It was a time of war. Heroes and war. Heroes, villains and war. And so with the scene set we embark on a moist adventure of rain, sea, booze and unconfirmed gossip. Now it may be said that al the gossip isn’t entirely kosher but since everyone was being a little subdued on Saturday night, the gossip has been embellished upon. All right, a lot of it is a complete lie but you’ve brought it upon yourselves for being too reserved.

Friday afternoon was the start of this jolly as is the usual case with the busses leaving at staggered times generally at a later time than that arranged. You’ll have to get used to that if you’re gonna stay with the canoe club. Luckily enough I was on the late bus which was only 15 minutes late leaving. A club record or pretty close to it. The journey was, well, the Gower journey really with a short detour to pick up our second driver Will. We had the added bonus of getting Captain Bignob’s in-flight entertainment. So with our general knowledge show up for the cretin status it’s in, we completed our “character building” journey at around midnight. Midnight since everyone on board was a grand master at yoga by the end to get into our seats, as we were a little overcrowded. It was also on the journey that Marco picked out his chosen one for the weekend. This year he went for the International contingent and thrust himself upon (in more ways than one) the lovely Erica.

Thankfully the weather wasn’t too bad when we arrived which left a bit of time for people to fight with putting up their tents. This turned out to be a futile effort anyway since the weather really kicked in with a Satan’s trouser explosion of a storm during the night and left everyone camping feeling a little moist (unfortunately not in the pleasant sense). Those of us in chalets had some very uncharitable thoughts towards everyone else camping the next morning but thankfully that wasn’t to be held against us.

Well, half a page through the trip report and no mention of canoeing. S’pose I’d better get on with talking about it then. Well after fighting a way down to Oxwich on Saturday to se if it was worth going in, we went back to the campsite to get the trailer. On the return journey the road (if you can call it that) that was half-visible on the first journey was now completely covered. Hmm. We persevered anyway. The weather was changeable from rainy to pissing it down but that didn’t put people off. Oh no they though fuck it, we’ll go in anyway. And they seemed to have a good time, what little I could see from the pub. But after a couple of hours that was enough. There was good pubbing time to be had and munchies to partake of, so we offed to Swansea.

So we scooted into Jim Brown, for a ship in full sail and to stuff our Jem Mace with some in the nude. So after a few tiddly winks we jumped in our relevant trouble and fuss back to the campsite to get elephant’s trunk. On the way back I got my daisy roots soaked after ball of chalking through the darling daughter. If you’re interested it came half way up my bacon and eggs. Well in the rub-a-dub-dub we all got Brahms and list, some more so than others. Thom was a good sport and agreed to make a fainting fit of himself in playing the Lorna Doone game against the chosen one. By the end of the black and white the ding-dong kicked off in fine style. By this time I was friar tucked off my Chevy chase and was highland flinging along with everyone else. So much so that I don’t recall having my coffee stalls dog and pupped by Mark and Thom. So to round the night off, the chief of the battle cruiser let us bo peep in the near and far. Well those of us not in a chalet or peter pan. What a top bushel of coke.

So come Sunday morning everyone got up for a slap-up meal and coffee which was just what was needed, primarily to help sober up from the night before. What a day it was too. A bit chilly but the sun was shining and it was a great day. Shame I was feeling a little under the weather to appreciate it to it’s fullest. Good weather for a few people to get in the water again and have a good time honing those skills in a boat. So after a few hours on the water we got packed up and made tracks back to Brighton. Not before Will decided to try and take one of the local walls back with us with the aid of the side of the van. The wall came off best. Still we won’t hold it against you Will.

At this juncture it is generally accepted as the serious part of the report to say thanks to everyone. Thanks to my mum, my dad…all right, maybe not everyone. Thanks jenny and Mike for organising another success of a trip, to Lee, Gary, Marco, Will and Mark, for driving the busses there and back and to everyone who was there for making it another laugh of a trip. For those of you who weren’t there, nah nah nah nah nah you missed out.

And so the end of another classic Gower trip. All that remains now is to make up some gossip or at least elaborate on what was said on Sunday. As per usual Leaford was in full force getting kisses from everyone, male or female (and not just kisses so I hear). Err…Richard was running round with his willy out, Mark was playing the national anthem on his botty trumpet, Lee was as drunk as I was, Andreas was Spanish and Helen got her tits out.