I’m just sorry – in general.
I feel like I need to make an apology to a number of people – including Whale for looking after me and the timely application of some pineapple juice to get rid of the vomit taste in my mouth, the owner of the 4×4 I was sick up and to Mike whose band we were supposed to be going to see. *ahem*.
Apologies over, it was a fab night. There are a number of things you can virtually guarantee when Moosh and Whale get together – large quantities of vodka, musings and the collection of a number of strange men along the way. Saturday night was no exception. I woke up with the mother of all hangovers on Sunday and spent the day feeling quite sorry for myself and remembering all of the shenanigans of the night before. Oh yes, we'd better chuck in an apology to Café Rene for crashing through their padlocked door leading to the catacombs. Actually that was Adam's fault (an old smoking buddy I hadn't seen for years turned up out of the blue) and I think it's possible he might have been more drunk than I was.
A good night was had by all, I think it was such a good night for me that my boots decided to fall apart, although that could have just been the dancing. There were a number of arrests made (did I mention it was fancy dress and we went as Russian soldiers?) and even spankings. Why can't more weekends be like this one?
Oh, and for the record – I think it was the very old blue curaçao that made me sick, not the quantity of the vodka 
One whiff of Davidoff
It never fails to amaze me just how much smells can "take you back". Much more so than pictures or video or any of the other senses.
What makes it all the worse for me, is that Davidoff is actually quite a popular aftershave for chaps and it's not uncommon to get a whiff of it whilst doing something so unremarkable as going round the supermarket. When this happens, it's almost an involuntary action to seek out the perpetrator, just to sniff them slightly. That sounds worse than it actually is – I'm very good at subtly sniffing people. No. That's probably not true, a vision of a mid-to-late 20-something with a trolley full of cat food chasing someone around the supermarket to "subtly" smell them is quite a scary one. Note to self: stop doing that.
Anyway, the person I hold wholly responsible for this Davidoff curse is this man. His name was Zbyszek (and most likely still is) and to this day I wonder what it was exactly about the man that made me fall so head-over-heels for the guy. My only theory was that he must have rolled in cocaine just before we used to meet up (well *I* can't think of a more likely scenario, can you? eh?) It was just such a perfect time – the kind of not eat and not sleep whirl-wind romance that puts an almost permanent grin on your face, even if you work (as I did back then) in Local Government. When he went back to his home country of Poland (this was before they were in the EU) it was like going cold turkey and when I went out there, the airport scene was like something out of a film. Dammit! It's no wonder that no-one has even come close to living up to him in the last 5 years. Shite – 5 years, has it been that long?
Well, I hear you asking – why didn't this have a happy ending? I've been asking myself the same question. Of course, I've consoled myself with the usual platitudes like "it would never have worked" and "he wasn't right" which the logical parts of my brain do acknowledge from time to time. He was *very* catholic, you see and I just wasn't. When discussing the wedding plans (yes, *sob*) one day he just mentioned in passing "when we get married, you'll have to convert you know". Errrr, no!
And there you have it. Even though it all ended so badly, my brain stubbornly files the Davidoff scent under "very happy memories" and there it will stay. Perhaps the answer is to find a complete bastard who wears the stuff and make them hit me over the head or something? It'd be like the stuff they do for people scared of spiders, only in reverse. Aha! make spiders smell of Davidoff…that might just work you know.
Tags: Davidoff
An assult on the senses – Marrakech
Time to write something about the vast country that is: Morocco
Just flying over the place you can instantly tell that this isn’t Europe. It’s big, and dusty very un-green. Basically, what I’m saying is – it’s just a desert really. There’s some towns and mountains and stuff, but you can’t help but think that they’ve just built all this on sand.
The thing to bear in mind with Morocco is that if someone is being nice to you, they want your money and if someone isn’t being very nice to you, they still want your money.
I’ll give you an example: we wanted to get a taxi to the supermarket to avoid paying to eat in restaurants all the time, which was becoming quite expensive (after they demand tips from you) so we got a taxi, carefully negiotiating the price before getting in. This, however made no difference to the price we paid, because I didn’t have the right change and handed over a 200 Dirham note, to which the driver went to get change. Of course he then didn’t give me all of the change. When challenged about this he just laughed. And laughed. This was already day 5 of stuff like this happening to us, so the joke was wearing a little thin and my ability to shrug it off was fading. Not really being able to do alot about it (I didn’t fancy spending the next 10 years in a Moroccon jail) I had to just call him a wanker and walk away. He of course, didn’t understand what a wanker was – so I had to gesticulate so that he got the idea. I don’t give a toss what he now thinks of foreigners abroad, and if I ever have the misfortune to be driving a taxi and have him as a customer in this country – I will probably mince him up into very small pieces and feed him to my cats.
