Today I am thirty seven. Whoopee doo

Washing your hair is a straightforward operation, but as I discovered the other day, my bathroom contains a stupid amount of the product required to do it - shampoo. My wife has clearly defined structures for the use of shampoo, which I find quite bizarre. J is 2 1/2 so he has no tears shampoo. C is 5 and has graduated to grown up shampoo, a fact he is very proud of. He and I are allocated the same shampoo and shower gel which disappears at an alarming rate as every time C has a shower he makes wizards potions. A has her own shampoo, shower creams and bath goo, which we are all banned from using. C has been very restrained in not nicking them as I know he feels that Mum's exotic bathroom collection would make particularly potent potions. Her latest shampoo and conditioner is ( I think) hazlenut and henna, and she is welcome to it. I wouldn't wash a dog with it. It looks like blended cat shit and has a bloody odd constiuency. Our smallest cat eyes it up with a look of recognition. Strange.

So glad I took C to Castle Grim for his first outing and we gotted stuffed at home by Leeds. If we don't qualify for next years Heineken cup I will be seriously pissed off. I need my annual jolly to France for the ritual eating of snails and drowning in a vat of red wine.

The election is as boring as watching Rob Andrew in his prime. At least that tosser Blair got a going over from Paxo the other night

A momentous day falls upon me on Saturday as I prepare to take my eldest boy to his first top class rugby match. He's been to my club on plenty of occasions but he just larks about with his mates, getting filthy, quaffing lemonade and munching crisps.
It's his first trip to Kingsholm to watch the mighty Gloucester (well, not quite so mighty this season but still good in patches).Also a first for me, first ever trip to the family stand. I wanted to make sure I had seats as he'll see bugger all if we stand up. Another first will be not getting leathered before, during and after the game. (skillfully avoiding having the kitty so I don't miss any rugby during the game, but get to continue with the drinking bit).
I hope he loves it as much as I do, enough to want to wear the Cherry and White himself, closely followed but the Red of the Land of our Fathers. Every Dad can have his fantasies !

And another election starts, spiffy. Nothing like a bunch of tools making themselves look more tool - like by the hour. It's pathetic, I assume they're all reasonably intelligent individuals so why can they not grasp that their style of campaigning is an almighty turn off and will probably lead to one the lowest turnouts on record as people become disillusioned with politicians. Thats politicians, not politics, because I firmly believe that those in this country who choose not to wear Burberry and live on 'maccie d's' have a passionate interest in the way their lives are shaped, but are fast assuming an enormous disdain for those in the Palace of Westminster. The last PM's question time before campaigning was farcical, they sounded like a troop of rutting baboons. Still, I will probably break my record for spotting how many times his Toniness sounds like an insincere wanker.

Still another eleven months or so of being Grand Slam winners, oh how I bask in joyous contendedness. And we have the Welsh posh n becks, SuperGav and that little chumpy singing bint with the wobbly jubblers. Class, see