Grit and Determination

As you may have noticed, it's been a bit chilly lately.  There's snow, there's ice...and there's the usual sense of panic that results in empty shelves at the supermarket and a marked increase in the sales of thermal knickers.

Naturally, that hasn't put Coyote and I off toddling around the country in search of fun and photos.  Only yesterday we headed north and found ourselves on a rather bleak Crimea Pass:

It really is beautiful up there.  If you don't see another car, it's easy to imagine that you're the only people left alive after some catastrophic event involving zombies.  It's like a post-apocalyptic movie set.  Like Anglesey, really...but pretty.  We noticed the snow starting to stick to the road, so when we passed the sign for Conwy County, we spun around and headed back through Blaenau Ffestiniog.  That was strange, actually...because it seems that they've changed the town a bit since we were last there.  Now, the train station boasts a slate monolith that wouldn't look out of place in a stage production of '2001: A Space Odyssey'; and there are some strange sculptures there that, apparently, are called the 'Fat Ladies'.  I'm saying nothing.

On our way back to HQ we got stuck behind a gritter (top photo).  Of course, it can be bloody frustrating crawling along behind one of those as it chucks salt in your face...but it's also very reassuring.  You would think, then, that anyone travelling behind one on potentially icy bends would be happy to wait a little while to pass.  It would seem not...

"Oh no!  I mustn't get salt on my chrome grille...!"

"I must pass this horrid thing before my BOFmobile gets tainted."

"Yes...a nice wide berth I think.  Splendid."

**Turns Rachmaninov CD up to 6...**

"Marvellous! Now home for a bacon sandwich."

It just had to be a BOFmobile, didn't it?  And, for the record, his registration was '58 KEN'.  No further words are required really, are they?

The Humble, Gentle Sprout

I am a humble, gentle sprout,

I mean no ill or harm;

How can I be of any threat?

You can fit me in your palm!

I am a simple, healthy veg,

Little sister of a cabbage.

I do not wish to hurt or maim;

I am not wild or savage...

Until...

I see a BOFmobile. 

Chrome glinting in the sun.

Then my placid air wears thin

And my calmness comes undone.

I feel a rage build in my stalk,

My leaves begin to twitch;

Darkness creeps throughout my veins

And my layers start to itch.

I see the tinted windows gleam;

I note the linen jacket.

Chelsea boots of finest hide

That cost a fecking packet.

Filofax on the passenger seat

Listing several dinner dates;

Financial Times in the back

With circled shares and rates...

Then...

I know what I must do.

I have to make a stand.

Protect the innocent from the BOFs

And purify our land.

I leap towards the windscreen,

War-cry booming from my soul.

No more pacifistic thoughts;

My heart as black as coal.

I hit the target with a SPLAT

Obscuring the BOF's vision;

He swerves onto the muddy verge

And I cackle in derision.

Then night falls upon me;

I'm broken; start to fade.

But as my purée clouds the glass

I know my point's been made.

I may have been a single hit;

A solitary message,

But I will not be the last to fight

And instil a fearful presage. 

How can I scare a BOF, you ask?

Make them shake and twitch their snouts?

It's simple, oh dear reader:

BOFs are terrified of sprouts.

For all their grand bravado,

Their armour has a chink.

They're too intent on following trends 

And worrying what others think.

Sprouts, of course, are not well-liked

And folks are quick to state

That sprouts are something they abhor;

They deeply, truly hate.

So naturally, a BOF will follow

The consensus of the masses;

Not wishing to daringly deviate

From their piers and higher classes.

And that, O brothers, is how we fight.

Give the bourgeois bunch a clout.

The BOFs will never beat this nemesis:

The 'humble', 'gentle' sprout...

If The Cap Fits...

Having been woken up at 0720hrs by our carbon monoxide alarm freaking out, Coyote and I were feeling a tad jaded as we ventured into Aberystwyth.

The CO detector is a new acquisition at C&R HQ.  See, we have a log burner that's very slightly psychotic, so it seemed like a wise move to install a little box that could tell us when it was trying to murder us in our sleep...

We call her Bunny.  Cute name, we're sure you'll agree.  However, the name was inspired by the film Fatal Attraction.  Think on.

