Pictures from Europe

As promised here are some of my pictures from the Europe Road Trip, theres still a few more but I cant get them (Or the video of the revolving toilet seat) off my phone at the moment as I spilt beer on it and it no longer reads the memory card.

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/oli4uk/Europe

Two Week Road Trip Around Europe - Munich

So we leave the strasbourg/kehl border behind and head off to find somewhere to sleep, eventually we come to a service station that looks like we might not get arse raped and get ready to kip for the night. Before dropping off though I headed to the toiler.

This toilet put to shame any English facility I had ever been in, the air was fresh, the walls sparkling and the urinals lit up when you started to piss. But the most amazing thing happened when I went for a dump. After flushing the toilet something happened that I have never seen before, its simplicity and yet extravagance hypnotized me.

Let me set the scene, you are very tired, ready for bed and you go to flush. A quite electric sound humms from the water tank behind the toilet and a small part detaches itself. A small arm with a disenfectant covered spounge decends onto the part of the toilet seat closest to it. After a couple of seconds the ENTIRE TOILET SEAT rotates, ensuring every partof the seat is clean and acceptable for the next user.

Jesus I have never been so impressed with anything in my life.

The next morning we woke up, anus intact and began the trip to Munich. The trip was fairly uneventful, progress was unfortunately pretty slow due to a torrential downpour limiting our vision considerably.

Eventually we arrived in one of the more famous of German cities, Munich or Munchen in the native tongue.

Munich is a fantastic city, while we did not see it at its best due to unseasonally poor weather I fell in love with the city. From the cheap beer to the friendly people I found it hard to fault this city or the people in it. The architecture of many buildings was stunning, with their historic buildings given copious space unlike many similar places in the UK. We took a short walk through the English Gardens, A huge tract of land filled with english style foilage. Unlike many English gardens however the one in the centre of Munich comes with four huge beer gardens, a nudist area and even parts of the river where surfers can ride the current.

Our guide told us how in warmer weather the areas we passed would be thronged with people playing in the river, drinking in the spacious tree covered beer gardens and of course walking around naked. Fortunately due to the weather we avoided copious amounts of bodily hair, but rather disappointingly missed out on some of the worlds most renowned drinking areas.

We did however visit the Hofbrauhaus, this is renowned to visitors of this city, not only for its hefty steins of beef, large portions of filling food and authentic bovarian music but also for its locals, who drink here regularly and later on in teh night have a tendancy to dance on the tables and get truely wasted. The hofbrauhaus is the only place I have ever been in my life where they have a dedicated funnel type piece of apparatus specifically for people to be sick into. INterestingly they only have this in the mens... obviously the designers never went fora night out in Leeds.

The Hofbrauhaus is wher Hitler first started his campaign, though intially he was boo'd off and had glasses chucked at him this was later turned into one of his main establishments, if you look at the roof from the inside you can clearly see where the swastika were painted on the ceiling and later painted over with flags, though unfortunately still in the shape of the fallen symbol.

At our hostel (Its called the wombat hostel, would highly recommend it!) We met some fantastic people, Patrick the card genius, Eric scarily intense, think 7 minute abs off theres something about mary, Emi & Briannan (Not sure how she spelt it offhand, bloody aussies)and several other random people we played cards with. No other place was there the same kind of atmosphere as here.

At the hostel next door I vaguely remember meeting several other people, all of them seemed pretty cool, at this point however it was knocking on for 4 in the morning and I was pretty hammered.

I am hoping to go back to Munich next year, I couldn't fault it.

Changes

Since my updates have become fairly sporadic and yet I dont really want this blog to fall over I am opening my doors to a co-blogger or two.

If there is anyone out there, in the UK or otherwise who is interested in blogging, but cant quite be bothered to set one up this could be for you. If you're interested simply send me an e-mail with a story, im not sure whether il post this onto the blog for my reader(s?) to decide or choose myself!

The only rules I dictate are

- No Chavs
- No Dickheads
- No French
- You must work in a regular job, preferably office work but I would consider others.
- You should post at least once a month, any less isnt really worth it!

When you write for the blog I will not oppress any views you have on a subject, though I may argue against them if i do not agree, but it will be via the comments. The only reason I would delete a post is if i felt it would endanger the already limited popularity of my blog. I am not the kind of person to refuse someone the right to voice their opinion on any subject.

Quite possibly the most brilliant prank ever...

You have to watch this....

http://www.videosift.com/video/No-Reflection-the-most-brilliant-prank-ever

Suicide Boobs

Apparently breast implants have been directly linked to a higher suicide risk. This is not entirely surprising, women who get breast implants tend to have a much lower self esteem in any case.

Where this gets fun is that it has been suggested that women who request cosmetic surgery should be more closely watched for suicidal tendancies. In the future requesting breast implants may be the same as jumping into a straight jacket and running around London with your penis exposed singing 'come on eileen'.

Personally im not a fan of breast implants, natural is the way to go in my opinion. I have gone out with more than one girl who wanted them and the majority of those have been, to put it simply, slightly psychotic.

