Nimmy's World

We were going on a country hike with members of the Handlebar Club, then we went to a huge World Beard and Moustache championship style event.

I found myself sitting on a pile of bread.

My friend Corinne and I went to my ex-fiance's house. He still lived with his parents and it looked exactly as it did nine years ago.

I'd arrived at a theme park, which looked like Oakwood in Wales. We were in a people carrier with friends Sarge, June and Harry, being driven by Paul.

The park was closed, but we went in anyway, and saw other friends there including Linda and Vicky (who don't know each other in real life).

They were walking down a series of crash-mats which had been piled up onto the other so water could be sprayed on them for people to slide down.

 

We were halfway down when staff appeared and asked us to get off, removing the mats while we were walking.

I was talking with Vicky when we came across a queue of people and found our friend Stephen in the creche being treated like a child.

Then I realised Gareth, who Vicky and I were friends with from Duke of Wellington pub days years ago, was behind us in the queue, and he pretended to be a baby to get into the creche.

 

Vicky, Linda and I then went to a walk-through game ride called the Thomas Cook adventure (We booked our holiday this week). It was dark with lots of wood panelling to make it look like the inside of a ship.

We had to find a mechanism and disable it.

 

The place was a complex maze and difficult to find your way around.

I knew I was far from other people when I found the mechanism, but it was being guarded by a psycho who wouldn't let me touch it and planned to hurt everyone in the maze.

However, I managed to get on their good side by giving them some marshmallows.

I was searching for a gift for my friend's baby daughter's baby warming (not religious hence warming). I searched for ornaments and a sealable glass ball so I could make her own snow globe with the glitter spelling her name.

I couldn't find anything quite right, so used a huge jar filled with water instead. The hexagonal type you might use as a biscuit tin.

I went to  wedding and was sat at a table with Madonna and Vivienne Westwood. Madonna kept her eye on her children who were setting at a children's table between ours and anther table (which had Guy Richie on it).

The evening was spent mainly enjoying Vivienne Westwood's company. We got on and added each other's numbers to our mobile phones, and I made a joke that I had better not put her down as Westwood as I might confuse her with the DJ.

For some reason my car was parked inside a school gym and there was a great debate about getting it, and others out.

 

I also dreamt I returned to my old school to find the cypt had been converted into a museum, with interesting rocks and minerals. I was shown around by my old geography teacher Mr Goldup.

I'd flown to Canada to stay with my friends Val and Donnie. They lived on the edge of a park, with a large open area and lots of trees around the edge. I realised I'd taken the wrong money with me.

 

I also dreamt a twittering bug was living in our bedroom carpet (although our bedroom looked more like my old bedroom at my parental home). It was a large insect which kept leaping out of the carpet and diving back down again.

When I caught it in a large glass dish, and sprayed it with insect death chemicals, it grew into a robot with organic components inside.

I went to the gym and all the equpment had been replaced with tables, laid out in a school style.

 

Then I dreamt I was driving through Germany with family. We stayed at a hotel over night and I only just managed to check out in time, but took extra chocolate croissants from the breakfast buffet.

They were not good.

ONE of the few areas of tension between Paul and I is his delight at taking the road less travelled.

This doesn’t involve being left-field, but more to do with his joy at eccentric travel arrangements.

Why travel from A to B when you can travel from A to B via C, D, E and F, maybe G and H too while you’re at it.

There are times when I would much rather go home (something I managed when I did the driving coming back from Drayton Manor Park when I hit the M40 running), but, give the man his due, most of the time I do enjoy his twisted routes (the exception being the day after John and David’s wedding in Leyland when I ended up saying, “Paul, it is almost 4pm, I’d like to leave Lancashire now please”).

 

Our journey to Stuttgart for the European Beard and Moustache Championships took a strange route.

I wanted to fly BA from Heathrow direct to Stuttgart (the venue was extremely close the airport) while taking advantage of our national carriers low-cost fares. But no.

Heathrow is a pain to get to, and there were engineering works on the railways on Sunday. This is why we flew from Gatwick to Basel with EasyJet, catching the Deusche Bahn ICE train to Karlsruhl then changing to Stuttgart, and S-Bahn to Echterdingenlingenfingen. Ja.

It sounds traumatic, but it was rather pleasant.

 

Basel is an attractive city, as you would expect for neutral Switzerland, and extremely expensive. We could afford nothing more than a couple of rolls and a soft drink (about £13), but enjoyed the city sites. The fair seemed to be in town, with an impressive selection of rides. Didn’t go on anything though as each one cost £100 to ride, probably.

