Post Exam Arrogance, Growing Up and the Journey to the Centre of the Earth

Today marked the first exam of the very last season of exams ...Ever. I'm not going to lie. It went well. Too well for me to be arrogant about it really. The last weeks hard work of homoerotic companionship working late into the night revising as the taller and more rugged part of a duo more incredible than the Wright Brothers and sure to achieve far more than just inventing flying machines, paid off. Although the temperature in the examination room was enough to steam the hairs of a coconut and perhaps lowered my sperm count considerably, knowledge was transferred from brain to paper in a great splurge and before I knew it, it was time to leave and celebrate with a cornish pastie. 

In other news, I had a sudden scare last night on the metro journey home. Listening to a group of northern teenage yobos, with more piercings than a heroine addict from Croydon, laughing at farts and other such delights it occurred to me that it wasn't funny. When did this happen?  I used to pride myself on my childlike antics of entertaining myself, and to quote my Father, I realised I have to get old but growing up? Not willingly. But it seemed somehow without realising it I had become a boring old man. However quickly this morning I realised that this must have just been lack of sleep. A child fell over on the metro this morning when we stopped. I laughed out loud and attracted all manners of glares. All was right in the world again. I mean I am probably going to Hell, but then I'm ok with that. It sounds more fun down there anyway.

So the ratio of revision to watching videos of other  people having fun in kayaks around the world has slowly diminished in favour of the kayaks, and productivity is at an all time low. The next exam is in one days time and it's a mere 10 days until I put tyres to tarmac and up sticks from North back to South.

I suppose I should stop talking crap and get on with it.

Football, Dirty Weekends and the Last Lecture EVER

So one day, a week ago, marked the end of an era. Four years of lectures have come and gone, new and inventive methods of sleeping upright being invented with each new term, enough caffeine consumed to give even a cold cadaver palpitations and keep Lavazza Coffee in business, and you would think I would be as happy as a dog with two tails when for the last time, I walked into a lecture theatre, sat down and duly nodded off. I think I expected more of a finale, more of a going out with a bang - but the clock creeped past its hour and as the class filed out that was it. The last lecture ever. A bigger anti-climax than waking up on Christmas Day morning, running into the living room and then remembering you're German and have already opened your presents the night before. Not that I am truly finished. I still have reports, a 25,000 word dissertation and a bunch of exams but that is a winge for another time.

To celebrate this momentous occasion, instead of exploring the great binge culture of Newcastle and killing off my last remaining brain cells I took a flight down to Bristol for a weekend.. In a miraculous first for the UK the sun appeared and an awesome weekend of wine, sun and slacklining in the park at Bath ensued and I returned to Newcastle on Monday evening slightly burnt and satisfied. Satisfied because I had finally overcome my ability to wear gravity like a coat when slacklining, and was starting to create some substantial sex appeal in sunny England, rocking the beard better than Jesus in a death metal band.

Some sexy hunk

The following day, the entire group of people on my Masters course planned to get together for a friendly kick around at the local sports centre, so it was with eager anticipation that I donned my shorts and previously unworn Lonsdales that morning and shuffled off like an eager beaver. Now I should point out that the below image summed up my expectations of this match, and despite not having played football since I was 16 I had this notion that I would be a god on the pitch.

Some sexy woman

Now the above notion was quickly dashed as I remembered that no such women exist on my course (hopefully they don't read this) and the second notion was similarly dashed as the knowledge that I was actually completely useless at football spread faster than an STI in a University Hall of Residence. I was sweating more than a fat man in a sauna as I found myself essentially just chasing people up and down the pitch in an attempt to locate the ball. In my frustration resorting to slamming my opponents to the ground to get the ball, apparently an action that is generally frowned upon. I finally found my calling in standing in front of the goal and stopping the ball from entering the net, the result of such an action I was assured would result in the opposition getting a point. Just like back in school playing rugby when I simply followed the instructions of staying at the back and not letting anyone through, these were instructions I could follow - although my methods were occasionally frowned upon. Perhaps a little too high on our glory my team mates even let me back out onto the pitch where I managed to score a goal, although it was the result of hitting the keeper in the arse and deflecting into the net but ill take that. Now the only gripe with that day was my Lonsdales. Now a good friend once told me that Lonsdales are for Chavs, povo's (his words not mine) and steroid junkies and I am sure he would tell me that I deserved every damn blister that I got on my feet. Not that I could call them blisters, more one huge continuous open wound of festering goo. So the last few days I have been hobbling around slower than an old man with his zimmer frame, feeling like I have been running on a running machine made of sandpaper. But skin heals and glory lives forever, and that goal will live on forever.

OK enough milking of that moment.

In more depressing news I made the momentous decision when I moved back up North after Easter to leave my boats behind, as in recent times they had seen as much action as a nuns lady garden due to a ridiculous workload, and the constant knowledge of their nearby location was about as frustrating for me as I imagine it is for a monk living a life of celibacy next door to the Playboy Mansion.

Some sexless monk

So I guess that's it for this week. I'm currently sat at home working on flood reports, pretending to revise and wondering what I am going to have for dinner. In 3 weeks time I will be packing my bags, my room, my northern life, into the small confines of a blue metal VW Polo and praying to the car Gods that the wheel bearings don't go completely on the 350 odd mile trip down south to Cardiff, where I will start my dissertation in earnest with work in the office. I will save sharing  my enthusiasm for my hydrological modelling work for another time, I don't want to overload my readers with too much excitement in one sitting.

Lost months, big waves and an initiation

It would seem that I fell asleep for a few months and before I knew it months had passed and I failed to write an update on life in the big bad North.  Despite this the country is still stuck in deep winter akin to that wrought upon Narnia by the White Witch  herself. Much has happened in this time of frozen despair, man parts have temporarily defrosted only to be plunged back into the realms of the subzero, (where to venture outside you have to look down to check your not walking around in your baby suit, as the cold cuts through the ten layers of clothing quicker than it takes to spread juicy gossip in a woman's changing room), many riveting reports and presentations have been written, presented and duly forgotten, and the day when I return to Cardiff fully qualified and primed for some hydrology action creeps dangerously closer.

So the pain in the rear end that are exams is now over, (long over in fact) and I will now move on with no further winging other than to state that whoever writes said examinations is a sadist. In true form the cessation of two weeks of boredom and sitting on the old derriere was a trip up into the bowels of Scotland with the NUCC lads to kayak the gnar. A bottle of whisky in one hand, my GoPro camera in the other, what could possibly go wrong.

As many will know, the UK has recently resembled the North Pole, with snow covering all but the most inefficiently insulated houses. With rain promised for the weekend in question (some few weeks ago now) you didn't need to be a hydrologist to know that runoff in the region was going to be off the chain. If the promised rain materialised that is.

Eager in this anticipation myself and one other, the youngest and soon to be proved most talented of the group, got up at the crack of dawn the next day, ready to battle the raging torrents we had dreamt of. Unfortunately, the first day in the cold north resulted in some of the laziest sleepy students known to man, that made even the faff fest which is Cardiff Uni look like eager beavers, and the scruffy shits were still crawling out of bed at half 9. Admittedly the full cooked breakfast they then knocked up did make up for this slightly. Also, this raging monsoon we (i) had envisaged did not materialise and we were left paddling rivers more resembling the result of a bunch of horses urinating than anything that was made by the Gods. The evening was spent drowning out the memory of this rock scrape with consumption of all the alcoholic supplies that were to hand. Not sure really what happened but sure it was a merry time had by all. I was less keen to get up the following morning.

