NERDS' 25th Anniversary Ramble in Spain.
Tuesday 7th May – Saturday 11th May 2013.
Those Present – El Paco, Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, B.T.
NERDS – The beginning.
Looking back over the years to the early sun-kissed rambles of 1988 it struck Lafayette what a lot of mayhem had passed under the bridge since then. The whole concept of Newhaven Rambling and Drinking Society had been spawned by three bored Newhaven I.O.s who were fed up of just twiddling their thumbs (and probably other bits) in the office and wanted greater challenges, excitement, glamour, notoriety, promotion (no, not promotion), trips out into the country and lots of booze. Such was the claim to fame of Sandyballs, Lafayette and Matt ( whose real names shall forever remain a deathly secret so don't even think about trying to find them out).
And so the first ramble took place twenty five years ago somewhere around Firle when someone brought along a bottle of wine and we visited a mars bar shop and bought a dodgy magazine containing young ladies with no clothes on. (How daring we were then!). Subsequently lots of things happened, some good: Jane's fabulous dinners in Shropshire; finding out that Sandyballs wasn't as incompetent a route-master as we had all suspected; some hilarious: Froggy mildly protesting in the New Forest about the lack of baked beans; Philby temporarily losing his camera in a stream; some just pleasant: Julie's amazing shoulders; our meeting hundreds of barmaids from all over the world who were made famous by Lafayette and who took photos of us all, etc. etc. etc.
Day 1 - In which the NERDS get to Spain and find that they had gone to the wrong bit.
So after a big fuck-off breakfast at Gatwick Los quattros Nierdos boarded Easy jet to Valencia.
Since the seats had been pre-ordained by Easy jet we were not sitting together but in separate rows. Sandyballs found himself next to a divorcee who seemed hellbent on having a good time wherever she was going, and Lafayette had two sixty (odd) ish gilfs next to him who were very friendly and told him their life stories in great detail. Well done Easy jet. Hope it's like this on the way back!
There was only one IO at Valencia airport so getting into the country took ages. Spanish border control must be suffering from cuts too. Bet they're not as chaotic as our lot; still most of the Spanish youth are now probably in the UK trying to get jobs as matadors and waiters. Life's tough for un-retired people, no es verdad?
After a lot of trouble finding the Centauro car hire place which was deliberately hidden to confuse would-be customers, we eventually took delivery of a monster Fiat wagon with about nine seats instead of the moderately sized Ford Galaxy we were expecting.
However after a lot of confused driving involving flyovers and weird directions we were soon en route to Vinaros where we were to meet B.T. He had taken the opportunity to dump his wife somewhere in a large shopping mall in Gerona and was going to be a real NERD for a few days before taking Froggy and Lafayette back to chez lui for a bit of a dry-out after the present rambles (Ha, ha, fat chance !)
We arrived at Vinaros and found B.T. lurking round the corner having just arrived. The Spanish villa seemed very pleasant; it had been lent to Paco by his unsuspecting sister, Wendy, and had most amenities for eating and drinking although no swimming pool (probably not a good idea with NERDS around).
So, after dividing up the rooms and making sure Froggy got one away from everyone else (snoring) we ran downstairs to try on our new celebratory teeshirts which Sandyballs had commissioned from his man in Newhaven. 'Tis true we all looked like employees at a garden centre (green teeshirts) and they were very smart except that according to the message on the back we were all to be spending the next few days at “Villa Rosa” instead of where we were now, which was “Vinaros”. Paco was a bit pissed off at this especially in view of all the trouble he'd gone to searching maps to find the ultimate location for this important NERDS' celebration. Good job he hadn't got paid by Hello magazine to take photos of the next four days including the reverse of the teeshirts.
Now, because of security concerns in Spain where everyone who is not British is either a psychopath or a serial killer, we were required to unlock the doors of the villa and scrupulously lock them up again as we left said premises. This led to a lot of fun. On this our first day Paco had to decide which keys fitted which windows and doors, and then work out why they wouldn't turn. Then, when everything had been opened so that we could see the sun and breathe, it all had to be locked up again to prevent the zombies getting in while we were out.
Anyway, when we had disentangled ourselves from the villa we headed down the road for the nearest watering hole. This turned out to be a place called El Garrofer (The Strangler) where we took up residence outside at the same table each day in the pleasant Spanish sun.
