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Follow my journey to stardom or, until then, just follow me round Europe.

Friday, August 29, 2003

I'm moving to Manchester next week, so in memory of all things Carlisle, and for my own personal amusement, I have collated some of my favourite 'events' of the year.

But first, the craze that's been sweeping the nation: It's the Interview Game! Not as good as Uno, but then what is?

According to Steven at www.rubbishgays.blogspot.com (go visit), these are the rules:

The Rules
1. Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2. I will respond; I'll ask you five questions.
3. You'll update your website with my five questions, and your five answers.
4. You'll include this explanation.
5. You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed

Here are his questions. And there my answers:

1, What's the nastiest toy you have seen for a child?
A rubber fist.

2, Do you own any sexy pants, if so describe them?
Yes, they are tight black boxers with a go faster stripe on each leg that accentuates the curvature of my thigh. When you take them off they look like a little doll could wear them, but they are made of VERY stretchy material. I once left them at my friends' house and they displayed them on their shelf of fame, along with Nana Miskouri and the Polka Twins.

3, Was Lady Diana a true Saint?
No! But if she were, Diana would be the patron saint of quiffs.

4, Are you ready for love?
I didn't think so, until it came up and poked me in the bum when I least expected it. Now it won't stop poking me in the bum. Sometimes it gets annoying, but usually it's the best thing to wake up to in the morning. Love is nice like that.

5, If you were a superhero, describe your costume, power & arch-enemy.
Oo - I would wear large black rimmed spectacles and a sky blue Muu Muu. I would be 'Breeze Man' and I would gently waft away my arch enemy Rain Man (aka Tom Cruise)!

If you want MY five questions, you can email me at trumancoyote@hotmail.com (I don't know how to do links).


So - back to Carlisle:

MY FAVOURITE VOICEMAIL:

The following is a word-for-word transcription of Neil(Fanny Boz)'s voice message:

Voice Mail, 2:22am Sunday 26th January 2003:

"Eeeeh, Ben, I'm just about to go back and pork fuckin, wait a minute til a pull ma card oot. I'm going to pork some fuckin minger, well he's not a minger, but at the end of the day he's not quite in maa category, but aam
gonna fuckin shag him anyway. Fuck thaat for a laugh. O.K, Geez a call anyway ey. Bye."


MY FAVOURITE SUMMER PARTY:

Saturday 21st June 2003:

12.00 noon: Start setting up drinks table (60 bottles wine, 2 barrels beer).

12.30: Create dips (curried mango, hummus)

1.00: ensure gazebos, tables and chairs are laid out. tables and chairs borrowed from the village hall, 3 chairs fall out of the back of the car between village hall and home. Mum left to pick up the pieces.

3.30: light candles, bitch about rain.

4.00: first guests arrive. Stacey and Gill are dropped off outside house. Stacey emerges from darkened interior of Audi like a brilliant ray of 80s sunshine. Weather prospects not good. Stacey and Gill immediately regret wearing white trousers to an outdoor event.

5.00: Most 'local' guests have arrived. I decide to alternate between wine and water for the duration of the night.

5.30: Scottish contingent arrive in a big gay car and sashay into the garden resembling a pantomime cast (not unusual). Sally from next door enquires if anyone at the party is straight?

6.00: Dinner is served - lamb burgers, minted lamb steaks and sausages. Selection of deserts. Louise gets the last slice of chocolate torte and reluctanly allows fellow guest a spoonful.

6.30: Grandma claims the 'little black one' is hers. We hope she means the dog.

7.00: 'Earth, Wind and Fire' rocks the garden. Me, Luke and Becky are first to dance. Cutting shapes must be in the genes, on Mum's side perhaps?

7.01: Helen joins the emerging dancefloor.

8.00: Rave spontaneously kicks off in the octagonal, oak-effect summer house. Is like a return to the hey-day of Rave culture. Secretly wish that had organised white gloves and whistles. Stacey wears a yellow snorkle.

9.00: Still haven't drunk any water.

