This one snuck under the radar on my computer. I love the country side, low flog and the traditional houses

Club Seven in Nerjca,  Spain (L-R Willsy, Georgie, Myself, Finch)

A suspected Banksy I found in London. Regardless it is amazing

London, killing me slowly.

London is slowly chewing me up and getting ready to spit me out. I'm not sure which end I will come out of at the moment though. I'm feeling like even if I was to miraculously get a phone call from an employer asking me to join the team, I will be eating from bins, staying on floors, drinking from down pipes and pissing in the thames. I'm running out of money fast, accommodation, 7 pound a day to use the tube and the always tempting and overpriced night of sitting at the corner of Hately's bar talking guff and forgetting what's outside. Washing comes in to play when I start smelling like a hungarian garbage man and the fact that I must eat something doesn't help the cause. I have been smashing gumtree everyday, sending my CV to all corners, waiting for the phone to light up, but it's always sits, still and silent. I'm still hopeful that I can get work somewhere, but applying for jobs I'm not experienced in (hospitality) and no grass around to show my expertise on the brush cutter, I'm feeling less hopeful as time progresses. I had high aspirations to finish my trip on. Working for a few months, saving a few quid and heading to scotland for my last experiences, but it looks I may have to leave an amazing 3 month trip on the note of sitting on facebook in an east london hostel and playing in store fifa 13 at HMV on oxford street (training for the tournament in which I can win a PSP). Going home would be great, seeing my loving family, getting a home cooked meal from mother dear and scratching my dog freddy on the belly, while the more placid pooch Barney boy sits on my lap is so tempting, but all there for me in a couple months time. I watch the BBC weather report daily, where people are sending in pictures of the nothern lights (Aurora Borealis) from the top of Scotland, which is the most bright and visible it has been in over a decade and wishing my phone would light up. One lady said it was so beautiful she couldn't focus her camera because she was crying too much. It's good to see images on TV where people are crying for the world in joy, because the papers are so god damn depressing here. The most depressing aspect is that good journalism storys are put in the back burner, because Kate Middleton, wore a smart dress, dropped her guts or spoke to an insincerely to  an indonesian child with a terminal illness.

Related but unrelated story.

The child delayed a blood transfusion to fit in with duchesses' busy schedule. The boys mother said  "her son was tired and weakened due to delaying of the transfusion in the hours before the visit and although not really knowing who he was talking to it was like the pain had gone away". Pay the kid a visit after he has been pumped with some blood. The Duchess to think a visit from her is worth being weaker and in more pain than usual pains me. If I was writing that story I would have let her have it. The cutting edge journalism follwed with "The duchess' performance was great". Sincerity must not have been required.

The papers here can be summed up by reputable paper "The Sun" having a topless girl on page 3 everyday. you see males (finch and I included) walk into newsagents of a morning and lift their brows at the stunning chest of a young women, with syrian war headlines around it when shifting the first page. What a paper. I'm planning on plugging away for another week or so, but if nothing prevails I will be heading home. This blog will be over or retitled (I love writing) and I will be sitting outside ha ya bean cafe drinking a coffee thinking about where and how I will be able to go next.

Unrelated photo of Hatley excitedly bombing a hill in the Jungfrau. 

Lisbon

I have written a ripper post on oktoberfest, but is pending due to needing some pictures. I was sleepless again, with my brain doing it's usually cognitive gymnastics, ruining any chance of sleep with floods of minor shit, flowing from the sub-conscious to the conscious. My brain is fucked. It's about 2 pages long and I think it's my funniest, most accurate piece of writing I have done. Recently I haven't been blogging and there is not excuse for that, but I have been looking for a job in London, I have had half of me mates from upwey tipping beers down my gullet and worst of all I had to go to that festival in munich around the time of october I have forgotten the name of. I have this little tale that I hope I can satisfy the people who care about this.

Lisboa.

Shots were down on the table, a cheap house liquor called an erasamus, dropped in each, with the final touch a choclate peanut. The peanut was nice, but the blue straight tasted like lpg and I'm not talking premium octance. The third night in a row we had done this. Would we ever learn. Finch and I had been going out everynight on the Lisbon pub crawl, with all the new faces we had met at the hostel we now called friends. Callum, Lauren, Nicky, Hayley, Danny, Big Bobby Bredan, Nick, 2nd Nick, Matt, Shannon, Blacky, Sauce, steve, prue and many others I have forgotten due to the drunken amnesia that clouds over my memory stores when I punch Lisbon into it. The scene for the following picture involves a shot called a '666' or hospital shot. only the 6 absinthes finished of with a dollop of tabasco sauce in this one. The brew sits on the table bubbling like the fires of mordor as you register what you have just purchased as you hand the keep the 2 euro charge. You look your drunken comrades in the eyes, take in the cool interior of the cool greens and blues of the bar before you tip the glass. wait for the kick. By kick i mean a fucking kick in the throat. The power of the 6 absinthes of all different colours, with the sinus blowing sting of the tabasco to finish. I had done this 2 nights in a row, but come the third I had, over did the pre game, had no chaser and  was soon running for the nearest exit. I was jumping around trying to hold it in and when blacky told me to let the little european coupe have it I took aim. The hood of the opel messed with my brand of ingests. We had looked at this white opel every night, wondering why it was so dirty and parked in such an odd spot. parking your car outside of a shooters bar is like parking behind the goals (once saw a mt eve local park his glass truck, with a full load of panes behind the goals at their home ground) It's risky. Blackys mate, washed it off with a water bottle. My mouth was on fire, tasted like an old jock strap and I was suddenly in all sorts. Finch was lost. I didn't care. The good samaritan with the water bottle had left, round 2 was coming. Blacky directed me to the car. bam. another load of salsa looking hot spew for the opel. The duco may or may not have been slightly burnt from the heat, but this is unconfirmed.

Lauren and I next to the spew 1 week on. 

Finch and i headed to Porto to recover from Lisbons liver annihilating regime of nightly beer pong tournaments and shooters bars. There we took it easy. seeing the sights, playing checkers, watching some movies. Caught up with Callum, which was a nice little outing to a bar, but was a quite leg of our trip. We returned to Lisbon to fly out, giving ourselves a couple of days to catch up with all our new mates. We were told on arrival that the spew lived on and that the car was yet to move. I was elated. Possibly the best spew of all time. Big call, but valid. a week in the elements and still showing the remnants of last mondays lunch and pasta dinner.

3 weeks on.

3 weeks on and I was sent a photo by spew enthusiast Juliet, who had just began working at the G-spot hostel when I left. We got along well and she instantly was impressed at my abilty to produce long-lasting, weather resistant projectiles. She sent me this photo via facebook 2 weeks after the first update. I was ecstatic once again to be making the local papers and on-going media interests of Lisbon for my sick. I haven't had an update on the state of the white opels hood since then, but I really hope that it is still caked loud and proud. Thanks for reading. 

I realise my last 2 blog entrys have been polar opposites in feel. At least this keeps it interesting I reckon. Stay tuned for my oktoberfest entry. I hope you'll enjoy it. I enjoyed writing it.