October 2012 Ramble

NERDS’ Ramble No 275. 23rd Oct 2012.

Those Present - El Paco, Froggy, Lafayette, Sandyballs,
The Bish.

La Chasse aux Milfs.

We were honoured today by a special visit from The Bish. Apparently Mrs Bish had been so fed up with his kicking around the house after retiring some ten years previously that she had stopped feeding him in order to force him out from under her feet. Poor Bish had contracted a horrible disease called starvation and was reduced to actually coming out and buying a meal in a pub with the NERDS. Moreover, when quizzed on the oral test for NERDS’ re-entry, he completely failed to give the correct definition of a Milf, even going so far as to admit he had never even heard of the term. This would not do! And so the NERDS resolved to chase up a few(Milfs) to broaden poor Bish’s education.

The ramble began at Vick’s on Lewes station ( except that Vic wasn’t there any more) where everyone followed Lafayette’s sophisticated choice of aperitif by buying mocha coffee ( good for the brain, doncha know.)
Matt wasn’t with us because he had workmen in and he didn’t want them rifling through his knicker drawer in his absence. The NERDS all know that’s where he keeps his porn stash - we know- we’ve already been through his drawer when he thought we were all safely in his garden sipping tea.

So after a Viccy coffee (careful now, you might raise Philby!) we got on the train to Berwick to check out Milf Central (Berwick Arms). Unfortunately the half way passable Milf from our previous visit had scarpered and sold the Milf Rights to a scruffy fat one with noisy kids and a barman who couldn’t organise a piss-up in a …well, a pub.The running of the place was a complete shambles. The NERDS were not impressed. We even considered taking it completely off the Milf Register so bad was the service and the (non existent) glamour. Better go out and ramble.

Just in case it were to rain (not unlikely) and mindful of his drenching a few rambles ago, Paco had geared himself up in a swish garment with a hood which one of his relatives had purloined from L’Armee Francaise (please excuse lack of accents, cedillas etc). Paco was just now worried about a possible knock on his door at 4 o’clock in the morning followed by early rendition and consignment to a French jail pending forced conscription into La Legion Etrangere (sorry about the accents). “Don’t worry,” Lafayette assured him, “ I tried to get into La Legion once after after a dodgy crossing over to Dieppe when I felt I just couldn’t stand it all any more
(sob). The Bastards said I was too old, couldn’t speak French properly and needed to be of sound mental state.
I even offered to go on their psychopath course which
Hungerford had just completed, but no go. So I’m sure they won’t come after you just for nicking a crappy old anorak.” Paco felt better.

Over the fields we went; the weather was dull but OK; Froggy told us how his statins pills gave him wildly erotic dreams about Milfs which he couldn’t control. Half of us were disgusted at this revelation while the other half wanted a copy of his prescription so that we could try out these dreams. Sandyballs said it wasn’t as much fun when you had a doctor sticking his finger up your bum even if he had told him to relax and pretend it was a Milf doing it.

We weaved over more fields, nice fields but all very sort of expansive and uniform. We were heading in the direction of Selmeston and hoping to get to the Lamb at Ripe in time for lunch. ( That’s “dinner” in northern parlance, by the way). The sun came out; Sussex looked lovely and rural; we got a bit lost. New direction was taken from a man with a drill ( Yes, you may well ask!)
But he guided us to the next right field and we were OK.

Over more fields, over lotsa fields through a farm  then more lotsa fields until we started to wilt at the vast distances involved. Didn’t Sandyballs know we were all sad old bastards now who just wanted to oggle at Milfs and have a nice lunch?  A discussion ensued as to whether Carol ( Weather Girl; do keep up) was a Milf. Some said she couldn’t be because she had no kids. Some said this was irrelevant and the other bit of the acronym was more important. Sandyballs who followed her Twitter account was asked to decide. “ She’s definitely a Milf. “ he opined. “ She has a cracking body and fantastic legs - and a nice smile… and er she can read the weather OK.” So now we knew.

We looked over the fields and saw many cows …but no Milfmaids. Paco said his cat was a Gilf because it was 21yrs old, but we feared he hadn’t quite grasped the concept of all this yet. Tony seemed to be catching on but unfortunately, where we were there was nary a Milf to be found.

