The one with the annoying hangover

Following the epic day of ‘catching up’ with Hols and K, I had to take the girls on a sightseeing tour of London. Understandably after the previous night my head was running fire drills and stomach made me feel like a bulimic after eating a meat pie. I forced myself to get up and drink several litres of water, curiously wondering why I my thirst was so large - concluding I probably needed to drink more the previous night!

The day turned out to be the hottest this year for London – over 30 degrees, and while I had been waiting 6 months for such a day, was rather disappointed it occurred on a day much preferred on the couch nursing wounds caused from the previous night.

We set out from Wimbledon and the scummy feeling had no effect on Hols ability to spot the red buses “Argh – a red bus” she grumbled. Once on the tube we travelled on the District and Piccadilly lines that according to the girls contained 2 of the funnier stops of Barking and Cockfosters. Sore heads aside they erupted in giggles at both.

We began the walking at Piccadilly Circus and headed up to the Queens residence. Grabbing an ice cream on the way my stomach was twisting but held its nerve to keep it down. I proceeded to take the girls to my clock and Trafalgar Square. The fountains looked way too inviting that we decided to move on after a brief discussion whether or not I would get away with stripping down and wading. My argument (not well thought out) was that why are children allowed to meander naked in them while we sweat ourselves through the heat.

So I was dragged from my argument as we headed for the London Eye and a walk along the South Bank. The girls were surprised at the ‘street entertainers’ there (I use that term very loosely) and their ability to have no shame. We slowly progressed along the river up to Tower Bridge stopping at Bridget Jones place above the Globe for K’s enjoyment.

After London Tower we headed back to Putney for a well earned beverage. I g-pedometered the distance and it was almost 15kms. I also realised we could of done one of the get on / get off bus tours that would of stopped at every place we went. We ended up at the boat house on the river, met the girl and got a nice table outside. Hols continued to spot her buses.

I found great joy in watching what I can only describe as a ‘crazy lady’ interact with all the patrons outside of the pub. Not only was she talking to herself but everyone (and every object) around her. She had a table with a couple of chairs but yet wanted to stand. Because the place was packed everyone wanted a chair but she wouldn’t let up and kept them. Eventually she lost the lot when she went for another drink and I was forced to stop watching her as all 3 girls were scared she would come up and want to chat to us.

After a couple of hours it was getting late so we decided on some Mexican at Exquisito’s for dinner (and by ‘we’ decided I mean ‘I’ decided) which gave us an opportunity to fulfil Hols fantasy. A ride on a big red bus (I thought this might quell the bus spotting but as I later found out this was not the case). We had some rather tasty food and a fair bit of sangria before heading home. My hangover continued (possibly reoccurred) the next day but I would much rather have a hangover on the companies time when I am getting paid rather than on my own time.

The one with all the buses

Our Friday was a relatively quiet one (by my standards) so I will move straight on to the Saturday. Waking up on Sat morning the girl and I headed to the Larrick fairly early to get a good possie for the rugby. Unfortunately the rest of the punters (mainly kiwi’s) arrived before us so we were confined to the back of the pub but at least we got some comfy couch seats. Considering the time of morning and my belief that beers are an after midday type of beverage I started on the ciders.

I (like most Australians) was extremely happy with the result. It is good to see a coach finally get the best out of the Wallabies however unfortunate it is a Kiwi doing so. I also find it amusing after 2 losses in a row the “NZ rugby is in crisis!” headlines are out.

After the rugby the girl headed off to a friends BBQ and I headed back to Wimbledon. I met my Cousin and CM at the Dragon (what our local pub has changed its name too) for a couple of quiet beverages in the beer garden. From there I headed to Sth Wimbledon station to pick up Hols and K who were visiting me from Aus. They had just been through China, Mongolia and Russia and were very keen to hit it hard in an English speaking country (which I was happy to oblige). After dumping their gear we headed back to the Dragon for a catch up and to prep ourselves for the rest of the day. We sat outside so that Hols could see the double decker buses going past – apparently this is rather a novelty for people that haven’t seen them before. It was rather amusing to see someone get so much joy out of spotting them – until after about 20 minutes when at least 15 buses had gone by.

