Bright Lights & Crazy Nights, Pt.2

And the saga continues. Is that a type of Japanese drink?? And sooooo the Japanese drink continued on, through the valleys and over the hills till he reached the Mongolian Goat holding a pipe and a bag of marbles. "Hand me those marbles!" Said the Saga. "No" replied MG, "for you shall roll them down the mountain, incapacitating my fellow goats to join me on my mountain peak!" Darn! Deflated, the saga continued and Ryan and I came up to Torres Vedras for a few days to detox from our crazy weekend escapades! So, night one, sardines with my parents, countless beers and litres of wine! There’s that plan down the drain and far away. Day two and we decide to explore the town. A mini area ram packed with beautiful busty amazons and hairy men. Being two free n single chaps in this scenario, it was a challenge to defeat distractionism and finish off conversations coherently. The main square has two cafés with out-door seating, and with less than 20 metres of distance between them, they made for two perfect spots to alternate between throughout the day. We did this for hours, giggling away at each other whilst watching the girls by. We had one weirdo running up to the walls in the square and kicking them with the flat of his foot. We feared somewhat when he came and asked us for a ciggy and sat behind us puffing away, talking to himself. He seemed to utter something along the lines of, "Be careful child, for if you keep behaving like that, I will RAMMM you in that rubbish bin. Its the only way to shut you guys up now-a-days!". Bizarrely, we came to the conclusion that he was really rather harmless and he went away. Day 3 was coffee day. We decided it'd be fun to walk up to the castle and then down to the supermarket and back to get food for the evening. The challenge was to stop off in as many cafés as possible. Café number 5 was "O Saloio" and suddenly the heavens opened. We sat outside under the awning, giggling at the fact we couldn't keep our hands still anymore and wondering if this was the end of the world! When the rain finally did calm down, we got the food, went back and spent the rest of the evening fighting eager battles with dedicated wine flies. We tried everything to eradicate the vicinity of these pests, from coating the rim of glasses with Vaseline and coning bits of paper to venus-fly-style trap’em! But it was to no avail! We didn't realize it at the time but this was their season and they hogged the kitchen like it was their own, relegating us to a night in the living room watching Eddie Izzard and Bill Hicks videos. When we needed more wine we would rush into the kitchen with our fist in the air shouting: “Suck Satan's...” go to the magic-never-ending box of wine, pour out a couple of glasses and rush back out again. The five litre box lasted 2 nights and the next day, our lips were embellished with dark red lipstick. I don’t even remember going to sleep. Day 4 was recovery day and my parents came back up from Lisbon so we wined and dined and giggled away over a scrummy meal whilst listening to my mums funky stories. Dad was a little shattered so he turned in early to wake up at 6 the next morning. Mum should really have done likewise but instead, stayed up with us till around two, roaring away with laughter until Dad came in for his mid-night water cap and said… “it’s two in morning…” which was fair enough… cus it was. On day 5, for some reason, I had the worse hangover this side of the Atlantic, and only got up at gone two in the afternoon. I spoke to my mum and asked her how on earth she was able to get up at 6 and drive in and she just said “Experience, honey”. Good ol mum :-)

