CBC rogues gallery: December 2010

Friday, 17 December 2010

Previously Unreleased Footage

And finally a merry Yuletide

It's Deja Vu for the two Dutchmen at the end of the table as someone else gets to lift the cup again!!!

Next year they are mine !!!!

After an initial out burst of pride, Sidney shamefully dumped the Randal Cup in the toliet of a well known local establishment.

Never took you for a Tescos Boy Slap ??

Despite being pipped at the post for FOTY Portly remains surprisingly upbeat

Would you let this man service your old boiler ????

Don't look up now for fecks sake

Poetic justice as Seymour is finally overcome by his own fumes !

What a pair of good looking Bast@ards

What me ?? OMG.........

The joy is untold as CR finds out he has received only 9 votes in SOTY

Thursday, 16 December 2010

And the award for String of the Year goes to.....

At a bumper turn-out for the annual Xmas curry, the usual suspects descended on the Himalaya and duely sampled their fine wares. As with most years we were joined by friends from the across the county, Seymour entertained with his musical arse and the first awards of the festive season were handed out.
Sadly this year saw the disgraceful use of tactical, and frankly irregular voting patterns that deprived argubly one of the finest strings, since 'that gull', the title of String of the Year. The marsh warbler had been the connoisseur's choice for the title following the withdrawl of the Kenfig bobolink, but in the end our very own Clive pipped the lot to the title with his superb rough-legged buzzard. Clive has been gunning for the title for some years and so it was with great pleasure that Clive took the cup for 2010. Clive's good humour in accepting the award was a credit to both himself and to Cardiff birding (a lesson that should be noted for the more humourless amongst you). His acceptance speech, although littered with considerable profanity was on the whole as full of shit as his rough-legged buzzard and was only really marred by Seymour's arse squeaks, Dogger passing out and crys of fix by all the rest of us. Either way, well done Clive.
Jeff 'the lens' Slocombe won the prize for Best Photographer of the Year prompting Mr Huffy-Pants Hinton to break away and form his own blog in the most childish moment of the evening. Jeff won the 'Einstein' and hopes to put this to good use next year when looking at terns at Eggy Nun. In an act of unparalled generosity, Jeff's acceptance speech (which was frankly shit on the whole), included the offer of lending the 'Einstein' to Barry next time he goes ringing. Richard Smith simply sulked for the remainder of the evening and called Jeff names behind his back which was pathetic but fair. I thought calling Jeff a 'massive gay boy' was going a bit far, but what can you do when you look like that bloke without the beard from Abba and you think playing the banjo is grown-up.
This year saw the first award of Murray the Pewter Pigeon for services to bird conservation in Glamorgan. Winning Murray is no mean feat and the competion for what is arguably one of the top prizes in birding was fierce. In the end it came down to two main contenders, and with little to seperate them in terms of waistbands the prize was decided by a pieathon. After 17 hours of continuous pie consumption, the freak insertion of a Cheese and Onion pastie resulted in a minor riot at Greggs and both competitors withdrew in protest at the attempted poisoning by a non-meat realated pastry encompassed snack. In the end we simply gave the award to everyone present at the illegal and disgusting flushing of the bobolink at Eglwys Nunydd. Any suggestion that the bobolink was flushed to death by 'those Cardiff bastards', was quickly dispelled when the bird was re-found at Kenfig Pool a few days later by Frank Dobson, a well known local bird finder of limited intelligence and disgusting personal hygiene. The county recorder, Idi Amin Gilmore was on hand to accept the award and gave a moving speech. With barely a dry eye amongst the birders sat in close proximity to Seymour, the Dogger had to be revivied with the use of one of Frank's socks and a final toast to absent friends brought the house down. Murray will be up for grabs next year so good luck.
Sidney Parsons won the award for best bird of the year. The Randal Trophy was presented and Sid's speech was translated by Jeff. Luckily Jeff managed to garner that Sid's 2010 had been a monumental year for him. Not only has Sid failed to find a yellow-browed warbler in 2010 but the realisation that the new coalition government might actually force him into getting a proper job has made all his hair fall out. Thankfully the Randal Trophy is large enough to cover his head and keep him dry if it rains on his new paper round. Well done Sid, we'll polish the cup and get it engraved for you. Then we'll give it to someone that actually appreciates it.

That just about wraps up the 2010 awards. A few more are yet to be decided but I'm sure we'll think of an excuse to wind someone up over Xmas (we usually do). Merry Xmas everyone.

Friday, 3 December 2010

Famous CB's spotted in Metropolis

DJF, NMP & DCP enjoying a pint with Reservoir Dog, Portly Leader & Meriwether recently.
For those outside of Metropolis, L to R: The 7500 man, Green-legged Reed-runt & The Rhiwbina Shepherd.

What really happened.....

The Real Story of the founding of the GBC and not as told on the Other Channel

Let me tell you a tale of when men sat in their great halls by their log fires and whispered stories of an age long ago when there was great turmoil in Land of Morgannwg.

This age, now long past, was an age of the Chivalric Country Codes, when fellow birders, once friends, threw down bins and offered combat, not through the force of arms, but through the medium of the pen, then through of the new science of computers for the right to govern and control the hearts and minds of that troubled county.

Let me start at the beginning. Long, long ago the county of Morgannwg, numbered 41 in the great Doomsday Book of Field Recording, was a happy county with lots of contented birdwatchers residing therein. Although there was only a few good birds to be found, all rejoiced when seen and ticked and a bad word was never said. However this was only a paper thin veneer, there was a sinister move afoot by the men of Jackland, in the western region beyond the river Castell Nedd. This move was to secede from the governing body, who’s home was in the great city of Metropolis in the east. Jacklanders, although seemingly friendly, hated Metropolis and its gang, lead by Morrey the Great.

