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This was the first time Lippy and I had ventured into deepest darkest Beauworth in Hampshire where ‘The Milburys’ –the site of Gunz and Bobz basic camping weekend is located and where Wildebeest allegedly still roam wild.
Unlike one camper who brought his beautiful German Shepherd Max with him we missed the Friday ride (in and out torrential rain apparently) that Gunz lead for lunch in Port Solent due to lack of a dog sitter and consequently careered into the field like the Clampetts in the Snakemobile around 4.00 pm on the Saturday just in time for an early ‘Happy Hour’.
We were joined by a further steady flow of late arrivals over the next couple of hours during which time I had already begun documenting the ‘stately homes’ dotted around the spacious field. Kenny was clearly well prepared for their ‘basic camping weekend’ having A-framed a Smart car behind their new luxury camper van containing an equally impressive gas barbie. His partner Debbie was likewise armed with a stunning makeup kit worthy of Princess Di. For my edification Kenny kindly demonstrated how to use a porta loo to best effect. Thanks Kenny
Following Tina and Karen’s tutorial in air guitar and headbanging proceedings predictably went from dumb to 'dumberer' as we attempted to see how many people the Snakemobile could hold whilst consuming copious quantities of booze as an excuse to escape sporadic showers.
Meanwhile I initiated Andy’s girlfriend - a slightly sozzled Teretta (hope I’ve spelled that correctly) to the Kudos of wearing the ‘gay biker’ hat.
In the evening Lynchpin performed a fine acoustic set in the bowling alley whilst various campers perfected their Mexican wave skills.
Sunday morning the slightly odd landlord steadfastly refused all requests to open up his premises for the benefit of either HOGsters or the dozens of cyclists convening in the car park for the start of an 80 mile police escorted cross country marathon .
As a result there were a steady stream of cross legged men in lycra sprinting into our field for a desperate leak in the Portaloos which Bob Long had shelled out £180 to alleviate the usual midnight squat in a secluded corner of the field. Bob was naturally aggrieved at this liberty. Pete valiantly attempted to dissuade them from utilising our bogs by taking a dump so rank that much to his satisfaction it prompted one female cyclist to physically flee the scene retching violently – good work Pete
There were however male cyclists of sterner constitution (and bigger lungs presumably) who continued to ‘take the plunge’ rather than risk chafing their honed buttocks in urine drenched shorts. This was a situation that an astute Bob Long quickly turned to his financial advantage by initially staking out the loos armed with several bowls someone half inched from the pub the night before as potential firewood for the bonty and charging them 50p a wee or £1.00 for a big jobbie ensuring that the weekend turned a fine profit of around £18. Result.
During the fracas suggestions for a
new nickname for Bob were inevitable – my personal favourite … ‘Lord of
the Ring’ …. a cue surely for a new Rocker?
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