It's certainly been a while, friends.
I still make it out to be August - just. I thought I'd squeeze in a quick howdy-doody before the month ends. This will be the first blog post ever I have not really rehearsed or thought about in too much depth beforehand. That's right, I usually think before I write.
Not this time!
The last 2 months or so have been unbelievable. You know of Rock Werchter already - if you don't simply refer to blog #13. After that, my family basically descended on me from all angles to visit.
It was truly awesome and somewhat surreal having them around. They stayed in the house I have lived in for the past 6 months, they made their breakfast, showered, got in my way...just when I'd forgotten the little nuances of living at home, it all came flooding back.
Was it good? Yes and no.
Yes because I remember the fondness I have of home and living in a comfortable environment with friends, family, work - whatever. No because I in some ways had moved on slightly from that. Essentially this year I have moved out of home at the tender age of 18. I only really started to think of it that way when I inevitably moved back in with my folks, or rather, they moved in with me.
Go figure.
After a wild time with them, I set out on a 28-day gallivant around Europe with my brother and 2 good friends of both of us. You can quote me on saying that it's probably the best thing I've ever done. The experiences, memories and general insanity that occurred on that trip - I will never forget.
It is interesting though, on a trip with 50-odd people, the same 50-odd people (interchanged about halfway through with 5 leaving and 6 newies coming on board) how the group dynamic develops, grows and shifts rapidly.
For instance, from the get-go in Calais, certain areas of the bus and people preferences as to where and who they sat with were defined. Of course this did change all the time as 'no one owned a seat', but a certain pattern could be seen all around the bus - myself included. The whole group was mostly amicable with each other throughout the whole trip, however (I can sense your salivation), frustrations to tend to manifest themselves amongst the group after about 4 or 5 days.
They either grow and fester like a nasty disease or parasite, or they go away and first, second, even third impressions falter and we're left asking 'Why did I think like that towards that person?'
Many comparisons have been made to a 'Big Brother' type of environment in terms of you're somewhat 'stuck' with this people for an extended period. Just like on that ridiculous show, the gossip mill goes mad. Everyone is guilty of it. Everyone. I believe it's a facet of human nature - to talk about others, often in a condescending or judgemental way. It would be impossible not to - after all, what else is there to talk about? Is it insecurity? Probably. Who knows? In my own experience, there's a certain satisfaction about hearing the latest gossip from someone, it's just something to talk about I suppose. The sniping that goes on is awesome when you take a step back and just observe - remembering of course that you yourself are guilty of the crime you're observing...
Think about it.
One of my ways of dealing with it was amusement. My outlook was 'I've paid a buttload (or fucktonne - a useful phrase I learnt from the British on tour) of money for this trip, it's not going to last forever, this insane fun, so ha! Hahahah! And that helped - a lot. That allowed me to have even more fun and continue to be myself around these people.
You often hear people vow that they'll stay in touch and miss people etc etc. Of course this happens, I'm not saying it doesn't - heck I miss people right now, and I am keeping in touch with them. For now. Who knows who I or who they will be talking to in 6 months, a year from now? Eventually the need or want to stay in touch will fade...fade away. Either that or it will become stronger. That is when you know you've found a true friend from a host of strangers.
Innit funny 'ow the ol' world works, govna?
Until next time...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
#13
13 Blogs. Sounds like the title for a crap Hollywood movie.
If you look to the right hand side of this page, you'll see the blogs sorted into months - you'll notice that June had one blog post. ONE. Am I getting lazy? Probably. Does it matter? No, shut up.
SO. Rock Werchter
That's the latest and greatest thing that's happened to me. One of my favourite festival line-ups and experiences of all time. This is a lineup which we will probably never see in Australia in the near future, unfortunately - perhaps in a hundred years or so - when all of these bands are dead and gone.
Do these bands all sit around at dinner time? Drink wine and muse about current affairs? That, would surely be an interesting dinner party.
Let the review begin.
MILD DRUG REFERENCES
That's right - by no means as hardcore as Download. For instance, I saw no breasts, not one. Not even the male genitalia. It was a completely different crowd, Belgians, Dutch and Australians mostly. So you know what that means - weed. Weed, Weed, Weed. It was everywhere - I couldn't believe the amount going around, completely unnoticed or, more accurately, unchallenged by anyone. Gotta love the Dutch.
Also, this time the 'talent' was of a much more respectable standard - none of your oppressed, rebellious 'I-need-to-wear-a-nose-ring-and-look-like-a-bull-and-have-bright-pink-dreadlocks-to-be-different-and-noticed' folk here. Just your ordinary looking people.
Rock Wechter is world renowned for its class and organisation - in fact, it has won 'Best Festival in the World' 4 times - 3 of those in a row from 2005. I came in to the festival expecting a lot - after Download, which I was overall quite impressed with. Unfortunately, I was slightly disappointed not too far into the whole ordeal.
*GASP*
I have one letter for you. Q.
Queues everywhere - too long, ridiculous. The deal is you get your ticket zapped by a zapper-dealy for a wristband - allowing for a speedy entry later on in the festival. That's a good idea. What's a bad idea is having one place to do it for 80,000 people. Download had a nifty little wristband which was initially adjustable, then locked into place in about 3 seconds. They also had them at campsites and various other places to ease congestion. Werchter had a similar system, but with a metal clamp used to lock your wristband on. The whole process took about 20-30 seconds per person. Times that by 80,000 - and you get a figure somewhere in the vicinity of too freaking long in the freaking line! We thought we had it bad, waiting nearly an hour in 30 degree+ heat. Two of our fellow festival-goers waited for double that.
A shame.
And just when I thought we'd be rid of queues forever - the drinks voucher queue was shoved into my existence. But I'm in too much of a good mood right now to talk to you about queues. What a stupid word, 'queue' it could have 4 less letters and mean the same thing.
NOW - the bands. Naturally, with two stages, we couldn't see EVERYONE - but we did ok.
THURSDAY
Eagles of Death Metal - couldn't tell ya, heard 'Really Wanna Be in LA' and 'Boy's Bad News' or whatever, from a distance - they sounded fine.
Lily Allen - I'd seen her before at BDO 2007 - she was great then, she was great now. Played a lot of new material which is good I might add - and funny as ever. Quite good looking too in the heat!
Dave Matthews Band - These guys are fantastic live. I highly skilled bunch of musos playing their hearts out. I love the drummer as well as the violin player who looks like a cousin of Bob Marley. Dave Matthews himself is a superb live singer - their version of 'All Along the Watchtower/Stairway to Heaven' was magic
Placebo - Now, I don't really know Placebo a great deal. They don't REALLY float my boat. 'Special K' is all right, but Brian Molko's voice is just annoying. He's also weird looking - androgynous and all that. But you knew that already.
Pendulum - Saw them at Download. They were much better there, only because we couldn't get into the tent to save our lives. Packed.
Oasis - You can just see the tension between the Gallagher brothers. Noel and Liam. Liam and Noel. Hahah - will they ever stop bickering?! Anyways, they were good - we were about to fall over with fatigue though, we heard about half of their set and bailed. They played '...Morning Glory' as we left and we could hear 'Wonderwall' from the campsite. All good.
The Prodigy - Obviously, we didn't hear them. Once again, couldn't see them due to circumstances out of our control. Bollocks.
FRIDAY
Amy MacDonald - A kind Scottish lass with no real qualms with anything. Music was ok, pretty low-key.
M.Ward - This guy is cool. I don't quite know how to pigeon-hole him and his band. It's kind of like blues, but not. He does a mad cover of 'Rollover Beethoven' by everyone. Check him out.
The Streets - Always good fun. Notable highlight was when Skinner took off his shirt (let me finish) and asked for another one from the crowd - 10-20 were immediately thrown at him, he tried one on and took it off, claiming it was too small. Madman.
Elbow - Only saw the end, sounded ok - very harmless music.
Bloc Party - Great fun, great interaction with the crowd. I often said, YOUR Mercury is in retrograde. Take that, dude from Bloc Party.
The Killers - In a word, fantastic. They were simply amazing - one of the highlights thus far. They played a good mix of old, middle and new. Brandon Flowers' voice was tremendous.
