Question Time was a giggle last night. The panelists were Lord Heseltine, Menzies Campbell, Piers Morgan and Bren off of Dinner Ladies. Seriously, what fucktard ever told Hazel Blears that a career in politics was a good idea. She was so way out of her depth that I almost felt sorry for her. ( I said almost, and the feeling passed swiftly).
I seem to be writing too much about politicians at the moment, but I loath this labour government, and watching them die like a fly on a turd amuses me

Glad to see that the cabinet reshuffle has sorted out the country's problems , and we can now sleep soundly at night safe in the knowledge that president Blair has his finger on the pulse.
So, what do we get, well if you're weeny peeny Johnboy, quite a lot actually. No actual job, apart from answering the odd jibe from lord Dave at question time when Tone's on his jollidays, retention of a full salary and the grace and favour properties, bet the fat twat has an few extra portions to celebrate. A stroppy former Marxist in charge at the home office, and weirder than weird Ruth Kelly, has a responsibilty for equality. You couldn't make it up, a women who belongs to a right wing Catholic sect, oops group, who believe homosexuality to be a fundamental sin, and she's a government minister with a portfolio for equality. Check out her voting record with such issues, there isn't one. The capacity for the jaw dropping, you're shitting me knows no end.

Another disturbing issue, marmite in a squeezy plastic bottle. Noooooooooo. You can never finish a squeezy plastic bottle, the last inch refuses to budge, all you get is splat of Heinz or Hellmans accompanied by a vile fart. This is not want when I apply marmite to my toast, it'll be like when the cat had the squits

Public service announcement

Don't mix beer, red wine and gin on a school night.........................................

Just when Prescott thought he was doing a good job of lying low and keeping away out of the spotlight The Sun runs a story about his 2 inch todger. Priceless. I always new this lot had no balls, now it appears they've got no cocks either.

If I hear any more about Wayne Rooney's foot I'll just shit myself. Is there a world cup coming up ? You'd never fucking know.

This is the view from our room the other weekend. it's actually the view from being sat on the pan, a loo with a view. The view from the bedroom was the same, we didn't have to take a dump to see the sea. I love North Wales, and hadn't been there for years. We dropped the kids at my Mum's and scooted up to Snowdonia. Empty, twisty roads, brilliant fun to bomb along. We did some horseriding, a lot of walking, ate some wonderful food in the hotel restaurant, drank to much, and had two blissful, uninterrupted nights sleep.

The Labour scuzballs have certainly excelled themselves in the last couple of weeks. That irritating, patronising cow in charge of Health must be thanking the good lord for Prescott and Clarke, it's certainly provided a wonderful shit deflector. Clarke is simply not capable enough to hold his position. You might not have agreed with the policies of men like Parkinson, Hurd and Heseltine, but I bet you felt confident that they had the ability to carry out their jobs effectively. They had a certain gravitas about them which these mickey mouse politicos certainly don't. Prescott is a buffoon, given a position of high power to appease the union and old labour support. The woman he shagged does not come out of this particularly well, but jesus, poor bitch having that fat lardass clambering on, I hope the Mail on Sundays shilling meets the physio bill of having that pie eater bouncing on top of her. Blair has to back these cretins, although all three are obviously incompetent, who would replace them ? Hazel Blears ? Ruth Kelly ? Fuck me gently with a spoon, thats a scary thought.

I can't see what all the fuss is concerning GP's salaries. The 250k figure being bandied about is not the average, it's the absolute top.These people train for a long time, and in recent times start work with vast personal debt. I would rather a GP averages over 100k than say an Estate Agent.
They also have to work within the NHS, which despite what Tone tells us, is in a total fucking shambles. Both my father and sister are dentists, my sister has recently started her own practice, putting herself up to her eyeballs in debt in the process, and the old man has had his own practice in the past, but now chooses to do locum work as he simply cannot bear to deal with the NHS directly. He recently walked out of an NHS practice as he was not comfortable with the standard of quality and work that could be carried out within the financial constraints of the NHS contract. They also had a couple of Polish imported dentists working there, nice people, but according to Dad, their work was bordering on butchery.Now before people whinge about dentist's pay, again, look to the new contract, they simply can't work with it. Incidently, the old feller has just taken a 4 month locum in Darwin, and even with air fares and rent still reckons to earn twice as much as in the uk for doing a four day week.
The concept of free health care is no longer there any more. We pay for teeth, eyes, and if you want it, a quick service. Again vast amounts appear to be wasted on a new computer system. With the goverments track record for collosal cock ups with computers, you'd expect them to give it more thought. But no, they just keep telling us there's more money than ever going into the NHS, which is fuck all good if it's not spent properly

The boys have been little buggers during the holidays, they've bickered and fought constantly. It's a tricky balance between keeping them occupied and doing stuff with them and not turning them into brats with everything done on a plate.
Still, they've appeared to have had fun when they briefly stopped battering each other. Easter was a bit of sod as I had to be on site on Friday and Saturday, but we had a good day out yesterday. Two days until our few days of relief. The hooligans are having a couple of days with Grandma and we're going to have a few nights on the coast in North west Wales. The hotel is small and tres posh and the menu looks groovy. Can't wait.

