THE N.E.R.D.S. Rambles 226 & 227.
No.226 Thursday 31st July 2008.
Those present - Froggy, Bronco, Sandyballs, Matt, Lafayette
The Morpheus Ramble.
Those endowed with a Classical education, and who may have read Ovid, will know that the deity who presided over this month’s ramble is the god of
forgetfulness. Lafayette had lost his contemporaneous notes, alas, and so had to rely on his failing memory. What is more, when he ‘fessed up to this peccadillo he found that the rest of the Nerds had memories just as crap as his and so nobody really knows exactly what happened.
Although the she-devil alcohol may have warped our collective memories a bit, Sandyballs remembers taking us to Cooden Beach on the train. Shirley wasn’t there this time, more’s the pity, since she gets quite articulate when drink is thrust upon her, and she may well have been able to tell us what we got up to,
(or not, depending on what we may have done).
Most of us remember that the weather was dull and that we walked over a lot of fields arriving finally at The Star at Cooden Beach. The food and drink were very good involving a buffet lunch and four different sorts of meat. We walked back along the stony beach which made for difficult locomotion (Lafayette remembers remarking about this to Bronco) and we all had an icecream. Then we had a few drinks in the pouring rain in a pub near the station and came home.
So you see, a bloody boring ramble really, and one hardly worth writing about even if Lafayette’s notes had been discovered. If only Shirley had been there things might have been so different…
Now this next ramble on the other hand.
Publishers Note.
It is really sad when the one tasked in recording the annals looses his marbles. As you may see from the photographs there was another member of this group who actually ambled on this promenade and recorded the findings in celluloid. Perhaps of ghosts of ramblers past are f***ing up the “Ramrod”.
Ramble No. 227 - Thursday 4th Sept. 2008
Those Present - Lafayette, Sandyballs, B.T., Froggy, Bronco.
The Darts In Lewes Ramble.
Well we had hardly rubbed the sleep from our eyes when the telephones of the Nerds began to jingle off the walls. Outside the weather had decided not to shine on the righteous and the rain was falling in stair rods. ( Who writes this shit, anyway?) Sandyballs was concerned that the Nerds would all drown if he took us on his proposed route and Lafayette agreed. One fatality per year in the Nerds is more than enough, we didn’t want to commit mass suicide. So…. a bit of darts practice was mooted and the boys were all told to bring their weapons.
Froggy met Lafayette on the train. It could have been a fairly banal journey apart from the fact that they were squeezed in among about 1500 female teenage students all in very short skirts, casual decollete white blouses and all madly texting each other so that they did not see the slavering, lust ridden expressions on these Nerds’ faces, nor did they realise the awful effect they were having on the nether regions of these upright citizens. Imagine my surprise (as the saying goes) when all of a flash Froggy and Lafayette suddenly found themselves in Lewes as though time had accelerated and they had both been in Moslem heaven.
Anyway, enough of this porn. L. and F. met the others outside the station all except Bronco who was not answering his phone and seemed to be incommunicado. Finally he turned up wearing immaculate suede boots, a smart jacket and sporting a stylish umbrella to qualify for Best Dressed Nerd of the Year award. B.T. , our newly promoted Nerds photographer, had a field day recording this piece of sartorial elegance - especially the umbrella. Bronco said he didn’t want to get his suede boots wet and we all told him not to be such a fairy otherwise we’d go over to his house and confiscate his horse and eat him (the horse).
Sandyballs mooted a mini ramble around the ruined priory but luckily it started to rain at that instant so we had to turn about and head for the nearest drinking hole. This turned out to be the King’s Head which did not seem to be very open -even at gone half past eleven in the morning. There was a postman outside with what looked like a parcel to deliver, so we hung about thinking to dash inside once the door was opened , however, sadly, the postie decided he’d got the wrong address and moved on.
Fortunately The Swan at Southover was open so we all piled into the well proportioned games room and got stuck into throwing darts at each other.
The more we drank, the better we played. Lafayette and B.T. (The Real Ports) against Froggy and Sandyballs (The Dinky Ports). The results see-sawed back and forth with The Real Ports winning most of the games where some mental agility was called for (like adding up a score and taking it away from what you got last time), and The Dinky Ports who managed one good shot to win at cricket. Meanwhile Bronco was in dispute with the very helpful barman over the lack of black rats in his cider, but the barman said they didn’t make the cider out of black rats any more because folks were getting peed off with the results.
Since The Swan had a suspect kitchen (too many rats) we decided to proceed to The Brewers for lunch where Sandyballs had family connections. This became
very obvious when the landlady, Cathy, upon seeing Sandyballs come crashing over the doorstep, went and brought out her love-child, Elena, held her up in his face and said “You’re late with this month’s maintenance again !” Sandyballs told her to chalk it up on his account once again since he had the promise of a lucrative short posting to Brussels due to the sad demise of the previous incumbent and where you got free red wine and were paid in euros.
We had an excellent lunch in the Brewers - Froggy was so taken with the food that he even had a second meal while he pondered the compelling question of
“ What exactly is a Quasamite?” and where once again the Proper Ports trounced the Dinky Ports at darts. On the way out we saw Cathy’s Dad, Jasper, sat on the steps outside the back door. He collared Sandyballs and said “ You see moy daughter all roit and I ’ll put you forward for a position in the masons, but spurn ’er and I’ll put the word round an’ yorl never get another point uv Harveys in Lewes agin.” Sandyballs thought a rapid escape abroad again might be to his advantage.
But first it was decided to visit an old friend of Sandyballs in the Crown Hotel down the road. Yes, the Ugly Barmaid was still there, and even uglier if that was possible. Froggy thought he had found the answer to his compelling question at last - a Quasamite is whatever turns you on - until Lafayette gently reminded him of all the untapped nymphet crumpet that was due to come out of the Tertiary College in the next few hours.
And so we rolled down to the John Harvey where Bronco suddenly realised he’d left the whip back at the Crown. Oh no! The Ugly Barmaid was probably spending it on a costly face-lift to lure yet more innocent young men in to her exotic boudoir where she would fill them full of drink and do wicked, horrible things to them. Apart from wanting to rid themselves of this vile vision, the Nerds wanted another drink so Bronco and Froggy were despatched to rescue our money and to save the Lewes youth from certain perdition. Luckily the wip was still intact and the day was saved.
This had certainly been a “ramble” with a difference. Just the right amount of walking and we had renewed aquaintance with a number of interesting characters. Well, you can’t do a lot outdoors when it’s pissing down with rain, can you? Lets hope the weather is kinder for our second ramble at the end of September.
Los Nierdos para siempre!
Lafayette.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Monday, July 07, 2008
N.E.R.D.S. 20TH ANNIVERSARY RAMBLE
Dublin 23rd – 26th June 2008
Those Present – Sandyballs, Froggy, Lafayette, Matt.
About two decades ago three pissheads decided to combine the pleasures of binge rambling in the countryside and drinking (I may have got this slightly wrong ). And so it was that Sandyballs, Matt and Lafayette founded the Newhaven Rambling and Drinking Society and set the world alight. They were duly joined by various other pissheads with like minded interests – notably Philby, B.T., Bronco, the Bish etc and occasional glamorous (except Paco and Trevor) Mystery Guests for the Christmas celebrations. Mystery Guests were not actually expected to ramble as such, just to roll up, wear a nice frock and look sexy ( except of course Paco and Trevor).
So now the NERDS were celebrating 20 years of liver damage by returning to Dublin where we had been before but which Lafayette had previously neglected to record being too busy writing PADRs at Gatwick at the time.
Day 1.
We were a little short of members for this trip. One was broke, one was ill, and one was dead (Requiescat in Pace). So the three founder members and Froggy took off for Gatwick and a huge breakfast in Wetherspoons while Ryan Air did its usual trick of delaying and forcing everyone to get well oiled in the airport bar. Eventually, however we made it to Ireland and the Arlington Hotel in Dublin.
Now the Arlington is a vast hotel with many winding corridors and places to get lost in –so naturally we got lost trying to go from our rooms to the bar. We finally emerged from some emergency exit round the side and ran slap into a load of Chinese servants hanging about gambling, smoking opium and generally practicing to be Snakeheads. They cheerfully directed us back to the bar where we had our first pint of Irish Guinness (ugh!) and then we decided to hit the town.
Dublin is a delightful city full of beautiful young people (besides the Nerds) so we had no trouble fitting in. First of all we went to the Bank Bar, the coolest place in town where the waitresses are all hand picked for their good looks and where you get poncy candles on your table. It’s also very expensive, Guinness is about £4 a pint; so of course we indulged only in tea and biscuits and didn’t look at the waitresses once.
That evening we returned to the Mill Restaurant specializing in delicious (and expensive) French food and drink served by some Algerian who Philby had once let slip past him on to the Eurostar. Sandy balls and Matt spent their time talking about “work” despite neither of them being currently actively engaged in it, while Froggy and Lafayette looked out of the window into the square below where there were lots of pretty girls young enough to be their granddaughters (Who said they were actually lusting after them?)
Then back to the Arlington by another entrance which confused the poor fuddled Froggy who thought he was just going into yet another bar for yet another nightcap.
The wip was hemorrhaging funds by this time and Matt observed that not only was there an ATM machine situated next to the bar, but that every room had one for the convenience of the hotel’s clients. We were to need them all in the days to come.
Day 2
Down to breakfast and we were recognized by the efficient and energetic Carmel, mistress of the breakfast room who allocated the places according to preference and rank. Luckily, on a previous visit we had honoured her with the gift of a NERDS teeshirt (only reserved for the most favoured) and so we got a prime table with the option of taking a second or even a third extra breakfast.
And so to rambling. Due to somebody’s bright idea we had each bought a three day bus pass which allowed us unlimited travel, and so walk number one was to begin from Dunlaoghaire (or Dunleary, as it’s better known). Travelling by bus had become a constant pastime for those pensioners among us who were used to travelling free: poor Froggy hadn’t yet been granted this honour but liked the idea and couldn’t wait to get to sixty!
We walked past Dunleary port as the weather started to deteriorate. Out along the pier where we watched yachts racing each other and a large ferry coming in. Lafayette took lots of photos, including one of Sandy balls pretending to be the Ancient Mariner and one of Matt having a wazz up the harbour wall. Some old bloke welcomed us to Ireland – they’re all very friendly over here, obviously word had got round about how much money we were spending on booze and contributing to the national economy.
Back in town we had an aperitif in Weirs Bar where we met a nice well rounded barmaid from New Zealand, and then took a 59 bus to Dalkey where in Finnegans bar we met a charming waitress with crooked teeth, a wicked figure and (allegedly) a huge Scottish boyfriend. (See photo of waitress). Some toothless old bugger stumbled out past us and the waitress told us reverently that he was the famous author, Hugh Leonards. (Who?) Froggy told her he too was a famous author but she didn’t seem quite so impressed.
After lunch Sandyballs took us through the posh area of Dalkey where Enya and other famous people lived and where Matt could smell the money all around him. He reckoned they were all so friendly that they’d let you pee in their pockets. Just then around the corner we bumped into none other than Madonna who had descended from her split level ranch style mansion to go round to Enya’s to borrow a cup of sugar. We warned Matt about trying to pee in her pocket, have you seen the muscles on that woman lately?
Sandyballs marched us up to the top of a hill where it began to rain and where Lafayette felt the need to imitate a bear in the woods. Must have been a bad pint of Guinness. Then we got lost and decided to use our bus passes to zoom back to Dublin in the dry for a quick drink.
Back in the centre of town we asked a doorman of a large shop where Neary’s Bar was and he had no problem directing us. Matt peed in his pocket to thank him and we went there and shortly afterwards to a cheapo Italian restaurant where we drank some concoction called rock shandy at Matt’s suggestion and then had an argument about sending flowers to Philby’s funeral. Sandyballs wanted to send a huge wreath in the shape of a crate of wine but the rest of us thought this was a waste and said we’d spend the money on drink and toast his memory in a more practical manner.
Finally we ended up that evening in Merchant O’Shea’s, another famous Dublin bar, (yawn) where Sandyballs got a superb picture of his own backside while trying to put Lafayette’s camera on auto shot for a group photo. Hairy Mary wasn’t there like on the last occasion so we didn’t have to break any sad news to her. Sadly we were all too knackered to stay up late so we went back to Froggy’s room for a night cap of Jamiesons and so to bed.
Day 3.
Day dawned, the Chinese were making their usual racket outside Lafayette’s window – clacking mahjong tiles and shifting heavy furniture around, it seemed like. What was needed was a nice cup of tea. Except that Sandyballs seemed intent on bollocksing up even this simple task. First of all he failed to put sugar in Lafayette’s tea, then he tried to pass off coffee sachets instead of sugar. Honestly you just can’t get the staff these days! Bring back Shirley, at least she could open a bottle.
After another couple of mega breakfasts we headed out on the bus again for somewhere called Hoath. Matt kept insisting on opening all the windows on the bus saying it was good for his complexion and Lafayette was trying to take photos of road traffic accidents to pass the time. Arriving at Hoath we sheltered from the weather in a carpark (yes, it was raining softly again) until Froggy nearly got run over by a car and we decided to move on.
We walked along Hoath pier (a lot of pier pressure on these rambles) and then decided to have a gargle. Unfortunately the bar in the hotel we headed for was shut – at half past ten in the morning and this was Ireland! Fortunately help was at hand in the form of a friendly workman, who seeing our plight said “ Would youse boyz be lookin’ for a drink?
And directed us to the Fishermans Bar along the quay which he said had been open since half past seven that morning. Sure enough it was full of old gnarled fishermen yelling
“Feck!” and “Drink!” so we immediately felt at home.
After failing to solve a problem in lateral thinking which Lafayette had posed in memory of Philby, Sandyballs started marching us up urban hills again. Half way up this particular hill we ran into a naked man in a bathrobe standing in the middle of the road (this is Ireland). Lafayette enquired politely if he had perhaps lost his bath but he grinned and said No, he had lost his house. It seemed a bit windy round there, but even so…..
Up and up and up we went; the weather improved and we even got some sun. Finally we arrived at the Summit Inn which wasn’t quite at the summit but was as near as dammit.
There we had a huge meal thanks to the two nice waitresses from Slovakia and ogled the party of young Norwegian nymphets who had rolled up in a coach to join us. It was at this point that Sandyballs came out with the best quote of the whole trip “I can’t stand
Any more of this fucking Guinness” he said “It’s always raining here and there’s no decent bitter.” Obviously his Irish roots weren’t so Irish after all.
Exercising our rights as free pensioners we took the bus back to Dublin. We had missed out the Bog of Frogs which had looked interesting but took a bus tour round the city instead during which Froggy decided to go into a moody strop followed by a strop in the Arlington bar. (Probably missing the Bog of Frogs). Lafayette retired to his room to watch Shaun the Sheep on telly (his latest role model) while everybody had a little rest and calmed down.
That evening we returned to the Bank Bar in Temple Bar where we drank expensive drinks and where Lafayette cultivated the attention of a nice looking French waitress
who came from the area in which he had once been an English assistant about fifteen years before she had been born. God, don’t kids make you feel old! Thereafter we went to an Italian restaurant and listened to Germany smashing Turkey in the quarter finals of the European footy on the telly in the next room, and where two drunken Irish women got slung out of the place for supporting Germany.
Sandy balls wanted to get back to his roots after his previous gaffe about the national drink so he led us to a bar where they were playing diddly dee music and where there was yes you’ve guessed it, a Chinese barmaid. This was not with the approval of all parties some of whom got all moody again but things livened up at the Arlington where we closely followed the lack of progress of the girlie in the skimpy dress who failed to score despite displaying her wares to all and sundry.
Day 4.
Lafayette was woken once again by what sounded like Chinese goblins carousing in the next room and celebrating the noisy arrival of the opium supply wagon. He made his own tea that morning. This was the last day so down to breakfast and took pictures of Carmel.
“ Where’s my new teeshirt?” She said. “ Blame Froggy” we said. Matt wanted to go out by himself and look around a few dubious clubs so the rest of us took off for the Jamieson’s distillery in the hope of getting free liquor. Sadly they were running behind schedule and wouldn’t let us go round. It started to rain. It got heavier; we had to shelter in a bar. Lafayette remembered it was his sister’s birthday and phoned her up.
“I’m in an Irish bar ,” he yelled over the traffic noise. “Well, that makes a refreshing change,” she replied.
And so after hanging round Dublin airport for what seemed most of the day we flew back to Gatters where Froggy and Lafayette had a drink to celebrate their home coming and where Sandyballs suddenly decided he didn’t want to drink any more!!!!! It had been a good trip and we had done some interesting rambles and met the usual friendly Irish/Slovakian/French/Polish barmaids. Dublin is a great place to go if you have a lot of money and you like Guinness. Thanks go to Sandyballs and to Matt for the organizing. Pity you missed it, you others; you would have enjoyed it. Start saving up for next time.
LOS NIERDOS PARA SIEMPRE
Lafayette.
Dublin 23rd – 26th June 2008
Those Present – Sandyballs, Froggy, Lafayette, Matt.
