JandalsnAll

It all began with The Curious Incident of the Fork in the Toaster. Now you and I and most everybody know that you should never stick a knife in a toaster and most would presume that this warning holds true for forks and spoons as well. Apparently this did not occur so to one guest at the hostel on a fateful Monday morning. The culprit: Rogue escapist piece of toast. The accessory to the crime: Man with fork. The chronological events leading up to inevitable disaster: Toast escapes reaches of toasting-eating man, Man lunges at disrespectful toast in toaster with fork, Toaster reacts violently to the assault sending forth barrage of sparks before dying a pointless death, Fuse objects to death of companion and commits electrical suicide taking down computer, phone and washing machine in its last violent throws. Just what I need the day before I set off to England. So I figure out with my limited electrical knowlege how to reset the fuse and hoorah, the washing machine is revived. We need not wallow in our filth any longer. Alas the internet and phone were no better off after my attempts of rescuscitation, and the remainder of the day was spent on cellphone to one and all trying to find a qualified phone doctor while fending off angry internet-deprived patrons. Turns out somewhere along the way someone had pulled a plug loose out of the portable phone base and the internet was just being stubborn but that was no help to me four hours later.

ANYway, that night I packed up my pack and made ready to set off to the Land of Tea and Scones – thats England. Early next morning I boarded a bus, then another, then somehow found myself at the airport cafe eating a cardboard muffin, sipping coffee coloured water. Mmmm. Such is the airport way and who am I to fight it. I boarded my RyanAir plane surrounded by the very natives I would soon be sharing a country with – I felt like I was trapped in an Eastenders nightmare – and airborne with nowhere to run to. Thankfully this version of hell lasted only one hour before I was safely on the ground where I could run, run free like the wind. And straight into the arms of Kiwi saviour Winston waiting to whisk me away straight into the ultimate danger zone. I knew it as soon as we drove up to Gary’s house. Not that I could tell which was Gary’s. Now I was in England. Where houses arent really houses, theyre just joined narrow cloned boxes for putting all your stuff in. At least they have numbers or imagine the chaos, people wandering aimlessly, searching door to door for their homes. Inside I was pleasantly suprised to find colour – and an especially cool orange bathroom. Also inside was Patrice – no suprise really but still pleasant. Out the back there was grass, albeit a small patch but a welcome glimpse of nature. That night we dined in vegetarian/vegan bliss at a small cafe in Nottingham called Squeak. One of those places where the food looks too good – Id rather lacquer it and hang it on my wall than eat it. But it tasted great nonetheless.

Next morning we set off for London….But not without a stop in Birmingham to visit Cadbury World! Oh how I have waited for this moment all my life. The chocolate lovers dream realized in all its chocolate coated glory. Well thats what I hoped for anyway. Em, Trice, Winnie and the Chocolate Factory it technically was, though much lamer and with no-one getting sucked down the chocolate river – though if the opportunity had arisen I dare say Winston may well have dived right in… What it did have that Wonkas factory didnt was a cart ride through cocoa bean town – look at how the cocoabeans sing and dance in the snow, in the sun, on a bus. And it has the most boring ever 3D movie about the machinery in the factory. Where are the dinosaurs? or even the dancing cocoa beans in 3D would have been more exciting. It wasnt all bad though. I learnt a few things about chocolate – mostly about the white man plundering and stealing all that is good and chocolatey. There was free chocolate at the beginning and the end, and thus 100 screaming sugarhyped kids to accompany us on our journey through the wonderful world of chocolate – some of them I noticed in costume as Mike TV from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, you know with the little cowboy hat and scarf? So cute. I wish Id thought of doing that. At least I think they were in costume, maybe its just the trend with the young folk these days – Im so out of touch. To be honest – and I wouldnt admit this to just anyone because quite frankly Im rather ashamed, but by the end of it all, after 2 hours wandering through the place and getting high on the smell of rotten chocolate coming from the factory I felt rather ill. And though I bought up large in the Cadbury World chocolate shop I would not eat another piece of chocolate the whole day. Spooky.

