What's that?

Feb 4, 2008

stuff from isle

It's been a week since I was in the Isle and already I have forgotten what went on (o:

Friday we went out. I worked as am unofficial coat checker at Havana Bar in between dancing and actually made money! People were giving me their coats, tips, drinks and taking photos and I really don't think i looked the coat check guy part; I was wearing aviators, drunk, and laughing the whole time. Eventually the real bouncers came and took over and so it was back to dancing for me. And Pierre and his sister are the ultimate dancers. Everyone loves them and they truly bring the party with them. DJ's actually ring them and ask if they'll come help the dance floor to go off!

And then Saturday was Aussie Day. Or rather, Auckland Anniversary Day. This was celebrated in style at the Nurses Res(idence) with Kiwis and Aussies pitted against each other in life threatening feats of bravery, endurance and intelligence. All English present were divided into one of the two teams as well but there contributions were, um, tops. Nah, they were good as. Of course, New Zealand dominated the day overall. Winning the cricket, the ping pong, the drinking, Spoons, the cooking, the appearance, having the better country and so on. We did lose one game though admittedly. The intelligence test. Or did we lose?

Our questions were on Australia and their questions were like wise based upon New Zealand. So really, all we did was reinforce the fact that they like our country more, hence they know more about it. I mean, why bother learning which poo belongs to which australian animal (real questions, serious) or deciding which is a real Australian city when the options are Woobygoolybong, Wombat, Grassfield or Iggaboo. The fact that three of them are real in the first place sums up Australia pretty well I think.

Then town was hit and again it was another great night. Pierre had to leave early though to look after his Scottish girlfriend who was a little tipsy and I somehow got separated from everyone else. I remember visiting nearly every club in the Island (Colours, Havana, Outback and P-something), taking at least 3 taxi rides by just climbing in with randoms and meeting a tonne of awesome people in cues who let me sift in to their place and save me half an hour of waiting in cue. Then the night ended when two of the res residents found me and took me home to sleep the night at the res. Pierre then came and picked me up in the morning, as usual, being an AWESOME host!

Can't wait to return for the TT bike race in end of May.

Jan 28, 2008

Pierre and Motley's

Pierre and his flat mate Aisha...

Us getting ready for town...

Jan 24, 2008

Thursday

(That morning)

It’s sunny! I’m watching a movie inside! It’s sunny! I’m going outside…

(That afternoon)

Now I am back inside. I was outside for about an hour. In the sun. No clouds. Yet I have severly limited my chances of having children in the future, it is that frigging cold out there. Brrrraaaa!

So now it is time for a moive and to thaw out.

(that night)

Dinner of chicken stir fry out fo the way and it was time to prepare for town. Being a guy, I was already set with the look. Just needed to work on the atmosphere. So while Pierre got a few JD's down him, I knocked back a bottle and a half of wine and we settled down for some family guy goodness. Then town.

Swweeeeeeeet! Town was going off. Or we were going off. I had an awesome time. Reckon, make that know, the others did too. Whoop whoop. Life is back on track.

Jan 23, 2008

Lazy, happy, days

So I’ve been at Pierre’s almost a week. Apart from his birthday I haven’t really been up to much since I got here. Can’t blame me really though cause the weather is always rotten and not very inclined to inviting you outside.

But today, feeling a little lazy and wanting some fresh air, I cruised to town to buy some shoes. Only I got distracted on the way and ended up at the Manx museum.

Oh and Manx is what are called if you live on the Isle of Man. Like being a kiwi from New Zealand. Or actually it is more official. I guess like being a New Zealander. They even have their own government, their own version of the pound and their own, not really used I think, language.

So where was I? At the Manx museum or Thie Tashtee Vannin in Manx. Not too shabby a one either. Freeness helps too. Started with arty pics, then a map gallery of the isles mapped history, then some boring geology, a cool gallery of Vikings and Celts who lived here once, a cool Giant deer skeleton, then some stuff on how tourism got here, the animal life, and of course the TT motorbike race that goes off each year and for which this isle is most famous.

Then I cruised town for a bit before heading home to crash once more in front of the T.V watching Borat, Superbad, Beerfest, Butterfly Effect, Garden Grove and such.

Probably won’t change much either till Thursday when we start a 3 day bender. Saturday is Aussie day, Thursday is Ed day (DJ at a club) and Friday just fits between (o;

Jan 21, 2008

Denied…. but for real this time

Happy Birthday Pierre! Whooop! Whoooop! Time to enjoy.

Punch fountain set up, red glad wrap over the lights, Ed the DJ set up in the corner, snacks out and we were ready to partay like it was 2009!

So enjoying a few drops and welcoming in the guests, I notice this cute girl walk in. But talking to someone else I don’t head over for a bit. When I go say hi, she’s like “Hey I know you”! I was standing there thinking “No you don’t. I’m from New Zealand”? Then she busts out with, “You’re that guy from the ferry!” Holy crap! It is her. It’s the fit girl from the ferry! What are the chances?

Awesome, you may be thinking? Enjoy, may have enetered your mind. But no. Sadly it was about now that my testicles rode so high up into my body that they took on the role of ovaries (no offence ladies) and I became quite the girl. I blame the punch.

Anyway, to make a long and embarrassing story for me short, i slept alone and now have to put up with constant ribbing from Pierre till the end of my days for not going there. For not even truly trying to go there. Maybe 25 chicks to 10 guys at this party, a number telling Pierre and his sis they likes me, and me chasing only one of them in a manner sure to make others question my sexuality for years to come.

Mmmm, fun times.

The Irish sea. Just as temperamental, just as wet.