OK, thats a bit harsh. I might just settle for continued name-calling.
Anyway, you get the idea. The people leaving on the same plane as us were feeling pretty much the same and upon entering the airport said “If any of those porters grab my luggage (to carry into the airport, for a charge) I’ll bloody chop their arms off”.
So, all that aside Marrakech is still just one of those places that you *have* to visit at least once in your life. It’s fab. The Souk is never ending and sells pretty much anything you can imagine (and more). Although I have to admit that my stomach did churn at the sight of people choosing live chickens which were running around and cuts of meat with bollocks in tact (interesting fact: Moroccons don’t eat female meat) left dangling in the street for flies to wander across. The main square is full of snake charmers, orange sellers and henna tattooers and is exactly like it is in Hideous Kinky. The monuments around the city are breathtaking too and make you feel like you’ve stepped back in time.
Marrakech just makes you want to stop and sniff the air for a while to take in all the exotic smells of spices, perfumes and leather and the hypnotic music from the snake charmers. This, of course is impossible because every 2 steps you have stall holders incessantly calling at you in French ”ce que vous recherchez?” or something (what are you looking for) and it kinda ruins the moment.
Rather simply, my advice to anyone thinking about going is: just book a couple of days in Marrakech – a week in Morocco will drive you mad. I wish I’d done just that. Then I could have spent the money I would have saved going back to Amsterdam for some real fun involving much more beer and far less camels.
-moosh
Accidental friend
Let me set the scene: I choose to drive to work each morning through the countryside instead of battling with the traffic on the dual carriageway into town. This doesn’t really have much to do with the volume of the traffic, but more to do with me trying to trick myself that I’m going for a lovely drive through a pretty village rather than what I’m actually doing (driving into Chav town to currently work on a project that was supposed to start 3 months ago, involve 2 weeks work and end in a trip to New York. The realilty of the work actually involved them faffing for 3 months and they’re now demanding that I do about 4 weeks work in -7 days. AND THEY’RE STILL CHANGING THE SPEC. The trip to NY has conveniently been forgotten. Sorry, rant over. Swines.)
Anyway, scene now set – let me now add in a lovely old man. I used to drive past him every day sat on the corner by a farm.
It started off with him just smilling at people as they went by, and me being me, smiled back. This soon escalated into raising of eyebrows and full scale waving each morning. I have no idea who he is or where he actually lives – but it did bring some kind of comfort seeing him there every morning and waving like old friends.
Then, late this summer he suddenly didn’t turn up. I didn’t see him for ages. I began to think the worst – he was an old chap, out in all weathers. Perhaps he’d died. I felt quite sad, and even began to want to go to his funeral – not that I could have done. Imagine the afterwards bit with the sandwiches “And how do you know so-in-so?”. I would have felt more of a burk than normal telling them of how our acquaintance came to be.
So you can imagine my relief when I drove around the corner this morning and who should I see? Yes! He was wandering down the road to his corner perch with a CD in his hands, and when I drove past him – he waved it at me! Joy of joys.
I wonder what was on it?
-moosh
Suitcase Karma
Back in Blighty. Dear god I’ve missed the internet. I’ve been chipping about in Morocco for the past week, and I’m sure I’ll have some ramblings about it later, but for now I just want to blow a raspberry at Birmingham Airport outsize luggage department for not actually managing to put my outsize luggage (a trusty rucksack) on the flight.
Yes, my luggage was the only one to not make it onto the plane. *humpf*. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow karma-related for sniffing perfume in Bristol Airport for far too long, warranting a “get your arse on the plane tannoy announcement”.
So yes, I spent the first 2 days with only October Blighty clothes and silly shoes which were totally inappropriate for the 30+ temperatures in Morocco. It’s no wonder I opted to sit in my pants and drown my sorrows!
And yes, this was the second time my luggage didn’t join me on the same flight in 12 months, both mysteriously invove Frankfurt Airport in some way. Spooky.
PONDERISMS
I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.
Gardening Rule: When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.
The easiest way to find something lost around the house is to buy a replacement.
Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyway.
There are two kinds of pedestrians: the quick and the dead.
Life is sexually transmitted.
Some people are like Slinkies. Not really good for anything, but you still can’t help but smile when you see ‘em tumble down the stairs.
Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals dying of nothing.
Whenever I feel blue, I start breathing again.
In the 60’s, people took acid to make the world weird. Now the world is weird and people take Prozac to make it normal.
How is it one careless match can start a forest fire, but it takes a whole box to start a campfire?
Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, “I think I’ll squeeze these dangly things here, and drink whatever comes out?”
Who was the first person to say, “See that chicken there? I’m gonna eat the next thing that comes outta its butt.”
Why do people point to their wrist when asking for the time, but don’t point to their crotch when they ask where the bathroom is?
Why does your OB-GYN leave the room when you get undressed if they are going to look up there anyway?
If quizzes are quizzical, what are tests? (testing?)
If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?
Do illiterate people get the full effect of Alphabet Soup?
Did you ever notice that when you blow in a dog’s face, he doesn’t like it, but when you take him on a car ride, he sticks his head out the window?
Very Late News Flash
As of 10 o’clock last night, I AM AN AUNTY!
Mildly thrilling for me.
A boy, weighing all of 6lbs 11oz. I have no other info about this new human being, except he’s an Essex boy by default. The poor wee mite will have to live with that shame due to his parents living and working in that particular county at the time of his birth. But it could have been worse I suppose. I ended being born in Gloucester through similar circumstances and I turned out alright, despite this city’s best efforts.
I had to share this news with Moosh as soon as I knew, at about ten to one this morning. She’s away, on holiday, with the gentleman in her life. Her reply informed she that the airline has lost her luggage and that she was sat “in some pants” as she wrote back to me. So, that should please “Gareth”.
Please proceed to gate 11
It’s odd that for the majority of this year I’ve gone nowhere. I’ve sat at my desk and behaved myself (reasonably well). It’s just the last couple of months I’ve put a nice big load of carbon into my footprint. The last one being Thursday when I had to fly to Scotland on business (I’ve always wanted to be able to say something like that – woo!)
Now, it was partly due to my not getting up on time and then faffing for far too long (as well as the need to get a mexican bean wrap from Sainsbury’s instead of making one myself. tsk tsk.) that I cut it a bit fine getting to Bristol Airport. The traffic on the way there also didn’t help matters. Anyway – I made it there 30 minutes before check-in closed. As a treat for making it, I decided to have a little drink before departing. Now, a little wary from my experiences in Coventry Airport – I thought “good god, I bet there’s only one bar in this small airport!”
So, hedging my bets – I decide not to go airside until the last minute. (Of course Bristol has a bar on the other side of passport control btw, it was just me being a pillock – I had only ever flown IN to Bristol, never out of it – so I can be forgiven)
Anyway – I enjoy my vodka until I think that I really should go through, “Easy” ticket in hand and taking shoes off and all! (don’t get me started on UK check in proceedure) I did check the board when I got into the departure lounge and it just said to wait. Oh smashing I think, and proceed to go and sniff some perfume.
I do remember hearing them call the flight, and I thought “meh! they’ll only be queuing for aaaaages”. So I carry on sniffing perfume. In all fairness, I was, honestly on my way to the gate when I hear them announce “Would passenger Moosh please proceed to gate number 11 where your plane is waiting for you”.
Oh the shame! I’ve never ever been late for a flight before and tutted at people who could possibly manage to get lost somewhere between check-in and departure. I have learnt my lesson *ahem*.
The rest of the flight proceeded without any shenanigans (just me looking sheepish) and we touched down in Edinburgh 50 minutes later. I was met by the <removed text. Baaah! > Scottish Director. Now, it didn’t escape my notice before that <deleted *cough*>
We then have to drive for about 3 hours to Loch-in-the-middle-of-bloody-nowhere and by this time I’m trying to put all kinds of “inappropriate” thoughts out of my head *cough*. We arrive at the hotel (very nice it was too….very large shower, I swear you could have fitted 4 people in there, if you were so inclined) and we went off for a curry.
I can easily make myself cringe by remembering how at this point I’d developed a kind of strange giggle, <nothing to read here, it’s gone, move along> and we parted in the hotel afterwards - me for a night of Gideon’s Bible, and him to, well, probably to go to sleep. Where’s a naked wanking Dutch man 2 floors down when you need one eh?
Thankfully the next day was spent being far too busy doing the stuff that I went up there to do to let my mind wander too much. And I even made it to my return flight with 10 minutes to spare this time! (Although for that, I blame the 2 lads from Belfast who MADE me drink Corona with lime with them)
-moosh