Next stop was Stratford-Upon-Avon to take a photo outside of Shakespeare’s house. Why? Because I could and because everyone else was doing it. I didnt want to look like a geek.

Final stop on the tour to London was the illustrious motorway petrol and food stop as the car slowly gave up on life and spluttered its objection with a noise incongruent to that of a happy healthy car. We enjoyed the place so much we stayed for two hours before having the bastard car towed to Kaynes place in Barnett London – arriving at the timely hour of 12.30 AM. Poor Lex opened the door to us in a sleepy daze, I think Nardia grunted once or twice, and we settled in to sleep spread across the floor of Kayne and Jasons small living room. It crossed my mind to start a pillow fight on Nadias bed but I imagine she would not have found that terribly amusing.

Next morning we head to London via train and tube. London is BIG. Thats about all I can say. Its BIG. So we meet Lex there and go to get lunch, noticing the subways seem to be closed and surrounded by official looking people, and cellphones are not working as they should…..
After lunch the transport situation is looking no better and no explanation is given. Its about 2pm when we start heading back to Kaynes via bus. Nardia needs to be at the airport at 5.45 for her flight home to NZ. Bus after bus, inching slowly through horrendous traffic we get to Kaynes work 3HOURS later (a trip I gather would normally take less than an hour by tube??) and Nardia is whisked off to the airport in the nick of time. I hope so anyway – Nardia are you there? I do hope you made it home and have not become a member of the Heathrow Airport homeless family. We had gathered from Kayne via phone that the underground had been closed because of another four bombs that had not exploded. I got the impression then that it was someone playing some sick prank but after seeing the news when we got back it seemed rather more serious. No-one seriously injured but apparently terrorist-based and intended to harm.

Thursday night we had a lovely Indian meal the six of us – Kayne, Jason, Patrice, Winston, Lex and myself. A nice end to a hectic day. And how easy it is to forget and enjoy oneself while evil is afoot. Suprisingly I didnt really feel affected by the incidents of the day at all though I felt like I should have been.
I had considered going back into London the next day to see the Tate Gallery – the only thing on my list but decided against it and thankfully so, as we heard the news of the subway police shooting of a man on the underground and transport was suspended all over as the police searched the city. Patrice, Winston and I dropped Lex off at the airport via hired car to set off on his way to Mongolia/China before setting off on our own way back to Nottingham towing formentioned suicidal car. I had the exciting job of steering the towed car. Of all my experience steering towed cars, this one would have to be the best. Five hours later, five? Maybe six, but alot of hours later we arrived back at Gary’s – I knew it was his house because of the number (actually Patrice had to tell me). Great lasagne for dinner thanks Winston. Then time well spent gorging myself with much missed television. Mostly auction shows on – actually oddly enough I didnt see any Coro or Eastenders while I was there. And to finish the night off a great video (depsite the cover – never judge a video by its cover now) called Harold and Maude (despite the name even) – highly reccommended especially if you’re into the whole 18yr old male – 80year old female relationship deal (and I dont mean grandmother- grandson) and the art of faking ones own suicide. What more could anyone ask for in a movie.

My final day Winston and Patrice accompanied me into town and saw me off on the bus to the airport where I would catch my flight back to the Emerald Isle. And so ended my transport nightmare. Well, not quite. My plane was over half an hour late so I missed my first option bus. Of course my second and last option bus broke down and was another half hour late leaving me stranded in Ennis for three hours until Karl could ever so graciously come and pick me up after work. And there, finally, at 10pm back at the hostel in my cosy cupboard room, ended my transport nightmare. I’ll stick to my bike thankyou very much.
So London was not what I expected. Except that it was BIG. I didnt see the Tate, I didnt see the Queen or any Coronation Street actors which would have been the next best thing, I didnt even have Tea – though it was offered thanks Winston. I DID at times feel like I was stuck on the set of any one of the English soaps Ive seen. TV is real-life see?
But I did get to see some friends of mine which is why I went in the first place. Really it was just a taste of London and while I may go back during my travels it will not likely be anytime soon.