Coldplay - Just when you think your nights been topped, here come Coldplay. They played a staggering 26 songs, remixes included. Chris Martin did a 'Werchter Song' - seemingly improvised. They did a Michael Jackson tribute, paid homage to their co-headliners The Killers, and basically blew everyone away.
SATURDAY
Rodrigo y Gabriella - The classical guitar duo who do a rad cover of Metallica. What more could you want. Their flamenco style is outta this world.
Regina Spektor - She was good, we really couldn't hear her that well though. She's odd too - wacking a wooden chair with a drumstick. I did fall asleep at one point too...
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Regina's weird? Karen Oh is weirder. She deep-throats the microphone, damnit. Good entertainment though.
Mogwai - These Scottish instrumentalists were fantastic, so much so that we missed Franz Ferdinand for them. They are LOUD and awesome - wall of sounds kind of vibe. Apparently, FF told them to keep it down for their set, as they are known for being one of the loudest live bands going around.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - No matter what you think of Nick Cave's music - he's an impressive dude. He's energetic, fun and engaging. And he's Australian. 'Stagger Lee' was a favourite of mine. Upon reading a sign in the crowd 'CAN I HAVE YOUR GUITAR?' Nick said, 'No, you can't have my fucking guitar'. Gold.
Kings of Leon - These guys exceeded my expectations. They're not great showmen, but Caleb Followill can sure sing. Consistently as well. His voice has much improved over the past few albums, they're as tight as hell and catchy too.
SUNDAY
Metro Station - I'm kidding, I only heard 'Shake It' from far away!
The Mars Volta - From what we saw, they were great. Unfortunately, while watching them, we nearly drowned in the epic downpour, so we missed a great portion of their set running back to the campsite to check on our things.
Black Eyed Peas - Very good actually! I was shakin' my humps do these dudes. Will I Am did a cool tribute to MJ as well.
Kaiser Chiefs - These guys were tiring, in a good way. The lead singer plays nothing but tambourine, so he was running around, climbing things and sweating like someone had turned a tap on from inside his body. His voice didn't suffer either. 'Ruby' went off like milk in the sun.
Nine Inch Nails - Trent Reznor and his latest NIN lineup were very impressive. Unfortunately, they didn't captivate the crowd as the majority were there for the next act. Some of you may know that NIN are calling it quits this year after over 20 years running. Check out this for a lineup/previous lineup list.
Metallica - A quality, quality performace. They captivated the crowd and were as rockin as ever. It was a bonus for us, as we had seen them in March - and this time they played about 7 or 8 different songs, some of which were specifically requested by us. They closed the festival in style with an insane pyro display and fireworks.
So that was Rock Werchter. 99% flippin brilliant. Goodness me it was hot too - 8am was far enough in the day to spend in a tent without suffocating inside. The cure for this was to continue sleeping outside in the sun like a reptile. Madness.
There's a lot of stuff I omitted here, there's just too much that happens at festivals to include in a semi-interesting blog post. And now to proof-read...all good (I think).
Shyeah.
If you look to the right hand side of this page, you'll see the blogs sorted into months - you'll notice that June had one blog post. ONE. Am I getting lazy? Probably. Does it matter? No, shut up.
SO. Rock Werchter
That's the latest and greatest thing that's happened to me. One of my favourite festival line-ups and experiences of all time. This is a lineup which we will probably never see in Australia in the near future, unfortunately - perhaps in a hundred years or so - when all of these bands are dead and gone.
Do these bands all sit around at dinner time? Drink wine and muse about current affairs? That, would surely be an interesting dinner party.
Let the review begin.
MILD DRUG REFERENCES
That's right - by no means as hardcore as Download. For instance, I saw no breasts, not one. Not even the male genitalia. It was a completely different crowd, Belgians, Dutch and Australians mostly. So you know what that means - weed. Weed, Weed, Weed. It was everywhere - I couldn't believe the amount going around, completely unnoticed or, more accurately, unchallenged by anyone. Gotta love the Dutch.
Also, this time the 'talent' was of a much more respectable standard - none of your oppressed, rebellious 'I-need-to-wear-a-nose-ring-and-look-like-a-bull-and-have-bright-pink-dreadlocks-to-be-different-and-noticed' folk here. Just your ordinary looking people.
Rock Wechter is world renowned for its class and organisation - in fact, it has won 'Best Festival in the World' 4 times - 3 of those in a row from 2005. I came in to the festival expecting a lot - after Download, which I was overall quite impressed with. Unfortunately, I was slightly disappointed not too far into the whole ordeal.
*GASP*
I have one letter for you. Q.
Queues everywhere - too long, ridiculous. The deal is you get your ticket zapped by a zapper-dealy for a wristband - allowing for a speedy entry later on in the festival. That's a good idea. What's a bad idea is having one place to do it for 80,000 people. Download had a nifty little wristband which was initially adjustable, then locked into place in about 3 seconds. They also had them at campsites and various other places to ease congestion. Werchter had a similar system, but with a metal clamp used to lock your wristband on. The whole process took about 20-30 seconds per person. Times that by 80,000 - and you get a figure somewhere in the vicinity of too freaking long in the freaking line! We thought we had it bad, waiting nearly an hour in 30 degree+ heat. Two of our fellow festival-goers waited for double that.
A shame.
And just when I thought we'd be rid of queues forever - the drinks voucher queue was shoved into my existence. But I'm in too much of a good mood right now to talk to you about queues. What a stupid word, 'queue' it could have 4 less letters and mean the same thing.
NOW - the bands. Naturally, with two stages, we couldn't see EVERYONE - but we did ok.
THURSDAY
Eagles of Death Metal - couldn't tell ya, heard 'Really Wanna Be in LA' and 'Boy's Bad News' or whatever, from a distance - they sounded fine.
Lily Allen - I'd seen her before at BDO 2007 - she was great then, she was great now. Played a lot of new material which is good I might add - and funny as ever. Quite good looking too in the heat!
Dave Matthews Band - These guys are fantastic live. I highly skilled bunch of musos playing their hearts out. I love the drummer as well as the violin player who looks like a cousin of Bob Marley. Dave Matthews himself is a superb live singer - their version of 'All Along the Watchtower/Stairway to Heaven' was magic
Placebo - Now, I don't really know Placebo a great deal. They don't REALLY float my boat. 'Special K' is all right, but Brian Molko's voice is just annoying. He's also weird looking - androgynous and all that. But you knew that already.
Pendulum - Saw them at Download. They were much better there, only because we couldn't get into the tent to save our lives. Packed.
Oasis - You can just see the tension between the Gallagher brothers. Noel and Liam. Liam and Noel. Hahah - will they ever stop bickering?! Anyways, they were good - we were about to fall over with fatigue though, we heard about half of their set and bailed. They played '...Morning Glory' as we left and we could hear 'Wonderwall' from the campsite. All good.
The Prodigy - Obviously, we didn't hear them. Once again, couldn't see them due to circumstances out of our control. Bollocks.
FRIDAY
Amy MacDonald - A kind Scottish lass with no real qualms with anything. Music was ok, pretty low-key.
M.Ward - This guy is cool. I don't quite know how to pigeon-hole him and his band. It's kind of like blues, but not. He does a mad cover of 'Rollover Beethoven' by everyone. Check him out.
The Streets - Always good fun. Notable highlight was when Skinner took off his shirt (let me finish) and asked for another one from the crowd - 10-20 were immediately thrown at him, he tried one on and took it off, claiming it was too small. Madman.
Elbow - Only saw the end, sounded ok - very harmless music.
Bloc Party - Great fun, great interaction with the crowd. I often said, YOUR Mercury is in retrograde. Take that, dude from Bloc Party.
The Killers - In a word, fantastic. They were simply amazing - one of the highlights thus far. They played a good mix of old, middle and new. Brandon Flowers' voice was tremendous.
Coldplay - Just when you think your nights been topped, here come Coldplay. They played a staggering 26 songs, remixes included. Chris Martin did a 'Werchter Song' - seemingly improvised. They did a Michael Jackson tribute, paid homage to their co-headliners The Killers, and basically blew everyone away.
SATURDAY
Rodrigo y Gabriella - The classical guitar duo who do a rad cover of Metallica. What more could you want. Their flamenco style is outta this world.
