I'm...so....ronery.....

Well, not really, but a tribute to Team America seems as good a place as any to start this latest blog off.

No no, what this is about, as Australia Day, and the unparalleled delights of 1 quid snakebites at the local Aussie pubs approaches, I think of what I read in TNT magazine this morning. TNT magazine, for those of you unaware, is a free publication that comes out every Monday, aimed at Aussie, Kiwis and Saffas who are living in London. The upcoming Australia day celebrations of course, featured quite heavily.

One thing I noticed, as part of the write-up, was when they were doing interviews with various Aussies in London. A lot of these people have mates over from home, friends they knew back home who they either came over with, or who have come over in the interim. So Australia day is a good time for them to catch up, as is any weekend for that matter, and sink some piss, talk bullshit and whatnot.

I can appreciate the appeal of that too. Yeah, I've got a few mates over here at work, people I met at the badger etc, but I don't see any of these friendships lasting for years after I've left London. Couple of months maybe, a few emails etc - but a lot of these guys are planning to work over here permanently, which definitely isn't on the cards for me. And none of them are really up for a session at the Walkabout of a Sunday. Nick and Dan generally prefer a few quiet ales - not for them the boozy antics of Sunday Snakebites, and trying to pull as many equally drunk women as you can.

Which, belatedly, brings me to the point of this post. I'm aiming this squarely at the lads back home. You know who you all are. The clowns who read this blog intermittently.

If you've got that little voice in the back of your head saying travel, now is the time. In hindsight, this was by far the best time I could have gone over here. I'm young, the liver is still reasonably intact, I wasn't tied down at home by a career, or a mortgage, and I'm having a ball. And without blowing my own horn too much, I've made it easier for anyone thinking of coming over.

Getting off at Heathrow and you're lost? No worries, I'll meet you at the airport.
Nowhere to stay? You can crash at my place for a couple of weeks till you find your feet.
Need to find a job? Use my laptop and wifi internet while I'm at work to search the jobsites.
Don't know anyone over here? Well, you know me. That's one more person than I knew when I started off.

So, in the most blatant attempt at wooing people to migrate since that Irish prick Arthur Calwell uttered "Populate or Perish", I'm calling you bastards out, and over. Laurie, Gerald, Meakin...now's your chance. You'll never get an easier start than this - you've got 12 months to get over here, because after the end of 2007, I'm outta London, and anyone coming over after that starts from scratch.

Think on it.

Also, I have photos for you.

Saturday saw me take a walk on the wild side, and take a stroll of some 6 miles to Wembley Stadium. And by wild side I mean Harlesden, which is like Little India in London. Was a very cold morning, that turned to rain by the afternoon, so by the time I was ready to live Wembley the clouds were gathering, so I opted for a bus back home.


Taken from a distance of a few miles away (duh!). I was actually really happy to see this, because it meant I was going the right way. Not having a map or anything, I just had to get my bearings on the arch every so often, and try and follow roads leading towards it.


Taken with sore feet, and yet a sense of smug satisfaction, having walked almost 10 kilometres to get there. The arch is obviously the key aspect of the new stadium, and admittedly, looks fantastic.


A shot of the stadium from Wembley Park Tube station.

The stadium itself has been plagued by construction delays, characterised best by a constant slanging match between the Football Association, and Multiplex, the construction company. The stadium has cost almost a billion pounds (POUNDS!) to build, and 9 years. Most of the delays were caused by the Football Association changing the design halfway through, but at the same time, Multiplex have been dreadfully ineffecient. And yet, somehow out of this shambles they have built possibly the greatest sporting stadium in the world - and that's a big statement coming from a man who's been to Lang Park.


This is a view of inside. Obviously, it's not finished as yet, but it gives you an idea of what to expect. Pack it with 100,000 England fans, and you've got the makings of a truly phenomenal atmosphere. (Shame about the ratshit England team, but hey.)

Also, just some random stuff I saw on the way...


