Filthy Mood For A Friday

Have you ever wanted to take every plate and cup in eyesite and throw them with all the force you can muster at a nearby wall?. And then possibly roll around in the broken glass so that all your skin tears, because the filthy fucking mood you're in is so bad it takes all your energy to not SMASH THE KEYBOARD INTO THE MONITOR AND TELL EVERYONE TO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP, and sitting quietly at work feels like a death sentence. Or is that just me?

Wow, there's thousands of pounds of therapy waiting right there.

Soundtrack to this mood:

• #1 Crush - Garbage
• Bullet with Butterfly Wings - Smashing Pumpkins
• Breathe - The Prodigy
  

Your Friday Moment Of Zen

East Shoal Beach. This is my desktop picture at work. To constantly remind me of a place I'd rather be.

World Cup Edition: We Can't Hear You

World Cup Edition: Random insult in 5 languages

Ok so despite the fact that the mighty Soccerroos are no longer in the world cup (thanks to that painful cheating last 15 second penalty on Monday), I am going to continue to do my random world cup editions. Hopefully if you're team is still in the World Cup, you'll find this one useful (though possibly more useful if you're actually at the game... )

• No cantais mas (spanish)
• Ihr singt nicht mehr (german)
• Non cantate piu (italian)
• Vous ne chantez pas (french)
• You're not singing any more (english)

Genre: Insulting opposing fans
Used when: Having just conceded a goal, the opposition crowd firmly shuts up. This is a mandatory response, emphasising their silence, and causing deeper despair at their loss.

Come on anyone but Italy!

Malin Westberg

I love these items from the Swedish designer Malin Westberg which I found on the design*sponge website.

I particularly love these tray tables (very useful for me, especially now that I've got my new sofa, I tend to eat all my meals on it, and the poor dining table is only being used to hold all the mail I never intend to open, or fruit I never intend to eat).












I'm really partial to this black and white vine design, and I've noticed it around in lots of places too... (like on the inside of lampshades at our local Benugo!).




I also really, really like her range of bags, as I'm can not for the life of me find one like this, which is big enough to lug around all my random stuff, but isn't one of those old lady hold alls..


I have no idea where you can buy her stuff from as it didn't really specify on her website, but watch out for it cause her collection is really cool.

Battle of the Barbies

No not the tall overly big breasted dolls, whose philosophy in life I never quite got into or else I'd be living in a pink penthouse, driving my pink convertable, and even though I was with Ken, I'd really be thinking about GI Joe.

Nope, this is more the burning type of barbie.. We recently had a get together at our tiny apartment, which involved 2 BBQ's on our verandas - what our place lacks in space, it more than makes up with in verandas (3 very, very small ones).

In one corner, manned by the 6ft 4 Aussie man, was the big, clearly ready for shrimps and snags Aussie version:




Despite the stereotype, I've actually never in my 28 years ever 'thrown a shrimp on the barbie' before...













On the other corner, manned by one of the shorter British boys was their Fischer and Pikel version:

Nuff said really.

What's-a Matter You?

I feel sick. I'm not sure if it's nerves from the upcoming Italy-Australia game (to which I'll be wearing the Aussie gold) or because I ate half a very unripe avocado for lunch.

Either way, a little something which I'm sure will be heard on the pitch today, but probably with a lot more swearing:

What's-a matter you? Hey! Gotta no respect.
What-a you t'ink you do? Why you look-a so sad?
It's-a not so bad, it's-a nice-a place.

Ah, shaddap-a your face!

Who did eat all the pies?

As I said in this post, I will be putting up random football swears in 5 different languages, to help you have some fun whilst watching the football. So to the tune of 'Knees Up Mother Brown':

(spanish)
¿Quién comió todos los pasteles?
¿Quién comió todos los pasteles?
tu gordo bastardo
Tu gordo bastardo
Te comiste todos los pasteles!

