The Great Christmas Adventure

This is a story of "The Great Christmas Adventure" or more commonly
known as 'Five Go Mad in Dorset' (+ 3 in reserve) of course.

The idea for this great adventure was conceived by no less than our
very own head honcho (ex Peruvian mountain trekking truffle sniffing
swamp donkey) his-self "Rich O'Newman" and his partner Jo 'two fingers'
Kelly.(not a pretty woman by any standards - has been known to bite the
heads off of two wart-hogs and still have room for a Peruvian chilli
burger) but that's another story, only to be told in later chapters of
our fairy tale story of beer, debauchery, bad-ass trickery and devilish
behaviour plus excessive alcohol consumption and many stupid party
games.

Meetings were held, votes were cast and many suggestions were put into
the boiling pot of ideas. There were menus made and lists of fine wines
and other beverages that would be forthcoming over the yuletide era.
Even Santa was booked to make a surprise visit although whether or not
he would be able to get down the chimney (due to him being a fat ole
bunter) was another question. I'm sure though he would be able to
access the venue via another means, seeing as he was a dab hand with a
crowbar and other implements of mass destruction. After all he had
scaled the dizzy heights of Machu Picchu.

This great adventure is of a similar ilk as Lord of the Rings in that
our own lovable Bilbo Baggins hangs wallpaper (and of course - has a
golden ring). The journey that is to be set upon in the not too distant
future will be fraught with many dangers along our path. Many drive-in
MacDonald's will have to be passed before our final destination along
with a few toilet stops for Rit. As we move across the tarmac'd highway
of life towards the snow capped mountains of Wales will we be embarking
on another Wair Blitch Project, or just a week in the big brother
household.

Stay tuned for future instalments.

As the time drew nearer provisions, ales and other beverages were
gathered for the long foray that lay ahead. Amassed in an old disused
nuclear war bunker at the end of Goldcroft Avenue an array of
delicacies were laid before us to transport the many miles. All goods
were evenly distributed and
the start of the Great Christmas Adventure was about to begin.

Our great leader "Rich O'Newman" was to lead the expedition in the
early hours of the morning with his trusty sidekick "two fingers".
Unfortunately rumours had made their way back from the North that an
expedition from the South was to be made and that blockades would be
set and passports checked so that any infiltrators would not allowed to
cross the Welsh border. With that information to hand it was decided
that disguises and false identities would be needed.

With this knowledge it was decided that it would be safer to cross the
state line as "American tourists". The fake identities with accents
were as follows:

Jason - Buck FAST from Wyoming (with his wife)
Zoe - Conny Fir FAST (aka) Constance Moaning

Paul - Chuck 'Up' Member from 'Wool' up state New Jersey
Emma - Sue Ellen Member (the lady with the purple helmet)

Steve - Maurice Buckleberry from Miami (the sunshine state)
Florida
Rita - Crystal Tips also from Miami (Recently deported for
necrophilia)

Rich - Clint Orus from Chicago (the windy city)
Jo - Bobby Jo 'Ho Ho' Orus aka 'two fingers'

Please note that Clint was nearly called clunt but seeing as he was a
gay ram-rodding nonse whose ass exploded with regular activity of mist
waffling, haze and stench it was decided that he would not be married
to Bobby Jo, as she, or should I say he/she was a transvestite. Just a
trailer trash hooker to boot anyway.

Maurice and Crystal were also another strange pair in that Crystal
having been recently deported from out a state had been in fact giving
Bobby Jo fashion tips on how to dress and blend in with other women.
Unfortunately the bulging penis was a bit of a give a way when wearing
short mini skirts and hot pants, although it didn't seem to bother
Bobby Jo.

Chuck and Sue Ellen on the other hand were just a young all American
couple that had drifted into New Jersey from an out of state pig
farming community. Chuck did boast however that he did like to 'make
them pigs squeel'. Weee eeeeeee Weee eeeeeeee.(too much
information)

Buck and Connie or Constance as she was more commonly known due to the
fact that she was always nagging poor ole Buck, was never quiet except
when she either had food in her mouth or just passed out on the floor
due to excessive binge drinking, even then she'd start to snore. Unlike
our god fearing, church going Buck. A man of high morals who never let
a drop of alcohol touch his lips. (Mainly due to the fact that it
usually went passed his teeth so fast and hit the back of his
throat)

The first foray by our great leader was a success and the second unit
that followed was not far behind (under cover of darkness) as the two
became six with the two final agents three days later. With the success
of our mission to penetrate the Lleyn Peninsula the farmhouse
headquarters of 'Bwythyn Ty Uchaf' in the tiny hamlet of 'Y Ffor' had
been taken. We were IN.

