Evil Mastermind or Masterchef?

Never in the field of entertainment have so so many scallops bravely laid down their lives for the sake of television.

After innumerable dishes by some of the finest (and worst) amateur cooks in the country, we have a winner who doesn't strictly come from this country anyway. Suspicions are that he comes from New Zealand, but if you listen closely he gives himself away. He's from Mongo.

The 2009 Masterchef winner is none other than Ming the Merciless.

After being impaled on an Ajax war rocket, rather than dying, he relocated to Dorset with dreams of opening his own fish restaurant, which is no doubt part of some insidious plan to take over the earth.

If I were Rick Stein I'd watching my back. Already established as the nicest fish chef in the UK, Ming no doubt plans to supplicate him, enabling him to appear on every TV show going, a forum from which he will use to indoctrinate us into eating fish, which he will somehow genetically modify to fill us full of his mind control drugs.

But I'm not fooled by that 'butter wouldn't melt' smile and proclivity for the waterworks. The man is pure evil.

Take for example his starter. Rabbit and nettles. A cute little bunny rabbit, trimmed into tiny pieces that the worlds greatest vivisectionist would envy, then serve it on a bed of nettles???

His main? Spider crab thermidor with mussels, foraged sea vegetables and a
side of chips. Crabs are evil. And foraged sea vegetables? Foraged? As in rummaging through bins and stuff? And chips? For fucks sake, you can't go on the Masterchef final and cook chips, unless John Torode and Gregg Wallace are already under your control....

They must be. If they were still human, would they shout like that all the time? Or spout the same bollocky superlatives every other breath?

Clearly they are facsimiles, automatons, gollums or other such zombies under the control of Ming.

And for dessert? Creamy lavender and blackberry mousse with honeycomb and
blackberry sauce. I haven't quite worked out what his evil plan is with this one, but then that's why he's an evil Mastermind. In fact, I'd expect to see him on that pretty soon. Either him or the girl from University Challenge, who is also clearly not of this earth.

I'm going to miss Masterchef now it's finished. Ming has clearly cast his spell on me, and despite the shouting, even Torrode and Wallace will create a (large) void with their absence.

True, the best bits are really the opening rounds where you try to guess who will go through before they even pick up a knife, and be amazed at some of the shite that some people try to pass off as food.

So well done Ming, you've been a joy to watch, and a deserved winner (even if you did do it with mind control. And at least smuggy bignose or beardy can't shave properly didn't win.













Mat Follas - Deserved Masterchef winner 2009

Back is back

I've got a bad back.

Not bad in the sense it sneaks out when I'm not looking to go shoplifting or orchestrate mass genocide, bad that it just goes out. Period.

For no rhyme or reason it can suddenly decide that it no longer wants to support the rest of my body, and takes a day, a week, a month off....

It's currently having one of it's hissy fits, and yesterday, with no warning other than feeling bit stiff the day before, it decided I wasn't supposed to get out of bed. As it turned out I'd booked yesterday as an Annual Leave day anyway, so I didn't miss work, but I did miss a day off with mrsslippy that we had planned on using to buy, and then consume some very nice food from our local Farm Shop/deli.

Yesterday started badly.

I managed to get out of the bedroom without waking mrsslippy, so she didn't notice quite how long it had taken me to first stand up, and then traverse the room clutching at furniture. The next major problem was not being able to reach something I normally reach quite easily. I shan't go into details, but suffice to say, it was first thing in the morning, I had left the bedroom, but wasn't in the kitchen yet. A different, and difficult approach paid off, then straight back to bed. However, mrsslippy was now awake, and I was rumbled.Another day of me lying around in self pity, expecting waitress service on coffee and food.

Then I had a first. It wasn't witnessed, so I said nothing at the time.

I fucking fell over.

Not tripped, slipped, or somehow got entangled in the debris that tends to accumulate next to my side of the bed. My legs gave out, and I fell. I'd spent half a minute extricating myself from the side of the bed to leaning on the window sill, and felt upright, but I let go, went to put my weight through my left leg, and crumpled like a sack of shit. I somehow got myself onto the bed again, and dragged myself back to a straight lying position, and when mrsslipy returned from the kitchen, I said nothing. I've told her now. Today is a better day. I wanted to be sure this wasn't going to be a recurrent theme before 'sharing', and if it was, work out the best way to tell her. Anywho, as I said - a better day.

