Lack of sleep doesn't help
Travelling with glamour on
VimeoThe morning after I recorded the above video (I was playing with the compact video setting on my new camera), I stumbled down to breakfast. A bit late and trying to get some coffee and something approximating breakfast to eat (american budget/roadside hotel breakfasts, in the main, suck Donkey cock). As I was trying to wake up enough to remember if it was the big end or the little end of the cup that I had to pour the coffee into, and so not scald my hand, I heard a warbly Southern voice behind me:
"Can I ah-sist you with an arse-waffle"?That confused me, I can tell you. I turned to see a little old lady that worked behind the desk - all translucent skin, wrinkles and glasses like Ikea glass wall tiles.
"Um. I beg your pardon?"
"I sayed, can I ah-sist you with an arse waffle?"(flummoxed) "Er. No, thanks. I think I'm probably fine".
It was only as she asked someone else as I walked out that I realised she had said "
nice waffle". Which is an odd concept in itself (particularly in a cheap hotel), so you can understand my confusion, surely?
Things that have happened to me this month
It is taking me too long to get around to a decent post, so I shall slap some of the stuff that I have remembered down in a shortened form:
1: Weird and freaky things that have happened to me:
I was watching TV just before going out, and
Batman Begins was on. "Oh, I haven't seen this" thought I, after about 20 minutes watching it. "It's a shame I am going out, I'd have liked to see the rest of this."
I end up going out with the boys (into Atlanta to explore) and arrive back at the hotel about 8 hours later. I flick the TV on after a while and start jumping channels.
Batman Begins is being re-run (not unusual on that channel) but it is in the exact place (to the
word) that I turned it off at. I saw about 3 seconds of the scene I had already seen, and then the rest of the film. How weird.
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The second thing was just now. I have my iPod playing, it has 3000 songs on random shuffle on it, through some speakers while I was having a shower. As I was finishing, a song came on that I didn't recognise.
"Is this
Bjork?" I wondered to myself. As it happens, it wasn't (it was
Trinity Roots) and I didn't want to listen to it, so pressed the skip button.
The iPod then (randomly?) played two Bjork songs, off different albums, back to back. How freaky is that? Not only the exact artist that I was thinking about, but two songs at a go? Pretty weird.
Maybe I'll do the lottery tonight.
2: Amusing things that have happened to me:
The two tourist information ladies in the centre for the local area talking to me (often at the same time, and vying for top volume) for ages. Then, as one of them went off to get me yet
another leaflet, being told:
"The area has gone awfully downhill in the last few years, you know. It used to be much nicer. It's since the Blacks moved in, you see. I mean, (hurriedly) it's not a colour thing, but since the Blacks have moved in, it's got much worse. I think they have a different standard of living or something..."Bless her and her deep set racism. She wasn't actually being nasty, more just accepting of the years of being told/believing that they aren't as good people as 'nice white folk'. Heh. Made me chuckle, anyway. It's not a colour thing, but it's all the black's fault. Yuhu.
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Trying to get a taxi to work on my first day. Now, the workshop is in Morrow. This is a suburb that is probably less than 10 miles from the Airport and hence also the hotel I was staying at. It's not on the moon, or anything. I needed a taxi, and was trying to ask the girl behind the desk to get one for me. The fact that most americans look at me as if I am speaking a foreign language, and refuse to use any lateral thought at all (I actually had to point at the "Tom-ah-toes" to get the women to understand me, yesterday) means this wasn't too easy:
Me: "I need to get to this place I am working at, would you please call a taxi for me while I have my breakfast?"
Her: "Yes, Sir. Where did you want to go?"
Me: "To Morrow"
Her: "Oh, you don't need it yet?"
Me: "Uh, yes, I need it for about 20 minutes time. That was why I asked you to call for one".
Her (looking confused): "Oh, You want me to call now, but you need it for tomorrow?"
Me: "No, I want to go
to Morrow, and I want to go soon. I have to be there at nine" (twigging at this stage, but fascinated that this was so hard for her to understand).
