Ruined

I must get around to writing about our truly memorable weekend in Marseille. It was the trip of legends, but I broke myself, badly, and I have shit loads of work to do. Soon.

Cheese eating surrender monkey

After a pleasant evening alone watching reruns of various rugby matches the phone rang at 10.30. I thought it would be A saying she would be late home as she was out with the girlies. Nope it was Remy, the dodgy French bloke whose apartment I had booked some two weeks previously. Now, my French is cack, as was his English, but the general gist was 'I ave a probleem, is no possible you 'ave my place' . Vast tantrum, to no effect, ees still no possible. Once again the word cunt became a tad overused, and nicogum is furiously chewed.
We leave at half 5 on Saturday morning to go to a city with no room at any inn. Today I have accomplished sweet fa workwise. My presence was requested by both boys at church for the harvest festival. They both had lines ! A big leap forward from their no speaking roles in every nativity thus far. Number one had a good stab at explaining the foot and mouth restrictions and number two simply had to announce 'cauliflower' and stick it on the altar which he did with great aplomb. Not with the gusto of one his little chums who screamed COURGETTE ! whilst waving a rather impressive specimin around his head like Zorro on drugs. I'm a weddings and funerals chap where god bothering's concerned, but I thoroughly enjoyed the service, banging out a few tunes in my monotone yowl.
Anyway, after about twenty odd phone calls to various bemused Frenchies (tomorrow, are you zeerius ?) I finally managed to secure a pad. Not central, but beggars etc. So, off we jolly well go. Its going to get messy, hurrah.

Red wine and snails

I'm off to Marseille to watch rugby at the weekend. South Africa, Fiji, Australia and England. Spot the deliberate mistake ? Distinct lack of Wales. Useless fucking cunts the lot of them. Thats all I have to say.

Smoke free zone

So, tomorrow, a month off the weed. For some reason I feel very little sense of achievement, not sure why. No weight gain, but then, I exercise and I don't eat shite, so no great suprise. Apparently my skin looks better, whoopee. Lung capacity definitely up, I can now scream abuse at myself for the full forty minutes on the squash court whereas before I would be a wheezy mess in the corner after twenty five.
I've been on will power for a week. Patches didn't really agree with me. I found them irritating on my skin, and I don't know if it was coincidence, but my mood swings were shocking, not so now I've stopped wearing them, I'm a miserable shit all of the time.
I could still quite happily have a Marlboro moment, but I'm not going to. See kids, just say no, even if all the cool kids still smoke

An Englishman, a South African and a Welshman walked into a bar............

So, I got my hands on that coveted ticket, triffic it was too, bang on the halfway line, best ticket I've ever had in Cardiff. And then those filthy dirty convicts gave us a rugby lesson. Ah well, we gave 'em the runaround in the second half. The bois need to learn to turn up for the first half. At least I'm not English. Needed a colostomy all through that Saffa game, pissing myself I was.

Anyway, high on the drug of live rugby, Gumpher and two battle hardened companions are going to Marseille for the two quarter finals. Road trip baby ! No women, no kids. Ha ! We'll be quaffing industrial quantites of red wine, there will be the usual compulsory eating of snails and two world cup quarter finals on consecutive days. Yabba dabba doo.

Arse biscuits

Today I have been using the word cunt, a lot. I wish people would let me use my sub contractors who are reliable and deliver on time, rather than a certain not named organisation and their subs. The project schedule they wrote was the greatest work of fiction since one C.Dickens pondered over his pen. Three weeks overdue, three fucking weeks. Puts my cashflow up shit creek and costs me a packet in additional transport and labour, I'll get it back, in fucking November. Cunts.Oh, and when did they decide to share this information ? Three fucking days before completion. To add to my woes it looks like we've found a house. It's just around the corner from us, ticks all the boxes and means that I end up with a mortgage the size of Malawi's national debt. All of this whilst Marlboro free.
On the bright side, I may have a ticket for Wales v Australia. Please please please make it come my way.

Next week is going to seem a bit odd, as, on Wednesday, number 2 boy will be joining number 1 at primary school. I wonder how A will be after the initial few weeks of having more time for herself without constantly having a small boy zooming around the place. I'm only guessing, but I suspect that she'll miss him for a bit. It's a big change in both their lives. She will have some choices to make. A's not worked for years. She quit work in her mid twenties to do a degree, and then when we started a family, we both agreed that she would be at home with them at least until they were both at school, we have been fortunate that we have been able to afford that luxury, many can't. I wonder what she'll do. Initially probably more gym, running and pilates, but she does sometimes talk of employment and wanting to use her degree. J will slot into school with no problems. He's a very confident and gregarious boy, much more so than his brother. I suspect the person who will facing the biggest difference will be A, interesting times.

