Monday, November 26, 2007
"A life less medicated"
Dear All. Those who know me well are aware that I somewhat 'over-cooked' recently. The downside to this was having to place myself in the hands of a Belgian clinic, in order to reclaim my life. Needless to say, it was a three month journey punctuated by the norms of 'institutionalised care' - an open prison by invitation. It was a unique place and I am determined to convert all my written observations into 'medicated' prose - at least those that weren't 'beyond the surreal' due to the effect of rather large doses of Diazepam. I am currently compiling the raw observations and will go to Blog in the very near future. Names have not been changed in order to protect the disturbed - I don't work that way, sorry. So watch this space.........
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
My First Adventure in OZ - Chapter Feb 2003
Greetings All.
Sorry for the delay but I had no access to a PC in Sydney and its been a while to recover from Sids Knee! Yep, she sure is the Blonde of all cities ( no offence Kristel) - and I`m going to have to do this by stream of consciousness as I have written notes totally in a disorganised way, just bear with me.
The title refers to the fact that at crossings they have a sign that flashes "Give way to peds" - talk about sexual tolerance!
Before I flew out on the Tuesday, I had an evening in Melbourne with Nic - and this is real fun. We went to the Gold cinema to see Catch Me If You Can ( story of my life) and this is some cinema! Imagine a business class airplane seat, complete with foldy out bits, reclining bits and all in plush velour - waitress service with wine and snacky bits to your seat, no rug rats screaming for the loo and only say twenty people - and bingo, you have the worlds greatest way to see a film, truly an astonishing self indulgence and one to remember. After that we retired to a local Greek job on the southern promenade, to drink more wine and tell more lies and I discovered God ignites his farts in Melbourne -no joking. I was just about to attack my Souvlaki when a massive rumble built up under the pavement and suddenly I was bathed in heat, as the biggest fire ball imaginable erupted out of a big black tower not a few meters away! Scared me to death and I am certain it flambéed a few idle pigeons as well, and it went on for about ten minutes - seems its an attractive feature of the promenade. Nick was curled up like a dead spider laughing at my shock, and then our young, earnest, bean eater beach boy waiter mumbled about the waste of energy and the number of seagulls and pigeons it kills - and I was demanding Oxygen with menaces as I could not stop giggling! I`ve heard of slaughter and the dogs - but slaughter and the bleeding pigeons - give me break!
Off to the airport and a chatty cabbie bored me to death - so I gave him a big tip just to leave him off balance. Plane was planeish but I had the misfortune to sit next to a `winging aussie` -strewth mates, we are supposed to be the wingers over here but this guy was a Tsunami of all things wrong with Quantas and Australia - I had to render myself unconscious with Chardonnay to get away from him - or at least settle into a deaf coma for an hour or so. Bill Gill was waiting for me in a suit - it shocked me and I don't think he was prepared for my outback shorts and real Bonza surfy shirt. He took me for a good spin around, stopping at the Prince Of Wales pub for a beer brewed in its own Micro Brewery - actually it tasted like sticky mud, so I had an Orval instead ( yep - they love Belgian fall over liquids a lot). Saw some stunning views of the Meccano Bridge and the Toaster with an identity crisis ( Opera house to you) and then we had a grim meal at Bondi beach. No folks - it is not what you may believe it to be - its Grungy, small, bit tatty, full of young hearts being broken by biceps - and the food we had was yer basic mutant sea food served on a delicate bed of cooking oil - so hang up your surf boards and shave off that stupid goatee beard now. Oh yeah! The young waiter was also a German- " Velcome to zer Bondy beach, matez - vot can I get you from ze bar - cobberz" - you get the picture.
Hotel was good for 110 dollars a night ( call that 45 pounds)and I happily snuzzled into my massive bed and snored the bed bugs into a mutual coma.
Morning was a good trundle down to Darling Bay ( remember - No Poofters) and the scenery was terrific with the usual boaty stuff, big commercial triffids hanging in the background ( office blocks to you) and a lot off bars ( surprise!). Had a boat trip around the bay to get closer to the toaster - saw the QE2 in dock ( big deal - its a big boat zzzzzzzzzzz) and stopped off at the zoo to see some Roos and other local life forms up close - Tasmanian Devils have to be my total favourites - now there is an animal with an attitude problem! After frying the brain AGAIN in a bar eating Kilkenny Oysters, one where sea gulls join you for a chat about world affairs, share your dips in sage discourse and then shit on the table - set of down town to explore.
Snapshots of the nights:-
Three wise monkeys pub - bloke crashes into me and says " sorry mate I`m pissed" - only in Aussie - in the UK that would have triggered a blood bath of epic proportions. Bouncers wobble around leaving a wake of `good behaviour`, all the blokes are loud and blokeish - except when a bouncer passes and they suddenly become `Mummies little soldier` and stop using rude words. A constant territorial battle to get a table, like watching military manoeuvres as one member of a group sees it - another makes a flanking manoeuvre to head off the others who saw it and the girls decoy as many blokes as possible - so the boy friend can invade, occupy and introduce democracy to a few beermats and an ashtray - totally funny.
