Hairy Tales

Milestone

2012-01-11T10:07:00.005Z

I'm not normally one for noting milestones in life but this one seems to be approaching like a meteor hurtling towards an unsuspecting planet, appearing to hover in space just out of eye-sight but in reality travelling at a highly destructive speed of over 70km a second. Perhaps running along similar destructive lines, I also feel a bit like the guard at Castle Hemorrhage watching the approach of Sir Lancelot. The rather silly knight is of course representing the milestone, but with exagerrated ridiculousness. Anyhow, I turn 30 next Thursday and I'm feeling very nervoushappysadunsurecakeexcited, which I'm sure you can relate to if you have got here already.

Almost being 30 has suddently kick started a part of my brain that I didn't know existed, I started analysing the past whilst assessing the future and worrying about the present. Previously I had been analysing my hangovers, assessing girls and not-worrying about my bank balance. Times they are a-changin'.

I have been living in Germany for two and a half years and have been questioning the move the whole time. This is not a wise thing to be doing and I should know because I just over a week away from obtaining the first part of my qualifications in being wiser than other people. I spent most of the first year working in an Irish pub and generally having a whale of a time, but I was constantly sad that I did not have enough resources to persue my first love of international travel. I resolved that particular problem by getting a 'normal' job and earning enough to buy lovely, convenient, carbon-emitting flights to cities I had never been to before. I took a long-awaited three week break in September of 2011 and travelled to Canadia & the United S of A, then promptly spent the subsequent few months in a state of depression after having such a mind-blowingly great time.

Aside from the sheer friendliness I encountered between Ontario and Wyoming I relished actually speaking English again. You guys have no idea how great that language is until it's taken away from you. You can happily get by speaking English in Germany but you will not be able to use fun words like 'pompous' or expect to be understood when you give driving directions such as 'hang a left here'. You certainly can't tell jokes like "The televisions in Dubai don't show the Flintstones, but the televisions in Abu Dhabi do". Being in an English speaking country again felt like a tidal wave of relief, I was able to talk to people without worrying if I was being understood and I could speak my mind clearly without having to select the correct grammatical terms and put them in the right places whilst trying to remember the pronounciation. I did, however, have a slight problem in Kentucky...

A pretty sophomore girl leans in towards me and says, "Your accent is a complete penny-dropper". I replied with a genuinely grateful "Wow, thank you" before walking over to my friend Stewie and asking "Ummm... what's a penny-dropper?"
"Panties... she said Panty-dropper"
"Oh, great!" I said pretty quietly, not wanting a mass underwear falling-down party at that moment.

We'll see what 2012 brings eh. Onwards and upwards!

Commute

2011-10-14T14:02:00.002+01:00

I got lost in the forest on the way to work this morning, there is not even a forest on my route. This made the top three of my favourite commutes.

It wanna go down

2011-09-05T09:53:00.002+01:00

Imagine waking up and writing Fergie's "London Bridge" every morning, that's about the level of creativity I'm experiencing at the moment.

Pain

2011-01-21T12:59:00.003Z

The sound of the boiling water in the kettle puts a smile on my face. Soon I'll be sipping from a piping hot cup of tea, sitting in a comfortable chair and letting the events of the day drift away. I slowly drink the refreshing beverage and rise up from the chair, tightly clutching the mug in both hands so the radiating heat warms my skin. I saunter over to the window, lightly running my fingers through a plant which sits there, freshly watered and almost beaming with happiness. Out of the window I gaze, the street bustles below and the neighbours are sitting down for an early evening meal. This is relaxing.

Or at least it would be relaxing if I didn't have a broken ankle. My fantasy is shattered, I struggle to maintain balance as I pour the boiling water in and around the mug, scalding my left hand as I do so. The kettle slams down on the worktop and in the same movement my right hand swings across and grabs the pre-opened milk. Milk swishes around in the way that milk only knows how and spurts from the top of the carton. My hand steadies and hastily pours the milk into the cup before I lose my balance for a second time. The cup of tea is sitting there in all it's glory. With glee I grab the hot mug and hop, hop, hop into the living room. With each hop tea splashes everywhere, over the floor, the walls and my jeans, but mostly all over the floor. I curse gravity. I continue to hop to the couch, summoning all power of balance in order to avoid the dry, prickly plant that hasn't been fed in weeks. As carefully as possible I rest my derrière on the couch and catch my breath. Looking down at the cup I see that about a quarter of the tea remains, I take one big swig and it's gone. I sit for a couple of minutes, wondering what's happening outside as all I can see from the couch is the sky.

A broken ankle. It is a very inconvenient. Especially since I had only just recovered from a torn tendon in my ankle, ripped 6 months previously. Especially because I'd only recovered from a badly bruised rib 3 months before that. Perhaps it's also made more inconvenient as I'd only recovered from a broken collar bone sustained 5 months before that.

Before living in Germany I had never received a serious injury in my life (Aside from a few scars involving angry cats, barbed-wire fences, falling out of trees and off skateboards). I've lived in Germany for 17 months. I have spent many of those in pain and trying to look cool as the nurse takes another x-ray. I'm not blaming Germany entirely, I have only had a girlfriend for 24 months. I had never injured myself before meeting her either. It's got to be one of those things causing all these injuries.

Collar Bone. Ouch.

But then again it could be that I have, for the first time since I was 17, been playing rugby again.

Thoughts on..

2010-10-21T12:47:00.004+01:00

... Living in a country where your native language is not spoken.

I arrived in Germany with no real expectations of what life without English would be like. I'd visited here enough times to know how to say "Hello" (Hallo) and ask for basic things like a pen (Stift) or a Guinea Pig (Meerschweinchen) and I knew how to sqeeze past someone in a crowded pub (Entschuldigung). I had visions of initially struggling in places such as the supermarkets or cafés and slowly building my vocabulary until I was comfortable enought to ask questions such as "Are you sure that's the right amount on the bill?" or play the supermarket guessing game with the cashier "I guess that this bill is going to cost 53.66 Euros, how much do you think it'll cost?".

As time dragged on however, I realised that this was going to be really hard. I tried to learn the language on my own and was confused by the word order, the difficult pronounciations and the complex grammar tables. Deciding that I needed help, I asked my girlfriend to teach me. The word order was still alien, hearing the correct pronounciation of words made me feel worse about my own way of saying them and the grammar tables were still too complex. I realised that this was going to be a complete uphill struggle, being a lazy English speaker and all that.

English will get you everywhere. Germans are taught English in school to a certain level and if you are visiting the country they will be more than happy to practice their English on you, they will even go to the point of apologising because they can't speak the language better. I have repeatedly had to point out that I am in their country, I should be speaking German. Of course I secretly hate it when that happens because the conversations usually go like this:-

Curly: Uuuuhh... Ich brauche ein Stift. (I need a pen)
German: Was? (What?)
Curly: Ja, und ein Meerschweinchen. (Yes, and a Guinea Pig)
German: Tschuss. (Bye)

Over a year and only a few weeks of German lessons later, I'm still struggling. I can now mumble "Thanks" in the supermarket and I can order beer in the pub but when it comes to doing anything else such as going to get a haircut, rent a movie or have an arguement with someone, it all falls apart and can be incredibly frustrating. When your power to express your opinion or will is taken away from you it can be one of the most demoralising experiences. There were days that I avoided buying food when I was hungry because I didn't know how to ask for it, I need my girlfriend to accompany me to the hairdresser or to the bank because I just cannot get my point across without her to translate. From being a completely independent person in the UK to suddenly having to rely on other people so much has been a kick in the balls and it will continue to ache for a while to come.

Dogged

2010-09-16T11:25:00.002+01:00

I have just discovered the most amazing thing. This dog, Anastasia the Jack Russell, holds the record for the bursting of 100 balloons by a dog in a time of 44.49 seconds. I wonder what the regulations are? Must the balloons be a certain size? Are we allowed to sharpen the dogs teeth before hand? Perhaps we could even breed a new type of dog and make this a competetive sport.

The next step

2010-09-09T14:35:00.000+01:00

Having suddenly found myself in the middle of a town I'd only learnt the name of six months previously, I took time out to ponder my next step. I wandered around the town centre, pretending to look like I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going which of course led to several people asking me directions to incomprehensible places. Walking around a foreign city without knowing either the street layout or the language is a strangely satisfying feeling, on the exterior you may look like any other local but the second you speak or look the wrong way when crossing the road your cover is blown and people treat you a little differently.

My first few days were spent simply doing that, walking around without saying anything and forcing my head to look to the right when crossing a road, rather than left as us Brits are accustomed to. After about a week of doing this I decided it was time to take the next step and actually attempt to learn the German language. This is less of a step and more of a vertical cliff face rising over 1000 metres covered in thorns and vegetable oil. German is HARD. I can now see why German isn't spoken anywhere other than this area because nobody has the time to learn. I won't bore you with the details, I don't want to cause facial trauma as a result of you falling asleep suddenly on the keyboard. I'll just say this, I purchased a teach-yourself German book called "Berliner Platz" in September last yearm only the front five pages have been opened and they're punctured with repeated pencil-stab wounds from a frustrated German learner.

I turned round to my GF and said "Okay, I need two things. A job and a rugby team. And a beer" Yes, it was three things but the last one just popped into my head at the last moment. We went along to a local Irish bar and to my absolute delight I saw rugby being shown on television, I ordered a beer and enquired about jobs. They had a space free and asked when I'd like to join, excellent! Not more than fifteen minutes of mumbling comments at the rugby later and a short Frenchman approached me:

"Uhhh... you know about rugby?"
"Yes, a little."
"And you live here in ze town?"
"I guess I do "
"Zen zis is good for us, you want to play for our team?"
"Yes I do want!"

I was introduced quickly to the rest of the team and was instructed to turn up at training the following Tuesday. After everything settled down I turned to my GF and said "Well, I think that's the most productive visit to a pub I've ever had" and ordered another beer in celebration.

Back Story

2010-07-22T10:21:00.004+01:00

17th April 2009
Another day at work, I thought. A surprise waited for me as I walked in the door. I was handed a notice telling me that I was no longer required, I could pack my things and leave. "Thanks A LOT" I thought, bitterly. They also handed me a lot of money "Ooohh, thanks a LOT" I then thought, happily.

17th June 2009.
Two months of kicking arond Cardiff looking for jobs was taking its toll. I was already feeling that the well of Cardiff's entertainment had dried up again and I needed pastures new. Bitterness eminating from co-redundantees and from many friends the country over who had also lost their jobs was overwhelming. Britain was not a nice person to be around, kind of like the person at the party who told depressing stories about their financial problems and their dying mother all night while you desperately tried to have a good time.

8th July 2009
I moved out of Cardiff and bought a one way ticket to Italy. I met up with my girlfriend of six months in Rome, spending a couple of days there before heading to a sparkling beach resort-town in the Lazio province. We scorched in the sun for the next few days. Not good at dealing with so much sun and so many people on the beach (The beaches in Wales are rarely busy because it's freezing), I was grumpy and hot the whole time. This wasn't good for my relationship.

17th July 2009
Suffocated by the heat of southern Italy, I headed up to Venice. My girlfriend flew home to Germany to continue university and the supposedly romantic city of Venice hardly felt so. I didn't feel particularly free in a relationship and getting drunk with a Dutch guy and jumping in the canals over a two day period was a whole load more fun than a week on the beach with the girlfriend.

19th-26th July 2009
From Venice I decided to head to Eastern Europe for a look around. Despite the gorgeous places we saw and the fun people we met, I wasn't having a good time. I was feeling trapped and unable to enjoy myself completely, I had to end my relationship. Several days passed and I had travelled as far as Budapest. Over that period I made a few phonecalls to my girlfriend in Germany, the first call began with "We have to split up" and the final call ended with "Okay, I'll move to Germany to be with you". Quite a remarkable turnaround, I thought.

1st August 2009
I had a few drinks with some close friends in London, my flight to Germany was in the morning and I wasn't going to see them for a while. I was excited and a little worried as to whether I was doing the right thing.

2nd August 2009
I woke up with red wine smeared around my lips, a banging headache and an alarm clock that had been on snooze for the previous three hours. I'd missed my flight. The day was delightful and we lazed around on Clapham Common meeting people and then throwing frisbees at them.

3rd August 2009
I tried setting off again and this time avoided absorbing (too much) wine. At 11:45am I arrived in a small corner of Germany to begin a new life.

Zurück, Bitches.

2010-07-13T12:06:00.006+01:00

So, over a year of inactivity (Barring an outburst at some eggs) and having probably been removed from numerous 'Favourite' lists, I've returned.

"Why the inactivity?" I can hear one guy shout from the back, straining to be heard over the seething crowd who through lack of any official organisation have started trampling a elderly neighbours flower bed. There's no quick answer to that question, but I'll start by announcing that I'm now living in Germany. This wasn't caused by a faulty sat-nav system nor by a freak tornado flinging me across the English Channel (The 'Sleeve' Channel to anyone not English speaking).... no, I came here for the most irrational of all reasons, a girl.

In a little under three weeks I will have lived in this little corner of Germany for 12 months and therefore, a year. A week into my arrival, armed with little more than Ein (1) through to Zwanzig (20)*, I registered at the local burgeramt, bought a 'Teach yourself German' book and then promptly introduced myself at the local Irish pub.

So began another adventure, one which I'll let you, dear Reader, join in from now on!

I case anyone has forgotten, I look like this when I'm hungover. Kinda.

*At present I can now count as high as fünf und zwanzig (25).

No yolk

2010-02-20T09:01:00.003Z

I'm tentatively poking my head out of the cave where I've been hibernating to express my anger at eggs from Aldi.

They are possibly the worst eggs I have ever been in contact with in my life! I bought 12, TWO were already broken, FOUR BROKE as I (delicately) removed them from the carton, THREE made it to the frying pan but were so pathetic that the yolk went EVERYWHERE and as for the tenth SHITTY EGG, it was EATEN by my housemate..... I'm so angry AT Aldi I don't EVEN know which words I should BE EMPHASISING.

Peace.

Umm

2009-04-22T14:36:00.000+01:00

This isn't going so well any more, is it?

I am still here - but have been made redundant. I am concentrating on somehow trying to pass as Owen Wilson so I can go to celebrity parties in my free time.

I wish I'd concentrated in school

2009-03-23T22:09:00.006Z

I've never been very good at languages. Throughout school my French was peppered with Welsh whilst my Welsh was often confused completely with German. I stopped learning French when I was 16, Welsh ground to a halt when I was 17 and my German education terminated at the grand old age of 18 after it clashed with Physics and, aside from the exchange trips and trying to impress German girls, Physics was more fun. Since that time I've been to a number of different countries and each time I've pretended that I was fluent in the local language, my previous linguistic education coming in handy when applying rules to a new one. All this has created a strange mix of vocabularies and grammatical rules - I give compliments in French, greet people in either Welsh or Canglish*, ask politely for things in German, thank people in Lettish, swear in Italian and can sometimes be spotted in Ikea being a bit of a dick and correcting everybody on their pronunciation of the furniture. But I don't actually speak any of these languages and it's starting to bug me, so I pick up a 'teach-yourself' book and settle down for a couple of hours in the evening...

"Heike Graf kommt auch aus Dresden, nicht whar?" asks my teach-yourself German CD, my brain whirrs and clunks as an appropriate response is formed, "Nej, Heike Graf kommer til Salzburg" spills out of my mouth and my eyes scan around for the correct answer... Wrong! I had somehow replied in Swedish, damn my stupid brain. At least I'm safe in the knowledge that I know where Heike Graf is from, even if I can't tell anyone other than the Swedes. The frustration continues as I randomly throw in Swedish words and inflections as I read through the accompanying German book. After thirty minutes of pathetic translation and pronunciation (I sound like a cheesy German pornstar who's spent the last two years holidaying between Stockholm and Cardiff) I throw the book onto the table and out of sheer frustration shout "TESTA DI CAZZO!". The Italian in the room next to mine shouts back in a motherly manner "Curly! Mind your language!" It's not my language, I muse - and at this rate it never will be.

*Canadian English. eg.
Cool/Awesome = Cawesome
Proud but Guilty = Pruilty
Hello, how are you? = Whadduup!
So, is there anything interesting happening = 'sgoinaan?
I don't think that's right = That's fucking retarded dude.

Suspicions Confirmed

2009-03-06T16:13:00.003Z

Below is a facebook message transcript between me and a friend of a friend of my girlfriend (Foafoafomg). I'll keep updating the post if it gets any juicier, but it probably won't.

Foafoafomg: your gf might be talking behind your back
Curly: What do you mean?
Foafoafomg: shes good at that
Curly: It's not a problem, girls generally do that. Thanks though.
Foafoafomg: yw loooooooooooool
Foafoafomg: if you dont wanna know the details ohhhh welllllllllllllll lol
Curly: You can tell me if you like, but if it's about me then I probably know already.
Foafoafomg: probably not
Curly: Is she planning to kill me?
Foafoafomg: Yup exactly.
Curly: That sucks.

Smooth moves

2009-02-25T14:44:00.003Z

"Why don't we crave healthy foods when we're drunk or hungover, why is it always high-calorie and high salt content foods?" I asked an argumentative looking Sud. I followed it up with an impression of myself, "I was sooo drunk last night, I can't believe I had that smoothie after the pub!"

We came up with our own theories, based only partially on fact but eventually decided that the answer would be found on the internet once we were home. Which is where we headed three pints later.

I woke in the morning displaying slight signs of a hangover, the dehydration was there along with a slight taste of dead hamster in my mouth. I set out for work and headed down the street, salivating at the numerous breakfast cafés I passed. The further I walked along the road, the stronger my cravings became - I imagined myself devouring a freshly fried piece of bacon sandwiched between two thick, white slices of bread along with a smattering of ketchup. My mind drifted and left this plain for I don't know how long before there was a 'CLANG!' as I walked straight into a metal advertising board. A slight "fuck" left my lips as I looked at the offending object, 'Take away one of our delicious smoothies' it read. I paused for a second and recalled the previous nights conversation, before I knew what I was doing I'd marched into the sandwich bar and said "One smoothie please".

As I waited for the smoothie, I recognised a local bouncer sitting at one of the tables, 'Funny' I thought, I wonder if this is a sign telling me that I'm being offered protection because of this healthy choice I'm making. I smiled slightly to myself at the outrageous thought but the smile turned to a laugh as three policemen walked in and also took a seat. Applying the same logic, this re-enforced the idea that I was on the right path. This was confirmed (no puns here) as two vicars entered the building shortly afterwards.

I sipped the smoothie as I strolled the rest of the way to work, the day seemed a little brighter and everyone seemed to be smiling. I'm looking forward to making a return trip tomorrow morning.

Gogledd

2009-02-24T10:29:00.005Z

In a state of restricted vocabulary and lack of imagination I sat down to to write a post about my recent weekend in the north of Wales. The post was going to be in the "We went to place A, it was awesome!" and "Place B was great too, we saw a bear!" mould, it was passable. That was until I read Cope's post about the same weekend. I realised he'd told every story that I could recall and had highlighted all my favourite parts of the evening, but that's due to the fact that he was never more than twenty metres away from me the entire time.

I suggest you take a read of his post, it's far more comprehensive than anything I could manage in between working and pretending to work at my office computer. Be sure to listen to the song 'A is for Anni e'.

He did however, miss a photo opportunity when Sud received a humping by Pablo, a dog (They had both possibly consumed some of the Love Potion that was flying around). Here's a blurry picture...

(Beat this Cope)

The best valentines ever?

2009-02-13T16:12:00.003Z

Let's hope so.

2012

2009-01-28T10:16:00.003Z

It's something we're supposed to be proud of, the greatest sporting event on the planet (and I assume, other planets), an event in which almost every nation in the world seems to participate and this time its secondary function is to essentially show off our great nation to everyone else. The 2012 Olympic Games.

I find myself not so enthused.

The recent Beijing olympics were spectacular, Sydney had great fireworks and Greece was historic. I have Canadian friends who, even at this early stage, proudly tell me that the 2010 Winter Olympics are being held in Vancouver. I flew over Lillehammer this year and memories of the Italians beating the locals at the cross-country skiing and Torvill & Dean came flooding back from the 1994 games. Yet the thought of the Olympic games taking place in the UK, more specifically London, doesn't bring any excitement out of me.

Ignoring the controversy, political protests and terrorists that the games attract (Which I think make the games ineresting), I just have no faith in our country to run such an event.

Before the term 'Credit crunch' was invented and before a recession was in view on the horizon - we knew that the original 2005 budget of £2.375 billion wasn't going to be substantial (It rose to £9.35 billion in 2007, who knows at which figure it stands now).

We were sceptical when the Prime Minister said "An Olympic Games hosted in London would create significant opportunities for companies up and down the UK" - It emerged this week that a pitiful £100,000 has been spent on contracting just four companies in Wales in relation to the Olympics, whilst £100million of lottery funding is to be diverted away from Wales towards London . The vast majority of the events are to be held in and around London too, with one of the most preposterous being the mountain bike event being held in a purpose-built venue in Essex, not known to be a mountainous region, chosen over world-recognised moutain biking stages in Wales, Scotland and northern England.

London (as with most capital cities) already attracts derogatory comments from the rest of the UK for its selfishness and its perceived status above anywhere else. The people in charge of the city have done nothing to improve relations by sucking money from the other regions whilst offering little or nothing in return.