About two decades ago three pissheads decided to combine the pleasures of binge rambling in the countryside and drinking (I may have got this slightly wrong ). And so it was that Sandyballs, Matt and Lafayette founded the Newhaven Rambling and Drinking Society and set the world alight. They were duly joined by various other pissheads with like minded interests – notably Philby, B.T., Bronco, the Bish etc and occasional glamorous (except Paco and Trevor) Mystery Guests for the Christmas celebrations. Mystery Guests were not actually expected to ramble as such, just to roll up, wear a nice frock and look sexy ( except of course Paco and Trevor).
So now the NERDS were celebrating 20 years of liver damage by returning to Dublin where we had been before but which Lafayette had previously neglected to record being too busy writing PADRs at Gatwick at the time.
Day 1.
We were a little short of members for this trip. One was broke, one was ill, and one was dead (Requiescat in Pace). So the three founder members and Froggy took off for Gatwick and a huge breakfast in Wetherspoons while Ryan Air did its usual trick of delaying and forcing everyone to get well oiled in the airport bar. Eventually, however we made it to Ireland and the Arlington Hotel in Dublin.
Now the Arlington is a vast hotel with many winding corridors and places to get lost in –so naturally we got lost trying to go from our rooms to the bar. We finally emerged from some emergency exit round the side and ran slap into a load of Chinese servants hanging about gambling, smoking opium and generally practicing to be Snakeheads. They cheerfully directed us back to the bar where we had our first pint of Irish Guinness (ugh!) and then we decided to hit the town.
Dublin is a delightful city full of beautiful young people (besides the Nerds) so we had no trouble fitting in. First of all we went to the Bank Bar, the coolest place in town where the waitresses are all hand picked for their good looks and where you get poncy candles on your table. It’s also very expensive, Guinness is about £4 a pint; so of course we indulged only in tea and biscuits and didn’t look at the waitresses once.
That evening we returned to the Mill Restaurant specializing in delicious (and expensive) French food and drink served by some Algerian who Philby had once let slip past him on to the Eurostar. Sandy balls and Matt spent their time talking about “work” despite neither of them being currently actively engaged in it, while Froggy and Lafayette looked out of the window into the square below where there were lots of pretty girls young enough to be their granddaughters (Who said they were actually lusting after them?)
Then back to the Arlington by another entrance which confused the poor fuddled Froggy who thought he was just going into yet another bar for yet another nightcap.
The wip was hemorrhaging funds by this time and Matt observed that not only was there an ATM machine situated next to the bar, but that every room had one for the convenience of the hotel’s clients. We were to need them all in the days to come.
Day 2
Down to breakfast and we were recognized by the efficient and energetic Carmel, mistress of the breakfast room who allocated the places according to preference and rank. Luckily, on a previous visit we had honoured her with the gift of a NERDS teeshirt (only reserved for the most favoured) and so we got a prime table with the option of taking a second or even a third extra breakfast.
And so to rambling. Due to somebody’s bright idea we had each bought a three day bus pass which allowed us unlimited travel, and so walk number one was to begin from Dunlaoghaire (or Dunleary, as it’s better known). Travelling by bus had become a constant pastime for those pensioners among us who were used to travelling free: poor Froggy hadn’t yet been granted this honour but liked the idea and couldn’t wait to get to sixty!
We walked past Dunleary port as the weather started to deteriorate. Out along the pier where we watched yachts racing each other and a large ferry coming in. Lafayette took lots of photos, including one of Sandy balls pretending to be the Ancient Mariner and one of Matt having a wazz up the harbour wall. Some old bloke welcomed us to Ireland – they’re all very friendly over here, obviously word had got round about how much money we were spending on booze and contributing to the national economy.
Back in town we had an aperitif in Weirs Bar where we met a nice well rounded barmaid from New Zealand, and then took a 59 bus to Dalkey where in Finnegans bar we met a charming waitress with crooked teeth, a wicked figure and (allegedly) a huge Scottish boyfriend. (See photo of waitress). Some toothless old bugger stumbled out past us and the waitress told us reverently that he was the famous author, Hugh Leonards. (Who?) Froggy told her he too was a famous author but she didn’t seem quite so impressed.
After lunch Sandyballs took us through the posh area of Dalkey where Enya and other famous people lived and where Matt could smell the money all around him. He reckoned they were all so friendly that they’d let you pee in their pockets. Just then around the corner we bumped into none other than Madonna who had descended from her split level ranch style mansion to go round to Enya’s to borrow a cup of sugar. We warned Matt about trying to pee in her pocket, have you seen the muscles on that woman lately?
Sandyballs marched us up to the top of a hill where it began to rain and where Lafayette felt the need to imitate a bear in the woods. Must have been a bad pint of Guinness. Then we got lost and decided to use our bus passes to zoom back to Dublin in the dry for a quick drink.
Back in the centre of town we asked a doorman of a large shop where Neary’s Bar was and he had no problem directing us. Matt peed in his pocket to thank him and we went there and shortly afterwards to a cheapo Italian restaurant where we drank some concoction called rock shandy at Matt’s suggestion and then had an argument about sending flowers to Philby’s funeral. Sandyballs wanted to send a huge wreath in the shape of a crate of wine but the rest of us thought this was a waste and said we’d spend the money on drink and toast his memory in a more practical manner.
Finally we ended up that evening in Merchant O’Shea’s, another famous Dublin bar, (yawn) where Sandyballs got a superb picture of his own backside while trying to put Lafayette’s camera on auto shot for a group photo. Hairy Mary wasn’t there like on the last occasion so we didn’t have to break any sad news to her. Sadly we were all too knackered to stay up late so we went back to Froggy’s room for a night cap of Jamiesons and so to bed.
Day 3.
Day dawned, the Chinese were making their usual racket outside Lafayette’s window – clacking mahjong tiles and shifting heavy furniture around, it seemed like. What was needed was a nice cup of tea. Except that Sandyballs seemed intent on bollocksing up even this simple task. First of all he failed to put sugar in Lafayette’s tea, then he tried to pass off coffee sachets instead of sugar. Honestly you just can’t get the staff these days! Bring back Shirley, at least she could open a bottle.
After another couple of mega breakfasts we headed out on the bus again for somewhere called Hoath. Matt kept insisting on opening all the windows on the bus saying it was good for his complexion and Lafayette was trying to take photos of road traffic accidents to pass the time. Arriving at Hoath we sheltered from the weather in a carpark (yes, it was raining softly again) until Froggy nearly got run over by a car and we decided to move on.
We walked along Hoath pier (a lot of pier pressure on these rambles) and then decided to have a gargle. Unfortunately the bar in the hotel we headed for was shut – at half past ten in the morning and this was Ireland! Fortunately help was at hand in the form of a friendly workman, who seeing our plight said “ Would youse boyz be lookin’ for a drink?
And directed us to the Fishermans Bar along the quay which he said had been open since half past seven that morning. Sure enough it was full of old gnarled fishermen yelling
“Feck!” and “Drink!” so we immediately felt at home.
After failing to solve a problem in lateral thinking which Lafayette had posed in memory of Philby, Sandyballs started marching us up urban hills again. Half way up this particular hill we ran into a naked man in a bathrobe standing in the middle of the road (this is Ireland). Lafayette enquired politely if he had perhaps lost his bath but he grinned and said No, he had lost his house. It seemed a bit windy round there, but even so…..
Up and up and up we went; the weather improved and we even got some sun. Finally we arrived at the Summit Inn which wasn’t quite at the summit but was as near as dammit.
There we had a huge meal thanks to the two nice waitresses from Slovakia and ogled the party of young Norwegian nymphets who had rolled up in a coach to join us. It was at this point that Sandyballs came out with the best quote of the whole trip “I can’t stand
Any more of this fucking Guinness” he said “It’s always raining here and there’s no decent bitter.” Obviously his Irish roots weren’t so Irish after all.
Exercising our rights as free pensioners we took the bus back to Dublin. We had missed out the Bog of Frogs which had looked interesting but took a bus tour round the city instead during which Froggy decided to go into a moody strop followed by a strop in the Arlington bar. (Probably missing the Bog of Frogs). Lafayette retired to his room to watch Shaun the Sheep on telly (his latest role model) while everybody had a little rest and calmed down.
That evening we returned to the Bank Bar in Temple Bar where we drank expensive drinks and where Lafayette cultivated the attention of a nice looking French waitress
who came from the area in which he had once been an English assistant about fifteen years before she had been born. God, don’t kids make you feel old! Thereafter we went to an Italian restaurant and listened to Germany smashing Turkey in the quarter finals of the European footy on the telly in the next room, and where two drunken Irish women got slung out of the place for supporting Germany.
Sandy balls wanted to get back to his roots after his previous gaffe about the national drink so he led us to a bar where they were playing diddly dee music and where there was yes you’ve guessed it, a Chinese barmaid. This was not with the approval of all parties some of whom got all moody again but things livened up at the Arlington where we closely followed the lack of progress of the girlie in the skimpy dress who failed to score despite displaying her wares to all and sundry.
Day 4.
Lafayette was woken once again by what sounded like Chinese goblins carousing in the next room and celebrating the noisy arrival of the opium supply wagon. He made his own tea that morning. This was the last day so down to breakfast and took pictures of Carmel.
“ Where’s my new teeshirt?” She said. “ Blame Froggy” we said. Matt wanted to go out by himself and look around a few dubious clubs so the rest of us took off for the Jamieson’s distillery in the hope of getting free liquor. Sadly they were running behind schedule and wouldn’t let us go round. It started to rain. It got heavier; we had to shelter in a bar. Lafayette remembered it was his sister’s birthday and phoned her up.
“I’m in an Irish bar ,” he yelled over the traffic noise. “Well, that makes a refreshing change,” she replied.
And so after hanging round Dublin airport for what seemed most of the day we flew back to Gatters where Froggy and Lafayette had a drink to celebrate their home coming and where Sandyballs suddenly decided he didn’t want to drink any more!!!!! It had been a good trip and we had done some interesting rambles and met the usual friendly Irish/Slovakian/French/Polish barmaids. Dublin is a great place to go if you have a lot of money and you like Guinness. Thanks go to Sandyballs and to Matt for the organizing. Pity you missed it, you others; you would have enjoyed it. Start saving up for next time.
LOS NIERDOS PARA SIEMPRE
Lafayette.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
May's Ramble with Obituary for Philby
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble 224. 15th May 2008
Those Present – Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Matt.
The Bad Leg Ramble
Lafayette reviewed his contemporaneous notes scrawled contemporaneously about a month ago and, unable to decipher his shaky handwriting on the back of two manky embark cards, decided to make up the whole episode for a change.
He vaguely rememembered Sandyballs picking everybody up at Lewes station and taking them back to his place for coffee and stuff. Matt was going on about smelling the money at this end of Lewes but all Lafayette could smell was an unpleasant odour from Sandy balls’ garden where all his cats were buried. The usual aperitifs were taken and over this working breakfast more ephemeral plans were discussed about the on coming Dublin celebratory bash. This must be to celebrate twenty years of erm rambling or was it just another excuse to get arseoled in a foreign country again ? I forget.
Anyway, after getting his guests well oiled, Sandyballs drove us all to The Bells at Chiddingly where another pre ramble aperitif was taken to fortify us for the route ahead.
Lafayette’s notes refer to Sandyballs’ ‘ festering face with a skull peeping out,’ but whether this referred to a gargoyle in the local church or yet another Sandyballs skin cancer death threat is unclear. He’s ugly enough at the best of times.
So we roamed over hill and dale and got lost around somewhere called Clarky’s Farm which inspired Matt to start to make morbid plans for his own funeral and insist that Curly Clarke be given a special invitation. (something to do with atonement and reconciliation). However, just as we were crossing a perfectly flat field Froggy spotted an old clapped out foot ball and, imagining he was still in the first flush of youth, gives it a hearty wack, misses and snaps both hamstring and femur in his fervour. The others completely ignored his piteous cries for help - we know all about attention seekers - whereupon he got to his feet and stomped after us cursing.
We proceeded to East Hoathly and asked a postie the way to the Kings Head , but he couldn’t help us (obviously a damned teetotaler). When we found the pub we enjoyed an excellent meal plus the pick of the local beer whose name escapes me but which was brewed in the pub. Froggy kept complaining about gangrene and threatening to die but I expect you can guess what the response was to that.
Shortly afterwards we enquired at the post office where a second pub, The Foresters, was, and got given the right directions by a proper postman who obviously liked a drink. So we sat out side under an umbrella and quaffed our final pint of the day. Froggy was writhing on the floor and screaming at this stage but again we took no notice apart from telling him to pull himself together.
Sandyballs drove us back to Lewes station where on the train we met a young tree surgeon who Matt tried to chat up, and from whom Froggy tried to elicit some sympathy for his broken leg. The tree surgeon offered to help Froggy by amputating his leg but the lad declined on the grounds that he wouldn’t be able to walk home from the station. Aint life tough!
In Memoriam
It was on a very sad Friday the Thirteenth of June after the above ramble that we learned of the premature death of our fellow NERD, Philby. He had rambled with us for many years before getting posted to Belgium where he had gone to carry on the fine traditions of the Nerds. Often disorganized and frequently pursued by his demons, Philby was nevertheless a totally social and sociable animal. He had a few years ago organized a celebratory ramble to his cousin’s Mill in Belgium where the Nerds had the opportunity of meeting all his interesting cousins and where he exercised his tour leader qualities by taking us all round Louvain. He loved to party and no party was too long for him. He was individual and often eccentric but he always enjoyed a good time.
He was unique, a fellow Nerd and a mate, and we shall all miss him.
Lafayette.
Those Present – Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Matt.
The Bad Leg Ramble
Lafayette reviewed his contemporaneous notes scrawled contemporaneously about a month ago and, unable to decipher his shaky handwriting on the back of two manky embark cards, decided to make up the whole episode for a change.
He vaguely rememembered Sandyballs picking everybody up at Lewes station and taking them back to his place for coffee and stuff. Matt was going on about smelling the money at this end of Lewes but all Lafayette could smell was an unpleasant odour from Sandy balls’ garden where all his cats were buried. The usual aperitifs were taken and over this working breakfast more ephemeral plans were discussed about the on coming Dublin celebratory bash. This must be to celebrate twenty years of erm rambling or was it just another excuse to get arseoled in a foreign country again ? I forget.
Anyway, after getting his guests well oiled, Sandyballs drove us all to The Bells at Chiddingly where another pre ramble aperitif was taken to fortify us for the route ahead.
Lafayette’s notes refer to Sandyballs’ ‘ festering face with a skull peeping out,’ but whether this referred to a gargoyle in the local church or yet another Sandyballs skin cancer death threat is unclear. He’s ugly enough at the best of times.
So we roamed over hill and dale and got lost around somewhere called Clarky’s Farm which inspired Matt to start to make morbid plans for his own funeral and insist that Curly Clarke be given a special invitation. (something to do with atonement and reconciliation). However, just as we were crossing a perfectly flat field Froggy spotted an old clapped out foot ball and, imagining he was still in the first flush of youth, gives it a hearty wack, misses and snaps both hamstring and femur in his fervour. The others completely ignored his piteous cries for help - we know all about attention seekers - whereupon he got to his feet and stomped after us cursing.
We proceeded to East Hoathly and asked a postie the way to the Kings Head , but he couldn’t help us (obviously a damned teetotaler). When we found the pub we enjoyed an excellent meal plus the pick of the local beer whose name escapes me but which was brewed in the pub. Froggy kept complaining about gangrene and threatening to die but I expect you can guess what the response was to that.
Shortly afterwards we enquired at the post office where a second pub, The Foresters, was, and got given the right directions by a proper postman who obviously liked a drink. So we sat out side under an umbrella and quaffed our final pint of the day. Froggy was writhing on the floor and screaming at this stage but again we took no notice apart from telling him to pull himself together.
Sandyballs drove us back to Lewes station where on the train we met a young tree surgeon who Matt tried to chat up, and from whom Froggy tried to elicit some sympathy for his broken leg. The tree surgeon offered to help Froggy by amputating his leg but the lad declined on the grounds that he wouldn’t be able to walk home from the station. Aint life tough!
In Memoriam
It was on a very sad Friday the Thirteenth of June after the above ramble that we learned of the premature death of our fellow NERD, Philby. He had rambled with us for many years before getting posted to Belgium where he had gone to carry on the fine traditions of the Nerds. Often disorganized and frequently pursued by his demons, Philby was nevertheless a totally social and sociable animal. He had a few years ago organized a celebratory ramble to his cousin’s Mill in Belgium where the Nerds had the opportunity of meeting all his interesting cousins and where he exercised his tour leader qualities by taking us all round Louvain. He loved to party and no party was too long for him. He was individual and often eccentric but he always enjoyed a good time.
He was unique, a fellow Nerd and a mate, and we shall all miss him.
Lafayette.
Friday, June 13, 2008
In Memorium
It is with great sadness that I publish the news of the demise of Philby. He had been so much a part of our lives both on rambles and in absentia. I will say more on this later but presently I cannot say mpre because I am too overcome.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Dublin arrangements
It's that time of the year again when young NERDS' (is that possible?) thoughts turn to Irish nights in the arms of comely colleens and pints of black stout and irish jigs. We seem to have all booked the appropriate flight out to Dublin on the 23rd. Some with luggage some with just a napsack on a pole, in view of the Ryanair baggage restrictions. We'll probably all end up sharing each others underware - if we can find any that fits - but who cares? We are now waiting for one of us to gird up his credit card to organise the accommodation for us all; who will it be? Will any accommodation be arranged? Will we all end up sleepining under the halfpenny bridge?
