Explore with Fran

Join me on the journey as I travel, eat, and drink my way around the world

Vegas revisited

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Conventional wisdom dictates that “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”.  Right?  However, I’m not often accused of being conventional.  Plus, this would be a very dull blog.  Yes some of you are shouting, even more dull than usual.
So this blog is more along the lines of “almost all of what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas”.
If last month was an ode to how much I love my mum, this month is an ode to how much I love my friends. And I mean my REAL friends. Not the Facebook variety. And by that I don’t mean I don’t have real friends on Facebook. I do. Lots of you.
But I mean real, get drunk with, argue with, fight with, joust with pool cues with, tell ALL your secrets to, play wing-man with, type of friends.  The ones you fall out over football with.  The ones you sit up with through the night drinking and putting the world to rights with.  The ones you watch grow, get married, have families.  And through all the changes life throws at us, we remain friends. These type of friends are my best friends.
I went to Vegas recently with 3 of these very same type of friends, and as we always find, before we have even finished our first pint, the banter is flowing like we have never been apart.  Dissecting previous years trips, and the absurdity of our discussions.  Who has ever heard of playing a guitar upside down?  And had discussions about there “being winners and losers in this life”?  I’m laughing just at the recollection.  Greg Wallace has a lot to answer for.  

Totally sober…honest

Our annual tradition, for the last few years at least, has been to catch up somewhere in the world.  The first agenda item on this year’s Annual General Meeting was where we will go next year.  Previous trips have seen us have quiet, cultural visits to Prague, the home of Kafka.  And Munich, Germany’s third largest city, and home many lederhosen clad gentlemen.
This year we revisited an old haunt.  The same venue for my 40th birthday celebrations. Back to the very famous Las Vegas, Nevada.  Named by a Mexican in 1829, Las Vegas (The Meadows when translated from the Spanish), has a very long and illustrious history.
Initially used as a water stop on trips between Los Angeles and eastern outposts, many of us are more familiar with Vegas’s sin city reputation.  The building of the Hoover Dam, which started in 1931, saw the population of Las Vegas swell and to entertain the mainly male working population, the casinos and show girls were born into Vegas history.
Organised crime wasn’t far behind, and financed by the infamous Meyer Lansky (incidentally portrayed as Hyman Roth in the Godfather movie), Bugsy Siegel built the Flamingo hotel and casino.  Still proudly standing pride of place on the Strip opposite our home for 4 nights, Caesar’s Palace.
I travelled from Sydney and took a very circuitous route, with a 2 hour delay in Sydney, and then an unscheduled stop in Honolulu, before travelling through San Francisco, changing planes, and culminating in a short hop to McCarran airport, Las Vegas. 
I should probably be grateful I got there at all as when I checked in I was greeted by a very furrowed brow on the face of the check in assistant.  “You don’t seem to have a visa for entry into the United States sir”.  Oh yes I do.  And I dug out the email to confirm it.  
The email which states “approval to travel”.  
I was told “They don’t mean anything.  If there is a subsequent issue that confirmation is useless”.  It seems the “subsequent issue” was some problem with the actual processing of my visa.  Oh dear.  However, as you know, we eventually resolved this, and I did get to travel.


