The Misadventures of The Gentlemens Outing Association

The Gentlemen's Outing Association's Second Annual Christmas Soirée

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 10:26:00 GMT

Gentlemen are you ready for our Second Christmas Soirée?
Do you want to spend a fun filled Christmas day out at Riley's in the company of The Gentlemen?
If the answer is YES to the all above then The Association has you covered this festive season.
For the not so princely sum of £15 you can guarantee yourself a place on the Gentlemen's Outing Associations Second Annual Christmas Soirée.
I will need the £15 in full as this will need to be paid before the day to secure the tables we need and the cut off date for this and your meal deposit of £10 is Thursday 12th November.
So what do you get for your money?

Two Pool Tables exclusively for The Association.
Two Snooker Tables exclusively for The Association.
One Poker Table exclusively for The Association.
Your first drink free.
A buffet laid on during the day or should that be banquette.
A Pool Christmas killer competition.
A Doubles Snooker Tournament.
A Poker Tournament for those who want revenge from last year.
Our own Hostess (Mandy) to look after our every whim.

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. So if you want in I will need your £5 stake along with your deposit.
Our Christmas Killer Pool tournament will be £2 per man paid on the day with the winner taking all.
And for the first time ever we will be holding a Snooker Doubles tournament which will be £5 per team paid on the day with the winning team taking 75% and the runners up taking 25%.
Can Barry “The Shark” Smith retain his Killer Pool Title?
Will Dewi “Peg Leg” Richards wipe the smiles of everyone's faces at the Poker Tournament again?
And who will win the inaugural Snooker Doubles tournament?
When all the fun and games are over we will be retiring to The Amatola Restaurant in Deeside.
Where for the sum of £25 you can eat and drink all you want until 11pm and then as long as you are willing, able and still have money left you can drink and dance the night away until 1am. Our free pick up for the restaurant will be outside Riley's. I will not be able to finalize the pick up time until deposits have been paid for the restaurant and I have a definite number of people who are coming.
I will require a deposit of £10 off anyone who is coming for the meal.
The when: 12pm – 6 or 7pm Tuesday the 16th of December.
The where: Riley's in Chester.
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.
Remember Gentlemen Santa hats are not optional.

The Mystery Benefactor……………………………………………….

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Tue, 1 Sep 2009 20:09:00 +0100

I am going to get straight to the point for a change and say I was completely gobsmacked at the turn of events last Tuesday.

The day had started off as normal. The taxi picked me up and inside already waiting for his first pint was Mr Higgins. We then met Mr Roberts at the train station and when we boarded the train we met Mr Richards. Our journey to Chester was wrought with the usual frivolous conversations. As we disembarked at Chester Station and entered The Town Crier Mr Hawker was sat waiting with a pint in hand. Mr Richards promptly ordered a round and we all took our seats. After 10 minutes or so our pints had been drained and it was time for another pint. It was at this precise moment that Mr Hawker decided to go to the bar. Shouts of:

“Mines a Guinness”

“Mines a Bitter”

“Mines a Lager”

and

“I will have anything”

rang around the bar like the cascading melodies of a group of Angels. Mr Hawkers face turned to thunder and I am not sure what it was that he said exactly apart from the fact that it contained the words:

Fuck

Bollocks

Taking

The

Piss

Wankers

Then my phone went off. It was a text message from Mr Shaw which read

“Just pulled into Chester Station. Make mine a double”.

It was at this point that Mr Hawkers head nearly exploded. Getting five pints in for the Gentlemen was bad enough but to also buy a double whisky for Mr Shaw nearly tipped him over the edge. I for one can honestly say I worried about his mental health for a split second then thought better of it.

As we all sat around laughing and waiting for our ale to be brought over I took it upon myself to take a picture of this momentous occasion for prosperity.

After a few more pints Mr Shaw decided that it was time for us both to go and book the restaurant for Christmas. I must say I was impressed by the look of The Siam Thai & Teppan-Yaki Restaurant and at the prices they charge it had better be bloody good.

Mr Shaw the fate of The Gentlemen's Christmas 2nd Annual Soiree meal rests on your shoulders. It was then back to The Town Crier for another quick pint before we set off to Riley's.

It would be remiss of me not to mention that the ale was going down quicker than Sir John Mills pint in Ice Cold in Alex and this was a trend that would continue throughout the day. Round after round after round was bought and consumed.

Mr Hawker, Mr Richards and Myself spent the majority of the day soaking up the sun and soaking our kidneys in alcohol. We had struck lucky. The weather was gorgeous last Tuesday so we decided to make the most of it. We only entered Riley's to buy more beer and to organise The Gentlemen's Second Annual Christmas Soiree but those details are for another day. We hardly played pool all day but when we eventually decided to have a few games it was Team Hawker V's Team Richards and Team Richards were victorious. A sound thrashing of TWO games to NIL was the order of the day and Mr Richards and myself celebrated accordingly, high fives were exchanged, much back slapping followed and a celebratory pint was downed.

