Stun Shine

Amsterdam United !!!

2007-12-15T14:40:00.000+00:00

Yes - I am still alive. In Amsterdam now for 3 months - left no trace in countries unbounded and moved her lock stock and barrel. Living in a flat with empty Grolsch bottles creeping out of my wardrobe. Blue flashing gear sticks in the local disco taxi and I feel great !!

Ailing in the Paris of my dreams

2007-09-07T23:19:00.000+00:00

Reasons not to be cheerful - part one. Feeling a bit sick and down in the dumps. Went to a mega party last night out in the rich suburbs of Paris (yes I am still here) and the tree lined streets were a sight to my very sore eyes. I gagged a bit in the Cuisine and during a hefty bout of wrestling with a vixen called monique I think I broke a rib. And I do not have a spare rib. I feel weary, almost ready to jack it all in and go back to Barking and Bob and the new baby and Sharon - Oh god ! no No No - they tried to send me back to Barking but I said No NO NO ! I will cough a bit more blood, lie limp and regurgitate my supper but I will also bounce back. As I lie here in my bedroom pontificating onto a laptop while feeling grim and pale - I have decided to resurrect myself like a Jesus of now, I will lead the meek into the nerest bar and order a round of their finest Beaujolais and smoke Bensons. Notice I did not say Bordeaux - I just cannot afford to blow my money on he Claret too often - not the really expensive stuff that tastes like the nectar from the pearly gates, pressed by gods big toe. And so I stay in this romantic city for some time and more driving myself down into my inner soul - and I think to myself what a wonderful whirl of emotions are circling around my brain. Goodnight and God press grapes for me tonight in my dreams ...

Lost time in Paris Underworld

2007-08-19T20:41:00.000+00:00

I know its been a long time - and I entered Paris a brighteyed innocent - and now thanks to the pulling power of Jenny my companion I have been dragged into the bohemian underworld left bank experience. I have wholeheartedly changed - and I now flit in black and white across roads with jump cuts and still a Benson drooping although I think I will sometime give a nod to the changing times and give up smoking but only after a deep and interesting 36 hour debate with a flatload of Parisian intellectuals (Paul Bonnard, Jean de Fluc, Spikey, Chamboise, Renny the fox, One eyed Steve, Madelaine and Clancy Foster, Paul Picard and the rest, you know who you are so i do not need to reinforce your existence, but here is a cheery SALUT to you all you hairy (mostly) people of the night - I will try to keep up with you analysis on the US hegenomy and the rise of dysfunctional Russia and the Putin Sputine Machine ... but I have to9 dash now to the archetypal smopky jazz joint for some finger tapping -

Poetry in Paris

2007-07-17T21:05:00.000+00:00

Paris Paris what can I say ! romantic city of the noughties with the gallic charm and the vino. Oh the Vin de table, so many tables so many bottles of the finest plonk in the world spilling over my jutting chin and moistening my cigarette so that I , yes I of the bon homie, have to light yet another Benson and swig a mothful of the Beaujolais or Burgundy or Bordeaux or the buggeration what is that one called I dont give a fuck just give me a quaff of that quaffing wine and we'll be on our way to another cafe or bar or club or restaurant or dodgy flat with people sitting cross legged playing the guitar. Jenny has taken to sipping Ricard and reciting poetry and smoking Gauloise. Here is one of her poems:

Angry
Yes I am bloody angry
What are you staring at
You four eyed feminist male
With the Fucking cheek to call me shallow
You vacuous prat
Lather mouth
Fat git
I spit on your mothers carcass
You dodgy spunkball
Grated cheese on your eyelids
Foreskin rollback menthol dab
Sliced sole
Chopped toes
You utter bastard
I will call your father and denounce you

She read that to the assembled wine drinkers in a small cafe on the left bank
And they roared their approval and coughed and clapped
Patted on the back. Jenny was high with emotion
We have been living the lives of literary heroes me doing the wine and fags, she writing agressive strange poetry of the highest order and reciting to dumbfounded audiences of pseudo bohemians and we work the crowd - getting the odd bit of cash - more for jenny - I have stacks in the bank

