Leave work at 4pm. Look up at sky and decide to wear all the wet gear including overboots.
10 miles onto the M5 and the rain starts. Not in a gentle "summer shower" sort of way but in a "piss off, I'm a monsoon" sort of way.
Traffic slows down to an average 60mph and visibility ain't too wonderful due to spray coming up as well as rain coming down.
Arrive at Bristol to find traffic at a near standstill due to the bridge strengthening roadworks. Careful filtering through the lot with the occasional buttock clench when Mr Al's tyre skips over one of those very obtrusive cat's eyes.
If possible, the weather has deteriorated by the time I get to the M4 and I know I'm behind schedule. Stop at Leigh Delamere services for a fag break and to ring Bear to let him know that I'm still about 100 miles away and it's gone 5pm. Bear suggests that if I'm very late, bottles of vodka and Red Bull can be purchased and consumed at his place. Hah! Fat chance. I'm making this trip to see *all* the little gits and whatever time we get to the FOB, get to the FOB we will!
More motorway .... more rain .... stop at Reading services for fuel and ring Bear again to advise of progress. Bear advises me that Mat (Big Wuss) Taberner has backed out and we chortle over what is likely to be the most original excuse Tabs will make.
I point out that I'm not that far from London and Bear points out that I still have about 20 miles to do on the M25.
Bloody Job's comforter!
Reach the M25 and (surprise, surprise) traffic's at a standstill which does in fact make my life easier because stationary traffic means no spray.
Remembering Bear's directions -
(Get to the M25; head north. Travel to the M1 (South) junction (signposted London / Watford). Take the M1 South (Make sure it's the South, not North direction; there are two and if you take the wrong one you'll end up in Scotland!)
I continue north on the M25 until I see signs saying M1 (North) closely followed by A47(?) Watford. Not one bloody sign for M1 (South). Do I continue or do I just follow the sign for Watford?
Bugger it! I've had enough of motorways, let's take the A road. Enter Watford and as Bear's directions no longer make any sense, I decide the time is right to make the "come and find me" phone call. Stopping at a BP garage on the edge of a large roundabout, I ring the Bear. After describing landmarks, Bear susses where I am and says he'll be there in 10 minutes. It's now just gone 7pm.
To pass the time, I ring Antony (Espindola) to see if he's at the FOB. No. I'm informed he's stood in the front room wearing just his underpants.
It's at this point that I consider turning round and going home when an RTB turns into the garage for fuel. Having completed this exercise, he waves and I can see him looking for the bloke who must surely be riding that Zephyr 1100. Finally, the penny drops and he wanders over. "That's a big bike for a little girl!"
I think I'm in love and we idly chat about this 'n' that whilst waiting for Bear to show. Finally a blue ZX9R hoves into view.
"Hello, you old tart!" shouts I.
"Hello, you old slapper" shouts Bear.
"Know each other well, do you?" says the RTB.
Bear and I bid farewell to the RTB who's on his way back home to Leicestershire and then we're on our way. Bear's assurance that he won't be going fast in the wet holds true as we meander through Watford at a speed slow enough for me to pick the daisies (if there were any daisies in Watford).
We arrive back at Bear's Lair and I say, "Give me 5 minutes to change into jeans and to fill the cracks in my face and I'll be ready."
"No, no!" says Bear, "Don't rush. I can't stand to be rushed. I'll make coffee and order a taxi for 8.45."
And he did.
We get to Watford station to find we have a 20 minute wait for the next train and so we idle away the time being idiots (nothing new there then).
My phone beeps to tell me I have a text message.
Check message.
"Where the f*ck are you? Lost again?"
I return Mr Espindola's call and Bear and I give him some verbal abuse before the train arrives.
20 minutes on the train and then onto the tube. Bear seems altogether uncertain of where we should be going but we go there anyway and it turns out to be the right platform. Onto the tube and Bear starts dribbling about a rather sweet young thing who's sat further down the carriage.
Not a pretty sight! (Bear that is, not the sweet young thing).
Off the tube and my little legs become a blur as I try and keep up with Bear's strides. A kind of deja vu hits me as I recall trying to keep up with McFrame in similar circumstances.
We stand in the middle of London with Bear muttering expletives as he tries to decide which way to go. He threatens me with untold violence if he takes the wrong way and I tell anyone.
Bear makes a lucky guess and speeds up as he starts to recognise where he is. Suddenly, he grabs me and says, "Walk in front of me. There are some very unsavoury characters in London and we're being followed by one of them."
I turn to see a rather sweet little gnome following us and as he looks a load more savoury than Bear ever could, I smile and Bear introduces me to a Gnome Named Nuisance.
City FOB comes into our line of sight and Nuisance is left in Bear and Windy's wake as the dream of a vodka or two becomes reality.
Enter FOB, turn right towards the raucous laughter and we're there. There is nobody else drinking in the pub except ukrm-ers and I mean *nobody*!
This surprises all of us not a lot.
I take in the faces of those I know -
Ivan - as wonderful as ever
darsy - as firm thighed as ever
(and his calves are in pretty good nick too)
Murray - as Murray'd as ever
Antony - as bloody cheeky as ever
Kevin - as zip like as ever
(and with a bloody digital camera)
McFrame - as unintelligible as ever ;o)
Vicki - as charming as ever
Nuisance - as gnomelike as ever
(having only met him 5 minutes previously)
and .... bloody hell!
a Bunskin - I'd like to say he was as obnoxious as ever but he was amazingly quiet. Stunned by the intelligent and pithy remarks emanating from the rest of us, no doubt.
