FARMYARD PARTY 2007

Well, where to even begin to sum up this weekend, (I would personally like to erase the whole event from my consciousness!) as arranged, myself, “She who must be obeyed”,& the boy wonder, all met up at the services  at Jn 22 of the M1 with Bungle to await the arrival of  the Nuneaton contingent. As we stood around there waiting, comparing luggage amounts (Bungle won as per usual, 3 full curries & a slab of bitter swung it!) It started looking decidedly dodgey on the weather side of things. Shazza decided to play “musical outfits” with her clothing & tried about a dozen different combinations before deciding what she would be comfortable in, at one point getting down to her bra, much to the pleasure of the old codgers waiting there to travel (no, not Steely & Doug, they hadn’t arrived yet!)

Without too much of a wait, the Nuneaton lot arrived & then things started heading rapidly downhill. Whilst rearranging the vast amount of luggage on the back of his bike. (Not quite as much as Bungle but close!)Jumbo John’s XJR decided to have a “little lie down” & bent his clutch lever almost double (talk about portentous omens, I had images of a repeat of the Durham run all over again!) After a quick re-distribution of Jumbo’s tackle around other bikes, we then set forth upon our trip to Helmsley.

At our 1st stop we noticed that we had lost Doug, The last person to see him was Alex & he reckoned that he “Just disappeared” after we took the turning for the M18! We assumed that the “dozy old twat” (Steely’s phrase pard, not mine!) had missed the turn off & was going straight up the M1 & chancing it through the road works & reported flooding!
Amazingly enough, we didn’t get any of the wet stuff until after said refuelling stop & then it came down firstly as a drizzle, then gradually built up until it seemed to be coming by the  fookin’ bucketload! Though, it had eased off by the time we got to Sutton Bank, though it still made it “interesting enough” for Shazza’s first solo ascent of this “interesting” piece of road design!
If the rain wasn’t enough, Whitty, (that feckin’ bastart, muppet, her words!) made it even more perilous for her by deciding to become an “instant chicane” in her path! This was due to his clutch cable “Just falling off”. (Oooh, you can just hear all the broad Jockanese swearing now can’t you?)

After booking in & receiving what Steely referred to as “the fackin’ gayest wristband ever” I obviously must have subconsciously decided to join in the fun and games & had a little “incident” myself!  Following the rest down the field at about 3mph, I managed to find the only hole for miles around & promptly rode straight into it! Down went the bike & off flew fat lad ‘ere landing rather heavily on my shoulder, (lets face it, could I land any other way, before anyone else says it!)

Many thanks to the guy who picked my bike up for me & didn’t even hang around for me to even get his name or shake his hand, I looked for you all weekend but never found you, probably due to the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed to numb the pain. Well, that’s my excuse & I am sticking to it!
Fortunately, there was only minor damage incurred, bent bars, broken indicator etc, but this was enough for me to conclude that I am possibly not cut out for this stuntman malarkey!

 Whilst I was doing my “Evil Knevil” bit, her indoors rode calmly by & set about putting the tent up on her own. When I finally got to where we were camped, the compassion shown by the love of my life was, quite frankly overwhelming! I was greeted with the caring words, “Now you have finished buggering about get them fuckin’ poles put in you dozy shite!” (Talk about overflowing with the milk of human kindness!)

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Once everyone was set up, (By the way, well done to H, Nick, Steph & Dave, well chosen site, next time though just have a scout about for potholes & trenches as well, just for me eh?) it was up & away to the site for a look round & get our bearings so to speak. First port of call was the café for something to eat, which upset Shaz immensely. So much in fact that Steely had to physically restrain her from entering the beer tent until she had eaten something! (It’s the jock in her; it’s like being married to a cross between Rab.C.Nesbitt & a Nazi stormtrooper.)

As soon as we had eaten & Steely released Shaz, we went in search of refreshment, (dead easy to find, we just followed the steaming tracks in the mud that the Celtic terror had left in her frantic rush for the bar!) Whilst savouring our first pint of the afternoon, Doug rang, we were right in our assumption that he had missed the turn for the M18, but, unfortunately, due to the dreamlike state that his new toy seems to lull him into, he had also missed the turn for Thirsk, & was sitting in a service station in the vicinity of Scotch corner having a cup of tea!
The “thick yeaded twat” (yet again, Steelys words not mine!) eventually turned up about an hour later!

