Friday, 30 March 2007


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 have achieved something really special today...
I bloody ache though!

Bloody nice hair style Kajagoogoo!

Monday, 12 March 2007


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.