LET THE DRINKING BEGIN &; THE PARTY GAMES COMMENCE

Back in the real world of every day people and an exhaustive six hour
gruelling drive up the motorway and then onto "ass end of nowhere"
roads that seemed to wind on forever through the darkness into what
seemed to be an empty abyss of nothing but hedges, stone walls and
winding lanes that went on and on with no apparent end in sight. Just
as the night seemed to swallow us up and push us further forwards to
nowhere, there we were - the tiny hamlet of 'Y Ffor'. Just a mobile
call away down a deserted country lane there seemed to be a lone figure
in the dark - waving madly. Was it some mad welsh ogre of the lanes
that would abduct and force us to work in some secret slate mine - no
it was just Rich flagging us down. What a welcome figure in the
night.

The night was dark, wet and uninviting unlike the warm welcome we
received upon entering the cottage which after further inspection
seemed to be more like Doctor Who's Tardis. This was no police box - it
was like walking through the wardrobe into the Land of Narnia (a time
warp into a different dimension).

The most fantastic farmhouse kitchen about thirty feet long with an
aga, butler sink, welsh dresser and hugest kitchen table for eight. A
church pew lined one wall and the ceiling went up into the pitch of the
roof with big old wooden beams and french doors to the patio and
garden. A small hallway led from the kitchen to the lounge past a small
utility room. Upon entering this games domain as it would be know the
main feature was a huge stone fireplace with two large settees for us
all. A Christmas tree had been put into the room and decorated for us
which gave a warm ambience for the week.

There was a shower room downstairs off the kitchen but the bathroom
upstairs was a sight in itself with a cast iron roll edge bath to die
for. There were wooden floors, beams and stable doors to all rooms
which felt like we'd drifted back in time to the previous century. This
wasn't just a cottage to rent; this was our home for the week. What a
find.

After a short tour of the headquarters by our leader and a debriefing
on how we managed to escape detection by marauding bands of hairy gog-
a -gock trolls from the hillsides along our route we unloaded the
munitions for the week's festivities that were to unfold.

After sinking a couple of cold beers to wet the whistle we retired to
the games domain to relax in the warm atmosphere. The day had been long
and journey even more so - eyes were heavy and started to close so it
was time to hit the wooden stairs to the land of nod. The floor boards
creaked, the doors squeaked shut and as the lights went out and the
darkness filled the room - sleep covered us like a warm blanket. What
seemed like almost seconds later than the morning was upon us peeking
its tiny fingers of sunlight through the curtains to shout out its
early wake up call.

Just like the early morning call that I gave everyone on the last
morning. "Its 9.30 and Cooked Breakfast's on the Table" - followed by
'Queens of the Stoneage' CD belted out at full blast. The only person
who rushed down in their PJ's, bless her little cottons was our very
own Emma aka 'Sue Ellen Member'. She was a little disappointed when I
said that it was only 7.30 and just Cornflakes.

Our last two comrades in arms 'Paul &; Emma' were still a couple of
days away due to work commitments so we decided to explore the local
countryside and visit a small beach a short distance along the
coastline at a tiny hamlet called 'Nefyn'. The coastline was very
rugged and the winding road that led down to the beach opened up with a
stunning view of a small cove with steep cliffs. The low clouds covered
the tops of the hills and Nefyn's only fishing boat was moored
alongside the stone pier that jetted out into sea. Not the best of
sandy beaches like our very own Weymouth but we wandered aimlessly
along it's shoreline picking up pebbles &; shells. Jason started to
sink in the soft sand, which we all found highly amusing (you had to be
there). Of course it couldn't be just left at that, on went the seaweed
crown &; long ears - who else would have done that.

We carried on along to the end of the beach past some picturesque white
stone cottages, one of which must have had an open fire on the go as a
small wisp of smoke came from its chimney. Once fishermen's cottages,
were probably now holiday homes for visitors - like us. We walked off
the sand and onto the stone pier with its slipway for small watercraft,
all caked with green algae, seaweed and other slippery muck, best we
not lose our footing. We rummaged on the rocks and in the water pools
but found no treasure so we turned back and headed for home back along
the beach.
As we returned from 'Nefyn' beach back along the windy country lanes to
our cottage trying not to skid at sudden T junctions as we had on our
way to the beach, we came across a small country pub by the name of 'Y
Bryncynan' that seemed like a pretty good hostelry venue for the
evening. Bobby Jo aka 'two fingers' and myself entered the
establishment and perused the menu. Not bad we agreed - left and
decided that we'd all come back later that evening to sample the local
delights.

