I Dreamed a Dream (not Subo, me!)

Well guys I thought I would post a little piece about how life sure as hell catches up to you. Not slowly either I might add, but it sneaks up and pounces on you like a leopard onto an innocent, peaceful little calf drinking from a waterhole. At this point you might be thinking, "what the hell is he on about"...so let me explain. When I was young I wanted to become a racing driver, and a professional footballer, a fireman, a fighter pilot, a veterinarian, a sniper, a member of the SAS, a professional rugby player and so on and so forth.

I had a lot of ambition you see, but as time has passed and I am now the prime age of 23, with 24 approaching like an oncoming truck, I see that I will now never be able to fulfil any of those dreams.

Of course now my outlook has changed and I no longer want to stick my arm up a cows back passage and get paid for it, nor do I wish to go through the most thorough selection process in the world and endure the most gruelling physical torture to become a member of the British special forces.

Hate the Player...Not the Game

First of all let me say a quick get well soon to my Aunty Bev, who at this very moment is recovering in hospital from a successful but life-changing surgery, our thoughts are with you.

I was inspired today whilst demolishing a collection of Easter chocolate and watching Manchester United take on the struggling Queens Park Rangers at Old Trafford. So on this day of all days I thought it would be apt to resurrect not only the Messiah but that other Mecca of hope and salvation...my blog.

After spending a year in the great commonwealth country of Canada, and having to constantly defend our nations sport to vast sums of people who think football is just a game played by talented artists rather than true sportsmen, I thought I would return home to re-involve myself with the sport and for it to reaffirm everything I had been fighting for. Well I can officially report that as the season is rapidly coming to an end, I have been sorely disappointed.

What Knowledge?

I am a guy, and as a guy I want to make it clear that I do not like being ripped off. Whether it’s a homeless man telling me where the nearest cash machine is because the two dollars I have already given him isn’t enough… or whether it’s a gym that entices me in with a monthly rate, only to find they had forgotten to mention the joining fee, and taxes that I should of apparently known about!

A new pet peeve of mine though, which has only really become apparent since coming to Canada, is taxi drivers. Back in blighty, although you may get the odd one, taxi drivers are ready to take you where ever you need to go with no fuss. Sure some London cabbies could be accused of taking you on a more ‘scenic’ route for their own benefit, but in general they are very good at what they do. This is because their training is vigorous and thorough, and this has to be because London is a maze of twists and turns.

Death of the Gentlemen

OK enough with the jibber jabber and banter from my travels, because I want to take a moment to have a rant about something that gravely concerns me.

My parents came to visit me in Canada over the past week, and it was such a blast. You see I don’t consider my parents as normal. They are the kind of parents who you can get drunk, tell rude jokes, and just generally have a laugh with. In fact we had a really great time playing Buckaroo with my dad after he had passed out on the sofa, and for those of you who don’t know what ‘Buckaroo’ is, allow me to enlighten you. It’s basically a toy horse which you attach various items to in the hope that you won’t be the person to make it buck, because if you do, hilarity ensues and you loose the game. So with my amazing explanation in mind, consider a passed out father who is getting wine boxes, pizza boxes…and even a chair stacked on top of him. He certainly had a shock when he eventually came to.

Night Market Karma

Allow me to welcome your imaginations once again to New York City, the place where dreams are made of. If I could compare this place to anything it would be like straddling a mountain lion, drunk… whilst trying to complete a Sudoku puzzle! The fact is as soon as you arrive here, your mind is struggling to concentrate because there is so much to take in. You look left and you look right… the more you look around the more you come to terms with how this place has become one of the most iconic cities in the world. It quite literally has everything.

But rather than bore you with stories of New York and whatever else, I will tell you about a specific moment whilst touring the Big Apple in which Rheannon and I encountered a night market… you know one of these places where you can pick up a stuffed corgi signed by Prince Philip and a ham and cheese bagel all within a few hundred yards.

Camp Canada

Back in the summer some of my friends and I decided we should go camping, because there’s nothing like being in the middle of nowhere with no toilet and sleeping in a freezing cold huddle of regret. But I was facing nature armed with something that laughs in the face of cold, and indeed hygiene. I was going camping with a Canadian... a group of Canadians in fact, a race born to chop wood and thrive in near arctic conditions. We would be going to a place in Canada called Chilliwack, which already sounds wilder than anywhere back in Blighty.

Our checklist included tents, firewood, marshmallows, chairs and copious amounts of alcohol. Beer, rum, whisky, vodka, more rum and more whiskey summed up the alcohol which accompanied us, in addition I brought along my trusty onesie so I could feel as much like a bear as possible.

