The Gentlemen's Outing Association's Second Annual Christmas Soirée

Gentlemen are you ready for our Second Christmas Soirée?
Do you want to spend a fun filled Christmas day out at Riley's in the company of The Gentlemen?
If the answer is YES to the all above then The Association has you covered this festive season.
For the not so princely sum of £15 you can guarantee yourself a place on the Gentlemen's Outing Associations Second Annual Christmas Soirée.
I will need the £15 in full as this will need to be paid before the day to secure the tables we need and the cut off date for this and your meal deposit of £10 is Thursday 12th November.
So what do you get for your money?

Two Pool Tables exclusively for The Association.
Two Snooker Tables exclusively for The Association.
One Poker Table exclusively for The Association.
Your first drink free.
A buffet laid on during the day or should that be banquette.
A Pool Christmas killer competition.
A Doubles Snooker Tournament.
A Poker Tournament for those who want revenge from last year.
Our own Hostess (Mandy) to look after our every whim.

The poker game is limited to nine people and will cost £5 to enter with 75% of the money going to the winner and the remaining 25% going to the runner up. Places are limited so this game is being offered on a first come basis. So if you want in I will need your £5 stake along with your deposit.
Our Christmas Killer Pool tournament will be £2 per man paid on the day with the winner taking all.
And for the first time ever we will be holding a Snooker Doubles tournament which will be £5 per team paid on the day with the winning team taking 75% and the runners up taking 25%.
Can Barry “The Shark” Smith retain his Killer Pool Title?
Will Dewi “Peg Leg” Richards wipe the smiles of everyone's faces at the Poker Tournament again?
And who will win the inaugural Snooker Doubles tournament?
When all the fun and games are over we will be retiring to The Amatola Restaurant in Deeside.
Where for the sum of £25 you can eat and drink all you want until 11pm and then as long as you are willing, able and still have money left you can drink and dance the night away until 1am. Our free pick up for the restaurant will be outside Riley's. I will not be able to finalize the pick up time until deposits have been paid for the restaurant and I have a definite number of people who are coming.
I will require a deposit of £10 off anyone who is coming for the meal.
The when: 12pm – 6 or 7pm Tuesday the 16th of December.
The where: Riley's in Chester.
We will be leaving Wrexham General at 10:07am and be drinking by 10:30am. So get your drinking heads on Gentlemen. The festive season starts here.
Remember Gentlemen Santa hats are not optional.

The Mystery Benefactor……………………………………………….

I am going to get straight to the point for a change and say I was completely gobsmacked at the turn of events last Tuesday.

The day had started off as normal. The taxi picked me up and inside already waiting for his first pint was Mr Higgins. We then met Mr Roberts at the train station and when we boarded the train we met Mr Richards. Our journey to Chester was wrought with the usual frivolous conversations. As we disembarked at Chester Station and entered The Town Crier Mr Hawker was sat waiting with a pint in hand. Mr Richards promptly ordered a round and we all took our seats. After 10 minutes or so our pints had been drained and it was time for another pint. It was at this precise moment that Mr Hawker decided to go to the bar. Shouts of:

“Mines a Guinness”

“Mines a Bitter”

“Mines a Lager”

and

“I will have anything”

rang around the bar like the cascading melodies of a group of Angels. Mr Hawkers face turned to thunder and I am not sure what it was that he said exactly apart from the fact that it contained the words:

Fuck

Bollocks

Taking

The

Piss

Wankers

Then my phone went off. It was a text message from Mr Shaw which read

“Just pulled into Chester Station. Make mine a double”.

It was at this point that Mr Hawkers head nearly exploded. Getting five pints in for the Gentlemen was bad enough but to also buy a double whisky for Mr Shaw nearly tipped him over the edge. I for one can honestly say I worried about his mental health for a split second then thought better of it.

As we all sat around laughing and waiting for our ale to be brought over I took it upon myself to take a picture of this momentous occasion for prosperity.

