Diary of a Misanthrope

In which I become a big girl's blouse

2011-12-01T20:25:00.001Z

So, again, I met this woman. An american this time. And again she's dragged me off to somewhere on the spur of the moment. Where am I? Here: http://www.inanitah.com/

Quite why I decided to come here I don't know. I hate hippys. They're so smug in their vegan ways; with dreadlocks that....well i domt understand dreadlocks on any level. I think they lookmstupid and dirty. That website just screams tofu and lectures on sustainability. But within 3 minutes I'd decided to tag along. It was in vaguely the right direction so I thought 'fuck it'. It might be good for a laugh.

Except when I arrived it all clicked into place. I've recently been moving toward a greater awareness of meat and where it comes from. I've always thought everybody is an arsehole. I've always got bored really easily and want to move on really quickly. And I take the piss. A lot. But I walked in, not having filled out an application form like you're supposed to, and was greeted with warmth and friendliness. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable if I'm honest but the problem was all mine. It's taking some getting used to: everybody being so bloody nice. And I don't think they're faking it. I'm naturally very suspicious of nice people, it's what comes of being treated like shit for years on end, and all these people do is smile. It's all very Stepford but in a very good way.

We had dinner not long after we arrived last night and everybody joined hands. I was on the verge of objecting to saying prayers but we all went around the table saying what we were thankful for. God wasnt mentioned. It was awesome (I appreciate I sound very wet right now). Nobody smokes. I don't have to sit upwind for a change.

Today, as part of living here for not a lot, I spent two hours watering plants. Later is yoga. Tomorrow, I might help out in the kitchen making food from random stuff found in the garden. I've never just wandered in a garden and picked random leaves to eat. I got very emotional yesterday at all this. I like to think I'm very open minded but having rejected this entire concept for years I don't feel I can say that anymore. Maybe it's just my age. Maybe I'm having a mid-life crisis. But for the first time in a long time I feel like I belong. How long till I fuck it up, eh?

Songs of my life

2011-11-27T14:32:00.001Z

I have various songs that reflect my mind perfectly. The Closest Thing to Crazy by Katie Melua is one. It says everything you need to know about my ex-wife and I. Everything here is literal.

How can I think I'm standing strong,

Yet feel the air beneath my feet?

How can happiness feel so wrong?

How can misery feel so sweet?

How can you let me watch you sleep,

Then break my dreams the way you do?

How can I have got in so deep?

Why did I fall in love with you?

[CHORUS:]

This is the closest thing to crazy I have ever been

Feeling twenty-two, acting seventeen,

This is the nearest thing to crazy I have ever known,

I was never crazy on my own...

And now I know that there's a link between the two,

Being close to craziness and being close to you.

How can you make me fall apart

Then break my fall with loving lies?

It's so easy to break a heart;

It's so easy to close your eyes.

How can you treat me like a child

Yet like a child I yearn for you?

How can anyone feel so wild?

How can anyone feel so blue?

[CHORUS]

CA on the down low

2011-11-26T04:43:00.001Z

There's a common factor with my depression: generally it's other people that make me feel shit. It's a feeling of inadequacy, or social ineptitude. A need to stand apart and watch the fun from afar while at the same time a desperate need to take part. It sets up a conflict in my head and I go spiralling around and around and around until something clicks. Today, that something was this:

http://blog.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/stoo/11/1322190946/tpod.html

See, I'd begun to think it was me. All these people in Central America are having fun. If it's me that's miserable then it stands to reason I'm a freak, right? Party capital of the world and all I want to do is sit in a corner and watch TV. It hadn't occurred to me that maybe everyone else was just gobshitingly awful. A version of the worst kind of Essexland (for I know some lovely people from there and wouldn't denigrate all of it): drunken, drugged up, vomit stained, loud and noisy Essex where the aim is to do all of the above 'large'. I hate it.

Sometimes I just want to sit and have a cup of tea. Maybe even a chat. I'm 35. I don't do drinking games anymore. I don't want to talk about the ways I've opened beer bottles. Is it too much to ask to talk about politics? Or the environment? Or the American election?

Why should I be the one to feel excluded? How dare you make me feel the outcast? You're the one exhibiting moronic principals. You're shallow and vacuous. Your greatest achievement in your young life is to have dropped the two most important balls of your life. I forgot this for awhile. It's OK for me not to take part because to take part, and enjoy it, I'd have to drop my IQ by 40 points and not only am I unwilling to do that I actually can't. I've tried. My conversation doesn't dumb down enough for you. I can't get my head around some of the things I'd need to say. It's like I'm talking to my biological sibling. It's good to have standards, don't you think? And my standards tower above yours. I look down upon your standards from my ivory tower and all I see are ants: we're both unknowable to each other but one of us has got the bigger cock.

I don't like your parties. I can never hear what's being said and I suspect it'd bore me to rigor mortis if I did. But just once I'd like to be given the opportunity to know for a fact. It's just that I can't be bothered to find out. I'm already disappointed in you. I'd hate to find out the reality is even worse.

Now it has to be said I've disliked other groups of travellers for other reasons: in India they were smug, in Europe too young. For the best travellers go to Africa. Everywhere I go in Central America, and the places where divers congregate are the worst for they think they're so fucking cool, people treat it like its the last night of legal alcohol and they're mission is to be as loud and obnoxious as possible. Like its Freshers Week ad nauseum. Maybe that's what it is: they remind me of students. I hate them, too.

No doubt you'll make me feel like shit again in the future but for now, by which I mean the next few minutes, I'm happy in my supercilious reverie. So, please fuck off.

Tales from the river

2011-11-25T15:07:00.001Z

There's a boat. I'm....on it. Lonely Planet, as Lonely Planet tends to do, and which I hadn't at this point realised tends to make everything sound fabulous. I've been to some very crappy places because of them. I literally travelled for an hour in India (distance 3 km) to see a water pool mechanism. It looked like someone's Lego set.

The boat is going between Koblenz and Mainz two very non-descript towns but the boat journey was supposedly epically beautiful. It isn't. It's alright at best. But on this boat were two dudes. One of them looked like Cameron from Modern Family and the other looked like Mitchell. From Modern Family. It was unfuckingcanny.

So we're talking. They're nice guy English types, as opposed to the crappy drunken ones, on holiday for a few weeks touring picturesque parts of Germany. I begin wondering - are they gay? But surpringly for one afflicted with foot in mouth disease I don't ask. I delve deeper instead. It turns out one of them lives in Scotland, the other in London.

Sorry if you were expecting a funny ending, or even an interesting one.

Incidentally, I got stuck in a lift in Germany. I was with a few other people and we were there for 15 minutes. It turned out nobody had pushed the button.*

*stolen from Flight of the Conchords

Songs of My Life

2011-11-24T15:06:00.000Z

I have various songs that reflect my mind perfectly. Because of You by Kelly Clarkson is one. It describes my childhood and my upbringing perfectly. Thanks, mum.

I will not make the same mistakes that you did

I will not let myself

Cause my heart so much misery

I will not break the way you did,

You fell so hard

I've learned the hard way

To never let it get that far

Because of you

I never stray too far from the sidewalk

Because of you

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt

Because of you

I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me

Because of you

I am afraid

I lose my way

And it's not too long before you point it out

I cannot cry

Because I know that's weakness in your eyes

I'm forced to fake

A smile, a laugh everyday of my life

My heart can't possibly break

When it wasn't even whole to start with

Because of you

I never stray too far from the sidewalk

Because of you

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt

Because of you

I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me

Because of you

I am afraid

I watched you die

I heard you cry every night in your sleep

I was so young

You should have known better than to lean on me

You never thought of anyone else

You just saw your pain

And now I cry in the middle of the night

For the same damn thing

Because of you

I never stray too far from the sidewalk

Because of you

I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt

Because of you

I try my hardest just to forget everything

Because of you

I don't know how to let anyone else in

Because of you

I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty

Because of you

I am afraid

Because of you

What I did in Dangriga

2011-11-23T16:18:00.000Z

So we're in Dangriga after not making it to Copan. It's party time with the Garifuna. Subsequently, the next day was...slow. But there are buses running all day; we can get a late one because where we're going is just a transit point ie it's shit.

10am we look for breakfast. Sarah wants frijoles and beans. Must have frijoles and beans. We had Chinese. This was eaten during a discussion about Lost (greatest program ever made, fact fans). There were questions raised: what was the horse? Why was Charles ejected from the island? Was Ben really a Capricorn? Let's go back to the hostel and find out!

This we do for the next 3 hours. The bus is at 3:15. It's 2:35. We should probably leave....

Yes. But first we need to find the, I say 'the', ATM because we can't actually pay for the bus with our current funds. The bus station is left. The ATM is to the right. Off we go. Long way this, isn't it? Got cash, walked in the opposite direction, and arrive at the bus station. To see our bus coming out of the gate. Actiongirl Sarah leaps to the fore ie in front of the bus and demands it stop. He won't let us on. Sarah pleads. The bus is full. We don't mind standing. Already people standing. Other travelers already on the bus are laughing at us. Fail.

So we wait 75 minutes for the next one.

There are 3 doors in the terminal in a wall 3 metres long and about 100 Belizeans. Which door....wheres the bus going to come in....could be any of them apparently. Sarah and I had 2 plans, the first of which we played rock, paper, scissors for. I should've warned her how awesome I am at it. I'm, like, the champ. I won! Hurrah! It was to be my duty to clamber my way onto the bus and secure us a seat while she made sure our very heavy bags somehow went underneath the bus. This plan wasn't put into effect because we then decided to stand at different doors and therefore it'd be the first person to get there. Sarah won. I got caught up in a scrum. Ever seen a ruck in Rugby? Brian Moore's got nothing on an old woman from Belize.

I can just about see Sarah being crushed inside the bus and in front of me there are four rows of people still waiting to get on. I begin to wonder if and how I'm going to get on. I glance behind me, where there's nobody, somehow I'm at the back of the scrum despite carrying a huge backpack, and there's a bus 2 lanes away. The sign says its going to the same place but there are only three people getting on it. Umm.....

So off I goes to that bus. Now, some people might've thought 'let's tell Sarah'. Not me. I'm far too practical for that. I'll meet her in Punta Gorda bus station. Its quite clear what my uncommunicated plan is. I gets on the bus and it's almost empty. There's still a scrum for the other bus. Result. I look across and Sarah has a look of wide-eyed panic on her face. It's at this point I wonder....off the bus I get. Her bus' backdoor is open and as I get there she's on the verge of leaping out.

Remember that bit in Labyrinth? With all the hands? It looked like that.

So I helped a traumatised Sarah onto 'my' bus and all was well. Except for my ears that got a sound thrashing.

Am Dam Virgins

2011-11-22T13:03:00.001Z

Let's go back, with a wibbly wobbly effect, to the first day of travelling. Ah those virginal (1) halcyon (2) days.

As you do when you're going somewhere unknown you book a few nights somewhere to stay, to save you rocking up into the big unknown, a stranger in a strange land and having to find a hostel. Not everywhere speaks the Queen's language dontchaknow. So I booked into the Flying Pig which is next to the Vondelpark. Nice bit of greenery I thought. Splendid. (I was in Amsterdam by the way.) Bad idea.

It was so the wrong hostel for me but I'd booked in for five days. Yay. Now, for a certain kind of person it was probably awesome. I'm not knocking the hostel. The staff were friendly, it was clean, they had...services. But I'm not 18 anymore which was the average age of the people staying there. I didn't really appreciate the dance techno wank garage music being played during breakfast. I didn't appreciate the absolute obsession with getting high. People enjoy it and that's fine but it's not for me. I have my reasons and I ain't sharing them. Incidentally, the peer pressure to partake can be immense anywhere but I'm strong. I can endure.

I did appreciate the level of drinking that went on in the dorm before all the youngsters all pissed off clubbing. I was wasted by that point. Did I have that amount of energy back then? Gawd.

Amsterdam itself was lovely. Great city. The people are so friendly, the level of English is better than most of the gobshites in England, great museums, the Heineken brewery, the red light district (nothing sexier than a woman in a window) and more.

There was a dude in the hostel. He was English. He was there for 3 days and then going home. The conversation went like this:

He gets up out of bed.

Me: "alright mate? Where are you off to today?"

Him: I'm gonna go downstairs and get high I think.

Oh, yeah? What you doing after that?

I'll come back to bed for a kip.

And that was his entire cycle. For 3 days. Bed. Weed. Bed. Weed. He said it was his way of releiving the stress of his day to day life. Have a wank dude. It sorts me right out. Why go all the way to Amsterdam when you can relieve yourself in the comfort of your own bed?

You had the Rijksmuseum 10 minutes to the left, the Van Gogh museum 10 minutes to the right, and amazing shit right out the front door. But no. Let's get off our tits on drugs instead. so much culture, such vibrancy and awesomeness, not to mention how great 'Dam is to cycle around - the cars give way! and it's obscenely flat! - I think it's a crying shame people don't experience it. You may as well just go to Bognor.

(1) I've always thought that sounds like it pertains to a woman's lady parts

(2) don't know what that means so if I've used it incorrectly points to you for knowing

A letter to the Lindas

2011-11-15T04:09:00.000Z

Dear Lindas

What is it with people your age and your names? Perhaps it's hormones raging through your menopausal bodies that make you so fickle. Perhaps you've had enough of treating people nicely and just want to be a bitch. Maybe I did something and now you just don't like me. Let's go with that.

I did my best for you both. I was nice; I put in a huge amount of effort and opened my heart to you only for you to turn around and kick me in the teeth.

Off one of you I took a great burden. You were happy for it to happen. To then turn around and self-righteously claim it back was wrong. I did nothing you haven't done yourself. Unless I was lied to like everyone else. You're blinded by family loyalty; protecting people through intimidation, lies and secrets is stressful for everybody concerned. I did only one thing wrong in 8 years and yet you use that as the stick to beat me with even though it was a direct result of how I was treated and happened at the end. Do you know the truth, Linda? I'm betting you don't. You either hide it from yourself or you've never been told. If I knew your email address I'd email you. Perhaps I'll write you a letter and explain a few home truths. Your husband is the only decent member of your immediate family and he's blind. Almost literally.

To the other Linda: I did something I don't know what. For that I apologized. Twice. Do you not know what that took? I'm not the kind of guy to apologise. I'm arrogant and stubborn; yet the depth of my feeling was....deep. I sent you a letter that it took you a year to reply to. You didn't answer any of my questions. You barely referred to it, instead exhorting me to do something I'd made clear I didn't want to do. So I sent you another letter which you also haven't replied to in a timely fashion. And yet you say I disrespected you? Maybe it's because I called you mental and unhinged. But hey, I admitted I was too. In case you didn't get it I'll post it here in a few weeks.

I blame you both for a lot of things. Obviously I had a part to play but your actions were so out of proportion it beggars belief. My life took a massive downturn because of you. Shit happened that I cannot forgive. But without you I wouldn't be in Guatemala having the time of my life. So I suppose I should be grateful that you took my life and willingly shredded it despite all the good I've done and the shit I was going through even before you stabbed me in the face with all the knives in the world. Some might have given help but almost in concert you became my nemesises. You saw it your duty to destroy any semblance of life I had. Lucky for me I didn't do anything stupid, eh? Oh. That's right. I did.

Yours in hope you get brutally skullfucked

Jay

The Legend of Super Dan

2011-11-13T13:06:00.001Z

Dan. Dan, Dan, Super Dan.

I met Dan on the jungle trip and he was special. He was more man than you should be able to fit into a normal sized body. Everything he said and did was 100% prime MAN. He was....capable. Whatever needed doing, he was there. He had so much energy the nuclear power industry was jealous.

The things Dan has done:

Climbed trees
Worked in high rise construction
Been in the army
Driven a tank
Carved wood into....things
He can wear pink and still look butch
Juggles fire
Throws a motherfucking machete in the air and catches it
Climbs temples, not up the stairs, but through overgrown jungle when everyone else is dying from exhaustion
Performs surgery on himself
Plays guitar

He has also has a firm grip of history. During a discussion on our respective countries Israel had its turn. To paraphrase: "Israel was started in 1947. In 1953 we went to war. After that we went to war. War reared it's head again. There was a war later. And then....a war. This all ended in 1997 when we went to war."

The annoying thing about Dan was not that he made everyone else feel inferior. It's not that he was so damn unfazeable. He wasn't a big talker so he didn't get on your tits. It's that he's just so damn nice. About everybody. All the fucking time. Sometimes you just wanted him to bitch. Even about the 2 German girls.

At one point we even talked about him having his own range of action figures.

I've not even mentioned his hair. He's like fucking Samson. He's got so much hair, in a tiny space, there should be a gravity well in constant attendance above his head.

But he's not very good at the harmonica, so stitch that, Israeli.

A Wimbawey

2011-11-12T16:55:00.001Z

This jungle thing's a lark, eh?

So, Sarah said. Fancy a jungle walk to some ruins? Yay, said I, lets do it. And so started six days of hell.

In no certain order it went:

First day failed as there wasn't a guide for us ready some had to sit in a random village all day. Food was tortillas and frijoles. For 4 meals. Random woman sang through a microphone. Badly. And we swam in a river.

Second day was walking. Through mud. More mud than I've ever seen. Ruins. Walking. Complaints from the 2 German girls (henceforth known as Team Silent) that Sarah (henceforth known as Team Awesome) and I were talking too much. And too loudly. And walking too slowly. To be fair that was because we were talking. Total time walking: 8 hours for 27km. Lunch was tuna sandwiches and dinner was....stuff with tortillas.

Third day, we walked. Dan the Israeli talked a lot to the Spanish guide and thus became Team Español (which should technically be Team Castellano but Español is funnier). This left Scott, who was also Johnny, to become Team Johnny. I got a lecture from Team Silent on the correct pronunciation of their name and got told in a shouty type way to "shut up and keep walking". Relations got tense after this and pisstaking became extreme. Much fun was had this day. I still felt good physically but pretty tires now. We'd walked about 7 hours and 30km. It was becoming increasingly clear I was going to hate Dan in his awesomeness. His energy levels were disgusting. As was his capability. Lunch was tuna sandwiches and dinner was stuff with tortillas.

Fourth day we saw the ruins. And sunset. And sunrise. Much climbing was done. Wasn't this supposed to be a rest day? Team Silent were typically silent and spending time amongst themselves. Which was nice. They'd paid $100 more than the rest of us, for less. This made us smug. Which was nice. No mud today. The Dan contingent of Team Español subsetted off into Team Rabbit due to his being like the Duracell Energizer bunny. And also he earned the name Super Dan. Lunch was.... I can't remember to be honest but there were probably tortillas.

Fifth day Team Silent returned and we four were left alone. There was rejoicing. Especially as we kept the cook, Sofia (no team was assigned). There was a four hour walk to essentially pointless ruins but we'd negotiated this for free so, win. Ish. We rested, and this was good as I was starting to feel like shit. The legend of Super Dan was being born. Macaroni cheese for lunch. Fr dinner we each had a piece of fried spam. Go, Sofia!

Sixth day was hell. Hell in a jungle with mud. 9 bastard hours of walking. Distance was kind of irrelevant and nobody could agree on it anyway. Even the Mayans were arguing amongst themselves. A there between 8 and 40 Kim's was mooted. Little talking was done. And it rained overnight making little lakes through which we struggled. No leeches were found but lots of ticks. It goes without saying THAT THERE WERE A MILLION FUCKING MOSQUITOS. Super Dan suggested running the final 30 minutes. He didn't die thus proving looks cant actually kill.

Seventh day was a 3 hour jaunt back to Carmelita where we'd started. In mud and water. Did we want Tortillas and frijoles? Did we? Get fucked.

Funniest thing said by me: why is it raining inside the tent?

I've lost more than my virginity

2011-11-03T14:32:00.000Z

More than one person has suffered at my hands. I don't do it out of malice; more because I'm a cretin. There used to be a superb TV program called The Mary Whitehouse Experience and on this program was a character called Ray. He was afflicted with a sarcastic tone of voice. Look him up. Maybe he's on YouTube. I'd give a link but a) I'm too lazy and b) I'm on a Guatemalan bus. Space age this ain't. Do you really think I've got wifi? There's another reason but it's kind of to do with this blog.

I'm like Ray. I am afflicted. I am afflicted with a comedicly shitty memory. Oh, the important stuff I've forgotten. I met a stranger once. She was lovely. She was the cousin of a friend and I'd been invited to stay at his parents house at the seaside. Quite early into the conversation, some might say too early for me to apply much significance to it and that I'd be quite justified in using that as an excuse, she told me her mum had died about six months earlier. Cool, I thought. Grieving. There might be a chance here.

Ten minutes later we're inside and the cousin is joshing with some woman and the dude's parents. Those of you who know me know where this is going. Especially those I've already told the story to.

"How are you related?" I asked. "Is this your mum?"

Tuumbleweeds. Uncomfortable silence. Red faces. I was oblivious.

