You and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate (Day Three)

As skit has pointed out in the comments, I missed talking about our star gazing session. On Sunday night, we bundled up in our warmest attire and went out into the cool and clear night. We went down the One Road of the village a little way until we found a spot clear of artificial lights. We spent a long time with our heads turned upwards, looking at the stars and comparing how many pinpricks of light we could resolve. We managed to fool ourselves into thinking that we could see the Milky Way though it was only the merest hint of light and nowhere near as stunning as it could be. As we looked up, a small, dark body brushed past, through and around our legs. A cat begged our attention and we obliged.

So, the evening came to a close after an episode of Due South and I slept well for a change. I had a marvellous dream that I was let loose on a chocolate shop and ate everything in site. In the morning, skit was not to be found.

I kid. She was around but hadn't slept very well (I stole all her sleep, mwah ha ha ha) and responded badly to my chirpy spirit and needling that morning. I helped out with the breakfast for once (and this is where I apparently burnt the sausages but they were perfect for me) which was a slightly less impressive affair than before (I fried the potatoes from the night before and we also had bacon, sausages and one grilled mushroom each). Then came a shocking piece of organisation as biped and I washed up and cleaned the kitchen while skit did the other rooms producing a clean and tidy cottage by 10am. We didn't even have Once More With Feeling to motivate us.

Quite frankly amazed, we spent our last few moments in the Hobbling Hayloft writing in the visitors' book. Our real names went in there but under the column for where we were from, skit wrote “the internet” which we hope raises an eyebrow or two. As I cleared my things from the bedroom I shared with skit, a face appeared at the window. Being on the first floor, I jumped and gasped: it was skit but how was she flying? Please don't be just like West... I am not sure I could cope.

Of course I had forgotten the exterior stairs by the side of the Hayloft that led up to the window. Skit grinned and said that she'd been waiting all weekend to pull that prank on me.

And then we said our farewells to the cottage. Standing outside the massive door, we had one last photo of the place. And then to the skitmobile once more.

Skit drove us to Weston-Super-Mare to the amazing (though rather downbeat) sounds of the Battlestar Galactica soundtrack (which reminds me- Razer is on tonight!). On the way into the town, we past the helicopter museum and, much more excitingly, the Bakelite museum. Spurning such delights, we continued. To the beach!

Intrigued by the name “Sandy Shores” and not particularly wanting to stop the music, we continued through Weston-Super-Mare through some quite beautiful woodland to... mud. No sand, just mud. So much mud I am surprised there wasn't a statue of Jayne somewhere. Mud forever. And what did we do? Well, we went playing in it. When we started to sink into it, did we turn back? No! When it grew hard to pull one foot out and move on, did we give up? No! When faced with not just mud but pools of water, did we hesitate to wade through? No! Possibly should have though given how my trainers are still horribly dirty and I dread to think what the state of the skitmobile is.

We went back to the front at Weston-Super-Mare and parked after experiencing a roundabout a few times. As you may expect for November, there wasn't much going on. Everything was deserted and the beach was empty (but sandy, not mud). We wandered down to the beach but didn't go far, just under the pier to admire the structure. We then went up onto the pier and philosophised about bunting in the cold wind. The pier was long and empty of life and walking along it gave me post-apocalyptic tingles. At the end of the pier, as if some metaphor for the afterlife, was an all but empty arcade. The lights and sounds of the games were such garish displays of life compared to the grey and bleak outside. Occasionally we would see an attendant gazing roboticly into the distance or the odd zombie muttering “you have to play to win”. I honestly couldn't tell if a clown we saw was real or mechanical.

Skit got into the spirit of funnelling two pence pieces into the machines, causing biped to crow that she had discovered skit's vice (because never have we met anyone as full or virtue and purity as skit...?).

We then went to lunch at a seafront cafe. We became more and more subdued as time passed and we realised that it was the end. I had soup and a smoothie as skit and biped shared soup and a scone with clotted cream with bits in: “ah, real clotted cream!” cried skit as she saw the lumps.

And so we staggered miserably to the end of the weekend. Like the bright bunting flapping in the cold, grey day, we had great memories of the weekend, of our time together relaxing and laughing and eating and walking through caves, mythical lands of fairies and dinosaurs and the golden heaven of the gorge. We had a new friend in Blue and old friends we got to know better in Indy and Sky. We had experiences of villages that liked to burn people and a Doctor that needed killing. We had the staples of prodding and cushions and a bathroom full of Lush products. And then we had the awkward goodbye.

Why are goodbyes so nasty in Real Life when they are epic and beautiful in films? In reality, they are better done fast and without much talking. Which is how we did it, with one last trip in the skitmobile as the minutes to the Paddington train departure ticked away. I got my ticket and biped and I got on the train that was waiting for us and skit drove away.

On the train, biped and I talked television (predictably) and a few text messages were passed between me and skit who had had to go back to the Hobbling Hayloft to (successfully) reclaim forgotten cheese and lamb. We passed yawns back and forth (*yawn*) and our goodbye seemed to dissolve back to the normal state of affairs... because it isn't goodbye with Hobblings. It is just “see you later” on the board, with emails, skype, letters/pads or text messages. It's not even “see you later” really.

It's thank bob we're here for each other. Always.

The Clamour of the Lamb (Day Two Part Three)

We got back to the Hobbling Hayloft minus one Hobbling and pretty exhausted. I collapsed on the sofa. My recollection at this point is hazy as half of me swears that I had a cup of tea but the other half of me is certain that skit had a hot drink too... so it must have been hot chocolate. Yes, it was hot chocolate, made from actual bars of chocolate and large quantities of milk by biped and skit. I am certain that there were biscuits to dunk. I quite clearly remember biped's shock when she realised that dunking the biscuit enhanced its delicious qualities. She shared this fact with skit and me who were way ahead of her and dunking our second biscuit by that point. I also remember skit dropping the biscuit and realising how that possibly was a Bad Idea. We followed this up with a quick tea leaf reading session (but with the patterns the hot chocolate made on the mug instead of tea leaves) Trelawney would be proud of (though no one got the Grim).

