|THAT'S GOTTA HURT
A gruesome tale has reached the slug from the northern reaches of Dalgety Bay Rowing Club in the Kingdom of Fife in Scotland.
You may not have realised that they allow such things way up there, but it seems that one of the female members at the club, recently had her navel pierced and a ring inserted (as you do).
What's so dreadful about that I hear you ask, well, the conditions at Dalgety bay were so balmy on last Saturday afternoon that she stripped down to her sports bikini, navel ring open to the air for all to see... and er... for all to catch on..
Oh yes, grimace you might faithful reader, for while doing a piece, it seems that her thumb caught the navel ring, and nearly ripped it out. Cue understandable wails of anguish and said young lady in a lot of pain. The slug believes this to be one situation where stopping in the middle of a piece should be forgiven.
So if you're thinking of getting pierced, perhaps you should chose somewhere less likely to interfere with your rowing...
|BOYS NIGHT OUT?
The Slug was at St Neots last weekend, along with a large contingent from the Hammersmith clubs.
Local rivalry was to the fore, with Furnivall losing in women's 8s to Sons and in men's 8s to AK, on the Saturday but claiming victory in late night mixed 8s.... (see first photo below).
Sons women meanwhile celebrated victory in both 4s and 8s by attempting a new course record for widths of the river without the aid of boats or oars; the only time taken was by their coach who noted that it was 1am and that their next race was 8 hours away.
They lost this, to a City of Cambridge crew who, by not competing in any of Saturday's activities, failed to join in the spirit of the occasion and therefore are deemed by the slug to have cheated!.
Sunday's Hammersmith embankment rivalries saw Funeral winning both men's and women's events against Sons, but Sons turning the table on them in (more conventional - i.e. clothed) mixed 8s, while AK appeared to have left their women behind for the weekend .... or maybe, as seen in the second photo below, their women knew better than to come along....
Click on thumbnails to enlarge
Time once again for the Cambridge townies to have their little bit of fun as their bumps races get under way.
With both an extra boyz and an additional burds division this year, the explosion in the numbers of crap town rowers was sure to provide a headache for many, including the Slug who was careless enough to allow itself to get roped into marshalling.
Most notable to the Slug this year was a "dramatic" (as a newsreader would say) increase in the stroppiness of rowers and coxes of the burd variety.
Just one example should suffice here. On the final night, the City of Cambridge's 5th lay-deez VIII, positioned right at the bottom of the river in the burds divisions, saunters along hopelessly pursuing an overbump on a crew whose arses cannot be seen through the thick wall of spray cause by their splashiness.
They are accompanied by a coach who is very excitedly urging the crew on, telling them that, yes, they are honestly, really, genuinely catching that crew ahead, despite the fact that they are lengths behind and dropping further still all the time. This prompts one of the crew to turn and scream at the coach,
"SHUT THE F*CK UP, YOU DICK, I'M TRYING TO LISTEN TO THE COX!!!" Tut-tut.. Temper, temper....
Mind you, the Slug itself admits that it was very nearly driven to a very similar display of temper directed from the bank towards a cox. Oh yes, for the prize for the most unimaginative coxing calls shurely has to go to the cox of the St Rhadegund public house's 2nd VIII, lying right at bottom of the river in the boyz divisions (and let me say - they were there for a reason)
Just imagine, O reader, having to marshall and cycle along every single bleedin' night with the slowest crew on the river as their cox, resplendent in natty waistcoat and straw boater, shouts
"And...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE... and...THERE..."
(well I think you should have got the general idea by now),
Perhaps you too would desperately want to scream "SHUT THE F*CK UP, YOU DICK, I'M TRYING NOT TO LISTEN TO THE COX!!!".
It appears that the cox in question is affectionately known to the boozy regulars of the St Rhadegund public house as "The Prince of Darkness", and now I think I know why.
That man is evil....
Picture the scene...it was a warm and muggy night down the Severn valley. Perfect conditions, so so it seemed, for Brian Johnson the top man behind Spartan Clothing, to pass on a little bit of his expertise to a senior four crew hungry for glory.
Sitting proud in his coaching launch, his manner was stern, his control was authoritarian, well.... that was until he developed a new technique for coaching racing starts.
"Attention" bellowed Brian, the sounds echoing from the walls of the Cathedral, and ensuring most folks around stood still.
"Go"........The power, the force, the extreme pace in which his finely honed crew set, made him suddenly wonder why he was only ten metres away considering that they were bearing down quickly.
"Hard to port" he thought, "full throttle" he thought, his tiny coaching launch struggled under these new demands. So extreme were his movements that he did indeed miss his crew, however, invariably he managed to lock the engine in hard port and send doughnuts down the Severn - round and round in a spiral of doom, before releasing his doomed vessel....
and heading striaght into a tree.
Nestled safely in the branches, he found comfort until the cavalry arrived to tow him home.
And so the sun set over Worcester, with one dented pride, one dented tree and a senior four crew with a memory never to be forgotten.
The slug was sliming around at Bedford Sprint Regatta early last Sunday when (about 8:55am) a loud and assertive PA announcement sounded out
"all crews must be attached to the stakeboat before their race time or risk disqualification !"
...Followed by someone in the background : "for Pete's sake, don't put out announcements like that cos we've haven't set up the stakeboats yet."
Sure enough, a team in a tin-fish were feverishly manhandling a piece of pontoon in mid-river.
Needless to say, the crews for the 9o'clock race ignored the dense, blind and now thoroughly humiliated announcer...