I was woken at about 11:30 by a phone call from Chris’s fiancée, Tabitha. "Still up for seeing Soweto?" I love reliable people. I hardly know any back home!
While I waited for them I tried to check my email, but the internet wasn’t working, so I went over to tell Barbara. She got her son, Andrew to check. (BTW my brother’s name is Andrew. This is getting plain creepy now!). He tells me that they’ve used all of their download limit and need to buy some more. Oops. That’ll be me then.
As we headed to Soweto, Tab reassured me about my safety. “Nobody’s going to rob us at gunpoint.” To be honest, I was more concerned with Chris attempting to drive and program the SatNav at the same time.
We arrived in time for some authentic African food. It was an all-you-can-eat buffet featuring such local delicacies as: pap (maize meal), samp (maize rice), and magodo (tripe) - no prizes for guessing which two of those I tried - followed by jelly, ice cream and custard.
Then we headed up to house 8115 in Orlando West. The house where Mandela lived from 1945 until his arrest, and then again, shortly after his release. Our guide, Freedom, tells us that the house has been restored to exactly as it was when Mandela lived here. Really? Then why is there no bed, or kitchen? And I’m guessing those two plasma TVs weren’t there either.
As we took the scenic route home they gave me a fantastic running commentary. For example, there’s a cylindrical building in Hillbrow next to the centre. It was supposed to be flashy apartments for the jet-set, but never quite worked out that way. In fact, so many people have committed suicide by throwing themselves into its hollow centre (It’s built like a giant tube of Polos) that they’re going to fill it full of sand. I’d recommend a big bouncy castle instead
They drop me off at Fourways shopping centre, and for the first time I walk home in the dark. Barbara will kill me .. if someone else doesn’t on the way.
My night was filled with more football. The first half of Newcastle/Middlesbro’ in a Chinese Restaurant at Lonehill, and then, because everywhere closed, the second half in an “authentic Irish” pub called The Brazen Head. The brazen cheek more like; it’s about as Irish as I am … which would be “half”.
I watch the game with a guy called Graham from The Wirral. He clearly relishes the Scouser-overseas persona even though it’s dubious how long he actually lived there. At one point he makes a joke that it’s been so cold in Liverpool that Scousers have had their hands in their OWN pockets. Hilarious! I’ll have to use that .. because ALL Scousers are thieves. Cunt. Although I’m a big fat hypocrite because I let him give me a lift home. I even got his car started for him… and not the way his idea of Scousers would
That’s that. Full of a cold, no plans for tomorrow, waiting to hear from the club.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Rob's South African Adventure - Day Five. Sunday
or day off number one! Time for the REAL adventure
For the first time I made it to breakfast. I'm not wasting my days off!
"I'm afraid I've only got one slice of bread. Would you like toast?"
No problem, Barbara, no problem.
Etienne Shardlow is taking me to the Comedy Underground tonight. Last night he told me that he performs his routine as an 11 year old boy. Sounds intruiging. Before then I've a Grand Prix and two football matches to watch. Oh yes; there's no way I'd do that at home on a Sunday. (Can I just add that without a car my options are pretty limited)
I tried to watch the Grand Prix online, but the internet's not great here so called a cab. After waiting 35 mins for it, I headed what would have been a 15 minute walk to Lonehill Shopping Centre.
Lots of comics out here do material about the difference between blacks, coloureds, Indians and whites.
The only difference I've really noticed so far is that white people tend to support "Man United" whereas black people seem to favour "Man-chis-ter". I don't think there's really much humour there. Although I'd imagine when they play City today it could be interesting. "It's Man-chis-ter versus Man-chis-ter." Hmmm.
I watched the last half hour of the match. At the end it genuinely displayed the score as "Manchester UTD 2 - 0 Man City". Wow. Maybe they really are the only Man-chis-ter team.
An Arsenal/Chelsea game (less than one mile from home. Aah. home) and three Watermelon and Chilli (not as bad as they sound) Mojitos later, Etienne picked me up in a car covered in logos of a schoolboy character. Etienne doesn't drive up everyone's arse. Turns out not everybody does. Just the wankers, he tells me ... like back home, eh
It was lovely to see John Vlismus at the gig. We worked out here in 2004. Typically he didn't remember me, but did remember the DVD of Doug Stanhope material I painstakingly made for him. Then he suddenly remembered me.
