Travel

Champs

Kruse Leave a comment

A week of no gigs.  That was a good time.  Relaxing, a night of the old binge-drink, a weekend of rugby semi-finals, and just a good ol’ time.  But that was then, now we’re in the dark days.  Five weeks of no more respite than two days off at any time.

It started with Band of Skulls – some straight-talking no-nonsense garage rock.  In a venue which is more commonly used as a gay nightclub.  So yeah – walking into an underground cavern, with posters advertising all sorts of half-naked men oiled up, and the X-Factor rejects for some reason – to watch some strut-rock was kind of odd.  And then standing in a mob trying to get to the bar – with people complaining about service, and trying to push in front of each other like some crazed junkies, was great.  An annoying woman next to me constantly talking to me, assuring me that she’d make sure I was served straight after her (despite joining the mob after me) – and then haranguing the barman (while I tried as hard as I could to distance myself from her).  Ahhh – my faith in humanity, if not completely lost a long time ago, died a little bit that night.  Anyway – the gig.  Firstly I thought the sound was crap – but then I walked out from under the mezzanine, into the main area – and everything sounded much much better.  The band wasn’t particularly charismatic or anything – they just did the job.  Stand there, play some songs, and make some clumsy efforts at showmanship.

And soon thereafter, the weekend.  Which consisted of getting up very early on Saturday morning – walking to Kings Cross/St Pancras, and catching a train over to France.  For if I can’t be in New Zealand for a NZ-vs-France Rugby World Cup Final – where better than in France?  Got into Lille at about midday – perfect for a leisurely stroll into town, find my hotel to check-in and drop off my very small daypack, and then a wander around town.  Had some mussels marmite – and soon discovered that “marmite” seems to refer to the pot, and that I wasn’t actually getting mussels cooked in malty tar.  Wandered about some more – researching likely spots to watch the rugby the following morning, sightseeing, and shopping.    I discovered a fashion label named “Eden Park” – complete with NZ flag, a rugby ball motif, and the number 10 emblazoned on most items.  I was tempted to buy the shoes (the first items I saw) – but they were bad shoes.  Eventually, when I discovered what seemed like the French Harrods – I discovered the whole Eden Park range – and bought some gloves.  Refrained from the jeans, with their trademark back pocket detailing taking the form of half an oval – remiscent of a rugby ball perhaps.  Crazy frenchies.  Did my normal “wander around for an hour unable to decide on a restaurant” – before finally selecting an expensive seafood joint, and ordered the “little of everything the chef wants to give you” option, and a bottle of red wine – just to show them I can be unconventional too.

The next morning – I awoke, and ignored all my research of the previous day – instead walking for a while, into previously unexplored area – searching for “the bar district”.  Which I quickly found, like a messenger pigeon returning home.  And then, walking past several big showy bars – I spotted a television screen through a small grimy window, of a small grimy bar.  Sold.  I entered a small dark and dingy room, with a handful of barstaff looking at me in surprise, and one or two obvious ‘locals’.  I took a pew at the bar, had a coffee, and waited for the game to start.  One barmaid loved the All Blacks shirt – and decided to support the All Blacks then and there.  Unfortunately, she seemed to only be there to set up for the day, and then left – leaving me alone in a slowly growing crowd of French.  By the time the game started, the pub had laid out a free breakfast (french bread, coarse pate, brie, ham, etc – not bad fare), and the pub was full of Les Bleus supporters, with quite the festive atmosphere.  I got a few curious glances, but nothing more.  And I think any New Zealander knows how nervous I was at that moment – I was downing pints of beer at a furious rate, unable to help myself.  The haka, the French counter to it (which I loved, and brought massive cheers from the locals) – and then the game itself.  Well – we all know how that went.  The head in hands when Cruden fell on the ground.  A couple of stifled cheers from some of the less well-mannered Frenchies came with that, but then the majority of them applauded in the right spirit when he left the field.  Overall, it was quite a good crowd – much like most crowds, generally a good bunch, with a couple of dicks who do things like cheering an injury, or booing when an opponent is lining up a kick.  Half-time, and I sensed that mood of the crowd had changed from “let’s go watch the All Blacks win, festival-type atmosphere” – to, “hell, we’ve got a chance to win this, and win the World Cup”.  And of course, my own feeling mirroring that, going from “yeah, let’s watch us win while in France, that’ll be a laugh” – to, “Oh no, not again, not again, no no no”.  And the last ten minutes – with everybody white-knuckled, just willing somebody to drop the ball, or hold onto the ball, or anything, just don’t lose this bloody thing.  The only way I can find to describe that whole hour – from the start of the 2nd half through to 20 minutes after the match – is through cliches.  Relief.  Monkey off the back.  They may be cliches, but they are just so apt.  Or to point you to a forum on The Silver Fern – which, along with the comments afterwards, I read yesterday – with something approaching a tear in the eye.  And then I watched a video which a comment pointed to – and yeah, that tear became fully fledged.  I don’t think anybody but a New Zealander will understand quite I mean – or why “just a game” could mean so much. More cliches are needed really – rugby’s embedded in the country’s psyche, it’s our national obsession, etc etc.  I’d always thought of them as empty meaningless cliches, too simplistic to really be true.  But, even though it’s depressing to admit, they’re true.  But that’s not as important as it used to be.  Because we did it – we knocked the bugger off.  We can watch the All Blacks again, with the attitude of it being a pleasurable distraction, not with a desperate need to win a trophy.  And soon, we can look forward to 2015, when we become the first team to defend the championship, the first team to win it 3 times, the true Champions.  Or not – we can lose, and we’ll shrug, without that devastating heartbreak of 2003 & 2007.  Maybe.  And I think the average New Zealander will be a nicer person now, without all that angst.  The only dark lining to this silver cup, is that the country is almost certain to be governed by the actual eye-gougers, the real dirty players, the actual Bleus Terribles with aspirations for nuclear power in New Zealand waters, for another three years.

