4 hours later

I think the seriousness of what I've just committed myself to is starting to sink in.. London to Paris. On a bike. Sacré bleu!

Unfortunately, I think that I'm starting to turn into one of those annoying "cycling bores" because when I got to the pub tonight, rather than really talking to anyone, I started pouring over the latest Evans cycle brochure thinking about all the gadgets and bits and bobs I am going to "need". And even worse, I started to bore everyone with the various details, pros and cons of each of the bits and bobs I now want to buy.

Please god, don't turn me into a "cycling bore". I hate people who constantly wax lyrical about the sport they do and can hold no other form of conversation. Please, please, please don't let me become one of them!

Somethin' stupid

I have today (before I lost my nerve) signed up to do the London to Paris cycle ride for Action Medical Research... it's a 4 day, 300 mile cycle ride from London to Paris (well duh!), via Dieppe, Lieux, Vernon and ending in Paris the day before the Tour de France. I'm not really sure why I want to do this, but I do. I'm kindof nervous and excited about the possibility of doing around 80miles a day from here and all through rural France... Actually, I'm mostly scared that at the end of the first 10 miles out of Blackheath, I'll end up in a blubbering heap on the floor, wailing "I can't go on! I can't go on! You'll have to go on! But give me a backey the whole way to Paris" .

I'll be asking everyone for sponsorship money very soon. I intend to aggressively campaign for sponsorship to the point of obnoxious, until people will want to pay me to just stay away from them!

At least this is one thing I'll get to do this year that I want to do. But more of that on another post.

Magic as a Simpsons Character

More takers!! Here is the Magic as a Simpsons character. Remember, if you want yours posted, make yours here and send it to me!

Dr D as a Simpsons Character

Takers already!Here is Dr D as a Simpsons Char (though personally I think he looks alot more like the Professor than this...)

Friday Moment of Zen: Me as a Simpsons Character

In a similar vein of "Me as an M&M", here is "Me as a Simpsons Character":



And here is "Me as a Simpsons Character Half Cut After a Night Out Looking For the Beckoning Lights of KFC":

If you have one you'd like me to post, email me you're pic and I'll put it up. You can make your own right here.

Holiday Ruination - Thy name is Alitalia

"You know, this holiday reminds me of when we went to Italy last time in '98. Hey, thank god we don't have to wash our undies in the sink with shampoo eh!"
"Yeah, thank god".

So where the have I been for the last 3 weeks? C and I went to Italy for 10 days for a Christmas holiday with my parents, who came all the way from Australia. We went to Naples, met my folks in Rome, then travelled north to the South Tirol Alps in Italy, for a bit of Christmas cheer, a visit to the Vatican to see old Popey and to try our hands at skiiing.

But fate, Alitalia and BAA it would seem would have none of it.

I knew from the very first hour of my holiday that it was not going to go quite my way when I was on the Heathrow Express on my way to my flight, I went to take my travel card out of my pocket, and heard the the gut wrenching "tinkle" - the delightful sound of the key to my suitcase padlock falling into the heating grate. Calling Dr D in a giggling panic his helpful suggestions consisted of:
1) Breaking open the grate of the heater. Which would require either a blow torch or electric drill.
2) Use a sharp implement to break open the padlock. Like a screwdriver or a hacksaw. I had to then point out that "um, I'm going to THE AIRPORT. They don't let you take that sort of thing on the plane anymore you know".

Fearing for my clothes being stuck in my case for the next 10 days, I finally managed to get my spindly fingers in the grate and painfully fish out the key and believe me, never have I been so happy to see one small piece of metal before. I then got to the airport, dropped my bags off at the check-in. And that was the last time I saw my beautiful red suitcase for the next 12 days.

Ah yes, holiday ruination thy name is Alitalia.

When C & I got to Naples, Alitalia and BAA managed to not only lose C's suitcase but mine as well. And the lack of suitcases was to last pretty much the entire holiday. Like every good girl, I'd brought everything I'd ever need with me on holiday and more: my digital cameras (yes cameraS. Two), ipod charger, camera charger, phone charger, laptop charger, hair dryer, snow gear to go skiing with - gloves, pants, jumpers, scarves, beanie, my laptop, nice going out clothes, loungy night time clothes, t-shirts, shirts, underwear, shampoo, conditioner, face wash, moisturiser, hair brush, hair products, elastics, band aids, medicine, socks, cool new jeans, big long black coat, and my lovely brown boots. Everything. Gone. Vamooshed. Disappeared. Where? No one, and I mean no one in the whole of Italy could tell us.

