The Year 13 Bromll

You see a "bromll" (if you haven't already guessed it) is a combination of the words "prom" and "ball" and you see that's why that title is funny. It's not funny. Yes it is. No, you've just haphazardly combined two words together because no one ever knew whether to call this a prom or a ball. And that's why it's funny. Your definition of humour is currently lost on me. You must be tired. Only as tired as you are, Inside Voice. Yeah but my ability to formulate witty and cognitive responses for the ever-so-wonderful audience has not been affected by the fact that we went to bed 5 hours ago. And that was certainly not cool with me. Uh... shut up. Exactly.

So, the ball eh? How about that? I suppose the only thing you really want to see is pictures, actually. So I'll upload those and get back to you. 

Thank you for holding. Your call is important to us. The moron who is trying to write a blog post and upload pictures to Facebook at the same time will be with you shortly. In the meantime why don't you listen to lots of music you hate? 

Right, so the first thing we did with our brand new, all singing, all dancing suits (they didn't actually sing and dance) was line up and get a nice picture of the four of us. 

And then Dukey (because he's Dukey) found a cricket bat and guess what he immediately did. 

Tja, I know, moron right? We then had a look at the car we'd be driven around in, and my were we impressed. 

That's a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow 6litre V8. Crazy shit. 

Yeah! We got to sit in the driver's seat of a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow 6litre V8! How cool is that? 

We then set off on our trek into the nether-regions of Corby to find the venue, after a bumpy start of course. 

Just before that picture was taken the exhaust pipe grinded against the curb, making this horrible noise. We stopped and I bet all of us in the car thought, "Yeah, too good to be true. We won't arrive at the prom in a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow 6litre V8 after all." But luckily we did get there. 

That there is an awesome dashboard. It's a 70s car, but everything on it is electric. I know! I thought electric windows were only mass-produced at the turn of the millennium. It even had an electric gear box.

Anyway, we soon arrived at the venue and realised that people weren't giving it their best shot like they did in year 11. Nope, everyone turned up in their own cars, which made us the kings of the road. Anyway, pretty soon nice pictures and ridiculous pictures were taken. 

Joe and Becca giving an example of a nice photo

Dukey and Josh giving us a horrible example of a ridiculous photo

A nice photo of the Brotherhood all suited up

Harry and Edwards looking ridiculous

Caitlin and I looking lovely

For that last picture, Sophia said to me, "I thought you'd like this picture," and I really do. It makes me look popular. Hang on, though, I haven't finished the nice/ridiculous picture comparisons yet.

A nice picture of the Germans

A ridiculous picture of Quach feeling Luke's hairy man-purse

A nice picture ruined by two ridiculous louts

And indeed a very lovely picture of Quach and Maisie

So, lots of nice pictures were taken, and some people took the piss. But it's okay because we had a good time. So, from there on the dinner was poor but then Mr Witt started talking and by god he was hilarious.

(See below)

After some banter and loads of chats with different people, it was time to go. We booked a taxi and asked the driver to drive to the address. What a laugh. You see, we thought the driver would know where he was going, but he didn't, and he followed our blind instructions. Hah. We ended up just getting out in the middle of Geddington and walking, and that seemed to work beautifully. Anyway, when we arrived at Edwards' house we were tasked (as ever) with putting up Dukey's tent. Hah, what a laugh. It was soaked through and one of the poles split, splintering Quach with tiny glass fibres. Something good came out of trying to put that tent up. We'll never have to fucking attempt to get that thing up again. Needless to say the snackage and drinkage was limited, making me wonder where the hell the £5 I put towards buying food and drink for this event had gone. Hmm. I didn't really feel like I got my money's worth. Anyway, nothing really springs to mind when thinking of stuff that happened on this night. 

Salute to Stupidity: Gerald Witt Special

I will not be able to get all of his jibes in one go. (You guys will have to tell me everything that you can remember so I can put it here to be read and laughed at for all of eternity)

"If you go to Italy then you pick up the habit of pinching bottoms."

"If you go to Germany then you uh... soon have the want to invade Poland."

"Kick the basketball of fate at the wicket of destiny."

To be continued...

