Well, here they are, just eight days before we are due to depart.
**********
Only a week to go until the extravaganza of the 250th. Just to repeat, we go out at 10.00 AM on Wednesday 29th. Suggest we meet at the Transmanche Departure Terminal no later than 9AM. Don't forget your passport! Also, some wet weather gear and plenty of money/ credit cards.
There will not be T-shirts this time because of a general apathy/indecision about design, etc. Never mind, outrageous headgear may have to suffice. After all we want to stand out from the crowd in those Froggy/ BT photos!
See you on the day
Sandyballs
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
250th Ramble (Dieppe Raid "x") First Arrangements
As a footnote to Froggy's recent email concerning the 250th ramble(s) in Dieppe. Time is getting short and we really have to start booking things. I think we are only now waiting on Paco and Mike to let us know if they are going to join us. Without getting too 'heavy' about this I will have to put a deadline of this Friday 3rd. If I don't hear from you too guys by then I will have to assume that you will not be going. Froggy and I will then try to book ferry-tickets and Lafayette will do the hotel booking.
On another point, do you want commemorative T-shirts? I don't mind organising this but again I need some decisions. If you want one please let me know and what size you want. I think we could mostly be happiest with the Fatboy XL!!
Sandyballs
On another point, do you want commemorative T-shirts? I don't mind organising this but again I need some decisions. If you want one please let me know and what size you want. I think we could mostly be happiest with the Fatboy XL!!
Sandyballs
Friday, August 27, 2010
2010 August's Write-up
The NERDS’ Ramble No 249. 25. 8. 10.
Those Present - Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Matt.
The Ramble When Nobody Actually Rambled.
To all those NERDS who didn’t take part this month, you had better start weeping with frustration right now since Froggy’s well laid plans to go all over East Sussex were laid low by the crappy weather.
Lafayette woke up that morning; outside his window everything was dull and drab
(Newhaven again). Apart from that it threatened heavy rain in the sky, a sinister fact which not even the brilliant (and apologetic ) smile of Carol-on-the-telly could mitigate. No question , it was going to be pissing down all day and any rambling would undoubtedly be put in serious jeopardy.
But to quote one of us, “Are we not NERDS?” (I’ve never actually understood this; what the fuck else are we likely to be? A group of avid hill walkers? not exactly,
A collection of keen explorers -hardly; a bunch of lazy-arsed piss-artists - never!)
Any way, we were NERDS so we should have to do something with the day.
I know, let’s all go round to Froggy’s and lay waste to his supplies of drink and choccy bics . We might even get in a bit of raping especially if he’s got one or two old cats lying about. The prospects for the day began to brighten (at least for Lafayette).
So we went through the complicated joining instructions. Sandyballs to meet Lafayette on the train to (perhaps) be met by Froggy at Seaford station, and was Noddy Derek, h/o the lovely Carys going to come as previously hinted? Nope, that day it was just four hardcore NERDS as detailed above. Lafayette was relieved; at
least there’d probably be enough cats to go round when it got down to the raping.
In the event, as soon as Lafayette put his nose round Froggy’s patio into the garden some sexy looking feline with a bell around its neck gave Lafayette a hard look and took off at a rate of knots. Never mind; at least Froggy, seeing Lafayette’s frustration put a bottle of Paddy’s down in front of him and invited him to partake.
Froggy’s place is very nice. It’s very clean and tidy with lots of exotic plants in his conservatory giving the impression of being a well kept jungle. And so what did we do? We went and sat outside in the spitting rain at a table covered with rotten apples and got bombarded by pissed-up wasps. The coffee was OK, the biscuits fine, even the Paddy’s was very pleasant but the milk was served in a very cracked jug!
This awful social faux-pas was swiftly brought to Froggy’s attention and he was told that this might spoil the whole day for the NERDS (especially combined with a lack of shaggable cats).
Since the weather was rapidly deteriorating, and since we had long since run out of Paddy’s, someone decided we ought to go somewhere else. Froggy gave the committee five different complicated alternatives, none of which made any sense in the present circumstances, and in the end we decided to get on the free bus at the end of Froggy’s road and get to the Golden Galleon before all the Old Trouts etc. etc.
Hooray! We got to the Golden Galleon relatively early so no problem getting a seat outside in the rain for the first pint. (Who’s daft idea was that?). Not wanting to get totally wet at this stage, (remember, we had a long ramble to do) we went back inside and got a good table. Matt began chatting up the fourteen year old barmaid, telling her that she could put herself in his hands because he was a doctor and she could trust him. Christ! Couldn’t she tell by just looking at him that he was an old…lecher?
So to avert a horrible crisis - like not getting served any beer- we dragged lechy Matt back over to the lunch table where he proceeded to tell us that his brother Michael, (Surely that should be brother, Father Michael, Ed.) a Catholic priest no less, had taught him a lot of funny sexual tricks when they had been growing up together in Ireland, and that that had made him the way he was today (no comment). The girly barmaid had clearly had a narrow escape; at least Lafayette only lusts after cats!
Lunch next. This was of reasonable quality for the Golden Galleon and we were glad we’d got in quick because of a sudden influx of Very,Very, Old Trouts on sticks and zimmer frames and in bath chairs who began to clog up the bar and stop all thirsty NERDS from getting a decent drink after such a long bus ride. Sandyballs started gargling on about ferries arrivaling ( a bit like Philby wanting to go clumping)
- I blame the Paddys, and Matt, now in full flow, gave us a graphic description of what it was like to go cycling with a defective prostate gland. Thanks, Matt; just what you need to hear when you’re eating your ice cream!
Sandyballs was getting very twitchy, he wasn’t used to such amazingly passive rambles, he desperately wanted to get outside and walk somewhere, anywhere.
He kept wandering out on to the terrace but, as if in answer to the rest of the NERDS’ prayers, the rain kept falling and it was obvious to most sane minded NERDS (lol) that as in Dieppe the previous year, the foul weather would irrevocably prevent any nasty rambling activity. At that time Lafayette had wanted to take all the NERDS up to the Shipwreck Church, but sadly his grandiose plans had been foiled and they had all had to sit outside at a pretty pavement café all afternoon on the seafront enjoying the teeming rain. (at least that’s what Lafayette told Sandyballs who had been absent at the time).
So, resigned to not rambling anywhere really, Sandyballs who was a purist and said he needed to ramble, (something to do with his hormones, obviously) resigned himself to catching a bus back to Seaford and going into a pub there as a sort of solace. We therefore found ourselves trudging through a wet, dank churchyard and entering the Plough nearby where we consoled ourselves for the lack of rambling with lots of gins and tonics, and discussed how much the barmaid looked like Juliette Greco. Matt thought Sandyballs looked so bereft, suicidal even, at the NERDS’ idleness, that he told him that a Death in Harness followed by a Deathbed Repentance would enable him to clean up both financially and spiritually. Sandy balls remained morose; more active rambling was what he had wanted that day (Tough!).
And so, not exactly the Longest (nor the Worst) Ramble we’d ever been on; but thanks to Froggy for all his hospitality and it’s a shame all your brilliant plans were spoilt. (Just get more cats in next time!). Sometimes NERDS just have to go with the flow and resign themselves to sitting in a couple of pubs all day. It’s a hard life.
Soon will be the 250th, or Dieppe Raid No. 47 (must check the records).
Let’s hope the weather over in France will be as brilliant as it was the last time most of us went to Dieppe. (Sandyballs, you didn’t hear that).
Lafayette.
Those Present - Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Matt.
The Ramble When Nobody Actually Rambled.
To all those NERDS who didn’t take part this month, you had better start weeping with frustration right now since Froggy’s well laid plans to go all over East Sussex were laid low by the crappy weather.
Lafayette woke up that morning; outside his window everything was dull and drab
(Newhaven again). Apart from that it threatened heavy rain in the sky, a sinister fact which not even the brilliant (and apologetic ) smile of Carol-on-the-telly could mitigate. No question , it was going to be pissing down all day and any rambling would undoubtedly be put in serious jeopardy.
But to quote one of us, “Are we not NERDS?” (I’ve never actually understood this; what the fuck else are we likely to be? A group of avid hill walkers? not exactly,
A collection of keen explorers -hardly; a bunch of lazy-arsed piss-artists - never!)
Any way, we were NERDS so we should have to do something with the day.
I know, let’s all go round to Froggy’s and lay waste to his supplies of drink and choccy bics . We might even get in a bit of raping especially if he’s got one or two old cats lying about. The prospects for the day began to brighten (at least for Lafayette).
So we went through the complicated joining instructions. Sandyballs to meet Lafayette on the train to (perhaps) be met by Froggy at Seaford station, and was Noddy Derek, h/o the lovely Carys going to come as previously hinted? Nope, that day it was just four hardcore NERDS as detailed above. Lafayette was relieved; at
least there’d probably be enough cats to go round when it got down to the raping.
In the event, as soon as Lafayette put his nose round Froggy’s patio into the garden some sexy looking feline with a bell around its neck gave Lafayette a hard look and took off at a rate of knots. Never mind; at least Froggy, seeing Lafayette’s frustration put a bottle of Paddy’s down in front of him and invited him to partake.
Froggy’s place is very nice. It’s very clean and tidy with lots of exotic plants in his conservatory giving the impression of being a well kept jungle. And so what did we do? We went and sat outside in the spitting rain at a table covered with rotten apples and got bombarded by pissed-up wasps. The coffee was OK, the biscuits fine, even the Paddy’s was very pleasant but the milk was served in a very cracked jug!
This awful social faux-pas was swiftly brought to Froggy’s attention and he was told that this might spoil the whole day for the NERDS (especially combined with a lack of shaggable cats).
Since the weather was rapidly deteriorating, and since we had long since run out of Paddy’s, someone decided we ought to go somewhere else. Froggy gave the committee five different complicated alternatives, none of which made any sense in the present circumstances, and in the end we decided to get on the free bus at the end of Froggy’s road and get to the Golden Galleon before all the Old Trouts etc. etc.
Hooray! We got to the Golden Galleon relatively early so no problem getting a seat outside in the rain for the first pint. (Who’s daft idea was that?). Not wanting to get totally wet at this stage, (remember, we had a long ramble to do) we went back inside and got a good table. Matt began chatting up the fourteen year old barmaid, telling her that she could put herself in his hands because he was a doctor and she could trust him. Christ! Couldn’t she tell by just looking at him that he was an old…lecher?
So to avert a horrible crisis - like not getting served any beer- we dragged lechy Matt back over to the lunch table where he proceeded to tell us that his brother Michael, (Surely that should be brother, Father Michael, Ed.) a Catholic priest no less, had taught him a lot of funny sexual tricks when they had been growing up together in Ireland, and that that had made him the way he was today (no comment). The girly barmaid had clearly had a narrow escape; at least Lafayette only lusts after cats!
Lunch next. This was of reasonable quality for the Golden Galleon and we were glad we’d got in quick because of a sudden influx of Very,Very, Old Trouts on sticks and zimmer frames and in bath chairs who began to clog up the bar and stop all thirsty NERDS from getting a decent drink after such a long bus ride. Sandyballs started gargling on about ferries arrivaling ( a bit like Philby wanting to go clumping)
- I blame the Paddys, and Matt, now in full flow, gave us a graphic description of what it was like to go cycling with a defective prostate gland. Thanks, Matt; just what you need to hear when you’re eating your ice cream!
Sandyballs was getting very twitchy, he wasn’t used to such amazingly passive rambles, he desperately wanted to get outside and walk somewhere, anywhere.
He kept wandering out on to the terrace but, as if in answer to the rest of the NERDS’ prayers, the rain kept falling and it was obvious to most sane minded NERDS (lol) that as in Dieppe the previous year, the foul weather would irrevocably prevent any nasty rambling activity. At that time Lafayette had wanted to take all the NERDS up to the Shipwreck Church, but sadly his grandiose plans had been foiled and they had all had to sit outside at a pretty pavement café all afternoon on the seafront enjoying the teeming rain. (at least that’s what Lafayette told Sandyballs who had been absent at the time).
So, resigned to not rambling anywhere really, Sandyballs who was a purist and said he needed to ramble, (something to do with his hormones, obviously) resigned himself to catching a bus back to Seaford and going into a pub there as a sort of solace. We therefore found ourselves trudging through a wet, dank churchyard and entering the Plough nearby where we consoled ourselves for the lack of rambling with lots of gins and tonics, and discussed how much the barmaid looked like Juliette Greco. Matt thought Sandyballs looked so bereft, suicidal even, at the NERDS’ idleness, that he told him that a Death in Harness followed by a Deathbed Repentance would enable him to clean up both financially and spiritually. Sandy balls remained morose; more active rambling was what he had wanted that day (Tough!).
And so, not exactly the Longest (nor the Worst) Ramble we’d ever been on; but thanks to Froggy for all his hospitality and it’s a shame all your brilliant plans were spoilt. (Just get more cats in next time!). Sometimes NERDS just have to go with the flow and resign themselves to sitting in a couple of pubs all day. It’s a hard life.
Soon will be the 250th, or Dieppe Raid No. 47 (must check the records).
Let’s hope the weather over in France will be as brilliant as it was the last time most of us went to Dieppe. (Sandyballs, you didn’t hear that).
Lafayette.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Ausgust 2010 Joining Instructions
At last someone has decided to organise the next Ramble. Sandyballs appears to have delegated it to Froggy, again, and a very familiar ramble will take place. Here is the itinery:-
Salut les Nerds!
