The Gentlemen's Outing Association's Christmas Soirée

Gentlemen are you ready for the greatest Christmas Soirée ever?*

Do you fancy spending a festive day in the company of The Gentlemen at Riley's in Chester?

If the answer is YES to the all above then The Association has you covered during this festive season.

For the not so princely sum of £12.50 you can guarantee yourself a place on the historic Gentlemen's Outing Associations Christmas Soirée.

So what do you get for your money?

1. Three Pool Tables exclusively for The Association.

2. One Poker Table exclusively for The Association.

3. Your first drink free. I get two because I am a cheeky bastard.

4. A buffet laid on during the day.

5. A Christmas killer competition.

6. Our own Hostess (Mandy) to look after our every whim.

7. The calm before the storm part two.

8. And maybe a surprise or two.

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. Santa hats are not optional. They are a requirement and yes that means you as well Shaw.

The when: 12pm – 7pm Monday the 22^nd of December

The where: Riley's in Chester.

Our evening meal will be at Buffet City starting at 8pm and will cost £12.90 per head.

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.

*may not be the greatest Christmas soirée ever.

As we fast approach the festive season and the fun and games that it brings, I thought it about time that I added my memories of our last outing (and the fact that the President kept promising to stab me with a sharp stick if I didn't may have had something to do with it).

It was a fine and bright day as I arrived at the The Town Crier, I ordered my traditional breakfast order, egg, bacon, sausage, beans, toast and a large whisky. I waited the traditional 45 minutes for it to arrive, is there a pub in existence that can serve slower than here, I mean 20 minutes for a pint??? and serving a 16 year old malt in a water tumbler for Gods sake!! Anyway I digress, after munching through half a pig and an embryonic chicken everyone had started to gather, with the exception of our good Mr Hawker, who turned up half an hour late, and Mr Hollis , whom the President has mentioned in his post, to which I need add nothing.

Spirits were high and everyone was having a good time when Mr Hawker strode manfully to the bar and with teeth gritted, paid for a pint Mr Witold Waryszak, in part payment for a wager reported in an earlier post, photographic evidence has been posted to satisfy those of a disbelieving nature. It has long held to be a measure of a man how he handles his gambling debts and Mr Hawker has proved himself to be of solid stock.

After a short and uninteresting journey to the bowling alley, we arrived, put on our stylish shoes and, went to the bar.

A strange thing happened at the bar, a stylishly dressed woman in her middle thirties was ordering some drinks for what I can only guess where her children, and, when the cokes had been poured, she asked quietly for a large vodka which, after a furtive glace over her shoulder, she necked, nothing strange there you might say, but, every time ANYONE went to the bar she did the same thing, I honestly believe that she could out drink any three gentlemen, Alcoholic Mum, I salute you. ( just a thought, do you think she might be married to competitive Dad who was there last time we went?)

Although the place was packed solid with children on half term, a fine time was had by all and we bowled away to our hearts content.

It was at this point in the day that Mr Hawker gave me a lesson in bowling which the Presidents post has covered in all the grisly details so I will just add this, Well Done Mr Hawker, the best man won.

Now we come the the tension and excitement of the killer competition, after all chipping in our stake money and a close contest, Mr Waryszak emerged as the victor. The President handed Witold his trophy and winnings in a moving ceremony which proved that the President is a natural public speaker. Mr Waryszak was so touched (or so drunk) that he went straight to the bar and spent his winning on a round for everyone. A true gentleman.

Time and space prevent me from saying much on the next couple of events but if I can just quote W.H. Auden "Dance till the stars come down from the rafters Dance, Dance, Dance till you drop."

We shall draw a veil over the "Ted Incident"

The Plumbers arms.. nicely done out, we called in, had our free drink and left.

So too the Restaurant, the food was as nice as last time, however, some of the gentlemen seemed to be lacking in energy including Mr Roberts and the hero of the day Mr Waryszak, we have a short film which will prove the point.

We didn't linger long in case we couldn't wake anyone up.

And so we finished our day ..whats that Dear Reader?? yes, I will wait as you check...Are you sure? Well I never, It appears as if Mr Hawker has only paid for a single drink for Mr Waryszak when the wager was for two.

Never mind Mr H. I'm sure someone will remind you to get the second one in, when we go out in December.

Final Frame

As you may be aware Gentlemen, on the 27th of October we witnessed a battle of gigantic proportions. I hope I set the scene for those of you who were unaware of this contest here.

As we entered the Town Crier pub that fateful morning the air was thick with testosterone. We all ordered our first refreshments of the day and settled down to what I believed would be a jovial chat. As usual I supped on my first Guinness of the day and started to read the fine tome that is The Daily Star. As I glanced over the top of my paper I happened to notice Mr Shaw had a scowl on his face. Obviously I could not let this pass. I asked the obvious question:

Mr Millward: “What's wrong mate?”

His face nearly exploded in anger.

Mr Shaw: “Where is that fucker? Who does he think he is?”

I tried to calm him down:

Mr Millward: “Its ok mate. He is probably just running a little late”

Mr Shaw: “Running late…………………………………….RUNNING FUCKING LATE. Who the fuck runs late on a day as important as this? I have spent a whole month in the gym getting ready for this day. Hours spent away from my beautiful, loving Wife and so many missed opportunities with my Daughter.”

I sensed the anger boiling over and quickly grabbed my mobile phone. I quickly searched for Mr Hawkers number. My hands were shaking so badly I nearly phoned one of those 0845 numbers, but that's a different story altogether.

Mr Millward: “Where are you mate?”

Mr Hawker: “I am just running a little late. I will be there in about ten minutes”

Mr Millward: “Get here quickly mate. Shaws about to kick off”

I feel no shame in admitting that as I put the phone down my thoughts turned to my own safety. How was I going to relay the news to Mr Shaw? I could not face it. I ran like a little Hollis/Girl to the nearest empty toilet and hid until I knew it would be safe to come out of hiding.

As I sat on my porcelain hideaway my phone buzzed. It was a text message.

“Where are you? I am in the pub”

It was Mr Hawker. I was saved. That man is a hero.

As I re-entered the bar the mood had changed significantly. Mr Shaw wore a smile as big as a half moon and Mr Hawker was sitting comfortably by the bar. I let out a sigh of relief. But Gentlemen time was ticking away and battle lines were beginning to be drawn. We all downed the last of our hearty ales and ventured outside to get our taxis.

Now I will fast forward 6 hours.

Much alcohol had been drunk during this time and as much as I tried to get Mr Shaw and Mr Hawker to have a game together Mr Shaw would not allow it.

The jibes had been thrown back and forth all day between our two gladiators. Fearing fisticuffs I had to step in several times to calm things down. But then the time was upon us.

We cleared a lane and warned the other bowlers around us that war was about to commence and if they had children with them it would be better if they left.

Strikes came thick and fast. At one point I thought could the impossible happen? Are we going to see perfect game? Sadly I was wrong and as the game ramped up in intensity all the friendly banter disappeared and a feeling of menace descended, smiles disappeared and the laughter stopped. It was at this point that I started to back away. I was not going to put myself in the firing line.

