In case you didn't know, I'm suffering at the moment, I mean REALLY suffering. It's serious, I've had to take time off work and everything, which I never do.
I'm finally on antibiotics, but the symptoms have been ghastly, and what I had to go through to get the pharmaceuticals was, well, unusual. I went to the local doctors surgery only to find it's closed on a Thursday afternoon, so people don't get sick then then, apparently. So I went to the chemists and they recommended a local private doctor, I rang him and he told me 'no appointment was necessary' the alarm bells should have been ringing.
So I arrive at the 'doctors', denoted by a sign hanging on the door of a property that otherwise looks like a normal terraced house. I sit and wait in a 1970's style lounge which is lit by a single bulb in the corner of the room. I'm alone. Shortly the doctor comes out an asks me into his 'surgery', which in reality is the kitchen of this house, honestly.
I feel like I'm on set of some dodgy soap (that would be more preferable) there's a few medical props dotted around, but mostly it's a kitchen. He conducts a few doctory type tests, listens to my chest etc. then without warning pokes his fingers hard into my eyes 'does that hurt?', 'you just poked me in the eye of course it did', 'good', he then proceeded to write me out the prescription, well if that's what it takes to get drugs these days, I suppose it's better than a poke in the eye, oh no wait.
I've just been reading about the 'amazing Sweatz Vest' on Amazon, intrigued I read one of their customer reviews of the product:
" I've lost four inches off my chest and two inches off my waist, now some of the fatty's at work are inspired and are taking up exercise with your Sweatz Vest. I believe your 'vests' have contributed to my weight loss, and as a result I promote your product."
Well what a nice person, 'the fatty's at work', inspiration for everyone I feel.
As if that freakish baby I saw in the Sunday supplement wasn't enough, this is what I saw Christmas shopping a few weeks ago. Vacuum-packed-anatomically-correct devil babies. I mean look at the horrific fuckers, no question, these definitely come alive at night and crawl round the store in their clear plastic wrappers. FACT.
I Hate Umbrellas: An Occasional Series, A Permanent Anger
Yes, yes, yes, I know I've ranted about them before, but...
It's pissing it down in London this morning and the brolly brigade are out in force. Watching them, avoiding them, nay hating them I've realised something, the people who use them are selfish, that's right, completely self-absorbed bastards.Think about it the umbrella is designed for one person, it's their own little protective world and before you bark on at me about golf umbrellas and how you could probably fit a whole Vietnamese family under one of them, have you ever seen anyone try do that? No I thought not, there's another whole special pot of anger for golf umbrellas frankly and the utter, utter, c*nts who tote them in my face down t'narrow street o'London.
I know I shouldn't be upsite by such trivialities, but I am, I enjoy the rain, I enjoy being a little bit damp, it helps me connect with nature and not hide away from it like those pricks under cover.
Look at this frightening thing being advertised in one of the weekend supplements, it's not so much the picture as the description that accompanies it, as follows completeley unedited:
'The beauty of God's handiwork takes our breath away, as we marvel at the details in this newborn baby girl's exquisite face... her delicate wisps of hair... her long, supple fingers... her tiny, wrinkled feet. Still slightly flushed from the miracle of birth, she snuggles happily in your arms and waits for you to give her a name. Then all you need to do for her is... Cherish her.'
I mean seriously what the f**k, who is this crap being targetted exactly? Even more frightening is who the f**k is actually buying this shit. What dark hole in their life is this masking, I would say filling, but no way, this is for someone with 'issues' and some shitty little doll ain't gonna fix that I'm afraid!
I know I probably shouldn't even be posting this and I've deliberately not included a picture (trust me it would have been gross). I squeezed a spot yesterday and never before have I seen so much puss, it was disgusting. I even squeezed again and even more came out, it was revolting and now I have an unsightly blemish on my face and no amount of concealer can hide this hideous crater.
Hands up who wants Sven to represent the UK in Moscow at the 2009 Eurovision Song Contest?
Okay, okay, settle down class, while rumours abound of Sven's demise, here is a cold hard fact; the BBC are inviting anyone, yes anyone, to sing for the UK in next year's competition. I think we all know what that means.
Not that I imagine anyone else reading this will care a bean, but this week has been a week of firsts for me in the gym. Three sessions, in each one I achieved something new. First time I did pull-ups unassisted, first time I did all the weights in the chest press stack (100kg) and finally the first time I did all the weights on the leg press stack(190kg).
Never before has the phrase 'Credit Due where Credit's Due' fitted more literally than it does in this little slot here, let me explain:
Two friends owed me some cash, for anonymity let's call them Mr. Ollins and Mr. Amberton, both with completely separate reasons, yet both on the same day and completely unknown to one another decide to give the payment references comedy text.
I have to say that it is actually rather clever of them both, I'd certainly never thought of doing that. So now I have a credit from both 'Wicker Baskets' and 'Dirty Trade', more fool them.
I found myself with some time to burn in Milton Keynes last weekend (don't ask), so I decided to have a little mooch around the shops, as I passed by, PASSED BY, a toy shop, I noticed a horrific image of Barbie in a McDonald's outfit, my god won't somebody please think of the children. Having said that, small child in photo looks very happy.
Two foul companies now in bed with one another promoting yet another evil ideal to the next generation. Never worked on me mind, when I was in my first year of primary school, I guess about 6, I used to run into the play area at break time and stuff all the girls dolls under a huge cushion, then I would perch myself on it for the entire break so I wouldn't be bothered by them, girls AND dolls I mean. Sorry I knew I was gay when?
I'm totally freaked out this morning, just merrily walking along listening to Elton singing 'Are You Ready For Love', as it reaches the chorus I find myself singing along out loud and at that very same moment that I sing the title, my eyes catch a National Lottery poster in a shop window that reads 'Are You Ready?' I mean that is just freaky right?
Either this was the worlds most stupid terrorist on the tube this morning or just some poor buggers complimentary corporate convention backpack. I'm going for the latter but either way I wanted to alight the train pretty sharpish when I looked over and read the words:
I am currently been driven to the brink of insanity by a bloody mosquito (me on the brink now that's a worry, just how far is that exactly?).
Anyway they keep buzzing round my face, my beautiful face, trying to take a suck at me, why isn't dating (what do I know about dating) this easy? Already in the course of writing two sentences in this entry I've had to get up and try and swat the fuck twice. The worse part is I now keep thinking I'm seeing and hearing them everywhere I go in the house, I am acting like bit of a fruit loop.
The problem is though, I do keep getting bitten by them and the bites itch like buggery (note: buggery shouldn't actually itch unless something is seriously wrong). There's one upstairs in my bedroom right now, I've been trying to catch it all day but some how it keeps eluding me. The worse part is being woken by the sound of a high-pitched whine right by my ear in the middle of the night (straight couples reading this insert some sort of clichéd joke along the lines of 'Ha! You should try sleeping next to my wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend').
Apparently it's only the females that bite, that figures (ooo sexist) and you know where I got that nugget of 'science' knowledge from, the 1995 movie Mosquito it's a terrible B-Movie, which they keep showing on the Sci-Fi channel. So anyway as I wrap this blog entry, the creature is still at large and I have just slapped the side of my face as it came in again.
Well I showed my true gay colours in the pub last night and I'm proud of it.
I was in a pub owned by a friend-of-a-friend, clearly straight and blokey but trying to make his pub more appealing by adding a touch of colour in the form of flowers on the bar. I pointed out that they were terribly arranged and particularly the side facing the entrance, what would people think!?
I asked him if I might re-arrange the flowers for him and, let's face it, he was either going to say yes, or knock me out, fortunately I was granted the former and I set to work. In just a few minutes I had the arrangement sorted, wreaking of style and taste, with balance and volume, a display sure to please any customer.
Alright don't ask me how, I mean it's probably a fad or something, but in the last few weeks during the journey home, I've just started doing some of those Soduko puzzles in the free London papers.
Okay, so I'm new at it, but I have managed to finish a few of them and yesterday I just happened the woman sat next to me looking across at my finished puzzle and checking off her answers, I laughed.
God went into the kitchen this morning, actually it wasn't God it was me, well I mean as far as I know it was me, and saw two cups of the most revolting looking tea I had ever seen, thick with milk and tea bag floating in the concoction, at first I thought maybe they've been here all night, then I touch the mug and discover they are piping.
Naturally I run back to get my phone and picture these foul creations, I mean the milk has curdled and no one in their right mind should touch them, yet 5 mins later, the evidence has disappeared.
Well I can't begin to explain how exhausted I am after the amount of work I've done this week, now I know how this quarry feels, men constantly taking away from an ever growing hole.
By the end of today I'll have clocked up nearly sixty hours, that's almost double the usual weekly working hours. I'm looking forward to a long weekend and a BIG wank.
(Pictured: An Exhausted Bauxite Mine in Grebnik, Kosovo. Mining began in 1966 and ceased in 1990, owing to the deteriorating political climate. For this story in full and a mine of other useful Kosovo mining facts, extract yourself some information at http://www.kosovo-mining.org/)
I've been invited by the people I'm working with at the moment to take part in their fantasy football league, straight boys play that game too do they? Fancy that.
What's that you want another topless picture of Ronaldo, oh alright, if you insist...
Has anyone else heard that MTV are planning to remake The Rocky Horror Picture Show, with new songs and everything. Disgraceful, you never meddle with a classic. FACT!
I was pleased to hear via 'Random Acts of Violets' though that Richard O'Brien is firmly NOT involved with the project.
To all my adoring blog readers, I'd welcome any suggestions for any more songs I can create dodgy lip sync videos to! In case anyone doesn't know, I restrict the filming to my mobile phone, that is the only criteria!
Happy left-handed day. We are a unique, creative, and talented bunch, apparently, more left-handed people pass their driving test first time than right-handed people and us lefties are more prone to pyschotic illness, hmm, well I should be alright! So come celebrate with us, it is our right, er I mean left, or do I?
Apparently the Former Yugoslav Republic has been mis-represented in Michael Palin's latest travel documentary New Europe, according to the Metro this morning.
Apparently it included 'an inaccurate account account of the Balkan Wars in the 1990's'.
A complaint has been upheld by the BBC trust in relation to 'accuracy and impartiality' the action taken by the BBC Chairman is 'to tell programme makers to check their facts and not to mislead viewers', er shouldn't they have been doing that anyway?
I'm currently on a short away break visiting the parentals in Cornwall (they're not the lucky ones by the way) and despite how ghastly the weather has been it's always nice to catch up with everyone I still know down here.
Anyway today I've been dragged along by my brother to a country show, he's sponsored an event here and his girlfriend is doing something 'horsey' and has also brought her dogs along to take part in the 'amateur' dog show. I'm always quite wary of these provincial events, where 'just a bit of fun' is taken scarily seriously. I'm sorry to say my brothers girlfriend, as lovely as she is, is one of these people, but by no means the only one.
It starts with criticism of the judges, apparently she's choosing the dogs that are most like her own, rather than being independent. Now just so you know (the background to the story, I find it helps) Kelly: bro's girl, owns two Springer Spaniels, one male, one female, the male she rescued from a 'sleepy needle' at the veterinary surgery where she works. The poor dog has the canine equivalent of special needs and as such is quite timid around people, although he did seem to take a shine to me, so Kelly enters him into one of the categories but he runs back to her leaving the boy handler unaware he is just holding a lead.
In her determination to win something, well a rosette, she swaps dogs, hoping that the judge won't notice the change in sex, she comes fourth. Kelly then decides that she will keep entering the same female dog throughout the categories just switching her sex and back story as necessary. While this is going on I also catch another participant criticising one family for putting their child up as handler, thus trumping them for 'cute' points, "they're supposed to be judging the bitch, not the boy. Bastards". It's no wonder Christopher Guest saw the comedy potential in dog owners.
Finally the category of Best Rescue Dog comes up, she decides she will enter the actual male dog in this, apparently he's so pathetic he's guaranteed to win this category. He lives up to his reputation, he doesn't even stand up, it's an oscar-winning "I nearly went to doggy heaven" performance. He's done it, he's beaten small child with Jack Russell, fat man with poodle (honestly) and girl. Jack (the dog) is presented with his prize pink rosette (pictured), my brother decides to sport it while we wander around the rest of the show.
Later at the burger bar when he gets a tea (my brother, not the dog), the lady asks him what the rosette is for, he explains Best Rescue Dog category, she declares to us both that she can't help herself but rescue animals, "I've got 46 of them", I simply respond "where do you get your burgers from?".
If anyone has ever seen Ferris Buller's Day Off, this is brilliant, it just goes to show how editing can completely change the meaning of something! It's very funny however.
I might have to rename my blog Lush Life as it seems the only thing I find worth writing about, or maybe All The Reasons Why I'm Going To Hell.
Any way confession over (bless) I went to Lovebox this weekend and tobe honest I have mixed feelings about it. Unquestionably the best part was hanging out with Brenna and meeting her very good mates, sadly the line-up did not impress me much. To be fair I think this was partially our own fault, we literally stood in one spot the whole time from 4 till 10:30, but then the acts we were most interested in seeing were on the main stage.
The first act the Ladywhites: NEXT. Followed by nearly 40 minutes of silence from the stage - in hindsight this would have been the opportune time to look around the rest of the festival, instead we played my favourite game, drink the beer, or rather cider. Next up is The Human League, who are an improvement and towards the end (when they start playing songs we recognise) the crowd start to liven up with classics Tell Me When and, as I predicted, they conclude with Don't You Want Me Baby.
This time they do fill some of the intermediate time with beat box-er Beardy Man, he is brilliant, I've seen him on the web before and the sounds that one human can create are incredible. What we are discovering by this point is that the bar situation is terrible, there are lots of staff but they are grouped in threes per section, only one is serving while two others are sat at the back taking the cash, which seems pointless and it's already 7 deep at the bar, it takes 30 minutes to get served, by which point the group I really wanted to see have started.