 

We love Deusche Bahn. The ICE train to Karlsruhl was beautiful. It was a big white ‘bullet’ with comfy seats in first class. We went past Europa Park on the way, and I pointed out the lift hill to Silver Star and the dome of Eurosat to Paul. The train was going to Berlin from Interlaken, and the compartment had a booklet with details of the time we were due to arrive at each station and the onward connections from there.

We had eight minutes to make our connection at Karlsruhl (from Saltsburg), but we knew the platform we were going to, the train was there, and boom, we were off to Stuttgart.

 

Having left home at 6am, we were at our hotel at 6pm. As we walked up to the door (having walked around the block due to the hotel’s entrance being set back from the road), we saw president of the World Beard and Moustache Association, Bruce Roe, smoking a fag in front of the hotel with fellow Handlebar Club members Andy Lear (who we’d met a couple of times before) and Leo Litowich (who we’d not met before). A quick turn around in our room (so we felt less minging) and we were off to Lienfeldenwelden for dinner with assorted beards and moustaches.

 

Paul and I knew where the station was, having come from there, and we also had a Google Map showing the venue. We like maps, none of this satnav stuff for us thank you. We were all late, but it was fine, and the waiters didn’t panic about me being vegetarian, but served up some fried mozzarella. It was schnitzel night, and the place was full of hirsute folk.

 

Saturday was competition day, and we were off early to Lienfeldenwelden again so the men could join four separate queues. One to pay, one to be pre-judged to make sure they were in the right class, then photographs and finally competitors pass.

 

I find it quite amazing to be on first-name and nodding terms with people in the World Beard and Moustache Championship 2003 book. Some I would even call friends.

 

I loved Elmar Weissner’s freestyle full beard, created to look like a tie. Karl-Heinz Hille was beautifully turned out as ever, his imperial half beard looked stunning. There were shocks when these two didn’t win.

 

The Handlebar Club’s table had been labelled Team Beard USA, as we were sharing, but Dennis Dickenson was the only representative from the team. Our table was a mix of English, Swedes, Americans and Dutch, as we were the minority groups. The next table had the Hungarians, who were amazing. They were a group of chaps dressed as Hussars from the 16^th, 17^th and 19^th centuries. They perform at special events and were dressed beautifully in historic costume. Throughout the day they drank demi johns of home-made wine, cracked whips, waved swords and sang. They were great fun and slightly barking mad.

 

The first Berlin Beard Club had adopted a couple from California who are on a world tour. Greg and Lisa had hoped to take in Handlebar Club meetings in the UK and Berliner club meeting in Berlin; however, they hit the jackpot when they discovered they could meet everyone in Stuttgart, or at least many. By the end of the weekend they’d collected a fair number of pin badges, making them honorary members of the Berlin, Handlebar and Svenska Moustacheklubben (we also have this bad now). Throughout their tour so far they’ve had some great experiences, and are heading to the far east for Christmas.

 

Paul didn’t take the European crown, the winner was well-deserved, a huge specimen, but it’s not about the winning, it’s the taking part, and it really is so much fun. Ted Stedman won the only first prize that didn’t stay in Germany, winning the Chinese moustache category, so that’s the world and European crowns for him.

 

During the weekend Bruce talked to Paul about Alaska, as did Handlebar Club chairman Rod. We’d like to go, but it’s not cheap. However, the 2011 World Championships are taking place in Norway, which is good, but expensive.

 

After a fun day we went back to the hotel where Paul helped other members of the Handlebar Club drink some of the beer gifted to non-German clubs by Belle Moustache. There was a lot of it, about 40 litres in six mini kegs, so there was no way this stuff was going back on the plane, but it’s the thought that counts.

 

The following day, after saying our goodbyes, Paul and I had a wander around Stuttgart before heading down to Basel. Stuttgart has a few lovely old buildings amid the 1960s carbuncles, and is starting its Christmas market, as there were food stalls and an ice rink in the main square.

 

It was a great weekend and I look forward to our next moustache event.

Two very separate and vivid dreams.

 

In the first one I'd gone to Swindon and decided to visit friends there and arrived at their house to find their baby had arrived. Paul an I went to the hospital to see them.

(Friends of mine in Swindon have a baby due in the next couple of weeks).

 

An alarm went off and I headed for a bunker to hide from bombing.  Members of my family were in there, along with school friends and Roller Coaster Club of Great Britain friends. It was wood panelled and had windows so we could see out, but these were extra thick.

 

Time had passed and I looked out to see my friend Marcus, who had grown a beard and was wearing some form of flame-proof suit. He saw me, waved and urged me to come out.

It seems everything was okay.

I was Linda Bellingham, former Oxo mum, starring in a West End show with Roger Lloyd-Pack (seriously, I have no idea where this stuff comes from).

 

We were due to sing a duet on stage for a gala event.