9.30: All guests are chaperoned, crocodile file, to the Mowtown Disco at the village hall. Keith has negotiated a deal, we all get in for £2 each. Lights of pink, green and yellow swirl around the dancefloor, the gloss magnolia paintwork with burgundy trim sparkles and glimmers the reflected light show like a hundred meteor storms, like a million pulsating fireworks. The Queen and Prince Phillip oversee the proceedings from a large photographic reprint. 60s and 70s beats pump from the decks, the dance floor pulses like a living, breathing being.

10.00: Me and Helena become the sultans of swing and the bastions of boogie.

10.15: Louise knocks full glass of white wine out of my hand which smashes into a million pieces all over the dancefloor.

10.20: Neil knocks full glass of white wine out of my hand which smashes into a million pieces all over the dancefloor.

10.25: Emma knocks full glass of white wine out of my hand which smashes into a million pieces all over the dancefloor.

11.00: 'Dancing In The Street' rings out from the speakers. All the guests comply. The disco continues in the street.

11.30: Helen and Neil play on the swings. Helen attempts a full up-and-over manouver.

11.45: Luke returns from the park covered in toffee from the climbing frame.

12.00: Disco ends, I invite entire village back to mine. Mum and Dad have hidden the stereo.

12.10: Still haven't drunk any water.

12.30: Some guests have gone to bed. Steven voms all over our bedroom. The white shag pile and union jack cushion are both reconciled to the rubbish. Steven is covered in sick like a baby covered in jam, only this jam stinks and makes me wretch.

01.00: Whilst trying to find sleeping bags, me and Neil find, instead, Caroline's Dan. Caroline claims to be "just sleeping".

01.30: Emma hears "squelchy cunnilingus" noises coming from behind the couch.

01.30 - 02:00: Nowhere left to sleep. Neil goes to bed-down in the big gay car, but insists on calling everyone a 'BawBag' before he leaves. Me, Lee, Stacey and Reuben make nests on the kitchen floor.

02.30: Nothing is stirring, not even a mouse.

The end.



Wednesday, August 20, 2003

"Uno Worldcup"

In my haste to finish the last blog, which was aggravating my Repetitive Strain Injury, I omitted an important stop on the Euro-Touro. London!

We arrived late, were only there for one night and had to scrape together enough English money out of the ashtray to buy chips (also utilising euro cents cunningly disguised as pennies), so apologies to people (Mim, Al and Emma) who we didn't call, but we were listless and smelly and you would probably never have wanted to see us again had you been forced to sit near us that night.

We stayed with PP who was playing basketball with her millionaire friends until 9:00pm, so we were told to let ourselves in. The keys were buried in a flower pot but due to recent freak weather conditions the soil was scorched to within an inch of it's inanimate life. After chipping a small hole into the granite-ilke compost we eventually struck gold and got into the house. Unfortunately Micha and Njintje hadn't been informed of our arrival, so I was greeted by a kitten bite and a whirlwind swipe of claws.

After finishing 2 bags of greasy chips with Frites Saus (smuggled through customs along with several packets of salty liqourice and StropeWaffles) we waited with baited breath for our hosts arrival. Our long wait was rewarded when PP swept in through the front door, a vision in white linen and Nicky Clarke styling.

A sensible wine and cheese/chat evening ensued, but the real fun was saved for morning. Bacon, Eggs, Croissants and Orange Juice were followed by a Marathon Uno Worldcup. Uno is probably the best game in the World (after 'spin the bottle' and 'the six degrees of Kevin Bacon') and we played with gay abandon. For anyone that doesn't play Uno, and is therefore a sad loser, the aim of the game is to get RID of your cards and get the LOWEST score possible, so my total of around 2,000 points after 15 games was what you might call "piss poor". No Matter. When the world cup was completed, we decided to finish on a winner-takes-all. The champion of the final game was to be crowned 'Best Uno Player in the Universe, Master of All He Surveys and The Person Who Is Always Right', and guess who won? Go on. Guess!

ME. It was me, me, me, me, me. I am the best uno player in the universe. It's ME who is master of all he surveys. And you can just forget about ever arguing with me again, because I truly am - Always Right.

Yeyy.