One shining light in this farce is in fact the exact thing that I've been whining about, the circus isn't actually coming to my town. I'll be free to wander around Cardiff without 2012 banners and hundreds of tourist traps being shoved in my face. Neither will my commute be affected by the thousands of aforementioned tourists dithering about in the heat of the London underground. Also, in these days of digital television I can choose to avoid the Olympics through that medium too by watching repeats of Friends (or something) instead on 'Channel 8 +1 +3 Extra'. It's only going to be a couple of weeks long anyway, despite my usual "Is this EVER going to end?" comments whilst pointless sports clog up my television.

It's a long way away to be worrying about it, but then so's the end of the universe, and that still makes the news occasionally.

A long time coming

2009-01-23T12:11:00.007Z

I had a sneaking feeling that 2009 was going to be a good year, or at the very least a different year, but I had no idea that things would change so quickly.

I awoke to the new year with a fuzzy head and the slight taste of vodka still on my lips, taking a couple of seconds to figure out where I was - phew, it was my own bed. The previous night I'd promised my body that I'd take good care of it for a month after the NYE celebrations. Taking care of my body included no drinking, a resumption of regular exercise and the purchase of half a dozen books to re-start a brain that was getting to the stage where spoken sentences no longer came out in the right order (due to under-use).

A body free from alcohol combined with clear weight and reading targets for the month brought a tidal wave of calm. This was helped in no small way by my two female housemates spending time abroad until the middle of the month and plenty of camomile tea. Life became very relaxed, tasks at work were achieved considerably quicker than normal but with half the effort put into them - Absolutely nothing could faze me. I also had considerably more free time, a side-effect of things getting done faster and a reduction of hours spent in the pub. My free time became a time that I'd spend relaxing with a girl who'd I'd been seeing for a couple of months before Christmas, I enjoyed her company but had previsouly given no thought to seeing her more often. Slowly but surely, the frequency of our down-time spent together had increased and it seems fitting that a few days after my 27th birthday, three weeks into a new year and a couple of days before Dydd Santes Dwynwen, I managed to get my first ever girlfriend. I can't wait to have rows in front of my friends, use her as an excuse to go home early and spend hours shopping for shoes. That's what relationships are about, right?

A month off

2009-01-13T10:51:00.000Z

Thirteen days into a month of not drinking and the pressure isn't as relentless as it was when I last took a month out, back in April 2008. From time to time I'm still asked why I'm not drinking, the question is usually accompanied by a shocked/surprised look similar to the look I imagine I'd see if I said I'd given up eating.

This time around I've noticed a strange side-effect, I seem to have taken responsibility for everyone else's actions during a night out and charged with remembering every detail.

Friend: Where did so-and-so go?
Curly: I don't know. He was here a minute ago.
Friend: How can you not know where he's gone? You're sober!

Friend #2: I just gave my discount card away, before buying the drinks!
Curly: I know, I just saw you do it, I thought it was a bit odd.
Friend #2:Why didn't you tell me I was doing it? You're sober!

A quick rant, ending in "IF you're going to carry on mentioning that I'm sober then I'm just not going to come out at all" seems to have stemmed the annoyance for the moment, despite the immediate response being "You're only saying that because you're not drinking".

Because everyone else is doing it

2009-01-02T10:45:00.016Z

January
2008 started with a bang (fireworks, not sex) in the snow in Berlin. The month ended as it began, in the snow - this time in Andorra.

A German New Years

February
February saw Wales beat England for the first time at Twickenham for 20 years, I was still in Andorra and missed celebrating with my friends in Cardiff.

Andorra, Taken on the day of Wales' victory - everything looked good that day

March
March broke new ground for me when I asked a girl I'd met in a bar to hike up a mountain with me, and she agreed. Wales went on to be crowned rugby champions of Europe for the second time in three years.

Silence the day after the Grand Slam

April
I decided not to drink for a month, I became isolated from many friends but became much thinner and started running regularly. I missed going to gigs, so I started going to lots of them and one of my favourites was the Ting Tings.

The Ting Tings

May
May brought a trip to stay with the fantastic Cleavers and explore the fine city of Toronto. I then spent time in Vermont with an old friend who I realised I liked a bit more than I thought. I also added a second state to my list of places I'd been in America (You're mine now Massachusetts).

Downtown TO

June
A jolly to a Swedish island for their traditional midsummers festival with my sidekick, Sud. We introduced our own tradition of drinking lots of vodka. Possibly the favourite moment of my year occurred on the ferry ride back to the mainland, where I produced a rose and handed it to a girl to cheer her up after her and her friend had missed the previous ferry (also because she was pretty), I asked her name, it was Marlin. We had missed that same ferry and ironically almost missed the second because I was picking roses. Sud was so incensed at being out-done he went to the bathroom, took a fake rose from a vase which he'd spotted earlier, marched over to the same girls, gave one the rose and asked her name..... it was Marlin.... the look of horror on his face was priceless as he realised he'd given the rose to the same girl, not to her friend as he intended. The horror quickly changed to relief when it was explained that they were both named Marlin. This event spawned the now infamous line "At least it's not just idiots who miss ferries, it's hot girls too".

A midsommarstång, a pole covered in flowers basically, we renamed Midsummers the 'Penis festival' after seeing this.

July
We took on another amazing adventure with Astrid as we spent the day drinking Pimms and getting sunburnt at the Henley Royal Regatta. Our class was absent as we drank the Pimms straight from the bottle and hung out by the burger vans for an hour. (Fighting through the blazer and fancy hat-wearing crowds in the heat became hard work, we needed a break)

Blending in Superbly

August
Two fantastic days were spent in London and Portsmouth, saying farewell to Monica and saying happy birthday to a good friend respectively. I never thought I'd use 'Portsmouth' and 'Fantastic' in the same sentence.

The Spinnaker Tower, Portsmouth

September
Our good friend The Doc moved out of the house and a fiery Sicilian moved in. A lot of pink started appearing around the house soon afterwards.

Sicily and Wales collide

October
Similar to running your hands under hot water and then plunging them into the cold, I travelled to Barcelona and to the north of Norway within the space of a couple of days. I also began relations of sorts with a girl who'd come to view our spare room in September - one way to meet people I suppose. Unfortunately Norway broke my camera and pictures stopped being taken from then (I'll be sending a complaint to King Harald V).

Tromsø

November
Supporting the Welsh rugby team took its toll on me as four weekends of matches against South Africa, New Zealand, Canada and Australia saw enough pints consumed to sink a battleship and enough money spent on said pints and tickets to the games to pay to raise it from the sea-bed.

Carnage on rugby day

December
With the stuffing knocked out of me in November, the stuffing was put back in with a cracking Christmas meal laid on by my fab parents and my siblings. The festive season certainly lived up to its name with a host of parties and reasons to go out, but the guilt I felt after each one depressed me. Going out became hard work and I became grumpy, on boxing day I lectured a friend of mine on how drinking wasn't cool anymore and that we're all reaching a stage where we should be toning it down a little. I was plastered, naturally.

My family, I think this picture's awesome because I have blue hair, my bro has a ridonkulous beard and everyone's either laughing or smirking which is funny because it was taken at a funeral.

January again
I spent a month last year not drinking, I can do another one, right?

Leopard

2008-12-23T11:19:00.002Z

Yesterday I had a spot, on my face!!

I'd previously never had a proper spot before and I became overly excited when I saw it in the mirror yesterday morning. My mind flashed back to all those Oxy adverts in which the girls or boys with spots suddenly became instantly attractive to the opposite sex once Oxy was applied. I often wished that I had spots too so I could apply this magical potion, go to a disco and receive loads of comments about how clear my skin was. But no, I had to have crappy non-spotty skin didn't I? Oh, how it made me bitter.

Back to yesterday, the spot was in such a position on my forehead that I knew would receive lots of Hinduism comments. That didn't bother me too much, I'd thought of that joke first so I'd be immune to it if anyone else made the same one later in the day. I happily ate my breakfast and made my way to work, sat down at my desk and waited for someone to make the first comment. I waited longer. I waited until it was time for lunch and until I couldn't bear it any more - was everyone just being polite or was the spot bigger in my mind that it was in real life? A trip to the bathroom uncovered the problem, the spot had gone - completely. My first ever real spot had lasted no longer than five hours. My first thought was that perhaps I should sell whatever secretes from my skin to the company that makes Oxy, my second was 'Oh well, let's hope I never have another'.

Philosophy and Science

2008-12-17T12:10:00.003Z

Colleague: I'm going to the shops, do you want anything?
Curly: Yeah.
Colleague: What do you want?
Curly: I don't really know.
Colleague: But you want something?
Curly: Yep. It's not a Mars bar, I know that.
Colleague: That's not very helpful.
Curly: Sorry, I can't really provide more information. I want something but I don't really know what it is, it's certainly not a Mars bar though. This is a good metaphor for my life.
Colleague: Well give me a ring if you think of anything.
Curly: I wonder who I'm supposed to ring if I figure out what I want in life?
Colleague: Not me.

Colleague #2: The sun is pretty low in the sky.
Curly: The 21st December is close - the shortest day.
Colleague #2: Well, as long as the days get longer after that then I don't mind.
Curly: Err, they probably will.

Memories

2008-12-11T14:36:00.000Z

The Like - What I say and what I mean
Sitting by the car park at Anderson train station, Boston, for 45mins whilst waiting for a lift out of there earlier this year.

The Prodigy - Ruff in the Jungle Bizness
Speeding along a German autobahn on a coach when I was 15, staring at the road whizzing by.

The Stereophonics,- Roll up and Shine
A German shopping mall when I was 17.

George Thorogood and the Destoyers - The Hard Stuff
Sitting on the London underground one morning this summer with the mother of all hangovers, travelling to see a gig.

Why these tunes remind me of such crap places, I have no idea.

(yes, only a month since the last post)

Mad Hatters

2008-11-10T12:29:00.004Z

I don't have a fancy Italian or French name. I'm not at the forefront of fashion, nor have I considered myself a fashionable dresser. I haven't designed my own line of clothing. Those are my credentials, and here is my opinion:-

FAR too many people are wearing these hats...

They look stupid. Please stop wearing them unless you are going skiing or are genuinely Nepalese.

Fall

2008-10-30T15:51:00.003Z

I felt different when I woke up this morning. My bed was warm and cosy and I felt the same despite knowing that a biting breeze and a 3°C temperature waited for me outside the front door. I sprang out of bed, glided through the house and into the shower. Even the shower seemed to be in a good mood as it decided to spray water on me with considerably more vigour than the usual sensation of being pissed on by a mouse. Back in my bedroom I looked in the wardrobe for something to wear and for a few seconds I was indecisive - my decision was made when a glance in the mirror led to me spotting a warm sweater complete with t-shirt still inside from the day before, not giving a fuck had won me over again. I pulled on the t-shirt/sweater combo and smiled to myself in the mirror before setting out.

I opened the front door and I could almost see the delight in the face of the cold weather as it tore into my face. Unfortunately for the weather I was listening to my current favourite track (Wooden Heart by The Duke Spirit) on my mp3 player. The wind numbed my ears and it had the rather pleasing effect of making me feel as though the earphones weren't there at all and that Leila Moss was inside my head singing only to me. I smiled to myself again as I walked along the street, a girl wrapped up in her scarf and winter coat caught me smiling and she smiled too.

I love this time of year.

Internets

2008-10-24T12:37:00.003+01:00

Annie is wandering around the United States of the USA at the moment, having a great adventure with her pal Wies. Something she said really struck a chord with me this morning - "Getting to meet people off the net is the best bit, I recommend it"

Meeting people off the net is great, as I read that my mind drew up a list of people that I've met through this bl*g....

I've been drinking with Huw on numerous occasions (including a romantic date), I've slapped girls butts with Lanette, been on countless adventures with the (quite incredible) Astrid and walked through the park with Léonie (And felt sad when she left). I really enjoy quiet pints in London with Deanne on a Sunday afternoon whilst Will 's adventurous taste in music led to a gig with me and he's also shown us around some of London's pubs. Formerly the only American in London (Monica) has been to watch rugby with us (Previously Unknown to me Prince William was there too, causing much excitement in the girl), I stayed with Cleavers in Toronto for a few days earlier this year (An incredible piece of hospitality), I've bought kebabs and talked nonsnse with Afe, watched Los Campesinos! with Mair, pubbed with Rhys & Geraint and only last night I shared a few beers with Cope (the conversation starting with micro-fiction and ending with girls) - I'll never, ever forget the incredible spread that Cope and the Child Bride have put on for thanksgiving over the last couple of years. The only person that I actually knew at the start of this particular adventure was a man named Owzy O, who got me into this whole thing.

As my bl*gging intesity has declined, so have the chances to get out and meet all these people who only used to appear to me as words on a screen but now phone me, socialise with me and introduce me to their own friends. Never once have I had a bad experience of meeting someone over the internet, I've enjoyed spending time with each and every person.

Agreeing with Annie, I recommend meeting people over the net too.

Barcelona

2008-10-15T11:50:00.005+01:00

I excitedly jumped down the hotel steps and stood on the street outside, taking in my first sights of a Spanish city. I surveyed the alien colours of the buildings, listened to the heavy traffic and to the different languages being spoken all around me "I'm going to like this place" I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and my lungs filled with the warm air - I suddenly coughed and spluttered as the serenity was broken "What the FUCK is that?" I politely enquired as a foul smell entered my nostrils, "The sewers, you'll have to get used to it" a friend answered.

We sauntered across to an inviting cafe and I prepared myself to practice my non-existent Spanish, repeating phrases taught to me on the plane over and over in my head. The barman walked over to me and I opened my mouth only to hear French tumbling out - which took me back a little as I can't speak French either. I got what I had ordered , thanked the barman in Italian and returned with a few cold beers for my friends.

After six hours spent sitting on the main drag (You should have seen the smile on the waiters face when he brought us the bill), Las Ramblas, someone suggested that it may be a good idea to have a look around the city. Although utterly un-entertained by the majority of street entertainers and bored stiff with the human statues, moving around Barcelona at a very leisurely pace was an absolute pleasure. The highlight for me was the huge indoor market where food of every description seemed to cover every inch of the buildings. People bustled and jostled around in a hive of activity, which was great to get amongst but it made me reach to check that I still had my wallet every couple of minutes.

The night drew in and we made our way along winding streets to find our booked evening meal. The food was delightful but I felt very sorry for the staff at the restaurant who had to put up with 150 drunk British people, that was until I had reached the same stage myself. The eventful night finally came to a close at 5am when the few of us who had survived until that point stood on the street arguing which direction our hotel was. Two of us became fed up and just jumped in the taxi "À l'hôtel s'il vous plaît" I said in my best Spanish accent, the driver laughed and we sped off. Less that two minutes later and I was back in my room, exhausted but knowing that I had to fly home later in the day and prepare for a trip to Norway 50 hours later.

Belfast

2008-09-29T09:57:00.006+01:00

On Friday evening I found myself standing in Belfast airport, looking supremely confident in my ability to find the exit but in actual fact feeling the complete opposite. A cool breeze briefly disrupted the stagnant air inside the terminal building, indicating that I was close to my first step on Northern Irish soil for seven years. After a one-sided conversation with a bus driver (not that he didn't respond to my questions, I just couldn't understand a word of his thick, high-pitched accent) I paid what I thought was the right fare, grabbed the ticket to the incomprehensible destination and shuffled to the back of the empty bus.

I find something nice about being the very first person on a bus, each seat offers a different experience. The raised seats at the back of the bus gives an almost regal view over the peasants in front of you. Placing yourself on the back seat also enables you to play a favourite game of my sisters. You bounce once on the seat to see how long you can make other passengers heads wobble, the winner making heads wobble the longest - endless entertainment! The seats towards the front are my least favourite as they tend to get clogged up with people too scared, too lazy or simply unable to walk any further back. I prefer the middle of the bus, there's usually less leg room but a window seat just before the seating rises becomes the most anonymous location on the vehicle.

I guzzle down a bottle of water, attempting to hydrate myself after the stuffy, air-conditioned plane and and the effects of a birthday party the night before. The bus lurches into life as my mind starts to wander back to my last experience of Northern Ireland. I was attending a wedding reception in the troubled city of Armagh and had sneaked out with my cousin to a nearby nightclub. Fuelled by alcohol we tried talking to people but were often ignored after a few seconds, it was a little odd but one lad nice enough to talk to us explained the situation. "It's because of your English accents" he said as it suddenly dawned on me that this was no ordinary town, the bombed hotel in the papers the night before should have suggested this. I actually felt a little vulnerable all of a sudden, the effects of the alcohol temporarily disappearing. I visualised myself amongst my friend back in Wales and switched back to a Welsh accent, this seemed to do the trick as we found people to be a bit more receptive. The following morning I discovered that this particular night-club had recently seen some violent clashes between loyalist and republican supporters and to think we had been running around with English accents amongst it all shook me up a little.

Before too long the bus had pulled into the centre of Belfast prompting the driver to turn around and reel off another couple of sentences, I picked up the words 'final stop' and got up to leave. I made a comment which he found hilarious, I like to think I knew what he said to me after that but I just smiled and stepped out onto the street. Friday night in Belfast was in full swing, I could hear music blaring out from a nearby bar and saw all the smokers spilling out onto the street. It was only a short walk to the hotel but I suddenly felt apprehensive after my Armagh experience, seven years previously. I soon cast aside that feeling, times had changed and Belfast was a completely different city anyway. I approached the hotel and glanced to my right. I was given a chilling reminder of the past by a large mural on the side of a building 100 yards away stating "You are now entering Loyalist Sandy Row Heartland of South Belfast" along with a balaclava-wearing man wielding an automatic rifle.

Mural aside, I didn't feel as though Belfast was different to any other UK city. Many bars were inter-connected by a maze of doors and live music belted out from more than a few of them but the beer tasted the same and once you got used to the local accent it was just like being back at home. The Guinness went down extremely smoothly and before too long they'd reached double figures in a myriad of different pubs and bars. 2am suddenly jumped up at us and we decided it was best to head back to the hotel, we had to be up early because after all, we were there for work.

It's a small world

2008-09-24T15:30:00.005+01:00

Some facts:

Wales is a small place and the city where I live, Cardiff, is even smaller.
I am occasionally loud and talkative.
I don't like staying in.

All of which contribute to me knowing quite a lot of people in the area. Monica and Huw witnessed one of my stop-start journeys through the city centre as I talked to people on our way to watch Wales play South Africa last November (Causing much eye-rolling from Monica). Although my ego performs a little fist-pump each time I bump into someone I know, it sometimes isn't such a good thing.

It's 9am and I'm walking up a street about ten minutes away from my house, my eyes haven't quite adjusted to the daylight and I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore to the pub the night before. Two girls I half-know walk past and smile in a "I know you but I'm not going to say hello" way*, I can only squint back at them because the sun is unfortunately in the same direction as they are. My brand-new Italian housemate is the next to see me, "Curly! How are you? I wondered if you were okay because I didn't see you this morning", I just said I was very tired and gave her a hug before I psyched myself up to start walking again, hoping I hadn't given a bad impression as a housemate already. I put my head down and hoped that I didn't see anyone else. Surely enough, a mere one hundred metres up the road I ran into a guy I lived with about a year ago and had hardly seen since then, he wasn't as worried about me as the Italian was. A big grin crept across his face, he knew full well what I had been up to. "Let me guess, quiet night at the local?" he asked, I tried to hide my smile but there was no point. I'd been busted. Despite my ego doing back-flips at that point, I wondered if I should be moving on and trying somewhere new again.

*Either that or in an "Oh bless, you look like shit" way.

1/4 Steam Ahead

2008-09-11T11:27:00.005+01:00

Cracking ahead with my apparent two-posts per month rule, containing considerably less bullets than a Rambo film (but more than the JFK movie).

Dilemma. I want to cull many of my facebook friends (not kill them) but I keep treating them like bits of old junk lying around. "I can't get rid of them, they may come in useful one day", I think. I also want to take heaps of pictures down, but stop short when think other people may want to keep the pictures of themselves.

We'll have a new housemate in the next couple of weeks, I'm really excited about it.

I wish that one of my friends girlfriends would stop touching my arse when she speaks to me.

I took some broken headphones back to a shop over a month ago and despite regular visits from myself they have taken ages to be replaced. I received a replacement pair today but I'm now a little sad because I don't have an excuse to talk to the girl in the shop anymore.

My daydreams have become increasingly vivid, I enjoy being away.

I feel like a spectator of my own life.

Physically, I'm close to being in the best shape I've ever been in.

I don't talk as much as I used to, I don't smile as much as I used to and I have less patience with people than I used to. I've always looked forward to being a grumpy old man, but I wasn't expecting it to start in my twenties.

I'm brilliant at frisbee... really, I'm fucking great at it.

VT

2008-08-20T17:16:00.011+01:00

Sorry about that, the last post got a bit dark didn't it? After about an hour of feeling a little bit crap, the ploughmans started taking effect and I emerged from the black hole in my head. I remained slightly annoyed however, I'd purchased far too much stilton. It took days to eat.

Later that night, in order to boost my mood considerably, I put on some music ('Comfort in Sound' on repeat, mainly) and sat down on my bed to watch a slideshow of the hundreds of photographs I'd taken this year. Most of the pictures served their purpose, to remind me what a good time I have generally and also to remind how lucky I was to have been through so many great experiences. One set in particular did more than that. The pictures of my time in Vermont made me smile from ear to ear.

