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Sunday, 31 January 2010


I gulped. How much do i love her? i thought to myself. Maybe she is happy? No i couldnt. There wasnt anything else for it. My life would be over without X by my side. i supposed at the time i thought i couldnt replace her in all the world. 'Markus, i must go there and find her. Will you at least help me prepare? do i need some men? should i go alone? Where can i buy a gun? knives? rope? Where is their hideout? My mind was conjuring up some big Goblinlike caves and torches and Indiana jones style skulls everywhere...if only i knew then what i know now....

'Y' Markus put his hand on my shoulder. Weapons you can buy anywhere here in Merida. We supply the drug lords here, the rebellion in the west, the mining companies, you name it. This is Venezuala, Y. But please reconsider. i will have a think what i can do to help you prepare, and meet you tomorrow at noon at the ice cream shop in the plaza. If you change your mind, which i recommend, please, lets have a beer, call the police, and at least we did our best for her family. If you want to go ahead. I will have some things prepared that will help you.

I still wasnt sure. The odds were crazy. Even if i got to her, maybe shed been brainwashed already. The only thing for it was to rest, have some food and a beer and sleep on it. i hit the local steakhouse, and sank a few Polars. The bar next door was an easy next step, as the demons were already on my shoulder about what to do. It was a pretty bare affair but there were a few people around, mostly rough looking wife beating kinda guys, and the furniture looked like itd seen a few scraps in its time. The barman looked quite normal, unusually for up here, so i ventured to ask him about the 'Roja'

'Meester, you shouldnt come here and ask about thees things' he looked genuinely scared. One weasely face looked hard at me from a few stools along. I realised, like stamp collecting or penis size, talking in public about it was a bad idea. A beer later weasel man came sloping across to my stool. He looked at me like i was a giant tortilla that he wanted to eat and was wondering how to begin. 'your woman is already dead' he licked his lips and walked out.
shaken, not stirred, but resolved, i decided to follow him.

he walked round the corner, his bell bottoms looking slightly silly, and as he turned to go into a street cafe, he saw me. As he walked towards me with the gun pointed straight at me i could see his evil eyes glinting off the artificial light. Quick as a flash it all went off. He was near enough for me to use my crack martial arts training and give him a quick Glasgow kiss - smack on his nose. He was in shock. A quick couple of extra jabs and an uppercut, and he was bent double, the gun on the ground. I kicked it away, then picked it up. I was off....

At least it had made up my mind. No Latino Pussy was going too worship my girl and kill her, they were crap.

Friday, 29 January 2010

Cheesy Scottish Baseball Bat Killer of Tallinn

Fear stalks the cold streets of Tallinnn tonight. Walking around in old town is mighty strange right now. Police seem to be at every corner. Seems that there is a crazy killer on the loose. He was found by one woman, beating another total stanger to death with a baseball bat on the old town steps one lovely recent winter (minus 20!) morning. And is still at large. What kind of serial killer decides to start his capers in the middle of the Baltic winter?????
I managed to get a photo of the main suspect, a cheesy looking Scottish guy, pictured with Triinu, his new Estonian teacher at the nazi monument in freedom square (thats it in the background)

The Estonians fought on the German side in the World War two. So they fought with the (arguably) lesser of the two evils against the Soviets - what kind of hell is that...'which side are you on..Nazis or Communists?' Well the Gulag killed more people than the holocaust, it's just the Gulag victims arent as good at sympathy PR (or they dont own the US media like the Israelis do) so its the holacaust guys get all the publicity for the bleeeding hearters cry for. However, it backfired on the Estonians, since after the war, the Russians just kind of stayed there, and half of all Estonians (plainly all the eligible men and the ugliest women by the looks of the country) were thrown up there to die. Anyway, the main point of this Germanic Iron Cross looking monument is to annoy the Russians, now that they are independant.

Personally, I think Russia has bigger neighbours to bully (as it goes through its final death throes) so i guess they arent so bothered. If you ask me they should focus on their strengths, like being corrupt, and exporting cheap vodka and cheaper hookers. And dying in stupid ways while drunk (did you know falling icicles are one of the biggest killers of drunk people in Moscow?)

i hope you enjoy my photos. please note from all estonian photos, English women and Americans (and tongans), that there are no fat people here so if you come it is likely people will laugh at you, because they think you are finnish.

Ok enough for one off to some baseball...

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

Ice Road across the sea, Estonia.


