From the moment I arrived, I knew it was all going to go wrong. Having already had a shitty four-hour drive through Friday afternoon traffic, the one thing I really wanted to happen was to get to the junction with Treharris Street and find a stupid BINT cab driver parked right across it with her hazards flashing, looking at me with a "I don't really know what to do because I'm a woman and I shouldn't have a driver's license, never mind a taxi license" smile on her face. So in the time it took me to manouevre around her, some twat in a BMW Z3 who could clearly see I was going for a parking space practically handbrake turned to steal it. Parking further down the street, I was over the moon naturally then to see Big Will jump in aforementioned cab and fuck off without me.
The 20 minute wait for the next cab to turn up and the paying the solo fare was soon forgotten however on arriving at the Eli Jenkins, apparently named after the bloke with the lazy eye that used to be in Emmerdale, seeing old friends and meeting some new ones, and getting straight on the long drinks.
For once in my life I managed to pace myself on a Friday instead of the usual kicking the arse out of it and waking up on match day shaking like a shitting dog. Having said that, watching the Tron down a foaming pint of Big Will's still steaming piss for a meager £20 of Sam's cash was enough to sober anyone up. So I awoke feeling oddly fresh, despite having been spooned by a slightly irritable, Ross Kemp lookalike screw from Cardiff bighouse. Fortunately, I didn't have to share the shower with him as well like they do in the nick, and despite Ski's protestations, I was up and ready to go in LC official matchday attire by about 10am.
So it was with happy hearts that we piled into Pete the Meat's motor and took the magical mystery tour through some of the more salubrious Cardiff suburbs to (eventually) find the Glamorgan Wanderers ground where the Tron was soon to be prancing around like Cliff Morgan. This is when Part 2 of the things going wrong went wrong. Ferg gives me a handful of tickets for the game to distribute evenly amongst the LCs on arrival, as for some reason he thinks I'm sensible. These tickets included a serial number for the raffle to win two tickets to the Wales/England match. Of course I knew straight away and full well that despite having a pocket full of the fuckers, I would undoubtedly give away the winning ticket, but when I did, and it was Sam that got it, it didn't make me feel any better.
Notwithstanding the joyous sight of Ferg scoring a try straight from the kick-off, and knowing that we weren't going to hear the end of it, and getting a couple of comedy phone calls from Morgs (including the classic Morganism "Spenny, is this charity match starting at 12, or at 10.30? Because if it starts at 10.30, it's over already obviously"), I couldn't help being a bit pissed off about the raffle. Because Fergs doesn't have a monopoly on being childish.
But still, all down to the Tavistock to get beers and a decent enough seat to watch what would turn out to be probably the match of the tournament this year, France v Scotland, followed by the Part 3 of the things going wrong going wrong, namely Wales beating England. Even so, it too was a pretty good game, and apparently the Welsh have now finally come up with a new song to replace that old favourite "Way-yuls! Way-yuls!"; it's to the tune of Bread of Heaven and goes "We came fifth instead of sixth, we came fifth instead of sixth". I maintain that if Wales had the same, totally unjustified but complete and utter hatred for every country that they have for England, they could be World Champions. Like England.
Town was a strange affair after the match this year. The disaster movie weather effects didn't help proceedings, and all the decent bars having massive queues to get in, and all the empty bars being a bit shit, but those of us that braved it still managed to muster up a good time. That is until, of course, Part 4 of things going wrong went wrong. Instead of bowing to peer pressure and just going to Kiwi's, I decided that the flattering feeling of walking down the street to Lloyd's with a girl fifteen years my junior on each arm was preferable. And I have to say, it was as well. The girls were very nice, and humoured me by being surprised at some of my more contemporary musical tastes, but when they realised I wasn't going to buy them drinks all night, they politely made their excuses and we parted company. I managed to find my way to Kiwi's on the Tron's instructions, but no LCs were in there, so I thought quit while you're ahead and go home. Sadly, PC Rain was rounding up the revellers and taxis were like rocking horse shit, so I decided to brave the elements and walk it. Big mistake. I reckon I walked under every single fucking railway bridge in the city hoping one of them would be the one on the way home. Then, after about two hours and somewhere near Roath, a pissed-up youth got very upset that I didn't want to be his friend, and kicked off on me. At which point I was forced to grab him by the throat and bend him backwards over the bonnet of a Vauxhall Corsa. If that was your Corsa, I'm sorry about the wing mirror, but I don't know if it hit the floor so it might still be stuck up that kid's arse. Luckily for him (and me) he had a sensible, pacifist mate who stepped in and calmed him down, but not before I sustained an injury to my thumb that has left it looking like a black pudding.