Even in the pub - The Lamb at Ripe - there was not a lot of totty. The pub exuded an atmosphere of  slight hostility to foreigners. You know the way in films where the foreigners enter a pub and all conversation ceases while the locals size them up as potential sacrifices and Xmas Dinners? Well this pub wasn’t like that. There was one bloke sitting at the bar reading a paper upside down and no sign of the barman. We were ignored. Finally some callow youth came out of somewhere and served us some drinks. The local ran off to learn to read somewhere and left the pub to our depradations.

Finally a kindly, oldish lady (definitely a Ginlf) came and served us quite a good meal with suitably obsequious service, and told us how her daughter had made the fairy cakes on the table.”I wouldn’t eat them, though, if I were you,” she said. “They’re magic cakes which give you dirty dreams about peculiar sort of ladies whose name I can’t pronounce. She’s actually a witch who lives in the New Forest with her black and white pigs. Some say she was recently crossed in love by some bloke with a blue cashmere sweater, and now spreads magic cakes around all the pubs in Sussex trying to lure him back.” Lafayette gulped a bit and tried to hide his jumper.

After dinner Sandyballs took us to some old bloke’s grave ( Michael Lewery, I think he said.) then we started off back . This was when all our dreams came true . Today was a Milf holiday and they were everywhere.
We saw Milfs in Mercs, Milfs pushing prams, Milfs on bikes, Milfs up trees, Milfs in tall towers with long, braided hair, and because it was a small village and because they all thought NERDS were adorable we saw them over and over again. Giggling and flirting they were, waving their hands giving us all the come-on. Lafayette began to realise somebody had eaten one of the magic cakes and was infecting us all with their statinny fantasies. Round the corner we went and there appeared the same Milfs a beckoning and a luring us towards their Milfy charms. “Right, that’s it, I can’t cope with this any more.” screamed Lafayette. “I’m off to join the Foreign Legion and become a psycho like Hungerford.”

So who had eaten the magic cakes? Nobody owned up but they all knew that Lafayette was a greedy bastard and put it down to him.

Walking home was a bit of an anticlimax after all this Milfery, and we managed to miss the train and had to end up back in Milf Central whiling away the time bemoaning the fact that the Milf standard in Berwick had plunged. No matter, after a couple of brandies even Paco’s cat might have got stroked (or had a stroke if unlucky) and we managed to make a bit of progress re the arrangements for the Spring-Bonanza-chez-Paco’s-Sister-in-Spain for the 25 years NERDS Fiesta ( if you’re still with me, folks).

So, a good ramble with lotsa walking and tons’a Milfs.
Well done Sandyballs for guiding us to the Magic Village, and we hope both Paco and the Bish are now a bit more enlightened.

Au revoir, mes soldats. Vivent les NERDS!

Lafayette.

Future Diary Dates

Future Diary dates


Lafayette and myself have set the ramble dates for November and December.This had been done to comply with Froggy's onerous shift patterns (not as onerous as Gatwick South though). As tradition, both days are Wednesdays: 14/11 & 5/12. Get your objections in now....

Don't forget next week's ramble (24/10) when it is hoped we can start to make further plans for next year's 25th anniversary celebrations.

Sandyballs

October Joining Instructions

This month we don our lederhosen, slap each other's knees and do a bit of walking on Wednesday 24th. Our lunch destination is the Lamb at Ripe. Partipants will need to purchase a return ticket to good old Berwick. Seaford/ Newhaven types can take the 10.25/ 10.32 to Lewes and we convene at the Runaway Cafe.

We can perhaps take a look at Milf Central and see who is running it this week, what their opening hours are, what beer they serve (hopefully Green King) and, most importantly, what their current Milf is like. Also, we can possibly call in at the Yew Tree at Chalvington on the way back to the station?

As ever, flexibilty is key.

See some of you next week.

SB

September Rye Ramble

NERDS’ Ramble No. 274. 10-11/9/12.

Those Present - Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, BT

Day one - Four Fat Bastards en route.

Everyone had been to Rye before. We knew it was full of pubs and restaurants; we knew it had cobbly streets like Lewes and Ludlow, and we knew that the natives were friendly and spoke a similar East Sussex dialect to Nerdish. Sandyballs had been down on a reccy and bought a book of ‘Walks and what to do when you’re knackered and stop walking.’ And so began this Autumn’s trip in search of Milfs, Yummy Mummies and Booze.

BT had kindly said he would drive and had been preparing himself chez Lafayette by ingesting large quantities of Ricard, red wine and calvados - just to get himself in the mood. Lafayette had not been too far behind. They were both pretending they were in France again. Anyway, the NERDS picked up Froggy, stuffed him in the back of the car and proceeded to Rye where the weather looked promising for a couple of days’ debauchery (and rambling).