The ice roads will open soon. Its one of my dreams to drive one, across the sea to Saremaa or Hiumaa (islands in the Baltic sea) You drive across the frozen sea. If there are cracks, they in the past have put a timber bridge across that part. It's seriously dodgy but will be great fun, if even just to drive without a seatbelt for 30mins, and certainly one of the things to do before i die. Well...may be the last thing i do but....

Anyway, heres the lowdown....and some pretty scary photos.

Sunday, 24 January 2010


The rain poured down. Not like Glasgow rain, real tropical rain, raindrops like big wet warm pebbles. I enlisted the barman, who seemed to have a beef with Hose and his crew. After a fair bit of money (well i just became $10k richer so i could afford it) it turns out there are some freaks up country who have a thing for red hair, so they've been kidnapping redheads for years. Hose was just a middleman. The barman reckoned he saw her first but Hose got the money (abut 2 years wages it turned out) so he too had an incentive to track her down.

The bus to Merida was 18 hours. The air conditioner leaked drips onto me every 30 seconds, and the movie had a sound and light that was just bright and noisy enough to keep me awake all night. i figured to think positive, this would give me time to think....

Wildlife paradise and outdoor adventure heaven. Could have fooled me. It was a poor looking little city, although by the time i arrived, i hit the first hotel i found - i could sleep through the schreech of cars driven by blind drunk locals scraped againts the high pavements, and the intermitent gunshots that rang through the nights, as drunk revelers let off steam, and settled old scores.

In the morning i made a beeline to one contact id found on the internet. As it was saturday i met him at his house. Markus was a nice enough guy. The old German had been up here for years. Professor of Divinty at the university of the Andes, he had his old spectacles into quite a few local goings on. he had a glint in his eye and i bet quite a few stories to tell....his wife, a pert little local girl half his age was fine enough and im sure kept his roving eye in line. 'So my young freind, quite a predicament we have here ya' his German accent still strong as ever, he started as we sat down for coffee in his pleasant dining room overlooking the city. 'the Culto Chica Rijoa' or the 'Rijoa' as its locally called - it has a long long story. They say the saint Hernandez had a beautiful daughter via immaculate conception, with one daughter of an indian chief, down in El Derado region. The daughter had red hair and blue eyes. Something never before seen there, and so she was worshipped as a God. Anyway, seems a few creeps gave her the Marylin Munroe treatment - she was killed and preserved, and 'worshipped' in a very different way, while the general populace still worship Red hair to this day. Anyway, seems they kept a taste for this red hair thing, so they regularly take them when they find them - they pay a fair bit too, so what you said about the waiter cetainly rings true.

Its likely they took her up to their place away south in Los Rauros, theres a quite remote region down there where theyll basically spoil her and worship her as a God for some time, butter her up, massage her ego, then when she doesnt suspect it, kill her and i think you dont want to know the rest. But be warned, these guys are the law down there - this is Venezuala my freind, its a poor country and the Rijos are very rich and powerful men. The good thing is you have time. She will be well treated until she is killed, which may be two or three weeks depending how quickly she is brainwashed. As soon as she starts beleiving she is a God, then its wham, they kill her, and the hunt will be on for the next one while these beasts satisfy their necrofile lust until she rots and her arms and legs begin to fall off.

I must have been sweating. What the hell had we got ourselves into? At least there was a chance of finding X unharmed. i didnt want to think of the other consequences but at least i had some 'stick' as well as 'carrot'....

'Will you help me Markus' I blurted it out. Why not. I'll need to go down there. Im right in thinking that i wont have any help from the law, so i suppose ill have to take it into my own hands.

' I cant come with you Y. Forgive me. I have a young son by Margarita here, and to be honest. These guys frighten me. I've heard of even crazier things going on down there. They dont just worship red hair, there is somthing more sinister going on, im sure of it. When they kill you its maybe a good thing, when they keep you alive.....well. Some men are truly evil Y. You are a young man, i understand you are in love with X. But please consider carefully if you will go after her. You will almost certainly meet a fate worse than hers. She will lead a happy two weeks then die suddenly. You will see hear and feel Hell for a long time before you die.....

True story...if i was Harry Flashman (Venezuala..)

By the way, for the benefit of our more nervous readers, and some complaints about my 'strong' descriptions, please understand that this story didnt actually happen in Venezuela. i just thought it would be fun to make up a diary while my girlfriendwas writing a proper diary, so its loosely based on where we went and who we met, but with a more 'artistic licence' ie x doesnt even have red hair ;o)

I was at the time a big fan of the flashman papers -

a great hero and role model of mine who got me into a lot of trouble (usually with women) over the years.

