Blog enthusiasts of the world,
My apologies for not blogging sooner, but I have been either too tired, drunk or hungover to even access the internet yet alone write a detailed blog of Belgium experiences. I did not embarrass myself as much as usual while at Pukkelpop [music festival in Belgium, for those of you who are wondering what such an odd word could possibly mean] so this blog will probably not appeal to you all, but more so to the “younger crowd” who are mainly eager to know how fun it was and which bands were the best. But nobody is forcing you to read this, so I really cannot be held accountable if you do not enjoy it. [ps I just looked in the mirror as there is one in front of the computer – when did my right eye get smaller than my left? I don’t think it has always been this way. This not a good sign... I hope it isn’t a sympton of liver failure or alcohol poisoning... this is not good.] Also, a big old cheers to everyone for nagging me to update my blog. My readers are slowly increasing! I have recently reeled Erika and Sophie into my online world of travels and misfortune, great success!
SO Matt, Maddy and I were enjoying Breda – chasing rabbits at midnight because there were literally hundreds outside our apartment, picnic in the Narnia-park at 10pm where we found the entire town supporting some local ABBA-cover bands, and I was fortunate enough to literally stumble into a group of nice young folk who decided to take me out on the town for a good Dutch pub-crawl experience. But then – it was here. The morning of Pukkelpop, and Ken [that’s Papa Newman, Maddy’s dad] piled us into the car and we drove to Belgium. Yeah, you heard correctly. I actually drove from one country to another. FIRST TIME. Well, not like.. first time ever, I didn’t make a new world discovery, I’m sure people like.. I don’t know, Napleon or Hitler or Jesus or somebody did it before me, but it was the first time for me. So that was a big deal. But you know what, I don’t think that this is the point of the blog, so let’s just push through this last segment and get to the festival. And before anybody gets smart with me, yes - I am aware Jesus would not have driven from one country to another, but I mean the equivalent for back then. So like, riding a donkey or a leper or something.
HELLS YEAH! Arrive at the festival bright an early, and after some not-so-helpful festival staff, we were able to park and unpack – and began our 20minute journey through the campsite in the HOTTEST weather [maybe not compared to you Brisbane-ites and your 35 degrees Winters...] and were able to find a place to set up camp. Matt and Maddy’s tent was easy enough to put up – not that I contributed or helped in any way, shape or form. In fact, me being there making sarcastic jokes probably made them work slower, so I did the opposite of helping. I did more than not help, I made the task more difficult for them to complete - I 'unhelped'. Something I am now proud of, after realizing it. Ken set his tent up with ease, and then there was my coffin. Oh wait, I mean tent. If you could call it that. After a gruelling half hour, Matt and Maddy had set up my tent. I kind of helped this time. Sort of. I put a peg in. And my coffin... sorry... my tent... was up. And fucking tiny. A colony of ants would not even have fit comfortably in there. Heck, a single ant would have had trouble stretching in there. Lucky I don’t get claustraphobic or anything.......................... oh wait.
Festvial festivities! So overwhelmed [still wondering if one can simply be ‘whelmed’?] by all the people speaking Flemish and Dutch, and the flags and the music and the food and the beer and.. well yeah, still a little overwhelmed thinking back to it. OK so first bands we saw were Howling Bells [Australian band] and Bon Iver, both of whom were exceptionally RAD. Even though we were at the very back for Bon Iver – and I was sober – it was still pretty fantastic to experience ‘Skinny Love’ live. Razorlight next – nothing special, though I enjoyed ‘In The Morning’. But then – the surprise of the whole festival – La Roux. Who would have thought she would be so unbelievably good? Her voice was so much better live, she was so modest [the crowd went outrageously wild for her] – and boy oh boy did Maddy, Alan [new Brisbane friend who Maddy met in some other European country] and I got our dance on for ‘In For The Kill’ – though those around us were not so happy about this. Apparently, in Belgium, everybody stands and sways but does not dance or jump – then when the band’s set is over the cheer crazily. We did not care. We were going to dance. We were gonna leave our friends behind. 'Cause your friends don’t dance and if they don’t dance then they’re no friends of mine. S-s-s-s-A-a-a-a-F-f-f-f-E-e-e-e-T-t-t-t-Y-y-y-y - whoaaaa sorry, got a bit carried away there and broke into the ‘Safety Dance’ lyrics. I apologize, but you have to admit – Men Without Hats were ever the lyricists (“We can dance/ We can dance/ Everybody look at your pants”). Bob Dylan eat ya heart out.
There is something about dancing to 'Pretty Fly for a White Guy' live that makes you think "Yeah, 12-year-old James would be SO proud of me right now" - and let's be honest, it's about the only time since I was actually 12 that I have been able to think or say that. OK I will try to skim through the rest of the night... sat at the back for Wilco, Grizzly Bear were alright, thunderstorm came and went, drank a lot of beer and then we finished the night off with Beirut, who were rad – but we were tired, and our tents and coffins were calling for us. So off we went. Oh so tired, that means we can sleep through anything, right? WRONG! YOU’RE WRONG!!!! The stupid thirty-somethings next to us decided they would stay up til SIX IN THE MORNING shouting and singing the entire time. And here is when you will either gain or lose respect for Maddy. I found out the next morning that in Maddy’s delirious state due to lack of sleep, she genuinely tried to practice the dark arts. All jokes aside, 100% sober Maddy thought it was possible for her to make them combust into flames, or be eaten alive by Spiders [both of which whould not solve our problem – they would continue to make noise due to their painful screams and tears.] If I knew how to upload photo’s onto blogs, I would take a do so now so that you could see her reinactment of this the next day – as the unknowing twats sit and drink beer, Maddy casts a voodoo spell over them. And then we trashed their tents – but that story comes a little later in the blog.
Day 2 and the weather was much, much better. We decided to bus it into town for breakfast and to pick up some supplies. Supplies, in this case, means safety pins to open stupid iPhone sim-card holder, baked beans and goon. It was in town I also met my future wife - the pretty girl who served us breakfast and kept smiling and said she loves Australians. POW - pregnant...
....
..........
.. just kidding.
Back to festival site for a band Matt wanted to see - A place to bury Strangers. Who would have POSSIBLY guessed I would not enjoy the band? The name sounds exactly like something I would enjoy [Aunty Emma I am being very sarcastic here, just in case, you know, you are thinking ''James likes the name 'A Place To Bury Strangers'' - and think I'm all dark and creepy and dress all in black so you find it in the best interest of your young children to never see me again. So yeah... also, did you get my postcard? Actually, probably not the most ideal venue to start up a conversation, especially since it would mainly be typing to myself. And by mainly, I mean entirely.] But going to see this 'band' [if you could call them that...] had a positive outcome - Stefano!! While we were sitting at the back, a random dutch guy sat with us and told us being from Belgium was cool. Soon after realizing we were from Australia, he rephrased is sentence to include Australia being cool as well. We all thought he was on something, due to just randomly sitting with us, so we were a little awkward [I know what you're thinking. James, being awkward? NEVER!] and Maddy and I decided we would go check out Bombay Bycicle Club - and Stefano followed. The awkwardness continued, until we discovered he was neither drunk nor a freak, just a guy alone at a festival after friends. And we all know how I feel about random friends... just ask Greg.. or Grant, or Dan... or Pat, Charlie... you know what, we'll leave it at that.
Well it's been over a week since Pukkelpop so I am having a bit of trouble remembering who we saw next, and it is 3am in Australia so I cannot call to ask Matt. I know we chilled at the back of the main stage - can't remember to who - then decided to head back to the campsite for HOUR OF POWER. So the 5 of us did just that. Got out our cask wine and plastic cups, plus our munchies of chips, Belgium Nuttella, baked beans, creamed cheese and biscuits [the biscuits doubled as cuttlery for the baked beans haha] and we dug in. A bunch of things happened in the next hour, I will try to sum up.
1. Maddy ate chips and chocolate from Alan's leg
2. Matt won a 'hariest chest' competition agains Alan, and we laughed at the banaid on his nipple
3. Maddy and Alan laughed relentlessly at how Stefano pronounced 'Benicasim' [another festival] - as he made it rhyme with orgasm.... oh foreigners.
4. Stefano put his hand in a random plate of fruit seeds which lead him in his drunken state to ask 'What's Happening??' before throwing the plate of seeds on the tent of our noisy neighbours
5. Alan began to take the aforementioned neighbours tent apart, and had to be restrained
And at the end, Stefano and I deemed it appropriate to fight, in the nearby walkway. There were punches, kicks, tackles [which I still have a massive bruise on my leg from!] and a lot of laughs. People were stopping to watch us, and I may or may not have fallen on a tent full of people. Amidst the fight, we lost Matt, Maddy and Alan, and after a scoulding from Papa Newman for yelling too loudly, we proceeded to find them at The Ting Ting's in the festival. However, something happened between our campsite and the festival grounds - we both lost our memory. Extended family members, please do not think less of me [though I am sure not one of you find the fact that I 'occassionally' like to drink to be new information, we all remember State of Origin game 2....].It appears that both Stefano and I [me more so than him] had overshot it in HOUR OF POWER and literally the rest of a night is blank - my only memory is about an hour or so later, being lost and confused during 'Oxford Comma' performed by Vampire Weekend. Next think I know, it is morning and I am in my tent - with about 8 missed calls from Matt. Somehow [and neither of us remember how or why] Stefano and I ended up seperated, and he spent a long time looking for me. As did the rest of the gang, and although they were reuinted with Stefano - I was gone for the night. Who knows where, what or why - but Drames was on a mission.
Day 3: Start off in the electro/experimental tent - Maddy manages to fall asleep while I remain upset by the fact that we forgot to exchange contact info with Stefano and fear that our brief friendship is through. Next up is TEMPER TRAP and they were incredible - one of my favourites. We met up with Alan and then decided to check out Tommy Sparks - shit. So bad, I almost threw up - granted a big part of this feeling could have been from the night before. But wait... is that.......it IS Stefano! Great happiness. The 5 of us moseyed on over [never gotten to write that word before.. 'moseyed' - fun times. I hope I spelt it right..] to Micachu and the Shapes. Not so bad, bit weird and they are a bit 12 years old, but the kid was funny. "That was my first attempt at audience participation, and it was also my last."
Experimental female duo Telepathe was next, which was pretty damn rad - then lunch. MMMMMMMMMMM PASTA. And I got a discount for being Australian and friendly. I liked it. I also said I would meet up with them later. I did not. We split up for a bit here, and Matt, Maddy and I headed off to Florence and the Machine - another one of my festival favourites. DOG DAYS WENT OFF! I assume you can all imagine how great that would have been - well, double what you are thinking, then add beer into the equasion and THAT is how good it was. We then sat at the very, very back for 50 Cent, though in my buzzed state I did enjoy grooving and moving to 'In Da Club'. Wow, 50 Cent, you really are the songbird of our generation; I hope you did in fact drink bicardi like it was your birthday. After hitting up the Belgium Beer tent [where Stefano taught me how to say my drink in Dutch], the 2 of us spotted Maddy dancing alone. This lead to an awkward conversation between Stefano and myself. The conversation went as follows:
Stefano: She's a bastard.
