Back in January I had a weekend I off. Those of you who know me well will know what an extremely rare occurrence it is for me to have a day off from NABD work, let alone a whole weekend. But this was a very special occasion.

Just after Christmas I had a phone call from Vie Heward Meadow (ex NABD Adaptions Co-ordinator) who has been living on the Isle of Man for the past couple of years with Kay (ex NABD Secretary). He called to tell me about a party that was planned for Saturday January 18th to celebrate the 50th birthday of lan Bell (Chairman of the Moddey Dhoo MCC).

Despite the fact that I was battling to get Open House finished by the send of the month, and as always my financial situation was about as healthy as the average leper, I decided I had to be there come hell or high water.

In the early days of the NABD's attendance at the Isle of Man TT, lan and other Moddey Dhoo members had looked after us in fine style. Even to the extent of allowing myself and Martin Fowler (at the time NABD Transport Co-ordinator) to stay at his house during TT week when the NABD accommodation had become too overcrowded (14 people in a 4 person room was pushing it a bit, even though the room was paid for by BSH/Streetfighters). Over the years since it has become very apparent that lan Bell is not just a damn nice bloke, he is also one of those very special (and damn rare) individuals that I find it easy to respect (extremely rare for a cynical old git like me).

So, this month's payment to the credit card went the way of the Trojans and a free lift to Liverpool docks sorted out the financial difficulty. And a phone call to 'Wellies' (another ex NABD Adaptions Co-ordinator) ensured a travelling/drinking companion of the very highest quality I knew he would jump at the chance because he shares my high regard of lan Bell and loves the Isle of Man.

We sailed on the Friday evening ferry The Lady of Man' in a sea, which could only be described as 'distinctly lumpy'. It was so lumpy in fact that we curtailed our drinking in the bar halfway across and decided to kip on a bench for the rest of the trip. By the time we were entering Douglas harbour the 'Lady of Man' had taken on an extremely noticeable smell of detergent as half a dozen crew members struggled to keep up with the volume of vomit being produced from the passengers. Neither I nor Wellies threw up and though I like to think of myself as a good sailor, it probably had more to do with the fact that we both believe it is a mortal sin to waste beer even after you have drunk it.

Vic was waiting for us in the ferry terminal ready to rush us straight over to a pub in Peel to meet up with a couple of the Moddey Dhoo lads. It is always a matter of great trepidation getting into one of Vic's cars. He seems to have an endless supply of vehicles made by Laurel and Hardy. As luck would have it the vehicle this time seemed to be one of the better ones. The only really noticeable problem was that the passenger seat was completely knackered. Thus I spent an interesting 20 minutes regaining my 'land legs' whist staring straight up at the roof of the car and rolling about more than I had on the ferry.

On arrival at the White House pub in Peel we were greeted by a small contingent of Moddey Dhoo members (not that small is a word that immediately springs to mind with some of them). There was a little bloke in a corner warbling hysterically and bashing the hell out of a guitar, but Big Bob (coastguard & fat controller) assured us that this was actually a local musician supplying the evening's entertainment. As pubs go the White House has distinct leanings toward the 'Grab a Granny' type of venue (very reminiscent of the Ritz in Manchester.......ehem...or so I'm told). Despite being surrounded by large numbers of desperate old slappers Wellies and I soldiered on with the tradition of always drinking far to much on the Isle of Man until chucking-out time (about 3am If I remember rightly). Vie and Kay are not the only ex-committee members to have moved to the Isle of Man last year, so had Martin and Linda Fowler^: and it was nice to meet up with them the following morning. As Linda had a lot to do I suggested that Martin accompany Wellies and myself to a local hostelry to sample a pint or two of Okell's mild. This ^: suggestion seemed to go down rather well with Martin, as he had his jacket and boots on by the time I got to the word 'hostelry'.

