Author: Dickon Banks

We arrived shortly before ten at the tackle store and met Taz; in what she told us was a rare on time appearance. About this time I discovered I had left my wellies behind and she kindly gave me a lift to pick them up. After travelling to the hut in style in the smoking car we arrived to find the preparations under way, both the bonfire and fire pit being constructed by Tim with his trusty chainsaw.

Andy, Rachel, Andy and I headed off to G.B. When we got to the blockhouse we found that the key wouldn’t open the padlock. During our attempts to open the door, a group from Portsmouth U.S.S. arrived and had a go with a Cerberus key. Combined attempts failed to resolve the situation and then a third group arrived, when their key failed to open the lock as well, it was felt that perhaps we should find a cave where the hardest pitch wasn’t getting through the entrance. The Portsmouth group had a slight problem in that their minibus had gone and wasn’t going to be back for four hours. Andy volunteered to walk them over the hill back to the hut. On the way back in the car we met Taz’s Taxis ferrying John and his retrieved wellies out to Rhino Rift. After a cup of tea, both groups set out for Goatchurch. It was quite odd to go into a cave by steps carved into the rock but all became clear after a brief history lesson. The cave itself was fun and surprisingly social, if a little crowded at times!

When we arrived back at the hut the sheep was roasting away and, having procured a cup of tea and a bite to eat, settled down to that time honoured practice of watching the fire and occasionally adding wood to it. As time progressed and more trips arrived back, so the fire started to run more on aluminium, and it was reported the pub was not only having it’s own fireworks party, but was already full! The situation was saved however, by two heroes making a supermarket run to resupply dangerously dwindling stores. The price of abstinence has ever been a taxi service. It was at this time a bargain was struck; ‘Shall we go halves on a bottle of vodka?’ is an innocuous enough statement the full meaning of which was seen later. A short time later the booze arrived back and the fireworks commenced. About this time the vodka in question was shared, Rob downed his half and handed a bemused Jon the bottle. My next sighting of Rob was him being prevented from being over familiar with a recently lit rocket, shortly after, he was leaning against the hut chatting away, when he developed a pronounced list and then gravity took over. There was a horrible noise as he hit his head on a plate, and it was felt that a trip to hospital was called for. The ambulance was remarkably quick and after a brief struggle with the track removed Rob to Weston hospital. The fireworks resumed, the one-legged guy met his fate and much more beer was drunk.

All in all it was a highly enjoyable weekend rounded off, so I am told, by a pub lunch on the Sunday and after all paramedics only attend the best parties.