Her: "Oh" (and sits there looking confused).
Me (realising that this could drag on): "Ok, do you know where Morrow is?"
Her (looking at me as if I was dumb and nearly getting a slap for it) "Of
course".
Me: "Right. I need to go there. I need a taxi to get there. I need the taxi soon, as I need to be there at 9 o'clock".
Her: "Oh, ok. I'll call that for you now then, shall I?"
Me (with no faith at all and through gritted teeth) "Yes. That'd be great. Thanks.
Stupid cow. It seems that the
slightest deviation from the language or accent they were expecting causes them to utterly fail to understand you. This is only one of many examples. It is almost as if when not presented with information as they expect to be given it, they just discard it without any analysis. When we go shopping with the french guys, I swear if I wasn't there, they'd have to draw everything. They struggle so much, and it is only a pronunciation issue thing, usually. If someone is obviously foreign, surely you try and understand what they mean, rather then refuse to understand at all? They just can't be arsed, it seems.
And the BEST one:
At the Portland race, we had to go a junction or two up the Interstate into Portland itself, before turning off for the circuit. A sign on the left at the entrance ramp was set up to encourage people to meet up for car sharing. It had a phone number that I swear caused many confused people, or very entertaining rides to work. Want to know what it said? I didn't get a photo, but underneath the picture of a car was this:
Car Share!
Call 69-Match.Hilarious. Of all the numbers to pick, why the hell would you use that one? It made me laugh every morning for about 4 days...
The tour of the truck
After the last race in Cleveland, I decided to come back in the Truck with John, rather than in the crewbus. Partly because it had a bed in it so I could get some much needed sleep, but also because the crazy dangerous frenchman was driving the crewbus, and I didn't want to die.
The journey took the best part of 14 hours over two days, and we were bored. This was in one of those moments where I was trying to find something to do. We'd gone through all John's CD's and had enough of them, the radio was obviously shite, so we turned to being stupid and looking out the window at the other cars to spot fit women (preferably in short skirts). There was one particularly amusing moment in some traffic as we passed Knoxville where I was leant right over the dash looking out the window and laughing with John when the CB sparked up asking
"How's the window shopping over there?" The guy in the next truck (my side) was in stitches at me diving over the dashboard whenever John called me over;
"Dammit, it's not just I can't see the fine women you two are looking at, it's that I have to look at his (ie my) damn ass, instead!"It made us laugh. It reminded John of a late night CB chatter he was listening to between a couple of other trucks (they get so bored and chat all the time) as they were driving along somewhere a few years ago:
Trucker A: "So, how's the traffic moving on 67?"
Trucker B: "Pretty good, I'd say. I'm humming along, pretty much".
(pause)
Trucker B: "Hey, can I ask you a question?"
Trucker A: "Sure"
Trucker B: "Can I stick my finger up your ass?"
At this stage, John nearly drives into a ditch pissing himself laughing, and the radio erupts with guys laughing and Trucker A effing and jeffing at the other bloke. He had a bit of a sense of humour failure, apparently.
Still, stories like that whiled away the hours. Combined with me deciding to dance along to the radio for a bit as we drove along. It was night time, so John turned on the cab lights and I did some stupid dancing in the space in the back. It only lasted a few minutes, as John hit a bump (american roads suck donkey cock in the North) and I overbalanced and fell down like a sack of shit - closely missing twatting myself in the head with the gearstick. Apparently, John is of the opinion that there is "Something missing in your head, boy!"
(The video ends badly as John got a call on his phone, but I left that bit on. Mainly because I couldn't be arsed to edit it out.)
Fighting to get away from Portland.
There were a fair few delays getting away from Portland (we nearly missed our connection at Vegas, and this was the view back down the taxi way as we started to line up for departure. One of those rare times when I have all of the following occur:
1: I see something and think "Oooh, that looks cool".