It was then time to head out for our meal. Now I must confess that I had charged Mr Hawker with finding us with an Indian Restaurant for the night. But in typical fashion I had spied a nice looking restaurant on the internet which had brilliant reviews and charged ahead and booked it there and then for 19:30. Now this is where I must humbly apologise to all The Gentlemen who attended that restaurant. This was one of the worst meals I have ever had. The food was completely bland and was bereft of any flavours whatsoever. It was at this point that Mr Hawker decided to remind me that I had overruled him and booked this horrific restaurant that we were now sitting in and complaining about.

Mr Hawker I offer you a personal apology and I must also apologise to the other diners that night as Mr Hawker, Mr Richards and Myself spent most of the night getting up from our table and going outside for a smoke so we could at least have some taste even if it was just tobacco.

I was in a bind but a surprising figure was about to come to my rescue.

Now I have had to keep quiet about this for the last three weeks and the anticipation on that day was beginning to tell. I was getting twitchy and nervous but I was about to play my ace card. As the moaning and grumbling continued I reached into my wallet and pulled out a nice roll of notes. The total was £50 and as I proclaimed,

“The beers are on Oscar Mayer”

There was a deafening silence. The Gentlemen looked at me as if I was insane. I heard murmuring and mumbling but could not quite make out what was being said. Quickly I called the waiter over and ordered everyone a pint or bottle of beer. This just prompted a barrage of questions:

“We stopped buying rounds in Riley's. What you doing”?

“You sure you can afford it bollocks”?

“I didn't know there was a cash machine in here. Where is it”?

“What you doin shag? Your gonna be skint”.

Now it was time to come clean. A few weeks ago I had been told by Mr Shaw that a very prominent member of the Oscar Mayer staff had been enquiring about our next outing and upon hearing that we were going to Riley's and then for a meal he had offered us £50 to get some refreshments. Stunned faces stared at me across the table and a huge smile broke across my face as I revealed our mystery benefactor:

Mr Trevor Jones

Unfortunately I do not have a picture of this great man but I will endeavour to get one.

Suddenly and without warning the mood changed. Its funny how free ale can do that to an evening but I digress.

Cheers of:

“Top bloke that Trev”

“I have always liked him”

“He's always got time for the little people”

“One of the nicest blokes in the factory”

and

“He's the best Managing Director I have ever worked for”

resounded around the restaurant.

As six of The Gentlemen's finest toasted Trevor and consumed the remaining bar tab all that was left to do was bid Chester a goodnight and to reassure her that The Gentlemen's Outing Association would be back within her borders this coming October.

View Full Album

Nine Gentlemen, Penelope and Gwynie

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 17:26:00 +0100

It all started with a quick conversation on a break in work and the next thing I knew I had booked a sea fishing trip off Rhyl for ten of The Gentlemen's finest. I must confess that I have never spent a significant amount of time on board a boat so tales of people being sick for the entire trip did not go down well with me.

As I was just waking up on Saturday morning there was an ominous knock at my door. To my surprise there stood in front of me was Mr Higgins who was kitted out as if he was going hunting for a great white shark. I extinguished my cigarette and went out to meet Mr Clayton who had assured me that there would be a hot cup of coffee waiting for me in the car. I was not disappointed. That cup of coffee was the greatest I have ever drank. I salute you Mr Clayton that was the pick up I needed.

I was instructed to text Mr Shaw as soon as we set off for Rhyl. In typical fashion the response I got was:

“Oi be waiting outside The Hare and Hounds, Jim lad”.

I could tell right there and then that this was going to be a pirate themed day.

As we entered Rhyl and pulled up at the first set of traffic lights Mr Shaw decided it would be a good idea for us all to start shouting at innocent pedestrians. Cries of:

“Landlubber”

“Shiver me timbers!”

“Booty”

“Poop Deck”

“Davy Jones's Locker”

Its fair to say we had some very strange looks off people but this did not deter us. Our pirate talk continued throughout our entire drive through Rhyl.

As we parked the cars at Rhyl Sun Centre it was time for a few photos:

With the photos taken it was time for us to find a hearty breakfast fit enough for such a fine group of Gentlemen our pockets were laden with bullion so off we set.

After wandering around aimlessly about for about twenty minutes we finally found an establishment worthy of our booty. Two doubloons and ninety nine reales bought me one of the finest breakfasts I have ever eaten.

With a belly full of breakfast myself and Mr Hughes decided it was time to pop outside for a smoke. Our conversation quickly turned to hacking/soft modding the Nintendo Wii. During this time Mr Clayton ran into W H Smiths to buy a copy of some camping magazine and another two of our members decided to just walk off on their own. That's right I am talking about you Mr Smith and your bloody right hand man Mr Higgins.

As we took off back to the cars I noticed Mr Shaw and Mr Clayton were also missing. I have to be honest and say I didn’t really pay this much attention. Oh how I regret that lapse in concentration.

Then it happened. Unbeknown to me, Mr Shaw and Mr Clayton had decided to buy me a fishing rod. Now I know what your thinking dear reader. Two Gentlemen had spent their hard earned money on me and that I should be grateful. How wrong you are. I was presented with a neon pink sea fishing rod.

