2) The Travelodge is convenient for both the railway and the venue. A bit too convenient for the former you might argue – this was the view from my hotel room window…

It is also very handy for the bus station. I was pleased to see that Warrington has its own fleet of ‘corporation buses’ rather than selling out to Arriva or Stagecoach like so many. These bear the logo “Warrington Borough Council – Making Warrington Move”. What – House? Their bowels?
3) Travelodges great for the health conscious! They are fine for one or two nights but a big step down from a Premier Inn. For a start they have absolutely no catering facilities or bar on the premises. So instead of gorging on the “All you can eat” £7 breakfast as I did in Bristol for their Splunch, in Warrington I had to make do with a tiny parcel dropped outside my door at 7am. Once opened this revealed a tea bag and paper cup, a small bottle of orange juice, a Nutragrain bar and a pot of cereal so small it came with a folding spoon! This cost an extortionate £4.50.

Don’t buy it! There’s a good cafe that does full English just down the road.
4) The Munch is held in the excellent Blue Bell pub in the pedestrian part of the town. Actually most of the town is pedestrianised cos Warrington has been “planned”. Cycle tracks and pedestrian crossings are everywhere which makes it very pleasant to walk around, but a nightmare to park in (I’m told). The pub is handily placed next to a ‘performing’ fountain however woe-betide any drinkers who venture

near it with a glass in their hand. A large mis-spelt and unpunctuated sign in the pub (neatly corrected by a customer in biro) warn that any customer “taking their drinks near the fountain will have them taken away”. I can’t imagine what might have happened in the past can you? Closet sploshers are everywhere.
5) Warrington is a town that has its priorities right. Ten yards from the pub is a massive double fronted shoe shop called Funky Dory selling fetishy high heels and seemingly thriving. Two doors along there is a Starbucks that has closed down! Thank God Hayley wasn’t with me, we would never have got past the window display without melting her plastic.

6) The atmosphere at the Warrington Splunch is very relaxed and casual. Claymore Wam and Muckypup who are the veteran organisers of it (no implication about age there, chaps) are nonetheless quite new to the world of munches so almost as nervous as you probably will be. Nonetheless Claymore is not short of things to say…he is an expert on just about everything from British comedy to postcodes, not to mention TV testcards (I said, not to mention TV testcards!). So don’t worry about being nerdy. You’ll feel right at home!
Not that everyone there was a pub trivia fan. Muckypup is refreshingly down to earth (and handy for derailing conversation that get too orientated towards steam trains) and there were other guests to keep everyone entertained. Carmen Fantastic, a beautiful brunette submissive from Liverpool and her partner Gentleman Bastard (who was much more the former than the latter) have been performing in their local fetish club for some time and clearly love sploshing. Rhoobarb’s whose custard-covered boobs have graced the forum many times came all the way from Scotland and it was good to see them in the flesh along with her man. Then there was Ghostrider from Newcastle who seemed emminently sensible for a man with a lot of Guinness inside him. All very, very pleasant people to talk to, so you really should come along. I think they have all forgiven me for talking too much.
7) Don’t worry if you’re shy – everyone is! Because a lot of Splunches now have photos of many of the people there it is easy to get the idea that everyone is now totally ‘out’ about their love of sploshing and wants to share it with the world. Not so. When I suggested a group picture in Warrington, adding that anyone who didn’t want to be in it should move out of the way, all but two people moved! As I result, I settled for this shot instead!

There’s a lot of self-congratulation and back slapping by munching members and organisers these days and new people might get the impression that if they attend an event they will find themselves exposed. Nothing is further from the truth. Claymore Wam won’t appear in pictures and he organises it! So don’t let that stop you! The locals are friendly. Everyone I met in Warrington was very easy going and I hardly felt like a namby-pamby southern poof at all. The night receptionist didn’t take the piss when I came in slightly drunk, and the girl on during the day gave me a fascinating description into her day trip to Wembley to see JLS, Alexandra Burke and other X Factoristas perform for the Girl Guides. The waiter at Mojos restaurant even forgave our rubbish attempt at ordering Tapas which resulted in several different plates of meatballs and not much else. He hardly giggled at all.
9) Virgin Trains aren’t THAT bad. My journey back by tilting Pendolino train was not only non-stop from Warrington all the way to Euston but arrived 10 minutes early. “We apologise for the inconvenience caused..” said the announcer but I think he was taking the piss. Over 175 miles in 1hr 45mins – that’s an average of over 100mph. And no the tilting mechanism doesn’t make you feel sick. Actually watching the scenery suddenly tilting towards you is almost exactly like being pissed.
10) It makes you want to do it all again NOW! So many things I meant to say, even more I meant not to say. Too much talk about the Two Ronnies, not enough asking about what people wanted from us. I wish I could go back and do it again. Unfortunately the next one isn’t until April 17th. Surely somebody can organise another meet in the north of England before then. I hope so.