After a few more pints Mr Shaw decided that it was time for us both to go and book the restaurant for Christmas. I must say I was impressed by the look of The Siam Thai & Teppan-Yaki Restaurant and at the prices they charge it had better be bloody good.

Mr Shaw the fate of The Gentlemen's Christmas 2nd Annual Soiree meal rests on your shoulders. It was then back to The Town Crier for another quick pint before we set off to Riley's.

It would be remiss of me not to mention that the ale was going down quicker than Sir John Mills pint in Ice Cold in Alex and this was a trend that would continue throughout the day. Round after round after round was bought and consumed.

Mr Hawker, Mr Richards and Myself spent the majority of the day soaking up the sun and soaking our kidneys in alcohol. We had struck lucky. The weather was gorgeous last Tuesday so we decided to make the most of it. We only entered Riley's to buy more beer and to organise The Gentlemen's Second Annual Christmas Soiree but those details are for another day. We hardly played pool all day but when we eventually decided to have a few games it was Team Hawker V's Team Richards and Team Richards were victorious. A sound thrashing of TWO games to NIL was the order of the day and Mr Richards and myself celebrated accordingly, high fives were exchanged, much back slapping followed and a celebratory pint was downed.

It was then time to head out for our meal. Now I must confess that I had charged Mr Hawker with finding us with an Indian Restaurant for the night. But in typical fashion I had spied a nice looking restaurant on the internet which had brilliant reviews and charged ahead and booked it there and then for 19:30. Now this is where I must humbly apologise to all The Gentlemen who attended that restaurant. This was one of the worst meals I have ever had. The food was completely bland and was bereft of any flavours whatsoever. It was at this point that Mr Hawker decided to remind me that I had overruled him and booked this horrific restaurant that we were now sitting in and complaining about.

Mr Hawker I offer you a personal apology and I must also apologise to the other diners that night as Mr Hawker, Mr Richards and Myself spent most of the night getting up from our table and going outside for a smoke so we could at least have some taste even if it was just tobacco.

I was in a bind but a surprising figure was about to come to my rescue.

Now I have had to keep quiet about this for the last three weeks and the anticipation on that day was beginning to tell. I was getting twitchy and nervous but I was about to play my ace card. As the moaning and grumbling continued I reached into my wallet and pulled out a nice roll of notes. The total was £50 and as I proclaimed,

“The beers are on Oscar Mayer”

There was a deafening silence. The Gentlemen looked at me as if I was insane. I heard murmuring and mumbling but could not quite make out what was being said. Quickly I called the waiter over and ordered everyone a pint or bottle of beer. This just prompted a barrage of questions:

“We stopped buying rounds in Riley's. What you doing”?

“You sure you can afford it bollocks”?

“I didn't know there was a cash machine in here. Where is it”?

“What you doin shag? Your gonna be skint”.

Now it was time to come clean. A few weeks ago I had been told by Mr Shaw that a very prominent member of the Oscar Mayer staff had been enquiring about our next outing and upon hearing that we were going to Riley's and then for a meal he had offered us £50 to get some refreshments. Stunned faces stared at me across the table and a huge smile broke across my face as I revealed our mystery benefactor:

 Mr Trevor Jones

Unfortunately I do not have a picture of this great man but I will endeavour to get one.

Suddenly and without warning the mood changed. Its funny how free ale can do that to an evening but I digress.

Cheers of:

“Top bloke that Trev”

“I have always liked him”

“He's always got time for the little people”

“One of the nicest blokes in the factory”

and

“He's the best Managing Director I have ever worked for”

resounded around the restaurant.

As six of The Gentlemen's finest toasted Trevor and consumed the remaining bar tab all that was left to do was bid Chester a goodnight and to reassure her that The Gentlemen's Outing Association would be back within her borders this coming October.

 

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Nine Gentlemen, Penelope and Gwynie

It all started with a quick conversation on a break in work and the next thing I knew I had booked a sea fishing trip off Rhyl for ten of The Gentlemen's finest. I must confess that I have never spent a significant amount of time on board a boat so tales of people being sick for the entire trip did not go down well with me.

