Tag Archives: road trip

Something is Returning

It could be genius, it could be simply the new purchase – a Range Rover Sport V8 Supercharged.  A tad over 500 BHP and fuel consumption that warrants buying shares in BP.  You gotta do it though – everyone should have a V8 Supercharged at some stage in their life right?

On the plane up to Aberdeen tonight, I happened across the perfect song to play first on my road trip back south.  You will get that at the very bottom of this post – just imagine, as I pull away out of Aberdeen tomorrow morning…….  OK, by my standards, Aberdeen to Rugby is nothing more than a quick hop, skip and a jump but every road trip deserves its own play list to see you through.

I found another blinder too, this one you don’t have to wait for though, take a quick look at this beauty.  This will be my sunset tune as I get further south.

Maybe the internet raised us – or maybe people are jerks !

So, where have I been you ask?  Dah – like you care?  Well, a year in Asia under my belt I decided to quit my job and take some time out to study for my next (and last) license.  The next one is as high as I can go,  Top of the shop – Nine – Oh.  February and March will flash by in a blur as I aim to convert my Y License over to an SV licence but also push the size of the boats 6 fold.

January will also see me studying for an Fgas license. What?  an Fgas license?  WTF?  No, its not ‘fart gas’ but does allow me to legally handle refrigerants for air con and fridges etc. I think it will look good on my ever expanding CV.

But enough of that bollocks

Tesco or Sainsbury’s?

Me, I am a Sainsbury boy through and through but I did see something this week that shocked me to my core.  I was out looking for printer cartridges for Poopies printer – a modest yet effective HP Envy 5640.  A nice wireless little model too I might add.  Anyway, a black and colour cartridge I spied in Tesco for £24 – nice little combo. Problem was, Tesco was out of own brand printer paper and by heck I wasn’t paying £5 for a premium ream, sod that!  I headed for Sainers so I could refuel with my double nectar points token at the same time.

Good old Sainers, had the ream of paper for just £3.50 – that’s more like it. Just out of curiosity, I browsed the printer cartridges too.  Holy crap I nearly shat my pants.  The same cartridge combo was £36 !!!!!!!!!!  £12 more expensive than Tesco.  12 pence I could deal with but 12 quid – come on.

Out of sheer disgust, I left with my paper, a hole punch and some of those little stick on paper circles to reinforce the punch holes – sod the printer inks, I ordered a pair of XL cartridges on eBay instead and got them the next day.

For the travellers amongst you – and I don’t mean pikies, the travellers that fly – I have a new game for you to try. I have been doing it for a while now.  I am still stuck on the name for it, either ‘spot the fuckwit’ or ‘shit your pants’ I can’t decide.  Get on a plane, wait for it to start its taxi and then take a good look around.  See if you can guess who will be the first to leap out of their seat to go the toilet the very instant that the captain turns off the seat belt signs – its amazing.

It doesn’t end there though – prepare yourself for the re-match.  After the pilot has announced the decent and the cabin crew tell you to return to your seats and buckle up, who will be the first dick (or dickette – lets consider equality for a moment) to get up for the toilet when the seat belt signs are turned back on again, even after the cabin crew have said the toilets are now out of service.

I struggle with these fools if I am honest.  I once held a poo all the way from L.A. to London and then last year smashed that record with a ‘hold’ all the way from Singapore to London.  Why people struggle for 30 minutes is beyond me.



Back to the start.  The beginning of the road trip – the song I shall start my journey with is……..


Wait for it.  Let me explain the intensity of this song.  People talk about bucket lists (OK, yanks talk about bucket lists).  They wank on about sky diving, going to the Isle of Man TT, Lion Taming, stabbing a Vicar in the neck, etc etc etc.  The bucket list – A list of things you should do before you die (kick the bucket)

Well, all of the items on their bucket list are just plain piffle, twat waffle, a waste of space.  If there is one thing, just one thing that should be on everyone’s bucket list – it should be this.

Many years ago while having a night out in Edinburgh, a packed pub, rammed to the rafters, the DJ decided to play this song. The whole place erupted in grand voice so loud, even the walls were shaking, I swear the 4 storey building was swaying with the beat.  Scrub your bucket list and put this at the top – to be in a Scottish pub when this is played.

But before you look, let me translate, To Haver = To talk shit.




Lastly, a few hello’s


Mon & John.  Bumped into Mon in the TC last week while I was walking along dreaming about a Greggs sausage role and almost missed her, in fact, I did miss her, luckily she spotted me. Lexa – all the way down in South Africa, popping up for the Hugh Cornwell post the other week, Conor – always deserving a mention, my most avid follower, Mr Westwood (and I don’t mean Tim) a surprise meeting at the farm in Cathorpe.  Amy Beard for still not buying me coffee and a cake – MINGER ! Steve B for some very good Xbox sessions since I have been home and of course my bird for being spectacularly ace in every aspect.


Party on Wayne




NOT if you are half Possum

In the cold light of day, I have to admit to beginning to feel my age a little.

