Hairy Tales

Umm

2009-04-22T14:36:00.000+01:00

This isn't going so well any more, is it?

I am still here - but have been made redundant. I am concentrating on somehow trying to pass as Owen Wilson so I can go to celebrity parties in my free time.

I wish I'd concentrated in school

2009-03-23T22:09:00.006Z

I've never been very good at languages. Throughout school my French was peppered with Welsh whilst my Welsh was often confused completely with German. I stopped learning French when I was 16, Welsh ground to a halt when I was 17 and my German education terminated at the grand old age of 18 after it clashed with Physics and, aside from the exchange trips and trying to impress German girls, Physics was more fun. Since that time I've been to a number of different countries and each time I've pretended that I was fluent in the local language, my previous linguistic education coming in handy when applying rules to a new one. All this has created a strange mix of vocabularies and grammatical rules - I give compliments in French, greet people in either Welsh or Canglish*, ask politely for things in German, thank people in Lettish, swear in Italian and can sometimes be spotted in Ikea being a bit of a dick and correcting everybody on their pronunciation of the furniture. But I don't actually speak any of these languages and it's starting to bug me, so I pick up a 'teach-yourself' book and settle down for a couple of hours in the evening...

"Heike Graf kommt auch aus Dresden, nicht whar?" asks my teach-yourself German CD, my brain whirrs and clunks as an appropriate response is formed, "Nej, Heike Graf kommer til Salzburg" spills out of my mouth and my eyes scan around for the correct answer... Wrong! I had somehow replied in Swedish, damn my stupid brain. At least I'm safe in the knowledge that I know where Heike Graf is from, even if I can't tell anyone other than the Swedes. The frustration continues as I randomly throw in Swedish words and inflections as I read through the accompanying German book. After thirty minutes of pathetic translation and pronunciation (I sound like a cheesy German pornstar who's spent the last two years holidaying between Stockholm and Cardiff) I throw the book onto the table and out of sheer frustration shout "TESTA DI CAZZO!". The Italian in the room next to mine shouts back in a motherly manner "Curly! Mind your language!" It's not my language, I muse - and at this rate it never will be.

*Canadian English. eg.
Cool/Awesome = Cawesome
Proud but Guilty = Pruilty
Hello, how are you? = Whadduup!
So, is there anything interesting happening = 'sgoinaan?
I don't think that's right = That's fucking retarded dude.

Suspicions Confirmed

2009-03-06T16:13:00.003Z

Below is a facebook message transcript between me and a friend of a friend of my girlfriend (Foafoafomg). I'll keep updating the post if it gets any juicier, but it probably won't.

Foafoafomg: your gf might be talking behind your back
Curly: What do you mean?
Foafoafomg: shes good at that
Curly: It's not a problem, girls generally do that. Thanks though.
Foafoafomg: yw loooooooooooool
Foafoafomg: if you dont wanna know the details ohhhh welllllllllllllll lol
Curly: You can tell me if you like, but if it's about me then I probably know already.
Foafoafomg: probably not
Curly: Is she planning to kill me?
Foafoafomg: Yup exactly.
Curly: That sucks.

Smooth moves

2009-02-25T14:44:00.003Z

"Why don't we crave healthy foods when we're drunk or hungover, why is it always high-calorie and high salt content foods?" I asked an argumentative looking Sud. I followed it up with an impression of myself, "I was sooo drunk last night, I can't believe I had that smoothie after the pub!"

We came up with our own theories, based only partially on fact but eventually decided that the answer would be found on the internet once we were home. Which is where we headed three pints later.

I woke in the morning displaying slight signs of a hangover, the dehydration was there along with a slight taste of dead hamster in my mouth. I set out for work and headed down the street, salivating at the numerous breakfast cafés I passed. The further I walked along the road, the stronger my cravings became - I imagined myself devouring a freshly fried piece of bacon sandwiched between two thick, white slices of bread along with a smattering of ketchup. My mind drifted and left this plain for I don't know how long before there was a 'CLANG!' as I walked straight into a metal advertising board. A slight "fuck" left my lips as I looked at the offending object, 'Take away one of our delicious smoothies' it read. I paused for a second and recalled the previous nights conversation, before I knew what I was doing I'd marched into the sandwich bar and said "One smoothie please".

As I waited for the smoothie, I recognised a local bouncer sitting at one of the tables, 'Funny' I thought, I wonder if this is a sign telling me that I'm being offered protection because of this healthy choice I'm making. I smiled slightly to myself at the outrageous thought but the smile turned to a laugh as three policemen walked in and also took a seat. Applying the same logic, this re-enforced the idea that I was on the right path. This was confirmed (no puns here) as two vicars entered the building shortly afterwards.

I sipped the smoothie as I strolled the rest of the way to work, the day seemed a little brighter and everyone seemed to be smiling. I'm looking forward to making a return trip tomorrow morning.

