There were rumours of a mystery guest on this year's tour, a new 12th man and secret weapon. Barrel-shaped like most of the Old Boys, with a wiener - barely visible under his gut - and spouting a foul-looking orange liquid, much like dehydrated piss. A lot in common with most of the team really. We strapped him in, prime spot allocated for the new boy at the front of the bus, and Leigh set us off on the road to the big smoke. Our new companion was generous in spirit, and kept us fuelled throughout the journey. I started to suspect that there was a devil among us, such unbridled generosity and altruism rarely comes without the expectation of a greater return. Was this new member a mole, planted by the scheming Octopi, tasked to dupe and dope us with his poisonous tipple? But then it tasted so nice, so sweet - this alcohol-infused dizzy-making iron-bru with a hint of apple.

The heady pleasure was relentless as the sun shone through the tinted windows of our little bus - we'd picked the hottest day of the year for our tour - and we made merry as the alternating drivers (Leigh and Ed) graciously topped our drinks at the makeshift front seat bar with our big-barrelled friend contentedly sandwiched between them. We made excellent pace with only a couple of stops, thanks to Tom's ingenious wee-collector (an empty fabric-conditioner bottle), and arrived chez Ogilvie at around 5.30pm - in perfect time for the barrel to squeeze out the last remnants of its 40-pint load and settle down for a barbeque and watch the Twenty20 cricket. No one got stabbed in the neck this year, much to Anth's dismay.

The cricket was gripping and the cider was flowing nicely, but suddenly it was 10pm and we were still in Muswell Hill - with little sign of the activity related a night on the town. We pulled our collective socks up, and were ready for our sojourn to Upper Street in little more than 15 minutes. For reasons knows only himself, Stu missed the bus which the rest of us boarded and became the laughing stock of the entire lower deck as he flailed his arms around looking dumbfounded through the glass. It was small consolation to him that he'd touched the lives of so many and brightened their evenings up with his comic misfortune.

It seemed to take an age to get to Islington, and to be honest, the head of steam we had built up with our cider consumption started to erode. We had a good night out in the sports bar with a lot of half hearted goading (at least on my part) of Huffy and Ogilvie concerning the cricketing prospects the following day. I managed to get drunken pledge from Huffy that he was an Old Boy at heart, and that faced with the dilemma he'd sooner drop a catch if it allowed us to win the game. Cheap, drunken, claptrap talk as it would later prove.

2am rolled round and most people retired, leaving Jon, Andy, Ashford and myself still up for a ronson. I have to be honest and say that Jon was the driving force behind this - desperate to sample the delights of late-night London (or more likely pull some dodgy trout) - he dragged us out, but our search was in vain, much to Jon's visible and audible annoyance. Andy pulled the taxi up and paid outside a garage with a Sainsbury's in it. Unfortunately it dawned on us pretty quickly that it was the wrong garage, and we were still about 3 miles from Stu's house. Nice one Andy. One taxi later and we were in a kebab shop - Jon succeeded in making a mockery of his early attempts to goad everyone out on a late night drinking binge by falling asleep in the shop. I had to shake him awake, but did briefly consider selling him to the kebab shop owner. You could make a lot of kebabs from Jon.

We arrived home to the news that Stu's neighbour had gone mental….. at Stu, who'd locked himself out of his own house. Nice one Stu. I dozed off in the sweet company of Ashford - thankful that I was sharing a tent with neither Jon nor Tom, whose nocturnal habits I'd already had the misfortune to experience on many occasions.

A beautiful morning dawned and, to be honest, we didn't feel half as bad as we had the previous year. This wasn't exactly saying a lot, but our 12th man (provided, very kindly, by Ashford by the way) had served us well and somehow minimised the damage. Unfortunately this theme would not continue throughout the day. A new pitch, a couple of new players, and a new focus (from the Old Boys), but the same damn result in the cricket.

We were marginally better than last year in restricting the Octopi to 176, and generally bowled without much luck. We were pretty shocking in the field though. Anth excelled with the ball, taking 3 wickets; and Leigh could have had a five-fer but ended up with only one as he repeatedly beat the bat. The tea was much improved this year, although I'm not sure many of us noticed or were even that hungry after 3 hours in the blistering heat in the field.

I opened the batting with Ed, but Ogilvie looked pumped up for the occasion. So it proved as he dealt a hammer blow as the goose-arm whipped in a Yorker to rip out Ed's off stump in the first over. Not a great start, and it didn't get much better. Stu Adams unfurled a lovely cover drive, but was out the next ball, Andy played some nice shots for 13, but no one hung around and kept me company. I made 32 before clipping a delivery off my legs which bounced alarmingly. The catch spooned to Huffy at square leg, and our hopes were disappearing rapidly. Jon looked paralysed at the crease, probably a result of being paralytic the previous evening. He got his eye in eventually and played some nice strokes off Rocky. At this point though, when we were fighting our way back into the game, Huffy betrayed us. Ignoring his vows of the previous evening he dives full length for a flying catch to get rid of Jon - who'd just smashed a full toss (so he thought) to the boundary.

We were going too slow, and had lost our way as the remaining batsmen showed little of the required fight on a slightly dodgy pitch (all our pitches are dodgy though, you'd think we'd be used to it). Nick played the shot of the day off Ogilvie, which was probably the highlight of the game from our viewpoint…… he got out the next ball. All out for 97.

And so it was we collapsed and slumped to our biggest defeat when chasing. By 79 runs. We just needed a couple more contributions to make a game of it, but alas as has been the case most of the season, nobody did. A bit depressing, but a good fun tour. Hopefully we'll level the playing field next season and get both teams on tour at a neutral venue. We'll bring the cider Octopus, you leave the Indians at home….