Dance like an epileptic windmill

When I started this blog I intended it to be my autobiography, aswell as my diary. I figure a good place to start an autobiography is your first memory, but I've been putting this off for a while, it's a little sensitive. I've had a few drinkies tonight so here it comes.

My first memory is of my Dad. He was shouting at me for not eating my peas, and sent me to my room. I must have been about three. I remember he did this thing where he indicated where my room was by pointing at it with his thumb, over his shoulder behind him. I must have thought this was cool because I also remember mimicking this action, whilst I was shouting at my sister. She was three years older than me, so I had no right to send her to bed, but it must have had an impact on me. I don't know if you agree but it is thought that children have an extra sense, and can sense danger. Another memory I have of my Dad is arguing and shouting and crying and stamping and insisting my Dad dosn't go to work. You see my Dad died when I was three. I'm not sure if that was the night he died that I did all the arguing and stamping, but these are the only two memories I have of my Dad, and it plays on me. I do have a definate memory of a link with the night he died though. He had promised he'd kiss me goodnight when he got home from work, and I was shouting out for him. Time after time. And every time my Mum said he wasn't home yet, and then the next time I shouted it wasn't my Mum who answered but a neighbour, who was a friend of the family. I didn't understand at the time, but years later found out that she had been asked to look after me after the police had informed my Mum of my Dad's death. I'm not sure where my Mum had gone. I couldn't ask her now. It's all made me a little numb to death now. For years I suffered, and one day I think I just said to myself that I should forget it and get over it. And now death dosn't mean so much to me. Sometimes my Mum tells me about friends, or even distant family who have died, and I'm like...ah well....never mind. I think this was because it really hurt me for years. Every time I mention him to my Mum, even now, 22 years on, she breaks down. And I feel kind of responsible for it. I don't know how I was told as a child my Dad was dead, but, on recollection of my actions, I think I must have been told he had gone into an ambulance and wasn't coming back. I say that because I remember when I was young seeing ambulances go by, and shouting after them ,and telling my Mum that Daddy might be in it and we should stop it. This ended one day when my Mum got upset and my sister told me I shouldn't say that because it upset Mum. I seem to be writing this now like a child, but I have never really put it into context since, so please forgive me, it's just how I remember it. My dad died in his work after all his internal organs started bleeding. No one could figure out why, or how it happened, and a series of Doctors inspections proved inconclusive. I have a theory now though, about why it happened, after I looked at a few things myself. I suppose you have to, my Mum never really got over that she never knew what took him away. My Dad worked for a company, which is now known as Candarel. He was a chemist, and the company he worked for, which was known as Kelco, produced a sugar replacement product called aspertame. It must have been revolutionary at the time, a product which tastes of sugar, without the fat. Now-a-days you'll find it in all diet drinks, such as diet Coke, and diet Tango in place of sugar. Lately there has become a pressure group in America protesting that Aspertame is dangerous, and as this is what my Dad worked with I feel this is what killed him.
Talking to my Mum about my Dad always brings us to tears, but another time it made me cry was when I was in school, in Science class, and my friends started talking about my Dad. Not that they knew him, just one was telling the other that he was dead, and I broke into tears, but tried so hard to hide it. On reflection I think thats' pretty tough for a twelve year old, but I think this was the turning point when I decided I wasn't going to get upset about it anymore. I think it embarrased me that I had got upset in front of my school friends. I hardly ever spoke about it before that, and could rarely say the words 'my Dad is dead.' Another time I was upset was when I took my bike to the bike shop to get the brakes fixed, and bike shop owner questioned me about why my dad hadn't fixed it, what with it being such a simple job. It really upset me that, and I rode off without paying him.
I rarely talk about my Dad, certainly not as frank as this, but last year I found myself in a situation in work where I was telling a collegue that my Dad had died when I was younger. He is a Father of two, and mybe it touched him because of this, but it brought him to tears...a grown man! Like I said, I've just become a little immune to it all.