Groove Armada play several of their classic hits and are by far the best act of the night, sadly even their performance is lacking drive and build and the pathetically small fireworks they launch during the set are laughable and remind me of the Glitter Cannons that Alan Partridge launches in his Dante Fireplaces presentation! Still it's great to finally see them live.
The final act of the night is Manu Chow, I've been told by my flat mate that he's very lively 'world' music, I'm optimistic, I've seen some really good live world music, initially he sounds pretty good until we realise every song sounds exactly the same and he plays for two hours. I'm even more gutted when I found out afterwards that 2 Many DJ's (a superb DJ outfit) were playing elsewhere in the festival despite not being named on the bill.
When it finally finishes I'm ready to leave and party with my new found friends, oh yeah and it's my other flatmates birthday party, maybe I should try and get to that too... oops!
Oh my god has anybody else seen the ridiculous 'Celebrity Slimming Water' that's on sale in Tesco's at the moment, the point of sale advertising invites you to 'drink yourself slim' used by celebrities, apparently , obviously none prepared to endorse the product though.
The saddest part though was the 8 or 9 year old child begging her mum to buy her a bottle. Oh dear lord, I wanted to shout at the top of my voice "JUST DRINK FUCKING WATER" but the store is quite convenient for home and I don't want to get black listed in another shop.
I will try and get a picture to add to this post next time I'm there, it is utterly ludicrous.
I'm referring of course to the o2 Wireless Festival that was on in London's Hyde Park this Saturday and yes it was a boozy affair, but you know that already. We were lucky enough to be attending this event VIP courtesy of my great mate Tash who works for Orange (and yet it's O2?) How queer? Well it's not really queer it was just a blag on her part courtesy of Kiss FM, but it sounded better, two business rivals, well it didn't cos I didn't even really write it that well (more Sauvignon please). Not only were we gifted free booze and food as VIP's, we were gifted fine weather as well, these factors alone are enough to redeem an otherwise so so day.
We've settled ourselves into a table near the bar, Tim and I discuss how we always feel like we shouldn't really be somewhere like this when we are and wonder who's lost out because of us, then we look around at the people here and realise most of them are probably blaggers too, so we relax.
As I'm eying up the talent I spot Channel 4's T4 stage, they're filming links and I spot Steve Jones, one of the presenters who a certain friend of mine fancies the pants off. Feeling unable to resist the photo opportunity and a pathetic chance to make my friend jealous via Picture Messaging, I approach him and ask for a photo, "It's not for me" I tell him "I want to make my friend jealous he really fancies you!' We both laugh and then he gently places his arms around my firm shoulders. He leans over and whispers in my ear, "I wrap here in 10, can we go some place private?" "Oh Steve!" I cry "For god sakes this is V-I-P, how private do you want it? Anyway I said my friend, not me, so unhand me you handsome brute" As you can see the photo is proof positive all of the above paragraph actually happened. Fact. For the rest of the day I can't shake him so I disappear into the underworld.
Underworld were the first proper act we saw live and they were fantastic, they played for about 90 minutes and they looked like they were enjoying just as much as we were, it was a great visual show and musically amazing. Next up was Fatboy Slim, he was the headline act and as I had predicted before I got there, was not very good. My problem with him is that he always does the same DJ'ing tricks and plays his own samples over and over, I don't want that, I want what's now, what's happening, what's cool, scrub that cool, what are the kids saying these days? Rad, what is rad.
So I wonder around the festival in search of alternative stages only to find they have all closed already, it's 9pm, 9pm and there are no other choices, it's slim pickings when Fatboy's on stage it would seem. My friends are still enjoying it though so I wait for them. Whilst I'm waiting two of my brothers call to ask me if I've forgotten anything, what do they mean, brolly, poncho, parasol, salapets, bolt croppers? I think about it and decide 'No. No I haven't'. Turns out I have it's my big brothers 40th today, oopsie.
Finally I rejoin my friends and it's back to theirs for a chill out, not a bad night really. I spend 9 hours on the sofa on Sunday, it must have been a good day really.
Hmm it seems all I post about these days is travelling and being pissed, we here's another one for you. I've just got back (and I literally mean just) from a wedding in Scotland, absolutely fabulous location in the middle of nowhere right next to a Loch.
I have to say being a virgin to Scotland I had a pretty negative image of what the people were going to be like, I'm pleased to say I was proven wrong (unlike the bloody Austrians)very wrong, they're friendly, warm, welcoming and actually quite tasty, it's no wonder the Brits hated them, miserable bunch that we are.
We arrive at our hotel in the wee small hours of Saturday morning, after careful guidance from 'Jane' the Sat Nav in our hire car. The wedding, it turns out, is not the only big event in the area this weekend, to my delight the hotel we're staying in is full of rugged, young, muscly sheep-shearers from around the globe, this weekend is the world champions, fancy that.
I know you'll want to know, big Scottish breakfast, 2 sausages the works. The wedding isn't until 3 so we take a quick driving tour of the surrounding area. We discover a small town with some wonderful falls passing right through the centre of it, we stop for Whiskey, but settle for coffee, when we're told they're not fully licensed.
A quick return to the hotel to get ready and I discover my suit isn't clean, oh well too late to do anything about it now, so much like life I iron out the creases and we're on our way. I have to say I was quite privileged to be asked to be one of the ushers and driving the groom and the best man to the Church, a 700 year old building, possibly dating back further to some time in the Iron age.
The groom being half Italian and the large Scottish family have opted for a full Catholic service including communion, you know the routine, this is my body, eat it, this is my blood, drink it, it's filth. The whole service is performed by an Italian monk who speaks incredibly slowly and clearly loves the sound of his own voice. It's a very dull service and lasts for 2 hours, I'm not good in situations where you have to behave yourself so you can imagine how hard it was not to snigger when he says 'blessed are the meek', it's a line also performed by the Monty Python crew in Life of Brian.
Thankfully the service does conclude and we're all in convoy back to Theresa's parents house, where a marquee has been set up for the breakfast and evenings entertainments. I'm put on a table with no one I know, I'm not happy, fortunately a few glasses of wine later and I don't care. I'm chatting to an incredibly posh lady who introduces herself as 'Helen Holland', I'm chatting away to her about photography (she's clocked my huge lens) and how no one prints pictures these days 'I do' I tell her and then we both regale at my witty wedding pun. We go on to talk about dumbing down of the news on the BBC and standards in broadcasting in general, I'm in way over my head.
After an exquisite meal she drags me onto the dance floor, well when I say drag she's barely finished inviting me and I'm up, and teaches me the Highland Reel, after a few turns by Jove I think I've got it! The highland band finishes a few too many songs late in my opinion and I'm delighted to be able to bust a few moves when the DJ starts, that's not all I bust. Despite how empty AND large the dance floor is, I manage to fall right into the DJ's speaker stand tucked into the corner, crash goes the speaker and the lights on top, for a moment I refuse to believe it's me that's done it, then I'm told otherwise. As a DJ myself I know the guy won't be happy, despite how nice he's being, I give him all the money I have as an offer of good will (£30), I think to myself 'shall I take a picture for the blog? No too soon', the DJ announces there will now be fireworks outside, through one speaker.
Thankfully the rest of the night is fun and no more damage is incurred, we head back to the hotel and the sheep shearers are plastered, the hotel won't give us any more booze, so we nick a bottle of wine from the store and retire to our rooms.
The following day, after a brief 'casual' lunch (I'll be the judge), we head back to the airport, I'm not allowed to drive I've drunk too much at lunch, it doesn't stop me getting into an argument with Jane though (Sat Nav). We get back to the airport to find our flight is cancelled, bloody easyJet, I have to be at work tomorrow, no question, so we make a mad dash in a cab to the train station, we have 55 minutes to catch the last London train. The tickets are £100 each, we'll be sending those into easyJet thank you very much.
Oh god I'm bored of this post now, but the train journey is beautiful and with some fine Scottish single malt even better!
Okay, okay, so the blog of the Vienna job is over but I have another dedication to make, in the style of 'Ode to Smithy' this is dedicated to, as he would put it, 'such a wonderful producer' Pete Spring, and how we shan't be working together for such a long time!
Just to give it a bit of background, when I'm normally busy editing something in the suite, Pete is busy entertaining me with downloads from YouTube, now he is one! Enjoy.
I was going to call this post the Grand Finale, but I've started before I've finished (the day that currently is) so don't really know how it's going to end, if at all. I've packed my bags already in anticipation of a big night tonight, I'm hoping for a final blow out, (don't worry I have every intention of providing a full account of what happens later this evening), but for now I shall look back, reminisce even.
Well looking immediately back at the last 12 hours at least, I've been at work, it's my final day and there's nothing to report. I meant to mention in yesterdays post some fuckers at work riding those micro-scooters around the complex here, they really irritate me and while I don't wish them to have a misfortune, I would like to see one of them fall off. I've had mixed feelings about this job, it's been amazing to strengthen friendships and build bonds with people I've known only through work before now and to rekindle those great friends from years back (you know who you are), these are things that are very important to me as an individual.
I've been spoiled as well to have had so many days off and see this part of Europe, despite my love hate relationship with the Austrians I'd be a pretty bitter individual to not have at least enjoyed some of the country!
Work itself has sadly proved to be less than strenuous, in my professional life I always enjoy a challenge and being put in situations where I need to come up with ideas, solutions or whatever on my feet, that's not really been the case here. The unpredictable nature of football has meant the Croatia Turkey game has not only gone to extra time but penalties as well, that's bad news for my night out.
We get back to the hotel at 1 am everyone else is there and still up for a night out. Five cabs are ordered to ferry us all into town, the fact that I have to be up at 8:30am for the airport doesn't bother me, it's time to say goodbye properly. I think there is some skepticism as to how long we'll last, but needless to say we last.
The night is highly enjoyable, everyone's on good form and much drink is consumed, it's not long before it 5am and I'm pole dancing in some seedy club, i'm really going for it, licking it and everything (it's really not sanitary that kind of thing is it). Eventually we head back to the hotel it's nearly 6, to our surprise the bar is still open (oh who am I kidding after this job of course I'm not surprised) so it's a final round of drinks before I collapse into bed. Goodnight Vienna.
After events of recent and given I'm in work all day, I suspect there is going to be little to inspire me to blog today, how wrong I am. Having not gone out last night, I am awoken sometime around 5am by those who did, there's a lot of shouting and singing, I haven't seen them but I know who it is. I get up and put the deadlock down on my door, I've no idea what they're up to, but I'd rather not be a part of it.
Later on at work I discover one of the guys in the office had fallen victim to one of their drunken pranks, Smithy (the supposed nice guy from my former post) has Knighty's room key and has invited everyone up from the lobby bar to picture him on his bed, in the raw. Apparently there is something like 12 people in his room, all with their cameras out, you can imagine his annoyance, maybe this is Smithy's idea of revenge for what Knighty did with his laptop.
I'm not surprised that no one but me has made breakfast this morning, in fact the breakfast room is much quieter than usual. I have to get to the laundry this morning to settle up my account, when I arrive they tot up my bill, it's 40 euros for two washes, I'm disgusted yet unable to express this in German, that's nearly 35 quid what a bunch of bastards, I try and express this through the medium of dance (well hands flapping), "bitte" and a smile is the response, yeah I bet your smiling, 40 euros and a free touch of my pants.
I call in at the Spar shop on the way to work, it's been bit of a custom for people to buy shared food for the office that we can all pick at. I gather together the usual items, crisps, biscuits, confectionery then I spot these delightful things:
I'm not exactly sure what they are, kittens shits? Naturally I feel these are a must for the food table and purchase them. Later at work when they're opened I discover they look about as appetising as they sound, surprisingly they are quite tasty and when I pop back in later they've all gone, just a little kitty litter left on the table.
I speak to Matt in the evening, and tell him pretty much everything I've posted today, he seems impressed I've used a literary reference in my previous blog, it suddenly dawns on me I've been far too clever trying to make literary references, I'm not well read, and my bluff has been called, well kind of. I explain that I didn't really know much about the work of Dickens, but did find out from my 'research' (Wikipedia) that Dickens published his work in monthly installments, hey I'm posting daily, eat shit Dicken's (if that is your name).
Finally (I've lost my notes for this entry - yes I'm making notes what of it) for this post I thought I'd upload another of the promo's I've done out here, unfortunately they are the only really creative things we get to cut. I've managed to make the file size smaller so it should play a bit better than the last one. I'm sure there is more to add to this post so do come back and check it, I know you will.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times"
What the Dickens, a literary quote?
I know, it's very scary dear reader, I knew the quote, but never what book it was from. Okay so the only reason I have found out now is because I went online to see if I could find something witty, sharp and cutting to say about the title of this post and pass it off as my own. Instead what I discover is that not only is this book by Charles Dickens, but it has a great opening line that really sums up my time here in Austria. Shame then the book is about Paris and London (thanks Wikipedia). Therefore I have no choice but to start this post again.
Day 16: Brat Camp
I decide to try again with the good intentions I had on Monday, doing something of worth before I leave, I'm pleased to report that today I've been successful. It's my last day off before I return to England so Paul and I decide we are going to take the Twin City Liner river catamaran to the Slovak Republic. Bratislava and Vienna are the two closest capitals in Europe only 60km apart and both situated on the Danube, so the journey even by boat is a little over an hour.
We arrive at the departure point in good time but are held in a queue for 20 minutes, only one window is open at the kiosk and it's slow service. 7 minutes before departure they open a second window, we're served but told there is only one seat left, the next boat is at 16:30 (it's nearly 12:30 now). We ask if we can book a seat on the return journey from Bratislava instead ''i'm sorry it is full, we have tickets on the 22:30'', travelling by boat at night seems a little pointless ''maybe there will be cancellations on the 18:30" he continues, we ask if that is an option and he explains that at the captains discretion 12 seats on the top deck are released an hour before departure time. It's a beautiful day so we decide we'll try our luck when we get there and start to make our way to Bratislava by train using our accreditation.