My amnesia has spoilt perfect jobs for me and got me in so much trouble. I've said before that these days all I think about is what I'm eating and where I'm going to be sleeping and that I don't plan. It's because I can't think about much more. I'm going somewhere right now. I haven't any idea what's there. I just know I ticked it when I read it. I'm not exactly Leonard in Memento with his polaroids but at one point I seriously considered it. It was a constant argument with my frustrated ex-wife.

"Buy a notebook" she'd say

"How will that help?"

"You can write things down. Lists. Ideas and stuff you have to do"

"Yes but then I'd have to remember to write it down. And remember to check it once I'd written it"

I started a diary for this trip. After three weeks I remembered I'd not written a second entry.

Having a bad memory also means I lose things. I put them down and forget about them. As soon as they're outside my vision they've gone. I left my iPad in a restaurant the other day. I just got up and walked out. It wasn't until 3 hours later as I wanted to watch some TV I realised it was....somewhere. Where had I been.....? Umm....I'd eaten at some point during the day, surely....I went to the cafe....they had wifi.....let's try there. The waiters can't have had a concept of how much it was worth or I'd never have got it back. It's about 3 years wages for them.

Within 3 months of travelling I was on my third iPhone charger. I'm on about my 23rd pair of sunglasses (no, im notvexaggerating. I have a sunglasses budget equivalent to the national debt of Luxembourg). My record is an hour. About to get on a bus and I didn't have a book. I spy a bookshop across the road, take off my sunnies, put them down, pick up a book, pay, get on the bus, bus pulls off, where's my....

Then one day I got to Mumbai. The hostel was classic. Toilets you wouldn't want to use, grey beds and flies. So many flies. The pillow on my bed was about the depth of a piece of paper but that was fine. I was carrying a pillow case for this purpose. I'd been carrying it for six months and not used it. Result. I'd considered getting rid of it but this justified the weight. I stuffed it full of clothes, put it under the paper/pillow. Come to check out and I forget about my pillow. To this day I have no idea what I left behind. I just know it made my bag considerably lighter.

I once went out to make a delivery for work. It was 'Important'. A factory had a broken down machine and the entire workforce was at a standstill unless they got this vital part. Jay to the rescue! I takes the delivery sheet and off I goes and as I pull into the gate I realise I'd not actually bought the stuff with me.... I don't think my boss saw me pull back into the car park thank god. Not that time anyway.

An Italian Job

2011-11-02T17:17:00.001Z

Ahh Naples. I loved Naples. Stunning architecture and outstandingly pretty fountains. All of it was covered in graffiti and I didn't really appreciate how charming it was until I got to the very boring north, but still. I adore it now.

However, it's a very stupid place. I spent everyday asking how the Italians ever get anything done. No systems work, no information you ever get is correct and nobody would ever follow any of the guidance they didn't get.

I wanted to go to a town about 30 minutes away on a train. This town had a castle which was good enough for me. So I go to the train station, as you do if you want to catch a train. I'd learnt this lesson well.

Every station had automatic ticket booths. This was awesome as I had to have very little do with the locals who spoke a form of gibberish. It certainly wasn't like any English I'd ever heard. Except the machine wouldn't give me a ticket. Why?? I looked at the queue for the ticket office. It was long. I queued for 30 minutes.

"Tecketo to castle-o, pleaseia"

"No"

"No?"

"No. Outside."

At this

Pint I could make this a very short story and you'll see why later but this is my blog and I don't feel you'll feel like you're getting your money's worth by a short story.

I go outside. There's a shop with a sign saying tickets. I queue for 10 minutes.

"Tecketo to castle-o, pleaseia"

"No"

"No?"

"No. Outside."

"I've just been outside. YOU are outside"

"Outside"

I go outside. There's another shop with another sign saying tickets. I queue for another ten minutes. I'd got to the station at 10 and thought I'd be on a train by 1020 at the latest. It's nearly 11.

"Tecketo to castle-o, pleaseia"

"No"

"No?"

"No. Outside."

"What?? This country is pissing stupid"

I go outside. And as I look around properly, never my first option on the first attempt of doing anything, I see there are five or six of these little shops all with a simple sign saying 'tickets'. No sign saying what tickets they actually sell just "tickets". So I go bouncing around this train station like a pinball. Tommy had nothing on me.

It was only when I got on the train I discovered and realised I could've bought my ticket ON THE TRAIN. I spent longer buying the ticket than I did at the castle. But it was cool.

And if this was the only time this had happened it would, by definition, be an isolated incident. But, predictably, it wasn't.

I was on Sicily, architecture, fountains etc graffiti etc and wanting to go to Vulcano, a glorious island with a particular feature. Any guesses?

So I get to the ferry point at 12 and go strait to tourist information.

"What time I'd the ferry?"

"330 down there". Points.

"Ooh, time to waste. Let's go find tea"

I wasn't talking to myself. I was with two Dutch women who played to type and paid for their own tea.

3pm comes, they go their way in their car, and I walks to the big building that says 'tickets'.

"Ticketo, Vulcano, pleaseia"

"No." Points down the dock. I see nothing.

"Really?"

Off I go. I'm following a chain link fence to a prtacabin. There are various boats. You might've guessed that bit. There's a security guard at the gate stood mooching around the portacabin.

"Vulcano?"

"No". Points back the way I've come. I walk back. Maybe I missed it. It's been known. Nope. Nothing. I've missed the ferry but that's fine. I was told there was another one at 6. So I wander up and down this dock. Nothing. I go back to th ticket office. He noise it's down here. I go back to the security guard. There's been a shift change. New guard!

"Vulcano. Where? Pleaseia" I was ready to drag him around this dock. It was at least 36 degrees and my bag still weighed 20kg at this point.

"Here". Points to the portacabin.

"What??" I'm more bemused than angry.

Ok. I go to the window.

"Ticketo, Vulcano, pleaseia"

"No. Not today"

"Not today? Six!" I mime gratuitously.

"Not today. Tomorrow"

"What the fuckity fucking hell?"

So me being me I gave up, said fuck it and went to the mainland instead.

NB my Italian wasn't quite this bad but I did at certain points put 'io' on the end of English words and was perfectly understood. No lie.

Hmm

2011-11-01T22:56:00.001Z

You know that thing when friends don't act the way you want them to? When they do something? Something you don't appreciate? Or like? That.

I'm evaluating certain things. Some changes are going to happen. Hard decisions will have to be made but they will be made. Cuz quite frankly I give up. Too many times people have acted contrary to what I need. It's not necessarily their fault; I'm a hard guy to please. Some people you think would know. And care. It can't be that hard, surely?

What's mine is mine

2011-10-31T18:57:00.000Z

AKA where I write like I'm Richard Littlejohn

I like my money. It helps me buy stuff. It lets me live the way I want to. So why should I give it away? When did that become a good idea? I don't mean to charity; there are at least 3 good charities out there that if I were feeling generous I might consider giving a pound to. Amnesty International is one. I'd have to think about the other 2. Most charities are pointless and don't serve any common good. Make A Wish Foundation? Just because a kid has cancer doesn't make him or her. Ore deserving of a trip to Disney. I hated my childhood, I had years of psychological abuse and felt like shit oat of the time, but did I get an all expenses trip to see a pederastical (w mouse? Let's call that child brave. On the same sliding scale where does a broken bone come? Or a cold? Isn't it braver to look after your dying mum than just contract a disease? Braver to run into a burning building than succumb to a genetic mutation? Who decides these things? They should get the medal for their piousness and sleepless nights spent wondering if they've done the right thing in denying Jonny, the kid who ran a marathon to raise money for the local drunk to buy vodka, over Marie, the girl who got a lymphoma? It's three words! Anybody who gets anything in three words shouldn't get a holiday. Give her a mars bar! Let her live her remaining days in sugarific splendour! Immerse her in a bath of chocolate - the effect will last longer.

But don't give a mars bar to the homeless drunk buying vodka. Don't give him anything. He's made that choice. Go get a job you scruffy, smelly git. Where did you get the string from to tie the dog up with? I see the label for Poundstretcher! You've obviously got a fortune stashed away somewhere so don't bother me. Actually, move away. I actually tried to buy food for one once. He turned it down and demanded I go buy him a beer instead. What? I'm not volunteering your liver for suicide, dude. Use your brains. You should be maximising the calories. Ask for Couscous! And a gas heater with water. It's the best food for when you want to eat a million of something! I'd respect you more if I saw less food in dumpsters. Every second it's in there is a second you're proving yourself lazy. How can you be hungry when there's food going spare in the local bin? Nice half bag of chips there. With curry sauce. Yum. I'd pay a lot for that right now. And you want it for free? Workshy tosser.

And yet. Both of these groups are considerably more deserving of my money than people that work in restaurants and bars. Tipping? For bringing me a beer? Work hard on that did you? Long way to the fridge is it? Ooh you've walked a long way today? Unlike the street cleaner? Or the bobby on the beat? Or the countless thousands working in factories? Or warehouses? Or other people doing low paid, shitty work? Oh, you're paid minimum wage? Boo fucking hoo. Lots of people are! They can't move jobs just like you don't want to. You know that book you read last? That 700 page opus? How long do you think it took the author to write? And you only spent £5.99 on it?! You wanker! Would you consider popping a cheque for another few quid in the post if the author was stupid enough to put his address on the back? Maybe he could use a PO BOX? Personally I've always wondered how you go about getting one of those and would consider being an author just to find out. Do the chefs in your kitchen, the guys doing the actual work, in hot, sweaty conditions, getting onions up their nose and citric acid in their wound inflicted hands from all that bloody chopping, share in your tips? Do they complain about it? Not everyone is a Gordon Ramsey you know. Not everyone gets to hand menus out and then - GASP - write down what people say for a living! Id love that job. I could do it right here right now.

"Pollo fritas, por favor"
"Si. Uno?"
"Exavtamunto. Gracias"

See how easy that is? Can i have tip? No? Im just doing your job! I worked in a warehouse for six long hateful years on monkey wages and didn't get a single tip. Why should you?

Ps that three year old blind kid in India tugging at my trousers and pointing at his mouth got fuck all so your chances are slim unless you're offering a blowie or other happy ending.

Stories from a crappy childhood

2011-10-28T16:13:00.001Z

Stories from a crappy childhood

So I being my first girlfriend home. I'm....in my....teens? Somewhere.

Her name was Loretta and lived a few streets away. We went out for at least 2 days but it all fizzled out due to me not having a clue what to do. We almost kissed. I was walking her home and my 'mate' Sammy tagged along. Cock. He stood staring there while I said goodbye making it impossible to lean in for a smooch.

So, this one day I, for some probably very stupid reason, brought her home. My mum knew her. It was no big secret. We're stood in the back room. We were proper worming class, like. None of this fancy 'parlor' rubbish. That's the front room, it's at the front. That's the back room, it's....you get the picture.

"Hey Loretta" my mum says "come look at this".

Loretta saunters over and my mum gets out one of my schoolbooks.

"See that Loretta? His handwriting's rubbish, innit?"

I burn up.

Now, my handwriting was shocking and still is. The advent of computer didn't help and it's not lie,ly to get better with my iPad. Holding a pen is so alien now. I'd get home from a long day at college and spend a few hours re-writing all my notes. I'd spend a large part of that deciphering them. Even then some of it was...illegible at best.

Loretta, embarrassed, leaves.

"you like embarrassing me, don't you?" I ask.

"I'm only doing it for your own good" she says.

Aww. She cared.

Sorry, Gran

2011-10-27T13:10:00.000Z

Dear Gran

Im a big one for telling the truth and being honest. I get in trouble all the time for it. in fact, I've nearly been hit for it on more than one occasion. It's one reason why I be,Ieve people to be arseholes. If you need to hide from the truth you shouldn't be allowed to live.

Anyway, you asked me a question once and I lied. I need to apologize. I need it with all my heart. I don't have many regrets, they're for idiots who aren't strong enough to live with their mistakes, but this is one.

The question you asked was this: why did you stop going to your Dads?

I remember you asking quite clearly. It was saturday afternoon, we were watching TV. Probably that crappy seventies thing about the pickle factory. You loved it and I think you thought I liked it too but, let's be honest, it was shit. I think it was before your cancer started as I don't remember you being in pain. Incidentally, I understand you not telling anyone about it; in fact I have a lot of respect for you because of it. How did you live with that knowledge? It's an amazing feat. Had you shared it with the family I can just imagine the arguments. I still remember the ones about who was going to look after you years before. Nothing like selfish kids, eh?

Anyway, you turned to me and said:

"Jamie,I wa t to ask you a question. I don't want you to get nervous and I'd like to know the truth before I go." Cancer, Gran? Was it? Hmm.

What exactly do you think exactly was happening to me at this point, Ethel? My heart was beating so hard you could use it in a band playing the Imperial March. I was sweaty, clammy and NERVOUS. But I understand you had to ask and I'd have reacted like that if you'd asked if I wanted some sweets.

It was a complicated answer. I was preparing the truth in my head. I just needed some time to think about it. But you threw me a lifeline.

"is it because of the money?"

"Yes! Yes. That's it. The money" what money? Who the fuck knows.

Job over. I made it. Phew.

The truth was this:

When we were younger my sibling and I were very different. We still are but we seem to have swapped roles. I was so quiet, she was forthright. We stopped going simply because Clare asked not to go anymore. I can't speak to her reasoning but for me, looking back, I was kind of glad. I was bored off my tits. We'd go and spend afternoons watching Cath and Hayley perform dance routines. Even to me that was boring.

Pete would sit watching TV. Now and again he'd dangle an exciting activity in front of us (we'll go for a walk in the woods later, he'd say) but we'd never do it.

So there you have it. A simple lie and not really something worth covering up. I've lived with the guilt for a long time. I often thought of correcting the initial lie but as time went on it got harder. And then you went and died on me. I'm not sure Youd have known what I was referring to in the last coup,e of years to be honest.the hours I'd sit there with you talking away as if I knew everyone younger talking about. Good times.

Is it alright if I ask to be absolved of the guilt now? I think 15 years is long enough.

Love you and miss you and think of you every day and have done for the past 11 years.

Jamie

Ps if the afterlife does exist, if you can visit, why haven't you? I needed you. You were the only one that could've made a difference.

Are we connecting?

2011-10-26T14:45:00.000Z

WARNING TO THE LADIES: This blog contains badassness. You may require a rest afterward.

Imagine a beach. This beach is in the middle of nowhere. And it art glorious.

Let's back up. I'd been traveling with a German woman called Lislott. She was awesome; the closest I've ever come to a female version of me. And for those of you that know me that's probably a damn scary proposition.

We were in Kanyakamari in India. Look at a map; see the pointy bit? You go there, you put your foot in the ocean and you're in three oceans at the same time. Somehow. I've never quite worked it out personally. We were there for 2 days and on the second day wanted to go the beach but the beach, as is the case with most beaches outside of Goa, was covered in dead fish so we took a tuk-tuk about 5km down the beach.

We'd bought some sheets from the hotel, made a little tent for shade, been in the sea...

There was nobody around. We couldn't see a single man-made structure. Enter stage right two Indian guys....

They were aged about 17. Take that figure with a pinch of salt as it's really hard to tell ages with Indians as they live such hard b,oody lives. Most look 70 when they're barely 30. These cow,DVD been anywhere from 12 to 25. They were immaculately dressed.

And they start talking to us as Indians do. What's your name? Where are you from? Question after question....

All the time the main dude is looking at me. Straight at me. Not even glancing at Lislott.

Eventually after asking if we were married, and we were as far as every guy in India is concerned as it made her life so much easier, still looking at me he asks:

"Do you connect?"

Eh? I looks at Lislott.

"He can't mean what I think he means, surely?" I looks back at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"You know: do you connect?"

OAnd with that he does the age old sign for sex: forefinger in-between thumb and forefinger of the other hand.

OMG!

"Dude! Where do you come from that you think you can talk like that? Go away"

He doesn't. He remains. We ignore him and rresume reading. He's asking questions. We're ignoring him. More questions. Grr. Tapping my foot. Question. Eentually, inevitably, we start talking again.

Question.

Still not so much as looked Lislott's way. I swear this next bit is true.

He takes his finger, points at Lislott and moving it up and down, says TO ME:

" Can I see?"

"NO!"

"Just once?"

"No! Not just once"

I looks at Lislott.

"Shall we go?"

We has an awesome view from our balcony. S o we starts packing our stuff away. In the meantime four of his mates have come along. Making six. As we're walking off they start playing shoving games as young kids do.

BADASS MOVE COMING UP

Out of the corner of my eye I see one of them come flying toward m. I manage to grab him, pull him around and he goes flying into to sand. It's then that it strikes me about our situation: middle of nowhere, me, a tiny German woman and six Indians. Now I'm not the hardest of blokes but I reckon I could take at least two of these guys, they're made of wet toilet roll, but six?

Luckily they just run off laughing but it could've turned out a little bit different. I always tell this story to women thinking of traveling to India by themselves cuz personal boundaries just don't exist. Unless you're an Indian woman and then they can't be respectful enough.

The rules one

2011-10-25T19:28:00.001Z

Rules of 1

Before my iPhone died I had a list. It was a series of rules and a way of life. I needed it because it explained how to travel. Now, whenever I happen to talk about stuff, everything is rule 1.

In no specific order these are some of the rules 1:

1) Fear is the path to the boring side

I broke my ankle a few years ago and since then I'm terrified to walk down stairs let alone down a slippery mountain side so I had to develop a verbal rule, a mantra to get me up a slope and down a tricky path. I could sit where I am and not do it accuse I'm scared but then I'd be bored and where's the fun in life then? Because....

1) life is about fun, shits and giggles

Who gives a shit if you're dirty? Or fat? Or poor? Or little Tommy ruined tour sofa? Or someone stole your iPod? Or you took a wrong turn and now it's going to take you an extra hour to get where you're going?

On the otherwise execrable TV program Loose Women they said something once that stuck with me: if you're not going to be worrying about something in a years time, why worry about it now? Live for the moment! Are you having fun, right now in your life? No? Well finish reading this and go find something better to do with your life cuz it won't last as long as you hope and life's to short to put up with shit.

Go watch the film Amelie. Listen to the lesson about just experiencing where you are.

1) Now and again turn around

Bonnie Tyler had it right. Look behind you both physically and spiritually. I was walking down a lane once. In front of me was a pretty scene. Hills and valleys and...possibly sheep. I turned around and there was a mountain! It was glorious.

And too many people don't think about how they got to where they are in life right now. How can you know where you've got to go without appreciating what you've been through to get there?

1) Given the choice try something new

I love chocolate. I love ice cream. Subsequently there's no greater thing than chocolate gelato from Italy. But I was only having chocolate. There're are so many more flavours out there. I realized I was missing out on so much. So every time I saw a new flavor or co our, thats what I'd have. But still occasionally the chocolate. Seriously, this one time my head exploded.

Not speaking Spanish and being in a country where they don't have English menus this rule comes to the fore because every menu is complete gibberish so it's just a case of pointing at random stuff. It helps to eat pretty much every thing.

1) Never say no to free food

Traveling, you lose weight all the time especially if you don't want to spend money and therefore skip meals. Combined with walking miles around a city you tend to start craving carbs. So if someone offers you a chip, or a dip, or a taste, or their remains (of their food sicko), take it. Have no shame. Let's not be having any of this 'they're just being polite' rubbish. If they've offered, it's their fault if you accept.

1) It's all just stuff

I once had an online argument about the worth of collecting autographs. My basic premise was it's just a name on a piece of paper and is therefore worthless making autographncollectors the most extremely stupid and materialistic people you can get. I used to collect books. For complicated reasons, mainly due to my ex being a bitch, I got rid of them. At the time I was a bit miffed but ultimatly I came to realize they had no worth in and of themselves. I'd read them. It was doubtful I'd do so again. They were just sat collecting dust.

Why are we as a species obsessed with amassing as much crap as possible? It makes no sense. You're not actually superior because you've got a dining room table. Or more glasses than you can actually drink out of. Go see how some of the people in the world live. When all you've got is a shack and three sets of clothes, and I've seriously seen this, you know what life is about and can focus on the important things like how the fuck am I going to eat today? So if you lose something don't worry about it. It's just stuff.

Cuz that's all that matters. Two questions: where am I sleeping? What am eating? They're the only things that matter.

I'm sure there're others. Maybe I'll do a part two when they come to me.

A fatherly story

2011-10-22T21:01:00.001Z

Call me callous if you like but I think this is the perfect time to tell you all why I don't speak to my dear old Pa. Apparently, he's in hospital right now not doing too well. I say apparently because nobody has told me. I'm undecided how to feel about this. On the one hand I don't care and aren't bothered, obviously. On the other hand they know he's my Dad and not exactly how I feel.