The Underground is a really interesting show. Eight comics fill in the gaps around John's ego (you'll remember me next time you fucker!) show performing completely new material. To be fair, John was head and shoulders above pretty much all of them. My favourite had to be a Chinese guy doing a whole set about how Asians behave in strip clubs. A room of bemused non-strip clubbers looking confused really made me laugh.
After the show I had a drink with a few comics including Chris Forrest, who I also worked with in 2004. He said he'd take me to Soweto tomorrow. Nice thought, but I live in London, so I'm used to people cancelling last minute.
As we left, the parking guard told Etienne that the parking guard at another car park wanted a word with him "Why don't you use my car park any more?" "Er. We're at a different venue now"
And with that the police appeared from nowhere accusing us of buying drugs. If we find anything in your car we'll charge you double. Wow. I had no idea the police here worked on commission.
I finished the day watching The Apprentice (sad, eh), then went to bed safe in the knowledge that I had Match Of The Day 2 downloading for tomorrow. Sweet.
For the first time I made it to breakfast. I'm not wasting my days off!
"I'm afraid I've only got one slice of bread. Would you like toast?"
No problem, Barbara, no problem.
Etienne Shardlow is taking me to the Comedy Underground tonight. Last night he told me that he performs his routine as an 11 year old boy. Sounds intruiging. Before then I've a Grand Prix and two football matches to watch. Oh yes; there's no way I'd do that at home on a Sunday. (Can I just add that without a car my options are pretty limited)
I tried to watch the Grand Prix online, but the internet's not great here so called a cab. After waiting 35 mins for it, I headed what would have been a 15 minute walk to Lonehill Shopping Centre.
Lots of comics out here do material about the difference between blacks, coloureds, Indians and whites.
The only difference I've really noticed so far is that white people tend to support "Man United" whereas black people seem to favour "Man-chis-ter". I don't think there's really much humour there. Although I'd imagine when they play City today it could be interesting. "It's Man-chis-ter versus Man-chis-ter." Hmmm.
I watched the last half hour of the match. At the end it genuinely displayed the score as "Manchester UTD 2 - 0 Man City". Wow. Maybe they really are the only Man-chis-ter team.
An Arsenal/Chelsea game (less than one mile from home. Aah. home) and three Watermelon and Chilli (not as bad as they sound) Mojitos later, Etienne picked me up in a car covered in logos of a schoolboy character. Etienne doesn't drive up everyone's arse. Turns out not everybody does. Just the wankers, he tells me ... like back home, eh
It was lovely to see John Vlismus at the gig. We worked out here in 2004. Typically he didn't remember me, but did remember the DVD of Doug Stanhope material I painstakingly made for him. Then he suddenly remembered me.
The Underground is a really interesting show. Eight comics fill in the gaps around John's ego (you'll remember me next time you fucker!) show performing completely new material. To be fair, John was head and shoulders above pretty much all of them. My favourite had to be a Chinese guy doing a whole set about how Asians behave in strip clubs. A room of bemused non-strip clubbers looking confused really made me laugh.
After the show I had a drink with a few comics including Chris Forrest, who I also worked with in 2004. He said he'd take me to Soweto tomorrow. Nice thought, but I live in London, so I'm used to people cancelling last minute.
As we left, the parking guard told Etienne that the parking guard at another car park wanted a word with him "Why don't you use my car park any more?" "Er. We're at a different venue now"
And with that the police appeared from nowhere accusing us of buying drugs. If we find anything in your car we'll charge you double. Wow. I had no idea the police here worked on commission.
I finished the day watching The Apprentice (sad, eh), then went to bed safe in the knowledge that I had Match Of The Day 2 downloading for tomorrow. Sweet.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Rob's South African Adventure - Day Four. Saturday
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Rob's South African Adventure - Day Three. Friday
Got up at 2 after a well-earned twelve hour sleep, and went over to see Barbara to get some directions.
"I missed breakfast. Well; I slept for 12 hours"
"Yar. I saw your light on at 2"
Ok ... bit creepy now.
"By the way, you didn't close the gate with your remote when Trevor left yesterday."
Yeah? Well I play by my own rules!
"Please do that. I got this text message '3 black men, armed in a van, circulating the area'". Fuck. This shit's for real!
She gave me the directions and I walked through a lovely park to Lonehill Shopping Centre. There were no vans so I was fine.
Had a wander round. I even found a Virgin Active gym who said I could use the gym with my membership card. I'm sure I will ... at some point.