We had a great holiday there though, and no one even got killed (except some piranas). We had a close shave in one wilderness area, Los Llamas however, where i went admittedly a little bit caveman. I descended to a life of simple pleasures, i learned to gallop a horse wearing only speedos, flip flops and a handlebar moustache (i kind of wish that wasnt true but i have photos)

the whole thing reached crescendo when we (me and 2 local guys) decided to try to find a giant anaconda to show the tourists (actualy i was a tourist too but didnt count myself as one) We ended up finding a small one in the water, so we swam across the marsh to get it. We started pulling and it came and kept coming. im not sure how this exactly happened but it kept coming until it was 6m long - thats me in the photo trying to calm it down - the guy on the left is trying to put a rope round its neck so it doesnt eat us. It was really cool and we got it subdued and swam it across with us (dont try that at home kids) to show the tourists on the road. It shit all over me as i being a little scared to be honest, elected to take the end furthest away from its fangs (which is his arse) Anyway it would have all be hunky dorey except that it turned out the water was choc full of pirahnas. The local guys chose not to tell me that. Luckily in the daytime, they are only likely to eat you alive if you have a cut. I must admit i still shudder at the thought. Imagine, swimming across a lake with a 6m Anaconda and you start getting nibbled...the pirahnas basically smell the blood so then theyd get into a feeding frenzy, which may mean there wouldnt be much left of you within minutes. I suppose even the anaconda wouldnt bother to eat your remains. Anyway, i calculate that from my nine lives i have at least 3 or 4 left so plenty more adventures ahead...


Was it some kind of joke? No, surely not. Well i wouldnt put it past her as she knew i was nervous. But all her things were still here. I checked her bag. Passport, money, everything still here. hard not to be angry, i stormed down to reception. Ok where is la bamba, and who is Jose? The slimeball squealed but didnt know anything. $100 later I tracked down 'Jose' drinking coffee in some greasy local hangout on Gran Sabado. 'Ey mista gringo! Mista rich man, como estas?' Jose was the pock marked guy from last night who was arguing with the barman. 'Where is she' I looked him straight in the eye so he knew i meant business. 'She is gone senor' I am sorry. GONE WHERE?! I shouted at him, accidentally spitting some of last nights alcohol, a small gob landing on his moutstache. 'Cool it' i thought and composed myself. Better to play the game to get the result. 'I am sorry Senor, she is gone from this town' She gone with some very bad men. But they pay you no? they paid me yes. But i want her back all the same. 'Where did she go? how do i find her? 'ahh Senor, she gone to a secret place. i dont know. All i know is the men - they want her red hair no? They pay good money for the red hair, so they take the laydee no? i am Jose, I am a small guy, there are many bad man in this city Senor, what can i do?

the story of x...

i came to in the back of a cargo plane. 'Y?' what the hell? how did this happen? One minute im dancing with my new freinds...damn they must have spiked my drink. What will y think now But where did he go last night? My hands arent tied at least. Im on a rough pile of cushions. There is some noise at the front. The door opened and a greasy pochmarked moustache with flares, cowboy boots and a mexican looking hat came out. 'Ah..mi rio tinto' you are awake. The stranger smiled and addressed me like he knew me well. Im glad i found you, you are very special im my countree' he continued like i was an old freind...'who the hell are you?' I tried not to look frightened.
'Ah forgive my bad manners, let me introduce myself. I am Bolivar. We became familiar last night but i think you dont remember. He said with a nauseatiing smile and a shifty look. Oh my God, he didnt...' Damn you' I slapped him hard across his weasely bearded face. Thanks God i cant remember anything.
'Miss tinto miss tinto..nothing bad happened, you werent touched, i assure you. You will know why in due course. I will be nice to you if you if you are nice to me. Remember i am your only freind here. Many of the others will not be good to you. Be careful. Now. He took his pistol out The tone turned more serious. Sitty your preety leetle ass down and no more squealing. We land in 30 minutes, eets why i come to you. Be ready....' he leered at me and turned back into the cabin. The door clicked shut...locked...

Sunday, 17 January 2010


I found my diary from a trip i did with my (now ex) girlfreind to Venezuala a couple of years ago...quite a funny story...i totally forgot about this!

The armed guard caught my eye`coming through arrivals at Caracas. `come with me´ he said in a serious whisper. Looking around i could see why lonely planet said `under NO circumstances walk between airport terminals after dark´ He brought us to tourist information. I noticed a shady looking ´moustache´ following us. He turned out to be the guards ´freind´ who happened to be a taxi driver. However, while the guard was useful for changing money at the black market rate, he wasnt so happy when we told him we were getting a bus.

