Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Skiing - Epilogue
As a final indignity his car, having been fixed whilst he was away, broke down on the way home.
Skiing - Part 8
After a last night (nearly) of sampling the weirder drinks behind the bar (the Mark de Savoie being easily the worst) the day dawned with a hangover but brightish sunshine (at last).
With just half the day to ski before being picked up at 1400 they hit the slopes hard and early and got some serious miles in.
Halfway down the road on the way to Chambery on came the rep on the microphone, “er, it appears there is fog at Chambery and nothing is landing and taking off.”
Scenes of devastation greeted them at the airport when they got there. Some 8 flights and 800 passengers were stranded in a regional airport designed to handle no more than 1 flight and 100 passengers at a time. Chaos reigned. Our subject quickly predicted they were not getting home that night and some 5 hours later the flight was duly cancelled.
Of course their flight being the last of the day and the last to be cancelled all the hotel rooms in town were booked up and it was only in the early hours that they finally got to a hotel. Not you will notice a room. Their holiday company had not booked enough.
Eventually the reps realised that their role in life was not to do their best impressions of chocolate teapots and gave up their rooms for the benefit of their customers. Once the penny had dropped they appeared to improve immeasurably and actually begun to give a toss about the boys’ difficulties.
Having been lied to/not communicated with (take your pick but we prefer the first) all day about what was going on they took the promise that they were, “nearly 100% sure you will be taking off at 1300” with a very generous pinch of salt and considering the facts they were probably right to – 8 planes out of position, their flight the last and the ordinary operations of a useless charter company to maintain frankly a flight at all the next day looked a less than guaranteed option.
So €200 lighter blown on a taxi ride to Geneva and CHF440 lighter on BA flights they eventually got home no more than 14 hours late. They nearly did not get home even then as our subject managed to press the “YES” button on the check-in machine to the questions, “Could anyone have interfered with your baggage since you packed?” and “Has anyone given you anything to carry on-board.” Idiot.
All in all a good holiday but approaching the expensive – return BA flights on top of the charter flights saw to that. Good for the Airmiles though.
With just half the day to ski before being picked up at 1400 they hit the slopes hard and early and got some serious miles in.
Halfway down the road on the way to Chambery on came the rep on the microphone, “er, it appears there is fog at Chambery and nothing is landing and taking off.”
Scenes of devastation greeted them at the airport when they got there. Some 8 flights and 800 passengers were stranded in a regional airport designed to handle no more than 1 flight and 100 passengers at a time. Chaos reigned. Our subject quickly predicted they were not getting home that night and some 5 hours later the flight was duly cancelled.
Of course their flight being the last of the day and the last to be cancelled all the hotel rooms in town were booked up and it was only in the early hours that they finally got to a hotel. Not you will notice a room. Their holiday company had not booked enough.
Eventually the reps realised that their role in life was not to do their best impressions of chocolate teapots and gave up their rooms for the benefit of their customers. Once the penny had dropped they appeared to improve immeasurably and actually begun to give a toss about the boys’ difficulties.
Having been lied to/not communicated with (take your pick but we prefer the first) all day about what was going on they took the promise that they were, “nearly 100% sure you will be taking off at 1300” with a very generous pinch of salt and considering the facts they were probably right to – 8 planes out of position, their flight the last and the ordinary operations of a useless charter company to maintain frankly a flight at all the next day looked a less than guaranteed option.
So €200 lighter blown on a taxi ride to Geneva and CHF440 lighter on BA flights they eventually got home no more than 14 hours late. They nearly did not get home even then as our subject managed to press the “YES” button on the check-in machine to the questions, “Could anyone have interfered with your baggage since you packed?” and “Has anyone given you anything to carry on-board.” Idiot.
All in all a good holiday but approaching the expensive – return BA flights on top of the charter flights saw to that. Good for the Airmiles though.
Skiing - Part 7
Another day dawned with low cloud and poor visibility so in an attempt to find some better weather they decided to ski down to Courcheval. This was, for them, a good move (although not for little Angus – read on) as the weather was much improved over the valley ridge into Meribel and then over to Courcheval with some great skiing in the sunshine.
At the head of the Courcheval valley they had to jump on a chair lift to get them up and over and down to the village and as they drew to a halt at the bottom there was an instructor with a group of saucepan lids (vintage c5-6 years) no doubt enjoying their first day out on the grown up slopes. Being so young they could not be trusted on the lift alone and so the instructor asked our lads if they minded taking one each.
Our subject agreed and little Angus (see it does flow) was lined up to jump on the lift with him. As the chair came swinging round boy genius somehow managed to balls the entire thing up and little Angus having initially got on the lift promptly fell out. Not a good start. The operator quickly pushed the stop button which set the chair lift swinging back and forward and so just as little Angus stood up he got clocked in the head by a swinging lift.
Bloodied and clearly concussed he then got thrown on the lift and sat in abject terror for the rest of the trip up.
Meanwhile little Alfie got on the lift safely with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and promptly asked, “Why is that man in a cat suit hurting my friend?”
At the head of the Courcheval valley they had to jump on a chair lift to get them up and over and down to the village and as they drew to a halt at the bottom there was an instructor with a group of saucepan lids (vintage c5-6 years) no doubt enjoying their first day out on the grown up slopes. Being so young they could not be trusted on the lift alone and so the instructor asked our lads if they minded taking one each.
Our subject agreed and little Angus (see it does flow) was lined up to jump on the lift with him. As the chair came swinging round boy genius somehow managed to balls the entire thing up and little Angus having initially got on the lift promptly fell out. Not a good start. The operator quickly pushed the stop button which set the chair lift swinging back and forward and so just as little Angus stood up he got clocked in the head by a swinging lift.
Bloodied and clearly concussed he then got thrown on the lift and sat in abject terror for the rest of the trip up.
Meanwhile little Alfie got on the lift safely with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and promptly asked, “Why is that man in a cat suit hurting my friend?”
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Skiing - Part 6
Another rather poor light day to accompany their rancid hangovers with the cloud in very low and the snow coming down.
A quick search across the mountains revealed that the low cloud was also not too thick and they were able to get above it for some great skiing.
The only downside about skiing above the clouds is one has to ski through the blasted stuff on the way down.
Whilst skiing through a right good pea-souper he managed to have a totally innocuous fall, fell onto his right side and smashed his brand new 'phone. Moderately tiresome.
Later he had a much better smash tumbled half-way down the mountain and then slid the rest of the way. No bones broken but pride a little dented, particularly when the lad who brought his skis down from where he had left them suggested he might want to, "rein it in a bit."
A quick search across the mountains revealed that the low cloud was also not too thick and they were able to get above it for some great skiing.
The only downside about skiing above the clouds is one has to ski through the blasted stuff on the way down.
Whilst skiing through a right good pea-souper he managed to have a totally innocuous fall, fell onto his right side and smashed his brand new 'phone. Moderately tiresome.
Later he had a much better smash tumbled half-way down the mountain and then slid the rest of the way. No bones broken but pride a little dented, particularly when the lad who brought his skis down from where he had left them suggested he might want to, "rein it in a bit."
Friday, December 19, 2008
Skiing - Part 5
Suitably flustered by the forwardness of the local shop assistants the boys considered their only option was to drink through and set off on a mini-bar crawl (technically a crawl of all the bearable bars in Val Thorens but mini none the less).
Kicking off with The Viking bar (populated by Croation drug dealers) was an interesting option and clearly the company of Croation drug dealers is welcome as they polished off 3 pints in there (although the well proportioned bar maid might have had something to do with it).
Next stop was the Frog and Roast Beef (again) where they bumped into the chocolate teapot that is their rep. The tedious little man bored them through one pint before they managed to make vaguely acceptable excuses and headed to the Yeti Grotto.
For reasons unclear this was populated by English university students dressed up as dalmatians. Some of the braver girls (or more desperate) had opted to daub their bodies with white paint and black spots. Surrounded by such dogs the boys were, of course, in their element.
Kicking off with The Viking bar (populated by Croation drug dealers) was an interesting option and clearly the company of Croation drug dealers is welcome as they polished off 3 pints in there (although the well proportioned bar maid might have had something to do with it).
Next stop was the Frog and Roast Beef (again) where they bumped into the chocolate teapot that is their rep. The tedious little man bored them through one pint before they managed to make vaguely acceptable excuses and headed to the Yeti Grotto.
For reasons unclear this was populated by English university students dressed up as dalmatians. Some of the braver girls (or more desperate) had opted to daub their bodies with white paint and black spots. Surrounded by such dogs the boys were, of course, in their element.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Skiing - Part 4
At long last the main lifts allowing connections between the various valleys have been opened and despite the miserable low cloud and snow they decided to head over to Meribel for a change of scenery.
Imagine the surprise of the pretty girl from Geneva airport (passim) when he walked up to her in the Cactus bar and said, "hi". She has him clearly marked as a stalker.
Some hard skiing in some pretty rubbish light conditions saw them knackered before heading out to buy some tasteless tat for their loved ones (shurely charming souvenirs of their holidays? -ed). In a little boutique Gay George (Not Actually Gay) saw a top he thought would look nice on the lovely Helen but was unsure about the European sizing. Imagine their suprise when, after he had asked the assistant what the equivalent of the lovely Helen's size was in European measures, she whipped off her top and said, "my size." As sales techniques go that is quite a winner and they were compelled to make the purchase.
An early evening of watching a Big Air competition, only enlivened by some dope landing on a search light instead of the landing ramp,
was followed by a fireworks display. Our more astute readers will have noted the earlier reference to the poor weather and with the cloud base actually slightly lower than the ground level the fireworks were mildly disappointing. In fact blind people would have enjoyed them as much.
Imagine the surprise of the pretty girl from Geneva airport (passim) when he walked up to her in the Cactus bar and said, "hi". She has him clearly marked as a stalker.
Some hard skiing in some pretty rubbish light conditions saw them knackered before heading out to buy some tasteless tat for their loved ones (shurely charming souvenirs of their holidays? -ed). In a little boutique Gay George (Not Actually Gay) saw a top he thought would look nice on the lovely Helen but was unsure about the European sizing. Imagine their suprise when, after he had asked the assistant what the equivalent of the lovely Helen's size was in European measures, she whipped off her top and said, "my size." As sales techniques go that is quite a winner and they were compelled to make the purchase.
An early evening of watching a Big Air competition, only enlivened by some dope landing on a search light instead of the landing ramp,
was followed by a fireworks display. Our more astute readers will have noted the earlier reference to the poor weather and with the cloud base actually slightly lower than the ground level the fireworks were mildly disappointing. In fact blind people would have enjoyed them as much.
Skiing - Part 3
The hotel, as well as being functional, serves a mean cheese platter post-supper and the boys have been tucking into its wilder constituents with frankly indecent relish and, as is to be expected, the dreams have been unusual to say the least; last night our subject dreamt of shooting Robert Carlyle in the face.
Meanwhile the conditions have improved markedly, the wind is down and there is occasionally a spot of blue sky to be seen.