 

The stage was a ring, with people in the middle and around the outside.

 

There were dancers standing in an even grid formation, as though each of them stood at the corner of a square, with space between them.

 

The spotlights also formed rings and it looked as though they were reflected from a giant mirror ball.

 

As I started to sing I realised Roger wasn't there, but someone else was on stage and we were singing someone else's duet, but fortunately managed to pull through.

I was being attacked by a small horse. It kept leaping up at me and I felt its hooves on my back.

 

It seems I had night terrors for the first time because I felt the weight and then woke up to find myself standing by the bed and Paul holding my hand saying: "Calm down, are you alright?"

 

Apparently I'd screamed out something in my sleep and then shot out of bed, leaving Paul awake, confused and shocked.

 

I got back in and cuddled him, he was shaking with shock, poor lamb.

I was in a restaurant but it was within Desperate Housewives, and I was there with the characters.

I went to the loo, but went into the wrong ones. They were part of a housing development next door.

We were on a coach journey, and while the driver was filling up with petrol, the coach was hi-jacked.

I managed to sneak back on board, but 'Tom' chased the bus and was trying to save his family (of course, being television he hadn't phoned the police).

I was hidden on the coach and heard the radio was on, but no news about the hi-jack.

A dedication came over the airwaves from 'Tom'.

Then we stopped by a housing estate. It was hot and dusty and the hi-jackers started running up a hill. Dust flew everywhere.

I was in the queue line for the Grand National at Blackpool. It was the south side of the station, and I was talking with my friend Andy S.

There was a single seat left in the second row of the train and I went for it. Instead of turning left out of the station, the train turned right and went straight down a first drop.

At he bottom I could see a sign that read: "Longest drop".

However, this near-vertical fall went straight into the ground, there was no continuing track.

I managed to wiggle out of the restraints and jumped free of the train before it hit the ground.

The surface was deep mud, and I started pulling people free from the wreckage.

While out shopping for glitter pens (honestly, I was), I had a peek around the children's books section at Wilkinsons in Worthing. Not a haven of great literature, but when buying gifts for a number of small children in our families, it's not a bad place to look.

 

There were two books on the shelf that caught my attention.

The Boy's Book: How to Be the Best at Everything and The Girl's Book of Glamour: A Guide to Being a Goddess.

 

It made me cross.

 

Once again I was the seven year old girl being told I couldn't be a Cub, I had to be a Brownie, because boys were Cubs and girls were Brownies.

 

I didn't want to make cakes, keep house and host tea parties. I wanted to climb trees, build camps and find stuff in mud.

 

The boy's book was the best one. It had knots and camping and putting people in the recovery position etc.

 

I know some girls do like the glamour thing, and I admit, I've started doing my nails at the grand old age of 37, but why prefix these books this way?  

 

Surely a book about how to be the best at everything would be better without the boy label.

 

This is not fueled by PC, but personal experience.

 

Bah.

 

Another great weekend had by us.

I haven't been to Loopathon for the past two years due to real life getting in the way, so it was great to have that experience again.

Loopathon 2002 was my first club trip, so it has a special place in my heart.

Paul hadn't been to Alton for 20 years, so was quite struck by the changes in the place.

The day began with a warming hug from Bazza before we went to Oblivion.

Oblivion was cold, but fun.

 

We did enjoy Rita, although the back row of each car is not the place to be in the rain.

Paul made an eek noise on the first go, but was soon running around again.

Of course we rode Corkscrew for old time's sake.

Other highlights of the day, Dual 62,500, I thank you.

Hex - a very good setting, and some seriously scared screams from some first timers.

Spinball - It's really settled in, and felt like great fun.

We also enjoyed petting the guinea pigs in Old McDonald's farm, and looking at the giant rabbits.
 
My first time experiences were Riverboat Eye Spy (excellent) and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (I miss the hippo).

We ate at Eastern Express (great lentil curry with rice and salad £4.99).

I'm afraid from the look of the buffet this year (supplied by Alton Towers at a charge of £8) I didn't think it was very vegetarian friendly for the price.

In general I think the availability of healthier food around the park has improved.

It was good to see fruit pots and more water available.

Nemesis ERS (exclusive ride session) was as fab as ever.

Paul, full of boundless energy, kept running around for more.

On Saturday night there was a surprise party for Harry Ross at Peakstones.

Loopathon was Harry's final club trip before he joins the Royal Navy to train as an aeronautical engineer.

There were sailor hats a-go-go at Peakstones, and Harry had such a good time he didn't make it to Drayton!!

We were late ourselves having decided on a leisurely start to the wet day. After much faffing around, due to being sent to the wrong car park, and then confusion over tickets, we found the ticket piles and headed into the park.