The game was so close as they entered into the final frame that nerves became frayed and the tension finally got to one of our gladiators, Mr Hawker. I could see he was in some kind of distress and as the sweat poured down his face I called a time out. The look of fury on Mr Shaws face had me bolting for the exit dragging Mr Hawker behind me.

We both lit up a cigarette and he relayed his fears to me about loosing. I hadn’t realised how fragile he was. This man of iron was a towering giant to me. He is to all outward appearances a patient man, but inside he burns with a blazing urgency and idealism. This is the man God had in mind when he created man.

To hear him talk like this shook me to my very core. I had to act quickly. What should I do? Then it dawned on me.

I should quote some of Bruce Willis finest lines to him:

“It's time to prove to your friends that you're worth a damn. Sometimes that means dying. Sometimes it means killing a whole lot of people.”

“There's no settling down. Its going to be blood for blood and by the gallon. These are the old days, the bad days, the all-or-nothing days. They're back! There's no choice left. And I'm ready for war.”

“The Valkyrie at my side is shouting and laughing with the pure, hateful, bloodthirsty joy of the slaughter... and so am I.”

“I got you now, ya little bastard. Let's see you hop around now.”

“Aim careful, and look the devil in the eye.”

“Be prepared, son. That's my motto. Be prepared.”

“You can scream now if you want.”

“Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!”

With those words of encouragement ringing in his ears he extinguished his cigarette and marched back to the alley like a man possessed.

As the final frame commenced it was Mr Shaw who was first up to bowl. Three impressive bowls saw him retain his lead. Mr Hawker would have to call up his last reserves and bowl the frame of his life. His first two bowls were wayward to say the least, but he still scored. His last bowl would make or break him. I could wax lyrical about the last bowl but thanks to the wonders of modern technology I have embedded it below.

Mr Hawker you really are the best around.

Dancing Queens

I am sure all of you are aware of the man below:

I am sure you remember this movie:

And this one:

But have you ever seen this guy?

or what about these guys?

Or what about this nut?

As you can tell all these videos have one thing in common, people with a love of dance in their hearts. I am sure some of you have heard of Dance Dance Revolution before, but some of you may not. So let me explain with the help of Wikipedia.

Dance Dance Revolution (abbreviated DDR), previously known as Dancing Stage in PAL territories until the announcement of Dance Dance Revolution X, a long-standing music video game series produced by Konami. Introduced in Japan in 1998 as part of the Bemani series, and released in North America and Europe in 1999, Dance Dance Revolution is the pioneering series of the rhythm and dance genre in video games. Players stand on a "dance platform" or stage and hit colored arrows laid out in a cross with their feet to musical and visual cues. Players are judged by how well they time their dance to the patterns presented to them and are allowed to choose more music to play to if they receive a passing score.

The core gameplay involves the player moving his or her feet to a set pattern, stepping in time to the general rhythm or beat of a song. Arrows are divided into 1/4 notes (base red notes), 1/8 notes (blue ones with a shorter gap than regular notes), and so on, up to about 1/32 notes. During normal gameplay, arrows scroll upwards from the bottom of the screen and pass over stationary, transparent arrows near the top (referred to as the "guide arrows" or "receptors"). When the scrolling arrows overlap the stationary ones, the player must step on the corresponding arrows on the dance platform. Longer green and yellow arrows referred to as "freeze arrows" must be held down for their entire length for them to count. Successfully hitting the arrows in time with the music fills the "Dance Gauge", or life bar, while failure to do so drains it. If the Dance Gauge is fully depleted during gameplay, the player fails the song, usually resulting in a game over. Otherwise, the player is taken to the Results Screen, which rates the player's performance with a letter grade and a numerical score, among other statistics. The player may then be given a chance to play again, depending on the settings of the particular machine (the limit is usually 3-5 songs per game). On some DDR games, there is an option to use two pads at once, making it harder to play but increasing the number of moves to incorporate into songs.

So you got that, right? Good, now I can begin to tell the tale of two Gentlemen with a song in their hearts and flames on their feet.

As we all entered Tenpin it was immediately noticeable that the place had undergone something of a revamp. But the main thing that caught my eye was the banging music and flashing lights of a new Dance Dance Revolution arcade game that had been installed. I turned towards Mr Shaw and hinted that he should have a go later on, but he immediately crushed my dreams with a solitary two fingered salute. With my dreams crushed and my hopes hanging by a solitary thread My Shaw relighted that fire in me with this statement,

"Wouldn't it be great if we could get someone to do it though?"

To be honest my hopes weren't high but we can all dream.

As we all changed into our stylish bowling footwear Mr Richards had already changed and was ordering his first beer of the day (a man after my own heart). We all soon followed his lead and I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a pint of Guinness which Mr Richards had already ordered for me.

As we all took our beers and entered our names into the computer I noticed one of the Gentlemen was missing. I did a quick head count:

Me: CHECK

Mr Shaw: CHECK

Mr Higgins: CHECK

Mr Richards: CHECK

Mr Roberts: CHECK

Mr Politanski: CHECK

Mr Sloan: CHECK

Mr Waryszak: CHECK

Mr Radeck: CHECK

Mr Smith: CHECK

What the hell was going on? Who was missing?

Then it hit me. Like a silent fart it overwhelmed my senses. The stench of fear was so strong it could only mean one thing. Mr Hollis has once again chickened out. I immediately whipped out my mobile and phoned him. It went straight to voicemail. His phone was either off or he couldn't get a signal. Maybe he was in a tunnel rescuing victims from some disaster. I imagined him dragging bodies through raging fires with no thought for his own safety. I pictured him arguing with police/firemen as they told him it was hopeless as he once again ran into the blazing inferno to rescue another baby. But lets be honest HE HAD ONCE AGAIN SHIT HIMSELF AND NOT TURNED UP. The chicken is strong in you Mr Hollis.

I am going completely off topic. Mr KFC, I mean Mr Hollis has distracted me long enough. I will waste no more time on this little boy.

I will continue my original blog here.

Several games of bowling had passed and many beers/whiskeys (I only mention whiskey for Mr Shaws benefit. He's not common like the rest of us) had been sunk. I found myself needing a toilet break. Its a lonely walk from the alley to the toilet but it was one I needed to make.

As I approached the toilets I saw Mr Shaw, Mr Roberts and Mr Smith on their way back from the latrines. This was my chance. I looked at Mr Shaw and pointed towards Dance Dance Revolution. His face lit up as as he realised what I meant. I screamed

"Barry, Stuart you have got to go on this"

Mr Shaw chimed in with this statement

"Go on. It will be a right laugh and we will pay"

Then it happened. These two upstanding gentlemen took up the challenge. My jaw dropped, I looked at Mr Shaw and the look of glee on his face reminded me of Christmas morning.

As we heard the money drop my heart pounded and my blood raced.