The shantys gave way to tall scruffy blocks. Hookers bared their black arses for my camera as we passed and the men eyed us gringos menacingly. ´They’ll take your woman, you never see her again´ said one enlightened passenger, pointing at miss x by my side. ’thats fine if the price is right’ i smiled, recieving a smack in the chops from x...

It was getting dark by the time we arrived at Parque Negro. The Metro was guarded- it went to the decent suburbs. Security is big business here, and no wonder by the looks of some of the locals.

The hotel was particularly crummy, with bamboo furniture and a rattling air conditioner (with gaps so you could almost climb through to outside) At least there was a window. Miss x was none too happy – the walls were paper thin in this bordello, and the senoritas were busy tonight. I lay awake, listening to the husky Spanish of one neighbour getting some serious S&M treatment, and the regular mattress springs of the other being put to full use. ´Lets get a drink` i said to x `otherwise well never get some sleep´

Downstairs there was a motely looking bunch in the hotel bar. Hookers, pimps, assorted lowlife. Like some steamier version of blade runner meets taxi driver. I noticed a few looks at X that i didnt like, and i told her so. `aw comeon Alan, sweetheart, you’ve got too good an imagination. This is 2007 remember` This is the problem with independant women – independant until they need a man, which is inevitable. I sank my Tequila and chased it with the local brew, `polar` beer, ice cold. Perfect for a steamy august night on the Equator. X started to mellow after the 3rd shot. `Its not so bad here. Even some of the guys look ok` she tested me. Her red hair and light skin certainly attracted attention here, and she loved it. Well. Maybe she was right, its just my paranoia. Lets just enjoy a weird night in a Caracas brothel hotel. I`d be looking forward to getting to the beach after this. The kite surfing was meant to be the best in the world, and the sea beautiful. The women were stunning too- plenty competition for X, thats for sure.

The barman seemed to be having an argument with one of the moustaches – a sallow pock marked specimen, im sure related to the sleazeball with wings who owned Anniken skywalker in star wars. I could just imagine him playing with clint eastwood ’eh blondi i kill you’ in the good the bad and ugly – all the usual stereotype things us Brits think about these life is cheap banana republics. I always wondered if the rumours had any truth about those video nasties in the seventies, set in south america, where they didnt use special effects, it was cheaper just to dismember some drugged up junkies and whores for real. Playground myths perhaps but looking at the people areound me here, nothing would surprise me....

The night wore on, the jetlag began to kick in. The bar was still busy though, and we felt quite secure now. The stares had subsided, it was like they had made a decision on us and now welcomed us as one of them. X was up dancing now, fairly letting her hair down. I was considering heading up to bed, but id been holding in a piss all night so I staggered over to the surprisingly clean looking Cabelleros and started up. As soon as id started, my backside started rumbling too so i sat down...must have been the ice cubes. Splat! My bowels emptied. I didnt feel so good. Ive always been a `windy` guy, so i hope this wasnt the start of something big.

Back out in the bar i walked...Where was X? I couldnt see her anywhere. I must have been a while- maybe shed thought id gone to bed?
`your girl, Senor, she go with `Jose` to La Bamba to dance some more. She is very drunk i think....

Well, X and i, weve had our ups and downs, weve had our arguments – hell she could be crazy somtimes. I guess shes just trying to make me jealous – she can look after herself though, i thought guiltily as i sloped up to bed...

I woke up fully clothed. The din of the street was deafening. Was there a riot going off or was this normal life here? The air conditioner rattled, and my head hurt. No X. I stretched, hit the shower, brushed my teeth, and put some fresh clothes on. I still looked like shit.

A sharp knock on the door. `Senor?` followed by another knock. What do they want so early? I thought. Did X cause some trouble?
`Senor` I opened the door. Im sorry to trouble you, we are fully booked for tonight. Sir. Checkout was one hour ago.
What? What time is it?
Es 2pm sir
Dam it must have been the jetlag. Where the hell is X? I thought back trying to remember last night.
`Ok give me 20minutes and ill be down.` I replied not even attempting pidgin Spanish.

`Message for you senor`, as i checked out. He handed me an thick padded envelope. I read the message over and over...

Senor Alan,
She is ours now. She will be safe with us. Do not try to find her, it is impossible for you. Please find enclosed 10,000 dollars payment. Consider this comfort money for your loss.

ok next part ill type in tomorrow....