No related posts.

Naturally, being a train fan I managed to pick a route that made the journey as tedious as possible! I found the one train a day that winds its way from Brighton to Cardiff (via Bristol) stopping at just about anywhere with a discernable pulse. Armed with some overpriced sandwiches from Brighton Station, I squeezed on board the tiny train for the near four-hour journey. Now as I said, this train (catering for early rush hour in Brighton, late rush hour in Southampton, then early revellers in Bath and Bristol) stopped EVERYWHERE and the female conductor guard was obliged to announce every station it stopped at, every time it stopped. So in order to fit this between stations the poor woman rushed through the list so quickly it sounded more like a Welsh place name than a route. Then to add to her woes (and ours!) the only two toilets on the train broke so she was being constantly harrassed by men, women and children desperate for a wee making her even more fraught. Not her best day at work, I was thinking. Thankfully, my bladder didn’t fill till the train emptied at Bristol. Three cheers for a 50-year-old prostate!

After a short trip with the world’s most miserable cabby (“There’s nothing going on here, mate! No students, no money. Waste of my bleeding time” he said of the city hosting a Banksy exhibition that had completely packed every hotel). I arrived at the fabulously glamourous Premier Inn in Haymarket. Now I could do lots of cheap hotel jokes but frankly the Premier was fine. The room was perfectly good, the shower excellent, and the TV had Freeview (a luxury unknown on our bit of the South Coast). Best of all as I discovered reading the endless bumph they clutter every flat surface with, it had an “All You Can Eat” Breakfast which didn’t finish till 11am! Now that’s the sort of challenge I’m prepared to get up early for! By mid-day I had worked my way through the fruit juice, Honey Nut Corn Flakes, eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato, mushrooms, tea and toast and was set up for a day on the piss with Mike and the sploshers.
Just time first for a quick pint before setting off – and the start of what became a running theme for the weekend. At 1pm the bar of my hotel was packed with pissed-up Welsh women wearing very little except feathers and bunny ears on a hen party. As I had to squeeze past the excitable rabble who were posing for pictures, I offered to take their shot so they could all be in it. Much giggling was followed by the offer of a chance for me to appear in a pic with the bride to be in green tutu and L plates (her not me!). More Welsh laughter. This was merely the start. By the end of the night, it seemed just about everyone in Bristol was either on a hen or stag night and in fancy dress! The streets were packed with hysterical women (often Welsh) dressed as naughty nurses and policewomen. Latert as we sat drinking, Darth Vadar rode past on a pushbike (it seems even the Death Star has gone green!). I felt decidedly underdressed!

Horts Bar in Bristol was the venue Mike had chosen and it is ideal for these sort of meets. It is big enough to cater for a meeting of 20 people without them even noticing. In fact the toilets were further away than the hotel! Mike and Sammy-Jane were in the corner when I arrived and soon after people were turning up from all over the country, many of whom I hadn’t met or hadn’t seen for years (15 in Andy’s case). As forum members will know they are real ‘characters’. For instance, freed of his keyboard and surreal spelling Andy123 talks so quickly and continuously that it is best to treat him like a radio playing in the background – dipping in and out of listening when something interesting arises. However don’t expect to contribute. If you want to join in or express an opinion it is probably best to send him a text.

