My landlord is weird. That's all there is to it.
I called him up the other day on his mobile to see whether it was okay to pay just two weeks rent now and for the last month to be covered by the bond. That way he wouldn't have to return the bond to me (very inconvenient). Sure, he says, no problem.
Then, out of nowhere, he says: "I'm in Bermuda".
So what? "I'd better get off the phone then," I say, "this will be costing you a fortune." International roaming charges, and all that.
Him: "No not you, me. I'm in Bermuda."
Stunned silence. A bit of bewildered banter from me.
Him again: "I've just bought some jeans."
Wow! This was getting too weird for me, so I rung off.
Then, today, I got a postcard from the bloke. From Tobacco Bay.
Dear Nicholas
Like I said.
I am here.
Lovely weather
very cool.
This time of year.
Sub tropical island.
Everton
Truely bizarre.
Thursday, January 15, 2004
Sunday, January 04, 2004
UK 8. New Year's Eve
Okay, this is a real cack that I think you'll appreciate.
I went to Brighton for New Years and my mates Brigitte, Dan and I went to a party that Dan had somehow found out about. We rocked up around 11:00 to find a house full of women sitting around eating. No blokes, no loud music, all very polite. Naturally, we put two and two together and deduce we'd mistakenly arrived at the wrong house and had just gatecrashed a lesbian party. (Should be interesting, thought Dan and I. Bugger, thought Bridge.) Everyone was still sitting around in little groups so it didn't even have the critical mass required to mingle.
We're stoic sorts, though, and, after Bridge rifled through the mail to confirm the address, we settled down with a bottle of red to see how long we'd last until we were spotted and evicted.
But no! It was the right place and pretty soon a few dozen more people showed up, all the signs as to where you could or could not wear shoes or smoke were ignored, a DJ arrived and I made my own entertainment by telling everyone something different when they asked what I did. (I started out as a helicopter pilot and finally settled down to clearance diver with the Australian Navy, on secondment to the forces in Britain. As to why I was living in landlocked Peterborough I put down to working in a liaison role with the RAF. As you can see, like all good lies, it's really close to the truth with only a few technicalities not being entirely accurate. Still, that cover story's getting a bit old now, so it's time to think of something new for the next stranger I meet. Ideas are welcomed.)
But anyway, the funny thing about this party was the Ceremony. Just before 12:00 we were invited upstairs (a nominally shoe-free zone, with stress on nominally) for a special ceremony to see in the new year. We all sat in a circle and held hands and were asked to chant Omm three times in unison to raise the energy levels.
Now look, I don't have a problem with spirituality, qi, energy fields, religions or meditation. But sitting around with a bunch of strangers chanting is just fucking weird. Some people had a bit of a laugh at the idea and they were asked to leave by the hippie leader, I mean host of the party, so they wouldn't spoil it for the rest of us, and only people who wanted to participate should be there, unless, piped up another voice, they were already there, in which case they could stay. Quite right, says the host - all those outside the room (door was closed) who didn't want to be there should go, all those inside could stay because they were already there, presumably regardless of whether they were going to spoil it for everyone else or not. A great show of tolerance, if not clarity of mind.
Next up we had to think of something from 2003 we wanted to let go of (I think - this point wasn't communicated very well, but you get that when you have a hippie running the show), then think of something we wanted for 2004 (and I guess the earlier Omming was going to make this materialise), then someone passed me a slip of paper with a word on that was meant to be something I was to pursue in the new year. I don't actually remember what that word was, but I know it started in S and the only thing I could think of when asked later was "selfishness". This led to some an interesting discussion in which I convinced a palates instructor that selfishness is actually a good thing if looked at in the right way (thank you, Gordon Gecko).
To return to the Ceremony, no-one had bothered to set his or her watch beforehand so naturally the whole thing broke down to the hippies chanting Omm (they were working to the watch of the guy with the loudest voice, which was slow - the watch, not the voice) and the pragmatists singing Auld Langsyne (sp?) based on my watch which was fast.
