Update

Okay, an update on the issues outlined in my previous blog...

I didn't mouth off at any police officers last Saturday night. However, while waiting 20 minutes for a bus in the Valley I surreptitiously took photos of gross men going into Scores Gentleman's Club on my phone and then messaged them to friends.

Despite strong protests I somehow found myself back at the Caxton Hotel on Friday night after the Broncos' last home game. As we were walking in I ran into a guy that I had been calling "Sally" the last time I was there. Ashamed that I actually knew people at the Caxton, I again vowed never to go back. PS I would also like to apologise to the guy called Moses for all of my hilarious and inappropriate jokes about Egypt, reed baskets, plague, exodus and the Philistines.

I got my job! Toot toot! This means that I can continue to afford my mortgage and will not need to move to London from the embarrassment of rejection.

Coming soon - a pictorial summary of the awesomeness of RiverFire last Saturday!

Bor-ring

I am rather uninspired with this blog lately. I feel like there is nothing interesting to share with my dedicated reader (hi PJ!) and people who stumble into here looking for Rayban Wayfarers or photos of girls in tight shorts.

I've been busy, but none of it seems worthy of a stand alone post.

There is the story of my foot-in-mouth incident on the weekend, when I berated a driver for running a red light as Nathan and I crossed the street, only to find out it was an unmarked police car.

Or the story of my great happiness when told it would cost $550 rather than the originally quoted $800 to fix Rusty's steering head bearings, front fork seals, rear fork seals, rear break shoes, cushion drive rubbers or somethingorother, front brake switch, and grips. That is to say, to make him roadworthy. But it was definitely worth it as he rides like a freakin dream now!

Or the story of when Nicole and I went to the Caxton Hotel for "one drink" after the Broncos game the other weekend, where I insisted on calling every boy I spoke to by a girl's name, had to defend Nicole when someone started throwing ice at her head, slipped down the stairs but somehow regained my composure by the bottom step and looked up expecting applause but no-one saw it, and maintained my near perfect record of unintentionally getting home within 15 minutes of my housemate when we've both been out for the night.

Or the story of how I had to apply for the job that I have been doing for the past five months, and how if I don't get it I will absolutely die of embarrassment and have to leave the country from the shame of the rejection.

Hmmmmm, maybe I'll find something to blog about next week...

Football game = tick!

Last night I went to the Chelsea vs Atletico Madrid Champions League game at Stamford Bridge with Matt2 (aka Cute Matt, according to a colleague who as a crush on him).

We'd gotten our tickets as part of a package from Travel Zoo, and they included dinner beforehand and a ticket to avoid the plebs and enter the stadium through an express entrance. That's how I like it!

We were sat to the side of the pitch, near the end of the stadium, right next to the Madrid supporters. It was really strange - the "away" and the "home" supporters are completely separate. While the Madrid supporters were lively and entertaining, with their chants and barechestedness and scarves and standing up and general air of fun, the Chelsea supporters were a bunch of dead fish. Honestly, everyone just sat there deadpan unless there was a goal or near goal, at which point they would stand up and clap. The other strange thing is that there is no drinking in the stands, so everyone packs into the bar at half-time.

However, it was a good game. Kalou scored two rather exciting goals, Frank Lampard managed one, and the Madrid goalie made it 4-0 to Chelsea in the end.

It's no secret that I am not a fan of Ashley Cole, husband of Cheryl Cole of Girls Aloud and now solo fame, and well known philanderer. My hatred of Ashley Cole grew even more when he fell over and cried like a baby, was told to get off the pitch and skipped off like a girl. Within 10 minutes he was back on, running around, and missing the ball like Cheryl was missing the on switch to her microphone during her "live" performance on X Factor. After that I referred to him as B!tch Ar$e Cole for the rest of the evening.

At the end of the evening, when the final whistle blew, there was some more clapping from the crowd, before everyone turned and quietly made their way out. While there were some people that had had a few drinks and were merry, most people just slowly walked down the street towards the tube station, doing what I dubbed the "Chelsea shuffle".

It was a rather tame affair, compared to my last encounter with football fans a couple of weeks ago. Amber, Emma and I had been to the movies and were leaving just after the game had finished. There was a large group of drunken away supporters out the front of the shopping centre, and the police were using their favourite kettling technique - surrounding them so they can't move. Unfortunately they decided to kettle them in the shopping centre, closed down the doors, the restaurants and shops all closed up and we were stuck inside. We spoke to a security guard and were let out a side entrance, and exited amongst all of the policemen and policedogs trying to keep the hooligans at bay.