Have you ever seen anyone have an epileptic fit? Not so long ago, I was sharing a room with a friend of mine. He was in one bed, I was in the other. In the middle of the night, perhaps three in the morning I opened my eyes. In front of me, I saw my friend, shaking, vibrating, possibly even foaming at the mouth. I panicked. 'Are you okay?' I shouted.
'Fuck off, I'm having a wank' came the reply.
Charming.

For Who I am

I've just been doing a search on Google for a song I heard on an advert for Unison. It turns out the song is called One and is by Filter. Anyway in my search I came across someones blog and it touched me. It's written by a young American, and i thought I'd share it here. It can be found at http://outminds.com/outspoken/outspoken_column.cfm?cid=482


For Who I Am

Written By Christopher

As I walk through those halls of high school I am made fun of...For who I am.

Queer, Gay, Faggot!!! Those are the words I am called, day in, and day out...For who I am.

Did you know a gay teen is twice as likely to commit suicide? Some of my friends have from those words you slur at us, when is it going to stop!?

You can't hold hands, you can't kiss each other, you can't be you...for who you are!
Don't come near me, you have AIDS, I might catch it...catch what, exactly?
You yell at us, you discriminate against us, and you beat us up, and you expect us to just accept this type of behavior, and you call us animals!?

You have killed innocent lives for being themselves.
We don't go around spray painting Hetero on your cars, we don't go around bashing your heads in with baseball bats.

Got AIDS Yet? AIDS cure gays! Gays Go To Hell...were seen at a funeral. As Mathew Shephard was put six feet under, his family, and friends heard those cruel words repeated over, and over again...and to make things worse, people stood outside the graveyard waving those signs!!!

When will you stop the hatred?
When will you stop repeating from the Bible, and go by your own opinion?
When will you stop the killings for innocent ones?
When will this country open its eyes, and start to accept?
How many more people have to die?"

...With liberty, and justice, and for all..." but when does that come into affect!

Sanity is not statistical

People have been telling me lots about me lately. I'm not sure why, I haven't been going around quizing people about what they think of me. People have just been telling me things about me. And eccentric seems to be the top word to describe me. It's not been coming as an insult or, in the heat of an angry argument, but it's just how people have described me. It's said as matter of fact as 'you have brown hair' or 'you are short.' It seems that people can just as easily say 'you, Emil, are eccentric.' And it's made me think about the past, and how I've heard this many times before in different forms. My teacher used to tell me I was one 'who thought differently' and more recently a good friend of mine described me as 'unusual name, unusual character.' So it's got me thinking, am I mad? Do mad people know they are mad and does this explain why my hair sometimes makes me look like Freddie Boswell? So I'm consused now, and I've just done a sanity quiz http://www.youthink.com/quiz.asp?action=take&quiz_id=401 which concludes I am slightly odd. I don't however agree with this tests verdict, it's one of those stupid multiple choice ones that asks questions like how are you today? choose from a) 25 b) a baloon or c) a cunt. Finding a questionnaire on the net that really might judge your sanity is fruitless, I just spent half an hour doing so. So how do I find out if I am actually mad? I can't ask my friends, they'd either become yes men, or sarcastic, and either way I wouldn't be sure if I could believe them or not, being as cynical as I am. Maybe I shouldn't bother trying to find out, after all, I'm not that worried about being eccentric, and maybe even like it a tiny bit. It's not doing any harm I don't think.

I finished my book yesterday, Frank Skinners Autobiography. It feels sad putting down a good book, and it being an Autobiography, it's a bit like saying goodbye to a good friend. I really enjoyed that book, and have enjoyed any autobigraphy I have read. That's got me thinking about my taste in books. I'm also reading Ninteen Eighty-Four, the George Orwell classic, and I'm hating saying this but I'm not finding it that great. I can see why it's a classic, it's a political masterpiece, but it just seems to be about stuff that in a way is common sense. And if you really thought about it, you already knew the stuff in it. I suppose that in this way it is a parody of itself, and maybe I'm missing the point. Or that is the point. Either way, I'm not sure that masterpieces are for me. If you asked me to choose a fictional masterpiece, I'd choose 'The Wrong Boy' by Willy Russel, but thats's because it fits my criterior for a good book; it's light hearted easy to read and funny. I find 'classics' like Nineteen Eighty-four, and Catch-22 which I have also read to be good, but I could understand why they would appeal to knobs. Pompous people could discuss the bit between the lines. I'm made up for them.

