In the Afernoon of 21st of july 2002 Joey George and Ben got bored. Ben prepoesed a trip the dump. this suggestion was met with enthusiastic squeiling from young dawson and a single raised eye brow from the sandeman boy. The dashing mr dark pointed his rapier in the derection of the wrong side of the tracks and an adventure was born.
a long walk and 3 pounds later we were the proud owners of the vehicle of our dreams. I remember that moment as "i'm going to pary like its 1999" was playing on the duke box and it while on the toilet in 1999 that i first realised that my dream was to drive converted small childrens toys down steep hills.
Anyhow. once the vehicle was safley back at my town house or as we like to say "party pad central" we set about the newly chreisted fat old lucy with a hammer in the style of a glaswiegen thug on crack. a few nuts and bolts later and george had maneged to make us cups of tea and we were the pround owners of our very own cruser mobile.
Our combined nose for adventure led Ben Joey and George to the pirates cave, but thats another story. after the grog wore off we found our selfs in the notoriose den of eniquety that is the wooden park home of such misgueded advetures as the ben and george sliding/chain-shining adventure and the sasha ditch hiding adventure. unfortunatly the chaps at the council had chosen that very day to mow the lawns! not only was the grass shorter but the resolve in our hearts stronger. The foolhardy mr dark jumped aboard the love truck and with some assitence from joey trundeld down the hill. joey did the same (names reversed). all passed uneventfully until george maneged to wrangle his way aboard. I didnt know the cause, mabye the manic glint in his eyes or the half fineshed bottle of gin clenged in his fist, but me and joey had a very bad feeling. George claims not to know what happend after this point but fat lucy will never be the same again
not content with the ice creams in town joey demanded a twister from the hut on the heath. having nothing better to do he was obliged, fat lucy came along too as we promised she could feed the ducks. once at the heath we picked through our memorys of drunken nights and remembered the mountain in the corner named music hill.....to be fineshed when george and ben sober up
Part 2
apon arrival at music hill the treamendouse treo found them selfs dissapointed that the mountin that had proved so difficult to assend in a druken lurching sort of way was little more than a hummuck. Never the less the desparadoes launched themselfs into the fray with screams of "catch the pigion" and a torrent of knock knock jokes. Omens were bad from the outset when ben through no fault of his own maneged to tip the buggy. To the realeif of all involved he miraculessly cheated death emerging only with a grazed elbow and some brused pride. many trips followed and even george was let off his baby reighns to have a play. Joey was fast proving himself as the better driver, he also had perfect hair, this drove ben and george to distraction and while we pretended to look at some ducks we weed all over his packed lunch. When it came to the last ride of the day ben capped it off in style pulling his pattented fat lucy flip, culminating in the fat lucy mobile landing on his head. He eventullaly arose from the ground in a dazed state but all the blood did look rather cool. This it was decided was the appropriate time to call it a day. we retired to our lodgings for supper slippers and sleep. Rad!
I remember it well, the sound of the gravel, the fear, the smell of Butser Hill, the taste of Joey and his weeping. It was to be the final spurt of Fat lucy joy, a suicide death mission to scoot fat lucy down something big = Buster Bloody Hill. Apparently its only 20 meters of being a mountain, but it aint all that big, its got all these sulky pretentions that its all healthy and more conservation that Bill Oddy, but its not. Its a bit wanky, really. it makes you walk down paths you dont want to, and all the trees are kept strictly out of reach of any fun. well anyway, we were gonna ride down it, and joey was gonna watch us, coz his mum banned him from doing anthing coz he once did something and broke his nose. Big wimpo!
So we crossed hill and dale (winton) draggin fat lucy behind us, on what i remember being the hottest day of the year, but im sure it wasnt really. Ben did most of the dragging, and kept up our flagging spirits with hearty renditions of O Sole MeoW, a composition to his cat (now sadly suffering from bad wee wee syndrome). We thought we had found some metiorite ice in a cow field, it turned out to be salt (its near the sewige works for anyone who would like to see). Apparently cows need salt.. After following several paths that can only be described as shingely we reached a path that was more like dirt - we had arrived!
Muddy paths are all well and good but we soon began to tire. Joeys pre op birthmark was playing up and george needed a shave. A unified verdidct of fuck this was reached and FOL thrown down the mountain side with the brave boys tumbling after. The hillside being steep and joey running down it looked and felt like doing something to joe, he was assured it wasnt and told to count stones to take his mind off things. Coincidently this is what got joey into modern art, if there is one thing thats more boring than looking at stones its looking at Ron fucking Muek sculptures. Gravity being gravity we bottem was reached. As i remember the next thing we did was vistit the butser hill conservational educational center gift shop and have ice cream. I think we had twisters, but someone may have had a mini milk (this was before they passed into gay peado slang). Unfortunatly we left FOL unnetended where the park ranger discoverd her. We assured the polite man who in no way acted like a misreble old wanker that we knew the dangers riding wagons could do to ecosystems and minibeasts. He didnt believe our argument that it was georges wheel chair and that untill a few minuets ago he had been entirely crippled. Banned from butser the only thing left to do was phone bens mother to come and take us home. sad times. sad times indeed