How not to drive your Volkswagen Golf. You can see the stadium in the background by the way - it absolutely towers over everything else around it.


Ken, this street sign had your name written ALL over it.

Also, just to complete the Australiana quota - it is almost Australia Day after all - I wandered down to some shitty biker cafe on Sunday, braving weather best described as icy to see the meeting of the HSV UK club. Saw a few genuine Aussie imports, and some nice bikes, but some of it was a bit disappointing. Most of them were just bog-standard Vauxhall Monaros with Holden badges put on the outside, and a big exhaust. Evidently car modding is much the same the world over - style over substance.

Did get some decent photos though.


The police line-up. Funny how I'd normally never bother with this sort of stuff back home, but all of a sudden when you're over here, you instantly get nostalgic, for something, ANYTHING that has a tangible connection to Oz.


Despite the flames, this Maloo Ute would probably nail most other stuff on display in this blog. Heavily modded, if you believe everything the guy who owned it was saying.


Vauxhall Monaro rebadged as a Holden. Looks alright, but the front end is a bit eww, if I'm to be honest.


This, is apparently a Chrysler Charger. Not a Monaro per se, but they're both owned by GM (I think) so we'll call it near enough.


Whoever brought this over has my undying respect. Respect. Beats me why this wasn't given pride of place in the carpark, instead of being left out on the road.


A genuine SS commodore ute. Complete with tonneau cover that you never open, ever, making it completely impractical as a ute.


A few more genuine Holden imports. And now, some bikes for young Meakin.


BMW cruiser type thing. I didn't think it was all that, but Meakin's probably spontaneously orgasming right now.


Yeah, it's a Harley. Of course, there's always one.


Spiffy looking Aprilia. Meakin reckons he'd love to ride one of these, but he's too much of a shortarse to reach the pedals properly, so it's a dicey prospect.


And finally, an uber Goldwing cruiser of doom, complete with luggae compartments and stuffed toy accessories. What every modern day biker needs.

On that note, have a good one back home, get your arse over here, where the bloody hell are you, eat lamb on Australia Day.

You know it makes sense.

I'm Fig Jamovich.

Racism....Sh'ya, right.

Those of you not living in the United Kingdom at present may not be aware that the heavy charged of racism has been levelled at Channel 4, the makers of Celebrity Big Brother. The United Kingdom and India's respective governments are being dragged into a political stoush that has erupted during the aforementioned show, due to the behaviour of three white, English women towards an Indian Bollywood star, all of whom are currently incarcerated in the minimum security of the Big Brother House.

(You could be parolled at any time. On Sundays, TWO people get parolled. Woop de doo.)

So what is this apparent racist behaviour towards this Indian megastar, this representative of Indian beliefs and Hinduism? Did the three white harpies force-feed her sacred cow? Did they treat her much as the British did Indians during the Raj mutiny, when they strapped live Indians to muzzles of cannons loaded with grapeshot? Did they throw her in the clink a la Ghandi when he went on a hunger strike?

Umm, no.

Apparently, they said her cooking was crap. They might have said she smelt like curry. That's about it.

And we're not talking about intellectual powerhouses here. The three white women in question are C grade celebs all, one of whom, Jade Goody, was aptly described to be "as thick as pigshit, and with similar sex appeal." Jeremy Clarkson called her a moose, and wasn't far off. It'd be like shagging a side of beef.

Somehow though, the trash tabloids have them speaking on behalf of all of England.

I mean really.

The problem with England, is they have this pitiful disposition towards immediately hitting the ground, duck and cover style, whenever someone drops the R word. As my friend will demonstrate,




This sort of utterance would cause Britain to have a collective coronary, and immediately hunt around for a convenient scapegoat. The whole country is going apeshit over this matter, and for the life of me, I can't understand why. Do they honestly think this is out and out racism? Maybe they do. Apparently calling someone a "Paki cunt" can make you do hard time.

