‘Make hay while the sun shines’, so the farmer gets his old 180 degree Jota out and does some stopppies.
Minutes after pulling off the A96 and David Byrne’s swimming about my head crooning “We’re on the road to nowhere”.
The lyric would have been more accurate were it “We’re on the road to a small crow filled wood with a village hall sans village in the middle of nowhere but it’s quite sunny and time to party” but it just dosen’t fit into the four beats and has seriously questionable meter.
Where were we going?, ah yes, the Caramel Starfish’s (best not to ask) 5th Cock o the north – Loons wi Spoons Rally.
For those not aquianted with the vernacular specific to the North East of Scotland, a ‘Loon’ is a bloke, boy, generally person of a male persuasion or needs persuading. A Spoon is a kitchen utensil ye eat yer wheetabix with. Glad that’s cleared up then ?. Well the ointment did help.
The almost complete failure of my plan this year to do loads of rallies I hadn’t done before as it had had tripped on it’s dangling para boot lace and fallen flat on it’s face in a puddle of old two stroke which had been festering in the shed for a few decades, meant, that I was making this one whatever happened.
This rally came highly recommended, but then so had turbo vimto and look what that did to my head. Coincidentally this rally had a similar effect.
Having actually found the rally site, a feat worthy of the be global circumnavigators, in fact I bumped
into Roald Amundsen who helpfully informed me to turn right at the man holding the pig with three legs and a slightly soiled lamb cutlet.
So what was the rally like?, get on with it man !.
A field, a hall, a food van, bikes, tents and about ninety odd folk. No stalls, no bike show, no nothin’ except a great atmosphere and that certain calm that occurs just before a good party, oh, and sometimes before a particularly bad bout of flatulence too.
Having pitched the tent in the nearby field with the aid of my Ronco ‘antirollootyertent-o-matic’ inclinometer I headed off to the hall to get a drink and pick my fetching home made ‘Hairy’ badge.
There’s sometimes a few dodgy characters at these rallies, ye know, the type yer mum warned ye about. Indeed I was not long in when I was approached by a mysterious woman in civvys who brandished a partially opened handbag at me, in a kinda ‘wanna buy a watch’ fashion.
Only able to see the green top of a bottle with he other hand she deftly produced a test tube, her words were hard to make out, some foreign tongue methinks, Jaggy Mister?, the question perplexed me for a moment, I was sure I didn’t have my mongolian yak herders’ camel hair underpants on. ‘Vood U lek eh Jagermeister?’ aw
what the hell, I’ll drink anything in a test tube, a couple of tubes of 35% proof herbal mind fuck, (no doubt a left over from WWII when the crafty germans used it to elicit information from unsuspectiung downed airmen), and I was spilling the beans, the bloke in the food van weren’t too happy I can tell you, well he’d just cleaned the counter.
‘Ten Tall Men” arrived on stage, well, a few blokes and one in a frilly shirt his sister lent him. Wohoo, more Jagermeister, more JD, more Guiness, hey we’re not in Kansas now Toto.
I love we rallies, I’d forgotten how bloody good they are. Just goes to show, you can be anywhere, get the right folk in a room with music and drink and the atmosphere just er, well, erm, oh if I had to explain you wouldn’t
I’ll just let the photies explain. The band were very good, apart from the singer’s penchant for sitting on blokes knees.
I can’t actually clearly remember a whole lot beyond this point, but I recall laughin’ and jiggin, and some other small intricately carved flour based foodstuffs.
Saturday morning, I bump into Rab, Claire and Nodge, the latter was was tucking into a hearty breakfast covering all four food groups, potatoes, pears, apples and polystyrene. Ok it was a poly cup full of Pear cider and blue vodka.
This may have contributed to the fact that he accidentally got left behind in the village pub where he’d fallen asleep in the bog.
Hangover cure was lunch in Inverhoorye then straight back to the site for more of the same. It was at this point we discovered why Bob was complaining about poor handling of his Dragstar, thinking I was checking for wheel bearings I grabbed the back wheel to discover that EVERY spoke was loose, and his wheel was wibbly
wobbling about the hub, eeek. And ye just can’t find anyone with a spoke key nowadays.
‘Easily Led’ performed for the delictation of the inebriated. I was indeed
The raffle was drawn, pick your own bag of prizes, “be warned some are full of crap” was announced. Too true, unless you really needed a ‘dick cloth’ , a mr blobby video or a new pink G string or teddy bear. Laugh?, my pants nearly dried !
The awards are shown above, photographed in the stage assisted vertical position, big thanks to “Two Can” Sally for writing out the winners, well I wasn’t gonna remember them.
At some hour of the am’s the words of ageing rockster Eric Bogle, er Clapton came to mind, “It’sa late in the evening, and fell arse over tit” well it was dark.
Astonishingly the Sun had stayed out the whole weekend, what, this IS unheard of, this summer anyway.
Big thanks to the Caramel Starfish (still best not to ask), for a great wee rally, haven;t had so much fun for ages, and what fun it was. Now I know why it was recommended.
Words and Pics By Al
Dommie gets the undivided attention
of a Loon Wi a Spoon