IN THE WORDS OF THAT RUBBISH 80'S BAND............DON'T LOOK DOWN

Oh my bloody goodness.

Today I made a slight mistake. I said to my mate and Best Man,"Look mate, we've got loads of room on the bus, do you fancy coming on a walk up Snowdon?"Mmmmmmmmm, I may just have undersold the full extent of the trip to him I think.

We started off, like the happy wondering fools who truly believed that this would be a stroll in the hills. How very wrong we were.

After half an hour of incredibly steep ascent, my good friend, Campbo was making some very peculiar sounds. A bit like a wheezing dog after it had been kicked in the doggy privates.

But fair play to the lad, he carried on.

We got to a very scenic position, overlooking a lake shrouded by mist, and our mountain leader explained that there were two possible ascent routes to the top of Snowdon...our goal for the day.

The first, was a fairly challenging track called the miners path that made its way up gradually to the summit. The second was a death defying scramble across two three thousand foot plus summits to Snowdon.

I will let you decide for yourself which was the chosen track. Needless to say we spent the next three and a half hours clinging to the edge of some very precarious crags.

I must admit that on the ascent up Crib Goch, I did ask our mountain leader to rope me up, because I was having twenty second thoughts about what I was doing up there.

I tiptoed my way upwards over one small craggy outpost and then was embarrassingly "doglead" on a rope for fifteen minutes. Ouch!, my ego takes another bruising. But I am still here.

It was only when our mountain guide said to us that on the ridge we were about to traverse, stay to the left, as if you fell over the right hand side there was an absolute certain death from the 1000 foot shear face drop, I got a true sense of the predicament we were in.

Please feel free to check out this photo with a click of your mouse. It unfortunately does not convey the absolute fear and angst that were being portrayed by at least two of the party.

Well time pushed on, and we did indeed conquer the first summit, but my old mate Campbo did have a particularly dodgy second ascent up Crib Ddysgl. He opted for the roped up alternative, after everyone else had manoeuvred up over a craggy outlet.

All that could be heard from the top was......"I've lost me bottle....there are no footholds here......I fear I am a lady...."

Only joshing mate. He did it. He got up there and made a steady route upwards towards the summit of Mt Snowdon.

Probably more embarrassing was the fact that the group of climbers/walkers that were following us, had two dogs with them. These dogs were outrageous. They cavorted over the highest peeks, and laughed in our faces. One even trod on my hands as I was clinging on for dear life. Little doggy shits.

But joking asides, we did it. It was a great feeling to have made it up there, and gave a real flavour as to what life is all about outside the everyday humdrum of Birkenhead...Liverpool.....General tedium.

And my closing message to me old comapdre......Well done Campbo lad.....Get yourself out of goal once in a while......you have achieved something really special today...

I bloody ache though!

Bloody nice hair style Kajagoogoo!

GOLF WASHOUT

Well it now seems like a million years ago, but it was in actual fact just a couple of weeks.

As you can see from the photo, it was hardly 100 degrees in the shade.

I am not in the meteorological industry, but if i was asked to explain the majority of the weather over the weekend I would have to say, for the most part.....It pissed down......constantly.

I do not think I have ever seen clouds quite as black as the ones we saw driving down to Morfa Nefyn.

I'm sure at one point I saw a hoofed winged beast ride across the saturated skyline.

However, a fabulous golf course, even in the very dodgy weather. The winner on the day was Matty Lane and his very close friend Matty Lane. They both played out of their skins and shot 35 points if my memory serves me correctly.

I on the other hand shot a poultry 24 points and lost somewhere in the region of 750 golf balls in the effort.

I'm not saying that the winter conditions had too much of an effect on the course, but two of the holes had actually washed away when the sea roared over the peninsula.

Errrrmmmmm.....makes you think about equality. I got three days in a Welsh monsoon, and my much loved and cossetted fiance is getting a week in a luxury villa in Majorca......

And yes, you would be right in thinking the same as me on this photo.......Is that a golf course or is it a particularly gruelling hike in the south American Andes? Quite possibly the later.

Not so favourable if you portray a slight hook in your game I would suggest.

There was however one small highlight that kept us all entertained from even before leaving the Wirral. This was of course the green and bilious face of my best man, Mr Dave Campbell. He was in a condition that can only be best described as suffering of the highest order.

It unravelled that he had not agreed with the Indian meal selection he had made the previous evening. Apparently it was nothing to do with the vast amounts of Smirnoff Mr Campbell had thrown down his neck like a man with three pairs of arms, but more to do with an off onion.

