Today was the day that I ran out of things to do.
My last exam was at the beginning of June and the last 2 and a half months have melted away. Don't get me wrong I've had a brilliant time but it's gone way too fast. I don't think life will ever be this care-free again and it sucks.
This time in 10 years I could be married. Obviously I'd need to find a girl first, and at this rate it's not likely because Karma isn't my friend but the thought's still really scary.
This time in 10 years I'll be worrying about turning 30, not 20 and my dad will be pushing 60. No doubt I'll be working 9-5 all week and all my hopes and dreams will have been smashed. Ah well, I might not even live that long. I'll just have to make the most of it wont I?
Thursday 13 August 2009
Sunday 9 August 2009
Gran Canaria Blog
So, 2 guys go on holiday alone, kinda gay huh? SHUT UP! THIS IS THE 21st CENTURY, GET OVER YOURSELF!
Ok, so that’s that over with (for now). This blog will be a little different and will probably only be enjoyed by me and Phil, but screw the rest of you ‘cause I’m writing it anyway.
Me and Señor Bexley had a very subdued ride to the airport, mainly because my step-dad decided that he’d listen to the Cricket commentary on the radio for the full journey. Now, Cricket’s boring on TV, but radio cricket is like a mild sedative. I zoned out for 2 hours and forgot who I was. Infact at one point I think I actually thought I was Andrew Flintoff. Therefore you can imagine our relief when we finally got to the airport to check in. We had a little mis-hap when Phil forgot that pasties aren’t allowed in your hand-luggage. The poor guy had packed 5 steak slices and 2 Cornish pasties which he had to throw away, such a waste!
After being charged £9 for a Burger in the airport Phil became a little irate and tipped all of the sugar out of the bowl although he said it was an accident.
Perhaps it was the guy who when questioned as to why he was cutting infront of the 4 person long queue for security with his wife answered with, “Yes, I’ve paid for the fast lane” who really fucked with Phil’s head because I know it did with mine. The guy was taking pride in the fact that he’d probably paid an extra £50 so that he could be a smug twat and push past 4 people, which made it SO satisfying when Phil and I strolled through to the departure lounge before the smug bastard had even put his belt back on.
Sooner or later we actually arrived in Gran Canaria and were greeted by a wonderfully mongy holiday rep called Jodie, which wasn’t a pretty sight at 2am. Surprise surprise: she was from Hull, possibly the mongo capital of the world. ‘Our Jodie’ as she became known showed us to our hotel, The Altamar, which was fine except we’d been given the room right at the bottom and had to take the world’s smallest, most illogical lift at 3am to get to it and then find it in the dark.
Other than that, the hotel was generally fine. The view was great, Taxis to the main centre cost less than 5 Euros and it had 2 massive pools. The night that I melted into a puddle because of my broken fan was far from pleasant though and we only had 1 channel on the TV: Eurosport. So over the course of the week we both became experts in Cycling (BRADLEY WIGGINS!), Diving (TOM DALEY!) and erm... well, that was it all week really! We just sat back and ate and drank questionable produce e.g. Chorizo and ‘Bati’ strawberry milk. Phil particularly liked the bati.
Other activities which took place in our room included: Rubbing sun cream into each other’s backs, smelling our fragrant fridge, having slightly homo-erotic pistachio fights, pretending to be a velocoraptor, and flashing the full resort of Puerto Rico (The last 2 were just Phil’s).
So did they just stay in the apartment for a full week acting like special children you ask? Not quite, but one incident in particular makes me wish I had. We went over to a club called ‘Cream’ in Playa de Inglés one night for some party times. The drinks were 2 for 1 and within about 10 minutes I’d downed approximately 4 double vodka and cokes, not good. Fast forward 10 minutes and I’m having a race across the dance-floor on a space hopper with some girl, the prize being a shot of sambuca. Being how I am, I fell face first off the thing but still managed to win the race. I then proceeded to buy more sambuca because it was only 1 Euro a shot.
I’m not going into too much detail but let’s just say that I ended up pulling a right porker from Oldham (whose name I can’t remember) and then doing some things on a bus that I’m not proud of with a girl called Charlotte.
Moving On! Other things that we did were:
Mini-golf, we played twice and both won one each. Pardraig Harrington would be proud.
Eating tonnes of food. Especially me, I actually ate Old McDonald’s farm one night in the form of a mixed grill, I felt so ill afterwards.
We went to Aqualand, a waterpark with an awesome lazy river and obviously suffered from the age old problem of dealing with a scorching hot floor in bare feet, but all was made better when we saw possibly the most pert Spanish lady in history. The image of her goddess like ‘Tatty Bojangles’ will be forever etched into mine and Phil’s consciousnesses.
We rented a pedelo one day (jet-skis were too expensive) and nearly got destroyed by an oncoming ferry .
We took a trip on a Catamaran on the Friday out into the ocean which was good. We got off to swim for a bit which was fun until I realised I couldn’t tread water for more than 5 minutes and the water below me was 50 meters deep, but I survived and it was a good day!