All the girls are snake thin with slabs of muscle either attached or circling them - their boyfriends could use them as javelins - probably do! They ( the girlies) also seem to only drink pints of lager - meaning they are hitting the loos like ricochets. I counted seven different ethnic types in the one bar - including the Jap who kept `hawking up` in full Metrosound to the complete ignorance of his petite Japanese javelin, not nice. No women in the No Smoking section - only gays and health freaks. What do lonely blokes do in bars if they don't smoke - build mountains out of beer mats or something?
China Town - not a good experience although one to record. Having got `loaded` and inspired to find my Chinese roots, I wandered down. Sat in a nice bar and mused gently over the stunning beauty of the Asian girl across the bar, and suddenly had four `emotive` Asian men accusing me of trying to pull, or pick up or be rude to said girl. Now I know that staring at a loaded gun can be apparently quite scary - but you try staring at four loaded chinks - not a nice experience! I smiled until my face protested, delivered as much lost tourist eye contact as I could and was saved by the barman - who explained they were locals, normally very nice but a bit `difficult` when drunk - REALLY!
St Patrick's Bar - Two guitarists playing various Diddle Dee songs, with a big TV screen of the Swedish Rally on the wall ( beats me too). Then they play Pink Floyd `wish you were here` and I watched a plastered girl dancing against the rhythm of gravity, slowly approaching both players like an ominous exocet missile until her boyfriend intercepted here - and helped her hit the floor like a downed Zeppelin - another `1600 Euro moment` and I had to leave.
I`m actually drinking beer to keep my shorts up, I need the belly as this place is so healthy you lose weight and all your clothes fall off. Other than a thing called a `Snarsty` - an Aussie pastie/pie thing, I have never eaten so much cheap and healthy food! My body is almost rebelling against it, like it does`t understand what it did for me to be so nice to it - even my bodies suspicious.
Charing Cross - a hippie compound with a police station bang in the middle, a very weird place indeed. Had a full Chinese body massage, including getting my ears `popped` and bits of me bent in ways that seemed unnatural. Afterwards I could not talk as my tongue had got too relaxed and it took two hours sitting in a coffee bar to feel human again. Nic joined me later in the week and we misbehaved rather well - including losing a Tequila War with two huge Aussie Real Estate Agents, Nic says I will never learn - guess he`s correct.
Its not possible to get a hold of Sydney in the 5 days or so that I spent BUT it is certainly a great place to let go. Its also faster in style to Melbourne and full of `Bread Heads` shouting at mobiles as taxis try to kill them on crossings! There is a noise that will haunt me - it goes "Beeeeee bup bup bup bup bub" and is the noise that accompanies the green "cross now' bloke at crossings - problem is that people react to the noise - not the bloke - and I saw so many people launching off side walks into the path of on coming taxis - thinking that it meant they were safe to cross, but it was for the other side of the junction.
The Holiday Sonar is slowing sending back a more and more urgent return beep - Three weeks ago it went "Beee" and the "Boing" took ages to come back - now its a short time span between them - telling me I `m fast approaching reality and the hell of the flight back. I still have some time here in Melbourne - which is a great place although I must be totally `acclimatised` as its a scorching blue day outside and I am sitting here typing this in Nicks office, like sunny days are nothing special!
Wen`t to Stavro`s Greek Restaurant again last night, has to be the best Greek food place I have ever eaten in. For those of us who have `done` the Hippie thing in Greece, we know the food is totally dreadful, retsina is a poison to kill rats and tourists and a Greek salad is a Tomato, some cucumber and the remains of a thousand visits by the friendly flies of Aristotle!! Great Souvlaki ( my addiction), great wine, muted Bazzooki music ( not in your face like Zorbas bar in Matala bay, that's for you Bruv) and they even held the second course so we could sit outside and have a quick smoke. You cannot smoke in any restaurant in Australia - and I think its a great rule.
Got five rolls of film developed this morning and discovered I have a thing about taking pictures of beaches, empty ones - that's not making sense to me. Had Zest Eggs today - its a great restaurant on the beach that puts two poached eggs, on tomatoes, on spinach and on rye bread with bacon - add a glass of champagne with juice and the world is a perfect breakfast!
Mind is fatigued, need to rest the synapses and hit the streets.
Sorry for the delay but I had no access to a PC in Sydney and its been a while to recover from Sids Knee! Yep, she sure is the Blonde of all cities ( no offence Kristel) - and I`m going to have to do this by stream of consciousness as I have written notes totally in a disorganised way, just bear with me.
The title refers to the fact that at crossings they have a sign that flashes "Give way to peds" - talk about sexual tolerance!
