Euro-Trip, in short.
Well now, you must all be hating on me pretty hard right now. This time last year when I started the blog, you must have thought it would be regularly updated and thus worth the time it took you to read my opening posts. 12 months later and I bet you all think you’ve wasted your time. Well, you have. But that’s hardly my fault, I provide ample warnings that my blog would be updated rather sporadically and would often bore even the most enthusiastic of readers (mother…) so I take no responsibility for any regrets you have in regards to the reading and following of my blog. For the one or two of you (who am I kidding, Joe is the only one who reads this anymore, and most of that is out of guilt) who have not yet given up on me and my blog, HUZZAH, for here is a new post: an update of the last month of my six week Summer adventure. My memory is rather hazy from the copious beers I have consumed and general lack of sleep, so it will not be specific in the slightest. I will give it my best shot, and for anyone who knows me at all, my best is frequently (by which I mean always) sub-par.
So it’s August something-or-other, and Madeleine arrives at Heathrow, expecting to see her big brother James there to greet her at the arrivals. But wait, where is he? He is not there. And why was I not there, may you ask? The answer is simple. Frank William Kinsey (it’s easier to blame somebody else than take responsibility for my, well, irresponsibility – I am Australian, after all). The night before Madeleine’s arrival I decided it would be best to have an early night, so I could be up and ready to be at Heathrow by 7 in the morning. As I hop into bed, my phone rings. I hesitate at first, then answer – it is Frank. He wants to know if I’ll stay up and have a drink with him and a friend or 2 if they get home shortly. Now, my commitment to peer pressure has been one of the things in life I am most proud of, so I was not about to betray it by refusing and insisting on sleep. I said “of course,” and Frank returned home for a drink or two. Next thing I know, it’s the next morning and Trish is in my room saying “You were supposed to be at Heathrow by now!!!!” so up I got and (literally, for the first time in a long time) ran to the bus stop. I arrived at Heathrow to hear my name being called over the announcements.
Could James Hickey please report immediately to the Help Desk.
Madeleine had no phone or money on her, and had no idea even where in London she was supposed to be heading. She was panicked. I was hungover. It was a wonderful mix.
Jump forward a few days later (through a trip to Crowthorne to see Uncle Mike, Uncle Pete, Aunty Jax and Aunty Lou – as well as an amazing Billy Vincent gig in Brixton where I may or may not have been serenaded by the freaking talented Benjamin Folke Thomas) and it is the 11th of August, the start of our journey. What a way to start 6 weeks of travelling – with a 9 hour bus to Edinburgh. After we arrived and found our hostel, we went exploring the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. The festival is the greatest thing of all time (and I never exaggerate). It was so much fun and you meet the raddest people. Plus we found a bar with exceptionally cheap nachos, Guinness and Cider (sold.) The first act we saw was our favourite comedian, Bo Burnham. He is hilarious and possibly even exceeded our expectations, and I suggest you all YouTube him at once if you know what’s good for you. Nothing particularly humorous or unfortunate happened in Edinburgh, apart from one act we opted to see as we were offered a free ticket. Max and Ivan were in their early 20’s and performing a sketch show. It was quite funny and all was going well until Ivan, a chubby lad, decided to walk out in front of the audience stark naked. Many laughed and clapped. I did not. I had a rough night on the beers a night before and the last thing I needed was something to antagonize my already suffering stomach. This did not go down well, and aside from feeling a little bit sorry for the less-than-endowed Ivan, I was filled with discontent.
On our last day, Brian and Trish arrived for a week at the festival as well. We met up and tried to work out what it was we should do for our only 2 hours in Edinburgh together (along with being our last two hours together for 6 weeks). So naturally, we went to a Wetherspoons. A few Guinness and many laughs later, we were off on our way to the airport – flying back to London for 7 hours before then returning to Gatwick and heading off to Amsterdam.
AMSTERDAMAGE. Now, I am no stranger to this wonderfully fantastic city, as this was my third visit in the past year. However this was a particularly special trip as not only was it Madeleine’s 18th birthday, but my best friend Stefano (who is Dutch but we like him anyway) had taken 10 days off work so that he could join us on part of our journey. We met up with Stefano and his fantastically rad girlfriend Shivon (who I nicknamed ‘Holland’ cause everything about her was Dutch) and we all headed for a birthday picnic for little Madeleine. And by picnic, I mean cheese and beer. But really, what else do you need? Cillian, a friend from Brisbane, arrived next followed by Jess – an Aussie friend who I met in London. Not much else really to say about this night, we played a lot of pool and consumed a ridiculous amount of beer – and then I broke the elevator. However, they never found out it was me – and I believe it was through no fault of my own. I simply fell and got caught in the doors causing the elevator to be out of action for near 24 hours. Nice going, James. Cheers.