The NERDS checked in at The Old Borough Arms where Laf and Sandy, who wanted to be together (true lurv), insisted that BT shared a room with Froggy (mainly for cultural and social reasons which became clear to BT later on.) Then it was out to hit the lunch spots of Rye in the incessant search for chips which was to characterise Sandyballs’ raison d’etre for the next couple of days.

But first a little aperitif. Lafayette chose the Pipemakers’ Arms just up the road for this. It was a big, crappy, unsophisticated, pub with a blousy barmaid called Beth and lots of lovely IPA Greene King beer. It also had a fabulous, large games room where you could play darts (of course), pool (boring), Hunt the Goblin (tricky) and Shag the Barmaid (unlikely). So in we piled in and ordered beer.

BT started to get all boring about how sophisticated life was in France these days until we pointed out that apart from the wine, the climate, the food, the sexy women, the aqueducts, the Napoleonic Code, the Revolution, the-making-Froggy-into-a-man-through-military-service etc, what had the French ever done for us? So BT was required to sit in the Wrinkly Club Corner where he kept muttering that he could see Pyrenean Desmonds lurking in all the dark corners waiting to nibble his toes. ( Too much pastis!)
Sandyballs was enjoying the beer so much here that we swore we’d take him back a few more times so that he could really enjoy himself.

So then we approached the Inkerman Arms down at Rye Harbour and as we sat in the garden, joy of joys, we discovered an abandoned plate of fish and chips which Sandyballs managed to collar just seconds before  a nosy dog tried to scoff the lot. This made for a very pleasant amuse-gueule type of entrée (what did the French ever do for us?) before the dinner proper - which was okay(ish).


At this stage Froggy kept making strange noises and trying to jump into the pool in the garden. The beer had turned his brain, bless his little cotton socks, and he thought he had turned into a Werefrog that preys on barmaids and other stick insects (alcohol kicking in here). A discussion ensued about whether a rice pudding has a central nervous system and whether they knew you were eating them. Did they make a silent scream of pain just before the last mouthful? Makes you think, doesn’t it?

Better go for a ramble now otherwise madness will ensue. So we headed out vaguely in the direction of a nature reserve and saw lots of stones and people who said you’re going the wrong way, why don’t you go this way, and the sea was nice and the weather was sunny and we were having a good time and this was why we were here.

We trespassed our way through a farm yard where a little dog yapped at us so we told it to fuck off, then we sort of headed back to Rye and decided to get a bus back from the harbour. But first an icecream. Hooray! A mini-mart which sold Magnums (Magna?) so we all had different sorts. The Chilean hot pepper and spinach one was nice but the Minty toe nail and fried egg one was better.
The local native girl behind the till had a bus time table and told us the next bus was in forty minutes.
Bugger! That meant waiting even longer in the bus shelter listening to Froggy’s jokes; better have another Magnum each and then try to decide which bus to push him under. And so we did. (Another Magnum, not the bus hit-job) and finally got back to Rye about tea time.

Since Sandyballs had had such a good time in the Pipemakers and because the beer there was so special we decided to revisit the place. Unfortunately poor Sandyballs said he had to go back to his room to wash his hair before going out that evening so we said we’d bring him a pint back to console him and Froggo, Laf and BT all disappeared inside to play darts and drink er…gin.
The darts area was vast and we started to play some game Froggy used to play at school to lose all his dinner money with. He had been such a consistent loser at this that he had been turfed out of school and had to earn a living as a famous author - Have you ever heard of The Milf on The Floss? No, I thought not.

Back to the guest house to find that Sandyballs had finished drying his hair and had gone out in search of more chips to top up his system, Oh, and to buy a bottle of Spanish brandy to help him sleep and deaden the anti-social sounds which he knew would come from under Lafayette’s duvet (Aint lurv grand!).