She comes in many colours

2007-07-06T19:27:00.000+00:00

I know - yes, sorry, VERY late with the posting - we all need a bit of time out, even us travellers in Austria. But you will be glad to hear that here in the Tyrol I have bedded in with Jenny and knocked around with Alfonse in glorious style - so much so that I could not stop from the whirl for one tiny moment to release my pleasure onto the page - until now that is. For now you are to be the recipients of my full bloom. I have been intoxicated all week, ridden with the paradoxical fumes of nicotine, and the combination has left me high in the clouds of Austrian Nirvana. Jenny has transported me to a place somewhere near hippydom with a twinge of mod, a dash of punk and a mighty splash of hedonistic ridiculousness the likes of which have not been seen here in the mountains for many a long year I bet. We have danced in the sultry late night hotel disco to Dexys Midnight runners and Duran Duran. We have drunk pints of icy lager until the early hours in small candlelit bars while Alfgonse told us about his head injury and
childhood in Nice with the Rabine family after his parents had been killed by falling masonry. Allowing me to make my gambit and release myself of my inner virtual tumour and spill my guts out on the beechwood table verbally describing my own parents death in the car crash from hell. We have wandered high and low, tiring ourselves in wooded walks or near mountain peaks, to lay the old blanket and make intricate love in the open air while Alfonse wandered off for a pee. Now is the summer of all my content and the content will now com spewing out in multicoloured pellets all over you ! Ahhh to have found love with an indie clothes designer of massive repute and to not know what amazing surprise will venture around my mini corners.

Today we have sayed in the hotel with a bottle of the finest Chablis, 40 Benson, 3 bottles of high grade Chill Vodka (it damn spicy mon !). And just ourselves, and Alfonse, to keep us company while we discuss anything. Tomorrow we fly - YES fly to PARIS - because Jenny has a show near Montemarte and I have an urge to see the Romantic city now I have gone dewey eyed myself. And it will be good to see if Urban culture has an effect on the Jenny thing going on down in my head right now. So Paris - not gay - straight to gay Paris !

Shave in Bar with Cut Throat

2007-07-01T23:29:00.000+00:00

So I strutted around in Brown for some time taking in the sights of Innsbruk and the surrounding villages and locale and ended up in a stinky little bar of the boiled cabbage variety with cheery wenches and a loud thumping on the wooden tables as the tankards came crunching down in the hands of massive Austrian worker types. I hesitated to ask for the bottle of vino then plucked up the courage (Jenny and Alfonse were with me) to order 3 of their finest Reds and we took our seats in the corner. All eyes were on us (we were strangers in a local pub and we felt like it I can tell you) - and we got stuck into a passable Cotes de Rhone and moved onto the second with ease and I drifted into a Benson and Hedges moment before steerin the bit of conversation I was managing to engage in with my companions to the subject of shaving and the need I had for a good one. A local then started blithering on and before I knew it I was in a high chair in the middle of the bar with an enormous guy towering over me with a cut throat razor and a brush full of lather. I succumbed to what was a very nice shave in the end. I know that the wine would have made a cut go bursting forth in copious amounts of blood all over the bar floor and I prayed that that would not happen and indeed it did not - not so much as a nick or scrape. So now I am baby bottomed for the time being - maybe the next 8 hours. By the way - where have I been the last week - well it was my birthday and Alfonse and Jenny took me to a small cellar bar in a mountain retreat and I dont remember much else - except I did try meditating but I was too drunk ! Can yo meditate when you are pissed - well I do not fucking know and I did not care then and I do not care now except that I am sure that it is quite a good thing to do for rest and relaxation and I guess that is what I should be doing rather than drinking large amounts of God's nectar. Well I will peruse the paradox and have a fag. Nice times these - Jenny is turning out to be a scream - she has a fine sense of humour and can put away a large quantity of red wine without falling over.