Having arrived more than 7 hours later than planned, my friends were already well on their way to their 2nd, or 3rd pint.  I lost count, and evidentally so did they.  By about 3pm it seems.  I had managed to avail myself of numerous complimentary alcoholic beverages in the business class lounge at Sydney, and managed to keep suitably topped up en route.  I hadn’t planned to imbibe quite so much in the lounge, but the kind hostess kept bringing me beers.  And I felt obliged to accept.  I have read that declining such generous hospitality is seen as a slight in some cultures.  Right?
Much of my travails of actually getting there faded away as we made our decent into the desert.  Is there a better sight than flying into Las Vegas at night, with all the flashing neon lights looking resplendent?
The result of all of the proceeding hospitality (thanks Singapore Airlines for my gold card allowing business class lounge access) being that I was soon talking as much nonsense as they were not long after my arrival at Caesar’s Palace.  Not, I hasten to add, where the actual Caesar used to live.  Just in case anybody was wondering.
Our quiet first night, turned into a quiet early morning.  As is wont to happen in Vegas, where there are no clocks in the casinos, the early hours of the morning soon creep up on you.  As we turned in slightly later than planned, we all agreed to a small adjustment to the itinerary.  A little lie in in the morning, and reluctantly cross off library and museum visits planned for the following day, due to time constraints.
The following day was the England v Uruguay match, and by the 12pm kick off we were settled in front of a large TV screen in Gordon Ramsey’s “Pub and Grill”, with large burgers, and exceptional pints of Guinness.  Hoping that Luis Suarez was not going to take a large bite out of England’s ambitions of progressing through the group stages.  Alas.
Whisky and cokes…with a ladyboy chaser

The less said about the football the better.  But the afternoon drinking set the tone for the rest of the trip.  Maybe except for one of our travelling party.  Know as “the bambino” for his predilection to warm milky drinks, and pineapple with every meal, at times I thought I was with Alan Partridge, and was going to have to order a “lady boy chaser”, also known as a Baileys.  Indeed, at one point I did.  The look on the waitresses face was a picture as she waited for the punchline from the Bambino.  There wasn’t one.  He simply wanted to enjoy a Baileys.
Things didn’t improve in Jimmy Buffet’s.  Whilst we sampled what looked like the world’s largest margarita, the bambino plumped for a nice milkshake.  I had to draw the line at him ordering a snowball.  Things were crazy enough.
The days, and nights rolled on and we had a great time laughing and catching up.  Probably more “Last Vegas”, than “The Hangover”, but we are very sensible chaps, what did you expect?


Our time together came to an end all too soon, and with sadness we parted on a hot and sultry Sunday afternoon.  Already the conversation turned to our next trip, and possible venue.  Reykjavík was mooted, as were the German hedonistic hotspots of Berlin and Hamburg.
Auf wiedersehen!

Mary in Mosman (dedicated to my amazing mum)

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As regular readers of my blog will know, I have a long, and lasting, relationship with Australia.  Having done my rite of passage backpacking trip in ’94, I seemed to spend a month here every second year.  Not always with the same person, but I like to think I was doing my bit for tourism, and the local economy.
I’m now on first name terms with the local Hunter Valley wine testing tour guide.  And if I go on one more Captain Cruise tour of the Harbour I think I will be offered shares.
Mothers’ Day cruise
I digress. 
All the trips here, the developing love affair, all led to me becoming a permanent resident of this glorious country, and hence the inception of this blog, documenting my travels and travails along the way.
In this time, if I had a dollar for each occasion mum said “I will come out one day and see Australia”, I would have more money already than my sister seems to be managing to save in her tin for a trip here.
So, on a long scooter ride last year, wind buffeting me and the Besbi, with time to think and with thoughts racing through my head, I made a decision.  I went home that night, and booked a return flight home.  And a flight back with me for mum.  This was the only way it was going to happen.  I had to take charge.  If you were reading this blog last year, you would be forgiven for thinking I may not have even still been here right now.  In Australia I mean.  Not anything more sinister.
I decided that mum was coming to Australia.  Before life took over.  She was coming.  All I had to do now was break the news to her.  That was an emotional Skype call, but in a good way.  Once mum had run off outside for some fresh air, and returned to my little glowing computer screen, it had become a reality.
Not having flown further than Europe before, I did wonder if I had bitten off more than I could chew.  This could prove to be an ordeal.  Twenty four hours, with a couple of stops in Munich and Singapore along the way, cooped up in a glorified tin can.
But it has to be said, it was “too easy, no dramas”.   I think all the food served on the plane took mum’s mind of the actual flying.  At one point I thought I’d fallen asleep and woken up in the middle of an episode of Man (or mum) versus Food!
Surely, she didn’t have room for a Magnum ice cream after ALL th……..oh wait……
Mary versus food
In no time at all we had touched down on Australian soil, were in a cab, zooming across the city, and Mary was in Mosman.
What followed was a fantastic 3 weeks of showing mum around the back yard.  Where I have chosen to currently call home.  Show her what keeps me here. 
One thing I had resolved to do was get mum being a bit more adventurous when eating out.  Go to any pub / café / restaurant with mum, hand her the world’s largest menu, and I can predict with eerie accuracy what she will order.  “Scampi and chips please son.”
Well, we were having none of that on this holiday.  Although she did try. 
I’m not sure she was too impressed when on one of her first days here, I took her for seafood.  With NO scampi.  Her face was a picture when I offered her some octopus tentacles.  And prawns that required the heads pulling off, and peeling were not what she was used to from Wetherspoon’s.
Another first was a wine tasting trip.  Being Sydney’s most loyal customer, Sam the owner provided my trip at half price, with a promise that my next visit would be complimentary.  I am already checking the calendar for when I will be taking him up on this offer. 
I had purposefully chosen this particular trip, as on the way to the Hunter, we have morning coffee at a wildlife centre.  Giving you the opportunity to get up and close with all your Australian favourites, although I think this little fella is everyone’s fave!

