The first weekend I went to Vesuvius wasn't that hot, it wasn't called Vesuvius either. 34 maybe. Maybe less.
The next time it was off the records, stupidly hot.
Everyone lies about that day. "It was 45 degrees at my house", " It was 43 the dog died", "the radio said it was 46, the road was melting".
It was fucking hot. I'd never felt anything like it.
But anyway, back on that first weekend, Lee, Nathan and I were camping at the grounds in town. Late back from the crag, we went to the Urbenville pub for dinner.
Licensee - Big Dazza
They call him that cause his name is Dazza.
Big Dazza also features on the hotel photo board as a prominent member of the local dirt bike gang.
I ordered the Vesuvio Pizza. Twenty bucks.
So did Lee.
It arrived, it was big.
Lee picked up a piece, it was covered in cheese and chill.
His hands were covered in chalk and glue.
It was very, very hot.
A gentleman who had previously been enjoying a drink at the bar managed to stay upright as he approached our table.
Photo disclaimer: Dramatisation, may not have actually happened.
He was willing to wager a fiver that a whole Vesuvio pizza could not be consumed by a man of Mr Cujes' slight physique in a single sitting.
He was wrong.
Lee earned five dollars, paid by Big Dazza who regularly covers our new gambling friends debts, bringing the dividend-adjusted outlay to $15.
By this time our gambler had gone for a little lie down I think.
Don't feel bad for Big Dazza, I think he comes out in front every time.
Nathan proposed the new crag be named after the pizza. There weren't enough negative reasons to mount a solid case against his proposal.
I had the Vesuvio again the next night. Lee had the chicken.