I've had problems with my back for years. I've tried to work out why. It's probably wear and tear from years of abuse. I started doing a paper round when I was 12 with a bag that split from the sheer volume of papers in it. I don't know exactly how heavy it was, but I suspect that as a young teenager I had more weight slung over one shoulder than a grown man is allowed to carry today with Health and Safety guidelines.

I've done my fair share of manual work, whether it be lugging frozen food around a freezer warehouse, or the slog of being a nurse on an orthopaedic or geriatric ward (all those patient lifts that are outlawed now? I'd do them all day everyday when I started).

But I've never hurt my back at work. What tends to happen is a cough, a sneeze, a long haul flight, and before I know it, kerblammo, I'm fucked.

I've noticed over the years that this doesn't happen immediately. It's far more insidious, and perhaps because of this I have gotten slightly better at spotting the warning signs, and getting back on my feet quickly.

Because the thing is, I don't have a weak back. Far from it. It's incredibly strong, and that's my problem. My back seems to think its in danger, so the muscles seize up so I can't bend or move. I used to see an osteopath who would pop and click parts that I didn't even know could move. I've been there at an acute inset phase and there is nothing they can do. The muscles are so tight there is nothing they can manipulate. I have steel rods running the length of my spine.

And that's what I had yesterday, but fortunately, I also have an action plan. Lots of hamstring stretching (with the assistance of mrsslippy), slowly but surely gives enough play in the muscles to stand and walk relatively easily, even if not comfortably.

This morning, with her gone to work, I got up in the usual lumbering speed of a man who doesn't do mornings and is 2 stone overweight, rather than the that of a a giant sloth with a hangover, albeit with the assistance of the window sill. Using a belt thrown around an ankle and looped round the head of the bed creates a bizarre pulley system that enables me to stretch my legs.

What I unfortunately can't do, is dress myself, and that has become the yardstick for whether I go to work or not. Where I there, I could sit at my desk for short periods, and provided I walk around and stretch at regular intervals, could possibly pass for 'normal' despite the discomfort. I've gotten very good over the years at ;

1. Ignoring pain
2. Knowing what physical movements I can and can't do without arising suspicion.

But without trousers and pants, that is all irrelevant. I have shoes that I can slip on, but wandering round the office 'cock out', is probably just a bit too unconventional to be classed as normal behaviour, even for me.

All being well, I'll be back at work tomorrow, although still in some discomfort no doubt, but today I'm in bed with my stretching exercises, and fuck me I'm bored.

Can you tell?



slippymark has already watched Alien vs Predator Requiem, Repo Man, and There Will Be Blood off of Sky+, and will probably have to start digging out DVD's soon.

I'm no Angel

I was once an angel.

Not the winged ethereal type, but as close as you can get on earth - a nurse. Various polls over the years have placed the 'caring profession' in the upper echelons of the most respected and valued members of society.

Or they were once.

Now they're found humiliating pensioners, sitting around ignoring pleas for assistance, only getting off their terminally lazy arses to spread whatever superbug is the Daily Mails scaremongering soapbox of the week with their very poor personal hygiene. Considering the number of dirty nurses there are wandering around the NHS it's amazing that they don't die more frequently themselves. Perhaps the psychological immunity from the vilification of the right wing press creates some kind of physical immunity to the various diseases they spread around with their nonchalance to hygiene standards...

Of course that's not true. It's a sad fact that people who come into hospital are generally sick already, and not as resistant to the various bugs that are thrown (not literally) at them. Hospitals up and down the country have endured what is often called the 'Winter Vomiting' bug, or norovirus.

Norovirus is a nasty little bugger, having been there done that myself previously, and yes I picked it up in hospital. The reason for this was not that the hospital was dirty, but because patients got sick in the community, then came into my lovely clean ward with their diarrhoea and vomiting. Rather than steering well clear of these people as you would do if they were sick in their own homes, I would clean up their incontinence and puke, and low and behold, I got it too.

