Cheddar

We left work early, left London late

to explore more of England and farewell a mate.
With provisions of noodles and Vegemite to snack
our luggage and boardgames we had in the back.
For three hours we drove through the highway darkness,
the GPS useless; we had no address.

Like the old man who wandered the street
we were lost, disorientated and suffering defeat.
It was dark, it was cold we'd driven for miles
our only landmark a pub with red tiles.
Four doors from there, we were told
West Moor Cottage our haven, our shelter from the cold.

We promised her eleven, twelve no later.
She revoked the contract, that old hater.
Enlisting the help of our local Saviour
we bargained and negotiated and asked for a favour.
Until she and her husband made amend
they agreed six could stay for the weekend.

The following day we woke to eggs and bacon.
A man in the kitchen, we were mistaken.
Saturday the caves, the goats, the cheese and the tower.
All trip long we argued the word 'flour'!
An afternoon of Cream Tea, the scones were unreal
before retiring to Wells for the evening meal.

Factoids, Humdingers and Cameos the attraction.
Cheese and Gin the main distraction.
Huddled, we sung under the starry night sky
Two shooting stars, why would I lie?
We readied for bed. Too tired to shower.
Revelation! It's daylight savings, lets stay up for another hour!

The house was cleaned and the men left last.
Glastonbury's Vegetarian breakfast - what a plastic farce.
Wookey Hole was rubbish so we unanimously agreed
to head back to Cheddar for a Sunday roast feed.
The drive home was easy with no need to hurry
so we opted for a Korean Dinner in nearby Surrey.

So there it is, our road trip in poem.
An epic weekend to Somerset then back home.
The singing, the cheese and the Nintendo DS
not to be forgotten, until next weekend's fancy dress.
A great trip. Good company. An indelible time.
So much so, I blogged this awful rhyme.

Always take the weather with you

This week marks two departures from London. Firstly, I think it's safe to say that London has felt its last ounce of warmth; Winter has set in. It's become bloody cold, bloody quick. Temperatures have dropped below 10 degrees and with that we bid farewell to the thongs and t-shirts and become reacquainted with jackets and our radiators. The upside is that I no longer have to properly iron my business shirts. A quick iron over the collars plus a fresh sweater and I'm ready for work; Little consolation really.


Over the last 18 months I have been fortunate enough to have met some really awesome people. I usually categorise my close friends as people I've shared life-changing experiences with or those who have been with me over a life-defining period. The two groups that immediately spring to mind are: High school friends and University friends.

So to this I add a new group: The London expat group. I had expected to come overseas and gain a greater perspective on the world. Live independently, travel abroad, open my eyes. What I had not expected was to meet people that I would share with me some of the best times of my life. The red eye flights, the same over crowded hostel, the same lousy discount carrier experience, the smiles, the laughter and even the tears of seeing friends leave.

The second departure ushers in the end of an era. My London initiation was void of the usual heartache of having to re-establish a social circle. Upon arrival I had the luxury of knowing people from Sydney here in London. It made the first couple of months bearable. I had a couch, advice on being an expat and for me, the most desirable, familiar faces. The last 6 months has seen people slowly return back to Sydney with the last person leaving this week. All the people I knew prior to coming to the UK have all but gone home. It just means less chance of somebody trying to derail your detox plans for the week; Little consolation really.

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." - Dr. Seuss

My Birthday cameo

I celebrated last year's Birthday completely sober. Read: Completely sober. After 7 successive Birthdays being utterly intoxicated 2008's sober experience felt alarmingly foreign yet somewhat appropriate. This was a sign of things to come, I had mindfully pulled the handbrake on the reckless train of self-destruction. Maturity and self-preservation had prevailed. Unfortunately this was not a forecast of future Birthday processions. It would be a premature call and nothing more than an outlier; a statistical exception.

