To there...

So, Ireland. Very fuckin' cool. Very wet, very cold. With that sort of weather you can't feel too guilty about spending a lot of time in one of the many, many warm & inviting bars. There seems to be, within Dublin, a bar every 20 meters or so. Those that know me will know that I have the tendency to exaggerate @ times but I can assure you, a bar every 20 meters is NO exaggeration (over 1,000 pubs in Dublin alone, in excess of 12,000 in the country).
Got into Dublin airport @ about 19.00 and jumped on the bus Bridgette suggested for a 60 min trip into the city centre. Could have taken a more direct bus but I figured this way I'd get to see a little bit of the Irish burbs.
As I got closer to Dublin I saw more and more people in either all blue or all red. Turns out there was a rugby semi-final played between two local teams, Munster & Lester. Lester, the underdogs, got up. Getting off the bus, in the centre of town, to meet Bridgette I was surprised that considering all the drunken rugby heads the vibe was very chilled, very friendly. The English, soccer heads could learn a lot.
Turns out that my SIM doesn't work over here, no roaming, so I was initially unable to contact Bridge to find her. After a few stressful minutes and emails, which did still work from my phone, I received a mail from her suggesting I head to Grogans Bar. Here we go. Settled in @ the very busy Grogans for my first, of what was to be many, Guinness. As someone who doesn't usually like Guinness let me just say that it's a completely different drink here, in its country of origin. Stayed @ Grogans for another couple of pints before moving off to find somewhere a little quieter. Not so easy considering all the rugby fans out for the night. Given Bridgette’s extensive pub knowledge we were successful. Ended up @ a place called ?????, t'was ok but not one of the more memorable places. From here we moved on to a place called The Palace, downstairs a nightclub, upstairs a pool hall. Francis, a mate of Bridgette’s, a lovely lass, about 5 foot & judging by this evening could out drink most Aussie bloke I know, gave the door man the signal, a finger pointing up, and up we go, no queuing, to the pool room. Open till the wee hours this ended up as our last Guinness stop. Met a guy here named Ed, turns out he worked for about 5 years @ what is now The Pinnacle on St. Georges Rd, North Fitzroy. He had an old card in his wallet, ah home sickness. Having drank @ the Empress during this time we worked out that it was very likely that I'd served him back in Oz. As the names started flying it turns out he knows Dennis quite well. It seems that old dealer man Dennis has always been a part of the furniture @ the ex post office. Filled to the brim with the great tasting black stuff we wandered home via Rays American Pizza. American style slices of Pepperoni covered in chilli, yum and, surprisingly, very filling. One slice the equivalent of 2 or 3 Aussie slices. Fold him in half & devour. A quick cup of tea back @ Bridgette’s & then bed.
11.00 wake up on the Sunday, a great fry up &, magically, no hangover. Bridgette & Keith were to move into a new 'gaff' today, leaving me Bridges old place to myself for the rest of the time here, so we loaded up a couple of cars with Bridgette’s things & drove a full 8 minutes (seems most things in Dublin are no more than 15 minutes away) to St. Kevin’s Church, now apartments. Unloaded & then I buggered off to explore Dublin.
Started my exploration with Francis' guidance. She directed me to St. Stephens Green which I wandered through on my way to a tobacconist new Trinity College & O'Connel St, the main road through Dublin. Comforted by the acquisition of tobacco I set off @ a leisurely pace down O'Connel St towards a huge metal spire, no historical value, purely art. On my travels I crossed the River Liffey. The bridge for this crossing is about 2.5 times wider than it is long. Upon crossing I was on the dreaded northside. Full of junkies, gypsies and bogans or ????? as they are known here. I felt right @ home. Having been warned not to go further north than Henry St I turned left here and found myself in the street market area of town, alas by this time everyone was packed up. Also in this area of town there was an abundance of, not only pubs as is usual here, but sex shops. Again, I'm in my element ha, ha, ha. After seeing more gimp suits than even I felt comfortable about I needed to have a leek. All bars have very clear signs that 'toilet facilities are for customers only' oh well, much to my disgust, it was time for another Guinness. I'm not one to break the rules after all. The obligatory pint had it was time to find my way to Hogans, around the corner from Grogans, on the same block as Brogans. No wonder bogans need a different title here.
The plan for the evening is to end up @ Whelans to see an Irish cowboy slide guitarist. Turns out he was doing an afternoon set @ Hogans so by the time Bridge & Keith arrived I'd already seen most of his set. We had a couple @ Hogans, the Guinness here though wasn't great, a little bitter & head out for a meal. A really cool little eatery named where all the furniture, Keith pointed out, had been collected from tips. Nothing matching and menus printed on A4 and stuck in old magazines, mine was 'Engineers Monthly' from 1987, Keith’s was the same publication from '97 (the price had gone from 70p to €1.50). Traditional Irish meals, I was told, I had Ray wing with mash & cabbage (I think the cabbage & potato constituted traditional Irish) t'was very tasty.
