It did have a ‘real’ name (no idea what it was), but us hairy-arses from the area just used to call it Shudy Camps, or Shudy, and we went there religiously every year to look at bikes, talk shi… err, rubbish, act irresponsibly (tearing round the field on a VW Beetle bonnet being towed behind a car or trike, and shoving each other off), and get righteously, rip-roaringly drunk. Meself and all my mates went year after year, and it’s one of those bashes still talked fondly about to this day, despite the fact that it ended in the early ‘90s. A formative biker experience? Oh yes!
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