Drug of the Nation

It was my Birthday last week and my parents rocked up in York partially to take me out for a meal which never happened as we'd all eaten separately earlier in the day anyway (they had fish and chips. I had chorizo and bean soup. I know you are gasping for the details...). They were also up to deliver my birthday presents. One of which was a Sudoku toilet roll. The other was a TELLY!! Yes! My first Telly ever! It's massive. It sits in the corner of the room demanding attention. It cries out for my affections, and boy, do I give them. I can't stop watching it. There are paint smears on everything I own, the vapor rub is lying on a table of filth, Christmas cards to which I never reply, my eyeballs absorb only blue filtered light. I'm a TV casualty. I have watched everything from Come Dine With Me, Dinner Date (there will be a blog post on this at some point...), Coach Trip and even The Apprentice (I joined this late and only just caught the very last episode. It appeared to consist of a load of uptight badly made-up shit bags trying to peddle garbage to a prune in a suit , I'm glad I missed it). All the good shit. In fact, that was all there was that was worth watching over the weekend. Hopefully there will be something good on this week. I'll be using it mainly to watch DVDs

Not only did I get a telly, but I was also given a plastic Paratrooper and a Hurricane Styrofoam glider from Kirky, a mug with some Vikings on it from He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named (Tarquin Sheen had a shit fit when he found out details of his violent past were on display on this very blog and that they came up on a Google search. He threatened me with physical and psychological trauma and so from this point on I shall refer to him as He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named), a bag of Kola Bottles from Sam and a Justin Bieber sticker book by Moogdroog. The book came with six stickers, so in her ever inventiveness, she conscripted He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named to help make a few extra stickers to place in the album to start me off. Here they are for your perusal. I have no glue to stick them in the book, so I will have to use spunk.

Each time I looked around the walls moved in a little tighter

Have you ever taken a journey into the darkness? A voyage into the lowest utter depths of depravity that humanity has to offer? Have you stared into the abyss and instead of pulling back, fallen into the maelstrom that is waiting to consume your humility and sensibility? No? Well, on Saturday night I did. This particular Heart of Darkness was centred in the tiny hamlet of Huntington and the den of iniquity that is Logan Josh's house. In order to celebrate his shuffling ungraciously another year towards the inevitability of death, Josh threw a 'party'. A 'party' in the loosest of possible descriptions. This was a homage to the Great Man, inasmuch that I am a little man, a little man. I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas...The few were called upon to share this rapturous performance of the epic film Apocalypse Now. The dress code was 'full retard' and Josh did not disappoint. Mind you, every Saturday is only an excuse for him to 'Black Up' whilst drinking copious amounts of beer and squawking at the TV. This being his birthday party changed that outlook not one bit. There were just more people in his house this time.

They were gonna make me a Major for this, and I wasn't even in their fuckin' army anymore.

Moogdroog came along for the ride up the river and as the theme for dress up was the Vietnam war, decided to go as a victim of napalm bombing. Worried about the lack of taste in the costume choice, I told her 'this is Logan and Mrs Josh. They have NO taste!' Saturday morning was spent discussing the finer details of creating third degree burns with the ladies behind the counter of the Festival of Fun costume shop. Their advice was taken on board and we came up with a suitable look for Moogdroog;

We train young men to drop fire on people, but their commanders won't allow them to write "fuck" on their airplanes because it's obscene!

The party? I recall very little. I remember watching a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor and surviving. The bullshit piled up so fast in Huntington, you needed wings to stay above it. We were surrounded by Pagan idolatry, I used to think if I died in an evil place, then my soul wouldn't be able to make it to Heaven. But now? Fuck! I mean, I don't care where it goes, as long as it ain't there again. Only a mad man would construct a PBR in his front room. The horror, the horror.

Never get off the boat...

Friday was also a similar inebriated experience. I met up with Kirky and Posh Bastard from my stint in Tanzania. They had organised a drink together and had tried to keep it quiet from me, but I found out about it and decided to spoil their fucking fun. I did it in fine style by getting drunk and insulting both of them until they cried like babies, just like in East Africa. After stumbling about town for about an hour I found myself at Moogdroog's house whereupon I battered down the door and argued with her friends about absurd Great War myths. Again, job well done.

