My favourite moment by Alex Unibrow

above - Unibrowed dirty picture taker

Thinking back on my favourite Love Chickens moment isn’t an easy task. From the moment Ferg called me “Iestyn” (while holding a copy of Rugby World held next to my head, just in case anyone was unsure), I knew there was something a little bit special about him, and the bond he creates with people, which is the backbone of the Love Chickens.My resemblance of the Rugby League and Union player has long gone, along with my hair, being replaced by a more furrowed, one lined brow. One thing hasn’t changed, and that’s Ferg and the camaraderie he inspires within the LC’s. Casting my memory back of Uni and Love Chicken days, there have been lots of moments that spring to mind, most of which are making me laugh as I type this.

Bath Spa Sevens, 2002, I was able to achieve my best sports photographs, including – Big Will throwing up, Carlton scoring a try, and Taz, Earl and Ferg surrounding Little Rhys, while naked, with the Ref showing them the Red Card. Unforgettable.Over the years I’m sure several pubs in Cardiff have kept in business because of the pounds sterling LC’s have handed over the bar, and I’m sure quite a few barmaids have also heard us tell them that we love them.

Above: dirty boys

Reflecting on LC moments couldn’t be done without mentioning Kiwi’s at some point too, the place where you lose your inhibitions, your looks, your clothes, your mind and your money all in search of women that have everything a man could want – Tattoo’s, facial hair and hairy chests. Yet, a night out wouldn’t be complete without it – plus Morgs falling asleep with a cock drawn on his face.More recently were the trouncing of the UWN Rugby Team on the shittiest day of the year, a magical mystery tour on the bus (which was going to take us to Cardiff via Usk if we hadn’t stopped the driver) and watching Wales win the Grand Slam.

Other events that come to mind are having the responsibility of photographing an LC get married in the best Wedding I’ve ever been to (even though I was throwing up blood an hour before), watching Ferg tackle WRU Chairman David Pickering, “having a quiet one” on a Friday - and not returning home until Sunday, being hit in the eye with a chicken nugget, swing ball and tears, turning into Hitler, being refused entry to several Newport pubs before 7, and losing my phone and wallet. After thinking of these situations, and many others I haven’t put down, I’ve come to realise there isn’t one that I look back with fondness or affection.

It’s all of these memories, which I love. Moments which create the look that a fellow LC will give when you meet in the street, the craic when we have a chance for a pint or two, the ability to meet up and even though we haven’t seen each other for months – we talk and get on as if we’d never been apart, which makes me smile when I think back, and look forward to the stories we’ll have to tell in the future: it’s this that make us what we are today – proud to be a Love Chicken.

A Day to Remember by Fat Mike

It was an early morning on Saturday the 9th July 2005, in search of breakfasts and a few pints we headed to Y Mochyn Ddu to watch the third Lions test. To our disappointment it was shut, so a brisk walk to the Cayo Arms was the order. Due to too much cider and red wine the night before it hadn’t crossed my mind that Will was not in view, and I was oblivious to the following statements:

“Can Squirrels fly that far?”

“Is it warm?”

“Is it a grey or a red one”?

“How did you catch it”

“Did he climb a tree to get it”

“He should wash his hands after touching that!”

“He is sick!”

“Look at his mullet, he wants that cut”

“He wouldn’t do that if it was a Honey Badger”

Then it dawned on me;

“I wonder why that Squirrel is getting bigger”.

Then it nearly hit me!

M Stephens Early Morning Drinker 9th July 2005

The rooster returns and this time he is pretty much serious

The Rooster returns

Its been a year, actually more than that. The pub golf in Pontypool last year was so hard that its taken over 12 months for me to get my fat fingers back to the chickens blog. Neath was even worse but less said about that the better.

Since people realised that there was to be no more blog, Lovechickens HQ have been unindated with call begging us to restart and so I am honoured to present to you - Lovechickens - the return.
Since we have been off the air the biggest news other than the South Africans winning the world cup was that the Lovechickens RFC had played and won their first XV aside game. In the driving rain and with minging hangovers we destroyed the young whippersnappers of Newport Uni. Other than a disapointing injury to the gap toothed, marge simpson haired non Scouser and Pete Dev injecting his grubby fingers with oil - it was a great day even if the weather like it is now was shit.