Gentlemen I present you with the greatest gift known to man.

The calm before the storm

I have always considered myself lucky to have grown up in the 1970's/1980's. It was in these formative years that I was able to witness the dominance of Liverpool Football Club in both domestic and european football, Barry McGuigan against Eusebio Pedroza, Chris Eubank against Nigel Benn, Mike Tyson becoming the youngest man ever to win a world heavyweight title at just 20 years old and the Welsh national rugby team seemingly unstoppable in the five nations.

These years also helped form my taste in music. Years of listening to David Bowie, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and many others at the hands of my Father (if only he knew what was on the horizon). Live televised charity concerts Live Aid and The Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert are as fresh in my mind today as the day they were broadcast,but I digress.

It takes a huge event to get me excited these days, so it is with a great sense of anticipation/trepidation that I look forward to Monday 27th October:

B-DAY

I know that there will be a few Gentlemen amongst us who do not realise the significance of this date so let me explain.

Mr Shaw and Mr Hawker are locked in an eternal power struggle. Mr Shaw always believes he is right and Mr Hawker believes Mr Shaw is always wrong and that he is always right. I have seen this power struggle play out before my very eyes on many occasions. I kid you not dear reader when I say it has left me quaking in my boots many times.

Take a look at theses photos below. What is the first thought that pops into your mind?

I know what your thinking. Its a picture of pure serenity, just two best friends sharing a hearty breakfast and laughing about the good times they have shared.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you are wrong. What you cannot tell from these pictures is the sense of underlying menace. The testosterone fuelled anger that each combatant is fighting to keep under control even though it seeps from every pore on their bodies.

On the 27th October 2008.
For one game only
These two giants of Oscar Mayer lore
Go head to head
In a historical showdown
There can only be one winner
CAN YOU AFFORD TO MISS IT?

The Plumbers Arms...The Return of The Gentlemen

Those of you who were unfortunate to be with us for our first bowling trip will no doubt have not forgotten quite how bad The Plumbers Arms pub was .
Well if you recall(and if not check out the earlier posts) I wrote to the MD of Thwaites who promised us a drink when the planned refurbishment took place. As I had heard nothing, and we are about to go back, I took it upon myself to write once more to Mr Morris, who has since replied.
The correspondence went as follows:

Dear Mr Morris,

Re: Your letter dated 7th May 2008

How are you keeping? I do hope that the job is going well and that you have found out the important things in any new position, such as, where the photocopy paper is kept, where the secretaries’ hide the good coffee and which of the ladies in the canteen will slip a few extra chips on your plate if you talk nicely to her.
As you are aware, I wrote to you several months ago about a somewhat less than satisfactory visit I and a few friends had to the Plumbers Arms in Chester. At the time you replied to me saying that you would let us know when the refurbishment of the Plumbers Arms had been completed so that we could take you up on your kind offer of standing a round or two.
I have to inform you Mr Morris, that we shall once again be visiting Chester for one of our outings on the 27th of October. Now I know that this is short notice, but do you think the refurbishment will be complete before then?
If not, then may I make a suggestion? Perhaps we could help?
We have in our small band quite a range of talents, For example our very own Mr Hawker, before he took on the executive role which he now holds, was a time served plasterer, now whilst I am not a professional, I am no slouch at hanging wallpaper and Mr Millward and Mr Higgins have both been known to wield a pretty mean paintbrush, and our Polish friends, Mr Waryszak and Mr Politanski, have said that they are willing to have a crack at the plumbing.
Now I am aware that at the moment, with the downturn in the economy and the credit crunch, the cost of materials might be an issue, but perhaps I can help with that too. My kindly, but elderly father has mentioned that pensioners can get a 10% discount at B&Q on a Wednesday; it is possible that we could arrange to meet him to come with us, to buy the required materials, thereby making a not inconsiderable saving.
Obviously we will have to sort out a time when we are all free to come and muck in, not an easy task with the demands of work and families, but I am sure we can come to some arrangement.
I look forward to hearing from you soon, so plans can be made.

Yours sincerely,

Mark Shaw.

He Replied

Dear Mr Shaw,

Re: The Plumbers Arms, Chester

Thank you for your letter, which I received today.
I am pleased to say that a refurbishment of The Plumbers has been completed and as promised in my letter of the 7th May I am happy to stand you and some of your friends a drink when you visit on the 27th October, therefore if you let me know how many of you there are I will arrange it.
Once again, thank you for writing.

Yours sincerely.

Peter Morris

I've written back

Dear Mr Morris,

Many thanks for your prompt reply.
I must admit I am rather pleased that the refurbishment of The Plumbers has been completed, as Mrs Shaw has decided that our house needs a total makeover before Christmas, it was going to be awkward explaining why I needed to decorate a pub first.
As for your kind offer to stand me and my friends a drink, there should be no more than ten of us and we will be arriving at The Plumbers around 6.30pm to 7pm.If you are in the area I would be delighted to reciprocate and buy you a drink, if not, then may I wish good luck for the future to yourself and Thwaites.

Yours sincerely,

Mark Shaw.

Mines a large Malt.

A Fistful Of Cooksheets.

Picture the scene if you will...a test room at a food factory in deepest Wrexham, a florescent light hums and flickers , a computer screen casts an eerie glow over a dull and pitted steel table.
On one side of the table sits Mr Jason " I'm the Man" Hawker, an air of confidence seems to seep from his every pore. Here is a man who fears no challenger, after all, his word is law, this is his territory, his room, his table.
In the corner pretending to be testing a sauce, but really watching with eagle eyed vision and a photographic memory, is Mr Stuart Roberts, as the drama unfolds Mr Roberts records every nuance, every gesture and every glance. It is upon his recollection that this post is based.
Facing Mr Hawker across the scratched and pitted surface of the tabletop are two upstarts with mischief in their hearts and menace in their eyes, namely, Mr Sebastian " pretty boy" Politanski and Mr Witold " I take no prisoners" Waryszak.
Mr Hawker speaks " Our first day back in the New Year is on the 2nd of January".
This is the moment the two young bloods have been waiting for, Mr Waryszak replies in a steely voice " I think you're wrong it's the 1st we come back". At his side Mr Politanski nods eagerly in agreement.
A haunting silence falls across the room, even the ever present MFM goes mute for a long moment (It has since been reported that it is officially the longest period of time in the history of MFM that they have failed to play a song by Queen).
Mr Hawker fixes his cold hard eyes onto the face of Mr Waryszac and says in a quiet but deeply menacing voice "No, I am right, our first day is the 2nd of January".
As Mr Hawker speaks, a small but significant shiver is seen to run down Mr Politanski's spine and he takes a tiny step backwards. Mr Waryszac is, however, made of sterner stuff and he repeats "No no, we come in on the 1st".
This defiance comes as a shock to Mr Hawker, how can anyone challenge him, Here? Now? In a moment of near panic he decides to raise the stakes " I will bet you a pint that we come back on the 2nd " he says.
Mr Waryszac takes several seconds to reply and when he does it is in a calm and determined voice, " Make it two pints, to be paid when we go bowling".
"Done", cries Mr Hawker and reaches for the dogeared desk diary that has been lying between our two protagonists.
" OK then, lets see, so the 28th of Decemeber, that's our first day off" says Mr Hawker confidently, he continues "the 29th is our second, the 30th is our third and the 31st is...DOH".
At this point, Mr Waryszac smiles broadly, turns on his heel and proudly walks from the room as the undisputed victor. Mr Hawker, however is a broken man, with his head in his hands, in a small and almost pitiful voice he cries " I don't think I can go bowling now I have to buy him drinks".
And so dear reader if you should happen to cross the path of either of our combatants don't forget to congratulate one and commiserate with the other, and rest assured that when we do go bowling, photographs of Mr Waryszac holding (and drinking) his winnings will be published at this very site.