And guess what? I wore rubber gloves, I washed my hands, and all the other such precautions used to reduce spread of infection, but still got stricken.

'Cos here's the deal. Nurses don't want to spread infections, particularly not if that runs the risk of them getting sick too. But they put themselves in the firing line day in day out of picking up whatever is going around, or picking up the blame when a hospital closes wards due to an outbreak.

I sometimes wonder what the public's perception is when they see headlines that read '10 wards closed at local hospital'. Do they think there are hospital beds lying empty because the wards have been shut? Do they realise that it is far more likely that the ward has 1 or 2 empty beds -or maybe even none - and the hospital has said 'You know what? There are some sick patients on this ward that came in with a community acquired infection, so if we have anyone in A+E waiting for a bed, they probably shouldn't go there, because we'd hate the risk of them getting sick. Sure, they might get sick at home anyway, or on a ward where there is no norovirus at the moment, but it's simple common sense to not wilfully expose them to it. We'll close the ward'.

It doesn't mean wards lying empty, it means not exposing someone to a risk of infection unnecessarily.


But I digress.


I was a nurse, but no longer.Some colleagues could argue that I haven't been a nurse for a number of years, having been a Ward Manager for several, but I still had some patient contact. A couple of years ago I got involved in some IT/project work that took me away from the ward, and out of the uniform, but it still said nurse on my payslip.

You get actors, writers, musicians and artist who profess to that title, but if pushed are neither published or performing.

Me: 'So you're an actor?'
Actor: 'Yes'
Me:'What might I have seen you in?'
Actor:'Nothing'
Me:'Then surely it's just a hobby?'
Waiter:'Fuck off'

I was becoming one of these people. A nurse that didn't nurse.

To stay on the nursing register in the UK one must complete 450 hours of practice over three years. This would mean that if I wanted to continue to call myself a nurse I would have to average 150 hours, or 20 shifts per year.

I have a lot of friends that will quite happily work on their days off for extra beer money, but I've got to a time in my life where I enjoy the routine of having every weekend off. And more's the point, mrsslippy has to work very few weekends either, so why on earth would I want to spend nearly half my weekends off working wherever would have me just so I could still call myself a nurse? It's not a one way door. I can let my registration slip, and should I ever get the desire to put the uniform back on, there are 'Return to Practice' courses that could bring me back up to speed. I've already been so long away from the shop floor I just wouldn't feel able to do it to the best of my abilities.

So I'm not a nurse anymore, in either name,function or registration. And for the first winter in living memory I haven't picked up some god awful diarrhoea bug at work.

My only problem now is, when people ask me, that the hell is it that I actually do?



If anyone says IT I'll kill them.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

My best Latin for 'Who will watch the watchers?'

I'll tell you.


Me.


We're two weeks away from what must be heralded as geek comic fanboy nirvana. Bigger than X-Men, darker than Batman, on 6th March 2009 we finally get to watch.....

Watchmen.



Said to be unfilmable, and tossed around in preproduction/film rights hell for the past 20 years, the Citizen Kane of comics is upon us.

Originally written as a 12 part series in 1987 by Alan Moore, with art by Dave Gibbons, then compiled into a graphic novel, it's the only book of it's genre to make the Time 'All time top 100 novels' list.

In a late '80s America, history has not been written as we remember it, largely due to emergence of 'masked vigilantes' in the late 40's. Normal men and women, not the freaks and genetic mutations of the Marvel Universe, save for one man....It's Doctor Manhattan, one of the most deep and complex (ex)humans ever conceived who changes the events of the Vietnam war, and now Nixon's in power, and vigilantes are outlawed. Old and paunchy, they're trying to have normal lives.

Sound familiar Incredibles fans? Check your dates again. Been there done that by Moore. Not that Brad Birds film isn't wonderful - it is, and Bird is clearly a fanboy himself, doffing his cap more than once to the seminal work that made it ok for adults to buy comics. Check out the reference to the dangers of heroes in capes for one.

