As is always the case I have been distracted of late, keeping me from updating this or doing anything else really. I have been writing this book since the day I got back from my trip. As far as I know it is going to be called Don't Call Me Buddy, Buddy! It has a long subtitle too, but so far that has only been for the amusement of myself and I doubt it will stick.
Even this blog, which I am doing to keep you up to date, is a distraction of sorts. I am lying in my pit watching Columbo, reading over what I have done already and hoping that I write some more before I have to go to work. But there is no stress. Much like my trip, it will be done when it's done. I hope.
Last week I had the mild blues brought on, I think, by doing nothing but sitting in various rooms writing and doing not much else. Today is the first time in a week I have even opened the file holding my story. I am not saying it is good, but so far I have resisted the urge to delete the whole thing and actually do something with my life that would get me out of this damn room.
Few things bring me as much pleasure as writing. I mean, there is always sex, drugs and whatever kind of music you are into, but I take a strange kind of pleasure from stringing words together. Albeit with a complete disregard for the entire concept of grammar. I am aware of this and don't need some fool pointing it out to me.
I hope to be done with this soon, I feel like I have been talking to you guys for ages about it. I have got rid of many distractions, facebook, shifts, comfort in the quest to wrap this up. But I have spent most of the last week procrastinating, pondering pointless nonsense like just what the fuck the people who made Lethal Weapon 2 were all about casting Juney Smith in the role of Tom Wyler, a member of the squad who looks far too much like Danny Glover to have been cast in the same police unit as him. I have worried that this idea makes me racist, but the guy is so much like Danny Glover that when Wyler gets shot dead - while hanging upside down for absolutely no reason at all - the South African badguy actually has to mention that he isn't shooting Danny Glover just so the audience don’t get confused due to sloppy casting.
I don’t think it is racist. I have given this a lot of thought. Go watch the movie, you’ll see what I mean. You should watch it anyway, it is the best one. By a fucking mile. See when Mel puts his shoulder back in place after winning his bet, watch the older cop right next to him as he slams his shoulder into the wall. This bit part actor delivers some of the greatest acting I’ve ever seen. A fine example of taking your chances. It truly is a wonderful film.
Anyway, I guess you understand my predilection to distraction now. I am always looking out for something to over analyse in favour of actually doing any work.
But I think I have a point. That cunt in Lethal Weapon looked exactly like Danny Glover from the shape of his face to the moustache on it.
I mean, it doesn’t really matter. But it is really fucking annoying.
Anyway. I can’t wait for you guys to read Don’t Call Me Buddy, Buddy! I just hope the Mayans were on the wind up and I will get a chance to finish it.
Saturday, 1 December 2012
Monday, 26 November 2012
Breaking News: Winter is Cold.
I wrote this a few years ago, but it is worth keeping it in mind. The news has already started with their pish. Winter is coming, it's fine.
Breaking News: Winter is Cold.
"I haven’t been on here in ages. But I thought it would be the best place to do what I’m about to do, which is save lives. Which is important.
In a global sense, I don’t know many of you, and statistically I probably wouldn’t get on with many of you either. Which is both our faults. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to look out for you. You see, despite the many differences that have been created by shadows to keep us apart… We are all exactly the same. Some of us are slightly more toned and handsome though.
Anyway, I digress.
This is, in essence, a public service announcement, and like any public service announcement, I am trying to save lives. I don’t expect anything in return. I am a selfless human who only wishes to be left alone.
It is already October, which means soon the Winter will be here. Some places sooner than others, I’d give it one more week here in Scotland before the frost arrives.
But we shouldn’t panic. If you have been alive a while, you must have noticed the pattern. Generally speaking, after Autumn - or Fall depending on your geographical location - comes Winter. This happens EVERY SINGLE YEAR.
Winter, for those not paying attention is a fairly cold season, the coldest season actually. So don’t worry… That white stuff that covers your world, that you used to think was picturesque, that’s called frost. Sometimes it’s called Ice. Ice, by it’s very nature is a slippery bugger, so you should watch your feet. Walk slowly, which will not only save your bones, it will also give you a chance to take in the awesome beauty of a winter landscape.
The other white stuff, the softer, more fun and versatile substance is snow… Remember the stuff you longed for when you were a kid… It’s the same stuff. And it is still as much fun.
You can build things out of it, or ball it up and throw it at people. If you are a real crazy cat you can get a bit of plastic, sit on it and go down a hill. It’s called sledging. You used to look forward to it.
You have no excuse now. I have given you fair warning, you hopefully won’t be too shocked when that bastard white stuff falls on you… Stopping you getting to your job, or school. The Horror! The Horror!
It’s going to be cold, we know it’s going to be cold. It’s fucking winter. Don’t listen to the news. If you get a day off work because of the snow, count yourself lucky. Go out and enjoy it. Because before long you’re going to be bitching that the summer is too hot.
Breaking News: Winter is Cold.
"I haven’t been on here in ages. But I thought it would be the best place to do what I’m about to do, which is save lives. Which is important.
In a global sense, I don’t know many of you, and statistically I probably wouldn’t get on with many of you either. Which is both our faults. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to look out for you. You see, despite the many differences that have been created by shadows to keep us apart… We are all exactly the same. Some of us are slightly more toned and handsome though.
