okay i'm facing another day of boredom at work, there really is NOTHING to do. except for organising my sound effect libraries, there's nothing quite so stimulating at going through 100 different light switch sound and trying to give them all unique names and descriptions. "light switch brooding" "light switch purple" "light switch edgy-dangerous" are a few favourites from when things start getting a little strange.
still i got my zero 7 cd in the player, listening to in the waiting line, i should really make better use of this time though. but hey...
wanna hear another travelling story?? i enjoyed writing the last one, so i'm going to write a lot more, and seeming as there's nothing much else going in my life.... okay here goes...
i mentioned briefly in the last one that i had got a job on a boat and also that i crashed a motorbike making myself 4000 bucks in the hole to the boat owners and leaving myself in need of a knee reconstruction a few years later well this all actually happened in the first week of the job, before we even left the dock...
to start at the beginning i had spent 5 months in london over winter, clubbing, drinking, and doing some live in bar work, there's a great clubbing story from that time but i'll wirte that later, when i decided it was time to get out and see a bit of the continent. i spent a month travelling down through france, staying at some wondeful small towns, having liasons with crazy french girls, pretending to be a writer, lying in fields of grass, buying fresh cheeses and bagettes at small river side market towns, reading heaps of kerouac and so and so forth...
i finally got down to nice with most of my savings gone and checked myself into the sensational chez patrick hostel where i met two massive guys who were travelling around europe telling the legend of the rainbow underpants to eager audiences in hostels and getting laid each time....i also began looking for some work on boats because, hey who doesn't want to work on a yacht on the mediterranean.
to do that i used to wake up every morning catch the train to antibes which is the super yacht base on the riviera, a stunning little town, dominated by an ancient stone harbour with tiny cobbled streets and mega sized white millian dollar hunking beheamouth yachts. i used to spend the morning walking around the docks yelling out "day work," to every boat, when that didn't work, i'd go and sit on the top of the stone harbour ramparts and watch the seagulls swoop up and down in the wind and put my hand up to guard my eyes from the shimmering sun cutting out from the impossibly blue mediterranean. and it is impossibly blue, for those of you that haven't seen the med in summer, it looks like no other ocean. there's perpetual haze, generally not much wind, and the water has this inviting green blue colour you want to dive into, hold your breath, and go down down down with your eyes open until your ears pop and feel the cold water caress and transform your body...
anyway, i'd do my little begging routine, then go and talk to the employment agents, then generally go and have a piccolo of beer in the first pub that opened to ease the horrible tingling feeling of panic that was slowly building, not at all helped by the phone call i would inevitably make at some stage in the morning to my girl back home. i'd sit there in the sun drenched beergarden, drinking by myself, tapping the end of my pen on an empty page of my journal, my brain just locked with indecision, what is the right thing to do? to stay? to go home? can't go home, but she is there, but she would leave me anyway, and i'm not DONE yet, not finished here, not complete....
so after my mornings "work" i'd catch the train back into nice and hook up with the hostel crowd and our night out would begin. it was an ever changing montage of people and faces and personalities, of happy young people eager to tell their story, eager to laugh, eager to be forgotten in a week. we'd all head on mass from the hostel to a little bottlo, get a whatever liquer we could afford, generally long bottles of beer, or cheap wine, then head down towards dodgy park where masses of frightening african guys stood around and where you could score some dark sticky black sticks of morrocan hash. then we'd get to the stony beach, roll up our joints, pull out our guitars, flutes, and drums, and sing and play and have international rock throwing contests and rip off our clothes and skinny dip in the tiny black surf....
more later....
antibes:
changed my profile pick to the only other pic of me on the internet where i'm not wearing a wetsuit. i look like a dodgy country motherfucker who's posing next to the carcas of freshly shot roo. instead i'm actually posing doing our famous annandale gangster pose with some friends in front of some scenery in the blue mountains. you can tell i'm hardcore by the mcleods daughters series 6 hat. represent yo
still i got my zero 7 cd in the player, listening to in the waiting line, i should really make better use of this time though. but hey...
wanna hear another travelling story?? i enjoyed writing the last one, so i'm going to write a lot more, and seeming as there's nothing much else going in my life.... okay here goes...
i mentioned briefly in the last one that i had got a job on a boat and also that i crashed a motorbike making myself 4000 bucks in the hole to the boat owners and leaving myself in need of a knee reconstruction a few years later well this all actually happened in the first week of the job, before we even left the dock...
to start at the beginning i had spent 5 months in london over winter, clubbing, drinking, and doing some live in bar work, there's a great clubbing story from that time but i'll wirte that later, when i decided it was time to get out and see a bit of the continent. i spent a month travelling down through france, staying at some wondeful small towns, having liasons with crazy french girls, pretending to be a writer, lying in fields of grass, buying fresh cheeses and bagettes at small river side market towns, reading heaps of kerouac and so and so forth...
i finally got down to nice with most of my savings gone and checked myself into the sensational chez patrick hostel where i met two massive guys who were travelling around europe telling the legend of the rainbow underpants to eager audiences in hostels and getting laid each time....i also began looking for some work on boats because, hey who doesn't want to work on a yacht on the mediterranean.
to do that i used to wake up every morning catch the train to antibes which is the super yacht base on the riviera, a stunning little town, dominated by an ancient stone harbour with tiny cobbled streets and mega sized white millian dollar hunking beheamouth yachts. i used to spend the morning walking around the docks yelling out "day work," to every boat, when that didn't work, i'd go and sit on the top of the stone harbour ramparts and watch the seagulls swoop up and down in the wind and put my hand up to guard my eyes from the shimmering sun cutting out from the impossibly blue mediterranean. and it is impossibly blue, for those of you that haven't seen the med in summer, it looks like no other ocean. there's perpetual haze, generally not much wind, and the water has this inviting green blue colour you want to dive into, hold your breath, and go down down down with your eyes open until your ears pop and feel the cold water caress and transform your body...
anyway, i'd do my little begging routine, then go and talk to the employment agents, then generally go and have a piccolo of beer in the first pub that opened to ease the horrible tingling feeling of panic that was slowly building, not at all helped by the phone call i would inevitably make at some stage in the morning to my girl back home. i'd sit there in the sun drenched beergarden, drinking by myself, tapping the end of my pen on an empty page of my journal, my brain just locked with indecision, what is the right thing to do? to stay? to go home? can't go home, but she is there, but she would leave me anyway, and i'm not DONE yet, not finished here, not complete....
so after my mornings "work" i'd catch the train back into nice and hook up with the hostel crowd and our night out would begin. it was an ever changing montage of people and faces and personalities, of happy young people eager to tell their story, eager to laugh, eager to be forgotten in a week. we'd all head on mass from the hostel to a little bottlo, get a whatever liquer we could afford, generally long bottles of beer, or cheap wine, then head down towards dodgy park where masses of frightening african guys stood around and where you could score some dark sticky black sticks of morrocan hash. then we'd get to the stony beach, roll up our joints, pull out our guitars, flutes, and drums, and sing and play and have international rock throwing contests and rip off our clothes and skinny dip in the tiny black surf....
more later....
antibes:
changed my profile pick to the only other pic of me on the internet where i'm not wearing a wetsuit. i look like a dodgy country motherfucker who's posing next to the carcas of freshly shot roo. instead i'm actually posing doing our famous annandale gangster pose with some friends in front of some scenery in the blue mountains. you can tell i'm hardcore by the mcleods daughters series 6 hat. represent yo
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
the travelator closes at 5.45pm because of people like you. it is under hyde park. that is all i am saying...