Obviously, she didn't manage to kill us this time - so off we toddled in search of cloudy lemonade.  We like cloudy lemonade.  It's like normal lemonade...but with clouds in it.  Aberystwyth was fairly peaceful, and after a brief detour to the Arts Centre to buy some Nerds (peach and wild berry.  Tasty.) we headed back into town to brave the Sunday shoppers at Morrisons.

There were plenty of BOFmobiles around; chrome glinting in the afternoon sunshine as they whiled away their hours cutting up innocent motorists on roundabouts.  We drew level with Morrisons garage and suddenly we were both starved of breath by the sight that greeted us.  The EXCITEMENT!  The AWE!  The SHEER KNICKER-MOISTENING JOY...!

Coyote deftly swung Minty into the forecourt and I swiftly snapped a photo with my phone before we scarpered.  Apologies for the quality - it was a bit of a ninja moment - but look...

IT EXISTS!!

In our enduring battle against the BOFs, we've seen plenty of amusing plates.  We've even seen a couple of 'BOF' plates on other vehicles...but never on a BOFmobile.  We found it.  We found the HOLY GRAIL.

But this doesn't mean that we'll rest.  Oh no.  We won't stop the good fight until we've seen a Range Rover/Discovery driver being pelted with frozen sprouts by an angry octogenarian in an Austin Maxi.  Preferably somewhere in Pembrokeshire.

This Time, It's Personal

Up until recently, the BOFs were fairly safe.  To us, they were a breed to be quietly loathed from a safe distance.  However, our semi-pacifistic approach to the linen-wearing, Chelsea boot-polishing, bacon-scoffing ilk has been blown out of the window.  This is the dawn of a new war.

The other day, Coyote was pootling about minding his own business.  The sun was shining and the birds were singing (they like Roger Whittaker songs); everything was right with the world.  Monty was purring happily and Limmy - our dashboard dwelling guard sheep - was enjoying the gentle ride through the countryside when BAM!  A Freelander thundered past hogging the narrow road, taking Monty's offside wing mirror casing with it. 

We are not happy.  Thankfully, Monty will be fixed when he goes to be manhandled by an oil-covered gog in Dolgellau on Saturday; but that's not the point.  The point is that a BOF broke Monty.  

As yet, we're not sure how we're going to seek revenge.  All we know for sure is that the BOFs have now crossed the line and justice will be served.  No longer will we merely shout 'BEOUGH!' and laugh when we see one.  Oh no.  They've unwittingly driven into our battle zone and we will find a way to avenge Monty's injuries. 

In fact, it seems that Limmy's already on the case...

We might have to rein him in a bit, actually.  As much as we like his line of thought, we're not quite as violent as he is.  He had a harsh upbringing, you see.  He was born in the wilds of Mid Wales and had to fight to be King of the Sheep.  He's seen sights that would scar the strongest minds; he's fought in battles that would end the life of an ordinary sheep in the tap of a hoof...and he came out on top with battered horns.  When he moved to Limerick he formed a bloodthirsty sheep Mafia that drove Terry Wogan out of the city in a cloud of blinding fear.  Limmy is a hard case.  As much as we love him and are relieved that he's on our side, we do have to watch him.  He may be small in stature, but his loathing for BOFmobiles exceeds even our black disdain; in fact, we think he must've had a bad experience with a BOFmobile in his past, but he won't talk about it.  He doesn't talk about much, really.  Probably because he's a clay figurine. 

Plotting continues.  Coyote and I have five days coming up in which to formulate our retaliation.  Revenge - however it's sought - will be sweeter than a sleeping marshmallow puppy on a bed of candyfloss. 

Hot New Game: BOFahoy!

Do you get bored on long car trips?  Do you easily tire of 'I-Spy' and 'The Numberplate Game'?  We do.  That's why - after months of intense research and design* - we've developed 'BOFahoy'!

*Possibly not exactly the truth.

The rules of the game are simple.  When you're on the road - be it your regular commute to work, a skip to the shops or an epic road trip to the arse-end of nowhere, keep your eyes peeled for BOFmobiles heading towards you.  If it's safe to do so, give the approaching BOFmobile a friendly flash of your headlights and wave at them.  The object of the game is to get them to wave back.  If you're successful, shout "BOFahoy!" and adopt a smug look until the next one comes along.

