Day 2 finished with me having a few beers in the bar with the fecking Jacks. Fair play they sang some great songs â my favourite was the Monkees song about Davey Jones. He was my favourite Monkee so I enjoyed dancing to that one. Anyway, it was off to the chippy for another **** pie and back to our room for some kip. I still had that effing Jak top on so once everyone had nodded off I slipped it off and put my CCFC jimjams on â fecking great. With the tune of âCheer up Davey Jonesâ ringing in my ears as well as a few Guinness farts from the fecking Jax I snoozed off into a deep drunken sleep.... ... middle aged men all know the call of the urinal at 4am in the morning. Aided by the ale, I had the call at fecking 3am - so I opened the bedroom door and toddled along the corridor for a slash. Some of the Jax had left their shoes there so I deliberately missed the pan just to give them a warm feeling in the morning!! Wait till I tell H Bomb! Pleased as punch I strolled out of the toilet only to be greeted by the biggest scream I have ever heard. I had forgotten I was still wearing my Cardiff jim jams and I was spotted by one of the fecking Jacks. Caught unawares I was being given one of the worst pastings I have ever had â all hell broke loose and the bedroom doors opened as the feckers looked to see what was going on. Luckily her husband pulled her off and I managed to get out of the B&B and run for my life before more Jax got hold of me. So there I was. In the middle of Stoke, 3am in the morning, in my CCFC jim jams. No money, no bike and worst of all no fecking match ticket for Sunday. Feck, feck, feck, feck, feck. What was I to do? Stoke fans hate us so I had to keep a low profile. People were pouring out of the nightclubs so my only option was to hide in one of them big fecking Biffa bins in a bid to keep warm and to try to get some kip..... ... 6am and I am woken up by the bin men clearing the streets. Feck â I jumped out of there quicker than I ran from that Jack lass last night. I walked down the High Street in Stoke, covered in mayo, onions and stale chips. Think Johnny, think. What did granny say to do when I was in trouble? That was it â I would go and see a priest. They would fecking help me. Ten minutes later I had found a local chapel. Bearing in mind it was early in the morning I knocked quietly on the door and after about five minutes a face appeared in an upstairs window âWhat do you want?â âI am in troubleâ I said âI am from Wales and I am off to London for the weekend to see the big match â but Iâm lostâ âYouâre going to see England v Wales are you my son?â âNo! Cardiff City. We are playing Liverpool in the Carling Cup Finalâ âCardiff City?â he said âThen f*ck off. You lot always sing songs about the Popeâ. He slammed the window and once again, I was fecked. I had no option but to curl up on the doorstep and try and get some kip. ... a few hours passed and I suddenly felt a nice warm feeling running through my hair. Feck, it was the vicars fecking dog. I was just about to give it a big fecking boot when the door opened and the vicar invited me in. âI have played with my conscience âhe said âand I have decided that as a man of the cloth it is my duty to help you. Not only that, God has instructed me to give you three wishesâ âFecking greatâ I said. âFirstly I want a change of clothes and some money. Secondly, I want a ticket to the match on Sunday and thirdly I want Cardiff City to win the Cupâ. âNo problemâ he said âbut they are conditional on you behaving yourself this weekend â no drinking, no swearing and certainly no blasphemingâ âFecking Hellâ I said âI am not sure if I can do that, but as it is my only option I agreeâ. So there I was, cleaned up, fed, match tickets in my back pocket, a promise of a Cardiff City victory and a change of clothes. There was one small problem. The only clothes that the vicar had were, well, vicars clothes. That included a dog collar â I was to be the Rev J Hughes for the weekend! H Bomb, Rhondda â can you fecking believe it!!! To the train station I marched, got a first class train ticket for Euston and settled down. This is fecking great I thought. I could get used to this. With that a smart stewardess came with the trolley. âIs there anything you want Vicar?