My recollection of October 9th is hazy at best. I remember being seated at my desk, a head popping up from the monitor in front of me saying "Are we going to the pub for your birthday?". I also remember rocking up to my birthday dinner at the Crown and Goose one hour late and extremely tipsy. I recall ordering the Roast Chicken and Pavlova. I remember not eating the pavlova. I remember a heartfelt Birthday speech. I remember being called "true blue", "a piss pot" and "a bastard". I remember drinking. I also remember being in a cab. I distinctively remember and vomiting 4 times at various places in Trafalgar Square much to the screaming of delirious passersby. I recall spending the best part of 5 minutes in Thai Square. I remember that SMS.


What a Birthday: Bring on 27!

Why are you going there?

An impromptu trip over to Romania for a 30th Birthday weekend. Weather was miserable - I only took one photo (from inside a cab).


Not much doing - Stayed what can only be described as the Bucharest projects. Had a tour night guide. Typical boys' trip out to Eastern Europe.

Oktoberfest 2009

I've officially experienced one of the busiest working weeks in my short working-career. Feature creep, misinterpreted requirements, various hacks and a tight deadline have culminated to what would either be a spectacular fail or conversely a product that would make Steve McQueen proud. To say work was busy would be an epic understatement. Let's back this up to Friday evening: 10 pm. I had just reached the 15th hour of work. To make matters worse, the air-conditioning had shutdown for the weekend and the cleaners had gone home. My eyes - dry and tired. My hands - cramping, RSI kicking in. My brain - mush. The Bulldogs - lost. My 6:20 pm flight to Munich - missed. This week - shit.

Despite this, I clung onto the only positive about missing my flight. That I would get to see my sister. At least, so I thought. Long story short, her roster had changed and she would no longer be flying to London but to Manila. This was rock bottom. I needed to drown my sorrows, I needed a beer.


What my sorrows got was not a drowning, it was asphyxiation by 6.9 million litres of smooth amber liquid. Resuscitated, then re-drowned until it was nothing but a soggy memory. On average, 6 million other people will head to Munich during this 16 day period. All with the same intention: to drink, eat and sing. It is the opposite of misery and self-wallow, it is Oktoberfest.


I arrived in Munich late Saturday evening. People of all ages were out walking the streets in traditional lederhosen and dirnl. The two days spent in Munich felt like one huge alcoholic roller coaster. It was as if the entire town was intoxicated (both fesitivity-wise and literally).

I'll try to outline a typical Oktoberfest day. Wake up early, you'll need to start lining up to get into the Beer Tents. By 9:30 most of them will close their doors until later in the evening. Activities that take place include:

Drinking: A Stein (1 litre of preservative free beer, higher-than-normal) will set you back approximately €8-10. The price of water was about €4. Prost!


Eating: Pretzels, breads, Schnitzel, Hendl, sausages and pork knuckles.


Talking: Great place to talk to people from all around the world.

Singing: Traditional Bavarian folk songs plus a healthy share of western classics make for a huge sing-a-long (Hey! Baby, Better Man, Country Road, Seven Nation Army).

Passing out: The higher than usual alcoholic content of beer claimed many casualties. Ranging from vomitting, passing out and alcohol poisoning.


Should you survive till 10 pm, there are countless after parties to take you deep into the evening. The legal drinking age is 16 and Oktoberfest caters to people of all ages. The grounds are not only home to beer tents but a Royal Easter Show-esque carnival. Amazing festival, definitely recommended and I'd consider returning in 2010.


Munich wasn't all about drinking (although it felt like it). On our final day we made the choice to visit Neuschwanstein Castle. It was a grueling 2.5 train + bus ride but the view was amazing. The tour was somewhat lackluster as was the hideous scaffolding but it added the final splash of culture this trip was missing.

Travel Fail

8:00 pm: Still at my desk. 4th late night at work this week. Krispy Kreme donuts for dinner. This boarding pass staring me in the face.

