What A Weekend Volume 1

Local readers might w ll be aware that my old mucker Anal and his ever lovely Mrs, Sandybum, have been out to play in Millbrook and its surrounds.


This accounts for the dearth of postings in recent days; Mrs The Millbrooker and I have been doing the hosting thing and having a marvellous time.


The Westbury dwellers arrived by train at more or less the same time as I was strumming away at the St John Inn with the Wreckers, so Mrs The Millbrooker picked them up from the station and brought them to the hostelry in time for some ale and a sing-song.

Frankenkeith was in evidence at the inn, partaking of his annual dose of morris and meeting Anal and Sandybum for the first time. Dong and Shazzerooneypoos also made the trip from Millbrook along the winding lane to St John for the evening of dance and merriment.

The weather in August has been officially declared by the Met Office as having been "unsettled" (thank you Eddie Mair for this momentous news on the PM programme last night).


The Met Office is not wrong. Friday saw us merry foursome taking the Cremyll Ferry to Stonehouse and then the Royal William Yard Ferry to the Barbican. Note the trendy garb being sported by assorted members of the party. This will give  a clue to the meteorological conditions.

Luckily shelter was at hand almost as soon as we stepped off the boat adjacent to the far-famed  Mayflower Steps.


Shelter, of course, took the form of a welcoming hostelry. In this case the legendary Dolphin Hotel (which, fact fans, is not an hotel at all - just a pub with fabulous ale-keeping values).

The equally legendary Cap'n Jasper's provided lunch. Yes, this was after an almost legendary Millbrooker Towers' breakfast - we are fatter than we should be and the diets have already started after a weekend of ludicrous intake.

Apart from another pint or two, that pretty much comprised our outing. It rained again as we took the ferry back to the Royal William Yard; but nothing was about to dampen the spirits. 

Because something always happens when Anal and Sandybum come out to play. That something is a seemingly endless stream of silliness and softly spoken obscenities between Anal and me which send us into schoolboy-ish paroxysms of giggles at our own childishness.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling instalment of what a quartet of middle-aged people consisting of two relatively sensible womenfolk and a pair of creaky rock-n-roll-rebel half-centurion-adolescents get up to on a weekend.