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.
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
Monday, 2 March 2009
A Tale Of Balls and Polish Sausage...
As we gathered together in the welcoming surroundings of the Horse and Jockey under a traditional thatched roof, the traditional greeting of "A Pint of Guinness, please" was heard, quickly followed by the equally traditional "and can I have beans instead of tomatoes please?", it became clear, The Gentlemen were about to start another outing.
After a feast of various fried and grilled bits of pig and chicken embryo (and Guinness) we left the pub, and started to make our way across Wrexham towards our destination, the bowling alley in the excitingly named "Eagles Meadow".
As we crossed the newly built pedestrian suspension bridge into the new development, a strange feeling passed through us, we were moving in an unexpected way... the bridge was bouncing, ever so slightly. It has yet to be determined whether this was due to a design fault in the bridge or the collected mass of some of our more, substantial gentlemen, all walking together.
Unfortunately the new shopping area proved a lot less exciting than its name, it is a carbon copy of so many new developments, but still, it held the bowling alley and, therefore, the bar.
Once we had all got ourselves a much needed drink (we had walked nearly half a mile you know!) and put on our rather nifty bowling shoes, we got ourselves into position and started bowling.
It soon became clear who was the best, and most consistant bowler, a certain Mr Barry Smith. He bowled with an economy of movement and level of accuracy that cried out for investigation.
Under interrogation Mr Smith admitted that one of his close friends is a regular bowler who plays for a recognised team, and, even though he strongly denies it, the suspicion is that Mr Smith has has a training session or two from his semi professional friend.
As the newest recruit to our ranks it was a great pleasure to see Mr Howell Davies attending his first outing, and although I am sure Howell will agree that he was no match for Mr Smith in the bowling stakes, he more than held is own when it came to bending the elbow.
It was a shame that two of our comrades had to leave us early namely Mr Politansk
i and Mr Sailsbury, however the positive side to Mr Sailsbury leaving, is that his delightful lady wife and children came to collect him. It was sad to see him leave, but with a cheery "Yes dear, I'm coming dear". Mr Sailsbury bade us farewell.
Once again a magnificent trophy was awaiting the winner of our killer competition and for a change a complete outsider won. Mr Roberts with a deadly accurate bowl, took the glory. I am sure that he will be only too happy to fill in the details of his famous victory to all who where not present to witness it for themselves (in the picture, Mr Roberts is the one not wearing glasses).
As our time at the bowling drew to a close we were kindly invited to the home of Mr Witold Waryszak to enjoy in some eastern European hospitality. Once more we took to the streets of Wrexham, and as we strolled, our President and Mr Roberts had a fine old time reminiscing about their boyhoods spent on the very streets upon which we were walking.
Upon arriving at Mr Witold Waryszaks' abode, we were seated at the table and presented with a plate of Polish sausage, which was eagerly devoured by all, and a bottle of a strange pale yellow liquid which caused a few anxious glances to be exchanged between The Gentlemen.
The label was indecipherable to those of us unable to read Polish, But a picture has been added for you to have a go yourselves. The taste was a strange mix of sweetness, herbs and a kick of alcohol which after the first shot grew rather pleasent. After we had killed the bottle and watched a film about a skiing trip (good luck on organising that as an outing Witold), we took our leave to end another fine day out.
Here's looking forward to the next.
After a feast of various fried and grilled bits of pig and chicken embryo (and Guinness) we left the pub, and started to make our way across Wrexham towards our destination, the bowling alley in the excitingly named "Eagles Meadow".
As we crossed the newly built pedestrian suspension bridge into the new development, a strange feeling passed through us, we were moving in an unexpected way... the bridge was bouncing, ever so slightly. It has yet to be determined whether this was due to a design fault in the bridge or the collected mass of some of our more, substantial gentlemen, all walking together.
Unfortunately the new shopping area proved a lot less exciting than its name, it is a carbon copy of so many new developments, but still, it held the bowling alley and, therefore, the bar.
Once we had all got ourselves a much needed drink (we had walked nearly half a mile you know!) and put on our rather nifty bowling shoes, we got ourselves into position and started bowling.
It soon became clear who was the best, and most consistant bowler, a certain Mr Barry Smith. He bowled with an economy of movement and level of accuracy that cried out for investigation.
