All augurs well

Steeped in local brewing tradition, IPA is an ale that proponents put forward as a masterpiece of British beer. One of its founding characteristics was its longevity during transit between the motherland and India. Personally I think it would be neither here nor there if it didn't contain any extra preservatives and went rotten during it's journey. While the local crusties are sipping their India Pale Ale, I stick to the "Wife Beater", as it's known here. Stella Artois, as cosmopolitan legend has it, contains some odd hops which causes the wife to either fall down the stairs or accidentally run in to a clenched fist when their husband returns home from the pub.

Following in the nomadic footsteps of one of my role models - David Carradine from Kung Fu, I've moved yet again to a hotel near to Paddington Station and Hyde Park. This area has the largest Italian and French population outside of mainland Europe - many cafés dot the footpath and some do stay open after 11pm. Clearly they didn't get the memo from the British Department of Interior, which has shrouded English culture on under a policy of metropolitan narcolepsy.

The remainder of London does understand imperial directives and like a slightly-damaged Swiss clock, pubs obediently close to 11pm and stop serving food around 9pm. Covent garden is a pretty area of the city and has an ample selection of restaurants and bars. The Walkabout is a favourite bar for the Ozzys, Kiwis and Boks and on the odd occasion you can find a local. They're usually the well-imbibed gents picking fights with the bouncer.

I'm heading out to a party with Tim tonight in the countryside - a 30th birthday party. I don't think I'll be on the wife beater tonight. Perhaps I'll just stick to the Home Wrecker.

Top of the mornin' to ya

I'd been getting jeers of protest for the blog's lack of recent content. Well, in fact it was from the folks and they're enjoying discovering the end-user experience of the industry in which I work. It's not all point and click you know!

Anyhow, I think the last reprise I noted was before I went deep sea diving - many moons ago. I spent one Friday afternoon just off the coast of Abu Dhabi spending about 45 minutes checking out a sunken cement barge which had decided to submerge itself in 10 metres of water. As duly instructed, I did a second dive at a shallower depth off an artifical reef. Both dives were pretty cool to finally discover the contraband that society has ditched in to the ocean. What was especially nice was the water temperature: 35 degrees. What was unfortunate was I must have caught something from the experience, other than just memories. I was bed stricken the next day with some nasty congestion and it lingers ever so slightly still. Worth it nonetheless. Hopefully with more exepditions I can develop some hardy Jacques Cousteau wherewithal of the depths.

I've since left the dusty shores of robotic camel jockeys and have moved to London for the next few weeks. I was here for nary four days when I made the boost over to the Netherlands for the lowlands music festival. Unfortunately my entrance didn't turn out as planned. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they told me if I slept outside the front gate to wait for the ticket office to open the next day, they would kick me out for trespassing. Needless to say I took that as a message to embolden myself and wandered in through a backstage service entrance posing as a security guard. I didn't want to chance it with the dog patroling the front fence.

As usual, the good times rolled. I was tenting it with Xavier and a bunch of his uni buddies who were mostly from The Hague. The list this time included:

T.Raumschmiere
Quasimodo Jones
Morcheeba
Korn (nothing special though)
Fat Freddy's Drop
Seeed
Queen's of the stone age
Incubus
Soulwax
That 1 guy
Lots of Flaamse Fritjas with majo
Lots of pretty Dutch talent

I was a bit dissapointed !!! (pronounced chk chk chk) pulled out at the last minute. After spending the night at Schipol airport on Sunday night, I jumped on the plane at the sparrow's fart and went straight to work. I don't know why I'm still awake at 9 at night typing this. I should be back at the cheap hostel falling asleep watching TV with the sounds of coital affairs conducting themselves on in the next door room. Maybe me with a bottle of cheap burbon and a stained wife beater singlet will help seal your image that I'm trying to portray through the intarnet. It's a nice place, really.

For the next few weeks, I'll be living a bit of a nomad lifestyle (nothing different there though) living in various hostels and hotels around London. I anticipate being here for this latest work project for another 5 or 6 weeks, but who knows. It could go on till the end of the year. If it does, I'll probably get something semi-permanent.