After a feast of various fried and grilled bits of pig and chicken embryo (and Guinness) we left the pub, and started to make our way across Wrexham towards our destination, the bowling alley in the excitingly named "Eagles Meadow".
As we crossed the newly built pedestrian suspension bridge into the new development, a strange feeling passed through us, we were moving in an unexpected way... the bridge was bouncing, ever so slightly. It has yet to be determined whether this was due to a design fault in the bridge or the collected mass of some of our more, substantial gentlemen, all walking together.
Unfortunately the new shopping area proved a lot less exciting than its name, it is a carbon copy of so many new developments, but still, it held the bowling alley and, therefore, the bar.
Once we had all got ourselves a much needed drink (we had walked nearly half a mile you know!) and put on our rather nifty bowling shoes, we got ourselves into position and started bowling.
It soon became clear who was the best, and most consistant bowler, a certain Mr Barry Smith. He bowled with an economy of movement and level of accuracy that cried out for investigation.
Under interrogation Mr Smith admitted that one of his close friends is a regular bowler who plays for a recognised team, and, even though he strongly denies it, the suspicion is that Mr Smith has has a training session or two from his semi professional friend.
As the newest recruit to our ranks it was a great pleasure to see Mr Howell Davies attending his first outing, and although I am sure Howell will agree that he was no match for Mr Smith in the bowling stakes, he more than held is own when it came to bending the elbow.
It was a shame that two of our comrades had to leave us early namely Mr Politansk
i and Mr Sailsbury, however the positive side to Mr Sailsbury leaving, is that his delightful lady wife and children came to collect him. It was sad to see him leave, but with a cheery "Yes dear, I'm coming dear". Mr Sailsbury bade us farewell.Once again a magnificent trophy was awaiting the winner of our killer competition and for a change a complete outsider won. Mr Roberts with a deadly accurate bowl, took the glory. I am sure that he will be only too happy to fill in the details of his famous victory to all who where not present to witness it for themselves (in the picture, Mr Roberts is the one not wearing glasses).
As our time at the bowling drew to a close we were kindly invited to the home of Mr Witold Waryszak to enjoy in some eastern European hospitality. Once more we took to the streets of Wrexham, and as we strolled, our President and Mr Roberts had a fine old time reminiscing about their boyhoods spent on the very streets upon which we were walking.
Upon arriving at Mr Witold Waryszaks' abode, we were seated at the table and presented with a plate of Polish sausage, which was eagerly devoured by all, and a bottle of a strange pale yellow liquid which caused a few anxious glances to be exchanged between The Gentlemen.
The label was indecipherable to those of us unable to read Polish, But a picture has been added for you to have a go yourselves. The taste was a strange mix of sweetness, herbs and a kick of alcohol which after the first shot grew rather pleasent. After we had killed the bottle and watched a film about a skiing trip (good luck on organising that as an outing Witold), we took our leave to end another fine day out.
Here's looking forward to the next.
