Notting Hill in the morning, kicking things off.

Gloucester Road, later on in the day.

 A gentleman and his automobile, Gloucester Road.

  Big upping it in front of Big Ben.

 The next addition of “Wheres Ed?” – I’m in this photo somewhere.

 The solution…

Notting Hill carnival.  Every road you walked down looked like this – hard work.

A typical costume at the Notting Hill carnival.

Walking to Oktoberfest, early morning, opening day.  Very German looking people.

 Oktoberfest, opening morning, Hofbrau house.

Oktoberfest, Munich, September (the irony!).  If you were wearing underwear, it was ripped from your body and thrown onto this rotating figure, much to the delight of the crowd.

Oktoberfest again, dusk, opening night.

New Years eve night.  This was as exciting as things got.

 Our view of the fireworks, New Years eve night.

The London eye and Big Ben.  The best description I’ve heard of the eye was courtesy of a kiwi: “faaaar, mean ferris wheel bro”. Not sure when I took this.

 Being cool outside Ed’s.

Bye for now.

 Anyway, the France trip. 

A fairly big group (10 or so) of us headed to the middle of London on the 21st of December to catch the bus that was to take us to Tignes, which is in southern France.  18 hours, one missed ferry and 3 hours sleep later we reached Tignes, which is in southern France.  We arrived early in the afternoon, and having picked up our boards and boots, had nothing better to do than to head to the pub.  Tignes (in southern France) is really quite lovely – it sits in a valley in the french alps, so offers pretty good views in all directions.  To prove this, I stepped outside, looked in every direction I could think of, and was pleased with the results.  Even my shoes look good in Tignes, which is in southern France.

We were up early enough to catch the first chair after breakfast the next morning – the weather was ok, a little cloudy at first, however after a few runs cleared a bit, which helped blow out  the cobwebs.  A good, accident free day, and a few beers that night was a good way to get into the holiday spirit.  The next day dawned fine: cloudless, beautiful and crisp like only mountain air can be – it stayed like this the whole day too.  The mountains took some getting used to compared to those back home – basically everywhere you look is accessable by lift.  We spent a few days just exploring various different runs, doing the ones we really liked a few times before heading off to try somewhere new – the options were vast, and all good fun. 

 A few more days were spent in the sun, getting burnt, riding lots, then having a few at night.  Christmas rolled around quickly, quite without warning.  If 2007 was a pizza, Christmas would have been a jalapeno hidden underneath some cheese - one minute you’re eating pizza, the next your mouth is burning and its Christmas.  We had a champagne breakfast, exchanged secret santa presents and costumed up to go snowboarding for the day.  I was dressed as a bottle of tequila – I chose this costume as it made no sense whatsoever, which appealed a great deal.  Pink panther, scooby doo, b-Batman, a taco, a ghostbuster and a bottle of tequila headed up the gondola to the meeting place for the tour group photo.  We alit from the gondola to cheers and high fives.  Soon people started asking for photos with us - for a while there I knew what being a celebrity (admittedly, one dressed as a bottle of tequila) was like: “sure I can be in your photo, which camera am I looking at?”.  Photos taken, autographs signed and babies kissed, we spent the rest of a cloudless Christmas day in France sliding down hills.

 The rest of the time was more of the same really – lots of boarding, a torn shoulder ligament for one of the group, parties at night (I went dressed as a bottle of tequila to the dress up night…) and a bit more boarding.  The weather was pretty much perfect the whole time – always clear and crisp.  We went to dinner one night and the temperature was reading -11 celcius, which, to use a Dad-ism, was “bracing”.  I had a mad fun time, with good snow, better scenery and even better people.  Even the French were very nice people – any I dealt with did not live up to their unfortunate stereotype – quite the opposite in fact, very welcoming and polite, all round a bunch of good buggers. 

Tignes* was good times – after an 18 hour bus journey home, I left my ipod on the bus though.  R.I.P ipod, may the person who picked it up appreciate it as much as I miss it. 

