Newhaven Eating Rambling & Drinking Society
Ramble No. 116 “The Great Trek North” (Part 94) October 14th -16th 1998
Those Present: Field-Marshal Lafayette, B.(New Quazi)T., Frog 1, Philby El Magnifico, El Pacissimo, Cecil B. de Sandyballs.
Those Absent: The Bish.
Day 1: :”Yo-yos and Nerds on a string.
Once a year, when leaves turn golden brown and gently drift down to form an autumnal carpet….(get on with it. Ed,). At this time of year Lafayette feels the need to return to his ancient stamping ground, just as salmon return to their spawning pools. This mystical ceremony involves Lafayette sniffing the air, pawing the ground and rubbing himself against trees. The Nerds of course are keen to bear witness to this arcane ritual and at the same time involve themselves in the other rituals of eating too much, getting shit-faced and acting like badly behaved children.
So, as is customary, the Nerds gathered at Sandyballs’ split-level, ranch-style residence. We formed ourselves along union lines for transportation. Sandyballs, B.T. and Lafayette in Lafayette’s ISU-mobile and the rest in Frog 1’s PST or PMT (or whatever they currently call themselves) sponsored vehicle. One car had measured intellectual conversation whilst the other had loud, ephemeral, head-banging rock music. Guess which was which.
It is fair to say that not a lot happened en route to the M40 burger stop, where not a lot happened either. This was followed by not an awful lot happening until we reached our goal and Philby’s personal ‘Shangri-La, the Old Bell at Shifnall. Peeling Philby off the pavement where was doing a Pope-style kissing of the concrete we rushed inside for the first foaming pint of the Expedition. The cool, unsmiling blonde dominatrix of a bar-person efficiently dispensed pints of the golden ambrosia and some of the Nerds began to drool seeing the way she was handling the beer-pulls. It was considered that she might be a contender for Barmaid of the year – let’s face it THE only contender so far. The Old Bell seemed to have undergone a Tardis-like expansion since last year – new rooms and hundreds of new customers. One of those customers was about 104 and moved about the pub at snail’s pace with his trusty Zimmer frame, Some of the Nerds wanted to invite him on the ramble but in the end we decided no to, as he was almost fitter than any of us.
So to Jane & Brian’s where everyone kissed each other and Nerds took it in turn to scare Ru=Ru (who we decided should henceforth be known as ‘Git Minor’ in Nerdspeak). There was the usual undignified scramble for rooms but the sleeping arrangements, like the cars, divided along Union lines. Fortunately the ISU room did not contain any snorers – well only one or two. Our departure was delayed by the arrival of Git Major from School. This larger Git had become something of a Y0-Yo expert and was keen to show off his skills. The Nerds had a go but only succeeded in garrotting themselves and breaking a few windows and some priceless antiques.
Before more damage was done Lafayette kicked us outside to start the min-ramble. In pleasant autumnal sunshine we skipped along the road holding hands and singing happily. Soon we came across some hay-bales (stacks? ricks?) which a farmer had thoughtfully left by the side of the road. The Nerds needed no encouragement to cavort about on top of them, especially as your scribe was recording every bit of silliness for prosperity
A little further along we came to another location which provided Nerds another chance to show off in front of the camera. Next to an all-day pub, and possibly a girls’ High School changing room, there is nothing a Nerd likes more than a tree with a piece of rope attached. We all (except your cameraman-scribe) took it in turn to show what a bunch of swingers we were. I was hoping that somebody would have a spectacular fall, breaking limbs or head, which meant I could send the vid. Into the popular TV programme “You’ve Made a Complete Twat of Yourself” and earned a handy £250, but this time the Nerds failed to oblige. Normally Philby can be relied on to break the tree, the rope or himself but not this time.
We continued the ramble into the gathering gloom. Soon we could see the bright lights of Broseley. Lights meant civilisation (of sorts) and that meant pubs with foaming pints. We were under strict instructions from Jane not to gorge ourselves on chips (another Shropshire ritual) so with great difficulty we walked past ick the Chip’s place and instead stuffed our faces with Mars bars. Then into the Albion for some beer and darts fun. We elected Paco to be ‘Whip-Master’ and there followed a degree of confusion over who had ordered what and which was my pint? Dart playing of varying quality took place. Philby distinguishing himself with a style which reminded one of Fatima Whitbread. We had an inter-union match to sort out which was the best Union. This was won resoundedly by the ISU.
