Who needs football?

Oh what joy to behold.

'Les Bleus' got their arses whipped by the Argies.

Isn't it refreshing to watch grown men acting like such.

No histrionics when injured.

Respecting and talking, not screaming, to the referee.

No cheating..........

No views of 'WAGS' posing for the cameras

Fans of both sides sitting together without taking lumps out of each other and the piece de resistance is the complete lack of foul language from players and fans alike.

Who needs football?

Am I looking forward to the rest of this World Cup.

Bodiam Castle

This was the glorious scene confronting us at the beginning of today's six mile jaunt around some of England's finest countryside.
Bodiam Castle is the epitome of what every schoolboy imagines a castle should look like. It's got the ramparts, portcullis and the obligatory moat surrounding it. You can easily slip back through the mists of time and imagine yourself manning the ramparts and raining arrows on the poor unfortunates below. The only hordes that swarm over it now are tourists eager to capture some of that sense of history that pervades from every stone.

This view was taken about ten minutes into the walk up a track leading away from the castle. On days like today we truly do live in the 'Garden of England'. And yes, that is a vineyard you see on the right. Unfortunately, the fruit wasn't ripe as yet, but we did manage to scrump some delicious blackberries en route.


We stumbled across this beautiful 14th century manor house at the end of a grassy track. I always marvel at some of the little gems tucked away deep in the countryside away from prying eyes. This place is called Great Wigsell and it has been owned by the Culpeper family over the centuries. We briefly met the owner on the drive exercising her two black labs'.

Barney the wonderdog was his usual pain in the arse. Whining half the time in the car and when we do get out, he thinks he's pulling a sled judging by the way we were dragged along half the time. Funny how he would only pull us down hill, but never up.He managed to find a couple of ponds on the way in which to cool off. I was tempted myself 'cos it was bloody hot out there. Resisting the temptation of 'The Curlew' public hostelry we eventually staggered back into the castle car park three hours later. A beautiful mornings walk ended with a delicious picnic in the grounds of the castle. And what will we be doing tomorrow on this Bank Holiday weekend? We will be doing bugger all, that's what.

We get our walks from walkingworld.com which is a treasure trove of walks for all parts of our sceptered isle. If you're a seasoned walker (I hate the term, 'rambler'), this site is certainly worth a peek at.

Insurance, the white mans burden

How do I know that the car insurance is due?

Because the Amazon rain forest has this week been seriously depleted to provide all the paper for every insurance company known to man to line my hallway with their "exclusive offers to a safe driver like me".

It appears that once the half century has been reached, a transformation occurs. No longer are you that naive, thrill seeking boy racer with ne'er a care in the world as you unflinchingly splatter hedgehogs and drench old ladies with kerbside puddles. Once over fifty, you become sensible and plodding and therefore less of a risk.

HAH!! I've fooled 'em.

Hedgehogs still quake at my approach and octogenarians of either sex don waterproof gear once I wheel spin out of the drive.

Who am I trying to kid? I am what they think I am. And yes, I have looked at the SAGA quote. Aren't they bloody expensive? I may be over fifty, but I cannot afford to lose either an arm or a leg to pay their premiums.

No, I shall do what every upstanding citizen does and go for the cheapest one.

Whatever happened to taking risks?......sigh

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N.B. The title is an episode from the Goon show and not some underhand racist remark. So stop all hopping about, it just seemed appropriate to my whinge.

Don't sail in this Captain's ship

On Saturday, we made a last minute decision to charge down to the sea and splash about, catch crabs, get sunburnt and do all the stuff that goes into a good ol' fashioned English trip to the seaside.

Being miserable bastards, we searched for a quiet unpopulated beach to sprawl on. Not for us the great unwashed with their screaming rug rats running riot amidst great globules of shiny pink flesh slowly frying to a turn in that strange phenomena called the sun. No beach balls smashing into crisps and warm orange juice. Just a reasonably quiet beach where we could chill. Hard to find in Kent, although we have the longest coastline in the country.

Kingsgate Bay came up trumps. Small, quiet and safe swimming. Unfortunately the nearest place for the motor is in the car park of the 'Captain Digby' pub. They charged us a tenner (yes, a bloody tenner) on the understanding that if we bought a meal inside, the charge would be waived. Perfect, we thought.

After three hours fun on the beach we returned to the pub for some scran, only to be informed whilst ordering the grub that there is in fact no policy to refund car parking fees to non-customers. I politely pointed out to the youth who was masquerading as management that as we were ordering food, surely that entitled us to be called, customers.

"It doesn't work like that" was his oft to be repeated answer.

Apparently, if we had walked directly into the pub and ordered a meal after paying the exorbitant amount they charged us, we would be discounted when we ordered some food. I not so politely (I was getting seriously pissed off by now) told this twat, that "If I wanted to use his poxy pub, I certainly wouldn't pay a tenner to park my car as I would be a 'customer', wouldn't I?"