And then I was back to work. I had to send Phil chapters the next day so obviously needed to actually complete them. I know I was being an anti-social grouch but there was no other way for me to keep my deadline (which I did, wehoo). From the kitchen I heard little snippets of conversation along the lines of “it's totally frozen!” “no, wait, this bit is okay” followed by hacking sounds and giggles and “well it might be all right...” along with “just don't let Keppet know.”

I was happy not knowing (well, not happy as much as worried about why the shading in my table was causing latex errors) and stubbornly kept to my wonderful red sofa.

A quick mention of the sofas. There was a three seater sofa-bed and a two seater and an arm chair so when Sky was not there we got one each and didn't actually have to come within Flying Fox wafting distance of each other. Which was nice. But we still all piled onto the three-seater with cushions to separate us now and again.

Anyway, 8pm came and I did my duty and turned the television on to Top Gear. They were driving across Botswana and in particular a salt-plain I believe they said was the width of Portugal. Apparently no one had driven across it before and so they were going to attempt to be the first (with locally bought vehicles). Of course, it turns out that no one had done it before because it is protected for being a unique and delicate ecology but none of that was mentioned in the show, it was just boys having a ball. And it was amusing and it was funny as long as you turned off your inner voice that cried out “they're such idiots!” all of the time. Richard Hammond fell in love with his car and he even named “him” Oliver and shipped him back to England. It did strike me that British telly is an odd thing because most of the good shows are about middle-aged men talking (HIGNFY, QI, Top Gear).

Then a miracle happened and I don't know how it did. But dinner was made. I was actually surprised at how quickly it was produced given the sounds of despair earlier (and the gravy granules all over the kitchen). And I was surprised at how good it tasted. Seriously delicious especially the lamb. We could never have got meat that good from the supermarket. It was perfect. We had the crab-apple jelly that the farm provided with it though the lamb really didn't need an accompaniment. It was so good.

And over. Pretty fast. There was a lot of leg left but it was still mostly frozen so it went into the fridge. A few potatoes remained and these were saved for Monday breakfast. I washed up and put my work away and joined biped and skit for a game of Save Doctor Lucky.

It was similar to Kill Doctor Lucky but with alterations that I could see were an attempt to make the game play better but, I thought, just made it more restrictive instead. I found myself actually moving myself and Doctor Lucky into a position that would help biped and skit just to get some excitement into it. Saving a guy and not killing him really wasn't in any of our natures and the aids were not anywhere near as good as the weapons. Soothing music was perhaps the best. No rival at all to Tight Hat.

Biped won. Of course. She can kill and save the best out of any of us.

With the game came a little logic puzzle that skit really got her teeth into. It was about women with terrible names and their bed-hopping husbands who may or may not have played cards as the Titanic went down.

One puzzle done and I was off to bed. We watched an episode of Due South as I relaxed on the sofa with skit and the requisite number of cushions. Then I toddled off to bed, utterly exhausted.

You did what with the banana?! (Day Two Part Two)

Today I was grumpy. Generally grumpy. But trust me when I say that is an improvement on my general mood these past few months.

Biped and I tussled over who got to travel in which car. I ended up in the skitmobile and we followed Sky in a, quite frankly, pathetic two-car convoy. We stopped off at a small Tesco so biped, skit and I could do a shop for bits and pieces that were required for our roast lamb dinner (the lamb was purchased that morning from the farmer and much to our disappointment, he did not slaughter a lamb right in front of us but brought out a massive leg from the freezer). We also grabbed biscuits for our day of Cheddary fun. And bananas. And er... sherbet.

The next stop was at a random car park that, I believe though attention was not being paid (this day is very much a blur in my mind and I am not sure if it is the passage of time or me just not really having my mind where my body was that day), advertised prices to explore the gorge. We parked up (or rather Sky and skit did) and said "well, we're not having that! They want to take our money? Forget it!" and went to the cheese shop. My mind probably wandered between this rant and the decision to buy cheese. From now on, assume that any jarring transition from one event to another is due either to my aforementioned poor memory or the general ditziness I felt that day.

I am not a cheese fan. I'd eat it, preferably on toast with HP sauce, but "raw" just puts my teeth on edge. So I went to a souvenir shop instead. I sense that you are clambering for a better description of where we are because all the hints I have given so far are a car park and cheese shop. Well, we were in Cheddar and just around the corner from the gorge itself. The street was narrow with the typical grey stoned buildings either side that could have dated back centuries or maybe to just last week, it was hard to tell. The shops were uniquely rubbish for anything a normal person might want and totally geared towards the tourist industry. It was quite kitsch in an olde Englande kind of way. And yes, included tacky souvenir shops and the famous Cheddar Cheese shop.

I bought a selection of postcards at the souvenir shop next to the car park and rejoined the Hobblings. I was quite surprised by the cheese shop. It was like a boutique of cheese. The white counters and carefully placed lighting bore stylish cheeses and there was a tasting bar with trendy-looking staff proffering crumbs of cheese. The other three chose and bought their cheeses and we vamoosed.

After letting some people evacuate their bladders at the local pub.

We drove (well, again it was more Sky and skit though I am sure biped joined me in the occasional pretence of driving or is it just me that can't help but pretend I have a clutch, accelerator and brake under my feet?) up the gorge with Sky in the lead. The road was winding and upwards climbing with rock faces to either side. The dramatic scenery promised last night, driving through this in the dark, was delivered in spades. Once the gorge turned into relatively flat countryside, Sky pulled over and skit followed. Sky came to us and wondered out loud "perhaps we missed our stop?" to which skit rolled her eyes and suggested that yes, indeed we had. And maybe we should go back to where the gorge was actually gorging. Sky concurred and we went back down along the twisty twiney road passing climbers and mountain goats on the way.

This time, skit parked when we were almost back at the start of the gorge (almost, because she recalled that all the spaces were taken further down) and we waited for Sky to turn around and join us. Which she did with tales of horror about people taking up two spaces due to terrible parking in the next car park along. Also in our car park we found four minis parked side by side. Now that must have been a fun convoy.