Anyway, I digress.
This is, in essence, a public service announcement, and like any public service announcement, I am trying to save lives. I don’t expect anything in return. I am a selfless human who only wishes to be left alone.
It is already October, which means soon the Winter will be here. Some places sooner than others, I’d give it one more week here in Scotland before the frost arrives.
But we shouldn’t panic. If you have been alive a while, you must have noticed the pattern. Generally speaking, after Autumn - or Fall depending on your geographical location - comes Winter. This happens EVERY SINGLE YEAR.
Winter, for those not paying attention is a fairly cold season, the coldest season actually. So don’t worry… That white stuff that covers your world, that you used to think was picturesque, that’s called frost. Sometimes it’s called Ice. Ice, by it’s very nature is a slippery bugger, so you should watch your feet. Walk slowly, which will not only save your bones, it will also give you a chance to take in the awesome beauty of a winter landscape.
The other white stuff, the softer, more fun and versatile substance is snow… Remember the stuff you longed for when you were a kid… It’s the same stuff. And it is still as much fun.
You can build things out of it, or ball it up and throw it at people. If you are a real crazy cat you can get a bit of plastic, sit on it and go down a hill. It’s called sledging. You used to look forward to it.
You have no excuse now. I have given you fair warning, you hopefully won’t be too shocked when that bastard white stuff falls on you… Stopping you getting to your job, or school. The Horror! The Horror!
It’s going to be cold, we know it’s going to be cold. It’s fucking winter. Don’t listen to the news. If you get a day off work because of the snow, count yourself lucky. Go out and enjoy it. Because before long you’re going to be bitching that the summer is too hot.
Tuesday, 16 October 2012
North American Adventure Photos.
Here is a little update. The attempt to get my notes and fuzzy memories into some kind of order is going ok. I am deep, deep into it. I am always on the look out for something that I can do to fill the time on the days i am "not really feeling it" which is writer for "being a lazy bastard."
Fortunately, I remembered something that I have been planning to do for a while, update my flickr with pics from the trip.
So. Here it is. It's not all the pics because I can't be bothered doing that much stuff. I am almost sick of the entire concept of technology at this point. But there are quite a few there.
Start here and work back. It's in reverse chronological order.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/94992570@N00/page5/
Enjoy.
XX
Fortunately, I remembered something that I have been planning to do for a while, update my flickr with pics from the trip.
So. Here it is. It's not all the pics because I can't be bothered doing that much stuff. I am almost sick of the entire concept of technology at this point. But there are quite a few there.
Start here and work back. It's in reverse chronological order.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/94992570@N00/page5/
Enjoy.
XX
Monday, 3 September 2012
The End. For The Time Being.
The thing about anything fun is that it is always going to end. This is not some pessimistic post-adventure blues. It is a fact, and it works in reverse too. The shit times pass along with the good and before you know it you are back in the place you started, trying to make the most of it. And in this case, I didn’t even notice it happening.
I left Ayr in late April and I arrived back a few days a go. The Bitch Jetlag has it’s claws deep in me. I can’t shift it. I snuck back into town after only telling one person about my return because I was dead broke and needed a lift from Glasgow Airport, my mother was both happy to hear about me coming home finally and happy to pick me up. The wee star she is.
4 months of doing very little. Something I am very good at and really enjoy. In the 4 months spent wandering around North America I got involved in some crazy shit, met some crazy people and ended up really broke two or three times, which led me to consider getting involved in something that may or may not have involved international drug smuggling. I will say that soup kitchens are not as bad as you think they are.
I fell in love a bunch of times with girls, scenery and food. I filled my trusty notebook with scribbles that I am positive meant something at the time, and when I finally decipher them might make a good story. One of the things I am happiest about when I look back over the last few months is that I managed not to lose that notebook. The whole thing would have been pointless if I had. I checked I had that before anything else each time I moved on.
So my life for the next while, in between working to save to leave again, I am working on turning my notes and any memories that weren’t washed away by liquor into some sort of coherent story that I would hope you will get to read at some point.
Any messages, cat photos, skypes or monies that you fine people sent my way throughout my trip meant more than I could possibly put into words right now. I am rarely lost for words. I have just written a chunk of the story this afternoon and my mind feels a bit like mush. So, whatever, you are all good people. I could have done with a few more dirty pictures being sent my way but, you know, whatever.
I left Ayr in late April and I arrived back a few days a go. The Bitch Jetlag has it’s claws deep in me. I can’t shift it. I snuck back into town after only telling one person about my return because I was dead broke and needed a lift from Glasgow Airport, my mother was both happy to hear about me coming home finally and happy to pick me up. The wee star she is.
4 months of doing very little. Something I am very good at and really enjoy. In the 4 months spent wandering around North America I got involved in some crazy shit, met some crazy people and ended up really broke two or three times, which led me to consider getting involved in something that may or may not have involved international drug smuggling. I will say that soup kitchens are not as bad as you think they are.
