A Bitter Golf!

We went for a game of par 3 golf yesterday as the weather was bright and sunny although only 50 degrees. They insist on that loopy farrenhite stuff and, don’t laugh, feet and inches! Titter titter I can’t help it.

It was lunch time so before we could “T” off we had to fuel up, we went to the local Caribbean Hut, my choice, I like a bit of ethnic food now and again. Notice I didn’t use the word darkie, that’s how far I’ve come since 1960. To be fair Sue wanted to go to the chinky but she is so nice she thought she would acquiesce. She isn’t keen on Caribbean food, we thought it was perhaps the place we ate at last time had stained her view, the slap dash and lackadaisical service was all a bit, well! Caribbean to be honest. They served the worlds best coconut cake though.

So we did the Hut, we were the only pale faces there but everyone was heap big friendly. The service was with a smile and whilst not prompt, certainly acceptable I started with a Guinness, I’m liking dark beers since leaving Ohio, Sue had a Budwazz of some kind.

I chose Curried Goat, Sue, Barbecued Chicken. Personally I am more wary of chicken after seeing that pink “doings” of chicken on Facebook the other day.
In the end Sue ate a bit but was put off by the sugary sauce they call barbecue over here, so she is now done with Caribbean food forever, although she was still a bit hungry. ( there into the metaphorical sunset sailed my trip to Montego Bay)

On the other hand the Goat was great, so nicely cooked it fell off the bone, the curry had quite a bite to it and set my lips ablaze but I am, to be honest, known to be a bit of a Nancy Boy with hot spices. Nevertheless it really got me wondering, how in the name of all that’s holy, does a Goat turn what it eats, Nettles, dock leaves, twigs , thorns, and people’s laundry into such a nice meat? In all my life I never saw David Nixon or Paul Daniels do anything remotely like it on Sunday night at the London Palladium. Amazing!

I fancy this as a Britains got talent gig. I go on with a goat , feed it a sweater a wife beater vest and maybe a sleeping bag, slaughter it, cook a bit of it, give it the judges and bingo! No wait, wait! Britains got Tallent meets The Mastercheif with the X Factor. I’m gonna be big! I need that Simon blokes phone number!

I’ll sort it out later.

The Golf was difficult , well it always is, this course though has loads of water, 5 of the holes has it from T box to green and one is an island, so don’t go thinking it’s a game of pitch and put. You have to prepare by bringing plenty of spare balls, not Calloways though, you don’t want to be loosing them, we make do with Titley ists usually.

Although it’s winter the course is still ok, the fairways ( that aren’t water) are Bermuda grass which is dormant and grey at this time of year, still nice and fluffy though. The greens are different to anything I have seen any where else, they have the texture of a prison blanket, army , I mean army, I don’t want anyone to think I’ve been in prison, anyway, anything under 6 months doesn’t count. The grass is a very dark green almost blue and whats more nice to putt on so I’m not knocking it. Sue lost a ball on the first hole, she didn’t deserve to, one of her best shots ever and we lost it in the shadows. We both did a 7 mind. I managed a 3 on the second. Followed by a ball in the water for Sue on the 3rd, and of course I put mine on the green and in for a 2. She is striking the ball so much better now, I sincerely believe she has made massive progress in this game.

Of course you have to measure women playing golf with a more lenient scale than men, we are so much better at it, by nature, it’s not our fault, it’s just the way Jesus wanted it that’s all, a simple fact. It’s in the bible somewhere.
It does even out though, women do have the edge on us blokes when it comes to other things, say, expelling a ping pong ball out of an orifice for example, we simply can’t compete, again fact! Are we bitter? Are we eckerslike, we are man enough to accept it.

With Golf though, a mans ball will fly truer, with more beauty, height, and accuracy, it’s not surprising either when you think about it. All that sticking out of the front stuff getting in the way of a tarts backswing. It’s why all lady pro golfers are lesbians, it stands to reason.