We did - as promised and after a few beverages at the cottage before we
left and also upon arrival it was found to be warm and inviting. The
bar had a real log fire that bellowed out the heat - the flames seemed
to dance around the log upon the smouldering ashes in the grate.
Something not found in many public houses, even in Weymouth. The food
was plentiful, hot and expensive but the evening was an excellent end
to a wonderful day. Of course it hadn't really come to an end because
drinks at the cottage were still forthcoming to the early hours - as
the green Stella Artois bottle did the nearly disappearing trick into
Jason's rectal regions. Not a pretty sight.

Some of the party games were not quite of the normal variety such as
cards and scrabble, but more like 'Head the Apple' and 'Cricket Fruit'.
The lovely red apple that Jason headed must have been a little on the
hard side as seen by his expression although the blood red oranges and
satsuma's being used for skittles were a bit softer, even when they
exploded up the wall - and this by the girls too.

Christmas Eve was almost upon us - Paul &; Emma were due that
evening and then the eight would be one. The Christmas tree was slowly
being devoured by the amount of presents beneath and as they slowly
piled higher it seemed that it would be an endless task to unwrap them
all - not the case when the morning arrived. Christmas Eve passed with
insignificance as food preparation for Christmas Day took some time -
volunteers to stuff the turkey please. The turkey crowns were the size
of a small cow with enough roast potatoes for a small army plus every
kind of veg to accompany this was enough for twice as many of us.

As the day wore on and the evening passed by various text's and mobile
phone calls came through with updates on Paul &; Emma's location.
The hours took their toll on poor ole Constance who paced the floor in
anticipation of the arrival of her sister. Were these girls in their
20's - I think not, more like a couple of juvenile adolescents on
Christmas morning. It was late in the evening, dark and eerie outside
with the wind howling at the windows when Buck's phone rang - they were
less than a mile away. With a red flashing lighted hat and various
torches we made our way down the lane to the main road to flag down the
next vehicle to come by - good job it was Paul. Their journey had been
long and fraught with dangers as ours had. Finally everyone had reached
headquarters and the commanders troops were in full force.

Christmas morning soon arrived and as the real Santa had been busy
elsewhere in the world to more deserving kids we had to improvise by
volunteering our very own head honcho (our ex Peruvian mountain
trekking truffle sniffing swamp donkey) his-self "Rich O'Newman". He
did look the part due to him being a bit on the large side of obese.
With everyone up and in the lounge Santa made his debut - well look at
the faces of our juveniles. The room was filled with a sea of smiles -
we all became the biggest kids for 10 minutes while Santa unloaded his
sack.

Santa rested his weary legs from the arduous journey to our far flung
post. "Sit on my knee little boy" he said to Jason "I have a big
surprise for you this year". Well what could I say - he leapt six feet
and across two settees just to be first in the queue. Jason did get his
surprise that Christmas and Santa was a happy man that year also. With
the weather outside so bad, yes it did rein-deer. The moral of this
story is - Was Jason pleasantly surprised or did Santa just come early
this year.

As the morning passed, flutes of Bucks Fizz were necked as the presents
were passed around, ripped open and displayed to all. There were all
kinds of presents ranging from expensive electrical goods to clothes to
laughing bears and even the head of a sphinx made an appearance.

With the unwrapping ceremony nearly over the Christmas morning
breakfast was cooked and a fine array of bacon, sausages, eggs and
breads with lashings of tomato sauce and hot tea to swill it all down.
What a breakfast - seeing as it was nearly mid-day. Our chef was pretty
damn good in the kitchen - two fingers said he wasn't half bad between
the sheets either.
With the presents ceremony past and the fried breakfast devoured a
leisurely rest by all and concerned was taken before the next
gargantuous intake of food. As the afternoon passed the various
selections of meats, potatoes and vegetables were slowly cooking and
the wonderful aroma of another fine feast was being prepared by many
busy hands, all supervised by our very own Naked Chef (who ate the beef
chipolata). A fine table was laid before us with crackers, streamers,
party poppers, napkins and more food than you could swing a stick at.
Many hands made light work of all the preparations and in the end we
all sat down to a glorious feast fit for kings and queens - even of the
stoneage.

The sumptuous meal set before us was devoured in a fraction of the time
it took to prepare, with streamers flying across the table and poppers
cracking in our ears. Stella's were sunk, wines were washed down and a
few Jack Daniels danced across the table. As we left the table the
carnage was left behind like us like the wake of a marauding army on
the rampage after a hunger fest during a Ramadan festival on national
hunger fest day.