Lulled into a false sense of security by this they decided to head out of their valley and over into Les Menuires for some alternative skiing.
Luncheon at the Ours Blanc (passim – last Christmas) although not to anyone’s surprise the owners recognised him and were clearly glad to see him go (passim).
Discovering that despite their assumptions the necessary lifts to get them back to Val Thorens were not running was a pretty tedious moment however.
Meanwhile the conditions have improved markedly, the wind is down and there is occasionally a spot of blue sky to be seen.
Lulled into a false sense of security by this they decided to head out of their valley and over into Les Menuires for some alternative skiing.Luncheon at the Ours Blanc (passim – last Christmas) although not to anyone’s surprise the owners recognised him and were clearly glad to see him go (passim).
Discovering that despite their assumptions the necessary lifts to get them back to Val Thorens were not running was a pretty tedious moment however.
Skiing - Part 2
The hotel is, shall we say, functional and the room itself on the small side of tiny but these restrictions have at least been partly dealt with as in light of our subject’s intolerable snoring Gay George (Not Actually Gay) has taken to sleeping in the corridor.
At least some of the lifts were open on his first day in resort although the snow was coming down, backed up with a vicious wind (that managed to blow him over on one occasion and blew them back up many a slope), with some aggression and so they were limited to the Val Thorens locality although to be fair he was too morose to enjoy much of it as some low-life stole his favourite hat from the ski room at the hotel.
Having endured some pretty grim skiing conditions a night out at the Frog and Roast Beef (the highest pub in Europe apparently) was something to look forward to but the walk up there in the still horrid conditions was pretty miserable.
At least some of the lifts were open on his first day in resort although the snow was coming down, backed up with a vicious wind (that managed to blow him over on one occasion and blew them back up many a slope), with some aggression and so they were limited to the Val Thorens locality although to be fair he was too morose to enjoy much of it as some low-life stole his favourite hat from the ski room at the hotel.
Having endured some pretty grim skiing conditions a night out at the Frog and Roast Beef (the highest pub in Europe apparently) was something to look forward to but the walk up there in the still horrid conditions was pretty miserable.
Skiing - Part 1
So having finally arrived at Geneva thanks to BA and endured a particularly tedious conversation with the travel company rep, “no sir we don’t have any transfers up from Geneva today”; “any clue as to how I might get up there then”; “hang on I’ll ask my manager…he says ask at information”; “thanks very informative” he found himself heading to the bus stop…and finding he had missed the bus by 5 minutes. Never mind the next one was 2 hours and 15 minutes later.
Then at last the first ray of sunshine and he found himself talking to a very attractive blonde girl who provided some mild diversion until the next bus.
A very tedious bus trip later he finally found himself dumped in the middle of Val Thorens and hiking through the very thick snow (which was still falling in spade loads) up to their hotel to there find Gay George (Not Actually Gay) enjoying a beer in the bar as all the lifts were shut due to the rubbish weather. All in all 32 ½ hours from Bristol to Val Thorens is rather too long for comfort.
Then at last the first ray of sunshine and he found himself talking to a very attractive blonde girl who provided some mild diversion until the next bus.
A very tedious bus trip later he finally found himself dumped in the middle of Val Thorens and hiking through the very thick snow (which was still falling in spade loads) up to their hotel to there find Gay George (Not Actually Gay) enjoying a beer in the bar as all the lifts were shut due to the rubbish weather. All in all 32 ½ hours from Bristol to Val Thorens is rather too long for comfort.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Why we exist
We at Bogun Towers are often asked why it is that he needs to retain such a large journalistic team to write this august publication and why he cannot just get off his lazy arse and write his own diary.
We share with you below a letter written by him and recently published by the Law Society Gazette. We trust that the utter tedium of said letter will explain why it is that he needs us to make his life sound interesting.
Dear Sir
I refer to the unfortunate question raised in Calvert Solicitors' letter, asking if the current recession is an exceptional circumstance that would allow the return of a deposit under section 49(2) of the Law of Property Act 1925 (see [2008] Gazette, 13 November, 13).
I use the word “unfortunate” because I think the answer must be “no” following the clear guidance of the Court of Appeal in the case of Midill (97PL) Ltd -v- Park Lane Estates Limited and another ([2008] EWCA Civ 1227), which was handed down on 11 November 2008, a mere two days before the publication of Calvert’s letter.
Carnwath LJ delivered the only judgment of the court and carried out a thorough review of the authorities in this area. He concluded that the jurisdiction is an extremely narrow one to reflect the fact that a deposit is an "earnest for performance". In essence the jurisdiction is unlikely to be exercised save where the vendor has acted unconscionably - or at least somewhat shadily.
It is apparent therefore that the jurisdiction is simply not there to rescue Calvert's clients from bearing the risk of the property market. Indeed, assuming their clients do not proceed, not only will they forfeit the deposit but they will also be liable in damages for the difference between the agreed price and the current market price - less the deposit - and any other consequential costs.
Yours faithfully
We share with you below a letter written by him and recently published by the Law Society Gazette. We trust that the utter tedium of said letter will explain why it is that he needs us to make his life sound interesting.
Dear Sir
I refer to the unfortunate question raised in Calvert Solicitors' letter, asking if the current recession is an exceptional circumstance that would allow the return of a deposit under section 49(2) of the Law of Property Act 1925 (see [2008] Gazette, 13 November, 13).
I use the word “unfortunate” because I think the answer must be “no” following the clear guidance of the Court of Appeal in the case of Midill (97PL) Ltd -v- Park Lane Estates Limited and another ([2008] EWCA Civ 1227), which was handed down on 11 November 2008, a mere two days before the publication of Calvert’s letter.
Carnwath LJ delivered the only judgment of the court and carried out a thorough review of the authorities in this area. He concluded that the jurisdiction is an extremely narrow one to reflect the fact that a deposit is an "earnest for performance". In essence the jurisdiction is unlikely to be exercised save where the vendor has acted unconscionably - or at least somewhat shadily.
It is apparent therefore that the jurisdiction is simply not there to rescue Calvert's clients from bearing the risk of the property market. Indeed, assuming their clients do not proceed, not only will they forfeit the deposit but they will also be liable in damages for the difference between the agreed price and the current market price - less the deposit - and any other consequential costs.
Yours faithfully
Skiing - The Prologue
A fine Christmas party followed by the modest irritation of having to get up at 0700 to dash back to Birmingham to grab the passport before heading down to the mother’s so she could get him to Gatwick.
About half-way down the M40 (a mile after junction 9 to be precise) the lemon that is his car did its usual and broke down. Imagine the scene if you will, rain coming down like stair-rods and very poor visibility therefore, the car pootling along in the outside lane at c90 and all the electics die. No windscreen wipers, so no visibility; no lights, so essentially invisible to anyone coming up behind; no engine, so slowing down fast (see previous entry; and no indicators or hazard lights. A somewhat hairy few moments later and, being honest, thanks to some blind luck he made it to the hard shoulder.
As things stood therefore the AA had about an hour to get to him, drop the car at a garage and put him in a taxi if he was to make his flight.
A window that despite the best efforts of various individuals at the AA they managed not quite to fit through. Thanks to the interfering busy-bodies at the Highways Agency they had first of all to send a local sub-contractor to drag him off the motorway to Oxford services who was, not to put too fine a point on it, a miserable curmudgeon (and our subject should be able to recognise one of them) who’s problem solving skills were, shall we say, weak.
It then took another 2 ½ hours to get an actual AA mechanic to him who was a lovely chap (although alarmingly young, is it just your editorial team that thinks AA men are looking as young as policemen nowadays?) and quickly confirmed the diagnosis made by our motoring correspondent in the outside lane 4 hours before that the alternator was “buggered” and he needed a tow.
Having rapidly upgraded to obtain said tow he was overjoyed to receive the next call from the AA at c1530 which went something like, “good news Mr Williams we have located a flat-bed lorry and he is on his way to you and should be with you shortly, between 1700 and 1730”; “I’m sorry I could have sworn you just suggested that shortly was 2 hours”; “errr well it is the quickest we can get there”; “well that may be true but it is not bloody shortly in my book, is it honestly so in your book?”; “errr”; “harrumph.”
It actually turned up at 1745 only 7 hours after he originally called him.
A night at his mother’s and an early morning flight from BA, at vast expense, to Geneva is the fix so far although how is to get from Geneva to Val Thorens is a mystery at present. Meanwhile Gay George (Not Actually Gay) is already there trying not to look like a sad loser drinking on his own.
About half-way down the M40 (a mile after junction 9 to be precise) the lemon that is his car did its usual and broke down. Imagine the scene if you will, rain coming down like stair-rods and very poor visibility therefore, the car pootling along in the outside lane at c90 and all the electics die. No windscreen wipers, so no visibility; no lights, so essentially invisible to anyone coming up behind; no engine, so slowing down fast (see previous entry; and no indicators or hazard lights. A somewhat hairy few moments later and, being honest, thanks to some blind luck he made it to the hard shoulder.
As things stood therefore the AA had about an hour to get to him, drop the car at a garage and put him in a taxi if he was to make his flight.
A window that despite the best efforts of various individuals at the AA they managed not quite to fit through. Thanks to the interfering busy-bodies at the Highways Agency they had first of all to send a local sub-contractor to drag him off the motorway to Oxford services who was, not to put too fine a point on it, a miserable curmudgeon (and our subject should be able to recognise one of them) who’s problem solving skills were, shall we say, weak.
It then took another 2 ½ hours to get an actual AA mechanic to him who was a lovely chap (although alarmingly young, is it just your editorial team that thinks AA men are looking as young as policemen nowadays?) and quickly confirmed the diagnosis made by our motoring correspondent in the outside lane 4 hours before that the alternator was “buggered” and he needed a tow.
Having rapidly upgraded to obtain said tow he was overjoyed to receive the next call from the AA at c1530 which went something like, “good news Mr Williams we have located a flat-bed lorry and he is on his way to you and should be with you shortly, between 1700 and 1730”; “I’m sorry I could have sworn you just suggested that shortly was 2 hours”; “errr well it is the quickest we can get there”; “well that may be true but it is not bloody shortly in my book, is it honestly so in your book?”; “errr”; “harrumph.”
It actually turned up at 1745 only 7 hours after he originally called him.
A night at his mother’s and an early morning flight from BA, at vast expense, to Geneva is the fix so far although how is to get from Geneva to Val Thorens is a mystery at present. Meanwhile Gay George (Not Actually Gay) is already there trying not to look like a sad loser drinking on his own.
Friday, December 12, 2008
First Aid
Our subject has, over the years, developed the very sensible policy of always having very blunt kitchen knives; whilst they may have the disadvantage of not being able to cut anything they have the marked advantage, in light of his low quality knife skills, of not being able to cut him.
His mother, thoughtful devil, has however despaired of this and so purchased him a set of very sharp high quality knives for his birthday. Last night the foolishness of this shone through as he distracted himself whilst chopping potatoes.