Another hour and several degrees below zero later, I was just about to curl up in a shop doorway and quietly cry until I slipped into a coma, when I started to recognise fast-food places and pubs and realised I was back at the top of Treharris Street. And do you know, here's how happy I was to be there: The sight of a red-eyed, blotchy-faced drunken Ski still sitting up at 3.30am watching the Grand Prix and telling anyone who'd listen that he knew that bloke, was one of the best things ever.
Here's to the next one.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Friday, March 16, 2007
Strongbow - its over to you.........
Mmmmmm yum yum humble pie! Yes having thought the English would be made to look like chimps last Sunday, they performed and delivered the goods. I thought the French were beyond shit but the Saxons played the team in front of them and took their chances well. The 2 fly halves were great and I thought Catt was awesome. I have to say that his after game interview was one, if not the, best I have heard.
Wales on the other hand were clueless, Italy played with passion, guile and were great around the breakdown. Credit where its due, at least we went for the win rather than settling for the draw. The decision by the referee was absolutely fucking atrocious, I hope his Welsh missus is screeching at him now and making his life a misery.
I for one enjoyed the Scotland/Ireland match. John Inverdale whinged like fuck that it was a shit game and hoped the others would be better. Just because it wasn’t free flowing rugby doesn’t make it shit. If I want to watch sevens I would watch it. Sometimes you appreciate the grind of a forward orientated game, the intensity of rugby played in shit conditions and the tightness and excitement of an error strewn match. ahh the romance…. O ‘ Gara has played a fantastic six nations and I would put him in a Lions test team if there was a game tomorrow. The Irish must be kicking themselves that they didn’t shut out France.
So super Saturday is upon us and while I am expecting a small number of chickens down (about 20 – still not bad), I am still so excited I feel like weeing myself in excitement. The games look like a forgone conclusion but with a 6 nations like the one we have had who would bet on that.
The Irish are probably the best side in the 6 nations but how will they deal with a record breaking Italian side in Rome. Yes, the Italians have been hit through injury and that dirty twat Burger master being suspended for a sly dig but as Scotland showed if you drag Ireland down to your level then you can compete.
Scotland showed some dog last week but lacked a bit of composure. However how they perform will depend on what French team turns up. God, I know that’s so clichéd but if you compare the French team against Wales or Italy with the one that ran around like headless chickens last week then you would agree with me!
After last week the English go into the Welsh game with their tails up and are sure to be favourites. Wales have limped through the tournament with flashes of excellence against the Irish and the French. Their performance against the Scots was in the top 5 shittest performances by a Welsh side in my life time. That maybe another blog though. I think England will love to play against a unconfident below par Wales but with Alfie back in the team, Wales will perform but will it be enough?
Because chief fuck pigs, Snakey and Ski are down I pray to the gods that we win because they are fuckers. I seem to recall the last time Wales played England at home and LOST. Snakey and Ski were ill because they had drunk too much on the Friday, the giant fanny farts. Big news is that Lovechicken chairman Rob Jones is flying over from the States. Rob actually believes that everybody is frozen in carbonite until he returns and then we are released to have fun for a weekend.
Scary news is that Fuzz and Big Will are out so. I love watching 2 huge units of giant demented lumpness clear a perimeter of about 20 metres in every pub its like having your own personal VIP area creators.
The tiny difference this year is that many of the chickens will not be in pub drinking at 12 this Saturday but on the terraces watching the Fergatron play for the National Assembly for Wales against the Houses of Parliament. Fergatrons international career was cruelly cut short because of a lack of talent but while he has shit legs he has a big heart and a great knack for sly punching (ask Tew). So fuck the jocks and the Irish come and see Fergatron………
The rooster has decided to name and shame the following with regards to the Three Peaks challenge:
Length – miserable sod with huge nostrils – get paying
Fat Mike – Fat lipped Jamie Oliver lookalike with a extensive knowledge of Tonyrefail plus other division 4 west Welsh rugby teams – get paying
Taz – oval social hand grenade who cant spell – get paying
so with the weekend in mind - Strongbow - its over to you
Wales on the other hand were clueless, Italy played with passion, guile and were great around the breakdown. Credit where its due, at least we went for the win rather than settling for the draw. The decision by the referee was absolutely fucking atrocious, I hope his Welsh missus is screeching at him now and making his life a misery.