(german)
Wer har die Toren gegessen?
Wer har die Toren gegessen?
Du dicker Mistkerl!
Du dicker Mistkerl!
Du hast die Torten gegessen!

(italian)
Chi ha mangiato tuttle le torte?
Chi ha mangiato tuttle le torte?
Bastardo ciccione!
Bastardo ciccione!
Hai mangiato tuttle le torte!

(french)
Qui a mangé toutes les tartes?
Qui a mangé toutes les tartes?
Gros enculé!
Gros enculé!
Tu a mangé toutes les tartes!

(english)
Who ate all the pies?
Who ate all the pies?
You fat bastard!
You fat bastard!
You ate all the pies!

Genre: Abusing the players
Used: Aim at anyone not possessing a sylph-like frame. Use with caution: being a fat bastard can be considreed a badge of honour in some circles.

I Butter Corn

I LOVE these! I don't really eat butter, but I do eat corn, and if I had one of these, then I'd be lathering up the butter all day. They can be bought from the wishing fish, and apparently you put half a stick of butter (!) in the top, press the plunger down and it applies a layer of butterery and cholesterol induced yumminess on to your corn. .

I'm sorry, I know these are completely supurflous (because how hard is it to put butter on corn really?) but their little faces are just so cute, I couldn't resist!

London, Paris, The King and Vegas

As it's Friday afternoon, I thought I'd put up a few posts of some of the cool things I found this week.

I am really really loving these wall designs from the swedish group Wallconcept .

This is part of the cool, fun, and slightly mad new range of wall designs which you can find on their website.


I particularly love the Las Vegas and Elvis ones, but that could be coming from my recent onset of betting mania.They've got loads of other cool designs, so if you've got a blank wall that desperately needs a silhouette of the King, you're completely sorted!

L'arbitre est un branleur

Yes yes YES!!!!!! After 90 nail biting, ear piercing, screeching, gut wrenching, nauseau indusing minutes, the MIGHTY SOCCEROOS have made it into the final 16 teams!!! YES YES YES!!!

Plus, in my true betting style, I backed the following bets:

1. Half Time: Draw, Full Time: Australia
2. Half Time: Draw, Full Time: Croatia
3. Half Time: Australia, Full Time: Croatia
4. Viduka: to be booked.

Did any of them come in? Of course they bloody didn't. Viduka, good as gold. Scores: Half Time: Draw, Full Time: Draw.

But I do not mind one iota. As far as I'm concerned that £4 was a wise and sound investment because obviously whatever I bet on, doesn't win, and we just needed a draw to go through.

However, this does not explain my title today. From now until the world cup ends I am going to try to put up essential football swears in 5 different languages, so that you too can swear at the cheating referee who gave 3 yellow cards to a Croatian player, and forgot to send him off by screaming at a telly near you:

• El arbitro es un parjero (spanish)
  
• Der Schiedsricheter ist ein Scheisskerl (german)
• Arbitro cornuto (italian)
• L'arbitre est en branleur (french)
• The referee's a wanker (english)

Watch this space for more insults soon.

COME ON AUSTRALIA!!!

Tastes of London + small discussion on certain chef.

A group of us went to Taste of London on the weekend at Regent's Park, which is a huge fine food fair, where about "40 of London's most prestigious restaurants" have little uber chic stalls, and this is the only time of the year I can ever possibly afford to eat at some of these places because they're disgustingly expensive, and let's face it, I'm not made of money.

Despite there being some really cool restaurants, my favorite things were the stalls where companies try to sell their wares by first enticing you with offers of free tasters. The best fool proof way to make them give you more and more free food is to pretend to be interested in their produce. Yes, I am interested in this goats cheese, please tell me more about it, oh and whilst you're at it, could you cut off a little bit of each of those 40 cheeses behind you, so I can fill my belly? Thankyou.

I love free food. I'm not proud.