Not many stories from the rest of our Amsterdam trip, some rough mornings and rowdy nights, oh and a bit of an incident in a cheese store. Holland and I had found a little cheese store by our hostel which offered samples of over 50 cheeses, and even let you try it with special Dutch mustard. We decided to try 2 of each, before being scared out of the store by the evil lady behind the counter. The next day we went returned, in disguise (by which I mean hats, beanies and sunglasses) and once again began to try all the cheeses. We were doing fantastically, until the evil cheese lady once again noticed us. This prompted me to yell RUN as we grabbed handfuls of whatever cheese we could fit in our hands and sprint out of the store and down the street. But it’s not stealing if it’s FREE samples, so my conscience is doing just fine thank-you everybody.
Amersfoot next – Stefano’s home town. We met up with a few more of Stefano’s mates at his flat, and then decided to ride to the store to pick up supplies for the music festival which began the next day. However we realized we were one bike short, which meant I had to hop on the back of Cillian’s which lead to a rather embarrassing and humorous trip to the supermarket. People stared, kids pointed and bullies yelled insulting things in Dutch which I was not too upset by because the language really does sound like a drunk trying to insist he should be permitted one more beer at the bar before being cut off (sorry Stef and Holland if you read this, I’m just trying to make myself feel better.) We eventually got to the store with only minor injuries, which I thought to be a success.
That night we ate pasta, had some drinks and some of us (MADELEINE) passed out on cold, hard floor - mere metres away from what would have been a far more suitable place to sleep.
The next day it was off to Pukkelpop festival. We were intending on driving down with Herbie, a friend of Stefano’s. However, his car broke down that day so we were all forced to catch the train – a trip made even worse by the six-weeks worth of luggage we were carrying and the night we had all endured. We eventually made to Hasselt (Belgium) where the festival was being held. After setting up our tents (I FINALLY SET A TENT UP ON MY OWN… granted it was one of those “automatic pop-up tents”, but don’t you dare take this victory away from me) we went scouring the premises for cheap beer. Success.
The festival started the following morning, with Bear in Heaven as the first act. They were a very good start to the festival, but were no indication if just how unbelievably rad the festival was going to be. The 3 days of the festival kind of merged into one by the end, so in no particular order, here are some of the amazeball bands I saw.
THE LOW ANTHEM. Although I suffered a leg injury during the set (causing me to lose quite a fair amount of blood, actually) this was one of the highlights of the festival. I may or may not have cried during “Charlie Darwin”… and I never cry (haha anyone who has seen me watch “My Girl” knows this is such a lie. “HE WAS GONNA BE AN ACROBAT. WHERE ARE HIS GLASSES? HE CAN’T SEE WITHOUT HIS GLASSES!!!” oh man started tearing up just remembering that. Oh Macaulay Culkin was in that, can you believe he turned 30 the other day? How old does that make you feel. Oh shit I’m getting mega sidetracked, back to the point…). After the band finished I bumped into the violinist/backup vocalist from the band and made a right twat of myself – but I’m just fine with that.
THE FLAMING LIPS. Whilst I like them, I have never been a particularly huge fan of The Flaming Lips. However, I can honestly say this was one of the best bands I have ever seen live. Not only did they play and sound amazing, but they put on such an incredible show and I genuinely could not stop smiling and laughing (with happiness) the entire time. Maya, a friend of Stefano’s who I was with, was in tears the entire time because she was just so happy.
THE NATIONAL. Amazing, no surprise there. Having said that, they are definitely better suited to a more intimate venue rather than the main stage at a festival, but they sounded great (particularly loved ‘Apartment Story’) and we saw it with some wicked new Dutch friends, Jacco and Mika. I do, however, wish they had played ‘Start a War’ and that Megan Black was there to enjoy it with me.
BAND OF HORSES. Whilst it did not feel right seeing them live without Lauren Cahill by my side (partying 2B style), they were incredible and, well – I lost my shit. If you search ‘Band of Horses Pukkelpop 2010’ on YouTube, at about 50 seconds you see a crazy blonde chick jumping up and down. That crazy blonde chick is actually me. And I am just fine with that. They were unbelievably awesome, and has been worth the 3 year wait to see them.
I’m boring you all now, so I’ll just list the other wicked bands we saw. Foals, Yeasayer, Laura Marling and 2manydjs were all fantastic, as was The Tallest Man on Earth who I had not heard before until an Australian couple played me a couple of songs the previous week in Amsterdam. The Drums were a bit average, which was not a huge surprise – I’m not there biggest fan anyway. We saw plenty more acts but I cannot remember and the internet is currently not co-operating so I cannot check back to see who I saw.
After Pukkelpop, we said some goodbyes and then Stefano, Shivon, Madeleine and I were off to Bruges!! That’s right, we were actually ‘IN BRUGES’.
I don’t like Bruges. If I were retarded and grew up on a farm, then I would. But I’m not, and I didn’t. So I don’t.
Fantastic film, one we saw not long before heading there either. Part of me wanted to hate the city so I could be like Colin Farrell in the film (cause we already look a great deal alike with my muscular physique and ruggedly handsome features…) but I just couldn’t. Shivon had to leave after the first night to get back for school, but we stayed three nights – which many people said would be too much but we thought was quite the opposite. We wanted to stay longer, and would return in a heartbeat if time and money allowed. I will admit that after climbing the famous bell tower and seeing the film, it was near impossible not to warn some, well, large people downstairs about to embark on the hike up that it did, in fact, get increasingly narrow. However I bit my tongue, so not to call anyone ‘fecking elephants’ (seriously, ‘In Bruges’ is one of the greatest films ever.)
