The water has finally gone and it's left some folk in a godawful mess. We were dogsitting at the weekend, a big soppy chocco lab which number two boy adores. Both he and A constantly go on about getting a pooch. I like dogs, but I prefer them to belong to other people. The one we sit for is a lovely chap, but he stinks and he shits great big turds, which have to be picked up. There's few things as vile as scooping up a freshly steaming lab log, especially when the last bit is a bit dribbly. Still I've held out so far with a few unanswerable arguments, the main one being that I am the fucker who will be doing the morning walk despite what the rest of the mob promise. Fine in July, not quite as peachy come January. Plus, we've got three cats, and none of them are particular fans of the canine breed. J's four year old logic has decided that when the cats are all dead he can get a dog. Hmmm.
Anyway, number two and I got up at 7 on saturday and took the mutt down to the riverbank. What a fucking mess. What had been summer meadows full of colour were now dull brown fields of flattened grass. Each hedgerow was full of all sorts of rubbish. Caravans, yep caravans were hanging out of the lock, and boats were randomly scattered or half submerged. And the whole lot stank, really quite unpleasantly. I found it fairly depressing.

Where's that sodding Ark ?

There are times when living in a cute village next to the Avon is not all its cracked up to be. This is the road out of the village, there's a bridge in there somewhere, honest. The top pic is the end result of trying to get to our nearest petrol station. We were fortunate, I managed to get home on Friday, although today is the first day that I've been able to get to the office. We dealt with it it in typically British fashion on Friday night, had a load of people round for the night and got slaughtered, whilst amusing ourselves by phoning other friends who were bedding down for the night in their cars . Most had the sense to head for the pub in the next village across, which was as close to home as they could get. Around 200 people kipped down for the night, and quite a knees up was had. It gets worse. The trout in law is in one of the areas without water supplies. She could be up for a fortnight. I can feel a strongly worded letter to Severn Trent coming along

After a fantastic couple of weeks on a beautiful sun drenched island it's just peachy to be back in good old blighty with more mad muslims, pissing rain, an interest rate rise and a miserable Scottish twat in power. Welcome back. Still, a corking time was had by all members of family Gumpher. A stunning room on the beach, wonderful people, superb food. A downside was the cheapness of beer and fags, which due to the price I felt obliged to consume in industrial quantities and as a consequence am now both porky and wheezy.

If the weather stays like this I'm go to knuckle down for a few weeks and then take the tribe down to Portugal for a bit. I'm bollocksed if I'm spending a whole summer in this dampness.

Tally ho !

Off to Koh Samui for two weeks.

Lick me.

We're all pissheads

A strange thing for a government to do, tackle middle class drinking. Can't stand class partitioning, but by earnings, house car, education etc, I suppose that I'm middle class, and I like a drink. In fact, everyone I know likes a drink. And the problem is ? All of my friends enjoy a few beers or a bottle of wine virtually every evening, which puts all of us over the government guidelines. And yet we have all helped the kids with homework, read them stories, put them to bed, got up when they're having nighmares, had the usual morning chaos and gone to work as normal. We have not smashed shop windows, got into a fight with a total stranger for no reason or whatever other vileness seems perpetrated in town centres up and down the country most days. There seems to me to be a slight problem with the area of focus. Booze and its effects seem to be increasingly problematical, but a bunch of thirty somethings having abottle of Merlot most nights of the week, do me a favour.

14 days and counting

Not that I'm excited or anything, but two weeks today, this will be home for a fortnight. The one major downside is twelve hours on a plane with boy number two. I'll have to top up on gin at Heathrow, pass out on the plane and leave A to deal with him. Or top him up on gin and strap him into a seat for the duration. The theory is that by taking a night flight they should spark out after the initial excitement, but theory and practice could be way apart.

