tintagel and tellings off

i've lost some blogging momentum in the last few weeks, hopefully it will return at some point but until then pictures will have to suffice.

oh, and of course some gems from lucy:

"i blunted it on his bone"

"i'm full of sausage"

ol' thirty bastard - brighton, where else?

and so it was that Herbert turned 30, the first of the gang with a gun in his hand quite literally. fittingly for such an occasion we ‘headed down’ to brighton to celebrate with the monkey magician, and what a weekend it was to be. after the shock of seeing the man himself walking down the road hand in hand with a young lady on arrival, we quickly recovered and found our way to the pub. it turns out that ‘Herbie’, who is the joyous, easy going, happy-go-lucky alter ego of the person we refer to as herb, has found himself a girlfriend, and very nice leanne is too. pretty soon bob and luce arrived and pretty soon the drinks were flowing. benny and kate were on route on the train and dyke and kristy were trying to miss the traffic, yet only succeeding in missing the entire evening, or mine and bobs anyway, as we peaked too early. benny, a late starter, was still available to annoy dyke by making him stay out till 3 when they finally arrived sometime after midnight. waking hours before everyone else, which is the curse of sharing a room with bob, we headed down to the seafront to clear our heads and get a cup of tea, a pleasant stroll cut short by bobs bowells threatening to give way whilst a perilous 10 minutes from a toilet. after making sufficient noise to wake everyone we headed out. the pub was avoided for the best part of an hour by a walk down the pier, where dyke won the dolphin race and was proud and benny had his bluff well and truly called only to worm out of the scariest looking ride in brighton at the last minute. so we retired to the pub for afternoon of drinking, before heading out for tapas, where we ate and drank and herbert milked his birthday. of course, as we mature and become less rock n roll the criteria for the schoolboy error changes, so now the fatal evening killer is eating too much and getting tired. or in bobs case a bad stomach. some hardcore folk continued into the small hours but us soon to be parents were done. sunday came and a very nice afternoon was spent in the pub leisurely drinking ale, playing some jenga and then watching dyke analyse the connect 4 board before some more eating and drinking which is always nice. by this time the rain was coming down and we returned to a half-flooded bedroom, water pouring through the ceiling to such an extent that even herbert was worried. vessels were put in place and the room evacuated. the weather wasn't looking much better after getting up on monday so time to head off, it was good to see 'herbie' in his natural habitat, happy cheeky little chappy that he is, brighton knocks 10 years off him. so that makes him what? 40?

dorset, grizwalds and...dyke?

with summer in full flow, or maybe trickle, a recently scanned hawkins clan headed down to the south coast for a long weekend that would take in weymouth for a spot of camping and bournemouth for the youngest grizwald's 21st birthday. arriving in weymouth, the campsite had a great view out to chesil beach, and i managed to put the tent up with frightening efficiency in the wind, but the town was a bit of a let down, bit of a dump really and had that whole seaside thing of not changing anything but the arcade machines in the last 30 years. still, we found a nice habourside restaurant to eat a fine anniversary meal, and had a nice evening. after a day spent trying to find a decent shop, charles and eileen arrived for the night, so another good meal was had, and perhaps a few too many for the head of the grizwald clan, who after needing the toilet in the night forgot that 2 doors needed accessing in the tent...falling asleep in the porch only to be put to bed by his daughter. we headed off early and after a stroll around poole harbour met up with singe, karen, becs, jimmy and jonny at the hotel. after deliberating over how to spend the afternoon it was universally decided that the best activiity would be to just drink. probably not the best there's ever been in hindsight. see thats when it all went strange, after a kryptic message with reference to christchuch beach it appeared that we were being stalked, dyke and kristy turned up at the pub. even though i hadn't eaten much and felt a bit dizzy they were not just a hallucination. maybe if they'd been around after i made a schooboy error back at the hotel i wouldn't have been so sure. anyway, the next few hours were a bit hazy and the next thing i knew i was sipping whiskey in the hotel bar ready to start again. of course, i had to go to bed. we awoke, with intentions of going in the sea shattered by the force 10 gale and sideways rain, however it wasn't that bad that charles couldn't be beaten at crazy golf first. its never that bad.