So life goes on til my next exciting adventure: Galway in a week to see Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. So Ive got one week to get my costume ready.

The Irish summer has decided to stay. I dont think its rained in a week, which completely ruins my reputation as a credible weather predictor (based on my working days) – though I do expect it to still be sunny over the next two days while I work indoors, catching but a glimpse of daylight with longing in my heart, stretching forth my pale lifeless hand everytime someone opens the front door to enter, confined to the darkness of my labour.

It has been so hot infact, that last Tuesday saw me going for my first Irish swim. I caught a ride up to the cliff trail with a couple of girls staying at the hostel, and we walked (or rather staggered in the heat) along the cliffs and down onto the rocks to find a suitable swimming spot – suitable being one not already occupied. We ended up in a spot that was indeed isolated, but was not actually very good for swimming – a small pool into which the swell rushed, crashing against surrounding sharp and pointy and most-likely flesh-tearing rocks. But there was enough space between swells for one to get in, swim about frantically, then rush out, hoping ones gammy leg didnt give out, leaving one at the mercy of the incoming monster wave. Thankfully my gammy leg held out fine and there was no tearing of flesh by hungry rocks. (And luckily so as one of the more adventurous three swimmers was exposing rather alot of flesh – the French one – hence the neccessity for a ‘suitable’ swimming spot).
So what have I to say of my first Irish swim? In the words of the Irish, It was feckin freezing. And they tell me the water is warm for this time of year. Crazy Irish. I might compare it to rolling naked in the snow if I had ever done such a thing. I can compare it to a swim equivalent to one in the oceans of home – in the middle of winter. That kind of handnumbing, heart stopping cold. The only thing that made it bearable was being able to crawl (slowly with frozen limbs) towards the rocks and thaw out in the heat of the day on a scorching hot rock.

Today I went in the other direction to the coast and just hung out and poked around in some rockpools again – I cant help it – why dont they move?. I was tempted to go for a swim (in my undies) but after testing the water with a toe I chickened out… maybe just as well, to save anyone passing by the spectacle of very pale me swimming in my undies – though I saw only one person in two hours. There were horses though, who might be able to tell the difference between togs and undies so best I didnt. I spent my two or so hours instead painting in-the-field with watercolours, just like a real artist. First attempt not so successful and abandoned, but second not too bad – recognizable as sea, sky and land anyway.

The next two days I will work and then on Tuesday its off to England where the queen rules over her people with a ‘funny wave’ (as opposed to an ‘iron fist’), people say things like ”ere what?’ and ‘jolly good old chap!’, and everyone looks like someone from Coronation Street. I’ll let you know how mis-conceived my pre-conceptions are soon enough.

Not alot to report this week Im afraid, life goes on as usual, though Im sure I’ll find something inane to babble on about. The wretched weather and the international events of the past week have left me rather unenthusiastic, content for the moment to lie around reading or eating scones, or even both at the same time. Ive been back to MY beach once and to my disappointment recovered skulls numbering zero, and carcasses also numbering zero. And also alas, someone stole my poking stick. Either that or I forgot where I secretly hid it, proving my secret hiding place to be an exceptionally good one. I found another stick but it didnt fit just right in my hand like the other and it chafed so I threw it into the air with a cackle and a shake of the fist.

Last Friday I did as intended journey to Galway where I stayed with my friends at the Salmon Weir, took myself out to the movies on Friday night and perused the Saturday markets. The movie was Batman Begins (as intended) and the verdict was ‘great despite the excessive voice transformation that came with the batsuit’. I went to see the movie at the new Eye cinema which boasts many technical sounding things and the chance to ‘escape into your dreams’. Basically it had a screen and seats that didnt leave me contorted in agony and so I was happy. Adding to my happiness were the hot pink bathrooms with space age technology taps that didnt work when you put your hands under them – but I liked the hot pink which is rare for someone such as myself. I also had the opportunity here (at the cinema not in the bathrooms) to experience the icecream heaven that is Ben&Jerrys that Ive never had the pleasure of experiencing before. Part of the fun was asking for Chunky Monkey flavour, which was good – banana with walnuts and chunky chocolate pieces. But the cookie dough was my favourite – just like Mums which I have a habit of picking at when shes not looking (ay Mum) – but with added icecream!