On a different note, old cuntybollocks Blair is awfully quiet considering he leaves us shortly, last seen in Middle Burundi solving the African famine problem inside of a week to add to his already stunning legacy. And where on earth is the his able sidekick the portly drinks steward ? Probably lurking around the corridors of Westminster seeing if there are any desperate secretaries worth hanging out the back of. Big Brother seems to be getting more press attention than the labour party deputy leadership contest. They should wang them all in the house, that might rekindle the nations interest in politics. But then there's the awful thought that we might see Hazel blears in a bikini, and I reallly don't want to be barfing up a decent Chablis on a Friday night.

Bank holiday blues

Typical British bank holiday. Saturday wasn't too bad, managed to get out for a big bike ride and go swimming. Sunday was vile. It pissed down from sun up to sun down and we gradually drove each other stark raving mad in the house. J is a classic case of the devil making, idle hands etc, and somehow, unoticed and very quietly, managed to sneak into the kitchen and redecorate walls, worksurfaces, and appliances with a mixture of strawberry and rasberry yoghurts, cream and crushed ryvita. Denying all knowledge was no option as he's the only one who needs a chair to get into the fridge, and the evidence had been dragged across to the fridge for all to see.
It was then decided that whatever weather was chucked at us on Sunday, we were off out, all day, no arguments. So, the picnic was made, the brats were tied into the car, and a route march was had around the sculpture trail in the Royal Forest of Dean. The forest is a place of real contrasts. The towns are grey, souless hovels, chock full of cousins who have shagged each other for generations. I've played rugby up there for years, and most sides are fifteen identical blokes all called Smith, all of whom seem to think that an afternoon on the pitch is a good excuse for a godalmighty punch up. But once you're out of the towns, the forest itself is beautiful, through all the different seasons of the year. The sculpture trail is wonderful, a series of paths through the forest with hidden works of art. The boys had great fun tearing around trying to be the first to spot them. This one, although not a great picture is a wonderful piece of stained glass hanging at the end of a corridor of huge trees, giving the impression that you're looking out of a church. I rather liked it. And we didn't get that wet, bonus.

Eeerm

Why do scousers always start a sentence with eeerm ? I can't stand scousers, they've got the most revolting accents and all they do is nick hubcaps. I'm not the biggest football fan, but had it been any other British club, I'd have wanted them to win, but I am so fucking pleased that Milan beat the scouse gobshites. And once again these amusing scallies nearly cause yet another football disaster and guess what, its someone else's fault again, suprise.

Better days

Today is not a good day. I have left too many things go far too late in the week and consequently I have more than one tits up situation entirely of my own making. I also have to work most of the weekend and already have two weekends booked for work in May. Theres me thinking that being self employed was about flexibilty, it is, all about being flexible around your clients ! This also means that I will miss Gloucester aiming to win the league, and as we're working in Wiltshire, probably be out of range off bbc radio glos, which is all a further embuggerance. I also foolishly agreed to play squash again tonight even though my shoulder is aching from playing last night and I would rather have a few glasses of something white and cold watching Chaos at the Chateau ( my current guffaw out loud watch, gutwrenchingly awful people).

I am a big old sack of laughs today

I'm old and smell of wee

39 yesterday, one to go before the dreaded. I don't want to be 40, I don't really know why, but I just don't. Can you get treatment for an irrational fear of being 40 ?

Couldn't have asked for a better way to spend the day, watching C playing in his last game of the season. Bit of a hike to Sutton Coldfield, but they finished second in their group, played some excellent rugby, all thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and all got a medal. I'm so chuffed that he's enjoyed his first season. rugby's been a big part of my life, and although I wouldn't force any sport on the boys, I would have been gutted if they hadn't taken to the game. J can start next season which should be interesting as he's bloody quick, if a little small, and there's no substitute for raw gas. C has got a proper end of season dinner in a few weeks, shirt & tie job, and there's a bar for the dads, should be a good night, they're a good group of kids. He's made new friends as noone else from his school plays rugby, they're all mad keen on football, which he's still playing every week and enjoying. Its probably his last game for the club if we move in the summer. its been a good start for him, and its made me very proud.

I'm still old tho', but I don't really smell of wee

Summer's here...