Anyway – that was a lot of words to describe a game of rugby, coming from somebody who has traditionally shunned such things.  So onwards, with only a small (well, not really so small) portion of myself wallowing in the glory of 4.5 kilograms of gilded silver.  I eventually left the pub, once I felt comfortable that I could walk without falling to my knees with relief.  Walked back to the main plaza of Lille – taking congratulations from a couple of random passersby.  And sat in the sun, my back to the central fountain, reading a book.  Of course – I had partaken in quite a few pints during the game – and when I rejoined that book a couple of days later, I discovered that I had little to no memory of the majority of it.  But  I read my book, Silver Fern proudly displayed on my chests, sneaking into McDonalds to use the toilets every 20 minutes, daring somebody to even try and burst my bubble.  Nobody did.  I eventually made my way to a restaurant for some more mussels, a couple of leisurely wines – and decided it was time to make my way to the train station.  I was kind of right, but very nearly wrong.  As in, I got to the station, but they told me I was too late.  Until a nice man spotted the All Blacks shirt – and told me to follow him.  He then essentially led me through back passages, forced the customs guy to stamp my passport without filling out the necessary documentation, and led me straight onto the train.  Sacre bleu – how gracious can somebody be in defeat?  So – many many thanks to France, for making my visit as good as it could be, for really turning up to the final, for being – well – French, and for eventually letting us win.  And don’t listen to the trash-talking cheap media – we all know they’re scum.

And then, sadly, I was back in Ingerlund – my head still spinning from the mornings events, and the beers/wine.  Got a little lost finding my way home – but got there in enough time to drop my stuff off, send some drunken text messages trying to get people to join me at a gig that night – but eventually made my way to north London all alone.  To watch Michael Franti & Spearhead.  This was at Koko, which is only surpassed by Royal Albert Hall as being the most awesome venue.  And of course, I can’t watch a gig without some red wine – so I slowly became even more intoxicated, making my memory of the gig rather hazy.  But from what I do remember – it was fairly good.  Michael Franti was barefoot, and walked into the crowd on multiple occasions, and maybe even invited the crowd onto the stage for the last song?  Or maybe my brain made that up in a desperate attempt to please.  I do remember him giving some good solid hippie speeches, and my drunken brain coming to the horrible realisation that there was no way good old fashioned hippies, and the current protests – would ever really change anything, and that what was actually needed was a worldwide catastrophe – natural, man-made, or even just social – so that society could be rebuilt from the ground-up.  And even then, I’m sure that human (animal) nature would eventually result in the same self-centred society we have now.  (Read the previous with emphasis on the self-pity and hypocrisy).  Oh – and after checking youtube videos – there were also giant yellow balls.

Monday morning – I went to work.  Apparently – because I haven’t been fired or reprimanded.  But to be honest – my head was still in quite the daze, and I have little memory of Monday at all.  But I had two days to recover, before the glut of gigs started again.  Wednesday – it was a group of scots named Sons And Daughters.  A gig which was originally scheduled for Heaven (the same venue as Band of Skulls) – but was moved to Dingwalls, where we saw Don McGlashan last year (or year before?).  I suspect this was due to poor ticket sales – as Dingwalls is much much smaller – and even then, it was a very sparse crowd.  But it was a good set, nice songs – played with just enough crowd banter, etc.  Terrible bar service – really really terrible.  And it reminded me that whenever I head to Camden, I think I would quite like to move there.  Until I spend half an hour there, surrounded by the terribly pretentious twats, and realise that no – nice to visit, wouldn’t live there.

The following night – the only band (to my knowledge) named after MacGyver’s employers – the Phoenix Foundation.  Again – a rather sparse crowd – which I thought strange.  Kiwis usually love to flock out in droves to see any homegrown talent – and these guys are also doing rather well in their own right as an international act.  But yeah – very limited crowd – which allowed Justin and myself to get much closer to the stage than our grumpy old man “bloody kids everywhere” mentality usually allows.  I was already rather drinky after work drinks – and then the barmaid seemed to dislike how much wine a standard “large” pour actually was – so insisted on essentially doubling it – serving me red wine in pint glasses, nearly full.  This was at the Garage – so if anybody is heading there, look for the short fairly pretty barmaid, and order a wine.  In fact – I believe I have a gig scheduled for there next week.  Sweet.  Back to the music – yeah, really good.  If you haven’t checked out the latest album – Buffalo – you should do.  It is really good, an excellent maturation of these guys who have been “gestating” (a word I picked up from somebody else’s review of them) back in New Zealand for some time.

And that has been my week.  With more of the same (minus the overnight jaunt to France) scheduled for this week.  And next week.  And the next.  And the next.  Oh, what a life.

(edit: I realise some of the above got a little over-emotional, and particularly over-political.  Maybe one day I’ll give a full accounting of my political views.  I hate people who say “right-wing are scum”, “hippies are stupid”, etc – without any reason to backup that view.  That is just social-attitudal racism.  So maybe, one day when I’m bored, I’ll attempt to justify my views.  I still feel guilty after telling certain members of my family “If this country votes in John Key, I will leave – and not come back until New Zealand wakes it’s fucking ideas up”… and then realising that every single one of them was going to vote National.  Yeah – um, sorry for that.)

Commuting Around Europe

Kruse Leave a comment

So – I figure the best time to write about my most recent jaunt into Europe is while I’m fully regretting it.

I’m currently trying to write the documentation to support the work I did the other week.  And I hate writing documentation.  Even writing the kind of document which I would want to receive (ie: a list of specific stuff.  This was set to that.  This: 1.  This: 23.  This: 100.  Reading it: Perfect – all I need to know on a single page.  But writing it: what order do I put it in?  What’s the most logical tree structure?  Aaaarrgh!)  Sorry – mind is frazzled from trying to write my most hated of documentation – long wordy descriptions of what should be short one-liners – and with screenshots.  Oh – now you’ve got me started on screenshots.  I view screenshots as the vice of the lazy documenter, and the crutch of the incompetent reader.  Unfortunately – I’ve been specifically requested to include screenshots.  Hence my presumably imcomprehensible rambling about this shit that you certainly don’t care about.

