Well, my course is over, and my head is nearly exploding with facts and figures. I waved goodbye to my hotel yesterday night, after an eventful few days. After the chaos of the power cut, I assumed there would be nothing that annoyed me more. However, I was plainly wrong. The second day heralded the arrival of two man occupying either side of my room. One was an ex-army soldier, and the other was a rather plump middle-aged businessman, who managed to cough every thirty seconds. That night, as i settled down and turned off my light, I hoped the coughing had ceased. It had. Lovely, I thought. I closed my eyes, and started to drift off.
SnnnooOOOORRRRREEEE, the businessman said.
SnNNNNNNOOOORRREEE, the businessman repeated.
Half and hour later, I gave up and turned the light on again. 11.53pm. Must be some news on TV, I thought, so I turned it on. Then, from the other side, a watery sound slowly started, as if someone was poured a lot of water into a sink. Utter horror crossed my face as I realised what it was: not to be outdone, the ex-soldier was steadily urinating into the CENTRE of the loo, making the loudest sound possible. It was as if he was showing off.
At 1.30, after 3 loo visits from the ex-soldier, I decided to admit defeat and bury my head under the pillow. The ex-soldier could drain his python all night long; the businessman could snore for England as far as I was concerned – I could hear a thing.
I woke up the next morning to find that my entire head was numb. Blasted pillow. As I trundled down to breakfast, I noticed two door knockers outside the restaurant. I picked them up and brought them into the dining area – an action I now regret, as the entire giggling restaurant staff now know me as the “Man with Two Knockers”.
The general idea of my stay is that the bill is picked up by my company, but any newspapers or drinks I buy, I should pay for. That’s fair, I thought, it should only be about 4 pounds. I approached the desk to check out with a fiver in my hand.
“That’ll be 112 pounds and 20 pence please sir,” the polite lady informed me. Oh, I thought. “I have a fiver, will that do?” I enquired. The lady asked if I have enjoyed the 3 bottles of wine to a total of 110 pounds I had consumed the previous evening. No, I replied, before examining the bill and explaining the simple rules of decimal points and division. After reds faces all round, the bill was modified to 4 pounds 13 pence, and I was on my merry way.
I’ll miss the place…

England vs Italy. Bound to be a triumphant rugby victory in England’s quest for the Grand Slam. And, fortunately, 8 of us were there to cheer them on from the north stand at Twickenham!
A chance email from an old school contact led to eight superbly placed tickets at Twickenham on Sunday. Elli, Ed, Mel, Jac, Nick, Tim, Michelle and I met at Clapham Junction at 11am. Well, that was the plan – in reality, Nick and Tim decided that few drinks were in order the previous night, and barely managed to arrive before we’d left the Slug And Lettuce pub at 1.30pm. Still, spirits were high – we had flags and rugby shirts on, and Mel had painted St George flags on everybody’s cheeks, and amusingly the word “prick” on Jac’s forehead. Nick went the whole hog and had his entire face painted with a the flag – sadly, he looked less like a flag, more like a hot cross bun. We were such a sight that a camerawoman working for the Metro newspaper took pictures of some of us, rightly judging that the rest of the group’s facial features might have cracked the lens.
After I had bought the obligatory stupid hat, we arrived at the stadium at 2.45, and at 3pm England kicked off. The first 20 minutes went to form – England scored 33 points in 22 minutes. But then they obviously thought it wasn’t really worth it – for another hour not a single point was scored. To cheer up the deflated group, Jac suggested a betting game. It went roughly like this:
Wibbler: “I bet one English pound that the next penalty with go to England.”
Jac: “Ok.”
Next penalty kick goes to England.
Wibbler: “That’ll be one round pound please.”
It was a suggestion that Jac was soon to regret. After 30 minutes, he was six pounds down, and with nothing left but a couple of guitar picks, he gave in.
All in all, a very good day, and a great experience. The game wasn’t the best, but the male streaker certainly warmed the hearts for the girls present. Thanks to everyone who came – even Simon B turned up on the East stand. Which was nice.

I’ve been a little sparse (good word) on here of late, having been as busy as a blue-bummed fly. Between booking holidays to Dublin, tickets to Matchbox 20 and Bon Jovi concerts, rugby tickets to see England vs Italy in March, and running my work department on half the usual number of people, it’s been a little hectic. Still, a few things have happened to it would be rude not to mention. First was a free trip to Woking cinema with Michelle, her brother and his fiance (Michelle had won 6 tickets, the lucky tyke) to see City By The Sea. It was more of a private showing really – the first 20 minutes we were the only people in the cinema. Then there was the first visit of the New Year to The Drink nightclub, where we met Alex and Milly for the first time in ages. Alex seems to be still the man to know around town – Champagne flowed freely while he implied that he could get cheap deals for anything I wanted. I took full advantage, and decided to meet him again on Wednesday for a meal. Cracking.