The Last Day with My Kids

Right, so, let's begin. Apologies for this post being not done before the one after it, but hey, I can't do seven million things at once. 6,999,999 things I can do, but not seven million. That's totally out of the question. In fact, it's so out of the question that the answer doesn't even link with it any more. Crazy stuff.

Anyway, I begin this story with a description of what the hell I did. I got up, caught the bus and arrived at school. I talked to Mr Browne for a while about what I wanted to do, but he told me that the kids were behind in their work and therefore it would be impossible for me to do pretty much any of what I wanted to do. I was annoyed. Still, we found a way around it. I then left DT so that I could return my German books to Miss Hibbard who seemed absolutely amazed to see me and nearly screamed when she saw me. Her class was confused.

On my way to wherever the hell I planned to spend the fifteen minutes before the start of my lesson with the kids I ran into Sara and Georgia (two of my kids). They, too, were happy to see me, but as is my duty as a mentor I couldn't allow them to be out of lesson without at least some kind of explanation. They told me that they had been moved to the other side of the year, but hadn't been given any kind of timetable. I didn't know our school was into this kind of heresy. Anyway, we stood and chatted for a while until the start of lesson when they both gave me a massive hug and told everyone else in their year that I was leaving. Obviously the first people who walked past didn't know who I was at all, because I only teach half of the year nines, but hey. Then my lot came along and crowded me, each one of them trying to get a glimpse - in some cases even a quick hug - of me before I told them all to get to class.

I found me a Mr Barrett and said hi and had a quick chat with him before I went to go and teach Mrs Wright's group, where I'd hoped Mrs Wright would be so I could chat to her. I have no idea where she went, but she left a Mr Gilespi and a ... crap, what was her name? You know, the one whose name we mustn't say. I was angry to say the least, but I can't remember why. Perhaps the answer is hidden within this blog. Luckily that harpie was only there to explain to the kids what they were doing and soon she left without even acknowledging me. I was pleased with this. They only had to write up their evaluations, which meant my job was insanely easy. Mr Browne's group, though, were finishing off their can crushers, which I had to see. Some of them are inspired. Most of them won't work. A guy called Kiran made an interesting cog construction. It was basically a cog that turned and pushed forward a block which would then crush the can. As unique and interesting as this idea is, it won't have worked. Brandon's idea was simple, a handle and block that you pull down and crush the can. That idea will work. He also made it look nice too, which'll give him a few extra marks. Needless to say I didn't actually get to see any of the can crushers actually crush any cans, but hey, I'm not a sceptic. Since Mrs Wright's group were only doing their evaluations I was given ample time to actually sit down, talk and get a proper opportunity to say goodbye to them properly. We had a good laugh and at the end of the lesson I distinctly remember Casey shouting, "What? It's your last day?" She then proceeded to give me a massive hug, and then everyone else wanted a turn.

I didn't exactly do what I wanted to do for this last time I will ever be able to teach these kids, but I've told as many as I can that this will not be the last time that I see them.

I'm not even finished yet though. After this lesson the year eights poured in to finish their Snakes Alive project (you may remember me doing that with My Kids last year), so I thought, "What the hell? I'll stay and help out." It was actually surprisingly fun. I've had a lot of time away from these kids - a whole year in fact - but they still welcomed me with open arms. Nothing groundbreaking happened, and their work is certainly not as good as the stuff My Kids made (just take note of that, DT department), but it was still a good end to the day.

I walked home with Courtney so that I could say goodbye to her personally, since I had purposefully not spent that much time with her in the lesson. She told me about how funny I was being in the lesson, and that's good. But in any case, since I've spent the past 4 weeks saying goodbye to these kids there wasn't really much else to say, so I gave her a hug and she went on her merry way.

It didn't really feel like a goodbye though, so when I got home I booted up Facebook and I prepared myself to send the most heart-warming speech ever and send a personal message to each of My Kids. Fuck me, it was difficult.

The first part of the message I sent to all of them:
"Hey kids. I thought I'd send you all a little message on our last day.

