Last night's ramble
It’s 1.10 and I just can’t sleep.
Firstly, last night was the final of staying at the seminary and it has had all the inconvenience of a hotel with none of the benefits, except perhaps it was cheap, although considering the conditions, not cheap enough. And, they only take cash; now why would that be Father Ted?
Thursday morning I fly home for the weekend, and that’s the one keeping me awake. My heart and mind are both set to explode and I can imagine the levels of impatience when I get to London, I have a few hours to spend there and will probably combust when I get to Glasgow, although that is probably not the sort of language we really should be using in regard to flying these days.
Now why would I want to escape?
Brace yourself, this is a bit of a ramble.
When I got back to the seminary I was all set to relax, watch some “Top Gear” and pack some stuff into the largest case. Previously, I had considered taking that down to the new apartment, so when I saw the “please get out as soon as possible you filthy infidel” note on my door, I was spurred (like that phrase!) into action. So, I headed out, ballasted with the aforementioned case. You know the size, the one that you see lumbering along at baggage pick up and you start praying that it wasn’t sitting on top of yours. It wasn’t completely full, so “only” weighed about 20 kg.
My plan was cunning, I would head up to the road and it would be easy to just roll along the path to the apartment. Problem, the direction I went did not in fact lead to the road. It lead up to a rather formidable fence. The path had also run out of any form of road metalling by some 30 metres when I noticed this, and I didn’t want to turn back.
I decided to head through the wood to the back entrance. Now, if this sounds like an unlit dirt track I might be taking, it wasn’t quite that well established. So lumbering across rough terrain, with 20 kilograms of bulky case, in the dark, through a wood, with guard dogs barking, in the rain! I felt a little like one of the doomed escapees from Nazi internment. I quickly considered my clothing, it was convincing enough as a local peasant type, my forged papers would seem in order, but I would be betrayed by my complete lack of language skills. The moment they asked me anything, my look of blind confusion would give me away, I was bound to get caught, after all, I am British. I dodged the guard and finally made it to the gate and before I knew it, I was strolling (in the rain!!) passed uninviting cafés and half bombed (ok, half built) residences. Following the instructions of my GPS; made from saved matchsticks, a Red Cross sardine tin, some shaved wool and a fork, smuggled from the mess tent, for the aerial, I eventually made it to lower ground and the safe house. Here I was fed strong broth and spent a number of hours refluxing this warming concoction. Finally, after further offers of food and drink, and the invitation to marry a yak, I fled back to the camp and managed to sneak to my cell.
Ah blessed internment. Last night’s music was supplied by Sigur Ros and the wonder full album “( )”
Last night, hardly any sleep. We had a storm here complete with Scooby Doo banging shutters and a deep metalic boom which would sound just as you got over the last one.
Firstly, last night was the final of staying at the seminary and it has had all the inconvenience of a hotel with none of the benefits, except perhaps it was cheap, although considering the conditions, not cheap enough. And, they only take cash; now why would that be Father Ted?
Thursday morning I fly home for the weekend, and that’s the one keeping me awake. My heart and mind are both set to explode and I can imagine the levels of impatience when I get to London, I have a few hours to spend there and will probably combust when I get to Glasgow, although that is probably not the sort of language we really should be using in regard to flying these days.
Now why would I want to escape?
Brace yourself, this is a bit of a ramble.
When I got back to the seminary I was all set to relax, watch some “Top Gear” and pack some stuff into the largest case. Previously, I had considered taking that down to the new apartment, so when I saw the “please get out as soon as possible you filthy infidel” note on my door, I was spurred (like that phrase!) into action. So, I headed out, ballasted with the aforementioned case. You know the size, the one that you see lumbering along at baggage pick up and you start praying that it wasn’t sitting on top of yours. It wasn’t completely full, so “only” weighed about 20 kg.
My plan was cunning, I would head up to the road and it would be easy to just roll along the path to the apartment. Problem, the direction I went did not in fact lead to the road. It lead up to a rather formidable fence. The path had also run out of any form of road metalling by some 30 metres when I noticed this, and I didn’t want to turn back.
I decided to head through the wood to the back entrance. Now, if this sounds like an unlit dirt track I might be taking, it wasn’t quite that well established. So lumbering across rough terrain, with 20 kilograms of bulky case, in the dark, through a wood, with guard dogs barking, in the rain! I felt a little like one of the doomed escapees from Nazi internment. I quickly considered my clothing, it was convincing enough as a local peasant type, my forged papers would seem in order, but I would be betrayed by my complete lack of language skills. The moment they asked me anything, my look of blind confusion would give me away, I was bound to get caught, after all, I am British. I dodged the guard and finally made it to the gate and before I knew it, I was strolling (in the rain!!) passed uninviting cafés and half bombed (ok, half built) residences. Following the instructions of my GPS; made from saved matchsticks, a Red Cross sardine tin, some shaved wool and a fork, smuggled from the mess tent, for the aerial, I eventually made it to lower ground and the safe house. Here I was fed strong broth and spent a number of hours refluxing this warming concoction. Finally, after further offers of food and drink, and the invitation to marry a yak, I fled back to the camp and managed to sneak to my cell.
Ah blessed internment. Last night’s music was supplied by Sigur Ros and the wonder full album “( )”
Last night, hardly any sleep. We had a storm here complete with Scooby Doo banging shutters and a deep metalic boom which would sound just as you got over the last one.
posted by Panic Stricken at 11:38 am
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