Now, you know what they say about the plans of mice and men? I had been so looking forward to a pint of Okell's that sods law kicked in and we found the local pub had run out. Nor did they serve Newcastle brown Ale (which made me wonder why they had bothered to open at all). Being morally opposed to drinking 'girlie lager',and having no stomach for bitter or Guinness, (and having banned myself from drinking cider many years ago after one too any fights) this left me in something of a quandary. Being a fairly resourceful chap I soon came up with a solution and after drinking two pints of Bailey's Irish Cream (with ice) things were looking much more interesting. Not being the sort to let a man suffer alone, Wellies and Martin joined me on the Bailey's (to the bewilderment of the bar staff). Later that afternoon we arrived at Big Bob's house to get a lift into Ramsey for the party. Bob is something of a 'connoisseur of the grape and the grain' (what in less genteel society would be called 'a right old ale-can') so on entering his home I should not have been surprised at the large well stocked pub bar that dominated his front room. In reply to his jovial greeting of "Watcha drinking lads?" I couldn't 

resist saying, "Got any Bailey's? I've not had that for a while". At this he produced several bottles of Bailey's and a couple of half-pint pots, I heard a groan from Wellies, but not wanting to appear rude we chugged it back. "Here you go!" said Bob, handing us another half bottle of Bailey's "Y'can sup that on the way to Ramsey".

lan Bell's party was supposed to take place in a pub in Parliament Square, but being the type of folk they are, the rest of the Moddey Dhoo had moved it up the road to a Masonic Hall and nobody had told lan. I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when lan walked into the empty pub wondering where everybody was. As it happens I was at the bar of the Masonic Hall trying to get over the shock of finding that they too didn't sell Newcastle Brown or Okell's Mild. "Why don't you have a Bailey's?" Martin asked with a broad grin. My answer was unprintable. Luckily the landlord was a very understanding chap and he agreed to let me get some Newcastle Brown from the local off licence after I assured him I would be buying copious amounts of spirits from his bar. Five minutes later I was in 'party heaven, a dozen bottles of Newcastle Brown, a treble Southern Comfort and a large cigar. What more could a man want? (Well OK there was something else I could have done with, but this is a family magazine so we'll gloss over the lack of available women at the party).

By the time 'birthday boy' lan, arrived, the party had warmed up nicely. It was good to see the outpourings of genuine affection by those present as they each wished fan all the best. As is often the case I found myself sitting with the most disreputable people in the room (it's where I seem to fit in best) so it didn't take long for the rounds of Southern Comfort to be followed by the rounds of Pernod, then Whiskey, then Vodka and Red Bull, then god only knows what else. At some point a member of the Moddey Dhoo called Yogi got up and sang a delightfully pornographic song about Yogi Bear, at which point Martin 'Shagwit' Fowler threw up unto his pint of Guinness (this could only have improved the flavour). I presume I was by this time somewhat 'tiddly' myself, as I found myself dancing with various people (having all the inherent grace of the average chest freezer, I tend not to do this very often) but what good is a party if you can't make an utter plonker of yourself. The evening then took on a surreal quality with the music and mayhem becoming mere background scenery as some silly bugger began asking me to explain various aspects of the NABD to them. (Why do they always do that when you are completely pissed?) At the end of what had proven to be a fine party we wished lan Bell a happy birthday for the umpteenth time and Kay began the unenviable job of trying to round us up and shoehorn us into the van that Bob had borrowed from the police compound. Normally this is where I would expect the entertainment to end, but Wellies and myself were in fits of laughter on the trip back to Vic's house when Martin and Vic engaged in some 'formation vomiting' (it's always a joy when it's not yourself involved). I think it fair to say that Vic won the vomiting contest, Martin certainly had an artistic style but Vic had him beat on projection and spread. Luckily I was in the front passenger seat so I didn't get covered in it like ' the poor buggers in the back.

The following morning it was time for Wellies and I to leave the Island, and even though I had a hangover the size of Europe I still had the same regret I always feel when leaving the Isle of Man and it's uniquely fine group of bikers. Luckily the return trip on the Lady of Man was no where near as lumpy as the outward journey.

So, you may ask, why go all the way to the Isle of Man for a party. Well that's easy to answer, it's the people, they are just something special. Anyway wild horses wouldn't have stopped me going over to honour 'lan Bell - Superstar' on his 50th birthday (let's face it it's all down hill after 50).