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This post soon to be replaced with things exploding.

Dan with guns…
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After 3 weeks of lying about, gymming, eating sandwiches and losing pounds, I decided to go out and get myself a job, just to pass the time and whatnot. Being a man of leisure (without Hamish’s jaunty accent or, well, any jaunties really) this sort of thing is necessary to really appreciate what you have, and what you don’t have to do. So 4.3 seconds after making this decision I was gainfully employed at The Walkabout, a huge chain pub of cheap beer and “Snakey-Bs”.
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Well, I’m back in London. Dirty old one degree London. Smelly expensive full of geezas London. Yay.

Melbourne was excellent, a couple of days with Debs, Jessa, Elise, Elise, assorted flatmates and everyone else in the city where its warm and nourishing vegetarian food and nectarines are readily available. Thanks to everyone there and everyone in Chch too for that matter.

Am going to write tons of emails to everyone soon hopefully, but in the meantime am restricted to what minimal time I have in dirty London netcafes so joy.

Also, screw you Charlie and your having parties as soon as I’m gone and so forth. You’ll get yours!

If not much else, Bermondsey has its fair share of ex-servicemen and veterans. Koen and I were running along Jamaica Rd on Friday and got to the local memorial in time for the 11 o’clock service, which was fairly crowded. Afterwards we went to the memorial outside the Marine Reserve building, formerly home for part of the London Regt.

Koen is a large South African training to get into the Irish Guards. He came to England to apply for the Paras who his father served with, but wasn’t accepted because his chin was rewired after a motocross accident. He’s going to have to work a bit harder, anyone I have to slow down or take breaks for is in deep deep trouble.
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Hi all.

We were on the telly! On a cable special entitled “Britain’s Most Haunted: Live” on Halloween no less. 10 seconds of blurry scarified Greg action and a few 2 second close up shots of cider at the bar. I shall treasure the tape always, and hopefully never get around to watching the actual show.
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This is Anne, procured under duress:

No wait, this is Anne.

She is quite lovely and has full confidence in my handling of the truth, unlike Jack.
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Have been hiding from net for a week, a byproduct of stress from certain things, mostly the appearance of ‘Captain Amazing’ aka ‘Police Chief Wiggum’ aka ‘Fucky’ the manager who keeps hiring new people who turn up at the pub with backpacks and expectations of a room, and ‘but he told us we would start tonight, and that he’s fired all of the staff because they were useless’. So we
duly track him down and ask him politely about where these people go, and
he’s like ‘tell them to bugger off, I don’t want them.’

It’s a calm environment, especially given that me and everyone else here continue to actually run the place, as he’s usually buggered off to Kent to argue with his essex-girlfriend.

Or he might and his boss might have found me a pub to manage. Or not. Who
knows.

That and the full scale riot during (not after) the last England game
(thankfully the one they lost on, suffer), which was the first england
game he’d bothered to attend has gotten us feeling just peachy.

Si here. Good! Charlie leaving London soon, double plus good! For him that is.

Well, hi everybody. So then, what have I been up to over the last month?

1) Lying comatose in St Bartleby’s-On-The-Rump Hospital, my sweaty, fevered brow being mopped gently by stern Florence Nightingale-style attired nurses, who were assisted by the Most Holy Order of The Nuns of St Milwall, whose acapello harmonies of ‘come on you lions, amen’ aided my recovery from the devastating news that Ben is getting sweet lovin’s. May god help us all.

2) Listening to BBC Radio 5 Live.
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