We sauntered down to the hideous collection of buildings that someone probably thought a great idea back in the 60s (one Hobbling said "half the people were on drugs and the other half did the architecture") passing a rock formation remarkably like a lion on the way. As we declared earlier, we were not going to be fooled into paying actual money to walk a gorge, so skit inquired at a souvenir shop and found that there was a path to get to the top that we didn't have to pay for (unlike Jacob's Ladder, the stairs that lazy tourists take). And so we were off to find this path.

And somehow we didn't.

Taking a footpath away from the touristy 60s monstrosity, we found ourselves looping back to the shops. Not wanting a wasted trip, the other three Hobblings evacuated their bladders (again for some of them!) while I perused the used dvd collection of the curios shop. And then we were psyched to try for this path again.

And after clambering up a muddy slope to nowhere, we decided we still hadn't found it.

But as the photos on flickr attest, the path was found. Eventually. Starting our ascent with cheery grins (I lie- I was in a gunk) we were met by a man running down the path who imparted this piece of wisdom with us as he passed: Don't leave anything at the top because you will only have to go back up for it.

We nodded sagely.

And staggered on. And up.

The path was steep and it only got steeper. One by one, the Hobblings stripped down to t-shirts apart from me who attempted to exude an aura of "just popping out to the shops" and kept my coat on. I somehow doubt anyone was fooled into thinking that I wasn't suffering from the exertion since I kept dropping back and taking breaks on fallen branches. Not to mention suggesting every few minutes that we all go back down, have a cream tea and a game of crazy golf.

I was ignored and so continued plodding as Sky mountain-goated her way up with skit on her heels. As biped, skit and I took a break, Sky skipped off to explore a cave and find some bears to frighten (she didn't).

The path was steep and one long part was so steep steps had been placed in the mud. And with every turn in the path, we hoped and then were denied being at the top.

And yet suddenly, we were. And we turned around as the ground began to level out and we could see forever.

It was worth it. Most views are but this one in particular was fantastic. The sun was only just peeking out from behind the clouds making the view somewhat grey but all the more wild for it. We stood and took photos for some time in this field at the top of the gorge, leaning over the dry stone wall at the edge of the gorge to get the best shots.

We were going to be walking along the top of the gorge (blissfully flat) for some time so we didn't hang around wasting too many megabytes. We fuelled up with gingernuts and trooped onwards. The view just kept improving as we found autumn colours to one side and a flat expanse of fields (with sheep and dry stone walls) to the other. Biped pointed out a route going down but skit and Sky encouraged us to keep on going.

A conversation biped and I were not a part of labelled us all as different middle earth species. Thanks for that. No idea what I was but I'd prefer to be a cylon. Biped may have been the one to come off the worst as I recall she was called a dwarf. “It's okay,” skit said, “you have an axe.” Yes, I am sure that made it all better.

The path started to slope down. Soon we were hopping down steps but not as many as we had to climb up thanks to being further up the gorge. With our knees complaining, we took a most welcome break at the base of the steps. I sat on a stile as skit dismantled the wall to the side to get somewhere relatively comfy to sit. Out came the postcards and a pen and we assigned them to the various Hobblings for which we had addresses (and now I worry that I haven't heard from everyone that they received theirs...). We watched other people come down the steep steps including one lady being dragged down by a little dog. She was almost in fear for her life as the dog pulled her faster than her legs and sense of balance could manage. She made it to the bottom though and skit and Sky fussed over the dog as I hung back hoping that I'd escape the creature's notice. I did, thank bob, but the others wanted to move away because they were being attacked by midges (that seemed to avoid me) so I had to come within a metre of the dog to pass it. I survived though. I am so proud of myself.

It was here that biped fell over. My first reaction was fear that she was okay. After discovering that she was fine, it became laughter as she was covered in mud. Hee hee. Look- I felt concern first so obviously I am allowed to be amused.

We made it to road level. It was a hallelujah moment. We had scaled the side of the gorge where it was deepest, walked along the top and climbed down again. Wonderful. I had visions of cream teas and crazy golf in my head.

And skit and Sky took us up the other side of the gorge.

I was in a bad mood but only because I didn't know what amazing experience was before me. The climb up wasn't anywhere near as hard as before of course because the gorge wasn't as deep. It was potentially lethal as the path was unclear and we had to climb up a steep and very muddy slope without any sign of steps or anywhere where our shoes could gain purchase. Somehow though we made it without accident, helped by grabbing onto branches on the way up. The people we met who were attempting to go down the slope may have been in for a muddier (though faster) experience.

Once past the muddy slope, we were back on the flat gorge-top. It was cheery going with added amusement from a sign warning us about feral goats. We had to go through a turnstile in a tall metal fence to continue on the path. I am not sure if the fence was to keep the feral goats in or out actually.

The sun had come out from behind the clouds properly by this point. It was mid-afternoon which at this time of year is a pretty amazing time. The sun is low in the sky and the sunset lasts for hours. We were walking straight into it, towards the golden light. The trees on the side of the gorge cleared and we were out in the open, surrounded by grass that caught the light like magic, scattered white rocks forming nature's Zen garden and the gorge itself.

It was beyond perfect. It glowed gold and green. The gorge fell away and rose again with exposed rocks forming tiers and fingers. We couldn't see the road at all and the only signs that we hadn't fallen into a mythical version of England (perhaps with feral dragons instead of goats) were the walkers and climbers we shared the gorge-top with and a reservoir in the hazy distance (biped: “How did the lake get to be so round?”).

We rested here and I know I am at risk for sounding too melodramatic but it was my spirit that did the resting. The grumpiness fell away and was replaced by sheer contentment for where I was and who I was with.

The ground was full of dips and mounds (and animal droppings but we will ignore them) and I chose a perfectly rounded hillock as my throne. I sat on it at peace and took my coat off, delighting in the end of the autumn day. Biped and skit sat around me (in worship, I assume) but Sky couldn't find a comfortable spot on the rocky ground so I shuffled over and made room on my mound.