I started making contingency plans this week for the rest of my life if Japan didn't welcome me. They including considering going to Australia and Canada. Any way, these contingency plans are on the back burner now, because it seems the Japanese may still be considering my application to teach there as they have extended their time to consider my application. Booty for them, cheers for leting me know. I've been worrying for weeks now about getting in or not. So much for Japanese slickness. I thought they would be such an organised organisation, that always met deadlines. Little did I know.

All round his room!

Well it seems my last installment caused a bit of a stir. I was once told that I was one of those people who always had to have the last word, so I've decided on this occasion I'm gonna keep schtum.

I got the bus to work today. I used to hate public transport, but I have to use it now. I can't afford a car any more. I don't think not owning a car is saving me money, it just means I can drink more and not worry about the consequences. The reason for not having a car anymore is that I couldn't budget properly and I bounced my insurance direct debit too many times. It's quiet cool actually - I get to read my books more now when I'm travelling. This morning I was waiting for a bus and was approached by a Chinese looking guy wearing sun glasses. "Are you a school boy." I responded that I wasn't. "I have a message from our Lord" he said and he handed me a piece of paper. I remembered this guy as soon as he saw him. I had remembered that when I was about 12 exactly the same thing had happened, but that time I never read what the piece of paper said, he scared me too much. This time I did.

Peace to all! Below is the official English translation of Our Lady's monthly message to the world, as provided by the Information Centre in Medjugorje.
http://www.medjugorje.hr
Message of October 25, 2004
"Dear children! This is a time of grace for the family and, therefore, I call you to renew prayer. May Jesus be in the heart of your family. In prayer, learn to love everything that is holy. Imitate the lives of saints so that they may be an incentive and teachers on the way of holiness. May every family become a witness of love in this world without prayer and peace. Thank you for having responded to my call."

I'm not a religeous person, and nor are my family, so religeon has never been imposed on me. Recently, however, my thoughts on religeon have changed deeply. Or rather my empathy for those who are touched by religeon has been affected. I used to just dismiss religeon. Religion. I just had to check my dictionary for the spelling of it, I had a suspicion that I couldn't spell it. I think that would shock lots of people, but that just reflects the impact of religion on me. Any way, I'm now much more sympathetic to people touched by religion, and this is greatly because a close frind of mine is battling with it, and it's power. Just to reinforce this Frank Skinner also had issues with it, and his Autobiography says so. I think I'm out of my depth here. Religion confuses me. What I do see though is my friend getting upset about religion. It strikes me that religion has been such a big part of his life that it owes him one. He's followed the rules, so where's the cake? Why should he do what the book says, when the book also says that what he is, is wrong. It's just too easy for me to say it's a big fictional farytail. I could say that, and be happy with that. It suits me. I might just be wrong though. I guess that's what religion is about. Just incase.

Last night I was drinking in St Helens, tonight I've been around Liverpool. I was drinking with my work collegue, Olivia. I never meant to stay out drinking after last nights drunkeness, but you know how things snowball. We were out drinking and we bumped into some friends of mine. They were my gay friend PT, his best mate Dan, a girl called Elizabeth, and Dan's new flat mate Steve. Now Steve is wonderful, he wears a perfect T-shirt, dances perfectly, has perfect teeth, perfect hair that stops in the right place, has a perfect personality, perfect smile, perfect fucking dress sense, has been known to shag Mr Gay Stoke, has perfect fucking hands, and is fucking perfect. Well thats fine by me. I'm not envious, No. However, he's only Mr fucking I've been to fucking Japan for a year as fucking well isn't he. Whilst I'm here waiting for a fucking invite for an interview that is well overfuckingdue. I decide not to talk to him about how great he found Japan.