Other news

Fergatron and Two fannies went off to France for the world cup where they met up with US Superchickens Big Doug, El Cubano and sleepy Geoff. The great news is Wales were shit and the boys had to watch former canabalistic giants Fiji take on the eventual humour by-passed winners - the spring boks - but more about supporters in another post. Oh how they laughed a week before in a busy pub of italians and jocks before their big game as Wales were made to look like girls throwing balls and realised they had to spend the entire week explaining that they were actually in france for the Fiji quarter finals and they were actually from a small village outside Suva called puncheston. Its doesn’t matter because Two fanny's hands are virtually black anyway with all that dirt.

I am not going to blow my load too early as i have lots of news to tell so wiwill give snippets over the week. but i will start off with some titbits (hahaha tits!!)

Marriage
I believe that there are plenty of cheaper ways of living your life in perpetual misery, among them buying a dapper new set of orange dungarees, becoming a muslim fanatic like Bruce and buying a one way ticket to Guantanomo Bay or alternatively applying for a job as Ski's underpants. Anyway despite all the evidence stating for most people getting married is gay both Big Jim and Sam have tied the knot. We have missed Big Jim recently although the ex-Newport Uni chickens have seen him a bit. Sam has been about, a lot….when he takes time away from his German empire.

hmmm Sam is a small and angry man and is in charge of a giant German force….how long before he annexes Austria and marches into the Sudetenland………oh yeah and he has honestly changed his surname to Lawson. Big Will has also changed his name from Matthew Williams to tobias arseface penispickler but that’s another blog.

where are you know and what are you doing - The rooster will be going around members to find out news and gossip where they are!!

more news later in the week

Follow Walt Disney's advice by the musical Turk

I missed last years pub golf and the only reference to how smashed I could be in this years was BLUE. Never had Weatherspoons seen such a broken man stumble through the doors before 7pm, supported by Big Will shouting 'you'm avin another one?'.

At this exact time I thought- I want to go home this couldn't be any worse! But it is, this year we're off to Pontypool.
I've decided to follow the advice of the very likeable creator of Mickey Mouse and the likes, Walt Disney. Big Walt once said 'If you're going through hell, keep going'. This is certainly what I'll be doing, head down ass up drink the drinks don't say anything to anyone and smile when I get to Cardiff town, sorry if I get to Cardiff town. Remember don't get in a fight with a big, ugly Pontypool man because he's got nothing to lose!!!

The prospect of competing in the most fearsome pub golf circuit in Wales, in an unknown and untested drinking location will be one to savour. I feel this years event will rely more on 'team work' rather than the 'individual', a good partner is vital. Even if last years victors are favourites I've got a sneaky feeling that this prize could be heading Eastward across the severn bridge, oh no.
One thing's guaranteed, there'll be talk of young girls, STDs, lower league rugby from 1992-present and more 'youms' than ever heard before. Roll on the 'Pontypool Open 2007'.

Peace&Love.

Follow Walt Disney's advice the Scarlets pimpernel

I missed last years pub golf and the only reference to how smashed I could be in this years was BLUE. Never had Weatherspoons seen such a broken man stumble through the doors before 7pm, supported by Big Will shouting 'you'm avin another one?'.

At this exact time I thought- I want to go home this couldn't be any worse! But it is, this year we're off to Pontypool.

I've decided to follow the advice of the very likeable creator of Mickey Mouse and the likes, Walt Disney. Big Walt once said 'If you're going through hell, keep going'. This is certainly what I'll be doing, head down ass up drink the drinks don't say anything to anyone and smile when I get to Cardiff town, sorry if I get to Cardiff town. Remember don't get in a fight with a big, ugly Pontypool man because he's got nothing to lose!!!

