Jazz hands

A trip to London village for the lovely Dennis's birthday for some drinking, shopping and a show.

A Friday night with Gay George (Not Actually Gay) is never likely to be a quiet night with just a few drinks and so this one wou;d prove to be. An evening on the serious boozing on the red tea and cheese in Cafe des Amis left our subject in his usual state (asleep) at the table.

Saturday was spent doing some shopping which, on the basis that our subject has very little style and is useless in shops, required Gay George (Not Actually Gay) to come out again and assist. Somehow the boys managed to resist the temptation to buy the £6,500 jacket from Vivienne Westwood but failed to resist the urge to perv in Rigby & Peller.

Now as anyone who knows our subject will say he is not the world's largest fan of musical theatre so persuading him to go to a show was an exercise in optimism over realism but Dennis demonstrated her knowledge of his mind set with her choice of Chicago.

Fortunately it rather laid on an "Out of the mouths of babes" moment; subject, "Dennis, where is this show set?"; "not sure, America I think". Utter genius.

Sunday was spent over a lazy brunch with Dennis's university chums in and around Covent Garden discussing the morality of not paying the TV licence fee.

As was to be expected a splendid weekend.

The Duke of Wellington

A few days away in snowy London saw him down catching up with the usual mob.

Monday night saw him at Naughty Nigel's with the lovely Christine and Glenn enjoying some fine food and booze.

Tuesday night saw him at the Mother's and, most inconveniently, it snowing like billyo. Come Wednesday morning however he found himself somewhat troubled by the need to get to the station through the crisp and even snow. So he "borrowed" the
Mother's wellington boots (we will not comment on the sadness of him being able to fit into them).

All however went well (although the e-mail from the Mother demanding her boots back was pointed) until (after quite few beers we must record with Naughty Nigel and Gay George (Not Actually Gay)) as he went to get his things at the end of the night he found his bag (with said boots in them) missing...presumed stolen.

Irksome,

Bringsty and buy

Nothing says it is a new decade better than a rancid hangover and on that basis it must be a new decade.

With sour bellies and thick heads Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and the lovely Dennis decided to head out into the country for a walk to clear their heads. A fine plan to climb to the highest point in the Malverns was hatched. The best laid plans of mice and men rarely survive contact with a sat nav system and Gay George (Not Actually Gay)'s Porsche system duly ballsed it up and they ended up able to see the Malverns the also ended up miles from it on Bringsty common.

A quick replacement stroll was organised although organised may not be the best word to describe it. They prompty got lost and decided to hack across country. Once down in the bottom of the valley, lost in the woods, trapped between barbed wire, struggling to cross a river and with the howls of wolves in their ears they realised they may have made a tactical error.

Fortunately the pub (once they had extricated themselves from the above) was splendidly welcoming.

A meal of left-overs back in Birmingham was the best he could offer but Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and the lovely Dennis pretended not to mind.

A fine pear

With Christmas out of the way attention swiftly turns to the new year celebrations and the need to find something to do with friends to avoid looking like a saddo (as per his tragic performance last year).

To avoid accusations of tragedy two years in a row he resolved to organise a dinner party (well at least he should be able to guarantee an invite). So the invites went out and the lovely Dennis, Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and a cast of characters from work had to admit they had nothing else to do and agreed to turn up.

They probably would have found something else to do had they realised he was intending to cook. Fortunately at least the lovely Dennis took control of pudding so at least one course would be edible.

Presentation is everything but with half a gallon of booze inside him his carving skills rather went for a burton as he hacked the poor ham into slabs rather than slices.

The lovely Dennis's pears saved the day.

Elmo loves you

A splendid Christmas spent with the Mother, Sister, Justin and their brood. As usual a ridiculous pile of presents under the tree paid testament to Santa's ingenuity and led to 4 very over-excited children (and one adult).

In a splendidly circular way the Sister presented our subject with a scrap-book of his travels around the world culled from our pages (in a flagrant breach of our copyright, the lawyers will be in touch). He was so touched by the effort that had gone into this splendid gift that he was rendered speechless for a moment (although reports that he had a little girly cry are of course mis-placed).

The usual over-indulgence followed although the adults seemed rather too obssessed playing with little Evie's new toy dancing, talking and singing Elmo (from Sesame Street) for their own good.

Boxing Day was spent rather repeating the over-indulgence trick although this time at the Sister's with the lovely Dennis and Gay George (Not Actually Gay) in attendance. Gay George (Not Actually Gay) and our subject were scandalously rude about the Sister's proffered wine. Gay George (Not Actually Gay) got himself into a horrendous state and had to be poured into a taxi, a remarkable turning of the usual tables.

A trip to see the lovely Dennis's splendid family followed which included a trip to the local chinese which is a new development to our subject's usual Christmas shenanigans but a welcome one before he headed back to Brum to prepare for the New Year party. We are sure that details will follow.

Bloody car

Well, how can we put this, his silly little car (passim ad nauseam) gave up the ghost, again (passim ad nauseam) at the weekend. With a broken car the trip to Bristol went for a Burton.

This car has now cost slightly more than a Bugatti Veyron. We continue to despair.

Never lie to your readers

Despite our clear promise that we had our muse back here at Bogun Towers things have not really kicked on. His holiday in Cyprus was a bit of a wash out as far as we were concerned with no disasters and everything going smoothly. Indeed he barely got up to anything at all and just slept.

With luck this weekend may change matters either Gay George (Not Actually Gay) will be around for Friday night shenanigans or he will be crashing Gravy's christmas party and the on Saturday he has a surprise birthday party for someone who hates surprises, hates parties and is none too keen on getting older (we do hope she is not a reader or the cat is well and truely out of the bag). If he cannot conjure up some newsworthy material out of that all hope is lost.