I've seen the blog and yes the joining instructions are long overdue. Harry is away this weekend so I'm attempting to fill his size 13 boots; not an easy task when you've only got fat little feet like mine. Nevertheless a plan is forming even as I write, so here is the lowdown:- Harry to take the 09:58 train from Lewes, picking up Lord Charles and Captain Haddock (if he can leave his new love alone for a day (plain sailing from now on)? Plus any waifs and strays with cuddling or dumpling tendacies? Train at Newhaven Town vers 10:06 and arriving in Seaford vers 10:14, thence chez moi. Seaford Boys (Matt, Paco and maybe Derek??)? to muster their loins to Sandore Road by 10:30 (in case I have to go to the station and maybe absent for 10 mins).
After a quickish coffee et al, we shall stride out towards the Golden Galleon (haven't actually been there for a while) for a couple, then onto The Plough & Harrow for Lunch. I haven't worked out which route to take as yet, but who cares? You've all got bus passes so we shall walk and we shall ride (sounds like a song by Medicine Head - bet no-one can get it)!
See you all Wednesday!
F-F Frogster
Salut les Nerds!
I've seen the blog and yes the joining instructions are long overdue. Harry is away this weekend so I'm attempting to fill his size 13 boots; not an easy task when you've only got fat little feet like mine. Nevertheless a plan is forming even as I write, so here is the lowdown:- Harry to take the 09:58 train from Lewes, picking up Lord Charles and Captain Haddock (if he can leave his new love alone for a day (plain sailing from now on)? Plus any waifs and strays with cuddling or dumpling tendacies? Train at Newhaven Town vers 10:06 and arriving in Seaford vers 10:14, thence chez moi. Seaford Boys (Matt, Paco and maybe Derek??)? to muster their loins to Sandore Road by 10:30 (in case I have to go to the station and maybe absent for 10 mins).
After a quickish coffee et al, we shall stride out towards the Golden Galleon (haven't actually been there for a while) for a couple, then onto The Plough & Harrow for Lunch. I haven't worked out which route to take as yet, but who cares? You've all got bus passes so we shall walk and we shall ride (sounds like a song by Medicine Head - bet no-one can get it)!
See you all Wednesday!
F-F Frogster
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
The August Ramble
Well here we are again. Just a week to go and no joining instructions! Sandyballs has yet to publish where everyone is going - if anywhere apart from the pub. Await further notification with baited breath.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
New Ramble arrangements - Sandyballs speaks
Barbara A. can't do the pre-ramble. Probably best to postpone the Seaford ramble. I will put something together after I get back from La Belle France.
S. Balls
S. Balls
Friday, August 06, 2010
Further fabrications from flip flop frog
Guys!
Lovely banter pinging back & forth! Naming Barbara kinfly - how about Kinfly? I see BT has picked up on that one. As for the th(r)ong, much as I appreciate BT's gallant defence of my language skills, I do have to admit that my pinkies did hit an extra key. But what about the misuse of the word "passed", when it should have been "past" in the solo write-up -whew, that one got away, only to be changed in a later edition.
Matt and I have got a good idea for a ramble incorporating both The Flying Fish & The Hampden Arms but this would be miles away from Barbara's Gaff, so the August Ramble will most likely invlove a quickie at the Golden Galleon, then the banks of the cuck, and/or Friston Forest. More nearer the time.
Harry! Have a good one in France and I hope Lord Charles has not managed to bankrupt himself in Dublin!
Paco, I do hope you are alright???
Laters,
F-F F
Lovely banter pinging back & forth! Naming Barbara kinfly - how about Kinfly? I see BT has picked up on that one. As for the th(r)ong, much as I appreciate BT's gallant defence of my language skills, I do have to admit that my pinkies did hit an extra key. But what about the misuse of the word "passed", when it should have been "past" in the solo write-up -whew, that one got away, only to be changed in a later edition.
Matt and I have got a good idea for a ramble incorporating both The Flying Fish & The Hampden Arms but this would be miles away from Barbara's Gaff, so the August Ramble will most likely invlove a quickie at the Golden Galleon, then the banks of the cuck, and/or Friston Forest. More nearer the time.
Harry! Have a good one in France and I hope Lord Charles has not managed to bankrupt himself in Dublin!
Paco, I do hope you are alright???
Laters,
F-F F
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Reply to Froggy and Advance Notice
First of all, I personally enjoyed Froggy's recent ' I wandered lonely as a cloud' moment. I think everyone should be encouraged to do their own thing now and then although, as Religious Adviser Matt would concur - it's more enjoyable when you do it with other people! Hence we cannot grant Froggy's escapade the full status of a Nerds Ramble and it cannot have a number!
Just as an aside, what are " thronged buttocks" ? Should that be "thonged" or, to be pedantic "be-thonged"? But I digress ( interesting though the subject might be).
I hope Froggy is not making a coup attempt to take over the Scribe's long held position, just when Lafayette's back was turned and he happened to be overseas in Dublin? After all, Frog already does the photos, the whip, the fetching and carrying and occasionally the route-mastering. Obviously he wants to be the complete NERDS Renaissance Man!
This brings be to the subject of the August Ramble, which is to take place on Wednesday 25th - as I am actually asking Froggy to route-master this one! The reason being is that Barbara Antjoule ( note to Scribe - please devise a (kind) Nerds name for Barbara) has very kinfly offered to host the pre-Ramble in Seaford. Therefore I am hoping to use the Frog's local knowledge to devise a suitable Seaford ramble. Perhaps those th(r) onged buttocks will be spotted again?
Matt will make very effort to attend, his water-works problems notwithstanding. More details nearer the time
Sandyballs
Just as an aside, what are " thronged buttocks" ? Should that be "thonged" or, to be pedantic "be-thonged"? But I digress ( interesting though the subject might be).
I hope Froggy is not making a coup attempt to take over the Scribe's long held position, just when Lafayette's back was turned and he happened to be overseas in Dublin? After all, Frog already does the photos, the whip, the fetching and carrying and occasionally the route-mastering. Obviously he wants to be the complete NERDS Renaissance Man!
This brings be to the subject of the August Ramble, which is to take place on Wednesday 25th - as I am actually asking Froggy to route-master this one! The reason being is that Barbara Antjoule ( note to Scribe - please devise a (kind) Nerds name for Barbara) has very kinfly offered to host the pre-Ramble in Seaford. Therefore I am hoping to use the Frog's local knowledge to devise a suitable Seaford ramble. Perhaps those th(r) onged buttocks will be spotted again?
Matt will make very effort to attend, his water-works problems notwithstanding. More details nearer the time
Sandyballs
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
See Below and the author's above
Ah, what summer brings to journalists and authors, alike, the silly season pounces like a recent born kitten on flies, aping its mother on mice and moles, until through a cloudy haze of imagination the virgin page is raped with words akin to Socrates and Shakespeare, or in reality the flip flop frog of Seaford fame.
I shudder to set a prescient of singular rambles but who am I to hinder the thoughts and ramblings of a troubled mind, and so here is a “First” for your consideration; nude of montage (although that may follow if believe the story one does), yet descriptive to a fault.
I shudder to set a prescient of singular rambles but who am I to hinder the thoughts and ramblings of a troubled mind, and so here is a “First” for your consideration; nude of montage (although that may follow if believe the story one does), yet descriptive to a fault.
The Froggy Solo Ramble
Participants: Froggy
Froggy had a day free on Monday last week. He dreamed about what it would be like to have loads of free days when he was retired, but had to content himself with just the one, for the time being. Oh what could he do? Where could he go? Such choices!
As it was such a lovely day, he decided to strike out towards Alfriston via the famous Mike Clarke route. Man Bag in order, he decided against going through the estate but chose instead to add more provisions from the local corner shop. Hmmm something to drink he thought, the one that had something to do with Quasi & Esmeralda, Hmmm and maybe certain other comforters……..
Off he strode, ignoring all the lecherous cat calls and other such like enticements casually thrown at him by passing motorists on their way to casting off their grannies and other unwanted rubbish at the local dump. On he went passed Seaford’s latest addition to the Metropolis, until he came face to face with his second major decision of the day. Which way? Choose wisely little bear and so he did and grunted his way up the side of the vast field that was now home to several escaped Welsh sheep. No time for that now, he mused – must get safely through the golf course with head intact. He thought he heard the strains of “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, but, sadly only the first word was clearly audible. Once clear of the flying circus he proceeded along the well known track until he came to a stile, which commanded a magnificent view of the route to come. He tarried a while, well it was more like 30 minutes, resting his parts on the nice warm wood and taking it in turn to refresh himself and then his imaginary friend. The path leading up to the stile had all but disappeared under the rampaging undergrowth. He remembered fondly of the time when the Nerds had braved the steep ascent in years gone by, when they were young and care-free and were all alive.
Talking himself into action, he girded his loins and set forth along the next stage, down through the trees, along the side of a field, and up the side of the next field to the very summit; where promises of yet more Quasi shouts gave him all the incentive he needed. At last, at the top, with only a flat and then downward journey to come, he sat and admired the scenery. He lapsed into a dream of meeting 2 young buxom women who would smooth his brow and help him to forget all his woes. By now the bottle was nearly empty and he needed to increase his pace if he were to get any lunch at all. Striding along a now familiar path he came across a five-barred gate, which offered a splendid view, in more ways than one. He could not believe his eyes, for there, not more than 50 feet away were the very same 2 young buxom women! Unable to tear his eyes away he was subjected to the sight of trousers coming off and a thronged pair of buttocks winking at him to come on over. By now the drink had befuddled his mind and he didn’t even think to whip out his trusty pair of binocs for a closer ogle. He looked at them then looked at his watch, then looked at them, then looked at his watch and what do you think? He scuttled off, ashamed of all this peeping, and instead hurtled down the path towards salvation in the shape of a very late ham and mushroom pie lunch at the Smugglers.
He tried nonchalantly to read his paper in the garden but was subjected to one of those conversations that you get between siblings about their demented old mum. Ah! Nearly 3, could catch the 15:17 rambler bus back to Seaford and imbibe some more in town. Perched on the grassy bit, he awaited his transport only to be accosted by the demented old mum, who had slipped passed her knife-stabbing children, and who by then had proceeded to confuse him about which planet he was on. Several minutes later, the rambler bus arrived going the other way. The wise old crone decided to go the long way home – and why not, there are people out there who have bus passes don’t you know!!??** After another half an hour or so, there was still no bus, so the weary traveller chose to return by whence he came. Upon leaving Alfriston, he encountered a pair of strapping Slovac types, adjusting their garments and plucking grass out of their hair. Hmmm, maybe someone else had got into his daydream?
The way back was uneventful apart from the half hour spent fast asleep in some field and a further half hour on his most favourite stile in the whole world. Again he spurned the scenic route back through the estate, for he considered “doing another first” and was soon sitting on a bar stool quaffing a pint of Stella in the Seven Sisters, with utter gay abandon and chortling to himself that he’d not been there to cook and slave for his ungrateful git pillock of a son. There were other “firsts” during the week but that’s another story….
What a fabulous way to spend a day. He’s already planning his second solo ramble, hmmm, maybe taking in the Engineer next time…..and with photies?
À bientôt
Participants: Froggy
Froggy had a day free on Monday last week. He dreamed about what it would be like to have loads of free days when he was retired, but had to content himself with just the one, for the time being. Oh what could he do? Where could he go? Such choices!
As it was such a lovely day, he decided to strike out towards Alfriston via the famous Mike Clarke route. Man Bag in order, he decided against going through the estate but chose instead to add more provisions from the local corner shop. Hmmm something to drink he thought, the one that had something to do with Quasi & Esmeralda, Hmmm and maybe certain other comforters……..
Off he strode, ignoring all the lecherous cat calls and other such like enticements casually thrown at him by passing motorists on their way to casting off their grannies and other unwanted rubbish at the local dump. On he went passed Seaford’s latest addition to the Metropolis, until he came face to face with his second major decision of the day. Which way? Choose wisely little bear and so he did and grunted his way up the side of the vast field that was now home to several escaped Welsh sheep. No time for that now, he mused – must get safely through the golf course with head intact. He thought he heard the strains of “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, but, sadly only the first word was clearly audible. Once clear of the flying circus he proceeded along the well known track until he came to a stile, which commanded a magnificent view of the route to come. He tarried a while, well it was more like 30 minutes, resting his parts on the nice warm wood and taking it in turn to refresh himself and then his imaginary friend. The path leading up to the stile had all but disappeared under the rampaging undergrowth. He remembered fondly of the time when the Nerds had braved the steep ascent in years gone by, when they were young and care-free and were all alive.
Talking himself into action, he girded his loins and set forth along the next stage, down through the trees, along the side of a field, and up the side of the next field to the very summit; where promises of yet more Quasi shouts gave him all the incentive he needed. At last, at the top, with only a flat and then downward journey to come, he sat and admired the scenery. He lapsed into a dream of meeting 2 young buxom women who would smooth his brow and help him to forget all his woes. By now the bottle was nearly empty and he needed to increase his pace if he were to get any lunch at all. Striding along a now familiar path he came across a five-barred gate, which offered a splendid view, in more ways than one. He could not believe his eyes, for there, not more than 50 feet away were the very same 2 young buxom women! Unable to tear his eyes away he was subjected to the sight of trousers coming off and a thronged pair of buttocks winking at him to come on over. By now the drink had befuddled his mind and he didn’t even think to whip out his trusty pair of binocs for a closer ogle. He looked at them then looked at his watch, then looked at them, then looked at his watch and what do you think? He scuttled off, ashamed of all this peeping, and instead hurtled down the path towards salvation in the shape of a very late ham and mushroom pie lunch at the Smugglers.
