Kent

The joys of a Friday night stuck in traffic are rarely a great deal of fun but if it is the precursor to a weekend with some great friends the advantages easily outweigh the tedium.

This weekend just gone he headed down to the Gower to camp with the Pofydd, Chris and Christine and Glenn and Hila. The joys of the great British attitude (at the appalling Gower Arms) to service rather left them hungry and miserable ("sorry we've stopped serving", "but its five to nine and your sign says you serve until nine", "we've stopped serving") was saved thanks to the very fine Beaufort Arms (and their rather splendid lamb curry with half and half (half chips, half rice).

A splendid breakfast thanks to Glenn and Hila started Saturday off quite marvellously before they set off for a long walk around the Gower, 2 miles down the beach they found the Ilwych Bay Hotel and, as it was to transpire the end of their walk. A Leo Sayer at his age is a rare (and usually very painful) thing but by mixing up the alcohol with tea (we give up) saw him through to chucking out time without disgracing himself.

Sunday they had all arranged to go "canyoning" (i.e. throwing oneself down a river) but sensibly in light of his pathetic history with watersports (passim) he claimed that his eye surgeon had said he could not do it and so joined Polly and Hila sitting it out and simply walking up and down the river (much more rational behaviour we feel).

Big M small organ

A quick trip down to London this week to see his poor forgotten mother and the splendid Rib Robs for lunch. A lunch more than enlivened by Rib Robs spendid news.

A fine luncheon yes but a truely terrifying taxi ride followed (not good for the digestion) thanks to a taxi driver with Tourette's, "You'll never guess who I had in the - fucking - back of the taxi last - bollocks - week, guv."

His driving was shit as well.

Sheep on the town

Still stinking of wet sheep he and Naughty Nigel headed into town to join Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and the lovely Helen to help Helen celebrate her birthday.

Kicking matters off (well laying more layers of beer and wine down on the already well stocked system (passim)) in The Living Room off Regent's street (where the unpleasant smell of sheep quickly cleared an area large enough for them all to enjoy although no doubt did damage to their takings for the evening) before the evening ended over supper in a local Italian.

Waking up Saturday with yet another hangover he set off from Naughty Nigel and TCO's place for Euston in plenty of time to make the train he had been promised would get him up to Stafford in plenty of time to enjoy his day of racing Ferraris (a birthday present from last year from Dennis). Imagine his delight to discover that the idiot at Traintracker had been looking at the weekday timetable and then see his face sink further as he realised that the entire West Coast mainline was shut for the weekend for engineering.

The utter joy at realising he had a day of sitting in a very slow moving train going all the way round the houses rather than a day of driving cars very fast is impossible to describe.

Fortunately the people who run the driving day have agreed to let him re-arrange if he brings some paying friends this time and Naughty Nigel, Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and the splendid Chris and Graham have agreed to come along for the next trip, although he may have forgotten to mention to them he needed their assistance.

Getting the taste of it again

Clearly Gay George (Not Actually Gay)'s influence is a good thing as having just about recovered from his hangover (passim) he jumped on a train down to London town and for supper with Naughty Nigel and TCO in readiness for a day at the test on Friday.

A day at the cricket with Naughty Nigel is always going to be a rather drunken affair but with the addition of TCO to his domestic arrangements they do now at least involve a certain amount of very fine food.

Despite the fine food they did not miss out on the fine booze either although, at one stage (11.15), Naughty Nigel did remarkably suggest that perhaps it was a bit too early to be drinking. Fortunately his concerns were assuaged when they spotted the happy scene two rows in front of them of a father with his two sons (and one rapidly emptying bottle of wine), they felt quite virtuous after that.

The first storm-burst was a rather tedious interruption to the day not least because he got soaked. A great value (hmm perhaps not) jumper was quickly picked up from the Lord's shop to keep him warm until the second storm-burst which soaked the blasted thing leaving him smelling of damp sheep for the rest of the day and night.

Back to basics

As many of you will have noted there has been a distinct lack of reportage from us over recent weeks at Bogun Towers due to a complete lack of activity from our subject who has been a very dull boy.

In an effort to get back into the socialising saddle and in response to our constant nagging to provide us with material Gay George (Not Actually Gay) came up to visit this last week and in their usual way they went out and got battered. A load of beer, several bottles of wine and some fine food from San Carlos (Italian) left them asleep on the sofa and nursing hangover's Tuesday morning.

Keen to ensure that they were really getting back into the swing of things Gay George (Not Actually Gay) came back up to stay on Wednesday evening and, bar the addition of Dennis to the mix, the evening went exactly the same way (save the restaurant was Asha's (Indian)) and the next morning was amazingly a repeat.

Photo-journalism at its best

The photo-desk here at Bogun Towers has in the past done some sterling work but they are all in a strop today having been totally cast in the shade by our friends at The Times:-

Arghh Jim Lad

With one useful eye he is now sporting a rather fetching eye-patch.

My doesn't he look spiffing.

In the Kingdom of the blind the one-eyed man is king

Much to our dismay he has been wittering on about getting his eyes lasered so he can do away with his glasses, we say dismay as long-term readers will recall the various tales of woe of glasses lost and broken that have enlivened these pages from time to time.

Well having talked about it for ages he has finally got round to having it done and much to our joy it has gone heinously wrong and he is basically blind in one eye.

Now as operations go having some bugger hack the front of your eye off, then burn your cornea away (the smell of burning flesh is a real treat) and then having that same bugger gently smooth the bit of your eye he has hacked off back down with a little brush is pretty much up there as being rancid as hell but having it all go wrong is pretty funny, well for us at least.

Basically the latest news is that they inadvertently cut a new astygmatism into his left eye which leaves him mildly unhappy. Being told they can put it right but it needs another operation (as above) has not improved his mood.

He has ordered an eye-patch to help the vision...from a "specialist" web-site, goodness knows what it will be like.