We sat for ages writing the postcards and generally giggling, particularly at Sky's efforts with her banana. She wanted to dip it into the packet of sherbet but it wouldn't fit which was momentarily the funniest thing ever.

Not much to get me to move away from this place except for this: it was growing late and the light was slowly disappearing. The last thing we wanted was to end up walking in the dark so we had to leave. A few photographs were taken in one last attempt to capture the moment forever, and then we went.

We walked along the side of the gorge once again, past feral goats and autumn colours. Once again we had to go through a turnstile in a fence and then we were there, at the top of Jacob's Ladder: 274 steps back down to earth.

We went back to the car park. Said goodbye to Sky. It was very sad. But there you go.

Prelude with Pancakes (Day Two Part One)

I slept poorly. Again! Despite having the heater off, the window open and a head stuffed with marshmallow. I slept better though and was only half dead when I woke... no, wait... I was at least three quarters dead when I woke up with skit attempting to creep out of the room unnoticed. And due to that 25% of deadness I went back to sleep again. Or at least tried to but the Hobbling Hayloft was buzzing with activity (or at least the extractor fan in the bathroom was).

And then the fire alarm went. So I definitely had to get up.

It wasn't anything major, just biped opening the grill to check on the sausages (or whatever was under the grill- don't ask me, I was in bed) and filling the kitchen with smoke. It did make me accept my fate and get all Flying Foxed up not to mention dressed (I told you not to mention it).

I made a pot of tea and plonked myself down at the table (upstairs in the living area). We chose to eat indoors since there was going to be so much to eat (and really, it was November and who eats outside in November?).

And up came the grub. It looked beautiful. Where should I start? Sausages, eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and even pancakes. More pancakes! With a hot cup of tea it was so perfect. Really, many thanks and also looks of awe and respect to biped and er... anyone else that helped make it (I don't really know...).

Part of the reason I slept so badly was due to worrying about my work so after breakfast (which I probably washed up due to guilt, right?) I pulled out the loaner laptop and got started. I did a fair amount before I was ushered away and told to get ready- we were off to Cheddar.

I also liked the Duck Decoy (Day One Part Four)

Where were we? Ah yes, in the skitmobile on our way to Priddy following local boy indylead (nominative determination perhaps) who… didn’t know where he was going. With much humour, we all pulled into the Wookey Hole car park one, two, three, parking alongside each other with Olympic level choreography. Indy came tapping on our window and skit thrust the roadmap book into his hand.

Comic interlude over, we were off again at high speed through narrow country lanes. To our left, the very last rays of light slipped away from the fields of Somerset hinting at the valleys and fantastic views we would never see.

And then Priddy.

We knew we had got to Priddy because we suddenly found ourselves in a village-sized car park. Inching along in our convoy, I got a text message: Find somewhere to park! Skit turned on her parking-sensors and turned around, finding a tiny space on the side of the road between two parked cars. I jumped out of the car and helped her back into it and I have to confess that my thought processes ran a little like this: I wonder if she’d actually back into this car if I don’t say stop first? But I chickened out and shouted “stop” in a strangled voice when she was just about to touch. Sometimes you have to act like a sane person to get along in this world.

Out in the dark in a strange village, surrounded by cars that looked like they wanted to eat Paris and surrounded by villagers with pitchforks, we wondered where our fellow Hobblings were. We walked to the pub where we had last seen our convoy friends which also seemed to be where everyone else was heading (oh, I lied about the pitchforks, by the way). Then we got a phone call at the same time as the silhouette of indy’s fedora appeared on the horizon. The Hat was our beacon at many points during this evening. Indy just had to stand in front of a light and we pricked our Hobbling senses and formed a quorum around him.

The smaller-bladdered folk used the pub loos as I giggled stupidly at the poster that advertised “Skittles night”. We had about an hour to kill until the fireworks and used it to allow me to purchase some soup (oxtail, mmm) and for everyone to sit in the pubs gardens and natter.

Before 7pm, we got off our slightly cold rear-ends and planted ourselves in front of the huge pile of twigs on the village green. There was some judgement going on elsewhere in the green over which “guy” was the best. What a delightful competition where the children of the village work hard to create a facsimile of a man only to have them, whether winner or loser, burnt to a crisp on the village bonfire (the guys, not the children…). The guys (around ten in all) were placed on the bonfire and then came the moment we had been waiting for… the lighting of the bonfire.

They lit the other side to where we were standing. So it took a while for us to even notice.

But the people tending the bonfire, a job skit must have envied, kept lighting our side of the bonfire until it finally caught and then it roared into life. As if the gates of hell had been opened, the air crackled with the heat, burning the flesh off my bones.

And the other Hobblings just smiled and edged closer as if they weren’t feeling like a lamb roast.

Not really enjoying the intense heat, I hid my face behind my gloved hands and protected myself from the radiation. I did enjoy watching the guys burn though especially the one whose head fell right off and rolled a little way.

I wandered away from the fire and watched a flame juggler for some time before rejoining my fellow Hobblings. They had moved a little away from the fire as it went into its fusion phase and sat on some sacrificial coats on the muddy field. Indy actually chose to be a manly man and remain standing which was helpful as I directed him to stand between me and the fire causing a wonderful indy-shaped shadow of cool.

The fireworks started at 7:30pm. Being a small village and a free display (well, free if you managed to avoid the stewards with their tins especially the small ones (stewards that is, not tins)) I wasn’t expecting much. And not much was on offer. A few bangs, a few whizzes. Kind of disappointing but I hadn’t been to a firework display for four years and wasn’t complaining. An annoying announcer kept on talking over a tannoy, rallying the crowd (some of whom were dressed up, incidentally. I spotted one Spider-man wannabe with stripy socks) to call for more fireworks. And so more fireworks did come, as lame as the last.

One part of the display involved a special guy rigged to some gallows. The announcer spent some time talking about non-violence and a world without prejudice and hate… before telling the story of the evil Catholic and asking the crowd “should we kill him?” to which the villagers waved their pitchforks and shouted “yes!”