I for one enjoyed the Scotland/Ireland match. John Inverdale whinged like fuck that it was a shit game and hoped the others would be better. Just because it wasn’t free flowing rugby doesn’t make it shit. If I want to watch sevens I would watch it. Sometimes you appreciate the grind of a forward orientated game, the intensity of rugby played in shit conditions and the tightness and excitement of an error strewn match. ahh the romance…. O ‘ Gara has played a fantastic six nations and I would put him in a Lions test team if there was a game tomorrow. The Irish must be kicking themselves that they didn’t shut out France.
So super Saturday is upon us and while I am expecting a small number of chickens down (about 20 – still not bad), I am still so excited I feel like weeing myself in excitement. The games look like a forgone conclusion but with a 6 nations like the one we have had who would bet on that.
The Irish are probably the best side in the 6 nations but how will they deal with a record breaking Italian side in Rome. Yes, the Italians have been hit through injury and that dirty twat Burger master being suspended for a sly dig but as Scotland showed if you drag Ireland down to your level then you can compete.
Scotland showed some dog last week but lacked a bit of composure. However how they perform will depend on what French team turns up. God, I know that’s so clichéd but if you compare the French team against Wales or Italy with the one that ran around like headless chickens last week then you would agree with me!
After last week the English go into the Welsh game with their tails up and are sure to be favourites. Wales have limped through the tournament with flashes of excellence against the Irish and the French. Their performance against the Scots was in the top 5 shittest performances by a Welsh side in my life time. That maybe another blog though. I think England will love to play against a unconfident below par Wales but with Alfie back in the team, Wales will perform but will it be enough?
Because chief fuck pigs, Snakey and Ski are down I pray to the gods that we win because they are fuckers. I seem to recall the last time Wales played England at home and LOST. Snakey and Ski were ill because they had drunk too much on the Friday, the giant fanny farts. Big news is that Lovechicken chairman Rob Jones is flying over from the States. Rob actually believes that everybody is frozen in carbonite until he returns and then we are released to have fun for a weekend.
Scary news is that Fuzz and Big Will are out so. I love watching 2 huge units of giant demented lumpness clear a perimeter of about 20 metres in every pub its like having your own personal VIP area creators.
The tiny difference this year is that many of the chickens will not be in pub drinking at 12 this Saturday but on the terraces watching the Fergatron play for the National Assembly for Wales against the Houses of Parliament. Fergatrons international career was cruelly cut short because of a lack of talent but while he has shit legs he has a big heart and a great knack for sly punching (ask Tew). So fuck the jocks and the Irish come and see Fergatron………
The rooster has decided to name and shame the following with regards to the Three Peaks challenge:
Length – miserable sod with huge nostrils – get paying
Fat Mike – Fat lipped Jamie Oliver lookalike with a extensive knowledge of Tonyrefail plus other division 4 west Welsh rugby teams – get paying
Taz – oval social hand grenade who cant spell – get paying
so with the weekend in mind - Strongbow - its over to you
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Lovechickens walking up hills challenge 2007!
The 6 nations is now drawing to a close with 2 games to go, many of us have enjoyed various trips away to support our beloved Wales and despite a dire performance so far, there have been some awesome sessions.
Personally, Scotland for me this year lived up to its usual brilliance with a hardcore crowd of us living it up for 3 days in relative luxury, even though I did freeze my bollocks off in the match. I always say I’m not going to the match next time, but I always end up with a ticket in my hand and not enough clothes on to watch another Scotland v Wales thriller (yawn).
It was a shame some more of us couldn’t have made it (that’s a dig at you Roberts!) but we did have a few drinks to absent LC’s and we still love you all even though some of you annoy the shit out of me (in particular Ski & Bruce and your almost on this list as well now Roberts!!).
