You lazy bunch of cruds, same ol faces checking up on the blog entrieswill update myself in a little while now my f***in computer is up and running

No comment !

Mouldy - You were not slipped a Mickey!

Nick,

I am totally honest in saying that you were not slipped a mickey finn, however, James did order two carafs, one after the other, but you were too busy gassing to realise that he only topped up his glass and not yours, therefore consuming 12 glasses to your 3. Getting old really is compulsory, but so is becoming blind and getting so drunk you lost your falsers!! Ha, ha, ha.

Good old Mouldy.

ok mouldy and your point is ?

You have been warned !!

Note to all, apparently the 1st Nov. soiree at the lock is not particularly a fancy dress do, just a lame excuse for NavsBenger's wish to see all the attending females in stockings !!!

Spitroast crew - watch yourselves, if there is a lack of the said females !

I wish to state here and now that I have NO intention of making the Brittany trip, regardless of any whining, moaning, barracking, or other means-of- force. I shall be in the South of France on the first weekend in Dec. and in Derbyshire ( climbing !! ) on the second weekend. So there !!!

BigJock - in one of your earlier ramblings, you noted how pissed I was on three glasses of wine at Arlon, and egged James to tell me the truth !!! Is there something I should know, was I slipped a "micky"?

To keep my end up - so to speak - I wish to state categorically that the said evening held far more than the alledged, meagre, 3 glasses for me, and in my defence it must be remembered that all other personnel had a very cold bath, enabling them to sober up considerably. Silly Buggers !! Goes to prove the adage " Getting old is mandatory, Growing up is optional ! "

Be good , all, but above all else, BE FABULOUS !

New Sticker for Bomber

So saturday morning arrives navs benger up and at em woke james to go kayaking up the river nothing more to say as feck all happened cause he woldnt get up. might play rugby today cause im bloody well lonely all bloggers confined to barracks.
'Hanging Judge' mouldy has been on jury service, fuck me what a time to be a criminal !!
Nice to see big jock bloggin away rest of you move your hairy matelot or landlubbing swabs arses
there is some photos of mag 7 splinter group at al and maries on al&marie.blogspot.com sent them a quick note this morning good people.
goin now cause thunderbirds is coming on telly
BE FABULOUS

Brain Germs My Arse!

My opening statement in this entry is, "I fucking hate living in murtahurms, honest I do. On me muvvas eyes!" Therefore, I am writing to dispute the fact that I have brain germs! I would just like to say that I have never had difficulty parking a car in my life, and I proved this to Bomber last week when I reversed my vehicle a good 500m into my space. Alright Bomber, so I nearly lost my mirror and destroyed the hedge to my right, and I parked too close to the car on my left and you couldn't get your beer muscle out of the vehicle.

Perhaps you should take a leaf out of Tim's book by going to the gym, losing a stone and looking damn fabulous to boot - take note fat boy!

Now I know everyone's Gaydar is going off but you cannot accuse any of us of being Heemersexers, Swing-bys or Beslians, well, perhaps you can call all the lads Beslians. I believe that we all still love Blandine. "Tim, have you asked her yet?"

Lads, I would love to go to France with you; honest I would, but with the credit crunch biting into my millions and with the fat boy in the Red suit just around the corner (not Bomber), I feel that I would become subjected to a gargantuan heap of shit if I left our wonderful shores for anywhere other than Dubai, Majorca or some other fabulously hot place. So I must decline this fabulous offer.

I do however, want to be reminded of the Suoz cricket match (I'll watch - Jock's can't play for toffee) and the Munich beerfest; plus any other fabulous events that the magnificent 7 (spelt correctly) are planning in the future.

So before I sign off I suggest that everyone attached to this blog continues to add entries, now and then. It is building into something that will far exceed the size of all J R R Tolkien's works and J K Rowlings' works combined.

SO GET BLOGGING - YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE - AND WE WILL TEXT YOU CONTINUALLY AND SEND YOU LOTS OF SPAM EMAILS IF YOU DON'T!

This is BigJock signing off - BE FABULOUS!

navs benger has now worked out how to get a photo onto profile handsome bastard not fat at all

navs benger been to the feckin gym and is now a fit twat who will show the long knives whose obese

Forgot to mention that Navs benger lost one stone since returning from the european conquestwhich he was particularly proud about until the feckin doctor told me i was borderline obese, cheeky bastard i only went to get my ears syringed

Hey Mag 5 on the blog !!!
so far that is tim Jan bombs james confirmed, george on the fence ( weighing up options i have no doubt) nothing wrong with that mate but if you blow us out make sure you get a touch of the old govarno. Mouldy to be cajolled into it this weekend and as i am told big jock is taking a sabattical, brain germs got him. For those of you are not up to speed with the situation it is the navs benger theory that women have this process whereby they get you to start thinking like them in order to get a date, eg you suddenly and inexplicably agree that you like films about puppies etc then when your mindset is twisted and they agree to that first date they move in for the kill and chaps this is the dangerous part......the first kiss. this is not a kiss it is merely a process for transferring womens brain germs into your brain, this process is irreversible and permanent, symptons include not going on mag 7 reunion tours, staying in and watching middleeastenders(diversity issue), compulsion to shop for no apparent reason, salad for dinner every night and some breakfasts, it does have some benefits however, like being able to spot a potential rival for affections across whole continents. beware fellow voyageurs you have been warned !!
updates on cricket trip to Zuoz next year ( not murtahurm Big Jock) to be forthcoming, sri guys we missed munich beer fest this year will look into it for 09. George 'i dont blog ever' campbell starts uni as the oldest student in the history of academia soon good luck big fella, sorry thats jan, good luck matey.
Sat morning and me gonna have big deep bath for half hour, i can hear big jock screaming in envy but this england you can have one too .

BE FABULOUS

mini mag tour

Hi Ya all, mag 5 here at last adrift as usual !!, just wanna say, yes count me in for mini mag 7 tour this dec. I have leave booked from 29th nov, through to 12 dec, but this is changable with enough notice !! how is the coming weekend lookin for a mag 5 visit to the Malta, it will be a cheap weekend ,trust me i'm an ex matelot !!!

Be Fabulous one and all

Hi all once again it falls on the old faithfulls, nice shots nik, for those interested it is suggested that early december a mini excursion is planned to Al and Maries in Brittanny this will cosist of basically a four day weekend in Brittany with al and marie who graciously and generously housed us after a reluctant start i think it went something along the lines of Bomber you fucker ! crossing pompey to St Malo evening and day there , half hour to destination two nights in the auspicious surroundins known as the Nautile, dat trip to be arranged back to blighty. those fellow voyageurs who had to return early, namely big jock and the campbell will want to put to rest the ghost of missing this important part in our growing up process, LS Peers Rtd is already on board cause if you take away the watery bit he only lives about a ten miles from where we are heading, dont lose this blog men we will get it published in ten years and be rich old gits with rockin chairs. Campbell are you going to organize the boys for A, Munich beer fest and B, Zuoz next year for old boys cricket, would love a game but up for the trip anyway, perhaps you organize a geriatrics game. Before closing this sectionI would like to announce the forthcoming marriage of myself and Blandine, i just got to ask her and then tally ho
BE FABULOUS
Any enquiries as to any trip call Tim or Bombs

Aerial view of Camping "officiel" Arlon

Including the infamous swimming pool

Link here

http://www.campingofficielarlon.be/

Aerial view Camping Tropic Brig

Link for site is http://www.brig-belalp.ch/regionorte/ried-brig906m/unterkunft/camping.php

Aerial view of Rhone Glacier

I don't think I'll ever forget this trip

I would first of all like to thank Tim for his last posting and I am glad that, not once, did he mention my suicidal tendancies on the trip. If you don't believe I was suicidal then ask Minxie - she saw my face and promptly packed her bags and left for a nice Italian lakeside hotel (albeit a Gay one, ha,ha). I would like to point out though, that I am not the phantom shitter! I know that LS Peers rtd and I sank a litre bottle of Jacks, but I remember everything after that - honest I do!

Well, like the title suggests, I will never, ever, forget this most memorable trip around Europe. I know I kept a diary of the whole event and posted it on the blog, but looking back over the whole 11 days I too would like to do what Tim did and recollect my most memorable flashbacks. They are not in any order but here goes:

1. Waking up on my first morning in Europe and thinking that our passports and money had been stolen whilst we slept. That wasn't good for my nerves, especially being the tight Jock bastard that I am - cheers young James!

2. That lovely pot of Flemish stew in Ypres - yum, yum.

3. My impression of the Barnes Wallace bouncing bomb in that swimming pool west of Luxembourg. Did I get wet that night?

4. Tim and James going for a hot shower with that dodgy couple from the bar.

5. How pissed Mouldy got on three glasses of red wine (James - you really must tell him the truth you know), and when Mouldy appeared through his murtahurm curtain, tried to speak and his fuckin' teeth fell out, ha, ha, ha, christ I'm breaking my ribs here!!!