I fell in love a bunch of times with girls, scenery and food. I filled my trusty notebook with scribbles that I am positive meant something at the time, and when I finally decipher them might make a good story. One of the things I am happiest about when I look back over the last few months is that I managed not to lose that notebook. The whole thing would have been pointless if I had. I checked I had that before anything else each time I moved on.
So my life for the next while, in between working to save to leave again, I am working on turning my notes and any memories that weren’t washed away by liquor into some sort of coherent story that I would hope you will get to read at some point.
Any messages, cat photos, skypes or monies that you fine people sent my way throughout my trip meant more than I could possibly put into words right now. I am rarely lost for words. I have just written a chunk of the story this afternoon and my mind feels a bit like mush. So, whatever, you are all good people. I could have done with a few more dirty pictures being sent my way but, you know, whatever.
Friday, 17 August 2012
The Cheeseburger Hunter.
Of the many reasons I had for coming to North America, most of which I haven’t really figured out yet, cheeseburgers are pretty high on the list. Nothing too fancy, no gourmet blue cheese, no fancy bun, not even bacon. I’m talking about the standard cheeseburgers available in your run of the mill giant corporation burger joint.
Not that I don’t enjoy your more fancy burger, I do. But those are hard to eat on the run. The noble art of snacking, eating on the run.
The only real problem is that I have the same issues with giant fast food corporations as mostly everyone else. But I have learned to put them aside in the ongoing quest to find the best burgers. Its not so much an attempt to stave off the hunger as much as it is a life long quest. A really tasty quest.
Some years ago, on my first trip to the West Coast of America, I wandered into a place called In N Out burger and my life changed forever. This may sound like an exaggeration to some, but I will chalk that up to those people never having been into this Mecca. In N Out burger is the greatest burger joint burger on the face of the planet. There was life before my first Double Double, and my life since. Like some crazed junkie chasing his first high, I have been trying to sample as many standard burger joint cheeseburgers as I can in the hope that one day I will unwrap one and experience what I did 6 years ago on that sunny day on Sunset Boulevard.
The go-to cheeseburger is obviously McDonalds. For the longest time I stopped going to McDonalds because I got caught up eating the Big Mac, or any of the many limited edition burgers they release monthly. But they built their reputation on burgers, fries and drinks when they were a simple burger stand. That is the one thing that people, myself included, forget when bitching and moaning about giant corporations, they get to that size because they have good product. So forget the Big Mac, or the angus burger or whatever shite they throw in a box, shake up and audaciously present as a burger. Eating one of those travesties isn’t worth the sorrow. You only hate yourself after. The classic McDonalds Cheeseburger is the best readily available cheeseburger for the on the go snacker.
However, that isn’t to say that it is the best fast food burger. No no, not by a long shot. It is just handy, there art McDonalds everywhere, squire. USA is awash with convenient eating. From fast food to Mall food. The restaurants are even chains. Families will go out on a Friday night to Chillis, or Applebees. Because no matter where you are they are all the same, you know what you are going to get. I understand the appeal.
The next best fast food to In N Out that I have tasted is in the fine establishment of Five Guys Burgers And Fries. But again, like In N Out I am not including it. It is simply too good. The toppings options are plentiful, including jalapeños, that alone keeps it out of the list. But if you ever get the chance you should try it. The fries come covered in piri piri and they give you a fucking mountain of them. Plus they give you free access to as many monkey nuts as you can handle as way of an appetizer or desert. Depending on how you roll.
The best thing about Big Boy burgers is the money boxes they sell in the shape of the famous logo. Carl’s Jnr was OK, they do a chilli burger which, unlike most chilli burgers, wasn’t a pain in the tits to pick up and eat. I had my first Burger King in ages in a town near Vernon BC with my cousin Neil, it was pretty special as it was my first time trying maple bacon. I was only just getting used to The Canadian Staple, Maple. Even the new One Hundred Dollar Bill smells like maple, I shit you not. I convinced a Canadian girl that it smells like that because it is made from compressed maple syrup, and if you are ever stuck for maple syrup you can simply melt the note on your waffles. Some Canadians are beautifully naïve.
A&W is pretty shitty. It is a ghetto ass burger joint started in Canada. The burgers are all family orientated in name, Mama Burger, Papa Burger, Baby, Teen, Grandpa etc. You get the point. Plus, in keeping with it’s geographical origins there is also a Buddy Burger. They do however have their own Root Beer, which is pretty fantastic, if you are in to fizzy juice that tastes a little medicinal. The best thing about A&W is that the soda, pop or fizzy juice (according to where you live) is served in an iced mug.
For every Five Guys Burgers and Fries there are many A&Ws. For example the likes of Jack in The Box, Fatburger, Arby’s and White Castle can all suck my balls. Wendy’s I have yet to decide about, it is pretty low rent, but at the same time they give you proper bits of tomato and lettuce. There is a lot to be said for that.
Randomly, about 2 months ago while wandering Calgary, I went to Dairy Queen with my buddy Martin, who promised me they did burgers. I didn’t believe him. We got our order and sat down to eat it. I wasn’t expecting much. I certainly didn’t expect to be eating a contender. Dairy Queen cheeseburgers are probably the best Standard Cheeseburger I have had the pleasure of eating.
