span class=hugeNever take a job where winter winds can blow up your pants./span span class=bodybold - Geraldo Rivera/spannoscripta href=http://www.videnov.com/#1084;#1077;#1073;#1077;#1083;#1080;/a/noscript

span class=bodybold/spanspan class=hugeWinter is nature’s way of saying, Up yours./span  span class=bodybold- Robert Byrne/span

I never minded winter too much before.  Before this.  Although, to be fair, it has been quite some time since I really saw a full winter.  Two years, I guess.  Anyway - I don’t like this one.  I’ve been holding out - not wearing my full arsenal of clothing - until today.  Today I decided it was officially winter, and I was allowed to wear everything.  T-shirt under business shirt, under suit jacket, and then a big solid overcoat.  I think that should be enough.  I really really hope I don’t have to start considering wearing my merino under-garments as well.

But, enough exciting chat about the weather.  On to the staple of my updates - what’s been happening regarding the ’social’ scene recently.  Well - with winter, comes winter sports.  Which means the rugby is in town.  Last weekend I hosted an extravaganza.  Election results coming in in the morning, followed by snacks and chit-chat, (oh - and I checked the league results once in a while) - leading into a roast lunch - followed by more chit-chat, and watching various rugby games.  Then - got all dressed up, and off to Chook’s for a party.  Which was pleasant.

Next day - snuck out of Chooks - and got home.  Just in time for my boss to call, asking me to do some work.  Sure - why not?  Did some work.  Then slept.  Then woke up - and went to the Local.  The locals at my Local were rather impressed the previous night by a dapper kiwi in a red suit.  Tonight - they were impressed by a dishevelled kiwi in jandals.  And then bare-feet.  Again - this was apparently the last night, ever, of the Local.  So - it was a fairly big one.  I got to go behind the bar to pour myself a Guinness.  Not once, but a few times.  That was pretty sweet.  But - eventually, the toll of the previous day caught up with me - and I slunk off home.  Despite promising myself that I’d work from home the next day - I just couldn’t stay awake any longer.  And in the morning, changed my mind - and rushed off to work.  Regretted it once I got there, of course, but - oh well.

Oh - and reaching back into the depths of my memory…

Last Tuesday a few of us went to see The Black Seeds.  The highlight of that evening was chatting to Barnaby Weir (lead singer) at the pub we were meeting at beforehand.  And old friend of Justin’s, you see.  And then Martin, who wasn’t aware of who he was - chatting with us as well.  I’m fairly sure I heard Marty ask Barnaby Do you know who the singer is for these guys, and who’s opening?  Barnaby, I’m not sure intentionally or not, just talked about the opening act.  I quietly chuckled.

And the previous weekend - I got up all early to go to a bar to watch NZ vs Australia.  Bar was closed - so all the way back home to watch it on dubious quality internet site.  Still - my favourite website during this sports season.  Every sport, free, on the internet.  Hurrah for internet.  Huzzah for nerds.  No need for nerds for the Englad vs NZ game though.  Oh no.  Well, hopefully.

Right - I should head off now.  Am on call - so have to get to the pool hall to get as many games in before I get called up, and have to leave.

Same old, same old.  Get up, it’s freezing.  Get on the tube - it’s stinkin’ hot from dozens of people crammed into a cigar tube.  Get out the other end, it’s freezing.  Get to work - and it’s freezing.  I’ve finally got a desk which I can kind of call my own - and it’s even a corner office.  Of a sort.  I’ve been thrown into a meeting room - but it is in the corner of the building - and I’ve got windows.  Can look out across the bland faces of 1970’s cheap housing blocks - and an in-the-process-of-being-built student accommodation.  But - the air-conditioning is stuffed - and it’s several degrees colder than elsewhere in the building.

Work is getting rather busy - as things are being rushed through before everybody involved goes bankrupt.  Then - catch the tube back home.  And stop off at the local for a couple of pints.  Of course, sometimes this turns into more than a couple.  I usually sit down, read a couple of newspapers, and then go home for some dinner.  Last Wednesday, however, I suddenly discovered the doors were being locked, and ashtrays brought out.  Finding myself in a shut-in on a Wednesday night wasn’t so good.  I scarpered home pretty quick smart.  Well, fairly quick - and not so smart.  I’ve also got to the point at the local where the barman, and a couple of regulars - buy me a pint once in a while.  On Saturday - a guy who sometimes sits at the bar, and is very quiet - spoke to me.  Asked if I was English.  I said no, and he said Ahh - I didn’t think so, you’re very tranquillo.  Tranquillo being calm, of course, in spanish amp; portuguese.   Turns out this guy was Portuguese - and we chatted for a while about how the Inglis are all loco.  And, of course, the Inglis obliged by proving our point.  Just so happened that that night, the normally very quiet pub was transformed by the presence of a dozen drunk ladies for a birthday or hen’s night or something.  Not so tranquillo.  When one of them hit the other, because she’d said something about her mother - the portuguese chap and myself shared knowing glances.  Locas.  And then some drunk pole started trying to order drinks for everybody - and trying to throw a 40 or 50 pound tip to the barman - who wouldn’t have a bar of it.  Eventually I went home - and did an hour or two more of work.

This weekend, however - looks like there won’t be any work for me to do.  Hurrah.  So - not sure what I’ll be doing.  I do have about 6 kilos of yerba mate to get through though - and I’ve been drinking a fair bit of that on the weekends.  Sit around, and pretend I’m back in Argentina/Uruguay.  Haven’t cooked a roast for a while either (well - one just for myself on Sunday) - so should maybe contact a few people about that.  Strangely - I’ve got no problem with buying, preparing, cooking, and serving the roast - but am too lazy to just send out an email or call people to invite them.  But - if anybody actually reads this anymore, and would like a roast (lamb, beef, chicken, pork) from all market-sourced ingredients - get in touch.

Okay, okay - so I haven’t updated people in a while to prove I’m still alive.  Well, I’ve been meaning to - but I get to work, and it’s ridiculously busy.  Then I get home, and I don’t have anything to say.

But - I’ll give it a go.  Work - busy.  Very busy, with all sorts of things I should really finish very soon - but can’t for various reasons.

Social life - not so busy.  Had a good couple of weekends over the last two weekends though.  Had Mike&Skye and Pen around for a roast lunch a few weekends back.  That was all good - roast lamb, and lots of wine.  Then the next night - I went to my chosen local - for what was supposed to be it’s last night open.  Sunday night - they usually have a group of people who come in for a ‘jam’ - live music, generally irish-oriented.  That kept going, and going - and then the doors were locked.  My first shut-in in Britain - hurrah.  Ended up with myself, the bar owner, and bar maid - at about 6am.  Well - it might have been later, but the last thing I remember was me realising it was 6, and trying to convince them that I should go home, as I had work in a few hours - and them trying to convince me that I might as well call in sick at this stage.   The next thing I remember was waking up at about noon -going into a panic, and rushing to work.  Realising on the way that I’m still drunk (who’d have thought?) - and that I should really turn around and go home.  But, alas - I seem to have locked myself out.  Went to work, managed to not do anything stupid - but left early.  I had work to do that night as well - so I didn’t feel that guilty.  (Considering I’d worked a little on Saturday, and then ended up working until 1 & 2am over the next two nights - no guilt at all.)  Got back home, via the pub (turns out it’s staying open after all) - discovering that I had my keys in my pocket the entire time.  The same pocket I always put them.  Very confusing.

And then - a week recovering.  The recovery not being helped by the late nights doing work, of course.