Alitalia. My god never has an name been more cursed than Alitalia. I blame every single mini crisis/disappointment/disaster to Alitalia:

Naples
At least we got to see Pompeii. Because of Alitalia and our lost bags did we get to see any of Naples? Well yes if you count the main shopping street and the airport. Did we see the museum housing all the interesting artifacts from Pompeii? No. Did we get to go to Vesuvius? No. Sorento? Hell no. We had to spend our time shopping. For clothes. And shampoo and conditioner and face wash. C & I became bag ladies whose entire worldly possessions were encased in plastic shopping bags.

Rome
My parents met C & I in Rome. I think they got the shock of their lives when they C met them in the baggage hall. Why? We frantically followed a tip off that the bags might have come in from London to Rome that day. Did we look at any sights in Rome? Not really. Did I spend time with my parents in Rome? No not really. What did we do the rest of the time? Shop for more clothes.

Don't get me wrong. I have the 2 perfectly functioning X chromosomes. But when it comes to shopping, especially forced shopping which comes with knowing that holiday insurance will only pay £100 and the only thing I wanted to buy in Italy where leather gloves, shopping for clothes that I know I have in my lost suitcase is not a great incentive. And at the end of it all, what did I have to show for it? 3 shirts, 2 jumpers, 2 pairs of under pants, some socks. I'll tell you what though, it dide make getting dressed in the mornings a heck of a lot easier. "I think I'll wear my jeans. Again. And which of the 3 shirts do I want to wear?"

The Vatican
My mum somehow got us tickets in to St Peter's for midnight mass with the Pope. I have no idea how she did it but she did. She was so excited about this, being quite a big catholic. However, thanks to Alitalia and our lost bags C & I spent all day shopping. Which meant we were knackered when we got back to the hotel. Which meant we left the hotel late, had dinner late, got to the Vatican late, were 4 people off from being seated for midnight mass. My mum was so upset, she went to the back of the cathedral and sat on the floor. I've never seen her so angry and disappointed in my life. It didn't help that if she had waited near where they were seating people eventually we would have got a seat. She stubbornly sat at the back, refusing to listen to me. When it came for communion she was openly questioning what sort of church requires you to have VIP tickets to be seated to hear mass, and starting to doubt her faith. I had to drag her up promising it would make her feel better. Little did I know this was would turn a bad night even worse. When as she got communion she went to walk away and the official grabbed her arm and started loudly telling her off in Italian and shaking her. Apparently, you have to take communion there and then in front of the priest as they are frightened that people, I don't know, are giving the bread to non catholics? Gasp. That's surely a worse sin than murder that will get you sent straight to firey hell and damnation don't you know. Whatever the random reason, it was the last straw for my mum, and she went to the back and started crying. Which in turn was the absolute last straw for me. No one makes my mum cry. I marched up to official and started politely but very firmly telling him off. When he indicated he didn't speak English, I just ranted at him in French. He thought I was speaking bad Italian of course so he got a security guard to come over who had to very slowly translate to the official that I was demanding he apologise to my mum for making her cry. To be fair, when the official realised what he had done, he became extremely remorseful, and he, the security guard and myself all went and found my mum, where he profusely apologised. Obviously in Italian. This made her cry even more, which then made me cry, which then had the security guard try to comfort me*. In the end, the official dragged my mum from the back of St Peters, forced everyone away from the barriers, and put mum and me in a great position to see the Pope walk past at the end of mass.


Alitalia - you ruined my mum's Christmas Midnight Mass. Bastards

* Dear God: Please don't send me to hell for thinking, whilst in the Vatican, oh angels in heaven this security guard is seriously cute and seriously nice. I won't hold it against you for not returning my clothes, if you don't hold it against me that I was thinking about flirting in your house. Thank you for your time.


