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.