FOUR FARTIES IN A FORD
WHAT FOLLOWS IS A TRUE STORY
ONLY THE UNDERWEAR HAS BEEN CHANGED
The Prologue
FRIDAY 13TH AUGUST 1993 was a sunny day in Berkshire.
At 16.30 Linda arrived at the Clive’s place of work in Theale and they drove to Horncastle Garage along the purgatory that is is the A4 in the rush hour.
They completed the final documentation for the car hire and marvel at the Ford Escort that was to be our mode of transport for the next seventeen days. It was brand new and, as The Man From The Garage said, probably hadn’t been built when Linda made the booking.
It was TARDIS like in colour and in the way the dimensions seemed greater within than without. It was blessed with four doors, four speakers, a sun roof and four wheels. As The Man handed over the keys he wished The Farties “… a nice weekend”. Funny. Having filled the car up with petroleum Clive drove it home.
That evening Clive was at a party; Trevor was ironing and Joy and Linda finished their packing.
Yorkshire was still, peaceful and oblivious as to what was about to hit it.
SATURDAY 14.08.93
07:00
Clive left Woodley for Calcot and Maison Joie. His well intentioned plans to park right outside Joy’s house were foiled by the roadworks that had appeared in her parish.
07:30
Clive assisted in carrying Joy’s luggage to the car that he had parked at the bottom of Royal Avenue. Clive was surprised at the size of Joy’s suitcase.
08:00
One half of the Four Farties arrived at Linda’s house in Burghfield. She appeared in a flurry of white plastic and proceeded to cram her luggage into every available orifice which was the cause of great discomfort to all. Linda was surprised at the size of Joy’s suitcase. Joy and Clive were surprised at the number of Linda’s carrier-bags.
08:05
With Linda ready to navigate to The Metrolopiss to collect the remaining Fart the travellers waved goodbye to Burghfield.
08:18
Clive moved into 5th gear and into the centre lane of the M4.
08:27
Upon Clive’s request Joy produced some wine-gums. From where no one seemed to know.
08:30
Past Slough. It’s the best way.
08:50
Joy made her first joke at Clive’s expense:
Clive (after driving for two hours): “I am exuding confidence”
Joy: “I thought I could smell something”.
09:00
The three Farties hit London. Clive did his best impression of a London taxi driver (i.e. lots of cries of “wannnn-ka!” and finger gesturing). The windows were open but no one seemed to mind so he was obviously fitting in perfectly.
With the aid of Trev’s specially prepared map the chums were soon in the idyllic parish of East Acton, home of Eric and Hattie Sykes and Wormwood Scrubs. The name Acton comes from the old English “Actun” meaning ‘settlement amongst the oaks’. Hmm. It was then that Clive, Joy and Linda found themselves lost among the unnamed roads and excessive one-way systems that are East Acton.
09:10
Locating Sunningdale Avenue, Clive slipped up Trevor’s back passage. Joy was desperate to tinkle and burst through the front door with much haste. Arriving in Trevor’s bedsit Linda was disturbed that there was no sign of Joy. Indeed, Trev’s toilet door was open and there was no sign of Joy nor of her pert buttocks upon the seat.
The penny dropped just after Joy had paid one: she had used the loo on the floor below and emerged to the stoney face of the lady from the flat below.
Trev was surprised at the size of Joy’s case and the number of Linda’s carrier-bags. Clive, Joy and Linda were surprised at the severity of Trevor’s haircut.
There was now less room in the boot than in a boot with ever-such-a-lot in it. Clive adjusted the dimensional transcendentalicity of the boot by reversing the polarity of the neutron flow and effecting a tangential deviation out of the warp-ellipse without disrupting the real-time envelope. However, there was still more luggage than boot. We left the excess baggage on the back seat and adjourned to ‘La Gondola’ cafe on the Westway for breakfast.
10:00
To the car! Joy and Linda were packed into the back of the vehicle around the remaining luggage. Clive remained at the wheel as Trev navigated to the M1.
10:10
We tuned the radio in to the almost quite hip and happening Radio 1 to see who had replaced Dave Lee Travis after his sudden resignation following his attack on the way the BBC was being run. Trev wondered if a similar denouncement of the policies of Mr John Birt, the Director General, by his good self would have similar repercussions. Who had replaced the ‘Hairy Cornflake’ we weren’t sure but it certainly wasn’t Chris Evans as the same had led everyone to believe on ‘The Big Breakfast’ yestermorn. Giving up on the radio we decided to satisfy ourselves with one of Clive’s tapes.
Trev and Clive slipped into ‘Cockney Wanker’ mode and shouted abuse at the locals as we made our way to the M1. Trev insisted on leaning out of the window and telling everyone “we’re going on holiday!”.
10:27
We meet the M1. Hello, how ya doing?
10:30
Traffic jam **sigh**
10:55
Still in the traffic jam. Joy tried to keep us sweet with wine-gums.
We were getting rather hot under the collar until Joy noticed that the heated rear window was in operation. We turned it off and opened the sun-roof and passed the time by studying the occupants of surrounding cars that we passed again and again and again and again. We smiled engagingly at them all be they proudly proclaimed Germans; Christians; the person with the clean shirt hanging up in the back of the car; Reading FC fans; the caravan owning Country music fan or one of those families who seemed to have a box of Cornflakes on the back parcel shelf wherever they wander. Roadworks seemed to be the cause of the delay.
11:05
To our alarm the fancy car radio interrupted the cassette with a traffic report. Very clever but fart oo late. Unable to contain his frustration any longer, Trevor whipped out his hard-cover road map and worked out an alternate route to bypass the jam.
11:20
Jammin’ again. This time outside the Whipsnade Zoo exit of the M1.
11:24
We were passed, on the inside lane, by a Rolls-Royce with the registration number HRH17. Pardon!
11:25
91 miles in 4 hours. Funny.
11:30
We left the M1 for the A5. The M1 got custody of the traffic cones.
11:45
Sorry Dunstable but we’re not stopping.
12:35
We return to the M1 where the traffic was as normal as the M1 could possibly be.
12:50
The ‘wash-wipe’ only partially alleviated the problem of the insect puree on the windscreen.
13:15
Well hello Derbyshire. We must spend a long weekend with you sometime…
13:20
Pissed off at Trowell Services, I mean Pit Stop at Trowell Services (I blame Linda’s handwriting – Trev). As we shimmied across the car park we carried on singing along to Joy’s Donny Osmond tape. Oh how we rock. Indeed.
14:03
After flexing our Gluteus Maximus’ we returned to the car and thence the M1.
14:28
Eeeeeeeeeiiitttt’s Yorkshire. Like us the weather was dull but dry.
13:30
After listening to Linda’s ‘Hard Core’ tape Clive named her ‘The Boogie Bitch of Burghfield’.
13:45
Stopped at the village of Wetwang because, well, we just had to really. We had a photo session standing by the village name sign. Well, Linda was more in a mode of totter than of standing as she was laughing too much.
Continuing the trend of having hip, rockin’ knicknames Trev decided that he was ‘The Acid Arse of Acton’. The others just thought he was an arse. Clive proclaimed himself ‘The Waltzin’ W**ker of Woodley’. We laughed.
We visited the village shop and sampled the Postmistress’ wares.
16:30
Petrol stop.
17:30
Finally arrived at Westerdale which was towards the end of a long, winding road from Kirkbymoorside. There was a distinct lack of road-signs which was either a deliberate attempt to confuse “Southern Bastards” or a result of a lack of Government spending.
17:39
We found the cottage. It was lovely!
18:20
Linda had a hair-wash whilst Joy, Clive and Trev discussed their bowel movements. Trev was convinced his had moved to Pinner.
19:00
We left in search of food with Trev at the wheel of the car. Having reversed slowly and carefully out of the drive we were soon following the directions to the nearest pub that had been bestowed upon us by the farmer that owned the cottage. We soon found ourselves in the middle of nowhere. We laughed. Having returned to the main road where we disturbed lots of bunnies and sheep, we located an alcoholic establishment in Castleton which was having a folk night.
The pub was rather full in the lounge department so we sat in the Pool Room where we cut a dash in our sequined bathing attire. It was then that we realised that it wasn’t that sort of Pool. The food, we had been advised, would take “a fair while”.
Clive struck up a conversation with a pleasant old boy who looked like Compo from ‘Last Of The Summer Wine’. We were enchanted by his woollen hat which was covered with Robertson Golly badges and Clive and Joy kept the conversation going by trying to find out where the local “action” occurred. Apart from the cattle show that he had attended earlier that day our new chum could offer no advice.
The food arrived. Clive and Joy’s Yorkshire Puddings looked like hats and Clive’s almost ended up on his lap as it started to slide off his plate. As we consumed our nosh the locals continued to play Pool. It’s not easy trying to eat whilst trying to dodge the back end of a cue. Our friend in the woollen hat told us that the pub we had been directed to had been demolished before he was born. We believed him. It was then that he turned to Trev and asked “so how many people live in London now?” Trev made a mental note to count everyone when he got home.
One back at the cottage, Trev and Linda decided that they needed am REM fix. Trying to use Joy’s ‘Gateaux Blaster’ kept blowing all the fuses in the place. This occurred on at least three occasions which severely tried Linda’s patience as she was trying to produce a cup of tea. There’s probably a joke there somewhere… Batteries saved the day and we all mellowed with Mr Stipe and friends before retiring to bed.
SUNDAY 15.08.93
Not a particularly early start today as it had been a very long day yesterday. Twenty four hours apparently. The water in the bathroom was very slow but eventually we completed our ablutions and sat down to breakfast which had been prepared by Joy. Clive flicked the jam all over the place whilst Trev had to sit on a high-stool and Linda sat side-saddle as there was no way she could get her lower appendages beneath the table.
10:50
We set off for Scarborough. Trev was in the driving seat and the moors were covered in fog.
11:05
Trev slipped into 4th gear!
11:15
We emerged from the fog and, to our disappointment, we still in the same time-zone. Well, you never know do you? Maybe tomorrow.
11:30
Clive sneezed.
11:55
Our first shower of the day which was, of course, totally unrelated to the 11:30 entry.
12:00
Scarborough looked moody in the rain but not as moody as Trev in his red kagoul.