From here the night gets a little hazy. First stop was The Stags Head. Built before white settlement in Australia it's a traditional Irish pub, as opposed to an Australian traditional Irish pub, & has a huge stags head hung over the bar. Hallucinogenic not recommended. After a pint or two here we took off for Whelans. This one, I have to say, was my favourite of all the bars we went to. A live music venue with a very Melbourne feel. The smoking area, upstairs & partially enclosed, looked like some portions of the large bluestone buildings roof had simply been removed. We saw Mr. McSlide Cowboy do his thing, considerably more drunkenly than @ Hogans, & had a brief chat with him afterward. I was approached by a slightly mad Irish woman with the lines 'Are you single?', Yes, 'Are you worth kissing?', No. Why hadn't I thought of that? Oh, that's right, it didn't work.
From Whelans we moved onto The Village, a rock karaoke venue where I found myself, initially to sober to sing, then after registering, far too drunk to. I will end the description of this night, here, with this one word...Jagermiester.
If I was blessed on Sunday morning by waking up without a hangover I was doing my penance now, on Monday. With Bridgette & Keith unpacking & setting up the new house I spent the day laying low, well as low as the mattress @ Bridgette’s old place.
Having gotten the new house sorted Bridgette came round to wake me from my afternoon kip @ about 17.00. Over to Tescos to get some groceries for dinner then back to St. Kevin’s for Bolognese by chef Dan. T'was quite nice if I do say so myself, definitely on par with the Swedish Bolognese from the London hostel. Sat back a relaxed after dinner with cheesecake & red wine before heading off to yet another bar, ?????.
Not bad. A cool vibe, DJ but bad Guinness (I'm starting to be able to tell the difference, Stags Head has been the best). Francis came along & we were soon joined by her housemate, Debbie. Hailing from Galway she is another fine example of Irish folk, very friendly & full of national pride that shows itself in a great knowledge & willingness to educate in the ways of national history. As well as passing on the advice that dry roasted peanuts and Guinness go hand in hand, uh-ha. Given my morning hangover I decided not to push my luck, drank slowly & by the time the bar closed I was polishing off pint number 4. Having booked a day trip to Wicklow Mountains for the next day it was home for a relatively early night. Along the way, inspired by Francis, I stopped for an Indian take away. Not as good as that first one in the UK, back in Dalston, but you takes what you can get @ 1.00.
Tuesday morning, up @ 8.30 ish, & out the door, slightly rushed, by 8.45. I was getting picked up from St. Stephens Green @ 9.25 so, after a brisk walk and no coffee I arrived @ my pickup point with 5 min to spare. The bus was a little late & I was just getting nervous that I'd missed it when Martin, our driver & guide, arrived. 'You were getting worried', turns out I'm transparent, even over here.
On the bus, heading out of Dublin, we had a number of embassies pointed out as well as a house, with 2 acres of gardens that had recently been sold for €48,000,000. Bought by a property developer the plan is to build apartments on the garden space...fucker. A very informative & picturesque day we stopped @ a couple of places; Bulloch Harbour in Dalkey, Laragh for a coffee, drove through Annamo, home to Daniel Day Lewis & William Hurt before carrying on to glendeloch, the valley of the two lakes, where we got out to take a look around.
The remains of a monastery, dating back to 800AD surrounded by countless grave sites awaited us. From there we were sent off on our own to checkout both the lower & upper lakes. I took a quick walk also up a mountain trail to take a quick look @ the waterfall that feeds the upper lake. Waterfall & a quick taste of the water before heading back to the bus. The water, fresh from the mountains was the nicest H2O I've ever tasted. Very cold, very clean, very refreshing. Next was our lunch stop, Beef Guinness stew & a pint for me, could I have had anything else? Lasagne? In a small Irish village? I think not.
Having filled our bellies we were away on the last leg of our journey, along Military Rd, built by the English military in 1800 to allow them access to the Wicklow Mts., a haven for Irish outlaws. To this day it's the only way in or out of the Wicklow National Park, 1 of 5 national parks in Ireland. On the way into the park I was surprised to see how much of the forest had, & was still, being logged. Martin pointed out that as the introduced species of trees were being cleared, natives were being planted in their place. Apparently Irish is 9% forested, the European average is 17%. The Irish government has started paying farmers to grow indigenous trees in an attempt to raise this figure.
Deeper into the national park we passed a large area of Peat Bogs & it was explained to us that it was this, not pollution, that gives the water in this area its brown-ish colour. We stopped along the way by a large, although larger in wetter times, waterfall. The colour of the liquid becoming more obvious to us here.
The next couple of stops were for photo opportunities of Guinness Lake. On one of these stops the stream of brown water, feeding the lake, was accessible from the road so, yes, I had a taste. Not as good as earlier. A little smoky, earthy. Basically it tasted like dirt.
These being our last stop it's back to Dublin with us. Seems a good time to write the blog of my time, so far, in Ireland. What do you know, that's exactly what I'm doing, to a very Irish soundtrack.
Think I'll get off @ Trinity & have a little walk around. Supposedly quite nice. I took a lot of video of Wicklow trip & I'll get it on YouTube as soon as I can find some editing availability.