James: What?
Stefano: She's a bastard.
James: Um, Stefano buddy - we don't usually call our friends that with such a serious look on our faces, usually only if it's a joke.
Stefano: But she's bastard.
James: Well you know what, maybe you should keep that to yourself.
Stefano: Bastard. Caught. We bastard her.
James: What? OH! She's busted. You mean we busted her dancing. Silly foreign boy.
Yes. I can be condascending towards Stefano, it gave me great pride. Until he played the world's GREATEST prank on me. It was so, so bad that I hated him for about a second, then realized the prank was just too good and smart and I could not hold it against him for making me feel like the biggest fool in the history of the world. Had I been drunk, we would have seen another episode of 'Drunk James crushes friendship with new random friend by continuously insulting them til they leave the group' [poor, poor Greg Brown hahahaha]
Stefano and I went back to the Pasta place before finishing the festival off with THE KLAXONS!! They were definitely the highlight of the whole fesitval, but once again we got looks for our dancing [and also for eating pasta in the middle of their set.... we will eat pasta wherever we deem necessary, thank-you annoying chick with mole on forehead who was standing behind us]. That leads me to the end of my Pukkelpop adventure. Papa Newman drove Matt, Maddy and myself home that night as we did not want to spend another night in our tents.
Before I let you leave, there is to be NO mention of Vampire Weekend or Fever Ray concerts ever again. 2 of the bands I was looking forward to the most and I missed them. If you enjoy your limbs being attached to your torso, you will not speak a word of them to me ever again.
And, with that, I am finished my Pukkelpop blog. I will say farewell, and then finish with a final Stefano quote. Thanks for reading, shame it was a bit long and more like a review of the festival. When I have another big night out or something embarrassing happens to me I will blog again of my adventures and misfortune.
I am now living in Sutton, London with the Kinsey's - who are possibly the nicest and funniest family of all time. Neverrrrrrr want to leave. So cheers for now, off to get some beer in my belly.
James: So, did you meet any other random groups when you couldn't find us?
Stefano: No, but I did make friends with a group of people yesterday who were cool.
*silence*
James: ................................................. that was us.
Stefano: ........................ oh shit, yeah, it was.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Humiliation feels the same in every Continent
Hello avid blog-readers - family, friends and the cyber-stalkers of the world that make the internet a dangerous place for a naive young gentleman such as myself.
Matt and Maddy kindly reminded me of an embarrassing moment that took place in Amsterdam that I happened to leave out of my blog. I was hoping to avoid entering the follow story into the public venue of cyberspace but have decided that it must be told. Maybe you will all feel my pain and find it appropriate not to make fun of me, but I find this will be quite unlikely.
Please, I ask you to be kind. Emily, I know this is unlikely and you will take great pride in constantly reminding me of this horrible incident.
The story begins in the super mega ultra rad store, H&M. Matt and Maddy were buying presents for friends, and I was just looking for shorts. Matt is a strong believer in shorts that are above the knee. I am not. However, I was in Amsterdam. I thought, yeah - try it James, you wear those shorts and you wear them good! So I did. I bought the short shorts [not too short, let me make that exceptionally clear. They were not hot pants.] and all was well.
The next day, when I was alone in ye olde Amsterdam and the weather was too warm for jeans - I did it. I wore the shorts, thinking I looked hip. THIS WAS NOT THE CASE. Then, when I was harmlessly walking to a supermarket with Lauren and she stopped to get cash out, I decided to wait by casually leaning against a brick wall. Now, leaning on a wall alone in the red light district wearing shorts is apparently not a swell idea for a pastey fair haired young man with previously mentioned boyish charm. A man approached me. And our conversation went a little bit like this.
Hello there. [that was him, not me. I do not speak to random fifty-something year old men in Amsterdam]
Eh... hello..... [this one was me.. but you probably got that from the hesitation which I hope was made clear by the multiplicity of the full stops.]
How are you?
Good thanks. [at this stage Lauren had come back but was standing behind the man wondering what was going on. I thought he was going to offer me drugs as this had been a rather frequent occurance]
How much?
Sorry?
How much?
For.........? [Lauren starts to laugh, and the man looks around. I was still trying to work out what was going on at this stage. I am naive.]
Oh... sorry.
What the fuck? Do you think I am a prostitute? A dude-hooker? What the fuck?!!!!!!
Sorry, sorry....
THIS [I said, pointing to my crotch in true over the top James Hickey fashion] is not for sale!!!!
And he walked away, embarrassed. While I stood there, embarrassed. People were staring at me. I assume they were wondering what my previous grotesque gesture had been about. And Lauren laughed. A lot. I hate those shorts. I hate hate hate those shorts. A LOT. Lauren suggested I should take it as a compliment. I did not. And I maintain that I do not look like a dude-hooker.
So that is the tale of how I was offered money in exchange for sexual favours. I am trying to convince myself that this happens to everybody once in their life.
The convincing is not going too well...
And my crotch is still not for sale.
Matt and Maddy kindly reminded me of an embarrassing moment that took place in Amsterdam that I happened to leave out of my blog. I was hoping to avoid entering the follow story into the public venue of cyberspace but have decided that it must be told. Maybe you will all feel my pain and find it appropriate not to make fun of me, but I find this will be quite unlikely.
Please, I ask you to be kind. Emily, I know this is unlikely and you will take great pride in constantly reminding me of this horrible incident.
The story begins in the super mega ultra rad store, H&M. Matt and Maddy were buying presents for friends, and I was just looking for shorts. Matt is a strong believer in shorts that are above the knee. I am not. However, I was in Amsterdam. I thought, yeah - try it James, you wear those shorts and you wear them good! So I did. I bought the short shorts [not too short, let me make that exceptionally clear. They were not hot pants.] and all was well.
The next day, when I was alone in ye olde Amsterdam and the weather was too warm for jeans - I did it. I wore the shorts, thinking I looked hip. THIS WAS NOT THE CASE. Then, when I was harmlessly walking to a supermarket with Lauren and she stopped to get cash out, I decided to wait by casually leaning against a brick wall. Now, leaning on a wall alone in the red light district wearing shorts is apparently not a swell idea for a pastey fair haired young man with previously mentioned boyish charm. A man approached me. And our conversation went a little bit like this.
Hello there. [that was him, not me. I do not speak to random fifty-something year old men in Amsterdam]
Eh... hello..... [this one was me.. but you probably got that from the hesitation which I hope was made clear by the multiplicity of the full stops.]
How are you?
Good thanks. [at this stage Lauren had come back but was standing behind the man wondering what was going on. I thought he was going to offer me drugs as this had been a rather frequent occurance]
How much?
Sorry?
How much?
For.........? [Lauren starts to laugh, and the man looks around. I was still trying to work out what was going on at this stage. I am naive.]
Oh... sorry.
What the fuck? Do you think I am a prostitute? A dude-hooker? What the fuck?!!!!!!
Sorry, sorry....
THIS [I said, pointing to my crotch in true over the top James Hickey fashion] is not for sale!!!!
And he walked away, embarrassed. While I stood there, embarrassed. People were staring at me. I assume they were wondering what my previous grotesque gesture had been about. And Lauren laughed. A lot. I hate those shorts. I hate hate hate those shorts. A LOT. Lauren suggested I should take it as a compliment. I did not. And I maintain that I do not look like a dude-hooker.
So that is the tale of how I was offered money in exchange for sexual favours. I am trying to convince myself that this happens to everybody once in their life.
The convincing is not going too well...
And my crotch is still not for sale.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Amsterdam: The Elaboration
Apparently a couple of sentences voicing my love for cheap shots of jager does not meet many of your standards in terms of blogging about my Amsterdam adventures. I assumed you would be sick of my unpleasantly long blog posts; but you [CLARE BROWN] have convinced me.
So here is an elaboration of my 3 days and 2 nights in Amsterdam - though I will be focusing more on the nights. As I am unsure of who exactly is reading this (bosses, grandparents, little cousins, orphans, protestants, the latin-American dance community) I will be sure to tone down some of the events. I am aware blogs are for being explicit and honest, as my older and hairier brother told me upon hearing I would be leaving out several Amsterdam happenings, but this needs to be done.
AMSTERDAM. Night One. Matt [the aforementioned hairier Hickey], his lovely [particulary when drunk] girlfriend Maddy and I had just seen a new Indie flick called 'Away We Go'. I won't get into too much detail about this movie, but it was FANTASTIC. But not at the start. It gets better. So watch it. Then tell me what you think. Yeah? Good.
SO the movie had finished, and we found a little Heineken bar where, lucky for us, it was a prerequisite that all waitress' be young, pretty and wear tight white shirts. I love Amsterdam.
Nothing of grave importance occured at this bar, so let's move on to 2-for-1 wines at a random bar-cafe with an exceptional amount of neon lighting. BAD WINE. Baaaaaad bad wine. The aluring neon glow had, once again, gotten the better of me. They stand to be my greatest enemy since velcro [long story]. Matt and Maddy thought it to be a wise idea that they dance, quite poorly, to one of those oldschool JT songs. I watched, and even tutted them occasionally to show my disapproval. They did not care. They were drunk - I was not.
Across the road we frolicked [in a manly way..................] to another bar, which seemed to only play a random assortment of the Black Eyed Peas and hits of the breakway 80's hit, 'Grease'. And my experience as 'Eugene' in the Nudgee College 2007 stage performance of said musical [which critics deemed to be a 'surprise sensation'] enabled me to have the upperhand in the song 'We Go Together'. I know what you are thinking - you can do anything in Amsterdam and you sing Grease? We thought we should up the anti and went to a bar next door which was packed full of young tourists on a pub crawl. BUT FIRST: On our way out the door - it happened. 'It' being the happiest moment of my life. Matt turned to find a sign that read '10 Jager Shots for 10 Euros' - and they were to be served in test tubes. Knowing that my life was now complete, I quickly ordered this phenomenal deal and they went down a treat. You can probably understand that the next part gets a little hazey for me, so it will not be as informative. After enterting the next-door club, we enjoyed some moves on the dance floor. Amsterdam seemed to appreciate my inablity yet willingness to 'bust a move' and tear it up far more than London. This pleased me greatly.