With claret spurting everywhere a flash of logical genius came to him and he plunged his bleeding hand onto the roasting hot grill pan, neatly cauterising the wound. Still quite painful though.
Still discombobulated from the pain when he left home this morning to head to Bristol for the night he left his passport at home...he is flying off skiing from Gatwick tomorrow.
His mother, thoughtful devil, has however despaired of this and so purchased him a set of very sharp high quality knives for his birthday. Last night the foolishness of this shone through as he distracted himself whilst chopping potatoes.
With claret spurting everywhere a flash of logical genius came to him and he plunged his bleeding hand onto the roasting hot grill pan, neatly cauterising the wound. Still quite painful though.
Still discombobulated from the pain when he left home this morning to head to Bristol for the night he left his passport at home...he is flying off skiing from Gatwick tomorrow.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Cold cold cold
A night out with Hoots, always designed to damage the liver so warming up with 3 pints at lunch might be described as imprudent and starting matters with a couple of pints of wheat beer at the German Market postively foolish. To then add setting a drinking pace about double Hoots' and you have a recipe for utter disaster.
As all good chefs know however it is not about following the technical elements of the recipe that lead to the end result and like a collapsing souffle by some miracle he managed to stay awake all night despite the above. A few beers around town before pretending into the early hours that they were resident at Hotel du Vin to avoid being thrown out topped off with some proper drunken cooking (fish-finger and sausage sandwiches) saw the night turning into a splendid one.
A cheeky morning followed before crashing Gravy's christmas party and deploying his usual charm and wit on some vaguely tolerable lookers saw the week come to a fine end.
The weekend has been spent planning for skiing next weekend (Val Thorens with Gay George (Not Actually Gay)) and some terror inducing weather forecasts (-37 being the highlight) broken up with a curry with Gravy (comparing notes from the night before).
As all good chefs know however it is not about following the technical elements of the recipe that lead to the end result and like a collapsing souffle by some miracle he managed to stay awake all night despite the above. A few beers around town before pretending into the early hours that they were resident at Hotel du Vin to avoid being thrown out topped off with some proper drunken cooking (fish-finger and sausage sandwiches) saw the night turning into a splendid one.
A cheeky morning followed before crashing Gravy's christmas party and deploying his usual charm and wit on some vaguely tolerable lookers saw the week come to a fine end.
The weekend has been spent planning for skiing next weekend (Val Thorens with Gay George (Not Actually Gay)) and some terror inducing weather forecasts (-37 being the highlight) broken up with a curry with Gravy (comparing notes from the night before).
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Christmas Trees
As the gang tucked into a rejuvenative fried breakfast (much as we imagine Kenneth Noye and chums did on the morning of the Brinks Mat robbery) Knuckles finally revealed to them her master-plan of criminality.
She set out how, under cover of walking The Lurcher in the woods, they were going to head up into the mountains and steal...wait for it...a Christmas Tree. After a number of suggested tweaks, mainly from Chopper keen to preserve his career, a plan so cunning that if it had a tail you would call it a weasel was devised.
Taking the car (sadly not a 1970s Rover) up into the hills and wending their way into the true boonies they eventually crossed into the Forestry Commmission's plantation.
Parked up they began to case the joint, Chopper looking particularly nonchalant with an enormous axe hanging over his shoulder. Fancy Pants and The Hat located a likely looking target and with Knuckles due approval a very unhealthy grin spread across Chopper's face as he finally got to bury his axe in something.
The victim duly cut down to size the Cleaner came to the fore and begin to cover up the crime burying the evidence under moss and leaves whilst Chopper and Fancy Pants started stuffing the tree into the getaway car.
Suddenly The Lurcher's ears perked up and the sound of an engine coming their way caused a moment of panic. "Quick scarper" yelled Chopper and off into the woods disappeared Fancy Pants and The Hat (not before he had thoughfully thrown the car keys back to Knuckles) whilst Chopper adopted the 5 year old's tactic of covering his eyes so no-one could see him and The Cleaner and The Lurcher tried to look like they were out on a quiet walk in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Knuckles meanwhile (having stuffed the last of the tree into the car and shut all the doors - thanks everyone else for abandoning the pregnant one) gunned the engine and shot off in a spray of gravel just as the approaching vehicle came round the corner.
With Knuckles, the getaway car and the tree disappearing down the mountain some rather sheepish gang-members re-appeared out of the woods and begin to hike back down the hill.
Imagine their delight when 5 minutes later a Forestry Commission patrol passed them by; phew; the importance of timing in any criminal endeavour can never be underestimated.
Halfway down the mountain Knuckles reappeared in the getaway car (yes the pregnant one had dragged the tree out of the car on her own) to give them a lift back to the hideout.
Criminal masterminds every one of them.
She set out how, under cover of walking The Lurcher in the woods, they were going to head up into the mountains and steal...wait for it...a Christmas Tree. After a number of suggested tweaks, mainly from Chopper keen to preserve his career, a plan so cunning that if it had a tail you would call it a weasel was devised.
Taking the car (sadly not a 1970s Rover) up into the hills and wending their way into the true boonies they eventually crossed into the Forestry Commmission's plantation.
Parked up they began to case the joint, Chopper looking particularly nonchalant with an enormous axe hanging over his shoulder. Fancy Pants and The Hat located a likely looking target and with Knuckles due approval a very unhealthy grin spread across Chopper's face as he finally got to bury his axe in something.
The victim duly cut down to size the Cleaner came to the fore and begin to cover up the crime burying the evidence under moss and leaves whilst Chopper and Fancy Pants started stuffing the tree into the getaway car.
Suddenly The Lurcher's ears perked up and the sound of an engine coming their way caused a moment of panic. "Quick scarper" yelled Chopper and off into the woods disappeared Fancy Pants and The Hat (not before he had thoughfully thrown the car keys back to Knuckles) whilst Chopper adopted the 5 year old's tactic of covering his eyes so no-one could see him and The Cleaner and The Lurcher tried to look like they were out on a quiet walk in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Knuckles meanwhile (having stuffed the last of the tree into the car and shut all the doors - thanks everyone else for abandoning the pregnant one) gunned the engine and shot off in a spray of gravel just as the approaching vehicle came round the corner.
With Knuckles, the getaway car and the tree disappearing down the mountain some rather sheepish gang-members re-appeared out of the woods and begin to hike back down the hill.
Imagine their delight when 5 minutes later a Forestry Commission patrol passed them by; phew; the importance of timing in any criminal endeavour can never be underestimated.
Halfway down the mountain Knuckles reappeared in the getaway car (yes the pregnant one had dragged the tree out of the car on her own) to give them a lift back to the hideout.
Criminal masterminds every one of them.
Monday, December 01, 2008
The build up
The ostensible purpose of said trip to see the Pofydd et al was to enjoy (?!) the Wales -v- Australia match with a plan to watch the action at the Aberaeron Rugby Club with the Nidur and Rib Robs.
Tragically Rib Robs' car decided that it was feeling left out having not recently been criticised in these pages and so conked out 2 miles from his home leaving him stranded and their numbers diminished somewhat.
Saddened but undaunted and after a quick walk across the mountain with Pop the Dog ("The Lurcher" - bear with us on these, all will be revealed), Polly ("Knuckles"), Dafydd ("Daf The Hat") and our subject ("Chopper") drove down to Aberaeron (the advantages of a pregnant woman as a designated driver are not to be underestimated) to meet up with Tudur ("Flash Pants") and Nia ("The Cleaner").
A couple of beers over lunch in the Harbourmaster before the thrills and spills of watching the game at the club (enlivened by the deposit of a golf ball into "The Hat"'s pint) and the unrestrained joy at the result set them in fine fettle even before the club produced a feast of faggots for an early supper.
A quick dash to the Tynners for a change of scene (and what a fabulous change of scene it was - the blonde behind the bar was well worth the admission) helped to bring "The Hat" and "Chopper" but not to be fair "Fancy Pants" to the limits of their endurances (not aided by some liberal golf ball deployment). A quick round of pool in the Wildfowler had them gulping down the last of a gallon of beer before the evening ended with some glasses of twin imposters juice (champers) back at home (with "The Hat" asleep on the kitchen floor).
We wonder where these new nicknames might be leading us...
Tragically Rib Robs' car decided that it was feeling left out having not recently been criticised in these pages and so conked out 2 miles from his home leaving him stranded and their numbers diminished somewhat.
Saddened but undaunted and after a quick walk across the mountain with Pop the Dog ("The Lurcher" - bear with us on these, all will be revealed), Polly ("Knuckles"), Dafydd ("Daf The Hat") and our subject ("Chopper") drove down to Aberaeron (the advantages of a pregnant woman as a designated driver are not to be underestimated) to meet up with Tudur ("Flash Pants") and Nia ("The Cleaner").
A couple of beers over lunch in the Harbourmaster before the thrills and spills of watching the game at the club (enlivened by the deposit of a golf ball into "The Hat"'s pint) and the unrestrained joy at the result set them in fine fettle even before the club produced a feast of faggots for an early supper.
A quick dash to the Tynners for a change of scene (and what a fabulous change of scene it was - the blonde behind the bar was well worth the admission) helped to bring "The Hat" and "Chopper" but not to be fair "Fancy Pants" to the limits of their endurances (not aided by some liberal golf ball deployment). A quick round of pool in the Wildfowler had them gulping down the last of a gallon of beer before the evening ended with some glasses of twin imposters juice (champers) back at home (with "The Hat" asleep on the kitchen floor).
We wonder where these new nicknames might be leading us...
The calm before the storm
A relatively quiet week punctuated merely by supper with the lovely Kathryn, being thrown out of a curry house with the boys from work and culminating in a drive over to West Wales to catch up with the Pofydd and Kent on Friday night in readiness for a weekend on the sauce.
The only interesting element being the fact that this is the first drive in the car for some time in which it has not broken down.
The only interesting element being the fact that this is the first drive in the car for some time in which it has not broken down.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saucepan Lids and The Smoke
A Friday night out in the Smoke with Christine, Chris and, all too briefly, Dogs is always an attractive prospect and certainly the prospect greeting Christine in the curry house towards the end of the night as both her husband and her MC demonstrated the verbal skills to be expected of men who decided four shots of Turkish Delight flavoured vodka in 5 minutes was a treat for her.
Sadly our subject managed not to fall asleep on the train back to the Mother's and so not very bright and certainly not very breezy on Saturday morning he was in a fine state to visit the horde of nippers that is his sister's place.
Taking them swimming
did not really assist the raging headache if one was honest.
Barely, i.e. not at all, recovered Gay George (Not Actually Gay) picked him up in his shiny new car (a White 911 - not at all chavvy, oh no) so the two of them could plan their next but one skiing trip before a night out at a comedy club in Balham. Some truely horrid news, far too serious and sad to grace the pages of this publication, rather took the edge off the night and despite the best efforts of the comedians a relatively early night was had.
Which considering the prospect from his bedroom the next morning
was probably a wise move as no doubt the entire country ground to a halt under millimetre thin blanket of snow.
