Edale, at the Dalehead Bunkhouse; a National Trust property, 3 dormitories, a brilliant log burner, a pretty good kitchen, massive refectory dining room and 2 stair cases, the back one reserved for gentlemen, that is not a euphemism. For a group of pyromaniacs, the advent and actuality of having an endless supply of logs is a dream come true, 2 bays in the log store; one to use, one for seasoning wood, all chopped and ready to go.
We had enough booze to sink a battleship, better to be safe, but the nearby river wasn’t deep enough for any invaders be they vikings or Romans, and 6 curries on Friday night was enough to keep us going and to complement the full fry up we had planned for saturday morning, plus Lasagne for Saturday night, and in between a peppering of liberal and not so liberal amounts of Bloody Marys, G&T’s and Beer. It’s a wonder none of us have had any serious issues yet, sometime we drink as though some one is going to take it away from us!
The Dad’s dorm had low beams which you were very likely to bang your neck and face on without ducking under. Nighttime wees are always a pain and this particular place only heightened the chances of severe injury. First thew double beam duck, then the staircase, down to the dining room, through 2 fire doors, past the narrow bit of the lounge where the sofas stuck out, then into the toilet, probably for a lazy wee (sitting down for the uninitiated, you’ll understand when you get to my age, etc, etc) And then its all to do again, backwards, not literally, more the same actions but in reverse. So M (we’ll call him that to protect his identity, but just to note it is not the same M from the Ministry, they are separate, together they would be M&M, but they’re not), anyway M came up late on friday night and remarked that the Dad’s bedroom was like a stableful of ill horses, such were the sounds emanating from all of us, we are all to blame.
Friday was windy, I had a small fall when outside on the hills near to the house, I stumbled on a steep slope, fell in sheep shit and my hat blew further down the hill, all that hard work, ruined as I climbed carefully down, retrieving my hat and seeing my glasses fall off as I did so. I’m sure this wouldn’t have happened a few years back. So covered in shit, cold, windswept and utterly knackered I returned to the bunkhouse, beaten by a small but very steep hillock.
A real delight was being my friend’s 9 year old come up with this perfectly suitable word in Scrabble, 17 points without the coloured special squares,
Now when 5 Dad’s go to watch a rugby match at the pub, it’s not going to end well, the Mums left with the kids back to the house, to get warm and sort out supper, bearing in mind we did (Dad’s) all the curries on Friday. A orange t-shirted man got really cross in the pub when we walked in laughing and having fun as he sat with his sour faced wife. He couldn’t bear to see others having a good time. Wales won, they beat Ireland. Then England played, and threw away the game against Scotland, drawing the scores. Then there was a football match, or at least half and then another. This didn’t bode well for us as we were still there, involved with these games, and what had started out as an extra couple of jars turned into a full on session, and a root march home as we realised we’ed probably been there for and extra 4 or so hours! That was the not ending well, as the rain was drenching us as we strode home. There again what does one expect when 5 idiots get set lose in a small village with 2 pubs selling real ales…