Background: I went to Lourdes. I helped out in processions, carrying the statue of Mary and bowls of incense.
I have experience in processions. I was called to do this one.
Right, the way there. Fairly unmemorable. The parish priest waited behind for all latecomers and the leader, some woman who has NEVER gone to church, was supposed to lead us. She has never been to London. Fucking hell.
Just in case you were confused, this is about the State visit of the Pope. Cool.
Got at Hyde Park and the leader's authority was challenged by my Dad and my uncle leading everyone to the correct entrance, not the one for the Pope. We cannot go there. Idiots.
I assembled my banner so the whole parish could follow me for some reason. I have no idea why I was suddenly made responsible for everyone. I was told to slow down so people could catch up. Fuck off, keep up. I am not responsible for the slow people that only go to church at Christmas and when the Pope shows up. Go away.
FEW QUOTES FROM MY DAD BEFORE LEAVING:
"You're dressed like that? Who do you think you're meeting?"
"Did you shave? WHY NOT?!"
"Wear a proper shirt."
Took ages to find the proper place to line up to proceed.
FUNNY LINE:
"How much is a programme?"
"£10."
"Well, that's hardly Christian."
Chortle.
Tired, I will finish this tomorrow. I apologise about that lack of quality.
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Rants and Results 19/08/10
Dreaded results day. The bane of every 18 year old in the country. Unless you stopped at 16. In which case, enjoy living on the taxpayer's money.
Does that sound elitist? Damn fucking right it does.
The night before, everybody stayed up, unable to sleep due to anxiety. Chatting away on Facebook and the like, waiting until 8am when they could constantly refresh UCAS Track and find out if they got into university. I just lied on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Reading. I am so cool and above the system, it astounds generations.
Got up at 6am and tried to get my mind off the day with some Sky TV. It was all bullshit where kids opened their results and got what they wanted. In some cases, very elderly people were getting their results and then going to university. What?! Places are scarce as it is without octogenarians applying to UCL too. If you haven't gone to university by 35, fuck off and leave it to the people without liver spots and Alzheimer's. Greedy.
I was refreshing from 9-11 and eventually got an acceptance from Aberdeen...wait. That's my insurance. FUCK.
Suddenly, I was in a nervous sweat about how badly I had messed up my exams and how many lashes of the whip my parents were going to give me. All calm had taken a shuttle bus to Malaga and I was left like a wreck. I decided to go as early as I could to the tube station, thinking a nice walk would get my mind off the life changing results. It didn't. I waited calmly at the tube station for my friend to arrive, whose UCAS app was not working. Bricks will be shat.
Arrived to a school that had looked like it staged the Holocaust. Yeah, I went there. Someone was handing leaflets to a local university that said "NO UCAS POINTS REQUIRED!" Cheeky git. Anyway, we walked in and there were people frantically looking through the Independent and on the phone. Clearing has begun. I got my results and instructed to fill in a form telling the school where I was going. Aberdeen. This got me a crap Scottish accent, frankly racist, in a light attempt to make things less futile. Not that they were futile. I missed out on two marks. I can live with that, I can now sleep at night.
A trick to figuring out if people have to go through Clearing is that they tend to not stay for long, rushing out of their room with the paper to the nearest payphone. I feel for them, Clearing is a massive lottery that could end up with people making desperate moves just so they can go to university. It's a shit situation to be in and they shouldn't have to go through that. However, I am not nearly versed enough in the system to suggest any possible changes. I called my firm to ask/beg for a place and they told me that they were already 20 places overbooked. Wow. Maybe some universities need to get a grip.
This means that there will be a "Uniblog", hopefully starting on the 18th of September, writing about the 18th of September. It's been a long time since I wrote about something on that exact day.
This all depends if I meet the Pope or not. That'll be the last excerpt of Holiblog.
In the business, we call that a professional tease or a cliffhanger.
See you next time if something actually happens in this holiday. And I'll write about France too.
Does that sound elitist? Damn fucking right it does.
The night before, everybody stayed up, unable to sleep due to anxiety. Chatting away on Facebook and the like, waiting until 8am when they could constantly refresh UCAS Track and find out if they got into university. I just lied on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Reading. I am so cool and above the system, it astounds generations.
Got up at 6am and tried to get my mind off the day with some Sky TV. It was all bullshit where kids opened their results and got what they wanted. In some cases, very elderly people were getting their results and then going to university. What?! Places are scarce as it is without octogenarians applying to UCL too. If you haven't gone to university by 35, fuck off and leave it to the people without liver spots and Alzheimer's. Greedy.
I was refreshing from 9-11 and eventually got an acceptance from Aberdeen...wait. That's my insurance. FUCK.
Suddenly, I was in a nervous sweat about how badly I had messed up my exams and how many lashes of the whip my parents were going to give me. All calm had taken a shuttle bus to Malaga and I was left like a wreck. I decided to go as early as I could to the tube station, thinking a nice walk would get my mind off the life changing results. It didn't. I waited calmly at the tube station for my friend to arrive, whose UCAS app was not working. Bricks will be shat.
Arrived to a school that had looked like it staged the Holocaust. Yeah, I went there. Someone was handing leaflets to a local university that said "NO UCAS POINTS REQUIRED!" Cheeky git. Anyway, we walked in and there were people frantically looking through the Independent and on the phone. Clearing has begun. I got my results and instructed to fill in a form telling the school where I was going. Aberdeen. This got me a crap Scottish accent, frankly racist, in a light attempt to make things less futile. Not that they were futile. I missed out on two marks. I can live with that, I can now sleep at night.
A trick to figuring out if people have to go through Clearing is that they tend to not stay for long, rushing out of their room with the paper to the nearest payphone. I feel for them, Clearing is a massive lottery that could end up with people making desperate moves just so they can go to university. It's a shit situation to be in and they shouldn't have to go through that. However, I am not nearly versed enough in the system to suggest any possible changes. I called my firm to ask/beg for a place and they told me that they were already 20 places overbooked. Wow. Maybe some universities need to get a grip.
This means that there will be a "Uniblog", hopefully starting on the 18th of September, writing about the 18th of September. It's been a long time since I wrote about something on that exact day.
This all depends if I meet the Pope or not. That'll be the last excerpt of Holiblog.
In the business, we call that a professional tease or a cliffhanger.
See you next time if something actually happens in this holiday. And I'll write about France too.
Sunday, 22 August 2010
The Day I Just Couldn't Be Arsed 16/08/10
I have missed out about a week on this blog, because I do not remember the events in much detail. I saw some people, had a few drinks, played some football, I think. Whatever. Not that eventful. If I saw people in this time gap, then be more interesting or remind me to write it in this blog earlier. That would mean you were reading this. Ha!
Right, two birthday parties on the same day. Well...one and a half. PhD (I think that's what I called her) didn't celebrate her birthday because of exams, so she delayed it until the summer. When I am lacking funds. Some people just are not considerate of other people's bank balances. Whatever. The other party was at "fun-club-and-reasonably-shit-night", Oceana. Oh dear. It was on a student night when university is finished. So there are no students. Is it me? Am I the only one that sees this? Am I the only one that knows it will be a crap night? Let's continue...
I was drunk in the early morning and decided to confirm my attendance at Oceana with a lovely Facebook message, something about me being able to get drunk off of my own breath. The general gist of the embarrassing message was, "I am attending". That message more or less sends you to your grave. It's like a marriage proposal. You can't get out of it. For life.
Firstly, PhD's party at Nando's. This place confuses me. It's neither a restaurant nor a fast food place. They do not serve fast food, but expect you to get your own cutlery and order at the till. Weird. Surreal. Hmmm. Any fucking way, I turn up with a friend (that was invited, I'm an arsehole), only to find out that there is tension in the group. Somebody is now going out with somebody else's crush. This is an 18.5th birthday. Grow the fuck up everyone. After listening to this boring tale, I start talking to Sensible and delude myself into believing that I have a "shot" with her. My mind needs to shut up and see some sense. Wake up and smell the coffee, as idiots say.
Suddenly, I get wind of people going to the pub. People that I like. Going to the pub. The pub that I like. Nearer to my house than that awful club. Wheels start to turn.
I CAN GO TO THE PUB INSTEAD!
If there's something that I learn from this, it is never have an individual thought again. Attracts nothing but trouble.