Whether you call it a comic book, or the far more grown up 'graphic novel', there's one thing that is unarguable - it's fucking awesome.

I've already read the magazine articles, and seen the trailers, and on the careful lookout for spoilers. I don't know why - I've read it countless time - I know what happens (but I won't tell!)

King of the ubergeeks Wil 'don't call me Wesley' Wheaton has already seen it, and although I'm jealous as hell, I'm wary of checking out his blog just in case he lets something slip. He warns of spoilers at the top of the page, but are they spoilers for the uninitiated, or for fanboys? Best not to check....

But he does love it, and that's enough of a recommendation for me. I don't think Jonathan Ross has seen it yet - he would have been all over Twitter with it if he had, and I'm sure he'll love it too.

Check out the trailers - they are just beautiful (if dark and disturbing can be beautiful). And if you have time I urge you to go buy the book and read it NOW.

This could just be the greatest geek film of all time (sorry Mr Lucas), at least until James Camerons Avatar comes out...

Stick on your Rorchach mask, your Niteowl goggles and your Comedian pin....




It's time to watch the Watchmen

Woes of Warcraft

I read somewhere today that World of Warcraft is the largest MMORPG in the world with over 12million monthly subscribers, but don't count me.


No sir.


I'm clean.


I won't touch it.


Dirty habit.


But it wasn't always so........

For those who have never played it, don't, for those that do - you can quit. I've been there, and it was hard, but it can be done.

I stumbled upon WOW a few years ago after reading an article on BBC online, and the inner geek in me that used to paint Games Workshop figurines thought 'Yeah, that looks sort of fun. If I'm at a loose end of an evening I could probably immerse myself in that.'

But I didn't so much immerse myself as strap on a scuba tank, drysuit, as many lead weights as I could attach to my body, and allow myself to be dragged to the bottomless fathoms of the sea that separates the mighty continents of Kalimdor and Eastern Kingdoms.

I've never been the type of gamer that seeks the adrenaline of racing or sports sims - far too much concentration involved, but here was a game where I could just pootle about, and it didn't matter if my Avatar just sat on his arse for 10 minutes while I smoked a tab, or went searching in the kitchen for more wine.

I started as an Orc (always the bad guys for me), and as I got familiar with the geography, and the easiest ways to level up, started again with a few different characters. Each had different trades, and before long I had my own little cottage industry with avatars making and sending bits of kit to each other to further each other in the game.

But all this was starting to take it's toll on my ability to function as a human being. If mrsslippy was on a night shift, I could start playing as she left, but still finishing off that last piece of a quest, or the last few k of XP to level up at 4 in the morning, with my own shift starting at 7am. I was in trouble, but neither knew nor care.

Who among you has ever really wasted a day....... and I mean really wasted.

And of your own volition?

A day sleeping is not wasted - for you probably needed it, and have recharged your batteries. A day watching shite on telly is not a waste, for you may have found some simple pleasure or entertainment in your viewing choice.

But have you ever spent 6 solid hours wandering around a virtual field (just outside Booty Bay for those of a curious disposition) killing virtual countless gorillas so you can;

• skin them for virtual leather to make a nice virtual jacket to give to your virtual alter ego
• sell the rest of the virtual leather for virtual gold to buy a nice virtual sword for yourself
• Level yourself up from 40-41

I thought not.

I mean, don't get me wrong, Staanglethorn Vale in general is a great place for a skinner, so it's virtual quids in, but levelling from 40-45 is a grind, and that's exactly what it's called. Grinding.

Those who are familiar with the excellent South Park parody will have seen the boys grinding boars in Tirisfal Glades so they could level up enough to beat the guy who was killing everybody. It can't be done, you'd need to move to a new location every few levels where the beasts gave you a slight challenge, but in principle it's spot on. You don't sleep, you don't see anyone, you eat crap, and eventually you're tough enough to do the quest in hand....until the next one.

But you needn't do it alone! That's the whole fun of it surely? With all those other players you can find like minded souls to assist you in your quests so you wouldn't have to grind! I did con one friend into buying it (sorry Bellus- you're probably Level 80 now), but mostly I played alone.