Most BOFs drive with one hand on the steering wheel and the other poised thoughtfully on his chin, scratching his nethers or eating a bacon sandwich.  That's why this game can be a bit tricky.  Getting a BOF to wave at you if you're not driving a BOFmobile is a bit like getting champagne out of a sprout.

Of course, no game is complete without a scoring system!  It's pretty straight-forward - allow me to illustrate:

CATEGORY 1 - THE FREELANDER:

Not really menacing enough to warrant more than a point, both the Freelander and the Freelander 2 are baby BOFmobiles.  Usually seen parked across two spaces in the middle of a town; or parked opposite an ice cream parlour in Tywyn with a toy pig on the dashboard. 

WAVE WIN = 1 POINT

CATEGORY 2 - THE OLD BOFMOBILE:

Gnarly old crates that are owned by wannabe BOFs.  Usually missing several bits of trim from the doors; they're normally found at the head of long lines of traffic - holding everyone up as they tow rickety horse boxes through the countryside.
WAVE WIN = 5 POINTS

CATEGORY 3 - THE COMMON BOFMOBILE:

Low on chrome, high on obnoxiousness.  These can be found parked on double yellows with their hazard lights on (BOFs know hazard lights as 'Park Anywhere' lights) and are often spotted riding the bumpers of old ladies in Metros.  Also found repeatedly driving around town looking for the nearest Harrods, Waitrose or Selfridges. 

WAVE WIN = 10 POINTS

CATEGORY 4 - THE FOBOFMOBILE:

Chrome.  Tinted windows.  So much bling that you can see them from Uranus.  Think 'Common BOFmobile' but with added arrogance.  FOBOFmobiles are often found where nobody should be; like driving along private beaches with their speedboats in tow.  Also frequently seen parked in golf clubs or outside extortionately expensive harbour pubs.  Like salmon in reverse, they head downstream to Pembrokeshire to breed.

WAVE WIN = 20 POINTS

CATEGORY 5 - THE EVOQUE:

*Twitches.  Breaks out in a rash and vomits.*

WAVE WIN = 50 POINTS

(Extra 100 points if it's a snot green colour)

So there you have it!  A game for all ages; but it requires patience and nerves of steel.  Go on, have a go!  We've been playing for months now and are nursing a measly 20% success rate.  Can you do better?  Let us know...

(Remember, don't be disheartened if you don't get a wave.  Just bask in the knowledge that the non-waving BOF will be wondering who the hell you were for the rest of the day.)

*Meep Meep!*
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!NEW ADDITIONS!

We've added two new point-scoring vehicles to the mix to spice things up a bit:

1: THE MANSEL DAVIES LORRY

Often spotted harassing innocents as they trundle along the backbone of Wales, these big buggers can really boost your score.  Based in Pembrokeshire (spiritual home of the BOF), these egregious wtankers are frequently seen forcing cyclists into puddles and putting the fear of god into drivers at roundabouts.  We're not entirely sure what they carry...but having given it careful thought, we've decided it's probably bacon purée.

WAVE WIN = 200 POINTS

2:  THE POSER PORSCHE

(This obviously excludes the Cayenne; because it's ugly and smells of wee.)

Picture the scene: It's raining, so the BOF really doesn't want to take his BOFmobile out, does he?  Hell no!  The rain water might dull the chrome!  So he turns to his standby car - the Porsche.  Just a little run-around for rainy days and weekends, you understand.  Also ideal for trips to the stables because, let's face it, who wants to get horse shit on £400 Range Rover tyres?  Exactly.  Said Porsche probably has a private registration and hay on the passenger seat.

WAVE WIN = A HUGE, ENORMOUS, GARGANTUAN 500 POINTS

The BOFmobile Beough

We've been to Eire, England, Northern Ireland (by mistake) and explored pretty much every nook and cranny of Wales...but we've never seen as many BOFmobiles as we did when we recently wound up in Scotland.

It seemed that every bend revealed tinted windows; that every roundabout flashed chrome and that every mile of monotonous motorway bombarded us with the whiff of bacon.  It got difficult.  Very difficult.