Whilst In Bruges, Stefano and I decided that for our final goodbye, we would have to see The Expendables together. For those of you that don’t know, The Expendables is the coolest film of all time. Sylvester Stallone, Jet Li, Jason Stathom, Steve Austin, Eric Roberts and Terry Crews (along with Bruce Willis and Governor Arnie cameos) = most epic thing I have seen on the big screen since DIE HARD 4.0: LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD.
So our last day in Bruges; Madeleine, Stefano and I head to the train station. Madeleine and I are off to Brussels, whilst Stefano has to return home for work. Bit rough saying goodbye knowing we won’t be seeing him again until his Australia visit in December 2011, but we pulled through and off we went. Brussels was pretty rad – the comic strip museum was easily one of the coolest museums I’ve ever been in. I HAD NO IDEA THE SMURFS WERE FROM BELGIUM. Talk about an epic mindfuck!!
Having been instructed by many people (including Cillian and Helen) that Delirium Bar was the highlight of this city, we decided to give it a go. Over 200+ beers on offer… pretty much a wet dream for me. One thing I neglected to notice, however, was that the beer I was drinking was 8.5%. So one minute I am saying “Cheers” with my newly eighteen little sister, and the next I wake up on my bed in the hostel, with little to no memory of the night before. “Oh Crap…” I thought to myself, realizing I could have done any number of humiliating things the night before. I opted to turn on my camera, and see if I took even one picture that would help me piece together my night. I did not take one picture… I took four hundred, mostly of me or Madeleine with 6 or 7 people who I did not remember in the slightest. Madeleine was able to be of some use, as we found out her beer was a great deal weaker (though still strong). After learning the names of my new “friends”, my memory started to come back to me. 3 Flemish people (one of whom was a knob), 2 French guys, stopping at a bar on the way home then forgetting to pay for the drinking forcing the bartender to hunt us down where we then apologized and paid, and getting lost in the rain. Awesome.
Now for night two, the most infamous night so far in our trip: our run in with the Brussels Po-Po. We returned to Delirium the next night, only having a couple this time after such a big night, and then decided to stop off at a Kebab shop (obviously) on the way back to the hostel. I got along quite well with the staff, and was talking to them for a while whilst sitting on table-like bench. After about 10 minutes of this, Madeleine sat up next to me, and part of the table snapped off and Madeleine fell to the ground. The table landed on her and cut her fingers exceptionally deeply, causing her to bleed a ridiculous amount. Some people would have fled, but we didn’t do anything wrong so we stuck around. The staff were nice and said there manager was 5minutes away. We merely wanted to explain the situation to him so it didn’t look like we had been reckless. The manager arrived, and we told him what happened. He told us we needed to pay him 100 Euros. ONE HUNDRED EUROS? Are you high off the intense amount of cologne you are clearly wearing ? We didn’t even do anything stupid!! It was at this time that Madeleine, who was crying hysterically due to the pain (her fingers are still black and the nails have pretty much fallen off) asked for ice or a band-aid. They said she could only have ice if she paid for a drink. PAID FOR A DRINK? FUCK OFF. I still managed to stay calm, surprisingly enough, and said we weren’t going to complain or cause any trouble we just wanted our 10 Euros back (we never got our kebabs) and we would leave. He then started yelling at me to shut up, and got very much in my face. This is when shit started to get real. A huge argument broke out and he said he would call the cops, so I said to go ahead. He then barricaded the door so we couldn’t leave. After waiting for 15 minutes for the cops, I said I’d call them as well cause he wouldn’t let Madeleine leave and she was in no state to run from him, nor in a position to stay sitting on the cold floor of a kebab store at midnight. I went outside to call the police and the manager followed me and started yelling at me and threatening me which lead to another near physical encounter (one I’m aware I would not have won) but he backed off, and shortly the police arrived. I started telling them what happened, then found out NOT ONE OF THEM spoke English. The dickhead manager proceeded to lie about us and say something in Flemish, then the officers (they sent SIX of them) said, “You pay one hundred Euros.” I said no and tried to explain again but they looked perplexed at me repeated “One hundred Euros, now”. They completely ignored Madeleine who had bled all over herself and the floor, and ALL six of them accompanied me to a nearby cash point. Since he already had my 10 Euros for the kebabs we never got, I refused to pay 100 and settled for 90, which I should not have paid but we just needed to get Madeleine home. On the way out, the manager and staff of Sultans of Kebab sarcastically waved and said “BYE FRIEND”, so I decided to have one last go at them and where they were heading in life before taking Madeleine home.
Wow, just writing that has infuriated me again. What a knobjockey!!!! Lucky lunch consisting of wine, cheese, bread, chocolate and other fantastic things, in Venice. I will post again soon about Italy as we are doing 5 cities here so figure it deserves it’s own little post.
