And behind door number
3 is............................
Are you sitting comfortably ? Then we"ll begin...............
Welcome to
TightyanoryOne of the best things about an APAT weekend for me, is getting back to the venue on day two, and finding out what Tighty got upto once he left the venue the night before.
One thing is for sure, Rich knows how to tell a story. Here"s a few of my favourites that were posted on the live update threads this year.
UK TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS, Manchester, January 2010I had to leave my hotel room by 11am, and I just managed to do this despite waking up at 10.30am and thinking it was 6am such was the demands I placed on my weary body yesterday.
I had missed breakfast. Timed to conclude at 10am on a Sunday morning, the establishment clearly was not used to catering for people, such as myself, for whom before 10am on a Sunday is anathema.
I was thus faced with a dilemna. Hungry, which to be fair is not an unusual state, and with time to kill I headed for the Salford McDonalds. I am not proud of this, but my hankering for ready fare overcame any sensibilities of healthy eating.
I arrived at McDonalds, and negotiated my way into the drive through. At the first window I was met by the silhouetted figure of the server, behind a mesh grill and specially reinforced perspex. Royal Windsor and Eton, this is clearly not
I placed my order, repeating three times because the young lady could not understand my dulcet tones, and gingerly handed over my £10 note, except that my hand got stuck in the small area to pass such money, such is the protection afforded to staff in this area.
Extricating myself from my car, one handed, I yanked at my trapped hand whilst a manager came out to observe the commotion. Behind me a couple in a Ford Capri, with no fewer than four children huddled in the back, were it seemed to me trying hard not to titter. Behind them a gentleman in a Kit car was blaring out Urban music from what appeared to be bountiful speakers.
My hand was still trapped, and the manager re-emerged and poured some washing up liquid over my hand and told me to wiggle. A strange request I thought, until I realised he meant my hand
A few minutes later my hand was free. My face was bright red from both embarrassment and exertion.
I moved onto Window three. My gast was flabbered when the male youth behind the next grill and eprspex said "Your order will be two minutes, please park in Bay 2"
"Hold on my good man" I said "I have been stuck at Window One for 7 minutes 30 seconds"
"I need to park in Bay 2?"
He said something to me which may well have been a foreign language such was the strength of his accent, but a point towards Bay 2 and a grunt later, I parked up and waited
A knock on my window followed. Not a word, merely a grunt and a hand thrusting a bag of food in front of my face. I accepted the proferred food, and settled down. The mixture of Radio 4 and McDonalds offered a bewitching cultural menage, but soon I was sated. By Radio 4, not the food.
I moved onto the casino, where within a minute of settling down I was offered my first bad beat story of the day.
My hand is still hurting. My pride is hurting more, and next time I am in Manchester I intend to make it to Hotel breakfast.
APAT Welsh Championship, Swansea, March 2010I had set off for Swansea at 7am Saturday, and by 2am on Sunday morning when I left for my hotel, I was on my last legs. I walked out of the front of Aspers and enquired of a bouncer, six foot wide and eight feet tall, as to where I might find a taxi rank?
He gestured me to the bottom of the road where I "turn left and you can"t miss it"
I looked in front of me. There stood, and swayed approximately 100 of the human detritus of a Saturday night in Swansea. Resisting the temptation to extract my camera phone and take shots of assorted young ladies who might have been wearing skirts, though I wasn"t sure, I began to wend my way to the rank. I reached the end of the road . No taxi rank in sight
"Oi, mate" said a young man worse for wear in front of me, as he thrust his hand in my direction "want a bit of my kebab?"
"No thank you" I replied
"F****ing Hell, lads, he"s bloody English!!" he cried as his mates looked in my direction
I immediately felt a shiver down my spine and had to think on my feet
"er, actually I am half Welsh" I said, meekly and rather pointlessly I added "on my mother"s side. She"s from Aberwystwyth"
The man giggled, and began to move on with his mates. Phew, I had escaped.
I reached a gaggle of people, mainly female
"Hello love, are you a taxi driver?" one young lady asked me
I looked down at my shirt with APAT badge
"No I am not" I said rather sternly
"Oh" she said "you look like a taxi driver"
There was no sign of a taxi rank. Or any taxis.
A friendly pair of policemen walked past. The question had to be asked
"Excuse me where is the taxi rank?"
"It"s closed mate, roadworks"
"Where are the cabs then?"
"Well you won"t get one now for at least an hour, too busy"
I was stuck. Too far to walk to the hotel. I was just about to go back into Aspers when I explained my predicament to a very pretty lady of an age more appropriate to my own demeanour
"Don"t worry love, why don"t you come into the club for an hour, then get a cab when it is quieter?"
I looked at the building. Emanating from it was the insistent beat of house/techno music. I looked at my new companion. I must have looked a bit hesistant
"Don"t worry, we"ll look after you" she said so, for a bargain £8, I entered the club.
Inside it was dark, dingy and loud. Strobes flashed across the floor. I didn"t like the music. Hayley, my by now having established her name, led me to a table and sat me down. All I wanted was a taxi and my bed. Neither looked likely in the immediate future. The vague promise of being on a promise was beginning to sustain me.
After a few minutes Hayley went off for a dance. I was left alone.
She returned, with friends and she said I should go and request some music
I thought to myself that they were unlikely to have either of Five Star "Rain or shine" or Duran Duran "Wild Boys" so declined.
After half an hour I made my excuses, having been on my own for twenty minutes, and left.
In bed for 5am, I slept fitfully the banging beat a backdrop to my thoughts. How Hayley slept, I do not know but in my trouser pocket this morning was a phone humber and the letter H on a piece of paper.
