Note to self: Never, EVER eat anything baked by Adam Dickinson again as before tonight I didn’t think flapjacks could be dangerous but with just one crunch, ‘KER-RACK!’ What was that?
That, my friends, was the sound of my tooth breaking on a flapjack.
On a FLAPJACK!
They lure you in with promises of oat-filled, raisin-y goodness but it’s a ruse, A RUSE !
So mes amis, you have been warned: Dickinsons’ Flapjacks. Silent bastards.
I don’t actually know how to begin this. I’ve played this opening sentence over in my head a thousand times today and still I’ve come up with nothing. I don’t think my head’s been working so well lately though, given the circumstances so, I suppose, I will start where I am now.
I am sat here sipping a Hoegaarden (the bottle is HUGE – you would be proud) having just spent the entire evening sat on a roof with Dan Leonard and his wonderful lady Danielle. I think your name may have come up once or twice. I’m very grateful for their company tonight as otherwise I would have just sat here slowly getting drunk on my lonesome. Beers are far more fun with friends. What struck me most importantly about tonight is the fact that the only reason I could share this night with them is because of you. Without you I would have (probably) never met them and the same goes for such incredible people as Jacky, Lyle, Ad and so on.
And now I am here. Trying to type with the weight of the most bizarre year weighing down on me like some fucked up gravity and the warmth of alcohol replacing the blood in my veins.
A year ago today I woke up, had a shower and headed off to work. The biggest bother on my brain was whether to have jam or peanut butter on my toast. I’m pretty sure I went for both. I then got in to work, settled down infront of a pile of paperwork in the shape of a noose and began my preparations for the day. That’s when my phone rang. That’s when your mum said what had happened. That’s when I burst in to tears before I had even registered what had been said. It was involuntary, instinctive and the point at which my life changed forever. I still don’t remember the drive home and having to stay there all day in radio silence before it was confirmed it was you is the single most difficult experience of my life to date. Well, that was until I then had to ring our friends to break the news. Now, THAT was tough but blah blah blah this is in the past and here is now and up is down and all that jazz. Sorry for blathering, I just don’t know what to type.
Thing is, I’ve worn a smile all day but the splintering sound of cracks forming has pestered me.
So what’s new in the two months since I last wrote? Well I’ve got a flat with Dickinson in Bristol, a job in Clifton, a mattress (I’ve been sleeping on the floor for the past month though) and things with Fantasy-Faction have gone boom. Really, BOOM! The writing contest has started and in the space of a month we have received over 200 entries (we expected around 20 by this point) and the podcasts are going stupidly well. Two have gone up and just yesterday ALONE we got 4000 hits. Crazy huh! In the past few weeks I’ve met some of the biggest authors in the business and even shared pizza with Joe Abercrombie. I have interviewed some of the biggest names in literature such as Jo Fletcher, met some of the up coming stars of the publishing world such as James, Rose, Nicola and Kat and even been invited to the Gollanzc offices for coffee by Gillian Redfearn herself. It’s crazy. It’s wonderful. It’s everything I could ever hope for and I fucking wish you were around to tell me you’re proud because now I’ll never know. I really hope you are.
Last week I received a phone call to say I was now Uncle Paul to Sophie Amelie Stoel. Despite being in a rather busy pub, tears of happiness rolled down my cheek as Chris told me. In the background I could hear his new born daughter gurgling softly. It really was the most incredible moment and in some weird way it balanced the world out. I had never truly understood how new life can make losing life easier to understand but hearing the joy in Chris’s voice, hearing Sophie, feeling the pride well up inside of me; well, I think I got it.
I haven’t been able to write in a long time. I haven’t blogged or even put down a single word on my personal writing for at least two months and I think it’s because I’ve been scared of what might come out of my fingertips. I’ve felt anger and sadness mixed with resentment and worry but that has all been kneaded in to a bubbling cauldron of excitement and wonder. To say I’ve felt a tad confused is an understatement. But I’m here and I realise that this has been a long ol’ year for everyone but we’re all moving forward. I’m starting to see some kind of light and I think that the world might be starting to shift back in to a focus that I can stomach.