Bright Lights & Crazy Nights, Pt.1

If weeks had names, this one would be called Craisy. Why? Well why on earth not. It rhymes with Crazy and although we didn’t meet anyone by the name or Craig or Daisy, it’s still more appropriate then calling it Frank or something. One of my best pals, Ryan, was to arrive at 11 o'clock on Saturday. He was also coming in through Madrid the poor soul. I giggled with the idea that it might be necessary to take a decontamination suit with me to make sure we didn't catch anything like a new type of fish off the Irish coast that convinced us fishing in the North Sea had really been a waste of time all of these years. My... Portugal without Bacalhao? Can anyone, anywhere, EVER imagine a nation without its national fish? I'd like a national fish, all for myself actually. One of those ones deep in the ocean that produce their own lights might be cool. You'd never smack your knees on the edge of the bed, when getting up at 3 in the morning to go to the loo again, that's for sure! Hurray! We have it! Anyway. I got up that morning at 9, left at 10, got to the airport at 11, only to find out he was arriving at 11 o'clock that evening. Half a day of self-created, photographically enhanced, café induced hours later, I picked him up, giddy and twitching, having felt like I plucked him from the skies myself. We finally embraced like old pals once again, exchanged pleasantries and quickly decided that getting drunk was the priority at hand! We zipped into Lisbon, dropped our stuff off and headed out through a storm that rained on the city with the zest of a rabid dog looking for its next cheeky teenage victim, attempting to climb over an unsuspectingly weak fence protecting the Holy Grail itself! The night was amazing! The consumption of Cocktails & beer was a necessity as we mingled with thousands of adventurous Portuguese folk in Bairro Alto, danced in numerous clubs and bars and had the added bonus of meeting NO rabid dogs! Oooo, actually, there was one particular annoying fellow that decided it was his mission to dart toward people, grab and drink their beer whilst embracing them and then stumbling around with crossed eyes and a particular dance that would make even Michael Jackson jealous. When trying this on me, however, I pushed him away and told him in no uncertain terms where he should go (back to Satan’s Dance School basically!). The fact he was probably twice my size and pretending to execute some Capoeira moves on me whilst saying he was dangerous and stuff, really didn't bother me too much as I've kinda noticed that I seem to attract these sorts of people. Bizarre, I know. Anyway, I used my Jedi "calming mind" skills on him and he stumbled away. The Spanish couple who were most impressed (as in fact was I), ogled in amazement, probably expecting some kind of ruckus and just said "What did you say to him?"... and to be honest I can't really remember. Coming out of a situation having looked like you've kept your cool when really your belly is rumbling with the fear that’s felt by a tiny aardvark confronted by a meteoric shower storm is really rather gratifying. We saw him again at around 5 when we were leaving our last bar of the evening and he tried it on again. I picked up a beer that looked like it had had some other things done to it, from off of a rubbish bin and handed it to him "Ok buddy, here you go. Have this". He necked it, stumbled back and I grabbed Ryan and the two Spaniards, moving them just slightly to one side and the Capoeira boy turned and walked towards some other poor people. "Phew!". We got in a taxi to head on home but as we approached our road, some policemen detoured us onto another street. We rose in the car like important Romans and bellowed out to the taxi driver! "HALT!! What are you doing man!", "The police are telling me to go this way, what do you want me to do?", he answered. Fair enough we thought, and out we popped, leaving the Spanish couple with merry goodbyes and some money for the fare. As we got out, we saw a crowd of people gathered round the top of the very steep road and pointing down it. The rain that night had fallen so persistently during the evening that the oil on the streets of Lisbon came to life and a police car, of all things, had fallen victim to its web, slipping uncontrollably down the street and straight into a bollard, twisting the car at an angle and blocking off the path for all else. The great thing was, they were laughing stock of the evening. There were some other fellow partiests walking down the road and indeed, when we walked on it, past the police car, we too started to lose control, holding onto each other so as not to fall and skied down it! I'm kinda surprised they didn't arrest us for something. Anything. We all just got away with it. When we finally got home, laughing away, someone knocked on the door and we both froze. As I opened it, I was a bit surprised to see some random guy peering in past my shoulder. "Aerrmm, have you got any pancakes at all?", the question propelled me into an uncontrollable mini-giggle and I just said, "Um, Sorry mate, not tonight!" and closed the door. A weird way to end a weird evening indeed.