As you know today was the last time that I'll ever teach you, and for me that's not very easy to deal with. At the end of last year I did Snakes Alive with you all and that was what I thought would be the end. But then I thought, "No, there's no way I can let them go through year 9 without me." So I carried on. But now you're going into year 10, which is the year you start your GCSEs and the fact that I can't help you all through it in whatever way possible is eating me up inside. I kind of feel like I'm abandoning you.
So you know, if you ever feel like you need to turn to someone, well I'm only an email away."

Whereas the second part followed a template, just because I knew that these kids probably wouldn't show each other the exact message. Each message was tailored to suit the kid.

For example, this is what I sent to Casey:
"But you, Casey, have been an absolute gem over the last two years. Yeah I know that you're not one of the brightest sparks, but you're definitely not an idiot, and you do have the potential to do brilliantly in your GCSEs. You are my personal "most improved student" because that's what you are. And aside from that you're a right laugh to hang around with and some of the things you come out with are hilarious.

I love you and I will miss you loads, which is why I hope today isn't the last time we see each other, whether we plan to get together or just chance upon each other in town.

Best of luck for your future,
Peter :)"

And this is what I sent to Paige:
"Now for the personal bit, Paige. We've only gotten to know each other very recently, but it's still been a hell of a lot of fun to get to know you. Your odd habits and tendency to throw things at me and start on me really made lessons that much more fun to teach. That wild sense of humour will help get you a long way in your life, so don't try and grow up too quickly. It's that positive attitude that will also help you a lot throughout your GCSEs. Trust me, if you start to become negative then life becomes a living hell through your exams and coursework.

I will definitely miss you and I really do hope that we didn't see each other for the last time the other day, so either we'll all just have to meet by chance or organise something.

All the best for the future,
Peter :)"

See? Template.

Now you see, over the last couple of years I've come to realise that I wouldn't actually be making that much of a difference to these kids' lives, so I made it my absolute duty that if I could even make one kid say thank you and say that they wanted to see me again, then it'd all be worth it. Every time I had to shout at one of them for being a dick, or every time I had to bend the rules because I knew that if I just did what they didn't understand very well for them then everyone's lives would be easier. Every single time I had to stand, sigh, and explain something in the simplest manner to them. Every time we mocked and teased each other. All of that would have been worth it if I could've come away from that with at least one kid with a smile on their face. Now I knew a few months ago that Courtney appreciated the work that I had done and she gives me a smile every time she sees me, so there, that was job done. I could've left it at that. But how could I? How could I leave if only one of them respected me? I mean, yeah, it was worth it, but was it fulfilling? Yes, but I wanted more, so I stayed on for four weeks during my exams, and they became absolute diamonds of students. The best kids that I could've asked for. Every single teacher in the school absolutely despised this year group, but I think I made something good out of them. Half of them anyway. When every single kid on that last day said things like "thank you so much," "we're really going to miss you," and, "I love you Peter!" and then when all those kids I emailed on Facebook replied with all of those things along with, "Yeah, we'll all have to meet up soon," and other such things I knew once and for all that I had done what teachers like Mr Barrett, Mr Nicholls and Miss T had done before me; made a difference. I wasn't just another Mr Lloyd-Jones or a Miss Smith, I was someone who had helped these kids enough for them to turn to me before anyone else to ask for help. I even made them want to see me again. I've got to be honest with you, this time last year I wouldn't have expected that. I mean, hell, I know I'm not exactly the best teacher, but I think that I proved that I was at least a good one.

And do you know what? I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

I'm really going to miss those kids. But hell if I say it's over yet.

Happy Birthday, Josh

On account of the fact that Josh isn't really doing anything for his birthday until late into August, and therefore almost making today completely redundant, I thought I'd give him a special treat.

To Josh: 
Right, it's time to give you your well-thought-out and positively mind-blowing birthday wish.

BANG.

And that was just the starter. Wait until you see what happens next.

ZOOM.

Did you see it?

That was the Audi R8 whizzing by with a banner that says "Happy Birthday, Josh" on it. If you missed it then it's your own fault. I paid good money for that imaginary car and banner combination that I totally just drew on Paint. The most expensive bit was working a way for the driver to drive through your imagination.

I've accidentally just given perfect context for the phrase "It's the thought that counts."

Happy birthday, you oaf.

