Bits of blurb

I must get around to putting up the Cornwall pictures, we all had a wonderful time.

I'm going to indulge in some shameless proud Dad stuff. The boys had their annual rugby presentation award dinner the other week. It's a great night, there's over two hundred kids from the under 7's to the under 17's all spruced up in their club ties, and we always have a couple of top players to present the awards, this year Nicky Robinson, Gloucester and Wales and Adam Eustace,Gloucester.

Both boys won 'Most promising player' in their respective age categories, and had their picture taken with Nicky and Adam. Proud doesn't even come close to describing how I felt.

Not quite sure what I make of the Dave and Nick double act, but I'm prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt, and hope that they can make a go of it. I'm not keen on Osbourne's appointment as Chancellor, oily little tick. Liam Fox at defence doesn't inspire confidence. Apparently he once porked Natalie Imbruglia, so not is he only a twat, but a particularly jammy twat. If I'd known her standards were so low, I would have had a go myself!

Sanity break

We're off again, this time to Cornwall, to the little town that was always my family's home base, despite all of our travelling.

My Mum sold the house about eight years ago, and this will be our first trip since. I'm very much looking forward to going back there with my boys. C can't remember it, and J's never been. We've got a little two up two down cottage in the town centre. Plenty of walking, plenty of rock pooling, and plenty of crabbing.

The boys' school is closed on Friday due to a teacher training day, so we'll clear off early in the morning.

I'm glad to be buggering off again. Work is difficult. I'm involved in a legal dispute with a contractor over unpaid fees, a lot of unpaid fees, and I'm finding it hard to focus on anything else.

A bit of sea air will help clear the mind.

Profile changes

Necessary as I am no longer 41.

42 today.

Oh well, at least it's a beautiful day.

My Mum's coming up tonight for a few days, and we'll all have dinner together, which I shall be cooking. I trust an Italian fish stew to no-one but me.

It will be great to see Mum, although she doesn't live far away, a lot of her time recently has been taken up looking after my Grandfather, who is now very elderly, and has had a spell of bad health.
She's going to look after the hooligans tomorrow night, and we're going out to dinner with a few friends.

It's very quiet at Gumpher Towers as boy 1 is at an outward bound centre with school for a few days. As we were packing his stuff the other night, he told me not to worry about shampoo and shower gel, as he didn't bother showering when they went last year. Stinky little sod.

So the plan for the day is to fire through a bit of work and get home. It's too bloody nice to be stuck inside an office, birthday or not

Tagged

I have been tagged by http://www.blogger.com/profile/08481107164497582398 DJ Aspey to complete the following, and I think it is a tad tricky, to tell six truths and one lie about yourself.

I'll give it a whirl.

1. I have travelled to thirty one countries,and have lived on three different continents. Only eight of these countries are in Europe.

2. At the age of sixteen, I was the Welsh trampolining champion, and came third in the national championships.

3. I can kick a ball with both feet. When playing cricket, I bat right handed and bowl left handed. I can play racquet sports with both hands, but if you ask me to throw a ball right handed, I will throw like a girl. I write left handed, and cannot even grasp a pen in my right hand.

4. I have a 2:1 in Economics and Political Studies.

5. I learned to windsurf at an early age. It's like riding a bike. Whenever we go on holiday and I hire one, my boys are amazed that Dad can actually do that.

6. My second toe is longer than my big toe, on both feet. It looks very odd in flip flops.

7. My father died when I was fourteen months old.

Just for Nutters, the fan of the naughty spewy spaniel

Sodding dog

My wife is out with the boys as it's the last day of the school jollydays, so the mutt below is in the office with me.

I'm having a mellow day, struggling through the boredom of doing some accounting with a bit of Mozart on in the background ( I can be civilised, it's not all rugby and beer).

I popped out for a crafty fag, and came back to three piles of dog sick - on my light grey carpets.

One swift trip to Tesco for some cleaning products and ten minutes of halting the gag reflex and my work is done.

Fluffy shit for brains is curled up fast asleep on her bed, oblivious to my suffering.

Pembroke

Beer on the beach

Pembroke

Waiting for crabs

Pembroke

Braving the surf

Pembroke

Spaniel heaven

Easter hols

We've just had two cracking weekends in different parts of Wales.

The first was with friends who have a smallholding halfway up a mountain just outside of Builth. We had the full Easter experience complete with new bunnies and chicks (which they breed) and bottle feeding their two pet lambs which are going to be used as lawnmowers in their woodland.

It's always a real novelty going for a weekend, helping with all of the animals and the oddjobs which this time were reinforcing one of the road bridges over the stream, and lugging a hen house from the woods down to the yard. I can't imagine doing all of that every day, I'm sure the novelty would wear off.

The weekend just gone, I took Friday and yesterday off and we went to stay in the Pembrokeshire coastal national park with friends and their two boys who are the same age as our two hooligans. I love Pembroke, it's like Cornwall, but without the crowds of braying hoorays. We lucked in with the weather, and spent Saturday on Whitesands bay. The kids all togged up in their wetsuits, surfing and rock-pooling, it was a wonderful day. The naughty spaniel also experienced the delights of a big beach and the sea for the first time and had a rollicking doggy time.

On Sunday, we had a big hike around Dinas Head, and then headed off for lunch at a pub called The Sloop in a little cove at Porthgain. After meandering back, we went crabbing and had a barbie at the little beach at the foot of the valley where we were staying. A perfect day for A's 39th birthday.

Sometimes, the simple things in life are the best. Good company, plenty of fresh air and sunshine, and the boys charging about in the open air. Happy days.

Morons on the road

I had a fun experience today. It also blew a few urban myths away. When you think that you might die, your life does not flash before your eyes, nor do you shit yourself.

I was on a straight two lane road in my van, pootling along at fifty when the two cars ahead of me hit the brakes, as the car in front of them had just indicated for a right turning about thirty feet in front of them. I also hit the brakes and the van slammed sideways across the road and just carried on at that angle for about sixty feet ( I checked the skid marks) . Going sideways at fifty ish in a high top three and a half ton long wheelbased van is not an experience I want to repeat in a hurry especially as I was convinced it was going to flip over.

Eventually, I hit the rather high kerb, the van jumped into the air and rather luckily buried itself into the soft verge, rather than carrying on into the ditch. So, there I was, at forty five degrees with the van across the lane, unable to reverse out as I was buried so deep, with traffic whizzing past. Thankfully, another van stopped, he had a tow rope, and dragged me out.

It fair rattled me.

Later, I saw Rick Wakeman in a petrol station on the A14. He drives a Porsche, looks rather vague and is freakishly tall.

Lurgified

We are now officially lurgified at Gumpher towers. A is still on antibiotics, and C has a gland problem which has knocked him for six. He's a pretty solid chap on usual form, but he's zonked out. Pale, not eating, and in a fair bit of discomfort.

He fell asleep as I was reading to him last night, and I didn't want to disturb him, so he and I shared our bed last night, with A in his. Not sure it was a good choice on my part, he was very restless all night, up and down for water and medicine.

On Sunday, he spewed his on body weight- inside my car. I spent an hour cleaning it, and had another go this morning, but the stench is unbearable. We're away for the bank holiday, and I'm going to have to get it valeted beforehand, otherwise we'll be driving everywhere with the windows open.

I am really not in the mood for work today, hence the blogging. Generally I enjoy what I do, but like everyone I suppose, you have periods of lacking motivation and interest. Today is one of those days, it's going to be an effort.

The written word

I read a lot, always have. As well as my enjoyment of the content of a book, I like books themselves, and I am always a tad suspicious when I go into a house and there's not a book in sight.

I read a great deal from an early age. We didn't have a television, not because my parents couldn't afford it, they simply believed that there were better ways to occupy your time. I think we first got a small portable when I was seventeen, and that was only because it was won in a raffle.

I've always thought that so much more can be gained from a book than any other form of stimulation. Sometimes, if I subsequently see a television adaptation or a film of something I have previously read I find myself disappointed with the representation of character, as it inevitably differs from the picture that I have drawn for myself from the book.

I don't have any one particular genre that I'm drawn to, my taste is much like my taste in music, very eclectic.

