Unofficially Thames Rowing Club

…Otherwise known as Thames Novice Men at Borne @ Chiswick  Regatta ‘09.

A bracing row up to Chiswick Bridge in Wagnerian conditions was the prelude to a successful day at the races for the Novice Men’s squad on 9 May. Two wins out of three categories made for a happy band of brothers (and sistahs, soz Pip, Nicki) and sound takings behind the Thames bar later in the day.

St George’s, Tooting, delivered a resounding kick to the rowing unmentionables in the IM3 Eights but the N4+ lifted spirits by soundly dispatching Eastbourne College. The long wait until their final allowed the squad to plug the Ergonator back into the mains for a recharge and Foo to practice his reading – he’s coming along nicely and no longer uses his finger btw.

And lo! The final came to pass.  The coaches mantra of “strokes for free” were clearly ringing in Karl’s ears in the three seat as he graciously gifted Cygnet the first two strokes off the start. But they were the only two strokes that Cygnet were in the lead for; Tom H’s relentless rhythm pounded them into submission and TRC to a 5 length win. Cheap pewter tankards from Timpsons here we come!

The Novice 8 were straight through to the final against a previously all-conquering Canford school crew who’d beaten them at Hammersmith a few weeks before. However, fortified by the four’s win, the ipod-wearing, bed-wetting  scholars of Canford stood no chance. Thames’ first four strokes ripped through the hapless pubescents – they clearly don’t teach them that in double maths. A two and a half length victory to Thames, no tea and extra Latin prep for Canford.

A special mention should be made here to The Don’s effort  in two. He’s filled the seat manfully, slapping it in and giving it some much needed length, an impressive sight and much appreciated by our largely feminine fanclub on the bank. A sizeable contribution indeed.

So, all in all a very good day. Other highlights -

Harry D-K gave hope to all those of a ginger persuasion by winning in the sculls.

Sponge cakes to die for – stout chested ladies of Mortlake, we salute you.

The squad drawing great amusement from the author’s predicament of juggling femmes past and present and generally not letting the “bad aids” drag him down.