Weird to write this as the site meter thingy I signed up to shows that absolutley no fucker whatsoever reads this crap. So, indeed. I don't write that much. Probably because I now spend a huge amount of time with my wife and our boys. Because, now I am a bit rich. The company and the premises were sold some two months ago, and aside from A and I going to Marrakech for a week whilst Mum looked after the boys, I have done very little,and its spiffy. I have a new company set up, and have done the odd bit, but otherwise it's the school run, which I love, chatting with C to and from school, a ten minute walk. I've even been roster dad at palygroup with J. otherwise, organising the house refurb, and shopping and lunching with A, with a bit of daytime whoopsie - Bliss. When the dosh dwindles I'll work again, until then, the world can suck my plums. I'm even going to buy some new golf clubs, wahay

Its official - I'm getting old. 37 actually, but I feel around 77 today. I have knackered my back. Not in the ways of the glory of my youth, making a try saving tackle or falling off my board in spectacular fashion. Washing the car. Yep, washing the sodding car, the shame of it. C & I had gone swimming in Malvern and stopped at a jetwash in Upton to give the car an overdue clean. I choose the super high powered jobby and got to work. Bent over to scrub the sills and , aaaaaargh, what the hell is that ? C ended up jetting the car and as he's only 5 and I'd selected the super high powered jobby, he mainly got the side of the garage as he struggled to keep his footing.
Off to the oesteopath yesterday. I used to give this guy a fairly regular weekly salary, but as I arrived he asked me if I'd given up playing rugby. 'Thought so, hadn't seen you in five years, how did this happen ?' I half thought about making up a cock and bull story about a glorious comeback, but relented and told the very mundane truth. There's a guy with some career change. Used to be a child actor and played Oliver Twist in the original film. Now crunches my bones for a living.

Got out of the habit lately, and it would appear that what I was worried about in the last post is true. Who do I blame for the poor chap's death ? The terrorists who blew themselves up and started the whole process. I do feel for this guys family, but the police would not have been in the position they were if it wasn't for these religious loons

Experienced the NHS recently, or rather A did. She'd had problems with tonsil infections for a number of years, and they decided to whip 'em out. I've been lucky with health. Apart from rugby related broken bones, and some interesting ahem, social diseases, I've never had too many problems. Both of the boys births in Cheltenham were great, and the few boy related visits to casualty in Tewkesbury were fine. A was booked into Gloucester Royal. What a shithole. Dirty, with paint peeling off the walls, smelly and just plain vile. She was discharged the following day with instuctions to return if she had any bleeding. She had some bleeding a few days later in the morning just before I went to work, rang, and was told to come in straight away. I rang G to say I'd be in later, we found a friend who could have the kids for a bit and set off for Gloucester. How long before A got seen ? Six and a half hours. Yep, six and a half hours two days after surgery. Make mental note to speak to his toniness about hospital waiting times.

On the loath list,football, for starting again, although wonderfully overshadowed by The Ashes. Theforeign office ministers, I wouldn't let them run a milk round, let alone a government department. Charles Clarke is a pie eater if I ever saw one.

On today's loath list, at the top, solicitors who charge a mint and don't do what they're fucking told when they're told to do it. The bizarre virus that his made me feel like shit all week. There are various others but I'm to buggered to list them.

If today's ventilated feller was a suicide bomber, well done to those police officers who chased him down and killed him, very brave and shows the fuckers how this country will respond. If he wasn't a bomber, they'll be in a bit of doo doo, but I can't see them putting five holes in a guys head if they're not 100%.

