Last night in Poznan

After a long frustrating day, but quite a successful week, I've decided that I'm going to get the first train to Warsaw in the morning so that I can see a little bit of Warsaw before I go home. I had visions of day trip to Gdansk and Krakow, but Poland's too big for day trips, and work was such that I could never risk getting stranded.

So I wander into town for the last time and get a few photos which I had missed on previous trips. Ironically, this is the night where I meet almost everyone from the conference who I am acquainted with and get no less than 6 offers of dinner. Its about 8.30pm, and I know that after one beer I'll be there for the night. I sacrifice beer for Warsaw 6 times, while at the back of my mind think I might be taking this travelling thing a little far.

This blog isn't up to much - it points out a few landmarks which I didn't mention before.

One of the first notable sights I saw in Poznan - but took until tonight to photo is the Kaiserhaus. Our guide at the social dinner described this as " a house built by a German emperor". A better description would be a house built for Kaiser Wilhelm II. As in "The" Kaiser - starter of world war I, grandson of Queen Victoria and winner of Jeremy Beadle look-alike contests. So not some German Emperor - a pretty important European historical figure. Maybe British history is biased, the poles probably know of more German Kaisers - I can only name one.(Well Wilhelm I - but I think that's cheating)



Beside this is Plac Mickiewicz. This used to be called Plac Stalin, but it's name was changed to Mickiewicz as a gerridupye.

When it was called Plac Stalin the first protest against communism in the Soviet Bloc occurred here in 1956. In June 1956 a quarter of the cities population gathered her to demand bread and freedom. It got violent when the troops were sent in on the belief they were pacifying a German riot. It resulted in 76 dead and 900 wounded and this very impressive monument now stands as a memory of this protest:







The square has been renamed Plac Mickiewicz, a far more Polish name. Adam Mickiewicz is the Rabbie of Poland, and this is the Burns Statue Square of Poznan.

He is Poland's greatest poet. I have never heard of him, but a quick wikipedia confirms that he is indeed the beez kneez. Out of interest, this entry isn't that long:

http://pl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Burns

Mickiewicz' rather imposing statue is here:



His two most famous poems are:

Dziady and Pan Tadeusz:

"Litva! My country, like art thou to health,
For how to prize thee alone can tell
Who has lost thee. I behold thy beauty now
In full adornment, and I sing of it
Because I long for thee." (From Pan Tadeusz)

He wrote at the same time as Chopin, so I have to assume that they were mates - they were probably both in a magazine called "Dzien Dobry" at the same time etc.

And finally to cap off my last evening in Poland before I go for an early night. I do what is becoming a tradition - go to the club I ended up in the previous night and get a photo:

Back to nature

Tonight I get to see some of Poland. We have a social dinner in a country house(They call it a palace - but country house is a better description.)

We are in Rogalin, a kind of country park with a palace built in the 18th century:



The palace has been ransacked several times, prussians, then germans etc, it survived communism as a national museum and is now some sort of country park and art museum. During World War II it was a Hitler Youth school. So I imagine lines and lines of little blond people in brownshirts as we walk up to the main building.

The first activity is a walk around the palace - this amounts to one section which is rooms done up like they would have been during all the periods of the palace. This is pretty uninteresting - the history isn't particularly old, and it's a bit cobbled together.



We then go to the art Gallery. This is the art collection of Edward Alexander Raczynski. He seemed to only collect paintings from the years 1898 until about 1908. There are paintings by Basnard, Carrier, Blanche, Chabas, Claus, Zuloaga, Thaulow and the Polish artists, Boznanska, Wyczolkowski and Malczewski. It's quite nice, but I don't see anything that really fills me with awe.

I'm generally walking around unimpressed. The guidebook boasts that the surrounding forest has the largest cluster of protected ancient oaks. I decide that having given up on history and culture, that this might be more up my street. I head off along a country park, trying to avoid the mosquitoes, but ultimately giving up and going for the "ignore them and they'll go away" startegy. The forest is great fun. I've made it round everything else quite quickly, so I'm the first one out this far and i've got the forest to myself.

It's pretty impressive. It's very much how forest's look in films rather than how they look in real life. I think this is because it is Oaks. They are very tree-like trees. The first sign posted oak which I get to is Dab Edwarda(Polish for Edward the oak).



It's a nice enough tree - good big oak. Not quite worthy of it's own signpost, but nice none the less. I continue down the path to a clearing where I get a real sense of being in the middle of nowhere. The area is flat farmland - but very tranquil and still - it's such a contrast to the reason I'm here which is a meeting. Theres nothing special about this, It's a field with trees round it, but I really needed just a wee breath of nature:



I head back along the path and follow sign posts to more trees. The next set of trees is quite special:



Not only are they really really old oaks - they have a story behind them.

According to legend. It roughly goes like this - although, I've heard a few variations, and I've only been here a week. There were three brothers lost in the woods. Lech, Czech and Rus and they needed to hunt for food. They all went off in different directions and followed different prey. Where they ended up they settled forming the nations of Poland(Lech), Bohemia(Czech) and Ruthenia(Rus).

Lech followed a white eagle to it's nest where he started Poland's first town Gniezno(Polish for nest). He also gave his name to the local beer.

Anyway there are three trees that are over 500 years old and they are named after these three brothers.

Rus



Czech



Lech



Following a wander we get a great outdoor feed - basically bbq and beer. I get to have a good feed and a good refreshing Lech. Its almost hitting 30 degrees and I had walked really quickly to make sure I saw all the different trees, so the beer really hits the spot.

On return to the hotel a few of us go for a last beer, and then end up having another last beer in a club called the Black Sheep(Well whatever that is in Polish).



Still had no food I could describe as polish - met very few locals, and the only word I can pronounce in recognisable polish is Djen koo yi which is thank you.

Shiatsu - The new cannabis

After a long stressful shitty day, where the only light relief was when my mother came on msn asking for my chest measurements (I had to wrap an iPod cable round myself and then measure the length of it using A4 paper to the confused looks of the other people in the room), I needed some relief.

Traditionally this comes in the form of a beer, but unfortunately I'm here alone, and everyone I am on terms enough to have a beer with is busy. I decide to succumb(I blame T in the park) to the Shiatsu massage offered by a little set of shops within the hotel.

Being naive and coming from a country where Massage parlours and Sauna's masquerade as brothels, I'm a little apprehensive about stepping inside the frosted glass doors, based purely on the fact that it says Masiezce or something in the window which could be Massage. The huge big woman on the other side confirms that they are not prostitutes(Unless this is an extremely specialist brothel.)

