The One with all the Grievances

During my time here in London I have taken note of a number of things that annoy the hell out of me. Unfortunately these may not be of any interest to you but as the sole writer / editor of this site I take it upon myself to air out my grievances.

1. Cyclists on their high horse. Yes you are the greatest because you ride a bike and are saving the planet but stop swapping between a car / pedestrian when it suits you. Ringing your bell whilst illegally riding on a footpath or across a pedestrian walkway that is green for pedestrians will not make me get out of your way – in fact I will go out of my way to inconvenience your misjudgement on this matter by slowing you down to the point that you have to remove your locked in feet from the pedals to prevent you falling over.

2. If your child is old enough to go to school then they do not need to be transported there in a pram or stroller. This is not only and inconvenience when you push the empty stroller along with the child walking next to you taking up most of the footpath but it also seems stupid when you are taking public transport (ie the bus) and leave an empty pram in the standing area.

3. Multi-bags as carry on. If you do not want to put your bags into the hold then make sure only one goes into the locker above. If I cannot find a space for my small back pack shared between 2 persons, then too many chumps are multi-bagging. Don’t expect me to store this below my feet for your selfishness. This goes for coats up there too – expect them to be squashed into the back of the locker because you don’t want to hang it on the hook on the seat in front of you.

4. Service charges included into the bill. I don’t have to pay this so why do you put it on there? Why do you offer such substandard service when this is the case? Why do you become embarrassed when I ask you to reissue the bill without this?

The One with the Hidden Charges

This was possibly the most caught out I have been in a while and although I should have expected it from a poverty airline my copious amount of consumed Guinness on route to Ireland probably had a little to do with it. We flew a low budget airline (not mentioning any names but it was the smeggling SOB's Ryanair) to Dublin. Having paid a small sum of £20 for myself and the girl it was unfortunate to find the cost of a bag was £40. Never the less the girl was smart enough to pay this beforehand savind £60 in the process.

Once she had checked this in we proceded back to the bar to consume more of the black stuff. Eventually our flight was called and as we got to the gate myself and another mate were held back because "we hadn't got our visa check" at the outside check in. We waited while they located someone to take us back through customs. Interestingly enough they took about half an hour for this to happen - telling us the plane had already left when the girl was texting me that they still hadn't left the gate. Finally the woman 'fessed up and said this was how the airline made money and there was no way they would let us make that flight.

Finding the amusement in it all we headed to the ticket counter to rebook and pay a missed flight charge (£100). Even before I could go into a witty tirade about the whole situation the man was yelling at us. That is when we found it the most fun - having approached him calmly. Ever willing to egg the old fart on I was held back by the running man as he was pretty keen to get over to Dublin. Once our tickets had been presented to us I told the man what I thought of him and his job.

We then headed to the check in counter to get our "Visa checked". In another moment of hilarity we were told that these tickets didn't need a visa check because they weren't a computer print out. Once I had pointed out that my passport had not been checked and the man realised I was not moving without a stamp he became rather flustered. Another woman came over to help out but unfortunately couldn't convince us we didn't need the stamp. I could not work out why a simple stamp was not being issued so I took it upon myself to reach over, grab the stamp and ink my ticket anyway.

Once we finally got through customs we headed back to the bar and proceeded to down more of the black stuff. When we finally headed to the gate we saw around 20 people being held to the side and told they wouldn't be flying to Dublin that night because they had not gotten the "Visa check" and this being the last flight.

Interestingly this is probably not the drunkest flight I have had however it was certainly the most rowdiest! Our fellow passengers were probably quite annoyed at having to be near us especially after the unusually rough turbulence started to make us feel a tad green. When asking about the lack of a sick bag we were told there was a charge for them. Luckily though there was no charge to vomiting onto the floor - at which they said this charge would be overlooked, (fortunately for fellow passengers we did not require the bag).