Sensible laughs at my jokes. My work is done. Me and my friend leave for the pub, whilst I ignore every call I get frm the birthday girl, wondering my location. I eventually answer one and respond with "I'm on my way. Go into the club and I'll see you there." I'm such an idiot. It's unbelievable. I haven't even found the correct bus stop yet.
Eventually, we get to the bus stop to meet somebody who thinks that he is P. Diddy/Usher/Generic Black Urban Artist. He cannot read and supports Arsenal. I wonder what day it is and he stops me to say, "It's Monday. Hard to keep track. Time goes...so fast."
...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!
The bus arrives and a rotund man turns around and says, "Guys, the bus is here."
...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'M NOT YOUR GUY!
Take the bus to the pub, general banter, pool, money lost on quiz machine. Nice evening. Followed by illegal activities with my friend, his brother and his brother's mates. Mint.
NEXT MORNING:
Birthday Girl's status: Some cunts are just rude.
Unliked my comment about turning up.
Bitches.
Fucking overreaction. I hope your party was absolute shit. My caring for your feelings went...so fast.
Right, two birthday parties on the same day. Well...one and a half. PhD (I think that's what I called her) didn't celebrate her birthday because of exams, so she delayed it until the summer. When I am lacking funds. Some people just are not considerate of other people's bank balances. Whatever. The other party was at "fun-club-and-reasonably-shit-night", Oceana. Oh dear. It was on a student night when university is finished. So there are no students. Is it me? Am I the only one that sees this? Am I the only one that knows it will be a crap night? Let's continue...
I was drunk in the early morning and decided to confirm my attendance at Oceana with a lovely Facebook message, something about me being able to get drunk off of my own breath. The general gist of the embarrassing message was, "I am attending". That message more or less sends you to your grave. It's like a marriage proposal. You can't get out of it. For life.
Firstly, PhD's party at Nando's. This place confuses me. It's neither a restaurant nor a fast food place. They do not serve fast food, but expect you to get your own cutlery and order at the till. Weird. Surreal. Hmmm. Any fucking way, I turn up with a friend (that was invited, I'm an arsehole), only to find out that there is tension in the group. Somebody is now going out with somebody else's crush. This is an 18.5th birthday. Grow the fuck up everyone. After listening to this boring tale, I start talking to Sensible and delude myself into believing that I have a "shot" with her. My mind needs to shut up and see some sense. Wake up and smell the coffee, as idiots say.
Suddenly, I get wind of people going to the pub. People that I like. Going to the pub. The pub that I like. Nearer to my house than that awful club. Wheels start to turn.
I CAN GO TO THE PUB INSTEAD!
If there's something that I learn from this, it is never have an individual thought again. Attracts nothing but trouble.
Sensible laughs at my jokes. My work is done. Me and my friend leave for the pub, whilst I ignore every call I get frm the birthday girl, wondering my location. I eventually answer one and respond with "I'm on my way. Go into the club and I'll see you there." I'm such an idiot. It's unbelievable. I haven't even found the correct bus stop yet.
Eventually, we get to the bus stop to meet somebody who thinks that he is P. Diddy/Usher/Generic Black Urban Artist. He cannot read and supports Arsenal. I wonder what day it is and he stops me to say, "It's Monday. Hard to keep track. Time goes...so fast."
...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!
The bus arrives and a rotund man turns around and says, "Guys, the bus is here."
...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! I'M NOT YOUR GUY!
Take the bus to the pub, general banter, pool, money lost on quiz machine. Nice evening. Followed by illegal activities with my friend, his brother and his brother's mates. Mint.
NEXT MORNING:
Birthday Girl's status: Some cunts are just rude.
Unliked my comment about turning up.
Bitches.
Fucking overreaction. I hope your party was absolute shit. My caring for your feelings went...so fast.
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Greedy Second Party 05/08/10
Right, there was a birthday drinks thing on the Tuesday. FINE.
Then, she decides to go clubbing two days later, in Central London. For me, this is just plain greedy. This happened earlier in the year when someone had a party at Orange RockCorps. Right, first off, that's not a party. They all had to do community service to get tickets to it, which is actually a good idea to get people involved. 'Tis a shame the line-up is always utter shit. Then, she had another picnic party where we had a water fight and played hide-and-seek. This is an 18th by the way. Shambles. I found a place to buy six cans of Strongbow. Drank it. There we go.
That was a nice interlude. Club was called On Anon. Looked it up on Google Maps to find the place and there were reviews of an average 1.5 stars. This evening looked like it would be a massive flop. Ergh, I hate being right...not really. I LOVE IT.
Got there just after 9:30, so I had to pay entry. Fuck. Got my arse squeezed by the bouncer. Fuck. Went inside to buy entry and got this exchange:
"By yourself?"
"My friends are upstairs."
"Aww, but you're by yourself?"
Patronising bitch.
Went up. Out group seemed to be half the people in this club. It's nearly 10. FUCK. A lot of Asian jokes that everybody gets but me and the other white person there. Great. A lot of complaining about Asian men looking at them, despite wearing low cut tops and short skirts. Such double standards. At least, I think they are. Do not truly know what "double standard" means. Ergh, fuck.
Crap music. Crap club. Good drinks, but at crap prices. Oh dear.
Two hour trip home. Nothing notable. Man with ponytail at bus stop wouldn't get off of his mail order bride.
Got home and just fell into a daze. Put some Barry White on. Pathetic. I hope nobody ever has a birthday again.
Then, she decides to go clubbing two days later, in Central London. For me, this is just plain greedy. This happened earlier in the year when someone had a party at Orange RockCorps. Right, first off, that's not a party. They all had to do community service to get tickets to it, which is actually a good idea to get people involved. 'Tis a shame the line-up is always utter shit. Then, she had another picnic party where we had a water fight and played hide-and-seek. This is an 18th by the way. Shambles. I found a place to buy six cans of Strongbow. Drank it. There we go.
That was a nice interlude. Club was called On Anon. Looked it up on Google Maps to find the place and there were reviews of an average 1.5 stars. This evening looked like it would be a massive flop. Ergh, I hate being right...not really. I LOVE IT.
Got there just after 9:30, so I had to pay entry. Fuck. Got my arse squeezed by the bouncer. Fuck. Went inside to buy entry and got this exchange:
"By yourself?"
"My friends are upstairs."
"Aww, but you're by yourself?"
Patronising bitch.
Went up. Out group seemed to be half the people in this club. It's nearly 10. FUCK. A lot of Asian jokes that everybody gets but me and the other white person there. Great. A lot of complaining about Asian men looking at them, despite wearing low cut tops and short skirts. Such double standards. At least, I think they are. Do not truly know what "double standard" means. Ergh, fuck.
Crap music. Crap club. Good drinks, but at crap prices. Oh dear.
Two hour trip home. Nothing notable. Man with ponytail at bus stop wouldn't get off of his mail order bride.
Got home and just fell into a daze. Put some Barry White on. Pathetic. I hope nobody ever has a birthday again.
Part 2
I apologise for the abrupt ending in my last blog. I suddenly felt apathetic and didn't want to write any more. I curled into a ball and huddled in a corner somewhere.
Enough about that.
Right, I kicked in my automatic Plan B, which works for nearly everything. Find a room, shove everything into a bin bag and out of the way, then put the people in there. New tablecloth, glass dish thing. Wow. Looks like a palace. My middle finger still feels numb. I start to think that this BBQ may just turn out to be bearable. And that's when guests start arriving...
Three girls, Acronym, PhD and Sensible, ring the doorbell and I answer (a traditional response). I do the usual host routine. Do you want a drink? Put your coat here. Keys in the bowl. All that jazz. We sit and small talk and then someone wants to go get some cider. Why they couldn't do that on the way here, I have no idea. This seems to be a very common thing that people do and it wastes so much time. Get a grip, world. More were not arriving for a while, so I decided to walk them to the nearest off-license, dressed as if it were summer (well, a summer that wasn't cold and filled with rain). Met another friend on the way there, Chekhov, who had just been dumped two days before. No chance of her coming, right? Keep reading, true believer.
Sensible buys some blue WKD, we all reminisce when we thought it was strong and head back towards my house. Meet more people on the way, some of the lads. Whey, laddish. Let's go talk about that "ludicrous display" last night. Got there, got the home draught out. Nobody knows how to work it, so it's about 60/40 head to beer ratio. Haha, head. That innuendo kept us occupied for hours on end. More people arrive, more people than I expect. Turns out I invited people whilst drunk. Oh dear. I cook the food, people eat the food. Fun is had. Though I miss most of it, as I am cooking and making sure that my house isn't demolished. Be civilised, you absolute cretins.