But get up I did and this time it had actually rained. Not the epic deluge I had envisaged that once was responsible for Noah's Arc of selective favouritism but a small pitter pattering of wetness nonetheless which turned the rivers into an acceptable level. Off we journeyed to the River Etive, which for those that don't know, is a river which snakes it's way across bedrock dropping in gradient in a series of fun ledges, slots and slides. Perhaps the most impressive feature of this river is the aptly named 'Big Man Falls'. Or Right Angle...depending on who you talk to. Not ridiculously large it still gets the heart pumping, and considering the last time I ran a waterfall, albeit unintentionally and a tad larger, I ended up in A & E with my 'rugged good looks' decidedly more rugged. I was a tad nervous. The entry move, although not something to worry about normally, was a tight right angle before dropping off into the fall. Mess this up and you're going over the fall upside down, on your face or if you're really daft...out of your boat. I manned up and stormed this beast, and mess it up I did not.

That said however, safely down looking up at the next person to follow me, I was greeted by a slightly panicked face. And a boat. Together but not together...

Much merriment was had by all over this event, don't worry readers - no injuries were incurred other than that of pride. The day was spent sessioning different drops and basically having an all round good time, and it was a tired and satisfied group that traipsed back to the hut at the end of the day to consume yet more whisky and beer. That night said whisky had the unfortunate effect of causing the NUCC president to lose all his clothes and frolic in the nearby river like a lamb in spring shouting 'it's not even cold' as it hammered down with rain and his under garments floated off down stream.

The next morning heads were even heavier than the night before and mine was significantly heavier than some, and in true feeling sorry for myself form I took some considerable persuading to get out of the warm bed. In my defence the night had been shattered on countless occasion by a certain member on the top bunk opposite me decorating the lower bunk and floor with the contents of his stomach at regular intervals of the night, as well as the club president flashing his children makers at me repeatedly in an attempt 'to cool down'. To say it was a disturbing night is an understatement.

But the good news, the rain had arrived. That night all the rain I had envisaged for the entire weekend fell in one night and I was like a junkie in a drug store as I looked eagerly out of the mini bus window at all the rivers, quite literally raging like a bull in a china shop.

Off to the River Orchy we travelled. Now this is a river I have done before, certain sections multiple times and never have I seen it look so inviting and uninviting at the same time. Nice big volume, an awesome day on the water. Admittedly there was one Grade 5 section that looked so meaty that we all stood and looked at and after a certain degree of macho willy waving the majority decided enough was enough, myself included. Two guys ran it, one the aforementioned 16 year old, and Phil, both making all those on the banks feel like they had very small willy's indeed as they made it look, literally, like child's play.

And so that was that, a long and damp ride back to the land of bovril and pies and a week of intense programming and modelling in Uni that I will not bore anyone with talking about. Unfortunately my way to becoming a true geek is now firmly cemented in place as I lapped up all this new knowledge with eager ears.

In other news, on a recent trip to Pembrokeshire for a weekend away with the family and girlfriend for my mums birthday, I re-introduced her back into the world of kayaking. The girlfriend, not the mother, that scenario is about as likely as a teenage boy reading Playboy without looking at the pictures. Now, she actually started all this malarkey before me and likes to point out that she learnt to roll before me, however promptly stopped and never got back into a boat again until that lovely freezing cold day on the beach at Newgale, with 2 metre waves crashes down onto the shingles, and a wind so cold it put the Newcastle gales to shame. Now I'm not one to boast of my manly gentleman-ness but here I will make an exception. I will let the following images sum up our dressage for the subsequent few hours of playing in the sea....

Her

Me

 She was bloody good. Considering the sea was about as wild as a goat on heat she absolutely nailed it. That was until her new found confidence prompted her to opt for her very own maiden voyage as she set of for Ireland, heading out to sea in what i thought was some vain attempt at finding land on the other side. This new found adventure was then brought to an abrupt end as a particularly large wave picked her up, held her vertically long enough for me to see the look of sheer terror on her face before depositing her face first back into the water. Hilarious. That was until realisation dawned that the tide was going out and her attempts to swim to shore against the power of the tide were about as successful as man in a suit of armour treading water. Not helped by the fact my spare helmet was about as loose as a rope of sand on her head and every wave plunged her into darkness. Now this distraction was actually very thoughtful of her, as it distracted me from the the growing numbness in the entirety of my extremities as the cold forgotten, I set about surfing my additional human cargo and various bits of kit in to shore. No damage, to her or the the kit and she was left only seething, about as frustrated as an Amish electrician, annoyed at the swim but raring to go again. Unfortunately upon safe landing the realisation of the cold returned and I feared my favourite external organs would never recover. I ran and hid in my car with the engine on and prayed for a successful thawing process. But recover they did, and what better way to celebrate an awesome, if not a little epic, return to the world of kayaking  than after a little drive back to the warm house, and with the addition of plenty of beer, watching the Welsh team educate the English in just how real men play rugby. 

So that's it. A few months summed up into a few over-worded, simile-heavy paragraphs. After so long away I have now forced my dwindling fan base to read what can only be described as an essay of epic proportions. But for those who have cried at night unable to sleep due to the lack of literary content this once reliable blog has provided, never fear. I'm back.



Exams: Stress, Panic And A Sieve-Like Brain

Exams. The 5 letter word that for some reason strikes horror into the hearts of any like-minded student, bringing out a cold sweat in any but the most steel balled of learners. That causes groups of girls to burst into hysterical tears on an even more regular occurrence and whole age groups to consider alternative, easier degrees, (perhaps doing Media Studies will open up a wide range of prospective job opportunities after all...) They make even the most level-headed guy consider emigrating to sunnier climes to live out a life of solitude as a hermit somewhere where I don't have to memorise the parameters to equations used in calculating just how much human sewage can be pumped through a pipe the size of my oesophagus...It is this delightful process that I currently find myself in the dubious honour of indulging in on an all too regular basis for the next two weeks. Two weeks where potentially my future is decided based on my ability to regurgitate some key facts onto a piece of paper in some pathetic attempt to prove my everlasting knowledge of hydrology.

You might have gathered already that I do possess some distaste for examinations, due most in part to my remarkable inability to complete them successfully. It's not that I’m particularly dull, although I won’t be winning any Nobel prizes anytime soon either, it's just that when I sit down and the elderly people who seem to enjoy spending their last few days before slipping off the mortal coil of life 'invigilating' start shouting out instructions like some kind of aggrieved army officer, my balls turn to putty and my brain turns to mush.


In reality, when I’m working I will look things up if I can’t remember them...surely being a good hydrologist isn't about being able to memorise things - if so Derren Brown is surely in the wrong bloody profession. As an apt clip from the Inbetweeners summarised beautifully, “I have my revision schedule sorted, colour coded, energy drinks and pro plus on hand and I’m balancing my time well...and nothing is fucking going in!".



But perhaps I rant too much. At the end of the day, it's not even that big a deal. If I go into my Hydrosystems Modelling exam tomorrow and come out with zero, the world isn't going to stop. I won’t starve to death. In fact I have a particularly yummy bacon, cranberry and brie sandwich planned for approximately 1.30pm tomorrow so it can't all be bad. The irony is that every year students across the world, myself included, have virtual mental meltdowns over the process of sitting in front of a few pieces of A4 paper that have about as much real-life importance as a chocolate teapot.

