31st August - London to Pilton
Around 5pm this evening I find myself driving my old jalopy into a far out suburb to meet Gary TM and pick up a luxury minibus to transport “The London Crew” down to the Pilton Party and then on to the Secret Gig which all the crew will attend in a non working capacity, complete with tents. On arrival I find Gary sweeping up broken glass from the road and there is an overpowering smell of vodka fumes. I don’t like to ask him what’s been going on so I enquire as to the whereabouts of our limousine instead. Mmmnn, it’s over there he says, sheepishly pointing to a familiar looking vehicle. I pause for a moment to steady myself as I have a sense of deja vu, and there is the same Morris Minor Pickup truck in which we travelled down to Glastonbury Festival, except the floral artwork has gone, replaced by Black Metallic paint with Orange flames fanning out from each wheel arch, and on the rear tailgate someone has lovingly written “Turbo Mean Machine” . All in all, a very classy job and no mistake. It’s not quite what I was expecting but is by no means an unwelcome sight, only trouble is it’s already full to the brim with Gary’s Ikea Futon bed and his mobile disco equipment with state of the art sound to light units. Where will we put HHJJ’s 8 man tent and for that matter the rest of the crew I ask? Well, if it’s any help says Gary, I won’t be coming with you, because ‘er indoors is havin’ a bit of a do this evening and oh is that the time............
The Turbo Mean Machine causes quite a stir in the rush hour traffic and the newly fitted cattle bar sure comes in handy a couple of times, and before you can say:
Happy Happy Joy Joy, All Singing All Dancing, Wibbly Wobbly, Miami Dave, Karaoke, Sound Machine, King of Comedy, with Gripping Hands......... I have young Abbiss and his missus safely picked up and we’re cruising down the M3 towards the Guerin household. Abbiss sits up front and pretends to drive with his little toy plastic steering wheel stuck to the dashboard and is making beep beep sounds whilst Mrs Abbiss is strapped to Gary’s futon sofa bed in the back to stop her falling off.
HHJJ doesn’t seem too pleased to see us when we glide up the driveway to “Much Grumbling on the Whey”, his country estate in Surrey. Firstly we have to get by “Old Scrotum”, Dave’s wrinkly Gamekeeper who fires a “warning” shot into the side of the van sending feathers flying all around and about. Ha! I knew it! Poachers, cries Old Scrotum, and it takes all my powers of diplomacy, and a small bribe, to persuade him that the feathers come from Gary’s pillow, which is no more, and that Lord Joy of Joyness is expecting us up at the Manor House.
Lord Dave, or Happy Happy Joy Joy............., as he allows his close friends and acquaintances to call him, comes bounding out of the house to greet us, dressed in tweed jacket and deerstalker hat, with that famous lop sided gait caused by uneven distribution of the items on his ever present utility belt. As the smile disappears from his face, he shouts, round the back you lot, and something about tradesmens entrances and lowering the tone of the place. Driving round the back actually involves entering another county and a half hour journey as the estate is so huge but we comply with Lord Dave’s wishes as we don’t want to upset him, on account of him getting very grumpy when he’s upset and that being a bad thing and all.
HHJJ has calmed down a bit by the time we arrive round the back, and despite having a grumble about our vehicle and the lack of room for his Bedouin style tent, he treats us all to a curry in the banquet hall. Seems he’s flown the chef in specially from India and it is a style of curry hitherto unknown to us called Tabaq, which is very fine indeed and puts everyone in good spirits for the last part of our journey. HHJJ wants to take his military style land rover along because his tent is designed to attach to it. He also seems mysteriously concerned with getting home at the earliest opportunity on Sunday, fearing that we will enjoy the camping experience so much we’ll want to stay at the Secret Gig location for longer than planned, thereby stranding him there and ruining his life, or at the very least cause the earth to stop rotating around the sun or some other catastrophy of equally Biblical proportions. We quickly reassure him that we’re not horrible enough to maroon him and squeezing him aboard we resume our voyage, setting sail for Pilton, a tiny uninhabited island somewhere in the South Pacific. Why do you keep calling me Ben Gunn asks HHJJ, and why is Abbis wearing an eye patch and for that matter why has Milky got a Parrot on his shoulder and why are you all singing “Sixteen Men on a Dead Mans Chest, Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Fine Red Wine”. Dave looks worried and being as horrible as we assure him we aren’t, we continue to tease him about this for the whole weekend. As we haul up the anchor and leave, Old Scrotum fires a final good luck shot over our bows, or at least we hope that’s what it is, and we all give him the finger, which is an old seadogs farewell gesture which he seems to appreciate because he fires another good luck shot over our bows, although this time it accidentally hits Gary’s Futon which is a shame.
The good ship Turbo Mean Machine soon hits a terrible storm and the rain is lashing down tossing us this way and that. Sleeping in tents after the Secret Gig suddenly doesn’t seem like such a good idea after all but we carry on regardless. A fight breaks out amongst the ships crew between HHJJ and Young Abbiss, something about sharing the Wine ration and a dispute about who is navigating anyway, but then this is only to be expected when you have children on board I suppose. HHJJ continues to complain about everything he can think of and grabbing the box of wine climbs up to the crows nest where he sits for the remainder of the journey hugging it to his chest, rocking backwards and forwards with a mad stare muttering, It’s mine I say, all mine.
Land Ahoy! shouts HHJJ upon sighting a strange Orange glow but this turns out to be a warning light on the dashboard informing us that we will run aground within minutes if we don’t put some petrol in the tank. Our fantasy is shattered and we curse the evil Gary TM for not pointing out to us that he uses the only car rental company in the world that does not send you off with a full tank of petrol before an attempt to circumnavigate London on the M25! We decide to give him The Black Spot upon our next meeting which means he will have to supply us with PD’s within 24 hours or be dead by Monday morning.
Finally we arrive at our destination, a small 5 star hotel near Pilton and head for the bar to rendezvous with “The Yorkshire Crew” who have travelled down separately with the equipment. The bar, which resembles a works canteen and has the same sort of ambience is empty, so sniffing the air, we follow the scent of the righteous stuff and manage to track them down in a jiffy. Some of us return to brave the bar for a quick one, well it would be rude not to wouldn’t it! I retire to my room to start work writing the first chapter of “Roadies Treasure Island” which will be a huge rollercoaster of a novel with Pirates & Pop Stars and everything. HHJJ stays up for a while because he’s all excited at the prospect of meeting his many fans tomorrow and taking digital pictures of them which he will arrange in alphabetical order with funny captions. When he does finally come to our shared room we sit up in bed for a while, a bit like Morecombe and Wise, and discuss the novel like what I have wrote.
Dave goes to sleep first and as I lie in bed I wonder what he is dreaming about, as in between snoring, he grinds his teeth and cries out a name which I can’t quite place. The wind outside becomes stronger, and whistling through the trees it also seems to be calling a name, and as I drift into a peaceful sleep I wonder what name the wind cries and could it possibly be the same one as Dave? |
