The Conference South and Premiership football tables are looking excellent at the moment – mainly due to a certain team riding high in 1st place, and another in a woeful 19th.
This evening, Simon, Watkins and I decided we would have a BBQ. I do not have a garden, and theirs were both inaccessible, so we had to go searching for a suitable spot to “spark up”.
We drove around the outskirts of Bath for almost 2 hours, visiting various locations, including a car park near the village of Marshfield, which was disturbingly full of people and their vehicles. Fearing we had entered a secret dogging community, we drove off – fast.
We eventually found a remote field near to another village called Corston. There we lit the barbecue and enjoyed the summers evening – albeit somewhat later than planned.
Like something out of The X-Files, our BBQ was invaded by strange flies
The BBQ took a long time to start
While waiting for the coals to ignite, I took a picture of the field we were in – scary
Simon and Watkins cooking
Simon and Watkins eating
Simon and Watkins approving of the food – less so of the camera’s strong flash
We wanted to put the BBQ out (so the farmer’s field wouldn’t burn down). We didn’t have any water, so used the next best thing – Pepsi Max
It made a lot of steam!
Mr. White had his annual birthday, and for a change from his normal routine, decided to go drinking in town *snigger*. Unlike his usual piss-ups, I was obliged to go along – probably due to the fact it was his birthday, and unless you’re the Queen, you only get one of these every 365.25 days.
While I enjoy a few pints in the local pub, I rarely frequent those based in town – mainly due to them being overpriced, overpopulated and overchaved. We started the night’s festivities in Weatherspoons – I was pleasantly surprised. They had a good selection of drinks, and lots of comfortable seating. I was also able to read the days news while taking a piss – some thoughtful person had stuck The Daily Mail to the wall, which makes a change from reading WAYNE WAZ ‘ERE.
Once Weatherspoon’s supply of Magners had run out, I decided (or rather, was told) that we were going to another pub – The Bell. The Bell is a nice “Real Ales Pub” on Walcott Street, and if I had my way, we would have spent the whole evening there. When we finally arrived (the walk seemed to take forever), I enjoyed a lovely pint of Bath Gem. Simon stayed off the booze, while everyone else drank themselves into an alcohol-induced coma.
When I had finished my pint it was time to leave. Simon and I had to make a stealth escape. In the past, my attempts to leave have been met by frustrated drunkards – mainly Mr. White.
I had planned on walking home, but due to consuming 3 pints, and the fact it was 10.30pm, Newbridge Road seemed a million miles away from Walcott Street. I got a taxi. Simon took a ride too. My journey home was spent listening to Mr. Goater and the driver discussing Robert DeNiro, The Chemical Brothers and the hours in which a taxi chauffeur works.
Still, that’s it for another year. Happy birthday Mr. White, don’t drink too much now… oh wait, you already did.
I had the fortune of missing the England game last night. I lie – I watched a little of it. I saw was Paul Robinson gifting Germany a goal (very sporting of him), and pundit, Alan Hansen’s new look – I think in the fashion world, it is called “The Tramp”.
He looked like he hadn’t washed or shaved for days and appeared to have strange sores on his face. Far be it from me to suggest that Mr. Hanson had been suckling the teat of Jack Daniel, but as the game went on, fellow pundit Alan Shearer became more and more slurred in his speech – probably due to the alcoholic fumes in the air, or maybe just because he’s a Geordie.
My media contact is working on finding me a picture of the unsightly Scotsman. In the meantime, check out this guy. He’s a heavy meth user, but doesn’t look too different from what Hanson did last night. Not that I am suggesting for one moment that Hanson is a drugs user.
Yesterday I met a real life Australian! Despite all the stereotypes, he was not playing a didgeridoo, did not know the late Steve Irwin, and wasn’t cooking burgers on a barbeque. He was however drinking Fosters and greeted me with “G’day mate!”… apparently.
The Aussie in question was Shane Jacobson – AKA Kenny Smyth. I met him at the cinema, following an exclusive (and free) screening of the movie Kenny, which, unsurprisingly, he was starring in.
The film is a mockumentary/comedy about an Australian toilet plumber. Anything involving Australians and toilet humour was always going to be a winner, and I was not disappointed. The movie, which is extremely low budget, follows Kenny around his work, family and private-life. If you want an in-depth ‘Jonathan Ross-type review’ check out IMDB.
Following the film, Shane Jacobson came into the theatre for a Q&A session. It was rather strange seeing a man we had just watched on screen for almost 2 hours suddenly appear in the flesh.
While I knew the film was a mockumentary and fictitious, I don’t think all my fellow movie-goers did, as they were asking questions relating to the plotline (e.g. “how is your dad now”). Jacobson did appear in-character, as Kenny, so I can see how the lesser-intelligent movie-goers could have got confused somewhere – unless they too were playing along with the act.
Following the Q&A, I met Kenny for autographs, a photo, and to commend him on his film. He is now up there alongside Timmy Mallett, Murray Walker and Jermaine Beckford as “famous people I have met”.
Here’s the man himself, officially endorsing Sparkster.net as the best blog in the world.
About Me
So you stumbled across my blog. No doubt after searching for something bizarre on Google. Before you hit that 'Back Button', why not stay and have a read for a few minutes?
If you are after a website which gives advice on how to hack an iPhone X, download the latest Steven Seagal movie, or view nudy ladies, you've come to the wrong place and may now press 'Back'.
However, if you would like a lifestyle blog, written by a 30-something chap, living in Bath (England), feast your eyes on this.
You won't discover how to copy PlayStation 4 games. What you will find is a blog, covering life in the West Country, the highs and lows of supporting two unsuccessful football teams, while sharing a house with a wife and rabbit.
All written by a man, somewhere on the sanity-scale between normal and eccentric.