2012: The Round Up

So the curtain has finally fallen on 2012, another year and another wrinkle on the great ball sack which is the timeline of my life. Now 2012 has actually been quite a year. A year in which I have gone from prolific procrastination and wild activities of a brave and heroic nature; such as tumbling elegantly over Grade 6 waterfalls with the grace of a high jumping walrus, to becoming a studious, hard working engineer, destroying with equal grace mathematical equations so hard they make male porn stars look like undercooked pigs in blankets.

It has been a year to remember, if not always for the right reasons. Missing out on a first class honours degree by 2 percent perhaps one of the more frustrating experiences of the year, up there alongside my failure to fulfill my life long ambition of sleeping with Jessica Alba. Perhaps this year, another degree, another chance.

In other news, and one I have been warned by some may put off the huge following of teenage girls this blog enjoys the frequent visits and lovingly typed love letters from: I recently acquired myself a girlfriend. I of course make this sound as if i purchased said lady, perhaps from a dubious thai black market dealer of such items, but this is simply not true. I actually went about it in the semi traditional way of wooing a friend using the art of long distance seduction, black magic and rohipnol. To say this is recent news is also perhaps not strictly true, and to assume readers would be interested in reading this may be a step too far, but this comes from an author who regularly writes of such things as the magical powers of his gentleman parts and dull metro train journeys, so really, what did you expect.

The lucky lady...



So Christmas has come and gone with the bedroom speed of an inexperienced teenage boy, and the New Years party went down with such a bang it made the UFC look like a tame kindergarten brawl. Of course no one was seriously hurt, except the pride of a certain Mr Grant and Mr Farrow who discovered just who was the boss by the hero of this story. At least that is my version of events. The teeth marks in my left ear might suggest otherwise. It should also be noted, as a New Years resolution and just as general useful life information, that at no time is lemon juice an acceptable or suitable eye bathing fluid.

Mr Grant being bossed around like a little school boy


Anyhow, bruises and macho strutting aside I now find myself planning and packing for the long journey back up to the cold and distant North. The romantic lure of exams beckons, and off I must go. Only half a year left and ill be back down South, safely in a job...

Or... ill fail my exams and ill be the one busking on an over-sized guitar on the street, wailing like a gutted boar trying to earn pennies for sustenance. That or turn to high end prostitution for the middle aged spinster. Time will tell. On that note, back to work. If ever there was an incentive to work hard, the threat of becoming an old, greying, hair-lipped widows play thing is a good one.

Christmas, frozen man parts and money well spent

So the past few weeks I have been slacking. Not on the work front, that has been about as unrelenting as a dominatrix on viagra, but on the reporting of said work and the other mundane goings on in my life. The plethora of work and looming deadlines finally culminated in one final week of 5 am starts and 14 hour days - ending this Friday in the big hand in day, and suddenly the term was over, in what turned out to be a bigger anti climax than a crappy one night stand. To illustrate just how hard we work, see below

But I digress, workload aside, the North has recently been mistaken on multiple occassions for somewhere deep within the Arctic circle, with snowfall turning where I live into some sort of winter wonderland, albeit a winter wonderland of cheap chinese imported blockwork suburbia. This coincided with the failing of the boiler, and my modern cardboard house was soon turned into a dwelling perfect for maintaining the ideal temperature of a Gin and Tonic, requiring the donning of pretty much every item of clothing in my wardrobe to stay alive. This had the effect of making me look like some kind of swaddled Papoose, with the cold at night leaving me wondering what had happened to certain extremeties which had retreated back inside to avoid the chill.

To further deep freeze my popsicle within my undergarments, I took a day off from work and joined the Newcastle guys for a cheeky icy paddle on the mighty Tees last Saturday. With the ground frozen and the water colder than a glacier fed waterfall, by the end of the day the only way to warm up was with a mince pie, mulled wine and by jumping around like an epileptic trout in an effort to return blood flow to certain parts of the body. But it was a great break from the work. Even better, upon my return I discovered that the heating had now been fixed in the mansion, and soon I was able to rediscover my manhood as my body slowly defrosted.

In other news, my car recently visited the car doctor as part of that annual golden requirement all fellow car owners enjoy, the big MOT. Of course being such an awesome car, that never breaks and never lets me down, it failed. This filled me with endless joy, as did the £415 bill I had to rob an old woman to settle. That said, as some past passengers will vouch for, my ABS light has been flashing for pretty much the last year - a little fact I liked to dismiss as a faulty light of little consequence. However it turns out my ABS was indeed faulty, a fact I grudgingly conceded required fixing. Two days later as I drove a little too fast considering the icy conditions of the road, I discovered that the £415 on working ABS sensors was money well spent, as I stopped short of slamming into oncoming traffic on a roundabout by about 2 mm, thanks to the aforementioned fixed brakes. Lesson children, don't be a cheapskate. Or drive sensibly.

So that's pretty much the first term over. It's Christmas time, and Saturday I packed the car and drove the long journey home back to Cardiff. The next few weeks will be solely drinking, eating and making merry like it's Santas final year on this Earth. Well, that's a slight dirty lie as I actually have shedloads of revision and even more coursework than 20 undergraduates combined, but that's a winge for another time. Meanwhile, this week I get to watch the hobbit and go paddling with Max, im not sure which one I am more excited about; the opportunity to see my Nans debut big screen role as Bilbo Baggins, or the chance to be part of an incredible dynamic duo taming the wild Welsh rivers with such panache women will tell tales of our reckless courage and bravery for years to come. All I know is that it's good to be back.

NB: No old women were harmed during the settling of the MOT bill. The author of this blog reserves the right to be liberal with the truth at any time. This was such a time.

A North Wales Special – A Tale of Sordid Debauchery with a bit of Kayaking thrown in for good measure

North Wales. The land of the gogs, mist covered peaks and wild mountain women. The place that for one weekend only, the guys and girls of Cardiff University Kayakers had decided to descend upon, to be joined by myself and some of the other Procrastinate lads.

Finally the big day arrived, and leaving bang on time the error of my well planned departure was made evident as I hit Leeds at the height of rush hour. When I finally managed to get away from the traffic and into the mountains of Wales, it turned out the club was miles behind as per the normal faff that accompanies all club trips. But some of the older and wiser guys who were travelling up separately were on time, so a cheeky pub dinner was planned.

We arrived well fed at our palatial residence that was to be our home for the next few days. Unfortunately there seemed to be some sort of mistake, perhaps a language barrier between the English and the Welsh, but it appeared the luxury pad was actually a barn at the end of a 30,000 mile long mud track deep in the heart of the Welsh mountains. Albeit a barn with a rudimentary kitchen and eventually some running water, (after a certain hero located the stop tap in a well in the front yard). A quick perusal of the sleeping quarters highlighted the division in equality about to take place. In the main residence lay a series of Auschwitz style bunk beds, accompanied by dirty, sweat stained pillows and sheets.

The North Wales Camp....


Above the boot room however lay a slightly nicer 4 bed apartment of comparative luxury, with significantly less stained bed linen. I felt my German ancestry stirring and quickly made plans to inhabit this luxury bachelor’s pad of dominance.

Not quite what it was like...


Unfortunately fate worked against me. When the rest of the Procrastinate boys arrived, a tad merry after polishing off their body weight in Southern Comfort en-route, they burst through the door like the cast of Magic Mike, flexing their bulging biceps like Roman Gladiators on steroids. We quickly felt the need to join them in this rowdy-ness, and before very long one of the two bottles of Port designed to be consumed at a steady state throughout the weekend was gone. When the rest of the club finally arrived they were greeted by a serene, quiet group of well-respected old boys enjoying a beverage or two by the fire. At least that is my recollection.