These pictures do not do this abomination justice. It is a thing of such abhorrent horror that it brings tears to my eyes. I can honestly tell you that when I was given this I was repelled by its ugliness. This thing is awful. It must have been created in the deepest, darkest depths of hell. All I can say about this is if my cutlass had been real and not made of plastic there would have been spilled guts all over Rhyl promenade.

As we got back to the cars Mr Clayton informed me that he had made a trip through Rhyl a few weeks ago and had decided to make sure we knew where we where going. With Mr Claytons knowledge of Rhyl harbour we set off.

As we pulled up to the harbour the excitement started to build in the car. As we embarked I suddenly realised something was wrong. There was no sign of our chartered boat. Mr Clayton had sold us all a dummy.

What were we to do? I caught sight of another Jenson charter boat and decided to do the only thing I knew possible, sshout like an idiot. It turns out that we had passed the boat on the way. It was docked just off Rhyl beach opposite where the old fun fair use to be.

But I am now starting to ramble. So lets get to the actual fishing trip.

As soon as we parked up opposite the beach I made my way toward the shore. Unfortunately for me Mr Shaw was with me and made sure my pride and joy was brought along for the ride.

As I spied our boat across the beach I saw a grizzled old man on deck who was to be our skipper for the day. This mans name was Gwynie and what a skipper he turned out to be.

Once all the Gentlemen were onboard we set sail. It was at this point that everyone on board started looking at each other with nervous smiles. Who was going to be sick first?

Mr Shaw had informed me earlier that morning about the amount of tablets he had consumed because of a bad experience he once had. Myself and the rest of The Gentlemen are made of sterner stuff and we threw abandon to the wind and took our chances.

However five minutes after we had set sail Mr Hughes started to complain of sea sickness. I slowly but surely edged away from him. There was no way he was being sick all over my fancy pirate threads.

Then the engines were cut and we had reached our fishing ground.

Gwynie sprang into action. Well, when I say sprang it was more along the lines of a slow amble. He rigged up all the rods and set about baiting up for us all. We all took up our positions Myself, Mr Shaw, Mr Clayton and Mr Prescott took the stern. Mr Richards, Mr Smith and Mr N Hughes took the Starboard side and Mr Higgins, Mr Roberts and Mr C Hughes took the Port side.

As my rig descended into the depths of Rhyl sea I envisaged myself fight with monster sized Greater Spotted Dogfish, Bass and Poorcod. But before these thoughts had time to sink in Mr Richards had already caught three Mackerel. His rig had only been in the water for a few minutes. The signs were good and our hopes were raised even further when Mr Smith caught some more Mackerel. This was going to be a busy day indeed.

I exchanged places with Mr Shaw and would you believe it as soon as he was in my spot the git caught, bloody typical. Still my hopes were high. Then it happened, the tip of my rod twitched. Was I seeing things I watched it with a steely glare. It twitched again, I seized the rod in both hands and struck with the power of Zeus, I had the little bugger. I reeled in as fast as I possibly could and I spied my prey as it broke the surface. My heart raced as I lifted it out of the sea and the bastard fell off my hook much to the amusement of Mr Clayton.

I felt quite deflated at this point because everyone else had caught. I could not go the entire day without catching anything but much to my joy the fish stopped biting. Nobody was even getting a nibble. Mr C Hughes was quite frustrated with this turn of events and so was Gwynie. This man had a reputation to uphold and he was not best pleased. He had made up his mind to move to another spot if none of us started catching. But decided to rig up two Tope rigs to see if we could get any luck with those. Myself and Mr C Hughes pounced upon the opportunity to try our luck at catching Tope.

Twenty minutes in and still no luck. The Tope rigs were doing nothing and the rest of The Gentlemen were having the same luck. But despite this turn of events the mood on The Goldilocks was still one of fun and the banter continued to resound across the deck mostly led by Mr Clayton and Mr Prescott.

As I slurped on a very fine cup of tea I heard Mr Shaw laughing behind my back and encouraging Gwynie to rig up the abomination. My heart sank but I put on a brave smile as Gwynie handed it over to me. Now it is at this point in the blog that your probably expecting me to rant on about having to use a neon pink fishing rod. However you would be wrong. That rod turned out to be a bit of a good luck charm.

No sooner had I lowered my rig into the sea I got a bite. Then another and then another. I have no idea what kind of Voodoo possessed that rod but suddenly the fish were in a feeding frenzy. As I looked around The Goldilocks every Gentleman was catching and when I say catching I mean as soon as rigs were put back into the sea they were catching pretty much instantly.

This carried on for the duration of the day but we were only catching Mackerel, Dabs and the odd Weaver. Where were the big fish? Were we going to be catching these all day?. To be honest these thoughts didn’t stay with me long because I was just happy to be catching anything.

Suddenly a call went out from Mr Shaw,

“I dunno what's on the end of this line but it feels like a big fucker”

My hopes were raised and as Mr Shaw fought like a seasoned sea fisherman I hoped and prayed that he would bring up something big. I was not disappointed. Mr Shaw had caught the first Lesser Spotted Dogfish of the day and was to go on and catch a few more.

