go I knew that I would have to host a fundraiser at my local Nepali restaurant: The Gurkha Kitchen in Oxted. The restaurant is owned by my good friend Purna Gurung and I have been going there and enjoying their hospitality for over twenty years. In fact many of my friends look forward to the almost annual invite to celebrate my birthday although they often tell me they are there for the food not for me. I suspect there is probably a little truth in that as the food is certainly more interesting than I am most of the time.

So on Tuesday 2nd of February I will host seventy friends and family at “my place”. The hope is to raise in the region of £10,000 for the charity Wooden Spoon which will go towards using rugby to improve the lives of disadvantaged and disabled children in the UK. By raising that amount I will also meet my own personal target allowing me to achieve an old dream to go to Nepal and Tibet and see the Himalaya up close and personal. Not quite the mountaineering adventure I dreamt of when I was growing up but it might be a step in the right direction.

If you want to join in on the 2nd February for some great food, amazing hospitality and to find out about what the LMAX Exchange Everest Rugby Challenge is all about then please feel free to drop me an email.

Everest: Making Plans

09/10/201829/12/2020Mark "Deano" Dean

OK I have 185 days until I get on a plane to Nepal and at this point I am very aware that I am still 19 stone and I need to lose roughly another 3 stone. I am also aware that apart from the near death experience in the Lake District a few weeks back I haven’t really done much mountain walking since I did the Three Peaks in 2009.

I probably need to play a few games of rugby as well because if I can’t play a game at sea level in Surrey I suspect I might struggle a bit at over 6500m in Tibet.

I also need to work out how to replicate training at 6500m because unless there is a substantial, and as yet undiscovered 8000m high mountain, somewhere in the UK there are not many options locally for me to stagger up or fall down. I still need to climb a few of the usual UK peaks like Snowdon, Ben Nevis, Pen-y-Fan and Waun Fach and I have booked trips to Wales, The Lakes and Scotland over the next three months but I suspect they will just help with the cardio fitness rather than the altitude.

It isn’t all bad news as I’ve joined a gym, the Nuffield Health club, in Chislehurst just off the A20 so I can get in early on the way to the office. The even better news is that I’ve even been to it and no, to the cynical bastards among you, not just to use the Sauna and Jacuzzi. In fact I have dropped from over 20 stone to 19 stone since joining so I must be doing something right.

I’ve also managed to raise over £1000 of my £10,000 target through the kindness of donations from friends, family and other well wishers. If you can afford to donate to the fantastic charity that is Wooden Spoon and help me hit my fundraising target please click here

I have also been lucky enough to have received numerous suggestions and messages of support from friends and family. A friend of mine, we’ll call him “Dave”, who teaches mathematics has helped me break down all the problems, tasks and issues I have into simple formulae so it doesn’t all seem so daunting.

Helping Disadvantaged Kids = (Mountain + Rugby + Altitude + Pain) x Fundraising

(Mountains x Altitude) + (Gym + Rugby – Cake)/Gin* = Not Dying*

*Apparently to make these formula work Gin is a constant and Not Dying is a variable.

“Dave” also suggested I come up and play a few Vets games for my old club, Old Mid-Whitgiftian, in Sanderstead. He suggested this whilst lying on the sofa, watching Peppa Pig and moaning about his aches and pains from playing the day before and surrounded by used ice packs. The whole situation was made infinitely more amusing when his son ran in and jumped on him. I suspect it will take until the new year for me to find the necessary courage to actually pull a pair of boots on and run out on the pitch but I think it prudent to see if I can still catch and/or pass.

“Dave” also suggested I take up smoking because apparently research has shown that smokers do better at altitude than sensible people. As I very much suspect this research was done by the sort of people who write the “Six Months of Snow Hell and -20° C In May” weather reports for the Daily Express so I decided to take his suggestion “under advisement”. Apart from the other obvious disadvantages I wasn’t sure that making myself smell even worse on the side of a mountain was in anyone’s best interests least of all the poor unfortunate soul who has to share a tent with me.

I also just heard that the fabulous team at Wooden Spoon are also sorting out “Altitude Training” for all the challengers and this sounds both incredible and awful. Simulating the effects of playing rugby at 6500m sounds dangerously close to “simulated dying” on a mountain so I am nervously awaiting the details.

So between trips to mountains, suggestions from “Dave”, giving up cake, drinking Gin, going to the gym and “simulated dying” I have the basics of the plan to get me ready to play rugby on Everest. My wife liked this plan so much she recently increased my life insurance premium and has started saying things like “I will miss you forever you know”. In hindsight I am not sure watching the film Everest with her was such a good idea.