I was wondering if the villagers would turn on the strangers in their midst at any moment but they seemed content with someone stuffing fireworks into the guy and lighting the fuse. Quite chaotic and followed up by a non-spinning Catherine wheel.

Odd village customs aside, this was the turning point of the display. Suddenly they brought out the big guns. The fireworks came and came and came, a superb choreography of lights and sounds. Out on the distant hillside I could see a guy running for his life as he lit box after box of fireworks.

So paint me impressed. And happy. After weeks of pestering people “we have to see fireworks, we have to see fireworks” I had got what I wanted. Plus disturbing calls for an execution.

It was late. We had had a wonderful day of Hobbling fun. But alas, it had to come to an end. Indy and Blue needed to return home as Blue had work the next day and it had to end sometime anyway. So we waved them goodbye.

Sky had made the wise decision to return to the Hobbling Hayloft rather than attempt to drive strange country lanes late at night. It wasn’t really much of a decision for her, I hope. After a brief discussion by skit’s car, biped and I swapped so I rode with Sky. Apparently I was the better navigator, so said biped who had no way of judging. I expect she just wanted to be in the car with the Battlestar Galactica soundtrack but Sky’s wasn’t so bad: we got Buffy. As long as it is tv related, I am smiling.

Unfortunately, the smiles were fixed grimaces as, like Royston Vasey, once you entered Priddy, you could never leave. The traffic appeared to be moving when we joined it albeit at a walking pace. It soon came to an absolute halt. No movement whatsoever. We sat in the queue to leave for a long long time. Sky turned the engine off and we listened to the music and attempted some small talk. I glanced in the wing mirror and saw two cars back biped looking glum. As I remarked upon this to Sky, as we had no idea where we were in relation to skit and biped, an ominous black shape loomed over my window and tapped on it. It was skit to share with us the brilliant news that she was stuck behind us.

I don’t remember how long we were stationary for. But it was a long time and it made me worried for no particular reason other than I am always worried about something. But somehow, there was life somewhere and the cars did start to move. It was slow at first (and up a hill so it wasn’t much fun for Sky to drive) but we picked up speed eventually.

Pursued by skit across the dark Somerset countryside, we had to make a couple of random choices thanks to a lack of signposting but never got lost thanks to Sky’s quick glance of the map before we left. It was incredibly dark but on the way I was aware of being in Cheddar Gorge and I gaped (ha) at the rocks either side of the winding road.

After driving through Cheddar, it was pretty easy going until we hit Winscombe, the village nearest the village too small to be on any map. Once in Winscombe it was up to me to remember the obscure turn-off to Barton.

I actually did but I didn’t tell Sky to turn off it until it was too late. It wasn’t my fault that the sign was too small to read until we were right alongside it, was it? But at least this put us in a better formation as skit needed to be in the lead to enter the farm first and park while we sorted Sky out. As we turned into the driveway, I leapt out and rang the doorbell to the “office”. I felt rather bad as it was past 9pm and it must have been rather late for farmers. But our guy was up and friendly as he agreed to get extra bedding for us.

Sky parked her car in the main car park. (Skit was rather proud that she had her own private car parking space right by the cottage as no one else was as privileged amongst the holiday makers). And we showed Sky our fabulous abode.

We were tired. And not really as hungry as we were tired at first so many of us snacked on cake and rhubarb wine (which tasted exactly like rose with overtones of rhubarb (apparently- I am not sure I know what rhubarb tastes like) and I was not a huge fan). I heated up the remains of Friday night’s spag bol and forced biped to make some of her amazing salad at knife point. And so we all managed a rather respectable meal without actually planning it at all.

And we watched Angel.

Angel is always good. Judgement, in case you were wondering. Actually, did we watch Are You Now Or Have You Ever Been as well that evening? I forget…

You may expect a group containing me, biped and skit to just watch dvds all night.

We did not.

We were social.

Oh yes.

I had brought one of my favourite games with me though I rarely get the chance to play it: Kill Doctor Lucky. The rules seemed a bit complicated but everyone was a very able games player and soon caught on aided by the game’s structure which includes a period at the start for learning and constructing strategies.

Sky’s strategy seemed to be to follow biped wherever she went, thereby ruining both their games. It also involved trying to kill Doctor Lucky with Bad Cream. Fortunately for biped, Sky soon lost track of her in the many rooms of the Lucky Mansion and biped was let loose with the Civil War Canon. Unfortunately for skit, poised with the Monkey Hand, and for me, oiling my Chainsaw, biped played the winning card (some weapon I can’t even remember, alas). The real tragedy though was that Sky never had the chance to attempt to kill Doctor Lucky with… the Tight Hat.

After being broken into fits of giggles by that, we packed the game away and got out Trivial Pursuit (and the Mayan Gold Green and Black’s Chocolate with, of course, special Mint Mix tea flown straight from T2 in Melbourne courtesy of Em). Now, this game is meant to be tough but perhaps it was made tougher by being many decades old, so old that many answers to questions weren’t even true any more (USSR, currencies etc). The question-setter seemed to be a bit obsessed with London bridges and slavery, sprinkling the most impossible of questions with the most stupid like “how do you spell misspelt?” which even biped, who claims to be as bad at spelling as navigating, could answer. The game became more fun for the player asking the questions as we allowed quite outrageous hints to be given.

At some point when I was being asked a question, I just couldn’t be arsed any more. Like a wall of pillows, I ceased to think and needed, with a zombie-like fixation, to go to bed. It was late. Very late.

The rest is a haze as I must have struggled into my pyjamas, washed and gone to bed. I recall skit coming in quite soon after. (Sky was on the sofa bed (which I hope was comfy, I never asked…) in case anyone was wondering if she bunked up with biped). I think I may have giggled as sleep took me about anal sphincter calibration. I do that.