I pay 80 Zloty's(About 20 Euros), and I get a 1 hour massage. If me and the Big Yin were chilled after 30 minutes - imagine what I'm like after 1 hour. I go to my room for a quick drink of water and then hit the town in search of dinner. I chose the most chilled music in my iPod - Sigur Ros' "Agaetis Byrjun" Some of the most relaxing music on my ipod:



So I'm off walking. For some reason all the colours look different when I'm outside, and I'm walking at about half a mile an hour. I won't even try to describe Sigur Ros, only to say that it's the perfect soundtrack for walking around a strange town floppy when the sky appears to have changed to psychedelic colours.

I was maybe imagining it. Could there have been hallucinogins in the massage oil? Who knows. Next massage I reckon I'm going to try a Pink Floyd Album.

Judge for yourself - I took some photos:

Polish Language skills

I've been here for four days now - and I have come to conclusions about language in Poland.

a) It seems to be impossible to speak even a little polish. I have not had any response to pleases, thank you's and hellos. I think I'm saying them wrong

b) No one speaks English apart from where it comes as standard - i.e. conference centres, conference hotels, tourist restaurants.

Now. I don't speak a word of Polish, and I don't expect everyone to speak English. Especially in a country where Russian was there international communication means until 1990, but it's a compeletly new experience to have absolutley no guaranteed access to an english speaking native. When it's clear to people talking to you that you don't speak polish, they speak it slower and louder. I'm reminded of english tourists. Slowing Polish down does not make up for my lack of grammar, vocabulary, or generally any other linguistic facet of the language.

I've been told that Polish schools started teaching English in 1990. Giving them a few years to get good at it(How many years has it taken UK schools??), you can't expect anyone over about 10 years old to have learned English from an early age at school.

This is confirmed from what happened the first night I was here. It was late, and I was hungry. I had walked in the wrong direction from the hotel - so had ended up in a burger stall in the bus station. I got a negative to English and German(I've since given up on asking for German), so did the point and nod communication.

There was a little kid some where between 8 and 12 who seemed really excited:

"Where ARE you from?" Stress, expression and pronunciation almost completely wrong but grammatically perfect. He was really excited to get to practice his English. I told him I was from Scotland, then Glasgow. His eyes lit up. I soon realised that his specialist subject was football. He started to rattle off every player in both the Glasgow Celtic and Glasgow Rangers squads. Soon the problem was not one of language, but one of my lack of knowledge about Scottish football.

I've never been that into football at the best of times, but having not seen a Daily Record(The scottish tabloid newspaper) in many months, I couldn't place money on naming anyone in either of the teams. I kind of nod and smile.

Finally, not only have I found an English speaker, it's an English speaker with not only an obsession with Scotland, but an obsession with my part of Scotland, and I can't keep up with him. This travelling thing is tough - maybe I'll get a postal subscription to the Daily Record.

Day 2

The real deal today. I even go to breakfast. It’s the first full day of the conference. The breakfast hall(It’s not a room) in the hotel seems to be made on epic proportions. Tomorrow, I’m definitely going to sit closer to the food, cos my bacon got cold and my corn flakes got warm.

The conference provided a week’s travel pass for Poznan. This was quite useful, but I don’t yet have the testicular fortitude to attempt to navigate my way through the Tram map, never mind get on one of those packed vehicles which look as if they have been running along the same track since the 60’s.

The conference is a long and tiring day – so I opt for a quick walk around Poznan before heading off to bed.

The main stuff of interest in Poznan is in the main square(Stary Rynek). The big spire is the town hall(I think).





What;s the story Tobermory. That's what this is like - that scottish Telly programme with all the different coloured houses. They like their colourful houses here. These are the Fish sellers houses, which were apparently the fish market.









When I get back to the hotel – I decide that a quick beer is in order in the Hotel bar. I take in my laptop to go over some of the day-s work. It turns out the bar has wifi, so I end up on MSN. An old friend from high school(Of nine inch nail fame) is on and she too is sitting behind a computer screen with a drink.

We have chat and it serves as a pint and a chin wag with a mate – the only thing that is vitual is the table. I am in Poland, she is in Glasgow and the conversation wouldn’t have been any different if we were both in the same place, the only difference is that I would have been drinking Tennents and more of it. For those interested in world beers. Tonight's beer is not Lech, but "Zywied".



Technology is a wonderful thing. Theres a little bit of Scotland in the corner of my computer.

Early start – so early night

Poland - Day 1

Ah – long lies are good. I’d forgotten the pleasure of lying in bed and watching DVD’s. I opted for DVD’s on the laptop after giving up on CNN. The polish telly provided lght relief in that the films are dubbed, but all characters are dubbed by the same person. Just imagine the audiotrack of your favourite film constructed of someone reading all characters in a monotone voice – quite bizarre, and as someone who has only every watched foreign films using subtitles, I fail to see how you can enjoy a film like this. On this occasion it completely ruined Crocodile Dundee 3 for me!!!

Anyway – off we go for my first real day in Poland. I do the obvious things first like check if Jay Walking is illegal. It doesn’t seem to be. The address I have for the conference is “International Conference Centre – Poznan” I realise that I am walking in the direction of the centre and looking out for things which look like conference centres. While this is doing wonders for my observation of Poznan, I’m not getting any closer to the conference, so buy an A-Z and discover that I’m heading in the wrong direction. Little mistake, but getting lost does wonders for your handle on the city.

On my side of the city there is one main thoroughfare(Sw. Marcin) which leads from the conference centre(West of the city), to the centre (hubbub of the city). Simple rule is walk north-south in the city until you hit it and then you know where you are.

_/\_

After the conference, I get back to the hotel and then go a wander in order to see some of the sites I wanted to see earlier. Before I make it to the centre – I get an SMS from a colleague and it’s dinner tonight instead of sightseeing

After wandering round the streets in search of some authenticity, we realise that almost everything(including restaurants) is shut. We have to go back to the centre where the first thing we come across(we’re Hank Marvin now!!!) is a native American theme bar. Not stopping for a second to how bizarre a first polish meal this is, we take a seat. There are very soon four local beers in front of us

The local beer is called “Lech”. I find this comical at first as most men become lecherous after a few beers, but it turns out that the “ch” is as in loch not as in cheese. Lech was the grandfather of the first king of Poland or something like that. He founded the first capital



We are soon tucking into dishes with titles such as “Sitting Buffalo’s last stand against big bull on a hill” It’s pretty tasty - and I learn something about good Polish service. Apparently the y quicker they get plate off the table after you’ve put the last bite in your mouth the better. Our waiter seems to practice as a sport, when he catches my fork coming down from my mouth with the plate he’s picked up. A French conversationalist turns it into an extreme sport for the poor boy as he manages to savour each bite as he savours each bite of conversation. The waiter will probably relay the story to his grandchildren one day as one of the most exciting meals of his waitering career.

