Today I'll be joining two of my mates under the pretence of a band practice.
Thankfully the others have a fair bit of talent between them, which means that they can just tell me what to do.
Our sessions rarely produce anything worthy of note, but it's not entirely about the music - it's just a way of relaxing and excusing spending a day drinking beer, eating pizza and playing PlayStation games.
Anyway, just to prove that we DO occasionally produce something that borders on worthwhile, here's one we prepared earlier. It's pretty rough, as befits a recording made by three partially drunk guys on a four track with only a drum machine for company. For anyone who cares, I'm on bass.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Number 9,000
Three posts in one day - man, I'm on fire.....
Anyway, the aim in completing this unholy trinity is to point out that the 9,000th official visitor has crossed the threshold here at Groanin' Jock.
If I'm any good at tracking IP addresses, I think it was my favourite Jewish Brooklyn Wiseass who was the 9,000th Groanin' reader - congratulations Erica, your prize will be winging its way to you just as soon as I cancobble together a nasty piece of Photoshopping find something suitably grandiose for you.
Anyway, the aim in completing this unholy trinity is to point out that the 9,000th official visitor has crossed the threshold here at Groanin' Jock.
If I'm any good at tracking IP addresses, I think it was my favourite Jewish Brooklyn Wiseass who was the 9,000th Groanin' reader - congratulations Erica, your prize will be winging its way to you just as soon as I can
The Second Groanin' Jock Lyrical Challenge
Maybe The First Groanin' Jock Lyrical Challenge was a bit tough - only two of the five songs were guessed correctly. The answers are now in the comments on that post.
Let's see if you weird and wonderful people can do better with this batch. Post your answers in the comments, no Googling!
1: The cards on the table have changed, the ones who have left can't be traced.
2: Burn Hollywood burn, taking down Tinseltown, burn Hollywood burn, burn down to the ground.
3: Ev'rybody had a wet dream, ev'rybody saw the sunshine.
4: There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard, no song that I could sing.
5: I've got a pen in my pocket, does that make me a writer? Standing on the mountain doesn't make me no higher.
Let's see if you weird and wonderful people can do better with this batch. Post your answers in the comments, no Googling!
1: The cards on the table have changed, the ones who have left can't be traced.
2: Burn Hollywood burn, taking down Tinseltown, burn Hollywood burn, burn down to the ground.
3: Ev'rybody had a wet dream, ev'rybody saw the sunshine.
4: There's no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard, no song that I could sing.
5: I've got a pen in my pocket, does that make me a writer? Standing on the mountain doesn't make me no higher.
What's An Anal Jock Strap?
OK, I realise this is becoming a bit of a theme, but I couldn't resist sharing one of the latest batch of Google search terms that brought someone winging my way.
"free anal jock strap videos"
Why?
"free anal jock strap videos"
Why?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Daily Blogger Award
Once again, I've been honoured by Tish, who has presented me with the Daily Blogger Award.
The award is intended for bloggers who post at least five times per week, give or take. According to the creator of the award, “these bloggers get up every morning, get their creative juices flowing, and start unscrambling the alphabet into words, sentences, and phrases. Rain or shine, just like the postal service, they are hard at work delivering their messages to you.”
Well, that may be over-egging the pudding ever so slightly, but I try my best. Creativity may occasionally be in short supply on this far-flung outpost of the worldwide interweb, and as for being hard at work to deliver my message - what's my message? That strange people want to sniff piss and see pictures of naked Scotsmen in kilts? That I'm the only person in the world who likes Elastica's second album? Or that I don't like birds - even dead ones?
Nonetheless, I'm honoured to have been, emm, honoured by Tish. I'm just surprised that some of you strange people feel the desire to come back here day in, day out, to read what I'm groanin' about.
Tish has asked that I pass the award on, so my six worthy recipients of the Daily Blogger Award are:
Erica (AKA the Wiseass Brooklyn Jewette Nice Jooish Girl)
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A New Low
I've posted before on the strange Google search terms that bring people to this far-flung outpost of the worldwide web.
But we hit a new low today - "piss sniffing. the facts".
All I know is that this person was from the UK and stumbled along here at 3.30am.
I don't think I want to know any more.
But we hit a new low today - "piss sniffing. the facts".
All I know is that this person was from the UK and stumbled along here at 3.30am.
I don't think I want to know any more.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Cynic? Yeah, right.
I'm pretty cynical. I'm Scottish and I'm a journalist, so it's to be expected.
But I thought that I was more than 56% cynical - I'm not sure how you put a percentage on cynicism, but the strange people of the worldwide interweb managed it.
As seen at Big Rab's site.
