<\/p>\n
Taff Up-Over part 3<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Saturday <\/span>continued…<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We drove off from Tintagel, leaving Cornwall behind. On the way we passed a motor smash that had left a car halfway through a ten-foot high hedge, and several people looking stunned. It really must have been a belter of a crash, as not only was the car almost into a field, but the car it had hit was almost in half. The police and ambulance services were there, so we left them to it. Thank god we hadn\u2019t left Tintagel earlier.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We got to Bickington, a small village on the road that links Barnstaple and Bideford, and to our good friends Alan and Jo\u2019s. I remember, vividly, introducing Alan to Jo, at college some twenty odd years ago; I don\u2019t think Jo\u2019s ever forgiven me for it. They have two wonderful boys, bright, intelligent, creative, kids, Tom and Jack, who I\u2019m a very proud, if forgetful, godfather to.<\/span><\/p>\n After the obligatory insults, we took their dog off for a walk on the beach. LeeAnne got to ride there on the back of Alan\u2019s Triumph 900, lucky sod. He wouldn\u2019t let me play with it for some strange reason.<\/span><\/p>\n So we strolled along on he beach at Instow, and stopped off for a quick beer at the Quay pub, and a very nice pint they serve there too. We then made our way back to the house, and Bethy got to ride on the motorbike. I could get offended you know…<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Back at the house we got gloriously fed, played cards, put the kids to bed, and got stuck into Alan\u2019s home made whisky.<\/span><\/p>\n One of the most annoying things about Alan is this.<\/span><\/p>\n All of my mates have talents, most of them excel in one activity or sport or whatever, I won\u2019t embarrass them by listing them here <\/span>(they\u2019ll be glad to know),<\/span> but all of them have expertise in one thing or another. But Alan is good at everything he chooses to do. No; I\u2019ll rephrase that; Alan is great at everything he chooses to do. This would be very annoying, if I didn\u2019t have enough dirt on him to keep him in his place. So his home made whisky was ever so drinkable, and went down a treat.<\/span><\/p>\n Far too well in fact.<\/span><\/p>\n I was given a bottle of it to bring back to Oz with me. I\u2019m letting it mature, and I\u2019ll only open it when Alan and the family come for a holiday in Oz with us.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Sunday:<\/span><\/p>\n So the next morning Alan decided there was no better hangover cure than a trip to the gym. Good thinking that man…<\/span><\/p>\n So we went along to the Barnstaple Leisure Centre, chucking the kids into the pool we then made our way to the weights room. “Hmm,”<\/i> I thought, “my daily sessions at the gym back home should give me the chance to show Alan how a workout should be done, this\u2019ll get the bugger.” <\/i>So we did Alan\u2019s routine.<\/span><\/p>\n And it damn near killed me.<\/span><\/p>\n It was only after I\u2019d fallen screaming to the floor, begging to be let out, that he got around to telling me.<\/span><\/p>\n You see Alan had recently applied to be come an ambulance paramedic, and there was a physical test to be passed before they\u2019d even look at him. So Alan, in his usual fashion, had “applied himself” to it. So the bugger was now as fit as a fiddle <\/span>(a very old Stradivarius)<\/span> and as strong as an Ox.<\/span><\/p>\n I however, after a fortnight of decadence, was fucked.<\/span><\/p>\n Just to rub it in, he went on to inform me that, not only had he outshone guys 15 years his junior at the physical, but his heart rate had actually dropped during the “step-up” test, leading the examiner to wonder if he was human. <\/span>(Or maybe it was just his looks that raised this question.)<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n So we had a sauna to straighten me out, we headed off home for a refuel, and jolly good grub it was. The only thing that spoiled it was that my jaw was still aching after screaming so much at the gym.<\/span><\/p>\n Then Alan decided to add to my torture by going for a bike ride.<\/span><\/p>\n We rode the bikes along the “Tarka Trail”. Well when I say we, someone who shall remain nameless, wimped out and went to bed for a kip. So me, Bethy, Alan, Jo, Tom and Jack went for a cycle along the Tarka Trail. Alan cycling and holding the dog on a lead at the same time. <\/span>(Oh how I longed for a cat to run across the trail!)<\/span><\/p>\n After stopping off at a bird watching point, a converted ex-signal box, which conveniently had a cafe there. We headed off to a large natural bowl in the woods, for the boys to do death-defying stunts on their mountain bikes, and us to watch. After trying to kill themselves for an hour or so they hadn\u2019t succeeded, so we headed back, with me now trailing by a good mile or two.