Brown is my colour

2007-06-24T14:21:00.000+00:00

Went on a flying visit to Innsbruk on the back of Alfonse's motorbike - we went to visit a chic post modern artist in a top floor attic apartment - she is called Barbetta and smears hings almost excrement like over canvases walls and installations. Jenny knows her and says she is particularly clued up on clothes and I certainly know what she means. We arrived in her massive loft studio in Brixner Strasse after eating two huge Macdonalds Meals - not happy ones , they are for kids, we had unhappy meals and enjoyed every last drop of it. Barbetta had just finished smearing her last masterpiece and poured us huge Gin and Tonics in oversized medieval tumblers - once the conversation got off smearing and onto fashion I felt better and I asked her straigh if she felt comfortable in her plastic dress with Horse Head hat and she replied " I feel happy in my clothes because they are an integral part of me, when I wake up in the morning I do not think what shall I have for breakfast -I think what can I wear to give me a fulfilled feeling today that will last right through to lunch. Clothes are my nutrition". I sked her what I should wear and she walked slowly around me and studied me carefully and debated with herself in German - then she finally announced that we have another Gin and she would tell me. I lit a Benson and she clucked admiringly - "I do so like a man who still smoked" - "I know now what you should be wearing !" She got out a brown jumper and shirt and brown jeans, a brown Trilby - Brown is your colour its the new beige and so rock and roll . I gulped my drink and stripped down to my stripy undies - "Oh darling, these too must be brown" - and she rummaged for what seemed ages in her chest and found some brown pants. I went down naked and then stumbled leaving my arse in the air momentarily and blamed the Gin. Before long though I was in all nrown gear and I loved it - she was so right - I will never wear another colour ! I love Brown Clothing

Crisis

2007-06-23T20:55:00.000+00:00

Crisis - oh yess crisis - oh no its a crisis, oh no its a crisis, hippy crisis, two tone crisis, punk crisis, mod crisis. Jenny the sewer extraordinaire has suggested a suggested a revamp and as you all now I ended up like a happy trippy Charles Manson in Austrian villages and it felt good - until the leiderhausen brigade took the piss and I hit the bottle harder than I normally do , about 2.3 times harder in sheer quantity of units of alcohol and about 4.7 times faster than I normally drink with 3 more Bensons per hour - So i have now got a decision to make in terms of which direction I take fashion wise - because I may as well take up Jenny and her offer to clothe me in any style I like - so I will be thinking hard - hard oh harder than hard - it dont come easy babe - oh no it dont come easy - watch this space - what will I transform myself into here in the beautiful Tyrol where the summer mountains are such a treat and the air smells so sweet. So will it be mod, punk, two tone, indir grunge or EMO, I'm no straight edge but may be I could be filled and planed. Gracious me I feel the need for a decision tomorrow ....

Running on Empty

2007-06-20T22:21:00.000+00:00

The world goes round, and I spin on my arse axis - crossing in to the hippy divide you hairy monsters, I'm coming to get ya. That about sums up my dream last night. I woke up in a cold sweat next to Jenny the Indie Clothing magnet and she sang me to sleep with a mournful Handsome Family song about a women who drives her car and kids into a lake. I must fear hippies or do I want to be one - can I take the Ganja ? or will it make me a victim like all the paranoids filling the psychiatric wards ? can I sit in the circle with the peace pipe or can I do it with my trusty bottle of Vodka and 20 Bensons - or roll ups. Talking of which I hear that the UK is going smoke free - well sod that for a lark - I want to be able to light up in a pub, that is where I do my most dedicated smoking, what am I going to do when (and if ) I return to England ?. Austria is nice, green and pleasant land, but I feel out of place with the beads that are round my neck and the peace love and affection vibe that Jenny wants me to adopt. Notice I am now blaming her for all this, but well, it was her fault, she sewed these clothes. I have sat here at the InterBlinking Cafe and downed a tasty red and now I am going to put my feet up and ponder on my hippiedom, am I the guru doing the hippy hippy shake ? or am I Morrisey in Austria dressed as a hippy with no past pop career ? I will allow the neurins to coagulate and swarm to the opinion that will dominate over the next few hours.... optimist or pessimist ? Glass half empty or half full - well, its always fully empty fo me, but there is always another bottle to swig - BYPASS THE GLASS and then you do not have to be categorised !!

Dressing up in Austria

2007-06-18T17:08:00.000+00:00

Desperate to be independently clothed and out of these rags I have been wearing for the last few months. Alfonse says that my blue cordueroy trousers are looking grey and tattered - I need a new look - so I have teamed up with Jenny from the Hotel and she is here for rest and recuperation following the break up of her marriage - she runs a little clothes shop in Hampstead and has the kind of knowledge that I need to really get on in this world in a more suave and sophisticatedly indie way - straight edge I be not seeing as I resort to the tequila slammer once too many times especially last night, and a smoker joker midnight toker albeit Bensons and not skunk. So anyway Jenny has a horsey laugh and a nice nature and drags me round the Austrian shops looking for something but gets despairing, all white shirst, stripy jumpers and ties. So she says why not repair tpo her room - nice and join her for a sewing fest. I suggest we buy a couple of bottles of Brandy and invite Alfonse - she says yes, and before I know it we are creating our own indie fashion form the spirit of Corvoisier and Jenny's clothing skilss which are predigious. Soon (3 hours) I have a hippy smock and flared cotton trouses, a headband and a post modern ironic take on the hippy culture. I like - oh yes man I like and I can strut around the small village and wipe the pants off all comers. I will ascend hills feeling at one with nature and with my trusty hip flask drink a toast to Jenny the Queen of indie fashion - she recommends this indie clothing site for a good started list of indie clothing and that should whet your appetite you crazy dressing up hogs.