But I thought that I was more than 56% cynical - I'm not sure how you put a percentage on cynicism, but the strange people of the worldwide interweb managed it.
| You Are 56% Cynical |
 Yes, you are cynical, but more than anything, you're a realist. You see what's screwed up in the world, but you also take time to remember what's right. |
As seen at Big Rab's site.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Weird and Wonderful
Working as a reporter for a small local newspaper is an ideal way to meet strange people.
I don't mean psychopaths or really dangerous people, although I did meet one or two of them as well, but just unusual folks with their own strange way of going about their business in the world at large.
One of the most memorable was a middle-aged man who appeared in the office in which I worked almost as soon as we opened the doors one morning.
He told me that he had a story, but I'd have to come outside to find out more.
I don't mean psychopaths or really dangerous people, although I did meet one or two of them as well, but just unusual folks with their own strange way of going about their business in the world at large.
One of the most memorable was a middle-aged man who appeared in the office in which I worked almost as soon as we opened the doors one morning.
He told me that he had a story, but I'd have to come outside to find out more.
So, heading out into the rain, I followed the strange man. (My Mither always told me that I shouldn't do that, but I was curious. I should have followed her advice).
We crossed the road and arrived at his large estate car, parked in a busy shopping street.
The man unlocked the doors and told me to sit in the passenger seat.
Taking further leave of my already distant senses I followed his instructions. As I eased my way into the vehicle, my nose was met by a pungent stench.
Having grown up in the countryside, I'm used to the smells associated with animals. Faither, a gamekeeper when I was a boy, kept dogs and ferrets, and we also had chickens, ducks and guinea fowl over the years.
Sitting in that car, the smell reminded of that you would get from a ferret's cage, the musky odour of rodents that don't care too much about their bathing habits.
The strange man, sitting in the driver's seat, began to tell me his story. He liked to watch swans. He liked to feed swans. But, for the most part, he felt that wild swans should be left to get on with their affairs untroubled by the machinations of mankind.
He was most upset that, the night before, when he had ventured along the Crinan Canal to watch the swans bobbing on the water, he had encountered a dead swan lying on the towpath.
It was at this point in his tale that the strange gentleman removed a black binliner from the back of the car, revealing the stinking corpse of a two-day dead swan.
Those of you familiar with this far-flung outpost of the worldwide interweb will be aware that I have a phobia of birds. Admittedly, this swan was dead, but it was still only a few inches from me.
Nonetheless, I managed to maintain my composed demeanour, and asked the strange man why he thought I should know about a dead swan. As I succinctly put it, animals die every day, and those passings generally don't make the pages of the press. (Which headline sounds least exciting - "Dog bites man" or "Swan dies"?)
The strange man said that he believed that this swan, if not callously murdered, had been unintentionally killed by someone who had moved it from the open sea to the Crinan Canal. He explained his theory that, as swans need a good 20 metres in which to land when they've been flying, this unfortunate swan had become entangled in overhead power lines and had met its sorry fate.
It was the strange man's belief that this swan didn't normally spend its days on the canal, but had been transported there by someone who thought it would make a nice addition to the view from their sitting room window.
I gently explained that, without proof, there was little I could do - the local press isn't in the business of slandering suspected swan slayers. The strange man continued, stating that a dead swan was newsworthy regardless of the circumstances of its demise.
After much to-ing and fro-ing as we debated the media ethics behind the story, I finally relented. Keen to be free from the man's pungent swan hearse, I agreed that we should get a photograph of the swan. The strange man then drove us (myself and my ex-swan travelling companion) up to the bank of the canal, where he happily posed for photographs holding the lifeless bird's neck up so that its beak faced the lens.
Satisfied that he had done his bit for swankind, the man left, taking the body with him. We did eventually decide to run the story, primarily because we feared that if we didn't, the strange man might return with further dead animals.
There are very few aspects of my work with the local press that I miss - the hours were long, free time was scarce and the money very poor. But occasionally, I think of the strange people I encountered and wish that, just once, someone would turn up in the oil industry carrying the carcass of a dead bird. You know, just to liven things up a bit.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Shuffling The Pack
I've done a little tidy and reshuffle of the old Blogroll - apologies if I've missed anyone out, just drop me a line and I'll fix it straight away.
Friday, August 10, 2007
The First Groanin' Jock Lyrical Challenge
I'm going to shamelessly steal borrow an idea from my friend the Tomahawk Kid for this post.
Every so often, TK will post lyrics from the five most recent songs to play on his MP3 player when set to shuffle. It's then the readers' responsibility to name the tunes.
Good luck with the inaugural Groanin' Jock lyrics quiz. Post your answers in the comments, no Googling!
1: So if you don't rate, just overcompensate, at least you'll know you can always go on Ricki Lake.
2: One day we change from children into people, one day we change.
3: Spin me some sad story, sell me some excuse, to help me understand the things you do.
4: I was born in a force-ten gale, it takes more than hot air to blow the wind out of my sails, and my eyesight's poor, but I am the future.