Gogledd

2009-02-24T10:29:00.005Z

In a state of restricted vocabulary and lack of imagination I sat down to to write a post about my recent weekend in the north of Wales. The post was going to be in the "We went to place A, it was awesome!" and "Place B was great too, we saw a bear!" mould, it was passable. That was until I read Cope's post about the same weekend. I realised he'd told every story that I could recall and had highlighted all my favourite parts of the evening, but that's due to the fact that he was never more than twenty metres away from me the entire time.

I suggest you take a read of his post, it's far more comprehensive than anything I could manage in between working and pretending to work at my office computer. Be sure to listen to the song 'A is for Anni e'.

He did however, miss a photo opportunity when Sud received a humping by Pablo, a dog (They had both possibly consumed some of the Love Potion that was flying around). Here's a blurry picture...

(Beat this Cope)

The best valentines ever?

2009-02-13T16:12:00.003Z

Let's hope so.

2012

2009-01-28T10:16:00.003Z

It's something we're supposed to be proud of, the greatest sporting event on the planet (and I assume, other planets), an event in which almost every nation in the world seems to participate and this time its secondary function is to essentially show off our great nation to everyone else. The 2012 Olympic Games.

I find myself not so enthused.

The recent Beijing olympics were spectacular, Sydney had great fireworks and Greece was historic. I have Canadian friends who, even at this early stage, proudly tell me that the 2010 Winter Olympics are being held in Vancouver. I flew over Lillehammer this year and memories of the Italians beating the locals at the cross-country skiing and Torvill & Dean came flooding back from the 1994 games. Yet the thought of the Olympic games taking place in the UK, more specifically London, doesn't bring any excitement out of me.

Ignoring the controversy, political protests and terrorists that the games attract (Which I think make the games ineresting), I just have no faith in our country to run such an event.

Before the term 'Credit crunch' was invented and before a recession was in view on the horizon - we knew that the original 2005 budget of £2.375 billion wasn't going to be substantial (It rose to £9.35 billion in 2007, who knows at which figure it stands now).

We were sceptical when the Prime Minister said "An Olympic Games hosted in London would create significant opportunities for companies up and down the UK" - It emerged this week that a pitiful £100,000 has been spent on contracting just four companies in Wales in relation to the Olympics, whilst £100million of lottery funding is to be diverted away from Wales towards London . The vast majority of the events are to be held in and around London too, with one of the most preposterous being the mountain bike event being held in a purpose-built venue in Essex, not known to be a mountainous region, chosen over world-recognised moutain biking stages in Wales, Scotland and northern England.

London (as with most capital cities) already attracts derogatory comments from the rest of the UK for its selfishness and its perceived status above anywhere else. The people in charge of the city have done nothing to improve relations by sucking money from the other regions whilst offering little or nothing in return.

One shining light in this farce is in fact the exact thing that I've been whining about, the circus isn't actually coming to my town. I'll be free to wander around Cardiff without 2012 banners and hundreds of tourist traps being shoved in my face. Neither will my commute be affected by the thousands of aforementioned tourists dithering about in the heat of the London underground. Also, in these days of digital television I can choose to avoid the Olympics through that medium too by watching repeats of Friends (or something) instead on 'Channel 8 +1 +3 Extra'. It's only going to be a couple of weeks long anyway, despite my usual "Is this EVER going to end?" comments whilst pointless sports clog up my television.

It's a long way away to be worrying about it, but then so's the end of the universe, and that still makes the news occasionally.

A long time coming

2009-01-23T12:11:00.007Z

I had a sneaking feeling that 2009 was going to be a good year, or at the very least a different year, but I had no idea that things would change so quickly.

I awoke to the new year with a fuzzy head and the slight taste of vodka still on my lips, taking a couple of seconds to figure out where I was - phew, it was my own bed. The previous night I'd promised my body that I'd take good care of it for a month after the NYE celebrations. Taking care of my body included no drinking, a resumption of regular exercise and the purchase of half a dozen books to re-start a brain that was getting to the stage where spoken sentences no longer came out in the right order (due to under-use).

A body free from alcohol combined with clear weight and reading targets for the month brought a tidal wave of calm. This was helped in no small way by my two female housemates spending time abroad until the middle of the month and plenty of camomile tea. Life became very relaxed, tasks at work were achieved considerably quicker than normal but with half the effort put into them - Absolutely nothing could faze me. I also had considerably more free time, a side-effect of things getting done faster and a reduction of hours spent in the pub. My free time became a time that I'd spend relaxing with a girl who'd I'd been seeing for a couple of months before Christmas, I enjoyed her company but had previsouly given no thought to seeing her more often. Slowly but surely, the frequency of our down-time spent together had increased and it seems fitting that a few days after my 27th birthday, three weeks into a new year and a couple of days before Dydd Santes Dwynwen, I managed to get my first ever girlfriend. I can't wait to have rows in front of my friends, use her as an excuse to go home early and spend hours shopping for shoes. That's what relationships are about, right?

A month off

2009-01-13T10:51:00.000Z

Thirteen days into a month of not drinking and the pressure isn't as relentless as it was when I last took a month out, back in April 2008. From time to time I'm still asked why I'm not drinking, the question is usually accompanied by a shocked/surprised look similar to the look I imagine I'd see if I said I'd given up eating.

