Cowboys in Cornwall

Holly & Me get into the spirits of things

    Originally uploaded by

Savage Pink


                                                                                            Just got back from a long weekend trip to Cornwall, down to the infamous Tapestry festivus, which is organised by the very same folk that run the Tapestry club in London.  Check em out on  The weekend was eventful, to say the least.  Started out with a humdinger of a hangover thanks to SIMON and the Twlight Singers.  This made preparing for a weekend's camping quite, quite difficult.  (See previous entry ref : never being prepared in advance.)  So difficult, in fact, that it required turning the car around THREE times to get bits that I forgot.  Essential items like cowboy hats, sleeping bags...oh, and the tickets for the festival.  All of which means that by the time I have collected my friends we are leaving London...oh, three and a half hours later than planned.  Which is all good because we are in SUCH high spirits and we've got cowboy hats on and we're in The Beast and we're YEE-HAWING our way out of London. 

Which got us about as far as Euston underpass, which is where The Beast decided to stall and never be started again.  Yes, right in the bit of the underpass where it's two lanes and no verge and it's rush hour and let me tell you something  you  might not know : when you break down in the middle of an underpass and block traffic, people REALLY LIKE TO STARE AT YOU.    Then the cops come with their big flashy lights and sit behind you so no one rear ends you and then people stare even MORE.  And think that you are a terrorist. And then more cops come with their big flashy lights and sit IN FRONT of you in case some one....errr.... reverses down the underpass into you at high speed.   And eventually, the cutest, most helpful RAC man in the world comes and tows you out of the underpass and takes you to the nearest pub where he tries to fix your car but can't, and crazy people come and talk to you about how cool & rare your car is, ask you for directions to places that don't exist, stare at your car engine and don't say anything for 15 minutes, and ask you where you are from.

Then the cutest RAC man ever tells you that your distributor cap needs replacing and he can't get one and why don't you let the RAC tow you to Cornwall where someone can replace it for half the price they charge in London.  And he helpfully points out that you can sit in the pub and get shitfaced until the recovery van arrives because now someone else is doing the driving.  So we agree, settling instead on Somerset where we have mates who have a good mechanic.  Then the cute RAC man tells you the recovery van will be here in an hour and drives off without asking for your phone number.  And the van takes THREE hours to turn up by which point you are really are shitfaced and planning on turning the recovery driver into a sex toy for you and and your wicked mates to have your way with....

THEN he turns up and he's 90 years old, four feet tall and has such an indecipherable noise of a Scottish accent that you can't even amuse yourself by chatting to him about how they used to shag using cat guts for condoms back in the you sleep off your afternoon drinking binge and arrive safe & sound in Somerset, oh... only seven hours after you had originally intended.

....and I haven't even gotten to the festivus yet.  But I stink like a field full of old beer and it's late and I'm gonna go and sit in a hot bath and annoint myself with precious oils.  So more tomorrow.....