Don't like a true democracy ? British or Asian, I don't give a toss, fuck off somewhere else you twisted religious nutjobs

London. Bloody hell. Like most I was elated with the news of the Olympics, and found listening to the hold process on 5 live nervewracking. A and I spoke of which events we would like to take the boys to, athletics, gynastics and diving. And then the following day. Cowardly scum. I once again listened to 5 live, but this time in horror, not eleation. You can only admire the calm and resolve of all of the people involved and the way the emergency plans worked. I hope they catch these fuckers. I am not anti Islam, I am anti religious fundamentalism of any kind, I think they're all fucking nuts. Anyone who kills in the name of their god is a freak who needs a reality check, but they're all too far gone for that. And if the bus bomb turns out to be a suicide nutjob, then we're in serious trouble. If they're not afraid to die themselves to kill, how can this be stopped in the future ? Very sad, but very fucking angry too

At the weekend we turned into nerdy village do gooders, but got very pissed in the process. Friday night was a masked ball, a fund raiser for the school, and yes we got bolloxed. Luckily everyone else was in the same frame of mind, and the venue was a sea of very drunken thirty something parents completely oblivious to the harsh fact that their little darlings would be demanding breakfast at six ish.
The following day was another fundraiser, a fete for the under fives. I awoke to the vile sensation of the dry mouth and thumping head, fired bacon and eggs into me whilst listening to the Lions (which doesn't merit further discussion ) RA banged on the door soon afterwards, looking suitably hungover, and off we set for our day of do gooding. RA had the cracking idea of getting a temporary licence and running a bar at the fete. We had built said bar on Thursday, and mighty fine it looked too. Only problem was said bar needed to be assembled along with a daft amount of assorted marquees and gazebos. On arrival at the rec we were greeted by other zombified, sunglass wearing water slurping fellows, and cracked on. Apart from being a bit of an effort, it was a cracking day.A performed valiantly on the face painting, with at least twenty little spidermans hurtling out of the tent. Friends hounds performed well in the dog show, the acapella (sp ? ) choir were outstanding and a shed load of cash was raised. Friends stayed for a takeaway and beers in the garden, and a bottle of white did my hangover the power of good. Then.... bugger, I'd promised to help JB clear his barns out on Sunday. Eventually fell asleep in front of Top Gear, the kids shattered and long in bed. A came up to have to kick C back to his room, as he had snuck in for a cuddle. A groovy weekend, making up for all of the shit I seem to take on a daily basis at work...................

The weekend was trouble free. The boys rode steam engines to their hearts content on Saturday, and I got to listen to the Lions on 5 live whilst they had breakfast. What a shower of shite that was, still twatto Clive seems to have smelt the coffee and picked a team that might actually be able to run the ball provided that porky lummox Thompson remembers that his jumpers are the ones wearing the red shirts.

Sunday was groovy, the sun shone and we decamped to Evesham for the afternoon. Had a boat trip on the Avon, and then moseyed around the Eastern festival for a few hours. Lots of different Indian and Chinese dancing, J got completeley freaked out when the Lion from the dance came to say hello, howled and clamped himself to me and after they'd gone affably chirped on 'Dad I hallood the Lion', uh, actually no you've just about yanked my ear off. C unsuprisingly was delighted with the food that was available. We sat next to the river munching satays and spring rolls, washed down with ice cold cobra. J had a bit of a shock when he shoved a handful of salad in his mouth when it hit home that the chilli dipping sauce had spilt over it. Why do kids try and wipe their tongues ? The only dubious bit was a load of pasty white women dresses up in saris belly dancing. They certainly had the bellies for it, put me off sausages for a while. A returned boogied out, hungover and shopped out but pleased to see us all. Ahhhh.

Hell of a thunderstorm the other night. Fantastic claps of thunder and vast sheets of lightning. I was in the garden puffing a post dinner fag as and there was a hell of a belt of lightning. I'm not ashamed to admit that I jumped. 'Fuck me that felt close'. Indeed it was, set fire to some poor sods roof around the corner, they had Trumpton there for three hours. I love a good storm, but not that good.

