Well, several sunny days, in fact. I’m rather stiff at the mo, as is Maddy, but by Jove we’ve had a whizzo weekend!
So, where do I start? Ah yes: Friday. Friday, Friday, Friday.
*checks notebook, realises non-existence of same and slaps side of head to engage memory*
Oh yes! Maddy went off to one of them Ann Summers party tingies with her chum Nat.
Problem: The party being at Nat’s meant her hubby Steve was banished from their home for the evening.
Solution: Get the beers in, bring Playstation 2 and let’s get drunk round my gaff!
I like having these bright ideas, although I think the ladies had that in mind anyway judging by the reaction of ‘Oh! that’s a good idea! Nice one! Why didn’t we think of that sooner?’ Still, I like being read like a book, it makes life that much simpler. 
Saturday, as already very well documented, involved a trip to the Royal Hunting Lodge for to partake in some silly chicanery and child-frightening among the sun-flowers and corn-stalks with Maddy, JG, Ned, Lorry and Mongers. The only omission from Despatches (and I feel it ought to be recorded) was that CRAppy took it upon himself to hoist me ‘pon his shoulders to try and find a way out of the damn maze. Whether CRAppy is just getting a little frail or I’m a good deal fatter than my slender appearance would suggest I don’t know, but any road up I managed to fall off and into a fairly soft landing of Maize stalks. It’s just a shame CRAppy didn’t aim more carefully when throwing me off his shoulders as we could have forced a path and thence escaped sooner. Still, there were no Minotaurs** so no harm done.
Oh yes, and Maddy wants a Dalmatian, but I don’t think even a Royal Decree would persuade JG to part with any of her fine canine chummingtons. I might see if I can get a toy one to keep her quiet.
Sunday: as Maddy and I were in the area we decided to go back to Cropredy and find the cache near the bridge wot we couldn’t get to when the festival was on. ‘Twas still a mite tricky to retrieve and replace the cache but we managed in the end by dint of standing-about-trying-not-to-look-suspicious. Then, after bidding fond farewells to JG and Ned, we hied our weary selves home to prepare the Royal Flat for an honourable guest of our own.
Pharisee turned up early doors, bearing beer and a kit-bag ready for a Grockle Assault on the South Downs on Monday. The evening was spent a-swigging and a-plotting in true Grockle style! Man, it’s been so long since us Grockles got together and I began to realise what fun I’ve been missing over the summer. A much greater reminder was to follow ‘pon the morrow, however.
I’m still in shock as to how beeeeeeeeeeeeeyoooodiful the weather was yesterday! Mucho Scorchio it was, as we sweated and stomped our way around no less than 9 proper ccaches around Brighton! As we had Keith of Motley Crew fame with us (whom we collected on the way) we decided (by Grockle Majority) to enrol Maddy as a fully paid-up member of The Grockles! There was some debate as to official title when we stopped for refreshment at the Newmarket Tavern just off the A27: Grocklette? Grocklina? Just plain Grockle? The verdict is still open. Pharisee is known as Senior Grockle, Keith is Techy Grockle, Merman is M.I.A. Grockle and I, being a true ‘king, have a bit of a collection of titles: Idiot Grockle and Nelly Grockle being the more commonly used. So the debate entered a new dimension: Maddy Grockle? Tammy Grockle? Sexy Grockle? I think the latter is favourite; it’s nice to have a bit of class in our hairy, sweary, beer-swilling group.
So, after not-quite-coming-to-a-conclusion, we carried on caching (well you would, wouldn’t you?).
Many miles along Sussex byways, idly chatting of this ‘n’ that and soaking up the sheer bloody gloriousness of the day. The sun beating down, the sky all mares-tails against an azure backdrop, early berries bursting forth from hedgerows and good company to share it with. Golden.
Now, Pharisee and Keith have this habit: not content with just finding tupperware, they also persue the logging of Trig Points. Sometimes these Trig Points are in farmer’s fields. Sometimes, these farmer’s fields are being ploughed by tractors just when some people want to go and have a look at the Trig Point. Sometimes, some Grockles just say ‘to hell with it, let’s go log it’ and stomp along furrowed fields looking, to distant observers, like Burke and Hare at their devious schemes.
Finally our day drew to a close, and the award for Most Aptly Titled Cache goes to
*drum-roll*
Rest and Be Thankful! Wooooo! Come on doooooooooown!
Ooh. I seem to have a sun-tan again. All this tramping about outdoors is really rather good, y’know. Ache like buggery now, but it’s a good sort of ache.
And now I shall be heading bedwards and I won’t be getting up til I feel like it tomorrow as Maddy and I have both wisely booked tomorrow of work for to sit around doing nothing much. It’s gonna be another great day tomorrow, I may even fix my bike at last
Cheerio, you lovely people!
‹Sighs contentedly and puts waxen seal on Summer 2005: Royal Approval Granted›
*Apart from getting bookmarks shoved where they don’t belong, of course.
** Although Lorry did make an effort, bless her. 
***He’s one of the Grockles, y’know.
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