This place was cheapy cheap and we got through a lot of cañas and practised our Spanish, or at least Paco's Spanish on local bargirl, Catherine, from Roumania, before visiting the supermarket next door and practising Paco's Spanish on what'ser name (from Moldova). Such an international town is Villa Rosa that it obviously does its bar/restaurant recruitment from somewhere in the Balkans.
Later that afternoon Paco asked Lafayette to accompany him as interpreter round to Les and Doris, an elderly couple who lived nearby and who only spoke Black Country. This is a very important means of communication for which Lafayette had unfortunately not been able to get a Home Office language allowance, but in which he had been, nevertheless, fluent from birth. “ Worro Ar Doris, kid, Ow yo gooin? Ay this Spanish weather bostin'?” said Lafayette, trying to be posh for once.
“Worro, Lafayette,” replied Doris “ It's a lung waiy frum Worsle ove rear, worra yao dooin amung orl these forrin buggers?” And so they got on quite well especially when Les gave Lafayette a copy of his precious Black Country newspaper called The Bugle, and said he could keep it to do the crossword. Bit of a challenge there for Laf who over the last few years hadn't been entirely keeping up with all the linguistic neologisms of his home town (Worsle near Berrminghum).
And so after a cheap but delicious meal down at El Strangler the NERDS spent the evening drinking,
listening to blues music and trying to help Lafayette with his crossword. Paco who had recently taken up smoking cigars again had to be put out, rolled up in a coverlet and put to sleep on the sofa. Things had started off OK, the NERDS had settled in fine and Lafayette had made some new friends.
Day 2 – In which The NERDS weather a few crises and venture out into the hinterland.
Up got the NERDS, went through the ceremony of taking their Old Age pills then Sandyballs and Lafayette went down to the supermarket to get some breakfast stuff but it was closed. Glumly returning empty-handed they were greeted by Paco who said he had lost his passport. Not much of a crisis as it was found shortly after hidden amongst a pile of cigar butts. However, Sandyballs then screamed out that he could not find his posh mobile phone. This was a new one that SB hardly ever let out of his sight (literally) and which had gradually taken over his whole existence enabling him to access all sorts of useless rubbish such as what the present weather was like (why not look out of the window?) or what time it was (don't you wear a watch?). Anyway, this precious object was missing, presumed stolen by minxy, smooth tongued Roumanians and S.B. was incandescent with stress.
A vast search was initiated to no avail; S.B. rang his bleary eyed wife in England and got her to cancel his contract and to alert Interpol about thieving Romany gypsy groups. The wheels of bureaucracy were fired up and the police forces of a dozen countries were soon scampering around after what had been emphasised was a piece of equipment more precious than the British crown jewels. Just then S. B. discovered his phone where he had put it next to him in the bog as he settled down to have a crap and to check up on his stocks and shares. S.B.( Stupid Bastard) was obviously castigated by everyone and made to chain his phone to his wrist to avoid a repetition of any similar international incidents.
Now that everyone had finally got their gear together, Paco in his role of Routemaster, proposed a trip into town. One of the objectives was to drive around to find a Villa Rosa to go with the inscription on the teeshirts and show that we had clearly meant to go to this place after all. Sadly, no Villa Rosa was found so Paco drove us down to the sea front at Vinaros where we had aperitifs in the somewhat indifferent cloudy (but warm) weather.
Feeling a little hungry we scoured the streets for a suitable lunching place and hit upon the Cha Cisco (ie. Chez Paco, geddit?) where we sat outside and fell into the clutches of Natalia who was from The Ukraine.
A somewhat statuesque woman, Natalia's Spanish was better than ours (and certainly better than Froggy's whose idea of speaking Spanish was to scream loudly and insert the word “burro” into each sentence.) Natalia plied us with paella and other goodies until we were well stuffed. It must be said this was a brilliant NERDS' approved restaurant; the wine itself was amazingly cheap and really tasty so we were starting to like our trip to Spain even if we had ended up in the wrong place.
Thereafter, we drifted back home carefully hoping to avoid any more Roumanian burglars who enter small lavatory windows and snatch expensive phones.