St Helens last night was a different story. I hate St Helens. I was there because a good friend of mine was performing there in the play Westside story. After it finished we went for a drink. And that was cool, I hadn't been for a drink with my actor pal for a while, and it was nice to catch up. We toured St Helens, and we got drunk, and we ended up in some club. The name of which fails me now. I was bladdered in this club, but spotted some guy looking at me. I figured he was a puff, and as I was pissed decided to approach him. The conversation went something like this
-Hello
-Hello
His female friend approaches, says something to him, and then asks who I am.
-I dunno but I'm gonna shag him all round my room tonight.

Now who said the art of conversation was lost?

We are the lazy arses.

I just recieved a comment regarding my last post, and felt I had to address it. It was sent by an anonymous poster.

I think it may be a little insensitive to talk like this about a deaf friend who may well read it.
Its not kind or nice to rub your own prejudice into his face - although it is commendably honest of you to write it.. its perhaps unkind to remind a person that he is being rejected because of something which he cannot help, and whilst I have no doubt that you wouldnt have the heart (thankfully) to say such things to his face - that may in fact be what you are doing, should he read this.
Learn BSL you lazy arse !

I want to start by thanking the author. You have pointed out what I expect will have gone through most rational peoples heads who read my blog. It certainly went through mine, and you have made me want to ask myself some questions. It is bugging me, and has clearly bothered you, so I decided this is the place to ask these questions. Am I rejecting a relationship with this person because he is deaf? I'm confident this isn't the case. I spent two evenings with him, and we discussed many different topics, and nothing happened which made me attracted to him. Now this isn't a bad thing, lots of people meet and aren't attracted to each other. It's just the way things went. Am I rejecting him as a friend because he is deaf? I've just spent 20 minutes pacing my room fighting about this one. I don't know. Fuck! Would he be my friend if he wasn't deaf? One hundred percent no. He'd have an abundance of his own friends. He'd just be another 18 year old twink, and I'm not sure I have that much in common with 18 year olds. I think I'm missing the point there though. In my post I complained of his deafness, not that he is 18. A bulb just lit up in my head. The problem IS that he is deaf. I'm finding it difficult rejecting him because he is deaf. Not that I am rejecting him because of his deafness. If we had clicked, things would have been different. I would have made an effort to learn sign, I'm sure of that, but there just isn't anything there. I wasn't prejudiced against him, I positively embraced him because he is deaf. I just realised it was diffcult. Too much so. I must now address thou annonymous, your main point which is that it was insensitive of me to write it where he may read it. I'll take that a step further and say I may have hurt any deaf people who have come across my my writing. When I set out to write my blog, I wanted to put my heart out on a plate for everyone to see. I wanted people to see the real me, and I just wrote how I saw things. Even though I knew it could be painful. If you are deaf, and hurt then take your anger out on me. Blame me and the other people without impairments who built buildings with stairs but no ramps, supermarket designers who put the shelves too high, signmakers who don't understand braille. We are the fucking idiots. We are the lazy arses.

Brain Tumour

I went to the docs today, after a week of headaches. I knew I had to go, but sometimes you need that push, and I got it last night from a worried friend who said I must go. It seems it's just synasitus, so it's nothing serious. My instructions are to take three antibiotic tablets a day, and see how things go. Nothing to worry about after all.

I got a new toy today. Actually I got two. The first, less interesting one is a beard trimmer. Not that I have a beard. Nor do I in anyway condone beards. It's for styling my sideburns, to make me look cool and sophisticated. And I can use it. The second is bluetooth for my PC. I have this so I can download songs, mp3s I think, onto my phone. Here is my current ring tone http://homepage.ntlworld.com/ian.rankin/clips/goistr2.mp3 I hope that link thingy works. I'm pleased with this toy, however, being a mong I'm having trouble getting the song I wanted the most onto it, my all time favourite, The Boy With the Arab Strap by Belle and Sebastian. It dosn't seem to want me to have that, not sure why.

