1994 Beano to Bruges

WORKS' OUTINGS

The 1994 Beano to Bruges, Belgium

Ohhhhhhhhhhh! It was sohhhhhhhhhhhh EARLY! Such an unearthly hour! Rebecca and Victoria had not even been to bed for fear of missing the coach. The rest of us, were not much better; bleary-eyed and resembling 'Death warmed-up' we stumbled aboard.

On the boat, everyone split up and scattered in all directions. The majority made a bee-line for the self-service restaurant and ordered enormous breakfasts. Good job they had efficient sea-legs, as well as the obvious hollow ones.

Later, Martin was to be found on the top deck, clutching his bottle of gin and puzzling over the changes of direction taken by the ferry. Rex was up there too, a lone figure, cheerfully reading his paper in the sun. Martin and Saeed were sitting further along, deep in conversation. And the rest? Some at least were gracing the bar with their presence.

In France, no passports were required and the coach was soon on its merry way. Lots of loud laughter and guffaws could be heard regularly from the front. We later discovered that a bottle of bubbly had been raising their spirits, which explained why those in the front seemed merrier than those in the back. It was because they jolly well were merrier! The rear end contented itself with playing with words and inventing new phrases, soon to be adopted into the English language.

When we reached the outskirts of Bruges, we were caught up in a traffic jam of immense proportions. Despite a shout of "Make way. We are British!" No-one did, so we crawled inch by inch towards our goal. Rex became more and more edgy. Suddenly he panicked and arranged for everyone to get off the coach (in dribs and drabs) in the middle of nowhere. Everytime the coach was stopped in traffic, a few more spewed out onto the pavement. Rex and one other zoomed off at top speed, waving to us from a distance, before disappearing altogether - obviously in a hurry.

Completely flummoxed, we aimed vaguely in the same direction, shedding people along the way as different places or routes took their fancy. Allan, Jenni and a number of others were the first to stop for a drink. Surprisingly it was Grant, Sophia and myself who were the first to arrive at the restaurant - not Rex & co.

Looking aghast, the maitre d'hotel accused us of being the first and, instead of smiling welcomingly. barred our way as if he wanted us to go away and return later. He obviously knew what he was letting himself to be in for and he still had a full room of diners to protect!

What happened in the restaurant is best left to the imagination or perhaps to someone who was there the whole time, because during the meal, I went off to sightsee on foot and by boat.

(But that's another story.)

The journey back was something else. It started calmly enough. Everyone staggered vaguely in the direction of the coach park for the 7 o'clock departure. It was not easy to find. The map was useless as it did not show any canals and there were so many! Many of us did not have have a clue, whilst others had their pet theories (later to be shot down in flames) as to which direction we should take. It was test enough for the sober, let alone the innebriated.

Ann decided to change her trousers, causing Saeed to have a sudden fit of the giggles at the thought of anyone trying to change their clothes in the cramped conditions of a coach loo. Saeed was right, it must have been near impossible, but it could have been worse, read on......

One of the social club summer staff had arrived back looking decidedly pickled. To everyone's horror, after doing unmentionable things in the coach loo (luckily Ann had already changed her trousers), he was obviously very close to throwing up in the direction of the driver. Ever helpful, Ann led him far away and encouraged him to spew over her gold strapped shoes and in a variety of other chosen places in the coach park; he obliged and returned, still looking capable of showering everyone in his vicinity, but steadier on his feet. Ann mothered him, even kindly opening her bag of mint imperials, so he could smell of MINT, instead of VOMIT. (Almost an anagram, wouldn't you say? Still, if she had offered him VIMTO, it would not have had the same effect on his breath.)

A group arrived back supporting Simon, who was limping. He hopped and hobbled down the aisle of the bus to his spot on the back seat. When, a little later, he rushed to get off the coach and forgot to limp, we were all pleased he had made such a miraculous recovery.

Needless to say, the coach did not leave at 7 o'clock. At 7.3O (maybe even later), a flushed trio arrived. Those who were there know who the culprits were. I leave you to dwell on who they were and what might have detained them....... (Suffice it to say - first away, last to return.)

The journey began with the crowd in the front chanting raucously, whereas beautiful, harmonious melodies could be heard from the contingency in the rear.

It's strange how certain things can change people. For some, just getting behind a steering wheel, makes them into temporary monsters! On that eventful day, for Simon, wearing lipstick not only transformed him from mentally active to physically active, but it made him randy too!

The coach rules do not apply to staff - only the students. When not dancing with other tiddly teachers, Simon preferred to travel, hanging from the luggage rack like a fruit bat. This was no mean feat, I can assure you and I wish that I had had a camera. His "piéce de resistance" was when the coach lurched to a halt whilst he was in mid somersault. He rapidly completed a full turn, dropped to the floor of the coach and, as we watched open-mouthed, expecting him to land on the driver's lap (or worse), he executed a perfect surefooted landing with such breathtaking flair and artistic flourish, he would not have been out of place in an international athletics event. On this occasion, the applause and shouts of admiration were genuine and not the product of high spirits.

An interesting competition was devised by some mischievous member. Entitled "Find Your Shoe Yourself", it attracted a number of footloose, but not fancy-free people, wearing expressions of increasing exasperation, when it was clear that their shoes were not going to be found easily.

Steve's sock went one further and entered itself in the "Concealed Footwear Contest". Being the only contestant in the sock section, it was a clear winner, having managed to stay out of sight almost as long as the final errant shoe.

It was a wonderful day, but how did they feel the next morning? Ask them. (Now what tense will you use?)

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Bibi Boarder 1994