The Vauxhall Holiday Camp, Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, March 2005

This time we were ready. We'd booked some rooms just a few minutes away & set about sneaking our way back in to this 'hidden jewel'. The only possible thing that could go wrong (apart from getting totally wankered on strong lager) was the bloke on the gate being half awake. Our driver, Eric, was most understanding and we whizzed past the dozey bozo without any hassle; by the time his gate was down we were starting our 2nd round (what was that other danger again..)

Players in attendance: #000002 Snack Van Open, #000004 The Optician, and finally #000011 John Boy Howard. Sweetcorn Holiday was baseline support. The rest of the Players were simply to bent too turn up. And that's official.

Game on...

Things kick off with a bit of darts grub. Notice that BADAss Peaks has a 1:50 scale stone dartboard in the garden area. That's true dedication. Steak Anderson managed to get his hands on a pot of Woodforde's Wherry and didnt it do well. There were bubbles, and particles.

Sorted. Very much in. After a few ales we stopped looking over our shoulders for the bloke on the gate. Question: what does he care anyway? Question: will the BIG names be here again? Answer: No idea. Answer: Some idea. Snack spots a steady looking Smithy approaching the bar; but Alex Roy beats him to it. Chris The Archer Mace the Ace Mason watches Mick Manning throw a 12 darter, and 11 darts, and yet somehow lose the match 3-2. Twerp. The nicest man in darts cracks a smile; the Tripod swears in near perfect English; Stevie Streamlined Beaton scores; some backsides. They're all here. And they all love it.

BADAss hog the practice board for a few wobbly legs, and whoah there Players is that a Bodkin? Answer: Yes. We have some food, beverages, gamble some pennies and enjoy some good hard watching of the action. Later there was some curry and a lot of sleeping, snoring, and coughing. And some bloke staggering around outside in the middle of the night telling Great Yarmouth that is was a wanker. Sweet.

It's the morning, and what had previously been a blur of darts remains a blur. After a brief scrub up & tidying away of all the undrunk cups of tea that somebody in my room appeared to have made, it's goodbye Great Yarmouth. En route South we stop at a BADAss recommended pub in Warham for refreshments and too much cheese. I go a funny colour, and can't wee very well.

If it had been any larger, it would have destroyed us all.

The danger of not getting in adds a certain excitement to the event (though if we didnt actually get in, it most probably wouldn't be that exciting). However, in we got, and will we be back next year? You bet, with knobs on. Big brassy, darts shaped knobs with funny pointy bits (unless the organisers recognise us).

It's a darts life, so there