As I was just waking up on Saturday morning there was an ominous knock at my door. To my surprise there stood in front of me was Mr Higgins who was kitted out as if he was going hunting for a great white shark.  I extinguished my cigarette and went out to meet Mr Clayton who had assured me that there would be a hot cup of coffee waiting for me in the car. I was not disappointed. That cup of coffee was the greatest I have ever drank. I salute you Mr Clayton that was the pick up I needed.

I was instructed to text Mr Shaw as soon as we set off for Rhyl. In typical fashion the response I got was:

“Oi be waiting outside The Hare and Hounds, Jim lad”.

I could tell right there and then that this was going to be a pirate themed day.

As we entered Rhyl and pulled up at the first set of traffic lights Mr Shaw decided it would be a good idea for us all to start shouting at innocent pedestrians. Cries of:

“Landlubber”

“Shiver me timbers!”

“Booty”

“Poop Deck”

“Davy Jones's Locker”

Its fair to say we had some very strange looks off people but this did not deter us. Our pirate talk continued throughout our entire drive through Rhyl.

As we parked the cars at Rhyl Sun Centre it was time for a few photos:

With the photos taken it was time for us to find a hearty breakfast fit enough for such a fine group of Gentlemen our pockets were laden with bullion so off we set.

After wandering around aimlessly  about for about twenty minutes we finally found an establishment worthy of our booty. Two doubloons and ninety nine reales bought me one of the finest breakfasts I have ever eaten.

With a belly full of breakfast myself and Mr Hughes decided it was time to pop outside for a smoke. Our conversation quickly turned to hacking/soft modding the Nintendo Wii. During this time Mr Clayton ran into W H Smiths to buy a copy of some camping magazine and another two of our members decided to just walk off on their own. That's right I am talking about you Mr Smith and your bloody right hand man Mr Higgins. 

As we took off back to the cars I noticed Mr Shaw and Mr Clayton were also missing. I have to be honest and say I didn’t really pay this much attention. Oh how I regret that lapse in concentration.

Then it happened. Unbeknown to me, Mr Shaw and Mr Clayton had decided to buy me a fishing rod. Now I know what your thinking dear reader. Two Gentlemen had spent their hard earned money on me and that I should be grateful. How wrong you are. I was presented with a neon pink sea fishing rod.

 

 

These pictures do not do this abomination justice. It is a thing of such abhorrent horror that it brings tears to my eyes. I can honestly tell you that when I was given this I was repelled by its ugliness. This thing is awful. It must have been created in the deepest, darkest depths of hell. All I can say about this is if my cutlass had been real and not made of plastic there would have been spilled guts all over Rhyl promenade.

As we got back to the cars Mr Clayton informed me that he had made a trip through Rhyl a few weeks ago and had decided to make sure we knew where we where going. With Mr Claytons knowledge of Rhyl harbour we set off.

As we pulled up to the harbour the excitement started to build in the car. As we embarked I suddenly realised something was wrong. There was no sign of our chartered boat. Mr Clayton had sold us all a dummy.

What were we to do? I caught sight of another Jenson charter boat and decided to do the only thing I knew possible, sshout like an idiot. It turns out that we had passed the boat on the way. It was docked just off Rhyl beach opposite where the old fun fair use to be.

But I am now starting to ramble. So lets get to the actual fishing trip.

As soon as we parked up opposite the beach I made my way toward the shore. Unfortunately for me Mr Shaw was with me and made sure my pride and joy was brought along for the ride.

As I spied our boat across the beach I saw a grizzled old man on deck who was to be our skipper for the day. This mans name was Gwynie and what a skipper he turned out to be.

Once all the Gentlemen were onboard we set sail. It was at this point that everyone on board started looking at each other with nervous smiles. Who was going to be sick first?

Mr Shaw had informed me earlier that morning about the amount of tablets he had consumed because of a bad experience he once had. Myself and the rest of The Gentlemen are made of sterner stuff and we threw abandon to the wind and took our chances.

