Adam Bird


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Thursday, 26 November 2009

Dear Adam


I am writing this letter to you from the future, as in late 2009 a couple of books were released containing a collection of letters by celebrities and other people dated to their 16 year old self’s. Other bloggers like us have latched onto the "trend" and thus now I find myself following suit and writing to myself, albeit my 13 year old junior.

Firstly, I ought to really apologise. Using a word like "bloggers" and offering no explanation. The thing is, if I did, I would have to explain the internet and websites and social media and tell you about your own website, how it came about and I know you better than that. Rather than me tell you all about it, I leave you with a tantalising glimpse of the future. It's not all Star Wars and Terminator (not yet), but you'll like it. Relish it, learn it, understand it, make a name for yourself

In fact, whether this reaches you on your 16th birthday, or if your back from Kavos yet (by the way, throwing up on buy one get one free alcohol won't be the last time you do it), you'll be studying IT in sixth form, you'll have also chosen Geography, but drop it. You will anyway. Make the most of it, play football up at the cage, but do some work. You'll benefit from it. Don't just retype the green book and hand it in. It may sound authoritarian and something that our Dad may say, but it's true. You'll be better for it.

Keep persevering on the job front, don't take the easy option of full time work when your part time job offers it to you on a plate. It's not where you want to be, easy money at a young age, but you won't have anything to show for it, except an expanding waist line! Guinness may well taste nice and drinking bitter may make you look older, but definitely not cooler. Plus your a Bird, you have Bird genes. Bird genes dictate that all alcohol consumed is stuck, permanently within the stomach area. Look at Gramps, look at Dad, it's inevitable I know, but postpone it for as long as you can.

Don't get me wrong, the next 13 years are amazing, incredible years. The most important years. The person you meet whilst working at your part time job will be the most important person you meet in your life. She won't be the person you expect her to be, nor the person other people may imagine her to be, but together, you'll grow, mould, sculpt and live together, eventually marrying and having a baby. I'm deliberately not giving too much away, I don't want to spoil the amazing journey of discovery that you are going to have here.

Having a baby together, it's the catalyst for you I believe, the moment in which you finally became a man. Your life definitely changed irrevocably from that point onwards, but it took you nine months to realise. There is nothing wrong with that, it's a life process, steps we make, events happen that define us, makes us who we are.

With everything that I know now, about you and the women you will meet. I offer this advice to you, both of you. Decide what you want to do, you are going to be together for a long time, 11 years at the time of writing. A lot of those years were spent from day to day, not making much sense, not growing as a man or couple. Make a plan, stick to it. Go travelling together, see the world, meet people, have fun. Your friends have done it, enjoyed it, have been better people for it. Alternatively, find that job you'll love, don't stick to what's easy, start your career earlier than what you did, encourage your wife to be every day, she can change people's lives, not just her own.

One bit of sad news that I do want to share, reluctantly I admit, but it's for a good reason. Your Nanny Guest, she unfortunately passes away in the July of 2005. It will break your heart, it will break a lot of the family’s hearts - she is still very much missed. Spend more time with her, travel up by yourself for the weekend if you need to. Tell her you love her and spoil her.

Her passing has left one vital legacy, her spirit lives on within the family and her Christian belief's have manifested themselves within her children and your cousins. You however still remain the black sheep, but you are on your own journey, don't worry about it, I know I'm not!

Despite that, there is so much to look forward to! Transatlantic excursions, all boys trips to European destinations, romantic moments with your wife to be, family fun with Jessica and her entourage - another tantalising glimpse of the yet to come! Your journey of discovery into the World Wide Web and your geeky nature embracing the technology and running with it.

Even the Gills! Congratulations again on them just getting promoted, a bit of a surprise that! Especially after being that close away from going bust! What fun you are going to have over the next few years! I wish just for that to be able to swap with you right now! Make sure that you leave after 90 minutes though, you will hate the word Dickov for the rest of your life.

One thing though, give up the whole FA Cup dream. One thing you shouldn't listen to Gramps about. Your just an old romantic really, no point in denying it!

Keep thinking big, enjoy it. Thinking outrageous things like carpeting a bedroom with astroturf, yes really, why not? Think it, do it, you can make it happen!


In December of 2011, the Dear Me book was re-released in the USA and a microsite was developed in support of the book. This blog post featured as part of one of the readers letters, which you can read by following this link.

Friday, 23 October 2009

Turkey, Turtles, Cake and Cold Soup.


Having spent two amazing weeks back in 2007 in the tropical paradise of Cozumel to celebrate John and Nadine’s wedding, Stephanie and I made the conscious decision to forego any holiday since then in an attempt to put all our financial resources into next year’s wedding. Eventually however, there comes a time when enough is enough, and a week in the sun is needed!

With reckless abandon, we headed to the travel agents and booked a week’s stay at the Holiday Village in Sarigerme, Turkey, an All Inclusive resort with pools and slides aplenty for Oliver to run riot. Turkey also had the added benefit of amazing October weather and a currency that has a great exchange rate against the pound.

Research is always the key, and in this case, we did some extensive research into the Holiday Village and many of the trip advisor reports were very complimentary. However, there was a darker side, a continuous mention of illness, food poisoning, pool closures due to “deposits” left floating upon the surface! Don’t get me wrong, all of the hotels on trip advisor have negative reviews, some of them are plainly ridiculous, but the recurrent nature of the reports and elsewhere across the web meant another visit to the travel agent and a reschedule.

The travel agent was sympathetic to our plight and it seemed that the powers within Thomson knew more about things than we did as they waived our “admin fees” and allowed us to change our holiday for a nominal fee – as it was we were proved right, the Holiday Village appeared on Watchdog in the week leading up to our trip!

So from a Byzantine Turkish retreat on the Aegean coast, to Zakynthos, a jewel in the Ionian crown. To be completely honest, we wasn’t concerned about where we were going, we just wanted some warmth and the chance to spend a complete week with each other!

This is, ultimately what we had and much, much more besides! Oliver, whom had been informed all along of our plans, spent the weeks preceding our trip carrying a book around called “Amazing Aeroplanes” and telling everyone that was where he was going and wanting us to read it to him every night before bed! As it was, Oliver’s enthusiasm was somewhat muted by the time our flight came around. The three of us had awoken the day before at 9am, and what with Benj and Laura’s wedding reception that night, things to pack and an early pick up at 2am, we found ourselves sleepless by the time the aircraft had taken off. Oliver aware of being moved around and about had woken just as we were checking in and stayed that way until an hour from landing – leaving our worst fears realised.

Not being able to take a nap on the plane, instead we had to contend with an irritable Oliver whose most exciting discovery about flying was the close proximity of the chair in front, which meant that he could reach it easily with a nice, well aimed kick. Added to this, he could reach the dropdown table and found great amusement dropping it down repeatedly with much annoyance I am sure to the person sitting beyond. So much for a small suitcase full of toys, books and bribery’s!

After arriving at the Louis Hotel Zante Beach, a quick change, walk around the site and our first sampling of the all inclusive lunch menu we took our places alongside the children’s pool to enjoy an afternoon of sun and relaxation - Oliver was in his element! Playing in and around the pool with his new rubber ring, braving the seasonally cold water with some rather adventurous plunges, making us laugh as his enthusiastic leaps in resulted in the occasional slip and full body dunking!

The real highlight of the hotel complex was its close proximity to the beach. In fact the pool area and beach were virtually indistinguishable, so we often wandered over for a dip in the sea as opposed to braving the chill of the main pool. The added advantage of the sea was the fact that due to the slanting nature of the beach you could go out for miles and miles without being too far out of your depth, a great situation if you have adventurous three year olds in tow.

Despite some severe training sessions over the past two years in the art of staying awake ignoring your body’s distress signals, I started to give up the ghost by early evening. As the three of us sat down for our evening meal, Stephanie enjoying some Greek fare, with both eyes closed and Oliver asking for a bottle - a sure fire way of determining his tiredness. We managed to settle for an early nightcap at the bar before heading off to bed at the rather early time of nine o’clock!

If that first day’s weather was any indication of the week ahead we would have been spoiled and certainly come home with a lot more colour than we did. However it wasn’t to be. Refreshed and revitalised on the first morning, the weather had taken a turn. Overcast with a slight wind we mingled around the pool with the other holidaymakers eyeing cursory glances at the sky willing the clouds to move away, which they eventually did and despite three full days of sun it would prove to be a similar case throughout the week.

If the weather was generally pleasant and just what we wanted, the friends that we made were a real find. Meeting people from all walks of life, from all four corners of Britain is part and parcel of the holiday experience. When you have an inquisitive three year old you find the task a lot easier. Especially when you find yourself apologising to complete strangers after your kid has stolen their kids’ favourite toy and left them in floods of tears!

On our first afternoon we were joined alongside the pool by two Scottish siblings from Glasgow, Michelle and her sister Bec’s. Michelle was with her “wee man”, Scott, who hit it off with Oliver straight away - playing in the pool and the giant connect four game that was situated close by. Oliver gave the relationship some status when he told us that he loved Scott and that Scott was his cousin!