Anyway, some highlights:
Debbie & Andrew's Sausages
They had a nice corner stall, where the man kept telling us how organic and well made they were. The fact he kept cutting up and giving us freshly cooked sausages was the main reason we went to the stall though. And they were so good. I don't even like sausages, and I think I ended up eating about 3 of them right there and then. Plus the guy didn't seem to mind too much that I was just standing there eating away. Definite favorite is the Sicilian ones, which are slightly spicey and oh so tasty. We ended up buying about 9 packs between us (which is about 54 sausages!).


Gu Puddings
I started the day out thinking "I'm not going to wait until they offer free tasters, I'll just go up and ask". Which is exactly what I did at Gu. The first bit of free food of the day was Gu's Chocolate Cheese Cake, which was really yum. PLUS, I particularly like is the fact that you get really nice ramekins to keep with each pud, which you could give away as a lovely gift (after scoffing all the chocolate first, obviously)



Sloe Motion
Some seriously delicious Sloe Gin and Whiskey. They didn't offer us too many free tasters (they were right next to the sausage stall, so I think they worked out our game.. chat, yabber, eat/drink as much as you can before herded away by security). This gin was so good though. Quite sweet and very very gluggable.


Ferrarelle Spa
Water from Italy. I actually didn't try any of their samples because the guy looked me up and down and clearly I wasn't good looking enough for free water. But they did give away these cool red cloth bags, which after the guy rudely refused to talk or even look at me, I went and took a big ol' handful of them.

Angela Hartnet
I love Angela Hartnett. Not only is she a woman AND a michelin star chef, she cooks food I really like, she doesn't take stick from anyone, and she looks like she eats her food. I actually saw her at her stall, looking like she'd just come out of the kitchen in the back, where she had been (shock!) actually working! I think I might have freaked her out a bit cause I just stood there staring at her, non blinking for 5 minutes, not believing my luck. Oops.


Short summary of other highlights:

• Not seeing Jean Christoff Novelli. He's a sleezy sleezy sleezy arse who last year was just schmoozed around all the annorexic sloaney types, trying to get them to kiss and hug him. Last year when we saw him, we stood right next to him, deliberatly ignoring him, and said really loudly "Jean Christoff who? Who's that? Oh, is he that short fat italian chef? Oh not, that's Antonio Carluccio isn't it". He didn't like that too much, and sculked off. Such a twat.

• Not seeing Venessa Fetlz in a see through lace dress, and a bright red g-string clearly visible riding up her arse.

• NOT seeing that goat kissing, arsy, rude, self-promoting, glory seeking, smug, loafing, Tottenham loving, twat of a chef Anthony Warral Thompson. If you haven't noticed, I CAN NOT STAND that self-important excuse of a human being. I hate how patronising he is, I hate that he loafs about doing tv promotions, whilst his wife who is also a chef, works in a proper restaurant. I HATE how smug he was during Hells Kitchen, when he just ripped apart the AMATUERS food, saying that it wasn't any good, then after filling his boots with the free champagne, went to the kitchen and said "I see you don't have puddings on the menu. Why don't i come back there and show you're students how it's done?" I also hate how completely patronising he is on Saturday Kitchen where he loves everything that everyone loves, and hates everything that everyone hates. Grow some balls and have an opinion. I also hate how he feels the need to show how "cool and hip" and "down with the kids" he is by wearing those plastic charity bangles. And he doesn't just wear one or two. Oh no, not Antony. He wears about 10 of them, every colour of the rainbow, and they are clearly cutting off circulation in his fat wrists. STOP WEARING THOSE STUPID BANGLES. If you want to give to charity, then GIVE THE MONEY DIRECTLY. A greater percentage will go to the charity if they don't have to offset the money making PLASTIC BANGLES. PLUS there is NO NEED to show everyone "oh look at me, I gave some money away. I'm so earth loving and people tolerant" because when it comes from YOU Antony, you are just one MASSIVE fake.

Wow. That's turned into a real rant huh.

Anyway, in summary: Taste of London - good. Antony Warrol Thompson. Twat.

The Plane! The Plane Boss!