Oh the joy of interupted sleep. The whining of an attention seeking three year old at 2 in the morning, and the stubborness of said offspring in not giving in for two hours whilst we lie there refusing to give in because it took two and half years to get the little sod to go to sleep and we're not going back to musical beds. This happens a lot and it's starting to get wearing. Luckily c generally sleeps through it, but we are both buggered and crabby. I'm considering putting vodka in his milk.
I love the little git dearly but I could throttle him at times. Oh, and how's he in the morning ? Bouncing around like a badly trained labrador. Swine.

This is what I built, and donkey and pony field shelter half way up a mountain in deepest Wales. Pretty good views. I am not the worlds biggest fan of building stuff, but I enjoyed this. We were visiting friends who have opted for a rural existence and they'd just acquired the pony and donkey, oddly enough from the field next door to our house. So, a weekend of hard labour, good food, too much wine and the company of good friends. Plus, assorted children didn't fight, an added bonus.
If my four legged friends don't use it after our efforts, I'll show them what the French do to horses on our next visit

I've built something ! A pony shed, a great big fucking thing. I've also cooked a damn mighty fine dinner. 7 hours, I shit you not,7 hours, and it's not finished. I will tell you, for I am mullered, good vino mind, but for now, rest assured, I've made an ass and a pony tres happy. Yabba yabba yaaba, I'm knackered. I will tell more, it's groovy, trust me

A harsh but true undeniable fact of life - if its got tits its a problem

When you've got small kids, mother's day is a double whammy. Not only do you have to make sure you get a card to your own mother, you also have to sort out the mother of your children. C & J had made cards at playgroup and school, but I thought it would be a bit tight to raid their savings for a present, so that fell to me. The smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, yep, me. I find it a bit like valentines day, contrived and a bit American.
C had a boiled goose egg and soldiers for his breakfast. The thing was fucking huge, it must hurt like hell to force one of those buggers out, no wonder geese are always stroppy, they must have permanent ring sting, whichever ring it passes out of. Boiled it for ten minutes and it still had a yummy runny yolk. He was hugely impressed.

Why is it, that when the uber chave reaches the age of, say seventeen, the thing it most covets is a shitty moped/bike that sounds like a shagged out turbo haidryer. A couple of retards in the village have taken delivery of a pair of clapped out piles of shite which must be vampires, because they only come out in the hours of darkness. Its not that they ride them quickly, because its not mechanically possible, but the noise irritates the crap out of me. Its like the crazy frog amplified, ring a ding ding ding ding. Could forensics trace it back to me if I rig up some kind of remote control clotheslining device ? Sorely tempted. I have no idea where these tools live, and I don't think they have any idea of how twattish they look. It's like a line up for the X chav factor, all crap shiny tracksuits, baseball caps and zits.

Good to see the dour Scotsman has sorted out global warming in the new budget. If I had a 50 grand motor doing 15 to the gallon I'd shit my pants with the new road fund licience. 210 quid, quick, flog it and get a prius or its the poor house for us. Tit

I ache, badly, still. Last Wednesday I decided it was time to start doing some exercise again after none (apart from a bit of golf which doesn't count) for ages.

So I turned up at the village badminton club. Two hours. I was shagged out, pulled a calf muscle and my groin. Feeble. It's wierd to see people you know on an aquaintance basis in a sporting concept, particularly when you wrongly guessed that they would have the sporting ability of an uncoordinated lemur as they spank your arse.Enyoyed it tho'

If you havent already, watch the David Gilmour concert on Radio 2's website, it's the ducks nuts.

The least said about rugby the better. Drawing with Italy at home, pile of wank. A small smirk watching Les Rosbifs get a caning down Paris way.

I do recall around this time last year a cry of 'I am Welsh and I am mighty'. Change to 'I am Welsh and I might have a nice new wooden spoon to stir my stew with'

Back to work. It's a bit bizzare after so much time at home, but it's time to start earning again. It's a good set up, a decent office in a converted farmhouse opposite a golf course. My largest client from the old company is still giving me regular business and prospects for more work look good.
The time spent at home was fantastic. C is at school,but to spend the amount of time I had with little J was a joy. He and A popped in to see me yesterday (home is only 10 minutes away, another bonus) and when they left he looked up and said 'Daddy, come home right now please'. I don't think he's got it yet.
Parents evening tonight. Should be interesting. C's teacher is a proper god botherer, and we've never really seen eye to eye. Should be the same old, agree that he's doing fine and then start arguing over the school's lack of competitive sport.

Long time no blog.

A great few months spent at home but work beckons. New premises found, clients primed and the move in the offing. Bugger.

The last few months have been groovy, loads of good times with A and the boys, particularly J, as he's still at home. Lots of big walks around the river, stories and general larking around. Plenty of cooking, have lost weight due to not eating shite at lunchtime, verging on the buff, no, it's true.

Blody great innit

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.