Monday, October 06, 2008
The WASH-OUT RAMBLE
THE N.E.R.D.S. RAMBLE No.226 - The Wash-out Ramble.
Tuesday 30th September 2008.
Those Present - Matt, Froggy, B.T., Bronco, Sandyballs and Lafayette.
Remember “ The Darts in Lewes” ramble last month when bad weather prevented the NERDS from getting any form of wholesome exercise? Well this month was no better. Froggy had originally arranged for us to go around Arlington Reservoir and eat at Pete’s Pub (The Yew Tree) at Arlington, but Fate inflicted shitty weather on us and decided that we were going to spend all day drinking yet again.
It was rainy and windy and it was decided to meet at Seaford station. Dead easy you might think - buy a ticket, get on the train, don’t drink until you get off at the right stop (for obvious reasons) and then meet up together and plan what to do next.
Ho, ho, ho! Why is nothing simple? First off you’d got three lots of NERDS coming from three different directions, and to complicate matters a little bit five cows decided to walk across the railway line between Lewes and Newhaven and tried to commit suicide in a spectacularly train fucking-up way.
God, the utter chaos! The cows were on their mobile phones to each other trying to get off the track, some of the NERDS were on separate stationary buses dying of thirst, it was still pissing down with rain and clearly the ramble was out of the window. Luckily, by dint of snatching the phones off the cows and communicating with each other, we all met up in The Wellington to talk about our terrible experiences. Lafayette said he hadn’t come across such a mess since he’d tried to sail over to Dieppe one stormy day in 1990 - Did I ever tell you about that? And Froggy said he hadn’t been so depressed since his book had been rejected for publication for the twenty-ninth time ( Did he ever tell you about that?)
And so we drank and began to accuse each other of lots of nasty, vicious things . Matt said he’d seen Froggy hobknobbing with Nobby and how dare he when Nobby hadn’t bought Matt an icecream two years ago. Lafayette remarked that B.T. was getting a little worn as his catamite and he was thinking of getting a new one, this time from a girl’s school. B.T. threatened Lafayette with a costly divorce. Sandyballs said he’d recently gone to Lourdes on Philby’s advice to get his ear done, but he’d wasted all his money and was still deaf. Consequently he was thinking of deleting Philby’s number from the memory on his mobile…..
Lafayette, peeved at the thought of having to pay B.T. for not having sex with him, threatened to kill Bronco’s horse and roast him on a massive barbecue. The nice friendly atmospheres of previous rambles seemed to be being undermined.
Luckily, just then we transferred to The Plough and B.T. remembered it was Jewish New Year and got up to buy everyone a round of drinks. Good humour was restored all round; we ordered lunch and began to take bets on how big a steak Bronco was going to buy. We weren’t disappointed either as Bronco got himself an Elephant burger with extra chips and then wondered why he’d got tusks sticking up out of his sesame bun. Meanwhile Matt was fantasising about how sexy Sandyballs was looking in denim and how he reminded him of Paul Newman when he was shagging Robert Redford in that film about cowboys. (Brokeback Mountain, wasn’t it ?)
Just then Matt’s dreams were shattered when he counted up how many scampi he had been served. Only seven? How could this be? Needs a recount, GET THE MANAGER IMMEDIATELY, DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM? Some poor girly was despatched to pacify his rants - no avail, Matt was not satisfied with a rational explanation nor even a grovelling apology. In desperation the girly offered to show him her tits but Matt wanted to be the centre of attention and demanded a free dessert or else he would get really cross. We’d all seen this schizophrenic behaviour before when someone had got shit all over his newly hoovered carpet so hastened to advise the girly to bring him a giant sized strawberry pavlova with salad cream tout de suite.
Order was sort of restored. Froggy finished off Bronco’s crappy steak and ordered a froggy bag for his leftovers. He soothed Matt’s ruffled feathers by relating how he had met this big Nigerian on line who had promised to publish his second autobiography -”All Shagged Out at Thirty” as long as he paid him a small administration fee of $10,000 direct to Lagos.
Sandyballs suggested that Froggy might have more success if he went to Lourdes and threw his manuscript at a few statues of Our Lady. Time for a change of pub so we went back to The Welly.
A nice game of darts - good robust, physical exercise for all the NERDS, none of this namby pamby walking rubbish. B.T. had forgotten to bring his darts so had bought a posh brass set in the catamite shop (special offer to those who split little boys). So we played the usual game - Dinky Ports against Real Ports. Sandyballs and Froggy were good, devious even, maintaining that brass darts gave an unfair advantage against Froggy’s nickel tungsten jobs but B.T. got the high scores and Lafayette doubled out. Sandyballs threw his darts on the floor in a strop and wouldn’t play any more after having been beaten twice in a row. No miracles today then!
Thereafter everyone scowled at each other and buggered off home. We are going to have to pick a day with fine weather next time otherwise we might risk getting on each others’ nerves. Sandyballs reckons Wednesdays are OK but Lafayette does his shipwreck training on those days just in case he gets hit by a second tsunami while crossing the Channel. Matt can’t make Fridays because he‘s usually having a new lavatory installed then, and Bronco can’t make Saturdays because he’s usually up at Cartiers buying watches. What are we to do? I know, arrange two rambles for October and hope there won’t be any cows on the line next time.