Call him a "fat cunt" though, and you're off scot free. But both are visual judgments. The first draws it's inspiration from skin colour, the other draws it's inspiration from skin size. Surely if we're talking discrimination, they're both identical.

But in politically correct Britain, apparently not. Ultimately though, when it comes down to it, your average Brit doesn't know jack shit about racism.

This, is racism.

(Warning: Seriously disturbing visual images follow.)




















This is a picture of the lynching of Jesse Washington, a mentally disabled negro found guilty by jury (in a deliberation of 4 minutes) of murdering a white woman. The crowd at the trial stormed the court, grabbed him, castrated him, cut off his fingers, his feet, his ears, beat him with bricks and shovels and burned him alive, as a cheering crowd of 5000 Texans watched.




This is the town of Sharpesville, after South African police opened fire on a demonstration of South African blacks, killing 67. This happened in 1960. 34 years of apartheid followed this.




And finally, we have apartheid...in Queensland. Australian aborigines live shorter lives, drink more, spend more time in jail, commit more crimes, achieve less and generally live shittier lives than white people in Australia.


This, is racism. It's institutionalised, and exists to this day. The Deep South, South Africa, and Australia say it doesn't exist, but it's there. And everyone knows it is too.

And Britain thinks it's being racist because some trollop called Jade with the IQ of a brick said to an Indian woman her cooking sucks?

Please. Get out there and smell the race hate.

The new season of 24! Live on Paul's Blog!

I don't like January much. Particularly the first part of it.

Just when I've finally become accustomed to the fact it's a new year, I then have to deal with the fact that it's my birthday. And as of about 4 days ago, I've had to deal with this mental dilemma 24 times.

It is getting easier though. I'm quite happy with the way my life is travelling at present. I'm saving money, I've made it overseas, I have a good job - yeah. I am happy.

So, the plans then, for this year of 2007.

Well, between now and April, not much. I plan to save as much money as I can - take a few trips out of London if possible, I know Nick and Dan are keen to go to Gibraltar, which would be epic. Late February is the timeframe for that. I'd also like to take a trip down to Portsmouth, and see the HMS Victory, but I can easily do that over a weekend by train.

Now, come April, there will be a whirlwind visit happening. I will have 3 weeks back home, and at least 10 days of that will be spent up at the Gregory River with the old man and the older man. 3 generations of Dawson's, in a Toyota Hilux. There won't have been such a huge concentration of rednecks since Robert E Lee took command of the Army of Northern Virginia.

So, in the remaining 10 days, the following needs to occur.

- Whip Meakin and Justin's arse in Warhammer.
- Go round to David's place and watch a Wests Tigers game.
- Get horrendously drunk with Laurie, Gerald, Glen, Meakin and the lads
- Attend the ANZAC day concert jetlagged out of my mind.

Oh yeah, and probably see my family at some point.

Just warning you all - keep from about April 25th to May 2nd free, because I will be around Brisbane, and I won't take no for an answer.

After that, well, I'll be back over here for a bit. Don't know as yet, I think I'll just take it as it goes. But at this stage I'm thinking to work until the end of 2007, then resign, and spend the last month or two of my Visa seeing Europe. It will be easier, and ultimately more convenient to just do all the sightseeing in one big hit, rather than cram it into weekends here and there.

And then, finally - I might actually come home.

Don't get me wrong - I am missing Australia, and I miss everyone back home. I will return - I couldn't handle living over here permanently. But at the same time, I know this is my one chance to see Europe easily, and I don't want to look back in 30 years time and think, "Hell, I could've done so much more with that time."

That is of course, assuming I live that long. After last night at the Slug, and the dozen snakebites I drank, I was surprised to still be alive this morning. Still, when you're dancing your arse off and your shirt is shaking from the sheer volume of the bass, the morning after doesn't really factor into the equation.

And on that note, I bid you adieu.

Remaining resolute in 2007

2007.

Jesus.

