(Some of this post is -in-the-field reportage from the Web Donkey’s phone – unfortunately the photos weren’t great and have been substituted by google street views)
This is the Beacon Inn.
This is a pub somewhere in England. It received a visit from a member of the WHV board on Saturday evening. He came in with two empty Stella glasses, and left with two full pints of Fosters, and an empty bladder.
It is at the end of this country lane, a couple of miles off the M5 Northbound.
This is Haresfield. Approximately Two Stellas distant from the Stockwood Vale GC.
Due to paranoia from Rob, we all arrived early for a fictitious tee-off time, so accodingly, we finished a little late. Now, the WD had forewarned fellow travellers that he was getting straight off afterwards as he was likely to be in the Doghouse with the mother of his infant child for just ‘gadding about doing whatever he wants’. Before the round, the TD had asked the WD if it was going to be possible for him to join him in an early trip home as he too was in the Doghouse with the mother of his infant child, this time for doubling up on curry house visits the night before (or something, it has to do with a mixed grill ordered but not consumed and more libations with WHV members whilst guests were at the house).
At the point of departure, the TD popped into the clubhouse to pick up the token for the barrier and came back with a couple of pints. He seemed to be in relatively good spirits, insisting on playing his Longpigs CD whilst we drove round the Bristol ring road on a Saturday evening with him showing off to parallel cars at roundabouts. “Boy” and “Helluva Boy” (with hand gesture) were seen a couple of times. Apparently Ron had banned the TD’s tunes from his motor on the way down, and they all had a lot of fun playing a game with Ron’s ipod until Bacon ruined it by going for Johnny Cash or something. Anyway, 4 songs (all of them ‘brilliant’) into the CD and the TD was bored and demanded that the WD hook up his ipod so that the TD could compose a DJ set on the fly.
We were now on the M5 and making reasonably good time – should have had him back in Knowle for quarter to nine, not too bad. He was disappointed that I did not have all of the Sis and Roses tunes for him to accurately replay his ‘set’ from Spike’s wedding (thank Christ), but he did then proceed to flick through the thousands of songs on my ipod muttering “I can’t believe you don’t have [rubbish song, mostly by Oasis], you’re killing me here kid”, or “this is the best song they ever did!” – quite forcefully.
He doesn’t like the fact that the ipod automatically plays the next song once the one he’s selected has finished, it annoys him, he’s much happier picking one at a time, apparently. Come on Apple, pull your finger out – portable music should be just like when you lined up a load of 7″ singles on your mum’s music centre. Apparently, his own ‘Best of the Roses’ CD annoys him for chopping Resurrection short – ruining one of the top five tracks ‘EVER’ – luckily I did have the full version and I got 6 or 7 minutes of dancing rather than singing.
Anyway, halfway up the M5 he started gesturing towards exits. Conscious of our Doghouse status and the need to get home ASAP, I ignored this for the Gloucester junction – “you’re killing me here kid, just 5 minutes to a boozer, I need more beer”. So I acquiesced and that’s how we ended up at the Beacon Inn in Haresfield. Looked quite nice. Expensive houses. 10 minutes whilst the slowest service in the world poured him more refreshment and we were heading back to the motorway.
Several rounds of Mondays, Smiths and Supergrass tunes later, and with a full volume rendition of ‘Lucky Man’ by the Verve being bellowed out I was being directed off the M42 into Knowle. The WD has never been to the TD’s house, so my only option was to follow directions, which took me to a car park in the centre of the town – at 9 o’clock, just a single hour later than he’d promised – to deposit the young man, and his clubs, trousers, empties and Longpig CD to whatever laid ahead of him.
I do not know what happened next, but I do know that my ‘Tales of Greggers’ certainly got me right out of trouble when I got home.
At least he kept his clothes on for the whole of the journey.