Then I went to Capello for a 300g fillet steak (never order 'medium', they think that means very well done) and went to pay them the £6 by card. My card was declined.
Luckily I had cash. When I got back to the guest house I Skype'd (is that what we say?) Egg.
"There was suspicious activity on your card so we put a security block on it. It was used on the Heathrow Express, at Terminal 5, then in Johannesburg"
"Did you not think that maybe .... I'D GONE ON HOLIDAY! Do I have to tell you before I go now?"
"We were going to send you a letter telling you why we'd blocked it"
Handy!
Incidentally, I may not be a master criminal, but if I was, I doubt I'd flee the country after stealing one credit card, paying for the journey with that card.
And it's not the first time they've done this. A couple of years ago they decided that flowers and chocolates on Valentine's Day was "suspicious activity". Cheers for making me feel like the romantic of the year, Egg.
BTW, As I left the shopping centre, Barbara rang me. "It's about to get dark. It's not safe to walk in the dark. I'm sending my son to get you." Five minutes later, her son's friend Miguel gave me a (short) lift home. Lovely, eh. You can tell me off all you want, Barbara.
At 7:30 there was a knock at my door. A guy wearing a Virgin Active Personal Trainer top was there. Bloody hell ... these guys are keen. Turns out his name is Tom and he's on at Carnival City with me.
"I take it they've warned you...." "Er ... sort of"
Oh shit. This could be carnage.
Joe then arrives in his Merc and drives us there at breakneck speed. He's right up the arse of every car, which is, according to him, acceptable here. He even laughs at how few road deaths we have in the UK. We saw five (seriously) post-accidents en route. FIVE!
Once inside Carnival City (A giant casino themed on a circus), Joe takes me to see Flashback. It's a bizarre show. It's exactly how I'd imagine Vegas to be ... if i could also allow for a budget cut in my imagination. A 40something Bonnie Tyler-type sings 80s songs accompanied by dancers, who then dance topless, before a guy in suspenders does Sweet Transvestite.
"We're on straight after this"
You're fucking kidding me!!! Now I get it.
As it plays out, the show goes really well. I think it helped that I used the line,
"I've never had to follow 6 topless dancers, a transvestite and a singing MILF before"
I say my goodbyes to the others acts I won't get to see and am driven back to MonteCasino by Ceephas.
One of the acts i won't see is an open mic called Alan Green (Not moonlighting from 5Live). He's a lovely guy who reminds me of the sort of person Terry Alderton would bring with him to his gig (bit obscure, I know). "I'm no good at maths, but you tell me 5 jokes and I'll remember them word for word". He then fucks up completely two jokes to me and Tom. Very funny.
On the way back I see a sign for "Bring a girl child to work day". I'll make a joke about Carnval City perhaps not being quite the place for that later. Ceephas doesn't laugh. Maybe not.
The Parker's gig goes well too. They like my opening line,
"It's nice to be here at your little drink drive club. Don't even try to lie to me. The car park's full and I don't see anyone drinking orange juice."
Just like the US (and if I'm honest, the Isle Of Man), drink driving is completely acceptable.
And that was pretty much that for Friday. All in all a pretty good day.
"I missed breakfast. Well; I slept for 12 hours"
"Yar. I saw your light on at 2"
Ok ... bit creepy now.
"By the way, you didn't close the gate with your remote when Trevor left yesterday."
Yeah? Well I play by my own rules!
"Please do that. I got this text message '3 black men, armed in a van, circulating the area'". Fuck. This shit's for real!
She gave me the directions and I walked through a lovely park to Lonehill Shopping Centre. There were no vans so I was fine.
Had a wander round. I even found a Virgin Active gym who said I could use the gym with my membership card. I'm sure I will ... at some point.
Then I went to Capello for a 300g fillet steak (never order 'medium', they think that means very well done) and went to pay them the £6 by card. My card was declined.
Luckily I had cash. When I got back to the guest house I Skype'd (is that what we say?) Egg.
"There was suspicious activity on your card so we put a security block on it. It was used on the Heathrow Express, at Terminal 5, then in Johannesburg"
"Did you not think that maybe .... I'D GONE ON HOLIDAY! Do I have to tell you before I go now?"
"We were going to send you a letter telling you why we'd blocked it"
Handy!