I think the wine was less of a hit with mum, but I benefited from this, having double tastings.  Now this was MY kind of trip J
Can’t see any shrimps on that barbie!
Other highlights included the Mother’s Day lunch trip around the Harbour, a trip to Summer Bay (aka Palm Beach), an amazing high tea at Boronia House, a visit to Bondi beach (everybody has to on their first trip, despite what the locals say), and the numerous BBQs we had. 
A particular highlight for me was mum frequenting the many stores in Mosman.  Could I keep her out of the haberdashery?  How much knitting can one granny do?  And who would call a homeware store “Bird bath and Table”?  Nobody but mum it seems…

Mum, we had a great time.  You were a fantastic house guest.  I miss you every day.  And I look forward to seeing you again on these shores next year.

Yorkshire Revisited

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You may have noticed it has been a while since my last post.  You may even have been worried I had come to some harm.  But fear not, I think I just had a case of writer’s block.  Or more literally, blogger’s block.  I seem to have now gone the other way and have written what is perhaps my longest blog ever.
In truth, it has been a very busy few weeks, much of what I’ll cover in the next couple of posts.  Those of you tuning in, eagerly hoping to hear of the exploits of Ma Cormack on her antipodean adventure will be disappointed.  This blog will be to recap on my trip back to the UK and thus, the “Mary in Mosman” blog will follow in a few weeks.
So the end of February saw me jetting back to the homeland.  The primary objective being to escort mum back to Sydney with me.  An expat’s life and location can be very precarious and I figured that if mum was ever gonna see the land down under, I would have to go and literally bring her.  I once worked in Dublin for 18 months, a 40-minute flight away, and she never got across the water.  So I was determined to get her Australia passport stamp!
The timing couldn’t have been better, with my 1-year contract at work expiring at the end of February, and me flying to England the next day.  With luck (scratches head and wonders if this is the right word), and maybe a smidgen of hard work, I had secured a further 1-year contract at the same bank, on the proviso that my current trip stood and I could have a month unpaid leave.  A well documented hand-over to my hard working team (just in case they are reading) and I was off, knowing everything was in safe hands ’til I returned in April-ish.
Leaving Sydney did feel very strange.  A much different feeling to when I went home last year.  I suppose I was mentally in a very different place last year and wasn’t sure if it was the start of the end of my Australian odyssey.  A year on and things are very different.  I felt like I was leaving home, to go home.  As a good friend reminded me at the time, “we are lucky now, we have two beautiful homes”.  And he is right.
Returning to Yorkshire again reminded me of why it is one of the most beautiful places I have been to in the world.  And I have been to a few.  I’m not sure there are many places that compare.  Where folk actually talk proper.  And without getting too sentimental, although it seems to be happening more as I get older, I have the best group of friends and family a person could wish for.  Maybe an eclectic, diverse set of friends.  And a hectic, on the edge of crazy, family.  But I wouldn’t change any of them for the world.  You guys are what make my trips.