Life is good and for that I am grateful. I owe a lot to a million people for getting me here: My parents, Adam, Adam, Jack, Marc, Hans, Jacky, Lyle, Chris, Adam, Dan, My brothers, Gabrielle, Claire – the list could and should go on. Perhaps most importantly, I owe a lot to you matey. This year you have shown me that life is to be lived and enjoyed. Fleeting moments of joy are to be cherished and anything like grudges and hostility are to be waved away as pointless because life simply is too short for such things.
It has taken a long time but I think I might be okay now. I think maybe, just maybe that tomorrow might be a good day, a new day.
I truly miss you my friend.
Hello Matey,
I’ve just got back from a nice ol’ evening out with many of our friends and now is time to type. 10 months… bugger me.
Well, it’s been a bloody crazy month my friend and pretty much everything has changed and can probably be split in to two categories, Christmas and Growing up. I warn you now, unlike most DJ blogs, this one is likely to be less me reflecting on life and very much a me, me, oh look at me kind of thing. With that in mind, let’s get on with the show.
Let’s start with Christmas first as it was a jolly one. Just after the last blog (I haven’t blogged since the last Dear Jimmy, terrible I know, I just don’t seem to be able to get words out of my fingers.) we all met up the weekend before Xmas and celebrated your birthday in style. Yes, you dominated an entire weekend and it was brilliant. Cue pictures of good times:
We did a Secret Santa a few days later too and whoever had me knew me incredibly well. This is just a few of the things I got:
An electronic drum set – Makes lots of noise
An Iron Man chest piece - it sticks to your t-shirt, lights up and makes crazy noises.
Build your own monster
Build your own robot
A pirate eye patch – makes me look like a pirate
After my finest sleuthing I figured out Mr Dan Matthews had me and apparently when he found out that I was his Secret Santa target he turned to Hannah and said, ‘We need to go to Toys R Us.’ Once again proof that our friends are brilliant.
On 23 December we had the annual Eve Before Xmas Eve meal at Toff’s house and every year there is a dress code. For example, last year the dress code was ‘bedtime’ so we donned pyjamas and slippers. This year the theme was… Roast Dinner. Odd, odd theme I think you’ll agree.
So what to dress as? I mean, you think of a roast dinner and things like gravy and roast potatoes spring to mind but I don’t expect either would make very good costumes. So I thought long and hard but came up with nothing and two hours before I had to go for the meal I called Chez Padden and Young to suggest that if they help me make a cool costume I’ll supply the beer. Two hours later, I’m walking in to Toff’s house and the costumes I’m seeing are amazing! There was a cracker, some pigs in blankets, broccoli, a candle a bottle opener and even a box of wine costume with a real box of wine inside so it actually worked! Thanks to Amy and Jim I went as… ahem… The Captain of the Gravy Boat.
New Year was spent in Cheltenham with your uni friends. Now THIS was an interesting night. There were loads of new people to meet including a couple of kiwis, one of which claimed to have a baby bird that he would hold in his hands and stroke soothingly. This baby bird though, happened to have the look of turkey skin and be covered in wirey hair. That’s right, he was pulling out one of his bollocks and stroking it. ‘Hey come and say hello to my baby bird, you’ll have to get close though as it’s shy.’ He even did it in the middle of Wetherspoons. Perhaps it was a ‘gotta be there to see it’ kinda thing but it was hilarious.
Also, you remember in a previous blog where I mentioned going to Cheltenham and having my chest shaved and a temporary tattoo attached? Well, this time the first thing Lyle said to me when I got to Cheltenham was, ‘I’m going to vajazzle you.’ I had no idea what this meant and was pretty surprised when the next day, Lyle came back from Tesco, upturned a plastic bag and out fell some razors, some jewels and a bottle of PVA glue… GULP.