Whilst we were there, on the Tuesday, Steph celebrated her 31st birthday and being away from friends and family I tried to ensure that her day was as memorable as possible. At 9.30am she was awoken by a knock at the door and delivered a beautiful bouquet of flowers, which was a pleasant surprise. We took the opportunity to head out on our first exploration. Heading into Zante town via taxi, driven by a Greek man who told us of his experiences of the UK and spending time with family in Croydon, a story we felt he must have told many a time!

Arriving in Zante town we took a leisurely stroll along the port, which was a fairly nervy experience. The port is shaped into a mile long crescent without a railing in sight! Walking along the pathway, fairly hazardous in places with broken concrete paving, one accidental trip could possibly result in a swan dive into the sea!

After a short trip on the train which took us around Zante town and showed us the sites, namely; St. Dionysios Cathedral, the National Bank building and the church of St. Nicholas, we sat and enjoyed a coffee in the quiet market square. If anyone has any doubt that kids grow up too quickly, then listening to Oliver as he came out the restaurant, rather excitedly and said “those toilets Daddy, are well nice!”, may need to think again! He was quite correct, but influenced by Steph’s earlier exclamation rather than offering his own opinion!

Heading back to the Hotel, via a long walk window shopping and getting caught amongst the chaotic school run, which left the streets jammed back with cars ignoring all road etiquette and a cacophony of horns left us rather bedazzled and appreciating the peace and quiet again on our return.

That evening I had arranged another birthday surprise for Steph, in the form of a cake. I wasn’t sure of the exact process, but ordered a chocolate cake to be delivered after our evening meal. Rather lost somewhat in translation I presumed that the waiters would be watching as we finished our meals, and that they would bring the cake out ready for our desert. As it was, no cake arrived, so we headed for the sweet trolley as usual. No problem I thought, they would bring it out after. Desert plates polishing and taken away, I started to worry. Steph was keen to move onto the entertainment area where they were hosting a Greek night, so in an attempt to delay her I suggested another glass of wine. All of my delaying tactics failed and so I let Steph and Oliver go on ahead whilst I investigated the whereabouts of the said cake. The waiters informed me that the cake was indeed ready, but they had been waiting for me to let me know when I wanted it brought out. So instead, I arranged for it to be delivered to our table at the entertainment area.

On arriving at the hall where they Greek dancers where already in full swing, Steph and Oliver were sat, alongside Michelle, Bec’s and Scott, plus another couple whom I hadn’t seen before. Introductions were made as we said hello to Charlotte and Phil, a young couple from Carlisle who were enjoying their first foreign holiday as a couple together. As we settled down to the evening ahead the waiter duly arrived and presented Stephanie with her chocolate cake, decorated with fruit, candles and a message that read “Happy Birthday Mummy, Love Oliver”. Also thrown into the mix were two complimentary bottles of champagne and six glasses, which were gratefully polished off by us all and helped the party get into full swing!

Generally the evening entertainment was more than adequate. The kids enjoyed watching the two person “animation team” put on either a show, or some dancing or series of sketches. The first night the animation team actually consisted of three people, but as the hotel quietens down towards the end of season the animation team reduces accordingly. They must be commended upon the effort and work that they put in, entertaining everyone from morning until night, day after day must be tough and not as fun and effortless as they made it look.

Zante’s main tourist attractions are coastal based, either by boat to see caves, or the famous “caretta caretta” loggerhead sea turtles. As the intermittent storms disrupted the weather pattern, being able to get out to sea proved our hardest task throughout the week. Two things that we both wanted to see whilst we were on the island was firstly the shipwreck cove, a beautiful natural sheltered beach which adorns front covers of holiday brochures everywhere, which has gathered greater significance since 1980 when a freighter ran aground after being chased by the Greek navy on suspicion of smuggling. Secondly were the turtles, especially as this was the one thing that Oliver wanted to see as well – something to do with wanting to say “hey dude” like Crush in Finding Nemo!

Unfortunately we never made the Shipwreck Cove. Our first attempt after paying for the trip with Thomson was cancelled at 7.30 in the morning due to bad seas, made worse by the fact that we had an early night the night before and had set ourselves a 7.15 wakeup call! Our second attempt was made on the Saturday before we came home. We actually made it as far this time as the coach which would take us there. We had only been in the coach ten minutes when the rep received a phone call to say that the lifeguard wasn’t allowing any boats out, so the trip was once again cancelled!

Luckily, the weather had been kind to us a couple of days earlier as we set out from the beach next to the hotel towards Turtle Island on the hunt for the endangered Caretta Carretta. We were joined by Michelle and Scott, leaving Bec’s at home to cure a hangover. Charlotte and Phil also came along, as well as another couple, Tracey and Gavin from Barnet, who had two boys aged either side of Oliver, giving him two more friends to play with. It also meant, that as the boat only held 26 passengers it was almost exclusively made up of patrons of the Louis Hotel!

Our first stop was just off the island of Agios Sostis, which is joined to Laganas bay by a rather flimsy looking wooden bridge. The loggerhead turtles are known to swim in the waters surrounding the island, so all eyes were peeled either sides of the boat seeking a glimpse of shell or something swimming nearby. The boat captain gave a loud shout and everyone followed his arm which was waving manically to the starboard side. With everyone racing over to the right, I sat rather precariously at the very back on the port side holding on for dear life fearful that all the weight on one side would see us capsized and seeking a closer view of the Caretta Caretta than anyone anticipated!

Steph and I had seen many turtles whilst visiting Xcaret in Mexico, but seeing them in the wild and in their own environment was a much more fulfilling experience, especially heightened as Oliver showed genuine excitement and has since been the first thing he mentioned to his grandparents on after returning home!

After we had all exhausted the batteries on our digital camera, we head on further out to sea towards Turtle Island to see the caves and stop at the protected beach for a swim. What looked like a mile journey to the Island ahead proved to be three times further! A somewhat nautical optical illusion that we sat discussing afterwards, particularly as we had to endure the same distance back - in lot colder circumstances.

After we had seen the caves, the boat dropped us off at the beach where we were directed to stay in between two markers. This was due to the whole area being protected as a result of the large amount of turtle eggs in gestation around us.

Being left on the island whilst the boat headed back to bring more customers left us all with a bizarre feeling, almost felt like being in Lost, expecting to have to hunt for food or set up a fire with collected kindling!

By the time the boat had come back to pick us up, the sun had gone back in behind an ominous black cloud, and heading into the wind on the way back the temperature was on the slightly chilly side. Having dived into the sea with my t-shirt tucked into my shorts I had to cover myself up with a towel. With the kids exhausted from the swimming and turtle spotting all the under threes fell asleep, including Tracey and Gavin’s two boys. Being chivalrous and seeing the kids shivering and Tracey exposed to the elements I gave up my towel which was acting as a comfort blanket thus travelling three miles back into the biting wind, topless and very, very cold!

As our trip to shipwreck cove was abandoned due to weather, and seeing as it wasn’t a “sitting by the pool” temperature we reached a bit of an impasse. Steph and I would have been happy sitting reading our books, sipping alcoholic drinks at the bar mingling with the others but Oliver hasn’t quite mastered the entertaining himself stage just yet. We took him along to the kids club, as under fours need to be accompanied by an adult. That wasn’t an entire success due to his first and only attack of shyness. In fact, all holiday he hadn’t been shy in coming forward in the slightest. One of his first friends that he made was actually a forty something year old women, another lady called Tracey, this time from Barry Island in South Wales. They had something of a bond and would always talk, play or scream at each other having lots of fun along the way – in fact Tracey was quite sad at having to leave him behind when she left!

So, as Kids Club didn’t work as we wanted and Oliver had exhausted his supply of stickers we decided to head out into Laganas to see what it was like. Actually, that reminds me! One night he fell asleep whilst playing with his stickers before meal time. Having awoken him to get ready for dinner, he wasn’t in the best of moods and refused to blow his nose. We thought that it was down to tired stubbornness, but it wasn’t until two hours later in the bathroom that he violently sneezed blowing out a sodden, snot drenched sticker which he had somehow put there earlier!

Anyhow! Walking along the pathway leading to the front exit of our hotel Stephanie and I were talking about the possibility of hiring a car and making our own exploration of the island, as this is what we used to do as kids with our own parents on our childhood holidays. Umming and arrring unable to make a proper decision we were fatefully passed by Tracey and Gavin in a jeep. They had bizarrely talked about the same thing that morning and already been out and about in their own hire car! After a quick chat we discovered that was only €30 for a 24 hour period and that there was a hire car place only two minutes walk from where we were standing!