We arrive at the Sudbahnhoff and it's feels like we've been thrown back to some nasty, dark, communist type era, it's quite a depressing building (although the picture doesn't do it justice) and far removed from the other remarkable buildings in Vienna. We're given all sorts of strange directions to our train, take the stairs up a level and turn left, when they actually mean go downstairs and take a right, we're both very confused and then it dawns on me, it's Wednesday, of course, opposite Wednesdays, how foolish of me.
A few ascents and descents, lefts and rights and we finally find what we're fairly certain is the train to Bratislava, as pointed out here by Paul.
We climb aboard and settle into our sumptuous 1st class seats, I take a look around and realise they are no different to 2nd class, oh well.
Whenever I find myself at points of transit in foreign countries be it airports, railway stations whatever, I always have a sense of excitement and anticipation about moving on, much like i'm in one of Michael Palin's travel documentaries, today is no different, even though I know I'm coming back again.
When we arrive at the main station in Bratislava it's in an even worse state than the one in Vienna, yet somehow I feel it has much more character, much more of a story to tell, this is probably aided the train covered in graffiti stood at the next platform.
As we walk into town we pass several beautiful buildings that have fallen into a poor state of repair, one in particular is in a terrible condition, the roof is missing tiles and all the exterior rendering is cracked, it could easily be a five star hotel but I much prefer it's faded grandeur. A short distance further and we discover a building that is immaculate, it's the Presidential Palace and we're lucky enough to witness changing of the guards. They're all in their military colours, but neither Paul or I are convinced that their sunglasses are military issue.
The tourist information we have for the city promotes itself as 'The Big Little City', we're rapidly discovering Bratislava IS a small city, we walk another kilometre on and arrive at the castle, I can't remember what it was called, but I can recall that the information in the leaflet said there had been documented settlement on the site in the Little Carpathians since the Iron Age (yes Jon that's true) and almost certainly before due to it's strategic location in central Europe. The leaflet also said that the silhouette of the castle at night was reminiscent of an upturned table, now that's my kind of fact.
The view over Bratislava from the castle is beautiful, I always like seeing cities from a higher vantage point, I enjoy getting a sense of it's topography and the different buildings that characterise it. We walk down from here to into the old city to explore further.
The old town is incredibly beautiful and very clean, it obviously helps that it's a beautiful sunny day, but I'm taken by the colours of the buildings and the more modest size and styling of the architecture in general to that of Vienna, it's more like, a me kind of city, like you know? I'm also pleased to see the restaurateurs have taken a sensitive and sympathetic approach to their environment, it's all very tasteful and there isn't a touch of neon anywhere (and I still like it). It seems such a shame when you realise this place gets swamped at the weekends by stag and hen do's from the rest of Europe.
Slovakia is still reasonably cheap compared to the rest of Europe, I've taken out 500 Koruna but have no idea how much money this actually is, I have to text Matt to find out, he kindly informs me it's £13.10p in the market today. We stop for a quick drink before continuing our tour, when we move on we discover a small group of musicians warming up for a performance, we stop and watch them for a moment or two, I'm thrilled when I recognise the songs as show tunes from My Fair Lady, why didn't I think of that musical on Monday night, oh I'm a good girl I am.
It's getting late so we decide to head down to the river to see if we can get tickets for the boat, the weather is still good so we're optimistic. I'm told we have to wait 10 minutes before he will speak to the captain, there are other tourists lurking near the ticket booth, desperate I suspect to get their dirty hands on these tickets too, we're in position 1, I'm not budging, we must have those tickets, I feel like Veruca Salt, I'm going to get on that boat if it kills me, or the captain says no, either way is good (well actually that's bad really isn't it?).
The 10 minute waits feels like forever (when it lasts 10 minutes), finally the guy calls the captain, "ya hallo" something in Slovak "ya" what are they saying? "ya" This is agony "oh ya, okay" We're in, the captain is going to let us hop aboard tonight. "Er Dan" "Yes Paul" "I don't have my passport" Paul has made an illegal entry into another country without his passport. "Bye" Of course I don't really say bye, I tell him to just get a ticket and blag it, there almost certainly won't be any border control on the way back if there wasn't on the way in.
The boat departs and quickly reaches it's cruising speed of 50kmph, it's overtaking everything on the river, it certainly is exhilarating being on top (and these are the cheap seats?).
It takes little over an hour to get back to Vienna, it seems a shame to have spent so little time in such a beautiful city, I make a resolve to return. As we disembark Paul identifies two officials with the word Policez on their jackets, he has no choice but to make excuses, fortunately a little white lie about not needing it on the way out is enough to appease them, well that and the queue of people behind him.
We return to the hotel via the go-karts in the park, there are rumours there is going to be a big night tonight as several people are flying home tomorrow, both Paul and I are tired and want to go to bed, not together of course, to our own beds.
I get to my room, hurrah I've finally resisted a late night out, I decide to write up todays blog entry, when I finish I look at the clock and realise it's 2am. Damn.
Well I'm at work on time, that's a little bit of a result right there, and it's busy today, very busy. So this work nonsense that is getting in the way of F-U-N is practically intolerable, oh well I'm off again tomorrow I shall simply have to have double fun then, oh and maybe pop to Bratislava for the day.
The day starts with good intention, as they all do, today I'm DEFINITELY not partying (don't read ahead and spoil it), today is THE day I culture myself up, fact. It has to happen and there is plenty planned for today to make sure it does. I've made breakfast in exceptionally good time, I've sorted my laundry, I uploaded the extra pics and stuff to the blog, nothing can go wrong. Nothing.
First things first, a run, I am absolutely stunned at how much weight I've accumulated after 2 months of living away from home, my trainer will not be impressed, he might even laugh at me, he did last time. I hit my first snag of the day, well more like a root actually, and I find myself limping back to the hotel, only to see 5 fresh-faced colleagues from work all limbering up for their morning sabbatical.
Determined to continue in the spirit of the day (the good bit, not the injuring myself bit) I make ready for a trip to the KunstHaus Wien, careful how you're saying that now, it's been recommended to me by my flatmate. I've checked on the map, it's a short distance from the hotel and despite the minor injury, I'm going to walk it.
It's a nice hot day and the Austrians haven't upset me too much in recent days, I've had a good night's sleep and there is no hangover, one might almost say I had a spring in my step, except it's more of a limp. I cross the river and find the museum/gallery with no real problems.
The exterior of the building is quite unsual, it's design is supposed to challenge modern architectural conventions, this continues inside, however I'm not allowed to take pictures. The floors are deliberately curvy and uneven and the whole building has an arty-rustic feel to it.
The building purposely has trees growing out of the window as a message to society that, historically, the construction of cities and dwellings for mankind is often to the detriment of nature and it reminds us that it is nature that gives us life, clean air, light and shade, it's all very worthy.
Inside the gallery it's all a little same-y for my liking and I couldn't actually recollect any picture individually this morning, only that they were bright and colourful. Upstairs is an exhibition by a photographer called Guy Bourdin, a fashion photographer of note during the 50's, 60's & 70's. It's mainly a private collection of photos and fashion prints from Vogue. The copy in the museum would have me believe they are 'provocative, challenging images' I simply think they are sexualized images of women, verging on the pornographic and I don't much care for them. After a few hours of looking around I leave, pleased I've seen it but not feeling anymore enlightened. Outside mind I take a picture of this bollard and on review realise that I also may have captured my very own provocative image.
I decide to take a quick trip to one of the cities big shopping streets, I get there and it's busy, already the streets are teaming with Austrian and German football fans. In amongst the hustle and bustle I find I want retail shelter as soon as possible, yet some how completely bypass the Diesel store, it must be the heat, I dive into a department store for some air conditioning, you can imagine my sheer shock/joy when standing right ahead of me is none other than Cristiano Ronaldo, I'm staring at him and actually can't look anywhere else, I can't believe it's him.
Of course it turns out it isn't him, well at least I worked out it couldn't possibly be him. He's currently in Switzerland for the quarter-finals of the Euro's, so why would he be in a bog-standard department store in Vienna buying a Nike t-shirt, particularly when he's sponsored by them, but he was his double. I decide to head back to the hotel for a cold shower, the crowds and the midday sun are too hot and so is lookie-likie Ronaldo.
Myself and a few work colleagues meet at the stadium in the evening for the Austria v Germany match, we've got commentary position seats. It's going to be a great game, if the Austrians can by some fluke beat them they'll be through to the quarter-finals. I find it quite strange that one punter is deep in a book while everyone else is piling into the stadium.
After an hour and a half of trying to find out where we were supposed to pick up our tickets from we're in. The seats are great, I suppose they have to be if they're meant for commentators, the atmosphere in the stadium is amazing and the crowd are whipped up I also get a little tingle of excitement when some of the footage I edited is shown on the big screens (and it wasn't even good stuff!).
The match is fairly lack lustre, Austria play terribly and unsurprisingly Germany win with a great goal from Michael Ballack. At the end of the match we make a dart for the hotel, taking advantage of our seat location and getting out of the grounds swiftly. Back at the hotel everyone has reconvened and plans are afoot to head into town, I am ready to make my excuses and head to bed, I have finished my drink and even said goodnight to a few people, I'm working tomorrow, I am being sensible.
I'm not going to blame my other editor friends who came in at that point for what happened next, I had already texted them saying I would wait for them, see what their plans were. No the person I'm going to blame is myself for being so weak willed, I was a short lift journey from bed, I was nearly there, I nearly made it, I was tired, I SHOULD have made it.
I might as well copy what happens next from any of the other posts, we got drunk. To be fair not AS drunk as the other nights, but drunk enough, drunk enough to take these pictures.
Drunk enough to (and this I AM proud of) get everyone singing show tunes, amongst us some of the finest football producers in England all quite 'straight'. The bar has called last orders at least 5 times this evening, except as you'll see from the video below it's no longer this evening, it is very much tomorrow morning in a very real, but sadly not very sobering way.
I feel sorry for the hotel staff, they have been tolerant far and beyond any reasonable level for our sing-in, I'm amazed none of the other guests have complained. It's so late the morning staff have come in and are setting up breakfast, a chant of 'we're all staying for breakfast, we're all staying for breakfast, la la laa laaaa' has been struck up to the tune of "Let's All Do The Conga'. Finally I exhibit a show of strength and gracefully retire to bed, well not without a finale first anyway.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 'Don't Go Breaking My Heart' to the tune of 'Don't Leave Me This Way' performed at 6am this morning.
Most of the material here relates back to previous posts and is mostly from other people, this is not todays entry, all I've done is had breakfast and this, I cannot make this point clearly enough this is NOT the main entry for day 14, it hasn't happened yet, I couldn't even attempt to predict the outcome of todays events, not one bit, so don't ask, honestly it's like the paparazzi here, guys, guys, guys, just leave me alone (of course I'd never really say that).
Kev & I share an intimate moment
Stephan The Crazy German & I
We 3 Kings, or rather 1 King & 2 Queens
How did that get in there?
Inner calm and general sense of unease
Our tour guide Shane
The tour group An important and slightly ambiguous message for us all Jacko insists on being arrested for being a very 'bad' girl One of the football promos I did (not great but the most interesting cutting we're doing out here)
Due to the events of last night, the day has largely been written off. I don't get up till 2, it's a pretty shameful show on my part given that I could have been taking advantage of free train travel and escaping the city, instead I have to settle for a crusty old BLT, large Red Bull and a hangover (yet again).
As much as I really want to see him, the prospect of meeting my crazy German friend tonight gives me the fear, I just know as much as I beg, plead and make my excuses he'll want a big one, I however do not.
It is a big one, I'm not impressed (and neither should you be) my hopes of being away from the pack for the night are not realised, walking down the street I bump into one of my work colleagues, they're all heading to a club and we should definitely follow, apparently. We do and it is shite, seriously it is one of the worst clubs I've ever been to, not cosmetically, I mean visually it was quite nice, stylish even, but brim-full of wankers. It's a hip-hop club and all the punters are very much on show, it irritates the crap out of me, especially when the bouncer informs me 'I will have to pay again' if I go outside to help give my friend directions. What astounds me more though is that although my friends from work are hating it as much as I am, no one is making the effort to leave, one guy puts it beautifully when he says 'I would rather eat my face off than stay here' it really is that bad. Perpetuating my anger at the place is one clubber who, despite the low lighting, is wearing shades, fuck-the-fuck-off!
The partying continues well into the night and well past my personal fail-safe time (the time in which I think I can get back and still get enough sleep for my 9 o clock start at work) it does not bode well for the morning. Having danced rather a lot and been on my feet for quite some time, I draw the line at being dragged to our 4th venue of the night, my foot is hurting so much I am actually limping. As soon as I am released from Brenna's grip (she really was dragging me) I make a limp for the cab rank. There are none and a long queue, I decide to try flagging a cab on the other side of the river, I'm in luck, some other people try and get in before me but thankfully the cabbie had stopped for me. I think I try a conversation with him in German, it doesn't go well. Fortunately for him it's only a short distance to the hotel. I remember very little after that point, only that my phone was telling me my alarm was due to go off in 3 hours and 44 minutes
Day 13: 3 hours and 44 minutes later
I awake to the sound of my laptop blaring out random music and my phone alarm. Needless to say I'm not well rested. I drench myself in a futile cold shower and actually realise I could have had another 20 minutes in bed, I also discover evidence that I didn't go straight to sleep, my suspicions are raised upon discovery of an empty packet of Haribo Fizzy Cola Bottles.
Remarkably I do make it down to breakfast AND manage to eat something. I make it into work and am grateful not to be given anything to do for the first hour. This is possibly going to go down as one of THE worse days at work I've ever had. I forge on and upon arrival of Brenna and Paul on the late shift the mood begins to lighten as does my feeling of nausea, perhaps we're all still drunk, our behaviour might suggest so.
