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.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Quick, Cover Thy Testicles!
Friends and Internet-Stalkers of the world,
Many of you have repeatedly asked me what working in a British Pub is like for a young Australian so have decided to do a brief post on my job. Since I start work in 2 hours and am currently still in bed I'll have to speed through this one.
So, I work at a pub in Sutton [South London] called The Old Bank. There are a large number of odd and creepy regulars [including Ralph, an obese smelly man who snores when he is awake and is obsessed with Australian's] but overall it's a well rad place to work. The other staff are so wicked, especially Alison, Gemma and Mel. They're all in they're early 20's and deadset hilarious. Then there is Kay, the forty-something pretty kitchen assistant who is so rad - and last night we went around hers to watch the boxing match [oh by the way the little guy won. he totally beat a 7ft Russian tank called Nikolai.] The assistant managers are Sean and Rob who like to stir me as much as possible by giving me an endless amount of nicknames [Stevie, Bobby Jo, Jimmeny Bob, Jon Bobby, Hanson, Jon Boy, Shaggy, Jimbo, Mmm'bop, etc.] and then there's the manager Richard who is a quiet yet unbelievably intimidating man [with awesome music taste!] and his wife...
Gail. Gail is by far and away the funniest but strangest boss I have ever had. Not only will she only refer to me as "Knobhead", "Dickface", "You Cock", "Dumbass" and many, many more [She calls everybody these names, very rarely will she use your actual name] but she likes to hit you. Especially in the balls. That's right, two weeks ago she clipped Righty. Righty!! My favourite of the two. Then she laughed and laughed for a solid seven minutes. She also likes to give these ridiculously painful massages and will not stop until you flinch and squirm in actual pain. Plus she'll hit you when you're pouring drinks to make you spill it - then if you spill it she'll actually yell at you. But she really is awesome and if anybody in the pub gives you grief she'll tear them to pieces. She's wicked, hilarious and an awesome boss. Time for some of my favourite Gail quotes:
G:Hmmmmm. James, I'm going to punch you today.
J: What... Why? I only started two minutes ago.
G: Yeah, but I can tell you're going to fucking annoy me. At least I'm giving you a warning. I. Am. Going. To. Punch. You. Today.
[for the record, she did punch me that day. and most other days I work]
G: One time I threw up beetroot out of my nose all over Richard's salad. He don't like beetroot.
G: When I'm sick, vomit comes squirting out of my eyes.
G: Why do you always fucking flinch when I walk passed you?
J: Because you always hit me when you walk passed me, Gail.
G: I don't always hit you.. [*hits me in the stomach*]... you cock.
I have had several embarrassing encounters with customers at The Old Bank, but the most recent and possibly most noteable happened 2 weeks ago when an Asian man named Ming [who ALWAYS comes in and gets a Guiness] was a little drunk and made the following statement, while I was talking to Mel:
"James... James. James I like you cause when you turn around you remind me of lady."
What the balls! WHO SAYS THAT?! Of course Mel found it hilarious, as did Alison, but it took me a good few minutes to stop being creeped out so I could laugh at it. I refused to EVER have my back to him again. AND THEN last night, Ming came in again and mentioned how he hadn't seen me much. This was due to me going to Germany for a while, plus a general avoidance of him. But I had to serve him, everybody else was busy. I was ready to face... the beast. I was a regular Frodo and he was just that evil eye thing that sits on top of a volcano and is all "Kill Frodo, I want my ring" but in this case the eye [I think his name was Sauron or Solomon or something] was saying "Frodo, when you turn around you remind me of lady." I was going to be brave. He orders his Guiness, so I put my hand out and say, '£3.05, thank-you.' I held the eye contact, ina brave manly way and not in a "I want you, Samwise Gamgee" kind of way. And he puts the exact change in my hand, and all was going to plan. I was serving him, without him being creepy and without throwing up in my mouth. But as he pulls his hands away - he rubs them against my hand. Like I mean, my hand was the meat in a Ming-hand sandwich. He then proceeded to add.
"Oh, James. Your hands are so nice and warm. I like your hands. Very nice. Very warm."