Chekhov leaves early after being quiet the whole time. THE EX chases after him. I bet that was a great conversation. You guys can't even decide where each of you are going to be to avoid making things awkward. I wonder how communication broke down. Anyway, everything turns out fine. I perform my stand-up, which is filled with one-liners and a small story about how my Brazilian heritage does not make me good at football. Disturbingly nervous as I'm performing in front my friends. Strange. Maybe I'm not cut-out for it.
People leave and ask if I'm going clubbing after. It's a Wednesday, of course I'm not going clubbing. Fuck off. I get a hug from Sensible, which always stops me cold as if I've just hit puberty. Ach, only a month until I never see her again and someone else takes her place. Life is good.
I start to clean. There is a hot dog bun in a pint glass and Barry White in the background. This was so surreal, I just went to bed.
Christ.
Enough about that.
Right, I kicked in my automatic Plan B, which works for nearly everything. Find a room, shove everything into a bin bag and out of the way, then put the people in there. New tablecloth, glass dish thing. Wow. Looks like a palace. My middle finger still feels numb. I start to think that this BBQ may just turn out to be bearable. And that's when guests start arriving...
Three girls, Acronym, PhD and Sensible, ring the doorbell and I answer (a traditional response). I do the usual host routine. Do you want a drink? Put your coat here. Keys in the bowl. All that jazz. We sit and small talk and then someone wants to go get some cider. Why they couldn't do that on the way here, I have no idea. This seems to be a very common thing that people do and it wastes so much time. Get a grip, world. More were not arriving for a while, so I decided to walk them to the nearest off-license, dressed as if it were summer (well, a summer that wasn't cold and filled with rain). Met another friend on the way there, Chekhov, who had just been dumped two days before. No chance of her coming, right? Keep reading, true believer.
Sensible buys some blue WKD, we all reminisce when we thought it was strong and head back towards my house. Meet more people on the way, some of the lads. Whey, laddish. Let's go talk about that "ludicrous display" last night. Got there, got the home draught out. Nobody knows how to work it, so it's about 60/40 head to beer ratio. Haha, head. That innuendo kept us occupied for hours on end. More people arrive, more people than I expect. Turns out I invited people whilst drunk. Oh dear. I cook the food, people eat the food. Fun is had. Though I miss most of it, as I am cooking and making sure that my house isn't demolished. Be civilised, you absolute cretins.
Chekhov leaves early after being quiet the whole time. THE EX chases after him. I bet that was a great conversation. You guys can't even decide where each of you are going to be to avoid making things awkward. I wonder how communication broke down. Anyway, everything turns out fine. I perform my stand-up, which is filled with one-liners and a small story about how my Brazilian heritage does not make me good at football. Disturbingly nervous as I'm performing in front my friends. Strange. Maybe I'm not cut-out for it.
People leave and ask if I'm going clubbing after. It's a Wednesday, of course I'm not going clubbing. Fuck off. I get a hug from Sensible, which always stops me cold as if I've just hit puberty. Ach, only a month until I never see her again and someone else takes her place. Life is good.
I start to clean. There is a hot dog bun in a pint glass and Barry White in the background. This was so surreal, I just went to bed.
Christ.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
The Day I Hosted 04/08/10 (Part 1)
I had a 10 pint home draught, I cannot actually drink that by myself. It is not within me. Therefore, I invited people round for a BBQ to all drink it together. Here is that story and will probably explain why I do not usually host things.
Woke up at 10:30. People were arriving at 12:30. And I had no food for a BBQ. Oh fucking dear. Dressed into my oldest clothes and then ran off to the bus stop with some loose notes and a desire not to make this day a waste for anyone. Got on the bus with my mp3 on, knowing that I had no money left on my Oyster and if I had my music blaring, I cannot hear the driver shouting at me. Absolute intelligence at its finest.
Got off the bus near the Shopping Centre and walked past the charity book shop, saw something I wanted and bought it. A book by Jasper Fforde that I wanted. This put me below budget for the barbecue. Oh, tiddlywinks. I bought meat and drinks AKA Coca Cola. Some woman gave me a look as if to say, "You've never been shopping in your life." And you've never stopped shopping, I see you here every week. Bitch.
Right. Now we get the problem of the TESCO shopping bags, which seem to be made out of incompetent clouds. As soon as I was away from the shop, they ripped. I can't go back now, but I do not know how to carry these items. Suddenly, I saw a familiar face. Now, I think I was obviously in need of help, so I thought this guy might help out a bit. Just carry one Coke bottle, that's all. I got fuck all. Go fuck yourself, mate. Get onto the bus in an awkward position that nearly breaks my wrist and actually makes my middle finger numb for a week. Didn't see the doctor, I'm far too arrogant for that.
Get home. Ow. Set the table and the chairs outside. New tablecloth. Freshly mowed lawn. Perfect.
It starts to rain. At a BBQ. I stand there for five minutes, contemplating life and my very existence. I was going to have a mental breakdown, but I'm far too arrogant for that.
PART 2 COMING SOON
Woke up at 10:30. People were arriving at 12:30. And I had no food for a BBQ. Oh fucking dear. Dressed into my oldest clothes and then ran off to the bus stop with some loose notes and a desire not to make this day a waste for anyone. Got on the bus with my mp3 on, knowing that I had no money left on my Oyster and if I had my music blaring, I cannot hear the driver shouting at me. Absolute intelligence at its finest.
Got off the bus near the Shopping Centre and walked past the charity book shop, saw something I wanted and bought it. A book by Jasper Fforde that I wanted. This put me below budget for the barbecue. Oh, tiddlywinks. I bought meat and drinks AKA Coca Cola. Some woman gave me a look as if to say, "You've never been shopping in your life." And you've never stopped shopping, I see you here every week. Bitch.
Right. Now we get the problem of the TESCO shopping bags, which seem to be made out of incompetent clouds. As soon as I was away from the shop, they ripped. I can't go back now, but I do not know how to carry these items. Suddenly, I saw a familiar face. Now, I think I was obviously in need of help, so I thought this guy might help out a bit. Just carry one Coke bottle, that's all. I got fuck all. Go fuck yourself, mate. Get onto the bus in an awkward position that nearly breaks my wrist and actually makes my middle finger numb for a week. Didn't see the doctor, I'm far too arrogant for that.
Get home. Ow. Set the table and the chairs outside. New tablecloth. Freshly mowed lawn. Perfect.
It starts to rain. At a BBQ. I stand there for five minutes, contemplating life and my very existence. I was going to have a mental breakdown, but I'm far too arrogant for that.
PART 2 COMING SOON
Monday, 9 August 2010
03/08/10 - Obligatory Drinks
Another birthday. Another 18th birthday. Do people not realise that my stamina is limited without forcing myself to be fraternise with people that annoy me? Oh well. Moan over. Let's do some more moaning.
I genuinely thought that this would be fine. It was at a bar reasonably near me, so if it turned out to be drier than the Sahara (heard that metaphor before? Everyone has.), I could easily go home. The bar was also having a student night, so it wouldn't be that expensive. I could probably spend less than a tenner and it would be fine. Some people I hadn't talked to in a while, women people, would be there, so it had potential. However, newly born babies all have the potential to become the next fascist dictator that will shape their country for years to come, but most end up with Job Seekers' Allowance. See where I'm going with this?
Arrived there to find the birthday girl smoking with her sister. Her sister who is only 17 in an 18-and-over bar. My common sense started tingling, I said Happy Birthday and went in to see the rest of the crowd. Before the small talk, I went to the bar and ordered a typical teenager drink (it comes in a pint glass) and was charged over three pounds.
"Isn't it Student Night?"
"Yeah. Still the same prices though."
Oh fucking dear.
Small talk. Somebody was depressed, I found out the next day that she had broken up with ehr boyfriend. And I made jokes about him all night. Oh well. Wasn't a great friendship anyway. Our table was on the "dancefloor" so we had to move, while we eyed up a man who took up a booth all to himself. Why did we care? The booth could fit six at most and there were ten of us. I hang around with the biggest bunch of cretins sometimes. Eventually, people I knew from a few years back came in, people that actually have a decent social life. Made small talk with them for 20 minutes, didn't actually feel like small talk. I wish I was with them. They also brought some talent with them. Some talent. However, I knew I had no chance, so I didn't waste my time. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
Now, we get ludicrous. One of the friends invited was 17 and couldn't get in. So we all left.
