Saturday was started before Matt had the chance to demonstrate his latest wake up call by an irate Yorkshireman trying to get his car out of our car park, though we have yet to understand what his problem was unless he happens to drive a tank. Pen Y Ghent and Ingleborough provided the venues for a day of messing around in the mud, which was dampened only by one group being able to laugh at the others in the rain on the opposite mountain.
Saturday evening ended our search for a TV celebrity in the pub when we discovered our waitress was a past guest on Trisha. She naively thought that Dermot was a respectable Irishman and volunteered her skills by making him a potent Irish coffee. We were so impressed with her services that we elected her as our next new president, but only until presidential requirements involved the rescue of Martin who had accidentally decided to remain in the bunkhouse. Richard was reinstated.
Mulled wine and mince pies were welcomed before the nocturnal activities began. Drinking games a plenty, including a very revealing ‘I have never…’, and an even more revealing demonstration of Dan’s affection for certain members (you the Daddy Dan!) led to physical challenges involving precarious balancing acts and the destruction of contraband climbing equipment. Paul was unusually not the first to shed his clothes as Dermot beat him to the task, running through the party room with only a towel to spare his (and our) blushes. A flurry of brutality fended off his attackers leaving him to escape unscathed, but Jock was not so lucky with his attempt at running the gauntlet.
Sunday saw an early start for Becky and Matt and a few rare early birds, to finish the earlier morning attempt at tidying up and to ensure payment to the surprisingly pleased owner, (despite her current predicament of bum spasms) started the procession of hung over hikers rolling out of bed. An obvious late departure, with all members present, took us on an extended detour involving a 40minute drive to travel somewhere just 6miles away, testing hangover ailments to the max. The usual tourist trail was abandoned in favour of a geography lesson around Malham (how many steps were there?) followed by a hot soup break, which fuelled a scramble up through the waterfalls at Gordale Scar.
Departure for dinner in Knaresborough was delayed by a telephone search for an unlost lost wallet, though the fish and chips and beer were well worth the wait. Then a sleepy secretary’s lack of observation led one minibus to join the standstill of traffic on the A1 while the cunning initiative of the president and treasurer led them to the empty parallel road, providing a chance to gloat as they passed their stationary friends. With the weekend Christmas Party over, it’s time to look forward to the New Year celebrations in the Brecon Beacons.