I just tried to add a photograph to break up the monotony of todays boring post but it seems I've made it impossible for me to ever add photos now. You see to add photographs you have to add an additional bit of kit to your PC which can be sent through the wires. I don't fully understand why I can't just copy and paste, but their you go. Anyway I did that and that's how you get to see the first photo. You remember, the one where I look dead camp, and where, as a friend of mine just pointed out, you can see my Mum's bush through the window. Made you look. I cant use that bit of kit anymore because for a second go I have to verify my e-mail and I have deleted the e-mail needed to verify my e-mail, and I can't seem to get a new e-mail to verify my e-mail. Would someone mind just telling the people in charge of that bit of kit that my e-mail address is emilbird@gmail.com much obliged. So isn't that just brilliant, you'll just have to cope with words. But here's a nob oIo Kind of. Actually it's not really is it. If your nob looks like that see a doctor, that might be just the kick up the arse you needed. Incidentally the photo was going to be of me and my friend Stuart Cornes in Tunisia where they filmed a film you may have heard of, Star Wars. It wasn't because the view was amazing, or that I in anyway like Star Wars, in fact I've not seen either of those films, but because it made my friend, that's Stuart Cornes look like the fat bastard he is. Did you ever see the film Austin Powers with the character Fat Bastard? Well imagine him with an arabs twat hat on pretending to hold a glow torch and you have got the idea. Stuart Cornes didn't want me to put that pic up, and as I can't I just thought I'd give it an accurate description.

I have a friend on MSN right now and he's talking to me, or in fact lecturing me because I didn't take the chance to get involved with a lad I know, who is very interested in me. I'll tell you about this lad. He's 18, very good looking and seems intelligent enough. He's deaf. A night out with him is very difficult. Everything has to be written down, and things just don't come across too well in paper for me. And conversation is slow, and I'm starting to sound shallow and self absorbed. But I can't get involved with someone just because he has an impairment and may have potential. He's lovely, but seeing him makes me groan. It's difficult to hold group discussion involving him, and doing it in front of him seems too rude for me. So everything is intense. I convey this to my MSN friend and he says I should just have a one night stand with him. Well that's not what I want, and I hate that most gay men think that that's what it's all about. I'm getting fed up here. I think I'll talk about sex some more some time, but I'm pissed off now. Why am I embarrased because I don't shag around? I'm going to ponder that thought.

First day back at uni today, found out don't get results till mid Feb because the works have gone to external examiners. And I still haven't heard about Japan. Uni was good. Enjoyed my lecture. Blah blah blah!

