The QUBCC Trip on the 10th Nov. 2000?... How'd it go?... well my hooked companion .. read on; for it is a story not unlike many others, yet warming as if from Eros,


So there we where… trundling down the M1 in Zebedee- (the lunar landing vehicular tragedy/ car )
going at all sorts of wicked speeds- BOIEEEEEEEE!

Where were we heading?
why to Aghnahoo - of the Guinness Poo!, of course.
Legendary spot of bizarre break throughs made in both medical and drinking circles. Both
concerning the debated miracle of our survival.


So after listening to SPARKS for approximately the million and third time, we decided (the two
of us- me + Martin, ostracized by the other bastards in the 'popular van') to concoct evil
strategies de la SLAG, whilst inserting as much caffeine betwixt, and downst one's gob, as the
flesh was willing me slithering bitch.

So after a journey punctuated by such unholy ( and probably sign of what was to come ) events
like Martin lunching  on a rotten Toffee apple, the road to Aghnahoo varying it's whereabouts
inversely proportional to our relative distance from it's alleged original position, and a
lovely cup of tea in the lush surroundings of a rabid dog's home… we made it to.. well the pub
actually, screw all that house sh*t anyway.

Settling down, booze in hand, I steadied myself, closed my eyes, and drunk from the cool glass,
letting the liquid linger in my mouth just a second, before nature took hold, and down it
'This is what caving is really all about' I thought, as I opened my eyes, raised a well held
finger and screeched abuse at Steve's POB like head., …. Mmmmmm the memories.

So as predicted the slagging went rather well, admidst much drinking ( John… ye dirty BEGGAR!),
merriment, and theories on hate curve parabolas with now-timid Gaby.

Oh, and EGGY!

Back to the house, via the Generous Stevey Bus, and the Millennium Falcon ( Chewbacca evidently off philandering elsewhere! ), where night had fallen, along with our chances of survival- lucky John's got Whiskey !!( or so we thought at the time )

A crisp war was initiated, but soon quenched when the packet was slopped over John's pickled
Getting to a more serious point;

Now I'll be the first to admit that even I was fooled by John's LOVELY facade.

But ( and what a BUTT! Oh dear) all our little impressions of the LOVELY one where smashed to
b*ggery on that cold Friday night in Aghnahoo ( translation; Lacking Loo). For just as the last
drops of 40 proof spirit ( from the LARGE bottle ) where devoured by the heifer, a transition
occurred and our LURVELY Dr. ( to protect the innocent.. let's call him John Duncan) John,
became… Mr Hide-and-go-Letch!!!!

OH! The Humanity!!!

That man could Nuzzle for Europe!, in fact I think he did. I had to turn away from the illicit
sight of the Letchomatic nuzzling around in the chest-al arena of some poor victim like a pig
after truffles- devouring them if not caught before hand,  the slightest whiff has him zeroing in
from 40 yards!

Surpassing the CZAR, to become;

Deity LETCH,
Professor LETCH, of the LETCHington University of unbridled LETCH,
Old Dirty Man with a Baguette,….. feeding the pigeons.. wink wink, Know what a's meanin'? eh?
Captain LETCH,
Key master of the Letch Underworld- LETCHTAR!
LETCHY!, LETCHY!, LETCHY! ( Evolved Pokemon letcher- special attacks include the Nuzzle attack,
the Wild Roaming Hands attack, the drool and leer combo attack, and the special heavy petting
finisher attack )
Dirty Duncan,
Father Duncan,
John of the juice,
Head Letchfastian Monk of Letchfast Abbey,
And errr.. John 'the groin' Duncan.

To Hold up tradition a pile on was attempted.. but went horribly wrong when the moisturized one
slipped from beneath me, and I got compressed beneath a mass of nipple tweaking ( wonder who?… eh
King of the LETCHprecauns??? EH? ) and neck massaging ( odd really ) individuals with too great
an adherence to gravity.. buggers.

Somewhere in here, Stevey MUH turns up and scares the ass off us.. more than usual I mean. HI

So then the Home Brew was wheeled in, on the back of an old man with trolley wheels pegged to
his fore head, and rubber grips wrapped 'round his withered hoof lengths.

Pre requisitely Tagged 'Jonny's Gangrenous Joy Juice', Friday night's antics, earned it the
moniker of 'Nuzzle Yum Yum Mank'
( F**king Bomb Juice!!)

I did spy some poor sods actually drinking the stuff. Their Brain chemistries sadly altered
unflatteringly ever more. More kin then?

Eventually after the new Disappearing tradition was satisfied, a strange feeling of ' couldn't
be arsed' draped over me, and upon lying down, I lost many hours of consciousness.. odd eh?


Well at least that's how I would of like it to happen. Instead some insane YOB decided that it would be
a GREAT idea to waken us all up at the dangerous-to-the-extent-of-fatality, time of 8.30 am, a mere 3.5 to 4 hours later, with nothing but the pain of our frozen eyes, and frost bitten fiddly bits to incent our rising.

I think a petition should be made, and sent to the world leaders to have this time erased
permanently from the hemisphere 'o' time.

