So, we packed up the minibus with more beer than brain cells and headed to the promised land of Bakewell. The destination? A rugby pitch, naturally. But this wasn’t just any old rugby trip; this was a camping trip. You know, the kind where you swap your comfy bed for a glorified tent and your morning coffee for lukewarm instant.

The match against Bakewell was a classic case of ‘a game of two halves’. First half, we were as sharp as a rusty spoon. Second half, we already had the the beer tent in mind. Let’s just say the ref had his work cut out. But hey, when you’re surrounded by good mates, a cold pint, and the distant sound of cheering, a "few" missed tackles can be forgiven.

After the game, Bakewell pulled out all the stops with a beer fest that would make Oktoberfest jealous. Live music? Check. Beer tent? You bet. It was a glorious spectacle.

Sunday morning arrived, and it’s safe to say the campsite resembled a war zone. Empty beer cans, questionable food choices, and the remnants of a good time were strewn everywhere. But as we packed up our tents and bid farewell to Bakewell, the lads were smiling......inside. Another year, another legendary camping trip. Roll on next year!