Incidentally, I may not be a master criminal, but if I was, I doubt I'd flee the country after stealing one credit card, paying for the journey with that card.
And it's not the first time they've done this. A couple of years ago they decided that flowers and chocolates on Valentine's Day was "suspicious activity". Cheers for making me feel like the romantic of the year, Egg.
BTW, As I left the shopping centre, Barbara rang me. "It's about to get dark. It's not safe to walk in the dark. I'm sending my son to get you." Five minutes later, her son's friend Miguel gave me a (short) lift home. Lovely, eh. You can tell me off all you want, Barbara.
At 7:30 there was a knock at my door. A guy wearing a Virgin Active Personal Trainer top was there. Bloody hell ... these guys are keen. Turns out his name is Tom and he's on at Carnival City with me.
"I take it they've warned you...." "Er ... sort of"
Oh shit. This could be carnage.
Joe then arrives in his Merc and drives us there at breakneck speed. He's right up the arse of every car, which is, according to him, acceptable here. He even laughs at how few road deaths we have in the UK. We saw five (seriously) post-accidents en route. FIVE!
Once inside Carnival City (A giant casino themed on a circus), Joe takes me to see Flashback. It's a bizarre show. It's exactly how I'd imagine Vegas to be ... if i could also allow for a budget cut in my imagination. A 40something Bonnie Tyler-type sings 80s songs accompanied by dancers, who then dance topless, before a guy in suspenders does Sweet Transvestite.
"We're on straight after this"
You're fucking kidding me!!! Now I get it.
As it plays out, the show goes really well. I think it helped that I used the line,
"I've never had to follow 6 topless dancers, a transvestite and a singing MILF before"
I say my goodbyes to the others acts I won't get to see and am driven back to MonteCasino by Ceephas.
One of the acts i won't see is an open mic called Alan Green (Not moonlighting from 5Live). He's a lovely guy who reminds me of the sort of person Terry Alderton would bring with him to his gig (bit obscure, I know). "I'm no good at maths, but you tell me 5 jokes and I'll remember them word for word". He then fucks up completely two jokes to me and Tom. Very funny.
On the way back I see a sign for "Bring a girl child to work day". I'll make a joke about Carnval City perhaps not being quite the place for that later. Ceephas doesn't laugh. Maybe not.
The Parker's gig goes well too. They like my opening line,
"It's nice to be here at your little drink drive club. Don't even try to lie to me. The car park's full and I don't see anyone drinking orange juice."
Just like the US (and if I'm honest, the Isle Of Man), drink driving is completely acceptable.
And that was pretty much that for Friday. All in all a pretty good day.
Rob's South African Adventure - Day Two Part Two.
By about six o'clock it was beginning to feel like the longest day of my life. After the interview I'd tried to buy a replacement bike from back home. Skype the shop, ask for the exact same bike I'd already bought from them. Simple.
No, no, no. Skype decided I had no credit left when I attempted to make the call, and by the time (2 mins) I went to their website and bought some more they'd suspended my account. An hour wasted. An hour that could have been spent sleeping. 45 minutes before being picked up, that'd be enough for a quick snooze.
This time my sheer exhaustion meant I was able to nod off very quickly. When I woke I had one of those, "please let me sleep. I'll pay you back for the accommodation and the flights and everything. Please. Just leave me here" moments
Barbara knocked round, "Shall I expect you for breakfast? It finishes at 10 but I can keep it out until 10:30 if you want" Awh. She's lovely.
Mind you, it's clearly not going to happen as I've a whole day pencilled in for my appointment with sleep. Aah sleep.
Joe Parker picked me up and I realised why the club was called Parker's Comedy and Jive. Yup, pure coincidence.
He's been doing comedy for a long, long time. He's been doing it since the days when it was acceptable to say in the UK the things they say on stage in South Africa today.
Parker's is at the MonteCasino, about 1km from the guest house. Joe set the club up last December in a room that's perfect for comedy and, tonight, packed with 300 people supporting the Wet Nose Charity (I think they rescue dogs).
When we got to the door, a girl greeted us as if we, the comedy royalty, were customers, "Can I help you?" Cool as you like Joe said, "Hi. We're the entertainment. This is Rob, he's the international comedian". I like Joe Parker. That's not how I'd have reacted, that's for sure. I'd have been a dick.
"Can I help you? Yes, you can help me. You can get the fuck out of my way. I'm Joe Parker. I'm fucking Joe Parker. As in Parker's Comedy. Look at the sign. That's my name or did you think it was a pure coincidence?"