Some background: he left when I was 3 months old (don't blame him for that; my mum is hideous in looks and personality - like me) for, gasp, another woman called Linda. But then we started talking again for a few years before aged 30ish I'd broken my ankle and was massively incapacitated and in the depths of clinical depression. Thankfully my wife gave me something to think about in the shape of a D-I-V-O-R-C-E. That's Helen: never knowingly not a bitch. So I asked my Dad, and here on in he'll be called Pete as that's what I've called him for most of my life, if I could come stay for a few weeks while I got m shit together before going traveling for a bit.

So....

I came to stay. Almost the first words out of his mouth were:

"and you keep your room clean"

My response?

"I'm 32".

Anyway, things were going, not awesomely, but serviceable at least.

Until, suddenly, Linda stopped talking to me. Why? Who the fuck knows. This is a mystery that will last forever. 3 years later I'm still none the wiser but that isn't the point of the story. Two weeks later, after making enquiries into whatever the hell I've done to Linda, I'm sitting eating a sandwich. I've been out exercising my gradually getting stronger foot. They come in, Linda starts hanging washing out and Pete comes over to me and says in a big stern voice:

"Clean your room"

"what're you gonna do? Ground me?" which me being me I thought was rather witty.

He goes out for a bit.

Linda comes in.

"right. You've disrespected me and now you've disrespected your Dad. I want you out"

"sorry? What? Are you talking to me?" I was busy reading and it hadn't actually registered that she could be talking to me.

"Out!" she screamed and she's literally crying.

"What the fuck have I done?" I said. "Just tell me, I'll apologize and make amends"

She storms off to her sisters and that was the last I've ever seen of her.

Enter Pete and in tell him what happened. Apparent,y he didnt hear my witticism. Ya know, I was expecting sympathy because his psycho wife went....psycho. I got....indifference. Incidentally, in my defense, I should say at this point that the entire family are terrified of her and I'm beginning to see why. Manipulative, emotional blackmail, psychopathic tendencies.....They all went on holiday together and because she wasn't involved in the planning or decision making by all accounts she made their lives hell.

When I did this thing the specifics of which I don't know, I asked everyone who knew her and the look of fear on their faces was classic. Nobody would dare ask her! Including Pete. Anyway...

Pete goes off to find her and comes back.

"This isn't working out is it?" he asks.

"Quite clearly. I'll go then shall I?" I ask incredulously.

And he walks out.

I go upstairs to start packing. Now, admittedly, my room was a pigsty. I'd been searching for something that morning and the room was a right state. I didn't realise this and if i had id have done something about it. So I tidy up, pack my bag and leave.

I ended up staying in a local hotel, why did I not think of the hostel, as not a single relative would take me in (the start of me not giving a shit about my family). I got a phone call from my Dad later.

"Why did you leave?"

"WTF? What was I supposed to do? YOU WENT TO THE GYM"

Off I goes to Scotland for a bit. On my return I had a plan. A five point plan for getting my life back together. It went awesomely. Except for the bits with my family. See, I couldn't go to see Pete as Linda was there. I'd suggest going around - the fear!

I was staying in a flatshare and he'd come round now and again on a Friday. On his way home from the gym. For 10 minutes. I'd make him a cup of tea and he'd put cold water in it so he could be off quicker. He'd look around in disgust. And there'd be the worlds biggest white elephant in the room.

I've got some wonderful nieces and nephews. I adored them. Their mum was Hayley, Linda's daughter from another marriage and shes aces, too. They made life worth living and the only way I could see them would be to go around their house. Luckily Linda barely visited so THE FEAR wasn't in evidence that much.

Now when I moved back to my Nottingham after the divorce I had happy ideas of spending Christmas with my Dad for the first time. Yeah, right.

Father's Day comes around. Alright, Linda isn't talking to me but I can see my Dad, right? Nah. He's out with Linda and my other niece and nephew.

"But I can see you at some point yeah?" I call him from Haley's house.

"Yeah. Maybe. We'll see. Call me later".

So I pop his card through the door. There was a rage building in me at this point.

I write Linda an apology. I don't know what I'm apologizing for, I bare my soul, something I wouldn't normally do but this is how strongly I feel about it. I hear nothing. Until a year later but that's irrelevant now.

They all go camping. I love camping. It's one of my favorite outdoor activities. I can't go. Why not? Because Linda will be there. ARE YOU CAMPING IN HER FUCKING HOUSE?

I got Hayley to phone her mum to ask her if I can go round to talk about it, to apologize. No.

All this time Pete is carrying on his life intentionally oblivious. He made a choice to ignore everything, all trouble, to not ask a question, to not talk to her, to not say 'he's my bloody son, he's in trouble and I want him to stay', he took the weakest easy path. Which is what I do, so it's what I did.

It occurred to me one day, nobody ever contacted me. Nobody ever called to ask how I was, what I was doing. So I decided to stop visiting Hayley's. I'd wait to see how long it'd take for someone to ask where I am. I waited a very long time.

Soon after that I moved and I just didn't bother giving him my new address. He certainly never asked for it or asked to come round or visit.

And it's still like that. Maybe I'll get a message soon saying he's died. If anyone bothers to tell me.

Life is qualitatively easier if you don't talk to your family, if you haven't got to always worry if they're ok and be involved in their shit. But it doesn't mean I wouldn't want to be there. Some people might be asking why I don't hate Linda. The problem is, I can empathize with Linda. She's nuts and so was I for awhile. No, it's Pete who had the power to do something, to effect a change and he didn't take it. I never realized how weak he was until that point. I hope I'm stronger. Or adopted.

I can rule worlds

2011-10-15T14:22:00.000Z

I don't talk to my family. None of them. (Apart from my niece and nephew who are lovely and intelligent and their mum who's fab. But then they aren't blood relatives which I feel explains it.) We don't talk for individual reasons and I'm in the right in every case.

In the last ten years I've been involved in four or five car crashes. Again, I wasn't in the wrong. Except for that one time when I worked for Graham Archer at CEF but never owned up to it. Sorry Graham. That's what you get when you send someone who only passed their test the day before out in your new and shniy Volvo. I'd only driven a Nova up to that point! So maybe that wasn't my fault either.

Where does my arrogance come from? I wish I knew but it makes for a wonderful feeling. I'm never wrong! Glorious. If I ever chose to bet on horses the whole universe would have to realign to my way of thinking.

I could reenergize the oil industry! Jamie, where is the universe's largest oil deposit? Africa. Which bit? All of it, 3 meters down.

The food industry: Jamie, is fat really unhealthy? nope. It's womderul stuff and it tastes of custard while reducing cholesterol and making you drunk. Kids'll love it.

The starving millions: Jamie, what's the best cure for hunger? Free food, for everyone.

Aaaah welome to my world. Jayworld? Jaypiter? Open to suggestions. I should be magnanimous in my awesomeness.

I lost my shit in 'Nam. Man.

2011-10-13T16:57:00.001Z

Aaah overnight buses how I love you so. I'm never at my best when I've just woken up. It takes a few hours, a shower and tea before I'm up to speed (currently 3 days tealess) so arriving at 6am in a random Vietnamese town was hard.

It was a sleeper bus which means it had beds. Awesomeness. If everyone were the height of a Vietnamese Pygmy and you didn't like turning at night. And will that person over there please stop moving the curtain as the lights from outside are annoying. 9 hours of this....

"Sapa! This is Sapa!" shouts the bus driver.

"Wah? Oh...."

It might be better to give a few minutes notice don't you think? I didnt even have my bloody shoes on. 3 panicky minutes later I'm off the bus and they're already unloading all the bags into one mahoosive pile. I can't see my bag and all of a sudden I hear them closing the bus up. I runs around the other side of the bus:

"My bag! Not there" I say. Pigeon English FTW!

"Yes, yes. there" driver says.

"OK. I'll believe you. I'm tired. Wibble"

I goes back to the pile and the bus pulls off. There are 3 bags remaining and, surprise, mine isn't one of them. Oh no! I should warn you: there's a cultural zeitgeist always wanted to do that type moment coming up. I jumps on a motorbike taxi amd point, shouting: FOLLOW THAT BUS!

Zoooooooom!

The bus has gone around the corner in the distance and so we follow.

Zoooooooom! My terror of motorbikes has disappeared and been replaced by fear of no clean underwear and GASP having to go shopping. My bag is my life. It contains everything. Without my bag I am worthless; without me my bag is worthless (if only that were true, eh, Mr pikey bus driver)

We go around the corner and the bus has disappeared. Street after street there's no sign of it.

"Go to the main road!" I say. I've no idea where this bus has gone or where it was going after dropping us backpackers off.

We drive for another 10 minutes and still no sign. I've resigned myself to having lost my bag. Oh well. Bigger things in life, eh? Not many, true...I direct the driver back to the hostel in dejection, hoping that the hotel has a phone number for the driver. They're all related over there. It's why the bus stops there after all. Or threr're bribes being paid. Either way: they know him.

Motorbike pulls up and there in the middle of the floor is my bag sitting pretty and proud. Where had it been? What would have happened if I'd caught up to the bus only to discover my bag wasn't on it? How big a cock am I exactly?

Questions that may never be answered....

My sibling is special

2011-10-13T04:45:00.002Z

Dear Clare

We share genes, right? It's been hard to see for most of my life to be honest.

How can two siblings be so different? One so intelligent, good looking, arrogant and confident. And the other...well, you. Is that what you resent? Did I present a threat? Cuz lets face it there was never any chance of me taking our mothers love away from you, what little there was to be had. I know you've repressed most of the bad times like the trifle incident and the time you couldn't do the maths so got told I could do it while being pasted but I remember.

Ignoring the letter I sent, cuz let's face it the animosity you feel for me goes way before that and you were the cause of the letter being sent, do you ever wonder why? I know we disagree on pretty much everything ever, I know we have two wildly different personalities (you're shallow, materialistic and kind of dumb which is all anathema to me) and I know categorically we'll never be in the same room ever again, so why Clare? What did I ever do? I wasn't always this antagonistic toward you. You made me this way. I even told Nana once it became enjoyable to piss you off. And it was so very easy because you're ready to hate. Or at least where I'm concerned.

I just wanted a sister. I still do. Not you, obviously. But I see siblings travelling together! How!?! I ask myself. It seems an alien concept to me. Surely it's the role of the sister to be a bitch? Nope. Apparently there are some nice ones.

I would like to clarify some things if I may.

You once had an argument with Hayley over the origin of Clara the dog's name. Arguing for it to have been named after you is tragic. Truly.

Sending me a text message, when we were still talking, saying "what have I ever done to deserve a brother like you" when all I'd done is arrange some time with my Dad was a bit extreme don't you think? I do. Funny how you find him acceptable now, eh? Especially as you dissed him and his house's tits off. That text set off a long chain of events that I'll despise you for forever.

And yes, it was me that broke Shereen's Walkman. (sorry Shereen. Im sending a psychic hug by way of apology). It was an accident; it just came off in my hand. Quite why it took you so long to accuse me I'll never know. And I once stole £1.50 out of your purse. I think I was 14.

Here lies Clare Starbuck: Queen bitch, world champion of denial and all things fake.

Your genetic sibling (not brother; I was never that)

J

Ps I'd recommend www.dictionary.com for fully understanding this letter.

The land of the not so free

2011-10-08T17:41:00.000Z

I heart the US. It's a land of opportunity and awesome people. So varied and, well, ethnic. It's possibly the most mixed country ive been to. Step outside JFK airport and you're beset by a tsunami of blacks, browns, whites, jaundice, pink and the odd grey. It's glorious. Traveling through the 'States there are often pockets and sub-pockets of race, gender, class, sexual orientation and nationality. I was never treated with less than respect and welcome. Which is a shame as it seems to an outsider that the same can't be said for most of their own citizens.

Americans have an obsession and it's colour is green: money, and grubbing every last bit of it they can get. Yeah, they do it in India and Asia but there they don't have any to begin with. So many times you get turned over by a corporation, basic requests ignored as it'll cost them a cent or two, services not given or plain denied. They might wish you a nice day but the customer service sucks big time. American Airlines definition of a flight meal is an apple. They charge for baggage. Any baggage. Not just over 100kgs but the tiniest thing you want to stow.

Greyhound, the largest US bus service is awful. They go everywhere but they're overpriced, the buses are shit and the drivers surly. Thank god for young upstart Megabus.

Ask any shop,person for anything out of the slightly ordinary and you may as well have spat in their face. OMG! How dare you ask for less ice? Well I'd like some coke in the glass, thanks. And no that doesn't justify me giving you a tip.

Most of the time I came across these....discrepancies just because I'm a cheap-ass traveller and don't want to spend money but for a lot of Americans it's day to day. I'm talking about the poor. It doesn't matter what their colour or race, sex or anything else, if you've got money you're made, if you haven't tough shit. It gets worse the further south you go.

America is the richest nation on the planet and you'd never know it. I've seen some of the worst poverty in a first world,nation I've ever seen in the US. The gap between rich and poor is so ridiculously wide as to be the Grand Canyon and this is in a land awash with shopping malls. There are entire armies of homeless, people made of bones, wandering the streets. Detroit looks like a zombie wasteland until you look in the restaurant windows and see the rich, eating their tasty food.

It's a tragedy and an embarrassment of epic proportion. But it's not just rue rich against the poor. The poor hate their fellow poor just as much. There's no camaraderie, no friendship. It's a human eat dog world, and this dog is mine so get your lice ridden hands off it.

Americans have so bought into the concept of making it good, making it big, making your own way in the world that they've developed a national psyche that says "this is mine and I also want yours" to such a level its surprising they haven't invaded Mexico yet. I often talk with fellow travelers about how insular Americans can be. Very few are aware of events outside their border, be it town, state or country (I have a wonderful anecdote about them not knowing the UK was at war with Argentina) but it's hardly surprising when they have to focus so much on retaining what they have. Why worry about the starving in Africa when there're people dying down the block?

I think I'm right in saying that no other major nation on earth denies it's citizens basic fundamental needs and rights yet comsistently AND (presumably and allegedly) DEMOCRATICALLY votes in people that won't give them these things. There is a cancer in America and it art you.

A toilet dilemma

2011-09-22T23:22:00.000Z

Mmm, India.

I was Ill. I've told you that before. I couldn't go more than a few hours away from the toilet. But I was timing it well.

We'd been away from the hotel awhile visiting a temple. It was a 2 hour bus journey back. Before I got on that hellhole of a bus I'd have to go to the toilet. A public toilet. In india. Quite how I'd gone so long avoiding this I don't know. But this time I had no choice. I was touching cloth. The turtles head was popping out. There was a flood and no Dutch boy with a handy finger.

There were six cubicles in a very tight corridor. The smell just in the corridor was...'interesting'. I straightaway had to go back outside for a bigger lungful of air.

Cubicle 1 - a dude was in there. Well, in the doorway. Just pissing into the cubicle and none of it was landing in the hole.

Cubicle 2 - sheets, paper, general crap, all stuffed down the hole.

Cubicle 3 - 5 cms of urine deep.....

Cubicle 4 (desperate now!) - Shit. On. Every. Visible. Surface. How did they get it on the fucking ceiling??

Cubicle 5 - not too bad considering. I could come back depending on 6.

Cubicle 6 - words, fail, me.

So, back to 5. I carry a plastic bag with me always for squat toilets. I've never managed to work out how not to get your clothes dirty with your own crap, so off comes everything and into the bag. I also carry loo because the chances of you finding any in the wild are minimal.

A farming emergency

2011-09-17T04:43:00.000Z

Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall is my hero. I love the River Cottage and it's organic, low miles, grow your own veg type lifestyle. It's ideals anyway. In practice it's bloody hard work. Oh for a philipino boy to do thy bidding.

This particular farm is awesome. They have chickens! Always wanted chickens but never had the land for it. These people have quite literal acres, all of it green and vibrant. It is however in the middle of Butt Fuck Nowhere. The nearest shop is a 3 mile hot and sweaty walk away. This is no bad thing however. Little light pollution, no road noise, few people. Days go by and you don't see a soul. Just me and a fellow WWOOFer down on the farm. Most days we work for 3 hours and sit and chill the rest of the day away.

It's very, very cool.

Until one of you has an accident and you need, well, help.

Justin's a dude. I say 'dude' all the time but Justin is a duuuuuude, of Dude, Where's My Car type dudedom. Stoner extraordinarire, 22 years old and dumb as fuck. Being from Vermont you'd think he'd be prepared for our future adventure but no. He was useless.

It's 930pm and Justin informs me he's been bitten by a snake. Now I never see snakes. I've been to four continents, in the tropics, in deserts and jungles, up mountains, and camped next to rivers. I've seen two. It's a tragic tally. Where was Justin when he was bitten? In the woods hanging his washing up. Quite how retarded you have to be to be in the woods at this time of night for any reason I don't know. The reasons abound: alligators, poison ivy, falling over logs, snakes....

I can't see a thing on his leg and tell him to come back to me if anything changes. I should point out I'm FROM THE BLOODY ENGLAND INNIT. What the fuck do I know about snakes?

OK he says. Before coming back twenty minutes later saying he's not feeling too good and pointing out two pinpricks on his leg. He had to point to them three times but I've never seen snakebites before - how do I know what they look like? Now it did feel warm and looked a bit swollen. Hmm. Let's phone the farm managers who live 15 miles away and see what they say.

Where's your phone? I say.

Here he says but it has no charge. Where's yours?

Mine hasn't worked for a few weeks I say. Umm....I'll go charge it. Ten minutes walk away at the barn where the sockets are. Try not to....die. Writes down a number off the wall.

Off I go. Plug it in and wait. And wait. And wait. Ten minutes later finally the bloody thing turns on. Farm owner 1 doesn't answer. let's try owner 2. Whose number I didn't write down. Do I walk back now? Has the phone got enough charge to make it? Nah. Let's give it a few minutes. Hope he's not dead yet...

On the phone theres a similar and vaguely recognisable number in his phone call lists. Let's hope its the right one. Call it leave a message. Walk back.

Feeling alright mate?

No he says I feel like shit.

What do You want to do?

What do You think I should do?

Umm....if we phone an ambulance will you get charged?

No.

Then why the fuck haven't we done that already?

Ok. Phone.

Ok. 911? My friend has been bitten by a snake. Blah blah blah. You want the address? Umm...we don't have it. We're staying with friends. Its Buttfuck Nowhere. Umm...There's a Putnam Drive nearby. And it's off US 1. I don't know which direction. Oh, and the farm gate will be locked. I should go and open it....no, it's a dirt road. Can the ambulance make that?

Justin: we could take the golf buggy

Now the farm has a golf buggy. Don't know where they got it but it's awesome on toast. It's electric and we go everywhere on it. But it doesn't hold much charge. It was on charge at the barn so I had to walk back down and get it. All I know of snakebites is Yiu keep the limb immobile so I was making Justin sit with his leg in the air so he quite obviously couldn't do the walk with me. The 911 operator is badgering me to get to the gate.

The buggy doesn't have headlights. So I'm driving while talking to 911 and holding a torch in the pitch blackness. Storming along, I pick Justin up, drive over a few plants in the dark, and head for the gate. The buggy is getting slower all the time. The farm driveway is 3/4 mile long! We get to the gate, unlock it and there're flashing light in the distance. It's gotta be for us but they're going in the wrong direction. Given that they're on the right road and I'd given them perfect directions for finding us (end of the road, sharp bend, we're on the bend) their navigation doesn't seem the best. I later found out it's a big area for shooting random intruders. Tony Martin eat your heart out. The paramedics don't go in anywhere until they're certain they have the right place.

So we give chase. At 3mph. In pitch blackness on a deserted country road. Waving a flashlight in their general direction. I swear I'm not making this up. We see headlights! Hurrah! Let's stop the car, get them to turn around and chase the ambulance.

It's the farm owner number 2 who having finally listened to my answer machine message thought someone had died and rushed down. We jumped in her car, she did a 3 point turn and promptly drove into a ditch. That car ain't going fucking anywhere. Justin's breathing is getting quite eventful by this point.

I start running up the road (running! Me! Ive not ran for years but my god inwasimpressed with myself) flagging down a second car. The police! Who're apparently aiding the navigationally challenged paramedics in finding us. Well whoopy doo.

The Sherriff looks at Justin's leg and is, I have to say, mildly contemptuous. Ambulance arrives and they are, I have to say, mildly contemptuous. They're adamant it's not a snake bite. For one thing there isn't a bite. And he's not dead yet. Fire engine arrives (I'm looking at it a-fucking-gog. I mean, I didn't order it) and out pops two more paramedics who...blah, blah, blah. I can't help thinking at this point that if Justin gets charged for wasting everyone's time, am I getting charged, too? Fire engines don't come cheap....

The four paramedics might as well have brought cocktails for the party they're having. They're having a great time at Justin's expense and they just seem jolly people generally. All of them at one point or another imply Justin hallucinated the snake bite. Have you been drinking? Are you high? Have you taken anything? (big crystal meth area apparently - making and using). It was hot today - did you drink enough? Wear a hat? Have you eaten anything funny? They may as well have just screamed in his face YOURE A TWAT AND YOURE WASTING OUR TIME which he is but wasn't. It was dark, he felt omething slap against him, he felt unwell, isn't it best to be safe than sorry? I'd have been panicking like fuck in his shoes. I'm already a hypochondriac. Although it could be argued if a snake had bitten me I might also be in a little bit of pain...