The runway is so small in St Martin, that planes have to start landing over the near by beach. And whilst it was cool to see the small ones, it's when the large Air France planes come in (737s?) that you get blow off your feet, and hurtling into the sand, covering your ears as the noise of a jet landing right over your head threatens to blow your brains sky high.


We spent hours watching planes land... When we're on holiday, we know how to party!

£2.19 per hour

£2.19/hour. That is how much I made on the Spain-Tunisia game last night. And when you consider that a game lasts for 90 minutes, and that I sat here betting and laying back my bets for that entire sodding time, and I'd made 5 bets in total, and the most annoying fucking thing is that I could have made £12 from the final score (3-1), but 3 mins before Spain won their 3rd goal, I shat myself worrying that I could lose £6 if the score stayed at 2-1, so I lay that score again. Thus all that hard word, stressing, calculating, betting, has left me with a GRAND TOTAL of £3.29.

Therefore, we can calculate I am earning from my betting £2.19/hour. This is NOT a salary that's gonna keep me in a life style that I've grown accustomed to. A lifestyle where I can, I dunno, pay the rent, or eat food.

And whilst I am painfully and slowly clawing my way back to the top, to rub salt in the gashing and heamoragging wound that is my betting career, the Flatmate now tells me he wants a laptop so he can watch what I'm doing and lay all the bets I make, because I'm guaranteed to lose. Laugh it up fuzzball.

I truly suck at betting.

Random photo from St Martin

Hang Your Bike

Ok, this next sentence sounds really, well, boring, but I have to say that this is such a cool bike storage device.. Designed by British company Cycloc, I saw this a few months ago on design*sponge and even after I looked at their website, I couldn't work out what the hell was going on.. but this picture of the designer Andrew Lang at the ICFF show last month shows just how stupid I am.



This is a wall mounted bike storage device (I wanted to say gadget, but that's the nerd in me desperate to come out), which should fit any bike, simply by changing it's position on the wall. The bucket design means that you can put your odds and ends in there (like gloves and trouser clips (the universal emblem of sado cyclists everywhere (hey I use them!)) which, if you're anything like me gets strewn around the house, as you desperately try to get your breath back and clear the little black spots in front of your eyes after you cycle those crazy 3 miles home.


Obviously, it comes in a range of colours, but I quite like the green one.

Sold right here in Britain, this is one cool bike hanging tool.

Please God, take away my betfair account

I can not place a winning bet for love or money.

Last Sunday, during our now new tradional "KFC-World Cup Sunday", I thought to make the games even more interesting, I'd put a couple of bets on the games (random things like what the correct score would be, who would be winning at half time, then go on to win it at full time). However my betting style tends to be more "get rich quick" rather than "go for the sure bet", so instead of betting on the favorite (and thus shortest odds), I always go for the 32-1, 100-1 shots (who wants to win only £4, when you could win £64! £64 people!! I'm 100% certain that Ghana will beat Italy, and at 56 to 1, it would just be throwing money away NOT bet on this!!).

This is probably the direct reason why so far of all the 17 bets I've made, I've won only 1 of them.

Thankfully, I am a massive coward when it comes to betting, so all of my bets have been for the high stakes of £1 a pop (so I'm not on my way to Gamblers Annonymous quite yet). However, this losing streak means that what has gone from a way of making football slightly more interesting has turned into me now spending every evening on my couch, watching whichever money losing game is on the telly, screaming for really, really random things like:

• Ronaldinho to be booked or

• desperately wanting just one German goal to go in the back of the net or

• desperately hoping that the Germans and the Poles will be really peaceful and loving teams, and thus not try to kill each other on the pitch and get any yellow cards. Or
  

• desperately hoping that everyone would try to break each others legs in the Italy Ghana game so that there would be more than 5 cards shown.

The one and only bet I've won has been when some random Brazillian was named Man of the Match. And that wasn't even a bet I thought up, but a tip my broker gave me.