An interesting weekend looms. A is going to Brighton for a chicks weekend and some well needed r & r from our boisterous offspring. She's dropping them off at my office this afternoon, so its me and the boys - alone - together.( Cue creepy music ). Nah, I love it, as long as J toes the line. There's a steam engine show at Tewkesbury rugby club on Saturday, and an Asian culture festival in Evesham all weekend, sorted. And particularly C sorted, because there's plenty of open air cooking going on so he'll be able to wolf down satays to his hearts content.
Coincidently, the groups for the European challenge cup have been announced ( second tier, bit like the uefa cup, how the mighty have fallen ) and Gloucester have drawn Toulon and Bayonne. Decisions, decisions. Probably Toulon as easyjet fly into Marseille from Bristol, otherwise its a hike to Stanstead to get to Bayonne. After surviving the M25 on a Sunday night with a three day hangover after a previous rugby sojourn to France, I suspect no one will be that keen again. Although I do fancy Bayonne. When I was a kid there was a Fench winger called Patrice Lagisquet. Couldn't tackle or catch, but when he did manage to hold it, he went like greased weasel shit. They called him the Bayonne Express. Just a funny memory from years ago gives it more of a pull. There may be a spanner flung in the works, reasonably so. DH is one of the regular crew, and a passionate Scarlets supporter, and as he rightly points out, he has been to the Glaws games for the past few years, and as the Scarlets are in the cup, and Glaws the shield, we should go to watch the Scarlets. This was put off for discussion at a later time, but as they have drawn Toulouse, it's not exactly a hardship. I said coincidentally about half a page up, because A is off for the w/e and it selfishly always makes me think of my next jolly. She could have picked a w/e without a Lions test, we haven't got sodding Sky.

What in the name of God's gonads is Woodward doing with the Lions 1st test selection ? I still hope they stuff the kiwis, but I think I'm being a tad unrealistic. Okay I'm Welsh, but I don't think I'm totally one eyed. The man said he'd pick on form, and we won the Grand Slam for fucks sake.
Greenwood and Dawson on the bench !? Hells fucking bells No Henson or either Williams in the squad at all ! Lewsey, the best full back in thw world stuck on the wing, with Billy done fuck all for two seasons Whizz is at fullback ? My granny could get to the breakdown quicker than Richard Hill. And onto Jonny fucking goldenballs. Inside centre with a dodgy shoulder, not played an international since THAT bloody drop goal. So glad Clive's picked on form, what an arse bandit.

Jeez it's hot. We're starting to get very bizarre weather. Went to Wales for the w/e, only about a fifty mile drive and it was damn hot, get home on Sunday, and it was hot but vile sticky hot. Odd. And even odder, having had a w/e without tv and papers was to see on the news about the flash floods in Yorkshire. It's all a bit like the start of Flash Gordon.
Nice of the government to put their lunatic transport plans in their manifesto so we'd all know what we'd be voting for. The only upside is that Top gear get to take the piss out of Darling and Man Love. I'm buggered if I will let those two goons put a black box in my car that will be tracked by American military satellites. We'll all end up with a hellfire missile up our arses from some gung ho Apache pilot called Bobby Ray who mistook a family saloon for an Iraqi battle tank. They'll also spend gazzillions on yet another computer system that won't work and every country lane in the UK will be blocked by commuters trying to find a cheap way to get to work avoiding paying forty quid to drive three junctions down a motorway. They seem to fail to grasp that the majority of people start work around nine ish and that roads have a tendency to be busy as a consequence.

Really, should read before hitting the post button. I can spell, just can't type

So that space cadet jackson is innocent of all charges. But he likes to share his bed with other peoples' children. Glad thats sorted out, fine and dandy. Gotta love the yanks.

Hay fever is a bugger of a thing. Had a cracking Saturday. Went to an airday at the little airfield in the next village. Lots of old and new light aircraft buzzing about, and a classic car display. C spotted a Ferrari Testicleroaster, which made his day. We parked in a field of cut hay, hence the hay fever thing. Later, in the afternoon we walked some friends dogs and kids through the meadows next to the river. That evening A was streming and had constricted breathing. Despite all the potions she has to take at this time of the year, the doc told her she'd had a bad reaction to the cut hay.We walk a fair bit, and live in the sticks, so a bit of a pain for A.

Currently on the loath list - barclays bank - backward thinking fucktards. Sir Clive, for picking too many Englishmen.

Currently on the jooly good show list, C for getting man of the match at footie last night, J for managing a full week of neither destroying property or himself,the weather, daftly, for making me feel good.

The picture worked ! I am not a retard. May post more if the inclination takes me.

