As David Lee Roth Once said: “Jump!” and this was indeed the start of the evening and the first leg of the inaugural Miggly Moos Nordic Combined. And it was Hello from 16 fellow moos as we congregated in the Village Hall car park. With a Little Help from my friends we organised floodlit banking by the doctors where the Only Way is up. I should be so lucky as to expect anyone to take this seriously but as I said to Russ “Nothing’s gonna stop us now.” Anyway everyone eventually got into the groove as we looked for the first man to stand and deliver. Khalid seemed to relax at the thought of going last but in reality he was thinking “take on me” although in reality I didn’t want him to stand so close to me as I unravelled the tape measure. We could have stayed there all night long but eventually true to predictions, Khalid won through with Dafney hoping that every loser wins. Budgie failed to show because he was singing his birdie song.
The next step was when the going gets tough and the premier ascent of Turners of 2015 where there have been too many broken hearts in the past. As expected, Feather showed that he didn’t have a true heart and should have started last Christmas as we counted every breath he took to make it to the summit as JP waited for Reg. He was overheard making excuses for his sibling’s poor form exclaiming “he’s not heavy, he’s my brother!”
Next it was the respectable cross over to the cattle grid where everyone started to appreciate the freedom of the trails. Berni made sure that both ebony and ivory were represented as we started the descent down under. Jock took the lead as we thought “you win again” although we were happy his bike stayed in one piece avoiding the need to contact chain reaction again this week. A careless whisper was passed between Toby and Feather although the rest of us had to be brought back to life after the excitement of the conversation.
That’s it I’m out of 80s songs. It’s a sin that this report is going to ratshit. We went up to the mast then down some tidy trails and passed a midget doughnut maker who, in order to inject the filling to his products on the counter had to pump up the jam. That’s it I’m done. We went to the club where nobody was seen consuming very red wine although the herd did digest n n n n n nineteen pasties.
Fuck this. See you for the big race next week. Word of advice for Steak and Falatio day next week - Don’t come on Eileen whatever happens.