Weekend in Warby

ol smokey wrote:Someone has to pay for this...

Agreed. It cannot go unpunished.

Someone has to pay for this...

A few weeks ago I had to leave the Carriage Cafe in Seville a bit early after a Saturday ride, due to a haircut appointment back in Mooroolbark. Whilst leaving I moaned about not simply going to the barber of Seville.

The Barber of Seville being a famous opera, Tony Garner was duly disgusted at the bad pun. Tony was organising a weekend away in Warburton and on the spot he decided that the only rule of behaviour was that no bad jokes or puns would be allowed... on pain of being sent home.

So we gathered at Tony's place to garner as much information as possible about the planned weekend in Warby. There were nine of us going. Brin Cottle, Eric Crombie, John Eckhardt, Ed Kuppens, Laurie Marshall, Helmut Abst, Ed Morris, Phil Bellamey, Tony Garner and myself. Mick Croft had been planning to come but had just discovered that he was colour-blind, a diagnosis that came completely out of the green.

Placid read us the riot act and again stressed the only rule of conduct... no bad jokes (he glared at Fonzie, Eric and Ed Morris) and no puns! He looked at me sternly and I knew this was going to be a real test.

It's a little known fact that I once submitted no less than ten entries into an international punning contest to give myself the best chance to win. Unfortunately no pun in ten did.

The main issue was that there were only 8 proper beds at the house Tony had booked, though there was an extra cot bed for holiday makers who had kids. 'That's okay', Brin chimed in. 'A cottle do me'. And that was how we lost Brin before we even started.

The remaining 8 of us rode to Warburton the following evening and stopped by Peter van Outen's place to say hello. We saw Peter's van out in the street, so we knew he was home. He'd been watching the news and told us that a cheese factory in France had exploded. Apparently there was nothing left but de brie.

After leaving his place we went to the Warburton Hotel for dinner. 'Isn't that K2 at the bar?' asked Fonzie, despite Kevin and Pam being away on holidays. 'No, that can't be White', replied Eric and became the second person to be sent home in disgrace.

Phil asked me why Kelvin Blair hadn't been able to join us. I explained that the Kelvinator was working on his project that weekend. 'Witch Blair project is that?', asked Phil and then pretended he couldn't understand why he was given his marching orders.

We ordered our food, burgers with the lot (with an egg and pineapple) being a popular choice. Also popular was the special of the day, crumbed whiting with chips. The waitress asked the burger orderers how they wanted their egg done. 'I'll have mine runny', said Helmut. 'I'll have my egg hard, said John... and that's how we lost The Fonz.

Lunchbox Laurie had of course brought his own food, so he was able to start eating first. I was starving and tried to steal a bite of one of his sandwiches, copping a punch in the arm. 'You look like yorv been hit by a lorry', said Ed Morris and was duly sent packing.

I nearly pissed myself laughing at Ed's misfortune and had to go to the bathroom where to my astonishment I thought I saw a pterodactyl going into the next cubicle. I listened but heard nothing, probably because the pee is silent. Haha! Got away with it. If a pun falls in a forest but there is no-one to hear it...

Homer's crumbed fish arrived, but his coffee was served in a take-away cup and Eduard was not happy. 'Is it too much to ask for a proper Kuppens saucer', he grumbled. 'You're gone', ordered Placid. Homer tried to argue that if no pun is meant there should be no punishment, but it fell on deaf ears.

Lunchbox was laughing so hard that his elbow connected with the edge of Homer's plate and flipped it hard enough to send his fish, complete with tartare sauce, sailing into the wall behind him. The pub owner was looking far from amused at this point. Realising the whiting was on the wall, we hurriedly left.

When we got to our bikes to ride back to the rental house, Helmut was annoyed to discover that someone had taken his helmet. We all hunted around for Helmut's helmet but it was gone. To cope with Helmut's angst he started humming under his breath, 'No milk today, my helmet's gone away.'

'Helmuts Hermits?', I ventured, recognising the tune. 'Herman's Helmets', opined Lunchbox. 'You'll both be going home if you're not careful', threatened Grumpy placidly.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LesWfbkJJlQ

I then suggested that in the abst-ence of Helmut's helmet he could ride on Placid's Spyder and collect his bike another time... and for that minor indiscretion was very unfairly sent on my way.

'You know how to get back?' asked Laurie. 'Just guy west young man', was Helmut's advice and he was promptly told to join me. We departed somewhat chastened with Helmet wearing a spare helmut, humming to ourselves, 'No milk today, the cow has passed away'. Catchy song that, for sure.

This is where the story gets a bit flimsy. Up to now I can vouch for the accuracy of all I have written, but from now on it is just hearsay. I'm told that shortly after Helmut and I left, Laurie admitted to Placid that he sometimes drinks brake fluid, but unwisely added that he can easily stop any time.

After that there are only vague, unconfirmed reports of one Tony Garner enjoying a very quiet and restful weekend on his Pat Malone.

The end.

(All events described in this article are fictitious and bear no similarity to real events, living or dead.)