He tried nonchalantly to read his paper in the garden but was subjected to one of those conversations that you get between siblings about their demented old mum. Ah! Nearly 3, could catch the 15:17 rambler bus back to Seaford and imbibe some more in town. Perched on the grassy bit, he awaited his transport only to be accosted by the demented old mum, who had slipped passed her knife-stabbing children, and who by then had proceeded to confuse him about which planet he was on. Several minutes later, the rambler bus arrived going the other way. The wise old crone decided to go the long way home – and why not, there are people out there who have bus passes don’t you know!!??** After another half an hour or so, there was still no bus, so the weary traveller chose to return by whence he came. Upon leaving Alfriston, he encountered a pair of strapping Slovac types, adjusting their garments and plucking grass out of their hair. Hmmm, maybe someone else had got into his daydream?
The way back was uneventful apart from the half hour spent fast asleep in some field and a further half hour on his most favourite stile in the whole world. Again he spurned the scenic route back through the estate, for he considered “doing another first” and was soon sitting on a bar stool quaffing a pint of Stella in the Seven Sisters, with utter gay abandon and chortling to himself that he’d not been there to cook and slave for his ungrateful git pillock of a son. There were other “firsts” during the week but that’s another story….
What a fabulous way to spend a day. He’s already planning his second solo ramble, hmmm, maybe taking in the Engineer next time…..and with photies?
À bientôt
Thursday, July 29, 2010
ADVANCE NOTICE - NEXT RAMBLES
The next Ramble is on Mercredi August 25th, but so far there are no joining instructions (See this space later). The following Ramble is from Mardi 21st September to Jeudi 23rd September. This Ramble is the 250th(ish) according to the gospel of Lafayette Jonah (etc). It is scheduled for Dieppe but we know how all things change (Note the New Forest Ramble becoming the IoW one). Further update will appear later.
BT
BT
Friday, July 23, 2010
July's Ramble 2010
N.E.R.D.S’ Ramble No. 248 - 21/7/10.
Those Present - Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Dumpling, Captain Haddock.
The Porno Picture Ramble.
No need to get over excited at the title of this month’s ramble. It wasn’t any of the NERDS posing for rude pictures (although Matt often feels the need), no, nor did we end up at a pole dancing club (in Lewes??? you must be joking) All will be disclosed (note I didn’t say revealed) towards the end of this account.
Apologies for absence were received from:
Matt - Another spurious water leak -must be getting old or something;
Paco - Personal
B.T. - Couldn’t get there in time - Christ, you only live down in the South of France!
Froggy - Might not get there, I’ve got nasty swollen feet because I over indulged on
holiday and I’m taking dozens of pills because I’m over-weight, got
diarrhoea, high cholesterol and nobody talks to me but I’ll try to make it and
if I do you’ll all have the honour of me bestowing my presence on you but
I might not anyway because I’m feeling a bit poorly, so there!
In the event, the brave Froggy struggled to the start despite his shitty looking feet and decided to give it a go. What a hero! (clap, clap).
Scene - downstairs in Lafayette’s den; assorted NERDS surrounded by choccy biscuits, coffee and glasses of questionable liquids; It’s about ten o’clock a.m.
Sandy balls -” Have you got any sun screen? I’ve got poor, girly, freckly skin and I might get burnt.”
Dumpling - “ Yes, I know the problem, my head gets really raw in the sun and I can’t do a thing with it.
Lafayette - Oh, all right I’ll rob some sun screen off daughter No.2, but don’t blame me if you both get pregnant.
So after the initial, petty rambling difficulties had been ironed out, the NERDS set off down to Newhaven station where they bumped into Captain Haddock who sat there twiddling his ex-beard and wondering why he’d allowed his daughter to set off on a trip round South America armed only with his pin number. (Daughters, eh?…)
NERDS embraced NERDS, lots of air kisses, much mutual recognition etc.
We got off the train at Southease - one stop along - and prepared to negotiate the evil looking river works where the Council were trying to divert the Mighty Ouse somewhere. It was only thanks to Sandyballs who had had the foresight to recce the route that we didn’t get disorientated at this point. Captain H. suggested we follow the Mighty Ouse towards Rodmell rather than hacking along the road which the Routemaster had planned, so we got all bucolic and followed the river path, carefully skirting all the sheep shit and nasty rural stuff that comes with outings into the countryside. After much huffing, puffing and the usual ill informed dissent we got off the river path and were led by Lafayette’s brilliant management and local know-how up towards the Abergavenny Arms where we were due to eat.
Rodmell itself is a pretty village with overpriced houses for the mega-rich of the Lewes overspill. Dumpling showed an immediate interest and began banging on people’s doors demanding to know how much they’d paid for their property, and whether they were richer than him. Most of them called him a pleb and told him to fuck off. However one particular resident called Woolf, I believe, said he was adorable and if he came in for tea she would be delighted to write a book about him.
The rest of us, unimpressed, strode on to the pub and took over the back garden. The Abergavenny had been for a long time out of bounds to NERDS (and in fact to everybody else) on account of the landlord having taken advantage of an offer he couldn’t refuse to turn his car park into a housing estate and retire to Capo Verde on the proceeds. Nevertheless, some brave soul had obviously sunk his redundancy money into this new venture and was prepared to put up with supplying the NERDS with food and drink occasionally.
The lunch was good - Lafayette had a salad in the name of moderation (leaves more room for the drink, see. Another trick passed on to him by the erstwhile Philby -requiescat and all that.). Fortunately, just as we were finishing pint number 2 (ie. and not before) we started to get surrounded by massive plops of African-style rain which made us scurry inside to mix with the Rodmell intelligentsia who had been studiously avoiding looking in our direction for some time.
Anyway, standing in the queue for more beer Lafayette found himself engaged in conversation with a somewhat statuesque and rather beautiful German female type.
She immediately wanted to know where he had learned his perfect German and especially how he had come to have such an in depth knowledge of the recent World Cup Football matches, especially the ones where The Fatherland had so gloriously prevailed. Lafayette blushed and told her that, actually, his father was German and had served in the Waffen S.S. as an under cover secret agent for the Gestapo in the last war. Sadly their budding romantic conversation had to be curtailed at this point as the female’s lowering Untermensch of a husband came blundering up wanting to know why his drink was taking so long to come.
After lunch, on went the ramble up Porky Woman Hill (don’t ask) to the top where
Kiri Te Kanawa, a famous chanteuse from New Zealand lived when she was “resting” between operas. We all knew that she welcomed strangers to her pad, especially NERDS, who tried to importune her for a kiwi fruit or two after a boozy lunch down below in the village. However that day there was no answer to Froggy’s impassioned pleas through her letter box. We did notice a paparazzo lurking with his camera cocked in an adjacent field, but perhaps Mme Kanawa hadn’t taken out her curlers that day and was shy of besmirching her reputation. Never mind, Kiri,
Lafayette will make you famous; apparently everybody reads his write-ups.
Sandyballs feared that the price of tarrying would be an arse full of buckshot so hurried everyone away. As we skirted the vast park-like garden we did notice a strange little designer gatey type hole, about eighteen inches high cut out of the side fence. Was it to let Kiri’s wallabies back in after they’d spent a night on the piss? Or maybe it was to enable her (small) lover to gain access when she needed her tonsils massaged. The mystery was never solved.
Now came the nasty part of the ramble when we had to go up, up, over the hills and far away. The South Downs can be merciless to unfit NERDS but that day the sun shone and we were all light of heart (especially after a few pints) Sandyballs began to relate some fantasy about being stalked by Kaddy Lee-Preston (one of the Famous Weather Girls which middle aged men often admire for their meteorological skills). Apparently she had followed Sandyballs from pub to pub in Lewes making suggestive remarks about his sunny disposition and suggesting he came back to hers to see her isobars. Not as good as Lafayette’s near- miss adventure with Helga von Dortmund back in the pub, though.
Over the Downs we went. At the top you could see the Atlantic on one side and the Pacific on the other, - just to the right of Newhaven. We tiptoed past a nasty big bull who looked as if he might do us some damage if we looked at his cows too long, and passed a fit looking 20 year old, all dressed in lycra who was sprinting up the hill with her dog and who did not stop to listen to Froggy’s exposition of how to find the most refined porno films on the internet. Sad, sad, sad.
Eventually we got to the Juggs at Kingston where we were to sample the famous Bishops Finger (beer) and where Froggy again regaled us with tales of his going on a “Ship Awareness “ course financed by the Home Office. I ask you. Does an I.O. at Newhaven have to be sent on such a course? Is this not a gross waste of public funds?
Or is it an alternative to the “ Get to Know Your Arse from Your Elbow “ course that is compulsory for all Customs officers? Froggy seemed to have benefited somehow - there was some talk about somebody called Rebecca nearly succumbing to his boyish charms. Sad, sad, sad again.
Now for the bit you’ve all been waiting for. The reason for this month’s title. Well, as we were passing down the lane leading to Lewes Rugby Club (which Sandyballs reckons is an infamous haunt of those who take out girlfriends, mistresses, boys, goats, melons etc.for a spot of illicit dogging - although why he should know beats me) there were to be observed, every twenty five yards or so along the route, photocopies of something or other all casually strewn around. On closer examination the photocopies were all of the same set of male private parts bedecked with a tasteful ribbon, and displayed as if for a special present for (obviously) a special person.
(It’s all right, Matt; your copy is in the post as I write). The NERDS were all shocked to their separate cores. Gosh, weren’t they big, Who could possibly sell enough ribbon to go round all that; I wonder who this special person is; She must be a big girl (or boy).
Anyway, another NERDS’ mystery to remain unsolved. Shaking our heads in shock we hurried on and ended up at the Kings Head in Lewes where thankfully nobody accused us of scattering filth around the countryside and urban environs, and where we had a last pint before going home.
So… what a lot of exciting things. What with being constantly (almost) importuned by sex mad females, and having been constantly told what a Lothario Froggy had been in his youth (please read that last bit the way it was meant to sound), together with all the other stuff, it had been a quite adventurous ramble.
Thanks be to all who took part including Dumpling and Haddock, and to Sandyballs for most of the route. Thanks to Froggy for being so brave and doing the whole of the walk despite his poorly ankles, we hope they get better soon.
Soon it’s the 250th so start saving up now!
You too B.T. - we’re going to Dieppe and that’s your part of the world (ish).
Lafayette.
Those Present - Sandyballs, Lafayette, Froggy, Dumpling, Captain Haddock.
The Porno Picture Ramble.
No need to get over excited at the title of this month’s ramble. It wasn’t any of the NERDS posing for rude pictures (although Matt often feels the need), no, nor did we end up at a pole dancing club (in Lewes??? you must be joking) All will be disclosed (note I didn’t say revealed) towards the end of this account.
Apologies for absence were received from:
Matt - Another spurious water leak -must be getting old or something;
Paco - Personal
B.T. - Couldn’t get there in time - Christ, you only live down in the South of France!
Froggy - Might not get there, I’ve got nasty swollen feet because I over indulged on
holiday and I’m taking dozens of pills because I’m over-weight, got
diarrhoea, high cholesterol and nobody talks to me but I’ll try to make it and
if I do you’ll all have the honour of me bestowing my presence on you but
I might not anyway because I’m feeling a bit poorly, so there!
In the event, the brave Froggy struggled to the start despite his shitty looking feet and decided to give it a go. What a hero! (clap, clap).
Scene - downstairs in Lafayette’s den; assorted NERDS surrounded by choccy biscuits, coffee and glasses of questionable liquids; It’s about ten o’clock a.m.
Sandy balls -” Have you got any sun screen? I’ve got poor, girly, freckly skin and I might get burnt.”
Dumpling - “ Yes, I know the problem, my head gets really raw in the sun and I can’t do a thing with it.
Lafayette - Oh, all right I’ll rob some sun screen off daughter No.2, but don’t blame me if you both get pregnant.
So after the initial, petty rambling difficulties had been ironed out, the NERDS set off down to Newhaven station where they bumped into Captain Haddock who sat there twiddling his ex-beard and wondering why he’d allowed his daughter to set off on a trip round South America armed only with his pin number. (Daughters, eh?…)
NERDS embraced NERDS, lots of air kisses, much mutual recognition etc.
We got off the train at Southease - one stop along - and prepared to negotiate the evil looking river works where the Council were trying to divert the Mighty Ouse somewhere. It was only thanks to Sandyballs who had had the foresight to recce the route that we didn’t get disorientated at this point. Captain H. suggested we follow the Mighty Ouse towards Rodmell rather than hacking along the road which the Routemaster had planned, so we got all bucolic and followed the river path, carefully skirting all the sheep shit and nasty rural stuff that comes with outings into the countryside. After much huffing, puffing and the usual ill informed dissent we got off the river path and were led by Lafayette’s brilliant management and local know-how up towards the Abergavenny Arms where we were due to eat.
Rodmell itself is a pretty village with overpriced houses for the mega-rich of the Lewes overspill. Dumpling showed an immediate interest and began banging on people’s doors demanding to know how much they’d paid for their property, and whether they were richer than him. Most of them called him a pleb and told him to fuck off. However one particular resident called Woolf, I believe, said he was adorable and if he came in for tea she would be delighted to write a book about him.
