Staplefield, The Victory

The Victory, Staplefield.

Tues 21st May 2013

"Tony Curtis is in the ladies' loo!"  Oh do frack off.

Walkers: Mrs P, Eight legs, Farty, TB, Wind.  Clat and Lil still carrying on up the Grand Canyon.

Find of the walk: Quilted phone cover,ideal for TB's new phone,quite Chanel!  TB is experiencing problems with this phone.  The annoying ring tone,sounding like several xylophones,wasn't long enough to enable him to answer it,plus he didn't know which button to press.  (Common problem).  Mrs P kindly offered to ring him to help sort it out, so the two of them had a phone conversation while standing next to each other.

Distance: 7 1/2 miles

Time: 3 1/2 hours

We met at the Victory car park under leaden skies, and with a cold wind blowing.  That'll be late spring then?  This is a really lovely area with big houses, some with Horsham stone roofs, (sorry, I haven't been the same since Slaugham where there were loads), and one with a hippo in the garden wearing headphones.  Of course.  The whole place is full of woodland glades, (bluebells are still in evidence.  TB's arm had to be twisted to take more pics), and pretty streams with steep embankments.  One was a bit like a mini cheddar gorge.  We like gorging on mini cheddars.  Minnie was fairly flying along today.  Suddenly we heard a shriek and Sue was reeling her in.  She'd very nearly caught a rabbit, actually got her chops round the unfortunate bunny.  A lucky escape, and plenty of small poos as a result, and I don't mean Sue's.  On we pressed passing some strange looking bug houses, we think, with numbers on.  Beetle Drive.  Lots of wild garlic around today.  Isn't the lavender lovely, sighed Sue.  She gets confused, said Chris, you should smell her knicker drawer.  This is chicken country which delighted Farty and TB.  Some lived in a posh gypsy caravan, others in a detached house.  Posh poultry round here.  We speedily crossed the pedestrian crossing over the busy London/Brighton line, although TB deliberately took his time, causing some panic.  Boys!  The Railway Children, Mrs P, TB and I waited for a train to wave at and were rewarded with a wave back and a toot.  It doesn't take much to please us!  Next to the line was a lovely house.  We supposed you got used to the noise, but not all of us could put up with constant tooting during the night.......  Next stop was Balcombe village where the local news is full of villagers' fears of being fracked.  Well, who wouldn't be concerned.  Apparently this is to do with extracting gas.  Farty might benefit from a good fracking.  I'm sure TB would agree.  While outside the local shop, we narrowly avoided being run over by a car apparently being driven by Miss Marple doing a ten point turn.  Time to move on.

Lots of cows today, and Chris was on alert, having cut out several articles regarding the poor man who recently got trampled to death.  David Blunkett got trampled too, he just didn't see them coming.  We blame the herdsman, but he never heard them coming.  Nightmare.  Soon we were passing Old Hall, Maurice Saatchi's place.  60 acres, greenhouse like Crystal Palace, the usual thing.  We noticed what looked like the name Josephine carved into the lawn, overlooked by a statue of a man waving.  I've found out Maurice was married to novelist Josephine Hart who died in 2011.  Apparently he likes to eat his breakfast grapefruit by her tomb next to the lake.  Well if Google says so it must be true. (Ed: Saatchi's first wife was Gillian Osband, a children's book editor and writer whom he had had known since childhood and whom he married in 1972. They divorced in 1984 and that same year he married novelist Josephine Hart (1942-2011), whom he first met when they worked together at Haymarket Publications in 1967. She died on 2 June 2011) That was about it (sighs of relief) apart from coming across some of those weird sandstone rocks we sometimes see in this neck of the woods, complete with crushed petrified tree, (understandable).

