Many years ago I cracked three ribs in my left side.

It fucking HURT!

How, well I was at a party (no stop rolling your eyes! give me a chance!) and everyone was quite "refreshed" shall we say. Kizlode for some reason was having a drunken muck about fight with our drummer of the time. Kiz is a big lad now and was a big lad then. Near 19 - 20 stone of singing and drinking machine, our drummer was about 16 stone.

And they both fell over.

Onto me.

Didn't hurt till the next day. When I woke up. And my hayfever started. Can you imagine what it felt like to sneeze with three cracked ribs?

Ouch is not the word.

So being the caring people that they are S&F whisked me away to The Royal York hotel in, erm, York for the weekend. We were going anyway but they ignored my cries of "Ow! I fucking hurt alot!" and insisted that I get drunk. And the bastards kept making me laugh - which hurt like fuck, and they kept laughing every time I sneezed and doubled up in real agony.

Bastards.

But now it appears that although she may not have broken a rib, Mrs F has hurt one very badly. Hehehehehehehe. I am going round there tomorrow night with a feather duster and while Mr S holds her down I am going to tickle her till the pain makes her pass out

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Not reeeeely. She is in pain and I will treat her with the utmost care and help Mr S look after her. Well you have to show respect to your elders when they have had a fall right?

Ahem

(When she gets better, I am totally fucking DEAD I just know it. But I could not resist)

It’s dark, really dark – I can only see about five feet in front of me and all I can see is road, and the grassy shoulder where it ends. I am seeing this because of the little torch I have in my hand. No Street lights. This is not really a street. There are houses on either side that we can spot by the vague glow leaking out round the curtains in the windows but there are no blazing porch lights or lit up driveways. These people can’t afford that.

I have Jo clinging onto one of my arms in terror and I am trying not to loose it myself. Christ we have only been married a couple of days and I don’t want her to see her new husband in a bad light.

Why is she so scared and why am I so “concerned”

All we can hear on either side and to our rear is the tick tick tick of claws on asphalt and the snarls and yips of about twenty mongrel dogs. They are following us down the road in the pitch black. They may be just Mongrels and not that big, but there are a lot of them. The Mauritians keep them to protect their homes and keep pests down. At night they lie outside the houses and if you go by – you’re a threat.

So what the fuck are we doing? We are walking the four hundred yards down the road from out very nice beachside hotel, complete with white sand and palm trees and Turquoise Ocean, to the nearest sea front town. Because we wanted to get out and see something other than another bad band or display of “authentic” dancing. Dumb fucking move. Of course at the hotel they suggested we get a cab but neglected to tell us why. Bastards!

Now my family always had dogs, so I am not scared of them. But there are just too many of the little buggers out there in the dark. Jo is scared of dogs so is going mental.

Then ahead of us we see the start of the pavement and the street lights that mark the beginning of civilisation. And running around on the pavements and in the road and in the shadows just before the lights, are more dogs. Fuck this for a game of soldiers.

A taxi goes past heading for the town. The group of dogs nearest the lights mob it. One of the dogs gets hit and is rolled under the car in a sickening display of Canine Gymnastics. It lies still for a second then gets up shakily and chases after the receding taxi. Another dog comes along and licks at the road where the other dog fell, clearing up the blood. At this point Jo nearly faints.

Some how we make it to the light. The dogs are behind us now. The Town was not worth the visit and after about 45 minutes we are ready to go back to the hotel.

We take a cab. And we don’t leave the hotel or beach or poolside bar for the rest of our Honeymoon, except on organised excursions and daylight hours.

Ahh all the big bosses are in and my boss has been meeting with them.

Time to grease up the hind-parts!

Our team is about to get shafted again!

I am so pleased, I am off to lunch.

Something that has always bothered me is, How do you get lost up a mountain?

We hear about people being rescued from Ben Nevis and such because they "got lost up the mountain"

Excuse me for being stupid, but if you find yourself lost up a mountain wouldn't it make sense to HEAD DOWNWARDS YOU DAFT FUCKER!

I don't know, some people eh?