However five minutes after we had set sail Mr Hughes started to complain of sea sickness. I slowly but surely edged away from him. There was no way he was being sick all over my fancy pirate threads.

Then the engines were cut and we had reached our fishing ground.

Gwynie sprang into action. Well, when I say sprang it was more along the lines of a slow amble. He rigged up all the rods and set about baiting up for us all. We all took up our positions Myself, Mr Shaw, Mr Clayton and Mr Prescott took the stern. Mr Richards, Mr Smith and Mr N Hughes took the Starboard side and Mr Higgins, Mr Roberts and Mr C Hughes took the Port side.

As my rig descended into the depths of Rhyl sea I envisaged myself fight with monster sized Greater Spotted Dogfish, Bass and Poorcod. But before these thoughts had time to sink in Mr Richards had already caught three Mackerel. His rig had only been in the water for a few minutes. The signs were good and our hopes were raised even further when Mr Smith caught some more Mackerel. This was going to be a busy day indeed.

I exchanged places with Mr Shaw and would you believe it as soon as he was in my spot the git caught, bloody typical. Still my hopes were high. Then it happened, the tip of my rod twitched. Was I seeing things I watched it with a steely glare. It twitched again, I seized the rod in both hands and struck with the power of Zeus, I had the little bugger. I reeled in as fast as I possibly could and I spied my prey as it broke the surface. My heart raced as I lifted it out of the sea and the bastard fell off my hook much to the amusement of Mr Clayton.

I felt quite deflated at this point because everyone else had caught. I could not go the entire day without catching anything but much to my joy the fish stopped biting. Nobody was even getting a nibble. Mr C Hughes was quite frustrated with this turn of events and so was Gwynie. This man had a reputation to uphold and he was not best pleased. He had made up his mind to move to another spot if none of us started catching. But decided to rig up two Tope rigs to see if we could get any luck with those. Myself and Mr C Hughes pounced upon the opportunity to try our luck at catching Tope.

Twenty minutes in and still no luck. The Tope rigs were doing nothing and the rest of The Gentlemen were having the same luck. But despite this turn of events the mood on The Goldilocks was still one of fun and the banter continued to resound across the deck mostly led by Mr Clayton and Mr Prescott.

As I slurped on a very fine cup of tea I heard Mr Shaw laughing behind my back and encouraging Gwynie to rig up the abomination. My heart sank but I put on a brave smile as Gwynie handed it over to me. Now it is at this point in the blog that your probably expecting me to rant on about having to use a neon pink fishing rod. However you would be wrong. That rod turned out to be a bit of a good luck charm.

No sooner had I lowered my rig into the sea I got a bite. Then another and then another. I have no idea what kind of Voodoo possessed that rod but suddenly the fish were in a feeding frenzy. As I looked around The Goldilocks every Gentleman was catching and when I say catching I mean as soon as rigs were put back into the sea they were catching pretty much instantly.

This carried on for the duration of the day but we were only catching Mackerel, Dabs and the odd Weaver. Where were the big fish? Were we going to be catching these all day?. To be honest these thoughts didn’t stay with me long because I was just happy to be catching anything.

Suddenly a call went out from Mr Shaw,

“I dunno what's on the end of this line but it feels like a big fucker”

My hopes were raised and as Mr Shaw fought like a seasoned sea fisherman I hoped and prayed that he would bring up something big. I was not disappointed. Mr Shaw had caught the first Lesser Spotted Dogfish of the day and was to go on and catch a few more.

Was this man going to win the best catch of the day prize?

No he was not. Mr Prescott was to take that honour with his catch of a couple of Lesser Spotted Dogfish, Greater Spotted Dogfish and a couple of Red Gurnard.

Mr Clayton and Mr C Hughes also caught Lesser Spotted Dogfish during the day:

Those were the big catches of the day and as the last hour slowly played out a familiar cry that will be forever ingrained into one of The Gentlemen's brains could be heard over and over and over and over again.

“More here”

“More here”

“More here”

“More here”

Mr Higgins had hit a rich patch of Mackerel and was pulling them out as easily as if he was scooping them out with a net.