One of our other friends was in Kings Cross so we had to trek ourselves to Nth London. Jumping on the tube the girls couldn’t contain their laughter about heading through ‘Tooting’. I mentioned they should try and come to grips with it as over the next couple of days they would be hearing some much funnier stations.

Arriving at St Pancreas station we decided on a nice restaurant for some chow. We sat at one with I nice big window onto the street so Hols could continue to spot her buses. She was concentrating pretty hard on her task that by the time the waiter came to take our order she had no idea what she was getting and sent him away. The waiter frustratingly departed and we half joked that her meal would be receiving some massive loogies mixed in, but knowing it would probably be all of our meals receiving them.

After our meal it was apparent that our friend Maggs had come to the wrong bar so we had to trapes across town to Bricklane. Realising that the night was slipping away from us we jumped into a taxi which fulfilled one of K’s requests – sitting on the backwards seat of a black cab. Hols continued to spot her buses on the journey “there’s one, there’s one…… ooooh there’s another one!”
“No Hols that’s the same one!”

Alas we arrived in Bricklane and found the bar we were looking for. After a number of beverages later it was brought to my attention that the last tube was imminent. My sensible gene kicked in so we downed our drinks and made a beeline for the tube. Outside the station Hols jaw nearly hit the pavement when she saw close to 20 buses lined up. I had to grab her arm to continue on and make the tube.

While we were on the tube the discussion turned towards a bar in Clapham that some other friends were at - my sensible thoughts began to vanish and upon hearing the word Bierodrome (Belgo’s bar) my fate was sealed. So we alighted at Clapham and headed to the bar. Hols was now further impressed that the buses ran well into the night so her spirits were running high.

We entered the bar and tried a few standard Belgian beers before moving on to the Frulli. Frulli is a strawberry beer, that because of colour and name I don’t usually drink but unfortunately after a few regular beers (or many in my case) it tastes exceptionally good. After a couple of these the girls went to the bar and discovered the paddles. The paddles are a plank of wood with holes cut out for shot glasses filled with different types of Vodka. I cannot accurately remember what size paddle was purchased but the smallest is a 12 shot and I have the feeling I took the brunt of them.

I am told we left about half 3 to head home. I vaguely remember introducing the girls to the drunk mans best friend - the 99p mini fillet from the Colonel. As we walked I was in 2 minds whether or not to grab a taxi or the bus home, when I figured I should introduce the girls to one of the lesser known London icons – the minicab.

I walked up to one of the dodgy looking people loitering to the side of the road and heard the little “minicab?” whisper they use to get attention. (For those that don’t know they are not allowed to solicit business that is not from a phone call or call in to minicab shop. They use the whisper method at late nights to drum up some quicker business. This leads to anyone with a car with nothing to do on a Fri/Sat to head out and earn some cash. The fare is negotiated before you leave and is usually cheaper than a black cab).

After the driver got my attention he must have been surprised when I told him (without negotiation) he was taking us to Wimbledon via Tooting for a tenner and jumped into his car. The girls followed suit and the driver must have been cursing himself for not locking his car doors as a direct minicab from Clapham to Wimbles is usually £15 on its own. Never the less we were on our way to the sound of “Oooh there’s one, look another one….”
So we got home without any drama’s and hit the hay in order for some sleep before a day of sightseeing.

The one with Kylie's ex

The girl and I decided to have a little jaunt to Paris for the weekend. I had a mate there from Perth that I was going to catch up with. We were staying in St Germain in the 5th in a hotel I had gotten way too cheap. We had taken the Eurostar after work on Friday and gotten in about 8pm.

After checking in we walked down towards the Latin Quarter looking for somewhere to eat. The randomness of Paris means you can find a couple of good places next to each other or walk around for hours trying to find something. We had been walking for about 10 minutes when there was a manky dog slowly following his owner ahead of us. The girl was a little hesitant about the dog so we crossed over to the other side of the road to pass. As we were walking she stopped dead in her tracks upon realisation that the dogs owner was Olivier Martinez. For those that don’t know (like I hadn’t known) he is Kylie Minogues ex. Upon telling me this revelation her phone came out furiously texting her friends the information.