Was this man going to win the best catch of the day prize?

No he was not. Mr Prescott was to take that honour with his catch of a couple of Lesser Spotted Dogfish, Greater Spotted Dogfish and a couple of Red Gurnard.

Mr Clayton and Mr C Hughes also caught Lesser Spotted Dogfish during the day:

Those were the big catches of the day and as the last hour slowly played out a familiar cry that will be forever ingrained into one of The Gentlemen's brains could be heard over and over and over and over again.

“More here”

Mr Higgins had hit a rich patch of Mackerel and was pulling them out as easily as if he was scooping them out with a net.

As the clock struck 16:30 it was time to pack up our rods and head back to shore (ie the pub).

As we pulled up to the shore I suddenly remembered that I still had to disembark The Goldilocks. The view ahead of me did nothing to rest my nerves. Now it has often been said that I am not the fittest member of The Association and I have to whole heartedly agree. This was to be a leap of faith and the fact that Mr Shaw stood on the beach with his camera in hand did little to soothe my nerves. Mr Prescott did his best to help me off the boat but I just ended up jumping:

I believe the words,

“Thank fuck for that”.

flew from my mouth upon my landing on solid ground.

It was time to retire to the pub for some well earned Guinness and some story telling.

Tales of I had a huge fish on but it slipped off the hook were prevalent until talk turned towards our Dublin trip next year, but that for another blog.

It was now time for the prize giving. As I mentioned above Mr Prescott won the biggest catch of the day:

And Mr Higgins won most caught of the day:

He's not the fat one by the way.

There are a lot more photos HERE

It just remains for me to say that this was a brilliant day out. Plans are already afoot for another fishing trip next year. Will we be on The Goldilocks with Gwynie again? Only time will tell. So I bid you a fond farewell and will see you all in work.

How I Miss Thee

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Fri, 29 May 2009 18:55:00 +0100

You were my comfort, my happiness and my soul mate. I will never forget the fun times we shared together. Those happy, laughter filled days/nights spent playing Halo 3, Left 4 Dead and Killzone 2. Remember how you team killed me during a Capture the Flag?. Oh how we laughed. But I got my revenge when I teabagged you later on that same night.I will never forget those times.

That fun filled day we spent at Rednal where I cradled you in my arms and wouldn’t let anyone else touch you on the way home.

Do you remember how we laughed the morning after as I regaled you with stories of my bravery and how I did it all for you and only you?. Those other fools thought I was playing as part of a team but we knew better. I gave you a solemn promise that I would never let you fall into the hands of the Polish Army. No matter how much pain I had to endure it would all be worth it in the end.

As I write this I find myself thinking back to the day when you turned up at my flat. My heart was thundering with anticipation and as I peeled open your box my stomach was in knots. I pulled back the last few strands of wrapping paper and there you were smiling back at me with that cheeky smile of yours. I picked you up and cradled you in my arms like a new born baby.

Our first night together was magic. I will not go into specific details here, but the way your handles rubbed against me still makes me shiver. You did things to me that would make a porn star blush but I loved every minute. I was as helpless as a baby in your handles that night but you showed me the meaning of true love that night. I woke up that morning full of vigour and a feeling of unquantifiable love.

We had our arguments,

but a love like ours burns brighter than the sun and can never be extinguished. We were always honest with each other and that is why our relationship worked so well. So when I kissed you on the handle that morning as I left for work I thought everything was fine between us.

Imagine my surprise when I came home from work that afternoon when I saw this.

You were already out of the flat and making your way to God knows where. I pleaded with you to tell me what was wrong. You never answered me. Tears welled up in my eyes as you continued down the road. I ran after you and scooped you up in my arms swearing to God that I would never let you go. Then you hit me with that bombshell.

Trophy “I don’t love you anymore”

Me “What?”

Trophy “I don’t love you anymore”

Me “But why? What have I done? Please tell me. I will change anything you don’t like. I will even go on a diet(a complete lie by the way)”

Trophy “Its not you, its me”

Me (Confused) “Why? What have you done?”

Trophy “Nothing yet. You wont understand”

Me “Tell me please. We can work this out”

Trophy “I need to be with another man”

Then it dawned on me. Our last night in bed, I remember you asking me if it was ok if you called me Craig. I thought nothing of it at the time I just thought you had a crush on someone famous, but now the revulsion welled up in my gut. You were thinking about HIM.

As I handed you over that afternoon only one thought entered my mind. You will be mine again, this I swear.

Rednal...This Time It's International.

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Fri, 22 May 2009 21:45:00 +0100

Those of you who have followed the adventures of The Gentlemen will recall that some time ago a small band of brave souls went to Rednal to test our mettle in combat, and a resounding success it was. Many a tale has been told of that fine day and perhaps those tales led to the impressive turnout when we once more kissed our loved ones farewell, and with the cry of "Come home with your shield, or on it" ringing in our ears, we faced our fears and went to our destiny.