SO for now, farwell. I hope you are all reading this with beer or red wine in hand, and hopefully I did not bore you too much. Thank-you to Megan Black who was probably the only person who read this post in it’s entirety.
Stay rad.
James
Ps I am refusing to re-read this so I don’t bore myself, so any errors are down to that and the fact that my brain cells have decreased dramatically in the past month.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Bridget's winning impression of somebody from Long Island.
She may/will kill me for putting this up, but the world deserves to see it.
Filmed on campus at UCD, whilst in Dublin.
Apologies for my ridiculous laugh and attempt at commentary, I can only imagine I was intoxicated at the time.
Thanks Bridget, and come to London. Raiiight?
She may/will kill me for putting this up, but the world deserves to see it.
Filmed on campus at UCD, whilst in Dublin.
Apologies for my ridiculous laugh and attempt at commentary, I can only imagine I was intoxicated at the time.
Thanks Bridget, and come to London. Raiiight?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Twenty-Ten In Short
No, you are not still drunk from the night before nor have you had a large glass of expired milk causing your mind to lie to you. This actually is a new post. After a short five to six month hiatus, I have decided just this minute to get back into the blogging world that is cyberspace.
Cyberpsace: A world where nerds become cool and paedophiles pretend to be schoolgirls, and once again where you can follow my Euro-adventures from your very home. Why would I choose to start back my blog so unexpectedly, you may be asking yourself? Is it because I’ve grown bored of spending my free time trying to hatch a plan to make Sky Sports Queen Georgie Thompson mine? No, my god, never will I tire of this. Is it because I am growing increasingly concerned that the amount of alcohol I drink will soon leave me an inability to remember things that have recently occurred? A little, yes. But mainly, it is because a strange fellow I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever met before said to me at work tonight that he had been reading my blog. Now, I’m not good with faces, so I can’t be certain that I’ve never met this person, but I’m fairly sure I have not. And I thought to myself, how are strange people I have never met before going to follow what I’m doing with my life if I do not continue my blog? C’mon James, I thought out loud, don’t be so selfish – give the strange randoms what they want. If nothing else, it will give me the opportunity to experience what it feels like to be on the other end of the stalking stick for a change [Georgie Thompson by God as my witness, I will make thee mine..]
So without further adieu [is that how you spell it? How confusing..] here is my brief and hopefully slightly entertaining [or at the very least, not mind-numbingly boring] summary of 2010. I started the New Year the same way I’m sure many of you did; by drunk-calling people you aren’t entirely sure you like or even know for that matter, and proceeding to yell nonsense that after a while stops being words and simply becomes noise… like moose mating. Wait, like moose mating. Like meese mating. Like mooses mating. Like moosai mating. Like two moose mating. SOD IT. Like drunk cows mating. That’s so very much simpler.
Midnight had come and gone, and it was now 2010. I don’t remember much after that, other than a man with braided hair named River, seeing it snow lightly for about 5 minutes, trying to trade my friend for a free beer… you know, the usual… and then I awoke on Jenna’s couch to a dog licking my face. And I do not mean an unbearably unattractive girl, but an actual dog. Jenna lived above the pub where we had opted to ring in the New Year, and after a coffee and some painkillers I was headed home to enjoy my hangover in privacy. However, on the short journey home [which seems a lot longer when you’re still a bit pissed] from Gunnersbury to Clapham Junction, my phone rang. It was my cousin Frank, and he had decided that he did not want to be hungover after what sounded like a great night, so he thought it best to continue drinking all day at a pub in Sutton. After considering for a good 30 seconds whether I would join him and a few other friends we work with, I boycotted my plans to bask in self pity and headed South! I know I promised to write merely a brief summary of my start to the year, however it is on THIS day in THIS pub that I was taught the greatest life lesson anyone could ever learn, and I was taught by Frank Kinsey.
Drinking the day after a big night to send your hangover packing is not unheard of, regardless of where you’re from. I’ve used the old ‘hair of the dog’ tactic and been drunk for a solid 48hours during my brief stint as representative of Sudan in the Australasian Model United Nations Committee I was peer pressured into being a part of last year [don’t thou judge me] purely so I would not have to deal with post-alcohol headaches. However, when Frank told me on that fateful morning that all I had to do was stomach two, yes TWO, pints of cider in order to triumph my hangover, I refused to believe him. It all seemed so simple, and make-believe, like something out of a Disney film. Well, a drunken Disney film for adults, at least. But two pints later, I had proven to myself that Frank’s now infamous two-pint threshold was the real deal. It was like science, only not hideously confusing. This is science I understood! Take that Ms Wilson, my mean and unnaturally short grade 9 science teacher; I was starting to get it! I now owe Frank for the alcoholic lifestyle I have come to cherish this year. And if I develop some kind of alcohol-related life-threatening illness, well, at least I have a relative to blame for it. Kudos, Frank. Kudos.