And then the weekend again.  A fairly quiet one this time.  Peruvian for Saturday lunch, and a movie on Sunday.  And back into the working week.

And then the weekend again.  Toast NZ - a one day event which was billed as NZ food, wine, music, etc.  And it tried - I guess.  Ate some Burger Rings - which was pretty sweet.  But all the main meals - pies, mussels, etc - were sourced locally, but being sold as ‘typical NZ food’.  Plenty of NZ wine though.  And some beer - Speights, Mac’s Gold, & Monteiths.  And then - the music, including OpShop, and Supergroove - completed with Che Fu.  This, of course, was what we’d been waiting for.  But then it turns out the acoustics were absolutely crap, and it just sounded like a wall of sound.  A pity.

Then - I returned to my local for a couple of beers on the way home.  Ran into some english guy who not only had heard of Flying Nun - but could recite nearly all the bands/people involved.  Very strange.  He was a huge nerd though.  All this occurred during another shut-in - after which I was the last to leave, letting the barman know that I’d work for free anytime he wanted - if it’d help the bar out.  Not sure how seriously he took me, as I’d had a rather long day by that point.

Long enough to sleep in until 3pm on Sunday - before heading to a cafe/bar for some Bloody Marys and roast lamb.  I think I saw some staff do a double-take when I walked in - I mustn’t have looked too healthy.  A little more recovery time - and then down to the local for a quick one or two before an early night.  Finally felt like I had become a regular - as one of the other regulars pulled a bottle out from behind the bar - and gave me a couple of shots of some terrible Lithuanian liquor.  And - chatted with the old chap who usually sits and drinks in the park.  I wasn’t up to another big night though - the shots made sure of that - and I returned home to get a decent amount of sleep to be productive(-ish) on Monday.

And so here we are.  In what is threatening very much to become an English winter.  We turned on the central heating in the flat yesterday.  I foresee future updates starting with what temperature it was when I left the house this morning.

So, there was an influx of those dirty kiwis and aussies into our fair city.  Typical hooligans, they just fly in, get all boozed up, and then head onto Europe.  There should be a law against it.

Yes - last weekend was marked by a sudden rise in people to socialise with.  Won’t go into naming them all, because if I forget somebody, there’ll be tears and what-not.  But, there were drinks involved.  Barbeque at Caro’n'Dom’s place on Sunday.  Which was more drinking than eating, and had a rather good turn-out.  Reminded me of parties of old.  Including a bit of aggro.  Some chap was being a little silly about things, and when I was trying to calm him down, and prevent any nastiness - he said something remarkable to me.  I didn’t really listen to him at the time, as I was just ignoring all the offensive things he was saying, and concentrating on keeping him calm.  But the guy who he was originally arguing with, once this chap had left - turned to me and asked “Do you guys know each other?”  I replied - “No, not really.”   “Because I assumed that you must have some kind of nasty history, with what he said to you.  And I was amazed you didn’t hit him.”  And then I thought about it, and realised he was right.  What this guy had said to me was the kind of thing that you use to wind somebody up so much that there has to be a fight.  But it was from a guy that I don’t think I’ve ever met before.  But, he obviously knows me, or knows of me in any case - for him to have come up with what he did.  (And NO - it wasn’t anything to do with the size of any part of me.  He doesn’t know me THAT well.)

So then I starting thinking more and more about it, and as I did - I started to get pretty angry.  But - seeing as I’m a nice guy, I went outside and drank some more and refused to tell anybody what was actually said.  It kind of sounds like it’s something embarassing to me - but it wasn’t that sort of thing.  I just figure that people should judge this guy from their own experiences of him.  Which is also why I’m not mentioning names.  And, I’ve done/said some pretty silly things while under the influence.  Nothing that purposely and pointedly offensive (yeah - THAT bad) - but still.

So - that actually turns out to be a pretty boring story without any of the juicy details, doesn’t it?  Ha - suffer fools.  I certainly did the next day.  Eventually got a taxi back to Chook’s at about 3 or 4am, and slept on the couch.  Then - went back to Caro’n'Dom’s the next day - figuring I’d be just in time to miss the clean-up, but maybe in time for some delicious left-overs.  And as I’d taken some awesome stuff from the Farmer’s Market near my place - I was looking forward to some cheese, marinated garlic, etc.  But - by the time I got there, I was very much regretting my decision.  Certainly wasn’t up to eating much.  So instead watched a ‘quirky’ movie, and then slunk off home.

And then work for a week.  Drinks on Tuesday evening with some more visitors to these shores.  And then another weekend - this time with no invitations for fun OR merriment.  Until Sunday, when yum cha was proposed.  And accepted.  So - yum cha in Chinatown with Mel’n'Nicky-O, Mel’s cousin, a Canadian, & Caro’n'Dom.  Far too much delicious yum cha.  Followed by beers.  At which peking duck was mentioned - so back to Chinatown for far too much Beijing Kaoyo and hotpot.  And then home.  But, I wasn’t finished yet - dropped off at the local seedy pub.  And had the barmaid loudly state that her horoscope had said she’d meet the love of her life today.  It seemed that the timing and volume was specifically targetted at myself - so I hurriedly had a couple of pints and then ran off home to hide.

And that’s about it.  Except I have been told I made a mistake when I did that job down in Portsmouth - which has left egg on the face of me, my boss, my company, and the company I was pretending to work for.  So - I’ll wait until I know the consequences of that before telling the world whether or not I’m responsible.

Hi all,

I’ve got a new house.  I moved in over the last two weekends - but didn’t want to tell anyone in case it turned out to be another scam.  But, now I live there - and can proudly announce that I am a permanent resident of Clapham Road.

Some vague details:  I now dwell in Oval - of The Oval fame.  Yep - I live within 5 minutes walk of London’s second most famous cricket ground.  If my precedent of living 5 minutes from the MCG in Melbourne holds true - I will never actually step foot in The Oval.  I live with one other guy - a polish chap who’s been living in London for 8 years.  My highly-refined gay-dar sets off whenever he’s around - but I haven’t asked him if he actually is gay or not… I guess I’ll find out one day, one way or the other.  I’ve got a rather good sized room - big enough for bed, couch, entire wall of closet-space (insert your own gay joke - because I ain’t doing it for you), and a desk which also stretches for an entire wall.  Bored yet?  I also have a jacuzzi.  And a massive kitchen - bigger than most London flats in their entirety.

Anybody who’s interested in more details, such as the actual address - send me an email.  I have too many enemies (and creepy admirers) to post my actual address in the open.  (You know who you are).

Not much other news.  I’m slowly taking steps towards getting a motorcycle licence.  I’ve got so far as getting the form for swapping my NZ licence for a UK one thus far.

I don’t have a proper landline available at my new place, so international phone calls might become even more of a rarity.  Hopefully I’ll be getting a microphone for my laptop soon - and will be able to talk to the technologically-equipped of you via Skype or MSN.

The nice virus which infected this here webpage returned, it seems.  Or another, using the same loophole to get in.  I’ve deleted this one again - and will try to remember to check once a day.  Again - if you don’t have a decent anti-virus program installed, you’ve probably got several dozen viruses already, so what’s one more?  There’s no excuse to not having anti-virus in these days of free stuff.  Legal free stuff, even.  And - if your antivirus came up with a warning when you got to this page, let me know - and I’ll remove it as soon as possible.