The rest of us, unimpressed, strode on to the pub and took over the back garden. The Abergavenny had been for a long time out of bounds to NERDS (and in fact to everybody else) on account of the landlord having taken advantage of an offer he couldn’t refuse to turn his car park into a housing estate and retire to Capo Verde on the proceeds. Nevertheless, some brave soul had obviously sunk his redundancy money into this new venture and was prepared to put up with supplying the NERDS with food and drink occasionally.
The lunch was good - Lafayette had a salad in the name of moderation (leaves more room for the drink, see. Another trick passed on to him by the erstwhile Philby -requiescat and all that.). Fortunately, just as we were finishing pint number 2 (ie. and not before) we started to get surrounded by massive plops of African-style rain which made us scurry inside to mix with the Rodmell intelligentsia who had been studiously avoiding looking in our direction for some time.
Anyway, standing in the queue for more beer Lafayette found himself engaged in conversation with a somewhat statuesque and rather beautiful German female type.
She immediately wanted to know where he had learned his perfect German and especially how he had come to have such an in depth knowledge of the recent World Cup Football matches, especially the ones where The Fatherland had so gloriously prevailed. Lafayette blushed and told her that, actually, his father was German and had served in the Waffen S.S. as an under cover secret agent for the Gestapo in the last war. Sadly their budding romantic conversation had to be curtailed at this point as the female’s lowering Untermensch of a husband came blundering up wanting to know why his drink was taking so long to come.
After lunch, on went the ramble up Porky Woman Hill (don’t ask) to the top where
Kiri Te Kanawa, a famous chanteuse from New Zealand lived when she was “resting” between operas. We all knew that she welcomed strangers to her pad, especially NERDS, who tried to importune her for a kiwi fruit or two after a boozy lunch down below in the village. However that day there was no answer to Froggy’s impassioned pleas through her letter box. We did notice a paparazzo lurking with his camera cocked in an adjacent field, but perhaps Mme Kanawa hadn’t taken out her curlers that day and was shy of besmirching her reputation. Never mind, Kiri,
Lafayette will make you famous; apparently everybody reads his write-ups.
Sandyballs feared that the price of tarrying would be an arse full of buckshot so hurried everyone away. As we skirted the vast park-like garden we did notice a strange little designer gatey type hole, about eighteen inches high cut out of the side fence. Was it to let Kiri’s wallabies back in after they’d spent a night on the piss? Or maybe it was to enable her (small) lover to gain access when she needed her tonsils massaged. The mystery was never solved.
Now came the nasty part of the ramble when we had to go up, up, over the hills and far away. The South Downs can be merciless to unfit NERDS but that day the sun shone and we were all light of heart (especially after a few pints) Sandyballs began to relate some fantasy about being stalked by Kaddy Lee-Preston (one of the Famous Weather Girls which middle aged men often admire for their meteorological skills). Apparently she had followed Sandyballs from pub to pub in Lewes making suggestive remarks about his sunny disposition and suggesting he came back to hers to see her isobars. Not as good as Lafayette’s near- miss adventure with Helga von Dortmund back in the pub, though.
Over the Downs we went. At the top you could see the Atlantic on one side and the Pacific on the other, - just to the right of Newhaven. We tiptoed past a nasty big bull who looked as if he might do us some damage if we looked at his cows too long, and passed a fit looking 20 year old, all dressed in lycra who was sprinting up the hill with her dog and who did not stop to listen to Froggy’s exposition of how to find the most refined porno films on the internet. Sad, sad, sad.
Eventually we got to the Juggs at Kingston where we were to sample the famous Bishops Finger (beer) and where Froggy again regaled us with tales of his going on a “Ship Awareness “ course financed by the Home Office. I ask you. Does an I.O. at Newhaven have to be sent on such a course? Is this not a gross waste of public funds?
Or is it an alternative to the “ Get to Know Your Arse from Your Elbow “ course that is compulsory for all Customs officers? Froggy seemed to have benefited somehow - there was some talk about somebody called Rebecca nearly succumbing to his boyish charms. Sad, sad, sad again.
Now for the bit you’ve all been waiting for. The reason for this month’s title. Well, as we were passing down the lane leading to Lewes Rugby Club (which Sandyballs reckons is an infamous haunt of those who take out girlfriends, mistresses, boys, goats, melons etc.for a spot of illicit dogging - although why he should know beats me) there were to be observed, every twenty five yards or so along the route, photocopies of something or other all casually strewn around. On closer examination the photocopies were all of the same set of male private parts bedecked with a tasteful ribbon, and displayed as if for a special present for (obviously) a special person.
(It’s all right, Matt; your copy is in the post as I write). The NERDS were all shocked to their separate cores. Gosh, weren’t they big, Who could possibly sell enough ribbon to go round all that; I wonder who this special person is; She must be a big girl (or boy).
Anyway, another NERDS’ mystery to remain unsolved. Shaking our heads in shock we hurried on and ended up at the Kings Head in Lewes where thankfully nobody accused us of scattering filth around the countryside and urban environs, and where we had a last pint before going home.
So… what a lot of exciting things. What with being constantly (almost) importuned by sex mad females, and having been constantly told what a Lothario Froggy had been in his youth (please read that last bit the way it was meant to sound), together with all the other stuff, it had been a quite adventurous ramble.
Thanks be to all who took part including Dumpling and Haddock, and to Sandyballs for most of the route. Thanks to Froggy for being so brave and doing the whole of the walk despite his poorly ankles, we hope they get better soon.
Soon it’s the 250th so start saving up now!
You too B.T. - we’re going to Dieppe and that’s your part of the world (ish).
Lafayette.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Wednesday 21st Ramble
As of now the ramble is still scheduled to go ahead with or without Froggy. Await this page for further details.
BT
BT
How to avoid a ramble
Yo Nierdos!
Here is a photo, taken just minutes ago, of my poor feet. I shall be consulting Malcolm on tonight's night shift on how he managed to get rid of such appalling water retention, but I fear that it may take many days. I have already chatted with Matt about the possibility of missing the ramble altogether (it would seem that we both have water problems)!!
However, if I can make it home off nights at a reasonable hour and get to Charlie's by the appointed hour (t'would have to be the 09:58 train at the very earliest) I'll see how the fat feet feel after lunch. Thereupon I might be able to grind out the entire route back to Lewes (who would want to miss a lovely foaming pint of Bishop's Finger at the Juggs)?
Alternatively, I may have to give up the ghost and catch a train home from Southease. Que sera sera.
Hope to see you all tomorrow, however briefly.
Feet viewing by appointment only.
Flip Flop Fat Feet Fill
Saturday, July 17, 2010
July 2010 Ramble Joining Instructions
Hail all Nerds,
Next ramble is on Wednesday 21st (Independance Day in Belgium!). We are lunching at the Abergavenny Arms in Rodmell then proceeding up Porky Woman Hill, calling in at Kiri Te Kanawa's place for tea and cakes. Then back to Lewes - possibly with a pit-stop at the Jugs Arms.
Lafayette has kindly offered to host the pre-ramble, so suggest we get there about 10.00. We then have to take the 11.32 train from NHN Town to Southease. Seaford and Newhaven types should therefore get a RETURN ticket to Lewes.
As for the August ramble, I have a week's leave at home before the French holiday for week commencing 1/8. Unfortunately I cannot do Wednesday 4/8 but any other day that week is fine. Tuesday? Thursday? Please let me know your preferences.
See you next week
Sandyballs
Next ramble is on Wednesday 21st (Independance Day in Belgium!). We are lunching at the Abergavenny Arms in Rodmell then proceeding up Porky Woman Hill, calling in at Kiri Te Kanawa's place for tea and cakes. Then back to Lewes - possibly with a pit-stop at the Jugs Arms.
Lafayette has kindly offered to host the pre-ramble, so suggest we get there about 10.00. We then have to take the 11.32 train from NHN Town to Southease. Seaford and Newhaven types should therefore get a RETURN ticket to Lewes.
As for the August ramble, I have a week's leave at home before the French holiday for week commencing 1/8. Unfortunately I cannot do Wednesday 4/8 but any other day that week is fine. Tuesday? Thursday? Please let me know your preferences.
See you next week
Sandyballs
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The "New Forest" Ramble!
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble No. 247.
8th - 10th June 2010.
The Isle of Wight Ramble.
Those Present - Froggy, Paco, B.T., Sandyballs, Lafayette.
Day One - Getting There.
That day the NERDS were not well. Below is a list of their then ailments:
Lafayette - sore throat and writers’ cramp (from last month)
Sandy balls - poorly, gouty toe with pins inside it.
B. T. - a feeling of impending doom.
Paco - a feeling of not quite being on this planet.
Froggy - Obsessive Compulsive Syndrome.
Paco had volunteered to drive because he’d got a car that would hold five fat bastards
and which we hoped would get us down to The New Forest in one piece. Lafayette had been promised lots of walks round the N.F. with opportunities to pet ponies, moon about in leafy glades and get drunk on local ice cream - but he was cruelly deceived and it was not to be. Nor did the weather look too hopeful - I mean, when was the last time you saw Carol Kirkwood dressed in a diving suit to tell you about a few possible mild showers? (Nice tits, though).
Before picking up Sandyballs Lafayette decided he needed a few bottles of water to mix with his medecine and so a stop was made at the kiosk opposite Lewes station.
Unfortunately this was not one of those places where you can dodge into and say “six bottles of water and a Daily Worker, please” and get away in less than thirty seconds. Oh, no. There were just three people ahead of Lafayette in the queue but they’d all been obviously sent out to get both lunch and dinner for the staff of most of the factories in Lewes. And to make things worse the shop people were laboriously buttering each piece of bread and then it was “Do you want grilled porpoise in it as well as that piece of mermaid’s belly button you originally specified? And was that with chips? Good job that Lafayette was the patient type because after thirty five minutes or so Paco came out to see if he’d absconded with the whip.
Anyway, all watered up, we finally went to pick up Sandyballs who was shamefacedly standing there in true sartorial shambles. Pleading poorly foot syndrome he had had the temerity that day to get dressed in sandals with socks!!! Lafayette was appalled; What a faux pas! What would the NERDS say? What would lady Gaga say? What would Willy Walsh say? (Two of Lafayette’s current role models). Lafayette himself would never stoop as low as this however bad his throat felt. Fortunately the NERDS were squabbling over the contents of a hipflask or some such and failed to notice this
gross social gaffe. And so on to Hampshire.
On arrival at The Kings Arms in Lymington The NERDS immediately smirked at the barmaid (Sam) and ordered four pints of Ringwood (with one pint of lager for one of us who claimed he was suffering from a mimsy tummy [not mumsy bum]). This, the local beer was excellent and the expected rain had not yet reached this far south. Unfortunately, because our rooms weren’t quite ready we were denied the possibility of an afternoon’s crash and so, reluctantly, we were dragooned into a post prandial stroll by Sandyballs who seemed to be the only one with a game plan.
The stroll took us along the pretty docky seafront where twats with blazers and club ties were waffling on about tacking , mizzling, casting off, walking the plank and what a good job the Conservatives had got back in again wasn’t it? Froggy who was having problems now with his mimsy bladder found a Dr Who Loo. What’s one of these? You may well ask. Well, both Lafayette and Sandyballs noticed that when Froggy went in he looked like Froggy, but when he came out he was old, bent and had a funny beard. So he had obviously time-travelled (forwards). Eventually Lafayette who had only had three pints of Ringwood for lunch worked out that it wasn’t actually Froggy who had come out, but someone else. Another mystery of the universe solved!
Deciding that if we couldn’t beat the Yacht Twats we might as well join them, we had an ice cream and repaired to the Yacht Club for a few gin and tonics. Every one was sitting around in wealthy, self satisfied splendour (the rest of the customers, not the NERDS) and so we bankrupted the whip on yachty drinks and sought directions from the yachty barmaid (nice tits, again). Sandyballs thought he had vaguely followed what she had been saying about where to go but whether this had anything to do with part two of our walk was anyone’s guess.
Out we went, and walked round the point (that’s nautical language for up the road) and thereafter ensued a mild dispute amongst the NERDS about the next day’s route. Lafayette said he had been faithfully promised that we should go all round the New Forest because he had been running short of coconuts at home and wanted to gather some from the foresty trees. Nobody had the heart to disillusion him about the state of the local flora and fauna (apparently it wasn’t coconut season until late September when the locals pulled the pigs off truffling duties and sent them up the trees) so by force majeur Lafayette was persuaded to visit the Isle of Wight because the coconuts were better there (allegedly, perhaps).
We wandered au bord de la mer for a bit until Paco’s middle age began to tell on him.
So we sat down and watched all the young people sprinting around with dogs, getting fit and whatnot, and then we short cutted back into town feeling that we couldn’t impose more of this gruelling walking on poor Paco (besides, we were getting thirsty)
Back in town and a bit disorientated we asked for further directions from a lady who was dead-heading triffids in her front garden. She was quite willing (to tell us the way) and said her garden was known as lost corner because everyone er…got lost there. Mindful of the Dr Who Lavatory, we scurried off not wishing to fall through a tear in the space/time continuum and subsequently find ourselves in a place with no pubs.
Fortunately we got back to The Kings Arms OK and were shown to our rooms.
Ah, yes the rooms…. Sandyballs, B.T. and Lafayette were in The Family Room.