This time around I've noticed a strange side-effect, I seem to have taken responsibility for everyone else's actions during a night out and charged with remembering every detail.

Friend: Where did so-and-so go?
Curly: I don't know. He was here a minute ago.
Friend: How can you not know where he's gone? You're sober!

Friend #2: I just gave my discount card away, before buying the drinks!
Curly: I know, I just saw you do it, I thought it was a bit odd.
Friend #2:Why didn't you tell me I was doing it? You're sober!

A quick rant, ending in "IF you're going to carry on mentioning that I'm sober then I'm just not going to come out at all" seems to have stemmed the annoyance for the moment, despite the immediate response being "You're only saying that because you're not drinking".

Because everyone else is doing it

2009-01-02T10:45:00.016Z

January
2008 started with a bang (fireworks, not sex) in the snow in Berlin. The month ended as it began, in the snow - this time in Andorra.

A German New Years

February
February saw Wales beat England for the first time at Twickenham for 20 years, I was still in Andorra and missed celebrating with my friends in Cardiff.

Andorra, Taken on the day of Wales' victory - everything looked good that day

March
March broke new ground for me when I asked a girl I'd met in a bar to hike up a mountain with me, and she agreed. Wales went on to be crowned rugby champions of Europe for the second time in three years.

Silence the day after the Grand Slam

April
I decided not to drink for a month, I became isolated from many friends but became much thinner and started running regularly. I missed going to gigs, so I started going to lots of them and one of my favourites was the Ting Tings.

The Ting Tings

May
May brought a trip to stay with the fantastic Cleavers and explore the fine city of Toronto. I then spent time in Vermont with an old friend who I realised I liked a bit more than I thought. I also added a second state to my list of places I'd been in America (You're mine now Massachusetts).

Downtown TO

June
A jolly to a Swedish island for their traditional midsummers festival with my sidekick, Sud. We introduced our own tradition of drinking lots of vodka. Possibly the favourite moment of my year occurred on the ferry ride back to the mainland, where I produced a rose and handed it to a girl to cheer her up after her and her friend had missed the previous ferry (also because she was pretty), I asked her name, it was Marlin. We had missed that same ferry and ironically almost missed the second because I was picking roses. Sud was so incensed at being out-done he went to the bathroom, took a fake rose from a vase which he'd spotted earlier, marched over to the same girls, gave one the rose and asked her name..... it was Marlin.... the look of horror on his face was priceless as he realised he'd given the rose to the same girl, not to her friend as he intended. The horror quickly changed to relief when it was explained that they were both named Marlin. This event spawned the now infamous line "At least it's not just idiots who miss ferries, it's hot girls too".

A midsommarstång, a pole covered in flowers basically, we renamed Midsummers the 'Penis festival' after seeing this.

July
We took on another amazing adventure with Astrid as we spent the day drinking Pimms and getting sunburnt at the Henley Royal Regatta. Our class was absent as we drank the Pimms straight from the bottle and hung out by the burger vans for an hour. (Fighting through the blazer and fancy hat-wearing crowds in the heat became hard work, we needed a break)

Blending in Superbly

August
Two fantastic days were spent in London and Portsmouth, saying farewell to Monica and saying happy birthday to a good friend respectively. I never thought I'd use 'Portsmouth' and 'Fantastic' in the same sentence.

The Spinnaker Tower, Portsmouth

September
Our good friend The Doc moved out of the house and a fiery Sicilian moved in. A lot of pink started appearing around the house soon afterwards.

Sicily and Wales collide

October
Similar to running your hands under hot water and then plunging them into the cold, I travelled to Barcelona and to the north of Norway within the space of a couple of days. I also began relations of sorts with a girl who'd come to view our spare room in September - one way to meet people I suppose. Unfortunately Norway broke my camera and pictures stopped being taken from then (I'll be sending a complaint to King Harald V).

Tromsø

November
Supporting the Welsh rugby team took its toll on me as four weekends of matches against South Africa, New Zealand, Canada and Australia saw enough pints consumed to sink a battleship and enough money spent on said pints and tickets to the games to pay to raise it from the sea-bed.

Carnage on rugby day

December
With the stuffing knocked out of me in November, the stuffing was put back in with a cracking Christmas meal laid on by my fab parents and my siblings. The festive season certainly lived up to its name with a host of parties and reasons to go out, but the guilt I felt after each one depressed me. Going out became hard work and I became grumpy, on boxing day I lectured a friend of mine on how drinking wasn't cool anymore and that we're all reaching a stage where we should be toning it down a little. I was plastered, naturally.

My family, I think this picture's awesome because I have blue hair, my bro has a ridonkulous beard and everyone's either laughing or smirking which is funny because it was taken at a funeral.

January again
I spent a month last year not drinking, I can do another one, right?

Leopard

2008-12-23T11:19:00.002Z

Yesterday I had a spot, on my face!!