The One at Halloween

At Halloween owning a monkey suit can have its advantages in costume selection. Rather than go to a party as a plain ape I decided to vary it up a bit. I bought a waist coat, matching fez, tail and some black wings that produced a costume fresh out of "The Wizard of Oz" - the flying monkey.

The costume was a massive hit and rather appropriate given we spent most of the evening outside. The Girl, like most of the other women there that night, had next to nothing on in her skimpy bumblebee outfit (that I certainly had an appreciation of). This meant she spent most of the night clung to me for warmth.

The whole night was blast until, unable to delay the inevitable any longer, I had to make for a bathroom break. Rather than go the hassle of a near complete costume removal (which I figured would be a regular occurence once the seal was broken) I decided to acquire a pair of scissors and create an easy access. This proved to be a winning solution and the party proceeded with a very happy monkey.

The One from Florence

Standing below a statue of a gigantic, marble statue of a naked man inspires you without a doubt. The scepticism I thought would contain my awe departed on the approach along the corridor into the hall. The size is epic, the detail intense, the resemblence to a human unequivocal - I could actually imagine the head turning on its shoulders to make a conversation with someone in the crowd. Inspiration can be found on many plateua's but I find it unimaginable that any artist could not draw a copious amount from this interaction.

The One with the Players Wives

As some of you know - I am a big basketball fan, so when the NBA released the tickets for the game at the O2 arena I was probably one of the first in line for tickets. The teams playing were the Bulls and Jazz. Neither team was particularly of any interest to me at all, especially with Korver being injured and not able to throw up a few long bombs, but an NBA game is an NBA game and thus, a must.

I took the girl as she quite enjoyed the Kobe show we had seen at Madison Square Garden during our trip to New York. What she hadn't expected was the remarkably close seats I had gotten us - 5 rows behind the Bulls bench. What thrilled her even more was when she learnt the row in front of us seated the Bulls players wives/girlfriends/family. As quick as you like she stopped taking photos of the players for me and whizzed the camera around at the ladies. No not the ladies themselves but their accessories. The diamond rings, jewellery, handbags and shoes. Naming brands and prices I could hear the excitement in her voice. She couldn't believe her luck until she realised the unfortunate situation of being unable to discuss it with anyone.

The game itself was of a fairly good standard considering it was pre-season. The buzzer beater at the end came from the unlikely hero, rookie James Johnson, who has played limited minutes for a bad Bulls team so far this season.

We both walked away from this encounter happy, me with the show on the court and the girl with the show off the court.

The One in the Gorilla Suit

Last year some of you may recall my disappointment at returning home for my brother's wedding - not the fact he was throwing away his bachelorhood but the fact I missed the great gorilla race. What is that? Some of you may ask. Well I will ask the following of you. Given the chance to dress up as a gorilla and then run around central London crossing the Thames a few times with 1000 odd fellow dressed in a similar matter would you dare to take on the challenge? Now I suppose the majority of you are saying "That sounds right up your alley" and indeed you would be right - but I managed to drag in a couple of lads from work as well.

My training consisted of jogging - building up to 10km for about the 2 months before. The circuit was only 7.5km but I figured the extra kms would account for the gorilla suit. This was a little bit of a miscalculation on my part. The costume we had chosen was a pirate theme. Not really sure why we went for this one but it seemed a safe bet we would be the only ones. The course essentially followed a zig zag across the bridges of the Thames (Tower, London, Southwark and Blackfriars) which seemed like a rather scenic route. Unfortunately each of the bridges required a climb of stairs which is not particularly easy to accomplish in a gorilla mask. To illustrate how tricky, my sis-in-law was running for about 20m beside me trying to take my photo and I didn't see or hear her (and you might know she is not particularly quiet - sorry sis).

The run itself was quite good and we did seem to get quite a good cheer from the unsuspecting tourists who probably assumed they wouldn't be taking photos of gorillas that day. I was probably doing quite well until the last km or so when the crowd thinned out and there wasn less urge to push on. I finished in a time of around 50 mins which was about 5 past what I expected although I was still rather proud of my effort.

