Good, If Blurry Friends

Preamble

Good evening. As an unusually festive and icy wind blows around the turrets of Argue Towers, the blush of shame reddens my cheek as I realise it’s been ages since I last filled your monitor with legibly arranged letters. No excuse this time. I suppose I just ran out of weekend last week and although I often intend to knock out a few hundred words in the morning before work, I seldom succeed. So, a week late is the remainder of my Rememberance Weekend Reminiscences.

Saturday

When we last left young Neil and his chums, he was drifting off to sleep (or at least trying to) whilst the European Trade Deficit drove past below his window. He was mildly pissed, a little cold and much uncomfortable on something that was once sold as a bed….

They say it’s perfectly normal to start the day with a horn but the cacaphonic violence that reached up to room 405 at 5.15am would have woken the dead, dressed it, shown it a good time and sent it home to a surprised and terrified family. A few seconds later, I was completely awake and again surprised that I ever fell asleep in the first place. Had I not known better, you could have easily convinced me that I had fallen asleep on the pavement outside.

I will now stop mentioning the noise of the traffic.

I dozed, rolled about, gave up and an hour later, I strode into the cold fright of the bathroom.  Like most hotels, the complicated genius that most of us refer to as a plug has been replaced by a metal plunger arrangement that baffles understanding, particularly after a restless night. The walls are covered in notices asking you to save the environment by “putting your towels in the bath” and “tuck the shower curtain in the bath”.

To be on the safe side, I just put everything in the bath.

Shaved, showered, medicated and dressed, I joined Sean in the dining room for our full English breakfast. “Choose from the following items” it said on the menu. We chose all of the items and were presented with all 5 items. One of each. It was possibly the most unimpressive breakfast I had ever encountered. I was sad, Sean was sad and even the food itself looked pretty ashamed. “£9.95 to non-residents” it said boldly on the front of the menu. Really? Has that idea ever been tried out?

Perhaps I am being mean. The staff at The County are effortlessly nice and the place clings to the seafront with an uncertain future. Will it have to close next year? The year after? For a while it looked like it would close 3 years ago when the modernisation of the seafront first looked like becoming reality. It’s still there though and for one weekend a year it is still full. Will I stay there next year? A definate “maybe not”.

So not a brilliant night and not a brilliant breakfast.

Oh for god’s sake Neil, cheer up.

I am happy. Honestly, I am happy. I have travelled 248 miles and spent a few hundred quid. I must be happy.

So what else happens on the Saturday of Old Boys Weekend?

Well first, thing Sean and I went for a walk in Dover. I can’t remember why. We definately had a reason but as I have again waited too long to recount the weekend, I have forgotten. A belt, that’s it. Sean wanted a belt and I wanted another poppy.

Yes! The poppy. Every year, next to the town hall. Some very nice old soldiers sell poppies and will hammer a little balsa wood cross into the grass, clustered with other crosses and arranged in regiments. I have never seen this take place in other cities but then again, I don’t travel much. It is strangely moving and I have always taken the time to thank them for the effort they make.

The pitches from the comparative warmth of the clubhouse.

At 12.30 we all head for Dover RFC to watch some rugby games. Dover RFC put up two teams (an under 30 XV and an over 30 XV) and DYRMS Old Boys put up two teams to play them. It’s all great fun and Dover RFC put a tremendous effort into looking after us. I hate to bring up the cold again but it’s hard to relate the events of this game without it becoming neccessary. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just bloody, bloody cold. There is a great big bar and all I want is some bovril and a balaclava. The England international had an unfortunate effect on the numbers attending, even to the extent that some turned up, saw it wasn’t on in the clubhouse and headed back to Dover to find somewhere showing it. Poor show boys!

Not for the first time was I assaulted by greetings from groups of people I couldn’t remember. I always feel terrible when this happens, after all, I am the self-appointed flag bearer for my year (Class of 86) and about 5 years either way, so I should be a little more prepared and able to put names to faces. Sadly,  I rarely succeed and none of the generally accepted tactics for remembering names works all that often. This year, the Class of 90 did well, particularly the crowd that Sean and I still refer to as “our lot”, namely the guys who were in Wolseley 3rd form in our final year and those who also had the dubious pleasure of our company at mealtimes. I could be wrong but I think all but 3 made it. Well done chaps.