My boys struggle to understand how 'simple' my childhood was without hundreds of television channels, the internet and the Wii, but fortunately, they both have my passion for books. C is like me, he reads a huge range of subjects, and reads very quickly. Although they both read to themselves, I still read to them most evenings before bedtime. C is ten, and our reading over the past couple of years has changed. Rather than individual stories, we have chosen together various books which take us weeks to complete together. Or months, in the case of The Chronicles of Narnia. Tom Sawyer provoked the most discussion, simply because of the language, and because he picked up on the differences between being white and black during the period it depicts. I doubt we would have had that discussion had we not been reading that particular book together. We're reading The Hobbit at the moment, and I'd forgotten how much I'd enjoyed it.

Reading with J is still very much short booked based as he's seven. His current favorites are Greek myths, although I fear we will soon have exhausted the library's supply.

We go to our local library most weeks. Although we've got one wall which is entirely bookshelves, and I occasionally dip into an old favorite, most of my new reads come from the library, although I do have the odd foray into second hand shops. J loves the library. Because he goes through phases of what he wants to read, he sees it as a challenge to search out something the same that he hasn't already had. I think he's resigned himself to the fact that he'll never stumble across an unread Dr.Seuss, he still looks for their distinctive spines.

Our local library in a small town is very quiet. We went to the large library in Worcester a few weeks ago and it was fucking bedlam. They'd introduced these new scanning devices in place of actual librarians, and the poor librarians left were constantly helping at the scanners as the damn things didn't actually do what they were designed for, and that was to scan books.

I don't think I would be so deep as to say that there are books that have changed my life, but all books have hugely enriched it.

A relaxing weekend...............................

A has the most shocking ear infection. She managed to get to the quacks this morning and has a course of antibiotics, but the effects won't kick in for twenty four hours. She was sobbing through the night, I really didn't know what to do, other than to give her a hug.

I'm going to clear off early and pick up the kids from school and take them up to the park, out of her way. We'll get some free entertainment later courtesy of a rather wealthy chap who lives just up the road. He invites clients to the Cheltenham festival and hires two helicopters to ferry them back and forth. They land in his back garden and the kids love sitting on the gate watching them come in and out.

If A's still grotty, I'll forgo my Friday night hour in the pub. I think I'll stay off the pop altogether, as C has moved up a swimming class and his lessons have moved from Wednesday afternoons to 8am on a Saturday morning. Fucking great, ten weeks to look forward to. Then J has football at nine, and on Sunday they both have rugby matches away at different clubs. J is playing in a tournament in Droitwich, and C is at Stow. Oh, and C has more swimming on Saturday evening, courtesy of the Church youth group.

And I've got to collect two of their noisy mates from school as their Mum is working late.

I don't get bloody paid for this..............

Talk Talk

What a bunch of chimps.

I'm not asking to be flown to the moon. I would like a telephone line and broadband. I have a direct debit in place, all they have to do is email my invoice, and take the money.

I have the most simple e mail address on the planet, but for some unknown reason, every other month, some fucktard from TalkTalk decides to add a '1' to it, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't get through.

Then they write to me to say I'm being charged for a paper bill as I don't have a valid e mail address, despite them using the correct address the previous month.

The online account has never worked. It either won't recognise the log in or password, and won't allow them to be reset.

So. The phone call. I'd rather rub my nuts on a cheesegrater than ring the TalkTalk call centre. I have nothing against Indians, nor indeed any nationality ( apart from the odd Irishman at six nations time) but if you're going to use foreign call centres, at least use staff who have a basic grasp of the language of the country they are servicing..

Twenty seven minutes and three separate staff in order to ensure that a '1' is not added to an email address, and each time they pass me onto a colleague, that mong wants me to repeat my name,address, date of birth, phone number and account number.

It's not good for my ever greying thatch.

Feel the burn

I am in pain, deep pain.

I've been back playing squash for two weeks now, and I had planned to ease myself gently back into it, but the childishly competitive nature of me and my playing partners has not exactly made that possible.

Last night was daft. I was two one down and came back to two all. Somehow I managed to get 7-4 up in the deciding fifth when the lights went out. It was bugger all down to the way I was playing. My opponent was missing easy shots, and giving me clear winners, but I was totally fucked. I could hardly move, I was sweating like a sumo in a sauna, and although deep down I wanted to win, my immediate thoughts were that I couldn't give two shits about the score, I just wanted to get off that court.

Needless to say, the extra quid went in, the lights came on and I lost 10-8. Unusually, I really didn't care, everything hurt so much. It's a long time since I pushed myself so hard, and although I lost, and it hurts, it's also quite satisfying.

The squash ball size mark on my left arse cheek and the racquet weal on my shoulder are less satisfying.

Yo ho ho

I haven't been sailing for years.

Growing up next to sea I spent my youth cocking about in boats, and great fun it was too. Dinghy sailing with dad until we both came to the conclusion that father and son in a small boat is like the same mixture with driving lessons. I then started crewing on offshore yachts for a bit. I'd always windsurfed, and fortunately that is like riding a bike, so I always hire one if they're around when we're on holiday.

As we live slap bang in the middle, there's not much opportunity to sail. Having said that we live on the Avon, and there is a sailing club nearby, but tacking every twenty seconds is not my idea of fun.

Anyway, I had an email earlier reminding me that my deposit for the 'Round the Island Race' was due. It wasn't spam, as it was from a chum in the village, but I didn't have a clue what it was about. To cut a long story short, I was collared whilst under the influence at a party a few weeks ago, the boat has been chartered, and along with a motley crew of assorted village pissheads will be racing around the Isle of Wight in the summer !

As expected, Cardiff was great fun, despite the rugby.

Also as expected, we got roaringly drunk and ended up in a curry house. Nothing if not predictable. Cardiff was chock full of very happy Frenchies, and the more I drank, the better my French became. Ahem.

Great walk along the Wye valley on the way back, although it was a round of soft drinks in our target pub, and none of us could face lunch. Turn forty and turn lightweight.

Bokke, (see previous rugby trips) had a quick look at the OS map of some proper walkers, and decided we would take a different route back to the car. Needless to say we got horrendously lost and the one hour trip turned into two and a half. It also involved a jaunt through a farmyard which was ankle deep in liquid cowshit. I'm glad we weren't in my car.

Two games of squash coming up this week. It's rather satisfying to be back doing some exercise, although it's going to take a while to get a reasonable level of fitness back.

Rugby and beer

Lifes little pleasures.

Drive to Newport tomorrow, ditch the car at the 5* B &B and get the train to Cardiff. I love it when the French come to Cardiff, a wonderful atmosphere, although you don't get cockerels being released in the city centre these days.

We're probably going to get a thorough spanking, but it should be a cracking evening. A few beers before, try and grab a curry afterwards and hopefully get the late train back to Newport . Sophisticated it won't be.

Planning to blow away the cobwebs the following morning with a stroll along the Wye Valley stopping for lunch at a pub that has seventeen, yep seventeen, different ciders.

Sleep it all off on Saturday, and then the boys have an away match in Solihull on Sunday.

So, the weekend revolves around...........Rugby, damn shame !

Snow

I was sick of snow a long time ago. The first few days of sledging last month were fun, although I was relegated to the role of spectator. It all looked very pretty, but now it's just dull and turgid.

The boys have had one rugby match and one training session this year, due to the pitches either being covered, or waterlogged after the thaw. It's got to the stage when even they want to yomp across the hill with the dog after lunch on a Sunday.

We had a quick whizz to the smoke at half term. Science Museum and the V & A . We went to the Science Museum to complete the bit we didn't have time for on our last London trip, and sod's law, the entire wing was closed until June. I was surprised at how much the hooligans enjoyed the V & A, it's a stunning building. We also treated ourselves to sandwiches and yummy snacky bits from Harold's as J insisted on calling Harrods

A few more days until Wales v France and a party of four for a boys weekend out. First one in ages, I'm getting pisspoor at being on the ball with this. In the past couple of months A has had girlie weekends in Spain and Centreparcs. I've got the luxury of some dodgy B & B in Newport.

Enforced hiatus

After saying I would get back to posting regularly, once again, a long break, but it's not my fault, I've been a guest of the NHS.

My appendix went, bloody painful it was too. I was lucky enough to have a private room for my stay, and through all the horror stories of the NHS, I have nothing but praise for the level of care I received. The only downside was that the food was minging, but as I was on nil by mouth for a fair while, it was no great hardship.