We all got nicely drunk.
And after one too many, Lyle announces it was vajazzling time. This is what followed.
So it turns out that vajazzling means to have your pubes shaved off and jewels stuck on. It’s popular amongst Hollywood elite and it turns out that it’s also popular amongst drunk guys on a budget.
The next morning, whilst severely hungover, I announced perhaps too loudly, ‘Why is there blood in my pants?’ Then the night before all came flooding back to me. In case you were wondering, Lyle has very gentle hands.
I also have a story about another chap who fancied getting vajazzled and it’s bloody brilliant but I’ll save it for a less public forum.
Moving onwards. As I said this month can also be known as ‘Growing Up’ and since New Year a lot has changed in this direction. For example, a month ago I had never spoken the words ‘Contents Insurance’ or as it’s otherwise known, ‘Laura Proofing.’
Yup, after many, many viewings Dickinson and I found an amazing place right in the centre of Bristol and we’re moving in next week. It’s rather swanky, to the point that we have underfloor heating in all rooms and we even have a bathroom each. Lah-Di-Dah I hear you say. My parents have been amazing too, supplying everything from a sofa to a microwave to a kitchen table. It’s phenomenal.
The other grown up thing is the business Fantasy-Faction. It’s just gone BOOM! The Anthology idea that Marc and I were working on, which just to recap is the reason I’ve moved back to Inghliterra, has gone live and this time next year I will be a published writer and editor. After it went live neither Marc or I were ready for the reaction we got. People seem to love it! I’m not joking. Get this, we were worried that we might not attract many big name authors to contribute but within 3 days I already had short stories in my email inbox from some of the biggest names in modern fantasy literature. In fact, I actually had 8 stories from one of the best new authors out there and had to pick one to use. It was very much a ‘Holy Shit’ experience.
On top of this Marc and I managed to snag press passes to the SFX weekender in early February where we get to interview some of the coolest people in fantasy. Expect the next blog to be dominated by this.
So anyways my friend, I am orf to bed as I have a whole day of packing boxes tomorrow. I hope all is well with you.
Miss you mate.
Dear Jimmy.
How are you my friend?
You’ll be pleased to know that this blog is brought to you from your Uni town of Cheltenham where I am currently sat watching crappy movies with Jacky and Lyle and am having a brilliant time as ever.
Now that I’ve uploaded that picture I’ve just realised that you’re invading the top right corner. Y’see, you’re always here with us matey.
I know I say it each month, but by golly gumdrops I can’t believe it’s been so long. 9 whole months! Crazy stuff, especially when you think that that’s the same amount of time that it takes to send a letter to the stork and for him to process your application and then drop a baby down the chimney.
…That is where babies come from right?
Soooooo, I suppose the most important thing to have happened in the last month is probably that I have taken the decision to move back to the UK. If I’m honest I am really rather gutted to be leaving Italy. I’ve made some incredible friends out there and I don’t think it’s possible to buy a litre of decent vino in England for 2 Euros…
Speaking of my friends out there, the night before I left, Anita had a small party where we made our own pizzas and drank copious amounts and it was at this party that I met someone quite wonderful. A gorgeous Italian nurse who told me I have beautiful eyes. Is that not the ultimate fantasy? Why am I leaving Italy again?
Well, it’s (mainly) because things with Fantasy-Faction.com are about to explode in the most amazing ways imaginable and I really want to be here so I can be at the eye of the storm, helping to create wonderment. I won’t go in to it here for the moment but things are promising enough to justify the return. Also, I’m in talks with Mr Dickinson to find a house together in Bristol. Can you say Bachelor Pad?
I arrived back in the UK on Monday (12 Dec) after almost 20 hours and 1000 miles of driving. It was a long ol’ slog but truly incredible. At one point I was driving through Switzerland and on a long road down the centre of a gorge. Either side of me were steep hills filled with green trees which looked like I was driving through Jurassic Park. In the distance were snow covered mountains. The Rolling Stones were playing loudly through my car speakers and I was singing even louder. I then realised that I had a humongous grin smeared across my stupid face.