Away from the rat race for a change

2007-06-15T23:13:00.000+00:00

Lying in the grass today on an Austrian Hillside many kilometers away from traffic or noise and life seems barable again and I held my Glass of Vodka and Triple Sec high up to the sun and wished the world a toast of keep on keeping on. I have gone solo today since Alfonse has gone into a local town to buy shoes and I have had enough of humans anyway - so I have been walking quite intrepidly and I have seem a few of these bizarre Nordic Walkers with their ski poles but no skis - better than walking sticks for some I suppose but then again a mighty stout but slightly gnarled and varnished walking stick must win hands down in the Ski stick, walking stick competitions that go on somewhere in this known universe or beyond. So I have actually slept quite a bit, on perfumed meadow grass, and smoked these fine Bensons, drunk champagne and vodka and Triple Sec, and stuck a natural nasal spray up both nostrils to stop congestion and bad breath. I do not want to risk making a young woman's stomach turn when I try to get near if I can help it. and there is no sign of romance. The hotel s full of people on some kind of bloody mission to be fitter than me and fitter than most of the people around the same age and younger than themselves within reason. But sometimes that reason goes right out of the window and I am left to pick up the pieces, like this morning when a jogger bumped into the breakfast trolley sending crissants flying and the odd spec of coffee landed on my new green trousers.

Boiled Eggs

2007-06-14T22:55:00.000+00:00

Dipped my feet in blue waters of Lake Vernago and wistfully went the way of the world and crashed myself full tilt into the beautiful waters and gorged my innards on the spike of bliss. Had another fine bottle of German White and smoked a fine reefer with Alfonse - a French tripper over here in Austria syaing at my fine hotel and a FOOT WAGGER !!. If you do not know what that means the let me tell you they STINK!!. Anyways up and sidewaysdown I have travelled the many highways an byways and now I am weary and i could sleep for a thousand years - so I have been very glad to be here in the Tyrol and mixing with he sporty people I find. I remember when me and Alfonse first met - up the hill with flowers. He said to me do you like fire light ? and I gave him a light - he said would I like to be with him in bar for drinking Yes ? I said sure and folled him - we havent looked back and we are now good chums, lashings of strong lager beer and boiled eggs.

Tyrol here I come

2007-06-12T21:55:00.000+00:00

Now I have a wad in my pocket and I am strutting around like I own the whole of Austria, strange how things can turn upside down. One minute I am missing the BIG LADY from Wigan nee Bianca Whatserface in a Cairo hotel drinking what I must bloody well admit is a fine drink, Ricard, in copious quantities just to keep my liver tickled, and smoking the fines Benson and Hedges this side of the Antarctic, then the next minute I am rescued by my knight in shining armour and jammy so and so BOB the rich git. Now I can start my swanning around the world all over again and take a straighter course to ultimate happiness, and where better to begin that than the Tyrol in summer. I intend to take up Archery, and will be bringing down the sheep from the mountains, canoeing and canoodling with the busty beauties I intend to befriend around Lake Vernago, enjoy culinary delights (stuff my face) and local specialities of the sensual kind – with some candlelit moments and some with the light off, glacier tours, if still applicable – see this space for my Global Warming Update if I can get energised to think in these terms , hiking in Val Senales, horse riding if my bum can tae the rough treatment – I do not want to end up chaffed, Juval Castle and Reinhold Messner (I’ve read the brochure, they look good , Nordic walking strutting and talking with the Nordic type people who do a lot of this kind of ting man , rafting, rock climbing, summer skiing I am turning as you now realize BOB (are you listening ! or still too drunk to care ! into a man of Austran action. The list of things to do during in the summer in South Tyrol is apparently huge according to Jan at the SparKen Travel in downtown Viennawhen. I have now settled in a cat like way in the the Berghotel Tyrol in Val Senales and after a couple of incidents involving me dropping a fine bottle of scotch on the foyer floor I have managed a bit of shuteye and later intend to do a bit of roving for fun. I’ll be looking for sporty people, nature-lovers and culture enthusiasts in particular. This looks like the best decision I have made for a few weeks. And I cannot wait for the fresh green mountain meadows, imposing mountain tops to invite me to be active in the mountains before I relax and spend hours in good company with the mighty power of the vino and I might even sing !!.