Not needing much in the way of encouragement we head off towards the hire shop and twenty minutes later we were on the open road exploring! As it was 3pm by the time we had gotten the car we didn’t want to head too far and so head south west from Lagangas to a place called Keri, a village on the coast. Or at least, that was the impression given by the map! Keri indeed was on the coast, albeit, slightly more inland but the road past through the village kept going until it couldn’t go no further... which was the edge of a cliff! The road fanned out at the top to create a carpark of sorts and other people were out and about exploring on foot, braving the treacherous edges leading straight down to the sea!

Enjoying the views, we appreciated straight away the €30 we paid as a small price for what was something priceless. Dotted all along the winding road from Laganas to Keri was parking spaces allowing tourists to stop and admire the coastline which in places you could see for miles.

The following day we head out nice and early to make the most of the day, and headed north. This time we were joined by Charlotte and Phil, who no doubt must have thought Steph and I were like an old married couple bickering as my frustrations grew at Steph’s inability to read a map! In fact, bickering aside we all had a great journey of discovery that day. We stopped several times for photo opportunities or to take a dip in a secluded beach that we had found by the side of the road.

The real highlight was when reached the very northernmost point of the island. We came across a another car park on top of another cliff, but this one was slightly less rugged and looked like it was supposed to be there rather than just happened to be there. Two windmills were perched on top of the cliff, both had been decorated and done out and advertised as rented accommodation. If you were two honeymooners wanted seclusion and isolation you would be farfetched to find anything better!

Between the two windmills was a path leading down the cliff meeting a series of staircases which wound their way down before reaching a sun deck that was perched above the sea. We stopped once more and gazed around appreciating our surroundings. Admittedly, it wasn’t a particularly appealing place, or indeed safe place for Oliver who had great fun scaring the life out of me by putting his head through the deck railings, but for us adults, the place was amazing. Phil and I headed down yet more steps and launched ourselves into the sea, looking back up at the deck waving at Steph, Charlotte and Oliver on our way to the caves just around the cliff face.

Now I am not a particularly strong swimmer, and was rather nervous at swimming too far around along the cliff with nothing to hold onto, or to stop somewhere and stand. Although not heading too far, I was still physically shattered by the time I returned, the waves were not strong, but there was sufficient momentum that meant you had to swim further in order to keep moving forward. Coming up the metal stairs back onto dry land I had to take a sit down in an attempt to block out the dizziness that my swimming excursion had brought upon me.

Swimming is a killer on the arms and upper body, whilst walking up steep steps miles up a cliff face is gruelling on the legs! With Oliver not wanting to walk I had to carry him the whole way back up. By the time we had got to the top my whole body was a shaking mess of jelly and a stark reminder that I need to get into shape! Especially as we were shown up by the two young Cumbrian’s who skipped up without breaking sweat!

That Friday actually proved to be the greatest day of what was ultimately a great week. That night after depositing the car back we decided, along with Michelle, Bec’s, Scott, Tracey, Gavin, Phil and Charlotte to have a break from the Animation Team and head into Laganas for a night at the Karaoke!

What a night we had! Before the Karaoke kicked off, we had three games of Bingo! Steph was wearing her lucky heather tucked away somewhere on her person - as the first game she won €12.50 for getting a line, whilst better was still to come as she hit jackpot in game number 2 with a €90 bonanza! That winning streak set the night off perfectly as we ordered everyone a round of drinks and a shot each. Those shots were reciprocated by the others, so by the end of the night we were all singing along rather loudly, or in my case dancing like Liam Gallagher at two boy’s singing “All Around the World”.

Meeting such amazing people was a bonus that made a great holiday a really great holiday and with us all being on Facebook, has allowed us to share our holiday snaps and moan about the weather and washing piles easily and swiftly!

Gavin mentioned it whilst we where there, but playing with the kids on the beach and in the sea, the fun and enjoyment that the boys all got from seeing their dads run as fast as they could into the sea, just to see how far they could get before succumbing to the inevitable splash was priceless.

On a more personal level, and a justification for us going away when saving for our wedding was that for the three of us, a chance to spend quality time together, without the worries and stresses of everyday life. Seeing Oliver everyday for seven successive days, learning about what he likes, dislikes, makes him laugh, makes him cry was something that money cannot buy.

Steph and I as well, entirely too late to change our minds about getting married now, the wheels are in motion! It was, in some way a small confirmation that we are heading in the right direction, doing the right thing, enjoying each other’s company in way that we don’t get to do very often. Quite strangely, the best moment between us was on the themed restaurant Italian night, of which you are allowed one visit per week. The first course was a soup, but unbeknown to either of us it was a cold soup. I picked up the spoon, blew gently as you do with soup before placing it in my mouth. It becomes a sensory malfunction when you get the opposite to what you expect. But Steph couldn’t quite get her head around it, and continually blew before each mouthful. She eventually gave up the whole thing altogether, but how we laughed at each other’s stupidness!

Having originally booked to go to Turkey and having our plans all turned around and inside out, there is the inevitable question of - any regrets? Dalaman had a week of unbroken sun and 30 degree temperatures. We had a meteorological mix bag. We had the company of some amazing people. We had the most important thing. The three of us. Any regrets? None.

Tuesday, 6 October 2009

The Curious Case of Benj in Berlin


Twenty years ago, before having my heart broken by long haired permed blokes with dodgy moustache's, prior to a realisation that a nation's infamy was due to atrocities carried out many years earlier at the control of one of history's most notorious figures. I sat watching various news reports, that, whilst kaleidoscopic in recollection left memories in my mind. Those images were unprecedented at the time, showing scenes of joy, peaceful anarchy, violentless destruction, witnessing at the age of nine probably my earliest memories of "current affairs". Scenes that were of course those of the Berlin wall coming down, East meeting West, end of the Cold War, things that to a nine year old were politically insignificant, but visually powerful enough to understand a certain importance and to remember many years later.

So when Will emailed asking if anyone fancied keeping him company on his brothers stag weekend, two days in Berlin, it was an opportunity that I wasn’t going to miss!

Having actually known Will’s brother, Benj for longer than I have known Will, (when we were kids he went out for a long time with my sister’s best friend) and the fact the Benj created the ring that sealed Stephanie and I’s commitment to marriage, I felt almost obliged to attend!

In leading up to our weekend away, it became clear that this weekend was to be very different from those that Will and I had experienced with our own group of friends, specifically, Tallinn, Budapest and Amsterdam. It was to be arranged by the Groom himself, who made an agreement with his best man that they would arrange their own “last weekend’s of freedom” seeing as they were both marrying in the same year and were each other’s best men. It was to be a totally bespoke arrangement, no guide in sight and living up to the carefree nature in which Benj’s personality is so beautifully crafted.

Therefore, left to our own devices, with no pre-booked minibus to the airport, a grateful Will, Geoff (Mr Buckby Snr), and brother in law Keith headed towards Stansted chauffeured by the ever so cheerful at 3am Mrs Buckby.

Going abroad for a stag weekend has been made possible by the introduction of the “low cost” airline and we flew into Berlin on one of the early low cost pioneers, Ryanair.

However much these airlines have opened up the entire continent for easy exploration, they have certainly complicated the requirements for going abroad, which could also be interpreted as “taking advantage of the naive traveller”. Having had my flights booked for me, by Will and having flown with Easy Jet three times in the last two years, I did the same as what I normally do. Pack a bag and go. However, with Ryanair, you need to have certain bags, that are certain sizes, that are certain weights and go in certain places. My bag, which contained hardly anything at all, was an insufficient size for the overhead compartment and so I had to pay £20 to put it into the hold, which was also the same fee for the return flight! A lesson harshly learnt!

Stag weekends aren’t the places for disappointment, so rather than sulking about doubling my flight price, we headed to the bar where an enthusiastic Will, making an early attempt at “cooler” older brother by buying a round of drinks, including 8 Apple Sourz for us and the first batch of friends who had arrived alongside Benj. Over the next half an hour, amidst the stag party filled Wetherspoons bar within the Stansted departure lounge Benjy’s party started to assemble.

And so, no sooner than it had taken us to polish off a pint and a sourz shot, we were heading through the tunnels that led to our plane. Will, who played his “cooler” older brother role so well a moment ago, was upstaged by me, playing the “muppet” older brothers mate trick, the oldest one in the book. Walking and talking, not watching where you are going and smashing your kneecap into a bench that was obviously put there just for this occasion. With a wave at the “Wayhays” I managed to pass it off quite successfully, even if the limp and tear filled eyes gave it all away.

Being a peripheral figure on a stag weekend, does have some advantages. First of all, on this instance, it was great to be sitting on a plane next to someone other than Gareth. I mean that quite nicely, as Gareth isn’t particular offensive, just that he insists on getting as completely drunk by the time you land as possible. With Will and I, we certainly partook in the drinking ritual, but it was not hardcore and we managed to walk off the plane in a straight line.

Benj, being a seasoned traveller, with the laid back attitude in which all seasoned travellers seem to possess, used all of his experience by booking us into one of Berlin’s premier hostels. At first, I was rather wary, not so much for myself, but maybe for some of the older guys in the group, who maybe wouldn’t be ready to “slum it” as I imagined it to be. Maybe I ought to have not watched the two Hostel films by Eli Roth, which are enough to be the fear into anybody!