Without further ado the night stepped up a notch, another bottle of port was cracked and the ‘I Have Nevers’ began, with yarn spinning legend of the evening Rob Haley, of Stuff The Consequences, conjuring delicious adjectives from the air worthy of Shakespeare himself to describe our past misdemeanours with a certain focus on one poor individual, in what can only be described as vicious bullying tactics. The consumption of Port was slowed somewhat as Gin and Juice came into consideration, but I battled on, even pausing at times to sample Southern Comfort, a disgusting concoction.

Before the night had grown past its teenage years our eloquent drunkard Mr Haley no longer felt able to provide the nights entertainment and retired to the luxury pad, where he proceeded to decorate the mattress and floor with what was mostly the aforementioned disgusting concoction with a little stomach acid thrown in for good measure.

Now I’m afraid dear readers, I have a digressed a little in this great tale, so I will rush speedily through the next few hours and onwards to the next day. Nothing much happened of note. I may have been a little rowdy, and a certain person who owed me a favour from my earlier gentlemanly gesture of goodwill may have helped put me to bed in the kitchen surrounded by buckets, but all in all it was a very quiet, pleasant evening.

Our Hero taking a well deserved rest...


The next morning I awoke to the sound of people clearing up around me. The room was spinning like a gyroscope on a merry go round and there was no sign whatsoever of a hangover. Evidently, I was unaffected by the previous evening.

I should point out at this time in the tale that the purpose of this trip was supposedly to kayak, but this is in fact a dirty lie. I would have quite happily stayed asleep on my bench in the kitchen for the remainder of the day but unfortunately I had been tasked with taking a group down something wet as safely as I could muster, so I bravely battled on.

The first channel with any degree of debateable wetness we agreed upon paddling, was the gentle Lower section of the Llugwy. The less said about this pathetic rock scrape of a puddle the better, but quickly we were on the much more enjoyable Conwy. I can’t speak for other inferior groups but my group tamed this beast faster than a lion tamer in the Great British Circus. My team, consisting of the now legend-dary Chris Towriss, Jordan and Ross with Helena taking the helm leading the group like a boss, had almost no swims. This is almost as good as no swims, except there was one teeny little dip - but I like to think the man in question barely dipped his head in before both boat and person were rescued and we were on our way again down river within our crafts of whitewater pleasure.

The Saturday evenings jolly making was short lived for some of us, due mostly to our hangovers kicking in around 3pm, mine and Robs especially. After a few hours of attempted socialising we retired gracefully to bed and left the floor to be filled by the younger generation. I hear they did a good job. Literally, I heard everything – the bastards kept me awake for two hours. I especially enjoyed how they embraced fully the club tradition of high card something bad.

The final morning the three of us enjoying the comforts of the officer’s suite, bathed in the great luxury of a lie in and coffee in bed, before departing for a run down the River Dee. A lovely little river, it was a great opportunity to see how much Team Boom had improved, and how well their young heads could deal with the hangovers from the night before. Disgustingly well to both I am afraid to report. We had a few swims, with one attempting to pulverise himself on Serpents Tail by dredging the river bed with his legs but no lasting harm done, and the improvement in everyone was amazing.

Except the leader of another group, the incessantly stupid Jonny Cakes, who abandoned his group, his paddles, his common sense and his dignity as he drifted on upside down towards the final little rapid of the day, Town Falls. Somehow he stayed in his boat, much to the disappointment of all onlookers who watched on in disbelief, as he left his group alone at the top. We quickly divided this unfortunate lot amongst our own groups, Team Boom acquiring an honorary member, Lucy (not to be confused with Lucie), for the final section. Now she was substantially better looking than Jordan, Chris or Ross and with my group numbers swelled to six including two females, I was feeling very manly.

Now at this point I have said very little about Ross, other than to slate his looks compared to the new blonde addition to our posse, but having proved himself more than capable I gave him the task of leading the infamous dredger Chris down the section, a task he nailed with apparent ease, with Helena taking Jordan whilst I tried to make up for Jonny’s failings and take Lucy down myself. Like an absolute legend she powered down the section without missing a beat and thus ended our weekend both on and off the river.

Jonny Cakes paying the price for his failure

Quick pub afternoon grubs munch later and we all said our goodbyes and hit the road, and in a complete opposite to Friday’s journey I was home in just over 3 hours. A cracking weekend with a cracking group of people that I will remember for a long time, as will my liver and my bank manager, but totally worth it.

Kayaking withdrawal, maths, more maths and a touch of butt cramp

To say I am getting severely naffed off by the lack of action in my life is a severe understatement. I am not of course referring to my sex life, although that is drier than the cast of the golden girls at the moment, but to the lack of a different wet extreme sport, kayaking. Things are going to change. This weekend I am giving the two fingers to the shedload of work that has kept me pretty much living in Uni, and I am swanning off down south to the mountains of North Wales to join the the guys and gals of Cardiff for some epic kayaking carnage. For some reason the group who have been unfortunate enough to be given to me to 'protect and serve' on the rivers lack any sign of young fresher 'poon' (see the Procrastionary for clarification), instead I have an all male group with just the one token female committee member. I do so hope she enjoys banter. The reason given for this is that they don't want me distracted on the river. I am not a dog on heat, I can control my raging libido.

Following on from this weekend I am making a mid term resolution, make one day a week for kayaking. Even if it's actually attending a pool session where I can pretend to teach skills I can barely grasp myself, it means I can get back in a boat and take a break from it all. To say that my life has become one big long maths bonanza is an understatement, I have differentiation, integration, quadratic blergh simulaneous blurgh and я понятия не имею, что я говорю....coming out of my ears. The only distraction from this horror thus far has been the onset of butt cramp halfway through a two hour lecture on Russian politics. Or French philosophy. Or something. It's all the same to me.

Any hooo, there I am, in my usual seat at the back of the class like the cool kid, swinging on my chair looking nonchalant at the lack of knowledge that is going into my pea brained skull when it happened. First it was only slight. A twitch if you like. My left cheek clamped. I carefully straightened my leg and it briefly subsided. Then returned with the vengeance of a gilted lover causing excruciating pain that no amount of writhing, hopping up and down or performance of the great rain dance of heaven would get rid of. This caused much amusement to my peers, great disgust to the lecturer who stopped midsentence and stared at me, and some moderate embarresment to the hero of this story. In the end all I could do was sit it out and try and massage it away... which had the unfortunate side effect of looking like I was pleasuring myself via the rear whilst staring at the lecturer. The moment passed, my friends all had a good laugh, my lecturer now wont be in the room alone with me, and even now the following day, I have a dull ache in the left gluteus maximus to remind me of yesterdays entertainment.

Another little piece of news that will seem fairly boring now compared to the great arse cramp story; I am going to be doing one of my modules next year in Nice (France). This means two weeks instead of one doing flood modelling and is all expenses paid, except food. Should be a good crack and more hands on than lectures. A chance for me to get my geek on, I might suck at maths in the classroom context but modelling I get more excited about than Jimmy Saville at a children's birthday party.

That's it. Next week I may actually have more interesting things to talk about than butt cramp and mid term resolutions, primarily the antics of this coming weekend, which is going to be EPIC.

Secret Powers, Politics and Jungle Fever

Today was a day that will go down in history. No im not talking about the US Presidential elections, although on that note surely it was obvious that even the Americans wouldn't vote in someone who was named after an item of clothing designed to keep your hands warm...at least that is my disinterested take on it.