I think I had probably sweated roughly what a pelican can hold in his beak, which was evident when I took off the ape gloves and a pool of water washed out. Satisfied with our effort we headed straight to the bar for some rehydrating. A couple of beers later and I was being carried to the next bar by all. I did wear the gorilla mask on the tube and scared quite a few of the passengers on our journey.

If we are all around next year we have all vowed to do it again (I have the suit, it would be rude not too) - so any suggestions on a theme would be grateful.

The One from the Fest

Warning: The Womble Blog does not endorse any excessive drinking from shoes.

"Shoe, Shoe, Shoe, Shoe!" Was our catchphrase of this years Oktoberfest. The goal of Oktoberfest is to drink as many steins, eat as much pork knuckle and slam back as many shoes as possible. Contrary to any warnings appearing on this sight it is tradition to drink excessively from any shoe available. Unfortunately it was my turn to provide the shoe this year and the green ferrari's certainly held up to the watertight test. Luckily enough most nationalities joined in to drink from the cherished shoe. The poor few that declined were heckled and booed until our voices were hoarse. Questions pondered for millennia have now been answered:

1. How many people can fit into a bag locker at the train station? (two)
2. Is it possible to drink yourself sober? (not sure - too drunk to remember)
3. What is the best hat to wear at the fest? (Horse hat)

4. What is the worst hat? (The little boy hat)

5. Where is the most comfortable place to nap on your drunken stumble home? (Train tracks)

6. Does wine belong at the fest? (Only when drunk out of a mini Stein)

The One in the Croatian Bars

The girl and I headed ourselves to Croatia for a week to enjoy sunshine, good food and wine. This turned out to be an amazing trip for us, taking us both by surprise by the surroundings and culture you become immersed in. We visited Split, Dubrovnik, Korcula and Hvar. Each location differed immensely but gave us the same enjoyable feeling. I thought it would have been very hard for one to go there and not feel the same.

The highlights of our trip were vast however it is a few of the many bars we visited that I need to tell you about. We spent several nights in Dubrovnik and each afternoon we ended up at a bar called - Buza. Apart from the bar being appropriately named it was the location that drew us back. The bar is situated on the rocks outside the cities main walls right on the ocean. The sunset is amazing as you watch the boats sail past, as well as the steps leading down to the ocean it self so that you can cool the afternoon heat off with a swim.

We considered staying at Dubrovnik for longer but alas I am glad we moved on to Korcula, if only for a night, as we found the coolest cocktail bar I am ever likely to see. The name of the bar is Massimo but it is the location that will fascinate you - it is situated at the top of a turret. Overlooking the water you climb up to the top via a ladder. The drinks are taken to the top via a pulley up the side of the turret. The girl being the sensible one limited her cocktails in thought of the climb back down. Not one to shy away from an a difficult situation (especially alcohol induced) I decided to continue drinking a few more Mojito's to raise the bar. By the time we left it was apparent the girl did the sensible thing as I certainly struggled my way down the ladder. Surprisingly enough the staff were acting as if this was the norm and went about their business.

From Korcula we headed to Hvar - one of the more popular tourist spots for the fashionably young tourists. The bar we found on this island, called Hula Hula bar was right on the rocks although not quite the cliff face of Buza. Here we met up with the lil sis who was at the end of her 3 month holiday. She had found a friend on her travels and they were suitably catching up on their tans before heading back to the Australian summer. The bar was a rather pumping place with plenty of drinks and some very nice tunes pumping out for all to enjoy. If the beer wasn't enough to cool you down the water a few steps away certainly did the job. We spent a couple of afternoons at this bar sunning ourselves and drinking (no guesses for which one the girls were doing and which one I was doing).

Overall the trip was fantastic and contrary to this entry we did venture outside the bars. The beauty of this country however is no matter what you are up for it caters for everything. The hardcore tourist to the relaxed sloth - there is something for everyone.

