Arrr, it be Irish

I must say, it's always good to see a familiar face, after being away from home for 6 months and counting. And that face was provided by Craig, who was on his way to Belfast to visit relatives for Christmas, and who graciously decided to come and visit me in London on his way.

Although he only had Saturday here in London, I tried to show him as much of the city as possible, including St Paul's, Tower Bridge, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, Downing Street, Buckingham Palace, Trafalgar Square, the West End, Oxford Street, Harrods and Cricklewood. The last one, obviously not by choice, but he had to see it, since I live there.

As for me, and my Christmas - well, the plan is, I'm going to go back to the Badger for a week. Since I've been informed London is boring as hell if you're not with mates, and you can't get anywhere, I'm going to stay at the hostel for a week, from the 23rd until the 1st. Should be good. The plan is to watch as much cricket as humanly possible, somehow make it to work each day, drink up, and enjoy kicking back.

Speaking of cricket - I think tonight could be the night we win back the Ashes. Fingers are crossed.

Not really all that much to write about - I've been that flat strap with work at the moment, what with Janna being away, we're about to move our office and a thousand other things happening. I'm enjoying it, but it's tiring. At least Janna gets back after Christmas, so there's only one more week to go.

Plan is to work my arse off this week, so I can go on the 4 day Christmas break guilt free.

I realise this isn't the most comprehensive blog this week, but meh. It's Christmas. Everyone is on diminished work performance, even your faithful blogger.

Bomber Beazley's final mission

To the dispassionate observer, it was painfully obvious what was occurring. The "Bomber" was still bravely soldiering on, carrying what remained of his loyal crew into dangerous missions through the flak alley of question time to deliver their payload against the Liberal Empire.

But the Bomber was getting older, and more battle scarred with every run. The damage was becoming harder and harder to repair, and the ground crew back at base, ever riven by factional discord, were eagerly eyeing off newer, fresher alternatives to their aging Bomber Mk 1.

The end came when the Bomber, flying on 3 engines and struggling for altitude, lost his Rudd(er). The crew promptly bailed out, and the Bomber, predictably, went down in flames, culminating in a spectactular, and yet, unsurprising explosion.

And so the Labor Party will take to the air again, this time in a plane piloted by Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard. While some pundits are claiming they represent generational change, this is not a fairytale wedding for the ALP, nor is it a match made in heaven.

Unlike Howard and Costello, who've been flying together for over a decade, Rudd and Gillard are the two pilots thrown together because all the others were taken. And they face the hardest task imaginable - somehow getting the colossal bulk of the Labor Party back into the air, where it can match the Liberals in a political dogfight.

Ok, that's enough aerial metaphors for the moment.

Seriously, a blind man could have seen this coming. In the aftermath of Latham's public hara-kiri, Rudd and Gillard both backed down from challenging Beazley. Neither of them had the votes, and the ALP was unlikely to take another risky punt on untried talent, given that the last horse they backed started strong and then broke his leg rounding the final turn, letting the seasoned Howard stayer fly past on the inside rail.

So, they waited. But Rudd said at the time, cribbing lines from Napoleon Bonaparte (there's a man who knew how to get the most out of division and egos in his subordinates), that he had a Field Marshal's baton in his knapsack, but now was not the time to bring it out. Essentially, Beazley could get the promotion, but the first defeat and Rudd's hand would be reaching for his bag, scrabbling for purchase on the shiny veneer of the rod of command.

And so, with what seems an eternity of Beazley saying a lot, and yet not much at all, doing a great deal and accomplishing very little, he's finally been put out to pasture.

The biggest problem facing Rudd and Gillard though, isn't so much the Liberals, as it is the Labor Party. John Howard, for example, rules his caucus with 85% of Coalition MP's on a bad day, and 99% on a good day. (Costello abstained.) Rudd and Gillard have snuck in with about 60% of the vote, and a good chunk of that was borrowed from the NSW Right, surely the first time that collection of old right-wing time servers and union bosses has ever voted for a educated, articulate, bespectacled centrist and (heaven forbid) a woman. The factions still dominate the ALP, and now that they've impaled Rudd and Gillard on the thorny throne of ALP leader, they will be expecting great results.

If Rudd and Gillard can somehow pull off a miracle win come next year, all will be forgiven. The factional bloodletting will be forgotten, Howard will shuffle off into retirement having gone a bridge too far, and we'll be treated to the spectacle of Peter Costello, Tony Abbott and Brendan Nelson squablling for the spoils of opposition.