Breakfast was looked at, and refused at Bloodstone, ( well apart from the meringue that our
provincial friends swallowed pour le breakfaste ) as locals hid their children from the sex
crazed finger hedgehog in the corner, amid lectures on not accepting condiments from that very
strange man beast.

So we ( being well… me, for a start, Lauren , and letchy of nuzzle-head ( Lemmy of motorhead
equivalent, sorry)) Set out to Enniskillen of the Cultch, to pick up some people- Andy ( dead
man ) Princess, and Neave ( spelt wrong probably- apols ).
But did they turn up?…. Did they D*CK!!!!

Waited hours ( feeling guilty out there? ) so left pumped with murder juice ( well tea from the
'on the game' girl at the café in the Bus stop) scaring all but the Canadianian etc. as she
converses with crack whores, pimps, and potential murder victims on a day to day basis back

Some caves where done!
I don't know what that was all about.. noone told me we'd be doing any of that kind of thing.
Oh well.. what ever floats their boats.
Actually couldn't go me-self, no boots, light, battery, or physical ability left in my body.

I believe Steve 'o' Last in Ireland- led, and lost his way down Pollnasilla - Mastadon ( This
was Sat… Yeah?, I couldn't spell me way out of Hell MAM. ) and emerged grinning and muddy. John
ye dirty great git.

Then BOHO, and Stevey Bus got lost, overshot his call out time by about an hour, we didn't worry though.. couldn't be arsed to,  ( well 2 people arrived back, Lauren and Linda-Letch, only to have some guy park opposite, and Letch back over them as they changed.. good golly gosh people!!!, this letching's getting out of hand!!) and landed back cleaner than me!! ( who read comics )

So after everyone cleaned up their soul capsules, ( washing hair?. Aghnahoo?.  Are you
INSANE????  Oh you're American!. oops I mean Canadianianianianianianianianianianian BOOIIIEEE!!!
UH UH One TIME! UH YEA!) We all headed out to Bloodstone again, to stare at the food and wonder 'WHY?'

I hear that the Toasties should be avoided upon pain of Letch.

The Pub was hit ( and so was I .. what was that all about? ) and as in the previous night we
letched, slagged, and where even joined by Vigorous V, Oz, and the OTHER guy. (?)

On request two lads procured a photo of the Gorgeous ( not my words.. OKAY!!) Barman for two
giggling little girls in the corner.

Reminds me of a joke actually:

Why does it take two Healthy young Heterosexual guys to take a picture of a cute barman;

1 to take the photo;
and the other to explain the fact that no, we're not gay, it's for the females.

He didn't fall for it.

In repayment the trainee letch swiped a lovely harp poster for me. How kind. LETCH!
A Taxi was booked, and an old man with a grip shift turned up, to dribble like a rabid horse,
and mercilessly over charge us. The crazy demon.
Aniseed, maxima, and friends made rather convincing sheep ( little do they know the danger they
placed themselves in ), and Jonny realized that talking really wasn't his forte ( or writing for
that matter.. really there should be a law ). Aghnahoo again bombarded by our lives, stood up to
the thrashing, and again came out the champion. A testament to bricks and mortar over flesh and
bone, I think you'll agree.

Booze consumed.. and oddly more 'Nuzzle Yum Yum' was consumed, although the vintage not quite as
exquisite this time around.
A wonderfully well rounded bottle of champagne ( well fizzy alco grape juice ) was unleashed
from Zebedee's ass, and gleefully digested, in what remained of our larger intestine, finally
settling in our swollen, and ravaged bladders.
Apart from the girls of course.. 'cause they don't have any of that gutty, bloody stuff.. they
have little balls of light, with pixies flying around it to process the nutrients, provide the
movement, and emit the bitchings. What wonderful creatures.


Soon the feeling waved through as in the previous night, my eyes went numb ( Nuzzle Yum Yum?)
and my brain turned to gravy.


Up at the spritely, and less ridiculous time of 12, and off for something to eat ( allegedly ). Food
consumed, a bee line was made back to the house, before a bit of the old 'troll hunting in the
I REALLY DID TRY AND GO!!!! But alas there was not enough of the old kit for little me. So WE
WENT ON A JOY RIDE!!!!… ( under the guise of picking up Guile ( spelt wrong? ) But don't tell Steve!!
High Lights included the ahem, tower stopping, the Damon Hill Accelerating, and the wonderful
Line 'o' Electric Shock. ( pictures soon ).

So after that there really wasn't much left, and I'm afraid I had to leave early, in such a rush in fact that I didn't get to pick up my prize treasure of 3 ( yes count them ) Doughnuts, a bar of chocolate and a rather low in syrup ( probably ) bottle of Coke- teaspoon or 2 of sugar soon sort that out though.

So that was it really... the trip ended with me and Maxima rushing back to Belfast under the misguided notion of returning before 6pm, little did we know we'd get stuck behind all manner of slow gits the WHOLE BLOODY WAY!!!!, and enter into the worst storm since that thar Perfect Storm Film Jobby ( it's the devil work these moving pictures.. I TELL YA!!)..

Earl Letch is going to kill me.

by *****, not a letcher... well not much anyway.