We did some window shopping in the town centre but decided not to buy any as the views through them weren’t as good as those back at the cottage. All efforts to find Trev a suitable hat were futile but one shopkeeper thanked us for bringing some laughter his way. Yes, Linda had her titters out.
We visited the beach, fondled the donkeys and took some photos. At the Grand Hotel we visited a craft fair and noticed a plaque on the hotel wall informing us that Anne Bronte died there before it became a hotel. The Management, therefore, had totally disclaimed any responsibility.
We found a cafe for lunch and everyone had a 3 course Sunday Roast for £3.50 apart from Trev who had gone vegetarian a few months before.
Feeling fed up we walked it off by strolling up to the castle and to the church where Anne Bronte is buried. Staggering around the castle grounds we all admired the breathtaking views until Clive pointed out that they were of “bugger all”. It was then that Joy tripped up some steps unfortunately injuring her camera in the process. We collected the broken bits and the batteries together. The only broken bit of Joy that we couldn’t find was a false finger nail. That will learn her for wearing false fingers!
16:15
We departed Scarborough.
17:00
We stopped at the great, white balls of RAF Fylingdale Early Warning Station for some photos. This was followed by a stroll across Ken Bog to the North Yorkshire Moors railway line. On the way we saw a luminous condom which caused a bit of a stir. Linda later got stuck halfway over a style and became immobilised with laughter.
we had much mirth negotiating a ditch…
Arriving at the railway line the two girls waited whilst Trev and Clive just HAD to climb the next hill to see if there was a view. Whilst they were gone the girls were joined by a family with apparently no sense of humour despite their clothes. They did not care much for Joy’s rendition of “Choo Choo train, coming down the track” or for her sparkling, purple Doc Martins.
At the sound of the steam engine’s whistle the two boys appeared over the crest of the hill running as fast as their manly, athletic legs could carry them. We all took photos of the engine but forgot to make a note of it’s number.
17:41
Back on the road again.
17:55
We stopped at Grosmont station on the North Yorkshire Moors railway avec une grosse smell in the car park. Trev got a timetable for the railway and could hardly contain himself.
18:20
Whitby. We walked around the town centre investigating the shops. Clive was the first one to buy a postcard. We all decided that we didn’t like Whitby very much. Maybe it was the smell of dead fish in the harbour. Maybe it was the day trippers from Newcastle in matching shell suits. We all agreed to go and see ‘Jurassic Park’ at the local cinema which doubled as a Bingo Hall. The only showing was at 21:15 so we decided to look for somewhere to eat in the meantime. None of us were that hungry so we popped into a harbour-side cafe for a snack. Clive accidentally put one of his fingers in Trev’s cup of tea. We laughed so. We made our way back to the cinema and joined the long queue. Clearly it was going to be a spellbinding film!
Well we didn’t think much of the cinema make no mistake. The screen was so small that we were convinced it was the Usherette’s portable tv brought in for the evening. Downstairs we could see that the place was already being prepared for the next Bingo session as we could see two fat ladies going clickety-click.
Much to our surprise there was an intermission halfway through the film. This was presumably when the projectionist went hunting for the best parts of the storyline from the book which were conspicuous by their absence from the film. He returned with nothing more dramatic than a cup of tea.
After the film we made our way back along the long and winding roads which were again shrouded in fog. As we passed through Castleton it became apparent that, after a certain time, the roads became the domain of the sheep and they were reluctant to move from the tarmacadam. We noticed one woolly fellow sleeping in a cottage doorway and wondered if the sheep were actually delivered by mail order.
Back at the cottage we made plans for bathing and the washing of hairs. We could not all bathe on the same morning or evening as it took about half an hour to run a bath. Linda discovered that conversations in the kitchen could be heard in the bathroom via the plumbing. Hmm… BT would charge a fortune to install that sort of communication system.
Clive left our empty milk bottle outside the front door on the off-chance that a passing milkman might leave us a full one in return.
MONDAY 16.08.93
10:25
Once more too the Prattmobile! It was Linda’s turn behind the wheel.
11:25
Clive revealed that he is the “Madonna of Woodley” and will shortly be having published an erotic picture book called ‘Socks: Blobby Of Evidence’. This will contain pictures of Clive himself in various erotic poses removing his socks.
12:05
We arrived in York. Trevor rushed off for a bank. Joy got her camera taped together by an expert in a camera shop. Clive had a stomach upset.
We separated and had a wander around the shops. Joy purchased a large photo of a small cat and Clive disappeared in pursuit of someone who looked like ‘Fred Gee’ from ‘Coronation Street’. Linda and Trev set off towards the Yorvik Centre which they wanted to visit but the queue was of such a large nature that they decided to wander around the market.
Eventually the Farts were reunited and Joy presented Trev with a disposable shaver. We can’t be sure but we think she was trying to tell Trev that she didn’t like his new goatee beard.
We left York in search of pretty things to photograph. Our first port of call was Byland Abbey which was closed but this didn’t stop us from snapping away. We stopped again by the White Horse figure near Kilburn. Trev insisted that the girls lay on the grass with him for a photo and Joy got wet knees in all the excitement. Linda took a photo of the others draped across the bonnet of the car in an trouser-tentingly, sex-oozing fashion. Unfortunately the whole scene resembled the aftermath of a Road Traffic Accident.
Rievaulx Abbey was absolutely very gorgeous indeed but also closed. Onwards to Helmsley Castle! Err… also closed.
Rievaulx Abbey
Helmsley Castle
Finally we arrived at ‘The Crown’ in Hutton-Le-Hole where much mirth and merriment did occur. As we walked from the car park to the pub we passed a house where a small crowd of people were urging a man to remove his clothes. At the time of our passing he was down to his red underpants. We decided that it must be some sort of local custom and walked on.
Joy made friends with a cat in the pub and Trev got a smile from the waitress. As we left Clive walked into the Jukebox which he mistook for the exit. More hilarity ensued as we tried to navigate our way through the darkness to the car park:
Linda: “I think there was a ditch around here”
Trev: ” OOOFT.. yes, I think I’ve found it”
Clive was convinced that he was walking on sheep-doings which prompted Linda to burst into song:
“I’m walking on sheep shit, woah-oh”
Back in the car we approached Westerdale in the darkness. There were bunnies hopping across the road and one decided to stop in front of the car to admire the headlights. Linda screamed as she slammed on the breaks. The boys investigated the road for signs of splattered bun but it seemed to have escaped.
Once back at the cottage we paused before going inside to admire the the sky. It was a clear night and the heavens were thick with stars. There were so many to be seen away from the light pollution of London and Reading and it was difficult to tear ourselves away. The temperature had dropped somewhat so we thought it best to head indoors.
Later that evening Clive and the girls disappeared upstairs to inflate rubber things in preparation for Trev’s birthday on the morrow. There was much tittering and noise of escaping air which left Trev wondering just what was going to befall him.
TUESDAY 17.08.93
The weather was stunningly beautiful unlike Trev who was having difficulty in coming to terms with being 29. The others surprised him with their balloons and sang “Happy Birthday”. We watched ‘Big Breakfast’ whilst eating our breakfast and Trev opened his presents. Joy had been an utter bless- poppet and had made the ginger-one a birthday cake. The fact that the icing had stuck to the tin lid didn’t dampen his delight.
09:37
We set off with Clive at the wheel. This time we could see the moors and they were beautiful.
10:26
Clive announced that he was happy.
10:30
We descended Sutton Bank which was very quite steep indeed and were overtaken by a cyclist who was in possession of a mighty fine pair of buns. We soon caught up and overtook.
10:40
Thirsk was graced by our presence but, despite Trev’s pleas for a canter around the racecourse we headed onwards.
11:00
We ripped through Ripon.
11:10
Fountains Abbey. It was now very hot and sunny. The garden’s grounds were quite immense and the fact that we were being attacked by swarms of flies did little to lessen our excitement. Inevitably we stopped at the shop for drinks, ice creams, scones, fudge cake etc.
After this we chased a deer heard across thick grass in order to get close enough for a good photo. T’was a long, hard trek and the girls wondered why we were the only people doing this.
We called in at the church for nothing more spiritual than to take a pew, rest our weary appendages and take some more photos. There was an OId Dear in the church who needed assistance with the cassette player that was imbuing the hallowed rafters with organ music. Clive volunteered to assist and discovered the cassette merely needed to be rewound or turned over as it had reached it’s end and had stopped of it’s own accord. We’re the Farties: we embrace all the latest technology.
14:20
We collapsed into the car.
14:30
We realised we had travelled 600 miles so far on this holiday. It felt like it had been on foot.
14:42
We arrived at Brimham Rocks. The place was full of people and their offspring climbing all over the amazing limestone rocks which were even older than Linda! The ginger-one was in his element and was scrambling over the rocks like a mountain goat possessed.
It wasn’t long before we found OUR rock and basked in the sun in a horizontal fashion, the tranquillity disturbed by the occasional flypast of RAF Jaguars (which were quite welcome) and screaming children (which were not). One parent reduced us to hysterics by pompously saying to his unruly brood:
“I think it’s inadvisable to encourage excitement near a vertical precipice…”
Suddenly a black shape shot over our heads and we all tried to steady ourselves on the rock as the roar of another Jaguar rearranged our internal organs.
15:50
Back on the road again.
17:00
We stopped at Wharfedale for Trev to purchase a film. He had bought 8 yesterday but had left them all in the cottage the utter buffoon. He searched in vain.
Back in the car we took a wrong turn and found ourselves in Hubberholme. The road was narrower than Trev’s waist and he took it upon himself to navigate us back to the main road as there was no way that we could turn the car around. Hubber, Hubber!
17:30
The search for a film for Trev and batteries for Joy’s stereo continued Trev’s quest was rewarded when we stopped at Aysgarth Falls.
19:15
We stopped at Bedale where Joy found some batteries and we hit the local curry house. Apart from ourselves there was only one other couple in the establishment. This was probably due to the fact that we were singing along to the Indian music.
20:45
Homeward bound.