The prospect of competing in the most fearsome pub golf circuit in Wales, in an unknown and untested drinking location will be one to savour. I feel this years event will rely more on 'team work' rather than the 'individual', a good partner is vital. Even if last years victors are favourites I've got a sneaky feeling that this prize could be heading Eastward across the severn bridge, oh no.
One thing's guaranteed, there'll be talk of young girls, STDs, lower league rugby from 1992-present and more 'youms' than ever heard before.

Roll on the 'Pontypool Open 2007'.

Peace&Love.

Pontypool 2007 - The Starting line up so far

With 2 weeks to go we have at least 16 competitors in the mix for Pontypool 2007. Big Will has fixed, what I have heard is a…um……a…..very challenging course. The big news and I mean big news is that we have a competitor who I believe is a challenger whos pedigree is second to none. Gar San Francisco from Fishguard is someone I believe will challenge Big Will and Ches and even has the power to bring the Pub golf Cup to West Wales. There is a lot of speculation that because of big Jas and Taz that the cup may end up over Offa’s dyke, but with the big three I have already mentioned, that will be a task in itself. What may happen is if there is a draw for first place we will enter the winners into a sudden death round called emotional stability where Taz will royally fuck up, cry and come last.

So far there hasn’t been any definates for teams but I have heard that Ches and Beechy will be combining for the doubles, whilst Ferg has invited Pete the meat or the Kaanht to partner him. The obvious duo will be Lightning Rob Thomas and Gar San Francisco who will join forces to become the ‘Fishguard Plasterers’.

More news as it comes in

Most likelies

Most likely not to make it to any pub in Cardiff
Blue

Most likely to spu
Ferg

Most likely to get hit by a tennis ball and cry
Sam

Most likely to talk about the rise of Llanhilleth as a dominant force in division 5 east
Mike

Most likely to get female attention and having fucking no clue what to do with it
Rhys bach

Most likely to know what to do with all the female attention Rhys bach is having and mither the fuck out of them until they relent
Carlt

First person not to get served because too pissed
Blue or Morg

Most likely to eat first
Morg

Most likely to fall asleep standing up
Morg

Most likely to be set on fire
Morg

Most likely to not notice a comedy penis has been drawn on his face
Morg


more to come again - regards and have a nice weekend

The Rooster

Defending my championship by THE Six Foot Jap

First of all THE Jap would like to welcome all love chickens old, new and odd (Taz) to my home town of Pontypool on the 28th July for the LC Pub Golf.

Let me take you on a brief history trip of Pontypool. Pontypool got his name from Jasper Tudor, the Lord of Abergavenny and uncle of King Henry VII. On 10th October 1490, Tudor made a grant of land to one John ap David, and in the conveyance fixes one boundary as "the highway leading form the church of Trevethin towards the bridge called Pont poell." It would seem therefore that the town gains its name from the bridge placed near the swampy pool which almost certainly would be greater than the forge pond that exists today.

That’s enough!

There are a few famous people to have lived in this forgotten town, may THE Jap draw your attention to Indian Jones and the Raiders of The Lost Ark. Yes you’ve guessed it Harrison Ford once dumped on the half way line of the Pontypool rugby ground!! Seriously the Nazi baddie (Major Arnold Toht) played by actor Ronald Lacey lived all his life in Pontypool, where his family still reside! The love chickens can match such an accolade by having two Nazi war heroes of their own, Phil Kite and Big Jim Williams!
Next for those rugby lovers, mainly those friends over the pond, who have dipped themselves in Welsh rugby history! At least, more than us so called Welsh rugby supporters. It is that of the Pontypool front row! Made immortal by Max Boyce.

"There's a programme on the Telly,I watch it when I can,The story of an astronaut,The first bionic man,He cost six million dollars,That's a lot of bread I know,But Wigan offered more than that For the Pontypool Front Row!"

We as lovechickens can also rival that, with our own front row of Cockney, and the two social hand grenades (Sam and Taz). When packing down it would be close encounter with our boys just (and only just) beating them. Bearing in mind they are in their 60’s, with health problems!
For more information on rugby in the area talk to the fat Jamie Oliver. And finally to the pubs, order and drinks to be finalised but here are the pubs!