WRONG!!

This week at work, Gevi and I have been encased in a metal panelled fence as we work out the sequences of Roman wells. It's like a breeding pen and we are the subjects of some great experiment to see what is produced when two people are locked up together in terrible conditions for long enough. As the ground workers pass us by we scream 'they don't feed us!' at them, then continue rutting like dogs. One day this dig will be over.

The horror, the horror...

Ricky-ticky-tarvy

Fuck me, for some reason Jo's guest posting got 79 hits, nearly double the most I've ever got. Bitch. Anyway, I've thought this may add a bit of interest to the old blog, so I'm opening it up for guest writers. I did tell Al Sithee that he couldn't so now I look like a right tit saying that anyone can, but there you go. It's all about the ratings...

A quick update on what I've been up to over the past couple of days. Friday was spent in the dead confines of Rotherham town centre. Mark, Dave and I went out and did our usual round of Number Ten, the Charters, FUBAR and finally SNAFU. The place was empty, it must have been due to last weekend being bank holiday coinciding with the first of the month payday. Rotherhamites are nothing if not careful with their money. King for a weekend, skint for a month. I left early as I just thought I was throwing good money down the drain.

Rotherham on Friday night...

Aimee's youngest Dylon was having his six birthday party on Saturday evening and Juliette had invited me along to the adult section of the precedings. As nobody parties harder than six year olds, I said I would, also it would be a good chance to meet Aimee and Juliette's kids. I decided against wearing my crotchless clown costume after that whole 'business' at the school fete last summer. Aimee had hired a bouncy castle and the only thing stopping me going on it was the fact I had stuffed myself stupid previously and feared getting sick all down myself and all over the kids. I've noted from previous occasions that this kind of behaviour doesn't go down too well with parents. And the police. After several children had suffered compound fractures to the skull and vertebrae, the bouncy castle man came and took the bouncy castle away at six, leaving a wake of weeping children after him (The bastard really seemed to enjoy his job) and we all got down to the difficult task of drinking copiously whilst sitting in the twilight pretending it was still as warm as it was four hours previously. Anyhow, I duly met Aimee's other half, Martin, her next door neighbours, her kids, Andy her brother was also there with his other half and Juliette's kids, the latter I gave a good look over to make sure they bore me no resemblance. I ended up getting wasted and boring Aimee and Martin to death with tales of First World War archaeology. My job certainly sounds far more interesting than it actually is...

If only DB Entertainment supplied this kind of Bouncy Castle...

Heathen Foray

Well it seemed that most people enjoyed the last few posts, reminiscing is big business these days. I shall continue with this theme by reminiscing about the past week. Last weekend was Bjarki's birthday, so I went along with most of the people from site. We didn't arrive until quite late, mainly due to Hrafnkell being late with the lift. Despite it not being my problem I had to endure abusive text messages from Lilja, demanding to know where we were. We arrived in fine style just as Atli and Hrönn were leaving, thank God. There was some free booze, then a good bunch of us headed into town. I ended up dancing the night away at Kofi Tómasar Frænda, after introducing Angelos to some girl I'd never met before. She was walking past us so I stopped her and said 'do you know my friend Angelos. He's Greek.' Before heading off to the toilet and leaving them to it.

I was ill on Monday, a bit from drinking too much over the weekend (I had been out on Friday as well) also a bit from my feet. I didn't sleep much either, too much thinking, so I decided to stay in bed and rest me poor old plates of meat. Not much else happened down the week. Work was pretty much the same as ever. We are removing layers and layers of midden deposits with trowels so it's not very stimulating.

I was out on Friday again, this time, just Angelos and I. We went to a party thrown by Albina, for various reasons; moving in, someones birthday, someones new haircut, whatever. Again the free booze was a good attraction. Last night I went out to see a band with Duncan at Grand Rokk. They were called Deep Jimi, and guess what? They did covers of Jimi Hendrix (But no Deep Purple, strangely), Led Zeppelin (They even covered Heartbreaker and Livin' Lovin') and Cream. They were pretty fucking good and me and D ended up dancing like a pair of spastics by the end of it. Although, I do sometimes think that cover bands can be a real waste of talent. If you are a good enough musician it is not that difficult to do decent cover versions. Don't get me wrong these guys were great but I think there is something a bit sad about someone putting all that talent into SOMEONE else's song. I know the audience usually demand it and cover bands is were the money. People like to hear old shit they already know rather than challenge themselves with something new. I suppose, having said all that, it is good to hear songs you like being played live because the chance of me ever seeing Led Zeppelin or Cream play live is practically zero. Even less for Jimi Hendrix.