"It doesn't work like that".

It does drag on much more, but I had met the jobs worth from hell, so I told him to stick his food where the sun don't shine and that "Thanks to his helpfulness, I will never darken his door again".

The moral of this sad tale is that because of this wankers attitude, instead of getting twenty to thirty quids worth of trade from a happy customer, he was quite happy to make do with a tenner from a distinctly unhappy customer who will never return and will certainly tell all and sundry what mean spirited prats they are at the Captain Digby.

Remember the name, for the worst reasons.

Needless to say. Thorley Taverns (their parent company) received a snotty e-mail. As yet, I have received no reply.

This is England.

Should I hold my breath?

The sun has got his hat on.

They forecast a sunny week at last. Coincidentally, I have five fabulous days off work.

Yippeeeeeee....

How long before the drought orders and hosepipe bans?

My Simpsons debut

Yes, I am now a movie star.

This is me strolling through the carnival.

Maidstone River festival

We strolled along the banks of the Medway yesterday watching people messing about on the river. The fun raft race was a sight to behold and it was a joy to see so many people relaxed and enjoying themselves.
The Maidstone River Festival is held annually and gets better every time. Boats come from all over the south-east and beyond and judging by the amount of booze we saw stashed on these floating bars, they all partied well into the night.
The event culminates in a firework display over the town which we unfortunately couldn't stay for.

Here are some more waterborne idiots.

Send in the clowns

I'm fifty three years old and I'm getting excited about going here for pity's sake. I think my brain was wired up in reverse.
I now know why the circus is in decline. They charged me £57 for the three of us (two big 'uns and one littl'un). That's a lot of dosh to watch people falling over and generally acting the goat. Mind you, the russian girl who robbed took my cash had lovely eyes.
Can't wait.

Ex boxer shot in face for asking a bloke to put his fag out.

After reading this, I wonder where this country is going.
But didn't the government in the aftermath of the Dunblane tragedy ban all hand guns to stop this sort of thing from happening?
It appears that is de rigeur to go out for the evening 'tooled up'.

The "Great Flood"

It makes me want to puke when I see those sanctimonious, condescending wankers on the early evening news reporting at the scene of the "Great Flood". The presenter on last nights ITV appeared to be creaming his jeans at the thought of this tragic event.
Why do they have to state the obvious?
"Here we are in Tewkesbury where it is eerily quiet".
Well of course it's bloody quiet. There's no power, drinking water and people, unless they have grown gills. And to think, these tossers are probably on fifty grand plus a year. And of course, our 'caring' PM hops on the first passing helicopter to survey the poor bastards homes floating down the Thames, Avon etc. What good is he? Making those usual promises politicians make to appease the masses. Seven years ago, Lewes in Sussex was hit by devastating floods and our government 'promised' them that they would get defences built to prevent a repeat washout. Seven years on and Lewes is still waiting.
Maybe we should give Bob Geldorf/Bono/Madonna a call. Get them to organise 'Flood Aid', 'cos the unfortunate victims of Mother Natures wrath sure as hell shouldn't hold their breath waiting for the government to cough up.
My heart goes out to all those poor people whose homes have been devastated. Thankfully, 'darn sarf' we have been spared their plight and I live on high ground also. If I get flooded, the 'Big Smoke' would have to be several feet under the oggin and the politicians would never allow that to happen.

Changing my name to Noah

It's raining - again.

Why do I have this urge to find some high ground, build a boat and fill it with animals?

Bouncing camera

We found out on our recent holiday that cameras do not perform so well after being bounced. The little preview screen on my trusty, but rather tatty, 'Olympus brio' is now blank and refuses to function. At last, an excuse to buy a new camera. What a nightmare. Have you looked at what is on offer in the digital camera world? It is mind boggling. Unless you have a degree in quantum physics, there is no way you can decide on what you really want. I finally opted for an Olympus FE-170. Why? Because I liked the look of it and I could get it £40 cheaper on eBay.

P.S. AArrgghh.... I have since discovered that my old faithful camera still works perfectly well. Apart from the little screen that is. Oh well.

P.P.S. My new toy takes good piccies though. Don't you think?

The wonders of management

A month ago my department (they are actually called "cells". What's that all about?) had a change of middle manager and like all prats with a very high opinion of themselves, he wanted to make "alterations" to "improve productivity and efficiency".

Yesterday we had five rows of two work benches and today we now have three rows of four work benches.

Brilliant.

This cost the company the loss of a mornings work by myself and five of my colleagues due to the upheaval, plus the expense of outside contractors to the tune of £10,000 (yes, £10,000) because Health and Safety dictates that there is no way that we could do it ourselves. Apparently we are not insured to get involved in manual labour.