It was at the traditional meeting place of Warriors, namely McDonald's, that we met, some were quiet and nervous, others rowdy with a forced bravado, more still got stuck into double Sausage and Egg McMuffins and cared not, that the cammo face paint was running down their cheeks.

When the bus arrived, driven by the ever dependable Mr Smith, we loaded our bags and climbed on board, only to realise that several of our Polish comrades had disappeared to stock up on liquid refreshment. As we sat waiting a poor innocent young man, whose job consisted of giving away free samples of a chocolate snack, wandered too close to the bus, he barely escaped with his life, needless to say, the sound of chomping was prominent for several minutes afterwards.

Once the missing Gentlemen had returned, we set off, this time in convoy, the bus leading the way with Mr Sailsburys' party in second place followed by the car driven by Mr Maciejewski.

Upon arrival at Rednal we were greeted by the sight of those Gentlemen who had made their own way there, an impressive feat for Mr Hughes who had had to ring the President en route and ask for directions!

As we got ourselves kitted out, the veterans of the first battle helped the new recruits with the complexities of body armour, Gareth, the man in charge of the day, introduced himself and explained the rules of engagement. He then called the sides to order "Gentlemen of the Polish Army to the left, and everyone else to the right". It quickly became apparent that the sides where unbalanced and volunteers where called for to help out the Eastern European side.

Several Gentlemen crossed the line,to jeers of derision, amongst them, Mr Smith (Chasing another trophy), Mr Worral and unsurprisingly, Mr Hollis whose stated ambition it was to "Take Out" the President.

As we faced our opponents we realised that it would again be a battle of youth and military experience versus middle age, chronic unfitness and three girls.

Ah yes, three of the so called gentle sex had thrown away the stereotypes and joined us in combat, they stood next to us shoulder to shoulder staring down the Polish side, who could barely contain their snigger's as they stared back.

The first battle was capture the rocket with the largely (but not wholly) Welsh side defending, after some eight minutes of intense fighting the rocket was captured by the Polish Army and we went to the rest area to catch our breaths and stare in disbelief at how many paintballs we has used. The air of confidence on the victorious side was not so much obvious, as rude, with some name calling, laughing and pointing of fingers. Now we were on the attack and after only six and a half minutes the rocket was ours, giving us the points in the game. Suddenly the atmosphere changed as the catcalling came back to haunt our opponents.

Gareth, at this point, decided that he would keep the times and scores to himself to add to the tension of the day.

And so we fought on;

The highlights of the days fighting are many and varied, I will give you a taste of just a few;

Mr Richards deciding to make a heroes leap of more than 6 foot into a trench the bottom of which was covered in rocks, unfortunately he broke his ankle, but for commitment to the cause, Dewi, we salute you.

Mr Jones for his astonishing running commentary on the battles as they happened, I can only quote the words of Mr Ross Sailsbury who told this tale in the pub afterward, "I was fighting by the bus when Jez shouted "There are three of them advancing by the building" I thought to myself, I wouldn't have said advancing, but ok. The next thing Jez shouts is "They are flanking from the left", now I don't even know what that means!"

The President for his pure enjoyment of speedball. He may only run once a year, but boy, it is a sight too see.

Mr Adam Maciejewski for taking a hit in the family jewels and going down like a sack of spuds.

The complete lack of concern for Mr Maciejewski's well being by our team members or even his own, apparently taking one in the goolies is funny in Polish as well!

Mr Craig Sailsbury for screaming "I'm in I'm in I'm in I'm in I'm in" when wearing the VIP vest.

Mr Greg Sobczak for taking it all far too seriously. He looked really really annoyed when his side started to lose.

Mr John Hollis who never said a word all day, and come to think of of no one can remember seeing him during any of the battles.

Mr Scott Millward for going home after half a day (well at least he turned up this time).

Miss Claire Fryer for keeping score of how many kills she had all day, and enjoying every minute it would seem.

Mr Peter Karpeta for his demonstration of the tiger crawl by the tyres, it wasn't meant to be funny but it was.

Mr Smith and Mr Jones for being presented with sergeants and corporals stripes respectively.

And finally my good self for getting shot in the stomach from 4 inches away and getting rather cross about it, for a while anyway.

When all the battles had been fought and all the paintballs fired, out came the chilled beer and the bullshit started to flow in earnest.

After a short while Gareth called everyones' attention and announced that the winners were......US! Somehow we had won.

Old Men, Fat Men and Girls had won the day.

The shock of victory took us all by suprise no one more so that our good President who celebrated with a war dance that would have made Billy Two Rivers proud.

The winners where then presented with a golden medal each and a magnificent trophy was presented to the President who only grudgingly let go of it for the rest of the day, and then only so photos could be taken.

On the journey to the Pub the mini bus had a strangely quiet atmosphere as the alcohol started to kick in and the aches and pains began to introduce themselves.

After dropping Dewi off at hospital to get his wounds treated we carried on to our destination.

Once we had arrived things livened up with stories of heroism flying thick and fast, Mr Smith in particular seemed to claim every hit made that day.

Sadly, soon enough several Gentlemen started to drift off home, some with tales of valour and some with their tales between their legs knowing that they would be reminded of this day many many times over the coming months.