Still looking for a place to live.  And have re-discovered the old saying - if it seems too good to be true, it probably is.  Finally got excited about an advertised apartment, and sent an email to the guy.  Replied “blah blah, had lots of people stuff me around, I have to come from Liverpool to show it to you, blah blah, can you prove you have enough money, blah blah”.  Kind of odd seeing as it was pretty cheap, but it sort of made sense.  So, I was clever, and thought “Ha - screenshot of my internet banking balance page”, and even more clever, with “Ha - I’ll open up a blank notepad window - and position it over my bank account number, seeing as this sounds a little sus.”  Sent that off, and didn’t hear back for a while.  I figured that yes, it was a con, trying to get my bank a/c details - or - he’s happy, and is waiting to arrange for when he can come down to let me know.  Next day, I get another email from Terry.  I liked Terry because of his name.  As you’ve probably already guessed, it’s very unlikely that Terry is his name.  This time, Terry wrote me an email which re-iterated “I have to come down from Liverpool, I’ve been stuffed around before, I need proof of funds” etc.  Did say that what I’d done didn’t prove to him that I had the money.  Odd.  Quite a few grammatical errors, even for an accountant.  And a random comment at the end about contacting his lawyer.  Alarm bells are certainly going off now.  So, a little bit of searching on the internet (Google is NOT a verb, by the way).  Sure enough, my search for “Gumtree scam flat” returns some results.  I read a story by some chap who found a flat on Gumtree (UK’s most popular classifieds type website thing) with his mates.  Talked (on phone) to landlord - who wanted proof they could afford it.  Had been mucked around by people not turning up for viewings, you see.  Lives in Belgium, or Scotland, or somewhere, you see.  So - suggests that they put enough money for the deposit and a months rent into a Western Union transfer.  Not to the landlord, but to a friend, or relative.  Just so the landlord (nice old lady) knows it is available.  Take a photo of the Western Union receipt - and email her that.  Nobody can get the money except the person who put it in (with the receipt), or the person it’s made out to - and even them, only with a certain secret number.  And they need to have proof of identity, etc.  Now, I can’t exactly remember the details, but I believe the ‘landlord’ tricked them into giving ‘her’ the ’secret number’.  Possibly it’s printed on the receipt?  And within one day, somebody turned up at a Western Union office with some forged ID documents, the appropriate number - and bang, 1800 pounds has gone.  A fool and his money.

 Anyway - I’m not a fool, well at least not in this kind of thing, and my money is intact.  And over the next couple of days, sure enough - I spot several more flats/apartments, all much cheaper than they should be.  Send a request for more info, and fairly quick responses.  “i have recently moved to a government job in france - and have to rent out my apartment but ive wasted lots of money flying over to show people the apartment - so would need proof that you can pay the cash”  from roonie.  “I own several apartments in the UK, and have had my time and money wasted by people who can’t afford them but want viewings, so give me all your cash…” etc etc. I briefly considered sending some e-vitriol, but decided against it.  Although - maybe I’ll save the email addresses for a rainy day.

Other than the scams, I’ve looked at two places.  Both very small - but do-able.  I’m currently re-considering the option of living with other people, and have made an appointment to look at a room in a house owned by a friend of Dom’s on Saturday.  A long way away from where I was looking, and with only the hated tube as a link to the rest of the world.  So - pretty much exactly the opposite of what I was looking for.  Walkable to work, or at a stretch - can catch an overground train, but definitely no tube.  Fail.  One bedroom flat.  Fail.  Central as possible.  Fail.  But - sounds like it’s got a garden, which is nice.  No swimming pool though, but we’ll see about that.  I was starting to look at slightly more expensive places in a big complex, which included a gym, sauna, and swimming pool.  So I’ve started to get used to the idea of having a swimming pool - and anybody who lets me into their house can expect some excavations soon after.

Drinking news.  last weekend was busy.  I had drinks with workmates on Thursday.  Highlight of that was the barman at the latino-themed bar noticing my Colombia wallet (No - I wasn’t deliberately flashing it around.  Really, I wasn’t.)  I gather he, and maybe his pretty latina colleague were Colombiano.  So, a conversation about that - them speaking in English, and me speaking Espanol, like a jerk.

Friday night - Laura’s 30th.  Chook’s flatmate Laura.  Bottles of champagne, and many beers.  Ended up with Laura hanging onto my arm, in order that she didn’t fall over.  Put her on a tube with Chook - and trusted that he’d be able to support her the rest of the way.  Maybe not a good thing, as he seemed keen on at least one more beer.  Still - can be fairly difficult to find a beer after 12 in this ridiculous town.

Saturday night - Alex’s 30th.  Nick’s (Little Nick) girlfriend Alex.  Beers, then cocktails, then goldfish bowls of cocktails.  Eventually managed to leave there, several hours after I intended.  Was tired when I got there, and waves of tiredness rolled throughout the night.  Seemed to coincide with the bowls of cocktails, actually.

And that’s it.

I’m well and truly back into the daily grind of working life.  Therefore, nothing much to report.  Not that anybody will be reading this anyway, as it seems that anybody looking at this website recently will have been quite pleased to notice it tried to give them a virus.  And those who didn’t notice that, well - you’ve probably actually got the virus.  But if that’s the case - it serves you right.  Who doesn’t have a virus checker nowadays?

Yes - seems somebody deemed my website worthy of hacking - and put a nasty little piece of code in one of my updates, directing people to another page which attempted to install a virus.  I’ve deleted the code - but I believe there may still be the page somewhere on my web server.  Haven’t found it yet - but should be harmless without the link to it.  Fun and games.

Other than that, like I said, ho-hum working life.  Get up earlier that I’d like, shower/dress, walk to the station, get in a giant metal snake with all the other sheep, get out at another cattle yard, walk to work, then sit at desk daydreaming about the days when I’d get up earlier than I’d like, dress, walk to the station, get in an antique bus driven by a lunatic, get out at a dirt road, walk around trying to find somewhere to sleep, then sit at a dingy bar surrounded by people speaking a foreign language.  And then the same process in reverse.  Every day.

Of course, once one thinks about this, one runs the danger of becoming one of those lunatics who fantasise about winning a lottery.  To circumvent the chance of me being a “when I win lotto/bingo/at-the-gee-gees” chump, I instead put my mind to thinking about crime.  A good solid well-planned white-collar heist is far more likely to get me rich enough to quit this working crap than some lottery.

But, enough of that.  Don’t want to give away too much.  Instead, we’ll talk about sheep - to keep the people who delight in telling boring trite “so-last-millenium” sheep jokes about New Zealanders.  Specifically - lamb.  Warning to vegetarians - I’m about to describe the delightful sensation of biting off, chewing, and swallowing the warm flesh of little fluffy lambs.  Because it is delightful.  Imagine eating brocolli - but if instead of being horrible, it was good.  Very very good.  I’ve eaten lamb about a dozen times in the last two weeks, in one guise or another.  Two weekends based around lamb roasts.  After the first - I made the comment that I wanted to go and kill every lamb in the world, so I could eat them all up.  But leave some breeders, I guess.  It was unanimously agreed as “The worst thing you’ve ever said that everybody agrees with”.  Lamb is yum.

And that’s about all from me.  Yes, it’s been a month - and yes, it’ll probably be another month before I write anything more.  But - working life is boring.  I could tell you about all the little things that happen during each working week - but frankly, I find them boring and trivial beyond belief - so even if I thought you might be interested for some reason, it doesn’t matter.  I flush them from my mind as soon as possible.  Which is why anytime somebody asks me “How was your day?”, or “How was work?”, or “How is your job going?” - I really don’t know.  So, next time you ask that - and I reply “Fine” - I actually mean “Haven’t got a clue.  Forgotten already.  Cleared my mind of that crap as soon as I hit open air.”