So it was a rather placid event last night, but still a lot of fun, and yet another thing I can tick off the list!

"Blue is the color, Football is the game, We're all together and winning is our aim, So cheer us on through the sun and rain, Cause Chelsea, Chelsea is our name."
Blue Is The Colour, Chelsea FC Theme Song

Update: my to do list

Okay, time for an update on my to do list.

Nathan, you will be happy to note that I can now cross off…

Hoponhopoff bus tour and River Thames cruise.
I did this with Angela, Kelly and Steve, and we learnt a lot of terrible jokes that day. I was slightly disappointed with the guide’s commentary, so interjected with my own impromptu London trivia as required.

Another visit to Great Aunt Christiana.
This is booked in for later this month. After the extremely expensive car hire fiasco last time, I have decided to catch the train. I hope she offers me a shot of whiskey before bed again. JUST JOKING MUM! Well, Aunty Ana did offer it last time, but I didn’t accept it. I was too drunk from dinner. JUST JOKING MUM!

Chelsea football match.
Beavis and I are going to the Chelsea vs Atletico Madrid Champions League game on 21 October, and we are going in style! We’ve got a package deal with dinner and refreshments, a programme, and a seat in the “friendly” section.

However, the people at work have added a whole raft of things to the list:
Red Brick Aussie pub
Liberty
Selfridges
Richmond Park
Regents Park
Primrose Hill
Hampstead Heath

At this rate I may have to reschedule my flights to next February. JUST JOKING MUM!

So much to say

Apologies for the really slack blogging lately. People actually stop by here expecting to read some dribble from me, but it’s dried up a little lately. I’ve got lots to tell, but I’ve been so busy I don’t have the time to write it up yet.

I have to tell you about my hilarious trip to Oktoberfest, with all the rides and steins of wine and celebrity look alike spotting and Disney-inspiring castles and lifetime worth of pork.

I have to tell you about my discovery of £2.75 passionfruit mojitos at the Elk Bar.

I have to tell you about my extremely early Saturday morning last weekend to watch the AFL grand final amidst a bunch of hooligan Australians.

I have to tell you (especially you mum, you would be so proud) about the fact that I have made friends with a heterosexual male.

I have to tell you about the time that I gatecrashed some Queensland University of Technology alumni drinks with a doctor and had to gloss over my academic past.

I have to tell you about the weekend that I nearly died from tiredness, because I had four events to attend in one day, and was so exhausted my teeth ached.

I have to tell you about the fleeting visit from Sue, and how my darling father told her to bring back whatever crap I gave her and that he would pay for the excess. (Don’t worry dad, I kept to the weight limit!)

I have to tell you about the quaint English wedding I attended, complete with ye olde chapel and choreographed dance routine and fireworks.

However, I have dinner with the hetero tonight, PowerPlate Wednesday night, dinner with Stacey or Angela Thursday night, work drinks on Friday night, Bondy and Beavis’s birthday party on Saturday night, Sarah’s arrival and NRL grand final and Brick Lane lunch on Sunday, Sarah staying over next Monday (Model Monday) and Tuesday, PowerPlate Wednesday, dinner with Kasia on Thursday night, and somethingorother on Friday night.

But in between all that I will try and find sometime to upload a photo montage of the fun that was Oktoberfest…

PS. Can you really die from tiredness? Or is this another theory that I have created, like when I said if you look a fox in the eye it will try to eat your face?

Sunny Sunday in South West Londy

So, it was my 25B (I refuse to say I’m 26) birthday on the weekend. We went out in Soho on Saturday night and had a bit of fun. There was French champagne, my faithful partner in crime, old school friends, new gay husbands, jugs of cosmopolitans, dancing with bathroom attendants, aviator sunglasses, stacks on, long stemmed roses, posed photos, Jazzify street performances, cold samosas, a sea captains hat, and a fry up when we got home. And that’s all I am going to say about that.

I'm not a huge fan of birthdays, but this one was pretty good despite being so far away from my family. I loved all of my cards and flowers and presents, thank you all so much!

As for what we did on my actual birthday, I'm going to let Amber tell that story. So how about a warm round of applause for our guest blogger, Amby!

London days begin early in May - sun rises at around 5 am and doesn't set until nearly 10 pm. An unseasonable week of fantastic weather sets the scene for last Sunday which was a long day full of observations of life in the capital Britain.