Back Home They'll Be Thinking About Yer

2007-06-11T21:48:00.000+00:00

Can You Believe it - I was in Barking last night - I flew back in a Tizz because Bob contacted me in my Cairo stupour Biancaless and moribund and told me he had just won £250,000 on the lottery and would I like to come back for the party of a lifetime and he'd see me right for 5K . I said thanyou very much and got the next flight home - and we partied like it was 1999, Sharon was with the kid and me and Bob went to a restaurant then a pub and then a club and then back to his mates Nigel with the Goofy teeth - I like him, and he is getting 5K also and we started necking into the corvoisier brandy and getting a bit tearful about the womenfolk in or out of our lives and I got Bob to sign the cheque. I'm noe in Austria - Vienna to be precise and I have just had a slap up load of vegetarian nonsense with french wine a slap happy waitress - my smile has been from ear toear and back ! Thing are on an upward spiral into the next plateau of luck and anti futility. So tomorrow, sample some summer fresh air in the mountains - find a mountain lodge and shack up - preferably with a few cases of vino and a country frauline or two.

Rack and Ruin without the big woman

2007-06-08T22:56:00.000+00:00

Reality check - Whoaa slow down - Bianca has left me in Cairo on my own - I hadnt realised she had gone for over a day - because I had been enjoing some relaxing Ricard moments in the room for a few hours on Wednesday and lost the narrative for a while. She left a note I read some 23 hours ago now and it stirred a bit of emotion in me for half an hour and I had to settle myself down with a Rum and Coke and 5 Bensons. This is her short note.

Esten Dear

Cannot take the constant drinking, and when you are comatose you always go on about my big butt - cannot effing take it anymore LOSER !

Love
Bianca

Nice - I have go over the big bum lady and I am now just resting

I'll have to get a plane outta here soon - its driving me to rack and ruin

Global Warming Guilt

2007-06-03T22:01:00.000+00:00

Feeling incredibly guilty having seen Al Gore's film on Global Warming on an Egyptian pirated DVD and realing I have a carbon footprint the size of a Yeti's because of all my flying and I may personally be implicated for half of Greenland dropping off and switching off the gulf stream and making my home town of Barking UK like northern norway - nil points for me. Bianca does not really understand and has not allowed herself to feel guilty and points out that actually I dont get off my arse much except to find the lighter or open a beer or twist the lid on a new single malt, so how can I be chipping Greenland ? We have the Carbon Footprints of herons she says - we do not fly much and when we do we tend to find a hotel room and then relax with a bottle or two. But what about the manufacturing of all these bottles - ad have we been recycling and does smoking add to the carbon layer ? perhaps I should cut down from 25 a day to 15 and that might help. By the way Cairo is chilling us - we dont do much just pop in and out of the hotel and meander occasionally - we dont have exciting sessions like with Pete coz he has gone home.

My Mind Tries to Contemplate Multiverses

2007-05-31T22:14:00.000+00:00

I'm rambling, not on the moors of North England or Cornwall, but in my mind, I am rambling through my Egyptian experience and going whacko with alarming speed. The 17 hour drinking binge seemed a good idea at the time and Pete was the most amazing host - welcoming us back to his two up two down semi rural retreat to beat off the mother of all hangovers and paying for a smart cab back to our delightful OM something hotel and now I have a headache that reaches into my toes - twists my internal melon into sausage dog shapes and gives me violent kicks in the liver and kidneys. Bianca I think feels the same but that is just intuitive because we havent uttered a word now for 24 hors except GAWWD BLEEDING ELL . My mind - hemmed in by pain has taken routed of durvival I had not thought possible - dipping into the pool of sleep only for a moment because of the freezing cold nightmares that ensue I have taken to lying with my eyes open on the floor and then sometimes the bed and moaning. The moan has turned into a meditation on life with alcohol and tobacco - om om om and I have only smoked 5 Bensons since. My thoughts have wandered beyond the pyramids up into the multiverses beyond our simple convenient universe and out into the realms of the 11th dimensional tiny spotted lesser known miniverses that exist in the moist cleavage between the megaverses of the power kingdoms. Or some such nonsense that I cannot understand. Funny where the mind takes you - but I realised that my mind had reached its limit when it started to pop and fizz and then I knew that however much I tried I would never understand the infinity of multiverses out there.