What's that? Matt and Maddy want to go home? Because you are staying an hour outside of Amsterdam? BLAST! Our night had ended, or so I thought. I arrived back at my hostel [I may have not made it clear that I was staying in Amsterdam in a room with 18 randoms whereas Matt and Maddy were staying with her dad in Breda] to find cheap heinekens available at the downstairs bar. Why, don't mind if I do. Take my last 15Euros and give me as much heineken as this allows. Hello random friend next to me. Lauren, is it? Rad. First hostel friend. And she was in my room. So we stumble up the ladder-like stairs and I wake up everybody in my room trying to find my toothbrush in a barrel. So.. oh wait. That sounds weird. I say 'in a barrel' as the hostel provides each visitor with a large, metal barrel to use as a locker. I do not usually keepmy toothbrush in a barrel. That would be inconvenient and I don't imagine how I would fit one in my bathroom. Plus they are very noisey. So as I was saying, my room was now awake. Should I let them sleep? No. No I should not. I decided to keep them awake and swap stories of Jager in test tubes. This seemed to be shortlived as there was only 1 story about such an occurance and it came from me. Sleeptime. (I would also like to mention when everybody woke up, 90% of the room liked me and found me funny the night before. 2 of them seemed to be upset I had kept them awake. Who cares. They worse socks with sandals)
I tried to go through night 1 pretty quickly, as Night 2 has far more interesting things take place than Grease medley's and barrels. Lauren, my newfound hostel friend who also enjoys heinekens in hostel bars alone at 2am, invited me on a bit of a pub crawl with her 2 new friends - Maria [from Vancouver, the same as Lauren] and Texan-skater Jon. We started at St Christopher's hostel bar, 2 for 1 Becks. A lot of them. The most Becks I have ever drunk in my life. Logan, one of Jon's friends, had bought a bottle of Abysnthe, and we decided to do the traditional thing and melt sugar into it. But where do we get sugar? Hang on, he says. It turns out Logan had 250 cubes of sugar. We never bothered to find out why, but this lead to the best game of Jenga known to man. If you do not know what Jenga is, google it immediately. It started off as a fun game between friends. It did not end this way. We got exceptionally competitive [I think the exceedingly large amount of alcohol being consumed played a part in this] and the loser would have to do a shot of absynthe. I lost. First to Jon. Then to Maria. Then to Logan. It seemed my fingers were not as agile as they once were. That and I kind of wanted the shots. Sugary, absynthe shots.
Now, I wish I could be more descriptive with the next details, but it was a really rough night - so I will do my absolute best to relay the rowdiness of this night. We went to several other bars, and picked up some more friends on the way. There was another Lauren, but I am not sure where she was from. There was Sonja, and her friends. And then there were these 2 exceptionally rowdy Bristol boys callled Simon and Khai. I have absolutely no idea how we met any of these people, but through an escalation of dares we ended up in a Tatoo & Piercing palour. Not wanting to decline a dare in Amsterdam, when asked to get something pierced our drunk-selves thought we should fulfill this requirement. Afterall, we were in Amsterdam. Wow, this place looks like a nice place to do something I will regret in the morning. And it is in the redlight district, so it's bound to be interesting. We waited for what seemed like hours, but apparently was only 45 minutes, before being asked to leave. The man was not happy with our yelling or attempts at chair-stacking pyrmaids. We were unsuccessful in our attempts to be pierced in Amsterdam which, at the time, was quite upsetting [I must make it very clear that I was ecstatic to find this to be the case upon waking up. I have never been so happy to be kicked out of a place in my life. I have no piercing's. I just don't have the face to pull it off. My boyish charm would be taken away with one tiny metal bar above my eye.] We decided to drown our sorrows in beer and noodles from 'Wok On' [hahahahahahahahaha we laughed for about 20 minutes at the name]
You know what seems like a good idea at 3am after a big night? Sneaking people in to your hostel. This did not go down well, as our plan was not as fool proof as we had previously thought. Maria, for instance, could not sneak in by saying her name was James Hickey - something we should have realized before attempting this. So, our hostel was a no go.
A few more drinks at local and dangerous red district bars, a bit more trouble with security and a couple of hours later it was definitely time to head back to the hostel. Not for sleep. Never. But for more drinks, with Simon and Khai, who happened to be staying in our hostel as well. The receptionist [do not picture a hot lady receptionist as the stereotype would have you believe. Imagine that the dalali lama ate a sumo... and decided it was appropriate to wear the same clothes for a month without ever changing. Got that picture? This is our receptionist.] seemed to be hating on us. We had, naturally, forgotten about our brief attempt at mutiny by trying to sneak friends in, so wondered why he was so visibly upset with us.
FINALLY. Bed time. 6am? Sounds fair, 4 hours of sleep.
Then. BAM.
Hello dalai-lama-sumo receptionist. Why are you waking me at 8:00am? What's that? I am being asked to leave...? AND I don't get my 20Euro deposit back? I was not even aware I made such a deposit, but think it is only fair that this is returned to me with haste? What's that? No? Ok. Well, I made my point, and you have made yours. I guess I will leave. Without changing. Eating. Bathing. Sobering up.
So it is 8:30am and I am outside a hostel in Amsterdam in the same clothes as the night before, still drunk. And I have to make my way to Breda to find Matt, and I don't have a phone or any clue how to get there.... well that was bound to be interesting.
I am struggling to concentrate now, as there is an oboe being played by Ken [the man who's apartment is where I am currently holding refuge. aka Maddy's dad] rather loudly in the next room, and I cannot concentrate.
I apologize for this is not being up to my regular blog standards, but it really was a blurry couple of nights and I am unable to provide humorous anecdotes that I am sure occured but have since disappeared from my memory. We may go to a bar tonight after our late-night Breda picnic so hopefully I make a damn fool of myself so I have something for you to laugh at.
Oh, and to the 7 readers of my blog who are actually not 40 or older [Laura T, Laura C, Chris, Clare, Candice, Simone, Paige] I can provide you with some more stories of the second night, if this is what you choose. I did not feel it was appropriate to post such ridiculous humiliation on a blog when I am hopelessly unaware who is actually reading it.
Oboe to you all.
James
So here is an elaboration of my 3 days and 2 nights in Amsterdam - though I will be focusing more on the nights. As I am unsure of who exactly is reading this (bosses, grandparents, little cousins, orphans, protestants, the latin-American dance community) I will be sure to tone down some of the events. I am aware blogs are for being explicit and honest, as my older and hairier brother told me upon hearing I would be leaving out several Amsterdam happenings, but this needs to be done.
AMSTERDAM. Night One. Matt [the aforementioned hairier Hickey], his lovely [particulary when drunk] girlfriend Maddy and I had just seen a new Indie flick called 'Away We Go'. I won't get into too much detail about this movie, but it was FANTASTIC. But not at the start. It gets better. So watch it. Then tell me what you think. Yeah? Good.
SO the movie had finished, and we found a little Heineken bar where, lucky for us, it was a prerequisite that all waitress' be young, pretty and wear tight white shirts. I love Amsterdam.
Nothing of grave importance occured at this bar, so let's move on to 2-for-1 wines at a random bar-cafe with an exceptional amount of neon lighting. BAD WINE. Baaaaaad bad wine. The aluring neon glow had, once again, gotten the better of me. They stand to be my greatest enemy since velcro [long story]. Matt and Maddy thought it to be a wise idea that they dance, quite poorly, to one of those oldschool JT songs. I watched, and even tutted them occasionally to show my disapproval. They did not care. They were drunk - I was not.
Across the road we frolicked [in a manly way..................] to another bar, which seemed to only play a random assortment of the Black Eyed Peas and hits of the breakway 80's hit, 'Grease'. And my experience as 'Eugene' in the Nudgee College 2007 stage performance of said musical [which critics deemed to be a 'surprise sensation'] enabled me to have the upperhand in the song 'We Go Together'. I know what you are thinking - you can do anything in Amsterdam and you sing Grease? We thought we should up the anti and went to a bar next door which was packed full of young tourists on a pub crawl. BUT FIRST: On our way out the door - it happened. 'It' being the happiest moment of my life. Matt turned to find a sign that read '10 Jager Shots for 10 Euros' - and they were to be served in test tubes. Knowing that my life was now complete, I quickly ordered this phenomenal deal and they went down a treat. You can probably understand that the next part gets a little hazey for me, so it will not be as informative. After enterting the next-door club, we enjoyed some moves on the dance floor. Amsterdam seemed to appreciate my inablity yet willingness to 'bust a move' and tear it up far more than London. This pleased me greatly.
What's that? Matt and Maddy want to go home? Because you are staying an hour outside of Amsterdam? BLAST! Our night had ended, or so I thought. I arrived back at my hostel [I may have not made it clear that I was staying in Amsterdam in a room with 18 randoms whereas Matt and Maddy were staying with her dad in Breda] to find cheap heinekens available at the downstairs bar. Why, don't mind if I do. Take my last 15Euros and give me as much heineken as this allows. Hello random friend next to me. Lauren, is it? Rad. First hostel friend. And she was in my room. So we stumble up the ladder-like stairs and I wake up everybody in my room trying to find my toothbrush in a barrel. So.. oh wait. That sounds weird. I say 'in a barrel' as the hostel provides each visitor with a large, metal barrel to use as a locker. I do not usually keepmy toothbrush in a barrel. That would be inconvenient and I don't imagine how I would fit one in my bathroom. Plus they are very noisey. So as I was saying, my room was now awake. Should I let them sleep? No. No I should not. I decided to keep them awake and swap stories of Jager in test tubes. This seemed to be shortlived as there was only 1 story about such an occurance and it came from me. Sleeptime. (I would also like to mention when everybody woke up, 90% of the room liked me and found me funny the night before. 2 of them seemed to be upset I had kept them awake. Who cares. They worse socks with sandals)
I tried to go through night 1 pretty quickly, as Night 2 has far more interesting things take place than Grease medley's and barrels. Lauren, my newfound hostel friend who also enjoys heinekens in hostel bars alone at 2am, invited me on a bit of a pub crawl with her 2 new friends - Maria [from Vancouver, the same as Lauren] and Texan-skater Jon. We started at St Christopher's hostel bar, 2 for 1 Becks. A lot of them. The most Becks I have ever drunk in my life. Logan, one of Jon's friends, had bought a bottle of Abysnthe, and we decided to do the traditional thing and melt sugar into it. But where do we get sugar? Hang on, he says. It turns out Logan had 250 cubes of sugar. We never bothered to find out why, but this lead to the best game of Jenga known to man. If you do not know what Jenga is, google it immediately. It started off as a fun game between friends. It did not end this way. We got exceptionally competitive [I think the exceedingly large amount of alcohol being consumed played a part in this] and the loser would have to do a shot of absynthe. I lost. First to Jon. Then to Maria. Then to Logan. It seemed my fingers were not as agile as they once were. That and I kind of wanted the shots. Sugary, absynthe shots.