Situated on the beautifully named “Templehofer Ufer” the hostel, far exceeded my own expectations. The bunk beds obviously featured prominently, but so did the normal single beds, and a perfectly clean and adequate bathroom. Much to Will and I’s surprise the toilet even came with a urinal, which can be found in any public toilet in the world. First time either of us had seen one inside a hotel room!

We wasn’t hanging around on Templehofer Ufer for very long, firstly the hostel wouldn’t let us check in until 2pm and a group of twenty guys needed beer and breakfast.

I cannot presume what the local waitress thought when twenty guys walked up and settled upon the tables outside her establishment, but after the initial shock she probably saw the € signs light up as we had a good couple of hours sat outside, a few beers, some breakfast and in Benj’s case, a tomato juiced based concoction which threatened to make a reappearance.

There is one rule in my eyes for a stag. Anything goes except anything containing tomato juice! If you buy the stag something with Tomato Juice in it, the rest of the group need to show solidarity and take the drink alongside him. It’s vile, rank, evil, putrid stuff, and a massive salute to Benj who drank a good three quarters and managed to keep in self contained.

With things starting to get into full swing, a new destination was called for, which presented a logistical problem, one that would become familiar as the weekend evolved. With 20 guys, and a vast city to explore and not knowing precisely where places were exactly, we piled into a convoy of taxis with garbled German street names hurriedly text to one another so that we could show our driver where to go. Strabmannstraße, Schamweberstraße, Singerstraße all sounded similar and other than the iconic Fernsehturm gave no real focal point of direction.

On our way to the next destination, crawling along in the lunchtime traffic, Mr Buckby had an emergency nature call, which wasn’t likely to hold out until we got to where were going. Out popped Mr Buckby from our taxi and into the line of trees that separated the road we were on to the parkland beyond. As he disappeared, the taxi in front of us also dispersed with one of its occupants as he too followed Mr Buckby into the tree’s.

As is always the case, the basic formula of beer+time=carnage played out over the course of the afternoon, ably assisted by a ranging variation of word association games that caught out more people than perhaps they should, most notably Mr Buckby, who along with his friend had caught us up to join in the fun. The trickier than it sounds name game gave a couple of laughs, but “Bierce Prosnan” as uttered by the aforementioned Geoffrey had everyone laughing for the rest of the day.

Prior to our Berlin trip, Will enthusiastically told me about his previous weekends trip to a pub in Gravesend, where he took on all comers and reigned supreme on the pool table. So at the first opportunity we had to sink a few balls we took it, with Will obviously the next Ronnie O’Sullivan I had to up my game.... or at least that’s what I thought. Will no longer wishes to play pool against me after I humbled him three games to nil. We could have played best of 7, best of 9, best of 11, such was my supremacy I would have won them all!

Before heading back to Templehofer Ufer and the Aletto Jugendhotel, Will and I went and ate in a Wagamama style restaurant where a couple of the other guys were also enjoying a bite to eat. We had been drinking quite heavily all afternoon and so some spicy noodle concoction went down a treat. We sat talking back upon Amsterdam and how we should maybe get some whacky glasses and try to recreate the vibe all over again. I’m a firm believer that you cannot falsely redo something that was originally spontaneous, so suggested deviating slightly and get a funky hat rather than glasses, it will be the same but different!

Amazingly, there was a shop opposite the Noodle place that would cater for our needs. Will and I had a brief look around and found ourselves a hat each that was both to our liking. Sporting our new headwear we walked back up to meet Benj, Keith and Mr Buckby so that we could catch our cab back. Benj looked rather displeased to see me, which was rather strange as his normally always smiling, or sporting a cheeky grin of some kind. “What the hell are you wearing?” he asked, “You not like it?” I replied. “No Birdy, it’s awful, take it off”.

Apparently, Benj didn’t like my hat, which was ok, because it was actually really nice and he couldn’t see the bigger picture, everyone was bound to like it, “don’t worry” I told him, “it’s fine”.

Having the blessing of a quick hours catnap isn’t something that is usually allowed, but this weekend, the usual rules went out the window. On our return to the Alletto Jugendhotel we had an hour to kill before meeting in the hotel bar for more drinks, so we slept the hour by. I woke up with the worst headache I have had in a longtime, an evening hangover is always the worse, except it was made more intense when I had seen this bright white thing on the floor of our room. This monstrosity of a hat, cowboy in style, with a black ribbon and a wide rim which was straight rather than the traditional ‘curved up’ rim. Brat Pack, it wasn’t, crap Pack it certainly was and Benj was owed an apology!

Seeing as we were in a hostel, and I was still half drunk and half hungover, I figured that there must be a catch somewhere as everything was normal, in fact it was a lot nicer than the place we stayed at in Tallinn. I figured therefore that it was the shower that was the weak link, it had run out of hot water and the only way to shower was the Eskimo way. It was freezing! I had never been so cold, great for sobering up, terrible for my headache. So I cautioned Will as went in to be quick as it was cold. He had no problem at all, apparently the dials went in the four directions which I failed to notice and that the hot water was working just fine!

That evening, a varied mix of bars, beer, Jagermeister, Red Bull and taxi’s as we weaved in and around Berlin on the hunt for a decent bar, music and local people having a good time. With a rep or tour guide you are always in the right place at the right time, but with a DIY tour it becomes a little hit or miss.

Our first bar, dark and atmospheric was a great place to start, most notably as one of the lavatory’s had been daubed “The Worst Toilet in Scotland”, a tribute to Trainspotting which wasn’t far wrong.

After a bar or two we head off in search of a nightclub, which proved to be tougher than first thought. We attempted to get into the famous Watergate Club which we were all pleasantly declined entry due to being too many people en masse, not quite posh enough, too drunk, too English or a mix of all four.

Opposite the Watergate Club was the rather large looking Speicher club, which we headed too next, but it seemed as if were slightly too early for all of the action. Right on the river Spree, the opposite bank to Watergate we sat outside on the large terrace enjoying the views and the late summer night air waiting for the hoards of German clubbers to arrive.

With one last throw of the clubbers guide to Berlin dice, we decided not to wait for the party, but to find one of our own. Heading on to another of Benj's “Top Tips”, a club called Icon, just another short taxi journey away. This place, was awesome! Well, I loved it anyway, I cannot speak for anyone else, as on arrival, finally finding clubbing mecca, I head off into the mass of people, found myself at the front of the dance floor and let myself jump wildly around to the booming electronic trance music that was engulfing the cavern and two hundred so sweaty German clubbers.

After a while, fairly alcoholically inebriated, the wild jumping turned into a more sedate and somewhat typical of me dance movement, closed eyes, waving arms, not really in time with the music but exhausted, drunken appreciation of the noise and ambience surrounding me.

Fully aware, that I was in my own little planet, I made a conscious decision to return back to earth and see if I could find Will or some of the other guys. It was a little odd, but returning back to the bar I was introduced to Robbie Coltrane, or at least that's who I thought it was, instead it was Benj's best man, Mave, who has an uncanny resemblance... in the dark.... through drunken eyes....

Reunited with Will, admonished on two accounts for a) drinking water, and b) doing a disappearing act despite my protests. We spent the rest of the evening dancing along to the hardcore trance music and appreciating the subterranean setting and passion in which the German locals enjoyed their evening.

Leaving the Icon club is hazy, but I am certain that a taxi would have been involved! At some point a McDonalds came via our path. I know this because Will had a Big Mac, then another, and another. He ate so many Big Mac's that I cannot remember whether it was six or eight! Even so, Reaso, who once ate 40 chicken nuggets and a family sized desert by himself would have been immensely impressed!

Six thirty Will and I made it home, we had a great innings! Not sure what happened back at the hostel, but I awoke three hours later, in bed on the top bunk to an empty room and the door wide open into the hallway. I was at first relieved, normally I find myself in a hallway on the floor, or am being awoken by someone who finds me in the hallway on the floor! But Will was missing! I checked the phone, he had sent me an earlier message, shortly after arriving home that he was next door in with Benj. He had awoken naked in the top bunk, sharing a room with three other guys!

If the previous day had been an exploration into some of the various watering holes that Berlin has to offer, day two offered a little respite and a rare opportunity to see some of the sites that make up Berlin's colourful history.

As no day's activity had been prearranged, Will and I, armed with a map and chief navigator, Mr Buckby, head off on foot towards the Brandenburg gate. On previous stag weekends we had spent most of the day go-karting or in the case of Budapest, shooting guns. But, luckily we were left to our own devices and saw up close things that we had only previously read about or seen on television.

Before reaching the Brandenburg gate, we came across the “Place of Remembrance”, a stunning memorial to the Jewish people murdered in World War II. Although nothing is obviously ever going to make up for those atrocities or make amends to those who were wronged, the memorial itself is something to admire, even if it is purely on architectural merits. Comprising of 2,711 concrete blocks of different heights, lined out within a grid panel, the symmetry and lines created by these blocks amidst undulating ground is something well worth seeing.

