Keith Trampleasure
So on Tuesday, I went with Anna to a dinner party. Most classy. Pizza in the oven, a man who had just got back from Mongolia, and other excitement. Dinosaur heads. I met a very funny man called Mark who is an other Teacher of English as a Foreign Language. They’re everywhere these days. Vegan chat and generally lovely times. However miss Annie Hell, the mother of my child, was down in Brighton for a dirty weekend, and so we made our excuses as more hot pizza emerged from the oven and found ourselves down the Dover Castle with Annie and Lou and Harry the Heart. Back to Lou’s house, which is lovely and just off southover street, and a brilliant cellar. Andy and Joff and Andrea and Rosie and Daniel Taylor and Sam arrived, for plenty of the Gin and the Tonic. To stroll home, with the long-suffering taxi driver humouring Andy.
The next day we met Alice for scones and tubs of butter at the Mock Turtle. It got heavy on the girl talk but we love that sort of thing. Dear god I miss Girly Chats. Too much boy-hormone sloshing around these days. For someone who sounds like a girl on the phone; “No, is that Mr Mc. Shine”? God no. I want my girly chats back. More Magazine as well. As we all know, Smart Girls get More. Although, “The Wheelbarrow” in confined conditions just isn’t going to work.
Then to the Lion and Lobster to meet Anna. Andy and Rosie went off to go make food and eventually through last minute cycling we went to Jacob’s house where Andy lives to eat pasta and for a party, most sedate with polite conversation and other dances. In some ways it makes me feel all of my twenty four years when I go to parties and am happy with nice food, a couple of glasses of red wine, and good conversation, with my friends who mostly have steady jobs in pubs or teaching English, in a house that Jacob owns in a nice part of Hove. Whatever happened to sniffing poppers and drinking cider in the park? But on the other hand, we do still know how to party? And hey, pasta’s well hip. It’s okay to grow up, just as long as you never get old. Right?
Sorry, I think I just got a bit freaked out because I’m one of the only students I know at the moment. What the devil is that about? Almost all the people I see much of down here in Brighton I’m used to seeing round and about Suffix campus, and they’ve all finished and I’m po-gra ing my way about the plaice.
But anyway. A wicked party. We leave at some point. Andy makes his ska-dancing moves. But the next day. Day out in Lewes. Morris Dancing outside the John Harvey Tavern.
So me and Rosie and Alice go down to the Mrs Fitzherberts and go and see Andy, and we are about to set off to Lewes to go see morris. Tommy arrives, and we set off. Wandering about the streets of Lewes, and some leafy alleyways. It isn’t easy to find food, and down the John Harvey Tavern we consume cheesy chips as Jed and Daniel Taylor arrive. The JHT backs onto the big river in Lewes, which we have already experienced as Tommy rolled fruit about in a rebel-grocer action. We sat on the bench watching the river flow, as Bob Dylan probably would have done in the circumstances, deprived of red wine. Sitting on the stone, watching the river flow, and Anna and Tom arrive once work free them. There are already morris dancers about, it’s getting quite exciting. Anna and Lou arrive, and Brighton Morris Men and Ditchling Morris are getting on down for some serious bell ‘n stick action. The sticks clash, we all cheer, as we circle around the morris for the greater view. In minutes, a stick breaks, and Daniel claims the fragments, and the dance goes on. I have a dance dedicated to me, and Tommy sets about to get all sixteen of Brighton Morris Men to sign his broken stick. Nicky P arrives, and it turns out that Tom Paine, the second best ale in Sussex and South Downs is quite hardcore in its own right. At one point we join in with the morris dancers.
Tommy, along with his broken morris stick signed by fifteen members of Brighton Morris Men, and Jed, Anna and co head off back to Brighton. Me, Annie, Nicky P, Lou and Rosanne remain outside the John Harvey tavern. We talk to Grand Paul the Morris Dancer and the Head of Morris, none other than Keith Trampleaure. They introduce us to “The Masseur”, aka the morris man with the long ginger beard who we previously saw riding his flat bike with a tankard of ale made of pewter. And then all of a sudden Annie Hell is being massaged by The Masseur, with a divine look of ecstasy on her face as his hands caress her shoulders, head and face.