Perhaps it’s a dumb thing to say but it was at this moment that I remembered just how much I love life.
Here’s something you’ll love. On my drive up from Italy I stayed a night in the French town of Mulhouse. I actually had a brilliant time there but it was ruined the moment I saw this sign on my hotel room door.
I’m not sure if you can see it clearly but what the hell is ‘smocking’? A non smocking room? Isn’t a smock some kind of dress from the 50s? If so, is this sign saying that fashion victims are not allowed in the rooms? I know the French think they’re fashionable but seriously, I don’t think Trinny and Susannah would be happy about this.
Oh also, as this Sunday’s your birthday a whole bunch of us are meeting up in Weston to hit the 2p machines on the Pier and then raise a glass or two in your name. It won’t be anywhere near as fun as your birthday a couple of years ago when we did pub golf but we shall try our best to celebrate in style.
Good times.
Before I hit you with what is quite possibly the most incredible song you will ever, EVER hear, I’ll just go over the other highlights of this month…
-I turned 25 and now I feel ridiculously old. Half way to 50 and all that. I was back in the UK for a Stag-Do which coincided with my birthday so we headed up here to Cheltenham (I’m addicted) and these pictures basically sum up the night:
I know what you’re thinking and yes, that is a pirate hat, a bottle of rum, a fake tattoo. Yes, those are Jacky’s pants I am wearing atop my jeans and YES I wore them out to town when we ventured out to the 2 Pigs.
-I saw Terry Pratchett, an experience that melted my brain in to a gooey mess of heavenly custard.
Right, that’s pretty much it for highlights so, consider me done for this month. Enjoy the following song. It comes courtesy of Lyle and it’s called, Yeah Toast!
Possibly the best verse in it:
I get up in the mornin’ bout six AM,
Have a little jelly have a little jam,
Take a piece of bread put it in the slot,
Push down the lever and the wires gets hot,
I get toast.
Yeah TOAST Yeah TOAST
Merry Christmas amigo. Catch you in a month.
Saturday was quite possibly the greatest day I have experienced in a long time! I headed up to Cheltenham in the evening with some of my very favourite people and there events involved tattoos, pirate hats and too much rum. Before Cheltenham though, I ventured in to Burnham on Sea where I met with many friends including Adam Dickinson and my Fantasy-Faction brother in arms, Mr Marc Aplin to watch the one and only Sir Terry Pratchett turn on the Xmas lights for the town.
For the record, Terry Pratchett is one of my very favourite authors. I have almost everything he has ever written which is in excess of 60 novels. The first fantasy book I ever read was Pratchett’s The Carpet People and one of my favourite books of all time is Good Omens by him and Gaiman. I have two book shelves dedicated to his novels. He is the reason I read what I read and the reason I currently do what I do. I am not a religious man but if I was, my Jesus would be Pratchett.
Based on this, you can probably understand just how excited I was to see him.
We got to town twenty minutes before the show was due to start and were met with a sea of bodies all facing a stage on which a local band were playing music. Well, when I say stage I actually mean to say, a lorry with one of it’s sides drawn back which was being used as a make-shift stage. No expense spared.
After the band had finally finished playing we were introduced to the Mayor, his wife and the queens of the carnival. Yawn – although, I must say that when they announced the Queens of the Carnival I was expecting something a little more bubbly with a few more feather boas than what we were given.
To be honest, the crowd were cold and the last thing we wanted was to hear the Mayor drone on while two ladies and two young girls ponced around with painted smiles like they were assistants on a game show. Listening to the Mayor dribble on about blah blah bloody-blah I couldn’t help but think that the town could have done with melting down his massive gold necklace thing and investing in a stage worthy of literary royalty.