Day at the Museum

Rheannon and I left Toronto for New York recently, it was our first stop before travelling on to Philadelphia and Washington D.C. and then back up to Toronto to complete the round trip. This is a story about what it means to be British, and tight… but I think the two go hand in hand.

We arrive after a gruelling overnight journey on a Greyhound coach, who we travel with because we love the punctuality and friendly service. Yes I’m being sarcastic… it was yet another restless night being cooped up in a panic room with chairs, except with a panic room the psychos are on the outside. But do we care? Hell no… we are in New York City baby! Before we even get outside the bus station I can already sense the energy of the place, it’s the kind of feeling I’ve had in only one other city, London. A joint sense of urgency and passion emulates from the streets, it’s clear that this place has style.

Fall From Grace

Let me begin again by saying thank you everyone for reading my blog, It has been a very good opening week as far as numbers go. So once again, thank you. Before I start I should warn you that this story goes into detail about a drunken incident and the consequences which follow… hope you enjoy.

I would like to take you back in time (again) to the first half of my travels. I should probably explain that I cannot be too specific about the exact date, nor even the month of when this incident took place as the consequences would be dyer. So for the “persons” benefit I will use a false name and be very vague about times and places. For the purposes of this story my mystery guest will be called… Laquonda.

The Sly Thief

I was in Washington D.C a few days ago having dinner with Rheannon. It was a Whole Foods store, which is one of these upmarket chains which think it’s acceptable to charge me $1.28 for a damn apple…yeah you know the ones. Anyway, we’ve got our dinner from its massive deli bar and as a little insight for you, deli bar spells danger for me. You see, I can’t stop myself…‘a little more,’ ‘oh that looks good,’ ‘bit more of that,’ and before I know what’s happened I’ve spent $20 dollars and am left holding a plate of food, the weight of which is equivalent to a new born baby…but what the hell, I’m on holiday! That’s what I like to say when I know I’ve gone overboard, except this holiday has lasted 10 months now, don’t worry, next time I’ll control myself.

Clash of the Titans

Well the seasons for ice hockey and football are well underway and this reminds me of my time inhabiting Vancouver, during which I had many ‘discussions’ about sport. They would always start playfully, with mocking and subtle digs, but they would always end with crockery being tossed and handbags being swung. Today though ladies and gentlemen I attempt to link the two, and then rip them apart, only to link them once more so we can all live happily ever after. Smiley face.

So it’s figure skating with big sticks vs. a bunch of grown men acting like 7-year-old girls, falling over and crying for their mummies! Yup you guessed it, this is… Football vs. Ice Hockey, and just so we’re clear that’s the football which is played with your feet…rather than your hands.

50 Hours and Counting

Well let me just quickly begin by thanking everyone who read my first post ‘Pride of a Nation,’ and hopefully I can continue to capture your attention and ensure that you keep returning to my page to read my rants... 

So I am currently on a bus journey… Yes that’s right, another bloody bus journey, and one which we started back on the 10^th of October, with a total duration of 55, long, arduous hours. Place of departure, Banff! Destination, Toronto.

As you may very well know, there is probably many ways to get across Canada, let’s see… Fly perhaps? No no, to expensive. Maybe travel on the train? Nope, not that either, because we need to save every available sum of money for later and our inevitable fall from grace as our money reserve rapidly dwindles. So there is only one option, GREYHOUND, A bus service which provides rude drivers, psychotic passengers and a lingering smell of urine. Also the only option which we managed to find for fewer than 300 bucks, $260 to be exact. This way we could see the countryside, take our time and enjoy the views of places like the Prairies, which take up just about all of the middle of Canada. Word of advice, just in case you are planning on the same cost effective trip… buy some damn sleeping pills or failing that get someone to perform the sleeper hold on you until you pass out! There’s nothing there, just miles and miles of endless tarmac, which, like acne, just doesn't seem to end. 

The Pride of a Nation

            Ok, this is officially my very first blog (queue the bubbly), so take it with a pinch of salt and try to be understanding that this is all new to me, I am merely a tool, probably in more ways than one, but a tool nonetheless designed to take the weird and wonderful opinions I have spinning through my head and post them on this blog for your enjoyment (I use the word enjoyment loosely).

            So…‘I’m on a bus,’ not quite T-Pain and Lonely Island but I’ll get there. The bus by the way has free wi-fi on it 'modern technology ey? I am reminded of the things that I have experienced during the past 10 months. I mean, some women have been pregnant during the months I have been touring North America, and now they sit with a beautifully dull and slightly chubby baby, and while the baby decides where on his mummy he wants to be sick next, I am thinking about Canadians, whilst sitting on a bus heading towards the United States capitol, namely, Washington D.C.