I do however like the fact that we have yet another example of 'minority report'esque style policing being proposed in our culture. After all taking suicidal people of the streets now may save their lives, but what if someone is wrongly diagnosed?

Of course they are not looking at instantly arresting anyone who requests implants, but they are suggesting local GPs are informed, and psychological testing and treatment being provided prior to all surgery.

Time will tell I guess.

It seems Aussies really do solve all their problems with alcohol.

"Mate, this Dunderheads only tried to top himself"

"Give him a drink, he'll be right"

----------------------

Australian doctors used an intravenous feed of vodka to keep an Italian tourist alive after he consumed large quantities of a poisonous substance.

The 24-year-old man, in an apparent bid at self-harm, had swallowed ethylene glycol, found in antifreeze, which can cause death. Doctors administered pure alcohol, the conventional antidote, but exhausted the hospital's supply.

Desperate to continue the treatment the doctors at Mackay Base Hospital in Queensland state hooked up an intravenous feed of vodka, hospital officials said.

"The patient was drip-fed about three standard drinks an hour for three days in the intensive care unit," Dr Todd Fraser said in a statement on Wednesday.

"Fortunately for him he was in a medically induced coma for a good portion of that. By the time he woke up I think his hangover would have well and truly gone," Fraser said.

"The hospital's administrators were also very understanding when we explained our reasons for buying a case of vodka."

The Italian man was treated in the hospital two months ago and has since made a successful recovery. News of his treatment was only released on Wednesday.

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Day 2 - Boulogne to Strasbourg

After waking up and vacating the weary hostel slightly late we made our way to the car, which fortunately had not been broken into. Boulogne looked a much nicer city in the soft daylight, however it was time to head off to Strasbourg, a historic city on the border of France and Germany, exactly on the border infact. Actually it s so close to the border that you can drive over a bridge in what looks like the middle of a city and suddenly find you have driven through passport control.

Strasbourg is a beautiful city, the rivers are lined with luxury boats and just over the road is the German town of Kehl, unsurprisingly similar in basic style, but still with its slight differences, for instance I suddenly didn't have the faintest what the signs meant, at least in France I had been able to dredge my knowledge of under funded school French

As we arrived at Strasbourg after a gruelling day (For Keith) Driving across France we were glad of the sight before us, the hostel, a bed and a shower would not be far away. Oh how wrong we were. After getting lost several times looking for the 'beautiful world famous gardens' within which our hostel would be we eventually found we managed to find the place. It looked very quite. Too Quiet....

Initially I had found this hostel using my internet browser on my phone, little did I realise at this point that browsing approximately 5 webpages had cost me about £20, at this point I would like to make a brake in my story to raise two fingers and say, ahem FUCK YOU O2. But yes, the hostel guide we had brought informed me of something which the internet had not. The hostel was closed for refurbishment. Infact both of strasbourg's hostels where closed for refurbishment. You may have noticed I missed out a capital S in that last sentence, it was not a mistake, the city did not deserve it. Especially when I realised the second hostel was also closed for refurbishment.

There was a third, but the directions in the youth hostel guide are next to useless, so we took a quick look in Kehl, were our hopes of hostel reprieve were momentarily brought to bear. We found a promising hostel in the guide, quite a large one. At this moment in time we were praising the Germans, but we still couldn't find the hostel. After a long weary drive around the city several times we decided to call it a night and headed to MacDonald's to relieve ourselves after the arduous travels of the day.

It was while Keith was in the bathroom I approached a German man who looked like he might know the city, hoping for some vague directions to the youth hostel.

This mans name was Harold

That should have been warning enough.

So after I attempted to speak my weak German to him, despite knowing all of 'hallo' and 'spreken zeee engelish' it turned out Harold could speak English quite well, well enough to take the piss out of the French for their abysmal knowledge of the language.

Harold was a pretty friendly guy, maybe just a little too friendly, but he said that he would drive to the hostel and we could follow in our car. At this point I was not worried, however when he stopped in a deserted street with a dark grassy park beyond a couple of ominous concrete bollards I began to have my first doubts. Needless to say I was just a little relieved when, as walking through a deserted park with a strange man I saw the familiar blue sign of the YHA over the horizon. Not so welcome was the darkened look of the reception. after trying the aged buzzer several times Harold finally got an answer from a gruff half asleep German on the intercom. This man in no uncertain terms spoke rapid angry German to Harold which probably involved where the weary English travellers could stick their needs of a bed for the night, and that we had missed reception close by about half an hour. Utter. Cunt.

As we walked back to the car I started to become a little worried, Harold was offering to drive us all over looking for a new hostel, he was infact one of those people who are just a little too helpful for comfort. After a cursory glance in the back of his car it also seemed as if he lived in it, not a good sign. Especially when he started offering to show us car parks to sleep in...

After he took us to a train station car park he left, probably utterly disappointed that neither me or Keith had offered to bend over for him. By a unanimous decision we decided that a train station car park with only a thin pane of glass between us and Harold when he knew our exact location was not an ideal sleeping spot. We headed off towards Munich and found quite possibly the most amazing service station ever to sleep in...