I've never had a general anasaetic before, and I'll be in no great hurry for another, that and the morphine afterwards made me feel like shit. I couldn't have keyhole surgery as the appendix was behind my bowel, so I've ended up with a whacking great scar, but fair do's to the surgeon, it's very neat.

So, now I'm recovering at home, can't drive, can't do sodding anything, and I am bored shitless.

Checking in

I'm alive.

Very much so.

Made mental note to self, must start blogging again.

The puppy in the photo is now just gone one, and stark raving bonkers, but adorable. Her energy levels are remarkable, so she gets loads of walks and also goes running with A a few times a week. Seems to do the trick as she spends most of the evening passed out in front of the fire. The ginger boy remains hugely uninpressed as does his partner in purrs.

Had a pretty good summer. We had a good week in a very rural and untouristy part of northern Portugal. Big quiet beaches and great swimming. Due to the rest of the summer weather being shite, apart from our weekend at The Big Chill, we decided we needed more sun, so spent the half term just gone in a quaint farmhouse on the island of Gozo. A bit pricey, but great to get some sun and sea swimming when it's constantly pissing down here.

My work life couldn't be better. Just had my best year since starting, and hopefully moving to new premises.

We're still going through the arse achingly wanky business of trying to sell our house. It does somewhat bring you to the conclusion that there's a fair few people who are in general, rather cunty. We've now lost two houses that we wanted to buy through not having sold ours. It's difficult because our criteria limits us, we want to stay in the village we live in, in a bigger house. Lots of reasons, the main one being we're all happy there which I think is a biggy.

Boy number 1 continues to shine. House captain and school prefect. Don't know where those genes came from. Neither his mother nor I were ever considered remotely responsible enough for such lofty positions. Boy 2 is still gorgeous, and still doing his best to give the local teaching profession collective nervous breakdowns. More of that at another time.

I might even see if I can get back to a few posts a week.

Blimey.

This gorgeous woofa is the latest addition to the Gumpher household. She's been here since November. Officially she's a Sprocker, although I prefer Cockspring.

The ginger chap, as you may tell from his expression, remains mightily unimpressed.

And as the six nations starts this weekend, Wales, by feckin loads, hear me now .

My youngest son takes on an almost zen like state when he's flying a kite, and being a five year old, can say things that make life seem so much better.

'Y,know Dad, this is the life, just you and me, flying a kite on Bredon hill'.

I'll be away from here for a bit. I've been dipping in and out, which is not how I want to blog.

Lots on the mind.When I start blogging again, I'll be clear.

'Sup, as the kids said. Years ago.

What to blog and when to blog it. I have lots to express ( none of it breast milk) but at the moment this is not the place to let it out, for my own foolishness.

Ahem.

Life is odd, and I'm not in the best place. I've cocked my frontal quad again, which means no sport, and that gets me arsey, a kind of locked up feeling.

I have a work problem. A few years ago ( look at the archives, if you truly can be arsed) I sold a business which I'd had in partnership with another chap for a few years. I made a few key mistakes.

We sold the premises. Pure twatishness. New business park, designed by me ,next to the M5. Oh, the joys of hindsight. But , we both felt the need for the clean break, and taking the money.

Then, I took a long time off. Mortgage, family, a few expensive holidays, as our colonial cousins say, you do the math. Chuck a couple of nice cars in, and some work to the house, and, adios. You forgot the tax bill, you fucking retard.

New business, one fantastic client. One, I hear you cry, nope, they rely on me as much as I do on them. But a few years in, it's all odd. They're an oil company, the place to be in these times.

I wanted to be at home more, with A and the boys, pulling reasonable money. But now I'm pulling more than reasonable money, but struggling. Working too hard, getting as stressed as I was before.

What a fucking whinge.

But so ?

I can make choices, and I'm not sure that I make the right ones sometimes.

I'm not that happy, although I should be, and I don't know the reason for this.

I'm usually very positive, and very in control, but my mind is partial to distractions that probably are not that good for me at this time

I have just had an absolute dog's arsehole of a day.

The situation with boy 2 and school has escalated to a totally unacceptable level ,and A and I are angry and upset. Boy 2 is confused, and unusually unsure. I may blog more when I have collected my thoughts, I might post the letter I've written to the head.

Then my car car broke down, and the hire company have given me a hideously shite and uncomfortable Mundano which I might have to drive to Wigan, Newbury and Stoke.

My fucking Blackberry has just dinged three times on the email bleep, and I really can't be arsed to look.

I've just finished story time with the boys, and am sat here on my jack, as A has gone to the cinema with chums.

To cheer myself up, I'm going to do something spiffy with scallops and chorizo and swill it down with a Chilean Sauvignon.

To get some perspective back, one of my closest pals mum has finally succeeded in drinking herself to death at the age of 57.

Happy days.

Yay, we've finally got a date sorted out for a holiday. Back to Portugal this year, the wallet won't take another trip to Thailand.

We're going to try the Silver Coast, just above Lisbon for a change. Found a tidy looking villa with a big pool in a small town about ten minutes from the coast. Should be off mid August. hopefully we'll be able to manage a few days in Italy as well. I love the lakes, stunning scenery, and swimming in Lake Como is bliss.

Two more days in Peterborough and then it's finished. Final fit out tomorrow, and then meet the client on Monday for the handover. No more up and down the A14. Delivered bang on time, and sort of on budget . Will now be swapping A14 for M5, as we started a six week project in Cornwall.

Fucking Cornwall, in July and August. I may get stuck in the odd jam. Much as I am fortunate to have such a fantastic client, I wish they'd buy a company closer to home, just once. It's Wigan next. Now that is some kind of shit hole. Sorry if anyone's from Wigan, but Paris in the spring it ain't

School report day.

I am not happy.

Boy 1. Proud as a Dad could be. He tries hard and gets his just rewards. But, he has to put in the e effort, it doesn't really come naturally, apart from his imagination, which is wonderful. Well done C.

Boy 2.

A class of 13, with a teacher and an assistant. We told them. Devil, idle hands etc.

We don't tolerate it when he misbehaves, but they do. It's pathetic, when she speaks, the kids can't hear, but dogs go mental.

I am sick of telling him off, of depriving the things he likes, not getting his £1.50 a week pocket money because he's not got enough ticks for the week.

HE'S FIVE YEARS FUCKING OLD, AND HE HAS A BRAIN THE SIZE OF SATURN.

I know this, because I'm his father, and also I'm not stupid, and I can see the pros and cons in my boys without being introspective.

I am fucking pissed off.

We're good people.

We've got good kids.

We recognise their failings, and address them.

Sorry.

Angry.

My boys are not perfect, but they are damn fine individuals, because that is the way they were raised, and I am proud to be their Father.

Not sure this gets across what I feel, but, my word I love them.

Knife crime

The stats for knife crime in London this year are astonishing.

Back in more simple times, I carried a knife, as did most of my friends. It was a beauty. A four inch sheath knife with a smooth wooden handle. I bought it from the tackle shop in the small seaside town I grew up in. I saved up my pocket money for ages, and would regularly check the shop window to make sure that it remained unsold. When I finally had the money, I strolled contentedly out of the shop, with the sheath attached to my belt. It's uses ? Gutting fish I'd caught whilst mucking around in boats on the estuary, random whittling, and a rather daft game called the splits.

I was ten years old when I bought it, and it's still knocking around the bottom of my tool kit.

I know it sounds a bit extreme, but I am glad that we're not bringing up our kids in a large city. Some of the acts of violence seem quite random, and that I find frightening. On the other hand, the boys are growing up leading an existence that is so far removed from city life, and that too has its dangers. We live in a prosperous village, all the kids at school are 'nice' kids from 'nice' families. It's an idyllic childhood, but a sheltered one, and one that I am not sure prepares them for what can be out there in the wider world. We try to make them aware that life generally is not as easy as the one they currently have, but I'm not that sure that it gets through, they're only eight and five. I suppose it's about finding the right balance.

How on earth do you cope with a police officer knocking on the door to tell you that the child you have adored from the moment they were born has been stabbed to death ? I cannot imagine how the parents of these children have dealt with the meaningless end to their child's life.

Listening to London teenagers on 5 Live's phone in on knife crime this morning was depressing. It left me with the feeling that I'm living on a different planet to them, not merely a two hour drive away.

RIP Harry

We're all a bit sad in the Gumpher house this morning.

Our eldest cat Harry, the tabby in the picture died yesterday.