Regina Spektor - She was good, we really couldn't hear her that well though. She's odd too - wacking a wooden chair with a drumstick. I did fall asleep at one point too...
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Regina's weird? Karen Oh is weirder. She deep-throats the microphone, damnit. Good entertainment though.
Mogwai - These Scottish instrumentalists were fantastic, so much so that we missed Franz Ferdinand for them. They are LOUD and awesome - wall of sounds kind of vibe. Apparently, FF told them to keep it down for their set, as they are known for being one of the loudest live bands going around.
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - No matter what you think of Nick Cave's music - he's an impressive dude. He's energetic, fun and engaging. And he's Australian. 'Stagger Lee' was a favourite of mine. Upon reading a sign in the crowd 'CAN I HAVE YOUR GUITAR?' Nick said, 'No, you can't have my fucking guitar'. Gold.
Kings of Leon - These guys exceeded my expectations. They're not great showmen, but Caleb Followill can sure sing. Consistently as well. His voice has much improved over the past few albums, they're as tight as hell and catchy too.
SUNDAY
Metro Station - I'm kidding, I only heard 'Shake It' from far away!
The Mars Volta - From what we saw, they were great. Unfortunately, while watching them, we nearly drowned in the epic downpour, so we missed a great portion of their set running back to the campsite to check on our things.
Black Eyed Peas - Very good actually! I was shakin' my humps do these dudes. Will I Am did a cool tribute to MJ as well.
Kaiser Chiefs - These guys were tiring, in a good way. The lead singer plays nothing but tambourine, so he was running around, climbing things and sweating like someone had turned a tap on from inside his body. His voice didn't suffer either. 'Ruby' went off like milk in the sun.
Nine Inch Nails - Trent Reznor and his latest NIN lineup were very impressive. Unfortunately, they didn't captivate the crowd as the majority were there for the next act. Some of you may know that NIN are calling it quits this year after over 20 years running. Check out this for a lineup/previous lineup list.
Metallica - A quality, quality performace. They captivated the crowd and were as rockin as ever. It was a bonus for us, as we had seen them in March - and this time they played about 7 or 8 different songs, some of which were specifically requested by us. They closed the festival in style with an insane pyro display and fireworks.
So that was Rock Werchter. 99% flippin brilliant. Goodness me it was hot too - 8am was far enough in the day to spend in a tent without suffocating inside. The cure for this was to continue sleeping outside in the sun like a reptile. Madness.
There's a lot of stuff I omitted here, there's just too much that happens at festivals to include in a semi-interesting blog post. And now to proof-read...all good (I think).
Shyeah.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
#12
THE DOWNLOAD FESTIVAL 2009 - A SPECIAL EDITION
PARENTAL WARNING - THIS BLOG CONTAINS WORDS ABOUT NUDITY AND OTHER CRAZY FESTIVAL GOINGS ON.
First of all, this blog will begin with lists and tallies.
What I Saw
Men's Genitals: 2
Women's Breasts: > 60
Drunk People: > 50,000
Men's Breasts: > 60
Beer Guts: > 5000
Clogged Toilets: > 100
Underage Guys Who Couldn't Hold Their Booze To Save Their Lives: 5
Tents on Fire: > 10
Explosions: > 5
Porta-Loos Severely Destroyed By Human Waste: > 50
People Passed Out, Prostrate On The Ground: > 10,000
You get the picture people. Insanity ensued last weekend.
What follows is a list of bands I saw and a brief, brief summary of what I thought of them:
FRIDAY 12TH July
Limp Bizkit: Saw them for about 10 minutes. They stunk.
Lacuna Coil: Solid band, quite tight.
Faith No More: A truly magnificent reunion. Brilliant performance - my top highlight. Mike 'The Human Synthesizer' Patton and the crew doing Poker Face and then Chinese Arithemetic.
We Care A Lot!
SATURDAY 13TH JUNE
Dragonforce: Highly entertaining, very impressive unit. Virtuosic Playing.
Pendulum: Another highlight for me. These guys were mind-blowing live. Aussies too! Propane Nightmares.
Prodigy: Unfortunately couldn't hear these guys as the area was so packed we couldn't get close. I heard though they rocked.
Marilyn Manson: Overall, a sub-par performance. He's getting old, tired and tubby.
Slipknot: Not my cup of tea really, but very impressive unit. Energetic and fun to head bang to.
SUNDAY 14TH JUNE
Journey: Awesome. Don't Stop Believin' baby!
Dream Theater: These guys were nuts, another set of virtuosos. Notable mention to the keytar/guitar/keyboard/synth duel. Holy crap.
ZZ Top: These old rockers rocked. Still got the wacky sense of humour and the slammin' rockabilly-blues vibe. I especially liked the fluffy guitars they brought out for one particular song.
Whitesnake: Truly Awesome. Although the only original member is the lead singer, they all slotted in very well. They played some great classic hits, said some funnies, blew everyone away. Here I Go Again
Def Leppard: Amazing performance. The band hadn't played there in 23 years - that show being the first major gig after the drummer, Rick Allen lost his arm in a car accident. It was moving to hear a tribute from the lead singer about his drummer and friend and the amazing recovery that occurred. Notable mention to Rick Allen himself - who is an amazing drummer, minus a limb. His setup is truly awesome if you want to check it out here.
And now for some of the funny stuff. Honestly, there was too much to remember ALL of it - but here are some of the things that were humorous.
Upon arrival at the festival, the bus parked outside a solid 10-set of porta-loos. I had to go, so I opened the first door that was available and burst out laughing immediately. Let's just say that it was already not in a good way. Concurrently, Ben was approached by a 'nasal Englishman' who asked,
"Are you waiting for the bog?"
Ben replied in his most Australian of accents,
"Yeah nah, go for it"
Apparently, he looked blankly at him and proceeded to the nearest bog.
What's next...ah yes! Our introduction to Download - Limp Bizkit. It became abundantly clear that there were some haters out there. How do I know this? Well, lead...singer...I guess... Fred Durst came out and did his trademark whine 'Wassup Download!?'. A man walking away from the stage, clearly already disgusted and annoyed simply shouted, very loudly,
"FUCK OFF!!" and kept walking.
Brilliant!
Later on, a man we saw a few times over the weekend was only wearing underpants. We never saw him wearing any other clothes than a pair of black undies the whole time!
Anywho, there was a couple making out on the ground, and he got his bits out. Yes, those bits. He was proud of it too. What happened next was hilariously horrifying - close your eyes if you don't want to know. You know you wanna. I thought so.
He started to pee, in front of everyone. And then, the edged his stream close to this couple having a moment. My view was obstructed, but I'm quite sure he got a few spots on them. Of course, he got his hands wet in the process, and started congratulating the couple with pats on the back and head. Disgusting.
EVEN LATER, during Faith No More, one of the ladies in front of them started vomiting uncontrollably. They ran out of tissues, Ben felt it his duty to help them out - handing them a packet of tissues to help her out. Good on ya Ben.
That's about it for the moment, if I think of anything more entertaining to write I'll put it up. If not, I won't!
Rock on!
Sunday, May 31, 2009
#11
THE FA CUP FINAL - WEMBLEY STADIUM SATURDAY 30TH MAY 2009
As you may already know, I got to work at Wembley Stadium for the FA Cup Final yesterday. I've worked at Wembley a few times previous to this, but as you'd imagine - this event is a tad more special.
Upon arrival, I was allocated the area known as The Great Hall. It should be noted that the various rooms and restaurants at Wembley morph and merge into a number of different manifestations. This week, The Great Hall was 'The FA Club' - the hangout for all of the major sponsors of the FA and their guests, as well as some British celebrities. Some sponsors include: Carlsberg, McDonalds and National Express. All booze was on the enormous tab of the FA. ALL BOOZE.
I snagged the bar as my place of work - pretty easy, handing out free bottles of Carlsberg to all these folks, topping up the Carlsberg urns - basically a table with a tub in it - filled with ice and hooch. This urn was to be constantly full with no less than 12 brews at all times, there were 5 of these urns - all of them close to the bar, which basically had an unlimited amount of booze. No doubt that the patrons were grateful of the FA's generosity.