Chivalry

I will be completely honest with you, after seeing yet another story where someone has got penalised for justly defending themselves I am continuing to lose faith in this once great country.

It wasnt that long ago that if a man came upto you and punched you, then you would be completely justified in knocking him to the ground. Now of course you will receive a worse punishment than the attacker.

Of course things are changing slightly for the better, if you find someone breaking into your house you can now apprehend him, whereas before you had to let him steal everything before you called the police (Who would then fail to do anything because there was so little chance of them catching anyone with the resource they allocate to house breakins) maybe if they did spot CSI type investigations on a percentage of random crimes it would help. I know I'd think twice about peeing in the street if there was a 3% chance of a SWAT team breaking down my door the next morning and handing me a £30 fixed penalty notice while some big bastard is pointing a machine gun in my face with one hand and rubbing my face in the carpet with the other.

I think it is every mans right to defend themselves and their property, it should be on all occasions the attacker who is at fault. If someone trespasses on your property then you should hold no liability as to what happens to them. Take stories like the man who fell through a screen roof while attempting to steal from warehouse, the worst thing in my mind that his attempt to sue the owner of the property managed to get to court. Seriously this kind of thing gets right on my tits.

Day One, the Journey to Boulogne

So the morning arrived, in a couple of hours we would be heading off to Dover. It was I thought about time I did all that packing malarkey. So two hours later with my clothes in a bag, my wash bag full and my random crap put in place I sit there thinking what in gods name I have forgotten.

This is the curse of the start of every holiday. You should be excited, raring to go, and looking forward to a fortnight of relaxation. Instead you find yourself morosely sat on the edge of your bed trying to remember what you have left. Your wild eyes scanning the room for the vaguest hint of what vital thing you have left behind in the turmoiled warzone of a mess you left while speed packing.

Fortunately this depressing saga soon came to an end. As the hour struck 11 me and Keith chucked our mound of luggage into his pristine (Slightly bird shit covered) car. With a slight sigh of relief as the final stash of cargo was stowed we jumped into the front seats of the worthy BMW and set off. The car started with a growl, relishing the challenge ahead, the lights in the gleaming distance turned green, and we were off!

The first (not so glamorous) port of call was the Tescos car wash, when we entered the continent for the first time we wanted to impress. A BMW is the perfect car for this, sleek but with muscle, an engine that growls and with an elegance well known by all people far and wide, whether they pronounce it B M Double Yew, B M Doubla Vay or B M Voe. So after a quick wash the car arrived bright and shiny, with only the most resilient of bird excrement surviving the onslaught of a Tescos Own Brand car wash.

The day was still fresh, the ferry was far in the future of a promising day, which I though, was probably just as well as we gradually crawled through some of York's less versatile motoring roads. Fortunately however we had soon left behind the inter city madness of snail paced traffic and made impressive progress on the road south, giving Keith an opportunity to stretch his speedometer.

I have to admit I thought it was slightly disappointing that we were leaving the fold of Great Britain just as the sun was starting to shine through after a dismal summer of rain and overcast clouds. Thank God all the newspapers were talking of the heat wave currently sitting over the continent with the stubbornness of a fat man on two bus seats.

The journey south sped by, and soon we saw the famous white cliffs surrounding the most famous of English ports, Dover. This was where we first began to experience the first impossible signs of trouble. After speeding into the first check point we were stopped by customs who brought in a dog to search our car. The dog was pretty damn good, it was trained to sniff out drugs and money to such a degree that it could even tell where money had been.. Of course when the man asked us to remove all items of food and cash out of the car I managed to leave my wallet in there, fool I am. I was more than impressed when the dog delved into my bag and found the pocket where 10 minutes earlier my stash of Euros had been held.

As we passed this checkpoint we hit the French customs, who also decided to check our car. I have very rarely been stopped before for looking suspicious, so for the second search I began to suspect that Keith was involved in some international smuggling ring to be gaining this amount of attention. Fortunately the Frenchman's way of searching our car, looking in the boot, seeing how much of a mess it was and waving us on. So customs passed we went to check in to our ferry..

The woman at the check in booth as we drove up to it had on a terminally bored face of one really wishing they where somewhere, anywhere, else. She was also incredibly quiet. So when she said that the order reference number we had was incorrect we were slightly worried. Fortunately after searching for Mr Taylor she pulled up his reservation details and we were passed our tickets for a ferry nearly an hour earlier than we were expecting, fantastic result!

Of course it was only later that we realised Keith had handed over the reservation details for the hostel instead of the ferry.

After getting into the wrong lane, down to the quiet lady seeming to say 2, not 209 we finally boarded the ferry and quickly made our way onto the decks above. This was the last time in just over two weeks that we would be seeing our homeland.

The sun was out as we left England, a promising sign from the journey ahead. As per my workmates instructions I took a picture of the pig and the penguin (Our mascots) with the white cliffs of Dover towering into the sky behind them. In less than three short hours we would be abroad, in the land of driving on the right, croissants and porn on the bottom shelves. Needless to say we could not wait.