* Tignes, in Southern France

 Tignes, from the apartment balcony.

The subway train from the bottom to the top of the mountain – this did my head in. They built an underground railway from the bottom of one of the main mountains right to the top.

Right at the top of the mountain, just off the subway train.

Tignes, at night, from the apartment balcony.  I rested the camera on the handrail and left the exposure going for 15 seconds – super stoked with how it came out.

Same thing.

 Being awesome at the top of the mountain.

 Looking up one of the hills.

 boarding on the first day, this turned into a black run, mighty hard work.

 Being awesome on a lift.

 Boarding on Christmas Day, full garb.

 Being awesome in Tignes, which is in southern France.

Anyway, photos.

 Nice one.

 To find out what its like to kiss a ginger mexican, kiss this photo.

 This photo made me laugh,  I “borrowed” a friends leather jacket, I’m laughing in the photo for several reasons: 1. I’m a wee bit inebriated. 2. the jacket has cut the blood circulation to my arms and 3. I have the worlds worst moustache.

I’m off work sick at the moment – a tummy bug as far as I can tell, hopefully It will not keep me off work for too long – I need to money for France next week…

 Thats all for now.

 We arrived in Frankfurt an hour later, dropped outside the train station.  Having purchased food (I’ll not be beaten in another weigh off!) and train tickets, we waited in the German morning sun for our fast train to Munich.  At the time printed on the ticket (grr) we boarded a fast train – just not the fast train that was going to Munich.  Alighting at the next station (ironically, the Frankfurt Airport station), much conversation was entered into, reasonably heated words were exchanged with German customer service reps, beer was purchased, and we jumped on the tube, with the knowledge that we now had a 6 hour train journey to Munich ahead of us (including 4 train changes).  This meant that we saw a lot of the German countryside, which is very picturesque – lots of green hills, nice weather and Germans (who were not green, but were more often than not, very nice).

We reached Munich in darkness, and met some friends of the people I was with.  They took us on the tube to the camp site, which was where all the van tour people were staying.  To avoid paying, we threw our bags over the fence, then walked in; all confidence and practiced indifference.  I had my tent with me – they very tent that I had won at a pub a few weeks earlier.  I didn’t have my rocket science degree with me though, which rendered my tent impossible to erect.  This tent, when up, is supposed to look like the bastard child of a banana and an outrigger canoe – it was horrific.  I gave up after an hour of trying and poked the poles in the ground, clipped the fly to poles and slept in the hole this created.  Needs must. 

The next morning (Saturday) I was woken by the people running the camp ground – apparently my tent was put up in the wrong area.  I offered that describing my tent as “up” was a little enthusiastic.  After having moved my tent, it was on with shorts, off with underwear (more on this later) and off to the opening day of Oktoberfest.  We were headed towards the Hofbrau house – a beer house famous amongst the gathered antipodean folk.  We arrived at 9 – just before the doors were due to open.  When they did, the crowd stampeded – there would have been a few thousand waiting to get in and claim a table (a table is required to get beer off the beer maids). 

The first keg was tapped, to much fanfare and cheering, at noon.  This meant a 3 hour period to fill.  We had a table in the “pig pen” – an area almost solidly made up of Aussies and Kiwis.  There is a no underwear rule in the pig pen, rigidly enforced for both genders.  If someone was spotted wearing any item of underwear, said item was removed and thrown onto a large statue rotating above the pen.  The cheers when an item made it onto the statue and stayed there were both deafening, and deeply amusing.  The beer, when it appeared, was very nice – quite pale, but crisp and refreshing.  And sold in steins.  A few steins into the afternoon and things started getting a bit blurry.  Much underwear was removed, beer was drunk, and at some stage we all thought it a good idea to rip our sleeves off – Stallone style.  The day continued as it started really – beer, muscle shirts and a bit of dancing to the german band.  Later that night I tried some of the carnival rides they have there – imagine rainbows end, but with beer.  I’m not sure who thought it a good idea to put carnival rides in with stupid amounts of beer.  Cleaning companies perhaps.  Good fun though.