Every day I was reminded of the importance of keeping your special friends in your life.  And how those bonds grow stronger despite the distance between us.  It may sound ironic coming from me, the guy who upped and left, all alone, as far away as he could possibly go, yet I have never lost touch with people.  A phone call here, postcard there.  And what we would do without FaceTime and Skype these days?  My Easter got off to the best possible start with a call from home this morning.
I only had a couple of weeks at home, not really long enough to do everything I would like, but long enough to do many of the things I like.  Need I mention the food?  Those with a keen eye for detail will already know I have an obsession with fish & chips.  And not the very inferior version I can get here in Australia.  But I mean real, proper fish & chips, wi’ bits and curry sauce.  A pot of tea and slice of bread on the side.  Fellow diners in Blakeley’s of Brighouse may have thought I had just been released from a long stint in prison, at the rate I devoured my plate.  Now THAT is what I am talking about.
Of course curries featured highly in my “diet”, as did Yorkshire puddings, and the now annual lamb dinner.  Thanks sis, what a great day that was, even though I did end up driving and chauffeuring the more inebriated amongst us home.
Service at some of the eating establishments did baffle me, at times leaving me creased over laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.  On one very memorable morning I thought we had wandered into Fawlty Towers, and I kept waiting for Manuel to pop out.  Breakfasts were ordered, and arrived, upon which I thought, “hmm, quite an expensive breakfast to only receive 1 slice of toast”.  The waiter then proceeded to tell us that more toast was on the way, it was in the toaster! 
Now, I have not spent much time in the hospitality industry, but wouldn’t you wait until ALL the toast was ready, and THEN bring out the breakfasts? 
It got better.  I asked for some brown sauce, and he promptly returned with some, in a coffee cup!!!!  Have you ever seen the like?  The morning’s shenanigans didn’t end there.  Half way through munching my toast, another young chap who worked there, approached me at the table, with a half eaten cake in a box, and said, “before you forget sir, your cake”.  By this point I had fallen off my chair laughing.  Just WHO did he think I was?  And why would I have a half eaten cake in his restaurant?  Good grief, I said take me home.  There is only so much fun somebody can have in one morning.
One morning I definitely was not laughing was following a fantastic night out in Leeds.  One in which catching the last train home was the target.  The last train was at 11.20pm.  It didn’t happen.  Even with the female contingent bringing their posh handbags (which supposedly means they couldn’t POSSIBLY stay out late). 
Cue a very funny night, finished by drinking England’s supply of champagne, coupled with some bizarre concoction that my sister insisted on adding to each drink.  I think it may have been slightly off, maybe out of date, as I think that is why I was so ill the following day.  Then again, getting a lift home off my sister, who took a speed bump so fast I thought we wouldn’t land until we hit Sydney, could have precipitated my downfall.
I was so green I could have hidden in a bowl of peas.  And once getting in my own car, my attempt at the same said speed bump was hilarious.  Trying to protect my delicate head, I rolled up to the bump so slowly that I didn’t get over it.  I just hit it, and the car rolled backwards.  It was going to be a VERY long day.
There are many other memories from that trip, way too many to cover in what has now become a very long post.  I hope you are still with me.  But needless to say, I had an amazing time, even saw a beautiful part of Yorkshire I hadn’t been to before, and had some amazing food.  Thank you.  Even if I won’t be adding Ripon to my list of “must see” places next time.