I have been a little quiet of late on here, and now you know why. I have been writing a lot, drinking a lot, not really sleeping and working on occasion to help keep me here a bit longer. But mostly I am Cheeseburger Hunter.
Not that I don’t enjoy your more fancy burger, I do. But those are hard to eat on the run. The noble art of snacking, eating on the run.
The only real problem is that I have the same issues with giant fast food corporations as mostly everyone else. But I have learned to put them aside in the ongoing quest to find the best burgers. Its not so much an attempt to stave off the hunger as much as it is a life long quest. A really tasty quest.
Some years ago, on my first trip to the West Coast of America, I wandered into a place called In N Out burger and my life changed forever. This may sound like an exaggeration to some, but I will chalk that up to those people never having been into this Mecca. In N Out burger is the greatest burger joint burger on the face of the planet. There was life before my first Double Double, and my life since. Like some crazed junkie chasing his first high, I have been trying to sample as many standard burger joint cheeseburgers as I can in the hope that one day I will unwrap one and experience what I did 6 years ago on that sunny day on Sunset Boulevard.
The go-to cheeseburger is obviously McDonalds. For the longest time I stopped going to McDonalds because I got caught up eating the Big Mac, or any of the many limited edition burgers they release monthly. But they built their reputation on burgers, fries and drinks when they were a simple burger stand. That is the one thing that people, myself included, forget when bitching and moaning about giant corporations, they get to that size because they have good product. So forget the Big Mac, or the angus burger or whatever shite they throw in a box, shake up and audaciously present as a burger. Eating one of those travesties isn’t worth the sorrow. You only hate yourself after. The classic McDonalds Cheeseburger is the best readily available cheeseburger for the on the go snacker.
However, that isn’t to say that it is the best fast food burger. No no, not by a long shot. It is just handy, there art McDonalds everywhere, squire. USA is awash with convenient eating. From fast food to Mall food. The restaurants are even chains. Families will go out on a Friday night to Chillis, or Applebees. Because no matter where you are they are all the same, you know what you are going to get. I understand the appeal.
The next best fast food to In N Out that I have tasted is in the fine establishment of Five Guys Burgers And Fries. But again, like In N Out I am not including it. It is simply too good. The toppings options are plentiful, including jalapeños, that alone keeps it out of the list. But if you ever get the chance you should try it. The fries come covered in piri piri and they give you a fucking mountain of them. Plus they give you free access to as many monkey nuts as you can handle as way of an appetizer or desert. Depending on how you roll.
The best thing about Big Boy burgers is the money boxes they sell in the shape of the famous logo. Carl’s Jnr was OK, they do a chilli burger which, unlike most chilli burgers, wasn’t a pain in the tits to pick up and eat. I had my first Burger King in ages in a town near Vernon BC with my cousin Neil, it was pretty special as it was my first time trying maple bacon. I was only just getting used to The Canadian Staple, Maple. Even the new One Hundred Dollar Bill smells like maple, I shit you not. I convinced a Canadian girl that it smells like that because it is made from compressed maple syrup, and if you are ever stuck for maple syrup you can simply melt the note on your waffles. Some Canadians are beautifully naïve.
A&W is pretty shitty. It is a ghetto ass burger joint started in Canada. The burgers are all family orientated in name, Mama Burger, Papa Burger, Baby, Teen, Grandpa etc. You get the point. Plus, in keeping with it’s geographical origins there is also a Buddy Burger. They do however have their own Root Beer, which is pretty fantastic, if you are in to fizzy juice that tastes a little medicinal. The best thing about A&W is that the soda, pop or fizzy juice (according to where you live) is served in an iced mug.
For every Five Guys Burgers and Fries there are many A&Ws. For example the likes of Jack in The Box, Fatburger, Arby’s and White Castle can all suck my balls. Wendy’s I have yet to decide about, it is pretty low rent, but at the same time they give you proper bits of tomato and lettuce. There is a lot to be said for that.
Randomly, about 2 months ago while wandering Calgary, I went to Dairy Queen with my buddy Martin, who promised me they did burgers. I didn’t believe him. We got our order and sat down to eat it. I wasn’t expecting much. I certainly didn’t expect to be eating a contender. Dairy Queen cheeseburgers are probably the best Standard Cheeseburger I have had the pleasure of eating.
I have been a little quiet of late on here, and now you know why. I have been writing a lot, drinking a lot, not really sleeping and working on occasion to help keep me here a bit longer. But mostly I am Cheeseburger Hunter.
Monday, 16 July 2012
The Calgary Stampede.
The Calgary Stampede, from what I have gathered is an annual meeting of legitimate Cowboys and Cowgirls and tourists in Cowboy hats. The money made from the sales of cowboy hats in the last week alone could have saved the Global Economic Meltdown. Which, I should add, some Canadians haven’t even heard of. This is thanks to the many oil reserves, gold and diamond mines and cowboy hat factories that are only just coming to fruition. I got talking to a guy in a bar who works in a goldmine and he told me they had just found a new vein which would keep that particular mine busy for another decade. They are pulling money out of the ground here. His exact words when I told him about the recession were “I’ve not heard about that, eh.”