Boulogne was our next destination, as soon as we were off the ferry we set off, leaving behind Calais towards our first stop off. From what our guide said the hostel had a bar, internet and a large number of rooms, needless to say we had high hopes for this place. Celebratory plans for my 23rd birthday in a different country that night in the form of a few pints were already underway, I was looking forward to celebrating my aging by another year in a completely new country.

After several wrong turns in Boulogne trying to find the hostel we parked up on the street and attempt to find the place, needless to say the hostel had advertised itself incredibly well by hiding all signs to indicate its presence in trees and shrubs. The car park for the hostel looked depressingly empty, similar in attendance to an aged bachelors funeral. Still, we did not give up hope, after collecting our room keys with Keith's impressive French lingual skills and my English in a French accent we head up to the room which, while sparse, was much better than some hostels I have stayed in.

The real disappointment was the bar. While it looked quite nice it was very empty, the only person in there had a big dog and looked like he had been a resident, and a drug dealer, at the hostel for a very very long time. The pool table was alright though, so we made ourselves at home and went to order a beer.

This is where we experienced for the very first time a foreign measure of beer. Their measures are not quite the same as ours, but I shall attempt to describe them in detail here.

Take one glass approximately the size of a slim jim glass.
Poor beer into glass with no tilt, allowing a health head approximately 1 third the size of the glass to develop.
Charge the price of a full pint despite it being about a quarter of the size.

That, I think just about covers it....

After several games of pool (Which I won, *Dances*) we decided to try and find a more lively drinking establishment, by this point the bar had become so dead that even the barmaid had left, never a good sign when you are looking for a heavy first night. The streets of Boulogne are quite nice, they are well lit, so you can clearly see the untied dogs half your size growling at you teeth bared. Fortunately though we made it to the town centre without painfully contracting rabies, leaving us with the minor matter of finding a pub.

France is well known as being a country of culture, their cafes are open till late serving food coffee and beer. Unfortunately there are not many places which give the pub like atmosphere an Englishman needs to relax and celebrate in. Eventually after a large walk we came upon an Irish bar.

Finally! I thought.

It seemed that fate had dropped us into the perfect place, in the window was a huge amount of Irish memorabilia, guiness items and little Irish flags. With uncontained excitement I stepped inside, instantly all Irish familiarity had gone. Two Guiness pumps stood alone and dusty on the bar, like two statues commemorating fallen soldiers. The bar itself seemed quite posh, and my mounting fear was confirmed when I ordered two pints, it took all of my self control to stop shouting TWELVE EUROS!!!! at the top of my voice, yes that's right folks, our first pub outside of a hostel had pints for six euros a piece.

It wasn't long before we discovered that Irish all so meant no air conditioning, as we went in for a quick game of pool (and unfortunately I lost this time) it didn't take long for the heat to leave me and Keith a couple of sweaty messes. Needless to say by the time we had drained our drinks we went in search of numerous other establishments. Unfortunately all of them followed the cafe culture style, no real drinking entertainment was to be found in this town.

There was a nicer side to this town though. While prices were high there were a few places we paced which looked quite lively, and some of the smaller streets captivated my attention. I would have wandered down a few more of these but after a days travelling we were both tired and I was not in the mood for getting randomly lost.

So with an air of defeat around us we headed back to our hostel for our first nights sleep on the continent.

Brief interlude

Ok in the first post I said how my life was ina bad place, this was mostly because my relationship with aussie girl was on the rocks.

We attempted to patch things up but as of 5 past midnight this morning we are now officially apart. I cannot go into details here because she knows my blog address and though she has promised not to look at it again I know how inquisitive she can be (So stop reading Anj!! =p)

To sum it up though, I am not in the best of places right now. I had fallen head over heels for her and really do wish things had worked out. She was the most amazing person I had ever met and i cannot and do not regret a single moment I spent with her.

A man once said how science and politics do not hold a whisper of the strength of love, he said how nothing matters on this earth other than that. The same man went on to build a device that killed a huge numbr of people in japan during world war 2. Irony at its best.

Needless to say right now I understand his sentiments more than anything, this man lived a life of pure happyness thanks to the wife he met.

Despite the cliche I have felt worse after this than any other breakup, despite it lacking any shouting and so on. It is said that each person on this planet has one true person who is right for them. I feel that through my own stupidity in the early stages I have lost that one person.

Do not worry too much though, I live my life by the saying things will always work out.

Introduction to the Two Week Road Trip

So I had a few personal problems and hit a pretty low point in my life. This happens to everyone at least a few times.

Fortunately my housemate Keith had just a few nights earlier mentioned how he had been wanting to travel. Needless to say I jumped on this opportunity faster than a rabbit in heat and mentioned a trip to poland. He was more than up for this but soon came up with a far superior idea.

Keiths old faithful BMW was a bit the worse for wear, a random squeaking while in transit from one of the wheels, a few dents and a cam shaft that was about to give were the major issues. So in his magnificence he decided to take the old beemer on one final trip around europe, a road trip if you will.

This road trip would be set to cover several major countries, and a few of the less major ones like Lichenstein, which is not so much a country as an extended border crossing.