What can I say about Thomas Land? It's stunning and a real credit to Drayton.

There are young children in our family and we're going to recommend it to their parents.

 

The theming is first class, and I hope it stays up to this standard. The new coaster Troublesome Trucks, is superb. Even a bit of AIRtime.

It was Paul's first visit to Drayton, so we tried to fit in a bit of everything. He particularly enjoyed Shockwave (strange man).

After a spectacular lunch (what a spread, I particularly enjoyed the olive and feta bruschetta) we had a little wander around the zoo area, having caught the train from Thomas Land (Percy).

It was the first time I'd been around there, and we enjoyed it very much, particularly the marmosets and the grey owl, who followed us with his head.

I went to a cash point to talk out loads of money for my cousin Rachel to cover her train fare to college.

My partner and his younger sister researched the restaurant at the Royal York Hotel before booking a large family dinner to celebrate their parents' ruby wedding.

However, once we arrived the menu wasn't the one on the website, shown to them when they booked, or the one publicised outside the hotel.

It seems the dining room is a fish restaurant, but they will do Sunday roast.

The vegetarian option on the online and street menu wasn't available. When we asked we were told of two dishes (as there were three vegetarians in our group we wouldn't have booked a fish restaurant if we'd known). Also, the children's menu wasn't available, however smaller portions of the roast beef dinner were made up for them.

The food was very good.

How can I describe the service? When we arrived there were two tables finishing up, so our party was the only group in the restaurant.

We had to ask for the wine menu.

We had to ask for our wine three times before it finally arrived in time for the main course (surely they should be pouring it before the starters arrive).

Our mineral water was served and then the bottle kept on the other side of the restaurant.

Again we had to ask for refills three times before they were forthcoming.

Eventually the staff left the bottles on our table.

I'd say describing the service as poor would be doing the staff a favour.

The dining room is beautiful, but the Royal York needs to decide what's being served in its restaurant, and encourge the staff to serve the table, rather than stand around chatting in the corner.

Today Paul and I walked into town to shop. There was no plan, but Paul fancied going to Taj, which made our shop a little bit more expensive that it might have been otherwise, but also meant I could stock up on vegan products. We went to the new branch on the corner of St James' Street in Brighton. It's smaller than the Western Road branch, which has a deli counter, butchers and larger frozen section, but it was still very good.

 

As we walked home we passed Carluccio's on the corner of Jubilee Street. The Italian biscuits in the window reminded me of my friend Marta in Florence, and I thought I would buy some.

 

When I visited her father would buy fresh ones from the local baker, and these were lovely and soft, but the harder ones (they've got nuts in, I can't remember what they're called) were just as delicious.

 

I picked up a packet and a tub of ice-cream and went to the counter. A woman was being served, a couple of people had coffees and a man was waiting.

After 10 minutes the couple paid for their coffees, the woman served and the man was in the process of being served.

 

That's 10 minutes, to sell some bits of cheese and ham. I thought: "this gelato is going to melt."

I made of point of putting my two items £9.50 worth, back and walking out.

 

How does this shop manage to sell anything?

It began in a pub which seemed to be a combination of Hove Place and TGI Friday's at Cedar Point in Ohio. Someone was paying for all the drinks and I encouraged my friend to order a round, but the money had run out. Millionaire Steve Bing (Liz Hurley's ex) stepped in to pay, because he was an old friend of mine.

My friend and I went to his house for a party. The house had lots of windows with white painted frames and lots of plants, mainly green ferns.

We saw Liz Hurley and her husband there, and it seemed I knew him, too.

I went to rest as I had a migraine, and woke up refreshed and had a shower. As I dried off my colleague Richard came in, but he was an android butler and made beeping noises.

 

 

I recall reading about Steve Bing at the weekend in some feature. The rest I don't understand at all.

I was at my parent's home and had used up all the hot water. Then I was chatting with Dan, who is growing a Tacheback moustache and Toby, about Kenya. Toby's been in Africa recently and we were looking at pictures.

Then we got a taxi to where I was living, a student halls of residents in central Worthing. We shared the taxi with a person who looked like our friend Debbie, but had S-Boy who I chat with online's name. My old friend Vashti was also in the taxi.

We arrived at the hall after avoiding a traffic jam by taking a short cut over a cobbled path next to a canal.

I was in a cafe type environment in a rural area. It felt a bit Secret Army.

When I went to leave I got into a double bed I had rigged up as a vehicle. The wheels were powered with a rig of wires set up from a battery powered radio and scart leads.

I drove it over a common the top of cliffs near Eastbourne and it failed. I pushed it to town with the help of a group of children, and Paul set up a colourful tank so it could be steam powered.