We start a game of playing shit music through the intercom (it's supposed to be for essential communication) with YouTube at the ready it's a race to see who can find the worse songs. Betty Boo, Charlene, Backstreet Boys and countless others all make the grade, then the conversation turns very smutty, well mostly anal actually, talking about gay sex and shoving Mars bars down peoples pants when they pass out drunk. I'm also quizzed on whether there is any truth in the reports I was seen 'pashing' a bloke last night, if I was I'd like to know about it too.
Thankfully work is not too vexing, but constant enough to take my mind of the poor state of play today. I enjoy hearing Knighty (another guy in the office) begging Smithy to lend him his laptop again so he can 'speak' to his girlfriend, this from the guy who has already confessed to having a WW (work wank) and when he borrowed it previously had an 'active' call with his girlfriend, all of which has happened in Smithys room and not his own!
I'm grateful when 9pm finally rolls around and I can go back to the hotel. I finish up writing this entry (it's been dribs and drabs throughout the day) I can't believe quite how much has happened in the last 48 hours. Tomorrow I shall post some of the pictures I've received from other people and I'm going to see the Austria v Germany match at the stadium. Should be good!
Well I'm off again for two days, I should have been going to Salzburg for the day, but the producer I was going to go with has postponed, the imminent arrival of his wife and the fact that he hasn't done much of the local tourist attractions so far has probably influenced his rethink, well that and the tickets he has for a match there next week.
So instead I meet him and a few others in town for a rather unique guided tour, lead by said producer and aided by his trusty guide book. What you should know about Shane (the producer) is he is very funny, not always intentionally, but you can guarantee whatever he says it will be tinged with a bitter dryness and all delivered in his thick Irish accent. So we start at the cathedral in Stephanplatz, it is stunning inside and has been lit beautifully.
Moving along the tour we take in Mozarts house, the Fleischmarkt (meat market) and no it's not a club and other 'notable points of interest'. We sneak into the Institute of Science where a scientist who looks something like this has just walked out of and informed us of the buildings purpose:
A few chemical experiments later and we pop into another church right next door which contains one of the most stunning pulpits I've ever seen, not that I go into churches much, they always give me a strange burning sensation and the water in the fonts starts bubbling for some reason.
So the tour concludes and we take a late lunch, you can imagine my sheer delight on discovery of this little shop, which by coincidence also tickled Smithy with whom we hadn't yet met up. There are some 'accidental' pictures of me with the sign in the background, but they're on my chums camera so I'll have to wait till I can get a copy to show you.
Next up we head back down to the Fanzone to watch Italy v Romania (god it feels strange writing about football so much!) it's a pretty decent match and Romania are unlucky not to beat the Italians, a draw however is not a great result for my predictor placing though, I had this down as an Italy win. The Town Hall or Rathaus as it's known in Austrian has been beautifully lit and is a great backdrop for the football.
With a certain inevitability the drinking starts, we stay in the Fanzone for the 2nd match of the day Holland v France, it's an absolute belter of a match. I've got Holland to win 2-1 they absolutely storm in a 4 - 1 win, I still get 3 points though for predicting a win. After the matches they have a DJ to keep the crowd going, I'm well on my way and dancing is the order of the day, there is video evidence of this, whether I am brave enough to post it when I am given it is another thing!
So another night out, we head into a rammed bar down by the river, the music is pretty good and we stay there for the duration, Brenna and I are doing our best to 'dance-off' with each other, but it's pretty pokey (the bar). We head back to the hotel sometime after 3 and finish off one of the free bottles of wine from the first week and talk about life in general, god I'm drunk and I have to meet Stephan tomorrow, the crazy German I worked with at the World Cup 2 years ago. Bugger.
I dedicate this short video to Smithy, one of the worlds nice-guys, he recently got dumped by his girlfriend of many years but is putting a jolly brave face on it! He's been begging, pleading and even trying to pay me to make a blog entry about him since we've been here, last night he gave me good reason to!
Well actually there's lot's of good reasons to, although he was a bit silly, he went on a ride he didn't want to, knew he wouldn't like, was told it was horrible by someone who'd been on it, but still went on it because he didn't want to lose face with the other boys, needless to say I wasn't so foolish.
Apologies for the lateness of this post, I was hoping to put some additional material on the blog, but it hasn't materialised.
The truth is there's not an awful lot to write up when you're coming to the end of 3 days on 12 hour shifts, I mean I woke up each morning, check; I had breakfast every morning, er half-check; I even got to bed early, er check if you mean early in the morning Searle. Yes I'm afraid despite the late finishes there's still been chance to sup a few ales before bed, the great thing about this shift system is there's always someone who's off. I'm even more in respect of some of the team out here who are out every night but back in for work in the morning.
I thought I'd post a sample of one of the few creative things i've had chance to cut out here, but this was the item I couldn't convert so you'll have to wait a few more days sadly.
Also I thought I'd post a picture of the tin-shed hotel we're living in at the moment.
Now back to the Austrians, I think my flatmate summed them up beautifully on the phone earlier this week when she said, 'they're not only rude they want to let you know how rude they're being', perfect, so no things haven't really improved on that front.
Here for your enjoyment was my drunken attempt at introducing some of the crew out here:
And here is the lovely Brenna and I, who have been unfortunate enough to be placed on opposite shifts so rarely get to hang out together which is a shame because she is brilliant. Oh and one final other thing which I think is hilarious, I am doing really well in the office tournament predictor, which is basically where we all predict the outcome of the matches and score 5 points for right result, right score eg: Germany 2 - 0 Austria (no they haven't played yet I know) but as you'll see from the link I am doing very well:
In fact because I joined in after 2 of the matches I missed out on some points, I'd be 1 point behind the leader if I'd joined at the start! The best part though is Paul 'Reddo' Redman at the bottom is one of TWI's senior football producers, now that's what I call a result.
Okay so the truth of the matter is we got absolutely shit-faced yesterday, the only redeeming part was that I managed to get myself home at a semi-reasonable time and thus provide myself with a little damage limitation, er yes and make breakfast!
On the way back (I walked) I discovered about 500 German fans watching the match underneath this bridge, so I sat with them to watch the last 20 minutes. It was quite strange, but oddly enjoyable, particularly because it was pissing down with rain.
So yes today I spent most of my time editing the short video on the previous post, doing boring stuff like laundry (and yes a run was achieved today!). I'm glad to report that the rain last night has cleared the air greatly and it was hot and dry today.
Had dinner this evening in the Prater Park at the same beer garden we ate in a few days ago, who had English menus then, but apparently 'no we do not have any English menus', I beg to differ, well I don't beg, rather I sigh at his indifference. Had to get money out earlier from this lovely ATM, the Piggy Bank, that oinks and snuffles at you as you withdraw cash. Marvellous.
Okay, so I might make a more detailed entry on the events of the day later, but this video covers most of it and I'm proud to say I filmed it all on my mobile phone, aaah technology!
I refer, of course to the football. As from today we have fresh football footage to work with and there is a certain buzz about the production office. Even I'm in good spirits, no hangover to contend with and I even managed a 30 minute run this morning. Crazy. So I thought I would post a few more pictures from the work environment, well it's content and actually I think the infrastructure that is put in place for an event like this is quite impressive, remember it's all temporary and in a month will be taken down in no time at all.
MCR - Master Control Room
This is where all the feeds from the event are monitored and er controlled.
Promos Suite - This is where the exciting fast cut football promos are edited, well it would be if the first 8 cut before we arrived hadn't been so right-royally, er, fouled. Tony, pictured, struggles through another day!
So if I see anything else worthy of a picture I'll post it.
So what upset me today? Well the bloody foreign laptops they've got, which rather frustratingly have the 'y' and the 'z' key in opposite places, I know you're probably thinking, so what (I might even be thinking that now) but then aload of other keys are also in different places or require the use of FN + Alt to access them, aaargh. Maybe they've done it to stop me prefixing words with 'z' thus making them hi-larious and sound German, or rather, zounding German.
So given the second match was Portugal (who won) it seemed only appropriate and fitting to post a picture of Ronaldo with his top off (again). The score was eventually 1-0, but I couldn't help but be amused by the commentator when he said 'Portugal strike wood again' after several efforts on goal.
So I'm off tomorrow and will probably head down to the Fanzone in Vienna, it's Austria's first match and hopefully they can generate some atmosphere, like the 200 000 Croatians that are expected in town. Here's hoping.
So these are to be my two homes for the next few weeks, my pokey little hotel room overlooking the industrial estate, nice, and the make-shift edit suite (both pictured below):
The food really is meaty out here and trying to find anything other than sausage is proving difficult.
So there it is, not much to report, a 12 hour shift, pretty much problem free. I'm off on Sunday , everyone else has taken the river trip to Bratislava, I think i'll be doing that then!
Quick post to conclude the day 3 entry and it needs to be said; Vienna (or Wien) as it's referred to in the native tongue, much better at night. So we go back into the centre for a light meal, get absolutely stung by some Italians for two bottles of wine at 39 euros each, utter shits.
Regardless of that little incident we find a lovely little bar that was empty until the 20 of us rocked up! Turns out it's run by father and daughter and they are so nice. They turn the music up for us and keep us in drinks till nearly 3am, very chatty and we're settling up about to leave the man gives one of the party a bag full of wine, 6 bottles. We can't believe it and try insisting he's is being totally unnecessary, but he wants to give us a gift and tells us we can enjoy it back at the hotel. Result things are looking up in Vienna!
Oh yeah forgot to mention in previous blog entry I saw a bar called Wodka Bar, amused me greatly, and the Viennese keep calling me bitter after they serve stuff, a little judgmental perhaps?
The second day of training turns out not to be the case, they need people to start working or take the day off, frankly I want to start doing stuff and I know that I have Thursday scheduled off so I opt to work. It's a frustrating start, it turns out that everything we were taught doesn't actually work in practice and we spend the day finding workarounds - the downside to this is that I find myself doing the same job five times over. On top of this it seems no decisions have been made prior to our arrival for style and presentation to clients.
As the day progressed things did improve and we felt much happier, but we were all in need of food and beer. We found a beer garden near the hotel and were welcomed in but subsequently rushed to order and be out as quickly as possible, not particularly easy for a group of 17 people, few of whom speak German. One of my friends ordered a dish which was basically joint of roast pork, it was huge and would have fed the whole table. A rapid consumption of beer and the pressure to be out of the place led to a lot of pints being ordered at once: Even so given the short amount of time we had there you can imagine our surprise when the bill arrived with a staggering 62 beers on it, making up well over half the cost of the entire meal. I walked back to the hotel with one of the girls who, quite reasonably, didn't want to walk through the red light area alone. The others did eventually make it back to the hotel with a small party wanting to find a strip club, I made it clear that I didn't want any part of that sort of going out, so a group of us stayed in the hotel bar and then came back to my room to damage the mini bar!
Thursday
Overslept, missed breakfast. Fortunately had the day off! Met up with a few of the other guys who were off also and we started to explore central Vienna. Whilst the buildings are really quite spectacular in places, including the stunning church we walked through (pictured), I felt the city lacked the ambiance and character that is defining of so many other cities.
Also, as I had previously been warned, the Austrians really don't seem all that friendly, you'd have thought I would fit right in with a bunch of bitter old bastards who seem to resent everything in their lives, no alright even I'm not that bad. Still I'm not currently feeling a great deal of warmth towards the natives, but then again if I'm going to insist on doing my Sven voice everywhere I go, they're probably not going to take to me either.
So the last destination before returning to the hotel to write my ramblings was the 'fun' park which is right next door to us, it's huge and with so many rides we're spoilt for choice. We opt for a giant rotating swing that must rise several hundred feet in the air, the guy operating it asks me where I'm from, I tell him (he's quite cute) I'm from England, he laughs and says 'no football for you zen'. Absolutely right. The view at the top of the ride is amazing and I can see for miles. We enjoy a few other rides including the mildly amusing ghost train, but I opt not to go on this beast of a ride which spins you around at 120kmph according to it's speed read out! Uber fast. I'm worried, I've spent nearly a third of my allowance in three days and we're out tonight as well!
Okay another brief post because I don't want to type it all out again, but I'm currently in Austria and I'll be keeping an ocassional record of my journey here, however I've posted the first entry on my other travel blog from Australia to start the ball rolling!
No I'm not talking about lickin' of shots dahhnn sauff (that's street speak innit) for the next 6 weeks I shall blogging on my new travelblog along with my travel chum Random Acts of Violets. Link supplied in the bit of blog that links things.
My darling, darling friend is always telling me I should blog more "you're quite funny when you post", I know I used to do it all the time but these days I find I have to go in spurts - like this evening for example.
Anyway he's done a big blog on his...er... blog of some of his favourite film quotes, so I thought I'd follow suit, can you guess them?
"I like it, I like it a lot"
"Hans Brix? Oh no"
"You can cook right?""Your father seems to think so"
"I'd give anything to be able to do that with a ping pong ball"
"My life's as good as an Abba song"
"Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my"
"Suck that bitch"
er okay so I got carried away and couldn't actually think of many on the spot, but I will, sometime.
Couldn't help but notice during a casual glance of the new Armani ad featuring David Beckham the other week how different his body appeared, compared to all other shirtless pictures of him.
I think he's been touched up and I want to know who by. Bastards. So with this in mind I decided to try and find some pictures on the internet for comparisson (I felt certain I would find them there), it was almost like it was written into history (of internet explorer ed: you really should use firefox it's a far superior browser REALLY oh yes it has far less bugs than IE). So 2 pictures in one hand - er - file and mouse in the other. I just casually threw them together in photoshop and posted them here to seek you; the humble readers' opinion.
SO? Has Beckham had surgery? Been photoshopped onto a models body? or, C none of the above?