Eventually, we started to lose our tenuous grips on what's left of our diluted sanities.  Instead of merely wincing when a BOFmobile trundled past, we began to make noises.  Strange noises.  Noises that somehow seemed apt for the 'hunting, tooting, fithing' ilk.

We've dubbed this curious reaction 'The BOFmobile Beough'.  Might be an idea to turn your volume down a tad.

WARNING:  Contains a naughty word.  Not suitable for mini people or machine-washing.

*BEOOOOUGH!*

BOFmobiles Defined!

It's a momentous day here at C & R Towers.  Our campaign to raise awareness of BOFmobiles has reached new heights...

We've been graced with a shiny definition on the intertube oracle that is Urban Dictionary! Needless to say, we're chuffed to bits about this.  So chuffed, in fact, that we might have a packet of BBQ Hula Hoops to celebrate.  Please visit the page and give us a thumbs-up; we'll love you forever and leave you a pair of socks or something in our wills.

While you're there, how about perusing some BOFmobile merchandise?  You could spread the knowledge with a crisp white T Shirt; or swig some warm beer from a stein!  Perhaps you'd like the definition on a mouse mat so you can drag your mouse across it - pretending it's a tank running over one of the chrome-trimmed beasts!  *Crunch...crunch...*

*MEEP MEEP!*

BOFmobiles: Soporific Soap

Have you ever noticed how most BOFmobiles are spotless?  Not just your average spotless...but 'so clean they make your eyeballs explode' spotless?  Well, until recently this had baffled us. 

You see, BOFmobiles don't come out in the rain.  On our many jaunts around the verdant land of Wales, we've noticed that infestations of BOFmobiles dramatically drop in numbers when the skies open.  It's almost as if the BOFs think their vehicles will shrink if exposed to the rain.  Perhaps they think precipitation will melt their cars.  "Someone left the BOFmobile out in the rain..." that kind of thing.

So how do they stay so blinging shiny?  We'd never seen one at a car wash...until last weekend.

As usual, we were toddling around hunting for randomness.  The sun was shining and we'd seen plenty of BOFmobiles, but we weren't disturbed because we were armed to the teeth with sprouts.  BOFs don't like sprouts.  They start crying and run into the nearest overpriced clothing boutique if you throw one at them.  Bear that in mind; it's always a wise idea to carry a few sprouts for self defence.  

I was rummaging in the glove box for Blu-Tack to make a model of a gerbil with when Coyote suddenly caught the whiff of a Cornetto.  Remember those?  That advert with the bloke who warbles "Just one Cornettoooo, give it tooo meee!"  You'll be singing that all day now.  My pleasure.  But I digress...

...he veered off through a village, hot on the scent of retro ice cream.  However, thoughts of frozen treats suddenly vanished from our minds when we came across a gobsmacking sight...

A BOFWASH.  Suddenly it all made sense.  They have special machines to clean their BOFmobiles.  Deftly reversing onto the forecourt and hiding behind a Biffa bin, we paused for a moment and took it all in.  Initially it looked like an ordinary car wash, but no...

The suds were brighter than ordinary bubbles; they clearly contained Chelsea boot polish.  Instead of the scent of soap, a whiff of crispy - possibly streaky but could have been prime back - bacon emanated from the newly buffed BOFmobile...and the rotary brushes elegantly span to the strains of Rachmaninov's 'Symphonic Dances'.  You'll notice that the brushes are red and green.  These colours clash horribly and are therefore a natural preference for BOFs. 

With our newly-acquired knowledge, I took a quick ninja photograph and Coyote span out of the garage - leaving a bit of Monty's rubber behind.

So now we know the secret of their unnatural cleanliness.  Having mulled it over for a while, we've figured that we can use this knowledge to our advantage.

With some deep planning (drawing on newspapers with crayons), we've realised that we could rig every BOFWASH in the country.  All we'd need to do is fill the aftershave-laced water reservoirs with puréed sprouts!  That would make the BOFs abandon their vehicles and we could all drive, walk and cycle in peace - like the good old days.

So now we're waiting for a large consignment of sprouts from Brussels.  We only have a Bamix hand blender and a potato masher, mind...so it's going to take a while to produce enough purée to put our plan of salvation into action.  We'll get there, though; you can count on us.

  Until then; stay vigilant - stay safe.