He did not look very well at the breakfast table, even refusing his bacon butty. Ouch!

The next day and behold.....a glimpse of sunshine. In Wales? Incredible. Pennant Park was the venue, and what I believe to be the highlight of the golfing weekend.

The entire golfing fraternity was well rested and prepared for the days golf. There was definitely no late night karaoke, and the creation of a sweaty, drunken Mosh Pit in the living room. Oh yes there was. And, some of us, (Mr DLB Allen) took things a tad too far with the run up for his diving beginning in the kitchen.

Ooooh by the way, that is an extremely nice photograph of Mr Campbell who by now had sobered up somewhat.

It was a splendid new course and one at which I begun to play some golf at. I had a reasonably good front nine, but was being hottly pursued by the small man with a massive club. Pigeon Boy Allen. He was having a storming round, and there was only a single point in it at the turn.

Unfortunately, on about the 14th he received a call from his future wife Ali, and there appeared to be a fracas on the dog and bone over some unauthorised withdrawals from the joint account.

The next series of shots that Mr Allen played could be compared to a blind one handed epileptic weasel trying to hit a marble with a pin. It was not pretty. The poor fellows game collapsed around him.

I would have not blamed his good lady at all......until she hit me in the head this very weekend with a car. And so it was all your fault Cropper.

Unbelievably I managed to blag the win at Pennant Park with 36 points. How very dare you.

Unfortunately things turned drunken again in the late evening.......Poker, wine, crisps, wine, good company, wine, beating Greg Walker, wine, karaoke, wine and more wine resulted in absolute bloody mayhem.

And once again the little fella lost control of any last remaining ounce of sense he had. He tells us every morning that he has no recollection of any of this. And I think that this is possibly the best answer for him.

The remarkable thing is, he thought he had won the final days golf at Muddy Sludge Soaky Toss Golf Club, otherwise known as Pryors Hayes.

I did not take any photographs out on the course on the Sunday, as there was a strong possibility that my camera would have filled with rain water and washed away. There were a couple of moments I was considering building an ark. I thought it was the end of the world. Needless to say, I played like a total wazzack. The two golfers on the day were Matty Lane and Matty Lane and Mr Allen. It was nip and tuck all the way.

It was not until the welcome retreat of the clubhouse was reached that the scores were in.

I will not divulge who might have won on the day, but here are a couple of photographs for you to work it out at home.

Well congratulations Matty and Matty. I would like to say a big thanks to all the guys for the weekend. Had a bloody great laugh. I'm sure we might venture over to Liverpool for a few beers before the wedding. Nice one guys.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN

It is upon us......There is no going back.....It is the



Savage Stag Invitational Golf Weekend




Four days of golf intermingled with some Indian food, Pokeyoke, and vast amounts of varied alcohol.....Ding Ding..Let's get it on.

So first of all, where are we playing? Well tomorrow, (Thursday) is going to be a warm up round for those in desperate need of the practice. It's at a small but chalenging little Muni known as Allerton in Liverpool. And here is me and fellow golfing Legend, Greg.















On Friday we are really treating ourselves with a visit to the wonderful Nefyn And District Golf Club in Wales.











Saturday sees the happy band head out to Pennant Park Golf Club in Holywell.










And finally Sunday ends the golfing stag do at Pryors Hayes Golf Club near Wrexham.







And this leaves only the players who will be partaking in this special tournament....And there are even trophies now.

In no particular order..........


Representing Bidston, and sponsored by Create UK, On the Tee,

Mr Greg Walker
Age - Unidentified
Job - Very Important Chap with a big swivelly chair.
Handicap - 24

Distinguishing feature - A unique two phase swing that when executed well can result in blistering drives, but when it goes wrong Greg usually hits the nearest pylon.



Representing Royal Tranmere

Mr Matty Lane (& Mr Matty Lane)
Age - Youthful yet knowledgable
Job - Technology expert and top spark
Handicap - 26

Distinguishing features - Matty Lane is capable of hitting a ball over 300 yards with his new sasquatch club. Unfortunately Matty's other half, Matty, has lost his memory, so we are concerned if he will remember to turn up.


Representing Stoneycroft


Mr Dave Campbell
Age - Open to offers
Job - Bad Man Catcher & part time snoozer
Handicap - 22


Distinguishing features - Dave is a keen lover of the woods. Be it off the tee, off the fairway from 200 yards plus, and indeed 15 to 20 yards from the green. He loves them. Dave has also transformed and revised the "chopping" golf action from the mid rough.


