Tag Archives: friends

Go West….I think they did

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LapseHoly crapola…has it been this long?

I think it must have been, I mean, the last entry date seems to be honest, I don’t remember trying to play an elaborate prank on myself.  Ah well, let’s see if we can’t remember how this here blogging thing works shall we?

First of all…LW update:

I am still stupendously happy in Frankfurt, no mean feat for me….5 years and counting, and no plans to leave.  I am considering calling Norris McWhirter

 CW and I are still ticking along nicely and enjoying life.  I think our life resembles a “Love Wanted” advert…we enjoy long walks, the cinema, sitting in the sun and drinking coffee and just chatting…
I bought a car, a nice BMW 320i…beautiful, that is until CW very kindly and lovingly points out that the 3 series is considered to be an Asbo car.  Cue slight proudness removal (I still love it though).

Now here’s the thing.  When you buy a car….unless you have a particular requirement….you tend to buy a car you want.  Something that makes you happy when you think about driving it.  The BMW 3 series has always been that for me.  I looked at loads of them and finally settled on a beautiful 320i.  High mileage (kilometerage??) but in absolutely mint condition.  Obviously, living in Germany has the benefit of BMW being a little more available and accessible than, say, the UK.  The likelihood of my being able to afford this particular car in the UK is pretty slim…so I grabbed the opportunity.  The trouble with them being more accessible over here, is that a lot of people have them….specifically people of a certain social group…meaning that the car has a stigma associated with it.

I’ll be honest, this took a little bit of the sheen off the car for me…telling people about the car and having them ask “Are you going to get a tan and start wearing thick gold jewellery?” will do that to you I suppose.  That was until I spoke to my folks about the car…and they were jealous.  It’s the exact model that my Dad has lusted over for years..which reminded me that the car still has something going for it outside of Germany.

So, having driven 900 kilometers, I arrived at my Mum and Dads place Smile …pride in my new vehicle restored.  To be fair, the real reason was to have an amazing week with all 4 of my kids….the car thing was a nice bonus Grin

Anyhoo, I should probably address the title of the post really.

Friday saw the birthday of TZ and the plan was to go to a music festival in Frankfurt.  It was the opening night and full of Electro, Dubstep and other dance rammel.  I will confess that, up until 2 hours before, I wasn’t going…especially when I “Youtube’d” some of the DJs that were playing.  Still, CW persuaded me and I agreed on the grounds that I wasn’t expected to dance.

We arrive at the “Festival” a little after its scheduled start time and we probably should have been paying closer attention to a number of things…

  • 2 people were leaving and chatting as we walked in…they said something along the lines of “What a waste of money”
  • In the building, directly next to the festival area, was a table tennis party…
  • We couldn’t see anyone milling about outside
  • We said we would try and get in for ?5 instead of ?10…they agreed without any argument
  • There was a tent that was advertising “Ethno Jazz” – Now, this tent was empty, having finished earlier in the evening…but still…wtf is Ethno Jazz??  Someone needs to explain that one to me

If you take any of those things on their own, you can be forgiven for going in anyway, but if you combine them…I forget why we were there.

Still, we had paid and had beers in hand, so we decided to stay…walking into the “Techno Room”, we see one guy dancing away quite happily (doing the UK wedding dance from what I could see).  The girls immediately head onto the dancefloor and let loose for a little while.  A few more people start arriving about an hour later and THAT is the moment when they decide to close down the better of the two “rooms”.

We all ended up outside, having a beer and a chat – It ended up being a really fun night….up until about 4am, when PW decides to have a go on a skateboard that was there…and knackers his Achilles in the process.  CW and I took him to the hospital and got home at around 8am  Confused

This leads me to something else…for the first time, I am starting to feel my age.  Years ago, I could finish work at 6pm, head out and not come home until 4am on Monday morning, get ready and go to work….and I would do that every weekend.  I got home at 8am Saturday morning….and I am still tired now.  I demand a stewards enquiry.  Damn my ageing and frail body….damn it all to hell.

That’ll do for now methinks…more posts in, well, less than a year Smile

Home on the range

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Love and LustSo, as I appear to be in a reminiscing frame of mind at the moment, I thought I would share a story about a pursuit of lust love.  This pursuit would lead to my joining a uniformed organisation and would ultimately lead to a shooting incident where a number of people could have lost their lives.

Exciting, right?  Absolutely…prepare…..for….well, disappointment I am almost certain.

Hmm, I have sat here for at least 5 minutes, trying desperately to remember the year that this took place.  Not that it is important to the story, but I know how you all like to have complete facts and not just spurious memories.  Let’s see, I was in Gütersloh, which I left in 1990…so this would have been a year (ish) before that.  Ok, ok…I’ll say 1988 for the sake of argument.