1. The Sally
2. The Labour in Vain
3. The Colliers
4. The Forge Hammer
5. Pontypool Workmans
6. The Bell
7. The Hog and Hosper
8. The Unicorn
9. The Hanbury
10. The George
11. The Greyhound
12. The White Heart
13. The Globe
14. Pontypool rugby club

You are wondering 9 hole golf, 14 pubs the math does not add! You are correct do not recount (Morgatron definitely don’t THE Jap doesn’t want you having an embolism!). This as THE Jap will explain is precautionary. Much of Pontypool still goes by sundials for the time, in the event of a cloudy day, when time gets lost, many pub landlords loose track of opening times, also the fact that many lovechickens will get beaten to a pulp in some of the local (local pub for local people) pubs! Therefore to avoid trouble and arrests (again Taz and Sam) we will add a few more in to give us a bit of scope.

Again THE Jap will look forward to the up and coming Pontypool Pub Golf, with great eagerness, apprehension and will again retain the LC Pub Golf championship. Many people believe the last to be a draw between London Welsh and THE Jap, but THE Jap will add that London Welsh has youth on his side and is all ribs’n’dick!!

Nail down anything that moves, hide the alcohol and move your daughters somewhere far away or to Merthyr cos no one wants to go there

yes…something so scary it makes the horror film ‘Hostel’ seem like My Little Pony – The movie, something that gives you the heebjeebies more than top and tailing with a naked Taz……..switch off your mobile phones because

The Six foot jap is bored, single and horny…………..

I can hardly type because just reading back is scaring the living bejesus out of me. My first warning was given by the addictive bane of my life facebook when young MW changed his relationship status from couple to single. My face fell into my hands as his status went to ‘The one man wrecking machine ………is bored’ AAARRRGGHHHHH!!!!

You see mild mannered lecturer Matty Wills, who unassumingly goes around his college teaching under privileged kids to kick a ball or run fast *, is an articulate, deep thinking fluffy bunny, sure he is the size of a house but he is more like the yeti in ‘Big Foot at the Hendersons’ or Chewbacca rather than……..someone big and nasty. But danger is not far away, lurking deep inside his psyche, once away from the parameters and chains of a relationship he becomes the 6 foot jap. Nothing without a willy is safe, you can run but you cant hide. Its amazing but when the Jap is on heat, his vocabulary decreases from his standard 20 words to the beautifully quipped 10, one or two syllabled ones. He is a walking hormone and girls stick to him like Tew sticks to his sofa. No matter how laddish, rude or incomprehensible the Jap gets, he will always have birds flock to him. Damn it I have seen a girl kiss him after he hawked and spat on her forehead. Mere mortals have to buy flowers or at least 15 vodka red bulls……………

Just the uttering of the words

‘are youm gonna get offa wiv me or what, ida horny……..’ means another girl is deflowered and sent home happy but feeling slightly grubby. They, however will ring him as soon as they get home.

The 6 foot jap is the honey badger of the man world, no one knows how bad he is until they meet him the flesh and then it is confirmed that he is one of the most dangerous mofo’s of the animal world.

So beware, the chains are broken and he is free, he walks among us and he makes you drink.



* Other than making kids throw things or move around I would consider getting a sports think tank together, with the finest sportsmen in the world. Sporting legends and Olympians combined with the finest sport scientists known to man. Their Goal to help stop girls throwing things like fucking joeys it will probably be harder than turning base metal into gold but if its worth doing

A note from our defending co-champ, Mr Hawkes, reporting from the Dark side

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

We are back you Mo-Fo's - its Pub golf

Gladys from Pontypool shows her happiness that the boys are coming on tour. Samantha an exotic dancer originally from the Rhondda said "i fuckin does do love it when the chickens do come on tour, they are lush...last time i met Les Battersby and he signed my tits....."

Well all I can say is sorry, the coop needed a bally good clean out and now we are back and what a glorious thing to blog about as the new starter – Pub Golf.