The markets promised more pleasurable food experiences and did indeed deliver. (I sense this entry is going to be more food orientated than anything else so if you’re on a diet stop reading). I began by wandering down through the markets making note of the more tastebud tingling morsels on offer. I compared price, aesthetic nature (colour, texture, movement), preparation environment and attractiveness of server and narrowed my choice down to one ultimate winner. The prize being to be eaten by me. The winning lunch choice was a food called Kitchiri from a HareKrishna-run stand offering vegetarian food. It was the ‘a complete meal in one’ description that got me. Just what I need. And the server though not overly attractive (nor unattractive) had an inner calm that often radiates from such people of religion and I concluded that this could only be beneficial to the food. Anyway, you want to her the details. Well it was a mixture of rice, carrots, potato and some other mushy things cooked into mush with mustard seeds, coriander, chilli and similar spices, and topped with pinapple chutney. I’d buy it again. After my complete meal I stocked up big time on sundried tomatoes, dolmades (Angs fav), olives and feta from the stall outside the cheese shop. Only the best sundried tomatoes, dolmades, olives and feta youve ever tasted. Then fresh organic veges, then best for last the elusive Galway market sushi which I carefully transported back to Aille River – my prized possession. Which some monkey stole and hid pretending he’d eaten it. So cruel. Its now a week later and my food stock is dwindling. I had potatoes for dinner tonight and I’ll most likely have potatoes tomorrow too. Though I can garnish them with my few treasured remaining sundried tomatoes. Tuesday will call for another food trip, maybe to Ennistymon where Ive heard they hold produce markets.

On a more serious note, I heard about the London bombs a few hours after they occurred only after an email from a friend. It fleetingly crossed my mind that the email was some sort of joke, but after checking the BBC website I learnt the details of what had happened. At that time only two people had been confirmed dead – that number steadily grew throughout the day. My mind was put at ease to hear from you guys over near London at the moment, that you’re all fine. These attacks seem to have affected me more than those in the past. Maybe because I have friends there, maybe because its closer to home, maybe because I was thinking about travelling to England in a few weeks at the time. But what has also struck me, is how often this sort of thing has happened in the Middle East or even up North here in Ireland with far less media attention. I am also curious as to the way life seems to go on regardless. We forget. Like sitting in the living area of the hostel the afternoon after the bombs occurred listening to conversations about bus timetables and Irish breakfasts, or finding myself looking at a recipe for pancakes on the web and then remembering – and almost laughing out loud at the absurdity of it. But then what else can we do? Life goes on and it should.

And back on a lighter note, today, that is the day after I was feeling rather unenthusiastic, I am feeling more enthusiastic. The sun, like clockwork decided to show its face the day before I start work – Im sure tomorrow will be dazzlingly sunny as always just to rub it in. But at least I got to enjoy some summer today. I walked down to the coast through fields overgrown with wild flowers of many shapes and colours, alive with the buzz of insects. The fields struck me with such a summery feeling I felt like lying right down and having a good old roll around. But the massacre of many living creatures for one’s own rolling pleasure is against the teachings of Swami Em. Besides the grass was kindof wet. I spent most of the day down along the coast under the blue sky watching sea snails traverse the rocky contours of rockpools (funny that they should be rocky) – that took a while as snails tend to move quite slowly. Then when I got bored watching the snails I poked a few things (as I have a habit of doing) just to see if I could make them move. Then having irritated enough of the local sea life I wandered back to the hostel, bought an icecream, read a book, met some people who lived on Gordon Rd in the Mount – small world. Then I had my potatoes and now I will sleep. Goodnight. Sweet dreams.