DIY - Do not try this at home (or indeed anyone else's home)

Our subject is, as some of our readers will know, a Rachmann like landlord of a number of slum properties in Bristol. Indeed so keen is he to save money (and force out his fetid tenants) that he refuses to engage professionals to do any work around the flats but does it all himself.

The tenants in one of his flats recently called him out with a broken dishwasher and washing-machine. Blithely turning up one evening after work with a couple of screwdrivers he set about "repairing" the dishwasher. Being a bit of an idiot when unplugging it he forgot that it is usually prudent to turn the water off before detaching an appliance from the mains and found himself being showered with cold water. Doing his best little Dutch boy impression he stuffed his thumb into the mains (which just succeeded in spraying the water all over the shop) and called for one of his tenants to come and help. Being girls they had not the first clue how to locate or turn off a stop cock and after some 10 minutes of their faffing around he simply dropped the pipe and let the water flood whilst locating and turning off the water himself.

Of course one unlooked for advantage was that both his tenants were soaked through and wearing t-shirts. The hours of mopping up rather took the gloss off that however.

This past Friday was the inaugural meeting of the Mustapha Club (so named due to this famous letter - his mother should look away now) and for reasons principally of expense our subject was asked to give the after-dinner speech. Considering the amount of alcohol imbibed we can say that the organisers got almost full value for their investment (of precisely nothing) in the quality of the speaker.

Our inspiration

We must confess that we have been inspired, in part, to return to our journalism by the lovely Christine's efforts to be found here :- http://community.managementtoday.co.uk/blogs/the_parent_project/archive/2009/10/07/the-problem-with-pregnancy.aspx

She does seem somewhat less concerned with drinking than our subject.

We're not dead

We at Bogun Towers have been literally not inundated with expressions of concern about the 6 months of silence. No doubt our faithful readers assumed we had all fallen off the side of Mont Blanc and were adopting a respectful silence for our tragic loss (or perhapsh we have no faithful readersh? - ed).

The truth, as previously alluded to, has been a loss of muse and a need to recharge the old journalistic batteries.

Nothing quite recharges the journalistic batteries than a weekend with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and by remarkable coincidence we are able to report on such a weekend. Earlier in the year they tried to climb Snowdon but due to poor traffic and light conditions failed and in light of our subjects keen determination (are we shure about thish? - ed) they were desperate to make the summit sometime this year.

So with that goal in mind Gay George (Not Actually Gay) turned up on Friday night ready for an early morning assault on the mountain of myth and legend. Quite astonishingly they nearly stuck to their plan to just have a four-pack between them (the nearly referring to a bottle of fizz on top) although their plan for an early night failed (unless 1245 counts as early).

And so Saturday started at 0600 (has any Saturday started so early before we wonder) and they headed up to Snowdonia trusting their lives to the pup of a car (which had obviously broken down the day before).

Climbing a mountain is, frankly, a bit of a fag at the best of times but when one comes round the last corner to see the mountain swathed in cloud and the car park closed (adding 2 miles to each end of the climbing) the irritation factor ramps right up.

Nevertheless despite the temptation to sack it right off they headed up the mountain and 2 hours later found themselves at the "sunny" summit.

A quick jog down was rather ruined when the soles fell off his boots but through some string and some fine field-cobbling by Gay George (Not Actually) Gay they made it back down in double-quick time.

A quick drive (life in hands time again) back to base and before they could say, "Bogun Towers" the splendid Tudur and Nia had materialised to add to the weekend's shenanigans. A fine curry with the Dennis followed before they danced the night away in the Jamhouse fuelled on Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch. As is to be expected on a night out with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) he (that is to say Gay George (Not Actually Gay)) got utterly lost along with his phone.

Never one to let such a disaster get in his way Sunday was always going to go one way - 1130 drinking wine in the bar of Hotel du Vin. Nia and Gay George (Not Actually Gay) rather let the side down by disappearing off during the day but Tudur and our subject kept the flag flying with a) said session in HdV; b) a session in the Old Royal watching the rugger; c) a session on the Stella's back at Bogun base watching more rugger; d) another session at HdV and e) a final session (of Hoegaarden) at the Rectory before finally falling asleep on the sofa.

All in all a mountain climbed and a mountain of beer drunk but, as one would expect, a splendid weekend with some splendid chums.