'What's the point of a multiplayer game that you play alone?' I hear you cry. Well I'll tell you, everyone else that plays WOW, and I mean everyone, is a cock. They have nothing better to do with their lives than to play online dressing up. Not me though. I was still very much living in the real world.

Maybe cock is a bit harsh, but players tend to fall into two camps;

1. Those who are experienced who 't1p3 n teh l337', and generally shout at you for aggroing/not aggroing, using wrong attacks etc
2. Those who are not experienced who act as magnets to any prowling mob (monster/enemy), and who pick fights with everyone assuming you will save them.

So that's it. Everyone is either better than you, or worse than you, and neither are fun to play with, ergo they are all cocks.

I can cope with a dressing down at work if I know I've done something that has let people down, and the consequences are severe, but to be ripped apart by a 13 year old from Sweden because you healed yourself rather than him (if I'd died they'd have summoned me back, but without him, no summon for anyone etc....) is a bit lame. And you can guarantee that before you get to the bit of the Dungeon with the Quest you need, he's got what he came for, and his mum makes him log off to do his homework.

But I was hooked. And it's the worst addiction in the world. You know there's no physical dependency, but when you get in, the first thing you want to do is log in and get questing. Ten more minutes turn into 5 more hours, and you're days off turn into a Lost Weekend in neither Manhattan nor Amsterdam. Empty wine bottles and crisp packets on the coffee table and overflowing ashtrays. Scattered crumbs and ash making the laptop keys crunchy and unresponsive.......

My lucky break came just over a year ago when my laptop and Credit Card died at roughly the same time. After a day of reloading software onto a new laptop, I decided to leave the WOW discs on the shelf, and have a few days off.

When the Credit Card expired later that month, I had still not loaded the game, and was suddenly aware (following an email from Blizzard) that my DD subscription was no longer going through.

'Perfect' thought I. 'It truly is a sign I should stop'.

And stop I did.



For 6 months.


Another email from Blizzard informed me that as I had not used my account for 6 months my characters would be deleted!

Oh noes!


All that virtual gold and virtual treasure in my virtual Bank! All those hours played will have been wasted and wiped away. There was only one thing for it - I would have to load the software, pay for a months subscription and play for a few minutes, just to keep my virtual characters virtually alive!

So that's what I did. I'd broken the habit, and been sucked back in with an 'it will all have been for nothing' suggestion.

Now at the moment I'm trying, and succeeding at giving up smoking. If I had one now I know how dirty and disappointed with myself I would be, and that's exactly how I felt.

I unloaded the software, and vowed never to reload it. Those hours were already wasted. Nothing could bring them back, and shelling out for another months subscription would not be honouring their memory, it would be shitting on it.

Another 6 months down the line, and another email from Blizzard. The discs are still in their box.

So please be upstanding and raise your glasses to the memories of Garomero, Muftak, Porkins, Markkymoo, Maxi et al. Brave soldiers who stole over 1,500 hours of my adult life. Taken from their virtual lives, to virtual death.





Slippymark has not played World of Warcraft for 7 months. He has not had a cigarette for 8 weeks.

What do you want for tea? I want crisps!

And cider.

Those cheeky scamps the Kaiser Chiefs may have penned an iconic line that captures the ennui of happy slapping, hoodie habitating Generation X-boxers, but the desire to 'do nothing' is nothing new. I've been doing it for years. I never cease to amaze myself at my ability to simply not be bothered.

I returned from work enthusiastic about dinner, and whilst undecided as to what to cook for myself, was keen to whip up an omelette for mrsslippy whilst I pondered the contents of the larder. Yes, I know that's not the pinnacle of cuisine, but she's on nights, and that's what she wanted. She left me lying on the sofa with Busta, watching Rick Stein search his family tree.

Dear reader, I must confess, I fell asleep, and during my 30 minute power nap, Stein had morphed into James May.

As my addled brain tried to understand what was going on, the only thing that was apparent to me, was that he was drinking cider, and that was clearly A VERY GOOD THING

Thoughts of lightly poached eggs with some crispy bacon over some toasted bagels with rocket went skyrocketing out the window.