Mr February was particularly amusing (Day One Part Three)

Dumping our coats in our cars, we all followed indy’s suggestion to go to the Wookey Hole Inn (“It was good when I was ten…”) for lunch. We read the menu outside and gaped at the posh pub food. It didn’t serve “bangers and mash”, it served “wild boar and apple sausages with mashed potato and red wine gravy”. (or something)

We went into the pub (after having some difficulty finding the door) and opted to eat outside as it was such a gorgeous day (and we are all well aware that gorgeous days in England no matter what time of year it is should not be wasted). Indy pointed out a large table at the far corner of the pub’s back garden. It was large enough to seat all six of us, yes, but the seating was painted pink and it was surrounded by garishly painted and bejewelled statues.

So we all felt right at home there.

Soon after sitting down there, a cat joined us. It rolled around on the table and Witted at us to pet the cat as cats do. This prompted much discussion on how you sex a cat. Apparently, you have to feel the nipples. No one volunteered. The cat left later as indy threw helicopter seeds and one landed right between its eyes.

I guess as we sat down and waited for people to decide what they wanted to eat (and honestly, why do some people find it so hard? It won’t cause the end of the world to choose wrong… will it?) it was our first opportunity to get to know Blue. I recall her being one of the liveliest talkers at the table and regaling us with some amusing stories (though I didn’t take notes so can’t relate them here). In other words, she was great company. We even had an actual Hobb discussion at one point which is rare (if not impossible with me, biped and skit). As I mentioned before, there never was small talk and there certainly wasn’t any Inquisition. There was just ease as we all gathered and acted like old friends. It always happens with Hobblings and I am surprised each time.

Blue kept taking food off indy’s plate. He claimed to have taken food off hers but was obviously far more subtle about it if he did.

Obviously I had the sausages. Me and sausages aren’t as predictable as me and biscuits but you’d probably get some profit if you put money on it a few times. They were delicious though more gravy would have been divine. I had a latte afterwards in case people were thinking that I’d be having a cup of tea. Yes, I drink other drinks too.

It was a large lunch and a very enjoyable one for the company, the setting and the food itself. Alas, we had to move on. But what better way than with a small car convoy? It is only lamentable that Sky wasn’t driving the same car as skit and indy (they both had Ford Fiestas) or that they weren’t all driving minis. Still, having three small cars convoying to Glastonbury was very amusing. Skit and I took up the rear and looked at the two cars ahead in amusement especially when we espied Blue trying to do something with indy’s ears (or something).

The convoy came to a halt at the delightfully named Butt Close where we all parked. We strolled down the High Street passed shops selling grow bags, a man on the pavement selling smudge sticks and a shop called “The Psychic Duck”. There was even a Magick Shop. All the people were brightly dressed New-Age hippies. We went into one shop that had books and cards in it and some people spent an age in there leaving indy, Blue and myself bored outside (when we started playing with the Wookey Hole stickers).

Eventually we were all together again and we walked onwards. Alas, we just missed the Abbey’s opening hours but we found a wonderful little group of shops. We had to pass under an arch and into a courtyard where the buildings were vaguely Mediterranean looking (maybe). One of the shops in this area (called Venus I think) had a giant and rather phallic rose quartz carving in its window. Indy didn’t seem to know why Blue and I were giggling. I gave Blue a sympathetic look. Poor guy. Another case were sexing is done by feeling the nipples, I am guessing.

We milled around this area for some time. There was a crystal shop that had some interesting pieces in it (moldavite, I think) but I left my crystal days behind me about ten years ago and the shop was more about jewellery than rocks anyway. The other shop in this area we spent a lot of time in was the candle and incense shop mainly to laugh about the zodiac candles that revealed that biped was mentally unhinged due to her star sign. They also had some amazing types of incense/herbs such as dragon’s blood which was an amazing red colour.

Alas, it was growing late and the sun set as we went back up the High Street to Butt Close. We popped into a couple of quite normal shops on the way (though one did sell nudie farmer calendars) to do shopping for Sunday brunch and also pick up a bottle of Rhubarb Wine (as you do). As the last rays of sun left the sky, we waited for Skywolf to speak to her keeper back home as she was debating within herself whether to stay overnight or go home after the end of the Meet (obviously she was under peer pressure to stay).

Back in our convoy, we had one last stop on our itinerary: Priddy.

T Rex: Eats children (wearing trainers) (Day One Part Two)

We emerged into bright sunlight and apparently into the Jurassic period complete with King Kong and, controversially, fairies. Not wanting to question what this had to do with caves and cheese, we just accepted it and enjoyed the “life-size” dinosaurs and friends. Especially Blue who seemed to enjoy King Kong way too much as evidenced by one of skit’s photos (and more of that later as I reveal the startling truth about indylead).

As we ambled and gambled around the valley of the dinosaurs, the Hobbling cameras all came out. Hobbling holidays are plagued with them nowadays as it becomes not just “a photo a day”, but the philosophical question of “if I don’t take a photo of it and upload it to flickr, did it really happen?”

We followed the leat (my new word for the day) and discussed what, if anything, would make us jump in it. I don’t know whether skit noticed, but I purposefully walked alongside Sky and not skit during this dangerous time. Not because I don’t trust skit but because I know from experience that any potentially embarrassing or life-ending situation leads to us fighting to get the other into trouble. So instead I walked with Sky who is surprisingly safe for a Hobbling.

We entered the museum passing a row of cheery, fibre-glass policeman (if I remember right), a necessary part of any fairy/dinosaur/giant ape adventure. The museum itself was as dusty as all museums are with a few rocks and bones to play with. Skit and I emerged first and entered the paper mill.

This Victorian industry seemed to agree with skit who looked at the photographs of rows upon rows of exhausted, body and soul-worn women tearing rags and declared her love. Maybe her attention was more fixed on the large rag boilers now I come to think of it. Or mulling over the mechanism for creating watermarks. No matter.

We waited for the others on a conveniently and quite randomly placed sofa and as we went to leave the paper mill, a man, identifying us as no better than children, asked for two volunteers to try their hand at paper-making. Actually, I don’t think he even said the paper-making part so I was a bit surprised when skit and Blue jumped to attention when for all we knew he could have wanted a hand with pilfering the cheese of mass destruction.