Day 3 – In which the NERDS actually go rambling and Froggy shows off his musical skills at a barbecue.
Today began with S.B. (and we all know now what that means) saying he'd lost his wallet. Wearily we rang up all the relevant authorities again (wife, Interpol, Roumanian Embassy) but no joy. Then S.B. told us he'd not only found the wallet but had discovered that he had two pairs of sandals at home but had brought one from each to make up a disparate holiday pair. Even the rest of the NERDS were by now falling into despair so Paco Routemaster decided to cheer us up with a ramble over the cliffs and along the beach.
The route was pleasant and picturesque and the weather was warm but still cloudy. We were all in sandals and so were constantly getting sand and stuff under our soles and between our toes.
Paco had taken the precaution of wearing his heavy, every day shoes and thereby avoided being bitten by octopusses and cockroaches.
After the usual lunch of beer and boccadillos somewhere in Vinaros we realised that we had walked a long way in and out of lots of little coves but that going back would be a lot easier because it would be shorter and more direct. We had, however failed to notice two things. Firstly the return route was very concrety and secondly the sun had come out – and this was Spain - like hot. Wow, what a difficult route back it was; not too far but knackering. All the little drinking holes along the road seemed to have closed for about a four hour siesta so no sustenance and just NERDS' willpower to keep us going. Naturally we split into factions. Those who were really thirsty (and fit) raced back quick and got into El Garrofer, bagged the usual table and started downing beers. Those of a more indolent nature (and who smoked cigars) ambled back talking about the meaning of life and whether girls in general were either sur douée, mal douée or just a bit sous douée (usually in the teeshirt area). Of course they might be “storr brűste” if they were Norwegian.
On this occasion we met a new Roumanian (waitress, bargirl, pickpocket? cat burglar?) called Lavinia who was definitely not maldouée or sous douée and with whom Paco fell immediately in love (occupational hazard with NERDS but usually only applied to Philby). She was very charming but even Paco's attempt to explain the loneliness of command as Routemaster managed to cut no ice and she drifted off to charm some other tourists. B.T. meanwhile had discovered that Lavinia was indeed a cat burglar because the cats she had burgled were all hanging round our table, ravenous and threatening to seize our phones.
A few handfuls of chicken from our plates diverted their attention however, and seemed to stop any more criminal intent.
That evening a barbecue was planned and two other ex-pats, Mick and Sue were invited. S.B. was delegated to be alpha male sausage turner, a rȏle he took to well since it's a bit difficult to lose a whole barbecue when it's on fire and cooking.
B.T. was a little treasure laying the table and generally being a perfect quasimite. Lafayette sat around organising things and generally being taken no notice of, and Paco smiled sagely at the folly of it all and lit another cigar. The evening was proceeding well; much meat had been consumed and no-one had died; much beer had been drunk and most of us were still sober-ish; Lafayette had nearly had his foot sliced off by B.T.'s over enthusiastic chair shuffling – but nothing serious; and then there was the musical entertainment........
All of a sudden the dreaded combination of a well pissed Froggy and a very badly strung guitar could be heard tuning up. Why do people who play guitars have to do so at the top of their voices? Lafayette had had a college friend from the West country who insisted on yowling Bob Dylan songs to the whole block before Lafayette and a few others broke his guitar and threatened to cut his throat. But Froggy is a NERD with special needs (the need to play a guitar) and a loony when it comes to modern music, but even he came near that night to having an unsophisticated anal operation. It's not as though he didn't know the words to his songs (even the ones he'd allegedly written himself), it's just they were so loud and uncoordinated and he was so pissed that something seemed to have got lost in the translation. The guests were diplomatically brilliant and praised our musical genius....but we NERDS knew better; it was time for a quick smothering and putting to bed. B.T. took matters into his own hands and gave our Eric Clapton a big sloppy kiss with a lot of horrible tongueing and it seemed to calm him down. Well, at least it shut him up. And so ended that day's depravations.
Day 4 – In which The NERDS go into the mountains and Froggy and B.T. do some cooking.