Now, I wish I could be more descriptive with the next details, but it was a really rough night - so I will do my absolute best to relay the rowdiness of this night. We went to several other bars, and picked up some more friends on the way. There was another Lauren, but I am not sure where she was from. There was Sonja, and her friends. And then there were these 2 exceptionally rowdy Bristol boys callled Simon and Khai. I have absolutely no idea how we met any of these people, but through an escalation of dares we ended up in a Tatoo & Piercing palour. Not wanting to decline a dare in Amsterdam, when asked to get something pierced our drunk-selves thought we should fulfill this requirement. Afterall, we were in Amsterdam. Wow, this place looks like a nice place to do something I will regret in the morning. And it is in the redlight district, so it's bound to be interesting. We waited for what seemed like hours, but apparently was only 45 minutes, before being asked to leave. The man was not happy with our yelling or attempts at chair-stacking pyrmaids. We were unsuccessful in our attempts to be pierced in Amsterdam which, at the time, was quite upsetting [I must make it very clear that I was ecstatic to find this to be the case upon waking up. I have never been so happy to be kicked out of a place in my life. I have no piercing's. I just don't have the face to pull it off. My boyish charm would be taken away with one tiny metal bar above my eye.] We decided to drown our sorrows in beer and noodles from 'Wok On' [hahahahahahahahaha we laughed for about 20 minutes at the name]
You know what seems like a good idea at 3am after a big night? Sneaking people in to your hostel. This did not go down well, as our plan was not as fool proof as we had previously thought. Maria, for instance, could not sneak in by saying her name was James Hickey - something we should have realized before attempting this. So, our hostel was a no go.
A few more drinks at local and dangerous red district bars, a bit more trouble with security and a couple of hours later it was definitely time to head back to the hostel. Not for sleep. Never. But for more drinks, with Simon and Khai, who happened to be staying in our hostel as well. The receptionist [do not picture a hot lady receptionist as the stereotype would have you believe. Imagine that the dalali lama ate a sumo... and decided it was appropriate to wear the same clothes for a month without ever changing. Got that picture? This is our receptionist.] seemed to be hating on us. We had, naturally, forgotten about our brief attempt at mutiny by trying to sneak friends in, so wondered why he was so visibly upset with us.
FINALLY. Bed time. 6am? Sounds fair, 4 hours of sleep.
Then. BAM.
Hello dalai-lama-sumo receptionist. Why are you waking me at 8:00am? What's that? I am being asked to leave...? AND I don't get my 20Euro deposit back? I was not even aware I made such a deposit, but think it is only fair that this is returned to me with haste? What's that? No? Ok. Well, I made my point, and you have made yours. I guess I will leave. Without changing. Eating. Bathing. Sobering up.
So it is 8:30am and I am outside a hostel in Amsterdam in the same clothes as the night before, still drunk. And I have to make my way to Breda to find Matt, and I don't have a phone or any clue how to get there.... well that was bound to be interesting.
I am struggling to concentrate now, as there is an oboe being played by Ken [the man who's apartment is where I am currently holding refuge. aka Maddy's dad] rather loudly in the next room, and I cannot concentrate.
I apologize for this is not being up to my regular blog standards, but it really was a blurry couple of nights and I am unable to provide humorous anecdotes that I am sure occured but have since disappeared from my memory. We may go to a bar tonight after our late-night Breda picnic so hopefully I make a damn fool of myself so I have something for you to laugh at.
Oh, and to the 7 readers of my blog who are actually not 40 or older [Laura T, Laura C, Chris, Clare, Candice, Simone, Paige] I can provide you with some more stories of the second night, if this is what you choose. I did not feel it was appropriate to post such ridiculous humiliation on a blog when I am hopelessly unaware who is actually reading it.
Oboe to you all.
James
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Good Mornig Amsterdam, will you marry me?
10 shots of Jagermiester for 10 Euro's - and they served them in TEST TUBES.
I am home.
I am home.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Initiative on the Dance Floor not welcome here
WEDNESDAY. I WOKE UP SMILING AND EVERYTHING IN MY HEAD WAS BEING THOUGHT OUT IN CAPSLOCK BECAUSE I WAS EXCITED. WHY WAS I SO EXCITED? BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO LONDON!
Strange, I’ll stop that now, as when I write in capslock it is almost like shouting going on inside my head as I read with my writing. And I already have a headache.
So Wednesday morning is FINALLY here. Jax takes me to Ascot station, and I am away. 50 minutes way from London. FIFTY. And the trains are about a gajillion billion times more comfortable then the trains I am used to. Or maybe I was so excited that everything looked and felt better. I checked my reflection. Nope, this was not the case.
Watereloo station. Oh God, Dad. I know you are reading this and have just started singing ‘Waterloo’ by Swedish sensations, Abba. I hope nobody is around you while you do so, because merely thinking about it is making me cringe yet alone the pain of actually having to be there while said situation takes place.
As I was saying, Waterloo station! Down to the tube. It was about this stage, in between singing London Underground and London Calling in my head, that I thought [quite possibly outloud], I AM ON THE LONDON UNDERGROUND. Or in the London Underground. Or Under London’s ground. Or something. I fell in love with all the coloured trails and rushing Brits immediately. It is by far the easiest and least homeless-person filled mode of public transport I have ever been on. And I felt mature and smart, as I was off to get my bank account and sim card set up. Great success! Minus the 2 hours at the bank setting it up and the fact that the LOVELY folks at Optus, Toombul had locked my phone so no other sim card would register. This lead to a pleasant 2 and a half hours trying to find somebody to fix it without losing all my songs and photo’s. Enter seedy back-alley store and a chubby Indian man who does not bathe regularily. £25 later my phone was unlocked, so if you need [or want] my UK number just ask me.
The Hilton hotel in Paddington was next. Hannah, a girl I worked with at Santaland last year, was staying there but was running late so I left a rather humorous message for her at reception. I laughed at how immature I was. Then I handed the message to a girl who’s name tag said ‘Fanny’, and I put more effort into not laughing at this than I have put into anything in my life.
Once Hannah was there and we had done our fastfood run and gotten ready for the night’s adventures, we were off. 6:00pm seemed a bit early to start, especially since the sun made it look about midday, but we did not care. Off to pub number 1. 2 pints of Stelle Artois thank-you. Went down a treat. We asked the bartender what there was to do on a Wednesday night in London, and while he suggest Picadilly Circus and Leicester Square, he told us not to get our hopes up as there was not much to do on a Wednesday night.
He was wrong.
Everywhere was open, kicking on and full of people. EVERYWHERE you went was full, and people were watching the soccer, sorry, football, anywhere they could. At the next pub we went to, in Leicester, we made the stupid decision to once again ask the bartender what they recommended, provided that it was cheap. Hannah and I came to the conclusion there was a chubby man out the back on a treadmill, and every 15 minutes he would remove his socks and squeeze the sweat into a glass, which was then served as whatever beer we ordered. I felt like less of a human being for being able to stomach it, but it was $3.41, and I was not about to let this go to waste. By the way, anybody who complains about having too many 5cent coins clearly has never been to England. 1 and 2pence coins are the most ridiculous thing in the world. It is like a text of manliness to seive through the hundreds and thousads of these coins that rest in your wallet, just to find the ONE £1 coin you have in there.
Oh wow, look, that girl on the table next to us has blue hair and very colourful clothes on. We should tell her this. We did. Tell her, that is. NEW FRIEND. Zaria. Zaria Mecheowsisjkakjekjanendkakaka. OK, so that might not be her last name but it was a buttload close to that. She was SO RAD. Not just her hair and the fact that she uses the word ‘joyful’ to describe everything, but her ability to talk to complete strangers and also give compliments when they were needed. To me. And she was British, which, bing in England, you would think I would expect, but I did not. And her accent made me giddy. But in a manly way... She was being stalked by an Italian man who also sat with us. His name was Luigi. I am sure many of you are thinking, ‘Oh yeah, right. I am sure that’s real. That is the most stereotypical Italian name in the world. Did he also have a chef’s hat, moustache and meatalls in his pockets?’ To answer your question, he had none of the previous mentioned attributes, which Hannah and I decided was a bit of a shame. But he was in fact real, however did not look anything like the Super Mario character, which was also quite disappointing. Luigi was a boring, seedy man. We ran. As did Zaria. NEW FRIEND.
Off to a bar this time, a bit classier than the previous pubs. More thirty-something year old men relentelessly hitting on Hannah and Zaria. How offensive. For all they knew, I was morman and married to both. Though I don’t think morman’s dress the way we were dressed... or drink. But this was beside the point! I insisted on another move, and we ended up in Soho. Which was a fancy area, and I am not too sure but I think... think... it might be a predominant area for the gay community. Was it my love for mystery and problem-solving teams like Scooby-Doo and Shaggy that lead me to such a conclusion? Yes. Yes it was. That and every corner had a different pair of men attached at the lips [see what I did there? Usually the saying is ‘attached at the hips’ but I put my own spin on it because they were kissing. Clever, really.] – either that or it was the same pair of men who kept changing corners on which they would frolick in each other’s mouths, as well as changing their clothes, body shapes and skin colour.
We found a nice pub next. As well as 4 Belgium guys. We weren’t sure if we got off to the best start as the names were difficult. Ok, one of the names was difficult. There was Jonas, Bastien [which lead to a shortlived discussion of the ‘The Neverending Story’ and several bad impressions of the princess screaming ‘Save me Bastien. Say my Name. SAVE US BATIEN.’] and Kaen. And then there was a 17 year old who was also enjoying the festivities. His name was... Vorte? Or Wortek. Or something along those lines. I insisted it must have been vortex, and then decided it was a good move to make the ‘whooshing’ noise a vortex makes [those football-type toys with a tail on the end] when you throw it. Vortex was not impressed. But he was 17, so who cares. I was, and still am, 19. I was his better.
The Belgiums decided they liked us. This pleased me. Acceptance!! In London!! And we went off to another couple of bars. Beer on you? Why thank-you Vortex. And he was back before you knew it with 5 crsip beers. I was beginning to see why they, or at least I, called him Vortex. Now, the next hour gets a little bit hazey. We accidentally ditched the Belgiums, which I am genuinely upset by, as I am going to Belgium next week and we had not yet exchanged last names or contact details. Our friendship would never be validated by Facebook, and that hurt. We ended up at a fancy bar which did not have a dance floor. It is here that I learnt a valuable lesson which I will now share with you.
If there is no dance floor in a bar, more often than not they intended it to be this way.
Having had a few beers throughout the course of the evening, I deemed it was necessary to start... wait for it... my own dance floor. Nobody joined me, not my friends and not the young hip gay couple we had somehow befriended, though none of us remembered how we met them or what their names were. Strangers looked on, but I kept on keepin’ on. And while my mother [bless her] had always told me I could dance, I can’t. I flat out cannot dance, especially intoxicated. I was a step away from doing the white man’s “step from side to side and click” move, but I thought I’d save that one for Amsterdam.
This lead to my first, but surely not my last, incident with an authority figure in the UK. I was being escourted out of here. They did not want a dance floor being created, and even more so, they did not want some pastey kid dancing alone in front of everybody. He informed me that this was not what people came out to see, which was news to me. He had also seen me ‘napping’ at a table a few minutes earlier, so thought it was best for all parties involved if I leave the premises. He, however, had not put it so kindly. He was not a friendly man, and I wish that one day he knows what it feels like to be removed for simply trying to show some initiative in a bar, club or other popular and recognized venue for nightlife entertainment.
