Gettin' chilly!

I'm still in the UK, still in the Wirral, still having to chase sheep every day, but NOT living in the Tipi. I love that tipi, but when it's lashing down rain and your fire's gone out, and you're all alone 'cause everyone else gave up long ago, a bed in a caravan isn't so bad. Even if it is located directly above a rat's nest. (I'll clear that out soon, I promise)

Now, here's what's happened. I don't know where I'm going next. It's getting cold here (my fingers are actually almost too cold to type as I'm writing this from inside the house that'll be pulled down in a couple of weeks.) I was going to go to Scotland, but that would be colder and I can't get ahold of the commune I was going to visit or anyone via couchsurfing.

I have been in touch with a helpex host in Bulgaria who's keen to have me visit, but before that I might pop up to Norway. I found flights there and back for 1p so why not? (there'll be tax on it and everything, but 1p is 1p!!!)

I kind of lack purpose at this point, I've got friends I still have to see in London and then I'm off to somewhere non English speaking. It's about time, I've crunched a few numbers (any errors can easily be explained by the fact that I did all the calculations myself) and it would seem I've been gone for just 2 weeks less than 6 months. I've only hit Ireland, Wales and England!!! I need to make tracks!

I don't think I'm going to make Octoberfest as I've not made any arrangements at all. Hopefully I'll still have a place to crash in Munich if I decide to go next year.

Still can't update my blog

I don't know why I can't change things like my profile picture but I can't and it's starting to tick me off.

I spent the morning fishing today and didn't manage to catch anything. I'm in the library now but I've wasted most of my time trying to figure this updating thing out.

I'm giving up now and moving on to something else.

Can't update my profile picture

I'm looking forward to being able to sit down and update my blog porperly, but that mightn't be for a while. I'd like to make it look like I care about keeping it up to date (try some of the links to the right. I dare you) and I will fix it all up eventually.

I'm in London now but will be going back to the northern farm tomorrow. Well, I'll make it as far as Manchester, i still have to buy a ticket to the Wirral (I really should be doing that now!) My first night in London I met Patty Wagon and he took me to the hostel he was staying at. It wasn't cheap (think $40/night. Thanks exchange rate!) but the stories we have from the night should last for a long time.



There was an 80s party the night we arrived so Patty and I decided to attend. We met lots of people and were having a laugh when suddenly a Kiwi guy I was talking to took offence to something (nothing I did, something must have snapped in his head) and he started getting agressive and pushy. He was a dick so I stopped talking to him and Patty and I decided we'd just go to our room and hit the hay.

Upon arriving we encountered our most thoughtfull roomate Lyndsay from California who was back from a job interview/date and had the lights on in the room and wasn't trying to be quiet at all. Patty and I talked to her for about 45 minutes trying to convince her that the £300 dinner she's just had with a 40 year old man, during which the conversation had turned to the topic of sex, might be an indication that she was going to be expected to do more than just watch his daughter. She agreed eventually but seemed to have no problem with it at all.

Then we went to sleep.

Then I woke up to the sounds of her sleeping with one of our other roommates. That went on for about 45 minutes and then I went back to sleep. When I woke up I got out of bed and Lyndsay was sitting on the edge of her bunk wrapped in blankets.

"Hey, can you pass me a shirt?"
I did.
"No, not that one, can you pass me that shirt?"
I did. I figured fine, she needs a shirt, no biggie.
"Can you pass me a pair of pants?"
I did, and in the process discovered the underwear of Anthony which had lost the previous night and which Lyndsay had refused to help him find because she was tired.

The next day we met a stranger in the street that tried to sell us some roasts of beef he had in a plastic bag and I'm pretty sure a man beside me in the train station toilet was masturbating in the urinal next to me.

London is a world class city.