I've Had Complaints

Because I haven't posted in fucking ages.

It turns out that the wind-down and seeing everyone again stage after the holiday caused me to not blog in fucking ages as opposed to going on holiday, which I thought would originally stop me from blogging.

I apologise for this.

If you came here expecting a massive post about posting and shit, well then I'm afraid you're three feet out of luck.

Just to clarify.

I'm just going to tell you what I have done recently and what may come to pass.

So on Saturday the dudes and I met up and we had a fun evening of finally making Zero-G, recording a few episodes and all of that jazz. [Insert continuation of events here]

On Monday the gang got together in the centre of town near a giant prick to have an afternoon of doing stuff and such. I got driven there by Bekah, which was an interesting experience since she is the most nervous driver of all time. Ever. [Insert continuation of events here]

France Has Internet! Episode 3 - The Return of Cliché Trilogy Names

Bingo.

Vendredi
So, Friday. Friday, Friday, Friday. What happened on Friday? What did happen on Friday? Oh yeah, you know how the other day I said I was knackered? Well today, meaning Friday (if you hadn't already gathered), we decided to go on the longest, highest and most difficult trail in the near mountain area! Whoo! *Party pop*! Eugh. The first hill was at a 30 degree gradient, so that instantly knackered me. This remained pretty much consistent for the first three miles of the trek. It then levelled out for about a mile and a half and then we had to climb again for the remaining one or two miles. In total, about 6 miles horizontally and 1 mile vertically. It was tough. Especially since today was also the hottest day of the week, despite the promise of rain. Oh wait, there was rain on the way down, so that was kind of okay. Why did we do this pointlessly long and difficult task? Well, there were a bunch of waterfalls, and my camera was itching to get out of its pocket. Need I say more? I'm sure I'll share the pictures at some point. I've already promised to share pictures. It was a pretty cool trek, to say the least. I almost died on the way up. For the first time in my life I noticed the difference in oxygen levels. When I reached the top (a lofty 2500m) I tried to suck in air, but barely anything went in. I looked below and saw trees. I looked around at my level and saw dust and grass. Sure, the air wasn't thin enough to cause any sort of harm to me, and I certainly didn't have altitude sickness, but I was only breathing in about half of the oxygen I usually have. The air was just so still. I realised that this was why even after sitting down for 20 minutes I hadn't yet caught my breath. The 6 miles and 1 mile downwards wasn't difficult at all though. My legs were aching and wobbling because of the steepness, but they wanted to keep moving until level ground could be found. It was rare. Still, there were beavers on the way down, which were cool. Interestingly, today was also the start of the American festival here in Samoens, and we got to listen to some American folk French music. Confused? So was I. I recognised the tune to Somewhere Over the Rainbow but then they started singing French. The only English words were "somewhere over the rainbow" because I assume the translation is stupid. They also did Blue Swede Shoes, These Boots Were Made for Walking (or whatever the actual title is), and other traditional Country and Western songs in their strange English/French concoction that they had thought up. Weird. However, aside from the live band, there was also a live weirdo who chucks things in the air off strings and expects people to pay attention to him. They were not. So aside from the traditional live weirdo, and the traditional live band, there was also a traditional semi-live drunk person who tottered about the place, bumping into people and trying to copy the live line dancing. But guess what there was aside from all of that. Yeah, you guessed it, a live spit-roast! Wow! An actual live dead cow on an actual live spit about to be cooked - live! I bet you don't see that live everyday.

Live spit-roasting, live!