No, im talking about discovering my superhero ninja powers. During an innocent trip to the little boys room to relieve myself of my 5th or 6th cup of coffee of the day, whilst performing certain rituals neccessary to begin the task I accidentally dislodged my phone from my coat pocket. As this rubbish piece of technology attempted ceramic suicide, just moments before it plunged to a watery and slightly disgusting end, I swatted it to safety faster than Bruce Lee on Ritalin. I have never felt so manly. Unfortunately the result was said phone hit the far wall with the impact of a buzzard on a car windscreen and I now have a big scratch to remind me in future that with great power comes great responsibility.

I should probably clarify at this point for those who give me far more credit than I am due, the swatting was done with the hand. This is for two reasons, a) I am not hung like a horse, and b) even if I was hung like a horse, and able to swing such a monstrosity with enough momentum to bat the phone to safety, it is likely that such rapid blunt force would rupture one or both of the tunica albuginea (i.e. result in a severe penile fracture). That dear readers, is why I employed the hand. No man wants a penile fracture.

I also had a Maths exam this morning I was looking forward to about as much as Russel Brand looks forward to his monthly GUM Clinic checkup. With nervous trepidation I began the test, somehow stumbled through it and got 82%.... must be to do with these new powers.

Finally, to top off this day of all days, found out that next summer I may be off to the Democratic Republic of Congo as part of my dissertation with work, which would be incredible. It'll be like the film Anaconda all over again, African rainforest style.

And I suppose Barack Obama beating Mitt Romney for Presidency and making sure the Republicans stay out of control of the Senate is also some cause for celebration. Ok massive cause for celebration. We'll just try and ignore the depressing little fact that they were unable to retake control of the House of Representatives from the Republicans, so in reality little will change. Here's to another few years of legislative deadlock.

Flying visits, group work and ill advised presentation techniques

So last weekend I packed my bags and boarded a flight to an exotic land far, far away. Wales. A little visit home for a few days to see friends and a certain person. Now before you reach for the sick bucket (or tissues) in anticipation of a filthy, sordid recounting of events, or the polar opposite - an outburst of soppy unmannliness, never fear - I wont go into any more detail than that, this being a family friendly account of events and all. Also because there is a high chance I would end up losing my head faster than a journalist in North Korea.

Now i'm back it's just another 5-6 weeks of hard graft and i'll be returning for the big C word that doesn't rhyme with punt.

This week I have been forced unwillingly to engage in group work as part of a new module on Climate Change. The biggest issue being those faced when certain members are louder and less able to control their outbursts of complete bollocks than a member of the US Republican Party.

It's not that I do not like working as a team. Far from it. But when said team is given 2 hours to put together a presentation on something and everyone thinks they're right, arguments ensue.

Somehow, probably due to my slightly ill thought out criticism of certain members intelligence during one of the more heated discussions, I was nominated to not only do my section of the presentation but also the conclusion. When asked if I wished to prepare a conclusion I declined, an off the cuff version seeming far more appealing.

A word of advice to any would be followers of this techinique. Winging in-depth scientific knowledge of individual greenhouse gases such as Perfluormethane (CF4), and it's influences on global warming to a panel of industry leading experts in this field is about as easy as a white woman trying to convince her white husband the black baby they just had is a miracle and not the consequence of her adulterous adventures.

Needless to say after an uncomfortable few minutes for all involved some effort was made for the second presentation scheduled for the following day. This one I did...

In other news, this week I have been back on the bike on my daily commute and started a new intense gym routine with my housemate after a two week pathetic illness excused hiatus. Subsequently my legs now feel as sore as a navy officers wife after he has been home for a few days after 6 months spent at sea. Sore but surprisingly satisfied.

So that's it. This weekend I am having to miss a weekend of kayaking party heaven, aka Tyne Tour, due to heavy workload. Two exams this week and coursework I am determined to break the back of in time for a weekend away with the Guys and Gals of Cardiff, kayaking in North Wales in a few weekends time. Ill be damned if im going to let work make me miss that as well as this weekend, I have the bottles of port purchased already in eager anticipation of an incredible rowdy weekend of whitewater kayaking and drinking.

Until then, time to knuckle down.

The Plague, Slavery and Doghnuts

This week I have been on my deathbed, suffering from that well known affliction that is known to bring even the strongest man to his knees in a crippled mess, barely strong enough to even get out of bed in the morning. Man flu. Now man flu isn't like the common cold which affects women, it's much, MUCH worse. But being a man, I of course battled on through the haze that the plague had reduced my life too. Being a sensible human being I opted to this week change my travel plans from cycling to Uni, to getting back on the metro bandwagon and taking the easy option in each day, in an effort to return my health. Now I don't know much about the Geneva Convention but during rush hour they pack more people into each carriage than into a 17th Century slave cargo ship. Now chickens have a legal minimum space requirement of 750cm...I am bigger than a chicken. Shoulder to shoulder, face pressed into the back of some stranger in front I started to wish I was a battery chicken so I could spread out and enjoy the space. They think they have it tough? Chickens. I did however take pleasure in spreading the Black Death throughout the carriage, ensuring the loudest and rudest of passengers got the fullest blast of my germs.

Modern day human sandwiches

Look at all that space.

Now it is probably my own fault I succumbed to the dreaded pox. Last week I indulged in two particularly heavy nights out, and due to late hours in Uni resorted to ready meals. Now as my Grandmother tells me, if you don't eat your fruit and veg, and drink your body weight in Gin and Wine, it's your own bloody fault if you fall ill. Point taken Nan.

This week I discovered the TV series 'Heroes'. Now I don't want to be over enthusiastic but it is AMAZING! Not sure entirely where I was when it came out first time around but now my week days consist of working til late in Uni then coming home, gym and indulging in Heroes Marathons into the early hours with my housemate. I do live an inspiring life.

Today my mother is coming to visit. Now im not sure exactly what the polite thing to do is in this situation. We don't have a spare bed, do I give up mine? Currently, due to practically living in Uni, my room looks like a Military grade obstacle course. To get to bed you have to climb a small mountain, just getting over a small workout in itself. Now if I give up my room, should I tidy it? I mean that's what mum's are for right? I haven't washed any clothes for a while either maybe she can sort that out as well...

Ok I'm not that much of a tit (although the thought did cross my mind). I will blast it quickly before she comes, so at least she can see the floor and where the bed is actually located amongst the pile of clothes. I will spend the next few nights on the air bed in the study.

Next week I am popping back down to the Welshlands for a quick bout of nostalgic reunions, hence why I am working harder this week to make up for next weekend off. Another maths exam on Wednesday which I am of course looking forward to as much as the bearded man looked forward to being nailed to a cross.

One last thing before I actually finish this weeks entry and do some work, readers may be impressed to know that during one of my Post Night Out Collateral Damage sessions, I ate 12 doughnuts. I know. Impressive.

Work, Drink and Forgotten Moments

This week was my 'Off Week'. Which meant spending 10 hour days in the Union computer clusters calculating catchment averaged rainfall depths amongst other exciting water related mathematical wonders. The cycle commute in each day was going well, for one day, that was until having forgotten the everyday phenomenon of nightfall I was left chasing the few shreds of daylight back home without any lights, hitting a pot hole and realising my rear tyre had gone softer than an elderly gentleman's power tool.

Realising without lights my chances of fixing the puncture, and having stupidly left my spare inner tube back at the castle, I was left with no choice but to trudge two miles back into town, (the other option was an 8 mile walk to my house) where I chained up the bike under the watchful gaze of a sign saying 'Bike Thieves We Are Watching You'... a huge deterrent to would be thieves of my precious two wheeled Ferrari I'm sure you would agree. I had to take the metro home with my tail between my legs like a depressed puppy.