Somewhat unsteadily we tottered back to the farmstead. Froggy singing for all he was worth. Not much, as you ask. When we arrived back there was just time to change into our dress suits and cummerbunds before dinner. We had been promised a surprise meal and we were not disappointed. First of all there was the arrival of not one but four Mystery Guests. Dawn & Pat (previous friends of the Nerds) and newcomers Katherine & Jeremy. Then we were shown into the dinning-room for guess what? Christmas Dinner! Christmas in October is another of those bizarre Nerds in Shropshire traditions. There were crackers, Christmas prezzies for each Nerd (Yo-Yos of course) and a truly fantastic multi-course Christmas dinner. We ate and drank our fill and then had some more. At this point things become a little hazy. All I have to go on is some inadequate notes, vague memories and the unreliable accounts of others. Apparently your scribe retired to bed early, then woke up and came back down to drink some more. Paco passed out on the sofa in the TV room. Other people wondered off and got lost. There was, apparently, a sotto voce rendition of “Summertime” by the brothers Phil. Lastly and by all means leastly, the latter two and Git Major drew the evening to its inevitable conclusion by going outside and laying down in the road. Fun or what?
Day 2: “The Consumptive Lakeland Poets Ramble”
Day dawned on the Nerds and their collective hangover. The ISU room was still reverberating from the cacophony of snoring, farting and belching which apparently disturbed the peaceful slumber of some. Your scribe, in his defence, would point out that he was suffering from a chesty cough which possibly contributed somewhat to the noise level during the night. (Always some excuse. Ed) He was treating his complaint with some secret medication which B.T. (who knows about these things) said contained an opium derivative. The PMT room appeared to contain only dead bodies and the needed a few hefty kicks to bring them back to the land of the living.
Feeling more dead than alive we dragged our dehydrated remains downstairs, to be greeted by a beaming Git Major who had been given the day off school. (Don’t tell the Beadle). The Git proceeded to give us all a Master Class in the finer points of Y0-Y0manship but the poor Nerds in their delicate condition were even more useless than the day before.
There was a grim determination about Lafayette today and he soon had the Nerds bundled outside into the cold light of day. Jane drove us into Bridgenorth in her Armoured Personnel Carrier. The idea was to actually finish the abortive ramble of the last year which was ruined by a combination of rain and lack of yours truly. First of all our whip-Master had to quick bank raid and SB made an unsuccessful attempt to get further supplies of laudanum from the local Boots. We descended the steps to the river bank, stopping only for Froggy and Lafayette to perform an impromptu performance at the Theatre on the Steps.
At the mighty Severn we proceeded along the bank, stopping now and then to admire the swans, ducks
The sun came out and it started to warm up. Nerds started to divest themselves of clothing. Your scribe was still racked by his chesty cough and combined with the dramatic countryside, his notebook and pencil, he felt the very essence of a consumptive Lakeland port. In fact we were all a bit like Lakeland poets – there was Lord Byron (Lafayette), Keats (Philby), Wordsworth (Froggy), Coleridge (B.T.)[ I’d rather be Swinburne.Ed.],Lope de Vega (Paco – shurly shome mishtake). Personally your scribe rather fancied himself to be Thomas de Quincy, because of his rather obsessive use of opium. Let us also not forget our absent Nerd Percy ‘Bish-Bogs’ Shelley.
At last we ceased to follow the river and swung inland. We traversed some pleasant countryside and Lafayette strode ahead purposefully, looking neither left or right, his faithful B.T. by his side. Froggy, meanwhile, was busy telling Paco every joke he had ever heard in his whole life. Paco was dutifully amused – it is uncertain in Paco had actually nor heard these jokes before or had heard them but forgotten them, or had heard and remembered them but was to polite to say. At least we didn’t get the gorilla joke nor did Philby tell the Pope joke. Philby did, however, try out his tired ald lateral thinking problems on Paco, who again professed never to have heard them before.
We then had the ancient ceremony of Paco and his shoe changing ritual. This event was captured on video and by still camera, so in the future anthropologists and students of Nerdology at the Open University can debate and argue about its true meaning. At long last the dreaming spires of Bridgenorth appeared on the horizon. We traversed a school playing field where the local youths were indulging in smoking AND talking to girls. This made Froggy feel very nostalgic and he had another fag.
