Tuesday, November 25, 2008
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No. 228.
Wednesday 19th November 2008.
Those Present – Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Matt, Lafayette, Sandyballs.
The Wetherspoons Ramble.
Most of us met chez Lafayette because Lavender Lodge was on the way to Brighton and Lafayette always had a full drinks cabinet. The NERDS had been expecting an early cheapo Christmas dinner to be taken at the famous Wetherspoons hostelry in the Marina, but sadly Froggy had logged on to Asian/Czech Au pair Babes Wearing Not Many Clothes instead of Wetherspoons . com and got all the information wrong. Christmas lunch did not start until 15 00hrs because, being a philanthropic organization, Wsp was committed to spend the morning feeding the destitute from the Congo who had bamboozled their way in via some lax port, so - no early fodder for the NERDS!
Never mind we could always turn up and eat monkey meat and spiders like The Unfortunates did, so everybody filled up on choccy biscuits and Irish Whiskey chez Lafayette and whiled away the time with the usual gossip. Froggy was bemoaning the fact that there didn’t seem to be any hot chix on the train any more until it was pointed out that at this time of day they were probably all in school. Somebody was wondering if they had enough walnuts to stuff up their turkey, and Matt was musing on collecting those little jam jars you get in posh hotels so that he could bottle his cut-up pubic hair and send it to his friends for Christmas (beats one of those round robin letters any day).
Disgusted at all this levity, Sandy balls threw us out into the street and told us we were here to ramble not to be smutty (now there’s a first!). So we all promptly got on the nearest bus and travelled to Rottingdean.
Now Rottingdean is a nice place full of cultured posh people, including the ex Chief Inspector of Immigration who still gets through a bottle of scotch a day such was the strain of the job (must have worked at Newhaven). The NERDS wandered round trying to look tidy ( good job Philby wasn’t with us) and came across The Plough near a duck pond - handy to fall into when you came out, and decided to have an aperitif. Inside we drank Harveys and had a competition between Lafayette and Sandyballs as to who had been Mutt and who had been Jeff in Dublin. It turned out (according to Matt) that Sb had been Mutt because of his hearing deficiency, and Lf had been Jeff because he was the intelligent one. Too intelligent to spend his holiday in Cork, at any rate.
We emerged from the pub blinking into the bright sunshine and managed to sidestep the duck pond. The weather was cheerful and mild so we set off up a crazy hill to an old windmill where we found some old bugger slumped in a corner wrapped round a bottle of Bells and blethering on about hot cross buns and the good old days. No, it wasn’t Philby but it was what Philby could have become with a little application and getting in to work on time. Oh, the chances we miss when Fate throws them our way!
Nearby there was a memorial stone listing all the good, local worthies who had died at sea. Lafayette was disappointed not to get a mention, but Sandy balls pointed out that just getting pissed on the Chartres a few times and having one or two (well, one) dodgy crossing didn’t actually qualify to get your name up in lights.
Los NIERDOS wandered down the other side of the hill and through St. Dunstans from the lofty paths of which we had a pleasant view of the shimmering sea and where nobody took a blind bit of notice at our presence. We had to put our best foot forward now as Bronco would be tapping his fingers on the bar of Wetherspoons being concerned by our tardiness and by his own vast appetite. And so we arrived, but no Bronco! Apparently he had stopped off at no fewer than six cafes en route to have a breakfast in each just in case they ran out of food at lunch. When he arrived we all sat and boiled in the sun together.
It must be said that the scoff at Wetherspoons wasn’t bad and good value too. Lafayette particularly liked the crunchy spiders especially imported from Goma. Bronco’s ankle wasn’t any better but at least he didn’t have horrific gout like Sandyballs. B.T. said if his next deal with Sealink went through successfully we could all have our own yachts parked in the marina and ramble between them to save time pouring drinks. Froggy hoovered up the remains of Bronco’s chicken tikka and then cleared everybody else’s plate (Don’t you get fed at home ?) and Matt said Sandyballs looked divine in his blue denim shirt. In short, we were all very mellow and it looked like it had been a successful ramble and lunch.
After a brief zoom round Asda for a camera case for Matt, and a brief stay in MacDonalds for an icecream again for Matt, the ramble broke up. Lafayette elected to travel home (free) on the bus after having ascended the sheer cliff face, while Los Otros dragged Bronco into the centre of Brighton for all sorts of naughty goings-on, many of which will probably be revealed in the next write-up if Lafayette gets high on mescalin again.