Wednesday promised to be the highlight of the week with a respite from the daily grind of work with a night out with the Newcastle Uni Kayaking bunch. The theme tight 'n' Bright, sponsored by Primark.

Now what I hadn't taken into account in my eager anticipation of this wondrous event was the 20 minute commute in by train. Dressed as a 90's gay icon pop star I was attracting all sorts of attention for entirely the wrong reasons. I was however very grateful I hadn't opted for my previous choice of fancy dress. Dressed as a giant walking vagina would have been a little too much for the gentle folk of Northumberland Park Metro Station I feel. The journey ordeal over, I finally, after some wondering around the streets of Newcastle trying to find the bar, met the rest of the guys and girls of NUCC. A great bunch, followed by a great night out. I think. It was a great night up until the point where I don't remember...I remember entering the Union in the early hours, I remember trying to convince the bouncers I was Irish when I needed to leave to get more cash and I remember getting fleeced by the taxi driver on the way home. From there all I remember is the feeling when I woke of one, feeling like a warmed up cadaver, and two, feeling I should be embarrassed about something but no idea what it was. Luckily I still can't remember so no harm done. The following day is what I like to call 'Post Night Out Collateral Damage'. I.e. I was a pathetic mess who spent the day on the couch feeling sorry for himself. What I really needed was a good dose of man up but what actually happened was way too much bacon and coffee and very little work getting done.

So to make up for this lousy day I got an early start today, in for 9 again to crack on with work. So far I have done zero work and written this. A good start.

Oh and I now have my glasses. This is a picture of me wearing my glasses.

Ok that's not me. And I just got a warning off the University network for googling 'Hunk wearing Glasses' trying to find that image. But you get the jist.

This weekend some more kayaking, some work, a night out on Saturday followed by some more 'Post Night Out Collateral Damage' on Sunday. Newcastle is going well.

Maths, Cycling and finally...some Kayaking

They said it would be hard. They said it would be intense. They didn't lie. A week into proper lectures and my brain feels like it has been stampeded by a herd of American steakeaters. The less said on this matter the better but suffice it to say maths has never been my strong point, so 12 hour days are becoming the norm to get my head around vectors, matrices and other words I hadn't even heard of until this week. That said the actual content is awesome and im loving it.

Sitting on my backside aside, or more accurately moving from one form to another, I have now switched from metro'ing it in each morning to cycling. After a 10 mile blast in, the department showers help to make me presentable for the classroom. The strange looks I get from the cleaners are perhaps due in part to my ridiculously early arrival, however it could also be my falsetto version of 'I shot the sheriff', 'Hot Chocolate' and other such gems I like to sing whilst scrubbing down.

One downside to this newly established exercise routine is my tendency to forget important items. Such as clean boxers to put on afterwards. In summer this might not be a problem, especially in shorts. However in chilly Autumn the wearing of Jeans has become more regular, and the chaffage from this left certain gentleman parts looking like a baboons backside.

A Baboons Backside

Thursday evening was spent climbing down at the local bouldering wall, where it soon became evident that although some parts of me looked like a monkey after the chaffing incident, my climbing abilities were more akin to a mammoth than our long tailed friends. The irony of nearly being mowed down by an Ambulance on the pitch black cycle home afterwards being the adrenaline highlight of that particular day. I really should re-install my lights.

Saturday came around and finally I actually got in a boat and paddled some gnar. The High Force to Low Force section of The Tees to be precise. Hooking up with the Newcastle University bunch I launched into the water with trepidation, concern mounting that my first time out with the guys would result in either extreme shame, injury or actual death. Luckily for the most part this wasn't the case and I had a cracking time. The sun actually broke through the clouds and the guys and girls of the club helped make it a great day out.

A very quick edit of the some of the days antics can be seen here:

https://vimeo.com/50935488

Sorry for the poor quality at times and poor camera work. Not much effort was made on my part to film so what is there is more what the GoPro caught unawares - I will make more effort next time. Also apologies but I only really have footage of those in front and behind me in our group!

This coming week is what our lecturers call our 'Week Off'... this is a lie. We get taught in block modules. Our weeks off involve maths tests, coursework and actually getting all the work they give us in the previous week done.

It does however provide some flexibility of morning starts so Wednesday evening I am intending to join the Newcastle Uni Kayakers for some drunken antics and bugger the early start Thursday. Although I heard a rumour the theme is tight or bright... the temptation to dress as something which may possibly be pushing the boundaries a little too far for my first social outing with the club is going to be hard to resist....

A step too far for Fancy Dress?

On a completely unrelated piece of news to anything tight or bright, I am now a fresh faced member of the four eyes club. Luckily I only need them for driving and long distance stuff so no biggy. I managed my usual putting my foot in it when, as the kind man in Specsavers recommended a certain pair to try on, I remarked that they looked ridiculous and would make me look like a middle aged accountant. Going bright red he then told me he owned those frames himself. A good day. And a good week.

The Chinese, man love and 'the cage'

Can't believe it's been more than a week now since I moved up to the city of constant rain. Already im starting to use words like 'mega' and 'champion', although not to describe the weather, which at best can only be described as shitty.

Monday was my first day in the great city's great University. My timing was perfect, as always, and I arrived 45 minutes early. Turns out my time buffer zone for the metro was entirely unnecessary, although a cattle prod would be a sound investment in order to keep the masses who are crammed into each train from standing on my feet and generally being annoying. I decided to celebrate my earliness with a visit to the departments little boys room to make 'use' of the facilities. Something which winningly used up some spare time also.

Upon walking into the induction room we were scheduled to meet at at 9.00am, I walked through some sort of travel portal and found myself in China. Now im not being racist, and by starting my sentence with this you will immediately assume that I am and hopefully go elsewhere for your 5 minute literary fix, but I would say the majority, and by majority I mean about 97%, are international students. Baffled by the hubbub of languages of which I had no clue (I struggle with English) I found myself wondering what I had let myself into. After a while a guy walks through the door and looking just as scared and baffled as me asks me, in English, if this was the right place for our induction. I immediately assured him it was and refused to let him out of my sight, latching onto him like a leech. Turns out he was on the same course as me. We had a brief man love moment. You could say our eyes caught each other across the room and that was it but that would be a lie. And a little gay.

The week has been spent indulging in induction activites, mostly involving field trips to various places of the northern water persuasion in beautiful sunshine with temperatures of tropical proportions. Didn't rain at all and I didn't come home each night looking like a drowned rat and smelling like a damp tea towel. I certainly didn't get grumpy at any time or make disparaging remarks about what we were doing.

All said and done though it was actually a great week. Got to know the guys and girls on our course. There are some guys from Italy and Austria, some girls from the US, Namibia, China, Ireland and Essex, and the rest I haven't bothered to ask as they are either male or very obviously English. A good interesting bunch, on what is promising to be an amazing course.

Friday night was to be my first night out in Newcastle, guidance and drinking companionship provided, free of charge, by the guy off my course and his housemates. A Newcastle graduate from undergrad he knew the sights and places to be. We went to 'Sinners'. Well actually, we went to this heavenly place after indulging in a sophisticated and well mannered gentleman's game known as 'Ring of Fire'. Almost as sophisticated as my new nickname, Cardiff Boy. After a bottle of wine and numerous concoctions courtesy of over eager tipping into the central pint glass, I discovered the main delight of Sinners. Cheap Trebles. £2.50 for a treble. A treble being three shots for those without a drinking problem. Treble gin and lemonades went down, well, like lemonade and I soon discovered the lure of the actual main delight of Sinners (I lied before). The Cage.