22:15
Back at the cottage. We had booze and nibbles on and in ‘Thunderbird’ cups and plates which Joy had brought along especially for Trev’s birthday. The booze was soon consumed but no one fancied a nibble. We attempted some games but, due to the lateness of the hour, Linda had the attention span of a senile goldfish. Eventually we tried something far less intellectual: Joy’s ‘Wac Attack’ game. This involved hitting things with a squeaky, plastic hammer. So much more our style. The birthday boy won both games. We ended the evening listening to sad Trev’s sad old tape of sad old tv themes before we started having difficulty in keeping our eyes open.
02:00
To bed. Trev had put the ‘Thunderbird’ paper cups in the washing up bowl and Clive had washed them up. The girls couldn’t believe it.
WEDNESDAY 18.08.93
09:30
We all stirred, bleary of eye but ready to face another day.
11:45
We left the cottage en route for Hutton-Le-Hole.
12:05
Back at Hutton. There was a public car park fee of 50p and the geezer with the tickets was non-too pleased that we had stopped some 6″ short of his booth. We were on holiday and didn’t give one jot.
As we strolled around the village we all decided that wanted to live here. We went as far as to pick the cottages that we would all purchase if money was no object.
Having purchased rather splendid ice-creams from one of the shops we shimmied across a bridge over a stream where some children were playing and making a noise. We spotted a pair of Wellington Boots that were sitting upside down on the riverbank and wondered if someone was actually wearing them.
Trev decided to make friends with a waterfowl which promptly dropped a log. Joy brought a cuddly ‘Hutton Mutton’ which became our mascot. Joy and Linda danced the dance of the postcard carousels.
We decided to visit Castle Howard (‘ere, no, shut yer face missis). Clive navigated whilst Trev was at the wheel. Much gasping occurred as we took the many blind summits on the road at speed.
13:05
We arrived at Castle Howard. The boys decided not to walk around arm in arm holding teddy bears (and generally pretending to be Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews) despiter this being the the place where ‘Brideshead Revisited’ was filmed. It was £4.50 to enter the castle and grounds which we decided was too much. Instead Trev was allowed to drag everyone through the undergrowth to search for a good spot for a photo. We had no luck so returned to the car with the intention of parking further away.
14:20
We strolled along the side of the lake where lots of people were dangling their rods in the water. We eventually obtained our photos and walked back to the car. On the way Joy was almost hooked up on a fishing line and thrown into the water. Any excuse to give us a laugh our Joy.
14:50
We left Castle Howard much as we found it.
15:15
Stopped at a small shop in Maxton for cereal, sweets and orange juice.
15:50
We arrived at Flamingoland. Hurrah? Whilst in Whitby we noticed that our car park tickets also served as ‘money-off’ vouched to this place of apparent wildlife. Hmmm. Instead we found ourselves in a horrendous funfair cum zoo (“fun for all the family”) packed with day-glo, shell-suited families and their satanic brats all screaming for chips, ice-cream, chips, sweets, chips and more chips.
Starting with the “zoo” we were appalled at the cramped conditions of the animals and their obvious state of distress. We were all very depressed about the whole thing especially about the big cats and WHAT prize PRAT decided to put a goat in the adjacent pen to the wolves??
The reptile house was our next port of call which was, naturally, very hot and humid and full of squeaky, pushy children who were desperate to get up close to something with scales. The snakes were curled up, immobile and camouflaged. In fact, most of the creatures were completely hidden and the crocodiles looked decidedly plastic.
We decided to try some of the amusement rides but the queues were still too long. Trev, Clive and Joy wanted to go on the Century 2000 ride… Linda didn’t. She tried to get photos of her fellow Farties but it wasn’t easy. The girls and Trev had a go on the Merry Go Round whilst Clive clicked away with the cameras. He and Trev wanted to go on the big over, under, upside down, round and about dipper but, alas, the place was about to close. Linda and Joy preferred to hang onto their lunches.
We returned to the car after having some trouble locating it in the crowded car park. Joy, helpfully, remembered it was a blue one.
18:00
We headed off into the wild, blue yonder.
18:25
We stopped at Morton for purchasing of provisions at Jackson’s Supermarket.
18:45
We found the ‘lost’ village of Wharram Percy. That wholly remarkable book, ‘The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy’ has this to say about Wharram Percy…
“In a hidden valley of the Yorkshire Wolds lies one of the most haunting of England’s lost villages. The road to it ends at the foot of a wooded hill and, after a 15 minute walk uphill, the land opens out to reveal the sole remaining building: a ruined church with a shattered tower.
Wharram Percy was the victim of Wolds landlords who, at the end of the 15th Century, turned from arable to sheep farming which needed a smaller workforce. As a result whole villages became deserted”.
Or it might have been from an AA Road Tour guide.
It was the most beautiful and peaceful walk to this tranquil spot and the perfect antidote to Flamingoland. Clive frolicked in a field on the way and Trev played with some cows. He was cleared of all charges but pleaded guilty to being a bit of a train spotter as he wandered off the old track bed of the Malton to Great Driffield railway line looking for the remains of Wharram-le-Street station. It was further than he thought so gave up but made a mental note to return one day.
19:35
Homeward bound.
20:15
We were following a car on tow and had a good laugh at the driver who was making the most peculiar hand signals.
20:21
We stopped to take a photo of the sunset over the moors. As we drove back we continued to wave at passing motorists. Eventually one waved back. Bless.
20:45
We arrived at ‘The Lion Inn’, the nearest pub to Westerdale. It was packed but we were given a table by a nice couple who were just leaving. We studied the menu and were advised that they had a very nice restaurant area but we were happy where we were. Clive, Joy and Linda ordered their food at the bar but forgot to order Trev’s. He got sympathy from the bar staff.
Linda devoured a haddock that was almost the size of her forearm and later had a Jam Roly-Poly with Joy. Trev had a cheese and summat cheesecake whilst Clive declined a pudding of any sort.
We discussed law and order, the police, vigilantes, traffic offences, police attitudes, Zig and Zag from ‘Big Breakfast’ and the log flue at Flamingoland which was very small and seemed devoid of logs. We decided that it’s size must have been determined by the fact that it took almost as long to fill the flue as it did our bath.
Clive drew our attention to the old Victorian photos adorning the pub walls. We pondered the future and asked ourselves whether, in centuries to come, there would be a photo of the four of us adorning the wall of some drinking establishment somewhere. Probably the one of us in our jim-jams waving various kitchen utensils. Pass the needle and thread: our sides have burst asunder.
We left the pub in high spirits. The car park was very dark and Trev had difficulty in finding the hole for the car key.
Once back home Trev washed some smalls before retiring to Bedfordshire whilst Joy had a go at running a bath. The water was cold and very brown.
THURSDAY 19.08.93
The weather was beautiful as Linda checked the car oil. Clive checked the water and they both checked the engine. It was still there.
the view from the bathroom skylight window
09:35
Linda took the wheel and we set off westwards towards the west. We stopped at Hutton-le-Hole to buy some more ‘Hutton Mutton’s but the shop was shut.
10:07
Linda passed a tractor. The wonder of Olive Oil eh?
10:58
A tractor in a field next to the road lifted a huge bale of hay which, we thought for a wee moment, was going to come over the hedge and through the sun-roof.
11:32
Not to be outdone by the bale of hay, a pigeon tried the same stunt.
Trev took us along one of his “shortcuts” which was very, very narrow and seemed to go on forever. Finally we arrived at Malham where the car park was a rather full. We eventually parked the car in the toilet.
We headed for the cafe which was empty apart from a family with three noisy brats. Fortunately they soon decided to continue their arguments elsewhere. Linda got the wrong sandwich and sent it back as it had cheese in it and she’s allergic to cheese.
Hurrah! We walked the Pennine Way (well about 1/2 mile of it anyway) to Malham Cove. On the way we passed a man chasing a child with a lawn mower. No doubt it deserved it. We frolicked by a gambling brook and Trev pondered the wisdom of trying to cross the stream via the stepping stones whilst wearing suede boots. The others waited, their fingers poised over their shutter-release buttons in eager anticipation of a splash but Trev, ever the killjoy, decided to turn back.
As we strolled back to the Cover Centre we were given vouchers for a free cup of tea or coffee. Trev splashed out on two jumpers. Clive and Joy purchased more postcards and we were all tempted to buy more toy sheep but they were not cute enough.
14:55
Having passed through Giggleswick (which was, was it not, the home of the late Russell Harty) we stopped briefly at the picturesque village of Clapham (home of Alan Bennett) so that Trev could buy a local postcard to send to his workmate James who lived in the not so picturesque village of Clapham, south London.
15:30
900 miles and the car was doing us proud.
15:40
We arrived at Ingleton and partook of the Waterfall Walk. This was 5 miles long but felt longer. We made wishes at the wishing well and used up several thousand feet of celluloid on the waterfalls. We passed a sign along the way warning us that the walk was strenuous in places (just below the buttocks it transpired) and could be dangerous. This was indeed true but Trev was game and Sherpa Joy was already burning up the gravel. Singing the “Val Da Ree” song we set off in hot pursuit, Clive and Linda doing a Conga dance. Resting atop a hillside bank we pondered the possibility of rolling Clive down the bank so that he hit the water with such momentum that he would bounce across the water like something invented by Barnes Wallis.
“DANGER AREA: Fatal Accidents Have Occurred To Visitors Who Have Proceeded Past This Point”
PAH! We’re the Farties: we spit in the face of danger
After we had been walking for ages we came across an ice-cream van sat incongruously in the middle of nowhere. Trev got to it first panting and telling the vendor man that he’d never so pleased to see anyone. He got an extra Flake in his cornet for that.
As we crawled back to Ingleton it started to rain which continued as we drove away. We counted ourselves very lucky to have completed the walk before the weather turned. We counted ourselves again to make sure that there were still four of us.
We were held up by sheep on the road and had to wait a whimsy before they would let us pass. Trev startled everyone by yelling out “HORSE!”. Everyone looked around frantically but could see nothing equine around and about. Trev’s “horse” was the singer, Horse, (of course) on his tape.
20:00
We stopped at ‘The Green Tree’ pub at Patrick Brompton for dinner. Another excellent hostelry with friendly staff and really rather superb toilets. We reminisced about Loch Trool. Out feet were sore and our calves were mooing but we all had a healthy glow.
