OK, if you're reading this you know I've decided to give it a go overseas. If you've been overseas then you'll know that keyboards are laid out all weird and the keys sticky, partially functioning or simply missing, probably through years of backtwatters writing self-opining, full-of-themselves, twining blogs just like this. So you'll have to excuse any typos, lack of correct punctuation, stories which go nowhere and complaints about the quality of white sands in exotic places.
But I'll begin, briefly (...), before my departure. I was given a great send off from Harrisons by mates old and new in the rave cave at number 31. Cracking DJ sets from Paul & Chris (listen to their show on MyHouseYourHouse, Saturdays 6-8pm here), Carl & Nic (who are doing this event with Paul & Chris and it will be ace) and Patrick (have a Box Jams mix here). Some people I didn't know were there, but mostly everyone was there and it was a great ego massage. I'd done a bit of video work to get some visuals together - some querying the continued life of a certain Thatcher, some imploring people to have substances, some hardcore anal porn (each clip of those lasting precisely 0.13 seconds) plus some more general clubby stuff (a giant eye watching you, wireframe Star Wars arcade from the 80s, bit of Manga, some slow-mo stuff). Thanks to those that made it, if you had half as much fun as I did then I trust you enjoyed it. I just wish I'd thought ahead and got some of you back to help me clear up the following day...
Anyway, that was that. Sheffield was 'done'. Mother and father journeyed to help me clear my stuff. Mum's car packed to the ginnels, Dad's containing a dining table and three boxes. And a rug that, after some persuading, did bend enough to get the boot closed.
Pretty much the majority of people, once I'd told them I was planning ultimately to go to Thailand to find teaching work, made the old wink and nudge gesture and with a sly look responded with "going to get a Thai bride eh?" fnarr fnarr, wahey, nudge nudge wink wink, say no more my son, say no more... **SLIGHT RANT WARNING** OK if you were one of those people, and I didn't respond as I am about to, please do read on. Now, I have been to Thailand before, I did some teaching work out there. I enjoyed it. The people were incredibly friendly, the food was great, the beer was cheap. It barely rained. It was very pleasant, enjoyable and relaxing (most of the time). Why on earth then, when things had been pretty fucking miserable for me over the last 3- 4 months would I want to return there? Clearly so I can conform to some shit stereotype. Now, obviously I am going to Thailand, where the incidence of meeting and getting to know Thai people will inevitably be greater than being sat behind a bar in Sheffield (well, unless it was the Cremorne). Ergo, if I am to get romantically involved with a lass, the chances are heavily weighted in favour of her being Thai. But of course, these relationships are clearly only ever one way and pretty much abusive. I will clearly be falling in to the arms of the first lass to show any interest, not that it'll be 'true' interest because as I'm a white westerner, she will clearly be driven by monetary greed and an over-whelming desire to live in a grey, dank country far from her family where she can work for pittance and syphon money off me back to her family to keep them in white whiskey and ensure the water buffalo never fall ill.. Open your minds you silly people.
Glad that's out of the way now.
I had promised to pack light, initially hoping to go with a 20 litre backpack, mostly filled with gin. Reality hit when the mozzie net I had took up half the room. I explored other ways of reducing bulk (of my stuff, not me); could shampoo double up as bodywash - surely they're both soap? Could I survive for a week on three pairs of underkeks (inside & outside and then one for luck)? Could toothpaste improvise as a minty, refreshing factor 200 suncream? In the end I managed to reduce to 10kg in a large backpack and a few bits and bobs in a 'daypack'. So that was it then. Packed. The last week was spent writing an ever-increasing to do list, spending time with family and generally questioning whether I was doing the 'right' thing. I was, I concluded. On Sunday 10th February at 11.10am I flew out of rain-sodden Manchester (and indeed all of the UK) clutching a one way ticket to Mumbai, via Istanbul. Well, not clutching as such, because you can't nowadays get hold of an actual tangible ticket. I was metaphorically clutching an e-ticket on my phone. Or something. Anyway, I left.
Istanbul was wet too. And that's the next blog.
But I'll begin, briefly (...), before my departure. I was given a great send off from Harrisons by mates old and new in the rave cave at number 31. Cracking DJ sets from Paul & Chris (listen to their show on MyHouseYourHouse, Saturdays 6-8pm here), Carl & Nic (who are doing this event with Paul & Chris and it will be ace) and Patrick (have a Box Jams mix here). Some people I didn't know were there, but mostly everyone was there and it was a great ego massage. I'd done a bit of video work to get some visuals together - some querying the continued life of a certain Thatcher, some imploring people to have substances, some hardcore anal porn (each clip of those lasting precisely 0.13 seconds) plus some more general clubby stuff (a giant eye watching you, wireframe Star Wars arcade from the 80s, bit of Manga, some slow-mo stuff). Thanks to those that made it, if you had half as much fun as I did then I trust you enjoyed it. I just wish I'd thought ahead and got some of you back to help me clear up the following day...
Anyway, that was that. Sheffield was 'done'. Mother and father journeyed to help me clear my stuff. Mum's car packed to the ginnels, Dad's containing a dining table and three boxes. And a rug that, after some persuading, did bend enough to get the boot closed.
Pretty much the majority of people, once I'd told them I was planning ultimately to go to Thailand to find teaching work, made the old wink and nudge gesture and with a sly look responded with "going to get a Thai bride eh?" fnarr fnarr, wahey, nudge nudge wink wink, say no more my son, say no more... **SLIGHT RANT WARNING** OK if you were one of those people, and I didn't respond as I am about to, please do read on. Now, I have been to Thailand before, I did some teaching work out there. I enjoyed it. The people were incredibly friendly, the food was great, the beer was cheap. It barely rained. It was very pleasant, enjoyable and relaxing (most of the time). Why on earth then, when things had been pretty fucking miserable for me over the last 3- 4 months would I want to return there? Clearly so I can conform to some shit stereotype. Now, obviously I am going to Thailand, where the incidence of meeting and getting to know Thai people will inevitably be greater than being sat behind a bar in Sheffield (well, unless it was the Cremorne). Ergo, if I am to get romantically involved with a lass, the chances are heavily weighted in favour of her being Thai. But of course, these relationships are clearly only ever one way and pretty much abusive. I will clearly be falling in to the arms of the first lass to show any interest, not that it'll be 'true' interest because as I'm a white westerner, she will clearly be driven by monetary greed and an over-whelming desire to live in a grey, dank country far from her family where she can work for pittance and syphon money off me back to her family to keep them in white whiskey and ensure the water buffalo never fall ill.. Open your minds you silly people.
Glad that's out of the way now.
I had promised to pack light, initially hoping to go with a 20 litre backpack, mostly filled with gin. Reality hit when the mozzie net I had took up half the room. I explored other ways of reducing bulk (of my stuff, not me); could shampoo double up as bodywash - surely they're both soap? Could I survive for a week on three pairs of underkeks (inside & outside and then one for luck)? Could toothpaste improvise as a minty, refreshing factor 200 suncream? In the end I managed to reduce to 10kg in a large backpack and a few bits and bobs in a 'daypack'. So that was it then. Packed. The last week was spent writing an ever-increasing to do list, spending time with family and generally questioning whether I was doing the 'right' thing. I was, I concluded. On Sunday 10th February at 11.10am I flew out of rain-sodden Manchester (and indeed all of the UK) clutching a one way ticket to Mumbai, via Istanbul. Well, not clutching as such, because you can't nowadays get hold of an actual tangible ticket. I was metaphorically clutching an e-ticket on my phone. Or something. Anyway, I left.
Istanbul was wet too. And that's the next blog.
We miss you already
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