5: But you can learn how to play the game, it's easy.
Every so often, TK will post lyrics from the five most recent songs to play on his MP3 player when set to shuffle. It's then the readers' responsibility to name the tunes.
Good luck with the inaugural Groanin' Jock lyrics quiz. Post your answers in the comments, no Googling!
1: So if you don't rate, just overcompensate, at least you'll know you can always go on Ricki Lake.
2: One day we change from children into people, one day we change.
3: Spin me some sad story, sell me some excuse, to help me understand the things you do.
4: I was born in a force-ten gale, it takes more than hot air to blow the wind out of my sails, and my eyesight's poor, but I am the future.
5: But you can learn how to play the game, it's easy.
Can I Have A P Please Bob?
Tish tagged me with this "Seven Ps" meme. Play along if it takes your fancy.
Passion - Music. The right music can calm me down, wind me up, put me to sleep, wake me up, make me angry, make me happy, make me laugh, make me cry and make me jump up and down in a small, dark club full of sweaty, hairy men.
Purpose - To enjoy my life. I always thought I'd end up working in London, commuting to work and living in a tiny flat with only lines of traffic to see out my window. But I've long since realised that there's more to enjoying life than what you do for a living. I'm much happier where I am.
Pursuit - A long(ish), happy, healthy life with my family and good friends.
Position - On top (of what, I don't know).
Pummeling - My debt into submission. This time next year. Within a few months, I expect to be debt free (mortgage and student loan excepted).
Progress - Slowly but surely.
Personality - Laid back. Ambitious, but not to a detrimental effect on my lifestyle.
Passion - Music. The right music can calm me down, wind me up, put me to sleep, wake me up, make me angry, make me happy, make me laugh, make me cry and make me jump up and down in a small, dark club full of sweaty, hairy men.
Purpose - To enjoy my life. I always thought I'd end up working in London, commuting to work and living in a tiny flat with only lines of traffic to see out my window. But I've long since realised that there's more to enjoying life than what you do for a living. I'm much happier where I am.
Pursuit - A long(ish), happy, healthy life with my family and good friends.
Position - On top (of what, I don't know).
Pummeling - My debt into submission. This time next year. Within a few months, I expect to be debt free (mortgage and student loan excepted).
Progress - Slowly but surely.
Personality - Laid back. Ambitious, but not to a detrimental effect on my lifestyle.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Escape To Victory
An interesting article on The Times website today on some homeless footballers who have gone AWOL:
African participation in the Homeless World Cup, a football tournament designed to improve the confidence of former vagrants, was under review last night after 15 players went on the run at the finals in Denmark.
The competition’s aim — to offer a golden opportunity for homeless people to change their lives — was taken literally by seven players from Burundi, four from Liberia, three from Cameroon and one from Afghanistan.
Danish police were looking for the footballers last night but admitted that they could easily have travelled further afield in the Schengen system of 15 “borderless” EU countries, which do not require visitors to show passports. The players’ visas expired on Monday after the tournament ended.
Kay Byles, a spokeswoman for the Scottish-based Homeless World Cup Foundation, said that it was the first of the annual contests — which started in 2002 — to experience runaways. Arrangements for next year’s cup in Melbourne would be reviewed, she said.
Is it just me, or does the concept of the Homeless World Cup seem a little naive?
You take 500 homeless people, many of them from third world nations, to Denmark and expect them all to play in the tournament before returning home.
Why would homeless people from Cameroon, Liberia, Afghanistan or Burundi want to return home to their own countries when faced with a golden opportunity to start afresh in Denmark?
True, they will still be homeless in Europe, and are effectively in the country illegally. But I think I'd sooner take my chances on the streets of Copenhagen than on those of Yaounde, Monrovia or Kabul.
And, instead of flying homeless people around the world to play football, couldn't the organisers make better use of their time and money by finding them somewhere to live in their home countries, and by giving them training or finding them jobs?
By the by, Scotland won the tournament, defeating Poland 9-3 in the final. Let the record show that Scotland won the World Cup in 2007, and that England havne't won it for more than 40 years.
African participation in the Homeless World Cup, a football tournament designed to improve the confidence of former vagrants, was under review last night after 15 players went on the run at the finals in Denmark.
The competition’s aim — to offer a golden opportunity for homeless people to change their lives — was taken literally by seven players from Burundi, four from Liberia, three from Cameroon and one from Afghanistan.
Danish police were looking for the footballers last night but admitted that they could easily have travelled further afield in the Schengen system of 15 “borderless” EU countries, which do not require visitors to show passports. The players’ visas expired on Monday after the tournament ended.
Kay Byles, a spokeswoman for the Scottish-based Homeless World Cup Foundation, said that it was the first of the annual contests — which started in 2002 — to experience runaways. Arrangements for next year’s cup in Melbourne would be reviewed, she said.
