Well, hello again folks, or should I say 'Gooday'- (don't say it with an Australian accent. You'll confuse yourself. Actually, I think I just confused myself. I was able to use a British accent with it before, but now I'm stuck sounding like an Aussie and I have a sudden urge to 'put another shrimp on the bar-b.' But I digress.) Even though I'm now in London enjoying the luxuries of my cousin's apartment-such as showering without sandles and a nice comfy big bed, I haven't posted anything in a while, so I'm going to mosey my way back into Ireland for just a bit. So, my last night in the hostel I camped out in the lobby b/c I had to get up around 2:30 to catch my train and it wasn't worth renting a bed. But the night before that was pretty interesting. So the beds, in the hostels, as you might imagine, aren't the biggest- my feet hanging over the end of this particular top bunk sans railing. Further it squeaked every time I took a breath. Now, believe me when I say this, I felt bad for the kid below me. I did. For a while that is. Until the little guy got passive aggressive on me. So I'm rolling around a bit maybe a little squeak here, little squeak there. After every few squeaks he might give me a little groan. What are you gonna do, it's not the Ritz. After one particularly big squeak in the middle of the night, however, this dude decided he would impart his distaste by taking the bars holding up my top bunk (sans railing) and shake the sh#* (keeping it P-G for the kiddies) out of my bed. After almost rolling me out of bed, I decided it was time to take action. Needless to say, after body slamming the mattress a few times, he got the message that it wasn't going to be a happy time if he infact succeeded in throwing me off the bunk.
Now I'd like to take a moment to reflect on the pubs. They're great. The Irish love to gather in the pubs listen to a Trad. Session (some traditional music) and shoot the sh#* (remember-the kids). Our first bar that we went to , we found a drunk googley eyed man who looked to be in his mid to late sixties, though if he drinks everyday like he did this particular day, he was probably around 35. We talked about his life, love, and dog. Then upon his ordering another beer, we asked him how long he'd been at the pub. He said, "oh, since around 11". Mind you, it was 9 that evening. "eleven", I said. "That's quite a long time". "oh, yea", said the Irishman, "I was thirsty". And there encompasses Ireland. No, that's not fair, but pretty funny.
Now, the Guinness is the best I've ever had. It's way better than in the states, and i don't know if I'll be able to drink it ever again after tasting a piece of heaven. But, if Hugh Grant can go with that hooker after Elizabeth Hurley, then, I guess there's still a chance. the Trad music usually has an accordian, fiddle (violin), a drummy thingy played with a malet thingy, maybe a banjo or guitar, and about fifty drunks singing. It's great.
I met one of the musicians outside the pub, named steve. Previous to our meeting he was trying to sing a ballad but the pub was quite noisy. So , some older fellow decided to stand on a chair and yell, 'Shut the F*#!' (P-G for the kids, stop asking me why I'm doing this-further, it's nice to leave something to the imagination, right?). I don't know how familiar you are with this phrase, but where I'm from it goes a little more like 'Shut the F*#! up'. I've decided that it's experiencing the cultural differences that really make traveling worthwhile. Mom, Dad- don't say this trip wasn't educational.
For instance- another cultural tidbit (quirk) if you will. Steve and I are outside. I thank him for the good music. He tells me to 'shut the F*#!'. No, he didn't really. But he did go on and on about how large I was. (Which I don't agree, but he was of that opinion). he told me he was jealous of my chest and I told him I was jealous of his music and his hot Irish girlfriend. What I learned that day was priceless. See, he (the irishman) seemed to be interested in the man chest. While I (the american) have always been more intrigued by the woman chest. Another cultural difference that really makes you feel like the trip is truly changing your life.
In other, less important news, I saw the changing of the guard today at Buckingham Palace. It was saweet. A huge ordeal. They paraded in, played bagpipes, drums, horns. Performed a few ditties (I'm almost positive the first song was 'somewhere over the rainbow'- thought of you mom- unless there's a traditional English song that sounds exactly like the classic we have all come to know and love). Afterwards I stumbled upon the National Gallery and got to see Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Rousseau, Rembrandt, Saurat, Piccasso, etc. ( not the men, just the paintings ). Still, very nice. I walked around London listening to the Beatles, because it just felt right. And yes dad, I do have plans to eat some fish and chips. I'll throw one down in honor of my newly-hipped homey back in the states. (That's what we youngsters like to call a shout out) Easy, Peasy, Lemon Squeezies,
thinking about you all,
JJ
p.s.- What do you call a dog that only dates other dogs for their money?
'A gold dogger'.
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