BANTRY 1st – 4th October 1999
Neil Banks, Graham Brackstone, Graham Aukim, Shaun Gerraghty, Tim Horton (yes, I’m 50), Dave Cartlidge, Dave Stevens, Roy Middleton (I’m also 50), John Commins (I’m almost 50), Dave Gater, Joe Tuohy, Mark Evetts
This years walking expedition began in the early hours on 1st October at Birmingham airport. Some were well prepared with their wallets bulging with 150 punts as agreed. The taxi for the Stoke lads had arrived 15mins late, but at least it turned up. After circling the airport several times the taxi eventually landed at the drop off point.
The plane took off at 7am, bang on time. The weather forecast appeared to be terrible and worsening but the crack was good with Stags tales providing a confidence booster to those apprehensive about the flight. A grease gun appeared and adjustments were made to some dangling object on the underside of the wing at Dublin. Following a little turbulence the plane landed on 1 wheel. Perhaps the dangly thing was to blame?
Donovan’s taxi was promptly waiting for us. Why did he hold his head at an angle of 45º over the gearstick?
The jovial Swiss family Robinson and their
parrot greeted us at the Guest house. Only one other room was occupied by a
honeymoon couple.
Luckily the guest house that Joe had selected was only a 5 minutes run walk from the town centre. We were soon tucking into succulent crunchy batter and bones before supping the guinness in the snug in rounds of 12 pints, well 11 ½ pints, who was the whimp??
A siesta beckoned following a trek back to the guest house, which was only a 5 minutes walk from the town centre. Graham attempted to check out the golf course instead??
The rain had never stopped all day. It was a miserable night, if it had been Scotland Dave Gater would have driven home!
Dave Gater wishes he had swam home following a night lying awake listening to Joe’s gentle snoring Sympathies were expressed to Dave from those with previous experience. Hee, hee. John C appeared, twittering to himself, after a night sleeping in a room next to a parrot, repeating its mating call off by heart.
The breakfast spread would have done the Hilton Hotel proud. (John chose the tweetabix). The guest house had been a good choice and it was only a 5 minutes run walk from the town centre.
As the weather forecast appeared awful a 16km stretch of the Bearra Way was chosen commencing at Adrigole and finishing at Glengarif. Pity John Donovan, who was now leaning at 60deg. dropped us off at the wrong point. A bee sting to DS failed to delay the trek, which unfolded calmly along the contours of the sugar loaf. All was calm until coming face to face with the barrel of a shotgun and the cries of ‘There you are you bugger’ from a wild farmer. A wrestling match ensued to retrieve the gun from Dave G who had snatched the gun from the farmer and was threatening to shoot Joe to avoid another sleepless night.
A
lunch break was taken in between the hail storms. The packed lunches were
packed with goodies including butties with gushings of mayo-nnaise. There was
no pleasing some folk. Would you believe that someone with a fluorescent hat
was so particular that an offering of coffee was turned down because it wasn’t
decaff. What taste!
A sunny end to the afternoon was welcomed along with yet more guinness in Glengarif. Dave C’s crutch was unaffected by the walk. Those cycling shorts definitely get his support. Graham had blisters but would not ask for plasters in case it got minuted.
While Roy shielded the fire the remaining 11 members of the party enjoyed the thrill of Stoke thrashing Scunthorpe 1-0 in the 90th minute!
Upon returning to the guest house, a short 5 minutes walk to the town centre ended with an evening with Elvis and Hazel’s birthday celebrations. Roy was still hungry and was determined to eat Hazel’s stilton but had to be satisfied with lashings of sausages and chipped potatoes. Joe appeared to have forgotten the song sheets but these weren’t needed by the Stokies when competing with Elvis with raucous renditions of Alice, whoever she is, and Delilah. Crustie, who was now in double figures, couldn’t provide any wolfurian competition. The evening ended with Neil being dragged up to sing the national anthem.
Dave Gater’s eyes appeared to be rather bloodshot after another night listening to Joe tempting murder at the Shangri-La. The laughing landlord was in good form again, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, and John C appeared twittering again, threatening the landlady to remove both the mayo-naisse and the parrot.
A 10 mile walk was planned for today along a section of the Sheep’s Head Way to the west of Kilcohrane via Poet’s Way. If only the Poet’s Way had been truncated by a county waller perhaps the group wouldn’t have got separated. However the inevitable happened. 5 had a wonderful time completing the planned walk, whilst the intrepid 7 head off for a grueller around the headland to the lighthouse following Benny ‘Roysie’ Hill der, der, der, der, derd’ll, derd’ll, der, der, der, der. ‘Lighthouse, lighthouse, where’s the f’ing lighthouse’. Roy was determined to demonstrate his skills in bog dancing, displaying his Irish homosexual tendencies, he ended knee deep in Pete. Don’t stop aaagggghhhh.
The guinness finally took its toll. Neil had no alternative. Luckily , Mark produced a roll of pink toilet paper to his relief. Did Roy get any sh.. on his boots? Mark was struggling, his achilles tendon was giving him grief. Thanks go out to Graham, ‘the could be hero county walla’, who stood by him.
Meanwhile,
along an untruncated section of the headland, Graham had no alternative but to
form a human shield to protect D S from a
wild horse. Well the horse looked like it was going to jump! Upon regaining
breath and composure Hazel appeared out of nowhere to say hello!
Finally, back in the pub, 5 have a wonderful time with the jack russell.
Sadly, when John C arrived at the pub neither guinness or tea? were available.
The local drunk found his way to the car and drove out of his car parking space with ease, eventually.
Roy proceeded to give an imitation of Sandy Shaw, whilst betting anyone daft enough that he could eat more ice cream than anyone (He obviously doesn’t know Dave G!). Mark was desperate for a glass of wine and displayed steel in remarking ‘You’re a tosser you are Middleton’. Shaun needed a bud, John wore his anorak, and the Jack Russell effected D S’s eyes.
Relatively early nights were had by all following a short 5 minutes walk to the town centre for an evening meal. Roy proved he could eat two sweets but unfortunately got disqualified from any competition following his rendition of the Honkey tonk woman.
After a night in the corridor on his mattress Dave G finally had a full nights sleep, his first nights sleep since Wednesday. John spent the night with a bird.
An early start to return to Cork was democratically agreed by everyone except for Graham who was looking forward to a game of pitch and putt. John Donovan, who was now approaching 75º, dropped us at Cork and declared that the fare was tirty tree and a tird punts each. We never travelled 400 miles came the cries.
Patiently hanging around in shops obviously isn’t one of Dave C’s attributes. Whilst waiting to purchase goods in the Tourist Information shop Dave C’s patience finally wore thin and remonstrated ‘The tills down, stuff ‘em, I’ll go somewhere else’. Luckily for Dave, however, the guinness shirts were cheaper in the Duty Free shop at the airport than those purchased by J C in the Tourist Information shop.
Back at Birmingham the Stoke taxi failed to arrive. Eventually, a taxi was sent, but sadly failed to get home for the ‘street’.