I leave for home as soon as the APAT event is finished.
WCOAP, Nottingham, August 2010 (Morning of Day 2)Half my life is spent in hotels. Corporate jobbies, and I had begun to live my life like Alan Partridge in a Norwich Travelodge.
For this five day stint I decided to do something a little different. A scour of google, a look at a brochure and I decided. I was going to do a bed and breakfast, and try a few home comforts.
I spotted a place half way between Beeston and Long Eaton, a few miles to the West of Nottingham. A working farm had a sideline of a guest house, annexed to the yard. £29 a night, and it looked nice.
I rang up, it not being on t"internet, and spoke to what I imagined was a ruddy faced farmer"s wife on the phone. Five rooms she confirmed, home cooked breakfast every morning in the farm kitchen and I booked on the spot comforted that I would be spared trouser presses, teasmades, Central Nottingham and Premier Inns.
Last night, having already dropped luggage off in the morning, I arrived at the farm at 1.30am. I squelched across the farmyard, dimly lit by a intermittently flashing outside light. I was asleep ten minutes later in a double bed the size of Uzbekhistan with nice clean white sheets and Pillows with more feathers than a Liberace tribute gig.
Sleep came quickly, until seemingly ten minutes later I was awoken by two distinct sounds. A Cockerel crowing. Then cows moo-ing. I crawled out of Uzbekhistan and looked out of the window. My room is on the ground floor and imagine my surprise, and that of the Friesian too, when we met face to face only seperated by a double glazed window. The cow"s breath frosted one side of the glass, and mine the other. The cow was not alone. She and her cohorts were leaving their pens for the day and into the fields. It was 6.15am.
Suddenly I realised my folly, because of course the farmer"s working day is long, and begins early.
I went back to bed, wide awake for ages, and made it for breakfast early.
Sitting in the kitchen, the children readying themselves for school, I settled down to my cooked breakfast.
Ruth, the farmers wife, not at all ruddy, enquired
"Cows didn"t wake you did they? They"re milked before 6am every morning then let out. Do you want to help out tomorrow, some of our guests love it?"
I didn"t want to appear rude in the face of their hospitality so merely said it would depend how long today was, because I was working late etc etc.
Now, sitting in DTD, three events ahead of me today, I am haunted by the prospect of having to milk udders tomorrow purely for politeness" sake. I am English after all. Half Welsh though. Perhaps that Welshness will allow me to grow a pair and say "No" to Udders before breakfast on a weekend.
WCOAP, Nottingham, August 2010 (Morning of Day 4)My landlady is a very pleasant hostess, and her breakfasts are to die for.
Yesterday morning, replete with bacon and toast, she asked me a propos of nothing
"If you are getting in late, I can always bring you some breakfast to your room tomorrow?"
I jumped at the chance of breakfast in bed, told her what I would like, we agreed on 9am and last night, returning to my room slightly earlier than the night before at 2.15am, I fell into slumber knowing that I would awake to the wafting of breakfast at the end of the bed.
Fast forward nearly seven hours and I must be in a deep sleep. I wake with a start at a banging noise on my door
"Richard, Richard!"
I am disorientated, you know that happens sometimes when you are sleeping in an unfamiliar place
I composed myself
"Yes?" I answered at the door
"I have your breakfast, shall I come in?"
This was slighty difficult as I was sleeping without my customary Harrods Pyjamas, monogrammed with APAT's insignia.
I stuttered
"C-C-C-an you leave it outside please, I will pick it up when I am dressed?"
"OK then" came the cheery reply of the lady, no doubt already up for five hours.
Now at this point dear reader, I no doubt should have got dressed. Trousers at least. Maybe a T-Shirt.
But no. No indeed. FML.
I decided in my half awake state to wrap a large bathroom towel around my midriff, and open the door to pick up the breakfast.
I opened the door. The Breakfast tray was to the side of the door, just out of reach.
Now at this point dear reader, I no doubt should have gone and got my room key.
But No. No indeed. FML.
I decided to hold the door open with one foot, whilst reaching down to pick up the tray, dressed only in a towel.
I am of course built for gymnastics, indeed i represented my country in the Parallel Bars in the Moscow Olympics, so a breakfast tray held no fears to me.
I reached out, one foot in the air holding the door open, both hands outstretched. I unbalanced, and found myslef on all fours in the guest house corridor, staring at a pot of tea, wearing a towel..but with the door slammed shut behind me.
It is quite difficult to retain one"s sang froid when on all fours in a hotel corridor wearing nothing but a towel.
Now then, what to do?
Eat Breakfast and think about it later? The thought crossed my mind.
Knock on another room and get them to ring the Farmhouse kitchen? No, the thought did not cross my mind
I decided to tiptoe to the guest house entrance and Peek Out. After all, no doubt I could attract the attention of a passing chicken or Cow. FML.
I opened the guest house door. I let out a plaintive "Hello...." the word losing itself on the breeze of an Autumnal August morning.
I tried again, at which point the 4-5 year old son looked up from his play on what appeared to be a ride-on tractor
"Excuse me" I proferred politely "Can you get your mum?"
He walked towards me, and I feared the worst
My fears were confirmed when he came up to me, looked at my bare top half and said
"Why?"
I explained, and he ran off giggling.
A couple of minutes later Ruth returned smiling. She brushed passed me with the efficiency of a hotelier of some distinction used the master key to open my door and, a cruel touch this I thought, held the door open for me to walk past back into my room. As I sat down on my bed again, she carried the tray in, set it down on the table and wandered out.
I was sure I caught the sotto voce tell tale "Tut" as she did so
Breakfast was very nice indeed.