A couple more pubs, then I blinked. I blinked, and when my eyelids opened for what I was sure to be the same image as what I had seen before I closed them to, as I mentioned, blink [which was Hannah trying to decline another 40 year old man], I was elswhere. I attempted to do the simple and everyday task of blinking, a task cavemen and protestants were even cable of, and I somehow failed. When the second part of this task took place,and my eye lids opened, I was in McDonalds. Sitting with a Middle Eastern woman and her son, who had some sort of a problem. I cannot remember anything about them, only that I kept insisting that the 12 year old was my best friend, and he was happy about it. Finally, somebody who is genuinely happy with my decision to instantly best friend them. Is that asking so much? Now, I maintain that either Hannah or Zaria were with me at the time – but neither remember this occuring. Either way, the middle eastern woman took her son and left in a hurry. At the time, I was offended, and a little upset that my new friendship was over before it really had time to flourish. Looking back on it, I understand completely why she took her son and got the hell out of there. It would have been bad parenting for her and her son to remain in my presence.
Next thing I know I am in a cab, alone. And I have run out of money. My racist cab driver kicked me out, and took what money I had. It is not the fact that he kicked me out that has led to me calling him a racist. That would not make sense, as we both have the same colour skin. It was the things he was saying. It was not a pleasant cab trip. I started walking towards Paddington, or at least where I thought Paddington was. 5:30am hits and I have finally reached the Hilton. I had requested a spare room key/card earlier, as I was pretty sure the night was going to end with Hannah and I seperated. I let myself in, and Hannah was not home yet. I took the bed, even though I said I would sleep on the couch. And woke up at 2 hours later nestled between Hannah and Zaria. I looked at the clock, and woke Zaria to tell her she was supposed to be at her cousins house [about 1 hour outside of London] in 10 minutes. She left, in a hurry. Back to sleep. And when I woke up much later on, I realized that hangover’s are quite possibly worse in the northern hemisphere. Either that or Barney the Dinosaur sat on my head. This was not a pleasant feeling.
And that, children, is the story of how Drames [Drunk James] met London.
The End.
OH and I successfully completed my FIRST load of washing just now. Great success! Accomplishing all these tasks like washing clothes and not waking up in another country after my first night on the town as feared, I was beginning to feel I could hold my head high. Pride was a good feeling, and a new one. But I had done it! Washing machine PASS. My whites were still white, and my colours were still coloured. I felt a bit of shame when segragating them though, and felt like I had set the work of Rosa Parks, Dr. King and Oprah back another hundred years, but sacrifices need to be made in the name of clean clothes.
Strange, I’ll stop that now, as when I write in capslock it is almost like shouting going on inside my head as I read with my writing. And I already have a headache.
So Wednesday morning is FINALLY here. Jax takes me to Ascot station, and I am away. 50 minutes way from London. FIFTY. And the trains are about a gajillion billion times more comfortable then the trains I am used to. Or maybe I was so excited that everything looked and felt better. I checked my reflection. Nope, this was not the case.
Watereloo station. Oh God, Dad. I know you are reading this and have just started singing ‘Waterloo’ by Swedish sensations, Abba. I hope nobody is around you while you do so, because merely thinking about it is making me cringe yet alone the pain of actually having to be there while said situation takes place.
As I was saying, Waterloo station! Down to the tube. It was about this stage, in between singing London Underground and London Calling in my head, that I thought [quite possibly outloud], I AM ON THE LONDON UNDERGROUND. Or in the London Underground. Or Under London’s ground. Or something. I fell in love with all the coloured trails and rushing Brits immediately. It is by far the easiest and least homeless-person filled mode of public transport I have ever been on. And I felt mature and smart, as I was off to get my bank account and sim card set up. Great success! Minus the 2 hours at the bank setting it up and the fact that the LOVELY folks at Optus, Toombul had locked my phone so no other sim card would register. This lead to a pleasant 2 and a half hours trying to find somebody to fix it without losing all my songs and photo’s. Enter seedy back-alley store and a chubby Indian man who does not bathe regularily. £25 later my phone was unlocked, so if you need [or want] my UK number just ask me.
The Hilton hotel in Paddington was next. Hannah, a girl I worked with at Santaland last year, was staying there but was running late so I left a rather humorous message for her at reception. I laughed at how immature I was. Then I handed the message to a girl who’s name tag said ‘Fanny’, and I put more effort into not laughing at this than I have put into anything in my life.
Once Hannah was there and we had done our fastfood run and gotten ready for the night’s adventures, we were off. 6:00pm seemed a bit early to start, especially since the sun made it look about midday, but we did not care. Off to pub number 1. 2 pints of Stelle Artois thank-you. Went down a treat. We asked the bartender what there was to do on a Wednesday night in London, and while he suggest Picadilly Circus and Leicester Square, he told us not to get our hopes up as there was not much to do on a Wednesday night.
He was wrong.
Everywhere was open, kicking on and full of people. EVERYWHERE you went was full, and people were watching the soccer, sorry, football, anywhere they could. At the next pub we went to, in Leicester, we made the stupid decision to once again ask the bartender what they recommended, provided that it was cheap. Hannah and I came to the conclusion there was a chubby man out the back on a treadmill, and every 15 minutes he would remove his socks and squeeze the sweat into a glass, which was then served as whatever beer we ordered. I felt like less of a human being for being able to stomach it, but it was $3.41, and I was not about to let this go to waste. By the way, anybody who complains about having too many 5cent coins clearly has never been to England. 1 and 2pence coins are the most ridiculous thing in the world. It is like a text of manliness to seive through the hundreds and thousads of these coins that rest in your wallet, just to find the ONE £1 coin you have in there.
Oh wow, look, that girl on the table next to us has blue hair and very colourful clothes on. We should tell her this. We did. Tell her, that is. NEW FRIEND. Zaria. Zaria Mecheowsisjkakjekjanendkakaka. OK, so that might not be her last name but it was a buttload close to that. She was SO RAD. Not just her hair and the fact that she uses the word ‘joyful’ to describe everything, but her ability to talk to complete strangers and also give compliments when they were needed. To me. And she was British, which, bing in England, you would think I would expect, but I did not. And her accent made me giddy. But in a manly way... She was being stalked by an Italian man who also sat with us. His name was Luigi. I am sure many of you are thinking, ‘Oh yeah, right. I am sure that’s real. That is the most stereotypical Italian name in the world. Did he also have a chef’s hat, moustache and meatalls in his pockets?’ To answer your question, he had none of the previous mentioned attributes, which Hannah and I decided was a bit of a shame. But he was in fact real, however did not look anything like the Super Mario character, which was also quite disappointing. Luigi was a boring, seedy man. We ran. As did Zaria. NEW FRIEND.
Off to a bar this time, a bit classier than the previous pubs. More thirty-something year old men relentelessly hitting on Hannah and Zaria. How offensive. For all they knew, I was morman and married to both. Though I don’t think morman’s dress the way we were dressed... or drink. But this was beside the point! I insisted on another move, and we ended up in Soho. Which was a fancy area, and I am not too sure but I think... think... it might be a predominant area for the gay community. Was it my love for mystery and problem-solving teams like Scooby-Doo and Shaggy that lead me to such a conclusion? Yes. Yes it was. That and every corner had a different pair of men attached at the lips [see what I did there? Usually the saying is ‘attached at the hips’ but I put my own spin on it because they were kissing. Clever, really.] – either that or it was the same pair of men who kept changing corners on which they would frolick in each other’s mouths, as well as changing their clothes, body shapes and skin colour.
We found a nice pub next. As well as 4 Belgium guys. We weren’t sure if we got off to the best start as the names were difficult. Ok, one of the names was difficult. There was Jonas, Bastien [which lead to a shortlived discussion of the ‘The Neverending Story’ and several bad impressions of the princess screaming ‘Save me Bastien. Say my Name. SAVE US BATIEN.’] and Kaen. And then there was a 17 year old who was also enjoying the festivities. His name was... Vorte? Or Wortek. Or something along those lines. I insisted it must have been vortex, and then decided it was a good move to make the ‘whooshing’ noise a vortex makes [those football-type toys with a tail on the end] when you throw it. Vortex was not impressed. But he was 17, so who cares. I was, and still am, 19. I was his better.
The Belgiums decided they liked us. This pleased me. Acceptance!! In London!! And we went off to another couple of bars. Beer on you? Why thank-you Vortex. And he was back before you knew it with 5 crsip beers. I was beginning to see why they, or at least I, called him Vortex. Now, the next hour gets a little bit hazey. We accidentally ditched the Belgiums, which I am genuinely upset by, as I am going to Belgium next week and we had not yet exchanged last names or contact details. Our friendship would never be validated by Facebook, and that hurt. We ended up at a fancy bar which did not have a dance floor. It is here that I learnt a valuable lesson which I will now share with you.
If there is no dance floor in a bar, more often than not they intended it to be this way.
Having had a few beers throughout the course of the evening, I deemed it was necessary to start... wait for it... my own dance floor. Nobody joined me, not my friends and not the young hip gay couple we had somehow befriended, though none of us remembered how we met them or what their names were. Strangers looked on, but I kept on keepin’ on. And while my mother [bless her] had always told me I could dance, I can’t. I flat out cannot dance, especially intoxicated. I was a step away from doing the white man’s “step from side to side and click” move, but I thought I’d save that one for Amsterdam.
This lead to my first, but surely not my last, incident with an authority figure in the UK. I was being escourted out of here. They did not want a dance floor being created, and even more so, they did not want some pastey kid dancing alone in front of everybody. He informed me that this was not what people came out to see, which was news to me. He had also seen me ‘napping’ at a table a few minutes earlier, so thought it was best for all parties involved if I leave the premises. He, however, had not put it so kindly. He was not a friendly man, and I wish that one day he knows what it feels like to be removed for simply trying to show some initiative in a bar, club or other popular and recognized venue for nightlife entertainment.
A couple more pubs, then I blinked. I blinked, and when my eyelids opened for what I was sure to be the same image as what I had seen before I closed them to, as I mentioned, blink [which was Hannah trying to decline another 40 year old man], I was elswhere. I attempted to do the simple and everyday task of blinking, a task cavemen and protestants were even cable of, and I somehow failed. When the second part of this task took place,and my eye lids opened, I was in McDonalds. Sitting with a Middle Eastern woman and her son, who had some sort of a problem. I cannot remember anything about them, only that I kept insisting that the 12 year old was my best friend, and he was happy about it. Finally, somebody who is genuinely happy with my decision to instantly best friend them. Is that asking so much? Now, I maintain that either Hannah or Zaria were with me at the time – but neither remember this occuring. Either way, the middle eastern woman took her son and left in a hurry. At the time, I was offended, and a little upset that my new friendship was over before it really had time to flourish. Looking back on it, I understand completely why she took her son and got the hell out of there. It would have been bad parenting for her and her son to remain in my presence.