This year after various bids from Swansea from Belly and Bristol from Taz the winner, surprisingly for the Rooster was Pontypool. Gritty shit hole springs to mind but I have to respect the bid from Big Will which was the most popular. So its Pontypool followed by a soiree in Cardiff. Many of you boys are on holiday and have sent their apologies, Big Jim and the Pest are away among others. Some of you have other things on like lifeboat drills hence Champagne Ron’s absence. The Swansea Lovechickens have the best excuse, they are participating (running it if I know Belly) in the Gower Run and the Lovechickens wish them well. As for the other showers of shit who have shit excuses – buck up. Its one day and its not too expensive. Big Will will be personally aggrieved if you don’t make it. The winners of ‘Caerleon 2006’, Big Will and Ches are returning to defend their crown. Also confirmed are the boys who got through it Fergatron, Blue, Unibrow, Mike and Sam. Blue is hoping to beat his record of losing consciousness before dusk and Mike is going to get thrown out of the same place twice.

This will be the first Grand prix pub golf competition with an official Fishguard team competing, headed up by trusty plasterer Rob Thomas, However, he has not confirmed who he is bringing although initial reports are that it might be 10foot wide Gar San Francisco and drop short Pello.

One of the early shakers and movers to take the crown is social hand grenade Taz Stone, this grizzled and proud Englishman is also odds on to be the first to cry or fight or get thrown out or all three. At the moment he is the only Saxon to confirm. Come on you evil imperial pig dogs where is your back bone?

Professional cow milker and wielder of the golden alcathene Pete Dev has also confirmed he will competing in his first Grand Prix but is a veteran of the old 18 hole sessions.

So I will give regular updates on this blog on upcoming sessions and news in the Lovechickens. We have over a hundred members now and we also need to know whos coming to the big smoke on tour next year. So keep checking the blog – I will be doing fact files pretty soon and asking ‘friends’ to make comments.

Regards
The Rooster

PS doddering octogenarian Nunny has just confirmed…well saying that it was a phone call from ‘Greenglades’ retirement home telling the Coop that he has pissed three beds and will be made to go on pub golf on the 28th to stop him groping the Granny fanny

Does Morgatron write for 'The Simpsons' by THE Six Foot Jap

It was a cold and blustery Friday evening, one in which THE Jap wished the skies would open up and his love surf shack van rollercoaster up insight of heaven then plummet into the depths of hell. Where he’d have a quick cuppa with Beelzebub, and still make it home for Emmerdale Farm.


With only Emily Watson’s breasts to look forward to THE Jap decided to go on an adventure, an adventure that in the end cost him dearly, losing not only his girlfriend trust, his dignity, his money (swapped for some liquid thing called Guinness? Who’d have known!), but most importantly those few brain cells left that worked.


It was on the lonely drive home that the devil on his left-hand shoulder spoke with such vehement and wisdom that he turned to the angel on his right shoulder and bitch slapped her out the driver side window. Along with all his hopes of a quiet Easter break with Mrs. Jap.



Under the devils direction and a possessed hand THE Jap began to dial up the devils number 2, otherwise known as the Fergitron. Within minutes THE Jap had convinced himself a weekend of alcohol was the way forward, and sod everything and anyone else. THE Jap thinks the Fergitron’s to blame for that imbecilic thought process, in hindsight.


So with cloths packed, hair shaved, wallet bulging and the devil grinning, THE Jap set off to the Big City and depravity.

Upon reaching the Fergitron’s 10 minutes late THE Jap was in a rush and his alcohol blinkers were on, like a Hippopotamus and water, never stand in between him and his first Guinness, or prepare to be run over. Totally oblivious to his surrounding and drooling with anxiety, THE Jap swung his BMW into the nearest place to park, it could have been the Fergitron’s front room for all he cared.

Like a man possessed he thundered down the road into the nearest taxi. The strangest event ever witness was seconds away, in the background THE Jap could here some foreign old lady, maybe Greek, German or Italian calling out. The ‘CooooWeeeee’ing’ was getting closer and closer and at the loudness I would put money on the old lady being from Italy (what with all that olive oil they drink!), she was shifting some. You can imagine the horror on THE Japs face when he recognised the cooing of a 90 year old Italian virgin to be none other than a 45 year old (sorry Spen) Wirral Viking virgin. Under such confusion THE Jap did the only thing he could and told the driver to put her foot down.

