Hell and High Water #2

You may recall that back in February I mentioned that a friend of the family from my Dad's village was rowing across the Atlantic from the Canary Islands to Antigua, and if successful the would be the oldest team to row across any ocean. Since then, whilst the rest of us were getting on with our lives these past 4 months, they've still been fighting it out with the Atlantic. Well there're about to hit land with just 41 km (of 4722 km) to go. Their last positions and blog.

...and finished!

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To satisfy curiosity.....

Picture: Diesel jeans, a rather fine Gieves shirt and blazer type jacket - except without the blazer type jacket, which was thankfully saved by one of my mates as I hurled it behind my head.

Shirt sleeves summarily rolled up, top few shirt buttons undone. Roll on The Kinks, The Doors, The Who and other rock legends - for that is the bread and butter of Mojo. My mate and I had a whole wing of the floorspace to ourselves and all those with a need to rock made their way to our corner. I seem to recall having an in depth conversation about Rocco Deluca with two guys and a girl who I think were just waiting for the bathroom, but they seemed to appreciate the heads-up. We also spent an obligatory period of time staring at the huge Beatles: Abbey Road picture that dominates one wall. That's a great one to sit facing.

Despite my inebriety, I can vividly remember everything, which is how I like it. If Id been on vodka I wouldn't have remembered a thing, but then again I wouldn't have had the hangover!

Anyway, the trek home - and I say trek, but it was actually less than 1 km - was arduous as it took two cab rides. The first guy couldn't drive, so we told him to pull over and we flagged other. This guy didn't know where the hell the address was, despite being well known, so we directed him.

When we arrived, he tried to charge us £5 fare - for a few hundred metres as it turns out. "Where's your meter mate?? - he didn't have one(!) - we're not paying that!" we stated...what followed was comical, in a sad sort of way.

He got on his radio and seemed to put out an All Points Bulletin (APB) to get all the taxi cars in his company to come to his assistance.

Bearing in mind he was addressing four well turned-out chaps: two lawyers, a business man and me, so we don't exactly look like gang-bangers. Our occupations may have slipped out because he shut up. We told him he could have £3, and he should get a f**king meter.

I'm sure as we walked away I overheard radio-chatter to the tune of "Stand-down guys, it was only bloody Raja doing his f**king APB bollocks again...Raja, stop with the APB bollocks, we've got better things to do!"

I think the rest of the night/morning was a bit of a blur. Food was eaten, beds were made from sofa cushions, and that pissing awful Welsh movie Twin Town was played. What a thing to go to sleep on!

Nuff said.

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This week, I am mostly listening to...

...Rocco Deluca and The Burden, their new album I Trust You To Kill Me....



...and lovin' it. Buy it now...and pay for it, they deserve it.

I would also tell you of my tale of inebriation and dancing til 6 in the morning in Manchester's fantastic Mojo bar, but those who know me probably wouldn't believe me.

All I can say is that Magner's Irish cider is an evil thing. Evil.

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Melior tardus quam nunquam...

Have you ever mixed two liquids together and then thought to yourself, “Ooh, I don’t think I should have done that” [slowly backing away as the temperature of the new creation rises dramatically]

No?

Ahem. Me neither.

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It is conference season again, to which I unashamedly ascribe my current tardiness/absence (delete euphemism of choice) from my own blog. The conference in Birmingham yesterday was thoroughly enjoyable though, and is probably my last “official” attendance at that meeting, given that my contract will have ended by this time next year. Birmingham itself however continues to bear a striking resemblance to an anus, in a purely metaphoric civil engineering manner. What a hole, but the university campus is pretty enough and ales we imbibed on the grass of Chancellor’s Court at the end of the day were also good.

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I bought one of those “innocent” pure fruit smoothies at the student union this morning. The cashier said she’d give me 5% off because there was a slight dent in the bottom of the plastic bottle. I suggested that if she was willing to give me 5% off, she may as well make it 10%. So she did. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.

I popped the dent out as I walked out of the shop.

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