The Alps
Ahh, the Southern Tirol Alps. The autonomous region of Italy, where German and Italian are both the official language. If you go from the border of Austria and Italy in South Tirol, there is a massive sign up that says "South Tirol is NOT Italian". We stayed in Eggen, a fantastic place to ski, enjoy the 2km toboggan slope, be in the -5 degree crisp weather. Not so good if all your COLD WEATHER GEAR AND SKI CLOTHES ARE IN YOUR SUITCASES ENJOYING THEIR OWN ROMAN ADVENTURE SOMEWHERE IN ITALY, NOT WITH YOU.

ALITALILA YOU BASTARDS. Everything. Snow pants, gloves, hats, thermals, everything. Somewhere, anywhere, but not with us. So Alitalia, on you I blame the fact that I still can't ski. I was going to go and learn. But no. I got to freeze my arse off in my jeans in -5 degree temperatures. No tobogganing. No skiing. No apres skiing!! Nothing.

However, we did have lots of time to go off exploring other parts near South Tirol, like Switzerland, Innsbruck, snow fields near Obbereggen. Unfortunately, since all my nice clothes were, I don't know, in Sicily basking in the 13 degree warmth, I got to visit St Moritz in my scummy jeans, whilst all the women were in their Bulgary, Prada and fur coats. The looks we got from the "bootiful people" which were withering at best. Distainful at worst.

So the holiday in general. How was it? Totally enjoyable isn't quite right. Relaxing wouldn't be quite right either. Frustrating might be a better word for it. Though, as I maintain some holidays just blend into each other, being so relaxing and enjoyable. Having to wash all your clothes in the bathroom sink with stolen hotel shampoo was a phase of travelling I had hoped I'd outgrown. Let's say: frustrating, unexpected, yet still strangely entertaining. And now I know I can at least survive with only 1/3 of the stuff I travel with. Who needs to change clothes everyday? That's just an unnecessary luxury.

7.15 am

After 17 days of holidays (well, in fact it's been almost 20 odd days since my last week at work I was sick for 2 days) I have had to set my alarm again for 7.15. Argh, the idea of work after such a long (not necessarily restful) break is such a, well, drag. Tomorrow I have to go back to work. Workin' for da man. Puttin on my figurative suit and tie. Back to the grindstone. Ya di ya di ya da.

For the last 17 days C, my parents (from Australia!) and I have been to Naples, Rome, the Southern Italian Tirol Alps (were they don't speak Italian!), St Moritz, Innsbruck, Cortina and almost to San Peligrino. We've seen Pompeii, almost every clothes store in Naples (you know they don't have a big department store in Naples?), been accosted by a crazy old guy at a train station, had Christmas lunch of bread, parma ham and cheese in the car at a rest stop, fondue in one of the richest towns in Switzerland, seen an awful lot of rich bad taste in name of fasion, crazy cheese dreams and New Years Eve in London. All in all it's been a really, well, interesting holiday. But now it's back to work. Again. For another year. 2008.

Any resolutions? A couple:

1) I want to do a mini triathalon
2) I want to do the London to Brighton cycle
3) I want to start regularly brushing my teeth at night, not just when I remember. I've listened to too many nightmare tales of root canal, infected gums, painful wisdom tooth removal. Not for me thankyou very much.
4) I'm going to blog more. I've been slack. It annoys me.
5) I'm going to learn to actually enjoy porridge.

All my other resolutions are the usual lose weight, exercise more, save money, blah blah blah boring boring boring yawn type resolutions that I will say I want to do, but more than likely won't do.

I have a write up of the Christmas Italian Disaster holiday almost done that will bore you to tears. Just have to, you know, finish writing it up.

Otherwise, I hope that Christmas and the New Year has treated you well. I hope Santa brought you all the lovely toys you wished for. And God bless the fucking lot of us.

So Sincere

Me: Wow, I can't believe this time next week she'll be a mother! I'm so excited for her
Dr D: Yeah. Woo hoo. Excited. Yup
Me: God you're so sincere aren't you?
Dr D: Yeah. Course I am. You look nice today. See. Sincere me.

So, where'd you get those from?