He was seventeen, and had a good life, full of love. He was also a bit thick, which made him all the more endearing.

I've been poo at blogging. Brennig popped in to give me a gee up, and when I checked his blog he has turned into a sex blogger ! Naughty chap. Please, fight the urge to post pictures !

I've been doing 'stuff'.

Had a great back to the wilds camping trip with the boys. Dads and kids only. No chicks. One field, one big wood, one tap, two holes in the ground, one firepit. Excellent. The kids found out that life was quite easy to cope with without computers and television, the dad's drank plenty zider and cooked red meat on an open fire. Hear me roar. We were all thrown into the bathroom as soon as we walked through the front door being told that 'You all fucking stink' (out of earshot of the hooligans) Boy 2 was carrying an extra stone as he had refused to crap down the hole for fear of falling in, and sat on the pan making vile noises for some time.

I am still trawling the English countryside spending ever more on fuel. Latest addition to current projects, Wigan. Don't go, or rather, do go, as it will make you feel better about where you live. And as far those tanker drivers holding out for 13% in the current climate, fuck off back to work you work shy slackers. I 'm not that big a fan of generalising comparisons, but I can break the rules if I choose. I don't see that many nurses earning in excess of 30k and turning down 7 %.

My communications are up shit creek. I have a new Blackberry which works as well as a Zimbabwean polling station. Orange have been very helpful, and a replacement is being sent out tomorrow. Thank you for the excellent service. The same cannot be said of talktalk. The broadband has been down at home for six days, and they have overtaken n power as the most useless bunch of cunts I have ever dealt with. If you're going to outsource to a foreign country, at least make sure that your staff have a basic understanding of the language they will be required to operate with. Current situation, in excess of two hours spent on phone calls, no broadband. Fucking chimps.

Although the mighty Welsh got done good and proper by the Saffas, watching Ickle Shane run with ball in hand is a thing of beauty.

Still cycling, playing squash twice a week, but all good work very much negated by too much wine an too many 'occaisional' fags. Jeez, this smoking thing is a bag of old arse

I'm still here, honest

It has been a busy time at Gumpher Towers of late.

I've been checking my regular reads, and leaving the odd comment, but have had little time to get something down myself.

I'm currently running projects in Peterborough, Totnes, and Launceston, and unsurprisingly, my arse has spent an awfully long time stuck to the seat of my car as I traverse the wonders of our nations motorway network. I've still managed squash twice a week, and at least one big big ride in the longer evenings, and this combined with a few weeks on the wagon has me looking fairly trim, verging on the buff even (lets not get carried away here).

The boys have had a good few weeks. Boy 2 continues to both stretch the boundaries beyond their limits on an almost daily basis whilst looking like butter wouldn't melt. He's been a star at rugby, and starts cricket this week.

Boy 1 has been a bit of a grump of late, he's struggling to get off to sleep with the light evenings,
(they both go to bed fairly early on school nights, 7 for 2, 7.30 for 1), and this morning I had to virtually boot him downstairs for breakfast at 8. He had a great rugby club dinner on Friday. 240 kids from 6 to 17 crammed in, spruced up in collar and tie, noisy doesn't do it justice. Fantastic surprise for everyone when it came to the prizes. The Volcano, Lesley Vainikolo (Gloucester and England for the non rugby types) turned out to present them. The kids all went ballistic when he came out onto the stage. Fair goes to the bloke, he stayed until late, and considering he had a massive game against the Unmentionables the following day, it was bloody decent of him.

My 40th passed with no major trauma. We had a groovy time with friends in Cardiff Bay. The St.Davids was impressive, but not really our kind of place. Visually very cool, but A and I prefer our hotels more intimate, and a little less flash. Still, drank vast amounts of the fizzy stuff, ate well and enjoyed it.

A managed to complete the Tewkesbury half marathon yesterday, but was very disappointed with her time. When we saw the weather forecast I told her to forget about the time, just get round it. She was hoping to crack two hours, but sods law, it was the hottest day of the year, and all the runners struggled. She managed 2.10, which is a hell of an achievement for someone who only started running eight months ago, and I' m very proud of her. Afterwards, we grabbed some lunch and spent the afternoon with the boys and a group of friends, sinking a few cold ones on the bank of the river at the sailing club. Bliss.

All is well as long as I don't look at the news. Same old.

Cash

Am I being tight ? We rarely use public transport, but today my wife took a bus from the nearest town back to the village. She'd been to a pilates class and her friend who had driven, had forgotton about a dental appointment and had to shoot off, hence the bus.

Now, am I totally removed from reality ? The journey is a shade over three miles.

£1.75, fuck me, she could have got a cab out here in the sticks for that. Now I look at it, I appear a bit daft, bitching about a couple of quid., I mean £1.75 is nothing, but it seems a bit much to me for a three mile bus journey.

More money whinge. I've just paid sixty quid to fill my car with diesel.

I've had to add Yvette Cooper to my list of 'What the flying fuck made you think that you were cut out for a career as a politician ?' after her hilariously inept performance on Newsnight last night.
The other two weren't much better. George Osbourne is an oily little tick, and Vince Cable looks like the uncle that starts the conga at a wedding after two halves of mild. Bless him. All treasury spokepersons for their parties. Be afraid, be very afraid.

And

Sitting here, quaffing a wonderful glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I am looking forward to a weekend with my wonderful wife at The St.David's in Cardiff Bay, dropping the boys off at my Mums in Abergavenny on the way down.

It's not so bad.

I could be English and forty.

So

Forty.

Still the same, or as my Father's wonderful card said, 'You're not forty, you're twenty one with nineteen years of experience'.

The funeral, as ever was grim. The point when the curtains came around the coffin was particularly sad. My nephews, who are the same age as my boys, had been stoic in their approach to the event, but collapsed, crying, into their parents arms as they said goodbye to their Grandfather. My brother in law , their father, was remarkably strong through the whole service, but you could see he was struggling, but held it together for his boys.

Thankfully, the other parts of today were more jolly. I lucked in on some good pressies. A voucher for The Harbourmaster in Aberaeron from my Mum and Sis, which is a wonderful little hotel in West Wales, some rather natty shirts from Boy 1, a deliciously whiffy leather pocket wallet from Boy 2, and the manbag to end all man bags from A. I usually carry a laptop bag and a briefcase for files to meetings, but this baby takes the lot. And it's in a rather fetching duck egg blue and light brown leather. I am now a fully fledged, paid up, great big gayer.

Listening to Colin Hay singing 'Overkill' acoustically, which always makes me joyful.Toooooooooooooooooooo deep.

My life, I have decided, is a bit of a good one, and I'm rather thankful for that.

Okey doke.

Up to my neck in it

Quite literally.

Decided to go for a ride with the boys after lunch, and as I was getting the bikes out of the shed, noticed a fairly unpleasant smell and a strange ooze seeping from underneath the patio.

I lifted the inspection cover to be greeted by the sight and smell of rather a lot of shit.

Blocked drains. Cosmic.

Im fairness to dyno whoever, they were round in an hour, but at 80 quid per half hour, so they should be. Our drainage is odd. it goes across our back garden, under the wall, another inspection cover in our neighbours back garden, and then an interceptor in her front garden. All three blocked.

I explained the problem to our neighbour, and asked if we could have access to jet it all out. She was fine, but a bit concerned that the drain man would damage her plants. Now, given the choice of a few squished petunias or a garden overrunning with eight years worth of the family Gumphers waste matter, I know which I'd opt for.

He set too, and the sights and smells were fairly grim. I went back into our garden to check if everthing was flowing . As I leant over the open sewer, the nozzle of the jetter appeared, and before I could leap out of the way, the fucking thing was turned on, and I was covered head to toe in piss and shit.

The boys were playing in the conservatory, and had a ringside view of the afternoons entertainment. They both agreed that it was their comedy highlight of the year, but even today I am yet to be amused.

A group of friends went camping in the Forest of Dean at the weekend. A had politely declined an invitation to join the happy throng ('Are they fucking mental, have you seen the forecast?'). And thoroughly soaked they all got, but bravely stuck it out for the whole weekend.

Iwas discussing said trip with my chum bokkie after squash on Thursday. His wife had lumbered him with the trip, and he was moaning like hell. Not that he doesn't like camping, he just likes his camping to be rustic, as befits a man of the veldt. 'Its got a fucking pool man, and a bar'. His disgust new no boundaries.