This was sort of on the low side of almost adequate because at least we had a kettle
(no cups, mind), a telly, en-suite shower, no coat hangers (for B.T.’s tights) a choice of black or a white rats to keep us company and a smell of fresh paint. Sandyballs ‘bagged’ the biggest double bed before anyone else could opt for it and Lafayette ‘bagged’ the cot nearest the ‘en suite’ so he wouldn’t have so far to go for his midnight pee. That left the bed nearest the wardrobe for BT who was later coerced into making tea, coffee and other assorted drinks for everyone! So not too bad really. Froggy and Paco’ s room was a bit more basic - no ensuite, no mirror, no towels to go with the no en suite and no choice of rats. Pretty grim, you might say. So the first thing B.T. did was to make a lightning sortie chez Pacfrog and nick all the coat hangers. “ Now at least we’ll have something to eat, “ he said “ You forgot the rats,” said Lafayette.
Having settled in, Pacfrog went outside to smoke something nasty and then we all went off for aperitifs at another nautical pub called the Ship Inn and Co. ‘along the point’ We sat outside where the smokers weren’t allowed to smoke (tee, hee) and where Froggy entertained us with funny jokes he had heard last week at his primary school (Lafayette particularly liked the one about the hen, the frog and the library books).
Back at the Kings Arms we almost named that day’s experiences The Recession Ramble because of the shitty state of Pacfrog’s room but instead listened to B.T.’s conspiracy theories about Froggy’s French i/d card (wot?) how the French are determined to rip off all foreigners and take away their pensions, and how the Albigensian Movement for Democracy had been infiltrated by the French Taleban
as far back as the eleventh century. ( So, are you going to support your adopted country in the World Cup, or not then, B.T.?)
The evening was spent in some Bengali restaurant where the birianis were too dry and the waiter was too above his station. I mean, fancy telling Lafayette that you weren’t supposed to eat curry with your fingers. He’s been to places where the natives eat curries with their enemies’ fingers - which they’d cut off in battle.
We trailed back along the High street and came across a real whiz looking French restaurant which we’d so far managed to overlook. Tomorrow, perhaps, although B.T. warned us that the French used to feed snails to the Cathars in the thirteenth century to make them blow up so that the King of France could excommunicate them all and get his hands on their massive assets (Was Carol Kirkwood a Cathar, then?). Anyway, back to The Kings Arms where we renewed our fragile relationship with barmaid
Sam and where Paco suddenly lost his cool about the I.S.U., the Independent Stalinist Union to which he had once belonged but to his chagrin had been taken over by the
N.C.P.S., the Nancy Corporate Pipesmokers’ Syndicate which had blocked his promotion and forced him to retire prematurely. What bastards!
Lafayette was unable to stand any more of this self pitying twaddle so went to bed -
only to be woken by a thunderous knocking further down the corridor when Sandyballs in his cups (for a change) had begun hammering on the next room’s door and demanding that Lafayette let him in (ha, ha). Fortunately B.T. managed to smooth over the angry person who had been disturbed in mid-coitus , and after a few doses of rum and cherry cake the Family Room NERDS all crashed out.
Day Two - The Isle of Wight Ramble.
Sandyballs awoke early craving tea. Since FamilyNERDS had a kettle this would be no problem. There were even teabags and a bit of milk and stuff. Oh dear! the ensuing brew tasted as if the rats had pissed in it. Everyone’s tasted the same - sort of like rat-piss. Sandyballs had given up by now and returned grumbling to his pit. Up rose B.T., bright eyed and bushy tailed (sort of) and volunteered to make coffee. This turned out to be not quite as vile, although we had used all the milk by now. Lafayette came up with an original solution. Let’s put Spanish brandy in it and pretend it’s milk. Seemed to work all right. Maybe if Lafayette puts empty brandy bottles out on his doorstep the milkman will change them for full ones - who knows?
Froggy strolled in and drank the rest of the milk. Said Paco was poncing around in a cool dressing gown wearing a hat with one of those little tassels on the top - No shit!
NERDS went down for a fried breakfast and met Marisol - all 4 foot 11inches of her.
She was Spanish, blonde, cooked a mean breakfast and was in charge of the pub.
Better be nice to her then. She was OK, even spoke English, had all the attributes to be a perfect wife. No, not for you B.T., you’ve had three already! Better go out before any more bad ideas surface.
So a long walk to the ferry terminal where most of us get cheapo senior tickets with one glaring exception. What’s that, Froggy? You’re still at primary school? No senior ticket for you then. Grump Grump. Next is standing in the footies queue to get on board. Grump, grump, still. NERDS get to the front of the queue and get RLE. Too many people on this ferry; you’re not posh enough; wait for the next one in ten minutes. OK, not a problem; it’s a nice day most of us thought. But from the rear came an ever increasing ‘Grump, grump everso grump. They never did this at my
primary school blah, blah, blah.etc, etc.’ In the end we got on board but found there was no bar. Wot sort of ferry is this then? Oh well, it’s only a half hour crossing.
On the lovely Isle of Wight we all piled off, rambled twenty five yards and dived into The Kings Head. “Do you sell coconuts?” asked Lafayette. “No, but we have got some beer.” said the friendly barman “I’m afraid all our coconut pigs have been loaned out to the mainland where they’re up trees on the far side of that New Forest Thingy.”
“ Bugger!” thought Lafayette. “I’ll have to drink more beer. I don’t suppose you sell pedometers do you, only we walk so far on these rambles that it’s nice to keep a track.”“ No, sorry, “ said the kind man. “We’re fresh out of pedometers at the moment; it’s those coconut pigs you know; they took them all over to the mainland with them.”
The NERDS made the best of a bad job since there were no coconuts and drank a lot of the local Yates beer. “It’s our pigs that make this beer, you know,” said the kind barman. “They mash it with their trotters; that’s what gives it its special flavour.”
“That is, “he added “when they’re not out looking for coconuts.” Lafayette started to vaguely wonder what had been in that special milk he’d put in his coffee that morning.
Sandyballs insisted we ramble further so we went about a mile round the harbour and visited a local primary school. Here Froggy interviewed the kids in the playground and got some more jokes for his stand up comic routine material. However, the lure of the Piggy Beer drew us back to the Kings Head and we had an excellent cheap fish and chip meal there for the price of half a coconut each. Lafayette began to compose a song along the lines of “This is the shortest ramble we’ve ever been on!” but while he thought he’d got the lyrics right he wasn’t sure about the tune and decided to let Froggy have a crack at this when he got home and out of hearing
On the ferry Froggy seemed a bit perturbed about some feud he’d had with somebody at work. Nobody we knew, thank God, but Paco lent a sympathetic ear. Back on dry land we thought we’d go for a drink (how novel!) and wandered off to The Waggon and Horses which was ostensibly closed. Grump, grump, grump, we went across the car park until all of a sudden another kind barman appeared and offered us the use of his pub garden as long as we behaved soberish and didn’t go on about feuds at work.
This worked fine; the weather was pleasantly warm and everyone was mellow. Paco and Lafayette went back into the pub for another round and nearly got loved to death by Milo, the pub boxer who nearly broke Lafayette’s leg with his enthusiastically wagging tail. Finally we thought we ought to get back to The Kings Head in Lymington otherwise Marisol might be missing us.
But the well laid plans of NERDS oft go astray. Half way back Paco realised he wasn’t wearing his dressing gown any more; and what was worse this was where he kept his car keys! Panic, panic, panic! Nor was it one of those special dressing gowns equipped with a satnav that found its own way back to its owner when you whistled. What to do? First get back to the pub and have a drink to get rid of the stress. This we did; rang up The Isle of Pigs but no keys; rang up the ferry but ring back onTuesday; rang up the Doggy Pub and bingo! The dressing gown was lining Milo’s doggy basket and he didn’t want to give it up. He’d also swallowed the car keys. Looks like Paco had some hard decisions to make, ie. Get back to the pub, get the dog drunk, extricate the keys somehow and sneak off with his dressing gown.
A couple of hours later our lift back home had been assured. The dog had been really generous and even told Paco under which bush he had sicked up the car keys.
Good Boy, Milo! That’s worth another drink to celebrate. Let’s go to Brasserie Gerard for dinner.
This was a good place to go. They did proper French food - like steak and chips and proper French wine - like red,white and rosay (please excuse spelling; only Mrs Lafayette can operate the accents on this gadget [I can = rosé]; ed). The one waiter was French so B.T. acted as interpreter for the main course, and the other was Iranian so Paco was deputed to try him in Turkish after Lafayette’s Urdu had failed. Sadly they both spoke English as did the girly waitress with the short hair who looked French but came from Winchester. Anyway, after a few glasses of wine and a couple of forkfulls of Froggy’s chips who cared? The meal -coquilles Saint Jacques, steak, chips, Froggy’s chips, cheese, vin rouge, vin rosé, and ice cream for Lafayette was very pleasant. Pity about the size of the bill; and all for us poor NERDS who only eat like sparrows at the best of times.
Back at The Kings Arms and in the Family/NERDS room one of us kept going on about somebody nasty at work (Newhaven) who was (allegedly) being machiaevellian, cruel, unsympathetic, horrible, wicked, awful, even crueller and “not being nice to me”. By now we had all got fed up with hearing this terrible person’s name being touted about and began singing a lovely song to drown out the waves of paranoia coming from the end of one of the beds.
The song which was brought out at regular intervals went something like this:
Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans , riding through the glen;
Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans, with his band of men;
Feared by the Frog, loved by the Dog; (No not her, how dare you!)
Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans.
Good eh? Lafayette is now thinking of compiling a short collection of NERDS’ ditties in a slim volume (very slim). The above will take its rightful place as No.1
Together with such classics as ‘This is the worst ramble we’ve ever been on’
and ‘ I’m a Polish Gypsy (P.A., P.A., P.A.) - remember that one?
Day Three - Getting Back.
This was the bit Philby hated most in Shropshire - the final Wrap Party when you knew that Reality beckoned her boring finger at you and the drinking had to stop.
But not quite yet.
We descended to pay our dues and to gob up the last big fry-up. Little Marisol continued her usual high standard of catering. She had imported her brother, Josay (accents again, I’m afraid ) who seemed to have had more wives than even B.T. and actually looked quite Spanish in a dago-ish sort of way ( not like Paco who must have been a little blond angel when he was born).
Marisol told us her life story, Josay told us his life story , Froggy told everyone about his book, Lafayette told everybody about his terrible experience on The Chartres, Sandyballs told everybody about his toe and B.T. told everybody about the iniquities of the French government. At the end of all this we felt we all knew each other quite well. And so we left Lymington. Lafayette felt the rooms in the pub reminded him of the crappy rooms in the Louis Armstrong in Dover when he was on relief in the 70‘s; and he felt rather nostalgic; Sandyballs reserved judgement.
And so back on the road which surprisingly wound onwards to The Black Rabbit at Arundel. We always end up here, we always sit in the same spot and it usually rains. Not today though; the rain held off and we had a last pint (or so) of Badger Beer and sang a few choruses of ‘ Tin of Beans’ when the atmosphere got a bit fraught. We decided that there was in fact a difference between Old Gits and Old Trouts - The former are NERDS and pub customers, and the latter are parasites who faff about and get in the way of the former. Twas ever thus.
We agreed that in general it had been a successful three days. There had been two interesting drunken rants, lots of exciting food, drink and people, and nobody had got seriously injured.
Thanks of course go to Paco for driving
To Froggy for still being our ‘Yoof Rep’ and taking photos
To Sandyballs for organising the “walks”
To B.T. for taking the big Photos .
And to Lafayette for writing this stuff and making up songs.
Now time to detox.
Ha, Ha, good luck.
Lafayette.
8th - 10th June 2010.
The Isle of Wight Ramble.
Those Present - Froggy, Paco, B.T., Sandyballs, Lafayette.
Day One - Getting There.
That day the NERDS were not well. Below is a list of their then ailments:
Lafayette - sore throat and writers’ cramp (from last month)
Sandy balls - poorly, gouty toe with pins inside it.
B. T. - a feeling of impending doom.
Paco - a feeling of not quite being on this planet.
Froggy - Obsessive Compulsive Syndrome.
Paco had volunteered to drive because he’d got a car that would hold five fat bastards
and which we hoped would get us down to The New Forest in one piece. Lafayette had been promised lots of walks round the N.F. with opportunities to pet ponies, moon about in leafy glades and get drunk on local ice cream - but he was cruelly deceived and it was not to be. Nor did the weather look too hopeful - I mean, when was the last time you saw Carol Kirkwood dressed in a diving suit to tell you about a few possible mild showers? (Nice tits, though).
Before picking up Sandyballs Lafayette decided he needed a few bottles of water to mix with his medecine and so a stop was made at the kiosk opposite Lewes station.
Unfortunately this was not one of those places where you can dodge into and say “six bottles of water and a Daily Worker, please” and get away in less than thirty seconds. Oh, no. There were just three people ahead of Lafayette in the queue but they’d all been obviously sent out to get both lunch and dinner for the staff of most of the factories in Lewes. And to make things worse the shop people were laboriously buttering each piece of bread and then it was “Do you want grilled porpoise in it as well as that piece of mermaid’s belly button you originally specified? And was that with chips? Good job that Lafayette was the patient type because after thirty five minutes or so Paco came out to see if he’d absconded with the whip.
