Samwise rides again

While I was in Sydney, I was made aware of an event around Mardi Gras called `The Queen’s Games`, which apprently takes place every year down Bondi.

Events include the 3 stilettoed race, the handbag toss and competitive feminine posturing.

In their finite wisdom, Nike have developed the Statement Energy Corset.

I’m not sure what sports Nike had in mind for their Sports Corset, however soft boning offers support and shaping.

Oh dear.

Link came via small chick, who had a lot more interesting things to say than merely juxtaposing vague memories from long ago.

Hell, her post was entitled “Stone the sluts ! Stone ‘em all !”, good stuff.

Fell asleep about 5pm yesterday, up again at 2am

Article on the Beebee See website on the return of the rave.

For those who were not in the UK between 88 - 92, it is hard to describe what the rave meant. I personally don’t recognise the raves I see in other countries, it seems to have copied the stereotype without any of the organic evolutionary process that brought us to that point.

In many resects the rave died when it became commercial, it mutated back into the clubs, but the underground free party scene survived and continued, though personally I don’t think I’ve been to a big one in years.

A bloke goes to a nightclub.

He gets stopped by the bouncers at the door “Sorry mate, it’s tie only”

The man goes back to his car, opens the boot ( trunk, for you americans, ) pulls out the jumper cables and ties them in a half windsor around his neck.

He returns to the club and asks the bouncer “Is this alright ?”

One of the bouncers replies “Yes, but don’t start anything.”

It’s the way I type them.

I’m experiencing huge time distortions, I keep looking at the clock in disbelief

“it’s 9 o’clock ? that hour went on for a very long time”

“it’s 4 ? what happened to 2 and 3 ?”

I’m not sure which was the last day I experienced more than a couple of hours continuous sleep, I’m sure if I read through these postings I could work it out, but to be quite honest putting all that in context would be more than I am capable of.

I arrived in Hilo late last night, my bags had gone missing somewhere on the way from LA to Hilo, I had to take my bags off at LA and check them in again after passing customs, my tags said they’d cleared through to Hilo, but I was not beleiving this for a second, but what do I know, so I asked and was assured this was the case. Arrive in Hilo, no bags. The icing on the cake is that I had to check both my bags into the hold, and carried only my papers, my iPod, a book, my wallet and an inflatable pillow from checkin at Heathrow. I bought a copy of Saturdays Gaurdian and Independant newspapers whilst waiting to board which the shop bagged. So I stick everything into this bag which I carry around preciously for the next 30 odd hours, at first it must not have seemed so bad, but as time went on I must have looked a treat. I must have smelled one too, by the time I got to Hawai’i all I had was the clothes I stood up in and this plastic bag which contained all my worldly possesions as well as my identity. My clothes felt grimey and I was overdressed for the heat and humidity of Hawai’i. Of course my keys and my phone were in my bag, and so I had no way of getting into my apartment and no way of calling anyone ( which as it turns out, I don’t know anybody’s number, as they are all stored in my phone, and indexed by name. ) It was too late to drop in and see anyone and too far to walk. I got talking to 2 women who worked at the airport as they were clocking off and one of them gave me a lift along Banyon Drive to find a hotel, I ended up staying at Uncle Billy’s, which despite all the stuff I read on the internet, is actually quite nice.

I can see it now on their advertising : -

“is actually quite nice” - Samwise

Anyway my bags turned up today, so I am slowly unpacking, seeing what survived ( most the tinned stuff, ) and what didn’t ( a bottle of something smashed, covering everything, I had to go to the shop for beer before tackling that, ) and what might’ve ( french fancies, it’s like some cake-like thing, no I have no idea really, just whats written on the box. )

Fuck .. it’s almost 5

“Thaleia Lelehua Jenness, 7lbs 14oz born Sunday 22:00 via C-section, everybody doing great. –frossie”

I’ve stuck this under Evil Baby Names, though it isn’t particularly evil.

Apparently “Thaleia is one of the nine Greek Muses, the Muse of Comedy. Lelehua [Hawaiian] means skillful, good thinker”

UPDATE : Pictures

Looks very much like her Mum ( or Mom, if you would prefer, ) if you ask me

UPDATE : According to her father “she’s named after one of the three graces (like her mother) and not the muse of comedy” and her name is pronounced “THA-lee-a, so stress the first syllable”, so now you know.

I woke up stressed this morning because subconciously I know that any moment now I am heading back. The stag night and the wedding have done nothing for my jetlag, I still have no idea what day it is, what time of day it is and what have you, but I’m about to make it worse by travelling back, with the added bonus that we fly against the turning of the earth this time, so it will take that little bit longer. I arrive back in Hilo around 11pm on sunday and am back into work the next morning. I should really email someone and say that I’ll be late into work, probably someone at work, yeah that’ll do it, but with my boss away ( at least I assume he was away, his wife was due to go into labour last monday, and I was still receiving emails from them on thursday ? ) I’m not sure who I should ring, maybe I’ll have to go up the hierarchy.

Long haul travel is like some endurance race, it is mentally and physically exhausting, and as you can probably tell, I don’t do jet lag well. Airport security is just the icing-on-the-cake, it really adds-insult-to-injury.

On the downside, I didn’t get over to Man-chest-hair and I didn’t see Rosie … err … one of the Rosie’s, on the upside I have ample supplies of mushy peas, baked beans, french fancies and Golden Virginia for those that asked for them.

My brother was over in Barcelona recently and brought me back a generic coffee tin with the word “Gunpowder” written in marker pen on the bottom. I have been trying to decide wether or not it is worth taking it back with me, I really do not want to be refused entrance at the moment.

I know many people like to chortle over the pictures on Engrish, but it never ceases to amaze me how terrible the grammer of native english speakers is. I must point out, when it comes to grammar ( and spelling, ) I am no exception.

Whilst reading the local rag, I chanced upon an article about a website which specialises in the poor english grammer of native english speakers.

mygrammargood.com

14 hours sleeping, better part of the day gone, nothing productive done …. nicely

UPDATE : Eating times effect jetlag.

“Home is the place that, if you really have to go, they cannot turn you away”

I forget which author said that, but that is very much how I feel about my passport.

I’m back in t’ shire until the 26th, well I might spend some time in that London before I go.