Return later to this blog for the next installment. Meanwhile, the next ramble is 20th March for the next conflagration of the Sussex countryside.
Return later to this blog for the next installment. Meanwhile, the next ramble is 20th March for the next conflagration of the Sussex countryside.
Friday, February 08, 2008
The cheap lunch ramble
NERDS Ramble No 221. Thurs. 7th Feb. 2008.
Those Present – Sandyballs, Froggy, B.T., Bronco and Lafayette, ( plus Andy Capp and Jules Capp).
The cheap lunch ramble.
Sandyballs had heard of a watering hole that did massive lunches at bugger all cost (well, actually about £10) so the Nerds all raided the wife’s milk money and turned up for coffee chez Sandyballs with about 9/4d between them. Never mind the lunch, Wot about the wip(s) we wondered . Never mind , we’ll all stay skinny cos we just won’t eat, as the song goes. But Nerds get hungry, so after going through Mrs Sandyballs’ wardrobes we sold all her jewellery quickly on e-bay and had enough for 5 caribbean cruises each and lunch for most of the Third World as well.
Then after mucho calvados et stuff we struggled up the Downs, admired the view, had attacks of altitude sickness and ran into some eccentric denizen of The Brewers called Jules. Mr. Biggest Brother Thomas (for twas he) had come out of his cave on the Downs where he alternates dwelling between there and the scummiest brothel in Hong Kong which happens to have Harveys on tap at the time. The call of The Wild had brought Jules forth to join the NERDS wolfpack in search of lunch, and so he was duly initiated, assimilated, and told to put his cap on straight (even NERDS have standards).
The weather was pleasant and sunny ( Luck of the NERDS again) so we roamed up and over the Downs trying not to spit at golfers or to talk about work (difficult). Jules kept us amused with profound discussions about the deprivations of Lent and the size of the tits on Chinese chicks, and those of us who’d never been abroad wondered if all foreign girls looked like they did on the Google porn sites. (They don’t.).
The route was a well worn track to Glynde to which we descended remembering the very first NERDS ramble about 20 years ago. At that time we had all been younger (geddaway!), and eager to start a groundbreaking new organization that would sweep away all the stuffy, bourgeois constrictions of the Dimaline era (at work). And so the NERDS were born to raise hell with the world and piss off everybody (a bit like the Rolling Stones, except they play more exciting music and probably don’t quarrel as much).
We crashed into The Trevor Arms where Bronco was waiting for us having galloped over on Crunchie from Ringmer that day. Crunchie was tethered outside eating all the non existent apples of the (now) non existent trees in The Trevor’s garden. Bronco was wrapped around a pint, as is his wont, and despite this hubbub of activity the pub still looked in good nick with beer to spare for us all. Big Pete, the landlord advised us not to go near the hot, chillee soup for lunch so we all ordered that to be iconoclastic. “You’ll regret it, “warned Big Pete “It’s got lots of hot stuff in it.” Are we not NERDS, we thought. “Actually I’ll have egg mayonnaise.” Said Bronco “on account of my bum’s sore from all that riding.” Jules doesn’t eat anyway so he started to give his slant to the locals about the charms of Chinese chicks.
At lunch we were joined by Jules’ baby brother, Andy, who had come fresh from making a couple of million in his lunch hour by selling sub prime hedge fund collaterals in the City (of Lewes). Many were his tales of high finance and legal shenanigans. Did you know, for example, that Nicholas van Hookstraaten was actually the illegitimate heir to the Dutch crown, or that Chinese girls are all built funny? Nor did I. Anyway several hours later, after a really big filling meal, easily up to the usual standard of The Trevor, we decided we’d better ramble home. This simple plan was however thwarted by Sandyballs insisting that he be allowed to use his brand new Old Age Pensioner’s Rail pass – just so that he could be as good as Lafayette who had already clocked up five thousand miles on his since last year.
Pity we weren’t allowed to walk any more, but to stop Sandy balls from sulking, we broke with tradition and took the train back to The Old Volunteer in the city of Lewes where we took over the (empty) pub and sat by the traditional gas fire. This was where Lafayette started drinking Mocha coffee in a desperate attempt to show that he too had been abroad as well as Sandyballs and had middle class pretensions and sensitivities.
Didn’t work, though. Does going to Dublin count as Abroad?
So another ramble completed on the path paved with good intentions. Thanks be to Sandyballs for selling his wife’s jewellery to enable us to eat, and to the Thomas Bros for being our guests. Jules is going to e-mail us some pictures of one or two of his friends in H.K. so that we can attach them to our Favourites and amuse ourselves of an afternoon. Can hardly wait!
Happy Chinese New Year and Feng Shui to you all,
Lafayette.
Photographs to follow
Those Present – Sandyballs, Froggy, B.T., Bronco and Lafayette, ( plus Andy Capp and Jules Capp).
The cheap lunch ramble.
Sandyballs had heard of a watering hole that did massive lunches at bugger all cost (well, actually about £10) so the Nerds all raided the wife’s milk money and turned up for coffee chez Sandyballs with about 9/4d between them. Never mind the lunch, Wot about the wip(s) we wondered . Never mind , we’ll all stay skinny cos we just won’t eat, as the song goes. But Nerds get hungry, so after going through Mrs Sandyballs’ wardrobes we sold all her jewellery quickly on e-bay and had enough for 5 caribbean cruises each and lunch for most of the Third World as well.
Then after mucho calvados et stuff we struggled up the Downs, admired the view, had attacks of altitude sickness and ran into some eccentric denizen of The Brewers called Jules. Mr. Biggest Brother Thomas (for twas he) had come out of his cave on the Downs where he alternates dwelling between there and the scummiest brothel in Hong Kong which happens to have Harveys on tap at the time. The call of The Wild had brought Jules forth to join the NERDS wolfpack in search of lunch, and so he was duly initiated, assimilated, and told to put his cap on straight (even NERDS have standards).
The weather was pleasant and sunny ( Luck of the NERDS again) so we roamed up and over the Downs trying not to spit at golfers or to talk about work (difficult). Jules kept us amused with profound discussions about the deprivations of Lent and the size of the tits on Chinese chicks, and those of us who’d never been abroad wondered if all foreign girls looked like they did on the Google porn sites. (They don’t.).
The route was a well worn track to Glynde to which we descended remembering the very first NERDS ramble about 20 years ago. At that time we had all been younger (geddaway!), and eager to start a groundbreaking new organization that would sweep away all the stuffy, bourgeois constrictions of the Dimaline era (at work). And so the NERDS were born to raise hell with the world and piss off everybody (a bit like the Rolling Stones, except they play more exciting music and probably don’t quarrel as much).
We crashed into The Trevor Arms where Bronco was waiting for us having galloped over on Crunchie from Ringmer that day. Crunchie was tethered outside eating all the non existent apples of the (now) non existent trees in The Trevor’s garden. Bronco was wrapped around a pint, as is his wont, and despite this hubbub of activity the pub still looked in good nick with beer to spare for us all. Big Pete, the landlord advised us not to go near the hot, chillee soup for lunch so we all ordered that to be iconoclastic. “You’ll regret it, “warned Big Pete “It’s got lots of hot stuff in it.” Are we not NERDS, we thought. “Actually I’ll have egg mayonnaise.” Said Bronco “on account of my bum’s sore from all that riding.” Jules doesn’t eat anyway so he started to give his slant to the locals about the charms of Chinese chicks.
At lunch we were joined by Jules’ baby brother, Andy, who had come fresh from making a couple of million in his lunch hour by selling sub prime hedge fund collaterals in the City (of Lewes). Many were his tales of high finance and legal shenanigans. Did you know, for example, that Nicholas van Hookstraaten was actually the illegitimate heir to the Dutch crown, or that Chinese girls are all built funny? Nor did I. Anyway several hours later, after a really big filling meal, easily up to the usual standard of The Trevor, we decided we’d better ramble home. This simple plan was however thwarted by Sandyballs insisting that he be allowed to use his brand new Old Age Pensioner’s Rail pass – just so that he could be as good as Lafayette who had already clocked up five thousand miles on his since last year.
Pity we weren’t allowed to walk any more, but to stop Sandy balls from sulking, we broke with tradition and took the train back to The Old Volunteer in the city of Lewes where we took over the (empty) pub and sat by the traditional gas fire. This was where Lafayette started drinking Mocha coffee in a desperate attempt to show that he too had been abroad as well as Sandyballs and had middle class pretensions and sensitivities.
Didn’t work, though. Does going to Dublin count as Abroad?
So another ramble completed on the path paved with good intentions. Thanks be to Sandyballs for selling his wife’s jewellery to enable us to eat, and to the Thomas Bros for being our guests. Jules is going to e-mail us some pictures of one or two of his friends in H.K. so that we can attach them to our Favourites and amuse ourselves of an afternoon. Can hardly wait!
Happy Chinese New Year and Feng Shui to you all,
Lafayette.
Photographs to follow
Thursday, January 17, 2008
January (Wet and Windy) Ramble 14.1.2008
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No. 218(a)
allegedly.
Monday 14th Jan. 2008.
Those Present – Lafayette, Matt, Froggy, Sandyballs, Bronco, B.T.
The Very Windy Day Ramble.
Guess what, it was a very windy day. Los Nierdos met up at Bishopstone station, one of those wind streaked places where nobody was around to greet them off the train (probably because of the wind). There they found Lafayette cowering behind a stanchion in the initial phases of hypothermia because of the wind. He had come on the cheapskate
(free) bus so that he wouldn’t have to pay any fare and, of course, to keep himself out of the wind.
This was to be, in effect, Sandyballs’ birthday ramble; but since it wasn’t actually his birthday till next week we had to call it something else - and change the number too (!)
Froggy was route-master, but the weather was against him ( it was a little windy after all )
So the route had to be modified and everyone made a beeline for the snack bar wagon opposite the wildlife wetlands on the other side of the main road. It’s always fun crossing a very busy main road en masse because our legs all get tangled together, we fall over and somebody usually gets killed. Today it was Bronco’s turn (again) but with a remarkable burst of speed he defied the grim reaper (yet again) and scampered to the snack bar. Must have been the smell of food that inspired him.
How many times had the NERDS traveled along the A259 towards Seaford and been totally unaware of the young vision of beauty who inhabited the Snack Bar Van. This siren could not have been more than 16 years of age and was called Maddison (after the Avenue). Her first reaction on seeing six rapacious middle aged men was to get on the phone to her Mom, not, she hastened to say, because she was frightened, but to come and give her a hand with the large amount of cholesterol type sandwiches which we had ordered. In the event, she coped very well, even parrying Matt’s rude enquiries about whether she had a steady boyfriend and whether she had regular sex, and “did she like it and please tell me what it’s like.” We reluctantly tore ourselves away from this vision of jailbait heaven and headed for Foxhole farm where Bronco had told us that the more erotic pleasures of an equine nature were to be found.
Now some people visit houses of ill repute where they collect stamps, or whatever, some keep mistresses in luxury flats where they can go to whisper sweet nothings into their orifice(s), but Bronco, it can now be revealed, has a boy horse hidden away in the Sussex country side who he slyly visits on the days that his wife is out knitting socks for the Women’s’ Institute. Heh, heh, how about that then?
Bronco decided, as we were his good friends, to share his guilty secret with us, and took us to meet Crunchy, the Sussex Stallion. Wow wot a horse! and so big in parts. Some of us could immediately see the attraction of a large throbbing piece of horseflesh but Lafayette, cynic that he was, and knowing Bronco’s carnivorous tendencies, vaguely wondered if he was actually breeding him more for the table than the boudoir. However Bronco assured us that he and Crunchy were just good friends and he was only feeding him peppermints because Crunchy liked them and not to improve his taste (when he got him on a plate – oops!)
We struggled on with the ramble. Did I mention that it was windy? Well it still was and almost as bad as that day on the Chartres when Lafayette…………but I don’t have to remind you of that do I, dear readers? Froggy led us up a hill, into the teeth of a screaming gale and down into Bishopstone, thence round the coast road where Sandyballs kept getting his silly hat blown off, and into the Beachcomber where the beer was OK and where we bumped into Tina (baby lambs) Sheridan seeking refuge from her husband who had been insisting that she should wipe his steering wheel for the fifth time that morning. (Dirty bastard!)
Eventually lunch was taken at The Old Plough where The Old Trouts had already settled in for their lunchtime tasses de café, and where the NERDS all ploughed into vast quantities of steak, chips, beer, cognacs, ice creams and wounded strops, not to mention defensive petulance’s (skate over, skate over) However peace was finally restored, one of us robbed The Halifax of yet more money and we spent a pleasant afternoon in The Old Boot on comfy sofas in front of the fire chatting, drinking, mutually admiring each other and quarrelling about the preposterous amount of money a round cost in Seaford. Happy Days!
So, thanks go to Froggy for providing a route again despite being the victim of bad weather, and for providing a present for some poor, needy geriatric; thanks go to Matt for getting a free bus pass form for the same geriatric – see photo; thanks go to Crunchy for eating our peppermints and thanks to the rest of the NERDS for all being so wonderful. Crunchy is our new mascot now, by the way, because he’s bigger than Rusty and because we like Bronco’s tales about what they get up to together in the hay.
Hasta la proxima, Los Nierdos-
Lafayette.
[Ed: - this appears to be a somewhat edited account and seems to miss out all the interesting bits.]
allegedly.
Monday 14th Jan. 2008.
Those Present – Lafayette, Matt, Froggy, Sandyballs, Bronco, B.T.
The Very Windy Day Ramble.
Guess what, it was a very windy day. Los Nierdos met up at Bishopstone station, one of those wind streaked places where nobody was around to greet them off the train (probably because of the wind). There they found Lafayette cowering behind a stanchion in the initial phases of hypothermia because of the wind. He had come on the cheapskate
(free) bus so that he wouldn’t have to pay any fare and, of course, to keep himself out of the wind.
This was to be, in effect, Sandyballs’ birthday ramble; but since it wasn’t actually his birthday till next week we had to call it something else - and change the number too (!)
Froggy was route-master, but the weather was against him ( it was a little windy after all )
So the route had to be modified and everyone made a beeline for the snack bar wagon opposite the wildlife wetlands on the other side of the main road. It’s always fun crossing a very busy main road en masse because our legs all get tangled together, we fall over and somebody usually gets killed. Today it was Bronco’s turn (again) but with a remarkable burst of speed he defied the grim reaper (yet again) and scampered to the snack bar. Must have been the smell of food that inspired him.
How many times had the NERDS traveled along the A259 towards Seaford and been totally unaware of the young vision of beauty who inhabited the Snack Bar Van. This siren could not have been more than 16 years of age and was called Maddison (after the Avenue). Her first reaction on seeing six rapacious middle aged men was to get on the phone to her Mom, not, she hastened to say, because she was frightened, but to come and give her a hand with the large amount of cholesterol type sandwiches which we had ordered. In the event, she coped very well, even parrying Matt’s rude enquiries about whether she had a steady boyfriend and whether she had regular sex, and “did she like it and please tell me what it’s like.” We reluctantly tore ourselves away from this vision of jailbait heaven and headed for Foxhole farm where Bronco had told us that the more erotic pleasures of an equine nature were to be found.
Now some people visit houses of ill repute where they collect stamps, or whatever, some keep mistresses in luxury flats where they can go to whisper sweet nothings into their orifice(s), but Bronco, it can now be revealed, has a boy horse hidden away in the Sussex country side who he slyly visits on the days that his wife is out knitting socks for the Women’s’ Institute. Heh, heh, how about that then?
Bronco decided, as we were his good friends, to share his guilty secret with us, and took us to meet Crunchy, the Sussex Stallion. Wow wot a horse! and so big in parts. Some of us could immediately see the attraction of a large throbbing piece of horseflesh but Lafayette, cynic that he was, and knowing Bronco’s carnivorous tendencies, vaguely wondered if he was actually breeding him more for the table than the boudoir. However Bronco assured us that he and Crunchy were just good friends and he was only feeding him peppermints because Crunchy liked them and not to improve his taste (when he got him on a plate – oops!)
We struggled on with the ramble. Did I mention that it was windy? Well it still was and almost as bad as that day on the Chartres when Lafayette…………but I don’t have to remind you of that do I, dear readers? Froggy led us up a hill, into the teeth of a screaming gale and down into Bishopstone, thence round the coast road where Sandyballs kept getting his silly hat blown off, and into the Beachcomber where the beer was OK and where we bumped into Tina (baby lambs) Sheridan seeking refuge from her husband who had been insisting that she should wipe his steering wheel for the fifth time that morning. (Dirty bastard!)
Eventually lunch was taken at The Old Plough where The Old Trouts had already settled in for their lunchtime tasses de café, and where the NERDS all ploughed into vast quantities of steak, chips, beer, cognacs, ice creams and wounded strops, not to mention defensive petulance’s (skate over, skate over) However peace was finally restored, one of us robbed The Halifax of yet more money and we spent a pleasant afternoon in The Old Boot on comfy sofas in front of the fire chatting, drinking, mutually admiring each other and quarrelling about the preposterous amount of money a round cost in Seaford. Happy Days!
