It’s bunnies an’ eggs time again, a wandering lunar cycle put easter a bit early this year and in case it’s keeping you up at night, easter is determined as follows,
Easter Sunday is the Sunday following the Paschal Full Moon (PFM) date for the year. In June 325 A.D. astronomers approximated astronomical full moon dates for the Christian church, calling them Ecclesiastical Full Moon (EFM) dates. From 326 A.D. the PFM date has always been the EFM date after March 20 (which was the equinox date in 325 A.D.).
So now ye can answer that pub quiz question
Skida from the ‘Northumberland Bikers’, so called because they hail from the planet ‘Northumberland’ had tempted me away from my usual haunt of the ‘Glasgow MAG Egg Run’ by the promise of a weekend of wine, women and song. Well what could I say other than, ‘duh OK then’.
Studying the AA ‘lie-master’ route obfuscator on line, I noticed that I’d never actually ridden on that wee red line between the Stormin’ Road, the A68, and the ‘Borders’ road, the A1, the A697 through Coldstream,
well it was a pleasant enough day for late March so it seemed like a good opporchancity to try it out. I filled the bike with petrol and set off in the knowledge that I had a BF* figure of 110 miles in the tank *(before fumes).
The trouble with the truth is …….
Of course nobody told me that land of the Cheviot appeared to run their cars on jam, honey and ovine feaces. the odometer rolled merrily round to 90 miles, nothin’, 95 miles, sphincter pulsing set in
If Coldstream turns out to be one horse town with no gas station then I’ll need to book the bike in for an Ovine feacal conversion. As it turned out there was indeed a gas station at the far end of town, I filled up, thanked the horse and continued on my merry way.
By some freak of astronomical alignment I managed to find Bedlington, rather than ride about aimlessly looking for the site I stopped at a gas station, wandered in and before I could ask, the bloke said ‘looking for the egg run mate?’, er, yup.
Finding the Bebside Inn I bumped into Trouble, Foogy, McMadd his lass Gemma and Iain who had just arrived, camped up with about twenty other tents in the field next door and headed off to find Skida, I was however informed that he was still at home in the bath lavishing himself with exotic oils and herbal tinctures, so I settled for a pint of the black stuff.
At the back of the pub the NB’s had erected a big marquee, with tables, chairs and a floor !, hmmmm, with this wooden floor you are spoiling us, albeit a bit harder when it’s all got too much later and you hit it.
After several more pints, Annie phones me for directions as she has decided to come down after all. Giving directions when you are half cut isn’t entirely recommended as I found out later.