A brief history of the minutes
The club is re-applying to the CNCC, and an advert has been placed in the caving mags to attract new members.
The club tackle is getting a bit old, more SRT rope required particularly.
Meets, there were/are/will be some.
Committee types: Chairman - Keith Plumb, Secretary - Tony Haigh, Newsletters - Sam Lieberman, Treasurer - Grovel, Meets - Wendy, Tackle - Grovel.
It seems that the weekend of the AGM, Wendy, the star keen caver of the moment, wanted to go caving. However he was outvoted and everyone went climbing instead.
The week after, I'm not sure what MUSS were doing, but I was up in Yorkshire with CUCC on a trip I've wanted to do for 5 years now, a Stream Passage - Disappointment exchange. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip but there was much mumbling and muttering from most other people - especially those who came out Disappointment with me, they didn't seem to like the duck or the tackle grabbing entrance canyon for some reason?!! Anyway we were in the pub by 10:30pm, a tad better than the Stream deriggers who finally arrived back in Clapham at 2:30 am having been "a bit slow".
Dublin "8:15" Ray told me, this was when the flight was leaving on Friday for our weekend excursion to Dublin. My brain must have been in 24 hr mode at the time, because I zoomed off to Manchester on Thursday night so there would be no problems catching the early morning flight. Candy, who was coming from Norwich, had booked separately and seemed to be on an evening flight at 8:15. Still, it made ecological sense to share the drive up. Upon arriving at the Britons Protection, after everyone had got over the shock, surprise and astonishment at seeing us foreigners on a Thursday, I got well heckled for being daft enough to think that they would book a flight that early in the morning. So a day's sight seeing in Manchester was in order. I don't remember when the vandalistic tendencies started showing themselves but I was just looking through a multimedia computer presentation of ancient Mediterranean civilisation at the museum, when all of a sudden the display on the screen jumped down and to the right by two inches. I couldn't get it to go back, so we sneaked off to the reptile section. Later in the weekend I also had a run in with a ceiling light which maliciously fell off and smashed on the floor when I touched it. Anyhow back to the plot. We all (8 of us) arrived at the airport in dribs and drabs, consequently the bar seemed the obvious meeting point. Half an hour before the flight was due to go Bruce (and the tickets) arrived saying that we probably ought to book in. Dave obviously looked suspicious since the person at the book-in desk had to phone security to check it was ok to let him in. And then we were off. Ray "I don't drink whiskey" McGarry proved the sociability of the Irish by meeting this "bloke" on the plane. Between them they managed to polish off a bottle of whiskey and were best buddies by the end of the short half hour flight.
The rest of the weekend was an alcoholic whirl with brief sobering interludes of culture at the Museum, Trinity College, Medieval Duvlina and quick trip to the beach which almost killed Dave who came down with an intense allergic reaction to trains. We all managed to survive the experience but there is a strong possibility of returning at New Year, Oh Dear!
An appeal - if you're getting fed up of hearing what I'm doing then PLEASE send me a brief note on what you're doing, and I'll type it up for the next newsletter.
Until next time, Byeeeee.
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JS