Mille Baisers, Lafayette.
Tuesday 30th September 2008.
Those Present - Matt, Froggy, B.T., Bronco, Sandyballs and Lafayette.
Remember “ The Darts in Lewes” ramble last month when bad weather prevented the NERDS from getting any form of wholesome exercise? Well this month was no better. Froggy had originally arranged for us to go around Arlington Reservoir and eat at Pete’s Pub (The Yew Tree) at Arlington, but Fate inflicted shitty weather on us and decided that we were going to spend all day drinking yet again.
It was rainy and windy and it was decided to meet at Seaford station. Dead easy you might think - buy a ticket, get on the train, don’t drink until you get off at the right stop (for obvious reasons) and then meet up together and plan what to do next.
Ho, ho, ho! Why is nothing simple? First off you’d got three lots of NERDS coming from three different directions, and to complicate matters a little bit five cows decided to walk across the railway line between Lewes and Newhaven and tried to commit suicide in a spectacularly train fucking-up way.
God, the utter chaos! The cows were on their mobile phones to each other trying to get off the track, some of the NERDS were on separate stationary buses dying of thirst, it was still pissing down with rain and clearly the ramble was out of the window. Luckily, by dint of snatching the phones off the cows and communicating with each other, we all met up in The Wellington to talk about our terrible experiences. Lafayette said he hadn’t come across such a mess since he’d tried to sail over to Dieppe one stormy day in 1990 - Did I ever tell you about that? And Froggy said he hadn’t been so depressed since his book had been rejected for publication for the twenty-ninth time ( Did he ever tell you about that?)
And so we drank and began to accuse each other of lots of nasty, vicious things . Matt said he’d seen Froggy hobknobbing with Nobby and how dare he when Nobby hadn’t bought Matt an icecream two years ago. Lafayette remarked that B.T. was getting a little worn as his catamite and he was thinking of getting a new one, this time from a girl’s school. B.T. threatened Lafayette with a costly divorce. Sandyballs said he’d recently gone to Lourdes on Philby’s advice to get his ear done, but he’d wasted all his money and was still deaf. Consequently he was thinking of deleting Philby’s number from the memory on his mobile…..
Lafayette, peeved at the thought of having to pay B.T. for not having sex with him, threatened to kill Bronco’s horse and roast him on a massive barbecue. The nice friendly atmospheres of previous rambles seemed to be being undermined.
Luckily, just then we transferred to The Plough and B.T. remembered it was Jewish New Year and got up to buy everyone a round of drinks. Good humour was restored all round; we ordered lunch and began to take bets on how big a steak Bronco was going to buy. We weren’t disappointed either as Bronco got himself an Elephant burger with extra chips and then wondered why he’d got tusks sticking up out of his sesame bun. Meanwhile Matt was fantasising about how sexy Sandyballs was looking in denim and how he reminded him of Paul Newman when he was shagging Robert Redford in that film about cowboys. (Brokeback Mountain, wasn’t it ?)
Just then Matt’s dreams were shattered when he counted up how many scampi he had been served. Only seven? How could this be? Needs a recount, GET THE MANAGER IMMEDIATELY, DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM? Some poor girly was despatched to pacify his rants - no avail, Matt was not satisfied with a rational explanation nor even a grovelling apology. In desperation the girly offered to show him her tits but Matt wanted to be the centre of attention and demanded a free dessert or else he would get really cross. We’d all seen this schizophrenic behaviour before when someone had got shit all over his newly hoovered carpet so hastened to advise the girly to bring him a giant sized strawberry pavlova with salad cream tout de suite.
Order was sort of restored. Froggy finished off Bronco’s crappy steak and ordered a froggy bag for his leftovers. He soothed Matt’s ruffled feathers by relating how he had met this big Nigerian on line who had promised to publish his second autobiography -”All Shagged Out at Thirty” as long as he paid him a small administration fee of $10,000 direct to Lagos.
Sandyballs suggested that Froggy might have more success if he went to Lourdes and threw his manuscript at a few statues of Our Lady. Time for a change of pub so we went back to The Welly.
A nice game of darts - good robust, physical exercise for all the NERDS, none of this namby pamby walking rubbish. B.T. had forgotten to bring his darts so had bought a posh brass set in the catamite shop (special offer to those who split little boys). So we played the usual game - Dinky Ports against Real Ports. Sandyballs and Froggy were good, devious even, maintaining that brass darts gave an unfair advantage against Froggy’s nickel tungsten jobs but B.T. got the high scores and Lafayette doubled out. Sandyballs threw his darts on the floor in a strop and wouldn’t play any more after having been beaten twice in a row. No miracles today then!
Thereafter everyone scowled at each other and buggered off home. We are going to have to pick a day with fine weather next time otherwise we might risk getting on each others’ nerves. Sandyballs reckons Wednesdays are OK but Lafayette does his shipwreck training on those days just in case he gets hit by a second tsunami while crossing the Channel. Matt can’t make Fridays because he‘s usually having a new lavatory installed then, and Bronco can’t make Saturdays because he’s usually up at Cartiers buying watches. What are we to do? I know, arrange two rambles for October and hope there won’t be any cows on the line next time.
Mille Baisers, Lafayette.
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