Until this year, Vermont had been my only experience of the USA. Whenever I mentioned that I'd been to the country, people would excitedly ask "Wow, where did you go? New York/San Francisco/Texas?" my reply would be a proud "Nope, Burlington Vermont!" followed by, "It's up near Canada in the north east", in anticipation of the next question. It's a place that'd shattered any pre-conceptions I had about the country, the residents were incredibly welcoming, the scenery was spectacular (Another travel tip, if you think my advice is worth taking) and I was spending time with an incredible girl which, all in all meant that I was very fond of the place.

This time around, one day stands out as being one of the best days I've had this year. The sun was out and we were up early to head out to a nearby reservoir so I could get some hiking in whilst my friend was at work. I was pointed in roughly the right direction and I headed off up a trail which led into the mountains, only slighty scared of being attacked by bears. The trees provided much needed shade from the sun, which had already begun to burn my pasty British skin at 9:30am. With no idea where each trail led, I let my spontaneous side take over and switched any worry, common sense and time perception to 'off' - my preferred state of mind.

Somehow I managed to navigate my way along the miles of trails throughout the morning and I descended back down to the riverside. Finding myself an hour too early to meet my friend for lunch I waded out to an isolated rock, perched myself on top and whipped out a book to read. Sitting on my own in the sun was perfect, the water flowed by and swirled around the rocks scattered throughout the river. A local fisherman sat nearby, I named him Hank. Hank whooped and looked at me with glee every time he caught a trout, which was once - he wasn't the luckiest fisherman it turns out.

After a fantastic lunch I set off for my afternoon hike around the reservoir. Apart from stopping to talk to a far-too-good-looking park ranger named Amanda, I didn't come across a single other person the whole time. A similar park in Wales would have scores of people snaking their way along the trails, especially given that the weather was so fantastic. That's the catch 22 with a pretty location, it's great for people to see it but I personally can't stand other people being there when I'm around.

Pretty fatigued after a day of walking around in the sun, I arrived back into the small town of Waterbury. I showered and changed before grabbing a nice, cold beer with my friend after she finished work. Perhaps the beer was stronger than I was used to, or I was delirious from dehydration, but at that exact moment I realised how much I enjoyed spending time with this particular girl and for the rest of the evening I remained in a butterfly-stomached trance, completely mellow and completely at ease with everything. The butterflies multiplied tenfold each time I detected that she felt the same. The day afterwards, my face hurt from smiling so much.

Despite many fantastic days out, nothing has since come close to the perfect day in VT.

Under

2008-08-14T16:32:00.003+01:00

I lay back in the chair and feel myself deflating, the opposite to my stomach which slowly fills with the buffet I'd just created for myself. Cheese, crackers, pate, pickled onions, bread and ham litter the plate and spill over onto the table, a Ploughmans lunch is my comfort food. My eyes struggle to stay open so, surely at the height of laziness, I decide to close one while I pick out the glass of red wine from amongst the mess on the table. Remarkably I take a sip without spilling any down my front. 'Get Shorty' plays on the television, I mumble something about John Travolta being cool and my housemate just looks over and shakes her head in a manner which tells me she either didn't hear what I was saying, or she heard it perfectly and has given up trying to figure out what goes on in my head, I suspect it's the latter. I spend the rest of the film mumbling things, picking bits of stilton from the plate and trying to figure what goes on in my head myself. It's not a pleasant place to be. Anxiety, fear, loneliness and John Travolta are amongst the thoughts flying around and around. This is one of my down moments, and I don't like it because it makes my fingers smell of stilton.

The Gym

2008-07-28T12:02:00.006+01:00

Plenty of people have wonderful tales about their past sporting achievements, be it the cross-country race they won when they were sixteen or the swimming event where they destroyed everyone else at the age of seventeen. Plenty of those people are still dwelling on those achievements because they left school, discovered that wonderful stuff called beer, starting earning vast sums of money and rapidly became unfit. I'm one of those people.

I've never been fat, I'm not sure if that's due to genetics, a high metabolism or just because I'm fidgety and struggle to stay still for too long. That said, back at the beginning of this year I'd become conscious of the large amount of podge building up around my waist and I was concerned with the fact that a 20min walk home from work would have me slightly out of breath. This, coupled with the fact that I was going to be seeing a girl I liked in a May (who inadvertently guilt trips me all the time by telling me about all the running and yoga she does), meant that I decided to get my act together and start running regularly. Running was fun and it felt good until I eventually plateaued and I needed something more - luckily my good friend Sud moved into our house and he persuaded me to go to the gym a couple of times.

Sud: I'm dying, my hangover is killing, I definitely shouldn't have had that kebab and now I have to go to the gym.
Curly: I feel your pain.
Sud: No you don't asshole. If you felt my pain, you'd be going to the gym too.
Curly: Alright then, I will. (Shit)

The gym was almost identical to the last one I'd been inside, way back in 2004. It was stuffy, smelt like exercise and I was greeted with the sight of about 15 sweaty people either watching themselves lift weights in the mirror or running on a treadmill while they watched themselves in a different mirror. I'm still not entirely sure why they have mirrors in gyms, but it did make me feel a bit self conscious as I propped myself up on the treadmill after two minutes of lifting a non-heavy weight. Everyone was probably looking at me and thinking "What an un-fit loser". Still, I continued, spurred on by the imaginary non-verbal name-calling that I was receiving from the other people in the gym. The longer I ran on the treadmill, the more I proved to everyone else that they were wrong and their abuse wasn't having the desired effect. I was sweating to the point where I could have jumped in the pool and still wouldn't have got any wetter. After I felt I'd done enough for everyone else in the gym to like me, I started joining in and in my head I started calling them names back - one athletic guy next to me was the target of my hate for a while. I cranked up the speed and increased the incline, he did the same. Twat, I thought at him. Cock-face, he thought back. The slinging/incline match continued until I reached for my water bottle, lost my balance and almost took an embarrassing high-speed tumble - perhaps I wasn't quite ready for that kind of language. I wound down the speed and eventually made my way back to the changing rooms.

Initially I felt great, my first gym session in over four years had gone reasonably well. That was confirmed the following week as I waddled around like John Wayne and lost the ability to lift things with my right arm. Feeling good about myself, I decided that it was fine to have six pints after work with a friend, before joining some of the others in the pub later that night for jugs of beer and a few sambuccas.

I've only made the trip back to the gym once since. The pub has seen a LOT more of me.

I am

2008-07-23T13:03:00.000+01:00

Uninspired.

On being single

2008-06-30T13:37:00.005+01:00

Most of my posts over the last few months have mainly been space-fillers and I've struggled to come up with anything that I feel is either creative or interesting. I'm sure there are many reasons behind this, chiefly it's because I've been running around working hard, enjoying myself and not really paying that much attention to my online activities. There's also another reason, a subject that I've been avoiding bringing up because I wasn't too sure how I felt about it.

I've been single now for a grand total of 26 years. Obviously I wasn't expected to start dating as soon as I'd been born but it's a figure that I use which reminds me that it's been a long time. My thoughts on the subject had been kept quiet for a number of years, churning over and over inside my head until I was finally ready to talk to anyone. Until about two weeks ago, only two people in the entire world had discussed it with me - both are good friends who I could trust to not laugh or just give me the "It'll be okay" line. Recently I'd decided to be far more open about the length of my single-ness. This of course has turned on the tap of other people’s opinions and I've been getting very mixed messages.

Here's my take:-
The majority of the time I'm not bothered with being on my own, I have free reign to be where I want, when I want and spend time with who I want. There's no-one to answer to, no-one to feel guilty about spending time away from and no-one for me to worry about. This enables me to live in a happy, care-free manner which many people find to be one of my appealing features. Whilst noting that my time as a single guy is getting longer and longer (and complaining about it occasionally) I'm not entirely convinced that I have a want or a need for a girlfriend - years of singledom have created a very independent Curly. I'm not a repulsive person, quite the opposite in fact. Despite spending most of my time around male friends, I obviously spend plenty of time with women too. It amuses me when people who have been browsing through my facebook profile have asked why there are so many girls writing on my wall, or appearing in pictures with me. It perhaps give the impression that I'm running around humping every single girl I know - which I can assure you isn't the case. I've actually been called a 'male slag' on more than a couple of occasions - which creases me up further as I've just passed the year mark since I last slept with anyone. The memory of the last girl that I kissed has faded into the distance too. I like to think of myself as decent guy and I don't lead girls on if I'm not interested (unless I'm very, very drunk, I'll admit that), I'm just worried that I'm getting a little too fussy and unwittingly distancing myself from any kind of attachment. I also suffer from some incredibly bad luck, such as falling for girls who live overseas (or are about to move), girls who already have boyfriends or just the plain old girls that aren't interested in me.

So, having brought it up a few times, I was expecting at least one or two people to have the same opinion. It turns out that I'm the only one that thinks like that. Only one male friend has piped up on the issue and he wants to keep me single because everyone else is calming down and spending all their time with their respective girlfriends, so the majority of the below quotes come from women:-

"You just make friends with girls rather than aim for anything else"

"You're far too blatant when chatting up girls"

"You talk to some really lovely, beautiful girls but you don't show any sign of interest in them" (This surprised me, considering the above comment)

"I've seen the instant you get bored with talking to a girl, you just make your excuses and walk off"

"You're too good for just anyone, you'll find someone I'm sure"

While I would expect encouraging comments from my friends (and I very much appreciate them), none of them have really given me any reason for why I'm still single. One friend has offered to 'coach' me in the art of chatting-up girls as opposed to chatting-to girls (at which I'm an expert). Whilst another has promised to get me a girlfriend within the next year. The first saw me talking to a pretty blonde on Friday evening, her only 'coaching' was a single sentence afterwards saying "You didn't have a chance" (Which I argued, because I was actually trying to get away and she kept talking to me), the second is just about to leave the country for three months. I was glad that my friends would look after me like that, but became deflated after each event. I'm not convinced that I need 'coaching' either, I'm of the opinion that if you like someone and they like you, then there's no need to talk them into anything. Perhaps this is a failing.

I suppose this is just an exercise in writing out my thought process, but it's occupying more and more of my thoughts and I feel as though I should be doing something to rectify the situation. I just don't really know how to do it. I now go out less frequently (believe it or not), so the opportunities to meet girls decrease - yet I feel as though I'm involved in the social circuit enough to avoid online dating (I signed up for that once and found two girls I knew from the local pub listed - I didn't like either of them and I bolted). The unfortunate effect of numerous people telling me how great I am is that I'm now wondering what else could be causing me to stay single if I'm so bloody great?

*Sigh*

Exciting stories!!

2008-06-25T13:26:00.004+01:00

I've just got back from my break in Sweden and I have a whole host of stories about viking hats, the frog dance, blonde girls, baltic islands, scamping on the high seas, vast consumption of goon wine and a Radiohead concert. No doubt you're all extremely curious about all of those, but rather than explain myself I'm going to go ahead and fill out one of those 'tagged' thingys instead (thanks to Léonie), you'll just have to come and listen to my stories in the pub one day. Also, if I write all the stories here, they'll remain the same forever. If you happen to see me out and about in a couple of months time, rubbish bits of the tales would have been forgotten and the better bits exaggerated, they'll be better stories as a result.

So, on with talking about myself...

1) WHAT WAS I DOING TEN YEARS AGO?

I was a sixteen year old in a small town in west Wales who had just finished his exams for the summer, we sat in our classes in school learning nothing other than how to kill time until the end of term in mid July. The teachers desperately tried to find us something to do but, they could only do so much before we started going home early, playing football all day in the sun or just not bothering to go into school at all. I often walked or hitched the seven miles back home at about 1pm, then I'd wind my parents up by complaining I was bored until it was time for them to go to bed. I had also just started my first job in the school swimming pool where I was given the title of 'Lifeguard'. I came nowhere near to guarding anyone's life as I just sat by the pool collecting entrance fees and chatting to anyone that came in for a swim whilst the swimming pool supervisor (and the only other member of staff) sneaked off to the pub.

2)WHAT ARE 5 THINGS ON LIST TO DO TODAY?

Find things to do in work until it's time to go home
Tell everyone (apart from the internets) about my hilarious trip to Sweden
Send a card to my friends in Calgary containing $1.50 in coins, which I couldn't exchange when I got home from Canada, they'll find it more useful.
I hadn't thought this far ahead, but masturbation will be a good substitute for anything productive I had planned.
I should really arrange somewhere to stay in London for Saturday night after we've celebrated Canada Day (in the Maple Leaf, Convent Garden - join in!) but I'll probably just repeat number four again.

3) THINGS I WOULD DO IF I WAS A BILLIONAIRE

The instant I found out I'd go and get drunk in the local pub, but still go for the £6 jug deals.
Fill up my rucksack with a load of clothes and heaps of 100ml shower gels (bloody airport restrictions) and jet off around the world. Starting with a return to Sweden.
Attempt to count to one billion.
Keep it a secret.

4) FIVE PLACES I HAVE LIVED
At the last count, I'd lived in countless places - here are five of the many;

Aberystwyth, Ceredigion
Bordon, Hampshire
The Hills, Carmarthenshire
Calgary, Alberta
Cardiff, South Glamorgan

5) THREE OF MY BAD HABITS

I exaggerate, all the time. Just to entertain myself more than anything.
I get far too drunk when I'm out, just to entertain myself.
I constantly forget things. I forget to stop exaggerating and I forget to avoid getting drunk. This entertains others.

6) FIVE JOBS I HAVE HAD

Blow-jobs
Welder
Resource Manager
Roundabout Designer
"Lifeguard"

7) HOW DID YOU NAME YOUR BLOG
I really can't remember, there wasn't much of a thought process as I didn't think that anyone would actually read it. The fact that people still do surprises me.

8) NEED TO TAG 5 or 6 PEOPLE
I'm not sure I could do this - it'd reek of favouritism, and I love you all the same amount.

Sverige

2008-06-12T15:15:00.002+01:00

When I was growing up (Some would argue that I still am) I had always wanted to visit two particular countries in the world. Australia was the first, I have an uncle over there who would send us little pots of Vegemite (I don't think it ever lasted very long, my sister and I would eat it straight from the pot) and some pictures of various sights around Australia along with our Christmas presents, so I had a good idea of what the country looked (and tasted) like. I was 19 when I finally got myself together and headed over to the other side of the world, although still in awe of the place I wasn't wholly surprised when I saw kangaroos hopping around, interesting-shaped rocks, golden beaches stretching for miles, sharks eating surfers and people rubbing vegemite over themselves.

The second place I'd always dreamed of going was Sweden. In stark contrast to my reasonable knowledge of Australia, I knew absolutely nothing about the place. There were no relatives to send me packets of smörgåsbord, no-one to send me pictures of elk and I don't think I'd even met a Swedish person until I was 19 (In Australia funnily enough). In my head I pictured the whole of Sweden to be a large lagoon-type beach on the Baltic sea with blonde people sitting around it in the sun in the summer, and skiing around it in the winter. When my friend, Sud, invited me over in the summer of 2005 I jumped at the opportunity - It was summer, so I only needed to pack some swim-shorts for the lagoon. My illusion was of course shattered when we landed in Sweden... they had an AIRPORT!! I hadn't taken this into account when I was a child. From that point onwards, I was amazed at everything that the country had to offer. Trains, cities (very pretty ones), cars and all sorts - thankfully the blonde people were there, as was the Baltic coast.

In a week, I'll be making my third trip to the country - placing it second on my 'Countries I've visited the most' list, which I don't keep at all. I really, really like Sweden - each time I've visited I've had such a great time - I've found the Swedes to be very kind and chatty, despite that initial 'cold-shoulder' you seem to get when you first meet someone over there. Stockholm is a very pretty city and you'd do very well to try and see the sunrise when the streets are empty. Over the last year or so, I've been entertaining the idea of a move over there to start an Elk farm in the north - I'm no closer to that now than I was a year ago.

Last year we visited to celebrate Valborg, a festival held in the spring where bonfires are lit, fireworks are let off and alcohol is drunk in vast quantities. This time around, we're going to be celebrating Midsommarafton (Midsummer Evening) where bonfires are lit, fireworks are let off and alcohol is drunk in vast quantities, but about two months later than Valborg. We've made absolutely no plans, short of getting to the airport and back.... wish us luck!

Sweet, sweet sunburn

2008-06-09T16:30:00.002+01:00

Finally you've arrived!

I actually love feeling like I'm being slowly cooked as I lie in bed* at night.

I love wincing slightly as I put a t-shirt on in the morning.

I love people calling me Rudolf (not this year suckers, I put extra sun-cream on my nose)

I love my skin not being pale blue/white (It's now normal white with dashings of pink)

I love watching extra freckles appear almost every hour.

I love sunburn - because it means the summer's here - officially. Beer gardens (with beer), evenings lounging in the back yard, weekends on the beach, the smell of barbeques, winter clothing cast aside and best of all... surprise rain showers on cars with their roofs down!

* "Lie in bed" : that part of the sentence just caused an office-wide debate about whether you should be 'laying', 'lying' or just 'lied' in bed. I've never lied in bed - I genuinely did enjoy it.

In the city (In the disco)

2008-06-02T12:07:00.006+01:00

After a hard month of non-drinking had fucked with my sleeping pattens, threatened to destroy friendships and almost changed my sexuality, I set sail (on a plane) for North America. Staying with friends (and bl*ggers.. and couchsurfers) meant that I was made to feel very welcome and got to see everywhere I wanted from a locals point of view - borrowing peoples friends and making new ones as I went. I may regale some tales from the trip, depending on how creative I'm feeling at the time.

I've just completed my second week back in the country after spending a slightly longer time away, and on the weekend I got well and truly stuck into my first big Cardiff night out since the end of March... and what a great night it was! It was one of those nights where I just seemed to know everyone wherever we went - Cardiff's a small city so bumping into people you know happens frequently*, but this was just out of control. We started with a couple of pints in the local, where I caught up with a couple of the bar staff and then we headed into a favourite club of mine, Clwb Ifor Bach. We went along to watch Space in the 50's but we were there in time (along with about twenty others, not a good sign) to catch Lt.Meat and Frommars - who were both great. By the time the 50's boys had finished their set, the place had filled up significantly and I was doing my fair share of hi-fiving, ass-slapping and hand-shaking as friends of mine started appearing.

Within half an hour of the end of the set, the bands had been cleared away and the 'downstairs disco' had fired up. My mood was significantly lifted when Elastica were blasted over the sound system and my foot started tapping as I stood chatting to a tall blonde, this caused my concentration to wane (not helped by my friends in the background attempting to make me laugh), they finally succeeded and I had to excuse myself and go to collect some more beers which were waiting for me. The music swiftly turned towards the Madonna end of the scale so I headed upstairs to the 3rd floor in search of some alternative tunes. To my delight, I discovered another group of friends hanging around the bar - after a few more hi-fives we did the natural thing and jumped around to the Smiths together. We were hit with great track after great track and despite our clothes beginning to soak through with sweat we just kept on dancing.

Finally it became too much so I decided to descend to the cooler climes of the 2nd floor. I quickly learnt that there was to be no respite - my housemates were strutting their stuff to some funk, I couldn't resist so I picked up another beer and hit the dancefloor once again. The rest of the night continued in a similar vein... the bands and friends got obliterated on the ground floor, my housemates got down to disco-funk on the 2nd floor, the indie kids on the 3rd floor turned into giant sweat buckets and I ran up and down the stairs and got a taste of it all - it was tremendous!

The next morning I made myself laugh by asking "Hey, do you remember those two Finnish rock chicks I was talking to?" - If the presence of Finnish rock chicks isn't the sure sign of a good night out, I don't know what is.

*Which reminds me of a funny conversation I had with my friend Tash. Tash and I were standing in a London pub waiting for Will's arrival on the evening of May 1st - the day I'd resumed alcohol consumption in earnest.

Curly : "Do you ever get the feeling that you're going to bump into someone you know?"
Tash : "Yeah, but I've lived in London for most of my life so I often see the same people"
Curly : "I've had that feeling since I got here about two hours ago, and I only know a handful of people in the whole city - but I keep looking around to see if I recognise anyone"
Tash : "That's odd, I wonder who you're expecting."
Curly: "Someone like Alex"
Tash : "What? Why Alex"
Curly : "Because he's right there...."

Tash spun round to see what I'd just spotted, a good friend of ours named Alex walked into the pub and almost fell over with his surprise at the sight of us both grinning back at him.

An interesting discovery

2008-04-30T10:46:00.004+01:00

Rewind exactly one month. On the 30th March 2008 I was recovering from a mammoth eating and drinking session with some old friends in London the night before. We'd eaten until we couldn't eat any more and we'd got to the stage where we were having to burp and physically squash our stomachs (in a vein attempt to aid digestion) to free up space, space which was then filled with beer and tequila. The first thing I did when I woke up was to trek to a pub and consume a gorgeous Sunday lunch with Deanne, we also had beer. The afternoon ticked by slowly and the sunshine was of course conducive to more beer - this was London living at its finest! Despite my enjoyment of the afternoon, my body felt as though it was about to burst at the seams and I only just about held it together. As the evening, and the bus back to Wales, approached, I met with Léonie on the banks of the Thames. Léonie and I share a similar trait in that no matter how run down, over-worked or out-partied we are, we'll always be happy to consume alcohol. We were both shattered but our luck was in, we found a pub getting rid of their Hoegaarden stock - and at £2.70 a pint it was a bargain. Finally I hopped aboard the bus home and slept for the entire journey, London had taken its toll on me and it'd been the final straw in deciding that I had to take a break.