One Brave Cyclist

It was a quiet morning at Penderyn Towers.  I was busying myself with making a space ship out of Lego (I can never find a sixer when I need one) and Coyote was running around pretending his microphone was a lightsaber.  All was as it should be...

...and then we received an email.

A video was attached that had us staring at the monitor, our shocked minds initially refusing to fully comprehend what we saw.  

We don't know anything about the sender except he's a very brave cyclist.  We've dubbed him 'ShadowSpoke' and we're eternally grateful for his incredible mettle.

What you're about to witness will chill you to the core.  You might have to view through your fingers...because the horror contained in this one-minute video is enough to give you nightmares.  Watch as ShadowSpoke is stalked by a BOFmobile and then fully exposed to the glare of chrome as it passes him.  Then watch it again in horrific slow-motion and moody black and white:

You may think that the BOF behind the wheel was being courteous in giving the cyclist plenty of room...but no.  He did that so his BOFmobile could be seen in all its gloss-painted glory.  Fact.

One other thing you should note is that this BOFmobile has Pembrokeshire headlights.  This is a phenomenon we first noticed on our last trip to the Shire of Pembroke (we didn't mean to go there.  We got lost.)  Only one headlight is fully operational.

Full respect to you, Mr ShadowSpoke.  Your bravery is an inspiration; and we know that others will learn from you.  People like you will help us win The War Against BOFs.

Madness in North Wales

Having decided that they weren't too keen on their apartment, Samuel and Sybil went for a drive up north.  They took a brief detour to Samuel's nirvana - the Inigo Jones slateworks - and all was going splendidly. They weren't banking on seeing quite as many BOFmobiles as they did, though...

...and when one of them had the temerity to honk his horn as they passed, Sam and Syb took exception.  

We're still not quite sure how it happened, but it seems that as they busied themselves with waging guerilla warfare on the rude BOF in question, Petula and Gerry managed to nick their car.

It's ok though.  The effort of riddling a BOFmobile with bullet holes made Samuel and Sybil rather tired, and they were actually asleep on the back seat.

They woke up.  

We doubt Petula and Gerry will ever steal a car again.

WARNING:  The language contained in this video makes Gordon Ramsay sound like a finishing school prefect.  Not suitable for younglings or those allergic to clouds.

"FOBOF!"

Invasion of the CyberBOFs

After discovering that throwing a brick at a Range Rover window was a very effective way of gaining access, we recently repeated the process.  This time, we targeted a BOFmobile that was parked outside Toys R' Us.  We figured that the BOF inside would be so confused by all the bright and fluffy things in the shop that we'd have plenty of time to grab some evidence that we could take back to Penderyn Towers to analyse.

It took a few shots (I think the old lady with the Zimmer frame will recover just fine.  I was more of a runner at school) but eventually we got rid of the rear window.  Coyote reached inside, grabbed what he could and we legged it.  The BOF didn't appear at all; he's probably still there telling some poor, unsuspecting Furby all about his love of vintage cars.

When we got back we realised that Coyote had managed to get hold of some blueprints.  A cold chill ran down our spines as we turned the plans this way and that...so I turned the heating up a notch.  

It was nigh-on impossible to understand what the blueprints were for.  The handwriting was atrocious; it looked like a drunk spider had wandered across the pages in search of a fly kebab.  A lot of the plans were obscured by bacon grease too, so it was incredibly difficult to fathom just what the BOFs were intending to create.  However, we did manage to suss out a few bits and pieces; so we popped down to the local hardware store and bought some nuts and bolts, a floorboard saw and a really big hammer.

Several hours passed.  Sweat beaded on our furrowed brows as we worked through the night; our fingers sore and our hearts pounding.  Then we stopped playing Hungry Hippos set about building whatever was on the blueprints.

A crate of Stella later and we stepped back to survey the creation.  It was terrifying.  More terrifying, in fact, than getting stuck in a lift with Anne Robinson...

It was a CYBERBOF.  We were standing inches away from a robotic (or 'robofic' if you will) representation of a BOF.  We stared into its cold, black eyes and shuddered.  Should we switch it on...?

Of course we bloody well should.