Sunday, August 17, 2003

"The Final Euro-Blog"

Home is where the heart is. It's also where they post your credit card bills and overdraft statements. Yak. Before we dwell on this, however, I'll complete my travel blog...

13. Berlin, Germany - This is a very ugly city, but I guess you'd expect that from the blitzing it got during the last World War. It's also a very large city, but unlike London, Rome or Vienna, there doesn't seem to be enough people to fill it. There are hundreds of bars and clubs and shops and restaurants, and they're all fashionable and artisitic and cosmopolitan, but none of them seem to be full. For this reason Berlin has a distinct lack of any atmosphere. As has become the norm for this trip, our first expedition lead us into some of the city's bender bars, the best of which showed hardcore anal porn on a 10 foot screen. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to drink a G&T without thinking of that poor 18 year old being spit roasted by a couple of bears again. The nearest camp site to Berlin is about 15km North of the city so we were aagin forced to stay in a hotel (which is heartbreaking) and were hosted by the best handlebar moustache. Ever.

14. Amsterdam, Holland - Amsterdam never ceases to provide a tourist with a few new experiences, and Lee has been on a quest for sleaze ever since he arrived in Europe (too many late nights watching Euro-trash), so we were always in for some fun. I don't think either of us bargained for the way it turned out. We drove from Berlin to Holland in one go (NOT recommended), so didn't arrive in Amsterdam until 8:00pm. After spending a couple of hours driving around the campsites it became apparent that half of the World was also visiting Amsterdam that weekend. A change of tack had us phoning every hotel in the book for a further hour but to no avail. We began to feel like Mary and that poor little donkey, because there was no room at the Inn, in fact there was no room at any of the inns, or the campsites. There was nothing else for it, we were going to have to find a decent parking space and make every attempt to get so pissed and so stoned that we didn't care where we slept. This goal was duly met, and after a few hours drinking in various leather bars (all featuring porn) and smoking in various coffee shops (all featuring whiteying students) we decided to make our way back to the car. However, in true Amsterdam style, the car next to ours was being utilised by a freindly rent-boy and his clientele. I may be open minded, and I may have seen a thing or 2, but I was NOT sharing my bedroom with a succession of randy old men. Plan B was now put in action, i.e. drink until we pass out and, in the mean time, try to get invited to a house party where we could curl up in someones bath tub. In order to meet potential party goers it was going to be necessary to get back to the clubs, so we headed first to 'Cockring' with the promise of Live Porn. This 'live porn' turned out to be one sorry looking fellow having a wank on stage, while the clubbers jived away to Kylie below. Not my cup of tea, however, when the 'wanker' started holding his penis and showing it to the crowd in the exact same style as used by the jewellery handlers on QVC, I allowed myself a chuckle or 2. Even Lee agreed that we were not going to meet any suitable flatmates-for-the-night in Cockring, so we headed back on to the streets in search of something a little more - restrained. What we found was a place called 'Stablemates' which had been described in some leaflet or other as bar/nightclub. The door was locked, but after having had such a good time behind locked doors in Lyon we thought it should be OK. However, just before pressing the bell we noticed the sign "Jerk-Off Parties Every Night!". Whoa! It's one thing to watch the boys bashing their bishops on stage, but it's quite another to join in. We were just about to run away when another, smaller, notice caught our eyes. "Rooms available. Ask at reception". Beds! Could there really be an empty bed in Amsterdam? Was it safe? Were we going to wake up to find a jerk-off party in full swing in our bedroom? After quick deliberation we decided it was worth the risk. It was either this or sleep in a den of eniquity (or at least sleep in an even worse den of eniquity that was outside and without a proper bed). We rang the bell and held our breaths. Our worst fears were confirmed when the guy that answered the door appeared, wearing nothing more than a couple of tattos and a pierced foreskin. But after learning that they did indedd have a room, and that it was situated in a different building we thanked our lucky stars and ended up spending a very pleasant morning sleeping and people watching in the red-light district streets below.