Still feeling hungover, still tired and on a never ending supply of orange Fanta we reached the Brandenburg gates alongside hundreds of other tourists.

Unlike some of London's historical sites the Brandenburg gates themselves were slightly underwhelming, or at least not as imposing as much as I thought they would be. It wasn't until you compared them to their surroundings you could tell of a greater significance, or at least a hint that matched the knowledge of their past. On either side of the gates was a road, longer than The Mall in London in either direction, east and west, completing the historical picture.

Hardly mature, or at all respectful, nonetheless Will and I thought that we would make our mark at the gates, by placing ourselves in the background of as many tourist photographs as possible, whilst posing, as if pondering a world weary problem and upon the threshold of a solution. It worked a treat, although Will was much more successful than I, due mainly to being able to keep a straight face, whilst I, 29 years old, giggled like Oliver.

During the course of the early afternoon, passing many sites on the West side of the gates heading back to our hostel (where we were to meet with Keith), walking through various parks, past historical looking buildings and generally people watching I got the impression that Berlin was a place that I would very much like to come back to. In fact, all of the places in Europe that I have been over the past two years I would love to come back with Steph and have a proper exploration, a look around and a sample of the proper “tourist” attractions that are on offer.

On reaching the Templehofer Ufer we received news of a rendezvous, a bar alongside a local craft market, which was on the Eastern side of the gates, a place in which I would frustrate Will and Benj by politely eating my Pizza with a knife and fork rather than rolling it, folding it and flopping it all in. After the welcome pitstop, in which beer made an unwelcome reappearance we took a walk back as a group, taking in the sites of the East side before finally ending back at the Brandenburg gates, albeit the other side to which Will, Geoff and I were only a few hours before.

Unsure of a certain plan of action, unlike the gates behind us and what they signified, we divided, split by taxis and destination unknown. Will, Geoff, Keith and I made our way back to the hotel in order to find a local bar showing some Premier League football.

We found a bar, a small, cosy place, sitting in the back as if in someone's back room whilst watching Fulham vs Arsenal. The beers, at first going down rather delicately soon found a niche and back in the game we were! All the while, telephone messages where being directed too and fro between Will and Benj whom had found a bar in which he declared was pretty awesome!

By the time we had showered, changed and made our way to this “awesome” bar, Benj was in pretty bad shape!

Barely able to talk, stand up straight and drinking Mojitos, Benj was truly in the stag spirit and should be commended for his performance! The bar itself, lived up to Benj’s billing and was pretty damn awesome! We were drinking in the garden of a bar off the main street. The garden itself was actually one of Berlin’s famous “Urban Beaches”, sand (lots of it), beach huts, palm trees and the best bit for me, was the sculptures dotted around made up of recycled materials and used for seating. For example, an old bath, with a “U” shape cut out, seating material laid at the bottom for a bespoke settee.

If the exterior sculptures were a surprise to me, I was not prepared for what else was in store. Berlin is famous for many things, as mentioned throughout this blog, but it’s growing a deserved recognition for its “Urban Art”. Alongside the beach were a series of fairly dilapidated looking buildings, of which one overlooking the beach had a bar on or around the fourth floor, offering a great vantage point at the beach below.

To make your way up to the bar, you had to go into a doorway that looked, upon first impressions as if Nelson Mandela House had been hit by a bomb. There was the interior springs of an old mattress covering the floor, the walls were adorning with graffiti, fliers, posters and the floor was littered with all of the same. In fact, we all paused, wondered if it was the right way to go, but it was. On closer inspection of our surroundings, other than the natural dust of a concrete stairwell the whole place was immaculately clean. All of the paper, fliers and posters were naturally placed there, as too was the mattress carcass. It was all created as a work of art, in which we were walking through. Each floor as we made our way up towards the bar was openly accessible; the rooms that inhabited each floor were artist’s workshops where paintings, craftworks and sculptures were on display for sale or for show.

Its places like this, like the open air nightclub in Budapest on top of a building that surprise and delight, making the stag experience slightly more memorable after the alcohol had done its work in blotting it all out.

As we continued on into the night, Benj defying all of my expectations in lasting until the early hours, standing at the bar, feeling the love, wanting to buy the whole world a drink as a gesture of gratitude, Will and Mr Buckby, convincing him that there was no need (there really wasn’t) a tender moment ensued when the Buckby trio embraced, a choked up Benj declaring his love to all, but mostly to Laura, his wife to be.

Will and I, having said goodnight to Benj, who finally ran out of gas and Mr Buckby and Keith who were erring on the side of caution with an early wakeup call of 7am in the morning to catch our flight home, head off along with the other guys, in an attempt to find a club that would see us through until dawn.

Despite numerous attempts to communicate with locals, it appeared as if the Bang Bang Club didn’t exist. We managed to find it eventually, after entertaining ourselves en-route by various light hearted conversations and misleading flirting with several “ladies of the night” who lined the main street. But it appeared once again that our timings where all wrong. The Bang Bang Club, despite what it may sound like is actually a live music nightclub with a performer each night , which we had unfortunately missed.

Will and I, deep in conversation at the bar, turned around and the rest of the party where nowhere to be seen! Not having anyone else’s number we weren’t able to call and see where they had got to, they couldn’t have gotten far. Never mind, seemingly lost and abandoned we would have to fend for ourselves! As the Bang Bang Club was winding down, we left, hailing another cab and headed for Matrix, a club we had seen on a flier earlier in the day.

As with the previous night, Matrix was on the money! With one large floor split into three different dance floors, a large outside area, and a bright, funky interior it seemed a shame we had lost the others! Knowing that we had time to kill before our wake up call, Will and I spent the rest of the night dancing along to the R&B sounds whilst watching scantily clad podium dancers gyrating high above the dance floor and respecting the German enthusiasm for having a party!

All good things must end, and indeed they did. Heading back in the early hours of the morning, we ambitiously decided to walk back to the hostel, not really knowing where we were, or which direction we needed to go! I was under strict instructions to keep Will from entering a McDonalds establishment, finding another German street food vendor instead and enjoying a Bratwurst roll with all the trimmings, something all visitors to Germany should sample! We eventually gave up, the days walking, night dancing and more early morning walking had taken its toll and we flagged down our final cab to take us back home.

Each place, each weekend needs to be taken on its own merits, comparing Tallinn with Budapest, with Amsterdam and Berlin is nigh on impossible. Different cultures, different sights, sounds, history and diversity. It’s also the people that you share your experiences with. If I was to learn anything from Berlin, it would be about people’s ability to learn from the past, that people we were years ago are not the people that we are now. If a nation of people has the ability to mend deep wounds, too unite in the face of diversity, our petty squabbles are shown in the context that they really are.

The whole weekend was a sleep deprived exploration of one of Europe’s greatest cities, if not one of the world’s greatest cities. Berlin is for sure a place to visit again, and one that I will hopefully go back to. Finishing this off, ten days after our return is something of a rarity for me, but the combination of work commitments coupled with sheer exhaustion as a result of those two days has meant a little delay on this blog, for that, Es tut mir leid.

Monday, 7 September 2009

The Anniversary Man

Book Review

Early autumn is seemingly a great time for hot literature releases, with Roger Ellory's "The Anniversary Man", being followed by Dan Brown's highly anticipated "The Lost Symbol" and the final instalment of Stieg Larssons Millennium Trilogy, "The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest". I pre-ordered all three a while ago via Amazon and was attempting to save all of them for our week in Turkey next month.

However, this weekend, sandwiched either side of the holy matrimony and alcohol infused celebration that was Carly and Reaso's wedding, I spent some time in a much darker place, New York, in the presence of a man named Ray Irving as he liaised with John Costello, a survived victim of a serial killer known as "The Hammer of God" murderer. A place which I don't think would have been suited to the tranquillity and warmth of an Aegean odyssey.

I have eulogised over the works of Roger Ellory previously within the confines of this blog, and whilst doing so have possibly exhausted my repertoire of superlatives in the process. You would be forgiven for thinking that I have developed a minor fixation about an author who is making waves in the world of literacy and crime fiction in particular. But having spoken to Roger via email on several occasions my championing has been well received and enthusiastically encouraged.

Having received my package containing Ellory's latest novel, "The Anniversary Man" on Friday I settled down with a cup of coffee, Oliver asleep, all the boys were out toasting Reaso on his pending marriage and Stephanie was keeping Carly's thoughts occupied whilst mine were transported into the darkest recesses of a man's imagination, intertwined with the true life facts of some of history's notorious evils.

This isn't a celebratory book glamorising the deeds of those who have committed heinous crimes, instead, it's a homage of the darker elements of human nature and an exploration of those people who have had their life's changed by the wanton acts of a select few.

Although a thriller, containing the correct ingredients tightly packed with the usual twists, turns and edge of your seat excitement that a good thriller needs in order to live up to it's name. The Anniversary Man, as in all Ellory books goes beyond the usual formula by having a protagonist that isn't perfect, that is fundamentally flawed and using a word that Ellory uses frequently, has idiosyncrasies that define his character and sets him apart.