Uuuurrrggghhh! *Spit* Huuuurrrrgggghhhh! *Spit*

It was a three hour trip across the Irish sea to reach the Isle and so I had settled down for a spot of beauty sleep to pass the time. Only I wasn’t to sleep after all. I was woken by the noise of everyone around me throwing up. Or heaps of people anyway. This old guy next to me was yakking like a champ, a lady made it half way across the ferry lounge floor before crumpling to her knees and letting out a chunder beer drinkers would be proud of, a little girl was being led to the toilet with a napkin over her mouth, spew dribbling out from the sides and this was to go on all trip. I even visited the toilet at one stage to take a dump only to find them full of guys throwing up.

But one person not throwing up, in fact they looked to be dozing when they were not texting, was the fit looking girl in front of me. And by fit I mean drop dead gorgeous....

I spent the remainder of my trip listening to my ipod and keeping myself distracted by staring at her. She and I laughed at the crashes from the kitchen and the vomiting but on my part, it was all an act as the vomit noises began to make me consider joining in the fun.

We made it safely though without and on arrival I pointed the fit girl out to Pierre who had already noticed her and we left discussing the high potential this island seemed to have of the female persuasion.

Heysham?

Heysham you ask? Where the hell’s that? Don’t worry, you’re not alone.

Pierre’s party was on the 19^th. I had two days to get there from Manchester but it would be cool to be there a day in advance to chill out beforehand. So I said see ya to Vic (I’d be back afterwards) and jumped on a bus to Preston.

You see, I’d asked a bus conductor how to get to Heysham. He didn’t know where it was but after I explained it was up North, he advised me to go to the shuttle company that did between city routes – even dropped me off outside. So I cruise in and ask for a shuttle to Heysham. “Where”? the guy asks. “Heysham, it’s the ferry port to the Isle of Man”. “Isle of Man? Where’s that?” No kidding! The guy was a drop kick. Whole company were a few crayons short of rainbow. Thankfully this postie guy next to me in the que told me to follow him. He took me to another local place, waited in cue with me and then got me a brochure explaining how to get to a place called Preston. From there you just catch a bus to Heysham. He does the trip a few times each year to visit family. Sweeeeet!

But when I googled Preston and even called the company to check that there were indeed buses to Heysham from there, noone had a clue. None existed on the website and the guy on the phone, once again, didn’t even know Heysham! Who the heck lived in this city? A lone hermit?

So putting some faith in the guy and figuring if it worked I would save seven pound (5 pound for the bus, 7 pound for the train to Heysham), I gave it a go. Caught my bus to Preston and then went looking for my connector. First info place said to try the other. She didn’t have a clue (reacurring theme here in England it seems. Transport companies know nothing), but again I lucked in with a guy in cue. He found me the brochure, took me to my bus, told the driver where to drop me off and then after wiping my arse for me, I departed for Heysham.

Got off at the last stop, thanked the driver (everyone always does here) and set off by foot to the ferry terminal 1km away. Only 1km? Felt like I had joined the French foreign legion. I had my little brollie out in front of me cause it was spitting only it was windy too. Like cyclone Bola windy. The umbrella had wrapped itself around me like some love sick wife and helped me walk into at least three traffic poles cause I couldn’t see anything. With my hair vying for a spot on Opera and with a few expletives escaping from between my lips, I battled on and eventually found myself in the safety of the terminal. Looking a little the worse for wear, I boarded the ferry and flopped into a seat.

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The Manchester tourist

I’m pretty much over museums and churches and stuff. Or so I keep reckoning. Yet I keep finding myself at one again and again.

Everywhere is by bus. Three pounds and you can go anywhere all day in the region. View from bus...

This time it was the Imperial War Museum North located in Trafford. And it is worth seeing. It covers war issues from World War One to present day. Displays, hands on action, movies, models… everything. This is one of the best museums I have ever entered. Recommended by the Lonely Planet, they did good on this one.

And on the way you can go visit the Manchester football stadium and take a tour if ya want - I'll wait for a real game myself.

Another place they’d said was worth visitng, in fact it was rated a “’not to be missed’ sight, was the MOSI or Museum of Science and Industry. Holy crap this place sucked arse! Not to be missed?! Not to be listed more like. This place covers such fascinating roles as ‘the waste disposal workings of Manchester City’, ‘what a train looks like’, ‘Votes for Women’ (just jokes), models of looms, and a kids activity centre. In fact, if I had been 5 years old it could have been cool. But as I wasn’t 5 years old, it just wasn’t cool. Two brain cells and a serious concussion would help immensely if you plan on making a visit.

Lowry Gallery. This was next to the War Museum. Like next door. But this didn’t stop me from enjoying a 35 minute walk to get there passing around the Quays and over bridges and through the suburbs. In fact I visited a whole new town called Strafford. Yes, I may have been a little disorientated. Eventually I made it though and the coolness of the War Museum had obviously rubbed of on this one. Named after this famous painter LS Lowry, it houses some of his works (awesome!) and a number of other exhibitions. When I was there, the main attraction was a photo exhibition by Harold Riley which was also a cut above. Very cool.

The Beggar and Ann

The Cripples, 1949

Then on the following day I decided I’d take Vic’s advice and go see some non-lonely planet made recommendations. These included the town hall and square (ok), recently opened old school library (ok) and the URBIS Exhibition Centre (superb!). This centre has heaps of stuff going down. When I was there it was a show on Drum and Bass, some uni art stuff and what was for me the main attraction, the D&AD Exhibition: The best advertising and design in the world. That’s right, in the world! Woooohoooow! They made you stop and think They made you snigger, blush, gasp, go goosebumpily, look twice and then go back for thirds. Check out these crap photos of really cool ads I took…

These were cool. Looks like the other persons life is about to become a part of yours…

(pic)

Wars make orphans…