I'd previously never had a proper spot before and I became overly excited when I saw it in the mirror yesterday morning. My mind flashed back to all those Oxy adverts in which the girls or boys with spots suddenly became instantly attractive to the opposite sex once Oxy was applied. I often wished that I had spots too so I could apply this magical potion, go to a disco and receive loads of comments about how clear my skin was. But no, I had to have crappy non-spotty skin didn't I? Oh, how it made me bitter.

Back to yesterday, the spot was in such a position on my forehead that I knew would receive lots of Hinduism comments. That didn't bother me too much, I'd thought of that joke first so I'd be immune to it if anyone else made the same one later in the day. I happily ate my breakfast and made my way to work, sat down at my desk and waited for someone to make the first comment. I waited longer. I waited until it was time for lunch and until I couldn't bear it any more - was everyone just being polite or was the spot bigger in my mind that it was in real life? A trip to the bathroom uncovered the problem, the spot had gone - completely. My first ever real spot had lasted no longer than five hours. My first thought was that perhaps I should sell whatever secretes from my skin to the company that makes Oxy, my second was 'Oh well, let's hope I never have another'.

Philosophy and Science

2008-12-17T12:10:00.003Z

Colleague: I'm going to the shops, do you want anything?
Curly: Yeah.
Colleague: What do you want?
Curly: I don't really know.
Colleague: But you want something?
Curly: Yep. It's not a Mars bar, I know that.
Colleague: That's not very helpful.
Curly: Sorry, I can't really provide more information. I want something but I don't really know what it is, it's certainly not a Mars bar though. This is a good metaphor for my life.
Colleague: Well give me a ring if you think of anything.
Curly: I wonder who I'm supposed to ring if I figure out what I want in life?
Colleague: Not me.

Colleague #2: The sun is pretty low in the sky.
Curly: The 21st December is close - the shortest day.
Colleague #2: Well, as long as the days get longer after that then I don't mind.
Curly: Err, they probably will.

Memories

2008-12-11T14:36:00.000Z

The Like - What I say and what I mean
Sitting by the car park at Anderson train station, Boston, for 45mins whilst waiting for a lift out of there earlier this year.

The Prodigy - Ruff in the Jungle Bizness
Speeding along a German autobahn on a coach when I was 15, staring at the road whizzing by.

The Stereophonics,- Roll up and Shine
A German shopping mall when I was 17.

George Thorogood and the Destoyers - The Hard Stuff
Sitting on the London underground one morning this summer with the mother of all hangovers, travelling to see a gig.

Why these tunes remind me of such crap places, I have no idea.

(yes, only a month since the last post)

Mad Hatters

2008-11-10T12:29:00.004Z

I don't have a fancy Italian or French name. I'm not at the forefront of fashion, nor have I considered myself a fashionable dresser. I haven't designed my own line of clothing. Those are my credentials, and here is my opinion:-

FAR too many people are wearing these hats...

They look stupid. Please stop wearing them unless you are going skiing or are genuinely Nepalese.

Fall

2008-10-30T15:51:00.003Z

I felt different when I woke up this morning. My bed was warm and cosy and I felt the same despite knowing that a biting breeze and a 3°C temperature waited for me outside the front door. I sprang out of bed, glided through the house and into the shower. Even the shower seemed to be in a good mood as it decided to spray water on me with considerably more vigour than the usual sensation of being pissed on by a mouse. Back in my bedroom I looked in the wardrobe for something to wear and for a few seconds I was indecisive - my decision was made when a glance in the mirror led to me spotting a warm sweater complete with t-shirt still inside from the day before, not giving a fuck had won me over again. I pulled on the t-shirt/sweater combo and smiled to myself in the mirror before setting out.

I opened the front door and I could almost see the delight in the face of the cold weather as it tore into my face. Unfortunately for the weather I was listening to my current favourite track (Wooden Heart by The Duke Spirit) on my mp3 player. The wind numbed my ears and it had the rather pleasing effect of making me feel as though the earphones weren't there at all and that Leila Moss was inside my head singing only to me. I smiled to myself again as I walked along the street, a girl wrapped up in her scarf and winter coat caught me smiling and she smiled too.

I love this time of year.

Internets

2008-10-24T12:37:00.003+01:00

Annie is wandering around the United States of the USA at the moment, having a great adventure with her pal Wies. Something she said really struck a chord with me this morning - "Getting to meet people off the net is the best bit, I recommend it"

Meeting people off the net is great, as I read that my mind drew up a list of people that I've met through this bl*g....

I've been drinking with Huw on numerous occasions (including a romantic date), I've slapped girls butts with Lanette, been on countless adventures with the (quite incredible) Astrid and walked through the park with Léonie (And felt sad when she left). I really enjoy quiet pints in London with Deanne on a Sunday afternoon whilst Will 's adventurous taste in music led to a gig with me and he's also shown us around some of London's pubs. Formerly the only American in London (Monica) has been to watch rugby with us (Previously Unknown to me Prince William was there too, causing much excitement in the girl), I stayed with Cleavers in Toronto for a few days earlier this year (An incredible piece of hospitality), I've bought kebabs and talked nonsnse with Afe, watched Los Campesinos! with Mair, pubbed with Rhys & Geraint and only last night I shared a few beers with Cope (the conversation starting with micro-fiction and ending with girls) - I'll never, ever forget the incredible spread that Cope and the Child Bride have put on for thanksgiving over the last couple of years. The only person that I actually knew at the start of this particular adventure was a man named Owzy O, who got me into this whole thing.