I must say that a big hand goes out to the Yanks this year. They arrived in force in Edinburgh and drank like legends. Its always good to see you guys and I hope to see you all very soon.
Anyway, to the point of this post. Once this years festivities are all over and done with and Wales beat Italy on Saturday and then go on to give England an even bigger tonking than they got in Croke Park; 4 brave and stupid souls among us have decided to do something good for a change and raise some money for a good cause.
The good cause is the National Deaf Children’s Society (and if one other person says ‘what?’ to me again when I mention the charity there will be a beating). The brave and stupid souls are me, Ferg, Pete The Meat and Phil Kite. And the challenge is to climb up Britain’s three highest mountains in 24 hours on the first weekend in June and we will be kindly driven round by Mr Devonald.
However, the hardest challenge of all in this undertaking will be to raise the money we have promised to the NDCS. We have agreed (maybe foolishly) to raise £5000 towards their cause which of course isn’t going to be easy!
We have now been fundraising for roughly 2 weeks and from our neat little totaliser to the right you will se that we are currently on £1616.02 out of a target amount of £5000 which is roughly 32% raised so far.
It is however with some disappointment that only £160 of this has been donated by you lot, the Lovechickens RFC membership!!!! Donating to this cause is not an option, giving us your hard earned cash is mandatory and the penalties for not donating will be very harsh!! Namely a severe beating, having to share a room with Morgs and a sucky eye off Ski! So you have been warned!
We have roughly 12 weeks to go before we undertake this challenge so we need to raise this cash as soon as we can. Together, the LC membership can give our funds a hell of a boost and set us well on the way to achieving our total!! So get your hands in your pockets right now and give us some of your dosh!
To donate, click on the ‘donate now’ button on the totaliser or visit:
http://www.justgiving.com/lovechickensRFC
Finally, we are currently one or maybe two team member short for this little stroll. So if any of you fancy laughing your way up and down three mountains then you will be welcome to join us. However, you must committed and be ready to raise some dosh towards the cause. If you do then let me or Ferg know as soon as possible.
Thank to all LC’s who have donated so far, you are excused from getting sucky eyed!!
Enjoy the rest of the 6 nations guys and I hope to see you all soon (except of course you Ski x).
Champers.
Personally, Scotland for me this year lived up to its usual brilliance with a hardcore crowd of us living it up for 3 days in relative luxury, even though I did freeze my bollocks off in the match. I always say I’m not going to the match next time, but I always end up with a ticket in my hand and not enough clothes on to watch another Scotland v Wales thriller (yawn).
It was a shame some more of us couldn’t have made it (that’s a dig at you Roberts!) but we did have a few drinks to absent LC’s and we still love you all even though some of you annoy the shit out of me (in particular Ski & Bruce and your almost on this list as well now Roberts!!).
I must say that a big hand goes out to the Yanks this year. They arrived in force in Edinburgh and drank like legends. Its always good to see you guys and I hope to see you all very soon.
Anyway, to the point of this post. Once this years festivities are all over and done with and Wales beat Italy on Saturday and then go on to give England an even bigger tonking than they got in Croke Park; 4 brave and stupid souls among us have decided to do something good for a change and raise some money for a good cause.
The good cause is the National Deaf Children’s Society (and if one other person says ‘what?’ to me again when I mention the charity there will be a beating). The brave and stupid souls are me, Ferg, Pete The Meat and Phil Kite. And the challenge is to climb up Britain’s three highest mountains in 24 hours on the first weekend in June and we will be kindly driven round by Mr Devonald.
However, the hardest challenge of all in this undertaking will be to raise the money we have promised to the NDCS. We have agreed (maybe foolishly) to raise £5000 towards their cause which of course isn’t going to be easy!
We have now been fundraising for roughly 2 weeks and from our neat little totaliser to the right you will se that we are currently on £1616.02 out of a target amount of £5000 which is roughly 32% raised so far.
It is however with some disappointment that only £160 of this has been donated by you lot, the Lovechickens RFC membership!!!! Donating to this cause is not an option, giving us your hard earned cash is mandatory and the penalties for not donating will be very harsh!! Namely a severe beating, having to share a room with Morgs and a sucky eye off Ski! So you have been warned!