The further downside to this constant losing means that now I have to stay glued to the laptop to start chasing my loses, coming out with lines like: "I should lay a 0-0 correct score at £2 at 1.5, to then cover my other 3 bets for correct scores, for a total loss of 25p, instead of £3... THEN I'll wait until the odds go down to 6's, then arb back my Croatia to win bet, so I'll make 20 pence..."

All this stress, and my best betting day so far has meant I've lost only 25p..... 25 PENCE PEOPLE. I officially suck at betting. This does mean that if you want your team to ever win, get me to back the opposing team, because whatever I back loses and I do control the cosmos. This does not mean that I will stop throwing my money away and I'm pretty certain this World Cup will lead to my future life as a constantly losing professional gambler, who has Ocean Finance as speed dial 1.... My folks are gonna be so proud of me..

When Blogging Replaces Talking

"What are you doing now?"

"Blogging my betting loses"

"You blog more than we talk."

"Well if you ever read my blog, you might know what I'm talking about, then we'd have things to say"

"Well maybe I'll just start my own blog then, and we'll never talk. So nyer"

"Good, I hope you do. Nyer"

"Nyer"

"Nyer"

We are such mature adults in our house.

OY OY OY!!!

HOORAH! We did it! Not only have we made it to our first world cup since 1974, we've also scored our first goal EVER in the competition AND we're now the only team in World Cup history to have scored 3 goals in the last 7 minutes! WE WON 3 GOALS TO 1!!!! Timmy Cahill you're now one of my footballing heroes! AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE! OY OY OY!!!

My fellow Aussie pundits and I went to the Hogshead near my work to watch the game, all in our Australian Gold Socceroos shirts. The pub was quite full of football mad Aussies, praying that we were not about to completely embarrass ourselves. You'd think a massive group of flag drapped, aussie gold wearing, kangaroo waving Australians would be the tour de force here. But no. This lone Japanese girl was louder than the rest of the pub combined. And she cheered and barked like a squeeky chihuahua. Which meant when Japan scored their completely cheating goal (which had all of us on our feet screaming "YOU DIRTY CHEATS! YOU DIRTY CHEATS!") the girl was squeeling "YES YES YES YES" à la Meg Ryan, but more whiney, and sometimes in a pitch that only her chihuahua friends could hear.

It's at games like the Australian-Japan one where you come to realise exactly what type of football supporter you are. You could:

1. Be really happy just because you're team has finally made it to the World Cup, despite the fact that you're losing for 84 minutes. Smile at the Japanese girl while she screeches as they score and whenever anything vaguely goes the Japanese teams way. At the 84th minute, when you're team score the equalizer, you cheer enthusiastically, on the 89th minute, when you're team score their second goal, you cheer again, and when they score their third goal 4 minutes later, you politely clap, and give the lone, now deflated Japanese girl a sympathetic smile, saying "It's alright, you've still got 2 more games? Maybe you guys will beat Brazil, and still make it into the next round? Good luck!"
2. Be really happy just because you're team has finally made it to the World Cup. Scream at the screen when the Japanese score their only goal "REF! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? IS THIS A FUCKING JOKE? OPEN YOU'RE EYES YOU TWAT! THEY PUSHED OUR GOALIE! REF!! CHEATS CHEATS CHEATS!!" (Cause he obviously can hear you all the way in Germany). Scrowl at the Japanese girl the entire game, hoping that her voice box collapses, cause honestly how can anyone make that sort of noise for 84 minutes? Mutter under your breath "stupid game, I fucking hate football. Why doesn't she just shut the fuck up.". When your team score the equalizer, jump up and down, screaming, crying, hugging you're mates. When they score their second, bang on the table trying to make as much noise as possible and jubliantly scream "YES! YEEEEESSSSS!!! EAT OUR GOAL! EAT OUR GOAL!", and when the third, beautifully executed goal finds it way into the home, turn around the now deflated Japanese girl and yell "IN YOUR FACE SCREECHY! You're not so noisy NOW ARE YOU".