Anyway – all this started with my trip to Madrid last time.  And then two weeks ago – another trip.  This time – a ridiculously early train to Paris.  Straight to the office, work until late.  Then to the hotel.  And my room has a balcony (ish) with a view of the Arc de Triomphe.  (And really, no offence, but where did the French borrow the nerve to build a monument to Triumph?)  But anyway – a rather long day – and that pretty much just set the scene.  Essentially a week of spending 16 hours a day with work colleagues – who aren’t even my own work colleagues, and for whom english is not their first language.  Which would normally be all fine – but with me having very little sleep already – it was just that slightly too tiring to cope with for an entire week.  Anyway – enough whinging.  First day ended with some bieres and what-not.  And the next few days – long days in a small office in suburban Paris – miles away from anywhere – then back into central Paris to drop off bags, and then head to random places for dinner.  Who has a few days in Paris – so decides to travel all the way across town to a burger restaurant?  But I managed to escape eating a burger – and had steak tartare instead.  All good.  And crepes.  And I saw the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame, and things like that.  I would nearly cross Paris off The List – except I was too tired to enjoy any of it – and I didn’t see the Louvre.

Oh – and I managed to watch some of the opening rugby matches – streaming over internet.  A lot of my screenshots (grumble grumble whinge whinge) – are great – each showing two monitors, one full of nerd-action, the other with a snapshot of the morning’s rugby.  And the other light-hearted aspect which will hopefully counter-balance the above crazy ramblings – was the exchange of language between myself and my spanish workmates.  I taught them the word “cleavage” – (by special request – with meaning conveyed with a lot of hand gestures and imitation) – while they attempted to teach me – well, some terrible terrible phrases.  Which I was too tired to remember – sadly.  I remember what they meant – and I just don’t know what to think about a culture which would say things like that.

But finally – it was Monday – with a lovely 6am flight to Madrid.  Where I headed to my hotel, thinking I would just be able to leave my suitcase there, and head to the office – and check-in later.  But no – they let me check in at 9am or so – which allowed me to have a shower and head to the office.  Which shouldn’t have brought me so much joy – but I’m pretty sure I would have fallen asleep at the desk otherwise.  But yes – two more days in Madrid – this time out in the suburbs – and then finally back to London.  On a 5am flight – landing at London City airport – just in time for a taxi straight to my ‘usual’ client – and get in at 10am, in order to help a vendor who’s come in especially for the first big piece of work on my current project.  And yeah – I wasn’t particularly “on the ball” that day.

But that’s what you get when you’re some kind of jet-setting business traveller like myself, I guess.

Oh – and did I mention that immediately after work on my day of return – I then headed off to my first fencing lesson?  Luckily we didn’t get given any solid time with epees, foils, sabres, or the such on that night.  But I made up for it the next week – when I knew that we would be handed our first swords – by having a few wines beforehand.  This behaviour was correctly summed up with the comment “You’re a retard”.  It wasn’t my fault – there were work drinks to welcome/farewell somebody visiting from India.  Who doesn’t drink.

Hmm?  Yes – I’m attending fencing lessons.  En guarde!

Spain, Sun, Shopping

Kruse Leave a comment

Well – I didn’t get much rest before I had to head to Madrid.  And the flight to Madrid was at some ridiculous early hour – and I had to crawl out of bed at something like 4 or 5 – after about four hours sleep.  But, managed to get to Madrid – and did a few days of work.  It didn’t go all smoothly – but a few issues are good to prove that it was worthwhile bringing me in.  If everything goes smoothly, then people think – “Not much to that, I could have done that myself”.  So after three long days of being stuck in an office, and leaving just in time to find food (had rabo de toro one night – bull’s tail – very good), then get sleep – it was the weekend.

So, I checked out of the hotel which work had organised – and checked into another one – slightly cheaper, and with a pool.  Then rushed into town to find an Irish pub showing the rugby.  Because what else would you do in Madrid other than sit in an Irish pub watching the All Blacks?  Anyway – after that disappointment – I walked around town, checking out all the major sights.  Banco de Espana – pretty impressive.  Mercado de San Miguel – very busy, but looked like it would be a decent time with a few hungry people – just heaps of boutique food/drink stalls crammed into a relatively small glass box.  I saw the statue of the bear leaning against a madrano tree – which is apparently the symbol of Madrid.  I don’t know why, and I am scared to research it.  So I decided to leave this inexplicable thing – and had lunch in the Plaza Mayor.  The Plaza Mayor is rather large – with restaurants lining 3 of 4 sides.  Back in the olden days, I believe that it had rather more interesting stuff going on – bullfights, the Inquisition, etc.  But now – just a heap of restaurants, and the most bizarre buskers/artists I’ve ever seen.  Such as these two – who I had to avoid every time I walked through the square, because my poor little mind really struggled to get to grips with what I was seeing.  That video only really showcases the man dressed as baby, which thankfully i only saw in action twice.  The glitter dog/goat thing though – that was nearly always going, and loved to set-up next to whatever restaurant I was eating at.  It is essentially a woman sitting on a stool underneath a cloak of glitter, with a wooden goat/dog head – operated by hand – which can open/close it’s mouth making a wooden clacking sound.  Really, really not cool.  So after some gazpacho, paella & vino – I fled.  Went and checked out the royal palace – which I believe is the largest in Europe?  Maybe?  It was pretty big anyway.  I then just wandered aimlessly – and stopped for a few cervezas at a small dodgy taverna.  Then kept wandering – and came across the status of Miguel de Cervantes, which I had wanted to see, but had forgotten about.  Cervantes, if you don’t know, wrote what is considered to be possibly the best ever Western literature – Don Quixote, the man from La Mancha.  (I was rather pleased to find my spanish workmate was actually from La Mancha.  I probably should start calling him Quixote – or even better, Sancho.)

Eventually I limped back to the hotel – my feet complaining about their sudden re-introduction to jandals being in the form of an 8 hour walkabout about Madrid.  Some cervezas, a mixto, and then some tapas – before calling it a day.

The next day was started with a few hours poolside.  Ahhh – sun, how I have missed thee!  Eventually, I figured I should eat something – and brains slightly addled by sunshine, I decided to forgo all nearby convenient food – and headed back into the middle of town – to Plaza Mayor again.  Sat down, had some good food, some good wine, and got freaked out by the glitter-goat/dog again.  So – moved to another restaurant, where I just sat in the sun with a book, and drank cerveza after cerveza – trying to ignore the silver goat-dog which turned up soon thereafter.  Eventually fled to a side street where there are no crazy buskers, just normal accordian playing buskers – and had some more paella y vino.