6. Bomber's reaction to seeing Gerry Peers sat in the back of his murtahurm whilst it was underway. Weren't you meant to be driving Gerry? Haa, haa, haa - you kill me you two, ha, ha.

7. Who took the photo of me asleep at the lunch table in Luxembourg? Bastards! There was me telling Mrs BigJock that I had a lovely time sightseeing and not a drop of the devils brew passed my lips until the champagne tour - I AM RIGHT IN THE SHIT!

8. That lovely Italian birds arse on the ferry across Lake Constance. Now you know why I didn't want to go to the bar for a beer.

9. Opening that bottle of beer whilst waiting for the MILFS to land - fuck me that bannister was hot!

10. Bomber losing his mobile phone on top of that pile of logs, ha, ha. Next time find a harder place to lose it!

11. That lovely bottle of red wine and the largest ice cream sundae in Europe, courtesy of my big pal Raymond Blackett Mills RNR, VD, BAR, SCAR, BSA and Sidecar.

12. Life then became a blur for me until we turned up at that beautiful campsite in Reid Brig, Switzerland. No rain - hot showers (remember my 25 minute hollywood shower? I'll never forget that!) - as many dumps as you wanted, when you wanted, unfortunately not where you wanted but hey, you can't have absolute perfection. Good old Donald - I am recommending him in the Queen's birthday honours list next year, on me muvva's eyes I am!

13. Being shot at by the Swiss army in the Simplon Pass. I thought they only carried knives? I never knew they had tanks as well.

14. Whitewater rafting? Did we do that? I've forgotten already, however, I do remember that glacier and how cold it was inside, especially wearing shorts and a T-shirt. PS. The photo of James stood on that rock and the view of the drop behind him, I'm sure you aged 30 years when you saw him that day Tim!

15. How pissed you can get by drinking two bottles of cheap Italian red, one after the other. Thanks for catching my fall James; I might not have been writing this if you hadn't.

16. Epernay, EEEPEEERNAAAAYY! MOET & CHANDON - Be fabulous, that's all I can say on the matter. Note to self: must learn more French so as to understand French waitresses and their dodgy humour. Was she really that pleased to serve us? Bomber, Mouldy, James - next time let's find the MacDonalds.

17. And last but certainly not least, the customs man not being brave enough to venture into the Spitroast Special's loo, ha, ha. Especially seeing that Bomber's emergency dump was still in situ.

18. Driving from Dover to Maidstone on side lights! Not wanting a copper and seeing four in succession. Gerry, if I had a pound for every driver you upset that night, blinding them with your full beam, I'd be a millionaire 3 times over, ha, ha.

BE FABULOUS, LOVELY PEOPLE and remember, if you plan another trip like this, just tell me the stops and I'll fly out. You can all use my hotel shower and thunderbox, ha, ha.

NEVER IN THE FIELD OF EUROPEAN MURTAHURMMING, HAS SO MANY LAUGHS BEEN CREATED, FOR SO MANY PEOPLE, BY SO FEW.

BE FABULOUS

Back in the saddle

Morning fellow travellers and assorted others, my shoulders are broad and my skin is thick so anyone wishing to dish out a bollocking for my absence be free to do so today as tomorrow will be too late
I have a shed load of great memories from this tour, probably not get them all on today but will keep updating , in fairness i have been cockin busy since return so thats my excuse.
Havin not read the blog update i may repeat others but hey ho, first off I would like to say a thanks to Mouldy and Bomber without whom the trip would not have happened BZ shippers, again probably my only serious point, we visited Ypres at the startof our tour and visited the Menin gate and Tyne Cot cemetery, again I would humbly thank those service and civillian people resting there without whose efforts again our trip around a free Europe was made possible.
And so to abiding memories, chronologically not to clever but who could forget the mad dash to the Dorta for dinner, given the time and distance travelled to make our table reservation with one minute to spare was a great effort, and we had time for a beer in a gorgeous patio overlooking the mountains in Kloisters, that evening for me personally was a great night as all along i said i wanted to get my family together there and that was the beginning of four great days, the drive down to Lake Como and our time on the lake at Bellagio were memories i will never forget including the best melon ice cream i have ever tasted, by the way on this blog are links to shed loads of photos and vids, in Zuoz there are some great shots of the boys in tux and the girls in evening wear and then outside the Waldhaus hotel at dinner. Lake Como saw Jan Peers mincin around in a sailors hat not quite the rugged ol sea dog pic we were all expecting more of a village people audition, by the way has anybody ever seen jan peers angry or pissed off about anything apart from when his monster audi wouldnt pull a little dinghy across a stream ? bastard i hate when we are all on the major sad and ls peers rtd is walking around like he just won the lottery, fair play matey.
Bomber has a deal with some chinese underwear manufacturer who pay small children and old women with no teeth to supply black speedos to any location in europe, bomber you need to get the leg bits tighter stop the little furry thing peeping out, the streets of luxembourg are just not ready fella. talkin of luxembourg did anybody see an an ugly girl anywhere i think they may deport them if they show signs of crocodillapig'ism.
Has anyone got themeans to contact Donald in Brig, what a great little place to stumble on be worth sendin a texty thing do you think?
Hey george well done with the schplacken de Deutch thing, we would have missed the old rafting thing and the glacier i know def that bomber and myself want to do the Zuoz thing with you and the boys next year maybe have a lookat the munich beer soire as well.
Dropped minxie off at Milan was a real bummer made even worse with the revelation that her boss said when she went back to work that she could have stayed travelling with us, wish you could have done it with us sweetie will do it sometime i promise, havin said that the party the night before was something else, can anybody recall anyone anywhere ever havin a party in an open garage forecourt includin a barbq, how nuts was that, until bomber got evicted, i suppose we are not welcome back there. Listen what about the drive down to strasbourg way pissin down but we stopped in a rest area for a brew, no toilets in the place but a wooded area at the back for a pee, trouble is it was like minefield with all these little blobs of semi rotten loo roll where people had left a deposit, you had to be there to appreciate the natural beauty of it. Talkin of turds, who did the log or logs in mouldys mertahurm, its not big and its not clever, my money is on big jock cause he kept semi admitting it and in fairness i did check out texture size and colour and it seems jock is most likely the secret crapper, mind you there was two or three portions which suggests multiple turders, mouldy thinks it could be a single but multiplying through the divisional process like a new life form beginning.
What could have been an ugly scene in the Dorta had a happy ending when the bruiser wanting to punch James decided to give him a cuddle and nibble his ear ah lovely. By the way i think Donna was absolutely wankered every time she went in the Dorta.
Nice drive up to Epernay where the very lovely and fabulous Blandine was waitin for me, what a fantastic way to finish partly the sevens tour of europe i think pound for pound the best money spent for a great afternoon marred only by mouldys crass incompetance at the french language which resulted in all the tour enjoying duck and tournedos for lunch except me and him because his linguistic skills managed to order us three of the tiniest bits of shit cheese TO SHARE by the way !! I think i may ask Blandine to marry me or do you think i ought to slow up a bit ?
Pretty weird that day great time great phots and eveything but spitroast special and three travellers had to depart for blighty, we had monumental drive across france that night to get to al and maries for following morning the video of our arrival is on the blog somewhere fabulous time there andmany thanks to al and marie for there hospitality i for one will try to keep in touch, you can see all the freak shows from our breif stay there including ooh me backs gone, john lee "bomber" Hooker, and the remix of Sun Arise. Bomber what was the name of that chick you fell in love with in the Nautile.
Got loads of things i wanna say but out of time today gonna go, Mag seven and associates

BE FABULOUS

Link To Pics page

Some pics, worth a look !

Link Here :-http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/Nrash555/EuropeTrip

Enjoy

Where are you all !!!!

Am I the only one still posting to the blog ?

Talk to me someone !!

Full details of journeys, mileages etc.

Day 1
Maidstone, To: Offekerque, Pas-De-Calais, 62370 (FR) 80.38 miles
Day 2
Offekerque, To: Arlon, Luxembourg, 6700 (BE)Via: Ypres 244.03 miles
Day 3
Arlon, Luxembourg, 6700 (BE) To: Königsfeld Im Schwarzwald, 242.43 miles
Day 4
Königsfeld Im Schwarzwald, To: Constance, 55.83 miles
Constance, To: Zuoz, (CH)Via: Friedrichshafen, 88045 (DE) 168.22 miles
Day 6
Zuoz, (CH) To: Lecco, 23900 (IT)Via: Pontresina, (CH) 85.41 miles
Day 7
Lecco, (IT) To: Bergamo, (IT) Via: Varenna, (IT) 58.05 miles
Bergamo, 24122 (IT) To: Malpensa, (IT) 130.05 miles
50.05 miles plus add 80 miles for overnight south of Malpensa
Day 8
Malpensa, To: Brig (CH) Via Simplon pass 102.09 miles
Day 9
Brig, (CH) To: Brig, Via: Oberwald and Rhone Glacier, Furkapass, 83.12 miles
Day 10
Brig, To: Troyes, Aube, (FR) 307.56 miles
Day 11
Troyes, Aube, 10000 (FR) To: épernay, Marne, 51200 (FR) 69.81 miles
Day 12 "SRS"
épernay, Marne, 51200 (FR) To: Maidstone 253.46 miles
Day 12 "TB2"
épernay, Marne, 51200 (FR) To: Sains, Ille-Et-Vilaine, 35610 (FR) 323.91 miles
Day 13 "TB2"
Sains, (FR) To: Saint-Pôtan, Côtes-D'armor, 22550 (FR) 43.50 miles
Day 15 "TB2"
Saint-Pôtan, To: Maidstone via Le Touquet 383.66 miles


TOTAL MILES "SRS" 1626.98
TOTAL MILES "TB2" 2384.05

Vid now on YouTube

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=cbQszoWTBkg

Bomber's back's gone - better vid !