Did get to Trinity for a wander, lasted about 20 min before err, bored. All those educated rich kids. I just wanted to run around giving people wedgies, explains I suppose my inability to tackle university. Small things, small minds.
After a long, productive day, with my time in Ireland running short the next stop had to be the public library, nuh, just fuckin' with you. I suggested to Bridge that I would meet her @ Whelans but, after advising me that it would be closed she mailed me with an alternative, & another, & another, & another. Spoilt for choice I decided on her second last suggestion; The Hairy Lemon, sounds a little like a lesbian bar to me but given my addiction to everything lemon (cordial, tart, slice, lesbians) & my, what was it? Oh yeah, ample amount of body hair, I figured it was appropriate. Couldn't find the bloody place. Apparently on the correct street I was sent from one end of the thoroughfare to the other as everyone thought it was 'down the other end, on the right'.
Fuck it, I was thirsty & really keen to empty the bladder. The last recommendation was Kehoe's & I, vaguely, knew where it was. Great old pub, originally licensed in 1803, renovated late in the 19th century. Boasting customers the likes of P.J. Kavanagh & Myles na gCopaleen, I was inspired to pull out my trusty notepad & continue a piece of writing I've been working on, bit wanky but, hey, it is me after all. Just to prove that fact, no pen. Oh well, time for a spot of reading, Paulo Coelho's 'The Pilgrimage', apt no? Given my trip to Trinity & the dudes that had, in times gone by, imbibed here I had to @ least attempt to have a little class.
As I started my first page I felt a disturbance in the force, an energy I'd not felt since... She smelt good, felt good (energy wise) but what did this creature standing next to me look like? Crafty, like a fox, I used the mirror lining the back of the bar, employing a slight lean to improve the angle & presto, the face; growl!
Not a man to find himself intimidated but spunky examples of the fairer sex (pff, yeah right) I seized the opportunity. There was a strange looking drink in front of her, steaming, a faint aroma of whiskey and lemon pierced by cloves. A hot tottie perhaps? 'Oh, what is that?' the question, safe enough. The action of turning my head to look her in the eyes, fatal. Now, I'm not suggesting that my heart stopped beating, my brain haemorrhaged or I suffered instantaneous, internal combustion but with a raised pulse and scattered thoughts it certainly seemed to have gotten warmer in Ireland. Then with the simple phrase 'Hot Whiskey' any pure, innocent sensibilities I contain (I can hear those of you who know me well enough laughing @ that last bit, stop it...you're ruining it) were well beyond even the aid of the defibulator. As she walked away, after a little small talk, 'Where you from?', 'How long in Ireland?', etc. I returned, rather flushed & grinning widely to my book. Before I could get my dazzled eyes to focus back on the page she had returned to invite me to join her table, 'Ah...well, yeah...sure'. I couldn't stuff my bits & pieces back into my bag quick enough.
In the booth housing the table she was sitting @ I was greeted with a smile, handshakes and introductions. Podge & Niamh, pronounced Podge & Neev, yeah I would never have gotten that either. As the conversation turned to footy, AFL & Gaelic, I knew the evening was going to be a goddun. Niamh, as it turns out is just as lovely as she is LOVELY & Podge a cool guy, programmers (grouse, she's a nerd as well). We were soon joined by a few more of the programmer gang; Sheila, Sarah & Ayden (sorry if I got any of these names wrong or incorrectly spelt, I'm a bit shit like that). As lovely as I found all the Irish, this crew definitely included, I was feeling a little intimidated, if not outnumbered. Enter Bridgette, yay. Keith arrived not long afterwards & after the initial joining of conversation it seemed, as shop talk & the rundown of my Witlow trip kicked off the tables seemed to split. Oh! By our last pint, however, I was fortunate enough to find myself within chatting distance of Niamh. Grouse! With her number (& name spelling) safely tucked in my phone & tentative plans to catch up later we all said our good-byes & Keith, Bridge & I went for pizza.
Text tennis ensued, dinner was very nice but now I was distracted. We continued on to 'the pub with no name' with ?????, a musician (pianist) friend of Keith’s that I met over dinner (I hate to sound repetitive but every new face seemed to reaffirm & then increase my opinion of the Irish). Just as they were closing Niamh joined us & we moved then, minus ?????, to ????? for the long haul.
At close Keith & Bridge went there way, Niamh & I for a burger and a (quieter) chat. I talked to much, SAID to much but in the end we spent, in my opinion @ least, a nice night hanging out, don't think I scared her too much (although after this blog entry(?)). Morning, however, as is its want, whenever it definitely isn't yours, was determined to break. In the, not so stupidly wee hours of the morning, but early enough, I saw her to a taxi, determined to return to Ireland soon.
Now back for an hour sleep before getting my shit together to first, meet Bridge @ midday and then head into the airport.
My last, best memory (this time) of Ireland was definitely a crepe & coffee lunch with the lovely woman who made this trip possible in the first place; Bridgette McManus, thanks for everything.