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.beautiful-devon.co.uk\/tarka-trail.htm<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n When we got back we phoned Charlie to let him know that as Alan and Jo were off doing the things they do, Alan on a Paramedics course in Plymouth, Jo treating the old and infirm at the local hospital, the next day, we\u2019d be arriving at his place a day early. This was quite fortuitous. Or possibly not from Charlie\u2019s point of view, as the useless twat was sloping off to London the day we were due and this change gave us a chance to catch up with him. I\u2019m still not certain whether he\u2019d planned to leave us a key to his house or not. He probably would have, as he knows I carry a lighter on me.<\/span><\/p>\n So that evening we all went down the local Chinese restaurant for a feed. I\u2019m not normally a fan of Chinese grub, the vegetarian selection isn\u2019t normally that good, and I\u2019m sure they are planning to overthrow the capitalist west by feeding us up on sweet things till we burst. But the food was great, I must mention the wonderful stuffed banana fritters, and the company was wonderful, and so we had a fine evening.<\/span><\/p>\n We retired back to Alan and Jo\u2019s and had another attempt at bring the number of gallons in Alan\u2019s whisky reserve down into single figures, but failed. After biding the two of them a fond farewell, they were heading out at far too early an hour for us to say goodbye in the morning, and thanking them for their hospitality, we staggered off to bed.<\/span><\/p>\n That night, not only did we have the nights food and booze to cope with, but also a deflating inflatable mattress which was ever so much fun…<\/span><\/p>\n Monday:<\/span><\/p>\n The next morning we had a cuppa with Tom and Jo before they departed, and loaded our car up with the bags. Our baggage was growing exponentially.<\/span><\/p>\n We drove through the wonderful Devon countryside, god the place is beautiful. I quite fell back in love with Devon on this trip. We followed the Exe river through steeply wooded valleys, with old cottages, small hamlets with “Olde English” gardens, the odd castle or two, picture postcard stuff, lining the route. And made our way to Exeter.<\/span><\/p>\n When we reached the city we spent ages looking for a sandwich shop that had come highly recommended by Alan, and had a baked tattie there.<\/span><\/p>\n The two girls went off to the loos, and I stood around in the square just soaking up the atmosphere of Exeter. A guy walked by, and we sort of caught each other\u2019s eye. “Right mate!” “Yeah right.” Then we both did a double take; “Taff?” “Jim?”<\/span><\/p>\n Jim was a student I\u2019d employed when I was the deputy manager of an off-license I\u2019d run in Exeter. I hadn\u2019t seen him for 15 years or so. He\u2019s a great lad, and it was good to catch up on old times. I introduced him to LeeAnne and Bethy, and we chatted for a short while. We bid each other good-bye and promised we\u2019d try to bump into each other in Exeter in another 15 years or so.<\/span><\/p>\n The famous tunnels under the city were shut, a bit of a shame that as I was looking forward to seeing them again and to showing Bethy around. So we strolled down to the cathedral instead.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.exeter-cathedral.org.uk\/Welcome.html<\/span><\/p>\n Exeter cathedral is lovely, when I lived in Exeter during my training, I would often skive off for a morning and go and listen to the choir rehearsals there. The history of the place is phenomenal, and there is a lot of good restoration going on there. Some of the replacement figures on the wall carvings looked like they had just been goosed. There is graffiti on some of the old tombs that dates back to 1670.<\/span><\/p>\n I managed to get some good shots of the immense arched ceilings, these were deliberate and not just me pointing the camera in the wrong direction again. Honest.<\/span><\/p>\n After getting our fill of the cathedral, and dropping all our lose change into the donation boxes, I took the girls on a tour of Exeter\u2019s medieval back streets. These are a maze of narrow Edwardian Lanes. I didn\u2019t mean to take them on a tour, I just got us lost.<\/span><\/p>\n Luckily we got back to the car just in time to save us getting a parking ticket.<\/span><\/p>\n We drove down to Exeter quay. They have a funny little ferry there that is hand pulled on a wire across the quay. I wonder if the guy operating it gets tired of all the “strong right arm” jokes? The old arches, where the barges that brought the produce into the city used to unload and store their stocks, have now all been converted into chintzy shops, mainly selling antiques, but with a few offering hand made products and crafts. In one of the antique shops there we came across a bust which was a perfect image my mate bonkers Howard. I\u2019m not saying Howard looks like a pair of tits, even if that wouldn\u2019t be stretching the imagination too far, but it was a male head, and it looked just like Howard. I took a couple of photos of it, but they turned out really naff.