The Froggy Solo Ramble

Participants: Froggy

Froggy had a day free on Monday last week. He dreamed about what it would be like to have loads of free days when he was retired, but had to content himself with just the one, for the time being. Oh what could he do? Where could he go? Such choices!

As it was such a lovely day, he decided to strike out towards Alfriston via the famous Mike Clarke route. Man Bag in order, he decided against going through the estate but chose instead to add more provisions from the local corner shop. Hmmm something to drink he thought, the one that had something to do with Quasi & Esmeralda, Hmmm and maybe certain other comforters……..

Off he strode, ignoring all the lecherous cat calls and other such like enticements casually thrown at him by passing motorists on their way to casting off their grannies and other unwanted rubbish at the local dump. On he went passed Seaford’s latest addition to the Metropolis, until he came face to face with his second major decision of the day. Which way? Choose wisely little bear and so he did and grunted his way up the side of the vast field that was now home to several escaped Welsh sheep. No time for that now, he mused – must get safely through the golf course with head intact. He thought he heard the strains of “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, but, sadly only the first word was clearly audible. Once clear of the flying circus he proceeded along the well known track until he came to a stile, which commanded a magnificent view of the route to come. He tarried a while, well it was more like 30 minutes, resting his parts on the nice warm wood and taking it in turn to refresh himself and then his imaginary friend. The path leading up to the stile had all but disappeared under the rampaging undergrowth. He remembered fondly of the time when the Nerds had braved the steep ascent in years gone by, when they were young and care-free and were all alive.

Talking himself into action, he girded his loins and set forth along the next stage, down through the trees, along the side of a field, and up the side of the next field to the very summit; where promises of yet more Quasi shouts gave him all the incentive he needed. At last, at the top, with only a flat and then downward journey to come, he sat and admired the scenery. He lapsed into a dream of meeting 2 young buxom women who would smooth his brow and help him to forget all his woes. By now the bottle was nearly empty and he needed to increase his pace if he were to get any lunch at all. Striding along a now familiar path he came across a five-barred gate, which offered a splendid view, in more ways than one. He could not believe his eyes, for there, not more than 50 feet away were the very same 2 young buxom women! Unable to tear his eyes away he was subjected to the sight of trousers coming off and a thronged pair of buttocks winking at him to come on over. By now the drink had befuddled his mind and he didn’t even think to whip out his trusty pair of binocs for a closer ogle. He looked at them then looked at his watch, then looked at them, then looked at his watch and what do you think? He scuttled off, ashamed of all this peeping, and instead hurtled down the path towards salvation in the shape of a very late ham and mushroom pie lunch at the Smugglers.

He tried nonchalantly to read his paper in the garden but was subjected to one of those conversations that you get between siblings about their demented old mum. Ah! Nearly 3, could catch the 15:17 rambler bus back to Seaford and imbibe some more in town. Perched on the grassy bit, he awaited his transport only to be accosted by the demented old mum, who had slipped passed her knife-stabbing children, and who by then had proceeded to confuse him about which planet he was on. Several minutes later, the rambler bus arrived going the other way. The wise old crone decided to go the long way home – and why not, there are people out there who have bus passes don’t you know!!??** After another half an hour or so, there was still no bus, so the weary traveller chose to return by whence he came. Upon leaving Alfriston, he encountered a pair of strapping Slovac types, adjusting their garments and plucking grass out of their hair. Hmmm, maybe someone else had got into his daydream?

The way back was uneventful apart from the half hour spent fast asleep in some field and a further half hour on his most favourite stile in the whole world. Again he spurned the scenic route back through the estate, for he considered “doing another first” and was soon sitting on a bar stool quaffing a pint of Stella in the Seven Sisters, with utter gay abandon and chortling to himself that he’d not been there to cook and slave for his ungrateful git pillock of a son. There were other “firsts” during the week but that’s another story….

What a fabulous way to spend a day. He’s already planning his second solo ramble, hmmm, maybe taking in the Engineer next time…..and with photies?

À bientôt