...and I'm a happy boy. Even happier if I had time to play golf in the sunshine. We've started the countdown, 58 days to Samui and two weeks of guaranteed gloriousness

Arse

Just had a quick trawl on t'interweb and discovered that the muppet whose house we tried to buy sold it at auction for 25 grand less than we had offered three weeks previously. That not only makes him a wanker, but a thick wanker as well.

We'll be lucky to have any roof over our heads at all if number 2 boy continues his antics. The little sod managed to set fire to his bedroom over the weekend. Pretty impressive even by his accomplished wrecking standards. Luckily his rather more sensible brother wasn't too far away and managed to grab me before the fire brigade needed to be informed. I wouldn't recommend his strategy on starting a fire - say nothing and hide underneath your duvet. His pre school head teacher claims that he's ' incredibly bright'. I wonder, I really do wonder.

Lard & Lunacy

We foolishly spent bank holiday Friday at Bristol zoo along with half of the population of Bristol and South Wales. The boys enjoyed it, but I don't think we'll go again, I didn't think many of the enclosures were big enough for the animals. I have never seen so many fat people in one place. Really proper fat, not just a bit of a belly. Whole families of Mum Dad and kids busting out of their clothing. We seem to be catching up with the Yanks as a nation of true porkers. There is something about really overweight people that sort of bugs me, it's almost that it strikes me as a sort of laziness. But, on the other hand, if they're happy with their bodies and their health, my opinion's not really worth a wank, but I know that I wouldn't want to be that size.

This crazy situation of serving forces men and women being allowed to sell their stories of captivity, is just that, crazy. I truly believe that the rest of the world looks up to our armed services as a beacon of professionalism, but this has made them look more than a tad foolish. Yes, they got captured and locked up for a few days, and I'm sure it wasn't pleasant, but they weren't tortured and they're not dead. Quite how the situation made them 'heroes' I don't know.
Apart from the fact that they shouldn't be allowed to sell their 'story' what the fuck is there to know that hasn't already been released through military channels , and why do they feel the need to share this with us through the tabloid press ? My Grandad fought in North Africa during the secon world war. He was a teeneager, and boys that he grew up with from a small town in Mid Wales are buried in the sands. He was injured, he was decorated for gallantry, but he has never once spoken about it to anyone apart from my Grandmother when he first came home. He doesn't participate in British Legion events, he never attends a remberance service, but he understands why others would want to, its his way of trying to put it behind him. I wonder what he thinks of these men and woman, but I wouldn't like to ask

Ruuuuuuuuuuuun

I think I must have had a dodgy crab last night as brown water has been running out of my arse on a regular basis all day. Feel like shite (boom boom) not eaten, but keeping the fluids up. Probably too much information, but who doesn't enjoy a good shit ? Unfortunately these are bad shits and my belly kills. Still, I'd rather have a good shit than a bad blow job

As long as we beat the English, we don't care

Kelly Jones' words not mine, I want to beat everyone, but realistically, if your having a shite season the one to win is England at home. We gave them a right tonking, but it should have been more, especially if Ickle Shane could learn to pass as well as run. The atmosphere in the stadium was a good as I can remember for years, the singing was fantastic. At one point just before half time the dirge that is Swing Low just about got to the end of the first line when it was drowned out by a rousing Hymns and Arias. For the first time for a while both team and crowd seemed up for it, but then, it was only England, and lets not forget that they are also a little bit crap as well. I moved in elevated circles that day, sharing a car to Cardiff with the British ambassador to Argentina, bizarre.
Still trying to get tickets for the world cup quater finals in Marseille, not that its a banker that Wales or England will get that far. The official ticketing website is a pile of chimp jiz. A few of us have registered for information since November, but nada, jack. Every time you try to buy tickets that are 'Available for general sale now !' you get to the press the button part to be told, not available. Its starting to become tiresome, I really could do with a weekend on the lash with the guys, its something we used to do a few times a season, and its on the wane since we all became middle aged and sensible. Marseille in the Autumn seemed to be the ideal opportunity to rediscover our talents for quaffing industrial amounts of cheap red wine and forcing each other to eat oysters without barfing.