Thanks be to all who took part and contributed. Remember, next month is the Christmas do so start collecting those little jam pots and walnuts now!
Lafayette.
Wednesday 19th November 2008.
Those Present – Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Matt, Lafayette, Sandyballs.
The Wetherspoons Ramble.
Most of us met chez Lafayette because Lavender Lodge was on the way to Brighton and Lafayette always had a full drinks cabinet. The NERDS had been expecting an early cheapo Christmas dinner to be taken at the famous Wetherspoons hostelry in the Marina, but sadly Froggy had logged on to Asian/Czech Au pair Babes Wearing Not Many Clothes instead of Wetherspoons . com and got all the information wrong. Christmas lunch did not start until 15 00hrs because, being a philanthropic organization, Wsp was committed to spend the morning feeding the destitute from the Congo who had bamboozled their way in via some lax port, so - no early fodder for the NERDS!
Never mind we could always turn up and eat monkey meat and spiders like The Unfortunates did, so everybody filled up on choccy biscuits and Irish Whiskey chez Lafayette and whiled away the time with the usual gossip. Froggy was bemoaning the fact that there didn’t seem to be any hot chix on the train any more until it was pointed out that at this time of day they were probably all in school. Somebody was wondering if they had enough walnuts to stuff up their turkey, and Matt was musing on collecting those little jam jars you get in posh hotels so that he could bottle his cut-up pubic hair and send it to his friends for Christmas (beats one of those round robin letters any day).
Disgusted at all this levity, Sandy balls threw us out into the street and told us we were here to ramble not to be smutty (now there’s a first!). So we all promptly got on the nearest bus and travelled to Rottingdean.
Now Rottingdean is a nice place full of cultured posh people, including the ex Chief Inspector of Immigration who still gets through a bottle of scotch a day such was the strain of the job (must have worked at Newhaven). The NERDS wandered round trying to look tidy ( good job Philby wasn’t with us) and came across The Plough near a duck pond - handy to fall into when you came out, and decided to have an aperitif. Inside we drank Harveys and had a competition between Lafayette and Sandyballs as to who had been Mutt and who had been Jeff in Dublin. It turned out (according to Matt) that Sb had been Mutt because of his hearing deficiency, and Lf had been Jeff because he was the intelligent one. Too intelligent to spend his holiday in Cork, at any rate.
We emerged from the pub blinking into the bright sunshine and managed to sidestep the duck pond. The weather was cheerful and mild so we set off up a crazy hill to an old windmill where we found some old bugger slumped in a corner wrapped round a bottle of Bells and blethering on about hot cross buns and the good old days. No, it wasn’t Philby but it was what Philby could have become with a little application and getting in to work on time. Oh, the chances we miss when Fate throws them our way!
Nearby there was a memorial stone listing all the good, local worthies who had died at sea. Lafayette was disappointed not to get a mention, but Sandy balls pointed out that just getting pissed on the Chartres a few times and having one or two (well, one) dodgy crossing didn’t actually qualify to get your name up in lights.
Los NIERDOS wandered down the other side of the hill and through St. Dunstans from the lofty paths of which we had a pleasant view of the shimmering sea and where nobody took a blind bit of notice at our presence. We had to put our best foot forward now as Bronco would be tapping his fingers on the bar of Wetherspoons being concerned by our tardiness and by his own vast appetite. And so we arrived, but no Bronco! Apparently he had stopped off at no fewer than six cafes en route to have a breakfast in each just in case they ran out of food at lunch. When he arrived we all sat and boiled in the sun together.
It must be said that the scoff at Wetherspoons wasn’t bad and good value too. Lafayette particularly liked the crunchy spiders especially imported from Goma. Bronco’s ankle wasn’t any better but at least he didn’t have horrific gout like Sandyballs. B.T. said if his next deal with Sealink went through successfully we could all have our own yachts parked in the marina and ramble between them to save time pouring drinks. Froggy hoovered up the remains of Bronco’s chicken tikka and then cleared everybody else’s plate (Don’t you get fed at home ?) and Matt said Sandyballs looked divine in his blue denim shirt. In short, we were all very mellow and it looked like it had been a successful ramble and lunch.
After a brief zoom round Asda for a camera case for Matt, and a brief stay in MacDonalds for an icecream again for Matt, the ramble broke up. Lafayette elected to travel home (free) on the bus after having ascended the sheer cliff face, while Los Otros dragged Bronco into the centre of Brighton for all sorts of naughty goings-on, many of which will probably be revealed in the next write-up if Lafayette gets high on mescalin again.