"This place wasn't 'live' anyway!"
"It's 9:30..." You utter moron
So we went to a place that was supposed to be a club, how the 17-year-olds would get into the club, I do not know. Turned out to not be a club, but a shisha bar that had salsa lessons on the top floor. I nearly used "The Emergency Gun" to put myself out of this torment and misery. Then there was sitting on grass. I went to the off license and bought six bottles of beer, which I drank within 20 minutes. Help me. That is obviously a cry for help. Notice it and make this night ununbearable. Or just bearable.
At this point, we went back to the bar, which was now packed with people, told the 17s to fuck the hell off. And danced for half an hour, before I decided enough was enough. I need to survive this crap.
I left. I had chicken on the way home. Simple pleasures.
I genuinely thought that this would be fine. It was at a bar reasonably near me, so if it turned out to be drier than the Sahara (heard that metaphor before? Everyone has.), I could easily go home. The bar was also having a student night, so it wouldn't be that expensive. I could probably spend less than a tenner and it would be fine. Some people I hadn't talked to in a while, women people, would be there, so it had potential. However, newly born babies all have the potential to become the next fascist dictator that will shape their country for years to come, but most end up with Job Seekers' Allowance. See where I'm going with this?
Arrived there to find the birthday girl smoking with her sister. Her sister who is only 17 in an 18-and-over bar. My common sense started tingling, I said Happy Birthday and went in to see the rest of the crowd. Before the small talk, I went to the bar and ordered a typical teenager drink (it comes in a pint glass) and was charged over three pounds.
"Isn't it Student Night?"
"Yeah. Still the same prices though."
Oh fucking dear.
Small talk. Somebody was depressed, I found out the next day that she had broken up with ehr boyfriend. And I made jokes about him all night. Oh well. Wasn't a great friendship anyway. Our table was on the "dancefloor" so we had to move, while we eyed up a man who took up a booth all to himself. Why did we care? The booth could fit six at most and there were ten of us. I hang around with the biggest bunch of cretins sometimes. Eventually, people I knew from a few years back came in, people that actually have a decent social life. Made small talk with them for 20 minutes, didn't actually feel like small talk. I wish I was with them. They also brought some talent with them. Some talent. However, I knew I had no chance, so I didn't waste my time. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
Now, we get ludicrous. One of the friends invited was 17 and couldn't get in. So we all left.
"This place wasn't 'live' anyway!"
"It's 9:30..." You utter moron
So we went to a place that was supposed to be a club, how the 17-year-olds would get into the club, I do not know. Turned out to not be a club, but a shisha bar that had salsa lessons on the top floor. I nearly used "The Emergency Gun" to put myself out of this torment and misery. Then there was sitting on grass. I went to the off license and bought six bottles of beer, which I drank within 20 minutes. Help me. That is obviously a cry for help. Notice it and make this night ununbearable. Or just bearable.
At this point, we went back to the bar, which was now packed with people, told the 17s to fuck the hell off. And danced for half an hour, before I decided enough was enough. I need to survive this crap.
I left. I had chicken on the way home. Simple pleasures.
Friday, 6 August 2010
Emirates Cup 01/08/10
Righto, let's play catch up.
Took the Tube to this game after being interrogated why I was leaving so early. Because I'm hungover, want to get out the house and talk to my friends, that's fucking why. Drunk fucks. The bitter, cold air hit me and I regretted not having a Celtic scarf. This will come up later, no spoilers, but I bought a scarf. For £8.
On the tube, I was asked by an AC Milan fan if I was a Celtic fan. He was obviously a genius detective, as he noticed I was wearing a Celtic top. Deductive skills of a maniac. He asked me if I knew the supporter that slapped Dida in a previous Champions League match. I did not. he was disappointed. Idiot. It's like tourists that seem to think everyone who lives in Britain has met the Queen. She is sort of busy polishing her jewels and whatnot. And polishing the Royal Jewels. Yeah. I went there.
Arrived. Bought scarf. Nearly broke into tears as I completed a life long dream. Met friends at a pub, where a seven year old was collecting glasses and bringing them inside. This made me reasonably mad as I am currently struggling to get a summer job. What is the world's problem? Though he probably has better qualifications than me.
AC Milan v Lyon
Average. Jimmy Briand is an absolute beast.
Arsenal v Celtic
Celtic supporters made me proud today, as they always do. Arsenal supporters are crap, booing us as we were standing up and not involving ourselves in a Mexican wave. Idiocy. We lost 3-2, the score flattered us a little bit, but there was a good comeback.
Later on, we went for a crap pub quiz. Left early. Our mate is not gay and knows nothing about gossip. We get it. Fine. Many things were said over and over, I cracked and started laughing too much. Ergh.
This has been another cringe-worthy post in the Holiblog. Salutations. May catch up and eventually write about my trip to France. Eventful. Set the date.
Took the Tube to this game after being interrogated why I was leaving so early. Because I'm hungover, want to get out the house and talk to my friends, that's fucking why. Drunk fucks. The bitter, cold air hit me and I regretted not having a Celtic scarf. This will come up later, no spoilers, but I bought a scarf. For £8.
On the tube, I was asked by an AC Milan fan if I was a Celtic fan. He was obviously a genius detective, as he noticed I was wearing a Celtic top. Deductive skills of a maniac. He asked me if I knew the supporter that slapped Dida in a previous Champions League match. I did not. he was disappointed. Idiot. It's like tourists that seem to think everyone who lives in Britain has met the Queen. She is sort of busy polishing her jewels and whatnot. And polishing the Royal Jewels. Yeah. I went there.
Arrived. Bought scarf. Nearly broke into tears as I completed a life long dream. Met friends at a pub, where a seven year old was collecting glasses and bringing them inside. This made me reasonably mad as I am currently struggling to get a summer job. What is the world's problem? Though he probably has better qualifications than me.
AC Milan v Lyon
Average. Jimmy Briand is an absolute beast.
Arsenal v Celtic
Celtic supporters made me proud today, as they always do. Arsenal supporters are crap, booing us as we were standing up and not involving ourselves in a Mexican wave. Idiocy. We lost 3-2, the score flattered us a little bit, but there was a good comeback.
Later on, we went for a crap pub quiz. Left early. Our mate is not gay and knows nothing about gossip. We get it. Fine. Many things were said over and over, I cracked and started laughing too much. Ergh.
This has been another cringe-worthy post in the Holiblog. Salutations. May catch up and eventually write about my trip to France. Eventful. Set the date.
Monday, 2 August 2010
26/07-31/07
I have been slacking off on this blog. Unacceptable to the seven people that read it. Don't rely on this blog. Read Will Self or Jeremy Clarkson (both sides of the spectrum there).
Monday
Another 18th to go to. Much vodka was drank, I ended up in a right mess. Kicked a pint glass and ended up with a career ruining bruise on my toe. Had take away chicken, which was also a right mess. Not many details can be remembered here. I should really write things down.
Tuesday
Nothing to report, dear.
Wednesday
Met up with some very nice people. They are nice because they read this blog. Stuff was drank under special offers...this was actually on Monday, I think. Or the party was on Wednesday. Jesus wept.
Much interesting and humourous conversation was had. I enjoyed it greatly, no matter what day it was on.
Thursday/Friday
Could be fuck all, could have been the greatest two days of my life. No clue.
Saturday
Family was having a dinner party, so I naturally felt obliged to make myself scarce and bugger off to some other postcode and drink there.
"When will you be back?"
Never "Eleven."
Went to a friend's workplace for a few drinks. Let's call him Siber. He is not from Siberia. Then carried on to his house, without him as his shift ends far too late, for banter, kebabs and general conversation. Enjoyable and cheap. Like a prostitute from Feltham. Except the night was actually enjoyable.
That's my vague week. Also:
Rush Hour is awful. Accept it.
Monday
Another 18th to go to. Much vodka was drank, I ended up in a right mess. Kicked a pint glass and ended up with a career ruining bruise on my toe. Had take away chicken, which was also a right mess. Not many details can be remembered here. I should really write things down.