Anyway.

That’s day one over. Good fun – not convinced I know much about Poland, polish life, polish food or the polish language – maybe tomorrow.

Famous Polish People

I was trying to make a list of famous Polish people. I didn't get very far - it would be interesting to see how many famous Scots the average Pole can name. Anyway. Here goes. I'll add as I think of more:

The Last Pope
Roman Polanski
Marie Curie
Chopin

Chopin alone gets them some pretty good marks. Hopefully this will get longer as the week goes on

Manic Street Preaching to Poland

Having stayed out far to late the night before watching DVD's at a friends, I am not in the best mood to get up, pack and then make my way to Poland. After much espresso while I pack my "good" conference clothes while o auto pilot - it is only "Sleepflower" by the manic street preachers that allows me to make my way to the tram stop.



Once on the tram - although I am heavily laden with bag and laptop, I start to enjoy the trip. Even though only an hour ago I was literally dragging my self from bed to shower - the espresso has kicked in and my feet are tapping away, and I'm trying to avoid singing along and shouting "La Tristesse Durera" at my fellow Tram goers.

The Manic's pre-cobain crunchy guitars have become so refreshing. It's hard to belive that I used to know people’s whose CD collections stacked the Manics beside Poison, faster Pussycat, Guns N’ Roses and other assorted hair metal. I never saw much connection between Axl Rose singing “Bend over bitch I got a use for you” about some cherry red lipsticked blond and tales of socialism from welsh mining villages. It’s got my feet tapping anyway.

I briskly walk into Amsterdam central, walking quickly to the beat – late enough to spur me on but early enough not to be in an danger. When I’m on the train I suddenly realise that I’m going to a foreign country with a language I’ve never heard and a currency…. I have no idea if Poland have taken the Euro(I told you it was a late night). I think about asking the rest of my carriage, but remember that I’m no longer in Glasgow, where it would be acceptable to open a conversation with your fellow traveler with the line “Haw mate. You ken whit muni they yais in Poland???”. The Dutch unfortunately keep themselves to themselves. A quick check of my guidebook(I must be excited I bought a guide book) tells me that the Polish use the Zloty and there are 100 Grosy’s in a Zloty.

I arrive at Schiphol as Gold Against the soul finishes. I worry for a second that I’m going to have to be faced with a decision as to where my mood goes next, but it’s okay cos I scroll through the G’s on my iPod and go to Generation Terrorists.



The Manic’s are an oddity in music. They represented this non-macho non-cock rock, before (Or in Sync with) grunge coming across from Seattle just a few years before Britain would consider the lie of the land and put forward Liam Gallagher as their answer. This was just before my time, but I remember the photos of devoted fans in eyeliner and leopard skin. I’ve never really been sure why. Glam fans, Hair Metal Guitars, Socialist Lyrics and grunge like personas, but most importantly “get me to the airport” properties.

Schiphol(Or any airport) is a very hard place to stay “up”. Despite the Manic’s best efforts, the KLM people processing challenges me. I am determined not to let it get to me. The best way to do this is laugh at it. First step – it’s impossible to check in for a KLM flight at Schiphol without using the self service check in. No matter how much you try to tell the staff. They never believe me that my Passport is too traveled to scan. So I have to get them to help me, then it’s off to baggage check in, which is now run by 40 untrained and 5 trained rather than 30 trained staff. This is clearly a more economically sound process, except, I have never heard of, seen, stood behind or been someone who didn’t need one of the 5 trained staff to get my baggage checked in.

Rant Rant rant, One more. The people who seal their passports in a time locked nuclear bunker within their hand bag after they check in because they don’t realise they need it at PASSPORT control.


……and breathe out………

The other side of the security is much better. Everyone’s got rid of their bags, they are almost on holiday(Or at least doing business somewhere exotic). Now you just walk to your gate and get to wait while playing the people watching game. I sit about wondering if Polish people have a specific look. This assumes that all the people waiting have an end destination of Poland. All I can gather is that polish sounds more Russian than I expected, in that there is quite a hissy S’ and Z as they speak.

I’m on the plane, so I get to look through the phrase book and teach myself the basics:

Tak – Yes
Nye – No
Poproshe Beelet Poznan – A ticket to Poznan
Fyed non strome – one way
Dzien Dobrey – Hello
Djen Koo Yay – Thank you

All polish is phonetic – I’ve decided I’m unlikely to be writing much polish.

This is all completely useless when I get into Frederic Chopin Airport in Warsaw. I’ve been to his Grave(Paris), I’ve listened to his music, I’ve been to his holiday destination(Palma De Mallorca), and now I’ve been to his airport.

After finally convincing my Taxi driver that he was taking me to the train station and not all the way to Poznan, I get my first experience of Poland. The station ticket offices are a line of about 20 booths where above them is a magnetic board with all the times and destinations. It’s amazing. From here I can geta train to Moscow, Prague, Estonia, Brussels, Paris – Just about anywhere in the continent. I’m sure I could do the same from Amsterdam – but you rarely see it on one board in front of you.

I wait about 40 mins in a queue with 2 people in it. Soon it’s a case of
Do you speak English?”
Blank
“Sprechen sie Deutsch?”
Blank
“Poproshe Beelet Poznan”
“Youa want…..” “Ticket Poznan”

It’s clear – my polish is so bad that she decides that it’s better to pull out the little English she has.
It appears to work as I’m now the proud owner of something which looks like the Bank statement from a cashline machine and appears to my ticket.

Now, since the 40 minute queue made me miss my last train – I have 30 mins to wait. I go off and find myself some food. Another point and nod moment gets me something in a paper bag which has been wrapped as tight as a fish supper. I’ll keep it till the train. For the first time I get to sit down and get my moleskin out and write this stuff down.

Poland so far has been really really amazing –it’s an amazing feeling. It’s dirty, dull and rough. The lights seem to be set at 60% as if they are conserving electricity. Today – it’s dull outside and this just adds to a really grim atmosphere within the dull grey train platform. The trains add to the atmosphere, they look really old and functional. Shabby – but it looks like a good mechanic has been keeping them ticking over forever. It's really great being this far east - it feels so foreign to me. It's made me really look forward to Bulgaria.(I’m going in August) A language that you have no way of understanding, and different money really makes a difference. I remember when I was about 12 and everywhere felt like that. Now Europe has got so small, - it's a bit of a shame. (maybe I’ve just got bigger.)

