A rare occasion in LowerFlat Road… we were actually able to park outside our house… but being so used to parking in tight spaces, things may have got a little close to call…

It’s amazing what you can do with them funky camera phones innit….

Hello…

It’s official. Today we became local! We’re now on first name terms with the lovely staff at our local (Hello to Derek, Pat and Sue)… what’s more, after a year of joking around, they’re getting a pool table tomorrow and it’s going to be 50p a game… bargain!

In other news, thanks to pressure from Vince and Rich… it appears Jim will be Cinderella and shall go to the ball on December the 12th… now to find a Penguin suit!

OK, so it’s not December yet, but what the hell, LowerFlat.com’s gone festive… nothing like a bit of seasonal lunacy! So here it is, some festive icons, a green background (it’s a picture of a Christmas Tree by the way), and some limited edition quotes at the top in red

6 days to Dr Karl…
5 days to clear a bathrooom shelf for Vince…

Good Grief… maybe Ross’ singing career may just take off! Yesterday lowerflat.com served up over 100 different sessions and 235 page impressions to various people viewing… a HUUUUUUUGE increase on the normal people stopping by this part of t’internet. Not bad for one household!

On another note, it has been a little bit quiet around here this week, but we’re going out Saturday night, and then next weekend the LowerFlat will be full with a visiting Vince and various Australians in honour of Dr Karl Kennedy (OK, so not his real name) being at the Union - should be an interesting night! Also by then, we hope to have a Christmas Tree installed, but since you can’t enjoy that, we’ll also be giving LowerFlat.com a bit of a Christmas makeover…

And Finally *bong*… If anyone has any suggestions as to what Ross should sing next, leave a comment

As you may have gathered, there’s been a bit of a Take That revival in the household this week, Ross started it, Jim may well have followed… but it seems Ross is now convinced he’s a member of the band….

See the video here… or listen to the sound here…

Somehow, we\’re thinking the Christmas Number One spot\’s a long way off for him…

1. Ross would start a Take That revolution
2. Dolphins are the only other animals to have sex for pleasure
3. The Xmas Number 1 could be a song about a JCB
4. It’s cheaper to drink spirits in the local than beer
5. Melting cheese with broken up crisps on chicken tastes good
6. Jim would get drunk and hug Mark for the first time ever
7. Despite new laws, nowhere in Portsmouth is serving booze 24/7
8. We would be declared ‘the blokes with the strangest taste in music’ by Laura
9. We’d go to a pub in Somerset that opened in 1861
10. Hippopotamous means ‘River Horse’. Not a Zebra as previously thought.

Here’s a shout out for Gubbs - because he always reads this damn site!

We love you man. Really, we do.

Just get out more.

Tuesday evening was a bit insane. Jim was heading back home to say goodbye to someone going back to Australia, and never being one to turn down the chance to try a new pub Rich decided to come along for the ride.

It’s a noticeable fact that as you travel from Portsmouth up towards Somerset, the roads seem to get progressively smaller, until the point where Rich deemed it necessary to concentrate on writing a text on his phone in preference to actually looking out of the front window. Some 2 hours after leaving we rolled up the drive to Jim’s house, into the flat, and very swiftly cracked on with the cider, with Dexter the dog looking on.

Various Australians made guest appearances in the flat to say hi, namely Dave ‘Westy’ West, Joh, and of course Laura - getting very emotional about her last night in the UK. Around 8ish Dave finished work, we piled in the car (Jim in the boot) and set off for the pub. Jim became somewhat concerned from his position in the boot, realising that the direction which we were heading didn’t seem quite right for the pub. Oh shit. Apparently, we were about to go off roading.

Somewhere on a country road about 3 miles from anywhere the car did a sharp right turn, before driving at high speed down a muddy side track in the dark. Bumpy enough to send Jim flying around in the boot. We even managed a few powerslides, and a large crunch we believe may well have been a badger. Thankfully we were soon back on the road and heading for a much needed drink.

The venue of choice was ‘Uncle Tom’s Cider Cabin’, and with a name like that, you knew things were going to be a little dangerous. Ordering a round of ‘the red stuff’ which came to £8.80 for 6 of us (lemonade for the driver). Bargain. Before too long the cider was taking effect, words began to slur and before too long, everyone could understand the accents of all the locals.

One of the more humorous events of the evening was when someone was trying to get hold of Joh’s number from Laura in order to give her a ring, not particularly wanting to speak to this individual it ended up Jim’s number was given out instead and soon after the phone rang, Jim deciding to adopt a slight Somerset accent:

Ello. Who’s zis, I ain’t got yer number
Er, yeah, hi, I think I’ve been given the wrong number?
Ooh rite, sorry to ‘ear that me old mucker. Can I elp?
I’m trying to get hold of a girl called Joh, do you know where she is?
Joe? That’s a proper boy’s name innit? Who’d know a gurl called that?
Never mind, where are you from mate?
Me? I’m from Zomerset, what about you?
Ah, Somerset, do you know Sexey’s School?
Yew wan to do what to me?
No, no, Sexey’s School, in Bruton
Ah, Bruton. I knows Bruton I do, yew mean the school on top of the hill?
Yeah!
Ah well, I knows that, but don’t knows anyone there. I live the ovver end of Zomerset.
Ah right, well sorry to bother you, must have dialled the wrong number.
Not a problem, mind how yew go.

