Bugger me, is it that time again already? Of course it is, it's
mid-summer and it time for the gathering of the tribes that is
the Farmyard Party. And back in it's "proper" home of
Duncombe Park near Helmsley after last year foot'n'mouth stuff.
The weather man has been promising us rain for the weekend. Git.
Emma turns up at our house mid afternoon in sunshine. The three of us then set off, in the sunshine, to meet up with Lynn and Derek then on to Yarm, still in sunshine but it seems to be loosing interest. Here we are to pick up Lindsey2 who doesn't have a bike and has been rash enough to go pillion with me. The first spots of rain land then stop.
After much faffing about, the details of which I'm not permitted to go into, although it may have involved a bike been parked sideways on cobbles (I can't reveal the name of the person responsible, so we shall call her "Lindsey") we set off. All goes well till we get past Stokesley and onto the fun road, then the rains decide we've had enough of the good stuff and Lindsey2 needs to experience the joys of all weather riding. Never has that road been travelled so slowly...
Slightly damp in Helmsley.
As we drop down into Helmsley we escape the rain and park up in the town square for a break and to see how wet every body is. No-one much is the pleasant answer, so after a tab break for those that do it's up the road and onto the site. Chaos, the fields full says the marshall and directs us to the rave field. I assure him we're got spaces saved and head into the main arena wondering; a) whats he on about, it's only 6:00 Friday, and, b) if the Darlington lot have got here and saved us spaces. Well he was right the place is heaving, more like a busy Saturday night, but the Darlo lot are all present and correct(ish) with spaces saved.
"Look, a motorbike", "Look, another motorbike". Shag (long shorts and shirtlifter chain) and LT John point at things. Gill hasn't quite got the hang of it yet and fails to use the correct digit for pointing.
Next stop is to try and ring all those we're arranged to meet and guide them to us. By about 8:00 it's all sorted and time to party. Oh my god and what a party. The whole bloody site seems to be going at it hammer and tongs in a mass concerted effort to get as utterly mashed as possible.
Speaking of utterly mashed people ...
I wake up feeling like shit. Thousands walk about bleating, nursing hangovers and trying to remember their own names. The early morning clouds lift taking the worst hangover symptoms with them, the sun comes out and we all start to bake.
Jas and I finally conclude that although walking is possible riding is not so we wander off towards Helmsley leaving the WIMA's to gossip and plan neferious deeds. Walking in the sunshine soon sweated the worst from us and by the time we get to Helmsley we're in the mood for beer, unfortunatly hundreds of others have had the same idea and the pubs are packed. The co-op however sells tins of beer so that sorts us out then we just mooch in the square. Every so often I keep seeing people I've lost touch with over the years, a common theme of the Farmyard, so it's fine chance to catch up on some of the gossip. Everyone else is having the same idea and the centre of Helmsley is full of happy bikers, drinking beer and buying things. Apparently MAG gave a donation to the carparking people (Dick Turpin Enterprises) and they agreed to leave us to it, a good plan cos there where so many bodies sitting about there was bugger all chance of getting parked.
Mark, Janice and Jas in a very busy Helmsley. Mark and Janice where only across for the day on account of Janices pregnancy bulge now exceeding Marks beer gut.
We're soon joined by the WIMA's who, having stocked up on vodka based drinks, then head back to site. Back at the tents we lounge in the sun for a while them one by one crawl off for a couple of hours kip.
As is usual with me and afternoon snoozes I wake up utterly confused, a coffee helps restore some resemblance of order. The MAG officials have now moved the fence back to extend the camping field which helps although I can't help but feel they're pissing into the wind. I guess this years turnout has taken everyone by surprise. A couple of tents away Shag and Pablo are attempting a barbecue to feed a contingent of Winos Formation Seminalla Team.
Jo's new hair style, said to prevent helmet hair by the simple expediant of looking bloody stupid at all times.
Some time later we all wander down to the main arena to see whats happening and to get some food. Sat by the river, eating pizza and watching the world go by is great fun, the DJ is playing some very strange songs (if you where there you'll know what I'm talking about). It's all a bit too early to be this loud so I wander off and end up back at the tents to chat with Rob, Andy and Jo who've been for a play on their bikes to the coast to make sandcastles and things. Shag, Pablo et al are still playing with the barbecue; no tents have been burnt down, they still have their full complement of eyebrows (one that meets in the middle in Pablo's case) and no-body seems to be ill yet.
Much later following another foray to the arena for donuts and things I find myself back at my tent. Far more wasted than I had planned, but far less than I had feared. A coffee and a chance to chill out and talk is followed by the bed. Just as I'm dozing off I hear the firework display kick off, I'm too knackered to get up to see it.
And it's still hot and sunny, this is THE great secret of planning a rally, sort out the weather first. Another year, another Farmyard, a few less brain cells and a liver in need of rest. So we all pack up and go home.
Loud pipes save lives.