Sydney, not Boston!

I have finally arrived in Sydney. I have no idea what time or day it is, but someone muttered something about it being Sunday, which given I left on Friday is more than a little bizarre.

On arriving at the hotel (7am) I find that I was expected the day before and now have no room. To which I replied, "it is the fucking day before!!", how weird. So I have to wait around until they kick someone out of their room. The check in guy, while apologetic and charming etc, suggested I go to the gym for 3 hours. Again my immediate response was something along the lines, "are you fucking mad!!". Instead I decided to write this blog and string out the whole internet surfing thing quite a bit.

Spent about 20 minutes trying to get a power adapter from its plastic, but surely weapons grade, coating. I finally conceeded I was never going to open it with the assortment of blunt objects in my bag and finally went looking for something industrial to blow the casing into oblivion. Concierge came up with a broken stanley knife to help the cause, the term broken refers to the fact that the blade was sliding up and down freely, making it quite a trick to cut the casing and not my hand off. Concierge guy wouldnt go near it, ponce!!!!

However, I did see a guy with some shamrocks and a pint of guiness painted on the side of a very bald head on the way home from a good day yesterday (or today depending where you are in the world). Cheered me up no end!!!! Thats him in the photo getting into a taxi.

By the way, Sydney reminds me of Boston, which is why the title above.

I've only just got here and its like the fucking twilight zone already.

Bangkok on Paddy's day

Just had 45 mins in Bangkok airport. My mission was to find a smoking room as quick as humanly possible before I throttled someone on the plane. On the way to the smoking room I encountered children wearing nothing but nappies and different coloured socks running free in quite a depressing part of the airport. People, half naked, were lying on the side of the concourse getting Thai massages, which I thought was rather open minded of them. Kindof letting the rest of us share in their experience.

Not a shamrock or drunken person dressed in green in sight. I feel compelled to warn Irish people everywhere... A country in need of some serious Paddy lovin

Oh and it was fucking hot.

Now I have to get back on the plane for another 11 hours. This is shite…

The night before Paddy's day never happened

St. Patricks day is not just a simple celebration of a welsh bloke that had a way with snakes. St. Patricks day is a cunning ploy by the Irish to remind the world of their genetic superiority. The Irish gene pool has evolved over thousands of years to overcome some fantastic obstacles; Irelands geography, nutritional attributes (or lack of), constant battles with anyone and everyone. All of which have led to a survival of the fittest regime over thousands of years that has, in effect, bred a bunch of super humans. Super strength, super clever, super fit, super everything. Unfortunately with the advancement of wartime weaponry and the industrial age in general, there are few ways for these super human paddys to show off their “superness”.
Paddy’s day is like doing the Haka on a massive global scale. It is a call for every paddy to demonstrate their powers, and also to blow off some steam. Without which our over tuned engines would explode in an uncontrollable manner, resulting in something somewhere being devastated.

These Irish super humans have travelled the world and through the support of a global network of Irish pubs, have a mechanism that can help to keep their super human power under control. Paddy’s day simply formalizes the need to force the offload of steam before something blows. It’s a necessity.

Anyway, as an Irish bloke who is waiting to get on a plane from London to Syndney on Friday 16th March. I’ve just realized that due to the various time zones and the incredible length of the flights, I’m going to completely miss paddy’s day. I’m now quite concerned about the effect this will have on my genetic makeup. Each year I have followed the Irish tradition of getting absolutely hammered in an irish pub no matter what part of the world, as has been handed down from generation to generation. This has helped me to control my genetic super engine. I can only hope that getting hammered on the plane will do the trick.

If not, God help Sydney...