Well, OK, if you haven’t figured, you’re supposed to read the title of this with a Welsh accent - because as we found out, when in Rome do what the Romans do, and when in Cardiff take an Umbrella.

A couple of weeks back Jim was due to go to Cardiff for his friend Kate’s 21st, well, actually, her second 21st. Not content with just celebrating her birthday once in the South of France over the summer, it seemed that she wanted yet another drinking session - and who were we to complain. Rich and Lucy let it slip they quite fancied visiting Cardiff for a night out and so after a couple of phone calls it was all arranged…

Saturday came and in the early hours of the morning Jim was to be found driving over the Severn Bridge rather fast, and also pondering why you have to pay to get in to Wales but it’s free to get out. Rich meanwhile was doing something involving a fish in Waitrose which meant he’d be pondering the same question when he drove over the bridge later on that evening.

Fast forward through all the unimportant odds and sods to around 8.30pm, when Rich and Lucy finally arrived in the epicentre of Welshness that is Cardiff where the rest of the gang were already on the merry way. First stop was 33 Windsor Place, a rather funky looking pub just down the road where we discovered a local cider that tasted pretty much like blue cheese and Jim had a Bloody Mary served in a vastly oversized glass. Time was marching on, and so did we (that’s Jim, Rich, Lucy, Alex, Alex, Steff, Kate, Rach, Rohan, Fi, Tash and Nerys for the record)… down to St Mary’s street and a club called ‘The Square’ where it can best be described as a huuuuuge venue for Cheesy music which got everyone (even Jim) strutting their stuff on the dance floor. Eventually though, time came to leave and after saying goodbyes we began the long wander home, where much to our surprise at 1am there was an actual Burger King open doing the post night out munchies - though, let’s face it, they’ve still got some way to go before they catch up with chips/cheese/beans from Charcoal Grill on Albert Road.

As the sun rose on Sunday, so did the general water level around Cardiff, it would be fair to say it was absolutely bucketing it down and some of the main roads were flooding. After being caught in all of this following our stroll through the City Centre we resorted to buying umbrellas before packing up the cars and enduring a 4 hour drive back to Portsmouth in some absolutely crap weather and passing out.

A big shout goes out to the Cardiff lot, we’ll be back, though if you could do something about the weather, that would be splendid

***See the photos by clicking here***

Vive La France! certainly something we’ll be doing tomorrow, as the LowerFlat flag will be waved over the shores of Calais as we’re off to do some Christmas Shopping and go wild down the (beer) aisles of a couple of Hypermarkets.

Us? Blatant Tourists? Never!

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.