Burtman To Burtdad
The Old Boys' Jolly (Part 1 Of 3)
Season Three
For Everyone
Updated:
Note: This story makes good use of Burtdad's special lingo. In order to make sense of it, there's a handy guide here: 
The Little Book Of Burtman Lingo
I've been at the Burtdad-Cave for a couple of days, and the time has come to hit the road for our first jolly. It's going to be a long drive and we'll be taking two vans. Why? Because Burtdad's very particular about his space, and apart from that, I happen to know he's a night groper (
On To Belgium), and I'm not about to be subjected to that again.
The kettle has boiled for the last time, and we sip our brews in the way we do when we're antsy to get out on the road, but trying to be casual about it. In other words, we don't really enjoy the drinks, as we're just trying to get through them as quickly as possible, so we can begin our jolly. No sooner do we put our chipped mugs down for someone else to wash up, we're out the door, heading to our respective motors.
As part of trip prep, it's important to spend a lot of time going back and forth between each others' motors, commenting on playlist choices, making sarcastic comments about the vans and generally being a bit too excited to actually get on with anything. When that subsides, we get comfy, make various agreements about the journey (such as how often we should stop for a broo), and then run back into the house a few times, to check things are turned off and just make sure that they are, indeed, still turned off. It's a ritual.
And then comes the moment of truth.
BD's wagon is finally running. He's closed the toilet door, turned off the gas, arranged his cushions and swept the toast crumbs off the counter. He's finally ready to go. I start up and taxi out onto the road behind him, waiting for flight clearance, which he shall issue via the radio I've dropped on his passenger seat. Let the fun begin.
I wait a moment for the last bit of fiddling to occur, and then his lights come on and I hear a quick rev. Finally satisfied with his playlist and comfy in his seat, he issues the launch command and takes off. I follow at a safe distance, in case anything falls off his van (it's happened before).
With a grin, I follow the Sleepmaster XL around the familiar roads and out towards the industrial estates. That's when the first call comes in on the radio. "Shall we stop for a broo?" We've been on the road almost four minutes, by this point. At this rate, we will never get anywhere. I decline and we head towards the city limit. Once we reach the highway, Burtdad opens up and lets the camper fly. I stomp on the gas and initiate the metal playlist. It's on.
Some Time Passes
The sky begins to darken and the mind turns to grub and brootane. The radio sits on my dashboard and I scoop it up and initiate comms.
"Burtman to Burtdad. Come in, Burtdad."
Showing off that he, too, has seen a few episodes of The Rockford Files, BD responds.
"Go ahead, Burtman."
"Pull over in the next lay-by for snacks and a broo. Over."
"Roger."
Neither of us know who Roger is, but it's a thing you say when you speak over the radio, and it seems weird not to include it.
Soon enough, a lay-by presents itself, and Burtdad slows for approach, sliding neatly into it and coming to a standstill. For the sake of it, he tells me by radio, despite the fact he can see I'm right behind him.
"Standing by for brootane."
It'd be rude not to acknowledge. But how?
"Roger."
Of course.
I pull up behind him and kill the engine, before slipping out of my seat and walking around to the side door, behind which, lies the promise of refreshments. BD strolls over with a big smile on his face, and soon enough, we're cooking up tea and buttering sandwiches, while looking out of the viewer's lounge at the setting sun and the field it colors orange.
"Luxo.", Burtdad announces.
It's at times like these that I really enjoy being out on the road - times when all the boxes are ticked:
Nice view, nice broo, sarnies, beats and Burtdad, plus somewhere to get to.
This Is A Long Way
It's after ten, now, and we finally see the sign we've been waiting for. We'd left around four, and most of that had been highway. We're both pooped. I watch, eagerly, for something familiar, and when it comes, it carries some serious weight. A poster I'd seen almost twenty years ago, still plastered up on a billboard, advertising the great someone-or-other from the circus that never left town (but it was always a one-night-only affair). That dude must be in his seventies, by now, but he's still forty-something, on this poster. Already, I'm seeing evidence that this town really hasn't moved a muscle, since I was last here.
We follow known paths to the seafront and carry on until we reach the far end, near the static caravans, where we'll be living for the next few days. The sky is dark, now, and the sea breeze blows strong against the vans and the sand dunes and the reeds that grow from them. I haven't smelled that sea air in so long, or seen this view. It's quite overwhelming.
Parked up, I grab some food, a cup, and a pack of cards, and head over to the Sleepmaster, to chat about the journey and play rummy. Sooner or later, Burtbro will show up, and it'll be the first time in decades, that we will be here together. The sea breeze blows and I grab at the door handle, already excited about the coziness that the Sleepmaster proposes, with its warm light and soft curtains. The door opens and Burtdad's already at the tea station, taking care of duties.
"Evening, Gaylord", I offer.
"Evening, Bender. Broo?"
"Obvo." I step up into the camper and the tone changes, quite suddenly.
He fixes me with a serious look. No hint of humor. Something needs to be said.
His words are unambiguous and uncompromising. There's no underestimating their importance.
"I'm going to say this once and once only, so listen up."
He points to the door behind him, without turning his attention from me, and spells it out.
"No. Clags. In my bog. Got it?"
Burtdad's words sink in, deeply, thanks to the extra moment he spends staring at me.
"Got it", I say, unsure whether I should let myself laugh.
And just like that, the mood returns to normal. The dramatic color of the moment has gone and the vignette has disappeared. As if nothing has happened, Burtdad continues making the tea and asks if I want my "special milk".
And Then, It's Complete
An hour has passed. We've played enough cards and drunk enough tea. I'm thinking about bed, but I can't go, yet, 'cos Burtbro's still not here. We joke about him turning up at six in the morning, but hope it's not going to be true (according to Burtdad, he is always at least a few hours late, if he even shows up).
The sea breeze makes the van sway, slightly, and I love the feeling of the night air on my skin. For that reason, the window has been open this whole time, which is convenient, as Burtbro has just pulled up, and I haven't yet noticed. I'll notice now, because nobody else would greet me by grabbing my head through the window and accompanying the act with gongfu sound effects. I turn to see him, but the night doesn't permit me a good look. He fades back into the darkness, reappearing in the kitchen, a moment later.
"Lad!", I exclaim.
"Burtbro!", he counters.
"No, see.. You're Burtbro. I'm Burtman. You see?"
I can't believe I have to explain this again.
Burtbro grins again, as I stand to give him a big hug, and he and Burtdad say in unison, "Broo?"