Monthly Archives: June 2014

Glastonbury, Wimbledon, World Cup Disappointment & The Magnificent 7

The summer is in full flow and festivals are upon us.  I watched Blondie play Glasters on Friday night, then last night Metallica and later today I will catch up with Dolly Parton.  Where else in the world could you find such a miss mash of artists all under one barn roof ?  My only moan can be that I have never been able to get tickets – to the point that I don’t even bother to try any more – but still, one has to love the die-hard attitude.

The World Cup continues to excite.  Sure, England are long gone but that was expected.  The next grudge match is on Tuesday when USA play Belgium.  We will no doubt wander down to the local square which will be heaving  with youths and pensioners alike – we will sit in with the pensioners.  Tricky spot for the missus (she is old enough to join the pensioners) but being American in Belgium on that night might prove tricky.  Actually my money is on Belgium BUT I don’t doubt the USA could actually pull it off if they play with a bit more self believe – it’s a win win either way for me, I would like both of them to go through but that isn’t possible.

Tennis – what a waste of good TV time.  I would ban it completely if I was in power.  For years now, the Brits have been clinging to any player with any link to the island – remember a guy called Greg Rusedski? Hailed as british, living in Canada blah blah blah.  Now we have to deal with that scott Andy Murray. He is Scottish so the English should stop trying to claim him as their own.  I suspect that if we put as much effort into raising home-grown talent as we put into tracing some weak link to someone elses sports stars – we might actually gain some ground for ourselves.  Worst still, the BBC awards these foreigners with Sports personality awards while overlooking our home-grown talent.

Moan over – now the good stuff.


By now, all of you except Lexa should have your hands on your T-shirts. To kick-start the last phase of this competition, I have started a new photo album called ‘magnificent 7’ and added no less than 10 shots of me in my shirt.  Let this be a clear inspiration to you all to get clicking – no excuses.  Closing date for all entries is 01:00 on 15th July – Connor, don’t be late this time bud !

Belgian Chuggers

Just realised that the missing McCoy may well be off giving birth so may have her hands full at the moment – I would imagine her fanny might be pretty full too !

I think it is Belgian ‘bob-a-job’ week here this week.  There are plagues of scouts and guides on the square trying to sell cakes to raise cash.  Someone should have told them to spread out a little though, it’s almost like bashing through a crowded tube station full of them.  I must have had my best ‘feck off’ frown on because not one of them bothered me.  One downside with Belgians is they all speak so many languages.  If they approach you in french, you could blag that you only speak Flemish but chances are, they speak both.  You could also say you are english but damn sure they will know that one, my only other options are Spanish and Portuguese.

My more avid readers (like that one Musher?) will know my views on charity in the street but for those ‘part timers’ let me refresh you.  I do give to charities but only charities I like.  I don’t like to feel obliged by someone cornering me and trying to harass me on the street – these people, although only doing a job, are likely to get a very uncomfortable response from me.

Think back to a time in Mallorca when one rainy day steeped in self-pity, I realised that my life wasn’t so bad walking to work in the rain and passing a tramp (I am assuming that word is still OK with the PC brigade).  The tramp had clearly been out all night in the same rain.  That night, I bought a flask and some soup, some bread and delivered it to the tramp the next morning.  Long story short, the tramp, although in Mallorca, turned out to be from Glasgow and his name was Brian.  Brian had managed to lose the flask in the first day so I couldn’t refill it for him.  On telling the story to a new girlfriend who worked as a landscape gardener, we went and found Brian.  She cleaned him up and gave him a job working with her.

He lasted a week – or should I say, he lasted until he had some cash in his pocket and immediately went out on the piss for 5 days and back to his park bench, never to return to the attractive german girl who had given him a golden chance (and a shower too but not a golden one).

Why am I telling you all of this?  Well (takes a deep breath as this really did take the piss), yesterday afternoon when I left the local store, the guy that is always outside on his knees, cap in hand was there again.  He is there a lot.  I have on several occasions given him some change until one time not too long ago I saw him with another trampy friend, cap in hand, on his knees, half cut on the Belgian equivalent of ‘Special Brew’.  At that point, I decided I was not going to fuel his alcohol habit.  If a man is hungry – buy him a sandwich!

Against my better judgement, and again, feeling sorry for the poor fella, I decided to drop my loose change from the shop keeper in his hat yesterday.  This is where it all went so badly wrong from the tramps perspective.  My spend in the shop had been somewhat guarded and I used change rather than notes.  This meant that I only had a few coppers to give.  I actually felt bad about this – I was about to make a gift to a man in need and I was worried that it was not enough. Think about that as a society for a moment.  In the act of giving, we chastise ourselves over the value of the gift – why do we feel this bad about not giving enough? I’ll tell you why.