My love for the Eurovision has finally made the national press. Admitedly I was prompted to write because some misery failed to see the joy of the whole thing (they'd been upset by Irelands entry - a turkey singing 'Ireland Douze Points'), but nethertheless here I am! ... and then this happened the following week, I discovered I was not alone... kinda:
Saw a marvellous seasonal bargain at my local Tesco this week. It was some sort of game it had a sale sticker on that stated WAS: £2.60 NOW: £5.00. I'd put it down to a genuine mistake if I hadn't seem the game a week before on sale at £2.60. Better be quick!
Okay I feel you all deserve an explanation, this is the reason I've not posted for so long; I have been consumed by football.
My decision to go freelance earlier this year has found me editing in the unlikely world of the UK Premier League football. And now I never seem to have any time to do anything else other than stare at footballers. Sadly they are not all quite as beautiful as this specimen!
It's a travesty I know for my friends who do actually have more than an aesthetic interest in the sport, unlike perverted yours truly (god that's come up in two posts now). However the guys I work with seem to rather like the stuff I'm cutting, there's got to be an irony here somewhere. Bored. Wait a moment irony board?
Hurrah I've done it - yes I've posted for the first time since August (slap wrist) AND I've booked my travels to Australia and New Zealand next year isn't that crazy! Five weeks travelling with the wonderfully fabulous Matt.
It's a journey which is innevitably going to end up as some sort of Priscilla Queen of the Desert pilgrimage, but hey who cares two old queens in a camper van pervving it up the sunshine coast of Australia I can't think of anything better! Can you? Oh alright answers in a comment.
Did anyone else know it was national left-handed day yesterday, no of course you didn't 'cos you're all dirty right-handers and don't care about us 'lefties'. Filth.
Apparently 58% of all left-handers think they are more intelligent than right-handers, well I suppose we've got to defend ourselves somehow. We're more creative and apparently better looking than our righty counterparts, I have to say I agree, I enjoy nothing more than oggling at myself in the mirror for hours on end! Narcissism anyone?
So statistically I'm quite unique, gay and left-handed (there's the autobiography title right there) 1in 10 times 1 in 10, er what is that, well a lot anyway. Oh god I'm bored, now where is that mirror....
Has anyone seen the MFI adverts currently running. To me they only send out one clear message, people who buy from MFI or people who go to MFI, have deeply unhappy lives. Therefore buy from MFI, end up deeply unhappy. Well I suppose it's honest.
For some reason I can't find the pictures to illustrate this post, but given what did come up on the google search it's probably for the best.
Vagiseal, Anusol, to name but a few, I actually can't remember the rest of the names but there is now a host of products being advertised on telly with THE most graphic and unimaginative product names. In my mind I can't imagine anything worse than going to the chemist and asking for a tube of Anus-ol, frankly there's only one place that's going.
In a completely un-related post to the previous one, on my most recent shopping trip to Sainsburys I discovered this amazing food range. Can you believe it? And not happy with just kiddylicious food, is this beast:
... babylicious, which freaky marketing director came up with this concept, "I know put a child in your head". It's wrong I tells you all wrong!
Tis' the season to be jolly, I'm referring of course to The Great British Summer Strawberry season of course, not that Christmas nonsense everyone keeps going on about. Anyway my point, bought some delicious organic British strawberries today and OMFG remembered a jar of Green & Blacks chocolate sauce in the cupboard, frankly thank god I was on my own in the house, it was sooooo delicious, in the words of the Scissor Sisters it was filthy gorgeous. In fact as my flat mates would verify (if they weren't dipping their bodies in Glastonbury mud - is there a similarity?) I get 'special' feelings in my groin with certain foods and this was one!
Continuing a now occasional series of why I'm going to hell, I watched the news this evening and saw a story about a British coach crash in Belgium, thankfully no-one has died, but that didn't stop me sniggering when they showed a shot of the reverse of the coach and it had the name of the holiday company my friend works for on the back of it. It's not that funny is it? I mean I shouldn't even be writing about it should I, or admitting I laughed at the news, know hang on scrap that last bit, laughing at some of 'the news' is okay.
I watched the new Dr Who for the first time ever this Saturday. It's actually very good isn't it, I never knew life could be so fabulous. Okay I'm over-egging a little, but at least I see now what people are going on about. (which people?) Don't question me. Ends.
I've tried, I promise to post on here more frequently, but since I know longer work in an office where I can slack off any more you'll note my posts have become far to er... far apart. Anyway I have been putting my spare time to good use creating this little monster, well actually it was for my Eurovision party last weekend, but please vote for it on the fame game and let me know what you think!
The guy featured is my alter ego Sven, who hosted the party the year before! He's bit of a show off but he's got great buns! Check them out.
http://www.thefamegame.com/video/344/
I tried to embed it, but apparently, I can only bed men with any degree of success, oh no wait, I can't do that either (the park at a push).
I recieved a text message today. I thought it was pure genius. It was allegedly a perfectly innocent message from a friend of mine in London, it read as follows:
"I'm in London (don't ask!) need to speak 2 U urgently (need a favour) can u call me on 0207--------- battery low ask for Liz, she will pass you to me. Thanks mate."
So being a good citizen, I call, to hear the message "Welcome to Buckingham Palace, if you are calling regarding a recieved text message, please hang up now". Bloody brilliant, I immediately forwarded it on to all my friends.
Well times are a changing here in gaylords tower. I left my job three weeks ago not really knowing at the point how well it would all go, but so far - touch wood - it's going as well as I could have hoped.
So in all this excitement and time of change, I've decided to embrace a new modernity. Yes I've made the switch to Mac. Well I say switch, it's more manage et trois, they're both going to sleep with me. But one is for best and the other... well let's at least keep this entry clean shall we.
But I mean just took a look at this baby, she's reconditioned, comes with TWO floppies (what more can a boy ask for) and a HARD drive AND (yes AND) a small rodent. This machine is filth .com.
Look forward to more exciting posts from the beast.
It all seems a little bit final, it's not really, but as Margaret Thatcher once said 'endings are just beginnings', well at least I think she said that - well I once heard a male Margaret Thatcher impersonator say it, that's close enough for me.
Today I make myself unemployed, and to quote another:
'Are you mad? you mean make myself unemployed, have you any idea what they do to unemployed people? They make them do community service, fitting loft insulation into urine stenched old peoples homes' [Absolutely Fabulous 'Poor']
Yes I am now in the brave old world of freelancing, I will be very sad to leave my friends from work behind me, but frankly give it a day or two and I probably won't even be able to recall their names. Smahman who?
Seriously though, respect to all the people I've worked with, the blog continues, the job ends here. Oh all right one final quote from The Office:
This is just a saga now (to quote The League of Gentlemen), I was looking for a picture of George from Rainbow, as you do, honest I do (look check out my profile pic) when this freak pops up on the google image search.
I can't imagine anything more scary for a tots party than this.... this... clowny monstrosity. No seriously just ewwwwwwweeeeeeee. For those with a hankering to learn more:
Actually to be fair I know very little about this chap, other than he seems to resemble Mickey Mouse from behind, and before anyone says it, no this isn't another 'Friday night' story. However, to follow on from yesterdays entry about finding 'uppers' on the net I dedicate this post to cawfee guy from New York who posted the first comment on said entry.
At the very moment I post my new entry, frankly feeling a little blue*, a random stranger pops up and tells me how FABULOUS my blog is! A little positive affamation and I feel loads better today. This one's for you. Thank you that man!
[*as I re-read this post it occurred to me that the definition of me feeling blue is listening to the littlest hobo in Spanish, it's not really all that bad is it!]
In times of stress and desperation, I love that you can rely on the Internet for an 'upper', sometimes in the most unlikely of places. The guy who owns this website has recorded a version of The Littlest Hobo in Spanish, but what I really love is the reason why he's done it, (see his website for details) he should be made a pop icon, better still enter it into this years Eurovision (and don't think that won't be filling these pages very soon). Enjoy!
The beloved John Inman is dead. God rest his soul. Actually I didn't particularly care for him or Mrs Slocombes' pussy for that matter, but this felt like the right place to honour him.
I've been trying to use that headline for ages, yet since I still haven't a good cause to. I'm just going to anyway.
Well following last weeks incredibly stressful week at work, a new week brings a different air about me. My replacement, it's true, I suddenly feel closure happening all around me at work. I'm handing him the ropes (and chains etc) and the feeling of stress is rapidly being replaced by a feeling of fear. Fear that I am about to be self-employed and I have to make it happen, for me. Yes I'm scared.
Mind you I did say to the guy taking over 'you've some mighty big shoes to fill. No seriously you have, I'm size 12 (and only 5ft10 go figure), not that I intend leaving my shoes behind.
I've spent the day learning a new edit system with a room full of strangers, only to then go to Camden to talk about Virgin Trains first class to... well another room full of strangers. I suppose the first difference, I paid for the former, but was paid for the latter.
Yet throughout the day I was sadly aware of a crisis occurring at work, one I was unable to help with... until 8:30pm that was... and here I am now, writing this. At work. I offered to go back in to relieve the poor freelance editor who'd done 13 hours straight (I never do that regardless of hours!) So that's what I did! Pointless entry I know, but yet another thing that is occupying my rapidly disappearing time before I depart!!
Unfortunately this post will probably mean little to anyone other than those who work in my office. As our company gets smaller, so does the space we occupy in the office. As a move to save some money on our part, some bright spark invited the other companies in the building to share our floor [hmm if this is relevant only to people in the office maybe they already know this part]. So now in true style of the BBC's 'The Office', we lovingly refer to our new lodgers as 'the Swindon lot'. It's basically meant that the office has become a 'no fun' zone.
There is one young guy in particular though called Scott, and we all reckon he thinks he is IT. There is no grounding for this hypothesis really, none of us has ever bothered to make the effort to get to know him. But he sits there at the end of the row of desks giggling with Ros, I think I know the truth though. Jon is really jealous of him, honestly he mentions him everyday, well either that or he fancies him... where did that come from?
I went and got my haircut this lunchtime and the sexiest, buffest, Turkish hairdresser cut my hair. For god sakes man stop looking at him, those muscly arms, that chiseled jaw, oh god I'm back there right now;
"Have I cut your hair before?"
Chances are.
"Is that okay?"
Which part? I really should put an end to this. Now.
I realise as I'm making this post, this is the third one featuring an animal, it's not intentional I promise, but also it's the third entry regarding a guy I work with (remember the white black coffee man?).
So what's he done this time? Well we're talking about pets this morning, I was commenting on how I hate those scrotey little Scottie dogs. He says 'I thought you like dogs', I replied saying I do, I like most of them, just not Scotties (and a few others), besides I sponsor a lovely dog. [sighing] so the conversation then goes like this:
Him: I've got a sponsored pet
Me: Really, what?
Him: I sponsor a Dolphin... I gave it to my Nephew as a gift.
Me: A gift to your Nephew? Well it's not really your pet then is it?
Him: But I pay for it.
Me: But if you gave it to your Nephew as a gift, surely it's theirs, you don't give someone a gift and then say 'it's mine', it's theirs.
Him: No, but...
Me: Technically you are taking back a gift you gave to an innocent child. Get out of my sight you grotty man.
Okay, okay, I may have paraphrased the last bit a little for comedic effect, but that is pretty much how it went!
I threw a little dinner soiree on Saturday night and was delighted with how it all went, a menu of my own concoction that actually tasted yummy. Brilliant. I did Chicken Breast stuffed with Gorgonzola & Homemade Pesto, wrapped in Pancetta, basted with Balsamic Vinegar and Garlic and topped with fresh Rosemary. Served up with Wild Rice and Roasted Vegetables. For pudding was my set piece of Banoffee Pie (homemade of course) I'm so happy!
The ensuing consumption of at least 12 bottles of wine, yes 12, and a bottle of Vodka and numerous cans of beer between 9 of us until 4:30am was also mighty impressive I thought!! We even managed to break the karaoke machine. The neighbours will be so happy!! So the next big event will be the Eurovision party, bring it on!
Did I say? I hate Valentines Day. Yes, yes, I know I'm only saying it because I'm single, but some how at 31 years it's become rather like one of those annoying Christmas hits that you don't want to hear, but you know you're going to regardless.
All Valentines does is add fuel to the fire that is already smouldering, that I'm going to end up a bitter, damaged, old queen. And I know I've posted that before.
Has anyone else noticed this advert? Do you think they realise how easily it is misread. The first time I saw it, I simply read 'Lads Fats' like the little 'cracking-the-man-fat' pervert I am, then when I saw it elsewhere, I read it 'Loads Of Fats', which I thought doesn't really sell the product to me.
It's a shame, I'm quite partial to a Hob Nob, but I do find their ad campaign a bit shit. A shitty hob nob, now there's a thought.
Holy muscle of Mary. As my good friend smahman has just pointed out; getting fit was possibly one of the worst things I ever did to myself. As he said, I was already a show off long before I thought about going to the gym, all working out has done has made me into a vain, narcissistic, prudy old queen (well 31). Seriously though, is there anything wrong with that?
Anyway I know I'm pretty delluded about all this anyway, I mean let's face it, there are countless guys out there who are fitter, leaner and more defined than me. The only six pack I have is in the fridge. Although one thing I would say is I used to be larger than smahman, he was a keen runner, he actually said to me once "in our family it's so easy to keep the weight off, it's our duty not to have a great body" look at him now!
Seperately I was having a conversation with Gino at work, who has always kept himself in decent nick, I was telling him my natural mind state as a human is not one of a fitness freak, it's a mental workout to get me in the gym everytime I go, and I realise as I write this, the driving force that gets me there is my vanity. Shit.
Just a quick one today. Almost every bus journey I now take in London is accompanied by an unwanted soundtrack. What I'm referring to is those little shits - yes it's always school kids or chavs - who insist on playing music through their mobile phones.
It's not particularly the music they're playing (you'd be hard pushed to identify the actual tune anyway), it's the complete unappreciation for sound reproduction. I work with sound every day and frankly I'm bit of a stickler for decent replication, not the tinny din they clearly think is 'the shit'.