I decided to watch the first two acts before settling on my set, but that was a fruitless task as I didn't have a fucking clue what they were going on about.
Somehow I muddled my way through 38 minutes and that was that; time for sleep. Well, sleep or the temptation to drink at the bar. Oh go on then.
"What's the best beer you sell?"
"Black Label"
"Cool. Sounds good."
I kid you not; their favourite beer is Carling Black Label. Fuck me; what else you got behind there? Cans of Breaker?
So that's that. First gig done. Feeling very positive about this trip ... and completely exhausted.
Bed.
No, no, no. Skype decided I had no credit left when I attempted to make the call, and by the time (2 mins) I went to their website and bought some more they'd suspended my account. An hour wasted. An hour that could have been spent sleeping. 45 minutes before being picked up, that'd be enough for a quick snooze.
This time my sheer exhaustion meant I was able to nod off very quickly. When I woke I had one of those, "please let me sleep. I'll pay you back for the accommodation and the flights and everything. Please. Just leave me here" moments
Barbara knocked round, "Shall I expect you for breakfast? It finishes at 10 but I can keep it out until 10:30 if you want" Awh. She's lovely.
Mind you, it's clearly not going to happen as I've a whole day pencilled in for my appointment with sleep. Aah sleep.
Joe Parker picked me up and I realised why the club was called Parker's Comedy and Jive. Yup, pure coincidence.
He's been doing comedy for a long, long time. He's been doing it since the days when it was acceptable to say in the UK the things they say on stage in South Africa today.
Parker's is at the MonteCasino, about 1km from the guest house. Joe set the club up last December in a room that's perfect for comedy and, tonight, packed with 300 people supporting the Wet Nose Charity (I think they rescue dogs).
When we got to the door, a girl greeted us as if we, the comedy royalty, were customers, "Can I help you?" Cool as you like Joe said, "Hi. We're the entertainment. This is Rob, he's the international comedian". I like Joe Parker. That's not how I'd have reacted, that's for sure. I'd have been a dick.
"Can I help you? Yes, you can help me. You can get the fuck out of my way. I'm Joe Parker. I'm fucking Joe Parker. As in Parker's Comedy. Look at the sign. That's my name or did you think it was a pure coincidence?"
I decided to watch the first two acts before settling on my set, but that was a fruitless task as I didn't have a fucking clue what they were going on about.
Somehow I muddled my way through 38 minutes and that was that; time for sleep. Well, sleep or the temptation to drink at the bar. Oh go on then.
"What's the best beer you sell?"
"Black Label"
"Cool. Sounds good."
I kid you not; their favourite beer is Carling Black Label. Fuck me; what else you got behind there? Cans of Breaker?
So that's that. First gig done. Feeling very positive about this trip ... and completely exhausted.
Bed.
Rob's South African Adventure - Day Two Part One.
As I queued at Passport Control, a horrible thought hit me - I had no idea who was picking me up, where I was staying, er .. anything to be honest. What if they deported me, or shot me ... that's what they do in Johannesburg. It was on the news.
As it was, there was nothing to worry about. After shuffling past a man that it can be fair to say "has let himself go" (PIC1) I sailed through. Not literally. I literally walked through but without too much delay.
As I emerged from the airport I was greeted by the smiling Michelle from the club holding my name up. I said goodbye to the man in the best shirt ever (by which I mean laughed at him with Michele) (PIC2) and we headed 40km to the accommodation. Although it's called the Dennis Road Guest House I'm in a lovely little cottage.
I was greeted there by Barbara
"That's my mum's name"
"Rob's my husband's name"
"And my dad's"
Typical I go halfway round the planet to stay with the South African version of my parents.
Barbara and Michelle laughed at my suggestion that I may sit out in the 19C sun ("In winter?"), and I decided to catch up on some sleep. After about two hours of dozing I managed to crack it and drifted off for all of 10 minutes before there was a banging on my door.
"Hi. I'm Trevor. Are you ready for this interview?"
The towel wrapped around my otherwise naked, tired and sweaty body should have given him some clues.
"Hmmm. ... take your time then"
We headed off to do a podcast for the SA Times with a guy called Brendan Jacks.
