Apologies to the original reverend

Leon West, you are still the original. Washed and went. May your coffee cup overflow.

Three From Three

And the Good Lord did bless the fans of Welsh rugby.

That result was just silly!

But wasn't it just the most amazing one, too?

I just arrived back on the island after disrupting the shipping lanes with some erratic, drunken sailing. The Brothers and I had a right old knees up that culminated in cassocks being lost all over the place.

I am - simply - still in shock. Never in the history of Welsh Rugby has a team come back from such a deficit so quickly. Utter madness. And to hold on at the end. Egad!

Rugby approaches

A trip to the mainland beckons this weekend to join in the official revelry of the Six Nations in Cardiff. We're playing England at H.Q. of course, but being as it is such an elitist place, Cardiff is the preferred option with the rest of the proletariat. Who will win? Who cares! It's camaraderie that matters. A few Brothers are converging on the City Arms in olde Cardiffe towne and I shall meet them there for this most thrilling occasion. I'm toying with the idea of boating along the channel to Penarth and them disembarking on the far side of the barrage in Cardiff Bay. The weather may threaten the match though, such are the current weather warnings we received from the Met Office. Snow? In Cardiff? Not likely, but it may hit London and its environs. God help us!

Send off

That was, indeed, a send off. The humour apparent in this order gives great strength to us at a difficult time. Brothers Biffo and Pablo were on fine form. Time for some rest I think.

Cheerio old feller

So, an eventful weekend terminates and we see another working week land upon us. This weekend I have explored coastal paths, railway lines and communication towers, all in the pitch-black. The knee is suffering, but the enrichment of my soul far outweighs any discomfort I have experienced.

Today though, we say farewell to the Head of the Order. A great man has passed away, a metallurgist, warrior and a leader, so now we commit him into the hands of his wife on the other side. Drinks and nibbles will be served at the Island Defence Club, 12pm.

Margaret Thatcher? She's a shithouse

Arthur Colin Ensor, the man and the myth, passed away this morning. He was one hell of a man and the best Taid imaginable. Here's to his memory and his turn of phrase. Anyone who calls Maggie a shithouse is a top man in my eyes.

Skeletons in the closet

I've got a few! I've hidden under my bed to avoid responsibility. I've shit on the floor. I've lost socks. Life is to short to be too concerned though.

A New Year doth land afore mine eyes!

Gambling is rife in the monastery. Just yesterday I saw two monks bet on how much the Abbot's head weighs. How they're going to find out I don't know. It may have to remain an open book until some ingenious scam can take place. The Abbot is a canny feller, so it's looking like this one could run and run and run.

New Year is here. I hope it's a good one.

Bokke

Fair play to the Saffers, they were certainly the most consistent during this world cup. It's a shame the English couldn't pull off the impossible dream though. Some of out Cistercian brothers in Angleterre have sent us reports of great revelry during the knock-out stages and I have to say that I felt somewhat left out. Wales were stunning for 20 minutes a match and clueless the rest of the time, so in such a wide open tournament it's a shame we didn't give ourselves the chance to string it together against one of the top dogs. The search for a new coach is on and my tip is Huw Puw, Fishguard's finest.

Good God Almighty!

Northern Hemisphere rugby lives! Holy nuts! I'm a man who has seen the impossible happen. Englanders and Frenchies, I salute thee!

Strange Twist

The strangest of twists really: France, the hosts of the RWC 2007, are having to play a quarter-final in the fair city of Cardiff. A blooper on a massive scale, but a situation that I feel will help them have a good crack at the Kiwis. Without the burden of expectation, France may yet shock us all and secure another famous World Cup win over the men in black (is that a trademark or something?).

Wales crashed and burned at the group stages in a glorious exhibition of rugby. Fiji (now facing the Bokke in the quarters) dismantled Wales in the first half, only for Wales to come back and put themselves on the verge of winning. One final attack from the Fijians saw them break the paperweight Welsh defence to plop the ball on the try-line to secure the win. Losing is horrible, but the match itself was outstanding and all credit should go to Fiji for putting Wales in its place. They have forced us to 11th in the world now, leap-frogging us in the process. I hope they have it in them to challenge South Africa.

The right-shaped ball

The Rugby World Cup looms large, behemoth-like, bestriding the horizon like some gargantuan spectre of Welsh rugby failure, taunting the men in red as they wait to test themselves against the great and good of the rugby playing nations that dot this sphere (though the earth is not actually a 'true sphere', lending wait to the idea that God modelled it on what would later become the rugby ball).

Wales warmed up by getting stuffed by France and England and scraping a win against Argentina. The talk is of doom and failure and 'that pikey c*nt'. There is no optimism in the pubs and on the pitches of this small nation, just a sense that we are lambs being led to the slaughter.

Wales will target the quarter-finals and play from there. If - by some miracle - we actually GET to the quarters and then win through to the semis, it's a case of do-or-die and see where we end up.

There will be lots of beer drunk whatever happens. There may even be some rugby played on the way to town, using various ball-substitutes (bottles, potatoes, cabbages, small logs). There may even be some reason to cheer. Time will tell.

Bill Bailey

Bill Bailey, legendary comic genius, came to the island last night to perform a live set. He ran us through his repertoire of musical delights, a Billy Bragg skit crowning the evening's entertainment. To Bill I say thank you from all here on this blighted isle.