Admittedly at this point we did not plan on passing through such countries, infact we were surprised by how far our travels took us and which parts we enjoyed.

But back on track, plans where underway, this involved Keith doing meticulous route planning, milage and time estimations, research on countries and picking up a few foreign phrases. I took on the roles of thinking 'I wouldnt mind going by Munic and Spain is pretty damn nice this time of year'

So with destinations in mind I began to make my preperations for the trip. Cash is always one of the more important things, so my first stop off was to get some of my good british pounds exchanged into Euros. There are a few places that do this commision free, the best rates at the time however were Marks and Sparks and the post office.

Anyone who has ever had to enter he post office will soon know what it feels like to be in a beaurocrats dream after too much cheese eaten in haste before his bedtime. After queuing for a minimum of 33 minutes and 28 seconds you will be presented with a multitudes of forms which are required for the simplest of tasks. It is for instance the only time I have been asked to sign a form after buying a roll of packing tape and some brown paper.

Once you have filled the forms in required for your purchase or service they will ask you to rejoin the queue. This time the minimum queuing time will be over 67 minutes and 41 seconds, since the queuing time is inversely proportionate to the amount of time you need to spend with the woman at the desk. If for instance you are merely wishing to return a pen you borrowed by the time you reach the front of the desk you will have grand children and mutated hovering shrimp will have taken over the world.

For these reasons I decided to go to the marks and spencers currency exchange. The Marks and Spencers Currency Exchange is conveniantly located on the top floor at he back of the room behind a lot of clothes. This location has a distinct advantage, that being I can find it before all the short people. The queue was pretty short as I joined up, looking at the signs saying they accepted visa I expected this to be a quick job.

Before I move on let me explain a little system i put in place at the start of august. Due to financial constraints I started a system to limit my spending on a night. This involved me having two wallets, one for nights out and one for living. Each week I put so much into my going out wallet and limit myself to that amount.

But back to the story, I walked up to the helpful looking cashier and asked to transfer £350 of my strong British Pounds into approximately 500 of those weak Euros and handed her my credit card. Here she spoilt my wandering dream of british dominance.

"Can I have some ID please" she chirruped in a slightly high pitched voice.

Being blissfully unaware of my unintended cockup I say no problem and went to hand her my drivers license. untill I realised it was in my drinking wallet.

At this point you have to realsie I have nearly 10 people stood behind me, watching my foolish anticts with the terminally bored faces of a British queuer. I mention to the lady that I may have forgotten my ID, to which the charming young woman says in a slightly louder than neccessary voice that if I do not have any ID I cannot pay by card and will have to get some money out of the cash machine down stairs.

The cash machines ni Marks and Spencers are conveniantly hidded in a corner surrounded by high shelves of foodstuffs and so forth. I see the queue at thesse machines and decide to go next door to the Halifax ATMs.

These are normally quite quick to get to, both queues have 2 people in them, so i position myself inbetween them both in an attempt to make my time saving decision of which queue to join at the last minute. I noticed the woman in the right queue seemed to be finishing but I decided to wait to make absolutely sure.

Unfortunately I was joined just a little too late. A short balding man with jam jar glasses appeared behind me and with infallible slowness attempted to move into the right hand queue. I saw this move coming a mile off, HaHa! I though as I jumped into the quicker queue before him, pleased with the way I had pronounced the capitals through the inner monologue of my mind.

But here tragedy struck, the original woman/child combo in the other queue had departed and the woman behind her was just checking her balance, HER BALANCE! I mean come on who doesnt do that online nowdays. After she had done that she walked off pleased with her apparent richness. the man was now ahead of me, withonly one person left, the man infront of him, a morbid looking affair, went to check his balance too, sweat started to drip down my forehead.

Meanwhile the person at the front of our queue had moved off, leaving me with one person between me and the grail of the till. The bespeckled man grinned at me, not realising his morbid preceeding ATM user was now going to withdraw cash. Then a miracle happened. The old woman infront of me, a killer in the world of speed, sighed and walked off. At exactly the same moment the person using the till took their cash and departed.

Then, the unholy mother abuser in the jam jar glasses actually tried, and i cannot believe this! He actually tried to slip onto that cash machine!

I was not going to take this obvious shunting into my space, so speedier than a squirrel on a caffine high I jumped to the machine and slammed my card in, much to the annoyance of the petite agressor who was now seething as the people behind him had moved forward, leaving him yet again stuck behind me.

Needless to say I made sure I took the cash out of two seperate accounts, checking the balance on each one.

Fortunately after that it went fairly smoothly, it was a bit of an in and out job. The escalators where in true M & S fasion designed to make getting to the top easy but require you to walk half way around the store to reach the next one taking you down. A fantastic marketting structure, but a pain in the scrotum when you are late back for work.

So with a smile on my face (You cannot have a big wad of notes in your hand and be unhappy) I proceeded back to work, only marginally late and looking forward to the holiday ahead.

Shove the baby back in, and close your legs, in the name of the law!

I am ever so slightly amused by possibly the best law ever made.