We're planning a dads and kids camping weekend at the end of May, and Bokkie is doing his level best to find the most basic site in the British Isles. I had a email from him on Friday with a link attached and a rather excited message. 'Check this out, there's no caravans, you can have open fires, no showers, and you have to shit in a hole in the ground!' There's a great marketing line for prospective campsite owners, guaranteed to have weirdo Boers flocking in .

I'd sent him details of a site I'd found, but as it has two rather basic showers, I'm sure it'll be rejected out of hand as having showers is only one step away from Brokeback Mountain in his mind.

40 tomorrow. Supersonic. I'll be spending the morning at a funeral. That'll cheer me up.

I am less grumpy of late. I am sitting here, slightly warm of tongue, having just consumed a rather yummy Thai fish salad ( I think I overdid the chilli, which should make for a stinky night for Mrs. Gumph) The lateness of consumption is down to a game of squash in which I, lost rather badly to a chap I mullered last week. I only lost my temper with myself twice, shows my laidbackedness. (New word, quite like it).

Owing to my reluctance to celebrate my forthcoming of oldness, we had a spanking party for A's 37th on Friday. We had sixteen friends for a party and after an evening of stonking hilarity and drunkeness finally hit the sack at 4 ish. As the boys were at Grandma's for the evening, I had the luxury of stumbling out of my pit in the early afternoon. Glorious.

This Friday should be interesting. Boy 1's school have decided to enter years 3 & 4 into a tag rugby tournament . They suddenly realised that of the 28 children, only 4 boys actually play rugby, and whilst the class teacher, although a nice lady, clocks in at around 20 stone, and would be about as much use on a rugby pitch as tits on a bull. Cue a phone call seeing if I could possibly take the day off on Friday. I'm looking forward to it. I suspect it may be slightly different from coaching C and his ruffian chums at the rugby club.

Ho hum

I am bereft of blogging inspiration at the moment, but then I am generally uninspired.

I'm in a slump.

I need to jump on a plane, with A and the boys, and head off to somewhere with clear blue skies and gently lapping shores.

I need to not see the pointlessness of the Olympics, the loss of what was the Corinthian Spirit, the inevitable involvement of politics in sport ( but accepting that it's ok really because coca cola and mastercard get to show their logos to the world).

I need to stop thinking of the futile existence of those involved in the whole sad Shannon Matthews affair, and thank goodness that it's not me in that stinking estate, shagging near members of my family, but then wondering , ' Am I where I am through choice, or
circumstance ?

I need to stop loathing the bloated excess of football in this country ( a tough one)

I need to stop hating the pseudo socialist labour party as much as I do.

I need to stop despising the international community for ignoring Zimbabwe whilst they dither pathetically across the middle east.

I need to chill out.

A lot.

The age of doom

I'm forty in a few weeks time, and I'm really not looking forward to it. I've banned parties, as I don't feel the need to 'celebrate', plus I've had a gutsful of other people's fortieth parties over the last few months.

Is forty old ? It's older than thirty nine for sure, but is it really old ? Odds are that I'm over halfway to pushing up daisies, which is a tad fatalistic, but probably right. I just don't feel forty, whatever feeling forty is, but I'm fairly sure I don't want to feel it anyway.

What have I achieved in forty years ? I've managed to be fortunate enough to have a happy relationship with a woman I love very much, and have two children from our marriage that I am proud of and adore, but that's not really an achievement as such is it ? I am fairly successful if life achievement can be judged in monetary terms, which more importantly means I more than provide for my family. I have managed to have career happiness, but that sure took its fucking time, and I sure as hell made some gargantuan fuck ups on the way. I have travelled extensively and was fortunate to spend quite a bit of my childhood living in different countries. But again, are this things I've achieved, or simply things that have happened to me ?

This is not a post I've enjoyed reading back, it's whiny, and I'm not generally whiny, but I'm just not looking forward to being in my forties. A is sensible enough, and knows me well enough ( I hope) not to bollocks around with surprise parties. In the event that she is foolish enough to do so, I will invite the assembled throng to politely fuck off, and go and drown myself in a vat of red wine.

Typical

As the clock winds down to the start of the bank holiday, the inevitable happens.

It starts to sodding rain.

Four days off work, and it's going to piss down. 'Triffic.

I seem to have left something out..........

We are Welsh and we are mighty !

It was a bit good and a few beers went down the hatch on Saturday. (Polite speak for being deliriously banjaxed)

Yesterday I went up to the big smoke to see the specialist at the London Migraine Clinic. It all went swimmingly well, and she will be writing to my Gp to tell him how and when to treat me, and what medication is required. It's a bloody huge relief, I'm finally going to get some pain management, which should make coping a bit easier. Also, studies have shown that for cluster headaches to persist in adult males in their forties is rare, so there is an upside to the dreaded soon to be birthday.

I went on the train. For the first time in years, I had a trip which could actually work on public transport. Going up was fine. I read the paper and spent a lot of time mooching out of the window at the vast expanses of water that currently make up the English countryside. There are those that love London, and big cities in general, and I am fully appreciative for their reasons for doing so, but, every time I visit London or any city, I am truly thankful that I live tucked away in the sticks. I find it noisy and smelly, and struggle with the sheer volume of people. I spent around fifty minutes in total on the tube. If I had to do that every day I would scream long slow agonising howls. It's bloody horrible.

Anyway, after the fruitful consultation with the head doctor, I set off to met an old friend for a drink. An old girlfriend in fact. We were bf/gf in our early teens at school, and I've only seen her once since we went our separate ways. It really was great to catch up. Funny how you change. I'm married with children, and she's still single, which is probably the opposite of how we would have viewed ourselves twenty odd years ago.

The train was late on the way back, and I didn't get into the station until 10.40, but I had a good book, and a rather yummy selection of sushi I'd grabbed from a Japanese food stall in Piccadilly.
London does have its uses, you try getting decent sushi in rural Worcestershire !

Filthy,dirty,robbing bastards

The three petrol station closest to me are now selling diesel for £1.17 per litre.

It's getting beyond silly

Touch me Darling

He really is one of the least charismatic politicians, and out of the current bunch of wooden lookalikes, that takes the biscuit, and I must say I'm a bit baffled by his budget. Essentially, it is a tax raising budget, but all done with the finesse of Kelvin MacKenzie. Where was the financial nous ? Sadly lacking. It was a tabloid budget. £950 on a gas guzzler, and make us think it's a green tax ? nonsense, it's a showroom tax, simple as, another way of generating revenue, but why dress it up? Call it a spade, we need a bit more cash, and this is one way we're going to do it.
Everyone in this country is an addled alky, so we'll bang on a few pence there as well, oh, and we'll do it year on year, and carrier bags, greatest problem facing the nation so we'll damn well sort that out to.
Carrier bags ? For fucks sake, bandwagon politics at its worst. perhaps I'm a simpleton, but I'd rather they concentrated on the mess that is our foreign policy, the the insanity of violent crime, and the scandal of all fuel prices. But I suppose that as long as there are less plastic bags on the street I should be content.
Politics generally is starting to drive me potty. I take more than a passing interest, we'll all should, but increasingly, all the parties are merging into one uniform mess, with very little separating them apart from an egotistical urge for power. As individuals, some actually make me cough up a little bit of sick when I see them. Some in this category (but by no means all) are;
Lembit Opik - As useless a tosser as you are likely to meet, and horribly oily with it
Ruth Kelly - There is no excuse for Ruth Kelly
Anne Widdecombe - She actually considered herself leadership material, crassly delusional
David Miliband - Horribly scary 'perfect' labour droid, vastly out of his depth.
The list could go on and on. Oh, and David Cameron just comes across as a bit of a twat. Nothing that offensive, you could be having a conversation with a friend, describing a mutual acquaintance who your friend is struggling to remember, and you may say' You know, wassisface, lawyer, lives a couple of doors down from the pub, okay bloke, bit of a twat though'
'Ohhhh yeah, I know who you mean'
Bit of a twat in that way.

On an entirely more agreeable subject, my wife has had her long hair cut short, very short, and she looks stunning. She's had long hair for as long as we've known each other, and for some time before that. I couldn't picture her with short hair, and nor could she herself. It was very spur of the moment. We were shopping and I told her I needed to zip to the office to pick up a file and was told, 'Okay I'll meet you in the library I'm going to have my hair chopped off' , simple.
Now, even on a bad day with a hangover Mrs Gumpher is a fine specimen, but with this new look, I tell thee, she is smokin', I'm a lucky chap.