Between looking at the map and seeing times, prices, and destinations – I’m ready to forget about the conference, exchange my holdall for a back pack and go off road. Names like Moscow, Prague and Gdansk seem so much more exotic than Brussels, Eindhoven and Franfurt.

Soon the train arrives and we have the shoving session to get into our little compartments. I’m thrilled to see some Cyrillic on the side. This gets my heart racing, old train, grey dirtiness, lots of people running around shouting in language I’ve never heard , and a train which is a connection from somewhere that uses Cyrillic script. Again it’s so much more exciting that seeing a Parisian FNAC bag come through Amsterdam or a local Newcastle paper come through Glasgow.

I sit and take in the sights while reading my guidebook, half in the hope that someone in my carriage embraces me as a foreigner and takes me under their wing. It doesn’t happen. I’m stuck with the sights. It’s disappointingly flat. Living in the Netherlands makes you crave elevation. Soon I learn to look past the flatness and you get these fleeting glimpses of polish local life. I see an old weather –beaten man in work dungarees walking a solitary cow along a dirt path, a farm worker forking hay and two cyclists ambling along a country road. This all exists elsewhere but for some reason it looks so quaint an rural. Maybe I’m high on the traveling bug. You see really old rusty tractors which work as well as the train I’m on despite their looks and their age.

Eventually I’m in Poland and one Taxi ride from my hotel.

I started out listening to the Manics, but I was through justa botu everything after that - a lot of the time, my iPod was off in order to get the aural experience of Poland. If anyone is really interested I was listening to Soundgarden with my hair down, wearing shorts and converse and supping a diet coke when I arrived at the Hotel. This seemed to not agree with the supercilious little man behind the counter. He threw the key at me. Maybe my father's tales in the late 80's about keeping quite refined when we are in posh hotels are actually true. I enjoyed getting up his nose anyway.

I look out my window for my first relaxed glimpse of Poznan. It’s a mixture of concrete communist functionality – very old weathered buildings and greenery.



I’ll explore tomorrow after my first long lie past 8am since......Hmmmm..... before I went to Scotland sometime.

Bulgarian Panagyurski Eggs

Last night I was round at a Bulgarian family for dinner. They are very good friends, so I've had lots of Bulgarian food - and they in return are seasoned Oatcake and Haggis eaters, but last night I got a new tasty dish, which I may try to make myself.

The mother of the family is from a Bulgarian town called Panagyurski, which has an egg dish named after it. The dish is as follows.

Two poached eggs swimming in yogurt with garlic and Feta cheese and crumbled through it, then sprinkle the whole lot with Paprika.

http://www.motherlindas.com/elenas_poached_eggs.htm

I can't find a picture online, so I'll have to find a restaurant which serves it when I'm Bulgaria later in the year.

Sushi, wine and no T in the park

One of the best things about being away, is that when you come back you've not seen any of your mates in weeks, so they are quite glad to see you.

One evening a few months back, I drunkenly(I'm seeing a recurring theme here) suggested that a group of us had Sunday roast, as many of them while not being brits had lived in England, so knew how great a Sunday that can be. While I was in Italy I got a mail from a German friend who told me that a group of us were having lunch this Sunday. Little did I know that when I agreed - I would be sporting such a good scar on my elbow, but spontaneity is a wonderful thing.

So off I go - feeling fresh as a daisy and without a stinging elbow(Whisky did the trick). I'm not really sure what to expect - I don't know who will be in attendance, and I don't know what's getting roasted. On arriving, it turns out that nothing is getting roasted, my friends are far more exotic than that - we're having sushi.



For anyone who doesn't like the idea of sushi - I advise you to try it as soon as possible. It's very tasty and very healthy.

As is usual in Amsterdam, it's a very Multi-Cultural table. We have a German(Who made the sushi), an Argentinean, and Irish guy, a second German and a Japanese guy. I would never have the balls to make sushi for a Japanese man, it's up there with my "check if the Spaniard can play guitar" rule, my "the Eskimo probably does have a better igloo" rule, and my "the Russian probably can hold his Vodka" rule, but we are assured that it is the real deal.

Since it's such a luverly day - my shorts take on two very chilled bottles of wine, and we head to the park:



It's a wonderful day. We sit talking nonsense and relaxing. Maybe I should have a weekend at home more often.

Back in Amsterdam with Satan, Gollem and a new flat mate

So late last night I returned to home for the first time in 2 weeks, and I'm going to spend the whole week here for the first time in 5 weeks. I settle into bed looking forward to my first long lie in over a month.

I'm woken up just after 10am by a knock at the door. It's my new flatmate. My previous flat mate moved out while I was off travelling. So on a day where I thought I could be adventure free for just a few days - I now have a new flatmate to meet.

He's a banker from New Zealand, and we decide to seal the relationship by going off to Bar Gollum that night.



Bar Gollem serves hunners(Scottish for many - one, two, hunners), of Belgian beers. We seem to have opted for a beer called Satan(http://www.satanbeer.com). Maybe the tiredness had taken my common sense away, but I didn't notice that this was a bad omen.




It's my recollection that we had 4 of those babies. The problem is that when you are drinking normal crappy(But oh so standardised) beer,



you start to feel it, and decide to have a last one before the off. With Belgian beer, that last beer shouldn't be taken, cos it is liable to change you from a little tipsy to completely plastered.

Luckily being a seasoned drinker, I recognise this - make my excuses and head for home. Unfortunately there is a further problem. The best means to get around in Amsterdam is by bicycle. I often cycle home with few drinks. I would never even think about getting in a car drunk, but cycling is less of an issue, cos the only person you can harm is yourself, and the small canal streets of Amsterdam ensure that there is little fast traffic.

Most sane people(Those who think twice before drinking a beer called Satan) would have walked or got a tram, but I decide to slowly cycle. All goes well - I'm listening to the beastie boys on my iPod, when taxi pulls out in front of me. I stop suddenly - normally not a problem - swerve a little and rattle my front wheel off the kerb. This is normally results in you losing control for a second but recovering, but in this case I take a tumble. Maybe because of the beer - maybe it would have happened anyway. Nothing serious, I fall over and land on my elbow. I think it is nothing an cycle on. By the time I get home my elbow is throbbing - I've grazed my elbow.

I realise several things now. The first is that children are hard as nails - never do I remember grazing something and it stinging like this. I try many things, sure that there is a parental secret to stopping a kid's grazed elbow from stinging. I have an ice lolly - I play with some lego - nothing works. I decide to give up and go to bed, but realise I should clean my elbow.