We decided to rotate the seating arrangements in the car: Joy would like to navigate and Linda wanted to play with the stereo controls. Clive advised Linda that one of the duties of the front passenger was to point out any innuendos and play with Hutton the Mutton..
21:30
We set off home listening to Joy’s ‘E.L.O.’ tape. Clive and Hutton sang along. We were frequently flashed at by other motorists but hadn’t a clue why.
Over the Dales towards Westerdale it became very foggy and we could only just make out the road. At some point that night we clocked up 1000 miles.
FRIDAY 20.08.93
Another beautiful day looks promised. Whilst Clive was emptying the rubbish he exchanged pleasantries with two ladies who were wandering bywards. Having discussed the glorious state of the weather the elder of the ladies said as she walked away: “…the devil looks after his own”. Lordy, we were surprised by this but then realised that we must have been spotted the other evening doing that naked fertility dance having sacrificed one of the local sheep.
During breakfast Clive pointed out that the cows on the Sainsbury’s milk carton were not very accurate. They had no legs and must have been from a very surreal herd indeed.
10:05
We threw ourselves into Yorkshire once again. Another futile attempt at procuring more sheep in Hutton-le-Hole resulted in the four of us purchasing ice-creams and sitting on the village green for a contemplative lick.
11:00
Departed for Whitby. Although we weren’t too enamoured of the place some of us were in need of a bank. Trev was in the back seat with Joy explaining the subtle art of map reading with Clive at the wheel and Linda in charge of the stereo and innuendo. We took one of Trev’s shortcuts. You know, the ones that always end up taking us down a long and winding road? On a sharp, hillside bend we met a van coming the other way at such speed that it almost toppled over. Eventually we arrived at the main road again only to find we had joined it just outside Westerdale! Both Linda and Clive wondered if two navigators were better than one. Confucious he say; “Man with two navigators know not the fook where he’s going”.
12:15
Dear ol’ Whitby. The only place we could find to park was at the Co-Op ‘Customers Only’ Car Park. As we left the car we spoke very loudly about “blah blah blah getting the shopping blah blah blah must get cash from the bank first blah blah blah…”.
Clive and Linda did some banking and we, all of us, headed upto Whitby Abbey counting the steps as we went: we all arrived at different numbers. There was not too much to see at the church and we decided not to part with £2 to enter the Abbey so we just walked around it’s perimeter to take some photos. Linda pointed out that the best view was from the headland so we all went back there for photos and collapsed on the grass for a while before descending the steps. This time we all agreed that there were 199!
13:40
Left Whitby for the last time and made our way to the North Yorkshire Moors railway at Grosmont. A bless-poppet of a man gave us his car park ticket as he departed to save us unnecessary expense. Trev led the way to the ticket office where, after some discussion, tickets were purchased to Goathland which was the next stop down the line. The trains were running 1/2 hour late so we lept aboard the train which was sat, sitting at the platform. Unfortunately the train turned out to be the ‘Creche Express’. It was packed with parents taking their offspring on their first steam train ride despite the fact that most of them were so young that they wouldn’t be able to remember the event when they were older. Because of this we were unable to sit together and hung around outside the toilets instead. Trevor couldn’t resist sticking his head out of the window and getting a face-full of soot as a souvenir.
After about five minutes on the train we arrived at Goathland station where we alighted to explore. Goathland is a small village and had two hotels. Desperate for refreshment we were narked to find that both had closed just prior to our arrival. We soon spotted a notice at a garage giving directions to a tea garden. That suited us! After a long walk we located this little oasis, somewhere to the south of Goathland, amongst the trees and were soon enjoying a leisurely and tranquil afternoon tea. Linda and Trev both took photos and one of a group of ladies on the adjacent table offered to take a ‘groupie’. Bless.
Whilst we were stuffing our faces we remarked on the baleful noises being made by some nearby cows. The owner of the tea-room, which was also a farm, informed us that at six weeks old the male calves are removed from the heard and, for 24 hours, their mothers pine for their missing offspring. We were assured that after 24 hours the mother cow forgets. Sure.
On the way back to the station we paused by Eller Beck.
Joy: “oh look… fish!”
Trev: “where?”
Joy: “in the water?”
We laughed.
We boarded the train and Trev rushed off to collect more soot in his follicles.
17:15
Back at the car. We followed the winding roads towards Levisham (the next station down the line from Goathland) and arrived at the railway crossing just in time to see the train pass on it’s way to Pickering. Trev dashed off through the undergrowth to procure a nice photo and ended up with a wet foot and, it transpired, not a very nice photo.
We returned to the car and crossed the railway onto an alleged nature drive. Apart from the trees all we saw was a squirrel. Eventually we found ourselves looking at the back of a tractor but, hey, we were on holiday and didn’t care. The tractor driver soon realised that he wasn’t exactly adding to our enjoyment of the scenery and let us overtake. Bless ‘im. Onwards to Hutton-le-Hole.
18:45
A man ran towards us warning of approaching cows. We stopped to wait for them to pass and Linda wondered if we should shut the sun-roof in case the herd went over the top of us.
We arrived at ‘The Crown Inn’, Hutton, for the last time and sat at the same table, in the same seats as before. After the meal and several alcoholic beverages we began to discuss the Holiday Log and wonder if it could be adapted into a novel or script. Thrashing out a plot we mused over the cast: Chris Evans or Tom Baker(Trev), Robbie Coltrane or Harry Secombe (Clive), Demi Moore or Bridget Forsyth (Linda), Colin Baker or Dawn French (Joy)? Hmm.
THE PLOT
(please consume several Pernod and Scrumpy cocktails before even attempting to follow)
Michael Stipe (of R.E.M) has been to Fylingdales Moor RAF base where he was affected by some kind of radiation leak. As a result when he tries to communicate his dilemma through his lyrics no one has a clue what he’s on about. The Four Farties see R.E.M. in concert at Whitby cinema/bingo hall and, after Trev has probed Michael in the toilets, they decide to visit Fylingdales Moor to see what has been occurring.
“Out on the wild and windy moors” we become lost in a mysterious fog and pass into another dimension. There we are kidnapped by aliens Zig and Zag who help us save the Universe with a frozen cheese and spinache quiche because the baddies decide that we’re too stupid to pose any threat to them.
We also meet Bjorn Again who are are working in an ice-cream van singing the jingles. We bring the real ABBA out of retirement to fill the world with fluffiness.
Guess you had to be there…
We returned to the cottage for a ‘packing party’ but put it off for as long as possible as we didn’t want to leave.
SATURDAY 21.08.93
A big ‘JUST’ is how we managed to get all of our belongings into the car. Clive asked the man in the cottage next door if he had any room for any of our stuff in his car but he refused our dirty washing.
09:50
Trev was ‘Mr Wheels’ as we bade farewell to Westerdale.
11:35
We stopped at Barnard Castle for the sole purpose of evacuating our four, full bladders but were unable to find any receptacles.
11:55
We continued on our journey singing loudly to take our minds off of our bladders. Clive provided accompaniment on the box of Cornflakes whilst Linda played the zip.
12:30
We arrived at High Force Falls in Teesdale and made good use of the loos in particular Trev who had a pressing appointment with the toilet. Imagine, though, his furrowed brow when he realised that there was insufficient paper for him to finish the job.
THUNDERBIRD CLIVE TO THE RESCUE!
A well thrown bog roll descended into Trev’s cubicle thereby rendering the panic over. F.A.B!
We trod the gravely path to the Falls, committed the place to celluloid and returned to the car park to take lunch under a tree.
13:17
Clive became ‘Mr Wheels’. We cruised through the hills listening to R.E.M. and Neil Sedaka but not at the same time.
14:47
SCOTLAND!
16:05
Without so much as a by-your-leave the motorway disappeared. We tried to find the A8 with the intention of getting back to the M8 but, instead, found ourselves in the Gorbals. Nice. Eventually we found the motorway.
16:50
Clive unintentionally spat over the steering column. It happens to the best of us. Indeed, Trevor claimed himself to be “fluent in phlegmish”.
17:05
We stopped at a ‘P’ and changed seats once again after doing some balletic exercises which, if nothing else, exercised the titter muscles of passing motorists. Joy remarked that she remembered seeing the A1 this morning, recently noticed the A78 but cannot remember the 77 in between.
19:00
We arrived at Glencoe in the rain and checked into our chalet in the grounds of the Clachaig Inn. Dinner was served until 8 so we made a quick inspection of the chalet and returned to the bar for food.
During the apre dinner conversation Clive disclosed that he was once “stuck in a tent for three weeks”. “Why?” asked Joy, “Couldn’t you get out?”
Linda found this notion highly amusing and was unable to stop chortling for some time. Clive’s expression of pained bemusement only added to her mirth and the rest of us lead her back to the chalet where she would be less of an embarrassment.
We unpacked the car and packed up the chalet which was small to say the least and not dimensionally transcendental at all.
21:55
Joy (on hearing a violent spraying sound): “Is Linda having a shower?”
Clive: “either that or she’s having a helluva piss”.
More smalls were washed and hung on the clothes-horse and it wasn’t long before we retired to bed. Clive and Trev made up songs about Joy’s suitcase to the tunes of R.E.M. songs such as: “This here is the case that I will pack…”; “Nightpacking, deserves a quiet night…”, “Pack, pack, bushwacked, Tie another case to the rack…”; “Joyyyyyyyyyyyyy’s case, Is bigger, bigger than you and you are not me…” and “If you believe, they’ll get Joy’s case in the boot…”.
Joy and Linda composed a questionnaire for the boys in their quest to understand the male psyche.
SUNDAY 22.08.93
Joy had an early shower but was unable to turn it off. She summoned Linda for help but she too was unable to stem the flow. Clive and Trev wondered what the hell was going on as all they could hear was the sound of running water and the patter of tiny feet. Thinking that there was some sort of excitement going on which they didn’t particularly wish to be party to the lads remained in their room until summoned to assist. Eventually the problem was sorted and to add to the general excitement Linda pulled open the curtains in the lounge and they fell off their rail.
The kitchen was extremely bijou. As we sat for breakfast Trev and Linda were squashed against a wall whilst Clive was crammed so tightly up against the fridge that he had iced buns. Joy was able to make the toast without leaving her seat.
