Those perishin' spheres! Dozens of 'em!'s Blurty Day [entries|friends|calendar]
Those perishin' spheres! Dozens of 'em!

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[11 Nov 2004|12:43am]
Hey there, fruitcake. Just got back after a full day, and at this point of exhaustion can only shit out the words telling you that I have chocolate, wine and tobacco.

Yee fucking haw. A much more detailed description tomorrow. Or later, depending on how anal you are about dates and times. Apparently, Europe is not. I don't know what hour i'm in.

Er fuck. Right, i'm off then. Nighty night, i'm going to have me some wine and go to sleep. As I say, lengthy, possibly sectioned entries tomorrow. I have a full twenty four hours to document.

Missed you too. When's the first lesson? Do I have to bring stationary?

xxxx.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|09:21am]
Well, hello there. It is the morning after the trip before, and it's a freezing bright one. My hair is terrible unwashed and weatherbeaten and I am pretty grotty, but i'll tell you about the last part of my life to bring you squarely up to date, chumpsters.

Starting with Tuesday night. I had after a pretty horrible day come to the Bell and sat with my book trying not to read it. Manage this fairly sucessfully, and Stoney arrived with Lesley anyway which gave me excuse not to bother trying to study anymore.

Had some drinks and chat, then went home "early" to get some sleep in order to wake up at seven fucking fifteen in order to leave the house almost straight away. This begins with a mother banging rudely on my door and in a strangled witch kind of voice, yell "Neeeoowllll!", which propels me out of bed and grumpily to the bathrom, on the way searching rooms for some DRY FUCKING CLOTHES, still blinking, swearing and trying to reign my hair.

I find some jeans (still damp), which I wrench onto my pale little legs, attempt to find a decent top, it's not happening. I'll have to wear the same one again. Groan. Luckily, clean underwear is around and intact, so the sartorial fun was finally sorted out.

Parents included, I stepped out into the morning streets. I assume these are the ones that many of those working early hours or going to school would see in November. Dank is the appropriate adjective here. It's like the streets being prepared for a Leviathan...wet, stormy, troughs of water everywhere...

The sky was packed with cloths of cloud, impenetrable...the last prick of the streetlights the only warmth....all this and not even on the coach yet. Coldness of teeth brushing lingered in my mouth and me eyelids heavy, as I stood outside the tiny shops not yet open, my mother doing the familiar thing of standing around looking happy, but inwardly thinking "What's 'appening? Where's the coach?" things you could tell would soon become literal GRIPING.

Not this time. The coach arrived, if a little too late for the comfort of my sorry shaking bones. A balding gentleman of mid sixties stepped out, poppy and blazer over his slightly sloping stomach. He seemed friendly enough, but with an air that suggests he could drunkenly shout at cars given half the chance. Or not. I don't know....as I said...it was an air. Airs and graces are not necessarily my strong point, but I know when they're there.

His name was Malcolm. Either that or his driver (Equally chatt), was. My parents sat in the front so as to aid my dad's "enthusiastic questioning boy" position, in which my father will constantly ask or suggest, add or joke things with or to the tour guide. This is always amusing.

I sat behind my parents, and for the first time, BANGING my stupid head on the air conditioning rail above the seat. What's embarrassing is I did this all day. A lesson never learned, my friends. A bit like wanking in an erupting volcano.

Anyway. The coach set off through the blanket of clouds and grey roads, clawing itself clumsily around Kent, whilst Mr tour bloke told us about the day a little, as well as discussing pick up points with his driver.

About twenty people, all in all. Various points scattered through the county, on the way to Dover. Mostly of the ages of about....50+, and not less than...80, I wouldn't have thought. Apparently, the last actual WW1 veteran had taken the trip last year.

Time.

Dover. The huge circular road embracing the docks seized us and threw the coach around in a spiral towards the loading area. After a quick and oddly easy drive through checkpoints (Of which there was really only one proper check, that being just a bloke to check who we were), we joined the queue for boarding.

I like the anticipation of going on a ferry. You can see the huge white boxy shape of it ahead; small windows; the loading bay's huge mouth; gigantic ropes; and cars and lorries and trucks all waiting to drive on.

Which we presently did. The coach lurched up over the firm ramp and into the bay, a vast solid airy space with vehicles everywhere. Before movement, this feels as safe as houses, you could stand a deck of cards on the floor and dance about it. We were offloaded from our now tiny looking coach, and left the cold lower levels of the boat and up the green stairs to the seventh deck.