Mike Nomic by contrast opts for the Grumpy Git persona, especially towards people who don’t drink real ale (at one point he even suggested a meet purely for people who drink proper beer). Whilst Andy’s conversation is a war of attrition, Mike goes for the sudden explosion – a deafening Bristol bellow that rings round the room. So if you go, don’t be surprised to find your quiet conversation suddenly interrupted by a West Country Brian Blessed yell of ‘WEASEL PISS!” if he spots you’ve opted to drink Fosters.

On the professional front, Andy brought his workmate Jammed whose lovable dumb puppy looks hide the fact that he is really a sharp-brained businessman. No, I’m lying. This was a man who accidentally locked into his own toilet for 45 minutes that morning. Eden and Jon, fresh from their Canadian adventures, provided some much needed youth and glamour, and Janet and Nick (who appear on our Mad Macs pages) popped along too representing the more mature messy modelling scene. If you sometimes feel you’re alone, Nick’s your man. He knows all about being part of an oppressed minority – he was a fan of John Major. And Dirtydids popped in to despite a run of poor health. It was good to see him on his feet again and still determined to take pictures when he can.
Richard and Sploshman are almost professionals in the number of sessions they have done on the forum and it was good to meet Richard for the first time. He is far more jolly in real life, nothing like Victor Meldrew at all, and Sploshman is just too cool for words. Rich D Rich had travelled in all the way from New Zealand. I hope he had toilets! PleasePieMeMistress, Aufpet, Gungemegood. Bondageboiir and Thrillseeker completed the line-up of guys I hadn’t met – and one or two were very complimentary about our stuff which made the trip worthwhile. I was nearly as excited as when a beautifully restored Bristol Lodekka open topped bus (circa 1963) from Minehead went past full of yet more waving women on a hen party. Naturally we all waved back. Then I watched the pub people’s faces change as they realised I was weird enough to be more interested in the bus!

At about 7pm, we left the pub full of real ale and ‘weasel piss’ (what is it about weasels along with gnats that gives them such famously bland-tasting urine? And how does anyone know?) to go to an Italian restaurant I can’t remember the name of. Inside, guess what? Another party of women, this time with Mickey Mouse ears, rather surprised to be gazumped by our larger and frankly more unruly group. The alcohol had worked its wicked magic and so the conversation became increasingly bizarre. Eden told a restaurant silencing story about finding a human turd on an Underground train which led to speculation whether it was better to shit yourself or take your trousers down and defecate in full view of the passengers. The Mickey Mouse Club looked a little perturbed at this, especially when I did my impression of the station tannoy announcing “MIND THE CRAP! MIND THE CRAP!” It was then that Darth Vadar cycled past. No, he did. Honest! I wasn’t the only one who saw him…
Paranoid about being lost in a strange city somewhat pissed, I then called a cab to go about five yards to my hotel. As ever I rushed out not saying goodbye to enough people or thanking them for an excellent day. Thank you all. Got back to the hotel just in time for a cheap double scotch. Sadly no sign of the Welsh women…
…Until the next morning! As I drifted down to breakfast, the Welsh ladies were checking out. Their numbers had swollen by two inflatable men which the bride carried with her suitcase as if it was the latest Louis Vitton accessory. After (a rather smaller) breakfast, I too signed out and shared a cab to the station with a couple who had travelled all the way from Bolton to see the Banksy exhibition only to be told their was a six hour queue to get in. So they went on a boat trip instead. I asked if they were tempted to spray something rude on the wall of the gallery. They smiled weakly. My timing’s shit when I’m hungover.
Back on the train and First Great Western came good. Dead on time all the way with a choice of toilets and a totally comprehesible guard. Fortunately there was some entertainment… Two seats along was a very posh family trying to keep their children entertained by each of them picking animals beginning with a certain letter and letting the others guess what it was. Finally it was the 7-year-old boy’s turn. “I am an animal beginning with E,” he said proudly. The others started guessing. Elephant, emu, eagle…everything they suggested met with a no. Finally the exhausted family gave up. “OK what are you?” asked the mother wearily.”For heavens sake, Mummy, it’s easy. I’m an echidna!” A surreal end to a surreal three days.
Thanks for letting me be there.

Related posts:

1. Ten Good Reasons to Go to the Warrington Splunch
2. Playing with our Dolly
3. PJs and Dunking!