SO - the day's events...
Near one of the two giant TV screens where they were showing how the two teams got in the Final (Chelsea and Everton you troglodyte - get with it), Everton supporters cheered as the ever-important goal was replayed in front of them. I was walking past with another waiter, who must have been in his 40s, and had a chalk stain of a hand print on his back and his shoulder. Someone got him good. I think he found the cheer to be a little bit too loud as he says to me,
"Bloody hell, life eh?"
I raised my head in half-hearted acknowledgement. What the hell does that mean? 'Life eh?'. You poor thing, you're waiting in the most prestigious room on arguably the biggest day on the British football calendar. Yeah life really sucks. From then on, I decided not to tell him that he had white hand print on his shirt. I was going to, honest.
As the day wound up later, tiredness set in amongst everyone - staff and managers alike. See the way it works, you have a general restaurant manager and then people below him such as bar manager, back-of-house managers and managers designated to areas of the room. I have deduced though, that technically these people are all on the same level on the hierarchy ladder - as many managers swap around rolls. Anywho, they started biting off each others' heads quite blatantly. Concurrently, the people back-of-house whose job it was to put away dirty and clean glasses into their designated areas, decided that life was all too hard.
'Where are you getting those glasses from?' I was asked.
'The bar'
'Can you stop bringing them please?
'Why?'
'Don't you want to go home today? This is taking ages...'
'I'm just doing what I'm told' which is all one can really do when getting paid minimum wage. And who cares, you clown - you get paid for the hours extra you work. Go ahead, I dare you to approach a disgruntled manager and demand that you go home. Good luck, you pillock.
Later on, as I was signing out I overheard (eavesdropped, sure) a conversation explaining that a worker leaned over a bar, took an ice cube out of a bucket and put it in his mouth - all in front of a customer waiting for service. He got kicked out. Nice one!
Yep.
Oh yeah, the actual FA Cup was in the room for a while, the percussionist from the band kept nodding and smiling at me as if to say 'You know what's goin' on mun' (he was Jamaican) and I served a dude from Eastenders tea. I found out that last one much later as I'm not familiar with British soap operas as much these days.
Pip, pip.
As you may already know, I got to work at Wembley Stadium for the FA Cup Final yesterday. I've worked at Wembley a few times previous to this, but as you'd imagine - this event is a tad more special.
Upon arrival, I was allocated the area known as The Great Hall. It should be noted that the various rooms and restaurants at Wembley morph and merge into a number of different manifestations. This week, The Great Hall was 'The FA Club' - the hangout for all of the major sponsors of the FA and their guests, as well as some British celebrities. Some sponsors include: Carlsberg, McDonalds and National Express. All booze was on the enormous tab of the FA. ALL BOOZE.
I snagged the bar as my place of work - pretty easy, handing out free bottles of Carlsberg to all these folks, topping up the Carlsberg urns - basically a table with a tub in it - filled with ice and hooch. This urn was to be constantly full with no less than 12 brews at all times, there were 5 of these urns - all of them close to the bar, which basically had an unlimited amount of booze. No doubt that the patrons were grateful of the FA's generosity.
SO - the day's events...
Near one of the two giant TV screens where they were showing how the two teams got in the Final (Chelsea and Everton you troglodyte - get with it), Everton supporters cheered as the ever-important goal was replayed in front of them. I was walking past with another waiter, who must have been in his 40s, and had a chalk stain of a hand print on his back and his shoulder. Someone got him good. I think he found the cheer to be a little bit too loud as he says to me,
"Bloody hell, life eh?"
I raised my head in half-hearted acknowledgement. What the hell does that mean? 'Life eh?'. You poor thing, you're waiting in the most prestigious room on arguably the biggest day on the British football calendar. Yeah life really sucks. From then on, I decided not to tell him that he had white hand print on his shirt. I was going to, honest.
As the day wound up later, tiredness set in amongst everyone - staff and managers alike. See the way it works, you have a general restaurant manager and then people below him such as bar manager, back-of-house managers and managers designated to areas of the room. I have deduced though, that technically these people are all on the same level on the hierarchy ladder - as many managers swap around rolls. Anywho, they started biting off each others' heads quite blatantly. Concurrently, the people back-of-house whose job it was to put away dirty and clean glasses into their designated areas, decided that life was all too hard.
'Where are you getting those glasses from?' I was asked.
'The bar'
'Can you stop bringing them please?
'Why?'
'Don't you want to go home today? This is taking ages...'
'I'm just doing what I'm told' which is all one can really do when getting paid minimum wage. And who cares, you clown - you get paid for the hours extra you work. Go ahead, I dare you to approach a disgruntled manager and demand that you go home. Good luck, you pillock.
Later on, as I was signing out I overheard (eavesdropped, sure) a conversation explaining that a worker leaned over a bar, took an ice cube out of a bucket and put it in his mouth - all in front of a customer waiting for service. He got kicked out. Nice one!
Yep.
Oh yeah, the actual FA Cup was in the room for a while, the percussionist from the band kept nodding and smiling at me as if to say 'You know what's goin' on mun' (he was Jamaican) and I served a dude from Eastenders tea. I found out that last one much later as I'm not familiar with British soap operas as much these days.
Pip, pip.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
#10
Double figures, baby.
Moving on...
Of late, I finally cracked the 'working-behind-a-bar' egg. (So now I can tell people that when they ask me!) My first proper experience being Friday night at Harlequins Rugby Club, down in Twickenham.
I was a tad apprehensive, only because I'd never really done it before. But our fellow staff and Bar Manager all seemed nice. We were split into 'teams' - which was basically areas along the bar. My team of 3 consisted of myself, a guy who spoke little English and a portly African girl with a loud voice and a brain whose reasoning centre was clearly non-existent.
Excellent. Fan-bloody-tastic.
Once the mob started arriving and then of course started drinking - problems started to arise. The African girl insisted that I stay on the tills while she took all the orders, gave me cash etc. This may sound efficient...it wasn't.
She was mad.
The tills we were working with had 3 operations, meaning one person could put an order in - then if someone else needed to use it, all they had to do was press a button, it would switch over to a new order - saving the previous one. Logical, easy and useful.
Madwoman did not understand this quantum leap in technology. I had given up her stupid method by this stage and was taking my own orders and pouring my own beers. She was in the middle of an order, but not at the till and I was ready to exchange a quick transaction. I switched over the operation and she freaked.
"No no no no no! What are you doing, that was my order!"
"Yeah I know, it saves it - it didn't go anywhere."
All the while she was arbitrarily stabbing the till and making it beep and boop - completely erasing hers and my order.
Moron.
Also, due to her portliness - it was difficult to manoeuvre with beers in your hand - especially when she was violently grabbing my arm telling me to get on the tills. Eventually she got to go home early, even though she was drinking wine and talking on her phone. GASP.
Why is all of this crazy crap happening to me! More to come I suppose.
Before I let you go back to your futile, meaningless lives I thought I'd tell you about a couple of strange British customs regarding beer.
Firstly, they like warm beer. Yeah I don't know either.
Secondly, a good portion of beer drinkers drink what's known as Shandies, also known as Lager Tops. What is this, you ask? Well it's mostly beer, topped off with a dash of lemonade! Now I thought this was solely for the ladies. I was wrong. The blokes like a hint of lame in their beers.
Admittedly, I haven't tasted it yet - it could be nice, but at the moment I'm abstaining on pure principal and spite.
Go make yourself a shandy, get back to me.
Moving on...
Of late, I finally cracked the 'working-behind-a-bar' egg. (So now I can tell people that when they ask me!) My first proper experience being Friday night at Harlequins Rugby Club, down in Twickenham.
I was a tad apprehensive, only because I'd never really done it before. But our fellow staff and Bar Manager all seemed nice. We were split into 'teams' - which was basically areas along the bar. My team of 3 consisted of myself, a guy who spoke little English and a portly African girl with a loud voice and a brain whose reasoning centre was clearly non-existent.
Excellent. Fan-bloody-tastic.
Once the mob started arriving and then of course started drinking - problems started to arise. The African girl insisted that I stay on the tills while she took all the orders, gave me cash etc. This may sound efficient...it wasn't.