2: I make the leap to "that would make a great picture"
3: I have my camera with me and accessible
4: I don't fumble and fuck about and miss the opportunity and swear at myself for about half an hour afterwards.
It's nice when they all line up. Maybe if it happens more, the aesthetics may become important in my photo taking, rather than just taking pictures of stuff that reminds me of things to write about (when I get the time to...).
One of those occasional shots that I am actually proud of. I don't care if no-one else likes it.
Blimey. A busy few days.
So much has happened in the last week, it is difficult to know where to start. I have been giggling to myself on many occasions, and noting down stuff to write about on my journey and the ensuing exposure to america in all it's glory/non-glory.
So I shall start with some things, and let it go on from there:
I'm knackered. Totally. The day I flew turned into a 21 hour day by the time I'd booked in and had something to eat (Dennys: my first US diner). I then had about 7 hours sleep and got a taxi to the workshop. Well. More of the taxi later. So I got to the workshop and got stuck in. The team is very fragmented - everyone is new, and there is the accompanying confusion and lack of direction. This will change... But anyway, the first working day I had was a 15 hour shitfight on a somewhat less than sorted racing car. A lot of work to do this year, methinks. But I was really tired after that, as I was back at the workshop at half 8 the next day, after utterly failing to sleep properly in my new hotel room (the aircon either left me too hot, or froze me to death and kept me awake sounding like it was trying to get out of the door). Getting up was like dragging myself out of a massive pit. With treacle on the sides. I haven't slept more than 5 hours in a night since. I just keep waking up. Arse.
Anyway. The taxi. I didn't exactly get a taxi from the hotel to work, I actually got a taxi to the tourist information office, with the taxi driver saying to me all the way there and our subsequent onward voyage) that, despite the destination being within 10 miles of where he picked me up, he couldn't be expected to know where every street was. Heaven forbid. Anyone would think it was his job. I had to struggle to try and appear unspurprised that he didn't know, and refrain from taking the piss out of him as he clearly wasn't the sharpest tool in the box. He threw a few random (i.e. made up) street names in England to try and demonstrate his point that not knowing is perfectly sensible for a taxi driver (because England is entirely bounded inside a 10 mile radius circle, hence it was an accurate analogy!). Unfortunately, the streets he picked went as follows:
Taxi driver: "I mean, you know where is.... er....
(racks brain for English sounding name)Kensington street"
Me: "High Street, Kensington? Weeeeell. I'm from right the other side of England...
(pause for effect) but yeah, I know where that is".
TD (flustered) "Yeah, well. What about....errr....Chelsea street?"
Me: (grinning to myself) "Chelsea? Yeah, no problem, I know where that is"
TD (hurriedly) "NO, no, not
"Chelsea street. Cheldslum (insert mumbling and fudging on the pronunciation here as he struggles to make his point)street. You know where is that?"
Me: (just wishing he'd shut the fuck up and take me there) "Oh. no. I don't know where that is."
He went on about it for ages, and made a big point that he deserved a tip for going out of his way to find out where the address was - like it's not his damn job to know. Tosser. I didn't mention about London black cab drivers having to pass
The Knowledge exam and know every street in London... I didn't think he'd appreciate it.
Heh.
Happy birthday to me
From me. To me.
I have wanted an iPod for ages, but haven't had either the money, or the projected usage to justify it. Now I will be flying on average once a week for the next three months, I think the time has come. I even bought the little docking station thing so that I can have music in my room, and so stop having to watch the shit on the TV just to stop being bored...
Although I did get a $50 discount on the stuff in the picture (I played the "It's my birthday, and no-one is here to buy it for me" card), I am really glad that I am the way I am about birthdays. After all, I am about to go out an eat an evening meal on my birthday alone - 4,000 miles away from any of my friends, or in fact anyone I have known for more than 2 days (bar one person who is still too far away to eat with anyway).
Lesser (better?) people may get depressed by that, I suppose, but I could have got hold of some of the guys from the team if I'd actually wanted to, but I couldn't be arsed with it and the fuss. I just wanted to relax, get my bearings in the US and do my toy shopping today, which I very much enjoyed.
