It takes all sorts.

Dave rang me the other night for a cheeky pint after work so we met up in a bar we don’t normally frequent. We’re halfway through our first pint when a guy who we both vaguely know walks in. He gets a beer and walks over to where we are standing to say hello.
Although we both don’t know the guy really well we both know his girlfriend. She had been mates with one of Dave’s exes and was a real cutey.
Anyhow, we’re chatting away about nothing in particular and Dave asks how Jen is. This guy says that they’ve split up and he hasn’t seen her for a while. We offer our apologies and carry on making small talk about nothing in particular. I can’t remember how the conversation veered onto the truly bizarre but this guy managed to drop “yeah, Jen used to shit on my chest, the best bit was when she smeared it in” into it.
Dave and I stood there open mouthed whilst this guy then tells us that his current girlfriend refused to do it point blank and won’t even discuss it. With that, he finishes his pint and announces he’s off to pick up a Chinese and he’ll see us around.
We probably stood there in silence for about five minutes before Dave asked whether he had heard him correctly. I concurred and we drank our pints in an eerie silence before heading home.
A little later I started to think about this revelation and married Women in general. I’ve decided that Women fall into three categories. And I’ve got some high profile evidence to back my theories up.
The 90% Woman – these are your normal Married Women who you have to coax for weeks to get a Birthday blowjob. I’m looking at Tiger’s Wife and thinking no chance of a blowjob for him until Hell freezes over. His thirteen minute grovelling apology to his sponsors was probably the most cringe worthy piece of TV this year although it only held this record for a few hours until Eastenders live 25th anniversary show later that evening.
The 9.99% Woman – even after a few years of marriage these Women can surprise you by blowing you at a drop of a hat. Sometimes I look at Cheryl Cole and I can imagine her sidling up to you on the couch as you watch the Footie on a Thursday night. Twenty minutes later you’re sat there with a stupid grin on your face and a further half hour later you realise you’re watching the vicar of Dibley and the cheeky minx has flipped the channels over when you were concentrating on your money shot. The fact that Cashley deemed it necessary to cheat on Cheryl suggests the slimy, money grabbing piece of scum might be looking for that rarest of Women, the 0.01%er. Well, as luck would have it Cashley, you don’t have to look too far.
The 0.01% Woman – here’s a Woman who will shit on your chest and smear it in as well if you ask her nicely. When John Terry cheated on his Wife Toni for the umpteenth time she did what any self respecting Woman would do, packed her bags and headed to Dubai. But this wasn’t just some bimbo JT had bedded, it was an ex team mates girlfriend and friend of his Wife. And he hadn’t just bedded her but got her pregnant, paid for the abortion and given her an £80k sweetener as well. And this was all played out in the media just to add to the embarrassment of the long suffering Toni. But wait, three days after jetting to Dubai she tells the Worlds press that she has forgiven JT. She loves him more than ever and they are going to make another go of it. If Cashley wants’ someone to shit on his chest, I think we have a prime candidate.