So, back in 1988 I was living in Gütersloh, Germany as my dad was in the Royal Air Force (I may have mentioned this before).  It was fast approaching the summer, my Uncle Fester/Panda Hybrid looks were not even a remote possibility.  I played regular football, table tennis, squash and a myriad of other sports..and I was fortunate enough to be in the relatively “in” groups.  Life was good and I felt good about that.

A particular lady, however, had achieved the dubious honour of having me lusting after her and, indeed, being somewhat obsessed with her.  She was in a group of friends that regularly overlapped with my group, so we were chatting quite frequently.  Despite my (moderate) successes with the ladies…and the group that I was with…I was still abnormally shy about making any “moves”..so I hadn’t attempted to get with the object of my desires yet.  During one of our chats, it was revealed to me that she was a member of the Air Training Corps (a sort of youth Royal Air Force if you will) and that they were having a huge summer event in a couple of months.  After discovering that the event was a full weekend camping, with BBQs, party and other activities…I decided that I needed to get to this event.

Unfortunately, this was specifically an ATC event…no friends or external invites.  What was a boy to do?

After signing up to join the ATC and getting my uniform sorted out, I embarked upon, what I describe to be, a low point in my life.  Low because of what I was going through in an attempt to be with the object of my infatuation.  I attended every week, went to the special events…learned how to march, how to strip and clean a gun and also how to fire a gun.  Eventually, I got the all clear…I attended the weekend event and had a very….very good time….you don’t really need to hear more than that.

That is not the story though….oh no.  This story is based around what happened during my (self) enforced time in the ATC.  As I said, I attended everything that they wanted me to religiously, mainly to make sure that they couldn’t exclude me from the summer event.  Everything.  Including many visits to the shooting range, where we learned about firing various guns…how to keep them safe, strip them down and clean them etc…and of course, how to fire them.

I excelled at firing them and rapidly gained a marksman certificate for every weapon that we were allowed to handle.  I was one of, if not the, best shot out of everyone there.  We would visit the range almost every week and so I got plenty of practise.  This particular visit to the range was no different.

I should probably, at this point, explain how the range was setup.  It was a very long range, lots of dirt on the floor leading from where we shot to the targets at the other end.  The targets were set at about 1.8m from the ground and were supported by (and placed in front of) lots of sandbags.  For extra support (I think), the sandbags were themselves placed on the top of some rocks.  It was a pretty good setup.

We were firing SA-80s from the “prone” position, which is basically laying down, and were instructed to stop firing.  The rule was that you had to make the weapon safe before standing, then check the chambers and place the weapon (barrel facing down-range) onto the table next to your firing position.  We had done this many many many times and were all pretty skilled at it.

For some reason, one of the girls…I shall call her Brandine, completely forgot what she was supposed to do…stood up and went to place the gun on the table.  At the moment that she was doing this, the Sergeant who had been watching all of us intently, decided to act.  I am fairly certain, that, had he approached her in a calm manner and explained the issue, it would have been rectified without further incident..unfortunately, he decided to be a cliche and proceeded, at the top of his lungs, to scream “MAKE THAT WEAPON SAFE CADET BRANDINE”.

As you and I might reasonably expect, this did not have the desired effect on Brandine…what it did do was to scare the shit out of her.  Brandine, who at this point was in mid-reach to the table whilst attempting to put the gun down..jumped out of her skin and immediately dropped the weapon on the floor.

Dropped.  The.  Weapon.

As I am sure you can imagine (it wouldn’t be much of a story otherwise), the one in a million chance of a weapon discharge happened.

The bullet, travelling at god knows what speed, left the barrel which was (thankfully) pointing down range..and was, I swear, kicking up a dust trail as it went hurtling towards the targets…at about 2 inches off the ground.

This of course meant that it hit the rocks underneath the target and I got to experience my first ever real ricochet.  The Sergeant decided to scream again…but this time with a little more justification and we all hit the deck.

Fortunately, nothing bad happened to anyone (except Brandine, who was banned from the range)…but it could have done…which makes it exciting.

Surely by association, I am indeed exciting and interesting right?

What do you mean no?

Bastards.

So you see the sort of crap that us guys are willing to go through to get the girl.  Impressive or Sad, you decide…just don’t tell me about it.

Oh, and as for the object of my desires…we did get together at the weekend event…had lots and lots of fun…and 3 weeks later we were both seeing other, more interesting people.

Still, it was fun while it lasted.

Just when you get used to something….

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Fixing the Money Pipeline
Photo by ShellyS…it all comes to an end.

No, no, this is not a maudlin post about breaking up or getting some sort of terminal disease.  I am referring, of course, to my removal from the unemployed masses and placement directly outside them again.  I have indeed gone and gotten myself gainfully employed again.

I am actually rather pleased about it.  Sure, it is an entry level position and doesn’t pay an awful lot more than the money the Arbeitsamt were giving me, but the entry level side of things is causing me a serious amount of joy at the moment.  I won’t have the levels of stress that I had before and this means that my quality of life can improve to the level that I want.

