HOO’S READY TO ROCK 2

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Paraskavedekatriaphobia is a wonderful word which I am not even going to try to pronounce, (Chrissie, I know there are alternate spellings) for those of you who are wondering it means a fear of Friday the thirteenth, something I have never experienced until the morning we set off for “HOO’S READY TO ROCK 2”.

It started with memories of a previous week that has to list amongst the worst in my personal working history, I don’t plan to bore you with details but trust me when I say I was in serious need of some good company, entertainment and just a touch of alcohol.

8am saw drizzle running down the windows which I chose to ignore as I loaded the bike with very little, Nick Salter had come over the previous evening to pick up most of our stuff as his better half Julie, or Chimp as we know and love her, was taking the van.

Then it all went downhill, summer gloves had vanished, broke two bungees conveniently bruising my knuckles, finally found bike keys in old safety helmet after extensive search involving such useful comments such as “where did you last have them” and “why ask me”? Phone rang every time we were about to leave, you know what I mean, you’ve been there.

Eventually we managed to get on the road and got as far as the garage to fill up before realising my wallet was indoors, it didn’t matter as we had to go home to lock the front door anyway, keep smiling AJ. On the road second time we now headed for Nick and Julie’s as Ruth had decided to go in van, not a bad decision the way my luck was going. (Nothing to do with my morning language) Avoided homicidal M25 drivers and arrived wet but alive, result.

So with Ruth and Julie safely in the van, Nick and I set off up the “mad mile” to pick up the A2. All went well until my throttle broke, first breakdown since 1976, a quick lash up later we tried again finally arriving on site to a fantastic welcome, thanks guys and gals, hoping for some better luck.

About an hour later, having spent most of it fixing my bike, we started to wonder if the girls had diverted to Bluewater, very hard for them to drive straight pass. But due entirely to my inadequate and pathetic excuse for written directions they had toured the entire surface area of the Isle of Grain and were chatting up workers in the Power station. If I ever saw my beloved again, she threatened, it would only be so she could teach me about real pain, after 30 years of marriage you’d have thought I already knew.

So we threw the tents up (that’s 3 in a row you’ve got away with Annya) and started to chill. Or at least we would have if I’d remembered to pack the ice packs, so warm beer and off to the local chippy. Friday after all, and time for food, or it would have been if they hadn’t been shut. Fed up with warm beer I moved on to hip flask, too early by far, a decision that would return to haunt me. Just the one Chimp?

Paul and Tracey arrived, new members, with their daughter Gemma, they are not rally virgins, honest, they are returning to the fold, followed by Dave and Dawn, 268.8 miles on a 125, give that girl some serious respect.

Even later on we managed to get a very decent meal in the club, I didn’t drop my plate, spill my beer, tread on anyone’s toes or set fire to the place so things were looking up.

Then a few hours chatting to the usual suspects, before the bar and Bald Eagle were ready to go, followed by the band, Headlong. Very good they were too, lots more beer, cold, and my Brother Martin and his wife turned up, he is a member of the Sturdee club and lives just up the road, convenient if the forecast rain arrives. Softee Southerner me and proud of it.

Were things getting better or was it past midnight and no longer the thirteenth, I haven’t a clue but my earlier venture into the murky world of shared hip flasks now had a predictable effect. From my point of view, I merely moved to a happy place away from all the stresses of being awake.  

Thank you to Ruth without whom I would be lying in a field somewhere and sorry I trod on you trying to get into bed. Apologies to Tracey, not the one already mentioned but C15 member and friend of “B” who proudly road her new Suzuki and spent all weekend polishing it. I still have no idea why you slapped me, but I’m sure I deserved it and I know you love me really. J

Saturday morning, why was everyone complaining about a farmer doing his thing at 5am? I never heard a thing, an early fry up followed by lazing around trying to decide whether to go for a run out or not. Big map in the Tea tent with places to visit was a good idea. Eventually we decided to visit the Cider farm at http://www.biddendenvineyards.com/ We even managed to persuade our Debbie, who had come to the party on a 1950 Ariel 500 (true bikers our lot) that keeping the speed down to 50 to allow her to stay with us was not a problem, and it wasn’t.

Once there we were accosted by a group of Morris Women? “Only Men can dance the Morris” said Centre rep Paul with authority, “why’s that?” said I being ignorant of these things, and expecting a reply full of tradition, belief and ancient customs “because the women should be at home sorting dinner” Not a sexist thing then.

They put on a good show in blistering heat, so thanks to the “Oojah Kappivvy” Morris.  

Back at Hoo we found we had missed the games, all Debbie’s fault for making us go so slow (only joking) but we found out that young Gemma had been recruited as assistant and had upheld the name of C14 in fine style.

We finally managed to get a fish supper, thanks Nick, and suitably refreshed headed for the clubhouse where Bald Eagle once again did his personal brand of magic on the turntables, does he still have those or is it all digital now? The evening had walkabout magicians, prizes for winners, pressies from Holland , bra flashes from those who know how to keep us men happy, and lots more to amuse. Including the band Bad Pennies, a few less decibles would have helped but then I am getting on a bit.

Sunday was, as always, a subdued affair having started at 6am with a thunder and lightning storm which gave me the excuse to go back to sleep, by 9am it was dry, by 10 sunny. So we decamped, said our goodbyes, and headed home.

What a great weekend, exactly what this Doctor ordered. Thanks to my old comrades at C15, See you at the Fen Frolics.