There was no tv in the chalet which were weren’t too upset about. Unable to get Radio 1 on the radio we listened to Terry Wogan on 2 and were shocked to discover that we liked the music. When did Radio 2 stop being all ‘On Mother Kelly’s Doorstep’ and Englebert Humperdinck?? We also tried BBC Radio Scotland which sounded exactly like Mr Wogan but with a Scottish accent.
Major upset occurred as we took our positions in the car where it seemed for one bladder wrenching moment that Joy’s camera had been lost. It was found lurking in the glove compartment exposing itself.
With Linda at the wheel we drove to Loch Ba on Rannoch Moor where we went for a tramp on the bog. He beat us off with a rolled up newspaper. Upper Tyndrum railway station was our next stop for it’s “marvellous, panoramic views”. Having driven up a steep, winding road to get there we were greeted with a marvellous, panoramic view of a British Rail employee asleep in his van with his gob open and seemingly oblivious to his imminent privatisation. What a bona set of molars though.
Rather disappointed by the lack of views we drove to Balloch which was. We stopped to explore and paused for tea and toasties adding Balloch to our list of places not to worry about visiting again. Through the cafe window we observed some strapping young chaps manoeuvring their speedboat onto Loch Lomond. As they struggled to squeeze into their wetsuits we decided that they were just doing it for attention.
We left Balloch forever and headed for Drymen on the other side of the Loch. We didn’t stop here, however, but continued to Balmaha where we strolled along the waters edge. Joy spoke to the Loch. “Hello” said Joy. “…….” said the Loch. “Oh dear” said the others. Here we took some stunning group photos of us pretending to be Abba and Trev took some scary close ups on a wide angle lens. These will, no doubt, be the photos that appear behind Moira Stuart on the BBC News if something awful ever befell us.
We felt that the Achra Forest Drive just had to be driven so we did. Joy and Trev leapt out of the car with the Hutton Muttons and took their photos in the heather. Linda noticed the bemused looks on the faces of the old couple in the only other car at the spot and informed them that she’d never seen Joy and Trev before in her life. After the fun in the heather we completed the drive at a leisurely pace stopping several times en route. As we completed the drive we noticed a car half hidden in bits of branch and a leaf: if it was meant to be camouflage it didn’t work.
Callendar was the next place to receive the Four Farties and the car park we chose, on the site of the old railway station, was chocka with vintage cars. Trev could hardly contain himself. We shimmied into the town centre and visited some shops, one of which was called ‘Screwit’. We laughed. We investigated several locations for our evening meal including the delightfully named ‘Kinnell Hotel’. We laughed. Again. It was becoming a habit. Eventually we settled down in ‘The Royal Hotel’ where the lady serving us treated us like royalty. She didn’t realise that we’d pinched all the mini butter pats on our table.
We visited the Tourist Information Office whilst in Callendar to enquire about the cost of the car ferry from Oban to Mull: £33… ouch. An alternate will be considered.
It was a long drive back to the chalet and we were all very quiet tired. The dark shapes of the majestic mountains of Glencoe made the journey a bit eerie. In the back of the car the girls were close to slumber when, suddenly, Clive switched on the internal light to study his watch. Linda screamed. She thought we were about to be overtaken by a UFO. Again.
22:20
Back at the Crowded House, I mean, chalet. There was mild panic over the whereabouts of the key. It was eventually found but not before we were almost overcome by the rancid smell of cabbage outside the chalet. We concluded that it wasn’t cabbage at all but sewage. Lovely.
Had Clive discovered the beginnings of Trev’s baldpatch? Or was Trev’s head just getting bigger?
MONDAY 23.08.06
Our smalls were still wet.
11:10
We’re off!
11:25
We stopped just outside of Ballachulish for a nice photo of a view.
11:32
We did it again! What a bunch of tourists!
11:57
And again! This time our lenses were focused on Stalker Castle.
12:47
We arrived in Oban and parked next to the toilets. We proceeded in an orderly fashion to wander around the town on the lookout for banks, chemists and decorations for a wedding cake. The latter was in readiness for the arrival at the chalet on Wednesday night of Trev’s chums Darryl and Simon who were newly wed and honeymooning in the parish.
14:53
Up to McCay’s Tower, the circular folly on the hill overlooking the town for some photos of the view.
15:20
Joy informed us that, according to her paper, the weather down in the south-east was appalling. HAHAHAHA!
16:15
We stopped at Kilchurn Castle on the banks of Loch Awe. The castle was actually about 1/4 mile from the road across a very boggy landscape indeed. Trev trekked across the bog for a ‘butcher’s hook’ at the castle and Joy followed in her sneakers. At the side of the road Clive and Linda performed a novel balancing act. Clive was actually assisting Linda down a slippery slope but, to a pair of passing cyclists, he appeared to be offering her his bottom. The cyclists were so overcome with laughter that they almost lost their balance. Clive and Linda decided to remain where they were and watched as Joy got her feet wet and eventually lost a shoe in the mud. Joy returned to the car accompanied by a squelching sound and Trev was clearing cruising for a bruising when he casually remarked “oh, I appear to have a speck of mud on my shoes…”
17:05
We arrived at the Argyll Wildlife Park near Dalchenna. We were last people in and didn’t see anyone else in our time there. Having purchased bags of food for the animals we set off on our safari to shoot them (on film of course). Some of the animals were wandering free and we came across all sorts of things furry and of feather. What wasn’t so nice to see was the dead baby chicks on the floors of some of the pens. Food for the residents of course but couldn’t they have put them in burger buns first or something??
18:40
Inveraray. We strolled around the small town taking pictures of such things as the ship in the harbour called ‘The Arctic Penguin’.
19:18
Back to the car.
19:39
We stopped at the ‘Cawder Inn’ on the shores of Loch Linnhe for our evening meal. It was empty when we arrived and as we waited for our nosh one of the bar staff popped in to ostensibly move a few chairs around but we weren’t fooled: obviously word of the sassenach butter pat thieves had already spread. After dinner we strolled down to the Loch and just soaked up the tranquillity of the place. We felt like extras from ‘Take The High Road’.
So to home.
TUESDAY 24.08.93
We still had soggy smalls.
Determined to have an early start today as we were off to Mull, Joy got up at 6.30 but with four Farts and one bathroom it was still 9:15 before we managed to extricate ourselves from the chalet.
09:35
We were already abroad the Corran ferry, ‘The Maid Of Glencoll’. for the journey across the Corran narrows. The journey took 15 minutes so we had a wander around the deck which was very cold and generally bracing. As we drove off the ferry the boat still seemed to be moving.
10:43
We arrived at Lochaline to catch the ferry over to Mull. The ship was called ‘Isle of Cumbrae’ and Trev and Joy got a bit wet up the bow end.
11:14
Land ahoy! We disembarked at Fishnish Bay and had only driven but a short distance before we had to stop, marvel and the scenery and generally enjoy the silence (as Depeche Mode had sung so agreeably three years previously). Talking of Depeche Mode, Trev was reminded of a dream he had experienced regarding Joy…
**cue harp music, fuzzy focus and wavy picture…**
There we were in our holiday chalet in Balmacara, three years ago, relaxing after a heavy days photography. Suddenly we were disturbed by an appalling cacophony of sound emanating from the chalet next door. Trev was duly elected to tell those responsible to “shut it” and stood there hammering on the door with a fist. Imagine his eyebrows aloft at the sight within: it was Depeche Mode having a jamming session. Regaining his composure, the copper chap politely requested a reduction in volume and hurriedly returned to his fellow farts.
Still the noise continued until Joy, never a fan of the chaps from Basildon herself, took it upon herself to go forth and deal said fellows a savage blow. She was never seen again. Until the next day when sat, sitting down before a tv set throbbing to the sounds of ‘Top Of The Pops’, Linda, Clive and Trev dropped their Hob-Nobs in horror. Well, into their mugs of tea actually. Depeche Mode were appearing performing their latest single and there, at the keyboards, resplendent in a black leather cat suit was Joy.
A pathetic, nay, wet dream if ever there was one.
anyway, back to the plot…
Loch Airdeglais from the A849 at Glen More
12:15
We passed a stationary BT van with a stationary BT operative within reading a newspaper. Typical.
12:25
Civilisation: we passed through the village of Bunessan where we saw boathouses, a petrol station, a fire-station etc. but no people. Just sheep. Clive surmised that the village was actually run by the sheep who all looked as though they would rip you off at every oppbaatunity. Shortly after we saw more sheep with their own caravans, detached bungalows and sweaters made from human hair.
12:36
We arrived at Fionnphort from were runs a boat to Staffa and ‘Fingal’s Cave’. After a short break for refreshments and most postcards we trolled down to the sea and waited for the boat to arrive. We discussed the price and having, as Clive said, “Mull’d it over” we all agreed that it would be a shame to have come so far and not seen ‘Fingal’s Cave’. However, the best laid plans of mice and Farties are often thwarted and, when the boat came in we were told it was fully booked. Booked? BOOKED?? How? Where? When? We couldn’t go after all. BUGGER! Many a tear and superfluous overcoat were shed and we quickly formulated Plan B: we would get the other ferry across to Iona.
It was a very short trip across to the beautiful, little island of Iona, the legendary burial place of the ancient Scottish kings. We took in the remains of the nunnery and had a ‘butchers’ at the abbey, and, of course, the shops before just reclining on the grass and taking in the view. Joy and Trev purchased painted horseshoes from a barrel at the side of the road. They were on holiday. It’s allowed.
It was from this remote part of the British Isles that Trev had to phone the BBC Personnel department to find out why his holiday advance had still not reached his account. He was told that the payment had definitely been paid into someone’s account but obviously not him. Bet this never happens to Wogan.
16:00
Back to the ferry and Mull. We drove back to Bunnesan where we stopped for tea. Clive, Joy and Trev all had chip butties. It was Trev’s first ever chip buttie and he was intrigued by the ceramic boot on the window ledge adjacent to our table. The said boot joined us at the table for the Linda to take a photograph of the moment.
16:55
We took the B8035 back to Fishnish and encountered lots of ginger, hairy cows (with horns) on the road. We started a photo frenzy as we lept out of the car to capture the bovines on celluloid and other passing motorists followed suit.
