After representations from Froggy, another vintage recorded ramble not published beforehand
N. E. R. D. S
Newhaven Immigration Rambling and Drinking Society
Wednesday. 24th. May 1989. Ramble. No: 12
Participants:- Sandyballs, Lafayette, Matt, B.T., Felipe Berridge (né Rasputin), Froggy Reeve and Tinker Toms.
Lafayette has often been accused of being gauche, maladroit or just plain clumsy (usually by his wife whom he normally ignored) - however the consequences of this ramble were significant if one adds up all the mayhem that was caused directly or indirectly by this scribe.
Things got off to a bad start when 80% of the arrivals rolled up at Sandyballs’ pad in micro-shorts,
thereby contravening one of the NERDS basic rules. Most of us thought a little flexibility was in order since the sun was blasting most things in its path. Our Imperial Grand Wizard, Sandyballs, thought otherwise. He considered we all ought to get togged up in heavy Levis and walk around feeling uncomfortable just out of principle. Bollocks to that! We all thought and decided to defy his supreme authority.
This was Matt’s attempt at being Routmaster. He had got some grubby cutting, weeks ago, from the Evening Argus of what looked potentially like a good walk. Trouble is anything the Irish organise usually gets cocked up. However, being God’s representative on earth for just one day we put our faith in him and let him go ahead.
Anyway, by one means or another we met at FRAMFIELD (somewhere in Sussex). It was nice to see Froggy again although some of the lads felt he was acting as agent and 5th Columnist for another organisation which is reputed to play golf. We welcomed also new recruit, Tonker Toms, who has been threatening to join our exclusive club for months. Lafayette wouldn’t have minded but Tonker screamed up in his wife’s XR3 I
(flash git) and then casually said he thought this car was a load of crap and was changing it next week because he didn’t like the colour! Lafayette’s rusty, bog-standard, bottom of the range, veteran of the North-West Frontier and the Khunjerab Pass ,Ford Escort was his prize possession and he resented this display of conspicuous consumption.
And so to the ramble which I suppose was the usual thing - green fields, dangerous cows, office gossip all the way. No flasks of Calvados on this day - it was far too hot. No competitions to see who could waz the furthest in the fields. (Lafayette was still suffering from sunstroke from his last exposure). Matt led us back and forth and back again and past rugby posts, past fair maidens frolicking in the fields and past every pub in sight. However, we finally staggered into the Black Boys pub
where Lafayette realised he had left all his money in Sandyballs’ car and began to feel that people were getting at him. His friends rallied round, I’m glad to say, and lent him enough for a lemonade shandy and a morsel to eat.
Trouble was, Lafayette had now become so nervous he sat down with Matt on an ancient seat outside the pub and promptly emptied Matt’s lager into his lap. Why hadn’t somebody else sat down first? Why does Lafayette get blamed for everything? Matt calmed down for a bit and then Froggy began telling his marvellous jokes. He had a great talent for this, accompanied by a lot of waving of arms, probably a result of his foreign ancestry. Lafayette thought one joke was so good he signalled his appreciation by falling backwards off his seat and making everybody’s beer glasses rattle with a blow of his head. Undeterred, he climbed back to see Sandyballs throw a wobbler because B.T. had taken his seat once again. Sandyballs ranted solidly for at least two minutes while poor B.T. didn’t know what had hit him. We all thought we were back in primary school. Peace was restored while we imbibed Gaddafi pie and pondered on Troy’s offer that we should caddy for his organisation. Not a lot of enthusiasm was shown for this, surprisingly enough: even Froggy said he didn’t really like golf and was far more at home on a skateboard.
We finally dragged ourselves away from Black Boys, while Matt wondered if the pub’s name had any basis in fact and if so could he join in. Tonker then took over the job as return Routemaster (he being the soberest) and led us unerringly back until the third incident of Lafayette’s clumsiness manifested itself.
Crossing a field, Sandyballs decided for some reason to stick his left foot in Lafayette’s face since the latter disagreed that Sandyballs had trod in some cow shit. Lafayette, ever playful, and objecting to a nose full of merde, had remonstrated a bit vigorously and left Sandyballs whimpering on the ground with a poorly wrist. O woe, O alack, why hadn’t Sandyballs just executed a quick roll over and sprung up safely? Because he was pissed, that’s why, and accidents do happen.
Lafayette was most contrite; he couldn’t do anything right that day.
He wished he’d stayed in bed instead. Still, Sandyballs, by now weeping wretchedly, was calmed down and carried back on an improvised litter to where his car was. Lafayette was penalised by having to carry his rucksack most of the way back and being required to drive him back home in his own car.
So ended Matt’s ramble. Don’t say nothing ever happens when we all get together! Sandyballs went to the doctor and was diagnosed as suffering from a badly strained wrist. (Bad luck it was his right one - now he can’t work, wank or wander for at least a week). Mrs Sandyballs was not fooled - she knew he was swinging the lead. Baby Sandyballs showered her father’s oppressor with cold water
and made him feel even more guilty. Oh well, maybe the next walk will go better.
Next walk:- Anniversary Walk along the route of Walk No.1 (not recorded by the scribe) followed by a barbecue chez Sandyballs if his wrist is better by that time (Wednesday 28th June).
Lafayette went home and prayed for rain…