For a whole four weeks after that I went about my everyday life without drinking any alcohol (Although I did lick an ice-cube with vodka on it, that doesn't count does it?). I hadn't gone for that period without boozing since 2004, when I only managed 3 weeks. I vividly remember the barman in my local, Ed, handing me two free pints on the final day with a giant grin on his face - he was glad to see me back. Out of the four weeks I have identified 16 days on which I was offered alcohol, 13 of those I was heavily encouraged to drink and 7 of those were sure-fire mammoth drinking sessions.

The first week was perhaps the hardest, I still sat in the pub with my friends on the weekend and was subject to a ridiculous amount of peer pressure. Initially I was joining in with the conversations and laughing along to all the jokes, but with sambuca glasses rapidly filling up the table I began to lose track of what was going on and I sat reasonably quietly, laughing only occasionally at people staggering about and talking shit.

The second week I still wanted to join in and I found it increasingly difficult to resist just having one refreshing, cold pint. I was permanently tired, the reason for which I'm yet to discover. It could have been the sudden change in diet - I was eating out less as I had the energy to spend more evenings cooking at home.

The third week I started to avoid the pub and friends houses altogether, I felt a little left out but at the same time I was sick of the only discussions I was involved in being me defending my decision to drink soft drinks while everyone around caused chaos. One low point was at a party I went to in order to stay awake for the Calzaghe fight at 3am, I was asked by a friend "So, what have you been up to recently?" I replied with a simple, "Nothing mate, absolutely nothing". It's not that nothing had been achieved but I had nothing to talk about that my friend could relate to.

In the fourth week, something strange happened. I was feeling down after the realisation that I was communicating with my friends less and less as the month progressed - My body had completely shut down and the weekend was spent sleeping rather than bouncing around and socialising. This was to be the strangest of observations over the course of my experiment; I had talked to almost zero girls and my sex drive had evaporated. It seemed to be the opposite of a post I've written before. I came home one evening and slumped down in a seat next to my housemate and her boyfriend... "How's it going?" I was asked. I paused for a little before replying "I think I'm gay". There was lots of laughing.

My argument was that I had absolutely no interest in any girls, other than making friends. The counter argument from my housemate's boyfriend was compelling - "Do you fancy men?" he asked ... "No, of course not". This continued to trouble me for a few days as I turned things over in my head. I realised that my new found gay-ness was getting a rise out of people so I milked it and started camping it up a little and making overly-gay innuendos. A couple of friends were less concerned for me, they saw it as a business opportunity : I would make friends with girls and act as an undercover agent to report back to the straight guys so they could make the appropriate moves to get laid.

Last night at a Scroobius Pip gig I had my first beer in a month, initially it was refreshing but my body didn't agree with it and couldn't have any more than the one pint. This morning I felt different.. I walked to work behind a couple of student girls - one of which had a mesmerising arse perched on top of a couple of killer legs, it made me smile. Shortly before arriving in work I crossed the road at the same time as a ravishing blonde about my height crossed in the opposite direction and I'll be damned if I didn't feel a little like ravaging her there and then in front of all the queuing cars. Apart from surprising myself with a sudden urge for starring in roadside porn, I was mightily relieved that my attraction towards girls had returned.... "it must have been the beer" I mused.

The moral of the story: Order a beer or be queer. It's scientific fact that avoiding alcohol turns you gay.

Full Circle

2008-04-29T17:03:00.003+01:00

Almost four years ago I was reaching the end of my tether with Cardiff life, I'd lived there for one and a half years and for almost that entire period I'd been partying, hard. Life was getting repetitive, friends were moving on and the huge house in which we'd spent so many good times was being vacated. It was a very definite end to a golden era of Cardiff life for those of us that'd been involved. Unwilling to hang around for the final parties, or the inevitable task of looking for new places to live - I decided to take a break from the city. Without a real clue to what I wanted to do, I quit my job and started looking for other cities to move to. Completely stuck for inspiration, by chance I came across a long-forgotten wedding invitation from my uncle - he was to be married in Halifax, Canada. Perfect, I thought - I'd take a couple of weeks out to visit Canada and then come back to resume the search for a place to live. My plans didn't quite work out the way I thought they would...

Nova Scotia

I spent the best part of a week in a wooden cabin right by the sea in Nova Scotia with a few members of my family. The fresh air and the excellent weather kept us outside and it was the perfect antidote to over-exuberance and the cramped living of city life. The wedding went smoothly and we were treated to some fine Nova Scotian traditions, which mainly revolved around eating and drinking heavily - perfect! The day after the wedding I flew over to the other side of the country, to Vancouver, to catch up with a friend. The remaining week of my holiday was of course spent in a big-city, partying. The penultimate day of my break was July 1st, which turned out to be Canada Day, and the biggest party of the year. I had such a great time on that day - I'd made a few friends and I really loved the Canadian approach to life. The next day I made a decision - I wasn't going to catch my flight home. I caught the bus to Calgary and turned up on another friends doorstep, asking if I could stay for "a little while"... Four months (and a lot of fun) later I decided it was time to go home.

On Thursday I'll be returning to Canada, to hit up Toronto this time. I'm going on holiday for two weeks, I've lived in Cardiff for a year and a half and life is repetitive..... but I'm sure I'll be back this time, I've got a good feeling about the approaching summer.

Caffeine Overload

2008-04-18T11:21:00.002+01:00

I wake up in the morning and have ten minutes to spare
Showered and cleansed, gel in my hair
There's only one way to fill this gap you see
So I head to the kitchen and make a big cup of tea
The initial rush is pleasing as the tea touches my lips
I can feel the buzz from my head to my... err...
Halfway through it becomes to much
and I make the decision to put down the cup

I arrive in work and without any time to think
I take off my jacket and I'm offered a drink
Unable to think of anything else to say
My reply, with a smile, is a chirpy "Okay"
Because the only word that rhymes is toffee
I recline in my chair and sip at my steaming hot coffee
The effect can be felt far more than before
and not long after my foot's tapping on the floor

Half an hour later and the effects have stopped
and against my will, for more caffeine I opt
Up I get and like a magnet to metal
I head for the kitchen and fill up the kettle
This cup of tea is made a little too strong
And unsurprisingly my body reacts before too long
My stomach reacts with the force of a kick
I feel light-headed and I'm on the verge of being sick

My head starts spinning, my eyes seem on fire
I knew this would happen, less caffeine I require
I sit down again and try to concentrate
But nothing's getting done at this or any rate
An hour later and I'm feeling better again
But outside the sun's turned into rain
Work's tedious and I'm getting bored
Before I know it, I'm back in the kitchen - caressing the kettle's chord.

More shit poetry can be seen here and here.

If you're thinking "Wow, he reacts too easily to caffeine", you should see me on drugs - Holy Moly.

Things to say to girls

2008-04-14T14:21:00.003+01:00

Dear all the people coming to my bl*g with the above (or similar) as a search term,

While it's heart-warming to know that you're taking the time and effort to look for things to say to girls, I think that the best advice I can give is the many-times-repeated 'Be yourself'. Yes, I know it's not exactly the answer you were after and it's certainly somewhat lacking in detail or instruction but it's exactly what you should do. If you like a girl, if you think she's hot or if she makes you laugh - then tell her. You'll only get one of two reactions, positive or negative. (If you get neither then she's either having a fit or on drugs*). Believe it or not, some lovely ladies read this bl*g - I'm sure they wouldn't mind offering up a few ideas of things to say to them - just be wary of anything that Crystal comes up with, the phrase "Jumping in at the deep end" might be applicable.

But then again, that could all be bullshit as it very rarely works for me. Here's my method of picking up girls:- I'll spend hours choosing what to wear, practising Jimmy Carr one-liners, lifting weights, altering my accent completely and dousing myself in Lynx. Then, I'll go and sit in the corner of a bar and stare at my feet all night - As a result, I attract more women than Will Smith and Brad Pitt put together.

All the best,

Curly.

* Still, either positive or negative I suppose....

ps. I'm single and haven't so much as kissed a girl in weeks, therefore not entirely qualified to give any advice whatsoever.

On Nelly

2008-04-07T12:03:00.004+01:00

In approximately a months time, I'll be celebrating the 4th anniversary of the creation of this bl*g. I say approximately because I can't actually pin-point the exact date in May 2004 that I created it, and even if I could it would probably be considered irrelevant as I didn't actually post anything until August. My first post was a picture of Nelly Furtado, 50% testing out this new bl*gging thing and 50% the first thought that came into my head. I used to talk about Nelly a LOT and my brain often operated like a flow-chart, dropping her name into any conversation.

I cringed a little when in London a week ago with some old friends. We were all laughing about the good times when my good friend, Donkey, said to me "Hey, remember that you used to be completely obsessed with Nelly Furtado? We bought you her CD for your 20th birthday, but you already had a copy. You were really embarrassed because you fancied her more than the girl you were smitten with, who was sat next to you" I had to admit that still had a thing for her six years later, but had managed to stop short of buying a poster of her to adorn my wall like a teenage girl might. My friends found this highly amusing and there were a few "Oh Curly" sighs, as if they were wondering if I'd ever grow up.

Another long-time friend named Sud also takes great delight in my Furtado conversations, for as much as I tell people about how her latest video looks great or latest song is at number one in the charts, he trumps everything I've said by telling everyone about the fun he used to have with Nelly in class in his middle school in Victoria, Canada. He only does this around me, just to see me seethe with jealousy.

Yet for all of this talk (and the mission-statement in my bl*g header) I've not lifted a finger or even so much as bought some lucky heather from the crazy woman walking the streets of Cardiff in an effort to meet her. The closest I've ever got was a few blocks away as she played a FREE concert at the 2004 Calgary Stampede - I was washing dishes in a downtown restaurant, my tears proved very useful for removing tough food stains.

I'm hoping that this year I'll be a little more industrious, otherwise there's not really much point in me carrying on writing here. Obviously I'll be stopping well short of stalking... that's for another bl*g perhaps.

Something Good

2008-04-04T18:04:00.002+01:00

You may have seen this before, but it's one of my favourite music videos in recent memory - it makes me smile all the way through with the dances, the smiles, the locals being interviewed... right until the end where it proves that the Welsh will lay claim to bloody anything. Plus I thought the Utah Saints had disappeared, I'm glad that they hadn't - Ah.. the early 90's..... if only was a little bit older back then.

Excuses, Excuses

2008-03-28T15:16:00.006Z

I'm awful at lying. There's no other way of putting it, when I tell a lie it's so blatantly obvious - eyes gazing at the ground, my voice suddenly gets shaky and nervous and I start to get really fidgety. The peak of my lying career was in Primary school but it was over before it started when I realised that I just couldn't get away with telling untruths. When I was about 14 I thought I'd have a crack at it again with an old classic - I assured my History teacher that I'd done my homework (I hadn't) but I just hadn't brought my history book in with me (I had). My teacher then proceeded to search my bag and pull out the history book with the homework nowhere to be seen, I got in trouble. The name 'Little Liar' stuck with me for a couple of weeks afterwards. Later on that year I couldn't bring in my science homework because the "Dog pooed on it", naturally my teacher didn't believe me - unfortunately, it was the truth. The science paper was a horrible shade of lime green, which the dog seemed to enjoy using as a target - the said poo was in the centre of the paper on the floor in the centre of my room

So that was it, I vowed never to tell a lie again and adopt a 100% honesty policy in the future. That particular policy has got me in trouble a few times, mainly because it means that I'm terrible at keeping other peoples secrets. On the whole though, I've benefited hugely from it and I can get away with doing things I shouldn't simply because I've been upfront about doing it.

One facet of my life in which the honesty comes in really handy is in my working life. I'm supposed to be in work at 9am every morning, but I've changed that to 10am because "I just can't get up". 10am starts aside, every now and then I'm really late for work.... here's some of the choice 'excuses' that I've used, usually proceeding my colleagues laughing rather than scolding me for it. Bear in mind that I don't work for a tiny little 3 person company, it's medium-sized and reasonably important.

Walking into the office at 12pm:-
Curly: "Sorry boys, I went camping last night and just HAD to go surfing when I got up this morning"

Strutting into a (relatively empty) office at 11pm, most people couldn't get into work because of the snow:-
Curly: "Sorry I'm late, the snow held me up"
Colleague: "But you walk into work, the others have to drive in"
Curly: "Yeah, but I had to go round throwing snowballs at my friends houses, didn't I?"

A text from Curly to colleague:
"Sorry mate, can't come in today - 6ft Blonde"

I went out on an office bash, myself and a guy named Stu hit the beers a little harder than the others. It's 10am the next morning, my phone rings...
Colleague: "Curly, where are you? Are you okay?"
*I was a little surprised to not be asked "Why aren't you in work"*
Curly: "I'm in bed actually, I've just woken up"
Colleague: "That's okay, it's just that Stu has just rung us from hospital.. he can't remember what happened"
Curly: "Me neither, oh hold on.. he's at the door - we'll just get breakfast then come in okay?"
Colleague: "Yep, fine - as long as you're okay"

It's 4pm.. I've just woken up...Shiiit, I scramble around for my phone and phone the office:-
Curly: "Alright mate.. errr... I'm not going to be able to make it into work today"
Colleague: "No shit, it's 4pm"
Curly: "Good point, I guess you figured that out. See you tomorrow"

Strutting into the office at 11:30
Curly: "Sorry boys, surprise hangover!!"

A text from me lying in bed to a colleague
"I'm not coming in today until 12pm"
"Okay mate, any reason?"
"Nope"
"ha ha, no worries - see you later"

Walking to work I get a little peckish after missing breakfast, so I phone work.
Curly: "Hello boys, I'm going to be a bit late - I couldn't resist a bacon sandwich and a coffee"
Colleague: "That's okay, but only because you're going to bring us some sandwiches too"

And the absolute WORST I've ever done.. and I'm not proud of it....

TEN DAYS late for work, I walk in at 10am.
Boss: "Long weekend then was it?"
Curly: "Yeah, it rushed by"
Boss: "Where have you been for the last two weeks?"
Curly: "Sweden.. why? Didn't you know?"
Boss: "No, no-one did"

As it turns out, I hadn't actually communicated the fact that I was going on holiday.. oops.

So, they're mine. Have you got any good ones to share?

Leo Sayer

2008-03-19T10:30:00.003Z

Sunday evening, Wales had overcome Scotland in Cardiff the previous day, the majority of the city's residents nursed almighty hangovers and spent the day sitting around and moaning about their aching bodies. I wasn't any different - my legs screamed whenever I used them, my brain preferred impersonating cotton-wool rather than performing powerful cognitive functions and my stomach.. well, I'd better not go into detail about my stomach. I sat down heavily on the sofa after the energy-sapping activity of switching the kettle on, housemate Becca brought over a cup of tea. "I think I'm dying" I croak, trying to get as much sympathy as possible. Becca flashes an unimpressed look - it's quite possible that she's worse off than I am. "What time did you go out?" I ask, "About nine o'clock" she replied, "You left the house at nine in the MORNING, I have no idea how you lot manage to drink for that long!" I tried to smile and shrugged my shoulders - giving the impression that I didn't have a clue how we lasted so long. In actual fact, I knew exactly how we did it - hard work, careful planning and dedication.

The art of an all-dayer:-

Sleep
Plenty of professional sportsmen and women will tell you that they prepare for an event by getting to bed early and having a good nights sleep. Despite the effort involved, the all-day drinker doesn't require such trivial things as sleep - Friday night in a pub is ideal preparation, practice if you like, for the next day. You could tuck yourself into bed with a hot drink and your favourite teddy bear at 9pm, but you'd be making a big mistake - the descent from a sparkling, early morning person into a alcohol-fuelled haze is a long way to fall - start halfway down.

Breakfast
Breakfast IS the most important meal of the day. An empty stomach in the morning will cause problems after a single drop of beer, you don't want to flake too early. Plenty of grease and salt is the key, I usually tell people that grease lines your veins which prevents alcohol being absorbed into the bloodstream. That's a lie - but it's one of those lies which, when told, has people nodding their heads in agreement (Or they laugh). A traditional English breakfast will do the trick, one cup of tea (one sugar), one can of coke and an orange juice will provide the caffeine and sugar powered oomph needed to kick off the day.

A good pub
The traditional pub will open at 11am here in the UK. A good pub will open at around 10am on special occasions (6:30am is the earliest we've managed, thank you sports events in other time zones). The pub will be completely empty, enabling to get a nice seat. Window seats (for staring out of and conversation starters) and seats with tables of suitable height (for leaning on and minimal effort pint-grabbing) are the main requirements.

The drinks
Don't be a hero and dive straight into the sambuccas or vodkas, that's just daft. Obviously only you know what you're keen on but I suggest going for something that you can take your time over, a guinness or smooth bitter. The Extra-cold innovation helps wake up that little bit quicker. Remember it's not a race, it's a marathon.

Lunch
Lunch time doesn't exist. Eat whenever you feel hungry, burgers are filling, non-messy and don't take an age to make.

Energy Levels
Watching sport will help boost adrenalin and keep you going for that little bit longer. Other adrenalin-boosting things are perfectly acceptable, you'll struggle without them.

...and finally, friends
You'll want as many of these buying rounds of drinks as possible, the more people there are in a round - the longer you can sit at the table avoiding walking. They tell you jokes, funny stories and do stupid things when they're drunk while you just sit back and enjoy. Then, when you're doing the same thing, they keep you upright and help you get through the day until it's time to finally crawl into bed.

Man-Brain

2008-03-13T16:59:00.004Z

I've started this post about five different times now, I'm posting just for postings sake and I can't really get across what I'm trying to say because I don't think I've actually got anything to say whatsoever.

Things on my mind:-

The rugby - Cope finds it amusing that people are talking about it as though there's a big storm approaching, I find it even more amusing because it's true and I've been passing that off as my own observation since he mentioned it yesterday. In a way, there IS a storm creeping up on us, the rumblings have been getting bigger as the week has dragged on - screw all these high winds and heavy rain that the UK's been getting, this is the big one.

Girls - I did my very best to put them to the back of my head where they wouldn't bother me with all their pretty faces, sultry voices and habit of having me constantly think about them when I should be doing other things. I stayed off the radar for a little while to re-train my thoughts, but it was to no avail, they're back, and they're determined to climb back inside my head and take over. Leading the charge is Hot South African Girl (mentioned a while bac k) and her big brown eyes backed up by a small army of girls from the past, random cute-smilers and (quite worryingly) a friend's girlfriend. I try not to let them in but it's becoming increasingly hard work. The little devil on my shoulder wants to run around kissing them all but my almost-ever-present morals are thankfully in command.

Food & Drink - My body has been screaming at me to stop consuming something, I'm not sure what it is though - it could be alcohol. I hope it's not because I enjoy drinking alcohol. On the other hand, the sensible part of me is kicking in and telling me to grow up and find something else to do. I don't like my sensible side.

All the usual man topics covered then. I did think about something else, but it escaped me before I wrote this down.

Surely not again?

2008-03-10T15:09:00.002Z

Three years ago on a (strangley) warm day in March, our little nation turned its attention towards the capital city of Cardiff and in particular, to the rugby stadium at the heart of the city. Wales were on the verge of completing a grand-slam, (that is - beating England, Scotland, Italy, France and Ireland in one championship) for the first time in 28 years. The expectation was huge, no nation is so fanatical about its rugby and no nation can have its mood altered so drastically by the performance of the national team. Cardiff's population increased by a reported 2/3rds of its regular size as Welsh and Irish supporters flooded in from seemingly everywhere. Every corner store had queues of people, buying booze, snaking throughout the store and outside along the streets. It was almost physically impossible to fit any more people inside the pubs, street-wise students flogged beer outside for a huge profit and one major city-centre supermarket completely ran out of beer, cider and white wine - yet there was still a huge line of people snapping up as much red wine as they could carry. Two pubs reportedly had to order in extra barrels of beer as they feared they would run out before the day was finished. No bones were to be made about it, this was a city that was about to get very, very drunk.

Wales triumphed over Ireland that day, the celebrations went on well into the early hours, I remember walking home (still beaming) at around 4am, there were people passed out at the roadside, house parties still going and tired bouncers still dealing with revellers.

This year, this Saturday, France arrive in Cardiff and quite unbelievably, we're set to do it all over again. 80 mintutes of rugby stands between Wales, another Grand Slam and another party that'll stay long in the memories of anyone in the principality. My stomach is already performing acrobatics with all the excitement.

Observations...

2008-03-03T08:27:00.002Z

...from arriving in work almost two hours earlier than usual.

Commuters look miserable: I'm used to walking through the university campus to work, in the company of students winding their way to their second class of the day. After either carefully selecting their wardrobe or just slapping on whatever they'd been wearing for the last five days , the students excitedly catch up with the previous nights events, laugh and tell stories to one-another - it's a fun environment to be in. Walking past some of the larger office complexes was a pretty horrible affair to be honest. Coffee shops were full of bleary eyed people in similar style shirts and blouses, name-tags clipped on seemingly wherever they fancied and there wasn't a single smile. I'm not lying.

Everything looks grey: Despite the ultra-blue sky, the beginnings of a beautiful day were completely overshadowed by the tall buildings trying their best to project grey-ness up into the sky. The roads joined in this evil campaign, the cars weren't much better. The people... see the previous point. I'm pleased to say that an hour later, the sun is winning.

