I headed to Aberdeen for a couple of days before I went offshore to get my head around the procedures and meet the crew. We were scheduled to go offshore on the Saturday but it was delayed until late Sunday. I headed out on Saturday morning to purchase a book and a pair of joggers which seemed a lot harder than you would expect. Do the Scots not exercise? The extra night was a good opportunity to catch up with a friend I used to work with in Perth. He had played rugby all day so I met him for a couple at his rugby club so we could feast on some cheap chow and beers.
After a couple we headed into "town", which is actually only one street (Union st) to begin the festivities. Where we ended up spun me out big time. The place is called "Soul Bar" which is inside an old church (Mmmmm Sacrilecious). I thought this was very cool especially seeing the DJ up in the pulpit mixing away. Apparently there is also a Casino upstairs. Unfortunately this bar was rather tame (from my blogging point of view) but cool none the less.
What actually struck me as a ridiculous thing to do was the way the young lasses dressed. It appeared that practical warm clothing (including as very little as a coat) are out this season and skimpy (well ok slutty) outfits are in. I understand that these girls like to catch the eye of a bloke while walking down the street but catching pneumonia as well? It wasn't just in transit either these girls were "hanging out" in the street - nipple tents pitched.
We ended up in a bar with the rugby team and it was familiar surroundings. Lots of Saffa's, Kiwi's and Aussie's - and lots of shots. This is where the memory fades and I can only recall waking up to my phone ringing at 8am with a voice proclaiming "The boat is early I will pick you up in halfa."
Struggling out of bed I made it to the boat on time and managed a couple of hours kip before my shift. The thing that confused me however was finding a receipt in my wallet for £35 for the taxi ride - that should of been a tenner. I can only come to one of 3 conclusions 1. I was ripped off, 2. In my drunken happy state I generously gave the lad a massive tip, 3. I tried to navigate us home myself using my in built navigational system and the stars. Unfortunately I don't think I will ever find out but I am thankful I had asked for the receipt so the mistake is burden on the company.
Sunday, 20 April 2008
Monday, 14 April 2008
The Running Man (part II)
This could turn into a running saga (no pun intended)….
Friday afternoon arrives and it is decided to have a couple of drinks at ‘Revolution’ in Clapham Jn. Those who may know this place as a Vodka bar (that does awesome Nacho’s) would know it has about 50 different flavours of Vodka. So meeting a couple of guys from another offshore company for a few Friday drinks there seemed a rather nice idea. After a couple of beers (and nachos) the Running Man decides that a couple of flavours of Vodka should be tasted. Enter the shots – luckily he was talked out of trying them all. We receive a couple of paddles of vodka flavours (Rasberry, strawberry, and a couple of others that I couldn’t grasp the taste of).
A bit later I needed to head to Shoreditch to a farewell party for some of my cousins mates that are heading back to Australia. It was essential that I turned up because they have rather generously given us a lot of furniture, kitchenwares, tv etc to fill our flat. Now I bring the Running Man and another mate, who will be known as the Wolf (ok probably not the hardest Alias to decipher), along as it should be a good club. The Wolf picks up some beers for the trip and we head on our merry way. The trip there was rather rowdy and it was noticeable that nobody was sitting near us in the carriage. We arrive at Old St station and the Wolf makes a dash for some amenities as The Running Man and I slowly make our way out. After leaving the station and finding the Wolf it is apparent that the Running Man has vanished into thin air. After a couple of attempts to call him, he finally answers the phone with an “I have no idea where I am!” After several minutes of searching the Wolf finds him outside of a service station munching on some chow – and being leered at by some very nefarious characters. Making a quick exit and heading to our party it is clear that the Running Man is almost out of a comprehensible vocabulary.
Arriving at the party we grab some beers and the Running Man decides to talk to anyone within his vicinity about whatever slurs from his mouth. At this stage of the evening (about 10.30) it is advised by the host that he should be taken for a walk around the park to sober up a tad before he can continue. The Wolf decides to drag the Running Man out never to be seen again. Now I cannot elaborate on the rest of their evening because I have only spoken to the Running Man whose memory vanishes around about the time we left the Vodka bar. But I can imagine the Wolf realising a lost cause when he sees one, escorting the Running Man home.