Although - I should find somewhere to live in the next month - so that might be noteworthy.  Then you can ask me how my place is, and I’ll respond “Fine”.

Yep - reliving my youth.  First - went back to university.  Had to work though - and it was during summer break, so no (or very few) young girls walking around.  Oh well.  Three days working for Brunel University - which just happens to be on the opposite side of London.  I think my new employers are testing my limits.  I was originally scheduled to be there for four days - but finished the job within one.  Decided to go back the second day, and do it again.  Then - the actual work got changed a little, and it stretched out to the third day - when I made a silly little mistake which cost another day.  Eventually finished late on the third day - hopefully keeping the client happy because it was cheaper than they thought - and keeping my company fairly happy - because I only stiffed them out of one day’s payment, not three.

And that set up Friday to be a half-day.  So, at lunchtime Friday - went and picked up a rental car, and had my first experience of driving through central London.  Good fun - especially navigating from a printed off Google Maps driving directions sheet.  And it turned out I had to pick the car up from a slightly different place - throwing my directions all out.  Managed to do it though - and got back to Stratford safely.  Packed the car with some stuff, and headed off North with Pen.  Now - we did pack the car with SOME stuff, just not all of the stuff we should have.  The tent - that’s one thing not packed.  We realised this after some time - but couldn’t be bothered going back.  So - drove up to Yorkshire, hoping that somebody would have a spare one, or we could buy one on the way.  All else fails - we’ve got a car, and a hammock.  But surely - everybody carries a spare tent with them?  Turns out - Caro&Dom do indeed.  And we discovered the best way of putting up a tent.  Forget yours - ask for a spare one, and it will be already put up for you when you arrive.  Sweet.

So - after several hours of driving, and listening to some sport called cricket - we arrived at Rough Beats 2008.  For those of you who don’t know what this is - it’s a music festival organised by Dom & family.  I gather the musicians play for free.  Most of the workers are volunteers.  All in all - a good atmosphere.  So, we got there Friday night - listened to a little music, and drank some quick beers to catch up with all of those who’d been there all day.  Watched Chook trying to be a barman - and then jumped over to help him when it got a little busy later on.  Worked the bar until closing, and then had chats with those left at the bar.  Went to sleep at dawn or so.

Next day was my big day.  My task for the weekend was to make and sell Bloody Marys.  Turned out we were going to do this from the main bar - so I got the key for that, and started setting up the bar.  And then, when the liquor licence kicked in - started selling booze again.  Bloody Marys went down a treat.  Stayed behind the bar all day, and then night fell.  Busy busy bar - as people started running out of whatever booze they’d brought themselves.  And then we started to run out.  Cidar went early in the day.  Then the beer brands started dropping off.  I started getting exhausted - mostly due to the fact I didn’t have enough time to be drinking myself, I believe.  Feet were killing me.  So - stocked the bar with everything I could find in the big fridge-trailer, and left Chook & Caro to deal with what looked like becoming the hardest part of the day.  People already drunk, demanding booze, while the booze is drying up.  I found some of my own beer in my tent - and put that behind the bar too.  Gone very very quickly.  Then I left - with the bar dry of beer, very very low on mixers, out of rum, out of tequila, and very busy.  I gather they were selling “your choice of spirit with apple juice” at the end, and then “your choice of straight spirit”.

Anyway - managed to get to bed about 1am I think.  About 12 hours actually behind the bar - with another couple of hours before/after doing oddjobs.  Pretty tired.  And then, of course, the sun decided to come out the next morning.  Why somebody doesn’t come up with a reflective tent - I don’t know.  Instead, tent manufacturers seem to be moving in on the oven industry.  I came up with the idea of an entire tent made of solar panels.  They can apparently print/spray solar panels onto any material now.  Tent automatically becomes cooler, plus you’d have a power point.  Probably rather bulky to pack up - but pretty cool.

Anyway - packed up Caro&Dom’s tent - and discovered a very long carving knife hidden underneath it.  Strange.  Then - headed to the local township, and had lunch at the local pub.  Lamb Henry for me - delicioso.  And then the rain came - just in time so that I didn’t feel too bad about leaving.  (I didn’t realise the music was on all day Sunday too.)  So - into the car, and headed back towards London.  Extremely tired - but listening to that sport again (I’m sure it’s called cricket) kept me awake, as my despair grew listening to our lacklustre team fall apart.  Never mind - I don’t even know what cricket is - rugby’s the only sport anybody’s interested in - and the right team won that over the weekend.

Got back to London on Sunday evening, with the help of sports radio, coffee, and my new work phone’s internet ability (I’d forgotten to get directions back home before leaving).  Beer, buffet, bath, bed.  And back to work, a broken wreck of a man.

 Oh - and I forgot to mention how Portsmouth was.  Well - that’s understandable.

I hate the tube.

My third day at work - I’m sent out to Stanmore for the day.  Well - supposed to be 2 days, but only took one.  Stanmore happens to be on the opposite side of London from where I live.  Awesome - a very long tube ride.  Luckily - I didn’t have to change trains.  Just got on the Jubilee - which starts at Stratford - and stayed on it right until the other end.  No chance of sleeping through my stop.  Still - had to catch the very first train of the day to make it on time.

And then, on Friday - I get told I’m to cover for a guy who’s going on holiday.  Starting after the weekend.  And the guy works on a client site based at Heathrow.  Just as far away as Stanmore.  And no direct line this time - awesome.  So all last week was spent working mostly alone in a windowless room, with a pair of nearly two-hour commutes bookending the day.  And this week starts with the same.  Only one more day of that though.  And then I’ve been sent even further afield.  Portsmouth for two days.  Portsmouth is on the seaside, which would be good.  Except it’s the English seaside - which doesn’t really count, apparently.

And in the boozin’ news…  met up with Randle on Thursday evening.  Which led to the wee hours of Friday morning - and just managing to catch the last tube home.  In time for a couple of hours sleep, and then the commute to Heathrow.  Yep - managed to sleep through my train-switch.  And the weekend - Sports Saturday.  Helped entertain Chook’s little ginga cousin with a sports day on Clapham Common.  Played some futbol, mini-cricket, frisbee, etc.  And then built a barbeque, and ate some burnt food.  Followed by a late-night game of Pictionary - which involvedA chaque fois les probabilités sont modifiés, et l’avantage du ????????salles de poker est plus ou moins important. lots of anger, and accusations of cheating.  To be fair, I was cheating continuously.  But - I was cheating to help every team equally, not just my own.  Eventually Chooks little ginga went to bed about 2am - which beat his previous record of bedtime, 11pm.  He was pretty pleased with himself, I gathered.

The tube is hot, sweaty, crowded, smelly, and full of the english.  I hate the tube.  And it looks like a snake.  I hate snakes.  I really really hate snakes.  Not happy about the results of my research into which snakes live in this country.

Well, I’ve got a job.  Didn’t want to say anything until I was sure - so waited until today - my second day at work.  Figured that if I still had my job today - after turning up for my first day ridiculously hungover - it’s pretty much a certainty.  Managed to make it a little not so certain though, by turning up late on my second day - due to bloody tube-trouble.

