Having picked the worst week of the year, weatherwise !, to take a week’s holiday and a week of touring ‘darn sarf’ aborted due to ‘extreme and persistent precipitation’ i.e. it pissed all day every day, I figured I drag something out of the week kicking and screaming, so it was off to the Blacksmith’s Rally.
By some miracle of atmospherics the dreaded manky Cumulonimbus bastards had either slept in or buggered off the the happy hour at ‘The Cloud Bar’ and lo and behold the big red shiny thing appeared to lull us all into
a false sense of, er, em, let’s pack the bike and go somewhereness.
the prick in the Peugeot 307 on the M74 who decided that I’d left my klingon cloaking device in the ‘On’ position and it would be ok to move into my lane as I apparently wasn’t there, neither was the boot shaped dent in his door before he tried it, I arrived in one piece at the site.
Roasting hot day, tent up, free cup of coffee at the gate, straight to the bar. The bar at this rally is well sorted, £1 for a nip or a can, wohoo, I’m afraid I’m going to get very….very….drunk.
With the help of three household baths full of water keeping the beer cool, dunno whose houses they blagged ’em from, follow the smell of sweaty armpits.
As per tradition one of the huge pile of pallets was lit on Friday night, Vince the pyromaniac did a good job of keeping it stocked up. As I was only there for Friday night I felt it my duty to drink until dawn, mission accomplished.
All I had to do was wake up saturday morning to the sound of rain on me tent and get a good soaking on the run up the road, hey ho. Thanks to Jill from the Caley Phoenix for the paracetemol on staurday morning, which, washed down with a can of Irn-Bru saved my life, well my head at least.
Cheers to Bloggsy & crew for a great party, I’m just sorry I missed Saturday night.
Words & Pics By Al