Tuesday
Nothing to report, dear.
Wednesday
Met up with some very nice people. They are nice because they read this blog. Stuff was drank under special offers...this was actually on Monday, I think. Or the party was on Wednesday. Jesus wept.
Much interesting and humourous conversation was had. I enjoyed it greatly, no matter what day it was on.
Thursday/Friday
Could be fuck all, could have been the greatest two days of my life. No clue.
Saturday
Family was having a dinner party, so I naturally felt obliged to make myself scarce and bugger off to some other postcode and drink there.
"When will you be back?"
Never "Eleven."
Went to a friend's workplace for a few drinks. Let's call him Siber. He is not from Siberia. Then carried on to his house, without him as his shift ends far too late, for banter, kebabs and general conversation. Enjoyable and cheap. Like a prostitute from Feltham. Except the night was actually enjoyable.
That's my vague week. Also:
- Decided to become a stand up comedian and started writing and sharing jokes. Mixed reviews. I assume I'm funnier in normal conversation, so I need to find a way to bring that into my routine somehow. Answers on a postcard.
- I have just remembered that on Thursday, I saw The Hoosiers, let's call them The Hoosiers, at the iTunes festival. An abundance of children there, who all decided to mosh to "Goodbye, Mr A." Shambles. The support act, Diagram of the Heart, were also much better. So that's something. Look them up on FaceSpace.
- I fell in love with the BBC show, Sherlock. I would write about it in my television blog, but I feel that has more or less died after four posts and I cannot be bothered. Consider yourself lucky.
Rush Hour is awful. Accept it.
Monday, 26 July 2010
The Second Driving Test Attempt 26/07/2010
This time I actually had my driving test. Let's get that tension out of the way quickly and reduce this blog to nothingness. There's no conflict anymore. Good.
Woke up to some Mini Viva song on the alarm clock at 7:20, 40 minutes before I was due to be picked up by my instructor. I got ready and put on some incredibly old and comfortable clothes and walked to the local petrol station to get an overpriced energy drink, obviously, that is more important than eating. Obviously. Walking down my road, I noticed immense traffic. Some may think it's ironic, as my test was cancelled due to traffic and now I may not get there due to traffic. Stop. It isn't ironic, just annoying as fuck. I shouted "WHY?!" like a maniac at which a driver leaned out of his window and said to me "Well, I'm not happy about it either, mate."
That put me in my place really. And I'm not your mate.
Eventually got back home and watched Oliver! for a few minutes, listening to "You Have to Pick a Pocket or Two" several times. Best song in the film. A decision was made, I would get rid of all bodily fluids now and save time later. Not that bodily fluid, I didn't have all the time in the world. As soon as I start, the phone rings and I'm the only one awake. It was bound to be my instructor, Gere, complaining about the traffic. Will anything go well?
Eventually, he drove me through the traffic and we started practicing. Stalled three times and couldn't put the car in gear half the time. This made me happy. Get the mistakes out of the way now. Kill everyone in the car now, nobody has to do the test. There's a good chap.
Eventually (second time I've used eventually, fuck me), we got to the test centre, immediately went to the toilet and took my piss for confidence. Got back for my driving instructor to say, "Do your fly up, I think that's a minor." His stand up DVD come out at the end of time itself. Pre-order it.
Examiner came out and checked my license (both parts), but not my theory pass certificate. Is this your first day on the job, missus? It was a woman. Cue jokes about them not being able to drive. Which they can't. Stereotype? Yeah, your point? Stereotypes don't appear out of nothing. They are true. So shut up. She then checked my eyesight with a license plate in the distance, all fine until a letter came up that could have been W or M. I took my time and then said W. She was fine with that and we walked to car. After a quick glance, I noticed it was an M. This was not going to be a good examiner. A hypocrite at least. Then she asked me to open the bonnet, which I did, and tell her where the oil was and how to check it, which I did. Smooth. We went inside the car and she asked me about the headrest. WHAT?! Who cares about the headrest?
"Where should the headrest be?"
"Behind your head."
"But where?"
"...the back of the head."
"No, not exactly. Adjust it please."
Fuck off "Alright."
This went on for at least a fortnight. And I got a minor, although you should only get a minor if you answer BOTH questions wrong. Complaint if I don't pass.
Started driving and there was a left turn. Nothing in sight, and I LOOKED. Damn hard. There was only a learner car driving at 4mph. This was the gap. I had found THE GAP. I went and there was a slight swerve in my turn. She jumped out of her seat and went for the wheel like a maniac. Or a fascist (?). I quickly started driving as if would get the wheel away from her. She seemed content to just write stuff about me, like a gossip suffering withdrawal symptoms. I could have pulled the wheel out of the car, but that may be a minor. Several turns in a row. What are you playing at?
Three point turn/turn around in the road. Viciously looking at both sides all the time, like a mute who was trying to refuse the sexual advances of a hippo. Minor for lack of observation. Get out of town, you deviant. Had to pull over about seven times as this indecisive woman chose a spot to parallel park or reverse around a corner. When the examiner is more nervous than the examinee, that's a bad sign. And I was sweating buckets. BUCKETS. I think she gained her own tropical climate.
Dual carriageway. Minor for speeding, even though I was changing lanes down a hill and if I had braked to slow down, I would have died. Hey, always stay to the speed limit, kids. Even if you're about to die. I learned that the hard way, by living. So yeah. Roundabouts were fun, I found several of THE GAPS. Awesome.
Parallel parked. She was mute, so I never knew when she wanted me to drive on. Awkward standing still for three minutes. Reverse a little bit.
"Drive on."
I hate you.
Right, after several pedantic little turns, we got back to the office and I got my result. Passed. With 11 minors. Quite inside a pass, but she gave me "the benefit of the doubt". Go away, you're giving me a tumour. Bitch. Extremely harsh marking, by someone with less nerves than Scooby Doo. A pass is a pass. First time pass. Take that.
If you haven't done a first time pass, then you can't drive. Probably a woman too. So fucking there.
I'm going to go live without an ID for 20 days.
No, who the fuck carries their passport around with them?
Woke up to some Mini Viva song on the alarm clock at 7:20, 40 minutes before I was due to be picked up by my instructor. I got ready and put on some incredibly old and comfortable clothes and walked to the local petrol station to get an overpriced energy drink, obviously, that is more important than eating. Obviously. Walking down my road, I noticed immense traffic. Some may think it's ironic, as my test was cancelled due to traffic and now I may not get there due to traffic. Stop. It isn't ironic, just annoying as fuck. I shouted "WHY?!" like a maniac at which a driver leaned out of his window and said to me "Well, I'm not happy about it either, mate."
That put me in my place really. And I'm not your mate.
Eventually got back home and watched Oliver! for a few minutes, listening to "You Have to Pick a Pocket or Two" several times. Best song in the film. A decision was made, I would get rid of all bodily fluids now and save time later. Not that bodily fluid, I didn't have all the time in the world. As soon as I start, the phone rings and I'm the only one awake. It was bound to be my instructor, Gere, complaining about the traffic. Will anything go well?
Eventually, he drove me through the traffic and we started practicing. Stalled three times and couldn't put the car in gear half the time. This made me happy. Get the mistakes out of the way now. Kill everyone in the car now, nobody has to do the test. There's a good chap.
Eventually (second time I've used eventually, fuck me), we got to the test centre, immediately went to the toilet and took my piss for confidence. Got back for my driving instructor to say, "Do your fly up, I think that's a minor." His stand up DVD come out at the end of time itself. Pre-order it.
Examiner came out and checked my license (both parts), but not my theory pass certificate. Is this your first day on the job, missus? It was a woman. Cue jokes about them not being able to drive. Which they can't. Stereotype? Yeah, your point? Stereotypes don't appear out of nothing. They are true. So shut up. She then checked my eyesight with a license plate in the distance, all fine until a letter came up that could have been W or M. I took my time and then said W. She was fine with that and we walked to car. After a quick glance, I noticed it was an M. This was not going to be a good examiner. A hypocrite at least. Then she asked me to open the bonnet, which I did, and tell her where the oil was and how to check it, which I did. Smooth. We went inside the car and she asked me about the headrest. WHAT?! Who cares about the headrest?
"Where should the headrest be?"
"Behind your head."
"But where?"
"...the back of the head."
"No, not exactly. Adjust it please."
Fuck off "Alright."
