Cabin Fever

Cabin Fever is a killer, its well documented, when you get stuck in your cabin for too long a crazy fever decends and you go on a killing spree of your fellow campers.

We first encounted this horrible afliction in Sydney 05, the ICC Super Test, the three tour de fearists and RWC blow in Fuc spent four nights in an 8 by 10 cell doubling as a Hostel Room. Well after three long days at the cricket the final night of that trip has lived in infamy as four people lay on seperate beds not sleeping, but not acknowleding each others presence, all caught in a personal hell that should never be shared with any other. Three days of hard drinking sent our bodies into a strange kind of non sleeping/non talking/ violently smelling funk that made for one of the worst nights sleep I have ever had. The piece de resistance that night came around 4 am as the mighty Kloss made the mad dash for the bathroom for a second taste of the previous nights dinner.

We thought we had learnt alot from that experience, we thought we would never run across the evils of cabin fever again (we certainly have never gotten so small a hostel room again...). At le tour we managed to stave off cabin fever, even when we sat on the side of the Plateau de Belle for 50 hours, the memory of our Sydney nightmare ensuring that all respected each others space.

It turns out that at RWC we have picked up a few greenhorns, a few less hearty soles who don't have internal defences against the forces of evil. It started last week after we got thrown out of our campsite in Villinerve Lobout. The weather turned on us that day and we got stuck in the bus, and really stuck, all the towels got soaked, as well as the tents, we were stuck in an 8 m by 3 m motorhome for about 48 hours (well some were, the more adventerous of us spent copious time in the sauna and in Antibes) and it turned out to be more then some could handle. So BT and Duggan tapped out on Friday and caught a plane to Scotland, the thought of spending even one more second in the bus was too much for them. The fever had struck them down, the pace apparently was a little too much for those southern girly mean.

The rest of us had to hit the old frog and toad for the western city of Bordeaux and the Aussie Canadia final pool match. We were slow getting on the road and slow intransit, so slow in fact that by the time we got to the destination there were no campsites with in 100 kilometres. So after our two days of hell on the Cote we were all of a sudden faced with the prospect of two nights free camping on the back streets of Bordeaux, the remaining green horn- Ness, was on the ragged edge (we were also out of water in the bus- I told her to shower that morning, its not my fault she choose to go without...).

Saturday was game day, so we woke early and moved the bus from the Truck stop we slept in, into the middle of town, finding a deamon car park on a side street just near the main train station. We had to jam the bus up on the sidewalk to ensure traffic could still flow, but we felt if was a fair spot.

The game was a bit of a wash, the combination of the Wallabies third stringers, the rain, and referee Chris White (is this mother fucker seriously haunting us at the moment or what?) ensured that the game was a complete snore fest, that was of course until late in the second half when Tiquiri earnt himself the nickname of 'Le Butcher' after merclesly butchering one of the most cut and dried try scoring oppurtunities I have ever scene. The man is without redeeming qualities, I can not CAN NOT believe he was not immediatly dragged from the field in disgrace- it was so horrifying it was actually quite funny. As he approached the line we all began taunting him with the Butcher call- although it looked like we were the ones who would have egg on our face as Drew Mitchel loomed on his shoulder, completely unmarked with only 5 metres to go to the line, but some how, the monkey that is the Butcher of Bordeaux decided to go himself and distroyed the simplest five pointer in the history of Rugby Football- How the man continues to justify the air that he breathes is beyond me.

We had been told in Montpellier that the place to party in Bordeaux would be the Frog and Rosebif, so after some warm up pints watching the mighty Fiji deal with the Welsh we headed down to the Frog in search of glory. What we found were married women, it was crazy, we spoke met four females almost without trying and I was getting excited about our prospects in Bordeus but each one (we met them individually) ended up introducing us to their husbands, whores.