Is it just me, or does the concept of the Homeless World Cup seem a little naive?
You take 500 homeless people, many of them from third world nations, to Denmark and expect them all to play in the tournament before returning home.
Why would homeless people from Cameroon, Liberia, Afghanistan or Burundi want to return home to their own countries when faced with a golden opportunity to start afresh in Denmark?
True, they will still be homeless in Europe, and are effectively in the country illegally. But I think I'd sooner take my chances on the streets of Copenhagen than on those of Yaounde, Monrovia or Kabul.
And, instead of flying homeless people around the world to play football, couldn't the organisers make better use of their time and money by finding them somewhere to live in their home countries, and by giving them training or finding them jobs?
By the by, Scotland won the tournament, defeating Poland 9-3 in the final. Let the record show that Scotland won the World Cup in 2007, and that England havne't won it for more than 40 years.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
I Pity The Fools
I've always known that I'm a genius, it just takes a little longer for other people to see it.
But proof, as always, comes from the worldwide interweb:
Am-I-Dumb.com - Are you dumb?
As seen at Blissful Bedlam
But proof, as always, comes from the worldwide interweb:
Am-I-Dumb.com - Are you dumb?As seen at Blissful Bedlam
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
"Super Penetrative For Enhanced Tool Performance"
As a working (sometimes) journalist (allegedly), I receive a lot of press releases every day. Most of them are fairly dull stock exchange announcements from multinational oil companies, but every so often I get one that makes me smile. Like this one:
Performance Tool Lubricant's super penetrative and advanced synthetic formula helps enhance tool performance and keep all tools as good as new. Dramatically reduces friction and wear to any power tool. Perfect for use on high speed moving parts of performance tools, as well as a number of surfaces and components. Helps promote long lasting protection and corrosion prevention, to maintain the effectiveness of your tools.
No, it's not a release from Vaseline, but from WD-40, purveyors of industrial lubricants to the masses. Quite why I'm receiving WD-40's press releases, I'm not sure.
I wonder if Vaseline have a press release mailing list?
Performance Tool Lubricant's super penetrative and advanced synthetic formula helps enhance tool performance and keep all tools as good as new. Dramatically reduces friction and wear to any power tool. Perfect for use on high speed moving parts of performance tools, as well as a number of surfaces and components. Helps promote long lasting protection and corrosion prevention, to maintain the effectiveness of your tools.
No, it's not a release from Vaseline, but from WD-40, purveyors of industrial lubricants to the masses. Quite why I'm receiving WD-40's press releases, I'm not sure.
I wonder if Vaseline have a press release mailing list?
Monday, August 06, 2007
Everywhere You Go
It's been a funny summer so far here in North East Scotland.
April was scorching, with weather that you'd more typically expect in July.
June and July weren't much to write home about - in fact July was pretty much wet and overcast throughout, the occasional day of sunshine aside.
But on Saturday, August at least threatened to play by the rules, with hot sunshine and a warm breeze coaxing Mrs Wife and I from our shelter. Montrose was busy with Saturday shoppers and football fans heading to Links Park to witness the dawn of a new season and the start of Irn Bru's sponsorship of our national game. By all accounts, it was a drab match that ended in a 1-0 defeat for the home side, so I'm not too fussed that I missed it.
Sunday came, and, typically, so did the rain. A lot of rain.
So much rain, in fact, that the road I take to work was flooded this morning, forcing me to take a detour and, as a result, arrive at the office late.
Every man and his dog now seems to think that global warming is to blame for everything. But we've always had weather, and it doesn't always stick to the plans we'd like it to. There have been mild winters and cold summers in the past, but there have also been years where we've had six-foot snow drifts in February and six weeks of sun in the summer.
There's not much we can do about it. In fact, there's nothing we can do about it except get on with things.
It won't stop me wishing for a bit of sunshine mind you.
April was scorching, with weather that you'd more typically expect in July.
June and July weren't much to write home about - in fact July was pretty much wet and overcast throughout, the occasional day of sunshine aside.
But on Saturday, August at least threatened to play by the rules, with hot sunshine and a warm breeze coaxing Mrs Wife and I from our shelter. Montrose was busy with Saturday shoppers and football fans heading to Links Park to witness the dawn of a new season and the start of Irn Bru's sponsorship of our national game. By all accounts, it was a drab match that ended in a 1-0 defeat for the home side, so I'm not too fussed that I missed it.
Sunday came, and, typically, so did the rain. A lot of rain.
So much rain, in fact, that the road I take to work was flooded this morning, forcing me to take a detour and, as a result, arrive at the office late.
Every man and his dog now seems to think that global warming is to blame for everything. But we've always had weather, and it doesn't always stick to the plans we'd like it to. There have been mild winters and cold summers in the past, but there have also been years where we've had six-foot snow drifts in February and six weeks of sun in the summer.