Red Bull... shit

Supertubos has been my favourite beach for many years and I’ve been catching waves here since I was 15. Surfer Magazine considers it to be “totally epic” and in the top 30 for the finest breaks in the world. People come from all over just to sample it. It lasts around 3-5 seconds and if conditions are good and the day is right, you're in for one heck of a ride. I woke up early in the morning and jogged down, having predicted this might be one of them, only to be slapped in the face by the horrid sight of a Red Bull Tent, some big speakers and loads of people gathered around in front of the peak, milling around like annoying dressed-up "super-cool" mozzies. Dang it! I hadn't remembered lending my prediction potion to anyone! Must have stolen it from my tent. The day was indeed “one of those”. A guy in a Red Bull shirt ambled passed and I gestured over to him. “What the hell is going on???”, “Ah, there’s a competition on!”, he retorted, somewhat too happily for my liking. Unbelievable. After a little more questioning, I’d learned that they pushed this first ever Red Bull FreeStyle XPlosion competition forward by a week. 12 of Portugal’s best surfers were invited to the event that basically ran all bloody morning. Great. I got into my suit and ran down to the water side. In the Red Bull Tent was the competition commentator going: “Ooo, Wow! How amazing was THAT wave” and “Oh My, look how that surfer caught that one” and trying to keep up, telling people on the beach what their moves were. As I went in he started blurting out of the speakers “Will the Free-Surfer about to get in, please go South and head in there”. To which I paid no attention of course. “Free Surfer!! Can’t you see there’s a competition on, please go in the water further South”. “Sure Mr. Pillock”, I muttered to myself. Hehe. I kept walking forward and then dropped into the water to put my flippers on. “Will the BodyBoarder with the yellow board, please not go in there. There’s a competition on!”. I turned and gestured to the guy, indicating that I’d go out and round the surfers and he said, “Well, OK, but you’ll have some paddling to do!”. Unbelievable, if he knew anything about the tide at all, he’d realize I’d be past the Professional surfers in less than 3 minutes. The other way would take at least 20. Idiot! Anyway, finally I paddled out. I got past the first break and made it through the channel and out past the peak in a few seconds. Six pros were out there at the time and I smiled politely at a couple of them. I paddled on until I got to Tiago Pires, Portugal’s top surfer for the past few years. I went up and just said “This is unbelivable! Why the heck should we give you guys all the waves?!"... He just shrugged and said what he probably had to say to all the other so-called “free-surfers” out there. “I’m really sorry dude. You know how these things are. We’ll be out of here in a couple of hours man”. I was like, huh??!! “a couple of HOURS??!! WTF??!!” And again he shrugged. “Sorry man.” And off he paddled. I turned and paddled after him joining the pack of 40 odd other free surfers like myself and giving them the respect they probably didn’t deserve. “Free Surfers, please go South, I repeat, there is a competition on, go South!!”. Now... there’s only one peak on this beach and it’s NOT south. Cries of “Why don’t you guys take the comp further north” and jokes like “Get Red Bull to grab you some wings and fly to some other beach”, echoed out from all us “free-surfers”. The peak is in the one place that, obviously, they wanted us out of. It’s the one place to catch that one ride you come here for. A pure and perfectly cylindrical, turbulent concoction of magic produced by a freak sand bank, undulating on the sea bed in such a way that from it, comes this wave. A huge, violently momentous tube that makes you feel like your on the inside of a 2-metre-high & wide washing machine! The moment you get inside, you wish there was a pause button to life. Inside there is nothing else. Inside there is only an emotion completely dominated by adrenalized amazement. There is nothing on this planet that could compare to it. I got caught out countless times as I’m sure many others did. I got slammed in all direction either being caught out of position or not getting out of the tube, which is actually much worse. When you’re inside a tube seeing the light at the end of it getting dimmer and dimmer, and the wave is travelling with brute force at 20 miles an hour, you can’t really predict what will happen to your body. You can try to pierce the wave from the inside but it rarely works. Its shear power just tosses you forward, laughing at you for even contemplating the idea. On this day, one surfer broke his leg in three places, another was concussed and I guess I was lucky enough to come out with only my tendons slightly out of place on the top of my left foot. I saw another guy holding his shoulder and jogging back to the car park under the eager eyes and distressed looks on his buddies’ faces. “Looks like a shoulder injury”, one guy said next to me. Surfers have never been know for being the brightest of souls :-) The day was great though, although one of the guys I’d been camping with, Dani, had got into a spat with one of the locals and I had to get out and coax him back into the water. I used the opportunity to walk past the TV crews, photographers and judging panel to give them the finger! One of them returned the gesture and I told him to stick it where the sun didn’t shine. After all that we decided to take a break and go back to the campsite for some food which was totally necessary. An hour later we headed back to the beach and surfed till way past the time that the sun had taken to sink under the cloudy horizon. Those wonderful clouds actually meant the light didn’t leave us till almost 9 o’clock and we took full advantage of what turned out to be one of the finest days at Supertubos. If not for the stupid, bureaucratic bullshit that surrounds so-called “professional” surfing events I'd have to give this one a 10 out of 10. If I ever see another can of red bull again, I swear, I will not be held responsible for my actions.