So, thanks go to Froggy for providing a route again despite being the victim of bad weather, and for providing a present for some poor, needy geriatric; thanks go to Matt for getting a free bus pass form for the same geriatric – see photo; thanks go to Crunchy for eating our peppermints and thanks to the rest of the NERDS for all being so wonderful. Crunchy is our new mascot now, by the way, because he’s bigger than Rusty and because we like Bronco’s tales about what they get up to together in the hay.
Hasta la proxima, Los Nierdos-
Lafayette.
[Ed: - this appears to be a somewhat edited account and seems to miss out all the interesting bits.]
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
JANUARY 2008 RAMBLE
The first "ramble" of 2008 is on Monday 14th January. Hopefully we'll have the 'write-up' and photographs on site by the 15th.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Christmas Ramble 2007
The Mystery (ho, ho) Guest Ramble.
Christmas Ramble – 14th December 2007 – No. 220.
Those Present – Froggy, Bronco, BT, Sandyballs, Lafayette, Matt, and Mystery
(tee, hee),guest
Of course, nobody knew who the Mystery Guest was going to be this year. Oh, no, not
bloody ‘arf! It couldn’t have been that Mrs Sandyballs in an unguarded (but sober) moment had blown the gaff to Lafayette Oh, no, no, no, no, perish the thought .It must have been the Christmas fairies whispering in the wind that the Mystery Guest was none other than….. whoops, nearly gave it away; You’ll have to read on…..
Sandyballs kindly picked up most of the Nerds from the station and took them back to his house. Unfortunately the Mystery Guest had elected to ramble with us this year contrary to all tradition, and since BT had been skulking around chez Sandyballs clearly looking for a way to break in and pinch all the silver, he unexpectedly ran into he or she.
Nobody was as surprised as Paco (for twas he) to run slap bang into burglar-nerd out to save a bob or two on this year’s Christmas presents, but introductions were effected – “Hello, I’m Burglar- nerd, and you are?” “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Her Majesty’s
Immigration Officer…No, actually I’m the Mystery Guest.” (down cast look).
Just then the others rolled up and were initiated into the fun. So to cover up for his wife’s awful faux pas, Sandyballs roped us all inside and plied us with alcohol and bikkies in a vain attempt to erase the incident from our memories.Soon we remembered nothing at all and Sandyballs led us outside, round the corner, up the hill and over the Downs in the Direction of Ringmer where we were to feast.
The actual ramble was steep and muddy, and those Nerds who were unfit (like, all of us)
began to suffer from dehydration. No problem, a hip flask stop was called for and so we admired the beauty of the Downs while trying to guess what the hell had been in Lafayette’s hip flask 5 years ago when he had last poured anything into it. Lafayette was rewarded for his generosity by being allowed to wear Froggy’s Teletubbie hat and told his new name was The Grand Imperial Wizard of the Whole World – (no, I lie) –shucks!
So on, on we went; a proper ramble today, not just a stroll along the seafront like last time. Mystery Paco Guest was wearing his fetching straw donkey hat and Sandyballs had
obviously taken a fancy to his daughter’s Rupert Bear Scarf. What would Bronco be wearing when we met him at the pub? Something strapless and showing his midriff we all hoped (not).
Narrowly escaping an outbreak of runaway heifers who had got a bit worried by Lafayette’s hat, we plodded on up hill and down dale. We clawed our way up awful tracks and slid down shitty paths bordered with nasty barbed wire fences. Eventually we got lost in a field until Sandyballs put us on the right path and showed us the way to Salvation – or at least The Green Man.
Yes, there was Bronco, nursing a pint, waiting for us in a corner, sound asleep. It’s a hard life being a Nerd! No little black dress, though. Lafayette was bitterly disappointed, he had been hoping to borrow this for some of the more dodgy Christmas parties he had found on the Internet, now he would have to get that old rubber thing out again – bugger!
We were seated opposite some loonies from the local funny farm (strange juxtaposition)
and prepared to pull our crackers. Matt found he had got a golden condom in his, Froggy got a book on creative writing, Mystery Paco Guest got some exploding cigars, and B.T. got fuck all. Serves him right for trying to raid Sandyball’s Christmas presents. By the way have you finished forging that bus pass wot I lent you last month?
Mystery Paco Guest told an amusing tale about some young nymphet who had served up cannabis cakes to him and Sandyballs on the Control one night ( Shirley in uniform, - I wish ), and Froggy wanted to start a Crossing Club, but whether it was for cross dressers like Lafayette or for cross people like Hungerford wasn’t made clear.
The meal, it has to be said, was not brilliant. The turkey and stuff was OK but SB’s steak was not of the highest quality. Matt, ever the arch complainer, and affronted by the cheap gift in his cracker, insisted that the manager be dragged in off the golf course and made to
face the full wrath of the Nerds. Sandyballs said he had seen better bits of meat in girlies’ knickers and the manager finally repented and gave him a reduction in the bill. Thank goodness for Matt and his golden condom.
Time was getting on now; Mystery Paco Guest had to flee back to Seaford to prepare the retirement speech for his party last month and the rest of us wanted a proper drink. Bronco led us out to The Anchor where everyone greeted him, slapped him on the back and showered him with kisses. Bob doesn’t do this in The Engineer which is our local ;
It’s a more manly pub, you see. Sandyballs promptly fell asleep and had his picture taken chewing a beer mat, and BT celebrated Honike (Hanukkah…ed) by trying to circumcise Matt with his big penknife.
Suddenly we all found ourselves outside trying to get on a bus and pretending we were sober…..ish. It was at this point that Froggy’s magnanimous spirit manifested itself . He had seen how much Lafayette had enjoyed looking a dickhead in the Tinky Winky hat
(see photos) and generously said he could keep it for ever. Lafayette was touched, he even offered to take Froggy on the bus with his free pass as the illegitimate dependant of an Old Fart. But friendship can only go so far and Froggy insisted on paying his own fare.
And so another year of excitement ended. Thanks to Sandyballs for the organization, thanks to Froggy for the hat, thanks to Mrs. Sandyballs for spilling the beans and thanks to all the Nerds for being such wonderful, wonderful people; especially the Mystery Guest.
Merry Christmas and Happy Nerding.
Lafayette.
P.S. You don’t actually believe all this rubbish, do you? Well do you? God, I despair!
Christmas Ramble – 14th December 2007 – No. 220.
Those Present – Froggy, Bronco, BT, Sandyballs, Lafayette, Matt, and Mystery
(tee, hee),guest
Of course, nobody knew who the Mystery Guest was going to be this year. Oh, no, not
bloody ‘arf! It couldn’t have been that Mrs Sandyballs in an unguarded (but sober) moment had blown the gaff to Lafayette Oh, no, no, no, no, perish the thought .It must have been the Christmas fairies whispering in the wind that the Mystery Guest was none other than….. whoops, nearly gave it away; You’ll have to read on…..
Sandyballs kindly picked up most of the Nerds from the station and took them back to his house. Unfortunately the Mystery Guest had elected to ramble with us this year contrary to all tradition, and since BT had been skulking around chez Sandyballs clearly looking for a way to break in and pinch all the silver, he unexpectedly ran into he or she.
Nobody was as surprised as Paco (for twas he) to run slap bang into burglar-nerd out to save a bob or two on this year’s Christmas presents, but introductions were effected – “Hello, I’m Burglar- nerd, and you are?” “Don’t you know who I am? I’m Her Majesty’s
Immigration Officer…No, actually I’m the Mystery Guest.” (down cast look).
Just then the others rolled up and were initiated into the fun. So to cover up for his wife’s awful faux pas, Sandyballs roped us all inside and plied us with alcohol and bikkies in a vain attempt to erase the incident from our memories.Soon we remembered nothing at all and Sandyballs led us outside, round the corner, up the hill and over the Downs in the Direction of Ringmer where we were to feast.
The actual ramble was steep and muddy, and those Nerds who were unfit (like, all of us)
began to suffer from dehydration. No problem, a hip flask stop was called for and so we admired the beauty of the Downs while trying to guess what the hell had been in Lafayette’s hip flask 5 years ago when he had last poured anything into it. Lafayette was rewarded for his generosity by being allowed to wear Froggy’s Teletubbie hat and told his new name was The Grand Imperial Wizard of the Whole World – (no, I lie) –shucks!
So on, on we went; a proper ramble today, not just a stroll along the seafront like last time. Mystery Paco Guest was wearing his fetching straw donkey hat and Sandyballs had
obviously taken a fancy to his daughter’s Rupert Bear Scarf. What would Bronco be wearing when we met him at the pub? Something strapless and showing his midriff we all hoped (not).
Narrowly escaping an outbreak of runaway heifers who had got a bit worried by Lafayette’s hat, we plodded on up hill and down dale. We clawed our way up awful tracks and slid down shitty paths bordered with nasty barbed wire fences. Eventually we got lost in a field until Sandyballs put us on the right path and showed us the way to Salvation – or at least The Green Man.
Yes, there was Bronco, nursing a pint, waiting for us in a corner, sound asleep. It’s a hard life being a Nerd! No little black dress, though. Lafayette was bitterly disappointed, he had been hoping to borrow this for some of the more dodgy Christmas parties he had found on the Internet, now he would have to get that old rubber thing out again – bugger!
We were seated opposite some loonies from the local funny farm (strange juxtaposition)
and prepared to pull our crackers. Matt found he had got a golden condom in his, Froggy got a book on creative writing, Mystery Paco Guest got some exploding cigars, and B.T. got fuck all. Serves him right for trying to raid Sandyball’s Christmas presents. By the way have you finished forging that bus pass wot I lent you last month?
Mystery Paco Guest told an amusing tale about some young nymphet who had served up cannabis cakes to him and Sandyballs on the Control one night ( Shirley in uniform, - I wish ), and Froggy wanted to start a Crossing Club, but whether it was for cross dressers like Lafayette or for cross people like Hungerford wasn’t made clear.
The meal, it has to be said, was not brilliant. The turkey and stuff was OK but SB’s steak was not of the highest quality. Matt, ever the arch complainer, and affronted by the cheap gift in his cracker, insisted that the manager be dragged in off the golf course and made to
face the full wrath of the Nerds. Sandyballs said he had seen better bits of meat in girlies’ knickers and the manager finally repented and gave him a reduction in the bill. Thank goodness for Matt and his golden condom.
Time was getting on now; Mystery Paco Guest had to flee back to Seaford to prepare the retirement speech for his party last month and the rest of us wanted a proper drink. Bronco led us out to The Anchor where everyone greeted him, slapped him on the back and showered him with kisses. Bob doesn’t do this in The Engineer which is our local ;
It’s a more manly pub, you see. Sandyballs promptly fell asleep and had his picture taken chewing a beer mat, and BT celebrated Honike (Hanukkah…ed) by trying to circumcise Matt with his big penknife.
Suddenly we all found ourselves outside trying to get on a bus and pretending we were sober…..ish. It was at this point that Froggy’s magnanimous spirit manifested itself . He had seen how much Lafayette had enjoyed looking a dickhead in the Tinky Winky hat
(see photos) and generously said he could keep it for ever. Lafayette was touched, he even offered to take Froggy on the bus with his free pass as the illegitimate dependant of an Old Fart. But friendship can only go so far and Froggy insisted on paying his own fare.
And so another year of excitement ended. Thanks to Sandyballs for the organization, thanks to Froggy for the hat, thanks to Mrs. Sandyballs for spilling the beans and thanks to all the Nerds for being such wonderful, wonderful people; especially the Mystery Guest.
Merry Christmas and Happy Nerding.
Lafayette.
P.S. You don’t actually believe all this rubbish, do you? Well do you? God, I despair!
Monday, November 26, 2007
22/11/2007
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble 220 – 22nd Nov.2007.
The Old Gits on buses Ramble.
Those Present – Sandyballs, Matt, Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Lafayette.
It was the aftermath to Graham Boiling’s funeral – A TN3 Inspector whose charisma had profoundly influenced most of the Nerds’ early immigration careers. So much so that only Matt, in the mistaken belief that G.B. had been a Catholic and somehow influential in the Afterlife, had been to make sure he was really buried. The rest of the Nerds couldn’t be bothered in the sure and certain knowledge that when we each died nobody would attend unless a substantial amount of free drink was offered as an inducement.
So a meeting was convened around chez Lafayette (with a substantial amount of free drink as an inducement) as a prelude to that day’s ramble. Matt waxed lyrical about how his great hero should have been canonized while the rest of the guests scrapped over the chocolate biscuits and rolled around the floor fighting for the last drop of delicious brandy. In the end Matt gave up and started to tell us what a marvelous body his other hero, Ronny (Schwarzenegger) Rebeiro had got.
Enough of this futile idolatry, we had a ramble to get underway. Routemeister Sandyballs, switched off the porn films, beat everyone over the head with an (empty) bottle and forced them out to the nearest bus stop. There was a certain amount of jealousy in the air about the fact that both Lafayette and Matt had schoolboy bus passes enabling them to travel free. Such are the rewards of a long life full of virtue and honesty. Everyone else grumbled, paid their fare and migrated to the top deck to hold loud, drunken conversations and look forward to seeing the schoolgirls at Rodean where we were due to alight.
Sadly all the school girls were all off that day on field trips practicing to be expensive courtesans, so we missed them. Sandy balls had decided on a nifty strategy of getting off the bus within sight of the lunch destination and herding us all back along a concrete, coastal road where we were constantly menaced by women with vicious dogs and boulders tumbling from the cliff top. However, in his favour, Sandyballs had picked a gloriously sunny day when the twinkling of the waves on the sea made us all nostalgic for the days of being proper crossing officers when to do the job properly, uniforms were banned and alcohol was compulsory.
Fighting down the nostalgia we lurched into Rottingdean where Froggy’s internet researches had formed a cunning plan. This involved going to the furthest pub away possible, but which served Harvey’s and was a recruiting ground for the French Foreign Legion. You see Froggy had had such a marvelous time as a young squaddie in a previous existence that he had constantly harboured the secret desire to join up again and fight for his adopted country. The rest of the Nerds thought such ambition wholly misplaced and were already making plans to avoid conscription on age grounds, if not health and safety concerns.
B.T. as official photographer, made us all sit under an apple tree on a bench and grin dementedly at the camera. Whoever sees these works of art he produces on the blog will all be struck by the amazingly handsome features of his models. We now felt so confident of our charms that we set off again in search of any trainee schoolgirl courtesans to wow them with our money. Bet they were all dying to meet us!
After making a diversion all round the village to avoid the French military recruiting agents we all ended up about 50 yards from the previous apple tree in The Plough.
This turned out to be a good pub with no Old Trouts, good service and a room all to ourselves (I wonder why?). After a not bad dinner plus lots of Harvey’s we got down to the serious business of the day – would B.T. be allowed to take Lafayette’s bus pass back to the Forgery Room and substitute his own photo. Bad luck, B.T., nobody will believe your monstrous claim to be 60 after all the lies you’ve put out over the years about your tender age.
More important, wot about the Christmas ramble? Sandyballs had devised a route and organized a mystery guest but wanted to do a dummy run to ensure we didn’t get lost
(hollow laughter). Everyone wanted to join in on the dummy run, even Bronco who said he would like to drive to the pub and be the mystery guest. However it was pointed out that this might actually defeat the object of doing the Christmas ramble on the decided date and having a mystery guest whose identity was supposed to be a secret (think about it!)
Nextly we discounted the 20th year ramble next summer as taking place in Marrakesh, Machu Pichu, the North Pole or Tierra del Fuego as being a teensy weensy bit too difficult to organize, and settled on Dublin again because it was 1) easy to get ramble around if it pissed down with rain (possible) 2) full of good looking foreign women, some of whom might even be Irish , and 3) dead cheap to get to on Ryan Air (& such good gin and tonics).
On the way back on the bus Lafayette was seen to be grooming a pretty school boy for later stardom. B.T . was immediately jealous, feeling he had been displaced as Lafayette’s no.1 catamite but Lafayette said that since BT now claimed to be 60 (see bus pass fraud) he was now too old to be of any further benefit and should accept his sacking gracefully.
Back to The Bridge at Newhaven where we ran into Donna of the face transplant –(Not literally ran into her, that was the Admiral after a heavy day drinking down The Engineer; now he’s got to pay blood money to Bob to buy a new barmaid, silly boy!) and so to bed.
Next ramble is the one where Bronco’s going to be Mystery Guest so try to guess who it’s really going to be. Love to you all - from Lafayette.
The Old Gits on buses Ramble.
Those Present – Sandyballs, Matt, Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Lafayette.
It was the aftermath to Graham Boiling’s funeral – A TN3 Inspector whose charisma had profoundly influenced most of the Nerds’ early immigration careers. So much so that only Matt, in the mistaken belief that G.B. had been a Catholic and somehow influential in the Afterlife, had been to make sure he was really buried. The rest of the Nerds couldn’t be bothered in the sure and certain knowledge that when we each died nobody would attend unless a substantial amount of free drink was offered as an inducement.
So a meeting was convened around chez Lafayette (with a substantial amount of free drink as an inducement) as a prelude to that day’s ramble. Matt waxed lyrical about how his great hero should have been canonized while the rest of the guests scrapped over the chocolate biscuits and rolled around the floor fighting for the last drop of delicious brandy. In the end Matt gave up and started to tell us what a marvelous body his other hero, Ronny (Schwarzenegger) Rebeiro had got.
