The day of the road trip. It conjured up images of Jack Kerouac On the Road, Alan Ginsberg, the beat poets, road trips, where man finds himself. We're off to a static caravan in south west Wales.
For us It is where three 40 year old men venture to ye olde Welshy Wales for a spa retreat in a static caravan. It is where Wisemans Bridge, Saundersfoot, South Wales will restore 2 jaded 40 year old fathers and 1 jaded 40 year old narcissist back to former glories. Where they will reconnect with being a man in 10 square metres of beige trimming. The air fresheners are packed. We are ready to rock and Sausage roll. I wanted an Ipad for my birthday but got Burge and Cooper instead.
They are my best pals. We have known each other for 17 years. We work well as a three. Cooper is technically the funniest. Burge a great gag man and me, well I'm somewhere in between. Like the hermaphrodite of the group. We make each other laugh about absolutely nothing, used to live together and havent' spent time together in years. We all have our 'issues' and insecurities and aren't afraid to show them. Refreshing qualities in men I find. Cooper has been married for 6 years and has 2 young kids. Burge for a similar amount of time and has 3 young uns. They've been placed on weekend release for my 40th birthday for us to spend time together, though I suspect they will just want to sleep and do nothing all weekend. We shall see.
We met at Burges at 1pm. I received a call at 12.30pm instructing me to stop and bring bacon rolls. I was told if I didn't to turn back round and fuck off home. The banter had begun. I like this 40th birthday present. It's Unique. I get to pay for the accommodation, drive and bring breakfast. Can't wait for my 50th.
When we got to Burge's we discussed 2 things;
1 - His new sofa. Expensive but small and uncomfortable. He was fretting if he'd spent too much money and if it was suitable. Me and Coops were sympathetic and decided to put his mind at ease by telling him it was too expensive, too small, too uncomfortable and made his kitchen look like a waiting room. Not sure we helped.
2 - Who should drive. I wanted to so I could smoke and be in control. Burge wanted to because he likes a purpose and has an estate car. Cooper wanted to just to go against us. We took a democratic vote. I voted for myself. Burge voted for himself and Cooper abstained. After Burge agreed I could smoke out of the window. He became the designated driver, which was ironic as he's the only one who can drink. Superb.
It was 246 miles, 4 hours and included a 12 pack of diet coke, 4 apples, Monster Munch, Skips, Discos, a packet of chocolate eclairs for the travel sweet of choice and a vast range of conversation topics including Jimmy Saville, family life, the old days, mid life crisis, when a snooze (under 30 mins) becomes a nap (under 1 hour) becomes a kip (over an hour), Lance Arsmstrong, transsexuals and an argument about racism.
I was losing the argument badly with Burge and Cooper ahead on points. They were ganging up on me & I was in danger of getting into a strop & storming off when I pulled a beauty out of the bag, changing the whole nature of my point and equalising in injury time. They thought they had won but we all know deep down the honours were even. It felt good.
We stopped at a grim services at Cardiff Gate, noting the hotel we would end our life in if it came to that. Comfort Inn. (For American readers it is a hotel equivalent of terminal cancer) We also tried to purchase a scotch egg each and was horrified that Ginsters have fucked with the formula and created a new 'Scotch Egg Bar'. A fucking disgrace.
It's like X factor covering an old classic. They've bastardised something that has been working well for 100's of years and made it into an easier to eat modern version. It's a fucking disgrace and Ginsters need answering for that. C*nts. How dare they. And it was £2.35. Robbing C*nts. (sorry misplaced anger against something that doesn't really matter in the scheme of things but I see as a metaphor of trying to convenience and package everything these days)
We finally arrived at our destination at 7.30pm. It was pitch black, bible black (for all you Dylan Thomas fans) got the keys to our static caravan. The Golden Rio Tide Reach 1. I've been to Rio and this place certainly didn't remind me of it.
In we walked and you immediately got the classic static caravan smell. It was great. A haven of beige. All mod cons and heating. A real treat and such a memory jogger as a kid. I was here with my Mum 26 years ago. We used to come down every summer and now I'm here 26 years later and equally as excited. Does that make me a sad man?