This went on for at least a fortnight. And I got a minor, although you should only get a minor if you answer BOTH questions wrong. Complaint if I don't pass.
Started driving and there was a left turn. Nothing in sight, and I LOOKED. Damn hard. There was only a learner car driving at 4mph. This was the gap. I had found THE GAP. I went and there was a slight swerve in my turn. She jumped out of her seat and went for the wheel like a maniac. Or a fascist (?). I quickly started driving as if would get the wheel away from her. She seemed content to just write stuff about me, like a gossip suffering withdrawal symptoms. I could have pulled the wheel out of the car, but that may be a minor. Several turns in a row. What are you playing at?
Three point turn/turn around in the road. Viciously looking at both sides all the time, like a mute who was trying to refuse the sexual advances of a hippo. Minor for lack of observation. Get out of town, you deviant. Had to pull over about seven times as this indecisive woman chose a spot to parallel park or reverse around a corner. When the examiner is more nervous than the examinee, that's a bad sign. And I was sweating buckets. BUCKETS. I think she gained her own tropical climate.
Dual carriageway. Minor for speeding, even though I was changing lanes down a hill and if I had braked to slow down, I would have died. Hey, always stay to the speed limit, kids. Even if you're about to die. I learned that the hard way, by living. So yeah. Roundabouts were fun, I found several of THE GAPS. Awesome.
Parallel parked. She was mute, so I never knew when she wanted me to drive on. Awkward standing still for three minutes. Reverse a little bit.
"Drive on."
I hate you.
Right, after several pedantic little turns, we got back to the office and I got my result. Passed. With 11 minors. Quite inside a pass, but she gave me "the benefit of the doubt". Go away, you're giving me a tumour. Bitch. Extremely harsh marking, by someone with less nerves than Scooby Doo. A pass is a pass. First time pass. Take that.
If you haven't done a first time pass, then you can't drive. Probably a woman too. So fucking there.
I'm going to go live without an ID for 20 days.
No, who the fuck carries their passport around with them?
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Driving Test 21/07/2010
Early morning for this. I had to wake up at like eight. Nightmare. Slipped down the stairs. I wondered if I could get out of the test with a slipped disc or detached retina. Probably, but without a refund as the DSA have neither compassion nor a soul.
Went round the track once before the test. The track. I sound like a moron. As if there is one track. Anyway, on this short practice, everything went well, but then again, I think I'm a better driver than everyone else in the county, despite only learning for a year. Banter between me and the driving instructor about football and his trip to China. Why the fuck are you in China? I have a driving test.
We get to the test centre after the strangest parking maneuvre of all time.
"Right, turn all the way around, reverse close to the curb, not too close, don't get close to the car."
Sounded absurd in my head. Probably perfectly normal.
Get inside the centre. Nice adequate chair.
"Do you need the toilet?"
I do, now that you had to mention it. What if the instructor says something about a toilet during the test and I instantly piss? Have I been Pavlovian conditioned? "Yes."
Shit toilet, but quite clean. Get outside. Feeling confident, like everytime I take a piss. IF I CAN PISS, I CAN DO ANYTHING!
Yeah, the test was cancelled. Due to intense traffic. Hmm.
I just drove round your track. There was no traffic, but I suppose that would make a horrible test, as nobody ever drives when there's traffic. There is never traffic. Never. That's in the Highway Code. Also, my test was then organised to Monday morning at 9:07. An incredibly specific time. When there is a rush hour of people going to their desk jobs. What? There's never intense traffic in Rush Hour obviously. Have you never been to work? Or seen that horrible Jackie Chan/guy who isn't Chris Rock film? PLENTY OF CARS.
Update tomorrow. Unless it's cancelled again due to there being roads. Even if it is cancelled, I'll write something. Sigh.
Went round the track once before the test. The track. I sound like a moron. As if there is one track. Anyway, on this short practice, everything went well, but then again, I think I'm a better driver than everyone else in the county, despite only learning for a year. Banter between me and the driving instructor about football and his trip to China. Why the fuck are you in China? I have a driving test.
We get to the test centre after the strangest parking maneuvre of all time.
"Right, turn all the way around, reverse close to the curb, not too close, don't get close to the car."
Sounded absurd in my head. Probably perfectly normal.
Get inside the centre. Nice adequate chair.
"Do you need the toilet?"
I do, now that you had to mention it. What if the instructor says something about a toilet during the test and I instantly piss? Have I been Pavlovian conditioned? "Yes."
Shit toilet, but quite clean. Get outside. Feeling confident, like everytime I take a piss. IF I CAN PISS, I CAN DO ANYTHING!
Yeah, the test was cancelled. Due to intense traffic. Hmm.
I just drove round your track. There was no traffic, but I suppose that would make a horrible test, as nobody ever drives when there's traffic. There is never traffic. Never. That's in the Highway Code. Also, my test was then organised to Monday morning at 9:07. An incredibly specific time. When there is a rush hour of people going to their desk jobs. What? There's never intense traffic in Rush Hour obviously. Have you never been to work? Or seen that horrible Jackie Chan/guy who isn't Chris Rock film? PLENTY OF CARS.
Update tomorrow. Unless it's cancelled again due to there being roads. Even if it is cancelled, I'll write something. Sigh.
Hoodie Day 20/07/2010
When do people usually collect Leavers' Hoodies? Usually at the end of your last term, right?
WRONG. It's apparently in the summer holidays, when everybody has forgotten about leaving or anyone they left. Good work LHC (Leavers' Hoodie Committee).
We could also pick what colour we wanted for our hooded jumper. No. They should not all match. Don't be silly and traditional. Don't have common sense. Y'hear?
On my way to Pretentious Name Park where everyone was collecting the jumpers. I had no idea where this park was. A clever idea teleported into my mind: What if I pretended to be blind so somebody could lead me to the park? This could have leaded to hilarious consequences, but I do not live in a sitcom, nobody would have believed I was blind (especially not with my mp3 in my ears) and it's utterly ridiculous. Maybe in some other, more extreme, situation.
Got there in the end. I am a male, I have sense of direction. Just as I was about to enter the park, I heard people shouting my name and running towards me, as if I just skipped onto a train track with the Express only five minutes away.
"That's the wrong park, silly!"
"...but the message said to come to Pretentious Name Park."
"No, the park next to Pretentious Name Park, Smaller Park."
"Then why didn't you just say Smaller Park?"
"Dunno, maybe it wasn't clear."
Yeah, maybe it fucking wasn't. "Oh, OK."
Fun was had, for about ten minutes. Went to Generic Supermarket to get Generic Beer. ON SALE.
Rest of the story is a bit boring. Bla bla bla. Someone didn't turn up. Damn her.
At least the jumper was good quality. As if I'll ever fucking wear it.
WRONG. It's apparently in the summer holidays, when everybody has forgotten about leaving or anyone they left. Good work LHC (Leavers' Hoodie Committee).
We could also pick what colour we wanted for our hooded jumper. No. They should not all match. Don't be silly and traditional. Don't have common sense. Y'hear?
On my way to Pretentious Name Park where everyone was collecting the jumpers. I had no idea where this park was. A clever idea teleported into my mind: What if I pretended to be blind so somebody could lead me to the park? This could have leaded to hilarious consequences, but I do not live in a sitcom, nobody would have believed I was blind (especially not with my mp3 in my ears) and it's utterly ridiculous. Maybe in some other, more extreme, situation.
Got there in the end. I am a male, I have sense of direction. Just as I was about to enter the park, I heard people shouting my name and running towards me, as if I just skipped onto a train track with the Express only five minutes away.
"That's the wrong park, silly!"
"...but the message said to come to Pretentious Name Park."
"No, the park next to Pretentious Name Park, Smaller Park."
"Then why didn't you just say Smaller Park?"
"Dunno, maybe it wasn't clear."
Yeah, maybe it fucking wasn't. "Oh, OK."
Fun was had, for about ten minutes. Went to Generic Supermarket to get Generic Beer. ON SALE.
Rest of the story is a bit boring. Bla bla bla. Someone didn't turn up. Damn her.
At least the jumper was good quality. As if I'll ever fucking wear it.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Someone turns Eighteen 19/07/10
Good friend turns 18. Attendance required.