The rest of the evening turned out to be a rather big one for myself, as once the club closed we went back to the hosts house to kick on. The night is a little blurred from here but I remember walking a ridiculously long way to the tube stop to get the Northern line home (5km I am told – although it seemed a lot less). Once on the tube I had a little snooze which made me go past my stop. Luckily it was near the end of the line and I actually woke up as the tube was heading back North. It was a bit of a shock thinking I had timed it well until I came out on the wrong side of the carriage and slowly worked out what must have happened. I remembered a few other people in the tube who had still been asleep and wondered had they done something similar. You’ve got to love getting the tube home this early in the morning with a large crowd of stragglers whose evening has been as big as yours.
Friday afternoon arrives and it is decided to have a couple of drinks at ‘Revolution’ in Clapham Jn. Those who may know this place as a Vodka bar (that does awesome Nacho’s) would know it has about 50 different flavours of Vodka. So meeting a couple of guys from another offshore company for a few Friday drinks there seemed a rather nice idea. After a couple of beers (and nachos) the Running Man decides that a couple of flavours of Vodka should be tasted. Enter the shots – luckily he was talked out of trying them all. We receive a couple of paddles of vodka flavours (Rasberry, strawberry, and a couple of others that I couldn’t grasp the taste of).
A bit later I needed to head to Shoreditch to a farewell party for some of my cousins mates that are heading back to Australia. It was essential that I turned up because they have rather generously given us a lot of furniture, kitchenwares, tv etc to fill our flat. Now I bring the Running Man and another mate, who will be known as the Wolf (ok probably not the hardest Alias to decipher), along as it should be a good club. The Wolf picks up some beers for the trip and we head on our merry way. The trip there was rather rowdy and it was noticeable that nobody was sitting near us in the carriage. We arrive at Old St station and the Wolf makes a dash for some amenities as The Running Man and I slowly make our way out. After leaving the station and finding the Wolf it is apparent that the Running Man has vanished into thin air. After a couple of attempts to call him, he finally answers the phone with an “I have no idea where I am!” After several minutes of searching the Wolf finds him outside of a service station munching on some chow – and being leered at by some very nefarious characters. Making a quick exit and heading to our party it is clear that the Running Man is almost out of a comprehensible vocabulary.
Arriving at the party we grab some beers and the Running Man decides to talk to anyone within his vicinity about whatever slurs from his mouth. At this stage of the evening (about 10.30) it is advised by the host that he should be taken for a walk around the park to sober up a tad before he can continue. The Wolf decides to drag the Running Man out never to be seen again. Now I cannot elaborate on the rest of their evening because I have only spoken to the Running Man whose memory vanishes around about the time we left the Vodka bar. But I can imagine the Wolf realising a lost cause when he sees one, escorting the Running Man home.
The rest of the evening turned out to be a rather big one for myself, as once the club closed we went back to the hosts house to kick on. The night is a little blurred from here but I remember walking a ridiculously long way to the tube stop to get the Northern line home (5km I am told – although it seemed a lot less). Once on the tube I had a little snooze which made me go past my stop. Luckily it was near the end of the line and I actually woke up as the tube was heading back North. It was a bit of a shock thinking I had timed it well until I came out on the wrong side of the carriage and slowly worked out what must have happened. I remembered a few other people in the tube who had still been asleep and wondered had they done something similar. You’ve got to love getting the tube home this early in the morning with a large crowd of stragglers whose evening has been as big as yours.
Friday, 11 April 2008
Movie Review - Vantage Point
For those who want to go and see the movie no need to read on. Please by all means go and judge this one for yourself (snicker, snicker) then come back and read my thoughts.
For those wanting to hear whether or not it is worth it: What a piece of crap. Let’s film 23 minutes worth of a movie, and replay it over 7 times ‘from different peoples perspective’ that essentially is the same story, so that people will be duped into paying good money to see it. The concept was so ridiculous that I initially thought – “Wow this could be interesting.” Well let me tell you, NO IT’S NOT. This must have been written during the writers strike because I feel pretty comfortable with my ability to write a movie about a dwarf on a pogo stick talking like a pirate that would surpass this as entertainment.
The last straw was when Forest Whitaker was running with a video camera (continually filming) following some secret service guys who are in pursuit of a cop. I mean come on Forest Whitaker? Are we to believe that he can chase down anything other than a one legged blind man? This was when the last ounce of credibility was destroyed. And to be honest there was very little to begin with.
