It’s been an evenful last 8 days or so, starting with a rather memorable game of darts last Monday, 7th of November. As some may know, I actually play darts for another pub, The Linton Holme, which gives me a good excuse to get out on a Monday night. Last Monday was our last game at the Lint as the current hosts are leaving and there is no one to replace them, which already made it a special occasion. However, we didn’t reckon on the contribution of our opponents that night, The Horse & Farrier. I must say it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a full on fight between 2 players on the same team, fantastic. After that the fact we’d more or less drank the pub dry, again, paled into insignificance.

The next few days were taken up by reading, something I do every now and then when I get bored with alcohol. The book was Dan Browns’ The Da Vinci Code, and I can thoroughly recommend it. Somehow I don’t think that’s an endorsement Dan will be telling everyone about, but all the same, it is good.
Saturday saw the first football match on our new telly, and a great result it was for England, so we’re going to keep the telly. It also coincided with a visit from an old customer from The White Lion in Manchester, Ray Murphy, who brought the father and sister of an ex member of staff with him. Hope all is well with you Joanne. Later on Satuday saw the end of season ‘do’ for the Kings Head cricket team,and a bloody good time was had by all. We all went out for a meal, and I drank too much vin de rouge and ended up in bed a trifle earlier than I had anticipated, I hope the rest of the guys had a good evening without me.

Sunday morning arrived a little sooner than I wished for, and I had to get the pub ready for opening with a rather heavy head, nearly forgetting that I was going walking with The Kings Head Walking Team. Captain, and regular outdoor crazy person, Ray picked me up at noon, bringing Phil and Steve with him. Phil’s a novice at this walking malarky just like me, but Steve’s a bit of a semi pro, so we were in good hands. As we drove through Caldbeck I started to feel rather sick, and as we parked up in Mungrisdale I thought my stomach was going to explode, the previous evenings adventure was obviously catching up with me. Unfortunately the sickly feeling didn’t result in what it normally does, and Ray set off up this rediculously steep looking path called Rake Trod, which takes you to the top of Carrock Fell. Steve brought up the rear and did an excellent job of making Phil attempt suicide in the Lake District, sorry, I mean motivate him to continue onwards and upwards. In between panting heavily, I was moaning to Ray about the fact that the path seemed to fall off the side of the fell a bit too regularly for my liking. About half way up, Saturday finally caught up with me, and I was sick, violently, leading to Steve re-naming the hill Carrot Fell! It was about this time that I realised how unfit I was, as someone came past us and then continued to run up the next section, even Ray said he was barmy.

We soon reached a pile of stones and thought we’d made the top, only for Ray & Steve to shatter mine and Phils belief that we had made it, by pointing to the larger cairn in the distance. Ah well, we thought, let’s continue. When we reached the summit we managed to get a team shot, as the loony that had run past us was still there and offered to take a picture, and I thought we weren’t going to see him ever again. Once off the peak our two Sherpas couldn’t find a path to follow, much to mine & Phil’s nervous amusement, so off we slogged down the side of the fell. I was felling very unwell again, but Phil had got his second wind and was going down the hill like the famous Joss Naylor. The fact he had low cut shoes on, and the ‘route’ Ray had chosen would have made it difficult for Moses to walk on, may have had something to do with his speed me thinks.
Once at the bottom Ray took off to get the car, and Phil waited for the fat bloke and his minder to catch him up. Ray duly arrived back with his motor, cue another bout of violent vommiting by yours truly. We stopped off at the Oddfellows in Caldbeck on the way back, where I managed two glasses of water and asked Phil if he now knew why I had bought some Ghoarrr Tex boots. Ray seemed to find it amusing that Phil had probably contracted trench foot on Armistice Day.

Back home I managed to eat, and keep it down, so Sunday night became its usual raucous self, ending sometime into Monday morning, I think.