Come on Mr. Postman

I'm nervous about seeing the postman. It's 4.30 p.m. so he mustn't have had anything today, but still I have this horrible nervous feeling in my chest. I'm waiting for two potentially life changing pieces of mail. The first is the results of my first semester in the final year of my degree. I also think it is going to return the worst results I have had, which is scary beacause it pretty much defines my final degree classification. Anything worse than a 2:1 classification and frankly I have wasted 3 years of my life. I had a perfectly good career before I went to uni. I was a car salesman, and I was going places. They gave me a nice car, and I was earning around 25 thousand pounds a year. Not bad for a 21 year old. I often think it's bad to boast about money, but I'm proud of that so what the hell. I've nothing to show for all that money though, I blew it all. I had no rent to pay, and no bills, and I came away with nothing. You see, I had a really bad drink problem at the time - you think it's bad now, you should have seen me then. I was very drunk, all of the time, rediculously so. I drove to work one morning so drunk, when I pulled up at work, I got out of the car and fell over, to my knees. I didn't care, work didn't care. I was making them lots of money, I was making me lots of money, what was the problem? And then I went travelling for a couple of months and it gave me time to think about my life. It made me think about where I was going. I had issues. Being a closet puff can be very difficult. I was scared of telling people. That's what drove me to dink. When I look back now it was silly, but hindsight is a wonderful thing, at the time it was the worst thing in the world for me. I try to be rational, and look out of boxes, and I knew that there were other gay people who just get on with their lives, and have a great time, and that it would probably be just the same for me, but your mind can play horrible tricks on you, and I was scared my whole world was going to crumble in and I wouldn't cope. I had been depressed in the past and I never never want to go back their. I never wanted to lose people I loved again. One day I will ofcourse, but I could cope better now. I can see different avenues, and that there are people you can talk to. Their is nothing that can't be spoken about, what ever issues you have, get them off your chest. Their is no need to suffer in silence. If you have a problem, their is nothing better than talking about it, call a help line if you have to. Where was I? Ah yes travelling. So I worked out what I had to do to sort my life out. I even had a back up plan. When I got home I was going to tell all my close family and friends I was gay. It all happened in one night. I wanted to tell my Mum first, that was the most important thing. Then at the end of the night I got my best male friend to tell all my friends. This was about one in the morning, but it was the way I wanted it. I had to be in control here. I'm eternally grateful to my best mate that night. He phoned up all my friends, woke them, and then called me back to tell me how things went. Everyone was great. Brilliant in fact. People even bought me cards telling me how much they loved me, and that they still did. I couldn't believe it. I felt like the luckiest person alive (by the way my back up plan was, if it went wrong, I was going to live in Germany and start a new life - how my life could have been different now). I was going to go back to work, but I knew I couldn't tell them. They truly were homophobic and racist bastards. I thought I could cope being in the closet at work, but I had been so liberated by coming out of the closet at home, that slipping back into it had become a nightmare. So after a week I quit, and the next day I was attending lectures at University. I always told people that I quit being a car salesman because of the hours (60 a week), but I actually loved that job. I loved being good at it, I loved the buzz of success. It seemed like showing a weakness to me to tell people I was driven out because I was gay, it seems like I couldn't control the situation, and I couldn't. And I did hate working 60 hours a week. I hate prejudice in this world, I hate it's power. Every cloud has a silver lining, and I always wanted a degree to prove a couple of people wrong, so here I am. Back at uni tomorrow.
The other piece of post I'm waiting for is a letter from the Japanese embassy. I've applied to teach English in Japan for a year next year, and I really want to do it. This letter will tell me if I have progressed to the next recruitment stage and will be expected to attend an interview, and is due mid January (about now). If I'm not invited to interview, they send me nothing, I find that a bit harsh, and if I get nothing I really don't know what to do next. I need money, but don't feel ready to settle into a career. Bah!

Technocolology

It's only been a few hours, and already I'm back. I must be addicted. The truth is, I just spent those hours trying to put a picture up on my profile. I know, there is a pic, but it seems to be in the wrong place. I want one in my profile so browsers can judge me, and decide weather or not I'm worth a gander. That pic, I'm sure will just dissapear off the bottom. I've never been very good with PC's and buttons. I'm the one you have to wait behind for ages at cash machines, just peering into the screen pondering which button to press. I once lost my card in a cash machine in Wales. Pressed too many wrong buttons I figured. Anyway, I went in to the bank and asked if I could have it back, and explained I'd be left stranded without it. They bent the rules for me by obliging, but first asked me for proof of identity. Fair enough. So I opened my wallet, and out fell a card into the slot, beyond where I could retrieve it to see what it was. I hope I never lost you there. Anyway the lady picked it up, and, well, it was an Action Man identity card, proving beyond all doubt that I was Action Man. Shocker. I had taken it off the back of the box of a packet of Frosties earlier that day for fun. That just reminded me of a time when I was in Glasgow, at uni the first time round, and 5 condoms fell out of my wallet when I was buying a drink at the student union bar. 5 for christs sake. I don't know why I bother carrying condoms, I very rarely get the opportunity to use them.

Anyway, I still can't get a pic up on my profile. I've seen some other peoples blogs and they have music and moving letters, and I can't even get a photo up. Just look at this one http://tinkinofyeww.blogspot.com/ It even stick things onto your cursor. How do you do that?? Although I don't really get that blog. What's it logging? It's very pretty though.