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Poor People Round the World !

I was thinking today about the idea that a country could be judged on the behaviour of their poor - with how much dignity they act and how they are treated reflects that country. It does ring true - heres the Alan rating system!

Estonia - poor people are generally dignified. Ok they maybe smell a bit but try to dress normally, and look in bins furtively for bottles etc to recycle. The drunk poor die pretty quickly and quietly so you dont see much of them. 8/10 (minus 2 for the smell)

Great Britain (female pictured)- boorish oafs who blame others for their situation, join the BNP while liveing on kebabs, curry, chinese, chips with curry sauce, cigarettes, and beer, drop litter, intimidate normal people, say 'yeah?' a lot, take drugs, and go to Spain/Majorca/Ibiza for thier hoidays, have no taste, and milk the benefits system more than the worst 'asylum seeker'. Give me hard working Iraqis anyday and lets neuter the 'chavs' They do however keep the population up by having 8 children by 9 different fathers by the age of 13. My rating - (2/10) the 2 only because of the entrepeuneurship shown by their benefits scams.

Africa - African poor seem to me to be the most happy and good natured people on earth. i suspect its 1. they resigned themselves to the fact they are powerless about changing the situation a long time ago because they arent related to the ruling junta 2. they have IQ of 12 and 3. its sunny and warm most of the time. (7/10) they miss a few points because of their general smiling acceptance of their lot (which usually means being exploited down gold mines by chinese gangmasters for 2p a year)

Australia - Basically the same as in uk except 1. they have marginally worse taste if thats possible and 2. they beat their wives. - they do eat better though so even steven at (2/10)

Japanese - Japanese poor are the poor of choice. I once spent a jetlagged morning in ueno park, Tokyo with an old homeless philospher who was im sure in that film the karate kid (he may also have been the inspiration for yoda of star wars) he was a great old dude, spoke perfect english and had pefect manners, in fact it was a few hours before i realised he was a homeless guy. They make perfect origami cardboard boxes, and even leave their shoes at the door, which is pretty funny if it wasnt sad.

But all you horny solvent but slightly dodgy men out there (you know who you are...) there is the new national trend of love hotel refugees, where girls hang outside and offer free sex just for a bed....well sounds like the Tallinn nightclub scene...

marks (9/10 - inventiveness and good business sense in the face of adversity, coupled with good manners and retention of dignity(except the love hotel refugees but well nobodys perfect...)

Americans - I think American poor typify all thats wrong with the country. They can be of course amusing because they are so ignorantly tragic - cliches abound of trailer park rednecks, boys in da hood, latino gangbangers, you name it. My experience of poor americans (outside of Hollywood) is that they are a pretty meek and victimised bunch, with a few nasty buggers like 50 cent bullyng and terrorising the population, and earning the general contempt of the generally contemptous population. The general crapness of americanss as people, is reflected in their not surprising exploitation of their fellow countrymen - !! They do lose a lot of points by their awful eating habits - the fattest poor people on the planet bar none!!

My rating -a sad, and not very glamourous (3/10) becuase i feel sorry for them.

Monday, 11 January 2010

the Story of the Glasgow Weirdo (no not me)

Every city has its weirdo. I've already introduced Mr Shitty, of Iquitos in a previous posting, but today i was reminded me of a very strange, (and totally repulsive) man, i think without a doubt the person who disgusted me more than anyone ive ever seen - the 'city weirdo' of Glasgow. Well everyone is interesting to some people, if even in a manky and perverse way, so i think its my duty that this story is told to the world....

I was in the toilet at Glasgow Central Station today, which was what reminded me of the time i 'met' the weirdo. I went in (this was about 10 years ago) and the toilet was quite busy, but fortunately a guy just came out of one of the cubicles. He smiled at me strangely as he came out, and seemed vaguely familiar. I walked in and there was a porno mag sitting there on the pan, that he had just freshly 'soiled' that minute. Nice. thanks a lot. He'd only been standing there jerking off with the door open. It was pretty disgusting, THEN i remember where i recognised him from......

A few weeks earlier, as it happened, i was walking along Gordon Street, a main city pedestrian Street in Glasgow. It was rush hour, about 5 pm so the street was busy. I noticed suddenly a kind of gap appearing and this same guy, giving me this pretty weird pervy look. Then i realised he was walking quickly through the street, wanking himself and leering at everyone who caught his eye. Unbeleivable. I dont know if anyone has everwitness this, but it was a real double take..hes doing what? im scarred for life.