As the taxi pulled off (without the Wirral Viking virgin) THE Jap had the feeling that he wished he could time travel, what with that first pint be so far off but yet so close.

As the Eli Jenkins approached and his brethren waiting inside the sudden warmth of being home arose in his stomach, much like the Fergitron’s two pints later when he drunk the nectar that is Jap’s urine at a forty quid loss to the social hand-grenade. Things were going down hill so fast. Mrs. Jap had rung 53 times to both Fergitron’s and Fat Jamie Oliver’s phone, she was looking for Mr. Jap! That devil on his shoulder loved it!

He was at home in Kiwi’s that night, even though THE Jap’s head was cleaning the floor, Beelzebub himself was his eyes and ears.

Back at the Fergitron’s after, how THE Jap got there he still does not know, but, for one things sure the devil had grown, and taken the form of Skibar, who continued to ply red wine into THE Jap’s mouth. It had gotten bad, THE Jap knew it had when he awoke next morning in a double bed with Pablo. I think his names Pablo, never was good with names, never bothered me THE Jap in his uni days, waking up next to girls he’d never met, never mind knowing their names.

THE Jap did wake however with a hope in his heart within the next hour he was to see the rugbying skills of the Fergitron and his bunch of merry assembly men.

The game kicked off at 11am with many a lovechicken still in the bar. Having missed the rules and shouting abuse for three quarters of the match the brood finally realised you was only allowed to run ten metres with the ball. Apoligies go out to all those abused. Apoligies also to the Fergitron who’s opening try was missed by all. The Jap is sure you have all heard about it by know.

And so to the big game Wales verses England, the pinnacle of a great day. What a win. THE Jap doesn’t know which shocked him most the win or the Morgitron. Every lovechicken was shouting and hugging and kissing and pumping their pint glass when THE Jap glanced across. Whereby he heard Morgatron whisper softly into his Mocha Choca-latte,

“Dear Lord: The gods have been good to me. For the first time in my life, everything is absolutely perfect just the way it is. So here's the deal: You freeze everything the way it is, and I won't ask for anything more. If that is OK, please give me absolutely no sign. OK, deal. In gratitude, I present you this offering of cookies and milk. If you want me to eat them for you, give me no sign. Thy will be done.”


In confusion THE Jap sat back down and stared into the bottom of his pint thinking he’d been spiked by some 1980’s acid tab, and was in the set of the ‘Simpsons’!

After leaving the Tavistock at 8pm his night does get a little hazy and he cant quiet remember what happens next can anyone help? He knows the places we went but who he spoke to was a blur. Top shout to the Flopsy Lloyd ‘brothers’ who managed to speak in Scottish accents the whole night. THE Jap could only manage the word ‘Guinness’ oh and ‘vodka and tonic’ not good when yoor stood by the bar all night!

It is only now three weeks later that MRS. Jap is finally speaking to THE Jap. He has lost his jeans and pants, and has gone to pick up the angel from the side of the road and has put her back on his right shoulder.

The moral he has learnt on this weekend is never lose the Fat Jamie Oliver, although he is boring and one toned, you always need him when alcohol takes over at the end of the night to look and laugh at! Here to you Fat Mike, you odd looking bastard!

My Super Saturday or I Knew It was All Going To Go Wrong From The Moment I arrived. by Spen the Wirral Viking

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.

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

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.

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..........

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

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....

HOOTS! - SIX NATIONS FROM A SCOTSMANS POINT OF VIEW!!! by The Big Mac

The best game of the series, Scotland v Wales!

Anticipation is fever pitch inthe McKendrick household after the complete disappointment of the previous weekagainst England at the "Home of Rugby". ( more like a home for senile people whop*ss themselves!) You guys thought your reffing decisions were bad, ours were af***ing disgrace and we went to the TMO!!!