I'd be interested in hearing from anyone with similar feelings, experiences. Maybe to form a gang and go and deck them, come on I'm well 'ard these days. Ask smahman to see the bruises!
Unusually not from a hangover though, although I was in the pub last night. I went to one of the most difficult pub quizzes I think I've ever been to last night.
Sample Question 1: What is the current rate of inflation multiplied by the age of the earliest found sample of DNA?
Sample Question 2: A recent archeological dig unearthed the largest neolithic village found in Great Britain. What is believed to have been the main trade of the villagers?
Can I just say I hate going to the dentists, it's never "fine see you in six months for your check-up", it's always a filling or some other drama. I went yesterday and she told me I needed a crown. "Sweetheart I could have told you that when I walked in the door".
Anyway after an hour of rooting around my mouth preparing the tooth she sends me on my way. Thank god I'm vain enough to have checked myself in the mirror before I left. The miserable old sow had left a white residue around my mouth which was not coming off without a fight, we all know I don't 'do' girls and I certainly don't allow them to leave a mess around my mouth.
The worse part is this temporary thing she's shoved in there, it's horrible and it has to stay for 2 weeks. Oh and while I think of it, she wouldn't let me spit either:
"Raise your left hand if you feel any discomfort", I felt like I was at school again, oh no wait I wasn't that clever at school... or now for that matter. Do you know what Jon said to me at work. 'What time is it 2:30?'. Fuck off Jon. If that is your name.
Well it came... and went without too much of a hitch. The event? Me turning 31 of course, however as Matt delightfully pointed out to me last night over dinner, it's actually the start of my 32nd year. Thanks for that!
I did wonder yesterday as I spent 2 hours in House of Fraser (my favourite department store) if I was on the fast track to middle aged-dom. There were worrying clues, the new bath towels and pillows I purchased (I had to get rid of my dirty pillows), admiring the cutlery canteens and sitting in the cafe on my own with coffee and scones admiring the view of the London skyline! Oh my god I also just realised I went into Clarks to look at shoes. Clarks.
Sorry for not having posted earlier this week but the truth is I have been struggling with possibly the most painful tooth infection I've ever had. Thankfully now I'm up to my nut in painkillers and antibiotics [look at the bitch with the drug habit], but it is bit of a pisser given that it's my birthday weekend and means I won't be able to drink anything fun until Sunday.
It's rare having a problem with something staying in the mouth methinks. Does the tooth fairy still come at 31? [insert joke here]. Even if they do I'd have to go to hospital first. HOSPITAL. I see the dentist on Tuesday, watch this space I say, or rather watch for a space, maybe?
You may recall some months ago I made a blog entry about a guy at work who wanted black coffee with milk (god why didn't I write that at the time far more succinct) anyway this guy makes the foulest cup of tea. He offered to make me one a few weeks ago, I let him, it was horrible. I felt duty bound to write him a lengthy email telling him why his tea was foul and how to make a proper cup of tea: "I don’t wish to sound ungrateful but that cup of tea was FOUL.
I know I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth but here’s a few pointers!
Anyway today I foolishly agreed to let him make me a cup of coffee. Black, one sugar. He forgot the sugar, that's not the point of this entry though. The point is he was pouring water into the kettle spout, full flow and it was spilling everywhere:
Me: What are you doing...
Him: I don't want to overfill it, and boil too much, it's a waste of energy and bad for the environment.
Me: What and wasting water isn't? Take the lid of the kettle and fill it normally like everyone else.
On a slightly different note, but still work, until yesterday we'd been without spread for toast for weeks. So I took it upon my self to finally rectify the situation and spread the love (d'ya get it) This is the email I wrote (i'm so proud):
Subject: Spreading the love
Can I just say, out of the very kindness of my own heart and own WALLET, I have purchased a tub of spread for the kitchen. I hope that this very selfless act of generosity ripples through the company and that from here on in spread will be available a little more frequently to our hungry office. Now I don't want to liken myself to Jesus feeding the 5,000, but there are quite a lot of people who use this office now! One small tub ain't going to go a long way or last a long time. I think i'm done.... yes i'm done.
Apparently BNP are changing their name. They're keeping the initials but instead of it standing for the British National Party, it now stands for the BE NICE PARTY. So no longer will there be articles like this on their website.
http://www.bnp.org.uk/news_detail.php?newsId=1303
Personally I don't have a problem with a fuck off great mosque, just so long as they've a McDonalds. It's thanks to Jon's link that I was sent there in the first place by the way.
I'm not one to comment on the news really, I don't watch enough for starters to have an informed opinion and if I do say something I wonder if I've fully understood it anyway. Which is kind of worrying when you consider I edit a news/current affairs TV magazine show.
However this morning in the edit suite the telly was on feeding CNN out to no one but myself. I noticed as I left they were telling a story of how a teenage girl in America was videoed on a mobile phone being beaten up by other pupils at her school. The video had been posted on the Internet and CNN were commenting on how awful this was - in my opinion I agree it is horrific.
SO why then I thought are you guys looping this video full screen whilst telling us all this? Not only has this now being broadcast worldwide on the Internet but now thanks to CNN also on TV as well. I know they are probably trying to highlight how serious this all is, but to keep showing the video?
Like I say I don't like to comment normally but this particularly bugged me. Other news stories that are annoying me is the Celebrity Big Brother racism scandal, I think they should pull the show it's dire and desperate. Also the lead dancer at the National Ballet speaking out about her support for BNP. I sound like an old fishwife saying "I won't say anything.... but", I promise i'll make the next entry more upbeat!
I received a text message off a friend of mine on Saturday night who lives in Telford (no don't laugh), her now not so new fella is in the Army, or was, or something like that. Now for quite sometime it turns out that they were also unknowingly friends with my cousin, (who's also in the Army (that's the connection there)) - well I mean they knew they were friends, otherwise we're getting into freaky territory [Ed: Territorial Army?].
It was only when she put several different clues together mind that she twigged it was me. I can see the thought process now: Danny.... Falmouth.... Gay.... Media.... London.... Gay.... Falmouth..... Gay...... Gay..... oh Danny. It is bloody freaky isn't the world incestuous enough already?
I know we are now safely pushing our way into '007 (has anyone else noticed that about this years number?) but I'm pleased to report I've decided to try and be a bit braver this year as far as my career is concerned. That's right, I've bitten the bullet and given work 3 months notice. Yes folks, readers, lesbians (everyone welcome) I'm going freelance [should be said in the style of a quote from Matt 'i've been shopping'].
It actually feels strangely liberating, I'm going it alone, I'm my own boss, no more answering to arsehole managers [note to self; don't think you're going to get it easy from me buster] it's time to burn my bra [note; er Bra?] fine i'll buy one and burn that. All I have to hope now is that all my friends and contacts i've made over the years actually want to work with me again.
Now, let me think about my other workplace departures....
The answer; Jamie Olivers' flavour shaker, is this not the most ridiculous item ever? They're running the most irritating ad campaign for it as well, oh look we're trying to be funny aren't we, I mean we know it looks sexual, blah blah blah....
Also has anyone else noticed Jamies' new cook book in certain lights looks like it says 'cock', not a great example in this picture but it's metallic and does sometimes look like it says it.
Having said all that I got the book for Christmas and used it to cook a very nice rissotto on Saturday night. Well pleased with it. I actually tweaked the recipe a bit but it was still yummers. Chorizo and Asparagus yum yum yum!
I went to a rather lovely gay wedding in Manchester just before Christmas, it was very nice to catch up with some old uni pals I hadn't seen for quite some time.
They often say people meet their future husbands at weddings, well at least they did in the film Muriels Wedding, or at least I think they did, it's not the point, well it is, just mine (maybe theirs too). Anyway before I start to ramble I had not one but two people express past or present interest in me! One highly amusingly was the groom on the dance floor! Sorry guys I know you're probably both going to read this but he did and it was past anyway!
Then when I get to Cornwall for Christmas I recieve a text from the other groom telling me his work mate fancied me as well, what a result! In the end I just picked up a dirty bit of trade when I got back to London, still always nice to have the attention!!
I can't believe it's real, well actually I can, because thanks to my flat mates I now own a can of this delightful stuff!
Yes it was truly the shittest gift I'd ever been given - in the literal sense of course. I absolutely love it, I mean it's not particularly convincing shit that comes out the end of the nozzle, but then I'm not always convinced by the crap that comes out of my arse either. All that doesn't matter though it's shit.... IN A CAN!
I would like to thank my flat mates for my wonderful, wonderful gifts, they were absolutely superb.
I happen to love Christmas very much, however I appreciate that for whatever reason it's not everyones favourite time of year. That's fine, live and let live and all that nonesense, what I took offence to today though was this strumpy old bint on the market who was obviously out with work colleagues speak "VERY LOUDLY" about "HOW MUCH I HATE CHRISTMAS".
Three things, no wait four, first "Shut the fuck up you miserable sow".
Second, get the fuck out of the Christmas shop then.
Third, stop picking up decorations saying "ooh that's nice" then putting it back down and repeating how much you hate Christmas (it's obviously bull shit and you're the gobby Cow from the office that no one can shake at lunch time and as a result you have to attention seek all the time from your long suffering colleagues).
Fourth, to reiterate a point "shut the fuck up you miserable sow".
Oh and now a fifth point, look what you've made me become. A vitriolic Christmas Queen, granted I was probably on the way already but that is far from the point. The point is that you are a foul, strange woman.
Yes, yes, I know two posts in one day is simply an extravagance but I just remembered what I meant to post today.
I bought these new Calvin Klein Mesh Boxers on Friday thinking 'ooh sexy, wearing those almost certainly makes me look like that models anus. Fact.'
In reality, they feel rather strange underneath my trousers (pronounced trii-sers), so I was telling people at the party to feel the fabric. Oh silly me, someone used it as a brilliant opportunity to give me a wedgie. Yeah thanks Gino.
Only cotton undergarments from this day forth. Sexy though.
What this post represents is more of a return to form, I mean still no ridiculous outburst declaring my love for anyone in the room but more my mischievous behaviour.
Jo (pictured right) took most of these pictures. It was actually rather a good party, the only real shame was it was a monday night. It had food, free wine, karaoke (cute DJ) and secret Santa. It turned out that we had each other, I bought the German guy a disco ball, he bought me the gay times annual! Perfect!
I was all the more impressed that I was in before most people today. 9:30 I made it in for. Although when I first got in I literally stared blankly at my computer screen for 10 minutes (minimum) and it has taken me twice as long as usual to do my work today. Oh well. Lot's of love today (although Jon at work is acussing me of being beligerant - that doesn't sound like me on a hangover).
For once, this weekend I managed to attend not one, but two parties and behave at both. No getting my arse out, no inappropriate outbursts. I schmoozed friends and business clients alike. A success I'm so proud.
I even managed to drink loads of water after the Friday night party. So much so I enjoyed the horrid delights of the night bus from Shaftsebury Avenue, watching a guy slowly vomit all over himself. Even I have never managed to achieve that in London.
The highlight of my Saturday night though was my friend staggering round at the end of the party telling me how much he loves me, yes, yes I know he's only human. Still time for me to make my exit though! He calls me the next day, with no recollection of these comments [but no denial I note] and telling me how he fell down the stairs at Vauxhall Station (probably straight into the doors of the Royal Vauxhall Tavern), this morning he's come into work looking like Tiny Tim, hobbling on a walking stick - his own.
"Tell Tiny Tim I won't be coming 'ome this Chris'mas"
More specifically it was Cinderella at the Hackney Empire. I hadn't been to Panto for years, this one was brilliant. It was nicely written plenty of innuendo, including some accidental.
"The prince's ball, it was the first thing that came in my head"
Please there are children in the audience, by that I mean please more of course. The ugly sisters were brilliant, but then I always was a sucker for a man in a dress. At the ball:
"I'm off to get something to eat" "Really what are you having?" "Tongue Sandwich" "Oh I could never eat anything that came out of an animals mouth" "What are you going to eat then?" "Boiled egg" Exit stage right
Yes it was all there and rather marvellous. However it's now all BEHIND ME.
The blog. It simply wasn't....hmm... gay enough. Unfortunately in the process of playing dress up I did manage to lose a load of my links to other blogs. If I haven't got yours here let me know.
I had the strangest night out on Friday. I certainly wasn't expecting it. God why do I feel as I type this so many 'night out' stories start this way - what's wrong with me for goodness sakes! Answers on a postcard please.
I honestly thought when I left work to attend my trainers leaving do that it would be a couple of civilised drinks with a bunch of her clients. How wrong I was. I stupidly didn't eat that evening - we all know that spells trouble and before I know it I'm involved in a deep and penetrating conversation about gay sex.
"GARCON. MORE WINE"
It is absolutely shameful how quickly my mind draws blank on the events of that evening. Which is a shame, for had I been more with it I might have noticed the bastard who stole my iPod. No I don't have insurance. The shits.
The following night (yes there's more) I was at a far more civilised affair. My friends engagement party, which was actually a lot of fun. I met my friend Richards' new girlfriend and managed to recall the entire nights events. However, what I didn't notice was the card that I bought them to congratulate actually had 'Happy Birthday' written inside.
"It wasn't Happy Birthday was it?"
Dammit and i've just realised I missed Jam & Jerusalem as well.
You are an optimistic person who is easily content. You enjoy casual, light tasks - never wanting to delve too deep into anything. A bit fickle, it's easy for you to change plans or paths when presented with something better.
You enjoy all of the great things life has to offer - food, friends, and fun. A great talker, you can keep the conversation going for hours. You are optimistic and sure of your success. If you fail, you don't worry about it too much.
At your worst, you are vain. You are obsessed with your own attractiveness. A horrible flirt, you tend to jump into love affairs and relationship drama easily. You're very jealous - which just magnifies the craziness around you.