Enough of this futile idolatry, we had a ramble to get underway. Routemeister Sandyballs, switched off the porn films, beat everyone over the head with an (empty) bottle and forced them out to the nearest bus stop. There was a certain amount of jealousy in the air about the fact that both Lafayette and Matt had schoolboy bus passes enabling them to travel free. Such are the rewards of a long life full of virtue and honesty. Everyone else grumbled, paid their fare and migrated to the top deck to hold loud, drunken conversations and look forward to seeing the schoolgirls at Rodean where we were due to alight.
Sadly all the school girls were all off that day on field trips practicing to be expensive courtesans, so we missed them. Sandy balls had decided on a nifty strategy of getting off the bus within sight of the lunch destination and herding us all back along a concrete, coastal road where we were constantly menaced by women with vicious dogs and boulders tumbling from the cliff top. However, in his favour, Sandyballs had picked a gloriously sunny day when the twinkling of the waves on the sea made us all nostalgic for the days of being proper crossing officers when to do the job properly, uniforms were banned and alcohol was compulsory.
Fighting down the nostalgia we lurched into Rottingdean where Froggy’s internet researches had formed a cunning plan. This involved going to the furthest pub away possible, but which served Harvey’s and was a recruiting ground for the French Foreign Legion. You see Froggy had had such a marvelous time as a young squaddie in a previous existence that he had constantly harboured the secret desire to join up again and fight for his adopted country. The rest of the Nerds thought such ambition wholly misplaced and were already making plans to avoid conscription on age grounds, if not health and safety concerns.
B.T. as official photographer, made us all sit under an apple tree on a bench and grin dementedly at the camera. Whoever sees these works of art he produces on the blog will all be struck by the amazingly handsome features of his models. We now felt so confident of our charms that we set off again in search of any trainee schoolgirl courtesans to wow them with our money. Bet they were all dying to meet us!
After making a diversion all round the village to avoid the French military recruiting agents we all ended up about 50 yards from the previous apple tree in The Plough.
This turned out to be a good pub with no Old Trouts, good service and a room all to ourselves (I wonder why?). After a not bad dinner plus lots of Harvey’s we got down to the serious business of the day – would B.T. be allowed to take Lafayette’s bus pass back to the Forgery Room and substitute his own photo. Bad luck, B.T., nobody will believe your monstrous claim to be 60 after all the lies you’ve put out over the years about your tender age.
More important, wot about the Christmas ramble? Sandyballs had devised a route and organized a mystery guest but wanted to do a dummy run to ensure we didn’t get lost
(hollow laughter). Everyone wanted to join in on the dummy run, even Bronco who said he would like to drive to the pub and be the mystery guest. However it was pointed out that this might actually defeat the object of doing the Christmas ramble on the decided date and having a mystery guest whose identity was supposed to be a secret (think about it!)
Nextly we discounted the 20th year ramble next summer as taking place in Marrakesh, Machu Pichu, the North Pole or Tierra del Fuego as being a teensy weensy bit too difficult to organize, and settled on Dublin again because it was 1) easy to get ramble around if it pissed down with rain (possible) 2) full of good looking foreign women, some of whom might even be Irish , and 3) dead cheap to get to on Ryan Air (& such good gin and tonics).
On the way back on the bus Lafayette was seen to be grooming a pretty school boy for later stardom. B.T . was immediately jealous, feeling he had been displaced as Lafayette’s no.1 catamite but Lafayette said that since BT now claimed to be 60 (see bus pass fraud) he was now too old to be of any further benefit and should accept his sacking gracefully.
Back to The Bridge at Newhaven where we ran into Donna of the face transplant –(Not literally ran into her, that was the Admiral after a heavy day drinking down The Engineer; now he’s got to pay blood money to Bob to buy a new barmaid, silly boy!) and so to bed.
Next ramble is the one where Bronco’s going to be Mystery Guest so try to guess who it’s really going to be. Love to you all - from Lafayette.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Dieppe Raid 2007
N.E.R.D.S Ramble 219 – Dieppe Raid 2007
Those Present – Froggy, Matt, Bronco and Lafayette.
Wednesday 10th October.
You will notice the unfortunate absence of a couple of NERDS on this trip. Still, four’s a quorum (as are three), but two NERDS together is classed only as a couple of blokes going for a drink. The reason for this “NERDS Lite” trip was that Sandyballs had been threatened with not having any balls at all if he went abroad again ( something to do with spending too much time recently in Frankfurt ), and B.T. was again piston broke.
And so it was that the ones who did go assembled at the back of The Seven Sisters (ferry) with all their rucksacks, crampons, boots, wet weather gear, Kendal mint cake etc. looking forward to a couple of days hard scrambling over the cliffs around Dieppe so that they could take back tales of fierce bravery and derring-do to those poor souls who were unable to take part.
First things first. Get a table, make enough noise so that no-one else comes near you, go to the Duty Free shop and buy a bottle of brandy so that you don’t keep having to squabble about who’s turn it is to keep going to the bar and get the drinks. Oh, and keep an eye out just in case the barman decides you’re taking the piss and decides to throw you off in mid Channel.
Having got the essentials sorted out, the pleasantly sunny morning passed in a sort of alcoholic haze until disaster struck. Lafayette noticed one of the barmaids dreamily holding a notice in front of her stating (apparently) that she was “hors de service”. Not being able to resist this gift of an opportunity Lafayette asked her when normal service would be resumed and how much she cost. There was a shriek of Gallic rage at this perceived impertinence; the barmaid called her male colleague who chased Lafayette round the deck, and when he failed to catch him wreaked his revenge on the NERDS’s
rucksacks, crampons, boots, wet weather gear, Kendal mint cake etc by pitching it all over the side.
Oh dear! The Nerds were mortified at Lafayette’s stupidity. How were they going to ramble now? How could they go back and face their fellow Nerds, especially Sandyballs, and confess they hadn’t been able to walk anywhere? Easy peasy, they thought, we’ll just get Froggy who is the (second) biggest fantasist amongst us to spin some tale about where we’ve been and nobody will be any the wiser. Sorted.
And so we checked into the Aguado where Bronco shared with Froggy and Lafayette shared with Matt (rooms that is). We looked out of the window where the sun was shining on the seafront and spotted the chip vans and ice-cream stalls and started to feel hungry. This seemed like a good opportunity to go for a stroll – not a ramble, Lafayette had seen to that – and see what there was to see.
It was a glorious afternoon, the sky and the sea were blue and the promenade was bathed in the sun. The Nerds were only sad that they couldn’t do what they had really come to do so settled for nonching along the seafront in the warmth eating Froggy’s chips and slurping ice-cream. There were girlies in skimpy bathing costumes running screaming into the sea. There were interesting buildings like the casino and the castle to see, and there was lots of beer to drink outside the old Copacabana Café where we tarried for a couple of hours and drank many tearful toasts to the other home bound Nerds who couldn’t be with us . How we missed them!
After a little snooze to mitigate our grief (about not being with our other friends and not being able to ramble) we decided to go out to eat something before we wasted away with sorrow. First of all we found ourselves in a bar whose main customers were little dogs. The bar tender pulled down the outer metal door to within two feet of the pavement as a hint that closure was imminent and we wondered whether we were going to be incarcerated all night on a diet of wotsits and Ricard. However we were pleased to see that the French managed to get over this minor difficulty in their search for alcohol by lying on the pavement and rolling into the bar. So that’s how we exited after trading a few insults about the outcome of the next weekend’s rugby match with the local natives. (Ho, ho, we smashed the French so that’s another bar we can’t go back to)
Finally that day we had an excellent meal in a nearby restaurant (forgotten the name, but they’re all good in Dieppe) where Froggy was just about to go into a strop about the lack of filet de boeuf on the menu when the waitress came over and offered him another sort of meat by waggling her tits at him and saying what an honour it was to have such a famous author at her establishment . This hussy like behaviour seemed to mollify Froggy and yet another strop type crisis was narrowly averted.
We rounded off the day by going to the Tout Va Bien bar on the front and having a long philosophical discussion over coffee and (lots of) calvados about how Statins gives you a dimp lick (sic). Guess who initiated this fascinating topic. And so to bed.
Thursday 11th October
Lafayette was woken by Matt snoring gently into his ear. It must have been quite a night, last night, he thought. Time for breakfast. We were informed of the old French habit of buying your own croissants and being allowed to sit in someone’s café to eat them – provided you paid them for the privilege and the coffee, so off we went to the bakers.
After trying to persuade Froggy not to spend 25 minutes trying to extract every last centime from the Nerds whip purse to avoid breaking into a new 5 euro note, and to just pay the woman, we drifted into the Café de La Paix to indulge in the vile ritual of dipping pastries into coffee cups and spreading crumbs everywhere.
Matts said he recognized the owner of the place from when he had been a galley slave on the Chartres many years ago, so Lafayette enquired and name dropped a bit exaggerating his own modest part in driving this famous vessel on to the rocks many years previously.
The café owner dropped on to one knee in awe and tried to kiss the hem of Lafayette’s anorak. “My good friend Jean-Claude Lagroue (one of the old PAF bosses) will be honoured if you would be gracious enough to leave him a message on the back of this beer mat,” he said “ I am honoured to have such a man as yourself gracing my humble café.” So Lafayette sighed and did the PR bit and waited impatiently until the café owner had cleared away the eager crowds who had come to touch their hero and be dazzled by his great fame.
After such excitement we needed to creep anonymously into the Café Des Tribunaux to steady our nerves with a few café calvas. Now this is a most impressive place. All brass and dark wood with clean bogs and friendly waiters who ask to take your photograph and who don’t need to be asked their names or be told that they’re beautiful just to get them to do so.
Then Lafayette went on a secret mission down one of the side streets for his friend, B.T. You see B.T. wanted to go and retire to France one day where he thought the people were more stupid and where he planned to sell them second rate forgeries of Algerian passports so that they could con their way through UK Border Control control. Sadly B.T. wasn’t terribly sure where France actually was, other than being across the sea somewhere, so a map was required to start him off on his new career.
Now it was time to eat so the Nerds, noting that all the French people in the know were cramming into the Tout Va Bien, did likewise and were rewarded with coquilles Saint Jacques and other such fishy delicacies for lunch. For some reason Froggy wasn’t happy with the service in this place either, and the conversation went as follows: “You’re moaning again.” “No I’m not!” “ Yes you are” “No I’m not, I don’t moan, it’s just the way I talk.” Lafayette was not convinced.
Last stop on the way back to the ferry was in the Cactus Bar where we basked in the sun, drank more beer and vowed we would come back one day and ramble all over the place providing we didn’t get our equipment nicked by French thieves. We had all had a good time and even got to practice our French so the trip hadn’t been entirely wasted.
The True Story
We went to Dieppe
We were lazy and didn’t do any rambling
We didn’t really give a shit, and
We didn’t miss those who didn’t come with us and thought we ought to have rambled.
Thanks to Froggy for organizing bits of it and to Lafayette for organizing other bits. Thanks to Matt and Bronco for coming along, being good company and putting up with the two prima donnas. Thanks to the French for their friendliness and tolerance.
Those Present – Froggy, Matt, Bronco and Lafayette.
Wednesday 10th October.
You will notice the unfortunate absence of a couple of NERDS on this trip. Still, four’s a quorum (as are three), but two NERDS together is classed only as a couple of blokes going for a drink. The reason for this “NERDS Lite” trip was that Sandyballs had been threatened with not having any balls at all if he went abroad again ( something to do with spending too much time recently in Frankfurt ), and B.T. was again piston broke.
And so it was that the ones who did go assembled at the back of The Seven Sisters (ferry) with all their rucksacks, crampons, boots, wet weather gear, Kendal mint cake etc. looking forward to a couple of days hard scrambling over the cliffs around Dieppe so that they could take back tales of fierce bravery and derring-do to those poor souls who were unable to take part.
First things first. Get a table, make enough noise so that no-one else comes near you, go to the Duty Free shop and buy a bottle of brandy so that you don’t keep having to squabble about who’s turn it is to keep going to the bar and get the drinks. Oh, and keep an eye out just in case the barman decides you’re taking the piss and decides to throw you off in mid Channel.
Having got the essentials sorted out, the pleasantly sunny morning passed in a sort of alcoholic haze until disaster struck. Lafayette noticed one of the barmaids dreamily holding a notice in front of her stating (apparently) that she was “hors de service”. Not being able to resist this gift of an opportunity Lafayette asked her when normal service would be resumed and how much she cost. There was a shriek of Gallic rage at this perceived impertinence; the barmaid called her male colleague who chased Lafayette round the deck, and when he failed to catch him wreaked his revenge on the NERDS’s
rucksacks, crampons, boots, wet weather gear, Kendal mint cake etc by pitching it all over the side.
Oh dear! The Nerds were mortified at Lafayette’s stupidity. How were they going to ramble now? How could they go back and face their fellow Nerds, especially Sandyballs, and confess they hadn’t been able to walk anywhere? Easy peasy, they thought, we’ll just get Froggy who is the (second) biggest fantasist amongst us to spin some tale about where we’ve been and nobody will be any the wiser. Sorted.
And so we checked into the Aguado where Bronco shared with Froggy and Lafayette shared with Matt (rooms that is). We looked out of the window where the sun was shining on the seafront and spotted the chip vans and ice-cream stalls and started to feel hungry. This seemed like a good opportunity to go for a stroll – not a ramble, Lafayette had seen to that – and see what there was to see.
It was a glorious afternoon, the sky and the sea were blue and the promenade was bathed in the sun. The Nerds were only sad that they couldn’t do what they had really come to do so settled for nonching along the seafront in the warmth eating Froggy’s chips and slurping ice-cream. There were girlies in skimpy bathing costumes running screaming into the sea. There were interesting buildings like the casino and the castle to see, and there was lots of beer to drink outside the old Copacabana Café where we tarried for a couple of hours and drank many tearful toasts to the other home bound Nerds who couldn’t be with us . How we missed them!
After a little snooze to mitigate our grief (about not being with our other friends and not being able to ramble) we decided to go out to eat something before we wasted away with sorrow. First of all we found ourselves in a bar whose main customers were little dogs. The bar tender pulled down the outer metal door to within two feet of the pavement as a hint that closure was imminent and we wondered whether we were going to be incarcerated all night on a diet of wotsits and Ricard. However we were pleased to see that the French managed to get over this minor difficulty in their search for alcohol by lying on the pavement and rolling into the bar. So that’s how we exited after trading a few insults about the outcome of the next weekend’s rugby match with the local natives. (Ho, ho, we smashed the French so that’s another bar we can’t go back to)
Finally that day we had an excellent meal in a nearby restaurant (forgotten the name, but they’re all good in Dieppe) where Froggy was just about to go into a strop about the lack of filet de boeuf on the menu when the waitress came over and offered him another sort of meat by waggling her tits at him and saying what an honour it was to have such a famous author at her establishment . This hussy like behaviour seemed to mollify Froggy and yet another strop type crisis was narrowly averted.
We rounded off the day by going to the Tout Va Bien bar on the front and having a long philosophical discussion over coffee and (lots of) calvados about how Statins gives you a dimp lick (sic). Guess who initiated this fascinating topic. And so to bed.
Thursday 11th October
Lafayette was woken by Matt snoring gently into his ear. It must have been quite a night, last night, he thought. Time for breakfast. We were informed of the old French habit of buying your own croissants and being allowed to sit in someone’s café to eat them – provided you paid them for the privilege and the coffee, so off we went to the bakers.
After trying to persuade Froggy not to spend 25 minutes trying to extract every last centime from the Nerds whip purse to avoid breaking into a new 5 euro note, and to just pay the woman, we drifted into the Café de La Paix to indulge in the vile ritual of dipping pastries into coffee cups and spreading crumbs everywhere.
Matts said he recognized the owner of the place from when he had been a galley slave on the Chartres many years ago, so Lafayette enquired and name dropped a bit exaggerating his own modest part in driving this famous vessel on to the rocks many years previously.
The café owner dropped on to one knee in awe and tried to kiss the hem of Lafayette’s anorak. “My good friend Jean-Claude Lagroue (one of the old PAF bosses) will be honoured if you would be gracious enough to leave him a message on the back of this beer mat,” he said “ I am honoured to have such a man as yourself gracing my humble café.” So Lafayette sighed and did the PR bit and waited impatiently until the café owner had cleared away the eager crowds who had come to touch their hero and be dazzled by his great fame.
After such excitement we needed to creep anonymously into the Café Des Tribunaux to steady our nerves with a few café calvas. Now this is a most impressive place. All brass and dark wood with clean bogs and friendly waiters who ask to take your photograph and who don’t need to be asked their names or be told that they’re beautiful just to get them to do so.
Then Lafayette went on a secret mission down one of the side streets for his friend, B.T. You see B.T. wanted to go and retire to France one day where he thought the people were more stupid and where he planned to sell them second rate forgeries of Algerian passports so that they could con their way through UK Border Control control. Sadly B.T. wasn’t terribly sure where France actually was, other than being across the sea somewhere, so a map was required to start him off on his new career.