Be warned now, this new law could severely reduce your chances of getting re-incarnated.

China has just passed a new law banning reincarnation without a permit. They didnt say how they were going to enforce it, after all you can only kill somebody so many times before they finally give you the slip, but it also makes me wonder what would happen if somebody had full regulatory control of reincarnation.

Becoming a tibetan monk would definately be a poor career choice. If you ever had any conflict with a guy who went to work for the chinese government you would probably wake up one day to find yourself part of a clutch of anal lice.

It would however be of huge benefit to law enforcement, murderers could be sent down as disabled blue bottles. The good people on the other hand could be born into a rich family. Hell, if someone does really well we may even have the next jesus on our hands!

Pedos on Facebook

Today yet another publicity seeking US attourny has turned on one of the relatively unknown social networking sites in the USA, but more popular in the UK. Today he claimed that Facebook was not doing enough to protect its users from sexual predators.

Now normally I do not think this is such a big deal, things like myspace often have huge amounts of personal information on, and could have exposed many children to sexual predators and peadophiles. But this attention seeking cunt of an attourney has obviously never used facebook, and most likely just searched for a social site which hadnt already had someone accuse of being a hive of debauchery (Like the whole chat room debunking,

So Yeah.

You may, or probably most likely may not have noticed that I have not been blogging quite so much recently. I would like to assure you that I am not dead, nor have I suddenly aquired a hugely popular life. What I have done is too fold.

1) I got a second job.

I am now a fully qualified bar monkey. If ever any of you visit York I may pass you the name of the bar i work in, I even may get you discount.

Just do not ask for a cocktail, or I will shove absynthe up your anal passage.

2) I got a Girlfriend, yes this hunk of a man is now taken im afraid ladies. The aussie girl I met seems to have worked out, we get on together, enjoy doing the same things and she seems to fit into my arms really well.

Anyhow

A quick write up of things I have missed on the blogging front

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July 4th - Happy 'finally got rid of those bloody yanks' day

Yes the day we got rid of that english colony, it is remembered dearly by all englishmen.

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Edingburgh Bombings

This kind of got to me. I like having different cultures in our country, but the complete disregard some muslims have for any other culture is to me disgraceful. Take a look at http://fourdinnersblog.blogspot.com for a story that brnigs out the worst of another culture.

The man in this blog has highlighted on several occasions how British Culture is being sacrificed for others. When we can be called intolerant by a group that is trying to ban christmas celebrations in any workspace with a muslim worker I get worried. I would not go over there and ask them to stop doing muslim things beccause it offeneded my own beliefs, If you go somewhere you should be ready to adapt, otherwise you might as well stay at home.

Dont get me wrong, im not muslim bashing. I know many who are well balanced, great individuals, to these I open my arms and say welcome to Britain. Like everywhere though a few bad eggs...

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Big Brother Restarted

I havnt watched it yet, dont intend to start. The first series was alright, after that it kinda got repetative.


Anyway, I will write again soon!

Uhoh

I slept in this morning, making me a little late for work, several hours late infact

indeed I got in at lunchtime

uhoh

on the plus side I got a lot of sleep, I had an early night!

Update

Ok, so I have made the first steps towards travelling,

I got my first second job, meaning I am pretty knackered but a bit better off each month, untill the taxman finds out of course. I have been reading up about places in europe, theres a fair few places that sound interesting, and actually rome is pretty high on the agenda, due to its location though I may leave that for a seperate trip!

Im liking the sound of a paypal donate button, cant see it taking off though!

Travelling Bug

Several times a year I get the travelling bug, I want to see new places do new things, get out of the monotonous office environment, and yet every year I manage to do sweet fuck all about it.

Over the last week or so I have been seeing a girl from australia, and her life has been absolutely amazing. She has travelled the world, lived in Glasgow and moved to York. At the moment she is is in Poland and will be off over to Holland in a couple of weeks. I have never respected a woman so much in my life, possibly not so much because of what she has done, more about what she has done that I have completely failed to do, despite wanting to for years!

My family have always been into travelling, my mum spent several years hitchicking across teh continent, my grandad wrote a series of travel books. (All on my mums side admittedly, my dads side have lived in castleford their whole life, hence why im 6'5 with a broadish build, coal mines have been part of my ancestors lifestyle up until my dad)

But back onto point, the fact that someone who has come quite closely into my life can do so much, and travel so far has kind of put me in my place. This has given me that little bit extra incentive to push forward, get a second job, save some money up and go off to travel.

I was looking at Inter rail, for about £300 I could get a train pass for a month that would take me anywhere, from thereon in it would be a case of going where i liked, finding the nearest youth hostel or camp site and moving on to a new city, new culture after a couple of days. The thought of the freedom of just going to a trainstation, picking a destination at random and going there is amazingly appealing to me. If things do go ahead and I do get to travel the world my Aussie girl will most definately be giving credit for her unintended inspiration in my listless life.