Everyone I work with enjoys trying to wind me up: Not used to seeing me at such an early hour, I had a couple of "Been home yet?" questions amongst a couple of others. My favourite was from a colleague who didn't say anything to begin with; I asked how he was today, his reply was "I feel really weird this morning, it's like I'm in this really weird alternate universe where you're in work before I am", sipped his tea and got back to his desk - a confused look on his face.

I am tired: That's it.

Sushi Restaurant Names...

2008-02-29T11:54:00.001Z

The Point of Nori Turn

Sushi and the Banshees

Happy Sushimi?

Nice sushi yu (Sushi yu nice).

Your turn...

Kiss Kiss... Kiss

2008-02-22T16:51:00.003Z

Wednesday evening, a French friend had invited me to her house for dinner - also in attendance was a Swedish friend. The three of us cooked dinner, drank plenty of wine and then filled our stomachs with delicious French food whilst trying to predict who would scoop up awards at the Brits. Feeling full of food, a little dizzy from the wine and almost retching at the sight of Mark Ronson winning an award for 'Best British Male' helped me decide that it was time to go home. I leant over to Frenchie and kissed her on the cheek to say goodbye, she demanded another on the other "Oh shit, European - TWO kisses you idiot" my brain said to me. My head then went into overdrive "Okay... do you do a third kiss now?... " I was about to go for the third but my brain intervened "NO NO stop! French = two kisses, it's the Dutch that do three". I then turned towards the Swede... My tired, dizzy, overloaded head couldn't take it - I just waved goodbye from about four feet away, spun around and walked out of the door.

What the hell are the rules for cheek-kissing? I thought we were supposed to just give one? I really haven't got a clue any more, even people in London have started two-cheek kissing now. My ineptitude has led to a few slightly awkward social situations in the past, my favourite being the time I was at a wedding a few years ago:-

Up in the north of England, the wedding\receiving line (Or whatever's it's bloody called) had formed and the reception guests were shuffling along congratulating the bride, the groom and their respective families on the way. I was a random guest in that I didn't know anyone but the groom. I kissed a row of five women (including the bride) on the cheek (my cheek-pecking confidence was soaring). Then I arrived at the brides father and out of sheer habit I leant over to kiss him "FUUUUUCK!" was the single thought that went through my head, I quickly leant back and shook his hand with a rather sheepish look on my face. Thankfully there were a few more women again before I arrived at the next male, the best-man - I extended my right arm for a manly hand-shake, he was grinning at me "Come on, I'll have a kiss on the cheek so you've got a 100% record" he said - He'd spotted the incident with the bride's father and he admitted that he tried his very best not to burst out laughing. "Might as well" I said, I went ahead and gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hug, he laughed again - but not as hard as the groom, his guffaw made the entire room look round at our embrace. The incident helped propel me from a nobody to super-star status that night, so I wasn't too upset about it at the end.

If anybody knows how many kisses you're supposed to issue, can you let me know please?

Be Mine

2008-02-12T10:30:00.001Z

Taken in my local Tesco superstore. On the left, valentines gifts for those who have that special someone. On the right, Do It Yourself power tools - for those who don't.

Lazy Daze

2008-02-05T16:02:00.000Z

Yikes, two posts in the last month. Someone's been pretty busy.

January had actually been the best month I've had for a while (despite the other months being great too). People seemed to be emotionally and physically exhausting themselves all around me while I grew from strength to strength, I helped as much as I could and yanked a few of them up to the clouds with me. I was mainly just stoked to be travelling somewhere new again...

So it turns out that skiing wasn't done at all, upon arrival in Andorra I decided that snowboarding looked FAR cooler and I decided to take that up instead. Neal, and my groin, wholeheartedly supported this decision. Thanks to my ability to talk to random people, within an hour of arriving at the resort we'd managed to get in contact with an instructor who was willing to offer two of us snowboarding tuition for under half the price of the ski-schools (which were incidentally full of wankers). After a couple of days of instruction on the baby slopes we were told to get our arses up the mountain to board back down again - I took to it like a fish to water and after a few arse-bruising falls I'd pretty much nailed the technique and even managed to look a little bit cool while I was doing it. The top of the first mountain looked something like this:-

Over the next few days I went further into the mountains, faster down the slopes and had bigger crashes - the grin on my face grew as the slopes got steeper. It seems as though I love that shit. Nights out in Andorra are nothing special, most of my fears were realised - there were FAR too many men there, most of whom clung to the 'funniest' member of their group for fear of being ousted and ridiculed - usually by the 'funniest' one again. On the first night of snowfall, EVERY SINGLE CAR had a penis (or several) drawn on it, usually with British mens names written underneath. Thankfully two Spanish kids had got hold of a couple of windscreens and made me laugh with this...

Luckily, the tossers can be avoided as long as you hang around in more expensive bars or go further into the mountains, it wasn't hard to be rid of them. We found some really nice places to eat and drink just from wandering around aimlessly. Everything plodded along nicely and we all had a great time. Then, seemingly out of nowhere - This happened....

As much as I enjoyed watching Wales defeat England, my heart sank slightly because I hadn't enjoyed it with all my friends back in Cardiff. Watching the game in a hotel in a mountain resort in Andorra was nothing compared to watching it in the country where it meant so much and in the company of the people who I'd shared so many rugby-related cheers and tears with.

I arrived home after a 14 hour trip home the next day, exhausted but buoyed by the fact that so many people in Wales were still grinning after the rugby result. It never ceases to amaze me how much a game can seemingly affect the mood of a whole nation.

So, February's here, the rugby's hotting up and the Scots are in town on Saturday - I'm completely unnecessarily excited. It's also party season in Cardiff again.... I'll be packing a few extra batteries I think.

New experiences / Deep-rooted hate

2008-01-22T16:56:00.000Z

Way back in the summer of last year, two friends and I found ourselves on a mini surf-trip to a beach near Swansea. As we kicked a ball around on the beach we talked about our shared passion for all board sports, and in particular - surfing. We were in our element with our boards in the back of a beaten up estate car, tents pitched right next to the beach, food on the barbecue hissing and the beautiful, calming sound of beer chilling in the cooler. As you do in that situation we decided that it'd be a good idea to meet up more than once every three years and we talked about where to go next. A few beaches and countries were banded about but my attention was finally grabbed when one friend suggested that we got together again to go skiing over the winter. I was over the moon - the closest I'd ever been to skiing was standing on a home-made death trap (sledge) and hurtling down an extremely steep (rock-studded) Welsh hill-side towards a barbed wire fence and a freezing cold river. Which in itself, was always pretty exhilarating - will I cut my head off? Will I get hypothermia? Will I just crack my head open on a rock? Nevertheless, I was ready for the next step.

Fast forward a few months and I'm sitting with an array of warm clothing and ski equipment strewn around my room and my ever-faithful rucksack sitting empty, eagerly waiting to be filled to the brim - which signals that it's time for another adventure. Perhaps foolishly, the only 'lesson' I've had was on Friday night when my housemate Becca (with beer in one hand) told me to just 'bend my knees and don't cross my skis'. I can see myself falling over quite a lot and perhaps wiping out a few ten year olds as I career down the nursery slopes - but that's half the fun, isn't it?

My excitement has been replaced with a massive pang of guilt, I've realised we're going to the sort of place that I swore I'd never, ever set foot. We're going to Andorra, and more specifically to a place named Pas de la Casa. Other names include 'Mandorra' and 'Essex-on-ice'. The skiing may be fun but it's the nightlife I'm more concerned about, with an unofficial 7:1 male to female ratio, the music policies in clubs ranging from 'mature cheddar' to 'stilton' and the reps (who annoy me to high hell) who spend their summers in Ibeefa seem to congregate here in the winter. When I'm abroad I hugely dislike seeing large groups of Brits getting leathered and annoying everyone else - I've come to despise such sights. Hopefully it won't be as I'm expecting, but I fear that I'm going to have to put on a t-shirt displaying the words :-

"Sorry for all the pricks that have invaded your country in the worst possible way"

Get cracking

2008-01-09T14:57:00.000Z

Somewhere in between crashing (90% asleep) into bed at my parents house on 20th December and the walk to work this morning, Christmas 2007 happened. In 2006, the run-up to Christmas was an uncontrollable party-fest with people to see and places to be, this year I took a far more relaxed approach. So relaxed in fact, that I slept far more than I'd ever slept in my life. Breakfast at 2pm, lunch at 6pm and snacking before bed at 10pm was a schedule I stuck to rigidly until the 26th December.

Boxing Day
The 26th December is one of the biggest days out of the year in West Wales - I have no idea why. As usual, we all ended up ridiculously drunk and falling about in the quality event venue that is St.Davids rugby club. The days drinking came to a halt at 2am and the next half an hour was spent looking for our clothes (some literally), our friends and finally the exit. My good friend Bledd, who I was due to stay with, had disappeared which meant that two of us had to find our own way back. The walk home at 2:30am on a cold December night was actually nicer than it sounds, a cold, dry wind blew hard from the Irish sea and the moon lit the countryside enough for us to avoid any ditches at the side of the road. Our beer coats were more than adequate protection from the elements.

27th
I'd originally intended to head back to Cardiff, but a (pretty harsh) Christmas day traffic offence committed meant I had to go back to my house in the hills to pick up all the insurance details etc for the Po-lice.

28th
I waited on a cold, wet, windswept and - apart from myself - deserted train station in the morning to catch a train which travelled at a speed which would ensure a 2nd place finish in a race against a glacier. The time was passed constructively, by sleeping the whole way - I may have been snoring/farting, by the time we arrived in Cardiff the train was packed apart from the seat next to me - happy days. A few hours dicking around in Cardiff went quickly and I hopped onto another train to get down to London. I was greeted by some friends, and five shots of vodka. Not wanting to drink somewhere we'd been before, we turned out attention to Caledonian Road - the local cab driver later told us that not even he would have gone into any of the pubs on that street, because they were 'dodgy'. We laughed it off and told him to try going to a bar in Estonia and incurring the wrath of some angry, drunk Russians before calling a pub 'dodgy'.

29th
I've never caught a flight without a hangover, the 29th of December was no exception. The 18:45 from London to Berlin was a little bit painful but with the help of a bottle of water and a complicated book I made it through. I rocked up to an apartment in East Berlin fully recovered from the night before and joined in the warm up for new years with a bunch of Swedes, Germans, French, Danes and a Finish guy named Jari.

30th Dec - 2nd Jan
Without doubt, this was the best New Years I've ever had. Displaying the full extent of my vocabulary, I would describe Berlin as a 'Kick-ass' city. We raced around the sights, drank lots of Glühwein, behaved like complete tourists despite having a local to show us around and talked about how great we thought Germany was. It was my fifth time in the country, it just keeps getting better! New Years involved a huge party and a trip to a railway bridge near Ostkreuz for midnight to see the 'firework display' - we quickly found out that it was a 'Let's see who can avoid getting killed or badly burnt display'. Thankfully health & safety laws don't seem to have reached Berlin, thousands of people armed with rockets and fireworks gathered on the bridge and just set them off whenever the heck they felt like it. Initially the sights and sounds had us fearing for our lives but after we'd figured out how to spot a firework being lit (tens of people run really quickly in opposite directions) we started to enjoy ourselves. Our drunken little faces were plastered with huge grins and the occasional scream from one of the girls made everyone around us burst out laughing. I have no idea how long we stood on the bridge, but dwindling supplies of beer, the arrival of a number of ambulances and the strange fact that no-one was bothering to run away from fireworks anymore signalled that it was time to take the party back to the apartment.

Jari and Guillaime attempt to scale the wall, no fears of getting shot - except by my camera.

The most insane Fireworks Display I've been involved in.

Rockets, fireworks and sparks flew in absolutely direction

A huge circle of people forms as a firework is surprisingly lit amongst them

New Years snow on a Berlin railway

After a cracking party, 2008 was very kind to our sore heads and it decided to snow - which was deeply refreshing on one hand and it made us act like 6 year old kids on the other (even the Swedes and the Finn who saw snow for a few months a year acted as though they'd never seen it before). We continued to eat and drink throughout new years day - German breakfasts are the way forward I'm telling you.

2nd Jan
Sorry to leave Germany, I reluctantly climbed onto a plane and instantly fell asleep. The trip home was marred by it taking longer to get from London to Cardiff than it did from Berlin to London - but that's the British rail system for you.

So, I'm refreshed, fed and watered - bring on whatever you've got 2008.

Training Day

2007-12-20T16:55:00.000Z

Things I did to pass the time on a slow (3hr) train from Reading to Cardiff (in chronological order):-

Think about girls. Think about taking a piss. Sleep. Think more about taking a piss. Speak to my mam on the phone. Curse my phone battery. Eat a kinder egg. Build a kinder egg toy. Dismantle a kinder egg toy because I couldn't build it. Think about girls. Think about looking for a girl to join me in the toilet to pass time. Write a poem - leave it unfinished. Smooth out a kinder egg wrapper. Make un-funny small talk with other passengers - they laugh. Finally go to the toilet. Think too much about girls and rapidly think of something off-topic to relieve the pressure. Look through pictures on camera. Smile. Look out of the window at the dark. Wonder what to do with my life. Think about food. Think about girls again. Make a list. Wish I didn't have my own head for company. Wish I didn't have a pen & paper to write this down.

Funeral

2007-12-03T15:42:00.000Z

Weddings, a multitude of aunts and uncles coupled with the fact that my friends and I are approaching the average age of marriage in the UK has meant that I've attended a fair few weddings in my short life so far. I love weddings, for me they're an opportunity to meet new friends (and relatives), bring my pretty black sense of humour into play and generally enjoy myself. I'd never been to a funeral before attending my Grandmother's this year, and to my surprise it turned out that I approached it in a remarkably similar fashion to a wedding.

The drive down to the New Forest from Wales was reminiscent of family holidays when we used to all cram into the car, argue with each other, laugh at stupid jokes and generally do anything possible to pass the time. Obviously we had all grown considerably since those days and it was rather lucky that my brother was travelling from a different direction, it would have been a bit of a squeeze to fit us all in. The New Forest is a large protected area of Southern England which is kept mainly as heathland and woodland, with a few villages and towns scattered in between. The sun was shining bright on a warm summers day, ponies and donkeys wandered around at will and the sound of the wind gently blowing through the trees made me smile. As ferociously Welsh as I am, a part of me will always be tremendously proud of the area where both my parents grew up and where we spent a lot of time when we were younger. My parents, brother and sisters obviously felt the same, childhood memories from us all drifted back at an endless rate. Things such as "Hey, remember when you fell over in that giant puddle just over there" or "That's where we ran through the long grass trying to find adders after being told to watch out for them" were blurted out as we travelled towards the church.

We were the first to arrive at the church, still giggling and in high spirits from the trip. My mother disguised her grief tremendously well, helped in no small way by the fact that I'd dyed my hair a deep blue colour and my brother had grown a huge beard since she'd last seen us - which she found most amusing. More of the family turned up, some we had met before, most we hadn't. Some people didn't approve of our obvious enjoyment of a day out so we toned down our laughs to broad grins and the occasional giggle, this was further compounded when an aunt complimented by blue hair, I replied by saying that I'd done it specially for the funeral - she wasn't impressed. We all managed to keep it down until a surprise package turned up in the form of my grandmothers elderly sister, whose wicked sense of humour had us almost crying as we struggled to contain out laughter - we'd finally discovered where we all got it from.

Once inside, the service went as expected and respects were paid by everyone. It was a lovely occasion. The giggle loop rose its head on occasions, namely whenever I caught the eye of one of my sisters. My sisters and I had become disillusioned with the church from an early age, whilst all the singing and praying meant more to my brother - who remained a solemn as he could throughout. By the time the coffin had been lowered into the ground, we'd dragged a few more uncles and aunts into giggling fits and more than a few people were smiling as my grandmothers sister continued with hilarious comments in her well spoken london accent. Bear in mind I'd only met her once when I was about seven or eight, she asked me "So, what would you be typically doing on a Friday?", my reply was a facetious "Oh, I'd probably just be getting out of bed" (it was 4pm), she smiled a lovely old lady smile and said "And I don't suppose it'd be your own bed, would it?" everyone laughed again, I just grinned back - not bold enough to have a pop back at her.

A few drinks and some biscuits later, we all split up again, I headed back to Wales with my sisters while my parents remained in the New Forest and my brother jetted off to wherever the hell he had to be at that time. Once I was back in Cardiff, I ran up to my friends house to catch the tail end of a rugby match - "Where have you been?" I was asked immediately on arrival "I've just been to my Nans funeral in England", "Oh, I'm sorry" my friend responded, "Don't be sorry, I had a great time - now pass me a beer"

Nash gets the last word

2007-11-22T14:43:00.000Z

Things I want to bl*g about but can't seem to write more than a couple of sentences at a time due to massive concentration problems:-

A weekend spent in the wild, Welsh hills has made me realise how shit it is living in a city. But that opinion has been counterbalanced by my being able to walk to work, go round friends houses when I feel like it and generally join in with all the goings-on.

Working in an office sucks.

My social life is interfering with my work life, my work life is interfering with my social life and they're both interfering with my sleep-life and eating-life. As a result I'm swearing and whingeing more than I'd like to. Like right now. Last night I went off on a cursing spree at the mere sight of Colin Farrell on a DVD case.

Making stupid facebook groups will only entertain you for so long. Accepting a suggestion to only communicate with one of your greatest pals in Afrikaans will entertain you a little longer.

My mood is swinging from cocky and confident to quiet and shy with no warning whatsoever. Some people find me fun, others think I'm boring - I shouldn't really care what other people think, but I do. I'm considering taking up being a full time arsehole, it'd be less of a headfuck.

I've started biting my nails all day at work.

My latest film recommendation is Dead Mans Shoes - go forth and borrow it from a friend, or steal it from an enemy.

I miss being able to write long bl*g posts and laughing to myself when I'm writing them. (I've Just laughed at myself, that's a step in the right direction I guess).

It's not nice when you hear ill-informed rumours about yourself, I now know how Jude Law feels all the time (a little). Initially I tried to defend myself, but it's best just to laugh at how ridick the situation is.

It's been pointed out that an alarming amount of my friends don't know that much about me. I don't let on too much about myself, I'm not sure whether I should be attempting to rectify that or just leave it as it is. I've been instructed to open up a little bit more, I didn't tell this person about this bl*g - where I'm more open than in *real* life.

I've also started reading books again, I'd done the majority of my book reading before the age of twelve or thirteen. My usual reaction when people asked if I'd read the Lord of the Rings book (around the times of the films) was to scoff and mention that I read it when I was ten (admittedly I couldn't remember anything from it). I've also rekindled my love for the Super Furry Animals.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this enough recently, but Kate Nash is great.

Kate Nash being great, and a pole (not from Poland) being annoying.

Catchup without Ketchup

2007-11-20T11:33:00.000Z

This is what I've been up to in the last month - in case you were worried or anything:-

Glaws

Gloucester - A surprise day off work led to a surprise train trip to Gloucester to have a look around. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't much to do.

Curly to a local: So, what is there to do in Gloucester?
Local: Errm, visit the cathedral?
Curly: Done that, anything else?
Local: No

Luckily, a friend took us to Cromwell Street - former home of British serial killer Fred West. There weren't any other tourists, strangely.

Arcade Fire: A bunch of Canadians singing something about a bible, cracking stuff

We saw Arcade Fire, they were very blurry but despite that, they sounded great. I also danced.

Kate Nash

I also went to see, Kate Nash. She was also very blurry

Curly to Laura: Wow, wasn't she great?
Laura: Yes. You know the last two songs?
Curly: Yeah?
Laura: You fell in love with her during them.
Curly: Was it that obvious?
Laura: Even people we weren't with were laughing at you.
*Curly Looks around and sees a group of girls grinning at him*

A beautiful view from Didcot centre

I finally realised a dream of mine, having a beer at each stop on the London to Swansea train line (Ten stops, but not all at once). The final piece of the jigsaw was added when I cruised into the quaint English town of Didcot, the Prince of Wales pub seemed an apt place to buy more beer after a fun night out in Oxford the previous evening.

Joan Jett & the Blackhearts - Looking great for their age (and blurry for their age)

A night of classic Rock was kicked off by the great-sounding (and looking) Joan Jett. 'I love Rock & Roll' was obviously a highlight - it felt like we were actually in Komrads bar in Waynes World 2.

Lemmy, blurry and dark - a new take on the blurry theme that seems so popular these days.

Mötorhead followed... I almost fell over from the sheer volume.

Alice Cooper - blurry and old.

The night was brought to a close with Alice Cooper, he must be about 500 years old but he still lept about and got up to his usual tricks - stabbing babies, shooting people and hanging himself.

Imps in the wilds of Mid Wales

My Swedish friend, Sara, has been visiting for a few days - in order to show her the best of Wales we had to travel up to the mountains and call the weatherman to order in some cold and some rain.

It's Tuesday today, I'm back in work and I'm knackered.

Grav

2007-11-01T16:59:00.001Z

Just a quick post to pay tribute to Welsh rugby legend Ray Gravell who has died, aged 56. Part of the Llanelli team which famously beat the All Blacks 1972, always wearing red in support of his beloved Scarlets and almost constantly talking (his catchphrase "West is best bois bach" is constantly repeated all over west Wales), he was a cracking player and a superb bloke. I've been lucky enough to meet him on a couple of occasions (a powerful guy, his handshakes made me wince slightly) and I'll never forget the enthusiasm and energy which he exuded. Many people loved him, he had his leg amputated earlier this year and it touched me to see how many people showed their support by wearing his trademark red gloves to the Heineken Cup semi-final last season.