The One with the Free Phone

Due to my hectic offshore schedule it became apparent that I would miss the few gigs that my favourite band had reformed to play. Geographically everything in Europe is close but logistically trying to organise everything is a massive hassle. That being said this was possibly my last chance to see Faith No More play.

The Cousin had picked the French festival "Rock en Seine" as the easiest for us to get to and the most likely for me to attend. We caught the Eurostar over mid-afternoon and decided to commence our boozing. We went to a few bars that we new to get into the Parisian spirit. Many bars were visited and a large quantity was consumed.

We ended up at a very French Brasserie that provided quite a feast (and even more wine). By the time we finished up it was well into the late evening so we metroed it back to the arrondissement we were staying in. It was rather late and we found a pretty dodgy bar devoted to 'the clash' to have a few pints in before it closed.

As we were walking back to the hotel we passed a stylish, Indian restaurant looking, cocktail bar that seemed to be pumping. We ventured inside for a night cap. The cousin headed to the bar and I sat at a comfy couch nearby. After the last couple were served the barman looked at my cousin and proceeded to tell him they were closed. This puzzled us for many reasons and I could see a verbal altercation in the mix. As I got up and moved to the bar I noticed something on the floor beside it. I bent down picked it up and returned my hands to my pocket. Grabbing the cousin we moved onto the street as he questioned my motive. As we walked down the street I produced a brand new iPhone from my pocket. Funnily enough it was locked and in French so I had no way to find it's owner. Even funnier is how easily the phones can be 'jailbroken' to be used by anyone. As such I now have a brand new iPhone.

The festival the next day turned out to be amazing which is solely contributed to a grand FNM performance and a free iPhone.

Thy One from Thee Globe

The Shakespeare's Globe has been around in old London town in its various forms for more years then I care to find out. A group of us went along for his most famous of tragedy - Romeo & Juliet.

We decided to get the £5 standing tickets to really experience the peasant life - which realistically would be my status back then. It was clear we were in the povo section when a woman fainted after standing there for too long. She was dragged to the side as the show carried on.

As the show got into it I noticed the lads playing the characters of Romeo and Tybalt were black. This was not in the least unusual, and they were were both rather good in the role (particularly Romeo), until the parents of Romeo came on stage with their skin as white as a ghost. Later on Juliet's description of him "Either my eyesight fails or thou look'st pale" pushed it a little further towards the edge. It took me to the end of the play, whether unintentionally or not, who did all the killing. Tybalt Kills Mercutio, Romeo kills Tybalt before killing himself. Three of the four deaths are the result of a black man.

I will leave you with my favourite quote: "Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you bag- gage! You tallow face!"

The One with the Upgrade

The Girl and I decided to take advantage of cheap Eurostar tickets to fulfill one of my European goals - spend a whole weekend eating/drinking only waffles, mussels and beer. It was also a good opportunity to check out a few statues of children and dogs urinating. For the uneducated - these goals can all be achieved in Brussels...

We met at St Pancreas demolished some sushi and wine in fairly quick fashion before heading for our train. As we approached our carriage the attendent turned us back revealing that there was no airconditioning here and we would be directed elsewhere into the business class seats. As we approached there was a small queue and it was clear they were struggling to find everybody seats.

As we got to the front of the line a rude couple pushed in front of us which was pretty amusing to me although they copped a rough serve from the girl. I pulled her aside to explain they would not exactly leave us behind - although her point was she didn't want to miss out on the business class upgrade. After they had seated everone else the train manager spoke to a few of his colleagues and it was apparent we would not be in this carriage.

"Follow me," he explained, "I have a special carriage for you." He then escorted us to a private room at the front of the carriage - with two large chairs and a couch. We reclined back into our chairs and left the door open. Quite a few people walked past and jealously looked in and it became even better after we opened our bottle of champagne.