Some negitiotiating later it was determined that Justin wouldn't go in the ambulance to hospital (they charge for that apparently but house calls is free - who knew? Tip for the future maybe). He was to keep an eye on his still snakebite free leg.

In one way it was disappointing that there was no snakebite cuz that would've been a cool and daring rescue by me even though in all liklihood he'd have been dead a longtime before we even got to the ambulance. It's also disappointing cuz I'd have been rid of him off the farm.

Still, can't win 'em all.

A love letter to a dude on the Internet

2011-09-06T00:00:00.000Z

AKA Have I Mouth Raped A Kitten?

Hey @Whiskeyrich off of Twitter.

I enjoyed our chats and links we swapped. You're a nice guy; so much so that I even told you in a DM a few weeks ago. That's why it came as such a shock when I found out you'd blocked me.

Not just an unfollow. I can live with that; I'm not that insecure and I really don't care who doesn't want to follow me. I get bored of people all the time and unfollow at least one person everyday, even people we both know. I have very a low tolerance as you know. I wouldn't stop them following me though. Each to their own. If you'd grown tired of my random shit, and there is a lot of it I know, you could've just unfollowed. But you didn't. You blocked me. Why, Rich?

It just so happens I noticed it on the day I did something shameful. Was it that, Rich? I didn't know you followed her to be honest. Without you stalking my timeline it's difficult to see how you'd known I'd said it. It was a joke that she took in the spirit that it was intended, thank god, but I apologized straight away all the same. Not just to her but my entire timeline. It was inexcusable and I was ashamed to have said it. But it was a joke. You know that. My humor cuts close to the bone most days. It's not like I've had a sudden change of heart. It's not like I tweet racist shit everyday.

I'd just like to know the why, Rich. Two things spring to mind that smell a little bit of hypocrisy to be honest:

1) a few weeks ago you complained that one of our mutual acquaintances had blocked you for, you presumed, a joke you'd made. Isn't the same thing?

2) you haven't blocked me from your other account where you make things. Is that because yku still expect me to retweet and/or praise you? I will because I'm not vindictive (in this case) and they are pretty good. But you either detest my guts or you don't.

Which is it, Rich? And why?

All the best

Jay

Keeping my depression

2011-08-24T14:47:00.000Z

Imagine a knife. A dull knife. Imagine your an ant on the relatively blunt blade. On one side is insanity. On the other sanity. Now imagine you're wearing a blindfold and you're being spun and spun and spun. You take the blindfold off. Which side is which?

You take your usual landmarks (what people say, what they do, what you feel to be right) but something isn't quite right. The landmarks don't line up. You know A to be true, cast-iron and without doubt, but someone says B. You trust that someone with your life, you love them and would protect them in everything yet they insist you're wrong.

So you get a plan. This is the way to know which side of the knife lies sanity. And then it turns out that person wasn't actually paying attention and didn't care. So how can what they said be trusted?

And while all this is going on the knife is getting sharper and you're sinking into the blade. Make a choice! And jump! Such pressure....

So you stay on the blade, walking it's length looking for signs, and it starts to hurt as the blade pushes further into you but you can't make choice, it's safer on the blade but eventually you'll run out of blade.

Such is my life.

The science of traveling forever

2011-08-16T21:38:00.001Z

I passed a milestone recently. Not a date, or a place, or a numb of countries. The number of time I've been asked how I can afford to travel for so long. So here it is, as I sit in a gorgeous Boston riverside park, the guide to never having to go home with your wallet between your legs (euphemism for prostitution).

It boils down to paraphrasing Terry Pratchett: longterm travelers spend less.

How much less? Well, ideally nothing. The best days are whe I've been to a museum, eaten and had a great night AND not spent a single penny. I'm not going to bang on about hostels, or cheap flights. Those don't count for this discussion. This is FREEdom. I've done all this.

1) Cultivate friendships

this gets easier the more you travel because you're meeting more people but the eory goes like this:

You're in a hostel and talking to a fellow traveller

"where are you going?"

"I'm working my way to Sydney"

"That's where I'm from. you should come stay"

It's that easy! While you're there you might get free food, free drink, and thanks to one well-cmonnected and lovely person free entry to an entire city's museums. There are few hard and fast rules to traveling but one is 'if you can, help a traveller'. These people have been there, they know how it is. They understand why you're sponging off them. Hopefully. If they don't youll have moved on by the time they get around to saying anything.

I could travel half the world again and neever pay for a bed. Simply by the nature of east vs west most of them are in the US and Australia and I probably wouldn't do it in Asia anyway, certainly not India. There are some lovely people out there.

Honorable mention to twitter: following random people on the public timeline leads to good friends where you are right now!

There's even an official website for doing the same thing: couchsurfing.com

2) getting from A to B

Hitch. Some people nothing but hitchhiking. I hate it personally but I'll domit if I have to. It's almost a requirement in Africa. I just find standing by a roadside for hours on end terminally dull and then to be stuck in a car with a dude who thinks he half knows your language and wants to tell you about farming subsidies...If you're worried about safety I think it's overstated that hitching is dangerous. I'm still here and I never saw a knife. Nuff said.

Look up carsharing websites online. This I love. Probably as it's mostly in (English speaking) developed countries. I travelled half of Germany with some lovely people.

When in a city learn to walk more than a mile. Do you really need to get the bus or metro everywhere? I once walked 9km with my 20kg backpack partly because I was stupid but also to save €5.

3) filling the hole in your stomach

This was the hard one for me. I love food. Always have. I had to come to accept that food for a traveller can be hard to come by. I've *gulp* missed meals. A lot of them. It's hardly surprising that I've lost weight. I would never suggest rummaging through rubbish bins, that's something I'd certainly never do - I'd rather pay, but look for the good bargains. In my experience you canp pay forum times the price for food but it won't be four times as nice.

Subway offer a footlong sub for $5. $5!. That's an evening meal right there. And lunch. A 'real' meal can be $15-20. Cook your own stuff in hostels. And number 2 golden cast-iron in lead ingots traveling rule:

NEVER SAY NO TO FREE FOOD. EVER.

learn to have no shame. Crisp? Thanks. Want a drink? Don't mind if I do even if I have no intention of staying any longer than I have to and in fact I fully intend to leave straight after just so I don't have to buy you one. Nice as you were.

Beer is a killer for budget. Sad but true. Subsequently I drink very rarely. I've never been a big drinker anyway so it wasn't overly hard for me, coke and tea is far nicer in my opinion (and hey! It's cheaper) but the drink of ultimate choice is water. Straight from the tap please.

Treat yourself now and again but do you need a beer or something with actual taste everyday? Every single one is accommodation for two days in India.

Negotiate, argue, swindle, cheat, pretend to be stupid and hand over the wrong money. Never offer to pay upfront for anything (they might forget - it's happened). Adapt, want shorts in a hot country? Cut some trousers up.

What you doing today? You want to do a tour of that building? You can probably go inside and check it out. Does it look awesome or will it be average and a waste of money? Do the free tours! They're awesome. They make it that way so you'll join on the paid tours. See a tour group? Jump on the end and listen in for free.

Need the Internet? Go sit outside Starbucks on free wifi. If you're feeling really extravagant you may even buy something. Need to make a phone call? Do the same and use Skype.

Be brazen.

And that's before you get to the more dodgy tactics:

Desperate for a nice meal? Have one. Then leave without paying. It gets easier after the first time.

In a museum and it's OMG! $20?? Look for a way past the security guard. There's often one. This very day I saved $7. Half a day in India, right there. (Incidentally thats exactly how I think of money spent: time in India which is the awesomest place on the planet).

Does your hotel have 24 hour reception? Do they lock the door? Did you pay on checkin? If your answers are no, no and no consider getting up and leaving extra early...

And I'd camp far more often if I could find anywhere to actually pitch a tent. I recently found pitchatentinmybackyard.com but I've not tried it yet and it seems a bit overpriced for camping in a bloody garden but it may be cheaper than a hostel.

There are ways to travel very cheaply if you have the balls and lack of morals.

(Thanks to Jen, Abby, Brian, Jim, Jin and many others for your fine hospitality)

Hell is a roadtrp with 2 german women

2011-08-07T18:49:00.002Z

So. South Africa. Awesome country. Beautiful. Interesting. Very hard to see anything without a car.

There's a hop on hop off bus you can do which isn't cheap and covers some of the most boring terrain and places you've ever seen. The Garden Route? I'd rather sit in my own garden for a year. In winter.

So, I thought on arrival, order of the day is find some hot foxy chicks to do a roadtrip with. Guys would have been acceptable too, foxy or not. But nothing beats long hours on a roadtrip like long hours on a roadtripdrive when there's the chance, if very vague and remote, of sordid back country sex. So an hour after arriving in Cape Town I'd somehow managed to convince two german women (only one of whom was slightly sexy) to do a roatrip. This was awesome. Save money! Have company! Let's go have sordid back country sex. I mean fun. Fun! Yes!

But it so wasn't. I want to get something out of the way. At the end of this story if you're asking yourself why I didn't leave sooner I wanted to get to Lesotho, where Steven Biko hid out. Getting there and travelling around is impossible without a car (despite the fact I met a very young woman who said she did it but SHE LIED. Obviously).

It just became a constant battle. These were two sisters both in their early twenties, one with a frankly bizarre name. Let's call them Lana and Griswald. Lana was ginger but kind of hot. She was the younger. Griswald was slightly older and a PHD student and was the antithesis of sexy. And she was very boring. I spent most of my time talking to Lana who was interested in learning better English. As time went on though, the position became reversed due in most part to the massively selfish twunty ways of Lana. But that's later.

We weren't allowed the windows open. Ever. We wweren't allowed the air on. Ever. Apparently this causes illness (a wonderful gift of knowledge from their mother). Imagine 3 people in a small car. It got a bit stuffy to say the least.

They were so worried abour food. I'm quite chilled. I'm a big advocate of c'est la via and que sera. Missing a meal doesn't bother me but I will complain to high heaven that I'm hungry. Not this pair. We had to do a 20kn detour back to a shop we passed when they suddenly realised "OMG it's Sunday!". This was midday. I tried assuring them there'll be other shops, other villages and OMG even restaurants!! But they were so bloody neurotic they didn't care.

Which is strange because they hated wasting petrol. If we ever stoped to look at a view the car would go into neutral and we'd jst glide...have you ever glided from 70mph on a flat to negative angled road? You go for awhile...(All these points are leading to a story by the way. One more...)

6am was our time to leave. Not to get up. To leave. If it didn't happen life wasn't worth living. Now, looking back, we got far more done for doing it, I admit it. But the reaction if I suggested maybe leaving at 7...OMG. Hiroshima doesn't compare. I don't know what the Japanese complain about. Lana at 0630 is a sight to behold...which is where the story starts (see the link? see it? I'm awesome I am)

South Africa is bloody cold in th winter. Nobosy expects it but it is. the car was always covered in sheets of ice. So I come out of the hostel with my bag. Lana always made it clear where she was sitting for the day, no questions asked, by putting her coat in the car. Generally on a front seat. Back seat? Noooooo. This one morning she' stood doing something at the car. She holds the keys out to me and says "would you like to drive?". Note the passive aggressiveness. OK I said. I can't be bothered to think when I wake up and certainly not at half past OMG.

As soon as I get in I turn the engine on, heater on full.

She turns the heater off.

"What did you do that for?"? I ask

"It's not hot yet".

I rev the car.

"Can you not do that?" she says.

"Why not?"

"It wastes petrol"

"it also makes it heat up faster"

I rev it once more. I kid you not, she storms out of the car, indeed she runs to...somewhere. And all day long she utters not a word of english. No, she wasn't 12.

Her sister was annoying too. She said the most offensive things and said them all with a smile on her face. Fist. Through. Face. Everything you said she'd deny without cast-iron proof.

"IIt might rain later"

"I do not think so. The weather report last year said it would not until tomorrow..."

And she let Lana walk all over her. They often shared food. Salad boxes for example. And evertytime Lana got to eat it first. Lana held all the food and would pass it back if Griswald asked for something.

Second story:

I'm not going to tell it. I just realised it's a very long story by itself and the details are tedious. The only pertinent detail is that we weren't allowed the radio on. Ever. Or at least not much. The short version is we ended up arguing over 2 euros. 2 euros! I lose and waste more every day! It's at this point I decided I needed to leave ASAP. Luckily we'd already been to Lesotho. And 30 seconds later Lana threw me off the car anyway. Her sister relented and retracted the throwing off half an hour later. So we agreed that when we got to Durban I'd leave. OK.

This was going to be in about 3 days. I can survice until then. It was a very long 3 days.

We're about 100km out of Durban.

"Take this turnoff"

"What for?"

"The airport is down there"

"Why are we going to the airport?" I ask.

"We will drop you off there"

No. No. No.

Luckily I'm driving so I have no fear.

"We agreed you'd drop me in Durban"

"Yes but we won't get to {town I can't remeber the name of} until it's dark"

"Not really my problem. Perhaps we shouldn't have gone to the cat sanctuary that you wanted to go to"

"But it was nice. We will go to the airport. You can get a bus from there"

"What? Are you insane? You do know where we are? It's far easier for you to drive to {town} than it is for me to get a bus from a random bloody airport"

Cue nuclear armageddon in the car. As it turned out they ended up staying in the same hostel as me for the next 2 days anyway. Not that we spoke to each other. We were facebook friends until 3 days into the trip when I felt the need to bitch about them.

I saw them 2 or 3 other times in southern africa and it was always a little uncomfortable. And the older sister always smiled. Eithe she wasn't aware it was uncomfortable or...something else.

Awesome bus journey #342

2011-08-03T21:55:00.002Z

So I'm on a bus. Surprise! I'd love to know how long I've spent on buses. I reckon at least 3 months of my life. But I digress....

I was in India and it was hot. The bus was crappy and the flies were legion. We're zooming down the only 2 lane highway in the country. I'm reading a book which is quite surprising as I remember it being dark. Not quite sure how I was doing that but let's ignore the inconsistency.

Suddenly the bus jams on it's brakes. Wassup? I think. Looking left there's a lorry that's also stopped and the driver is gesticulating at the bus. Oh, someone's cut someone else up i think.

Now on these buses the driver has a helper. Probably a family member as it's very mafia nepotisic like over there. This one was about 18 and he looked cool in his black shirt. He was giving it large out of the open door - I know! A door! How beaugois! They're yelling hindi backward and forward. it's at times like this, and later, that I wish I was contemptuously retarded at languages.

Suddenly the youth find a metal pole from somewhere, I hate to think he has it handy for just these occassions, and jumps off the bus.

Jibber, jibber, jibber he says.

abber, jabber, jabber say the lorry driver, when suddenly...

THWACK! CRASH! CRUNCH! The youth is kicking three and a hlaf shades of purple out of the lorry. Bye bye goes the side mirror into the ditch. Later goes the actual window.

Wahey, I think (I think a lot), what's going to happen here?

Youth gets back on the bus and off we drive.

Well wasn't that exciting?

Five minutes down the road a car pulls along side and effectively forces us to stop. Now remember this is a) India (lawlessness abounds) b) it's pitch black and c) we're in the middle of nowhere. Anything could happen at this point. We could all have been mouth raped and tied to a tree and the police wouldn't have given a shit let alone known about it. or vice versa.

So, two dudes get out of the car and force their way on to the bus.

Where's the gun? I think. Look for the gun.

They try to pull the youth off the bus while at the same time kicking a vastly increased and proportionate number of shades of incandescent green out of him. He aint having any of it. Where's the pole? I'm thinking. He's fighting back for all his worth. His life is literally at stake. By the way, if this is exciting for you think how I feel.

And then suddenly it's over. The two dudes turn to the rest of the bus, all 400 of us, and say soemthing like (I guessed by the tone) OK, sorry about that everyone. Have a nice journey). And they get off.

WTF?? I was horrified but the Indians were taking it all in their stride. They see this shit every day. Just another day in the craziest country on the planet. it became the answer to every WTF question: I'm in India. Awesome place :)

A letter to a friend and nemesis

2011-07-24T00:28:00.002Z

Dear Lonely Planet

My name's Jamie and I use Lonely Planet guidebooks. There. I've said it. I have problems with your books, as most people do, but you're the best of the bunch. I won't go into the way the information is often incorrect, or the way the maps put things in bizarre and wrong places making me cross half a city to find it's not there. No. I simply can't travel without you by my side. I've spent hours in foreign cities trying to find your books.

In Washington DC however I recently bought a Let's Go travel book as yours wasn't available and my god it was awful. 3 hours later I was in another book shop buying yours. It was the 2011 Canada version. 2011. That's like, now. OMG I thought. And yet...you've changed things. This makes me worried.

I'll confess, I hate change. The BBC have changed their news website umpteen times over the years and each time I swear I'll stop reading it. I'm travelling for awhile; I've bought at least 6 of your books in the past year so a new style kind of throws me. The changes are, admittedly, only small but it changes the feel of the book. And if it's a sign of things to come, if it's an evolutionary process...

Th first thing I noticed is you've stopped putting the place names at the top of the pages. It makes it harder to know where you're reading about. No longer can you just flick through.

I used to like the way the cheapest place to stay always came first - why the change? Very rarely did I stay anywhere except your first recommendation; I'm a tight arse. Now I have to read them all!

And where's the information pages gone? There's next to no...information on a general area or city. And I know there's lots at the back but in the individual sections you seem to have gone for style over substance a la the map references. Have you increased the font size??

That'a just the things I've noticed on an initial quick flick. I hope I don't find more.

All the best

Jamie

My love for germany

2011-07-15T10:30:00.000Z

There's a line in Munich. You can cross it, step on it and even touch it if you wish. It's on a random side street, is yellow and is about 60 metres long. Meandering along, it curves along it's 20cm width and is pretty boring to look at to be honest. It doesn't seem to serve a purpose. And that's where it's beauty is as once you know the reason for the line's existence you can step back and say 'aaaah fair one'.

Germans are honest. I think it's fair to say they have a little bit of modern history to contend with and being honest about it is both brave and sensible. What fools they'd look if they just brushed it all under the carpet. They'll talk about it as much as you want, they learn about it from day one in school. It's a cathartic process that may take centuries. It's unfortunate for them that it all happened at the beginning of modern news gathering techniques: forever more if you mention Germany certain words will be associated: holocaust, Hitler, genocide etc

Compare that to how we treat British history in the UK. For a start it's telling that I've learnt more outside of the UK than I ever did at school where I remember: the Vikings, bits of kings and queens and lots of non-interconnected rubbish. I know far more about the American civil war than I ever will the English equivalent. I'm not sure it was ever actually mentioned. Mrs Jones? You were a bit shit. But then it was a shit school and at the time I didn't care about history anyway.

To find out about the conduct of the glorious British empire you have to go and visit it, only to find out, unsurpisingly to be honest (I'm not that naive), that we treated the world's people's like utter cunts. The shame I felt in India was palpable when all the guys are really happy to learn you're from England. I just felt ashamed and wanted to apologise for brutally raping their country - right up until the 1940s when we were admonishing Germany for doing similar things to Poland.

Germany is full of monuments, plaques and all sorts of gubbins commemorating WW2 and other stuff. The thing is, very little of it is blatant and in your face. There're museums explaining the nastier elements (special mention for the Dokumentcentrum in Nuremberg - best abc scariest museum in the world IMO) but the most interesting stuff is hidden in plain sight. It's treated like: we did it, this is our apology, move the fuck on.

I did a walking tour of Munich devoted to the third Reich. The guide was english and a right history buff. He'd been doing these tours for four years before finding yet another memorial in a random park and it took him another 6 months of research to find out it was for the romany gypsies persecuted in the war.

There's a mausoleum in Berlin. This building is vast-ish. It has bars on the front of it and as you look through the bars (theres no actual door into it that i could see) in the middle, alone, sits a life-sized sculpture of a woman sitting proud. Again, it's a memorial to a certain subsection of humanity that suffered.

The Memorial to the Victims of the Holocaust AKA The Jewish Memorial is very marmite. The guide hated it but I thought it was elegant and served very well. Imagine a football field covered in rectangular concrete monoliths or stele. They're all different heights and the ground undulates. It's ugly, it's hard to look at and it's perfect. (Controversial fact fans might like to know that during it's construction they were worried about graffiti so they covered all the blocks with some special...stuff. That just happened to be sourced from the same company that made Zyklon B. Oops)

And that yellow line. During the October putsch some activists died. They were against the Nazis but they were turned via propaganda into martyrs for the cause. Every time the average german went past this spot they had to give the nazi salute. Obviously a lot of people objected to this so they went around the block. They did this knowing full well there were a couple of SS guards stood there who then proceeded to give them a pasting. And that's what the line signifies: the german objectors and their defiance. Nowhere does it say this. Without doing the tour you'd think someone has spilled some yellow paint. It's very, very cool.