If you wanna see the report on the stupid contest… here it is: http://www.surftotal.com/new_news.asp?codigo=132&fonte=GER%2FPR%2Ffem

Or watch the video (bottom right – Media collection)

http://www.redbull.pt/#page=ArticlePage.1132938773979-967215762

Bloody thing… ;)

The Phantom

Wow. Two crazy days living on apples, bananas, bread & choriço. I don't even wanna imagine what my innards are inadvertently attempting to communicate to me. Lucky it doesn't know Morse Code... not that it would matter much cus neither do. But if we both did by some miraculous twist of bizzarness, live in the "world of fate" (which neither I nor my stomach live in currently... and neither do currents. The blasted things live with us. Raisins too, I've seen them!! We will all be perishing soon, I can tell you that... but that's another story), then I know full well what it'd be telling me. And it's too crude for me to divulge on this blank piece of paper. Anyway, I arrived on to the camp site on Monday afternoon and pitched my tent to the sombre moods that only the dusk from the coast of Portugal in mid October can produce. The sun shied away behind a mass of cloud that would make any attacking alien spaceship proud. Every now and then it popped it's head through some cracks, but only to remind you it was there, before it zipped off again almost as if stating you hadn't paid your electricity bill and it was gonna make you suffer for it! As it was, I decided there was still time to head off out to see if I could catch some waves. Now, the distance to the beach was something like 20 minutes on foot. 20 minutes if you go the way the guards at the front of the campsite wanted you to. There's a shortcut if you jump the back gate that'll get you there in 5. Unfortunately, I'd had a little chat with them (me and my stupid mouth... actually it was just my stupid mouth. Dang it!), and they couldn't stress enough how irritating it was to have to stop would-be surfers from climbing over the fence and subsequently damaging it... so I bit the bullet and went the long way round. By the time I got round to the beach, the sun was just about to set and the world darkened too quick for my surprise to possibly described effectively. Actually, I could probably describe it, but I'd have to think, and I'm in no mood right now as my surprise did me no favours apart from surprise me. If my surprise had say, decided to surprise me with a surprise birthday cake for example, then maybe I might just have had the patience to describe that good old surprise but for now, tough luck. Besides, I'm writing this, not you... (Surprise ;-)). In the distance, probably about another 30 minute walk, half way round a crescent moon shaped bay, 3 surfers were coming out of the water, leaving 2 out there in choppy metre and a half waves that looked sexy from a distance but that also just looked like too much bother. Once again my mind (I do hate it sometimes) told me NO! So I kept walking. 10 more minutes down the beach and it seemed like I'd made no distance at all. I dropped my board, stretched out my towel and decided not to go, but go for just a swim instead. The water was wondrously warm in comparison to how it had been in the summer. I paddled and floated around for a little while and let the waves wash over me and came out. Walking past me were two cute girls with their dogs (I kept my mouth shut for once) and the 3 surfers in the distance were ambling toward me. I got out and contemplated waiting for the surfers to have a chat (as I do...) but thought better of it and started my long trek back. On the way, after less than 3 minutes from the beach, I walked past the back gate, meaning my tent was but 3 more minutes away, however, because the guards had seen me go out, I had to let them see me come back in again or Mr. Suspicion would come out from behind his desk with some kind of weapon I'm sure. A large dingy or maybe even a nicely assorted compilation of fruit in a bowl and surprise me by showing it to me then stuffing it in my face till I could consume no more. Not a bad way to go I guess. Death by Fruiting! I couldn't really see a lawyer getting you out of that one to be honest. "Sorry, case closed. No compensation to the family as the situation is too bizarre! NEXT!". And so the trek back was a painful one. So painful in fact that, really rather embarrassingly, I ended up with a rash between my legs cus of the annoying net that has somehow mysteriously found itself into every man's beach swimming trunks! How on heaven and earth did they manage that one, eh? I mean, I would have been there, leading the protest had I known the idea was in motion! I hated them from the word go. "Great, lets invent a kind of net to hold onto the man's privates for when he goes swimming in the ocean. Like a "net" to catch fish. A-Ha-ha-ha. Get it?" Seriously... that person, whoever he or she is should be shot!... And then shot again just be doubly sure. Sorry. I do hate them very much. Anyway, nothing a good old fashion tub of Nivea Cream couldn't solve once purchased the next day. Speaking of the next day! Up I arose in my cosy little tent. The sound of the unzipping of the front of it brought back lovely memories of the festival in Zambujeira Do Mar I'd been too earlier this year. Only this time, it was the sound of mine alone and not thousands