Monday morning – I figured I was well justified to just sit around the hotel until it was time to head to the airport.  And where better to sit around the hotel, then in/beside the pool?  So – checked out, and spent several hours at the pool.  Eventually figured I should get moving – maybe have some lunch before heading to the airport.  So sat down for some lunch, cervezas con limon, and reading my book.  Until I realised I was probably leaving the whole airport thing a little too late – so headed to the airport.  Turns out I was right – I was indeed leaving the airport thing a little too late.  Turns out the combination of my watch being about 8 minutes slow, my cutting it close, and (I’m sure of it) the staff closing check-in slightly early – I had definitely missed my flight.  So – I queued up to buy a new flight.  Eventually got to the front – and the nice man tells me – nope, no flights.  So what about business, or first-class, or something?  Nope – no flights.  What about tomorrow.  Nope – no tickets available.  Everything completely sold out.  So I head to a different terminal looking for other airlines, or internet cafe to look for flights.  Found a coin-operated internet machine (with certain keyboard keys which don’t work – making things that much more difficult) – and confirm that the only flight I could get that evening was via Switzerland, and cost over £1,000.  I seriously considered it for a moment, and then realised that it was also a total journey time of 18 hours – so I was pretty screwed anyway.  Flights for tomorrow – I could fly the maligned EasyJet for around half a monkey (or a string of ponies).  Tried to book that, and a hotel – and discovered this was nigh impossible with malfunctioning keyboard.  So I just took the first hotel bus I saw (having seen during my hotel search that it did indeed have a pool) – and requested a room.  Sweet – checked in, booked a flight, emailed work to not expect me in the next day, and headed to the pool.

Next day I followed the same pattern as Monday – except I played things a little safer.  I had a free shuttle to the airport, and I had booked it, so somebody was bound to remind me I should be moving – and I had breakfast so that my judgement was slightly better.  Otherwise – exactly the same – got up, checked out, headed to pool, sat in sun reading, with occasional cervezas and dips in the pool to cool down.  Eventually I headed to the airport, and was rather glad I’d left some extra time to check-in, etc.  Because this was my first experience of EasyJet – and I see now why they have an option of paying extra to get “speedy check-in”.  Manged to make it through though, bought some whisky, had some quick lunch & cervezas (I suspect subconsciously trying to miss my flight again) – and then boarded our flight.  Ugh – EasyJet.  For those who don’t know – EasyJet don’t allocate seats.  I don’t know if that somehow reduces costs (I can’t see how?) – but yeah, it doesn’t make for a pleasant experience.  Luckily – travelling by myself, I didn’t care too much.  And then the EasyJet beverage service – where you have to buy snacks and/or drinks.  I figured I had some spare euros, and I might as well get rid of them – so yeah sure, some cerveza por favor.

And eventually got back to London.  And how depressing was it to hear english voices again?  Correct – very.  And stupid people making a mess of the immigration queues.  Stansted airport – not well designed for english/EU people who can’t follow instructions as to what door they should go through.  Thereby making a huge mess of the area which is reserved for us nice civilised non-EU passport wielders.  Eventually got through, and got a train into town.  (I forgot to remark upon how the Madrid metro really shows up the London one.  It has the advantage of being newer, so could learn from the mistakes of London – but still – it was just so… clean, big, not crowded.  But still smelt like nasty things in places).  Got back to Barbican, sat down in my local pub for some fish’n’chips and vino, and then finally crawled upstairs for some sleep – ready for work the next day, and the inevitable ‘ribbing’ from missing a day due to pool/cerveza/tardiness.

It took me a few days to get back into work mode – just 3 .5 days of sun and pool had really removed me from this whole office/work mindset.  But eventually it returned.  Not cool.  And then it was time to finally man up and go shopping.  None of my clothes fit, my shoes are old – so yeah, I did a shopping day.  Ended up walking home looking like a caricature of an overladen shopping nut – carrying a total of nine (I think) shopping bags.  And that didn’t include my new suit, which I left behind to be slightly altered.  Went and had a barbeque on Bibby’s boat – finding it difficult to buy supplies on the way as apparently there had been an EDL march during the day.  (For those who don’t know who the EDL are – that’s a good thing.  They shouldn’t be acknowledged in any way).  But Bibby, Jess & I sat outside overlooking the Thames, and Tower Bridge, making chit-chat until we were all yawning.  My chit-chat was of an even worse standard than usual – my brain being completely fried from spain/sun/shopping.  So now I’m just hoping (sort of, not really) that I don’t shrink much more – because then I’d have to do this all over again.  Makes one regret ever getting fat in the first place.

Ukkle Doose

Kruse Leave a comment

Well – thanks to everybody who hosted me on my recent trip around New Zealand/Australia – and apologies to people who I didn’t get to see.

But – the trip was a success overall.  The main purpose was to spend some time with little sister Angela, littler niece Meiken, and smallest-of-them-all nephew Cohen.  So – after a weekend in Sydney to try and get rid of the jet-lag (Pen deciding the cure for jet-lag was a big old night out at the pub) – I arrived in Rotorua and just chilled out for a week or so.  To be honest – I was planning on maybe doing some day-trips here and there to visit people, but once I got there – I just collapsed into sloth.  But it was all good – Meiken’s actual birthday was the day after I arrived – and after a quick visit to the playcentre for cake/birthday-songs/etc – we hung out at home all day.  Trying to get Meiken to remember/meet/trust/like me.

I was supposed to be doing a bit of cooking and what-not also, to take the load off Angela – but didn’t really end up doing much of that.  My bad habits of cooking late at night don’t really suit the ‘young family’.  Anyway – it was all good.  A week of sitting around the house, playing with Meiken, watching Cohen, and watching daytime television.  (To all those who blame the degradation of society on violent movies and/or videogames, etc… you’ve got it all wrong – it’s mainstream daytime television)  The birthday party per se was on the Saturday – which was handy for catching up with a few more people without having to make the effort to travel to them.  Muhammed and mountains, or some-such.