Ray Irving, whom we follow throughout the novel, is a Police Detective that has been assigned a murder case. We meet him as a secondary introduction, after learning the fate of John Costello, a sixteen year old boy whose budding relationship is ruined one night by a serial murderer going by the name of "The Hammer of God" killer. Although attacked and left for dead, Costello survived, but his girlfriend became another haunting statistic, which changed Costello's life irrevocably.

Costello, now a grown man, but not the man that he would have become had fate not played it's card, and Irving, the man in charge of a murder investigation become allies, or do they? All part of the web of intrigue and mystery as the book progresses.

Recalling the real life acts of America's worst, Ted Bundy, The Zodiac, The Sunset Slayers and John Wayne Gacy, it is clear that Ellory has researched fastidiously the details to create a tale that is clever in it's execution (excuse the pun!), as previous serial killings are replicated by a "copycat killer" and the source of Ray Irving and John Costello's plight. But it's in the re-creation of the Amityville Horrors which make for terrifying reading. The front cover contains a quote by Cliver Cussler "The perfect author to read late into the night", but for those of a weak disposition you may want to wait until daylight before reading that particular scene!

Whereas A Quiet Believe in Angels, and to a degree, A Quiet Vendetta are evocative passages through time, with prose that is more akin to poetry and containing a romantic undertone that isn't about love, but about a sense of being and belonging, comparing The Anniversary Man with those wouldn't do either of them any justice, they are different novels completely, even though they fall under the "crime thriller" genre.

It is for that very reason which makes Ellory so special and the reasoning behind my superfandom! Making a crime novel, that is more than a crime novel, exploring the human reaction to the implications of man's actions, whether it be political (A Simple Act of Violence) or in this case psychological. Putting normal people in subnormal situations is Ellory's mantra, and lucky for us readers we get to go along for the ride!

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

More than A Reason


Everyone knows how special a wedding day is, and in the past few years Stephanie, Oliver and I have witnessed several of our close friends and family enjoying their own, unique occasions and we have felt privileged to be a part of each and everyone.

This weekend, barely a month since Stephanie was “Maid of Honour” at her sister’s wedding; she resumes the nuptial role once more for her best friend Carly, whom shall marry my fellow Gillingham supporting fanatic Andrew in becoming Mr and Mrs Reason!

Stephanie and Carly have been friends since school and have grown up together, shared those first tentative steps into their teenage years, sharing the growing pains and first experiences that teenage and early adult lives brings, the first boyfriends, the first kisses, the first time drunk and first holidays abroad on their own.

I am guessing, purely from my own imagination, but I can imagine the two of them as young girls sitting in a pink bedroom, with fluffy teddy dolls and pictures of Take That adorning the walls with wedding magazines sitting down and planning the day that they would both become princesses and live happy ever after, riding into the sunset in a pumpkin carriage pulled by white horses.

It was, a much less innocent time that I first met Carly, whom was with Stephanie on a night out in town, when I would frequently bumping into them whilst under the influence, or in more sober moments sat upon my checkout at Safeway whilst the pair of them, always together did their shopping.

It was Carly, who was once again Stephanie’s companion whom witnessed the fateful night in which Stephanie and I took our playful flirting that one step further and subsequently helped Stephanie compose a list of pros and cons against pursuing a relationship with me. The irony is, it was Carly who I felt was the better looking out of the two and a relationship with either wasn’t anything I had envisaged!

Still, I cannot help but wonder, what would the list of pro’s and con’s say were the two of them to write it now, twelve years later?

When Carly and Stephanie were sat crossed legged on the bed with their magazines, describing their dream men, would the images of me and Andrew, fondly known by all as Reaso have been drifting around in their heads?

Reaso, tall, dark, but I wouldn’t say handsome, but quite possibly fits all the identikit boxes that Carly would have dreamt of all those years ago. If I was to write a list of pros and cons, the pros would significantly outweigh those going against him.

Reaso and I have a shared passion, and through our devotion, love and downright dedication to the cause it is any wonder either of us have found two women in which we shall share out our days. For both of them, remarkably enough are happy to accept second place in our lives, runners up to Gillingham Football Club. Together we have shared the joys of promotions, glorious cup runs and the heartbreak of relegation, behind all of which have been two women putting up with our polarised feelings of jubilation and dejection.

It was because of our mutual love for the Gills that I was invited to spend Reaso’s 21st birthday with him and his family in Las Vegas back in 2002. Along with Mark, the third component of a trio of devotee’s that travel far and wide, including a midweek trip to Sunderland in which we flew to Newcastle, staying overnight at a hotel at the airport before travelling back early the next morning in readiness for work, all in the name of dedication to a mutual love.

It was a huge honour to have been part of Reaso’s 21st birthday celebrations and fondly recall an unforgettable week’s stay. My abiding memory will always be the returning state of Reaso after his very first experience of “Adult Entertainment”.

Having with me a guide book listing what’s hot, what’s not of Las Vegas, what to do and what to steer clear of. We frequently read the section entitled “Strip Clubs”. As we were in Las Vegas, it was only right and proper that we did what Vegas does. However, for three impressionable young 21 year olds finding a club that was befitting of our experience, i.e. none, proved to be quite daunting. Come the final night, after an incredible celebratory meal held within the elegant confines of the Venetian hotel we set out to break our own unofficial taboo and headed towards Cheetahs, a club which our bible guide declared as being perfect for first time tourists.

Discreetly as possible, we informed the bellhop that we would indeed like a taxicab to take us to Cheetahs which we whispered and tried to pass off as a cough. The bellhop, not one of the quietest men in the world exclaimed, embarrassingly loud for our liking “Cheetahs dudes, ROCK ON!”. So much for discreet!

Now Reaso, is a very smartly attired chap, often found wearing a shirt and shoes to football whilst the rest of us wear shorts and t-shirt. I think that this has more to do with his aversion to the sun. Being whiter than white, a mere glance at the sun often involves second or third degree burns. Now, on this particularly evening, with the meal and all, Reaso was wearing his best shirt, neatly pressed, tucked into his best pressed trousers looking typically polished. This was indeed the case as he disappeared with a young lady, whom took him off to a place in which a little dancing performance occurs, nothing too saucy or anything in which we could possibly get into any trouble. So it was with some surprise when Reaso returned rather dishevelled. Sweating profusely, lipstick marks upon his cheek, his nicely pressed shirt was untucked and undone, his rather white face was a similar color to the label upon my Budweiser bottle and it was impossible to get a word out of him for at least another hour. Just a random shake of the head was all we got from him until it was replaced by a beaming smile which lasted the best part of three months.

It would take forever to write about all the shared memories, in Steph and Carly’s case, more than half a lifetime. Reaso nearly getting arrested in Crete on our first night after serenading a stolen mop down the main street, or his frequent releases of gas accompanied by a pirouette, which is a site to behold and probably his one and only entry onto the con’s side of the list!

Having a blog and writing these recollections before our friends get married has been a blessing and a little way in thanking people for friendship and wishing them the best in a way that is slightly unique. It also gives me a way in looking at hindsight and getting older, looking back at things that happened and accepting my role in things and being able to put things into a more mature context.

In the words of an old work colleague of mine who has since gone self employed and works partly as a life coach. He has a blog in which one of his earlier posts also reflected upon life, albeit in a more professional capacity. He talks about the people you meet and how they are classified within the greater context of one’s life, which I have copied below:

"A reason, a season, or a lifetime. Whoever you are with in your life, they will be one of those three. Making the most of a relationship is about understanding and accepting which one you and they are.

People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. When you figure out which one it is, you will know what to do for each person. When someone is in your life for a reason, it is usually to meet a need you have expressed. They have come to assist you through a difficulty or through a time of rapid growth; to provide you with guidance and support, to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually. They may seem like exactly the right person at exactly the right time – and they are! They are there for the reason you need them to be. Then, without any wrong doing on your part, or at an inconvenient time, this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end. Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand. Perhaps you will feel that the relationship is no longer working and it is time to end it. What you must realise is that your need has been met, your desire fulfilled, their work is done. You were in each other’s lives to fulfil some reason and, now that’s done, it is time to move on. When people come into your life for a season, it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn. You bring to each other tremendous experiences. You may teach each other something new, or open your eyes to new experiences. you can give each other lots of happiness and contentment. It is real, it is right, but it is only for a season. There will come a time when you are no longer growing together, when both of you need to move on. A lifetime relationship is the one that builds on the foundation of all the other relationships and it usually comes into your life when you have been enriched by reason and season relationships. There will be both joyous times and hard times, and there is still lots to learn and share: because lifetime relationships teach you lifetime lessons."

I read this a little while ago, and it resonated with me and I couldn’t help but think about how if I had read this earlier in life, it would have given me a better sense of perspective, a greater barometer of reality.