By the time Doug found us in the bar, And much to Donnas disgust, Steely was in full swing, as per usual he stated that he was “pacing himself” (but unfortunately, the pace was “warp factor nine Mr Sulu”!) We were treated to one of his more outstanding performances on this occasion, as he set about trying to win over everyone sitting around with his legendary “charm, tact & diplomacy” routine. As for the demonstration of how he became the 1974 U.K. surfing champion (ahem!) on the low table well, that had to be seen to be believed! (Well, at least he cleared a good area for us to sit in, truth be told, he cleared enough space for Ghengis Khans hordes to sit in, and had much the same effect!)

At some point in the proceedings there was a wedding celebration of some sort going off, at the same end of the tent as we were sitting. The happy couple were duly toasted & photographed by their friends & I also believe that the Yorkshire M.A.G.  Photographer was there as well. The wedding cake was quite novel, it was a three tier pork pie! Needless to say, somehow or other, a shitload of the “cake” found its way into our possession, and, seeing as it could have been obtained shadily, we rapidly “disposed of the evidence”. (Don’t worry folks, as it turns out, the groom passed a plate load round to us but I had been at the bar when this happened, it’s just that Steely was “hoarding” it as opposed to having “swooped” it!)

By the time the evenings entertainment had started on the main stage, his nibs was “fully fuelled” & raring to go! On route to see the bands, the ladies indulged themselves with a little bit of speed shopping.
 Donna came away from one stall inordinately happy due to the fact that she couldn’t get into a little leather dress that had took her fancy because her tits were too big! Shazza point blank refused to even put it on as it was that short it wouldn’t have covered her belly let alone owt else!
From there we carried onwards to the arena, Donna dragging the now staggering & incoherent (“what’s new”, I hear you say,) Steely along with her.

His antics in the beer tent paled into insignificance compared to what he got up to in front of the stage. (The next morning, Donna actually stated that she would have rather taken a two year old baby to the rally!) The rest of our lot (and the majority of the crowd!) distanced themselves from him whilst he wreaked havoc until he finally collapsed & Donna dragged him back towards beddy-byes.

 

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The bands were all excellent & the final act of the evening were a band named  “The Rile” who played mainly 80’s Punk covers literally blew the crowds socks off, top notch! Her indoors had a bit of a bop & a lot more to drink & then finally came up with the most obvious statement of the weekend.
She stared at me, all glassy eyed & announced “I think I may have had enough to drink” & promptly fell flat on her arse in the mud! With that, she picked herself up off the floor & wobbled off back to the tent.

After the bands were finished on stage & I had seen the bride back to bed, I nipped up to the 100% biker tent to have a look-see but the place was rammed so we headed back to the campsite (via the beer tent to pick up a few tinnies, well it would have been rude not to, wouldn’t it?)

Most of the team were still up, sitting around the fire & swigging away, including the muddy jock & cannonball Steele, and by the looks of it, had been doing so for quite a while! We also had a couple of visitors, namely Andy “The mad Irishman” & some of the Beavers M.C.C. who were camped adjacent to us, needless to say, the swigging & banter went on to the early hours. (Well, the late hours actually!)

As dawn cast its watery light over the tents, I found myself unable to sleep. (Full bladder syndrome) I arose & stepped out of the tent to the sight of what looked like the remains of an alcoholics rave up (nothing unusual or unsurprising there then!)There were broken chairs, empty cans & bottles & full bodies, scattered all over the place! It was all a bit too much to cope with at 04.30ish so I went back to bed.
A few hours later, I crawled out of the old doss bag (no, not the wife!) & went in search of a hot kettle, needless to say Doug was brewing up, possibly on is 3rd cup of the morning, so I joined him for a coffee & we both sat watching enjoying the sights & sounds (and there were some sights, oh, the things you see when you aint got your gun) of the other piss-heads regaining consciousness.

Once everyone was up and about & Steely had done the rounds apologising to everyone, (Donna had filled him in on his previous evening’s antics,) we set about deciding what we were going to do for the day.
Seeing as my bike was a bit on the bent side & ‘er indoors considered herself still too pissed to ride, we decided to have a day on site.
Almost everyone else decided to stay on site as well, seeing as the weather was looking decidedly dodgey, except for H, Nick, Steph & Dave who went off visiting friends in the area, though Stephanie & Dave went on pillion, leaving their 125’s behind on site to give them a rest.