He'll be missed on the radio, missed on the tv and missed standing on the the touchline at games interviewing the players and coaches with the wide-eyed enthusiasm of a little boy.

Hits

2007-11-01T14:50:00.001Z

Ever since I wrote a post about some of the more stupid things that I've said to girls, this bl*g has been the recipient of many hits from people who are looking for various things to say to the fairer sex. I've hand-picked a few search terms and I'll try to help a few of these people out, no doubt becoming THE place to come for tips and advice on using the right words in the right situation. I'm assuming that the majority of them are for hooking up with girls. Let's go...

funny things to say to girls
This depends on what kind of funny you're going for. You could crack a joke such as "What's brown and lives in the attic? The Diarrhea of Anne Frank!" or just tell her that you enjoy sitting on train platforms and writing down the names and descriptions of the trainspotters you come across - that's also funny, but not in the jokey kind of way. Don't expect the same reaction from both methods.

rude things to say to girls
This is one of the easiest ones, you can't really go too wrong here and if you do manage to screw it up then I can't imagine that anyone would hold it against you. Of course I wouldn't advocate it but good old classic name-calling works wonders, although I'm sure you could always come up with a classier put down. They're particularly sensitive about their looks - start there if you're stuck for ideas.

stupid things to say to girls
See above.

things to say to girls
If you've never come up with a single thing to say to a girl then that's cause for concern, but don't fret - I'm here. Obviously "Hello" would be a great one to start with but for a higher score from the judges, put on a ridiculous accent from any country you're not from (ie Scottish if you're American, Irish if you're French - take your pick) and just go and ask if she knows any good restaurants/coffee shops/bars around. The accent will intrigue her and she'll probably inquire as to where you're from, perhaps she'll even take you to the bar herself. This will backfire if she's well travelled or actually from any of those places herself, you'll then have about a 50/50 chance of either making her laugh or just being told to piss off. If you hadn't noticed, you'd also be lying to her - keep up the accent because if she finds this out, she'll get mad.

"best" "line" to "say" to "girl"
Best line to say to a girl? I'd go for “Your daddy must have been a baker, because you've got a nice set of buns”..... There's so such thing as THE best line you tool - each situation needs to be treated differently.

cool quotes to tell girls
Your best sources for quotes are probably from books or movies, quoting your friends will just make them sound great and she'll have no interest in you. Don't quote geeky films ie.If you're going to the local pub, don't say "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious". Some girls like poetry, quote some of your favourite poems but be prepared to explain what they mean if she looks blankly at you. Listen to Kate Nash's song Birds for a good example of this happening, but don't use the exact same words okay?

cool things to say in dutch
Umm, a popular one for Brits goes something like "neuken in de keuken" (no-ken in-dee kow-ken). It sounds cool to non-dutch speakers because it rhymes, but it actually means "Sex in the kitchen" - you'll be lucky if you get anywhere with this.

cool things to say to girls
In my mind, being cool has a lot to do with how you look and even more with the manner in which you go about life. I think it's one of those things you just can't do with any amount of training. Some girls will thing you're cool if you collect peoples ears, some may not - it's all the eye of the beholder as they say.

first thing to say to a girl
"Hello, my name is *insert your name*, what's yours?" is pretty safe, but who wants to be safe? Live a little, strut up to her tell her you've got three months to live and you're looking to try as many sexual positions before you go, ask if she'd like to help out. If she goes for it, you'll be the envy of all your friends. If she doesn't, try the next girl. *warning note: see the previous point note about lying. Also, if she sees you looking perfectly healthy four months later - she'll want to kill you in as shorter time as possible.*

funny things to say to a hot girl
This differs from 'funny things to say to girls', because hot girls are involved. As we all know, hot girls are devoid of personality and brains because they've relied on their looks to get them everywhere in life. Try something simple, like a "Why did the chicken cross the road" style joke - be prepared to explain it.

definition of "blonker"
Not related to the girls questions, but I can help you out - Ask this young lady.

So, I hope all of you lot sitting at home googling pick up lines whilst looking at porn have a better idea of what to do in the most awkward of situations. Here's a tip though, get out there and practice - it makes perfect y'know.

A mail to a friend

2007-10-27T11:36:00.000+01:00

Hello mate - the party went as expected. I'd been miserable the whole day (significantly caused by ending up talking to that tramp in the pub on Thursday night) and had told Becca that I was just going to stay in, watch rugby and drink cups of tea. It didn't quite go like that...

I didn't finish work until 7pm, I walked home half asleep but decided that I'd actually put some effort into the night. I ate a pasty on the way home for dinner, drank a bottle of wine while I watched the rugby, drank vodka once I'd finished the wine and headed to the pub at about nine. I told Eirian that I didn't have a costume for the party, his suggestion pretty much saved the both of us:-

"We could go as people who have just finished work who like booze, weed and blowjobs!!!!!"

Costume sorted, we had loads of sambuca, I hugged Cat a lot, then hugged James but got some glow in the dark paint on me (he was dressed as a jellyfish I think..) so stopped doing that. I was pretty ratted when I left the pub. I thought I remembered most of the party, the pictures prove otherwise. There were lots of pretty girls there, Kevin Bacon turned up and I turned into the usual social hurricane - doing lots of hugging, drinking, talking shit and running around with bits of the garden stuck in my clothes (no ideas, don't ask). I spent most of the night talking to Cat (or so I thought) about London and singing. I also met a Finnish girl who started talking to me because of my Finnish hoodie - she thoroughly enjoyed twisting my words and by the end of the conversation I had given her the impression that Finland was the most boring country in the world and all the men are gay. I have no ideas what I said to make her think that.... talking shit no doubt. I tried to get out of it but she just laughed even more when I did that.

Not that many people wore costumes but luckily (?) Rob brought a marker pen and drew everyones costumes ON them, Mike did an amazing impression of that cat from Shrek, I was referred to as 'that drunk guy' at least once in the evening, Eirian wasn't far behind, King went out on a date (on his 2nd night in Cardiff for months) and ended up bringing her to the party because he didn't want to miss it, I have the feeling that I promised things to lots of people... but I can't remember what they were.

I lasted the night without doing anything embarrassing, or at least no-one's told me about it yet.

Today - cups of tea, two games of rugby and another party.....

Extratit IS a word!

2007-10-24T10:24:00.000+01:00

Tuesday night, only half awake I tumbled out of the office - not even a brisk walk home on a cold autumn evening could halt my rapid decline into what felt like an approaching coma-like sleep. I wondered if I was supposed to hibernate over winter, no-one should be this tired. I walked by the local supermarket and thought about wandering in to buy a few supplies, a slow decision making process ensured that I'd walked past before actually deciding what I should do. "It's probably for the best" I thought, only a few days earlier I'd been in the same state and had bumped into Hot South Afrcan Girl who probably thought I was nuts after I rushed through the "Oh how are you!" script and practically passed out in front of her.

After three weeks of getting wound up by the lock on the front door of our new house I'd finally figured out a way of getting in without swearing and I plonked myself down on the couch, not even bothering to turn on the lights. Five minutes of just sitting in the dark seemed to work wonders - I jumped up, made two cups of tea in quick succession, rustled up a cracking meal, discussed whether we should be promoting air travel in Britain, cracked open an ice cold beer and just chilled out for an hour afterwards. We watched a programme about honour killings, which I didn't really take in (I'm not very good at watching tv) - a murder suspect had been caught in Thailand and the police officer in charge of catching him said proudly "If we hadn't found him here, he could have got anywhere in the world" . Ten minutes later I was asked a question by housemate Becca about something that was happening on the screen....

Becca: What's he doing now? Surely he shouldn't be doing that, should he?
Curly: Doing what?
Becca: Are you watching this?
Curly: Yeah, I was just thinking about where in the world I'd run to get away from the police and how I'd go about it.
Becca: He mentioned that about ten minutes ago!
Curly: Yeah, but it took a while to bribe the train driver in India and then find someone that spoke English to translate what I wanted from the family in the hills in China.
Becca: You've really thought this through, haven't you?

*not very good at watching tv*

Realising that the TV was doing me no good whatsoever, Becca suggested a game of scrabble. I hadn't played scrabble for years, what a great idea! Becca's boyfriend, James, set about reading the rules, Becca set about getting a box of wine from the fridge and I set about drinking it. You've probably found that if you play pool with friends, you're often subject to arguments about whose rules are the 'proper' way to play, this particular game of scrabble started in a similar fashion. After an initial bout of cheating by James (keeping a list of two letter words to himself) the game set about at a lively pace and my head ached at the sudden use of my brain. 1am rolled around, much of the wine had gone and my body reminded me that I should have gone to bed hours ago.

In the closing stages of the game I was ahead, followed closely by James (with no small amount of help from his outrageous use of two letter words) and finally Becca. Suddenly I noticed the killer blow, there was a free double letter score and a triple word score lurking in the corner, I had to mould my word around an existing T - it was too hard to resist, I placed my letters down triumphantly.. E X T R A T I T ... and took a smug sip of wine. James erupted into laughter, Becca just looked thoroughly unimpressed..

Becca: That is NOT a word.
Curly: It is, it's a medical condition
Becca: James, check the dictionary.
James: It's a medical condition which causes a tertiary mammary gland on the female body.
Curly: lollerksates
Becca: Shut up, you're both useless.
James: lollercoaster

The word wasn't accepted, I ended up in second place but then had to suffer being told that everyone had points deducted for all their remaining letters at the end of the game, at that point I was in possession of four letters which included a Z and a Q (both 10 points) - I dropped dramatically to third. Smarting from my loss, plus the fact that I didn't know about that rule... I finished my drink and walked zombie-like up to my room, using my last remaining bit of energy I shouted "Extratit IS a word!", closed the door and finally passed out.

London Walk

2007-10-05T14:25:00.000+01:00

Feeling completely unimaginative, I'll link to a map I was messing around with a couple of months ago. After eating breakfast with Huw and a massive hangover, I took a walk from Kentish Town down to Warren Street taking in Camden market along the way. I felt calm, alone and peaceful in a city of millions - I'll remember it as one of my favourite days spent in London.

View Larger Map

Thou Shalt Not Kill

2007-09-28T13:51:00.000+01:00

Yeah, it's been around for ages but here's the video for the Dan le Sac VS Scroobius Pip track titled "Though Shalt Not Kill" just in case you haven't heard it yet. It's ace.

I went to see them last night and they were pretty outstanding, the crowd was going nuts - helped in no small way by the simply wonderful Anomalies, I haven't danced and laughed so much at a gig in my life! If you see that they're swinging by, pop along and have a look - it's well worth it!

I had considered not going along after seeing Blood Red Shoes (She's a hottie) the night before and then having to move house between work and the first act - but a (world record?) 45min house-moving exercise gave me enough of an adrenalin boost to get my arse along to the gig.... I was incredibly glad that I made it!

Bullets = Lazy

2007-09-21T10:50:00.000+01:00

This week I have been mostly:-

Listening to Kate Nash on repeat. Knowing full well what happens when I start listening to female pop acts on repeat (past experiences with Nelly Furtado), I desperately tried to force her out of my head with way-too-loud listens to Anti-Flag, Billy Talent and Rocket from the Crpyt - but it all sounded a bit too uncouth. Switching to Tanita Tikaram, Fionn Regan and Kasey Chambers sorted me out for a little while before I got bored of the slow pace of the music.. I livened it up a little with some Hello Saferide and Regina Spektor, the latter sounding remarkably familiar... guess who she reminded me of? None other than the person I'd tried to get rid of, Kate Nash, and my fondness for her has now grown into a massive crush. I've been running around asking everyone to tell me their Kate Nash stories, if they have any of course. If they didn't I've asked a couple of people to make them up so I can sit there and say "Wow, I'm so jealous!", then go slightly doe-eyed a lot. The best Kate Nash story so far has been from my friend Laura who told me with great pride that she'd seen her four times in the last year - I almost fell off my chair at the thought of seeing her that many times (Nash, not Laura).

Watching rugby, this still hasn't abated from my last couple of heavily sports-orientated posts. I won't bother boring you with how everyone is doing, but all you need to know is that we're all having a whale of a time watching all the games and then talking about them for hours afterwards.

Looking for a new house. I'm moving in under a week, I don't have a new place to live yet. My itchy feet and the ants in my pants have combined to decide that I have to try somewhere new, my head however has decided that I should stay in Cardiff - for the moment at least.

Watching heaps of movies, my favourite of which has been Black Sheep - here's the trailer, it's awesome!

Listening to drunk students walk past my window at 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am etc. One of Cardiff's two universities has fired up this week, causing the number of drunk people to increase dramatically since the weekend. It's nice watching them all make new friends, get excited about walking up the road with a slab of beer each, talking about the new clothes they've just bought with their student loans and then getting plastered with the thousands of others that are doing exactly the same thing. I've deliberately not shaved for a while so I don't get mistaken for a fresher and get quizzed about what course I'm doing or which halls I'm staying in. The main Uni starts on Monday (24th) and that's when the real fun begins.

Rugby, innit?

2007-09-12T16:48:00.000+01:00

Last weekend went exactly as I planned, I arrived at my friend Eirian's house at 6pm when we sat down, switched on the 52" TV and opened a beer. I remained there all weekend (bar a party on Saturday night and a 40mins period of feeling immenesly rough on Sunday) and watched wall to wall rugby. Once the rugby was finished, we talked about the rugby. People came and went during the weekend, bringing in supplies of beer and snacks. Eirian's girlfriend cooked us fried breakfasts on Saturday and Sunday morning and we generally had a cracking time!

Highlights from the weekend included:
Argentina upsetting France
New Zealand thrashing Italy and putting 30 points on them in a ridiculous amount of time (15mins if I remember)
USA putting in an admirable effort against England, despite finally losing.
Canada scaring Wales by winning at half time, Wales demolished them after the break.

Some people are of the opinion that nine games of rugby over a three day period was too much, but I disagree and I made the trek to Swansea on Tuesday night to watch my beloved Scarlets beat our bitter rivals, the Ospreys. It was a crap game but there we go, you've got to see the bad ones to appreciate the good ones, right?

One of my favourite fixtures is approaching this Saturday - Wales v Australia. Other than being in a World Cup, this match has the added bonus of being played in Cardiff. I really like having all the Aussies in town, they mill around with an air of arrogance but once the result has been decided they're usually happy to get as drunk as the rest of us and have a party afterwards!

It's going to be another long weekend...

RWC

2007-09-07T11:15:00.000+01:00

I love rugby. Everyone in Wales loves rugby. To quote Hugh Pugh "In fact, if you're Welsh and don't like rugby, you're considered to have a mental disease" and are sent to the Fishguard Mental hospital.

Every week I become excited (and often nervous) watching the Scarlets play in either the Celtic League, the Anglo-Welsh cup or the European trophy.

Every February, early summer and autumn I get even more excited (and even more nervous) watching Wales compete in the Six Nations, their summer tour and the autumn series.

Once every four years, there's an event which gets the whole nation going.... Tonight (Friday) the sixth Rugby World Cup kicks off in France. I am a bundle of excitement (and nerves). I will remain in that state for the next five weeks, punctuated by the occasional plummet into depths of despair as Wales do something incomprehensibly awful. There are twenty teams taking part. If you're Argentinian, English, Welsh, Canadian, Georgian, Namibian, Romanian, Tongan, Irish, Fijian, Italian, Kiwi, Samoan, American, Scottish, Australian, French, Japanese, Portuguese or South African then you'll all have someone to cheer for.

This lot will probably win it, but I had a dream last night which involved their coach, Graham Henry, in tears after losing in the final to France - who have a very good chance of winning the whole event themselves.

Stupid things I say to girls!

2007-09-06T11:47:00.004+01:00

Introducing a special new (soon to be permanently linked) section to my bl*g...

Stupid Things I Say to Girls!

With such a gleaming accolade as (and I quote my pal Sud) "The best starter that I know...", I regularly find myself in entertaining conversations with attractive women, conversations which other guys would be too scared to get themselves into. Unfortunately, Sud's quote doesn't end there, it concludes..."But you're also the worst fucking finisher". Sud is politely pointing out that I somehow end up in the 'friend zone' after mere minutes, which I've been told isn't the aim of the game. Heavily contributing to this super-hero like ability to make friends with hot girls is the fact that I come out with some really stupid stuff. This post will be dedicated to those special moments in my life where I fall flat on my face, I hope you enjoy them.

I'll update as they come out, but I'll also include a few choice quotes from the past as and when I remember them (and once I've finished cringing).

Here's one to start from last night:-

Curly: So...what's your name?
Hot Dutch Girl: Well, most people call me Bambi.
Curly: Why? Did your mother get shot?
HDG: No, I'm just really clumsy
Curly: Oh, okay. *cringe cringe cringe*
Hot South African girl: Lollercoaster - Top marks for originality at least.
Curly & HDG: Lolling

A discussion with Léonie about the best way for me to get home on the London tube:-

Curly: Right, so I want to go on the Northern Line...
Léonie: Uh-huh
Curly: Then I want to go up the Brown line... whoops, sorry....
Léonie: Well excuse me...! It's called the Bakerloo line, the Bakerloo.
Curly: Yes, it is. Thanks. Lollerskates *cringe cringe*

To a hot Latvian girl in Bournemouth:-

Curly: We're going to a club, do you want to come along? We're getting a burger along the way.
Hot Latvian Girl: Yes, I will come. I love burgers!
Curly: ha ha, say that again!
HLG: I love Burgers..?
Curly: Wow - hey boys, listen to her say 'burgers', that's the best thing I've heard in ages!
HLG: Burgers
The boys: lolling
Curly: Say it again...
Curly in the morning: Shit, I made her say burgers too many times didn't I?
The boys: Yes.

To the same Latvian, running out of things to talk about at 5am walking along Bournemouth Beach.

Curly: Hey, look at this!! A shower by the beach!
HLG: That's cool.
Curly: I wonder if it works? I'll try.
HLG: I think it does...
*Curly gets very wet*
Curly: Yeah.... crap.

I froze for the next hour as I walked to the police station to ask where I could find the house I was staying in.

Talking to a hot German girl in Stockholm at 4am:-

Hot German Girl: I'm going to go and have a look at the 4am sunrise, I've heard it's really nice here.
Curly: Oh cool, I'll come and see it with you.
HGG: No, I think I'll see it on my own.
Curly: I'm not trying it on with you, I really want to see the sunrise.
HGG: I'm going on my own.
Curly: Okay, well I'm going to see it anyway.

I went to see the sunrise on my own - it was really nice, as HGG had said it would be.

I approached a girl sat with her friends in a Cardiff bar, she was wearing boots with stars all over them, I thought they looked cool.

Curly: Hello. I've just spent five minutes trying to think of a chat up line relating to the boots you're wearing, but I couldn't think of one.
Star Boots Girl: Lol, what had you come up with?
Curly: I was going along the lines of "I like the stars on your boots" then something do with the stars in a galaxy and your eyes.... I don't really know.
SBG: Lollerskates. At least you tried huh? I'm *** (told me her name)
Curly: I'm Curly, so...... er.. do you come here oft--- fuck!
SBG: lol!! GO ON, say it!!
Curly: Often... fuck, that's really embarrassing - I can't believe I said that.
SBG: That's awesome.
Curly: I'm mortified, I'm going - it was nice to meet you and your boots.
SBG: (Grinning) Pleasure, see you around!

To a Posh girl at Henley Regatta:-

Curly: That's a lovely dress you're wearing!
Posh Girl: *blushes* Thank you!
Curly: Did you make it yourself? It looks as though it's made of tissue paper
Posh Girl: Err..no. *unsure of what to say back, she turns around. I walk off*

Not so much talking to a girl, but sitting on a train and the seat next to me becomes vacant-

Curly: Sud! Come and sit over here.
Sud: Why?
Curly: I don't want anyone else sitting next to me, do I?
Sud: *Sits next to me* You'll regret saying that if a hot girl comes in here looking for a seat.
Curly: Well that's not going to happen is it?
*Hot Girl walks past, looking for a seat and smiling to herself*
Curly: Fuck my life. lollercoaster.

Two Things (Maybe three)

2007-09-03T16:07:00.000+01:00

I've not had much to say recently, but here's a couple of things (maybe three) that I was thinking about as I wandered to work this morning. In a departure from standard practice, I'm going to put the second one first and then go on to tell you that they're listed in no particular order. I seem to enjoy over-complicating things. The third item (should I think of one) will probably go at the end.

2) I'm running very low on energy at the moment. I'm unable to find a reason for this but I'm finding it increasingly difficult to wake up in the morning, stay awake during the day and then stay awake in the early evening. My eyes are constantly heavy, I've started walking into things and becoming startled by not-particularly-loud noises. This could be contributed to my diet, the fact that there's nothing that has particularly grabbed my interest in the last few months, or my becoming a vampire at some point. The only time I do actually have energy is late at night and the early hours of the morning, which is ideal for partying (or hunting for fresh blood) but not convenient when I'm trying to recharge myself for work in the morning.