of others around me. I perched out, grabbed my toothbrush and paste and headed off down the to the bathrooms / showers / toilet area (whateva it's called) to be confronted by a guy I'd met on the beach not 3 days earlier. A guy called Gerónimo from Peru who spoke pretty good English and some French, so after a bowl of language pasta, we seemed to be able to communicate rather successfully. Incredibly, I'd actually pitched my tent pretty close to his and a couple of people he'd met from Argentina. Their English wasn't so good but good humour and sign language allowed us to get on like a tent on fire (of which I'm happy to say I saw non!). After all the pleasantries had been exchanged, I went for a walk to Supertubos. No waves. Pants! I walked back, past the site and on to the supermarket to get some bread. On the way back, I walked up the dunes of Baleal. It was about 8 in the morning and the dew in the sand made the trek an unpleasant one for me in my sandals but I carried on. As I reached the summit and looked over the bay that just the night before, I'd quickly dropped into for my dusky swim, I was confronted with the sight all surfers dream of. 2/3 meter waves with offshore winds that made them look like they rose up to the size of a street light! My heart seemed to increase 10 fold in speed and giddy as a school kid, my pace increased as I marched / hopped / ran / jogged / bounced, you name it (!) back on to the site. 10 minutes later I walked up to the tent and tried to calm down a little. I turned to the guys and said "Hey, I've just been past Baleal" and I stretched as high up with my hand in the air as possible, attempting to convey the size of the waves to them and their jaws dropped. In 5 minutes, we were all suited and booted and at the door of the campsite with our boards and flippers at the ready (apparently, the guys had been caught by the guards the night before, jumping the back gate so were not ready to piss them off again quite yet). We ambled (a bit slowly for my liking but hey...) out to the beach. 20minutes later, when reaching the summit of another dune and confronted by the site, the expressions of all were there to see... and their paces increased! We started walking down the beach until we found a good spot up against one of the banks that led to the dunes and parked our gear. We quickly got our suits out and started discussing where the best place to go in was. There were quite a few peaks, but one in particular stuck out. Past 6 breaks of white rushing, destroyed waves, was one immaculate spot where the emotion of pure love itself would have found it hard to compete against. The wave was easily 4/5 meters at its highest and would probably take at least 20 minutes to paddle round it as straight ahead against it would result in almost certain failure. Maybe not for Superman mind you, but I gave him a quick call and he said he was a tad busy and could he call me back. Something about holding a bus filled with screaming children off of Golden Gate Bridge or something. Good ol Superman up to his old stunts! Still. I was annoyed that he couldn't come round to disprove my theory. Anyway, we paddled in and took a few hammerings but once we were out, we were able to relax somewhat. Then another 10 minutes round past all the surfers to the farthest point where the outside was. I heard a few of them chatting to each other saying it wasn't worth going out there cus the particular wave we'd seen wasn't appearing so much. Non the less, we did it. Indeed it wasn't appearing much, but when it did, we were the first to know about it. The first one came after about another 10 minutes of waiting and caught me out. A wave easily two stories high appeared out of nowhere. I would have shat my pants but for the fact I know I would have been pissed off with myself for doing it in my suit. Like an idiot, I went toward it, knowing full well it was probably too late. As the wave got closer, so it's size increased and I let out a yelp. I looked over to Gerónimo out to my left. He was just about to make it past the break and looked back in my direction worryingly. Paddling like a mad man, already tired from the travel to get there, the wave broke 5 meters in front of me crashing onto the clean water up ahead and roaring toward me like and avalanche of the devils snow, pure, and recently fallen clean from a fresh powdered mountain. I pushed down on my board and took a deep breath just as the wave crashed and I prayed... but to no avail. It seemed to pick me up, when I'm sure it crashed over head. Still, it grabbed me and I held on to the rails of my board. I started to worry somewhat as at one point, I was sure the board had already flipped me over a couple of times and I didn't know which way was up. Still underwater and with no breath left. I tensed my muscles and I started to feel the board struggle to get upwards. I kicked my flippers as hard as possible and suddenly burst through the surface of the water like as if propelled by an underwater trampoline and wishing to display to all, my wonderfully toned and muscular chest (yeah right ;-)). I shook my head to rid myself of the water in my eyes and turned in time to see another huge wave crashing approximately 15 meters away. I knew there was no chance. And to make matters worse, I'd been carrying a calf injury in