Thursday, April 30, 2009
Whilst awaiting the next ramble write up from Lafayette I happened to stumble upon some old write ups of yesterday whilst packing up boxes for our move to foreigh parts. Here is the write up from our first Christmas Ramble (Number 7) of 1988. The style of Lafayette is the same and the punctuation is excellent. However, some of the participants are no longer with us.
Ramble No.7 Monday 12th December 1988
Those present – Lafayette, Sandyballs, Matt, BT & Rasputin
Sandyballs scored again. It must be said this man is perfect, but only when it comes to arranging the weather. It was a great day – sunny and dry again. The die hard five met at the Five Bells, Chailey which was billed to provide our Christmas dinner. (Lunch actually.Ed.) We wanted to look the place over first and lynch Sandyballs if it wasn’t suitable. It looked OK from the outside – we would have to see about the rest.
God, what a motley crew we looked. BT in his bobble hat looked like a failed skier touting for sponsorship from Ricard or Gitanes, or in fact anything which would provide a free drink or smoke. Lafayette with his trousers tucked into his socks looked like a hopeful participant in a pig-shoot except that he wasn’t allowed to, and hadn’t got a gun anyway. Sandyballs was in his yuppie gear – boots size 16 and Barbour jacket (dishonestly obtained from Frank De Mello). Matt had donned his leprechaun outfit and Phil, well Phil was now on a C.F. week (cocaine free) and was wearing his work gear of Basque hat, jingle bells and Christmas sweater (a present from admirers on the Chartres).
As soon as we set off Sandyballs informed us that the local farmer had moved the original route so that nobody could interfere with his sheep. Fuzz Fox wasn’t with us this time so no danger of that. We trod carefully round the sheep not daring to catch their eye for fear that one of us should get the wrong idea and turn into Witchfinder General. Nice new signposts and stiles, though BT was wondering if he could strike up some business deal using the timber around the docks. Anyway we then approached some posh farmer’s country house. Sandyballs said the owner didn’t like ramblers and had nasty dogs. We all shivered and wished we’d worn our cricket boxes. Stealthily we crept across the lawn behind the house into the woods. No dogs, thank heavens, but this was more like the Amazon jungle – should have brought Paco as a guide, or better still Rosanna. Branches whipped our faces, boa constrictors leered at us from dizzy heights, piranha fish snapped at our feet, or maybe they were just mantraps. We were official trespassers, or so Sandyballs had led us to believe, so we couldn’t complain. (But they did. H.R.)
Pausing amidst this fiendish nightmare for the usual bottle/photo stop Phil found that he’d lost his lens cap. So we all drank his wine until he’d blundered about a bit and found it. Next we oozed our way through heather and mud until we came to a brick kiln – thus transporting Lafayette back to times past. You see anybody owning a brick kiln in the Indian Subcontinent is a rich, rich, rich bugger. He has slaves working for him. Sits on his butt all day thinking he’s Allah’s right hand man and smokes himself into a stupor. Delusions of power, delusions of grandeur, Lafayette never got to that exalted level so he crept past as jealous as hell.
Past the brick kiln we came to a crow farm. Now don’t ask me why people should farm crows, nasty vicious birds I’ve always thought, steal your jewellery and carry off your children given half a chance. (Wishful thinking.Ed.) Anyway another wrong turn until a friendly farmer told us the right way and we had to backtrack until we came to a couple of aged sirens who asked us where we were going and tried to seduce us instead. They were collecting mistletoe and wanted candidates to try it out with them. None of us were tempted except Phil who still had his head filled with the previous night’s crossing. However, sensing a reprise, we dragged him off these Valkyries and shoved him back on the true path.
After a bit more wandering we were led by the Routemaster back to the Five Bells where we had been promised a mystery guest. Who was this to be? Another potential rambler like Tonka Toms or Dangerous Dimaline perhaps. With trepidation we entered the pub and found neither, only a coy slim figure in a beret propping up the bar. Sorry, it wasn’t Phil’s sister nor was it the delicious and dishevelled Sophie from the Versailles, it was in fact the true Christmas fairy, a vision of loveliness and nice perfume, Mrs Sandyballs, who proceeded to deal forth bounty and good cheer. No, not that, you lecherous prats! The Christmas Fairy had brought gifts for her lads, presents for all, NERDS sweeties and membership badges (only offered if 2 rambles have been completed!). We fell down on our knees, and adored her and nibbled the threads on the hem of her skirt. Erotic fantasies began to take over our fevered brains (Some hope!Ed.) but just in time the Christmas feast was brought in.
You have never seen such a marvellous spread! We cleansed our palates on Pernod and crunchy frog then threw ourselves on to the suckling pig in honey stuffed with Yorkshire pud, with roast swan as an alternative plus vino non collapso for the drivers and Chianti for the daft buggers who still had a few fillings left. This was all followed by whole peasants in aspic, serving wenches in suspenders, crispy quail, devilled dog and roast chestnuts in virgin’s tears.(You can never find more than one virgin.Ed.) A magnificent feast and only slightly better than Oddjob’s organised beano at the Engineer last year.
Finally we descended on Sandyballs’s house for piano lessons and to try out the new loo with golden taps. Congratulations to him and the Christmas fairy for a good walk, excellent weather, the most opportune gifts and a few new dirty fantasies.
Next walk will be set by Lafayette. Weather will be lousy, walk will be nondescript but at least he’s making the effort. Lunch at Piddinghoe if you’re dead lucky but bring sandwiches just in case. Meet chez Lafayette 1000hours on 19th January (1989) and make sure all loins are girded. Bring waterproof footwear and hipflasks (N.B. Lafayette likes Calvados). Sandyballs will be Artistic Muse which will provide your Scribe with a rest from having to write all this trash.