Odds & sods

Thank god that rains gone. One end of our village was cut off for a week, the bridge I drive over every day to go to work, sods law. This is the lockkeepers mode of transport for a week, about a quarter of a mile row to his cottage. Still, the sun is now glorious, the daffs are out and the Cheltenham festival is upon us. No ticket this year, but the wonder of modern technology allows me to make my usual losses sat at my desk thanks to Messrs W Hill.

More sporting losses to come at the weekend as I wait to hear if I've been succesfull in securing a ticket to see Wales finally get the wooden spoon. Its only two short years since a post proclaimed ' I am Welsh & I am mighty', the next will probably be 'I am Welsh and I'm going to take up tiddlywinks'.

One or two things are yanking my plank at the moment. The new version of blogger is shite. The reason for infrequent posting is that the bastard thing rarely allows me even to get as far as the log in page, and then it runs as slowly as a Welsh prop. We're going to stick our house on the market soon, and we're registered to buy with vast amounts of agents in the areas we're looking to move to, but we're getting fuck all sent through. Useless tossers in the main. Forget about the lockkeeper pic as above, blogger refuses to upload it. time to turn on the radio and see which of my chosen nags is running backwards

New & improved

Blogger finally forced me to switch to new blogger by not allowing me to log in to old blogger. I then had to create a Google account which kept crashing and took ages. Logging in is a bit hit and miss, the page takes ages to come up. New, but not improved.

Shite weekend, A & I both had the lurgy. Had to cancel squash on Saturday, and jib out of a party which probably would have been a tidy piss up. Sunday was better, Boy 1 captained his team to an 8 tries to 3 victory scoring a brace himself. He got covered in mud and thoroughly enjoyed himself.

Number 2 continues his bizarre antics. For ages he's insisted on being butt naked to have a dump. We've been trying to dissuade him over the last few months as he starts school in September and we're trying to convince him that this won't be regarded as normal behaviour. He's also taken to drawing over random surfaces which is a new one.

we've been househunting for two weeks. I'd rather do my VAT return.

The Green Green Grass of Home

Its taken a while, but I've finally calmed down. How shite were Wales on Saturday. Scotland are a piss poor attempt at a rugby team, so quite what that makes us I do not know. If we continue to play like this we're going to struggle to win a game, wooden spoon here we come. From Grand Slam to this in two seasons, fuck me backwards with a spoon.

Still, I am now one half of the Pershore & District Mens Badminton Doubles Champions. Go me. Agents beating a path to my door, fame and fortune beyond my wildest dreams beckon.

That bloody holiday can't come soon enough...................

Wahay !

I love snow, just for a day or so, couldn't live with it all the time. Woke up yesterday to pristine whiteness. School was closed, so I copped a skive and we all went sledging. Fantastic day, J is so light that he went down the hill like greased weasel shit, totally fearless. The boys built a snowman in the garden, and plenty of snowball fights were had. Its chucking it down again today.

Real player is now pissing me off to the nth degree. England v Australia is coming down to the wire in a cracking finish and all I can hear is dalek

Thieving sods

How the fuck do you get away with doubling the price of something overnight ? That's exactly what that morose twat Gordon Brown done with air taxes. Now I know that something has to be done before the ozone layer goes and we all die of sunburn, but surely taxation can't be the answer to all of our woes. Apparently its going to raise an extra one billion annually which is going to go towards public transport. Is this the right diversion of funds ? I thought public transport was covered through other revenue streams. It smacks of the typical mismanagement which has been a feature of this useless bunch of corrupt, self serving wankers tenure of office. It'll will probably end up being spent on another computer system that won't work, but the chairman of the company that wins the contract will get a nice comfy red seat in the Lords, or they'll build a nationwide group of drop in centres for one legged muslim lesbians, and the roads will still be pot holed donkey tracks that take a half a lifetime to travel on, and buses and trains will still stink of old womans piss, be full to bursting, cost the gdp of a small African nation to travel on and always be fucking late.
All grammatically incorrect, but I've made my point.