A certain member of our club - a very well-respected man, a man of immense wealth and knowledge - once described the B.M.F. as the "Big Muddy Field" and this year that description was to fit the bill perfectly.
It was with great excitement I finished work on Friday afternoon, going home, loading up the car - yes I did say car - and setting off on the one hundred mile trek north to Peterborough. Everything's rocking and rolling and we get to Stansted airport and the pace starts to slow down and down and down and down virtually to a stop and this was to be the state of play for the rest of our journey.
Anyway we get there, find Ade and get ourselves sorted, the beers start going down and morale picks up but it's cold, bloody cold. I'm running out of layers to put on so it's decided to crash and as I climb into my three season -15° C sleeping bag the zip goes, leaving my arse exposed to the elements for what was to be a very long night.
Saturday morning we were all up bright and early and it was a lovely sunny day, things were looking good, but this unfortunately was a temporary measure - things came over black and the first of the rains came.
During the day we did bump into a few of the chaps, namely Tank, Phil, Martin and Barry - the complete Bexley contingent loaded up with bargains. Triumph were flogging off clothes cheap and Martin snapped up a bargain for Peter - a collage jacket that I think he is quite pleased with (I get this impression because he cornered a few of us the other Tuesday and didn't stop talking about it for, I guess, an hour). Numbers were down and Ade only sold five shirts all day. We all went out for some scoff Saturday night and into the bar for a few beers bumping into Tank and Phil who said that the bands were pretty good on the outside.
Sunday came and went - another glorious start after the monsoon rains that had been dumped on us through the night, tankers were out sucking up the flood waters and pallets were being laid out so that the punters didn't have to wade through too much mud. It was sort of like Woodstock with bikes!
I had one last walk round, the sun was out, numbers were up and the tents were drying out nicely so at last things were looking good. I just happened to be right by Nick Saunders as he set out on another round the world record-breaking blat, this time he's hoping for nineteen days - good luck.
Ade shut up shop, we broke down his stand and set off home, B.M.F. 2005 over and as for B.M.F. 2006, well I'll have to give it some thought.