Consequences of too much amber nectar

Rafting Link !!

Link for all Rafting photos - HERE http://www.garbely-adventure.ch/fotogalerie/events-2008/2008-07-16-magnificent-7-rafting/

Note Jock's face during practice on dry land !!!

Would you accept a can of John Smith's from this Matelot ? SCARY !!!

Reservoir Dogs hit St Moritz

Wind-up

MAG1 - COMMENT - "FOR ME ITS BEEN RADICAL ! A VERY SOMETIMES BITTER SOMETIMES V SWEET EXPERIENCE " THANKYOU ALL FOR THE SHARED UPS N DOWNS !

JUST WANT TO SAY ! JUST LIKE LIFE NOWT IS ALL ROSES EH! ..... WISH THAT IT WERE ........... HOWEVER MANY MORE UPS THAN DOWNS OVERALL AND ITS ALL PART OF THE ADVENTURE OF LIFE EH! PEOPES. GOOD LUCK AND THANKYOU ONCE AGAIN TO ALL WITHOUT EXCEPTION. BOMBS X X X

Final photo from the White Water Rafting

The Mag 7 and instructors get a bit carried away !!!!

The Fab 4 live on - ( just )

This is Mouldy reporting live from Brittany, on Bomber's log-in.

So, the Mag 7 mutate into the Fab 4, and just like a caterpillar mutating into a crysalis, that is what happened on our departure from Epernay. Benger Snr. and Mouldy split the driving and decided to do the Brittany leg in one hit, while the not-so-fab remains, hibernated in the rear accommodation. As usual, Mrs. Sat nav, picked the best route !!! Straight thru Paris in the rush hour. Several changes of underwear later, we were heading due west towards the land of the Bretons, where Father's Day is very confusing for the locals.
When the matchsticks in Mouldy's eyes finally rotted away, he grudgingly gave the helm to Nav's Benger, and tried to get some shut-eye in the co-pilot's seat, 100 miles later, coming to with a rick in the neck. By this time Navs Benger had resorted to chewing a plastic bottletop, the water having run out miles before, and seemingly content to continue doing the same.
With consultation, it was decided to call a halt, and try to get some zzzz's, an Aire-de-Stationement was found in the book and we finally pulled into "Sains", 46 miles short of destination, and collapsed in various heaps within "Thunderbird 2" at around 3.30 am.
Dawn saw the motley crew almost refreshed and breakfast scran was hastily assembled.
The last leg was done in good time, and Mrs. Sat nav did a good job, directing us to the home of Marie and Al, in Brittany.
For those not in the know, back in Blighty, Marie had forbidden Bomber to bring his "Pikey" mates, in their Murtahomes, to their residence, so true-to-form, Bomber ignored all advice and did it anyway. Al had been pre-warned but Marie was not aware.
On arrival, a drive-past recce was done, to sus out the best approach for a wind-up. The in-car entertainment was set for bad Country-and-Western, the camcorder was set up and procedures and comms checks carried out.
As we pulled up outside the right residence, with Bomber hiding in the back, we tooted the horn and Marie crossed their courtyard to speak to us from behind the boundary fence. Her face said it all ! Yet another bunch of bloody tourists asking the way.
Navs Benger then proceeded to ask her if we had found the right place, showing her the book of overnight stops. She tried to say that her house was not listed, and was not a stop-over place.
On a pre-arranged signal Bomber rang Tim's mobile and he answered, cutting Marie dead and stating " Yes lads, we've found the place, parking is a bit tight but we should be able to get you all in. The place has a washing machine, showers, and a washing line, so come on ahead."
By now Marie was getting fit to give us the big heave-ho, when Bomber, unable to contain his excitement, appeared alongside Tim in the passenger window, to the exclamation of "F****** W***** " in typical lady-like fashion from Marie. Jeremy Beadle would have been impressed !!

The rest of the day was a blur of empty bottles followed by a particular good evening at the only local hostelry, well-named " Le Nautil' " where proper care was taken to consume the correct liquids for mutual oblivion. Unable to set up Bomber with the only single woman in the village, on account of her not liking his beer-muscle, she then took a shine to the junior member of the Fab 4, who, due to excessive over-indulgence, played the part admirably.
The trek back to "Chez Al and Marie" was then commenced in the early-hours along the dark half-mile of country road, with the blind leading ( and supporting ) the blind. In true hospitable fashion, the Landlord's wife appeared in her car to make sure the well-blotted Ship's company arrived back safely.
Bedtime arrived with a mad scramble for the best berths, Bomber choosing the en-suite double, complete with satellite TV, and the porn channel. For him, after his "Herm" this was the Ritz, and it may have turned his head. Unfortunately for him, the TV had a uk plug on it and no facility for conversion to froggy sockets, so, no PORN.
Daybreak arrived with all in good form ( surprisingly ), and a muster was called prior to a foraging trip in Thunderbird 2, to the local Super U, to obtain victuals for the afternoon's essential BBQ. Needless to say, Bomber disappeared in search of the elusive "sticker". Following sufficient re-fuelling of both Thunderbird 2 and the ship's company, we arrived back in good order for another helping of our host's hospitality, namely a magnificent BBQ with suitable refreshments.
And this, dear readers, is where we are at present. If my tryping starts to get erratic, it is because I am forced to down copious amounts of Pimms, sitting in the glorious sunshine, in the courtyard, while being force-fed with substantial amounts of perfectly-barbecued amounts of meat.

Laters

Me

Day 11 - .........and there's more!

Just when we thought the day was finally over, there was more incidents along the way. We arrived in the port of Calais and as luck would have it we got pulled over by the customs officials. Jan P got out of the murtahurm and unlocked the back door. The customs officer's first question was, "is the dog inside?" Jan P replied, "yes, a fuckin big Scottish one." The door opened and Big Jock barked at him. Once Big Jock had been shellacked for pissing around with one of Her Majesty's officials, the customs officer asked Big Jock to open various cubbyholes whilst he shone his torch around. Things were going great until the customs officer said, "what's in there?" Big Jock said, "Bombers bog - you don't want to go in there!" to which the customs officer took one look and replied, "too right I don't," and went off muttering something about, "I can't be arsed with all that shit." Big Jock wondered how the customs officer new about Bomber's emergency dump in Epernay? Fuckin hell, those customs officers are good!

Once the search was complete we went to see the French ferry man and gave him our reference number, which I hasten to add was arse about face. Eventually he found our booking and let us have an earlier ferry - two hours early; happy days, things were beginning to look up. (Don't count your chickens!)

Once on board we noticed the ferry was full of Eastern Europeans and Irish bog trotters. Big Jock and Jan P went shopping with the last of their Euros and George spent his on beer - good lad, hardcore to the last. "You can be proud of him as your new son-in-law Benger!"

After spending just over an hour looking at the finest set of tangos yet to be seen this trip, like a couple of well moulded Chivas jellies, the Spit Roast Special got off the ferry and managed to dodge British customs at Dover. Lucky really because it was at this point Jan P and George noticed that SRS had no lights. Side lights yes, full beam yes, but the normal night driving configuration? No! The council house murtahurm had a bloody power cut. Jan P drove the 30 miles to Maidstone via Leeds Castle, upsetting all the drivers on both sides of the road by driving with his full beam on. We even got passed by, not 1 but 3 police cars but didn't get pulled - the gods had finally looked favourably on us, or had they?

After parting company with George at Leeds Castle, I've never seen so much gear loaded into a Ford Focus - it was like an episode of "Challenge Anneka," Jan P and Big Jock made haste for junction 5 of the M20 and safety. On reaching junction 5 it had a big sign saying "road closed," the shit just kept on coming! Undeterred Jan P and Big Jock carried on to junction 4 and did an about turn back south eventually reaching the safety of Bengers house some 10 minutes later.

Spit Roast Special was stripped of Jan P and Big Jocks gear, well most of it. On driving back to London, Big Jock realised he'd left all his shirts, trousers and special agent suit hanging up inside SRS. He is currently sat in his underpants typing this blog! Bomber, get back here and bring my clothes with you!

Hopefully this should now be my last entry as Keeper of the Blog. I hope you enjoy the final installments and the book should be published early next year and will be in WH Smiths for £11.99 - TTFN

Day 11 – Final day for Jan P, Big Jock and George

Big Jock awoke at 9.45am and his first words were, “what the fuck happened?”