17:45
We stopped at Balnahard for the views across to Staffa, Loch Na Keal and the Sound of Ulva. Hmm. As we continued homeward we realised that we were snipping things a bit fine with regards to catching the last ferry back to the mainland. Trev decided to give the accelerator some wellie and burnt rubber back to Fishnish.
We found ourselves stuck behind one car after another. One car appeared to be being chased by a sheep. On closer inspection this turned out to be not a sheep but an Old English Sheepdog. Why couldn’t the owners just take it for a walk on a lead?? It stopped, we passed, Trev gave more wellie.
**cue dramatic BondJamesBond music**
With a screech of tyres we roared into Fishnish. In the distance we could see the ferry about to embark on it’s journey without us. Sending chickens and fruit boxes flying we burst into the harbour. Trev engaged the rocket booster and we crashed through the ‘stop’ barrier before flying through the air and landing perfectly in a vacant parking area upon the ferry. Clive leapt out of the car and did his own version of the ‘Fatima Whitbread Wiggle’.
It should be pointed out that not everything in the above paragraph was true. Clive never did a ‘Fatima Wiggle’.
18:22
We disembarked at Lochaline and continued homewards through misty mountains and herds of cattle on the road.
19:10
We stopped en route for yet another photocall. Trev was convinced that he had just seen Joan Bakewell and Bette Midler behind the wheel of a passing car. It must have been all the fresh air.
As one cassette finished and before we could insert another we caught a little something on BBC Radio Scotland which intrigued us and compelled us to attend further. It was a programme about music and musicians from Dundee and, at this particular juncture, a combo called St Andrew and the Woollen Mill who preformed traditional Scottish songs with a humorous twist. We resolved to hunt down their latest recording without more ado.
19:50
We caught the final ferry back to Corran and made out way back to Glencoe.
WEDNESDAY 25.08.93
Clive awoke in the early hours and opened his peepers to see the moonlight shining through the window delicately illuminating Frankie Howard’s face in the adjoining bed. It took Clive a few, heart-stopping moments to realise that what he was looking at was Frankie’s likeness on the back of the t-shirt in which Trev was pyjamed.
Our smalls were still wet.
The Great Bathroom Palava
Trev awoke to the sound of the tiny feet pattering into the bathroom. Opening a heavy eyelid he could see Clive lying cherub-like in his bunk, the delicate fingers of the rising sun caressing his upturned cheeks. Trev deduced that the feet belonged to one of the girls having ablutions. The minutes came and went as they have a habit of doing and Trev heard feet pattering back from the bathroom to the adjoining bedroom. Silence. More feet trod that well trodden carpet to the bathroom. Trev cocked an eye at Clive who was now awake. Clive cocked an eye at Trev. They both lay there cock-eyed. It must have been the other girlie in the bathroom.
At the sound of the bathroom being evacuated Clive stirred and went forth to s***, shave and shower. Trevor dozed. When Clive emerged from the bathroom sometime later (a “sometime” that caused much debate as to how long ‘sometime’ is exactly) he found Linda distressed as she had apparently been waiting 45 minutes to use the loo and had yet to set foot in the bathroom.
Who was the mysterious foot patterer and were they responsible for the noises from the loft? Could it be something to do with the strange man who kept staring at us in the “unforgettable” pub in Leith three years ago? Could it be Michael Stipe? Does Clive spend his time in the shower pretending to be Michael Hutchence and using the shower head as a microphone? Do we really care?
To the Fartmobile! Linda was at the wheel as we set off for the White Corries Ski Lift centre just down t’road. There was experienced what Linda called a “hair and blood pressure raising” ride up the mountain side: “I’ll get you for this Ellis you bastard!” she shouted to the ginger one from the ski-lift she shared with Joy. She was, indeed, half petrified. Trev was devil-may-care, Joy was calm and sensible and Clive was happy but cautious (especially when Trev started swinging his legs going “weeee!” and making the ski-lift rock). Getting off the ski-lift caused some concern because, as with all ski-lifts, the chair doesn’t stop: one has to jump and run-for-it. We all managed this OK apart from Joy who jumped and ran-for-it the wrong way. A collision with another chair lift was prevented by a helpful young attendant giving her a poke in the right direction.
There was a snack bar at the summit but it was closed so, having taken more photos and admired the views, we prepared for the descent. Even Linda enjoyed the panoramic views on the way down.
We had our midday snack at the snack bar/restaurant at the bottom of the mountain. The place had only been open for two days and the ladies loos were very quite strange indeed: there was only one light so, when the cubicle door was closed, one was left sitting, no SITTING, in the semi-darkness.
We travelled onwards to Kinlochleven and it’s magnificent ‘Story of Aluminium Exhibition’ stopping for some photos of the Loch on the way. Trev was being a mountain goat again in order to capture some views on film.
We we finally got to Kinlochleven we were clearly distraught and distressed to find the Aluminium exhibition was closed. Hmm. In fact, everything in the village seemed to be closed everyday except Thursday. We followed the signs to the waterfall where, not surprisingly, we found a waterfall. Trev, Clive and Joy braved the way across the rocks to get a better view of the waterfall. Linda declined as she had sprained her foot. Trev got a wet sock. Clive got wet feet. Joy lost her camera case.
The three Farts followed the river in the hope of finding the camera case downstream but to no avail. They soon realised that they were one Fart short of a holiday: Linda had decided to return to the car having taken a much easier route. Having been reunited we set off to Fort William the main street of which had become pedestrianised since our last visit three years ago. We searched for cashpoints, postcards and a snack-bar. We found MacTavishes restaurant and a new whiskey liqueur called ‘Heather Cream’. We noticed that MacTavishes had evenings of “traditional Scottish entertainment”. This appealed to our curiosity so we booked a table for tomorrow night.
18:15ish
We returned to the chalet to prepare for the arrival later of Trev’s chums Darryl and Simon. They were staying over which necessitated the bedding being changed with hilarious consequences. A bed sheet and Joy’s pyjama top went missing.
19:00
We walked around to the Inn where we met Darryl and Simon. Trev was presented with his birthday present from them: an oil burner with a Celtic inspired motif. No matter how sincere he was he could not convince Simon that he liked it. He did, honest! After a quick snack we returned to the chalet where we showered the newly weds with balloons, party poppers, sparkling wine and a wedding cake that Joy had made for them. What a bless-poppet she is.
The party continued with a game of charades (boys v girls naturally) followed by ‘Brit Quiz’. With so many people taking part (Linda had already decided we should call ourselves ‘Crowded Chalet’ when we release our debut album) the game took ages some people were only half awake at the end. Clive and Linda won the game of ‘Humbug’ before someone noticed that it was obscenely early in the morning: much more of this fun and we would have heard a cock crow.
We made half-Farted attempts to vacuum and clear up before retiring to the bedcupboards. Darryl and Simon had the girls twin room whilst the girls themselves slept atop Trev and Clive in the bunks. This wasn’t as much fun as it sounded as we were all too tired to sleep. Clive was awoken in the middle of the night by Trev saying “… we must tell Harry…”.
THURSDAY 26.08.93
Washing still wet. We were all awoken by an early morning alarm call courtesy of the RAF. The Glen looked beautiful this morning but we looked shite.
10:40
Even after a lie in and six people trying to use the bathroom we were ready to face the world. Trev will forever remember the pained expression on Clive’s face as, jim-jam clad and wash bag in hand, his attempt to secure the bathroom was thwarted by Simon who shot past him like a cruise missile in a hurry. As we waved good by to Darryl and Simon, Darry remarked that we looked like ‘The Waltons’.
We speculated on Trev’s dreamtime conversation about Harry of which the ginger one had no recall. Being a ‘Dr Who’ fan and self confessed Wholigan, we can only assume that he was referring to ‘Harry Sullivan’, the square jawed, and four-squared Medical Office who, according to the Fourth Doctor, “… is only qualified to work on sailors”. Question is, did Trev think he was Tom Baker or ‘Sarah-Jane Smith’?
We hit the road with Clive at the wheel and the Beach Boys bellowing from the stereo. We paused at some roadworks in the middle of the Glen and were overcome by the beauty of the day. We waved at the poor sods hard at work. They smiled and waved back. We paused again for photos on Rannoch Moor and again at Loch Tay to admire the scenery in the glorious weather.
Rannoch Moor
Loch Tay
13:02
We passed through Weem and stopped at Castle Menzies for a tea and a wee. The tea room was staffed by some nice old ladies who successfully tempted Trev with their Tiffin. It was nay a big portion and a trifle overpriced at 70p he felt. We strolled around the castle which was rather on the wee side and, having taken some photos to show that we had been there, we returned to the car. We were intrigued by the village called Dull but couldn’t be arsed to actually visit it. A photo by the road-sign bearing the name sufficed.
The Glengoulandie Deer Park. We decided to walk around the park rather than drive as we wanted to get close to nature. There were ginger, hairy Highland cattle (with horns) in abundance along with deer, goats, sheep and a family of ducks. Trev had designs on the ducklings and the parents looked rather worried. Mr Duck took offence at Clive’s remark that Mrs Duck was “ugly” and remonstrated with him on this point. Trev eventually managed to pick up a duckling for a photo opportunity. Trev gave the duckling a stroke. The duckling gave Trev a damp palm. Clive befriended the goats and declared he fancied “the scruffy one”. The goat was unavailable for comment.
15.20
We waved goodbye to the deer park.
15:55
Rannoch Forest. We tried the half-hour walk but it only took us ten minutes so we sat, sitting by a stream throwing pebbles into because they made a nice “ker-plop” sound. We took a fetching photo of Clive’s arse, a tree and Trev’s face. It was hard to tell which was which.
16:30
We began the long drive back towards Fort William where we were to dine but called in at Rannoch station, the highest railway station in the UK, where we frequented the tea-room and purchased more postcards. There were few trains on the timetable and even fewer houses around. There was a pub and we pondered how such an establishment could make a profit but, with a view like that, who would care! Trev’s feet shuffled eagerly when he realised that one could walk the 18-odd miles across Rannoch Moor to Glencoe and he was dragged bodily back to the car by the others for the 90-odd mile journey by road. Not a word was spoken to each other as we drove back. We were too busy singing along to Trev’s 100 minute cassette of Abba’s hits. We harmonised with each other wonderfully as we drove through the stunning scenery. Trev knows that when he is old and grey, farting prestigiously in a puddle of his own wee-wee and reflecting back on his life he will recall that car journey with his Fartie pals as one of the highlights.