Anyway I digress, off to Edinburgh on a cheap return ticket in the Megabus,feeling very nervous, don't think our back row consisting of three no.8's willbe able to contain Martyn Williams and co. as they were badly exposed byEngland! That's the last time I mention those Ba****ds!My good lady who was also travelling with me appeared to be just as nervous butfrom a Welsh perspective! I see no reason for this as you guys competed for thefull 80mins and had most of the possession and territory against Ireland "GrandSlam Favourites" to use their full name this season!!Got to our capital and headed straight for our favourite haunt "OLIVERS" sceneof many a famous night with the "chickens!" was so nervous had 3pints before Ihad a chance to take my coat off! Good chat amongst supporters about theforthcoming feature while some background game was taking place!!

What can I say about the game, couldn't believe my eyes, we ( the Scots) tookyou guys apart up front so I didn't have to worry about our back row cos we werein control of the ball at the breakdown.Stephen Jones had a game to forget apart from a superb try saving tackle onChris Paterson and Hook was not a threat cos he never got the ball. Thought theref was a bit harsh on disallowing Rob Dewey's "try" but still Happy days!! Sorry if I'm gloating but it might be the only chance I get to be happy duringthis six nations campaign as Italy are up next and I really don't see ourforwards exerting that much control for the majority of the game! (May be theonly serious rugby point I make in this blog!)

Don't remember much after the game except consoling my "loved ones" probablyjust as well as I'm told we went to a proper sit down restaurant for food whichcost £50 a head!! F**k me I know we won but I wasn't that happy!!!! Reckon itwas El's (my girl) way of getting back at me for gloating, you know how aScotsman and his money are not easily parted! Although I think that is a viciousrumour started by the English! Sh*t I said I wasn't going to mention themagain, better sign off now before I give them a compliment!

Look forward to Super Saturday on the 17th March, El and I are flying down toCardiff in luxury with BMI Baby so we're going to live it up in the City Armsduring the games! Hope to catch up with any of you Lovechickens soon!

Love chicken news by the Rooster

Now the Rooster is very much like the Dark Overlord of the West, Fergatron when it comes to bringing Girlfriends and wives along during Wales/England days. Personally anybody who does should be fingered to death but not by normal size fingers, not even fat stubby fingers like Roberts’ or Taz’ but by the Hindu God Ganesh who is actually half elephant. Yes, so there is the warning: don’t bring Girlfriends to the pub to watch Wales/England.

However skimpily clad young femmes are allowed and so are mistresses...................

Left: Ganesh and he means it!

LC news

Scotland was one of the best weekends that has ever been and I will be able to give a full account once someone tells me what actually happened. One shining light was the time when Ferg, Dev and Snakey were in a club and over saunters The Morgatron, everything seemed fine, we even managed a wee dance and then realised that Morgs only had one shoe. He was then as much use as tits on a fish for the whole tour until he had 36 pro-plus tablets and then lost everybody.

London Welsh has the biggest willy this world has ever witnessed (Ski is THE biggest cock that the world has ever witnessed but that’s by the by) but Ferg has come to the conclusion that there is no joy in his pulling, his technique while pretty flawless lacks the flair and can only be described as ‘workmanlike’ by his peers.

Jamie Roberts the Love Chicken who looks most like an Arab got married. One of the only Lovechickens who is actually nice to people, we wish him well and remind him that his life is now over, she should be changing about now………..I will get the full round up from the 10ft turk copper very soon

The Lovechickens are off to Paris this weekend. Chief Wigham and Mitch ‘the Tige’ Mitchell will be taking the Fishguard Lovechickens to the land of romance and surrendering. For Floppsy Thomas and Gar San Francisco, this is a journey into the unknown, the last time these two went abroad was to Lemington Spa in 2003.


Upcoming events

Wales/England

I want a bumper gang of miscreants up for the Wales/England match. Friday will again be a day of the gathering where we pretend that we aren’t going to drink much, drink too much and have a really tired shit Saturday until we are twatted about 9 o clock.

The Fergatron will be playing rugby for his workplace against the House of Commons. Don’t mock, many people would pay a lot of money to be allowed to step on MP’s heads. Whilst he probably wont win Man of the Match he will undoubtedly receive most handsome player and wittiest man on the pitch.