Jamie Starbuck

Your child is weak

2011-07-11T17:09:00.000Z

Do you have children? Do you love then? Care for them? Give them hugs and kindness? When they fall over do you rush to them hushing their precious little cries?

You're ruining them.

And I'll tell you why. It engenders weakness. They'll cry because mummy is going to come running. It's just for attention. Very rarely will they be dying from their fall. Only occassiobaly will your ministrations make the slightest difference to your miserable little shit.

Evidence of this is the world over. I've seen kids fall from great heights, get up and run off. Thecequivaleng English kid would be roaring. I would've. But everyone else has far better things to worry about. Got a bruise? Oooh. I'll just tend my untreated broken leg over here shall I? See these eyes? I'm blind. That's a condition, boy.

Got food poisoning? I haven't had a solid shit for years. Stunned your toe? I chopped my arm off with a machete and still hoe a field for 14 hours a day.

It's all about perspective. Given the right training the average asian could take over the world. With 3 fewer limbs than you.

Jamie Starbuck

Get out and see some amazing shit!

2011-07-06T14:18:00.000Z

People travel for different reasons and do different things when they get there. I accept that. Personally, I do whatever: not just museums, or safaris, hiking etc the whole gamut. If it's there to do, I'll do it. Occasionally I just sit and chill. You have to. You've worked hard; you deserve a rest. Maybe once a week. Sometimes the whole week (aaah Goa, how I miss thee).

But now and again I get somewhere and am mibdblown by other people.

Vang Vieng was one. Amsterdam was another.

I stayed at The Flying Pig Uptown. Looking back it was the wrong hostel for me. Rave music played in the bar 24/7. Even during breakfast. They had acsmoking room for weed. The average age was maybe 20. Unfortunately I'd booked in for 4 days.

It was a cool place, don't get me wrong, but only for a certain kind if person. Maybe it's the case with all 'Dam hostels. Dunno.

There's so much to do: the Van Gogh museum, the Rijks Museum, the Heineken tour....why is why it pissed me off so much.

There was a dude in the dorm. The only time he got out if bed was to gondownstaurs and get high. Then he'd come back 'for a kip'. He was just there on a short break from England (everyone needs one of those) but still...

Get out and see some amazing shit!

A big rabbit

2011-07-05T17:25:00.000Z

This glorious rabbit was perched in Nuremberg, Germany. I never worked out why

A letter to my nephew

2011-07-04T06:19:00.000Z

Dear Ben

I've looked at you and seen me. A wild, hyperactive, animalistic 5 year old version of me admittedly but you're me all the same. It's been awhile and I don't expect to ever see you again but I'm guessing nothing's changed.

I think I have dyspraxia, too. And thats why I'm writing this. As a warning. I don't have your ADHD or your autism but they can be grown out of. Your dyspraxia can last forever and it will affect you in more ways than the obvious.

The talking thing was hardest. It knocked my confidence in a big way. How can one communicate when we can't talk? When we can't get our point across? How many times have I had people looking blankly at me? I talk too fast. I mumble at the same time. The Nottingham accent doesn't help when we automatically miss out scores of letters. As soon as you can, try and lose the accent. You'll sound like you don't belong but it's better in the long run. And slow down. I talk half as fast as before. Personly I think I sound retarded and people still struggle to understand me but I think it's helped.

It's very frustrating. Especially when people don't acknowledge they haven't understood. You may as well just be talking to yourself. It might make you angry. It did me. I had to learn to be happy living inside of my own head. I spend large parts of time just with me because it's easier. I'm glad you're having speech and language therapy. I wish I'd had it.

You may find yourself being quiet and not forthcoming with conversation. Other people might get annoyed by that and think you're being rude or moody. Very few people will make the effort to understand what it's like.

Subsequently you might find it hard to make friends. Don't worry about that. Cherish the ones you have. If you don't make any make your own fun instead. What I hated most was the insinuation that having friends is the ultimate goal and you're a weirdo if you want to be alone. WTF do those people know?

How's the un-coordination? It's humiliating constantly being the last one to be picked for sport, isn't it? . Even after the fat kid that can't run and the midget with a hole in his heart. But if you can't kick straight or hit a ball with a bat what do you expect? You can practice, you can get lucky; just try your hardest and forget about other people. The hours I spent throwing a ball against the wall fantasising that someone would come past and think me good enough at catching to enter me in a competition. But I wasn't. I was shit.

I played Rugby at school simply because I was bigger than most and size helps. It's also a good way to take down the school bully.

There will be something you're good at. You just have to find it.

That lack of confidence affected me for years and still does. I hope it doesn't you. My mum, your nana, didn't help. I was constantly undermined. Your mum, if she's finally able to be honest with herself, would agree. I hope she's able to give you the support you need so you don't turn out like me because being me is hard. You don't deserve that.

The lack of concentration is hard, too. I've messed up awesome jobs because of it. I've never found a way around that. A lot of people think I'm dumb, I even have a dumb nickname, but I'm not. It's just hard to transfer what I'm thinking to paper. I think too much about other stuff when I should be here, in the moment. My handwriting suffers as a result. One, I don't have the patience but two, I also can't write fast enough.

I've just realised there's a crucial difference between me and you: you have a Dad. Currently you're living with him (I think). I hope he's there for you in ways that mine wasn't. I hope he can teach you manly stuff. I grew up amongst women and it was a long time, too long, before I realised...certain stuff. Your Dad is important. I hope he's strong enough to stand up to your mum. Unlike my Dad who didn't and doesn't to either of his wives.

I've never met your Dad although we came close once. I was wondering if he'd introduce himself but he didn't. I would've done but I wasn't sure it was him and he rarely strayed from your mum. People say he's a nice guy. I hope so. You'll need one around. I called my Dad by his first name for a long time and have reverted back to it now. Don't reject your Dad's or anyone else's help. Maybe they're actually sincere.

I won't be there to tell you any of this or to help. As your uncle I wish I was. Your mum, Clare, and I have never got on. I could list reasons why but quite honestly I'm not sure there's a definitive reason. I do know It became enjoyable to piss her off so that's what i started doing. One day I did something that was hard to take back. I shouldn't have done it. I see that now. I'm not sorry though. I meant every word. But I do regret it. I shouldn't have let your mum's text message make me so angry. I shouldn't have taken it so far. But we never had a relationship that siblings should have. There were many factors involved and no one person is to blame. I hope you have a different experience to mine. I hope your sister, Freya, is a very good friend and that you can protect her as all brothers should. You can trust your Aunt Hayley, too. She's full of good advice and, I feel, will always care without being judgemental.

I hope your mum hasn't inherited my mums parental non-instincts. Its hard for me to have perspective on that however much she and I don't get on.

There are aspects of my personality that stem from very early on. My second-earliest memory from age 3 affects me still today. I hope you get the love, hugs, encouragement and care that I never got. You'll need it not to turn out like me and no-one deserves that. I hope you find this blog in 13 years time and I hope it gives you hope. I don't know how you'll find it. Maybe someone will point it out to you. Maybe by then you'll have heard so many stories about evil, crazy Uncle Jamie that you won't want to. Maybe all memory of me will have been wiped from existence and I'm never mentioned so you won't realise there's an Uncle Jamie who wrote you a letter to find. Pity you're not on Facebook yet. I don't even know your last name but mine is Starbuck. You live in Nottingham, somewhere. And that is all I know.

Have a good life, Ben. Break out of the box they keep you sealed in. We can do so much more when we realise we're not limited by what others think of us. If you do turn out like me go travelling, get away from all the people that matter. You'll hurt them no matter what you do, despite your best intentions, and life's too short for constant feelings of remorse.

Better to break away than be broken.

Uncle Jamie Starbuck
2011

PS I can't put here yet what I do feel like. I may write about it one day but you'll know it if you feel it.

PPS I think of you and your sister often. Don't let others tell you otherwise, or assign meaning to my actions or words. They never have nor ever will have the faintest clue for my motivations for one simple reason: they never asked. By the time they thought to I didn't feel like answering.

(I've sprinkled names and other bits of information throughout to make it easier to find on Google)

Jamie Starbuck

A bus, a bus, a shekel for a non-lethal bus

2011-07-01T19:42:00.000Z

I took a bus. Lonely Planet says not to on the route from Masvingo to Harare. But they're a bunch of wusses.

Imagine a VW camper van with 16 people squeezed inside for 5 hours. And my backpack which could, and did, stand in for another person.

Storming along the road we hear a noise. A worrying noise. Oh. It's the tyre exploding.

The Ellora Caves, India

2011-06-30T18:11:00.000Z

Imagine a mountain. Take a hammer and chisel to the mountain for 150 years, mix in a massive amount of religious fervour, passion and inspiration and you still couldn't match the Ellora Caves. Carved by Buddhist, Jain and Muslim monks, priests, disciples etc (is there such a thing as a Muslim monk? I've never worked that out) it's outstandingly beautiful and elaborate.

I rate it as the best thing I've ever seen but I'd never heard of it before going. How many things like this are hidden in India?? It should be on the lost of seven wonders of the world. Oh, I haven't said - there're 32 caves!

As you look at the photos remember that's not brick you're looking at - it's stone.

India part 2: the good, the bad and the nauseating

2011-06-28T14:59:00.000Z

Before I got to India i watched Slumdog Millionaire. It was my entire knowledge of the place. I was dreading every toilet being like the one on the beach....thankfully it wasn't quite as bad as that. What follows is random thoughts on aspects of Indian life. Nothing is exaggerated.

It's so tiring. There's never anywhere to sit. They don't believe In benches or just a wall to perch your arse. If they had them they'd just be covered in dirt, rubbish and people.

You see women sweeping dust from the middle of the road. They never do anything with it. They don't bag it or take it away. Just sweep it to the edge so the next day they're back again sweeping the same dirt.

I'm not sure I ever saw a rubbish bin. Ever. Indians don't care. Just throw it to the side. A dude on a bus once shook my hand because I put my empty water bottle in my bag and not out the train window. He still exhorted me to throw it. He even leant over me to open the window.

"Dude" I said, "it's a beautiful country. Why would you cover it in crap?"

You use your hotel room as a sanctuary. Your own little private bit of piece away from the chaos. If you've got a room away from the ever present noise. Oh, the noise..its constant. 24 hours a day the tuktuks are fighting on the street. Theres an area of Mumbai where they're banned and its like z different country: clean, civilised, nice.

There are people selling fruit everywhere but mist of ggf time you're scared to eat it got z single reason: they splash it with water to make it more attractive. Now and again you break and have some because you're hungry and fedup of eating crisps. All the time hoping this isn't the time you get dysentery...

You walk out the door and there are people. Everywhere. All the time. Where are they all going? What do they do? What purpose do they serve? You see very easily how they fit a billion people in the country.

Ever gagged walking down the street? How about smelt a smell so overpoweringly awful you've vomited instantly? Then had to run to get away to relatively clear air? Been there. Done that.

You've not been to India until you've seen someone taking a dump in the street. Or seen a dead dog. Or a dead body. There is no-one to take care of these things.

You've never seen somebody sleep until tube seen someone by the side of a major highway fast off. The indian ability to sleep is legendary to indian travellers. They can do it anywhere, at anytime, in any condition, in any position.

You've never crossed a road until you've had to weave through 5 lanes of tuktuks, all beeping their horns, spewing out vile smoke. I'd love to see statistics for people who get into road accidents once they've left India because you get so amazingly confident at it. The trick is never to stop walking. If you have a phobia get yourself to India. I never saw a single accident. I couldn't work out if they were awesome drivers or very bad. There could be two official lanes but 5 lines of traffic. They never look when turning. They just...GO!

Youve never eaten indian food until you've done it in India. It's so gorgeous. You can order the same thing in 5 different restaurants and have 5 different meals. They all interpret it differently.

You've never felt like a piece of crap until you've looked into the blind eyes of a 3 year old boy and said no, you wont be giving him money. That tug on the trouser leg before I saw him was...hard to take.

There are women just sat there waiting for you to give them money. Their main selling point? They'll have a kid, and OCD seen them at least 10 years old, fast asleep on their lap. I said above they can sleep anywhere but I suspected these kids were drugged. What kid could sit there all day otherwise? Well, Indian kids could to be honest...

You've never been ill...
You've never realised how low your standards can get...
You've never realised what little you need in your life...
You've never realised how brutally hard life actually is...

You've never done ANYTHING until you've done it India style. Go there. Please.

PS Travellers in India are so fucking smug. Yes, you're in India. So am I! Get over it!

PPS and the bloody hippies...

India: Part 1

2011-06-27T09:54:00.000Z

I've split this into two blogs. I found myself talking forever. Come back tomorrow for part 2

Part 1: just how annoying are Indians?

I always say travelling India is like being punched in the head 300 times a day. I also say pick a superlative, pick a verb. It's the MOST beautiful, superbly interesting, massively annoying, incredibly irritating, tremendously awesome place you could ever go.

Everything is a challenge but it's also damn enjoyable. India has a single problem. Apart from lack of infrastructure, debilitating poverty, potholes the size of Belgium, non-existent healthcare etc etc. And that is the people. Indian would be the best place on the planet if not for the people. Quite simply they ruin the experience.

This might be a developing theme on my blog of me not liking the peoples of the world (one day ill blog my love of Germans) but it's so true.

Don't get me wrong: they can be lovely. They can be warm, open and charming. They're very nice but they're also very inquisitive. To the point of aggression.

Let's role play. You're stood looking Af an amazing monument. It's taken people years to build this thing and it's gorgeous. It deserves study. But every 30 seconds you get a tap on the shoulder:

What is your name? Where are you from?

Once they've found out they go away. You can ask the same and you won't get an answer.

In the intervening 30 seconds you'll get asked if someone else can have a photo with you. You'll get handed a random
baby. Surely I'm not the only white guy you've ever seen? There are other westerners here. Im not unique.

Do you want a tuktuk? No, I'm walking. Where are you going? Nowhere I'm staying here. But later? I don't know. I have tuktuk for 150 rupees. But you don't know where I'm going! Nor do i for that matter!

Do you want to buy this random piece of crap? The same piece of crap you see literally everywhere but they'll claim is unique? Why not? You're a rich westerner! Let's have a laugh and joke. Can I get back to seeing the temple now?

Tap on the shoulder. What is your name? Sigh.

Sometimes they go up to 5 questions:

What is your name?
Where are you from?
What is your job?
How much is a rupee in your currency?
Are you married?

All this is lovely and most amusing. For the first few days but then you start to feel that maybe you'd like to be left the fuck alone. This is infuriating as you're here to meet the locals, to immerse in the culture but it's so damn tiring.

I was once psychically mugged by a group of 30 schoolgirls in a park. I only wanted to sit quietly and read my book. It was one of the few quiet places I'd ever found in India. I wanted a rest and a break. I went down this entire line of girls answering the same damn two questions...except for one of them who's english was excellent. And she went on and on and on. I shook all their hands as their teacher herded them off. Then HE stood there and did it.

I was getting on a bus once. It was 8pm. I was tired, it had been a long day, and this was going to be a 12 hour overnight trip on a local bus. I wasn't going to be getting a lot of sleep but you have to do your best.

My plan was to have the 5 minute conversation I was anticipating, read for a couple of hours and try to sleep.

Dude sits next to me.

What is your name? Where are you from?

After a few minutes I get my book out.

Question. Answer. A few minutes of conversation. Book.

Tap on the shoulder. Question. Answer. A few minutes of conversation. Book.

This goes on for an hour. I can't think straight. I'm Just giving one word answers. Please take the hint. I'm being rude, I know I am but I'm tired. He's having none of it.

I put my iPod on.

Tap on the shoulder. Question. Answer.

Now this bus is loud. Indian buses don't tend to have windows so you get the full force of the engine noise. And the wind. Again, I'm tired. I'm half deaf at the best of times let alone when I can't concentrate.

This goes on until midnight when he mercifully gets off the bus. I'm a wreck but it did help me get to sleep.

And there's the constant negotiating. And being ripped off. This happens with every single time you have to use money. Every damn time. Except bizarrely when you buy water. That's 15 rupees everywhere.

We were in Pondicherry 5 days and just using it as a base to get to the surrounding villages. Everyday we had to get to the bus station so needed a tuktuk. Every damn day we had to literally argue the price. With the same dude! Just tell us the real price! We know what we paid yesterday FFS! We're not paying 300 rupees to go 3km when it was 50 yesterday. We walk away and he shouts that 50 is OK. Grr.

One place said his prices were actual real prices so refused to negotiate. We didn't believe him and walked out! That's how crazy and fucked up the place is! You end up not believing a single word of what anybody says.

They don't care about their country. They're all out for #1 and will do anything for money. Alright, they're in desperate need. When you see what conditions the poor women picking tea work in, 12 hour days every day, just to get 150 rupees it's so shocking you might understand it. But then you go to places like Laos and Indonesia where they're at least just as poor if not more (more poor? Less poor? /: ) so but they care. That's why I have very little respect for Indians in India. But the country itself is superb.

I need to go back to do the north. I just need to psych myself down to it.

Greece: it's shit

2011-06-25T17:20:00.000Z

No, really.

You may have visions of it being amazing, of the amazing history, all the monuments, sculpture and ruins. That's all there and a lot of it is stunning (Delphi is my particular favourite) but that doesn't detract from the bigger problem: the people.

When in Greece you unfortunately, now and again, have to interact with them. And this is where it falls down. I've been to so hard places to travel. I'm now in Africa FGS. I've been to India. These were and are challenging but still way more fun than Greece.

There are no hostels in Greece except in Athens so I hardly ever met anyone to talk to. And eventually you do get ruin fatigue. Someone told me so before I got there and I was aghast.

"No, really" she said. "After awhile it's all just more lumps of marble"

I can fully understand their current problems because the Greeks basically act like they don't want you or anyone else, including their countrymen in their country. They're truculent, contemptuous, ambivalent to any problem, sullen and very, very rude.

I had more conversations with random Turks in 3 days than I did in Greece in 3 weeks.

"why do all the buildings have bits of wire coming out of them?" I asked.

"that's so they can say construction isn't finished. You only start paying taxes when the building is finished" someone replied. And that shows all that is currently wrong with the country.

For this story you might require a map. Look up 'Peloponesse'. I think that's how it's spelt. It's the big fat bit in the southwest. Got it? Ok...

We were in Sparta, home of the 300 Spartaaaaaaaans! There's nothing there btw. Like Nottingham they make nothing if their own legend. I wanted to get to Olympia. Having visited the only thing in the area worth seeing (Mystras, a hillside ruin complex which was pretty impressive) I didn't get to the bus station until 3pm but that's OK. It's not far.

"Ticket to Olympia please"

"No"

"No? Why not?"

"you have to go to Tripoli"

This was fine. I was half expecting it. Tripoli is a major transport hub.

"OK. Let's go to Tripoli"

I arrived in tripoli to a...petrol station.

"Bus to Olympia please".

"No. You need to go to Corinth"

"What? That's in the wrong direction. Is there a bus to Olympia from Corinth?"

She shrugs her shoulders. This was a theme that I would come to appreciate. The Greeks just put you inns bus in the direction they think is correct and hope fir the best. I was calm before Greece. But Greece put me on a whole other level of chill.

The bid didn't leave for another 2 hours so I start looking in the Lonely Planet for alternatives. Then I noticed a second bus station. Maybe they just dong want to tell me about buses from the other station and thus keep the money for themselves. So I walks the 2km with my backpack. Same story. Id already been there though on the way through. Twice. So, bus to Corinth it is. There's nothing there. It's the literal middle of nowhere. It's now 6pm.

"Bus to Olympia please"

"No. You need to go to Patra".

"WTF? And when does that leave?"

"8pm? It takes 4 hours"

I'm aghast. But it's the closest I've been offered so far. Cue flicking in the LP for a few minutes.

In the meantime a New Zealand woman is at the counter screaming:

"this fucking system doesn't fucking work! How the f....and so on"

Thats nit getting you anywhere love i think and then I return.

"OK ticket to...Patra please"

"yes. Bus is at 7pm"

"you just said 8!"

"different bus"

Grr. The bus pulls in at 11. This is it. Gotta be. I'm very tired. It's been a long day.

"bus to...umm....O....Olympia. Please"

"next bus 0630"

Grr. So now I'm faced with a choice. It must be said at this point that when I'm tired I don't think that well. There is an optimum time of 3 hours after waking (if I've had a shower) and for another four hours). Apart from that I'm like a troll.

Do I wander looking for a hotel? Patra isn't in the Lonely Planet. It's very dark outside. I could wander for hours. There won't be a hostel so it'll be expensive. And I've got to be back here in 7 hours for the bus. I didn't, quite clearly. I could've caught a later one I later realised. The cost won't be worth it.

