An Overdue Dose of Irrelevant Nonsense

Hear Ye, hear Ye! The most pointless and irrelevant travel blog on the internet is, I dunno, somewhere else? I mean, sure this is definitely a pointless and irrelevant blog, but it would be arrogant in the extreme to call this the MOST of anything. Most directionless, maybe. Or stupid. Anyway. Read on, good folk of the Internet.

EP Cover Art
EP Cover Art

Welcome to the return of the blog. Majestic, triumphant, and oh-so-irrelevant. In the long, dreary intervening months without these ramblings, a whole host of adventures, excitement and really wild things have almost entirely failed to occur. Some less-wild semi-adventures did indeed take place, but it would be pointless attempting to describe them, for several reasons: first, the sole purpose of this blog is to entertain, and writing about these misadventures would not entertain me. Second, the other sole purpose of this blog is to confuse, and for once we did some relatively sensible things for relatively sensible reasons, so that’s boring too. Third, the other sole purpose of this blog is to inform, and those that wish to know were either there or already know, and those that don’t wish to know probably aren’t reading this anyway, so good for them. Fifth, the newest sole purpose of this blog is to be bad at counting, so that’s a New Years goal achieved before the end of January. What was I talking about?

Oh right, nothing at all. Typical.

Standard photo of Trafalgar Square
Standard photo of Trafalgar Square

Anyway, we did some stuff in Europe, including a stint as professional glitter queens at a disreputable flat party in Utrecht, then I worked in a London pub miserably serving miserable people warm beer while Hannah went to Morocco, then we went to Berlin and lost our already-tentative grip on reality for a while, then Hannah went to Poland and ate the best lasagne ever (apparently), and I went back to NZ for a month. The next phase in our cunning plan to be lost and confused in various places throughout the world involves being very cold (just for a change) in Poland and then probably losing our minds entirely and venturing off into either Lapland or the Savannah. What with Morocco and Poland vs. England and New Zealand, Hannah is currently beating me in the ‘Intrepid and Weird’ stakes, so I’ll probably do something stupid like flying to Mozambique to take back the lead.

Those were long sentences so here’s a short one.

I realise that, even more so than usual, this post has provided little (read: absolutely fuck all) of any substance or interest, and after such a long wait, you may feel disappointed, or maybe even a little aggrieved by the lack of depth to this piece. Well, to make up for it, here’s a well thought-out and not-at-all-shit paragraph summarising my thoughts on London. Enjoy:

Three dickheads and Ronald Reagan
Three dickheads and Ronald Reagan

For you, London may conjure up romantic images of smog, Big Ben and poor dentistry, or possibly oppression, poor customer service, and the underground at rush hour, maybe the colour grey, maybe an ill-deserved sense of national pride, pallid, sickly white skin, or maybe… what was I saying? Oh right – these visions may be accurate, but they are not the complete picture. There is one thing that London provides in such ubiquitous quantities and with such verve and enthusiasm that I don’t think its an exaggeration when I say “London is the fried chicken capital of the world”. At least, the bit of the world I’ve seen, which I admit isn’t much. More than it was six months ago, but less than it will be tomorrow. I digress. My love of fried chicken is well-documented – the amputated limb of a deceased bird, dunked in the scrambled unborn foetus of its brethren and the right combination of herbs and spices, then drowned in boiling fat and oil is enough to make me gibber and drool, even more so than normal. And when that delightful and disgusting smell hits you’re nostrils, which it will, because it permeates the entire city to it’s core, that’s the cue to start rummaging in your pockets for change – a two-piece meal is only £3.50, and if you’re lucky, it might even come with a complimentary dose of chlamydia.

Thanks for your support, loyal readership (Mum & Dad), and anyone else unfortunate enough to click on these links. I’m sure the wait for the next one won’t be as long as the last. That’s a lie, but let’s all pretend we believe it. To Poland!

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