20:30
We were glad we had booked a table at McTavishes’ Kitchen as the place was full when we got there. We were shown to our table which was worryingly close to the stage. The menu was studied intently and we were unusually decisive about what we wanted to scoff. A poppet of a waitress lady informed us that it would be quicker to get drinks at the bar so off Linda did trot to purchase a round. Whilst at the bar the Boogie Bitch heard a member of the bar staff remark, “it’s going to be funny tonight” and wondered why he was looking at her fellow Farties as he said it.
Turns were taken to visit the rather splendid toilets and Linda was convinced that something untoward was occurring in the ladies as two ladies were hanging around and banging on the cubicle doors.
Trev’s visit to the bogotry was not without incident either. Emerging from a cubicle Trev was greetedby the sight of a young man in full Highland regalia adjusting his sporran. The McChap smiled at Trev and proudly announced in a superb accent, “Hi… I’m part of the entertainment tonight”. Crikey.
The food arrived as the entertainment began: two McChaps called Farquhar (on the fiddle) and Angus (on the accordion) both wearing the obligatory costume. Whilst at the bar Clive had heard that these two bods had been performing the same act for five years.
After a couple of turns Farquhar and Angus were joined by a young gal who did some Highland dancing. The fact that the nature of the dance hurled her kilt upwards did not go unnoticed by the male members of the audience. Some more jigs and reels ensued before they were joined on stage by a young piper: Trev’s toilet chum. He failed to jump up and down so everyone was left wondering if anything was worn beneath the kilt.
Next a kilt-clad lady appeared and sang a couple of traditional Scottish songs before teaching us how to say “loch” properly in preparation for the impending mass sing-a-long to ‘The Bonny Bonny Banks Of Loch Lomond’. Whoever wrote this song had failed to notice that banks, especially those with cashpoints, were very hard to come by in the Loch Lomond area. The singer walked amongst the helpless punters choosing victims to sing into the microphone. Trev immediately vacated his seat and hid in the loos whilst his companions squirmed in their seats trying to look nonchalant. There were some appalling singers in that night and the kilt-clad lady found each and every one.
Joy splashed out on a fancy cocktail coz one got a swizzle stick with a sort of ‘Pink Panther’ thing on it. More dancing, singing and dancing with swords ensued before we all joined hands over the table to sing Auld Lang Syne which resulted in Trev getting his hand scorched by the table top candle.
Back to the chalet. It was late but we had to return the bedding to it’s original position. During the course of this manoeuvre Joy found a spider in her bed. Clive popped it in an ashtray and escorted it from the premises.
FRIDAY 27.08.93
The weather looked dull but dry unlike our smalls which were bright but still moist to the touch.
The girls were awake and up very early thus were able to use the bathroom before the two boys who remained conspicuous by their absence. The bathroom remained strangely empty for some time until Joy could stand it no longer and knocked the two boys up. She’s a game girl is Joy.
With Linda at the wheel we set of to see what the day held for us.
12:00
It came to our attention that the passenger of the car in front was doing strange things with their right hand out of the car window. Clive followed suit deciding it was either an impression of an emu or an ancient, Egyptian dance.
The weather was now warm and sunny and Stirling was our destination.
14:00
Finding a car park in Stirling was not the easiest of tasks but, eventually, an N.C.P. multi-storey loomed before us and we descended into it’s dark bowels. Once parked we followed the ‘exit’ signs, burst through a set of double doors and stared, agog, at the sight before us: shops! lots of people! more shops! lots more people! We were in the middle of a shopping mall and were experiencing severe culture shock. We stumbled around for a while, our senses and bearings askew, before seeking solace in a Lyon’s Tea House where Trev was AGAIN mothered by an ageing waitress.
We decided to split up and began our solitary peregrinations around the city apart from Linda who had a nasty limp. Eventually we returned to the car and drove up to Stirling Castle rather than walk it because of Linda’s aforementioned appendage.
15:50
At the castle we confused everyone by buying our entrance tickets at the wrong kiosk apart from Joy who was being rather sensible today. We kept getting lost amongst a crowd of tourists being guided, nay, herded, around the castle. They were taking photos of absolutely everything and were getting in the way of us taking photos of absolutely everything. We tried to lose them but they found us again so we set off in the opposite direction to them only to bump in to them once again!
As we wandered we kept seeing snogging couples. We dragged ourselves away and into the castle to look at an exhibition of military paraphernalia which was the nearest we could get to a cold shower. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of bagpipes and Trev began to jig like a thing possessed. One room seemed to be filled with nowt but modern MFI furniture whilst in another we found some swivel backed chairs which we just had to recline and be photographed in.
We called in at the tea shop before returning to the car where we realised that we had yet to visit the nearby Holyrood church to give thanks for our safe deliverance from the singer in the restaurant last night. The church was locked so we just stood outside and thanked Dog.
17:45
Back to the car. We eventually found our way out of Stirling and made for the Wallace Monument…
18:00
… which cost 245 pence to enter and probably contained as many steps. We took our photos and swiftly departed.
18:05
Back on the road. We felt, in our water, that Killin would be a suitable place to stop for dinner but, first, we tried to find the Falls of Lochay that Joy and Trev had spotted on a map. The road was so narrow that there were no real provisions to pull over when encountering oncoming traffic of which there seemed to be a lot. We didn’t find the falls but found a hydro-electric power station which possibly used the falls to generate power. Our camera shutters remained tightly shuttered.
We arrived at Killin and walked the length and breadth of the place looking for a suitable place to dine. Linda wished that she had stayed in the car as her limp was getting very limp indeed. Arriving at our chosen hostelry we suffered much confusion over which entrance to enter. Eventually we rang for assistance and were assisted to the restaurant which, naturally, possessed a small billiard table.
We settled down for a heavy noshing session and were soon deep in inane banter. We discussed a whole manner of ill mannered things such as the bathroom situation back at the chalet and the problem of people nipping in as your back is turned: “I had just got my buttocks on the seat when…” We “shhh’d” Clive up as his voice was carrying across the room. Joy tried to fold a £20 note in a way that made the Queen appear to smile. Clive pointed out, “if you fold the note in a certain way it looks like the Queen is giving a blow-job”. He was being rather loud again and we all sniggered. After we paid the bill we noticed the bar staff trying to fold Joy’s £20 note…
As we left Trev made friends with a cat.
We all made friends with a dog.
And the Enya tape played on.
The car park was unlit and very, very dark but we managed to give a toad a helping hand across the road and out of danger. Trev braved the car park toilets on his own. There were no young men in kilts adjusting their sporrans.
We headed home listening to one of Trev’s tapes of classical music and particularly enjoyed ‘Dance of The Sugar Plum Fairy’ also known to fans of the classic Saturday morning, kid’s TV show, ‘Tiswas’ as “the Spit the Dog song”. As we passed across Rannoch Moor we stopped and got out of the car to admire the moon and stars over the mountains and the loch. The silence was deafening and much silent thought occurred.
SATURDAY 28.08.93
We had our last scramble for the bathroom and our last squashed breakfast before packing and cleaning up.
10:36
We left Glencoe with Trev at the helm of the car. The sun was out, the windows were open, the music was loud but, BOY, were we pissed-off to be leaving! As we rode through the Glen in a Robin Hood fashion Trev leant out of the window and screamed “you’re gorgeous!”. He was talking to the mountains but the sheep and campers looked decidedly worried. Pondering our third packing of the boot Clive suggested that, next time, we hire a van from Pickfords. Or maybe a Lockheed Hercules from RAF Lyneham?
No more mountains.
12:30
We hit the motorway.
13:40
We stopped at ‘The Fordell Inn’ in Dalkeith where we let our buttocks off the lead whilst we had a tea and a wee. We noticed the place sold everything one might possibly need whilst on a long journey: electric shavers; hair dryers; small dolls in Scottish dress; Marie Osmond CDs etc. Having exercised our buttocks we did the same with our legs. With a telepathic sense of timing we all arrived back at the car at the same time.
14:00
Onwards to Northumberland! Clive was now at the wheel.
16:20
Arrived at ‘The Hayes’ B & B in Corbridge. Trev dashed out to ‘check-in’. He was gone some time and the others were about to storm the place with hair dryers and hair brushes to rescue him when he returned. We took over the two rooms on the second floor.
The girls extracted their luggage from the car, rushed into their room, threw it to the floor and spun around with glee: there was so much room it was unbelievable. Both rooms had views of the large garden which appeared to be heavily populated by rabbits.
Joy and Trev strolled into town whilst Linda and Clive freshened up and joined them later at ‘The Angel Inn’. They guessed that Trev had paused at the local Estate Agents as his nose print was in evidence on the window.
After several rounds of alcohol sat-sitting in the warm evening sunshine we strolled up to the local Indian restaurant only to find that it was full. We booked ourselves a table for 21:45 and returned to the Inn for more booze. We passed an off- licence on the way, the window of which was filled with a display of Heineken cans. Trev had the urge to wander into the offi and ask “excuse me, do you sell Heineken per chance?”. We laughed.
We had many more drinks and Trev was more than a little squiffy on Scrumpy Jack cider. It was no time before Linda had joined Trev in a state of wobbly-legginess. We listened to a quartet of luvvies on the next table taking about cinema and theatre and started a very forced conversation mentioning Trev working for the BBC a lot but they failed to take the bait.
21:50
We returned to the Indian restaurant in a very giggly condition indeed. We played musical-chairs whilst we waited for our table to become available. Once seated Trev kept trying to kip but the waiters kept waking him up to serve him food. Through tired, cider charged eyes the ginger one pointed out, with considerable volume, that the woman sat at the table behind him looked like the male lead singer with The Inspiral Carpets.
Venturing forth to the toilets, Clive, engrossed in the sign that very politely drew his attention to a “STEP” almost walked into the ladies loo in error.