So the planning is done (ish) and now comes the hard work. It most probably will not be plain sailing but I am excited about seeing what I am actually capable of and how I can adapt to the curve balls thrown at me. The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!

Everest: Reality Check

23/09/201829/12/2020Mark "Deano" Dean

Have you ever had that feeling of trepidation when you look around a room and everyone there is so much more prepared than you? I’m in a briefing with the rest of the LMAX Exchange Everest Rugby Challenge team, listening to Dave and Carrie from Adventure Peaks telling us what to expect, and I’m pretty much shitting myself. To make it worse, they are only talking about the training walk around the Lake District tomorrow and not the actual trip to Everest.

It probably doesn’t help that since I last climbed any mountain I have had my L5 disk removed, recovered from a bout of ITP, torn the ACL in my left knee and eaten far too much cheese. I was pretty sure most of the people in that room could outperform me on the hill in their sleep and I was genuinely not even sure I’d make it out of Ambleside before I started struggling to breath.

The plan was a route known as the Fairfield Horseshoe which has a disarmingly cute “5 Fells” rating. What that actually means is that people who, like me, look more like Shrek after a substantial pie-eating contest than a mountaineer should seriously think twice about attempting it. The route itself starts and finishes in Ambleside and contains the following hills: Nab Scar, Low Pike, High Pike (Scandale), Heron Pike North Top, Heron Pike (Rydal), Hart Crag, Great Rigg, Fairfield, and Dove Crag. All in all, just over a 1000m climb and, with the trek in and out of Waterhead, roughly 20km of walking.

What that really means is a lot of up, followed by a lot more up and then a knee-breaking descent back down after taking in some spectacular views down towards Windermere and Coniston.

So, if that was the plan… what happened? It started well enough, but then again, I’d like to think I can walk through a town on a road with the best of them. As we started the climb out of Ambleside, the realisation that I was in for a tough day hit me, along with the fact that judging from the size of everybody else’s rucksacks I had, as usual, gratuitously over-packed.

The initial climb was certainly a reality check; it needed to be. Climbing Everest, even if only as far as the North Col, is not to be taken lightly. I knew that if I couldn’t walk up and down a mountain in the Lake District then I had absolutely no chance of doing that at 6500m in the Himalaya.

Barely an hour in and having only climbed a hundred metres or so I genuinely didn’t think that I was going to finish the day’s walk and once again started to wonder what on earth I was doing. I have no doubt that most of my companions also thought I wouldn’t be capable but that didn’t stop many of them offering encouragement throughout the day. Their kind words certainly helped me to keep putting one foot in front of the other and I’m pretty sure without them I probably wouldn’t have made it round.

Basically for the next two hours I walked up the side of a mountain trying to keep my breathing under control and focusing on nothing more than one painful step at a time. I could feel my heart racing in my chest as it got the toughest workout it had received in many a year. I also think at this point my fitbit had logically assumed that I had either accidentally put it in the washing machine or that I was being chased by a pride of Lions.

The route around the ridge was a relief, the weather holding off meant that we could see down to Windermere and South over the Lake District. Cumbria is a beautiful place and those views down over the lakes certainly helped remind me that all things that are worth having never come easy. A brief lunch stop on Fairfield itself and the chance to pull on my trusty old Buffalo shirt was a welcome break – a quick sandwich though was all I had time for and then we were back on our way before our legs stiffened up. I also realised that trying to lose weight quickly was all well and good but that I needed to make sure I was fueling my body as well. Again my lack of preparation with regards to food made what was always going to be a difficult day even tougher.

The descent was horrid. I mean it was actually so awful that falling over the edge might have been preferable to the short agonising steps down the ancient stone path back into Ambleside. My knees were swollen and my feet ached from the unyielding confines of my new boots and it just seemed to go on for ever. When I finally reached the tarmac road back to the hotel at Waterhead I was shattered and ready for bed. I was so stiff I could barely walk to the minibus back to the hotel.

Arriving at the hotel I was taken aback by the kind words I got from the other members of the expedition, many of whom were nursing aches and pains of their own. Many of them took the time to speak to me and give positive feedback on what had basically been a torturous day in the mountains for me.

Throughout the drive home I started to plan the next six months. I had a lot of work to do but the fact I hadn’t crashed and burnt in the Lake District gave me the confidence that this expedition was actually doable. The reality check had been worth it and although success, for me, on Everest was still nothing more than a vague possibility it was no longer the rose tinted pipedream it had been 48 hours earlier.