As my bl*gging intesity has declined, so have the chances to get out and meet all these people who only used to appear to me as words on a screen but now phone me, socialise with me and introduce me to their own friends. Never once have I had a bad experience of meeting someone over the internet, I've enjoyed spending time with each and every person.

Agreeing with Annie, I recommend meeting people over the net too.

Barcelona

2008-10-15T11:50:00.005+01:00

I excitedly jumped down the hotel steps and stood on the street outside, taking in my first sights of a Spanish city. I surveyed the alien colours of the buildings, listened to the heavy traffic and to the different languages being spoken all around me "I'm going to like this place" I thought to myself. I took a deep breath and my lungs filled with the warm air - I suddenly coughed and spluttered as the serenity was broken "What the FUCK is that?" I politely enquired as a foul smell entered my nostrils, "The sewers, you'll have to get used to it" a friend answered.

We sauntered across to an inviting cafe and I prepared myself to practice my non-existent Spanish, repeating phrases taught to me on the plane over and over in my head. The barman walked over to me and I opened my mouth only to hear French tumbling out - which took me back a little as I can't speak French either. I got what I had ordered , thanked the barman in Italian and returned with a few cold beers for my friends.

After six hours spent sitting on the main drag (You should have seen the smile on the waiters face when he brought us the bill), Las Ramblas, someone suggested that it may be a good idea to have a look around the city. Although utterly un-entertained by the majority of street entertainers and bored stiff with the human statues, moving around Barcelona at a very leisurely pace was an absolute pleasure. The highlight for me was the huge indoor market where food of every description seemed to cover every inch of the buildings. People bustled and jostled around in a hive of activity, which was great to get amongst but it made me reach to check that I still had my wallet every couple of minutes.

The night drew in and we made our way along winding streets to find our booked evening meal. The food was delightful but I felt very sorry for the staff at the restaurant who had to put up with 150 drunk British people, that was until I had reached the same stage myself. The eventful night finally came to a close at 5am when the few of us who had survived until that point stood on the street arguing which direction our hotel was. Two of us became fed up and just jumped in the taxi "À l'hôtel s'il vous plaît" I said in my best Spanish accent, the driver laughed and we sped off. Less that two minutes later and I was back in my room, exhausted but knowing that I had to fly home later in the day and prepare for a trip to Norway 50 hours later.

Belfast

2008-09-29T09:57:00.006+01:00

On Friday evening I found myself standing in Belfast airport, looking supremely confident in my ability to find the exit but in actual fact feeling the complete opposite. A cool breeze briefly disrupted the stagnant air inside the terminal building, indicating that I was close to my first step on Northern Irish soil for seven years. After a one-sided conversation with a bus driver (not that he didn't respond to my questions, I just couldn't understand a word of his thick, high-pitched accent) I paid what I thought was the right fare, grabbed the ticket to the incomprehensible destination and shuffled to the back of the empty bus.

I find something nice about being the very first person on a bus, each seat offers a different experience. The raised seats at the back of the bus gives an almost regal view over the peasants in front of you. Placing yourself on the back seat also enables you to play a favourite game of my sisters. You bounce once on the seat to see how long you can make other passengers heads wobble, the winner making heads wobble the longest - endless entertainment! The seats towards the front are my least favourite as they tend to get clogged up with people too scared, too lazy or simply unable to walk any further back. I prefer the middle of the bus, there's usually less leg room but a window seat just before the seating rises becomes the most anonymous location on the vehicle.

I guzzle down a bottle of water, attempting to hydrate myself after the stuffy, air-conditioned plane and and the effects of a birthday party the night before. The bus lurches into life as my mind starts to wander back to my last experience of Northern Ireland. I was attending a wedding reception in the troubled city of Armagh and had sneaked out with my cousin to a nearby nightclub. Fuelled by alcohol we tried talking to people but were often ignored after a few seconds, it was a little odd but one lad nice enough to talk to us explained the situation. "It's because of your English accents" he said as it suddenly dawned on me that this was no ordinary town, the bombed hotel in the papers the night before should have suggested this. I actually felt a little vulnerable all of a sudden, the effects of the alcohol temporarily disappearing. I visualised myself amongst my friend back in Wales and switched back to a Welsh accent, this seemed to do the trick as we found people to be a bit more receptive. The following morning I discovered that this particular night-club had recently seen some violent clashes between loyalist and republican supporters and to think we had been running around with English accents amongst it all shook me up a little.