Representing Liscard

Mr Steve Palmart
Age - A mere snip of a lad
Job - Upsetting every other golfer with his swing
Handicap - 7 (There is already murmors of disapproval)



Distinguishing Features - Most definately the real deal golfer on our comp. This fella can hit a ball out of the course. And the rest of his game aint to shabby either. His down side is that he says he would do strange things to a Mr Steven Gerrard.....Very strange.



Representing Higher Tranmere

Mr Mark "Pigeon Boy" Allen
Age - 9
Job - he is still at school obviously!
Handicap - 22

Distinguishing Features - Where does one start? Has vastly improved his all round game over the past few months. Continuously hides new slinky golf outfits from his good lady...Joke Ali! Is tomorrow getting me up early so that we can go to get him a new driver at the Early Learning Centre. His downfulls are the massive amounts of red wine he will consume between games.


There are indeed a handful of further players who will be joining us, including:

From Tranmoire and sponsered by Cleanline, DR Robbie Davin [H26]

From North of the border all the way from Dundee, Mr Ellis Lawrence [H25]

From Chester and best man of the fella above, Mr (I'm not sure of his name) H?]


I am now going to bed on the eve of this exciting tournament, and will publish pics and scores after the weekend. I am expecting Pigeon Boy to be knocking on my door at any minute pissing himself with excitement.
I would like to thank everyone who is involved, and I wish you the best of luck.
Cheers Boys.

THE MAN FROM FRENCH CUSTOMS...HE SAY...CAN I COME TO YOUR PARTY

Well another thing to tick off the old wedding list of things to do before June.....The wine has been well and truly removed from a leading French supermarket.
After some time spent driving around the industrial wastelands of Calais.....not the most scenic of French towns believe me, we finally found Le Citie De Europe, a large out of town shopping centre housing none other than a Tesco filled entirely of booze....a step in the right direction one would have to say, along with various foreign shops stocking bizarre shoes and pungent cheeses.
Amidst this chaos was the French supermarket Carrefeur which had six or so magnificently stocked aisles of cheap French Wine. Within a period of forty minutes we had crammed two of the biggest shopping trolleys I had ever seen with as much wine as they could hold, along with a packet of macaroons and two pain au raisons, for sustenance of course.
Having been delighted with the final checkout price, we wheeled the groaning trolleys to the car and set about raising the front suspension, and prompting the need to put air in the back tyres.

A steady drive back to the port was next on the agenda with a few hairy moments as my Dad, who just for the record spent years and years and years driving Trucks around every European country, forgot which way he should drive round a French roundabout.....Slightly worrying.

As we drove into the port of Calais, we were stopped by a French fella in a little fluorescent jacket. He asked in his dodgy English, " Ello....is it possible to ave a look in ze back of ze car please?"

And he did, and then asked, " Are you avin a party or somesing?" We replied that it was for our wedding in june, to which the French official said, " and you will send me an invite yes?"

As you can see, incredibly tight security at our ports in these times of international terrorists. So it was over to good old England and a leisurely trip back to the Isle of Sheppey in Kent for a smack up roast dinner at Mrs Savage's eatery, and lashings and lashings of beer. And a jolly time was had by all....Especially my Mums little dog Billy who can be seen below....enjoying a walk on the beach.....Ah bless him.

IS THE WORLD SPEEDING UP?

Well, it's quite possible, although I have to admit, much against my better judgement I think it probably has more to do with my unavoidable and ever increasing years. Something that without a doubt, comes to us all.

My Dad, (great philosopher of the South East) says, "It's either going to rain or get dark before the morning". And it is with this ever advancing realisation that I am beginning to accept my destiny.

I have for many years now wondered why I don't score as many goals at the footie on Friday night. In the same arena I have begun to accept the occasional visit to the Doctor's surgery after a particularly lengthy hill walk, whereas a few years back I would have taken a couple of paracetamol and gone back in a few days and repeated the trek.

I think this somewhat sombre blog entry was prompted by my buddy and best man, Mr White Rover of Stoneycroft, and his tale of the return to the early morning cycling routine.

I have a reasonably up to date free weights bench in my back bedroom that I have convinced myself on a twice monthly basis for the past eight months, that I will hammer it three times a week.............Hmmmmmmm. It also doubles up as a fantastic clothes horse.

Oh well, away with all this talk of dilapidated and aching muscles and joints......Lets have a few photos of me doing some wild activities and proving to myself primarily that I am still worthy of a little recreation......
Here you can see me falling into a river after hanging onto a particularly slippery gorge...oohherr


Ascending a rocky crag in the welsh hills...International man of action.....I'm convincing myself..