So it was that Harold Greyhair and Robert Earl of Blackpill led Jackland out of the union and called themselves GOS of the Western Empire beyond the Nedd. And so with great sadness did the split occur. Morrey the Great passed on to those reedbeds in the sky, as did many from Metropolis, broken hearted by events in the west.

This then triggered a new movement in Metropolis. Young, noble birders, now greatly disaffected with the old, gnarled and out of date Ornithological section, voted for disbandment and formed a new association of gallant birdwatchers of the east, and called it the Glamorgan Bird Club. A new club with a new start, Phoenix from the ashes. Its coffers were empty but its heart was strong and its will steadfast in the belief that it could survive and prosper and continue the great work of the Annual Bird Report, started by Morrey the Great and Lady Amy the Good.

Twitchers they were and great birders too. A club for Birders by Birders was their motto. The first report, though numbered XXVII, was produced and great merriment greeted it. Although not grand in appearance, it was in itself a testament to the fortitude and will of the young men of Metropolis and their resolve to get the job done.

Years followed and the reports got better as more joined the club and the coffers filled. The young passed into middle age and with that came contentment and through contentment came complacency and through complacency came the dude usurpers. Suddenly before the founding fathers knew what had happened they were out. Out of their own club. Driven out by faceless lackeys, who had joined the club, got on the committee and were now in charge.

Left only as a rump, they still met in the old tavern down in the borough of Cathays, called Gower. Ironic really the name after events further west. But friends they still were, and pots were still to be tossed. In these troubled dark days came an idea, a beacon of light, what if we split again and founded of our own club here in Metropolis. We have all the established birders, most of the great and the good of Morgannwg birding still reside here in Metropolis. However years passed and still nothing was done.

Meanwhile events were gaining apace. The usurped GBC now created its own website, started by the committee, now known in Metropolis as the politburo, and masterminded by another outsider, known as the Fat Controller. He, along with Chairman Snipe, from a small hamlet just south of Metropolis and Tinman from the Morgannwg Marches pushed for outright control of the airwaves as well as producing their own now much maligned and poorly written bird reports, supplemented by a quarterly rag known as the GBC’s Bugle of Truth.

So Morgannwg now had its very own website, which is strictly controlled by the politburo and the Fat Controller. Nothing bad was to be reported. Nothing bad was to be said about the GBC committee, otherwise it was banned. Not even constructed criticism would be tolerated. Nothing could be said without rebuke from people not fit to hold your tripod.

This now led to the old Metropolis birders using the said town tavern in earnest, not only for the consumption of fine ales but for plotting revenge, a dish which is better served cold. It was time to get even with the usurpers once and for all time! The plotters: Lord Percy Pancake, his loyal esquire Secret Squirrel, Alex of the Tightwads, Slaphead from the village of the Tongii, Seymour Tweets of the Lovers Guild, the Rhiwbina Sheppard, Randal M. Snowdrop and Meriwether the Scribe. With these came their friends from the far flung corners of the shire. Although not all from Metropolis, or would-be plotters for that matter, but they could be counted on as fair players. These were St. Maurice of the Mellons, Sven Barrage and Paul the Good of the Norton Wood Friars, both Middle Earthers. Markus of Cwmbach and Hoganovich Lord of the Abercanaid both of the Kingdom of Tydful the Martyr in the far north. To the north-west there were Sidart the Black and Martyn von Bosch both of the Maestegi and in the Vale, Steve the Llancadle Wader.

The plotters, affectionately known as the ‘Cardiff Bastards‘, after an incepted email from one of the enemy, considered their strategy. A persistent challenge was effected against the website Forum, with topics to arouse tempers and get keyboards tapping. The first to taste the wraith of the Bastards was the Fat Controller, who for all his huff and puff, he was no match for the rapier wit from Metropolis and resigned.

Although this was considered a minor victory, it did not alter the fact that whatever was said, it was still the politburo and their now new webmaster Dan-Dan the nerdy man, who were pulling the strings, or threads for that matter. What was needed now was a entirely new strategy.

Heads were put together and it was decided that if Brother Slaphead could come up with the goods, we, the old establishment, would be online with our own blog. Our site for us. Well lo and behold, he did it and we were on the internet. Our very own site, where you could say what wanted without any so-called pious upstarts calling you to account.

And so it is today, as I tell you this now CBC1 & CBC2 are online and well read by all and here to stay. All can say what they feel and post their comments in good company. The politburo and their spies still try to divide and conquer, but to no avail. It won’t work because we’ve been there and done it and come out smelling of sweet Cardiff roses. Just look at our following, it only goes to show who is better. It is us here in Metropolis. It is we that set the pace. It is we who have the best ideas. It is us who love to share our thoughts with you and it is your thoughts we love to hear.

The moral of this story is quite simple, don’t fuck with the Bastards or we’ll set the End of the World Valley duo of Richy the Dark-hearted & Clive Scissor-hands after you. And you know how heartless they are - Lmok and the Spagmeister are still receiving treatment for ICS: injurious comments syndrome.

And they all lived happily ever after - or thought they did!

* All characters in this story are fictional, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

ã CBC Writers Guild

CBC rogues gallery

Monday, 27 December 2010

Spot the difference,captions please.