Oh its been hot. So so
hot. It's been awesome. I love the heat. I love sleeping nude. And whilst most
Brits are looking for a deep dark hole to hide from the heat, I have been
savouring it. In fact, the other day it was 35 degrees and during the height of
the day heat I decided to go for a long walk to get an ice cream, it was so calm as most people were in
doors, I strolled around and lined up in the sun for a good 20 minutes, listening to everyone complain.
The heat is my better place. I even took it a step further and went out all night, drinking cocktails and eating dirty Chinese with my old flat mate Chidda's (one of the criminal barristers- not Tony the owner of murderous Cat Dog). In fact, it was the perfect day and night. London is awesome in summer. It’s light outside until
quite late, which encourages you to stay out and savour every moment. This
often goes hand in hand with drinking, so it has been encouraging that I have
finally got off my arse and bought a gym membership to coincide with summer. I
signed up for a free trial and completed 9 classes in two weeks, got an instant
four pack, which gave me the inspiration to continue, in the hope it will grow
to a sixer. I may soon compete at the Serena Williams gun show.
Last weekend I took
off after work to catch a plane to Amsterdam to watch Le Tour for a couple of nights. After a brief anxiety stint due to my inability to project manage my own life, I required a short rapid sprint from the Stansted express that takes 40 minutes to make it to my plane on time, so understandably I was exhausted on arrival in Amsterdam, eating a late dinner and calling it a night, half high on the 2nd hand weed that filled the air.
I
woke up in the morning and took off for the time trial in Utrecht. I was pretty
annoyed with the fact I couldn’t see much, so walked in to town to get a good
spot. I managed to find a spot about five-abreast on the river bank, but again,
it was hard work to see anything and my tippy toe calf stretch was rapidly making my patience wear thin. I noticed not many people were lined up
over the other side of the road. So I did a reconnaissance which involved a
massive trek down a river bank and a stroll over a bridge and popped up over
the other side, lodged myself up on the fence just in time to see the riders
speed past for the time trial. It was sweltering.. my fav. So after watching a
hundred odd riders, I was quite exhausted so decided to catch the train back to
Amsterdam town to my hostel, which was a traditional ‘coffee shop’ on the canal
on the edge of the Red Light district. The next day I travelled to Antwerp.
I sat myself next to another guy without a reservation and he had a ripping
bike, so we started talking Le Tour, with his sexy French accent. He was well impressed
and checked out my LeTour photos, I had an awesome one of a Giant Alpecin team
member I shot at the time trial but couldn’t identify who it was. He was like
‘that’s awesome, that’s my best mate Warren’ haha so hash tagged him in and
have my first famous follower on Instagram. After being asked to move a couple
of times, I became quite aware that I’d in avertedly got on the fast train
instead of the regular one that took double the time and cost half the price.
My plan was to play dumb to the instructor. I had almost got away with it when
he came around to check tickets, about 15 mins before the arrival in Antwerp. He told me to
take my earphones out when I showed him my ticket… and proceeded to tear shreds through me. I told him that
there was literally no one at the train station to assist, and I had asked one
person which train was to Antwerp and he pointed at the train I boarded. I
failed to tell him that just as he pointed, it left the platform, so I waited
17 minutes for the next one, and boarded it. Anyhow after the lecture that
apparently they tell you in four languages, he told me I should pay 69 euro. I
told him it was ridiculous and I genuinely had no idea. Considering it wasn’t a
lie, and the next stop was Antwerp (my stop) he let me go. Phew!
Belgium… highest populous
of ISIS members- FACT… although I’d not have known so in Antwerp. I found it quite hip
and edgy, albeit it lacked some night life, it was a happening daytime mecca.