Nothing like a few sunny days to perk the old Gumpher up. Can't beat it, especially when both office and car have a/c. Evenings are long, a chance to venture up to the championship course that is Comberton Golf Club for a swift nine after the kids are tucked up. A friend of mine calls golf swish-fuck, which is the greatest description of the game I have heard, he claims they are the only two noises he makes on a golf course.

Try as I do, I cannot avoid watching Big Brother, it sucks me in like a big sucky thing. This year's producers have excelled themselves in finding the vilest group of people so far, although I do find Derek quite entertaining, and Sam is (lets be honest) very easy on the eye. The rest - ay caramba ! That vile fat titted northern thing is hilarious 'I know I'm good looking me'. If that was the only female left on the planet I'd take a plane down under and find a desperate wombat to pleasure. And please put those grim saggy udders away. The nations farmers must all wander outside at 10pm subconciously thinking its milking time after seeing those.The great thing about Big Brother is that every year it never fails to make me feel a bit better about myself. Sad, but true, or harsh but fair ?

being a teccie retard, but giving pictures a whirl. The name made oi laff 

The highways agency are retarded. For a few weeks now there have been various football finals at the Millenium in Cardiff, and every one of them has involved a team from the North. This means they get on the M50 at Tewkwesbury and get off where it finishes in Newport. It's not really an 'M' anyway, as it's a dual carriageway. So, do they remove the roadworks for the duration of these finals, even only on the days that the road will be used by convoys of coaches ? Do they bollocks. Chaos. Thinking that they would be bright enough to clear the cones we went to a family party in Cwmbran on fa cup final day and drove down the m50. Luckily remembered the back roads from schooldays once we eventually hit Monmouth. Some friends tried on Saturday. An hour and three quaters to Monmouth. With four kids and two dogs in the car. Great.
J & C had a weekend a Grandmas whilst we celebrated our first anniversary by getting vastly pissed ( we did have a civilised meal as well ) Sunday was very decadent. After getting to bed a half three we lounged around in bed until three in the afternoon. Unheard of. Then on monday, one tired Grandma and two very tired kids arrived home. J had been searching for bugs whilst exploring the garden of my sisters new house. He has a slightly flawed technique of looking under the largest stone he can find and lobbing it aside. I suspect he may be refining this technique after lobbing one on his foot resulting in all of them spending three and half hours in casualty on Sunday night waiting for his foot to be x rayed. No broken bones, but his toe looks vile. That boy is a menace to society and himself

Today is a very crappy day, and tomorrow will be worse with a nice 8 hour round trip to Louth, the total arse end of nowhere.

The weekend will be happy

Surprise surprise, A's car was scratched again, spookily a few days after I cleared off some kids who had just got their jollies by diving through my elderly neighbours' hedge. Called the police, mainly to get a crime reference number, and to log the vandalism, if people don't record it, it won't be seen as a problem. Very suprised when an our later our local beat bobby and a colleague turned up. They were aware that I had 'had words' with a few kids last week, and saw it as a revenge attack. They are frustrated, they know who's responsible for the vandalism, but can do bugger all unless they're caught in the act. They also have their hands tied by parents with a 'not my little angel' attitude. If a few years down the line the police are knocking on our door with a complaint about C or J, they'd better hope the fuzz get them before I do. Not that I can see a problem, but, who knows ? We are more likely to have the fraud squad knocking when j has masterminded an international diamond heist at the age of 14, the little swine sometimes has the air of a master criminal, and he's two.
Last week, C was at school, A the doctors and J and I were alone in the house. I was on the phone in the kitchen and I wrongly assumed he was playing. He came blustering in, looking like a man with some purpose. 'Dad, come see, broke it' Me 'got to go, call you back. Broke what ?' 'Broke it, come seeee' He bundles off to the living room, grabs his plastic hammer off the floor and points triumphantly at the front window.'SEE, BROKE IT' No shit sherlock, very broken, next phone call to friendly village builder to see what his plans were for the day. We've added that to the ever growing list, the most expensive being the home cinema thingy that he buggered which has been in the repair shop since February, because they can't figure out what he's actually done to it. 'What did he do' 'Dunno, he's a bit of a silent assasin type.' 'Have you asked him ?' 'He's two, his eloctro-mechanical descriptive skills have not quite hit their peak yet' 'Oh'. He starts playgroup today, A did a lap of honour around the village