She was mad.
The tills we were working with had 3 operations, meaning one person could put an order in - then if someone else needed to use it, all they had to do was press a button, it would switch over to a new order - saving the previous one. Logical, easy and useful.
Madwoman did not understand this quantum leap in technology. I had given up her stupid method by this stage and was taking my own orders and pouring my own beers. She was in the middle of an order, but not at the till and I was ready to exchange a quick transaction. I switched over the operation and she freaked.
"No no no no no! What are you doing, that was my order!"
"Yeah I know, it saves it - it didn't go anywhere."
All the while she was arbitrarily stabbing the till and making it beep and boop - completely erasing hers and my order.
Moron.
Also, due to her portliness - it was difficult to manoeuvre with beers in your hand - especially when she was violently grabbing my arm telling me to get on the tills. Eventually she got to go home early, even though she was drinking wine and talking on her phone. GASP.
Why is all of this crazy crap happening to me! More to come I suppose.
Before I let you go back to your futile, meaningless lives I thought I'd tell you about a couple of strange British customs regarding beer.
Firstly, they like warm beer. Yeah I don't know either.
Secondly, a good portion of beer drinkers drink what's known as Shandies, also known as Lager Tops. What is this, you ask? Well it's mostly beer, topped off with a dash of lemonade! Now I thought this was solely for the ladies. I was wrong. The blokes like a hint of lame in their beers.
Admittedly, I haven't tasted it yet - it could be nice, but at the moment I'm abstaining on pure principal and spite.
Go make yourself a shandy, get back to me.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
#9
The Cockney Accent. A wondrous hilarity I have had a fair bit of exposure to already, here in London.
While coming back from Royal Ascot on the train yesterday, we saw two men hop on. One carrying a garbage back full of knick-knacks, the other accompanied by a dog. They both smelled of a foul concoction of booze, weed and filth well beyond the realms one is normally accustomed to.
They did however, enter with a large amount of funny things to say - most of which I cannot repeat in their entirety, due to the fact it was completely impossible to decipher what they were saying. I did gather some sort of order and understanding.
The man with the dog immediately said,
"Look after this, innit godda piss!"
"Fuckin' 'urry up then, there i' is!"
It was immediately clear that these dudes were pretty much drifters, they didn't buy a ticket - a fact they decided to tell the whole cabin loudly.
The dog started sniffing a male passenger who obliged in patting him. The man, being overly unintelligible and loud, as well as highly racist, said,
"Look at the fuckin' dog, slobbering all over this pants"
Yes I said 'this pants'.
The man insisted it was ok, and they started 'chatting' I guess you could call it. The mate then came out of the toilet, refreshed I assume, started talking absolute rubbish. The initial bloke started airing his knowledge over brands of pants - Pierre Cardin, Giorgio Armani and Hugo Boss. Ironically, his jeans I saw later were Armani. Stolen perhaps...?
Toilet dude was shocked and apologetic that his dog was 'slobbering' over others. He then asked,
"Whadjoo fink 'is name is?"
His friend said, immediately,
"C**T. That's 'is name"
It was at this point, I burst out laughing. It is likely to be one of those 'had-to-be-there-moments'. Absolutely hilarious.
What followed this was an exchange of gibberish, followed by a kiss on the forehead from one to another, the toilet man tapping on the pole in Morse Code and his friend being aggitated by it. Unfortunately, these fine men had to leave at the next station. Just before this, however, one of them claimed that he was 'known' by CID. Unlucky.
I was sad to see them leave - the girl across from us asked,
"Did you understand anything they said?"
Not really, luv, but enough.
While coming back from Royal Ascot on the train yesterday, we saw two men hop on. One carrying a garbage back full of knick-knacks, the other accompanied by a dog. They both smelled of a foul concoction of booze, weed and filth well beyond the realms one is normally accustomed to.
They did however, enter with a large amount of funny things to say - most of which I cannot repeat in their entirety, due to the fact it was completely impossible to decipher what they were saying. I did gather some sort of order and understanding.
The man with the dog immediately said,
"Look after this, innit godda piss!"
"Fuckin' 'urry up then, there i' is!"
It was immediately clear that these dudes were pretty much drifters, they didn't buy a ticket - a fact they decided to tell the whole cabin loudly.
The dog started sniffing a male passenger who obliged in patting him. The man, being overly unintelligible and loud, as well as highly racist, said,
"Look at the fuckin' dog, slobbering all over this pants"
Yes I said 'this pants'.
The man insisted it was ok, and they started 'chatting' I guess you could call it. The mate then came out of the toilet, refreshed I assume, started talking absolute rubbish. The initial bloke started airing his knowledge over brands of pants - Pierre Cardin, Giorgio Armani and Hugo Boss. Ironically, his jeans I saw later were Armani. Stolen perhaps...?
Toilet dude was shocked and apologetic that his dog was 'slobbering' over others. He then asked,
"Whadjoo fink 'is name is?"
His friend said, immediately,
"C**T. That's 'is name"
It was at this point, I burst out laughing. It is likely to be one of those 'had-to-be-there-moments'. Absolutely hilarious.
What followed this was an exchange of gibberish, followed by a kiss on the forehead from one to another, the toilet man tapping on the pole in Morse Code and his friend being aggitated by it. Unfortunately, these fine men had to leave at the next station. Just before this, however, one of them claimed that he was 'known' by CID. Unlucky.
I was sad to see them leave - the girl across from us asked,
"Did you understand anything they said?"
Not really, luv, but enough.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
#8
I've been fortunate enough over the past few weeks in London to work as a waiter/runner at Wembley Stadium and Arsenal Stadium aka Emirates Stadium. (By the way, get used to me linking to Wikipedia for background information on things I see and do. Who doesn't love Wiki, really.)
Back to the blogging.
The uniform required for such work is your standard black shoes, socks and pants - sometimes even a white shirt! I came over here with only 1 pair of black socks, so decided I needed some more. Primark was the answer.
For those who are unaware, Primark is a bit like a mix between Target, Myer and filth. Not really - it's actually quite handy to get cheap clothes there. Cheap being the operative word.
I went in, bought a shirt, a pack of t-shirts, pants and socks for £16. Not bad.
The socks I mentioned earlier were located in the queue as a clever and devious ploy to make you spend more money, just when you're trying to get out of this godforsaken dumphole. As I was looking at this pack of black socks for £1.96, a woman behind me decided to chip in to my life.
"They're rubbish, innit"
"Sorry?"
"The socks, you get whatcha pay for innit. Rubbish man."
"Oh really? Ah well, they'll do."
"Yeah - rubbish man - they dye your feet"
At this point, I was forced to enter the awesome realms of my mind, wherein I think of numerous things when little if any time passes.
First off, what? Who are you, you crazy wildebeest? Sure, you may be helping me, but that's yet to be determined. Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. She wasn't even that good looking.
(Oh come on all you frowners, I'm joking. Comic relief - I'm no sexist.) And they 'dye my feet'!? Have you lost your mind?
Where is this story going, I hear you asking rudely?
She was right.
I got home after the Arsenal match, weeks later, took off my socks and found my black feet whimpering up at me. It was hideous.
I looked like a hobbit who'd been walking through a lake of ash. Damn my cynicism. I'm sorry crazy Primark-queue-lady.
From this point on, I will listen to people who don't mind their own business in queues of shops;
Not scorn them.
Back to the blogging.
The uniform required for such work is your standard black shoes, socks and pants - sometimes even a white shirt! I came over here with only 1 pair of black socks, so decided I needed some more. Primark was the answer.
For those who are unaware, Primark is a bit like a mix between Target, Myer and filth. Not really - it's actually quite handy to get cheap clothes there. Cheap being the operative word.
I went in, bought a shirt, a pack of t-shirts, pants and socks for £16. Not bad.
The socks I mentioned earlier were located in the queue as a clever and devious ploy to make you spend more money, just when you're trying to get out of this godforsaken dumphole. As I was looking at this pack of black socks for £1.96, a woman behind me decided to chip in to my life.
"They're rubbish, innit"
"Sorry?"
"The socks, you get whatcha pay for innit. Rubbish man."
"Oh really? Ah well, they'll do."
