Memories of the Squarrites 2006 Christmas Walk
With the memories of Joe’s Summer Walk now a fond but distant memory, talk was now focused on who was to take their turn at organising the next Christmas walk.
Somehow, up until this point the Traffic boys, had miraculously remained invisible and inconspicuous in squarry event organisation, an almost impossible achievement given Granpop Bill’s 10ft frame.
Not wanting to depart from true Council ethos and traditions, why should one person organise the work when 3 could do it just as well, Granpop Billee, Stubbee and Captain Shandy Man teamed up to organise the Christmas walk to Cheddleton.
With the Route issued, minibus & pubs organised, Traffic orders were issued, and on Wed 28th Dec the red light was given at the start of the walk. Unusually for the Traffic section, prior consultation had taken place on the 12 mile route.
Stevee Morgan had mysteriously not turned up for the minibus, however it was later revealed that, whilst allegedly cleaning out his gutters, he had taken an unsupported bungee jump from his ladder and done his back in. This is slightly more believable than JCee’s “ falling in the shower” excuse for missing an earlier squarreé.
Following everybody’s arrival, a minutes silence was duly observed in memory of Emma, Steve Willis’s daughter.
The start of the walk commenced spot on 8-00am as intended, err, actually, 5 changes of traffic lights later no one had moved, everyone seemed frozen to the spot, content to keep the Christmas Spirit alive from the many hip flasks that appeared.
A cunning ploy adopted by the traffic boys was to rely on the many natural born orienteering and map readers amongst the walkers to take the lead and force the pace. At minus three degrees it was clear that this cunning stunt was never going to succeed. A good job that Granpop Billee had reconnoitred the week before and knew the route, at least until the point where the first path split.
Not daunted by this initial dilemma, Bill then skilfully led the way beyond Big Susans Wood and through a farmyard, within a knats c**k of the farmhouse living room window. The braver ones (pervs?), glancing surreptitiously to see what the Farmer’s wife was up to on this lonely winters morning. (Not a lot as it happened!)
Moving like a finely honed marching troop, the squarrites passed the Powys Arms and arrived at the A520 where Spikee met his spouse, perfectly on time, with a veritable feast of oatcakes ‘n cheese with choices of sausage or bacon, sauces, orange juice and a little ‘snifter’ available from a bottle of Grants. (Special thanks go to Spikee and his wife for their extraordinary effort and time in preparing the food & refreshments). With the tempting smell of food in their nostrils, the squarrites moved quicker than a very quick thing through a tunnel formed under Rock Cottage where they ‘dropped their loads’ & basked in the warm winter sunshine.
The squarite hoards, having quenched their thirst and gorged their “potteries poppadoms” like a ravenous pack of hungry hounds, moved on swiftly (particularly as the scented aroma of decayed animal flesh hung in the air from the local slaughterhouse) across the fields towards Folly Lane & Old Hall Farm and onto the footpath signed to Consall Forge.
Arrival at the Black Lion was spot on the programmed ETA (would you expect any less from the Traffic Boys?)
At this point two separate factions developed – the hardened drinkers vs the hardened walkers. The drinkers stayed to partake of a few more aperitifs prior to lunch, whilst the walkers made their way up the Devils Staircase, where Spike made several stops, sweating profusely, his face redder than an irate Rigan Taxi Driver, whilst maintaining he was only stopping to take in the scenery.
At this point the realisation that Bill was no longer leading us hit home and sure enough it wasn’t long before everyone was gazing skywards, staring at the ground and mumbling profanities, blaming the uncertainty of our whereabouts on lack of visible landmarks.
After lengthy negotiations Mid week Tone was handled firmly and put in his place by the rather attractive young waitress, who had refused to serve only half the party. The ‘walkers’ eventually turned up at the The Boat at 2-30ish to the delight of the ‘drinkers’, who had been forced to partake of further ale in the absence of the full party.
Surrounded by festive surroundings, the meals were finally served, with mutterings from the waitresses about the mountain of rucksacks, sticks, coats and leggings that had very quickly formed a slightly smaller version of Hadrian’s wall between the restaurant and the toilet facilities. This caused many a snigger and stifled amusement as the other guests attempted to make the restaurant to toilet pilgrimage, falling more times than horses at the Grand National.
The onward journey by some was back along the towpath and back to Deep Hayes and for others carrying on to The Hollybush at Denford. Arrival at the Hollybush was welcomed by all; only tainted by the fact that few of the real ales were available. By way of consolation the majority of the 10 remaining stalwarts tucked into the selection of home made puddings.
DCeen, whilst walking in a dreamlike Christmas stupor, had been fondly reminiscing about the former love(s) of his earlier, pre-married life. Almost as though it was written in the stars – Dave’s dream came true. Across a distant room in the Hollybush their eyes met, their earlier desires re-kindled; or was she just after that tenner that Dave owed her from 30 years ago? Probably the latter. Her name was Vulva – and after more time re-counting the joys of their youthful unrequited love, Dave soon realised that, as the anticipated time of arrival of the minibus came and went, he was going to miss the Stoke match!!
With this sudden realisation sweeping over him, Vulva was hastily kicked into touch as contingency plans were rapidly made, followed by many expletives, particularly focussed on what DCeen was going to do to the bus driver when he eventually arrived.
The bus did eventually arrive 1 hour and 20 minutes late, with the driver apologising profusely and explaining that although it was not strictly his fault, he had broken down on the return from East Mids airport.
DCeen did avoid a heart attack and did make the match, albeit a few minutes late, as the driver made an impromptu stop at the Britannia Stadium and then onto Westbury Park, the undisputed centre of the known universe.
Groupee Stubbee Chuckee
PS The minutes are all my own although I reserve the right not to be sued for any possible liable or offence that may be incurred (over and above the value of 1 pint) !!