I've just got back from a rather enjoyable long-weekend in New York. It was bloody amazing, a mentally fast city. This tale however is about my return flight with BA yesterday morning. A colleague at work told me the flight was called the 'red-eye' because you leave New York in the evening and get back to the UK in the morning.
I know it's a cliche about camp air stewards but this one was hilarious. It started with us being offered drinks, fine usual procedure, I took a beer. I hadn't particularly noticed any special treatment at this point or attention from the guy in question, yet before I was halfway through my beer he promptly came up to me and gave me another beer and my mum 2 bottles of wine.
Later we were bought round our meals - as usual. This guy brings out the hot beverages, it's important to note this guy was black (it's important to the story!) he says 'would you like tea or coffee sir?' to which I respond 'coffee please', he continues to say 'would you like that white' then he touches my hand and says 'or do you take it black!', at which point I just pissed myself out loud, it was hilarious.
I found this all the more funny because before I had boarded the flight I was having a drink in the bar with my mum and I was looking at their cocktail menu (of 2) and they offered one called the 'Mile High Mary'. If only I knew then I was to experience one in the flesh a few short hours later. It didn't end there, oh no, I was treated like a first class passenger (probably more so when I was asleep!) and as I went to leave the plane at the end of my flight, he came across especially to wish me goodbye. Bless!
This morning, at work, my colleague told me how he had woken up with 'morning wood', he proceeded to tell me that he hadn't had sex last night (welcome to my world mate)
"I'm really randy at the moment I had to get rid of it"
Now this guy is getting pathetically jealous of my ever improving physique. He said he was going to get rid of his afore mentioned hormonal overload by doing press-ups, in the nude. Apparently he'd completed about 10 reps and his girlfriends 6 year old daughter walks in.
Now I know he couldn't have helped the daughter walking in, but press-ups in the nude? It's not right is it?
Admittedly it's a tenuous link between title and story but I didn't really know where to start. My brothers paid me a rare visit this weekend, two boys from Cornwall in the big city. I think they were quite impressed by the sheer variety of entertainment on offer (intentionally and unintentionally).
The night that really got their attention though was one of those rare unplanned nights when everything just seems to happen. We went to the Living Room in Islington and it was superb, the food was spot on, but what really got our attention was the singer and pianist performing upbeat lounge-style covers of everything from Prince to Nirvana.
The two guys were absolutely faultless, not a bum note all night. They really won the crowd over, well apart from this one miserable sow who had plonked herself on the end of the piano, right next to the singer, yet she stood with her back to him the entire night with a face like thunder. I don't get why people bother and why on earth they weren't enjoying it, her friends seemed to be - maybe that was the problem. We had a great time anyway.
Our next port of call was a club called Clockwork on Pentonville Road, i'd never been to it before. It was actually really good, run by nice people and they had an unbelievably cheap bar £5 a round. That is great anywhere and you certainly wouldn't expect to pay that at a Central London club. My brother even managed to pull, well he got so far as leaving in a cab with her. However when my other brother and I got home, a cab pulled up and my brother jumped out. Oh dear what a charmer.
It's not a particularly interesting tale if you weren't there. You weren't.
As per usual I don't really have much to make an entry about (no that's not a euphanism) very little at all in fact. It's just I couldn't help noticing it's Halloween. Again.
Mind you what could be more 'spooky' than this haggered old lady-boy.
I tell you what is interesting though was I had a Turkish shave today. If you haven't tried one, you simply must. Stubbly men, bearded ladies it's an absolute pleasure!! I got an all over massage, the works. Oh and a shave.
I think I'm done. Yes that's it. Over and out.
Of course it's never over, but often out I've noticed.
12 years. 12 years I'd gone without the mention of the words Bri-nylon. Then last night after a brief discussion about decades, my flat mates made me say Bri-nylon.
1994 was the last time I uttered those words. Trust me I know. It was Ms Stevensons A-Level Performing Arts class. We were putting on a play about the life of Philip Larkin. I didn't write it. Obviously.
But back to my flat mates. Sods. They might have well have pinned me down to the floor and put me in a baby doll. Except they could never have done that. They're far too feeble. The case in point, the Bri-Nylon counter is now set back to 1. Day. Bastards.
I'm not trying to name drop, yet somehow just by saying that, it's exactly what I'm doing. It's a no win situation. Except it is. Last night my gorgeous friend Kate and I managed to get bar seats at this snazzy London restaurant. I've been trying to get a seat there for a long time, maybe it was my glamorous companion that finally tipped fate in my favor.
It was then that I thought, 'hang on' the reason they must get booked out is because people must always book early. Ingenious. So I asked the surly waiter (obligatory I think in a restaurant like this) if I could book for December. Bingo. I pretty much had the run of the restaurant to choose from. I tell you what there's going to be some pretty envious patrons pushing their nose against the window come December I can tell you.
For some reason when I was up at 6am this morning to go to the gym, I noticed a postcard of a horse pinned to our notice board. As I ate my cranberry miniwheats I couldn't help but notice that the horse looked a little like Agnetha from Abba.
Stranger still as my bus sped me towards the gym my mind kept going back to the image of the horse and what other animals might also be good dopplegangers for Abba. In fact it's been pre-occupying my thoughts all day, until now, frankly I shouldn't be allowed near Photoshop if this is the kind of crap I'm going to come up with.
That aside though, it did tickle me as the image came together. A colleague at work suggested that I should ask readers to make suggestions for animal related Abba puns, or suitable animal alternatives to the famous four. The gate is open, or rather the zoo.
I've never quite understood people saying Thursday is the new Friday, or White is the new Black. Surely not, this would throw a world of order into disarray, well mine at least. I'd have to use Times New Roman instead of Trebuchet - font of choice thank you very much. I'd think I was making a cup of tea only to find it was actually coffee. I'd have white hair, it's all too awful to contemplate.
Mind you guys and gals this would make an interesting point of discussion don't you think? A bit like a game of 'what if' meets 'consequences'. Discuss.
There's not really much of a point to this entry to be honest, it just struck me on the way to work this morning as I contemplated my few beers out last night. Oh and I also wanted to welcome Joe90 and Cornish Rambler into my links list, notable blogs I'm sure you'll agree. Well Cornish Rambler at least. I mean anyone who chooses to call themselves 'The Vessel', arrogance.
Yesterday as I was searching for Michael Jackson's Thriller video on YouTube I found the Billie Jean video, it's a classic song so I decided to have a watch and listen. Now I have seen the video before, but not for a long time and what struck me as I watched it was there were certain elements that reminded me of Lionel Richies' All Night Long video (also a classic tune and my karaoke piece). So I promptly downloaded Lionel as well, my god that video is so camp it's hilarious, but if you watch them both you'll see what I mean!
I think 'The Worlds Local Bank' probably has it's headquarters in Royston Vasey.
I was in a queue at the bank yesterday when quite a scary lady approached me:
"Can I help you at all?"
I was slightly taken aback, firstly at being approached by a woman and secondly... well being approached full stop.
"Er yes, can I use the ATM's to make a transfer between my accounts?"
"Certainly sir, follow me, let's see what we can do"
'Is that some kind of challenge?' I'm thinking,
this lady was clearly in full auto mode and running what ever customer service training efficiency program had been etched into her brain to the word. All smiles, jokes, 'just don't' I thought. "I just need to stand over your shoulder while we do this okay otherwise I can't see the screen, ooh easy don't let me see your pin"
I couldn't quite believe how falsely happy and smiley she was as she talked me through the whole procedure. I tried making a few comments that I thought might evoke a more natural, conversational response, but no.
It was only afterwards as I thought about our little interaction that maybe she didn't work for the bank at all. No she did, I clocked her badge 'Sandra, happy tohelp' Ithink ASDA have those badges too... wait a moment. No seriously, I thought 'hang on' she was only trying to be happy and helpful - a rarity in this country. Maybe we Brits have got so used to poor service and unfriendliness that this is what we have come to expect.
It's like when you learn about change management, initially there is hostility to anything different from the status quo. This could be the start of a new age of customer service. But then again in the latter stages of change management comes acceptance and I sure as hell don't want someone like her as the norm.
I'm not one to complain. But. I was thinking today was one of my better days for journeying to work. The bus arrived as I got to the bus stop, there were seats (unheard of) and the guy I was sat next to only moderately smelly.
Even better this was the 341 - bing - the only bus that takes me straight to work without the need to change (honestly more than one bus and I soil my pants). Sounds great doesn't it? Ha yeah you'd think wouldn't you.
Well at Angel the bus decides to turn down towards Kings Cross - hang on just a moment this bus is for Waterloo, isn't it? So I go downstairs at the next stop and find I am not the only bemused passenger on the bus. The driver decided not to inform anyone that this bus was no longer the 341 to Waterloo, but now the 476 to Euston. Thanks guys.
Oh by the way the photo from this post comes courtesy of some random site called Christian Bits, I found it on google, marvelous. It's the Veggie Tales School Bus, now you can be Christian AND a Veggie. But not gay.
Friday nights for me are usually a trip to the pub straight after work, stay there until I'm ready to go home, go to bed, pass-out. Well I guess that still happened on Friday, except I didn't go to the pub straight after work and I didn't pass-out in my bed. Before you ask, I stayed with friends in East London (nice house guys).
So what did I do immediately after work on Friday? Well it will probably come as no surprise to my friends that I went to the gym. Just for a swim, but to my dismay the pool was busy, so I decided to reverse my usual routine and start in the sauna, boy am I glad I did.
There were two beauties sat there in next to nothing just chatting away in a foreign language. I sat down, composed myself and tried to concentrate on the wall. Almost immediately Beauty 1 (let's call him Blondey) asked if I wanted to squeeze in next to them on the higher seat, I politely declined and they carried on chatting.
After a while I couldn't resist, 'excuse me' I asked 'I hope you don't mind me asking, what language are you guys speaking in', dammit I should have used the word tongue I thought. Beauty 2 (let's call him Brunettey) tells me they are Russian, and that in Russia 'we have sauna's everywhere, do you mind if I put more water on coals?'. 'No, why not, of course, go ahead' I reply oh-so-coolly and so promptly pours the whole water bucket on the coals, despite the sign on the wall saying 'half a ladle at a time please'.
The back of my throat and my eyeballs feel like they are being dry-cured and as I struggled to maintain my composure Brunettey asks me if I wouldn't mind telling him the temperature. Of course in my mind I'm singing 'it's getting hot in here...' 'er' '90o', Brunettey tells me 'in Russia it is usual to be 110o' at which point Blondey pipes up 'and if you are lucky you will have a friend who beat you with sticks, like Birch branches'. I'd like that punishment, I thought.
We continued to chat for a bit, whilst I gently crisped. Then they left, the moment they were out of sight I made a dash for the pool. So it seems to me with pleasure there comes pain!
I think what Jon intended was a compliment when he told me he thought my blog was funny. Prolific. That was one word he used, now I know what it means I've decided to do a double entry. Quiet everyone.
He said it's nice, you don't use too many big words - just to paint a brief picture of Jon he's got a far greater grasp of the English language than the muck that comes out of my mouth (stop sniggering) - Simple. Funny. He said. I took it as an insult.
You know i'm not even sure I know what the point of this post was any more. In fact I might award myself worst post ever. Well it's a challenge then isn't it.
Footnote: I've just spell checked this and blog comes up as a spelling mistake. On blogger, that is ridiculous.
I just asked a guy at work if he reckoned one of the girls (sat next to us with headphones on) was a cum slut. To which someone else in the office was appalled. Was that wrong of me?
As readers are aware I usually like to add a picture to my posts. Somehow I think a picture for this story might be inappropriate.
Friends may or may not know this, but I am bit of a dog lover. Sadly though, living and working in London as I do, it's simply not possible for me to own a dog.
Now I'm not usually one for those charity adverts on TV, you know the ones 'your 2 pounds a week could buy little Johnny a new pair of legs for 6 weeks' or 'Cystitis; there is a cure'. To be honest the ad for the Dogs Trust was quite appalling, 'all Smudge wants is a new friend', dammit! It's as if they could read my mind 'that's all I want!'.
So the short of it is a week later I'm now sponsoring Lazloe (pictured), bless him, here's what it says on his profile:
Despite my macho looks I suffer from lots of allergies which makes me very sensitive. But it doesn't really bother me, I'm a happy hound and love it here. Unfortunately you won't be able to visit me but I'd love it if we could be pen pals
I particularly like the last bit, I've sponsored a wonder dog, he's actually going to write to me. He's smarter than I am.
I'm sure a psychologist would have a field day with this, however, it really bugs me when women do their ablutions on public transport in the morning.
The woman in case this morning wasn't even on my bus, she was on the top deck of the bus we pulled alongside in the traffic. There she was scraping away at her scrawny old nails, debris flying all over the other passengers. It reminded me of an occassion when I'd been sat next to a girl on the bus doing exactly the same thing, except it was going all over me. Cow.
The noise it makes as well, it's awful, this constant light scraping noise. I know I shouldn't be so bitter and damaged (like her nails) but you'd feel the same if you were being flaked upon by a complete stranger.
I just looked up the definition of 'ablution' to check I had the correct word, I did, but I didn't realise I did. One defintion is 'to remove sins and diseases', that'll do me.
As have my stomach and bowels over the last few days, uncomfortably frequently.
Today though I find a piece of history in my email inbox; a picture of me (centre left) photographed in the local paper when I was about 13, some 17 years ago. It was sent to me by my friend (centre right), who's mother had found the clipping recently.
It got me thinking, this is possibly the first evidence of my determination to work in the media. My friends and I had entered a national competition through the school, or rather a competition one of our nicer teachers had let us know about and encouraged us to enter. It was called the BT Young Consumer of the Year Award and we had to produce a short 5 minute film on a consumer issue.