Before too long the bus had pulled into the centre of Belfast prompting the driver to turn around and reel off another couple of sentences, I picked up the words 'final stop' and got up to leave. I made a comment which he found hilarious, I like to think I knew what he said to me after that but I just smiled and stepped out onto the street. Friday night in Belfast was in full swing, I could hear music blaring out from a nearby bar and saw all the smokers spilling out onto the street. It was only a short walk to the hotel but I suddenly felt apprehensive after my Armagh experience, seven years previously. I soon cast aside that feeling, times had changed and Belfast was a completely different city anyway. I approached the hotel and glanced to my right. I was given a chilling reminder of the past by a large mural on the side of a building 100 yards away stating "You are now entering Loyalist Sandy Row Heartland of South Belfast" along with a balaclava-wearing man wielding an automatic rifle.

Mural aside, I didn't feel as though Belfast was different to any other UK city. Many bars were inter-connected by a maze of doors and live music belted out from more than a few of them but the beer tasted the same and once you got used to the local accent it was just like being back at home. The Guinness went down extremely smoothly and before too long they'd reached double figures in a myriad of different pubs and bars. 2am suddenly jumped up at us and we decided it was best to head back to the hotel, we had to be up early because after all, we were there for work.

It's a small world

2008-09-24T15:30:00.005+01:00

Some facts:

Wales is a small place and the city where I live, Cardiff, is even smaller.
I am occasionally loud and talkative.
I don't like staying in.

All of which contribute to me knowing quite a lot of people in the area. Monica and Huw witnessed one of my stop-start journeys through the city centre as I talked to people on our way to watch Wales play South Africa last November (Causing much eye-rolling from Monica). Although my ego performs a little fist-pump each time I bump into someone I know, it sometimes isn't such a good thing.

It's 9am and I'm walking up a street about ten minutes away from my house, my eyes haven't quite adjusted to the daylight and I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore to the pub the night before. Two girls I half-know walk past and smile in a "I know you but I'm not going to say hello" way*, I can only squint back at them because the sun is unfortunately in the same direction as they are. My brand-new Italian housemate is the next to see me, "Curly! How are you? I wondered if you were okay because I didn't see you this morning", I just said I was very tired and gave her a hug before I psyched myself up to start walking again, hoping I hadn't given a bad impression as a housemate already. I put my head down and hoped that I didn't see anyone else. Surely enough, a mere one hundred metres up the road I ran into a guy I lived with about a year ago and had hardly seen since then, he wasn't as worried about me as the Italian was. A big grin crept across his face, he knew full well what I had been up to. "Let me guess, quiet night at the local?" he asked, I tried to hide my smile but there was no point. I'd been busted. Despite my ego doing back-flips at that point, I wondered if I should be moving on and trying somewhere new again.

*Either that or in an "Oh bless, you look like shit" way.

1/4 Steam Ahead

2008-09-11T11:27:00.005+01:00

Cracking ahead with my apparent two-posts per month rule, containing considerably less bullets than a Rambo film (but more than the JFK movie).

Dilemma. I want to cull many of my facebook friends (not kill them) but I keep treating them like bits of old junk lying around. "I can't get rid of them, they may come in useful one day", I think. I also want to take heaps of pictures down, but stop short when think other people may want to keep the pictures of themselves.

We'll have a new housemate in the next couple of weeks, I'm really excited about it.

I wish that one of my friends girlfriends would stop touching my arse when she speaks to me.

I took some broken headphones back to a shop over a month ago and despite regular visits from myself they have taken ages to be replaced. I received a replacement pair today but I'm now a little sad because I don't have an excuse to talk to the girl in the shop anymore.

My daydreams have become increasingly vivid, I enjoy being away.

I feel like a spectator of my own life.

Physically, I'm close to being in the best shape I've ever been in.

I don't talk as much as I used to, I don't smile as much as I used to and I have less patience with people than I used to. I've always looked forward to being a grumpy old man, but I wasn't expecting it to start in my twenties.

I'm brilliant at frisbee... really, I'm fucking great at it.

VT

2008-08-20T17:16:00.011+01:00

Sorry about that, the last post got a bit dark didn't it? After about an hour of feeling a little bit crap, the ploughmans started taking effect and I emerged from the black hole in my head. I remained slightly annoyed however, I'd purchased far too much stilton. It took days to eat.

Later that night, in order to boost my mood considerably, I put on some music ('Comfort in Sound' on repeat, mainly) and sat down on my bed to watch a slideshow of the hundreds of photographs I'd taken this year. Most of the pictures served their purpose, to remind me what a good time I have generally and also to remind how lucky I was to have been through so many great experiences. One set in particular did more than that. The pictures of my time in Vermont made me smile from ear to ear.

Until this year, Vermont had been my only experience of the USA. Whenever I mentioned that I'd been to the country, people would excitedly ask "Wow, where did you go? New York/San Francisco/Texas?" my reply would be a proud "Nope, Burlington Vermont!" followed by, "It's up near Canada in the north east", in anticipation of the next question. It's a place that'd shattered any pre-conceptions I had about the country, the residents were incredibly welcoming, the scenery was spectacular (Another travel tip, if you think my advice is worth taking) and I was spending time with an incredible girl which, all in all meant that I was very fond of the place.