The Association in Scandal Shocker

Gentlemen, it is with a heavy heart that I find myself writing this post. Our last outing at Rileys ended in total disgrace. The culprit? Mr Shaw, yes you read that right our own trusted Secretary. In a move that has shamed us all Mr Shaw drank LAGER (photographic proof is provided below). As you can see in the photo our very own Mr Roberts looks horrified at the events he is witnessing. Now before we all vilify him for his actions we must all remember the good he has brought to the Association. His wit and wisdom has seen us through some troubling times and as we are all to aware his battles with our own Mr Hawker have brought much laughter to us all. So I beg you all, please be gentle with him but always remember I am outing him for his own good.

Memorable quotes from Rednal

"Where is everyone?"

"A double sausage and egg mcmuffin please"

"Did you chew that?"

"I knew he wouldn't turn up"

"well he is a pussy"

"All aboard"

"Do you want a whisky?"

"Yes please"

"Cough,cough,cough,cough"

"Fuck me, did you make that yourself?"

"cough,cough,cough"

"Don't spill it on the bus, for gods sake, we will have to pay for a respray"

"Here we are"

"Do you have this in a larger size?"

"What team are you on?"

"I'm going to shoot the arse off you, Shaw"

"Start when I blow my whistle"

"There's one"

"Get him"

"Ow, Fuck that hurt"

"Got you, you bastard"

"Three fuckin times I hit him, three fuckin times"

"Do you have any games that dont involve running?"

"Ouch, ouch, ouch and ouch"

"My clothes are sticking to me"

"Who the fuck was covering the front entrance?"

"I need more ammo"

"Fuck, I need more ammo as well"

"So do I"

"I need a pint. Right now"

"Help me. I cant see anything"

"That anti fog spray is shite"

Mr Shaw "I will be the VIP. Steve you cover me. We will go through the netting ok?"

Mr Millward "Thats fine. Just do me one favor"

Mr Shaw "Whats that?".

Mr Millward "Please dont run"

"Wheres the flag?"

"Wheres the Bomb?"

"I'm out"

"I'm out to"

"And me"

"Ouch you bastard. I said I was out for fucks sake".

Mr Shaw "How did you make it back with the ball without getting shot?"

MrMillward"Help.............................me...........................for.......................the.................................love............................of............................god...........................help........................me"

"When those British bastards turn their backs on us, shoot them in the head"

"I've just been shot in the facemask"

"Me too, the paint tastes fuckin horrible doesn't it"

Mr Shaw "I know a great place to stick the flag. Steve can you boost me up on your shoulders"

John "Sorry boys. You can't put it there because of health and safety reasons".

"You go over there and I'll cover you"

"Ow"

"Sorry I didn't see him"

"God help us if there's another war"

"You're dead you bastard, I fuckin' hit you"

"It just bounced off, honest"

"Where the hell have those kids gone?"

"The last game is a free for all"

"I've got no ammo left"

"Have mine I'm too knackered"

"We will start in 10...9...8...7"

"Shit"

"God, I'm going to ache in the morning"

"Thats not a bruise you pussy, that's a bruise"

"Put your foot down Barry I'm gagging"

"A pint of guinness, please"

"That was a really good day"

"A pint of guinness, please"

"Yeah, I agree a great day"

"A pint of guinness, please"

"I will sleep like a log tonight"

"A pint of guinness,Please"

Fat Men Can Run

I am sure you have all read Mr Shaws recollections of our day out at Rednal by now. So now it falls to me to try and live up to his poetic writings with my own account.

I arose at 8am with a headache from hell, thank you Mr Stella. I prepared myself as best I could through hazy eyes and then the phone rang, it was Mr Smith. This was the phone call I had been dreading. The hour was close at hand.

As I stood on the road I saw my chariot arrive. A gleaming white beast appeared over the crest of the hill bathed in a heavenly white light. There sat proudly behind the wheel was Mr Smith.

I have seen Mr Smith every day for the past four and a half years, but never have I seen this man look so proud. I entered the minibus with a heavy heart fearing this could be the last time I ever stepped foot in Wrexham again.

I glanced over to Mr Smith and saw such a steely determination in his eyes that I knew this man was ready to sacrifice everything for the cause. My heart swelled with pride, my chest expanded and I knew this was it.

As the minibus pulled away, my thoughts turned to family and friends. When was the last time I told them I loved them and how much they mean to me? But I had to stay focused.

We arrived at Gwersyllt where we were going to pick up Mr Higgins and Mr Jones. I looked into the distance and saw a lone figure waiting.

We pulled up alongside Mr Higgins and I knew we had we had already had one deserter. Mr Jones had gone AWOL. The mood in the minibus was somber. But I rallied the troops and decided not to waste anymore time on this deserter.

As we pulled up outside our rendezvous point my heart sank again. Where was everyone? I did a quick headcount, six people, six fuckin people. What the fuck had happened?

I saw the look of disappointment on Mr Shaws face. How were we going to get over this shocking turn of events?

The Polish contingent among us had the answer, cheap Whiskey and Vodka.

Suffice to say Mr Shaw has already covered this part of our journey and I stand by his words.

When we finally arrived at Rednal we were met by John who would be our mentor and referee during the day.

I got kitted out and looked at my comrades/enemies. The one thing that struck me was the teams. It was basically ex soldiers versus fat, old and unfit men.

I could already tell by the look in our Polish friends eyes, they could smell victory. Their laughter filled me with fear as they cradled their guns in their arms as if they were extensions of their bodies. One thought struck me at that point. We would have to play dirty and mean.

Later on we found out it was them that played dirty, shame on you I say, shame on you.

It was then John told us it was time. War was at hand and it was now or never. I don’t mind telling you all this, but as I entered the arena, my hands were shaking, my heart was pounding and the adrenalin was flowing through my body quicker than Guinness on one of The Associations days out.

I will now tell you about my personnel highlights of the day.

Speedball aka the day I nearly died of a heart attack/exhaustion/:

John explained the game as simply as this. There is a ball in the middle, you must grab it and run back to your own base to score points. I didn’t know it at the time but this so called simple game would be the end of me.

Both teams went to their starting points and the countdown began.