The afternoon passed into evening like a haze of alcoholic oblivion
that seemed to never end. Cheese &; biscuits and more red wine to
wash it down but party games were to follow. Shove ha.penny down the
length of the kitchen table, charades in the games domain with hands of
cards being played for high stakes of financial gain. The Las Vegas of
Wales was open for business - and we were the high rollers. Many photos
were taken for prosperity and to record the events as they occurred
(even if only to be used for blackmailing purposes at a later
date).

After the turkey had been ravaged and the roast potatoes obliterated
with just a small selection of cold greens left - the Firework Display
was about to begin. Just a small selection of roman candles, spinning
wheels and rockets were let off to give us a dazzling display of
colour. The evenings events unfolded into further events of wickedness
as Rich carefully peeled off the top of a apple pie and filled it with
some of Rit's extremely hot spicy rice (made with jerk sauce), replaced
the top plus a generous dab of clotted cream. Who was to be the
unsuspecting victim of this prank?

The offending item was taken through to the living room and offered to
Jason who refused, also did Emma but unfortunately Rit accepted and had
a good mouthful - it was a bit hot but not swallowed. Wicked sense of
humour.

Christmas Day, Boxing Day - it all passed by so quickly. Late mornings
after late night drinking bouts till 5.30am for some of our more stout
hardy veterans. Extra supplies had to be drafted in from 'Porthmadog'
the nearest local small town the size of Westham and equally as
dangerous after dark. No gog-a-gock trolls today although we thought we
might have spotted one or two in the local supermarket. Extra Jack
Daniels and Cockburns Port had to be bought along with a few
souvenirs.

Our holiday adventure was slowly coming to an end and the days passed
us by so quickly. With just one day left before we were due to return
we set off one morning into the Snowdonia National Park with a few
brief stops at picturesque rapids on Mountain Rivers and waterfalls.
Stunning scenery from view points along the way gave us some wonderful
pictures although low clouds covered the tops of Snowdonia. The
bleakness of it all and just the grand size of the mountain range were
awesome yet frightening - you just wouldn't want to get lost amongst
all that.

The narrow roads meandered up through steep ravines between even higher
peaks like fingers pointing skywards into Gods kitchen. The higher we
climbed the mistier it became and when we finally reached the summit
only to descend on the other side we could have actually been at flying
altitude. Not quite the same altitude as Machu Picchu that Clint &;
Bobby Jo had witnessed but not a bad second place considering that it
was on home turf. As we made our way down through snake pass,
traversing boulders the size of detached houses it opened up onto a
lake with a small steam paddle boat. The road wound on and finally we
came to Caernarfon with its castle where Prince Charles was crowned
Prince of Wales.

The castle looked prestigious and domineering but the town itself was
pretty run down - although we found a pretty funky coffee shop come
disco the name of which eludes me unfortunately. Can anyone else
remember? If so I'll leave a space ___________________________ no, ah
well never mind.

Well my friend's and any other persons who have persevered and managed
to read their way through this little ditty it pains me to say that my
little account of the Christmas week has come to an end. The week that
we spent together was and probably will be the best Christmas that I've
ever had for a long time. I would also like to say that there was still
some of our merry band that for good reasons could not be with us. It
was a shame but we still loved &; missed them all the same, even if
they couldn't be there in body they were with us in spirit.

Mind you the amount of spirits that Buck, Chuck, Clint, Muck &;
Clunt managed to get through you would have thought that the cottage
was haunted. Chains did rattle, bottles smashed and there were funny
goings on the whole week. As the last evening passed into morning and
the next morning passed into a mad scramble to pack bags, chuck out
rubbish, shower, shave, dress and chuck down some breakfast the time
had finally come for us to desert our post. Our secret hideout had in
fact been rumbled by the WIA. The welsh intelligence agency - a branch
of the American CIA but who were expelled due to them not passing the
IQ test on the entrance exam.

As hundreds of marauding gog-a-gock bandits stormed across the fields
in disguise as sheep (one of which was black) we made our exit.

Goodbye?

Steve &; Rita
Aka Maurice &; Crystal

I would like to dedicate and give thanks to the following who made the
past week possible:- Jack Daniells, S Mirnoff (VO Dka &; Lem), P
Ernod, Miss Stella Artois, Sandy Miguel, Ginin the Punch, Martin Rossi
and all other little mixers too numerous to mention.