I refused to acknowledge that this incident took place and put his money in the til, went and washed my hands repeatedly and Mel saw I was clearly bothered by something. I told her what he said, we looked over at him to find him smiling and waving at us. Once again she found this hilarious while I continued to wash my hands every 5 minutes for the next hour or so. Man, Frodo should have stopped his God damn whinging, some people have it far worse.
So now that I have embarrrassed myself once again in the wide world of the web, I will leave you to shudder and cringe as you picture an elderly Asian gentleman with a moustache caressing my hands.
Good luck getting to sleep tonight.
Many of you have repeatedly asked me what working in a British Pub is like for a young Australian so have decided to do a brief post on my job. Since I start work in 2 hours and am currently still in bed I'll have to speed through this one.
So, I work at a pub in Sutton [South London] called The Old Bank. There are a large number of odd and creepy regulars [including Ralph, an obese smelly man who snores when he is awake and is obsessed with Australian's] but overall it's a well rad place to work. The other staff are so wicked, especially Alison, Gemma and Mel. They're all in they're early 20's and deadset hilarious. Then there is Kay, the forty-something pretty kitchen assistant who is so rad - and last night we went around hers to watch the boxing match [oh by the way the little guy won. he totally beat a 7ft Russian tank called Nikolai.] The assistant managers are Sean and Rob who like to stir me as much as possible by giving me an endless amount of nicknames [Stevie, Bobby Jo, Jimmeny Bob, Jon Bobby, Hanson, Jon Boy, Shaggy, Jimbo, Mmm'bop, etc.] and then there's the manager Richard who is a quiet yet unbelievably intimidating man [with awesome music taste!] and his wife...
Gail. Gail is by far and away the funniest but strangest boss I have ever had. Not only will she only refer to me as "Knobhead", "Dickface", "You Cock", "Dumbass" and many, many more [She calls everybody these names, very rarely will she use your actual name] but she likes to hit you. Especially in the balls. That's right, two weeks ago she clipped Righty. Righty!! My favourite of the two. Then she laughed and laughed for a solid seven minutes. She also likes to give these ridiculously painful massages and will not stop until you flinch and squirm in actual pain. Plus she'll hit you when you're pouring drinks to make you spill it - then if you spill it she'll actually yell at you. But she really is awesome and if anybody in the pub gives you grief she'll tear them to pieces. She's wicked, hilarious and an awesome boss. Time for some of my favourite Gail quotes:
G:Hmmmmm. James, I'm going to punch you today.
J: What... Why? I only started two minutes ago.
G: Yeah, but I can tell you're going to fucking annoy me. At least I'm giving you a warning. I. Am. Going. To. Punch. You. Today.
[for the record, she did punch me that day. and most other days I work]
G: One time I threw up beetroot out of my nose all over Richard's salad. He don't like beetroot.
G: When I'm sick, vomit comes squirting out of my eyes.
G: Why do you always fucking flinch when I walk passed you?
J: Because you always hit me when you walk passed me, Gail.
G: I don't always hit you.. [*hits me in the stomach*]... you cock.
I have had several embarrassing encounters with customers at The Old Bank, but the most recent and possibly most noteable happened 2 weeks ago when an Asian man named Ming [who ALWAYS comes in and gets a Guiness] was a little drunk and made the following statement, while I was talking to Mel:
"James... James. James I like you cause when you turn around you remind me of lady."
What the balls! WHO SAYS THAT?! Of course Mel found it hilarious, as did Alison, but it took me a good few minutes to stop being creeped out so I could laugh at it. I refused to EVER have my back to him again. AND THEN last night, Ming came in again and mentioned how he hadn't seen me much. This was due to me going to Germany for a while, plus a general avoidance of him. But I had to serve him, everybody else was busy. I was ready to face... the beast. I was a regular Frodo and he was just that evil eye thing that sits on top of a volcano and is all "Kill Frodo, I want my ring" but in this case the eye [I think his name was Sauron or Solomon or something] was saying "Frodo, when you turn around you remind me of lady." I was going to be brave. He orders his Guiness, so I put my hand out and say, '£3.05, thank-you.' I held the eye contact, ina brave manly way and not in a "I want you, Samwise Gamgee" kind of way. And he puts the exact change in my hand, and all was going to plan. I was serving him, without him being creepy and without throwing up in my mouth. But as he pulls his hands away - he rubs them against my hand. Like I mean, my hand was the meat in a Ming-hand sandwich. He then proceeded to add.
