Charlie Don’t Surf II
“From the dawn of time we came, moving silently down through the centuries… hang on, that was Highlander” Words by Tony, Co-starring Martin, Jeni, Emma, Timmy, Les and Zak the Dog.
Day 1: Friday 25th February, 2000
Leaving Stafford at midnight (because thats when Jeni finished work), we travelled long on roads of which I shall not tell (Okay, I got lost and drove through Wrexham twice, and went the wrong way round a traffic island), we arrived in Rhoscolyn at about 3am. Martin was looking smug when we arrived, but then he would do, as he’d had some sleep while I had to wait up to drive his wife here. Timmy was no where to be seen.
We were staying at the Glan Towyn Guest House, which is owned by Jen’s mum, Carol (who was not happy when she found out that I’d broken the fold-out bed by standing on it).
At which point, I went to sleep. And of course when Tony goes to sleep, all his friends go to sleep… hang on, that was Bagpuss!
Later the same day…
Once we’d all woken up and actually felt like doing something, Martin and Jeni planned 
some stuff, while I pissed about with the camera. The plan, as it turned out, was to visit the local Sea Life Centre (where Martin chose to demonstrate his lack of respect for the Fire Brigade – see pic), then potter about at the Ty Mawr Hut Circles, where Jeni started talking to dead people. U
nlike on my previous visit to the Circles, we did not climb down the 400+ steps to the bloody lighthouse. Thank feck for that.
Meanwhile at the Sheraton, Doktor Jeep played on and on and… hang on, that was The Sisters of Mercy.
Meanwhile, Timmy had been out drawing stuff (what with him being an artist) which will probably appear on his his website when it gets finished.
And after a while, we all adjourned to the White Eagle, to drink lots. Timmy tried to explain some of his artwork to Jeni’s mum (see pic), then we staggered back in the dark. Later, Timmy entertained Zak the dog (see other pic). Then we slept. And no, i’m not doing the Bagpuss joke again.
Day 2: Saturday 26th February, 2000
Early in the morning, me and Martin got the hydrofoil ferry thing from Holyhead to Dublin. It took 90 minutes, and was reasonably smooth. Martin still felt seasick though.
We got a bus into the middle of Dublin, and wandered around, buying tat and drinking in pubs (including one called “The Celt”, which was full of pissed up Londoners – we just kept quiet and tried to look irish). Then a bit more wandering, taking pics of old buildings, and for some reason a bus. Not sure why. Could it have something to do with my tedious job which involved doing Dublin’s bus timetables? I hope not.
So, at about 5pm we set off back for the ferry terminal (after the shuttle bus failed to turn up), and got there with 15 minutes to spare. It was then that we found out that due to bad weather the Irish Swift Hydrofoil was not operating, and we would have to wait until 10:30pm for the regular ferry.
So, there we were. No money, no beer, distressingly sober, and 4 1/2 hours to kill. Thank god we had a pack of cards. Cue 2 pictures of extremely bored people.
Well, finally the ferry turned up and we departed. Martin played on the video games until the boat developed a pronounced wobble and all the anti-tamper mechanisms tripped, shutting the arcade down. Martin started to look really ill and went off for a wander. He still claims to this day that he didn’t throw up, but I think he did.
We finally got back at about 2am, and promply passed out. And I never want to hear the Corrs ever again.
But what were Timmy and Jeni doing while we were in Dublin? Well, Timmy took his trousers off in the Spar shop in Valley, Jeni fell over in the mud, and both got very very drunk. No change there then.
Day 3: Sunday 27th February, 2000
And it was morning, and I found myself mourning for a childhood that I thought had disappeared… but that was a Marillion lyric.
Martin had gone back to Stafford to play at being a vampire when I awoke, and thankfully he’d taken Zak with him. Shortly afterwards Les turned up with Emma in tow, and we all set off for the Valley Hotel (food good, staff shite) for lunch. Then Les left for Cumbria (on account of thats where he’s from).
One quick trip to the Spar (with Timmy keeping his trousers on this time) for beer supplies, and we set off for the White Eagle again. It was closed. Now the nearest pub besides that to the guest house is the Valley Hotel (food still good, staff more pleasant) which is just next to the Spar… 4 miles away (£8 by taxi).
So we went, got drunk, and got a taxi back. Then Jeni insulted the welsh taxi driver by telling him to “speak bloody English”. And we drank some more. Lots more. And passed out.
Day 4: Monday 28th February, 2000
Another day, another vast amount of alcohol consumed. Lots from the Valley Hotel (with more food), and lots from the White Eagle, where Jeni and Emma played Air Hockey on a table which bizarrely didn’t seems to have any air. And we met Ollie the pub dog, who apparently has a habit of following people home. Then we all trooped back down the bendy lane to the guest house, to drink lots more drink.
Emma got horribly pissed and told her one and only joke. The picture shows her explaining how big Cecil the Caterpiller (who was her friend) had got by eating all the cabbages in the world. Rumour has it that shortly afterwards, Cecil the Caterpiller threw up. Muppet News has yet to confirm this story.
And so we all once again passed out like a bunch of pissheads (not surprising really).
Day 5: Tuesday 29th February, 2000
And so it came to pass – blah blah blah – that it was time to pack up and return to Population. So we piled all the stuff into the back of the beaten up old Astra and set off. Following a brief detour to Bangor, to drop Emma at university, and to have a look round the shops, we got on the A(whatever number) and headed back to Stafford (via Grantham – to drop Timmy off).
And so, at 11pm, I yawned and stretched and went to sleep. A saggy old cloth cat, baggy and bit loose at the seems. But … oh shit I’ve done it again!
o go to the closest pub, indeed the only pub in the village, and rather than walk all the way round to it we took a short cut across some waste ground. This was one of the legendary Duffy good ideas. The short walk involved Simon almost falling down a hole in the ground, Alan falling into some gorse bushes and the four of us having to commando-sneak across someones garden.
As we left the pub, Matt noticed that he was still carrying a pint glass and decided to get rid of it somewhat sharpish. In a perfect display of his cricketing skills he managed to fast-bowl the glass across the car park, smack into the wicket. Unfortuately, the wicket in the case was a shiny what transit van full of armed Military Police who were out trawling for pissed up squaddies.
Only in wales would they build a lighthouse that could only be reached by about 400 precarious stone steps. And only we would be stupid enough to climb down to see it when it was closed. So we had to climb back up to the top (iron lung time for Tony).
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