Fuck it. I'll sleep in the bus station. I was able to sit inside for 2 hours watching TV on my laptop until they threw me out. I slept on the benches out the back. In the dark. There was no-one, nobody, around. To protect us. What if the Greeks wanted sum bum candy? Where the frick were the security guards, mummy?

Anyway, I eventually got the bus without any molestation. Olympia was a bit shit. But the hotel did forget to charge me a second night. Result.

Jamie Starbuck

A travelling fashion icon

2011-06-24T05:31:00.000Z

I've been travelling for awhile now. Unfortunately so has everything I have with me. Entropy is taking it's toll. Things are breaking. I lose lots and break more.

Allow me to describe what I currently look like:

I've had to buy some replacement bootlaces as they broke this morning. I have very cool grey boots. With bright white laces that you'd get with Trainers. They're nowhere near long enough so they're only laced half way.

I dropped my head shaver a few weeks ago. But it survived! Hurrah! Or it dud once I'd dodgy fixed it. Except, they have dodgy plugs in Africa so I've not been able to charge it. My beard was quite impressive until this morning when j finally found the correct combination of plug and socket and converter. It was on charge for awhile so I shaved my beard and head. It ran out half way through my head. Call me 'Patch'.

I'm having washing done today so I'm wearing an Indian top bought in India that no indian would ever wear.

And somehow I've lost a pair of shorts so I've lopped the bottom off some trousers. Needlework was never my strong point.

I'm looking more and more like the classic and legendary traveller.

Question of the day: what came first - electricity or the need for electricity? When was the lightbulb invented for instance? It's hard to
Imagine them being invented when we didn't have 'leccy but if only 10 have been sold how did they get power? Who'd build a power station for 10 light bulbs?

Literal Delhi Belly

2011-06-23T16:37:00.000Z

Location: India

I'd been in India awhile. I'd had my moments with the toilet but I was going great. Before I got there I'd been told: if you're not Ill within two weeks you ain't doing it properly and it's very true. You'd have to eat in only the poshest IE touristy places to not get ill and even then it's a risky business. As it is, most restaurants would barely qualify for the term. Imagine your living room, open to the street and full of tables. And the ever present teeming millions. Dude comes along with a bucket. Your choice us yellow slop with bread or orangey brown mush with rice. And it tastes fucking lovely.

There is so much great food in India that's just waiting to be tried.

We arrived at about 11pm in this town. After finally finding a hotel I was hungry. My travelling companion wasn't but she accompanied me to the hotel restaurant. This was the only meal that we didn't eat the same.

I woke up in the morning a little under the weather but I made it out. Two hours later I had to go back. I laid down in bed and didn't move for two days. Except for a million trips to the loo. I had an horrendous fever and while I was technically conscious I slept for most of it. Luckily she was there to fetch and carry water for me.

By the way, some may have seen this, but I have a photo. A rather special photo. Think tubgirl but more extreme. If you want to see it let me know and I'll email it.

Eventually, with very good timing, I could make it out to see something and back for the toilet. Sometimes It got a bit close. One of the benefits was I had cold sweats. While everyone else baked in 40 degree weather I felt bloody freezing. My own personal airconditioning!

We were at one temple and I simply had to go. This meant using the public toilet. OMFG.

Cubicle 1: guy stood in the door pissing on to the floor nowhere near the hole.

Cubicle 2: sheets wedged down the hole causing a flood.

Cubicle 3: no discernible reason for the flood but I wasn't going there. To be honest it was a 'maybe'. I'd come back to it in a crisis.

Cubicle 4: shit. Everywhere. On all six surfaces.

Cubicle 5: closed.

Cubicle 6: not too bad. Just. Thank fuck.

Anyway, after a week nothing had changed. So off we went to the doctor. Imagine that Indian restaurant but with a single curtain halfway down. Benches this side full of dudes.

They all waved me to the front. Such nice guys. You know an Indian is proper Ill when he goes to the doctors. It's taking time away from him earning money and trust me when I say every five minutes they're away from work they risk malnutrition.

As I'm sat there I can see there's a pregnant woman in there and the doctor has a young girl assistant of maybe 14 years old. Next to me is a table covered in tablet foils. No boxes. Just foils.

I'm going to paraphrase now:

Doctor: Girl! Get me blah!

Girl comes to the table, gets a glass vial like Europe had prewar and breaks the top off before putting her thumb on it. Presumably for infection control purposes but forgetting she used her bum wiping hand (yes, they differentiate. Oh the faux pas).

Eventually I get called in.

Doctor: what are your symptoms?

Me: diarhoea, fever, lethargy...

D: you have pain?

Me: umm...yeah a bit.

He begins to write.

D: OK. You take this for the pain, this for the fever...

Me: but what about what's wrong with me?

D: yes. You take this for the pain, this for the fever...

A week later I was still ill. Surprise! Off to the doctor we go. To be fair this one was better. He spoke better english and even had a proper office. And a nurse. Dirt a farmers field would be jealous of but still...

Nope. Nothing got better.

I was supposed to be in India another 5 weeks. What do I do? I'll tell you. I went to Bangkok where the nurses were outstandingly gorgeous. Oh, and I got cured. 3 weeks I'd been ill, it cost me €120 and 10 kilos in weight. I'd been trying to lose that weight for years.

India: the best diet in the world.

I'm back, Baby!

2011-06-22T19:36:00.000Z

I've missed blogging. It's been too long. I've now got so many things to write about, too. I'm free of the yoke that was the necessary anonymity of keeping secret who I was talking about in my (now) ex-wife's family. Hurrah.

I'll be posting travelling stories, thoughts, queries and general...stuff. I promise this:

1) everything will be honest, Frank and truthful

2) any question you Wang to ask shall be welcomed and responded to

3) you can challenge me on anything.

Love ya!

Testy testicle

2011-06-22T19:24:00.000Z

This was a test. More awesomeness like this soon

Jamie Starbuck

I'm in Business

2009-11-09T12:46:00.001Z

I'm in business. If you stioll read me go to:
JPS Photos
or see more of my stuff on Flickr

Christmas. Woo. Hoo.

2007-11-12T19:32:00.000Z

There are 40-ish days left until Christmas and already plans for the day have changed numerous times. But then, that's nothing new. My wife's sister's birthday changed from going to a restaurant, to Exeter, to Bristol, to Clark's Village in Dorset, back to a restaurant and then to my mother-in-laws. There are at least 12 hours before B-Day so it may change again.

Christmas in my wife's family is a 'special' time, for a given meaning of 'special' IE we do what my mother-in-law wants, which is generally along the lines of COME TO ME MY CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT MWA-HA-HAAA--HAHAAAA. Ahem. We, that is me and my brother-in-law have to suffer under the weight of countless relatives while being bored out of our brains.

You might ask where my own relatives figure in all this. They don't, them being all the way up north. I'd consider spending this festive time with them but, you know, they're common. And my stepmum uses a vat of salt in all her cooking.

So there's 'Ben' and I generally trying to amuse ourselves by stealing one of the cousins PSP or other activities that are entirely frowned upon. And pretty much everyone except mother is bored to tears. This year, the daughters have rebelled. Hurrah. We are to go to my sister-in-laws. This is both a positive and a negative. For Ben it's a bonus. He can now drink alcohol and get merry. For me it's the same as usual. I long for a lonely Christmas: me, the wife and the TV?Internet. This would involve everyone dying obviously but I like to think I'm not that callous. I'll let the dog survive.

Saturday! Saturday!

2007-11-10T18:29:00.001Z

Before I start I just want to say Strictly Dancing today. Kate Garratasaway. Yowzer. Ahem.

When I was young I used to watch television. A lot. This was in no small part to having no friends (what changes?), me being totally inept at all things social (what changes?) and there being some quality stuff on (to the eyes of a ten-year-old). Saturday's were my favourite day. I'd get up at ten and pretty much watch TV until bedtime. Depending on my age this may have been interrupted by a visit to the chip shop, a trip to town or a trip to the shops with my mum. But then it was back to the telly.

We didn't have Strictly Dancing. We didn't have the X-Factor (which is a good thing seeing as how this years contestants are uniformly awful). We had Noels House Party. Looking back it was shite although I actually believed the studio was in the Channel Tunnel at the time of breakthrough to the french side. Noel's inheritors seem to be Ant & Dec who I wouldn't watch if you paid me. Funnily enough I still watch Noel on Deal Or No Deal and it's him that makes it compelling viewing. Ant & Dec on that poker face thing they do just bleed the tension out of the moment. That may be because I'm always trying to preempt them saying to the camera "the vote has never been so close - you must vote" - yeah, feck off yer irritating tits.

So, the point of this? Bring back Noel Edmonds onto everything on TV! Imagine him on Millionaire - I'd watch again! Give the bloke a chat show! A travel show! A DIY show! You may shoot me at any point if you want but that's only because you know I'm right.

I Don't Have Time For Facebook

2007-11-08T20:18:00.001Z

Aah, the good old days. In them days I read books. I talked to my wife (if she was lucky). I listened to music. I trawled the Internet. 'These' days though I go on just the one: Facebook. It has to stop.

It's taking over my life. I have four games of Scrabble on the go. I have a vampire, a zombie and a slayer. I take tests (Tests?? Not done that since I was eighteen!). I read groups.

I don't have time to contact the people I joined the site for!

I need a plan. I need to set a certain amount of time aside for Facebooking and stick to it. Except my wife will demand I have my turn at Scrabble. I'll get an email telling me someone's left me a message. There's a statistic that says 90% of Internet traffic is videos via Youtube or torrents. This is incorrect. It's actually the millions of Facebook owners pressing F5. I understand now why Facebook is hated by employers. It should be banned. I'm planning on petitioning my MP to raise the issue in Parliament. I wonder if he's got his own page....

Join Me In Misery

2007-11-06T20:01:00.000Z

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I was as thin as the proverbial pencil. I was nearly taken to the doctors. Well, I would have been if my mother had cared enough. Anyway, I was so thin I could have been a model for . But the years have not been kind. The years have in fact been force feeding me sugar whilst locked in a small cube two feet to a side.

I was sat on my bed the other and looking in the mirror. I found I'd developed a new ability. I could now, much to the amazement nee disgust of my wife, life my stomach and literally place it back on my lap. Up. Down. Up. Down. This was a form of exercise in itself.

A plan was formed.

Henceforth I shall be near vegan. (For one lives next door. Ho. Ho. Ha.) I'd only eat vegetables, fruit and salad (which my actually be vegetables or salad - I've never quite got the distinction) with chicken and tuna. Yes, this was to be the start of a diet. Oh yes. That was a week ago. In that time I've lost half a stone, a lot of money and very nearly my sanity.

The weight was easy; it just kind of happens. The money was slightly more problematic in that good quality F&G&S costs a fucking fortune. But that was nothing compared to the shock of very nearly going without sugar (except in tea and that intrinsic to Frosties and Sugar Puffs, the only breakfast cereals that are edible IMO). I actually went Cold Turkey. My mood went swiiiiiiiiiiiiiinging all the way around the room, I had the shakes and I couldn't concentrate. God that first hour was hard. My normal diet consisted of a Frostied breakfast with biscuits, a cakey elevenses and mid-afternoon sugar-attack with a dessert for dinner. (I just had a whole treacle sponge pudding once. Best. Dinner. Ever.) There was left a gaping whole in my world.

It's getting easier to control though mainly due to my new addiction - Facebook . I'm a new convert having always been against FB and Myspace. No friends means an embarrassingly lonely time on there, see? Somehow though my hours are being filled with tests, quizzes, scrabble and annoying people I know (mainly those on the SFX forum) into talking to me.

I'm not sure this is a good thing.

He's Back In The Room

2007-11-04T13:18:00.000Z

And....I'm back. OMG I didn't realise how much I'd miss this. It turns out that rambling about nothing is very cathartic. Which interprets as 'became a moody bastard'.

Since we last spoke I joined Facebook which it turns out really is addictive as crack cocaine. Who'd have thunk? Proper post tomorrow....

Me Get Bored

2007-09-29T20:33:00.000Z

Hello

I know, I've been neglecting you. But I got bored and it's not the same anymore. I used to vent my anger but...things happened. So at the minute I'm watching far more television than is good for me as I catch up with past things that I've missed. If you want to be informed when I re-start leave a message with your email address and I'll pop a note along.

The following is just a list of terms that are relevant to me, for Google, in case anyone wants to find me.

Bulwell
Alderman Derbyshire Comprehensive.
Merchant Street
People College
Nottingham
Jamie Starbuck
City Electrical Factors

A Dietary Miracle

2007-08-07T18:49:00.000Z

I used to be a scientist. I'd be sat in my Psychology A-Level class and we'd be talking about...something. "Well", said the lecturer, "Blokey had a big thought and did an experiment, whereby he found if you whack a dog enough times with a big stick, after a time, the dog will avoid the stick". Well blow me down. I'd only gone and worked that out literally days before. (Which is not today's story).

Well, recently I made another big discovery. I'm fat, see? Well, tubby. Podgy, maybe. My 'ideal' weight, being six feet tall, is 13 stone which even as a child I have never been. I currently reside somewhere between 14 and a half and fifteen stone (depending on how my digital scales feel). This is not a problem. The problem is that I also feel like shite. My general fitness is awful. SO wifey, bless her, is trying to get me fit and insists I eat 'healthily' and exercise 'every day'. Scoff.

I am now the proud owner of a stepper machine. It fulfils the joint requirements of a) being silent b) doesn't require me to leave wifey by herself and c) means I can read while I exercise. I formerly had a treadmill, went for walks, ran up and down the stairs and many others, all of which transgressed Asimov's rules of exercise.

I'm Some whole but most in smoothies in my new blender courtesy of Rosemary Conley. Yummy. Blended you tend to be able to fit in far more fruit, see? In a standard day I can get through three apples, half a punnet of strawberries, two peaches and a banana and that's without the veg in my main meals. And this is my discovery. The more fruits and veg you eat, the more you go number twos. You'd think it'd be a one for one trade. An apple in, an apple-sized amount of pooh, out. But no. See, I swear I'm going for far more than my fair share of visits to the defecation throne. Each visit could be measured in litres (note the liquid measurement). And thus I'm losing weight.

I should write this up in Nature. I could call it Fruity Pooh.

Family Dysfunction

2007-08-06T20:18:00.000Z

The wife is not relatively challenged. She's got 'em everywhere. We have functions to go to on more than a regular basis. I hadn't counted on this when I became her husband. I do more than my fair share of stuff for her already, don't I? I'm not quite sure she sees it that way.

Thus, on Saturday I was dragged (rope around my wrists attached to a tow-bar on her 'chair) to a wedding. Not that we were invited to the daytime do, oh no, mere cousins were only to attend the evening buffet and disco. Chavtastic. It was the usual case of half the family not talking to the other. Luckily, I was sat facing a mirror near the door so could see all the fit birds as they walked in. It was only later that I realised I could even see them on the other side of the room. This was a first and one I put down to the simple fact of the smoking ban. What a wondrous thing that is. When I got home my shirt went straight back in the wardrobe and not to be incinerated. I didn't need a shower. The wife and I could cuddle in bed. We could breathe all night!

My god it was a boring night only enlivened by the groom's parents doing 'professional' dancing. They were shite, too. It's at times like this that realise the entertainment value of my brother-in-law. He's a twat but he's someone to talk to, to have a laugh with. I couldn't talk to my mother or father-in-law obviously. Wifey wasn't in the mood. So I was left to my own devices, sitting in my chair singing cheesy disco songs. And not once did I think of going to have a wank in the toilets.

Media Schnobs

2007-08-02T20:01:00.000Z

Ever read Dan Brown's Da Vinci code? I have. It's really very poorly written and has massive logic gaps. But OMG it's exciting. I'm currently reading The Runelord series by David Farland. They're poorly written too. Truth be told I'd have stopped with book one (of four!) but it's impossible to put down. I simply must know how, with only 250 pages, Gaborn is to kill all the Reavers and destroy Raj Ahten. No doubt it'll be some massively contrived cop out but gawd I love it. Latest Harry Potter? Utter tripe, as they all have been. And yet, I've read them all because I just have to know what happens next.

Recently I've developed the ability, indeed you might call it a preference, to watch only rubbish films. I tried to watch Syriana, I did, honest. By God it was boring. So I put on The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe instead. Crackin' film. Just what is happening to me lately? Formerly I'd have been of the opinion that it's populist shite (Armageddon shall forever be in this camp) but in reading certain forum opinions I've now decided to embrace all that is crap for although a lot of it is, some of it is actually quite enjoyable. If still crap.

Some people seem to campaign against the Dan Brown's for appealing to the Lowest Common Denominator. Well, so what? If more people like it surely that says something? Stop trying to be elitist. It's not that I disagree with the schnobs, I just feel disgusted at people's attitudes and want to stick up for the crud.

On Boredom

2007-07-30T19:45:00.000Z

Gawd I'm fickle. I can spend days on this laptop doing absolutely nothing - where the fuck does the time go? It's the same with XBOX - I bought one and spent days (which seemed like five minutes just tossing time out the window trying to increase my power meter just one more notch.

But now I can't be arsed. I can't be arsed about a lot of things lately. I'm just so - meh. Lifeless even. See that film Trainspotting with Renton with the scene featuring Renton in the pub being clean for a change and life whizzes past? That's me that is. Content to sit and do nothing. Except, at the same time I feel I'm wasting my life. Shouldn't I be doing something worthwhile? Is there a whale somewhere that needs saving?

When I left school I was a cock. But that's irrelevant. I had one career option in mind: something to do with computers. Hmm. Bit of a wide span of options there. I just couldn't narrow them down. Programmer? Too boring. Office worker? Maybe generic enough to warrant a 'yes'. And that's as big as my list got. You see, 'ambition' wasn't in my vernacular. It's not that I don't like my current vocation. Caring for my wife enables me to perform the one thing I'm actually good at - slobbing. (Talent! Another thing I lack. I excel in being not very good at pretty much everything).

So, if anyone has good ideas of how I can make proper use of my copious amounts of spare time and you think I may enjoy it as much as watching series' of TV programs and reading the latest Sci-Fi opus, let me know. Please.

Inventions that should be invented #2

2007-07-11T19:58:00.000Z

Have you ever tried to give an animal a pill? It's a very tricky procedure. At one and the same time you have to hold all four legs, open it's mouth, hold it still and, balancing the pill on your finger, force your finger to the back of it's mouth, risking life, fingers and the possibility of losing various amounts of skin.

So, I propose this: a device for holding the animal still. It shall be called Parapet (Paralysed Pet obviously).

Imagine a mitre saw. There shall be four holes, two at the front two at the back into which the legs can be placed and they're all fixed into place, with struts between them. This shall all attach to a neck collar so the head can also stay still. And a horsey type bit to keep it's mouth open. If Peter Jones, entrepreneur extraordinaire, is reading, I'll let you have 20% in exchange for £250,000.

And he's out! Yay.

2007-07-04T15:38:00.000Z

He's free. Is he? Great. Nice one....but who the fuck cares? Apart from his family obviously.

He's been on the news nightly "Today is the 53rd day of Alan Johnson's capture", and the 54th, 60th, 61st and every one in between. If I was kidnapped would they do the same? They're not even still talking about sweet, photogenic Madeleine. That's what fucks me off about the media and people in general: always out to protect their own little group.

Take the police (or their televised versions anyway): someone is knifed and an incident room is set-up, knife a copper and GRRRRRRRR Inpector Knacker of the Yard brings along his 3000 mates, jack boots (for the stomping of fingers) and knuckle dusters (not for cleaning). Is the original victim less worthy? No.

Terry Waite, being kidnapped for a 'long time' should have been on the news nearly 2000 times but probably numbered his appearances in the tens (have you noticed how well researched these articles are? I could work for the Sun).

Satan is an Insomniac

2007-07-03T18:40:00.000Z

Aaah, Paddy, my gorgeous kitten tom cat. You play, you fight, you look generally cute. If you could just let me have some sleep now and again I'd be most appreciative. To that end, I've got to start being not nice to you.

I am going to prod you, shake you, forcibly play with you and do pretty much anything else I can think of to keep you awake. You shan't go to sleep before my bedtime, you shall be so tired that you shall lay motionless all night. No longer will you jump on my head with all claws extended. You will not hit me in the eye. And hopefully you won't need a shit and stink my bedroom out.

You don't like punishments. This isn't to say you don't like being punished, I just really don't think you give a toss. A spray of water in the face? You don't flinch. A shout? A slap? You carry on regardless. Throwing you from the bed to the floor three hundred times a night? You still come back for that three hundred and first time. So I will play with you and by god you will play with me. You're on me right now trying to get to sleep. Your eyes are drooping. I'm going to put you on the floor now and make you walk. Soz.