"He's really funny and off-the-wall. It'll be fun"
The podcast (or Jackast as they call it) was OK if stilted a little by Brendan's need for me to only answer questions about my biog. Whenever I deviated and tried to be funny he looked bemused, although I've been told that's his style. He looked genuinely gutted when I told him my story of upsetting the town of Wrexham as he hadn't found that in my biog.
He did say one thing that puzzled me. "Are you doing Carnival City?" "I don't know". Michelle asked me the same question earlier, with the same look on her face. One that suggested it may not be the most normal of gigs.
From there Trevor took me to a shopping centre where I bought supplies from Woolworth's. Apparently they're still going strong here. That might have something to do with all of their products being branded M&S stuff. "Sometimes they even accidentally print M&S on them"
He's promised to take me to an IPL cricket match next weekend too. I'm blown away by just how nice everyone is.
Just before he left he told me he was away all weekend and that someone would come for me later.
"By the way; have they told you if you're doing Carnival City?"
No! YOU'RE "they"!
So back to the guest house and time to prepare for my first gig ......
Rob's South African Adventure - Day One (and two I suppose)
I'm off to Johannesburg for the next ten days and ten gigs. Apparently I'm going to have lots of time on my hands. Brilliant; I can get all that work I've been putting off done ... or I could write a pointless blog about the trip. Welcome.
I was very excited at the prospect of almost two weeks in the sun right up until the point yesterday when I checked the weather forecast - 5 days of torrential rain. Ah well, just so long as it's shit in the UK too.
Wednesday couldn't have started any worse (it could have, but I'll leave that in for dramatic effect). I was half-packed and looking forward to a leisurely pre-flight cycle. For those of you who I haven't bored rigid yet, I bought a bike in October which I was riding on a trainer indoors up until 2 weeks ago when I ventured out onto the roads. On Monday I cycled into Central London. On Tuesday I very nearly had a fight with a motorist. I'm getting well into it.
So I was gutted when I opened the curtains to see our railings had been sawn through right about the point where my bike should have been. Shit. My own fault, I know. Never leave your bike outside overnight ... as my friends have too enthusiastically told me. But my flatmate leaves his there EVERY night. "Yeah, but mine's shit. Yours is a good one. Well, was a good one"
The leisurely cycle was replaced with trying to sort the insurance and get a crime reference number off the police. If I'd have been superstitious I might have though it was a bad omen for the trip. I did anyway.
Once I left the flat though, the rest of the day played out perfectly. The cab driver took a lovely scenic route through the leafy parts of North London to Paddington, arriving a full 4 minutes before the Heathrow Express left. Perfect. I arrived at Terminal 5 3 whole hours before my flight, you know, like your parents do. I was already checked in, so just needed to drop my bags off.
"Business or pleasure"
"Er ... business I think"
"You didn't just say that to me."
"Oh right ... I'm going there on holiday"
"You don't want to sit in that seat. I'll move you here so you get 3 seats. Check at the gate. If any of them go, ask and they'll move you to another empty row"
And with that, the most amazing check-in guy ever put a "Priority" tag on my luggage.
After a nice Giraffe meal, some optimistic suntan lotion shopping, and an excited Ciroc vodka purchase, I settled down to illegally watch Chelsea Vs Barcelona on my laptop.
(Here's a couple of things I saw that made me chuckle. For some reason it won't let me upload them to the note). http://twitpic.com/4o6e6 http://twitpic.com/4sbs4
Once onboard, I noticed that a woman had the utter cheek to have been seated next to me. I explained to the steward that I was special and he said, "Seeing as you've been so nice and asked me before anyone else I'll move you once we take off". My temporary row-partner was very pleased with me.
After kicking a cheeky kid out of my four seats I settled in for 10 hours of not-as-cramped-as-normal fun. Nothing could ruin this. Even when the entertainment on the seat I'd sat in didn't work. I just found it funny and moved to the seat next to it. I was checking the Chelsea score on my phone. 1-0 as they headed into injury time and I lost the signal. Well done Chelsea, eh.
Then some woman started kicking off. "Why does he get a whole row to himself? I've come from another flight. I should get it." "What do you want me to do? Move him?"
After dinner they did move me. Bollocks. Had they really listened to her? Indeed they had. They'd listened to her selfish moaning and moved me to Business Class, where I would belong if I ever attempted to fulfil my potential.
I was a fish out of water there in that I flapped around for a bit then died. I loved it up there. Stewardess Sue told me how everything worked then brought me some Vodka. Smirnoff Blue Label. Not shitty Red Label like that lot downstairs are drinking.