We managed to loose about 10 balls between us, yes even I, “the expected one” ( I like to be called the expected one, nobody does though) lost a couple, I also found 3, so that knocked 6 of my score, not just expected then? No! Also lucky. Ask anybody!

Ps, just to let you know, I’m not that bothered about the Montego Bay thing. A friend told me they dumped a ship load of rotting 1980s Austins there and they are proving to be as good for snorkelling as they were for motoring. Apart from that it’s full of dreadlocked gangsta rappers and people on the beach flogging shit made in China.


Just walking in the rain

Went for a walk today, in the rain, not all of it was because I’m a twat, far from it, no the little bast/babies wouldn’t take their nap. So I took them out in a pushchair, that fixed em. The rain though was coming down just like it does in the movies, bags of drama and in a huge volume. It’s not like the miserable soaking hanging in the air stuff we get in England or that stuff that has the stupid accent in Scotland or Wales for that matter, where it soaks into your spirit, chills you to the bone and you end up sitting in your car with a hose pipe in the window, so utterly depressed. We’ve all been there, luckily remembering to trap the hose to prevent the window closing and steaming up.

This is a lovely estate to live on, the houses are well designed with human occupation in mind, bags of room, none are more than 50 yards from wooded space, so there are always birds about, Jays, Cardinals, Woodpeckers, and Humming birds and the odd Vulture, maybe it’s an Eagle, or a kite, I dunnow I’m not Bill Oddie. Emma and Colin tell me they have even been visited by a Possum, ugly little bleeders apparently.

Typical house on the estate

There are about 1000 houses all dotted about in a controlled but pleasing manner, these Americans know how to do stuff well. All have gardens mostly turned over to grass, can’t call them lawns though, the grass here has to be as tough as anything to stand the summer heat. All are well cared for there are none with scrap sofas, washing machines or mattresses in them. They would get a stiff letter from the residents association. One is not even allowed to have a boat, caravan or motorhome on view. One has to either keep it in the garage or pay to have it stored. Laundry! On a line? Outside? In the sun? No! Dry it properly you scruffy barstards!


This must be at least 95% effective, I have seen scant evidence of any prostitution in all the time I’ve been here.

Most folk gather up their dogs , still warm shit, even me and I hate dogs, along with children, babies, the young and old folk of course. I say most, as I have noticed the odd turd hither and yon. I may take DNA sample and shop them to the residents association for their verdict, I have never seen a stoning before.

The basic architecture of the estate is the thing though, there are plenty of hills and hummocks to add to the visual appeal, there is even a man made lake at the lowest point of about 2 1/2 hectares. The storm and surface drains all aim their waters into it and of course there is fishing and small water craft allowed on it, No swimming though, there is a residents pool for that sort of behaviour.


The lake

Storm drain with dog(for scale)

The storm drains are working their arses off today though, the water is bombing through the streams that are usually so placid its almost White water category 2 in places. I have the iPod I’ll see what I can do and drop some photos, maybe a vid during the final edit. Luckily there are no shopping carts in the drains clogged with fallen leaves so all flow freely. In some of the lower and more level parts of the estate the water is hanging about in the woods, making it look more like a Louisiana swamp, shouldn’t last long though once the rain abates. These drains are so well made with rocks in the bottom to prevent erosion, even the cast iron drain covers are mighty meaty, big and heavy. They seem perfect for loading into a tresurget, teshurget, big catapult to be hurled at a castle wall. There are no castle walls here though they are all in Disneyland.


The bag of dog turd is there to help you with the scale (it’s a small dog)


Louisiana Swamp North Carolina

Boxing Day in NC

A Beautiful Boxing Day in NC Today.

Bags of oxygen about on the dog walk, not a shirt sleeve day though, the bloody thing wouldn’t put it on! Flaming dogs eh?
Course I had me sweater on.
I passed a bloke coming the other way and couldn’t help noticing what a twat he looked, no offence meant here but he did. He must have weighed over 200lbs, 15 stones anyway, really not a tall bloke but ever, ever so wide, and wearing a massive pair of White trainers, you know the sort halfway up his thighs with a huge flapping tongue, (shoes not him), wearing a football shirt, I think he played “short back and sides” for the giants or some such. The thing was though his dog looked the size of a guinea pig. What a combo! Why doesn’t his best friend tell him he looks a complete cnt? Not me obviously he may have bashed me up.

