Ronnie is a long-standing (and occasionally falling!) Rovers supporter of many years...

No doubt known to many both on and off this forum, in the last General Election he realised a long term ambition by standing for parliament, remeber the slogan "Don't be a loon....vote Noon!" his party literature featuring a picture of him at Craven Park.

Well, the great man is 50 this Sunday and I for one would like to use the forum to wish him a very happy birthday and hope he celebrates with 2 points against the "Wire"...

All the very, very best mate!

Will his birthday start at midnight or 12 noon?

Either way he should get his in the Empress, landlords 30th on sunday and there are free chicken legs and kareokee as well as a stripper which I hand picked from a choice of 3.

I am sure she will let Mr Noon have a go on her breasts too.

I hope the stripper does'nt do the same to him as one did in the old warrington clubhouse just before a game against Warrington in the early eighties.
The stripper in question had just been strutting her stuff in front of us all when, she suddenly walked up to Ronny. First,she put cream all over his bald head and then climbed up and sat on it, creating a baby bonnet effect,
After that, she told him to cup his hands together, he did so, where upon she filled them full of whipped cream, Ronns eyes lit up with anticipation, then just as he was expecting a request by her, to rub the cream into her t....ts, she walked away, leaving poor Ron with a handful of whipped cream and the rest of us howling with laughter.

Looking forward to the liquid celebration on Sunday
BTW its also his stepsons 18th on Saturday

Wish Pigbag all the best from an old mucker

Thought he was a little older than that ,to be fair .Certainly looks it ,even if he doesn,t act it .

Have a good day my old mate .

have a great day ronnie monster

You could also ask him about the time he was doing his Buster Bloodvessel impersonation on the bar table in the boozer, just round the corner from the Bloomsbury Crest (as it was then), while all the time, he'd left his bag (containing his money, wembley tickets etc) in the pub at the side of Kings Cross.

Or when, in the same hotel, he felt sick at breakfast. I grabbed him by the arm and stopped him puking into the rubber plant at the restaurant doorway. I ushered him down the hall, by which time he had built up quite a head of steam. I found a door that was unlocked, pushed Ron into the room and as he was projectile vomiting, the maintenance man, who was stood on a stepladder, screwing a new light fitting to the ceiling, just carried on as if it was a normal experience.

Did his mam ever get the grafitti off his "Yorkshire Born & Proud Of It" t-shirt?

Those Wembley trips I used to organise from Georgian were an experience never to be forgotten