They had some really cool fashion shops and design shops, edgy cafes. The
hostel was like a semi luxury hotel. And my room was huge. That night however I
got back to the hostel and noticed there were small shoes in the room- child
shoes. I thought how ridiculous, surely not? But sure enough my fears were
confirmed when a lady came in with her child- a little dude. I had some heated
words with management about the fact that it was inappropriate for a child, let
alone a boy child to be in a female dorm, I said it wouldn’t be allowed in a
dudes dorm, cos I could be Cliff Richards (too soon?). Regardless I got
over the fact, spent as much time as possible out of the room, which also meant
I was lining up for waffles at 9pm with the Hockeyroos drowning their sorrows in indulgent waffles having experienced the trauma of finishing third- so after having some
sweets with my new found friends, and second famous social
media followers, I went to the hostel for some shut eye. Unfortunately a
menacing mosquito thought nothing of the thought, the mosquito buzz, killing my
night more than an overtired sleeping child. I woke up tired, with an itchy left arm covered in bites. Grrrrr.
It was an early-ish
rise to watch the depart from Anterpen. Again, I found myself buried in the
crowds of people, again chancing it for a better position after becoming fed up
and finding a spot on the fence at the race start after being told to get out
of the way by none other than Quintana, who came up behind me to join the race.
After brushing shoulders with some famous superstars it was
time to route to Brussels
for a final night prior to my train to work the next morning. It was here that
I had the delight of yet another reason to never stay in a hostel. A nasally
Chinese lady who snored louder than a large man. I proceeded to wake her
explaining that she snorted like a pig and telling her to roll over. When the
snoring continued and 3am beckoned, I went down to reception and asked them to
do something. I switched rooms, to a quiet new one, where everyone was sound
asleep. I nestled in for a good snooze, but was awoken again, by obnoxious
roomies who set their alarm for 5am and were still getting ready quite loudly at 7am. Naturally I told
them off. One retorted ‘is it my fault I’m getting up early?’ I said, ‘No I usually
wouldn’t mind, except I have to go to work, I haven't had any sleep because I switched rooms as an overgrown woman was snoring and YOU'VE taken two hours to get ready, you have been so
fucking loud- you obnoxious selfish bitch'. I survived without getting my head kicked in and have since
decided to
implement a ‘no dorm room after 30’ policy, prior to remembering I have one
booked in Ios for a 2009 reunion at Francesco's. (At least there I’ll have partied and passed out and won't need to go to work the next day, so I’m less
likely to find the lack of sleep frustrating.)
I made it to work via my
first 2nd Class Eurostar experience by lunch.. Again, something I don't love having experienced the luxury of first class. Maybe I am starting to grow up. Ha.
If ever there could be a defining moment of me as a bipolar,
it would be now. Not only do I feel like I have two lives across the other side
of the world, I am so toey and on edge about things, bored and underwhelmed and
somewhat overwhelmed also. I can’t work out if its because I’ve been a bit sick
lately, or if the lack of salt water and sun has finally torn me down, but this
lack of vitamin D and this pale white at mid-summer is definitely not agreeing
with me, I can’t stop thinking about my perfect place- somewhere between
Torquay, Melbourne and London. And I can’t work out if I’m as happy as Rolf
Harris in the 70’s or as sad as Mitch Clarke, whether I’m a Yaris (a cheap
hybrid) or a Tesla. Maybe it is just the weather thing, but at the moment I just
feel so detached. I feel like I’m on the new earth that’s just been discovered. Am I ok
and everyone else isn’t, or vice versa?
I’m in this transient state with two lives across opposite
sides of the globe. Even when I made a phone call the other day I was using a hybrid
of the English phonetic language and the Aussie ‘Wheel of fortune based phonetic
alphabet;’ ‘B is for Boris, O is for
Orange, R for Romeo, T is for Tango. I was relieved when I called Australia and
the lady on the receiving end said ‘S for Sugar.’ People have started to notice
me in my transient state, which when I’m depressed doesn’t happen until I’ve
got drunk and made an absolute dick of myself. Telling my mate his step dad has
hairy shoulders, or me overindulging in Berlin, waking up with a ‘100 year
hangover’ and vomiting in a recycling bin- although are quite low points in my
life, however do not qualify as I’m mostly happy. I’m just either too happy or
in a bad mood. Actually a colleague rang me last night and said (although
jokingly) that he doesn’t think he will be able to cope if my bad mood
continues. And a colleague just now, I tore his head off once he enquired how I
was, literally forgetting that that’s what all English people do ‘ya right?’ ‘you
ok?’ gahhhh, most annoying question!!! “I’M FINE here on my newly discovered
Earth planet!” 
