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.
Monday, March 30, 2009
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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