It's not olden, it's golden - booger

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It's not olden, it's golden

They say that when you assume you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'. Besides proving that text speak has been around for decades, this phrase tends to be very true nine times out of ten. Take the weekend's birthday jaunt to Somerset, for example. By Sunday evening I'd assumed that Somerset and I were destined to never get on, and that I'd be quite happy if Devon and Dorset got together and had a big manly hug, happlily edging their surly neighbour into the Bristol Channel forever.

I came to this conclusion following a catalogue of awkward meetings with various people. From the God-bothering campsite owner who took my cynicism of The Da Vinci Code as a sign that I wanted to hear his crackpot religious theories (example: Joseph of Arimathea owned a lead mine in Somerset); to the whingy hill walkers who cried bloody murder if so much as a mouse farted on the campsite after ten o'clock; to the sour-faced restauranteur, who looked upon our party of thirteen with barely concealed disdain... until she realised just how big our bill was. Cue a hasty volte face and a bout of arse-kissing so transparent, so pathetic, that it made Basil Fawlty look like Arnold Schwarzenegger in The Terminator. And this was all before we went canoeing on the Sunday afternoon. Expecting a lazy paddle down the river with a few ice-cold beers, we were greeted by two instructors who clearly saw us for what we were (a rag-tag bunch of hungover wasters) and proceeded to dunk us in the rather cold River Yeo for two hours, all in the name of fun, apparently.

Yep, it's fair to say that by Sunday evening Somerset and I weren't getting on too well. When the canoeing party arrived back at the campsite (soaked through and in dire need of hot food and cold booze), only to recieve a text from the non-canoeing party with directions to a pub down the road, I was just about ready to walk home, if that was what it took. I was having fun, but it was totally the wrong kind.

Oh, how wrong I was.

One brisk twenty-minute walk later and I was with a group of my very best friends in possibly the best pub in Somerset. Besides looking the part - 17th century, thatched roof, cartwheels propped against a low stone wall - they also had an old-fashioned games room with skittles, pool and darts. They had big slabs of steak, fresh fish and homemade curry on the menu. The locals wore huge smiles and happily chatted away to us, while the staff were a hundred times friendlier than all the staff in all the Wetherspoons in London. Several dogs wandered in and out, playing with anyone who cared to toss a stick for them. When that night's quiz was cancelled, to our dissappointment, we were given the quiz books and told to go right ahead, just make sure anyone who wants to play, gets to play. It was half past midnight when they finally kicked us out. But before they did, they loaned us a couple of torches to see our way home safely.

And that was why I strolled into work this morning with a big, happy smile on my face and tales of a fantastic weekend: my assumptions were 100% wrong.

30.5.06 19:05

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To date 8 Comment(s) TrackBack-URL

(30.5.06 19:16)
Wow - that sounds brilliant. And not too far from my mum and dad's place, if you were in the River Yeo. Care to share the name and location of this brilliant pub?

(31.5.06 07:49)
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(31.5.06 07:59)
We were camped about an hour away from the River Yeo, Kat - near the Quantock Hills. The pub was in Crowcombe. I can't remember the exact name (it was that good a night), but it was The Something Arms and I think it was the only pub in the village.

(31.5.06 09:15)
Ah, you're actually further away than I thought. Sounds like it might well be worth a visit anyway, though - cheers for that.

(31.5.06 10:05)
Glad that you and Somerset have parted as friends. I love it there, especially wandering around Exmoor.

(31.5.06 11:15)
Now come on Arnold Schwarzenegger's Terminator is also ten times more friendly then London Wetherspoon bar staff, even if your names Sarah Connor.

(1.6.06 02:02)
Arrrr, being a westcountry lad, one thing I can confirm is: we do good pubs. Arrr etc.

Moobs / Website (1.6.06 09:53)
You ENJOYED a camping trip? You;re scaring me now.