For those who are bored and have 10 minutes to spare

A video I made of our Australia and New Zealand trip while waiting for Lucy to recover from a hangover. For some reason its very bad quality when uploaded.

On Sleepwalking

You may have read such tales about young Sam as 'In Which I Make my Mum Proud!' or 'Being Felt up by an Indonesian Transsexual' or my favorites stories of my Peter Pan-esque friend The Artist to be found in my archives such as 'Under the Bridge' and 'The Artist and the Moped' (The Artist always was much better at making a fool of himself than me). Well I think I will add this one to that drunken teenager collection:

Throughout my childhood years and well into my university years, maybe up until the age of around 22, I was plagued by bouts of sleepwalking. I know what you are thinking - but I have to tell you that the sleepwalking was not always alcohol induced. Ok, it was alcohol induced most of the time, but not all of the time.

When I was very young, maybe 7 or 8 years old I suffered one of the first sleepwalking incidents that I remember. My parents were out and we had some poorly paid babysitter at the house looking after us. Imagine her fear as she saw me walking down the stairs into the living room, I don't respond to anything she says and then proceed to plonk myself down on the sofa and go to sleep.

There were very few incidents following that (or at least I didn't remember and nobody else was around to remember them) until I was well into my late teens. This somehow happened to co-incide with the period in my life when I first met my friends Caffrey and Carling.

Once in my second University year when I lived on Belle Vue Road (incidentally the view was rubbish) in Little Woodhouse in Leeds I had a pretty bad experience. It was the middle of winter (January or February I think), and it was freezing. I had gone to sleep, not under the influence, wearing  pair of tracksuit trousers and nothing else. Imagine my surprise when I woke up in the middle of the street (woken by the biting cold), frozen to the core with absolutely no clue where I was!

It probably took me a couple of minute at least to orientate myself and work out that I was only one street or so away from my house. I was still in a daze when walking back, and I don't really remember it. All I remember is being in the front garden of the house, thanking the lord that at least I had some form of clothing on, only to be confronted by our locked front door (it had shut locked behind me). 

With no doorbell to the relatively large house, and me occupying the ground floor bedroom (it was one of those awful student house where they convert the living room so that they gain get one extra bedroom and one extra student's rent), I had to spend the next five minutes throwing  an old mouldy tennis ball I found at my housemates window, who incidentally was apparently entertaining a young  lady that night and wasn't best pleased by being disturbed.

Over the next few years (particularly in my third year and masters year) there were a few incidents of me walking into my house-mate's bedrooms. Generally, it seemed I would just hover in the doorway and switch the light on, then they would tell me in no uncertain terms to bugger off, and off I would tottle. There was also a bad incident (I have no memory of) when I was around 22 and after a night of heavy drinking I woke and mistook my mums bedroom for my own in my mums house and tried to get into the wrong bed, I was once again ushered on my merry way.

But we have to rewind a few years to hear the two worst sleepwalking incidents of my life, to when young Sam was but a mere 1st year university student and '£1 a drink' at the Dry Dock caused him some heavy nights:

In my first year I stayed in Lyddon Hall at Leeds University. Lyddon was a horrible old hall of residence which was full of misfits and weirdos who apparently couldn't get into any of the proper halls. It prided itself on being the oldest hall in the University, which meant it was falling apart and smelt of sewage. The most unfortunate thing about Lyddon was that it was all male (oh how I wish I had read the application form properly!) and I was in one of the cheaper shared rooms where I lived with an Irish guy (actually he was from Nottingham but claimed to be Irish) called Collins.

Collins and I got on pretty well apart from on one fateful night in May 1999. We used to go down to this horrible club in the Merrion Centre called Ritzy. Thankfully Ritzy is closed down now as it was biggest crap hole I had ever known in Leeds. Anyway in Ritzy on a Tuesday night was an event called 'CocSoc', that is 'The Cocktail Society' (Universities being the place of clubs and societies and all). At 'CocSoc' one could get 'cocktails' for some ridiculous amount like 3 for £1. That is, the kind of cocktails which are served with a ladle out of a bucket.

On this particular evening it was my birthday and a bunch of guys from my halls decided to treat me to the Dentist Chair Treatment. The dentist chair treatment, much to my surprise consisted of me sitting down and leaning my head back (in a pretty much similar style to a dentists chair surprisingly) while all of my friends poured their cheaply obtained 'cocktails' straight down my throat.