Now it was time to eat so the Nerds, noting that all the French people in the know were cramming into the Tout Va Bien, did likewise and were rewarded with coquilles Saint Jacques and other such fishy delicacies for lunch. For some reason Froggy wasn’t happy with the service in this place either, and the conversation went as follows: “You’re moaning again.” “No I’m not!” “ Yes you are” “No I’m not, I don’t moan, it’s just the way I talk.” Lafayette was not convinced.
Last stop on the way back to the ferry was in the Cactus Bar where we basked in the sun, drank more beer and vowed we would come back one day and ramble all over the place providing we didn’t get our equipment nicked by French thieves. We had all had a good time and even got to practice our French so the trip hadn’t been entirely wasted.
The True Story
We went to Dieppe
We were lazy and didn’t do any rambling
We didn’t really give a shit, and
We didn’t miss those who didn’t come with us and thought we ought to have rambled.
Thanks to Froggy for organizing bits of it and to Lafayette for organizing other bits. Thanks to Matt and Bronco for coming along, being good company and putting up with the two prima donnas. Thanks to the French for their friendliness and tolerance.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
N.E.R.D.S. RAMBLE No 218 22nd August 2007
Those Present – Froggy, Lafayette, B.T., Muscles Matt, Bronco, Cuddles Crowe,
Dumpling Dwyer.
It had been a dark and stormy night and it was a cold and stormy morning - in August!
The NERDS plus 2 high-ranking and influential, personal friends of Lafayette set off under the guidance of Froggy in the direction of Pevensey’n Westham hoping that they would not be swept away by hurricane Engelberta which was being predicted for the South East region.
Arriving at Westham, Froggy and Matt (or Moggy and Fratt, as I almost wrote) were still bickering about who had been at the wrong end of Sheep Shit Lane where they had been supposed to meet. However, the spat fizzled out and the Boy began to get his act together to lead us all into oblivion. Apparently, Froggy had been in touch with certain Aliens who had beamed him satellite pictures of the route of the proposed ramble. Matt was a bit uncomfortable at the thought that this new, advanced technology might be able to see inside his bedroom when he was amusing himself of an evening, but Froggy assured him that the Aliens were concerned only with himself and had no interest in any other life forms. (They are also in the publishing business, so things are looking up for Froggy).
The first part of the ramble took us over fields liberally sprinkled with cow shit (irritable cow syndrome) and we correctly deduced that cows had recently been there in a strop. We had to scamper across a very dangerous A27 and considered the possibility of making a sedan chair out of branches for Bronco but he managed to get across in the end.
We crossed a river, then more fields, and had a photo opportunity for Lafayette and his influential friends to reminisce about pigs and hunting and stuff long ago in distant lands.
The fact that Cuddles had in fact run a wild pig over once in a fit of pi(g)que was hastily glossed over.
Dumpling made a polite enquiry about how the new uniform regime was catching on with the Home Office, and was given the venomous reply that both nail varnish and musical socks had been banned as had any exotic or misplaced tattoos (Mercy mercy!). Surely this is an infringement of human rights, I feel an industrial tribunal coming on.
Dumpling was shortly afterwards bitten by a malarial bramble and began to bleed to death so we thought we should proceed post haste before he needed the kiss of life.
We proceeded through a farm where the farmer was chopping up bodies, on past an Al Quaeeda look out post manned by an Arab who couldn’t even spell his own name (Osma), and on to a friendly looking farm shop and piggery where the superbly fit and corn fed looking farmer’s wife served us with luscious sausage rolls – a sort of appetizer before lunch. Lafayette caught Cuddles with a homicidal gleam in his eye eying up one of the penned up porkers, but managed to steer him away from the nearest land rover before any harm could be done.
Eventually, we arrived at the Royal Oak and Castle Inn at Pevensey where we had quite a good meal and where Matt began practicing his seduction skills on the barmaid by asking her if she was brown all over or just on the bits he could see. (Good job she was english otherwise there might have been another industrial tribunal). Poor old Matt then got accused by two people of farting in the Gents – much to the amusement of the guy in trap 2 who had been hoping to have a silent and private dump.
And so we proceeded through Pevensey castle to the heron Pub a bit further up the road
where Lafayette and B.T. played each other at bagatelle, skittles and darts, and where the others indulged in intellectual conversation. Finally we all ended up in the Landsdowne Arms in Lewes moaning about the weather and telling awful jokes.
Apart from hurricane Engelberta it had been a good ramble thanks to Froggy once again. It had enabled Lafayette to further his career by brown -nosing his influential friends, so maybe a part time job as a sweeper at Terminal 5 really is on the cards!
Next ramble is the one where nobody can make it in Shropshire so Lafayette will take B.T. up there for three days of drinking, shooting and debauchery. Weep all you others!
Lafayette.
Those Present – Froggy, Lafayette, B.T., Muscles Matt, Bronco, Cuddles Crowe,
Dumpling Dwyer.
It had been a dark and stormy night and it was a cold and stormy morning - in August!
The NERDS plus 2 high-ranking and influential, personal friends of Lafayette set off under the guidance of Froggy in the direction of Pevensey’n Westham hoping that they would not be swept away by hurricane Engelberta which was being predicted for the South East region.
Arriving at Westham, Froggy and Matt (or Moggy and Fratt, as I almost wrote) were still bickering about who had been at the wrong end of Sheep Shit Lane where they had been supposed to meet. However, the spat fizzled out and the Boy began to get his act together to lead us all into oblivion. Apparently, Froggy had been in touch with certain Aliens who had beamed him satellite pictures of the route of the proposed ramble. Matt was a bit uncomfortable at the thought that this new, advanced technology might be able to see inside his bedroom when he was amusing himself of an evening, but Froggy assured him that the Aliens were concerned only with himself and had no interest in any other life forms. (They are also in the publishing business, so things are looking up for Froggy).
The first part of the ramble took us over fields liberally sprinkled with cow shit (irritable cow syndrome) and we correctly deduced that cows had recently been there in a strop. We had to scamper across a very dangerous A27 and considered the possibility of making a sedan chair out of branches for Bronco but he managed to get across in the end.
We crossed a river, then more fields, and had a photo opportunity for Lafayette and his influential friends to reminisce about pigs and hunting and stuff long ago in distant lands.
The fact that Cuddles had in fact run a wild pig over once in a fit of pi(g)que was hastily glossed over.
Dumpling made a polite enquiry about how the new uniform regime was catching on with the Home Office, and was given the venomous reply that both nail varnish and musical socks had been banned as had any exotic or misplaced tattoos (Mercy mercy!). Surely this is an infringement of human rights, I feel an industrial tribunal coming on.
Dumpling was shortly afterwards bitten by a malarial bramble and began to bleed to death so we thought we should proceed post haste before he needed the kiss of life.
We proceeded through a farm where the farmer was chopping up bodies, on past an Al Quaeeda look out post manned by an Arab who couldn’t even spell his own name (Osma), and on to a friendly looking farm shop and piggery where the superbly fit and corn fed looking farmer’s wife served us with luscious sausage rolls – a sort of appetizer before lunch. Lafayette caught Cuddles with a homicidal gleam in his eye eying up one of the penned up porkers, but managed to steer him away from the nearest land rover before any harm could be done.
Eventually, we arrived at the Royal Oak and Castle Inn at Pevensey where we had quite a good meal and where Matt began practicing his seduction skills on the barmaid by asking her if she was brown all over or just on the bits he could see. (Good job she was english otherwise there might have been another industrial tribunal). Poor old Matt then got accused by two people of farting in the Gents – much to the amusement of the guy in trap 2 who had been hoping to have a silent and private dump.
And so we proceeded through Pevensey castle to the heron Pub a bit further up the road
where Lafayette and B.T. played each other at bagatelle, skittles and darts, and where the others indulged in intellectual conversation. Finally we all ended up in the Landsdowne Arms in Lewes moaning about the weather and telling awful jokes.
Apart from hurricane Engelberta it had been a good ramble thanks to Froggy once again. It had enabled Lafayette to further his career by brown -nosing his influential friends, so maybe a part time job as a sweeper at Terminal 5 really is on the cards!
Next ramble is the one where nobody can make it in Shropshire so Lafayette will take B.T. up there for three days of drinking, shooting and debauchery. Weep all you others!
Lafayette.
Catching -up
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No 217. 18th July 2007.
Those Present – Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Lafayette.
The Day at the Golden Galleon Ramble.
It was sunny and very hot. Those above went to Froggy’s and lay around in his pristine conservatory drinking coffee and Irish whiskey. Bronco hadn’t brought any of his old watches as gifts this time (disappointment) so we admired Froggy’s posh garden and trampoline for a while and then bestirred ourselves to get rambling.
Froggy took us through the highways and secret passages of Seaford down towards the golf course and then left past a farm where there was a cow sale going on.We didn’t have enough money, even in the whip, to buy one and couldn’t quite work out what we’d do with one if we got it anyway, so we had to content ourselves with just getting cow shit all over our boots instead.
Next we met a woman with a boisterous dog and a very wet tennis ball – eugh, dog spit!
And decided we were all conformed cat people instead. At least they just shit in your garden and don’t demand walks or tennis balls etc. So we hurried on to the Golden Galleon to get there quick before the Old Trouts did. We arrived at about ten past twelve and already they were pouring in gnashing their toothless gums and dithering in that charming way they do.
We got a good seat in the garden and found to our delight that the waitresses were (mostly) young and nubile and English (!) One even had red hair (Sandy balls to note).
The meal wasn’t bad and we settled back to hear the latest saga in Froggy’s literary pretensions – “Oceans I have pissed in” Bet this sells a lot of copies! Puts you off going swimming in the sea, doesn’t it ?
Just then the pleasant ginger haired waitress managed to fall into a bush right next to us,
(probably star-struck by Froggy’s literary presence) and enabled B.T. to get out his Laguiole knife and cut her free – what a fairy tale, good job she didn’t kiss him, he might have turned into a frog!
So we sat there basking in the sun for about 5 hours until we decided we should head inland to the Wellington for a change of beer. Along the way there was almost a dispute about whether we should be having a fish supper at a seaside town or not, but we gathered up the toys and put them back in the pram and carried on to the next pub.
There we met Mrs B.T.who had come along to make sure her husband wasn’t trying to rescue any barmaids or anything, and had a few more sunny drinks inside until we all trickled back home as the evening wore on.
Thanks to Froggy for his ramble and pre ramble entertainment. The lad is in charge next month as well, so we might be going further inland this time to try to escape from all the Old Trouts who seem to be following us around waving their bus passes. Lafayette and Matt to note. It’s Bronco’s birthday soon so maybe he’ll organise an entertaining night shift with a Chinese meal and some female company –who knows!
Lafayette.
Those Present – Froggy, Bronco, B.T., Lafayette.
The Day at the Golden Galleon Ramble.
It was sunny and very hot. Those above went to Froggy’s and lay around in his pristine conservatory drinking coffee and Irish whiskey. Bronco hadn’t brought any of his old watches as gifts this time (disappointment) so we admired Froggy’s posh garden and trampoline for a while and then bestirred ourselves to get rambling.
Froggy took us through the highways and secret passages of Seaford down towards the golf course and then left past a farm where there was a cow sale going on.We didn’t have enough money, even in the whip, to buy one and couldn’t quite work out what we’d do with one if we got it anyway, so we had to content ourselves with just getting cow shit all over our boots instead.
Next we met a woman with a boisterous dog and a very wet tennis ball – eugh, dog spit!
And decided we were all conformed cat people instead. At least they just shit in your garden and don’t demand walks or tennis balls etc. So we hurried on to the Golden Galleon to get there quick before the Old Trouts did. We arrived at about ten past twelve and already they were pouring in gnashing their toothless gums and dithering in that charming way they do.
We got a good seat in the garden and found to our delight that the waitresses were (mostly) young and nubile and English (!) One even had red hair (Sandy balls to note).
The meal wasn’t bad and we settled back to hear the latest saga in Froggy’s literary pretensions – “Oceans I have pissed in” Bet this sells a lot of copies! Puts you off going swimming in the sea, doesn’t it ?
Just then the pleasant ginger haired waitress managed to fall into a bush right next to us,
(probably star-struck by Froggy’s literary presence) and enabled B.T. to get out his Laguiole knife and cut her free – what a fairy tale, good job she didn’t kiss him, he might have turned into a frog!
So we sat there basking in the sun for about 5 hours until we decided we should head inland to the Wellington for a change of beer. Along the way there was almost a dispute about whether we should be having a fish supper at a seaside town or not, but we gathered up the toys and put them back in the pram and carried on to the next pub.
There we met Mrs B.T.who had come along to make sure her husband wasn’t trying to rescue any barmaids or anything, and had a few more sunny drinks inside until we all trickled back home as the evening wore on.
Thanks to Froggy for his ramble and pre ramble entertainment. The lad is in charge next month as well, so we might be going further inland this time to try to escape from all the Old Trouts who seem to be following us around waving their bus passes. Lafayette and Matt to note. It’s Bronco’s birthday soon so maybe he’ll organise an entertaining night shift with a Chinese meal and some female company –who knows!
Lafayette.
Lafayette's contribution better late than never!
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No. 216 – 7th June 2007.
Those Present – Muscles Matt, Lafayette, Froggy, Sandyballs, B.T., Bronco.
The Over The Cliffs Ramble.
Everyone met chez Lafayette for pre ramble drinkies and B.T. showed us his pictures of the last Nerdlings picnic (15 years ago). Since the Nerdlings were all about 30 now and were scattered throughout the universe, this was a bit of ramble nostalgia for us all. Everyone commented on how dark Philby’s beard was back then and how nice he looked in his trendy Basque beret. Sadly, the beret got lost , Philby got lost and all the Nerdlings are probably grandmothers by now.
The meeting continued with Sandyballs texting his dentist because of an outbreak of toothache and an agreement by the NERDS G6 summit that the next anniversary extravaganza would be held in Ireland during June 2008. (This must be to celebrate 20 years of drunkenness, excess, quarrelling and moderate exercise – bit like the average marriage, if you ask me ).
Having come to some agreement about something we all set off along the top of Newhaven cliffs in the direction of Peacehaven towards the Badgers’ Watch (pub).
It was a 2 hour walk and although the sea views were magnificent the weather was overcast and we got a bit strung out ( some of us being either older or not as fit as the rest).
Eventually we reached our lunch destination whereupon Sandyballs produced some free beer vouchers obtained by Mrs Sandyballs in Cliffe Precinct as a promotion. We couldn’t believe our luck when these were honoured – imagine , free beer! Unfortunately there was only a limited number of vouchers so the later excess had to be paid for. The food wasn’t so good, however. Matt complained about the sticky quality of his salad sauce, or something, and Bronco had a bad steak. At least we got free desserts as compensation. All in all we scored 8 free pints of beer and gratis puddings, so not too bad.
Froggy told us he was officially fat but normal (!) whatever he meant by that, and then went on to propose a Giant Google Book of Ramble Write Ups with photos to go global. Lafayette started to get a bit miffed that his own great literary talents were being held up to ridicule here and went into a simmering strop. The general consensus was that we wanted the NERDS to remain unstructured and existential.
Sandyballs decided he wanted to be alone to pursue his own form of exercise and (allegedly) began the long, solitary walk back while the rest of us just sat and drank more (at our own expense). Lafayette led everyone to the bus-stop to practise being a pensioner with his free bus pass, and next to the bus stop we saw a van parked with a woman inside giving a dog a bath (sic). Froggy thought it was a mobile brothel and wanted to join in, but it was just one of those superfluous small businesses that people with more money than sense employ to pamper their pets. (Perhaps we could all club together and give Philby a bath and makeover).
So we all had a pleasant bus ride back to The Ship in Newhaven where we eventually were joined by Sandyballs who complained about unauthorised use of the whip in his absence and grumpily bought his own beer. Did he expect us to go thirsty while he went off on a spurious training exercise? I don’t think so!
Another ramble completed then. Next month Sandyballs goes to Frankfurt to stop the Chinese invading Europe, and the rest of us will be under the masterful domination of Froggy. So prepare for regime change yet again.
Hasta la proxima vez,
Lafayette.
Those Present – Muscles Matt, Lafayette, Froggy, Sandyballs, B.T., Bronco.
The Over The Cliffs Ramble.
Everyone met chez Lafayette for pre ramble drinkies and B.T. showed us his pictures of the last Nerdlings picnic (15 years ago). Since the Nerdlings were all about 30 now and were scattered throughout the universe, this was a bit of ramble nostalgia for us all. Everyone commented on how dark Philby’s beard was back then and how nice he looked in his trendy Basque beret. Sadly, the beret got lost , Philby got lost and all the Nerdlings are probably grandmothers by now.
The meeting continued with Sandyballs texting his dentist because of an outbreak of toothache and an agreement by the NERDS G6 summit that the next anniversary extravaganza would be held in Ireland during June 2008. (This must be to celebrate 20 years of drunkenness, excess, quarrelling and moderate exercise – bit like the average marriage, if you ask me ).
Having come to some agreement about something we all set off along the top of Newhaven cliffs in the direction of Peacehaven towards the Badgers’ Watch (pub).
It was a 2 hour walk and although the sea views were magnificent the weather was overcast and we got a bit strung out ( some of us being either older or not as fit as the rest).