There's not much we can do about it. In fact, there's nothing we can do about it except get on with things.
It won't stop me wishing for a bit of sunshine mind you.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Naked Ambition
Honestly, you'd think this was a porn site based on the search terms that bring people to this far-flung corner of the worldwide interweb.
Today, for example, someone from the USA dropped by having searched for "gay naked Scotsmen in kilts" - at 6.23am their time.
Firstly, how can someone be naked AND wearing a kilt?
Secondly, what the hell are you doing looking for naked Scotsmen at six in the morning?
And thirdly, how the hell did you end up here? There may be the occasional bout of nakedness, but there aren't any gays. At least there weren't the last time I checked.
Today, for example, someone from the USA dropped by having searched for "gay naked Scotsmen in kilts" - at 6.23am their time.
Firstly, how can someone be naked AND wearing a kilt?
Secondly, what the hell are you doing looking for naked Scotsmen at six in the morning?
And thirdly, how the hell did you end up here? There may be the occasional bout of nakedness, but there aren't any gays. At least there weren't the last time I checked.
The No-Longer Missing Links
Today, I'm going to take the opportunity to help you strange people of the worldwide interweb steer your browsers in the direction of a couple of sites that I heartily recommend.
First up, and most important of all, is People Who Don't Blog...But Should. As the name suggests, the site manages to track down blogs by those people who don't actually blog. It's quite a feat, I'm sure you'll all agree.
The reason I'm bigging up PWDB...BS is because I have become a contributor, so that those of you who don't get enough of my crap at this site can find some more to wallow in over there. It's the brainchild of Misssy Martin of the Misssy M Misssives, whose site I stumbled upon recently via Aberdeen Blogs (who, as yet, haven't added me to their list). I'd heartily recommend that you take a look at the Misssives as well.
PWDB...BS will probably get us all sued (the URL isn't Celebrity Litigation for nothing) but hey, it's better to die in poverty after being sued by the Beckhams than it is to....emmm.....do something else.
Next up is The Dangerous and Daring Blog For Boys and Girls, as recommended by Elisson. It helps those who are growing up in the age of cartoon channels and electronic toys to find worthwhile things to make and do themselves, without resorting to what the Britney clones on MTV are telling them to do.
Included is a step-by-step guide to making a rocket. Which may be an activity that I can engage myself in this weekend.
Don't say I'm not good to you....
First up, and most important of all, is People Who Don't Blog...But Should. As the name suggests, the site manages to track down blogs by those people who don't actually blog. It's quite a feat, I'm sure you'll all agree.
The reason I'm bigging up PWDB...BS is because I have become a contributor, so that those of you who don't get enough of my crap at this site can find some more to wallow in over there. It's the brainchild of Misssy Martin of the Misssy M Misssives, whose site I stumbled upon recently via Aberdeen Blogs (who, as yet, haven't added me to their list). I'd heartily recommend that you take a look at the Misssives as well.
PWDB...BS will probably get us all sued (the URL isn't Celebrity Litigation for nothing) but hey, it's better to die in poverty after being sued by the Beckhams than it is to....emmm.....do something else.
Next up is The Dangerous and Daring Blog For Boys and Girls, as recommended by Elisson. It helps those who are growing up in the age of cartoon channels and electronic toys to find worthwhile things to make and do themselves, without resorting to what the Britney clones on MTV are telling them to do.
Included is a step-by-step guide to making a rocket. Which may be an activity that I can engage myself in this weekend.
Don't say I'm not good to you....
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Kidding On
Sometimes, I think I'm 27 going on seven.
Take last night for example. I get home to find Montrose basking in warm sunshine, a condition which I believe was known as summer in days gone by.
Joining Mrs Wife in the garden, the conversation goes something like this:
Mrs Wife: "Perfect weather to cut the grass"
Groanin' Jock: "Yep"
MW: "Are you going to cut the grass then?"
GJ: "Nope"
MW: "Why not?"
GJ: "I'm playing Football Manager and reading a magazine."
This is a fairly common conversational thread at Dungroanin'. Typically, Mrs Wife will suggest I partake of a thrilling activity such as cleaning the bathroom, washing the car or picking my clean clothes up off the floor and putting them in the wardrobe.
I will then usually explain that I am already engaged in an activity, such as filing my CDs in alphabetical order, scanning photographs to put on Bebo, attempting to download Laurie Anderson's O Superman from the internet or kicking some serious dinosaur ass on Final Fantasy X2.
Is it normal for a fully-grown adult male to spend whole days and weeks engaged in such infantile pursuits? In the past few days, for example, I have spent a couple of hours dicking about on Ebay looking at Transformers toys and comics and researching the history of the Autobots on Wikipedia. I have easily devoted more hours to thinking about the way forward for my Everton side on Football Manager than I have on mortgage repayments and car insurance, and I've been more absorbed in repeats of The Simpsons than in the day's news headlines.