The Stampede started a few days ago, it is celebrating it’s centenary and to help this celebration, the City of Calgary decided that they would put on the absolute bare minimum of taxies in some hilarious Fuck You to the blue jean wearing, bad ass swaggering, daft hat aficionados. Apparently 190,000 people descended on the opening night. Me and Martin helped towards that number, we arranged to meet our Canadian Buddy Dave there. We all made an attempt to fit in by wearing cowboy hats and checked shirts.
Not knowing exactly what is was, and not really bothering to find out, we arrived late (too late to see any rodeo) and paid full price. We walked in, met Dave and went looking for a bar. Now. This place is massive, it has many, many food outlets, lots of stalls to buy cowboy hats and clothing (for the unprepared Stampeder) there is a gigantic fun fair and there is TWO bars. Two bars for 190,000 people. They had not thought this through. The queue to get in to the first bar was comprised of a few hundred people, and that is just to get in. I can only imagine how long you would have to wait once inside before you actually got near the bar. The second place was just as bad. There was no hope. I watched drunken Canadians with envy as they were carried out by their friends. I saw one holding on to a telephone pole for dear life. I stood there, the effects of my early drinking now fully worn off, and I watched as he spun round apparently completely unaware that he was even moving. And even although I knew that, if he made it home, he would spend the night throwing up, crying and cursing his luck, I was oddly jealous.
We left the arena just as the fireworks were kicking off to mark the end of the night. We jostled through hordes of drunken caricature cowboys all looking up at the bright lights in the sky. Don’t get me wrong, fireworks are cool, but not in anyway worthy of applause. Certainly not for every one that goes off. On our way to the arena we had spotted a casino, we rushed to find it.
Upon entering the aptly named Cowboys Casino, we were greeted by an attractive lady with comically large breasts standing guard of a big bucket of ice cold beer. Tits and booze. Big tits and ice cold booze. “what d’you want fellas?” A combination of not wanting to be sleazy or obvious mixed with a severe thirst, we asked for three cans of beer and tried not to stare at her incredible rack. While Martin and Dave got good Canadian beer, I got landed with a Bud for some reason. I drank it because I needed a drink, but I wasn’t happy about it. Life is too short for American beer. To me American beer is like sex on a boat, they’re both fucking close to water. A country which produces the likes of Bud, Miller or Nat Ice should not have such a high opinion of themselves. I made sure my next beer was at least Canadian.
I tried to get a seat at a card table, no such luck. Every seat was taken up by a good old boy, all whooping and hollering with the turn of every card. I was resigned to the slots. After wasting money to watch reels spin and never match, I went back to the bar. We got as drunk as we could, then decided to go to an actual bar. Sadly the one we walked into was decrepit. It didn’t stop us drinking there for a while, but really it was only because we, like almost everyone else in Calgary, couldn’t get a taxi. We eventually managed to get a ride to a good bar, at least I was told it was, and I have been hearing that since I got to Calgary. It is a favourite of Martin and Dave’s called Voodoo. We walked in, they went for a piss and I approached the bar. I ordered three drinks, the barmaid told me I couldn’t get three by myself after 1 in the morning, so I told her I’d just wait for them to get back from the pisser. She asked where I was from, I said Scotland and she gave me a free shot of Jager. So far my favourite reaction to that answer.
Martin and Dave returned from the toilet, it seems she knew them by name, and they hadn’t been exaggerating their fondness for, or frequent visits to Voodoo. By all accounts it seems like a cool place, the only problem that night was that it seemed to be the only place in Calgary that had no girls in it, save for the barmaids. It was full of drunk Canadian Buddies. They seem to lack control, I have yet to got to a bar yet and not see a big old pile of vomit somewhere. One of my first nights in Calgary I got some on my hand as some bastard threw up all over the stairs and hand rail, the swine. Black vomit on my fingertips, and it reeked so terribly. The barmaid came up to our table at one point and asked if it was one of us. We had about 3 pints each in that place, regardless how drunk we were going in, we weren’t at the throwing up in the bar stage yet. As she was asking us a drunk suit walked back from the toilets with his shirt half untucked, black lips and a hell of an issue with straight lines. I pointed over her shoulder and told her it was maybe him. Since that night I have seen vomit in every bar, or street in front of a bar.
Myself Martin and Dave got wrecked in Voodoo, but nowhere near as wrecked as the bar staff. At closing time we stood outside and hailed every taxi that drove by. Eventually we got one. We stopped at a gas station for cigs and then we headed home where we drank until it was sunny outside and then tried to sleep.
Maybe at some point before it ends we will head back to stampede and see some of the actual stampede and not just walk about the fun fair, sober, wondering where all the gypsies are. All the people in charge of the games and the rides all have name badges and uniforms on. It is most bizarre and not like any fair I have ever been to. Like an episode of the Twilight Zone or something. It looked like a fair, smelled like a fair, there were waltzers and candy floss. But no gypsies, no violence, no guys in leather jackets and trackie bottoms selling hamburgers. Unsettling.