Eventually we reached our lunch destination whereupon Sandyballs produced some free beer vouchers obtained by Mrs Sandyballs in Cliffe Precinct as a promotion. We couldn’t believe our luck when these were honoured – imagine , free beer! Unfortunately there was only a limited number of vouchers so the later excess had to be paid for. The food wasn’t so good, however. Matt complained about the sticky quality of his salad sauce, or something, and Bronco had a bad steak. At least we got free desserts as compensation. All in all we scored 8 free pints of beer and gratis puddings, so not too bad.
Froggy told us he was officially fat but normal (!) whatever he meant by that, and then went on to propose a Giant Google Book of Ramble Write Ups with photos to go global. Lafayette started to get a bit miffed that his own great literary talents were being held up to ridicule here and went into a simmering strop. The general consensus was that we wanted the NERDS to remain unstructured and existential.
Sandyballs decided he wanted to be alone to pursue his own form of exercise and (allegedly) began the long, solitary walk back while the rest of us just sat and drank more (at our own expense). Lafayette led everyone to the bus-stop to practise being a pensioner with his free bus pass, and next to the bus stop we saw a van parked with a woman inside giving a dog a bath (sic). Froggy thought it was a mobile brothel and wanted to join in, but it was just one of those superfluous small businesses that people with more money than sense employ to pamper their pets. (Perhaps we could all club together and give Philby a bath and makeover).
So we all had a pleasant bus ride back to The Ship in Newhaven where we eventually were joined by Sandyballs who complained about unauthorised use of the whip in his absence and grumpily bought his own beer. Did he expect us to go thirsty while he went off on a spurious training exercise? I don’t think so!
Another ramble completed then. Next month Sandyballs goes to Frankfurt to stop the Chinese invading Europe, and the rest of us will be under the masterful domination of Froggy. So prepare for regime change yet again.
Hasta la proxima vez,
Lafayette.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Hello,
Have you visited our "Historical Site" at http://nerdsretrospective.blogspot.com ?
There you may see the ageing process on a bunch of aulde ramblers who were once in the first flush of youth.
Regards, BT
Have you visited our "Historical Site" at http://nerdsretrospective.blogspot.com ?
There you may see the ageing process on a bunch of aulde ramblers who were once in the first flush of youth.
Regards, BT
Saturday, June 02, 2007
NEXT RAMBLE
We're all off again for another sortie, but with Sandyballs as "leader" this time on 7.6.2007. Photographs, perhaps with some scenery this time, and write up will be published on this Blog soon after. Well at least it's "published" rather then Froggy's aphotic 'novel' or is it an autobiography? We hope to enlighten our readers soon with another episode of the NERDS on their explorations of Sussex and its environs.
More Photos
Well done Froggy for supplying some more photos - what happened to the rest of you NERDS,
Friday, June 01, 2007
N.E.R.D.S. – New Forest Rambles – 23rd & 24th May 2007
Those Present – Lafayette, Sandyballs, Froggy, Philby, B.T., & Bronco.
Day Uno.
This was going to be a nostalgia trip for the NERDS since we had been to the New Forest umpteen times before, had stayed in the Rose and Crown before, ogled the schoolgirls from the next door college before, and had one or two drinks before. Oh, and apparently we had walked around the Forest a bit as well. Still, why knock a successful formula? The only problem would be keeping the various NERDS factions apart and making sure nobody killed anybody else. (You think I’m joking, don’t you, dear reader).
Froggy had organised where we were going and how we were to get there – so off we set. B.T. drove Sandyballs and Bronco, and probably drove them crazy with his love of shit kickin’country music, while Froggy played Froggy’s greatest hits recorded by Froggy and sung by Froggy to a bored audience of two (Lafayette and Philby).
Eventually, after all this culture we finally arrived at Brockenhurst where Lafayette and Bronco burst out of Froggy’s car and ran off screaming into the Forest for a bit of peace.
They were finally rounded up and plonked down at a table to eat; and this is where the first crisis occurred. Lafayette insisted on being served the special offer Pensioners’ meal which was dead tasty and excellent value at £4.99. Sandyballs, however, thwarted at being only 59 years old, went large and paid about £7.99 for a large fish and chips.
Except that it wasn’t large at all, it was really, really petite and Sandyballs went into a seething grump strop which was only to be exceeded on the last day by someone who didn’t get his beans for breakfast. (Guess who).
Despite getting the best room, Sandyballs shut himself in after lunch and sulked for an hour or so while B.T and Lafayette played hunt the sausage next door and tried to see who could fart the loudest and longest. (probably a draw). Descending later for a few fortifying beers we found that the bar and its environs were more like being back at Heathrow (or Gatwick in Bronco’s case). There were barmaids from Brazil (friendly),
East Germany (serious, stern), West Germany (pleasant) and the barman was Sarth Efrican (confused and incomprehensible). Lafayette stopped everyone fishing for their warrants and told them to just enjoy the scenery – after all, there weren’t any dastardly Nigerians about.
After all this excitement Froggy girded on his map and we ventured out to walk around a bit (called rambling). We had been extremely lucky with the weather which was nice and sunny and hot. The N.F. ponies were all lying around in the heat waiting for someone to wake them with a gin and tonic. We entered the Forest and got lost. Philby and Sandyballs immediately started texting each other (allegedly) even though they were standing only six feet apart. Froggy started to go frantic and began reading his map upside down, B.T. started eyeing up tall trees and manufacturing a noose. We wandered around and enjoyed the sun , the breeze , the gorse and the lostness. Only Froggy was really bothered, the rest of us had had about four pints at lunchtime and really didn’t give a shit. We went near a railway bridge which we were supposed to go under, then along a disused railway line (because it looked pretty), then Lafayette asked an old fart who directed us towards the railway station, and got directions from an excitable matron with a schoolgirl to the Forest Heath Hotel in Sway. And so we went there.
This was a pleasant, olde worlde hotel , as are many found in the Forest, with snotty , unfriendly locals and a big garden to escape into. So we did . It was very bucolic sitting around a table in the sun and not quarrelling. A close moment came when someone complimented Philby on his new hair style and Bronco said he looked like a seasick Iranian naval cadet; but Philby is not the fighting sort (make love, not war) and wandered off to send a text to a few budgies which were penned up in the garden. The rest of us watched an au pair bending down in a sustained doggy fashion pose while she ministered lovingly to her kids. Imaginations ran riot. B.T. said his au pair had liked it doggy fashion until someone pointed out he had got her pregnant and she had ended up as his first wife. Froggy said to any one who was interested that at no stage had he been lost, he just hadn’t known where we were.
The afternoon wore on. We fetched up on Swale station where Lafayette showed everyone an old pensioner’s trick of paying only 5p for any railway journey – useful for when you’re going to Brussels, say. Next we wandered through Brockenhurst to the Snake Catchers Arms which also had a pleasant garden and where we indulged our various hobbies of drinking, texting each other (allegedly), drinking, ringing Shirley in Bexhill and drinking.
That evening we paid a visit to the Indian restaurant where Philby had arrived pissed from Belgium the previous year, and where this year he just got moderately squiffy. Lafayette was getting a headache, and in preparation for the threatened visit of Doctor Magno (bottle of excellent Spanish brandy) drank only water. The meal was good although Froggy did experience some difficulty negotiating the bog door until he realised that he had to use the handle. We staggered off back to the Rose and Crown where Lafayette duly woke up Dr Magno and put him under his arm to take to Bronco’s room.
Now for the fun bit. It was now dark and the NERDS were housed in 2 separate rooms divided by the pub restaurant. It was about 23 00hrs and the pub management wanted to lock the front and back doors. The NERDS wanted to drink themselves stupid but needed the option of returning to their own rooms when Philby started singing, dancing and generally playing up. Lafayette who had once been a Security Officer made sure he had got the key to chez him , B.T. and Sandyballs, and had ponced a front door key off the manager to get everyone back into the main building. With such a well prepared plan nothing could possibly go wrong .
After Dr. Magno had been given a fair belting and the weaker NERDS had fallen asleep on each other’s beds and in each other’s arms (sweet), Lafayette tried to lead his troops back to base only to find that there was a whacking big garden gate in the way which was locked. Alas, the one detail he had neglected. Lafayette was then faced with the not inconsiderable challenge of getting 3 pissed NERDS over a locked gate in the dark, through 2 locked doors and back to their room without a) waking up the whole neighbourhood, and b) without breaking the rest of the bottle of Dr Magno. Suffice it to say that a lot of blundering about and shushing took place, a woodpile was pretty well demolished, a fence was nearly torn down but eventually the keys fitted the right doors and we were back home safe from stupid Belgians.
Day 2
Surprisingly all the NERDS managed to get up for breakfast. Several of us breathed a sigh of relief that the local television news contained no reports of hooligan behaviour or depradations wreaked on the property of a certain New Forest pub. So after filling our faces and wondering at the extreme youth (and skimpy clothes ) of the passing (female) college students we let ourselves be gently led through Brockenhurst by generalissimo
Froggy who was “in charge” that day.
Except that starting off the walk through Brockenhurst was a bit of a mistake . You see it’s full of shops. First of all Sandyballs saw an interesting book in a cycling shop which was going to enable him to cycle non stop up Mount Everest, B.T. felt the need for a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones didn’t quite make him look like Posh Spice, and Philby had been eying up a new wine bar where sexy, naked jail baiters were trying to sell their wares. Soon enough the whole expedition had fallen apart due to distractions and sloppy management and Froggy found himself walking alone through the Forest obliviously talking to himself (as usual).
Anyway after the shopping expedition the NERDS regrouped and ran after Froggy only to find him sitting on a bridge in a bit of a strop. To get back in his good books we said we would name our latest game after him and so was invented the game of Frogsticks. We patiently explained to our leader that this was just a lighthearted way of using the ecological facilities of the Forest and meant that one of us dropped him from the bridge into the river, and rushed to the other side to see how long it took for him to drown or reappear. Then if that worked OK the next NERD would do the same to try to go faster. Froggy thought this was a good idea although he did think we were starting to treat him a bit like a witch rather than the great leader he saw himself as. So we told him he was the best witch doctor we had ever met and he grudgingly agreed to carry on leading us.
Froggy was doing well, he had introduced us to a herd of rare deer and the weird sight of lots of crows socialising together in one field. His reputation was further enhanced when Philby whispered that he had crept into Froggy’s room the previous night, desperate for a drink of anything, and had seen how Froggy was asleep with his bollocks in a glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Obviously these were the two vessels of his charisma and power. Spooky or what?
Eventually, after one or two minor mishaps, we were guided through the dingly dangly
wood, and round the nasty dangerous bog to The Oak Inn where we realised that the New Forest Old Trout Association had narrowly beaten us to lunch. However, after the usual rugby scrum at the bar we got served and settled down to the usual “Spot the Barmaid’s Nationality” competition. Philby lost round one by trying out his one word of Polish on one who said she came from Slovenia (where the fuck…?) anyway Lafayette amused himself by trying to pinch Froggy’s chips whereupon the latter took himself off and spent the rest of his meal standing up sobbing with his plate clutched to his chest. Selfish Bugger!
After a bit more post prandial wandering around we got to the White Swan pub at the edge of the Forest. (You can’t say our leader didn’t take us to some interesting hostelries)
This one we liked. Not only was it decked out like an old gentlemen’s club with comfy armchairs , but it had a dartboard, a friendly landlady and it sold Old Thumper.
For those of you not in the know, this heady kamikaze brew is what turned Sandyballs into a gibbering wreck (not difficult) on a previous New Forest occasion. Jumping right in as usual Sandyballs ordered a pint of the stuff and we all waited with bated breath. Would he throw a beserker like last time? But a beatific smile came over his face and he just slumped to the floor in ectasy. The rest of us just got on and played darts (those of us who weren’t outside texting) and Bronco made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs with his pint of orange juice (what!!!!!) and pretended to be an old gentleman.
We really, really liked this pub and were sad to leave but we had to carry on before the Old Thumper killed us off. So just for a change we visited the Mailman’s Arms in Lyndhurst (not a nice pub but a charming, young blonde barmaid who turned out to be ….….Polish, of course. We all suspect it’s Philby letting them into the country instead of implementing the Home Office quota for hairy Polish plumbers. Now we can all have a drink but no-one can get their taps fixed. How sad.
It was time to return to Brockenhust for tea so Lafayette who was Whipmeister this trip had to negotiate a very expensive bus journey for us all. Unfortunately you can’t go any where for 5p like on the trains. B.T.said he could have got us a better deal but nobody was prepared to take the risk and besides we might have all ended up in the same cell as Froggy.
That evening we visited the Snake Catcher’s Arms for dinner. Food was somewhat basic and Bronco’s chicken was a bit cold (Serves him right for being impatient and climbing into the freezer to try to catch it ). Everyone then decided they wanted to go off in separate directions to crap/sleep/text/play darts, so the stalwarts – Lafayette, Froggy and B.T. went off to the Forester’s Arms (there are a lot of pubs in the New Forest) to play with each other. We had a very jolly time and were eventually mobbed by the local team who had just won a trophy somewhere and had come home to celebrate. However they introduced us to a new game of theirs and even let us play . Lafayette came third out of about twelve so we didn’t do too badly. Then we went back to Sandy balls’s room, woke him up and finished off the bottle of Dr. Magno’s marvellous cure for hangovers.
Day3
Breakfast time again, and “your waitress today is from Peru” (How did she get in? don’t they need work permits?). Anyway we all liked her quaint little South American ways apart from Guess Who who didn’t get any beans for breakfast and caused a mega row in the breakfast room. “I’m a paying customer, I’m a famous author and pop star, I shall have you deported, I want my Mom, where’s my teddy.bear, rant rant, rant, rant..
Eventually the NERDS managed to coax the cowering waitress back out from under the table and picked up the toys which had been scattered around the pram. Peace was eventually restored and we all prepared to go home.
So, another 3 days of fun, excitement, strops, texting, rambles and drinking. We had all enjoyed the sunny weather and the exciting walks . We had met some interesting foreigners (mostly barmaids, waitresses & poledancers ) and seen some strange sights (eg.Bronco drinking orange juice), and survived the annual assault from Old Thumper
(Who let him in? Is he Slovenian?). Thanks , of course go to Froggy, the Super star , for his organisation, hard work and entertainment value. Another ramble next week but on home turf. See you all then.
Lafayette.
Those Present – Lafayette, Sandyballs, Froggy, Philby, B.T., & Bronco.
Day Uno.
This was going to be a nostalgia trip for the NERDS since we had been to the New Forest umpteen times before, had stayed in the Rose and Crown before, ogled the schoolgirls from the next door college before, and had one or two drinks before. Oh, and apparently we had walked around the Forest a bit as well. Still, why knock a successful formula? The only problem would be keeping the various NERDS factions apart and making sure nobody killed anybody else. (You think I’m joking, don’t you, dear reader).
Froggy had organised where we were going and how we were to get there – so off we set. B.T. drove Sandyballs and Bronco, and probably drove them crazy with his love of shit kickin’country music, while Froggy played Froggy’s greatest hits recorded by Froggy and sung by Froggy to a bored audience of two (Lafayette and Philby).
Eventually, after all this culture we finally arrived at Brockenhurst where Lafayette and Bronco burst out of Froggy’s car and ran off screaming into the Forest for a bit of peace.
They were finally rounded up and plonked down at a table to eat; and this is where the first crisis occurred. Lafayette insisted on being served the special offer Pensioners’ meal which was dead tasty and excellent value at £4.99. Sandyballs, however, thwarted at being only 59 years old, went large and paid about £7.99 for a large fish and chips.
Except that it wasn’t large at all, it was really, really petite and Sandyballs went into a seething grump strop which was only to be exceeded on the last day by someone who didn’t get his beans for breakfast. (Guess who).
Despite getting the best room, Sandyballs shut himself in after lunch and sulked for an hour or so while B.T and Lafayette played hunt the sausage next door and tried to see who could fart the loudest and longest. (probably a draw). Descending later for a few fortifying beers we found that the bar and its environs were more like being back at Heathrow (or Gatwick in Bronco’s case). There were barmaids from Brazil (friendly),
East Germany (serious, stern), West Germany (pleasant) and the barman was Sarth Efrican (confused and incomprehensible). Lafayette stopped everyone fishing for their warrants and told them to just enjoy the scenery – after all, there weren’t any dastardly Nigerians about.
After all this excitement Froggy girded on his map and we ventured out to walk around a bit (called rambling). We had been extremely lucky with the weather which was nice and sunny and hot. The N.F. ponies were all lying around in the heat waiting for someone to wake them with a gin and tonic. We entered the Forest and got lost. Philby and Sandyballs immediately started texting each other (allegedly) even though they were standing only six feet apart. Froggy started to go frantic and began reading his map upside down, B.T. started eyeing up tall trees and manufacturing a noose. We wandered around and enjoyed the sun , the breeze , the gorse and the lostness. Only Froggy was really bothered, the rest of us had had about four pints at lunchtime and really didn’t give a shit. We went near a railway bridge which we were supposed to go under, then along a disused railway line (because it looked pretty), then Lafayette asked an old fart who directed us towards the railway station, and got directions from an excitable matron with a schoolgirl to the Forest Heath Hotel in Sway. And so we went there.