And if, in the next few years, Mrs Wife decides to pop out a Jockling or two, will this situation improve or worsen? Would the sleepless nights, nappy changes and feedings adultify me, or would the easy access to toys and Teletubbies send me closer towards the point of no return, when I quit my job so that I can devote more time to my more favoured pursuits?
Take last night for example. I get home to find Montrose basking in warm sunshine, a condition which I believe was known as summer in days gone by.
Joining Mrs Wife in the garden, the conversation goes something like this:
Mrs Wife: "Perfect weather to cut the grass"
Groanin' Jock: "Yep"
MW: "Are you going to cut the grass then?"
GJ: "Nope"
MW: "Why not?"
GJ: "I'm playing Football Manager and reading a magazine."
This is a fairly common conversational thread at Dungroanin'. Typically, Mrs Wife will suggest I partake of a thrilling activity such as cleaning the bathroom, washing the car or picking my clean clothes up off the floor and putting them in the wardrobe.
I will then usually explain that I am already engaged in an activity, such as filing my CDs in alphabetical order, scanning photographs to put on Bebo, attempting to download Laurie Anderson's O Superman from the internet or kicking some serious dinosaur ass on Final Fantasy X2.
Is it normal for a fully-grown adult male to spend whole days and weeks engaged in such infantile pursuits? In the past few days, for example, I have spent a couple of hours dicking about on Ebay looking at Transformers toys and comics and researching the history of the Autobots on Wikipedia. I have easily devoted more hours to thinking about the way forward for my Everton side on Football Manager than I have on mortgage repayments and car insurance, and I've been more absorbed in repeats of The Simpsons than in the day's news headlines.
And if, in the next few years, Mrs Wife decides to pop out a Jockling or two, will this situation improve or worsen? Would the sleepless nights, nappy changes and feedings adultify me, or would the easy access to toys and Teletubbies send me closer towards the point of no return, when I quit my job so that I can devote more time to my more favoured pursuits?
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
(Not So) Good Morning Vietnam
I recently published a post that harked back to an email I sent to the folks back home whilst travelling around the world in 2003-2004.
The story I posted was that of the exploding Mitsubishi that drained our finances whilst we were in Western Australia and almost forced us to return home just a few months into the trip.
But before that sorry episode (which turned out well in the end), we'd had a far more exciting time whilst in Vietnam.
This email, sent on November 11 2003, had an ominous forewarning of the problems associated with the rain in southern Vietnam:
As Hue is further south than Hanoi, it is currently in the middle of its rainy season. It has barely stopped raining since we arrived here, but when it rains, it is still very hot. The rain can be pretty ferocious at times, and our hotel room is on the top floor of the building, so we are right underneath the roof, and the rain was clattering off the roof and balcony all night.
We were supposed to be taking a boat trip around various tombs and pagodas today, but the Perfume River is too high and fast after the rain last night, so we had to go by car instead. The tombs and pagodas all tend to look the same after seeing 15 of them, but some of them are quite picturesque, depending on the importance of the Emperor buried there.
In the centre of the city is a walled citadel known as the Forbidden Purple City, which was the home of various royal dynasties of Vietnam. The complex is quite large, and was occupied by the Vietnamese royalty until 1945, when they surrendered power to the Vietnamese people (the civil war destroyed much of the city, and the Communists from the north effectively seized power over the whole of Vietnam).
We have one more day in Hue, then we get the train to Saigon tomorrow morning. The journey is almost 24 hours long, arriving 10am on Thursday, which means we only have a day and a half in Saigon before we fly to Bangkok.
But those well-laid plans were threatened when we attempted to make it to Saigon for our flight. The following email was sent from Singapore Airport on November 15:
We have finally made it to Singapore airport from Vietnam, but for a while I doubted we would ever see anything again except the inside of an ancient Vietnam Railways train.
Our train from Hue to Saigon was supposed to take around 23 hours overnight, which we were prepared for. Waking up at 6am to the terrible Vietnamese pop music blasting through the tannoys, we realised that the train was not moving. The train staff spoke no english, so we couldn't find out why.
After two hours, we spoke to a Malaysian-born London man, who informed us that the train was stopped due to water on the tracks ahead. It had been raining torrentially for around two days, in which time about two feet of water had accumulated on the tracks.
After sitting around the train for another four hours, we were informed, again by means of our Malaysian translator, that the train was not likely to move for 12-24 hours.
With flights from Saigon to catch today (we woke up on the train on Thursday) we decided to take alternative measures. Six of us, all from Britain, left the train and walked along the tracks in the pouring rain to a local station, where we managed to ascertain that no taxi would drive through this weather. Instead, we began walking along the main road towards Nah Trang, the closest town of any note, 17km away.