10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I ran to the first bit of cover I could find. I was soon joined by two others, shots rang out all over the place. I looked out through one of the peep holes in the cover. Paintballs were exploding all around us and our cover was being used as an artist’s canvas.

To my right a few meters away was another cover point. I needed to get there as quickly as possible. We were pinned down but it was time. I readied myself and went for it. The ground beneath me shook as I took my first few strides into the open.

I slid into position behind another piece of cover. I had made it. I could now see the ball. It was directly in front of me.

This was it I took a few deep breaths and was just about to go when I heard "Out", "I am out" and "Same here" and “the bastards got me”. I turned around and saw my teammates being wiped out left, right and centre.

This was desperate.

My mind was awash with thoughts.

Was I the only one left? How the hell would I ever survive this game? Could my legs carry me to victory? Would John take a bung?

I had to wipe these negative thoughts from my mind. My team needed me and I would not be found wanting.

I gritted my teeth, got myself up and focused on the ball.

The next 10 seconds are pretty much a blur.

I knew it was now or never.

I steadied myself and went for it.

I exploded out of the cover like a man possessed.

I grabbed the ball, turned tail and ran towards our starting point.

Then it happened, I entered the “zone”. The world around me seemed to melt away and nothing else mattered apart from victory.


Paintballs whizzed passed my head in slow motion.

My feet felt like led, every step I took just added to the pain.

My heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest, but we needed the points, more importantly my team needed me.

I pointed my gun over my shoulder and just let rip. The sound of compressed air ringing in my ear as every stride took me towards my goal.

I began chanting a mantra in my mind “The little train that could, the little train that could, the little train that could”.

Then I saw it. My goal was metres away. It was within touching distance, just a few metres more.

Then it happened, sweet victory. My foot touched home. If I was a fitter man I would have done a victory dance but I just collapsed in a heap. The joy of victory was far overtaken by the agony I was feeling. Every part of my body was crying out in pain. I couldn't breathe let alone dance.

My teammates ran over but their cries of victory were nothing but a blur to me as I tried to suck in the entire oxygen content of the world. I knew I had reached my limit and more.

Little did I know at the time but as I was running back to the base, I was shooting nothing but compressed air. My ammo had run out.


Capture The Bomb:

John explained the game like this: There is a bomb in the base. You must get in the base and press a button to disarm it.

10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2
1
GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I shuffled off to the right. I knew I had to find somewhere to hide as my legs would not allow me to run any great distance. Unbeknown to me I had already been spotted.

My camping spot would be the rocket compound and god help anyone who came near me.

It was with tired legs and aching muscles that I entered the rocket compound. Just as I got there I spied my first target. Mr Smith. He had already taken up a sniping position. I took several deep breaths, steadied myself and let rip, bang, bang, bang three direct hits followed by "For fucks sake, you got me you bastard fuckin stop".

I knew my position was compromised at that point, so I decided to hide at the back of the compound.

I ran/hobbled as fast as my legs would allow it and hid. I was gasping for air and just wanted to rip my facemask off when I heard a thundering on the walkway above me.

Someone had spotted me and had taken the high ground into the compound. Who was this sneaky bastard? Had he seen me? Is it one of our Polish members?

I poked my head out and there he was. I let rip. The paintballs rained down on my enemy. Victory was within my grasp.

Then as if in slow motion the muzzle of my enemies’ gun appeared over the walkway and it was as if the Devil himself had unleashed hellfire on my ass. It was like the cheesiest 80's action movie you have ever seen.

I lept for cover while shooting. The sound of guns and exploding paintballs ringing all around me. In my panic I just let loose again. I was hitting nothing but air. I could not see my enemy and vice versa.

We had reached an impasse, it was now or never. I silently said a prayer and went for it. In what seemed like slow motion I dived out from under the walkway.

As I hit ground I started firing, my enemy had the same idea. I don’t know how many shots we fired between us but the second I got hit I knew about it.

My thigh exploded with the pain, one hit, two hits, fuckin three hits. My natural instinct for survival kicked in. I kept firing.

"I am out, stop fuckin shooting" I screamed.

There was a pause.

"I am out" Screamed my enemy.


As I writhed in pain on the floor I recognized that voice,

"Who the fuck is down there?"

"Its Steve, is that you Carl?" I whimpered

"Yeah, you bastard" came the reply

"I am in agony you twat, three fuckin times you shot in the same place you bastard".

I crawled out of my hiding place in agony. My thigh was on fire.

It was a lonely walk back and to make matters worse all I could hear was the screams of my teammates.

Free For All:

As the name suggests the rule are quite simple. Its kill or be killed.

This game was set up so anyone who had paintballs left could just go ape shit and not care about being hit.

There were only six of us left at this point who had any paintballs left and thanks to Mr Higgins, Mr Shaw entered the fray.

As we entered the arena John was left to explain the rules.

It was simple he gathered us all into the center of the grounds and just started counting down:

10
9
8
7
6
GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What the fuck?

I knew what was going to happen but it still caught my tired and withered body by surprise. I no longer had the use of my legs. Everyone else just ran. I just kind of hobbled.

I fired a few shots off and headed for the embassy. I knew I just had to sit and wait for my enemies to come to me.

I ran/crawled upstairs and to my surprise, I found myself alone.

"This is fuckin brilliant" I thought to myself.

I could hear screams and shots from outside, but this was of no importance to me. I just needed to breathe and regain my composure.

Then silence.

I ducked into a room on the second floor and glanced out,

NOTHING.


Where the hell was everybody?

I ran into an adjacent room and peered out of a window.

Still nothing.

My mind was racing with questions. Was I the only one left? What about those those annoying kids? Had Shaw, Hughes and Roberts gone into hiding? What if they were all ganging up on me? How many paintballs did I have left?

Paranoia had set in.

What the hell was going on?

I moved to another room, slammed into the wall and caught my breath. What do I do now, I thought?

Then I heard it.

That sweet sound of paintballs being fired. I raced to the window.

"I am out" it was Mr Roberts.

As I peered out of the window I saw a Mr Hughes attempting to cross a bridge.
I took a deep breath,

"Die you bastard" I screamed as I let rip with a volley of paintballs.

Everyone was a hit.

I never knew Carl could dance like that.

As he ducked for cover I let out a maniacal laugh.

I surveyed the carnage before me,

BANG

BANG

two shots straight to my facemask. I was blinded. I retaliated with several shots the majority of which hit the walls and the ceiling.

I found myself lying in a puddle of water. I wet my glove and wiped my mask with it, big mistake, paint and mud is not a good mix. Now I was really blind.

I panicked and just ran into another room. I knew I had been spotted. My only recourse now was to sit and wait. I kept trying to clean my mask but every time I did it just got worse. My breathing became more and more rapid. I tried to take shallow breaths but my lungs cried out for more.

If I couldn’t breathe properly at least I should be allowed to see my enemy .Then I remembered Mr Shaw had given me some wet tissue I fumbled around in my pocket for it and then I heard it.