1) At the beginning of the summer I was worried that the social side of things here in Cardiff would take a nose-dive as the universities closed for the summer and a few mates moved back west to recuperate for a couple of months. These events actually had the reverse effect as I got into contact with friends from three or four years ago and partied with them, even harder than before (I hadn't seen them for ages - what did you expect?!). The thing is, we're almost back up to a full complement again (Mates have moved back down, Uni starts again in a couple of weeks) but invites to social gatherings have dropped remarkably - I think this is related to my second point about tiredness (see above). I've declined invites on a few occasions recently and stuck to soft drinks on others, saying things like "I'm too tired" or "I can't be fucked" (depending on how tired I am, tiredness also induces swearing) and I reckon that I'm just not being asked to go out any more. Although slightly disappointed, It's probably for the best*.

3) After much deliberation I'm going to go ahead with the third point. This is a very, very negative thing to say (most unlike me) and is probably a combination of the above two points (sort of). Outside of my friends, I haven't met anyone that interests me for AGES**. In the last couple of months I can recall three 'new' people with whom I've had a conversation that has really inspired me:-

A conversation about musical tastes with Afe in a pub in London.
A conversation about the merits of living in Cardiff and the state of stand-up comedy with a 64 year old Scot and his wife in a pub in St.Davids.
A conversation about horses with a girl named Ellie in a pub in Cardiff.
There was also a conversation with a horse while I was completely out of my tree, somewhere near a beach in West Wales at 2am - but I don't think that counts.

This is completely out of the ordinary, usually I'm all about getting to know people and talking to them non-stop until it's time for one of us to go. Instead I've just been losing interest, making my excuses and walking off. I think I'm becoming more fussy about who I talk to, which can't be a good thing.

*It's sentences like that that make me think I should go and buy a pipe and sit in front of an open fire with a hot drink for the evening.

** Excluding Afe and his other half, who made me laugh and then take a bath with a giraffe. Zany.

Imagine if you were me

2007-08-23T11:05:00.000+01:00

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.

My Little Meme

2007-08-07T17:40:00.000+01:00

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!

Presenting......

2007-07-31T17:27:00.001+01:00

The smallest bananas I've ever seen in my life.....!

Two little bananas next to a regular-sized AA battery.

One little banana going into an over-sized gob.

Micro-seconds?

2007-07-18T16:37:00.000+01:00

What's an acceptable length of time that you can make a pun or a joke about something that another person has just said?

i.e.

Person no. 1 : My dad is an avid gardener, the other day he was outside painting his new fence green. He tripped over a rake, fell over and as he tried to break his fall he stuck his hand straight in the tin of paint!

Person no.2 : I suppose you could say that your Dad really does have Greenfingers then!

Say it quick enough, and you'll get a chuckle... but leave it until a few seconds later and people will invariably laugh at you for taking so bloody long, no matter how funny it might have been.

If I know that there's a joke somewhere, my internal 'Punnernator' (?) goes into overdrive and for a few seconds my mind will be completely occupied with trying to crack a joke - sometimes I time it right and I'll get a laugh, other times I just know that I'm too late and I'll shut up (unless I'm drunk, when I'll tell you whether you like it or not).

Your thoughts please.

Blonky meet up vol.III for Curly.

2007-07-17T17:40:00.000+01:00

Hello everyone, apologies for not posting recently,I've been über busy running around and generally not playing on the Playstation.

There's been a hark back to the old days here in Cardiff as I have actually spent many of my weekends outside of the city itself ... mainly in Southampton, but I've also been on trips to Oxford and to Reading amongst other places.

I'm sure I'll update properly sometime this year, but to tide you over - here's a picture from last weekend in London with Afe, Mrs.Afe, Huw, Monica, Deanne and Will. I didn't have a camera, so this is the best representation of what actually went on...

(Obviously, I'm not in the pic as it was taken from my perspective)

This is the third time that I've gone to London to meet strange people from the interweb, and it was another fine success after the other two that Huw had organised.

The next day, I took a walk from Kentish Town, through Camden and all the way to Warren Street. I made every effort to avoid the tube. On previous visits to London Village I'd used the underground system to get around and as a result missed everything that was going on above ground. In doing that, I discovered a great way to get around London without bumping into the millions of other people...

Walk along the canals in massive rainstorms, with lightning, thunder and all that good stuff! Anyone that you do come across either offers you drugs or is running for the cover of the next bridge. Just bring an umbrella, and some money for marijuana.

I made another amazing discovery that day, how to survive a 3 hour bus journey with a hangover... Ensure that you know loads of people who will recognise you, offer you a seat, tell you jokes, lend you their shades and keep you hydrated with their water!

The best, worst bus journey of my life so far!

Laters kids.

Dear Sony...

2007-06-28T15:53:00.001+01:00

I would first like to thank you for creating a wonderful games-station on which I can play Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas. Over the last few months, many hours (probably days) of my life have been spent working out puzzles, learning about thug-life, levelling Hispanic gangs with assault rifles, driving recklessly on (and most of the time, off) the roads - squashing distressed pedestrians without a second thought, generally blowing shit up and having a great time doing it.

Unfortunately, this money-saving and truly wonderful distraction from real life has come to an end; I've recently had regular access to a Playstation 2 taken away from me, as a result I'm being forced to actually get out and do interesting things. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy pursuing such activities as 'Going for coffee', 'going to the pub with my friends', 'Reading books' and going to things called 'House Parties' - the problem lies in the cost of these things.

Let me tell you what I've been up to since the evening I was told that the Playstation was going:-

Thurs:- A few quiet beers in a bar called 'En Route' for my house-mates birthday, I had a hangover on Friday.
Fri:- A few relaxing beers in the local, with my friend Eirian - we were joined by others. I had a mild hangover on Saturday, coupled with a lack of sleep.
Sat:- A house party in Phaelon Towers with gin and beer disappearing at an alarming rate down my throat. Sunday, I had another mild hangover - and sunstroke.
Sun:- Weekend wind-down beers in the pub, then a takeaway.
Mon:- A night in!! I read a book... (hooray!)
Tues:- Phaelon Towers again for a couple of beers, the last beer was finished at 4am. I didn't make it home.
Wed:- I was out on my feet, but Mair got a few people together and we went to a pub, we had beer. Cope was there, so was Rhys - amongst others. It was a funny night but I was knackered.
Tonight:- I'm shattered but I'm going for coffee with two friends, and one of their Mothers. At least there's no alcohol.
Tomorrow:- I'll be back at home in the hills, that means going down the pub and talking about tractors with the locals.
Saturday:- I'll be in Southampton, I'll be in a bar there too.

Hopefully you can see the trouble that I'm getting myself into? By the time Sunday rolls around, I would have spent one night out of TEN sitting in the house... all I'm asking for here is that you do your very best to get me another Playstation (preferably the 3rd version) for me to start getting healthy by blasting some fools and treating my bitches real good once again. It doesn't have to be brand new, as long as it plays the games I want it too - I'll be a happier, richer and healthier person.

Please do what you can,

Yours Tired-ly,

Curly.

Weekends

2007-06-26T11:27:00.000+01:00

I haven't really kept up to date with the exciting adventures mentioned in my bl*g header, so I suppose I'd better fill you in with some of the details from the last few weekends. Grab a hot drink and take a (long) breather...

Three weeks ago

I awoke, with a massive hangover, on Saturday morning and fired off a number of texts to various people around Cardiff to see who was in the mood for getting a fried breakfast and then finding something to do around town. No-one had responded within half and hour so I instead texted my brother in Southampton to see if he was busy, he got back to me straight away and as a result - won the competition (The competition that I'd not told anyone about). Three hours later, I was in a Southampton catching up with not only my brother but a bunch of old uni friends and funnily enough, Si and Charles of Phaelon fame - who happened to be in Southampton at the same time. We reminisced about all the places we used to visit when we lived there and then we actually visited them and drank beer inside. Our night culminated in a trip to the ultra-studenty 'Kaos' nightclub, home of the "Three pukes and you're out" rule and the reason our clothes were always covered in black stuff on a Wednesday night. Kaos had actually cleaned up a little since I had last been (about three years previously), but it was entertaining all the same.

On the Sunday, my brother and I took a bus out of the city and found ourselves at a very local steam fair. At least, I think it was a steam fair - there were classic cars, beer tents, burger stands, a carnival queen and heaps of steam engines either driving around or powering farm machinery. It looked kind of like this. :-

Several Steam engines drove round at about 3 mph

If Carlsberg made beer tents...

Just to highlight how local this was... who's Mark? And why is it so good to get handled by him?

We stayed far too long mainly because our attempts at sounding like locals and blagging our knowledge of steam engines, with such as phrases as "Wow, so what's that stuff coming out of the chimney on that tractor?" and "Where does the petrol go?", went so well that we had everyone convinced we were massive steam enthusiasts. It was actually really nice just wandering around and sniggering at the local-ness of it all. We managed to get ourselves invited to a barbeque at the end of the day and after that we headed back into the city and I travelled back to Wales, sunburnt, dirty from all the steam and full of good food.

Two weeks ago

This weekend wasn't so eventful. We got horribly drunk on the Friday, so much so that nobody that I've asked since can recollect the evening at all - but it was probably fun. Saturday was spent watching rugby, lying face down on the sofa (moaning about our hangovers) in the pub all day and watching a band. Our bodies were aching all over but we enjoyed it all the same. During the week I'd attempted to have a bbq every day, Sunday was my fifth of the week. I thought that was pretty good going seeing as it had rained on the two days that I didn't have one.

This weekend

This was the best one yet. A few quiet beers and some ridiculous conversations on a Friday evening in the pub was a nice relaxing way to end the week. I woke up on Saturday feeling great, and that feeling continued throughout the weekend - mainly because I was in the company of a lovely young lady. We milled around, told plenty of uncle-style jokes and generally had a wonderful time. Saturday evening brought with it the first (and unfortunately last) party at Phaelon Towers, the six residents were finally moving out after a three year stint and decided to go out with a bang, 'Phaelonpalooza' was the result. At the height of the party we were told that between 35 and 40 people were squeezing themselves into the Towers - I can't remember how many hours we spent in there but we managed to consume lots of cheap gin and steal a fair few beers as well, a success in my opinion.

Residents of Phaelon Towers

An alarming amount of ties in the kitchen

The Sunday I spent with the girl again, more wandering aimlessly was done. She's mentioned the heron and the swans but much to my annoyance, didn't actually mention the best bit - the ducks. The ducks were just magnificent, with their advanced swimming methods, attractive green heads and er... their amazing webbed feet. I loved the ducks, they were probably the highlight of my day to be honest. She left in the early evening and I was suddenly plonked back into the real world again, I suddenly realised that a whole weekend had vanished without me even realising. Unable to think of what to do next, I decided to go and get my fill of manliness and headed to the pub for a weekend wind-down with some friends, a couple of beers, a takeaway curry and then home for several episodes of Father Ted.

Lovely.

Londres\Llundain\Londain\Lundúnir

2007-06-14T11:33:00.000+01:00

*Subheading, I've run out of post title ideas - so what*

Yesterday afternoon I found myself walking lazily along the Thames, the humidity had slowed me down to almost a snail's pace in order to avoid inducing sweating. The jeans, t-shirt and shirt combination I'd opted for was well suited to the slightly cooler, damper air in Cardiff but was by no means suitable for travelling around the city on the underground. My decision to get out of the tube and walk was helped in no small way by two large Canadian women who, with considerably more weight to lug around than I, were giving off a considerable amount of extra heat as they plonked themselves on the seats next to me. After two stops, one Canadian had decided that her seat wasn't big enough, so she overspilled into mine - the heat (never mind the sweat) was unbearable and (much to the amusement of a girl sat opposite) I jumped off at the next station.

When I surfaced from the caverns below, I discovered that I was very close to the houses of parliament, I went for a quick gander and then decided that I'd better go and see a few more of the sights that London had to offer. Within a couple of hours I'd seen Big Ben, the (outside of the) Tate Modern, St.Pauls cathedral (if you've never seen scaffolding before, you'll LOVE this place) and numerous streets from the original Monopoly game. Street entertainers entertained, tourists toured, the locals drank beer and read books on benches by the water, boats chugged up and down the river and death-defying cyclists weaved in and out of the traffic in the most awkward fashion, neither them or the car drivers giving an inch in the battle to move forwards.

Guessing that the rush hour was now over, I descended back into the tube and was magically whizzed away to the more familiar surroundings of Clapham, in the south of the city. I sat outside a pub armed with a pint of Guinness and a copy of 'London Lite', which I preferred to steal from the table rather than take from one of the vendors who seemed to want to ram a copy straight down my throat. As I sat there waiting for my friends to arrive, I recounted what had happened that afternoon. I'd been asked for money twice, had given train/underground information three times, given directions once, flirted with two girls, smirked tens of times on the tube, had numerous people to invite to join me, ordered one beer, I came to the conclusion that all PA's were Antipodean, all bar staff were either Antipodean or Eastern European and spent about £10 all together.... I thought to myself...

"Yeah, I could do this"

London

2007-06-07T11:50:00.000+01:00

I can't stand the place for more than three days in a row, it's dirty, expensive, it smells funny and there are FAR too many people there. Yet, I find myself seriously considering moving there.

Why am I considering doing such a stupid thing?

I have a decent job, it takes me 20mins to walk to work. That walk takes me through two parks and the majority of the time is spent on the laid back, happy, student ant-trail to Uni. I only moved back to Cardiff in November because I was missing it so much. There aren't too many people here, there are enough bars and restaurants to keep *insert name of famous alcoholic* happy. I get to see most of the games that the Welsh rugby team play in the Millennium Stadium, which is only 25mins from my house.

I have a track record of getting bored of wherever I'm living and moving on after a certain period of time, I've never lived in a city as large as London (the largest in fact has been Calgary which, population wise, is about an eighth of that of London).

The rent and general cost of living here is relatively low (London is about the fifth most expensive city in the world), and draws a gasp from most Southern England residents when they hear how much we pay for the same services. A round of four beers in the local will set you back an ALMIGHTY £5.

From Cardiff, you can be in the Brecon Beacons national park within 30mins drive, the Gower (Britains very first Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty) within an hour, the beaches of the Gower and North Devon are not too long away either. It's a laid-back place, there are only a few 'posh' or 'scabby' placed, most places are in between - which is fine.

I have no idea why I want to move, but the thought is occupying my head more and more - with several friends offering places to live or help to find new jobs (if I need one), and others are being even MORE helpful and offering to buy me beer and get me drunk in lots of new bars.

Any tips/funny jokes/offers of beer, would be much appreciated.

Bullets

2007-06-04T13:56:00.000+01:00

I just don't get fashion.

I went to see Silversun Pickups on Saturday night, it was a pretty damn good gig - I thoroughly suggest that you pop along to their website/myspace. I apparently also tried it on with Nikki, the bass player - this quite clearly backs up statements I've made before.

Facebook has invaded my drunken autpilot system, I've been out drinking three times since Monday 28th May, there's been a total of eight texts sent from me, TO me, containing only peoples full names - people who I've had no recollection of. I've since added them as my facebook friends, I've been quite amazed who I've met on a night out...!

Astrid came up to visit last weekend. I'm not sure who won the prize for the most energy remaining after two days of fun, running around the sights of Cardiff, but I think it was a very close contest! Cope even hauled himself away from ~~creating facebook groups~~ revising to grab a bit to eat with us - I knew the only way to lure him out was to mention that we were going to one of his favourite pubs in Cardiff.

A Sunday night 'Let's go through our cellphones and see who's in there' session with two mates let to me finding the numbers for Hot Girls and Random in my phone. Some comedy text conversations ensued. Initially a couple of probing texts were sent from me, texts containing lots of question marks. Both responded pretty quickly; It turns out that I had a similar conversation with Random a month ago - I'd met her about two years previously at a gig. Hot Girls sounded more promising, the conversation went something like this:-

Curly: Umm, hello. I have your number in my phone but have absolutely no recollection of who you might be or where I would have met you?? Can you help at all???!"

Hot Girls: Hey there, you are in my phone as "Curly Buffalo". Big enough clue? I was with a friend and your 'Dad'?

*My Dad?!! I no longer cared about the fact that these girls might be hot, this threw me completely*

Curly: I was in Buffalo Bar on Friday night, that sounds about right. Were you sat near the window at the front? Who the hell was my 'dad'?

HG: Your Dad said his name was 'Paul X' and works on sanitary bins! Thought he got you a drink? By the window, yes! We were the campers!

*What the hell?! There wasn't anyone called Paul with us, and I don't know anyone that 'works on sanitary bins'.... and campers?!*

A few texts later, it eventually all came back to me, I remembered the girls, being in Buffalo and the whole camping thing - but no further light has been shed on who my dad was that night. A massive hangover on Sunday night just exhausted me and I promptly gave up figuring it out.

Tonight, I'm going to see Indie-Poppers Los Campesinos! It's sure to be a mighty fun time.

Kick-Start

2007-05-15T11:03:00.000+01:00

Things were getting stale here in my world here in Cardiff, but I'm happy to report that a trip abroad seems to have kick-started me back into action again. I felt a little groggy during the first couple of days back in the country, but Friday (thankfully) kicked off an eventful weekend.

Friday evening, I was lucky enough to prove my Manic Street Preachers fan credentials enough for my current gig-buddy, Becca, to take me along to the Cardiff leg of their current tour as they promote their new album, 'Send Away the Tigers'. They managed to play a song or two from every single one of their (Eight?) albums. The gig was nothing short of outstanding, I don't think I've ever got goosebumps from just watching a band play live before (Maybe once actually, I went to see a Swedish rap band at an outdoor festival - but I only got goosebumps because it was cold and I wasn't sensible enough to take a sweater with me).

Saturday was spent catching up with everyone in the local pub, and by catching up with everyone I mean drinking a couple of pints before switching to sambucca's and watching sport, barely saying a word. All attempts to control our sambucca consumption had failed and later that evening we waded into a Eurovision Party already in full flow and increased the pace a little. The Eurovision song contest this year was nothing short of hilarious, Terry Wogan had us all rolling around with laughter as did the absolutely abysmal acts - the super strength Cosmopolitans and a rather dodgy bottle of Thai whisky somehow didn't temper our spirits.

After the Eurovision climaxed, we headed into town to see what goodies awaited us. We stumbled into our favourite Irish bar, Dempseys, where I ended up in conversation with a hot Norwegian girl....

Hot Norwegian Girl : Do you tempt women into the woods with your dazzling blue eyes and have your way with them?
Curly : Not often, what about you? You also have dazzling blue eyes.
HNG : Yes, I tempt men into the woods all the time, I even have a tail and my last name is Hell(e).
Curly : Wow! So what is it you do when you're not doing that?
HNG : Oh, I'm a teacher.
Curly : Lolcano
HNG : Lollerskates.

Want to come into the woods and play?... Oh, I dunno - scrabble or something?... No?... Well, can you fetch me a blanket then, it's quite cold sitting here in the woods on my own - some biscuits wouldn't go amiss either.

Which brings me onto my question for today...

What is the best way you've messed up a (previously) guaranteed kiss/shag?

Baltic Bar Crawl

2007-05-10T16:13:00.000+01:00

Three intrepid adventurers arrived back from their mini-tour around the Baltic Sea on Tuesday, their life force almost completely drained, there wasn't a clean item of clothing between them and their concept of time had reached a level which not even Dr.Who could comprehend.

But without a doubt they had a trip which was nothing short of Cawesome*.

London

No trip abroad should be attempted with a clear head as we all know, so on the Friday before we departed we arranged to meet a bunch of people in London. I found Léonie wandering around in Camden and decided it would be best to have a couple of drinks before anyone else, a very good decision in my opinion. Afterwards we headed to Tottenham Court Road where we were joined by a host of other pals, we drank beer, chatted about Goldfish and laughed a lot, of course.

Sweden

We partied with friends in Uppsala for Valborg - a spring festival which is the biggest holiday in Sweden. We watched home-made rafts sail down the river, we danced at roof parties, we slept in strangers rooms and made new friends as a result, we ate meatballs, we drank copious amounts of red wine & vodka, got annoyed at the System Bolaget closing all the time and laughed until we cried.

Swedish Meatballs, Canadian and Welsh chefs

Stockholm was a beautiful place, it was my second time there and it hadn't changed much. It's hard to find a pub, but the archipelago and the beautiful buildings more than make up for that. My Stockholm tip - stay up all night and walk around the city, half-cut, for the 4:30am sunrise on your own. Also, take a camera... I didn't and am regretting it.

Finland

Our only port of call was Helsinki, we ate in a Tractor-themed bar, moaned about the price of alcohol, cheered up when we found some cheaper out-of-town (dodgy) places, we got cold and wet as a result of the weather, we hauled some unfortunate American girls out on the town with us and visited the Ice bar, we didn't go to the fairground despite a local saying "It's pretty much the only thing to do in Helsinki". There are some gems of buildings around if you can find them...

Zetor (Tractor) Bar

Finland was marred by a particularly nasty nights sleep, I'd stayed up all night in Stockholm and only managed to sleep for about an hour on our arrival in Helsinki. We went out exploring all the same, but decided to call it an night pretty early on. I climbed onto the top bunk-bed to catch some much-needed sleep. Almost instantly I noticed that no less than four of the people in my room were snoring heavily, at one point they were out of synch so much, there was a constant snore.... I couldn't sleep at all and I was in agony. Just when I trained myself to block out the snoring, my bed started rocking back and forth. The (stinking) old man in the bunk below me had decided to treat himself to a bit of "me time". As he increased the pace, he made more disgusting noises (in Finnish I assume) and the bed rocked harder and harder - I placed a pillow over one ear and stuck my finger in the other, I closed my eyes and almost cried myself to sleep. I told the boys of my harrowing experience in the morning, on the ferry out of Helsinki - they confessed that that incident had been the highlight of their trip so far.