So what next? How do I get the amount of time I need on the hill? Not only that but how do I achieve that in the time-frame without breaking my already notoriously fragile body? In those and so many other unanswered questions, as the Bard would tell us, lies the rub.

Everest: Strange Decisions

22/09/201829/12/2020Mark "Deano" Dean

Recently, when asked in an interview why I had decided to join an expedition with the challenge of setting not one but two Guinness World Records, I discovered I actually didn’t have an answer. To be honest I was also rather surprised to be interviewed, by none other than World Rugby TV, in the first place. Given the fact that I was only ever an almost average rugby player on my best day and that the likes of Tamara Taylor, Ollie Philips and Shane Williams were also on the expedition, I wasn’t really sure what appeal I would have to anyone outside the circle of my friends and family.

But I am getting ahead of myself; let me start at the beginning of this particular tale. My name is Mark Dean, I am 40 years old, overweight, catastrophically unfit, former bog-standard rugby player, a lover of wine and cheese and all the other things that tend to be bad for you and *spoiler alert* I haven’t set foot on a mountain in almost ten years. All of which might make you question why, two months ago, I agreed to join an expedition to play rugby at the highest altitude ever attempted – Mount Everest in the Himalaya. I made this strange decision, somewhat predictably after a few drinks, when a friend of mine told me he was going to set the World Record for playing a game of rugby at the highest altitude ever and suggested I come along for the ride. To be fair, after a few more G&Ts than is sensible when making any sort of grown-up decisions, this sounded like a grand idea, and the fact it involved raising a serious amount of money for the charity, Wooden Spoon, made it impossible to decline.

Back in the present, sat in that interview, I began to wonder what on earth I’d got myself into. What had possessed me to agree to something that was so far beyond my capability and outside my comfort zone that I may as well have agreed to play rugby on the moon. For what seemed an eternity, I thought about the question before coming up with something like, “I had always loved rugby and had always wanted to visit Nepal and Tibet so to combine the two made perfect sense.” I went on to elaborate that, “if it was to be my last ever game of rugby then playing it on Everest, with an amazing group of people, whilst raising a huge amount of money for the charity Wooden Spoon wasn’t a bad way to bow out.” All of that is actually true, if a little clichéd, and may even be a small part of why I am going, but for some reason it rings hollow in my own head.

So, for better for worse, I am going to Everest next April to play what will almost certainly be my last ever game of rugby. In doing so I am going to have to get fitter than I have been in over a decade, lose roughly 5 stone (32Kg), climb more than a few mountains in preparation, raise in the region of £20,000 for charity and somehow not lose my sense of humour along the way. Hopefully, somewhere en route to that rugby pitch, laid out just below the North Col, 6750m up the face of the tallest mountain in the world, I’ll find my reason for going. In the meantime, I am going to take this incredible opportunity to improve my life whilst raising money to help Wooden Spoon use rugby to change the lives of disadvantaged children in the UK.

My last thought on leaving the interview, to start what will undoubtedly be the toughest challenge I have ever attempted, is that maybe it isn’t all about the destination, maybe how you get there is the worthier part.

Kenya 2014: Giraffe Manor

25/12/201410/10/2024Mark "Deano" Dean

To describe the experience of staying at Giraffe Manor as a privilege is an understatement to say the very least. Before you even mention the fact that you interacting with wild giraffes you are immediately struck by the sumptious decor of the building itself and incredible service from their wonderful staff. To spend Christmas Eve there, well that is really quite something! The highlight of any stay is the opportunity to interact with the giraffes. They often visit the manor in the morning and evening, poking their long necks through windows and doors in search of treats. Guests can feed them from their hands or even from their breakfast table.

The giraffe saying hello to guests on Christmas Eve 2014

It was a lovely evening: first we were serenaded with Christmas Carols in the library by a local choir which really set the tone before sitting down for a fantastic supper in the main drawing room with the other guests. This was probably the largest group of people we’d seen on the trip but everyone got along famously; all buying into the Christmas spirit. The only issue was that I wasn’t feeling well – a 24 hour bug picked up prior to arrival that resulted in shivers and shakes as well as a fervent desire to remain within running distance of a bathroom. Oh well, I guess I will have to return at some point just to check that the experience wasn’t just some sort of delireum brought on by a lack of gin and tonic.

The manor itself is a stately building built by the Rowntree family in the 1930s. It is deceptively big with 12 guest bedrooms, all of which are uniquely decorated in an elegant, colonial style that feels very natural and avoids the trap of coming across as being ostentacious or pretentious. The rooms are spacious (another understatement: the bed was so big my wife was sleeping in the next postcode) and comfortable, with en-suite bathrooms and often dual aspect views of the surrounding gardens and their resident Rothschild Giraffe and cheeky warthogs.