Early news is that Veteran Lovechicken ‘Belly’ will be coming up from the land of the lilies where he will spend all day bickering with Clysts followed by an hour missing home, followed by an hour dancing like a gay.

If he is not dead, Nunny is also up for a sesh.

It’s a cap – nuff said!?!

Oh yeah Vegetarian Neil will not be there, he is saving orphan dolphins and then off for some valuable R and R in Angola – health check anybody? Actually thinking about it – I honestly think he has just come back from Thailand which means the reason he has been so quiet is because he and his new wife Rochelle-Derek wu hin are settling down in Cardiff.

Regards you Bummers

Over the pond by our Beloved Chairman (if you dont enjoy this you have to drink 4 fingers)

Fellow Chickens - this is the first attempt from The Chairman at this new fangled thing called Blogging. In my hey day, things like this never happened - talking about what you did during the 6 nations and on previous weekends was a big no no. We would lock ourselves in our swamps on the Sunday, not answer any phone calls and not entertain any calls to the door. The reason for this is obvious to those of you who have spent a weekend in Cardiff in Kiwi's. We are all too afraid for anyone to tell us what kind of nasty dog we got off with, and how many foolish things we did, and what time we turned into shandies, drinking alcopops. these stories would remained locked in our tiny minds, only to be resurrected on the next 6 nations weekend or tour to Scotland etc.

Seeing as I am locked away in my own hellish nightmare for all the bad things I did in my youth, I must pay my penance and try and spread the gospel across the pond. Here is my story from the start of the 6 nations. Tried to get enthusiastic from Wednesday - knowing the best game on the planet is about to start for real, I have tried to get the locals intrigued by showing them the Magners league and Heineken cup- got a lot of interest 4 people. Especially after some of them saw the Ospreys V Sale last minute try and the Toulouse V Llanelli matches. Was there hope of Wales reproducing this magic? For some reason all I got was " so you guys are playing some game before the Superbowl Sunday, not sure I can do an all day down the Bar" What could I do I was desperate, Thursaday and Friday had come and gone, I managed to reserve a Table at some posh Irish bar in Alexandria (the owner brought $3 million dollars worth of wood from Ireland) - what the f**k was the reason for that. Friday night I was down the pub trying to get people to come out on Sunday- all they could talk about was this bloody Superbowl. I did get 5 definites at the end of the night - and then I told them the game was on at 9 am Sunday!!!

Sunday - Game time Up at 7 am - got my Jersey off the Hanger - pacing for 1.5 hrs - Bar would not open until 9am. Taxi arrived off to the game Waahey. Got to the bar - 8 Irish supporters and me and my Woman (Sorry Ferg but I needed all the support I could get), 5 of my friends turned up and we settled down to half price Guiness at 9am. Almost felt like home - then I heard it - coming from somewhere down in the depths of the cellar. C'MON WAAAAAALES -you all recognise the high pitched nasty screech of a fishwife from Swansea. I turned and there she was, a glass of red wine in one hand, and some poor bast##d propping her up on the other. I turned to my girlfriend and said "that is the reason no women, no children". So we all settled down to watch the game - me, my friends and the banshee, unfortunately worse was to follow, kick off, 5 mins charge down try Ireland- Bugger.

Could it get any worse - Yes I am living in the USA - The fishwifes man - turns to me and starts explaining the tactics the Welsh should be using- not only is he a Yank, but he's using American Football terms what an ar#e. 8 Guiness' later game is over - Rob very pi**ed off with the world. All my friends leave and fishwife gives me her phone number - great. My girlfriend and I end up going on an all dayer - we get twa**ed, she slaps me in the face( amazingly this is the first time I have ever been slapped, and considering some of the things I've done in the past it was a surprise, as I hadn't done anything), go home goto bed.

Not a good weekend, so I am buying a ticket today and coming home for the Wales V England - arriving Thursday leaving Monday. I understand it is an official cap - so I expect every man to do his duty, otherwise you may have the kind of day I had. I shall send you the next game in a few days - this was watched in Vegas.