Under interrogation Mr Smith admitted that one of his close friends is a regular bowler who plays for a recognised team, and, even though he strongly denies it, the suspicion is that Mr Smith has has a training session or two from his semi professional friend.
As the newest recruit to our ranks it was a great pleasure to see Mr Howell Davies attending his first outing, and although I am sure Howell will agree that he was no match for Mr Smith in the bowling stakes, he more than held is own when it came to bending the elbow.
It was a shame that two of our comrades had to leave us early namely Mr Politansk
i and Mr Sailsbury, however the positive side to Mr Sailsbury leaving, is that his delightful lady wife and children came to collect him. It was sad to see him leave, but with a cheery "Yes dear, I'm coming dear". Mr Sailsbury bade us farewell.Once again a magnificent trophy was awaiting the winner of our killer competition and for a change a complete outsider won. Mr Roberts with a deadly accurate bowl, took the glory. I am sure that he will be only too happy to fill in the details of his famous victory to all who where not present to witness it for themselves (in the picture, Mr Roberts is the one not wearing glasses).
As our time at the bowling drew to a close we were kindly invited to the home of Mr Witold Waryszak to enjoy in some eastern European hospitality. Once more we took to the streets of Wrexham, and as we strolled, our President and Mr Roberts had a fine old time reminiscing about their boyhoods spent on the very streets upon which we were walking.
Upon arriving at Mr Witold Waryszaks' abode, we were seated at the table and presented with a plate of Polish sausage, which was eagerly devoured by all, and a bottle of a strange pale yellow liquid which caused a few anxious glances to be exchanged between The Gentlemen.
The label was indecipherable to those of us unable to read Polish, But a picture has been added for you to have a go yourselves. The taste was a strange mix of sweetness, herbs and a kick of alcohol which after the first shot grew rather pleasent. After we had killed the bottle and watched a film about a skiing trip (good luck on organising that as an outing Witold), we took our leave to end another fine day out.
Here's looking forward to the next.
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Chuck Hollis in "I couldn't make it because I had to make pretty doilies for my knitting circle"
Paintballing 14th May 2009
Gentlemen, it gives me the greatest of pleasures to announce our next Paintballing adventure. On the 14th of May we will once again put our lives on the line for the glory of Oscar Mayer and its many Associates.
We have already pre-booked this date and the seventeen seat minibus has already been paid for. Now comes the most interesting part, the cost. The entire day will cost £25 each.
What do you get for your £25?
12 Games
Day runs from 10.00am-4.00pm
approx and includes lunch
Multiple missions
Experienced marshal's
Protective overalls
Full face masks
Body armour
Gloves
Balaclava
Semi-automatic weapons
Free gas
Battle pack with four canisters
SPEED BALL
(THE PRESIDENTS FAVORITE)
The first team to get the flag from the middle and take back to base are the winners. Speed and good team work is required for this mission.
VILLAGE AREA
Storm the base, One team defends while the other troops close in on their opposition and steal the flag.
TRENCHES
Take cover as speeding paintballs whistle passed your ears. The trenches provide safety, but watch out for intruders.
THE EMBASSY
One team rescues hostages while the other defends the building using snipers to keep the opposition at bay.
FORTRESS
One team will defend the fortress while the other team strategically storms in launching the missile.
The minibus is also included in this price and will also cover petrol costs. Any remaining money will be spent on trophies for the day. The only other cost will be your paintballs/grenades:
100 £7
200 £13
400 £24
600 £35
800 £45
1000 £54 (plus free smoke grenade or flash bang)
Smoke Grenade £3
Thunder Flash £3
Paint Grenade £4
Thermo Grenade £4
ALL MONIES MUST BE PAID BY THE 18TH OF APRIL.
ANYONE FAILING TO PAY BY THIS DATE WILL HAVE TO MAKE THEIR OWN ARRANGEMENTS FOR THE DAY.
THERE ARE ONLY 8 SEATS LEFT
We will also be going out on the lash to recover from our war wounds.
Unlike our usual sessions we will not be booking a restaurant. We will be going to The Plas Coch for the night where anyone who wants food can just order off the menu.
For those of you that need a break down of the costs see below:
£14 is the cost for a full day’s paintballing including 100 paintballs
£6 is for the minibus and the fuel
£5 is for trophy/trophies
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