I am not a bundle of fun at the moment. Still not smoked since Thursday, but finding it very difficult. Very short tempered and tetchy, hyperactive and edgy. I almost feel sorry for the bloke I'm playing squash against tonight as I think I may be ever so slightly mental when I get on the court. I really am a complete boring stereotype of someone giving up smoking. its not much fun, but you just need to keep thinking of the positives.

I feel a tad odd today. I had my last cigarette last night. Today had been my target day for some time. I thought I'd be crawling up the walls, but I'm not, well not yet anyway. Half a day without a fag may not seem like a big deal to a non smoker, but I'm really rather chuffed with myself. This is it, there can be no going back. A and I sat in the garden chatting about it last night. I drew up a list of all of the reasons I wanted to stop, and a list of why I wanted to smoke. The list of reasons to stop was huge, and the list to carry on very small. Two things, in fact. 1. I like it. But then I had to cross that off, because I wanted entirely sure that I did like it. 2. I'm addicted. And that's it in a nutshell, I don't want to be addicted to anything ( apart from blowjobs) . I'm going to be interested to see how it affects my sport over the next few weeks. I play a lot of squash, and from about half an hour in I'm wheezing like an old wheezy thing, and if that stops, that makes it a result in itself.

Yo ho ho

I like parties. I like getting together with groups of friends and having a good old time. I also like drinking, and I'm very good at at, which is fairly handy amongst the circle of lushes we move around in.
I don't however particularly like the concept of fancy dress parties. Which is exactly what we're going to tonight. A 40th birthday on a boat with a 'nautical' theme'. Not possessing any adult dressing up paraphernalia, we hit the web, and consequently I will be attending as a pirate with Mrs Gumpher as a pirates wench. Said costumes turned up yesterday. Now, I don't need to dress up to look like a twat, I usually make a fair stab at it anyway, but tonight I will plum to new depths of twatishness. The bloody thing is ridiculous. Its all in one, which it didn't appear to be in the picture, so quite how I'm going to have a piss I really don't know. I'm going to have to roll up the leg as far as it will go an then yank my gentlemen down as far as possible which will no doubt provide hours of entertainment to whoever is slashing in the pissoir next to me, unless they found the same website. There is an upside to this. Mrs Gumpher's costume is considerably shorter and more low cut than she thought when ordering ,and as captain of the ship I shall be instructing her to walk my plank at the latter stages of the evening, which will probably met met with howls of laughter and a probably justified comment that no way on earth is she going to let such a twatty looking pirate clamber on no matter how hard his yardstick.

Religion's a funny old thing (peculiar, not ha ha). One lot in Iraq stone to death a women suspected of wanting to join the other lot, so the other lot blow up a few tankers next to the one lot killing two hundred, death toll rising. Just how on earth we think we can bring democracy to somewhere that still carries out stonings is beyond me. Has democracy ever happened at any point in time in the middle east ? Just because it works as a process in the west, are we right to assume that it should be forced on the middle east ? I'm not sure it's totally understood as a theory of government because religion would appear to come before anything, even the law of the land, and in some places that's a religious law.
In my eyes, any religion that seems to revolve around fear and death is a flawed religion. actually in my eyes all religion is flawed. If people want to believe in a higher being that's fine, but unfortunately it seems to make most of them a tad on the fundamental, and even the peaceful ones I find barking. Jehovahs for instance. How could you refuse a blood transfusion for your dying child because your interpretation of a book says its the right thing to do. Barking. So I'm off to hell with Satan and all his little weevils, but I won't be, I'll be in a box getting munched by little weevils, just like the rest of them.
I wish to buggery we werent in Iraq or Afghanistan any more, its just so bloody futile. If they want to blow each up, let them get on with it. There didn't seem to be much point getting rid of Saddam or the Taliban as whatever wants to replace tem seems to be as big a collective bunch of loons. So we've fucked an already fucked situation.

Next Saturday I will be taking boy number one for his first trip to the home of rugby, The Millenium Stadium, to watch our beloved Wales play Argentina. Its a big day, I can still remember the first time my Dad took me and we got beaten by the French. In fairness I have probably seen more losses there than victories, but again and again I return , hoping against hope that the good times will come back , as they all too briefly did in 2006. If that twat Gyppo puts out the same side that saw us humbled by England last week, I will personally seek him out after the game, bend him over and ram a giant inflatable daffodil straight up his retarded arse. I will not have my special day with my boy ruined because Jenkins is a cunt of unquantifiable proportions, although I fear I should prepare.

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.