But it was paper-making which involved Stuff™. Stuff being German apparently for rags and bones. Skit and Blue plunged their hands into the Stuff and performed an esoteric set of movements that led to them both having a thick slab of soppy mess in front of them. The man (who I assume actually worked at the paper mill and gets paid for this) proceeded to heap praise on skit’s mess and insisted that she put her palm print in it as if she was a movie star in front of Grauman’s Chinese theatre. He then moved on to insult Blue’s mess and tell her to put a foot print in it (though someone who I will guess was indy was begging for her to put her face in it instead). In the end though both skit and Blue made baby footprints with clenched fists (if you don’t know what I mean, you probably didn’t go to an all girls’ school where we sat around every lunch time board out of our skulls).

Then the messes got thrown away. Which was nice. Not really paper-making then, was it?

Next up, we were cruelly not allowed entrance to the two-storey play area because, apparently, we were kid enough to get to play with Stuff but not kid enough to enjoy ropes and swings. Grrr. However, there was more than enough fun to be had in the mirror maze. I wonder what it says about us that we spent so much time in the company of infinite Hobblings (and dvds and hats). The mirror maze was brilliant, the mirrors were good enough that it was extremely hard to navigate. At one point we turned to see Blue right behind us. She was waving for help and crying out “where do I go?” Such a simple question and yet by walking forward she would have crashed right into a mirror.

I do wish that I had seen the little kid that ran straight into a mirror. It sounds great.

After the mirror maze (yes, there is more- who would have thought that visiting caves could lead to such a variety show?) came the Victorian Penny Arcade. Visitors to San Francisco will know that my favourite place to take people in the city was the Mechanical Museum of old arcade games. When I took skit there, we had just come off the coldest boat trip of my life (yes, it was colder in June than in October when I went out into the Bay with Em and Q) and I blame her competitive nature and encouragement for me to play against her in feats of strength for the loss of sensation and colour in one of my fingers. Anyway, I think the point is here that I like these old games. Even when I don’t play on them, I am fascinated by the design and ideas much more than anything I’d find in modern arcades.

We exchanged our currency for old pennies and attacked the games. The best ones are of course the ones you play with other people and I did kind of insist on playing with skit for payback for all those games I lost to her in San Francisco. Oh yes. Great fun to win for once. Great fun for me anyway.

The games were not the last part of the Wookey Hole experience. Oh no, next came the crazy circus mirrors. Where are the photographs of these, skit and biped? They spent forever (with Sky) taking photos and laughing at themselves squat, curvy and tall while indy and Blue explored the shop and bought fudge. The shop was also home to models of pirates of unlikely dress (Blue seemed baffled at the mechanical structure some of the female pirates must have had in their bras). I flitted between the two groups gaining the disapproval of both, I am sure.

Incidentally, parrots in a boat with pirates on their shoulders. Remember we are doing that in the boat race, biped and skit. Remember.

This was, alas, the end of what Wookey Hole had to offer. It did get a wee bit crazy towards the end but that’s what happens when you attempt a Real Life BAD. We just can’t help but fall into time portals, blend our genre with fantasy and pirates, find a clone-o-matic and pretend to be in crude relations with King Kong.

The entrance to hell must be around here somewhere... (Day One Part One)

I hardly slept that night as it was too hot in our little room especially with the incredibly thick duvets and heater I couldn’t work out how to switch off in the dark. When the alarm went, I burrowed down in my bed and denied the morning.

I couldn’t deny it for very long of course. There was much movement downstairs and I eventually argued with my stubborn inner-me that there was breakfast to eat and a meet to attend so I did have to get up. I won and inner-me left the bed in a huff.

I made my tea without giving any cheery morning greetings to the Hobblings already in the kitchen making pancakes. As I put in twice the leaves and let it steep for twice the time, I watched skit fail to toss a pancake. Overloading the next pancake with butter and not making it as thick, she was successful. All the fun and games made me realise that I was not so tired and more excited about the weekend.

We squirted lemon and sprinkled sugar on our pancakes, rolled them up and took them outside. We sat outside the Hayloft eating our breakfast in the early sun and marvelling at the warmth of the November morning. After brushing my teeth, I stood outside the Hayloft some more, watching the chickens and enjoying the peace.

Leaving ten minutes to get to Wookey Hole, we jumped into skit’s car (it definitely needs a name- I will call it the skitmobile for now but we need something more imaginative for official use) and utterly failed to make it there on time. Twenty minutes late, we got out at Wookey Hole cringing, expecting to be berated by punctual Hobblings.

Of course we were the first to arrive. We waited outside the ice cream parlour that doubled up as a ticket office until the dreadfully late and irresponsible Hobblings indy, Blue and Sky made it (about five minutes later).

Indy hung back and let Blue meet us on her own. Having never met Blue before, and Blue having met none of us, it was one of those amusing meetings where we three just looked in silence at the stranger that siddled up to join us, slightly unsure that we were the people she had to spend the day with. “Are you the right people?” she asked or words to that effect because what do you say when off on a daytrip with people from the internet? I don’t think Hobblings do introductions well. We don’t really care for names or occupations or small talk. All we ask for is a little television or book talk and the odd idiosyncrasy to be amused by.

Blue needed her nose cream almost immediately on arrival and then every ten minutes after that.

We got our tickets for the caves and proudly wore our little “paying customer” stickers (which caused much fun later in the day when indy and Blue kept sticking them on each other and I managed to get one on skit’s back for hours before she noticed it). We gathered at the entrance for the next tour and nattered away about this, that and the other. And giant rabbits that lived off the Cheddar cheese.

The tour began just far enough into the cave that the entrance was a glow of daylight far away. The guide was an odd old chap that had cultivated a children-hating irascible old man persona with a penchant for bad puns. He told us how at one end of the narrow cavern the cave dwellers (who I think have been there for around 50 000 years- take that American tourist traps with caves that were occupied 500 years ago…) kept their fire while at the other end they had the entrance. And just beyond the fire was “Hell’s Ladder”.