Yeah, I think you can work out what sort of supporter I am... I am mean. But we won, and I don't care...

Aussie Aussie Aussie!

Wow, talk about going football crazy. I've woken up at 5.55 this morning to come into work at 7.30 so that my boss can't say a word to me when I fuck off for 2 and a bit hours to watch our mighty Socceroos in our first world cup game since 1974! I think that the incredibly early start (I don't get up before 7.50 unless I have a plane to catch), listening to Jump Around by House of Pain and the sweltering heat at 7am this morning have made me slightly mad, as a) I'm really excited, b) I'm in a really fantastic mood.

Australia vs Japan: Kick off at 2pm. Aussie Aussie Aussie! OY OY OY!!

(Though even more embarrassingly, in an email I just sent to people reminding of them of which fine drinking establishment I will be going to to watch the game, I just got that chant wrong. Oh god. How embarrasing.)

Oncoming dementia

I'm finding it harder and harder today to stop muttering "twat" under my breath whenever I see someone who is annoying me. And these people are annoying because, well frankly, they're being a twat. So when I passed one of these people on the stairwell this afternoon, I clamped my mouth shut, sweetly smiled, but in my head I was screaming "TWAT! TWAT! TWAT! TWAT! TWAT!".

I hope that my oncoming dementia keeps me from blurting this out one day. I'm sure this is the sort of behaviour that catholic nuns where hoping to impart on me at school...

HBO: "We can say f**k"

This is how sad the Flatmate and I are. Did we spend our evenings going out with all the fantastic and rich yacht owners which we should have met? Or did we going out clubbing every night until dawn? Or did we go clubbing even once? Or did we even go to the local bar which was literally 2 mins from our hotel room to have a few local brews? Did we? No, ff course we bloody didn't. No, we would go out for dinner, then come back all bloatey, having eaten way too many BBQ ribs, and crash on my sofa bed. Then we'd flick the telly on, and watch crap. Lots and lots of crap.

Not only did we actually leave a restaurant early on the last night to watch a bunch of pre-pubescent children try to outspell each other in the National American Spelling Bee Finals ('weltschmerz'. Definition: A German term meaning "world pain." It describes a sense of anguish about the nature of existence, usually associated with a melancholy, pessimistic attitude.) What kind of 13 year old knows the word 'weltsmerz'? Not the Canadian girl who came second, that's who.). I was really disappointed the Candian girl didn't win. Not only cause I thought she was cool, but also cause I thought the girl who did win looked like a dork (how cruel, how cruel). An annoying, know-it-all, 'look at me I know how to spell 'Usprache'. I'm a really goody-goody orthograpical geek, who never goes out, but spends all my time spelling wierdo words so my parents can live their own meaningless lives through me, by forcing me to take part in this spelling bee'. (I really didn't like this girl )

We also wasted 6 hours of our lives to Big Love.



"Think having three wives is a dream come true? Meet Bill Henrickson, a modern-day Utah polygamist who lives in suburban Salt Lake City with his three wives, seven children, and a mounting avalanche of debt and demands."

We honestly could not understand what the fuck this show is about. As near as we could understand it, the main guy was some sex starved viagra popping mormon, who was using his religion to fool these women into believing that it's dandy fine to let him go and screw around and have kids with other women as long as he called them his 'wives'. One of the more bizare scenes was when the guy went to threaten some 70 year old polygomist (for scamming him out of money we think), and the old dudes 14 wives (with ages ranging from 70 to 16) caught him in their house and attacked him screaming "GET HIM LADIES! GO FOR HIS PRIVATES! GO FOR HIS PRIVATES!". As far as we could make out, these mormon polygomists may think it's bad to have just one wife, but they are perfectly ok with lying, scheming, cheating, blackmailing and having 'affairs' with your wives (we think that means having sex out of turn.. #1 wife should not have been getting nookie on Tuesday, which was clearly #2 wife's turn)

Despite this show being strange as fuck, the Flatmate and I are extremely excited to see that Big Love is coming to Channel 5!!! This Monday! Watch it and be as confused as we were. Try it with a few glasses of wine or rum punch, and a big bowl of doritos balanced on your belly (which is very easy on my ever expanding belly).

