It was 12.00 on Friday when the intrepid travellers left Brum. Arriving, after a frenzy of Pringles, Jaffa Cakes and braving the mists of Bodmin Moor, in a drizzly Newquay at 4.00 p.m, a quick Colonel Simbers style attempt to secure accommodation for the evening was attempted. This consisted of Dave knocking on a series of doors, adopting a friendly “we’re nice chaps really” sort of look and attempting to obtain B & B for a modest £20. This was eventually successful and after a wash and shave with no mirror beer was sought. One or two semi-trendy places (including the Aussie Bar, which afforded a splendid view of Simbers lone castle on a hill in the bay complete with private bridge and an out building for Stanners the butler) were visited but eventually Vic’s Bar was settled on for the Evening venue, as this contained a Pool Table and the desired selection of Rock tunes. Dave then did Phil at pool before the beer kicked in and the Atkinsmeister seized his chance. The bar was then invaded by some rather large (in number and build) American Air Force personnel from the nearby base, who (whilst seeming a thoroughly decent bunch of chaps (and chapesses)-including Big Matt-Phil’s new best mate) were completely shite at Pool and hence Phillis reigned supreme for the rest of the night. Flushed from success further late night entertainment was sought. Phil fell in love with a young barmaid (who was about 10 years old), and the chaps were directed to the Springbok, a local club, which looked complete wank so a takeaway was consumed again !!!
Saturday-a bracing coastal cliff walk was undertaken in
the morning in an effort to blow away the previous night’s cobwebs.
Lowlight was taking a downwind position from Phil on a
semi-exertive clamber over the rocks- by this time Phil had generously decided
that the take away excesses and large fried breakfast may have made him appear
greedy so his generosity extended to sharing his colon contents with the whole
of South Cornwall-unfortunately this was mainly in gas form and after a while
Dave could find himself almost literally tasting his second breakfast of the
morning. If anything the CO2 emissions increased to the scale of an allied
bombing mission as the day went on until things got slightly nervous for the
ramblers and sudden movements and heavy laughter were declared illegal for the
rest of the day.
Highlight
included passing a rather grandiose building, which may have had three uses
·
The local romantic couples hotel
·
A Lunatic
asylum
·
Simbers and Stanners country retreat
It was decided that option one was the most likely and afterwards a visit was paid to the Pasty Shop, whereupon the merits of buying the star attraction “THE BEAST” were discussed. As Dave and Phil only possess human stomachs (no comments please) a less spectacular order was made and an adjournment was called to the Aussie bar in time for the Wales v France rugby game at 1.00.
An Aussie bar in the middle of Cornwall of course:
WAS FULL OF F&*!*NG MAD WELSHMEN.
Not a problem for Dave, but Phil, clearly disgruntled decided to cheer for France in an act of contrariness (not quite sure what Matt and the air base chaps may have made of this considering current world events). Eventually the predictable happened-Wales crumpled in a heap and Phil smuggled his pasty into the pub and drew strange glances from the bar staff after blagging some cutlery from behind the bar for his culinary feast. Welsh capitulation on the rugby field was followed by triumph on the Footie field, which seemed to placate Olwyn and the rampaging druid hordes.
The beer then kicked in nicely just in time to see a stupendously fat Elvis arrive for the England v Gornal Wood Third XI footie kick about, and from what was remembered England produced a wonderful display of flowing fantasy football and won 8-0 (A Vassell hat trick and Barry causing chaos down the left).
Vic’s bar was sought as an evening refuge, and again did not disappoint with a rather splendid covers band who played a set of post-punk and metal classics-at one point they played “15 years”, “Pretty in Pink” and “Do anything you wanna do” in a row-which prompted the question-had Mr Walters arrived and sneaked into the pub without anyone knowing-anyhow the evening continued in fine style-Phil and Dave, by now seated after a day in the beer saddle, were joined by a local couple, who proceeded to completely ignore each other for the rest of the night (except when beer was required of course)-it required Phil’s legendary social bonding and shite jokes skills to loosen the tongue of our sullen hosts. This, he managed to do, so much so that by the end of the night he was in serious danger of copping off and also getting a beating for his efforts maybe?
The option of a nightclub was again spurned and the rest of the time passed in a frenzy of baguettes and take away food, the chaps did find time to go sea watching at the harbour, which consisted of Phil trying to sell the merits to Dave of jumping into the sea and also a surreal conversation with a local sea dog type, who obviously had both travellers marked down as boat burglars and attempted to explain, in a warning manner, of the high-tech Newquay harbour boat camera security system (which appeared to be so well hidden as to be completely invisible to the human eye).
Safe to say breakfast was missed at the hotel the next day. Instead a day of sea views, cliff walks, surf cafes and Phil again courting a laundry “touching cloth style” disaster was enjoyed. Further Rugby enjoyment was enhanced by England mullering the Paddies to win the Slam and the two weary explorers set off home at 6.30, reaching Brum by 10.30, tired but invigorated none the less.