Anyway, here the witch of Wookey Hole lived and made her evil brews (her scary visage was projected onto the cave wall) though some Hobblings speculated that it wasn’t some random witch after all but Myopia! I do want to distance myself from the insult… I wasn’t the one to start spinning the stories about how evil Myo had hidden all the Flagstone Fresh in our caves and how it was our duty as brave Hobblings to liberate it. I think that was Sky’s story. Yes, I’ll blame her.

So, to bastardise the story of the Wookey Hole witch, the local (mad and possibly electronic) monk caught the evil Myo mixing her evil brew to poison children (that wore trainers- rather specific and not all that common in the Dark Ages but who am I to doubt the word of out guide?). The monk chased her down Hell’s Ladder and into the Witch’s Kitchen where, in a flash of inspiration and an utter lack of respect for the laws of nature, he blessed the water in the cavern and threw it at the witch who turned into stone. A stone that didn’t really look very much like a witch. Feeling vindictive, the monk threw water at her little doggie as well. Just because. Nice monk.

We had to duck low to get into the next chamber (and pass under the “chimney”) which was called the Witch’s Parlour but I like to think of it as the Witch’s Tub with Whirlpool Functionality. Unfortunately the tub only filled every few decades (due to floods) and the whirlpool action was liable to give “rather extreme exfoliation” (said Sky I think… or some other Hobbling). This chamber was also used in an episode of Doctor Who (Fourth Doctor). See- they don’t just use quarries or Cardiff.

We all shuffled onwards, on the look out for any Cybermen that Myo may have kept for her own nefarious purposes. We didn’t expect the attack to be on our sense of smell though. Within seconds, the stored Cheddar cheese knocked us unconscious and Myopia stood over us cackling, “Cheese! Cheese will make them sleepy…” (or something). In a rather less Judy Garland orientated reality, cruel biped (I think.. Hobblings all blur into one in my mind) made us get rather close to the cheese in order to take our photo. It was more horrible than words can describe. No wonder they didn’t bother looking the cage door. Any thief wouldn’t be able to get close enough to steal the cheese. Even with no sense of smell, he wouldn’t be able to get very far without being marked as a biological warfare threat and arrested.

After the cheese, the guide (obviously out of puns) let us meander through the chambers on our little lonesome. I have somehow forgotten to mention the rather unlikely rock formations he pointed out like the elephant with half a trunk or St Paul’s Cathedral but I am sure you’ll forgive me. With no one to make us keep up, skit, biped and I brought up the rear of the pack and became rather snap-happy despite the lack of lighting making photography rather difficult. For some reason we all obeyed the no flash photography rule (it could wake the bats apparently) which demonstrated a lack of fun, I think. On turning a corner, we heard in the distance an evil laugh… I naturally had to return it.

Somehow, despite being obviously at the rear, we acquired someone behind us in the final cavern (where out guide was waiting for us). Suspicious. Cathedral Chamber was huge. We stood on a little balcony (and managed not to throw anyone off it) in awe (well, I was). A bob-bot army could have made a delightful addition to the décor.

Our way out took us through tunnels. We were rather excited about being in real underground tunnels and quite expecting to bump into Australian BAD players at any moment or perhaps a woolly mammoth. Alas it wasn’t to be and the wonderful tunnels turned into concrete lined tunnels with delightful posthistoric graffiti. And then we made it out into the sunlight… without encountering a single clone or depressed man waving an axe. Paint us all a bit disappointed.

Calibration (Day Zero)

The Hobbling weekend began slightly later than planned as my “on time” train arrived about twenty minutes late. Fortunately, skit and biped were patient enough to wait for me and produce a surprise attack from behind as I left the platform of Weston Super Mare. With that as a greeting, we ambled on and out of the station to see a huge and brightly lit TESCO sign just across the station car park. “Oh,” realised skit, “that was why the station man thought I was mad when I asked whether there was a supermarket around here.”

The three Hobblings raced down the aisles of Tesco (well, biped tried to glide on the trolley but then skit took over before accidents occurred). Bypassing the world’s smallest pineapples, we debated over whether we needed six chocolate bars (I believe we settled for four?). Escaping with our shopping, we had a showdown with an evil trolley hell-bent on taking over the world, and vamoosed in skit’s car (after getting momentarily lost in Tesco’s carpark- those trolley sirens were messing with our minds).

Getting from Weston Super Mare to our Hobbling Hayloft (though we generally called it our cottage, I will go with the alliteration here) was quite remarkably easy (or at least skit made it look easy). As a town girl, I was unaware that an address comprising of just a village name (too small for road maps) and the name of the nearest slightly larger village would actually get us anywhere. But these villages only seemed to have one road in them and so it weirdly enough worked without directions.

After a long and narrow country road where skit drove remarkably well in the pitch black, we arrived at the farm with the little holiday cottages. The farmer (I assume?) showed us to our Hayloft which was a wonderful little detached cottage with The World’s Largest Door. There were beams everywhere and low windows and slanted ceilings. The kitchen was small but perfectly equipped for any task we could give it (it even came with flapjakes, lemon cake and crab apple jelly). Skit and I made ourselves at home in the little twin-bed room while biped got the adult room with a closet big enough to keep someone in. “With a bucket?” skit asks.

Biped and skit set to cooking the dinner: spaghetti bolognese. I bowed out of the cooking setting a trend for the whole weekend (eek, but only because the bogognese was so tasty that I wanted these talented cooks to make more. Every meal they made was divine and the one time I did anything I apparently burnt the sausages but that’s how I thought they were meant to be! They are always black for my family...). Instead I made sure I knew how to operate the tv and dvd player, an important role I am sure you’ll agree. At 9pm we watched HIGNFY, as is our way, and then at 9:30 we watched Armstrong and Miller with our dinner (which came with a salad remarkable to being delicious even when we forgot to buy dressing). Better than last week’s episode but the highlight of the evening had to be calibrating anal sphincters on QI.

I washed up and we all grabbed mulled wine and stood outside under the stars. There weren’t as many as we hoped. It seemed that there was some mist in the air but the warm and quiet night was still beautiful enough that we stood outside for quite some time.