Conditions in the high country were always a bit of a gamble at this time of year, pondered Pete, squinting through the sleet across the littered campsite…Past the torn tent to the latrine pit…He’d been lucky to get first dibs on a shallow ditch that broke most of the wind…But it was quickly filling with hailstones and his knees hadn’t taken such a beating since that last joyous night of the ‘56 Jamboree… Agitated thrashing among the gorse meant Andy had lost his way again…Pete reached for the spade and a length of rope…Andy hadn’t been the same since Old Ted gave him a pokering over the barristerial immunity business (see CaseLoad’s News and Current Affairs, September 28, 2006 for the gory details) and he’d sulked for months…Trudging gingerly around the chipped flagons and discarded sausage skins Pete called out: “Hang on in there Andy, I’ll only be a minute…” His jandals skittered on a bag of soggy courgettes. “Hurry oan,” squealed Andy. “Ah’ve got tae go, Ah’ve got tae go…Have ye got some rope?” “Aye, man aye, here we are.” Pete tossed the length of old clothes line to Andy, an end slapping his hollow cheek. “Ouch, what did ye dae that for?” Andy gasped. “Just get on wi’ it, will ye. She’ll be down on us before we know where we are,” Pete snapped.

In the part of the tent that kept out some of the rain Noel was pressing a fresh red hanky between “The Best Of” Halsbury’s Laws of England (soft-covered pocket edition) and his Trade Me collector’s copy of Five Go Mad In Hurunui…The others could let themselves go, he thought to himself, but he saw no reason to let his impeccable standards drop… Noel flinched as a shape in the corner stirred, quick to protect his polished brogues with a clean pair of Stubbies…

“Whaur am yai, and whit’s this gong roond ma neck?” Johnny groaned from inside a damp blue nylon sleeping bag. “Ah’m hungry, and Ah could do wi’ a pot o’ Sapphire.” Noel replaced hanky, brogues and Stubbies carefully in his knapsack, cautious not to clink his spare 40 oz.

“Are you two a’right in there?” Pete shouted through the rising gale as he lashed  Andy to his back.

“Get oot here…She’ll be here any minute…”

Looming from somewhere in the fog came the deep V8 growl of Her centrally heated leather-draped four wheel drive tussock-busting camper van (with onboard facilities). Was that Glen Campbell on the CD again? Were the lads too late? Had anyone remembered to fill the billy? And would there be stovies still for tea.

Don’t miss the next episode of CaseLoad And The Sabbatical From Hell.