Having been in Scotland for the best part of 3 weeks and carried my mountain first aid kit around, it was used to cover blisters, the paracetamol cured a couple of hangovers, and then there was the aftermath of the drumstick fight.

Never did I think I would need it in such a flat country. I realise that I have no plaster's, no antiseptic cream, no nothing. I have a good think - pour some whisky(Only bell's) on it give it a wipe and head off to bed.

I'm looking forward to getting to know my new flatmate - any relationship which has scars to show when it started can't be half bad.

Genova - In one big chunk

After a long, boring, sweaty, hot, day of conferencing and networking I have now spent my first day in Genova. From a small midnight walk last night and the taxi ride to the venue, I have discovered that it is a very old town with windey streets on the side of some very mountainous terrain. Its looks and feels very foreign – I think this is due to the heat, the winding cobbled streets and the fact that this is the first time I'm in Italy. Now I have the evening to myself to see a little bit of the city. I am looking forward to a good nights sleep, but first I decide to walk back to the hotel.

I find walking one of the best ways to get a real feel for the town. My hotel is almost at sea level and the university venue is pretty high, so i start walking down hill. I wlak for about 15 mins until my calf muscles are sore again. I'm cursing Trent Reznor with every step – as I flick through the guide book from my conference pack to try to find out where I am. I am pretty sure i'm walking in the right direction cos I recognise the mountains. Sailors navigate using the stars, Scotsmen use mountains.



I manage to read a section of the guide book which tells me my first interesting fact about Genova. ......Genova is one of the longest cities in Europe – 34 Km.........

TAXI!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm boring - I decide on the first night of sleep in a bed thats going to last longer tha 6 hours in about a week should be savoured.

_/\_

Second day of the conference and I have a presentation to prepare. Most of the day is spent taking in interesting presentations – taking advantage of the wifi which is becoming standard at conferences and taking advantage of the wonderfully authentic and wonderfully cheap espresso bar on the top floor.

The conference runs late, so by the time I go on, we are already over running into the social dinner time. It's frustrating, but it does mean that I get to know the chair and other speakers in my session. They turn out to be pretty cool guys from Genova and my dinner mates for the evening.

They confirm another Italian cliché – they love to talk about food. This makes for a great advantage – my food comes with commentary which you can't buy in a guide book.

As canopes we have deep fried vegetables. I would describe it as similar to Japanese Tempura. It is pretty tasty – lets face it – scotsmen like their deep fried battered food whatever it is. Apparently the artichokes are the speciality, so I have a good few of them.

Once we are at the tables, the conversation continues. We exchange stories of Scotland and Italy. Everyone there like to tell tales of their own country so the conversation never stops. They are fascinated withs tories of scotland and I do my bit for Scottish tourism by explaining that Genova to Milan on the train is 12 Euros and then Milan to Prestwick was 12 pounds for me. I also find out some Genovan slang. “Belin” excuse the spelling seems to be used in a similar grammatcal means as “fuck” in English. Apparently you can say that something is “Belin” good to enhance it's meaning. I'm not sure that I get it completely, but it was important to the Genovans.

The first course is a seafood platter. It's pretty tasty – we're close to the sea – so it must be fresh.

The second course is a pasta. I'm told that the Italians only export the crap pasta, and it would appear to be true – this is a really great dish. It looks like it has been grated and is again a Genovan special. I get told off for using my knife to eat it. I ask what it's called and I'm told “pesto” they are correct but i still don't know what they pasta is called

After that we have some sort of fish steak, this is the least strong of the courses, tasty enough, but all the other courses were wonderful.

We follow this with a Tiramisu, its then on our feet again for mingling and Limoncello. Although our table has been knocking back the white wine, it seems we are the least drunk of the tables. The Limoncello disappears as fast as the waiter can refill the decanter. People are drinking it from wine glasses. It's bizarre being the well behaved one. I feel rather out of place.

It's then bed time. We not really – a group of us gather intending to move onwards to see a few bars. This group gets smaller as we get closer to the bars. People are beginning to regret drinking quite as much Limoncello I think.

We are reduced to our Genovan guide, and Irishman, a Scotsman and an Australian. The last three nations consider drinking a national sport – this could be carnage. We land at a little busy bar in some lively side street. It's Wednesday night – yet the city is thriving. It must be it's high student population.

We get into the bar and I head off to the toilet. I open the toilet door and two girls shout at me “ Eet eez beeezeeee” as I enter the door. They were shouting at the air and I happen to have walked in at that moment. They are as surprised as I am. I quickly retort “How did you know I spoke English” they were equally quick telling that my name didn't sound Italian. I have made the age old mistake of forgetting to take off my conference badge.

We get talking as I wait to piss. It turns out that one of them is an archaeologist and one a psychologist. I make a comment about both digging up heavily buried old stuff but it seems to be lost on them. What is really strange is that they are sitting with their dog.

So.... I return from the toilet with two Italian women and a dog. I'm the hero of the guys. Its now last orders at the bar, so we quickly get some drinks before walking on to a club recommended by our new found hosts for the evening. The walk from busy street full of Bars to club is longer than it should be – but it gives us a chance to finish our beer and be told the story of the oldest bank in the Mediteranian:



This was taken the next day. The first cheque in the world was written here. On the side of the building is a huge paining of St. George slaying the dragon. I now get some more Genovan facts.



The St. Georges cross(i.e English flag) is actually part of the Genovan arms. St George is therefore their saint, and actually the English are only allowed to use their flag because the city of Genova have expressed their permission. So from now on I can ask people sporting a St. Georges cross if they are from Genova. Then when they tell em they are from Genova, I ask if they have permission to use the flag.

So we eventually turn up at the Banano Tsunami, our chosen club for the evening:



It is an outdoor club in the middle of the docs and beside the aquarium. The above photo was taken the next day. It's quite strange being in a club which is outdoors – it feels like a barbeque but with beers that cost 6 euros.



It's a really trendy club – it is in the classiest part of Genova and also the drinks are really expensive. I find myself asking why then they play the clash – maybe dance and disco has finally had it's day and trendy clubs play good music now. Even more bizarre is that there is a dog with us.

In Scotland(maybe just Glasgow) in order to keep their handbags safe, women dance in a ring with their bags in the centre. Either there is a lot of dog napping in Genova or that dog is holding the make up and tampons.

The night continues, and eventually it's time for home. So I get run home through the streets of Genova in a Ford Ka. I couldn't remember the club's name the next day. I still can't remember the girls names, but I'm pretty sure the dog was called Milo. Selective memory is a strange thing.