Just as I was considering stabbing myself in the leg with a pencil simply to create some excitement I glanced to my right and there, stood next to me was a chap with an enormous brown beard wearing bright red robes. These weren’t just any robes though my friends, oh no, these were wizarding robes. Atop his head sat a tall wizarding hat in the same red colour. What was particularly impressive about these robes were the golden stars that adorned them. I remember thinking two things. Firstly, I wondered where Luggage was - there’s a joke for the fans – and secondly that his mum must have helped him with the sewing of the stars as this guy looked like he would have opted to try to stick them on with glue. He also looked like he would probably try to eat the glue too. I pictured a ‘one for me, one for you’ situation.
Soon the crowd were whooping and cheering loudly as up on to the ‘stage’ strode a small man with a big black hat, white beard and a big, warm smile. Ladies and gents we have Sir Terry Pratchett. My heart jumped, my breath went short. ‘HOLY SHIT, HE’S REAL!’
After the obligatory press photos were finished, the compère strode over to begin interviewing Mr Pratchett, the only problem was though, that hardly anyone could hear him. I was okay as the speakers were close by but those in the cheap seats were left wanting. It turned out that the compère had walked as far as the lead on the microphone would allow and so, it wouldn’t reach the extra few inches up to Pratchett’s mouth and the compère was far too polite/embarrassed/stupid to actually say anything. Eventually this was sorted but only after someone in the crowd shouted, ‘We can’t bloody hear the bugger!’
When the interviewer then continued with his questions I began to cringe. The following is paraphrased but pretty much what was said:
“So Sir Terry, what’s your greatest memory from your illustrious writing career?”
Followed by:
“Can you remember why it was you first started writing?”
These questions seemed pretty inappropriate and rather insensitive considering Mr Pratchett is suffering with Alzheimer’s. But hey, perhaps it was just me who thought so and anyway, Pratchett didn’t seem to mind too much and answered them with interesting and witty replies all the while still beaming that wonderful grin that just seems to say, ‘Life is wonderful!’
Offering to sign books despite it being made clear that he wouldn’t be signing any. What a gent.
Once the lights were switched on Pratchett again posed for a few pictures all the while beaming that classic grin of his. During this time Vicky Gould and I ventured even closer and were eventually at the edge of the stage/lorry. I was literally 3 feet away from a hero! Every inch of me wanted to shout out to him, to ask for him to sign my forehead, to shake my hand so I could laminate it or at the very least never wash it again. I didn’t though, I just stood there with an idiot grin telling anyone who came near me that, ‘Terry Pratchett’s up there.’ I would point too just in case they had missed it.
Earlier this year I was lucky enough to meet another of my favourite authors called China Mieville whom I even managed to interview for the site but even that in no way compared to this brief sniff of time looking up at one of the few people in the world I would love to be, Terry Pratchett. Just wow. It was amazing stuff and what’s even cooler is that this should have been the greatest part of my day BUT an hour later I was in Cheltenham and things got crazy.
To be continued…
Right now I should be miserable. I was awake at 6.30am (European time) and since then I have endured hours of traffic jams, a huge delay on my flight from Schipol to Bristol and further delays with buses. On top of that my bloody wisdom teeth are coming through and I tell you now that if you’ve never experienced Wisdom Teeth then there is nothing wise about their appearance. They hurt like buggery… not that I have a reference point for that statement. However, I’m not miserable, in fact I am quite the opposite as I am currently sat in a Whetherspoons, my first English pub (if you can call it that) in six months and sat in front of me is a Budvar and a Cornish Rattler cider. Just the sight of the labels in the drinks fridge behind the bar brought on a kind of euphoria.
Despite this growing happiness I am finding one thing particularly hard to ignore and that is the English people today. My goodness do we love to whinge! It is so bad that I currently have Noel Gallagher singing loudly in to my ears just to drown out the constant drone from literally everyone around me whining and moaning about this and that.
‘Urgh I hate work.’