my left leg. Initially I put it in the shopping basket cus I thought it would make a nice dinner, but now I was regretting the fact as it would not go away and I'd started to feel the beginnings of a touch of cramp. Inside myself I could not stop cursing. I hadn't stretched well before hand and now, right at the beginning of the day, I was not only caught out of position, but I might have to give the whole thing up. I tried to get under the next wave but it was pointless. As I did, I realized I was past the basic point and I was gonna get trounced. I turned, with my back facing the next one and waited for the wall of water to pick me up and take me all the way back to shore. I got out, swearing angrily out loud, took my flippers off and jogged back to the towels. Of course, the other guys were still in the water and the beach felt eerily empty. Everyone was taking full advantage of the beautiful surf and I was left rueing. Still, I didn't give up. I stuffed a banana in my mouth like a ravished sole and started stretching out the leg. This time I took my time and when I was ready, I dove back in. I went past one of the guys (the two Argentines were only body surfing) and they said it was too big to get out without a board. I shrugged and asked where Gerónimo was and they gestured out toward the massive wave we'd gone out for. I repeated the initial process of paddling past the 6 breaks and then diagonally past the surfers again. One even smiled at me and said "Apanhaste com umas setes em cima, ehm?!". Well... at least they were friendly! I just shook my head, sighed deeply and said "fogo!". I kept paddling to see Gerónimo and he held his arms out and just said "what happened man?!". So I proceeded to tell him all and he smiled and said "always do your exercise buddy!" hehe! Typical. Anyway. After all that, all I can say is thank goodness for persistence. We both picked up and went out to the "phantom" outsider. You sometimes feel like a true idiot cus a) you end up waiting way longer for a wave whereas everyone else is catching them further down the beach far more regularly and b) it's so easy to misjudge positions that you end up unavoidably missing some. And you just know the other surfers are laughing at your inability to get it. Still... it was the wave, and all the surfers I was speaking to out there shared in the understanding that the peak for it was hard to find. And finally, Gerónimo caught one. I was gonna catch it too but he had position, so I let him go. Once the wave had gone, I turned round and started paddling out, just in case another was coming. I couldn't see anything for at least 5 seconds because the offshore winds were spraying the top of the previous wave right out over me, showering me completely and making it hard to breath as well as impossible to see. In those cases, I find it's always best to paddle forward just in case... and in this case, thank god I did. Once the spray had finished and I shook my face to rid my eyes of the water once more, I was confronted by a giant! A huge mammoth of a wave with the peak right bang smack ahead of me. I couldn't decide whether to go to or to stay put. What I had decided was that this baby was mine. Regardless! I kinda went one way, then another, but always a little forward and then turned. I didn't have to do anything to catch it. It simply picked me up and took me metres up into the air. The drop was pure and simplistically, utterly daunting. The clean face ahead of me was pure and smooth as I took off to the right. I pushed my board down and let myself whoosh away from the breaking peak to my left and did nothing but ride it in awe. I didn't cutback, I didn't 360, I did nothing fancy at all. Just rode that honey like it was my own. The wall of the wave just kept taking me on down and later someone had told me that a massive tube was chasing me all the way. I guess I could have slowed down and tried to get in it, but it was my first and probably most delightful wave of the day and nothing came to mind but riding her for as long as I could. As she got smaller, I started to give a few cutbacks and messed around a little. I probably should have got off earlier so that I didn't have to paddle back past any breaks, but I was still living the highest thrill available to anyone that rides waves and I wanted this one to last the distance. And it did. It took me at least another 15 minutes to get back out to Gerónimo again but it was worth it. Around then, the tide started to rise, and although the "phantom" threatened, it never again broke and Gerónimo and I came inside to catch some smaller ones. We saw others go far out to try to catch her as well, but she'd gone to sleep by then and arose for nobody else. In the evening we were all shattered. In fact even now, the day after, my bones feel as brittle as a piece of bark, having been carbonated over centuries of time and my muscles feel like they've been pulled and yanked out of position by some monster of a man having a field day at a circus or something. Anyway, I had some bread and choriço and the Argentine chaps gave me a hotdog and some rice. Food had never tasted so good and as we stood outside of our tents drinking, smoking and laughing away, we watched the moon rise through the night and bless us with one of the best nights sleep I think I've ever had :-)