This was a pleasant, olde worlde hotel , as are many found in the Forest, with snotty , unfriendly locals and a big garden to escape into. So we did . It was very bucolic sitting around a table in the sun and not quarrelling. A close moment came when someone complimented Philby on his new hair style and Bronco said he looked like a seasick Iranian naval cadet; but Philby is not the fighting sort (make love, not war) and wandered off to send a text to a few budgies which were penned up in the garden. The rest of us watched an au pair bending down in a sustained doggy fashion pose while she ministered lovingly to her kids. Imaginations ran riot. B.T. said his au pair had liked it doggy fashion until someone pointed out he had got her pregnant and she had ended up as his first wife. Froggy said to any one who was interested that at no stage had he been lost, he just hadn’t known where we were.
The afternoon wore on. We fetched up on Swale station where Lafayette showed everyone an old pensioner’s trick of paying only 5p for any railway journey – useful for when you’re going to Brussels, say. Next we wandered through Brockenhurst to the Snake Catchers Arms which also had a pleasant garden and where we indulged our various hobbies of drinking, texting each other (allegedly), drinking, ringing Shirley in Bexhill and drinking.
That evening we paid a visit to the Indian restaurant where Philby had arrived pissed from Belgium the previous year, and where this year he just got moderately squiffy. Lafayette was getting a headache, and in preparation for the threatened visit of Doctor Magno (bottle of excellent Spanish brandy) drank only water. The meal was good although Froggy did experience some difficulty negotiating the bog door until he realised that he had to use the handle. We staggered off back to the Rose and Crown where Lafayette duly woke up Dr Magno and put him under his arm to take to Bronco’s room.
Now for the fun bit. It was now dark and the NERDS were housed in 2 separate rooms divided by the pub restaurant. It was about 23 00hrs and the pub management wanted to lock the front and back doors. The NERDS wanted to drink themselves stupid but needed the option of returning to their own rooms when Philby started singing, dancing and generally playing up. Lafayette who had once been a Security Officer made sure he had got the key to chez him , B.T. and Sandyballs, and had ponced a front door key off the manager to get everyone back into the main building. With such a well prepared plan nothing could possibly go wrong .
After Dr. Magno had been given a fair belting and the weaker NERDS had fallen asleep on each other’s beds and in each other’s arms (sweet), Lafayette tried to lead his troops back to base only to find that there was a whacking big garden gate in the way which was locked. Alas, the one detail he had neglected. Lafayette was then faced with the not inconsiderable challenge of getting 3 pissed NERDS over a locked gate in the dark, through 2 locked doors and back to their room without a) waking up the whole neighbourhood, and b) without breaking the rest of the bottle of Dr Magno. Suffice it to say that a lot of blundering about and shushing took place, a woodpile was pretty well demolished, a fence was nearly torn down but eventually the keys fitted the right doors and we were back home safe from stupid Belgians.
Day 2
Surprisingly all the NERDS managed to get up for breakfast. Several of us breathed a sigh of relief that the local television news contained no reports of hooligan behaviour or depradations wreaked on the property of a certain New Forest pub. So after filling our faces and wondering at the extreme youth (and skimpy clothes ) of the passing (female) college students we let ourselves be gently led through Brockenhurst by generalissimo
Froggy who was “in charge” that day.
Except that starting off the walk through Brockenhurst was a bit of a mistake . You see it’s full of shops. First of all Sandyballs saw an interesting book in a cycling shop which was going to enable him to cycle non stop up Mount Everest, B.T. felt the need for a new pair of sunglasses because his old ones didn’t quite make him look like Posh Spice, and Philby had been eying up a new wine bar where sexy, naked jail baiters were trying to sell their wares. Soon enough the whole expedition had fallen apart due to distractions and sloppy management and Froggy found himself walking alone through the Forest obliviously talking to himself (as usual).
Anyway after the shopping expedition the NERDS regrouped and ran after Froggy only to find him sitting on a bridge in a bit of a strop. To get back in his good books we said we would name our latest game after him and so was invented the game of Frogsticks. We patiently explained to our leader that this was just a lighthearted way of using the ecological facilities of the Forest and meant that one of us dropped him from the bridge into the river, and rushed to the other side to see how long it took for him to drown or reappear. Then if that worked OK the next NERD would do the same to try to go faster. Froggy thought this was a good idea although he did think we were starting to treat him a bit like a witch rather than the great leader he saw himself as. So we told him he was the best witch doctor we had ever met and he grudgingly agreed to carry on leading us.
Froggy was doing well, he had introduced us to a herd of rare deer and the weird sight of lots of crows socialising together in one field. His reputation was further enhanced when Philby whispered that he had crept into Froggy’s room the previous night, desperate for a drink of anything, and had seen how Froggy was asleep with his bollocks in a glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Obviously these were the two vessels of his charisma and power. Spooky or what?
Eventually, after one or two minor mishaps, we were guided through the dingly dangly
wood, and round the nasty dangerous bog to The Oak Inn where we realised that the New Forest Old Trout Association had narrowly beaten us to lunch. However, after the usual rugby scrum at the bar we got served and settled down to the usual “Spot the Barmaid’s Nationality” competition. Philby lost round one by trying out his one word of Polish on one who said she came from Slovenia (where the fuck…?) anyway Lafayette amused himself by trying to pinch Froggy’s chips whereupon the latter took himself off and spent the rest of his meal standing up sobbing with his plate clutched to his chest. Selfish Bugger!
After a bit more post prandial wandering around we got to the White Swan pub at the edge of the Forest. (You can’t say our leader didn’t take us to some interesting hostelries)
This one we liked. Not only was it decked out like an old gentlemen’s club with comfy armchairs , but it had a dartboard, a friendly landlady and it sold Old Thumper.
For those of you not in the know, this heady kamikaze brew is what turned Sandyballs into a gibbering wreck (not difficult) on a previous New Forest occasion. Jumping right in as usual Sandyballs ordered a pint of the stuff and we all waited with bated breath. Would he throw a beserker like last time? But a beatific smile came over his face and he just slumped to the floor in ectasy. The rest of us just got on and played darts (those of us who weren’t outside texting) and Bronco made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs with his pint of orange juice (what!!!!!) and pretended to be an old gentleman.
We really, really liked this pub and were sad to leave but we had to carry on before the Old Thumper killed us off. So just for a change we visited the Mailman’s Arms in Lyndhurst (not a nice pub but a charming, young blonde barmaid who turned out to be ….….Polish, of course. We all suspect it’s Philby letting them into the country instead of implementing the Home Office quota for hairy Polish plumbers. Now we can all have a drink but no-one can get their taps fixed. How sad.
It was time to return to Brockenhust for tea so Lafayette who was Whipmeister this trip had to negotiate a very expensive bus journey for us all. Unfortunately you can’t go any where for 5p like on the trains. B.T.said he could have got us a better deal but nobody was prepared to take the risk and besides we might have all ended up in the same cell as Froggy.
That evening we visited the Snake Catcher’s Arms for dinner. Food was somewhat basic and Bronco’s chicken was a bit cold (Serves him right for being impatient and climbing into the freezer to try to catch it ). Everyone then decided they wanted to go off in separate directions to crap/sleep/text/play darts, so the stalwarts – Lafayette, Froggy and B.T. went off to the Forester’s Arms (there are a lot of pubs in the New Forest) to play with each other. We had a very jolly time and were eventually mobbed by the local team who had just won a trophy somewhere and had come home to celebrate. However they introduced us to a new game of theirs and even let us play . Lafayette came third out of about twelve so we didn’t do too badly. Then we went back to Sandy balls’s room, woke him up and finished off the bottle of Dr. Magno’s marvellous cure for hangovers.
Day3
Breakfast time again, and “your waitress today is from Peru” (How did she get in? don’t they need work permits?). Anyway we all liked her quaint little South American ways apart from Guess Who who didn’t get any beans for breakfast and caused a mega row in the breakfast room. “I’m a paying customer, I’m a famous author and pop star, I shall have you deported, I want my Mom, where’s my teddy.bear, rant rant, rant, rant..
Eventually the NERDS managed to coax the cowering waitress back out from under the table and picked up the toys which had been scattered around the pram. Peace was eventually restored and we all prepared to go home.
So, another 3 days of fun, excitement, strops, texting, rambles and drinking. We had all enjoyed the sunny weather and the exciting walks . We had met some interesting foreigners (mostly barmaids, waitresses & poledancers ) and seen some strange sights (eg.Bronco drinking orange juice), and survived the annual assault from Old Thumper
(Who let him in? Is he Slovenian?). Thanks , of course go to Froggy, the Super star , for his organisation, hard work and entertainment value. Another ramble next week but on home turf. See you all then.
Lafayette.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Old Crocks Ramble
The Old Crocks Ramble –No 214 - 25th April 2007
Those Present – Lafayette, Muscles Matt, B.T., Froggy, Bronco, plus sort of Mystery Guest.
Froggy was still Weltmeister this month and guided us all to Vic’s on Lewes station where we sat down and did a pre- ramble stock taking.
Lafayette had had keyhole surgery and his keyhole was still poorly; Muscles Matt had been bending down doing something suspect and had done his back in; Bronco was just about held together with Sellotape and Sandyballs had phoned in sick saying he couldn’t stomach the idea of another ramble. All in all not the best of auguries, you might agree.
After having received management guidance on how to proceed ( Make a plan, stick to the broad outline, don’t give anybody any choices and if they dissent tell them to fuck off etc) Froggy put the NERDS on a train to Berwick. What he hadn’t foreseen was that most of the Lewes Geriatric Ramble Soc. were boarding the same train and appeared to be going to the same destination. The only saving grace was they all seemed older and more infirm than the NERDS. Froggy knew we would have to race to the first pub quick before Old Trout Syndrome could set in. ( For the benefit of new readers this is when you can’t get a drink at the bar because of lovely old people before you in the queue procrastinating and wrangling among themselves about the cost of a round).
Sure enough, Lewes Geriatsoc all got off with us at Berwick. Lafayette decided to seduce one with his charm, and politely enquired in which direction they were bound. When told they were headed towards Alfriston (the opposite direction from us) he raved on about how attractive a destination it was and how only posh people went there so that said Old Trout wondered whether she should have worn her diamonds for this trip and whether she ought to curtsey to the yokels there.
We were led at a cracking pace along a cycle path to The Cricketers where Lafayette had instructed Froggy to tell everyone we were having lunch – no question. Hurray, we had got there first although there were tell tale signs of Old Farts massing outside in the orchard. Inside we bagged the biggest table and set about demolishing 4- pint jugs of Harvey’s before anybody really old could get a look in. Matt praised B.T. for his long Michael Heseltine-type hair, and B.T. said that if he didn’t shut up he’d jump on his bad back and tell every one how he’d really done his injury.
Lafayette was looking with interest at the menu board which promised the delights of creaky mushrooms on steak. Sadly, the chef said it was a spelling mistake.(creamy mushrooms – geddit!) Anyway, after an exhorbitantly priced lunch which was really only so so, we headed over the fields towards the Rose and Crown where we renewed our acquaintance with the landlord and his parrot-in-a-cage. The parrot had originally been an Old Trout who had had the temerity to get to the head of the queue at lunchtime one day, and had dithered so much that she had been transformed and incarcerated by a wicked fairy in the pay of the NERDS. Serves her right –should have stayed at home!
Apparently the next day was Froggy’s birthday which his family were all feigning to be ignorant of to get out of having to buy him presents, so the NERDS rapidly changed the subject and wondered what was happening with Sandyballs and his rambling malaise. Right on cue we got a phone call with a grovelling apology and the news that Sandyballs had miraculously got better and could he join us for a drink. An extraordinary NERDS committee was convened and by a narrow majority the decision was positive. Froggy was pissed off thinking that the ramble had gone all democratic. Quote – “This is my ramble and you’ll all do as I’m (sic) told.” unquote. Grumbling at the effect this was having on our various ailments, we lurched to our feet to carry on to the rendezvous at the Barley Mow.
Sandyballs had apparently been inhaling a new brand of crack cocaine which had upset his tummy, ( Bronco at least had the politeness to go behind a bush to shoot up) but Sandyballs had got over this and decided that life might be a bit short in his usual narcotics den since all his fellow addicts were lying around dead. A bit of fresh air in a musty pub would soon put him right, he thought.
With Sandyball’s arrival things went downhill – Froggy wanted to give him a powerpoint presentation of events so far, and a general squabble about the New Forest driving arrangements took place (Yes, B.T. it is you). Sandyballs decided he was going to be a mystery guest every month since you got to drink and eat chips and cut out the boring walking bits. After this we adjourned to the John Harvey in Lewes (some of us by car) and thereafter to the Cypo chip shop at the end of the road.
Another enjoyable outing thanks again to Froggy’s excellent organisational and management skills (plus a little help here and there) and we look forward to the New Forest Trip next month when his talents will really be put to the test. Happy birthday Froggy, at least your Mom loved you.
Lafayette.
Those Present – Lafayette, Muscles Matt, B.T., Froggy, Bronco, plus sort of Mystery Guest.
Froggy was still Weltmeister this month and guided us all to Vic’s on Lewes station where we sat down and did a pre- ramble stock taking.
Lafayette had had keyhole surgery and his keyhole was still poorly; Muscles Matt had been bending down doing something suspect and had done his back in; Bronco was just about held together with Sellotape and Sandyballs had phoned in sick saying he couldn’t stomach the idea of another ramble. All in all not the best of auguries, you might agree.
After having received management guidance on how to proceed ( Make a plan, stick to the broad outline, don’t give anybody any choices and if they dissent tell them to fuck off etc) Froggy put the NERDS on a train to Berwick. What he hadn’t foreseen was that most of the Lewes Geriatric Ramble Soc. were boarding the same train and appeared to be going to the same destination. The only saving grace was they all seemed older and more infirm than the NERDS. Froggy knew we would have to race to the first pub quick before Old Trout Syndrome could set in. ( For the benefit of new readers this is when you can’t get a drink at the bar because of lovely old people before you in the queue procrastinating and wrangling among themselves about the cost of a round).
Sure enough, Lewes Geriatsoc all got off with us at Berwick. Lafayette decided to seduce one with his charm, and politely enquired in which direction they were bound. When told they were headed towards Alfriston (the opposite direction from us) he raved on about how attractive a destination it was and how only posh people went there so that said Old Trout wondered whether she should have worn her diamonds for this trip and whether she ought to curtsey to the yokels there.
We were led at a cracking pace along a cycle path to The Cricketers where Lafayette had instructed Froggy to tell everyone we were having lunch – no question. Hurray, we had got there first although there were tell tale signs of Old Farts massing outside in the orchard. Inside we bagged the biggest table and set about demolishing 4- pint jugs of Harvey’s before anybody really old could get a look in. Matt praised B.T. for his long Michael Heseltine-type hair, and B.T. said that if he didn’t shut up he’d jump on his bad back and tell every one how he’d really done his injury.
Lafayette was looking with interest at the menu board which promised the delights of creaky mushrooms on steak. Sadly, the chef said it was a spelling mistake.(creamy mushrooms – geddit!) Anyway, after an exhorbitantly priced lunch which was really only so so, we headed over the fields towards the Rose and Crown where we renewed our acquaintance with the landlord and his parrot-in-a-cage. The parrot had originally been an Old Trout who had had the temerity to get to the head of the queue at lunchtime one day, and had dithered so much that she had been transformed and incarcerated by a wicked fairy in the pay of the NERDS. Serves her right –should have stayed at home!
Apparently the next day was Froggy’s birthday which his family were all feigning to be ignorant of to get out of having to buy him presents, so the NERDS rapidly changed the subject and wondered what was happening with Sandyballs and his rambling malaise. Right on cue we got a phone call with a grovelling apology and the news that Sandyballs had miraculously got better and could he join us for a drink. An extraordinary NERDS committee was convened and by a narrow majority the decision was positive. Froggy was pissed off thinking that the ramble had gone all democratic. Quote – “This is my ramble and you’ll all do as I’m (sic) told.” unquote. Grumbling at the effect this was having on our various ailments, we lurched to our feet to carry on to the rendezvous at the Barley Mow.
Sandyballs had apparently been inhaling a new brand of crack cocaine which had upset his tummy, ( Bronco at least had the politeness to go behind a bush to shoot up) but Sandyballs had got over this and decided that life might be a bit short in his usual narcotics den since all his fellow addicts were lying around dead. A bit of fresh air in a musty pub would soon put him right, he thought.
With Sandyball’s arrival things went downhill – Froggy wanted to give him a powerpoint presentation of events so far, and a general squabble about the New Forest driving arrangements took place (Yes, B.T. it is you). Sandyballs decided he was going to be a mystery guest every month since you got to drink and eat chips and cut out the boring walking bits. After this we adjourned to the John Harvey in Lewes (some of us by car) and thereafter to the Cypo chip shop at the end of the road.
Another enjoyable outing thanks again to Froggy’s excellent organisational and management skills (plus a little help here and there) and we look forward to the New Forest Trip next month when his talents will really be put to the test. Happy birthday Froggy, at least your Mom loved you.
Lafayette.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
March 14th Ramble
Fantastic weather again even though "Sandyballs" was not with us but the leadership did take us through copious amounts of brown mud. Some photographs attached.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
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