From Father to Son

In the last post I completely forgot to mention that on Tuesday night, Duncan and I went to Thingtak's rehearsal. Hrafnkell brought his other guitar so we could rehearse some Sudoku tracks as well. I showed the lads a few songs and we played through. Then Thingtak played a few tracks, whilst Duncan and I listened. Fuck me, those lads are good players. Steppi kept saying they were fucking everything up but it sounded fine to me.

After work on Friday I went to the English Pub to meet a few of the heads from site, but I was tired, not having slept so good all week, so only had two pints and headed for home with Jo. After a quick Friday night Kebab we both headed back and watched About Schmidt, the Jack Nicholson movie. I've saw it when it came out in the cinemas and had been wanting to watch it again as it was so good. It's very funny and sad at the same time. I had an early-ish night as I needed sleep.

Saturday saw the heralding of NERDFEST 2008! Ace and I had been talking about playing Axis and Allies (the board game...) all week and the time had finally arrived. Hrafnkell was also persuaded to come along for the ride and although Bjarki was asked he declined. He works as a bouncer and was working til about seven Saturday morning. Hitler never made such a weak excuse when he was about to take the Sudetenland. Atli brought along a mate of his, Jorn, or Jon, I'm not sure how you spell it. I took control of Russia and Britain, Ace had America, Hrafnkell drew Germany and Jorn or Jon had Japan. This is how the game progressed. Basically, Britain and Russia helped one another to crush Germany from both sides, whilst America watched, saying 'It's a European war, we don't want to get involved.' and sat on it's vast reserves and never extended the hand of help. Japan was pretty ineffective in the east except for sinking the American navy and capturing China and small bits of Russia. America still sat by, saying 'It's a Russian/British problem, we don't want to get involved.' British quick thinking combined with Russian determinism pushed the Japanese back to the sea in Asia. After the downfall and suicide of Hrafnkell in Germany Japan was finally attacked by America trying to capture the last moments of glory from the real victors Britain and Russia.Needless to say, it failed. Jon or Jorn surrendered before Britian could mount a final crushing amphibious assault. Both Jon or Jorn and Hrafnkell were executed for War Crimes against Plastic toy soldiers. Britain lost literally dozens of pieces in the fighting, Russia lost over twenty figures defending Europe against fascism. What did America lose? One tank and one bomber.

It was Margret's birthday on Saturday and she was having a party, so we all headed over about ten. It was pretty busy and there was free booze, which is always a good draw... I had intended on only staying a couple of hours, but it was the wee hours when we finally headed for home. Hrappi jumped up and played a few songs on the old Geetar, he played a fucking Queen song and dedicated it to me. The tubby bastard. A good night was had by all.

This morning, Sunday, Duncan and Roz headed into town to pick up a hire car. We had been discussing going over to Hekla this weekend. Apparently it is due to blow, the last time it erupted was in 2000 (I think), and it is well overdue throwing molten lava over the surrounding farms. All reports were that it could go this weekend. So, despite all protestations from the locals, the adverse weather outside Reykjavik, the lack of a map, warm hiking clothes, first aid kits and provision of getting in touch with emergency rescue, we set off. Jo wasn't up for it, maybe she knew something we didn't. Roz, Duncan and I travelled for two hours across icy gravel paths that passed for roads, through zero visibility snow storms, and finally onto the flat valley bottom with the oppressive mass of Hekla staring down at us. We didn't pass another car for what seemed like an eternity. Roz was the first to crack. On a road that we couldn't see for the snow and ice she decided that we were too close to an active and ready to blow volcano and wanted to turn around. Fortunately, Hekla didn't blow by the time we had headed back to Reykjavik. But phew! it was a close shave!