Jumping into the sea from a rocky peak on Anglsey......5.6 for the entry....4.2 for artistic merit...

And as the great man Weller says...this is me going underground in an old lead mine....cold.wet..

I suppose I could always take up golf....That's suppose to be a sport of the old and insane....Hang on a minute...I already play. Me and Wogan are becoming ever more the same person, except he only works for two hours a day and takes more holidays than I am actually at work.....Something to work towards for the future maybe?
Please keep a look out for the fourth coming Stag Golf weekend that is taking place in the near future..I'm sure that it will produce some Blog worthy stories.
Well, i think I have convinced myself that perhaps I still got it in some very small degree. And with those limping skeletons banished to the back of my mind, I'm off for a radox bath, as my hamstring is a tad on the tight side today.......

IS IT A BIRD?

Or is it a mutant killer flying machine from the planet Birdos Horriablis?
...........Let me set the scene in this unforeseen chiller that unfolded last Thursday in a Victorian House in Oxton.....
A woman, alone, taking a little late lunch returns home to the safety of her own house. She goes in, walks through to the kitchen, just as she has done hundreds of times before. With the remains of a tasty American bread based snack in her hand, she decides that she will switch the radiogram on. Everything as usual, as normal, until she hears a strange noise from above. She gets an unnerving suspicion that she is being watched..........
When she looks up above her eye line, there it is. A huge, evil, demonic overweight, (and slightly blackened by its chimney descent) pigeon quite possibly on steroids.
With an almighty scream, tossing the remains of her lunch over her shoulder, she bolts for the door. The crazed pigeon fluttering across the room in hot pursuit........(Well that's what she tell's me.) With the safety of the door behind her, she now gulps for air, in a semi asthmatic state.

So in her hour of utter need who can Jen turn to help for.......? Her fiance...of course....but he is on a range of hills in Snowdonia......Her Mum.....Her Auntie........No use. Her Sister......Anyone!

The sound of smashing beer bottles and the flying of dirty Pigeon feathers fills the air.....But wait...

There is one last hope...

If you've got a problem ....

And nobody else can help........

And if you can find him....

Maybe you can hire........

PIGEON BOY

No sooner had he been called, than he arrived and sprung into bird fighting action.

Some say he is the nemesis of all fighting animals.....

Others say that no mortal man should mock his long shoes and small feet.

But most would undoubtedly not question his steely nerve.......

Well please allow me to paint the picture......

Having summoned up the courage to tackle the winged invader, which according to Bird Boy was the size of a hefty goat, when it puffed it's chest out, and that in itself was a brave move when all is considered, he ordered the now trembling Rookie to stand guard by the door, leaving a clear escape route if the bird should turn bad......

He then donned his armour.......A woven pink plastic wash basket, which was worn over the entire top half of the body, and clutching a household broom, to steer the bird out of the back door.

A tremendous battle ensued, with vicious broom waving, falling bottles, pigeon poo descending to the kitchen floor, and screams from both Bird Boy and Rookie.

Bird Boys obvious fear was of the sneaky pigeon flying up under the protective basket and going for the eyes.........

After some fifteen minutes, Bird Boy reigned triumphant, and jumping up and down celebrations followed for some time.

A true hero.

A big thanks from me.

and if you should need him.........just call like a pigeaon....coo coooooooooo....

GOOD WORK FELLA

I'm Getting Married In The Morning.....Well June actually

I have come to a carefully considered opinion, and it is this. Whatever job you are doing, stop it and go and do something in the Wedding Industry. This is without doubt the biggest money making operation in the world....neigh Universe. (I actually think that some day very soon, you could pay enough money to have an outer space wedding). I think that we cud have paid for a small space shuttle up unto this point ourselves.......

Anyhow, that's my bitching over with...I will probably be scowled at for uttering such manly thoughts. Living life in the dangerous lane indeed.

Didn't realise how much there was to do really, although I do have one of the world's most organised fiances. She has been responsible for the majority of the wedding bookings thus far.....Which is fine. She has very good taste. Needless to say she is marrying me!

But it is a jolly exciting time for us both and unbelievably it is creeping up on us with great speed.

Only got cakes, cars ,suits and flowers to box off now, so all in all everything is looking ship shape and Bristol fashion.

This is the venue for the reception. Nice little gaff if I do say so myself. Thornton Manor.......how very luverly.