Anyway to cut a long story short, I arrived about 8pm, left at around 10pm because I was too drunk and Collins was tasked with escorting me home. Apparently I sang 'I'm Irish, I'm Irish, I'm an Irish Faggot' at the top of my voice to the tune of the Irish national anthem all the way up Woodhouse Lane. I, of course have no memory of this.

That night Collins awoke in the early hours of the morning to a vision. Next to his bed was a sink which we both shared, and hovering over the sink, was a still sleeping and standing me - poised and ready to relieve myself into it.

Not wanting to wash himself in a soiled basin he grabbed me and directed me toward the door out of the room where the toilets were. Apparently I spent a number of minutes grasping for the door handle but actually grabbing the hinge side of the door and wondering why it wouldn't open until Collins finally opened it for me and ushered me out.

Collins then realised this to be a mistake almost straight away. For the room that we were in was on the 1st floor and I had gone out into the stairwell and decided it might be a good idea to do my business through the banisters directly onto the floor below. Apparently there were still people up and about down there, but that's just here say and rumour. Collins spent the next few minutes trying to wash evidence of my discretion with cups of water. A thankless task as I remembered nothing the next day!

Another night in the same year I had another sleepwalking event. I knew absolutely nothing about the it until the next day when being served my awful weekend breakfast (at the weekend you got some additional rubbery eggs and soggy bacon on top of usual rations at Lyddon Hall). Everyone was looking at me a bit wierdly in the  queue for the food. Particularly a Mexican guy who's name I forget and a friend of mine from Liverpool. 

I didn't know why. As far as I knew I had gone out for a perfectly normal night out in the Observatory (another hole) by the train station in Leeds centre and then had gone to bed. A far as I was concerned it was a better night than most as I had actually made it to the dining room for breakfast in the morning, something that I rarely did at the weekend.

My little Liverpudlian friend delighted in telling me the tale of the young meek Mexican guy who had being playing pool in the common room  all evening. He had retired to his room (which stupidly he had left unlocked) at around 1am. Much to his surprise he had switched the light on in the tiny cell-like room, tried to get into bed and been confronted by some slumbering drunk, oblivious to the world.

Scared he had gone back down to the common room and got my bolshy Liverpudlian friend who had accompanied him back upstairs and helped drag me back to my room. Apparently I was completely incoherent and couldn't even utter an understandable word during the march back.

The daft thing it that, not only was my room in a completely different building around 500 metres away, but the Mexican guys room was at the very end of the corridor on the 3rd floor of the main building. I obviously slept walked all the way down the road, into the main building and up three flights of stairs. Obviously at that point I must have got tired and looked for the nearest unlocked room in which to rest my weary head. I would have had to use my swipe-card twice to gain access, so I must have had a little sense with me!

No. 4: Two Ways

No. 4 on my 40 thing to do before I am 40 is to walk the Pennine Way, a 268 mile walk from the South Yorkshire Peak District National Park, through the Yorkshire Dales and Northumberland National park - ending across the Scottish border. This spring we are planning on doing the first 5 or 6 days of the trail, which should leave us about  third of the way up.

I have had this in my mind for a while. One of the main draws being that the start of the Way is in Edale - not far from my house. I seem to have roped in The Tank and The Nurse as traveling buddies and a number of other people who want to do one or two days.  The idea is to carry all of our equipment and camp along the way. It will be pretty challenging, but then thats what we are after.

What has complicated matters however, is that I have been invited along with my brother to a similar 4 day jaunt across the Cumbria Way in late May. I am pretty sure I will do both (Dan - take this as a yes) bar injury. It was suggested by Arjan that I add this to my 40 things to do before I am 40, in order that I can tick something off the list - but I think that is a little against the spirit of the thing.

Photo of Black Hill on the Pennine Way: Stolen from the Internet

Coupled with the annual walking trip I will be taking with Lucy's family - this will be a summer of long walks!