Anyway, all watered up, we finally went to pick up Sandyballs who was shamefacedly standing there in true sartorial shambles. Pleading poorly foot syndrome he had had the temerity that day to get dressed in sandals with socks!!! Lafayette was appalled; What a faux pas! What would the NERDS say? What would lady Gaga say? What would Willy Walsh say? (Two of Lafayette’s current role models). Lafayette himself would never stoop as low as this however bad his throat felt. Fortunately the NERDS were squabbling over the contents of a hipflask or some such and failed to notice this
gross social gaffe. And so on to Hampshire.
On arrival at The Kings Arms in Lymington The NERDS immediately smirked at the barmaid (Sam) and ordered four pints of Ringwood (with one pint of lager for one of us who claimed he was suffering from a mimsy tummy [not mumsy bum]). This, the local beer was excellent and the expected rain had not yet reached this far south. Unfortunately, because our rooms weren’t quite ready we were denied the possibility of an afternoon’s crash and so, reluctantly, we were dragooned into a post prandial stroll by Sandyballs who seemed to be the only one with a game plan.
The stroll took us along the pretty docky seafront where twats with blazers and club ties were waffling on about tacking , mizzling, casting off, walking the plank and what a good job the Conservatives had got back in again wasn’t it? Froggy who was having problems now with his mimsy bladder found a Dr Who Loo. What’s one of these? You may well ask. Well, both Lafayette and Sandyballs noticed that when Froggy went in he looked like Froggy, but when he came out he was old, bent and had a funny beard. So he had obviously time-travelled (forwards). Eventually Lafayette who had only had three pints of Ringwood for lunch worked out that it wasn’t actually Froggy who had come out, but someone else. Another mystery of the universe solved!
Deciding that if we couldn’t beat the Yacht Twats we might as well join them, we had an ice cream and repaired to the Yacht Club for a few gin and tonics. Every one was sitting around in wealthy, self satisfied splendour (the rest of the customers, not the NERDS) and so we bankrupted the whip on yachty drinks and sought directions from the yachty barmaid (nice tits, again). Sandyballs thought he had vaguely followed what she had been saying about where to go but whether this had anything to do with part two of our walk was anyone’s guess.
Out we went, and walked round the point (that’s nautical language for up the road) and thereafter ensued a mild dispute amongst the NERDS about the next day’s route. Lafayette said he had been faithfully promised that we should go all round the New Forest because he had been running short of coconuts at home and wanted to gather some from the foresty trees. Nobody had the heart to disillusion him about the state of the local flora and fauna (apparently it wasn’t coconut season until late September when the locals pulled the pigs off truffling duties and sent them up the trees) so by force majeur Lafayette was persuaded to visit the Isle of Wight because the coconuts were better there (allegedly, perhaps).
We wandered au bord de la mer for a bit until Paco’s middle age began to tell on him.
So we sat down and watched all the young people sprinting around with dogs, getting fit and whatnot, and then we short cutted back into town feeling that we couldn’t impose more of this gruelling walking on poor Paco (besides, we were getting thirsty)
Back in town and a bit disorientated we asked for further directions from a lady who was dead-heading triffids in her front garden. She was quite willing (to tell us the way) and said her garden was known as lost corner because everyone er…got lost there. Mindful of the Dr Who Lavatory, we scurried off not wishing to fall through a tear in the space/time continuum and subsequently find ourselves in a place with no pubs.
Fortunately we got back to The Kings Arms OK and were shown to our rooms.
Ah, yes the rooms…. Sandyballs, B.T. and Lafayette were in The Family Room.
This was sort of on the low side of almost adequate because at least we had a kettle
(no cups, mind), a telly, en-suite shower, no coat hangers (for B.T.’s tights) a choice of black or a white rats to keep us company and a smell of fresh paint. Sandyballs ‘bagged’ the biggest double bed before anyone else could opt for it and Lafayette ‘bagged’ the cot nearest the ‘en suite’ so he wouldn’t have so far to go for his midnight pee. That left the bed nearest the wardrobe for BT who was later coerced into making tea, coffee and other assorted drinks for everyone! So not too bad really. Froggy and Paco’ s room was a bit more basic - no ensuite, no mirror, no towels to go with the no en suite and no choice of rats. Pretty grim, you might say. So the first thing B.T. did was to make a lightning sortie chez Pacfrog and nick all the coat hangers. “ Now at least we’ll have something to eat, “ he said “ You forgot the rats,” said Lafayette.
Having settled in, Pacfrog went outside to smoke something nasty and then we all went off for aperitifs at another nautical pub called the Ship Inn and Co. ‘along the point’ We sat outside where the smokers weren’t allowed to smoke (tee, hee) and where Froggy entertained us with funny jokes he had heard last week at his primary school (Lafayette particularly liked the one about the hen, the frog and the library books).
Back at the Kings Arms we almost named that day’s experiences The Recession Ramble because of the shitty state of Pacfrog’s room but instead listened to B.T.’s conspiracy theories about Froggy’s French i/d card (wot?) how the French are determined to rip off all foreigners and take away their pensions, and how the Albigensian Movement for Democracy had been infiltrated by the French Taleban
as far back as the eleventh century. ( So, are you going to support your adopted country in the World Cup, or not then, B.T.?)
The evening was spent in some Bengali restaurant where the birianis were too dry and the waiter was too above his station. I mean, fancy telling Lafayette that you weren’t supposed to eat curry with your fingers. He’s been to places where the natives eat curries with their enemies’ fingers - which they’d cut off in battle.
We trailed back along the High street and came across a real whiz looking French restaurant which we’d so far managed to overlook. Tomorrow, perhaps, although B.T. warned us that the French used to feed snails to the Cathars in the thirteenth century to make them blow up so that the King of France could excommunicate them all and get his hands on their massive assets (Was Carol Kirkwood a Cathar, then?). Anyway, back to The Kings Arms where we renewed our fragile relationship with barmaid
Sam and where Paco suddenly lost his cool about the I.S.U., the Independent Stalinist Union to which he had once belonged but to his chagrin had been taken over by the
N.C.P.S., the Nancy Corporate Pipesmokers’ Syndicate which had blocked his promotion and forced him to retire prematurely. What bastards!
Lafayette was unable to stand any more of this self pitying twaddle so went to bed -
only to be woken by a thunderous knocking further down the corridor when Sandyballs in his cups (for a change) had begun hammering on the next room’s door and demanding that Lafayette let him in (ha, ha). Fortunately B.T. managed to smooth over the angry person who had been disturbed in mid-coitus , and after a few doses of rum and cherry cake the Family Room NERDS all crashed out.
Day Two - The Isle of Wight Ramble.
Sandyballs awoke early craving tea. Since FamilyNERDS had a kettle this would be no problem. There were even teabags and a bit of milk and stuff. Oh dear! the ensuing brew tasted as if the rats had pissed in it. Everyone’s tasted the same - sort of like rat-piss. Sandyballs had given up by now and returned grumbling to his pit. Up rose B.T., bright eyed and bushy tailed (sort of) and volunteered to make coffee. This turned out to be not quite as vile, although we had used all the milk by now. Lafayette came up with an original solution. Let’s put Spanish brandy in it and pretend it’s milk. Seemed to work all right. Maybe if Lafayette puts empty brandy bottles out on his doorstep the milkman will change them for full ones - who knows?
Froggy strolled in and drank the rest of the milk. Said Paco was poncing around in a cool dressing gown wearing a hat with one of those little tassels on the top - No shit!
NERDS went down for a fried breakfast and met Marisol - all 4 foot 11inches of her.
She was Spanish, blonde, cooked a mean breakfast and was in charge of the pub.
Better be nice to her then. She was OK, even spoke English, had all the attributes to be a perfect wife. No, not for you B.T., you’ve had three already! Better go out before any more bad ideas surface.
So a long walk to the ferry terminal where most of us get cheapo senior tickets with one glaring exception. What’s that, Froggy? You’re still at primary school? No senior ticket for you then. Grump Grump. Next is standing in the footies queue to get on board. Grump, grump, still. NERDS get to the front of the queue and get RLE. Too many people on this ferry; you’re not posh enough; wait for the next one in ten minutes. OK, not a problem; it’s a nice day most of us thought. But from the rear came an ever increasing ‘Grump, grump everso grump. They never did this at my
primary school blah, blah, blah.etc, etc.’ In the end we got on board but found there was no bar. Wot sort of ferry is this then? Oh well, it’s only a half hour crossing.
On the lovely Isle of Wight we all piled off, rambled twenty five yards and dived into The Kings Head. “Do you sell coconuts?” asked Lafayette. “No, but we have got some beer.” said the friendly barman “I’m afraid all our coconut pigs have been loaned out to the mainland where they’re up trees on the far side of that New Forest Thingy.”
“ Bugger!” thought Lafayette. “I’ll have to drink more beer. I don’t suppose you sell pedometers do you, only we walk so far on these rambles that it’s nice to keep a track.”“ No, sorry, “ said the kind man. “We’re fresh out of pedometers at the moment; it’s those coconut pigs you know; they took them all over to the mainland with them.”
The NERDS made the best of a bad job since there were no coconuts and drank a lot of the local Yates beer. “It’s our pigs that make this beer, you know,” said the kind barman. “They mash it with their trotters; that’s what gives it its special flavour.”
“That is, “he added “when they’re not out looking for coconuts.” Lafayette started to vaguely wonder what had been in that special milk he’d put in his coffee that morning.
Sandyballs insisted we ramble further so we went about a mile round the harbour and visited a local primary school. Here Froggy interviewed the kids in the playground and got some more jokes for his stand up comic routine material. However, the lure of the Piggy Beer drew us back to the Kings Head and we had an excellent cheap fish and chip meal there for the price of half a coconut each. Lafayette began to compose a song along the lines of “This is the shortest ramble we’ve ever been on!” but while he thought he’d got the lyrics right he wasn’t sure about the tune and decided to let Froggy have a crack at this when he got home and out of hearing
On the ferry Froggy seemed a bit perturbed about some feud he’d had with somebody at work. Nobody we knew, thank God, but Paco lent a sympathetic ear. Back on dry land we thought we’d go for a drink (how novel!) and wandered off to The Waggon and Horses which was ostensibly closed. Grump, grump, grump, we went across the car park until all of a sudden another kind barman appeared and offered us the use of his pub garden as long as we behaved soberish and didn’t go on about feuds at work.
This worked fine; the weather was pleasantly warm and everyone was mellow. Paco and Lafayette went back into the pub for another round and nearly got loved to death by Milo, the pub boxer who nearly broke Lafayette’s leg with his enthusiastically wagging tail. Finally we thought we ought to get back to The Kings Head in Lymington otherwise Marisol might be missing us.
But the well laid plans of NERDS oft go astray. Half way back Paco realised he wasn’t wearing his dressing gown any more; and what was worse this was where he kept his car keys! Panic, panic, panic! Nor was it one of those special dressing gowns equipped with a satnav that found its own way back to its owner when you whistled. What to do? First get back to the pub and have a drink to get rid of the stress. This we did; rang up The Isle of Pigs but no keys; rang up the ferry but ring back onTuesday; rang up the Doggy Pub and bingo! The dressing gown was lining Milo’s doggy basket and he didn’t want to give it up. He’d also swallowed the car keys. Looks like Paco had some hard decisions to make, ie. Get back to the pub, get the dog drunk, extricate the keys somehow and sneak off with his dressing gown.
A couple of hours later our lift back home had been assured. The dog had been really generous and even told Paco under which bush he had sicked up the car keys.
Good Boy, Milo! That’s worth another drink to celebrate. Let’s go to Brasserie Gerard for dinner.
This was a good place to go. They did proper French food - like steak and chips and proper French wine - like red,white and rosay (please excuse spelling; only Mrs Lafayette can operate the accents on this gadget [I can = rosé]; ed). The one waiter was French so B.T. acted as interpreter for the main course, and the other was Iranian so Paco was deputed to try him in Turkish after Lafayette’s Urdu had failed. Sadly they both spoke English as did the girly waitress with the short hair who looked French but came from Winchester. Anyway, after a few glasses of wine and a couple of forkfulls of Froggy’s chips who cared? The meal -coquilles Saint Jacques, steak, chips, Froggy’s chips, cheese, vin rouge, vin rosé, and ice cream for Lafayette was very pleasant. Pity about the size of the bill; and all for us poor NERDS who only eat like sparrows at the best of times.
Back at The Kings Arms and in the Family/NERDS room one of us kept going on about somebody nasty at work (Newhaven) who was (allegedly) being machiaevellian, cruel, unsympathetic, horrible, wicked, awful, even crueller and “not being nice to me”. By now we had all got fed up with hearing this terrible person’s name being touted about and began singing a lovely song to drown out the waves of paranoia coming from the end of one of the beds.
The song which was brought out at regular intervals went something like this:
Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans , riding through the glen;
Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans, with his band of men;
Feared by the Frog, loved by the Dog; (No not her, how dare you!)
Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans, Tin of Beans.
Good eh? Lafayette is now thinking of compiling a short collection of NERDS’ ditties in a slim volume (very slim). The above will take its rightful place as No.1
Together with such classics as ‘This is the worst ramble we’ve ever been on’
and ‘ I’m a Polish Gypsy (P.A., P.A., P.A.) - remember that one?
Day Three - Getting Back.
This was the bit Philby hated most in Shropshire - the final Wrap Party when you knew that Reality beckoned her boring finger at you and the drinking had to stop.
But not quite yet.