Next thing I know I am in a cab, alone. And I have run out of money. My racist cab driver kicked me out, and took what money I had. It is not the fact that he kicked me out that has led to me calling him a racist. That would not make sense, as we both have the same colour skin. It was the things he was saying. It was not a pleasant cab trip. I started walking towards Paddington, or at least where I thought Paddington was. 5:30am hits and I have finally reached the Hilton. I had requested a spare room key/card earlier, as I was pretty sure the night was going to end with Hannah and I seperated. I let myself in, and Hannah was not home yet. I took the bed, even though I said I would sleep on the couch. And woke up at 2 hours later nestled between Hannah and Zaria. I looked at the clock, and woke Zaria to tell her she was supposed to be at her cousins house [about 1 hour outside of London] in 10 minutes. She left, in a hurry. Back to sleep. And when I woke up much later on, I realized that hangover’s are quite possibly worse in the northern hemisphere. Either that or Barney the Dinosaur sat on my head. This was not a pleasant feeling.
And that, children, is the story of how Drames [Drunk James] met London.
The End.
OH and I successfully completed my FIRST load of washing just now. Great success! Accomplishing all these tasks like washing clothes and not waking up in another country after my first night on the town as feared, I was beginning to feel I could hold my head high. Pride was a good feeling, and a new one. But I had done it! Washing machine PASS. My whites were still white, and my colours were still coloured. I felt a bit of shame when segragating them though, and felt like I had set the work of Rosa Parks, Dr. King and Oprah back another hundred years, but sacrifices need to be made in the name of clean clothes.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
One less Taco being eaten..
At this very point in time in New Farm, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia - Taco and Two-for-One Tuesday is taking place....
... without me.
The first one I have missed ALL year. What a sad day.
One less taco being eaten.
One less tequila shot being consumed.
One less person yelling "SCREW YOU MORTIMER" at Roy, the security guard, who looks a great deal like Mortimer, a default character on The Sims.
One less person screaming "D'UNDER" at 11:30, when Gerties and Alibi have shut.
I hope all who attended had a radtastic time.
James
will blog in a couple of days after my London adventures with Hannah.
BE RAD.
... without me.
The first one I have missed ALL year. What a sad day.
One less taco being eaten.
One less tequila shot being consumed.
One less person yelling "SCREW YOU MORTIMER" at Roy, the security guard, who looks a great deal like Mortimer, a default character on The Sims.
One less person screaming "D'UNDER" at 11:30, when Gerties and Alibi have shut.
I hope all who attended had a radtastic time.
James
will blog in a couple of days after my London adventures with Hannah.
BE RAD.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Don't be naive, zombies CAN run.
I must warn you, I wrote the following blog under normal conditions, but then decided to go to the local pub to try out my first British pints, so I am about to re-read what I have written and edit where I feel necessary. And just so you know, never say to the barman “something good, but cheap.” It may be cheap, but it is never, ever, good.
Monday - 8:00am hits, and off to Reading it is. Another sunny and rather hot day, as well. “Oh James, the weather in England is going to be dreadful.” “Oh James, you aren’t going to see the sun for the next 6 months!” Oh really? Is that so is it? ‘Cause I’m looking out the window as I write this, and there’s a big yellow thing in the sky and it isn’t Big f**king Bird. Take that, nonbelievers and pessimists! 4 days of sun, and counting.
So yes, off to Reading. Jax drove us to the university, as she is a lecturer there and had some research to do. I went to the busstop and waited. It arrived. DOUBLE DECKER. HolymotherofchristIamsoexcited. No, I was not drunk when I wrote the previous sentence. I did in fact mean to leave out spaces between each word, so that when you read it, you read it at a pace that represents the way I was thinking it in my head and therefore will appreciate the level of excitement I had. My first double decker experience. My first UK public transport experience. Oh, I hope the bus driver likes me.
He didn’t.
£1.70? Too easy. Here’s £2.
“Put it in the slot.” – no James, don’t say it. A “that’s what she said joke” would not go down well here.
£2 in the slot. ACCOMPLISHMENT! I had purchased my first foreign public transport ticket. Great happiness! But wait, where is my change? Oh no, WHERE IS MY CHANGE? Where was my 30 pence?! I had gotten my hopes up. The proud feeling of accomplishment vanished immediately, as I asked the driver where my change was.
“We don’t do change. You should know that.”
Friendly chap, yeah? I hope things go well for you in the future. *insert intense amount of sarcasm here*
The bus trip into the central part of Reading was made difficult by the intense struggle I had to not join in the conversation in front of me. Two 15 or 16 year old boys were talking about zombie’s. And they were wrong. Zombie’s CAN run. The super Zombie’s can. Have you never seen 28 Days Later? IT’S SET IN ENGLAND. Twirps. What did they know about Zombie’s. They haven’t had the years practice and experience Liam and I have had, planning escapes from each of our classrooms at school for 2+ years, in case a Zombie attack ever did occur. A waste of time? No. No it was not. Because when they come, we’ll be ready. Oh yes, we’ll be ready.
OK. Wow, that’s awkward. Got a bit carried away there. Central Reading! Fantastic. I find my way to the Thames and search for a good place to have coffee, as it is still early and almost no stores are open yet.
Ordering coffee – a simple task, yes?
WRONG. Dead wrong. The young lady who served me, while both kind and polite, had a tendancy to double question everything she asked.
‘So do you want it in Grande size, yes, do you?’
‘It’s take away, no, isn’t it?’
‘You want sugar, yes, don’t you?’
...
Christ. What the fuck did she just ask? Should I just nod? Or are double questions like double negatives and by nodding would I be agreeing to disagree with everything she had just said. What had she just said. I panicked, and looked around. Fuck it. I nodded, hesitantly and crookedly, with my right eye half shut. It was weird. She knew it. I knew it.
One awkward cup of grande non-takeaway coffee with sugar later, and the stores were open. First it was off to buy a tent for Pukkelpop music festival. The lady reccommended one that was 50% off. Fantastic! I’ll take it. As I am about to puschase it, she adds “but if it rains, you’ll get wet. And so will your stuff.”
I’m sorry, but are your parents also cousins? Do you think maybe that’s some information I could use when purchasing an item which is used for 3 things; Keeping me and my belongings safe, dry and out of the wind.
No deal. I decided to stand still and silent until she walked away, then proceeded to ask the man at the counter for help. He showed me the cheapest one that would also act as a protector from the rain. Cheers. I’ll take it.
Book store next – where I found the greatest book. Having just finished a book that turned out to be,more or less, an explicit sex novel about being 23 in Brisbane [more specifically, New Farm] – I was ready to read something that didn’t make me gag or use an online dictionary to find out what certain words meant – only to find that you needed a special kind of dictionary, or somebody with a great deal of, ah... experience. The NEW book is ‘Friends Like These’, and while I’m currently only 100 pages in – it is fantastic and I think anybody who is either 19, 29, 39 or 49 should read it. It is about turning the next big number – more specifically 30, for the guy in the book. And about refusing to grow up. I have laughed out loud a great deal, and am only telling you this so that I may have somebody to discuss the book with later. If it helps, it’s by the guy who wrote ‘Yes Man’, which was later turned into that Jim Carrey movie. Ok, enough with the reviews.
Next stop: The Gap. After a years of watching American teen movies and TV shows where they go to the Gap to buy their clothes and be hip, I WAS THERE. I may not have been hip, but I was there. I bought some stuff, no need to get into what. It took me a while to remember £30 did not equal $30 Australian, so the jumper may not have been a bargain afterall. Then I found a Ben Sherman store with 75% off. THAT WAS COOL. Moving on. Highlight of the day was some cool indie rocker looking guy coming up to me and saying “you look like you dig rock’n’roll” – why thank you. I thought this was the end of our conversation, and continued walking, with a smile on my face. He stopped me, apparently he wasn’t just a kind stranger offering compliments. He wanted something in return. The bastard! He actually just wanted to give me his CD and invited me to go to his gig in 2 weeks. We started talking about music, and what/who his band sounded like, and he was pretty cool. I would have been happy to continue talking, but then...
HE came. ‘He’ was this entirely creepy old dutch man who wanted my autograph. What. The. Fuck. I asked him why, and he said he had seen my on TV. I told him he hadn’t, and he said ‘but with a face like that’ – so not only was he drunk and possibly blind, it appeared he was hitting on me. OK. Stay calm. I began to continue walking and he followed, telling me I shouldn’t go to Amsterdam ever in my life. I told him I was going there next week. He warned me against it, and said he had seen a lot in his life. He saind Finland would suit me. I told him no. He continued talking, so I told him I had a bus to catch and ran off. He seemed to be still following me. I called Jax and told her I was coming back to the campus. Immediately, and hopefully without a companion. My city trip had been cut short, but if you had seen this man and his evident lack of both personal hygeine and teeth, you would understand.
Jax gave me a tour of the campus and took me to lunch, where she told me about the research she had been doing over the last 3 years. It was interesting, and about 10 knotches up from the last conversation I had been a part of [the old man talking about his ‘buddies’ on the street in Amsterdam] but then we decided to head home. Which leads me to now. Finished reading some of my book, and working out what to do next with my day. I might go to Tesco’s, as it is growing to be an addiction of mine. Then probably [haha now naive I was, looking back on this now I think I knew I would end up at the pub] off to The Prince on High St. In Crowthorne for a pint.
Adios!
ps. Blog will get more interesting after my night out on the town in Paddington on Wednesday with Hannah Newhnam, and after my Amsterdam hostel experience this weekend – sharing a room with 18 people. I will try not to blog from now on unless I have something interesting to write, as this seems to be a waste of space and time. No doubt Laura Templeton and Laura Cicchiello are the only 2 people who are actually reading this, and I bet only one of them are enjoying it. Thank you for your support, Laura’s. Especially whichever Laura is enjoying it...
Monday - 8:00am hits, and off to Reading it is. Another sunny and rather hot day, as well. “Oh James, the weather in England is going to be dreadful.” “Oh James, you aren’t going to see the sun for the next 6 months!” Oh really? Is that so is it? ‘Cause I’m looking out the window as I write this, and there’s a big yellow thing in the sky and it isn’t Big f**king Bird. Take that, nonbelievers and pessimists! 4 days of sun, and counting.
So yes, off to Reading. Jax drove us to the university, as she is a lecturer there and had some research to do. I went to the busstop and waited. It arrived. DOUBLE DECKER. HolymotherofchristIamsoexcited. No, I was not drunk when I wrote the previous sentence. I did in fact mean to leave out spaces between each word, so that when you read it, you read it at a pace that represents the way I was thinking it in my head and therefore will appreciate the level of excitement I had. My first double decker experience. My first UK public transport experience. Oh, I hope the bus driver likes me.
