Davy`s Do No3.

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19th and 20th April 1997

...when are the puppies coming out to play Jilly?...

The biker hoard came through Brough and started on the back roads to Middleton-in-Teesdale. Within a mile or two of following the wallowing chrome handbags it all became too much. A red haze descend upon the world, 750cc`s of Suzuki`s finest took a deep breath and f*cked off.
Ahead a perfect series of uphill twisties. Down two gears, take the weight on the feet and over the front, hang off to the right, nail it, brake, the bike sits up, come up with the bike, off the brakes, hang off to the left, repeat, repeat, repeat, "ahhh, where`s the f*cking road?".
Brake, don`t brake, wobble about on the wrong side of the road for a bit. Stop. Shit, there`s still about 15 bikes behind me about to come hammering up the road any second. Have I time to warn them? No. Oh well I might as well watch the fun...
Andy Bell`s still on his bike and just about in control. Some guy on a FJ1200 is doing a fine impression of a lawnmower while his girl pummels his kidneys. Behind them, absolute chaos.

Must try harder next time.

That was April 1996. This is April 1997 and Davy has, despite his better judgement, decided to do it again.

Davy, second left, contemplates the futility of it all...

Deciding that carrying pillions and camping kit will be recipe for disaster Andy Bell and me take up the gear and me bass to the Strath` in the morning - by car. By 12:00 we`re back into town and getting the bikes ready.
Time to find some pillions. I collect Jos, Bell collects Paula and it's off to the Havlock in Middleton- St-George to meet up for the run. We arrive just as the run sets off and wait for Dav and Jill. Dav is late... and on Fat George's bike cos the turbo poorly.
At this point a few words should be said about Fat George's XS500, but, as people of a delicate disposition may read this I won't. OK I will and the words are "loud" and, allegedly, "indestructible". The words "pretty", "tasteful" or "road legal" will not be used as they are totally inappropriate.

Paula, silly poncho, silly scarf, tasty hat and inane grin.

The pootle from the Havlock to Tan Hill (highest pub in England... vertically that is, not giggle giggle ha ha) is, as usual, slow, cold and bumpy. By the time we reach Tan Hill I`m wondering why the hell I`ve bothered, why I didn't stay in bed and exactly when would the glaciers would reappear.
Next stop is the Green Dragon at Hardraw Force near Hawes. This leg of the run is warmer so as we climb up to pass the Buttertubs, and the road smooths out, its the first chance to give Suzi some stick. Davy tries to stay in front, a pointlessly futile exercise, then down the other side to the Green Dragon for coffee or beer depending on you inclination.
Thus refreshed we all set off again to Kirby Stephen. A suggestion that we take the A66 from Brough is poo poo'ed with the B6276 just waiting to be abused.

Martin builds the wendy house, Woody poses for the camera.
Later they set fire to the wendy house and Martin was very brave about it and did`nt cry at all. Or he didn't realise what was actually happening. Nowt new there then. How you set fire to a pile of 2 x 2 using one small newspaper is a mystery to me but they did it, despite constant sniper fire from the audience

Remembering last years incident we decide to be careful. Within a mile or two of Brough Suzi has had enough of following handbags and f`s off again with Jos and me hanging on (or in my case hanging off) with Bell and Paula in hot pursuit. Approaching the cause of last years underwear soiling exercise I slow down and make frantic "slow down" signals to Bell, who of course comes howling past.
The next few miles are very silly and after grounding out big time I realise GSX750F's can't keep up with CBR600's. Mind you the bugger didn't get that far ahead. Still you can't really push things with pillions, (well that's my story and I'm sticking to it).

"...an it was this big..." Shag

Eventually at about tea time we all get back to the Strath (some quicker than others) and it's party time. Dav turns up running on one cylinder. Has he finally done what Fat George could never do and kill the XS500? Nope, it turns out the old XS has two fuel taps and when it goes onto reserve...

The P.A. and amps are late so it looks like I've failed in my attempts to avoid lugging large boxes up the stairs. Fortunately landlady, the lovely Lynn, is late getting my nut cutlet to me so I've got the perfect excuse to avoid hard labour yet again. One day the rest of the band will catch onto this but as they ain`t computer literate, hopefully not for a while yet.

Ian, Fiendish Delights, confirms his weirdness by having oral sex with a broom in public.

Ahh yes, the band. Under The Influence have done sod all for the last year and ground to a halt. Then three weeks ago Shag, the drummer, rings me up and say's practice time. Two practices later, and still a bit ropey we're all set.

About 9:30 U.T.I., who are now well and truly under the influence go on stage. After a few songs shag starts the shuffle intro to "Sympathy For The Devil" and all hell breaks loose. People are up and dancing as are the band and a good time is had by all. Next up are The Indian Running Duck who give us a right good stuffing. But we'll have ya next time ya bastids... I do the only thing possible during "The Passenger" and join the rest to dance myself stupid.

...wasters the lot of 'em. A spell in the army would soon smarten them up a bit...

By this time the Fiendish Delights contingent are going ape shit and dancing on stools (the mind boggles) led by Mark the Idiot.

It's about 2:30 I`ve had enough and crawl off to my tent. People are still sitting about the fire and talking, I can hear a couple flirting, others sit by tents finishing a beer or coffee and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

What a good do, first party of the summer. Well done Davy, when's the next one? Thankyou Lynn and Olly for running such a brilliant pub, putting up with us and serving such scrummy food.