Last Friday was our work Christmas party. You know that it's been one of those sorts of nights when 2 days later someone emails you from work saying "Ok, next time we all go out, we're gonna have that dance off. Get ready", and your thinking "Dance off? What dance off? Was there some sort of West Side Story moment at this party? Am I a Jet?"

I won't bore you with the details of how I went through the usual malaise of the "what the fuck am I going to wear? Why does everything I try on in the shops look like shite?", but suficite to say I knew it's bad when I get sent a care package of clothes thanks to Li, with all her lovely party frocks in it. Unfortunately for me, I don't have the breasts to carry off any of her tops (chicken fillets wouldn't have filled been enough for my puppies. In fact, whole chickens stuffed down my top would not have helped at all). Surprisingly, help came in the form of a dress that my mother had bought for me when I saw her earlier this year.

Now I love my mum, honestly I do. And her clothes are fantastic. On her. Unfortunately her dress sense, when extended to me, is not a winning combination that's going to get me in on the cover of Vogue anytime this century. So you can imagine my shock when she told me she had bought me a dress and the smile I had prepared myself to wear when she showed it to me was genuine and not a hard, plastered on grimace. It's a green patterned maxi empire cut dress, with a sort of plunging neck line, that I had planned to keep covered behind a pashmina, a bolero, and whatever pillars happened to be at the venue. 3 glasses of champagne later and that plan flew out the window. So after the whole chicken fillet/borrowed clothes debacle, I was shocked to find out that my breasts were in fact topics of conversation with my bosses wife. I practically chocked on one of my never ending glasses of champgane when she asked me where I got my cleavage from? (No, they were not a christmas present, I've had these my whole life).

So relatively sucessful Christmas party? So-so. No raging hangover the next day (thanks to The Ex-Flatmate and a friend of ours going off to Tesco's at 3am to buy pizzas (yum)). Bruises all over my legs from being flung around the dance floor (oh wait.. I remember this "Dance Off" thing now... The massive bruise on my knee is proof that I am, in fact a Jet, from my first cigarette to my last dying day), and a hole in the top of my foot where someone has decided to try to crucify one of my feet by smashing their stilleto heel into it. This is Christmas people, not Easter. And I'm not the massiah, I'm a very drunken girl. Now with added boobs.

Finland Photos

I've not had time to do a proper write up yet (Christmas, Christmas Parties, Babies, Ex-Flatmates. All taking toll on time!). check out the collection of sets here:

Finland Husky & Reindeer Riding

Ice Fishing

This is one of my favorite two pics from night sky watching.
Check out the set here: Aurora Borealis Watching.

The holiday is Finnish

I'm back.

Going on holidays is always a really weird time for me because there is always all this anticipation and excitement and brouhaha about trying to get organised and remember to book hotels and flights and pack the right number of socks, and then all of a sudden you're on holiday, and you're having a great time, it's all fun and holiday like, and then, BAM, it's over. Finished.

I have this strange sort of love/hate relationship with time. The old adage for when bad things happen of "this too shall pass" unfortunately also extends to the good times... I find the worst parts are when one minute you're on a plane, waiting to take off because it's delayed thinking "argh come one lets go, I hate these crowded seats" and then you stop and realise "in a few seconds this very moment will be over and in the past and when it's long gone and it's all just bits of electricity going on in my brain, it's this moment I'll remember" and before you know it, you're back in your bedroom, laptop on, writing about it. Fleeting, intangible moments, all in the past, all gone.... And the more you think like this, the harder and yet the easier it is to live in the moment, not wanting time to keep passing by without you at least trying to have a stab at it and wondering if you could be doing a better job of it...

Hmmm, I really know how to suck the fun out of holidays eh?

Ok enough midnight philosophising about how time seems to slip through my fingers and I can't stop it.

So how was the holiday? Bloody fantastic and bloody cold!

I will post many, many pictures soon along with highlights of:

• Dr D almost getting mauled by our over eager reindeer
• When a woman who drives huskies for a living puts a poncho on you, you do not say no
• Believing that my last moments on this mortal coil were to be spent in the dungeon of a Finnish shack in god knows where butt fuck Finland in the middle of the night
• Northern lights!!!
• I LOVE TOBOGGANING AND I DON'T CARE
• Webcams
• Tex-Mex. Why is all of Finland bloody obsessed with tex-mex?