Breakfast on Christmas morning was simply breathtaking. We had a early morning visit through our room window by a giraffe enquiring whether we had any kibble to spare and then, after making our way down to the breakfast room, we were joined by several other giraffe who appreared through the numerous windows on the ground floor to dine with us.

25th December 2014: Buffy getting up close with one of our breakfast companions at Giraffe Manor

The cherry on the cake is of course the fact that a stay at Giraffe Manor supports the conservation of the endangered Rothschild’s giraffe. The property is part of a breeding program aimed at increasing the population of these giraffes in the wild.

Rugby: Southampton RFC’s Kiwi Adventure ’99

28/08/199902/12/2024Mark "Deano" Dean

There’s something magical about touring New Zealand as a rugby player. It’s like making a pilgrimage to the sport’s spiritual home, where every patch of grass has probably felt the studs of an All Black legend. In the summer of ’99, Southampton University RFC embarked on just such an odyssey, carrying our English hopes (and livers) to the land of the long white cloud.

Our journey began in Dunedin, that southern stronghold of rugby culture. The famous Carisbrook Stadium – the “House of Pain” – loomed before us like a cathedral of the sport. We were there to face Otago U21s, and while the scoreline didn’t go our way, the real story began afterward at the Furry Goblet. It was here that we lost our first man to the legendary Kiwi hospitality. Our prop (who shall remain nameless to protect the guilty) found himself whisked away by a kindly cleaner after falling asleep in the club. The next morning’s tale of waking up to children bouncing on his bed asking “Who are you? you’re not our dad!” and his quick-thinking response of “I’m your Uncle Mike” has become tour legend.

The team wound our way northward through the South Island. Christchurch offered a brief respite before we caught the ferry at Picton, watching the stunning Marlborough Sounds slip by as we crossed the Cook Strait to Wellington.

Rotorua brought us the high point of our rugby campaign with our sole victory, but it was the cultural experiences that truly made this stop special. We were privileged to be guests at a traditional Maori hangi, immersing ourselves in the rich heritage of New Zealand’s indigenous culture. The naturally heated thermal pools provided welcome relief for our battle-worn bodies, the mineral-rich waters working magic on tired muscles.

After the match, we experienced the legendary Kiwi hospitality firsthand when my cousins Amanda and Paul Redley, transplants from the UK, welcomed our entire rabble into their home. There’s something beautifully surreal about thirty muddy rugby players crammed into a house on the other side of the world, devouring massive pots of chili and rice, followed by industrial quantities of ice cream. It was like finding a slice of home 12,000 miles from where we started.

The adrenaline pursuits in Rotorua kept us busy between matches – hurling ourselves down concrete tracks on street luge, spinning ourselves silly in giant hamster balls called Zorbs, and scaring ourselves witless on a massive free-fall bungee swing. The whole time, we were one man down – our missing teammate having been delayed by the charms of a local lady in Dunedin, finally rejoining us with a sheepish grin and several unexplained hickeys.

The adventure continued at Lake Taupo, where we braved the Huka Falls in rafts and raced jet boats through impossibly narrow gorges. Some brave souls (after several confidence-building beverages) even took the plunge with a bungee jump into the crystal-clear river below.

Our final match against Waikato University in Hamilton might have been another loss on paper, but by then, the scorelines had become secondary to the experience. We wrapped up our tour in Auckland, scaling the Sky Tower for one last look across this magnificent country and raising a final toast at Viaduct Quay.

They say that what happens on tour stays on tour, but some stories are too good not to share. Our prop’s “Uncle Mike” saga and our teammate’s romantic detour have become part of Southampton RFC folklore, retold at every reunion with increasing embellishment. But beyond the rugby and the revelry, it was the warmth of the Kiwi people and the raw beauty of their country that left an indelible mark on all of us.

Looking back now, that summer of ’99 feels like a dream – a perfect blend of rugby, adventure, and the kind of mishaps that only seem to happen when you’re young and fearless in a foreign land. To my fellow tourists who shared those unforgettable weeks: here’s to you, to New Zealand, and to “Uncle Mike” – whoever he may really be.

Rugby: Southampton University RFCs South African Adventure 1997

01/10/199702/12/2024Mark "Deano" Dean

If you’ve never experienced the joy of twenty-odd university rugby lads attempting to navigate post-apartheid South Africa with more enthusiasm than brain cells, then pull up a chair and grab a Castle Lager. For the love of Francois Pienaar, this is a tale that needs telling.