After hanging up, we couldn’t quite hide the hysterics, and before too long Laura had another call from a rather confused bloke trying to find out Joh’s number again. This time it was Jim’s Dad’s turn to field the call, although unfortunately the bloke ringing already has his number. So, this time, Rich’s number was given out, and in the brief break he was instructed to be an over-protective boyfriend. Sure enough, his phone rang.

Hello?
Hi, can I speak to Joh please?
Who’s this?
This is Nick, can I speak to Joh please?
Why would I let you speak to her?
I’m a friend?
Well tough shit mate, I ain’t lettin any other bloke talk to her
You what?
Didn’t you get the message, do you want me to come down there and smack ya?
Nah, fine, whatever, bye

Which was funny enough, until he rang back for more…

Hello. I want to speak to Joh
That ain’t gonna happen, I told you already
I want to speak to the owner of this phone
I am the owner of this phone, do you have a problem? I’ve already told you I’ll come and smack ya
Look mate, I’m a f***in Royal Marine
Royal Marine eh? What does that mean, you play about in boats
Er, um
Just f*** off.

After the laughter died down we did put the chap out of his misery, between 4 of us texting back “Are… You… Confused… ???’ and getting the reply “You… Bunch… Of… Tossers”. Ah well, it was hilarious, you had to be there to see it.Returning home, a large amount of Malibu and Absinthe was consumed, and at one stage, there was even a plan to kidnap Dave and take him back to Portsmouth - we even wrote a note in some very bad french explaining exactly what we intended to do to him… but alas, after sleep and getting up at 6.30am to get back to Portsmouth that plan fell by the wayside. Saying goodbye to Laura who was up and wide awake to go and catch a plane, we piled back in the car and headed off into the sunrise.

Struth. You wonder why they win pub quizzes and pool - well, it’s not by fluke. It actually appears that the UpperFlat (you can try www.upperflat.com but they don’t have their own website) have gained a third member… namely next door’s cat who for the time being shalt be named Mr Tibbles who decided that Ross sweating on his exercise bike was just so attractive that he just had to come in.

No jokes about the level of pussy the UpperFlat is getting please…

Saturday…
Yeah… so anyway, it’s been a fairly quiet weekend here in the LowerFlat. Jim got back from home on Saturday night and since there was nothing better to do, the LowerFlat and Mark decided to head out down the pub, and for a change of scene we went for the Duke Of Buckingham down in Old Portsmouth. Feeling in a somewhat sociable mood, we also invited Penny and Gubbs - both of them actually arriving to grace us with their presence.

A few pints were consumed and the world put to rights - somewhere along the lines Jim and Rich even agreed that they’d attend the Quiz at the Union on Sunday night - depending on what state of inebriation they were in at the time. Come 11pm some rather unsociable person rang the bell and shouted ‘Time Please’ - all they had to do was look at their watch really but for some people even the most basic task can evidently be a chore.

Piling in a taxi, we returned back to Casa Chetwynd and feeling surprisingly the worse for wear after just a few pints we cracked on with the spirits, and cooked a highly delightful bowl of chips cheese and beans before heading off to bed - the idea being to get some work done sunday.

Sunday…
Sunday kicked off all rather normally with a little bit of work (not a lot mind you) being done. Rich had the brilliant idea of knocking up some Bacon and Egg sandwiches, whilst also drinking his first beer of the day. Come lunchtime, it was decided that the LowerFlat should pop out for a ‘lunchtime pint’… we never returned.

After a couple in the local we had a phone call from Rachele to see what we were up to, and in the interests of beer we headed off to The White Horse for a few whilst we waited for Phil to arrive from London to join us for the rest of the evening. He took a little longer than we’d have liked, so we moved onto the Owtback bar for a couple where Jim’s co-ordination was getting somewhat worse than usual. After putting the world to rights for a bit, followed by a short drive in the recently arrived Phil’s car we ended up in Goose for some food. Service was a bit slow, and so Jim resorted to eating Tartare Sauce out of the sachet. Thankfully shortly after a various assortment of food turned up, including Phil’s 6 bangers and mash - which ended up being quite an amusing sight to watch. During this time, the members of the LowerFlat also came up with some new hand gestures, and despite the best attempts of Rach to catch them on camera, they remain a mystery. There was also another co-ordination incident with Jim managing to get a large amount of ketchup to score a direct hit onto what had been a clean jumper.

After a dash back to the LowerFlat to get a clean jumper, we dropped Rach home and then headed off to the Union to get settled for the evening’s quizzing. By this time, feeling a little worse for wear. We arrived at the Union to meet Mark, Ross, Gubbs and Gem - and a whole host of ladies even worse for wear who probably wouldn’t have survived more than ten seconds infront of Simon Cowell with the level of singing talent they were demonstrating.

The quiz kicked off, with us in 2 teams, the idea being use the same answers and therefore get 1st and 2nd place and an increased winnings fund… however, owing to some confusion the final result was that ‘We never win anything’ came second and ‘LowerFlat.com + 1′ came aroud 5th or 6th - not really too sure how it all happened, but never mind. Jim’s skill in the half time quiz tie-breaker ensured that both teams got round on the house with the winning answer of 90,512… the question is what was the question…

Once it was all done and dusted, it was time to head home, courtesy of Phil’s driving once more, and Jim keeping (relatively) quiet in the back of the car.

So that’s the weekend, we’re next going drinking on Tuesday evening…. in Somerset.