"Yeah - rubbish man - they dye your feet"
At this point, I was forced to enter the awesome realms of my mind, wherein I think of numerous things when little if any time passes.
First off, what? Who are you, you crazy wildebeest? Sure, you may be helping me, but that's yet to be determined. Keep your thoughts and opinions to yourself. She wasn't even that good looking.
(Oh come on all you frowners, I'm joking. Comic relief - I'm no sexist.) And they 'dye my feet'!? Have you lost your mind?
Where is this story going, I hear you asking rudely?
She was right.
I got home after the Arsenal match, weeks later, took off my socks and found my black feet whimpering up at me. It was hideous.
I looked like a hobbit who'd been walking through a lake of ash. Damn my cynicism. I'm sorry crazy Primark-queue-lady.
From this point on, I will listen to people who don't mind their own business in queues of shops;
Not scorn them.
Monday, April 20, 2009
#7
And I'm back. Sorry If no comments were coming through, some cock-up in the settings department. All fixed now!
I went to Istanbul last week - totally rad. Cool markets, people and culture. One has to visit the markets when in Istanbul, so we visited the Grand Bazaar.
I was reminded immediately of my visit to Beijing in 2006 whereupon the hoards of stalls, each no bigger than a small bathroom, went as far as the eye could see - all undercover. With this reminder came the memory of the great art of haggling.
I do enjoy haggling. It's like a very small adrenaline rush because you're messing with a dude who's trying to get as much money from you as he can. Meanwhile, you're trying to keep as much money as you can. Ideally, we meet halfway, often you are ripped off and you don't even know it.
Anywho I inquired to a gentleman about a scarf he had on display. This scarf was identical (albeit a different colour) to a scarf I had purchased that very day, at a different market for 10YTL, roughly £5 or $10AUD. Not too bad - it was silk and lovely looking! This conversation followed:
"How much for this one mate?"
"20 Lira"
"20? Righto..."
"How much you think should be paid?"
"Well I saw one before, for 10"
"10? That price mean no good quality"
"Yeah but it was the same scarf"
"If it was the same, why didn't you buy it?"
"I did."
He shrugged his shoulders and I walked off. He just lost 10 Lira, the clown.
Not complaining though - good times had constantly.
Even the time when a local old man decided to not mind his own business, after he saw us looking in our guide book for our hostel. His English was barely audible or decipherable, his teeth and smile reminiscent of a pom who'd lost his toothbrush and hadn't bothered to get a new one in 25 years. What's more is he grabbed our (face) cheeks exclaiming,
"You are young looking! Very young!" - just like aunty Gladys at Christmas would.
Righto champ, hands to yourself if you don't mind. We thought we'd lost him when he walked off, he then stopped, turned around and began it all over again. Trying to be nice? Probably. Admirable gesture? Sure. Helpful? Not in the slightest. Creepy? Hell yes.
Shalom.
I went to Istanbul last week - totally rad. Cool markets, people and culture. One has to visit the markets when in Istanbul, so we visited the Grand Bazaar.
I was reminded immediately of my visit to Beijing in 2006 whereupon the hoards of stalls, each no bigger than a small bathroom, went as far as the eye could see - all undercover. With this reminder came the memory of the great art of haggling.
I do enjoy haggling. It's like a very small adrenaline rush because you're messing with a dude who's trying to get as much money from you as he can. Meanwhile, you're trying to keep as much money as you can. Ideally, we meet halfway, often you are ripped off and you don't even know it.
Anywho I inquired to a gentleman about a scarf he had on display. This scarf was identical (albeit a different colour) to a scarf I had purchased that very day, at a different market for 10YTL, roughly £5 or $10AUD. Not too bad - it was silk and lovely looking! This conversation followed:
"How much for this one mate?"
"20 Lira"
"20? Righto..."
"How much you think should be paid?"
"Well I saw one before, for 10"
"10? That price mean no good quality"
"Yeah but it was the same scarf"
"If it was the same, why didn't you buy it?"
"I did."
He shrugged his shoulders and I walked off. He just lost 10 Lira, the clown.
Not complaining though - good times had constantly.
Even the time when a local old man decided to not mind his own business, after he saw us looking in our guide book for our hostel. His English was barely audible or decipherable, his teeth and smile reminiscent of a pom who'd lost his toothbrush and hadn't bothered to get a new one in 25 years. What's more is he grabbed our (face) cheeks exclaiming,
"You are young looking! Very young!" - just like aunty Gladys at Christmas would.
Righto champ, hands to yourself if you don't mind. We thought we'd lost him when he walked off, he then stopped, turned around and began it all over again. Trying to be nice? Probably. Admirable gesture? Sure. Helpful? Not in the slightest. Creepy? Hell yes.
Shalom.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
#6
Well look at that - we're beyond 5 blogs.
Some people didn't think I could do it: "Pete I don't think you can do it" etc. That's not a direct quote by the way. I'm not sure if anyone said anything remotely related to that statement at all actually.
This week was vastly quieter than last. Rock concerts and the epic failure of public transport although significant, don't happen THAT often.
What has been fun is seeing London for what it really is: a beautiful city with enormous history and culture, packed with all kinds of different things to see and do, filled with miserable and unhelpful people. Now I know what you're thinking. I don't really, but I have an idea.
'Pete is so cynical about his gap year, he's in London for (expletive)'s sake, why can't he just write about how fun and happy it is?'
An interesting point of view, but one which is invalid. I'm here to write about not only my experiences, but my observations. I'm not compiling a travel diary, and this is what I'm seein' people!
Right. So now you're thinking, 'What grounds or basis does Pete have the right to say things like that?'. Once again, you may not be thinking that at all. But I can say what I want on here, it's my damn blog. :D
Now, back to the matter at hand. In Australia, I am used to general niceties in public relations, be that going to the shops for some milk or shopping for a new phone. I took this for granted, as over here - the niceties that you often (not always) see are far inferior to the Australian equivalent. Pleasantries are exchanged, you buy, you leave. No problem. 9 out of 10 'customer service' people here just plain suck. Maybe it's their miserable lives coming out to shine, I don't know.
One particular instance where this is true is particularly interesting as our subject was TOO nice. It was when we were applying for a bank account, the young man was pleasant enough - but very talkative, so much so that he was asking our opinion on one of his colleagues' appearance. It was a girl for the record, not a guy. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I mean sure, I was mildly entertained for a while - but then it just got boring and tired, like a feeble old great uncle at Christmas who smells a putrid smell of, BO, farts and scotch. Lame.
Exciting times ahead - Topdeck tours, and a trip to Turkey next week. Should be VERY interesting to write about.
And now for a shameless plug. My brother James is a smart man. Read his shit here.
That is all.
Some people didn't think I could do it: "Pete I don't think you can do it" etc. That's not a direct quote by the way. I'm not sure if anyone said anything remotely related to that statement at all actually.
This week was vastly quieter than last. Rock concerts and the epic failure of public transport although significant, don't happen THAT often.
What has been fun is seeing London for what it really is: a beautiful city with enormous history and culture, packed with all kinds of different things to see and do, filled with miserable and unhelpful people. Now I know what you're thinking. I don't really, but I have an idea.
'Pete is so cynical about his gap year, he's in London for (expletive)'s sake, why can't he just write about how fun and happy it is?'
An interesting point of view, but one which is invalid. I'm here to write about not only my experiences, but my observations. I'm not compiling a travel diary, and this is what I'm seein' people!
Right. So now you're thinking, 'What grounds or basis does Pete have the right to say things like that?'. Once again, you may not be thinking that at all. But I can say what I want on here, it's my damn blog. :D
Now, back to the matter at hand. In Australia, I am used to general niceties in public relations, be that going to the shops for some milk or shopping for a new phone. I took this for granted, as over here - the niceties that you often (not always) see are far inferior to the Australian equivalent. Pleasantries are exchanged, you buy, you leave. No problem. 9 out of 10 'customer service' people here just plain suck. Maybe it's their miserable lives coming out to shine, I don't know.