More frolics in the Wye Valley, but a lot further down this weekend. Boy 2 was off to a birthday party on Saturday, so I suggested to Boy 1 that we load up the bikes and head out. I'd found a recently opened trail called The Peregrine Way, which is the old railway track between Ross on Wye and Monmouth. The cycle trail has been done so that you can ride next to the river from Monmouth to Symonds Yat and back.
Picnic made, we set off. It was glorious , we were passed by a few other serious cyclists (all dayglo lycra and go faster helmets) and passed the occasional jogger, but most of the time it felt as though everyone had vanished and we were the only people on the planet. It was wonderfully quiet. The river was deeper than at Builth, and faster flowing. We stopped to watch canoeists larking about in the rapids, looked like great fun.
We reached Symonds Yat and the sense of being alone vanished, it was very busy with tourists, but then it is very pretty. Last year, we put an offer in on a cottage overlooking the Wye at Symonds Yat. At the time it seemed to make sense. The village we live in has become crazily expensive for property, and although we love our house, the garden is quite small, and with two growing hooligans we felt the need for more space, so we looked further afield, where we get get get a lot more for our money, and settled on Symonds Yat. In hindsight, I'm glad we didn't get the house. Yes it was in a beautiful spot, but being there on a sunny spring day, made me realise just how busy it would have been. Also, we are very happy where we are, we have lots of good friends, as do the boys, and they go to a great school in the village.
We turned back and found this spot for lunch. (at top, cocked up positioning)
We cycled back stopping at the Biblins foot bridge. I'm not good with heights, and also the bloody thing wobbles like an excited jelly, but over we went. (cocked up again !)
It was a great day out, and I really enjoy spending one to one time with either of the boys.
Earlier in the week, we'd had parents evening. It went as expected, Boy 1 , a joy to teach, well mannered, doing well. Boy 2, hmmm. J is a problem, he has always been exceptionally bright. His elder brother is no fool, but he works very hard as well. J has set himself a mission, and that mission is to be the class clown, and he's succeeding, but succeeding at make himself a royal pain in the arse, disrupting the class and not going forwards himself. It was coming, his behaviour at home is fairly dire. The difficulty is, there's never any malice in what he does, he's a hugely affectionate and tactile little chap, but also a nutter. The thing is, we are strict. I cannot abide badly behaved kids, but J is turning that way. We have defined boundaries, and punishments for overstepping those boundaries, but it seems not to bother him. It causes problems with A and I, as we argue as to the best way forward, so the atmosphere in Gumpher Towers is generally rather frosty at the moment. The whole parent thing is a constant learning curve, and nothing I had done prior to being a father had prepared me for it.

I like Fridays. The boys primary school has an open assembly on a Friday which parents can attend which sets me up for the day, as it usually has the odd moment of utter hilarity, invariably around the hymn, which today was 'I wish I was a wiggly worm'. The words were rib crackingly funny and the school 'orchestra' were so out of time with the whole thing I was pissing myself all the way through. They've made the mistake of giving one of C's hyperactive chums the cymbals which he bashes together with gay abandon at wholly innappropriate moments.

The kids are allowed to talk about their out of school activities, and today one girl got up to show her grade 4 ballet certificate. Cue major dumbass moment from the head teacher. 'Thats very good M, now what grades did you do before grade four ? ' The look on the little girls face was priceless, a nine year old doing an excellent 'go figure you pillock' face.

Talking of pillocks, Ruth Kelly on Question Time last night. Aaaaaaaaargh, I can't bear the woman, she speaks like she's permanently got a gobful of man batter, and she is so badly informed it defies belief. She wasn't exactly up against strong opposition (that irritating little twunt Alan Duncan being one), but she got totally caned. Very worrying that one of such limited abilities holds such a powerful postition.

We've badly screwed up this weekends' social planning. We've invited friends around for dinner on Saturday. There's rugby on all day, which means muggins will be banned from watching in the pub as I'll be a gibbering mess by the time the guests arrive. Doh ! And the France/England game is an evening kick off so I guess I'll be told off every time I slope off to check the score.

To further compound my problems my wife is currently on a train heading for Selfridges in Brum on a day out with her mum and sister, so I anticipate being considerably poorer come this afternoon.

Still, just listened to Colin Hay doing an acoustic 'Overkill' which is spankingly fine.

More woe

I could really do without being at work today, but I have a site meeting for a major project this afternoon, and as I run my own business, needs must.

I had a fucking awful cluster attack last night. 1.30 am, and finally went back to bed at 3. I feel totally shattered, and for some reason I'd reacted by scratching at my chest and stomach, and have big red weals over both, but have no recollection of doing it. This episode has been ongoing since mid January, and it's starting to get me down. I missed a meeting in Southampton on Monday, as I had an attack at 6 in the morning, but luckily I was able to get down there yesterday.

There is light at the end of the tunnel. I've managed to get an appointment at the London Migraine Clinic to see the country's leading authority on Cluster Headaches. The first thing they'll do is to make sure that my GP prescribes me oxygen for home use, so I can finally get some pain relief. my GP has been pretty good in fairness, and recognises oxygen as a solution, but wants me to go to the surgery to use it. Not much good in the middle of the night. The clinic explained that the average GP will probably only see one or two cluster cases in their whole career, so I suppose it's reasonable to cut them some slack.

We had a huge walk along the mid section of the Wye Valley near Builth Wells at the weekend.
It's rather pretty, don't you think ? I never mind what the temperature is as long as there's a clear blue sky, it was glorious, but bloody cold, the diesel froze in my car on Saturday night, we had to push it into the sunshine to thaw out ! Parts of the shallows had frozen, which our friends' dogs found very odd, but all the kids had great fun breaking up the ice. We also found a near perfect spot for skimming stones, with a rocky beach chock full of wonderfully flat, round skimmers.
Needless to say, part of the weekend involved the usual session of liver abuse, which made the crisp cold air all the more welcoming.

We had planned a couple of quiet days at the start of the week, as the boys had gone to my Mums for a few days as it was half term. (Praise be for the gift of grandmothers).

It didn't quite end up as that. We'd just had the dining room decorated, and A wanted 'finishing touches'. Thats woman speak for curtains and cushions. It took all sodding day, Worcester, Malvern, and finally Cheltenham. Still, it was great to have the day to ourselves, we had lunch in Worcester, when we finally acquired the curtains, we had a few beers and then caught the early evening showing of 'No Country for Old Men', which was good in the first half, but faded away somewhat after that, finally followed by a quick bite at Nandos. Went home, got the fire going, a few glasses of wine and then A spanked me at scrabble. Zebra did the damage, triple letter on the Z, and a double word score. How thoroughly middle aged.

As the boys were away, it seemed like a good idea to sort out the playroom. They've got loads of stuff that they never use, and without them being there to bitch about what was going, it was a golden opportunity to do a charity shop run. At the same time I was faffing about with various curtain poles. We finally sat down to eat at 8.30, after working flat out all day. They are messy little buggers, and the sorting out was a nightmare. They arrived home to be greeted by the news of a new regime. A maximum of half an hour computer time each day, which has to be 'earned' in five minute chunks, and can also be taken away in five minute chunks, and a maximum of half an hour of tv per day. You should have seen their faces, you'd have thought we were sending them up chimneys.

As always, it was great to have some time to ourselves, it always goes too quickly. The house is very quiet without the hooligans around, but it's always great when they get back. You can't beat the gentle sound of a five year old and an eight year old battering each other. Soothing.

Betterer and betterer

The trip to the match just got better.

Had a phone call late last night and got offered an extra ticket. So I took boy 1. What a great day, he was all togged up in his Welsh shirt and scarf, face dragon painted. His first 6 nations game, and we won.

Look at that view, virtually smack on the halfway line.

Happy days.

Mentalist

What the flying fuck has Rowan Williams been smoking ? I thought he was meant to be first in line on the batphone to the Big G, but it would appear that he spends most of his day sat in a squat chowing down on a crack pipe.