I should have some cider.


And what would go best with it would be some crisps.


I was sure we had some cider somewhere - god knows we have everything else (except red wine, much to my chagrin on Sunday when we were forced to open a Rose - my badmin)

The larder contains booze of all varieties, and also the 'Bag of Bad', a lucky dip of general snackage. A quick rummage produced a bag of Salt 'n' Vinegar whilst I searched for elusive cider. Bonus! I found a pear cider -nice- but unfortunately my crisps did not even survive the opening of the bottle, so I grabbed another pack to take back into the living room with me.

My cider is lovely, but May is no longer drinking it. While I've been bumbling around in the kitchen, he's got his chemistry set out and appears to be distilling a magical clear substance.

Suddenly, I'm inspired again!

Captain Slow has made his own gin! And my god that looks good.... and what would go really well with one? Why peanuts of course!

I have some delicious chilli ones that mrsslippy got me for Valentines Day (along with some pork pies, Fudge Brownie Milkshake, and other such niceties)

So what do I want for tea? Crisps and peanuts, and if that seems too lazy and lacking in my '5-a-day', I am about to go and slice a lime. And who knows, it's Masterchef after that. I may be inspired again. I wonder if anyone will cook with Tequila? Because there's a bar of 'Green & Black's' dark chocolate staring me out that would go really well with it.......

It really is cool to do nothing.

Animal Kwackers

I remember as a small child watching a TV show called 'Animal Kwackers'. I was sure it had once existed, and that I even had an LP based on the show. The premise was much like the US show 'Banana Splits', but with UK '70s production values. Men in animal suits making music.

I've often asked down the pub 'Does anyone remember Animal Kwackers?' only to be met with sorrowful shakes, and 'did I mean the biscuits?'

No

This was real. There was a lion called 'Rory', who was inexplicably blue (probably the effect of being relocated from the Savannah to Yorkshire), a Tiger called 'Boots' who wore silver tiger boots on his tiger feet - and a jaunty eye patch. He may have been a scouser. 'Twang' was a monkey, and 'Mungo' a drumming dog...or was I confusing him with the dog from Mary, Mungo and Midge, a tale of a girl living in an inner city tower block who was too small to reach the buttons on the piss stained elevator, so would rely on vermin balanced on the end of her rottweilers nose to reach them, while her single mother entertained local gentlemen to stave off the cold from power strikes, and her dad drunk his dole away down the working mans club. Probably. My memory of this is more vague.....

But Animal Kwackers WAS real. I couldn't have imagined that much detail no matter how fertile a mind a diet of Space Dust and Panda Pops gave you. (or the Cherryade that came from the milkman, but that is for another flashback).

With the advent of the interwebs, I was sure that one day I could prove existence of this fabled show, but in it's infancy, there was nowt. A few years ago I saw something on a webforum from someone with similar memories - was this the proof I needed? Not enough for my nay saying friends, so once again it slipped back into my subconscious.

Then today, out of the (lion)blue came the memories again. Stronger this time. Lyrics.

'Rory, Rory, tell us a story' and 'here we come to Popland'

I saw them descending from a flying saucer into a mythical 'Popland' where they would play poor cover versions, and even poorer stuff they'd written themselves. Then Rory would tell a story from behind his massive leering blue face. Tongue a foot long and an expression that never moved. These were football mascots from your nightmares, on acid.

The interwebs have come a long way since my last search. We have Wikipedia, and YouTube. Someone must remember. Someone must have stills, a soundtrack......moving images!



They did.



It's true.



I was right.



Legend has it that this is the only episode that remains





And I even managed to find a picure of that old album. If I ever see a copy on ebay - I'm buying it.....

Why is one nostril always blocked?

It would appear milkshake has no restorative or curative properties, and I am destined to spend the day sniffing and blowing.

I'm puzzled to know why at night, one nostril is always clear? It's as though there is a tilt switch of solid mucous that tips from one side to the other as I move in bed, and is so congealed that neither dribbles down my face, nor the back of me throat. Why does it not just glue my whole nose shut, or trickle away to nothing?

