Two-days before the smoking ban hits the big smoke, I have some huge catching up to do. The environmentally-misplaced amongst you have had three months of not having tar, nicotine, benzine, carbon monoxide etc clogging up your cardiovascular system, and more importantly, your digestive system. This to me is the equivanlent of high-altitude training. Being the walking Men's Health Magazine (also a walking mental library of Asian Anal magazine), I know in my heart and most importantly my superior mind, that you may have peaked too early. I shall be running a four week bootcamp starting this weekend. Crucially, I have a training partner. Like Mr Balboa in Rocky III, I have my Apollo Creed. I have someone to run up the beach with, to spar with, to go to the Spar with (to buy white lightening), and to hug and jump around with a bit TOO gaylee. A new entry, a saxon and a dark horse - John Beech enters the fray, also gaining his first cap.
Ben Stone knows the damage this man can do (re: Friday Club 2001) but he is severely underweight and i fear nine swift and challenging holes may prove too much. But those of you who have trained for a marathon (anyone?) will know you never tackle the full distance until the day, as adrenaline will get you home. So 6 pint "power" sessions are at the basis of my training.
I look forward to Pontypool workingmens club, the Hog and Hosper or the white hart, wherever it may be, where i emphatically down my last pint in less than one, take the crown and stand upon the table triumphantly urinating upon you all, you cunts.
London Welsh
PS Mike can you not fall asleep at the bar whilst ordering a round this year. Also can the dreaming Turk not offer a fiver to the bird I pull for a feel of her ample breasts. Offer a twently to fuck her. Love x
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