Saturday began early, 5.00 to be precise. I dragged my hungover arse out of bed, started the morning well with a coffee and a cigarette in the English rain, to watch my first live game of AFL for the 2009 home and away season. The always lively Anzac day clash between Collingwood & Essendon. In hindsite, I should have listened to my throbbing head, ignored my heart and stayed in bed.
A crappy game of football, the most exciting part was when the TV @ Mikes lost reception seconds after Essendon kicked their last goal, ah technical difficulties, as the sound, dropping in and out, was my only way of monitoring procedings I listened intently for a siren or loud...er roar. None, we're still in it. As the very generic station apology left the screen all I could see was black and red. Soon though the black was gone and there was only red...FUCKERS!!! Back to bed for Dan.
I got a few hours of brain off, as opposed to sleep, and got up @ about midday as Mike & I were to head into St. Marys to see if Saints could ward off relegation for another match, at least. First to The Anchor for a few quick pints, get the enthusiasm and joviality up, then onto the stadium. We got there just in time and settled in, alongside Graham (Mikes dad), for what was a very entertaining first half. Saints had all the play and should have been a couple of goals up @ the half.
Try as they might they just couldn't get a breakthrough and in the end, with a couple of minutes to go a pitch invasion ended the game with the score locked @ 2 all. Bad luck saints but VERY well played. With relegation comes disappointment for the fans and players alike. I can see why fans would be so frustrated with their team as there apponents for the day are a strong, well placed team, if Southampton could have played with such spirit all year I have no doubt relegation would have been a concern for some other team. If the Saints manage to survive the off-season they will start next season in a lower division on minus 10 points. The penelty for the holdings company they're linked to, going into administration.
The pitch invasion was great, turns out the crowd control was more bark than bite...

...and no-one had too much trouble getting on the pitch (see video on YouTube). As Mike and I were wandering about the pitch a wall of a couple of hundred people (or so it seemed) started charging straight at us. Quicker than you could think 'Hillsborough' we were off. As we jumped the side rail and turned around, the wave of people had broken and all were asking 'What was that about?', ourselves included.
After the game, back to the pub. I found the message, in large, bold chalk, on the board outside very hard to misunderstand.