‘I lost a tenner on the fruity and the wife’s gonna go mental.’
‘I got this fucking rash from fucking that skanky Rachel bitch and now the doctors wants £7.40 for cream or they say my cock will fall off. Fucking rip-off.’
It just goes on and on and bloody on. I am missing the continent already which is a shame as I have been looking forward to coming back to the UK immensely. As I type this I am already jotting down a little poem on some paper about my feelings on the UK and I’m telling you it ain’t pretty. For example I am currently trying to rhyme something along the lines of ‘Where tracksuits abound,’ with ‘While waistbands expand.’
Safe to say, I am not feeling all that proud to be British right now. This shame didn’t start as I got in to England though, it actually began in Schipol Airport in Amsterdam as I encountered two fantastic examples of English rudeness.
I got to Schipol Airport and found that there was a humongous delay on my flight due to fog so I did what anyone who is gearing up to being British does and that was grab a breakfast from McDonalds. My first McD’s breakfast in six whole months – yippee. So I was there in a queue and a group of English people appeared behind me and were gabbling like Victor Verbose on a Cocaine/Meth mix. One of them noticed that on the McMenu was something called a McKroket – which is a kroket in a bun – simple, delicious stuff. But this guy said,
“That sounds more like Rocket. Reckon we can sit on it and fly back to Manchester?”
They all started laughing raucous, gawky, belly hugging chuckles. Harmless but idiotic.I sighed at the stupidity of my kinsmen, stepped forward to the counter and in my best Dutch (which is awful) I ordered my food. The lady understood everything -YIPPEEE- and asked me to wait to the side for my coffee. At this point the Englishers behind me started bitching about the Dutch language.
“These Dutch all sound ridiculous when they talk don’t they? Like a clown got a cold or summit and started coughing up phlegm. It’s like them pygmies that click to talk.”
They all started laughing. I gripped my croissant tightly (yeah McD breakfasts come with a croissant on the continent) and considered throwing it at one of the wankers but decided not too. I was far too hungry for such actions. Annoyingly though someone followed up with,
“Yeah, it sounds like they’re always clearing their throats. Get ‘em some strepsils.”
Again they all laughed and a couple of them started making guttural ‘Cgggh Cggggh’ noises.
Now, call me mental but it’s not normally advisable to take the piss out of a whole nation and their language while surrounded by people who speak it; especially when most people around you will understand your every word.
So I turned around to them.
“Not a good idea to talk so loud when everyone around you understands English, guys.”
I think this was a fair response considering I could see other people gripping their croissants with similar intentions to what I had recently held. However, it seems I over stepped the boundary as in reply I got that classic English response:
“Fuck off.”
Lovely.
Anyway, an hour and a half later, my plane is finally called and I was heading through to security. Here I face the obligatory belt off, empty your pockets, wallet into the plastic X-Ray container malarkey. I walked through the body scanner and despite no beep from the machine, the guy asked to frisk me – I could swear he winked when he said it. I obviously said yes he could tap me down and, I’m not joking, all the guy did was stroke my calves up and down then away I went. Seriously, what in the name of Captain Planet was that all about?
So, I went over to collect my belongings from the other side of the machine and next to me was an old guy ostentatiously picking out his items and placing them in his pockets, all the while keeping his eyes on his book. He went to walk away when the steward (I dunno if they’re called stewards but you know, one of the guys who likes to pat your bottom after the X-ray machine) called to him in a perfect though slightly accented English.
“Excuse me sir, you must take everything from the box.” The guy he had called to turned around and gave the steward a look that went from confusion into a form of aggression in a split second.
“You what?” He spat. “There’s nuffink in there.” English accent… brilliant – my shame goes higher.
(I also, genuinely thought to myself, ‘Did he just say ’nuffink’? And yet he wants us to believe he’s actually reading that book…)
“Sir, you must take everything with you,” the steward repeated. The English guy stepped forward and eyed the items in the box.