On that note I have already started preperations, I will be going on a short camping holiday to the lakes with some mates at the end of the month, to start getting back into shape. I have got a few applications in for second jobs going, getting some decent cash behind me is a must! (Donations accepted =p) and I have started researching the problems of working abroad. I plan on going to one of the nearby youth hostels tonight to see if I can chat to anyone whos done a lot of international travel, there will hopefully be one or two about!

You ever get the feeling your life has been wasted?

I have it and im only 22.

I need to get away.

Oh my fucking god.

Chavs seem to be in abundance these days, and is it that surprising?

They always get away with the crap they do. Take this for instance.

http://www.yorkpress.co.uk/search/display.var.1309628.0.fury_over_tyreslash_suspect_no_charge_decision.php

A 17 year old chav decides to go out and slash the tires on 90 cars, causing thousands of pounds of damage. Something that in my opinion should have him locked up and working to repay teh debt.

What happens?

Sweet fuck all thats what, our fantastic justice system decide its not worth the effort to prosecute him.

What the hell is this country coming to when someone can get away with this?

Sure the police are spot on when it comes to, for instance, stopping me while i was having a run down by the river. Keeping fit is a very suspicious thing nowdays, but surely slashing the tires on 90 cars would be worth a slap on the wrist at least.

Makes me ant to emmigrate to be honest, some countries will chop your bollox off for doin something like that.

The Move

One of my flat mates has been moving out over the week, leaving his much larger room vacated. Hence I am now moving into his room post-haste, it does has a massive window in it which provides both great veiws and freezing cold tempratures in winter and boiling hotness in summer. Size matters though.

This does mean that im going to have to shift some furnature down some stairs and through a small doorway though.

Uhoh

When I put this wardrobe together i put the back board onto it with an industrial staple gun

ermmm

Shit.


Apart from the wardrobe though it should be fairly easy, i seem to remember my draws being quite heavy but since they are being taken down some stairs not up them im hoping it wont be a huge problem.


We also have a new flatmate coming our way, he maanages to earn about 24 grand a year working 2 weeks out of the month. To this I say Bastard, I will also be saying 'tell me how', I can only hope that I will be able to pull it off!

anyhow, have a lot to do today, Adios!

Hangunder

This morning I feel like im hungover, but i did not drink anything last night. Hence this morning me and a mate have dubbed this a hang under, similar to a hang over but with no enjoyment the night before.

Of course many people have suggested reasons for this, mainly dehydration. I however believe one of my flat mates beat me round the head with a big fuck off mallet and then coated my tongue with a thin layer of tar.


ahh well.

Yesterday saw the end of the nice weather. Specifically after I had gone into town, bought a sandwich, drink etc and gone al the way to the river to sit down the weather changed. One minute sunny, next minute cloudy. This is the already known rule of 'Sods Law'

*Cry*

Anyhow, I hope you all had a great Bank Holiday!

Summer!

It seems that the summer season is yet again upon us!

The river in york is yet again thronged with people, the pub by the banks is heaving with tourists, more than enough to pay for repairs next time it floods.

The beer gardens are packed, as the afternoon sun glints and shimmers of the gently rippling waters of our fantastic river ouse. The museum gardens no longer the despondently empty winter home of the squirrels and yet again filled with tourists, sunbathers and workrs, relaxing after a hard days labour.

I myself will be partaking inna little beer garden drinking, the weather pretty much demands it.

The bank holidays will leave me little time to post, so everyone have a great easter, I hope you all get much chocolate!

A first and a last

I had a phone conversation with a fellow blogger for the first time ever last night, quite an acheivement I think you will agree. I managed through my smooth talking to get a drunken text off the gorgeous miss Celeste who was ever so slightly drunk (but sobering up, honest).

After several back and forth texts I gave her a phone call (Forest gump had finished by this point, great film.) and was surprised by the posh, but admittedly very cute voice of Celeste.

At this point you may be thinking this is slightly stalkerish behaviour, trust me you wont get worried till you realise im wrting a blog on it. Console yourself in the fact that I have litterally no other ideas of which to write about.

But yes, to all the prospective people who may in future ring celeste shes a fantastic to talk to, just the right amount of humour, wittyness and cleavage, though I didnt get to see that over the phone.

The question is Celeste, do you agree with this post? =p

Aslo, my page ranking has dropped to '0', considering i used to be 2 I feel im now in last place on the internet, dispite there being millions of other '0' ranked websites. I shall have to start posting daily and sending my spare change to google again.

Home Delivery

It seems that women will soon be given the choice of delivering their babies from home. This in my opinion is a rather tame attempt by the government to free up hospital beds. what i think will cause a fuss is when they realise they dont have enough midwives. I

I suspect the governments response to this will be a 'Do-it-yourself' kind of kit containing a unisex coloured towel, a bowl (Just add warm water) a pair of tongs and a help guide for such emergencies that might occur, like the baby crawling back in or the wife complaining about the pain (Suggested response being, 'Ive crapped bigger things than this').

Due to the huge amount of single mothers in this country the kit would have to cater for them too, possible extra utensils could be a mirror and a lassoo (Spelling?)