The Cage - In the right hand corner.


Now people dance in this thing. If you imagine sexy hot girls grinding away in an endless display of lavish sexual prowess then more fool you. Admittedly as the night goes on the girls that do venture in there begin to look like this but I feel this may be due more to the increasing number of trebles being consumed than some magical increase in sexual attraction and dancing ability. We decided we were going to jump on in and show the crowds how it is done. In we went. Or at least they did, I got partially in before realising I hadn't used the correct entrance where the bars are wider to allow for bodies of such ample proportions as mine to gain admittance. So there I was, half in, half out, hanging there like a manhandled chiwawa.

What a manhandled Chiwawa looks like.


I eventually got myself out, my stomach cramping like a camel on it's period but like the man that I am I continued to shake my stuff like nothing had happened. A damn good night. I slept on Alex's sofa enjoying that lovely water bed motion that being slightly inebriated likes to grace you with when you finally call it a night.

So a week has gone, I am officially a Newcastle resident and already i am settling into a routine. The course is as intense as meeting the inlaws, but it's worth it (a fact often not the case with the inlaws). Certain plans have had to be cancelled due to workload and exams, Kayaking:Pyrenees/Skiing...we'll say no more on that subject.

In other news, in a quick roundup of the weeks slightly less interesting happenings, I have been cycling lots, getting lost lots, seen insane amounts of wolf poop and have watched 4 films so far in one day in what has been one of my most epic hangover days to date. Until next time.

One man, a carload of junk and a wolf

So the big day finally arrived. The epic task of cramming my life into one small VW Polo began and was over before I knew it, and with my car resembling a vehicle which would not have been out of place in the daily Indian commute I set off.

The journey was long, broken up by a quick spot of lunch with the dad pretty much half way near Derby. I had grand intentions of sticking behind lorries in their slipstream at a mediocre 50 miles an hour to save fuel. I was successful in maintaining this for approximately 23 minutes, before releasing a series of expletives too rude for this prewatershed record of events and deciding to follow faster vehicles, mostly Mercedes Sprinters at a more satisfactory 65 - 75 mph.

I arrived in Newcastle pretty shattered but in a good mood. Total journey time: roughly 7 Hours.

Now the house. Last time I visited Newcastle I returned to Cardiff in what can only be described as controlled despair. Admittedly I had conducted my housing search based on 'cheapest rent criteria' not 'nicest areas', and felt throughout most of my search for housing as if I was going to be relieved of my possessions in a bloody but friendly manner ( I had been assured that even if mugging you, Geordies are a friendly and pleasant bunch). This time, whilst in Cardiff and the housing search going from bad to worse, I had been contacted by a guy, around my age, who was looking for someone to rent a room in his house with just him and his resident wolf. The rent was a little steeper but the standard of living would, I hoped, be worth it.

Arriving at the house before he had finished work, I had to wait around a little before he arrived. Of course being the prudent and wise man that I am I decided to use this opportunity to take a nap, in my car, with Radio 2 blaring out. So this was the image he was presented with when he returned home from work. A bum in a battered old car, overladen with crap, snoring like a gutted pig. Lucky for me my phone decided, just prior to him knocking on the window, to notify me of yet another worthwhile facebook notifcation, so I was just about awake to see a very well dressed guy smiling down at me. Jumping out in my long-journey-induced-sweaty shorts, tshirt and flipflop combo ( I am known for being a bit of a fashion connoisseur ) we shook hands and the introduction and house tour began.

Luckily he wasn't too put off by first impressions to bar my way into the house, and we got on pretty much from word go. A genuinely nice guy, with an awesome house and an even more incredible wolf, which he assures me is a dog. He is a Car Sales Manager - hence the well dressed appearance!

The evening was spent unloading the car into the garage and lounge area before he chucked some pizzas in the oven, cracked a few beers and we crashed in front of the TV. Well he tells me it is a TV, im sure it should be classed as a cinema screen - it's bigger than my car windscreen for starters. Incredible. After a discussion of decent films and actors he was atounded I hadn't seen 'Man on Fire' - so on it went. Cracking film, although the ending is a bit blurry as I was beginning to go in and out of a sleep coma by the end. Denzel Washington at his best.

Off to bed, first night in Newcastle, out like a light, slept like a baby. Awoke to the smell of muffins, on with the coffee and a good breakfast of eggs and muffins gave me the start I needed to tackle the slow job of unpacking my wordly possessions. My bedroom is not the largest but I also have a separate study room so before long I had cracked the back of the work and even had a few posters and pictures of the better looking minority of my friends on the wall. Late afternoon Darren, the guy im living with, said his goodbyes as he headed off to London for a Triathlon. The house to myself, and with an awesome kitchen, I had grand plans of cooking up a feast fit for a King. A short Pasta and Pesto with added bacon later I was crashed on the sofa with a beer watching the training programme of the Sky Pro Cycling Team with a bit of Grand Designs thrown in for good measure. A flick through the channels late at night gave me Jason Statham in the form of Crank, a high adrenaline, well acted, shakespeare worthy piece of rubbish which was thoroughly enjoyed. Then bed.

So here we are, my second morning in Newcastle, a good start to the day with a bacon, cranberry and brie sandwich for nostalgia's sake and a plan of action for the day.

Masters starts Monday, so some pre registration work needs doing, general everyday stuff needs doing, and im going to explore this city and area the way I know best. Bruising my backside on the old bike working off all that bacon and cheese.

To say I was a tad nervous and apprehensive before I set off up North may be an admission of unmanlyness, and I wouldn't want to undermine my aggressive hard man image, but it would be the truth. Ok im yet to start the course, or meet the guys in the kayaking and cycling clubs but from first impressions, the house, Darren, the wolf and the surrounding area, it's going to be a good year.


Some more pictures of the house:

The fridge/freezer...mahoosive

The Kitchen

The Study Room...slowly coming together.

My Bathroom

The night before, goodbyes and a pint of goblin

So this is it. The night before the big day, where I bravely venture into the dark realms of the North. All packed. I say all packed, that is in fact a dirty lie. I am packed in the sense that I have a large pile of semi organised crap/possessions piled on my bed waiting to be packed into the car in the morning. A bit daft really seeing as I now have to move all said crap to the floor so I have somewhere to sleep. I have also splashed out on two budget 'Halfords-own' bike carriers for my roof rack that seem, judging by my dry test run earlier today, to have as much vertical stability as an old age pensioner on roller skates. It is going to be an interesting journey.

Two bikes, Two boats, boating gear, biking gear, one guitar and a ridiculous amount of clothes. Considering I have spent the last few months surviving with what I had packed in one bag to move to my sisters, I had forgotten just how many torn and tatty clothes I actually owned. Of course it is all coming with me.

There have been doubters voicing very hurtful comments that my little blue tardis wont fit it all in. They are wrong. They have to be.

As some may know the housing situation up North changed yet again, for reasons too complicated and boring for me to bother writing, but the new house looks promising. Rather than waste a few valuable seconds of my life describing it now I will wait until tomorrow, when I can actually describe what I am seeing/feeling/smelling...

Manly tearless goodbyes have been said/grunted, tire pressures have been altered, and petrol tanks filled. The opportunity to sample one last free beer courtesy of my sisters fridge presents itself in the form of a large bottle of 'Goblin'....this is the last little update from Wales. Newcastle here I come.

