LUUCC

Immense.

By Max Bilbow

Made it to Tyne Green after a fairly faff-less trip in the Bus O’ Fun, managed to get the tent up after a fashion (it was new, I had no idea what it was meant to look like when up!). In theory this was made easier by leaving the bus headlights on, in practice they were covered by people leaning on the bonnet, drinking…

So, tents up, bags found, drink opened and official t-shirts distributed we headed off to donito’s, a delightful “nite spot” (their words…). Apparently it had recently been re-decorated and was looking rather classy, until we showed up that is. Judging by the looks on the local’s faces they didn’t seem too chuffed to have their club taken over by a bunch of scruffy student kayakers on the first night it was open after the re-vamp, but that didn’t exactly stop us. The drink being rather expensive, and the thought of paddling with a hangover, stopped me getting as hammered as some of the others amongst our group (Adam, that banner was so your colour) but I was still tipsy enough to head home via the takeaway, which seemed like a great idea at the time.

Saturday, awake at 7.10 (I have no idea why, only went to sleep at 4. Gilly, your voice carries very well through canvas!), lots of staggering about totally disorientated having only seen the campsite in the dark (can you see things in the dark?) but getting a sausage sandwich down my neck helped immeasurably. Got into the oh-so-alluring wetsuit, not an easy task in a tent, let me tell you, and hopped on the bus to the entry point where faff was kept impressively to a minimum, but the weird looks were at a maximum due to the big circle of penguins watching worms crossing.

Best bit of advice received on the river? Paddle like a mental. My brain stopped working on various interesting bits and the arms just went on autopilot, but I have every single second of Warden Gorge branded onto my brain for all eternity. As someone who’s only ever pootled about on flat water, the comments of “just wait till warden gorge”, “warden gorge’ll be funny with all these freshers” and the like did nothing for the nerves, but upon eddying out the first thing that went through my head was “can I do it again?!?!”.

Bit of a sedate paddle back to the campsite, then after hot showers and a big plate of chips in Wetherspoon’s we were all feeling (and looking) a bit more human. The drinking then started in earnest while we had a cheeky wee look at the fireworks display in the next field, then we all trooped/staggered up to the sports centre for the ceilidh (not kaylidh, celigh or barn dance). The drinking that we’d started at the campsite continued, but this time it was interspersed with spinning, reeling and falling over, which was fine. I’m not sure if any naked racing happened (we’d had nudity on the bus up already anyway), but it was still a damn good night in spite of this.

Sunday, woke up listening to the rain hammer on the tent, so went back to sleep and a couple of hours later emerged surprised into sunlight. The other half of the group had headed off to the river, and after getting a nice picnic from Tesco we headed up to watch the carnage at the gorge. Well, that was the plan. Instead we walked for a good hour and a half up the wrong fork of the river and had to accost a few startled natives before we found the sodding place. Apparently the river had risen about 2 foot in the night, and the madder among us felt a longing to be part of the utter chaos that we saw in front of us. There were lots of people wandering around looking a little shell shocked, and I’d still love to know how there came to be just a spray deck floating downriver.

Got a cheeky wee lift back in the minibus in time to get the tent down and back on the Bus O’ Fun to be serenaded by Monty Python Sings (again). A bit of confusion meant that we managed to leave with the keys to the transit van, so technically, we left Tyne Green twice. Quick kit sort out back at the chapel, then home, shower and BED!

Still hurting today, but the fact that my housemates think I’m totally mental makes it completely worth it.

By Nina

The Tyne Tour promised to be a montage of drinking paddling and general craziness
and it was with this in mind that I sprinted through campus (stopping only to give
directions to bemused prospective students) in an attempt to catch the mini bus.
Unfortunately I was fifteen minutes late and jumping in a waiting car I was forever to be
regaled with tales of the nudity which ensued in my could-have-bin ride. After hastily
erecting tents in a random fashion we got down to the serious business of drinking and
soon, with the arrival of more busses and cars, wound our merry way to donito’s nightclub.
After frolicking some of the wonderful locals (”yoos shoutin’ in mah ear while ah’m tryin’
t’ talk t’ yeh pals!” .. such a warm race of people), drinking like fish and dancing like
fools we decided to head back to camp (via a kebab shop).

Although most of us retired by four that morning I was kept awake by some rather
noisy cows and eventually decided to mingle with the nice folks at Loughborough
university (who had risen at seven o’clock!!??). By nine most people were up and after a
hasty bacon sandwich and reshuffle of the tents (with appropriate faff) we set off in
full regalia for the Tyne.

The eight mile stretch we paddled had some very fun rapids and though I swam not
once but twice it was trés cool, not least a mass surf half way down. Very knackered and
quite cold we got out at the campsite, showered and headed up to spoons for a hot meal.
After more drink and faff and a fun free firework show enjoyed from the top of the mini
bus it was ceilidh time… dancing to crazy folk music in complicated couple based stuff
was what we all needed and along with alcohol both purchased and snuck in it descended
into semi-chaotic spinning and jigging for all. Some of us (or maybe all) made our own
random dances up with many a “this way, this way!!” and the odd “right hand star!!”. By
the end of the night not only had I managed to be a girl in the square dance (very fun
and mildly dangerous) but also done some freestyle westside hardcore ceilidh dancing
with jess, met a Scottish guy who put horses on shoes (or the other way round) and done
some trolley surfing into a bush with bob et al. The night progressed with scatterings
of inebriated Sheffield, Loughborough and Birmingham uni folks an attempt at a fire and
a cracker eating contest. We just had time to find an unconscious non-responsive guy get
him admitted to hospital and laugh at the comments his dad would make at being phoned at
between the hours of four and six in the morning because his son had drunk way too much
and fallen asleep in a field before going to bed.
Waking up with my tentmate Ste pressed lightly against me I realised it was two
in the afternoon and after breakfast we discovered, alas, that most of the Leeds crew
had hiked to Wardens gorge to watch the carnage. We looked at the super high water levels
with envy and, when the Sunday paddlers returned, sat in covetous rapture listening to
their tales of insane waves and rapids.

After a lot more faff we packed up and I found a beer in my tent which I quickly
consumed. We returned to Leeds and marvelled at the weekend that had been. That night as
I fondled by pillow girlfriend katia I couldn’t help feel that the pillow beneath my head
was way too soft and I was way too sober and dry. In the end I settled for staying sober
and dry and swapped my “zzzzzz” pillow for the uni hoodie that I’d grown accustomed to
the past few days.. bliss. Due to the very strange underwater dreams I’d been having I
found I could now roll on both sides when I reached the pool..not only had I gotten drunk
but I felt a little more experienced and had learnt a little more! My second discovery was,
to my dismay, that the only pictures of me that weekend involve me swimming. Doh.

By Ollie Margetts