Samedi
Oh just eugh. I couldn't be bothered to get up, I couldn't be bothered to walk, and I certainly wasn't bothered to do another day of being completely and utterly exhausted. Luckily we decided to do pretty much nothing today, so that was okay. We went up to Samoens 1600 and looked around a bit and then came back down for lunch and then just walked along the river for a while until we headed back to the apartment to do nothing and write this blog post. If anything interesting happens tonight then I shall stick it in the very next sentence, otherwise I'm just going to sign off here and hope you all had a lovely week without me, trust me I've missed you all. Okay, you know how the other day I said I had instantly fallen in love? Scratch that, this is five times better. Mainly because there were five times the most gorgeous women I had ever met ever. They were the band that were playing tonight for the American festival. At first I thought, "Well they're 5 of the 8 attractive women in France right there," but then they started talking and I realised that they weren't French at all. They were Czech. Fire up the Hutchmobile, chaps, we're going to the Czech Republic! They came down off the stage at one point and I managed to get in a couple of words, like everyone else was trying to do.
French person: eh bonjour!
Me: Hi!
Inside Voice: I speak English! Talk to me!
Most gorgeous girl in the world ever 1: *gasp* You speak English?
Me: Yeah well...
Inside Voice: Marry me. Immediately. 
Wrist: I can do it. Just let me go and I can get to those boobs.
Inside Voice: Shut it! You'll ruin everything!
Most gorgeous girl in the world ever 2: would you like us to sign CD for you?
Me: Ah, I'm afraid I didn't bring my wallet with me.
Most gorgeous girl in the world ever 1: Well we can't let him go away with nothing.
Most gorgeous girl in the world ever 2: No no, we can't.
Inside Voice: You're right. A sixsome is definitely a good idea. Let's go.
They then both proceeded to give me a quick peck on the cheek before they bounced off to do this to other men who speak English. Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn damn. It was damn good. Damn damn good good damn good damn damn. Good. I miss them already. I met the five most beautiful girls in the world and they're just gone now. They sang Cotton Eyed Joe in Czech as well, which was really cool and a YouTube video will be coming your way soon when I update the posts with all of the pictures that I'm going to upload soon enough.

Cor.

Phwoar.

Screw me sideways and upside down.

Yeah, play that piano together.

That's just fine.

Because of these Czech girls, I've decided that having a barn dance at some point in the near future is at least the best idea ever. And there'll be none of Dallamore's really old relatives there either to ruin it, so it'd be great! So yeah, you up for it?

Anyway, this was the best way to end a holiday ever. Ever ever. I've never had a better ending. Five amazingly beautiful Czech girls on stage playing country and western songs. And fireworks. There were fireworks too.

If anything happens tomorrow on the way home then I'll update this post, but let's just assume that I'm done here. Ciao! Oh wait, that's Italian... Well fuck it, I'm not saying it in French. Sbohem! (That's Czech by the way. I'm so learning it now.)

France Has Internet! Episode 2 - The Seven Mountains

That title was actually supposed to be a play on Lord of the Rings - The Two Towers, but none of you would have known that and as a result I have written this helpful sentence explaining it. Go me.

Lundi
On Monday we decided to return to one of the places that we went to last year. I was expecting it to be the one with all the beautiful waterfalls and the restaurant at the top that feeds you omelettes when you most need them. However, we instead went to one of the places with waterfalls. Instead of there being a restaurant at the top that feeds you omelettes, there is a cave at the top that dribbles water in front of you. Trust me, that's annoying if you've just had to walk 3 miles on a horizontally and half a mile vertically in the blistering 28 degree heat. I would've much preferred to be completely soaked by the cold, perfectly purified mountain water at the top of the bloody route. I was also expecting to see ibex and beavers on the route, but no, just a moth. A black moth. And some burly men building a bridge. Aside from that it was devoid of any interesting life. Was it worth it? Well, walking up to a waterfall and being able to stand under it half way through the course is bloody nice, but overall I don't know... I got some nice pictures, and at the end of the day, isn't miles upon miles of hiking done only to take good pictures? I otherwise see no point in it.

Mardi
Uh... I actually can't remember what we did on Tuesday. Let me consult my camera. I remember why I don't remember now. I took loads of awesome pictures of Mont Blanc (which trust me, is a big deal since you rarely ever see the peak due to clouds) from different points up a mountain that we were driving up. We stopped at a town ... somewhere, which was my Dad's eventual goal. Oh wait! That was it. Today's goal was Morzine and Avoriaz, which we visited last year to see what they were like in the summer since a few years previous we went skiing there. Last year we discovered that Avoriaz was completely dead since it doesn't do summer stuff, whereas Morzine was full of mountain bikers, and this year Avoriaz was being rebuilt. Not sure why. So with that part of the day being wasted we went back down to Morzine and discovered that apart from one or two mountain bikers it was completely dead. We did see a nice lake on the way back though. And I did get to take lots more pictures of Mont Blanc while I could.