The Stampede started a few days ago, it is celebrating it’s centenary and to help this celebration, the City of Calgary decided that they would put on the absolute bare minimum of taxies in some hilarious Fuck You to the blue jean wearing, bad ass swaggering, daft hat aficionados. Apparently 190,000 people descended on the opening night. Me and Martin helped towards that number, we arranged to meet our Canadian Buddy Dave there. We all made an attempt to fit in by wearing cowboy hats and checked shirts.
Not knowing exactly what is was, and not really bothering to find out, we arrived late (too late to see any rodeo) and paid full price. We walked in, met Dave and went looking for a bar. Now. This place is massive, it has many, many food outlets, lots of stalls to buy cowboy hats and clothing (for the unprepared Stampeder) there is a gigantic fun fair and there is TWO bars. Two bars for 190,000 people. They had not thought this through. The queue to get in to the first bar was comprised of a few hundred people, and that is just to get in. I can only imagine how long you would have to wait once inside before you actually got near the bar. The second place was just as bad. There was no hope. I watched drunken Canadians with envy as they were carried out by their friends. I saw one holding on to a telephone pole for dear life. I stood there, the effects of my early drinking now fully worn off, and I watched as he spun round apparently completely unaware that he was even moving. And even although I knew that, if he made it home, he would spend the night throwing up, crying and cursing his luck, I was oddly jealous.
We left the arena just as the fireworks were kicking off to mark the end of the night. We jostled through hordes of drunken caricature cowboys all looking up at the bright lights in the sky. Don’t get me wrong, fireworks are cool, but not in anyway worthy of applause. Certainly not for every one that goes off. On our way to the arena we had spotted a casino, we rushed to find it.
Upon entering the aptly named Cowboys Casino, we were greeted by an attractive lady with comically large breasts standing guard of a big bucket of ice cold beer. Tits and booze. Big tits and ice cold booze. “what d’you want fellas?” A combination of not wanting to be sleazy or obvious mixed with a severe thirst, we asked for three cans of beer and tried not to stare at her incredible rack. While Martin and Dave got good Canadian beer, I got landed with a Bud for some reason. I drank it because I needed a drink, but I wasn’t happy about it. Life is too short for American beer. To me American beer is like sex on a boat, they’re both fucking close to water. A country which produces the likes of Bud, Miller or Nat Ice should not have such a high opinion of themselves. I made sure my next beer was at least Canadian.
I tried to get a seat at a card table, no such luck. Every seat was taken up by a good old boy, all whooping and hollering with the turn of every card. I was resigned to the slots. After wasting money to watch reels spin and never match, I went back to the bar. We got as drunk as we could, then decided to go to an actual bar. Sadly the one we walked into was decrepit. It didn’t stop us drinking there for a while, but really it was only because we, like almost everyone else in Calgary, couldn’t get a taxi. We eventually managed to get a ride to a good bar, at least I was told it was, and I have been hearing that since I got to Calgary. It is a favourite of Martin and Dave’s called Voodoo. We walked in, they went for a piss and I approached the bar. I ordered three drinks, the barmaid told me I couldn’t get three by myself after 1 in the morning, so I told her I’d just wait for them to get back from the pisser. She asked where I was from, I said Scotland and she gave me a free shot of Jager. So far my favourite reaction to that answer.
Martin and Dave returned from the toilet, it seems she knew them by name, and they hadn’t been exaggerating their fondness for, or frequent visits to Voodoo. By all accounts it seems like a cool place, the only problem that night was that it seemed to be the only place in Calgary that had no girls in it, save for the barmaids. It was full of drunk Canadian Buddies. They seem to lack control, I have yet to got to a bar yet and not see a big old pile of vomit somewhere. One of my first nights in Calgary I got some on my hand as some bastard threw up all over the stairs and hand rail, the swine. Black vomit on my fingertips, and it reeked so terribly. The barmaid came up to our table at one point and asked if it was one of us. We had about 3 pints each in that place, regardless how drunk we were going in, we weren’t at the throwing up in the bar stage yet. As she was asking us a drunk suit walked back from the toilets with his shirt half untucked, black lips and a hell of an issue with straight lines. I pointed over her shoulder and told her it was maybe him. Since that night I have seen vomit in every bar, or street in front of a bar.
Myself Martin and Dave got wrecked in Voodoo, but nowhere near as wrecked as the bar staff. At closing time we stood outside and hailed every taxi that drove by. Eventually we got one. We stopped at a gas station for cigs and then we headed home where we drank until it was sunny outside and then tried to sleep.
Maybe at some point before it ends we will head back to stampede and see some of the actual stampede and not just walk about the fun fair, sober, wondering where all the gypsies are. All the people in charge of the games and the rides all have name badges and uniforms on. It is most bizarre and not like any fair I have ever been to. Like an episode of the Twilight Zone or something. It looked like a fair, smelled like a fair, there were waltzers and candy floss. But no gypsies, no violence, no guys in leather jackets and trackie bottoms selling hamburgers. Unsettling.
The Calgary Stampede.
The Calgary Stampede, from what I have gathered is an annual meeting of legitimate Cowboys and Cowgirls and tourists in Cowboy hats. The money made from the sales of cowboy hats in the last week alone could have saved the Global Economic Meltdown. Which, I should add, some Canadians haven’t even heard of. This is thanks to the many oil reserves, gold and diamond mines and cowboy hat factories that are only just coming to fruition. I got talking to a guy in a bar who works in a goldmine and he told me they had just found a new vein which would keep that particular mine busy for another decade. They are pulling money out of the ground here. His exact words when I told him about the recession were “I’ve not heard about that, eh.”