Another day with the horde of saucepan lids with the usual assortment of piggy-back rides, tears from being thrown upside down and utter pandemonium in a toystore cheered him up no end though. To be fair however he didn't manage to get a good laugh in until his sister managed to upset all her crockery and it all fee, smashed, to the floor.
Clearly inspired by this scene of domestic disaster his Mother decided to allow Phoebe (currently in her most truculent phase) drink her coffee
...the horrors of a wild child full of caffeine are too horrible to trouble our gentle readers with.
Sadly our subject managed not to fall asleep on the train back to the Mother's and so not very bright and certainly not very breezy on Saturday morning he was in a fine state to visit the horde of nippers that is his sister's place.
Taking them swimming
did not really assist the raging headache if one was honest. Barely, i.e. not at all, recovered Gay George (Not Actually Gay) picked him up in his shiny new car (a White 911 - not at all chavvy, oh no) so the two of them could plan their next but one skiing trip before a night out at a comedy club in Balham. Some truely horrid news, far too serious and sad to grace the pages of this publication, rather took the edge off the night and despite the best efforts of the comedians a relatively early night was had.
Which considering the prospect from his bedroom the next morning
was probably a wise move as no doubt the entire country ground to a halt under millimetre thin blanket of snow.Another day with the horde of saucepan lids with the usual assortment of piggy-back rides, tears from being thrown upside down and utter pandemonium in a toystore cheered him up no end though. To be fair however he didn't manage to get a good laugh in until his sister managed to upset all her crockery and it all fee, smashed, to the floor.
Clearly inspired by this scene of domestic disaster his Mother decided to allow Phoebe (currently in her most truculent phase) drink her coffee
...the horrors of a wild child full of caffeine are too horrible to trouble our gentle readers with.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Big Red Taxi
In light of the car problems (passim) he arranged to have it deposited at car hospital for the long period of repairs it so clearly needs and very kindly one of his colleagues Danny (real name Tony but he looks like Danny de Vito) agreed to pick him up from said car hospital on his way into work.
Imagine our subject's delight at the call from Danny, as he stood in the rain, "ahh, I'm supposed to pick you up aren't I? hmm I'm already in the office, get a taxi."
Now far be it from us to criticise anyone kind enough to offer a lift but really...
Anyway it being raining there was no sign of the usual black taxis but he spotted a queue of somewhat longer than usual and most extraordinarily double-decker red taxis nearby and so decided to try out one of these amazing creatures. It being over 19 years since last he caught a big red taxi this was an exercise in bumbling idiocy, "er do you go to the city centre?"; "yes"; "how much?"; "£1.50...no sir I don't give change you need the right money...no sir you don't give the money to me you just put it in that machine...yes sir you take that bit of paper out of the slot, it is called 'a ticket'"; "err could you tell me when to get off"; (wearily) "yes sir."
Not the most auspicious start to his adventure. The end was splendid though, Danny felt so guilty that he had been out for bacon sarnies (not one but two in fact) and a bottle of champers. He can forget to pick up our subject again.
Imagine our subject's delight at the call from Danny, as he stood in the rain, "ahh, I'm supposed to pick you up aren't I? hmm I'm already in the office, get a taxi."
Now far be it from us to criticise anyone kind enough to offer a lift but really...
Anyway it being raining there was no sign of the usual black taxis but he spotted a queue of somewhat longer than usual and most extraordinarily double-decker red taxis nearby and so decided to try out one of these amazing creatures. It being over 19 years since last he caught a big red taxi this was an exercise in bumbling idiocy, "er do you go to the city centre?"; "yes"; "how much?"; "£1.50...no sir I don't give change you need the right money...no sir you don't give the money to me you just put it in that machine...yes sir you take that bit of paper out of the slot, it is called 'a ticket'"; "err could you tell me when to get off"; (wearily) "yes sir."
Not the most auspicious start to his adventure. The end was splendid though, Danny felt so guilty that he had been out for bacon sarnies (not one but two in fact) and a bottle of champers. He can forget to pick up our subject again.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
MGF -v- Mini-Moke
Our readers will recall our litany of criticism levelled at the Mini-Moke hired in Australia and its decided lack of quality. As it turns out it suffered from rather fewer MOT failures than his own car.
He stopped making notes after the mechanic had been listing the failures for 5 minutes but the highlights certainly were the technical failure of the front brakes, the total actual failure of the rear brakes and the bald tyres. The need to replace the entire electrical loom rather passed him by.
All in all somewhat more expensive than replacing the engine (passim) and certainly more tedious.
He stopped making notes after the mechanic had been listing the failures for 5 minutes but the highlights certainly were the technical failure of the front brakes, the total actual failure of the rear brakes and the bald tyres. The need to replace the entire electrical loom rather passed him by.
All in all somewhat more expensive than replacing the engine (passim) and certainly more tedious.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Will they never learn
The last time he was asked to give a reading at a friend's wedding (the Pofydd's) he impressed everybody with his ability to actually forget to bring the reading with him much to Polly's dismay.
Clearly his female friends have still not learnt their lesson and the lovely Helen who is shortly to wed the splendid John has asked him to give a reading at their wedding. Oh dear.
Clearly his female friends have still not learnt their lesson and the lovely Helen who is shortly to wed the splendid John has asked him to give a reading at their wedding. Oh dear.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
What a lemon
The car is broken again. This time the windscreen wipers broke on the M5, in a storm. Certainly an interesting way to drive.
As a result a weekend with the saucepen lids had to be cancelled and replaced with a very dull weekend at home. Fortunately the car is booked in to be repaired on Monday so he should be mobile again for next weekend when a night out on the tiles with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) is on the cards.
As a result a weekend with the saucepen lids had to be cancelled and replaced with a very dull weekend at home. Fortunately the car is booked in to be repaired on Monday so he should be mobile again for next weekend when a night out on the tiles with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) is on the cards.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Back to form
As Professor Farmsworth 
might say, "good news everybody" he appears to be back to his best form and we can only hope that this last week is a taste of things to come.
Monday was a day of much-needed R&R before the fun could begin again on Tuesday.
As the world's economy slips ever more rapidly into recession his firm is reducing headcount and on Tuesday announced a redundancy consultation which whilst he is safe from obviously is poor for morale generally. To improve matters he headed to Totos (in essence the firm bar) and discovered virtually everyone who is at risk in there drowning their sorrows. Being the chief morale maintenance officer is a heavy cross to bear at these times and he set about his task with his usual wit and tact, "you know your best chance of safety is getting pregnant, roll up roll up I'll help you out there" accompanied by a cheeky (shurely shleezy? - ed) wink.
Not, if we were being honest, quite the message they wanted to hear.
His work done he called it a night.
After such exertions Wednesday was scheduled as a one on one morale maintenance mission and he and the lovely Janina went to Aqua for, "just one quick drink." This statement could be said to be true but only if one defines "one quick drink" as half a galloon of beer, two bottles of wine plus a half of pudding wine. The driving rain for the work home sobered him up sadly.
Another day and another curry was the recipe for Thursday with Danny, Sedgers, Slasher and Brian and a special guest appearance by a galloon of beer.
Friday was always scheduled to be a quiet one to recover but somehow turned into a night out in Utopia followed by Hotel du Vin for some more of that red tea. Oh well he can recover at the weekend.
might say, "good news everybody" he appears to be back to his best form and we can only hope that this last week is a taste of things to come.Monday was a day of much-needed R&R before the fun could begin again on Tuesday.
As the world's economy slips ever more rapidly into recession his firm is reducing headcount and on Tuesday announced a redundancy consultation which whilst he is safe from obviously is poor for morale generally. To improve matters he headed to Totos (in essence the firm bar) and discovered virtually everyone who is at risk in there drowning their sorrows. Being the chief morale maintenance officer is a heavy cross to bear at these times and he set about his task with his usual wit and tact, "you know your best chance of safety is getting pregnant, roll up roll up I'll help you out there" accompanied by a cheeky (shurely shleezy? - ed) wink.
Not, if we were being honest, quite the message they wanted to hear.
His work done he called it a night.
After such exertions Wednesday was scheduled as a one on one morale maintenance mission and he and the lovely Janina went to Aqua for, "just one quick drink." This statement could be said to be true but only if one defines "one quick drink" as half a galloon of beer, two bottles of wine plus a half of pudding wine. The driving rain for the work home sobered him up sadly.
Another day and another curry was the recipe for Thursday with Danny, Sedgers, Slasher and Brian and a special guest appearance by a galloon of beer.
Friday was always scheduled to be a quiet one to recover but somehow turned into a night out in Utopia followed by Hotel du Vin for some more of that red tea. Oh well he can recover at the weekend.
Friday, October 31, 2008
More red tea vicar?
Vaguely alive after a brief snooze a restorative breakfast was had at Hotel du Vin before Nigel slipped off back to the smoke leaving Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and our subject at a touch of a loose end.
The wonders of red tea as a time filler are not to be under-estimated. The sense of drinking 3 bottles before 1400 is.
The wonders of red tea as a time filler are not to be under-estimated. The sense of drinking 3 bottles before 1400 is.
Driving Miss Daisy
Back from Australia (passim) obviously the sensible thing to do was to have a ridiculously heavy weekend and as our readers will know he always takes the sensible option.
Friday night had him down in London at a testimonial dinner for that great servant of Glamorgan cricket, David Hemp, in the Long Room at Lords. He was, to say the least, embarrasingly excited to be in the greatest of venues surrounded by history (and Dougie Brown's wife in a leopard skin dress was a bonus) and despite his best efforts to force up the various auction prices for David's benefit without actually buying anything he failed miserably. How much tat he bought is not entirely clear, how much cash he spent is.
A fatal dose of jetlag rather finished the night off a touch to early for him but with Nigel picking him up early the next day this was perhaps no bad thing.
Last year the lovely Dennis gave him for his birthday a driving day (Ferrari -v- Porsche) and at last the day had come round. He had managed to persuade Nigel to come with him (and indeed to chauffeur him there) as well as Graham.
Sadly Graham had rather foolishly double-booked with a wedding and his lovely wife was not having any of his excuses so his ticket was, it was thought, a waste of money.
How exciting does a day spent racing Ferraris and Porsches sound? Very. How exciting is the reality? Absolutely none.
Perhaps arriving in a Porsche (and a better one than the one to be used) is not a great way to start but then discovering that the "lap" is two 300 yard straights connected by two hairpins and one gets three laps in each car is a pretty poor middle. Discovering that whilst you are doing this there are another 4 or 5 cars on the "track" of people doing a rally day (which of itself was utter pony - standard Evo 7s with paint jobs goind round the "track") is a shocking end as well.
The rain and biting cold took the shine off as well.
Thoroughly hacked off the two of them called it a day and headed back to Birmingham for a night on the turps with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and some seriously restorative red "tea" (which appeared to come from wine bottles).
A first class curry was shovelled down before the lovely Dennis joined them and they headed off to Red bar. Drinking a bar out of pink Champers is one thing but drinking that same bar out of Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch (Chambord)
is quite another. Despite their efforts they couldn't quite finish off the last of the Sambucas.