Mercredi
It was a bloody good thing I took pictures of Mont Blanc on Tuesday. The entire purpose of today was to go up to a place called Brément so that we could look directly at Mont Blanc and all of its funky glaciers. We went up, it was cold, there was snow, and the peak of Mont Blanc was covered in cloud. Fucking typical. However, the glaciers were all in plane sight, so pictures were many. We walked around what was supposed to be Lac du Brément, but as you can probably already tell from the way that I have structured this sentence, there wasn't one. At the bottom in the town of Charmonix, Lac du Brément is advertised and it looks huge, but after looking around at the top of Brément, I realised that the "lake" was in fact a puddle hidden by the hills. There was no way that a lake could fit in there. I did get lots of good pictures though. Ooh, today was also the day that I met the love of my life. I will always absolutely claim that none of the women (bar three on my count) of France are at all attractive, and in fact the only attractive women in France are in fact British girls who fancy a good hike. Christ. When this girl walked into the cable car my heart skipped a beat, and then I nearly had a heart attack when I heard her talk. It was a Midlands accent. I instantly fell in love. I needed to find a way to talk to her. "The cable car is bumpy, perhaps I can accidentally knock into her and apologise sweetly, making her succumb to my charm," I thought. However it was not to be, for she was 25, and while women have thought me to be 25 in the past, I don't think it'd work for this girl. She seemed clever. Wise, even. She had a backpack and talked about mountain climbing, so she must have been. Damn. Alas, the love of my life quickly walked off the cable car when we departed, speeding towards her next high in the heights of the mountain. Perhaps I'll find someone new some day.

Jeudi
Today was pretty cool. Our aim was to find Lac d'Annecy, using for some reason only a map of the Alps and my brain. I have no idea what was wrong with the sat-nav, but meh. I found a nice mountain route through and we got there to the lake. It was a pretty cool lake, to say the least. I got some nice pictures. Didn't do a lot of walking today, which was all well and good because I'm started to get a bit exhausted. At the beginning of the week, getting up meant the start of a fresh day, a fresh start, raring to go and do anything possible. Now it's descended into the regular old "eugh, morning. Why do we have to get up this early? My alarm hasn't even gone off yet. That means it's too early. Remember we're ahead an hour, so you're actually waking me up at 9 every morning. Not okay" so yeah, I'm a little bit tired now. Annecy is a really nice town though, and is right on the lake which means that the population of old people drops. The number of attractive French women increased by one today thanks to this town, so go Annecy! On the way back though I learned what a stupid road network the mountains have. We accidentally ended up in a different town, one in the opposite direction to what we needed. Sign-posted was "Du lac" which should have been the one that we needed. "Perfect" I thought, "Head towards the lake," I said. The Lake was signposted once. It took us in a direction that was the wrong direction and then decided to just stop telling us where the lake was. We ended up on the autoroute. On my last check, lakes and autoroutes don't mix. I directed us back to Annecy and then luckily the proper route became clear. Stupid French road network. Stupid French altogether.

So that's so far so average. I want to be back home now though, I've had enough driving around pointlessly and then pointlessly spending 2 hours in a random town because there is literally nothing better to do. I need to see my Real Family again, because without them I'm just an empty shell blowing in the wind, insulting my younger brother constantly. I'm now running out of fresh insults.

I'll update with pictures soon, since I've been harping on about them. Seriously that is the only point in this holiday. Nice pictures.

France Has Internet! Episode 1 - The Phantom Seagull

I begin my journey to a place that I have already been twice with a short description of how in the hell I got here.

Yesterday we drove to a little town called Ashford, which is 23 miles exactly away from Dover. That is where we stayed overnight. That was fine. They're building a suspension footbridge there, but that's about the only interesting thing that has probably ever happened there. Apart from that strange, fenced-off building that we came across and couldn't get to. Interesting.

Anyway, the next day came. It was approximately before time began this morning. I believe they called it "half past four... AM". I didn't understand the meaning of this term AM. I thought it was to do with radios, but nay, apparently it's this thing called "morning" and it's bloody early. I was always under the impression that the day began when the sun was at its highest in the sky, not just breaching the horizon creating something called "dawn". What a strange and wonderful world we live in.