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n After perusing the quay, we drove up to Chas\u2019s and it wasn\u2019t long before the man himself returned home. Great to catch up with the great soft sod after all this time. Chas cooked us all a gorgeous spag boll, and the girls settled down in front of the TV for a night of girls things, and me and Chas took the bus into town for a night of lads stuff.<\/span><\/p>\n We hit our favourite boozer, a Wetherspoons, and indulged in our two favourite hobbies, drinking cheap beer and oggling young totty.<\/span><\/p>\n <http:\/\/www.jdwetherspoon.co.uk\/pubfinder\/details.php?PubNumber=253><\/span><\/u><\/p>\n The old imperial hotel which has been converted into a vast drinking barn is a wonderful example what you can do with imagination, cash, and an old building. <\/span>(As in; “fill it full of young ladies and sell cheap beer”.)<\/span>The orangery, a massive cast iron greenhouse, for growing oranges in obviously, is an amazing setting for an evening out.<\/span><\/p>\n In Wetherspoons you can get a couple of pints of good “Abbot Ale” for a little over two quid, so we did, frequently. Also, as the pub is just down the road from Exeter University halls of residence, it\u2019s where all the young students go to drink cheap beer. Most of the young ladies seemed to be under the impression that they wouldn\u2019t be allowed in unless their breasts were available for ocular inspection. I\u2019ve never seen so many tits outside of a conservative party conference. It certainly made for an enjoyable evening, even if a few of the ladies had confused quantity with quality.<\/span><\/p>\n We got back, and I seem to remember having an online conversation with a lady friend of Charlie\u2019s, although this probably wasn\u2019t a very good idea, and she may have got the mistaken idea that I am in love with Charlie and want to have his babies.<\/span><\/p>\n Tuesday:<\/span><\/p>\n Charlie\u2019s place is a monument to what you can achieve if you have a great enthusiasm for crafts, hobbies and DIY, but fuck all enthusiasm for actually finishing anything, by the way.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ll interrupt this fascinating claptrap here to relay an, apparently true, tale I read in the loo at Charlie\u2019s place.<\/span><\/p>\n There once was a “C grade” actress in the UK, a sort of “happy shopper” Marilyn Munroe, by the name of Dianna Dors. At the peak of her fame she was asked by the vicar of the village she grew up in, if she would be so kind as to open the village fete. Being of a charitable disposition she agreed to.<\/span><\/p>\n Now the vicar wanted to introduce her by her “local” rather than by her assumed stage name, however her original name was the unlovely “Dianna Fluck.”<\/span><\/p>\n Being a kindly sort of chap, he obviously didn\u2019t want to get that name wrong, and had shall we say, rather a nervous time preparing.<\/span><\/p>\n On the big day, he strolled confidently up to the microphone and in a voice that was heard all over the village green stated; “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce our star guest, who has given up her time to come and open this fete. You may know her as the glamorous Dianna Dors, but to us older residents of the village she will always be little Dianna Clunt.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n So we drove towards Totnes, a rather charming and ancient town in the area known as the South Hams.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019d promised myself a treat, and had, by invoking images of the Hogwarts Express, managed to get Bethy onside too. So we caught the Dart Valley Steam train, something that in my 20 odd years of living in the South West of England I had always meant to, but never actually got around to do.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.southdevonrailway.org\/Gallery.html<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n It was wonderful. We got one of those old fashioned carriages with six seats in it and watched the river Dart valley passing outside the window. We of course broke the rules of not sticking our heads out of the doors and windows, so we could get photos, and also get covered in soot from the engine. The dart river meanders through some classic English countryside, and we saw herons and buzzards hunting for food, and fly-fishermen doing pretty much the same. It also passes some quaint little villages, of the sort that look pretty, but are normally the home of that mediocre middle-class which includes the accountants, estate agents and dentists.<\/span><\/p>\n At the end of the line there was a butterfly farm and otter sanctuary, so we spent a very happy time watching the otters being fed, and sweating like buggery in the butterfly enclosures, which are kept at tropical rainforest levels of heat and humidity.