And then there is the honeymoon. Jen has no idea where she is going.....I will give her a clue..it's not on the Wirral. There, that will narrow it down. No she does know that she has to have some injections before we go, but they do say it is very rough and dangerous in Ryhl nowadays.

The Best Man has very gallantly offered to grow his hair "to an acceptable length".....which I think is a jolly nice notion, not that he doesn't look suave and sophisticated at present. There is just a notion of a doorman about him that might frighten the ducks there. Only kidding Campbo. Honored that you accepted the gig. Here's hoping that we can stand upon a lofted balcony quaffing alcohol, overlooking a starry night.......Just like your evening do many moons ago.

Bridesmaids........Three is a nice number, even four would be really nice. Five might be stretching it a little. Six would be totally unacceptable....So Seven!!!!!! ok one of them is only half sized.....

But nevertheless, I have no idea where they are all going to fit in the church, or in the cars, or in the reception.....actually it shouldn't be a problem at the reception.

Well bring it all on I say. Can't wait.

P.S. Still not had a drink!

The Wagon Rolls On.......

Well for some of us it does anyway.

It was a blurry and slurred New Years Eve when an intrepid foursome decided and agreed to go on the wagon for the entire month of January.

Was this such a great idea I hear both you and me asking? Too be honest..I'm now not so sure. I can say that I am currently clinging on to the very back of the said wagon by my finger nails, my feet dragging well and truly in the land of alcoholic pleasure.

But, it's now only another week or so until I can say that I did it. Still an uphill challenge. Yes I feel better in myself, and yes I have been able to remember a whole bunch of stuff that in the later stages of last year I would have most definitely forgotten. You know like when you are upstairs in your own house and think, ooh I had better go downstairs and get that thing for work......but when you get there you have absolutely no idea what it is you went for. Sounds familiar?

I have to pay special credit to both my fiance and indeed Ali, our friend who joined me on my sober January crusade. Sterling effort guys! However, there is one more member of the afore mentioned group who spectacularly fell off the wagon last weekend. The cracks appeared from the outset, and it only took one very weak looking pint of Guinness to herald the speedy transition to quaffing large vodka's in the Hallowed realms of the Lord Raglan Public House.

BEWARE! This could happen to you too. I man out of all control. Mark in all fairness, I am truly and utterly green with envy at your withdrawal from the wagonesque world in which I still remain.
I cannot wait for that first pint.

POSH CAT

Horace.....Quite simply a posh cat.

We got Horace from the Freshfields Animal Rescue home near Southport when we moved into our house in November 2005.

Originally his name was "Pom", which I felt was far too soppy, and so duely named him after my late Grandfather.

Horace unfortunately has feline aids, so cannot venture outside the house. This does not seem to bother overduely, as all he does on the average day is eat and sleep.

And boy can this cat sleep.......In windows, on boxes, in tumble dryers, on top of clean washing, in the beds.....you name it he has kipped there.

When we asked wot he would be like, the staff at Freshfields told us he may scratch a tad. This was somewhat of an understatement. We did have a lovely brown leather three seater, but it now looks as though it was attacked by a machete weilding maniac.

Don't even get me started on what used to be the landing carpet. But, we wouldn't be without him now.......maybe his little claws could go, but he is a friendly little chap with a passion for head butting you. His latest trick is traversing the headboard between the hours of 2 and 5 am and trying to secure a sleeping area between me and Jen.

Our friends Mark and Ali say that if Horace could talk he would be the poshest cat ever, with a very upper class demur.

Long live the king of our little castle.

AHHHHHHHHH!

I am reliably informed that a picture of a baby is a surefire way of attracting the attention of other Bloggers,
So here she is. A real cute one.
My girlfriend loves this picture and goes all soft and gooey when she sees it.
One day....I know it's coming!

I'm a new BLOGGER!

Creation of a new blog...today...
IT IS THE FUTURE!

Or so I have been told by many far more intellectual types than myself which when all is said and done doesn't leave that many!

Why am I Blogging I hear you ask? Well up until a few weeks ago I would have most probably thought it was something to do with Phil Mitchell, from Eastenders and a van on Wansted Heath.
However I am reliably informed that is Dogging.....a mere slip of the tongue......Moving swiftly on.
A friend from work introduced me to the Blog world, and I thought that I should give it a go dragging myself into the Techno Age with a smile on my face and a happy disposition.
Of course since he showed me how to use it....I seem to have forgotten most of it already, so if you find yourself reading this, it truely is a small step for mankind.
Kev you know who you are........
So I will quit with the lengthy introduction and will of course welcome any comments or help.
I thank you.