The Lost Seventeen Hours in Cairo

2007-05-30T22:11:00.001+00:00

Now its been several days here in Cairo and after the hot sweaty camel hassle of the Pyramids Bianca and I got the fear - and hid away for a while. Bianca did a bit of strutting around the room - quite a big room with a big fan and noises of traffic pouring in. She did her makeup a lot and tried on her mostly red dresses and I keep seeing her adjusting her lipstick or straightening a dress in front of the Al Halumi mirror. I have taken to wearing a fez and smoking Bensons throug a long filter I picked up in a bazaar - I also have taken in a huge way to Ricard - luckily I have found a supply and now I am in my element - the luxurious tokes on the Benson some 50cm away from my mouth with the razor sharp taste sensation of Anis sends me into another world of plot and intrigue, money and guns, romance and passion. I looked Bianca in the eyes and she said what was I doing giving her the stares like that it gave her the creeps. I took another toke and got up and put my arm around her hoping she would swoon, but she got unsteady on her feet and belted me - We wnet out soon after that looking for tights, she ha laddered her best pair. Thats when we met Peter, and American in the Foyer. Peter was sweating alot, which is i think, his problem, and Bianca was kind enough to point it out. He remarked that he did sweat profusely in contrast to Bianca's gentle glow and spologised if it made her squeamish. Bianca liked him from the off and asked him if he new where we could get tights and he said he didnt but he knew somewhere we could all get tight ! a man after my own heart - from Chicago Illinois and a man on business (going wrong by all accounts) in Cairo with a couple of days to kill and some cash - like me - in search of some fast action. He led us through a maze of streets and then into a small square with some old men sitting around on low benches playing some game and being shouted at by a hollering women - several impish children loitered around - Peter went up to one of the old guys and whispered something - looked at Bianca and me and then the old guy gave him a key, and Peter led us into a building - we wnet down several dark coriddors with the smells of some kind of cooking and washing combined - we turned a corner - and he put the key into a door - opened it up - and there we were, home ! The secret bar of the lost Egyptians ! - a bar stacked with optics full of Whiskey, Brandy, Rum and a rack of fimne wines. There was a juke box andit had old rock and roll - Chuck Berry Promised Land was playing as soon As I saw it and had worked out that it didnt need money - free sounds ! - we were the only people in at this point - but were soon followed by a little midget guy who could just reach the optics and served us scotch and sodas - Pete said that this was on him - he'd paid up front for a session down here with two companions and we could drink what we liked - smoke what we liked and play what we liked on the juke box baby (I love rock and Roll !). Which is how we spent the next 17 hours !in the company occasionally of French and German businessmen who liked dangling there feet in the tubs of water provided and of course Bianca wass a big big it - dancing to Little Richard, Jerry lee, the Beatles and the Stones, and of course Elvis the Pelvis King Presley himself the hounddog in the Blue Suede Shoes. She was now in her element even though she prefers Girls Aloud or Britney Spears. What a session, Peter old us all about his abortive attempts to sell his Beta Carotine pills in Cairo and also get them interested in Nicorette. God knows if he was a bullshitter but he talked the hind legs off of me, and had me arm wrestling, and spatial finger tapping (drinking game involving repeated instructions on which finger to move). The toilet was the one dissappointing aspect - and I needed it a lot given the quantity of high class booze I was imbibing. But I did not complain - I was having too good a time - it did start to get a bit blurry for me at one point but I rested my head on Biancas huge lap and snoozed it off in under 10 minutes - and then got stuck into teh wrestling - Peter was an expert wrestler and took on all comers in his Blue suit and pink checked shirt - I came off worse for wear but he look a bit deshevilled after and I took that as a partial victory. HE smiled, Bianca grinned and all the businessmen laughed (including a dirty little Japenese guy who kept goosing Bianca much to her delight coz it meant she could thump him and she likes thumping blokes - trouble is he liked being thumped). Nice Nice Nice.

Do I want a Camel Ride ? - No !