Monday we will all be altering said benches to something to what they were before this brainwave occurred. Another mornings work lost.

British management.

Don't it make you want to cry.

P.S. The two extra benches didn't slip past you, did they?

Gorillas have feelings too

Yesterday I had a very humbling experience. Mrs K, little K and I went to visit Port Lympne wildlife park in Kent. Now, I am no lover of animals kept in captivity, be it a 'wildlife park', zoo, whatever. As far as I am concerned, the best place for wild animals is in the wild. Yes I know endangered species have a better chance of survival in captivity, but that is another story. If I could sow that seed for conservation of our animals in their natural habitat to an impressionable twelve year old, then it would be worth the trip.

Port Lympne, in its defence does a lot to introduce species back into the wild. Part of the Howletts parks, they are well renowned for their conservation ideals. So, I wasn't feeling too guilty.

It was when we came across the gorilla enclosure that I experienced something that I will never forget in my life. Mrs K and littl'un had moved further around the cage whilst I stopped to look at a large silverback sitting quietly on his own and it got me wondering what he was thinking about sat there behind bars without any supposed worries in the world. I mean, food wasn't a problem and nobody was going to shoot him for bush meat or just as a trophy. He had tyres and ropes and several levels of the enclosure to explore and stimulate him, but I couldn't help thinking, "but he isn't free, is he". And then our eyes locked. Those huge beautiful brown eyes looked straight at mine and I couldn't help but feel a great sadness for him and his like. It made me ashamed to be a member of the human race to see this fine beast subdued within a cage.

I felt moved to speak to this proud animal and actually apologised for his predicament.

He looked at me with his sad eyes, scratched his arse and farted.

Nuff said really.

Paradise.............

Please, please, pleeeeeeeeease let me win the Lotto.


I want to live here.

Bliss: Going to sleep in perfect quiet.
Ecstasy: Living in a village with NO teenage hoodies intent on being a pain in the arse.
Utopia: No traffic, 'cept for the odd tractor.
Valhalla: Local shop 1 minutes walk and more importantly, the local boozer only 2 minutes walk.
And to cap it all, an abundance of wildlife on your very own doorstep.

This is Winster.


Mum. I want to go back

That's some chicken

This is not what I was expecting whilst out walking the Derbyshire Dales last week. Bet you could get a few omelette's out of that egg.

Derbyshire, here we come

This time next week, we will all be settled in a pretty cottage in a small village called Winster within the Peak District.

If I'm honest, the main reason for visiting this beautiful area of our green and pleasant land, is to experience the Alton Towers phenomenon. Little Miss k has been banging on about going for sometime now. We were all set last year until I discovered that she wasn't tall enough for the real rides by about half and inch. I refuse to talk in tongues. Metrification has yet to enter my conscious, sub or otherwise.

I wouldn't be totally truthful if I didn't say that I want to go just as much. Being an adrenalin junkie, I love the thrill of being thrown around at seemingly impossible speeds and angles whilst keeping the contents of my stomach where they should be. Coupled with the fact that we have two days visit for the price of one, so it just has to be done.

The walking boots are packed for some serious yomping amid the Peak District and of course a visit to the Chatsworth estate is a must. Some friends of ours who live just a couple of miles from Winster don't know it yet, but they are getting a visit. Probably at their local boozer - I hope.

Anybody with any further suggestions of places to see, don't hesitate to let me know.

One rule for us......

I see that freeloading airhead Paris Hilton has managed to last a whole three days in the nick.

It transpires that the poor lamb is suffering from an undisclosed 'medical condition' and may spend the rest of her sentence under house arrest. Wonder what all the other cons think about that then?

What utter tosh and balderdash (don't you just love that word). This boring, self obsessed twat has greased a few palms with her old mans untold wealth to get herself some preferential treatment, but the good old judge who sent her down in the first place screams....whoooaaa.

He's all for sending her back right now. The man gets my vote.

"We are dining"

Well here they are in all their glory.

'Charles & Camilla' have entered the garden.

Aren't they beautiful?

The skirt around the table is an anti squirrel device which works pretty well and it has taken me twenty years to come up with something to thwart those bloody tree rats.

Watch the birdie

For the last couple of weeks we have had a couple of strangers visit us on a regular basis.
Usually they pop in about three times a day to gorge themselves stupid. No I don't mean some old tramp and his tart, our visitors are of the feathered variety.
A pure white dove accompanied by her escort, a very handsome racing pigeon now use the krip residence for their breakfast, dinner and tea. They are inseparable. Where one is, the other is never far away. I know somebody around our area keeps racing pigeons because I often see them wheeling around overhead. They are quite skittish, but I will attempt to take a picture, next time they call.
Mrs k has named them 'Charles and Camilla'. They do look quite regal.