All was soon to be revealed but not before breakfast. The lads walked down to both bars but the lazy French can’ts were still in bed! Thankfully Mouldy got the bacon on the go, James buttered the bread and Bomber made the brew. Benger exclaimed that he had never seen anyone so stressed making the tea before (referring to the tirades coming from Bomber in the Spit Roast Special).

Bomber then reminded Big Jock about his community service and employed him washing the dishes. He was rewarded with a lovely cup of coffee and a shellacking about the missing Steve McQueen poster! Big Jock, confused, fucked off to ditch the gash. (Mad Raving Geordie Bastard!)

Big Jock then went to investigate the French thunder box, armed with his trusty pampers arse wipes and concluded the clattie (Scottish word for unwashed, unclean, smelly, stain on society bastards) French twats could have at least provided a throne to sit on and there was no way Big Jock was going through the “point and shoot” procedure and was going for a disabled dump! Big Jock returned to the murtahurms and received a severe shellacking about the tour being late setting off and why couldn’t he have gone earlier? Big Jock then, in good old British fashion, produced the same sign the English archers displayed at the battle of Agincourt and stuck up both his string fingers.

The tour continued to Champagne and whilst on the road, Benger gave Bomber a telling off over the airwaves about straddling the white line whilst driving. Jan P reckoned that Bomber was doing this because the cross-eyed fuckers eyes were pointing inwards. Benger said that when Bomber sat his driving test all you had to do was drive along the white line in your horse and carriage. Bomber replied, “PSV, ADR, wind your feckin tits in septic!” Bomber then claimed premanuptia in France and that he had the god given right to shag all the first-born French women and officially turn them English, just like his forefathers had done to the Paddy’s, Welsh and Jocks when they were conolised by the English. Big Jock said the word was colonized and that he would cut off Bomber’s average sized cock if he came out with anymore of his cheek! Jan P said, “I never knew two inches long was the average length of a penis. That must make mine Titanic in size.” Bomber said “Just because yee weigh 12 stone, 6 stone of it cock, wind yer feckin tits in. You two bastards will be walking to fuckin Calais if I hear another peep oot o yeez!

We eventually arrived at Épernay after a beautiful drive, albeit on the wrong side of the road, through the champagne vineyards. After pulling into one of the champagne châteaux’s we found out that we had arrived during their lunch hour and decided that nosebag was definitely order of the day. Benger struck up a rapport with some of the local French ladies and found out the opening times of the “Castle of Champagne” but we all decided it would be better to visit the most famous champagne house of them all and we went and booked our places for a tour around the Moet & Chandon châteaux. After securing an English speaking guide and a time to be back, it was back on the hunt for nosebag. Benger, Jan P and George went to a café, whilst James, Mouldy, Bomber and Big Jock went on the hunt for the Golden Arches. Bomber had whined for two days about feasting on a Mackey D but sadly he was still to be disappointed, because without his satnav he was fucked and we never did find the McDonalds.

The fab 4 went back to the café and found the other 3 who were already boozing, well Benger and George certainly were. The most delightful waitress in France brought out the menus and the general consensus was that she had a fabulous pair of tangos but the last Englishman she was with must have cum in her mouth. She was a right miserable shite and she worked really hard at trying to be as unhelpful as possible! At one point Big Jock asked for a coca cola and was given a resounding “non!” A few minutes later he had a glass of coke put in front of him. Either she had a really good sense of humour and us Brits just didn’t get it or it really was the worst week of her month, if you get my drift?

The food when it came was absolutely gorgeous – you can’t fault the French for their prowess in the kitchen. Benger was slightly miffed for having to share a plate of cheese with Mouldy, but Mouldy had decided that that was what they were having. Perhaps letting Benger make his own mind up every now and again might be nice Nick?

The bill was paid and the waitress was given a nice tip, “don’t eat yellow snow!” The boys then departed for their tour and things started to look up when Blandie introduced herself to the magnificent 7 – she was just a little bit gorgeous and then some. The tour took a good hour and culminated in a lovely glass of champagne. Group photos were taken and the boys agreed it was the best way to finish off the tour before the advance party headed back to Blighty.

A few souvenirs were purchased and then it was full speed back to the murtahurms to swap over George’s gear from T2 into SRS. Bomber moved what little clean kit he had left into his new house for the next few days, and stole the feckin satnav. It was at this point that George realized his suits had been traveling on the roof since Souz and he will be sending Bomber the dry cleaning bill when he returns to Blighty. Enjoy the rest of your holiday Bomber but don’t spend too much!

Much hugging and shaking of hands took place, and secretly even a few tears were shed, eh Bomber? I’m away to turn off the gas – my arse! So the Spit Roast Special and Thunderbird 2 parted company with James having the last laugh and drenching the new crew of SRS with a massive water pistol – twat!

A few minutes down the road the crew of SRS realized they were running on vapours and remember Bomber’s famous last words, “Aye yeel be ah reet lads, and yeel find a petrull station nae bothah.” So Jan P, George and Big Jock had the words come back to haunt them when the French equivalent of the AA came to tow them into Rheims. Cheers Bomber, we’ll send you that bill also.

Safely fuelled to the brim the crew of SRS headed speed fast, strength 3 to Calais and a nice warm shower and comfortable bed. Assuming there are no more incidents to report this will be my final entry as Keeper of the Blog. A big thank you to all my readers and I may come back on for an encore over the next few weeks.

Addendum: A big thank you to the Benger boys for putting a big pink tie on the Spit Roast Special promoting “Girls on tour.” We wondered why all the gay French truckers were beeping/waving their horns at us. You bastards, we didn’t discover it until we got on the Calais ferry. Revenge will be sweet – I guarantee it!

Day 10 - Switzerland to champagne heaven

Everyone got back from Bar Tropic at 3am, and although Charles Manson and his boys had shown an interest, their hunger for lilywhite ass was not yet at its peak and the boys survived. Big Jock had turned in early because he was still on community service.

Big Jock was first up and had yet another Hollywood shower, this time lasting 20 minutes. When he returned he noticed that Jan P had risen from his sarcophagus. The story behind this was that Jan P had been related to the Liverpudlian pharaoh “Ta fuckin Ra” because he looked like a mummy when he sleeps. He shits you right up he does!

Big Jock took a trip to the Bakers for some pastries because this would ensure that everyone would have a nice coffee break during our long journey to France. He would have got fresh rolls but Mouldy had already arranged this with Donald and they were promptly delivered at 8am. You have to be up very early to get one over on a merchant sailor!

Benger cooked a stunning breakfast of egg and ham rolls and the emanating smells did the trick and got everyone else up. The magnificent 7 broke camp, squared up with Donald, found Mouldy’s lost wallet and headed for France after lots more currency exchanging and money laundering.

Our first stop was to buy diesel and a license to travel on the Swiss roads. We’d apparently been driving illegally all this time. Cost us £40 though, so it looked like the Swiss authorities had the last laugh. General consensus – Switzerland is fuckin expensive! Bomber was banned from the airwaves because he was frankly taking the piss, so much so that the French government wanted us to buy a license because Bomber had set up an illegal radio station! Big Jock removed the radio and Bomber was tied up, gagged and chucked in the murtahurm toilet – noisy annoying bastard.

Our next stop was prior to the French border and we had the chance to spend the last of our Swiss Francs. This turned into a synchronized dumping session and a hastily prepared lunch and posh coffee stop which included the aforementioned pastries. Bomber had been released so he could take part in this, as he was turning into Diabetic Dave and we know how much trouble he is!

Thunderbird 2 made a quick pit stop to change drivers, where Tim “Ayrton Senna” Benger took over the reigns of Thunderbird 2 from Mouldy and then we made full speed for France. After an uneventful trip across the French border where the Gendarmes didn’t give a fat rat’s arse about who they let into France because Bomber was still with us, Benger decided to challenge a French murtahurm driver to a jousting competition on a narrow French river bridge. Unfortunately Thunderbird 2 faired the worst in this duel and lost her Port wing mirror. Mouldy did a quick A Team repair and Bomber put the kettle on. Once coffee and tea had been consumed, the murtahurms continued on their journey with various insults being exchanged over the airwaves between Benger and Bomber. Bomber is now claiming that Thunderbird 2 has been sold, and is now in the hands of the council.

The French roads are a fuckin nightmare with more bumps and lumps than a grab a granny night in Joanna’s nightclub. Jan P insists on driving the Spit Roast Special like a fuckin Ferrari and Bomber is not helping Big Jock’s heart problem by encouraging the can’t! I’ll have yer eyes oot ya fuckers, I tells ye a will!

Thankfully we reached the French tolls roads, which were much flatter, and Jan “Nicky fuckin Lauder” P could drive as fast as he wanted. Big Jock stuck on his earphones and settled down to some Metallica played extremely loud in order to blot out the thoughts of ploughing through the central reservation and ploughing up a French farmers field free of charge. Now that just wouldn’t be right would it?