Ramble No.7 Monday 12th December 1988
Those present – Lafayette, Sandyballs, Matt, BT & Rasputin
Sandyballs scored again. It must be said this man is perfect, but only when it comes to arranging the weather. It was a great day – sunny and dry again. The die hard five met at the Five Bells, Chailey which was billed to provide our Christmas dinner. (Lunch actually.Ed.) We wanted to look the place over first and lynch Sandyballs if it wasn’t suitable. It looked OK from the outside – we would have to see about the rest.
God, what a motley crew we looked. BT in his bobble hat looked like a failed skier touting for sponsorship from Ricard or Gitanes, or in fact anything which would provide a free drink or smoke. Lafayette with his trousers tucked into his socks looked like a hopeful participant in a pig-shoot except that he wasn’t allowed to, and hadn’t got a gun anyway. Sandyballs was in his yuppie gear – boots size 16 and Barbour jacket (dishonestly obtained from Frank De Mello). Matt had donned his leprechaun outfit and Phil, well Phil was now on a C.F. week (cocaine free) and was wearing his work gear of Basque hat, jingle bells and Christmas sweater (a present from admirers on the Chartres).
As soon as we set off Sandyballs informed us that the local farmer had moved the original route so that nobody could interfere with his sheep. Fuzz Fox wasn’t with us this time so no danger of that. We trod carefully round the sheep not daring to catch their eye for fear that one of us should get the wrong idea and turn into Witchfinder General. Nice new signposts and stiles, though BT was wondering if he could strike up some business deal using the timber around the docks. Anyway we then approached some posh farmer’s country house. Sandyballs said the owner didn’t like ramblers and had nasty dogs. We all shivered and wished we’d worn our cricket boxes. Stealthily we crept across the lawn behind the house into the woods. No dogs, thank heavens, but this was more like the Amazon jungle – should have brought Paco as a guide, or better still Rosanna. Branches whipped our faces, boa constrictors leered at us from dizzy heights, piranha fish snapped at our feet, or maybe they were just mantraps. We were official trespassers, or so Sandyballs had led us to believe, so we couldn’t complain. (But they did. H.R.)
Pausing amidst this fiendish nightmare for the usual bottle/photo stop Phil found that he’d lost his lens cap. So we all drank his wine until he’d blundered about a bit and found it. Next we oozed our way through heather and mud until we came to a brick kiln – thus transporting Lafayette back to times past. You see anybody owning a brick kiln in the Indian Subcontinent is a rich, rich, rich bugger. He has slaves working for him. Sits on his butt all day thinking he’s Allah’s right hand man and smokes himself into a stupor. Delusions of power, delusions of grandeur, Lafayette never got to that exalted level so he crept past as jealous as hell.
Past the brick kiln we came to a crow farm. Now don’t ask me why people should farm crows, nasty vicious birds I’ve always thought, steal your jewellery and carry off your children given half a chance. (Wishful thinking.Ed.) Anyway another wrong turn until a friendly farmer told us the right way and we had to backtrack until we came to a couple of aged sirens who asked us where we were going and tried to seduce us instead. They were collecting mistletoe and wanted candidates to try it out with them. None of us were tempted except Phil who still had his head filled with the previous night’s crossing. However, sensing a reprise, we dragged him off these Valkyries and shoved him back on the true path.
After a bit more wandering we were led by the Routemaster back to the Five Bells where we had been promised a mystery guest. Who was this to be? Another potential rambler like Tonka Toms or Dangerous Dimaline perhaps. With trepidation we entered the pub and found neither, only a coy slim figure in a beret propping up the bar. Sorry, it wasn’t Phil’s sister nor was it the delicious and dishevelled Sophie from the Versailles, it was in fact the true Christmas fairy, a vision of loveliness and nice perfume, Mrs Sandyballs, who proceeded to deal forth bounty and good cheer. No, not that, you lecherous prats! The Christmas Fairy had brought gifts for her lads, presents for all, NERDS sweeties and membership badges (only offered if 2 rambles have been completed!). We fell down on our knees, and adored her and nibbled the threads on the hem of her skirt. Erotic fantasies began to take over our fevered brains (Some hope!Ed.) but just in time the Christmas feast was brought in.
You have never seen such a marvellous spread! We cleansed our palates on Pernod and crunchy frog then threw ourselves on to the suckling pig in honey stuffed with Yorkshire pud, with roast swan as an alternative plus vino non collapso for the drivers and Chianti for the daft buggers who still had a few fillings left. This was all followed by whole peasants in aspic, serving wenches in suspenders, crispy quail, devilled dog and roast chestnuts in virgin’s tears.(You can never find more than one virgin.Ed.) A magnificent feast and only slightly better than Oddjob’s organised beano at the Engineer last year.
Finally we descended on Sandyballs’s house for piano lessons and to try out the new loo with golden taps. Congratulations to him and the Christmas fairy for a good walk, excellent weather, the most opportune gifts and a few new dirty fantasies.
Next walk will be set by Lafayette. Weather will be lousy, walk will be nondescript but at least he’s making the effort. Lunch at Piddinghoe if you’re dead lucky but bring sandwiches just in case. Meet chez Lafayette 1000hours on 19th January (1989) and make sure all loins are girded. Bring waterproof footwear and hipflasks (N.B. Lafayette likes Calvados). Sandyballs will be Artistic Muse which will provide your Scribe with a rest from having to write all this trash.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
April Ramble prologue
Lafayette is out in the wilds of Ireland at the moment so we will have to await his scribbles for a short time so here are some of Froggy's photographs and mine to keep us all going!!
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