30 x me = ?

I love mood swings. You can swing backwards and forwards... and then backwards and forwards with the ability to repeat such actions as many times in your life as you like and unless your Dad is there to hold in just the back (i.e. happy) position, its just gonna keep on going with that endless motion. What if you could swing the swing in a squiggly kinda way. Off to the sides and stuff. Ooo, you can actually already do it round and round... ish. Which would mean that if you, say, wanted to be angry (Grrrrr!!!!) in a kinda round-abouty sorta way, then you could. It's like getting a bow and arrow out, pointing it at the head of your target and then shooting the arrow down into the sand instead and saying "Aaaahh, I'm not tooootally angry with you. just a little bit, in a round-abouty kinda way". Weird that, my folks and I were walking along the beach the other day and there was this guy with a well proper bow and arrow. Looked super pro and he had a whole host of buddies, kinda drooling over his shoulder like little kids in a playground surrounding the guy that got given the most exciting packed lunch by his mum. You could see these guys wanted to have a go. The main chap would fire an arrow, trying to hit a can in the sand and one of the others would bunny hop over there, grab it and bring it back for him to have another go. Just like a dog really. FETCH BOY!!! "Well done Jasper, very well done!!!!" "Woof, woof" Jasper retorts. After a few goes tho, Jasper seemed to get weary, his legs tired and the saliva dropping from his mouth was now thoroughly uncolntrollable. It left a trail with his travelling backwards and forwards all the time. He did this until he died. Or at least he could have done but we didn't stay there for more than 15 seconds or so, so the fact has never been confirmed. Anyway. I got plastered last night as it was my 30th birthday! Great Fun! It's the first time I've been with my parents on my birthday for 15 years and it kicked! My parents and my gran. I had some beers to commence the evening. Then, the entrée. Queijinho Fresco accompanied by a JP White wine. I whined not at this point as it would have been contrary to my emotions of the time... and that's just insane. I don't know about you, but, me and insanity have never really gone hand in hand... I think. maybe. actually... oh I don't know. it's not interesting anyway. So yeah, out pop the sardines (not from out of the belly of a huge other fish. that's not how they're born!), scrummy, crack open the Vinho Tinto!!! Enter the period of not quite rememberance the next morning. Finish the meal utterly drunk and move into the next room for Champagne and cake! + Portugal versus Azarbajan (sry, can't spell that...) and modified versions of the Volare song. Instead, Mr Scolari had the honour of having his name sung out loads. SCOOOOOO-LAAAAA-RIIIIII, Waaooaaoo, CAAAAN-TAAAA-RIIII, Woo-ooaaoo!!! Great Fun! The neighbours must have thought us madder than any madding crowd ever before seen or heard... or even felt. Have you ever felt a large crowd before? I can tell you ints some handful. Mental stuff. Anyway, the night finished with a lovingly relaxing cigar and a whiskey. Needless to say, when I woke up this morning, I wasn't feeling the best of rubber soles... but it's coming up to about 5 o'clock now and all that remains is a bad taste in my mouth. Speaking of which... I better go and stuff that mouth with some food. Almost time to start drinking again!