I've got a nasty headache today, all down the right side of my head. I've had it for a few days, in fact, come to think of it, since my holiday. Maybe I got it on the plane, deep vein thrombosis of the head perhaps. I hope they don't have to amputate. I've resorted to taking paracetamol. I don't normally bother with stuff like that, I don't like it, but it's too bad to carry on. Plus I'm going clubbing tonight, so I need to be ready for some hot dance action.

It's just me 

My Blog

So...Here's my Blog. I'm not sure why I've decided to start writing a blog. I guess it's down to a number of reasons. A friend of mine just started writing one for a start, and I enjoy reading it. It seems to give an opportunity to reflect and think things through. I guess it's like writing a letter to a loved one which you never send, like a way to get things off your chest and blow a bit of steam. Perhaps to create a better understanding of what's going on in our lives. I'm currently reading Frank Skinners Autobiography, and it got me thinking about the idea of having my life documented. And a blog seems like an easy way. I never ever kept a diary, so maybe this won't last, but we shall see. Maybe you wont. You might decide never to read my blog again, after all why should you. I'm nothing interesting. I'm 25 so I haven't lived all that much. I'm a student and a barman. Sounds a bit dull to me. Well fuck you if you don't come back. This is for me not you, so there!! Am I aloud to swear? I never read the terms and conditions, I never do.

Its actually my second copy of Frank Skinner I'm reading now, I lost one. In fact I lost someone elses because it's borrowed, so I had to replace it. 24 pence off amazon though, not too bad methinks. It's been borrowed now for about a year. I have lots of books I've borrowed off people and never read. A bit rude that I guess, but I supposed they already read it, so what's the rush. The first copy fell off the back of a pram in Tunisia last week. I went their on holiday with a good friend of mine and his family. It's not my favourite place. The food is bland, and the drink is poo. Everybody there wants your money, and if they can't sniff a buck they can become unfriendly. Scratch that. I just tarred a massive populous with the same brush. I hate that, making stereotypes, it's unfair. I guess I can only talk about my experiences though. Here's a few examples. The holiday was an all inclusive package holiday, and as part of the package some dodgy looking geezers in the hotel told us we were entitled to a free trip to the nearest city Kabaul. So off we went thirteen of us in this old minibus with a hole in the floor, I guess quiet excited by the prospect of seeing a bit of the country. I suppose you might have guessed by now it wasn't as it seemed. We were taken to Kabaul, that promise was kept but we somehow managed to end up locked in a carpet shop for 45 minutes until we bought a rug. When it seemed that we weren't going to buy a rug they (5 burley men) started to get nasty. Eventually one member of our party caved in, partly through fear and partly because we wanted to get out. £75 that rug cost, and the truth is it wasn't that special...my guess is Ikea do a similar number for a third of that. That wasn't a nice start to our holiday, and a trip down the high street didn't leave us feeling much better, people pestering for you to look in their shops, and if you didn't they even resorted to swearing. Furthermore, they didn't look out for each other, several times I saw taxi drivers and shop keepers literally fighting over customers. No need! Okay okay okay, I know I'm starting to sound like a wining old bat. There were some great times too. A 30 minute taxi ride were we were forced to clap our hands by the driver to Arabic music was one of the fun times. 'You tired?' The driver said, 'Well why you stopped clapping your hands? Clap!' So the clapping and much laughter followed. Although the driver was clapping too, and even gave us instructions in how to clap, clearly different arabic music needed a subtely different hand movement. This was ofcourse whilst he drove at break neck pace. That was something I found endearing about the Muslim culture, the whole, if I die it is my time philosophy. It's all about enjoying the moment, and not worrying about the future. I guess it also makes them want to get what they want right now, hence the greediness. Another lovely part of the holiday was riding camels across the Sahara, one of my greatest experiences. That was on a parr with a Gondola ride in Venice. Amazing.

Well, thats' it for my first log. I enjoyed that, hope you stuck with it. I'll write some more soon.