I will indeed be answering phones and logging calls…the very job that I ran a team of guys doing previously.  A “Phone Monkey” if you will…and frankly I like it.  The company seems really good, and, when I get myself onto the shifts I will have time to do private study…they are pretty relaxed and the team that I met on my trial day seem like the kind of people I can get along with and more importantly, work with.

The best news for me, however, is of course the increased opportunity for blog fodder.  Hence why I have yet to (and won’t) name the company.

The last few months have given me a much needed break, a chance to recover from my stresses and didn’t get me too bored – I was (just about) able to get used to having less money around…which means the salary at the new place won’t be a problem to manage and did I mention the lack of stress?  Sure, there will be pressure…it’s a busy environment and has very tight deadlines…but little stress.  No more bringing work home, going in hours early to get things done.

As a certain PM mentioned, I will also be able to drink again (in moderation of course Wink )

Enough about my re-entry to civilised society.  It was ZS’s birthday the other day, and IP organised a BierBike.  I made a brief mention of this amazing thing before.  16 of us made the short walk to pick up the “bike” and we were on our way.

I must admit, I fully expected there to be substantially more gears and less actual effort to move the thing…it was pretty hefty as it goes.  The beer becomes more of a requirement than tool for getting drunk.  As we got close to ZS’s place, IP made the call to get him outside…the rest of us stopped pedalling and tried to keep 3 tonnes of BierBike quiet.  It would have worked too until, halfway through IP’s conversation with ZS, W decided to shout at us all to pedal more.  Meh, ZS was still pretty impressed…and so began an alcohol fuelled (literally) whistle stop tour of Frankfurt.

I should point out that after 20 minutes or so of pedalling, someone came up with the idea that we should switch seats at each red light…which would give everyone a chance to rest on the non-pedalling seats from time to time…leading to huge screams of REEEEED (if you were pedalling) and GREEEEN (if you were resting) in an effort to change the lights into your favour.

We took in all of the main areas of Frankfurt…including the Red Light district.  That almost caused a problem with our rotation scheme…. Wink  Also, whilst we got a decent reception from the girls who try to entice you into the strip joints…one particular lady of negotiable affection didn’t take kindly to our rendition of “Ruby” by the Kaiser Chiefs and decided to flip us “the bird” with a snarly grimace type thing on her face.  Again…meh!

It must have something to do with the consumption of alcohol when combined with exercise, but I was wrecked when we got back to drop off the bike…although I like to think it was the 2 shots of Jagermeister personally…honest…no, really!

Rest assured, even with the nightmare of pain and torture that was heading up hill and over bridges, I still want one for my next birthday….only I think there should be a “Birthday Boy Doesn’t Pedal” rule.  It’s only fair Wink

The Italian Job

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Kraftwerk / Autobahn
Photo by 96dpiNow I am not talking about Mini Coopers, gold heists and blowing the bladdy doors off.  I am talking about a short, 2100KM, drive from Frankfurt to Alassio and back.

Ah yes..a journey starting with amazing autobahns and ending in the land of Ferarri and Lamborghini.  The problem, though, was that a good portion of the journey was through the land of cuckoo clocks and toblerone…

Let me begin, as they say, at the beginning.  As I have written about before, it is not unknown to me to be the driver of a series of white vans from old abode to new abode for various people.  In this, at least, I find some consistency…at some point every few months, someone will pop up and ask me to help them move.  Like some kind of drug addict, I swear that each time will be the last…in reality I am just giving up until the next time.  Anyway, I digress.  Some time ago, GB asked if I would be willing to help him move from Frankfurt to Alassio in Italy..doing this would give me a couple of days chillaxing in Italy.

I was asked to drive a 7.5 tonner (4M tall…we will get to this later) and was happy to do so as, let’s face it, 90% of the journey would be motorway…and that’s pretty easy to do.  The plan was simple, we would get started at 06:30 on the Monday morning..be away by 11:00, head through the Gottard  Tunnel in Switzerland, and be in Alassio by 22:00.  Nuff said.

As has often been recited “The best laid plans of mice and men ‘aft gan aglen”.  CW and I were intent on going to bed early on the Sunday night, to allow me the slumber that the journey would undoubtedly require.  Washing was washed, tumbles were dried and everything was on track for a 21:00 sack hitting…until I realised that we needed towels…and the towels (of course) needed washing.  Cue getting to bed for 02:00 after waiting for the washing machine and tumble dryer to complete one cycle.  The plan to get up at 05:00 to get ready…well…failed.  We managed to get out of bed at 06:20, just before GB arrived to collect us.

A rapid wash and dress later and we were on our way to collect the van.  The rest of the morning went pretty much to plan, and we got on the road at around 11:15.  So far, so ordinary.  Not long before we set off, GB informs me that there has been a small plan change.  A train from Goppenstein (I shit ye not) in Switzerland has been discovered that will save us around 300KM, and therefore GB a load of cash on the rental.  Fine with me, says I and we begin to wend our merry way to Italy.