But first there was din dins to get through. Somehow, the NERDS ended up in yet another pub - The Ypres something or other… which had large cannon in its courtyard levelled against the potentially invading French who had never done anything for us. Just as the bright and constant conversation coming from Froggy was spurring Sandyballs and BT to tie him over the mouth of one of these weapons to send him back to the land of his mother, Lafayette who had gone in to fetch a round came out and told of his latest adventure. Apparently he had met a woman called “Pat The Bus” (Don’t ask me) who was going to have all her teeth out the next day and who was spending her last toothy hours getting pissed and eating cream cakes. Lafayette had thought that’s probably what he would have done in the same circumstances and had joined her. Whereupon some Brasilian barman whom he had completely overlooked, had come over and had poured Lafayette a glass of very respectable Rioja - free! Being a nice kind of guy, Laf. Had gone out to share this info with his chums who (reluctantly) undid Froggy and herded into the pub in search of free Rioja and cake. Sadly all the Rioja had gone (Shame on you, Lafayette)  but there were lots of sweety, sweety cakes left which the Pat The Bus type woman said we could have a few of. Which we did, and didn’t notice the Brasilian barman sneaking out of the door and making a run for it. Oh well, told you the natives were friendly, and at least we still had teeth!

Dinner was at some Italian restaurant or other where the food was crap but the house wine was OK so Sandyballs got some chips on the way home and was happy. NERDS then piled into BT and Froggy’s room where the ChipMonster dished out brandy from his bottle of Fundador (very generous) and where we all watched something on telly and then went back and slept. - at least, some of us did.

Day Two - Winchelsea, The Ship and Porky Scratchings.

Dawn broke; Sandyballs was up with his usual insomnia and was watching Jeremy Kyle on the box. Down to breakfast. Froggy had had a good night’s sleep and had a grin on his face; BT looked hollow eyed and haggard. He’d discovered the deathly secret which the other NERDS had been keeping from him, ie. The appalling, non-stop, universe-shaking, awful, once heard never to be forgotten, snoring which always came from Froggy’s side of the room if you let it. And let it you have to. There was no remedy (apart from death) and there was no stopping it because you always ran out of things to throw at him and he never woke up anyway. You could kick him, punch him, smother him with quilts, smother him with custard even, it was none of it any use. You just had to doze within the very rare quiet bits. And so BT realised he’d been stitched up and Froggy lost yet another sleeping companion.

After another low cal breakfast of bacon, eggs, even beans for some, the NERDS visited the local souvenir shop because Sandyballs had lost his map
- for rambling. So now we knew where we were and where we were going (ha, ha). We set off towards Winchelsea where there was rumoured to be a pub. BT was pissed off at being stitched up.
(Can you actually be both at the same time?) and reckoned that SB never actually used a map and mimed all the rambles which he set. BT getting a bit obscure and surreal here; probably due to gross lack of sleep and absence of red wine in system. Needs more chips according to SB.

NERDS follow The Royal Military Canal (built to prevent the French etc. etc. who never did anything
etc. etc.) until we reach a point where there was a giant beehive thingy which, of course, Froggy has to stick his head through. If there was a cliff, he’d jump off it; if there was a cotton sock, he’d bless it. And so yet again escaping death by inches from rabid, cross bees, the NERDS carefully picked their way through the, what seemed like, knee deep sheep shit over the fens and things. Destination was The New Inn at Winchelsea for which Sandyballs had had the foresight to obtain a menu.

It was a big, big climb into Winchelsea which is a pretty little village unused to NERDS’enthusiasm. Very quiet, very restrained very poshe. Here the beer was absolutely fabulous and we sat in a secret garden chugging away and gradually realising that there was nobody eating there because the food was very mega expensive. Now we didn’t exactly have a quarrel next; it just so happened that every body outvoted Lafayette on moving on. Laf. had become warm and comfortable in the Secret Garden and was enjoying the beer so much (as was Sandyballs secretly) that he just didn’t want to move. Froggy was wavering, but seeing a hollow tree just had to get up and hide within it. (See what I mean?) so since somebody had got up we all moved on.

We must have walked for miles and miles and miles; the only saving grace was that we didn’t take any short-cuts so we didn’t get lost. Finally we ended up at The Ship after SB had phoned them up and ascertained they had some sort of menu which included chips.Sounded OK.

Now The Ship was, how shall I put this, sort of … different. It was done out in 30s film star style like an ocean liner and was obviously trying to make you feel as if once inside you were going on a luxury cruise. The impression of utter plushness was somewhat spoiled by the nautical beer called “Frigging in the Rigging.” Imagine yelling an order for that across a poop deck full of elegantly coiffed ladies and smooth gents in dinner jackets! However the cruise customers had not yet arrived so we were not to embarrass ourselves too much.

