Categories: uncategorized
Date: 26 March 2007 20:18:47
So, having finally climbed into my sleeping bag at 3.30 on Saturday morning, I proceeded to lay there for what felt like an eternity. Then it turned really cold and I put all the clothes I'd been wearing in the day on over the top of my sleeping gear. Then I went to the loo, and when I came back I finally managed to fall asleep around 6am. Three hours later, I was awake again and feeling like crap. Thankfully I wasn't the only one, though most of the others had more to do with the number of pints they'd knocked back the night before.
The day's main activity was due to be a spot of five-a-side footy at a nearby sports centre, but before we could set off we needed to sort out the evening meal (veggies may wish to look away around now). Little Big Bro and Dad had been to the butcher before they left and had struck a rather good deal on a large pig, supposedly big enough to feed 120 people. It was rather surreal seeing them drag it out of the back of the minibus, particularly as its head and trotters had already been removed and the thing didn't so much resemble a pig as a human torso (albeit one with many more nipples than the average human). There was also the apparatus required to roast the hog, so we were all sorted. Except, of course, we were about to go out for a few hours, and while we weren't too concerned that the pig could be stolen, there was a chance that it might rain, so we needed to find somewhere to shelter Porky until we got back. The clue in the title should give you an idea where he ended up - in the very tent I'd been (not) sleeping in a few hours earlier.
And then, just as we were about to leave, someone came round from the front of the pub to tell us the local town crier was out (yes, as I said before, it's actually a hamlet, but I'm sure his job description says "TOWN crier"). How old school was this?! Bizarrely, there was no one around to hear his "oyez!"s, so he was just shouting at the passing traffic, which made him look slightly odd. Never a dull moment, eh?
So to the football. We bagged a two hour session, and proceeded to play a mini-tournament, with Aaron, Big Big Bro, Little Big Bro and Dad as captains. It went to penalties, but eventually Aaron's team triumphed. However, the most notable thing was how good many of the lads were on the pitch, quite remarkable given that a lot of them were sleep-deprived and hungover. While the other teams were playing and the rest of us were lurking outside watching through a perspex screen, it was notable how much of a yeast smell was coming through as the previous night's booze seeped through the pores... mmm, lovely. (*heave*)
After quickly grabbing some lunch, it was back to the campsite for a bit of chilling out, and Jimmy and I put his tent up, realised we'd set it up wrongly (making exactly the same mistake we'd made when we put it up on our last camping expedition), and started again. By the time we were done, the hog was on the spit and the roasting had begun. Now we had to start it pretty early in order to eat at a relatively sensible time, and the plan was that we were going to watch the England game at another pub nearby and come back to a mountain of pork. Being a good bloke, Geoff volunteered to stay behind and keep an eye on the piggy (of course, as well as being a good bloke, the fact that he was Welsh and couldn't care less about football may also have been contributing factors). So off we all trooped with Dean the landlord leading us to his mate's pub up the road, safe in the knowledge there should be crackling awaiting us on our return.
After a match so dull that even the greatest football obsessive in the world would struggle to have anything to say about it, we returned to find a slight problem. (veggies look away again) Part of the pig had fallen off his skewer, and Geoff had had to rescue it from the flames and somehow reattach it. And did we thank him? Of course not; we accused him of nibbling on too many bits while it was cooking, thus causing it to fall off. Well, actually, we did thank him eventually, but only after the lads had descended on the hog like vultures. Forget carving, there were just hands ripping off lumps of flesh left, right and centre. Soon some semblance of decorum returned, and slices were put into rolls and devoured in a more sedate manner.
Then back into the pub for another jam-session-cum-gig, and this time with more of an audience. It seemed that word had got around the area that there were a rowdy-but-likeable bunch of fellas playing well into the night. What was even better, was that some other guys had turned up during the day to join us, including some really really REALLY good musicians. If anything, it was even more eclectic than the previous night; everyone from Van Morrison to Britney Spears, Michael Jackson to Jeff Buckley, and Andy Williams to Robbie Williams. There were a great many requests coming in from the punters, and for once none of them was "sod off". Rhona was persuaded to sing again, and once again reduced the pub to silence, and Housemate #2 was the hero of the evening thanks to his amazing solo rendition of Jonny B Goode on the keyboard. He's so talented, I should probably hate him.
And to finish? Well, what could be more of a man thing to do than making fire? The trough over which the pig had roasted was filled with stray bits of wood, a log and a few oddments, and set on fire. Bizarrely, the fire had exactly the same effect that the hog had had as it turned on the spit a few hours earlier - in both cases, there wasn't really anything happening, yet we all stood transfixed, staring at it for minutes on end. See, it's official - men really are a bit sad. At 4am BST, I decided enough was enough and went to bed. And this time, when my head hit the pillow, that was it. Thank you Bidford, and goodnight.