GB and ‘er indoors start the wonderful process of cleaning the old apartment, with the intention of catching us up later.  They do indeed catch us up and our mini-convoy heads to the Germany/Switzerland border.  ‘er indoors (who speaks German and understands Swiss) goes to the various offices to get the paperwork sorted, GB gets shouted at by the Swiss border patrol woman for parking in the wrong place and I try and play chicken with trucks considerably larger than mine by going the wrong way along a one way system.  Eventually we get parked, and ‘er indoors is still running between the German and Swiss authorities.  Each time being told that she needs a slightly different form.  Over 2 hours later, we believe that everything is in order and drive to the gate that gives us our entry to Switzerland.  At this point, the gate monkey (possibly gate Silverback Gorilla) tells us that we, in fact, don’t have the correct paperwork..and that we better hurry as the offices close in 5 minutes.  After a minor meltdown that followed the suggestion of “Why don’t you go through France”, a kindly soul (on his way home) tells her to just let us through as, and I quote, “The Italians will turn them back, so they will be back”.

W
T
F

Still, we head into Switzerland and head for the train…the motorways start getting narrower by the minute and eventually we arrive at the serpentine mountain roads of Switzerland.  I am immediately struck by the beauty of nightmare that is; getting a 7.5 tonne truck up the side of a mountain around bends that would cause slalom skiers to head off the to lodge for a shot of something strong and numbing.  Still, CW was getting an amazing view of the scenery as I wrestle the truck up and around the (seemingly) never ending twists and turns.  She was ooing and aahing all over the place, exclaiming “Isn’t it amazing…Dave, have a look at that view”….my response was “Yup, the tarmac is bloody lovely….trying not to kill us all dear”..Had I chosen to look at this wonderful view, I am pretty sure that it would have ended up with a rapid descent and a rather close up and personal “view” of the mountains.

Eventually though, I see a sign that tells us we are around 5KM from the train.  Unfortunately, a few hundred meters beyond said sign, another sign appears…this one says “Low Bridge – Max 3.7M”..those of you paying attention will remember that the truck is 4M tall….letting the tires down is not going to help…I rapidly take another road and pull over.  GB and ‘er indoors head off to see if there is another route to the train and I am able to take in the beauty of the area for a short while.

Around 15 minutes later, GB arrives back carrying a sheet of paper from the train…that says the maximum height is 3.5M…so taking the bloody wheels off wouldn’t help us at this point.  Left with no other choice, we go back down the frickin’ serpentine roads and head off on the very long journey back to the route that we originally said we would follow.  Imagine our collective joy, as we pull into the Swiss/Italian border at 03:00…to discover that we need to go through customs….which doesn’t open until 05:00.  No cafes, no comfort…no real chance of sleep, but we try.  CW basically gives up sleep to make sure I get some sleep…a very sweet gesture and in no way suggestive that I may actually kill us all if I don’t rest..honest Razz

We get through Swiss customs relatively easily and are then met by Italian customs.  Now, ‘er indoors is actually Italian, so we theorise that she will definitely be able to get us through.  The Italian customs guys look suitably imposing and authoritarian..’er indoors is explaining the nightmare we had at Swiss customs and for a little while it looks like we might get turned back.  They look in the back of the truck and proceed to inform us that the problem is that they can’t see inside the boxes….who knew that everything was transported in clear PVC boxes these days…not us, that’s for sure (/sarcasm).  Their point made about how unorthodox this is, and how we should have done it differently etc etc…they let us through.  GB and I do a Smokey and the Bandit and “Put the pedal to the metal” to get the hell outta there, before someone changed their mind.

This brings us to Italy and, to be honest, we were all feeling rather good.  We stopped at the motorway services that the 60′s forgot and carried on.  The mountain tunnels in Italy were mucho fun though…3 lanes where no other country would put more than 2…narrow tunnels that the truck could barely get under and lunatic truck drivers vying for “King of the Tunnel” bragging rights.  We came out of them just about unscathed, except for Luca requiring a change of underwear when a weaving (and possibly drunk) Italian truck moved just enough into my lane to cause the wing mirror to hit the side of our truck like a frickin’ bomb going off.

We arrived in Alassio at 11:15..a mere 24 hours after we set off and a mere 29 hours awake.  Fortunately, GB had arranged for people to unload the van and get everything in the apartment…so CW and I went to the cabin on the mountainside and promptly collapsed until around 19:00.

We spent an evening and a day in Alassio.  What a place, absolutely idyllic…in the evening we went for a meal and then wandered around the town.  As we were heading for the cabin, the strains of music could be heard around the corner and we went to check it out.  What we discovered was an Italian choir singing When The Saints Go Marching In…although what they were actually singing was “Oh whhen tha sayns go marching eeeen”..which was nice.