That cheeky bastard – I dropped the change into the hat, he immediately looked in the hat to see what I had dropped in, making no effort to disguise his head and eye movement – THEN, the fucker, looked back at me with sad eyes and disappointment on his face making me feel like some kind of clueless twat for offering a little help.  So fuck him from now on, I will never feel guilty again as I walk past him – in fact, I can go one better.  Next time I am walking down the street and make eye contact with him, I will obviously and deliberately cross the street, while maintaining eye contact, pass further along before returning to the original side of the street – all of the time, never taking my eyes off him.  If at any time he looks like he might look away from me, I will change my direction back towards him and slide my hand in my pocket until I can see his sad teary eyes light up and then, with full eye contact, I will pull my hand out of my pocket, flick him the bird and return to the clean side of the street. Mother fuckers !!!

But it doesn’t stop there.  In the UK on Saturday morning with Bill from Ohio, USA, I stopped and bought a ‘Big Issue’ from a vendor.  I used to buy the Big Issue a lot, in fact, I can clearly remember when it was only a pound.  I had explained the way the big issue works to Bill for homeless people and suggested that it actually is a good read (I sincerely mean that folks – don’t be put off by these guys appearance).  The Big Issue is now two pounds and fifty pence – a hefty increase.  So hefty in fact that I stopped buying it for fear of becoming bankrupt myself due to their ever-increasing costs.  So , I approach the vendor, start rummaging through my change laden pocket for some dosh and pulled out 3 pounds.  Have a guess what that cheeky bastard said to me?

‘Do you want the change?’

For fucks sake – it seems the gift of giving is no longer enough.  I wanted to say ‘of course I do you cheeky cunt’ but clearly english wasn’t his first language and my rant would have been wasted on him.

Now that you know all of that, you might forgive me for never giving to charity again – but – when we get our hearts broken, do we stop chasing pussy ?  Of course not.  I still give to charity.  Poppy Appeal always gets a tenner in the pot – most of the old boys say ‘that’s a lot of money’ when they see me dropping it in – I always respond with a smile as I say ‘A small price to pay for freedom’ as I take my poppy.  RNLI always gets a donation, not just because I work at sea but many years ago I used to surf a lot in England.  I never needed them, but they were always there if I did. Lastly ‘Battle of Britain Fighter Pilots’ always used to get a tenner from me.  They were a rarity years ago but now they are nearly all gone.  I did see a collection at Clacket Lane Services around two years ago and gave generously and took my sticker.


Now, moving on, I am about to head into the forest on my bike for a couple of hours.  My T-shirt fits and looks great, it’s about now that yours will be dropping through your door if you were a winner (Lex, yours may take up to 7 days).  Remember, the next competition is open to T-shirt winners only and requires  a minimum of three photos (there can be more) of you wearing your shirt, and one of those must be wet.  Not being sexist in any way – the boys must also comply.  Entry into the next competition is automatic and for this round, the judge with be the public at large so wear it well.


Congratulations to Amy Cooper for getting hacked



Verity McCoy – Where are you ?

This will be a long one – best make a cuppa right now.

Let me start off with the inevitable – England football team.  As always a complete shower of shit, at least they are consistent.  Do they not appreciate the fact that we, the people, cannot survive on a world cup victory from before I was born, we need several more.  I never fully understood the mentality of the English National Team, but let me explain a little.  Below is a clipping from the BBC website from the morning of the Uruguay match (before the game was even starting) – just have a quick read

How to win at football

How to win at football


Now, please call me old-fashioned but I for one assumed that the best way to win the world cup was to go to the stadium, get your kit on and then realise that the you have to win every fecking game you play instead of looking for the strangest, most convoluted way around loosing and still getting through.  That’s just me though, a common sense, no-nonsense midlands boy – what would I know?

There are also some benefits of being an ex pat.  Last week we headed into the centre of Brussels to watch their team play.  Everyone dressed in the national colours or flying the Belgian flag and no-one being called a racist for doing so.  It was a happy affair, all were jolly and most definitely a little drunk but all having a good time – AND THEY WON !!!!  It was a good experience.  Today, they play again at 13:00 so I will walk down to the square at the bottom of the street where they have a big screen, pull on my Belgian flagged jesters hat and ham it up with everyone else.  Last match saw an estimated 2500 people on the square so should be fun.  Kick off is not for a few hours yet, in fact it is only 08:30 but there is already one keen fan walking down the street blowing  a vuvuzela.