Calling it a night at 0430 was probably a wise option
Friday night had him down in London at a testimonial dinner for that great servant of Glamorgan cricket, David Hemp, in the Long Room at Lords. He was, to say the least, embarrasingly excited to be in the greatest of venues surrounded by history (and Dougie Brown's wife in a leopard skin dress was a bonus) and despite his best efforts to force up the various auction prices for David's benefit without actually buying anything he failed miserably. How much tat he bought is not entirely clear, how much cash he spent is.
A fatal dose of jetlag rather finished the night off a touch to early for him but with Nigel picking him up early the next day this was perhaps no bad thing.
Last year the lovely Dennis gave him for his birthday a driving day (Ferrari -v- Porsche) and at last the day had come round. He had managed to persuade Nigel to come with him (and indeed to chauffeur him there) as well as Graham.
Sadly Graham had rather foolishly double-booked with a wedding and his lovely wife was not having any of his excuses so his ticket was, it was thought, a waste of money.
How exciting does a day spent racing Ferraris and Porsches sound? Very. How exciting is the reality? Absolutely none.
Perhaps arriving in a Porsche (and a better one than the one to be used) is not a great way to start but then discovering that the "lap" is two 300 yard straights connected by two hairpins and one gets three laps in each car is a pretty poor middle. Discovering that whilst you are doing this there are another 4 or 5 cars on the "track" of people doing a rally day (which of itself was utter pony - standard Evo 7s with paint jobs goind round the "track") is a shocking end as well.
The rain and biting cold took the shine off as well.
Thoroughly hacked off the two of them called it a day and headed back to Birmingham for a night on the turps with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and some seriously restorative red "tea" (which appeared to come from wine bottles).
A first class curry was shovelled down before the lovely Dennis joined them and they headed off to Red bar. Drinking a bar out of pink Champers is one thing but drinking that same bar out of Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch (Chambord)
is quite another. Despite their efforts they couldn't quite finish off the last of the Sambucas.Calling it a night at 0430 was probably a wise option
Australia - a retrospective
Certainly it would appear that Australia has kept some of our readers entertained which is of course all the editorial team here at Bogun Towers was hoping for but as well as providing a splendid supply of stories it was actually a splendid holiday all ends up. As was observed on many occasions sailing into the sunset with some of your closest chums as the world's finances go to hell in a hand basket is a pretty decent way to relax.
Hopefully inspired by his holiday his recent lethargy (and therefore our lack of stories) will not return.
Hopefully inspired by his holiday his recent lethargy (and therefore our lack of stories) will not return.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Australia - Part 17
As if to prove the point that the trip to Surfer’s Paradise was a mistake they awoke in Manly to brilliant sunshine and not a cloud in the sky.
Clearly the beach beckoned and whilst Boris disappeared off to his office (his spare room) Nigel and our subject plonked themselves on the beach. Our subject by some miracle had up until this point managed to avoid sunburn but this could not last and by now convinced he could resist the noon sun decided not to bother with sun-tan lotion as he lay there for 3 hours between 1100 and 1400. He is now somewhat scarlet.
Fortunately for him and his medical insurers he had agreed to meet the lovely Sam and her daughter (Tilly) for a late lunch which took him off the beach. A splendid afternoon of reminiscing and chatting followed truly enlivened by the following, “do you want to hold her, she can be quite sicky”; “love to, I’m sure I’ll be right”; “ok here you go”; “golly she really does look just like you…oh, she is quite sicky isn’t she”; “I’ll get some tissues.”
Glenn by this stage was back down south and they all met up in the Wharf bar to prepare for their final hurrah in Australia back at the Shore Bar. Suffice to say a rather heavy night was had by all. A cast of thousands and beers of a similar number duly followed. The details remain a little hazy but the evening is perhaps best summed up by the discovery of our subject asleep on a sofa in just his underwear (glowing bright red) at around 0230.
Clearly the beach beckoned and whilst Boris disappeared off to his office (his spare room) Nigel and our subject plonked themselves on the beach. Our subject by some miracle had up until this point managed to avoid sunburn but this could not last and by now convinced he could resist the noon sun decided not to bother with sun-tan lotion as he lay there for 3 hours between 1100 and 1400. He is now somewhat scarlet.
Fortunately for him and his medical insurers he had agreed to meet the lovely Sam and her daughter (Tilly) for a late lunch which took him off the beach. A splendid afternoon of reminiscing and chatting followed truly enlivened by the following, “do you want to hold her, she can be quite sicky”; “love to, I’m sure I’ll be right”; “ok here you go”; “golly she really does look just like you…oh, she is quite sicky isn’t she”; “I’ll get some tissues.”
Glenn by this stage was back down south and they all met up in the Wharf bar to prepare for their final hurrah in Australia back at the Shore Bar. Suffice to say a rather heavy night was had by all. A cast of thousands and beers of a similar number duly followed. The details remain a little hazy but the evening is perhaps best summed up by the discovery of our subject asleep on a sofa in just his underwear (glowing bright red) at around 0230.
Australia - Part 16
Their last day in Surfer’s Paradise broke with at least the hint of sunshine that had been so lacking from the previous days and so after a quick breakfast and hunt for Ugg boots they decided to risk one last trip to the beach.
A 30 mile beach is an amazing thing and it does give magnificent views up and down it but a) it means every part of it is very empty and b) there is nothing to break up the winds rolling in from the South; so despite the sun they had very little to look (shurely oggle? – ed) at and found themselves being eroded again by the fine sand in the wind.
A display of typical British pluck kept them going through an hour of this but by then they were all thoroughly hacked off. Boris and our subject suggested another trip to Wet and Wild but Nigel was having none of it so they decided to go and explore the culture of Brisbane.
Never ever rely on a sat-nav system to find you “culture”. The splendid device they were relying on took them to the Museum of Contemporary Art apparently; sadly whilst the address was certainly real the Museum was not.
Falling back on that old traditional technology of the guide book they decided to visit the Museum of Queensland on the basis that it probably existed. It certainly did and it was not quite as post-modern as the Museum of Sydney but lacking a stuffed crocodile (a plastic crocodile is no replacement)
it was not as good as the Museum of Australia.
The culture done off they went to the airport. Again over-reliance on sat-nav is a dangerous thing but eventually they did manage to actually make it to find their flight was a) 30 minutes later than they thought it was and b) delayed as well; hurrah.
Boris volunteered that the taxi queue at Sydney airport could be horrendous in peak hours and so normally he would book a car but that it would be all right as they would not be getting in at peak hours. All the rules of good narrative therefore dictate that the queue was horrific and they had to get the train and the ferry and we are pleased to report that the rules were not broken.
The less said about trying to check into their hotel at midnight the better although the discovery that they had been booked into a double and not a twin was quite sour.
A 30 mile beach is an amazing thing and it does give magnificent views up and down it but a) it means every part of it is very empty and b) there is nothing to break up the winds rolling in from the South; so despite the sun they had very little to look (shurely oggle? – ed) at and found themselves being eroded again by the fine sand in the wind.
A display of typical British pluck kept them going through an hour of this but by then they were all thoroughly hacked off. Boris and our subject suggested another trip to Wet and Wild but Nigel was having none of it so they decided to go and explore the culture of Brisbane.
Never ever rely on a sat-nav system to find you “culture”. The splendid device they were relying on took them to the Museum of Contemporary Art apparently; sadly whilst the address was certainly real the Museum was not.
Falling back on that old traditional technology of the guide book they decided to visit the Museum of Queensland on the basis that it probably existed. It certainly did and it was not quite as post-modern as the Museum of Sydney but lacking a stuffed crocodile (a plastic crocodile is no replacement)
it was not as good as the Museum of Australia.The culture done off they went to the airport. Again over-reliance on sat-nav is a dangerous thing but eventually they did manage to actually make it to find their flight was a) 30 minutes later than they thought it was and b) delayed as well; hurrah.
Boris volunteered that the taxi queue at Sydney airport could be horrendous in peak hours and so normally he would book a car but that it would be all right as they would not be getting in at peak hours. All the rules of good narrative therefore dictate that the queue was horrific and they had to get the train and the ferry and we are pleased to report that the rules were not broken.
The less said about trying to check into their hotel at midnight the better although the discovery that they had been booked into a double and not a twin was quite sour.
Australia - Part 15
Recovered from the exertions of the Prince Albert they awoke looking forward to a day on the beach cashing in on Surfer’s Paradise’s legendary reliability for sunshine. 
Safely ensconced on the beach they were delighted to be part of the proof that the reliability is not fool-proof and lay on a beach in the shade as the 30 knot wind whipped the sand up and slowly eroded them away. Essentially it was not far removed from a day at the beach in the Orkneys.
Having given up on this exercise in futility they decided to see if the pool at their hotel was at least sheltered from the wind.
It was not. Undetered they decided to brazen it out and enjoy their beach holiday although an hour of this nonsense had them uncontrollably shivering and calling for mugs of hot cocoa to keep them going.
By now thoroughly hacked off with the weather they decamped to the “Wet and Wild” theme park full of water flumes and other amusing water based entertainment.
Being wet in the gale was not a recipe for improving their core body temperatures but they did at least have some fun throwing themselves down some quite ridiculous slides. Boris nearly got them all thrown out by hopping over the fence of a clearly closed ride and throwing himself down it without the necessary inner-tube but the imperturbable diplomacy of Nigel saved the day, “you do realise we have paid for this?”
Several rides later the lads adrenalin levels were fully restored and Nigel had reached his limit of fun so before the storm really broke they gave that up.
Their last night in Surfer’s was designed as a real night on the turps (what the hell of all the other nights been one might ask) and they quickly began a thorough exploration of the various clubs of the strip. Remarkably they were treated as VIPs although this may have been due to the fact that in many of the places they were the only people in.
The “Bedroom” was their first port of call but before long our subject bailed out to his real bedroom. The text sent by Boris just after he left was unwelcome, “mate they are hosting the finals of the local Miss Underwear competition, come quickly” particularly as it was not received until the morning.
Boris and Nigel ended up moving on to Hollywoods which by all accounts is a strip club that even the blind can enjoy but they were safely tucked up in their beds no later than 0400.
Safely ensconced on the beach they were delighted to be part of the proof that the reliability is not fool-proof and lay on a beach in the shade as the 30 knot wind whipped the sand up and slowly eroded them away. Essentially it was not far removed from a day at the beach in the Orkneys.
Having given up on this exercise in futility they decided to see if the pool at their hotel was at least sheltered from the wind.
It was not. Undetered they decided to brazen it out and enjoy their beach holiday although an hour of this nonsense had them uncontrollably shivering and calling for mugs of hot cocoa to keep them going.By now thoroughly hacked off with the weather they decamped to the “Wet and Wild” theme park full of water flumes and other amusing water based entertainment.
Being wet in the gale was not a recipe for improving their core body temperatures but they did at least have some fun throwing themselves down some quite ridiculous slides. Boris nearly got them all thrown out by hopping over the fence of a clearly closed ride and throwing himself down it without the necessary inner-tube but the imperturbable diplomacy of Nigel saved the day, “you do realise we have paid for this?”