The journey home was fairly uneventful, but I have to say that the German motorways are by far the best in Europe…I have never been so happy to cross a border in my whole life.

So there you have it, my latest White Van Man experience.  I will definitely be visiting GB and ‘er indoors in Alassio again, but I won’t be driving a 7.5 tonner to do it…Easyjet anyone?

Electricity chafes…

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I nominate these guys for this year…tis true. Years ago, I was working for a software house in Cheltenham.  During this time the company were undergoing some major changes, including shutting down an office in Surrey and moving operations to Cheltenham.  This meant getting 2 new buildings and setting them up from scratch.  During this time we had mucho fun getting everything ready, and very little sleep was had by myself and Matt.

I point this out as, at some point on the Sunday, Matt and I were checking all of the PCs and printers etc to make sure that everything could login and would work as expected.  The move had actually begun at 17:00 on the Friday and everyone was expecting to begin working as normal at 08:00 on the Monday morning.  Not a lot of time to move some 300 people and all of their equipment.  We managed it…barely.  Anyway, back to the checking of PCs… I think we got to the 3rd floor and went around as before switching everything on.  Matt notices that one of the PCs didn’t fire up…so as we are taking a break, he decides to whip the case off and take a look.  He didn’t take the usual precautions of unplugging the machine, grounding himself etc, but no matter…generally these things don’t pose an issue.

We are chatting away and pretty much trying to stay awake when he asks me for a screwdriver.  On hindsight, I should have questioned why, but as tired as I was I passed one to him.  There then followed this set of events:

Matt:  “Thanks, I think I see what’s wrong”
PC:  BANG
Matt: THUD
Matt: Slide
Matt: THUD
Matt:  “AAaaaaaaaargh”

He ended up about 10 feet away from where he started, with a hairstyle not dissimilar to Yahoo Serious of Young Enstein fame.  In a moment of genius clarity, he had noticed that the power supply fan was not spinning, decided to jab the screwdriver into it and wiggle around, hoping to dislodge whatever was causing the fan to stick.. Only he went too far, jabbed the screwdriver a little too deep into the gubbins of the PSU and gave himself something of a shock.  The shock sent his body hurtling backwards like something out of a film, the force of this caused him to smack his head into the desk that he was underneath, drag his hand through the gubbins of the PC and eventually smack his head into the wall 10 feet away.

After I stopped laughing, I checked to see if he was ok.  He was…although he had a lump on his head and his hand was bleeding like a good ‘un.  All that was really needed were a small flock of birds to circle around his head, throwing stars up in the air and for smoke to come off his head.

The PC started working though, so it just goes to show …mind you, his watch was never the same again.

This was the company that is essentially responsible for the Fester’esque black circles around my eyes.  Thanks to working an average (honestly) of 21 hours per day, 7 days a week for 9 weeks.  Part way through this, they tell me about the impending closure of the southern office and send me down there to arrive just as the meeting is called.

It was all very cloak and dagger, and not at all pleasant for me.  I had to wait outside and, when the meeting started..someone gave me the signal to get into the building, where I had 25 minutes to lock down and protect the data, admin accounts and even the comms rooms.  This was simply following due dilligance as instructed by the insurance company, but still…I felt like an arsehole.

It worked out ok in the end, but there were a lot of upset people there, not least of all the guys that reported in to me.

Heh, just remembered a trip back with the head of facilities.  We were driving back from Cirencester to Cheltenham in ridiculously thick fog.  It was one of those where you couldn’t see much past the front of the car, so we were driving appropriately slowly as the situation demanded.  Pete mentions that we have to be really alert, as there is a new roundabout around here somewhere..with that, a car goes flying past us and had to be travelling over the speed limit…2 seconds later we realise we are on the roundabout.  I forget the exact chain of events, but Pete points out of the car, up in the air…where we can see red lights…as we come around it is obvious that the red lights belong to the car that had gone past us a couple of seconds earlier…and is now about 30 feet in the air and falling to the ground after hitting a lamppost across the other side of the roundabout.

Pete, being the kindly soul he is…starts calling the guy all sorts of names as we wend our merry way at 5-10mph.  In fairness, we did check that the guy got out ok…but then left him to it.

I think he learned a valuable lesson right there….

That's a bit personal isn't it?

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~Woman Seeking Prince Charming~So…when you put yourself out there and write for the whole world to see (if you count the whole world to consist of 3 people), you get slated (a lot), compliments (a lot less) and requests.

I can handle being slated, have trouble taking compliments (a British thing) and am slightly bemused by requests.

It is the requests that I want to deal with here today.  My other request is still in development, and honestly…may never see the light of day.  Normally you write what you write with little or no regard for other people, you write because you find the subject matter interesting, funny, rantable…whatever.  Writing because you have been asked to tackle a particular subject makes it considerably more difficult.  What if they don’t like it? what if you took the piss a little too much…or not enough?  What if, what if, what if?