Its Cold in Canada

This afternoon I got off work a little early. The client I was working with persuaded me it would be a good idea to drive north to Ottawa to go and see Parliament Hill being as it is the main (winter) attraction around. I am in a very tourism oriented little town on the edge of lake Ontario so there are a few things to do around here. Unfortunately the fact that it is below -20 outside puts a bit of a spanner in the works when considering taking a little boat out onto the lake.

So I thought it would be a good idea to go and take a few photographs. I was hoping to get there by sunset so that I could get some good light. It was a beautiful day today.

So tonight I drove the hour and a half or so north and pitched straight into Friday night rush hour. Coupled with the fact that I left my map at home and I drive (even more) like a granny when forced onto the wrong side of the road – the one and a half hours took more like 2 and a half hours.

Parliament Hill is actually quite spectacular in the snow and with the setting sun behind it. Illuminated by the red sunset and by artificial lights it would of cut a fine picture … only my camera didn’t work as I forgot to charge the batteries. The image, however is burned in my mind you’ll be glad to know.

I basically had to run around parliament hill, as with the wind chill I was absolutely frozen to my core. I have made four trips for work so far. They have been in February twice, in January and in December. I have never really seen Canada above 0 degrees!

But, I am told that the weather is especially cold here at the moment, even by Canadian standards. Yesterday evening, the temperature hit -30, without wind-chill! The funny thing is that the cold is all that people talk about. They say things like ‘Wow its really cold outside, hey?’. I feel like replying ‘You live in Canada!’.

It’s a little like when I get into work in Leeds and people say to me; ‘I can’t believe how much it’s been raining recently!’. I wonder if nomads on the Sahara desert say ‘Boy its dry out there today isn’t it? I am working up quite a thirst!’ to one another while tucking into their camel steaks.

On Weddings (not mine!)

For those who don't know me personally, I have a girlfriend who is completely obsessed with weddings. If you had ever met her, you would know. You would know within about 30 seconds of starting a conversation with her.

She is more than obsessed, she is borderline psychopathic about weddings.

She has planned out every last minute element of her own wedding (to which I hope I am not invited) down to the colours, the dress, all that other crap that goes along with it etc. etc.

She has been to wedding shows for no other reason that she wanted to have a look, and I have lost count of the number of times I have walked into the living room and caught her watching wedding TV. She ashamedly tries to flick the channel over - but I know! Wedding TV for gods sake! What on earth can they play on wedding TV that stretches our for 24 whole hours 365 days of the year? I can't watch it long enough to find out (it burns my eyes).

Over the Christmas just gone, we came home from Morocco to the news that both her sister and brother have officially announced their engagement (not to each other I hasten to add - that would be wrong). This sent Lucy into kind of a spiralling wedding frenzy.

The day after boxing day I ended up trawling around wedding venues in the midlands. Country house, hotel, conference centre, country house etc etc. After about 72 straight hours of Lucy saying: 'I want our wedding to be like this', 'I would have these colours at my wedding', 'I would like flowers of this type when we get married', I started to go out of my mind and actually start thinking that we were getting married. Like we were engaged and I was having small heart attacks about hearing the kinds of costs involved.

In fact. Thinking about it, she speaks like we are engaged all of the time now!

My friends in Australia used to laugh their asses off when Lucy would describe how our wedding would be - despite the fact that we are not engaged - despite the fact I want a wedding about as much as I want a poke in the eye with a rusty pair of garden shears - despite the fact that every time she talks about it or stops at a jewellers or looks in a wedding dress shop window, I just walk off.

I was beginning to get to the point where I was thinking that I should probably have an affair or something so that she would change her ideas and consider me as 'not quite marriage material'. Yes. that would be nice. That would be peaceful.

Anyway, it turns out that Lucys sister is planning a wedding very similar to the one that she has always wanted. This has resulted in a complete change of attitude for Lucy to something like:

'I am not that bothered if I get married anymore'.

Result.

40 40s

I set up this blog as a means of tracking my move abroad last year. I took the plunge and emmigrated to Sydney well over a year ago now.

Then I emmigrated back again.

Beyond the Australia thing, I started a trend of writing about drunken exploits of my younger years, partly because I think they are funny, and partly because I don't want to forget them.

I tried to become a clever, fancy interneteer by converting my blogger blog to a Wordpress blog, I even enlisted my brother who has considerably more experience than me with Wordpress to help with the transfer. He will, incidentally not get paid for his efforts. I couldn't really be bothered to learn how to work Wordpress.

