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.