As the clock struck 16:30 it was time to pack up our rods and head back to shore (ie the pub).

As we pulled up to the shore I suddenly remembered that I still had to disembark The Goldilocks. The view ahead of me did nothing to rest my nerves. Now it has often been said that I am not the fittest member of The Association and I have to whole heartedly agree. This was to be a leap of faith and the fact that Mr Shaw stood on the beach with his camera in hand did little to soothe my nerves. Mr Prescott did his best to help me off the boat but I just ended up jumping:

I believe the words,

“Thank fuck for that”.

flew from my mouth upon my landing on solid ground.

It was time to retire to the pub for some well earned Guinness and some story telling.

Tales of I had a huge fish on but it slipped off the hook were prevalent until talk turned towards our Dublin trip next year, but that for another blog.

It was now time for the prize giving. As I mentioned above Mr Prescott won the biggest catch of the day:

  And Mr Higgins won most caught of the day:

He's not the fat one by the way.

There are a lot more photos HERE

It just remains for me to say that this was a brilliant day out. Plans are already afoot for another fishing trip next year. Will we be on The Goldilocks with Gwynie again? Only time will tell. So I bid you a fond farewell and will see you all in work.

How I Miss Thee

You were my comfort, my happiness and my soul mate. I will never forget the fun times we shared together. Those happy, laughter filled days/nights spent playing Halo 3, Left 4 Dead and Killzone 2. Remember how you team killed me during a Capture the Flag?. Oh how we laughed. But I got my revenge when I teabagged you later on that same night.I will never forget those times.

That fun filled day we spent at Rednal where I cradled you in my arms and wouldn’t let anyone else touch you on the way home.

Do you remember how we laughed the morning after as I regaled you with stories of my bravery and how I did it all for you and only you?. Those other fools thought I was playing as part of a team but we knew better. I gave you a solemn promise that I would never let you fall into the hands of the Polish Army. No matter how much pain I had to endure it would all be worth it in the end.

As I write this I find myself thinking back to the day when you turned up at my flat. My heart was thundering with anticipation and as I peeled open your box my stomach was in knots. I pulled back the last few strands of wrapping paper and there you were smiling back at me with that cheeky smile of yours. I picked you up and cradled you in my arms like a new born baby.

Our first night together was magic. I will not go into specific details here, but the way your handles rubbed against me still makes me shiver. You did things to me that would make a porn star blush but I loved every minute. I was as helpless as a baby in your handles that night but you showed me the meaning of true love that night. I woke up that morning full of vigour and a feeling of unquantifiable love.

We had our arguments,

but a love like ours burns brighter than the sun and can never be extinguished. We were always honest with each other and that is why our relationship worked so well. So when I kissed you on the handle that morning as I left for work I thought everything was fine between us.

Imagine my surprise when I came home from work that afternoon when I saw this.

You were already out of the flat and making your way to God knows where. I pleaded with you to tell me what was wrong. You never answered me. Tears welled up in my eyes as you continued down the road. I ran after you and scooped you up in my arms swearing to God that I would never let you go. Then you hit me with that bombshell.

Trophy “I don’t love you anymore”

Me “What?”

Trophy “I don’t love you anymore”

Me “But why? What have I done? Please tell me. I will change anything you don’t like. I will even go on a diet(a complete lie by the way)”

Trophy “Its not you, its me”

Me (Confused) “Why? What have you done?”

Trophy “Nothing yet. You wont understand”

Me “Tell me please. We can work this out”

Trophy “I need to be with another man”

Then it dawned on me. Our last night in bed, I remember you asking me if it was ok if you called me Craig. I thought nothing of it at the time I just thought you had a crush on someone famous, but now the revulsion welled up in my gut. You were thinking about HIM.

As I handed you over that afternoon only one thought entered my mind. You will be mine again, this I swear.

Rednal...This Time It's International.