Several rides later the lads adrenalin levels were fully restored and Nigel had reached his limit of fun so before the storm really broke they gave that up.
Their last night in Surfer’s was designed as a real night on the turps (what the hell of all the other nights been one might ask) and they quickly began a thorough exploration of the various clubs of the strip. Remarkably they were treated as VIPs although this may have been due to the fact that in many of the places they were the only people in.
The “Bedroom” was their first port of call but before long our subject bailed out to his real bedroom. The text sent by Boris just after he left was unwelcome, “mate they are hosting the finals of the local Miss Underwear competition, come quickly” particularly as it was not received until the morning.
Boris and Nigel ended up moving on to Hollywoods which by all accounts is a strip club that even the blind can enjoy but they were safely tucked up in their beds no later than 0400.
Australia - Part 14
The horrific jalopy had to be returned of course and in light of the distance limitation (100 km) some rather delicate handling of the situation was going to be needed. To everyone’s concern our subject was first up from his drink induced coma and set off to return the thing.
Not to his surprise it would not start but 15 minutes with the hood up and some lump hammer engineering had her purring like a tuberculosis ridden kitten and he was off to the shop.
Post-inspection the rental girl sauntered up to him and asked, “where exactly did you go?”; “err, we just pootled around you know”; “well it has done 360 kilometres, that’s a record”; “oh really”; “yes, that’ll be an $80 mileage charge.” Fortunately he did not mind and just forged Boris’s signature again.
A quick flight down to Brisbane was the main highlight of the day and then they settled down in Surfer’s Paradise for a couple of days of hedonism.
The first night ended up in the Prince Albert pub/club attached to the local casino populated by all the local girls and boys on their only night off of the week larging it up massive.
The pub itself was an horrific pastiche of a mock-tudor English pub (all set indoors including the beer garden) and as the beers flowed they began to speculate if their fellow drinker would know what a Prince Albert actually was (for the benefit of his mother it is a type of piercing that only boys can have).
Boris decided to resolve the debate by enquiring of two 18 year old lasses if they knew. How he could possibly have made such an approach without appearing to be a complete sleaze bag is quite frankly beyond us and to no-one’s surprise he failed.
Their light fantastic well and truly tripped they called it a night making their way back to the hotel through a rather ominous and perhaps prescient tropical thunderstorm.
Not to his surprise it would not start but 15 minutes with the hood up and some lump hammer engineering had her purring like a tuberculosis ridden kitten and he was off to the shop.
Post-inspection the rental girl sauntered up to him and asked, “where exactly did you go?”; “err, we just pootled around you know”; “well it has done 360 kilometres, that’s a record”; “oh really”; “yes, that’ll be an $80 mileage charge.” Fortunately he did not mind and just forged Boris’s signature again.
A quick flight down to Brisbane was the main highlight of the day and then they settled down in Surfer’s Paradise for a couple of days of hedonism.
The first night ended up in the Prince Albert pub/club attached to the local casino populated by all the local girls and boys on their only night off of the week larging it up massive.
The pub itself was an horrific pastiche of a mock-tudor English pub (all set indoors including the beer garden) and as the beers flowed they began to speculate if their fellow drinker would know what a Prince Albert actually was (for the benefit of his mother it is a type of piercing that only boys can have).
Boris decided to resolve the debate by enquiring of two 18 year old lasses if they knew. How he could possibly have made such an approach without appearing to be a complete sleaze bag is quite frankly beyond us and to no-one’s surprise he failed.
Their light fantastic well and truly tripped they called it a night making their way back to the hotel through a rather ominous and perhaps prescient tropical thunderstorm.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Australia - Part 13
With Glenn sent safely on his way their options in Airlie Beach were a little light and strangely having rejected the most obvious – getting molitored in a local bar – they decided to rent a car and drive down to the Eungella National Park. Over our subject’s objections they insisted on renting a Mini-Moke for the monstrously long drive down the Bruce Highway. 
With the car rented the girl explained that it was a term of the rental that they could not go more than 100 kilometres from the base. Eungella is about 180 km from Airlie.
Undeterred they set off nonetheless and were quickly hurtling down the motorway in a totally inappropriate vehicle. The vehicle would have been inappropriate if it was in prime condition but seeing as it was carrying one or two technical MOT failures it was even more fun (the collapsed suspension, seized rear brake drum and bald tyres being the highlights). Despite this through some careful nurturing and two quick mechanical stops (of the lump hammer hitting school of engineering) they managed to reach the end of the metalled road leading to the Fitch Hatton Gorge.
The car abandoned and with no idea of how much further they had to go they set off on the rarely travelled track up into the rainforest equipped most practically with 2 litres of water, some factor 15 sun cream and sandals/flip-flops.
It quickly became apparent that the lack of a metalled road was the least of their problems as they hiked up into the mountains and found ford after ford which would have swept the vehicle away had it attempted the passage.
Several miles into the rainforestthey stopped off at a pool apparently “guaranteed” to provide sightings of Platypus. Safe to say it did not live up to its promise, although it did provide a terrapin.
Many miles further on they eventually came to the Araluen Cascades
with some very fine fauna enjoying a paddle in the pool under the falls.
With the light beginning to fade they decided to get back to their vehicle and trekked back down through the jungle, spotting a Wallaby with a joey in her pouch on they way.
Hoonering back up the Bruce highway shook them to pieces again although with the hood down that was the least of the problems as they got beaten around the head by 100 kilometre winds.
Their last night in Airlie was a vaguely quiet affair with Boris being the one to be falling asleep early this time round and after a few beers and sambucas in Beaches surrounded by 18 year old girls they decided to call it a night.
With the car rented the girl explained that it was a term of the rental that they could not go more than 100 kilometres from the base. Eungella is about 180 km from Airlie.
Undeterred they set off nonetheless and were quickly hurtling down the motorway in a totally inappropriate vehicle. The vehicle would have been inappropriate if it was in prime condition but seeing as it was carrying one or two technical MOT failures it was even more fun (the collapsed suspension, seized rear brake drum and bald tyres being the highlights). Despite this through some careful nurturing and two quick mechanical stops (of the lump hammer hitting school of engineering) they managed to reach the end of the metalled road leading to the Fitch Hatton Gorge.
The car abandoned and with no idea of how much further they had to go they set off on the rarely travelled track up into the rainforest equipped most practically with 2 litres of water, some factor 15 sun cream and sandals/flip-flops.
It quickly became apparent that the lack of a metalled road was the least of their problems as they hiked up into the mountains and found ford after ford which would have swept the vehicle away had it attempted the passage.
Several miles into the rainforestthey stopped off at a pool apparently “guaranteed” to provide sightings of Platypus. Safe to say it did not live up to its promise, although it did provide a terrapin.Many miles further on they eventually came to the Araluen Cascades
with some very fine fauna enjoying a paddle in the pool under the falls.With the light beginning to fade they decided to get back to their vehicle and trekked back down through the jungle, spotting a Wallaby with a joey in her pouch on they way.
Hoonering back up the Bruce highway shook them to pieces again although with the hood down that was the least of the problems as they got beaten around the head by 100 kilometre winds.
Their last night in Airlie was a vaguely quiet affair with Boris being the one to be falling asleep early this time round and after a few beers and sambucas in Beaches surrounded by 18 year old girls they decided to call it a night.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Austalia - Part 12
With the gang safely ashore a heavy night on the turps was dialled in with Glenn heading off up north tomorrow. Matters kicked off with supper in a local Thai place that rather oddly had no alcohol having sold out. Judging by the state of most of the locals that does not surprise us.
No booze was bad enough but starters out of the microwave really did leave them chuntering away but at least the chef came through at the last minute with some decent and fresh mains.
Sustenance acquired they headed off to Magnums full of confidence and cheer. Magnums itself was full of drunks and beer; along with a live performer who was not actually too pony.
Sitting next to them was a group of English including a poor girl being frankly mauled by a mildly tipsy local. Our subject suggested as a saving technique to her that she and Glenn should swap seats and see what happened. They did and it became apparent that the local was a little more than tipsy - he did not notice the switch, a lucky break for Glenn although strangely he did not think so.
With the drunk thrown out for over-aggressive fondling of Glenn they stepped up the pace with a quick cheeky round (or three) of Sambucas before moving onto Beaches.
Finally they got to talk to some passable girls and our subject impressed all by doing his usual and falling asleep. He was duly red carded home. Nigel quickly followed suit having thrown a pint all down himself and being unwilling to squelch around stinking of beer all night although, as that is what almost everyone else was doing, we do not quite understand why.
Meanwhile Boris and Glenn set the world alight tripping the light fantastic and throwing their impressive shapes before stumbling back in around 0330 and waking everyone else up.
Fortunately for Glenn, Nigel awoke at 0845 just in time to wake Glenn up from his very sound and not very sober slumber to dash to make his Greyhound at 0910 up to Cairns. We pity whoever has 12 hours sitting next to him on that trip.
No booze was bad enough but starters out of the microwave really did leave them chuntering away but at least the chef came through at the last minute with some decent and fresh mains.
Sustenance acquired they headed off to Magnums full of confidence and cheer. Magnums itself was full of drunks and beer; along with a live performer who was not actually too pony.
Sitting next to them was a group of English including a poor girl being frankly mauled by a mildly tipsy local. Our subject suggested as a saving technique to her that she and Glenn should swap seats and see what happened. They did and it became apparent that the local was a little more than tipsy - he did not notice the switch, a lucky break for Glenn although strangely he did not think so.
With the drunk thrown out for over-aggressive fondling of Glenn they stepped up the pace with a quick cheeky round (or three) of Sambucas before moving onto Beaches.
Finally they got to talk to some passable girls and our subject impressed all by doing his usual and falling asleep. He was duly red carded home. Nigel quickly followed suit having thrown a pint all down himself and being unwilling to squelch around stinking of beer all night although, as that is what almost everyone else was doing, we do not quite understand why.
Meanwhile Boris and Glenn set the world alight tripping the light fantastic and throwing their impressive shapes before stumbling back in around 0330 and waking everyone else up.
Fortunately for Glenn, Nigel awoke at 0845 just in time to wake Glenn up from his very sound and not very sober slumber to dash to make his Greyhound at 0910 up to Cairns. We pity whoever has 12 hours sitting next to him on that trip.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Australia - Part 11
Indulgence ship’s log day 7
Our last day at sea and our stores are now looking a little parlous (although supplies of beer and fruit juice remain good). A chance discovery of 36 bottles of mineral water has been mildly irritating considering the taint of the fresh water tanks they have been drinking (between the beer and the fruit juice) for the last week.
The First Lieutenant was in a shocking state this morning and could barely be turned out from his bunk much to the Master and Commander’s disgust. We do not anticipate a mention in despatches for him.