I suppose that's enough bleating about the election, although I'm disgusted that shagger Blunkett is back in the cabinet. Doesn't do much for Tone's vision of respect. Can't see how Hewitt ever gets a job either, vile woman. She should be made to bend over while shagger B clambers on. Very deserving for both.
We're having a bit of a pant crisis at Gumpher towers. I've always been a boxer short man, I like to let my dingles dangle. Apart from sport when they need to be harnessed by an old fashioned jockstrap. A decided I needed new pants and came back with some highly dubious garments. They look a bit like boxers, but they're tight and stretchy.They're tight around the thigh, which feels a bit like wearing an extra pair of trousers. The jury's out, although A thinks they are flattering on the old welsh womb weasel. I'll give 'em a whirl

Well, the British electorate, you are a bunch of cunts aren't you. For those who hold the old ideal that labour are socialists - you wankers, they are as right wing as the previous tory government, and my true socialist grandad will be turning in his grave to see a bunch of tories wearing the red rose. Are you all backwards ? John Reid was a communist, Jack Straw was the president of The NUS. Which part of selling your principles for power do you not understand ? Anyone but the tories. Well you've got the fucking tories you thick twats, but just because you vote labour you think you're holding onto socialist values. You misguided dumb fucks. You get what you deserve, but the rest of us have to too. Dicks.

For the love of God, please let's not vote that smug conceited wanker Blair back into power today. But people will. They'll forget about the fuel protests, the countryside march, the war, the lies about the war, student fees, broken manifesto promises, whatever it is that floats their boat, and we'll end up with a party that calls itself the labour party governing us again. The party that sold it's soul and became another Conservative party simply to get power. The party that wouldn't tolerate sleaze, yet we've had multiple Mandelsons, Blunkett, Morris, Tony's property dealings. They fucking suck, and yet when I wake up tomorrow, the tv news will be full of that inane twatty grin as he steps over the threshold of number 10 once more.
Still on the upside, Gloucester have once again secured the services of LUUUUUUUUDOOOOOO ! The kicking king returns !

Today I am thirty seven. Whoopee doo

Washing your hair is a straightforward operation, but as I discovered the other day, my bathroom contains a stupid amount of the product required to do it - shampoo. My wife has clearly defined structures for the use of shampoo, which I find quite bizarre. J is 2 1/2 so he has no tears shampoo. C is 5 and has graduated to grown up shampoo, a fact he is very proud of. He and I are allocated the same shampoo and shower gel which disappears at an alarming rate as every time C has a shower he makes wizards potions. A has her own shampoo, shower creams and bath goo, which we are all banned from using. C has been very restrained in not nicking them as I know he feels that Mum's exotic bathroom collection would make particularly potent potions. Her latest shampoo and conditioner is ( I think) hazlenut and henna, and she is welcome to it. I wouldn't wash a dog with it. It looks like blended cat shit and has a bloody odd constiuency. Our smallest cat eyes it up with a look of recognition. Strange.

So glad I took C to Castle Grim for his first outing and we gotted stuffed at home by Leeds. If we don't qualify for next years Heineken cup I will be seriously pissed off. I need my annual jolly to France for the ritual eating of snails and drowning in a vat of red wine.

The election is as boring as watching Rob Andrew in his prime. At least that tosser Blair got a going over from Paxo the other night

A momentous day falls upon me on Saturday as I prepare to take my eldest boy to his first top class rugby match. He's been to my club on plenty of occasions but he just larks about with his mates, getting filthy, quaffing lemonade and munching crisps.
It's his first trip to Kingsholm to watch the mighty Gloucester (well, not quite so mighty this season but still good in patches).Also a first for me, first ever trip to the family stand. I wanted to make sure I had seats as he'll see bugger all if we stand up. Another first will be not getting leathered before, during and after the game. (skillfully avoiding having the kitty so I don't miss any rugby during the game, but get to continue with the drinking bit).
I hope he loves it as much as I do, enough to want to wear the Cherry and White himself, closely followed but the Red of the Land of our Fathers. Every Dad can have his fantasies !

