Excitement had been bubbling for the Alies since the Major had circulated an availability list for their annual jaunt. The collective pulse rate increased when it was announced they would be chauffer driven in the Vale’s mini bus; in fact the only air of mystery surrounded the destination- The Trough of Bowland or the Lakes.
The new Vale rugby in the community mini bus arrived on the car park, but there was no time to change the signage to “Care In The Community,” or to slip in Tony Christie’s hit, “Is this the way Amarillo?” into the CD player because the fitter was already gunning the engine.
Apart from three people to pick up en route, a number were absent. Enty was sampling champagne in Cambridge after his biltong exploits in South Africa, Muggy was recovering in hospital after a gruelling operation, the Chairman was testing his DIY skills to the limit after a kitchen ceiling collapse and the formidable Guinness Joe was working.
Once the party was complete Shagpile uncorked a cheeky red from his vast cellar and passed the sandwiches around as the Fitter negotiated heavy traffic in Carnforth. Above the crackle and hiss of the radio commentary from the Ashes test match, the conversation gently bubbled along.
The Plumber and President were discussing the perennial problem of heating the squash courts, Titanium Jim rambled into the ear of the Secretary, who was making his first Alies outing, the Electrician was outlining the benefits of purchasing property in the USA, and the Solicitor was keeping his own counsel, but later he was to release a volley of his thought provoking, pertinent observations. Gilly, as always was tuned into everything that was going on around him.
Turning off the A6 at Levens the search for a hostelry began. As the roads began to narrow the Fitter and the Major started to become fractious. The natives then became restless in the back as the first two inns were not open but after racing up Strawberry Bank and down the other side sanctuary was found at Bowland Bridge in the shape of the delightful Hare and Hounds.
Although the cool interior of the inn was most inviting the warm sun proved far too tempting and a few pints of splendid Jennings bitter made certain that the bonding began in earnest. After a toast to absent friends, not least of all Winny, the world of rugby in particular, the social life in Lancaster, the latest scandals in general, were all mulled over as the distant hills shimmered in the heat.
Lunch was taken at the Angler’s Arms at Haverthwaite. Gilly, Shagpile, Titanium Jim and the Oil Tycoon spotted a pool table, but it all ended in tears later when Gilly was accused of touching Shagpile’s red; one of the few outbursts encountered during the day.
The Rose and Crown at Cark was the ideal venue to relax, quiet and very accommodating, and then it was off to a busy Cartmel, although there was plenty of space in The Cavendish Arms. Then it was off to the President’s pad, after a brief stop at the Vale, for one of his celebrated barbeques. Both food and wine were perfect but eventually heavy rain forced everyone inside. Gilly flashed his camera, the Major’s eyes began to shut and taxis were ordered.
Compared with previous outings it had been largely incident free, pleasantly different, this was highlighted at the de-briefing sessions when ideas for something different next year were put forward; hot air ballooning, crown green bowling, perhaps a meander through the Trough. We shall see.