A few weeks later again, there was a guy arrested, caught in the red light area, drinking used condoms, and im pretty sure its the same guy. Fuck. Some people. I must admit im not shocked by much but....anyway...

So ladies, when your boyfriend farts or forgets to bring home the bread you asked him to, or is just being generally annoying, just be thankful, it could be worse, at least you arent with the 'city weirdo', or 'mr shitty' who are both most likely in a very safe place right now getting very special help.

thus ends the story of the Glasgow Weirdo.

Sunday, 10 January 2010


I must now just quickly say to everyone who has shown appreciation of my badly spelt and chaotic writing efforts, Thanks very much, its very inspirational to have people telling me they enjoy reading this Blog (are you sure you got the right Alan?)

It's really helped me keep sane these last few months to write some random shit every day, even if its just my own personal stupid jokes (who i'm sure no one laughs about but me ;o) ) but its helped find my writing voice too which is great. I can one day join the legions of awful writers whos books sell for 50p in Bargain Books, scaling to the same heights of my newly fledged acting career
( - i think you all can recognise the apple here)

Today i bought my brother a birthay card which is for a girl and has fluffy high heels on it. I think he will appreciate it but not sure if his wife will see the humour.

I wandered round old haunts in Glasgow, and watched a new film at the GFT(Glasgow Film Theatre) called 'The Road' - a great but sad movie, with Viggo Mortensen(Aragorn) but with some great scenes of cannibalism ;o) woooah pretty scary if your easy scared though...

'if you dream bad things happening then it shows you're still fighting, that your still alive. Its when you start to dream of good things, you should start to worry'

Well the point of the film i like - it's all about keeping alive the fire inside -

Personally i'd say the only way to do that is to push yourself into uncomfortable positions and taking on too difficult odds - if you dont make any mistakes, then you cant ever learn can you? So, all you smartarses out there who are never wrong, are really just lying weak wankers (and quite boring to listen to) - it's the guy who is brave enough to make mistakes and learns is the cool guy, and i suppose this must be what makes losers more interesting and attractive to (certainly to Estonian) women. 'i can change him' you know what i mean girls? Personally i hate that, since it means men aspire to be fuckups so girls like them, but thats Estonian (and white trash) culture in general (if you aren't like that and like handsome witty Scottish men, and you are hot, please call me as we obviously havent met)

I remember one angry Estonian guy (a mafia criminal lawyer and an arsehole i might add) telling a Norwegian guy in Tallinn - 'you should go home - you are too funny. I dont like you' it was very funny. What a douchebag, this estonian 'kartulpead' (potato head) was scared that he was in danger of laughing. Enjoying life. I hope he got 'concrete skis' by now.

After the impending Nuclear Holocaust and i become a cannibal, i will make sure i eat any Estonian men with sugar- they are more bitter than the nastiest lemon.

Ok, if there wasnt the odd 'moral reflection' piece in this blog i couldn't make it into a bestselling novel...back to the normal lighthearted abuse next posting! If anyone has any suggestions im open to anything, but i was considering taking the piss out of Americans, Israelis and Blondes in general in the near future. Little cheeky Scottish guys could also be on the agenda just to be fair... ;o)

Friday, 8 January 2010


So all people in Estonia, Drink bar is offering free beer to all paintballers. Bearing in mind the owner is from Yorkshire, that surely is a late christmas miracle!

Thursday, 7 January 2010


i notice that the adverts reflect the subject matter of the blog. its like wishing for somthing and it coming true. as an experiment, i will now type HOT ESTONIAN GIRLS IN BIKINIS DOING IT WITH PIGS and see if some appropriate content comes up on the left side. Comeon google, dont let me down! i want see some (once more so it deffo comes up HOT ESTONIAN GIRLS IN BIKINIS DOING IT WITH CHICKENS or even just HOT ESTONIAN GIRLS IN BIKINIS DOING IT WITH PIGS. ok that should be quite enough

Wednesday, 6 January 2010

Latvias Secret (Parnu to Riga)

The heavy snow reminds me of what the 1970's must have been like. I did all the proper things, arranged to get the 5.40 bus from Parnu to Riga (the heavy snow would make my sports car almost impossible to drive) I turned up early to buy the ticket but the lady told me to buy it on the bus. After standing in the snow waiting for it (it was 20mins late) the pead head Latvian driver opened the door, looked at me with that surly look of someone who was a fully paid up union member and didnt give a shit about customers, and said firmly NO. i wasnt sure what it meant but asked around and it seemed there were no seats. No one had thought to tell me that when i asked earlier in the day.