More soon. More tea now. We're not even halfway through.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|09:31am]
Ferries these days are like mini cruise ships. Long rooms along the port and starboard sides are lined with round tables...chairs...window seats....mirrored walls...bars...cafes..shops...and small arcades. There is also the duty free shop, in which holidaymakers stock up to avoid taxation on English shores.

We sat near the window near the stern of the boat, and saw outside the berth's cradle relasing us, and the open sea ushering us into it's arms. The great cliffs shone whiter in the sunlight that was now creeping through, and we were soon away.

Coffee time. Boat swaying slightly underfeet, Mould and I sidled towards the cafe, currently packed. We decided to check out the shop beforehand, packed with aftershaves, dvd's, chocolate and toys. A smaller version of WhSMITHS, with Milka.

I love Milka. It's chocolate that's rather rare over here, so I stood about gazing into it's beautiful purple wrapper and shouting. Picked it up and cradled the sublimely rigid rectangular box, tempted to rub my FACE with it. I made a pact with a packet of biscuit and cream variety subtitled "Choco Swing", if you please....to come back after the day and BUYING DAMNED WELL SOME OF IT.

Boat's a rockin' now....the ceiling tiles are rattling like a nightclubbing skeleton, and the cctv camera is about to fall to pieces. Time to investigate the upper decks. Leaving Mould and dad with coffee and having drank mine, I searched out a lift and took it up to deck nine.

It opened into a deserted small corridor, cornering onto the double doors leading out to the port side. I pushed the door against the wind and felt the gale leave the door alone and start mucking about with my hair and face instead. Battered and vibrant, I walked up to the bow (Or is it stern? I can never remember, EVER) and stood near the picnic tables and the people taking photos, shaking like dollies in the breeze. Looked over the side, and watched the churning as the propellors and the huge underside of the ship cut swarthes out of the green flint of the ocean.

Reasonably done with exhilaration for now, I went back inside, into the warmth of deck nine, on a different side this time. Found the stairs back to seven and the parents.

Sat feeling weary and slightly depressed. I don't mind trips, but there is still an ungainly worry and a homesickness in me, from where I don't know. I always wonder if i'll make it back. And yeah, I missed talking to somebody too.

Sat on the wood next to window, gazing through at the waves, impenetrable gliding green, barely registering a punctuation in their appearance, but for a plastic crate bobbing past. Thought some more. Thought about thoughts, and why we think them. Stopped thinking about thoughts as thoughts are are very well, but they make you think more and you become all "thunked" out.

After some more sitting about and another foray top deck, We arrived twenty minutes late due to a delay at Calais. One berth damaged, the only other one delayed due to a medical emergency on board another ferry.

Finally, the boat came in to berth. Around it, small jutting lengths of rock, a metal catwalk along one with tiny black fishing birds shaking the water from their feathers to have another dive.

Tiny things amuse me inwardly. After my father pointed out that these birds have to hold their winds outstretched to the wind to dry them after catching fish, I watched them carrying out this ritual, some more into it than others, as if waiting to embrace a friend. Birds and the things they do...what chortles.

Time to disembark. Back on the coach, another banged head. Very annoying. We drove away and another quiet glide through Calais Docks, without problem. Onto the motorway, and out into France.
2 Petty criminals| Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|09:56am]
Still with me?

Stopped at a big booze store, chortling titled "Cheers!". A desolate ugly rectangular building, with a bloody giant barrel providing the entrance. Inside were bottles and cans of many types of liquer, all kinds, all cheap. I got some Rose', and joined the others back on the coach. Out into


The countryside of France became the countryside of Belgium, and it is countryside of rural serenity. If you know Belgium, you'll know it's green and it's full of fields and trees and many piles of what I think are potatoes.

Into the country further, and our guide began to tell us about the various battles fought there, amongst these now eerily calm lands, and about some of the stories, about people and places, events and sacrifices. I couldn't remember much about it, simply gazing through the window and thinking, trying to paint this picture in my head. The land was so flat and peaceful, clashing against it's past.

We stopped at a chocolate factory. Check.....a chocolate shop with stacks of cigarrettes being sold cheaply at the back. Being rather naughty, I went half on a packet of Golden Virginia, which has save me about fifty quid. Excellent. Got some chocolate there, and piled back onto the coach again. Another head bang.

