It has been good though, chilling with Hayley, wandering the streets looking for old stuff and riding lots and lots of trains (can someone give me a ’b’ word for trains?). After my initial shock, I loosened up and started to enjoy myself. A lot.

The shock…
Arriving in London and lobbing off the plane, onto a train (that cost me fourty bucks for a fifteen minute ride) then another train (that cost me ten bucks) I was at my crummy hostel (that cost me a further forty bucks). With food along the way, I had blown a hundred bucks and hadn’t even seen one royal or eaten a single Yorkshire pudding.
With frowns a plenty on the streets, god awful weather, beer that costs ten bucks a go and accommodation that resembles a prison camp I was ready to get the next boeng 747 outta here. Do I sound like a whinging pom? There is a good reason why they have earned the reputation for being rock solid whiners, cause they have a lot to grumble about! It got better though.

The clarity..
Once I got used to the idea of giving up large slabs of my hard earned cash for nought and the fact that I was actually in a very amazing place, I was fine.
Just wandering around the centre of the city is sort of mind blowing. There are miles of people getting about their business surrounded by absolutely amazing ancient architecture, art and diversity. There is a niche for every way out fashion, every way out person and every way out culture. Everywhere you look there is something to catch your eye and I quickly got absorbed in it. I was taken on a cool tour of the free city sights by Brigid Scanlon (Sean and Marks Sister).

Once deciding to go North, I jumped on the first train out of Piccadilly to Kings Cross with my boards and all and got more than a few funny looks. I told one bloke that I was off to surf the Thames but gave the true story to the security guard who fancied me for a Afganian terrorist looking to blow the world up. Things got worse when I found out that a train North would cost me a whopping hundred and sixty bucks if I wanted to travel that day. If I was to ride the next day, he could get me a ride for twenty five bucks. Needless to say, I checked into a nearby and much nicer hostel (Journeys Kings Cross) for the night and got my cheap train the next day. As I found out you always book trains well in advance unless you’re Kerry Packer (oh shit that’s right) Um, I mean, James Packer.

The rest of England seems to be about Castles, knights, Saxons, Romans, Vikings and Kelts and throw me a wench, I loved it. I didn’t see heaps but when you stand amid castle walls looking at plaques detailing fifth century battles and Roman empires you start to want to get a knight suit fitted and slay a cup of tea and grab a scone.

Hayley got some time off so we grabbed a cheap online flight and accommodation package to Portugal in search of waves and warmer weather. We got neither but managed to see some special coastline and enjoy ourselves. We’ll go back with boards one day. You see, I neglected to ring the airline and ask how much boards would cost. I was thinking that they might hit me for fifty bucks or something but when I got there They wanted a cool seven hundred and six dollars each way to take my much needed equipment. I joked, ranted, pleaded and even tried to flirt with the huge bald, bearded bloke at the desk to cut us a break but to no avail. So off we went on Iberia airlines without our boards, more than just a little ripped on the whole experience.

Portugal is a perfect place for us Aussies. Everyone speaks English and the coast is littered with choice setups. We didn’t miss much in the way of surf but a dip would have been nice but where is James Packer when you need him?

I’m now in the best damn hostel I have ever seen called Backpackers Bristol in you guessed it, Bristol.

The fellas are long apart now.
Seano is still in Ecuador and I fear he will never leave, he’s killing it. He’s surfing his arse off, got Sammy McLennan there now and he must be famous for being the Aussie ginger Casanova by now or something.
Mark is in Mexico somewhere under a sombrero guzzling tequila and being mistaken for a local, occasionally brushing stale churros and fajitas off to go for an occasional surf.
Tommy is back in Tassie recovering from a crook hip after finally, finally meeting up with his beloved Janey.

Anyway, off to South Africa on the 12th with bells on…

Emerson

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