Eventually the rude couple walked past, pausing in disbelief, with their jaws ajar before I reached over and with a smug smile slid the door closed. We could hear the woman berating the man as they wandered off down the corridor to the echoes of our laughter.

The One with the delays

The girl had her birthday recently and I decided that a trip to Venice would put me in the good books. We arrived with a few hours to spare in order to make good use of the lounge at the airport. It wasn't until we got through customs that we were told our flight would be delayed from 7 until 10pm.

Not wanting to miss a minute of enjoying the weekend we did the only thing we new would lessen the annoyance - hit the booze in the lounge. Most of the flights were delayed that day because of an emergency landing so the lounge was fairly full. In spite of this we manged to grab a great window seat near the bar and promptly went about our business.

A few drinks later more bad news hit us with our flight being delayed until 1am. Again not wanting to put a damper on things we grabbed more vintage wine and cheese. We noticed that more than half the flights for that evening had been cancelled so a bad feeling was building up from within.

The Girl was very agitated and was checking the board frequently to find out when ours would be cancelled which was fortunate when for some reason our flight got brought forward. In typical style when you booze it before travel we were now late and had 5 mins to get to our departure gate.

Fortunately for us most passengers were in the same boat so the gate was held until all the passengers arrived. We took off and 2 hours later arrived at 2am in a very humid Venice. Because of the late arrival the trains were closed and no taxis were around.

Earlier in the week I had debated on pre-booking a rather expensive water taxi that thankfully I favoured in order to spoil the girl. Upon exiting the arrivals hall we were greeted by an empty airport. We made our way over to a closed taxi desk that had a man telling people there were no taxis available.

The Girl spied a note stuck to the top of his desk with my name and a phone number on it. We dialled the number and after a brief exchange was told to head to the wharf our water taxi would be there shortly.

A few of our fellow passengers questioned whether hitching a ride was likely but my response being the boat was only able to accommodate 2 people. We had a short wait at the wharf before our boat arrived. The taxi was an impressive vessel and had room for about 12 people. The chirpy driver led us on board and grabbed our bags. As we pushed off from the wharf we saw the same passengers waving as they hurried along the wharf to try and get a lift. And in true Venician style we continued on our way in a romantic ride for 2.

The One with the Bet

One of the things of certainty most people know about me: A bet taken with the remote chance for me to win is money in the bank.

Some of the guys at work came up to me one morning discussing the need they had for various reasons to lose some weight. Having successfully acquired a Heathrow injection on my arrival I figured it was probably a good idea for myself to participate. Knowing my mental attitude I figured I would need something a little more to drive my motivation. Mentioning the propostion of involving a wager intrigued my colleagues and in a short space, a cast of 10 had included themselves in the challenge.

The rules: Most weight lost as a % of total body weight. 1 month was the duration of the competition. Winner takes all.

As we discussed what our potential weight loss would be I assumed a 10kg limit was achievable. 2.5kg a week seemed a reasonable assumption. It was discussed amoung a few of us over the morning coffee (which was now an apple in place of my favoured latte). One of the chaps scoffed at my assumption and provoked a response "Care for a wager on that?" Thus I had him offer to double the pot if I could achieve the goal (and give it up if I didn't make it). The thought never crossed my mine that I wouldn't lose either of these but the potential was there to be out £220.

I commenced the first week with total booze ban and fitness kick. Jogging 5km everyday and swimming 3 times a week. My diet changed rapidly and the clincher was no booze. It became apparent to others (but also myself) that I was not an entertaining goon on the evenings of social activities but never the less let the reputation take a beating for the good of the bet. My cockiness was showing after the first day when I decided to "pre" spend my winnings on a Wii fit. After the first week my weight had come down 4kg.

Amazed at the rapid loss a few people mentioned that was likely but it would get much harder from here on. This appeared to be true - I only lost 3 kg after the second. Half way there and one of my close friends was having a deportation party as the Visa had run its course. The girl and I attended where I came to the realisation why bars and clubs serve booze - there is nothing fun about them without it.