Even as I type, one side is still obstructed. I can blow it clear, but I know that it will only provide temporary release, and in a few minutes that side, (or the other if I tilt my head slightly) will again be useless.

Balls

Can Chocolate Fudge Brownie Milkshake cure a Manflu?

Well Matts staggers went without a hitch or any casualties. It was very sweet of the Grooms mother to be more concerned about the well being of the Best Man, to the extent that Matt was told to 'Watch out for your (older!) brother - I can do Police Stations, but not Hospitals'.

Neither were required, and we had our own personal Met Officer to keep us out of/in trouble. What goes on tour stays on tour and all that, and although it is only me that can see this at the moment, I shall still show some discretion.

The hotel would not have been my first choice, being;

1. Miles from anywhere else we were going
2. Shit

Bunking down with Greg wouldn't be the end of the world, 2 to a room being the preferable option to 5!!! The 5th Floor of an old house in Belgrave Road would afford a great view of... well..Belgrave Road, but with no lift, would my (clean for 6 weeks) lungs cope, and would they still be clean at the end of the night.

A swift pint in the neighbouring pub, then trains to Kingsfield, (shared)home of AFC Wimbledon. A surprisingly full ground for a headly home fixture against one of the Baths - I neither remember or care which - I didn't even know they had 2 teams. I suppose they're going for the Cambridge approach of quantity over quality. Why have 1 mediocre team when you can have 2 shit ones?

Matt achieved a lifetime dream by going on the pitch at half time to compete in a keepy uppy competition, which he duly lost. There may even be a video of it on YouTube if Jim 'Thrushy Hands' Allen can work out how to upload it.

Matt's excuse was;

1. The winner was a ringer, having played in QPR's youth team
2. The ball, much like the leagues sponsors, was a blue square.

Geometry and dimensions corrected (blue cube Matt, blue cube..), we settled in for the second half. With 5 minutes to go, and Wimbledon 2-0 up following 2 shots on (or even off) target, and 1 of them a penner, we returned to the club bar to beat the 'rush' for post game pints. Final score was Wimbledon 3-2 Bath.

....3 goals in 5 minutes....who'd have thought it eh?

Train back north of the river for pre dinner drinks.

Q. If you had 2 customers in your pub, and 18 blokes came in who wanted to play drinking games and basically spunk away as much cash as possible in an hour would you

1. Not let them in
2. Encourage them to invent dafter rules, drink quicker, and spend more
3. Take their money, but keep telling them to be quieter, caring more about the well being of the couple nursing a bottle of wine than making some fast money, even after a second round has been purchased within 10 minutes, which they were still more than happy to serve.

If you answered 3 then you are 'The Yorkshire Grey' in Grays Inn Road. Shame on you!!

We found a pub that was more than happy for us to spend our cash in, and didn't seem to mind large groups of thirsty men. In fact they positively encouraged it. Thank you for your hospitality 'The Griffin'

A taxi ride next brought us to Cargo. Food was pleasant enough. Blue cheese burger. Sadly by this stage, a poor immune system rather than an incapacity for ale started to bring an early curtain on the festivities for me. Consequently I can neither confirm or deny if Stevo got naked (the photo's I saw this morning could have been a fake! A stitch up!

So we all survived, except I appear to be full of snot again. Which begs the question Can Chocolate Fudge Brownie Milkshake cure a Manflu? I'm certainlyhoping so, because it certainly feels like it should. Maybe if I have another porkpie with it, just to help a little bit more

Matts Staggers tomorrow

I may post pictures here, but I'll probably just Tweetpic them

Can I work out how to embed a picture?

Apparently I can! I don't know why I picked this one though. It's me climbing a ladder nailed 30m up a tree after walking across a rope bridge. After panicking and throwing a complete whitey because I couldn't get off the ladder, it was another ropebridge to get back to safety. I still can't believe I did it - I get light headed going into the loft...

Why am I doing this?

It's not really a blog yet, I'm just setting one up incase I ever get the urge to publicise my thoughts.