“That’s all rubbish in there. You keep it.” He said waving a hand towards the steward. The English guy was right, it was all rubbish; I could see Twix wrappers, a Mars bar wrapper and a napkin.
“Sir,” the steward continued patiently. “I am not a trash can, will you please put it in the bin if you no longer want it.” The English guy huffed and snatched the rubbish. As he did so he said;
“I’ll put you in the bin in a minute you prick.” He then wandered off while the steward shook his head in pity of such a pathetic human being.
Bravo Englisher, bravo.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been to The Netherlands or met any Dutch people but to me they are some of the most remarkable people on the planet. They are warm and friendly to strangers, they live life in a healthy and beautiful way and on top of that they have some of the most beautiful women in the entire world. I have spent the last week there and have once again been enchanted by their culture of tolerance and acceptance. Why can’t we be more like this?
Anyways, that’s my little essay. Now I’m orf to talk to a man about a dinosaur.
Ta-rah.
Dear Jimmy.
Hey buddy. I hope all is well as I am currently buzzing as I begin writing this because I have literally just got back from one of the most incredible gigs I have ever experienced. Elbow in Amsterdam! Woah, Wow, Wowzers and Wooo it was bloody brilliant my friend. It was in the Heineken Music Hall in Amsterdam and I’m not joking when I say the place was stuffed. I don’t think they could have fit another person in that room even if they had an enormous shoe horn and a thousand pots of butter. The sound, the lights, the everything was simply spectaular. I went with Hans and Sarah Stoel and both of them came out of it beaming which was great. I love those two.
At one point during the song ‘The Night Will Always Win’ it got a little hard as obviously today was 8 months, you and I were meant to see Elbow together back in March and also our next holiday was scheduled to be Amsterdam. As the words hit me I collapsed.
Here is a recording from the event. Stunning stuff.
I miss your stupid face
I miss your bad advice
I tried to clothe your bones with scratchy
Super 8s, exaggerated stories and old tunes
But never by the moon
But not the state I’m in
The night will always win
I think I’ve mentioned this song too many times in these blogs but it means so much to me for all previously stated reasons and it killed me to hear it today. I hope Sarah doesn’t think I’m one of these guys who gets sad at anything because you and I both know I’m a manly man. I, um… I have hairs on my chest and everything.
Ah, although I write this today I actually have no idea when I will be able to get it out of my computer as I am currently lost somewhere in the deepest, darkest depths of The Netherlands… Well I say that, actually I’m in a wonderful small town called Amersfoort which is a fifteen minute train ride from Utrecht.
So, this month has been an odd one. Friday I found myself in Germany on the way up here and ended up in a great hotel. We unpacked and then headed out in to town to find a bar or nine. Walking in to the foyer of the hotel we were blocked by a mass of tall and burly Americans. I figured they were an American football team or something as they were all rather big and not all that bright from the sounds of the conversations.
Later that night we headed back to the hotel and I got chatting to the lady behind the bar. She continued to pour me beers and I continued to tell her my stupid stories and anecdotes. It worked out nicely for both of us. At some awful time of the night the Americans came in, ordered fruit juices and left. ‘So who are they?’ I asked the lady.
“Them? They’re the Chippendales”
In reply, I coughed a ‘what the fuck’ choke of air into my beer. “What like the kind who get naked for crazy girls?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s them.” The barmaid replied. It was at this point a slightly older lady nearby got up from her stool and came to join the barmaid and I.
“Not that the girls will ever get anything,” this new lady said. “All the Chippendales are gay with eachother.”
I smirked and gave the barmaid a look as if to say, ‘I bet she would if she got the opportunity.’ The barmaid returned the same smirking, wide-eyed look. My night went pretty hazy soon after this – damn beer and your influence on my brain – and I retired to bed. Before I left though the German barmaid asked if I was on Facebook to which I replied with an Italian phrase, ‘Come non?’ Because I’m a multi-lingual twat like that.
