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E38 Showdown and shine on.
It was another September, it was another Edition 38, it was another over excited build up to the last show of the season, it was the verge of the best show of the season. It was time to stop fannying about, and get seriously daft…
We spend all winter faffing about with our cars, getting in a lather, and stressing out about if our rides are low enough, if our rims are phat enough, and if our OEM what-nots are rare enough. Ebay.de makes a fortune out of us lot. We get in a right old state, spinning ourselves into a frenzy of ‘Obscure VAG Top Trumps’ just so we can hang around our vehicles waiting for someone to ask ‘… err, are they banded steels mate, where d’ya get ‘em?’ So that we can say ‘nah, there Mattigs innit’ and then feel all self satisfied and warm inside. Only to get double miffed that someone has out rared us, and found the prototype Mk1 GTi in a shed in Hull, and it’s in Oak bloody Green. Pfft.
The weather forecast looked ominous, ominous to the point that I took a trip over to my parents house to pick up my old riding boots… from those distant Pony Club days. Coats, umbrellas, and a hot water bottle for me were top of the ‘things to pack’ list. After that it descended into… beer, food… err… tent… bbq… beer…err thats all we need, lets just get going. So we did, we went.
Lo and behold the weather on Friday afternoon was glorious. The drive down was sweet, even though we forgot to pack a map, so we winged it, and just turned off at J15a. Luckily a Mk2 valver (now thats a surprise) was doing a swifty overtaking maneuver whilst gorping and waving. We guessed he was heading to the show and seized our opportunity… I shouted ‘Follow that old knacker’ and Lee duly did. 15 minuets later we were at the showground,
it was uncommonly packed. Usually, arriving mid afternoon gives you the pick of the campsite… not anymore. After three laps of Club Lupo, who were 90% of the entire site, stopping, starting, conferring then moving on, I pointed to a nice patch on a corner, and ordered Lee to stop the Caddy. I got out, had a bit of a strop, and said ‘pitch the tents there’ pointing at nowhere in particular. Several thousand yards of nylon later and StPancras the tent was resplendently erect… now all I had to do was wait for the Waynsicle to arrive with the Taj Mahall, and we were stylin’. In the mean time, the chaps popped off to Tesco for some beer, as we were a bit short on beer, apparently. The girls stayed behind, and we spent our time drinking very small novelty cans of Heiniken, sucking on Swizzles sherbet lollys, fielding calls from Wayne who was now lost and circling Northampton with a random Corrado, and lending the bottle opener/corkskrew to a constant precession of ill prepared thirsty dubbers.
By now, I was high as a kite on sherbert, and restless with it, so it was time to get the BBQ/bonfire on the go whilst the boys (all present now) got the Taj up, and pontificated over sticker placement, and who had the tightest jeans.
Under the now cover of darkness and beer, Lee and I went for a tour of the campsite to see if we could find anyone familiar to bother. I spot Glens Mk2, and before I know it, Lee’s briskly busteling through a bunch of cars heading towards an illuminated gazebo. Putting on his extreme sports head for a moment, he walks straight through several still glowing disposable BBQ’s realises what he’s done, looks at the bemused crowd of lads, and states the obvious ‘err… your not Dubcircle?’ Big Ron looks at him, and laughs, then says ‘we are on a MILF hunt tonight’.
Saturday morning was moderately inclement, inclement to the point of it pissing down… whilst blowing a gale. Mr Roast was feeling uncommonly gippie too, but a bracing charge across the show field in horizontal drizzle, followed by a small tub of PVW vodka jelly soon had him back on form. A modicum of moistness wasn’t enough to put anyone else off the show happening either, and Captain Microphone™ was doing his best to bellow into the wind and keep us entertained with dub facts.
Four rolls of film and a kamikaze flyaway inflatable later, the weather was starting to break. Wayne could hear his name being called several miles away up on the show field, so went sprinting off across the campsite. Minutes later his fresh three door Mk1 Jetta reappeared, the dashboard deservedly displaying a fine slab of silverware. So as dusk drew in, the cloud lifted, BBQ smog filled the air, and Elvis the Caddy was put to good use as a camper annoyance device. Off it went, bouncing across the site with Mr&Mrs Roast riding bareback bedside, whilst shooting photographs and generally whooping ‘n’ a hollerin’. During that episode I was in the woods with Wayne collecting firewood, I find camping just isn’t the same without plumes of thick smoke and stinging streaming eyes.
A constant supply of visitors to Zentral Kamp kept us away from our tea, so it was getting on midnight before we headed up to the big yellow & white stripy tent full of exotic sustenance. Just as I was pushing a lamb samosa into my face, an unknown lad shouted ’super sharp shooter’ at me. I carried on eating, too hungry to be separated from food by anyone.
Morning broke, the Jetta and Caddy disappeared off up to the show field, and in proper gypo style I opened a can of Sainsbury’s™ Be Good to Yourself Reduced Salt Baked Beans and stood them on the gas stove. While they bubbled and spattered away to themselves, half a carton of Tropicana™ slipped down very easily, and a white Polo on air-ride drove past seventeen times in as many minutes. Buzzing on a cocktail of not much salt and a lot of vitamins, I hung three of the six cameras I’d brought with me round my neck, and we all mooched on up to the show.
Some olympic class showing off was going on, which is allways good, and some olympic class hangovers were very evident, which is just funny. Several million photographs later, I remembered I promised to take a panoramic shot of the show from the top of the PVW portable bungalow. A very nice chap with neat hair and a pink shirt hoisted me atop the big plastic trolly, then kindly helped me back down again, without complaining once.
Under the effects of too much sun and not enough ice cream, I bought a handfull of raffle tickets, then someone who I haven’t seen for 5 years appeared out of the crowd.
it was getting to the point where we knew full well we really had to go home, but didn’t want to. I didn’t win the VR either, so had a brief sulk to myself about that. Prizes where awarded, Big Ron won everything, including Best Hip Hop Album. Then they started dismantling the stage, we got the message, and went home. Thankfully the Caddy got all the way back to Nottingham without exploding, and thanks to Joe from Leeds we went home with nearly as much beer as we arrived with.
Lets do it again next year, but bigger, and Krapper.