My latest request is not even for the blog.  I have been asked to write a personal ad for a friend.  She would like it to be funny (I think I see the first problem with asking me then) but also genuine, as she honestly intends to use it to find a partner.  No pressure then Eek!

If I am completely honest, within a couple of seconds of being asked, I already had possibilities running through my head..but I needed to research.  What are people putting in online personals these days?  Is it all GSH, WE, BB, RHD, ABS etc etc or is there actual substance?  Does the site she will use allow for the kind of wordy nonsense I usually write, or is it 4 lines and no more than 50 words like in the newspapers?

So I signed up to the site she mentioned to get some ideas.  The first thing you notice is that it is all in German….damnit, will have to search other ad sites.  Let’s see what we have then…

Craigslist:  Oh dear god, are these people serious?  I won’t go through the usual blog route of copy/pasting examples here…but christ on a rope…45 year old man seeks toilet sex…that, right there, was enough to stop me using Craigslist for ideas.  Also, an ability to spell the disgusting perversion you have would surely increase your chances of finding a likeminded soul.

OKCupid:  Much better quality of profile overall, although they want so much information that I don’t see a way to get ideas.  I wrote less at school…and certainly less in this blog on a (semi) regular basis.

Then I started to fall down, too many of these sites are pay per play (so to speak), meaning you can only see limited profile information unless you cough up some hard earned moolah for the privilige.  Gone are the days of SWF seeks WE man with GSH and own car/house…etc.

The other issue is that what I say will be translated into German.  I therefore have to be careful with any clever (or not) puns and statements.  Seeing as German humour is essentially Benny Hill….I could have my work cut out here.

Still…Fun loving, large breasted woman seeks fastest milkman in germany for delivery of 3-4 pints a day..

What?!?  It could work…. ok, back to the drawing board

What are friends for?

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IMG_8118Taking the piss and general abuse apparently.  I mean, I know that my usual modus operandi is just that, and I am pretty good at it generally.  I also know that you shouldn’t dish it out if you can’t take it, but still…

On Friday night at the bar, a good and merry time was being had by all.  Much drinking and frivolity were abound as they generally are down in my living room.  The dynamic duo were heading off to warmer climes for a short while, so everyone was in good spirits..and I think it is also fair to say that good spirits were in everyone.

So at some point, I am told that Bohemian Rhapsody has been requested in a fit of Old Skool nostalgia…of course, nostalgia isn’t the reason.  A number of years ago, I got into a comedian called Lee Evans, and he ended his first (I think) live show with Bohemian Rhapsody, and did a “routine” to go along with it.  It was genius and I have never forgotten it.  Fast forward to a few weeks ago and I try and recreate this routine when the song starts playing.  So, on Friday night I am being asked…ney told…that I have to do said routine again.  Here it is for the uninitiated (not me doing it I hasten to add)

Just as I start getting into the actions, I get accosted by a lady of Norwegian extraction, who decides that she wants to slow dance to this…and wanders right through all of my “audience” to grab me.  Being the fine friends that they are, everyone shoves me towards her and thus begins the strangest slow dance in the history of the world.  I am of course, deeply embarrassed but trying to get it over with.  It wasn’t helped by a chant going up…that seemed to get taken up by the entire bar..lead of course, by Z.  I believe it went something like this…”MILF MILF MILF MILF MILF MILF”.  I hope I remembered the words correctly.

Now, having 30 people chanting MILF over and over, and clapping in unison, really doesn’t help with the embarrassment factor and I tried to extricate myself from the situation as quickly as possible.  However, it was like the fight scene in a hollywood movie, everytime I tried to get through the crowd to my cigarettes and beer, I was shoved back towards “she who will forever be known as MILF”.  Resistance was futile, especially when Z started passing over free shots in an effort to “help” me, by saying they were from me.

I have also been informed, by the dynamic duo, that this embarrassing scene was well deserved thanks to my deciding to throw a condom at a couple that really needed to get a room, and inspiring a round of applause at another couple that actually thought that they had found a room.  In my defence….it was bloody funny.