We descended to pay our dues and to gob up the last big fry-up. Little Marisol continued her usual high standard of catering. She had imported her brother, Josay (accents again, I’m afraid ) who seemed to have had more wives than even B.T. and actually looked quite Spanish in a dago-ish sort of way ( not like Paco who must have been a little blond angel when he was born).
Marisol told us her life story, Josay told us his life story , Froggy told everyone about his book, Lafayette told everybody about his terrible experience on The Chartres, Sandyballs told everybody about his toe and B.T. told everybody about the iniquities of the French government. At the end of all this we felt we all knew each other quite well. And so we left Lymington. Lafayette felt the rooms in the pub reminded him of the crappy rooms in the Louis Armstrong in Dover when he was on relief in the 70‘s; and he felt rather nostalgic; Sandyballs reserved judgement.
And so back on the road which surprisingly wound onwards to The Black Rabbit at Arundel. We always end up here, we always sit in the same spot and it usually rains. Not today though; the rain held off and we had a last pint (or so) of Badger Beer and sang a few choruses of ‘ Tin of Beans’ when the atmosphere got a bit fraught. We decided that there was in fact a difference between Old Gits and Old Trouts - The former are NERDS and pub customers, and the latter are parasites who faff about and get in the way of the former. Twas ever thus.
We agreed that in general it had been a successful three days. There had been two interesting drunken rants, lots of exciting food, drink and people, and nobody had got seriously injured.
Thanks of course go to Paco for driving
To Froggy for still being our ‘Yoof Rep’ and taking photos
To Sandyballs for organising the “walks”
To B.T. for taking the big Photos .
And to Lafayette for writing this stuff and making up songs.
Now time to detox.
Ha, Ha, good luck.
Lafayette.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The May 2010 Ramble
Well here it is folks; The ramble accordging to Lafayette. There do appear to be a few anomolies but the photographs do provide an interesting account although there is not one phorograph of Froggy. Is this because he was not there? Or is it that he could not prevail upon anyone to 'take one with me in it'. Anyway; here commencth the lesson:-
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble 246 - 12th May 2010
Those Present - Lafayette, Froggy, El Paco, Sandy balls (a bit).
The Dithering About Ramble.
Today the NERDS were somewhat depleted. Matt put up the usual pathetic excuse that he couldn’t be bothered coming; Captain Haddock was nowhere to be seen; Bronco was off lassooing horses in the Camargue and Sandyballs had a gout related toe infection meaning he couldn’t walk but could issue instructions from his Bunker in Berlin. Unfortunately for Froggy the instructions were written down in minuscule Martian and sent to his mobile phone. This, together with the fact that Froggy had lost his reading glasses meant that no way could he make sense of anything, so nobody had a fucking clue where we were supposed to actually ramble that day.
So off we set from Lewes station. At least the weather was OK - sunnyish and reasonably warm. Froggy led us through Southover towards Kingston saying all the while that we had done this ramble before so nothing could possibly go wrong could it? Paco trundled along moaning that his eldest daughter was pregnant again and had forgotten his birthday the day before, and Lafayette covered his eyes in despair convinced disasters were going to happen - ho ho, just watch this space.
We got to a field - yes I know this happens sometimes in NERDS’ rambles - but was it the right field? Where did we go from here? Which direction was the correct one? Was the ramble actually today, anyway? Paco assured us it was ( and he should know)
There was a lot of DITHERING and FAFFING ABOUT cos it was obvious that Froggy didn’t have a clue what to do next even though Kingston (our pit stop destination) was practically visible as the crow flew. Lafayette was snorting with impatience so Froggy took some nice photos by a gate (which gate? Was it the right gate?) to shut him up and calm him down.
Eventually we hit a road (was it the right road even?) and prepared to go across country through a farm towards Kingston except Froggy’s map wasn’t very clear and he hadn’t got his reading glasses and the sun was in his eyes and he wanted a wee and where were we anyway? Eventually Lafayette, in an uncharacteristic burst of impatience, took the ramble by the horns and led his Chosen People out of The Wilderness unto Kingston via the A 249.
Finally we had got to The Juggs, the pit-stop pub agreed on by Sandyballs. Now we could relax a bit and let some of the tension and stress that attends each ramble just ebb away.(lol again). Finally after about three pints of Bishops Finger (rude Bishop!)
Lafayette stopped snorting with impatience at other people’s frailties and realised that other NERDS weren’t perhaps as perfect as he, and he should make allowances for this humbling fact. At least Froggy had recommended the beer here so he was forgiven a bit (only a bit ) for his FAFFING and ARSING ABOUT during the route mastering.
When Lafayette had calmed down and stopped cursing, swearing and banging his head against the flint wall, Froggy lead everyone through Kingston out into the countryside towards the Swan at Southover via the large bridge over the A27 where some pillock had once jumped off with a rope around his neck to try to commit suicide and ended up decapitating himself (ie. did actually kill himself but not quite in the way he had envisioned).
Anyway, we entered The Swan to see Sandyballs in his bathchair moaning that his foot hurt and that’s why he couldn’t have got the pints in for the rest of us (just his own) and where had we been, we were late. So Paco blamed Lafayette for drinking too much and Lafayette blamed Froggy for inept route mastering and Froggy blamed Sandyballs for sending him illegible instructions and normal NERDS relations were resumed.
After a good dinner of some pie or other that Sandyballs had recommended (it was very good) Lafayette decided not to endorse Baby Flintoff’s passport application since he was too pissed to write properly and he didn’t want to end up with Baby Flintoff being issued with a forged Nigerian passport by mistake. And so Sandyballs wheeled himself off to get his stitches plucked out (It’ll only take five minutes or so and I’ll be out this afternoon riding my bike - you just watch, ha ha ). We never saw him again.
So, the rest of the NERDS decamped along the road to the King’s Head simply to escape the incipient showers and not to drink any more beer - that would be immoral.
While Lafayette was prising more money out of the hole in the wall Paco had been making enquiries of the barman and found there was no cognac to be had for the café cognacs. So we had to drink café /malt whisky (not quite the same). Meanwhile in the back room Froggy had come upon a vision of 22 stone loveliness holding a little dog who said her name was Ivy and she was half Peruvian.
Paco entered the room, gave a start and they started talking to each other in Spanish.
Lafayette’s Spanish is only Home Office exam level (ie. rubbish) but he managed to piece together the following conversation:
Paco I haven’t seen you for ages, how is your mum?
Ivy You should care , you bastardo, after you abandoned us I heard she was selling herself on the streets of Caracas.
Paco (shame facedly) I couldn’t stay, I met this nice Brazilian woman and she wanted to have my babies.
Ivy And what about me? I was only little, I had to go off to Mexico and buy little dogs to trade for food otherwise I too might have ended up pregnant like all your other relatives. By the way, what happened to that friend of yours - the nice one with the beard who spoke crap Spanish and who was always trying to get my knickers off?
Paco Sadly, he went to a better place.
What happened next is only to guess because the rest of the NERDS (all two of them) ran out of the pub and scampered home before any more sordid details of Paco’s past were revealed.
So, an exciting ramble with lots of incident and excitement. No plaudits to anyone because it nearly ended up as a shambles, although thanks to Froggy for spotting the Bishop’s Finger. Lets hope Sandyballs manages to get on his bike again before Christmas.
Next month The New Forest - Whoopee!
Lafayette.
N.E.R.D.S. Ramble 246 - 12th May 2010
Those Present - Lafayette, Froggy, El Paco, Sandy balls (a bit).
The Dithering About Ramble.
Today the NERDS were somewhat depleted. Matt put up the usual pathetic excuse that he couldn’t be bothered coming; Captain Haddock was nowhere to be seen; Bronco was off lassooing horses in the Camargue and Sandyballs had a gout related toe infection meaning he couldn’t walk but could issue instructions from his Bunker in Berlin. Unfortunately for Froggy the instructions were written down in minuscule Martian and sent to his mobile phone. This, together with the fact that Froggy had lost his reading glasses meant that no way could he make sense of anything, so nobody had a fucking clue where we were supposed to actually ramble that day.
So off we set from Lewes station. At least the weather was OK - sunnyish and reasonably warm. Froggy led us through Southover towards Kingston saying all the while that we had done this ramble before so nothing could possibly go wrong could it? Paco trundled along moaning that his eldest daughter was pregnant again and had forgotten his birthday the day before, and Lafayette covered his eyes in despair convinced disasters were going to happen - ho ho, just watch this space.
We got to a field - yes I know this happens sometimes in NERDS’ rambles - but was it the right field? Where did we go from here? Which direction was the correct one? Was the ramble actually today, anyway? Paco assured us it was ( and he should know)
There was a lot of DITHERING and FAFFING ABOUT cos it was obvious that Froggy didn’t have a clue what to do next even though Kingston (our pit stop destination) was practically visible as the crow flew. Lafayette was snorting with impatience so Froggy took some nice photos by a gate (which gate? Was it the right gate?) to shut him up and calm him down.
Eventually we hit a road (was it the right road even?) and prepared to go across country through a farm towards Kingston except Froggy’s map wasn’t very clear and he hadn’t got his reading glasses and the sun was in his eyes and he wanted a wee and where were we anyway? Eventually Lafayette, in an uncharacteristic burst of impatience, took the ramble by the horns and led his Chosen People out of The Wilderness unto Kingston via the A 249.
Finally we had got to The Juggs, the pit-stop pub agreed on by Sandyballs. Now we could relax a bit and let some of the tension and stress that attends each ramble just ebb away.(lol again). Finally after about three pints of Bishops Finger (rude Bishop!)
Lafayette stopped snorting with impatience at other people’s frailties and realised that other NERDS weren’t perhaps as perfect as he, and he should make allowances for this humbling fact. At least Froggy had recommended the beer here so he was forgiven a bit (only a bit ) for his FAFFING and ARSING ABOUT during the route mastering.
When Lafayette had calmed down and stopped cursing, swearing and banging his head against the flint wall, Froggy lead everyone through Kingston out into the countryside towards the Swan at Southover via the large bridge over the A27 where some pillock had once jumped off with a rope around his neck to try to commit suicide and ended up decapitating himself (ie. did actually kill himself but not quite in the way he had envisioned).
Anyway, we entered The Swan to see Sandyballs in his bathchair moaning that his foot hurt and that’s why he couldn’t have got the pints in for the rest of us (just his own) and where had we been, we were late. So Paco blamed Lafayette for drinking too much and Lafayette blamed Froggy for inept route mastering and Froggy blamed Sandyballs for sending him illegible instructions and normal NERDS relations were resumed.
After a good dinner of some pie or other that Sandyballs had recommended (it was very good) Lafayette decided not to endorse Baby Flintoff’s passport application since he was too pissed to write properly and he didn’t want to end up with Baby Flintoff being issued with a forged Nigerian passport by mistake. And so Sandyballs wheeled himself off to get his stitches plucked out (It’ll only take five minutes or so and I’ll be out this afternoon riding my bike - you just watch, ha ha ). We never saw him again.
So, the rest of the NERDS decamped along the road to the King’s Head simply to escape the incipient showers and not to drink any more beer - that would be immoral.
While Lafayette was prising more money out of the hole in the wall Paco had been making enquiries of the barman and found there was no cognac to be had for the café cognacs. So we had to drink café /malt whisky (not quite the same). Meanwhile in the back room Froggy had come upon a vision of 22 stone loveliness holding a little dog who said her name was Ivy and she was half Peruvian.
Paco entered the room, gave a start and they started talking to each other in Spanish.
Lafayette’s Spanish is only Home Office exam level (ie. rubbish) but he managed to piece together the following conversation:
Paco I haven’t seen you for ages, how is your mum?
Ivy You should care , you bastardo, after you abandoned us I heard she was selling herself on the streets of Caracas.
Paco (shame facedly) I couldn’t stay, I met this nice Brazilian woman and she wanted to have my babies.
Ivy And what about me? I was only little, I had to go off to Mexico and buy little dogs to trade for food otherwise I too might have ended up pregnant like all your other relatives. By the way, what happened to that friend of yours - the nice one with the beard who spoke crap Spanish and who was always trying to get my knickers off?
Paco Sadly, he went to a better place.
What happened next is only to guess because the rest of the NERDS (all two of them) ran out of the pub and scampered home before any more sordid details of Paco’s past were revealed.
So, an exciting ramble with lots of incident and excitement. No plaudits to anyone because it nearly ended up as a shambles, although thanks to Froggy for spotting the Bishop’s Finger. Lets hope Sandyballs manages to get on his bike again before Christmas.
Next month The New Forest - Whoopee!
Lafayette.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
The May Ramble 2010
Here are Sandyballs' joining instructions.
Dear Nerds,
This month's ramble will take place on Wednesday 12 th. For reasons orthopaedic I will not be able to take part but this will not stop me setting the route and meeting you for lunch. In my place I delegate the actual routemastering to Froggy, so you shouldn't put a foot wrong, should you? I will be emailing Frog with suggested directions in a separate email.
Basically the route starts and finishes in Lewes and involves a pint stop at the Juggs Arms in Kingston and a lunch at the Swan in Southover - which is where I will meet you. Suggest that Seaford/ Newhaven types take the 9.58/ 10.05. Will hopefully see you all there at about 1.00 PM.
Hope you all enjoy good weather but will have a good laugh if you don't!
Sandyballs
However, it appears that Muscles Matt will not be attending as he is having his contral heating "fixed". ( A euphemism if ever there was one).
I hope you have a quorum and that the ramble is a good one.
