Thursday, August 23, 2007

Imagine if you were me

It's a Saturday morning, you're feeling pretty dandy after avoiding the pub on the Friday evening. The phone rings, it's two old uni mates speeding towards your house

"Morning Fuckhead, the army is fed & watered and we're in WAAALES!"
"Cool, I'm gonna get breakfast then I'll come and meet you"

Before heading out, you double check you've got the tickets for the match and ensure that your shoes are tied tightly (you'll be unable to do much about that later). You have your breakfast, gathering a few troops of your own and then head out to meet the visitors.

"Hello fuckhead, good to see ya"
"Yeah yeah, come on... the pubs are opening soon"

Your two mates are fully aware that they're being taken to the heart of Welsh rugby, the Millennium stadium, to watch Wales v Argentina, they deliberately wear their cleanest, whitest, England jerseys - thinking it might be a good idea. Many Welsh heads are shaking with disapproval, and that's before we've even got into a pub. Within the first hour, five rounds of drinks have been bought - they're all Guinness.


"What are the village-burners doing here?" Enquires one red supporter, he's joking but he holds a straight face remarkably well. The English lads take it in their stride and are actually quite enjoying the attention they're getting. You make your way into the stadium, more people chuckle at the two white shirts amongst the sea of red - more beers are ordered and the game commences.


Your memory starts to get a little fuzzy, the game is won by Wales, your voice is starting to crack from the singing and shouting, you've been magically transported to a pub about a quarter of a mile away from the stadium. There's a little bit of sick and the magic carpet whisks you on another mile away again. After yet another blackout it's the morning, your burps lead you to believe that you ingested chinese food, jagermeister and a couple of dead hamsters at some point in the evening. Despite the pain, you're up early enough to get 'early-bird' tickets in the cinema, you watch the Bourne Ultimatum, the fast-moving film makes your already hurting head almost explode - but you love it.

You decide to get out of the city and head to the beach. Your mates' jerseys aren't so white any more - the stains of differing colours will be tough to get out, you thank a higher power that your country plays in red.


You set up a tent right by the dunes - the noise of the Atlantic waves crashing against the beach on the other side is more than soothing. The barbeque is fired up and more beers are opened... this is heaven. A nice bit of undercooked meat is followed by a mile walk up to the only pub around, you play pool and actually play surprisingly well considering you couldn't even talk 24hrs previously. After a nice evening, where there was even a gorgeous sunset - you snuggle down in the tent, wedged in between two air-beds (because you thought you didn't need one) occupied my two very smug-looking blokes.

You awake early Monday morning, you're surprisingly comfortable considering the only thing between you and the hard ground is a thin bit of plastic. You doze off again. Five minutes later you wake up with a jump and announce "My feet are getting wet". You now realise why you were so comfortable, there's about two inches of water under the tent - and there's a small stream filling up a puddle which has appeared in the porch area. Shit. You wake the others up, they decide to make a cup of tea - you decide to go for a surf.


It's PISSING down with rain, there's only four other surfers in the water and you're practically skipping down the beach because you're so happy. You paddle out into the waves and through onto the calmer water, where you sit for ten minutes - just soaking up the atmosphere. The rain is lashing down into the sea, it's actually warmer sitting here than standing on the beach, the sky is grey and everything looks so dramatic. One way the sea stretches out to the horizon where it meets the sky, grey on brown doesn't sounds like a nice contrast - but it makes you smile. In the other direction the waves are breaking onto miles of sand, the sand turns into dunes and behind the dunes the hills rise up towards the sky... the best thing about it is that you're just calm. Energised by the scenery and the thought that you could have missed this by being fast asleep, not to get up for another hour to go to work - you go about catching some waves.

After a surf, you run back to the tent to see how the boys are getting on with their cups of tea. The puddle has turned into a lake and there's now a very large amount of water feeding it from the higher ground in the rest of the field.