Estonia

Old Town Tallinn is beautiful, the buildings have character, colour and the streets wind around like a maze, making it fun to get around (unless you're in a rush). Unfortunately, only a few days before we arrived, there had a been a couple of nights of rioting over the Estonian government moving a Russian war-memorial - many windows had been smashed and never out of sight were groups of police patrolling the streets. We visited Joel's bar, but there was no Joel in town for reasons posted on his bl*g. It was quite possibly my favourite bar in Tallinn (we managed to see in the region of 11), but short of people. In fact, there was almost nowhere busy on a Sunday or Monday night.

Shots of death

We sampled the local beers, I had an off day and spend the whole time moping around, which the other two found hilarious, we drank shots to make it better. After the shots we danced, ran from a huge Estonian who was offended by Bledd's name, upset Russian mafia members and then ran from them too - which became our new highlight of the trip...

Wales

Dying.

It'll take a while to get used to this place again, I've already got smoked a couple of times as a result of looking the wrong way when crossing the road. It's cold, wet and it gets dark early. But there is always a pub in sight, good times.

* Cool and Awesome, how did you not know that?

Out of Office

2007-04-26T14:33:00.000+01:00

Hey how ya doin', sorry ya can't get through. Why don't you leave your name, and your number,and I'll get back to you.

I'm copying Afe and going here, here and here. I'm not going to get fired though.

Here's a lush map for those of you that didn't pay attention in flag-identifying class:-

See ya soon!

Gaz & Charlie

2007-04-24T12:02:00.000+01:00

Two of my friends, "Gay" isn't the word for it. "Really Gay" is.

Furtado

2007-04-16T15:50:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I wish that she'd stop being so damn sexy, and I wish she'd stop releasing such ridiculously good tracks. Sometimes I wish she'd stop making me dance and stop me pressing repeat on the mp3 player. Sometimes I wish she'd stop me going off on massive rants about how good she is.

Sometimes.....most of the time though, I don't.

Another post about not posting.

2007-04-12T17:35:00.000+01:00

My T-shirt is deceptive

One worry that I've always had about having a bl*g is that some things which I consider too personal will spill over onto the internet. I've previously broken a couple of my own rules and written about things that I'm not entirely comfortable about divulging, but at least this had the effect of emptying the box a little. There are still enough thoughts, doubts and opinions swirling around in my head that I'm not sure I'm ready to let out.

I bring this up now because every single time I've clicked on the 'New post' button recently, I've been very close to writing down pretty much every damn thing that's occupying my mind at the moment. I'm a pretty guarded person by nature and that sort of behaviour would go against my character that has existed for the previous 25 years. Instead of writing, I've logged out again and left bl*gger well alone for a couple of days.

So, if I don't tell the interweb, who do I tell? I'm not religious, I'm not incredibly close to my family and I don't talk to myself (often), so that leaves me with the option of talking to my friends. There's a line from a Manics song which sums up the relationship between me and my male friends, "We don't talk about love, we only want to get drunk". Despite love not being the only topic, that's ruled them out too. Female friends, I'm severely lacking in. Only two I consider close enough to chat about anything, they both live in England. They also both visited on the weekend, which was great as I was able to get some things off my chest.

I'm worried that the next person I get close to will have all of my thoughts etc. dumped on them, I don't want to do that to anyone.

Perhaps I should just get a dog.

No Smoking Please

2007-04-03T14:36:00.000+01:00

April 2nd (Or April 1st, I wasn't really paying attention) saw a new law applied in Wales, which has banned smoking in:-

ALL enclosed and substantially enclosed public places. These include licensed premises; bingo halls; betting shops; cafes; and amusement centres. Smoke Free premises must remain smoke free outside of opening hours.

If you use your home for business, any areas where members of the public may enter, must be smoke free.

All public transport - including taxis and all Company Vehicles.

Private vehicles during work times, if using to transport clients or colleagues.

Now, this law doesn't yet apply to England. As you ALL know, we're not the same place - we have a National Assembly that pretty much does eff all (Only joking Assembly, you do build nice buildings for yourself) but this has been one of their great achievements so far.

Wandering into my local pub yesterday evening, the air was noticeably cleaner. The pub seemed brighter, you could see the ceiling clearly and no-one looked too edgy after not getting their nicotine fix. I inhaled deeply, I inhaled nothing but fresh air - it was excellent!

We then wandered down to the Barfly to check out People in Planes, the Cardiff Barfly is a dark and dingy little place. The walls are almost black and there's usually a thick smog in there from all the indie-kids puffing away. We kept repeating "Oh wow, it's so nice there's no smoke in here anymore". Halfway through the (impressive) gig, I decided to take a big, deep breath of fresh air again... This time, I didn't react in the same way, I coughed and spluttered as my nasal passages filled with an overwhelming amount of BO and a particularly nasty fart which someone had decided to release into the room, just that instant.

I'm not quite sure where I stand on the ban now.

Just stop.

2007-04-02T12:32:00.000+01:00

Could whoever is controlling all these odd events please just stop it.

It's been a week where two friends fathers have died, three mates have split up with their girlfriends, Southampton thrashed Wolverhampton 6-0, Liverpool beat Arsenal 4-1, Manchester Utd beat Blackburn 4-1, Biarritz lost to Northampton 6-7, Scarlets nailed Munster 24-15, the weather has ranged from 'warm summers day' to thunderstorms, strong winds and rain - and then back again in 15min intervals, I've had to sit in the office on a warm Sunday which was perfect for sitting in a beer-garden, heaps of people running round screaming because they have Glastonbury tickets, and my mood has ranged from frustrated to wildly ecstatic, to lonely to popular, from angry to happy and then just nothing - several times.

Despite all the goings-on, I can't think of anything to write on here. Last year, at a similar time - I decided that I needed a break from the bl*g. Perhaps it's just the spring weather keeping me out and about.

How are you?

Moody

2007-03-28T14:31:00.000+01:00

Life is strange at the moment. Strange but good.

We dubbed last summer "The Summer of Unluck" after so many plans and things we'd hoped for fell through. This year has already chucked up a whole bunch of (good) surprises.

I'm usually in a good mood, with the expectation that something amazing is about to happen - this causes much bouncing around, thinking I'm great and laughing at my own jokes. At the moment though, I'm chilled out, thoughtful, reflective and not letting things get to me - however good or bad.

Current mood: Nothing. Is that possible?

*update*
Years of my life have been spent maintaining that life is very simple. Over the last fortnight, I've realised that it is, in fact, really fucking complicated. Who would've thought?

Current mood: Bracing myself for something that's going to hit, without knowing what it is.

Lovely Spam

2007-03-26T11:13:00.000+01:00

Was I the only person in the world dull enough to put my real e-mail address on the bl*g so tiny little scanning bots could read it and spam the hell out of me? No?

I've heard of bits of code you can put into the template to 'suck' the scanners into a fake site, but that might have just been a dream. The same dream in which that blonde girl was sucking things just before I woke up.

Speaking of dreams, I had an AWESOME one the other day...

I was standing outside a row of shops, feeling a bit down after getting dumped by someone (I have no idea who). My house-mate was there, trying to cheer me up. She re-assured me that I'd find another girl as my muscles were very nice. Instantly I felt better and who was the first person I saw walking towards us on the street? A blonde Swedish girl named Eva, she may have been German though. I knew her name before talking to her, and we instantly started making out when she reached us. Brilliant.

All of a sudden I noticed the weather had changed, the sky was darker and I had a feeling that something horrible was going to happen. I turned around to see some pretty evil-looking teletubbies walking towards us.. "Run!" I shouted, Eva ran around them and jumped into an over-flowing river next to a scrap yard. I ran shortly afterwards - not bothering to go around the teletubbies, I flew into the purple one and knocked it flat on its arse. I then jumped into the river which was extremely fast flowing. Before I knew it, I'd lost Eva and I was starting to drown. Luckily I was hauled to the side by Mani from Primal Scream and several members of Oasis (the original line-up). Mani and his rock pals had been living in the scrap yard and fighting off teletubbies for a long time, and were livid when I told them what had just happened.

We all jumped back into the river, which of course was now flowing in the other direction, and climbed back onto the street. Mani and his Mancunian pals, armed with crude weapons such as car stereo aerials and gear levers, ran towards the teletubbies at full pelt - I was going to run as well but at the last second I noticed Eva struggling in the water. I turned around and lept over the fence into the water again, this time though, I failed to spot a concrete block at the bottom of the river. My head hit it with full force, and that's what woke me up.... I'd whacked my head against the bed post.

Weird, huh?

Please Wait... Loading...

2007-03-20T17:19:00.000Z

I'll be back soon, just recovering from an amazing weekend.

This helped, immensely. I held on until the final whistle, celebrated by nodding my head and smiling at everyone while they jumped around. Then I mysteriously disappeared, only to be found by my house-mates a couple of hours later - passed out on the couch.

March so far

2007-03-15T10:43:00.000Z

Bad things to happen this month: -

Silk Pants overheating.
Wales playing crap rugby.
Holes appearing in my shoes while it's raining.
My hair mis-behaving more than ever.
I've been low on energy and have been feeling a little uninspired.
I stuck a metal knife in the toaster at work to rescue a burning hot-cross bun, I shorted the entire office building. I rescued the bun though, and I sat there eating it in front of everyone at work while they sat contemplating all the work they'd lost. We laughed a lot, mainly because I was glad I didn't electrocute myself.

Good things to happen this month:-

Getting up really early on a Saturday to drive up to the Brecon Beacons. I dragged two girls to the highest point in South Wales, they complained most of the way up but were very impressed with the view once we got to the top, despite the fact that we were in the clouds and it was bloody windy.

We saw the Kaiser Chiefs in the students union. They were alright, I didn't enjoy it as much as I could have as Wales had just lost to Italy and I was knackered after walking up in the mountains.

I found a new route to work which avoids ALL of the Metro vendors and annoying Charity workers. As a bonus, it's quicker, more scenic and I get to see more student girls on the way. Bargain.

We also saw Bedouin Soundclash for a second time. Last time we saw them, we took them out on the piss around Cardiff and wound up in a steak house discussing reggae, sambucca on cornflakes and steak - it didn't happen again. They sounded great, the gig was cracking and we danced our little socks off.

Good things ABOUT to happen this month:-

Wales v England in Cardiff on Saturday. We've lost all four games so far in this years Six Nations competition. Wales v England is always good fun but very intense, it's the game which has more than points at stake. National pride and bragging rights are on the line.

St.Patricks. It's been close recently, but this year Paddy's has fallen on the same day as the final round of Six Nations matches. Those combined, plus the fact that it's the Wales-England match, means that it's probably going to be the biggest drinking day this year. The words 'Memory Loss' just won't do it justice.

The Howling Bells are coming to Cardiff. I was blown away with their CD and amazed by their live performance, now I'm going to see them again. I'm well stoked to be going.

Friends. The game on Saturday brings many friends together. Staying in my house will be Lord Sudrick, The King and Random Andy. Three of my greatest friends, three blokes that don't know the meaning of a bad time. We all live in different places and it'll be the first time we've all been together for a while. There will be an army of us in the pub by the time the match comes around. I'm excited a teeny weeny lot.

Woot.

An adventure with pants

2007-03-05T14:08:00.000Z

My weekend has been spent being late for launch parties by drinking too much gin, dancing in the students union, vegging in friends houses, not going home and going to the pub.

A weekend full of activities then, but Monday morning brought with it a bit of a shock - I hadn't done a single bit of laundry on the weekend, more specifically I hadn't washed any pants (British use of the word, Yanks and Aussies) or socks. This left me with a number of decisions to make:-

a) Re-use the pants I was wearing the day before
b) Go commando
c) Not go to work at all, and do my laundry instead
d) Wear the only items of underwear left, some red, flowery, novelty silk boxers from Thailand.

I'm not a fan of re-using underwear unless it's really necessary, so A was ruled out pretty quickly. B has been done many times before but it's not ideal when you like wearing old, comfortable jeans with holes in them, as I do. I might avoid work if there was a real emergency, like snow days, but C definitely wouldn't stand up as an argument for taking a day off. I was left with one decision, the novelty boxers.

The nice, smooth feel of the material was initially pleasing, I even made a sort of 'swishing' sound when I walked. But, Pulling on my jeans and walking to work reminded me why I never wore the bloody things, the heat was unbearable and I knew that at some point during the day, sweating would occur. Every movement (along with over-heating the boys) was making the elastic waistband ride further and further up my torso, it finally settled half-way up my stomach which meant that I was flashing the bright red monstrosities (the boxers...) every time I stood up/sat down/put a coat on/took my coat off.

The novelty boxers were only a temporary measure however, I ran out to buy some more underwear once I was in town. I'm not too familiar with shopping for underwear, Christmas presents usually cover the bulk of my collection. I was disappointed to find that Marks & Spencer's had a HUGE lingerie section but men's underwear was restricted to two shades of grey boxers in one small corner of the room. I tried a couple of other shops and grabbed anything that looked like it'd fit me, I haven't checked my purchases yet - I'm REALLY hoping that none of them are made of silk.

Dydd Dewi Sant hapus

2007-03-01T11:10:00.000Z

It’s the 1st of March again, the daffodils are in full bloom, plenty of people have leeks pinned to their clothes, at dusk the Empire State building will be lit up in the colours of the Welsh flag, many school kids in Wales are dressed up in traditional costume, the ale will be flowing, and of course, later on we'll all be sitting round a nice coal fire, drinking daffodil juice and calling each other ‘boyo’ more than we usually do.

Happy St.Davids Day.

Sorry

2007-02-27T13:33:00.001Z

I've been crap at this recently, I'll get back into reading all your wonderful bl*gs again soon.

I don't usually like apologising for things that I do (or don't do in this case), as my life would end up as one massively long apology. Sorry I was late, sorry I can't think of anything to say, sorry I woke you up by jumping up and down on your bed, drunk, wearing only my small pants last night, you get the idea.

We lost the rugby, but I wasn't really aware of that until Sunday morning. I don't think we reached 22 pints, but there was a 90% proof spirit at some point and I had a very bad head the next day.

Anyway, the good news is - I'm still alive, and Wales hasn't been conquered - although there was a moment of panic when the thousands of kiss-ball hooligans from London arrived for the weekend. Luckily we were as far West as we could get without getting wet in the Irish sea.

Want a country?

2007-02-20T13:17:00.000Z

Got a small army? Actually a couple of mates with some sharp knives will do.

I can suggest Wales, it'd be just ripe for invading at about 9:40pm on Saturday night. The residents won't put up much of a fight, a large percentage of the population, you see, will be completely plastered.

It's the third round of the Six Nations. Some clever bastard has put the game involving Wales on at 8pm.

Scotland take on Italy at 3pm. The pub opens at 12pm, say that's two pints an hour (a reasonable pace) until the game starts. 6 pints. One half of rugby is 40mins, you'll finish another two. Half-time, grab another one. Then there's the second half to get through. 11 pints.

Ireland play England at half five. Five pints during the game. 16 pints.

France v Wales is then finally aired at 8pm. Very few people are going to remember it, but Wales are playing - the adrenalin is pumping and you're not even watching the pace of your drinking anymore, it's probably fast. Six more drinks, that's brought our total to 22 pints.

We're going to a party in West Wales, after watching the rugby. We might die, and there'll be no-one left to conquer.

If I don't ever update this again, there's your reason.

Cardiff Music Extravaganza!

2007-02-16T10:43:00.000Z

Perhaps a little over the top with the title there, but I'd just like to take a minute or two of your time to tell you how great the alternative music scene is here in Cardiff.

The release of the 2006 compilation 'This town ain't big enough for the 22 of us' highlighted how deliciously varied and how wonderfully alive the sounds coming out of our small city were in that particular year. 2007 sounds as though it's going to be even better.

Last night we popped out to see retro-pop nutters Attack + Defend, who were celebrating the release of their single, Garibaldi. The three brothers sounded great, this (I believe) was their first major gig since the loss of band member and all round nice guy Mase (the bass). Mase actually made a brief appearance on stage and joined in on a couple of tracks, which was great to see and excellent to hear. How many bands do you know 'play' a computer keyboard as an instrument? Check them out.

Attack + Defend, nutters.

Supporting A+D, and attracting a fair bit of attention themselves, were Heck. Remnants of two former Cardiff-based bands have joined forces to produce some wonderful numbers. I can't find anything about them on the net as this was their first gig, instead I'll link you to lead singer and former Sammo Hung member - Jemma Roper. Maybe she'll mention the band there.

To underline the thriving-ness of the scene, spotted in the crowd were members of the disturbing Gindrinker, the excellent Vibration White Finger, the extremely talented Eugene Francis Jnr, the new and noisy Space in the 50's and the relaxing Leave the Capital - all on their way to wherever the musical gods think they should be.

One band who are almost certain to achieve great things this year, described as "The best Cardiff band who aren't actually from Cardiff" and "Indie Power Rangers" amongst other things, are the wonderful Los Campesinos! If you don't check out any of the other bands mentioned here, please listen to this one - you might even like it. I heard their latest song, 'We throw parties, you throw knives' on the radio shortly before heading out last night - it did more than get me in the mood. I danced around my room with the volume turned up pretty darn high then stopped because the curtains were open and the girl in the house opposite was looking at me funny, curtains closed - I carried on dancing and I even caught myself singing along. Smashing.

Los Campesinos!, Twee.

Top tip for the weekend:- Don't eat chilli baked-beans, consume several beers and then get a kebab all in the same evening. Belly will hurt. You will smell.

Gay* Valentines Post

2007-02-14T15:40:00.000Z

Yippee, my 3rd favorite day of the year.

(You might want to get a cloth and wipe all that sarcasm from your computer screen).

Ah, fond memories of being encouraged by my primary school teacher to write a little poem in a red card, draw a rose (or perhaps a heart) and secretly send it to one of the girls in the class. The girls in the class avoided me like the plague in Primary school, I was even given one card back once the girl in question found out who had sent it.

Secondary school, the girls were interested in the boys and vice versa. The cards actually began to mean something when they were sent. I sent one valentines card in my entire seven years at Secondary - I managed to obtain some red card and even write a funny poem, I eventually sent it to no-one but the bin.

By the time I'd left school - I'd refused to participate in any kind of valentines activity, I'd go to lengths to ensure I was nowhere near it. It meant absolutely nothing to me and I loved the fact that it had no effect on my life whatsoever.

In recent years, it's caught up with me again. Today is a day when pretty much all of my male friends are busy with their respective ladies. All but two of my mates are in a relationship at the moment. I occasionally catch myself worrying slightly at the fact that I'm now 25 years old and haven't had a girlfriend in that entire period. (The closest I'd previously got was with a girl from Leicestershire who moved to the isles of Scilly shortly after we'd kissed for the first time... you couldn't script it). But happily, the concern is always just a fleeting thought and I revert to my 'I love being single' mode again within no time.

V.Day is a day where Love is pretty much in your face the entire day and I can't help but think - Why the hell don't I have a girlfriend? Do I even want one? It's not to say that I'm shit with women, because I get my fair share. It's not to say that no girls are interested in me, because enough are - I'm just not interested in those ones. It's got to work both ways, right?

In other news:-

In an effort to feel more popular than normal, I've joined facebook - I've been playing with it for the last couple of days. I don't understand it and I'm slighty scared by how many people I know on it.

I've just had a glass of cool orange juice and stood by the window looking out at the brilliant, warm sunshine, I could almost feel the summer again....

I foolishly challenged all the guys at work to beard-growing contest for the month of February. Fourteen days in and I'm the only one left in it, I feel pressured to make it until the end of the month without shaving. As a result of my facial hair, I can't smile without it hurting... people keep asking me what's wrong. I've had loads of "Why aren't you smiling? You ALWAYS smile", or similar comments.

ps. I hadn't aimed for this to come out as a 'Boo-Hoo, poor me' post, but it has. Sorry. Happy Valentines!!

* Are we officially allowed to use 'Gay' to describe something that's crap yet?

Yes, Yes, Yes and Yes

2007-02-09T10:59:00.000Z

Quite possibly the most positive title ever to grace a bl*g. Mainly because it's snowing, as Afe had correctly predicted. But also because it's Friday, I've just had a massive fried breakfast and I went to see the (amazing) Bluetones last night. Like a lot of people in the 90's, I was a big fan of the Bluetones, last night I finally got to see them - about 10 years after I first heard of them. They didn't look a day over 25, checking up on wikipedia I find that Mark Moriss, the lead singer, is 35 - amazing stuff. I may have also met a girl, I was enjoying the conversation so much that I missed the Bluetones encore. Doh.

My favourite conversation of the day so far:-

Eirian leans out of the window, half naked, to see Curly standing out in the street....

Eirian - Why does it feel like I've been drinking?
Curly - Because you and me got leathered last night.
Eirian - Oh yeah. Why aren't you in work?
Curly - I'm on my way.
Eirian - But it's half past ten?
Curly - Yeah, I've been going round everyones houses and chucking snowballs at their windows - on my way.
Eirian - OH WOW! It's snowing!