A quick run ashore for some critical supplies (skinny cappuccinos and croissant) and we were back at sea and running before the wind back to port. As the days have gone on we have become very accustomed to our good vessel’s little quirks and have been squeezing out more speed and after some careful retrimming of the fore and aft water tanks by Chief Buffon we were racing along at 11 knots and 4 fathoms.
With the First Lieutenant out of commission passed out on deck sleeping off the night before the voice of caution was lost from the crew and the rather brave decision to cut the corner and come between Pioneer Rocks and the shore nearly ended in tears as the depth gauge plummeted alarmingly. With the Chief Purser keeping a keen eye out on the depth and intoning it out like the dead pan voice of Davy Jones himself, “18 metres, 15 metres, 9 metres, 4 metres, 1.2 metres” all hands went into a shameful panic but the good vessel was just pulled through the narrow channel as the tide sunk alarmingly.
We can report that thankfully this brush with death set the First Lieutenant’s jam tart a racing and the rush of adrenaline quite cured his hangover.
A gentle sail up into the harbour
and our journey comes to an end at last. Safely berthed the last of the supplies were quickly demolished in a final meal in the gun room with some rather interesting combinations. The cheese and plum sauce crackers being a particular novelty.
And so noble Indulgence we salute you, a fine vessel with bags of speed and character and the decency not to kill the entire crew despite their best efforts.
And now the dry land shenanigans begin…
Our last day at sea and our stores are now looking a little parlous (although supplies of beer and fruit juice remain good). A chance discovery of 36 bottles of mineral water has been mildly irritating considering the taint of the fresh water tanks they have been drinking (between the beer and the fruit juice) for the last week.
The First Lieutenant was in a shocking state this morning and could barely be turned out from his bunk much to the Master and Commander’s disgust. We do not anticipate a mention in despatches for him.
A quick run ashore for some critical supplies (skinny cappuccinos and croissant) and we were back at sea and running before the wind back to port. As the days have gone on we have become very accustomed to our good vessel’s little quirks and have been squeezing out more speed and after some careful retrimming of the fore and aft water tanks by Chief Buffon we were racing along at 11 knots and 4 fathoms.
With the First Lieutenant out of commission passed out on deck sleeping off the night before the voice of caution was lost from the crew and the rather brave decision to cut the corner and come between Pioneer Rocks and the shore nearly ended in tears as the depth gauge plummeted alarmingly. With the Chief Purser keeping a keen eye out on the depth and intoning it out like the dead pan voice of Davy Jones himself, “18 metres, 15 metres, 9 metres, 4 metres, 1.2 metres” all hands went into a shameful panic but the good vessel was just pulled through the narrow channel as the tide sunk alarmingly.
We can report that thankfully this brush with death set the First Lieutenant’s jam tart a racing and the rush of adrenaline quite cured his hangover.
A gentle sail up into the harbour
and our journey comes to an end at last. Safely berthed the last of the supplies were quickly demolished in a final meal in the gun room with some rather interesting combinations. The cheese and plum sauce crackers being a particular novelty.And so noble Indulgence we salute you, a fine vessel with bags of speed and character and the decency not to kill the entire crew despite their best efforts.
And now the dry land shenanigans begin…
Australia - Part 10
Indulgence ship’s log day 6
Our stores are beginning to run a little short, the soft tack is weevilly, the fruit has seen better days and all our meat is gone; fortunately we have literally gallons of fruit juice and even more beer.
A rather breezy night with some cheeky chop and occasional showers which would not have been an issue had the Chief Buffon not elected to sleep on deck.
With some decent wind we decided to sail out of the anchorage until the depth alarm went off (it was showing 0.6 metres (they draw 1.8 metres)) and it was decided that the iron donkey was probably a safer course of action.
As we reached the open seas the winds freshened quickly and the washing was all deployed and with the ballast on the windward side (i.e. First Lieutenant and Chief Buffon) the good ship really showed her class bowling along at 11 knots and 3 fathoms.
Lunch was a rather strange a affair enlivened by the Master and Commander’s attempts to fix the tender’s outboard (it has broken again) and tearing the start cord out of it. Not a helpful step. He had however sensibly already untied from the Indulgence and was drifting away at an alarming rate of knots.
Much to his relief and everyone else’s surpise the Chief Engineer dived in and swam over to help him paddle back to safety.
A further treat was the Chief Buffon's discovery of a novel use of a snorkel mask - preventing tears whilst chopping onions.
Some more hard sailing in the afternoon
brought us back into Hamilton Island for a sheltered night in light of the weather predictions and so no anchor horse up of the day today but the Master and Commander did at least horse up the parking only not putting a hole in the boat thanks to the good lady fortunately placed on the pontoon who managed to hold them off; at the expense of two broken arms.
With port duly made and so many days at sea behind us the crew did what every sailor would do in such circumstances, doned their best shore-going rig and hit the local bars and nightclubs. The rather astonishing local licensing laws prevented them ordering straight Sambucas and despite their best efforts at persuading them that “Sambuca on the rocks (with just one little rock)” was a recognised cocktail they were thwarted.
The Chief Purser was found in a dishevelled state in the early hours in the cockpit and the rest are a similar shower.
Our stores are beginning to run a little short, the soft tack is weevilly, the fruit has seen better days and all our meat is gone; fortunately we have literally gallons of fruit juice and even more beer.
A rather breezy night with some cheeky chop and occasional showers which would not have been an issue had the Chief Buffon not elected to sleep on deck.
With some decent wind we decided to sail out of the anchorage until the depth alarm went off (it was showing 0.6 metres (they draw 1.8 metres)) and it was decided that the iron donkey was probably a safer course of action.
As we reached the open seas the winds freshened quickly and the washing was all deployed and with the ballast on the windward side (i.e. First Lieutenant and Chief Buffon) the good ship really showed her class bowling along at 11 knots and 3 fathoms.
Lunch was a rather strange a affair enlivened by the Master and Commander’s attempts to fix the tender’s outboard (it has broken again) and tearing the start cord out of it. Not a helpful step. He had however sensibly already untied from the Indulgence and was drifting away at an alarming rate of knots.
Much to his relief and everyone else’s surpise the Chief Engineer dived in and swam over to help him paddle back to safety.A further treat was the Chief Buffon's discovery of a novel use of a snorkel mask - preventing tears whilst chopping onions.
Some more hard sailing in the afternoon
brought us back into Hamilton Island for a sheltered night in light of the weather predictions and so no anchor horse up of the day today but the Master and Commander did at least horse up the parking only not putting a hole in the boat thanks to the good lady fortunately placed on the pontoon who managed to hold them off; at the expense of two broken arms.With port duly made and so many days at sea behind us the crew did what every sailor would do in such circumstances, doned their best shore-going rig and hit the local bars and nightclubs. The rather astonishing local licensing laws prevented them ordering straight Sambucas and despite their best efforts at persuading them that “Sambuca on the rocks (with just one little rock)” was a recognised cocktail they were thwarted.
The Chief Purser was found in a dishevelled state in the early hours in the cockpit and the rest are a similar shower.
Australia - Part 9
Indulgence Ship’s log day 5
Ships stores are beginning to run a little light although beer and fruit juice remain in very healthy supply.
An early morning dip was ordered to help de-louse the crew although the First Lieutenant took some 20 minutes to build up the courage to jump off the side. The Master and Commander swam round the island returning to the vessel in some distress crying out for the vinegar having been stung on the head by jellyfish.
Our first leg today was over to Tongue Bay with a fine wind running behind us. Having anchored up we made landfall and trekked to the highest point to take bearings.
The Chief Buffon was bothered all the way up by a rather large hornet which duly stung him on the head before itself dying crushed between his hand and his shoulder.
Having gathered their bearings they headed down onto the beach
and engaged in some reconnaissance. A group of native girls asked them to take their picture but seemed strangely unimpressed when First Lieutenant suggested they should substitute the traditional, “cheese” with, “lesbians.”
Some exploration of the shallows revealed a small shark swimming around their legs and a number of manta rays looking for a good meal (of their toes).
Having returned to the vessel we sailed north to Border Island (setting a new speed record of 10.3 knots) and having made a horse up of the first attempt to anchor (managing to drop ours on another ship’s) managed a much better result second time round. A fine luncheon of carbonara followed by banana surprise lifted spirits in the very challenging swell.
A final sail westwards through Hook Island passage and despite the best efforts of the Master and Commander to snap the mast off with 3 quick crash jibes in succession they safely made it to anchorage in Marcona Inlet and our overnight stay having completed 26 nautical miles for the day.
Second anchor horlicks of the day was dropping the blasted thing in the wrong place rather too close to another vessel. Much agonising was had about whether they could get away with it and the likelihood that they might swing into the other ship before the Chief Purser asked, not unfairly, “is there any reason we can’t just move” to which the only honest reply was given by the Chief Buffon, “none other than we would need to admit that we horsed it up.” Sensibly the horses skull and cross bones was raised along with the anchor and they moved to a safer spot.
Ships stores are beginning to run a little light although beer and fruit juice remain in very healthy supply.
An early morning dip was ordered to help de-louse the crew although the First Lieutenant took some 20 minutes to build up the courage to jump off the side. The Master and Commander swam round the island returning to the vessel in some distress crying out for the vinegar having been stung on the head by jellyfish.
Our first leg today was over to Tongue Bay with a fine wind running behind us. Having anchored up we made landfall and trekked to the highest point to take bearings.
The Chief Buffon was bothered all the way up by a rather large hornet which duly stung him on the head before itself dying crushed between his hand and his shoulder.Having gathered their bearings they headed down onto the beach
and engaged in some reconnaissance. A group of native girls asked them to take their picture but seemed strangely unimpressed when First Lieutenant suggested they should substitute the traditional, “cheese” with, “lesbians.”Some exploration of the shallows revealed a small shark swimming around their legs and a number of manta rays looking for a good meal (of their toes).
Having returned to the vessel we sailed north to Border Island (setting a new speed record of 10.3 knots) and having made a horse up of the first attempt to anchor (managing to drop ours on another ship’s) managed a much better result second time round. A fine luncheon of carbonara followed by banana surprise lifted spirits in the very challenging swell.
A final sail westwards through Hook Island passage and despite the best efforts of the Master and Commander to snap the mast off with 3 quick crash jibes in succession they safely made it to anchorage in Marcona Inlet and our overnight stay having completed 26 nautical miles for the day.
Second anchor horlicks of the day was dropping the blasted thing in the wrong place rather too close to another vessel. Much agonising was had about whether they could get away with it and the likelihood that they might swing into the other ship before the Chief Purser asked, not unfairly, “is there any reason we can’t just move” to which the only honest reply was given by the Chief Buffon, “none other than we would need to admit that we horsed it up.” Sensibly the horses skull and cross bones was raised along with the anchor and they moved to a safer spot.
Australia - Part 8
Indulgence Ship’s log day 4
Stores remain well stocked indeed following the discovery of enormous quantities of fruit juice hidden in one of the cabins the crew has been ordered to drink fruit juice at every opportunity, sadly no order can overturn the natural desire for beer at every opportunity.