We have roughly 12 weeks to go before we undertake this challenge so we need to raise this cash as soon as we can. Together, the LC membership can give our funds a hell of a boost and set us well on the way to achieving our total!! So get your hands in your pockets right now and give us some of your dosh!
To donate, click on the ‘donate now’ button on the totaliser or visit:
http://www.justgiving.com/lovechickensRFC
Finally, we are currently one or maybe two team member short for this little stroll. So if any of you fancy laughing your way up and down three mountains then you will be welcome to join us. However, you must committed and be ready to raise some dosh towards the cause. If you do then let me or Ferg know as soon as possible.
Thank to all LC’s who have donated so far, you are excused from getting sucky eyed!!
Enjoy the rest of the 6 nations guys and I hope to see you all soon (except of course you Ski x).
Champers.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Wales v England 17th March - i love you sods i really do
Three of the greatest English heroes.Left: Legendary Winter Olympian - Eddie 'The Eagle' Edwards
Centre: Shakespeare-esque super bard - Rick Waller
Right: Diplomat, Scholar and English Rose
No one dislikes the English as much as the Welsh except for the French, the Scottish, the Irish, the Italians, the Americans, the Australians, the Kiwis, the Germans, the Russians, the Swiss, the Norwegians, the Swedes, the Finns, all the Africans, the Asians, the Inuits, the Daleks, the Jawas, the Decepticons and the Cornish but that doesnt mean we arent fond of some of those critters. The older i get the more i realise that i need the colonising little buggers. This Club would not have been set up if it wasnt for one of them but then again he has been shit since 2001 but even i must write that many English people are the cornerstone of this club. People like the Kaahnt, Snakey poos and the legendary Ski Barr give us an extra dimension. Big Dave, Blue, Blue and his growing hair do and the Wirral Viking make us what we are today. There are so many more i can mention even that grumpy fuckface length but i will leave it as it is because i cant be arsed being nice anymore.
For our wonderful club this game is a weekend of laughter, drinking, pumping and hardly any sleep. It is a time where we hear those immortal words 'Lets meet up for a few on the Friday, nothing too big' - its the biggest load of shit since i heard the King of the Gays say 'I am a vegetarian because i choose not to eat meat, not because i think it gets me off with birds'.
So far the Coop has heard from a selection of Love Chickens who will be up for what is an official cap for the club.
Big news is that after living under a bridge and trying to deny the Billy Goats Gruff passage over it, Ski Barr is taking a break from serving tea to Kimi Raikonen and is coming down to take the piss out of me all Friday night and then look like shit all Saturday. London Welsh will be getting on his bike putting his shlong in a side car and being acompanied by the big Kaahnt and Mr Angry. London Welsh will pull by being aloof and pouting, the Kaahnt will mither the poor sods into submission while Mr Angry will take the piss out of girls until he and they are really really drunk and then end up putting his meat sword up the wrong scabard.......nice but true.
The 6 foot jap will take a giant shit in a sink, eat urinal cubes, spit on a girls head and then kick her up the arse then he will get drunk and start playing up.
remember - you need to tell the Tron if you are coming to win your cap - there will be naming and shaming, there will also be same for the people who have not yet sponsored the Lovechickens 3 Peaks challenge. You know who you are!
you may have noticed that i havent mentioned the Wales Italy game, its because i am shitting myself, i dont suppose the Saxons are overly keen on mentioning theirs or the jocks..........
Thursday, March 01, 2007
What the fu......by the Rooster
Ferg has told me he really isnt raising money for deaf kids like Tews brother in law he is actually raising the money to get a contract killer out on whoever the fuck it was who decided to have Wales kick off a rugby match at 8 o clock at night.
While the Lovechickens of Fishguard went out to the game - some of our illustrious club went down to the town made famous for getting naked, easy young girls and whizz. other club members two Fannies, The Tron The Sofa Monster and Ladies Man then went to Fishguard Rugby Club for what seemed like 3 days of international rugby. Very chuffed with the results except obviously the Welsh one but unlike against Scotland, this time we actually played and i never have a problem about playing well and being beaten by a better side. I havent seen the English bum-fucked like that for a while but it was a marvellous occasion.