A splash.
What the fuck was that?

My breathing was labored by now. Did I really hear that? Was it just me?

I stood up and raised my gun.

The paintballs sounded like cannon balls as they fell into into my hopper.

Did he hear that I wondered? Can he hear my breathing?

I had to snap out of this.

I steadied myself for the coming onslaught.

BANG

BANG

BANG

My ears rang out,

He was close,

Definitely on the same floor,

He was clearing every room systematically,

I braced myself against the entrance wall,

There was only the room I was in and another adjacent room left,

That’s when I saw it, the big puddle of water in front of me started to ripple,

I was being stalked.

"It’s now or never" I thought,

I sprang out of the doorway and there dead in my sights was Mr Hughes,

"Fuckin have it you bastard" I screamed as I unloaded,

"Have it back you fat bastard" he screamed.

I have been in many corridors in my life. But none were as painful as this one.
I had nowhere to go, Mr Hughes had me backed into a corner but luckily for me Mr Hughes was in the same position.

We both stood our ground as the paintballs flew passed our heads and impacted on our now ragged bodies. I kept shooting. How was this man still standing? But then a critical shot, straight into my thigh again. I screamed like a baby but then another
shot and another.

Then I heard Mr Hughes scream in pain.

"Enough"

"Ave it you bastard" I thought.

But secretly I was thinking "Thank fuck for that"

We looked at each other and laughed. I should point out at this point that Mr Hughes laughed, I just cried out in relief.

As far as I was concerned the day was over. I could finally lay down my gun and
retreat to the pub.

Unfortunately for me I was stuck in an empty building with Mr Hughes who still had the boundless energy of a teenager.

I was about to walk off when Mr Hughes said,

"How many paintballs have you got left?"

I was very suspicious about this question so replied

"Fuckin loads mate. Why?"

And with that Mr Hughes Dived into a room and screamed

"Those fuckin kids are hiding in that bus. Let’s shoot the shit out of them".

And with those words ringing in my ears I joined him in that room.

Carl took position on the left hand side of the window and I took the right.

As I gathered my breath I glanced across at Mr Hughes and an unspoken bond was made.
We were now my brothers in arms.

As I looked across at Mr Hughes he let forth a cry that would scare hyenas, we both lept out of our positions and laid waste to our foes.
And I quote:

“If it bleeds we can kill it”

"We got the little bastards".

"Fuckin have it you little shits".

"I got the twat right in the head".

“Did you fuckin see that. Right in the facemask ha ha ha ha”

and the often quoted,

"Nobody fucks with the Association"

There is nothing I can add to this post that hasn’t already been said. Apart from
this:

To all of you that turned up I salute you. This day will go down in history.

To those pussy boys who were too scared:

Hollis

Greg

Scott

And

Jez

You missed one hell of a fight.

Never in the field of human conflict...

has so much paint been shot at friends and colleagues.

As dawn broke over a town recovering from a torrential rainstorm, a small group of brave and dedicated Gentlemen huddled in a shop doorway. Nervously counting bodies as the number of last minutes deserters grew by the second.

When the battle bus arrived and we had all stowed away our kit, a head count was taken, and our worst fears materialised, we were down to only nine men. But no matter, we had accepted our mission and we were determined to carry it out regardless of the obstacles we would have to overcome.

As the bus left Wrexham, women openly wept at the heroism of this brave band of brothers, lesser men averted their eyes, for in the windows of that vehicle of valour, they could only see their own failings.

The journey to the killing fields started out as a sombre one, which was lifted by a bottle of what is probably the worst whisky ever distilled, to call it paint stripper would be cruel to paint stripper, but none the less it was drank, and by the time anyone had recovered the power of speech we had arrived.

As we disembarked and walked up to the battle ground a air of quietness fell about us as we gazed upon the building we would soon come to know as The Embassy.

This quietness was soon dispelled as we started to get kitted out for the battles ahead. The sight of Stuart, in what looked like a baby's bib, but was in fact the tightest chest protector known to man, reduced several Gentlemen to tears of laughter. Meanwhile,our President, who is a man of such substance, that no chest protector could be found that would encompass his girth.

As the laughter slowly died it was renewed when Mr Carl Higgins put on his head protector, he looked like a medieval warrior priest, as I am sure photograph evidence will prove.

We then collected our faceguards which had attached tapes of either red or silver, these tapes signified which team you where assigned to. We had been joined by three young men out to test their mettle in combat and so the two teams separated and encouraging words such as " I'm going to shoot the arse off you, Shaw" and "zabić ten mężczyźni który pierdolić owca".

Following a briefing on procedures by John, the Rednal man in charge, we entered the arena. As we were issued our guns, John explained their workings and for the next few moments all that could be heard was the whizz bang as paintballs flew through the air to practise targets as we got familiar with our weapons.

We were then given our first mission, the silver team had to defend a fort in which was a rocket launcher, the red team had 10 minutes to get a man to touch the rocket without being shot. The silver team left to take up their defensive positions and as the whistle went with a cry of defiance the red team sprang into action.

It is truly amazing the rush of adrenalin you get when people are shooting at you, your heart rate goes ballistic, your breathing becomes rapid and shallow and your body temperature goes up to the melting point of lead. Everyones' trigger finger was going at the speed of sound and the landscape exploded into orange as God knows how many paintballs were fired in that first few minutes.

It was at this point, that your humble scribe answered the question we had all been asking ourselves, do paintballs hurt when they hit you? And the answer is YES... like a bitch, especially on the thighs.

With only 30 seconds to go Witold saw an opportunity and ran in to claim the first victory for the red team.

As we walked back to the gun rack everyone was surprised at how many paintballs they had used and at how knackered they all were. After a short break to reload and to down copious amounts of water, the teams were reversed with the reds now defending. The whistle went to commence and then it was all over, hardly a shot had been fired when Sebastian ran in and touched the rocket for the silver team, the whole battle had lasted less than 90 seconds.

This was to set a trend for the rest of the day as Sebestian, Witold and Krzysztof were clearly the best players of there. We continued to take on new missions such as raise the flag and find the bomb and between each battle we had breaks that became more and more necessary.

As we ate our rations the three young men who had fought so valiantly left us to be replaced by a couple of school boys whose only interest was not to get shot. It was at this point that Witold left the red team to join the silvers which made the team lineups like this...

SILVER

Witold...young, fit, ex military

Sebastian...young, fit, ex military

Krzysztof..young, fit , very capable

Barry...not too young, ex military

Carl Hughes...young(ish), fit(ish) Capable,(but missing Scott)

Red

Steve...not exactly an athlete

Stuart... couldn't beat Steve in a foot race.

Carl Hughes...Over fifty, but enthusiastic

Mark... pushing fifty, skinny and knackered.

Young boy 1 ...Wants to grow pubic hair before Christmas, scared of getting shot.

Young boy2... Scared of getting shot , doesn't know what pubic hair is.

So as you can see, dear reader, the teams were somewhat unbalanced in favour of silver, but the reds fought on and with considerable courage managed to gain some impressive victories.