The Stampede started a few days ago, it is celebrating it’s centenary and to help this celebration, the City of Calgary decided that they would put on the absolute bare minimum of taxies in some hilarious Fuck You to the blue jean wearing, bad ass swaggering, daft hat aficionados. Apparently 190,000 people descended on the opening night. Me and Martin helped towards that number, we arranged to meet our Canadian Buddy Dave there. We all made an attempt to fit in by wearing cowboy hats and checked shirts.
Not knowing exactly what is was, and not really bothering to find out, we arrived late (too late to see any rodeo) and paid full price. We walked in, met Dave and went looking for a bar. Now. This place is massive, it has many, many food outlets, lots of stalls to buy cowboy hats and clothing (for the unprepared Stampeder) there is a gigantic fun fair and there is TWO bars. Two bars for 190,000 people. They had not thought this through. The queue to get in to the first bar was comprised of a few hundred people, and that is just to get in. I can only imagine how long you would have to wait once inside before you actually got near the bar. The second place was just as bad. There was no hope. I watched drunken Canadians with envy as they were carried out by their friends. I saw one holding on to a telephone pole for dear life. I stood there, the effects of my early drinking now fully worn off, and I watched as he spun round apparently completely unaware that he was even moving. And even although I knew that, if he made it home, he would spend the night throwing up, crying and cursing his luck, I was oddly jealous.
We left the arena just as the fireworks were kicking off to mark the end of the night. We jostled through hordes of drunken caricature cowboys all looking up at the bright lights in the sky. Don’t get me wrong, fireworks are cool, but not in anyway worthy of applause. Certainly not for every one that goes off. On our way to the arena we had spotted a casino, we rushed to find it.
Upon entering the aptly named Cowboys Casino, we were greeted by an attractive lady with comically large breasts standing guard of a big bucket of ice cold beer. Tits and booze. Big tits and ice cold booze. “what d’you want fellas?” A combination of not wanting to be sleazy or obvious mixed with a severe thirst, we asked for three cans of beer and tried not to stare at her incredible rack. While Martin and Dave got good Canadian beer, I got landed with a Bud for some reason. I drank it because I needed a drink, but I wasn’t happy about it. Life is too short for American beer. To me American beer is like sex on a boat, they’re both fucking close to water. A country which produces the likes of Bud, Miller or Nat Ice should not have such a high opinion of themselves. I made sure my next beer was at least Canadian.
I tried to get a seat at a card table, no such luck. Every seat was taken up by a good old boy, all whooping and hollering with the turn of every card. I was resigned to the slots. After wasting money to watch reels spin and never match, I went back to the bar. We got as drunk as we could, then decided to go to an actual bar. Sadly the one we walked into was decrepit. It didn’t stop us drinking there for a while, but really it was only because we, like almost everyone else in Calgary, couldn’t get a taxi. We eventually managed to get a ride to a good bar, at least I was told it was, and I have been hearing that since I got to Calgary. It is a favourite of Martin and Dave’s called Voodoo. We walked in, they went for a piss and I approached the bar. I ordered three drinks, the barmaid told me I couldn’t get three by myself after 1 in the morning, so I told her I’d just wait for them to get back from the pisser. She asked where I was from, I said Scotland and she gave me a free shot of Jager. So far my favourite reaction to that answer.
Martin and Dave returned from the toilet, it seems she knew them by name, and they hadn’t been exaggerating their fondness for, or frequent visits to Voodoo. By all accounts it seems like a cool place, the only problem that night was that it seemed to be the only place in Calgary that had no girls in it, save for the barmaids. It was full of drunk Canadian Buddies. They seem to lack control, I have yet to got to a bar yet and not see a big old pile of vomit somewhere. One of my first nights in Calgary I got some on my hand as some bastard threw up all over the stairs and hand rail, the swine. Black vomit on my fingertips, and it reeked so terribly. The barmaid came up to our table at one point and asked if it was one of us. We had about 3 pints each in that place, regardless how drunk we were going in, we weren’t at the throwing up in the bar stage yet. As she was asking us a drunk suit walked back from the toilets with his shirt half untucked, black lips and a hell of an issue with straight lines. I pointed over her shoulder and told her it was maybe him. Since that night I have seen vomit in every bar, or street in front of a bar.
Myself Martin and Dave got wrecked in Voodoo, but nowhere near as wrecked as the bar staff. At closing time we stood outside and hailed every taxi that drove by. Eventually we got one. We stopped at a gas station for cigs and then we headed home where we drank until it was sunny outside and then tried to sleep.
Maybe at some point before it ends we will head back to stampede and see some of the actual stampede and not just walk about the fun fair, sober, wondering where all the gypsies are. All the people in charge of the games and the rides all have name badges and uniforms on. It is most bizarre and not like any fair I have ever been to. Like an episode of the Twilight Zone or something. It looked like a fair, smelled like a fair, there were waltzers and candy floss. But no gypsies, no violence, no guys in leather jackets and trackie bottoms selling hamburgers. Unsettling.