At the end of the third week I had lost just short of 9kg total. This rather excited me and I actually trained even harder - figuring hitting the goal early would be able to slow everything down.

For some reason during the final week my body hit a wall and my weight did not want to drop anymore. 2 days out from the weigh in I still had 1 kg to go. Being the determined man I am, I figured the only thing to do was hit runway model / jockey mode. I stepped up the training and stopped the food intake. The night before the weigh in I put on as many layers of clothes that would fit and wrapped myself up in several blankets.

Sure enough I woke up in the morning drenched through but feeling in good shape to hit the scales. I had another jog before hitting work. The weigh in was later in the day so I decided to check on the scales what my last ditch efforts had produced. In utter frustration my weight loss was at 9.9kg. I headed to the pool with one of my colleages to try and knock off the last gram.

Upon returning to work a crowd had gathered for my weigh in. A number of people had mentioned it was rather noticeable however I was still worried about the last gram. Jumping on the scales I was impressed to see a total loss of 10.3kg stare back at me. A few people were in disbelief that I had lost that amount but I headed straight to the water cooler to try and replenish the bodies reserves. The closest rival was 4% behind me so I cleaned up the full £400.

On the way home I felt rather lightheaded and had to stop several times with the stars spinning in my eyes. It is safe to say that it was a rather unhealthy venture but enduring the hardship made it rather more satisfying.

"It's all about the Benjamins"

The One with the Drive

Ferrari F-360GT - Silverstone Circuit! I was in the hot seat and getting instructed on the vehicle. We had been through some basic training on how the car would handle through the corners and basic braking zones. The instructor had mentioned that we would probably not be taking the car to its full potential - although I intended to prove him wrong. I watched most of the other drivers slowly limp out of the pits and down to the track. My car was the last to go but instead of cautiously making my way I put my foot down and booted it. This seemed to please my instructor as he didn't take to my lack of circuit racing at all. The exit onto the track is at the back of the course before Vale. so I could ease my way around the first couple of corners. The thing about Silverstone is that it is so wide and flat you fell like you're in a car park. This makes hitting the apex a little tricky but I soldiered on. It seemed incredible that my many years on the Playstation and PSP had little help for my practical track experience. I knew the corners but hitting them in a real car was a bit harder. Around Beckett's the first 2 laps I was a little wide and couldn't get out of the corner quick enough. But the third lap was my swan song. I kept the car tight throughout with only a slight hiccup at the Priory. As I came to Beckett's my line was superb and I got the acceleration timed just right on the exit. As I came to the end of the straight I looked down to see 165km/hr on the dash. Unfortunately we had to brake a little earlier to pit in otherwise I am sure it would of been well over 170km/hr. Even so I was very proud of my laps and the instructor sounded pretty impressed by the final lap. I received a score of 82% from him and he said it was unfortunate to be judged on all 3 laps rather than the last. I don't think I am ready for my super licence yet - but there is potential.

The One in New York

After a terrible flight, even sitting 3 rows behind Anthony Stewart Head (Giles from Buffy) could not lighten our spirits. He was a rather nice chap and was friendly enough to talk to. We waited in the immigration line for over an hour and it was interesting his celebrity status didn't help fast tracking him through.


The Girl didn't enjoy my running commentry of the natives - particularly my over use of the word 'Seppo'. In fairness I had only be using it when one of them acted indecently, rudely or just plain annoying. By the time we left the baggage claim we had thought up a new word to represent the 'Seppo' culture - Hutts. It is fair to say that Hutts was used in the majority of my sentences.

The first morning we ate at Toms Restaurant (Monks Diner from Seinfeld). I had to try the Pancakes and Bacon. Superb. We then ventured through Central Park. We then took in some classic sights - the original soup nazi kitchen, apartment block from friends and a couple of the Sex and the City sights. We ended up in an Irish bar for a drink when we were approached to join their 'Superbowl Party'. Possibly the fact that the girl and I had not been to one before but more the fact it was $20 all you can eat and drink we decided to stay. I must say it probably would of been a rather boring game had we not tried to get triple our moneys worth.