Good advice. At least this way no one gets killed.
We finished up in Southampton and head out to a place called Winchester, about a 20min train ride away. Here we caught up with Andy, a mate of Mikes who played with him in Black Nielson and on this recent Co-Pilgrim album, and his girlfrind Kimvi. @ about this point I came to the realisation that I had never, till now, actually smoked dope. OH MY GOD!!! We spent the rest of the night in a bar, somewhere, I think, perhaps, maybe but in that state...who knows. Back @ the house more joints and Playstation Golf were all I could handle, barely. Sunday we had a very scattered walk around Winchester. It's a lovely little town, the cliched English village but with very nordic (?) architecture. Narrow streets, one way and cobblestoned. The cathedral in Winchester, across the way from the bar we drank in on Saturday night, featured, along with Tom Hanks, in the film The Divinci Code.
Not alot more to say, applied for some bar work at a little writters/poets pub in town, should find out this Wednesday. Then back to Romsey to lay low for the week until I head to Ireland on Saturday.
O...xx...O

Enter FreakSpeely28 in the YouTube search field to access my travel videos

Up & out of the hostel by half 10. What to do today? Will be staying @ Toms, in Dalston tonight, but need to keep myself occupied till this evening. Abbey Rd.
Easy enough to get to, a train to St. Johns Wood & a short walk. The plan was to sit the camera on something & cross the street four times in four different outfits. Surely I'd be the only plonker there to cross the road. Yeah right. Plonkers everywhere. It was a really cool vibe. I had no trouble finding people willing and trustworthy enough to take video for me with both my phone and video camera. Met a guy from Helsinki, Markus, who was nice enough to use my phone to video (see my facebook). He called his girlfriend to tell her where he was but to no avail. She wasn't about. I offered to take his picture and e-mailed them to him later that day. It was really a wonderful, cheap way to entertain oneself for an hour or so. What sort of wierdo would spend so much time, so close to this spot & not check it out? (I can't deny saying that)

Spent the rest of the day looking for work. Dropped a couple of resumes and got some of my photos printed.
I found another all you can eat, this time Chinese so I sat down to stuff my face again. Half way through my second plate of a lovely beef dish I overheard, much to my distaste, that everything was soy. SOY! FUCKIN' SOY! YUCK! I mean yum. I actually enjoyed it. Who'd have thunk it? Certainly not me & perhaps not Ms. Paterson either.
After dinner I head out to Camden Town to drop off a few more resumes then, finally, by about 22.00 over to Toms place. Thanks bruh. Knackered, I was fast asleep by midnight.

The last week has been spent, in Southampton, pretty relaxed & uneventful. The Library, writing letters to Sicily & the arrival of Mikes brother, Pete. It's getting crowded I think Maureen is about to pull her hair out.

Another early start Monday morning, my American roommate Gary was heading off to Scotland so he acted as an alarm clock. A pretty miserable morning but as I head out of London on the Tuesday I dragged myself out.
I was keen to jump on the ferry @ one end of The Thames and ride it the length. Catching a train out to Hampton Crt pier I find out, thanks to a real prick of a conductor, that my oyster card doesn't cover me out here. So I turn around & head back to Waterloo.
From here I walked down to the banks of The Thames, near The London Eye & started walking towards London Tower. A nice walk, considering the weather, @ least I got to use the umbrella I've been carrying around with me. With quite a few tourist stops along the way I took my time & had a couple of pit stops.
The first stop was the TATE Modern. I figured that I could hardly walk past without going in so for the next couple of hours I became an art observer. Unable to use cameras inside, for obviouse reasons, I have only my memory of the impressive works I witnessed. Some of the standout artists I came across were Gunter Brus, Francesco Clemente, Cy Twombly & Ana Mendieta amongst others. A room dedicated to Andy Worhole & a couple of pieces by Jean-Michelle Basquiat were...eh. All in all an eye opening couple of hours.
From the TATE, across the river, to St. Pauls cathedral. Another impressive example of English architecture. I was unable to go in but it was well worth seeing, even if only from outside. Back on the bus now & up to the London Tower.
The stronghold of Edward the first this structure is awesome. Sitting far enough removed from the surrounding buildings it was still very easy to see how impressive & confronting it would have seemed back in its heyday. Again, I didn't go in (tight arse) but t'was impressive enough from outside. Once I get job/dual citizenship sorted I'll definately head back. Right next to the Tower is what I always thought was The London Bridge, infact The Tower Bridge.
The London Bridge, it turns out, is really crappy. Should have left it fallen down. The Tower Bridge on the other hand looks fantastic. Walking across the bridge opens up the view of the tower allowing me to grab a few more photographs. Before heading back to the hostel.
Back in my room I got my shit together so I don't have to fuck around in the morning to check out by 10.30. Dinner, started reading 'The Leopard' & a fairly early night, again, in anticipation of an early checkout.