Marvellous. Happy birthday me, the miserable old, antisocial bastard. But perfectly fine being it.
I'm here
I'm here, it's fucking hot, and the first thing I did when I got my bags,
was hear a tannoy announcement for "Passenger Hightower".
Surreal.
Also, I have had to learn to make an effort to say "thank -you" instead of
"cheers", as the americans appear to have no fucking idea what that
means...
(reposted because it failed...)
The point of no return.
Well, then. I am at Gatwick. Ignore the fact that I told some of you I was flying from Heathrow. I thought I was too until I got there and the bloke at the information desk pointed out I was at the wrong place. Feckin internet booking. I asked for as flight from Heathrow, and it gave me one from Gatwick. Probably should have checked, mind you. What a twat. Still, we managed to get to Gatwick (despite the detour) on time. My main concern was to get here early enough to get an emergency exit seat so that I would have enough legroom to avoid any danger of Deep Brain Bamboozle, or whatever they call it - I always struggle with plane seats and find even 2 hour flights uncomfortable in the normal seats. I even managed to charm the lady checking me in, despite her having started work at 5am, sufficiently to get the seat without the usual £50 extra charge. Marvellous. My flirtatious affliction clearly has its uses.
In fact, if anything, I was pretty early - here at 8 for a 1220 flight) and if any of you know my Dad's punctuality record (like mine, for those that know, but much worse) that was a major shocker. His wife and I were even considering lying to him about when the flight was to make sure I got here on time, but didn't need to in the end. I'd probably have got here some time last week if we'd done that. I'd have had to go all Tom Hanks.
Still, I'm here now, and have even managed to slap some shite pictures up. Sorry about that, but very little at airports catches the eye to photograph, except the many lovely ladies that always seem to fly everywhere. Ah, the lives of the rich, famous and eye-candy-ness. I shall rub shoulders with real people for a bit to see if any success rubs off on me. I doubt it.
I also, for total pointless reference, have my
Keep It Real Frog T-shirt on, and some Flickr badges on my day sack. I wonder if anyone will comment, or spot them... Enough yanks (and normal people) coming through here to make it possible, I suppose. What
doesn't bode well for my extended stay in the US, is that I have already been grinding my teeth about someone saying "Skedule" repeatedly (as opposed to the correct "Sh-edule"). And that was just in the Departures lounge queue... Ah. I must try and be tolerant, I suspect.
Finished.
Just a few odds and ends now - the rubbish and the Jaffa cakes from the table, then I am off into the wide blue yonder - or at least to my Dad's for the night.
I'm running late (shocker) and just have to pack my router and my laptop and get in the car after locking up. I am hot, sweaty and knackered from cleaning the entire flat, as it is pretty warm today. However, I hear a rumour that Gerogia is much hotter. I suspect I shall have a new hobby when I arrive:
Sweating.
Knackered.
Ok. All my stuff (pretty much) has been taken by myself, Scott and Julio in a van to my Dad's house today (there was slightly more than I estimated, but hey, he'll live). It has been along and sweaty day, but ended rather well. Knackering.
I even managed to get enough done before the weekend to have two evenings and a day
on the piss with various people (managing to tie it in with various moving related things) and so have had a pretty good weekend. I have even felt a bit warm and fluffy (despite my jaded and granite cold heart) as several of the friends that I have made since I have been here have been in tears or thereabouts about my leaving. I know it sounds a bit harsh to be pleased that they were crying and all that, but it was nice to see they cared so much. Kat in particular nearly destroyed one of my white T-shirts on Saturday night by emptying her entire face full of mascara on me when she was about to go home. Apparently she even cried all the way home, too, bless her. I'd like to think that the fact that it was half 5 in the morning when her and her sister (Ams) left, and that we had been drinking since 7 had nothing to do with it, but my mind is open....!