Time and space prevent me from reporting every battle that was fought , but I feel I must report two outstanding performances, the first of which was by our President who, in a game of speedball, picked up the ball and ran back to base, for the win, with his gun pointing backwards over his shoulder firing randomly, he then collapsed into a heap gasping for air, saying"oh fuck, oh fuck" . This was an act of courage from which he never truly recovered for the rest of the day.

The other was by Carl Hughes, who defended a corridor single handedly, and almost managed to hold off the attackers until time ran out, he was only beaten with some 20seconds left on the clock.

The final action of the day was a free for all, no holds barred, everyman for himself, skirmish which may well of been the highlight of the day, with more than a few scores settled, and a good many stories will be told of those few minutes in which so much happened.

As we left the field of battle for the last time, thanks were given to John and the rest of the Rednal team who had run an excellent day. As we scraped paint and grime from our battered bodies a new game started, it was called "Compare The Bruise". I will allow you to pick your own favourite from the selction shown with this post.

From Rednal we went to a public house where thirsts that had been earned in combat were quenched with gusto.

Over the next few hours, stories and tales of skill, courage and honour were told, some of them might even be true. But on one thing everyone agreed, it had been an excellent outing, probably the best we have had, and the credit goes to Steve for organising it.

I will leave you now with this thought to those Gentlemen who fought. The bruises will fade, but the memories will not.

Pray for mercy

Gentlemen, as you are aware war is inevitable at this point. I have taken it upon myself to source a weapon of such destruction that it will leave you all praying for mercy. Make no mistake this highly advanced sentry will leave no man alive. Apart from me obviously.

The Reconnaissance Mission

Gentlemen today was the day that the second phase of our plans for total Rowan Foods domination were put into play. This afternoon myself along with The Under Secretary and our newly promoted Head of Transport travelled to Rednal at great risk to our own personnel safety. We put our lives on the line to scout out our theatre of war. This mission was highly classified and was not know to anyone apart from the senior staff. This was for your own safety. Below you will find various reconnaissance photographs of the enemies strategic points. But be warned Gentlemen although we are strong I fear many casualties may befall us along the way to victory. We must be strong and never falter in our task. The road before us is a perilous and dangerous one. But we must never waver in our resolve. The Association WILL be victorious.

Welcome Aboard

It is with a great sense of pride that we all welcome Mr Carl Hughes into our ever growing Association. As most of you are aware, Mr Hughes has threatened to join us on several occasions. Only to let us down at the last minute. So imagine my shock when at 9:45am on the 29th of May 2008 my taxi pulled up outside Wrexham General Station and standing there with a cigarette hanging out of a toothy grin was Mr Hughes. I tried to hide my excitement at this shocking turn of events but all to no avail. I lept from the taxi and embraced Mr Hughes (only because Mr Shaw had asked me to on his behalf) with a heart felt hug. Mr Hughes I salute you. Although he did have to leave early because it was nearly his nap time.

THIS TIME ITS WAR

After what seems like months sneaking behind everyone's backs, secret emails, whispered phone calls and sneaking off into corners with Mr Shaw for secret talks. I can finally announce our greatest outing yet.

On the 27th July The Gentlemen's Outing Association will be shooting the shit out of each other at Rednal Paintball Arena. I have already got a few of you on my hit list so be warned. I am also aware who Mr Shaw has earmarked for some special treatment. You all know the details by now.

So now that the para-military wing of The Gentlemen's Outing Association has been formed, it is essential that as many recruits as possible attend this intensive training camp, so if anyone from other, less, organised shifts, wish to join us for the day, then I'm sure we will be able to accommodate them.

Don't be fooled into thinking this is going to just be a fun day out, with lots of shooting, pisstaking, laughing and afterwards beer.

Oh no there is a serious side to this.

This is just the first step towards our goal of establishing The Gentlemen's Republic of Rowan... Oh yes, one day dear comrade, we shall break free from the yoke of tyranny that the evil dictator Tommy Murphy has placed around our necks.

One day we shall have breaks that will last as long as we wish, breaks that can be enjoyed without being spied upon by clock watching Irishmen. One day we shall only boil the tomatoes that we want to boil, and not have to boil tomatoes just to please those traitors of the skiving classes who wear collars and ties. One day all fork lift trucks will have air con and internet access. One day we will be able to order proper food in the canteen, food like fried egg and chips. One day (dare I say it) the coffee from the vending machines will taste of ...coffee.

One day all of this can come true, but only if we we train hard and plan well. You owe it not just to yourselves, but to your children, to work towards the day when we can hold up our heads and say proudly, " I am a Gentleman".

We must not underrate the gravity of the task which lies before us or the temerity of the ordeal, to which we shall not be found unequal. We must expect many disappointments, and many unpleasant surprises, but we may be sure that the task which we have freely accepted is one not beyond the compass and the strength of The Gentlemens Outing Association.

Official Gentlemens Outing Association Merchandise

Do you love the Association? Then why not show that love with an Official Gentlemen's Outing Association Hip Flask (alcohol not included).

Forged in the flames of Mustafar and lovingly painted by busty maidens from the foothills of Scandinavia. These Limited Edition Production Pieces are available to you for the ridiculously low price of £15 each. But wait I know what your thinking. If only there was a Hip Flask with a picture of The Under Secretary as well. Fear not Gentlemen. Your prayers have been answered.

Why not splash out and buy a pair? These Limited Edition Production Pieces can be bought as a pair for £28. Yes that's right, £28. That's a huge saving of £2 which is only available to Members of the Association.

Whats that I hear you cry. Wheres the Hip Flask with your picture on? Fear not Gentlemen. The Association prides itself on its ability to cater to your ever desire. A custom made Hip Flask can be yours for £15. Imagine the pride of holding aloft such a coveted item. Women will flock to be seen with you, men will cower in your presence. You will truly be The Lord of your Manor.

Please direct all enquiries to The Under Secretary.

The Plumbers Arms...A New Hope

When I returned home after a hard day boiling tomatoes, I was pleasantly surprised to find a letter from Twaites waiting for me.


I tore open the envelope with great anticipation and was pleased to find a response from the Managing Director of Thwaites. The letter is shown on the right.


So chaps, it looks like we shall once more darken the doorstep of The Plumbers Arms, when it is all nice and polished and smelling of new paint, and that nice man, Mr Morris will be buying the drinks.

The Plumbers Arms....the story continues...

After our disastrous visit to The Plumbers Arms in Chester, as reported by our President, I was taken with the notion to try and get some free booze, so after googling Thwaites, I discovered that they had appointed a new Managing Director less than a month before. So it was to him that I wrote the following letter (apologies for repeating a large part of Mr Millwards' post, but it was unlikely that the M.D. had read it).

