Just checked my email and saw that tickets are already on sale for Oxegen next year.
Seriously?
Who buys tickets this early without so much as a single name on the line-up announced? It's not even that much cheaper to buy them now. I guess the whole thing is just a brand now, with a huge proportion of people just going for the piss-up in their tent and not really bothered with what's happening on the musical end of things. If anyone feels this way then allow me to offer you the service of getting pissed in your tent in my garden for only a hundred quid, less than half the price of the 'early-bird' Oxegen tickets. I'll promise to openly piss in front of you and jump on your tent in the middle of the night to ensure you get that authentic festival experience. I'll even set your tent on fire before you leave. And I won't charge an extra 6.35 handling fee (I never really wanted to be handled by anyone in Ticketmaster anyway).
The offer's there.
In other news, I'll be coming home from Egypt on Wednesday and am unsure as to what kind of crap I should be bringing back. I'm not one of those people who will happily bring back thousands of dirt-cheap cigarettes for every single smoker they know. And you don't really want a load of obelisks made out of clay or some such shite do you? Then it dawned on me the other day: toothbrushes! Toothbrushes must be something we fork out a ridiculous amount of money for every year. Even if you don't want one with a tongue-scraper, a flexible neck and feckin' go-faster stripes on it they'll still brand it as a 'classic' toothbrush and charge far too much. I reckon they probably cost about 10 cents here and they're not exactly heavy.
This is surely a genius idea unless they're are some legal restrictions I'm not aware of. Imagine being busted in Dublin airport by some grumpy customs guy saying "Sir, I'm sure you are well aware that under International Law #347 it is prohibited to carry more than 1.2 kg of dental hygiene products from one nation state to another..."
I'll take my chances. Anyone for a toothbrush?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
5
Tuneless
It turns out I have absolutely no music on my iPod suitable for soundtracking a sunset over the Nile.
My collection is endlessly useful for soothing my passage on a packed Luas into town, accompanying me and a cigarette on a mosey down Dame Street or keeping me amused as I shiver at a bus stop on Merrion Square. It adds an extra punch on a drive over the Wicklow mountains and gets me to sleep when my head wants to tell me a thousand different things.
I've discovered on my previous travels that Powder Blue by Elbow is exceedingly good when you're feeling a bit sad at a subway station in Seoul, that Postcards From Italy by Beirut works majestically well when thundering along a bone-rattlingly rough road in Tanzania, and that Springsteen's Thunder Road is cracking on a day trip in Turkey.
But as I watched the sun sink ridiculously slowly over the Nile as I travelled parallel to it on a train with the young lady sleeping prettily beside me there was nothing in my fairly extensive collection that seemed to fit the mood.
I've yet to work out whether this is a simple shortcoming on the part of my musical taste, or whether there are just some things in life that can't be enhanced by anything.
My collection is endlessly useful for soothing my passage on a packed Luas into town, accompanying me and a cigarette on a mosey down Dame Street or keeping me amused as I shiver at a bus stop on Merrion Square. It adds an extra punch on a drive over the Wicklow mountains and gets me to sleep when my head wants to tell me a thousand different things.
I've discovered on my previous travels that Powder Blue by Elbow is exceedingly good when you're feeling a bit sad at a subway station in Seoul, that Postcards From Italy by Beirut works majestically well when thundering along a bone-rattlingly rough road in Tanzania, and that Springsteen's Thunder Road is cracking on a day trip in Turkey.
But as I watched the sun sink ridiculously slowly over the Nile as I travelled parallel to it on a train with the young lady sleeping prettily beside me there was nothing in my fairly extensive collection that seemed to fit the mood.
I've yet to work out whether this is a simple shortcoming on the part of my musical taste, or whether there are just some things in life that can't be enhanced by anything.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
10
Less than Luxor-ious
Well, Darren says he wants updates of my hols as I go along and, for some strange reason, Darren seems to get what he wants.
What can I say? It's so fucking hot here it makes books fall apart if you read them while lying in the sun. Literally. I was busy thinking how superior I was to the missus because my book wasn't haemorrhaging pages when suddenly every page I turned fell away from the spine. It seems that the heat dries out the glue and it becomes entirely redundant. Which is annoying.