Just as everything seemed to be drawing to a close a cake arrived in celebration of Mr Sailsbury's 40th birthday, and what a cake it was... Mr Sailsbury kindly brought some into work on our next shift and he was soon left with crumbs and memories.

As another successful outing drew to a close everybody raised a glass in thanks to Mr Steven Millward, our fine President who had organised a tremendous day for us all.

Don't forget Gentlemen that in September we shall be indulging in a little Motor Sport. I look forward to seeing you all there.

The Night Before the Dawn of War

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 15:17:00 +0100

It has been a strange few months for The Association. Our last Outing to Riley's in March passed with barely a whimper and April saw The Association refrain from any kind of alcohol related shenanigans. So it is with a head full of dreams and a heart racing faster than A Grand National winner that I find myself writing this post. With less than 18 hours to go before the great Wales Vs Poland Paintball match, I find myself taking comfort in a few cans of Stella and I am sure a few pints of Guinness later on in the pub which I will truly regret tomorrow morning when I am running/walking/crawling around a forest being shot at by irate Polish men and so called friends.

The banter in work over the last four days has been none stop. I have begged and begged people to stop talking about it but alas my moaning fell on deaf ears. We have all heard Mr Salisbury and his fantasist ramblings, Mr Jones and his none stop “I was in the Territorial Army” guff, Mr Hollis and his veiled attempts at talking a good fight, Mr Smith and his blasé attitude towards winning yet another trophy, Mr Higgins acting more excited than Mr Shaw in a dusty old Whisky cellar, Mr Richards and his constant beaming smile whenever anyone just looks at him, anyone who is of Polish descent pointing and laughing at us and two of my most trusted associates. Mr Ian Hulmes constantly telling me how he is going to shoot the shit out of me (Cheers mate. So much for all those years of friendship/hard labour) and Mr Matthew Hulmes constantly saying “I am dead excited. I can’t Wait”, “Is it Thursday yet? Is it Thursday yet?”, “What time you picking me up?”, “Where are you picking me up from?” and “ I am dead excited. Is it Thursday yet?”.

Just remember Gentlemen. Our mission is one up the upmost importance and with that in mind I give you a photo of our most wanted.

There is very little left for me to say tonight apart from enjoy your peaceful night while it lasts. Tomorrow is a new dawn and a glorious dawn it will be.

Sons and daughters of The Association,
This much I vow.

The history of this day will be written in blood.

By crushing the armies of our enemy,

by seizing the weapons they thought to turn against us,

we are fighting for our very existence.

But if there are those who would deny us peace,

refuse us our rightful place in the universe,

than... we will unleash such TERRIBLE VENGEANCE,

THAT GENERATIONS YET UNBORN,

WILL CRY OUT IN ANGUISH!!

The enemy may shatter our bodies... but they cannot break our spirit.

Even now, they advance on our homeland to seize by force, what they cannot claim by right. They cannot imagine what awaits them.
We will SMITE the invaders from our country!

For they sweep over our lands like the sands of winter.

Never again will we bow before them.

Never again endure their oppression.

Never again endure their tyranny.

We will strike...

without warning

and without mercy.

Fighting as one hand,

one heart,

one soul.

We will SHATTER their dreams,

and HAUNT their nightmares.

Drenching our ancestors' grave with their blood!

And as our last breath tears at their lungs,

as we rise again from the ruins of our cities...

They will know... The Association... belongs to The Gentlemen.

Lost At Rowan Foods

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 19:57:00 GMT

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.

A Tale Of Balls and Polish Sausage...

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Mon, 2 Mar 2009 13:16:00 GMT

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 Politanski 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.

Chuck Hollis in "I couldn't make it because I had to make pretty doilies for my knitting circle"

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Sun, 1 Mar 2009 16:59:00 GMT

Paintballing 14^th May 2009

Gentlemen, it gives me the greatest of pleasures to announce our next Paintballing adventure. On the 14^th 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 18^TH 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

<center>Coming Soon May 2009</center>

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 19:06:00 GMT

Mr Shaws Poker Stand Off

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Thu, 5 Feb 2009 21:32:00 GMT

This will be the easiest blog I have ever had to post so far. Those of us who were there will understand why this is just a picture post. Well done Adam but just remember we will have our revenge.

The Rowan Food’s/Oscar Mayer Christmas Dance Off

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Thu, 5 Feb 2009 19:13:00 GMT

Saturday Night Fever, The Sound of Music, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Grease, Oliver, Chicago, Singin’ in the Rain, Mary Poppin’s, West Side Story and The Wizard of Oz. Why the hell are you listing musicals on the blog you idiot I hear you cry. Well Gentlemen, it has always been a dream of mine to appear in one of these productions on Broadway. But due to financial insecurity I have still not been able to afford the gastric band operation I so desperately need which will enable me to squeeze into a pair of hot pants (shudder).

Now this dream has haunted me all my life. I have cried myself to sleep on many occasions after watching West Side Story and wishing I could play Tony or wondering if I could master the moves to become one of the T Birds.