â she said. She was showing a bit too much cleavage and I knew what I wanted, know what I mean lads?? Feck, I had better not think like that or I will break the Vicars rules. I was gasping for some ale as well â but I couldnât have that either. âIâll have a cup of tea pleaseâ was my forlorn reply. âOne lump or twoâ she said. âIâll have the two pleaseâ . There was a swelling from down under as she poured the tea and left me to my devices. Into Euston I did roll and it was time to sort out some accommodation. Feck â everything was full. With so many crowds in London for the fecking run thrown and jump lark, what do you call it, the fecking Olympics there wasnât a space to be had. Luckily the vicar had given me an address to stay at, can you believe it â Westminster fecking Abbey. It was teatime by now and the deputy vicar, Peter, invited me in with open arms. âDo you want a strong cup of tea and a muffin John?â he said. âErr noâ I said âIâll give the muffin a miss and just have a cup of teaâ I had had one muffin this trip and didnât fancy another. We settled down in the study and the talk soon turned to religion. Just like football, I know feck all about religion so I have to admit I had to do a fair bit of blagging. I pictured Malky as JC and the team as the 12 apostles, with Bellamy as Judas. It seemed to do the trick!! About 8.30 and the phone went. I could hear Peter getting a bit irritated and he eventually slammed the phone down. âI have some bad news for you John. The team chaplain has had a turn for the worse and as you are going to the match tomorrow the Archbishop is insisting that you are his late replacement.â âNo problemâ I said âI know all the players by name and love them all to bitsââThereâs the problem John â itâs the Liverpool team chaplain!â FECKING HELL I thought, FECKING FECKING HELL. I was going to go to the Carling Cup Final as the LIVERPOOL team chaplain. I canât drink, I canât swear and I have got to sit next to all the Scouse feckers. If I donât do it Cardiff City will lose. âItâs best you get some sleep now John, tomorrow will be a busy dayâ said Peter as he thrust a Bible into my hands for some late revision. So there it is fellow Bloobirds. I am sitting here in Westminster Abbey, Bible in hand. The only thing I can say is may the peace of the Lord be with you on your journey to the stadium, fill your hearts with joy and sing your hearts out for a glorious victory in the game tomorrow. â Rev John. Iâm here, Iâm there, Iâm every fecking where, Reverend John, Reverend John, Reel em in Rev, Reel em in my Son : -)))
brilliant ...........I was being given one of the worst pastings I have ever had â all hell broke loose and the bedroom doors opened as the feckers looked to see what was going on. Luckily her husband pulled her off and I managed to get out of the B&B and run for my life before more Jax got hold of me. your words paint a picture my son
You ever thought of going to Hollywood PGF ? Far far better than most of the crap on tv these days too, I applaud your imagination, I reckon old JH himself may even have a laugh at that
That's my favourite bit as well classic. Do you think BBC Wales will give us some money to make this into a TV program, dead cert for a BAFTA . Brendan Caroll could play Johnny!!! fecking brill.
Praise for PGF's "Johnny's Trip to Wemberley": 'The whole thing is a riot - vastly superior to anything else in a glossy cover.' Daily Planet. 'He's irresistible...he frees you from the daily drudge and deposits you in an alternative universe where football, sex and laughter rule.' Mogadishu Herald. 'This is PGF in top form with his most sparkling adventure to date.' Cardiff Evening Standard.
Just seen JH on his way up to Wemberley, and thought I would take a photo to prove the doubters wrong>>> please log in to view this image
nice one Molby!!! PS Jackash, I just noticed your signature or the first time. Why has Scottswan got your clothes exactly? Is that how you became a mod
Cypussydsafc - "Mr White is now banned from the Cardiff board, some people just cant take a hint" So you have removed the thread from the Cardiff board thus giving Johnny no chance to reply Why have we got someone from the NE of England controlling football humour in South Wales?
Sorry about this PGF. I just wanted john banned because it's such a pain in the arse dealing with him all the time, and didn't think it would affect anything else.