We managed to flag down a local 'bus' - I use the term loosely to describe a van filled with people, crates, baskets of fruit and veg and with bicycles strapped to the roof - which agreed to take us to Nah Trang.
Squashed in amongst all of this stuff, we took around an hour to travel the 17km, but we were eventually deposited at a petrol station in town, where we flagged down taxis to Sinh Cafe, a travel agency which can book flights and buses to Saigon.
The woman in Sinh Cafe told us that no buses were running as bridges were down between Nah Trang and Saigon, but the cafe next door assured us that the roads were clear and that we could make it to Saigon for 4am (this was at 6.30pm).
We decamped to an Italian restaurant for some much needed food, having spent 26 hours on the ill-fated train with only Pringles and biscuits to feed us.
Our bus left shortly after 8pm, and things looked good. We travelled for around three hours, when we reached the end of a 15km traffic jam. Contrary to the man in the cafe's assurances, the bridge was under two feet of water, and we would be unlikely to move before 5am. Our driver, with remarkable foresight, drove us to the front of the tailback, where we parked for the night.
It's not easy sleeping on a roasting hot coach full of moaning English people (apologies to any southerners reading this) and surrounded by Vietnamese people laughing at us, but we tried. We were stopped in a small village, which at least allowed us to eat and use toilets.
By 8am, nothing had moved, but we were told it would only be another few hours (an hour in Vietnam is not like an hour in Britain, in that it is not a rigid length of time - it is an indeterminate length of time no less than one hour).
As the sun rose, we were joined by local children who had been excused school due to the floods. The were highly amused and intrigued by our presence, asking us a barrage of questions in near-perfect English. The Vietnamese football tops sported by myself and another passenger proved to us the international status of the England national side - the shirts are red and bore the numbers 7 and 10, sparking cries of "Beckham" and "Owen". They scampered off to locate a ball, and we spent around an hour being humiliated by their footballing prowess.
We finally moved around 1pm (we were meant to be in Saigon at 4am), and saw the Vietnamese rapidly attempting to repair the bridge. Nevertheless, we made it across.
We presumed that, because we had travelled three hours the previous evening, that we would have only five hours to go. We were a little surprised, then, to roll into Saigon at midnight!
All in all, our journey from Hue to Saigon took 61 hours, this was to cover a distance of 10,000 kilometres.
We checked into the first hotel we found in Saigon, and slept soundly after much-needed showers.
This morning, we walked across the road to get money for our airport departure tax. As [Mrs Wife] input the amount of money she wanted, the cash machine went dead. The power had cut midway through the transaction!
The woman in the shop found this hilarious. We, needless to say, did not, as [Mrs Wife's] card was still in the dead machine. The woman called the bank, but I'm not sure that she appreciated that we were due to fly an hour later.
Eventually the man from the bank arrived, removed [Mrs Wife's] card from the machine, and we went back to our hotel and our still waiting taxi - the Vietnamese don't give up on a western fare.
As we still had no money, the hotelier paid half of our taxi for us, and we made it the airport on time, paying our departure tax in Singaporese dollars. So we have finally made it to Singapore, and leave for Bangkok in an hour. Sorry for the lack of Halong Bay/Hue-type imagery, but all we've seen is rain, water and the insides of buses and trains.
The age-old cliche that "you can laugh about it in hindsight" comes to mind, but spending three nights on crowded trains and buses wasn't much fun at the time. But I suppose it allowed us to see "real" Vietnamese life first-hand. Unfortunately, it also meant that we didn't get to see any of Saigon, which was a disappointment.
The story I posted was that of the exploding Mitsubishi that drained our finances whilst we were in Western Australia and almost forced us to return home just a few months into the trip.
But before that sorry episode (which turned out well in the end), we'd had a far more exciting time whilst in Vietnam.
This email, sent on November 11 2003, had an ominous forewarning of the problems associated with the rain in southern Vietnam:
As Hue is further south than Hanoi, it is currently in the middle of its rainy season. It has barely stopped raining since we arrived here, but when it rains, it is still very hot. The rain can be pretty ferocious at times, and our hotel room is on the top floor of the building, so we are right underneath the roof, and the rain was clattering off the roof and balcony all night.
We were supposed to be taking a boat trip around various tombs and pagodas today, but the Perfume River is too high and fast after the rain last night, so we had to go by car instead. The tombs and pagodas all tend to look the same after seeing 15 of them, but some of them are quite picturesque, depending on the importance of the Emperor buried there.
In the centre of the city is a walled citadel known as the Forbidden Purple City, which was the home of various royal dynasties of Vietnam. The complex is quite large, and was occupied by the Vietnamese royalty until 1945, when they surrendered power to the Vietnamese people (the civil war destroyed much of the city, and the Communists from the north effectively seized power over the whole of Vietnam).