With a punchy twat like Ferg around you would expect him to be the centre of controversy - not so. with an hour left remainding The Sofa Monster issued a 'dab' to the boy who had just lost his Welsh amatuer boxing belt the week before for being 'a knob'.
so two games to go and two huge piss ups to go. beds are looking sparse at the moment in the Tron household but the cocky bastard London Welsh said that he is going to have a hotel room for the Sais match so he can pump birds. All i can say is can you remember the states you get in on international day in Cardiff - why not stay in 'Yoth from Merthyrs' hotel where you can snort bombay spiced potatoes and Samosas until the cows come home and get prossies!!!
any of you fuck faces in the club that have not given to the 3 peaks challenge should be ashamed of yourself except for people earning bog all - they should feel ashamed that they earn bog all.
anyway get it done you fucks
While the Lovechickens of Fishguard went out to the game - some of our illustrious club went down to the town made famous for getting naked, easy young girls and whizz. other club members two Fannies, The Tron The Sofa Monster and Ladies Man then went to Fishguard Rugby Club for what seemed like 3 days of international rugby. Very chuffed with the results except obviously the Welsh one but unlike against Scotland, this time we actually played and i never have a problem about playing well and being beaten by a better side. I havent seen the English bum-fucked like that for a while but it was a marvellous occasion.
With a punchy twat like Ferg around you would expect him to be the centre of controversy - not so. with an hour left remainding The Sofa Monster issued a 'dab' to the boy who had just lost his Welsh amatuer boxing belt the week before for being 'a knob'.
so two games to go and two huge piss ups to go. beds are looking sparse at the moment in the Tron household but the cocky bastard London Welsh said that he is going to have a hotel room for the Sais match so he can pump birds. All i can say is can you remember the states you get in on international day in Cardiff - why not stay in 'Yoth from Merthyrs' hotel where you can snort bombay spiced potatoes and Samosas until the cows come home and get prossies!!!
any of you fuck faces in the club that have not given to the 3 peaks challenge should be ashamed of yourself except for people earning bog all - they should feel ashamed that they earn bog all.
anyway get it done you fucks
Scotland by London Welsh (or the best Saturday night i've had since I was 14 and did my first fingering)
FRIDAY
A late arrival. Due to my essex gym being on fire (seriously) I arrived, after 2hrs of sleep on the Thursday night, into "The Royal Mile" pub unsurprisingly situated on the Royal Mile. The beer flowed like wine and I was quickly "on the way".
GOD I love the Friday before international day. On to THE TRON, but which TRON did it relate to best? The upstairs was definately reminiscent of MorgaTRON - cosy, comfortable, serving food and darkness was certainly the medium. However, downstairs was the flip side, relating more to FergaTRON - loose women around, lots of beer flowing, willies coming out (just mine? sorry boys!) and there was an uncertain air about the atmosphere; you didn't really know what was gonna happen next.
After spending (in my opinion, far too) much time in the TRON, I abducted our young American Chicken (what was the name of the young american chicken in Chicken Run? This would be a good blog name) and took him off to the lively quarter of Edinburgh.
After paying a lot of entry fees to various clubs, we ended up in what was a cross between Zanzibars and Kiwis (on reflection, WHY did we not ALL end up there?!?!). ROCKY! That was the Chicken Run name! Mel Gibson, the Nazi warlord providing the voice.
Our boy ROCKY was on form with the drinks, not so much with the birds. I had my statutory kiss with a fat lummox and we called it a day - back to Radissons. A cosy, cultured cocktail with some other residents soon decended into chaos. I can't remember who exactly because I was "cunted" but I remember Morgs not having one shoe (SO FUNNY!) and our glorious leader ripping fuck into some attractive but pretentious early 30's Saxon female, it was golddust at one point - I believe something like "you know you want to fuck me really, i'm fucking lush, and you'll never do better again at your age" came out of his mouth. Sitting next to her was a male work colleague, who she was quite clearly going to bed with; he was not amused.
SATURDAY
I had one of my infamous match day sulks. I wasn't happy with waiting 5 mins for breakfast so i went to buy a shirt. Got back to the flat and there were willies everywhere, showering ready to go. Got mine out, played helicopters for Ferg cos I know how much he loves to see the magnitue of torque that is generated from the rotation. Out. Bookies. Olivers. Pints. I'll be blunt - the first tasted like Panda Piss. I'm not sure if bow with a splash of lemonade is allowed (please confirm), but I had to for the first couple.