BBQ at his swinging pad first of all while we argue what time to get there at the club. We do want free entry to the scum palace after all. We decide for 9:30 and I have no clohtes for clubbing. Therefore, I go home to the other side of the city, get changed and take the long trip to the club before the rest get there. I start to drink the bar dry whilst the others are not allowed in, except the birthday boy and others who came earlier. Still a sausage fest.
Drinking. Drinking. Still drinking.
Eventually saw a girl I knew, let's call her Kerry, with her friend Shannon. Have you noticed the Irish connection yet? Quite interested in Kerry so got dancing away. Response was good, encouraging, but unfortunately, she has a boyfriend, so I did not try anything else. Saying I should have? Where the fuck were you dragged up?
I got home, after clubbing my arse off, and found out that she was not actually in a relationship. Ergh.
This is one of the many occasions where fate + ignorance cockblocks me.
The rest of the night is faded in boozy memory. Someone asked me for a fag and I told them to go to the vending machine, and they did. Fascinating.
BBQ at his swinging pad first of all while we argue what time to get there at the club. We do want free entry to the scum palace after all. We decide for 9:30 and I have no clohtes for clubbing. Therefore, I go home to the other side of the city, get changed and take the long trip to the club before the rest get there. I start to drink the bar dry whilst the others are not allowed in, except the birthday boy and others who came earlier. Still a sausage fest.
Drinking. Drinking. Still drinking.
Eventually saw a girl I knew, let's call her Kerry, with her friend Shannon. Have you noticed the Irish connection yet? Quite interested in Kerry so got dancing away. Response was good, encouraging, but unfortunately, she has a boyfriend, so I did not try anything else. Saying I should have? Where the fuck were you dragged up?
I got home, after clubbing my arse off, and found out that she was not actually in a relationship. Ergh.
This is one of the many occasions where fate + ignorance cockblocks me.
The rest of the night is faded in boozy memory. Someone asked me for a fag and I told them to go to the vending machine, and they did. Fascinating.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
Thorpe Park (For Free) 18/07/10
Severely overpriced with more shops than rides. Never go to this hellhole filled to the brim with scum. Unless you somehow get in for free. Perhaps through the hole in the fence behind Nemesis Inferno. Never used this secret passage, it may just be a myth.
Carrying on, the best way to go there is somehow without charge and to get there extremely early, so you can go on at least one ride (perhaps two, if you're an international sprinter) without the hassle of hour long queues. There will be some charge, as people need to eat and they charge you for parking without letting you know. Honourable people at least.
No great occurrences, let's go through the rides:
Stealth: Far too short, but a massive quick drop. Always ends up breaking or having a massive queue, one so long that you eventually forget what ride you are queuing up for, but are dying for a Pepsi. Thank you, severe advertising. Go to this ride at 9:00.
Nemesis Inferno: I always get the feeling that the designers just couldn't decide what to call this ride. Indecisive. Alright, go to this at 9:30 or it'll be queued to the max. Bit longer than Stealth, but not as thrill inspiring. Absolute idiots seem to love this ride.
Samurai: 45 minutes? You are having a giggle. Unless you sit on the edge, it is a massive waste of time. Do not be surprised if people realise at the last minute that they do not meet the height requirements. They live in ignorance to make themselves feel better about themselves only to embarrass themselves in front of everyone. Or could not be arsed to check. Only two options.
Slammer: Piss inducing. Frightening at times. Over very quickly. Oh boo.
Vortex: My favourite ride. Decent amount of time spinning and swinging around whilst everyone screams, wishing for their death and I can inflate my ego by not screaming. I AM better than you, I did not scream. So there. Queues are not that long either, but there is still a Fasttrack if you want. I'll get onto that later.
Colossus: Wow. Actually well worth going on. Get Fasttrack though. Two hours for ten loops? The math is not there. I would suggest going on this at 9:00, but it's never open at that time. Despite the schedule. Why does nobody stay on schedule? The best ride there, but I still prefer Vortex for the simplicity, nostalgia and lack of pretentiousness. Wow. I write some utter drivel.
Flying Fish: Nostalgia factor, but below average unless you're under 10.
Tidal Wave: One hour wait. Did not get soaked, despite success in previous Tidal Wave endeavors. I want a refund or some Thorpe Park credit for whatever the fuck I want. Ergh. Should have taken my shirt off to be honest. Then I would get a cart all to myself. Then I would've gotten wet. Maybe. If I lied on the thing. Larger surface area. Rambling.
Fasttrack: Hello. I would like to pay £60 to skip queues. please. Severely overpriced. And there's a massive queue for the Fasttrack. Maybe there's Fasttrack to get Fasttrack. There are special deals, where you get four rides for £10, but it'll be one big ride and then three like the Flying Fish, which has a wait of five minutes. Who needs Fasttrack for that except those with severe diarrhea? And also want to go on the Flying Fish? Shambles.
Never go to Thorpe Park. Unless you can get in for free. Or have low standards.
Go to Drayton Manor, which despite being stuck in a time warp, isn't half bad.
Carrying on, the best way to go there is somehow without charge and to get there extremely early, so you can go on at least one ride (perhaps two, if you're an international sprinter) without the hassle of hour long queues. There will be some charge, as people need to eat and they charge you for parking without letting you know. Honourable people at least.
No great occurrences, let's go through the rides:
Stealth: Far too short, but a massive quick drop. Always ends up breaking or having a massive queue, one so long that you eventually forget what ride you are queuing up for, but are dying for a Pepsi. Thank you, severe advertising. Go to this ride at 9:00.
Nemesis Inferno: I always get the feeling that the designers just couldn't decide what to call this ride. Indecisive. Alright, go to this at 9:30 or it'll be queued to the max. Bit longer than Stealth, but not as thrill inspiring. Absolute idiots seem to love this ride.
Samurai: 45 minutes? You are having a giggle. Unless you sit on the edge, it is a massive waste of time. Do not be surprised if people realise at the last minute that they do not meet the height requirements. They live in ignorance to make themselves feel better about themselves only to embarrass themselves in front of everyone. Or could not be arsed to check. Only two options.
Slammer: Piss inducing. Frightening at times. Over very quickly. Oh boo.
Vortex: My favourite ride. Decent amount of time spinning and swinging around whilst everyone screams, wishing for their death and I can inflate my ego by not screaming. I AM better than you, I did not scream. So there. Queues are not that long either, but there is still a Fasttrack if you want. I'll get onto that later.
Colossus: Wow. Actually well worth going on. Get Fasttrack though. Two hours for ten loops? The math is not there. I would suggest going on this at 9:00, but it's never open at that time. Despite the schedule. Why does nobody stay on schedule? The best ride there, but I still prefer Vortex for the simplicity, nostalgia and lack of pretentiousness. Wow. I write some utter drivel.
Flying Fish: Nostalgia factor, but below average unless you're under 10.
Tidal Wave: One hour wait. Did not get soaked, despite success in previous Tidal Wave endeavors. I want a refund or some Thorpe Park credit for whatever the fuck I want. Ergh. Should have taken my shirt off to be honest. Then I would get a cart all to myself. Then I would've gotten wet. Maybe. If I lied on the thing. Larger surface area. Rambling.
Fasttrack: Hello. I would like to pay £60 to skip queues. please. Severely overpriced. And there's a massive queue for the Fasttrack. Maybe there's Fasttrack to get Fasttrack. There are special deals, where you get four rides for £10, but it'll be one big ride and then three like the Flying Fish, which has a wait of five minutes. Who needs Fasttrack for that except those with severe diarrhea? And also want to go on the Flying Fish? Shambles.
Never go to Thorpe Park. Unless you can get in for free. Or have low standards.
Go to Drayton Manor, which despite being stuck in a time warp, isn't half bad.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
The Brazilian-lite Experience 17/07/10
Well, it's a Saturday and my mother would like to visit a Brazilian festival on the other side of London. Having avoided these occasions several times, guilt caught up to me and forced me to go. My brother can run faster than me, therefore guilt/my father has not caught him yet.
45 minutes on the District Line. Creative Zen M running out of battery. The day already looks bleak.
I arrived (with my mother, obviously) and was instantly shocked by its looks. The only way it could have been more low-key was if it was actually just a key. School fetes look at this "festival" and thank their lucky stars for their £5 budget. There were the traditional food stalls, a highlight as when I have food in my mouth, I am not requested to talk. You could buy cheap sunglasses, always fun. Unfortunately, I was too big for the bouncy castle.