The rain began to soak the world with atmosphere, fitting grey skies hurling handfuls of droplets all over the lands, seeming to increase as we drew closer to the town of Ypres, after a long journey.

Passing by the town, it occurs how new it looks. More later on that, as we passed for a while to travel partly into the Menin road, and visit various cemetaries.

One was the Hooge Crater. This if I remember rightly was a place hit by an explosion and thrown up into the air, now lined with some few thousand graves...Australians, British, New Zealanders...some graves with names..young men of twenty seven; twenty four; thirty one; all cut down, some graves had no names, simply carved with "four solders from the first world war" sitting side by side with all the rest.

More thoughts. Had ones to describe. Sobriety? Sombriety? I don't know...but as I stood there...reading names of young men, I could imagine what all their lives and faces and characters would have been like...what they would have talked about to their friends...who their loves were.

That's when I stopped thinking, and just became a muted shell. Father told me some things but I simply responded with "mm"'s and "yeah"'s......

Hard to know how to feel when you're there really. No adjective or string of words really describes it. The war museum over the road had some rusted ammunition carriers and thick pieces of metal curled and cut by mortar shells. A huge one sat near the door, one which would have taken six men at least to lift, presumably in the rainy, muddy madness too.

There was a Canadian monument nearby, which we passed....a much different beautiful set of steps with flat polished concrete between...like a shallow pyramid...

Then one of the biggest. Tyncot. A huge cemetary with 12,000 dead, as well as 30,000 names further stretching on beautiful white semi cicular walls.

A reinforced bunker sits amongst the graves here, with wires sticking through raked holes where shells have battered against it. We looked at it and the rains fell heavier, skies now so weighty they were about to burst all over everything.

They did, as we walked around this panorama of white stone, it's lines of rectangular stones forming patterns in the green. Poppies lay all around, on graves, on the huge central monument, and next to names on the wall.

And now...back to the coach, and to the final cemetery we were to visit. One featuring German graves. It was now darkening considerably, as we drew near and were told that this one was not a welcoming place, due to it's dark tree covered black stones, and four statues that in the dark looked real enough for me to actually mistake them for people.

It was as my dad said, not actually unwelcoming....it was different....dark and deathly cold certainly....but the graves were gently laid out on ground, black and oblong, in rigid lines. I can only think that the "unwelcoming feeling" most get is one of a sub-concious dislike of those that were in the opposing army, and the darkness and creeping trees exacerbate it, though they don't say.....

I've been writing for near two hours, and still haven't finished. I should be going to work soon, may finish off and come back to it later.

We boarded coach again and drove to Ypres....into the town, full of post modern neon clashes with buildings rebuilt in their original image before the bombs razed them to the ground.

Initially, we were to go to the restaurant before the ceremony, at Menin Gate. We drove through this, and it yawned over us with it's gigantic arches and concave roof, and along the sides, more names...never buried, covering each and every carvable surface.

The coach was parked, and we went for a meal in Vivaldi's....a sparsely desgined cafe' with big pictures of guitars and advertisments for concerts of classical music. I think you'd call it an "art deco" style, but as I know NOTHING about art, i'll not say anything. Although I did. Just then.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|10:51am]
Perused the menu, deciding to eschew discovering modern european cuisine in favour of the cheap option. Half a chicken. It was very nice...flavour was good and the salad composed of neatly cut and firm red cabbage, raw carrot and letttuce.

Along the walk to Menin Gate where we were to see the ceremony, stopped at a small tobacconists, wherin a cheery German gent spoke to me about the rolling papers I was buying.

"Zere are ze blue papers, and zeeze are ze orange papers, like ze green ones you have in England!" he enthused, and supplied my with the smoking equipment I had all day been searching for.

Rain slid down in further sheets, as we three stepped under the vast stone of the Menin gate bridge, looking up I saw the gossamer string of a spider's web glinting under the lights, standing out against the black of three huge circular holes at the gate's ceiling, as rain sprinkled though, soaking the floor, and down on this the organisers gathered the crowds on each side, two suit-jacketed tall gentlemen waving arms like tree branches to gather people and direct others.

Under this arch, the air grew cold quickly as the rain stopped. Troops marched around us, feet stamping and the voice of their superior echoing around the ceilings and arches.

My feet were wet now, as I stood there behind parents and being squeezed further in. Voices of all nationalities combined in a continental mulch, a gathering of people I had not seen before, indeed I haven't been overseas for near ten years anyway.