Ultimately, two special people who have played a massive role in mine and Stephanie’s lives, indeed, firing cupid’s arrow arguably defined mine and Stephanie’s lives together, have given us “once in a lifetime” opportunities, laughs and memories aplenty and are now sharing in with Oliver’s life as role models and offer support that goes beyond friendship. For that we can but only thank them, and most likely won’t ever be able to repay them.

Two people finding each other, not for just a reason, for more than a season and certainly more than a lifetime.

Monday, 6 July 2009

Amazing Amsterdam


Life is for living and taking in experiences when you get the opportunity. With the opening of cheap flight routes to mainland Europe I have been fortunate to have previously enjoyed weekends of 'carnage' in Tallinn and Budapest, both of which still live long in the memories. Now that my good friend, fondly known as Reaso begins to count down the days of his pending marriage to Carly, I was given the opportunity to help celebrate his last weekend of freedom in the Dutch capital of Amsterdam.

At first, I wasn't particularly enthused with the idea, after all Amsterdam is famously known for it's relaxed attitude to recreational drugs and apparent 'seediness' of it's sexual tourism, both of which slightly daunted me and I can honestly say held not much in the way of mass appeal.

However, Amsterdam surprised me, the two things that seemed daunting before we arrived, it became clear that reputations clearly stand for nothing and you shouldn't always believe a, the hype and b, everything you read.

With a customary early morning rendezvous at Mid-Kent golf club once again the meeting point of another legendary weekend we left knowing that unlike last time around, off to Budapest, we would be facing a mere hop on an Easy Jet shuttle, rather than a four-hour beer fest that left most of us fearing deportation before passing customs.

Arriving bright eyed and bushy tailed through the "no goods to declare" sign we could have been forgiven for feeling a bit like party poopers as it appeared that everyone was waiting for someone with home made banners or balloons, even the taxi drivers looked happy to be waiting for someone. Not knowing it at the time, it kind of set the scene with everyone being relaxed, laid back and sporting a smile. Maybe the powers that be are right in adopting there liberal attitudes after all?

From Mid Kent to the Hotel Terminus all within a highly acceptable 7 hours left us all keen to start sinking some well overdue beer. Unable to check in until midday we were fortunately allowed to leave our bags behind giving us the chance for some preliminary exploration without the added hassle of carrying our luggage around with us.

Our first stop, also in search of breakfast found us out straight away with the price of beer knocking on for €6, which was to work out upon the steeper side of the scale, so rather than spending more than was necessary we embarked upon a little journey of exploration attempting to find something within an acceptable price range.

Once fed and watered, we left under the expert guidance of best man Dan, whom did a stirling job all weekend, in search of more alcohol - a search that wouldn't take us far, indeed within most of the streets in our immediate vicinity you could go from door to door, bar to bar without getting very far.

However, our first stop, next to one of many 'coffeeshops' gave some of the boys an early opportunity to sample the chance to have a 'smoke' - Amsterdam style. Now before we left I vowed to stay clear of any type of activity of this nature, as on a previous experiment I found myself having a rather adverse reaction to the effects in which smoking of this kind can bring. Me being me, and hopeless at staying away in these situations thought that I would be able to sit down quietly with those who were partaking and enjoy the atmosphere.

Instead, I found myself back in the other bar talking with Stuart, unable to keep a straight face and laughing at nothing in particular unable to stop. Stuart, for which I feel incredibly guilty about was quite concerned for my welfare and had to be reassured that this was just a stage in which I would soon recover.

It took me slightly longer than anticipated, and by the time I had we have moved on to another spot, outside in the sun next to the canal which helped 'chill' me out a little bit, despite the fact everyone was talking about me and blaming me for everything and anything, itself I believe another side effect to my inhalations!

As I came out of my self induced coma our first awards ceremony took place, which was the beginning of a very slippery slope for most of us. Each award was a shot of Jagermeister, received within a larger glass containing a splash of red bull. Now the recipients of said awards were not for contributions to literature or world peace, but indeed for services thus far in the stag weekend. Reaso got one, along with his pint for being the groom, someone else got one for a dodgy set of footwear and I myself got one for being a lightweight and my refusal to step away from a given situation. Although this may still be a result of my self induced paranoia.

With time heading onwards, and us needing to check-in to out hotel we headed back for a quick shower, a change of clothes and for most a little respite from the alcohol caning we had endured so far.

Not for long! Back out into the tiny roads of bars, coffeehouses and shops that sold all kinds of sexual related products catering for all tastes and variety's, we went off searching for yet more drink. Although this time around it appeared that we had lost one of the men we had come with and gained a baby instead. Poor babyfaced Reaso, as part of the tradition in which stag weekends dictate, the stag must be subjected to as many trials and face as much humiliation as is humanely possible. His first "biggy" was to spend the rest of the day dressed up as a baby, including a full sized adult babygrow, complete with bibs (adorned with plenty of expletives), a dummy and was forced to drink his drinks from a specially adapted beaker.

As if the costume was already socially uncomfortable, Amsterdam was also sharing the UK's heatwave , making Reaso's babygrow rather hot and very very sweaty! Perfect punishment then for a groom to be!

Following an impromptu pool competition in which I managed four attempts to take a break before finally hitting the cueball we head off into the night searching for an evening meal. We finally settled upon a Chinese restaurant just about big enough to fit us all in. We could have eaten goat chow mein for none of us probably knew any better. It doesn't say much for the state we were in by this time as even Gareth joined in with the eating and this is a guy who orders omlette and chips from the Chinese back home.

I have actually realised writing this that the chronology is wrong here somewhere, as before I attempt to remember the next step it struck me that Reaso had actually changed by this point. Did we all go back and change, or did he sneak off before dinner and revert back to the neatly manicured man we all know?

Anyhow, back to the task at hand. I had obviously sampled one of Amsterdam's famous vices and was looking forward to the other, not necessarily sampling upon what is displayed in certain windows, but some of the Gentlemen clubs put on shows which you probably don't get to see anywhere else, certainly not as publicly advertised as in Amsterdam.

We entered the first place in which we came across the Moulin Rouge, after enquiring about prices/drink deals etc and appeared quite good value for money compared to others that we had seen on the internet. Although the Moulin Rouge website, an incredibly hilarious series of flash animations and most definitely Not Suitable for Work doesn't detail the prices I think it was about €20 each with 2 drink tokens and a 60 minute show. Although this actually worked out cheaper for us, as Stuart who doesn't like to pay for anything unless he has to managed to sneak in and get in for free!

Actually, I think Stuart must of had a whiff of the Amsterdam air and seen a vision from the future that told him it wasn't actually worth paying the money, as he, alongside Nick, another of our stag do party both fell asleep as things left unsaid were occurring upon the stage! In fact, it was rather hilarious, I don't think that the act had seen anything like it. Rather than all eyes being on them half the audience were pointing at Stuart and Nick giggling at them instead!

Despite the things that were occurring on stage, the audience, again a massive surprise to me was not an all male lineup. Instead there were small groups of girls, couples of all ages and general tourists, not all stag weekenders. One of my concerns about Amsterdam was that it would be full of all male groups on stag weekends and we would be walking about careful not to get caught amongst big groups of leery guys.

After our time was up (and we had awoken Stuart and Nick from their slumber) we head out back into the Red Light district in search of another bar and yet more alcohol. Rather than fight our way amongst the hoards of people queuing outside windows ready for their turn, which is another myth I had heard before I arrived, there were plenty of people around, but again, as the Moulin Rouge audience, people milling around were everyday tourists, people who were curious to see what it was all about, groups of people, not pervy looking men waiting for a quick fix to their urges. I found the whole thing quite funny actually, walking past a window and a gorgeous women in a bikini is waving at your "Hello honey" and blowing you kisses, you blow one back tell you be back in a minute and carry on your way!

Rather than stick around the Red Light we had heard about a club called Escape which was a short taxi ride, but cabs are so London, we got a bike ride instead. Two people sitting on the back of a specially adapted bike ridden by a cyclist who is being shouted at in encouragement to pedal faster, to beat the guy riding next to you, whose driving two of your mates is so much more fun - and a lot more environmental friendly!

Through alcohol or a good old fashioned breakdown in communication we ended up in an Albert like square outside of Escape sitting drinking a beer in a bar whilst waiting for Stuart and Gareth. As they didn't show we presumed that they had jilted us and so a contingency plan was put into place instead. Much to my dismay we wouldn't be going to Escape, but to another, smaller club called Smokey Joes opposite instead.

As it happened, Smokey Joes was awesome. Will who would have loved it even more than me had fallen asleep and fallen by the wayside, three down, ten more to go! With a mixture of music dotted around a stream of Michael Jackson songs, plus me being incredibly drunk, sporting a rather flowery shirt and an oversized pair of white sunglasses I could have been anywhere and still had just as much fun! As it was, the soundtrack mixed in with my state of mind led me to occasionally believe that I was the King of Pop reincarnated and pulled off some shapes to match. Knowing only too well how terrible I am when I am sober I can't begin to think what this must have looked like, but the photographic evidence of the evening suggests no such foul play was committed.