So… it all happened pretty bloody quickly.  Turns out the chaps could overlook my apparent over-seriousness.  Got offered the job on Thursday - for a Monday start.  Sweet - can do.  Bought champagne.  Then, had a social weekend.  Saturday afternoon a few beers at the pub while watching some football game.  Some cup final - but it must have been a shitty cup, coz it was too shitty teams.  Then - off to Chook’s for a party.  Mixed my drinks up real good, and got intoxicated.  Mostly champagne.  And then up in the morning to go to Dom’n'Caro’s for a barbeque.  I turned into an absolute mess on the way there.  Lack of sleep, plus a fair bit of booze piled up on top of what was still lurking in my system from last night… and I was a messy mess.  Don’t think I did or said anything too silly.  Except staying a bit longer than sensible.  So - got back to Stratford, Sunday evening - unable to unlock the front door.  12 hours to get myself together for first day at work.

 12 hours - not really enough.  Turned up at 10:30, barely able to think, talk, or stay awake.  And the fun begins.

 Anyway - details for my job.  Not gonna give you any, cause it’s all boring.  A small company which is a ’managed service provider’, which of course does consultancy as well.  So - what one used to call an IT outsourcing company - before that became a bad word.  I do like wanky business jargon.  When a “silo of knowledge” is bad, but a “tower of excellence” is good.  I guess I’m going to have to learn all the terms which have been invented over the last year.  I’ve already picked up “bespoke”.  Not happy about it, but I know it.

Oh well - back to work.  Need to get some money so I can get a place to stay much much closer.  No more tube.

Still unemployed.  My busy week of interviews led to just the one offer - which I turned down.  Work with an arsetralian?  I don’t think so.  Unfortunately, after turning this one down - the job I wanted turned me down.  D’oh.  And my delaying of making a decision for the second role outside of London may have put them off - and I haven’t heard back for a while.  But - yesterday, managed to organise a phone interview.  Did the phone interview, and it seemed to go fine.  No nerd questions - the guy just wanted to get to know me, I gathered.  Lots of questions about my travels - which, of course, I was only too happy to answer.  He did complain about me seeming too serious though.  (Pause while you get yourselves back together.)  Anyway - had a call from the agent about an hour later asking if I could do a 2nd phone interview - for nerdy questions - in ten minutes time.  Sure - did that.  That ended in organising a face-to-face interview for noon the next day.  Sweet - going well.  Except that the agent had mentioned to me that a face-to-face interview with these guys usually ends with an invitation for a beer.  Sure - no problem with that, bloody excellent in fact.  But - noon timeslot, I suddenly realised I might be missing out on the beer.  Dumb.  As most of you know, my charming true self usually only shows itself in a pub environment.  Sure enough, I went to the face-to-face today - and left them with an impression of a very serious-minded boring nerd.  One of the chaps kept accusing me of being too serious - but perhaps the english wit is too dry for me.  I should have exchanged my continuous wry smiles/smirks for some fist-pumping “Awesome!  Yeah!” - to convince him that I was ‘excited by the role/company’ - as he wanted me to be.  Anyway - the job did sound awesome, “Yeah!” - and I hope that they trusted my dead-pan assertions that I am not really that serious or boring.

In other news - it seems like I may be allergic to London water.  Or something.  Seriously - it is a real possibility that it is the water here.  Awesome!  Yeah!  Without going into disgusting details - I have self-diagnosed a rare form of eczema on my left foot.  Luckily for those I live with - non-contagious.  Luckily for me - “can cause extreme stress and pain”.  Awesome!  Yeah!  And everything irritates it.

And, my shopping list of stuff to buy once I get a job is steadily growing.  The normal stuff, of course - champagne, icecream, pay off visa, Aotearoa music.  But the electronics/appliances list is getting out of hand.  Ran out of disk space for all the music that was released while I was away.  So - also got a growing list of music to download, on top of the CDs I’ll be ordering from Real Groovy.  Need some kind of monster external hard drive for that.  A sewing machine - as it is high time I made myself another suit.  Blender - for fruit juices.  Motorbike with sidecar, or a convertible.  Some yerba mate - so I can look like a wanker who’s recently travelled (extensively) throughout South America.  Oh - and a place to live.  Did I mention champagne - I’m gonna drink a helluva lot of champagne.

Well - that’s me for now.  Was hoping to receive a phone call tonight asking me to start work tomorrow.  But, it seems my inability to show excitement has sunk me yet again.  No matter - I’ve got an agent chasing me for a job in Dubai.  Just as long as it comes with a licence to buy booze.

Still lookin’ for a job.  Made a graph of my spreadsheet which tracks which jobs I’ve applied for.  The week beginning 14 April - I applied for, or was contacted for, 25 jobs.  Last week - just the 20.  But, that peak in the previous week paid dividends.  Last week, booked myself four interviews.  Two in person, two phone.  The two phone interviews went well enough for me to be contacted within the day to organise proper interviews.  And all of the proper interviews seem to have gone reasonably well.  The first one - I haven’t heard back.  The other three - all seem keen.  Waiting for my agent to get back to me about one that’s involving music - but I may have offended them by citing a different salary expectation than the one my agent told them I wanted.  Did the same thing at an interview yesterday - but they wanted me to do one of those personality tests yesterday.  You know the ones - they think they can read your personality from a set of 40 or so multiple choice questions.  Good luck - I’m complicated like an onion.  And the other interview I had - they seem keen, but are scared I’m going to take off in 12 or 18 months to go a-travellin’ again.  Everybody here seems scared of that - my CV with a couple of big gaps in it, plus my last few jobs being for short periods of time (in UK terms)… gives people the fear.  They don’t seem to understand that from NZ - if you travel, it has to be done in a big chunk to make the airfare worthwhile.  Whereas while I’m here - I can achieve the same thing with extended weekend trips over into Europe.  Sort of.

Anyway - that’s how the job search is going.  Mostly.  Also hoping to hear back from some other jobs and stuff that people are talking to me about - but they’d better hurry.  In other news - same old.  Got no money, so can’t do nothing.  Although there was a sunny day here on Saturday.  And I discovered what that means to the London populace.  Any other plans were forgotten - as everybody stopped to enjoy the magic yellow ball of fire.  I went and had some drinks with Chook & Nicky-John.  Justin came along for a little while, as did Martin.  Afternoon in the sun was followed by a night out in Clapham.  And then a night at Chook’s mansion.  Breakfast at a cafe - although the weather was back to normal.  And then bought Sweet & Sour.  Chook’s new pair o’ goldfish.  Followed by some board games - and me losing on purpose so I’d be in time to catch the tube back to Stratford - and hopefully have enough sleep to catch up on the weekend, before getting up at 5am to catch trains out to remote places for interviews.  Turns out I should have allowed for a little more sleep.  I assume nobody saw me nodding off in the waiting room though - as they still seem keen to hire me.   All day on Monday travelling around the countryside for interviews - the only topic people were discussing was that it had been sunny on Saturday.  I’m starting to guess that all the english joking that summer is “a couple of days, usually sometime in June” might not have been too much of an exaggeration.

Is there anything that looks quite as pathetic as a broken wheelbarrow? Whether it’s missing it’s wheel, or a handle, or a leg, or the entire ‘barrow’ - it just looks sad. I’ve never hugged a wheelbarrow - but I felt an overwhelming urge to hug the one I saw out the window today - all upside-down and missing a wheel. I fought off the urge.

I’m kind of feeling like a broken wheelbarrow at the moment. Had my first face-to-face job interview during the week - followed a couple of days later by my first real rejection. My previous rejection didn’t count - as it was for a team leader job. This was actually a job I would have been good at. But I failed. Oh well. Got another phone interview on Monday - for the world’s largest online bingo company. Oh yeah.