Right now I'm off to bedfordshire, as we got in at 2.30 am this morning, and I've had a grand total of 4 hours sleep. And when you've used to afternoon naps on holiday, a whole full day of work seems too bloody long.

The night before is always the worst.

We've just spent the night in our favorite East End Boozer, having amazing food, good booze and great conversation.

Though honestly, you know you might have had a bit too much to drink when your facial toner smells like whisky.

Argh.

Finland, Finland, Finland, The Country Where I Want To Be

In the next installment of random, random holiday destinations that I am going to this year, tomorrow we're (Dr D, Calv, Magic, C, (drum roll please) The Ex-Flatmate and myself) are all off to Lapland in Finland to visit Santa, watch the northern lights, get eaten by huskies, and listen to Heavy Metal Music.

Right now, to get ready for the fact that it seems the only thing they listen to in Finland is heavy metal (see Lordi) Dr D and I have spent much of the week listening to 90's band Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name Of". Ahhh, the memories of my very non rebellious teenage years are coming flooding back, when we'd listen to this in the summer, not getting tattoos, not being drunk, not doing drugs or generally not doing anything else exciting. Unfortunately for RATM, their version of angry hard metal is not making me think "YEAH bring on the policical activisim and hate for the corporate man controlling our lives", but just makes me giggle... not what they were aiming for I guess.

I'm very excited about going on holiday again, and Dr D has spent much of this week looking up the aurora borealis activity in Rovaniemi (where we are spending 6 days). We're also taking over night sleeper trains to and from Lapland (which I have booked and fucked up so many times that now Finnish Rail has 900 of my euros and they are not giving them back until sometime mid December 2045. My helpful hint is to not stress out about things and then fuck up the booking. As The Magic (or his dad I suppose) always says "Measure Twice, Cut Once" (ok so it's more of a building saying)

So the itinerary for the next 9 days:

• Husky Sleigh (without the superman technique fondly loved by Dr D or the boffin falling over technique fondly loved by The Magic)
• Ice Fishing - to freaze our bollocks off with. Why we want to catch Ice I have no idea.
• Night time Snowmobile sleding with Night Sky Watching - We're paying money to go look at the night sky. Is nothign free in Finland?
• Saunas - Scandanavian countries speciality
• Heavy Metal Head Banging - Finnish Speciality

This is the country where Lordi comes from after all. And in honour of the band that dressed up like Klingons and won Eurovision, there is actually a square in Rovaniemi named after the band. This is where we choose to holiday. We ROCK! (or We WILL ROCK!)

So I may or may not bring my laptop with me tomorrow, but in all likely hood I will be back until the first week of December. Unless I get mauled by Santa's reindeer...

A-voting, a-voting, a-voting we will go

C and I are off to Australia House, the Australian High Commission in London, to vote in Australia's general election, held back home this Saturday.

As opposed to Britain, voting in Australia is compulsory, and to be honest I believe it should be. Everyone should have their say in how their country is run, even if it is misinformed, self-helping, or wrong, rather than the slack arse apathetic way that causes only 32% of Londoners to have voted in the last local elections.

So why are we going? 3 reasons:

1) I truly believe that everyone should vote. Don't get me started, I've had many a screaming, stand up, finger in face pointing argument about this point. I don't care. It's my point, so just deal with it.

2) To vote against Little Johnny Brown Nose, and get his team of cronies out of office. Voted into everlasting power in 1996, Australia has been in the grip of a coalition government for the last 11 sodding years. Holy Sweet Baby Jesus I don't think I can articulate just how much I hate him.
It's John Howards racist, lap dog following, lack of spine, knee jerk reactions and frankly childish attitude that have caused me many an embarrassing and angry moment. The most memorable no doubted being when Australia lost to England in the 2003 Rugby World Cup, and Little Johnny Brown Nose had to hand the English team the trophy. Now don't get me wrong I was pretty annoyed when England won, but honest to god if I was the Prime Minister, I would NOT have had a face like a smacked arse whilst handing the winning team their trophy. I mean he's the Prime Sodding Minister. He's supposed to be representing our nation on the world stage. How did he act? Like a spoilt 5 year old that was ready to throw his toys out of the pram, fall on his face, start screaming, kicking and punching the ground. It was his frankly embarrassing and pathetic behaviour which was the direct cause for me screaming at the tele "JOHN HOWARD YOU'RE A FUCKING C*NT" at the exact same moment The Ex-Flatmate came up the stairs whilst on the phone with his Dad, who said "umm.. yes, John Howard is quite bad isn't he".