How we got home, a mystery, whom with, or who else was still standing? A guess! But Mark left me in reception at the hotel asking me if I knew where I was going, indeed I was, but I never had a door key and the elusive Stuart and Gareth were still to be found. After finding my way back to reception and attempting to explain my predicament to the staff I was still locked out.

The next morning I awoke in a corridor of the hotel, had been asleep on the floor outside, not mine, but three complete strange rooms. Looking at my watch which said 9am, I was convinced that it was 3pm and I had missed all of today's fun. It took me ten minutes to regain a little bit of myself and finding my way back to the correct room. I knocked and was answered by Stuart and Gareth who asked where I had been and laughing as they thought I had been sleeping in one of the other guys rooms - no such luck! I was aching like hell! As we sat attempting to piece together the night before Stuart stuck further salt into my wounds when he explained that he and Gareth had gone straight into Escape and had a great time in the huge nightclub opposite the road from us!

Day two, traditionally for us at least is activity day, rather than watch Gareth wet himself holding a pistol again, we stuck with the tried and tested Go-Karting formula. I, having only ever been once previously felt that I needed some inspiration, so wore my official Lewis Hamilton t-shirt, won last month from a McLaren e-shop Twitter poll. It did exactly as I hoped it would do, but not quite as much as I would have liked. Having finished a long way last on my previous go I finished a respectable fourth from last instead. Indeed, with McLarens performances this year that's a rather nice parallel.

The biggest surprise of the day, was Stuart. Continuing his own personal weekend theme of turning the form book upside down and being uncharacteristic in every respect, rather than finishing in his usual second place, he romped home in first place, leaving him beaming gaily on top of the podium spraying champagne with the familiarity of Jenson Button this season so far.

In the end however, Stuart was to find himself overshadowed once again, and it took something special to do it. As I said earlier on in this post, stag humiliation and trials of a jocular nature are a staple of a stag weekend. Death defying feats are optional, but people tend to leave these off the itinerary at a risk of upsetting the bride to be. This however, was exactly what happened to Reaso!

The go-karting circuit, inside an extremely large warehouse was actually home to a lot more besides a racetrack. Indeed there were plenty of racing related arcade machines, but there was also a bowling alley and an annexe containing quite possibly the biggest indoor play centre I have ever seen. The main draw however was the "Wall of Death". Fairly difficult to explain unless you have personally seen one, but it simply consists of a round room, with a bowl like floor, rising up to around two stories high. Situated at the bottom of the bowl is a modified go-kart. The driver, in this instance Reaso, is then strapped in all nicely, given a quick briefing and is expected to floor the go-kart, pedal to the metal, in hope of driving as high up the wall as possible in a vertical spiralling motion.

I presume that the idea is also to successfully reach a certain plateau upon the wall, before skillfully changing direction and spiralling back in a reverse trajectory. Before Reaso took his now legendary go-kart for a spin and was preparing himself, the rest of us where watching in wonder through special windows in the walls which gave us all and ideal viewport of the action. The walls were lined with a series of colour markers. I presume that these are visual aids to inform the driver as to where they are, as I can imagine things get blurry rather quickly. I along with some of the others didn't think that highly of Reaso's task and so didn't think he would get much further than the green marker, which was the first, just above the bowl area of the bottom, two meters up.

It was therefore with much laughter and hilarity as Reaso whizzed by our windows, seeing the bottom of the go-kart speeding by, a good 6-8 meters up and steadily climbing, until, well I am not too sure what happened, I guess Reaso doesn't either, but I guess he reached the top, had no further to go and fell all the way back to the bottom landing the go-kart upside down with an almighty noise, which caused two seconds of "what the ****" and then everyone trying to get in the locked room to rescue the still upside down Reaso.

From the funniest thing ever, to potentially the most defying, in hindsight we can look back and start giggling again, but seeing Reaso upside down in the go-kart after falling that distance was not a pleasant experience. After a careful extraction process Reaso hobbled out of the room that was known as the "wall of death" with a shake of the head and limp where he had bashed his knee on the way down. Lesser men would have broken, or beat the hell out of all those watching, but Reaso, what a guy, a gentlemen to the end!

Still, what can you do when your life flashes before your eyes? Well I guess, we were in Amsterdam, and we did what we knew, found a bar, had a drink, those who smoke, smoked. I laughed some more, but not quite so much and we found ourselves back outside in the sun next to the canal having another award ceremony.

Luckily, our close proximity to the canal never resulted in any major casualties, although Will losing a flip-flop was the closest we came. Cue much more laughter, which is truly infectious, especially in Amsterdam. The bars being al fresco, containing groups of people smoking certain things that induce laughter. With them all being close to each other it only takes one guy to start laughing raucously at one end of the road for it to contagiously pass along the street with ease.

It wasn't long before, with me being a fairly lightweight drinker that I was asleep after finding a nice quiet area of a bar somewhere. The nights previous escapades finally taking it's toll. Quite rightly I was subject to abuse, however I wasn't aware of the extent until much later when looking back through the photographic evidence and noticing a naked posterior rather closer to my nose than is actually necessary! (I still have these, but will remain unpublished to save myself and the posteriors owners blushes)

Friday afternoon turned into Friday evening, and the fun and laughter continued apace. Pushup competitions were spontaneously undertaken in tribute to James, brother of Reaso whom, for reasons unknown started the trend on arrival at Amsterdam airport by dropping down and giving ten pushups from the knuckles. Now, non attendee readers of the post, and whom are still reading this far, (thank you) but this isn't normal day to day behaviour of any of us. Yet stick us on an Easy Jet flight somewhere and send a couple of pints our way all sorts of uncharacteristic things start happening!

Talking of uncharacteristic brings me back around to Stuart once again! Having finally arrived inside Escape and loving every minute of it, dreams of Ibiza as I once again start pulling some awful, drunken shapes alongside everyone else, even Carly's Dad who joined in absolutely everything all weekend and played a non-stop blinder, Stuart hit the proverbial brick wall and couldn't withstand anymore. In the morning post mortem it was discovered that he left alone at 2.30 am, headed home, stopping for a Chinese for one before leaving it unopened and passing out in the comfort of his hotel bed! Those who know the normal, non Amsterdam version of Stuart will find the whole tale rather difficult to believe!

With the boom boom boom of the electo dance music getting too much to bare we left Escape and headed back over to the previous nights venue, Smokey Joes which was packed to bursting and playing a lighter brand of club music, mixed in with some old classics and remixed Bob Marley. After my succession of bottles of water drunk within the confines of Escape I hit the booze again in the form of Tia Maria and Orange jucie, the old smarties substitute which was going down a lot easier than the constant stream of beers which had been consumed for most of the weekend.

It was in Smokey Joes that I had noticed Gareth's hat. It had been a souvenier from the previous night and along with the various lary shades formed our wardrobe accessories for the duration of the weekend. Again, not normal day to day behaviour, but something in the stag weekend air compells such random acts of foolishness. Now Gareths hat was a straw cowboy hat and it was in a little state of disrepair when it came into his possession. What was a minor tear around the edges of the hat became a major gash, and little by little, strand by strand the hat began to disappear. Leaving, by 6.30 when we arrived back at the hotel a straw fez with a brown leather bottom, which was where the rest of the hat was originally intended, something perfectly highlighted if you follow the photographic story from beginning to end.

We left Smokey Joes in the brilliant brightness of a beautiful Amsterdam dawn. The streets around the club were fairly busy with fellow 'all nighters' but as we got further away, the streets became quieter and we had a laugh and joke, mostly at Gareths expense all the way back to Hotel Terminus, where we rudely awoke Stuart, called him a few choice words before crashing into a slumber ourselves.

The morning after the night before is always fairly painful, but for none more so than for Will, whom when I first saw him in the morning was sitting on the floor outside the hotel physically shaking and looking, well dog rough to be fair! It transpires that Will's affliction was the direct result of too many cans of Red Bull, straight, without the Vodka. How many he drank, he probably couldn't tell you, but as it says on the tin, it gives you wings, and Will probably felt with all the shaking going on he could quite possibly fly!

Doing the Thursday to Saturday thing is by far the best solution in handling the after effects of weekends of this type. Coming home on Sunday ready for work on the Monday is a recipe for disaster. It's now Tuesday (Wednesday by the time I finish this), and I still feel rather dodgy, but once the pain, sweats, shakes and the other effects are over your left with the memories. I started this blog by stating about life's experiences. Amsterdam was a hell of an experience, one that none of us will easily forget. Different to Tallinn, different to Budapest, but nothing is the same as the next thing. The guys who I shared all three experiences with hopefully be there this time next year in another place sharing a whole new bunch of alcohol infused memories. It doesn't matter, you can go anywhere, but one thing you can guarentee, it won't be what it says on tin, on the internet, in the guidebooks it will be what you make it. And boy did we make it!
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