15. Edam, Holland - Offering a welcome relief from the hustle, bustle and porn of Amsterdam, Edam is picture postcard Netherlands and home to the famous cheese. We spent a few days visiting Lisalotte who went out of her way to show us the full Dutch monty. We cycled alongside the canals, swam in the Ijsomeer, ate kibbling and took our photos infront of Windmills. Infact, out of our whole trip, this was probably the most authentic few days we spent in Europe. I love das Nederlands, but I wish I'd remembered my stack-heels.

16. Great Corby, Cumbria, England - Home! Back to green pastures, mild weather (though actually experiencing a heat wave) and warm beer. Unfortunately we're also back to unemployment, phone bills and thinking about the future. C'est La Vie. Love Europe, definitely need to go back and see some of the million or so places we missed. For anyone who has read this and might be thinking of doing the same, I have only a few pieces of advice. Go in spring, buy a Winnebago and find someone loaded to take with you. Oh, and ALWAYS try before you buy.

Ciao for now...

Wednesday, August 06, 2003

Another quick update, which I wouldn't have bothered with had I not chanced upon a this little bar with a computer...

9. Venice, Adriatic Coast, Italy - Stayed in the WORST CAMPSITE IN THE WORLD, Alba Doro, which was on the mainland just outside Venice. 6000 sweaty wankers were crammed into a field LITERALLY at the end of the runway of Venice Airport. We were given the only non-shaded plot which was just great in the 40 degree heat and, to top it all, the place was experiencing a plague of some African strain of killer mosquito that left most guests, including me, looking like Plague victims. Of course Lee managed to avoid this by secretly dousing himself in insect repellent 4 times a day. Oh yeah, and the fat bastard that owned the place charge us €25 per night for the privilege. NEVER go there, and tell all your friends never to go there as well. Having said all this, however, 6000 English and Australian tourists plus one very cheesy on-site disco equals plenty of drunken partying. We met 2 aussie chicks, Bee and Ody, who were boozing, bonking and barfing their way around Europe in a tour bus with a chef called Elbow. We love drunk aussie chicks! Venice was OK. Beautiful. Love the idea of having a boat instead of a car. You should probably see it...

10. Vienna, Not Salzburg or the Austrian Alps, and not Halstatt or any of the other beautiful sounding places in Austria - Why? Because in 6 months of knowing the dates of travel and understanding the route and after having already arranged accomodation for ourselves and our friends in Prague, and with only 5 days until our planned meeting, Lee found out he needed a Czech visa. So, we had to hoof it to Vienna, to the Czech embassy, to beg, plead and pay for a fucking holiday visa. Yeyy. Luckily Vienna is gorgeous and full of superb pubs restaurants and clubs and is generally a superb place to spend a week while a passport gets processed. We mostly ate dumplings, goulash and schnitzels and mostly drank beer, and mostly had a fab time gazing at all the amazing architecture built for the Hapsburg Dynasty. Apparently Vienna has hordes of beautiful artwork form this era in it's many immense galleries and museums, but we somehow managed to end spending half a day in the Museum of Modern art which is filled to the brim with completely crap 60s Actionism, or some such shit. When you've seen one Beatnick Austrian get his knob out and cover it in paint, you've seen them all.

11. Prague, Czech Republic - Yeyy! Woo! You Go Prague! What a fucking Ace city! We spent 5 days living it up big style with Stacey and Jill, going to all the best restaurants, drinking in all the best bars, visiting all the most stunning buildings and staying in the most scuzzy little Apartment in the most skanky little suburb in Prague. Didn't matter though because we were too busy dancing under the Charles Bridge at 4 in the morning, drinking Cocktails in bars with views across the city, and singing show tunes in a pedalo on the river. Other highlights of Prague included: stepping back in time in the city's gay bars where all the men sit around the edges of the room looking sullen and shuffling uneasily towards each other; miming things like 'tyres', 'air' and 'outdoor pool' to ignorant czechs that don't understand English; and getting used to the constant stares as we trotted about the medieval streets like little show ponies. Can't wait to go again.

12: Meissen, Nr Dresden, Germany - Just arrived in this uber pretty retreat of the old Saxon Kings, seems nice enough. Might stay for a bit, might hoof it to Berlin. Who can say? I'll let you know either way...

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