I have done some research on boxing day. Apparently it is the only designated day of the year out of the 365 when you are allowed to punch, in the face, your local MP. Without fear of retaliation, retribution, prosecution, and several other tions that have skipped my mind for the moment, providing you shout “Christ on a tandem take that you. Bastard/Bitch (as appropriate)” when you do it.

Originally it was called punching day but over the years it changed to Boxing day to give it a more sporting overtone rather than the vicious piece of gratuitous GBH that it actually is.

It’s probably too late for you to use in the Uk now but try and remember it for next time. Every day is a learning day!

Sprechen ze tag?

Bollocks to Festervus?
I started this to assist Bam Carlson understand how we “Ba Humbuggers” have reached the zenith that we have.

I can understand how difficult it is for a Swede ( or any other normal human being for that matter), to grasp, the joy we English get in total misery. It is very difficult to explain, it isn’t misery in a corrosive way, that rots you to your core until you string yourself up, or try jamming your toe into the trigger guard of a shot gun and thats not easy I’ll tell you. No, it’s a misery that is almost joyous, a bit like pissing on a bonfire, if you like.

I’ll start with the basic meanings of the words.
Bollocks- the groin area, you can be kneed in the bollocks, kicked in the bollocks and I suppose you could be punched in them at a push, why you would want to though, when kicking or kneeing are available is quite frankly beyond me. NB kneeing is quite different to kneading, if your bollocks are kneaded it can be jolly pleasant especially if a) they are yours and b) a good friend is doing the kneading.
This whole operation cannot be satisfactorily carried out on on a woman, they have the basic groin but not the bollocks. I’m sure you have it now.
Bollocks can also mean rubbish, nonsense, trash, or balderdash.
It is also possible to have a load of bollocks if used in this way.

It can also be used in a negative way, for instance “What a load of bollocks” or “that’s bollocks” meaning disbelief of a statement or a situation.
It would be perfect to use if being interviewed in a police station. If for instance you disagreed with the fucking detectives view of the scenario. You could say ” this is bollocks”. He would completely understand your point of view.

You wouldn’t for instance, kick someone “in a load of bollocks” that simply makes no sense at all.

I think we have nailed bollocks now and can move on to Festervus. I’m not looking forward to this I’ll tell you.

It’s my own word, I’ll be quite forthright about it. It is a modification of the word Festivus which it’s self is a combination of the word festival and Christmas, I threw in the ” fester” part as it more reflects a grumpier view of the whole “bollocks” that is Christmas. The original word Festivus is from an episode of Sinefeld just in case you wanted to see how it’s used on Yootoobe.

There is quite a selection of words that have been cobbled up to re-title Christmas, so it doesn’t upset the natives (no racist slur is meant here, it is the way we in the Bengal lancers refer to whingers and trouble makers).
Words like Crimble, Crimbo, the holidays, Wintervall, and the like, were all designed so none Christians could partake in the seasonal twatery without compromising whatever stupid religion they have been brainwashed into.

Yes I know it’s supposed to be a Christian festival, celebrating Jesus’s birthday but that’s not the point is it? No one knows when he was born except I believe it could have been on one of any 365 days in the year, if it happened at all that is. It was shoved in it’s present spot for convenience. The pre-Christians already had a piss up at this time of year anyway celebrating the shortest day and all that cobblers ( one can’t use bollocks here as the shortest day is indisputable scientific fact, bollocks would be inappropriate).