But this is a Labor party machine weighed down with the millstones of repealing workplace relations, a Liberal government with a record for economic excellence, and an inexperienced team going up against the most experienced political campaigner since Robert Menzies.
Moreover, Labor struggles to find it's footing, as it slips and slides on factional blood, that haemmorhages daily from gaping wounds that no amount of political surgery can permanently close.

A political win in 2007 will provide a bandaid solution. But it will take a great deal more surgery to fix the incessant internal bloodletting that threatens to drain Labor dry.

And for my money, I don't think Rudd and Gillard are up to it.

Throbbin' Hood, Prince of Beaves

Y'see, when I got back from Nottingham the other weekend, in a fit of Robin Hood inspiredness, I tried to download a bittorrent of the Kevin Costner film, Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, which, to be honest, I always thought made quite a good film. However, I was unable to locate a copy online - evidently more people than I thought saw the Postman, and deemed that no film featuring Costner should ever be shown to the public again, for fear of contamination.

I did however find multiple listings of a porno by the abovementioned title. While I should point out that I did not download said movie, I do wonder what brilliant inspiration drove the creator of the movie to that title. Think on that for a moment, if you will.

Anyways, moving right along.

Last weekend, Karl, Nick and myself all piled into Dan's Vauxhall Corsa, and made our north on the M11 to the relative peace and quiet of Nottingham, in search of beer. More to the point, to a pub known as the Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, that dates back to 1189 AD, and is the oldest pub in all of England. It also serves it's own beer, called Ye Olde Trip, that is widely regarded as one of the finest ales in all the land. So, we had to sample it. Mind you, it took us about 6 or 7 pints before we concurred that yes, it was excellent stuff, and that it was well worth the trip up.

As for the pub itself - well, I'll show some photos first, and then explain it.


A good shot of the side. The cliff behind it is actually the rock on which stands Nottingham Castle, which I'll show in a little while. The majority of the pub is actually built into the rock, as, due to it's age, the original builders made use of the numerous caves and grottos underneath the castle, to avoid having to construct buildings.

If you stripped away the exterior of the building, you'd find a great deal of rock in underneath the exterior brick.


View from the front.


This is one of the rooms inside, up on the third floor. The walls are rock, although they have been smoothed over with concreete obviously, in order to make it properly safe. Above here is an enormous chimney that stretches up about 15 metres through the rock, and emerges at the top of the rock. To guard against inclement weather though, they seal it up with a cover.

It really was astonishing. One of the most amazing places I've ever been to, and well worth the trip alone to Nottingham, even if you have no other reason to go here.

After "TIIIIIIME GENTLEMEN PLEASE" was called at 12, we then proceeded to wander into town, in search of a pub that was showing the cricket. Now, one thing you very soon realise about the Poms. They do not know how to conduct themselves on a night out.

I don't know whether it was every girl we saw wearing a miniskirt (not that we complained), guys starting fights in the streets, people puking everywhere and girls squatting down behind dumpsters - maybe a combination of all three. But it's a bit of an eye opener. At least a night out in Brisbane has a little more decorum to it. Or maybe we just hold our booze better. I'm thinking it's the latter.

Anyways, after an hour or so of wandering about, a few more drinks, a dodgy kebab, we stumbled upon an all night sports bar, and stepped in. At about 4 am, with Dan fast falling asleep, we decided to call it, and headed back to the Travelodge.

The next day, feeling pretty decent, all things considered, and fortified by breakfast, we went for a quick wander through Nottingham to check out some of the sights by daylight.


Standard thatched roof ye olde medieval type house. I think this one dates from the mid-1500's, but could be wrong. The geezer standing down near the door is Nick.


The gatehouse to Nottingham Castle. The location of the castle is perfect, and not entirely dissimilar to that of Edinburgh Castle. A large rock, looming up above most of the town. Nottingham is quite a hilly place though, so the castle doesn't stand out as much as the one at Edinburgh.


Part of the outer wall, to the left of the previous photo. The Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem is down the path to the far left, and then you turn right at the end of the wall.


Nottingham Castle itself. Obviously this wasn't the original Norman castle - I assume it was destroyed at some point by Kevin Costner. Nonetheless, the building itself is a very grand structure, although not exactly designed with warfare in mind. Unlike Edinburgh Castle, which absolutely bristles with cannons.


And finally, part of Nottingham skyline, taken from the roof of the multi-story carpark where we left the Corsa overnight.

The trip back was uneventful, save for a traffic jam that only the M1 can deliver. The British do not know how to build a highway. Dan in particular, being Canadian, and familiar with the excellent highways of North America, was particularly critical, and frankly, I have to agree. The Brits make excellent history, pubs and beer - but make it very, very difficult to travel to see them.

But despite all that, it was an excellent weekend all round.