Those of you who have followed the adventures of The Gentlemen will recall that some time ago a small band of brave souls went to Rednal to test our mettle in combat, and a resounding success it was. Many a tale has been told of that fine day and perhaps those tales led to the impressive turnout when we once more kissed our loved ones farewell, and with the cry of "Come home with your shield, or on it" ringing in our ears, we faced our fears and went to our destiny.







It was at the traditional meeting place of Warriors, namely McDonald's, that we met, some were quiet and nervous, others rowdy with a forced bravado, more still got stuck into double Sausage and Egg McMuffins and cared not, that the cammo face paint was running down their cheeks.




When the bus arrived, driven by the ever dependable Mr Smith, we loaded our bags and climbed on board, only to realise that several of our Polish comrades had disappeared to stock up on liquid refreshment. As we sat waiting a poor innocent young man, whose job consisted of giving away free samples of a chocolate snack, wandered too close to the bus, he barely escaped with his life, needless to say, the sound of chomping was prominent for several minutes afterwards.




Once the missing Gentlemen had returned, we set off, this time in convoy, the bus leading the way with Mr Sailsburys' party in second place followed by the car driven by Mr Maciejewski.




Upon arrival at Rednal we were greeted by the sight of those Gentlemen who had made their own way there, an impressive feat for Mr Hughes who had had to ring the President en route and ask for directions!




As we got ourselves kitted out, the veterans of the first battle helped the new recruits with the complexities of body armour, Gareth, the man in charge of the day, introduced himself and explained the rules of engagement. He then called the sides to order "Gentlemen of the Polish Army to the left, and everyone else to the right". It quickly became apparent that the sides where unbalanced and volunteers where called for to help out the Eastern European side.





Several Gentlemen crossed the line,to jeers of derision, amongst them, Mr Smith (Chasing another trophy), Mr Worral and unsurprisingly, Mr Hollis whose stated ambition it was to "Take Out" the President.




As we faced our opponents we realised that it would again be a battle of youth and military experience versus middle age, chronic unfitness and three girls.




Ah yes, three of the so called gentle sex had thrown away the stereotypes and joined us in combat, they stood next to us shoulder to shoulder staring down the Polish side, who could barely contain their snigger's as they stared back.





The first battle was capture the rocket with the largely (but not wholly) Welsh side defending, after some eight minutes of intense fighting the rocket was captured by the Polish Army and we went to the rest area to catch our breaths and stare in disbelief at how many paintballs we has used. The air of confidence on the victorious side was not so much obvious, as rude, with some name calling, laughing and pointing of fingers. Now we were on the attack and after only six and a half minutes the rocket was ours, giving us the points in the game. Suddenly the atmosphere changed as the catcalling came back to haunt our opponents.




Gareth, at this point, decided that he would keep the times and scores to himself to add to the tension of the day.




And so we fought on;




The highlights of the days fighting are many and varied, I will give you a taste of just a few;




Mr Richards deciding to make a heroes leap of more than 6 foot into a trench the bottom of which was covered in rocks, unfortunately he broke his ankle, but for commitment to the cause, Dewi, we salute you.




Mr Jones for his astonishing running commentary on the battles as they happened, I can only quote the words of Mr Ross Sailsbury who told this tale in the pub afterward, "I was fighting by the bus when Jez shouted "There are three of them advancing by the building" I thought to myself, I wouldn't have said advancing, but ok. The next thing Jez shouts is "They are flanking from the left", now I don't even know what that means!"




The President for his pure enjoyment of speedball. He may only run once a year, but boy, it is a sight too see.








Mr Adam Maciejewski for taking a hit in the family jewels and going down like a sack of spuds.




The complete lack of concern for Mr Maciejewski's well being by our team members or even his own, apparently taking one in the goolies is funny in Polish as well!




Mr Craig Sailsbury for screaming "I'm in I'm in I'm in I'm in I'm in" when wearing the VIP vest.




Mr Greg Sobczak for taking it all far too seriously. He looked really really annoyed when his side started to lose.





Mr John Hollis who never said a word all day, and come to think of of no one can remember seeing him during any of the battles.