"Oh, James. Your hands are so nice and warm. I like your hands. Very nice. Very warm."
I refused to acknowledge that this incident took place and put his money in the til, went and washed my hands repeatedly and Mel saw I was clearly bothered by something. I told her what he said, we looked over at him to find him smiling and waving at us. Once again she found this hilarious while I continued to wash my hands every 5 minutes for the next hour or so. Man, Frodo should have stopped his God damn whinging, some people have it far worse.
So now that I have embarrrassed myself once again in the wide world of the web, I will leave you to shudder and cringe as you picture an elderly Asian gentleman with a moustache caressing my hands.
Good luck getting to sleep tonight.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Good Blogs Take Time
And time I did take!
No, you are not high from a gas leak - the blog is actually back. And I apologize for taking so long [2 months] to update my dedicated 3 and a half readers [mothers dont count as full people] on my European adventures. I have just settled down in the front room, got the Rugby League on mute [yes HAHA Matt and Maddy, I am sure you made some witty and ever so humorous reference to me watching sport instead of TV-stalking my future wife Lauren Conrad]. So I am going to attempt to write 4.. count 'em FOUR posts in the next three days. Can it be done? Of course it can. By me? Almost certainly not. But it's good to set goals and then fail at them so when I drink I at least have a valid reason. I should write a book.
So this post is going to attempt to catch you up on the last 2 months - then I'll do one about the new job, then German adventure and finally the biggest day fail of all time that happened on Thursday as Alison and I tried to piecce together what happened on Wednesday night. HAHAHA oh man the funniest ad just came on TV. It's like Churchill Insurance or something and it has this fat dog called Churchill that can only say "Ohhhhhhh yes!" and he like bobs his head then goes to audition for a broadway musical but the musical is 'Cats' so he is all like "Ohhhhhh no!" hahahaha oh man it cracks me up every time. England Win!
SO where we last left off I was at Pukkelpop music festival in August. Since then, obviously returned to England and moved in with the Kinsey family - and I may have finally met my match in Brian and Trish. Liam and I decided at the tender age of 17 that there would be one rule in life we would never, ever break. Never turn down free alcohol. EVER. And up until I moved in here, I never did. But now it seems a weekly occurance, as I continue to suffer a post-red wine hang over and am then offered more free beer and wine. I feel a little part of me die inside every time I say "I can't..." - and a single tear escapes. It's tragic stuff really, now I know how those people who miss out on their dreams must feel. You know like people who want to be basketballers but get thrown through glass windows and damage their spine so they can't play any more and then get really moody and grow beards [ha - I wish] and long hair and then their son and wife are all "do you even love us? We are your family and we are right here" and.... wow... should not have watched that episode of One Tree Hill the other day - what was I thinking? James fail.
SO Sutton. Went to a bar called Revolutionary. Was kindly escourted out by a burley [not going to bother spell-checking this on google] as I dozed off around two in the morning. Fun night. OH but they do really good jugs of weird cocktails and they give you straws so you can drink it right out of the jug. Then on night 2 out in Sutton, Frank and I got into a heated argument with an elderly gentleman who was wee bit racist. Classic O'Neils.
Let's see... what to write. Went to a house party, chased some squirrels in Hyde Park, spent the RADDEST hour in Hamley's [Europe's biggest toy store] testing out the toys and I became an Arsenal supporter + went to 2 games at the Emirates stadium. There's a really short guy in the team who I have decided is my favourite cause he's the only one I can recognize from far back. Went out in London with some looovely Australian ladies [Zanthea, Vanessa and Kate] and drunkenly stumbled into a sushi train at midnight. Ended well. Also found a bar called Sugar Cane bar which I think is the closest bar I'll find to Brisbane's infamous "The D'under". So that was sweet. Lisa and I were also escourted out of The Flowerpot in Camden as we accidentally snuck alcohol in. And I mean, accidentally. We were drinking a can of very strong cider called 'K' [deadliest drink ever] and we just wandered passed security and entered - sat RIGHT near the bar and continued to drink our drinks. The bar man person was not impressed.
OK I am trying to hurry this up as I start work soon then am going to watch the boxing at Kay's place cause it's like this English guy against a 7ft 2in Russian!!!!!!!! HOW FUNNY IS THAT GOING TO BE?!?!?!?!!!? But I am sure there is more to write... SEE this is why I have been putting off updating my blog, it gets difficult to remember what I did.
