N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No.231 Wed. 18. 2. 09.

Those Present Froggy, Sandyballs, B.T., Matt, Lafayette.

The Gayest Ramble We’ve Ever been On.


Bronco couldn’t make this ramble. He was ill and had to throw a sicky. They say he had an excess of water in his system leading to brain waves or the necessity for a tap on the head ( Froggy’s jokes, not mine ), but whatever it was we missed the old bugger and hope he’ll be fit enough to at least eat with us next time.

The other NERDS met up in Lafayette’s slummy den at Lavender Lodge where Matt was developing an interesting theme about what you did in retirement – played with yourself all the time or played with other people? Lafayette preferred to play outside with the girl next door; she had the biggest pigtails you ever did see! B.T. preferred to play with cars
( fucking pervert) and Sandyballs liked to play with Gilfs – strange ancient beings that lived at the bottom of his garden. Anyway, after a lot of boozing and chocolate biscuiting
those who had Old Gits’ bus passes got them out to go on the long journey from chez Lafayette to Brighton Pier.

It’s always an adventure sitting on the top of the bus with Matt. He usually opens conversations with all and sundry or complains about everything in sight. Today’s victim was some poor chap who just happened to fancy a smoke and just happened to be sitting in Matt’s air space. You should have heard Matt cursing, ranting, fulminating, beating him round the head, threatening to call the driver upstairs, threatening judicial review, not to mention “I’m a friend of George Michael and Mike Tubb and I won’t put up with this disgusting anti-social behavior!” The guy fled; the NERDS flinched and pretended we weren’t with Matt. Why does he always have to take things so personally?

We managed to get off the bus trying to look cool rather than frightfully embarrassed and wandered around Brighton Front looking for an aperitif. No luck in the short term; it was half term and all the school kids had drunk everywhere dry. So we entered the murky and dangerous hinterland of the Brighton Social Scene and found a rather jolly little pub up a side street called the White Horse.

There was a funny multi coloured flag hung over one window which Matt said was something to do with the Botswana Embassy, but we were not so sure. The barman blew us a kiss and asked us what we wanted to suck on. He was very obliging, forward even, and after serving our drinks asked us if we’d like to play with his lovely pussy. B.T. said he’d got two pussies back at home and the barman showed immediate interest and asked him for his address. Indeed the pub moggy was also a friendly type called Cookie who kept rubbing itself up everyone and demanding photos be taken. All in all, a very friendly pub but there was just something about it which we couldn’t place, some je ne sais quoi which made us wonder what the basis for its magic was. Perhaps we’ll go back there a few times and try to work out what the mystery was.

Back on to the seafront, and we walked miles and miles in the direction of the Marina until we came upon a sign for the local naturist beach. Now what sort of people would take all their clothes off and mingle on the shingle just to make new friends? What do they get out of it? Isn’t it a bit cold? What would your Mom say? These were all interesting and unanswered questions. We all thought Brighton was a fascinating place, so daring and bohemian and yes, different somehow.

After our long hike we ended up at Wetherspoons (again). Now Lafayette wasn’t sure about this place; it did seem a bit cheap somehow, and not up to his usual standards, but it did have a very, very big Dictator’s Chair where he went and sat and played at being God again (you can tell how he misses being at work). Sandyballs liked it because the beer didn’t cost a lot and everything came with chips (he’s such a chav!). The only snag was that Sandyballs wouldn’t share his chips with his mates so he had to go and sit on the “naughty” table for a while until he was allowed back to finish up our scraps.

Froggy had been fasting for months to get down to his present sylph-like figure so decided to treat himself to two meals - one straight after the other. Unfortunately, when the second one arrived he was already full but determined to get his money’s worth so he whacked straight into it. Half an hour later he was purple in the face with sweat streaming off him, feeling sick and just ripe for a cardiac arrest. Everyone else looked on with utter admiration. What a chap! What a hero! That beats biting off bats’ heads any day; fancy being so hard as to put your own life at risk just to entertain your fellow NERDS!

Sandyballs was now so pissed on cheap beer and spicy rum that he stated his intention of joining the KERDS when he retired - these are the Kamikaze ERDS who go out on one ramble only, eat a gargantuan meal and then explode to the cheers of the audience who praise you for being so macho. Then they come and sob over your grave and drop peanuts all over it. Froggy to note. This is one way of getting famous.

And so we all went our separate ways. Froggy and Matt went back to try and unravel the mystery of the White Horse, while Lafayette took B.T. and Sandyballs home to experiment with naturism in his front room. Wetherspoons had been a triumph yet again; it was just a pity that Bronco hadn’t been in on all the fun. Maybe next time.


Lafayette.

Next Ramble

Keep the 19th of February 2009 free as the next ramble commences then. Somewhere in East Sussex, but Brighton appears a reasonable choice of venu. I think we are all meeting at purple passion palace in Newhaven.