Over the Edge Saturday.
Morning dawned bright(ish), early & far too loudly, courtesy of Esther's Posse of Old Farts, who had gathered outside her & Ken's tent for a gab. Eventually ever'one sucuumbed to the noise & got up to sit round 'n mumble away at each other. The creatures from the chalets arose & ambled over as well.
I decided to head into Newport for petrol & cash, declaring I would be back by 11. Sadly the XS had other plans: started 2nd kick, began to turn round on the grass and she declared a no-go. Lots of helpful advice from bystanders failed to arouse her, so I fetched my tool kit & sent for Jebus. Main fuse was popping repeatedly when the engine was turned over. Slowly we stripped the entire bike - tank off, coil exploded (bloody stupid Boyer crimp terminal that don't crimp grrr), left casing off. After the blood and swearing had abated slightly, we popped the headlight. To find: one blue bullet connector pulled apart. Reconnected, taped up & re-assembled the bike - broooom brooom noises followed.
By now it was half 11, so V promised to buy me breakfast on-site. Poring over 'Wight Life' produced little enuthiasm for any of island's delights, except V's demands to 'Pick A Pearl'. 'Pick A Pearl' 'Pick A Pearl' 'Pick A Pearl''Pick A Pearl''pckapral''pap''pp'. So she & I set off into the Wild Green Wilds of Wight.
IoW Pearl sancutary turned out to be literally round the corner - I can remember Sam & I & Zoidberg's Missus walking to the back of it in 2004. But we didn't know what it was then. Basically a big shop selling pearl jewellery, with a copy of Diana's famous seed pearl dress and some other things.
We wandered round the display cases for a bit, 'oohing' and 'ahhing' - occasionally 'eeking' at the prices - till we got to the Pick a Pearl stand. We had plenty of time to admire the lovely hand-painted undersea scenes on the walls & up the ceilings, with a slightly tacky waterfall & pool for the oysters. V asked the tattooed biker lad for some advice on which oyster to pick & he (gently) suggested one of those on the waterfall thing. Prising it open revealed a lovely pink pearl, which he gave a valuation of at least £43. V was well chuffed as there is a fixed fee of £14.99 for each oyster, regardless of the value of the pearl inside.
I bought some nice blue-ish pearl studs for Emma & we began the long trek back to site. Once there, a general consensus was established to do nuffink, and carefully. Wishing for a taste of the high-life, I took a blast into Newport. Found a nice little goth shop with some black lipstick, a handy buy-one-get-one free on skirts in the Oxfam shop, a cheep snake-skin print top, some pink stockings in Purple Dreams & a hand-bag for Tory - black patent with 'Babe' picked out in studding. Back to site to meet ever'one drying off from the pool, then away to Morrisons in Newport with Mark, J&V, M&T, N&C. Agreed to meet T,W, K&E in the Three Bishops pub when we got back, as they assured us the service there way better than last time.
Coming back was a bit fraught & ver' slow, owing to the amount of glass bottle in my top box. A stop to stuff grass in as packing revealed one of Tart Mart's newkies had given up under the pressure and the bouncing :-(.
Service had improved at the 3 Bish, but the food had gone downhil. My pie wasn't bad, but the fish was almost completely tasteless. Cake was too expensive to contemplate. Back to site, quick change into stockings etc., grabbed me big bottle of cider, torch & new chair & into the marquee.
don't really remember the 1st band. Stan did an ace quick change number with a piss-take of each different country. Confused the german by ever'one doing a 'Dam Busters' impression. The rally virgins got up on stage, but the carefully planned 'Time-Warp' went a-gley, leaving Stan to lead them in some improvised dancing.
A long line for the burger van provided some entertainment, and the chance to tell the bunch of cappouchino drinking wierdos behind me in the queue what I thought of their girly woofta drink. It seems I told ever'one else what I thought of people who drank such rubbish as well.
The most excellent Camouflage came on & began by abusing me. He asked if we were ready to sing, & I replied we didn't want to. So I was sent off back to my tent. But I did sneak back, quietly, to the front of the stage. As quietly as a man in black lipstick & pink stockings ever can. Their sets were as excellent as ever, really getting the crowd going. A spiffing night, not particularly marred by my spat with the ol' digtal camera.
By 3am myself, TigerSue, Paul & his well dressed dress-wearing friend were sitting around the marquee discussing the Norfolk Gliding Club & other such improbabillities. TS spied the lead singer from Camou sitting in a curious attitude on a nearby bench.
"he looks quite morose, poor man"; TS was quite pleased with 'morose' as an adjective at 3am.
"i'll see your morose, and raise you 'despondent'"; if we were playing word games, I didn't want to fold on the 1st round. Paul upped the ante with 'depressed'. I believe 'dismayed' was thrown into the pot. Finally, the hand was called, and so was the singer.
"how're you feeling?"
"fucking knackered" came the reply, which did the same to our betting. The follow up of "too bloody old" did not improve the situation, and the party broke up in disarray.
And so to bed.
posted by zedley 12:37 PM[edit]