And another election starts, spiffy. Nothing like a bunch of tools making themselves look more tool - like by the hour. It's pathetic, I assume they're all reasonably intelligent individuals so why can they not grasp that their style of campaigning is an almighty turn off and will probably lead to one the lowest turnouts on record as people become disillusioned with politicians. Thats politicians, not politics, because I firmly believe that those in this country who choose not to wear Burberry and live on 'maccie d's' have a passionate interest in the way their lives are shaped, but are fast assuming an enormous disdain for those in the Palace of Westminster. The last PM's question time before campaigning was farcical, they sounded like a troop of rutting baboons. Still, I will probably break my record for spotting how many times his Toniness sounds like an insincere wanker.

Still another eleven months or so of being Grand Slam winners, oh how I bask in joyous contendedness. And we have the Welsh posh n becks, SuperGav and that little chumpy singing bint with the wobbly jubblers. Class, see

Just seen my last post after not looking for a while and realised that I am getting fairly shite at blogging. Luckily I am still Welsh, and even mightier as we have got the grand slam. It would be difficult to anyone not a Taff to describe just how important a strong rugby team is to us. I would love to have gone on Saturday, but exhausted every avenue to get a ticket. I wanted to go just for the day and watch it in a Cardiff pub, which I did when the world cup final was in Cardiff and had a belting day. A put the kybosh on this by arranging to go out to dinner that evening. So instead I ended up at an Indian fusion restaurant, which means smaller portions and waiting 45 minutes for your table outside the bogs. Right outside the bogs. We were considering scribbling some scorecards to wave as people came out, definite clean entry 5.5, 5.6.....
I am giving up on commenting about work as yet another deal fell through and all is wank. Still spring has sprung and civil servants, particularly those from the DWP and the Inland Revenue are a bunch anal backward fucks.
La di da

I AM WELSH AND I AM MIGHTY

So it finally looks like we've sold the company - at last. Not quite what we were looking for financially, but, mustn't grumble. The fun starts here with lawyers and accountants plus the expectation of being dicked about by our buyers. What the future holds, who knows, I can't really deal with thinking about it, and to be honest I'm not that concerned. It will definitely involve taking the whole summer off and pissing off somewhere warm.

The six nations starts on saturday and we've got our best chance of beating the English for years, counting chickens. We'll probably do the hokey cokey in the lineouts and bung it straight to Grewcock and then do a passable impression of an Italian retreat in the scrum. Still, its got to be better than watching Gloucester, which has been a pile of donkey sick recently.

Another Christmas break over and done with and the delights of the return to the office, whoopee.
Christmas was a quiet affair spent at home in its entirety, which was a bit too long. If the holidays are that long next year,we seriously need to consider going away for a while. The kids got the usual mental amount of presents but thankfully nothing too loud. C thoroughly enjoyed himself and was remarkably restrained with his present opening, J suprisingly, fairly uninterested. Managed plenty of good walks as the weather wasn't too bad but we did have snow on Christmas day much to the delight of the boys. I can't remember when that last happened and it does make the whole thing more 'seasonal'.

Boxing day in Asia came as a bit of a shock. We spent our honeymoon in Thailand last year, a beautiful country with wonderful people, words cannot do justice to the loss of life and the loss of existence. A girl that A was at school with lost her sister, the family are devastated, but they had the small comfort of finding her body. We were worried for a few close friends who were holidaying at the time, but thankfully all are okay. DH, one of the rugby boys, was on Samui at the time, which being on the east was unnaffected. G managed to get hold of him on his mobile to be told ' I'm fine, now bugger off, it's five in the morning', charmed I'm sure, but at least I don't have to get rid of his ticket for the Stade Francais game!

Work is a bit tense as we're waiting for the final offer from our prospective buyers. To be blunt we're both shitting our pants as we have no desire to start negotiations with anyone else, I'd rather buy a Bath season ticket, but on the other hand we've got to get good value for ouselves, otherwise what's the point ?