The following night we headed to Madisen Square Garden to watch the Lakers visit. The Girl had managed to pick up some quality tickets on halfway and I was chuffed to see Kobe drop 61 on the Knicks. The atmosphere was incredible and the Lakers victory lit up Sportscentre later that evening.


Early the next morning we decided to try our luck with Lettermen tickets. I went to Hello Deli to grab a rather tasty sandwhich off Rupert. The show was an experience. Unfortunately the guest was an impeached governer that had little relevence to the Girl and I. It wouldn't surprise me if he is convicted at the end of his trial. I am not suggesting he is guilty it just seemed that he wouldn't be on the receiving end of a favourable verdict.

The One in Estonia

For some unknown reason I decided to take the girl to Tallin for Christmas. The diver was over for a SAT course and tagged along as well as 2 of the girl's friends. We travelled over on Christmas Eve and were met with a pretty thick cover of snow. It made quite the scene as we got a taxi to the apartment. Tallin has an area called the old town which is found within the old city walls. Once entering the old town you couldn't help but feel thrust into the middle ages and apart from the modern cars it certainly lived up to its name. The apartment we had was rather large and had a sauna.

On Christmas Eve we decided to head to an authentic olden style restaurant. I was rather chuffed when I learned how old school it was. No electricity, no running water, no glass, nothing modern except the patrons themselves. There was a tea pot in the bathroom to wash your hands. The tasty beer was served in a large mug. In fact everything was made from pottery. And possibly the best thing was the menu. As I perused the delicacies my eyes came across the "King of the Forest" - Bear. I pondered whether or not I felt right about eating such a gracious beast (without killing it with my bare hands) but was soon persuaded by the buxom waitress to give it a go. I was glad I did because it tasted sensational. Although a little gamey throughout the texture of the meat was like nothing I had tasted before. We ended the evening at a beer hall which was about when my memory gets a little hazy.

Christmas day was spent at the apartment with way to much food and alcohol. It was rather late in the day when the Diver and I were sent out to grab something from the store. Considering the beer hall was on our way we figured it would be quite rude not to stop in for sneaky stein. As we entered we were chastened to leave our coats with the clerk. Considering we were on a tight schedule we waved the man away and tried to keep on into the hall. He shouted that we were required to leave our coats. I politely disagreed as it was obvious the majority of people already in the joint had kept there coats with them. As we turned around to enter our path was blocked by a midget (or dwarf I suppose but who can tell the difference?) Seeing the midget in itself was not unusual - however, the fact that he was dressed like a pirate was. He growled at us and pointed to the door. The diver and I absolutely lost it and released some hefty laughter. This spurred the midget on to start using strong words (totally in Estonian) at us, and escorting us out the door. I believe that will be the last time I ever see a midget pirate bouncer guarding a beer hall.

The final night we were in Tallin the Diver and I decided to try the bar that was under our apartment. The place opened at midnight and unfortunately did not display what time it closed. This was possibly a mistake on our behalves as we were due to fly out at 8am. It was a small club with the second room playing porn on the big screen. It felt a tad unusual to see such things on the screen so we decided to sit ourselves in the other room at the bar. The 2 barmaids were rather scrumptious looking so the Diver thought it would increase his chances with one of them if we tried every type of shot on the menu. I am not sure how far through the list we got before I got a text from the girl around 6am asking if we intended to get the taxi with them at 6.30. From that moment onwards I don't remember getting back to the apartment, packing, heading to the airport or even getting on the plane. I do remember waking up at Stansted thinking I was still ridiculously drunk. I guessed the Diver was feeling the same because he was help up at immigration for half an hour trying to convince the guy to let him into the country. It possibly didn't help that I was shouting "Send him home" from inside.

I would give Tallin a 4.5 star rating and recommend it highly.