Stupid Boy(s)

2007-07-02T15:55:00.000Z

See that there terrorist that attacked Glasgow Airport? He was a doctor, he was. Isn't it a prerequisite that doctors have to have brains? Shouldn't his intelligence have at some point asserted itself in the form of the thought "hold on, what I'm about to do is monumentally fucking evil and stupid"?

But then, terrorists, or freedom fighters depending on your viewpoint - let's not forget Che, the original celebrity terrorist, is beloved by students everywhere - are stupid in general.

Play Pick-A-Target. Almost anywhere would be better than half the places these people come up with. Central London? Dya think they might be expecting that sort of thing? Much? Here in Plymouth we have the largest naval base in Europe and yet not a single incident happens. CND don't even demonstrate here. Drive past the base and there's an old fart on guard reading the Sun and smoking a fag. Half the time the barrier isn't even down.

Or hows about sending a one man army AKA Jimmy Suicide Bomber to a football match? Stand in amongst all those fans and KABOOM! Up goes half of the supporters for Plymouth Argyle.

Or walk around a car park, a tiny bit of dynamite per car, you could blow up thousands of the things without being caught. All those angry owners would soon lobby Parliament to pull out of Iraq or your country of preference (perhaps a handy note left under the windscreen wiper?).

But no, let's (mostly) attack the highly defended places in the country where the police and Fire Brigade practice daily for just these things. Stupid.

NB Previously you could walk into Plymouth Airport and onto the runway almost unhindered.

Not funny jokes

2007-07-01T16:11:00.000Z

I'm currently being made to watch the concert being performed in memory of Princess Diana. As a sign of protest I thought it might be nice to remember the jokes that came out after her death. If you remember any, please add them.

What does DIANA stand for? Died In A Nasty Accident.

Bob Geldof is walking through Heaven and approaches the pearly gates (having just died).
"Yo, St Peter" says Bob.
"Erm...hello" Says Pete.
"So when do I get ma fuckin' halo, then?"
"Aaah. There are many years of being a junior angel before you my son for you to receive that most precious gift of our Lord".
"You what? What about her?" Bob points to his left where Princess Di is gliding serenely along, complete with ring about her head.
"Ah, no" says St Pete, "that's a steering wheel".

I look good

2007-07-01T15:01:00.001Z

Toiletry Wipes

2007-06-28T19:39:00.000Z

There's an advert on TV at the moment. It's been on for awhile. A young boy (I'm guessing to be honest) is sat on the loo and - oh no! - all of hi special wipes are 'all gone, they're all gone'. None of this toilet paper for this little tyke. Well, a cuter specimen of the human race you've never seen...

Yeah, right. What this kid needs is a thump with a length of wood. Not only is his voice that of [insert your own nasty voiced thing here] but he can't even synch his words with his mouth movements! It's almost like the sanitary company are using a Japanese advert the world over and dubbing it to save money. Tight bastards. I hate it when they do that.

What's worse (but only just) is the make-up adverts where Hollywood beauties are dubbed! It's like they think we won't realise they aren't their real voices. Penelope Cruz is Spanish for frig sake!

TV would be so much better if I was in charge but I don't want a job so it's not going to happen. Sorry.

A tad excessive?

2007-06-28T07:13:00.000Z

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

pain (5x) gay (4x) kill (3x) porn (2x)

American censors are so...blah.

Gawd Morning

2007-06-27T19:18:00.000Z

I was up, awake and downstairs at 6am this morning. As Adrian Kronauer (completely guessed at the spelling there), it was also 0600 - what does the '0' stand for? Oh my god it's early.

Why was I awoke so early? Did my wife have a yearning for canoodling? No. Was there a fire? No. Did I have a need to pee? No. My cat was tearing around the fucking house, twatting me around the face on a regular basis (every five minutes), biting my nose (no, really) and scratching my arse. So, up I got. This has been going on for four days.

He's a gorgeous cat and cute as hell when he's sat still. When he moves he becomes Satan incarnate. The sooner we can chop his balls off the better. I'm all for brotherhood solidarity but he seriously needs to lose some energy. We play with him whenever he's awake and he goes to sleep fairly quickly but come the middle of the night - bastard.

All white? All white at the back?

2007-06-25T17:05:00.000Z

For the second time in a week I'm going to skirt one of the most potentially explosive subjects (no, not dynamite) that can split an audience (insert your own obvious joke about atoms 'here'). Today, we shall be asking 'Is Plymouth, indeed the South West, so far off the beaten track that only the white folks from BC (Before Cotton) bother coming?*

I've worked for two of the biggest, maybe even actual hugest, employers in Plymouth IE the local newspaper (upwards of 600 employees including reporters and advertising staff) and the local hospital (upwards of 6000 staff). How many non-whites dya reckon I saw? Here's one hand; we won't get to the thumb...Cumulatively, I worked there for four years.

What does that say about Plymouth? Either both are massively racialist or not many non-whites live here. Personally, I can't blame them but why? Don't ask me, I'm no anthropologist. At a guess though I'd say there's nothing here for migrant workers (although in Cornwall apparently if you're Polish you can pick daffodils 7 days a week 14 hours a day for approx. £0.50 per kilogram). As for the rest of the proper working population...gawd knows.

Maybe that's why Plymouth is so shite: Lack of diversity. I should picket Plymouth City Council.

Dear Ms Pengelly (for she is currently leader)

Please to run some adverts in the African subcontinent for people with some life to spice up this hell hole you pretend to govern.

Many thanks.

If all my readers could send this, I'd appreciate it. Ta.

*Obviously it's a given we have a certain amount of asians for all those Chinese restaurants.

On a lighter note, see my new kitten, Paddy.

Important questions

2007-06-25T16:08:00.000Z

This was going to be an idea for an invention but I've forgotten what it was. Not much point saying so then really but I like wasting your time. It amuses me.

Let's talk dust. It gets everywhere and comes from nowhere. Take my bedroom. I dust every day and yet the next day there are literally layers of the bloody stuff. This is part of the reason we got rid of the carpet - it just lies there and you can't get it out, especially from under the bed. Get wooden floors and you can see tumbleweeds rolling along...so, why??

Most dust is human skin apparently and today I made the connection that most dust in my house is a generic grey/white colour (intellectual discussion always available here, see?) which led me to wonder, if you're black, asian or other coloured denomination, does your dust match your skin tone?

Bum fluff is the same. Except I've yet to meet someone that is actually blue. Wifey comes close sometimes (Fnarr Fnarr) but that's because of a lack of oxygen (now there's an idea for an invention - a device that helps you remember these important details...10 points to the inventor of such a device....).

A Day Off Sick

2007-06-23T05:53:00.000Z

Mexico is a dirt, filthy and very poor place. Except the bit where we went to on Honeymoon (Puerto Aventura fact fans). All inclusive, large pool, 10 restaurants and not a Mexican to be seen except the staff who customarily bowed and scraped as only the very poor can. It was bourgeois heaven.

The route there was a bit circuitous, consisting of a plane from Plymouth to Gatwick, via Newquay ie going west, then east and finally back west crossing Plymouth a total of three times on the outbound journey. But all was good.

I melted on a regular basis and had to make use of the available shelter by gorging on food 24/7. I'm not sure but they may also have let us back in our hotel room during the day if we'd asked - or is that just B&Bs? The food was fir for a slightly well off king. Huuuuuuge buffets for the most part with each restaurant serving national dishes of different countries. Italian, Japanese, English etc I tried pretty much every dish available. The wife had cheese omelette and chips at pretty much every mealtime. Looking back I wish I had too.

Two weeks this cycle of food storage in my stomach and gut went on for. It was only later that I realised I hadn't been for number twos during the entire time.

We flew back on the Wednesday and I was back at work Thursday. On the Friday I woke up....no, sorry I was woken up by the most horrific pain experience by man. The kind of pain that bitch Pandora let out of her trinket box. Cramp went my stomach, cramp, tight cramp, punch, cramp and so the cycle went on. An ambulance had to be called eventually as I couldn't get out of bed. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement: I couldn't actually move. Apparently, when you breath really hard really fast (to try and control your pain - oh the memory hurts still) you hyperventilate. Do it long enough and you lose feeling in your extremities. Even longer and your hands start to curl and you can't talk. This is the state I was in when the paramedics walked in.

"Is he always like this?", they asked.

Fuck off, mate.

According to the junior doctor at the hospital I was suffering Montezuma's Revenge . Well aint Montezuma a bastard?

I lost a stone in weight that weekend as the two weeks worth of food was flushed out of me.

L.A.M.P.

2007-06-21T19:50:00.000Z

Do you get your local newspaper? We have the Plymouth Herald delivered cuz we're lazy bastards - it's at least a two minute walk to the shop every day - and it often has delights. Generally it bangs on about the navy and how the local shipyard is the lifeblood of the city. Today though was an exception. Two things there were that were worthy of mention and mention them I shall.

Ever been to Cornwall? It takes forever to get anywhere and it's crap when you do eventually arrive. Its all fishing villages on the coast and Emmerdale inland, all of them with the same Fudge and Pasty shops. Liskeard is trying to go one better. With a population of 8,478 an enterprising chap from Plymouth (not me) is opening a massage parlour. Not a 'legit' one either. A full on get your norks around me plums type one. Uproar has ensued. The village is rising up: Liskeard Against Massage Parlours is acting en masse to stop it. Unfortunately no internet link exists so you'll have to take my word for this. Personally, I think a petition should be started by all the men of the village (fortunately nowhere near where I live thus negating the need for me to sign thus allowing me innocent status where the missus is concerned - Hello Darling!) clamouring for such an institution. Have you seen a Cornish woman? Gawd...And let's not forget the employment opportunities: Bar workers, door workers, slappers...

Also in the news was the rather exciting announcement regarding the new erection (snigger) at the local B&Q retail park. Plymouth, get this, is to get a second Marks & Spencer but not just a normal store, it will be, much to the orgasmic joy of the missus a food only store. M&S is just about the only reason we go into the city centre these days; their puddings are sugartastic.

On sticking with it.

2007-06-20T20:13:00.000Z

I went out last night. I went out with 'Ben' my penis with a personality of a brother-in-law. I had been foisted into things as his companion to go see Paul Weller at the local village hall. I wasn't really bothered about it but tagged along. During the course of the evening I had more beer than I'd drank in the last two years IE two pints. I was a little...smashed. Well, that made the evening fly by. Until we got in the venue anyway. We stood waiting for an hour before the support came on (Brinkman - have you ever seen a decent support act? Me neither. Even when going to see Kylie - three times and counting - you'd think Kylie could have Sugababes! I'd like a Sugababe. Just one; I'm not greedy.). Well, Mr Weller came bounding on and didn't stop bounding for 90 minutes. I hope to have as much energy when I'm the same age. He also friggin' rocked, man. I only recognised four songs but still.

I write this, as I really need a pee and wanted to see how far I could go without having to divert off. As it turns out, quite a way.

As an aside it turns out 'Ben' shouldn't have gone to the pub. 'Kate' was a little peeved. He only had two pints you stroppy, immature bint! Jeez. If only you knew he lived with you 'for convenience'; that he thinks you're a bitch (which you are) and he's massively bored. Still, you keep on moaning, love.

Service shall shortly resume....

2007-06-20T19:10:00.000Z

Decorators! Gone! In the process made lots of mess. And made my internet....not possible. Gah. Still, I'm back, from outer space, but I've not got, jizzum upon my face (unlike the lady I saw in a video yesterday - drowning? Nearly.)

I may post later. Before Midnight. Or I may post tomorrow. It all depends on my wife's addiction to Scrabble. Find your F5 button and keep pressing for my return is imminent...

I'm Freeee-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

2007-06-12T07:54:00.000Z

to do whatever I.............whatever I choose do-do-do do deee dooooooo.

The decorators have moved in and the wife has moved out. Temporarily. To her mothers. Dust, is a bad thing for the wife. It gets, cough, right on her, choke, chest and plays havoc with her, going blue now, breathing. Which leaves me able to play, rest and do no work. For a period of about two hours at a time as I'm going back and forth. Never would I leave her in the clutches of my mother-in-law, she who makes Dr Harold Shipman look caring.

http://www.thingsmygirlfriendandihavearguedabout.com/ is a very funny thing.

A Wasted Day

2007-06-08T15:03:00.000Z

NB This has nothing to do with being a) drunk b) a drunk.

We were going out. I was dressed. Wifey was making herself look pretty(err). I made a phone call.

Me: Dear BOC. Why are you so crap at delivering oxygen to my wife?

BOC: I'm sorry. Again. He came on Wednesday. Even though he has a key he did not use it for he is not allowed.

Me: Then what is the point of him having it?

BOC: Err....He'll be coming today.

And so we waited in.....and waited....still he's not here. It's lovely outside. We were going to B&Q but I was to surprise the wife with a visit to the pub luncheon department. We wait...

I'm right!

2007-06-07T20:21:00.000Z

I used to love a good argument. That's why I joined an internet forum. Oh, the fights I used to have...Good times.

These days, I just can't be arsed. Over on the SFX forum right now they're having a ding-dong over wether games should be excluded from the Fun & Games section and it's getting rather over-heated. I'm not going to venture an opinion as I really don't care (although the entire debate centres around a thread I started ages ago). Formerly I may have waded in and decried all the points thus far no matter which side I stood on but now I just can't see the point; It's all a bit 'meh'. I'd rather be reading Scaryduck's Condensed Films to be honest.

A case in point in how I've changed: about a year ago I apparently sent an email to one of the forum saying I didn't like her. I can't imagine doing that now. I'm so indifferent to people I'm almost sociopathic. Look! I've killed me a catholic! Anyway, I apologised. What I was offended about is that she called me insincere! The cheek! Things I'd rather do than be insincere (I'm talking the wasted time factor not the moral obligation to honesty):

Watch Titanic.
Listen to Beyonce Knowles warble.
Read the Bible.

See? It's never gonna happen.

Princess Die

2007-06-06T08:34:00.000Z

Channel 4 are apparently screening a documentary tonight and may, shock! horror! be showing pictures of the car that carried our beloved Princess Di toward her certain crushing end. There is a furore. And the question is: who really gives a toss? I challenge everyone who does to leave a comment. Lack of comments will of course vindicate this post.

Harry and Willy have requested the photos not be shown. And Channel 4 are ignoring them. Respectfully, of course. The question is being asked on the news that if it was the boss of C4's mother in the car, would he still show the pictures? Is his mother the Queen of Tarts? Is she in the nations hearts? Is, in fact, his mother the only female personality with a bigger place reserved in Heaven ie Mother Theresa? No, I don't belive she is.

I wouldn't mind my mother being shown in this program but then my mothers a bitch and I wouldn't mind her being dragged by the ankles behind a Shire Horse with diarhoea. Channel 4 are presumably a veritible cock-a-hoop at the thought of all the publicity and the swarms of viewers. I propose a compromise: they can show it and no-one watches. Ideal.

Directions

2007-06-05T19:50:00.000Z

When I started this blog I meant it as a place to review SF&F books and stuff. I don't do that enough. So...

I just finished watching Alias series 1. It was good. I shall now watch West Wing series 4. Anyone that posts spoilers shall be killed in a nasty way. Note the singular 'way'; I'm not wasting good ways on your skinny/fat non-specific coloured ass.

My hands itch. Is it scabies?

Justice the American Way

2007-06-02T20:16:00.001Z

Some blokes have been arrested for plotting to bomb JFK airport in New Yoik. 'Plotting' is perhaps going a bit far as they were quite a way off even finalising the planning, let alone making the molotov devices (for you can indeed do much damage with a petrol lighter). So the question is: is America, Land of the Free, now arresting people for Thought Crimes? Let's see:

I'm currently thinking of assassinating George 'Dubya' Bush, President of the United States, POTUS, DOOFUS and all round twat.

I have got thus far in my planning: I've had the thought to do so.

Bring it on CIA! Read this and weep NSA!

I'll even go one further: I'm gonna kill all the Senators and Congressmen and women (for I'm sure there is actually a difference but I've yet to work out what it is) and all the Governors except Arnie cuz....you know....it's Arnie. He'd kill me. Using grenades. They wouldn't explode; he'd just insert them with Arnie-force into any available orifice. All the mayor's deserve to die, as do all the Sheriffs. And council members. And the street cleaners. In this instance only, all the smokers will be let off as they're going to kill themselves eventually anyway.

I await the FBI knocking at my door. The clock starts.....NOW.

Justice? Legal?

Bed + Sofa = Nothing!

2007-06-02T20:03:00.001Z

Next week we have some people coming to invade our house. We invited them but they will turn us upside down. I decorated my bedroom, they'll do the rest of my house. It's only fair after all.

We've been deliberating about this for quite awhile and finally took the final decision when they phoned to say they were coming on Tuesday (we're great believers in waiting until five minutes past the final minute - nobody is too big to be put out). All well and good. Hmm. The decoration sorted we have today been ordering the new furniture; we planned on getting a chest of drawers and a sofabed to help with storage and multifunctionality. We hit. A. Snag. The sofabed we'd been planning on buying was again looked at. We then noticed the section in the Next catalogue that said 'Ahem. Measure your friggin' doors before you order this thing as we're not having it back just becuase you're stupid enough to order it'. Our doors? 74 cms wide. The sofabed? 88x86 on the ends. Now our doors are standard width so either the average Next customer lives in a mansion with barn doors or there's a trick for getting them in. If it had been one door it might not be a problem but we have three doors, two sharp turns and a banister to negotiate. So, no, we didn't order it.

On to www.Sofabed.co.uk They have a lovely one for £349.99. Little do they say that's exclusive of VAT, exclusive of delivery and exclusive of your choice of fabric. The final price? £453. If they'd said that price to begin with I'd have ordered it no question but to lull me into a false sense of security (that's fucking fraud that is!) is disgusting. Avoid this company. If by saying that I stop just one person visiting their shop, I'll have a wank in celebration.

Cunty Sark descending into slagging off London

2007-05-29T19:23:00.000Z

There are many things on the news that are worthy. Some actually deserve to have their legs spread open and probed before the nation. Others however should just be passed on by.

The story of the stricken Cutty Sark is one such. Who actually gives a toss? OK, the day of the fire it should maybe have got a mention toward the end of the bulletin. But all this time later is there nothing else worth reporting? Have all the famines in Africa stopped? Has no-one been raped today? How many murders haven't taken place?

I have a theory about stories like this and i t involves a formula: something happens. If 1 divided by the square of the distance from London is less than 0.1 it has little chance of appearing. This is because the majority of the media exists in London, to publicise London for Londoners of which the presenters and journalists generally tend to be. I was stuck in a traffic jam once in the Midlands. Not very newsworthy by itself but it was the biggest traffic jam ever to have happened. The police had received a phone call saying one of the supports struts on the M1 and the police closed it. At rush hour. They closed the motorway. Now Londoners like to think the M25 is the only motorway that matters but that's because they're all blinded by coolness. The M1 at that particular stretch is one of the busiest in existence. So all the cars had to find a different route down country lanes. Now, given most of the drivers had never left at that junction, most also had no idea where they were going, myself included. The result? Gridlock for over two hours. Literally. Not one person moved.

Did this appear on the news? Do I need to answer in the negative or have you guessed the answer already?

I'm sure Damilola Taylor was a lovely lad (yeah, right. Inner city youth living in a council flat. Chances of angel-dom? More chance I won't electrocute myself at least once a week.) but kids get stabbed every week in Nottingham.

London bias exists in other ways too. Major millennium projects? Stick 'em in London. The Eye, the bridge, others I'm sure. Every one on the news. How many local projects got on the news? Hmm? Anyway, other ways. Take Wembley Stadium. Surely common sense would dictate it gets put where the majority of people can get to it? Nope. An MP suggested that you can get to Wembley from anywhere in the UK within 4 hours. Try getting from Land's End to just Frikin' Devon in 4 hours, mate. Birmingham would have been a much better idea. But no, the government had to be seen to be supporting the London tourist economy.

And London wages: when I travelled the world easily half the people I met were from London and invariably could be heard declaring the cost of an item was 'nuffink'. Yes, it possibly is when you earn far higher than us plebs outside of the M25. Think about it. Shop worker in...Plymouth might earn £10k. In Chiswick he might earn...estimates....£43k. Now, when looking at Internet holidays Plymouth man might have to think twice; London man probably snaps up 3. Grr.

The kidnapped

2007-05-28T22:34:00.000Z

Let's take two minutes to think about dear sweet Madeleine and Alan Johnston, both kidnapped without ransom.

....

One minute

......

Bored now.

Given they're still missing is it really possible they'll be recovered alive and whole? Whole in this instance meaning mental as well as physical. It's highly possible in my opinion that dear sweet freaky eyed Mads has been taken a paedophile ring (one for the Google searches there) and put to work on...well, lets not think about that.

At what point do you give up hope and carry on with your lives? It was highly publicised that Madeleine's parents were staying in Portugal to search for her. Of course they were! What the frig else were they going to do? Come back to the UK and continue their jobs, sitting there hoping for the phone to ring? How long can they look realistically look for? Especially when it's been speculated that she could be in the middle of Africa by now.