Time for more “rambling” (in a vehicle, of course.) Routemaster Paco decreed we should visit a pretty village called Morella which he had been taken to once as a child and which sold fabulous ice-cream (or something). Childhood memories rarely are as good when re-visited and since Morella was high in the local mountains and probably freezing cold the memory about the ice-cream was probably somewhat suspect. Nevertheless, we set off with Lafayette at the wheel to enable Paco to concentrate on the navigation.......
Well, first off we had a little difficulty getting on the right road out of Vinaros – all right, truth to tell we got hopelessly lost, going round lots of roundabouts and eventually returning to Vinaros to start again. Finally we got more or less in the right direction – we knew this because we started going up lots of windy roads, the temperature dropped, we could see snow in the distance and Froggy started groaning and said he felt car-sick.
At Morella we parked high up at the top in the official car park and took in the magnificent views over the mountains on this (freezing cold) but very pleasant, sunny day.
(See the tons of photos taken by Froggy and B.T.) There didn't seem to be many ice-cream shops open so we put on our scarves and gloves and strolled down into the town.
Morella seemed a very pleasant place and even had a bar we just had to visit called “Prats.” We never found out why it had such a name; perhaps it was run by a Sen͂or Prat, or maybe it was the local meeting place for the “Pisshead Ramblers and Theosophical Society” (Like NERDS except more intellectual); or maybe it was just a bar for stupid people.
Whatever the reason for its existence it was in the charge of a nice lady who rustled up beers and boccadillos for us. Paco told her what a nice bar it was and asked her if she had any of the delicious ice-cream he remembered from his childhood, “ Don't be a complete prat,” she said in Spanish. “If you think we sit up here all winter making ice-cream for stupid kids, you must want your head looking at, have you not seen how cold it is outside?” Paco sadly concluded that he must have been mistaken and that his childhood treat had probably taken place on the Costa del Sol instead.
So, after lunch we wandered round the town and Froggy nearly bought a Pinocchio doll which kicked out its legs when you tugged its bollocks (Well you would, wouldn't you? I mean if someone were to do that to you). We learned that mun͂eca meant doll, tirachina meant catapult (shopping, you see); and Paco informed us that una cochina was a slag, although we Brits call them bicycles ( I suppose everybody goes into the kitchen – how quaint).
Up at the top of Morella there was a Belvedere with, as you would expect, a marvellous view – still sunny and chilly - and there we saw a young Phil Berridge walking up the street with his girlfriend. The beard, the dark hair, the resemblance was quite remarkable. Maybe this incarnation of Philby had been mystically drawn to the NERDS because we were all in Spain. It was a much younger, more innocent Philby, untainted by guile and lust, just a Philby out for a stroll enjoying himself in pleasant company before he fell in with the NERDs, got corrupted and descended into El 'Infierno.
So, no ice-cream, and not a real Philby but Morella turned out to be a very pleasant mountain town with an interesting café and some good shops where Paco could stock up on his new cigar habit.
Lafayette drove back down the windy, windy roads while the rest of the NERDS dozed in the back and we got back to Villa Rosa at about teatime.
That evening we hit the supermarket for extra stuff to turn into a stir-fry by our two skilled chefs, and had a few aperitifs at our usual table at El Garrofer – still cheap with willing waitresses and cuddly cats. B.T and Froggy knocked up an excellent meal – it's amazing what you can learn on a NERDS' sponsored Open University course, and then we all sat inside with various bottles and watched Have I Got News for You on the telly. Quite a good day really.
Day 5 – Going Our Separate Ways.
Now was the time for B.T. to take Froggy and Lafayette back to the Midi to meet La Belle Hélène and to spend a week climbing Pyrenées and winkling Cathars out of caves (or else slobbing around drinking pastis and shooting air rifles), while Paco was to drive Sandyballs back to Valencia and then brave the merry widows and gilfs on Easy jet. It had been a good trip and Villa Rosa had been a very pleasant part of Spain even though most of our Spanish had been practised on Roumanian girlies. We must thank Paco for being an innovative Routemaster, organising the whole shebang and taking us to some interesting places. A big thank you goes to his sister for lending us her gaff and being so trusting. We really liked your villa and your neighbours were to be praised for their amazing tolerance. The 25th anniversary had been well celebrated with even a guest appearance from Philby so who knows what will happen at the 30th – even Matt might turn up.
Los Nierdos Para Siempre y Cojones al Orden.
Lafayette.