You can walk around here in broad daylight and drink. BROAD DAYLIGHT. And I'm all "look at me drinking beer at midday walking through Camden" and it is the coooooolest thing and I don't ever want to return to a city where this would lead to a $165 fine. You can't make me.
OH I have been to see this mega RAD band play a fewwww times. They are called Billy Vincent and you should all go to www.billyvincent.co.uk right now and listen to them. 'Young Hearts' is my favourite song and it's the first one so it's really not asking much of you to listen to it now is it? I'm doing all this writing the least you can do is listen to that song and damn well enjoy it. Thank-you, mum.
Now for my mugging experience. I was mugged... in broad daylight... by the most polite mugger in the world, and his little slimey twat friend with a hideously nasaly voice. I finished work at 3:00pm and began the 6minute walk home. 30 seconds into it somebody taps me on the shoulder. And after I took my headphones out, it went a little bit like this...
Mugger: Cool jacket man.
Me: [in my head] Oh no. [hahaha just like the Churchill dog because he can't be in 'Cats']
Mugger: Right so we [issues for smaller friend to come closer] need to get to Cambridge to see my mum. So we need money for a train.
Me: Oh, here you go - my last money. [gives them 4 pounds.]
Mugger: [pushes me into bus stop and smaller friend pushes me again into the corner] C'mon man, you know it's 20 to get to Cambridge. You know that.
Me: What? No, I don't know that. Why the fuck would I know that?
It was about this stage that I wish I actually knew how to throw a punch. All those years as a small child being exposed to violence in Mortal Kombat and I couldn't throw a punch? Well, at least I could finish the entire first level as Johnny Cage and even get him to do a really cool Fatality against Goro. Oh man I will never forget the first/only time I beat Goro.
Mugger: [grabbiny my wallet] Don't lie man, you know we need 20... [opens my wallet to find 45 pounds... he takes out 20.]
Twat-Mugger: NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MAN, TAKE IT ALL. TAKE IT ALL.
Mugger: [pushing wallet back in my face] No no, we only need twenty. Here you go, mate.
Me: ....thaaaank-you? [said awkwardly]
Well what the fuck do you say when this happens? Oh, cheers mister mugger man for not taking all of my money and only hurting me a little bit. I'll give you a 9/10 - had it not been for your wanker-friend I might have given you a perfect 10.
Mugger: Give me your phone.
Me: No, not my phone.
Mugger: [grabs phone from out of my jacket-pocket. I had forgotten my headphones were sticking out of there...] I'm just going to put my number in.
Me: Yeah I'm sure you are.
Mugger: You don't believe me? My name is Jerome and one day you are going to get this money back... I promise.
Me: [he gives the phone back to me, with his 'number' saved] what?
Mugger: So you gonna go to the cops?
Me: Over 20 quid....
Mugger: Good idea. Because we all live in Sutton and you're very recognizeable. So don't make trouble for us. Now, shake my hand.
Me: No thank-you.
Mugger: SHAKE it.
So I shook his hand. And they left. And I went home and sat down and tried to work out what the balls just happened.
There we go, I can't really be bothered sharing the rest of my stories at the moment. Went to my first UK house party, had a wicked night on Call of Duty with Helen, Lee and Frank [I drunkenly tried toobefriend a fictional character because Gaz saved my life] and countless other drunken adventures. But I promise tomorrow I will do 1 more update, then 2 on Monday. Sorry this got shit towards the end but Trish made me a Gammon & Cheese sandwich and it's proper wicked and I lost track of my thoughts.
The main thing is, I tried. SPEAKING of trying, I was in charge of Halloween decorations at the pub this year. And, not only did I try, BUT I SUCCEEDED!! Everybody agreed it was really wicked!!! I accomplished something again!!!! That's like, 3 accomplishments this year. I feel like Ghandi or the Asian guy from 'Heroes' or something. Chris Hickey, you may have achieved early acceptance as an intern at Royal Brisbane Hospital where you will actually save lives - but have you ever spent 6hours putting fake cobwebs up above a bar? Now that, my cousin, is accomplishment.