The barmaids were pleasant and friendly. (All barmaids are pleasant, friendly, good looking, sexy and want to be your friend after a couple of pints).
Lafayette had had a couple of pints. The barmaid was about twenty, ie. about forty five years younger than Lafayette. So he tried his bestest chat-up line on her. “ Have you ever drunk calvados?” enquired Lafayette.” No,” simpered Laura (for such was her name.) evidently completely overawed by the smoothness and sophisticated taste of the good looking middle aged man in front of her. “ Would you like to try it?” persisted Lafayette. “ Ooh, yes, please, I’ll try anything once,” simpered Laura again. Unfortunately this touching seduction scene was somewhat ruined by someone from among the NERDS who loudly yelled “Supplement!” and broke the charming spell which Lafayette had sought to weave. Lafayette returned to the NERDS grinding his teeth and vowed to snore so heavily in bed that night that Sandyballs would have to seek refuge in Froggy’s room just to escape the din he planned to make in revenge.

After a reasonable lunch we missed the bus back to Rye because Froggy was doing something secret in the bog. Unperturbed, the NERDS shrugged their collective shoulders and set off along the long straight road and back across the fens. All of a sudden we came across a load of black and white pigs in a field and a notice saying don’t feed the buggers ‘cos they get fat, especially if you give them Magnums. BT did his famous “Piggy, piggy, piggy,” call and they all came hareing over expecting to be fed Magnums. “Tough!” said the NERDS, “You’ll get too fat and then someone will carve you up for a pub breakfast.” But they liked being scratched and coddled and talked to, and Lafayette gradually started to transfer his affections to these intelligent, goodlooking, sexy (careful now!) beasts. BT could see that Lafayette was falling in love again so he promised he’d buy him a miniature piggy for Christmas. It was either that or a pig tree ( Lafayette thinks that’s what he said - there was one in the Secret Garden at Winchelsea) so that he could grow his own.

The NERDS rambled back to Rye and decided to have a g & t in The Mermaid. This is the place to be seen in Rye and so we sat outside under an American flag at half mast. Lots of what Froggy called “Septics” were obviously staying there and mourning the loss of their Twin Towers. Then to Ypres Castle Pub again only to find that Pat the Bus had not come back yet nor had the supplies of Rioja been replenished. So we sat and drank some fantastic beer (Sandyballs was almost getting boring in his continual and fulsome praise of Green King IPA stuff,) and admired the publican’s shapely daughter and her shapely blonde mate. Lafayette was no longer interested in girlies; his head had been turned by pretty black and white piggies; he would have to teach them to drink calvados.

Dinner was at the Gandhi Indian restaurant where Lafayette enjoyed his meal but the others didn’t. Maybe everyone was getting a bit jaded by now so Lafayette dragged everyone back to his favourite pub of all, The Pipemakers where the beer tasted out of this world  and where this time we drank brandy and watched England fail to beat Ukraine in some footy match or other.

Back to the guest house where the NERDS occupied BT and FG’s room once again and promised Froggy that if snoring was introduced as an exhibition sport at the Olympics in Rio we’d all go over there to cheer him on. Sadly he’d probably still be working by then so that he wouldn’t be able to get the leave to attend. And so to bed.

Day 3 - Homeward Bound

After the usual gargantuan breakfast we went shopping for souvenirs to pacify those loved-ones we had left behind. Lafayette bought a quite superb set of placemats in red featuring interesting bits of Rye (like all the pubs) and was really disappointed when the other NERDS told him they were actually blue (Oh dear!). Sandyballs bought a nice postcard for his wife telling her to cook more chips for him because they were healthy and contained no calories - like white wine - such a loving gesture.

Finally we drove to Hastings because we were hungry and needed fish and chips. The propaganda
was quietly taking over the minds of all the NERDS. Lafayette took everyone to a pub he knew called First In Last Out (FILO) and there we sampled beer flavoured with ginger from a small brewery up the road. The beer was called Old Town Tom and was made from recycled prostitutes. Sandyballs thought this was absolutely terrific; in fact he said there had not been a single beer on this trip which he had not really, really enjoyed, especially the Greene King stuff. We shall have to go back!

And so another NERDS expedition came to a weary end. Thanks be to BT for driving and losing all his sleep. Thanks to Sandyballs for the rambles  and to Froggy for his snoring and non-stop jokey humour. And thanks to both photographers for the topless photos of the pigs and the Princess of Cambridge. Lafayette looks forward to seeing them all on the blog.