Before I flew out on the Tuesday, I had an evening in Melbourne with Nic - and this is real fun. We went to the Gold cinema to see Catch Me If You Can ( story of my life) and this is some cinema! Imagine a business class airplane seat, complete with foldy out bits, reclining bits and all in plush velour - waitress service with wine and snacky bits to your seat, no rug rats screaming for the loo and only say twenty people - and bingo, you have the worlds greatest way to see a film, truly an astonishing self indulgence and one to remember. After that we retired to a local Greek job on the southern promenade, to drink more wine and tell more lies and I discovered God ignites his farts in Melbourne -no joking. I was just about to attack my Souvlaki when a massive rumble built up under the pavement and suddenly I was bathed in heat, as the biggest fire ball imaginable erupted out of a big black tower not a few meters away! Scared me to death and I am certain it flambéed a few idle pigeons as well, and it went on for about ten minutes - seems its an attractive feature of the promenade. Nick was curled up like a dead spider laughing at my shock, and then our young, earnest, bean eater beach boy waiter mumbled about the waste of energy and the number of seagulls and pigeons it kills - and I was demanding Oxygen with menaces as I could not stop giggling! I`ve heard of slaughter and the dogs - but slaughter and the bleeding pigeons - give me break!
Off to the airport and a chatty cabbie bored me to death - so I gave him a big tip just to leave him off balance. Plane was planeish but I had the misfortune to sit next to a `winging aussie` -strewth mates, we are supposed to be the wingers over here but this guy was a Tsunami of all things wrong with Quantas and Australia - I had to render myself unconscious with Chardonnay to get away from him - or at least settle into a deaf coma for an hour or so. Bill Gill was waiting for me in a suit - it shocked me and I don't think he was prepared for my outback shorts and real Bonza surfy shirt. He took me for a good spin around, stopping at the Prince Of Wales pub for a beer brewed in its own Micro Brewery - actually it tasted like sticky mud, so I had an Orval instead ( yep - they love Belgian fall over liquids a lot). Saw some stunning views of the Meccano Bridge and the Toaster with an identity crisis ( Opera house to you) and then we had a grim meal at Bondi beach. No folks - it is not what you may believe it to be - its Grungy, small, bit tatty, full of young hearts being broken by biceps - and the food we had was yer basic mutant sea food served on a delicate bed of cooking oil - so hang up your surf boards and shave off that stupid goatee beard now. Oh yeah! The young waiter was also a German- " Velcome to zer Bondy beach, matez - vot can I get you from ze bar - cobberz" - you get the picture.
Hotel was good for 110 dollars a night ( call that 45 pounds)and I happily snuzzled into my massive bed and snored the bed bugs into a mutual coma.
Morning was a good trundle down to Darling Bay ( remember - No Poofters) and the scenery was terrific with the usual boaty stuff, big commercial triffids hanging in the background ( office blocks to you) and a lot off bars ( surprise!). Had a boat trip around the bay to get closer to the toaster - saw the QE2 in dock ( big deal - its a big boat zzzzzzzzzzz) and stopped off at the zoo to see some Roos and other local life forms up close - Tasmanian Devils have to be my total favourites - now there is an animal with an attitude problem! After frying the brain AGAIN in a bar eating Kilkenny Oysters, one where sea gulls join you for a chat about world affairs, share your dips in sage discourse and then shit on the table - set of down town to explore.
Snapshots of the nights:-
Three wise monkeys pub - bloke crashes into me and says " sorry mate I`m pissed" - only in Aussie - in the UK that would have triggered a blood bath of epic proportions. Bouncers wobble around leaving a wake of `good behaviour`, all the blokes are loud and blokeish - except when a bouncer passes and they suddenly become `Mummies little soldier` and stop using rude words. A constant territorial battle to get a table, like watching military manoeuvres as one member of a group sees it - another makes a flanking manoeuvre to head off the others who saw it and the girls decoy as many blokes as possible - so the boy friend can invade, occupy and introduce democracy to a few beermats and an ashtray - totally funny.
All the girls are snake thin with slabs of muscle either attached or circling them - their boyfriends could use them as javelins - probably do! They ( the girlies) also seem to only drink pints of lager - meaning they are hitting the loos like ricochets. I counted seven different ethnic types in the one bar - including the Jap who kept `hawking up` in full Metrosound to the complete ignorance of his petite Japanese javelin, not nice. No women in the No Smoking section - only gays and health freaks. What do lonely blokes do in bars if they don't smoke - build mountains out of beer mats or something?
China Town - not a good experience although one to record. Having got `loaded` and inspired to find my Chinese roots, I wandered down. Sat in a nice bar and mused gently over the stunning beauty of the Asian girl across the bar, and suddenly had four `emotive` Asian men accusing me of trying to pull, or pick up or be rude to said girl. Now I know that staring at a loaded gun can be apparently quite scary - but you try staring at four loaded chinks - not a nice experience! I smiled until my face protested, delivered as much lost tourist eye contact as I could and was saved by the barman - who explained they were locals, normally very nice but a bit `difficult` when drunk - REALLY!
St Patrick's Bar - Two guitarists playing various Diddle Dee songs, with a big TV screen of the Swedish Rally on the wall ( beats me too). Then they play Pink Floyd `wish you were here` and I watched a plastered girl dancing against the rhythm of gravity, slowly approaching both players like an ominous exocet missile until her boyfriend intercepted here - and helped her hit the floor like a downed Zeppelin - another `1600 Euro moment` and I had to leave.
I`m actually drinking beer to keep my shorts up, I need the belly as this place is so healthy you lose weight and all your clothes fall off. Other than a thing called a `Snarsty` - an Aussie pastie/pie thing, I have never eaten so much cheap and healthy food! My body is almost rebelling against it, like it does`t understand what it did for me to be so nice to it - even my bodies suspicious.