I watched Inkheart (very shit) and The Wrestler (very good) and drank more Vodka. At one point I buzzed Sue over.
"Another Vodka?"
"No. I was a bit lonely and just fancied a chat .... oh go on then, another Vodka it is"
Boy was I having fun! Surely that's the problem with Business Class - I would want to waste my money by sleeping through this fantastic service and comfort.
The flight flew by (ha ha. I accidentally wrote that). I slept for two hours then headed into the airport ready to enjoy South Africa.
Sorry this one's so long ... it was a very long day!
I was very excited at the prospect of almost two weeks in the sun right up until the point yesterday when I checked the weather forecast - 5 days of torrential rain. Ah well, just so long as it's shit in the UK too.
Wednesday couldn't have started any worse (it could have, but I'll leave that in for dramatic effect). I was half-packed and looking forward to a leisurely pre-flight cycle. For those of you who I haven't bored rigid yet, I bought a bike in October which I was riding on a trainer indoors up until 2 weeks ago when I ventured out onto the roads. On Monday I cycled into Central London. On Tuesday I very nearly had a fight with a motorist. I'm getting well into it.
So I was gutted when I opened the curtains to see our railings had been sawn through right about the point where my bike should have been. Shit. My own fault, I know. Never leave your bike outside overnight ... as my friends have too enthusiastically told me. But my flatmate leaves his there EVERY night. "Yeah, but mine's shit. Yours is a good one. Well, was a good one"
The leisurely cycle was replaced with trying to sort the insurance and get a crime reference number off the police. If I'd have been superstitious I might have though it was a bad omen for the trip. I did anyway.
Once I left the flat though, the rest of the day played out perfectly. The cab driver took a lovely scenic route through the leafy parts of North London to Paddington, arriving a full 4 minutes before the Heathrow Express left. Perfect. I arrived at Terminal 5 3 whole hours before my flight, you know, like your parents do. I was already checked in, so just needed to drop my bags off.
"Business or pleasure"
"Er ... business I think"
"You didn't just say that to me."
"Oh right ... I'm going there on holiday"
"You don't want to sit in that seat. I'll move you here so you get 3 seats. Check at the gate. If any of them go, ask and they'll move you to another empty row"
And with that, the most amazing check-in guy ever put a "Priority" tag on my luggage.
After a nice Giraffe meal, some optimistic suntan lotion shopping, and an excited Ciroc vodka purchase, I settled down to illegally watch Chelsea Vs Barcelona on my laptop.
(Here's a couple of things I saw that made me chuckle. For some reason it won't let me upload them to the note). http://twitpic.com/4o6e6 http://twitpic.com/4sbs4
Once onboard, I noticed that a woman had the utter cheek to have been seated next to me. I explained to the steward that I was special and he said, "Seeing as you've been so nice and asked me before anyone else I'll move you once we take off". My temporary row-partner was very pleased with me.
After kicking a cheeky kid out of my four seats I settled in for 10 hours of not-as-cramped-as-normal fun. Nothing could ruin this. Even when the entertainment on the seat I'd sat in didn't work. I just found it funny and moved to the seat next to it. I was checking the Chelsea score on my phone. 1-0 as they headed into injury time and I lost the signal. Well done Chelsea, eh.
Then some woman started kicking off. "Why does he get a whole row to himself? I've come from another flight. I should get it." "What do you want me to do? Move him?"
After dinner they did move me. Bollocks. Had they really listened to her? Indeed they had. They'd listened to her selfish moaning and moved me to Business Class, where I would belong if I ever attempted to fulfil my potential.
I was a fish out of water there in that I flapped around for a bit then died. I loved it up there. Stewardess Sue told me how everything worked then brought me some Vodka. Smirnoff Blue Label. Not shitty Red Label like that lot downstairs are drinking.
I watched Inkheart (very shit) and The Wrestler (very good) and drank more Vodka. At one point I buzzed Sue over.
"Another Vodka?"
"No. I was a bit lonely and just fancied a chat .... oh go on then, another Vodka it is"
Boy was I having fun! Surely that's the problem with Business Class - I would want to waste my money by sleeping through this fantastic service and comfort.
The flight flew by (ha ha. I accidentally wrote that). I slept for two hours then headed into the airport ready to enjoy South Africa.
Sorry this one's so long ... it was a very long day!
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