I eventually get back to my beer, and the redness of my face starts to dissipate as the embarrassment leaves me, when I get accosted by a second woman.  Now this rarely happens, so I am only recounting the story for it’s strangeness in relation to how I am generally percieved.  Now, on Thursday and Friday night, there is a woman in the bar..an asian woman, with quite a strong face (read jaw)…I was guilty in my mildly inebriated state, of asking people if it was a guy.  All of the women in the bar were convinced that she was in fact a she, so I chose to agree with them.  Anyhoo..a few moments after getting away from “MILF”, I am leaning on the bar to get another beer.  Up walks the asian woman and grabs me for a cuddle…simultaneously telling me that she had seen me the night before, and that I was “Much fun and very funny”.  Being British means it is difficult to accept a compliment, so I return the hug as it looks like she is leaving and mumble a “Thank you” before trying to get back to the important act of beer acquisition.  At that moment she full on kisses me, and sweeps out the door.  Someone said something to me but all I could muster was “I am not sure how I feel about that”.  It goes without saying that I am now absolutely convinced she was a woman…the alternative just scares the crap out of me Wink

This was also the night where DB was introduced to the joys of my living room, and after a few bevvies, was telling me…every 5 minutes…that it was the best bar he had ever been to.  DS genuinely thought he had pulled SL, despite her telling him very clearly and slowly…to his face..that it would never happen.  DS is also responsible for the best drunk walk since John Cleese did “The Ministry of Silly Walks” in Monty Python…oh, and for actually managing to embarrass Z when we ended up in Club Keller.  Club Keller was actually great on Friday night, it had so many people that it actually reminded me of the opening scene from Blade…I kept looking up and half-expecting there to be showers full of blood ready to pour down on us all.  Also, what is it about Rage Against the Machines “Killing in the name of” that makes a place go insane?  Seriously, properly insane.  There aren’t many songs that are 16 years old that can do that….

Good times

Like a kid again…

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Peek-a-BooJust a short, sentimental post today, as I am out for a birthday party later and will not be in any fit state to write anything tomorrow…unless something happens of course.  SP was out last night, rumour has it he may be out tonight too…rest assured I will be taking my notebook, just in case.

So my Dad visited for the last couple of days…and except for not going outside and playing catch, I was like a kid for the whole time.  Admittedly, I would be a kid drinking copious amounts of beer with his Dad…and he was never that kind of Dad. We even went to the cinema…to watch James Bond.  What am I?  12?

We had a some great chats and I managed to get a little bit of blog-fodder too.  Dad has some great stories and I can honestly say that I am very lucky to be able to chat with him like I can.  We take the piss out of each other…admittedly he is better at it than I am, seeing as he taught me my sarcastic ways (even though he refuses to claim it).  We can drink together, tell dodgy jokes and we share a love of sport (mainly football).

We talked for hours, never ran out of conversation.  I was able to admit to certain regrets I have about my behaviour as a teen..which, Dad being Dad, completely dismissed.  I think he quite likes the confident Son he saw before him, the group of friends I have and the life I am living.  He gave me some great advice about the future, words of encouragement and a frickin hangover.  I rarely get to just go out for a bevvy with my Dad, so this couple of days were superb.  Thanks Dad Smile

While I remember, a few things from last night:-

I managed to cockblock LM on a highly skilled walk-by cockblocking.  It’s amazing what a giant Uncle Fester clone, giving you a hug and stroking your face can do..I may also have called him bigboy….sorry LM

I beat Z in an arm wrestle (admittedly, he had just arm wrestled a monster like 5 minutes before…but still, I am totally claiming it)

I also beat PM immediately afterwards with my considerably more girly left arm.

My lasting memory though was from the lovely PS.  She gave a genius raise to what little kudos I have these days.  As she walks past, I say hello…she turns, looks at me dead in the eye, calls me a bastard and slaps me.  I am laughing now, but it was a proper slap.  She turns away, walks two paces…turns around and tells me that the sex was amazing though.  Some of the looks I got were well worth the pain…thanks PS Smile

More ramblings when I sober up enough to type…

Bambi Platter

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BambiSo I went out last night for Hs birthday.  We went to an olde worlde German restaurant where a number of us were instantly of the opinion that we must eat Bambi.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not an emotionless vessel of hate (not right now anyway)….I can get upset at films, books, people on the street even.  I do find it difficult to get upset when an artist stops drawing something though, even if he does get overzealous with the eraser.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have any Bambi available as we should have ordered it in advance.  It left me with visions of phoning up, asking for the Bambi Platter with the reservation and having the guy hang up the phone..and yell “We need more Bambi!”.  Whereupon the Chef sighs, gets a gun from the wall and, with an apologetic shrug to his children, walks outside…..fade to his children looking forlorn, tears streaming down their faces as they dry cry the words “why daddy why?”, over and over.

That left us with, basically, serious steak or Pumbaa…. Being the Disney hating real men that we are, we decided that Pumbaa was the choice for us.  A delicious bowl of…well it looked like a pot plant I gave to my grandmother a few years ago as a random gift…turned up.  Being as it obviously contained no Disney characters that I could discern of, and appeared far too healthy…I passed.  Plus, I had chowed down a seriously good muffin (fnarr) provided by KH and MK.  I am not sure if it was for me or for H, but I only stopped to consider that halfway through…. ah well.

Many starters were delivered, much old style German beer was brought to the table.  Then came the vegatables, spaetzle and … well … warm, soft sugar puffs, sans sugar.  I chose to pretty much ignore these things in view of the impending Pumbaa explosion.