I was watching a couple on the beach earlier with their son who was probably around 10 or 12 years old.  Watching them jump in the air while taking photos I did feel their pain.  Not that they had a rough landing, no.  I read their expressions that clearly from 100 yards away said – ‘ I used to be able to jump higher than that‘.  Both him and her had it written all over their faces – and it was painfully obvious that they had put all of their effort into making a jump that probably didn’t elevate their head more than 6 inches from its normal height from the ground.

I feel that pain too – most days, while running or cycling or even reaching for something.  It’s just not as good as it used to be, a little less spring in my step, taking the stairs all the way to the bottom instead of jumping half of them, running up a kerb and getting enough lift to clear the obstacle and land on the pavement rather than bounding like a Gazelle and landing a metre further forward than I really needed to.  I fear the Reaper is gaining speed on me slowly but surely.

On a less grim note – my car is EPIC !  A bit juicy with a board on the roof, a bike on the back and a boot full of crap, but still all the same, rather damn splendid. it glides effortlessly and in utter comfort for 1000 kilometres and I never even felt tired.  I like it a lot.

Have also managed to touch base with almost all of the people I need to and a couple of surprises along the way too.  I have to decide if I want to do battle with the local electricity board again.  A year and a half ago, I told them that no-one had lived in my house for over a year, gave them a new meter reading and expected to get a huge refund – but no – this is Portugal – As much bullshit as Spain but where the people are twice as stupid.

Lagos Marina has a Café so I just had to head there for a full english breakfast this morning, it was lush I have to say – and less than 10 euro too.  The wind was blowing a hooligan there too – I forgot just how windy this place can be.  I am considering wandering up to the Drom later but I think that is probably just misplaced nostalgia – I am expecting to bump into the old crowd, Gentleman Jim, Mental Mila, Zeni and others but something tells me that just won’t happen.

Popped into Uwe’s workshop today on the way to see Frannie and Max.  He had a long board there with some colours that reminded me of melting Vanilla ice-cream with strawberries in it.  Sadly it was already spoken for otherwise I would have had it but I did challenge him to make another one that has a full bottom paint in the vanilla and strawberry design.  I have to say though – I think that one would end up on the wall in Belgium rather than coated with wax and grunting up the beach. It was lush – I want one – my first Kluba

Expect more of the same tomorrow, I may venture to Amado in search of a tidier wave – we will see.




Dancing with the Devil on your back

Free at last!

The summer is mine, but not without some last minute observations.  Another latin country and another set of rules ( or lack of them). I was trying out the new easyjet electronic boarding pass system to my mobile phone when I realised that Olbia was not on their list of airports that would accept it.  Expecting to get hammered at the check in, I found a place in the airport that offers office support and they printed the pass for me and charged me just 20 cents for the privilege.  Nice start to the trip.

Next up, Italian pilots.  For years we have heard how bad their driving is but as the plane was taxiing out to the runway, the first officer suddenly jammed on his brakes.  Turns out he was heading to the wrong end of the runway to take off – I always kind of expected pilots to know where they were going.  A quick thrust from the starboard engine and we were heading in the correct direction. I have to give this guy his dues though, the landing at Milan was superbly gentle.

The next morning, I was given the full Italian experience. An airport full of them! Bling and chav’d up to the eyeballs, in fact, dressed like that in England, you would have swore they were pikeys but the best was yet to come.

On the plane, I got my exit seat when a couple of blinged up high society older generation Italian came walking along the aisle.  Now my Italian is not perfect but as the bird got a couple of rows away from me, she was calling to the Steward that I was in her seat.  Obviously she was wrong and her husband promptly corrected her but it lead me into some thoughts about the class system.

Here were two, what I am assuming were upper class old Italians, dressed to the nines, her with more Jewelry than Liberace, it was dripping off her.  In my mind, very poor taste but from what I had seen of Milan airport, it was the norm to look like a pikey.  What then ensued was a flurry of class leveling experiences.

Firstly, you are on easyjet love, no matter how much money your old man has, you are going to be cattle herded just like the rest of us.  No first class here – the best you can manage to show your opulent wealth is paying for an extra leg room seat when your feet hardly touch the floor.

Nº 2 on my class levelling list – no matter how much money you have, the bling dripping off you cannot – I repeat – cannot cover up for the smell of stale piss if you haven’t washed for a couple of day.  B.O. knows no class boundaries – you stink.

Lastly – and this one made me chuckle the most – when on a plane and the person next to you farts – you have to breathe it in just like everyone else.  I figured that I had to deal with her smell for the next hour and a half, she could have a bit of mine.

All classes were finally equal.

But for now, back in Mallorca and resting for a couple of days before the first of several road trips planned for this summer.  8am on Sunday morning I am on the fast ferry to the mainland and then a 10 hour drive to Portugal for a week of surfing, mountain biking, scuba diving, running and walking.  I have the car for the job and will thoroughly enjoy the space and solitude of being completely on my own for the first time in a year.  living on a yacht has its benefits but by christ, you can never find your own space to just be alone.

More inspirational observations soon – I promise

As Florence once said – It’s hard to dance with the devil on your back

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