act your age.....

Ok. This blog is being typed 1 handed. No. This is not a new hobby I've taken up. Just the result of weekend revelries in Bristol. Aaaah to feel young....and very stupid again.....

So for the second time I have visited friends living outside London and come back injured. There seems to be some strange pattern emerging. On both occasions travelling to Germany I was also sick with a 'flu virus and my extended travels have involved getting sick with a tummy bug. So... perhaps I should just lock myself in my flat and not venture out....not a chance...

Well what have I done to myself this time? Yes, a visit to Bristol to hang out with a fellow Aussie noise friend who I used to collaborate with in an improv band in Brisbane. For desperate want of a better name we called ouselves Project Project. Anyway, check out his website for some of the latest and greatest on Aussie new music. Halftheory .

Bristol is a 2.5 hr bus trip from London. The train takes only 1.5 hrs, but costs twice as much. So needless to say, my hip pocket called the shots on taking the bus. And the journey wasn't so unpleasant. Loaded with uni students and their packed lunches. (A very good and sophisticated idea. Mental note to self to buy a flask to take travelling).

Like most English cities, or for that matter Aussie cities, the visitor is welcomed by a rather glib array of shopping malls. Mainstream chain stores and a distinct lack of charm. Of course my friend was nowhere to be seen. A call to his mobile revealed the seedy circumstanes... I'd just woken him, hungover after the third night of hard partying... he he he.... looks like he was about to add a 4th hangover in a row....

My only complaint was the burglar masquerading as a cabbie when we arrived. I swear he must ordinarily wear a full balaclava and carry a sawn off shot gun. The meter was set at 2.70GBP, considerably higher than the standard London minimum of 2.20GBP. Then I just watched horrified as it whizzed around out of control. 7.50GBP to go not very far....

But the weekend was really just about 'chilling' out. Which is exactly what we did in a lovely graveyard for a while... sipping on chilled Aussie white and partaking in camembert and crackers... yeah... so the outdoor picnic cooled off my anger about the taxi fare and had me looking forward to a nice warm corner in a pub.

Bristol reminded me a lot of Newcastle near Sydney. Relatively untouched by WW II, with row upon row of Victorian terrace housing. It has a fantastic cafe scene full of students, alternative arty types, musos and live gigs galore. And just like Newy it doesn't have the pretentiousness of the big city. Industrial and edgy. Definitely my kind of place. ....Actually my second complaint is the prices we paid in general. 3.00GBP for a pint of Stella! That's damned expensive! Especially for outside London. I don't even pay that in London.... what's with that!!!!! That was a real let down. Paying worse than London prices...

But that obviously didn't stop me from getting stuck into a few pints. A truly awesome night was had. Lots of great local bands. Improv. Goth/ industrial. New-punk-jazz. Chewed the fat with some way cool and interesting folks. And progressively got very drunk.

So after closing we naturally ventured to yet another pub. Another drunken mumbled conversation to whoever was unlucky enough to be standing close by. And a double gin and tonic... wha the fu@%!!!!... a call from yonder to round us up to head on to a house party.....and, going with the flow... I FELL OUT OF THE PUB!!!!!....

In front of EVERYONE!...How embarassment!....There was some kind of intense pain searing through my left hand and wrist, but I was too overcome with humiliation and the need to save face. Some lovely young man helped me to my feet. I saluted the crowd and we headed off to this house party....by this stage i had lost my Aussie friend, but obviously made other booze buddies, so figured it would be all good and I'd just go with the flow... these things sort themselves out and it's not like the first time I would have ended up on the floor or couch of a stranger's house. I am now thinking of a couple of such occasions in Newie, Australia....

......Aged 27. Where i've had some fab weed and sipped on Stone's ginger wine until the wee hours, waking up to a beautiful sunny day and realising moments later that I'd just missed the bus to Canberra....hey... we have to miss the bus every now and then.... otherwise I wouldn't have been asked to stay for breakfast and I would never have tasted the best porridge ever...not kidding you. This was a life changing experience. Nuts and citrus peel with cinammon in the porridge... breakfast bliss...topped with a nice cuppa... Now with winter coming on in Europe and life getting just that bit hectic and manic it's the quiet, comforting and unexpected simple pleasures I look forward to...

And back to the Bristol story.... Now aged 33....The party was pumping when we arrived. Naturally I found my way to the basement where the jamming was well underway. Drums, bass and guitar. Oh! a tin whistle and some guy with a dictaphone (who I found out later goes by the name Cedric and is French).... So I simply had to join in. Screaming into the dictaphone and wowing the party goers with my prowess on the tin whistle, plus my complete lack of ability with a bass.... whatever.... it did occur to me that I was doing damage to my voice and could be a little husky at choir on Tuesday. (For those interested, Sat 2nd Dec we're performing Handel's Messiah at the Union Chapel in Islington 5 quid. Islington Choral Society).

Eventually it was time to go. My Aussie friend had found me and dragged me out to find a taxi. A couple of quick goodbyes and a big hug to the nice young man who picked me up off the pavement and helped me to the party. Last seen playing drums, I never got his name, but if he does happen to read this then 'thanks!'.

So we did ask the cabbie to stop so we could go to the chippy....4am...and we got a lecture from the owner... hey.... it looked open when we walked inside the shop....alas....we staggered into the house and to bed...nothing much to say about that....

Morning...I awake... head feels fine... well, ok enough after a few several too many beers....but OH MY LORD! Such a pain throbbing in my left arm...and twice the size of my right wrist and hand. This needed medical attention. A makeshift gauze bandage to provide some support and within the space of just a few hours I had popped 4 heavy duty pain killers. Left overs from my visit to Devon just a couple of weeks earlier, where I'd fallen down some stairs and injured the same wrist and landed heavily on my ass. Only that time I was sober and I could barely sit down for a week.

The drive back to London was somewhat subdued. The old red volvo laden down with band gear for the driver's gig in London and all of us considerably hung over.

I was in considerable pain, but feeling quite content overall with my Bristol experience. That is, until we pulled in for petrol along the M4. I guess it was just too many painkillers, combined with a hangover and still fighting off the remnants of a virus from the previous weekend in Bonn, Germany. It all caught up with me and I was left feeling like dying after orally depositing my insides in the service station toilet. Was I going to make it back to London in one piece?

As it turns out, I did make it home ok. We had left over Chinese for tea last night. But I soon felt ill again and went to bed early.

I took today off work. I did try calling my GP early, but they were booked out. So I rested a bit more and ventured down to the Accident and Emergency at Homerton Hospital. No luck there either. The queue to see a doctor was at least 5 hours long....Monday is a busy time for A&E. Full of deadbeats who injured themselves on drunken nights out over the weekend.... how inconsiderate...So feeling rather desperate I sat on a park bench and pondered my options....now I won't get started on slagging off how bad the NHS is in the UK. It absolutely sucks arse! The doctors are former concentration camp guards and the reception staff are escaped prisoners who have the world's biggest chip on their shoulders. Personality plus! Not!

My only option was to forlornly mope into the pharmacist and plead for some first aid advice. The guy was actually very helpful and now I'm sitting here in considerably less pain. My wrist now has a proper compression bandage and supported by a sling. So I'll go to work tomorrow and attempt the A&E again early wednesday. Promise to keep you posted.

I'm having an inward chuckle to myself. This is all self inflicted, but I absolutely don't regret my weekend. it's good to know that the high pressured corporate job and banal work functions haven't killed off the inner wild child..... Look out Europe! I've been hidden away for a while, but it's time to come out of hiding.... I so can't wait for my next adventure.