AM
After returning home rather late the previous evening (nudged Cinderella out of the way as I made my way through the door), Amanda, Matt, Mark and I ventured down to 'The Slug' to watch a much anticipated Brisbane Broncos vs. Manly Sea Eagles match. As we were all feeling the effects of the previous night (Mandy's 25Bth birthday) we kicked off the morning with some grease (big burger with lots of lard) and a pinch of the hair of the dog (in my case a pint of Magner's Irish cider). The weather was absolutely glorious (27 degrees and sunny), so not surprisingly, all of the pasty locals and their mangy dogs had also ventured out - the fact that there was a Chelsea vs. Bolton football (soccer) semi also added to the colourful delights that filled the streets of Fulham. As the Brisbane Broncos descended into a fiery ball of failure, the 'Slug' slowly filled itself with rowdy soccer yobs either dressed in non-flattering costumes, too tight jerseys or, worst of all, the teams' 'away' jersey (featuring bare chest, beer belly and hairy sponsorship). As the game wound down I had the good fortune to comment to a middle-aged Bobby about my preference for rugby league over the wussy round ball sport. He agreed and we launched into a great conversation about Wigan and the glory days of Ellery Hanley - he asked me if I was going to be back at the pub 'tonight' - he was concerned about my safety I think. So I assured him I would be staying out of the way of any riots, chanting or police violence - he looked disappointed.

EARLY PM
Mandy and I left the Slug (the crowd had become suffocating and Matt and Mark had already deserted us in favour of Sunday lounging at home). As we made our way down the street we were greeted by more and more 'away jerseys'. Disgusted by the lack of dignity of these football fans, Mandy reported her concerns to some young cops keeping an eye on proceedings. "Is that legal in this country?" Mandy asked pointing at a particularly large white specimen whose chafing could not only be seen but heard. One of the cops looked at his fellow countryman with a wry grin before replying "Yes ... but it shouldn't be!". The freak show didn't stop there. Between Farm Lane and Brompton Park Crescent is a small green space - good for exercising dogs or having a snooze or a read on nice days (it's just a shortcut to me). As we entered the green space a man (in a Chelsea jersey of course) walked past us with his young son and wife and other child trailing. As he passed he suddenly jerked his head to the side, placed one finger over his nostril and blew as hard as he could. Yes folks - he pulled out the bushman's hankie!!! On the ground. In front of his family. In front of us. My stomach lurched and I looked at his wife wondering how she ever mustered the courage to produce those two children with that man.

PM
Probably should have stayed in after the morning of atrocities but it's rare that the weather is that good so M&A&M&A headed out the park adjoining our estate. We spread out some sheets as a makeshift picnic blanket and celebrated Mandy's birthday with some Marks and Spencer salad, Mumm champagne and some games of Uno. Luckily I had finished eating when three fat and rather white flamed-haired teenage girls entered the arena accompanied by a skinny little turd of a boy kicking a soccer ball. Two of the 'rangas' were holding hands and I thought it lucky that biology will prevent them from producing a child with both of their genes. The foursome began to kick a soccer ball around the park (even though it was clearly signed that ball games are not allowed!) and every time one of the ten-tonne trio 'scored' she would put the shirt over her head and run about like seismic occurrence. Needless to say this was just gross and like a car crash we all just couldn't stop looking. Eventually the sideshow had to end and the feral foursome walked towards the exit of the park. Two rangas holding hands again, third ranga third wheeling but then things got just that bit worse. The turdy kid walks over the ranga lesbians and proceeds to put his hands down the back of one of their pants. I think this was in a wedgie attempt but instead he just pulled this unfortunate girl's shorts down far enough for most of the park's inhabitants to dry-retch.

LATER PM
Meanwhile, a 'gentleman' entered the park wearing jeans, a button up shirt and carrying his lunch and a newspaper. He sat down approx ten metres from our party and proceeded to eat his lunch. Lunch eaten - check. He then took his shirt off. Shirt off - check. He then proceeded to read his newspaper. Newspaper read - check. He then lay down for a nap. Nap - check. He then not very subtly took off his jeans to expose a pair of non-elasticised Primark jockey shorts and flashed all of equipment in our direction. Who does that????????????? Lucky for us Mandy took a photo.

Time to leave the park and indeed the day behind. After an obligatory evening of delivered oriental food and Sex and City, the sun set on the longest Sunday in South-West Londy.....