The Barn Birthday Bash 2009 - a crackin' do!



ouch!


I packed me rucksack with all the essentials...northern beer, northern food, northern clothes and a photograph of Peter Beardsley. Loading up The Brave Little Corsa, I coughed, wheezed and backfired along the A69 to foreign climes. The car ran fine, it was me who was coughing and wheezing. I headed south down the M6 until the average local beer-to-water ratio in a pint glass was 50%, then turned left. I tried my utmost to rip the sump off The Brave Little Corsa going down the track to the Barn car-park, but it hung in there gamely. I met Naz, who was nicking the wheels off a tractor (you can take the boy out of Liverpool...) and soon after that, some more southerners turned up. After greetings had been exchanged and the southerners had finished marvelling at my beautiful haunting accent, we set off on our trek to the barn.

The yearly barn visit with the Salutations is a great party with great people and it also counts towards my community service, so I look forward to it like a scouser awaiting giro-day. The fire, the Rayburn and a long cigarette were quickly lit and we got down to the serious business of wood-collecting and drinking. Like a blister, Andy-Prez turned up just as the hard work ended...

The yearly barn visit with the Salutations is a great party with great people and it also counts towards my community service, so I look forward to it like a scouser awaiting giro-day

We had a jolly smashing night, until Wigan Paul invented extreme-urination. Bashing his head on a rock in the dark, Paul gained a huge (really!) lump above his left-eye and instant concussion...from then on it went panic, ambulance, hospital. It took a lot longer than that, but the emergency procedure has been well and truly tested!

The following morning was obviously tense, until Paul returned. He was prodded, to make sure he was still alive, then naturally the urine was well and truly extracted out of him. Paul now comes with a list of instructions.

Early in the afternoon, the sun was shining, the fire was gassing us slowly and the beer was going down well. Lord Mitch made a state visit with his harem, assistants and entourage. With a flick of his deft gifted wrist, Lord Mitch wielded his mighty chopper, to the obvious delight of his fan-club. Showing the legendary skill that earns him a modest living, Lord Mitch quickly and expertly whittled a big log into several smaller logs.

That afternoon, Andy Prez became Andy-ex-Prez and Wigan Paul became Wigan Prez. Well done mate. Devoid of his authority, small children pelted Andy-ex-Prez with sheep-poo and taunted him with cruel jibes. Not wanting to feel left-out, the grown-ups joined in. As the evening went on, Mitch's entourage left, along with Paul, Thora and Tracy, as Paul was still very wobbly on his feet.

With his super-powers gone, Andy-ex-Prez celebrated by sneaking off and weaving himself a poncho out of discarded sheep-wool and instant noodles. Adding a gender-confused hat, he rejoined us at the fire-pit and tried to appear normal. He might have got away with it, except he kept flinging his poncho over his shoulder and shouting random phrases in a Pakistani accent. I don't pretend to understand him, but I'm claiming carer's allowance for him, so I'm not complaining. Two of Mitch's apprentices arrived and showed their skills off, by hitting pieces of wood with the axe until it broke.

I spent some time inside the barn, until Naz put his ipod on...I won't disturb anyone by telling them what he played, but...oh god, it was awful.

We sprang gazelle-like from our beds and breakfasted on croissants and freshly-picked fruit.

The Beetlejuice gang were there in force. Dirty Dan is coming on well and Baby Beetle, Caitlin, has a huge stock of politically incorrect jokes. Top-job on the rugrat-raising Beetles! As the evening wore on, more beer was slurped, more tabs (not 'fags') were smoked and more tall tales were told. Andy ex-prez had two bottles of blue WKD and had to go to bed and eventually most other people drifted off, leaving Mitch and myself as the last ones to retire.

Sunday morning was another beautiful day! We sprang gazelle-like from our beds and breakfasted on croissants and freshly-picked fruit. Rick and I then did the beer-can stomp and burned as much rubbish as possible. Unfortunately that didn't include Naz's ipod...

I was first to set off home, as I wanted to beat the weekend traffic on the A69, so I said my farewells and did the route-march. By the time I got to the car-park I was sweating like a fat bloke in a pie-shop...but this year I thought ahead. I left some water in the car, so I left a couple of bottles on the rack on Billy's bike. I didn't know it had an alarm on it...

I shall see you all there next year!

Geordie Andy


on me ead

On me 'ead, guv'nor...


kick


kick


logs


logs


fire


andy


andy and thora


andy


thora


scream


hug


Here's some from the Beetlejuice clan...


caitlin


beetlejuice


bridge


sign


bridge


presidents

A very historic shot this - all the Presidents of the Club together in one picture!!!


folk


folk


natter


barrowboy


crowd


suzy


mitch


mtl


andy


hangers on


And a couple from the lens of Mitch:


barrowboy


bikes


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