About 30 minutes into Metallica Big Jock needed a drink to enjoy the full force of the heavy metal thunder and spotted a nice bottle of Italian Valpollicella. He asked Bomber if Spit Roast Special possessed a corkscrew to which Bomber replied “somewhere.” After a frantic search lasting 8 years and 3 months, which ended with the discovery of a pizza cutter, Big Jock gave up and decided to go teetotal. Bomber did offer to push Big Jock’s cork in, to which Big Jock replied “not while I have my strength you big gay bastard” and he reiterated that he wasn’t having any of that heemersexer shenanigans on this tour, no matter how gay the local population were!

We eventually reached an Aires (French lay by) which had a burger bar, pizza bar and booze bar. Unbeknown to Bomber and Jan P, Big Jock had swallowed all the red wine within the Spit Roast Special and had turned into a drunken version of Shrek! He came through between the pilot (Bomber) and co-pilot (Jan P) demanding that Joe Jackson “it’s different for girls” be put on the juke box as a reminder to Bomber that the fairer sex are always difficult to understand. Big Jock was then subject to the first of many shellackings from Bomber about it being alright for him because he had the lovely Janina and that she would be told all about his lazy pampered ways and the destruction he had caused in his mobile council squat!

The next part of the blog will not be written from Big Jock’s memory because he doesn’t remember a thing, but will be a written account from the rest of the magnificent 7 of what happened between Big Jock consuming his last bottle of red wine and waking up this morning in the Spit Roast Special.

Bomber – All the lads had gone over to the burger and kebab house for nosebag but Big Jock decided that he wanted pizza and went to the other bar. Half way through my nosebag Big Jock came back and started raving about some bird being at the bar in her pyjamas. This got the attention of the rest of the crew who proceeded full speed to the pizza bar, only to see the aforementioned lovely departing into the distance. Big Jock was then offered a lovely pizza but only managed to eat one slice and gave the rest to us. Perhaps this was payment for what was to come.

James – I noticed that Big Jock had not come back from the shitter and went to investigate. My initial thoughts were confirmed and he was asleep on the throne. Much banging of door ensued and I eventually woke him up and escorted him back to the table. Whilst at the table Big Jock decided to go to sleep and if I hadn’t been so quick thinking he would have ploughed backwards and smashed his head into the concrete – mad bastard!

George – What a struggle it was to get the big fellow into bed. It took 4 of us to manage the task successfully and in the process, Bomber’s Chinese calendar received some battle damage. Quick thinking and some psychological warfare from Benger (“your missus wants to speak with you but only when your in bed”) eventually got Big Jock to sleep. The range of movement on his stomach was incredible, from Lynford Christie to Lynford Gorge! Christ can that fellow snore!

Mouldy – I had a quiet night in until Big Jock got back. He came into Thunderbird 2 and was promptly told there was no party here! I then heard him tell the rest of them that Mouldy’s place was open for refreshments, so I leaned out my window and shouted, “no it’s fuckin not!”

Benger – Inverted snoring springs to mind. I have never known anyone to snore breathing out before!

Jan P – The big man nearly broke his port ribs when he got back to the Spit Roast Special. He also blocked the gangway so none of us could get in for a drink. Thankfully Benger solved this with the threat of Big Jock’s missus.

So as you can see it was an eventful night for Big Jock; there in body, but certainly not in mind.

Day 9 - White water rafting and inside the ice tunnel

Morning broke in the shadow of the Swiss Alps and slowly but surely the magnificent 7 arose one by one. After a wonderful Hollywood shower lasting 15 minutes Big Jock began his community service and got cracking with assisting Chef Benger in the galley. Marco Pierre-White has fuck all on Tim Benger and that’s the truth. Last night’s shellacking had obviously sunk home. Chef served up a wonderful breakfast and all conversation stopped as the boys fed their hunger.

After a major wash and tidy up the boys piled into T2 and headed for the White Water rafting experience at Oberweld. The journey through the little Swiss villages was picturesque but this didn’t alleviate the fear building in Big Jock’s eyes. This fear was further fuelled by stories of Bomber’s previous rafting experience in the Dominican Republic. It was commented by George and Benger that as we got closer to our rendezvous Bomber had also taken on a quiet demeanor all of a sudden.

The satnav got us to Oberweld but Mouldy was convinced we were in the wrong place. If only he’d looked out his drivers window he would have noticed the 30 ft sign promoting the river rafting company logo, ha, ha. Various comments were heard bringing his eyesight into disrepute. “Should have gone to spec savers” was the cry!

Their instructor Daniel met the magnificent 7 and it was decided to firstly have a beer and try to calm the nerves of those amongst the group who were apprehensive about the impending river ride. (It didn’t work – Big Jock was still bricking it)

The three German guests turned up on time; always efficient are the Germans, and we now had enough to crew the raft. Things began to happen in earnest and everyone was kitted out with a wet suit. Bomber and Big Jock looked like a pair of fenders and should have been hanging from the side of the Titanic and not rafting down the River Rhone. Perhaps that way Titanic might still be afloat today.

Things began to get worse for Big Jock when his life jacket wouldn’t do up. Fear was slowly turning to panic. Once fully kitted the rafters boarded the minibus and were taken to the start point. A training session took place, which saw James dragged into the boat by his life jacket. Big Jock thought “Christ, if that happens to me I’ll slip out of my life jacket and drown.”

The raft set off and immediately hit rapids. The look on Big Jock’s face was a picture. James and Jan P took great pleasure in soaking each other before the German kids and their dad joined in and world war 3 was in full swing. Everyone was getting a drenching but more so Benger, Bomber, Mouldy and Big Jock who were piggy in the middle and got soaked from both directions. Everyone was wet and loving it, well, maybe not Big Jock, ha, ha.

Daniel the instructor then decided to give Big Jock the opportunity he was waiting for since starting the tour, total Command over the rest of the magnificent 7. Big Jock became Captain of the raft and had to steer the crew through the rapids without causing any injuries. A big responsibility but someone had to do it, ha, ha. At first the lads were running into the bank, trees, rocks, even bridges! After a while though Big Jock got the hang of it and was becoming quite skilled at steering. Daniel said to the crew that Big Jock was doing really well, at which point Big Jock crashed the raft and crew into a large rock and nearly capsized the raft sending everyone in for an early bath. I suppose it was tempting fate on Daniel’s behalf.

Daniel then told Big Jock to keep the raft steady and told everyone else to throw their oar in the middle of the raft and stand up on the outside of the raft. With everybody convinced this was a balancing act, Daniel ran up the middle of the raft and pushed everyone overboard. (Very funny to watch, ha, ha.) James climbed into the raft and attempted to pull Big Jock into the river but somehow Big Jock had welded his feet to the deck and, although fit and strong, James couldn’t shift 19 stone of petrified elephant!

When Bomber was thrown in we didn’t realized until afterwards that he had landed on his oar and it was now shaped like a boomerang – ideal for scooping water up and soaking crew members.

Everyone eventually got into the raft and carried on down the river. Big Jock was then demoted to paddles class II and Daniel took overall charge of the raft; this was where the real rafting began much to Big Jock’s dismay. At one point Bomber couldn’t paddle because he was in hysterics laughing at the look on Big Jock’s face and the terror in his eyes. It was extremely funny and great fun – well worth the £40 per head. It will probably be Big Jock’s last attempt at rafting though.

After the rafting experience the company laid on bread, cheese and orange tea. The food and beverage was most welcome and once the socializing was complete it was time to settle the bill. This was done in good old magnificent 7 fashion with a flurry of different currencies being exchanged between crew members and the final total reached in two currencies but no one knew how.

With mathematical equations still running around everyone’s head, Mouldy got the hot dog sarnies and soup on the go – good old Mouldy.

Suitably fed and watered the lads traveled to the Rhone glacier. The road was very narrow with sharp bends and sheer drops; if we had decided to topple over the side it would have been certain death and the end of the blog. To ensure this didn’t happen the crew ensured that Bomber, Benger and Big Jock were sitting on the opposite side of the murtahurm away from the steep drop, and even though it meant Mouldy was on two wheels all the way to the top, it meant the boys were safe and the blog continued.

When we got to the glacier it was ice creams all round courtesy of Bomber – cheers Bomber. We climbed down and went inside the Rhone glacier, source of the River Rhone and what a fantastic experience that was. Well worth the drive, the 5 Franc entrance fee and the freezing temperatures. Perhaps next time it might be a good idea not to go inside a glacier in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. Mouldy has taken a video and hopefully it will get posted soon.

On the way back to the murtahurm, and much to the horror of Benger, James insisted on doing an impression of a Billy goat. Climbing up on a rock with a couple of thousand feet of sheer drop is not good for your dad’s heart.

The drive back was uneventful except for two small incidents. Whilst descending from 5800 ft, a mountain biker overtook Mouldy and T2! He was a bit mad and definitely had a death wish, eh Mouldy?