OK so I’ve been rambling for a while about my life in 2010 and so far have made it to about 4:00pm, January 1st. I think I need to speed things up for a bit. So that night, we danced, we did the limbo with Alison’s scarf, we ate epic nachos, drank sambuca, moved on to different bars, Frank was kicked out of All Bar One, we went with him, ended up on Frank’s kitchen floor drinking Budweiser’s and then thought it best to all share a bed, much to the confusion of Frank’s dad, Brian.
Man, this is hard. I thought I would be able to summarize 2010 in a hilarious but short story. I may have to leave out some of the anecdotes. So I’ll continue with the summing up. Australia Day was glorious amounts of fun, and we celebrated it on 2 different days. On the actual day, some Australian friends of mine took us to an Aussie Walkabout bar - but not before stopping off at Belushi's for the most awful shot in the entire world - vegemite & vodka. I never tasted anything so foul, and a little part of me died that moment and will never be replaced.
People have come and gone, sometimes it’s been sad and other times a bit of a relief. There have been numerous Billy Vincent gigs, each one better than the last, and they also released a new EP which you should all check out at www.billyvincent.co.uk – I’m not kidding, they’re well rad, listen to them otherwise you hate orphans and happiness, and do you really want to be ‘that guy’?
I spent my 20th birthday in Paris, and was able to find an English pub [with an English bartender by the name of ‘Flannan’, yes – apparently that is a name now] that was showing the Arsenal match against Liverpool. We also met an exceedingly cool English girl from Newcastle named Fran, who was in the middle of trying to find a place to live in Paris. So on my birthday, not only did I get to see the Eiffel Tower, the Notre Dame AND see it snow in an outrageously cool, foreign city… BUT, I got to see Arsenal beat Liverpool, and then have a table of 20 French theatre students sing me ‘Happy Birthday’. The latter was because I went to visit a French friend of mine that I met in Brisbane a couple of years back, who in recent years has decided to become an actor. And then it was time to head back to London. Oh and on the bus back to London we met another guy from Brisbane who, after 6 hours of trying to work it out, I had actually met when I was about sixteen and he was a hippie and dating my friend Davey’s older sister. SMALL FREAKING WORLD.
It is a shame that I won’t get to write about all the things that have happened this year, but I don’t wish to bore you nor I remember them even in the slightest. I’ll try to sum a few more things up. I’ve had plenty more long nights at the Kinsey residence, starting around 5pm and working our way through the night and sometimes onto almost 6am. Almost every one of these nights involves a drunken rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey, and by ‘almost every one’ I mean ‘every daaaamn single one’. I’ve been out to Berkshire to visit the family, and have also re-discovered my love and respect for Primark, the world’s greatest store. It also snowed in January so we got have an epic snow fight which I feel Frank and I won, before spending HOURS making a snowman representation of Andrey Arshavin, my favourite Arsenal player.
I have also met two English celebrities; Matthew Horne and Pete Docherty. Many of you back home will have no idea who Matthew Horne is, so I will tell you because I’m such a generous human being. And by generous, I mean self-involved. Matthew Horne is the star of one of my favourite English shows, ‘Gavin and Stacey’. Youtube that shit up right now! Pete Docherty played with a rather average local band at Social Bar in Soho a few weeks back after Billy Vincent had finished up on stage. And after he finished, I finished my drink and went up and made a right twat of myself. I have literally no memory of what was said, and I wasn’t even drunk. I remember going up to him, saying “Excuse me” and then I blacked out. I am yet to receive word of a restraining order so looks like I’m in the clear… for now.
We've had several Mexican Monday's, Tequila Tuesday's/Thursday's, Sombre Sunday's - all of which were fun, but the most recent one where Helen cooked an epic Chille and provided toy guns with pallets to shoot at each other took the cake. What started out as a few drinks, some nachos and a bit of fun turned into a battle of the sexes, with Frank and I once again taking victory over the girls. Take that, women's rights.
Flying Lotus was performing in Amsterdam in March and Kez had invited us to go with him, simply for the night. Leaving everything to the last minute as I so often do, I was running late on the day we were supposed to fly out and nearly caused us to miss our train. When checking our bags, Kez had to ask that we skip the queue as we were running late. We obliged, but due to liquids we were held up at baggage control while they searched the bags. As the doors to our plane were meant to close in ten, count ‘em, TEN minutes, it was agreed that I would run the painfully long journey to gate one hundred and something, and stall the attendants. As I ran towards the gate, playing that really fast "late for the airport music" from 'Home Alone' for inspiration, it hit me that I had no idea what I could do to stal - and I began to panic. After what seemed to be a marathon, I arrived and, out of breathe, slammed my hands down on the flight attendant’s desk. Still a tiny bit drunk from the night before, I yelled, honest to God, “We have to get on that plane!” to which the pretty stewardess from BMI replied, “Right. What flight is that?” I told her I was flying to Amsterdam, only to find out they would not be boarding for another fifteen or so minutes. So I proceeded to sit amongst my future fellow passengers, alone, while each one stared and snickered, waiting for the others to join. Once we reached Amsterdam and our hotel, we were upgraded to the penthouse for no extra charge. The place was amazing, and even had a hidden kitchen that literally took us seven hours to find. Stefano came around, we had some red wine and then to Flying Lotus we did go! And at the airport home the next day, I thought it wise and appropriate to buy a wheel of Gouda cheese and, once I had used my teeth to cut through the protective seal of wax surrounding it, I proceeded to hit it as a hand-food. You might think that since the Dutch are big on cheese, they would find this a normal activity on a Thursday morning. They did not.