2007-05-26T22:10:00.000+00:00

Do I want a Camel Ride ? - Does your lovely big lady want a camel ride ? Would you both enjoy a ride on our friendly camels ? No was our answer - we have come to gawp at the Pyramids, and these geezers constantly hassle - so I dipped into my hip flask at regular intervals and rolled a few rollies and tried to take it all in my stride - but the camel requesting interventions became quite big and often so I had enough and we scooted back to Cairo and a well earned beer in our room.

Trashed in Om Kolthoon

2007-05-25T17:50:00.000+00:00

The Om Kolthoom Hotel started to get on my nerves today, then took an upwards swing and finally redeemed itself and I fel calmer. Bianca pissed herself and I thought we'd have to go to an Egyptian doctor for assessment but she says it happens from time to time particularly if she has been mixing her drinks - in this case gin and wine, and we both agreed to agree that it was probably just an uncontrollable lapse in a time of high excitement- new country - Egypt, the prospect of visiting the Pyramids in the near future and also the added factor of some powerful heat, me massaging with an oil we had not heard of before (Koriasten Oil anyone ?) . I looked a bit sheepish at around 3.00pm but soon sprang out of that and then decided that we would do the pyramids in a day or two - but first get around Cairo by foot and bus and see some of the real Egypt. But instead we stayed in our Hootel room at the Om and trashed the day in a spectacular display of enjoying ourselves with limited resources - Bensons, Old Virginia, Rizlas, Wine and Spirits and some Egyptian Beer. Oh and a lighter (green). Bianca revealed more hairaising stories from Wigan in the Eighties and I rambled a lot about White Horses, Bill and Ben, Thunderbirds, Joe 90, and single malt Whisky. Bianca continued to worry me with her references to her Wrestler Father who would fight her boyfriends, get them in horrific arm ann neck locks and practically kill them ! I do not want to meet him even if he is 78 now.

Booze in Egypt - a primer

2007-05-24T20:37:00.000+00:00

Stepped into another world, the hustle and Bustle of Cairo International and the arab world - first impressions are of glitz and glass and heat - jump in a cab and head for the Om Kolthoom Hotel, an excellent hotel and jolly nice is I say so myself - good choice, in an ideal location. Although the rooms are basic, the service of the staff is five star, straight away Bianca required some medicine for a mosquito bite roght on the big bum of hers and I enquired politely in the lobby and the manager contacted a local chemists got delivery happening with aplomb and within ten minutes I had a fist full of medicine all for a total cost of 1 Euro! Nice one manager guy - you get a big virtual slap on the back for not being a slacker waster. But anyway I have found out about drinking: Although devout Muslims refrain from drinking alcohol, beer, wine, and hard liquor are available in bars, restaurants, and some grocery shops. Imported beer and wine are the most expensive, but the local beer called Stella is a light lager that is quite good, provided it has not sat in the sun too long. It comes in large (about 20 oz.) bottles and is about 4 to 5% alcohol about . Stella Export, available in bars and restaurants, is more expensive (4%), comes in smaller bottles, and is stronger--closer in alcohol content to most Western beers. Marzen, a dark, bock beer, appears briefly during the spring; Aswanli is the dark beer made in Aswan.
Brandy is drinkable only when diluted, and the local rum is not much better. However, zibib, the Egyptian version of Greek ouzo or Mexican anasato, is good either on the rocks or diluted with water (which turns it milky) as a before-dinner cocktail. Other hard liquors are imported and therefore are limited (the ports at Suez and Alexandria seem to have the widest variety) and expensive. If you drink regularly, plan on stocking up at a duty-free store before you enter Egypt. an I do drink regularly so I have stocked up - clever old me eh ? and I have some nice bottles of Brandy, Gin - two very nice bottles of Chateaux Neuf du Pape and assorted mini bottles of god knows what - chin chin my luvva.