The last incident happened about 3 miles from base camp when 3 gorgeous beauties tried to thumb a lift in Thunderbird 2. Mouldy drove past saying, “no room, sorry”. They could have sat on our laps Nick, you spoil sport! Probably our only opportunity to speak to the fairer sex this trip, after sending back the MILFS and Mouldy kyboshed it – bastard.

Back at base camp Benger rustled up a terrific spaghetti Bolognese and then the final hours were spent drinking at Donald’s bar before heading to Bar Tropic for a night out with Charles Manson and the boys from “The Hills have Eyes!”

Day 8 - Minxie leaves, I thought Charles Manson was dead?

T2 departed early doors to drop Minxie off at Malpensa airport, Milan. Bomber, Jan P and Big Jock were rudely awoken at 6.50am by an irate garage owner who started making gestures like the Pope in Vatican square i.e. crossing himself – spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch style. This was quickly translated by Big Jock who told Bomber and Jan P that we had to lift our tents and get to fuck!

Bomber promptly climbed into the cockpit in his pants and drove us a few metres down the road to safety. His Chief’s knicks had the desired effect and the garage owner locked himself in his garage until we had gone.

Once SRS was relocated it was discovered that we had to rendezvous with T2 at Malpensa airport. What a fuckin adventure that turned out to be! The brief stated that we were to follow the signs for Malpensa airport but at one of the roundabouts the road was blocked off. SRS then spent the next 30 minutes going round Italy in circles but getting nowhere fast. In fact at one point we ended up in a farmers field! At last we got back to the initial road block only to find that Italian drivers ignore all road signs and we were soon following this little black Fiat Uno along the blocked off road.

After being chased by the carabiniere, police helicopters and jumping an unfinished motorway bridge, SRS picked up the previous trail and headed on for Malpensa airport, successfully reaching their destination in time for breakfast. After a coordinated dump the crew of SRS were treated to yet another of Benger’s famous breakfast feasts – happy days.

It was planned to head back into Switzerland and try to reach the Matterhorn. This route took us through the Simplon Pass and the scenery was spectacular. Lots of photos and videos were taken and will hopefully be posted when the whole crew returns.

Many stops were made along the Simplon Pass courtesy of Mouldy – every 15 metres I think? The two crews took in the view and a few beers to boot, oh and yes the little Italian waitress was very nice. The Swiss army did take a few pot shots at the murtahurms with their tanks but you could clearly see why they stayed neutral during the world wars – their aiming was feckin pish; missed by miles a tells ya! Stick to your knives lads and leave the tank warfare to the British army, ha, ha.

The lads spotted a male Ibex (large deer) on the side of the mountain but Blind Pete (Bomber) said the only thing he could see through the “come closer scopes” was his own feckin eye. “Feckin iBox, wot Feckin iBox, I thought you played music on one of those chameens?” The crews also stopped off to climb up a large slope to visit a massive stone parrot disguised as a war memorial. I thought the Swiss didn’t fight wars; perhaps it was a dispute over a cuckoo clock or who could blow the biggest horn. PS. If you find out whom that was that could blow the biggest horn, can you inform Bomber!

After the climb and lots of group photos, the murtahurms were replenished with H2O. James insisted on getting everyone wet, insisted on getting his pants off and his bare arse out. Lots of photos and even a video was taken then the journey resumed.

We arrived at a campsite but the rules were absolute silence after 10pm. The magnificent 7 unanimously agreed that this could not be achieved and we left in search of alcohol Nirvana. 5 minutes down the road we found alcohol Nirvana. A small campsite owned by Donald (lovely man), which had hot showers, toilets, a bar, a pub, and he even offered to cook chips for our BBQ. Big Jock was in murtahurm heaven and was seen giving Donald a big bear hug to show his gratitude. Donald said a blowjob would suffice but Big Jock was not getting involved in any of that heemasexer pish.

We had a fantastic BBQ prepared by Benger on the facilities provided by Mouldy and cooked by Jan P and George. It was really appreciated and eaten swiftly by James, Bomber and Big Jock. Big Jock’s absence from the washing up was duly noted and Bomber made a mental note to shellack him at the next opportunity for being a feckin lazy can’t.

A great night ensued where banter was flying from all directions, stories of old were being told, by the old, and songs were being sung, by the old and by the young. I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it! Donald and Marie-Anne joined when the reception bar closed at 10pm. Mouldy got his laptop out and we were all shown the video clip of James’ lilywhite ass pissing around with a fresh water hose in the Simplon Pass. Afterwards everyone retired to T2 for a nice glass of Port and a jamming session with Mouldy on the guitar and Bomber and Big Jock on vocals. Bomber and Big Jock also had a feeble attempt at trying to get a tune out of Benger’s didgeridoo and much laughter was heard, especially from Aires Rock in Australia or is it France? Benger, help me out here!

As the troops bedded down for the night, Bomber and Big Jock found a boozer. Whilst in the boozer Bomber and Big Jock came across Charles Manson and the cast from “The Hills have Eyes” and soon realized these were the guys that made James exit the “Hicks Bar” earlier in the evening. Bomber and Charles became best of friends, exchanged dogging spots and both agreed to give Big Jock a severe shellacking about his previous misdemeanors with the washing up and his continuous insistence to be lazy at every opportunity. Big Jock felt like he was at an impromptu Courts Martial and decided to take his punishment like a man, but not from Charles Manson. This had been the best day of the tour so far and Bomber and Big Jock returned to camp at 0300.

Day 7 - Can it get any worse Big Jock?

After a fitful sleep the murtahurm crew awoke to, yes, you’ve guessed it, rain.

By the time Bomber and Big Jock awoke from their slumber, Jan P and Mouldy were nowhere to be seen and Thunderbird 2 was gone. Big Jock was by now suicidal because the prospect of his promised hot shower in the lakeside hotel was slowly but surely diminishing before him. Word had come through that the MILFS and Minxie were being evicted early i.e. 10.30am and not 12 noon and with the time fast approaching 10.28am Big Jock’s dream of Hollywood bliss had been snatched away. (“It’s a fuckin camping holiday Big Jock – get with the fuckin program Pampers Man!)

By the time SRS had reached the hotel car park, the MILFS, Minxie and the Thunderbird 2 crew had planned their day and were shooting off to catch the ferry to Bellagio. Benger and No.1 son tried their best to rally everyone’s spirits, bless their hearts, but Bomber and Suicidal Sid had decided to take their bad moods and bad weather the long way around to Bellagio via the Italian equivalent of the Khyber Pass (Dodgy Roads “R” Us).

SRS reached Bellagio in one piece thanks to a good old British lorry driver who led the way. A parking spot was procured then Bomber and Big Jock went for a hearty brunch of Minestrone soup and pizza. The T2 crew had also safely reached Bellagio by ferry and they were destined to meet up with the crew of SRS in due course.

Benger and his merry band of murtahurm pirates took Bellagio by storm, shopping and quaffing champagne cocktails. I hasten to add here that James thought they were shit and he could definitely make better Bellini’s back home.

Fully fed and watered Bomber and Big Jock showered, separately I hasten to add, then they got their glad rags on and went lakeside to drink a lovely bottle of Chianti classic and trough one of the largest fruit sundaes known to man. What a way to get your 5 a day, it was divine, yum, yum.

At around 4.30pm SRS took off back along the Khyber Pass and parked at the Pikey campsite. The Pet shop Boys and Erasure were still playing strong, so Bomber and Big Jock settled down and awaited the arrival of the T2 crew.

With the whole crew assembled the murtahurms headed off for Milan and the impending departure of the MILFS. Once this had been achieved and the MILFS were safely on a flight to Blighty, the murtahurm crews and Minxie went on a magical mystery tour courtesy of Bomber’s satnav. The fuckin machine lied like a cheap Chinese menu and after crossing our 100th roundabout, passing our 50th new road (that wasn’t even on the fuckin satnav) and going down the wrong road a few times, we eventually parked up for the night in a ………., wait for it………. fuckin petrol station. Another first for Big Jock to go with his Pikey campsite and top French dogging spot! Mouldy came to the rescue for a 2nd night running and cooked up a wonderful mixture of casseroles before we all turned in.

Day 6 - Rain, rain, feckin rain

At around 9am Big Jock realized that there was movement within T2 and began to drip all over Mouldy about the feckin weather. Mouldy was quick to point out that the normal way to initially greet people in the morning was, “Good morning!” Suitably shellacked, Big Jock bid Mouldy good morning and then continued with his tirade about the rain. He was promptly handed a lovely cup of coffee by Mouldy and then told to “Shut the fuck up – I know its raining Big Jock, I do wear glasses you know.”

Benger, dressed in his white pants, said that we were off for breakfast and the prospect of nosebag calmed Big Jock to a frantic murmur. Mouldy, Benger, James, Bomber, Jan P and Big Jock all headed for croissants, rolls and jam with lashings of hot coffee. Bomber did moan about there not being cheese and ham but was promptly told by Big Jock that the kitty couldn’t afford the extra 3 francs for this extravagance. Bomber was not happy but Big Jock had saved a few more pennies and was ecstatic, ha, ha.