<\/span><\/p>\n On the train back we were lucky enough to get a first class compartment, and so we should.<\/span><\/p>\n We went for a stroll around Totnes when we got back, unfortunately the Castle was shut, but the parade of ancient shops were open, and so was the medieval church. So we bought things and forgot to pray.<\/span><\/p>\n We picked up a batch of McFarty pies on the way home, but due to Chas\u2019s oven being more complex than usual, or me being less competent than usual, we, I mean I, burned them. “Never mind there\u2019s a good chippy around the corner”<\/i>, I enthused, trying to hide the smell of burning…<\/span><\/p>\n They do indeed do a goodly portion of chips at Chas\u2019s local chippy, for which I\u2019m sure he\u2019s eternally grateful. Their vegetarian range is rather limited though. Bethy had fish and chips, I had a couple of pea fritters and chips, and LeeAnne had what was deviously described as “vegetable burger.” I think the trades description people would agree that a burger bun, filled with vegetable matter of unidentifiable origin, doesn\u2019t constitute a “burger”. So let them be warned.<\/span><\/p>\n Wednesday.<\/span><\/p>\n We decided to go out onto the moors after we\u2019d resuscitated ourselves from the chippy binge the night before, and Bethy had watched an hour of kids TV.<\/span><\/p>\n Kids TV in the UK seems to consist of dire cartons, and “programs” full of bright young people with shining teeth and tits, all leaping from subject to subject and whooping with delight at how inane they can be and get paid for it. I\u2019m getting old I suppose, but these grinning oafs with their drivel are infecting the box.<\/span><\/p>\n “And now we\u2019re going over to Cindy, who\u2019s at an RSPCA rescue centre.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n “Hi I\u2019m Cindy and these are my tits, aren\u2019t they bouncy? I\u2019m at an RSPCA rescue centre, where they look after sick animals. Back to the studio.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n “Hey wasn\u2019t that great seeing Cindy at that centre, we\u2019ll go back to Cindy after thirty seconds of the latest video of Beyonce Knowles\u2019s latest hit “I\u2019ve got a great ass .”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n Hey that was fab, what an ass, I bet you wish you were skinny and beautiful like her eh? Now back to Cindy.” “Gosh isn\u2019t Cindy cute. I\u2019m cute to and I\u2019m a guy. I\u2019m not gay, honest, I\u2019ve just got a great ass. Now for an a stupid cartoon of mutant robot witches with great tits and ass, and ten minutes of adverts for the spin off products, sponsored by McDeathburger, the snack you can eat that makes you obese.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n And on they go…<\/span><\/p>\n Anyway, where was I?<\/span><\/p>\n Oh yes, we decided to go to the moors.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.richkni.co.uk\/dartmoor\/tors.htm<\/span><\/p>\n Our first stop was Haytor, that great granite mass that is visible from all over the southern moor. Bethy romped up and down it, much to the disgust of the more elderly tourists who had made their way to the top and were finding out the way down wasn\u2019t so much fun. I pointed out the steps cut into the tor for Queen Victoria to ascend it, and we all agreed she was a vandal and a twat.<\/span><\/p>\n I took the girls on a whirlwind tour of the rock-climbing routes I had totally failed on there, and we gazed in awe at the two I had managed to get up. Bethy wanted a go at soloing the routes I\u2019d failed on, but I stopped her for safeties sake. <\/span>(As in; “if she\u2019d done one I\u2019d have killed her.”)<\/span><\/p>\n We then made our way to Hound Tor, source of the legend of the “Hound of the Baskervilles.” When we got there we found that Alan\u2019s* tea van was there, now renamed “The Hound Of The Basket-Meals”, ouch!<\/span><\/p>\n * A different “Alan” not my mate Alan. Alan\u2019s are ten a penny in the UK.<\/span><\/p>\n Alan, surname unknown, has had a tea van there for donkeys years, it\u2019s been a lifesaver for generations of cold, wet, rock-climbers and moor walkers, yours truly included. It\u2019s so popular that Alan has some climbs on the Tor named after him.<\/span><\/p>\n So we had a brew from the van, each cup freshly made in a pot no less, and went for a walk up to the Tor. I pointed out a climb that had nearly been the death of my mate Clarkie.<\/span><\/p>\n Me and Clarkie were out doing a bit of climbing one day, when Clarkie took a shine to doing a route called “Suspension flake.” It was well within his ability, though the guide does mention that it\u2019s a bit difficult to protect at the top.