The final day of the conference is interesting. This is mainly due to some very interesting hangovers, the main one being Limoncello. I'm relatively fresh, having stuck to only white wine and then a few beers in the club. I'm so well behaved!!!

On my final day in Genova my plane isn't until 4pm, sso I have time to go and see the sites. During my trip to Leuven, I had dinner with a researcher from Florence, and she said that if I was in Leuven, I had to go to the Aquarium. I found this strange – land of history – beautiful buildings – wonderful food, and I'm going to the city which has a good aquarium. But when in Rome.....(ha ha Geddit??? No neither did most of the Genovan's I said it to)

So 12 Euros to go to an aquarium. It is beside Banano Tsunami, so I take the snaps shown above. To be honest the aquarium is really well set out. The fish/animals/exhibits(What is PC??) have loads of room.

It's probably the best auqarium I've ever been in, but I've not been in many. It beats the Sealife centre outside Oban in Scotland.



I get to see sharks, turtles, big fish, little fish, penguins etc., But by far my favourtie tank was the finding Nemo tank. In here we had all the fish from finding Nemo. I was amazed that they actually look like they do in the cartoons. Really bright primary colours etc. This was also a major attraction for all the kids.

Bizarre – three days ago I was in a field with Scotsmen singing to Soundgarden songs, now I am in an aquarium in Italy looking at the real life Nemo – could my life be any more complete???

Now I have time to have a quick wander around the dock at Genova before heading back to Amsterdam for what will hopefully be an adventureless few days.

Kinross to genoa

And we're up!!!

Very impressive not a moan from anyone at getting up early to get me to Italy.

Quick drink of water to ward off the hangover and hot heat and to give the energy to get me from Campsite to car, it's time to start the journey to Genova – Italy.

Its a long boring, hot Car journey back home where no one talks – it's great to get home to my parents, who are themselves more hungover than I am, (Tsk tsk.) and realy the whole weekend in a very fast 20 minute report. I'm bouncing off the walls I'm so full of energy, but then I have to make the mad dash to run around and change from dirty concert goer – to suited presenter. This is a great feeling – running around with two personalities.

Then it's off to the airport for a Ryanair flight to Milan. Once in the Ryanair airport – I am for the first time in my life in Italy. My first realisation of this is sitting on the bus to milan. It takes about an hour to leave – while we sit in the heat. I soon realise that my post-T chill is going to serve me well in Italy – where nothing appears to happen very fast.

There a cliche's everywhere – a very dominating woman chastising her husband for doing whatever it is he says he didn't do, while is face tells another story.

Two Italian men on the bus who sit and openly discuss and ogle some blonde scottish slappper – who is either too stupid or two wrapped up in telling an old school friend how wonderful she is to notice.

The guys keep catching my eye – so that we are having a discussion of her assets using sign language. They think she may be Paris Hilton. When her halterneck top slips when she picks up her bag at Milan station, they become convinced. Scotland's answer to Paris Hilton has been falsely identified by her breasts. From Milan station I have to find a train to Genova – I'm proud of my musical ability when I work out that “Ritar” is delay on the board – this language thing's a complete doddle. The information does not, however help me to work out what Italian is for ticket office, nor does it help me to make the queue disappear once i find it. Once in the ticket office queue, there are two loud dumb Americans in front of me. I'm sure not all American tourists are dumb – but the dumb ones are certainly loud – so you don't notice the others. They are trying to convince the little man in the ticket office that there is a train back from venice at 11pm – and that they want a ticket for it, clearly having a loud voice, lots of clothes from GAP and the world's most hated man for president qualifies you better for knowing Italian train times than working in Milan Train Station ticket office. These tourists are great – it makes you feel far less intrusive when you walk up, give the international raise of the eyes which refers to the two people he's just had the pleasure of dealing with and use broken phrase book Italian to say “Singel tae genoa please mate” - or thats how I hope it sounds.

Its getting late – and I've not eaten in a while, my train is in 40 mins – and I assume this is enough time to get a sandwich at the little shop. Bizarrely I nearly miss my train – time passes far quicker here. I know from experience, that you have to relax in to it – cos the country ain't gonna change because you are in town.

Once I'm on the train, it's good to get an seat somewhere air conditioned. Although its past 10pm, the thermometers on the buildings say 30 degrees. Italy feels really really foreign. I start to feel like a traveller. Sometimes being away on business you just feel like a suit on a conveyor belt, but all the different transport means and moving around feels pretty good. Its not that I don't want to get to my hotel room and put my head down – it's just pretty nice, floating on the adventure and expectation of seeing new climbs. Jack Kerouac once said that he like train delays – as it gave you the sitting around waiting in the middle of nowhere, where he would make sketches in words of little things which he came across on his travels. I'm not quite at that stage – I'm just trying to enjoy the experience that is available to me. Its also worth remembering that Jack Kerouac was a drug abusing hippy who died of alcoholism.

I finally surface in Genoa station – looking forward to finding a taxi, and hoping that he doesn't give me a look of confusion when I show him the address to my hotel. I am over the moon when the Taxi driver laughs at me, and explains in sign language and Italian that it is just across the street. From what I saw from the train – it is clear that Genoa is built on the side of a mountain. I am in the right street for my hotel – but it is 6 flight of outdoor stairs to climb to get there. Luckily they have a lift. It is still roasting – the check in is reasonably easy. A day which started by carrying bags 2 miles from a campsite to a car in Scotland has ended in a hotel in Italy. Tomorrow: Genoa. Good Night!!

T in the park day 2

We are woken again to the revelry at about 7am. That and the unbelievable heat. Its over 20 degrees at 9 in the morning with no wind. This is very rare for Scotland.

Over Breakfast we make a few decisions – I know two things. I don't want to wait in the queue to gt in and I also want to see Eagles of Death Metal. Since they are on quite early – I have to go down and join the queue at about 11am. Luke decides to come with me, and we arrange to meet the girls at 2pm beside the p-mate stall. http://www.p-mate.co.uk/

So off we go – back pack – energy – can of cold beer – looking California, but feeling Minnesota. Okay – we were looking Minnesota too. Yesterday's rocking on top of the damage done by Trent Reznor – topped off with sleeping in a tent, means that we have bodies which feel they have went five rounds with mike Tyson. My calf muscles ache from jumping and my shoulders and neck are stiff from headbanging, clapping – jumping up and down – carrying things to the tent. The good news is that my back doesn't have any problems. - I had some trouble a few years back. We're getting too old for this. Either that or in the future, we go into training before we get to T in the park.