Long live the Sphinx

2007-05-23T21:24:00.000+00:00

Busy Busy Busy - Flew to Rome, got outta that Palermo place that was doing my nut in, except for yesterdays exertions at Etna, which did Bianca in physically, but me I'm a sprightly chap, and who said a bottle of stiff brandy was any hinderance to volcano climbing ? eh ? well apart from spluttering and wheezing a bit and bending over nearly vomiting it was damn easy- and although actually we did not make it up to the top (anywhee near) do not tell Bianca ! she thinks I'm some kindda miracle man !. Anyway Back in my old stomping ground with the big girl by my side and all thoughts of Petra and April banished to my inner sanctum. Rome feels different and we are staying one night in a modern anonymous hotel that feels like living in a polished kettle. I have taken to drinking champagne so bottoms up. And I have watched Spongebob Squarepants on TV, great ! I love Patrick, he reminds me of me ! Tomorrow we flyto Cairo - so tonight its bubbly time and Bianca wobbled out of the shower and sat on my face with glee. Later we danced to the muzak on the TV radio and listened to the Pope pontificate like he can. Nice day - looking forward to a change in culture - must remember to take some spirits - can you drink in Egypt - I'd better find out - we'll have to cancel if I am going to risk my limbs for my liver. The carpet here is nice and soft and I have rolled around on it quite a lot - spilt some champers and smoked 20 Benson in 5 hours - nice going for a cool operator. Here is to tomorrow and Egypt !! Long live the sphinx.

Mount Etna Too Much for Bianca

2007-05-22T21:37:00.000+00:00

Yes, still here, but guys and gals - we went up Mount Etna - can you believe it ! and I shall ramble on now about it because I loved it ! Bianca hated it - it was too much for a fat one but Sicily's greatest natural attraction, Mount Etna, baby, is also its highest mountain and I mean high, especially if you have been dopping the odd swig of Brandy and relying on Sudafed to keep you on your toes. To the ancient Greeks, Mount Etna was the homeland of Vulcan, crazy god of fire, and the home of that one-eyed monster known as the Cyclops. More facts - It is 3350 meters high and is Europe's highest active volcano, funny that I thought it was Vesuvius, but I was wrong. Amazingly, but obviously, the height of its summit changes with each eruption, and over the centuries a few lava flows have reached the coast. Over 1200 square meters of Etna's surface is covered with solid lava. You can ski in the Winter, and hike in the woods in Summer and that is what we did. It was a day out to remember, but I dont remeber that much because my head was frazzled by too much sun and Brandy and the constant earache that Bianca gave me - which I dealt with by depositing her with a scared looking guide who then took her to a Pizzaria and chatted to her whie drinking l;arge quantities of bee. I then trudged off to enjoy what I could and there was some breathtaking scenery. I recommend it, I think.

Dont drink yourselves to death please !

2007-05-19T23:35:00.000+00:00

Dick the horn turns out to be a bit of an old philosopher and he has been setting me straight on the ways of the world - as seen through the bottom of my ever full glass, and he thinks that I drink the way I do because i like it and it makes me feel great and that I should not listen to the ever increasing barrage of baloney that is coming my way about the quantity and mixture of alcoholic beverages that seem to swish down my gullett with such ease. I mean, he says, you obviously have an enormous liver and the capacity to drink Europe dry if not Africa, Asia, Antarctica, Australasia, America (south and north) etc etc. So why shouldnt I ? eh? its my life, and I'll probably be one of these lucky sodes who ive to ninety and everyone says, god he drank and smoked like a chimney and he hasnt died - why the hell not the lucky basrardos. And its not like I am trying to get you lot whoever you are (but I know you are there somewhere and I may come and visit your country and drink your country dry), its not like I'm trying to get you lot to drink yourselves to death, I mean, you do have some intelligence do you not, you are not going to do that are you ? unless you want to - and then you are probably not reading this - because this blog is happy most of the time and about my travels. So that is that and Dick the trumpet is right - so there.

Trumpet in the Park

2007-05-18T23:40:00.000+00:00

Aha Aha - me and my lovely bottle of Smirnoff Vodka - Tonic water and slices of beutiful Sicilian Lemons - One great thing about this place is the lemons man - dont twist my melon man, make it a lemon man ! So Vodka Tonic, unlike Gin and Tonic there is no and, so I a no anded, Look no ands !! I'm numbing my self in a harmless no anded way with the delights of brain sedation Vodka Tonic style here in Palermo with Dick the trumpeter from Stoke who is like me - on the travels - and likes a drink or two of his favourite drink, which he thought he would share with me, being the aforementioned Vodka Tonic with ice and a slice. Dick is one of your lone backpacker types but his angle is his trumpet which hangs vunerably off his North Face Rucksack. Nut he plays it mean and clean and after a snifter and a couple of Bensons he was jamming up Mile Davis stylee in the park and disturbung the Italians. So I told him to play something they might like and he played a great version of Fly Me to The Moon. Ahhh these are OK days a s I wait for Bianca to settle her formalities out.