I got back to the camp site, crashed in a mates tent, waking up later to go and collect a lost mate from a nearby petrol station.  He was wearing a flower lay and a girls top.  He only vaguely remembers acquiring the top, but the lay is a complete mystery.  The next day, more of the same, we woke, had a feed, grabbed our bags (we flew out that night) and went back to the beerfest.  It was a different sort of day, a lot more layed back – a few beers in the sun, and a german feed – good times indeed.  In the afternoon, we bid farewells, got our bags from storage and made our way to the airport.  We’d had beautiful weather, good beer and better times.  Getting on the plane sucked.  We landed in drizzly London, got on the smelly tube and arrived back at dirty Shepherds Bush.  Mad fun though.

In other news, I’m still sussing a more permanent place to stay – we’ve got a house about 5 mins away from where I am at the moment and we should move in in a few weeks.  If the real estate agent gets sorted.  Ever.  My job still sucks, I’m not enjoying it at all at the moment, however it is money, which I need.  Christmas looks like it might be spent snowboarding in France – if I can get the money together in time – I’ll keep you posted.  Thats all for now – its taken me ages to write this; ka ki te.

This Friday I fly to Frankfurt in Germany, from there we (the flat folk and associated stragglers) will somehow make our way to Munich for the Octoberfest.  I’m looking forward to catching up with everyone from all over the place.  Being that its a special occasion, I may even have a beer; I’ll see how I get on.  Needless to say, I’m looking forward to getting out of London for the weekend.

Otherwise, life in London carries on, being fun, if currently not overly exciting.  Weekends continue to make up for some fairly average working weeks.  Much rugby is also being watched, discussed and over analysed. 

 I’m going now – words are not exactly flowing out of me right now.

 ps.  RIP Colin McRae – another dead hero

Last weekend was a long weekend – Monday was a bank holiday – and incredibly, the weather was beautiful throughout.  It had been raining and being generally very british for the week up till that point, however Saturday dawned a beautiful day.  With not much to do, and breakfast taken care of, I ventured for a walk, first to the Shepherd’s Bush markets just round the corner.  These are like the Otara Markets only they smell worse and have a different accent.  Most of it seems to be redundant or unsusual clothing.  Three pairs of yellow socks for a pound, the worlds largest pair of womens underwear (the Shepherd’s Bush markets at least have a good base for an America’s Cup challenge) or a fake Dior neckercheif.  Having negotiated the markets with finances intact, I wandered the streets for a while longer, until I happened upon a music instrument store.  Light bulbs glowed above me, wheels clicked into place and I ventured inside, alighting minutes later with guitar and tuner in hand.  Being able to come home from work and potter around on a musical instrument is excellent – I didn’t realise how much I missed it till I got the guitar.  Saturday was spent in the yard with the washing and guitar.

Sunday we (the flattys and some others) went to Richmond – a 30 minute tube ride.  It was all very picturesque – the river nearby and having lunch in the park.  There were two old ladys in wooden deckchairs soaking in the sun.  They looked more english than a bulldog eating a beefeater doll wearing union jack underpants (enormous womens union jack underpants at that) – how my heart did delight.  We played touch, a spot of cricket, and later on a game which involved putting catches up while all the guys competed to catch the ball.  It was not a million miles away from aussie rules, good fun though.  Later on we went to a very nice local pub for a couple by the river.  The bouncers took my cricket bat off me, which was fair enough, as I cut an imposing figure.  I reclaimed it on the way out and we went back to the Walkabout where we spent the rest of the mighty enjoyable night (snakebites: beer, cider and blackcurrant mixed together).