Also applied for a job for a ‘household name in sporting entertainment’. The only group I can think of which describes itself as “sporting entertainment” is professional wrestling. I’d be pretty happy if I could tell people I worked for online bingo, or for pro-wrestling. And imagine the perks/discounts accompanying either!

In other news - Pen has gone to NZ. So - if you’re in NZ, then you’ll either be seeing her soon, or you can assume that she doesn’t like you.

And yesterday there was a barbecue at Setal’s place. A barbecue in England - yeah… good luck. Cooking in the rain, small flat packed full of people. But… lots of food, some drinks, chit-chat, and an ‘enry.

And that’s about it. But remember - $1 a week to you is just a can of crap soft drink. To a broken wheelbarrow - it could be a new life.

So now I’m thirty-something. But, I will NEVER be ‘A Thirty-Something’. I’ll wait until I’m forty before I start talking about my house renovations, and how little Suze and/or Cruz are this much ahead of their age average at such-and-such, and how much I love the new line from some goddamn furniture store.

Anyway - it’s been a while since Paddy’s Day. Since then, I’ve been housesitting, pretty much. And didn’t realise I’d been given the wrong keys until Dom&Caro were long gone. So, I resigned myself to not leaving the house for a week. Big change, right? Luckily I’d been given the thumbs up to the well-stocked liquor cabinet, and a couple of trays of beer. And a cat to keep me company. The main problem was going to be if I was offered a job interview. I tried to figure out a way of leaving the house without leaving it unlocked - but couldn’t. I had the key for the back door - but the back yard fence was topped with some daunting barbed wire. Closest I got was possibly asking Pen to take time off work to sit in the house while I was out. Which I actually did on the second night, while I went grocery shopping. And while I was gone, she found some keys that were the right ones. My own search had been shown up as piss-poor. But, now I had the ability to go out’n'about. Unfortunately, I’d already accepted my fate as being trapped indoors - and despite being given the key to outside (so to speak), I did not take the offer. So, a week of television, beer, and a friendly cat. During which I turned thirty-something. And celebrated by eating left-overs for breakfast and lunch, drinking beer, and making a lancashire hotpot with NZ lamb chops.

And then Saturday came, so I fed the cat his daily due, and came home - in order to serve bloody marys to people during an afternoon-tea type ‘do’ for Pen’s birthday. (She’s now thirty, wrinkly, forgetful, has blue-rinse hair, and has put her hip out three times already. Did I mention incontinent?) So - a full day of bloody marys, wine, snacks, etc. Justin educated us all on Hannibal of Carthage, I did my spiel on scientology, and Pen got drunk enough to think that giving our bedroom to everybody else would be a good idea so that we could stay up all night watching action movies. I talked her out of that.

And now it is today. A fairly large mission to clean up the place, considering it was supposed to be a civilised tea-party. And now that is done, I’ve got myself a bottle of slightly-delicious “slightly sparkling perry”. Named Lambrini, with 7.5% booze. And considering watching some 70’s B-grade action, starring David Carradine & Sylvester Stallone. Before it gets ruined in a 2008 remake starring Jason stinkin’ Statham.

Oh - and I’ve decided that a birthday is the proper time to make new year slightly-resolutions. A slightly resolution is a resolution which isn’t statutory - but merely “try to do more of”. Mine for this year:

- go commando

- drink water

- eat breakfast

Yes yes, I know that the catholic church moved it this year. But when was the last time I listened to them? So… despite expecting some phone calls regarding a couple of very promising jobs - I’ve decided to celebrate St Paddy’s Day. Not sure if I should turn my phone off, or trust myself to answer appropriately. I seem to be going down the path of making that decision when it’s too late.

10:00 - after a breakfast of Guinness, I go to the supermarket. No boxes of Guinness left, so I am forced to purchase a tray. Along with the ingredients for irish stew. I also spend a very long time trying to find cans of irish stew, but end up with very sore arms from holding a tray of beer, and a couple of cans of “Highlander’s Broth” - with a description remarkably similar to irish stew. I suspect the english did the same thing to irish stew as the seppos did to french fries.

11:00 - get home, and take a couple of photos of my preparations for the day. Coffee table filled with Guinness, potatoes, ingredients for irish stew (including potatoes), Oscar Wilde’s Complete Short Fiction, and more potatoes. Start to drink more Guinness.

13:00 - 5 down. Hayden reckoned he was going to attempt a shot at his family record, or some such. Twenty-two, I believe. He’s actually got oirish ancestry, apparently - although I would have thought an irishman could do at least dirty-tree. Me - I’m just drinking coz I got nothing else to do. Oh, and joining with our fellow ‘colony’ oppressed by the evil english overlords. Especially after the bastards beat us at the Basin.

Hello especially to everybody at Finn McCool’s.

15:30 - 8 down, feeling fine. After considering the options, a decision was made that a Guinness is NOT a meal in itself, and some Highlanders Broth was had. Oscar Wilde confirms my initial impressions of being a less sarky version of Saki. (sarky - sarcastic, Saki - an author (pen-name), not the booze)

18:00 - starting to cook some irish stew for the old lady. Should probably try to compensate for the possibility that I may be rather intoxicated when she arrives home. A drunken attempt at cooking should do that. High risk, I admit. Especially with a gas oven, and fairly sharp knives. But, everything’s fine so far. Except my lining up a play-list of all oirish music - which I will listen to at random, even as Boyzone comes on (as Ronan is telling me, No Matter What). Why oh why didn’t St Patrick do something about Ronan and Bono? If there was a god, he’d let Paddy come back and have another go. 11 Guinness down by the way - starting to suspect my purchase of two doz was rather optimistic.

20:00 - Pen got home early. So I got caught drinkin’ me booze. Oops. Irish stew turns out remarkably well for being made by a chap who’s had 15 Guinnesses at this point. The late addition of kumara to make it kiwi irish stew nearly ruined thanksgiving - but all is well at the end. Pen demands television with dinner - so I managed to find some Black Books for our viewing pleasure. A welcome relief from Bono telling me how to live my life, and Ronan telling me how life is a rollercoaster.

22:30 - as expected, it’s not the chap who’s now got 17 Guiness in his belly, but the Old Lady who is the first to tip over the empty cans. And yes, it is a bit poseurish to set them all up together while I’m drinking it, but then again - what am I if not a poseur. A poseur who can back that shit up. And for the purposes of photos - for my old friends back in Quito - I do like to show off that I’ve got Guinness. And leftover irish stew. Hayden, if you read this before I can find you, gimme a call, eh?

11:59 -Well, the ‘day’ is nearly over. I’ve drunk lots of Guinness; I’ve eaten/drunk/cooked/brewed a fair bit of irish stew; I’ve talked to people in Quito - and cried like a little girl; I’ve tried to talk to people in Aotearoa, and failed like a little girl. Now I’m going to finish my Guiness. It would probably be best if I gave up like a little girl. But.

02:30 -Finally talked to Hayden. Sounded sober and back in control of the farm, not much time for drunken international phonecalls. Fairnuff. Several attempts at talking to Quito - foiled each time. Closest I got was talking to some guy (seppo, maybe canadiot?) - who went to find Ursula or Lee. And then I heard Ally find the phone unhooked, so she hung it up. Foiled. Earlier though - had managed in different calls to talk to Ursula, and Ally. Each time - tears in eyes. Possibly the first time I’ve ever felt homesick is when I left Finn’s. And I’m from Aotearoa - so that’s pretty bloody cool.