I was once again plagued by this dream the night before our Christmas Soiree. I remember waking up in a cold sweat on the 22nd of December and actually believed I had just killed The Wicked Witch of the West. But it was with a heavy heart in the cold light of a frosty morning that I realised it was just a dream.

Little was I to know what awaited me later on that day.

I have known most of the members of our little Association for nearly five years and have discussed the merits of many films over the years , The Lord of the Rings (the best film ever?, I don’t think so), American Pie (the funniest film of all time, your not serious?), The James Bond Films (the best of British film, what?), anything with Steven Seagal, (anything after 1994 is a joke, seriously Dad listen to me, PLEASE), anyway I could go on and on and on and because the beer is flowing very freely that would be very boring.

So its back to my original post. After the poker and pool competitions had been played and our Polish friends had left us for the night, myself and the remaining members of The Association decided to take a break before staggering off for our meal. As usual the jukebox in Riley’s was blaring and some horrid pop music was worming its way into my brain (thanks for that saying Mrs Shaw).

Then before my very eyes a few members of The Association jumped up and started strutting their funky stuff. I had no option but to join in. The result can be seen below.

I Haven’t Played Pool For Over Twenty Years

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 18:41:00 GMT

I am sure you are all aware that the 22nd of December was a momentous occasion for the Association. Our inaugural Christmas Soiree was planned meticulously. I even had to embark on a secret mission of my own with the help of my dear friend Mr Clayton. I salute you Sir, your courage and bravery will go down in the annals of history. But that story is for another day.

We started off as usual in The Town Crier but with a twist. This was Christmas and as such members of the Association were required to wear Christmas hats. Luckily for me I was able to dodge this photo opportunity but Mr Shaw was able to capture a few of our members in all their glory:

As we exited our taxis at Riley's there was already a few people waiting to enter. Its was 12:00 pm yet the doors were still closed. Had we turned up on the wrong date? Was Riley's going into liquidation? Voices were raised and I quote:

Mr Higgins “What's going on?”

Mr Hawker “What's fuckin goin on?”

Mr Sloane “ Yeah, what the fuck’s goin on?”

I would like to say I was the voice of calm during this slight blip but I was also worried. I was surrounded by seven angry men. I lit a cigarette and made my peace with the world. Then I heard the sound:

“CLICK”

The door to Riley's opened.

I was saved.

The mood lightened as we all piled into Riley's, but my thoughts were still with on my own safety until I turned around and saw this:

Someone this cute could not seriously hurt me?. I was right and the following photographic evidence will prove it:

Me and my new bestest mate.

I apologise Mr Shaw but you know the score.

The alcohol was flowing freely and the pool was being played by everyone (even me). Our host Mandy was looking after our every whim and as she brought me a pint of Guinness over I swear I saw a shard of light penetrate the hallowed halls of Riley's and over her shoulder I saw a giant of a man descend the stairs, Mr Richards had arrived. Now this was a shock to me as I hadn’t expected Mr Richards to turn up. We had exchanged several texts during the morning but as we all took our seats on the morning train I was not hopeful. So imagine my surprise when out of the blue I heard:

Mr Richards “All right bollocks? Fancy a Guinness?”.

Mr Millward “Fuckin right son”.

As Mr Richards settled into the flow of the day the ever looming poker tournament started to rear its ugly head. The urgency of this event was heightened by Mr Shaw who was eager to get his claws into the unsuspecting victims. I am not a poker player so I ducked out, but Shaw has blogged this event.

As the pool tables emptied and the poker players took their seats I was left in a quandary. Have I actually got to play pool? Could I handle sitting by Mr Higgins whilst eating Nachos?

I gave up the ghost and offered up a drunken challenge:

Mr Millward “Who the fuck thinks they can beat me at pool?”.

Everyone who was not playing poker “Me”.

I had made my bed so I had to lie in it. Mr Smith was the man who took up my challenge. Now I must admit, going into this game I felt confident. I have been out with Mr Smith on a few occasions and not once has he ever played pool with anyone of us. As I broke off I actually potted a ball, I squealed with delight only to turn around and realise that the lads playing snooker behind us had heard my girly cry and started pissing themselves laughing. This did little for my confidence but I was determined to carry on. We got down to the black and decided that it had to be potted off at least one cushion. I was in with a fighting chance under these rules and guess what? I actually won. Yes that's right I actually won a game of pool. With this confidence boost I threw down a best of three challenge to Mr Smith which he accepted and there Gentlemen ended my winning streak of one game. Mr Smith annihilated me whilst proclaiming with every shot: “I haven't played for twenty years”.

Now I will turn my attention to The Christmas Killer Pool Competition. As we finished gorging on the ridiculously sized buffet that Riley's had laid on for us, Mr Shaw declared the competition open. Mr Shaw gathered the prize from behind the bar, a beautifully crafted pool cue which had been supplied by Riley’s and the competition was afoot. Now my recollection of this game is very hazy to say the least, all I remember is constantly telling myself not to win (the photos below will explain why), not much chance of that happening but stranger things have happened. Mr Smith was the eventual winner even though he hadn’t played in over twenty years. The shark is strong in you Mr Smith.