And then the fruits of my postponing the travelling and visits came home to roost.  (Trying to figure out how to mix another metaphor into that, but I just cannae.)  So, after a week of sitting still, I embarked on a whirlwind tour of the North Island.  I missed Hawkes Bay this time, as most of my family from that way were at Meiken’s party (sorry to everyone else down there) – so the trip was just Hamilton – spent an evening catching up with the Wards, including Shainee & Tylah who have grown a ridiculous amount since I last saw them; Taranaki – catching up with Dad’s side of the family; Wairarapa – catching up with an auntie who has rather the sweet set-up, self-sustaining vege gardens etc, a bus for road-trips, and a decent collection of wine – I’m thinking about retiring myself and turning up on the doorstep; and finally Wellington – for a rather boozy night, starting with Bob & I drinking whiskey from the bottle in a primary school carpark, ending with H & I drinking red wine and having chit-chat, and my spilling of red wine all over the carpet and laptop.

And then I fled to Melbourne for a bit of a rest.  Yep.  Still a little intoxicated from the previous night is never a good time for me to find a CD store on my last day in New Zealand.  Despite having bought a dozen or so albums in Rotorua – I somehow managed to find another 20 albums of kiwi music to purchase.  (And remember – it’s only been two months since I was last in NZ, and did a binge buy then also).  And then I rushed through security because I thought I was late for my plane.  I wasn’t – I had misread the time by an hour.  So I was stuck on the wrong side of security/immigration from the Icebreaker store – which is probably a good thing.  I’ve had my eye on a coat from there for some time, but it is rather pricey… and it is summer in London.  But, this still left me on “airside” with nothing to do, really, except drink.  So, I set up a bartab, and had some delicious NZ boutique beers.  And then get on the plane, and had some wines.  And then landed and bought duty-free, and had some beers while waiting to be picked up from the airport.  And then had some delicious Bailey’s in the car on the ride into town.  And then beers at some dodgy little bar.  And then it was time for dinner, and there was wine, and ouzo, and just all-round silliness, and then it was the bar with the champage, and then when I asked for milk with my Bailey’s I got told I wasn’t allowed to drink anymore – and really… fair enough.  About bloody time, in fact.

The next day I spent catching up with little Eli – and being convinced that it was a good idea (considering the number of young children I caught up with on my trip, and those here in London) for me to set-up some kind of competitive rating system for everybody’s children.  Perhaps even with some constructive criticism for the mothers of those children who were struggling in certain areas.  Still not sure if I’m going to follow through on that – it just seems all too likely that I will at some point have my eyes raked out by some mother objecting to my describing their child as anything but the next messiah.  Anyway – Eli did display some aptitude in several areas – while struggling with such simple concepts as “Salad Fingers is no good.  No good.  No no good.”  Anyway – after that, I returned to Elise’s place to watch something much more appropriate.  Thor.  Starring Natalie Portman.  Whooaa.  What a movie.  (Terrible).  And then I woke up, feeling very very ill, and had some champagne, and got the hell out of dodge.

Back to London.  Just in time to go home, have a shower, stagger to work, and discover that absolutely NOTHING had been accomplished in my 2 weeks absence.  Which is to be expected – I fully expect that after I have been back for 2 weeks, absolutely nothing more will have been accomplished.  Except for the one project where I have sole responsibility.  I have just nailed that in the last couple of days – up until the point where I first rely on other people to do their jobs.  And have resigned myself to the fact that this project will now also stagnate in the Pit of Apathy.  Still – for the last two days, I’ve done stuff.  Yay.

Aotearoa & Arsetralia

Kruse Leave a comment

Checking the last time I wrote about visiting home – it was really rather long.  I will endeavour to make this much shorter, at the cost of scrimping on details on some pretty sweet events…

First of all – left Heathrow on a Friday evening.  Must remember not to do this ever again.  Airport bars just packed full of Ingerlund geezers & birds off to Spain or Ibiza or something for the weekend.  Not pretty.

Then the long flight home.  Arrived in Auckland on Sunday afternoon – tried in vain to find a CD store in the airport – instead went and picked up my rental car.  Advice from girl at the rental place for CDs… “there’s a Warehouse just down the road”.  Argh… had nearly forgotten about the existence of the Warehouse.  I thought I’d pop in for a quick look, on the off-chance it actually had some decent CDs.  Nope – never doing that again either.  Their “Top 20″ rack was comprised solely of compilations – terrible terrible bargain bin compilations.  Drove down to Rotorua, with the fatigue only starting to kick in near the end of the journey – which was quite lucky.  Got to Rotorua just in enough time to make an appearance as a stumbling stinky mess of an uncle to a scared little girl before she went to bed.  Well – not so much scared, so much as shy.  Or just not wanting to know – which would be fair enough.  That first impression took a little while to wear off – but eventually we got along pretty well.  Hopefully I won’t have to start from scratch when I return.  Leaving a collection of sand-castles for Meiken to destroy will hopefully help my chances.

After an all too brief time in Rotorua – not even enough time to visit anybody I really should have (sorry to all) – I picked up Katie from Taupo.  (Finding out, at the last minute, that Katie had – of course – assumed that I would have enough room for a bicycle.  Luckily I did – but it sure didn’t help promote bicycle rights for me.)  A drive up to Auckland, (finding out at the very very last minute, that Katie needed to make slight detours to pick up stuff in both Hamilton and Auckland – luckily I had allowed over an hour for such Katie-isms) – and to the airport, and onwards to Melbourne.

A remarkably rapid and hassle-free progression through Melbourne airport, despite bicycles, Katies, and smuggling teabags – and shuttled like rich people to the Crowne Plaza.  Left Katie at the hotel while I headed off to find “the boys” in town.  Found “the boys” – and proceeded to have a few beverages and what-not.

Next day – discovered the Stormers (the rugby team, not the… other Stormers) were staying in the same hotel.  Listened to the coaching team discussing strategy in the lifts – and discovered why de Villiers has still got his job.  There’s just nobody else.  But anyway – Pen joined us at the hotel for a quick swim in the hotel pool – which was nowhere near as heated as advertised.  Still – rather nice to be able to actually swim.  Then – we checked out, and wandered around town.  Met Justin in Brunswick for coffee, then lunch, joined by a few others (but not Dave – Dave can’t handle his vodka).  Op-shopping for a while, some beverages, chats, etc – and then finally Pen, Katie & I returned to pick up our baggage, and head to our apartment in Williamstown.  Checked in to that, and proceeded to have an evening of chinese takeaway, and good old grumpy-tired-Kruse vs Pen-Katie-girlie-chatter times.  Which some how turned into my staying awake until midnight in order that Pen could open birthday present.  This was achieved with the help of a rather tasty bottle of whisky.