During a quick bout of “taking the piss out of the state of my bike”. (Well, it was something for them to do, wasn’t it?)   The mad Irishman turned up again, like some kind of alcoholic jack-in-the-box, with a bottle of ouzo in one hand & a red wine in the other!
Needless to say, they took some serious hammer, Steely necked ¼ of the ouzo & announced he was “Gonna pace myself again pard!” (“Oh god we’re doomed, he’s off on one” muttered Doug, he can’t spell the word pace, let alone do the fucker!)

Once we had polished off the bottles & said bye-bye to the girls, (they had decided to go back to their respective beds, Donna due to a migraine, Shaz due to a colossal hangover!) we took a wander down to Helmsley village to give the local hostelries the benefit of our presence!
Well, by the time we had got to the village having had to virtually carry Doug & His nibs due to the distance they had had to walk, to our disappointment, the 1st pub we got to was closed, (I thought the pair of them & Irish Andy were going to have formation coronaries due to the shock of no immediate refreshments at the end of the trek!)
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Some kind soul took pity on the state of us all & announced that the pub over the road was just opening up. Bad move, bad fookin’ move, for they were immediately trampled under foot as we all caught our 2nd wind & took off like racehorses with about a pound of baccy rammed up our arses!
Once inside the pub, things rapidly went downhill, as Mr “I’m pacing myself” & the mad Irishman went on the “top shelf whiskey trail”, which wound its way downhill at a great rate of Knots into Legless-Ville after a couple of stops in Bullshit town, Silly-fucker Road & Incoherent street!

I am quite certain the locals were, for all the tolerance & restraint they show, shall we say, less than impressed with what was occurring. So, before we wore out the warm welcome all bikers get in Helmsley, it was decided to head off back up to the site, and taking with us “Team Skullfucked”.
(Oh it was a giggle watching them staggering up the drive, trying to cadge a lift from complete strangers & taking the piss out of Wiggy, calling him “Old ‘2 o’clock feet” as he limped along in front. Trust me; he was making a better job of the walk than that pair!)

The rest of the afternoon was spent sitting around the small fire that was still smouldering away, swigging beer & taking the piss (or, as in someones case, taking the beer & swigging the piss, eh pard) whilst Shaz sulked due to spending money on bits to repair my bike which, in the end, we didn’t do anyway, (lack of the correct tools & way too much alcohol consumed!)
I decided to ride it home as it was & repair it later with all the correct tackle to hand, so it was out with the electrical tape & a quick bandage job on the remains of the broken indicator & off up to the beer tent!

After a swift 6 or 7 & a good old banter with some of the happy people therein, we all trooped off up to the main arena again, en route bumping into a dis-chuffed Alex, who informed us that he believed that the Streetfighters stall had got the hump with him about the tattoo on his back (the Streetfighters logo) & threatened him with legal action over a copyright infringement!
(We assured him that in our opinion they were most probably “yanking his chain” let’s face it, who is gonna get pissed off at free advertising after all!)

We finally got to the main stage in time to see the last few songs performed by _______________, (what I heard of their set, I thought was excellent, I just wish I had heard more) who preceded the main act of the evening “Guns & Oatcakes” who gave a brilliant performance on the stage whilst a troupe of fire eaters helped out with the special effects down at the front.

Towards the middle of their set, Mr “im gonna pace myself’s” batteries finally wore down, so he staggered off into the night, in search of food, semi-assisted by the not quite so drunken “Twisted Sisters” leaving the rest of us to enjoy the second half of the bands performance in peace, assured in the fact we would not have to keep picking him up or extricate him from some form of “one man war-zone” every five minutes!  (Oh how the diplomatic corps lost out when he became a biker!)

After a couple of encores, at the end of their performance “Guns & oatcakes” said goodnight & buggered off stage sharpish, so, it was time to find some other form of entertainment. (Especially as our one man cabaret show had gone back to the tent with a tray of cheese & chips!)
So, the remaining Jugsters set off for the tents as well, somehow losing Witty & Co along the way, though to be honest, it was we who took the wrong turn, not him (for once!)
We ended up stumbling upon another bar, Where we found Jon-Jon, who had turned up late on Friday & hadn’t been able to find where we were camped, so had just “pitched where he had stopped” (which had pissed off the marshals at the gate, so he un-pitched & carried on into the site! Only Joking!)