The omens for chaos were set early when the coach window decided to make a break for freedom somewhere between the airport and Warmbaths. Thank God for Ben Lowe’s quick hands – probably the most important catch of the tour as he grabbed the escaping window before it could introduce itself to the tarmac at 60mph. Not all heroes wear capes; some just have exceptional reaction times and a healthy fear of being windswept.

Speaking of Warmbaths (now Bela-Bela for those keeping up with modern names), nothing quite prepares you for playing rugby against farm boys who look like they bench press tractors for fun. The natural hot springs were a blessed relief after they’d finished rearranging our skeletal structures. Top tip: when a South African prop forward smiles at you before a scrum, it’s not because he wants to be friends.

The tour took us to Amanzimtoti Rugby Club near Durban, where we discovered that humidity and hangovers go together about as well as our scrumhalf and sobriety. But sweet mercy, did they know how to host a post-match party – their braai and poitjiekos (that’s a traditional stew for the uninitiated) almost made us forget about the beating we’d just received. Almost.

Swellendam Rugby Club introduced us to the concept of homestays and my host Jacques took pre-match hospitality to new heights when he introduced us to Mampoer, a local firewater that makes paint stripper taste like orange squash. The night ended with us hosing him down in his own garden while his long-suffering wife called down from an upstairs window, probably wondering why she’d agreed to host these mad English boys in the first place. The next day’s match was… well, let’s just say nobody was playing at their peak. But we made up for it at the post-match festivities with a full rendition of American Pie – all eight minutes and thirty-two seconds of it, without a phone in sight. Don McLean would have been proud. Or possibly horrified.

The Port Elisabeth Harlequins match deserves its own chapter in rugby folklore – not for the rugby mind you, which was forgettable, but for the moment someone in the crowd decided to wave a gun around. Nothing quite focuses the mind like the sight of a firearm during a line-out. Still, in true rugby spirit, we recovered our composure enough to treat the streets of PE to a walking rendition of Father Abraham on our way back to the hotel. Because nothing says “we’re not fazed by near-death experiences” quite like twenty English lads doing synchronized dance moves through downtown Port Elisabeth.

Cape Town was where it all came together. Led by our fearless captain Rob Allard, we finally managed to put together some half-decent rugby and actually won a game. The squad – featuring the likes of Mark Ruddall, Matt Punch, Alex Ritchie, The Mekon (some nicknames need no explanation), Andy Jackson, and Jez Follett – even dominated in that most crucial of rugby skills: the boat race. Undefeated champions, thank you very much.

While some of the lads headed up Table Mountain (show-offs), others of us found ourselves in the Hard Rock Cafe sharing drinks with the Surrey Cricket Team. There we were, trading stories with the Hollioake brothers, Graham Thorpe, Alec Stewart, and even Carl Lewis, trying not to look too starstruck. Though I’m pretty sure our captain tried to demonstrate a lineout call after his sixth Castle Lager – the cricketers were suitably unimpressed.

Cape Town itself was a city of contrasts – none more striking than the unfinished flyover that just… stopped. Mid-air. Like someone had run out of money halfway through a game of SimCity. It became our running joke of the tour – much like our lineout calls.

For some incredible reason, we managed to blag our way into Newlands Stadium for a tour. Running out onto that hallowed turf, several lads attempted their best Joel Stransky impressions. Let’s just say South African rugby had nothing to fear from our drop-kicking abilities. Though I’m pretty sure our fly-half’s attempt is still orbiting somewhere over Cape Town.

The cultural highlight had to be our visit to KWV winery in Stellenbosch. Nothing says “refined wine tasting” quite like twenty rugby players attempting to use phrases like “subtle bouquet” and “delicate finish” while trying not to neck the samples in one go. The sommelier’s face was an absolute picture, bless her.

At Mabula Game Reserve, our front row forwards on horses looked like a circus act gone wrong, but somehow we managed to avoid becoming lion lunch. The horseback safari guide had the patience of a saint, especially when our loose forward kept shouting “SIMBA!” at every animal he saw.

Looking back now, the rugby scars have faded (mostly), the hangovers are distant memories, and some of us can even look at Castle Lager without wincing. But the memories? They’re as fresh as that first bone-crunching tackle in Warmbaths.

To the Southampton Rugby Class of ’97, wherever you are now: I raise a glass of KWV’s finest to you!

And to South African rugby – thanks for not killing us. We know you could have.