I am not the biggest rugby fan in the world and have no idea of the final result of either match. Sean and I stayed until about 5pm and made our quiet way back to the hotel. After an abortive visit to the busiest KFC on the planet, we blessed Dover’s finest chippery with our custom and smuggled steaming packages past reception and into our rooms. As many have since pointed out, it’s not against the rules to eat fish and chips in your room and I can only conclude that a visit years ago to a Dover B&B must have instilled that idea in our heads. A feeling of wrong-doing and danger does improve the appetite however.

The Flotilla - 7.30pm

We headed over to The Flotilla at about 7.30, only to find it a little quiet. This fact probably won’t surprise anyone born after 1980 and who is now use to meeting up just after 10pm for drinkies but it struck us a little odd. There we stood, freezing cold ale in our hands and unfashionable middle-aged denim on our hips, wondering when the hell £1 for a go on a slot machine became the norm. They didn’t even have the decency to dim the lights, highlighting our shame to any young family wandering past the window on the way home from M&S.

Luckily for us and shortly before I was forced to order a cheese ploughmans and ask for a quiet table for two, others dribbled in. The place soon filled up and the next 5 hours or so were filled with drinking, laughing, Kareoke of astonishingly variable quality and generally good times. I think I caved in at around midnight whilst others lasted a little longer. For the first time in many visits, I was a bit drunk and managed to fall asleep with the telly on a few hours later.

Sunday

The weather this year was wet and the chances of the parade going ahead were slim from the start. Some years you get lucky and crisp, bright sunlight shines down. This year, it drizzled from the early hours and only stopped briefly at about 9.30am. Poppies in our lapels and umbrella’s over our heads, we wanted it to be dry and at exactly the same time 400 Dukies wanted the exact opposite. I  well remember the joy at a parade being cancelled due to rain and I would like them all to know that we all understand. It’s just that we had come such a long way.

Marlborough House, 2010. Temporary and a bit scary...

After being depressed by the sad sight of a burnt-out Marlborough House on the way in, we decided to check out the temporary replacement building on the grass next to Haig House. I am not sure what I was expecting but it wasn’t the white monstrosity that we saw. To be fair, more than one person promised that the inside was great. I can’t confirm this, Marlbrough being a girls boarding house and even the good intentions of a blogger are probably not enough to secure me entry. Even if they were, a camera would probably not be appropriate. Sorry folks. It’s white, a bit like a portacabin and exactly the same shape as the other boarding houses. No, really. What it is like inside, you will just have to imagine.

Best guess wins a school scarf.

The 6th Form Block

Just round the corner and behind Haig House is the new 6th form block. From speaking to folks in the know, I understand that only the lower 6th are in there at the moment, boys on one floor and girls on the other. It all looks a bit Ikea to be honest and have no idea what it means to the school.

Biggest surprise of the weekend was Simon Whitton and Matt Colgate turning up in the Nye Hall. It was great to see them but frustrating as we only had about half an hour with them before we had to start our journey back.

..and so we did. Chris, Sean and I bid farewell to everyone and in no time at all, we were on the A2 and heading back to Sean’s place. I think Chris and I both slept most of the way back to Oxford, waking occasionally to all laugh at something we all remembered. A nice quiet end to it all really.

We stopped briefly at Sean’s for a chicken baguette and a coffee, but were soon back in my car and Devon-bound. The trip back was quieter but still full of conversation and laughs. I know Chris was a little worried at my level of tiredness and as we swerved into the M4 services, I kind of saw what he meant. Still, we were safely home in fairly good time.

So, how to sum it all up. You can’t really read the above without picking up a slightly lower level of enthusiasm on my part this year and you wouldn’t be wrong if you did. It was a bit of let down, despite being full of wonderful moments. Time spent with old friends is never wasted and if it was in a pub 10 miles from where I live, I would be one happy bunny. Perhaps I am at fault for building it all up and expected more than there is? Next year is the 25th anniversary of my leaving the place and I am going to make a concerted effort to get as many back as possible. If it looks like not happening then maybe this year has been my last visit for a while. Sad, but maybe it’s time for a rest.

*My apologies for the poor quality of the photography.  I keep forgetting how badly my phone performs in poor light.

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