Burge in Beige
We nested (Put bacon and eggs in the Fridge and silk cut on the table) hung out, laughed. The married boys said how nice it was to have some down time for the first time in 5 years and not have to be so alert and constantly 'on' with the kids. I looked at them in horror, 5 f****g years? We settled into just being blokes for the evening. I think our preparation could have been better though. Cooper bought some loo roll (well 12 sheets so we may struggle in the morning) I bought a towel between us and Burge a sleeping bag. Ray Mears we are not.
It was 9pm and Men were hungry so we drove into nearby Tenby for a meal. I haven't been down here for years and my experience of South Wales is Llanelli. Working class. Cheap and funny. Tenby is 'Posh' Wales. Cornwall of Wales. A pretty seaside town. To give you an idea of how posh it is even the 'Everything for a pound' shops take into consideration VAT and inflation
(For USA readers we have cheapo shops called 'everything for a pound' in the UK and VAT is 20% - Looks like they've factored everything into the equation in Tenby)
We searched for a place to eat, rejecting the curry house and decided Friday night is Fish night, we saw a cute pub called the Pentagion down a little alleyway with a massive chalkboard outside saying 'FRESH FISH'. In we went.
It was a peculiar place, all stonework and candlelight. It was a proper expensive fish restaurant. Not like the South Wales I'm used to. Nothing was breaded, fried or included a dollop sperm like sauce. It was the sort of place you'd take your bird to. Perfect for 3 lads with a Tesco carrier bag full of loo roll and Tenants Extra (for Burge not me I hasten to add, I'm not planning on a secret relapse this weekend. Even if I was it certainly wouldn't be on Tenants Extra)
The owner sat us down and then immediately set the world record name dropping record. He has been manager for 38 years and Jimmy Carter, Reiph Fiennes, Richard Harris, Peter O'Toole, Christian Slater have all eaten here. When we looked non plussed he continued. Even when walking away, desperate to impress us he said 'Colin Jackson' over his shoulder. Let it go man. 6 Names in 2 minutes. Impressive. Now he can add Burge, Cooper and Evans to that list.
From an over friendly manager who wouldn't leave us alone to an under friendly waiter who looked like lurch and hardly spoke or smiled at all. This was a peculiar place. I couldn't believe the prices. £25 for a main course! It wasn't the Wales I was used to. I want Charlotte Church to be serving me Halibut and Tom Jones singing in the corner for that money.
The food came out and it was delicious, lovingly prepared, stylish and fresh. We loved it. Though the manager kept on coming up to us and insisting on us seeing his 40 foot working chimney. He mentioned it 6 times, even interrupting us in mid conversation. 'Would you shut the fuck up about your fucking chimney. It may work on all those famous American visitors but we're not fucking interested'. We thought. But actually said, 'yes we'd love too but after we've eaten'.
I think he was sad, like Swiss Tony. He looked on the edge. Like if you asked him if he was OK he would collapse in tears. Maybe I'll go back tomorrow. His Chimney is important. We'll go after eating. Like an Aunt you don't want to visit but know it will make their day.
We copped a quick glance of said chimney on the way out. Just to appease him. I'm not going to lie I don't know a whole lot about chimneys and haven't really seen that many. This one was very tall and you could go inside and look up but if you really want me to make a judgment on it. It's shit and certainly not worth being pestered 5 times about it. I've seen better. Though we didn't tell the manager that, any criticism may well result in his depression coming back and induce suicide in the Comfort Inn Cardiff Gate. We smiled sweetly and said 'Lovely chimney'. I wonder if Jimmy Carter & Christian Slater had to do the same.
Back to the Static we went and stayed up in our pants laughing, joking & breaking wind. It was Men's Retreat after all. The alkies tried to get the drinker vicariously drunk but he wasn't playing ball and we hit the hay at around 3am. I bagsied the living room because it had a fire, reasoning it was my birthday and I'm the latest to bed and earliest to rise (morning glory). Cooper got the double bedroom and Burge was left with the small room with single beds.
What I love about the caravan is that when someone is in another room it shakes like it's got Parkinson's or a small earthquake. Plus the walls are as thick as paper so you can hear everything. The married boys were genuinely excited at the prospect of a lie in. Their last words to me before saying goodnight were, 'don't get married and have children. Night'. Food for thought indeed.
A great start to the Mens Retreat.
xx
No comments:
Post a Comment