It creaked into life and its eyes lit up like fog lights on a clear day.  We slowly paced backwards, Coyote brandishing a baseball bat while I held a chicken and mushroom slice.  I was peckish.  Its mouth opened and a monotone, soulless voice filled the room:

"Marvellous to meet you.  Have I told you about my home county?"

We both screamed.  Coyote smashed it across the head with his baseball bat, but it wouldn't be stopped.

"Bacon is splendid," the CyberBOF continued; advancing towards us in its Chelsea boots (not pictured.)

There was only one thing we could do to avoid being eliminated.  I cleared my throat, squaring up to its cold frame.  I glared at it, took a deep breath and said: "Have you tried vegetarian bacon?"

The CyberBOF stopped in its tracks.  The cup of boffee fell out of its hand onto the floor and smoke began to emit from every orifice (every orifice.  It was quite spectacular.) "Does...not...compute..."  The voice sounded strangled; as if it was choking on a piece of its favourite cake.

Then it exploded.  We found its head in the garden:

We now keep pens and odd screws in it.

So don't be surprised if you see a CyberBOF; but don't be afraid.  They're easy to disarm with a simple sentence - one that will confuse them into shutdown.  We suggest one of these:

• "Chelsea boots are so last season."
• "I earn more money than you."
• "My Range Rover doesn't have tinted windows."
• "Your home county is a shit-hole."
• "Would you like a hug?"
• "I got a tie like that from M&S!"
• "I accidentally shredded your script."
• "Rachmaninov is overrated."
• "Bacon cake."

Coyote and Roadrunner: Always one step ahead.

BOFmobiles: Harnessing Science

As you know, Coyote and I strive to be one step ahead of BOFs and their BOFmobiles at all times.  This means that we sometimes have to put ourselves in extreme danger in order to bolster our knowledge of these pseudo-posh and downright obnoxious creatures.  We've been known to walk within six feet of a BOFmobile in a car park...we're that determined to glean information because we believe that knowledge is power.  

While we always appreciate your input, please remember that we put ourselves in these perilous situations so you don't have to.  We're trained professionals.  Our War on BOFs has been running for nearly 5 months.  In that time we've been stalked, bullied and thoroughly offended by them - but we know how to handle BOF encounters.  Please don't endanger yourselves and your loved ones; leave the front-line BOF battling to us.

Through some SAS-style manoeuvres (ok; running up to a parked BOFmobile, smashing the passenger window with a brick, delving in and legging it) we managed to acquire some BOF fuel.  It would appear that they don't drink ordinary coffee like the rest of us...oh no.  They drink boffee. There wasn't much left in the cup (because BOFs can't operate without caffeine) but we knew that, by harnessing modern forensics, we'd be able to learn a lot more about BOFs.  What goes into their fuel?  Is it responsible for their obnoxiousness, or does it simply enhance it?  Whatever information we could glean would boost our ammunition.

We took our evidence to a laboratory somewhere in a basement.  You know; like that one in 'Waking the Dead'.  We were expecting a big, glass wall with writing and photographs on it and banks of silent, high-powered computers.  We were expecting a distinguished man with perfectly coiffured grey hair and a dynamically swooshing white coat to greet us with fiery eyes and ardent handshakes.  We were expecting a level of professionalism at least slightly above that of a school chemistry class...

...but we had to make do with a spotty laboratory technician called Derek who wore loafers and horn-rimmed glasses with lenses as thick as re-entry shields.  He sounded like he had adenoids the size of golf balls and carried with him the definite whiff of Digestive biscuits.  However, having blown our budget on Penderyn whisky and strawberries, we were screwed.  Beggars can't be choosers, so we left the evidence in his geeky, capable hands and eagerly awaited the results.

Today, those results came through.

We sat and stared at the findings.  The laptop screen glowed in the darkness and the dense, studious silence was only broken by the sporadic crunching of Smints in Coyote's gob.  We drank coffee.  We ate ham sandwiches.  We stopped for an hour to watch a fascinating documentary about gerbils on BBC Four.

After several more hours we stopped pretending we were clever and called Derek.  He wasn't happy; apparently he was about to level up in World of Warcraft, whatever that means.  After we plied him with the promise of a delivery of Dr Pepper and Wotsits, he agreed to clarify what the little bubbles and lines meant by sending us a simplified version of the diagram:

That made much more sense.  We especially liked the pictures...but think they would've looked better in crayon. 