This brings us up to about mid-March, which is when I took off to Dublin for St. Patrick’s Day. Lauren, a friend from Brisbane whom I met at an infamous Ricci Betty party and instantly liked due to her unbelievably wicked taste in music and love for Arrested Development, had been studying and living on campus at UCD. I was to stay with her and her new friends, none of whom were Irish but all of whom were ridiculous amounts of fun. The first night started off a bit difficult, as somebody ‘up there’ really did not want us to eat or drink. Lauren had a brand new bottle of vodka, however when he opened the lid we found there was thick glass sealing the vodka in the bottle. We tried numerous tools to get through the glass; pens, bottle openers, butter knives, and I believe at one point we even began to saw through it using a bread knife. At the same time, our pizza had decided to fall apart in the oven forcing us to attempt to fry it instead. This did not work out smoothly at all, however tasted amazing and we did, eventually, get to the liquidy goodness that is vodka. Now that I think about it, I cannot remember how we got in or who was responsible for this – otherwise I would give them the credit they deserve.
I’d like to tell you we caught at least a bit of the St Patrick’s Day parade, really, I would. But that would be lie. You see, Phil, a friendly American fellow, had cooked us an epic Irish breakfast and we opted to stay in, eat breakfast, have a few drinks, and rock out to a Alphabeat, Journey and Toto instead. I regret nothing. St. Patrick’s Day came and went quite quickly, and the next night we went out with an Australian named Eoin which ended with us returning to campus and waking everybody up so that they could drink with us until 7am. The plane trip home was horrible and I was unbelievably sick, but although I did not have the time or the energy to go into detail about this trip, it was definitely one of the best weeks of my life. Lauren was amazingly good to us, we had an epic Chinese feast, we met Bridget and Catherine - two girls from New York who are easily two of my favourite people in the world, and others including Phil who I previously mentioned as the amazing chef, and ARDI - world's nicest guy. I also forgot to mention that we dressed up for St. Patrick’s Day, and in the end I did look like a drunk clown with a large head, tiny hat and green beard. I am almost entirely out of dignity.
I am a bit distracted now so am going to leave it there. Now that I have once again written a long and boring summary of the last six months, I will aim to update this blog far more frequently! Stefano [yes, his name deserves to be in bold, he's that cool] arrives in London for a few days in 2 weeks, so no doubt there will be stories worth sharing after that.
To anyone who did not simply stop living [due to the boredom] and stayed til the end, cheers. I would say something witty now but I’m too tired and exhausted so all of you imagine a witty sign off and then like picture me saying it or something so I sound funny and smart.
Nice one.
Ps. Once again I am too lazy to proofread so just deal with my mistakes and errors, mum.
Cyberpsace: A world where nerds become cool and paedophiles pretend to be schoolgirls, and once again where you can follow my Euro-adventures from your very home. Why would I choose to start back my blog so unexpectedly, you may be asking yourself? Is it because I’ve grown bored of spending my free time trying to hatch a plan to make Sky Sports Queen Georgie Thompson mine? No, my god, never will I tire of this. Is it because I am growing increasingly concerned that the amount of alcohol I drink will soon leave me an inability to remember things that have recently occurred? A little, yes. But mainly, it is because a strange fellow I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever met before said to me at work tonight that he had been reading my blog. Now, I’m not good with faces, so I can’t be certain that I’ve never met this person, but I’m fairly sure I have not. And I thought to myself, how are strange people I have never met before going to follow what I’m doing with my life if I do not continue my blog? C’mon James, I thought out loud, don’t be so selfish – give the strange randoms what they want. If nothing else, it will give me the opportunity to experience what it feels like to be on the other end of the stalking stick for a change [Georgie Thompson by God as my witness, I will make thee mine..]
So without further adieu [is that how you spell it? How confusing..] here is my brief and hopefully slightly entertaining [or at the very least, not mind-numbingly boring] summary of 2010. I started the New Year the same way I’m sure many of you did; by drunk-calling people you aren’t entirely sure you like or even know for that matter, and proceeding to yell nonsense that after a while stops being words and simply becomes noise… like moose mating. Wait, like moose mating. Like meese mating. Like mooses mating. Like moosai mating. Like two moose mating. SOD IT. Like drunk cows mating. That’s so very much simpler.