At this point Benger, in mid flow, was attacked by the only poisonous species of spider in Switzerland. James came swiftly to his dads rescue and slung the spider into a designated safe area (anywhere away from us). The spider landed on a small child loafing in the vicinity, which promptly ran out with the aforementioned spider – screaming!

After their extremely healthy breakfast it was off to the pub to stabilize the equilibrium and bring their bodies back to the normal state of semi-drunkenness. The MILFS and Minxie turned up and then eventually George joined us. George is Mag 7 and is joining for the remainder of the tour. The bar began to fill with George’s workmates and friends and was definitely the place to be until 2pm when the crew really needed to make a move and get George’s bags on board. It was at this point that the Murtahurm travelers realized that George may have been a teacher but it most definitely not Mathematics.

Having insisted that he was only bringing two bags, it is believed that he missed the zero off his initial calculation and what he should have said was that he was bringing 20 bags! His gear was thrown into the Spit Roast Special along with James and Big Jock. It was at this point that Thunderbird 2 was reclassified as a private residence and the Spit Roast Special was reclassified as a council residence (or coonsill murtahurm in Geordie dialect). James and Big Jock certainly felt like asylum seekers – without any benefits though!

Bomber drove to rendezvous with T2 and George’s additional kit was distributed between the two Murtahurms. After this mammoth task and the retrieval of Bomber’s two mobile phones from the log pile, Benger and Jan P turned up to offer their assistance, loafing gits!

All packed up, the convoy 10 personnel strong, departed for lunch in St. Moritz. Jan P was not impressed by his first experience of Rosti – he had more oil on his plate than JR Ewing had on his Southfork ranch – but Bomber got his Swiss sticker for the Spit Roast Special, so happy days all round.

Gentle maneuvering saw the convoy depart St. Moritz for Lake Como (Leerk Keermo) in Italy. The scenery on the journey was breathtaking and the sharp bends were frightening; a bit like the gases being emitted from the arses of James and Jan P. George had made his escape to some Italian friends’ place because he obviously spotted the dark clouds that we had been dragging behind us on our trip from Switzerland to Italy. Yes, we’re in Italy, Lake Como and it’s fuckin raining yet again! We had definitely upset the gods and I could see that we would have to make human sacrifices and pretty soon. The MILFS began to look like potential volunteers (or pressed men, should they put up a fight).

After desperately trying to find a half decent campsite, (lies all lies I tells ya) we ended up in a campsite, sorry, Pikey fuckin campsite complete with traveling circus, the Pet shop Boys, Erasure and a shitload of gay Italian truckers. Big Jock had completely wrapped by now because he was expecting a nice hot shower but his immediate future looked like his shower may not consists of hot water but something slightly sinister. He would likely get a cap busted in his ass or worse (in his ass!)

The MILFS had long since disappeared to a lovely plush Italian lakeside hotel with running water, showers (hot), probably a bath and a decent menu. At this point Minxie looked at Big Jock’s face, which resembled the approaching thunderclouds and decided to bug out and follow the MILFS example by seeking some home comforts in the hotel. James and Benger thought, “hotel means bar, bar means beer, and followed suit.

Mouldy in the meantime refused to have his spirits dampened by Big Jock or the weather, so he poured himself a spirit of his own (a very large Scotch) and settled down to watch “Al Murray, pub landlord” on the DVD. It was a great move and brought smiles to everyone’s face, yes everyone – good old Mouldy.

Midnight came and the boys turned in to watch the mother of all lightning storms. It pished down all night – again!

Day 5 - The boys and girls do St. Moritz

With the last 4 days committed to tinternet Big Jock headed back to SRS in the pishing rain with only his Clingfilm umbrella for protection. Trying desperately to avoid lightning strikes, Big Jock looked like a slightly plumper version of Gene Kelly doing his “singing in the rain” performance.

On arrival at SRS, Mouldy was spring-cleaning Thunderbird 2, again! He was also dripping about having to trim his facial hair with scissors because the phantom phlan phlinger had run off with his beard trimmer. So keeping his distance from “Mouldy Todd, the murderous barber” Big Jock questioned the whereabouts of the other renegades. He was told that Bomber was racked and had been since flaming out at 8am. Minxie and the MILFS were in the health spa and Benger had taken No1 son and Jan P to Hotel Castell for a small aperitif.

Big Jock decided that at some point skin would cease to remain waterproof and therefore declined the offer of a half hour trip up the hill with Bomber. Yes, Bomber had finally risen from the dead! 5 minutes later Bomber was back at the Spit Roast Special, mouthing obscenities about “Feckin moontans, feckin pishin rain, day ah look like a feckin Billy Goat?” Big Jock thought, “Well you’ve made a start with that feckin old mans grey beard, oh drunken hairy one!”

The MILFS, who had made a very brief appearance and the Castill 3 arrived back at Thunderbird 2 about 5pm. Benger and James questioned Bomber about the appearance of his bare arse, again, and Benger is convinced that Bomber’s arse only gets bared when he is in the vicinity! Big Jock and James both walked off muttering about Heemasexers under their breath, and James began to question his conception having now convinced himself that his dad was Heemasexering with Bomber.

At 6pm there was a flurry of activity around the Murtahurms and suddenly the area was awash with Special Agents in dinner suits. Dr No (Big Jock) continued to insist that he wasn’t going to the meal in St. Moritz because he had caught repetitive strain injury from his Tinternet session. This was quickly dismissed as a ploy to avoid spending money and 001, 002, 003, 004 and 005 did not believe a word of it. Dr No then feigned illness, weather, AIDS, MRSA in fact anything to avoid spending his hard earned cash, which he liked to hoard and then count when no one was around. The Special Agents had sussed out his real motive for declining the offer of posh nosh in playboy heaven – after all, they were Special Agents.

So the boys and girls went to St. Moritz, gobbled and quaffed to the tune of £550 plus a £70 round trip in a fast black, and by all accounts the meal was delightful, as was the booze and of course the company doesn’t need mentioning.

Big Jock had a cheese and ham sandwich but don’t have any sympathy for that tight fucker.

Bomber arrived back at SRS around 2.30am, Jan P was slightly later at 7pm. James had been abusing him again; “you’re reliving your youth again aren’t you Jan?”

The MILFS kept texting Bomber until nearly 4am with Big Jock being awoken with every beep fuckin beep! Bomber’s 2nd phone is now keeping his first one company in the pile of logs next to the railway line!

PS. As usual it pished down again all night, beginning at 7.30pm and it is still pishing down now as I write this at 8.40am.

Big Jock can only conclude that Switzerland is as wet as an elephant’s orgasm, so you can keep your fackin toblerones you caannts!

MILF’s Arrival & Departure – a.k.a. Dee, Karen?? Or Milf 2 and Chickess!

“It’s all part of the adventure” – you can say that bloody again!

Friday afternoon, Standsted Airport @ 12 Noon.

MILF 2 asks: - “Excuse me Miss where does this plane land?”, “do you like surprises?” asks the flight attendant, “you bet” said Milf 2. “Don’t ask that! They will think YOU are a bloody terrorist” said Chickess - RUDE!

Departing with Ryan Air - who will charge you a bloody fortune if you desire more than one pair of shoes!! Ok 5, plus iPod and hair straightens, 90 Euros if you don’t mind. I should have known at that point to quit whilst ahead, I never learn and decide to get on the flight anyway.

Things improve to be greeted by the wonderful Mag. 7 (one Mag still missing? I’m starting to think one is an imaginary friend to make them look more popular!?).

Jo Cook (now renamed and he’ll explain) – was looking a little wet (says it was beer, not sure I still believe him) probably down to excitement at meeting Milf’s

Disappointment set in again when Milf 2 overhead (via Nick’s video recording – thank you Nick) Mag 4 quoting – “Look at the size of her arse!” NICE!

So the journey continued to Zuoz in Switzerland - Views amazing, food and drink fantastic and company even better!

There we stayed for a couple of days, frequenting “The daughter”. Milf 2 escorted to hotel by Mag 1 & 4 via Fireman’s lift as still refusing to go home!

The next day girls went to Spa (via a very high Mountain and electric fence- ask Minxie?!) which was highly entertaining, Cloth or De Cloth – that is the question?

Evening Meal in St Mortiz – interesting, beautiful location, very handsome men (Reservoir Dogs still spring to mind, although my money is on Mr Black) and even better looking ladies, clearly table next to us! Milf 2 agrees to share “fondue” with the lovely Mag 4 – bad move!

Next day our departure to Lecco (or is it shit hole, not sure -LOL), where we arrive to a well provided ‘site’ to set down for the evening. Small problem the “Pikies” had taken up the use of all facilities. So in fear of getting involved in a bare knuckle fight, losing and gaining an ugly dog, girls leave and go to nearest hotel for a quickie (oh err misses) at the bar next door. Not so sure of the locals, suspect “hemosex” activities and men in bar has hair in bun, scary!?

