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?”
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
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.
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