He didn’t.
£1.70? Too easy. Here’s £2.
“Put it in the slot.” – no James, don’t say it. A “that’s what she said joke” would not go down well here.
£2 in the slot. ACCOMPLISHMENT! I had purchased my first foreign public transport ticket. Great happiness! But wait, where is my change? Oh no, WHERE IS MY CHANGE? Where was my 30 pence?! I had gotten my hopes up. The proud feeling of accomplishment vanished immediately, as I asked the driver where my change was.
“We don’t do change. You should know that.”
Friendly chap, yeah? I hope things go well for you in the future. *insert intense amount of sarcasm here*
The bus trip into the central part of Reading was made difficult by the intense struggle I had to not join in the conversation in front of me. Two 15 or 16 year old boys were talking about zombie’s. And they were wrong. Zombie’s CAN run. The super Zombie’s can. Have you never seen 28 Days Later? IT’S SET IN ENGLAND. Twirps. What did they know about Zombie’s. They haven’t had the years practice and experience Liam and I have had, planning escapes from each of our classrooms at school for 2+ years, in case a Zombie attack ever did occur. A waste of time? No. No it was not. Because when they come, we’ll be ready. Oh yes, we’ll be ready.
OK. Wow, that’s awkward. Got a bit carried away there. Central Reading! Fantastic. I find my way to the Thames and search for a good place to have coffee, as it is still early and almost no stores are open yet.
Ordering coffee – a simple task, yes?
WRONG. Dead wrong. The young lady who served me, while both kind and polite, had a tendancy to double question everything she asked.
‘So do you want it in Grande size, yes, do you?’
‘It’s take away, no, isn’t it?’
‘You want sugar, yes, don’t you?’
...
Christ. What the fuck did she just ask? Should I just nod? Or are double questions like double negatives and by nodding would I be agreeing to disagree with everything she had just said. What had she just said. I panicked, and looked around. Fuck it. I nodded, hesitantly and crookedly, with my right eye half shut. It was weird. She knew it. I knew it.
One awkward cup of grande non-takeaway coffee with sugar later, and the stores were open. First it was off to buy a tent for Pukkelpop music festival. The lady reccommended one that was 50% off. Fantastic! I’ll take it. As I am about to puschase it, she adds “but if it rains, you’ll get wet. And so will your stuff.”
I’m sorry, but are your parents also cousins? Do you think maybe that’s some information I could use when purchasing an item which is used for 3 things; Keeping me and my belongings safe, dry and out of the wind.
No deal. I decided to stand still and silent until she walked away, then proceeded to ask the man at the counter for help. He showed me the cheapest one that would also act as a protector from the rain. Cheers. I’ll take it.
Book store next – where I found the greatest book. Having just finished a book that turned out to be,more or less, an explicit sex novel about being 23 in Brisbane [more specifically, New Farm] – I was ready to read something that didn’t make me gag or use an online dictionary to find out what certain words meant – only to find that you needed a special kind of dictionary, or somebody with a great deal of, ah... experience. The NEW book is ‘Friends Like These’, and while I’m currently only 100 pages in – it is fantastic and I think anybody who is either 19, 29, 39 or 49 should read it. It is about turning the next big number – more specifically 30, for the guy in the book. And about refusing to grow up. I have laughed out loud a great deal, and am only telling you this so that I may have somebody to discuss the book with later. If it helps, it’s by the guy who wrote ‘Yes Man’, which was later turned into that Jim Carrey movie. Ok, enough with the reviews.
Next stop: The Gap. After a years of watching American teen movies and TV shows where they go to the Gap to buy their clothes and be hip, I WAS THERE. I may not have been hip, but I was there. I bought some stuff, no need to get into what. It took me a while to remember £30 did not equal $30 Australian, so the jumper may not have been a bargain afterall. Then I found a Ben Sherman store with 75% off. THAT WAS COOL. Moving on. Highlight of the day was some cool indie rocker looking guy coming up to me and saying “you look like you dig rock’n’roll” – why thank you. I thought this was the end of our conversation, and continued walking, with a smile on my face. He stopped me, apparently he wasn’t just a kind stranger offering compliments. He wanted something in return. The bastard! He actually just wanted to give me his CD and invited me to go to his gig in 2 weeks. We started talking about music, and what/who his band sounded like, and he was pretty cool. I would have been happy to continue talking, but then...
HE came. ‘He’ was this entirely creepy old dutch man who wanted my autograph. What. The. Fuck. I asked him why, and he said he had seen my on TV. I told him he hadn’t, and he said ‘but with a face like that’ – so not only was he drunk and possibly blind, it appeared he was hitting on me. OK. Stay calm. I began to continue walking and he followed, telling me I shouldn’t go to Amsterdam ever in my life. I told him I was going there next week. He warned me against it, and said he had seen a lot in his life. He saind Finland would suit me. I told him no. He continued talking, so I told him I had a bus to catch and ran off. He seemed to be still following me. I called Jax and told her I was coming back to the campus. Immediately, and hopefully without a companion. My city trip had been cut short, but if you had seen this man and his evident lack of both personal hygeine and teeth, you would understand.
Jax gave me a tour of the campus and took me to lunch, where she told me about the research she had been doing over the last 3 years. It was interesting, and about 10 knotches up from the last conversation I had been a part of [the old man talking about his ‘buddies’ on the street in Amsterdam] but then we decided to head home. Which leads me to now. Finished reading some of my book, and working out what to do next with my day. I might go to Tesco’s, as it is growing to be an addiction of mine. Then probably [haha now naive I was, looking back on this now I think I knew I would end up at the pub] off to The Prince on High St. In Crowthorne for a pint.
Adios!
ps. Blog will get more interesting after my night out on the town in Paddington on Wednesday with Hannah Newhnam, and after my Amsterdam hostel experience this weekend – sharing a room with 18 people. I will try not to blog from now on unless I have something interesting to write, as this seems to be a waste of space and time. No doubt Laura Templeton and Laura Cicchiello are the only 2 people who are actually reading this, and I bet only one of them are enjoying it. Thank you for your support, Laura’s. Especially whichever Laura is enjoying it...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
good morning Muesli, how nice to meet you.
Over 72 hours without using the internet, my phone OR a T.V! Many of you thought I could not do it, and I too thought it could not be done. But hurrah, accomplishment! So this must be what it feels like to actually do something with your life... I have accomplished something... I feel like Chris Hickey.
I did not sleep more than an hour on the plane, thanks to the snot nosed brat behind me kicking my chair. Yeah, cheers to the parents who tried awfully hard to stop her. "I think you might be bothering the man in front of you, sweetheart."
OH REALLY, do you think that do you? How God damn wise you are. 'Cause for a while there, I assumed you thought I was having the time of my life, the way you laughed everytime her foot came into contact with the back of my seat. GREAT PARENTING. Top stuff guys, really. I AM GLAD YOU BRED.
Sweet lord I watched a lot of movies on that trip. I think it totalled up to 9? Most of them were average. Here we go:
He's just not that into you: OH MY GOD, I actually preferred the little brat kicking the back of my chair. If it wasn't for the undying love I have for Jennifer Aniston and Drew Barrymore, I may have actually killed myself.
Wolverine: Single-handedly destroyed one of the coolest comic book characters.
Push: OK, I don't care what you say - THIS MOVIE WAS SO RAD!!!!!!! It may have been because I had just sat through 3 or 4 average movies, but I watched this movie twice. Dakota Fanning playing a badass who dresses like a street worker was a pretty big laugh, but yeah thought it was rad. Seriously worth checking out, they all have like rad powers and kill people and try to find a briefcase and that COOL AS black guy from Blood Diamond is evil in it.
The other movies showing were: 17 Again [my penis shrivelled up and died, it was that awful], Ghost's of Girlfriend's Past [why did I think a Matthew McConaghey movie would be watchable?] Star Trek [OK, pretty cool.] plus THE BOAT THAT ROCKED!!!!!!! AKA one of the greatest movies of all time. IT'S JUST SO COOL.
Ok enough with the movie reviews, so I land in Heathrow [after a brief and disappointing stop in Dubai] and realize all those who boarded the plane in Brisbane have to wait til the very end to collect our luggage. So that was fun.. then off to find Uncle Mike who drove me back to Crowthorne, Berkshire [an oldschool village which is about as British as they come] where we entered their unbelievably rad house/mini mansion with the coolest garden. Jacks/Jackie/Jacqueline was there to greet me and make tea - the first cup of tea I drank in England, might I had - and I was shown my room.
It still had not hit me that I was in England, as I had heard Mike and Jacks' accents on numerous occasions, so this was nothing new - though it was fantastic to see them again and have an actual conversation.
Walking down to High St, not the London one, the Berkshire one, I could genuinely not stop smiling. Looking at all the English mansions which had been there for decades, and passing couples and groups who ALL had British accents [it wa sstrating to sink in] was great. I found a cool supermarket, and wandered in just to look around. And yes, the rumours are true.
ALCOHOL IN THE SUPERMARKET.
RIGHT next to the Ice-cream. I cried. Well, almost. I almost cried because I knew one day I would return to Australia where this is horribly illegal [not the crying, the alcohol in the supermarkets], and I knew I would have to make the most of the alcohol being available in supermarkets while I could.
Dinner came around at 9:15pm, lamb and salad with Italian red wine. 9:15 was still kind of light, probably equal to 5:30pm Brisbane light at the moment. Dinner was in the Dining Room and Conservatory, and I looked around for Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlet and the candlestick. I tried as hard as I could to be as classy as Mike and Jacks. FAIL. I poured too much chili vinegar on my salad and wheezed the whole way through dinner, though hopefully they did not notice.. We polished off 2 bottles of wine, then it was into the living room for supper. That's right, I had SUPPER. I was well on my way to being a Brit. Hurrah!!
Day 2: Breakfast served at perfect time of 10:30 so I can enjoy a fantastic sleep in. Here is where I met the love of my life - MUESLI. I could not believe they had finally found a way to eat nuts at breakfast [no sexual inuendo intended] without looking odd. I was ecstatic. I was never going to need any other cereal ever again. Then off to Sandhurst, then Workingham with Mike. We walked around the town and picked up a lot of information on bus and train times, so that I will be well prepared when I head into London this coming week.
Since my first attempt at "trying something new" was a success with the Muesli, I wandered on down to Tesco's [holy shit I wish I lived in this place. SO CHEAP.] and bought myself a Dr. Pepper. One sip and I almost threw up. It would have been so loud that Petey Barkham would be in Brisbane somewhere assuming Drames was at it again, but he would have been wrong.
Another fancy dinner that night, 2 bottles of Italian white wine followed by French Brandy [I struggled] at 1:00 in the morning. I was almost classy. If it wasn't for the giant stains on the white jumper I was wearing, and the fact that I had forgotten a brush so my hair resembled that of Medusa.