Star Rating: Blackhole
For those wanting to hear whether or not it is worth it: What a piece of crap. Let’s film 23 minutes worth of a movie, and replay it over 7 times ‘from different peoples perspective’ that essentially is the same story, so that people will be duped into paying good money to see it. The concept was so ridiculous that I initially thought – “Wow this could be interesting.” Well let me tell you, NO IT’S NOT. This must have been written during the writers strike because I feel pretty comfortable with my ability to write a movie about a dwarf on a pogo stick talking like a pirate that would surpass this as entertainment.
The last straw was when Forest Whitaker was running with a video camera (continually filming) following some secret service guys who are in pursuit of a cop. I mean come on Forest Whitaker? Are we to believe that he can chase down anything other than a one legged blind man? This was when the last ounce of credibility was destroyed. And to be honest there was very little to begin with.
Star Rating: Blackhole
Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul. – Billy Madison (1995)
The Hot Date
Firstly I would like to say Soccer is crap in this country because a) Its called Football here and b) When there is a match on midweek (featuring England, Chelsea, Arsenal, Man U, or Liverpool) you can’t go to any pub and avoid a crowd. Which brings me to my story.
I was meeting a girl in Parsons Green to go to ‘a nice little pub’ for some drinks and a meal. Upon approaching the pub we found it packed to the rafters with hooligans for the Football match. Not to worry we thought we would wander down the road and find something new. Not really knowing this girls tastes (except that she liked my swagger) we decided on a Thai restaurant (probably because the only other thing was a kebab shop and hey, everybody likes Thai food).
As we entered we were shown to our table, took our seats and ordered some wine before I had a chance to look around and realise that we were the only ones there. This probably is not the most ideal of situations on a date when you hardly know the girl. To make it worse the 3 Thai waitresses (dressed in traditional attire) stood back from the table while we had our dinner. Every time a sip of wine was taken, the glass was refilled. My serviette was replaced after every wipe of the mouth. And we actually had some really good food. I can really only think it is probably what royalty feels like. When I went to the bathroom I was escorted down the door was opened and I went about my business. I was a little surprised when I left that the waitress was waiting outside to escort me back up.
In the end it was a really good meal (although a tad expensive) but I still felt the need to tip them a tenner for the outstanding service. We ended up at a cocktail bar after for a couple of nightcaps and then…… well that’s a different story. But she was rather the fireball so I expect her to feature in another story soon.
I was meeting a girl in Parsons Green to go to ‘a nice little pub’ for some drinks and a meal. Upon approaching the pub we found it packed to the rafters with hooligans for the Football match. Not to worry we thought we would wander down the road and find something new. Not really knowing this girls tastes (except that she liked my swagger) we decided on a Thai restaurant (probably because the only other thing was a kebab shop and hey, everybody likes Thai food).
As we entered we were shown to our table, took our seats and ordered some wine before I had a chance to look around and realise that we were the only ones there. This probably is not the most ideal of situations on a date when you hardly know the girl. To make it worse the 3 Thai waitresses (dressed in traditional attire) stood back from the table while we had our dinner. Every time a sip of wine was taken, the glass was refilled. My serviette was replaced after every wipe of the mouth. And we actually had some really good food. I can really only think it is probably what royalty feels like. When I went to the bathroom I was escorted down the door was opened and I went about my business. I was a little surprised when I left that the waitress was waiting outside to escort me back up.
In the end it was a really good meal (although a tad expensive) but I still felt the need to tip them a tenner for the outstanding service. We ended up at a cocktail bar after for a couple of nightcaps and then…… well that’s a different story. But she was rather the fireball so I expect her to feature in another story soon.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
TV-less
Now that I have moved into my new apartment it is going to be another week before I have a TV to watch. For those that know me I am an avid watcher. I am not necessarily somebody who races home from work to watch an evening full of sitcoms. I am one of those guys who given, any spare time can watch the most mundane crap, but am way to unorganised to actually plan a night in. When I am out somewhere (maybe a pub) no matter what is on TV I have to glance up every few minutes to see what is happening. Could it be a factor being brought up in a TV generation? Truth be told I used to study and do my assignments with it on. In fact I reckon given the chance I would have a little box next to my computer at work playing the days trash if they let me (I haven't asked yet - but I have only been there a week).
Ok so maybe this is not really anything that anyone would find too challenging (especially as this is only my second night at home) but what I have come to realise is: When you do not have a purpose for it - surfing the net is as boring as fishing without bait. You know there is stuff out there. You know that there is lots of stuff out there. A lot of it interesting or comical to the the just plain stupid. Unless a direct link (the bait) is emailed to me from a friend there is absolutely no joy in searching on a whim. It probably doesn't surprise me that apart from this blog all I have done is downloaded new (and classic) TV shows that I can watch till my heart is content (Thank you http://www.watchtvsitcoms.com/).