Ah - the Gonzo thing. Well, 22 beers down. Am feeling rather drunk - got to the point where I have to re-read things I’ve typed. And doubt my own judgement. But I’d still trust myself to mastermind an assassination attempt against Bono - just to solve the Troubles. Sure - just for that.

03:00 - I think I might be drunk. Clumsy fingers.

03:10 - Yep, a man has to admit when he’s drunk. And drunk I am. Another two Guinesses would be foolishness. So - I’m figuring that after this one, it’s all over. It’ll have been 23 Guinnesses, 9 unanswered calls to Quito, 10 unanswered calls to Reporoa, and 1 unanswered question.

03:50 - Right, I’m off.  Had a chat to Heather back at home.   Tears in the eyes while checking up on my god-daughter and might-as-well-be-god-daughter.  So what?  Got tears in the eyes - that’s gonzo.  And that’s time for the night to finish.  4am - 23 Guiness down, and luckily(?) no calls from job-people.

My fortune cookie told me “Your kindred spirit is vodka.” That works on SO many levels. And proves booze is my destiny.

Got boozed up on Saturday night. Pot-luck dinner at James’ place. Pen got boozed too. I considered hinting to her rather early on that maybe she should cut back - but figured it was already too late for that to go any way other than badly. Lose-lose situation really. Oh well - at least she didn’t do anything silly until we’d left James’ place - and couldn’t remember anything in the morning. Myself - had a hangover. Anytime I mix drinks nowadays, it’s badness. Even mixing red wine and white wine. And, I suspect, just different bottles of wine within one colour. I see a New Year’s resolution forming for next year. Along with some others - which I’m considering implementing as Mid Year’s Resolutions…

- Start using a spoon as much as possible, instead of a fork.

- Drink only one type of booze each night.

- One word: Commando.

- Eat breakfast.

And others I can’t remember just now.

Job hunt is still exactly that. Had my first interview last week - via telephone. Got the “no” phone call the next day. Fair enough - it was for a team lead position, and my general dislike of any person who isn’t me might hinder my ability to do that role well. Otherwise - it would’ve been great. In Scotland, at a university. A university which has Nursing as one of it’s three main faculties. (Yes - it’s one of those establishments which has taken advantage of the extreme relaxing of the rules as to what can be called a university.)

So - have spent most of my time making my way through the bookshelf. About to start some Oscar Wilde. Anyone with so many great quotes mustn’t be too bad. I guess I’ll have to try James Joyce at some point - although any book which has a ‘guide’ to accompany and explain it - sounds like hard work.

Anyway - must get back to all the things I have to do. Reading books, thinking of things to research on the internet (went through the history of the Irish ‘Troubles’ last week), and expanding my cuilinary repertoire.  Oh - and after finally repairing my photo album thing, I’ve had to completely restock it.  So - the link to Photos should now work, and I am part way through repopulating the sucka with photos.  Far too much work to do all the captions and what-not.  But, once I’ve uploaded all the photos, and I’ve run out of other projects - that’ll be on the list.

So, still unemployed. And another weekend out and about. Mike’s birthday - so some wine and such at a little wine bar. Then, watched England beat France at a local bar. Infuriating. Met some nice local folk though - and to be fair, England deserved the win. Read some newspaper man write an article saying that if it takes two awful performances to provide one good one, then the upside is that they will beat NZ in Auckland. If so - I hope I’m still unemployed.

Anyway - after this - Dom took us to another bar. Turned out to be full of actors/actresses. Aspiring, of course. But you know how these folk are, they actually believe they really are actors/actresses. After a little while, I got bored - and decided to have some fun. Didn’t take me long. Within one minute, I had a group of folk hanging off my every word. All I did was mention that I was from New Zealand, newly arrived, with a ‘new project’ in mind. ‘Looking for some local talent’. All very vaguely. Far too easy. Suddenly I realised an unforeseen side-effect - free drinks. Got pretty tired of the constant sucking-up though - and by that time it was just Mike & I remaining. I decided on one more suggestion, to show my power over them to Mike. Got a James Dean lookalike to ask the piano player to sing Happy Birthday for Mike. Done. James Dean had asked me to promise many times that I wouldn’t leave without getting his details. He must have been gutted when Mike & I snuck away.

Then - I trusted Mike with getting home. Silly. He couldn’t focus enough to read the bus maps. So - we got on a random one. Silliness ensues. Eventually we got off somewhere, and got a taxi. And then Mike went to play football. Badly, by the sounds of it. And that was last weekend.

This weekend - nothing so exciting. Could have gone to the Sicilian bar. I got an SMS message during the week - asking who ‘Kruse’ was, and why I was in this chap’s cellphone contacts. I figured it must be either the kiwi we met a couple of weeks back, or the chap I sat at the bar with the weekend previous. After a little while we figured it was the latter. I believe the chap was a little gutted that ‘Kruse’ didn’t turn out to be female. He let me know that he was going to be at the same bar last night anyway - but I stayed in for an exciting night of nothing.

Oh - caught up with an old friend from high school on Thursday also. Did the normal thing of comparing which other people we’d seen since school. Luckily Pen wasn’t there, or else she’d have used it as justification for her doing similar every time she’s in the same room as a fellow Palmy Girls’ alumni. Our chat only lasted one hour or so though.

Still unemployed.  But, to break up the routine, had another large weekend.  Just proving to these locals that the myth of “it’s impossible to do an all-nighter in London” is just that… a myth.  This time, Friday evening, it was Cazz’s leaving drinks.  Drinks, and then dinner.  At the same chinese restaurant as the previous weekend.  Maybe the food there is to blame.  And then, a couple of drinks at the pretend-dodgy italian bar.  Maybe the drinks there are to blame.  In any case - myself, Chook, and John&Mel had a few beers at the Italian bar.  And then everybody started falling asleep - so we headed towards buses.  John & Mel took off, just as Chook found a second wind.

So, we found a casino.  And I got a nice little membership card claiming that I’m a gambler.  Little did they know that it was all a trick, and I’m just a drinker.  So - Chook & I sat at the bar for some time having various drinks.  Then we met some kiwi chap, and went to breakfast with him.  Back to his house for a couple of beers - and then Chook started falling asleep again.  And the kiwi bloke was on the phone to his girlfriend.  Not sure if she was too happy about it - seeing as it was 6 or 7am.  So - everybody headed their different ways.  Me - I managed to get a bus or train or something back home - and arrived just in time to fall asleep as people were awaking.

Couple of hours sleep - and then I was up to help entertain James Littlejohn visiting us.  Chit-chat, and what-not, dinner, drinks, and all that.  Eventually - an attempt at getting proper sleep.

That was nearly a week ago, I guess.  And nothing has happened since then.  I’ve found heaps of things I want to buy.  But I haven’t found heaps of jobs to help me pay for the things.  So - I’m just steadily piling up a list of stuff to buy when I have cash.

Still no job.  So still no money.  So - opted out of the actual pub crawl on the Saturday following Waitangi Day.  But - still had a remarkable day.  And a remarkable night.

For those who don’t know about the London (not-quite) Waitangi Day Pub Crawl - here’s the basics.  There’s an underground line called the Circle Line.  It’s a circle.  Around the centre of London.  About 26 or 27 stops in all.  So, one has a drink at each one.  Traditionally - one starts at Paddington, in order to arrive at Westminster at about 4pm.  And, at Westminster, outside the Parliament - hundreds of drunk kiwi blokes get their tops off - displaying what the English have done to them.  Given us pasty white skin - just like theirs.  The bastards.  So in response, the hundreds of drunk kiwi blokes perform a haka, while thousands more drunk kiwis watch and cheer.