Big Love. Old people gettin' laid in hicksville USA.

Champagne And Cognac

On our 3rd day in St Martin, I felt possibly one of the worst hangover's I've had in years. The type of hangover which leaves you holding onto the floor for dear life, where even contemplating getting off the bed makes you feel sick, and means you end up torturing yourself by watching 2 episodes of Charmed back to back because working out how to use the remote control is too hard. (Charmed for fucks sake. I want those 2 hours of my life back). And, because blaming my own stupid mistakes on everything by myself is one my special gifts to the world, this time, the brunt of my blame is going to Champagne Cognacs.

On our second night in St Martin the hotel we were staying at had a casino night, which for $10 each, involves taking us to a casino, giving us $10 worth of chips, feeding us free pizza's and the three sweetest words in the English language: an open bar. Now, I don't think of myself as a wussy drinker, especially when it comes to cocktails. I've long since replaced sweet girly drinks like Mai Tais or Mudslides, for Dirty Martinis (yum), Old-Fashioneds, and straight JD. So when I saw someone at the bar ordering Champagne Cognac's I thought "wow, what a great idea! I love Champagne, I love Cognac, where has this been all my life? PLUS this has got to be an expensive drink normally and it's gonna be FREE!!" (being thrifty with drinks is another one of my special gifts to the world). By this stage, we'd already been to the little pre-casino party at the hotel where I had drunk their free rum punch, plus 3 more rum punches at the casino (which was more RUM than punch), a few G&T's and some strawberry conncoction. All of this free booze meant that my inner alarm system which usually warns me off doing or drinking stupid things, had gone from a "RED ALERT! RED ALERT! WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!" sound to more a pathetic "umm.. hello.. umm.. is this the best idea? Cause you're pretty pissed now, and maybe ". So, I climbed into these devil spawn cocktails like I was dying of thirst. Now, if you thought that 1/3 cognac mixed with 2/3's champagne would taste good, think again. It tasted AWFUL. Kindof like a heady mix of lighter fluid and petrol, in a cute champagne glass. You'd think that the taste alone would stop someone from the first sip. But oh no, not stupid as two planks me. Not only did I realise that a) this tasted like fizzy meths, and b) this would fuck you over quicker than actual meths, I went ahead and finished my first glass, then went on to have 2 more. Which is why I probably then went from winning money at the casino to thinking I was invincible and putting $20 bill after $20 bill into the slot machines as fast as I could get them out of my wallet.

Who ever thought Champagne and Cognac was a good mix should be put over a rack, on top of burning hot coals, and be stabbed with pokers. Or I should just learn that just because methylated spirits posing as cocktails are free, doesn't mean I should drink it until I almost pass out.

Sun, Sun, Sun and Burnt-On Panda Eyes

Sun, gorgeous beaches, hot weather, bbq ribs. This about sums up my 7 days in sunny, hot, beautiful St Martin (or Sint Maarten if you're on the Dutch side). So, despite believing that I would end up burnt to a crisp by a volcano or drowned by the giant tsunami that would most certainly follow, I had a really good time. But no-one ever wants to hear about the how great a time someone has on holiday (I mean, really.. everyone just sits there nodding their heads whilst some prat is harping on about how hot and sunny it was, how the people were friendly, the food was excellent, and how you met some really interesting people, but really what they want to hear is about how you got food poisoning because you ate something too expensive to eat at home, or how you got burnt to a crisp cause you fell asleep in the sun after one too many beers, how hung over you where from all the boozey nights out, or how someone scammed you out of all your travelers cheques. This then leaves you with that inner glow of smugness as you think "ha! Serves you right, you bastard, cause you were on holiday and I was stuck chained to my desk at work"). So I'll cut the crap about how nice the holiday was and just get on with the more interesting/gorey bits:

1) Sun
Yes there was lots of sun. Lots and lots of sun. And, it was hot. And I mean really HOT. Which was fantastic when you were on the beach, or near the beach or anywhere with a 5 meter distance of the beach, but when you're walking down the main street in Philipsburg (the Dutch capital) looking at diamonds and Cartier watches you can never afford, there really is nothing more unpleasant than catching a glimpse of yourself in a shop window, with tufts of hair sticking to your cheeks from all the sweat, your face red cause you are actually dying from heat exhaustion, looking like you're doing your best Wicked Witch of the West impersonation and actually melting right there and then on the spot. Despite what the American deodorant ad said about how "There's no such thing as a hot....steamy...sweaty...sexy...DUDE! .." I'm kind of under the impression there also is no such thing as a hot, steamy, sweaty sexy female tourist in shorts, t-shirt and baseball cap looking like they've just been stuck in a sauna. Fully clothed. Especially when everyone else around you looks so, well, frankly dry and fabulous. Beautiful, non-sweaty, aclimatised to the weather, St Martin bastards. It's just not fair.
2) Sun II
Like I said the sun there was great. And I've been living in England for too long. So, we took a ferry to Anguilla, and mozzeyed on down to Shoul Bay East, which we were told was the most touristy of beaches on the island. So with trepidation (I mean who wants be at a beach jostling for space with the throngs of tourists? I can do that in Britain) we got to this hub of tourista activity to find an empty 2 mile stretch of beach, with 4 huts selling barbecued fish and ribs, and about 20 people. If this is what Antiguians called busy, I'd hate to see desolate and empty. It was great. So with the heady mix crystal blue ocean, white sands, hot sun, warm ocean breezes, empty beach and, that most fantastic ingredient of all in any disaster, too many bottles of the local beer, I obviously forgot that whilst I may not burn easily, I in fact, still do burn. Plus, after 5 years in England, I've actually started to believe that being tanned is a good thing. So in a hasty effort to help speed along my now inevitable skin cancer, I waded into the ocean, wearing my brand new swim suit, with the slightly low cut front, my brand new Oakley sunglasses, which my flatmate assured me would be ok in the water, AND wearing no sun screen (sunscreen? ha! Who the fuck needs sun screen? My Asian genes will protect me from the sun! I laugh in the face of solar protection! ha!). I then proceeded to float in the water for 4 hours non stop. And I gotta say people, it's was a really nice look: tanned brown arms, tanned brown legs, PLUS the extra sexy touch of a bright red chest with the tan lines from the swimsuit, a red sun burnt face with the ultimate in Hollywood sexiness, the two WHITE unsinged rings around my eyes because my new Oakleys protect me from all UV rays.. I looked like a fucking sunburned giant panda. At the end of the day, I got back to our apartment, and stood in front of the mirror (cause by this stage I've learnt to stop looking at my reflection in shop windows) and screamed NOOOOOO!! (come to think of it, I did look allot like the ghoulish figure in The Scream). It was hideous. HIDEOUS. But, like all good things, the 3 important life changing lessons I've learnt from this are :

1. Always, always, always put 30 plus sunscreen on.
   
2. With enough deodorant liberally sprayed all over yourself, you too can stop sweat glands working overtime when you're in the hot Caribbean climate and wearing high necked shirts.
   
3. And finally, Benefit tinted moisturiser and Benefit pressed powder really will take the red out of your face, and with enough of it caked on, you too can step back from the edge of social ridicule and de-lobster yourself till you look almost normal. Almost.
   

I'll leave there for today. Tomorrow lesson kids: Why you should avoid the awful mix of Champagne and Cognac, especially after 4 glasses of rum punch, a gin & tonic, and some red strawberry vodka/gin concocotion which I only vaguely remember. Plus, Mormon polygamy. This really is where HBO went after "Sex and the City"?