Back at the pub we got settled and perused the menu while piped music played Magic Moments by Perry Como.  we're not sure which market they're targeting, but it's not us, we're far too young.  One of the walls featured photos of old Hollywood stars, Douglas Fairbanks, Clark Gable etc. and it's not every day you find Tony Curtis in the ladies loo wearing swimming trunks.  Surely these stars hadn't eaten here?  After we'd eaten lunch (delicious), we got chatting, and Sue and I were talking about the many pubs we've visited, and how easy it was to confuse them, the memories all a blur.  I think it was pointing to my posterior lobe, where these memories are stored (?!) that set Chris off.  "There she blows!" and hysteria ensued until the tears were running down her legs.  We hurriedly got the bill, mopped her up and left.  You can't take her anywhere.

See you next time.  Wend xx

Bletchingley - The Plough

Bletchingley - The Plough (or  2 soups)

Tues 14th May 2013

Parson's Egg - we think this means bad in parts.  Some of it was quite enjoyable - the coffee

break,lunch.

Walkers: Sue, Farty, TB and Wind (no rain).  Clat and Lil are still touring the U S of A while we tour the U of K.  We're not bitter.

Brian is giving Chris a birthday surprise....??!!  Hope he's remembered his tablets! Mrs P is still auctioning her furniture.

 Distance: 4 1/2 miles!!!

Time taken:1 1/2 hours

We parked up at the Plough car park and as often happens the rain started in earnest at 10.30.  We plodded up the high street and our eyes lit upon the tea room.  Well we deserved a break,we'd walked all of 200 yards.  The shop was being "manned" by a charming gay deaf boy.  Short straw or what?  A fabulous array of cakes was on display.  TB said the buns were nearly as magnificent as Farty's.  Having admired all the sweet goodies on offer, Sue, TB and I decided on cheese scones, obviously.  Mon made do with some of our crumbs.  We were chatting about what we'd seen on telly, and Sue said she'd seen a programme about antiques and stuffed animals, including a Pomeranian dog.  We thought we couldn't eat a whole one.  Farty had seen something even worse about a bloke with 7 children who had had a vasectomy.  He produced his genitalia for inspection,complete with livid scar.  The bloke was quite annoyed too.  I'm afraid we got talking about the good old airline days.  Unfortunately for TB, I'd left the Mail in the car.  Sue remembered the Rolling Stones boarding their Comet. (Blimey,going back a bit!).  She also recalled a check stewardess called Fiona "shagger" Shaw, who was once seen with a man in a jacuzzi.  It was the extra foam that attracted attention.  We mused how strange it was that check stewardesses only checked first class.

After an hour there was a glint of sun, which we'd heard from Sally had come from tropical Horsham.  Also workmen were emerging wearing shorts, so it was time to move on.  We passed the White Harte and turned south. Soon we were at Hever Pond,1000 years old and mentioned in the Doomsday book.Lots of wildlife and birds to be found here including great crested newts, and also coots,but not today, only us four.  Some mud today, but not too bad, and glorious vistas of bluebells,

my favourite.  TB secretely loves them but pretends not to, he doesn'twant to ruin his street cred.  The rain was falling quite heavily now.  Are we near anything? I asked tentatively.  What do you mean, Said Farty, Tulsa? Clarkesville?  We decided to cut the walk short.  (Pity, said TB and I), and climbed Tilberstow Hill, ending up on Rabies Heath Road.  Such a charming name.  After being nearly mown down by several speeding BMWs, Farty found a track that lead to the A25.  There were just a few stiles to straddle, quite high and wet.  Without mentioning gussets, this did cause some dampness in a certain area. Think I got round that quite nicely, don't want to get predictable.  We reached the pub, where Sally was waiting in her car, looking glamourous and not at all like Hitler. (Me)  On entering the pub, we were greeted by a waitress who seemed vaguely familiar.  Her name badge said Jacqui.  Then it came to us, Jaqui Byrne we think.  The years haven't been kind.  We remember her when she had red hair and didn't need a new hip.  She seemed a bit vague, but then I think she always was.  Sorry, is this getting a bit unkind, Miss Perfect here!  We placed our orders, Sally Farty and TB having starters, so far so good.  Then disaster.  Jaqui reappeared looking more and more like the Julie Walters "2 soups" waitress, stooped, with mad grin.  The chef had told her TB's choice of main course had run out, something she failed to tell TB.  He had to re-order while the rest of us got noshing, but at least he got a freebie.  Much hand wringing from Julie Walters.  We'd noticed what looked like teeth marks in the wall next to our table. We wondered if they'd been caused by rage or hunger!  Now children were appearing.  Cue Farty getting rabid.  She hadn't been right since Rabies Heath Road.  Shouldn't be allowed, she said, should have a picnic in the middle of the M25.  Her philosophy talks are working a treat.  The good thing is, she said, is that she can still be judgmental and slag people off, but at least she now feels guilty.  Time to go, and TB handed back the Daily Mail, saying he hadn't read much of it, as the conversation had been so scintilating.  That'll be because I was here, said Sally.  With that, we gave her a clip round the ear and headed off into the gloom.
Next week TBA.  Wend xx

