Bangers and Mash
The Gresley and The New Royal Balti, Audley.
Friday 5th November 2004
Squarrites up for it:
Yupmeister, JayCee Wolla, D Ceen my wallet, Plumber Granpop Bill, Mid week Tone, Ali Gee and R Geebargee, Richee F’Astaire, Keith (always on for it), Joe Tahoohigh, Pedro, Triglett and Matt (better late than never), Ian Lowe (a terrier I hear). Beardie of course let us down, feigning illness and seeking sympathy.
This was to be Pedro’s finest hour.
After all his organising, the trip, using our very own first buses, was
finally underway. The troops slowly mustered at the bus station in Newcastle.
Plumber Granpop Bill arrived just in time after having plumbing problems.
No, not the obvious fact that his washer had let him down, but that
he’d only just had time to down one pint in the Bulls Vaults, before meeting
us at the station.
5 minutes to go, and the Gees hadn’t arrived. Was the stage-coach from neck-end going to let them down again. The telegraph wires were red hot with messages pleading with us to delay the bus from leaving, so every conceivable delaying tactic was used including paying the fares in pennies. No change there. Finally, by the skin of their teeth they arrived. Shaken but not stirred they jumped aboard paying their £3 ‘all-in’ fee for what was going to be another mystery tour through Silverdale which looked remarkably like a neck-end war zone. Much to the annoyance of the natives we had managed to take over all the seats on the bus. Pedro took up pole position by the driver to direct proceedings. After all, he had managed to get a copy of the bus timetables, ….. eventually, and so far everything was running like clockwork.
But, where was the beer festival? The barrels were hidden surely. Just the usual taps on the bar and a pool table in the back room could be seen. Not deterred we beckoned the bar maids and began our expert investigations to see what was on offer. Most of the best ales had been supped the night before by our one and only Tahoohie and his family leaving us with the dregs, which admittedly improved as the night wore on. Richee F’Astaire took no chances and stuck by a Guinness or two. The JHB Oakhams I was reliably informed was average; the Downtown October was flat and dragged into November. Ian the terrier soon settled in and began his first lessons in becoming a squarite, along with local lad Matt, the second youngest squarrite to Argee Bargee.
I swapped my Mr Harry for a dark Rumpus with Plumber Granpop Bill, that had him swooning again over the Prague trip and pining for dark ale from the monastery.
Keith (always on for it) brushed past Plumber Granpop Bill a couple of times uttering ‘scuze me son’. Joe was all white, as he brushed up against the blackboard erasing all memories of his previous nights fun and games with Karen. Even I had to remind him he’d forgotten my pint as he returned without from the bar.
We were obviously getting merry, especially Pedro, as the landlady vied her chances and flogged him 20 raffle tickets. Realising he was now skint and he wouldn’t be getting a round in, we slipped out to pole position to oooh and aarrhhh at the neck end firework displays which he’d pre-arranged. Probably as well that Beardie wasn’t with us cus the bangs and loud noises would have frightened him to death, in the state he’s in.
Waiting for the bus we were also entertained with spectacular bonfires from a couple of miles away, which JayCeeWoller boasted he could put out from where he stood, after having necked the best part of two pints.
5 minutes later we were in the offie purchasing beers and wine at bargain prices. Our supreme wino, Triglett, offered his expert advice and Matt kept a low profile to ensure we didn’t embarrass him on his local stamping ground. A 5 minute wait as the tables were reshuffled and the baltis and trad pappadoms were ordered, with one or two noticeable exceptions of course. What a surprise.
The meals were as exceptional as ever. With the exception of JayCee Wolla, who came over all queer and meandered outside like a Spikelet, and Plumber Granpop Bill, who blamed a dicky Double Dragon, we all wolfed our baltis. Rgee Bargee was seen to be polishing his bowl like Oliver. Ali Gee obviously doesn’t feed him enough.
Time to go, and the bus was bang on time again. There’s a first for everything. Splitting into different directions we said our goodbyes, as best we could. Wine bottle in hand, (my hand), some of us headed back to Castle. Mid Week Tone had drunk too much but not enough to prevent him remembering leaving unopened bottles of ale on the table. Triglett had also drunk too much and left half a bottle of wine on the table which Keith took full advantage of. Couldn’t have been a good choice after all? Plumber Granpop Bill was still pining for Prague as we walked the final furlong through Clayton, and cursing the effect the evil Double Dragon was beginning to have on his stomach.