I have jumped the gun. I am Brazilian. Half of my family is. Therefore, it is not weird for me or my family to go to one of these. However, I cannot speak Portuguese, but I can understand it very well. This is used for comic effect later in my day.
Anyway, we go and meet my mother's friend, Krazee. No real names are used in this blog, just random associations of letters. We meet Krazee, who cannot seem to shut up and she introduces us to the rest of the workers there. I stay quiet, yet polite and say hi. I say "Hi" not, "Oi", so they immediately assume I do not speak Portuguese. "Oi" is a colloquial word for "Hello" in Brazil, not something that scum shout at you whilst trying to gain your attention and rob you. What was I saying?
Oh, right. They assume I know nothing about Portuguese, so it is fine to speak about me and what a terrible person I am because I do not know the language. Talking about me in front of my back, just in a different language. I understand all of this and reply with "Interesting conversation, good thing I don't know Portuguese, eh?" Silence is made. I am content.
Next, Krazee takes us to see the local church which has just been restored. This might be good. The history of some buildings is actually interesting at times. It all fell apart after one sentence.
"The angels are holding shields, I don't know what any of them mean, but..."
I was not aware she was a professional guide.
Afterwards, she starts talking about the restoration of the church, thanks to the local Brazilian community. She seems very proud, despite only being part of this community for three months. This is also after the rant about the Irish community being to small to make any significant steps in restoring the Church. I have found the only place where the Irish are not a major part of the community. Except Ireland, of course. They're just born there and immediately emigrate.
At this point, some other people walk into the church, one of whom is my age. And female. We introduce ourselves and take a liking to each other, mainly because we are probably the only two people with ages that round (to the nearest 18) to 18. Just when the conversation gets going, Krazee insists we have no time to chat, as does 18's mother, and we go separate ways. Take a drink. Fate has cockblocked me again.
I think now is a good time to describe the sheer idiocy of the purchasing system at this festival. They have added a middle man. You pay your money to someone to get tokens (everything was at the same price, £1.50, awful business scheme) and then you exchange the tokens for what you want. It seemed unnecessarily awkward. I tried to avoid this middle person, but was shot down by a woman wearing a cowboy hat. I think word had spread that I knew Portuguese and Sarcasm. Sarcasm offends the Portuguese a lot, it seems, as there is no sarcasm in Brazil. Apart from that, humour in Brazil and Britain is very similar. Male chicken can also mean penis. Very similar.
There was also a prison system. Lemme explain. You pay 50p and the local sheriff, a boy of about seven, takes you off to prison. The garage. You then pay £1 if you want to release that person. I thought this ingenious and paid 50p for Krazee to be taken away so I could go the fuck home.
45 minutes on the District line. Kill me now.
I blame the Irish community. If they had been bigger, it would be an Irish festival and they would have had better beer. Not SKOL. Why SKOL?
45 minutes on the District Line. Creative Zen M running out of battery. The day already looks bleak.
I arrived (with my mother, obviously) and was instantly shocked by its looks. The only way it could have been more low-key was if it was actually just a key. School fetes look at this "festival" and thank their lucky stars for their £5 budget. There were the traditional food stalls, a highlight as when I have food in my mouth, I am not requested to talk. You could buy cheap sunglasses, always fun. Unfortunately, I was too big for the bouncy castle.
I have jumped the gun. I am Brazilian. Half of my family is. Therefore, it is not weird for me or my family to go to one of these. However, I cannot speak Portuguese, but I can understand it very well. This is used for comic effect later in my day.
Anyway, we go and meet my mother's friend, Krazee. No real names are used in this blog, just random associations of letters. We meet Krazee, who cannot seem to shut up and she introduces us to the rest of the workers there. I stay quiet, yet polite and say hi. I say "Hi" not, "Oi", so they immediately assume I do not speak Portuguese. "Oi" is a colloquial word for "Hello" in Brazil, not something that scum shout at you whilst trying to gain your attention and rob you. What was I saying?
Oh, right. They assume I know nothing about Portuguese, so it is fine to speak about me and what a terrible person I am because I do not know the language. Talking about me in front of my back, just in a different language. I understand all of this and reply with "Interesting conversation, good thing I don't know Portuguese, eh?" Silence is made. I am content.
Next, Krazee takes us to see the local church which has just been restored. This might be good. The history of some buildings is actually interesting at times. It all fell apart after one sentence.
"The angels are holding shields, I don't know what any of them mean, but..."
I was not aware she was a professional guide.
Afterwards, she starts talking about the restoration of the church, thanks to the local Brazilian community. She seems very proud, despite only being part of this community for three months. This is also after the rant about the Irish community being to small to make any significant steps in restoring the Church. I have found the only place where the Irish are not a major part of the community. Except Ireland, of course. They're just born there and immediately emigrate.
At this point, some other people walk into the church, one of whom is my age. And female. We introduce ourselves and take a liking to each other, mainly because we are probably the only two people with ages that round (to the nearest 18) to 18. Just when the conversation gets going, Krazee insists we have no time to chat, as does 18's mother, and we go separate ways. Take a drink. Fate has cockblocked me again.
I think now is a good time to describe the sheer idiocy of the purchasing system at this festival. They have added a middle man. You pay your money to someone to get tokens (everything was at the same price, £1.50, awful business scheme) and then you exchange the tokens for what you want. It seemed unnecessarily awkward. I tried to avoid this middle person, but was shot down by a woman wearing a cowboy hat. I think word had spread that I knew Portuguese and Sarcasm. Sarcasm offends the Portuguese a lot, it seems, as there is no sarcasm in Brazil. Apart from that, humour in Brazil and Britain is very similar. Male chicken can also mean penis. Very similar.
There was also a prison system. Lemme explain. You pay 50p and the local sheriff, a boy of about seven, takes you off to prison. The garage. You then pay £1 if you want to release that person. I thought this ingenious and paid 50p for Krazee to be taken away so I could go the fuck home.
45 minutes on the District line. Kill me now.
I blame the Irish community. If they had been bigger, it would be an Irish festival and they would have had better beer. Not SKOL. Why SKOL?
Why write a summer blog?
Why write a summer blog, you ask? Good question (from myself).
Well, it's mainly for me. As much as I'd like other people to read it, it's not the most important thing. I'm very sure people could live without my nonsensical (and quite frankly, rubbish) ramblings on my summer holiday. If they cant, well, it's a good thing I'm here then.
How is it for me?
Firstly, it helps my days pass by. Without a job (still), my days get boring and tiresome at a rapid pace. These blogs will help entertain me as I delude myself into believing I am writing something entertaining and witty. Which I am not. I lack the ability. So there. Smack straight in the ego.
Secondly, it helps to prevent my already weak writing skills from fading. I want to become a writer, got to get some practice, no matter how slight or frivolous the practice may be.
Finally, it may actually help me remember what happened during this summer. To be able to look back on this may inspire nostalgia and hilarity in my later years. If we haven't all killed each other by then. By later years, I mean in two years. Will not be reading this drivel on my deathbed.
So there, first post is done. SORTED. I will try and post everyday. Not everyday will be filled with treats, so luckily I have other "retrospective" events to write about from earlier on in the summer. Good. I'm glad I'm doing this.
Contact me in five days when I stop caring about this blog.
Well, it's mainly for me. As much as I'd like other people to read it, it's not the most important thing. I'm very sure people could live without my nonsensical (and quite frankly, rubbish) ramblings on my summer holiday. If they cant, well, it's a good thing I'm here then.
How is it for me?
Firstly, it helps my days pass by. Without a job (still), my days get boring and tiresome at a rapid pace. These blogs will help entertain me as I delude myself into believing I am writing something entertaining and witty. Which I am not. I lack the ability. So there. Smack straight in the ego.
Secondly, it helps to prevent my already weak writing skills from fading. I want to become a writer, got to get some practice, no matter how slight or frivolous the practice may be.
Finally, it may actually help me remember what happened during this summer. To be able to look back on this may inspire nostalgia and hilarity in my later years. If we haven't all killed each other by then. By later years, I mean in two years. Will not be reading this drivel on my deathbed.
So there, first post is done. SORTED. I will try and post everyday. Not everyday will be filled with treats, so luckily I have other "retrospective" events to write about from earlier on in the summer. Good. I'm glad I'm doing this.
Contact me in five days when I stop caring about this blog.
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