One particular instance where this is true is particularly interesting as our subject was TOO nice. It was when we were applying for a bank account, the young man was pleasant enough - but very talkative, so much so that he was asking our opinion on one of his colleagues' appearance. It was a girl for the record, not a guy. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I mean sure, I was mildly entertained for a while - but then it just got boring and tired, like a feeble old great uncle at Christmas who smells a putrid smell of, BO, farts and scotch. Lame.
Exciting times ahead - Topdeck tours, and a trip to Turkey next week. Should be VERY interesting to write about.
And now for a shameless plug. My brother James is a smart man. Read his shit here.
That is all.
Monday, March 30, 2009
#5
THE ABSOLUTE SHITFIGHT THAT WAS GETTING HOME FROM METALLICA - 28 MARCH 2009
A special post, ladies and gentlemen. Special in that you get two posts in 3 days, and that this post is essentially one of complaining and hate. All justified, I think.
I wont bore you with the details of the actual concert, which absolutely made my night, by the way - But will inform you of the ridiculous transport options to get home that evening.
For those of you who are uninformed, I live in West London. The o2 Arena (admittedly, an impressively gargantuan arena) is in North Greenwich, a place in East London. The London Underground has many, many lines. These are all mostly useful and often highly punctual. North Greenwich has one tube line going through it The Jubilee Line - a rare occurrence. Of course, the weekend a Metallica concert is on - they close it for maintenance.
Historically, maintenance on these lines has been rare, irregular and somewhat unpopular. Due to the impending Olympics in 2012, I think a collective, figurative "bollocks" was exclaimed amongst those who are in charge of the London Underground.
They have to compensate with a 'Rail Replacement Bus Service' - basically buses trying to compensate for the frequent, efficient, Noah's ark-like capacity of the Tube.
Fail.
What ensued was thousands of drunk, pissed off Metallica fans, trying to bloody get home. What's one of the most annoying parts of the story was that even if we used the Rail Replacement Service, we would have got to the Tube station well after the last Tube had left.
Thus, we were forced to catch a bus to the city, and hopefully catch a Nightbus to where we live. Sounds fine in theory, right?
Wrong.
The bus from North Greenwich to Waterloo and Victoria, stopped and terminated at Elephant and Castle. Also known as Shitville.
Our next option was to persist to Victoria and catch the Nightbus. We got a minicab (cheaper than the poncey looking ones) with a Dutch speaking African man, who used his Dutch-speaking GPS.
We eventually got to Victoria Station and then waited in about minus a billion temperatures at the correct stop for the Nightbus. This bus was meant to come at 17 and 47 minutes past the hour. We were there by 30 minutes past. We were waiting till 10 minutes past the next hour. All the while, we'd lost an hour due to the lovely plight of Daylight Savings.
At this point, we were roughly 3.5 hours after the concert had finished, and nowhere near home. Luckily, a nightclub was nearby and we got a cab from the joker outside. That ended up costing 28 quid.
IN THE END, we got home 4.5 hours after the concert finished, spending 40 quid on transport when it should have taken about 1 hour, and cost us about 1/10th of that amount.
How's that for a poostorm of shit luck.
A special post, ladies and gentlemen. Special in that you get two posts in 3 days, and that this post is essentially one of complaining and hate. All justified, I think.
I wont bore you with the details of the actual concert, which absolutely made my night, by the way - But will inform you of the ridiculous transport options to get home that evening.
For those of you who are uninformed, I live in West London. The o2 Arena (admittedly, an impressively gargantuan arena) is in North Greenwich, a place in East London. The London Underground has many, many lines. These are all mostly useful and often highly punctual. North Greenwich has one tube line going through it The Jubilee Line - a rare occurrence. Of course, the weekend a Metallica concert is on - they close it for maintenance.
Historically, maintenance on these lines has been rare, irregular and somewhat unpopular. Due to the impending Olympics in 2012, I think a collective, figurative "bollocks" was exclaimed amongst those who are in charge of the London Underground.
They have to compensate with a 'Rail Replacement Bus Service' - basically buses trying to compensate for the frequent, efficient, Noah's ark-like capacity of the Tube.
Fail.
What ensued was thousands of drunk, pissed off Metallica fans, trying to bloody get home. What's one of the most annoying parts of the story was that even if we used the Rail Replacement Service, we would have got to the Tube station well after the last Tube had left.
Thus, we were forced to catch a bus to the city, and hopefully catch a Nightbus to where we live. Sounds fine in theory, right?
Wrong.
The bus from North Greenwich to Waterloo and Victoria, stopped and terminated at Elephant and Castle. Also known as Shitville.
Our next option was to persist to Victoria and catch the Nightbus. We got a minicab (cheaper than the poncey looking ones) with a Dutch speaking African man, who used his Dutch-speaking GPS.
We eventually got to Victoria Station and then waited in about minus a billion temperatures at the correct stop for the Nightbus. This bus was meant to come at 17 and 47 minutes past the hour. We were there by 30 minutes past. We were waiting till 10 minutes past the next hour. All the while, we'd lost an hour due to the lovely plight of Daylight Savings.
At this point, we were roughly 3.5 hours after the concert had finished, and nowhere near home. Luckily, a nightclub was nearby and we got a cab from the joker outside. That ended up costing 28 quid.
IN THE END, we got home 4.5 hours after the concert finished, spending 40 quid on transport when it should have taken about 1 hour, and cost us about 1/10th of that amount.
How's that for a poostorm of shit luck.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
#4
Well that week was pretty cool.
Last night was The Big Night Downunder, for all the Ozzies, Kiwis and Saffers living in London to get pissed, bet on dogs and make arses of themselves. I was selling tickets outside with Ben and a couple of other dudes in the bloody freezing weather - worth the cash though!
I'm not sure if anyone's heard of the Clapham Grand nightclub, but as in any blog post, a story must be told!
It's quite a prestigious place, absolutely massive. We lined up - I got passed the first bouncer (who, 5 minutes earlier tripped over a man who spat on another patron), the second one asked who I was 'vith' (a Russian, I presume) - I told him a few friends - he booted me out because I wasn't 21.
Anywho, a friend who happens to have friends in high places (that being the clubs night manager) got us in 10 minutes later. I walk in the door, my Igor friend stopped me again as the others had gone ahead. His boss let me in, and he was not happy. Poor Igor, maybe next time.
We walked through this secret curtain thing, and the manager asks us
"You know, Christiano Ronaldo? His girlfriend is here tonight, she finds it hard to dance with her top on".
I was agog at this statement, however you'll be disappointed to know that no such half-naked lady joined our company! Perhaps it was a bum steer, or she forgot. Who knows.
True story, happened to me.
Goodnight world.
Last night was The Big Night Downunder, for all the Ozzies, Kiwis and Saffers living in London to get pissed, bet on dogs and make arses of themselves. I was selling tickets outside with Ben and a couple of other dudes in the bloody freezing weather - worth the cash though!
I'm not sure if anyone's heard of the Clapham Grand nightclub, but as in any blog post, a story must be told!
It's quite a prestigious place, absolutely massive. We lined up - I got passed the first bouncer (who, 5 minutes earlier tripped over a man who spat on another patron), the second one asked who I was 'vith' (a Russian, I presume) - I told him a few friends - he booted me out because I wasn't 21.
Anywho, a friend who happens to have friends in high places (that being the clubs night manager) got us in 10 minutes later. I walk in the door, my Igor friend stopped me again as the others had gone ahead. His boss let me in, and he was not happy. Poor Igor, maybe next time.
We walked through this secret curtain thing, and the manager asks us
"You know, Christiano Ronaldo? His girlfriend is here tonight, she finds it hard to dance with her top on".
I was agog at this statement, however you'll be disappointed to know that no such half-naked lady joined our company! Perhaps it was a bum steer, or she forgot. Who knows.
True story, happened to me.
Goodnight world.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
#3
8 days since my last entry. That's more like it.
Admittedly, it's getting a tad difficult to try and recall a week's worth of activities after such an absence. Perhaps I should invest in a pen and some paper.
Surprisingly, the weather has been, well, nice. I would even suggest that it's reached the point of 'mild' weather. The sun actually comes out regularly.
Londoners are strange. Ben and I were walking through Leicester square, minding our own business when we walked past a group of girls sitting on a bench. Strangely, they fell silent about 3 steps before we reached them, then "BAAH!" they scared the B-Christ out of us. What if I had a heart condition? Of course they laughed hysterically. Laugh it up.