The usual heartfelt goodbyes signalled the end of this trip, not really knowing when I will next be in the country.  So there is nothing else for it, it’s time to come the other way, to me.  Get planning.  Sydney awaits.
Well, once more, like my brief trip home, it is now time to wrap it up folks.  I have to dash.  I have a Pannini football World Cup sticker album to try and find.  

Anyone for swapsies?

It’s elementary…

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February already and I’m wondering where January went?  Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was trudging back into work following the bacchanalian excesses of the Christmas period?
And here we are, in February, with people pushing the ridiculous notion of “FebFast”, whereby you give up one of your reasons for living, namely alcohol or junk food.  I have never really got my head around people would want to do something of such absurdity.  Be miserable for a WHOLE month?  No thank you.  I mean, I could get knocked down by a bus at the end of the month and where would I be then?  Apart from dead, I would make a very melancholic corpse.
All the above said, the alcohol consumption has dropped off considerably now that I have readjusted to not having overseas visitors.  I’m not saying they drank a lot, but I secretly started googling “liver transplants”.  My lifestyle is still some way from monastic, but the bottle recycling is definitely getting visited less.
This month could a blog to replace the long running BBC film review show.  Maybe a homage to the art of movie going.  Barry Norman, or Jonathan Ross to the younger readers, would be impressed.

I have once again been to the outstanding Hayden Orpheum art deco cinema (The Book Thief 8/10), then had my first taste of Gold Class at Event Cinema (American Hustle 7.5/10) in the city (I may never return to the cheap seats.  Wine and food, brought to your seat, which, by the way, is only a bloody Lazy Boy seat!!), and completed the hat trick with a visit to the IMB Outdoor Sunset cinema (Anchorman 2 6/10) at the resplendent North Sydney Oval.  This was an experience that could have easily turned into a disaster, looking at the ominous storm clouds that hovered above. 
With no umbrella, not even a cheap one, let alone one of the kind that some ostentatious Sydneysiders pay hundreds of dollars for, had the rain arrived, I would have had to hastily extricate myself from quite possibly the comfiest bean bag I have ever sat on.  As it turned out, the rain held off and I was able to enjoy Anchorman 2, with my Crust pizza, burnt fig ice cream, and generous amounts of cabernet sauvignon.  Happy days.
A giant inflatable screen
As much as I love the cinema, I think I may have a month with a new box set, on the sofa at Cormack HQ.  Getting through the remainder of the Christmas booze.  See?  How impossible it is to consider the folly that is FebFast?
For my viewing delight this month “Sherlock” has been recommended to me, and as well as it being based in beautiful London town, who doesn’t love his inimitable sidekick, Dr Watson?  I just need to bribe a friend now to lend me a copy of the first series.  And I think I have just what I need, some “medicine for mummies”, in the form of bottles of Peroni.  Another reason why I’ve always loved the Italians.  Great beer to complement outstanding food.  Molto bene.


On that note, I will wrap up, and go treat myself to a cold drink (yes, before you ask, an alcoholic one) and put together a playlist for a mate.  I agree that The Clash, London Calling is a great track, but why on earth he wants Just Jack, Stars in their Eyes is beyond me.  Oh well, there is no accounting for taste, as they say.
Enjoy February folks.  Remember, it is only 28 days long so make the most of everyone of those days.  At the end, on March 1st, I will be back in the UK, and will no doubt be forced to drink again.
Maybe FebFast isn’t a bad idea after all!!