The queue passes pretty quickly. There's not that many people out this early. As a result, we get into the stadium about an hour before the bands start. This gives us the chance to chill for a while – go to a clean toilet to get rid of the Thai food – get some beer tokens without queuing etc. Then we go off and enjoy some of the side attractions. Our first stop is an oxygen bar. This is a bar where instead of drinking, you sit and breath oxygen fro ten minutes. It's supposed to detox you and refresh you. We sit here for 10 minutes. I'm not convinced. I certainly feel quite fresh – and the sun seems to be shining a little brighter – but at £3.50 it didn't cost that much. A new experience anyway.

Next we wandered on, and did another new thing. We went for a shiatsu. I had never had a shiatsu before – its one of these things I always mean to do – but never get round to. It was wonderful. So having overdosed on oxygen and then opened up the muscles a bit more we are now walking about in just about the chilledest state I've ever been in. I finally manage to find my vest top in the army surplus store. The guy is looking me up and down. Clearly now I'm feeling California, but looking Amsterdam. I explain to him that its all shiatsu – I don't think h's that convinced.

We wander for another while – manage to miss Pete Townshend play with Rachel Fuller(Who she?) – see a little bit of Athlete(They're not bad – nothing to write home/blog about). Luke does some quick stand-up in the Nintendo Stand up tent involving muff diving swans(Long story). We then wander around for another while – drinking lots of water and not starting on the beer(as advised by my masseuse). Eventually we meet the girls before heading off to see the Eagles of Death metal. The girls don't seem to share our chilledness – the heat seems to be getting to them.

We collect everyone together 0- and allow various toilet stops to be made before I announce that since there is no one currently in front of the NME stage and the eagles of death metal are about to appear I'm going to get a good space. I fail to convince anyone else that a band called eagles of death metal are worth seeing.

The Eagles of death metal are a side group of The Queens of the Stone age. I don't know how I know this. I quite like Mark Lanegan, and I like quite a few of the QOTSA stuff, so through keeping an eye out on the internet I cam across them. For a while, if you went to www.eaglesofdeathmetal.com there was aflash movie which said “everytime you masturbate god kills a kitten” I like their humour.

They are pretty much a joke band – but comprised of such good musicians that the music is pretty good too. The front man(A Josh Homme alter ego), is very funny – nothing like Josh Homme., who is mean and moody when with QOTSA. He has a huge comedy moustache, mirror shades, he wiggles his hips – and has lots of tattoos. He kind of straddles the line between male-chauvinist Texan truckdriver and George Michael. It's bizarre. I've googled – and can't decide if Jesse "The Devil" Hughes(Eagles of death metal front man) is Josh Homme's alter eagle. They are the same height, same hair colour, and same initials. I'll keep my fantasies alive and assume they are the same person.


But on they come.

The front man announces that they are working over time for us – because they love us so much – a veiled reference to the fact that in three hours QOTSA will be on the main stage. The audience are comprised of less than 100 people who know who the hell this very strange band is. Bass is someone with large sideburns and wavey grey black hair – I don't know him – i'll have to go read my liner notes. The other guitarist is Dave Catching – he was in loads of bands(Earthlings I think – google needed but I'm in an Airport), and has played on Dessert Sessions(Another Josh homme side project), I've seen him play with Mark Lanegan in Glasgow before and seen him do odd jobs for Master's of reality(Another Josh homme side project) He looks really strange – he looks too old to be there – he has a strange mohok, and bright coloured glasses, which match his bright coloured specs. Strange indeed.



The band is completed by a mean and moody looking female blonde drummer. I always said there was something strange about the durmming on the eagles of death metal album – maybe this was it.



So they kick into so groovy but chugging tunes, most of which appear on their album Peace Love and Death metal. Its music that I can't help but dance to – there's very little Josh Homme in the vocals. He says “lets hear it for the laydeez” between most songs. “Let's hear it for Rock and roll” full of cliche's. Anyone who doesn't know who this band must think they are so bad, unfashionable and cliched. There have been many artists who have had side projects, and some have performed under fake names to achieve smaller audiences., but creating a new persona and following your real band round the festival circuit is new on me.

“Let's hear it for the Laydeez!!!!”

He notices that one of the four flags you can buy is a skull and cross bones – so comments that they've never had so much support from the pirate community.

“Let's hear it for the piracy!!!!”

“Aww hell, Let's hear it for the Laydeez again!!!!”

The female drummer is getting a lot of cheering from some guys in the crowd so keeps throwing them some drumsticks . The front man is getting a lot of support from some laydeez – so he hands them his t -Shirt at the end. They close with “Stuck in the middle with you” - a cover also on their album.

“See you later” It's clear they get a lot of fun out of this – it's a also a great treat for the diehard fans. Josh Homme appears to be a workaholic.

And then it's over – my music buzz has been topped up again – it's time for a beer. I go and pick the others up. They are less than enthusiastic about the eagles of Death Metal which they heard from the grass. Maybe you had to see them as well as hear them.

And we're off on the wander again. As a result of the Shiatsu – I have no cash left,a nd theres a 3 hour long(No exaggeration) cashline queue. Using my last on some sweet and sour chicken, I decide that I will manage to survive on beer tokens.

After getting a beer we wander a little – catch a little Razorlight and it's time for Snoop Dogg. Now I'm not one for hiphop, unless you count the Beastie Boys, but two of the girls wanted to go, and frankly i thought it would be a refreshing change from British bands called “the somethings.”



There was lots of crowd participation – and I found myself joining in. It was very hard n ot to “Let me hear you say Hell yeah” that kind of thing. He's damn good at his job. The strange thing is that even tho I'm not a snoop fan – I knew every song on the set., He's pretty much been doing this so long – that he's a charactiture of himself. Its certainly very refreshing. So there two firsts so far today – shiatsu massage and hip hop. It still doesn't equal sunday's first of someone singing Joni Mitchel as trent Reznor takes to the stage but it'll do.

So it's then a quick run back to meet up with everyone and then I'm off on my own to see Queens of the Stone age. I'm not the biggest fan in the world. I like the idea – I quite like the guys, but I can take or leave all their stuff except the songs for the death album, which I think is a great album. I like their sound – the denseness of it coupled with the quality of the pop music they can write sets them out from other stuff.