When the early Christian bloke who thought he wanted to be a bishop or something, well anything is better than earning a living. Being the chief of dishing out bunckum (could use bollocks here) to the masses has got to be the business for sucking on them like a leach. Well anyway he had a business advisor maybe a virger who came up with the idea of piggybacking Jesus’s birthday on the pagan “do” and if we make ours a bit more fun, all they are doing at the moment is burning the odd sheep like Frenchmen when on strike or sacrificing a virgin, (not easy in Birmingham) they will go for our thing big time! And if we chuck in a cake , a pudding and a few mince pies our business will last 2000 years at least.

With this idea he became the apprentice of the year and lived happily ever after.

If you have managed to stay with me to this point, you can either say “like” or “bollocks”, if I have lost you, bollocks is totally appropriate.
If you have any questions fell free to ask.

I’m just walking the dog

After 2 days of rain we now have a shirt sleeve dog walking day, marvellous. It was nearly ruined though. I took enough cack bags to cover one number 2. The maths are simple, or so I thought. Dog 1, check . Which therefore equals 1 number 2, check, 1 cack bag equals a perfect equasion. Life is in balance.

The bag was duly used, we are now just waiting for the bin to arrive on our circuit. The bastard did another! I’ll be honest panicked for a bit, no one seemed to notice so all was well. I just whistled a bit and casually walked on. I binned the waste and continued on my way. The bastard then did another! FFS! that really threw me into appoplexia, fortunately I had some Amyl Nitrate with me ( it may have been coke I don’t know one white powder is like another after a bit) and that got my heart going again. So I ran off.

No wonder I hate Dogs, especially when it turns out they have a GCE in maths. Why did it do that? Why didn’t it do 1 number 6 instead of three number 2’s? I HATE DOGS!

When we were near the end of the walk we had to walk passed some children who were shooting at each other with pistols. I slowed down to avoid looking like a fleeing suspect. As I walked by my muscles were tightening waiting to feel the thwack of a BB pellet in the back. They would have easily been able to justify the shooting as clean, if they had witnessed either of the shittings. After 50 yards or so I knew I’d got away with it scot free, I was home and dry.

I think I’ll take 3 cack bags out in future, life on the edge is not my cup of tea.

The girl with the dragon tattoo

Went to the movies this morning, yes morning 10-30 am, to see The Hollywood version of “Girl with a Dragon Tattoo”. I have read the book, and watched the Swedish version with sub titles of course, due to my monogluttony, ( not sure if I have the right word there) I loved the book and the Swedflick ( it’s not just Shakespear that can invent words you know) .

The Swedflick, not just because it is an involved demanding mystery with lots of different paths to explore, but it is not glamed up, there’re no beautiful people in it ( they could have had me of course, I’m cheap as well but like I say there was no need for out and out glamour) sod all make up and that made it for me, that bit extra special.

For example I can’t stand CSI NY, I like captain Dan ( scuse the confusion, see Forrest Gump, the bloke in the wheel chair) but I simply can’t stand his side kick. The bird with the 400dollar big curly ginger hair do! It makes no sense, crime scene investigators don’t have 400buck hair do’s and they wouldn’t take them to work. Not only for the simple fact it wouldn’t fit in the hood of the ovvies they have to wear, post O J Simpson. It might get dead body gunge in it aswell. Some producers need to sharpen up.

Check out the Dainish production on BBC4 called the Killing, no glamour, in fact it looks like the cast were chosen randomly from you local Asda, the story is the thing though, brill!

I have one proviso to the above if you are the sort of person that likes to masturbate whilst watching Swedish or Danish movies, none of the above will have much interest for you.

The Hollywood version, “girl with the dragon tattoo” kept the Swedflick standard up, sans glam and that surprised me big time. Even with Daniel Craig in it, he still managed to look like a hod carriers mate, he was actually supposed to be a serious journalist and he was but a scruffy one. It seems when Swedes do “scruffy bastard” they are in a class of their own.

The reason for the mid morning flick was, it’s cheap! Only 10 bucks for 2. Even Sue liked it, she wasn’t too keen on the sex scenes though. The conclusion you can draw from that is don’t go and see it with a Baptist. Do go and see it though, I thoroughly recommend it