There was also a rather odd incident on Sunday night. There is a very gorgeous young lady (called Jess) that I had been lusting after, for getting on for a year, who works in my local pub. She is really pretty, sexy and very sweet, but has given me no sign of interest other than our usual silliness and messing about when I go there - just the usual flirting between us and a bit of giggling. I'd given up some time ago from trying seriously as there seemed to be no encouragement. Anyway, she met up with us when we were out for a few drinks on Sunday night and as we were saying our goodbyes at the end of the night (completely out of the blue) she threw her arms around me and dragged me to one side to explain to me how upset she was that I was leaving her (as she put it), and the opportunity that we had both missed, and how gutted (and sorry!) she was that she had had a boyfriend for so much of the time that I had lived here.
What? Where the fuck did that come from? Even Ams and Scott were unprepared for that; they didn't see it coming either, so it wasn't just Johnny Fuckwit here missing the signs. My unrequited lust for Jess had been a running joke for many months.
Amazing. Even more proof that I totally don't understand women. There is nothing like leaving somewhere for finding out a lot of interesting things, and having women suddenly decide to leap on you, as I have found out in the past, but that one was a lot more unexpected. Barking mad, the lot of them, I reckon.
Anyway, I am finishing off a very good bottle of wine as I enjoy my last evening in my flat - I have very much enjoyed living here, the town and the people have been great and I truly love my flat; it's been the nicest place I have ever lived and been all my own. I can't really explain what that means to me (or why), but it has been a significant element in my life to be so comfortable and relaxed at home. I shall miss it, and the fantastic weather this weekend has reminded me exactly why this area is so pretty and lovely to be in, with the Air balloons flying 100 foot over the town as they travel up the valley, with me stood on my balcony on the sun at 7 in the evening watching them go past.
Lovely. If you ever get the chance, live in the Cotswolds. Even for a short time. You could also do a lot worse than here, to be honest. The alternative lifestyle here (this is where all the hippies and 'holistic massage/healing' types live when they aren't at Glastonbury) means that it is a very laid back town. Very relaxing. I think that if I'd been in any other sort of town, the way I have been feeling for the last six months or so would have produced a very different and unhappy ending, to be brutally honest. I haven't discussed (or even touched on) how fucking frustrated and unhappy I got close to being (with anyone at all) but it was there, and I needed to shift it. I am grateful to the people I have met here (and the support from my friends - both online and of some years - even if they didn't know they were helping something I was keeping to myself), and the ambiance of the place itself, for making coming home be much more of a positive influence than it might have been.
Anyway. This is all getting a bit close to home, and I am pissed. So rather than be too honest (Heaven forbid!), I am going to sign off. I am sad to leave, but happy to be going. That sounds odd, but it's true. I had no real future in the UK, in a multitude of ways, but what I
do have (my friends and the like) I will miss - despite what little time I have ( and have had) to spend with some of them. They, hopefully, know how much I value them as I'm not sure I would know how to express it, but I shall miss being so close to them even if I have been unable to afford/cope with being able to jump in a car and go and see them when I want to. Just knowing that if I
could have gone to see them, I would have had their friendship, regardless of how often I saw them, has been important to me. Much more than any of you realise.
I fly out on Wednesday lunchtime (after a night at my Dad's). I will post some pictures of the journey (of course) and post some amusing stories (no doubt) of my first encounters with the U. S. of A and all that. I only hope (as SO many of my friends have suggested to me - fuckers) that I can hold my tongue and piss taking long enough to sign a long term contract....
Most of the way there
Most of the way there
Originally uploaded by Brock.I still have the HI-fi and the TV to pack up, and the stuff that I am actually taking (none of the stuff you see - just a couple of suitcases, some tools and the laptop basically).
Hectic. But I have got the full deposit back from my flat and not had to pay a months notice, so that is pretty jammy...
Tired, though. Lot of work done yesterday. All this was done in one day by me, my mum and her husband. We even had time to clean the kitchen and the oven.