Dear Mr Morris,

First of all please accept my hearty congratulations on your recent appointment as managing director of Thwaites, I wish every success to both you, and the company.
Please let me introduce myself, my name is Mark Shaw, and I have the honour of being the secretary to a small group of work colleagues who have formed a social group called The Gentlemen’s’ Outing Association. As a group, we have an event about once a month and last month, we went ten pin bowling and followed this up with a meal.
As there was a short gap between the bowling finishing and our reservation at the restaurant, we decided to call and have a drink at a local hostelry. The pub we went to was one of yours, namely the Plumbers Arms in Chester.
I am afraid I have to report that the visit was less than satisfactory.
Upon entering the bar the first order was placed, following our tradition, by our President, Mr S. Millward, the ensuing conversation went along the following lines;

Mr Millward, “A pint of Guinness please.”
Lady behind bar,” I’m sorry we don’t have any Guinness.”
Mr Millward, “That’s ok; I’ll have a pint of bitter then.”
Lady behind bar, “Sorry we haven’t got any bitter either, our delivery doesn’t come until tomorrow.”
Mr Millward, “Ok then, in that case, could I have a Mangers.”
Lady behind bar,” No we haven’t got any bottled beers.”
At this point Mr Millward was lost for words, so I stepped to the fray, and ordered two whiskeys with ice, the whiskeys were duly poured, but were served with no ice, when I pointed this out the lady behind the bar informed us that she had no ice.
Somewhat shell shocked Mr Millward and I took our seats as the rest of our group ordered their drinks, mostly lager, as there was little else to choose from.
At this point I went to the gents, well to be truthful, I went to the door of the gents, I never actually went in, they where in an appalling state, dirty, smelly, with rubbish on the floor and holes in the walls, truly shocking.
Mr Morris, I am sorry to say, but the Plumbers Arms is by far and away the worst public house I have ever set foot in.
Over the dinner table, conversation turned to our recent experience and it turns out we are quite a travelled little group. We have between us drank, sometimes to excess, in almost every corner of the world, however, no one could report a bar or tavern with as little chance of a repeat visit as the Plumbers Arms.
Once more, Mr Morris, on behalf of our small group, good luck in your new role, because if the rest of the business is in the same state as the Plumbers Arms, you’re going to need it.

Yours sincerely
Mark Shaw.

Now I know it all sounds a bit pompous, but if I had said "We were on the piss, and your boozer was shite", I don't think we would have got a response.
and a response we have got, a slightly disappointing response but it says

Dear Mr Shaw,
Thank you for your letter to our Managing Director, Peter Morris. I am sorry to hear of your experience at the above public house and as Mr Morris is out of the office until Tuesday 6th May, I have passed your letter onto our regional sales Manager for the area, Mr Conrad Jones, who will investigate the matter immediately and report back to Mr Morris on his return.

The letter is signed by the M.D.s' PA.

Now we wait with bated breath to see if anything further is heard from Thwaites. If we do then you will read all about it here (unless a large delivery of alcohol is made to my home address, in which case I may well be off work for a couple of days).

Unseen Footage

After the amazing footage that was captured of Mr Higgins getting a strike. I have managed to get my hands on some footage of myself playing Mr Hollis. This is unseen by anyone until now. The game was tense, it was strike for strike. Mr Hollis had left me in a position where I needed to take down my three remaining pins. The footage speaks for itself:

Excuses,Excuses

To save Carl Hughes the problem of coming up with a reason for not attending the next outing, a list of excuses has been compiled from which he can choose one.

They are as follows:

1) The kids are off school.

2) The kids are in school.

3) My wife has to work.

4) I have to work.

5) It's very sunny out and I might get sunburned.

6) It's raining out and I might get wet.

7) The car won't start.

8) I missed the bus.

9) Trains are unnatural and are the work of the devil.

10) I forgot the date.

11) No one told me the date.

12) I only drink bright blue drinks that come with umbrellas and I'm scared you will tease me about it.

13) I've got an appointment with my doctor/dentist/optician/sex change therapist.

14) I've converted to Islam and drinking is against the teachings of the prophet, I now wish to be known as Mohammad Al Dokiegit.

15) I'm sexually attracted to someone who will be there, and I'm scared if I drink too much I might admit it to him.

16) I'm shy.

17) I'm only allowed out of my gimp suit to go to work.

18) That's the day of my appointment at the clap clinic.

19) I'm not allowed to cross the big road on my own.

20)There will be big boys there.

21) I'm only allowed to wear my party dress on Sunday.

22) There will be big girls there.

23) On Tuesdays I wear a dress, stockings and high heels and call myself Sally.

24) Tommy Murphy said I'm not allowed to play with you.

25) My wife won't let me.



Which one do you think he will choose? Let us know in the Shout box.

Is This The Best Pub In Chester?

This is a picture of my friend and colleague Mr Mark Shaw standing outside The Plumbers Arms in Chester. After subjecting me to a whisky which reminded me of Parma Violets we decided to head outside so he could have a picture taken of this historic tavern. Now I have to be honest and tell you that this is the worst pub I have ever been in. This is an example of how my first and last drinks order went:

Me: Evenin love. A pint of Guinness please.

Barmaid: Sorry we don't have any.

Me(gutted):Oh right. A pint of bitter than please.

Barmaid: Sorry we don't have any bitter either.

Me(frustrated); You got any Magners?

Barmaid: I haven't got any of that either. We haven't had a delivery today.

So now I am lost for words and completely pissed off. No Guinness, Bitter or Magners WTF? But then by the grace of god in steps Mr Shaw who orders 2 Whiskeys(can't remember its name, something posh probably).

Me: Can I have Coke and Ice in mine please love?

Barmaid: Sorry we have no ice.

No ice, NO FUCKIN ICE??????????????? You gotta be kiddin me. Never in my life have I been in a pub that has NO FRIGGIN ICE. What the fuck caused them to have no ice. The water didn't turn up? I mean come on seriously NO ICE. Suffice to say I will never step foot in that dump ever again. The Plumbers Arms I salute your ineptitude.

Some Random Photos

Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport

So there I was talking crap to my Under Secretary and watching everyone bowl. When an almighty idea hit me. Here we all were bowling but I had no actual footage of it. So in a vain attempt to actually catch some footage of someone going flying flat on their arse, I set off with camera in hand. My victim Mr Carl Higgins. The result was not exactly what I had hoped for. But as you can see from the footage Higgins was a little bit pleased with himself.

Update: There is more footage but will it be uploaded? Mr Under Secretary its over to you.

The Usual Suspects

This is the first photo I have which includes most of the members of The Gentlemans Outing Association. As you can see from the picture on the right hand side we could be considered to be a bunch of ugly bastards. But I always look for inner beauty in people. Unfortunately on this occasion I find myself lost for words. Before anyone says anything and gets all annoyed I have not included myself in this photo because I was using my camera phone and it does not have a wide angle lens. This was our first attempt at a Ten Pin Bowling/Alcohol fueled/Chinese Meal day out. Which proved to be a very successful day indeed (I say this because I have heard no complaints and have just got off the phone to The Under Secretary) and I am pretty damn sure will be repeated again in the not to distant future.