So, certain aspects of Sharia law should be adopted in this country then. Oh do fuck off. Muslims make up around 2% of the population of this country, so why the hell is the political and religious agenda constantly occupied with Muslim appeasment ? Fuck 'em, and while your at it fuck Jews, Anglicans, Catholics, Hindus, Sikhs, in fact every single one of the backward insane divoids who think that 'their' higher being is the 'right' higher being come what may. Religion gets on my fucking tits and it seems to be making a bit of a comeback. Look at that fucktard Huckabee, he wants to be the leader of the worlds largest superpower, and he's a full on religious nutjob, and, people are actually voting for him. I don't know whether to laugh or shit my pants. And our own previous glorious leader kept his own faith somewhat under wraps just in case the great British public thought him a bit odd. No shit hombre.

That bearded arsewipe Williams should keep his moronic opinions to himself, and whilst he's at it, he should get a fucking eyebrow trim, it's not a good look on a man who's trying to come across all serious and if he leaves it much longer he'll need a sodding weedwhacker.

Anyway, the sun is shining, tonight I shall be rustling up a rather juicy bit of cow with a red wine sauce and some pureed parsnip, and tomorrow I shall be hot footing it down the M50 to watch us batter the Jocks. Not all bad then.

It just gets better

Just found out that I have a ticket for Wales v Italy. Off to check the train timetables.

One happy Welshman.

That's all really.

Bread of Heaven

I shall mostly be watching rugby for the next few weekends as the 6 nations is once again upon us.

If the weeks past indiscretions can be overlooked I plan to be in the pub for most of the afternoon.

I've got 20 quid on Wales to win by 11-15 at 25/1.

Show me the money !

A fool and his money, etc, etc.

Ahem.......

I'm in the dog house.

It was a friend's 40th yesterday. We both took the day off work and played golf. And then went to the pub. All day.

We fell through the door at his house at around 6 ish, all idiot grins and apologies. His wife took one look at us, went to the fridge, took out the lobster she was going to prepare for the romantic dinner a deux, opened the back door and lobbed it into next door's back garden.

After a few glasses of wine she was fine. My beloved was livid, slight over reaction in my opinion. I ended up in boy 1's lower bunk for the night, no great suprise.

Woke up this morning totally free of any hangover! Result.

I've been a busy little chap.

I've had a shocking run of cluster headaches, look 'em up, they're no fun. Over my years of inglorious activities on the rugby pitch I have fractured; sternum ( bloody painful), ankle, collar bone, four ribs and three fingers, along with various stiches and two punched out teeth and I would happily swap the lot added together for the pain of one hour of the cluster beast. I'm rattling with an interesting concotion of narcotics and generally feel quite shitty.

But, when you employ yourself, needs must, and through controlled pain relief, I've managed a busy and productive week.

Boy one's birthday. Four for a sleepover. Never again. 7 year olds cannot piss directly into a toilet, they need a trough. They gossip like fishwives until 11, and then get up and five. Mental note to self. No.

Diss. Installation and site survey for future project. Flat. Arse end of nowhere. Despite potential financial rewards, hope never to go again. The A14 sucks the clingons off a fat bird's arse hair.

Upside, I'm hyper, must be the drugs. Have rediscovered cooking once more. I like to cook. It relaxes me. I get home from work, read to the boys, A bathes, I whack on 5 live and cook. Last night, duck breasts on a bed of sugar snaps, mange tout and asparagus with chilli and ginger. Tonight, steak with a mash of butter beans, sweated leeks with white wine and creme fraiche.

If I was a woman I'd shag me senseless. Really.

Enough of my self glorification, All Blacks v Scotland is on ESPN, there's only enough femine side......

This is boy 2 at the top of the lane leading to the river during the last flood. It's back up as far as this at the moment. The boat's not there. Last time the lock keeper used it to get to and from his house, but the builders haven't finished, and they'll be starting over again and they've yet to move back in. You can see where the river should be by the line of boats in the distance.
Madness

One lazy blogger

Not been around in blogland for a while. I've only been checking out a few of my regular reads every now and then, but commenting very little. Must get back in the saddle.

The Christmas break was all a bit rushed, but all in we had a great time. The boys enjoyed it, and received some great gifts. A and I over indulged to the extend that we are both off the booze in the week ! I'm off completely owing to being off my tits on steroids and beta blockers, which also means I can't play squash which is a bummer. I'd only just got my leg back to normal after shagging the top front quad a few months ago, so I'm not best pleased.

Our little corner of Worcestershire is a bit of a nightmare at the moment, the floods have returned, and access in and out of the village is a bit hit and miss at the moment. Although we're slap next to the river, the village itself is elevated so we're not having the problems that the poor folk of Tewkesbury and Upton are bracing themselves for. This is the first day this week that I've made it to the office, it's simply been to much hassle, and as I type its started pissing down again, so its probably time to plan a route home.

Work has kicked in with a vengeance and this month sees me on a delightful tour of Blighty including Diss, Southampton and Northampton. This month I shall mostly be spending my cash on fuel.

To make me feel even peachier, my bloody sister is getting on a plane tomorrow to go and visit Dad in Oz. Jammy cow.

'Tis the season and all that jazz

Couple more days and work gets put to one side for a bit.


A bit of running around this weekend doing the family thing, got to see Dad as he's clearing off back to oz for a few months on boxing day, then Christmas day at home with both of our mum's, which will be groovy for us and the boys. Boxing day, clear off with friends halfway up a mountain in the arse end of nowhere in Wales. Really looking forward to it. We're going to take the bikes and cycle around the Elan Valley, and generally have an outdoorsy few days. We've decided that nothing but champagne will be drunk for those days, life on the edge eh ?

This week at school has mainly been Christmas entertainment and we have a star in the family ! After years of shepherds, boy number 2 made it to the dizzy heights of Joseph in the carol service, I'm beating off Hollywood agents with a shitty stick. They also had a school play which ran for two nights, loosely based around the nativity. I say loosely as boy number one was an Arabian dancer and despite my limited religious knowledge, I can't quite place an troop of Iraqi dancers doing the mashed potato around the crib. Boy number one was a star, and I must confess a rather large lump in the throat as he and the rest of the reception class got up to murder 'twinkle twinkle'.

So, close to the end of another year, they go bloody quickly these days. It wasn't too bad, no-one close to us croaked, I made a few quid, we had a wonderful holiday together on Samui, and I have started to go rather elegantly and subtley grey at the temples, rather than balding on top. Only major downside, Wales' performance in the world cup, but hey, it's only a game . Grrrrrrr.

A long time between posts, but I've been busy, and also, not arsed.

Just how much data can the civil service lose ? We blame the government, and I truly loath this bunch of not even pseudo socialists, but it is the vastly inert, overweight civil service that is responsible for these crass ineptitudes. Government may make policy, but if the civil service that administers those policies is totally fucking useless, then at some point, we are all destined to be shafted.

The heads of these departments are making private sector salaries, because 'this is what it costs for the right people'. If operating within the private sector they would get canned for the recent calamitous errors. We simply cannot trust these imbeciles with data, and we must start to withold said data.

Really fun post, but sometimes you find yourself in a shitty place, and life generally becomes less fun.

Tomorrow will be full of slapstick and casual innuendo

Boy No1 was tucking into his cornflakes this morning as the news was on the radio. He normally wolfs everything in front of him like a hungry labrador, but this morning was a little slower as I could see he was listening to the bulletin.

'Dad'

'Yep'

'What are lashes ?'

'Eh?'

'What are lashes ? They just said something about a lady and a teddy and she might have got lashes'

Just how you go about explaining the weirdness of Sharia law to a seven year old over breakfast at 7.45 I don't really know, but I think I made a reasonable fist of things.

I am not remotely religious and have no 'faith' whatsoever, my wife is a Roman Catholic, and both of the boys have been baptised as such. It was important to her, and they can make up their own minds when they're old enough. I had to go to chapel three times a week for seven years and that just about did it for me, but it's important to A, so I ran with it.

I think the boy and I decided that if your God is a loving thing, then that can't be all bad, but if your god and worship of that god is based on fear and retribution, then perhaps that is not so good. I'm not sure if that's right or not, but some times being a father throws you a bit of a curve ball, which you can't duck, you just have to play it the best way you can, and whilst I didn't hit it out of the field, I at least connected.