Following my return in September, the posts have kind of dried up, due to the amount of travelling I have been doing for my job and due to the lack of subjects more interesting than 'what I did at work today' posts.

So, I had been feeling that on this, the 202nd post, the blog had kind of lost its purpose. It was no longer functioning as I had at first intended it to (for example, not once in all this time do I remember posting anything about rabbits, or for that matter raisins).

However this week I have found my salvation! I got talking to one of my clients while over here in Canadia who said to me she may buy a bottle of Don Perignon (apologies for misspelling) at some point in January. I looked at here puzzled, for what reason?

Apparently it is on her 40 things to do before she is 40 list that she had written up with a group of her friends on some drunken night.

40 things to do before you are 40! What a brilliant, if completely cliched and unoriginal idea! Why didn't I steal that from somebody! Surely mine would be the only blog in the entire of the interweb that would contain such a fantastical concept.

Its a new year now. 2009 apparently. And technically I have only spent 2 days at home since the inception of the year, so tehnically I haven't had much time to think about a direction for the year. What a perfect time to think about such a list and create a new direction for the blog!

Why waste my time in trying to correct my character faults with new years resolutions that I won't keep, when I can simply arrange a list of single one-off events which will temporarily enrich my life for shortlived moments!

So I have begun a list on the right hand side of this blog. If I could figure out how to use Wordpress, I would set up a different page - but I really can't be arsed with all that.

How I Spent my New Year

11.56pm:

The Artist "I know, lets get shots in for everyone ready for New Year!"
Me: "Yeah great idea"
We go to the bar.

11:57pm

Me: "Can I have...how many of us are there? ... er six shots of sambuca"
The Artist: "No ... er... seven"
Me: "seven shots of sambuca please!"
The City Worker: "I don't like Sambuca"
Me: "OK. six shots of Sambuca and one shot of Tequila please." turns to friends "I hope you all have some money because I am not paying for all of this".
The Artist scrabbles around in his pockets.
The Artist: "I think I can pay for about three of them?"

11:58pm

Me (snatching up The Artist's money): "Can I pay by Card? Have I got time?"
...
Hands over card.
...
Waits.

11.59pm

Barmaid hands over chip and pin machine.
...
Me: "Oh you seem to have put the wrong amount in here. It says £1.40"
Barmaid takes back chip and pin machine.
...
Waits.

12.00am

Barmaid hands over card terminal.
...
I enter my pin. I hand back the terminal.

12.01am

I collect my drinks.
I return to my friends.

Oh. Its too late.

"Shots anyone?"

Flashbacks

I wanted to post something up about it being 2009 - a whole brand new year. But I am a little too late on that one.

I have a bit of a hectic post new year time of it, flying out to New Brunswick in Canada on the 2nd for work for the next few weeks.

My enjoyment of travelling for work seems to have diminished for the time being.

This may be because I have taken an absolutely ludicrous number of flights in the last twelve months, and have begun to develop an ingrained hatred of airports. This hatred added to an existing hatred of North American airports that I had before. For some reason being a forgeign passport holder in North American airports means you are subject to a 'guilty until proven innocent' type approach by the (somtimes pretty rude) customs personnel on a power trip. In the UK the staff dont really care about their jobs so much (most of them are temps) which makes getting through a much easier process.

My enjoyment may have decreased because I am working on my own this time, and have nobody to talk to for most of the day (particularly since it is the weekend and I havent started the project yet). I dont mind going to restaurants on my own, but for some reason this time I can't really be bothered.

It may also have decreased because I have stayed in a ludicrous amount of hotels in the past 12 months. I am not a big fan of hotels. I am particularly not a big fan of housekeeping. Surely the aim of a hotel is to make you feel as at home as possible? Well at home I use the same towel for a week, leave it wet on the floor and change my sheets about once a month - so stop bloody waking me up at 08.30 in the morning to clean my room!

No. I jest. The real reason I am not enjoying my trip this time is because going away without Lucy and spending large amounts of time on my own reminds me of my big trip away last year. It reminds me of how hard I found it being apart from her - and in truth it makes me feel a little guilty that she is forced to rattle around our house in Sheffield on her own where she doesn't have very many friends.