Which got me thinking about something else. I am now wondering if my children (cough) my frinds children (cough cough) will see this in the same light or will replace my TV fascination with the Internet. I didn't really have any use for the internet except for school assignments, and this was much before the Facebook, myspace, youtube takeoff. But now you can buy a babies bottle with a browser on the side, well probably. I guess a point out of this is if the young kids now are going to be brought up this way, shouldn't there be some sort of licencing required for weirdo's that could possibly write a blog about any dribble they........ alas never mind my next episode of Heroes has finished downloading.
Ok so maybe this is not really anything that anyone would find too challenging (especially as this is only my second night at home) but what I have come to realise is: When you do not have a purpose for it - surfing the net is as boring as fishing without bait. You know there is stuff out there. You know that there is lots of stuff out there. A lot of it interesting or comical to the the just plain stupid. Unless a direct link (the bait) is emailed to me from a friend there is absolutely no joy in searching on a whim. It probably doesn't surprise me that apart from this blog all I have done is downloaded new (and classic) TV shows that I can watch till my heart is content (Thank you http://www.watchtvsitcoms.com/).
Which got me thinking about something else. I am now wondering if my children (cough) my frinds children (cough cough) will see this in the same light or will replace my TV fascination with the Internet. I didn't really have any use for the internet except for school assignments, and this was much before the Facebook, myspace, youtube takeoff. But now you can buy a babies bottle with a browser on the side, well probably. I guess a point out of this is if the young kids now are going to be brought up this way, shouldn't there be some sort of licencing required for weirdo's that could possibly write a blog about any dribble they........ alas never mind my next episode of Heroes has finished downloading.
Monday, 7 April 2008
The Running Man
I met a friend of mine from uni whose identity will remain anonymous (although I should tell you he resembles the kids show characters who are a cross between a puppet and a mop) the other day and decided to show him around. As he had only been here for a short period we went on a bit of a pub crawl.
We worked our way from Trafalgar sq. down to and along the Thames stopping in at a number of bars. Much later we headed into Covent Garden to go to one of my favourite restaurants - Belgo's. This place has an awesome beer selection and a bucket of mussels that hit the spot after 9 hours of boozing. By the time we finished our meals my friend went to the toilet (which is a weird unisex one with a guy in there who hands you soap and towels) and was gone for about a pints worth. Getting a little worried I fixed up the bill and went in search of him to find him wandering the streets outside. I don't really know what happened and his only explanation was "I don't know what happened man, but I couldn't find my way back to the table."
Accepting this and moving on we hit another bar before we were required to head for the last train to get home. We jumped on the tube towards Victoria and sat down for a 4 stop trip. When we reached Picadilly, without warning my friend jumped up and made a dash through the closing doors. As the train departed he was running along beside the carriage. I sat there in shock with no real comprehension of what had taken place.
I arrived home and got a text saying "Fck I don't know what happened man" to which I replied "You will now be known as the Running Man"
We worked our way from Trafalgar sq. down to and along the Thames stopping in at a number of bars. Much later we headed into Covent Garden to go to one of my favourite restaurants - Belgo's. This place has an awesome beer selection and a bucket of mussels that hit the spot after 9 hours of boozing. By the time we finished our meals my friend went to the toilet (which is a weird unisex one with a guy in there who hands you soap and towels) and was gone for about a pints worth. Getting a little worried I fixed up the bill and went in search of him to find him wandering the streets outside. I don't really know what happened and his only explanation was "I don't know what happened man, but I couldn't find my way back to the table."
Accepting this and moving on we hit another bar before we were required to head for the last train to get home. We jumped on the tube towards Victoria and sat down for a 4 stop trip. When we reached Picadilly, without warning my friend jumped up and made a dash through the closing doors. As the train departed he was running along beside the carriage. I sat there in shock with no real comprehension of what had taken place.
I arrived home and got a text saying "Fck I don't know what happened man" to which I replied "You will now be known as the Running Man"
Aberdeen Chatter
Although my first trip to Aberdeen was a rather quick journey I learnt 2 important facts while I was there: 1. It is very expensive. (A 10 min cab ride was £20) and 2. Scottish people talk a whole lot more in there own country.