This time around, one day stands out as being one of the best days I've had this year. The sun was out and we were up early to head out to a nearby reservoir so I could get some hiking in whilst my friend was at work. I was pointed in roughly the right direction and I headed off up a trail which led into the mountains, only slighty scared of being attacked by bears. The trees provided much needed shade from the sun, which had already begun to burn my pasty British skin at 9:30am. With no idea where each trail led, I let my spontaneous side take over and switched any worry, common sense and time perception to 'off' - my preferred state of mind.

Somehow I managed to navigate my way along the miles of trails throughout the morning and I descended back down to the riverside. Finding myself an hour too early to meet my friend for lunch I waded out to an isolated rock, perched myself on top and whipped out a book to read. Sitting on my own in the sun was perfect, the water flowed by and swirled around the rocks scattered throughout the river. A local fisherman sat nearby, I named him Hank. Hank whooped and looked at me with glee every time he caught a trout, which was once - he wasn't the luckiest fisherman it turns out.

After a fantastic lunch I set off for my afternoon hike around the reservoir. Apart from stopping to talk to a far-too-good-looking park ranger named Amanda, I didn't come across a single other person the whole time. A similar park in Wales would have scores of people snaking their way along the trails, especially given that the weather was so fantastic. That's the catch 22 with a pretty location, it's great for people to see it but I personally can't stand other people being there when I'm around.

Pretty fatigued after a day of walking around in the sun, I arrived back into the small town of Waterbury. I showered and changed before grabbing a nice, cold beer with my friend after she finished work. Perhaps the beer was stronger than I was used to, or I was delirious from dehydration, but at that exact moment I realised how much I enjoyed spending time with this particular girl and for the rest of the evening I remained in a butterfly-stomached trance, completely mellow and completely at ease with everything. The butterflies multiplied tenfold each time I detected that she felt the same. The day afterwards, my face hurt from smiling so much.

Despite many fantastic days out, nothing has since come close to the perfect day in VT.

Under

2008-08-14T16:32:00.003+01:00

I lay back in the chair and feel myself deflating, the opposite to my stomach which slowly fills with the buffet I'd just created for myself. Cheese, crackers, pate, pickled onions, bread and ham litter the plate and spill over onto the table, a Ploughmans lunch is my comfort food. My eyes struggle to stay open so, surely at the height of laziness, I decide to close one while I pick out the glass of red wine from amongst the mess on the table. Remarkably I take a sip without spilling any down my front. 'Get Shorty' plays on the television, I mumble something about John Travolta being cool and my housemate just looks over and shakes her head in a manner which tells me she either didn't hear what I was saying, or she heard it perfectly and has given up trying to figure out what goes on in my head, I suspect it's the latter. I spend the rest of the film mumbling things, picking bits of stilton from the plate and trying to figure what goes on in my head myself. It's not a pleasant place to be. Anxiety, fear, loneliness and John Travolta are amongst the thoughts flying around and around. This is one of my down moments, and I don't like it because it makes my fingers smell of stilton.

The Gym

2008-07-28T12:02:00.006+01:00

Plenty of people have wonderful tales about their past sporting achievements, be it the cross-country race they won when they were sixteen or the swimming event where they destroyed everyone else at the age of seventeen. Plenty of those people are still dwelling on those achievements because they left school, discovered that wonderful stuff called beer, starting earning vast sums of money and rapidly became unfit. I'm one of those people.

I've never been fat, I'm not sure if that's due to genetics, a high metabolism or just because I'm fidgety and struggle to stay still for too long. That said, back at the beginning of this year I'd become conscious of the large amount of podge building up around my waist and I was concerned with the fact that a 20min walk home from work would have me slightly out of breath. This, coupled with the fact that I was going to be seeing a girl I liked in a May (who inadvertently guilt trips me all the time by telling me about all the running and yoga she does), meant that I decided to get my act together and start running regularly. Running was fun and it felt good until I eventually plateaued and I needed something more - luckily my good friend Sud moved into our house and he persuaded me to go to the gym a couple of times.

Sud: I'm dying, my hangover is killing, I definitely shouldn't have had that kebab and now I have to go to the gym.
Curly: I feel your pain.
Sud: No you don't asshole. If you felt my pain, you'd be going to the gym too.
Curly: Alright then, I will. (Shit)

The gym was almost identical to the last one I'd been inside, way back in 2004. It was stuffy, smelt like exercise and I was greeted with the sight of about 15 sweaty people either watching themselves lift weights in the mirror or running on a treadmill while they watched themselves in a different mirror. I'm still not entirely sure why they have mirrors in gyms, but it did make me feel a bit self conscious as I propped myself up on the treadmill after two minutes of lifting a non-heavy weight. Everyone was probably looking at me and thinking "What an un-fit loser". Still, I continued, spurred on by the imaginary non-verbal name-calling that I was receiving from the other people in the gym. The longer I ran on the treadmill, the more I proved to everyone else that they were wrong and their abuse wasn't having the desired effect. I was sweating to the point where I could have jumped in the pool and still wouldn't have got any wetter. After I felt I'd done enough for everyone else in the gym to like me, I started joining in and in my head I started calling them names back - one athletic guy next to me was the target of my hate for a while. I cranked up the speed and increased the incline, he did the same. Twat, I thought at him. Cock-face, he thought back. The slinging/incline match continued until I reached for my water bottle, lost my balance and almost took an embarrassing high-speed tumble - perhaps I wasn't quite ready for that kind of language. I wound down the speed and eventually made my way back to the changing rooms.

