A brief message to Goldboulesguy...

Although we encourage boulers from all walks of life to participate in our website we must emphasise that no nappy wearing nerds with bitch-tits are in fact permitted to enter according to our "no annoying wankers policy". Furthermore I would like to add that goldboulesguy has an aroma not dissimilar to a steaming pile of faeces. That is all

ANGRY DAD!!!

Here begins the tale of angry dad. The night was young, and the boules team was hastening homewards after witnessing possibly the finest display of acting they had ever laid eyes upon (Star Wars-episode 3). All was going splendidly when out of nowhere, like a boule exploding out of a hand, angry dad and his slaggy daughters appeared.

This troublesome family made its dipshit-like intentions immediately clear. Their first mistake was to give the Boulenator the finger (a man whose robot-like anger knows no programmable bounds), their second was to question the boules team's ability to retaliate.

After very little discussion (or thought), the team decided on the wisest course of action...a thorough anal display. Little did angry dad know, that the boules team were reputed to have rectums hairier than that of a wookie and more displeasing to the eye than a maimed corpse.

Needless to say, angry dad was not pleased. Infact he was so disgruntled that he chose to pursue the boules team in an angry fashion, fuelling his crappy engine, not with fuel...but with liquid anger. After several fiendish back-alley manoeveures, and thanks to the incredible performance of the boules-mobile's rocket thrusters, the collective brain-power of the pissed-off slags and their dim-witted father was outmatched. The Boules Club asks you if you see this man (see below) show your anus with pride

Squinty McClench-Face

Michael, the smiling assassin as he is otherwise known, is currently leading the Boules world championship ladder. Why you ask..."I encourage all aspiring boulers to play with their boules as much as I do...no matter how much I play with them, it never gets boring"-Michael

Boules vs. Beer, the eternal struggle (a battle that boules is ultimately doomed to lose)...

...many beery hours later 

A boules night out

Due to lack of creative response from the wider community to the epidemic of boules sweeping the nation (admitting you've got an addiction is the first step to boulecovery, don't deny it), the team here at boules etcetera set out on Friday night to inspire what we believe to be a community of closet boules players...ofcourse we had to drink (a bit) so our boule-like cover would not be blown.

After several drinks, we felt confident that we had successfully entered the psyche of the drunkard...in fact we were pretty confident about just about everything (almost as if these unfamiliar beverages had granted us superhuman abilities...). Varied responses were given to the question of "what makes you passionate about boules" including
-"Get fucked"
-"What the fuck are you talking about"
-"No I'm not going to lick your balls"
and perhaps the most infuriating-"Isn't it called Bocce"

Clearly the team wasn't going to make too much progress with these troublesome and hard of hearing youths. But not disheartened, the young Boulenator was heard to remark: "lets get some absinthe", resulting in him getting thoroughly tanked. After this potent brew, he found he could not contain his wiley ways, dashing to an unknown location and confounding his two drunken compatriots.

But the Bouleshark and Michael were in the mood for celebration, because they too were quite pissed, and found themselves on a strangely enchanted dancefloor. Although they were quite certain they had very little dancing knowledge, skill, ability or co-ordination, they found as soon as they stepped upon the dancefloor's mystical boards, god-like powers were granted to them. Soon all the public could do was to watch and be amazed by the dynamic duo's unearthly talents. Moves such as "the robot", the "funky chicken" and the lesser known "spastic monkey" were unleashed upon the dumbstruck audience until it was deemed that it was time... to leave that magical place and return to the slightly less magical Wangi Wangi.

And as the team sped back into the night on their rocket powered toboggans, they reflected upon the sadness that their bouley dreams may never come to be...The night, a defeat for boule-kind, but a triumphant victory for dancing

in olden times, it was compulsory to have either a moustache or a beret. The child seen depicted here is soon to be beaten with a log pending her father's dress code violation. This was a common punishment, it often drew a crowd as depicted.

Later the measuring log was abolished due to its ridiculous inability to measure...also the child beatings were gradually phased out in response to changing laws