The Stampede started a few days ago, it is celebrating it’s centenary and to help this celebration, the City of Calgary decided that they would put on the absolute bare minimum of taxies in some hilarious Fuck You to the blue jean wearing, bad ass swaggering, daft hat aficionados. Apparently 190,000 people descended on the opening night. Me and Martin helped towards that number, we arranged to meet our Canadian Buddy Dave there. We all made an attempt to fit in by wearing cowboy hats and checked shirts.
Not knowing exactly what is was, and not really bothering to find out, we arrived late (too late to see any rodeo) and paid full price. We walked in, met Dave and went looking for a bar. Now. This place is massive, it has many, many food outlets, lots of stalls to buy cowboy hats and clothing (for the unprepared Stampeder) there is a gigantic fun fair and there is TWO bars. Two bars for 190,000 people. They had not thought this through. The queue to get in to the first bar was comprised of a few hundred people, and that is just to get in. I can only imagine how long you would have to wait once inside before you actually got near the bar. The second place was just as bad. There was no hope. I watched drunken Canadians with envy as they were carried out by their friends. I saw one holding on to a telephone pole for dear life. I stood there, the effects of my early drinking now fully worn off, and I watched as he spun round apparently completely unaware that he was even moving. And even although I knew that, if he made it home, he would spend the night throwing up, crying and cursing his luck, I was oddly jealous.
We left the arena just as the fireworks were kicking off to mark the end of the night. We jostled through hordes of drunken caricature cowboys all looking up at the bright lights in the sky. Don’t get me wrong, fireworks are cool, but not in anyway worthy of applause. Certainly not for every one that goes off. On our way to the arena we had spotted a casino, we rushed to find it.
Upon entering the aptly named Cowboys Casino, we were greeted by an attractive lady with comically large breasts standing guard of a big bucket of ice cold beer. Tits and booze. Big tits and ice cold booze. “what d’you want fellas?” A combination of not wanting to be sleazy or obvious mixed with a severe thirst, we asked for three cans of beer and tried not to stare at her incredible rack. While Martin and Dave got good Canadian beer, I got landed with a Bud for some reason. I drank it because I needed a drink, but I wasn’t happy about it. Life is too short for American beer. To me American beer is like sex on a boat, they’re both fucking close to water. A country which produces the likes of Bud, Miller or Nat Ice should not have such a high opinion of themselves. I made sure my next beer was at least Canadian.
I tried to get a seat at a card table, no such luck. Every seat was taken up by a good old boy, all whooping and hollering with the turn of every card. I was resigned to the slots. After wasting money to watch reels spin and never match, I went back to the bar. We got as drunk as we could, then decided to go to an actual bar. Sadly the one we walked into was decrepit. It didn’t stop us drinking there for a while, but really it was only because we, like almost everyone else in Calgary, couldn’t get a taxi. We eventually managed to get a ride to a good bar, at least I was told it was, and I have been hearing that since I got to Calgary. It is a favourite of Martin and Dave’s called Voodoo. We walked in, they went for a piss and I approached the bar. I ordered three drinks, the barmaid told me I couldn’t get three by myself after 1 in the morning, so I told her I’d just wait for them to get back from the pisser. She asked where I was from, I said Scotland and she gave me a free shot of Jager. So far my favourite reaction to that answer.
Martin and Dave returned from the toilet, it seems she knew them by name, and they hadn’t been exaggerating their fondness for, or frequent visits to Voodoo. By all accounts it seems like a cool place, the only problem that night was that it seemed to be the only place in Calgary that had no girls in it, save for the barmaids. It was full of drunk Canadian Buddies. They seem to lack control, I have yet to got to a bar yet and not see a big old pile of vomit somewhere. One of my first nights in Calgary I got some on my hand as some bastard threw up all over the stairs and hand rail, the swine. Black vomit on my fingertips, and it reeked so terribly. The barmaid came up to our table at one point and asked if it was one of us. We had about 3 pints each in that place, regardless how drunk we were going in, we weren’t at the throwing up in the bar stage yet. As she was asking us a drunk suit walked back from the toilets with his shirt half untucked, black lips and a hell of an issue with straight lines. I pointed over her shoulder and told her it was maybe him. Since that night I have seen vomit in every bar, or street in front of a bar.
Myself Martin and Dave got wrecked in Voodoo, but nowhere near as wrecked as the bar staff. At closing time we stood outside and hailed every taxi that drove by. Eventually we got one. We stopped at a gas station for cigs and then we headed home where we drank until it was sunny outside and then tried to sleep.
Maybe at some point before it ends we will head back to stampede and see some of the actual stampede and not just walk about the fun fair, sober, wondering where all the gypsies are. All the people in charge of the games and the rides all have name badges and uniforms on. It is most bizarre and not like any fair I have ever been to. Like an episode of the Twilight Zone or something. It looked like a fair, smelled like a fair, there were waltzers and candy floss. But no gypsies, no violence, no guys in leather jackets and trackie bottoms selling hamburgers. Unsettling.
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