As he had stopped on the corner I crossed the street to give the dog a pat. My figuring was that being Kylie’s ex’s pet it is highly likely that she had also given the dog a good rub down (at the very least a scratch behind the ears). So any contact I had with the beast meant that I had also been in contact with Kylie. As I type this it appears to sound a little loose but rest assured I am sure she feels the same – we are now kindred spirits! After a good rub down, his tail was wagging and I could tell he instantly liked me - wanting me for his masters former flame.

Au Revoir!

The one with the Championships

For those reading this who don’t know (as you have been living under a rock on Mars) I live in Wimbledon. It is very well known (possibly not to Australians) by its postcode: SW19. The papers use that more than its name I guess because it is smaller to print which brings me to when they use it the most - The Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Club Championships. Back home we just refer it as Wimbledon but being the local now I have gotten well into the lingo. It was the girl’s birthday so we took the day off to go and spend it in the sun watching sport.

To get tickets to the tennis there are probably 6 options to go about it. Firstly they have a ballet in December the year before where you can obtain them. You can buy a corporate section for an astronomical amount. Date a tennis player to get into their box. Grab some tickets off a scalper (although there didn’t appear to be any outside as it was well patrolled). What most people do is actually sleep outside the venue overnight to get the tickets. The final option (and possibly the best) was to log onto ticketmaster at 8.30 the night before and grab them that way. It is apparent that nobody over here knows this option because everyone I have met are amazed I had gotten tickets. We got centrecourt seats, had a good night sleep / slept in and promptly turned up to the gate around midday to get straight in.

Once we arrived we grabbed some drinks – Pints of Pimm’s that cost 6 squidies each. I felt it was a massive ripoff but we were at the tennis with a bunch of snobs – and I was rather parched. Anyway we headed to centrecourt to see the first match – Federer vs Hewitt. Was rather lucky we got to see the little Aussie scamp (or knobhead as some of you may refer to him) but also the number one player in the world. The first set was a cracker – with Hewitt going down in a tie break. It was enough to get the Fanatics really excited and the Aussie chants were flowing. I don’t think we saw any emotion (or a clap) from Bec except a couple of squeaky “C’mon Lleyton!” I was wondering if she felt duped into marrying a former #1 who is well out of his prime and now has to suffer a couple of early round victories before defeat before the quarters. Perhaps she could cling to the fact that Hewitt was actually the last player to win Wimbledon before Federer’s streak commenced but I doubt it.

So onto the second and third sets. They were over quicker than I could type that sentence. It didn’t stop the Aussie chants – even after Hewitt had cleared off to the dressing room.

So we departed from centrecourt to grab some more gold laced Pimm’s and headed to ‘the hill’ to relax in the sun. We watched Nadal on the big screen demolish his opponent and I said at the time he might go all the way this year (he just appeared to have a bit more determination than Federer but I was thinking to attribute this to the fact that Federer was playing Hewitt). The hill wasn’t all that interesting. A massive crowd of people watching a game on the big screen. The fact that it was a sunny 28 degrees increased the atmosphere but I was reluctant to feel the worth of spending a bit of money on tickets to get into SW19 to over pay for drinks and watch it on TV. I was very glad to have seats. After a while we left the plebs to grab a bite to eat and return to our seats on centrecourt. The women’s game was finishing up and I had taken less than zero amount of interest in the female draw since Sharapova was felled the previous week.

The final game was between a plucky Frenchman against “the future of British tennis” as he is referred to here when he is winning, Andy Murray (he is actually a Scot). The first 2 and a half sets presented the Brit with a massive touch up and I figured to be home at an early hour. Finally towards the back end of the 3rd set, the Brit showed some fight and came from down match point to steal it. Game on. I think the Brit had gone to the “Hewitt school of motivation” because he had a little scream at every point he won and was trying very hard to get the crowd involved.

I won’t bore anyone with details but it was a pretty exciting match from this point and four and a half hours later the Brit won over the Frenchy. The circumstances were a little controversial as the light was very poor when the Brit was serving for the match – but the crowd (except me) got what it wanted and the Brit moved on to face Nadal. If you didn’t know Nadal beat the Scot (following the papers lead he is referred to as a Scot after he loses – I kid you not) in game more one sided than a Zimbabwe election.

I was very thankful for the awesome weather we had and rated the day highly. We were rather fortunate to get some good matches as well which probably made the difference. The only thing I will be changing next year is 1. Make sure I see Sharapova and 2. Sneak in some booze.