Thanks be to all who took part and contributed. Remember, next month is the Christmas do so start collecting those little jam pots and walnuts now!
Lafayette.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
NERDS Ramble No 227. Wednesday 12th November 2008.
Those Present – Lafayette, Froggy, Matt, B.T., Bronco, Sandyballs.
The Poorly Toe Ramble.
Sandyballs had a poorly toe. Not only was it poorly, it looked gross. All the NERDS practically threw up when he whipped off his sock and waved the vile, poxy object in their faces. Whispers of his having picked up syphilis in an overseas brothel abounded; people began to edge away from him nervously, dogs howled mournfully and a cloud passed over the sun. How could we ramble under these circumstances? Fortunately everything returned to normal once he had put his sock back on, except that Froggy was spotted with a lump of cotton wool in his ear. “ I’ve got a poorly ear,” he said, but by this time we weren’t in the mood for attention seeking trivialities and set off through Lewes in the hope that nobody’s leg would fall off. We were going to meet up with Bronco in Ringmer and thought we’d better get there quick before he died of overdrinking in the bar of The Anchor or worse, died of something unrelated to drink!
After the sun had reappeared it wasn’t a bad day. This was to be the first of two rambles in November because nothing had happened in October and the NERDS were by now getting thirsty. First of all we had to negotiate the golf course so we knackered ourselves by climbing up golf course hill at the edge of Lewes and appeared on some putting green or other where Froggy wanted to leave everybody’s balls alone (!).
The trouble with golf courses is that they get in the way of ramblers’ routes, there are lots of nasty quicksandy bits into which you can sink and they contain a lot of prats who think they can whack white balls at NERDS. Tolerance levels between the two factions is always fairly low, so when we were greeted with “ I say, you there, yes you with the gangrenous foot, would you mind awfully not making our nice green die by dragging your foot over it.” you start to plot a hideous revenge ( like coming back at night and
fire-bombing the place). However, Mr Poorly foot guided us off enemy territory and we tried to head towards Ringmer.
It was obvious that Sandyballs had failed to reconnoitre this walk since we kept going round in circles and getting disorientated (a bit). Mercifully the weather remained sunny and we negotiated fields of sheep and sheep-shit to cruise into Ringmer where the Posh
(Monied) People live and where they all drink in The Anchor.
Fortunately Bronco was still there and only half drunk. “ Christ! What’s that hideous smell of rotting flesh ?” were his first words to Sandy balls. “ Oh , just a little something I picked up in a bawdy house in Macau,” was the macho reply. “ Better have a drink, then, “ concluded the ever practical Bronco, and limped off to get the booze in . “ Still suffering from that old cavalry wound to your ankle then?” said Matt sympathetically when he returned with the drinks.”No, actually, some bloody whore tripped me up in a brothel in Macau,” replied Bronco. Sandyballs remained guiltily silent.
The food wasn’t bad here, and while we ate Froggy told us about his new literary project entitled “The Loneliness of The RearEnd Surfer” (Don’t ask), while B.T. told us the last time he had paid for sex (apart from with sailors in his first job) was in Africa 45 years previously (monkeys? anacondors? Wildebeest?). Lafayette said that the women in Islamabad used to clamour around his back door for sex waving 100 rupee notes in his direction, but nobody believed him such was his reputation for exaggeration.
Sandyballs thought we should be heading back to the Metropolis so we all got our bus passes out (except Froggy and B.T. ha ha!) and got on a bus with thousands of screaming schoolkids from the local school. Most of the NERDS felt quite comfortable sitting next to nubile nymphets upstairs and holding their satchels for them, while Sandyballs (because of his poorly toe) sat downstairs and made some new friends with the wrinklies.
Eventually we arrived at the John Harvey Tavern where peace reigned for a short while until nobody could work out how to “manage “ the final whip (not even Lafayette with all his life skills) and where we decided to honour Philby in January with a Dead Dog Layby Ramble – something to do with La Fete des Morts both dogs and NERDS. The idea was to sit in the layby and drink red wine and remember the dog, and then to proceed to Philby’s grave nearby to show a bit of respect for a defunct NERD.
And so the ramble fizzled out. Thanks to Sandyballs for organization etc. and for letting us see his manky toe, and thanks to B.T. for returning Lafayette’s notes which he had absentmindedly left in the pub. Next week we all descend on Wetherspoons in Brighton for a cheap Christmas meal thanks to Froggy’s vigilance in scouring the internet for … erm other subjects.