The night degenerated from there and, due to the excess of smoke, I managed to lose my voice for two whole days (can someone explain why a non-smoker suffers more than a smoker?) and due to forces beyond my understanding, I managed to lose my phone as well. Anyway, I wound up watching Kiki's Delivery Service in the room that was showing animé films all night and that had the least smoke (I was really in a bad way by around 3:00). Despite the title and total lack of plot, this was not porn although it did have an unsettling number of glimpses of teenaged Kiki's underwear (that's Japanese animé for you), and no-one could sit through the whole thing.
I went to Brighton for New Years and my mates Brigitte, Dan and I went to a party that Dan had somehow found out about. We rocked up around 11:00 to find a house full of women sitting around eating. No blokes, no loud music, all very polite. Naturally, we put two and two together and deduce we'd mistakenly arrived at the wrong house and had just gatecrashed a lesbian party. (Should be interesting, thought Dan and I. Bugger, thought Bridge.) Everyone was still sitting around in little groups so it didn't even have the critical mass required to mingle.
We're stoic sorts, though, and, after Bridge rifled through the mail to confirm the address, we settled down with a bottle of red to see how long we'd last until we were spotted and evicted.
But no! It was the right place and pretty soon a few dozen more people showed up, all the signs as to where you could or could not wear shoes or smoke were ignored, a DJ arrived and I made my own entertainment by telling everyone something different when they asked what I did. (I started out as a helicopter pilot and finally settled down to clearance diver with the Australian Navy, on secondment to the forces in Britain. As to why I was living in landlocked Peterborough I put down to working in a liaison role with the RAF. As you can see, like all good lies, it's really close to the truth with only a few technicalities not being entirely accurate. Still, that cover story's getting a bit old now, so it's time to think of something new for the next stranger I meet. Ideas are welcomed.)
But anyway, the funny thing about this party was the Ceremony. Just before 12:00 we were invited upstairs (a nominally shoe-free zone, with stress on nominally) for a special ceremony to see in the new year. We all sat in a circle and held hands and were asked to chant Omm three times in unison to raise the energy levels.
Now look, I don't have a problem with spirituality, qi, energy fields, religions or meditation. But sitting around with a bunch of strangers chanting is just fucking weird. Some people had a bit of a laugh at the idea and they were asked to leave by the hippie leader, I mean host of the party, so they wouldn't spoil it for the rest of us, and only people who wanted to participate should be there, unless, piped up another voice, they were already there, in which case they could stay. Quite right, says the host - all those outside the room (door was closed) who didn't want to be there should go, all those inside could stay because they were already there, presumably regardless of whether they were going to spoil it for everyone else or not. A great show of tolerance, if not clarity of mind.
Next up we had to think of something from 2003 we wanted to let go of (I think - this point wasn't communicated very well, but you get that when you have a hippie running the show), then think of something we wanted for 2004 (and I guess the earlier Omming was going to make this materialise), then someone passed me a slip of paper with a word on that was meant to be something I was to pursue in the new year. I don't actually remember what that word was, but I know it started in S and the only thing I could think of when asked later was "selfishness". This led to some an interesting discussion in which I convinced a palates instructor that selfishness is actually a good thing if looked at in the right way (thank you, Gordon Gecko).
To return to the Ceremony, no-one had bothered to set his or her watch beforehand so naturally the whole thing broke down to the hippies chanting Omm (they were working to the watch of the guy with the loudest voice, which was slow - the watch, not the voice) and the pragmatists singing Auld Langsyne (sp?) based on my watch which was fast.
The night degenerated from there and, due to the excess of smoke, I managed to lose my voice for two whole days (can someone explain why a non-smoker suffers more than a smoker?) and due to forces beyond my understanding, I managed to lose my phone as well. Anyway, I wound up watching Kiki's Delivery Service in the room that was showing animé films all night and that had the least smoke (I was really in a bad way by around 3:00). Despite the title and total lack of plot, this was not porn although it did have an unsettling number of glimpses of teenaged Kiki's underwear (that's Japanese animé for you), and no-one could sit through the whole thing.
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