The August 2017 Ramble

NERDS' Ramble No. 333. 16th August 2017.

Those Present – Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Matt, Curly, Paco, The Captain.

The Ramble where we all got lost but where it turned out all right in the end.

It was a Wednesday, the weather looked promising, the NERDS were out in force (look how many we were today!) and Sandyballs had concocted another exciting re-cycled ramble for us. We all rushed over to platform 1 at Lewes

to get the train to Cooden Beach – no time for Lafayette to get a ticket – Newhaven station had failed yet again in this respect – so he was working out his grounds of appeal as he ran. Luckily on the train to C.B. there was a sympathetic guard (John)

who sussed out we were not just another old mens' stag do and flogged Laf. a ticket without fining him – Phew!

On arrival at Cooden Beach The Captain decided to go cottaging since the bogs round there looked a cut above those in Seaford and he thought the rent-boys might be too. In fact the area was super posh and the inhabitants seemed to consist of genteel old ladies walking their pedigree hounds around.

One of them informed Sandyballs he was lost already and maybe he'd better hold his map

the right way up; while another gave us a lecture on how she couldn't get her butler to take Churchill (her dog) out to shit any more, and how terrible it was that the council planned to build a housing estate in her back garden. The NERDS touched their forelocks and moved on abashed.

We walked through some really refined suburbs where the houses and gardens were spacious, well-kept and expensive looking. It was Golden Triangle after Golden Triangle and Matt was most impressed; he kept sniffing the air for some strange reason.

Eventually Sandyballs led us to a sort of wood

which we were supposed to penetrate to get us on to the next leg of our exciting adventure. Except, no way could we find our way in. Lafayette was hoping the wood would be full of scantily clad green fairies (hint, hint, Brian)

who would fly away with him to Paradise. Or perhaps he'd just got mixed up with the idea of converting to Islam to get his leg over.

There was a lot of shaking of heads, back tracking, stupid suggestions (like, “how about we look at a proper map”)

until we found about three farm tracks which led off away from the wood (and the fairies) but which seemed a better bet than just standing around all day scratching our arses and not doing anything.

So we went along this track.

It was obviously a private track as evidenced by the strings of er, string that were tied across to try to stop you going through. Not that the NERDS cared for we were getting thirsty. It was clear we were entering farming territory. There was cow shit all over the road and barns and things. Visions of farmers, shotguns and “ get off of moy laand!”

sprang to mind, but fortunately nothing actually happened. Maybe the farmer was taking a C/L day or something.

We came across a field of gentle brown cows troughing water out of a trough

( see, told you we were in a farm). Paco tried to pat one but got his hand frazzled by an electric fence.

Well, at least we knew now not to go in that field; thanks Paco. One of the cows had a funny plastic thing with spikes on sticking out of its nose. Wha? Either it's a punk cow or else it's to stop it brown nosing its colleagues. Weird, anyway.

We got out of the farm and into the open countryside.

The sun was out and we were getting thirstier. Sandyballs' map let him down once again. We could see where we wanted to go (as the crow flies)

we even thought we could see the pub but our way was inhibited by field after field of fieldy stuff and most of these were bordered by swampy streams and bullrushy type vegetation. Round and round we went but kept coming back to the swampy stream. We backtracked, dithered, faffed, listened to Froggy's well thought out advice, dithered and faffed some more and came to the reluctant conclusion that we were lost.

Even Sandyballs was persuaded of this huge uncontroversial truth.

So what to do? And we were now getting really thirsty. Nothing for it but to seek higher ground and head for the main road. This is not what you're supposed to do on a ramble in the country. You're supposed to talk to cows, get a bit muddy perhaps, burn your fingers on electic fences and be abducted by green fairies (yes, Brian) but you're emphatically not supposed to walk along main roads and get nearly assassinated by psychopathic lorry drivers.

Luckily, a little way along the road we came across a service station cum mini-mart. Lafayette dived in and bought himself a Mars bar and a Magnum ice cream – just to keep him going until breakfast the following morning or whatever the next meal might be. The others bought similar trashy stuff and sat outside in the shade on a wall to eat it. Sandyballs reckoned he knew the way now. “Just a few hundred yards and round this next corner.” he promised. Ha, ha.

On, on we staggered along the hot, metalled road. Then over a stile and into the unknown again. Fortunately this time the geography of the fields seemed to make some sort of sense and were not bound by raging torrents, deep crevasses or baying velociraptors. It was still hot and sunny but fortunately there was a pleasant breeze from the nearby sea. Sandyballs was worried that a certain Mystery Guest ( obviously Shirley Wurly) was going to blow us out, us being a bit late an' all, but when we got to The Star Inn at Normans' Bay he found she had texted him three hours previously to say she'd run off somewhere with Can of Beans instead.

The outside of The Star Inn

was packed with screaming kids and bickering parents – school holidays, see. So we went inside and S.B. scored a table

Matt took so long getting his drink that we were all sat down when he arrived, and despite his usual representations about moving there was nowhere else to go.
The Harvey's was £4 a pint, but then so it is in Nieuweshafen these days. However, the food was listed in easy to pay chunks. Like, most main courses were £10, and most desserts were £5.

More to the point the roast meals, fish pies, and steaks were all excellent and the waitress service was pretty prompt too. All in all this place lived up to its deserved reputation of being NERDS' approved.

Later on S.B. elicited the return train time from the waitress (whose name we unfortunately forgot to ask. But who impressed us with her willingness to help. Lafayette suspects he and Sandyballs may have to make a return journey to ask her name

and to thank her properly.) Anyway the train was due-ish so we idled out of the pub and nonched down towards the station. All of a sudden, about fifty yards from the station someone said the barrier had gone down and the train was coming. Trouble is fifty yards is a long way when you're a NERD and you've had about three pints. However since there wasn't another train for an hour everyone ran like hell and fortunately made the train without anybody keeling over.

After this bit of excitement we all travelled to Eastbourne where the Seaford lot got a bus, and where the rest went on to Lewes and points south.

This had been a sort of interesting ramble which had provided much excitement, tension, frustration and pain (Paco's hand). Thanks go to Sandyballs for trying to organise it all and to Allah for making it go all right in the end. ( See, Lafayette has finally converted and is looking forward to spending his time in Paradise with his seventy virgin, green fairies – it must be true, it's all in The Koran.)

Next ramble is Wednesday 13th September when Froggy will be Routemaster and will take us to Pete's at Arlington, and to The Plough somewhere else.

Nothing can possibly go wrong.

Lafayette.