There we go, another update as promised. Off to Wellington College and Windsor Castle & Park today, then Reading tomorrow [where the Reading festival is obviously held] as Jacks is a lecturer at the university there and wishes to give me a tour of the campus. Then into town to check it all out. London I think will be on Wednesday to meet up with Hannah, then Amsterdam on Saturday.
I apologize this one was so long and boring, but I do not have time to reply to everybody's e-mails so this just explains what I have been up to. The next one's will be far more interesting, I swear.
I hope at least one of you is reading this with a Super Dry next to you, as I am already greatly missing the crisp taste.
JAMES.
I did not sleep more than an hour on the plane, thanks to the snot nosed brat behind me kicking my chair. Yeah, cheers to the parents who tried awfully hard to stop her. "I think you might be bothering the man in front of you, sweetheart."
OH REALLY, do you think that do you? How God damn wise you are. 'Cause for a while there, I assumed you thought I was having the time of my life, the way you laughed everytime her foot came into contact with the back of my seat. GREAT PARENTING. Top stuff guys, really. I AM GLAD YOU BRED.
Sweet lord I watched a lot of movies on that trip. I think it totalled up to 9? Most of them were average. Here we go:
He's just not that into you: OH MY GOD, I actually preferred the little brat kicking the back of my chair. If it wasn't for the undying love I have for Jennifer Aniston and Drew Barrymore, I may have actually killed myself.
Wolverine: Single-handedly destroyed one of the coolest comic book characters.
Push: OK, I don't care what you say - THIS MOVIE WAS SO RAD!!!!!!! It may have been because I had just sat through 3 or 4 average movies, but I watched this movie twice. Dakota Fanning playing a badass who dresses like a street worker was a pretty big laugh, but yeah thought it was rad. Seriously worth checking out, they all have like rad powers and kill people and try to find a briefcase and that COOL AS black guy from Blood Diamond is evil in it.
The other movies showing were: 17 Again [my penis shrivelled up and died, it was that awful], Ghost's of Girlfriend's Past [why did I think a Matthew McConaghey movie would be watchable?] Star Trek [OK, pretty cool.] plus THE BOAT THAT ROCKED!!!!!!! AKA one of the greatest movies of all time. IT'S JUST SO COOL.
Ok enough with the movie reviews, so I land in Heathrow [after a brief and disappointing stop in Dubai] and realize all those who boarded the plane in Brisbane have to wait til the very end to collect our luggage. So that was fun.. then off to find Uncle Mike who drove me back to Crowthorne, Berkshire [an oldschool village which is about as British as they come] where we entered their unbelievably rad house/mini mansion with the coolest garden. Jacks/Jackie/Jacqueline was there to greet me and make tea - the first cup of tea I drank in England, might I had - and I was shown my room.
It still had not hit me that I was in England, as I had heard Mike and Jacks' accents on numerous occasions, so this was nothing new - though it was fantastic to see them again and have an actual conversation.
Walking down to High St, not the London one, the Berkshire one, I could genuinely not stop smiling. Looking at all the English mansions which had been there for decades, and passing couples and groups who ALL had British accents [it wa sstrating to sink in] was great. I found a cool supermarket, and wandered in just to look around. And yes, the rumours are true.
ALCOHOL IN THE SUPERMARKET.
RIGHT next to the Ice-cream. I cried. Well, almost. I almost cried because I knew one day I would return to Australia where this is horribly illegal [not the crying, the alcohol in the supermarkets], and I knew I would have to make the most of the alcohol being available in supermarkets while I could.
Dinner came around at 9:15pm, lamb and salad with Italian red wine. 9:15 was still kind of light, probably equal to 5:30pm Brisbane light at the moment. Dinner was in the Dining Room and Conservatory, and I looked around for Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlet and the candlestick. I tried as hard as I could to be as classy as Mike and Jacks. FAIL. I poured too much chili vinegar on my salad and wheezed the whole way through dinner, though hopefully they did not notice.. We polished off 2 bottles of wine, then it was into the living room for supper. That's right, I had SUPPER. I was well on my way to being a Brit. Hurrah!!
Day 2: Breakfast served at perfect time of 10:30 so I can enjoy a fantastic sleep in. Here is where I met the love of my life - MUESLI. I could not believe they had finally found a way to eat nuts at breakfast [no sexual inuendo intended] without looking odd. I was ecstatic. I was never going to need any other cereal ever again. Then off to Sandhurst, then Workingham with Mike. We walked around the town and picked up a lot of information on bus and train times, so that I will be well prepared when I head into London this coming week.
Since my first attempt at "trying something new" was a success with the Muesli, I wandered on down to Tesco's [holy shit I wish I lived in this place. SO CHEAP.] and bought myself a Dr. Pepper. One sip and I almost threw up. It would have been so loud that Petey Barkham would be in Brisbane somewhere assuming Drames was at it again, but he would have been wrong.
Another fancy dinner that night, 2 bottles of Italian white wine followed by French Brandy [I struggled] at 1:00 in the morning. I was almost classy. If it wasn't for the giant stains on the white jumper I was wearing, and the fact that I had forgotten a brush so my hair resembled that of Medusa.
There we go, another update as promised. Off to Wellington College and Windsor Castle & Park today, then Reading tomorrow [where the Reading festival is obviously held] as Jacks is a lecturer at the university there and wishes to give me a tour of the campus. Then into town to check it all out. London I think will be on Wednesday to meet up with Hannah, then Amsterdam on Saturday.
I apologize this one was so long and boring, but I do not have time to reply to everybody's e-mails so this just explains what I have been up to. The next one's will be far more interesting, I swear.
I hope at least one of you is reading this with a Super Dry next to you, as I am already greatly missing the crisp taste.
JAMES.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Quarantined = Sadtimes
So we are walking off the plane, everything is great - had a good rest on the flight, watched some decent movies and was pretty full - and then I get ushered to the side by a lady security guard, who sits me down and sticks something in my ear to take my temperature. 37degrees. Wait 10 more minutes. The same. 15 more minutes. The same.
They put a mask on me [you know the one's] and a male security guard takes me to a random room with a bed, fridge and a man. I was not looking forward to this. No cavity searches, please.
The man was a doctor, and checked my temperature. 36degrees. Perfect. Please, keep your mask on, go to the bathroom and what not and return so I can check it again.
Ah, OK - but 36 is normal, right?
Yes, come back soon.
So I wait 20 minutes [oh, bad man, I meant 5 minutes] and return - still in the mask. I had been sitting in the corner of the deserted coffee place and had a shitload of water and read my book ['Praise' by Andrew McGahan - dude this shit is graphic! What did he get up to as a 23 year old?]
He takes my temperature again, 36 one here, 37 the other. OK I can go right? Wrong. Take 2 of these pills now, and 2 before you hop off at Dubai. And here is a note to show security there so that they know we picked up on your apparent fever.
OK, thanks for the letter. Can I have some water to take these pills? No, apparently I cannot. So that's a bit of a shame, hey. Lucky I had a little bit of Brunei dollars left, so I could buy some water and internet access.
Shit, I have been called to security check? Everybody on my flight.. This sucks, I have another 25minutes on here - might go get my money back. Or try...
As I am rushing off for the check, no time to check spelling. And I am very tired so BE KIND.
That is all.
They put a mask on me [you know the one's] and a male security guard takes me to a random room with a bed, fridge and a man. I was not looking forward to this. No cavity searches, please.
The man was a doctor, and checked my temperature. 36degrees. Perfect. Please, keep your mask on, go to the bathroom and what not and return so I can check it again.
Ah, OK - but 36 is normal, right?
Yes, come back soon.
So I wait 20 minutes [oh, bad man, I meant 5 minutes] and return - still in the mask. I had been sitting in the corner of the deserted coffee place and had a shitload of water and read my book ['Praise' by Andrew McGahan - dude this shit is graphic! What did he get up to as a 23 year old?]
He takes my temperature again, 36 one here, 37 the other. OK I can go right? Wrong. Take 2 of these pills now, and 2 before you hop off at Dubai. And here is a note to show security there so that they know we picked up on your apparent fever.
OK, thanks for the letter. Can I have some water to take these pills? No, apparently I cannot. So that's a bit of a shame, hey. Lucky I had a little bit of Brunei dollars left, so I could buy some water and internet access.
Shit, I have been called to security check? Everybody on my flight.. This sucks, I have another 25minutes on here - might go get my money back. Or try...
As I am rushing off for the check, no time to check spelling. And I am very tired so BE KIND.
That is all.
Monday, August 3, 2009
three.days.
You did, in fact, read correctly. In just three days, I will be flying above Europe. FINALLY.
Could not sleep last night. Too sick, nervous, excited... confused. Woke up at 5 in the morning, and could not get back to sleep. Got up at 5:30 and made a list of things to do today... half of which I have not yet completed. And I've had more than 12 hours.
Finalized my flights from London to Amsterdam, and back. That is all the flights organized. Now I just have to wait.
I greatly anticipate my farewell lunch at work tomorrow, where I will be drinking a large amount and quite possibly embarrass myself in my final 3 hours at Macrossans. Then when 5:00 hits, we are off to Taco Tuesday. After almost a year of dedication, and only missing 3 Taco Tuesday's, tomorrow will be my last one.
My LAST one.
It will be big. EPIC. The goodbye's, however, will not be so epic. I wish I could skip the goodbye's, I am so bad at them.
I do apologize for the lack of interesting things posted in this first blog, but I am getting used to it, and also entertained by Seinfeld in the background. I promise they will improve once I get the hang of blogging, and something interesting happens in my life that is worth blogging about.
I am not sure when I will get to use the internet Europe, but while I chase fun over there this is the easiest way for anybody who wants to know what I'm doing to keep interested.
That is all.
James.
Could not sleep last night. Too sick, nervous, excited... confused. Woke up at 5 in the morning, and could not get back to sleep. Got up at 5:30 and made a list of things to do today... half of which I have not yet completed. And I've had more than 12 hours.
Finalized my flights from London to Amsterdam, and back. That is all the flights organized. Now I just have to wait.
I greatly anticipate my farewell lunch at work tomorrow, where I will be drinking a large amount and quite possibly embarrass myself in my final 3 hours at Macrossans. Then when 5:00 hits, we are off to Taco Tuesday. After almost a year of dedication, and only missing 3 Taco Tuesday's, tomorrow will be my last one.
My LAST one.
It will be big. EPIC. The goodbye's, however, will not be so epic. I wish I could skip the goodbye's, I am so bad at them.
I do apologize for the lack of interesting things posted in this first blog, but I am getting used to it, and also entertained by Seinfeld in the background. I promise they will improve once I get the hang of blogging, and something interesting happens in my life that is worth blogging about.
I am not sure when I will get to use the internet Europe, but while I chase fun over there this is the easiest way for anybody who wants to know what I'm doing to keep interested.
That is all.
James.
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