Charing Cross - a hippie compound with a police station bang in the middle, a very weird place indeed. Had a full Chinese body massage, including getting my ears `popped` and bits of me bent in ways that seemed unnatural. Afterwards I could not talk as my tongue had got too relaxed and it took two hours sitting in a coffee bar to feel human again. Nic joined me later in the week and we misbehaved rather well - including losing a Tequila War with two huge Aussie Real Estate Agents, Nic says I will never learn - guess he`s correct.
Its not possible to get a hold of Sydney in the 5 days or so that I spent BUT it is certainly a great place to let go. Its also faster in style to Melbourne and full of `Bread Heads` shouting at mobiles as taxis try to kill them on crossings! There is a noise that will haunt me - it goes "Beeeeee bup bup bup bup bub" and is the noise that accompanies the green "cross now' bloke at crossings - problem is that people react to the noise - not the bloke - and I saw so many people launching off side walks into the path of on coming taxis - thinking that it meant they were safe to cross, but it was for the other side of the junction.
The Holiday Sonar is slowing sending back a more and more urgent return beep - Three weeks ago it went "Beee" and the "Boing" took ages to come back - now its a short time span between them - telling me I `m fast approaching reality and the hell of the flight back. I still have some time here in Melbourne - which is a great place although I must be totally `acclimatised` as its a scorching blue day outside and I am sitting here typing this in Nicks office, like sunny days are nothing special!
Wen`t to Stavro`s Greek Restaurant again last night, has to be the best Greek food place I have ever eaten in. For those of us who have `done` the Hippie thing in Greece, we know the food is totally dreadful, retsina is a poison to kill rats and tourists and a Greek salad is a Tomato, some cucumber and the remains of a thousand visits by the friendly flies of Aristotle!! Great Souvlaki ( my addiction), great wine, muted Bazzooki music ( not in your face like Zorbas bar in Matala bay, that's for you Bruv) and they even held the second course so we could sit outside and have a quick smoke. You cannot smoke in any restaurant in Australia - and I think its a great rule.
Got five rolls of film developed this morning and discovered I have a thing about taking pictures of beaches, empty ones - that's not making sense to me. Had Zest Eggs today - its a great restaurant on the beach that puts two poached eggs, on tomatoes, on spinach and on rye bread with bacon - add a glass of champagne with juice and the world is a perfect breakfast!
Mind is fatigued, need to rest the synapses and hit the streets.
My Second Adventure in OZ - Chapter the second.
Now I am seriously `chilled out` and starting to integrate more with the Aussie way. Took myself off to the beach on the Tuesday and sat around being lazy in a beach bar. Van Morrison in the background, kissing a cold wine, watching the `beach wildlife` with my binoculars and noting down all the strange and funny things people do over here. It was so hot the ink in my pen started to melt! You can write a novel based on just a day `people watching` the Aussies eg: Aussie gays are huge muscle bound hunks that walk with a wiggle, so many fat, red bulks on the beach in G Strings ( Bleeuuurk!), Russian millionaires with Russian `Snakes` in crotchet `desire dresses`. Beefcake everywhere - jogging, cycling and even in wheelchairs - even the paraplegics are muscle bound! Grey, ponytailed hippies with slack bodies reflecting slack minds, poofters with perfect hair - disturbed by flies ( the Aussie wave), I actually thought I had died - there were so many flies around me I felt like an old rotting corpse. After a while I discovered they had tempura oysters ( cooked in a light batter) - so I had 6, then 6 more then 6 more and the cafe gave me 6 for free because other people saw me in a food coma and had some too - pays to advertise. Here is the odd bit - sitting, looking Iranian, looking out to sea with binoculars and taking notes - the world suddenly got dark as a slab of muscle in a G string demanded to know - with menace - what I was doing? Its a bit tense here regarding terrorism - so I showed him my notes and then explained the binoculars were for looking at girls on the beach - what else? He crumpled like a dick in the cold - and mumbled "sorry mate - please don't think all Aussies are arse holes" and slinked back to his towel - the cafe was bleeding internally from hysterics!!
Loads of Grunge here as well - went for a beer in the Hotel Esplanade - a famous back packer bar - and within ten minutes found myself `joined` by a lovely little Aussie Hippie Chick - it took me three seconds to work out she was after a free place to stay, and agreed to meet her later - and didn`t!
I think Australia is a nation of lost people - they are all on their mobiles yelling "I`m in St Kilda - where are you?".
Went to a place called Callista for a Barbie with some of my mate's friends - what an experience: House like a filmstar's, loads of space, enough red meat to give all the veggies of the world colonitis, and F*ck*ng Huntsmen Spiders - YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!! Woke up to the sound of the Kookaburra (?) - the one that goes "ooh ooh aah aah eeh eeh eeh" - like a man having a bad time on the toilet! Had to check everything by sight before I would leave the safety of my duvet ( spider watch) and then got ready for breakfast. This is how Sandy - a very educated young Oz Yuppie announced it " Jeez! Lets arc up the barbie - I`m fucking starving" - just love their direct natures eh?