Now I don't know if this is a sentiment around the world but in my experience every Scot loves to talk (whether it's requested or not). Also in my experience the majority of cab drivers also like to talk. I believe putting the 2 together compounded the urge to talk by tenfold. While I was there I took 4 cabs and probably said a total of 8 sentences. This may not surprise anyone until I mention that I had journeys with complete conversation. I don't think I have been asked so many questions that had been answered by the questioner before I had opened my mouth.
This certainly led to some interesting conversations. It made it particularly tricky though when each cab driver decided to tell me the same facts about Aberdeen and I couldn't get a peep in to let them know I had already heard it.
Now I don't know if this is a sentiment around the world but in my experience every Scot loves to talk (whether it's requested or not). Also in my experience the majority of cab drivers also like to talk. I believe putting the 2 together compounded the urge to talk by tenfold. While I was there I took 4 cabs and probably said a total of 8 sentences. This may not surprise anyone until I mention that I had journeys with complete conversation. I don't think I have been asked so many questions that had been answered by the questioner before I had opened my mouth.
This certainly led to some interesting conversations. It made it particularly tricky though when each cab driver decided to tell me the same facts about Aberdeen and I couldn't get a peep in to let them know I had already heard it.
The Womble
I thought someone may not figure out why I gave my blog the name of The Womble. For those that don't know the wombles were on TV during my childhood and apparently I used to watch it. I certainly remember the characters but alas the memory of the show has been erased by my simpsons / family guy / movie quote database which has possibly grown a little bit too big. Anyway I have recently just moved into my flat in Wimbledon (sounds classy doesn't it). Now the Wombles lived in Wimbledon and rather than take the larger of the notable things Wimbledon is known for (my sporting career is many years behind me - let alone the tennis career I abandoned 2 decades ago) I decided on a furry, somewhat plump creature to symbolise me.
So this blog will remain 'The Womble' until I either move or someone thinks of a better name.
So this blog will remain 'The Womble' until I either move or someone thinks of a better name.
Train pillow
As I was yet to acquire a flat, I had been staying in a hotel in Sutton (next to my work) which is a good half hour from central London. After a few trips into central to have meals with various people I had the trains sussed so that I would only get the trains that terminated at Sutton thus if I fell asleep there would be no nights spent in a random station. One particular evening I was heading back home on the last train after a good dinner, a couple of beers and way too many martini's. Once on the train I chose a comfy looking seat and had read about a page of my book before nodding off against the window. I woke up about a minute from Sutton and looking around the empty carriage was surprised to see a girl sitting next to me - nay leaning on my shoulder, sound asleep. Having gotten on the train to an empty carriage and seeing no other seats occupied my only assumption was the girl had seen me dozing rather well and decided to get in on the action. Once we arrived at the station, I gave a polite shake to the girl who woke up bleary-eyed, gave a large yawn and left the train without any explanation. In my confused daze I regret not asking the poor lass "WTF?" but it certainly made for an interesting end to the evening.
The beginning of the London saga....
"Welcome to London" its proclaimed as I am picked up from the airport "How was your flight?" 20 hours on a flight that couldn't switch its cabin lights off, sitting next to a drunk snoring man who reeked like he had been on a 3 day bender I decided not to dampen my spirits with an explanation. "Could of been better."
Although the temperature was barely 8 degrees, and with about 2hrs of rest from the last 48hrs I proceed into the mayhem known as London. Previously I had viewed this city from the eyes of a tourist - feeling like I was invading someone else's backyard. Now for my new home I had a sense that I belonged there. It is very strange that I had flown half way around the world with 2 bags and a hippo, and not felt any uneasiness about my new home.
Alas this blog will be the beginning of my story in London. I will endeavour to document some crazy events that take place over the next couple of years during my tenure within London, around europe and travels as an offshore installation engineer.
Whether this post is read only by me or hoards of thousands, I now have a medium to cast my thoughts into cyberspace. So here it is - the blog......
Although the temperature was barely 8 degrees, and with about 2hrs of rest from the last 48hrs I proceed into the mayhem known as London. Previously I had viewed this city from the eyes of a tourist - feeling like I was invading someone else's backyard. Now for my new home I had a sense that I belonged there. It is very strange that I had flown half way around the world with 2 bags and a hippo, and not felt any uneasiness about my new home.
Alas this blog will be the beginning of my story in London. I will endeavour to document some crazy events that take place over the next couple of years during my tenure within London, around europe and travels as an offshore installation engineer.
Whether this post is read only by me or hoards of thousands, I now have a medium to cast my thoughts into cyberspace. So here it is - the blog......
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