Did they or didn't they? Was someone else in the queue for Sarah's shower that morning? Did Steve show Sarah his retractable walking stick? These were the questions on everyones lips as we waited for the buses to arrive at Churchill, referring to Sarah's drunken shenanigans at the Annual Dinner the night before. Poor Sarah! This night of inebriated revelry is one which the Club, but especially James, will never let her forget. James, as ever, did his best to extract the gossip from Sarah on the way up, but the latter's distaste for the subject matter forced Mr Stirrer to invent the gossip instead. Given that James still had a hangover from the aforementioned night, Sarah did have some useful ammunition should she have chosen to retaliate. Fortunately, Sarah's mature nature did not allow her to stoop to James's (extremely) low levels.
Enough of this. On the other bus, the topic of conversation was much more civilised ("does the current postmodern discourse signify the death of Geography?" and "types and uses of ear plugs" amongst other things). Tempers flared at Burger King at a service station on the M6, however, when the rip-off of a motorway Whopper dawned upon us. Niall had a stroppy moment with the Burger King guy, who was blatantly responsible for the exploitation of the hillwalking underclass through grossly inflated burger prices. The employee showed his disgust at the vociferous uprising of the hillwalkers by breaking company customer service regulations and neglecting to say "You got it!". Boy, was he angry.
We arrived at the Youth Hostel about 11 pm and milled around. The best thing about the place was the tank of terrapins in the dining room which provided hours of endless amusement for all the family. Saturday morning and I spotted some blue sky outside. "It'll be OK," I thought. Several hours later on the top of a random hill I thought I was going to die of exposure. Sarah, Dave, Claire, Katherine and I (amongst others) walked up Bow Fell and enjoyed the fantastic view that was naff all. It was blowing a gale, raining and shrouded in cloud. Momentarily I remember dreaming of being on a Caribbean beach, sipping a cold beer and surrounded by five scantily-clad women. The sight of Sarah, covered head to toe in waterproofs and Katherine et al pouring over a drenched OS map saying, "I'm sure there was a turning back there..." brought me back to the harsh reality.
At least we didn't wuss out (although we decided not to risk Crinkle Crags). Indeed, from all accounts, certain other members of the club should bow to our superior stamina and skill. When we got back down to the car park in Langdale, it transpired that James, Andy, Sergei and posse had spent the afternoon downing beers and stuffing their faces in the pub. Extra top double wussies!!!! That Sergei was slowly getting drunk and had to drive the minibus back to the youth hostel seemed nether here nor there to this bunch of hedonists. The incident served to demonstrate that old fogies have no sense of responsibility and, as usual, it was up to the young generation to set the example. It was not surprising that so many of us decided to walk the couple of miles back to the youth hostel from the car park.....
Saturday night was Tuna Surprise Night for James, though there were some innovations on the cooking scene. I spotted Hilary cooking up a very tasty vegetarian dish which included red kidney beans and Dave's and my chicken curry with noodles was a culinary masterpiece (cheers Sarah for the noodles!). That night in the pub, we still failed to extract the gossip from Sarah, who, in the antithesis of Keith-ness, refrained from getting stroppy (she was on the brink though) and just ignored everyone by writing a letter. James, Dave and I managed not to talk about Geography too much although I'm sure we managed to slip in a quickie about the post-structuralist challenge to the discipline. Seating was a bit limited and Hilary had to sit squashed between Dave and I on a very small window seat, a pleasure some girls would pay for. The evening ended up playing mastermind in the hostel, the culmination of all good evenings out (well, there wasn't a TV to watch The Girlie Show).
After the depressing lack of hillwalking joy on Saturday, Sunday made the trip all worth while. The weather was perfect, so instead of wussing out, most of us went on handsome treks. With Katherine in charge, Ruth, Paul A, Claire, and myself walked to Grasmere the difficult way (via High Raise) and had a fantastic time (en route I managed to persuade Paul A that Management Consultancy was a perfectly respectable career option for a Cambridge graduate). Shame my desire for a suntan was never fulfilled. Back in Ambleside, we had to wait ages for the other group, leading us all to wonder whether Knut had been told where the car park was. This wait gave James, Niall and Ruth the opportunity to do some shopping for kit. James was particularly impressed with his blue fleece he was convinced would be a babe-puller at Cindy's the following Tuesday. With a stop at Leyland for fish and chips, we arrived back at Cambridge tired, but not shagged out.
Incidentally, I have reports that there was a breakaway faction of climbers-cum-campers on this trip. I never saw them and have to assume they were too ashamed to show their faces. If you're reading this - you scum of the earth, semen of the devil - don't think you can get away with this act of atrocity. We know who you are and aren't afraid to mention names - Keith, Lizzie, Toby, Ian, Dave, Paul P. Don't think you can escape. We know where you live.
[Hey, that's me! We went for a walk on Sunday, with Sarah over Wetherlam and Swirl How. Without any ropes. So there. -Toby]
Previous: Teesdale, January 1997
Next: CUHWC Annual Dinner, 20th February 1997