They even have 24 hour drive through booze stores - seriously! You drive up, a guy asks what you want - gets it for you, you pay and party on dude!
The scenery is staggering in some places - and grotty in others. Suburbs are real `nieghboursville` - really picket fences, twitching curtains and neurosis - best to keep to the city areas. Most bars are full of Grant Mitchells ( East Enders star) all with number one head skims, foreheads like overhanging rock formations and at least one tattoo in a prominent place - cannot wait till they want an office job with "Kingdom of Tonga" slashed across their necks!
Beers are typically Aussie eg: all over 5% and called things like `cut snake`, `ducks nuts` and `shot fox` - they do the trick though.
The sun is savage here - even when its cloudy. I look almost Moroccan now - colour of mahogany and I`ve been hiding from the damn thing. I cruised down to the St Kilda festival yesterday ( Sunday) and that was too much to deal with. The whole area of the beach and two long streets of bars closed to all but drunks, kids spaced out on drugs, muscles on motorbikes, gays, hippies and lots of big fat Police sheilas with guns, big sticks and rather bad attitudes - more dangerous than the male! I didn't stay too long as it took 20 mins to get a beer and two seconds for a drunk teenie to knock it flying as she collapsed into me. Took myself home and had a quiet night in the `local` - which was full of the same, you just cannot win sometimes.
I haven`t worn virtually anything I packed - dimbo here packed a jacket and a woolly jumper - like taking a bikini to the North Pole - STUPID!
Have had some quiet days as well - its not always a full-on riot here. Just reading in cafes, walking around the parks, watching people and doing what I want to do, when I want to.
I need to get a haircut now, do some shopping and to torture my blisters some more. So this is a quick `snap shot`of things so far. I`ll send another one after Sydney.
Loads of Grunge here as well - went for a beer in the Hotel Esplanade - a famous back packer bar - and within ten minutes found myself `joined` by a lovely little Aussie Hippie Chick - it took me three seconds to work out she was after a free place to stay, and agreed to meet her later - and didn`t!
I think Australia is a nation of lost people - they are all on their mobiles yelling "I`m in St Kilda - where are you?".
Went to a place called Callista for a Barbie with some of my mate's friends - what an experience: House like a filmstar's, loads of space, enough red meat to give all the veggies of the world colonitis, and F*ck*ng Huntsmen Spiders - YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!! Woke up to the sound of the Kookaburra (?) - the one that goes "ooh ooh aah aah eeh eeh eeh" - like a man having a bad time on the toilet! Had to check everything by sight before I would leave the safety of my duvet ( spider watch) and then got ready for breakfast. This is how Sandy - a very educated young Oz Yuppie announced it " Jeez! Lets arc up the barbie - I`m fucking starving" - just love their direct natures eh?
They even have 24 hour drive through booze stores - seriously! You drive up, a guy asks what you want - gets it for you, you pay and party on dude!
The scenery is staggering in some places - and grotty in others. Suburbs are real `nieghboursville` - really picket fences, twitching curtains and neurosis - best to keep to the city areas. Most bars are full of Grant Mitchells ( East Enders star) all with number one head skims, foreheads like overhanging rock formations and at least one tattoo in a prominent place - cannot wait till they want an office job with "Kingdom of Tonga" slashed across their necks!
Beers are typically Aussie eg: all over 5% and called things like `cut snake`, `ducks nuts` and `shot fox` - they do the trick though.
The sun is savage here - even when its cloudy. I look almost Moroccan now - colour of mahogany and I`ve been hiding from the damn thing. I cruised down to the St Kilda festival yesterday ( Sunday) and that was too much to deal with. The whole area of the beach and two long streets of bars closed to all but drunks, kids spaced out on drugs, muscles on motorbikes, gays, hippies and lots of big fat Police sheilas with guns, big sticks and rather bad attitudes - more dangerous than the male! I didn't stay too long as it took 20 mins to get a beer and two seconds for a drunk teenie to knock it flying as she collapsed into me. Took myself home and had a quiet night in the `local` - which was full of the same, you just cannot win sometimes.
I haven`t worn virtually anything I packed - dimbo here packed a jacket and a woolly jumper - like taking a bikini to the North Pole - STUPID!
Have had some quiet days as well - its not always a full-on riot here. Just reading in cafes, walking around the parks, watching people and doing what I want to do, when I want to.
I need to get a haircut now, do some shopping and to torture my blisters some more. So this is a quick `snap shot`of things so far. I`ll send another one after Sydney.
Friday, November 16, 2007
My Adventures in OZ - Chapter One.
All journeys have to start somewhere and this one started at 0530 on a freezing morning in Belgium, followed by an eighty euro taxi ride with a traditionally `friendly` driver with the personality of a fish! Check in was a breeze, straight to Business Class express desk and it felt good to post the `cloud bouncer` suitcase all the way to Melbourne - then a stroll through customs and up to the bizzo lounge to sip red wine and eat pretzels at 0630 with all the other `leaders of industry` in crumpled suits and eyes like Panda bears. Finally boarded and after settling into my comfy, privileged class seat and taking the preferred champagne, was assaulted by the announcement that departure would be delayed for 45 minutes - due to something dangerous happening somewhere else (sigh). Finally arrived at Vienna when I was supposed to be boarding so had to run to the gate - again one was charmed to use the Business Class express gate - but it all ended after that!! Vienna airport is totally staffed by the Hitler Youth, believe me. After jumping the queue with my privileged status, the pale girl at the gate told me " You hev to now get ze passport checked and have ze nezezzery stemp on ze boarding card"- meaning I had to go back and join the queue I had just jumped - thank God I was full of wine and not in a hurry!
