Author: Kruse

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.