And then it was wedding-day.  Finally got to wear my new suit.  Had a rather tasty bottle of champagne while getting dressed (vintage Krug) – and then headed into Yarraville for some lunch.  Then – to the theatre for the wedding.  “Wha…. wedding, theatre?”  Yep – wedding in a theatre.  Not going to talk too much about the ceremony – as it’s kinda a private thing, I guess – plus once I start – it would probably take a very very long time to do it justice.  I just gotta say, Prince Mark and Cindy Middlesborough, or whoever – have got no chance of being anything but overshadowed.  In fact – I think everybody there on the day gave up on any chance of getting married.  Not including myself, of course.  I gave up years ago.  Ha ha ha ha …. aaaah.  But after the ceremony – relative normalcy returned.  Drinks at one place (where I was shown the cellar, and chose another really rather tasty bottle of champagne) – followed by another for the main reception – emcee’d by some Nathan chap.  I danced.  First time I’ve done that in quite some time.  And didn’t even attempt to play the bride like a guitar (I don’t think).  Did, however, instead slide across the floor on my knees like some kind of rock-start/footloose-Kevin-Bacon.  Eventually stumbled back to our apartment, to share some whisky with Dave.

Sunday – the aftermath – dropped gifts off at the newly-weds house of no-longer-sin, and ate some scallops and fish and what-not.  Chit-chat, then into town, some more chit-chat in a swanky hotel room – then chinese for dinner.  Where I proceeded to prove to myself that maybe the two months of lack-of-drinking followed by the two-days-of-yes-drinking had caught up with me, and the old Sunday-babble-Kruse started to rear his ugly head.  But managed to not offend anybody too much, except maybe the waiter (who was a prick anyway, and deserved anything he got – or that’s what people told me to make me feel better).  Back to hotel for a nice early night.

And then it was the dispersal.  Pen left early in the morning, then I left Katie stranded in Williamstown, as I headed to the airport – and caught my plane to Perth – which, as it turns out, is indeed rather warm.  Not as stiflingly oppressively unbearably hot as I was expecting – but still, pretty warm.  Got to John’n’Mel’s place, which is fairly nice.  Strange set-up – but perfect for the current use of two couples co-existing in semi-shared semi-segregated areas.

Caro’n’Dom’n’Malachy arrived the following day – and I believe the day revolved around that, and then a barbeque (mostly cooked indoors).  Next day was a day out in Fremantle.  Well – for most people it was a day out in Fremantle, but Ben & I went and did a bit of diving.  ‘Cause we’re divers.  Hired some equipment, got some directions – and headed off to do some divin’.  Got lost on land.  Then eventually went into the sea (cursing how heavy dive gear is while carrying from car to beach).  And the first thing I did was go and swim face-first straight into a jellyfish tentacle.  Still got the mark from that on my face.  Not cool.  But we eventually got out a bit – and after quite a lot of trial-and-error (okay – a LOT-lot of trial-and-error) – we kinda remembered how to dive.  So we did some divin’ until my airtank was totally and utterly empty.  Headed back into Fremantle to meet up with the others and Sam at the Little Creatures brewery – and downed some beers and dinner.  Pleasant day, all in all.

Margaret River the next day – a small road-trip, just like the old days.  Well, nearly.  Stopped off at the Busselton Jetty and went for a walk along that, and a quick snorkel off the side of it.  Very long jetty, that one.  And about to get longer.  Bought some Guinness for a few road beers to help the Paddies celebrate their Drunk-Day.  Got to our accommodation in Margaret River in the evening – dropped off stuff, and headed into town for dinner and wine.

And then some more divin’.  Ben & I headed off early in the morning – up to Dunsborough for some wreck divin’.  Dom was kind enough to drive us up – before returning and joining the others for a morning of whatever it is they did.  Meanwhile, Ben & I went out in a boat – and then dived nearly twice as deep as we’d ever been before – to check out the wreck of the HMAS Swan.  Pretty cool – except I soon remembered that I really do use much more oxygen than most people – so we had to keep returning to the surface relatively early.  But still – pretty cool.  Two dives, down to a max depth of 30 metres – and just swimming along this huge grey hulk – then over it’s decks, around it’s crows-nest, etc – yeah – I could do that again.  Eventually we returned to boring old land – for some lunch, a winery or two, an aboriginal cultural centre (pretty good for stoking up the ill-feeling towards the english), and stocking up on venison, kangaroo, emu, cheese, etc to make up some kind of dinner platter.  And tried to get through as much of our booze stockpile as possible.  Managed to do all available wine, finished all normal beers, and made a start on the Guinness – but eventually we had to give it up.

Next day – a fairly early start in order to get Kruse to the airport.  Success – and I was soon on a plane on my way to Sydney.  At Sydney airport, got myself a ‘limo’ to Pen’s flat – arriving in time to try and mix and mingle at her flatwarming party.  Didn’t do particularly well, being rather tired, sober – and thrust into the midst of a party, where I was “the ex”.  But – good bunch of people, and good to see that Pen has a pretty good crew around her – and seems to have quite the reputation as a ‘cool’, or something, spinster herself.

Another Sunday – another day of doing not much.  Had a few short wanders about Manly – but it was raining, and not the magnificent surf-paradise it apparently is usually.  Cooked a roast dinner for everybody, drank a few bottles of wine, played some scrabble, and watched a movie.  Old-school Sunday with Pen, pretty much.

And then – time to leave.  Monday – breakfast with Nic, lunch with Pen, dinner with British Airways.  The long, long flight back to London.

Where I got a fairly early morning tube back home – with jetlag starting to kick in when I at one point realised that all the people around me were on their way to work – whereas I had that “homeward bound” sleepy feeling in my head.  I started feeling sorry for them – until I remembered that once I got home, I was going to just get in the shower, get in a suit, and then head to work myself.  And that is exactly what I did.  Leading to the strange feeling at about 10am of feeling like it’s a late night in the office – but suddenly realising that everybody else is fresh and just starting.  The exact same feeling that I am getting right now, actually.  Except it really is 5pm – it’s just that it feels exactly like the bad old days of working until midnight.