Last day (thank God, sorry did I say that out loud – joke!?) we depart for Lake Como and Berlagio, small shopping spree prior to lovely lunch (although no Pizza) and eventful Ferry Trip, was the Captain a poor driver or did we not notice our stop behind us!?!? – GEORGE!!!

Back in said vehicles and our journey continues to Milano airport to get rid of MILF’s , sorry drop them off.

Milf 2 decides the SRS2 has more beer onboard so therefore decides to jump ship (so fickle) and travels with Mag 1, Mag 4 and twins – great ride boys!

At Airport - Chickess on standby, MILF 2 keen to go to the loo (clearly too much beer consumed in SRS2).

Goodbyes said (thank god they have left) and flight departs for Luton (London)!

Thinking all drama behind me now - How wrong was I – Chickess’s bag lost, somewhere between Milan and Luton – OH HAPPY DAYS.

Until next time, will there be one, don’t hold your breath!

Thanks for the memories, sorry for the bad ones and enjoy the rest of your trip. An amazing person once said to me ‘fair wind (don’t be rude) and following sea’!

Be good if not be careful!

Yours Milf 2 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Day 5 - Souz, the morning after.

It pissed down all night, again!  Big Jock was awoken by giggling and noises around 3.30am and this was apparently the transfer of MILF luggage from murtahurm to hotel.  Dropping back to sleep he was then awake for the arrival of Jan P, penniless but happy at 5.30am. Giving up on sleep Big Jock lashed up and stowed his hammock and was suddenly knocked for six.  No it wasn't yet another ice cold shower courtesy of SRS but the sight that greeted him out of the rear window. Bomber and James 10 feet in the air on top of a pile of logs, drinking beer and exchanging pleasantries.  All was going well until Bomber dropped his mobile phone which is now situated 5 feet below where he was originally standing and 6 feet inside the pile of logs - and there it remains in the pouring rain.  I can't wait to read the insurance claim.

Hopefully the others will discover we have Internet here and post some blogs but don't hold your breath because there are quite a few bars.  Suffice to say I had a lovely breakfast this morning and I have now spent about 5 hours transferring my tour diary to blog.

I must away soon and get changed for this evening and St Moritz.

I'd just like to say hello to all my readers.  I hope you didn't desert me during our lack of Internet and I'd ask that you remain patient through the next stage.  Thank you.

PS.  It is still raining but the thunder and lightning have also made an appearance. Deep joy.

Day 4 - Kloisters, Souz, Sleep

The first stop on the way was a roadside service station where the MILFS went to powder their nose and Benger went to peruse the midget porn (Feck my dwarf, or words to that effect).

The drive through the mountains of Switzerland was extremely picturesque and whilst driving through Kloisters we took time out to sample some foaming ale at one of the friendly Gausthofs. It was a bit of a noisy visit because it had been "party on" in T2, but it was a very pleasant stop and it gave the MILFS a chance to shellac Bomber about his missing moustache hair. There was also a conversation about diabetes, bottoms and bananas but it is not printable and has therefore been erased from my memory.

Our next part of the journey took the murtahurms on a 12.5 mile train trip through the mountain, however, not before Jan P had crashed SRS into the toll booth; okay you clipped it slightly with your wing mirror but I do have artistic license when writing this and my story sounded better.

Big Jock did not enjoy the trip through the mountain on an open train, one iota! He was quoted to say "Short trip through the mountain my arse! Half a bastard hour more like", and every minute spent going through his procedure for escaping vehicle fires in tunnels. "That journey was a cross between Harry Potter's hogwarts express and Lord of the Feckin Rings! Fuck my tall pointed wizardy Gandalph hat, that's all I have to say on the subject." Big woos.

Once we popped out the other side of the mountain it was plain sailing to Souz (if your name was Colin Macrae!) The scenery was awesome but the bends were even better. We arrived in the restaurant with 1 minute to spare - well done Benger. Sadly I had to crash out after a glorious meal because I'm getting old, but I await the stories that will no doubt come to my attention in due course.

PS.  It never stops raining in Switzerland.  More to follow once internet connectivity is regained.......

Day 4 - Lake Constance and the arrival of the MILFS

Our first sight in Lake Constance was of a Cuban virgin rolling fresh cigars between her thighs (we wish), but we did see a Cuban lady rolling cigars. Bloody marvellous I tells ye! We then

headed off to get some supplies from the supermarket and whilst there, we had lunch in the restaurant above.  Mouldy and Big Jock must have smelt more rich than usual today because the rest of the crew members moved to another table to eat their fodder. Big Jock believes that the elite should always be segregated from the riff raff and that was why Mouldy and him were sat at the top table whilst the rest of the brigands were deposited aft in the cheap seats. Cheeky bastards!

After another run in with the feckin jormans at passport control, we managed to find a ferry that would take us across the lake.  We still can't fathom out why Bomber took a left up a dead end street but it put Mouldy into a flat spin and we all agreed that he really should start smoking his cigars again. This trip is definitely not the time to give up! 

Benger got a bit irate with the Ferry Marshall because his mastery of the English language was poor compared to Benger's which was brilliant.  Suffice to say that we got on the ferry but the Ferry Marshall had had the last laugh.  We landed 14 miles shy of Friedrichshaven - the bastard had put us aboard the wrong feckin ferry.  How does it go Bomber? "Feckin jorman bastard!" Big Jock kept on thinking "this is feck all like the Heroes of Telemark" but wasn't taking any chances and kept his passport and cash close by during the crossing.

Once on the other side we all headed to the airport and the impending arrival of the MILFS. After many attempts to park a murtahurm in a space designated for a SMART car, it was off to the bar for refreshments. There was an escape attempt made at this point by Benger, James and Bomber, who had took it upon themselves to head into town for some liquid courage, but their escape attempt failed at the first hurdle. Big Jock, who could read German, noticed that the boys were waiting on the wrong side of the road for the bus.  When he quizzed them about the timings of the bus and the trains into town he quickly realised it was safer to herd them back into the airport bar for their safety, and so that it would be them greeting the MILFS and not him!

Whilst taking in the sun on the rooftop terrace bar and topping up their tans prior to the MILFS arrival, Bomber and Benger heard a squeal from behind them and turned around to see Big Jock covered from head to foot in beer. Big Jock had leaned on a metal guardrail that had constantly absorbed heat since sunrise and which had attained the temperature of Piper Alpha. The prompt removal of his arm from the aforementioned hot spot had culminated in him throwing his beer all over himself.  Bomber and Benger nearly laughed out a kidney!

Whilst preening himself and making a damn fine effort I hasten to add, Bomber enlisted the help of young James to assist him in the removal of some unwanted facial hair. Bomber is now missing a patch of moustache below his right nostril because James got a bit too enthusiastic and took a larger handful than was actually necessary. Bomber's moustache is now lopsided, ha, ha.

"H" hour arrived and the MILFS were greeted by two panting puppy dogs. The large pool of saliva surrounding them was embarrassing. First impressions certainly counted.

We are now on route to Souz via Kloisters.

To be continued................

Day 4 - A rendezvous for disaster? (Meeting the MILFS)

It is now 5am and having had too much sleep, I Big Jock, am up writing yet another blog entry. There is definitely no rest for the wicked, especially when you're as bad as me! So here goes.....

At last the rain has decided to fack off and pester some other bastard, so it's blue skies all around for the arrival of Da Milf 2, Chickess and Minxie (not a MILF I hasten to add).  Bomber has been sat up all night waiting for this day to arrive, and can only be compared to a young child waiting for Santa to empty his sack. I hope for all our sakes that you get to do likewise and soon! Now for fecks sake go back to sleep and stop annoying me with your constant renditions of "The plane boss, the plane - feck off tattoo!"

We all left Konigsfeld at 8.30am; it would have been 7.45am but the Phantom Phlan Phlinger had chucked a Phlan in Mouldy's thunderbox (sacrilege I tells ya) and now there is a witch hunt taking place - DNA sampling and bared arses all round I believe! The rules clearly stated there were to be no turds deposited unless in extreme emergencies.  Anyway, I digress.

After much discussion about who would empty the toilet, we eventually hit the road.  On the road to Singer we stopped off at a roadside WC and everyone took it in turns to use the German thunderbox.  There was however one member of T2 who didn't appear for the morning ritual.... "James, are you the Phantom Phlan Phlinger?" Ha, ha. (He denies everything Mouldy)

Big Jock took much flack from all directions for his persistent use of Pampers baby wipes, but as Big John Morgan would say, "any fool can be uncomfortable."

Bomber gave us our first German language lesson whilst we were all gathered around "Uncle Nick's Tea Wagon", and it went something like this:

"Ja, ja ich gute, fich meiner arsch, das este fantastische."

When asked, "where did you learn your German, Bomber?" He replied, "Anal crusaders 5 lads!"

We were soon back on the road and arrived around lunch time in Lake Constance on the German/Swiss border. We had arrived to do lunch but Big Jock thought we were going to die of hunger because the Swiss border guards had run off with our passports.  We did manage to blag our way across and our guns, ammunition and cannabis remained concealed throughout.