That was the end of our time at Riley's and we all hurried off to Buffet City for another feast. Now I know what your thinking “How the hell could you eat after the spread that had been laid on for us?” well your right we couldn't, but money had been spent and we were going to give it our best shot. As Mr Smith walked through the centre of Chester with his trophy and pool cue proudly on display Mr Shaw raced ahead to take this photo:

I never knew you were so light of foot Mr Shaw. You do know the 2012 Olympics are being hosted in London? Maybe now is the time to think about a career in athletics.

So as we entered Buffet City with already full stomachs we attempted to gorge ourselves again and failed. The wine and beer continued to flow though and photographs of our time spent in Buffet City are provided below:

That my dear reader would usually be the end of my post, but thanks to some insider information it has come to my attention that Mr Smith is proudly displaying his trophy as the center point in his front room.

And with that I wish you all a Happy New Year.

A New Oscar Mayer Star Brightens The Sky At Christmas.

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Tue, 6 Jan 2009 20:16:00 GMT

Doyle Brunson, Stu Unger, Johnny Moss, Phil Hellmuth and Daniel Negreanu. Now I know these names will mean little or nothing to most of the gentlemen who read this blog, but they are all massive stars in the world of poker, and I am pleased to say that we have amongst our ranks a man who can look these giants in the eye and say "I am your equal".

I am talking ,of course, of our own Mr Dewi Richards (pictured here on the right).

Two games were played at the Rowan Foods Gentleman's Outing and Mr Richards won them both, an outstanding achievement I am sure you will agree.

In the first game Dewi quite quickly built up a substantial chip lead which he used to great effect to bully all his opponents (including my good self), but most of his aggressive play was directed at Mr Krzysztof Adamczyk, who, in the true spirit of sportsmanship, took it quite personally. Dewi however continued to relentlessly raise and re-raise himself to a heads up between himself and ,well ,me. It was only a matter of moments before I had to push my meagre stack of chips into the middle and go all in and when Dewi called and hit top pair on the turn, it was all over with no people on the pitch what so ever.

Only not quite, you see, Krzysztof was desperate to get revenge on Dewi and immediately called for another game, all the players agreed and in fact we were joined by another gentleman ready to test his skill and nerve against the rest, the noted competitor that is, Mr Jason Hawker.

So the full list of players for the Oscar Mayer Christmas Poker Championship (blue shift) was as follows:
Mr Dewi Richards

Mr Stuart Roberts

Mr Witold Waryszak

Mr Adam Maciejewski

Mr Krzysztof Adamczyk

Mr Mark Shaw (your humble scribe)

and by no means least,

Mr Jason Hawker.

The second game continued in much the same vein as the first, with Dewi being the dominant player at the table and all too quickly players fell as his constant barrage of pressure bets took their toll. In almost no time at all we were once again down to two players, namely Dewi and Krzysztof.

It is at this point that the testosterone levels of our two finalists rose to almost dangerous if not combustible levels. A series of hands with large bets saw the chip lead pass from one to the other.

When the final hand was played the chip counts where almost level, but Dewi just had a few more than Krzystof.

The players where dealt two cards each and after looking at his, Krzystof announced a raise,Dewi re-raised and Krzystof went all in,Dewi instantly called and flipped over a pair of kings, a massive hand heads up,

however Krzystof smiled, and showed a lovely pair of aces.

I am reliably informed that the odds on these two hands being dealt in a heads up game is in excess of 4500 to 1.

The first three cards dealt into the middle were all spades, which gave Dewi a better chance, but Krzystof was still winning.

The turn card gave the possibility of a split pot,

but the river...oh the river..., it broke Krzystofs' heart,

it was a king, a shiny red king of hearts, giving Dewi three of a kind all the chips and the crown of the Oscar Mayer Blue Shift Christmas Poker Champion.

After muttering a few choice phrases in his mother tongue, Krzystof squared his shoulders and shook Dewis' hand as he congratulated the champion.

Now we will have to see if Dewi can defend his crown at the next outing. I for one have no doubt he will not be easy to dethrone.

The Gentlemen's Outing Association's Christmas Soirée

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 20:13:00 GMT

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?

Three Pool Tables exclusively for The Association.
One Poker Table exclusively for The Association.
Your first drink free. I get two because I am a cheeky bastard.
A buffet laid on during the day.
A Christmas killer competition.
Our own Hostess (Mandy) to look after our every whim.
The calm before the storm part two.
And maybe a surprise or two.

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.

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Wed, 3 Dec 2008 20:02:00 GMT

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

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 01:03:00 GMT

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

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 11:56:00 GMT

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

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 21:11:00 +0100

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

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 20:14:00 +0100

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.

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Fri, 17 Oct 2008 21:40:00 +0100

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

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Wed, 1 Oct 2008 10:33:00 +0100

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

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 11:36:00 +0100

"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

noreply@blogger.com (The President) — Fri, 1 Aug 2008 00:48:00 +0100

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...

noreply@blogger.com (The Under Secretary) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 19:30:00 +0100

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.