I'm a huge Mark lanegan fan – I think his voice is as close as we get to a real blues voice these days – he makes you believe, what's remarkable is that his voice exists destincly between each project – his sol stuff is bluesy folk(Well until Bubblegum), with Screaming trees(Seattle grunge again) it's seventies garage/psychedelia, and with QOTSA its some bizarre devil's choir harmonies – I'm therefore reasonably disappointed that he's not with QOTSA. As we say in Scotland “ He disnae keep very weel”

I''ll make do with the rest of the band – who are fine musicians – and Josh Homme – as mentioned during the eagles of death metal – is one of the best touring musicians around today. They rattle through a set which contains very few singles. The audience don't mind – they are the people who have opted for QOTSA american desert rock over Scotland's very own Kaiser Chiefs. Like me and I pray anyone knows guitar based music(including the Kaiser Chiefs themselves), they know that the QOTSA are on a completely different level. They are involved with so much music – The Desert Sessions, Screaming trees, Mark lanegan, the eagles of death metal, mondo generator, Chris Cornells's solo band, Auf der maur – just try to follow this:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queens_of_the_Stone_Age

In two moves you can link them to almost any rock band in america. Matt Cameron played the drums with them – he now plays with Pearl jam. Easy see. I could market it as a board game.

They are very good, sound very good etc. I think i enjoyed the eagles of death metal better. QOTSA I have huge respect for but can take or leave. I prefer their side projects.

So it's back to the gang. Theya re looking a little down. One of their number ahs went home due to too much sun. In Order to cheer them up, I blow up some ballons and stick them in Luke Skye-trekker's T-Shirt. I then do the same for me. Everyone finds mine extremely funny. I think it's such cheap toilet humour I can't believe it – but anything to lift the atmosphere. People are now coming up and asking to photograph my breasts. I've also tied some ballons to a tent pole which is stuck in the back of my shorts and steadied by my backpack – now we can see ourselves on the big screen for green day – the festival closers.

So looking like a right haddie, we walk onwards, enjoying the shouts from passing T-in-the-parkers about my breasts and showing off my party trick of hold a pint in them. Having had breasts for around 1 hour, I now realise how much you dribble beer on them. Cleavage will never be the magical palce I thought i once was now that I know how much lands in it.

Fittingly – our last meal of T in the park – and my last in Scotland for a while is a bag of chips. They fall in the cleavage as well

We've met up with some college friends of Luke's, who given their inebriated state, add quite a lot of fun to the proceedings. We head off to Green day.

Green day are a strange band – they are loved and adored by 14 year old around the world. At 25, I was the first generation of 14 yr old to love them. I was 14 when dookie came out – we embraced its energy for a couple of years and then got bored with it. It resurfaced for me in about 1998 when I was in band who pretty much played the whole album as a warm-up. Like the ring – it disappeared from view for another few years. When I was a student, it was looked upon as some kids thing, as nimrod and warning were embraced by new sets of 14 yr old kids. It was no longer cool(if it ever had been) Now – every now and again dookie gets put back on, and I remember the barely 40 mins album where i know every drum beat, bass note and guitar chord. I even used dookie as a babysitting tool once in order to tire out a 5 yr old kid.

So green day take to the stage. I've never seen them live. By the time I was old enough to go(14yr olds could go to concerts in 1994), I was past that stage in musical development.



They play a two hour set – I jump and sing along all the way. I know almost every song even from the albums I never knew I'd listened to before. My jumping up and down is so much fun.

They are such great showmen. It's bizarre, they went from a reasonably controversial dope smoking(green day refers to a wasted day sitting smoking green I think) punk trio to a band who build their show around entertaining 14 yr olds. Its all very wholesome – but damn good fun. They bring a girl of about 7 up on stage to spray a super soaker at the audience. She gets scared when she stand on the podium, claps her hand above her head and the audience do the same. Its sweet – she gets such a fright when 70,000 people copy her. Power over 70,000 people must be scarey at that age.



A few songs later – Green day do their standard thing of bringing people on stage to play with them. This works really well – its's great fun, and the guitarist gets to keep the guitar. The look on his face is priceless, as green day return to the instruments around him and he left holding his heros guitar. Its also fascinating to see that despite the drummer being in time – theres a big differnece between in time drumming and in time professional drumming. It reminds you the gap between stadium quality musicianship and small club musicianship.

Purely fueled by adrenalin and jumping, I am about 20 m further forward than when i started.. The ballons come in handy, as everyone is able to stick with me and re-find me when lost. Unfortunately my jumping up and down has caused the flag pole to rip the arse out of my shorts, so not only do i have fake breasts, but my underwear is hanging out the back of my trousers.


I look around me and remember what a wonderful weekend it's been. The sun is slowly setting, and Green day have decided to close with “we are the champions” by queen. It is a beautiful thing. There are saltire's waving throughout the crowd, everyone's singing, its a real moment to be proud of being scottish, being alive, being at T, liking music. In less than 24 hours I'll be in Italy off on a new adventure, but Sean Astin's speech in the Goonies resonates for me. “this is our time”. Every 14 yr old kids music. Although I disagree with them, this is what stadiums were made for.



That would have been a great way to finish the weekend, but there one last adventure - the walk home. Luke has promised to try to catch a drum stick for a current 14 yr old kid. I'm sitting on the ground waiting for the crowds to disperse and nursing my calf muscles which were abused by trent reznor on thursday and then topped up by almosy every band I say from then on. The people I'm sitting with point to a scrum and point out that Luke – a rather big boy – is at the centre of it. He shouts for me and it's time to go into action.

I launch myself at a huge mass of 14 yr old kids who are desperately trying to get something off my mate. They are diving on as fast as I'm throwing them off. Luckily everyone is laughinag and having reat fun. I get my weight down amoung them and push them apart about 4 on each arm. Its now a struggle. I am assuming that since Luke isn;t that huge a green day fan(I don;t know about the drumstick), that this is something important like Jim Morrison's last bottle of Jack Daniels, Jimi's woodstock guitar or Eddie Vedder's pubes. Suddenly one of them shouts:

“quick him with the boobs = give him a wedgie”

Okay – enough is enough now we are getting nasty – i pre empt this by putting my forearm through the back of his boxers. The same is happening eot me – I am getting dragged of the ground by my own knicker elastic while hanging onto someone elses and throwing 14 yr olds out of the scrum, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Then they all disappear – the stick has gone. On to a new scrum. I lie laughing on the ground with Luke. Completely knackered. Not only do I have fake breasts, and no arse in my shorts, I now have no underwear either, but the weekend still isn't over.

We walk back to the tent with a severe case of the giggles. My one remaining balloon on the flag pole is our dog which we walk home.

It nearly bites a policeman. They just laugh.

The security dogs just look at us perplexed.

The girl we ask to watch it while we pee holds onto it – and wonders if we are serious when we promise her it won't bite.

She isn't quite sure what to think about this large hairy man with fake breasts, a bare arse and a balloon for a dog. Now thats how to end a weekend!!!!!!!