Our hotel is something of a hovel but it's still working it's strange charms on me. The noise from the air-conditioning starts off with a pleasant whirr but builds in five minute cycles into a deafening crescendo that conjures up a powerful sense of dread. Thankfully we brought left over ear-plugs from Oxegen. Back at that Kildare sludge-fest Lottie told me how she doesn't like to wear them because it made her "hear her own head", or words to that effect. I figured she was just suffering a wee bit of schizophrenia at the time, but I now know eactly what she means. Turns out the inside of my head has some really irritating bastards in it.
I'm taking this opportunity to sting the shit out of my over-chlorinated eyes in this smoky net cafe (they call it that but there doesn't seem to be much danger of getting a coffee here) and check up on my blog, but also to check those of others - those who keep me amused during the hours when I should be working/sleeping/making human friends. And I've discovered that Mary has finally got her own blog up and running at Invisible Toast. Mary is fucking deadly altogether in every way so if you haven't already seen her blog then get over there and say hi. Of course, if she starts getting more hits and comments than me our friendship will be severed. Not a nice severing either, I'll make sure it's hacked and gory.
Anyway, sure, no-one could really be that interested in what I'm up to on my holliers. I do have a good story or two to tell about a trip on a sailing boat down the Nile but it can't really be shared here so I'll leave it for another time. Little Miss also appears to be in Luxor by some strange coincidence so head over to her blog if you want to see what she's been up to. Nasty shenanigans, I'll warrant.
Time to get packed for a cruise tomorrow, then get some sort of an early night.
Be good.
What can I say? It's so fucking hot here it makes books fall apart if you read them while lying in the sun. Literally. I was busy thinking how superior I was to the missus because my book wasn't haemorrhaging pages when suddenly every page I turned fell away from the spine. It seems that the heat dries out the glue and it becomes entirely redundant. Which is annoying.
Our hotel is something of a hovel but it's still working it's strange charms on me. The noise from the air-conditioning starts off with a pleasant whirr but builds in five minute cycles into a deafening crescendo that conjures up a powerful sense of dread. Thankfully we brought left over ear-plugs from Oxegen. Back at that Kildare sludge-fest Lottie told me how she doesn't like to wear them because it made her "hear her own head", or words to that effect. I figured she was just suffering a wee bit of schizophrenia at the time, but I now know eactly what she means. Turns out the inside of my head has some really irritating bastards in it.
I'm taking this opportunity to sting the shit out of my over-chlorinated eyes in this smoky net cafe (they call it that but there doesn't seem to be much danger of getting a coffee here) and check up on my blog, but also to check those of others - those who keep me amused during the hours when I should be working/sleeping/making human friends. And I've discovered that Mary has finally got her own blog up and running at Invisible Toast. Mary is fucking deadly altogether in every way so if you haven't already seen her blog then get over there and say hi. Of course, if she starts getting more hits and comments than me our friendship will be severed. Not a nice severing either, I'll make sure it's hacked and gory.
Anyway, sure, no-one could really be that interested in what I'm up to on my holliers. I do have a good story or two to tell about a trip on a sailing boat down the Nile but it can't really be shared here so I'll leave it for another time. Little Miss also appears to be in Luxor by some strange coincidence so head over to her blog if you want to see what she's been up to. Nasty shenanigans, I'll warrant.
Time to get packed for a cruise tomorrow, then get some sort of an early night.
Be good.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
1
Waiting...
Well, the missus is the slowest packer in the world so I'm doing a little mental meandering here as I wait to be allowed go to bed.
My roguishly handsome dog went to see a shrink earlier to see if we could get some kind of a handle on his behavioural issues, or at least work out where they're coming from. I wouyld have thought it was obvious: He never even knew who his father was and his mother was a complete and utter bitch. from the age of about three (of his years) he was expected to fend for himself and figure out what the world was all about and where you can and can't piss. Then his balls were taken from him whilst he is constantly subjected to the sight of his masters scratching theirs.
I'd nip at strangers' ankles too in those circumstances.
It'll be strange not blogging for two whole weeks, it's become a wee bit addictive for me. I imagine I'll be sneaking into net cafés now and ago for a quick look at what everyone else has been talking about and maybe even posting once or twice. Though it's just dawned on me that I've left my camera sitting in the glove compartment of my car in Wicklow (fuckity fuck!) so there's no chance of photos being added anyway. I don't tend to take too many shots while on holiday as I find it can get in the way of just actually having a good time, rather than recording other people doing so. Still, I'm pissed off about that now. Anyway, I think the point I wanted to make is that if you notice me writing too many posts or leaving heaps of comments on other blogs then please leave me a nice abusive comment instructing to get the hell away from the screen and back into the sunshine. I've already blogged about how sad I think it is when tourists blog their every move.