All work and no play...

makes for a very unhappy editorial team here at Bogun Towers. Other than a dose of swine flu (or possibly man flu) last weekend he has been up to nothing interesting at all. The one glimmer of good news on the horizon is an impending holiday - he is off to Cyprus in two weeks so fingers crossed some disaster will befall him on the journey or he will drown whilst diving or some other interesting tale will arise.

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.

Chamonix part 2

Skiing in the sun is a) fun and b) not a long term prospect (well unless one likes water-skiing).



That said a day skiing Le Tours is always fun even if the bottom of one's skis are torn out on the local rocks.

A further evening on the turps although as far as we can tell they appear to have rustled up some new chum with a horrible bald spot (either that or our subject is going bald and surely that cannot be right) enjoying a local band.

Of course our subject did his usual and fell asleep on the deal before the evening ended.

Dear Lord he is off skiing again

A trip to Chamonix this time and, to make a change (plus they were getting bored with each other), it is not just Gay George (Not Actually Gay) but also Mrs Gay George (Not Actually Gay), Harlot, Mau and Ali (friends of Mr and Mrs Gay George (Not Actually Gay)) Scrapper and Sarah.

Strangely no dramas on the flight over which makes a refreshing (but slightly disappointing) change.

A reasonable first day on the slopes although there were some minor points of irritation (the 200 steps down from the lift at the top being a highlight).

A proper evening on the turps followed although finishing supper off with the contents of a bed pan may have been mistake. Still at least our subject maintained the soberiety to reject Scrapper's advances...

Bless the rozzers

It may only be temporary but our collective muse appears to have returned to Bogun Towers, rejoice!

With the Easter weekend looming a group of lads, Danny, Smudger, Scouse and Harrison, decided to have a few beers, watch the Brian Clough movie and then have some more beers.

Things started promisingly with a break in to the cinema bar led by our subject but they were quickly rumbled and thrown out. Settling into the snug bar of the City Arms they were delighted to find themselves sharing it with a drunk and very vocal and very unpleasant "woman" (for want of a better word). Fortunately Smudger stepped in to bundle our subject out before a fight could begin.

The movie itself had some fair funny parts but rather lacked an end - tip to a movie maker, if you are going to make a redemption story movie actually fit the redemption part of the story into the movie.

Settling down into a tapas bar over some beers and rioja the evening appeared to be drifting along until a chair suddenly came flying through the window spraying glass everywhere. Quick as a flash Smudger and our subject were up to chase down the miscreants although as is to be expected our subject dropped out of the race very early on.

The rozzers, bless them, were just round the corner and managed to catch the blighters but as part of the evidence gathering process found themselves questioning our subject and chums whilst they tucked into bottle number 3 of the red tea. We doubt their evidence will be of much utility before the mags.

With the adrenaline flowing from the excitement 3 Mojitos fair flew down followed by some Guiness and a very late finish.

As is to be expected the next morning was mildly hungover and the "alarm call" from the delivery men looking to deliver his new washing machine at 0830 was particularly unwelcome. Even more unwelcome was the realisation after it had finally been installed some 8 hours later (and the right side of the hangover) that this one was as knackered as the last.

Wanted

It would appear that we at Bogun Towers have suffered a collective muse loss. This is most depressing of course for our regular readers and we can only apologise for the utter silence.

We assure you that we are working hard to find our collective muse and will return to form as soon as possible. Should anyone spot out muse do get in touch.

Bloody rozzers

A quiet weekend lined up after the splendid stuffing delivered to the English last week and as usual the best laid plans failed to survive contact with the enemy (alcohol).

A "quick" drink after work with Gravy and chums ("whatever happens Gravy I am not staying out long") turned into an almighty session and him asleep first face in a curry before finally making it to bed about 0300.

A delightful hangover on Saturday was as welcome as it always is but with the lovely Kathryn coming to visit at least one ray of sunshine could be expected in his day and she peformed said function admirably although the booze flowed mightily again. Having done a runner from the restaurant (for the benefit of the Mother that does not mean not paying the bill oh no not at all) he ended up in a load of bother with the fuzz not, surprisingly, for the obvious reason but more prosaicly for parking in their space.

From our rugby correspondent

A weekend away with the Pofydd for Valentine's day and, more importantly, the Wales -v- England match in the 6 nations. With Polly heavily pregnant (we anticipate mere days to the newest addition to our cast) the convenience of a designated driver was available and so they headed down to Aberaeron to meet up with Nidur and watch the match at Aberaeron Rugby Club.

Chucking a smidge over the half-gallon down their Gregorys before the start of play was a bold move but their nerves needed some solid settling so we can forgive them that.

Clearly the English players have plans for this summer as none of them seem at all interested in a Lions place this season which left Wales a very short odds favourite. England were, disappointingly, not as rubbish as they have been in recent times but fortunately were rubbish enough to get a good pasting.

As we have always said however northern hemisphere rugby is much weakened when England are rubbish and we do trust that they will at least make an effort to get better some time reasonably soon (though not too soon for preference).

As to the rest of the night? The second half-gallon put paid to that - he was asleep by 2130.

Jet Laggggggggggg

Recipe for disaster:-

Take one subject of a world famous blog
Stir in a serious dose of jet lag
Place on long distance train
Turn up the heating

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

It gets dark quickly in California

When you are having fun on the slopes sometimes you can just lose track of time...

Jalopy news

Well 7 weeks after the car broke down again at last a diagnosis. It is a technical one so forgive us if we get the terms wrong but the news is it is "fucked."

Somewhat less technically it needs a new engine, again.

The bastard that sold it to him had better hope for some good news soon.