Your real online soap opera with real people in real places doing real things - except one's an alien.....facing the challenges of growing up on an unfamiliar planet
Saturday, 30 June 2012
Goring: not boring
Hey groovers and welcome to everyone including my newest followers. So, this was supposed to be a standard Saturday with added benefits. Oh, Yeah, Baby.
Jof had to go to work again because of the slight technical difficulty that had led to front-page headlines about banking inefficiency and so forth. Bud and I had a long-standing appointment with distant cousin Margaret A, which was only slightly dented by the recent funeral of Blind Uncle Len. We arrived by train after unrequired changes at Barnham and Angmering because we missed the through-train because of a last-minute Poo.
Originally, we were supposed to get there by the 700 double-decker bus but I was advised that each journey would take approx. 3 1/2 hours so we thought the train would be better. Well, each day is a learning experience. Once we had acquired her house, I played solitaire again and we got the 700 to the seafront where the magic sandy swingpark resides. It's a top-class goody, with sand cranes, twisty bowls, caterpillar swings, giant turtle, turning transgender pirates, climbing wall, etc. We fought the constant bleedin' wind and I positioned myself upwind of the sand buckets to stop it getting in my eyes.
Eventually we walked back up the beach past the kite-surfers battling against the unreasonable bluster and had chicken goujons in the Sea Lane Cafe, which I wholeheartedly recommend to everyone. I picked up some chalk rocks with holes in from where the south downs meet the sea.
A quick bit of rock-climbing and tree-climbing later, we headed back across the greensward like last year and through the unexpected forest. There were ditches and secret paths to the barley fields and a strange felled tree and a cricket pitch (in use) and the quickest way home, 'cos by then, I'd walked miles and I really needed chair time.
The chair in question turned out to be Buds' shoulders. We got some exotic seedlings from Margaret and hit the train network, only to have to change 3 times due to signalling errors. Met Jof briefly at home but because she has had the aforementioned technical difficulties at work for the last 2 weeks, she really needed a night off at the nightclub so she pretty well said goodbye and hobbled off in her silly spangly platform shoes that she can't walk in and was lost forever.
The extra time gave us the chance to find out that Beer'O'clock was in the Rose In June Pub so I scooted there to save leg trauma to find many of my best mates there, a few pints adrift without a lifebelt. I got stuck in sans fancy dress, sans football, but with mucho gusto and laughter. Beer festivals often mean happiness for us, although at least 2 of us got footballs in the face. In the end we scooted home with many Piddlers in tow (with decent delays at traffic lights for the adults to catch us up) and got home in time for supper and bath fizzer night (Cars Greatest Hits, Cult She sells sanctuary and some Olympic Cycling). I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow that we had to cleanse twice due to the sand residue from the Goring Swingpark.