So, have fun and I'll talk to you all in a couple of weeks and hopefully not too much until then.
My roguishly handsome dog went to see a shrink earlier to see if we could get some kind of a handle on his behavioural issues, or at least work out where they're coming from. I wouyld have thought it was obvious: He never even knew who his father was and his mother was a complete and utter bitch. from the age of about three (of his years) he was expected to fend for himself and figure out what the world was all about and where you can and can't piss. Then his balls were taken from him whilst he is constantly subjected to the sight of his masters scratching theirs.
I'd nip at strangers' ankles too in those circumstances.
It'll be strange not blogging for two whole weeks, it's become a wee bit addictive for me. I imagine I'll be sneaking into net cafés now and ago for a quick look at what everyone else has been talking about and maybe even posting once or twice. Though it's just dawned on me that I've left my camera sitting in the glove compartment of my car in Wicklow (fuckity fuck!) so there's no chance of photos being added anyway. I don't tend to take too many shots while on holiday as I find it can get in the way of just actually having a good time, rather than recording other people doing so. Still, I'm pissed off about that now. Anyway, I think the point I wanted to make is that if you notice me writing too many posts or leaving heaps of comments on other blogs then please leave me a nice abusive comment instructing to get the hell away from the screen and back into the sunshine. I've already blogged about how sad I think it is when tourists blog their every move.
So, have fun and I'll talk to you all in a couple of weeks and hopefully not too much until then.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
10
I read books because I'm smrt
I'm heading off with my young lady to the land of Eejit tomorrow. I call it that not with any disparagement of the character of it's people nor with any malice toward ancient triangular tombs, but because it's clearly too hot (current temperatures reading somewhere around 972 degress celsius, I think) to exist there at the moment and I am, therefore, an eejit.
Still, I imagine I'll do a fair amount of reading out there. In my air-conditioned room with my back against the open fridge. I've a few books already lined up but could probably make room for one or two more. The ones currently about to be breaking out the factor 40 include The Liar by Stephen Fry which I've just bought (excited about that one), Schopenhauer's Telescope by Gerald Donovan (think it's about genocide or something - that's the kind of fun guy I am to be on holiday with), The Ordinary Person's Guide to Empire by Arundhati Roy (a series of speeches and essays concerning the Iraq War and global justice, wa-hey!) and A Pelican at Blandings by P.G Wodehouse (who isn't a sucker for British upper-class humour from the 1930s?).
I reckon there's probably room in the suitcase and time enough for one more book and I'm wondering if anyone has any recommendations. I'm open to pretty much anything except dodgy chick-lit. Cecelia Ahern is welcome to come as long as she leaves her laptop, her notebook, her vocal cords and her dad behind. It's rare that I come across a book that I immediately think I should recommend to just about everyone. If anyone feels they have come across such a book please recommend it to me and I'll try to pick it up at the airport bookshop in the morning. Absolutely anything at all.
Of course, if you mention the Da Vinci Code I will hunt you and I will find you.
Still, I imagine I'll do a fair amount of reading out there. In my air-conditioned room with my back against the open fridge. I've a few books already lined up but could probably make room for one or two more. The ones currently about to be breaking out the factor 40 include The Liar by Stephen Fry which I've just bought (excited about that one), Schopenhauer's Telescope by Gerald Donovan (think it's about genocide or something - that's the kind of fun guy I am to be on holiday with), The Ordinary Person's Guide to Empire by Arundhati Roy (a series of speeches and essays concerning the Iraq War and global justice, wa-hey!) and A Pelican at Blandings by P.G Wodehouse (who isn't a sucker for British upper-class humour from the 1930s?).
I reckon there's probably room in the suitcase and time enough for one more book and I'm wondering if anyone has any recommendations. I'm open to pretty much anything except dodgy chick-lit. Cecelia Ahern is welcome to come as long as she leaves her laptop, her notebook, her vocal cords and her dad behind. It's rare that I come across a book that I immediately think I should recommend to just about everyone. If anyone feels they have come across such a book please recommend it to me and I'll try to pick it up at the airport bookshop in the morning. Absolutely anything at all.