Ardingly - The Gardeners Arms

Tuesday 30th April

After a Bit, It Turns to S--t   

Walkers:  Farty, T.B., Birthday Girl, 8 Legs, Mrs (fresh from the Ifrican outback)P, Lil and Clat

Distance:  7 1/2 miles

Find of the Walk: a full reservoir

Another beautiful day, and Windy , who is 60 today(!) rocked-up with Mrs P and was suitably greeted, bannered, and bedecked with a rather fetching pink heart-shaped balloon.  Said object, from the rear, looked like a rather large and agreeable (to the male population), pair of tits, which bounced around on her rucksack - who cares, we are enjoying ourselves.
Across the grinds towards the church, and down towards the side of the reservoir, which Farty and I call the eyelash, cos that's what it looks like on the map.  The sun shone, but the prevailing  -erly meant it was rather chilly.  Prior to our arrival, we passed through Ardingly College, obviously for the privileged, and we admired the buildings, and the well-manicured playing fields - 'what recession?' we asked ourselves.

We continued our journey towards the Ouse Valley - I don't know, is it yours or mine ? ha ha ha ha ha
Refreshments were taken and we continued to the viaduct for champagne and a photo-call for Windy.  Mrs Provencaal produced some superb flapjacks, and we toasted our new free prescription recipient.
Full of bubbles, we bounced along some roadage before picking up the track again, which led us through woods of bluebells, wood enemas (i forgot how it's spelt, so that will have to do), maids-a -milking, violents (you never know), and primroses - isn't nature wonderful?  We crossed the waters and came to another road, which is where disaster struck.  A loud bang drew our attention to the fact that Windy's bosoms had burst - that's the trouble with silicone, and it's a good job she was among friends, to clear up her rubbery bits - shame, cos the nipples were quite spectacular.

After a little consultation we decided to opt for the road, rather than the bulge on the map, as food stops at 3 and we don't want to be late.  We presume Tara is still a slag as we didn't call in at the hide.  We encountered a pair of miserable gates, and a  gradual uphill finally got us into the grinds once more, and we de-booted and tidied ourselves ready for the celebrations.    We sat outside - brilliant, and the outdoor heaters just added that little bit of warmth we needed.  The food and drink went down a treat, and service was good.  Windy was carded, presented, and toasted and Mrs Provincial Berry produced a fabulous chocolate cake bedecked with a 6 and an 0 - so a blow-job ensued.    Two ducks came over - can I help you mallard?  We need the bill. I shall be beak in a minute.  Mrs  P (who had three rhinos in her front garden, and no, this isn't a euphemism), told us that female ducks get bonked and gang-raped to oblivion, sometimes getting drowned in the process - down and out then.  Talking of birds, one of Farty/TB's hens has laid a huge egg to celebrate Windy's event - a double-yolker if ever I saw one, and I expect it will be quite a while before that bird can perch again - serves her right for bonking an ostrich. 

Well sadly , all good things come to an end, and we eventually said our good-byes and departed.  Clat and Lil will be absent for the next few weeks, due to holidays. Windy will do a wonderful job, blogging, and now that she is 60 she can have free eye tests!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY XXXX

See you soon xxxxxxxx