I'm off to enjoy the rest of my sandwich. OH THE AD FOR THE BOXING MATCH IS ON AGAIN. HOLY SHIT THIS GUY IS SO HUGE LIKE PROPER HUGE AND THEY ARE CALLING IT DAVID VS GOLIATH YOU KNOW FROM THAT BOOK 'THE BIBLE' ABOUT A MAGICIAN.
No, you are not high from a gas leak - the blog is actually back. And I apologize for taking so long [2 months] to update my dedicated 3 and a half readers [mothers dont count as full people] on my European adventures. I have just settled down in the front room, got the Rugby League on mute [yes HAHA Matt and Maddy, I am sure you made some witty and ever so humorous reference to me watching sport instead of TV-stalking my future wife Lauren Conrad]. So I am going to attempt to write 4.. count 'em FOUR posts in the next three days. Can it be done? Of course it can. By me? Almost certainly not. But it's good to set goals and then fail at them so when I drink I at least have a valid reason. I should write a book.
So this post is going to attempt to catch you up on the last 2 months - then I'll do one about the new job, then German adventure and finally the biggest day fail of all time that happened on Thursday as Alison and I tried to piecce together what happened on Wednesday night. HAHAHA oh man the funniest ad just came on TV. It's like Churchill Insurance or something and it has this fat dog called Churchill that can only say "Ohhhhhhh yes!" and he like bobs his head then goes to audition for a broadway musical but the musical is 'Cats' so he is all like "Ohhhhhh no!" hahahaha oh man it cracks me up every time. England Win!
SO where we last left off I was at Pukkelpop music festival in August. Since then, obviously returned to England and moved in with the Kinsey family - and I may have finally met my match in Brian and Trish. Liam and I decided at the tender age of 17 that there would be one rule in life we would never, ever break. Never turn down free alcohol. EVER. And up until I moved in here, I never did. But now it seems a weekly occurance, as I continue to suffer a post-red wine hang over and am then offered more free beer and wine. I feel a little part of me die inside every time I say "I can't..." - and a single tear escapes. It's tragic stuff really, now I know how those people who miss out on their dreams must feel. You know like people who want to be basketballers but get thrown through glass windows and damage their spine so they can't play any more and then get really moody and grow beards [ha - I wish] and long hair and then their son and wife are all "do you even love us? We are your family and we are right here" and.... wow... should not have watched that episode of One Tree Hill the other day - what was I thinking? James fail.
SO Sutton. Went to a bar called Revolutionary. Was kindly escourted out by a burley [not going to bother spell-checking this on google] as I dozed off around two in the morning. Fun night. OH but they do really good jugs of weird cocktails and they give you straws so you can drink it right out of the jug. Then on night 2 out in Sutton, Frank and I got into a heated argument with an elderly gentleman who was wee bit racist. Classic O'Neils.
Let's see... what to write. Went to a house party, chased some squirrels in Hyde Park, spent the RADDEST hour in Hamley's [Europe's biggest toy store] testing out the toys and I became an Arsenal supporter + went to 2 games at the Emirates stadium. There's a really short guy in the team who I have decided is my favourite cause he's the only one I can recognize from far back. Went out in London with some looovely Australian ladies [Zanthea, Vanessa and Kate] and drunkenly stumbled into a sushi train at midnight. Ended well. Also found a bar called Sugar Cane bar which I think is the closest bar I'll find to Brisbane's infamous "The D'under". So that was sweet. Lisa and I were also escourted out of The Flowerpot in Camden as we accidentally snuck alcohol in. And I mean, accidentally. We were drinking a can of very strong cider called 'K' [deadliest drink ever] and we just wandered passed security and entered - sat RIGHT near the bar and continued to drink our drinks. The bar man person was not impressed.
OK I am trying to hurry this up as I start work soon then am going to watch the boxing at Kay's place cause it's like this English guy against a 7ft 2in Russian!!!!!!!! HOW FUNNY IS THAT GOING TO BE?!?!?!?!!!? But I am sure there is more to write... SEE this is why I have been putting off updating my blog, it gets difficult to remember what I did.
You can walk around here in broad daylight and drink. BROAD DAYLIGHT. And I'm all "look at me drinking beer at midday walking through Camden" and it is the coooooolest thing and I don't ever want to return to a city where this would lead to a $165 fine. You can't make me.