Of course there may be other things needed for the kit, a Pint a Paper and a tv (with remote control) may be needed to get the man of the house through the ordeal. Possibly with a curry, I've heard women can take hours squeezing them out. It always pays to be prepared.

Why I have not posted..

Along with many other bloggers my posts seem to have dried up recently. Infact I am quite worried about some of them who seemed to have disappeared completely (Jezebel I mean you!)

Im not sure why I havn't posted, I have been doing quite a bit of freelance writing (it turns out the yanks like the cute english phrases in text as well as speach) and I most definately could have commented on the wide range of topics going about in my city, ie the mini chavs who cant seem to not shout, the chav who got arrested because he went to complain to the police that his picture on the wanted poster made him look like a peadophile (Yes that really happened, the retard tried to sue the police)


But all in all I've just been too busy, not to mention god damn tired, to keep this blog up to date.

New(Ish) Layout

I have finally go my arse in gear and brought the site upto date with googles page creator, its pretty good, unless you want to do somethnig it wasnt designed to do >.<

With the new layout though I now have a friends list, I will be adding the sites i regularly visit in teh misplaced hope that one of these fantastic people will add my link to their site. *hint hint*

ahem

Anyway, St Patricks day was amazing, got hammered, got the hat, beertray, beer mats, and banner from some random pub. Was a bit disappointed that a load of my mates bailed, was still a great night though!

But for now, back to work. I will find a topic for a post with some point to it shortly.

Comic Releif

Comic relief, a day in Britain where we have celebrities make a fool of themseleves in the name of charities, and where we have the famous celebrities peform in comic sketches. IN my mind a celebrity is tabloid fodder while a famouse person is an actor or personality people know and respect.

I am all for a bit of charity, i have lost £30 this month to random sponsorships, charity boxes etc however our company did something today that irked me

Every year for comic relief (And most charity or special days) our company has a dress down day. They also have the buckets out to collect donations for charity, fair enough.

I would be happy about all of this, putting a coulpe of quid in etc if it wasnt for one thing.

The email we got anouncing this dress down day.

"As we're sure many of you are aware this Friday is Comic Relief Day and the management have kindly agreed to a 'dress-down' day. There will be a bucket in reception for all donations (£1 minimum) for those wishing to participate.

Wait a second, £1 minimum???

Now donations I agree with, even more so if they are anomynous (So people arnt guilted into giving money) However I think that my company enforcing a £1 minimum means they might as well be taxing us.

Blairs Apology Over Slavery

It seems that Mr Tony Blair has yet again apologied over slavery, something I believe he shouldnt have done.

Firstly though let me point out, im not pro slavery, apart from on the marraige front where I one day hope to have my very own. I dont agree with it, nor do I condone it and I believe human trafficking should be wiped out.

However.

Should Tony Blair apologise on behalf of the UK regarding slavery?

I personally dont feel any responsibility, handed down or otherwise for the slave trading that went on in the past. I also think that Blair saying sorry is like an admittance of our responsibility, opening up the country to legal repairations.

I think the people who should be made to say sorry are the people who still trade humans, as they are still doing it and still accountable.

This made me think though, why are people who never suffered at the hands of slavers asking for an apology, maybe for their great great grandfather?

In the same vein I could ask for repairations from the saxons and vikings for invading and possibly killing relatives of mine, or more recently perhaps we could ask for repairations for the killings of white farmers in africa.

I guess my point is, while i dont agree with the slave trade neither do i agree with pointing the blame at countries who no longer have any dealings with it, especially as britain was one of the first major countries to pull out of the trade.

Exercise - The unwritten story.

After a leg injury a while back I have been lacking any exercise on my legs, hence why I ahve not joined any company football teams. Last week however I took the plunge and joined not one but TWO football things.

So, last friday i started getting myself in shape, I am quite plesed with my progression, heres a quick diary.

Day 1 (Friday) - Left for a run about 7, was out of breath before reaching the river I was going to run along. Half way along the river suffer a mild collapse due in part to a rut in the road, spend 5 minutes recovering much to the amusement of an old dog walking woman. Arrive home an hour later close to a heart attack after about 20 stops.

Day 2 - Set off before dinner, nearly run over a tourist. Still ahve a lot of stops, did nto however fall over.

Day 3 - Was impressed with myself as i needed a few less stops.

Day 4 - Improved a little more, was stopped by a few drunken geezers who thought I was some football player for some premiership team.

Day 5 (Tuesday) - First football game, did ok, ran out of breath easy though

Day 6 - legs fine, back however stiff as hell, did not do any exercise.

Day 7 - Ran without stoppping at half my usual places, very impressed with myself!

Day 8 - Will see in an hour!

Death to Websense

Well it seems that any .blogspot.com address is now not only blocked my my works web filtering software 'websense' it also catagorises my, and any other blog, as 'sex' related.

The only way my blog could currently be associated with sex is if it was prefixed with 'lack of' so it seems quite unfortunate that I now have on my proxy log with the company about 5 attempts to access sex related sites, after trying to view various peoples blogs.

Anyhow, this probably means i will be a bit quite on the blogging circuit for a while as I have more interesting things to do when at home!