This evening was the closest I have every come to being a tramp.
No, I didn’t give up my IT job to start selling copies of The Big Issue…
On the way home from work, I popped into the local shops to buy a pack of Thatcher’s Gold Cider.
Immediately after paying, a homeless man approached the cashier and paid for his own cans of cider. Sure, mine was a quality cider made from apples in Somerset, while his was super strength paint-stripper made from robot tears in a car garage; but the principal was that we both bought cider. For shame.
After my awful experience with the spider, I went out for the evening to the canal in Avoncliff, just outside of Bath. John was keen to show Simon and me his boat he had been building/renovating for the last 50 years and was now living on.
We went for a relaxing ride down the canal on a lovely summers evening. We would have gone further down the canal towards Bathampton, but a boat decided to come loose from where it was moored and block the whole of the canal. Despite jumping aboard the adrift vessel like Somali pirates, in a bid to try and move it back to where it was once moored, we couldn’t, so turned around and headed back.
While aboard HMS Watkins, we dined like kings, using the very latest disposable barbecue technology to (partly) cook burgers, sausages and kebabs.
Once we had eaten our fair share of cow and pig, we moored up and enjoyed a few drinks, while getting pestered by a local cat. We also discovered a dead badger which had been festering in canal waters just a short distance from John’s boat. It stunk like… well, what you would expect a dead badger to smell like that had been lying in the hot summers sun all day.
Dead, smelly badger in canal
Being very brave, or stupid, John and Simon devised a lasso using just string and a Sainsbury’s bag to remove the dead animal from the waters. Having already eaten, we decided against putting it on the barbecue, so chucked it into nearby hedgerow… again, I was at a safe distance to prevent being splashed with dead badger juice.
Dead, smelly badger about to be cooked
A nice evening. I’m already looking forward to my next voyage, when hopefully we will get a bit closer to Bathampton and not encounter any more dead bodies.
Liverpool losing to Chelsea at Anfield yesterday may well have cost Manchester United the title; no doubt causing joy amongst millions of football fans across the globe – not least at all, me.
Not only was I pleased that ManYoo would almost certainly not win the league this season, but because I had won a bet I made with Simon at Christmas.
I bet him one bottle of Mr. Sheppy’s finest Somerset cider that Liverpool would lose at home in the league at least once more this season. Between the time the bet was made and this weekend, Liverpool were unbeaten. Then Chelsea came to town and changed everything. I have nothing against Liverpool and am not usually a betting man, but could see it happening.
Next weekend, I hope to celebrate the promotion of both Bath City and Leeds United, along with Manchester United’s failings, all while supping on Sheppy’s courtesy of Simon and Chelsea Football Club.
Apparently Leeds United are in Yeovil this afternoon for a game they will surely lose. 500,000 fans are expected to turn up in the West Country, having all booked tickets the day after Leeds beat Manchester United in the FA Cup.
Now things are very different. 3 months on, Leeds have blown promotion, a feat even Father Dougal Maguire would fail to replicate, given Leeds’ healthy position at the start of 2010.
So what do the masses of Leeds fans do during their Easter Monday visit to Somerset? Certainly not travel to Huish Park and watch what will almost certainly be an embarrassing defeat to a bunch of 6-fingerd inbreds.
Living in the West Country, I have come up with a list of ‘Things to do in Somerset’ for my friends from the north…
1) Visit a cider farm
Cider may have gone up by 1000%, but that tax doesn’t apply to the farms hidden off the country roads. No tax man is going to question an angry farmer armed with a pitch fork. Before you start drinking, a word of warning – Somerset cider is not like Tetley’s. If you drink too much, you’ll wake up five days later, naked and tied to a cow shed somewhere in Shepton Mallet.
2) Ride a yokel
As long as you don’t approach from behind, these can be trained like the dragons on Avatar. Just don’t take out of Somerset as this causes their head to explode.
3) Cause a riot
A short way from Yeovil, and in fact just outside of Somerset, is Bristol. Look for the meanest, hardest pub you can find – I suggest starting in Hartcliffe (pronounced ‘arrcliff) . Then wear either a Cardiff City or Swansea City football shirt. Bristolian’s are notorious for their hatred of anything representing Welsh football. For added violence, wear an Alistair Darling mask and ask the bartender if he is adding on the extra tax on Thatcher’s Gold. Warning: This may lead to serious injury or death.
4) Wind up a Manchester United fan
They say you are never more than 6 feet away from a rat. In Somerset, the same can be said about Manchester United fans – they’re everywhere. As Leeds supporters are invading the county, may I suggest bringing the local ManYoo fans a gift. You could also remind them the Carling Cup is not a real competition and, like Leeds, they won’t win anything else this season.
After watching local news, I can confirm it is officially the biggest story in the West Country since police found out what Fred West had been up to.
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.