Monday we went to the Notting Hill Carnival, which was chaos.  It is a celebration of West Indian culture/immigrants in England and is a big street party – 2 million people over three days big.  We saw a few of the floats and made our way off the main route where it was pretty much impossible to see/move/breathe for the number of people.  We had a dance, a bit of food – all very good fun; the atmosphere and enthusiasm floating around was very contagious.  We saw a guy get his head split open by an angry guy with a chain and thought it a good time to leave.  Home for dinner and an early night to recuperate.  I didn’t take my camera as I thought it a bit sketchy trying to take care of it in those surroundings, however I did take a few photos on my phone – I just cant seem to upload them.  Such is life.

 Otherwise, just been working, there was a fire across the road at work too.  It was a hair product factory and went up most impressively.  Millions of british teens will have no way of keeping their fringe stuck to their forehead now.  Rally NZ is happening as I write this – I hope you’re all keeping a close eye on the happenings.  I think I’ll try calling Allports next week when things have died down a bit. 

Right then, I’m off to play the guitar badly.

The job is just general fabrication – making stands for shop fit outs and the like.  There isn’t the same care put into each piece as there was in the job back home, which is a bit frustrating, but such is life (at least the workshop is nice).  It can be quite repetitive too – I spent one day drilling holes in material I was preparing.  Trying to explain to the flatmates what I did that day was a challenge.  I told them I drilled holes all day.  Otherwise things are feeling a bit settled – a little too settled in fact – I’m planning a trip to France next month to catch up with some mates.  Its only pencilled in at this stage, but I’ll keep you informed.  I haven’t taken any more photos recently, but when I do I’ll flick some up.

Ka ki te.

Anyway, all aboard the bus, loafers carefully stowed, we made our way to Bath, where we would stay the night.  Travelling through the countryside, we took in various touristy sites – including a horse carved into a chalk hill a few thousand years ago – I do like this idea, and one that I’m sure came of a bored Sunday afternoon (“whatta you guys up to?” “just making a big chalk horse aye” “sweet”).  We saw were St. George slayed the dragon, which was nice enough.  I guess if you are going to slay a dragon, you may as well choose somewhere pretty to do it (although St. George doing his thing at the Roadhouse also appeals).  We eventually reached Bath, which was beautiful, a really picturesque town, with plenty of history (named Bath for its Roman Baths), and a really cool feel.  Rugby seemed the more popular sport here, which is unusual in the UK.  I spent the afternoon looking around, taking photos, then went to the pub at the hostel for a meal.  Out of boredom, I got talking to an Aussie chick who looked equally bored.  The company was good, and I learnt that I can’t drink as much as girls from farms in Australia.

Feeling slightly the worse for wear, we left Bath at 8.30, and headed north, crossing into Wales.  The scenery got all very spectacular, old crumbling buildings, rolling countryside.  When we drove in reverse, it became rolling buildings and crumbling countryside.  We stopped briefly at a supermarket to buy dinner, as that night we stayed in a farmhouse.  A novelty for some on the tour, but having spent a few holidays lying on a woolshed floor up north, it wasn’t such a big deal  – accordingly, I adopted an “I’m indifferent” swagger for the duration of our stay at the farmouse.

 The next morning, and back on the yellow bus, we passed in and out of Wales.  At one point we stopped at Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch which is one of the longest place names in the world (a town in NZ has a longer name…ha!).  A long name does not a good town maketh.  There was nothing there, except for hundreds of old people – a personal highlight of the trip was visiting the cafe – I took a photo, because the sheer concentration of old folk was overwhelming.  What old people are to Llanfair, hydrogen is to the universe.  Our tour guide called it “Deaths waiting room” – nasty, but hard not to snigger when delivered in a scottish accent.  Carrying on, we reached the pretty, but very busy lake district, where we stayed the night at a hostel.  Not before going to the local disco (yes, disco) – much dancing and the odd beverage.  Later on I got chatting to some Welsh folk and ended up having a drink at their place just up the road, which was nice – I think I understood every third word, and as a result left before things got too awkward.