Mr Scott Millward for going home after half a day (well at least he turned up this time).




Miss Claire Fryer for keeping score of how many kills she had all day, and enjoying every minute it would seem.







Mr Peter Karpeta for his demonstration of the tiger crawl by the tyres, it wasn't meant to be funny but it was.







Mr Smith and Mr Jones for being presented with sergeants and corporals stripes respectively.








And finally my good self for getting shot in the stomach from 4 inches away and getting rather cross about it, for a while anyway.







When all the battles had been fought and all the paintballs fired, out came the chilled beer and the bullshit started to flow in earnest.





After a short while Gareth called everyones' attention and announced that the winners were......US! Somehow we had won.



Old Men, Fat Men and Girls had won the day.





The shock of victory took us all by suprise no one more so that our good President who celebrated with a war dance that would have made Billy Two Rivers proud.




The winners where then presented with a golden medal each and a magnificent trophy was presented to the President who only grudgingly let go of it for the rest of the day, and then only so photos could be taken.








On the journey to the Pub the mini bus had a strangely quiet atmosphere as the alcohol started to kick in and the aches and pains began to introduce themselves.




After dropping Dewi off at hospital to get his wounds treated we carried on to our destination.




Once we had arrived things livened up with stories of heroism flying thick and fast, Mr Smith in particular seemed to claim every hit made that day.




Sadly, soon enough several Gentlemen started to drift off home, some with tales of valour and some with their tales between their legs knowing that they would be reminded of this day many many times over the coming months.





Just as everything seemed to be drawing to a close a cake arrived in celebration of Mr Sailsbury's 40th birthday, and what a cake it was... Mr Sailsbury kindly brought some into work on our next shift and he was soon left with crumbs and memories.































As another successful outing drew to a close everybody raised a glass in thanks to Mr Steven Millward, our fine President who had organised a tremendous day for us all.



























Don't forget Gentlemen that in September we shall be indulging in a little Motor Sport. I look forward to seeing you all there.

The Night Before the Dawn of War

 

It has been a strange few months for The Association. Our last Outing to Riley's in March passed with barely a whimper and April saw The Association refrain from any kind of alcohol related shenanigans. So it is with a head full of dreams and a heart racing faster than A Grand National winner that I find myself writing this post. With less than 18 hours to go before the great Wales Vs Poland Paintball match, I find myself taking comfort in a few cans of Stella and I am sure a few pints of Guinness later on in the pub which I will truly regret tomorrow morning when I am running/walking/crawling around a forest being shot at by irate Polish men and so called friends.

The banter in work over the last four days has been none stop. I have begged and begged people to stop talking about it but alas my moaning fell on deaf ears. We have all heard Mr Salisbury and his fantasist ramblings, Mr Jones and his none stop “I was in the Territorial Army” guff, Mr Hollis and his veiled attempts at talking a good fight, Mr Smith and his blasé  attitude towards winning yet another trophy, Mr Higgins acting more excited than Mr Shaw in a dusty old Whisky cellar, Mr Richards and his constant beaming smile whenever anyone just looks at him, anyone who is of Polish descent pointing and laughing at us and two of my most trusted associates. Mr Ian Hulmes constantly telling me how he is going to shoot the shit out of me (Cheers mate. So much for all those years of friendship/hard labour) and Mr Matthew Hulmes constantly saying “I am dead excited. I can’t Wait”, “Is it Thursday yet? Is it Thursday yet?”, “What time you picking me up?”, “Where are you picking me up from?” and “ I am dead excited. Is it Thursday yet?”.

Just remember Gentlemen. Our mission is one up the upmost importance and with that in mind I give you a photo of our most wanted.

 

There is very little left for me to say tonight apart from enjoy your peaceful night while it lasts. Tomorrow is a new dawn and a glorious dawn it will be.

 

Sons and daughters of The Association,
This much I vow.

The history of this day will be written in blood.

By crushing the armies of our enemy,

by seizing the weapons they thought to turn against us,

we are fighting for our very existence.

