Well well, a brave new world's dawned upon us, with The Cool Drink of Water trouncing Grandpoppy Maverick in the race to become Grand Poobah of the Free World (plus the USA, which is officially a corporate arm of Sony these days, I believe).
It was quite the spectacle here last night and this morning, with thousands of expat Yankees partying the night away in American-themed bars, clubs and function rooms all over London until the dawn, when the new Prez was ushered in with bulletproof glass either side of him and higher expectations than JFK. Indeed.
I've walked into some difficult jobs here and there, but never one where two neo-nazis wanted to ice dozens of people like me and then string me up as well, all while wearing....... white top hats and tails. Actually, if that's not the funniest goddam story I've heard all month I don't know what is. "Hot damn, Cleatus! Y'know wha' we all should dew?! We shed put ohn some fancy clothes like what that there Colonel Sanders yewsed to and go get us some guns from Mama's shed and go shoot that uppity Barrack Osama!" "Hooee Billy-bob, y'all's smarter'n a raccoon in a trashcan - they won't never know it was us in those gitups!". White supremacy at its weirdest.
Anyhoo, since my last visit to this little online soapbox, I've been to Dublin and back (see piccies below). My first night there was Halloween, so of course lining up at the Ryan Air desk was fun. One gentleman was sporting a very fetching full wetsuit-n-goggles ensemble already; even better, Customs let him on the plane wearing it. Huzzah for officials with a sense of humour.
So, to Dublin - the city of gorgeous women and hilarious blokes. First day/night in Dublin I:
- Took a quick look around Dublin's main streets;
- Sourced a doctor's labcoat for my costume after directions from a canny marketstall owner (if you're lost in any city, go to a market for directions - my hit rate is perfect so far);
Stumbled across the Sinn Fein bookstore (complete with authentic burnt-out building behind it); - Met my mate Matt at a proper non-touristy pub for some sweet-tasting pints of Guiness - not a single headbutt to be had. Obviously Milwall fans only go to Spain on their holidays;
Checked into our hotel and worked our magic on our blood-soaked doctor's outfits for the evening. Desk staff were goggle-eyed when we walked downstairs and through the lobby to the front door; - Wandered round the streets and a few bars, meeting Aussies and Seppos and trying to think up new lines for everyone who wanted a go on our stethoscopes. When in doubt - "I concur". When trying to get through crowded sections - "Emergency! Step aside please! Emergency!". Seemed to work a treat;
- Spent half and hour in the packed scrum outside the tickets-only nightclub venue for the evening, gawping at the amount of effort and sophistication the Irish had put into their costumes - those people love a good dress-up. And never in my life have I seen so many gals poured into midriff-top / micro-tutu / knee-high-socks / 5-inch-heels combos in one place before. Helped that they're all far easier on the ocular in Ireland than in the UK, too;
- Met Matt's four Irish lady friends once they arrived at the club, had a fun night talking rubbish and dancing like big dancing things. Home in bed by 4am-ish.
Of course my bank (HSBC for anyone wanting to avoid similar near-catastrophes) tried desperately to completely shanghai the weekend by locking off both my credit card AND my debit card for no goddam reason (I gave them a reaming yesterday and they had nothing), but I'd been burnt once before (see St Albans post) so I'd already withdrawn a wad of cash before I left the UK. Getitupye', HSBC.
Next day (Saturday) I:
- did the tourist standard, the world-famous Guiness Brewery Tour. Wasn't too bad, very comprehensive and it brought home just how influential Guiness have been globally (Guiness Book of World Records ring a bell?). And if I could have a pair of forearms like those coopers (barrel-makers for those of you younger than 70) did back in the day I'd be well pleased with myself - all they needed were corncob pipes and a can o'spinach in the back pocket to complete the image. Not the blokes to challenge to an arm-rassle. Or shake hands with after they'd had a few pints o' the black stuff.
- Walked around for hours trying to get mobile phone fixed as that, too, decided to chuck its toys out of the cot and stopped working, as I was supposed to meet up with Matt later that day. No go.
- Did the Dublin Castle tour instead (With Real Viking Ruins!), plus a few more of the sights. Still an okay day because Dubliners are leagues friendlier than Londoners and funny as hell.
Sunday, flew home, dumped stuff, changed and went to the new Bond movie at The Odeon in Leicester Square with some of the English friends. Does anyone disagree with me when I say Quantum of Solace was bleaker and tougher than the last one without as much fun in it? Still enjoyed it but the latest Bond incarnation is far more of a headkicker than ol' Roger "Camper Than Julian Cleary" Moore's version was, that's for sure. Anyway, following the flick the friends showed me some nifty bars and I FINALLY got to have a nibble at The Garrison GastroPub directly across the road from my place. And yea verily, it was good.
Tonight, it's Guy Fawke's Night, and as I sit here in my flat typing this stream-of-consciousness-style I can hear cracks and pops and thuds and the occasional window-rattling, car-alarm-triggering boom all around me. Was invited to Clapham Common to throw double bungers around and no doubt lose an appendage, but was just way too tired from consecutive-nights-beyond-count on the go. That's one thing I'm finding here - there's always something you have to do / take care of after you leave work, and most of the time it ain't related to socialising, dagnabit.
Next week, to break that contemptible cycle, I'm away in New York, so probably won't post anything while there, but fear not, the mindless drivel shall continue the week after. With rubbish photos of New York to accompany it too. I can almost hear you all drooling onto your workpants in anticipation. I expect nothing less. Hope you're all well.