There followed the worst five hours of the weekend. Eng v Italy. Poor show, lost money. There was another game, I refuse to comment. After that I was at a low. I needed a pick up big time. A confidence booster. Then she walked into my life...you can guess the one from Doug's pics. Those of you who can't guess clearly did not spend time with me during uni at 1:51am in Zanzibars/Cobarnas/Walkabouts in Newports. From there it was like playing the ladder game - each bird better than the last. Good times, it was indeed like being 16 again and tallying up the kissometer! It was dance dance dance - the Three Sisters was like a cattle market (size of fems & density of bodies). Where did we go then? Anyway, the boys who went know how it ended up on Sunday morning.
I now cannot wait until March 17th. I think we have a car pool from this end - Me, The Cock, The Aggressor and a potential LC from my gym. However he idolises The Papercut (sponsored by Tubigrip) so this may prove costly. Look sharp lads, the English are coming....
A late arrival. Due to my essex gym being on fire (seriously) I arrived, after 2hrs of sleep on the Thursday night, into "The Royal Mile" pub unsurprisingly situated on the Royal Mile. The beer flowed like wine and I was quickly "on the way".
GOD I love the Friday before international day. On to THE TRON, but which TRON did it relate to best? The upstairs was definately reminiscent of MorgaTRON - cosy, comfortable, serving food and darkness was certainly the medium. However, downstairs was the flip side, relating more to FergaTRON - loose women around, lots of beer flowing, willies coming out (just mine? sorry boys!) and there was an uncertain air about the atmosphere; you didn't really know what was gonna happen next.
After spending (in my opinion, far too) much time in the TRON, I abducted our young American Chicken (what was the name of the young american chicken in Chicken Run? This would be a good blog name) and took him off to the lively quarter of Edinburgh.
After paying a lot of entry fees to various clubs, we ended up in what was a cross between Zanzibars and Kiwis (on reflection, WHY did we not ALL end up there?!?!). ROCKY! That was the Chicken Run name! Mel Gibson, the Nazi warlord providing the voice.
Our boy ROCKY was on form with the drinks, not so much with the birds. I had my statutory kiss with a fat lummox and we called it a day - back to Radissons. A cosy, cultured cocktail with some other residents soon decended into chaos. I can't remember who exactly because I was "cunted" but I remember Morgs not having one shoe (SO FUNNY!) and our glorious leader ripping fuck into some attractive but pretentious early 30's Saxon female, it was golddust at one point - I believe something like "you know you want to fuck me really, i'm fucking lush, and you'll never do better again at your age" came out of his mouth. Sitting next to her was a male work colleague, who she was quite clearly going to bed with; he was not amused.
SATURDAY
I had one of my infamous match day sulks. I wasn't happy with waiting 5 mins for breakfast so i went to buy a shirt. Got back to the flat and there were willies everywhere, showering ready to go. Got mine out, played helicopters for Ferg cos I know how much he loves to see the magnitue of torque that is generated from the rotation. Out. Bookies. Olivers. Pints. I'll be blunt - the first tasted like Panda Piss. I'm not sure if bow with a splash of lemonade is allowed (please confirm), but I had to for the first couple.
There followed the worst five hours of the weekend. Eng v Italy. Poor show, lost money. There was another game, I refuse to comment. After that I was at a low. I needed a pick up big time. A confidence booster. Then she walked into my life...you can guess the one from Doug's pics. Those of you who can't guess clearly did not spend time with me during uni at 1:51am in Zanzibars/Cobarnas/Walkabouts in Newports. From there it was like playing the ladder game - each bird better than the last. Good times, it was indeed like being 16 again and tallying up the kissometer! It was dance dance dance - the Three Sisters was like a cattle market (size of fems & density of bodies). Where did we go then? Anyway, the boys who went know how it ended up on Sunday morning.
I now cannot wait until March 17th. I think we have a car pool from this end - Me, The Cock, The Aggressor and a potential LC from my gym. However he idolises The Papercut (sponsored by Tubigrip) so this may prove costly. Look sharp lads, the English are coming....
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