From there, it was on to Edinburgh, via Hadrians wall.  This wall appealed as it was essentially romans saying “cannot be arsed fighting those scottish dudes, if we build this wall, we wont have to…”.  Crossing into Scotland felt cool – we stopped for photos at the border, where there was a piper of dubious sobriety playing.  Hard to explain, but I felt really happy in Scotland, certainly more a part of the surroundings than I have ever felt in England – maybe its the heritage, I don’t know.  We learnt some Scottish history on the way too, which is always interesting, I enjoyed the fiercely one sided version we got from the tour guide.  We arrived in Edinburgh in the afternoon – just enough time to wander the streets, bottle of Irn Bru in hand (Catherine take note!) before dinner.  Having had a bite to eat I headed to the hostel bar (there is a theme here…) and had a couple of drinks, and got chatting to some Aussie dudes.  A few drinks became a few more, much fun was had and then the Karaoke machine was set up.  A few drinks then turned into “the gambler” by Kenny Rogers, at decent volume – much fun indeed.  It was decided that what we lacked in talent we’d make up in volume.  I even started echoing between lines, but stopped when I saw a local staring at me mouthing “what the f*ck?”.  Ahh fun times.  More mischeif followed, I bid the Aussie company good bye and went to bed.

A free day in Edinburgh was next on the cards, so I spent the day doing touristy things, going to the castle, and visiting anywhere that looked interesting.  I liked Edinburgh – it was very nice to look at, easy to get round and the people seemed nice.  I think I was lucky in that it was a beautiful day, and everyone seemed happy as a result.  The buildings round the place were cool, and of an age and style that you just don’t see elsewhere.  Two thumbs up.  That evening, to ease my blistered feet, I visited the bar, and got talking to one of the Aussie dudes from the night before, who in turn got talking to some Irish girls staying at the hostel, who suggested visiting some local clubs.  As it turns out, clubs over there feel very similar to clubs back home, only the drunks are even harder to understand.  A fairly late night resulted, fun all the same though. 

York was the destination the next day, and another lovely wee town.  It sounds terrible, but by this stage I was suffering old building over saturation (“wow, 700 years old…yey”).  However visiting York Minster changed things.  It is a large church in York, in its day the largest and most impressive around apparently – easy to see why.  The architecture was huge and overpowering, while the attention to detail was incredible.  I wandered with my mouth open for an hour or two staring at things – then a massed choir started practicing and it all got really quite moving.  Good times.  That night we stayed in a Friary out of York (the place name escapes me), which was apparently haunted.  I saw no evidence of this, however the abundance of loafers was slightly scary.

Sunday, and homeward bound.  We drove to London via Sherwood forest, which was excellent because it was so shit.  The guide had told us as much, but I was still quite tickled at how average it was – the great oak was indeed great.  So were the poles holding it up.  A vending machine in the forest sold stickers turning you into an “instant outlaw” – however it swallowed the poor indian peoples money with no resulting outlaw status.  If anyone deserved to be an outlaw, it would be an indian in a tassled leather jacket.  Genius moments that money can’t buy (literally).  The bus tour back down was fairly uneventful, lots of motorway driving, which is the same as motorway driving at home, only english.

The tour was good fun, not quite what I was expecting, but enjoyable all the same.  Having to find people to talk to was probably a blessing in disguise, as it meant I got to see and do things that I otherwise probably wouldn’t have.  The next mission is finding gainful employment, which I’m reasonably confident about.  I’ve been in touch with the contact from work, and with a few other places too, however its too early to get too carried away with news.  I’ll let you know more as it happens.  For now, ka ki te.

  This is a big chalk horse, thousands of years old.  Really.

 This is another chalk horse, only a few hundred years old (Mum I mention this in the letter I wrote).

 Stone circles – these are thousands of years old.  I cant remember the name of the place, I’ll try and find out.

 The river in Bath (sounds like a bad day at a pre school…).

 When in Rome… having a beer at the hostel bar in Bath.