Midnight had come and gone, and it was now 2010. I don’t remember much after that, other than a man with braided hair named River, seeing it snow lightly for about 5 minutes, trying to trade my friend for a free beer… you know, the usual… and then I awoke on Jenna’s couch to a dog licking my face. And I do not mean an unbearably unattractive girl, but an actual dog. Jenna lived above the pub where we had opted to ring in the New Year, and after a coffee and some painkillers I was headed home to enjoy my hangover in privacy. However, on the short journey home [which seems a lot longer when you’re still a bit pissed] from Gunnersbury to Clapham Junction, my phone rang. It was my cousin Frank, and he had decided that he did not want to be hungover after what sounded like a great night, so he thought it best to continue drinking all day at a pub in Sutton. After considering for a good 30 seconds whether I would join him and a few other friends we work with, I boycotted my plans to bask in self pity and headed South! I know I promised to write merely a brief summary of my start to the year, however it is on THIS day in THIS pub that I was taught the greatest life lesson anyone could ever learn, and I was taught by Frank Kinsey.
Drinking the day after a big night to send your hangover packing is not unheard of, regardless of where you’re from. I’ve used the old ‘hair of the dog’ tactic and been drunk for a solid 48hours during my brief stint as representative of Sudan in the Australasian Model United Nations Committee I was peer pressured into being a part of last year [don’t thou judge me] purely so I would not have to deal with post-alcohol headaches. However, when Frank told me on that fateful morning that all I had to do was stomach two, yes TWO, pints of cider in order to triumph my hangover, I refused to believe him. It all seemed so simple, and make-believe, like something out of a Disney film. Well, a drunken Disney film for adults, at least. But two pints later, I had proven to myself that Frank’s now infamous two-pint threshold was the real deal. It was like science, only not hideously confusing. This is science I understood! Take that Ms Wilson, my mean and unnaturally short grade 9 science teacher; I was starting to get it! I now owe Frank for the alcoholic lifestyle I have come to cherish this year. And if I develop some kind of alcohol-related life-threatening illness, well, at least I have a relative to blame for it. Kudos, Frank. Kudos.
OK so I’ve been rambling for a while about my life in 2010 and so far have made it to about 4:00pm, January 1st. I think I need to speed things up for a bit. So that night, we danced, we did the limbo with Alison’s scarf, we ate epic nachos, drank sambuca, moved on to different bars, Frank was kicked out of All Bar One, we went with him, ended up on Frank’s kitchen floor drinking Budweiser’s and then thought it best to all share a bed, much to the confusion of Frank’s dad, Brian.
Man, this is hard. I thought I would be able to summarize 2010 in a hilarious but short story. I may have to leave out some of the anecdotes. So I’ll continue with the summing up. Australia Day was glorious amounts of fun, and we celebrated it on 2 different days. On the actual day, some Australian friends of mine took us to an Aussie Walkabout bar - but not before stopping off at Belushi's for the most awful shot in the entire world - vegemite & vodka. I never tasted anything so foul, and a little part of me died that moment and will never be replaced.
People have come and gone, sometimes it’s been sad and other times a bit of a relief. There have been numerous Billy Vincent gigs, each one better than the last, and they also released a new EP which you should all check out at www.billyvincent.co.uk – I’m not kidding, they’re well rad, listen to them otherwise you hate orphans and happiness, and do you really want to be ‘that guy’?
I spent my 20th birthday in Paris, and was able to find an English pub [with an English bartender by the name of ‘Flannan’, yes – apparently that is a name now] that was showing the Arsenal match against Liverpool. We also met an exceedingly cool English girl from Newcastle named Fran, who was in the middle of trying to find a place to live in Paris. So on my birthday, not only did I get to see the Eiffel Tower, the Notre Dame AND see it snow in an outrageously cool, foreign city… BUT, I got to see Arsenal beat Liverpool, and then have a table of 20 French theatre students sing me ‘Happy Birthday’. The latter was because I went to visit a French friend of mine that I met in Brisbane a couple of years back, who in recent years has decided to become an actor. And then it was time to head back to London. Oh and on the bus back to London we met another guy from Brisbane who, after 6 hours of trying to work it out, I had actually met when I was about sixteen and he was a hippie and dating my friend Davey’s older sister. SMALL FREAKING WORLD.
It is a shame that I won’t get to write about all the things that have happened this year, but I don’t wish to bore you nor I remember them even in the slightest. I’ll try to sum a few more things up. I’ve had plenty more long nights at the Kinsey residence, starting around 5pm and working our way through the night and sometimes onto almost 6am. Almost every one of these nights involves a drunken rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ by Journey, and by ‘almost every one’ I mean ‘every daaaamn single one’. I’ve been out to Berkshire to visit the family, and have also re-discovered my love and respect for Primark, the world’s greatest store. It also snowed in January so we got have an epic snow fight which I feel Frank and I won, before spending HOURS making a snowman representation of Andrey Arshavin, my favourite Arsenal player.
I have also met two English celebrities; Matthew Horne and Pete Docherty. Many of you back home will have no idea who Matthew Horne is, so I will tell you because I’m such a generous human being. And by generous, I mean self-involved. Matthew Horne is the star of one of my favourite English shows, ‘Gavin and Stacey’. Youtube that shit up right now! Pete Docherty played with a rather average local band at Social Bar in Soho a few weeks back after Billy Vincent had finished up on stage. And after he finished, I finished my drink and went up and made a right twat of myself. I have literally no memory of what was said, and I wasn’t even drunk. I remember going up to him, saying “Excuse me” and then I blacked out. I am yet to receive word of a restraining order so looks like I’m in the clear… for now.