A taxi to riga was about the same cost as a British rail journey, so that was out of the question, so the only option was to ask my partner to ask his freind to give me a jumpstart in the old Jag (a summer sports car), since the battery was dud after 2 months holiday and minus 20.

The snow was heavy but by the time i got home Birgitas bobbing head under the snow told me she was already shovelling to clear the path, (im sure she was submerged under the drifts a few times) The guy who'd come to help (thanks mate, i still dont know who you actually are) jump started me and i was ready to go. I just about had enough petrol to get to Riga, and so i reversed out. Halfway out the drive of course the car stuck. im not sure why but i then switched the engine off. Which meant i was stuck again. Luckily the neighbours van was across the road and he helped again, only for me to get stuck again. Eventually with enough rolling and wieght, me and Helen pushed and Birgita drove, and we got it out and away.

The snow was awful and i was pretty close to death a few times (my tyres dont work so well in snow) but its a solid car and i wound my way eventually across the Latvian border to Riga way...

One of the great things in Latvia, is its good old Soviet style humour. I think the favourite 'joke' ive seen is the 'Latvian Airport Secret' where the place is hidden so well and signposted so non existantly (except maybe signs leading away from the airport to trick people) that any normal person will certainly never find it in time to catch their flight. The first sign of it you'll see driving in from the Tallinn side is a great sign saying 'Riga 14km' and leading to the turnoff right. Just as you are on the turnoff with no safe way of turning back, a tiny sign (which is designed so snow covers it in winter) tells you 'Riga Airport straight on 71km. Yes Riga is a Ryanair airport, so im sure many wont be surprised, but heres the trick - Riga airport is NOT 71km away. Its about 15-20km away just on the outskirts of Riga. (As im sure Rigans will laughingly tell you as they let you in on their local joke which is purely intended to get foreign travellers to drive halfway to Vilnius instead of the airport - funny guys, real funny)

As i confused myself like this, reversed backwards up the turnoff in the driving snow in an XK8 (which with is a low slung sports car with rear wheel drive - NOT a winter car), i thought it said 7km due to the snow cover, but after 5 of 6 km down the road, sure enough another sign told me 71km again. After numerous potential turnoffs for the airport road, and absolutely no sign, i began to wonder if this was a big joke. After 5km more i began to see it was, so turned off randomly into a turnoff which from the dulll light in the sky, i guessed was a road going towards Riga. After 2km a tantalising, mirage like, sign told me Riga Airport 19.5km, so i took that, hoping for it at least to be somewhere in between 19.5 and 71km away (since my flight left in 40mins at this time and i was pretty much destined to miss it anyway) From here, finding the airport becomes more like a poker game, you MUST win a number of total 50/50 coin tosses to push through to the final table. Every few minutes, there was a 50/50 left or right, with no sign or clue about which to take.

I kind of know the airport is towards the sea side of the city, and i have a good sense of direction, so i bore along this way, and finally, by totally ignoring any further signs, after 20mins more, i found it.

So i can now let you into the well kept secret of Riga - The answer to the riddle is 'ignore all signs' ! Genius! - the signs are intricately and cleverly (and locals would say, beautifully) positioned so that no matter how you follow them, it will add 3 hours extra onto your journey so you miss your flights and can stay and be ripped off for one more night in this delightful city. This is reason that people from Riga smile wrily when they meet a foreigner in the city - they are actually thinking 'wait til you try and find the airport you fucker' (actually if hes a waiter most likely hes considering double charging your creditcard, or if you happen to be in a strip bar, charging it for $4,000 and not letting you leave until you have given them your Rolex.)

But, like all good entertaintment, there is an encore -

When you actually find Riga airport, those crafty Latvians have another trick up their sleeve, in case youve solved the first riddle and miraculously find yourself on time for your flight.