We have one more day in Hue, then we get the train to Saigon tomorrow morning. The journey is almost 24 hours long, arriving 10am on Thursday, which means we only have a day and a half in Saigon before we fly to Bangkok.
But those well-laid plans were threatened when we attempted to make it to Saigon for our flight. The following email was sent from Singapore Airport on November 15:
We have finally made it to Singapore airport from Vietnam, but for a while I doubted we would ever see anything again except the inside of an ancient Vietnam Railways train.
Our train from Hue to Saigon was supposed to take around 23 hours overnight, which we were prepared for. Waking up at 6am to the terrible Vietnamese pop music blasting through the tannoys, we realised that the train was not moving. The train staff spoke no english, so we couldn't find out why.
After two hours, we spoke to a Malaysian-born London man, who informed us that the train was stopped due to water on the tracks ahead. It had been raining torrentially for around two days, in which time about two feet of water had accumulated on the tracks.
After sitting around the train for another four hours, we were informed, again by means of our Malaysian translator, that the train was not likely to move for 12-24 hours.
With flights from Saigon to catch today (we woke up on the train on Thursday) we decided to take alternative measures. Six of us, all from Britain, left the train and walked along the tracks in the pouring rain to a local station, where we managed to ascertain that no taxi would drive through this weather. Instead, we began walking along the main road towards Nah Trang, the closest town of any note, 17km away.
We managed to flag down a local 'bus' - I use the term loosely to describe a van filled with people, crates, baskets of fruit and veg and with bicycles strapped to the roof - which agreed to take us to Nah Trang.
Squashed in amongst all of this stuff, we took around an hour to travel the 17km, but we were eventually deposited at a petrol station in town, where we flagged down taxis to Sinh Cafe, a travel agency which can book flights and buses to Saigon.
The woman in Sinh Cafe told us that no buses were running as bridges were down between Nah Trang and Saigon, but the cafe next door assured us that the roads were clear and that we could make it to Saigon for 4am (this was at 6.30pm).
We decamped to an Italian restaurant for some much needed food, having spent 26 hours on the ill-fated train with only Pringles and biscuits to feed us.
Our bus left shortly after 8pm, and things looked good. We travelled for around three hours, when we reached the end of a 15km traffic jam. Contrary to the man in the cafe's assurances, the bridge was under two feet of water, and we would be unlikely to move before 5am. Our driver, with remarkable foresight, drove us to the front of the tailback, where we parked for the night.
It's not easy sleeping on a roasting hot coach full of moaning English people (apologies to any southerners reading this) and surrounded by Vietnamese people laughing at us, but we tried. We were stopped in a small village, which at least allowed us to eat and use toilets.
By 8am, nothing had moved, but we were told it would only be another few hours (an hour in Vietnam is not like an hour in Britain, in that it is not a rigid length of time - it is an indeterminate length of time no less than one hour).
As the sun rose, we were joined by local children who had been excused school due to the floods. The were highly amused and intrigued by our presence, asking us a barrage of questions in near-perfect English. The Vietnamese football tops sported by myself and another passenger proved to us the international status of the England national side - the shirts are red and bore the numbers 7 and 10, sparking cries of "Beckham" and "Owen". They scampered off to locate a ball, and we spent around an hour being humiliated by their footballing prowess.
We finally moved around 1pm (we were meant to be in Saigon at 4am), and saw the Vietnamese rapidly attempting to repair the bridge. Nevertheless, we made it across.
We presumed that, because we had travelled three hours the previous evening, that we would have only five hours to go. We were a little surprised, then, to roll into Saigon at midnight!
All in all, our journey from Hue to Saigon took 61 hours, this was to cover a distance of 10,000 kilometres.
We checked into the first hotel we found in Saigon, and slept soundly after much-needed showers.
This morning, we walked across the road to get money for our airport departure tax. As [Mrs Wife] input the amount of money she wanted, the cash machine went dead. The power had cut midway through the transaction!
The woman in the shop found this hilarious. We, needless to say, did not, as [Mrs Wife's] card was still in the dead machine. The woman called the bank, but I'm not sure that she appreciated that we were due to fly an hour later.
Eventually the man from the bank arrived, removed [Mrs Wife's] card from the machine, and we went back to our hotel and our still waiting taxi - the Vietnamese don't give up on a western fare.
As we still had no money, the hotelier paid half of our taxi for us, and we made it the airport on time, paying our departure tax in Singaporese dollars. So we have finally made it to Singapore, and leave for Bangkok in an hour. Sorry for the lack of Halong Bay/Hue-type imagery, but all we've seen is rain, water and the insides of buses and trains.
The age-old cliche that "you can laugh about it in hindsight" comes to mind, but spending three nights on crowded trains and buses wasn't much fun at the time. But I suppose it allowed us to see "real" Vietnamese life first-hand. Unfortunately, it also meant that we didn't get to see any of Saigon, which was a disappointment.
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