Of course, if you mention the Da Vinci Code I will hunt you and I will find you.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
6
A Picture
I'm not inclined to put pictures of myself up here at all, as I find it a bit vain to be honest. Blogs are not Facebook profiles. But I was looking through some old pictures earlier, and was thinking of how most of them never really represent the experience you were having at the time when the photo was taken.
For me, things like songs, sounds and smells are far more visceral in terms of reminding me of a certain time. To this day, if I smell Physio Sport anti-perspirant I am instantly transported to the back of a Landrover travelling along bumpy roads in Kenya in 1999, as that was my choice of deodorant for a trip there. Listening to certain songs from Ash's '1977' album reminds me of being miserable on a French exchange trip, nursing my first broken heart as I tried to figure out why everyone there kept speaking French to me and asking if I wanted to eat 'the crap' (I later discovered what a 'crepe' was).
Yet I found one photo that, above all others, captures the essence of a moment beautifully.
Would you like to see it?
That's me in Seoul, South Korea where I taught on a one month contract in January 2006. Given how I was only there for a short time I decided it would be best if I went out every single night and sampled as much Korean culture as possible by eating and drinking anything I knew the Korean word for, indulging wildly in karaoke, smoking (because you could) in weird little private cinemas which only accommodate 2 or 4 people, and telling taxi-drivers I was a swedish popstar. I also worked 9-5 six days a week and had a 2 and a half hour round trip to work so sleep wasn't really a high priority. There's only so long one can sustain that kind of tempo and for me it was about two and a half weeks before my body crashed. I coughed violently all the time and found myself unable to stomach the school lunches of rice, octopus, fucked-up miso soup, more octopus and kimchi (the national Korean dish, best summarised as pickled fermented cabbage). Which meant there was nothing to eat. Other colleagues also fell ill around the same time, and the school weren't best pleased with them needing time off so I had no choice but to work through it. I recall one class where the 6 year-olds I was teaching reading to would calmly take it in turns to read out loud before waking me politely at the end of each round.
This photo was taken on my worst day, and that's why it encapsulates the experience so well. I look like a piece of boiled shit, completely lost in a surreal country and yet giving enough of a smile to betray that I was loving every minute anyway. The way the kids turned out blurred just heightens the effect.
I still prefer to have other triggers to important memories in life but I'd love to think that everyone would have at least one photo that captures a complicated feeling in the way this one does for me.
For me, things like songs, sounds and smells are far more visceral in terms of reminding me of a certain time. To this day, if I smell Physio Sport anti-perspirant I am instantly transported to the back of a Landrover travelling along bumpy roads in Kenya in 1999, as that was my choice of deodorant for a trip there. Listening to certain songs from Ash's '1977' album reminds me of being miserable on a French exchange trip, nursing my first broken heart as I tried to figure out why everyone there kept speaking French to me and asking if I wanted to eat 'the crap' (I later discovered what a 'crepe' was).
Yet I found one photo that, above all others, captures the essence of a moment beautifully.
Would you like to see it?
That's me in Seoul, South Korea where I taught on a one month contract in January 2006. Given how I was only there for a short time I decided it would be best if I went out every single night and sampled as much Korean culture as possible by eating and drinking anything I knew the Korean word for, indulging wildly in karaoke, smoking (because you could) in weird little private cinemas which only accommodate 2 or 4 people, and telling taxi-drivers I was a swedish popstar. I also worked 9-5 six days a week and had a 2 and a half hour round trip to work so sleep wasn't really a high priority. There's only so long one can sustain that kind of tempo and for me it was about two and a half weeks before my body crashed. I coughed violently all the time and found myself unable to stomach the school lunches of rice, octopus, fucked-up miso soup, more octopus and kimchi (the national Korean dish, best summarised as pickled fermented cabbage). Which meant there was nothing to eat. Other colleagues also fell ill around the same time, and the school weren't best pleased with them needing time off so I had no choice but to work through it. I recall one class where the 6 year-olds I was teaching reading to would calmly take it in turns to read out loud before waking me politely at the end of each round.
This photo was taken on my worst day, and that's why it encapsulates the experience so well. I look like a piece of boiled shit, completely lost in a surreal country and yet giving enough of a smile to betray that I was loving every minute anyway. The way the kids turned out blurred just heightens the effect.
I still prefer to have other triggers to important memories in life but I'd love to think that everyone would have at least one photo that captures a complicated feeling in the way this one does for me.
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