Next we sat in a tiny holding pen, a whole Boeing 777 passenger herd breathing each others body odour and halitosis for half an hour before Stalin's youngest nephew casually removed the `official` tape to the gate and the stampede began. I was massed amongst the economy sheep, heading lemming like in the same direction as the flock when, as an after thought, one of the Hitler Youth announced "Bizziniss Classes zis vey" leaving me to have to walk against the tidal wave of economy sheep in order to go through another door.
Heavy German presence in Business Class, staff in black Levis, seat like a welcoming womb - full of gadgets and with enough space in front for me to actually stretch full length ( at this point I was getting hysterical with happiness ). Take off was the usual rumbling stroll along the tarmac, the required impossibly slow right bank to terrify the nervous flyers and finally settle into cruising altitude - which was when the spoilt Russian kids kicked in! The attentive `surrogate mother` ( nanny ) was already jumping about getting blankets out of lockers, blowing noses and looking harassed before the seat belt sign was even turned off. The mother settled into a parental coma and the father - probably some Godfather from Siberia - all but vanished in a mist of male disinterest.
Mostly nice things happened after that though. Chefs appeared offering extremely nice nibbles and shampoo (champagne),then a stewardess brings a menu with your name on it, a simple extravagance but one of those 3000 Euro moments. There followed a production line of smiling, happy people in red waist coats and Levi jeans offering stuffed quails, champagne, exotic cheeses and more champagne!! Business class even has a more civilised `sound` -unlike the stressy roar and rumble you get on a jumbo in cabbage class - this sound was almost a cultured murmur in the background, The Russian kids began blipping on their video games, mum and nanny kept up a constant production line of nose blows, kisses, head stroking and soothing words in Russian and the dad passed out under his earphones. It’s funny to see wealthy people wandering around in socks, plus no constant queue of females at the toilets - there were four available for 40 people versus the four for 200 in economy! Watched the sky die into copper over the Caspian Sea, Bucharest ahead - amusing to see yourself, as an airplane, on a video screen with a massive dotted line ahead of you, aimed at Kuala Lumpur.
It’s like being in a pedigree herd of cattle, being fed by pedigree farmers who are busy putting things away as the Cognac fog shuts off the sound of the Russians. Bakku above, Tehran below and snow in front. Surrounded by people wrapped in blankets - like wealthy maggots - just the `air conditioner` rush of the engines as most passengers fall into comas. I continue to pour water into my body to compensate for the `quality` alcohol I continued to indulge in. Unlike economy, at this time in a flight you are not suddenly confronted by a wasteland of indifferent service, happy smiley people pop up with water, champagne and pillows all the time. I get my silver, anodised fag packet out (new digital camera) and film the cabin -people happily corpsing around me - not depressed shapes trying to fit a human body into an inhuman space.
Russian mother bangs the kids seat from the back, says something savagely maternal, nanny looks on with eyes full of consolation and solace - a nice moment. It’s a joy being able to sit and write without a drunk pressed close enough to read my bitter observations of their foul breath and smelly body bulk. It’s a joy to stretch out, tilt the chair back to almost horizontal and to wonder what First Class must be like, beyond my comprehension I guess.
KL was an 'in and out' experience, due to the plane being an hour delayed, I am always bemused by the notice that says ‘smuggling of drugs into Malaysia is punished by death’ – I get nervous about my family pack of aspirin and nicotine replacement items. KL is dead as a grave at 0600 in the morning - and not having to run to the roof top bar to get a nicotine fix was an additional pleasure. Interestingly, even in business, you get sprayed liberally with insecticide that they tell you is not poisonous – so how does it kill the insects, maybe it smells so nice they die of pleasure?
After take off we get served Ravioli stuffed with spinach, more champagne and then cognac. You have to marvel at the microwave skills of the on board chef, as food is dispensed in a bubble of calm there is a frenzy of microwave ‘pings’ going off behind his curtain – all at differing tonal values. This is then followed by some foot rotating to head off deep vein thrombosis, also to see how pissed I am by virtue of my co-ordination skills. In economy you have to deal with conceptual movement, here it exists. In economy you ‘imagine’ you are rotating your feet – the bodies desire for motion being constrained by the two fat, pissed blokes either side of you dribbling and immobile (my last econ bounce it was two fat Kiwi birds). An expensive head ache starts to brew, not bad considering how long I’ve been 'on the sauce', so to speak. It’s a change from the catastrophic, alcohol induced migraine and delirium you get from the “must chug as much booze down my throat before the stewardesses bolt themselves into their little hidey hole” syndrome so loved by seasoned cloud bouncers in economy seats.