Later on, in a nearby waffle shop, we were innocently trying to choose the flavour of our impending waffle. Three private school girls wander into the small shop. That's fine, it's a free country. The one nearest to me said something along the lines of
"I'm too poor, can you buy me one?"
I at first didn't realise she was talking to me. She was.
"Me?"
"Yes", she said while giving me the *please - if you don't buy me this waffle, my entire family will die in a car fire* look.
"Nope, sorry - I barely have enough money for myself".
Yadda yadda, there was banter after that. She eventually kind of scared me (a bit like last time) when she did a 'BOO' type of thing.
They were horrible at Australian accents.
St Patrick's day yesterday. London was packed with Aussies and Kiwis as much as Londoners and the Irish themselves. We started the afternoon at Waxy O'Conners at Leicester Square - an enormous pub which looked like it was carved out of rock or something. Good Guinness there. Good craic too.
We eventually moved on to Shepherd's Bush to a pub called O'Neill's. It was FULL of Aussies and Kiwis. So much so, that I talked to a solid group of Kiwis for upwards of half an hour. Admittedly, they only started talking to me because of my uncanny resemblance to Jon Heder. Two of them got photos with me, I thought that a fair payment would be a kiss on the cheek. So they did it, without hesitation.
A few pints later, I gave away all of my shrapnel to a group of Irish dancing girls and then got hit on by a strange group of London males who called me Fabio. It was at that point that I decided to leave. Promptly.
I did miss things in this entry. They might come up later on, they might not. Who knows!
Stay classy.
Admittedly, it's getting a tad difficult to try and recall a week's worth of activities after such an absence. Perhaps I should invest in a pen and some paper.
Surprisingly, the weather has been, well, nice. I would even suggest that it's reached the point of 'mild' weather. The sun actually comes out regularly.
Londoners are strange. Ben and I were walking through Leicester square, minding our own business when we walked past a group of girls sitting on a bench. Strangely, they fell silent about 3 steps before we reached them, then "BAAH!" they scared the B-Christ out of us. What if I had a heart condition? Of course they laughed hysterically. Laugh it up.
Later on, in a nearby waffle shop, we were innocently trying to choose the flavour of our impending waffle. Three private school girls wander into the small shop. That's fine, it's a free country. The one nearest to me said something along the lines of
"I'm too poor, can you buy me one?"
I at first didn't realise she was talking to me. She was.
"Me?"
"Yes", she said while giving me the *please - if you don't buy me this waffle, my entire family will die in a car fire* look.
"Nope, sorry - I barely have enough money for myself".
Yadda yadda, there was banter after that. She eventually kind of scared me (a bit like last time) when she did a 'BOO' type of thing.
They were horrible at Australian accents.
St Patrick's day yesterday. London was packed with Aussies and Kiwis as much as Londoners and the Irish themselves. We started the afternoon at Waxy O'Conners at Leicester Square - an enormous pub which looked like it was carved out of rock or something. Good Guinness there. Good craic too.
We eventually moved on to Shepherd's Bush to a pub called O'Neill's. It was FULL of Aussies and Kiwis. So much so, that I talked to a solid group of Kiwis for upwards of half an hour. Admittedly, they only started talking to me because of my uncanny resemblance to Jon Heder. Two of them got photos with me, I thought that a fair payment would be a kiss on the cheek. So they did it, without hesitation.
A few pints later, I gave away all of my shrapnel to a group of Irish dancing girls and then got hit on by a strange group of London males who called me Fabio. It was at that point that I decided to leave. Promptly.
I did miss things in this entry. They might come up later on, they might not. Who knows!
Stay classy.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
#2
Let me start off by saying, in no way will these posts be as frequent as this long-awaited sequel.
I forgot to mention in the previous blog my (brief) experience in Thailand - more specifically, Bangkok Airport.
We flew in there at 2:30am local time - not a lot going on in there at that stage. I was surprised that we had to disembark for a mere 40 minutes, but in that time they cleaned the plane, the toilets (thank Christ) and replaced my blanket, pillow and added an eye mask and a toothbrush etc.
Anyway, back to the airport story. I got off and started following these old British people like a sheep. I assumed they were going to London as well. I soon found this to be untrue when I found myself lining up in customs.
"Are you guys going to London?"
"No."
Luckily, a kind British woman noticed my predicament and help me out.
"This young American chap seems to have taken a wrong turn" she said to the first two airport people who didn't speak a word of English. Regardless, I eventually made it back to the general vicinity and found various Australians to talk to.
One such was a Canberra mother/son duo going to London for work. They offered for me to go into Qantas Club with them, I grudgingly accepted. We wandered around the airport which had signs pointed N, S, E & W for airport lounges - to no avail. Oh well.
So that was the story of me nearly trying to enter Thailand and then nearly getting into Qantas Club.
Win some you lose some.
I forgot to mention in the previous blog my (brief) experience in Thailand - more specifically, Bangkok Airport.
We flew in there at 2:30am local time - not a lot going on in there at that stage. I was surprised that we had to disembark for a mere 40 minutes, but in that time they cleaned the plane, the toilets (thank Christ) and replaced my blanket, pillow and added an eye mask and a toothbrush etc.
Anyway, back to the airport story. I got off and started following these old British people like a sheep. I assumed they were going to London as well. I soon found this to be untrue when I found myself lining up in customs.
"Are you guys going to London?"
"No."
Luckily, a kind British woman noticed my predicament and help me out.
"This young American chap seems to have taken a wrong turn" she said to the first two airport people who didn't speak a word of English. Regardless, I eventually made it back to the general vicinity and found various Australians to talk to.
One such was a Canberra mother/son duo going to London for work. They offered for me to go into Qantas Club with them, I grudgingly accepted. We wandered around the airport which had signs pointed N, S, E & W for airport lounges - to no avail. Oh well.
So that was the story of me nearly trying to enter Thailand and then nearly getting into Qantas Club.
Win some you lose some.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
#1
It's a really long way from Canberra to London. In a straight line, it's 16983km; not to mention the distance from Canberra to Sydney, Sydney to Bangkok, Bangkok to London - I'm definately not going to calculate that distance
On the long flights I noticed that even the flight attendants (that's PC now) can look human, in the way they try and mask the damage a red-eye flight does to your appearance. On one occasion, I caught a male flight attendant waking up, putting on some Calvin Kline man-fume ready to serve crusty Economy Class passengers some fish or beef with your choice of complimentary drink.
My seat-mates were quite bearable, one being a middle-aged bald man who was quiet, the other were a couple of Mediterranean descent who spoke little English, didn't snore and kept to themselves. A moment of comedy was a 'Big Drop'-style hit of turbulence and the poor man's wife cried out in fear as if it was all going to end right then and there. It didn't. I'm writing this aren't I?
The flight was pretty standard: large periods of turbulence causing a French lady across the aisle to me to need oxygen and a barf-bag. Ironically, she kept it together until after we landed, when the plane was not rocking and rumbling at 1000km/h. We landed, slowed down and she blew chunks. Awesome. She was fine.
London is quite cold. The weather is very fickle.
Until next time...
On the long flights I noticed that even the flight attendants (that's PC now) can look human, in the way they try and mask the damage a red-eye flight does to your appearance. On one occasion, I caught a male flight attendant waking up, putting on some Calvin Kline man-fume ready to serve crusty Economy Class passengers some fish or beef with your choice of complimentary drink.
My seat-mates were quite bearable, one being a middle-aged bald man who was quiet, the other were a couple of Mediterranean descent who spoke little English, didn't snore and kept to themselves. A moment of comedy was a 'Big Drop'-style hit of turbulence and the poor man's wife cried out in fear as if it was all going to end right then and there. It didn't. I'm writing this aren't I?
The flight was pretty standard: large periods of turbulence causing a French lady across the aisle to me to need oxygen and a barf-bag. Ironically, she kept it together until after we landed, when the plane was not rocking and rumbling at 1000km/h. We landed, slowed down and she blew chunks. Awesome. She was fine.
London is quite cold. The weather is very fickle.
Until next time...
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