After a few hours of swinging and missing, and the stupid Itai's losing to the equally stupid Scotts we decided to head off in search of adventure, Fuc swore he had found a "way cool" Absolute bar earlier in the day, so he lead the charge in search of new fun. Hours (seemed to) pass as we walked the cobbled stoned streets of the old quarter looking for this fucking Vodka bar - on the upside it was a spectacular way to get some quality touristing done, but on the downside we began to sober up. Young Michel Tunny (its Michel not Michael in french) took the initiative and got a nice looking older lady (apparently the tunny age group these days) to show us to a happening bar. We ended up at a club called Bodega Bodega, which was cool, but eventually we had to leave as the irony of the decor (cured meats and hams hanging above the bar) and the presence of the newly crowned Bucther of Bordeaux standing at the bar became too much to bear - on a side note we left the club at 11:55 and he was still there- either he can run faster back to a hotel to beat curfew then he can on the field, or J Oniel has the wool pulled over his eyes.

We headed back to the bus, a little early maybe, but it had been a long day. As we got back to the bus a group of German students were walking by on their way to the random Dance club that just happened to be on the same side street as the M D Express... a result. As everyone knows we hired the Messy Dayz in Frankfurt so we have been putting up with having a D on our number plate for the entire trip, this time is was a bonus however, 'You come from Germany' the cute brunette asked in a think Rhineland accent, "no australia" Kloss and Fuc mangaed to stutter, "Ma moname est Michel" (no idea how to spell the German) old Tunny pronounced in a clear thick voice as he crossed the street to welcome our new friends- they were suitabley impressed by his grade 8 German that they invited us to the Boogey Woogey bar down the road.

After a few drinks back in the bus I got up to go to the clubs, hopeful that at least one of my wing men would be up for the challange I looked at each in turn. Michel was too spent from his German speaking endevours to be able to back it up at the clubs, Fuc was too scared that his dark features would get him ostrazised with a group of Germans, and Kloss was just too old to be out after midnight- so I went in alone. A quick shout out to Maria, Cat and Stephanie- thanks for the good night. Eventually we left the club and I headed back to the Messy Days, unfortunatly we had parked the bus in such a way that the only way in was threw the Drivers Door, which you can't get into if someone is in the Hammock Bed, Fuc in all his wisdom was in the hammock. I was dealing with the problem of getting into the bus when my German friends, who I thought I had struck out with came up and suggested we move the party inside the bus... Now I'm no Don Juan but even I can see the signs, we were finally in the position were girls we actually wanted to sleep with (sorry the lesbians in Cardiff) wanted to bored the Messy Days Express, I ummed and I ahhed, I tried to lift the Hammock bed up with Fuc still inside, I suggested we go back to their place, but the moment was gone. Fuc had quite litteraly cock blocked me. The girls left and eventually I managed to wake Fuc up to let me in the bus, but it was a long cold night tossing and turning with only him to cuddle with.

One thing about free camping is you often get stuck in the bus more then you do when at a campsite, you can't really set up the Messy Dayz card table and chairs when your on the side of the road. So by Sunday the lingering Cabin Fever that had struck Ness, BT, and Wristy in Antibes was beggining to have its effect on the rest of us. We tried to avoid it by getting inappropriatly drunk at the big screen in the middle of town (Rose- the silent killer) but it didn't work. The Messy Dayz was transformed into a time machine and all of a sudden we were back in the Hostel Room in Sydney, Four people on the tail end of a week long bender, bodies refusing the much needed sleep that was on offer, body heat and sweat making conditions comparable to the Mekong Delta. I hid in the Fort setting my defenses against any possible fever driven attacks from fellow bus members and listened in fear to the tossing and turning that ensured. Once again it was Kloss who broke, he didn't drive the porcelean (well its more plastic in the MD Express) bus but he eventually swore "Fuck it I need to get out of here" and started the bus and drove us out of Bordeaux, none of us were complaining, it was the sensible option. We drove the entire day with all windows open, no one speaking, no one even making eye contact, just in a frenzied rush to reach the life restoring qualities of the Med and the Cote De Azzur.

Overall we had a good time in Bordeaux, but thank the lord we got out alive, I think its also safe to say thank fuck we are all almost going home. This party is near to over.