Heading towards ‘Phuket’ and feel the same I suppose. Get a polite “return to seat” tannoy as we get into some serious turbulence and God starts kicking the side of the plane. Experienced bouncers all hold the shampoo and cognac aloft as air pockets try their best to dump it onto the silk and branded clothes of the spacious class of traveler. I realise I must have been off my rocker at this time as my notes have suddenly taken a very Russian appearance, and surrealism has entered my observations.
Ultimately we start to descend towards Melbourne and the crew get calmly frantic, this crew isn’t as charming as the one from Vienna to KL – reckon they partied hard in the stopover and are feeling it now. Descent is uneventful. We get our stuff together, leaving a privileged mess behind that my mother would have gone mental over if it was my bedroom.
Melbourne is an easy airport to enter into, very white (in architecture), modern and faintly American. Passport control is a charming and friendly ‘bloke’ who, on checking his computer, finds you offer no threat to God's own land, smiles, stamps and then gives you tips on places you must visit and things you must do during your stay. Get my suitcase, feeling only slightly weary and off I trundle through customs – who after x raying my bag utter the words all travelers are terrified off “could you come with me sir”. This was prefixed by one officer remarking to his colleague “reckon this is one for you mate” (all Aussie males are called ‘mate’ – just trust me on this). So off I go with my case into the `inspection hall` where the case is re-x rayed and a ‘customs mate’ asks me to open it. Fearing that a stranger had smuggled an AK47 during transit, I ask him exactly what it is about my case that is attracting such interest – the answer will stay with me for decades: “You’ve got an electric fly swatter in yer case mate, they ain’t allowed in Australia”. This is my answer to Australian flying wildlife – an electrically charged tennis racket that causes small, winged monsters to explode on contact – perfectly sensible and readily available in all of Europe – and they are banned in Australia! I cannot comprehend getting mugged by a couple of low life’s in the back streets of Melbourne, with electric bug swatters. The ‘customs mate’ did view it all with a quirky smile on his face and I duly declared in writing that I was not going to take class action against the Ozzy government to reclaim my seized goods. I eventually pop out into arrivals to be confronted by a sea of smiling, happy Ozzies and eventually Rob and Nick - ones second Ozzy bash is just about to kick in.
To be continued………………………..
Next we sat in a tiny holding pen, a whole Boeing 777 passenger herd breathing each others body odour and halitosis for half an hour before Stalin's youngest nephew casually removed the `official` tape to the gate and the stampede began. I was massed amongst the economy sheep, heading lemming like in the same direction as the flock when, as an after thought, one of the Hitler Youth announced "Bizziniss Classes zis vey" leaving me to have to walk against the tidal wave of economy sheep in order to go through another door.
Heavy German presence in Business Class, staff in black Levis, seat like a welcoming womb - full of gadgets and with enough space in front for me to actually stretch full length ( at this point I was getting hysterical with happiness ). Take off was the usual rumbling stroll along the tarmac, the required impossibly slow right bank to terrify the nervous flyers and finally settle into cruising altitude - which was when the spoilt Russian kids kicked in! The attentive `surrogate mother` ( nanny ) was already jumping about getting blankets out of lockers, blowing noses and looking harassed before the seat belt sign was even turned off. The mother settled into a parental coma and the father - probably some Godfather from Siberia - all but vanished in a mist of male disinterest.
Mostly nice things happened after that though. Chefs appeared offering extremely nice nibbles and shampoo (champagne),then a stewardess brings a menu with your name on it, a simple extravagance but one of those 3000 Euro moments. There followed a production line of smiling, happy people in red waist coats and Levi jeans offering stuffed quails, champagne, exotic cheeses and more champagne!! Business class even has a more civilised `sound` -unlike the stressy roar and rumble you get on a jumbo in cabbage class - this sound was almost a cultured murmur in the background, The Russian kids began blipping on their video games, mum and nanny kept up a constant production line of nose blows, kisses, head stroking and soothing words in Russian and the dad passed out under his earphones. It’s funny to see wealthy people wandering around in socks, plus no constant queue of females at the toilets - there were four available for 40 people versus the four for 200 in economy! Watched the sky die into copper over the Caspian Sea, Bucharest ahead - amusing to see yourself, as an airplane, on a video screen with a massive dotted line ahead of you, aimed at Kuala Lumpur.
It’s like being in a pedigree herd of cattle, being fed by pedigree farmers who are busy putting things away as the Cognac fog shuts off the sound of the Russians. Bakku above, Tehran below and snow in front. Surrounded by people wrapped in blankets - like wealthy maggots - just the `air conditioner` rush of the engines as most passengers fall into comas. I continue to pour water into my body to compensate for the `quality` alcohol I continued to indulge in. Unlike economy, at this time in a flight you are not suddenly confronted by a wasteland of indifferent service, happy smiley people pop up with water, champagne and pillows all the time. I get my silver, anodised fag packet out (new digital camera) and film the cabin -people happily corpsing around me - not depressed shapes trying to fit a human body into an inhuman space.
Russian mother bangs the kids seat from the back, says something savagely maternal, nanny looks on with eyes full of consolation and solace - a nice moment. It’s a joy being able to sit and write without a drunk pressed close enough to read my bitter observations of their foul breath and smelly body bulk. It’s a joy to stretch out, tilt the chair back to almost horizontal and to wonder what First Class must be like, beyond my comprehension I guess.