Anyway – back in London now.  And I figure one weekend of some irresponsible socialising will get me right back into my normal cycle of stay-up-too-late, turn-up-to-work-late.  So, yeah, don’t expect me at work on Monday too early.

End of a decade – Hogmanay

Kruse Leave a comment

Well, that’s over.

First, I’ll attempt to quickly do my normal blow-by-blow of my trite little life since last update.  But all I can promise is attempt.  Firstly – check out my own little gift to self.  I saw it, I knew I had to have it, and now I have it.  And I must say, I am not at all disappointed.  It really does work remarkably well.  My first power tool.

So – I headed up to Edinburgh to spend the few days up there before New Years.  Not a particularly pleasant trip – I need to remember to reserve train seats when travelling around holiday periods in the future.  Spent the entire trip standing in between carriages.  But, I had some books and beer – so was sorted.  Spent the 24th walking around the central part of town.  And yes, I guess it is quite a pretty town.  Quite pretty indeed.  Well done Edinburgh.  Most of the Princes Street Gardens were closed off, as they were putting up marquees and what-not for Hogmanay.  But – still managed to get the gist of the whole thing.  There was snow everywhere, but clear blue skies – really quite the perfect day for some touristy oohing and ahhing, and taking photos of it all.  So – took some photos, and wandered up the hill.  Checked out the gateway to the castle, but rather than going in and having a look, I opted for the “Whisky Experience” instead.  Which turned out to be really rather cheesey, but possibly worth it.  A little Disneyland style ride, and then checking out the largest collection of scotch in the world – nearly 3,500 bottles, I believe – and then some tastings.  Touristy, but also a little informative.  And not having had lunch, I did end up a little light-headed.  Bought a bottle of whisky that our young hostess had recommended to me – and then off to stumble around town a bit more.  Met up with Katie and some of her bicyclist buddies – and proceeded to taste quite a few more whiskies, beers, and the like.

On the 25th – I cooked lunch for Katie and her ex-flatmate Esther, while they gossipped and giggled and etc.  We were intending on heading out for a drink in the evening, but ended up staying in, Esther’s new flatmate came around – and we finished off the wine, some port, and some whisky.  All in all, a fairly good day.  Snow on the ground, but no fresh snowfall – so once again, I guess not technically a ‘White Christmas’.  That evening I finally managed to get through to family – so made all the traditional phone calls.  Unfortunately, with quite a few more drinks down than the previous night when I’d initally wanted/attempted to have the calls.  But – did all those phone calls, and was reminded that I had family in St Andrews – and it just happened to be their golden wedding anniversary the next day.  So – the next day I gave them a call – confusing them terribly – and arranged to visit the following day.  The rest of Boxing Day consisted of being rather lazy, and then I think Katie & I went out for dinner.  So – the next day, Katie went a-bicycling, and I headed up to St Andrews to visit Fenella & John.  Unfortunately it was extremely foggy/misty up there – but John still gave me a little drive around the township – and I saw enough to know I definitely need to go back and have another look.  Spent the afternoon with them, and caught them up on all the family goings-on, etc.

On the 28th – I think – I headed up to Aviemore.  Let myself into the apartment I’d booked, and checked out the village.  Rather a small place – but pleasant enough.  I took stock of every restaurant/bar – and chose The Winking Owl to be my first meal.  It passed, barely.  Mussels were fine, wine was disgusting.  Chook arrived the next day – and I showed him around town, did some shopping, before we spent a pleasant evening with a cheeseboard, music, and books.  All very pleasant.  Civil.  And all that.  And then the girls arrived – a campervan full of chattering babbling madness.  Katie, Genevieve, Esther, and Genevieve’s flatmate Susie/Suzie(sp?).  After failing to get them to “hush” – we gave up on our pleasant evening.  Chook & I escaped the next day, driving around the countryside to find the source(s) of all this scotch whisky I’d heard about.  We eventually found a single distillery open, and did the tour.  But, we also found a very very well-stocked and friendily staffed whisky shop – and we eventually headed back to the apartment with approximately £450 worth of whisky between us.  Bibby had arrived in our absence, and Genevieve had found one of her old bicyclist buddies, and when we returned – we discovered that this bearded hippie bicyclist was going to cook us dinner.  And that our apartment had pretty much been usurped by the ladies.  Backpacks, skis, snowboards, bras, panties, strange pieces of clothing with no discernable use – everywhere.  But we had dinner, and then started whisky-tasting.  Chook, beardie and myself stayed up until the wee hours tasting the various whiskies – and rating them.  On taste, packaging, and even the sound of the ‘glug-glug’ as it came out of the bottle.  Altogether, some successful whisky drinkin’.

But, the next day was New Year’s Eve.  Bibby and the ladies all headed up to ‘the slopes’ – while Chook & I assigned ourselves the task of actually getting ready for Hogmanay.  So – we went and bought a couple of the biggest steak pies we could find (apparently some kind of scottish tradition) – and a whole heap of booze.  Eventually everybody else returned; Fraser arrived; we had some fish-n-chips, deep-fried pizza, deep-fried haggis; and we got our drink on.  After quite a few bottles of wine, and then a couple bottles of champagne – we headed to the Ol’ Bridge Inn.  Where I immediately decided to buy some champagne.  In a panic at how many bottles were left in the fridge – I bought them all.  Only 2 I think – but still.  Without realising they actually had a huge stock out back somewhere.  So – next time – I ordered 4.  And some barman overhearing me, said “Four – is that all”.  So – I yelled out to my barman who was heading out back – “make it five”.  That’ll show ‘em.  I also showed the barman the correct method of opening a bottle of champagne, with my stop-bouchon I’d happened to bring along.  (Somebody please let me know if that link is inappropriate – the picture for the video looks fine, but the video is blocked at work citing that it is pornography)  That did gain a fair bit of kudos – “He’s even brought his own equipment for opening champagne!”.  Standing outside with a huge ice bucket filled with 4 or 5 bottles of champagne – yeah, we had a pretty good night.  But I have been avoiding checking my bank statement.  Stupid champagne – I think I need a New Year’s Resolution to crack down on it.  But Hogmanay arrived – with pipers and kisses and what-not.  It’s all a little blurry.  At one stage, I fell over, into a girl, knocking her over so that she hit her head, quite badly.  Then her brother wanted to sue me, and there was all sorts of nastiness, but it all ended fairly peacefully.  I think I gave my bowtie to the girl as a memento, which I thought quite amusing – but nobody else seemed to appreciate it.  Oh well.  I eventually returned to the apartment, to which everybody else had already retired – and a few of us stayed up chatting until the first sunrise of the new decade, before cooking breakfast for everybody.