Regards,
BT
Dear Nerds,
This month's ramble will take place on Wednesday 12 th. For reasons orthopaedic I will not be able to take part but this will not stop me setting the route and meeting you for lunch. In my place I delegate the actual routemastering to Froggy, so you shouldn't put a foot wrong, should you? I will be emailing Frog with suggested directions in a separate email.
Basically the route starts and finishes in Lewes and involves a pint stop at the Juggs Arms in Kingston and a lunch at the Swan in Southover - which is where I will meet you. Suggest that Seaford/ Newhaven types take the 9.58/ 10.05. Will hopefully see you all there at about 1.00 PM.
Hope you all enjoy good weather but will have a good laugh if you don't!
Sandyballs
However, it appears that Muscles Matt will not be attending as he is having his contral heating "fixed". ( A euphemism if ever there was one).
I hope you have a quorum and that the ramble is a good one.
Regards,
BT
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
May Ramble
The May ramble to be announced soon, or whenever Sandyballs gets around to it as he will not be there but having his appendage "fixed". Lafayette or Froggy will no doubt be sending out the appropriate notification.
Monday, April 26, 2010
N.E.R.D.S’ RAMBLE No. 245. 21/4/10.
Those Present - B.T. Sandyballs, Froggy, El Paco, Lafayette.
The Superbly Organised Ramble.
Today nothing could go wrong. Froggy was Organiser and Routemaster so absolutely nothing whatsoever would be allowed to get in the way of an absolutely fantastic ramble. The NERDS all knew this since the joining instructions had been published about a fortnight in advance telling us exactly where we would be going, how long it would take to get there, what to wear, what time to get the bus, how much money to bring, make sure you go to the lavatory first, have you got a clean hanky? and don’t forget to kiss your mum goodbye!
The only two flies in the ointment were (a) Would Sandyballs be able to get off nights early and avoid the dreaded embarks exercise and (b) would B.T. turn up at all due to hostile volcanic activity which might make his plane nose-dive into the Channel.
In the event, Froggy had a word with President Obama who contacted the Night CIO (Maybe the one with the nice, mumsy buttocks) and got Sandyballs off OK, and then he also contacted the president of Iceland who stopped the volcano for a brief window of 24 hours to enable BT to get to chez Lafayette where he was staying. Who says that organisation is not best done down to the finest details? Froggy should be the NATO general in charge of the Afghan war - then we’d see some results!
Actually BT had been staying at Lafayette’s for a few days already so the pair of them had been a bit overexposed to calvados and were feeling a little tired and jaded.
Never mind, the grand adventure was on. Lafayette rescued Sandyballs from the port where ‘Mumsy Bum CIO’ wanted to keep him as a sexual pet, and then the three of them set out to get the bus to chez Froggy for aperitifs.
Except the best laid plans of frogs and men…………
Lafayette dragged his fellow NERDS on to what he thought was the right bus, but it turned out to be the ‘go all round the houses bus’ which gave everyone a brilliant tour of most of the back streets of Seaford, and ended up by the cemetery. So, quelling a desire to go and pay homage to A Famous Belgian once again, the trio hiked along the road , at least half a mile to Froggy’s . It was all his fault, of course, he hadn’t told us not to get the 12A bus instead of the No 12 - what an oversight!
Poor Froggy; not only was he exhausted from the intellectual challenges of making sure everything was going to run to plan, but he had been up half the night cleaning and hoovering so that we should have nothing to complain about when we got there.
Anyway, the food was good ( Banofee pie cookies ) and the drink gave us a choice of two whiskies (Scotch and Irish) and El Paco had turned up despite Lafayette having forgotten to ring him the night before on account of his being rat-arsed at the time.
So everyone indulged themselves greatly and then we were led out on to phase one of today’s ramble.
Everyone stood at the bus stop waving their bus passes in the faces of Froggy and BT
(who hadn’t got them) and then managed to get on the right bus to somewhere near Beachy Head to start off. The road was long and stoney, but straight enough so that there was at this stage no chance of getting lost. However we soon came to a dividing of the ways. Which road to take? Froggy wasn’t sure so out came the Mappa Mundi for reference. El Paco seemed to know the right direction but he was ignored. Froggy twisted the map around, tried to read it upside down, tried murmuring incantations, all to no avail. Paco insisted he knew where to go but Froggy wasn’t having any. Finally two hippy ramblers turned up and pointed us in Paco’s direction. So much for tight organisation! Paco now has a Cassandra complex.
It was a glorious, sunny day and the NERDS were singing along happily. All the little lambs we saw had numbers on them - one for each NERD, there were lots of Old Trout ramblers about, but thankfully they were miles from the pub we intended to invade. Froggy had a bad feeling about this pub, he said the people who ran it were snooty and offhand (so why take us there?) but as it happened the barmaid at The Eight Bells at Jevington was really nice and took to Harry ‘cos her boyfriend had the same name or something (blech! blech!).
We sat in the garden in the sun and Froggy was made to serve us with lots of sauces and condiments and stuff while we gave him marks out of ten for fetching and carrying . He got so flustered at one point that he told us he’d got a barrow in his family (Is this a sort of welsh family burial plot?). But when the food came (we all had meaty pie) the pies all had tons of meat in them and there were loads of chips so the food was definitely ’NERDS approved.‘ Froggy said he was never given any vegetables as a kid and that’s why he himself nearly grew up as a meaty pie -
different taste, though.
We staggered on for the second half of the ramble (exactly three miles, not a metre more, not a metre less) and got taken along a nasty, horrible, busy road with lots of wizzy cars going passed us. Eventually we hit woody fieldy areas again , trouble was they were mostly in the direction of up and Lafayette’s bowels began to play up too. Whether it was the excess of calvados taken the night before or his wife’s chile con carne he had had at breakfast (magic stuff!) he could contain himself no longer and had to wander off for an emergency crap. Good job there was a nice copse further up the hill where he could squat and wallow! Pity there weren’t any goats or Pakistanis to make sure he had a nice clean bum afterwards - like in the old days, but Hey! You can’t expect everything laid on for you.
When he returned to the fold Lafayette found the rest of the NERDS all flaked out lying in the middle of a very pleasant meadow, evidently the heavy lunch and the unaccustomed rigorous and disciplined activity had taken its toll. Lafayette let them slumber awhile and then woke them gently with a thunderous fart.
We carried on ever upwards it seemed but eventually descended another pleasant meadow into East Dean where The Tiger (pub) was waiting for us. Here they sold ‘Legless Rambler’ beer (and I’m not kidding!) which came from the Beachy Head Brewery. ‘I wonder where the Beachy Head Brewery is’ quoth Paco…‘D’oh!’ We all replied. We then spent a very pleasant hour in the late afternoon sun quaffing Legless Ramblers and trying to decide where we should go for the NERDS’ 250th. We decided to disqualify Philby from this since he’d missed a few rambles already this year and we didn’t fancy going to Belgium so soon again, anyway.
And so we all walked back to the bus stop and left Froggy standing when the wrong bus came again. Actually it was the right bus for all of us - it just didn’t happen to take Froggy back exactly to his front door (as planned).
And so another superlative ramble combining fantastic weather, good food and absolutely impeccable planning from Froggy. We all hope that BT gets home OK because Lafayette has nearly run out of red wine and calvados.
Looking forward to the 250th , you NERDS. (wherever the fuck it is!)
Lafayette.
Those Present - B.T. Sandyballs, Froggy, El Paco, Lafayette.
The Superbly Organised Ramble.
Today nothing could go wrong. Froggy was Organiser and Routemaster so absolutely nothing whatsoever would be allowed to get in the way of an absolutely fantastic ramble. The NERDS all knew this since the joining instructions had been published about a fortnight in advance telling us exactly where we would be going, how long it would take to get there, what to wear, what time to get the bus, how much money to bring, make sure you go to the lavatory first, have you got a clean hanky? and don’t forget to kiss your mum goodbye!
The only two flies in the ointment were (a) Would Sandyballs be able to get off nights early and avoid the dreaded embarks exercise and (b) would B.T. turn up at all due to hostile volcanic activity which might make his plane nose-dive into the Channel.
In the event, Froggy had a word with President Obama who contacted the Night CIO (Maybe the one with the nice, mumsy buttocks) and got Sandyballs off OK, and then he also contacted the president of Iceland who stopped the volcano for a brief window of 24 hours to enable BT to get to chez Lafayette where he was staying. Who says that organisation is not best done down to the finest details? Froggy should be the NATO general in charge of the Afghan war - then we’d see some results!
Actually BT had been staying at Lafayette’s for a few days already so the pair of them had been a bit overexposed to calvados and were feeling a little tired and jaded.
Never mind, the grand adventure was on. Lafayette rescued Sandyballs from the port where ‘Mumsy Bum CIO’ wanted to keep him as a sexual pet, and then the three of them set out to get the bus to chez Froggy for aperitifs.
Except the best laid plans of frogs and men…………
Lafayette dragged his fellow NERDS on to what he thought was the right bus, but it turned out to be the ‘go all round the houses bus’ which gave everyone a brilliant tour of most of the back streets of Seaford, and ended up by the cemetery. So, quelling a desire to go and pay homage to A Famous Belgian once again, the trio hiked along the road , at least half a mile to Froggy’s . It was all his fault, of course, he hadn’t told us not to get the 12A bus instead of the No 12 - what an oversight!
Poor Froggy; not only was he exhausted from the intellectual challenges of making sure everything was going to run to plan, but he had been up half the night cleaning and hoovering so that we should have nothing to complain about when we got there.
Anyway, the food was good ( Banofee pie cookies ) and the drink gave us a choice of two whiskies (Scotch and Irish) and El Paco had turned up despite Lafayette having forgotten to ring him the night before on account of his being rat-arsed at the time.
So everyone indulged themselves greatly and then we were led out on to phase one of today’s ramble.
Everyone stood at the bus stop waving their bus passes in the faces of Froggy and BT
(who hadn’t got them) and then managed to get on the right bus to somewhere near Beachy Head to start off. The road was long and stoney, but straight enough so that there was at this stage no chance of getting lost. However we soon came to a dividing of the ways. Which road to take? Froggy wasn’t sure so out came the Mappa Mundi for reference. El Paco seemed to know the right direction but he was ignored. Froggy twisted the map around, tried to read it upside down, tried murmuring incantations, all to no avail. Paco insisted he knew where to go but Froggy wasn’t having any. Finally two hippy ramblers turned up and pointed us in Paco’s direction. So much for tight organisation! Paco now has a Cassandra complex.
It was a glorious, sunny day and the NERDS were singing along happily. All the little lambs we saw had numbers on them - one for each NERD, there were lots of Old Trout ramblers about, but thankfully they were miles from the pub we intended to invade. Froggy had a bad feeling about this pub, he said the people who ran it were snooty and offhand (so why take us there?) but as it happened the barmaid at The Eight Bells at Jevington was really nice and took to Harry ‘cos her boyfriend had the same name or something (blech! blech!).
We sat in the garden in the sun and Froggy was made to serve us with lots of sauces and condiments and stuff while we gave him marks out of ten for fetching and carrying . He got so flustered at one point that he told us he’d got a barrow in his family (Is this a sort of welsh family burial plot?). But when the food came (we all had meaty pie) the pies all had tons of meat in them and there were loads of chips so the food was definitely ’NERDS approved.‘ Froggy said he was never given any vegetables as a kid and that’s why he himself nearly grew up as a meaty pie -
different taste, though.
We staggered on for the second half of the ramble (exactly three miles, not a metre more, not a metre less) and got taken along a nasty, horrible, busy road with lots of wizzy cars going passed us. Eventually we hit woody fieldy areas again , trouble was they were mostly in the direction of up and Lafayette’s bowels began to play up too. Whether it was the excess of calvados taken the night before or his wife’s chile con carne he had had at breakfast (magic stuff!) he could contain himself no longer and had to wander off for an emergency crap. Good job there was a nice copse further up the hill where he could squat and wallow! Pity there weren’t any goats or Pakistanis to make sure he had a nice clean bum afterwards - like in the old days, but Hey! You can’t expect everything laid on for you.
When he returned to the fold Lafayette found the rest of the NERDS all flaked out lying in the middle of a very pleasant meadow, evidently the heavy lunch and the unaccustomed rigorous and disciplined activity had taken its toll. Lafayette let them slumber awhile and then woke them gently with a thunderous fart.
We carried on ever upwards it seemed but eventually descended another pleasant meadow into East Dean where The Tiger (pub) was waiting for us. Here they sold ‘Legless Rambler’ beer (and I’m not kidding!) which came from the Beachy Head Brewery. ‘I wonder where the Beachy Head Brewery is’ quoth Paco…‘D’oh!’ We all replied. We then spent a very pleasant hour in the late afternoon sun quaffing Legless Ramblers and trying to decide where we should go for the NERDS’ 250th. We decided to disqualify Philby from this since he’d missed a few rambles already this year and we didn’t fancy going to Belgium so soon again, anyway.
And so we all walked back to the bus stop and left Froggy standing when the wrong bus came again. Actually it was the right bus for all of us - it just didn’t happen to take Froggy back exactly to his front door (as planned).
And so another superlative ramble combining fantastic weather, good food and absolutely impeccable planning from Froggy. We all hope that BT gets home OK because Lafayette has nearly run out of red wine and calvados.
Looking forward to the 250th , you NERDS. (wherever the fuck it is!)
Lafayette.
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