In the words of several people this week, “Why the bloody hell haven’t you updated wibbler.com?” Well, in true FHM style, here’s the long overdue:

‘What Wibbler’s been doing this week (and a half)’

• Went with my girlfriend and both sets of parents to the Jack and the Beanstalk pantomime in Guildford. Utterly brilliant (Oh no it wasn’t…) and fully regressed into childhood.
• Got an extremely noisy Christmas card from Michelle.
• Got wonderful presents from parents and girlfriend, including a Playboy Zippo lighter
  (all i have to do now is start smoking), a car kit, 2 sets of drinking games including shot glasses, a Yves St Laurent top, a Matchbox Twenty music DVD, Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for the Playstation 2, a Projector clock, a mini Ice Hockey game, toiletries, a book and some sweets. And other stuff.

• Reminisced at drunken youth in Cinderellas nightclub. Ahh, the memories of that shoebox-sized club…
• Worked. Far too much.
• Visited aging relatives in Kent, and found it remarkably enjoyable.
• Developed a new, fruit-themed, minimalist design for wibbler.com.
• Found out at a New Years Eve party in Tooting that a recent friend is the bloke who writes the headline one-liners on Sky News. Cue a night of developing puns for his next day’s work, including: Chink in the Armour (story: Chinese army trouble), Out On A Limb (story: dismembered remains found in London), Water Disaster (story: Floods around the UK), Saddam Shame (story: impending war on Iraq), I Have A Very Large Hangover (story: he was VERY drunk last night).
• Watched in sheer amazement as Jac blew up a balloon, only for it to explode in his face.
• Realised that I am surrounded by the greatest, kindest and funniest bunch of tykes I could wish for. And, including my girlfriend, my closest female friends are all gorgeous to boot.
• Discovered at same party that all Jac and I need in order to have fun is to be in the same room together.

Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR! Here’s to wars, global financial depression, and a pay rise…

If another person phones and tells me how good the England rugby match was while I’m stuck at work, I’ll….. i’ll… i’ll be very angry.

The ill-fated 1901 Census of England and Wales is BACK ONLINE, and waiting for you…
If you don’t know the controversy surrounding this lovely web addition, The Register describes it all. I typed in my surname, found loads of relatives I never knew existed… FUN!

I’m watching the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games, which frankly is like watching 50000 people drowning in an enormous swimming pool. It’s in Manchester, it’s one of the wettest weeks on record in sunny England – surely brollies would have been on the shopping list? Oh no. All the officials stood in the centre of the stadium, pristinely ironed suits on display, hair gelled to perfection, bald spots combed over perfectly. As the head of the Manchester Committee made a Herculean effort of finding some of “the splendours of Manchester” (here’s one), the heavens opened royally, as if wholeheartedly disagreeing. They’re still there, bless ‘em, 30 minutes in, suits slowly shrinking and foreheads doing a commendable impression of Niagara Falls. Someone get them an umbrella, for pity’s sake!

Well, Alton Towers was a blast. Friday night we arrived at the hotel, after 5 hours of cracking traffic. Truly, I loved it. Saturday, though, made up for everything. Alton Towers beckoned, and at 8.30am, as we arrived, we noticed a suitably small note on the tickets: “Valid from 9.30am only.”. Marvellous…
9.30am. We raced in, and ran for Air, the new ride. The first inkling that something was due to loosen my bowels came when the floor at the start of the ride gave way, and the seats went forward, rendering us almost horizontal, superman style. Christ. After twists and turns that would confuse even the most twist-and-turny people, half way through the ride I noticed I was lying flat on my back, hurtling backwards through a particularly sadistic section of the rollercoaster, barely able to breathe. If that sounds awful, I assure you it wasn’t. By the end of the ride, all was forgiven and I immediately wanted to turn round and do it again…
The rest of the day was spent going on the most adventurous rides (Nemesis, Oblivion – which, quite frankly, scares me – to name a few), and of course watching England’s practically orgasmic 3-0 win over Denmark, with the most impressive Posh and Becks lookalikes ever, by a large screen in the grounds. The lookalikes kept everybody entertained by kicking any balls that came their way and, regardless of the poor quality of the kicks, the cheers went up every time the golden foot touched the ball. Marvellous. And it happened to be filmed for the BBC’s coverage of the event. I was in a whole 2 frames of the broadcast.
Fame at last. No, really. Honest.

The Queen’s Golden Jubilee in the UK – did anyone see it? If you were in the UK, it’s likely you would have seen at least some of the amazing celebrations of the Royal Family – four days of partying, including a huge pop/rock concert with loads of famous names, a classical concert, pomp and pagentry in a 4 ton gold chariot and a huge carnival drew 14 million TV viewers a night, and millions more went to see the royal knees-up, knocking the royal critics for six. Even Ozzy Osbourne sang a number, bless him. The final royal flypast rounded off the most amazing scenes I’ve ever seen.
Ooooh, I LOVE England…

Oooooooh, hectic (said in a Julian Clary voice). Last night, one of my colleagues from work entered a UK-wide DJ contest. She was the only female in the entire competition, which brought her a standing ovation for just walking up there. Now, I’m not the most ‘hip’ of guys, not the most deep daaan wicked sorted nice one geezer, so I wouldn’t know a good DJ if they came up and slapped me with a wet fish, but I have to admit she was the only one that got my feet tapping and my hips swinging, which probably didn’t help her cause in the slightest. Still, she won the heat, bless her socks, and she’s doing the regional finals next Tuesday. WELL DONE HER.
Oh, and Happy Birthday yesterday, Shunta.