Anyway I’m not gonna carry on detailing every single aspect of the holiday. I’m just gonna say it was a week very well spent with one of my best mates (even if he is sometimes a dinosaur).
So when the time came to go home, we packed up our stuff and left the chorizo in the fridge for the cleaner to enjoy. We managed to pass 2 minutes on the plane journey home trying to name the full ground-force team. We had Titchmarsh and Charlie ‘no bra’ Dimmock straight away but for some reason Tommy Walsh evaded us. Ah well, now we know!
Ok, so that’s that over with (for now). This blog will be a little different and will probably only be enjoyed by me and Phil, but screw the rest of you ‘cause I’m writing it anyway.
Me and Señor Bexley had a very subdued ride to the airport, mainly because my step-dad decided that he’d listen to the Cricket commentary on the radio for the full journey. Now, Cricket’s boring on TV, but radio cricket is like a mild sedative. I zoned out for 2 hours and forgot who I was. Infact at one point I think I actually thought I was Andrew Flintoff. Therefore you can imagine our relief when we finally got to the airport to check in. We had a little mis-hap when Phil forgot that pasties aren’t allowed in your hand-luggage. The poor guy had packed 5 steak slices and 2 Cornish pasties which he had to throw away, such a waste!
After being charged £9 for a Burger in the airport Phil became a little irate and tipped all of the sugar out of the bowl although he said it was an accident.
Perhaps it was the guy who when questioned as to why he was cutting infront of the 4 person long queue for security with his wife answered with, “Yes, I’ve paid for the fast lane” who really fucked with Phil’s head because I know it did with mine. The guy was taking pride in the fact that he’d probably paid an extra £50 so that he could be a smug twat and push past 4 people, which made it SO satisfying when Phil and I strolled through to the departure lounge before the smug bastard had even put his belt back on.
Sooner or later we actually arrived in Gran Canaria and were greeted by a wonderfully mongy holiday rep called Jodie, which wasn’t a pretty sight at 2am. Surprise surprise: she was from Hull, possibly the mongo capital of the world. ‘Our Jodie’ as she became known showed us to our hotel, The Altamar, which was fine except we’d been given the room right at the bottom and had to take the world’s smallest, most illogical lift at 3am to get to it and then find it in the dark.
Other than that, the hotel was generally fine. The view was great, Taxis to the main centre cost less than 5 Euros and it had 2 massive pools. The night that I melted into a puddle because of my broken fan was far from pleasant though and we only had 1 channel on the TV: Eurosport. So over the course of the week we both became experts in Cycling (BRADLEY WIGGINS!), Diving (TOM DALEY!) and erm... well, that was it all week really! We just sat back and ate and drank questionable produce e.g. Chorizo and ‘Bati’ strawberry milk. Phil particularly liked the bati.
Other activities which took place in our room included: Rubbing sun cream into each other’s backs, smelling our fragrant fridge, having slightly homo-erotic pistachio fights, pretending to be a velocoraptor, and flashing the full resort of Puerto Rico (The last 2 were just Phil’s).
So did they just stay in the apartment for a full week acting like special children you ask? Not quite, but one incident in particular makes me wish I had. We went over to a club called ‘Cream’ in Playa de Inglés one night for some party times. The drinks were 2 for 1 and within about 10 minutes I’d downed approximately 4 double vodka and cokes, not good. Fast forward 10 minutes and I’m having a race across the dance-floor on a space hopper with some girl, the prize being a shot of sambuca. Being how I am, I fell face first off the thing but still managed to win the race. I then proceeded to buy more sambuca because it was only 1 Euro a shot.
I’m not going into too much detail but let’s just say that I ended up pulling a right porker from Oldham (whose name I can’t remember) and then doing some things on a bus that I’m not proud of with a girl called Charlotte.
Moving On! Other things that we did were:
Mini-golf, we played twice and both won one each. Pardraig Harrington would be proud.
Eating tonnes of food. Especially me, I actually ate Old McDonald’s farm one night in the form of a mixed grill, I felt so ill afterwards.
We went to Aqualand, a waterpark with an awesome lazy river and obviously suffered from the age old problem of dealing with a scorching hot floor in bare feet, but all was made better when we saw possibly the most pert Spanish lady in history. The image of her goddess like ‘Tatty Bojangles’ will be forever etched into mine and Phil’s consciousnesses.
We rented a pedelo one day (jet-skis were too expensive) and nearly got destroyed by an oncoming ferry .
We took a trip on a Catamaran on the Friday out into the ocean which was good. We got off to swim for a bit which was fun until I realised I couldn’t tread water for more than 5 minutes and the water below me was 50 meters deep, but I survived and it was a good day!
Anyway I’m not gonna carry on detailing every single aspect of the holiday. I’m just gonna say it was a week very well spent with one of my best mates (even if he is sometimes a dinosaur).
So when the time came to go home, we packed up our stuff and left the chorizo in the fridge for the cleaner to enjoy. We managed to pass 2 minutes on the plane journey home trying to name the full ground-force team. We had Titchmarsh and Charlie ‘no bra’ Dimmock straight away but for some reason Tommy Walsh evaded us. Ah well, now we know!
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