N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No 230, Wed. 14 .1 . 2009

Those Present – Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Andy Rimbaud Thomas,
Paco, And who knows who else floating about in the ether.

The Philby Memorial Ramble.


The NERDS were planning to pay homage to Philby this day – that’s if we could find his grave secreted away somewhere in Seaford cemetery. Since not many of us had been to Seaford cemetery yet as we were all mostly alive this would represent a major challenge, but it was a nice sunny Wednesday and we felt confident we could overcome most problems.

First though, we were going to be entertained chez Froggy who had already made tentative plans to become a part-time grave digger at the cemetery in view of his putative early retirement from the Immigration Service (Not the Wimpy Border Has Beens Association, as it’s now called). Sadly we were not greeted by Mrs. Froggy wearing something slinky – nor, thank God, even by Froggy wearing something slinky, but by Froggy in his limousine who had come to pick us up at the station.

At the Froggy Entertainment Centre we were presented with lots of nice choccy bix, coffee and a bottle of absinthe. Rimbaud Thomas (as opposed to BT Thomas) immediately fell on this and threatened to write even more juvenile poetry and to cut off his ear if we tried to stop him. Such are the demands of an artistic personality that we let him get on with it and later concurred with him that the filthy drink both looked and tasted like Fairy Washing up Liquid.

Then Paco arrived – late - for a change, just as Sandyballs was relating his interesting dream about having met Philby who chased him round a brothel in Bangkok and tried to kiss him even though he’d got no teeth. At this point we wondered who else had a bottle of absinthe round their house. Lafayette got bored and started shagging Froggy’s Sean the Sheep to while away the time. He’d heard all these funny Philby stories before.

So off we went to the cemetery where first of all there was no trace of Philby. Was it all a terrible mistake and was he still lying in a ditch somewhere clutching a bottle of wine and dreaming of skinny barmaids? Sadly not. We came across a well tended grave near that of an Arsenal Supporter (spit, spit) with clear indications that Philby was buried inside.
And so the NERDS’ homage began. Sandyballs cracked a bottle of Rioja and got out the plastic glasses (nothing but the best). Lafayette said a few words which he vaguely remembered from an Islamabad Hash song and which seemed appropriate. We all drank to the Dearly Departed, dribbled a portion for himself on to his grave and Froggy shed a tear. We felt that Philby might have appreciated our gesture.

Then we all got out of the cemetery double quick just in case the Angel of Death thought we might have drunk too much absinthe and either struck us blind or took us back with him to meet Philby face to face (shudder, shudder).

Froggy then became Route master because Sandyballs was now too distraught to do any thing apart from have nightmares. We were led (?) off in the direction of High and Over past Dead Dog Layby and after a bit of faffing did a big loop over sunny fieldy type fields until Froggy decided he wanted to have a piss round the back of some posh houses. Thereafter we changed course and headed back to Seaford (some ramble this!) until we got into the Golf clubby/ Derek’s Housy type area where only people with lots of money were allowed to congregate and compare salaries and BMWs. Somebody thought they had seen Matt hob nobbing down the road but even he isn’t rich enough to hob nob around this area.

Since Froggy (the man who lives in Seaford) was rapidly getting lost in his own town, we hurried on past the Trek Club and the Old Victorian Frontages to the Plough where we found Bronco who said was a witch-doctor and believed he could make Philby appear through the judicious use of Voodoo. We managed to persuade him against this worrying course of action and got him to buy us a drink instead. And thereafter the afternoon went into its usual decline. Sandyballs was pissed off that his daughter had attended only one NERDS ramble and got herself pregnant (Come on , own up, who was it?) and we all mentally made a list of Philby’s ex girlfriends and graded them accordingly. Some soul singer called Victoria came top. Bronco told us he’d got a floppy limp and Rimbaud said he would continue to write poetry but only about women with large breasts.

Finally we all made it home somehow. Full marks to Philby for putting up with our maunderings at his grave side, and thanks to Froggy for the absinthe and choccy bics.
At least we got to see a bit of Seaford we hadn’t been to before and now we knew where Philby was if we wanted to pay him another visit.

Requiescat in Pace.

Lafayette.