Initially I felt great, my first gym session in over four years had gone reasonably well. That was confirmed the following week as I waddled around like John Wayne and lost the ability to lift things with my right arm. Feeling good about myself, I decided that it was fine to have six pints after work with a friend, before joining some of the others in the pub later that night for jugs of beer and a few sambuccas.

I've only made the trip back to the gym once since. The pub has seen a LOT more of me.

I am

2008-07-23T13:03:00.000+01:00

Uninspired.

On being single

2008-06-30T13:37:00.005+01:00

Most of my posts over the last few months have mainly been space-fillers and I've struggled to come up with anything that I feel is either creative or interesting. I'm sure there are many reasons behind this, chiefly it's because I've been running around working hard, enjoying myself and not really paying that much attention to my online activities. There's also another reason, a subject that I've been avoiding bringing up because I wasn't too sure how I felt about it.

I've been single now for a grand total of 26 years. Obviously I wasn't expected to start dating as soon as I'd been born but it's a figure that I use which reminds me that it's been a long time. My thoughts on the subject had been kept quiet for a number of years, churning over and over inside my head until I was finally ready to talk to anyone. Until about two weeks ago, only two people in the entire world had discussed it with me - both are good friends who I could trust to not laugh or just give me the "It'll be okay" line. Recently I'd decided to be far more open about the length of my single-ness. This of course has turned on the tap of other people’s opinions and I've been getting very mixed messages.

Here's my take:-
The majority of the time I'm not bothered with being on my own, I have free reign to be where I want, when I want and spend time with who I want. There's no-one to answer to, no-one to feel guilty about spending time away from and no-one for me to worry about. This enables me to live in a happy, care-free manner which many people find to be one of my appealing features. Whilst noting that my time as a single guy is getting longer and longer (and complaining about it occasionally) I'm not entirely convinced that I have a want or a need for a girlfriend - years of singledom have created a very independent Curly. I'm not a repulsive person, quite the opposite in fact. Despite spending most of my time around male friends, I obviously spend plenty of time with women too. It amuses me when people who have been browsing through my facebook profile have asked why there are so many girls writing on my wall, or appearing in pictures with me. It perhaps give the impression that I'm running around humping every single girl I know - which I can assure you isn't the case. I've actually been called a 'male slag' on more than a couple of occasions - which creases me up further as I've just passed the year mark since I last slept with anyone. The memory of the last girl that I kissed has faded into the distance too. I like to think of myself as decent guy and I don't lead girls on if I'm not interested (unless I'm very, very drunk, I'll admit that), I'm just worried that I'm getting a little too fussy and unwittingly distancing myself from any kind of attachment. I also suffer from some incredibly bad luck, such as falling for girls who live overseas (or are about to move), girls who already have boyfriends or just the plain old girls that aren't interested in me.

So, having brought it up a few times, I was expecting at least one or two people to have the same opinion. It turns out that I'm the only one that thinks like that. Only one male friend has piped up on the issue and he wants to keep me single because everyone else is calming down and spending all their time with their respective girlfriends, so the majority of the below quotes come from women:-

"You just make friends with girls rather than aim for anything else"

"You're far too blatant when chatting up girls"

"You talk to some really lovely, beautiful girls but you don't show any sign of interest in them" (This surprised me, considering the above comment)

"I've seen the instant you get bored with talking to a girl, you just make your excuses and walk off"

"You're too good for just anyone, you'll find someone I'm sure"

While I would expect encouraging comments from my friends (and I very much appreciate them), none of them have really given me any reason for why I'm still single. One friend has offered to 'coach' me in the art of chatting-up girls as opposed to chatting-to girls (at which I'm an expert). Whilst another has promised to get me a girlfriend within the next year. The first saw me talking to a pretty blonde on Friday evening, her only 'coaching' was a single sentence afterwards saying "You didn't have a chance" (Which I argued, because I was actually trying to get away and she kept talking to me), the second is just about to leave the country for three months. I was glad that my friends would look after me like that, but became deflated after each event. I'm not convinced that I need 'coaching' either, I'm of the opinion that if you like someone and they like you, then there's no need to talk them into anything. Perhaps this is a failing.

I suppose this is just an exercise in writing out my thought process, but it's occupying more and more of my thoughts and I feel as though I should be doing something to rectify the situation. I just don't really know how to do it. I now go out less frequently (believe it or not), so the opportunities to meet girls decrease - yet I feel as though I'm involved in the social circuit enough to avoid online dating (I signed up for that once and found two girls I knew from the local pub listed - I didn't like either of them and I bolted). The unfortunate effect of numerous people telling me how great I am is that I'm now wondering what else could be causing me to stay single if I'm so bloody great?

*Sigh*