So, with the bright orange ball slowly tipping its way over the sight-lines, we drove down to Dover to catch the ferry. I don't think Dover is appreciated as much as it should be. It's a wonderful, historical, boaty place next to the sea. It's also got what I consider the most iconic piece of land in the entire world - the White Cliffs. I've never noticed this before, but it's also got a castle. Why on Earth we don't stop in Dover for at least a day and look at this castle, the Cliffs and the Bronze Age Boat I do not know. When I start planning trips, Dover will be the first place I go. Fucking Dover, what a masterpiece.

Oh, but before I continue, let me tell you about the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me while being the passenger of a car. We were driving away from Ashford, and on the motorway were four seagulls just nibbling on a bit of garbage. They were fucking brave, these seagulls, because they refused to move. Hang on. Narrative time.

Jimmy: Hey guys, there's some good grub down here!
Terry: Aw man, do you think someone threw out some Maccy D's?
Jimmy: Even better, Terry. KFC.
Terry: Shit the bed!
Rupert: Uh... guys, you do know that KFC is made out of birds, right?
Terry: Shut it, Rupert.
Jimmy: Yeah, shut it, Rupert.
Rupert: Uh... lads, there's one of those metal boxes that the land mammals drive coming straight towards us.
Jimmy: We'll have to abandon this delicious feast!
Terry: Nah, just give it a minute. They'll slow down for us. We're the kings of the road.
Rupert: They're not slowing down!
Terry: Listen, Rupert, we came down here to get some grub and we're not going to let any of those stinking land mammals take it, alright?
Rupert: It's too close now!
Jimmy: He's right, Terry! We need to scarper!
Terry: Alright, fine, just one more bite.
Jimmy: There's no time!
*The other birds fly off, Terry waits until the last second before taking flight*
Terry: What did I tell you? Nothing to -
*Kah-clunk*
Jimmy: Terry!
*The bird hits the windscreen and rolls over the roof, presumably collapsing onto the road. The other birds flock next to their fallen comrade.*
Jimmy: Terry, mate, are you alright?
Terry: No light... life fading...
Jimmy: Hang in there, lad!
Terry: Tell the kids what happened here today. Don't let my foolishness go without reason.
Jimmy: Terry...
*Terry dies in Jimmy's wings. Three years on, and Jimmy, Rupert and their new friend Buck spot a tasty morsel in the road*
Buck: Cor, look at that! Let's be 'avin' yer!
Jimmy: Buck, no... we can't go down there. It's too dangerous.
Buck: What's wrong with the pair of yer?
Rupert: Our friend Terry died here three years ago...
Jimmy: We haven't eaten off a road since.
Buck: Oh it's perfectly safe. Nothing's even there! Well I'm going.
Jimmy: Buck, no!
*Buck flies down to the road, starts nibbling on the tasty morsel and is immediately crushed by a falling satellite*
Jimmy: Didn't see that one coming, to say the least.
Rupert: Come on, let's go to the rubbish heap behind KFC. I bet all of the false orders were thrown away tonight!

I should write children's novels. They'd love 'em.

We were then chaperoned onto a giant metal box that would basically drift into France at its earliest convenience.

It was about 6 in the morning, which meant time hadn't begun yet, but I had been awake for just over an hour now, which meant that I was starving. We found the food court and decided that a full English was in order. We were allowed 7 items, which was easy pickings because there were only 8 items to choose from. How you were meant to build up 10, I don't know, but meh. Anyway, the choices were clear. Fried bread, fried egg, sausage, bacon, beans and ... hash browns! THERE WERE HASH BROWNS! I know! And she gave me two rashers of bacon, cheeky cheeky. It truly was a brilliant breakfast. I also don't know why more people don't employ the use of the Cumberland sausage, because it's just about the best sausage you can eat.