Now - it is illegal for any kind of mass gathering in this square.  But, as a sign of how beloved us kiwis are, and how well behaved we are when on the old binge drink (hmmm, perhaps out of fear then) - this event is permitted.  Not sure how long this will last, however - as the younger generations come through - and show less and less respect.

Oh - and there are some technicality-type rules with the pub crawl.  The Jubilee line runs parallel to the Circle for a lot of the way, and in some stations - the two lines use the same station.  The Jubilee train is considered to be the height of evil.  The train itself is boo-ed when it arrives at the station, and any kiwi silly enough to save some time by catching one is likely to be lynched at the next pub.  Also - while on the actual train - it is forbidden to sit down, or to support yourself in any way.  One must rely solely on your drunken swaying to counteract the swaying of the train.  And, seemingly contradictory to all the other rules - supreme respect and politeness must be used towards any local folk unfortunate enough to be using the underground on that particular day.

So - me being poor, and others in our circle-o’-friends being grown-up… we decided on a nice lunch in town, followed by watching the events at Westminster.  Two blocks away, it’s pretty obvious we’re on the right track.  Groups of people here and there wearing All Blacks and/or Black Caps paraphenalia, NZ flags, beer merchandise, and all sorts of other Aotearoa-themed stuff.  And then we get to the square - which is pure madness.  Literally thousands of drunken kiwis.  Awesome.  I spot a tree, and proceed to climb it.  Help a couple of other chaps up - but they don’t last long.  Now to me, climbing the tree seemed a blindingly obvious option to overlook the massive crowd.  But I was having photos taken of me by all manner of strangers, being pointed out to people’s friends as they walked past - and generally garnering all sorts of attention.  Odd.  Anyway, Mike joined me after a little while, and tied a flag to one of the higher branches.  Still there a couple of days later, according to a ginga spy.

So - I just watched the crowd for an hour or so.  Brought tears to my eyes, it did.  A few thousand drunken kiwis, all dressed to make the fact obvious - and the worst thing happening was a bit of littering.  Well - quite a lot of littering.  And people constantly trying to climb the lampposts.  In fact it seemed that instead of a haka this year, the objective was for everybody to climb to the top of a lamppost.  Each time - huge cheering would erupt.  Followed by huge boo-ing if the chap didn’t make it up.  And I never saw a mass haka.  Just a few impromtu ones in small clusters amongst the crowd.  And an impromptu game of rugby in the middle of the crowd.

Anyway - after this, it was onwards for some more drinks.  We let the scotsman take charge.  And ended up at a bar attached to an art gallery.  But with no art we could see.  And then dinner - where I decided I should take charge.  Ordered all sorts of chinese food - and was a huge success.  Moral - scotsman are worse than kiwis.  Then - giving the scotsman a second chance, we let him lead us to a pub.

Supposedly illegal and run by gangsters.  And, at first appearances - it seemed so.  Being rather a cynic, I wasn’t sure.  But, also being a coward, I took care not to offend anybody.  Especially anybody who said they were sicilian.  And, the first chap I got to chatting to, said he was half-french, half-sicilian.  And had been seemingly giving the hard word to the barman out back in private when I interrupted him.  Oh well, got onto good terms with him - and the nice man bought me a couple of drinks.   Listened to some chap sing songs for a while, and heckled him a little.  He was from Suffolk, and therefore not to be feared.  Then, everybody left.  I’d stayed when Pen left - as the scotsman reckoned he’d be here until closing.  But, he left soon after.  Moral - don’t trust scotsmen.

So, I stayed by myself.  I’d heard tales of this bar staying open well past the legal limit.  I have heard, however, that this midnight or 11pm closing thing is actually a myth nowadays - and there are places which stay open to proper hours.  And therefore, I suspect that this place (The Hideout - with all sorts of ‘gangster’ stuff on the walls) was far more legit than it made itself out to be.  However, at one point (I suspect their actual legal closing time) - the doors were closed.  And another shut-in ensued.  Chatting with all sorts of folk.  Despite the fact that I was wearing a sarong and Colombian handbag - I seemed to go down fairly well.  Perhaps the All Blacks top and jandals exuded enough masculinity to cover for the others.  So anyway, I had many more drinks purchased for me - and I got remarkably drunk. Met many sicilian folks - some of which I was most careful to not offend.  Most of the people looked and acted like they wanted to be gangsters, but weren’t - but there were a few who were either good actors, or goodfellas.

So - I staggered out of the pub at some silly hour.  And no idea how to get home.  I think I asked somebody which bus to take, but can’t remember if I got an answer.  If I did, it was either not helpful, or I forgot it minutes later.  After some fun&games and what-not, I managed to make it to a tube station in time for the first train of the day.  But the trains weren’t running on the way I wanted.  So I slurred questions at some nice lady - and she told me how to get home.  So - I got on some overland train, and took that all the way to Stratford.  While some young hooligan types came and sat near me.  I tried to make friends - but they seemed to take instant offence.  So, there was banter - and I kept trying to make small talk while they kept staring at me with suspicion and hostility.  Except the one who was passed out.

Made it home at 9am or so, but without my key.  Skye was already awake, I think - so luckily nobody had to deal with me after being woken up.  I was an absolute mess.

And that was my weekend.  Since then, I still haven’t got a job.  I have, however, convinced the IRD that I don’t owe them a few thousand dollars for income tax.  Which has brought the amount of money I do owe them (and was due last week) down to 4 figures.  Awesome.

Not quite sick OF London.  But sick in London.  I’ve finally succumbed to the sickness which everybody promised me I’d get.  A cold, or the flu, or something.

London is cold.  London is big.  London is not as dirty as I’d been told.  But, it should be, as London has no bloody rubbish bins.  London is paranoid about terrorism.  So, I assume, the thinking is that no bins means no spots to dump a bomb.

But, other happenings.  They consist of me spending more time sitting at home waiting for phone calls and emails regarding jobs.  Usually getting one or two a day - but very rarely any follow-ups.

And, played squash on Sunday with Mike & Chook.  I was spectacularly awful at the beginning, but gradually improved to merely bad by the end of it.  I think once I learn how to serve, I might be able to end with a respectable score.  Not sure if that’d be worth the excruciating pain I was in for the next two days however.

Again - missed lots of birthdays this month.  Suffice to say that I did know they were happening, but not easy to do much about it.  So - happy birthday to all the Aquariuses.

Pie & pint last night with several of the folk from Aotearoa.  In honour of Waitangi Day.  And Chinese New Year’s Eve.  Unfortunately, still have not found a decent pie here.  My theory is that the English are great at thinking up things - excellent things - but then can’t actually do it any good themselves.  Football (not an excellent thing, but a thing), cricket, rugby, pies, fish’n'chips, etc.  I have to admit that they’re awlright at some things though - I’m guessing things that they didn’t invent.  Music, concerts, beer.  Maybe others.

This weekend - maybe make a cameo appearance at the Waitangi Day pub crawl.  Not too interested in it to be honest, and may be rather sick by then - but a good excuse to spend another day with all the tangata whenua.  Plans for a hangi haven’t really come to fruition - so instead maybe some kind of NZ-themed lunch in town, and then watch/help a couple thousand drunken kiwis attempt a haka.  Not really great timing, however, considering the latest cricket scores.