But we've missed Simes. :o(
Murray hands out the complimentary gaskets and Bear buys the first vodka.
Whilst I genteelly sip from the glass, I look around at those I don't know. Murray challenges me to name the only other female in the group and it doesn't take me long to identify Min (Dukette). I was pleased to see that she'd been keeping the gits in order during my absence.
Then I'm introduced to Hurtle. A strange name for an Irishman with eyes half closed who never moved out of his seat all evening. But a more unmarried looking married person I have yet to see.
Next, I turn to see an inane grin attached to a large figure who seems to have semi-control over his body in as much as he manages not to fall off his chair. Hi, Nick. :o)
And, finally, I turn to the fuzzy haired, fuzzy chinned, fuzzy bodied oddity in the corner. Identified almost immediately as Doc Gonzo, I advance and grab him by the shirt to have a friendly word in his ear. He lunges towards me and then blames me for nutting him. Don't know what all the fuss was about. I didn't feel a thing.
I turn to find that the Vodka Fairy has visited and that there are now three glasses where before only one had stood. Not wishing to be unsociable, I force myself to drink them. Then, dammit, more seem to arrive. Not wishing to see waste, I force those down as well.
Slowly the party dwindles until all that remain are Ivan, Nick, Nuisance, Doc, Bear and me.
Nice young barman calls time.
Windy politely asks him to reconsider.
He sees his therapist on Monday.
Once outside, the last of the ukrm-ers say farewell to each other.
Ivan and Nuisance, going their separate ways, disappear into the night.
Doc, Nick, Bear and Windy head for the Tube.
Bear, who was walking ahead of us, has accosted some poor innocent woman (her bloke doesn't look well pleased) and later makes the excuse to us that she was lost and he was trying to give her directions. I apologise for my friend and the lady makes my evening by saying, "He's a slapper!"
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I vaguely remember stopping a total stranger in the street and kissing him good night but I think that was a dream. I don't do that sort of thing.
Doc decides to accompany Bear and Windy back to Bear's Lair. Nick follows us all the way to the Tube muttering things about how he'd like to come but Linda would kill him and he has a cricket match in the afternoon and we haven't seen Linda when riled and he really would like to come but he doesn't think he'd better.
We go through the turnstiles and the last we see of Nick is a forlorn little face still trying to decide whether he's going to get hung for a sheep or a lamb. He chose the lamb. I hope Linda was gentle with him.
Back at Watford Station and Bear has a little tete a tete with a woman who accuses him of jumping the queue at the taxi rank. Not wishing to spoil an otherwise great evening, Bear strides off into the darkness with Doc and I hot-footing it after him.
Bear slows down and we catch up with him. Doc and I are both discovering how exercise makes liquid travel to the bladder much faster than expected. Doc finds a bush. I start getting desperate but all the office building with bushes in front of them have cameras installed except for one.
Ged bless the Inland Revenue.
Bear hails a taxi (well, stepped into the road in front of it) and we are transported back to the Bear's lair.
Windy meets Bear's lodger coming in through the back door with a house plant in his hand.
The hospital says he should recover over the next few weeks.
We drink vodkas and Red Bull and we might have had some coffee but I couldn't swear to that.
Watch a Bill Hicks video.
3 am, collapse onto sofa bed.
Don't remember another thing until awoken at about 7.30am by Doc farting the other side of another sofa.
9am go to greasy spoon cafe for breakfast with Bear and Doc - an excellent repast of bacon, egg, mushrooms and bubble 'n' squeak. We go by car with Bear driving but I hesitate to use the phrase "in control".
Afterwards, drop Doc off at the station. Return to Bear's.
Bear goes to work and some time later when I think most of the alcohol has had a chance to leave my system, I head for home.
Beautiful sunshine so just wear my Sidi jacket over my leathers. The occasional shower won't penetrate my trousers or boots.
Half way round the M25 the heavens open and by the time I reach the Fleet services on the M3 I'm soaked to the skin. I ring E to tell him where I am and the sun comes out for a few minutes. I decide not to struggle putting leggings over wet leathers and continue on my way.
5 minutes later the skies open again and I just resign myself to the inevitable. It's not too cold and I'm only about 80 miles from home. My boots squelch every time I change gear or use the brake and when I shift position, I can feel where the water has soaked through my leathers.
Visibility terrible because I've opened my visor to prevent misting and the rain has forced up under my visor as well.
See a few minor accidents, mainly shunts because idiots have been following too close to the car in front. Half way down the A303, traffic is at a standstill and I filter to the front to find 4 cops bouncing a caravan onto the side of the road and someone else moving the car that was towing it before it had jack-knifed.
Just enough room for Mr Al and me to filter through and continue on our way. Very eerie feeling having no other traffic going my way at all but there's nearly a 3-mile tailback going in the opposite direction. I'm starting to feel cold.
Almost exactly two hours after leaving Fleet, I arrive home.
Remove sopping wet leathers and boots to discover that my legs are covered in black dye.
Spend the next hour lying in a very deep, very hot bath with a big smile on my face.
A smile made up of three things -
1. The joy of starting to feel warm again
2. The satisfaction of having made it home safely after a fairly hairy ride and
3. The memories of a bloody good time!
And the next IvanFest is when ...... ? ;o)