The first foaming pint of the day was at the station buffet of the Severn Valley railway. It was a very agreeable place and we glugged our way through a couple of pints of Pitchfork bitter. Of course the place was full of anoraks talking about narrow-gauge configurations and bollocks like that, but we ignored them. Your scribe had fun with his infra-red video remote control and Philby. Inevitably, went to buy some postcards.
From there we climbed into town and looking for a place for lunch came upon the Old Castle. We were propositioned on the door-step by a silver haired old lady named Kathleen who suggested we follow her inside. We all piled in, hoping we had at last found the heart of the Bridgenorth Red Light District. What we found though was a good pub run by a smiling Brummie lady who did F.O. steaks for under a fiver. We had to be on our best behaviour though because her husband was about 7 foot tall with the build of an ex-wrestler. Nice chap though. Conversation at table ranged freely, B.T. gave us his theories on space-time relativity and Froggy gave us his theory about golf. At least that is what my notes say.
Back in the centre of town the famous diaspora of the Nerds took place. Ostensibly we had been given time off for ‘shopping’ but in reality most of this time was spent in various pubs. Eventually we all ended up in a place called The Harp. A couple of tattooed hardnuts sat glowering at us, which led some of us to think that we had strayed into Bridgenorth’s gay pub. In fact they probably thought WE were all gay. Anyway, not a Nerd recommended pub.
After some confusion we were rescued by Jane in the APC. On the way back, as a joke, Sandyballs asked if anybody fancied doing a mini-ramble to Ironbridge. The Nerds were so pissed they actually said yes (apart from Paco). So it was that we did a very fast walk to Ironbridge, past the peacocks on the roof – yes they were real – and down Heart Attack Hill. Ensconced in the bar of the Tontine Hotel with yet more beer in front of us, we realised that it was a long way back UPHILL. Fortunately there was a taxi outside with a Pakistani driver who had obviously just climbed over the wire at Campsfield and stolen a taxi. The IS 151a on the dashboard was a bit of a giveaway. Anyway we got back to the farm in time to go out again.
After a cat’s lick and a change of socks we were ready to party some more. Unfortunately we had to walk some more – into Broseley again
Unfortunately by now Sandyballs’ consumption had got so bad that his voice had completely disappeared. He couldn’t even croak. He had to resort to writing down every remark on a piece of paper. As he was by now fairly well pissed, as was everybody else (except Jane) communication was not easy. This led to an extended game of Charades which took up most of the evening.
This however was not the end of the mayhem and confusion. The only taxi-driver in Broseley was annoyingly not at his post but was driving around somewhere and attempts to summon him on the mobile proved abortive. Some of us set off for yet another mini-ramble back to the farm. We were soon overtaken by Jane and (I think) Lafayette and Philby in a taxi which had magically appeared from nowhere. Much later the main body of the Nerds dragged their tired feet into the farm and at last to bed. What a day.
Day 3: Return to Reality.
Another night of farting, belching, coughing and snoring. The Nerds dragged themselves unwillingly downstairs for breakfast. All except Philby of course who went off by himself to the dining-room to write postcards and love poems. Stupid annoying prat!! Did I mention that he was a Belgian as well? And a little fat? And a Bastard? The only good thing about the day was that the weather was grey and damp. The luck of the Nerds as both rambling days were dry. Humility (almost) prevents me from stating that this was undoubtedly due to the presence of your scribe who has yet to participate in a wet ramble and whose Irish luck has kept us dry for over ten years.
It was soon time for tearful good=byes. Git Major had to go reluctantly to school but we will see him next year when no doubt he will be over six feet tall. Git Minor was probably glad to see the back of us. Hopefully he won’t have been completely traumatised by our presence. In our Union cars we headed south, into the rain and motorway spray. We stopped for a bite at a different motorway service station and Froggy’s travelling companions annoyed the French/Welsh one by having the temerity to order a F.O. breakfast which included a half hour wait for the food to be served. Frog was incandescent with rage and stood over them as they ate, ordering them to eat faster. It did provide some entertainment for the rest of us however.
And so the end of another Shropshire Ramble. A good one, I think everyone will agree. Thanks again, as usual, to Jane and Brian for their marvellous hospitality and especially the spectacular Christmas dinner. Thanks I suppose also to each of the Nerds for their individual contributions. If our livers hold out we must do it all again next year.
We all look forward to the Dieppe Raid/New Forest Ramble in the Spring of 1999.
Sandyballs
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