The campervan-o’-girls had to leave the next afternoon, so we bid them adieu.  And so we were left with 4 ever-so-slightly hungover gentlemen in an apartment in Aviemore.  Steak pie was had, and then Trivial Pursuit came out, followed by the two most ridiculous games of Scrabble I’ve ever experienced.  If it wasn’t for that my camera is gone (explained later), and the fact that there were rather large bonuses on offer for levels of offensiveness – I’d post photos.  And then it was the 2nd, and I felt much much worse.  Bibby fled early – followed by Chook & Fraser at a more reasonable time.  I stayed on to try and get the apartment, and myself, into some semblance of order.  The flat was relatively easy.  I walked into town to try and find some curtain hooks (obviously) – but of course everything was closed except Tesco.  I must have spent half an hour walking around Tesco in the off chance there might be curtain hooks on one of those random dangling hooks of products they have spread around the isles – and trying not to throw up, but no luck.  Eventually returned to the apartment, and cannibalised curtain hooks from other rooms to fix the one curtain I needed to rehang.  I then considered the possibility of catching a train back to Edinburgh that evening – but although the apartment was starting to look respectable – I most certainly was not.  So, I spent a quiet evening trying to recover and read – hampered slightly by the fact that there was a small amount of leftover booze.  Luckily not too much – so I managed to force that down, had as much of the leftover food as I could stomach, and tried to get a good night’s sleep.  Next morning, found all the things I’d forgotten about the previous day – tidied up some more, made a last ditch attempt at using some of the food, before throwing everything else away – locking the door, and getting on a train.  Scotland, by this point, seemed to have it in for me.  It was bitterly cold, my system was not in a state to be dealing with such cold – and I had to change trains in Perth.  I’d always been told Perth is very hot – but it’s not.  It’s very cold, and it doesn’t even have anywhere for a man to buy some lunch.  Eventually I got back to Edinburgh, and collapsed in Katie’s door once again.  A little spot of recovery, washing, changing, catching up on internet, etc – and then dinner out.  The next morning, Katie went to work and I went to London.

Immediately back into England I regretted my moment of anger towards Scotland.  It can’t help being snow – and Perth, well Perth has more Arsetralians than Scots.  But York – York decided to really kick me when I thought I was getting back up.  Once again I was standing between carriages – but had sorted myself out a snug little spot.  Unfortunately, some english people got on at some point and ruined it, but anyway… I had my bag-o’-useful-stuff hanging from a door hinge.  Nice arrangement, where I could reach in and get a new book, or whatever.  But – I went to the restaurant car to get a drink.  But then we pulled into York.  And somebody wanted to get on the train, or off the train, or something – and opened the door.  Apparently.  And apparently, my bag of course fell right off the hinge, straight down the gap which we’re always reminded to mind.  I got back just as the train was preparing to leave, and somebody pointed this out to me.  I tried to open the door and jump out to get it – but the station guard was having none of it.  “I’ll send it through on the next train”, he said.  Well – I wasn’t sure how this would work… King’s Cross is a very large train station – and I had no idea where my bag would be arriving.  But, I hoped for the best, and got back to my book.  Which I soon finished, and suddenly realised that my backup book was in my bag which I no longer had.  Dumb.  Also in this bag – the keys to my flat.  Not cool.  My camera – a little annoying – and all photos from the last week – very annoying.  But – I held out hope.  When we arrived at King’s Cross I asked about – and figured out where my bag was most likely to turn up.  But, it never did.  I waited for several hours – going between lost+found, the station management office, information desk.  Eventually I gave up – and went to stay with Caro & Malachy.  Very tired, and not in a good – I was a terrible guest, but that’s what you get when you’re willing to give me aid and assistance with little to no notice.  Anyway – the next morning I made some phone calls.  And was led to believe that my bag was indeed now at lost&found at King’s Cross.  Cheered up no end, I picked up my backpack, and headed to King’s Cross.  Where my bag was not.  Once again, I walked around all the likely spots – but nobody knew anything, and there was no paper trail.  I made some more phone calls – finding a wide range of levels of helpfulness.  Some people told me that the station guard shouldn’t have been allowed to put my bag on the next train – so there you go.  I’m not sure how that was supposed to help – but apparently them’s the rules.  I talked to York station – they didn’t know anything about it.  I filled out a form with a vague description of the bag – and trundled off home.  Organised a locksmith to let me into my own house – and yes, it turned out to be the same one I’d used only 3 weeks previously.  Inside my flat I had a spare key to one of the locks on my door, but not the other.  But – I can indeed ‘snip’ the other one open, and I now have full access to my flat again.  Yay.

And that was my trip to Scotland.  I still have no bag, and therefore no camera, and therefore no photos (except those I took on the 24th of pretty pretty Edinburgh).  Which reminds me – also during the trip, my work laptop turned against me.  Yesterday, after many failed and frustrating attempts – I finally managed to get the data off the hard drive – which includes the aforementioned photos of pretty pretty Edinburgh.  So I’ll have a couple of photos of my first trip “up Norf, innit?”.  And my keys included my “Big Screw” (which it took me 3 orders to finally actually receive one – but I’m bound to order another one very soon), and my Colombian keyring memento.

2011 New Year’s Resolutions (not in concrete yet, still working on them):

  • Only eat red meat on the 10th, 20th, 30th of each month (plus the 28th Feb, probably)
  • Be like a proper dieter type person, looking at calories on foods and stuff
  • Cut down on the booze drastically, including:
    • No beer
    • No stuff that doesn’t taste good – ie: shots, jagerbombs, all that shite
    • Come up with some idea to fix “The Champagne Issue”
  • Try to save some money – Turkmenistan isn’t likely to be cheap

So – pretty much all reasonably reasonable resolutions this year.  I probably need to come up with a novelty resolution also – but can’t think of one just now.  Maybe I’ll just cheat and continue with Monthly Resolutions.