I was just starting to get used to 2006 too. Ah well, nothing for it but to adapt and move on.

I'm back at my digs in Cricklewood, after spending the past 9 days or so back at the Barmy Badger hostel in Earl's Court, where those of you with longer memories of my blog will recall was the place where this British jaunt all began. I've got a few mates back there who I still keep in touch with, so rather spend the week languishing back at my house, I went back there on the advice of Nick, and had a great time also. Christmas itself was an Orphan's christmas - most of the people at the Badger had left, and so there was only about 15 or so people there. We had a good feed, and Nick and I splashed out on a carton of genuine, Tasmanian, imported from Australia James Boag's beer. Which went down an absolute treat compared to the crap pommy lager you normally have to drink here.

I also bought a bottle of OP Rum and a few Bundaberg ginger beers, and mixed up some highly lethal Dark and Stormies, which also went down well.

New Year's eve, if I'm to be honest, wasn't as good, for me at least - I managed to get fairly depressed last night about the usual stuff - being away, not seeing family for such a long time, missing all my mates back home. So it wasn't as good as it could have been. Still, I hung around at the pub till midnight with Nick, Karl and a few others, watched the fireworks that always happen around the London Eye, then toddled off back to Cricklewood.

All in all, it was a good week - nice and relaxing, and just what I needed.

So, to 2007.

First of all, work. We just moved our office this past week - still in the same building, but instead of sharing an office with another company, we have our own floor all to ourselves. One thing I want to do is really up the ante on the work I'm doing. Our boss is shelling out a ton of money for this new office, and I want to repay that confidence he has in us by really pulling in some new business for him. So, between now and when I come back for a month in April, I'm going to be working my arse off.

After I get back here in May 2007, the plan is to keep working until, well, when I get sick of it here. My Visa runs out in March 2008, so sometime between now and then I'll pack it in, spend a month or so travelling through Europe and then wing my way home.

I'm also rapidly coming to the conclusion that I am not qualified to choose housemates, although drama does seem to follow me around like monsters follow PacMan.

While this doesn't involve me per se and I am still getting on well with everyone in the house, it's only because I don't want to touch this one with a ten foot pole. In a nutshell, one of the guys I live with is a net junkie, and spends all his playing this game with real money involved, online. That's how he makes his money. Anyways, somehow he acquired a girlfriend (a real one) but the relationship turned bad. So now he sends messages to her saying he's going to kill himself, and she (I have no idea how she got my number) rings me and asks me to check on him for her, since she gets worried because she can't ring him.

This is because of 2 reasons.

1. He deliberately ignores her calls.
2. He has a habit of smoking a shitload of weed while drinking great liver-crippling draughts of this extra strong Polish beer he likes and passing out, to the point where nothing can wake him.

Wait, 3 reasons.

3. He's a dickhead.

So, I'm just avoiding this one as much as possible and keeping my options open when the lease runs out in March. I think what I'll do is hang around here till I head back to Oz in April, and then find somewhere else once I come back. I know Nick and a few others from the Badger are looking to move out, and they've sounded me out about sharing a house with them, which would be great, so hopefully that will happen at some point.

Finally, just so you know I haven't been a complete slacker, I have some more photos for you.

Of a power station.

However, not just any power station. The Battersea Power station, for lack of a better word, is HUGE. Absolutely, totally, gigantically huge. This building is the size of Trafalgar Square, and is made entirely out of brick, which is an amazing feat. Fans of the computer game series Command and Conquer will instantly recognise the inspiration for the graphics representing the power station.



As you can probably tell though, this is not a station that is currently in operation. There are plans to do something with it- it can't be knocked down, since it's a heritage listed building. Not sure exactly what they can do with it though, since it's a real wreck these days, and the local train station is fucking terrible. Not the sort of place you want to visit on a regular basis. (Once was enough for me.)

Well, a Merry Christmas to all - and I'll be seeing you in less than 5 months back home. Scary prospect, I know.