KL was an 'in and out' experience, due to the plane being an hour delayed, I am always bemused by the notice that says ‘smuggling of drugs into Malaysia is punished by death’ – I get nervous about my family pack of aspirin and nicotine replacement items. KL is dead as a grave at 0600 in the morning - and not having to run to the roof top bar to get a nicotine fix was an additional pleasure. Interestingly, even in business, you get sprayed liberally with insecticide that they tell you is not poisonous – so how does it kill the insects, maybe it smells so nice they die of pleasure?
After take off we get served Ravioli stuffed with spinach, more champagne and then cognac. You have to marvel at the microwave skills of the on board chef, as food is dispensed in a bubble of calm there is a frenzy of microwave ‘pings’ going off behind his curtain – all at differing tonal values. This is then followed by some foot rotating to head off deep vein thrombosis, also to see how pissed I am by virtue of my co-ordination skills. In economy you have to deal with conceptual movement, here it exists. In economy you ‘imagine’ you are rotating your feet – the bodies desire for motion being constrained by the two fat, pissed blokes either side of you dribbling and immobile (my last econ bounce it was two fat Kiwi birds). An expensive head ache starts to brew, not bad considering how long I’ve been 'on the sauce', so to speak. It’s a change from the catastrophic, alcohol induced migraine and delirium you get from the “must chug as much booze down my throat before the stewardesses bolt themselves into their little hidey hole” syndrome so loved by seasoned cloud bouncers in economy seats.
Heading towards ‘Phuket’ and feel the same I suppose. Get a polite “return to seat” tannoy as we get into some serious turbulence and God starts kicking the side of the plane. Experienced bouncers all hold the shampoo and cognac aloft as air pockets try their best to dump it onto the silk and branded clothes of the spacious class of traveler. I realise I must have been off my rocker at this time as my notes have suddenly taken a very Russian appearance, and surrealism has entered my observations.
Ultimately we start to descend towards Melbourne and the crew get calmly frantic, this crew isn’t as charming as the one from Vienna to KL – reckon they partied hard in the stopover and are feeling it now. Descent is uneventful. We get our stuff together, leaving a privileged mess behind that my mother would have gone mental over if it was my bedroom.
Melbourne is an easy airport to enter into, very white (in architecture), modern and faintly American. Passport control is a charming and friendly ‘bloke’ who, on checking his computer, finds you offer no threat to God's own land, smiles, stamps and then gives you tips on places you must visit and things you must do during your stay. Get my suitcase, feeling only slightly weary and off I trundle through customs – who after x raying my bag utter the words all travelers are terrified off “could you come with me sir”. This was prefixed by one officer remarking to his colleague “reckon this is one for you mate” (all Aussie males are called ‘mate’ – just trust me on this). So off I go with my case into the `inspection hall` where the case is re-x rayed and a ‘customs mate’ asks me to open it. Fearing that a stranger had smuggled an AK47 during transit, I ask him exactly what it is about my case that is attracting such interest – the answer will stay with me for decades: “You’ve got an electric fly swatter in yer case mate, they ain’t allowed in Australia”. This is my answer to Australian flying wildlife – an electrically charged tennis racket that causes small, winged monsters to explode on contact – perfectly sensible and readily available in all of Europe – and they are banned in Australia! I cannot comprehend getting mugged by a couple of low life’s in the back streets of Melbourne, with electric bug swatters. The ‘customs mate’ did view it all with a quirky smile on his face and I duly declared in writing that I was not going to take class action against the Ozzy government to reclaim my seized goods. I eventually pop out into arrivals to be confronted by a sea of smiling, happy Ozzies and eventually Rob and Nick - ones second Ozzy bash is just about to kick in.
To be continued………………………..
Friday, November 2, 2007
The Novice on the Vehicle of Redemption.
Like all 'wise' adults (read wise as older) I tend to recall days of abundant hair and optimism with a certain wistfulness. I had this enduring pleasure in arriving in bars, frequented by the 'great unwashed' biking fraternity, and destabilising the Knuckle Draggers with Theological wisdom. I guess I had to be the only biker in the village with a degree in God - it came in useful when pleading my case with malevolant retards wishing to afford me great physical damage for (sin of sins) spilling their beer.
The World According to Cardinal Fang
Dearest.
This is the first sortie into the world of cyber space for Cardinal Fang. Hopefully this will become a source of cynical wisdom, whimsy and reflections on existence as seen through my somewhat 'world weary' eyes. Having seen a small slice of humanity in its various guises and had the opportunity to observe and reflect, I hope to share what pearls of wisdom and inner revelations I have stored and continue to aquire as I move through the sludge of life.
This is the first sortie into the world of cyber space for Cardinal Fang. Hopefully this will become a source of cynical wisdom, whimsy and reflections on existence as seen through my somewhat 'world weary' eyes. Having seen a small slice of humanity in its various guises and had the opportunity to observe and reflect, I hope to share what pearls of wisdom and inner revelations I have stored and continue to aquire as I move through the sludge of life.
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