New Year, But No Resolutions

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Remember me?  I am still alive and well, for those that have been missing your regular update from the land Down Under.
It has been a while, and I can lay the blame at the door of a number of things, but let’s just say that the old adage of “time flies when you are having fun” is very much true.  Much fun has indeed been had.
Since we last caught up I have been through a birthday, Xmas, and another Sydney New Years Eve firework extravaganza.  Which were even better than last year if that is possible.  Admittedly, my birthday and Xmas were on the same day, but still.
I have had my summer holiday, with 2 weeks off work over Xmas and I’m not sure there is a better place in the world to spend it than Sydney.  The city comes alive with numerous pop up bars, festivals, street art, (very) long boozy lunches, and long leisurely hung-over brunches.
As if four bottles of the best sauvignon blanc wasn’t enough, some people had to then move onto the cocktails.  Little wonder we managed to get asked to leave.  But by then we had left the Opera Bar and moved onto The Argyle, quite a classy establishment in The Rocks area of Sydney.  Had we been in the Salvation in Halifax I’m sure it would have been a very different story.  All in all, another great day.
I can’t speak for the night though.  Due to not actually remembering much of it!   I’m not sure if this was a result of the aforementioned bottles of wine, or just too much sun.  But, strangely enough, I keep having dream like flash backs (and being kindly reminded) to performing some kind of nosedive.  Hmm, very strange 🙂
Talking of my birthday, my friends, in their kindness, tried to secretly buy me a birthday cake in Woolworths.  I’m not kidding you, it was like a military operation planned by Benny Hill.  (Australian readers may want to check out You Tube).  I could almost hear the music playing as we chased each other around the aisles.  But what a lovely thought, the flaming galahs!
Last year, for my birthday, the weather unceremoniously pissed on my parade.  Almost quite literally.  Poured down all day.  Surely lightening couldn’t strike twice.  Right?  So big plans were made this year.  Little cute wine glass holder type things, for sticking in the sand holding your glass, an esky, new beach chair.  The whole shooting match. 
And yes, you guessed it!  Following being initiated into the Xmas Eve night tradition that is the “Home Alone” movie marathon (keep the change ya filthy animal) we once again ended up on Xmas morning with Bucks Fizz and a wet, distinctly British, BBQ.  I had very gratefully had some presents brought over from my family back home, and with my friends in my adopted country looking after me I managed to really feel like I could celebrate, despite being thousands of miles away from family.  That is one thing that is so important as an expat, making very good friends, who then become like a second family.
So we had rain again on my big day, but all is well that ends well and it did indeed end up being a fantastic day, with me cleaning up in various competitions including video games, and that old classic, charades.  Ok, I may not have actually won at Mario Kart (or even come a close second), but my efforts at charades took the limelight.  I think I should have been a thespian.  Never has there been a better mime of the film Psycho.
I’m pleased to say that the sun gods did shine on us for the rest of the holidays, enabling me to get my tan on.  And the weather was perfect for another trip into the Hunter Valley vineyards.  Although it is quite possibly the first time I have ever heard a wine tasting trip up there described as thus, “by ‘eck, its like a white knuckle ride!“.  Shurrrup!  And despite there being an abundance of good wines in the Hunter, I just don’t think there will ever be enough soda water for some people 😉
I can’t end without saying that this time of year is usually a time of making resolutions.  I’m sure a few of you have made them.  I’m equally sure that some of you will have even broken some of them already.  Be honest.
I’m not making any as I feel that things are going good right now.  Through parts of last year you saw me sharing my homesickness with you.  Even deliberating about whether to return to the UK or not.  But for now, I am a lot more settled, and have even just accepted a 1-year extension to my contract at work.  Apologies to my long suffering work colleagues but for some time yet you will have to cope with my Monday morning moans about how badly my beloved football team have done over the weekend.  And surely you can’t dine out on your lucky Ashes victory for much longer, *crosses fingers*.
This doesn’t take the homesickness away, but I am having another trip home in 6 weeks so this will continue to alleviate it whilst I determine my rightful place in the world.  I’ll be having a flying visit for a couple of weeks, catch up with family and friends, including my gorgeous little niece who I unfortunately have not seen since I left the UK in 2012.  Then, rather excitingly, I will be returning home, with Ma Cormack in tow for her visit tour of duty in Australia.
My only concern for my trip to the UK will be the weather.  I have not had a European winter for 3 years so will need to put away my thongs and remember where I put my winter clothes.   The UK weather in March?   Anybody know the long term forecast?  Will I need to be hibernating in front of a roaring log fire with copious amounts of whisky?  Or will I be able to sip champagne in a hot tub? 