<\/span><\/p>\n Clarkie set off up the rock, and I belayed him from on top of a tall boulder, to get a better view of the climbing. He got to the top without too much problem. However his last bit of gear was someway, death distance in fact, below him. He swung out on a good hold and managed to rest a tape on top of a rounded flake, it looked about as much use as an ashtray on a motorcycle. He then grunted and groaned, and sweated and swore, as he tried to clip it. Just as he clipped it, he came off the rock and screamed. I threw myself backwards off the boulder to try and take in as much slack as possible, and as I hit the deck Clarkie swooped over my head, his feet skimming me and the ground. I lay there looking up at him. The tape had held! My taking in the extra few feet of slack by diving off the boulder had stopped him within inches of the ground. In fact I had got more bruised than he had, the tosser. We both laughed and I lowered him two feet to the deck. He was just talking about going back up, as the gear was still in place, when a gust of wind blew the tape off the hold and the karabiner hit him on the head. We decided to call it quits for the day, and he bought the teas down at the van.<\/span><\/p>\n Bethy decided she wanted a go at “Suspension Flake”, but we persuaded her that a cup of tea would be better.<\/span><\/p>\n Down at the van I had tea, and one of the best slices of homemade fruitcake I\u2019ve ever had.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We drove on from the van, passing through Princetown, and the grim Dartmoor prison. What a horrible place to end up, a few weeks there would be enough to make anyone think of slashing their wrists, and the prison is just as bad.<\/span><\/p>\n We made our way into Tavistock, a lovely moor town, where I lived for several years at the school for fucked up kids. (I was a teacher there, not a student.)<\/span><\/p>\n Tavistock has the poshest police station in the country, its in a 17 century moat house, far too good for the buggers if you ask me. It also has a wonderful farmers market that sells all sorts of local goods and products, including some of the most wonderful farm cheeses you can buy.<\/span><\/p>\n Unfortunately it was shut. So we bimbled around, and I had, yet another, nostalgia trip.<\/span><\/p>\n We then drove up to the school I used to work and live at.<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s in an old manor house, which is at the far end of a five-mile dead end road from the town, it sure stopped the little buggers running away. It\u2019s now run by an organisation, Chelfham schools, rather than the bunch of old hippies who ran it when I worked there, and looks all the better for it. Bethy was quite impressed that I had lived at the manor house, but if she\u2019d met some of the others that lived there at the same time I think she would have been far less impressed. She\u2019d have got along with the kids well, but the so-called “adults”…<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We drove home, or rather to Chas\u2019s, and passed Sourton Tor, the first place that LeeAnne had seen me fly back in our courting days. <\/span>(Or rather, back in our “banging like a shithouse door in a gale, but not yet married” days.)<\/span><\/p>\n At the house LeeAnne cooked Bethy the rather novel creation of; “Pork chops in a tomato sauce, soy sauce, port and thyme coating,” which Bethy swears is much more tasty than it sounds.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Thursday:<\/span><\/p>\n We cleaned up our mess at Charlies, and made to depart. I decided to take the girls on a coastal run, taking in the fading Victorian elegance of Dawlish, an old seaside town I\u2019d lived in for six months.<\/span><\/p>\n We drove past Starcross, looked at the wonderful old Powderham Castle, with it\u2019s now glorious converted farm buildings.<\/span><\/p>\n http:\/\/www.powderham.co.uk\/<\/span><\/p>\n These have gone from being labourers cottages into some of the most expensive real estate in the area. The castle has wonderful woods, a beautiful estuary, and large fields where they raise deer commercially, and hold rock concerts for such cutting edge acts as Chris de Burgh. How the other 5% live eh?<\/span><\/p>\n Then we got stuck behind the slowest driver on the planet. Does anyone else think it should be legal to ram old biddies who drive at 25 mph on a 60 mph single track road? This one was the worse kind. Not only had she built up a tail of eight or so cars behind her, but she was all over the road, as she was having a conversation with her passenger, and we all know it\u2019s rude to talk and not to look at the person your talking to, don\u2019t we?<\/span><\/p>\n We eventually got to Dawlish and parked at the British Rail car park. Some kindly gent gave us an “all day” parking ticket which he no longer needed, and we passed it on to another person when we left. Fuck British Rail.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n“Hi Cindy here again with a cute little puppy and my great tits. The RSPCA look after sick animals. Back to the studio.”<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n