What we came up with was 'THE BIG RIP OFF', a short film which highlighted how much packaging was wasted and left unrecycled on consumer products. We had the support of the local supermarket chains Woolworths, Co-op, Tesco and Gateway. We even managed to convince the local art college to let us use their video editing facilities, there we have it 1989 first evidence of me in an edit suite!
Well time went by and I had forgotten about the competition, then out of the blue I get a phone call from the school saying that we had come 2nd in the competition, to which I responded 'regionally?', my teacher replied 'no nationally!'. After hearing the news we each received a hand-written letter from Sebastian Coe (now Lord!) who was MP for Falmouth at the time, congratulating us on our achievement. I was quite chuffed.
So what you see in this picture is my friends and I being presented with a cheque for a whopping £75 towards school video equipment - we bought a radio mic as I recall! So thank you Matt and your mother for reminding me of where it all began, and how awful my hair was.
I would like to dedicate this post to my wonderful friend and colleague Fiona MacMillan who has selfishly decided to leave us in pursuit of a 'career'. Seriously though, I've worked side-by-side with Fiona for over 4 years now. She's encouraged me every step of the way she helped me through the bad times and been part of the good times. In the words of the Golden Girls
she's a friend and a confident
Fi I wish you all the success in the world and I'm sure you'll be very happy, without you, I may not.
Gay readers you'll be relieved to see a far more fitting read in this post - I mean football, honestly.
Yes, yes, I know two days ago I wrote about how much umbrellas disgust me. However last night I was lucky enough to witness one brolly I would enjoy, in the amazing West End show Mary Poppins.
Both my friend and I were speechless at the end of the first half trying to describe how much we had enjoyed it. All I can say is it had everything you could possibly want from a musical, oh my god "practically perfect in every single way".
The set was just amazing and I was so impressed with how the actors faultlessly performed so many songs and routines relentlessly in a very demanding show. Many disciplines seemed to be given a nod including tap and ballet.
The most impressive moment though had to be when they 'flew' Mary Poppins from the stage, through the proscenium arch and up into the rafters of the theatre. I thought it was amazing, the kids must have loved it.
Having had a little look at the management behind the show I can't say I was surprised to see Matthew Bournes name in there. I guess that may be where the ballet influence came from (I saw his Nutcracker at Sadlers Wells a few years ago).
Maybe I was slightly 'sweetened' by the free tickets for this show, but what Mary Poppins did was remind me of why I used to enjoy musicals so much. Aren't they so bloody clever.
Yes I know it normally means something completely different to gay men, but last night I went up to the new Emirates Stadium to watch Arsenal play Porto (which they won). I have to say it's a bloody impressive stadium.
We had great seats, 9 rows back behind the goal. We saw Thiery Henrys first goal right before our very eyes, va va voom. Also Van Persies corners, thought he was a strong player, but I shall not try and analyse the match. It really isn't my thing as any of my friends will testify!
I did find myself slightly distracted during the second half watching Freddie Ljungberg warming up for substitution. Still that was only a 10 minute distraction. I see why they call it the beautiful game.
I hate those dicks that swan round the streets of London with fucking golfing umbrellas. Only the slighest hint of rain and wooooop, they're up. Yet they hold them so low you have to duck out the way to avoid having an eye removed.
I'm sure if they could carry a marquee round on a stick they would (note to self: check those big stick things in the middle of marquees are not for that purpose). While i'm on the topic of umbrellas, why do people keep their brollies open when it's not even raining. I hate you people, you make my happy days sad. Yes to misquote the Carpenters, Rainy Days & Mondays always make me glad.
This was the final figure from the cocktail party that my friends and I enjoyed on Saturday night. You'll note a generously added 91 pence contribution made by the bar. Actually, to be fair, the bar was great and the cocktails were phenomenally good.
The absolute highlights had to be the Espresso Martini and The Essex Girl (I never thought I'd enjoy downing one of them). Also notable contenders were High Heels and The Champagne Bath which was beautifully presented with Rose Petals.
Of course most of the entertainment came from the waiters, they would give Manuelle a run for his money. The highlight was when the Eastern European guy said to my friend:
after 2 hours of drinking cocktails, you want to suck some cock huh?
I don't know the rest of the story as he disappeared after that. So when the tab ran dry we all piled into a people carrier and head back to ours for yet more beer and singing. Writing this conclusion I realise it's one that's all to familiar to one of my nights out, however it was a lot of fun and you can't really complain about free cocktails!
...to the Woods today. You'll be sure of a big surprise. I had no idea this song was about cruising, but just listen to the lyrics. Filth. My childhood shattered. Again.
I mean just to give you an extract from the chorus in case you are not familiar:
Picnic time for teddy bears, The little teddy bears are having a lovely time today. Watch them, catch them unawares, And see them picnic on their holiday. See them gaily dance about. They love to play and shout. And never have any cares.
I mean catch them unawares. It is utter dirt. No wonder our kids are growing up corrupt. Well not mine obviously, the only kids I intend having are put down.
I just locked Jon in the cupboard at work. It's padded and sound proof. It's about time he learnt a lesson in coming out, except that I don't think he could with the chair being wedged up against the door.
I am very sad and lonely, mostly because my playmate isn't... well... playing frankly. Is it wrong of me to want to go to the dirty Wetherspoons 'Curry-oke' night? A thrilling combination of bad singing and awfully bad curry... and yet strangely alluring?
I might go extinct waiting for somebody to drink with me. My god if no one rescues me, well I'll have to go to the gym, for a swim. I'm not even sure they allow monkeys in my gym. I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A PICTURE OF A FUCKING CHIMPANZEE.
Somebody. Please come for a drink with me, i'll buy the banana milkshakes.
Iwas fortunate enough to be invited to a really enjoyable wedding in Cornwall last weekend. It just seemed to have everything right, a beautiful church, a witty vicar, blushing bride and nervous groom... yes all you'd expect.
This was followed by the customary reception and photo's on the lawn. I thought the speeches were well pitched and well timed, one speech after each course - although the 15 course Chinese Banquet was probably an oversight (last fact - not fact).
Finally we get to the evenings entertainment, the obligatory family DJ and kids on the dancefloor etc! And fairplay to the couple for choosing Morcheeba as their first song - good choice.
So the end of the night presses on, the DJ announces the last dance, it's an upbeat number and all the remaining revellers form a circle around the dancefloor each taking a turn to run in the middle and do a little solo dance and return. It's all quite amusing, until guest and respected local primary school head-teacher and father of two, who has been allowed of the leash for the night takes his turn in the middle and promptly rips of all his clothes a la Full Monty stylee and makes his exit.
Well it's been bit of a non-stop weekend for me. Drinking, drinking and well to be frank drinking. Still if it hadn't been for the booze I'd never have met Juan.
The journey home on the night bus is normally a challenge at the most sober of times, trying to keep myself from passing out and missing my stop by three days. However Friday night there was good reason to stay awake, notably in the form of some Mediterranean piece of filth, who I was later to discover was called Juan.
Now I was obviously traveling at the quietest time in the evening for the night bus. With very few passengers on board I was surprised when this Latino lovely came and sat at the back of the bus next to myself. Readers can I just take an aside here - thank you - does anyone else get that thing on the bus when the vibration of the bus causes you to get an, er, well, an embarrassing case of hormonal overload?
Anyway back to the story, people London, they're not usually particularly chatty? Not Juan though, he introduces himself and starts chatting to me. I naturally feel the need to engage. Clerkenwell, Shoreditch, Bethnal Green all slip by un-noticed. "I get off here" says Juan "How about you?". I don't know if it's the sudden braking of the bus or an emotional instinct, I lurch forward and exit the bus. I don't need to explain the rest of the sordid details, how he smelt (well like discarded fast-food wrappers if you must know) his home (smelt bad too - like off Cillit Bang)...
The next sound I remember hearing is the shower running, I wander in, I open the door, and there stark, bollock, naked is Bobby Ewing. I'm sorry. Come again? (he wishes) I look down and discover I am Pam Ewing, what is going on?
"Last Stop Leystonstone, this bus terminates here, all change please", damn it, why do I always fall asleep on the night bus?
Yes I know it's been the best part of 2 months since I got back from Germany. My abscess now completely healed. But my blog is still rather new. Besides which this is a bizarre story I feel the need to share.
Now this particular hotel in Frankfurt was obviously popular with business travelers and those wanting to hold a function, say a wedding for example. We, as the former, had a designated office room from which we all worked. This room was on the ground floor of the hotel, so it was easy for us to nip out into the garden, just outside our room, whenever we felt the need for a quick break.
We'd been there a good few weeks when 'the wedding party' checked into the hotel, all the boys on the crew (present company excepted of course) were getting quite excited at the sudden influx of beautiful young German girls hanging around. Unfortunately the boys were unable to join in with the festivities, so it was back to work.
The following Sunday morning when we went to take our first break from work we were presented with the most extraordinary sight. There, glistening in the morning light, laying serenely amongst the dew drops and grass was a huge great dildo (pictured). We were in hysterics. It was only upon closer inspection that we realised 'the scene' we saw before us was more horror than humour.
What we saw was a scene that can only be described as a hideous cross between CSI and Anal Talisman 5. Honestly, someone should have cordoned off the area there and then. A second dildo (a second I mean that's just greedy), a bottle of lube and a small bag of some unidentifiable substance were all noted.
This is not a tale of German wedding debauchery, it's a story of waste. The person I feel for most in this story is the poor handyman from the hotel who had to remove the 'items' from the scene. What do the Germans get up to at their weddings? There's some compelling evidence to suggest it's not line dancing.
Okay I'm being unfair. I recently came back from 6 weeks in Deutschland and the Germans were perfect hosts.
However, on what I discovered was going to be my last day in Germany, the day pictured, I experienced the true pain of German hospitals.
Despite my happy-go-lucky expression in this picture (taken Nordic walking in the Alps) that particular morning I awoke with an abscess the size of a golf ball just below my right buttock. A quick inspection by my friend 'ooh that looks nasty', a small application of cream and I was convinced I'd be fine for a days hiking. Sadly that was not to be the case. The day in the Alps was highly enjoyed, but as we headed back to Munich the growth on my rear was not.
Back at my friends even sitting down was becoming quite literally a pain in the ass, so a quick call to my travel insurers and it was off to hospital. Now I did have to sit and wait well over an hour to get seen, having no idea what was install when I was.
A once over by the doctor and she said 'straight to theatre for you', which is where they proceeded to cut the abscess open with a scapel, no anesthetic, no painkillers, no nothing. I have to say it was one of the most painful feelings I have ever, EVER, experienced.
The likely cause? An infected hair follicle. Why, oh why, do I get the gayest infections?
What a strangely enjoyable August Bank Holiday weekend.
This was my first ever experience of the Notting Hill Carnival, I thought it was fabulous, everyone was so friendly, the atmosphere was fun and energetic. I'd always had reservations about going to the carnival, for the simple reason, I don't like crowds. There was something about this event though that made you want to be part of the crowd and enjoy it as much as the performers in the procession seemed to be.
Now I was lucky enough to be enjoying the festivities with a very good friend who was over from Cambodia for a few weeks. We made a great compliment for reveling, boozing and really getting into what I like to think was the 'spirit' of the day.
It's on that idea of 'spirit' that gets me to Tom. Several beers into the day Trix and I are doing to whole Pied Piper thing behind one of the floats, then amongst the crowd I notice a guy who seems like he's not enjoying it quite as much as the rest of us. I ask him if he's okay, he tell me that he's lost all the rest of his mates and he's been up and down the road looking for them for hours. My friend and I enjoying the day so much take this guy under our wing and carry on partying with him. It just seemed the right thing to do on a day like that, we all enjoyed it. Tom I hope you made it back to Basildon in the end and were reunited with your girlfriend and mates. I can't recommend the carnival enough, it was such a fun day. Thank you everyone.
In the months of recent past, i've been experiencing somthing of a lucky streak. It started off with the odd CD here, another odd CD here, and another odd CD here in fact they are all rather odd. Then came the Manchester United wash bag full of, well you probably guessed, Manchester United grooming products. Then there was that tenner on the lottery - and as most of you know I don't normally play the lottery either. So this is all rather nice.
In jest I said to a friend of mine on a recent visit to Cornwall,
'you know what I'm owed another, that's only 5 so far, these things come in 3's, i'm due something else'
and thought nothing more of it. Then a week ago, while at work, I get a call telling me that I had one a competition i'd entered in a magazine before Christmas. Naturally I was gobsmacked when they told me it was a cocktail party for me and 10 friends. Where am I gonna find those kind of numbers? Well everyone's your friend at £100 a head. Surely you can't drink that much in a night?
It's no secret among my friends I've become bit of a gym freak in the last year and I go on about it constantly. But last night as I was working through my routine I became accutely aware of this guy starting to go through the exact same exercises as I was - just with heavier weights. So I finished my sets then changed my exercise. Sure enough this guy started doing the same thing. Despite how happy I feel with how I look outside the gym, being surrounded by all these muscley guys in the gym makes me feel very very insecure. Wait a moment... surrounded by sweaty musclemen? Wake up.
My flat mate and I spent last night completely avoiding the jobs we really should have been doing around the home by telling ourselves that in an 'alternate universe' all was happy and done. We soon discovered as we drunk more how convenient alternate universes are for shunning everything we need to do in this one, yet still relishing from the glory that we had done it in another. My god I totally subscribe to the science boffins I never have to worry about the consequences of my decisions in this life again - happy in the knowledge that somewhere out there I've made the right decision. Do I have a blog in another life? I doubt it i'm far too busy.
In case you didn't know, I'm suffering at the moment, I mean REALLY suffering. It's serious, I've had to take time off work and everything, which I never do.
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Did anyone else know it was national left-handed day yesterday, no of course you didn't 'cos you're all dirty right-handers and don't care about us 'lefties'. Filth.
... babylicious, which freaky marketing director came up with this concept, "I know put a child in your head". It's wrong I tells you all wrong!
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