Quick update

Big thanks to everyone who has posted me best wishes or sent an e-mail, glad to say all is well. I’ve had the all clear from the Doctor in a roundabout sort of way. All my blood tests came back showing that everything was functioning as it should. My chest X-ray wasn’t so good which is no surprise seeing as I’ve smoked since I was a kid. I’ve got the first stage of COPD which sounds bad but I’ve lucked out by having it diagnosed so early. Bottom line is give up smoking and live to a ripe old age, carry on smoking and I’ll be fucked by the time I reach my mid fifties.
So, gave up smoking last Thursday and apart from having to leave the pub at half time in the Wales v Scotland game on Saturday for a fag or risk throwing my pint glass through the TV screen, I’ve done quite well. Stupidly though, I feel like shit at the moment. Stinking cold, migraine, chesty cough. If I carry on like this I might have to start back.
Also received more good news last week when my Daughter got accepted into our preferred choice of Secondary Schools. Chuffed to bits with that and I’ve promised to take her shopping on the weekend for whatever she wants. I’m hoping she goes for a greyhound but I guess it will be a game for the Wii or Ds. Might have to make sure we go shopping at Crayford.
Twickenham was a good laugh the weekend before last. Thirteen of us had a stretch Limo from Cardiff and managed to go all of ten yards before the driver crashed. Some girl cut him up in this Mini and when he jumped out her boyfriend who was in the passenger seat followed suit and started squaring up to him. Thirteen ex Rugby players then got out and squared up to this gobby little shit who very quickly shut up and sat back in the car with his tail between his legs.
Had a monster session on the Saturday, starting off in London Welsh and ending up in our favourite Irish bar in Brentford. Sixteen hours of Guinness and Strongbow just about finished me off. Glad I didn’t have the blood tests on the day after that.
Not done much this week but will be starting back training soon so that I don’t become a fat bastard now I’ve quit smoking. Will also be looking in on all my favourite bloggers and Mo.
Later.

Another tour

I've been to the Doctors and Hospital for a barrage of tests and I get the results next week. Fingers crossed that it's nothing serious and I'm just a lazy twat. Still sleeping for stupidly long periods but that's about to come to an abrupt end. Off to London for the England v Wales Six Nations match in a few hours time.
I've been going to Twickenham since I was a kid and I've never seen Wales win there in all that time. The last trip two years ago I didn't bother going to the match and Wales won. Wont be going to the match this time so the omens are good.
There's a dozen of us making the trip which means as soon as we cross the the Severn bridge the average IQ of England will shoot up by 30%.
Apart from the Rugby we were supposed to be celebratng one of the boys 40th but his Wife is due with their first child anytime now and he's pulled out. Some would say he should have done that nine months ago! Personally I think he's a fucking lightweight. Dave is coming which is always value and there's a few boys who we used to play Rugby with making the trip as well so it should be a cracker.
There's nothing like a Rugby tour to get the adrenaline pumping. We normally have a bottle of Welsh Tequila which means it has to be drunk before you leave Wales. There's all the normal fines for being late, not having the proper attire (this weekends is Hawaiin shirt, red scarf and odd socks which just so happens to be my normal dress code) and of course the buzz circle.
Our game of choice is "Commander says" which is a little bit too difficult to explain here but you can take it as read that there will be a few pissed up idiots strolling through Richmond tomorrow afternoon.
My favourite England v Wales trip was when Wales were actually the home team playing at Wembley. I was working that game but met up with Dave and a few others straight after and we headed for the bright lights. About four in the morning we were in a bar in Kensington which was done out like a cave. By now there was only myself, Dave and big G left. The barman, called Mustapha, was chatting to us and Big G was working his charm on the barmaid who was Brazilian. Having lived there he spoke quite good Portuguese so they were getting on well. There was no one else there when this gang of skinheads walk in. Mustapha refuses to serve them and with that they start to kick off hurling a few choice racist comments his way. There was about eight of them and a hammering was on the cards but there was no way we were going to stand for that so the three of us got up and Big G got in the face of the ringleader. Before anything could happen this bouncer who none of us had seen before stepped out of the shadows and stood in front of the three of us. These skinheads all looked up at him and had second thoughts. This guy was huge, Black and looked fucking nasty. They turned and walked leaving us to breath a sense of relief. Mustapha was stunned that we had stood up for him and we ended up drinking there for free until eight in the morning.
The bouncer it transpired had sparred with Frank Bruno and was an established heavyweight in his own right although I don't remember his name. What I do remember is standing in front of him, poking him in his chest and calling him a big soft fucking bear. His laugh resonated off the walls so loudly I thought the place was going to collapse.
Finally, the Brazillian girl took us back to her place for breakfast and to meet her mates. Happy days.
Have a good weekend folks and catch you all next week hopefully.
Cymru am byth.