Waiting

Do you immediately curse the public rail network and then want to throw yourself in front of the next service each time you find that your train is delayed, or worse, canceled? Does the thought of watching paint dry make you want to inhale the fumes to end the misery? How about sitting in front of your PC while it defrags? I like to consider myself a patient person. The main thing about the above mentioned activities is that there's some metric of progress. My visa on the other hand is a black box. Submit and wait. There's nothing I can do, the outcome isn't guaranteed. I'm not even waiting for news, just a result. Waiting...

Keeping with our desire to experience more of England outside of London. We chanced our arm with Windsor. I mean if it's good enough for the Queen and the Royal Family then surely it must be good enough for us convict commoners. The primary attraction of course is Windsor Castle but deep down we were all secretly harbouring high expectations of Legoland.


To avoid time wasting this excursion was dutifully organised with train tickets, Castle and theme park admission all pre-paid (Thanks Jen). An early rendezvous at Paddington station would give us ample time to see both the Castle and Legoland. The group slowly assembled from 10 am people arriving from Limehouse, Arsenal, Chalk Farm, Holloway Road and Sloane Square. Many were hung over and backing up after an intense evening of boardgames and alcohol. The journey to Slough would take no more than 25 minutes by train. A short interconnecting train and we were soon at Windsor and Eton station. Currently reading The White Tiger.


Windsor Castle (£16 + Train)

Audio guides at the best of times leave me wanting. Learning that Windsor Castle offered a free audio guide (read, free) left me somewhat dubious about the quality of the guide. The group shared this skepticism and unanimously decided that a (free) guided tour would provide a more stimulating experience. We waited 5 minutes for the midday tour and were soon being escorted around the grounds. We, like a class on a primary school excursion were constantly being told to be quiet, to pay attention and not to dawdle. It would be the beginning of re-living our childhood in Windsor. The tour was enjoyable and educational and more importantly checked off one of England's famous tourist destinations.


There would be only one queue within the grounds of Windsor Castle. A line stretching 30 metres long from the entrance of Queen Mary's Doll House. Little did we know this would be the first of many queues for the day. We waited approximately 25 minutes to get inside. Walking around the doll house we were initially awed until we soon found ourselves standing outside 5 minutes later. It was impressive but was it really worth the wait?

Legoland (£21)

Us: "We'd like to book some tickets for Legoland"
Legoland: "How many adults will be going?"
Us: "Seven"
Legoland: "And how many children?"
Us: "mmm... none"

Legoland's main demographic is children and if not children then the parents who bring the children along. We fell into neither category, which was apparent. Our objective, eat as much junk food, go on as many rides and see as much as possible. Of the time spent inside Legoland at least 50% of our time was spent waiting in line. Laser Ride in particular had us waiting 1 whole hour before we were seated. The highlight for me were the Lego sculptures: Motorcycles, statues, dinosaurs, people and cities. Distorted replicas of everyday objects like a plastic mosaic.


We waited for our taxi outside Legoland. Kids were running around and clearly outlasted us with an enthusiasm only an infant could sustain. After 15 minutes of waiting we decided to jump on the first available bus back to the station. There are complications when leaving an attraction at closing time: Traffic and crowds. Stuck behind a trail of brake lights stretching as far as the eye could see we spent the best part of 30 minutes stuck in traffic. Exhausted, famished and agitated we spoke of the banquet that awaited us back in London. The constant screaming of a child on the bus sounded like a jackhammer on corrugated iron. We missed our 8 pm train back to London and waited another 25 minutes for the next train.


Finally arrived in Bayswater at 9 pm, almost three hours to get home. Huddled outside Gold Mine restaurant we waited 15 minutes before being seated at our table. We ordered a sumptuous meal and the hot food instantly brought smiles to our previously grumpy faces. The day finished off with an excellent night out at Ruby Blue, champagne glass Jägerbombs and early morning Peking Duck.

So a day of waiting, a day of childhood nostalgia. They say good things come to those who... Wait, where's my visa?