We will finish this later. I must go to work now.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|04:21pm]
Running about were people, this way and that, gradually settling into groups as the band began to approach...they did, thundering drums punching through the night air and the bagpipes later joining them in the melodies. For want of a less flippant word, they sounded awesome.

The choir sang too, and the ceremony went on, people laid wreathes at the smaller are in the gate, then eventually the band passed on and out of sight, leaving the crowds to disperse. We did too, walking back to the coach through Ypres, stopping to see the church, that long spray of gothic architecture reborn, small windows, hundereds of them lining it, and the tall lit up tower in the middle. The tour over, it was time to return to Calais.

On our trip back, the windscreen wipers yet again gave out, leaving the wind to cast it's rain in lashes across the coache's front, damaging visibility not quite enough to render driving impossible, but to alarm a little when in concjunction with the gales that were now really quite forcefully battering us as our rectangular carriage piledrived down the motorway....

I watched the night go by as my mind drifted and caught the passing lights of complexes and power stations, wondering what it would be like to walk through these places at night under those lights, after everybody's gone home.

Probably get arrested for trespassing. Anyway, more rapid than one would expect, we drove into Calais, and after a quick passport check were sent to the line for "immediate loading".

This obviously meant immediate as in about half an hour, watching a rocking ferry offloading it's cargo of lorries, cars, and vans. Many european truckers starting or ending their long freight carrying journeys. To think they do this regularly is quite astonoshing. Seagulls drifted in mid air next to our coach, obviously enjoying the breeze blowing in from the coast.

After a while we were on and out of the coach. Time for the bar, the epilogue I always need at the end of a long day. Or any, come to that. the barman was a cheery soul, joking about rocking ships mucking up his pouring ability. I had a couple of pints and chortled as Mould began to shit herself un-necessarily at every wave, noise, dip that the ferry made or hit. Dad was similarly amused, when mother was not nitpicking about something else to take her own mind off it.

I went up deck again. One last battle with the wind. Up the lift, and outside. The wind was like the arms of a god, punching along the deck, and batting me this way and that, knocking me into rails and pulling my hair, as I tried to make and light a cigarrette.

That walk was for you. When I screamed at the waves at the bow, laughing at the absurd adrenalin rush of being out there in beating gales, utterly alone amongst a ship with 200 passengers or so. There are not many that appreciate the significance of it.

Tousled and thrown and knocked by nature's sea winds, I returned inside and returned to the sterile club, to continue drinking and watching the flickering screens playing jukebox videos. The seas subsided, and we floated into berth.

Back on coach, straight through customs without problem, and home. Stuffed some chocolate and wine, and went to bed.

So there you have it. Whew.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|04:28pm]
Okay, up to the here and now, and morning and lunch. Got some new trinkets at work, though merely for work. A sink drainer (woo hoo! No more fucking blocking drains), a new broom for the floor, and another drainer for my mother, who doesn't know I lent Aleks our one. So to return the "favour" she doesn't know about, A brought a new one for her.

I'm going to have fun explaining that one. "Er...mould...Aleks got you this sink drainer...for some...reason."

We had a relatively small thirty one OAP's, no more than a drifting shift of little consequence, but with much laughter from all, in good moods and expressing this as we sang and joked about through the cooking times.

Work tonight has seventeen to greet me. A table of eleven, but early and so clearable. And that will be my evening, but for the drinking.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|04:40pm]
[ music | Speaking In Tonuges - Toni Braxton. ]

Well, you 'orrible lot. I didn't update at all yesterday, OBVIOUSLY....but i'm certainly fucking making up for it now, chopping hat sprats.

Woo...another chortlingly naughty song. Lots of those, please. Unless they're sung by lobby loitering fuckbrained R Kelly. The great big banging mishap.

Tittle tattle after the heaviness of yesterday:

Des has left a footprint on Bolb's leg. We think it'll last.

I had a chicken lasagne the size of a garage forcourt. I now want to own a forecourt, and fill it with lasage. Yergh, what filling poultry goodness. I feel nauseous as a seal that's swallowed a climbing frame.

I must think of a question for myself to answer about Wuthering Heights.

Get your lovely gas giants here!

[11 Nov 2004|05:04pm]
That will be just about it for today, then. I'm making way for a studying Anive, bashing out essays and such. So then, take care, you mental sugar pencils.

See you tomorrow.
Get your lovely gas giants here!

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