Independents Party

As most of you will know by now I have a tenuous link to reality (for you have all had to endure my ramblings for the last few years) but this weekend was really to prove a challenge for my poor addled brain.

So there stood myself, Dave and Anne outside of Anne’s house, dressed as “Sumo Santa’s [© Bitch Boy 2002]” (as you do) all ready for the off. Bikes festooned with tinsel, ready for a Christmassy spirited ride to the coast.

With small children looking on in amazement we headed off to Fareham via the A29 and M27, only for it to rain, like sheep myself and Dave followed the disappearing glow of Anne’s tail light  in almost negative visibility, the thought “why?” was often to cross my mind.

In the failing light and drowned (TIP for the future: Santa Suits do not make good waterproofs) we reached the Independents Club house.

Anne rung the doorbell only to be informed by the one guy there “They are all out” but we were let in, and some of our damp gear was dumped in the hall way. The others suitably impressed by my carrier bag luggage style. A fashion statement I am sure will catch on. We then entered the vault that is the main party/bar area. Little puddles of water dripping from sodden Santa suits.

Magically from Anne’s now famous tail bag a warming rum and black was sourced. And this I do believe could well have been our down fall.

Phil then strolled in leaving large puddles and smiling happily at the thought of the rum. Still we were the only people in the clubhouse, so as most would do we warmed a curry that Dave had bought down with him (told you it was odd)

Beer cards were then purchased and slowly others arrived mostly looking very dry, later it was noticed that there were only six bikes outside four of them being from our club. So what happened to all the rest of the so called double ‘ard bikers then.

We were then informed that our accommodation for the night was available. So in the style of an “It’s a Knock Out” we slid and slithered up the slippery ramp, up the swampish stairs to what Dave lovingly calls “King Kong’s nostril “ and I think I will leave it there as it has to be experienced to be believed.

On returning to the bar the disco was setting up and the first of many trolleys of gear arrived which were for the band “The Rock Doctors” certainly we have never seen so much stuff or a four piece band.

As even more and more dry people arrived they found it hard to cope with three soggy Santa’s and a loon with gammy teeth grinning inanely at you. I was amazed at the capacity for this vault. surely it has elastic walls.

It took a while for the group to really get going, but then I think it is fair to say they are not the youngest of bands. A combined age of 967 is not a bad guess I reckon. The sound though they made was fantastic. They played a stonking couple of sets with a great selection of rock songs old and new. It was not long till once again I was seen dancing. I really am getting worried at this habit.

The group played on until about two and after this people slowly petered away. The bar was still open so we carried on. Until coffee had to be sought out and then it was off to crash.

I do not think I got a moments kip the whole night as Phil beside me had hidden away a Diesel generator somewhere on him, which he started off as soon as he hit the sack. There was also the matter of the water dripping through the roof and other weird noises.

The day eventually dawned very very wet, grey and miserable. The Red Bull fairy luckily had been in during the night, so with that, tea and a bacon butty later I made my way homewards, up a treacherously wet A3. Even when I left Phil was still dead to the world.

Three days on and I am still recovering. Reality who needs it, bring on the next independents party.

Ian