3) I'm hoping they'll be dishing out free lamingtons in the voting queue.

In other news: The Ex-Flatmate is coming back to London tomorrow morning!! I have to get up at 5.30 am to get him from the airport. No he's not had enough of Australia, he's just here for a holiday. More to follow...

When you need to find a new sushi place

Whilst at the register at Yo Sushi! paying for the bill:

Waitress: "That'll be £30."
Me: "Ok"
Waitress: "Excuse me, but do you work for Shell?"
Me: "Um.. no?"
Waitress: "Oh ok. But you do live around here don't you?"
Me: "Um.. no?"
Waitress: "Oh ok. (Pause) So why have I seen you so many times in here?"
Me: "Um... I like sushi? (mumbles) I'll probably be back here next Tuesday..."

So is it time to find a new Yo Sushi!? Or is it cool that my sushi restaurant is becoming like Cheers, where they all know my name and my order of Hairy Prawns and Ikura Gunkan? I'm not sure yet...

Your Friday Moment of Zen: Where the Wings Have No Shame

This is so random. Why? Why is there the need to have a dish that holds wings? Why? I love wings as much as the next girl (well, only if the next girl is possibly Colonel Sanders daughter, then it's possible I love wings more than the next girl) but I have no shame in putting them on a plate.

get your own SnacDaddy right here:

Drugging children. But how else are they gonna get their rocks off?

Oh dear god. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever go back, especially when this is the level of absolute fuck up occurs back in Oz.. I shake my head in dispair.

News just in from Australia. Bindeez, 2007 Toy of the Year, has just been recalled after it was found out that beads that come with the toy, when swallowed, contain a chemical that converts into the drug GHB.

A kids toy. When INGESTED turns into Gammahydroxybutrate. Liquid Ecstasy. GBH, Fantasy. Where do we get our drug free, dirty, little mits on these??!! I want one for Christmas!!

On a more serious note, it turns out they only found out when a bunch of kids swallowed these beads and ended up in critical condition. The company is set to lose millions in refunds and recalls because as Toy of the Year, it was apparently very popular.

Here's the rub: I honestly don't know which is more incredulous: The fact that a kids toy turns out to be covered with the drug of choice on the gay clubbing scene, or the fact that THIS is seriously the Toy of the Year? TOY OF THE YEAR???! This is what it takes to be toy of the year?? A plastic mat which you stick beads onto with water? Beads? Toy of the YEAR? No bloody wonder they had to cover it in Liquid Ecstasy.

The kids on the box look so bloody happy probably because they've already popped a load of the beads and are high of their nuts. You'd have to be to enjoy this toy..

On the way to and from work

This is why I love cycling to work.


On the way to work in the morning:

and back again at night:

Lovely

Remember, remember the fifth of November

"Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot"

I think that when Guy Fawkes and his mates from the Gunpowder Plot went to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605, they could have only dreamed of having a fire as big as the bonfire a mate of ours had in his backyard.


Yes, that's a house next to the fire.

And this was Sandra, our Guy Fawkes doll.. and her nike gear melting..

To see more pyromaniac pics of our bonfire night (complete with margaritas!) check it out here.

This fire was so hot, that it melted glass, it melted metal. It melted the dehumidifier that got thrown on there... ah so environmentally friendly.

How Many Spots Do You See On The Jumper? I Count 13

Unfortunately I can't get blogger to post this picture in the right size, so you will need to open it in a new window: right click on pic, then select "Open Link in New Window", so that the pic opens in, yup you guessed it, a new window. I know, I know, it's crap but it's blogger. In it's normal size, it does make counting the dots easier though.

Happy Hallowe'en