We soon found ourselves on the smoking deck. It should probably be called the viewing deck, or the poop deck or something, but instead it shall be called the smoking deck because it's the only place you can smoke. The sunlight was bouncing off the waves, glistening as we sped away from the port of Dover. What a wonderful sight. Beachy head was in the distance, the white cliffs were out on full display. It looked absolutely marvellous. I maintain that it is the most beautiful piece of land in the entire world. I stared at the cliffs for what seemed like an age and all I could think was that this holiday was a pretty damn good idea.

And then we arrived in France.

I saw Calais' grey cliff faces and dull beaches and I instantly missed England. Why did we have to come to this squalor of a country? This great, smelly armpit of Europe. France is good at doing one thing - keeping the French in it. France also has a brilliant road network. Do you want to know why France has a good road network? Because the French don't use it. There wasn't a soul on these roads. The French are so arrogant that they can't even leave their own shitty little towns.

I have one question though. What the hell does "Rappel" mean?

We arrived many many many many many many hours later at the place that I'm in now. It's nice here, got a brilliant view of the mountains and it's close to all of the English people. Aside from the fact that all of the English people are back at home in England because it's not holiday season just yet. God damn it.

Oh well, this week can only get better. I'm teaching the lout how to speak French properly so that I don't have to. Bingo.

WOW.

Holy Macaroni It's Juli

You see it makes sense because Juli rhymes with macaroni and it's also the German word for July. Wicked stuff.

First off, I have absolutely no idea where I'm going with this post, so I'm just going to wing it like I do for at least 15% of all my posts.

I guess I could start with an apology. That apology being that I won't be around for the next week or so on account of the fact that my Dad decided to screw me over and take me on holiday. What a dick. He must know that I hate him, because that's not fair. Once again we're going to the Alps, but this time on the Italian border in der Naehe von Mont Blanc so we can cross over into Italy whenever we damn well please. I guess it's time to brush up on my Italian then. I must make it clear with myself that the only Italian that I know are musical terms, which doesn't help me at all in normal conversation.

Italian: "Eh it's-a me! Mario!"
Me: "Ah si! Accelerando dimuendo!"
Italian: "Excuse-a-me?"
Me: "Mezzo forte, maestro."
Italian: "Do you no speak-a d'Italianno?"
Me: "Resquiat in pace."
Italian: "Qué?! I do-a not like being in the morde!"
Me: "Bene."
Italian: "Si, bene! I would like you to leave now, senor!"
Me: "Es mucho apprecionado, senor. Ciao! *Returns to group* I think I just booked us a table for four. I couldn't remember three in Italian."

I think at least every Italian person in the world now hates me. I am deeply sorry.

So yeah, I'll be doing that for a week with possibly no internet connection. If that means that I miss Top Gear then I am going to be pissed. Mucho pissado, as the Italians would say.

I will also need to re-know French for this trip. I do have the argument though, that my brother is supposed to be able to speak French now, so I can hopefully get away without it. That's a total and utter lie. I can't do French off the bat any more, but if my brother speaks even a single word of French then I immediately correct him, so I guess I'm not really getting away with anything there.

So what can I say in other news? Not much, really. We're fixing Dukey's car tonight, which should be amusing, if not extremely tiring and arduous. We'll get it done though, that's for sure. I shall probably update you on how well that went later. Or it might be next week, I have no idea.

It turns out that it's going to be now.

If you don't want to know how this story ends, look away now.

First one has to destroy the door entirely. 

Then one needs to consult his massive box of tools.

Then one has to carefully remove the doors. 

And then the doors are gone entirely.

Then one has to look like a complete tit while the doors are off. 

It is but merely a shell. Well, a half-shell. 

One must make sure not to throw the old doors away - just in case. 

Then one must pointlessly remove the dashboard to see if the speedo will work.

Then one must attach the door while other ones act like complete tits in one's company.

Yes, good sir, your doors are fixed. Rejoice!

Well that was all good fun. If you looked away because you didn't want to know how the story ended, then you can look back now.

Yes, of course I realise the irony of that statement, you moron. Shut up.
No, you shut up.
Oh don't you start.

In any case, I guess this is now goodbye for the week. I'll be off, gallivanting around some mountains while you lot are cooped up in your little houses, cradling the dignity you once owned because it has now been sold off to the Mafia to pay for your debts. I'm sorry.