You should’ve
let me take it….. PHOTOS
With tents up and the 2.5 GP transit fired up it was time to chill with a beer from the fridge and catch up with the old faces already there, and those still arriving. For some, it was champagne and nibbles since it was Jodie’s 18th, but for the rest it was beer and burgers – but all were consumed with the same finesse. Top effort by Davey, Jimmy & Thommo who between them produced a three-ring circus, which made the later arrivals’ quest for the ii side of the rally considerably easier – and kept Simmo and the entourage at arm’s length.
Paul Pedley went in search of Knuckle who’d not been able to ride his scoot due to problems during his latest assignment as a crash-test dummy, this time in the form of a coming together with a car for which Knuckle explained in a classic piece of Dave-glish, the driver was “denying all durability”. Clearly more durable than his elbow that had been the recipient of a skin graft, though there still remains some doubt as to what they’ve grafted on to it.
Suitably refreshed, we moseyed down to the Barfly, drank some more and continued with the buffoonery and tomfoolery. By 11, I was ‘full’ so left the hip young things to go and see The Mods at the do as I went in search of food – which I successfully managed with a special fried rice, safe in the knowledge that dad wouldn’t help me out if I appeared to be struggling with it. I bumped into Simmo and the entourage in the Chinese, so we weaved our way back to the campsite, leaving the customary trail of special fried rice as a clue to the later partygoers of the way home. Quick chat at the site and off to bed – Day One complete.
Day Two started as only Day Two can, the day after Day One. Had a quick stroll into town for a coffee and then a wander round the parts fair and custom show. There didn’t seem to be that many scoots about, probably a combination of the dodgy weather, and having the best act playing on Sunday night. Back to the site to shower and moisturise and then back into town with Andy & Clair, who’d made their annual rally appearance, to watch the Tigers. Alas the game was poor, the Tigers were trounced, so we were reliant on other distractions to keep us entertained: the baps in Harveys, the hike to the gents in the Litten Tree, and Thommo’s ‘Happy Birthday’ y-fronts - one of those special massive pairs bought for him by Andy & Claire. Now, although they were huge, they would still have been a little snug on Thommo had dad not tried them on earlier, and stretched them a bit – albeit that on dad they looked like a thong. Claire also had a special t-shirt printed for Nobby, to commemorate his accidental in-tent water feature that erupted on Friday night. Luckily, Les kept this to herself, and had she not been shrieking “errr, Nobby, you’ve p*ssed yourself”, none of us would have been any the wiser.
The van bear bunch arrived, complete with crash helmets which they’d only needed for trips round Skeggy as they’d brought their scoot in the van. It appears that the learning curve’s a little too steep for some, given their previous transgression at Woolacombe, and we were again obliged to give them a deserved amount of stick.
After the Tigers we wandered to the Barfly again to catch the end of the footie, and witness Barnsley getting promoted to the Championship, much to the delight of Davey and Monty who was proudly wearing his replica shirt. Although it was only half 5, I again decided that I was ‘full’ so I meandered my way back to the site, only to find that someone had put up an unsightly erection behind my tent in ‘retirement’ corner. After closer inspection, and seeing the hordes of tiddly-peeps running amok from said eyesore, it could only mean one thing, the Shoe People had landed. Apparently, their attendance was never in doubt. To celebrate this joyous occasion we had two renditions of the Rolf Harris song (more from him later) Two Little Boys, complete with Dunney and Mr Bean on flashing hobbyhorses, whilst the rain lashed down on the tent with an African tribal drumbeat.
From somewhere I found new resources, probably in a bottle of that cloudy Belgian beer, so we went back out, this time down to the Ship where we had a couple more glasses of beer and berated all and sundry.
By 12 I really was full, so again no ‘do’ for me, and time to go back, but not until we’d got another Chinese – only to find that they’d no rice- presumably someone had stolen the recipe? Anyway, we made do with chips and curry sauce, and scattered this willy-nilly up the road, to keep the special fried rice company. Back at the site, there was time for another chat with dad, a debate over which was my tent, and then to climb into it and crash out. The other happy campers returned back at different times, but most with one thing in common, a lack of blood in their alcohol stream.
Sunday morning arrived peacefully, until Loggie piped us Sun Arise from Rolf Harris at quarter to 8 – quality effort, with pockets of happy campers joining in. I decided to go home and not stop for Buster and the boys, so it was a case of taking tents down, packing up, saying goodbyes and leaving for home.