Bogged down in the mindless boredom that is doing your vat return I decided to bugger off home for a few hours. A, being a lady of leisure walks a friends dog whilst they're at work, so we grabbed the pooch and set off on a yomp down to the river. It's the first bit of exercise that I've managed since buggering my leg and very pleasant it was too. No kids, and as it was a vile blustery grey day, we didn't come across another soul. We just strolled and chatted, alone, something that don't have that much time to do.
I see that bunch of loons the Muslims are doing their best to endear themselves to the planet as a whole, and listening to various radio shows you have the usual 'moderates' saying that of course it's not right, but that we have to see why. Sorry, I don't see a problem naming a teddy bear, its not as though it was called 'spank arse hanging out of the back of the prophet whilst munching on a bacon sandwich'. And she didn't name the sodding thing, the kids did. Is there such a thing as a moderate muslim ? They are so fucking precious about their religion it makes me shit jaffa cakes, get out more for fucks sake.
Aaaanyway, vats done and in on time, lets just hope the government can fuck up my vat as well as they fuck up everything alse at the moment.

Fool prices

Over in blah, Vi has had a dig a fuel prices.

With all that dominates the media at the moment, fuel seems to have taken a back seat. Back in 2000, when protesters blockaded terminals, diesel was around the mid eighties per litre. Today, my nearest garage is selling diesel at £1.08 per litre, and that ultimate diesel shite at £1.16. This is becoming lunacy. Yes, our roads are a clogged up mess, but until public transport can deliver, for most, the car is the only option. I think that as a family we are fairly sensible with the use of our cars. We've got two, one big diesel estate, and a zippy little hatchback. Could we make do with one? Probably not. Mine is mainly a work tool, and A's is the family runaround. We walk the boys to school every day, and although A doesn't work, she needs her car for her independence. We live right on the edge of the Glos/Worcs border, and public transport only runs towards Worcester, which means A couldn't get to her mother's which is the other way.

There is no way I could use public transport for work, not unless they invent a bus or train that picks me up at my house and drops me off at my clients' premises. Plus, I can make allowances for the shiteness of the roads, if stuck I can find an alternative route, but if public transport fucks up, I too am fucked. Plus, I am none to keen on sharing buses or carriages with the constant background sound of MP3 players and mobile phone conversations. A minor point perhaps, but it would irritate the tits off me.

But, driving is now a chore. My last three cars have been autos, I just don't see the point of a manual car any more. The current one, whilst hugely practical is sooooo dull to drive. I got it because my previous car, which was great fun to drive only did 23-27 to the gallon. So now I've got a diesel tank doing 45ish to the gallon, but diesel continues to go through the roof, and I an bored rigid driving the sodding thing.

The government is in such a constant spiral of gargantuan fuck ups that I guess that stupid fuel prices are less important than having millions of items of personal data falling into the wrong hands, or of the steady stream of body bags arriving at Brize Norton.

Christ, I've depressed myself with this.

Boy 1 did indeed do the business on Sunday whilst I froze my nads off on the touchline with the other Dads. It was pissing down and bloody freezing, and at the same time A was sat in a nice warm theatre with boy 2.

I see our useless leaders have committed a further act of total embuggerance by losing data containing 15 million individuals bank details. Fucking clowns. And as they're happily dishing out squillions of quids to bail out ailing banks I wonder if I could trouble them for twenty grand or so as my cashflow is a bit tight this month. I've got my mortgage with Northern Cock, if they go tits up will I become mortgage free I wonder ?

I can't be arsed to carp on about Gordon and his bunch of tools for much longer. It's all too easy and really doesn't present much of a challenge. Part of Ruth Kelly's portfolio encompasses Equality, you couldn't make it up.

Happier than a Frenchman who's just invented self removing trousers. Almost

Today I am perkier.

Today is the kind of winter day I like. There was a heavy frost this morning but the sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky. The boys and I bounced up the lane to school, all snuggled up in hats, gloves and scarves. Simple pleasures, following each others footsteps in the grass.

My beautiful boy two is five on monday. He's having a party with all of his class on Saturday and then on Sunday, A is taking him and a chum to see the stage show of The Gruffalo's Child, which they'll love.

I will be watching boy one in gladitorial combat on the rugby pitch. Still makes my heart burst with pride when I watch him charging along, ball in hand, floppy hair billowing out as he goes.

I'm going soft.

Ho hum

I have just thrown a tantrum of vast proportions.

I was just about to email two drawings, which have taken three days to design, and the wanky programme has decided that today is cock day and refuses to open them. Great. They had to be there by today, so it looks like I'm in for a late night. It won't recognise the back up copy either.
I hate computers.

On top of that, my sodding leg still hurts like hell, and as my GP is as much use as a fanny in a gay bar I'm having private physio at thirty quid a pop twice a week.

Fun time Frankie I am not

We will.....

Been catching up on some You Tube.

There is only one Rock God.

His name is Robert Plant.

Earth calling Gumpher

I am distinctly lacking inspiration this afternoon.

I am trying ever so hard to design something wonderful for a client (as wonderful as a very posh office can be) but I'm not quite there.

I blame my wife. She dropped in and we went to lunch. She looked damn fine, we had a groovy lunch and she's left me thinking of things other than commercial interiors.

I must crack on, it's getting close to beer o'clock, it is Friday after all.

Ow

I am a dog's cock, and I am in rather a lot of pain.

When I played squash last week, I pulled what I thought was my groin. Having tweaked it the week before, apologised to my opponent ( Bokke from the French trip, any excuse to get in the bar early) and showered off. Two days later I was due to play golf. Feck this, sez I, there's no way I can walk it, so, booked an old man's buggy. All going fine until the 9th. Unusually, I cracked one down the middle, whilst another member of our group pulled his drive horribly. We all went to have a look, and after deciding it was a goner, rather than walk twenty yards to the bridge to get back to the buggy, I decided to jump the stream. I over extended an already pulled muscle and it bloody hurt. I played the rest of the round with a nine iron and a putter as I couldn't swing anything longer. Hindsight says, 'walk off the course twatto', but foolish pride took over and I still got 28 points, which has got to be acceptable with two cubs for 9 holes.

Saturday. Mum had the boys, we went to a party, got splundered, boogied until 5, and came home. Sunday morning, fuck me backwards with a llama, I could hardly move. On Monday I called my osteopath, who could see me on Wednesday. Everything hurt. I had lost feeling in my left shin, my thigh was grossly swollen and I had fluid on the knee. When I eventually got there, she turned my into the mirror and said with some disbelief, 'I can't believe you haven't seen this. A massive haematoma running from my arse down to my knee. I hadn't noticed, nor had A, bloody odd. The upshot, torn front quad, groin side with the ensuing haematoma at the rear as the blood pissed out with nowhere to go. Nerve damage causing the loss of feeling below the knee, and worse of all, a possible ruptured tendon on the kneecap, which they can't diagnose until the fluid's subsided.

Great, minimum four, possibly six months with no exercise other than walking in a swimming pool. I'll be a right fucking porker, and porky does not suit someone as damn fine looking as me. Its enough to make you want a fag

'Puter sez no

I've not got a great deal of time for civil servants. There are an awful lot of them and its not exactly a challenging way to make your way through life. I used to do a lot of business with the DWP, and as you went through the offices, it was a struggle to see anyone doing anything which I would describe as work. If you happen to be a civil servant and take offence, tough shit. I have a particular loathing of HM's Customs & Excise. I have been unfortunate enough to deal with these fucking tools for the past fifteen years or so, and I have yet to speak to anyone in this department who isn't a total unmitigated class one grade A cunt.

The fucking bitch I spoke to this morning totally rewrote the book on condescending rudeness. I paid my corporation tax on time. I pay an accountant to ensure that I do, its not complicated. So why have I been fined for late payment?( which incidentally accrues interest daily, nice little earner).

I then receive an amended penalty determination with a payslip attached for me to pay the newly calculated fine of, £0.00p, but the evil cow I spoke to still insists that a fine is due, the interest will continue to increase, and I will eventually be taken to court if I don't pay it. She's got two fucking hopes of me paying a tax fine, Bob and fuck all. Like everyone, I pay tax on what I pay myself, I also pay tax on the profits I make. I'm a nice chap, I contribute to the economy, not take from it. Which is why I get so angry when some fucktard doing a job my 4 year old could do gets all chippy down the phone line, virtually accusing me of not paying what is owed and not paying it on time.

They're a bunch of fucking cunts and I will not be bullied by cunts. Absolutely no apologies for the tone or the language. A cunt is a cunt and civil servants are cunts.