So in summary, there is a sure-fire way of eliminating BOFs and their BOFmobiles.  We need to stop them eating cake and bacon, bar them from vintage car rallies and ban them from wearing Chelsea boots.  (Actually, getting rid of Chelsea boots all together would be a better idea; but this isn't an ideal world.)  This poses a problem.

Bacon and cake are too readily available, vintage cars last longer than a Van Halen guitar solo and Chelsea boots are, regrettably, unstoppable.  We tried the brainy approach, but science failed us.  ('Boffins', see?  We should've known.)  This leaves us with only one option...

...to carry on annihilating BOFmobiles one by one with the strategic use of land mines, hand grenades and antitank weapons; and by pushing them off cliffs where available.

It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it.

**LOCK AND LOAD**

One down; hundreds of thousands to go...

BOFmobiles: The Threat is Escalating

Ladies and gentlemen.  Please forgive us, for the news we have to impart is less than positive.

Coyote and I have just spent a typical weekend enjoying some tasty Welsh exploration.  We concentrated on mid and north Wales this time; and were deeply disturbed by what we saw.  It appears that the BOFmobile infestation is reaching pandemic levels.

Over the course of two days, a constant stream of them crept up on us from every angle.  We were even stalked by one in Barmouth.  We think he was after our cake.

Unfortunately, I have a cold.  My usual, finely-honed Roadrunner nose is rather below par...so I couldn’t alert Coyote to the whiff of bacon and Chelsea boot polish that usually warns of an impending BOFmobile ambush. 

That means we were forced to take sharp, evasive action on more than one occasion.  Monty left some rubber at the scene of one escape and we’ve run out of hand grenades.

Please watch the following video.  It doesn’t make for pleasant viewing and you may be upset by the images, but we believe you must understand the scale of terror that we’re all facing. 

With knowledge comes power; and with power comes the ability to stop this dreadful onslaught.  We hope.

WARNING:  Contains graphic images of BOFmobiles and FOBOFmobiles.  Not for the faint hearted. 

We will not surrender.  Our research will continue and we will bring you new information as we discover it.  Until then - please remain calm and vigilant.

Birds and BOFmobiles

Ever wondered what happens when Monty encounters a BOFmobile?  Well, wonder no more.  

Along with some blathering about birds, wonky-legged signs, Elliott storage containers and Corgis, here's how BOFmobiles are acknowledged - and serenaded.

Featuring Samuel the Slate, Petula, Gerry, Barbara Windsor and Boycie.

WARNING:  Not suitable for small people or those with shellfish allergies.  Do not immerse in water.

*Meep Meep!*

BOFmobiles: Important New Information

It would appear that BOFmobiles are also available in white.  Repeat:  BOFMOBILES ARE ALSO AVAILABLE IN WHITE. 

Up until now, we believed that all BOFmobiles were dark; but we were horribly mistaken.  This FOBOFmobile (Full-On BOFmobile) was spotted in Flintshire at the start of the week.  

Once satisfied that it wasn't just a BOFmobile covered in snow, we approached it with due caution - slowly passing behind it so as not to alert it to our presence.  While it was looking the other way (it was distracted by a man walking out of a cafe with a bacon sandwich.  Might well have been its owner), we parked up and observed it quietly from the opposite side of the car park.  We remained at a safe distance; ready to spin to safety should the BOFmobile's owner spot us.

Note the tinted windows and chrome trim.  Two sure-fire signs that this vehicle - although white and not the usual black, dark blue or dark green - is owned by a BOF.  There's probably a linen jacket hanging up over the back seat and a pair of freshly polished Chelsea boots in the...well...boot.  The upholstery will be immaculate and smell of expensive aftershave with a hint of smoky bacon.  There will be a Rachmaninov CD in the stereo.  There will be a spare Savile Row tie in the glove box.

It has also come to our attention that BOFmobiles may originate in Pembrokeshire.  We spotted this sign while stocking up on poo bags recently:

So please be warned.  Be vigilant.  By sharing knowledge, together we can avoid the BOFmobiles.

For further information see: http://coyoteandroadrunner.blogspot.com/2012/01/bofmobiles-identification-and-avoidance.html or call:  1-800 BOFOFF