It's that time of year again. Mid summer and its time to go and roast our nuts off in the ultimate summer party so dig out the factor 25 and ... Bollox it's pissing it down. Still not to be deterred we all meet up outside the Tap and Spile in Darlington to ride down together. Its the middle of summer and we're wearing waterproofs.
All goes well until about 10 miles from the site when that first trickle of cold water seeps through my waterproofs and onto the old dangly bits. Jiggling about to try and remedy this results in about a gallon of water getting dumped in me knackers and moral plummets to an all time low. Why am I here? Why don't I go home now where its warm and dry? Cos Jos is on the back of the bike and she would kill me if I wussed out now thats why.
At last Castle Howard. As we ride, slither and slide onto the site my
spirits start to lift, is it really a year since the last one? With minimum
dithering we find a place to camp whereupon disaster number 2 strikes. Jos has
left half of her tent at home. 3000 voices cry "Oi sexy, ya can share my
tent", but to no avail and off she wonders into the rain. The rest of us
erect tents and start to get into the groove when a happy smiling Jos reappears.
Its seems she had found someone who plied her with whisky and sold her a tent.
All problems now resolved and its time to party.
The rest of Friday night is a bit of a blur but I do seem to remember
donuts (the edible kind) featuring quite stongly in the proceedings, gibbering
to various Fiendish Delights and Jamie telling me that the main drag would
provide top entertainment later on due to the slippery nature of mud and the
number of bikes trying to cross it.
Saturday we decided to go on the run to the coast. However a combination of shit weather and navigational nightmares led us to a pub. Back on the site, heading down the main drag and Jamie's words return to haunt me as the bike goes one way, me and Jos another. As is the way with bikers people rush up to help get the bike upright. Jos looked a little perplexed, she though they where rushing to help her up!
As evening approaches the rain stops, we manage to get a fire going with the help of some donated firelighters (thanks lads) and petrol. You can just feel that its going to be an excellent night. The Farmyard people keep delivering the wood and we keep burning it.
After a while we wonder down to the beer and band tents. As is usual I haven't the foggiest who was playing but I can remember a punk band making a good impression on what remained of my IQ. A little later Jos and me went for a wonder about and a nosy about the stalls. Entering one stall I heard Jos cry "Oh, noses, only three quid". The enormity of this didn't immediately register until I noticed her been approached by Madam Whatsit and her trusty Hilti gun.
Now as someone who has never been pierced I was quite blown away by this spur of the moment mutilation. Later back at the tents I'm explaining my feelings about this to one of the girls. How its got me thinking about getting me ear done (something I've never thought about in all of my 34 years) and how I would be sensible and do nowt till my IQ had recovered. Enter Mark the Idiot. Half an hour later we've in Madam's awaiting her Hilti gun and Rawl Bolt routine. So I can now add ear ring shopping to my thing-to-do-at-a-rally list.
Well, I never would have believed it to start with but this years Farmyard was one of the best yet. Each year it's different yet it retains the same good natured feel to it, the Farmyard party isn't the location it's the people. Long live the Farmyard.