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Whilst we were having a laugh & a chat with Jon-Jon, I was accosted by a young lady who, after asking me for a light, attempted in a rather forthright way to “Seduce” me!
(Well, seduction is a bit of an understatement, calling it seduction was like calling the Hiroshima bomb a fart in a bath or gang rape a “mild social deviation”!)

I am not going to go into details about this “little incident” because the wife was not too terribly impressed; suffice to say, thank god for the witnesses present, who corroborated that I was totally innocent, after declining her “offer” yours truly & the others who were present drank up & ordered another beer. (I ordered another two & a big JD as well, for the shock you understand!)
As we finished these drinks we decided to bugger off back to the tents pronto, as it was time for, in the immortal words of Zebedee, “boing, Time for bed!”

The next morning dawned & the usual Sunday morning on a rally rituals ensued, we all had a jolly good laugh watching each others, (but especially Whitty & Jumbo’s) attempts at re-packing with a hangover, then all headed for the exit back up onto the concrete, where the field had begun to resemble the Somme, (myself more tentatively than most, after my Friday afternoon antics!)
It was a case of slow but steady and then pick your moment to ease yourself onto the hard stuff through the traffic, except for Shaz, who treated her SV 650 as if it was some sort of 2stroke crosser & attacked it like she was on the Weston-super-mare beach race!
With everyone up & out of the quagmire safely we set off home, en route partaking in the best hangover cure in the world, “Sutton bank downhill” (If Carlsberg made attention getters, they wouldn’t be a patch on that fucker!)

At the first fuel stop & fag break, Doug casually wandered up, & started peering at the clocks on my bike, when asked why, he responded with, “ I thought we were gonna take it easy for the first bit, obviously Bandit speedo’s don’t start reading until 85!!” (Sarcastic old twat that he is. My words pard, my words!)
We had agreed to stop twice more on the way home, mainly to assist in the hangover recoveries of certain members of our inglorious rabble!
As we were bumbling along in what passes on a Sunday morning for Jugsters in formation, to our collective surprise, Shazza started weaving her way up to the front, having been “arse end Charlie” all the way up north & most of the way back, she decided to see what it was like “up at the sharp end!” Needless to say, no sooner had she barged her way into 3rd place, Steely & Doug started to make the international signals to each other for a smoke break & a cuppa, (she thought they were telling her to fuck off!)

So, when we pulled for stop number two, she was reet pissed off & stood there, quite miffed until things were explained to her over a cuppa. Bless her, she was quite proud of herself, having found the front at last, though her mood changed when she had to pay for the coffees!
During this stop, Wiggy Mr “I’ll av may wun o them” whilst having a cuppa, found a service station couch cushion much to his liking, deciding that it would come in useful, (possibly to ease his piles!)  so it was rammed up his jacket & smuggled out of the door as fast has he could go without attracting attention to himself (which, given the way he walks at the moment, was a bit hard, if not “Mission Impossible!”)

Once everyone was ready & we had all successfully remounted for a change (Eh Whitty!) & refuelled, we set off again at a much better pace, right up until we hit the traffic on the M1, time for a bit of speed filtering, cos by then, the Saturday night curry was biting back & porcelain heaven was required!
This was the point where Alex noticed a problem with the bike in front (Jumbo) and quite possibly saved the lives of both him & his pillion!

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At the next stop, Alex pointed out that Jumbo’s back tyre was catching on the undertray & had rubbed right down to the banding. It was decided that it was far too dodgey to continue riding on, so it was time for a quick call to “Crips best friends” for a recovery job.
Having made sure he was ok & that the AA were on the way, we bade farewell to Jumbo, & set off again, this time with Shazza blasting off at the front like her arse was on fire! This was the beginning of the end, as far as pack riding was concerned anyway. With Bungle heading off to have himself some “love” & Alex buggering off sharpish cos he was bursting for a piss, people started peeling off to head their separate ways (especially Wiggy, who decided to take his own route home to Nuneaton rather than join the rest of the boys on the A42!) He waved bye to me & Shazza as we turned off & headed to the pub for a quick one!
All in all, a good weekend for most, a bad weekend for some, & a downright ugly bugger for me, Viva the Farmyard, long may it continue.