The wind has at last set fair and we made fine time and cast a fine bow wave
as we made our way south from Hamilton towards the Solway passage (noted on the charts to be particularly dangerous) and into Whitehaven Beach (the handbrake turn into the anchorage was much appreciated by all the sailors watching).
Immediately after luncheon as we explored northwards along Whitehaven Beach the helm (Chief Buffon) was somewhat perturbed as two seaplanes appeared from under the sail leading the helm to observe, “I don’t mind watching out for other yachts but bloody planes is a bit bloody much” and for the First Lieutenant to observe that it was like Heathrow.
A quick reconnaissance of this fantastic beach (passim)
was all we could squeeze in before sailing over to our overnight berth on Chalkie’s beach. The usual shore party discovered a splendid little beach with unspoilt forest stretching away beyond it. 
Our anchor horlicks of the day was to drop the anchor on some coral causing a shocking amount of damage.
Overall 20 knots under the belt and morale is very high, particularly following the discovery of another 2 crates of beer.
The injury report for today is limited to the First Lieutenant’s apparent heart attack but a healthy puke over the side seemed to set him right.
Stores remain well stocked indeed following the discovery of enormous quantities of fruit juice hidden in one of the cabins the crew has been ordered to drink fruit juice at every opportunity, sadly no order can overturn the natural desire for beer at every opportunity.
The wind has at last set fair and we made fine time and cast a fine bow wave
as we made our way south from Hamilton towards the Solway passage (noted on the charts to be particularly dangerous) and into Whitehaven Beach (the handbrake turn into the anchorage was much appreciated by all the sailors watching). Immediately after luncheon as we explored northwards along Whitehaven Beach the helm (Chief Buffon) was somewhat perturbed as two seaplanes appeared from under the sail leading the helm to observe, “I don’t mind watching out for other yachts but bloody planes is a bit bloody much” and for the First Lieutenant to observe that it was like Heathrow.
A quick reconnaissance of this fantastic beach (passim)
was all we could squeeze in before sailing over to our overnight berth on Chalkie’s beach. The usual shore party discovered a splendid little beach with unspoilt forest stretching away beyond it. 
Our anchor horlicks of the day was to drop the anchor on some coral causing a shocking amount of damage.
Overall 20 knots under the belt and morale is very high, particularly following the discovery of another 2 crates of beer.
The injury report for today is limited to the First Lieutenant’s apparent heart attack but a healthy puke over the side seemed to set him right.
Australia - Part 7
Indulgence ship’s log day 3
Stores remain good and morale likewise.
The winds have been a little variable, approaching non-existent, but through some careful manoeuvring and a dose of patience, well from some of the crew, some very slow miles were put into the log although to make their date with Hamilton Island some iron donkey work was needed.
No serious injuries to report but the Chief Buffon is beginning to lose patience with stubbing his toes on the helm and the Chief Engineer likewise with bashing his head on the boom.
The Chief Buffon reported spotting a whale spout but no sign was seen thereafter of the mighty beast but a couple of pods of dolphins enlivened the day.
Having made Hamilton the berthing at where was rather exciting as the Chief Engineer ran around with a raving bender (shurely roving fender? – ed) whilst the Master and Commander only failed to stack the vessel into the pontoon thanks to the sacrifice of the Chief Buffon’s shoulder.
An enormous amount of booze was thrown down their necks but fortunately not depleting the onboard stocks as it was acquired at cutlass point from the friendly tavern (populated by a very friendly curlew) on the island.
Stores remain good and morale likewise.
The winds have been a little variable, approaching non-existent, but through some careful manoeuvring and a dose of patience, well from some of the crew, some very slow miles were put into the log although to make their date with Hamilton Island some iron donkey work was needed.
No serious injuries to report but the Chief Buffon is beginning to lose patience with stubbing his toes on the helm and the Chief Engineer likewise with bashing his head on the boom.
The Chief Buffon reported spotting a whale spout but no sign was seen thereafter of the mighty beast but a couple of pods of dolphins enlivened the day.
Having made Hamilton the berthing at where was rather exciting as the Chief Engineer ran around with a raving bender (shurely roving fender? – ed) whilst the Master and Commander only failed to stack the vessel into the pontoon thanks to the sacrifice of the Chief Buffon’s shoulder.
An enormous amount of booze was thrown down their necks but fortunately not depleting the onboard stocks as it was acquired at cutlass point from the friendly tavern (populated by a very friendly curlew) on the island.
Australia - Part 6
Indulgence Ship’s log day 2
Ship’s stores generally bearing up although gin supplies strangely depleted, the First Lieutenant is assumed to be guilty but he had drunk all the evidence.
A fine breakfast of ham and Coon (it is a type of cheese gentle reader) and an early start was made after a quick swim with the sharks.
The sea was somewhat placid this morning like a mill pond perhaps and sailing was quite a challenge but through constant attention to our trim an average speed of 6 knots was maintained (by trim do you mean throttle? – ed).
After a mid-morning snorkel around Blue Pearl Bay followed by some nourishing soup for elevenses they moored up for luncheon conveniently enough in Luncheon Bay. A fine selection of sea food including some disturbing creatures that are apparently Alien face-huggers but more properly called Balmain Bugs topped off the feast.
More snorkling in Manta Ray Bay and some fine mid-afternoon sailing took us back to Stonehaven Anchorage for the evening.
Anchor horlicks of the day was the amusing discovery that the anchor fairies had put a knot in the blasted chain which made dropping it quite a challenge.
As usual some quick reconnaissance of the shore was put in before it got too dark and the brave away crew invested most of the local shore.
Chief Buffon spotted a couple of sharks but the rest of the crew would only believe that they were a pair of Bullshit Sharks. 
The return journey was “enlivened” when Master and Commander managed to flood the engine on the tender and they had to start paddling back
but fortunately after only 30 minutes of frantic efforts by Chief Buffon at restarting the beast it sprang back into life and they just made it back to the vessel before last light.
Ship’s stores generally bearing up although gin supplies strangely depleted, the First Lieutenant is assumed to be guilty but he had drunk all the evidence.
A fine breakfast of ham and Coon (it is a type of cheese gentle reader) and an early start was made after a quick swim with the sharks.
The sea was somewhat placid this morning like a mill pond perhaps and sailing was quite a challenge but through constant attention to our trim an average speed of 6 knots was maintained (by trim do you mean throttle? – ed).
After a mid-morning snorkel around Blue Pearl Bay followed by some nourishing soup for elevenses they moored up for luncheon conveniently enough in Luncheon Bay. A fine selection of sea food including some disturbing creatures that are apparently Alien face-huggers but more properly called Balmain Bugs topped off the feast.
More snorkling in Manta Ray Bay and some fine mid-afternoon sailing took us back to Stonehaven Anchorage for the evening.
Anchor horlicks of the day was the amusing discovery that the anchor fairies had put a knot in the blasted chain which made dropping it quite a challenge.As usual some quick reconnaissance of the shore was put in before it got too dark and the brave away crew invested most of the local shore.
Chief Buffon spotted a couple of sharks but the rest of the crew would only believe that they were a pair of Bullshit Sharks. 
The return journey was “enlivened” when Master and Commander managed to flood the engine on the tender and they had to start paddling back
but fortunately after only 30 minutes of frantic efforts by Chief Buffon at restarting the beast it sprang back into life and they just made it back to the vessel before last light.
Australia - Part 5
An early start for the boys (0600) with a view to setting to sea as soon as possible was thwarted by the ridiculous health and safety briefings (sic) they had to endure for literally hours and they only finally managed to put to sea at 1230 but their spirits were not crushed by the crushing tedium of such red tape and the boys kept their spirits up when our subject stabbed himself with a frozen prawn.
Eventually however with a fine wind and some splendid weather they set off into the great unknown on the good ship Indulgence.
Indulgence Ship’s log day 1
Our good ship is fully provisioned for a 7 day voyage of discovery and well crewed; consisting of Master and Commander Boris
, First Lieutenant Nigel 
, Chief Purser Dogs 
, Chief Engineer Glennjamin 
and the Chief Buffon. 
Journey began at 1230 local time and the vessel was moored up by 1730 in Nara Inlet
having covered some 23 nautical miles.
Notable incidents included
1. A rather close call with a 60 foot dive boat as the skipper tacked us under their bow at very close quarters despite the warning shouts from the First Lieutenant and the Chief Buffon. Astonishingly despite the incompetence of the manoeuvre and the panic on board the ship the crew of the near casualty were impressed by their courage and yelled across “top sailing mate.”
2. Evading the hot pursuit of a Customs Clipper sent after them.
3. The near loss of the anchor when Chief Buffon accidentally dropped it without putting it on the winch, the sterling efforts of the crew in re-shipping the anchor without the use of the said winch is to be particularly commended.
Having moored up the First Lieutenant, the Chief Engineer and the Chief Buffon took the ship’s pinnace to the clearly virgin shore and having carefully navigated the mangrove lined channels made landfall and investigated some of the native flora and fauna. During this away trip our ship suffered its first casualty with the Chief Buffon suffering a cut foot on some rocks and thus the first white blood was spilt on these foreign shores.
The First Lieutenant stuck closely to the well known motto when exploring such territories, “leave nothing but foot-prints, take nothing but memories…unless it gets in your way” and smashed his way through some inconveniently located trees.
The Chief Buffon has just collapsed from heatstroke but else all is well.
Eventually however with a fine wind and some splendid weather they set off into the great unknown on the good ship Indulgence.
Indulgence Ship’s log day 1
Our good ship is fully provisioned for a 7 day voyage of discovery and well crewed; consisting of Master and Commander Boris
, First Lieutenant Nigel 
, Chief Purser Dogs 
, Chief Engineer Glennjamin 
and the Chief Buffon. 
Journey began at 1230 local time and the vessel was moored up by 1730 in Nara Inlet
having covered some 23 nautical miles.Notable incidents included
1. A rather close call with a 60 foot dive boat as the skipper tacked us under their bow at very close quarters despite the warning shouts from the First Lieutenant and the Chief Buffon. Astonishingly despite the incompetence of the manoeuvre and the panic on board the ship the crew of the near casualty were impressed by their courage and yelled across “top sailing mate.”
2. Evading the hot pursuit of a Customs Clipper sent after them.
3. The near loss of the anchor when Chief Buffon accidentally dropped it without putting it on the winch, the sterling efforts of the crew in re-shipping the anchor without the use of the said winch is to be particularly commended.
Having moored up the First Lieutenant, the Chief Engineer and the Chief Buffon took the ship’s pinnace to the clearly virgin shore and having carefully navigated the mangrove lined channels made landfall and investigated some of the native flora and fauna. During this away trip our ship suffered its first casualty with the Chief Buffon suffering a cut foot on some rocks and thus the first white blood was spilt on these foreign shores.
The First Lieutenant stuck closely to the well known motto when exploring such territories, “leave nothing but foot-prints, take nothing but memories…unless it gets in your way” and smashed his way through some inconveniently located trees.
The Chief Buffon has just collapsed from heatstroke but else all is well.
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