Turns out that the rule that TV adds 10 pounds is a lie, either that or Pumbaa has been on a serious diet recently (or eaten too many healthy bugs/grubs, or whatever it was he ate in the Lion King).  A positively anorexic Pumbaa was brought to 5…count ‘em (I know you won’t) 5 full grown men.  Some of these men were considerably more grown than others….ok 1 of these men…ok me…dagnabit.

Still, what there was of it was fantabulous.  Cue complaint from one of the other guys regarding the size zero Pumbaa and we get free pudding….Result!  I don’t know what it was, but it was nice.  Halfway through, it was established that the fruit on the plate were cherries, beyond that I am not so sure.

We then head back to my living room so that H may enjoy a birthday cigar (thank you German smoking laws) and I get home around 01:30 this morning.

The moral of this story?  There isn’t one….other than be careful which Disney character you try to eat, there may not be that much of it.

Karma is a bastard

Fun…for the win!

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A Quick Fuck with a Well-Greased DwarfSo let’s face it – My social life is pretty good these days.  I have a lot of friends and I live above the best Irish bar in Frankfurt.  Well, I claim that they are all my friends, as they spend most of their drinking lives in my living room…..

My capacity for beer has reached astronomical proportions recently…to the point where I went out for nearly 12 hours a couple of weeks ago and went home sober…..SOBER.  Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t have driven a car – But I felt like I feel when I go out for a single beer.  Now, a few years ago, this would have peaked my young and proud hormone…but that frickin scared me.

That said, it was just a blip and I was merrily wrecked in 2 hours and much less booze a few nights later.  Thank fook for that.

For a long time now I have been the sterotype stay indoors geek.  I don’t really know why I did it…I certainly had plenty of excuses for it, but I am out more than I am in…exploring Frankfurt, meeting with friends.  My PC is a glorified TV now with added internet surfing.  Hence the reason for the blog posts being relatively few and far between…

The best thing is, I am enjoying it.  Don’t get me wrong, it is nice to have a refuge sometimes…but living where I do, it is a rare weekend when the doorbell isn’t ringing or the phone isn’t going.

I just realised that this post totally undoes my healthy post, but I am determined to maintain the balance of considerable drinking prowess AND lose some weight/get healthy.

I think the best thing about the Anglo is that it is one of the few bars left in the world (that I know of anyway) where you start off in a group and end up in an entirely different group by the end of the night, having spoken to everyone in the bar at some stage.  Don’t mistake that for the bar being full of regulars either, sure regulars exist (I am case in point), but the atmosphere is something else.  The bar staff are superb, the music is great…I don’t really need to comment on the beer and the shots are dangerously good.  Plus it shows the football.  This bar just has it all.

I do go to other bars and places fairly often, but the phrase “All roads lead to the Anglo” is pretty much true.  Everyone ends up there at some point during the night.  It helps that it stays open until 5am I suppose Smile

Frankfurt seems to have a ‘Fest of some description almost every week and they all center around drinking copious amounts of beer…..I am sure there is some culture thrown in there somewhere to these things…but seriously…beer.

Like this weekend they have arguably their biggest Fest, absolutely huge, different music being played on various stages all over the place.  Tens of thousands of people.  I arranged to meet everyone at a Brazilian Cocktail bar…let’s just say they were pouring generous measures.  Many different drinks were consumed, then we made the mistake of heading into the main area to find somewhere else – Spent 45 minutes getting shoved along and ended up at the Anglo to get trollied there instead….

My current fave Anglo tipples are (in no particular order)

Licher Pils…German beer – Genius
Springbok – Green minty shot thing
Baby Guinness – Looks like a Guinness, tastes like nectar of the gods
Caramel Vodka – Made by the fine barstaff themselves Smile

I will not under any circumstances drink JaegerMeister…that is just an alcoholic Benolyn cough medicine and I want no part of it….there are very few drinks in this world I will run away from, jaeger is one of them…especially if some numpty decides to do Jaeger Bombs with my beer…MF!

Most of these things are consumed with monotonous regularity and most evenings finish at around 6am…often later if people fancy the few minutes it takes to walk to the Club Keller.  Germany, where 24 hour opening hours actually means something Smile

This is another one of those rambling..go nowhere posts. (I know, they all are right?).  Just an unashamedly happy post about my recently adopted social life.  I had heard good things, so decided to give it a try…

Interesting thing happened on Saturday night – Someone who I don’t know that well came to the bar at some point, and was trying to pull a friend of mine…who ran away (possibly screaming) at the first opportunity.  I decide that I have had enough and make to say goodbye and go home….where this person stops me and very pointedly says “I am not going upstairs with you for a quick shag”

Either the worst pickup line in the history of the world, or she remembers our conversations a damn sight differently than I did.

Alcohol is bad

Twisted