See you all chez moi next week for biscuits – Bring your hipflasks!
Lafayette.
Those Present – Lafayette, Froggy, Matt, B.T., Bronco, Sandyballs.
The Poorly Toe Ramble.
Sandyballs had a poorly toe. Not only was it poorly, it looked gross. All the NERDS practically threw up when he whipped off his sock and waved the vile, poxy object in their faces. Whispers of his having picked up syphilis in an overseas brothel abounded; people began to edge away from him nervously, dogs howled mournfully and a cloud passed over the sun. How could we ramble under these circumstances? Fortunately everything returned to normal once he had put his sock back on, except that Froggy was spotted with a lump of cotton wool in his ear. “ I’ve got a poorly ear,” he said, but by this time we weren’t in the mood for attention seeking trivialities and set off through Lewes in the hope that nobody’s leg would fall off. We were going to meet up with Bronco in Ringmer and thought we’d better get there quick before he died of overdrinking in the bar of The Anchor or worse, died of something unrelated to drink!
After the sun had reappeared it wasn’t a bad day. This was to be the first of two rambles in November because nothing had happened in October and the NERDS were by now getting thirsty. First of all we had to negotiate the golf course so we knackered ourselves by climbing up golf course hill at the edge of Lewes and appeared on some putting green or other where Froggy wanted to leave everybody’s balls alone (!).
The trouble with golf courses is that they get in the way of ramblers’ routes, there are lots of nasty quicksandy bits into which you can sink and they contain a lot of prats who think they can whack white balls at NERDS. Tolerance levels between the two factions is always fairly low, so when we were greeted with “ I say, you there, yes you with the gangrenous foot, would you mind awfully not making our nice green die by dragging your foot over it.” you start to plot a hideous revenge ( like coming back at night and
fire-bombing the place). However, Mr Poorly foot guided us off enemy territory and we tried to head towards Ringmer.
It was obvious that Sandyballs had failed to reconnoitre this walk since we kept going round in circles and getting disorientated (a bit). Mercifully the weather remained sunny and we negotiated fields of sheep and sheep-shit to cruise into Ringmer where the Posh
(Monied) People live and where they all drink in The Anchor.
Fortunately Bronco was still there and only half drunk. “ Christ! What’s that hideous smell of rotting flesh ?” were his first words to Sandy balls. “ Oh , just a little something I picked up in a bawdy house in Macau,” was the macho reply. “ Better have a drink, then, “ concluded the ever practical Bronco, and limped off to get the booze in . “ Still suffering from that old cavalry wound to your ankle then?” said Matt sympathetically when he returned with the drinks.”No, actually, some bloody whore tripped me up in a brothel in Macau,” replied Bronco. Sandyballs remained guiltily silent.
The food wasn’t bad here, and while we ate Froggy told us about his new literary project entitled “The Loneliness of The RearEnd Surfer” (Don’t ask), while B.T. told us the last time he had paid for sex (apart from with sailors in his first job) was in Africa 45 years previously (monkeys? anacondors? Wildebeest?). Lafayette said that the women in Islamabad used to clamour around his back door for sex waving 100 rupee notes in his direction, but nobody believed him such was his reputation for exaggeration.
Sandyballs thought we should be heading back to the Metropolis so we all got our bus passes out (except Froggy and B.T. ha ha!) and got on a bus with thousands of screaming schoolkids from the local school. Most of the NERDS felt quite comfortable sitting next to nubile nymphets upstairs and holding their satchels for them, while Sandyballs (because of his poorly toe) sat downstairs and made some new friends with the wrinklies.
Eventually we arrived at the John Harvey Tavern where peace reigned for a short while until nobody could work out how to “manage “ the final whip (not even Lafayette with all his life skills) and where we decided to honour Philby in January with a Dead Dog Layby Ramble – something to do with La Fete des Morts both dogs and NERDS. The idea was to sit in the layby and drink red wine and remember the dog, and then to proceed to Philby’s grave nearby to show a bit of respect for a defunct NERD.
And so the ramble fizzled out. Thanks to Sandyballs for organization etc. and for letting us see his manky toe, and thanks to B.T. for returning Lafayette’s notes which he had absentmindedly left in the pub. Next week we all descend on Wetherspoons in Brighton for a cheap Christmas meal thanks to Froggy’s vigilance in scouring the internet for … erm other subjects.
See you all chez moi next week for biscuits – Bring your hipflasks!
Lafayette.
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