6:30 this morning, with a howling gale blowing and thundering rain pounding down, disaster struck on the remote outcrop that is Pevensy Bay. As I lay half asleep, half awake a crack rang out like gunshot in Oscars bathroom and all hell descended on me. The primary tent pole of my trusty Vango 250 had splintered and then tore into the canvas like a broken chopstick cutting thru a mushroom fu yung. As the sodden fly sheet encased my rugged face I had maybe only a few short seconds to escape. My training kicked in. I reached above my handsome head and ripped open the air valve of my flock, Argos air bed and the whoosh of air was sweet music to my ears as it began to deflate thus giving me a few more inches of air in which to live or die. I slid to the zipper of the inner sanctum of the 250 and using my thumb and nibble pointy finger, unzipped myself into the cold, lonely little useless porch bit. At this point my Everton shorts and rode up my bulging thighs and the cold shock of groundsheet shot thru my body forcing me to exclaim Shit thats cold. In a flash I had squeezed my head thru the outer zipper and squirmed onto the soaking grass. I lay motionless for what seemed like seconds. I was wet, my arse was out, but I was alive. A couple of early bird Boy Scouts were passing. One gave me a piece of Kendal mint cake while the other did the wanker sign over my head. The worst of it is I am due back here on Monday to create theatrical magic and now the Vango250 is gone I may not get the chance to get back on the horse, face my demons and once again be The Wildman Of Pevensey Bay. Is this the end? #prayforPStew
Posted on: Sat, 05 Jul 2014 09:03:21 +0000
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