We've had several Mexican Monday's, Tequila Tuesday's/Thursday's, Sombre Sunday's - all of which were fun, but the most recent one where Helen cooked an epic Chille and provided toy guns with pallets to shoot at each other took the cake. What started out as a few drinks, some nachos and a bit of fun turned into a battle of the sexes, with Frank and I once again taking victory over the girls. Take that, women's rights.
Flying Lotus was performing in Amsterdam in March and Kez had invited us to go with him, simply for the night. Leaving everything to the last minute as I so often do, I was running late on the day we were supposed to fly out and nearly caused us to miss our train. When checking our bags, Kez had to ask that we skip the queue as we were running late. We obliged, but due to liquids we were held up at baggage control while they searched the bags. As the doors to our plane were meant to close in ten, count ‘em, TEN minutes, it was agreed that I would run the painfully long journey to gate one hundred and something, and stall the attendants. As I ran towards the gate, playing that really fast "late for the airport music" from 'Home Alone' for inspiration, it hit me that I had no idea what I could do to stal - and I began to panic. After what seemed to be a marathon, I arrived and, out of breathe, slammed my hands down on the flight attendant’s desk. Still a tiny bit drunk from the night before, I yelled, honest to God, “We have to get on that plane!” to which the pretty stewardess from BMI replied, “Right. What flight is that?” I told her I was flying to Amsterdam, only to find out they would not be boarding for another fifteen or so minutes. So I proceeded to sit amongst my future fellow passengers, alone, while each one stared and snickered, waiting for the others to join. Once we reached Amsterdam and our hotel, we were upgraded to the penthouse for no extra charge. The place was amazing, and even had a hidden kitchen that literally took us seven hours to find. Stefano came around, we had some red wine and then to Flying Lotus we did go! And at the airport home the next day, I thought it wise and appropriate to buy a wheel of Gouda cheese and, once I had used my teeth to cut through the protective seal of wax surrounding it, I proceeded to hit it as a hand-food. You might think that since the Dutch are big on cheese, they would find this a normal activity on a Thursday morning. They did not.
This brings us up to about mid-March, which is when I took off to Dublin for St. Patrick’s Day. Lauren, a friend from Brisbane whom I met at an infamous Ricci Betty party and instantly liked due to her unbelievably wicked taste in music and love for Arrested Development, had been studying and living on campus at UCD. I was to stay with her and her new friends, none of whom were Irish but all of whom were ridiculous amounts of fun. The first night started off a bit difficult, as somebody ‘up there’ really did not want us to eat or drink. Lauren had a brand new bottle of vodka, however when he opened the lid we found there was thick glass sealing the vodka in the bottle. We tried numerous tools to get through the glass; pens, bottle openers, butter knives, and I believe at one point we even began to saw through it using a bread knife. At the same time, our pizza had decided to fall apart in the oven forcing us to attempt to fry it instead. This did not work out smoothly at all, however tasted amazing and we did, eventually, get to the liquidy goodness that is vodka. Now that I think about it, I cannot remember how we got in or who was responsible for this – otherwise I would give them the credit they deserve.
I’d like to tell you we caught at least a bit of the St Patrick’s Day parade, really, I would. But that would be lie. You see, Phil, a friendly American fellow, had cooked us an epic Irish breakfast and we opted to stay in, eat breakfast, have a few drinks, and rock out to a Alphabeat, Journey and Toto instead. I regret nothing. St. Patrick’s Day came and went quite quickly, and the next night we went out with an Australian named Eoin which ended with us returning to campus and waking everybody up so that they could drink with us until 7am. The plane trip home was horrible and I was unbelievably sick, but although I did not have the time or the energy to go into detail about this trip, it was definitely one of the best weeks of my life. Lauren was amazingly good to us, we had an epic Chinese feast, we met Bridget and Catherine - two girls from New York who are easily two of my favourite people in the world, and others including Phil who I previously mentioned as the amazing chef, and ARDI - world's nicest guy. I also forgot to mention that we dressed up for St. Patrick’s Day, and in the end I did look like a drunk clown with a large head, tiny hat and green beard. I am almost entirely out of dignity.
I am a bit distracted now so am going to leave it there. Now that I have once again written a long and boring summary of the last six months, I will aim to update this blog far more frequently! Stefano [yes, his name deserves to be in bold, he's that cool] arrives in London for a few days in 2 weeks, so no doubt there will be stories worth sharing after that.
To anyone who did not simply stop living [due to the boredom] and stayed til the end, cheers. I would say something witty now but I’m too tired and exhausted so all of you imagine a witty sign off and then like picture me saying it or something so I sound funny and smart.
Nice one.
Ps. Once again I am too lazy to proofread so just deal with my mistakes and errors, mum.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