I tried in vain to find the long stay car park, but of course, i quickly realised - it was a mini version of the same riddle - im sure a few of the older locals know the route, i guess its via some long back roads and dark paths, around the city, across rivers and doubling back a few times, but the signs led to nowhere but snow and a car park that you needed a code to enter (for money laundering russian 'bizinizmen i expect) So i eventually dumped the car in the empty car park of an office i found. Of couse, since my flight was leaving in ten minutes, straight on cue a potatoe headed monkey came out shouting somthing in Latvian to me, which i assumed meant 'you cant park here' I tried the old chestnut 'ok then ill move it but just let me check in first' (Actually ive tried this a few times and it never works by the way - especially not for Costa Rican airport taxi drivers when you have actually got no money to pay and the police are there but thats another story) So he played his ace card and told me he would call the police as i sauntered warily to the airport. Since the plane was due to leave and i was hopelessly late, i figured that unless its delayed by about an hour at least, i 100% have missed it. So, considering how cold it was, i decided a night in a Latvian police cell wasnt for me and i tried my own bluff of a plan B - I explained to him that i couldnt move it as the battery was dead, and showed him by trying in vain to start it. The fucker only went and got his car to jump start me again, so with my car running again i had no choice but try to find another car park, then a hotel and another flight for tomorrow. I put the car in the super expensive short stay car park (for lack of other options), and ran into the airport - i should have known - im in Latvia after all, the plane sign said 'delayed' (of course!) so i managed to run on and get it.

By the way, Latvia, apart from Police and a system so comically currupt and eastern european its a cliche, is actually quite a nice place. It produces many attractive women who could be models but end up as strippers, and has 73 different types of Beetroot. I would however play by 'russian rules' - its not recommend doing business with leatherjacket clad gentlemen, or falling in love with any ladies half your age who you met on the internet or in the bar last night)

ps quite funny after weaving through drunk Latvians for hours in 6 feet of snowdrift to watch the London news when they are all panicking from minus 2 and 40cm of snow, Christ sakes, get a life its like being scared of lolipops. You English are pathetic!!

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

Lucky Day , Estonia.

This morning realised that after i dived into the deep snow id lost my only working bank card, two hours before leaving for 3 days. I then checked my flight from Dublin to Riga and and i'd booked the wrong date. So i drove to Parnu in the heavy snow and my Jaguars brakes didnt work so i skitted 30metres at 10km per hour and crashed into the car in front. The great thing about having a bad day is that when you tell anyone about it, it cheers them up because their day was probably quite dull really.

Well ive ended up again at the home of the lovely hidden Gems of Parnu and the real reason most people visit this summer capital of Estonia(yes its Helen and Birgita again) They taught me some Estonian (Ma tapan su tomatipea !! - i'll kill you potato head!) and so ill go to bed happy

i've taken up poetry. Im specialising in deep and meaningful poems, future classics with meaning that will span the centuries, like...

There was a girl her name was Birgita,
She decided one day to go to theatre.
She took her freind Helen, who dressed as a Melon,
So everyone decided to eat her.

Sunday, 3 January 2010

Tallinn new year, Beautiful with nightmares

For new year, i was back in Tallinn, i think the best weather new year i've ever been on. Gentle snow, pretty girls, and lots of drunk people. Happy new year! here is Anneli, the Norwegians, me making faces as usual, and Anna.

I'm just now seeing the true nature of this Ayhuasca and Shamanic dieting. At Hogmany (new years eve) I accidentally took a drink of alcohol (some mint drink that i didnt know had it) Even though im not supposed to drink for 2 weeks more, i got a pretty horrific and sudden nightmare, where all these folk in my apartment turned up suddenly and were trying to get inside me. I felt i was awake but my shouts werent heard and i couldnt move. Pretty interesting (read terrifying) Then as suddenly as it came it went away, i woke up in a sweat and feeling a bit daft. Was it connected to breaking the diet to soon? or do i watch too many horror movies and have too good an imagination? Well dear reader, please try 9 days of seance summoning spirits and shamanic crap and drink alcohol and see what happens, as i have no idea to be honest. Do any Blue Morpho/Ayhuasca veterans have any advice on this? I dont think ill drink just in case til the 14th. Or sleep.

My lovely lodger Anna moved out today to her own place, so it's my first night here in my creaky old place next to the monastry in Tallinn, alone. Just in case i dont get any horrific dreams, tonight. i watched 'Paranormal activities' earlier - billed as 'the scariest film ever' about poltergiests and possession. the audience in the trailer look scared but it was pretty not scary if you ask me, except the fact that actually now knowing for sure that this stuff actually exists and really happens to some unlucky people, would in theory make it frightening. I understand there are two films so maybe i saw the unscary one. Anyway, i think i will only be concerned if i hear my piano playing in the middle of the night.

Its good to be home for a few days. Not least the weather is perfect, i understand tonight was a record for snowfall here ( ), its been snowing gently pretty much ever since i ame back. And tonight Ruth thought it would be funny to fall into it getting covered in snow. I personally think this is only good after Sauna when it's minus 10. For those of you who live in warm countries, this isnt so cold, its not uncomfortable, it's probably when it gets to minus 20 under it gets a bit annoying.