Answers by return please.

Schoolies for Toolies – Surfers Paradise 18 years on

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You could put it down to a scheduling issue. Which, when you think about it, is quite embarrassing for a project manager.   But in my defence, I delegated the booking to my trusted lieutenant. I wasn’t to know he would be bloody useless at it.


So this is how we found ourselves, 3 grown men, on the Gold Coast, at Surfers Paradise, bang at the start of schoolies week.  OK, further mitigation could be had that we are from the UK, and don’t (didn’t) have the foggiest idea what schoolies was.  My readers from the UK may want to Google it, then try and suppress your childish giggles. In town, with 30,000 schoolgirls, with our reputation!  (said in the manner of the Fast Show, aka Paul Whitehouse, just in case anybody reads that as a literal statement.)
When word got out at work, via my boss!, to the whole bank, via her boss, that I was off to schoolies, a week of constant piss taking followed.
Apparently, I would now be a toolie.  Somebody of an older generation who purposely goes to “observe” the (away from home for the first time) schoolies.  Have I got my hard hat? For unidentified flying objects being dispatched from windows.  It was even suggested, once I had explained what they were, that settees have been known to come out of the sky.  I said I’m not sure what helmets they sell but not sure any would save me from an errant flying settee!
Our, not so, salubrious lodgings!
Another theme was that I was going to be locked up.  For what, I could never really establish.  Tagged and having to remain at Mosman.  Deported.  Oh, I could go on.  That said, I did work out that it has been 18 years since I was last in Surfers Paradise, and most of the 30,000 schoolies hadn’t even been born then.
Yet, here I am, back in one piece, still a free man, without so much as a stain on my character.  And what a weekend it was.  Much better than I had actually anticipated, after all the hype about what carnage it would be.  As has happened before, I do wonder what a lot of Australian’s frame of reference is.  Mine, for carnage, would be a night out around Liverpool or Newcastle (UK), where you could be lucky to get home in one piece.  Surfers, even for schoolies, was very tame by comparison.  Great fun, but tame all the same.
Being back in Sydney, and seeing some of the news headlines and coverage of it, I’m convinced it is all a result of media hype.  It is just a bunch of kids, being kids.  Letting off steam and enjoying some new found freedom.  And good luck to them I say.


Despite our weekend being very short, flying up straight from work on Friday, and back home on Sunday night, we had a great time and loads of laughs.  I’m not sure if some of the stuff, like random photos, was actually thatfunny, but it could have been the copious amounts of Guinness that lubricated the laughing gene.
What was funny was finding out about hidden desires to be a hairdresser.  A desire surely only let free as a result of the aforementioned alcohol.  I’ve asked the person involved never to admit this again to anybody.  Ever.  Yet, if you travel with him, the GHD straighteners and fancy hairdryer might just give the game away.
I think the world record for eating the most Twixes in one weekend was comfortably broken.  And they were all eaten by the same man.  Not me. 
I also met my very first ever people from Halifax…Nova Scotia in Canada.  Whilst whiling away a few hours, people watching in Kitty O’Shea’s, we got talking to the barmaids, both of whom hail from Halifax.  And yet didn’t know each other until they met at work in Surfers.  It just shows you how small the world is, and how we serendipitously meet people through our lives.  Fate, destiny, or just pure coincidence?  You decide.
Now we need to start thinking of where to take the tour next.  New Zealand and Bali are emerging as hot favourites, yet would need more than a flying visit.

We will keep thinking, but in the meantime, I am off to polish the bugle.  I could have a busy week ahead.