Littl' Ol' Lady v Gigantic Jason

Ok so it's time to do things. Mind you, many things have been done alreay. So many, that you end up wondering how many more things you should try to do until something original pops up. With my right arm I say "nahh...." it's all been done, and then my silly left arm comes into the fray from behind some mystical cloud and declares that every breath you take is a step toward a new token of originality. Albeit that token wouldn't get you extra minutes down at the pool. But you might be able to slot it into one of those shopping trolleys and take it with you on an extravaganza that you can most surely declare will be original, as that path has probably not been taken before... unless you go down the path of no return in which case STOP RIGHT THERE... cus that has been done before, its just that nobody lived to tell the tale. A tale of many sides, left arm, right and the one tucked in between my legs when I was attempting to gain extra dexterity and awsome aerodynamics when running down the road chased by a pack of imaginary wild and vicious dogs. I sware that happened to me today. Actually, that didn't happen fully, but, it was the sensation I gathered as for the first time ever I was startled by Brendon Benson blaring in my headphones as I walked through the streets. I was genuinly startled and inside of myself I jumped up to the hight of a 12 story building. Luckily I didn't seem to need to come back down. I also kicked something today. It was one of those stumps that comes out of the road when roadworks are incomplete. A little old lady was walking towards me on the pavement up ahead and I don't know whether it was thru some curtious action or whether I was just too darn scared of her (lets face it, she could have been a black belt in her time... never mess with old ladies), but, i decided to walk a little on the road and BLAM! Stumped my toe. The sweat was dripping down my face like a waterful in an Australian outback. It accompanied an embarassingy red face which must have contrasted beautifully with... well, everything. I couldn't ever have passed a test of the camelianeic type with one plastered all over me. A couple of girls were giggling coming towards me. Could it have been because of the awsome hysterical sight of me loosing at chicken with an old lady and paying the price or were they just sharing a personal joke about forlorn creatures, aided in their speed by new aerodynamic tales. One can but only speculate. Still. I was hurt, but I walked with my head held high. About as high as it goes which is 1m50odd. Maybe if I keep stumping toes, the Gods of Height will grant more than I've been blessed with. After all, The Gods of Height do use stumped toes as a bartering coin, do they not?

Chocolate Biscuits

I don't really think about much. Although sometimes I think a lot about nothing, so, maybe there's something there, but usually I don't think about it for very long cus I end up thinking about something else. Eventually, there doesn't really seem much point in attempting to remember those thoughts as most of the time I forget them anyhow and I find it just as exciting thinking about them again. So I let myself do that, by thinking about thoughts I might never remember in order to have those thoughts at the forground of my mind and think them as often as posible. Possibly never. But nothing is impossible so, possibly what I try to do is make all those thoughts a possibitlity of a reality never before thought of. That would probably have to be my reality. Although thinking about it, everyone elses reality, or the future of their realities are as mystical to them as they are to me so who knows or maybe even cares about what lies ahead. My new favorite band is Wolfmother by the way, if anyones interested. They seriously do rock! Them and Brendon Benson, a kind of American wishy-washy loved up chap who creates those kinda songs you thought you'd hate... but when you listen to what he's saying, you actually take a step back (preferably not off a cliff... that doesn't help) and go, "oh. right. so... he has some brain~power!!!" :) You gotta like that. Acutally, you don't gotta do anything, cus I'm not gonna force you. I can't even force myself to do half the things I should do so why and how on earth am I ever gonna muster the drive to force you or anyone else into anything. Besides, I have very little interest in pushing people. Unless its for my benefit ;) hehe. How selfish is that? On a scale of 1-10? Well, there's no real room for it anywhere other than 10 cus if I was only being say, 6 selfish, I'd be leaving myself open for another 4 unselfish, which, together with a new kind of metaphorical fusion, say, if my brain suddenly saw some biscuits on a table and they were covered in that scrummy tough-to-break through caramelly kinda chocolate, there's no way my 4 selfish would just sit there and let Mr. 6 selfish go ahead and push someone into doing something... Oooo, unless Mr. 6 convinced that person to go and GET those biscuits FOR me... then yes. Aaahh, but no, alas there is too much risk there. Mr. 6 could be throwing away the chance to have those biscuits for himself and himself alone. Miss Guilt could step in and she's a whole new emotion and ball game altogether. I'd have to end up sharing them. Or what if the person was strong and virile and more than a match for my meaker physique! How the hell would Mr. 6 get the plate of biscuits off him then? Nahh... no chance. You see, a straight 10 is all that would do cus the 4 would definitely turn the tide, launch for the biscuits, force me to eat them and then I'd have completely forgot what the initial point was. Speaking of which... what was the point?