As keen as you are to stay and miss work, you decide it's better to get back to Cardiff and have a shower. Three of you shiver your way back to your house, and warm yourselves up with more hot drinks and showers. You make it into work for mid-day... a little late, but you don't really care at all. You've just had another amazing weekend.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

My Little Meme

Sub title: Like "My Litle Pony" but without six-year-old girls touching me.

Kels has clearly made a ridiculous decision and has gone and tagged me to do a meme, I don't think I've done one before (And I can't be arsed to check) - but here goes.

I've got to list eight (8) facts/habits about myself, then I have to tag eight other people and they have to do it or they'll contract horrible diseases. I'm not sure why the number eight has been chosen, I'm not aware of it having any kind of astrological (or bl*gological) importance at all.


Numero uno
Movies have soundtracks, so do I. I sing and hum to myself constantly, I also tap my feet, clap my hands and occasionally have little 'Dance attacks'. This embarrasses my friends but amuses everyone else. On dancefloors, I'm usually not even listening the tune that's playing - I hear a different drummer to everyone else. Some people say that I'm a good dancer, but some people haven't met my pal Meg. He rules the dancefloor and everyone has a lot to learn from the kid.

Meg - just like Usher, but Indian.

Rhif dau
I know lots of people. I don't know why I do, but here's a few guesses:-
  • Since I was born, I've lived in 13 different houses in 9 different locations.
  • I'm more than occasionally loud.
  • I will talk to ANYONE once I've got a few beers inside me.

Nombre trois
Ever since I met one of my greatest allies, Sud, we've shared a dream to start a Welsh-Canadian bar somewhere. Initially we'd planned to start it in Australia, but we had already comes across too many themed bars in that part of the world. We were at a loss where to put it until we went to Sweden in 2005 - it's the PERFECT country for it. The Swedes know how to party and there's neither a Welsh or Canadian bar in sight - our little enterprise would take off in spectacular fashion.

My impression of what our bar would look like. Cecilia (in the cowboy outfit) is our Swedish partner, a title which she shares with the polar bear. Sud and myself would just stand around and give people maniacal grins when they came in.


Nummer vier
I have the concentration span of a small child with severe concentration difficulties. Getting this far into the post has taken me about two hours. I have been on facebook, helped friends with job applications, made a round of sandwiches, made several cups of tea and daydreamed a lot.

Nombre cinco
I enjoy getting lost. If I see a road that I haven't been up before, I'll drive up it. If I've got ten minutes to kill before an appointment, I'll wander around and explore my surroundings until my time is up. I'm usually always late for things as a result. If you don't get lost, how are you going to find your way next time?

Nummer sex
People are often surprised that despite my penchant for drinking heavily and hanging around in bars, that I'm actually pretty active. I'm always hiking around in the mountains, travelling to see other people, running around with my surfboard on the beach or finding something mischievous to do. One of my favourite feelings in the world is that feeling of being on the way to do something. I would say that it even ranks above making and drinking copious amount of tea with a hangover - only just though.


Item zeven
Your mother and your grandmother will love me. I carry bags for old ladies, smile a lot and can talk about jam for a remarkable amount of time. My mother often tells me which middle-aged/old ladies have recently commented about how nice I am. This is rather annoying when I'm angling to kiss their daughters, who are usually less interested.

число восемь
If I'm bored of someone moaning, I'll get unnecessarily excited about things that either have a negative effect, or no effect whatsoever on them, just to wind them up. Things such as toast, the rain, long journeys, whatever they're complaining about, milk, salami and cheese.

Sudden outbursts of positivity really annoy angry people,I've found. Which leads me onto my final point, to entertain myself when I'm bored - I'll annoy people deliberately. My poor, poor house-mates get it all the time. Most people see what I'm up to and laugh but the occasional person gets angry - if they do, I've won.




I think that signifies the end of my creativity for today - I'll tag whoever the hell wants to be tagged. I'm going to go home and have some milk and some toast - phwoar!