 Walking across an aquaduct – it was odd walking along so high up and having a boat coast past.

 The aquaduct from the other side.

 The Conway castle.

 Me and a castle (Conway).  I liked how castle-ey Conway castle felt.

 The cafe at Llanfair – responsible for half the worlds knitted garments.

 Posing at the Scottish border with the border piper.  For all you know I could be standing on the border of Spotland.

 The monument to Walter Scott in Edinburgh.  I climbed to the top (via the stairs) – excellent views.

 The Edinburgh castle, from the park below.

 York Minster, York.

 Inside York Minster.

 The Instant Outlaw sticker vending machine in Sherwood forest.

Suitably hungover, we woke the next day, and headed further south to Tarifa, a really beautiful town right on the coast – Africa is about 20km away at this point of Spain.  We passed thousands (literally) of windmills on the way, and saw some achingly beautiful scenery.  Standing in Spain, looking at Morocco 20km away – perfect.  We stayed in Tarifa, which, while being windy (explains the windmills and the squillions of kite surfers wearing fluorescent clothes and being awesome) was a super cool place – the van tour people said it was one of the best places they’ve been.  We had a feed (sandwiches!) and went into town, had a few cervezas and talked shit to the locals.  It is amazing how short conversations are when you can only count to four and order a drinks in the local tongue; fun though. From Tarifa, it was a short drive the next day to Gibraltar, which is a very large lump of limestone.  Being a british colony, the pound is accepted and is basically like the UK, but with better weather and apes.  We went on a taxi tour round the place, showing us the various sights (caves, tunnels, history etc.) – there is a concert hall inside one of the massive caves – very dramatic indeed.  It was easy to imagine someone with fierce eyebrows playing something intense on the piano there.  Outside, there were apes all over the place – I understand they are native there – quite how this happened I don’t know, but I guess if you were to choose an animal to pop onto an island, you could do worse than an ape.  Giraffes on a big lump of Limestone just wouldn’t work.  The view from the top was superb, though it would have set Dads ankles going.  Like most of what I have seen so far, the history of the place was really interesting – its easy to see how people wearing tweed jackets with elbow patches become so engrossed in studying history.   

That night, we freecamped in a town just out of Malaga.  I can’t remember its name, but we parked in a big empty space next to a beach.  We went and had dinner, ordered in Spanish (translation: hello, one sangria please, one two three four, one sangria please).  I ended up with prawns for dinner (and an eloquently ordered drink) which were very nice.  When we got back to the van, the once empty space was completely full of Spanish youths going to a club which, it transpired, was just up the road.  We visited said club briefly, I counted to four and ordered a drink in Spanish and then we went back to the van.  Being that I had to be up early the next day to fly back to London, it wasn’t a big night.   I was sad to leave Spain, it was a brilliant few days in a grand country.  For the record, it was overcast and about to rain when I landed back in the UK. 

Otherwise things are ticking along, I go on my tour of the UK on Monday morning.  Watched the rugby at a packed pub this morning, fun times, especially with the number of aussies in attendance (muhaha).  I’ll leave it here, again there is much to tell – it is difficult to choose what bits to put in and what to leave out – and the end result seems to be disjointed ramblings.  Enjoyable though.   

Ka ki te, and be sensible.

 Mike, Becca and their trusty van.

 A few of the windmills.

 The cathedral at Seville

 Outside aforementioned cathedral

 The vans at Tarifa.

 On the beach, Tarifa.  L to R: Alan, Me, Chris, Darren and Mike.

 Sunset at Tarifa.

 Rock of Gibraltar, Mike and myself.

 The Concert hall in St Michael’s Cave, Gibraltar.

 Looking at the roof, in St Michael’s Cave, Gibraltar.

 One of the millions of cannons on Gibraltar

 The view from Gibraltar.  Note that you have to walk across the middle of the runway to reach the rock – felt weird watching a plane land, then walking across the runway.

 The happy chef.

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