Maundy Hound

17th April 2014

All Over The Damn Place

History has thrown up, no slightly delayed, alcohol-induced, pun intended, a number of notable Odyssies...

There was of course the biblical odyssey of Moses and his bewitched Israelites careering across Egyptian deserts on the run from Pharaohs, plagues and random 'heavenly' events of masonry inscription and flammable horticulture.  There is also Homer's version - an equally ancient, non-animated, rollercoaster of a poem spread across far more than Blackadder's mere 400 chapters and served up with lashings of Gods and Goddesses as well as sizzling gypsies. And, lest anybody dare forget, there is also the New York based, late seventies, disco outfit best known for their classic hit, 'Native New Yorker'.  And now let modern history lick the stub of its pencil and add to this venerable list another, equally momentous, Odyssey.

For some reason, not subsequently recallable by any gathered thereto, Oxted (Ordnance Survey grid reference - TQ3593) had been selected as the venue of choice for this year's Maundy Thursday Hound pub-crawl.  Oxted is a small commuter parish located on the district of Tandridge in the Shire County of Surrey in England's South East region.  It is situated 17.9 miles from the centre of London, on the A25 just south of M25 in between Junction 6 and the mighty Clacket Lane service station, and served by Southern Rail on the line out of East Croydon towards either East Grinstead or Uckfield.  And thus are almost all your options for travelling there described.  Unless of course you choose to walk...

Robson Hound for reasons he never has made, nor ever will be able to make, clear had decided that walking to Oxted was very much an essential part of his Maundy Thursday routine this year.  And thus he set off on his Odyssey, sometime between dusk Wednesday and dawn Thursday to bound in his houndish manner southwards and slightly east following a prescribed route of almost 18 miles, avoiding all major thoroughfares, taking in as many fields, woods and something called 'views' as he could.  The rest of us used public transport to gather at East Croydon station, availed ourselves of beer on the platform before concluding the first stage of our Odyssey whilst seated and air-conditioned.

Having arrived through differing means the Hound converged upon The Old Bell and unified to begin this Odyssey's second chapter.  Food was ordered, mobile coverage was disdained, wifi was taken advantage of, thirst quenching beers were sunk and small-talk was made.  Lord Peterkins of Fatherhood arrived, having been previously occupied at something called a 'meeting' and made the quartet into a quintet.  No sooner had he taken his tie off, and swapped his brogues for some slingbacks, than we were off.  Across roads, up inclines, veering left and right - onto pathways, bridleways even and then out into open country.  We fanned out instinctively so as to reduce the threat of all being wiped out instantly by an enemy attack.  And wise we were to have done so as over the very next stile we encountered our enemy.  Skirting round the details it should be sufficient to say that Robson almost had a complete Mare whilst the rest of us legged it at a leisurely pace into the welcoming ambience of The Hay Cutter. 

No-one could find the Hay Cutter's advertised skittle-alley so Robson Hound broke out a deck of cards and the Hound did *ahem* 'joué au tête-de-merde', as our cross Channel chein-cousins might woof...  We played two-pints worth of games and Robson lost pretty much all of them which merely serves him right.  We ate snacks (Wotsits?) and then we left.

Taking the collective life in the collective paws we returned across the fields of earlier treachery, bestriding once more the mighty river Eden, before eventually alighting on bar-stools in The George - in which absolutely nothing of note happened beyond the consumption of another pint each.

Thereafter it's all increasingly 'pffffffff...'

Let the record show that we were joined in the next pub, The Wheatsheaf, by Sir Daniel of Bronsonland who was most welcome.  Thereafter a collective assault was successfully made upon The Crown where once again we quaffed their beer and taunted them with our joué au tête-de-merde...  I don't specifically recall leaving but clearly we did as there is photo evidence of us in the literally horrid Weatherspoons next to Oxted station - from which we inexplicably liberated an entire set of condiment - and then the second chapter of the Odyssey was over and we were on a train and bound for the traditional Thursday evening quiz in the Purley Arms...

Memories of the actual quiz aren't really sufficient to build any sort of narrative on - the first round was pictures of famous vehicles (Magnum's Ferrari, the Partridge Family bus, Herbie, Marty McFly's DeLorean, etc) and thereafter things started to fall apart...  One of us left to go home, one of us left the others to chat to some Dorises at the bar, one of the remaining three went to retrieve the Doris chatterer and ended up staying there chatting to them himself, and eventually the two of us remaining came second in the quiz AND missed out on the sweets.

The trip home is foggy but memorable for discovering a three quarter full pot of black pepper in my jeans along with three other condiment bottles in my coat pockets all of which I arranged and left on a train seat.  The traditional large chicken shish with garlic mayo was traditionally epic and then the oddest of Odyssies was over.

*edit*
Robson Hound's incriminating photos of the day can be viewed here...
Robson's Maundy Thursday - A Hound's Tale...