For the record, ‘come non?’ translates directly as ‘how no?’ But basically means ‘of course,’ or ‘don’t ask such silly questions, you know the answer already.’
The next morning I woke with a churning stomach, a spinning head and a pocket filled with a German name for Facebook and four pens all with the hotel name printed on them, so yeah… apparently my drunken self likes to steal pens in Germany.
So as you can see, this month has been rather fun and interesting and there’s more wonderment to come. Tomorrow I’m heading to Utrecht to meet one of the top fantasy authors in The Netherlands. I fly back to the UK on Thursday and from there I have a million things going on ranging from Chili nights, Stag-Dos and nights out in your uni town to seeing Sir Terry Pratchett himself turning on the Xmas lights in Burnham. Shall be a giggle.
It hasn’t been all sunshine, bluebells and BBQ sauce though this month. Much bollocks has happened including my wisdom teeth coming through; I would just like to say that they don’t seem like much of a wise move as far as I’m concerned – the little fuckers, causing me pain and warm cheeks.
The real bother this month though was the M5 crash that occurred on Carnival Night on the piece of motorway pretty much outside your house. I caught sniff of it at about 9.30pm when it emerged on the BBC site as little more than a sentence and I watched all night as that small story grew in to a thing of sheer horror.
No one quite knows how it all happened but apparently the fog was ridiculously dense. People have said it was impossible to see more than a couple of metres in any direction and suddenly there was a crash. So, so , so many vehicles were involved in the collision, including two lorries. I read in shock as reports rolled in of blazing balls of fire erupting out of the wreckage and exploding into the sky. For hours I was simply sat there unsure what to think or feel. All I could do was to keep hitting Ctrl+R.
In the end 7 people died but loads were taken to hospital with life changing injuries.Horrific.
For a while my mind was all over the place. My first thoughts were to check everyone close to me were okay which fortunately they were. Once I knew this I was quickly flooded with thoughts of all the poor people who won’t be as lucky. Sounds pathetic I guess, empathy for people I don’t know is as useless as using a cup of salt to fight off a hurricane but I was thrust back to 8 months ago and that phone call. It was awful knowing that the families of at least seven people will be getting that phone call; that life for them will never be the same. One of the people who died turns out to be the uncle of a friend.
Some sick fuckers from home actually started spreading around ‘jokes’ that one of our friends had died; writing on his facebook wall and such. The grief struck and people were rapidly gripped with pain, pouring their thoughts, worries and wishes on to the internet. Turns out the guy wasn’t dead and was even in on the ‘joke’. He considered it a light and funny practical joke to pretend he was caught in the crash. Seriously! What a sick, fucking fuck must you be to toy with people like that? Is it appropriate to use the word cunt here? Yeah… yeah I think it is… Whatta cunt!
You know what twisted the stiletto in my chest that little bit more? This all happened on carnival night and I had begun the day gutted I wasn’t there with our friends. The last two I went to were with you and last year was without a doubt the best carnival I have ever experienced. You and I surrounded by friends and drenched in the rain. It was also the night I first introduced you to Claire. Such a brilliant night. Oh, and apparently Adam Dickinson did a ‘You’ by peeing against a car just as people returned to it. You’ve started a trend mon ami.
I have a million other things I could talk about; but I won’t as I think I’ve bored your pants off already. However, I’ll tell you these quick snippets:
1) I am currently 35,000 words in to writing a story for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).
2) I think I’m falling in love
3) I spent all day surrounded by Nederlands people yesterday and have discovered that since the last time I came here I can understand a huge amount more.
4) I am currently reading Sophie’s World by Gaarder. Third of the way through and it’s brilliant.
Anyways. I miss you mate.I hope all is well with you.
I leave you now with a song from Ricky Gervais on Sesame Street. It’s a lullaby all about the letter N. Hopefully it will wake you up a bit after such a boring blog.
Catch you in a month.