But if there are those who would deny us peace,

refuse us our rightful place in the universe,

than... we will unleash such TERRIBLE VENGEANCE,

THAT GENERATIONS YET UNBORN,

WILL CRY OUT IN ANGUISH!!

The enemy may shatter our bodies... but they cannot break our spirit.

Even now, they advance on our homeland to seize by force, what they cannot claim by right. They cannot imagine what awaits them.
We will SMITE the invaders from our country!

For they sweep over our lands like the sands of winter.

Never again will we bow before them.

Never again endure their oppression.

Never again endure their tyranny.

We will strike...

without warning

and without mercy.

Fighting as one hand,

one heart,

one soul.

We will SHATTER their dreams,

and HAUNT their nightmares.

Drenching our ancestors' grave with their blood!

And as our last breath tears at their lungs,

as we rise again from the ruins of our cities...

They will know... The Association... belongs to The Gentlemen. 

Lost At Rowan Foods

Gentlemen, a small black diary has been found on the yard at Rowan Foods, It has no name only the tyre marks of a fork lift truck impressed into its cover. In an attempt to trace its owner we have decided to publish the entry from one day. If anyone wants to claim it back you know who to contact.
MONDAY 23 FEBRUARY
I woke up at 5.55am just before the alarm went off. This was it, the day had arrived, that trophy was going to be mine...
Put on my tracksuit and went for a three mile run and followed it up with a cold shower, no warm water to distract me from my goal of victory...
Breakfast was a carbohydrate rich porridge, made with water (no losers milk for me) and salt (sugar is for runners up), a champions breakfast..
Read over my preparation notes just before leaving, all my opponents games had been critically scrutinised and analysed by an expert in the USA, not cheap, but to get that trophy on my mantelpiece, any price is worth paying...
Met up with the boys (a.k.a. the losers) in the pub, quietly ordered a shandy, I didn't want to drink but I had keep up appearances and encourage them to drink as much as possible.
On the walk from the pub to the bowling alley (the soon to be arena of my triumph) I kept taking in huge breaths of air while silently repeating my yoga masters chant " breath pure white victory in, blow dark black defeat out"...
After getting another shandy (I never finished the first!!). I got out my customised bowling ball(It had cost a packet to get it painted like a house ball) and we started the first game...
After three frames I was a mile ahead of everyone else on my lane, and then I glanced at the scoreboard on the other lane, OH MY GOD, The President is actually BEATING me!!! for a minute I panic, then gain control of myself , I went to the toilet, locked myself in a cubicle and sat in the lotus position for a couple of minutes, and let the panic leave my body, his game will break down, I repeated to myself, if nothing else the Guinness will see to that...
Sure enough a couple of frames later and I am in the lead by a HUGE margin...
The once and future champion..
Those fools on the other lane have been trying to bowl as fast as they can, I let them play their silly games for a while and the KABOOM!!! I shatter their pathetic little record. Ha! they are no match for a true athlete like me...
Finally the trophy game, I draw a satisfyingly late number The scores start, a 5, beaten by a 7, Then Stuart knocks down a lucky 9, which stands until my turn...
A 9 to beat, I can match that in my sleep, a strike will win it...
I pick up my ball, walk on to the lane, I centre myself and just as I start my mental preparation a cry of " GO ON MY SON" breaks my concentration , I step forward and bowl...
The instant the ball leaves my hand I know its no good, a dark wave of despair rises over me and the bile rises in my throat, I am not going to win...
The darkness start to close in, I cannot feel my arms or legs, what little light is left starts to spin faster and faster, the demons of defeat mock me with their cackling laugh, how can I go home and face my family with this shame ?
Swallowing hard and pretending it meant nothing I turn and face everybody Their faces are a blur...
I cannot recall what happened the rest of the day I just kept replaying that awful moment...
As I write this my eyes are welling with tears of regret...
Still next time its Pool, and now THAT IS MY GAME.

So Gentlemen if anyone knows who this diary could belong to , please let him know it has been found
Many thanks.