The final items deposited on our table were orange segments to freshen our curried-up mouths. Having sucked one almost dry Joy returned it to the dish from whence it came. It was promptly picked up by Clive who devoured it without realising it had already been sucked: “I thought it was a bit dry…”
01:00
After a drunken stagger up the steep hill to the B & B singing Abba’s ‘Super Trouper’ and attempting to march like storm troopers we hit our respective sacks.
SUNDAY 29.08.93
More sunshine!
Joy had a shower with her glasses on.
Clive took a photo of Trev washing his hair.
We were given the centre table in the breakfast room as, so our hosts informed us, this was where the rabble always sits. Mr Matthews, the proprietor and his assistant worked as a double act and abused Clive at every opportunity. We chatted to a couple from Northampton whilst someone with an uncanny resemblance to Aha’s Morten Harket arrived late for breakfast and sat moodily in the corner munching his toast. Joy ate Linda’s potato cake by mistake and Clive managed to get the largest breakfast. Our hosts did not let this go unnoticed.
09:30
On the road with Linda at the wheel.
We played the ‘escape from Ponteland’ game in which all roads seemed to lead to a place called Ponteland where we didn’t want to be.
11:00
Stopped at Warkworth Castle.
11:02
Clive hit his head on the car boot lid.
11.20
Clive hit his head on the boot again. We set of for Bamburgh Castle.
12:00
Bamburgh Castle: probably the most scenic and impressive Castle ever to receive a Farting. We buggered about and stood in the entrance queue behind a woman with a small boy who had a pointing fetish. Joy followed suit.
There were lots of rooms with huge collections of porcelain, armour, weapons, silver, Faberge items etc. We wandered around the battlements which was a rather windy pastime. Joy was fascinated by a man carrying his youngest offspring in a papoose on his back. The child’s expression was one of permanent bafflement. He was even shown the delights of the dungeon despite warnings that “people of a nervous disposition or people with children should think carefully before entering”. Despite the warnings it was but a small dungeon and no more terrifying than the Overdue Loans Dept. of ‘the Bank that likes to say piss-off’. We went for a frolic in the stunning sand dunes and walked along the beach where Trev had a paddle with his boots on.
14:27
Back at the car. Clive did the head-to-boot-lid dance again.
15:00
We arrived at Beal to take the causeway across to Holy Isle only to find said track was underwater till the tide went out at 17:30. We consoled ourselves with ice-creams.
15:05
Clive didn’t hit his head on the boot lid again. We hit the road and stopped at the cattle ranch at Chillingworth. Linda declined to partake as her foot was playing up again and she partook of a nap in the back of the car. Many rare cattle were to be seen but always, alas, from a distance. With still time aplenty to spare before we had to head back to Beal we took in Chillingworth Castle which was closed but possessed a nice, woodland walk.
18:00
We returned to Beal where the causeway had revealed itself to all. It was a surprisingly long drive to Lindesfarne: the Holy Isle and, once there, we parked outside of the toilets more out of necessity than design. A gander around the shops followed to secure some Lindesfarne Mead but they were all shut. Clive and the gals strolled up the hill to the castle but Trev, who was feeling a bit icky-dick, had a lie down on the grass overlooking the sea and, beyond, Bamburgh Castle. Whilst his colleagues wandered around the castle looking for the best views Trev chose a vantage point amongst the groins for a nice photo of said edifice. We converged on a grassy knoll where we rested a while before going off to explore the church.
We returned to Warkworth with Trev at the wheel and stopped there for dinner in a pub restaurant. Although the pub was packed we had the restaurant area to ourselves. ‘Twas a long drive back to Corbridge and despite navigator Bingham’s best efforts and because of the usual lack of adequate road signage in the area we became a bit lost. Trev and Linda swapped positions with the ginger one navigating back to the B & B but not before Clive and Joy were woken by Linda’s scream as a suicidal bunny lept before our headlights.
MONDAY 30.08.93
Well bugger us, we’re still on holiday!
It was another sunny and warm day and Clive was insulted again at breakfast. The couple from Nottingham were leaving today. We said our farewells at breakfast and past them in the car park where we saw their car had even more luggage in it than ours. We laughed. Clive, at the wheel, got confused leaving the car park. They laughed. ‘Morten Harket’ also left today as mysteriously as he arrived.
11:10
Kielder Water. Hmm. Having driven along the length of this man-made reservoir we stopped to inspect Kielder Castle which was no such thing but merely an 18th century hunting lodge that had been given the title of ‘castle’ for no other reason than commercialism. We visited the shops and the exhibition which explained all about Kielder Water and the Forestry Commission policy that had made the place what it was: all tarmac footpaths through very un-indigenous coniferous forests with plenty of wooden benches and children on bikes. We walked across fields to a stone bridge and paused for a moment looking at the babbling water below us.
12:33
We returned to the car and drove back the way we had come in seach of the Forest Drive. We were all very tired and not looking forward to heading back home tomorrow. We left the car and strolled down to a lake where we sat soaking up the rays and watching fishermen playing with boys. Someone call the police!
13:15
Back in the car Clive used the windscreen wash/wipe with the sunroof open. We laughed and wiped ourselves down.
13:40
We passed a woman taking a photo of a burnt out car at the side of the road. Like you do.
13:55
Like Mary Queen of Scots before us we stopped at Hermitage Castle for some more peace and tranquility. We walked around the castle and lay on the grass taking in the sun, the sky, the sheep, the silence and the refreshing breeze.
15:00
FOOD! WE stopped in Newcastleton for lunch at a cafe which also served as an antique and gift shop. Whilst we were eating Clive suddenly dematerialised. No one saw or heard him move. Where did he go? When? How? We awaited his return in eager anticipation. He had been awaiting his turn in the loo.
15:35
Four Farts breezed out of town. Clive suddenly applied the brakes of the automobile unexpectedly and Trev’s ring-binder of ‘things to do and see’ shot off the rear parcel shelf and severely concussed the girls.
16:33
Clive drove us up the wall… Hadrian’s Wall. We were at the Roman fort of Birdoswald. Trev opened the front passenger door and rolled out of the car and into the grassy kerb muttering “seventeen days… SEVENTEEN DAYS!” which was the length of time we had been in each others pockets. Joy tried the tumble for herself and we all had a giggle. As we walked along the stone wall to the entrance of the fort we became aware of the sounds of battle; of steel against steel; of big, butch swarthy men being frightfully aggressive. Slowly we peered into the entrance and found ourselves face to face with Roman Legionaires advancing towards us! **cue Doctor Who end titles** “Diddley Dum, Diddley Dum, Diddley Dum, Diddley Dum, Ooooheeeeeeooooh”
It was then we realised that it was a Bank Holiday and that there was a pageant occurring. No temporal anomalies or suchlike.
RAF Sea King helicopter ahoy!
17:33
We gasped and ooh’d as we realised we had travelled 3000 miles together.
17:44
Cawfields and a bit more wall.
18:00
More wall and a reconstruction of the Roman fort at Vindolanda. The archaeological dig had produced much valuable information about the Roman settlements along the wall and life in occupied Briton. The museum was large and contained many objects of everyday use and even letters home written by the Roman soldiers all those centuries ago. A large number of foundations were on display at the site and we were the last to leave.
19:20
Having returned to Corbridge we had our last dinner together at ‘The Angel Inn’ where we were served by another confused waiter. The sight of the four of us together must be truly disturbing.
Back at the B & B we packed our bags without much enthusiasm. Trev was going to have a bath but changed his mind as tiredness was overwhelming him. Dirty git. The girls had to plug the hole in their adjoining bedroom wall that they had drilled in anticipation.
TUESDAY 31.08.93
Clive suffered a final insult before breakfast but promised to return. We paid the bill and said our farewells to Mr Matthews who said that he had enjoyed having us (as so many do). The bill was made out to “Mr and Mrs Ellis and friends”. Clive was elected Mrs Ellis.
09:40
We fed the car at the local petrol station and purchased snacks and drinks for the journey before us.
10:45
Onto the M1.
12:33
We passed what was left of Sherwood Forest but we were not Merry Men. Not even those of us that were women.
13:23
Pit stop at Leicester Forest East followed by a change of buttocks and a change of drivers: Clive takes the wheel from Trev.
15:00
We reached the outskirts of London and Clive slipped into ‘taxi driver’ mode.
15:20
East Acton and the home of young Mr Trev. He was assisted in taking his belongings upto his room by his holiday chums who, in return, used his facilities, drunk his squash and ate all his biscuits. Trev was confused as to why the sofa bed which served as the seating in his flat had been replaced by a three piece bamboo set. Despite this he was able to give Clive some useless advice on how to escape from London.
16:00
Having waved farewell to Trev the remaining Farts were harassed by a lorry driver who wanted them to commit suicide so that he could exit Sunningdale Avenue and join the A40. Linda expressed her feelings through the sun-roof with two digits rampant. Eventually we made good our exit but could not get into the right lane. Several detours were taken before we could find the right road and thence the M4.
Heston Services was the next stop for some more petrol and to vacuum the car which was lined with stones, sand, mud, bits of grass and heather. Joy and Linda shared the vacuuming with Linda getting her blouse caught in the nozzle in a moment worthy of a ‘Carry On’ film. Clive took the car through the car-wash whilst the girls phoned home to announce their imminent arrival.
The final stretch. Although Clive did his best to keep everyone smiling he was fighting a loosing battle.
17:30
Calcot. Joy’s street had a road now and Clive and Linda helped her take her luggage to her door. Clive was so enthusiastic that he took Linda’s luggage to Joy’s door as well. Linda returned it to the car.
On to Burghfield Common where Linda was returned home leaving Clive to drive alone to his home in Woodley.
That night there was a full moon over East Acton, Calcot and Burghfield and a large collection of freshly laundered undergarments on a clothes line over Woodley.
EPILOGUE
WEDNESDAY 01.09.93
08:00
The final castle: Clive returned the car to Horncastle garage in Calcot where it was given a thorough inspection within and without. All was in order and Linda arrived to take Clive to work in Theale. Still limping Linda insisted that Clive “walk this way…”
As they left they swore they could hear the sound of an almost brand-new Ford Escort collapsing into it’s component parts.
THE FOUR FARTIES WILL RETURN IN
‘LIVE AND LET FART’
FOURPLAY 