Well, that's that decided then

Dave's email of this morning, in which he went as far as to make up some shite about a company going bankrupt (so new hires are off while the industry stands by picking lint out of it's collective navel waiting for something to happen) to cover the fact that his boss doesn't want to hire me and that Dave's hitherto unbeatable powers of persuasion finally met their match in trying to sell my CV, has cemented our decision to head to europe this summer.

Yes, the barbies and surfing are out, we will have waffles, fruity beer and chocolate in the heart of the EU. I intend to spend a full year avoiding Balgian chocolate in favour of Dairy milk, which the Belgian "chocolate lobby" tried to get renamed confectionary milk bar or somesuch by the EU and anything German in favor of anything English (pork bangers, or "reconstituted sawdust with fat dripping in a bag" as the Sausage lobby would have it.)

Keep the Southern hemisphere safe for us, we'll get there eventually, just not this year.

Now the decision is made, I need a drink and on top of last night's hangover, what better cue for a song entitleed "first drink of the day"?

Cheers

Bomber out

I wasn't going to post today but...

Hong Kong firm wards off evil spirits with feng shui underpants

How could I resist?

Off out for a drink and a chat with the itinerant Scotsman

Bomber out

Tale of the itinerant Scotsman

Following the old tradition, Smudge called me on his mobile phone on Friday night (4 am Sat morning in HK) and 20 piss heads (including Bubble) sang "We Love You Ipswich" to me for 5 minutes before giggling incoherently and hanging up. This was an apt start to the weekend, frankly.

Saturday morning and I had all the kit ready for the race; layers of clothing, waterproofs, running kit (thought about "forgetting" that) sleeping bag etc etc. I had arranged with Mark to come round my house at 7am with the food and I would take him to the boat. Mark, being Scottish and a cunt, didn't turn up. By 8.30 I had given up trying to leave abusive messages for him (I say "trying" because he doesn't have voicemail, the tight arsed sweaty fudgepacker), so I had to run to the local coffee shop and spend 40 quid on sanwiches, pot noodles and chocolate to re-provision the boat.

If I sound bitter, it's because I am. Mark is a mate of mine who runs but doesn't sail. Last year, when I heard about the race, I thought he might be interested and offerred to put him forward for a spot. He was really keen and proceeded to volunteer to be ship's cook (in lieu of sailing ability) and also offerred to run the 2 highest of the 4 peaks in the race (850 and 940m respectively). Mark became known as one of the 2 "rabbits" on the boat. So, aside from not turning up, he had all the food, 2 spots on the hills and my recommendation. Fucker.

6 up now, we started the race in a decent breeze but with a deepening fog. Our first mark was the interestingly named "fury rocks". I never got to see them, because by the time we got to a position where the GPS said they should be, we could hardly see the front of the boat from the back (slightly salty exaggeration there; vis was about 30 metres). There then followed a nerve wracking hour of crossing the shipping lanes with no radar and a small compressed air fog horn, that kept freezing up on us. Lifejackets were in evidence. I think we only got really close to one ship, I could only guess the size from the engine noise and I reckon it could probably have cut us in half without noticing.

We decided to have a cup of tea, and realised that the chef was supposed to bring the tea, so we had hot water instead. Mark became known as "James' mate" by the skipper, I suppose as a way of reminding me that this was all my fault.

After getting lost for an hour, we finally found the entrance to Sai Kung, which would be our first drop off point

Then the wind died completely. The next 5 miles took 6 hours. We drank more hot water. We tried to blame this on Mark as well, but came up short.

By the time we reached the drop off point, it was 9pm and we calculated that thre was no way we could complete the course by 8pm the next day (the cut off) even if the wind came up. This sounds like a cop out, but Peter felt it was unfair to ask the 2 runners to go up Ma On Shan (850m) only to sit becalmed for another 6 hours trying to get out of the bay. Neither runner complained.

So, at 9pm and 10 hours after starting, we switched on the engine and headed for the bar. We still had to get the boat back to its berth in Causeway Bay, which took another 3 hours so it was 3am by the time we were done.

All in all a dissapointment, but at least I didn't have to run anywhere (except to the sandwich shop).

Got a text from Mark at 6pm, apologising and giving the shittest excuse anyone has ever given for not turning up to something "I slept through my alarm and had my phone on silent ring"...? I'm not yet sure what to say to him, although I'm going to be damn sure and let him know that the other rabbit had noticed from the entry form that Mark's birthday was race day. Alain had brought cakes.

Bubble came back with news of a job offer in Belgium, which wasn't what we had expected, but sounds more promising the more we think about it. PISA own a curtain wall company in Belgium, so my boss is going to contact them to see what is available, otherwise, I will just have to spend the year playing PS2 on my spanky new 80" projector screen (Oh yes, boys and girls, GTA LIFE SIZE)

Bomber out