The 4 bed all male house and the fall of being a solitary male

So the house with the two girls never materialised. In fact I never heard back from them...so I can only imagine there has been some technological hitch preventing them from contacting me or some unfortunate incident has befallen them and they are no longer alive to reply. It is the only plausible explanation.

Either way I have had to look elsewhere.

And found a house sharing with three other people. All male. Yes a little bit of a comedown after the excitement of the previous poontang dominated house but all things considered probably for the best. Women are a strange breed and living with them can result in flared tempers (on their part) and having to put up with a million different hair products taking up space in the bathroom, drains blocked by ridiculous amounts of hair yet they never go bald (explain that!) and the strange phenomenon of menstrual synchrony which results in a house turning into living hell for a small period of time once a month.

So perhaps these are fortuitous circumstances.

This house has an awesome kitchen, an Italian bloke who cooks like a god and a bunch of decent down to earth lads who all going well, I’ll fit right in with. Space for both my bikes and my boat and a yard for all my repairs and manliness so all good.

The Kitchen!


Move in date looks like the 20th September, just need to pay my bond Monday and it will all be confirmed. Happy days!

The 3 Bed House Share (With Two Girls)

So I may have found a house, it's early days. Not one to blow my load of excitement too soon I am never the less a little excited. If I am going to share a house I don't want more than 3 or 4 people maximum. This has 3 including me, so spot on. Incidentally it is sharing with 2 attractive 21 year old females but that is just a by the by. Well, I say attractive I have only spoken to them via email and seen no pictures so they could be called Hilda and Gelda and have wiry bristles of hair coming out of their chin and a bladder control problem, but I hope not. Large bedroom, 5 minutes walk from the Uni and a maahoosive kitchen (gas off course) where I can get my bake on and impress the females with my manly protein cookie recipes.

The 'Visit' - Drunkards, Teenage Prostitutes and Middle Aged Women

Newcastle. The city responsible for the likes of Cheryl Cole, Ant and Dec and some say AIDS. It is up North, a region often spoken of but generally avoided by the more civilised people from down South, and it is to be my home for the next year or so. The reasons for this are many, but mainly that for work I need to complete an MSc in Hydrology, and Newcastle is one of two places in the UK to offer a decent course, the other being London. Now, as much as I may have started this off by slagging off the North, I am also not a fan of the South either. Living in London for me would be like living in a box of self involvement for a year, wearing tight jeans, plimsolls and replacing my bike every two weeks when it gets stolen. The idea of moving North, nearer to the mountains of Scotland, the many rivers around it and the infamous warmth, if not colourful, personality of the locals appealed to my warped mind. The course itself is more up my street as well, and the Uni has a great rep, being part of the Russel group and having a student union that puts Cardiff to shame.

As a keen kayaker the fact it is reported to have a great kayaking club is another bonus, a chance to get training for the big trip to the Pyrenees next year with the Procrastinate and Stuff the Consequences lads. So enough background, the decision was made. Now as many people may know, I have a 94 year old nan who is the nosiest woman I have ever met, who insisted that a visit must be made to Newcastle before moving, to check out the houses and Uni itself. Now she is not a women to cross, so this weekend just gone I packed up a few meagre belongings and put tyres to tarmac and drove in a Northwards directions. 6 hours later, numerous pee stops later and an accidental detour around Leeds I arrived in a pleasant mood to be greeted by sunshine and in plenty of time for my tour around the University facilities.

It was about then that I realised my tour was to take place amongst the potential Undergraduates. A bunch of young innocent girls of around 17 - 18 accompanied by Mummy and Daddy. Our tour leader, a nice enough chap took us around explaining the sites and facilities Newcastle had to offer. Within moments the learn ed fellow cottoned on that I didn't quite fit in with the group he was leading and was getting constantly distracted by them. It was sunny and I always say women look more attractive when it's sunny. Anyway, he then joined me in the general perusal of the group and the tour finished all too soon. The girls departed, the tour leader slunk off and I was left alone in the big city.

Time to see some houses. Now I had spent the last week busily planning and booking viewings and had over 14 houses to see over the two days I was there (Friday and Saturday). Let's just say this didn't go quite to plan, I hadn't factored in the general inability of an estate agent to stick to a schedule, or the inability of a Sat Nav to recognise that a toll road tunnel was not the way to what can only be described, in the nicest possible way, as the roughest looking pile of horse shit in the roughest looking area of the World I have ever been in. I went through the toll road three times before I took control over the automated journey and followed the signposts instead.

Viewings for the day were then over. Thoroughly depressed I journeyed to South Shields to my B+B that I had booked last minute at midnight the night before. Walking from my car in the general direction I thought it to be I was accosted by what I can only describe as teenage prostitutes. Ordinarily you would think this may excite me. It didn't. Not only could I not really understand the words that were a coming out of their mouth, their fake blonde hair and abnormally tanned and large boobs reminded me so much of a barbie and worsened my mood. Finally escaping the clutches of the whores I found the B+B. No one was there but there was a key hidden so I let myself in. Room was nice, if a little small and the toilet and shower was on the landing but all good. I decided to go for a walk and cheer myself up. Avoiding a bunch of drunk guys with identical shaved haircuts who seemed intent on engaging me in a game of fisty cuffs I found the coast and to be fair, pretty nice. My mood lifted a tad. Got back to the B+B without incident, stopping off at Morrisons for some raw ingredients for dinner, and met the middle aged B+B owner.

Now I don't know what it is about middle aged women, and I mean this with absolute humility, but they love me. A good flirt later I had a good idea of the good areas to look for housing in Newcastle (incidentally none of the places I had just been and very few of the places I had booked for the following day) and had had my breakfast package upgraded to include a full English breakfast. Winner.

Off up to my cubby hole in the attic to eat my feast and watch the Olympic ceremony. Not sure what happened but fell asleep before it started and woke up to Mr Bean shuffling around on the screen. Hoping that this wasn't the ceremony as that would be just shameful ( I since found out it was) and that the channel had changed itself I gave up on the real world and slipped off to my land of dreams where the teenage prostitutes were classy women in their 20's inviting me out for drinks.

I'm going to rush through the next day as I have blabbered for far too long. Fed well on numerous rashers of bacon, black coffee and toast I proceeded with my day. House after house, I found a few I liked but for different reasons these all fell through. One house stood out and I double checked the distance from uni to it and the cycle route I could take and all looked ok. I should point out at this point that I had decided to live by myself as I am an anti social bastard at times and like my own space. Also I'm nearly 25 and thought i had shared housing long enough. Time to head home to get some well earned sleep. The journey was quicker this time, just over 5 hours including the required pee and coffee stops. The little polo did me proud. A full tank got me 350 miles, not too bad all in all.

A little research before bed suddenly highlighted an important factor regarding the house I was ready to sign for on Monday...it was in one of the most deprived areas of Gateshead, Newcastle, crime was pretty high and the surrounding rows of houses were due to be demolished this year with residents protesting against forced evictions. Sounds like my dream home. So a few hours of hard thinking, a little searching and a complete change of plan. The North is scary. The people are scary. Friendly but Christ they are scary. I don't want to live by myself. I don't want to live away from other students. In fact I want to put myself in a cocoon with other students. So the big trip to find a house and check out the Uni turned into a big educational insight into Newcastle itself. Not what I was aiming for but useful none the less.

In other news I now know my exam dates for the summer, ill be finished by the 24th August so still time to find a house share with the least unlikeable students I can find. Move date up North is going to be around the 20th September. It's going to be bit of a culture shock, miles away from anyone I know, for nearly a year. I actually can't wait. Cardiff I'll be back, but the North is looking promising!