OH I have been to see this mega RAD band play a fewwww times. They are called Billy Vincent and you should all go to www.billyvincent.co.uk right now and listen to them. 'Young Hearts' is my favourite song and it's the first one so it's really not asking much of you to listen to it now is it? I'm doing all this writing the least you can do is listen to that song and damn well enjoy it. Thank-you, mum.
Now for my mugging experience. I was mugged... in broad daylight... by the most polite mugger in the world, and his little slimey twat friend with a hideously nasaly voice. I finished work at 3:00pm and began the 6minute walk home. 30 seconds into it somebody taps me on the shoulder. And after I took my headphones out, it went a little bit like this...
Mugger: Cool jacket man.
Me: [in my head] Oh no. [hahaha just like the Churchill dog because he can't be in 'Cats']
Mugger: Right so we [issues for smaller friend to come closer] need to get to Cambridge to see my mum. So we need money for a train.
Me: Oh, here you go - my last money. [gives them 4 pounds.]
Mugger: [pushes me into bus stop and smaller friend pushes me again into the corner] C'mon man, you know it's 20 to get to Cambridge. You know that.
Me: What? No, I don't know that. Why the fuck would I know that?
It was about this stage that I wish I actually knew how to throw a punch. All those years as a small child being exposed to violence in Mortal Kombat and I couldn't throw a punch? Well, at least I could finish the entire first level as Johnny Cage and even get him to do a really cool Fatality against Goro. Oh man I will never forget the first/only time I beat Goro.
Mugger: [grabbiny my wallet] Don't lie man, you know we need 20... [opens my wallet to find 45 pounds... he takes out 20.]
Twat-Mugger: NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA MAN, TAKE IT ALL. TAKE IT ALL.
Mugger: [pushing wallet back in my face] No no, we only need twenty. Here you go, mate.
Me: ....thaaaank-you? [said awkwardly]
Well what the fuck do you say when this happens? Oh, cheers mister mugger man for not taking all of my money and only hurting me a little bit. I'll give you a 9/10 - had it not been for your wanker-friend I might have given you a perfect 10.
Mugger: Give me your phone.
Me: No, not my phone.
Mugger: [grabs phone from out of my jacket-pocket. I had forgotten my headphones were sticking out of there...] I'm just going to put my number in.
Me: Yeah I'm sure you are.
Mugger: You don't believe me? My name is Jerome and one day you are going to get this money back... I promise.
Me: [he gives the phone back to me, with his 'number' saved] what?
Mugger: So you gonna go to the cops?
Me: Over 20 quid....
Mugger: Good idea. Because we all live in Sutton and you're very recognizeable. So don't make trouble for us. Now, shake my hand.
Me: No thank-you.
Mugger: SHAKE it.
So I shook his hand. And they left. And I went home and sat down and tried to work out what the balls just happened.
There we go, I can't really be bothered sharing the rest of my stories at the moment. Went to my first UK house party, had a wicked night on Call of Duty with Helen, Lee and Frank [I drunkenly tried toobefriend a fictional character because Gaz saved my life] and countless other drunken adventures. But I promise tomorrow I will do 1 more update, then 2 on Monday. Sorry this got shit towards the end but Trish made me a Gammon & Cheese sandwich and it's proper wicked and I lost track of my thoughts.
The main thing is, I tried. SPEAKING of trying, I was in charge of Halloween decorations at the pub this year. And, not only did I try, BUT I SUCCEEDED!! Everybody agreed it was really wicked!!! I accomplished something again!!!! That's like, 3 accomplishments this year. I feel like Ghandi or the Asian guy from 'Heroes' or something. Chris Hickey, you may have achieved early acceptance as an intern at Royal Brisbane Hospital where you will actually save lives - but have you ever spent 6hours putting fake cobwebs up above a bar? Now that, my cousin, is accomplishment.
I'm off to enjoy the rest of my sandwich. OH THE AD FOR THE BOXING MATCH IS ON AGAIN. HOLY SHIT THIS GUY IS SO HUGE LIKE PROPER HUGE AND THEY ARE CALLING IT DAVID VS GOLIATH YOU KNOW FROM THAT BOOK 'THE BIBLE' ABOUT A MAGICIAN.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Belated Festival Funtimes
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.
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.
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.
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