Somehow we are at Lewes station and we have lost Annie and Lou and then we lost Anna and Daniel Taylor and Nicky P and me and rosie fight each other, throwing each other down onto cobbles and kicking eachother. Suddenly with shock a young couple are about to call the police and we leave, arm in arm and skipping. I fall asleep under the departures board and eventually we meat up with Anna and Daniel Taylor and Nicky P and somehow I find myself ranting at Davey Mec over a wok full of stirfry
The next day we met Alice for scones and tubs of butter at the Mock Turtle. It got heavy on the girl talk but we love that sort of thing. Dear god I miss Girly Chats. Too much boy-hormone sloshing around these days. For someone who sounds like a girl on the phone; “No, is that Mr Mc. Shine”? God no. I want my girly chats back. More Magazine as well. As we all know, Smart Girls get More. Although, “The Wheelbarrow” in confined conditions just isn’t going to work.
Then to the Lion and Lobster to meet Anna. Andy and Rosie went off to go make food and eventually through last minute cycling we went to Jacob’s house where Andy lives to eat pasta and for a party, most sedate with polite conversation and other dances. In some ways it makes me feel all of my twenty four years when I go to parties and am happy with nice food, a couple of glasses of red wine, and good conversation, with my friends who mostly have steady jobs in pubs or teaching English, in a house that Jacob owns in a nice part of Hove. Whatever happened to sniffing poppers and drinking cider in the park? But on the other hand, we do still know how to party? And hey, pasta’s well hip. It’s okay to grow up, just as long as you never get old. Right?
Sorry, I think I just got a bit freaked out because I’m one of the only students I know at the moment. What the devil is that about? Almost all the people I see much of down here in Brighton I’m used to seeing round and about Suffix campus, and they’ve all finished and I’m po-gra ing my way about the plaice.
But anyway. A wicked party. We leave at some point. Andy makes his ska-dancing moves. But the next day. Day out in Lewes. Morris Dancing outside the John Harvey Tavern.
So me and Rosie and Alice go down to the Mrs Fitzherberts and go and see Andy, and we are about to set off to Lewes to go see morris. Tommy arrives, and we set off. Wandering about the streets of Lewes, and some leafy alleyways. It isn’t easy to find food, and down the John Harvey Tavern we consume cheesy chips as Jed and Daniel Taylor arrive. The JHT backs onto the big river in Lewes, which we have already experienced as Tommy rolled fruit about in a rebel-grocer action. We sat on the bench watching the river flow, as Bob Dylan probably would have done in the circumstances, deprived of red wine. Sitting on the stone, watching the river flow, and Anna and Tom arrive once work free them. There are already morris dancers about, it’s getting quite exciting. Anna and Lou arrive, and Brighton Morris Men and Ditchling Morris are getting on down for some serious bell ‘n stick action. The sticks clash, we all cheer, as we circle around the morris for the greater view. In minutes, a stick breaks, and Daniel claims the fragments, and the dance goes on. I have a dance dedicated to me, and Tommy sets about to get all sixteen of Brighton Morris Men to sign his broken stick. Nicky P arrives, and it turns out that Tom Paine, the second best ale in Sussex and South Downs is quite hardcore in its own right. At one point we join in with the morris dancers.
Tommy, along with his broken morris stick signed by fifteen members of Brighton Morris Men, and Jed, Anna and co head off back to Brighton. Me, Annie, Nicky P, Lou and Rosanne remain outside the John Harvey tavern. We talk to Grand Paul the Morris Dancer and the Head of Morris, none other than Keith Trampleaure. They introduce us to “The Masseur”, aka the morris man with the long ginger beard who we previously saw riding his flat bike with a tankard of ale made of pewter. And then all of a sudden Annie Hell is being massaged by The Masseur, with a divine look of ecstasy on her face as his hands caress her shoulders, head and face.
Somehow we are at Lewes station and we have lost Annie and Lou and then we lost Anna and Daniel Taylor and Nicky P and me and rosie fight each other, throwing each other down onto cobbles and kicking eachother. Suddenly with shock a young couple are about to call the police and we leave, arm in arm and skipping. I fall asleep under the departures board and eventually we meat up with Anna and Daniel Taylor and Nicky P and somehow I find myself ranting at Davey Mec over a wok full of stirfry
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 7:34 AM
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