As for Alan Johnston...held in the middle-east, a place well known for it's hospitality, with no word since his capture - what were his captors hoping to achieve other than killing him? There's been no ransom so it's not money. They've not announced a particular group has got him so it's not notoriety. Perhaps he too has been sold into porn. It's far more likely than he's still alive.

I'm not sure what I'd be thinking if someone I loved were to be taken in the dead of night. I'd probably start at 'bugger' (which incidentally is banned on the SFX forum for it's sexual connection - a thoroughly ludicrous suggestion) and move on to Rambo. Or so I',d like to think.

Shopping? Pah!

2007-05-26T17:28:00.000Z

Regular readers may realise that my wife has a terminal illness although 'terminal' is stretching things when there's no imminent departure planned. 'Terminal' in this sense means she'll die because of her condition - eventually. She could still live, in theory, until her eighties. Her specific disease is highly unpredictable and very erratic in it's prognosis.

Although the terminal nature of her condition is obviously a bad thing, it has it's advantages. Because of it we were able to convince the council to pay me to care for her via the 'Direct Payments' system. This money is supposed to be used to pay for the sort of things you can normally get from the council: bath chairs, hoists etc.

We found out not long ago that it also pays for you to get the shopping delivered from Tesco. Or Asda. Or even Sainsbury's. We live in hope that M&S get their online act together. The thinking is that while I'd be shopping, I wouldn't actually be caring. I love this mentality. The wife spends the time doing the shopping; I spend the effort putting it away. Perfect synergy.

On my DIY disaster

2007-05-24T23:15:00.000Z

The cause of the recent spate of DIYness is my wife's breathing problems. A problem for her that is, not me. Obviously.

See, if you have asthma or the overly-complicated acronym COPD, dust, is Bad. In our old place we had wooden flooring throughout for the wife's wheelchair was awful for the carpets. When we moved here and found the joys to be had in carpet we thought "Hmm. Carpet". My feet hadn't felt my own carpet (Note to self: the use of a single word four times in four sentences is a crime. Stop it.) for about five years and just melted in. It wasn't bliss but it was certainly a Tesco's own victoria sponge. So they stayed.

The thing about wooden floors, and is something we realised very quickly with regards to our bedroom, is they show up how much dust gets generated. I can sweep under the bed everyday and get a good handful of dust. It kinda makes you think how much is going into the carpet.

Hence, that fateful Sunday we ripped it up. The floorboards would have been lovely varnished, if not for the paint splatters. I sanded, I scraped, I bought special paint stripper but that paint would not be moved. Wooden flooring was the way to go. In a moment of DIY epiphany I realised the current floorboards would have to be level so I set at them with a hammer and nails.

I did a very good job until I got to the floorboard with pipes beneath it. Oh dear.

What kind of numpty puts pipes directly beneath the floorboards? Everyone apparently. Standard practice my father-in-law claims. Not under the 'boards?

Well, bang, bang, ba-psssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss was the noises heard that day followed by a swift 'Oh fuckery'. It took a few seconds for the realisation to kick in though. This was only after the boiler had kicked in, water had seeped up the new nail and on venturing downstairs to watch the ceiling (not in y crackpot house) only to, first hear it then, see it come from inside the walls - aaah cavity walls. It turns out 'gush' is not just a porn term. Towels! Buckets! Fire Brigade. In that order. Oh, and stopcock was in there somewhere, just a little too late to save the wallpaper. Or the plasterboard. Or the ceiling come to that.

So I now have a 'mint' bedroom and a hallway that resembles those only on the choicest council estates.

Today in my quest to finish decorating the bedroom I planed the bottom of our bedroom door. When flying on Concorde you could view the curvature of the Earth and now you can view the curvature of my bedroom door.

PS Nana has just this minute returned. I feel an ode coming on:

Nana!
You're back!
You're black!
But then you were before.

NANNANANANANANANA

2007-05-23T20:56:00.003Z

It's been 'suggested' to me that I should have posted an altogether similar picture of Nana:

Maybe I too should send an email to everyone I know. It hasn't worked for Madeliene but it might for Nana.

One Note Cereal

2007-05-23T19:33:00.000Z

I went on a diet once. It was what I call 'A Bad Time'.

I wasn't that overweight but I was developing a middle tyre (which to be honest is prevalent in my family - it's the family shape - so if genetics says this is gonna happen, how can I possibly fight it?) so set about making my diet slightly healthier. Exercise was, at the time, out of the question, so out was to go sugar, potato, rice, pasta and bread. HAHAHAHAHA.

Have you ever tried not eating those five? Leaving aside breakfast for the minute, what do you possibly eat for lunch if not a sandwich? What hellish universe has the concept of no: mash, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, potato gratin, chips, curry, chilli con carne, lasagne, spaghetti bolagnese or tuna pasta bake for dinner?

For breakfast there's obviously quite a choice. Nestle and Kellogg's seem to have cornered the market on dietary breakfast. I stood perusing the shelves. I glanced at my beloved Frosties, the gorgeous Honey Monster on Sugar Poofs, the only two cereals I'd consider allowing past my canines, and passed onto the...other stuff. I tried them all, honestly I did. Muesli, Special K, Special K with Red Bits (ironically the red fruity bits made it worse). See, I think eating should be fun and not a chore. It was tough for me to swallow this stuff let alone want to eat it on a regular basis.

So I pretty much carried on eating what I wanted. I just tried to cut down on the biscuits and surplus chocolate and cake I was eating. Which worked for a bit until the withdrawal symptoms started. My inner demon was unleashed. A woman without HRT had nothing on me.

The following picture is of a judge on Canada's Next Top Model (the wife's current obsession):

Firstly, I should point out that this is indeed a female of the species. I'm no Sistine Chapel myself but what the hell is this abomination doing judging modelling??

Job Done

2007-05-21T22:29:00.000Z

And yay he said for the slavery of DIY had passed - two weeks to the day after I started. I have: sanded, painted (ceiling, walls, coving, skirting), created new bedroom cupboards and laid a very expensive wooden floor (we couldn't - or should I say the wife couldn't - find one cheaper that matched). Photos shall be forthcoming.

I've just turned off the bore that is Sahara. My love for films is waning. I used to be able to sit through any old tripe and find some sort of enjoyment. These days I struggle to sit through most. I judge a films quality on how long it takes me to check how much time has passed. Tellingly, I have no clock near me at the moment. Except on my laptop but I couldn't see it as I was watching the film. Anyway, Sahara = tripe. Here endeth my review.

I feel remiss in not having mentioned my black cat, Nana. She has now been missing for 11 days (assuming I finish typing in the next fifteen minutes or it'll be 12 days). The wife is distraught. No longer are we being woken in the night, to come in or to go out. No longer are we blanked. Our other cat, Alfie, has actually become more loving. So, just benefits really then. It's strange not hearing her cries though. I miss the penetrativeness of them (I'm surprised to find that 'penetrativeness' is actually a word). I miss the mice she brings home. Sometimes the mice even make it over the door threshold but more often are eviscerated before that point, being left for me to clear up the next day. How I used to love that sight first thing in the morning. So an Ode, to Nana:

Oh, Nana
How I miss you so
Though you bugged me to fuckery
I never thought you'd go

Oh, Nana
You're not a clever cat
How I hope that
You've not gone 'splat'

Oh, Nana
Come home soon
Nana let us hear just once more
Your crying at the moon

You may notice how no features are apparent except the eyes. She's like a feline black hole - you can only tell she's there due to the lack of the surrounding colour.

The adventures of Kate - part 678

2007-05-17T08:41:00.000Z

The story so far:- My sister-in-law 'Kate', lives with her fiance 'Ben' and their two cats, Tiki and Jackson.

Or they did until Jackson was brutally dragged for half a mile down the road by a car. Someone that happened to be passing phoned to say they'd found the cat 'in a bit of a state' IE 'carcass' would be stretching the definition - bloody mess might be more accurate but slightly too graphic for a PG rated blog. Which this isn't - there were blood and guts everywhere gor blimey guvnor.

The cat was scraped off the tarmac and placed with much care into a Tesco carrier bag (although probably not a 10p one - more likely a free one cuz they're tight like that. I hope there was no 'spillage' through the holes onto the car seats...) and driven home where he was duly buried. Aah.

The next day they got a new cat. Just like that. As grieving processes go it's not bad is it? I can't help wondering what their secret is. It's good to know that if my wife died tomorrow, I'd be shacked up again by the time the weekend's over. I'll have the sporty model please. (This is in no way a reference to fit tennis players. Or swimmers. Hmm. Bikinis.)

Since she's had the new kitten, 'Kate' seems to have developed another medical condition. Having been relieved of her epilepsy, she now has something else which requires her not to work - Frozen Shoulder syndrome. She's in pain but won't take painkillers. She wanted a hot water bottle, so 'Ben' called us and spoke to the wife (he won't talk to me as he knows I think he's a cock) and asked her if I could go buy one. I hasten to point out: 'Kate' wasn't dying, was in no way in a serious condition and my wife is far worse every minute of the day and yet I still find myself able to leave the house.

I have no respect for either of them. And 'Kate''s got fat anyway.

Easy Like Monday Morning

2007-05-14T04:33:00.000Z

My god it's early. I've already been awake for over an hour. In no way am I pointing the finger of blame at the wife but you should know it's all her fault.

She currently has insomnia, so by default, so do I. We have this little game we play: she wakes me up to tell me she's awake and I pretend to listen. Eventually of course it just gets annoying and we end up being testy. Today we ended up just getting up. It's amazing how light it is at half past five in the morning.

Later today (at least...counts...six hours away. Six??) we'll be going to look at yet more wooden flooring in the hope of being able to sleep in our bedroom once more. By rights you should buy it, let it sit for 24 hours, lay it and let it sit for another 24 hours meaning, if we buy it today, we shouldn't be in until Thursday at the earliest. Something IE the wife tells me that this won't be the way things happen. She'll be whip-cracking-away the minute we get in the door. As I'm a laminate laying virgin I may be finished by Friday. If this is the case I'll also be a eunuch by Friday.

Perhaps the insomnia and bedroom are related. The wife worries about so many things it's hard to keep track of her current stresses, so it's not outside the bounds of possibility. Pity this has been going on for months. She took a sleeping tablet once. She eventually woke up three days later. Happy memories.

I Got Served

2007-05-12T20:12:00.000Z

See them dark clouds on the horizon? That would be the wife. She found me out like a prize-winning beagle. She found this blog. Hello Darling! We had 'words' earlier so thus forever more, my blog shall be a sanitised version of it's former potty-mouthed self. Henceforth my posts will resemble:

Flowers. Aren't they pretty? Aah yellows and pinks. Hmm. Nicey nice...

Please feel free to not return, don't pass GO and save yourself the effort (and possibly your lunch).

I did 'A Good Thing' today. In my decorating phase, having finished the paint job - two colours (count 'em) - I set to work on our bedroom wardrobes. I've ripped out the innards like a Hannibal Lecter type freak. In it's place I put up extra poles for my wife's clothes and I had the little bit in the corner. There's shelves and everything. Mother would have been proud. Not. Pictures shall be forthcoming when I can be arsed to faff around with the camera.

The search for a flooring solution continues - 100 B&Q staff when surveyed said NUH ERRRR.

Having been left comments in my post 'No readership', thus proving I have at least two readers, I've come to the opinion I sound like a whiny runt (Rhyming slang? Possibly). Henceforth The Quest shall be ended. In public anyway.

I'm now off to change all names on the blog. Not that I've been ordered to or anything...

Derren Brown writes me love letters

Still?

2007-05-11T21:56:00.000Z

The decorating continues at a snails pace. Today I put up a new pendant light fitting. In a slothlike two and a half hours. Even then I had to phone my brother-in-law for help.

A Sudden Decision

2007-05-07T19:46:00.000Z

Spontaneous decisions aren't my wife and I's forte (Bad english? Who cares). Well, for me it is. My motto is "Don't dither, do". Wifey can't make a decision to save a kipper from someone's breakfast though. Until yesterday.

Up she got (read: sitting on the edge of the bed while I fannied around). She asks "Is it me, or does this carpet create more dust than the wooden floor we used to have?". I disagreed, it wasn't her and the carpet was a hotbed of dust activity. Well, no sooner could you say hot-diggity than we were pulling the carpet up to gaze at the beautiful floorboards beneath. Gorgeous they were. Apart from the million splodges of paint all over them. So today, as well as having a pub lunch, I spent forty pounds at Homebase on various paint removal and sanding gear. Didn't work. Laminate it will be.

The next few days I shall be slaving away painting, sanding, and flooring. Think of me.

No readership?

2007-05-06T08:01:00.000Z

As no-one has replied to my previous post, am I to take it I have no readers whatsoever? Am I just writing for me, to me? Maybe if I were to stop writing self-indulgent posts like this one...

I read something the other day that suggests self-publicising your blog is a bad thing - how else would you know about my words of wisdom? Silly Biffo.

Here comes the beast again.

How Lucky I Am

2007-05-06T07:51:00.000Z

Yesterday I had the great privilege to do that thing beloved by Englanders everywhere: go to a static caravan on the coast. This is the wife's grandma's caravan, where my sister-in-law was staying.

I had to force the wife out of bed (anytime before midday is a struggle) at 9 (literally force - she hit the wall leaving only a small dent) to get the usual day out stress. An hours drive to St Merryn in Cornwall, a tiny hamlet near Padstowe and then did what I suspected: we sat there all day and did nothing. We could have stayed at home and done that, not spent the hour getting in the wife's chair, nor the hour driving there - that's two hours someone owes me, never mind the drive back the same day.

God it was frustrating listening to my mother-in-law (for she was there too - huzzah!) making little comments to which I'm not allowed to respond. It was fun trying to get the wife toileted though. Carrying her through the caravan doors which are narrower than my shoulders, into a bathroom the size of a postage stamp (mind her legs!) was tricky to say the least.

Still, days out with family - gotta love 'em.

Shocking

2007-05-04T15:18:00.000Z

Think of an image. Think of another. Did either of those come anywhere to the image of Eddie Izzard in a micro kilt? This is the image Carol Vorderman has just put forth on Countdown. He apparently asked to try it on after seeing Carol wearing it. With that fresh in your mind let's move on...

To the film I saw at the cinema recently: Sunshine. Can't be bothered to write too much about it (go read a review!) but I thought it was much better than certain quarters have suggested. After reading the SFX forum thread though, I may have missed bits. The missing bits made the film work for me though, so who cares?

If you search for 'wee' and 'smell' I'm first on Google after the BBC.

Womble, on a bike.

See? Over there? ----->

2007-05-03T20:44:00.000Z

A new Sight Wat I Lyke. Aprosexic has taken advantage of my rather generous link exchange program. God bless him (?) and God bless all atheists everywhere.

A Young Man's Passage

2007-05-02T22:49:00.000Z

AKA Julian Clary's autobiography. Did you know he was gay? You would if you read this. My god the man was a slut! Are all gay men the same?? Speaking as a purely hetero male, I've got no problem with a man wanting to sleep with as many women as he wants and have to consider the possibiliy that double the blokes doubles the horniness. Jeez. Like shaggin'? Turn gay. Most of Julian's conquests seem to enforce the stereotype of homosexuals as screaming, bitchy queens.

The book goes a bit deeper than that and is literally painfully funny (his pain, not the readers). I don't normally read biographies, especially those of celebrities but a) I thought it was a novel b) it was three quid in HMV and c) I was struggling to spend a ten pound gift voucher. I'm glad I did. Despite the nauseating in-your-face (quite literally for Julian at one point, answering the door with last night's jizzum all over himself) gayness of it, it is a very funny book. It shows how these entertainer folk start with Tarzan-a-grams and elevate to TV land.

It's a good thing it was funny as it also dwells on many of Julian's darker moments i.e. 98% of his life, including the death of his soul-mate Christopher through AIDS. All in all a very revealing book on many subjects I wouldn't normally touch. Bargepoles at the ready.

Melon Farmers

2007-05-01T17:49:00.001Z

Some people IE bastardy tits call me workshy. This is as nothing however compared to farmers wanting, nay demanding compensation for their cows getting TB . This to me seems to be like asking for money for old rope.

Is not your animal getting a disease a hazard of the job? My cat is currently sick, yet I don't go complaining to T. Blair for her vet money. Not only would I get summarily thrown out but I'd be laughed at. Farmers join nurses on my all time 'sucking the government dry' list.

On a happier note, last month I had 261 unique visitors according to Statcounter and 364 page loads. Those 261 may be the same 10 people with a different IP address everyday but still, not bad. If of course it's a true and accurate figure, about 258 people have visited and not left a comment! Why? Is it not true that you get a warm feeling in your heart in the knowledge of a well written response? So, for now and this time only, leave a comment and give me a true census. I love you all. Except the ones that smell of wee, obviously.

PS I've been found on a search engine with the phrase "treating needle track marks and bruises" - eh? Explain that if you can.

Super Blogger

2007-05-01T17:39:00.000Z

It's a funny thing having an online identity. I used to go by the name 'Damnation' on newsgroups; now I go by the more confident 'jstarbuck' (for 'tis me). Many people aren't even who they say they are (shock! horror!) going so far as to change gender and sexual orientation (go on, have cybersex as the opposite sex in a gay relationship). It never occurred to me though to hide 'me' from the wife.

I left a comment on Scaryduck's blog today comparing my wife, as a joke, to a Nazi. Did you see the mushroom cloud? There surely was one. After five years of marriage my wife a) really needs to learn my sense of humour and b) get one for herself. I felt somewhat affronted. Let alone it was a joke, this was my internet identity I was displaying - what relevance should it have on the 'real world'? A lot apparently. All day long she's been harping on, wanting to know in what way I was comparing her to a Nazi. I should have said it was her persistent extraction of information via inhumane methods but she might not have understood that. One final thing, it was a joke! Good job she never saw my acronym for my job title: Slave To A Bitch.

NB Godwin's Law is irrelevant in this case.

Prison Break - series 2

2007-04-30T07:01:00.000Z

The second season has now closed in the States with a WTF?? moment. Possibly the biggest of all time.

From the beginning of the season things have failed to reach the exciting heights generated by the first. Michael and Lincoln bounce from here to there for illogical and unclear reasons. Everywhere they go they're followed like a puppy by William Fichtner's oh-so-clever FBI agent, Alex Mahone and it just gets tiresome. Mr Kim, the face of the evil 'Company' gets more like a Paontomine Dame with every episode; to his credit he doesn't cackle. He does have the most smug face in the world though.

And the ending seems to have been written purely with a third season in mind. And is frankly, shite.

US TV Networks - keepers of ineptitude

121 pints

2007-04-28T09:02:00.000Z

I know some of you are hoping I'm going to be talking about lager but no.

A channel 4 program, Human Footprint, has listed the cost to the planet of a human life and one statistic stands out for me (of those I saw in the advert anyway - there's no way I'm actually going to watch). Apparently, in the course of your life, not mine cuz I'm a double hard bastard (DHB), you will shed 121 pints of tears. No, really.

Glossing over how this could possibly be measured and massive differences between people eg the aforementioned DHB and hormonal pregnant women, who the hell could cry that much? That's about two pints a year! Poke me in the eye continuously and I wouldn't be able to do it. It might be just about possible with a particularly toxic nerve gas. Tear gas, maybe.

And so, a list of things to make your eyes water:

The Goodies on their three-way bike, stopping all of a sudden and landing balls first on the crossbar.
Extreme hayfever. (Should be a sport - throw a bit more pollen on me ya bastards!).
Wind from the north-west. On a Thursday. In Dorset.

And that's it. Suggestions appreciated.

Earthquake in Kent kills sperm

On Stupidity

2007-04-26T22:22:00.000Z

Jeez. Some people just don't know they've been booted out of their mother's crotch. They think life will always be cosy and warm, little realising reality is gonna come and bite them on the scrotum. Of course, some people, like Pete Docherty, openly invite it by being a twunt. Others, think that however foolish they act, whatever obscenity they perform, they'll always be number one. And it is about these people that I shall be speaking about today. Or rather, one of them.

His name is Keven Federline. Coming from nowhere, K-Fed, as he is now stupidly known, met and married Britney Spears during her thin and gorgeous phase, having two children (let's not forget that for this he must have seen her naked and possibly had her sitting on his face) and money thrown at him left, right, centre and up the behind. All he had to do to continue sitting pretty, was keep her happy. But no. K-Fed got drunk, saw strippers and slept around. I pause at this moment to scream 'allegedly'. He must have been off his tits on drugs. The evidence? Go read this paragraph again. Someone commit the eejit to an asylum for the criminally twuntish.

Surely it can't have been hard to have fun with Britters? Great body, obviously up for fun, not at all tight with her money...no, let's go get some 'ho. Tit.

Don't forget Dylan's canine credentials