So England – stop fucking about and get on with it.  Remember though – Anyone but Scotland right?

Moving on

Currently resting after getting back from Brazil last week then spending 5 days entertaining guests that have just left for Paris this morning – hence the early posting.  I have had a little tourist plod around Belgium but also, some of you may find this hard to believe, that stinky swamp infested shit hole called London. A very famous wax museum, London Bridge, Tower Bridge, Tower of London, London Eye, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben & the Houses of Parliament.  I was impressed – for this little day and a half trip, I still had some small change from the 1 million pounds I took with me!

Actually, it wasn’t so bad.  Even found a Fish and Chip shop on Baker Street that served fish, chips and mushy peas for just over 50 quid for 4 people.  It was very tasty too.  A place called ‘Holmes’ very close to Baker St tube if you fancy it ?  I was impressed – I had 3 septics with me who all wanted to try the legendary fish and chip experience – I told them they also needed to try mushy peas and they weren’t disappointed.

The septics are now off to Paris for a week to meet some other family and then they will all do battle with the striking garlic munchers to get out of Paris again to  complete their holidays.  Train and Plane strikes to come this week. God bless the French – I often wonder why we didn’t just leave them for the Germans.

On a lighter note

The Magnificent Seven

You know who you are but for the benefit of others…….







Lynsey (spelt correctly you might note)


These are the recent competition winners and it gives me great pleasure to announce that your winners shirts have been dispatched and should all arrive within 1 week.  There is of course the required mandatory entry into the next competition – I need at least 3 photos of you all, while wearing your winners shirt. As the missus suggested when completing her competition entry, one of those photos should be a wet T-shirt photo and YES – that means the boys too!  So get your shirt on and get snapping – Remember, at least three (you can send more) and you must be wearing the shirt in all of them.  emailed to the usual address for me.  The winner of the ‘best photo’ will receive something very special by return.  Closing date will be in a few weeks time but don’t delay, click today.

Anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Verity Smith (Nee McCoy) please let me know.  despite posting an entry for the competition, she has yet to be in touch again with her address for the winners shirt.

There are only 9 of these shirts in circulation, I have Nº 1, the other 8 are owned by the Magnificent Seven listed above. Clever bunnies will appreciate there are 8 names on the list – just remember, as competition rules go, my decision is always final and Connor is a very lucky boy.  I fully expect a stunning array of photos from him.

Later today, I will be watching the Austrian GP – an all Williams front row – I bet no-one saw that coming, most likely not even Massa (avoiding the obvious joke about the object that hit him a couple of years ago).  Good luck to them, that’s all I will say. My money is on ………………


Now please let me sleep for a while, I haven’t had a full nights sleep since we set sail from Ft Lauderdale, Florida on 19th May.  As I now have a month off, expect some epic adventure




FIGJAM’s across the Equator

Figjam Bob – Now I haven’t seen him for a while but coincidence is ironic, especially on an epic sea adventure.

I last saw Figjam Bob in the ‘Roachie Café’, in Palma de Mallorca, maybe 4 years ago now. I say ‘saw’ but as will all good figjams, we mean ‘heard. If you can imagine a busy, male dominated spanish Café full of dock workers at the 10am morning break – the noise is horrendous, metal legged chairs scraping across hard tile floors, a dozen dockers all shouting at each other but still sounding just like Speedy Gonzales. Suddenly, as if by magic, the shop keeper appears and it’s Figjam Bob.

At first, I hear him, that unmistakable voice raising above the rest of the café. He’s on the other side of the room too, propping up the bar with his next, so far unsuspecting victim, Figjam is in full flow, wanking on about how good he is, loud enough for all to hear.

FIGJAM – Fuck I’m Good – Just Ask Me !!!

On a lighter note, we crossed the equator yesterday. For those of you that have never done it (and I think that will be a lot of you) I have now officially been closer to the sun than you !!! Naturally, it was as disappointing as a bowl of bran without any fruit in it. There wasn’t a painted line on the ocean surface, no signage suggesting 1mile to the equator and to top it all off, no fireworks as we crossed. On the other side of the equator, there was much more of the same – blue sea water. I quickly made an experiment, the plug hole experiment. For years, I had been lead to believe that in the southern hemisphere, the water drains anti clockwise into your plug hole. I had even recently seen a TV programme on it.

Lexa had warned me however – that this was nothing more than an old wives tale – she was spot on and she isn’t even an old wife! So all in all, my quest to sail in the southern hemisphere has been a flat out disappointment.

I do however, have several T shirts waiting for dispatch to the Magnificent 7 when I finally get home. Verity Smith – I am still waiting for your address.

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