riding and wrong stuff

a delayed post due to post traumatic stress induced by what can only and will only be described as a spot of acorn gazing, but here goes. after a suprise call from an old friend on thursday the dynamic of the weekend's riding trip was drastically changed, leading to a blog debut from the man they call mendez. its been a while since the northern boy was around but it felt like just days when he rolled up in his hi-lux with the pre-warning of really needing a dump...textbook alex. anyway, with a blocked toilet and dubious smell in the hallway we headed into wales, first to coed y brenin, where we were to ride the mbr trail that bennys been recommending for a while. a strange thing happened just before arriving, when alex begged the question "should i go with full lycra?", which left me a little disturbed, but nonetheless i continued to, as they say, rip the shit. it wasn't until we started changing that i realised he wasn't joking and was in fact wearing his very best big daddy costume. the trail was good, even though the first section was a bit of a technical uphill nightmare, the views were pretty amazing, and i very nearly made it back to the car without cramp only to dramatically fall to my knees on the final furlong. all in all a good days ride, the idea of a dip in a nearby rockpool sounding like the perferct way to cool down so we headed off to **************this section has been deleted due to explicit and disturbing content************ and we were on our way to chubbs for a barbie and some beer in his new house. another blog debutant, chubb was in fine form and his cottage was quite amazing, with crog lofts and snugs and allsorts of little hovels. a fine night a drinking was had, and an old friend made a long overdue return - tank - dyke got a somewhat unconvincing one but the highlight was the military stealth tank that a hungover mendez took the full force of. despite hangovers, for some crazy reason it was decided we would be attempting the hardest of all trails on sunday, the marin, which whilst not being particularly happy about i got on with without complaining. and it was worth it. it really is the best trail i've riden and never fails to make me happy. that is until we get stuck at the furthest point with a puncture in the camp, no means of repair, sideways rain and no suitable clothing. it was sketchy for a while but we were rescued by some stokeys with a puncture repair kit and on we went. the final dissent was as brilliant as ever and with what felt like a continuous downhill ride we were on our way home. a spot of fart tennis on the journey amused us for too long really, but hey thats what you get with mendez.

Catchphrases: "mate, mate, mate"; "binary"; "are you acorn gazing?"

return to rcd bay

and breathe. the most anticipated of all trips finally kicked off after a build-up more intense than an ill-fated england world cup campaign. benny started things off on wednesday night by blagging everyone that he was already there, then dyke and kristy gave everyone the shock of their lives by sending evidence of their 10am arrival....from then on it was a foot to the floor damage limitation exercise. the weather was looking great, all but bob and lucy arrived, played some football then to the bayview via an ill-conceived spot of bodyboarding, only to be taunted by some 'lance from neighbours' lookalike claiming there was nothing to surf. if only we had enough about us to come out with something as witty as we could surf his mom. doh. back to the site, bbq sparked and the most excited man in britain arrived. we dropped the bombshell of nays pregnancy which was greatly received, not so much a suprise after a blog that people were not meant to see slipped through the net, or more strutted through the gaping doorway, but all was good and we stumbled to bed. the following day brought more great weather but still no waves, even the tumble dryer territory of trebarwith strand couldn't come up with the goods, it did however deliver a tribute and a great view (check bobby m pictured with glass of said ale). the evening brought a return to the bayview and the crazy table that seems to facilitate so well the sinking of several pints of sunset. the balmy weather continued into saturday and brought with it some waves, an afternoon surf and no flipper loss was a notable success, but the biggest talking point of the day hinged around bennys seemingly perfect specimen of a camel toe. kate is a lucky lady. a late afternoon bbq complete with fish medley went down well, with plenty of vino, and before we knew it we were awaking to yet more sunshine and the prospect of packing up to get down to polperro. before leaving rcd bay we headed down to the beach for one last surf, with the now quite good waves not hiding the now legendary benton-toe. little changes in polperro, the walk around the coastal path was a great as ever and the doombar still tastes like tribute in the pilchards. a dissapointing meal in the noughts and crosses, and a scary exit past some growling locals put an end to the evening with everyone feeling a bit bloated and slightly let down. with the break for most ending with not so much of a crescendo as a whimper, benny and kate, dyke and kristy, and rutta and flare packed up and headed off early on monday. there was time for one last piece of comedy gold when rutta showed dyke where the auto-ignition was on his bbq, which, after seeing him set fire to his hands and eyebrows on a regular basis in the last 2 years, was quite amusing. this left me and nays and bob and lucy to indulge in a spot of crabbing (conventional not manion), and leasurely river crossing in looe, before a bottle of wine on the beach and what can only be described as a gourmet bbq. a very sophisticated end to another 5 days of what can only be described as the best thing in the world.



Catchphrases: "Nice camel toe", "Lil' pro", "Kristy, I broke my flip-flop kristy, kristy, fix it for me kristy"

its the anthill mob from penelope pitstop....

the race is on, the stage is set, the prize has been drawn....that is a bayview sunset for the person who gets to cornwall first. it appears however to be a three horse race, with bob and lucy coming later in the evening - probably a couple of hours before dyke and kristy who will have gone via glasgow - so it will be us vs benny/kate and rutta/flare in the race to the bayview.

hopefully bob is handling his excitement, dyke it appears has shown some leadership qualities though fallen at the final hurdle by revealing he knows not what is going on, benny is having erection problems, rutta is smug in the knowledge of a warm dry night in his swanky new van, and as for the monkey magician who knows? anyway, the point is......2 days to go.