Rumour has it that I'm Catholic, but it's fairly accurate to say that I'm not particularly devout, nor do I practice particularly consistent religious activities, aside from absenteeism. However, when S-Rob asked me if I'd join him at 'The Church' in Kentish Town, I was seemingly swept up in an unprecedented zealous fervour, and promised to join him in the local congregation.
However, I'm not sure that Fosters for breakfast is necessarily the healthiest start to the day, and I wouldn't be one to argue that Fosters consumption doesn't border on crime, but we'll leave that discussion in order to focus on the journey at hand...
So as the three of us pilgrims (S-Rob, Stevie Waugh and I) get on the tube, S-Rob cracks open a couple of cans and we start chugging Fosters in the train. Fortunately, this is London, and drinking in public is almost encouraged, so there's little chance of problems occurring. Well problems consisting of the Bill and public drinking offenses, anyway. For Waugh, not only is Vodka a poor breakfast substitute, it's also something that should - for posterity - be filed under "obvious foreshadowing", if at all learning is capable from this fine stroke-maker. Similar to the form shown in 1985/86 when 14 digs yielded a paltry 172 runs, Waugh struggled mightily with the early pace of 'The Church' and was soon playing and missing at a rapidly alarming rate, but more of that later.....
If you've not visited 'The Church', then you're obviously not an antipodean whose been to London, or you've failed a core component of 'Stereotypical Aussie in London 101', because the place is an institution, and it's an institution for a reason. The place is just chock full of good old fashioned fun, particularly if your definition of 'old fashioned fun' involves good looking individuals dressing up as a cowgirl and getting her gear off! Personally, I find this type of behaviour abhorrent, and I was loudly protesting the exploitative concept, but alas, my cries for equality were drowned out by the outlandish behaviour I was witnessing on stage, which seemed to have been voluntary!!! To make matters worse, and in an obvious act of defiance, the said 'cowgirl' deliberately targeting me, literally thrusting her naked buttocks into my face! It was inexplicable in itself, in how I managed to find myself front and centre at the front row, but only coincidence or divine intervention can truthfully explain it.
As you can see from this I was not particularly impressed by the debauchery of the event, even in the presence of such sobering moralists like S-Rob and his parents....I blame Waugh, and the obvious foreshadowing I casually referred to earlier.
You see, things were going along swimmingly until Gavin Henson's twin
was seen prancing around amongst the front rowers. From here, Tugger was on the back foot, as Gav's doppleganger was really bending the back! It wasn't before long until young Tugger was squaring up, but in typical fashion managed to crack it not only through the covers, but ensuring that each ball was dealt with accordingly. But the cavalier innings couldn't last forever, and in the end the dismissal came - quite literally - within inches of the boundary fence, much to the disgust of the onlookers, including S-Rob's parents, who stood spellbound watching the spectacle unfold. It was at this point that Tugger must have traipsed back to the pavilion in disgust, as S-Rob and I didn't catch up until about 10 hours later, in a beer and kebab induced haze.The sermon at the church ended in typical fashion, with a boatload of choirgirls strutting their stuff on stage, but the congregation ultimately disappointed by the vocal offerings, but not disappointed by the fine array of religious diversity offered in general. With the formalities out of the way, it was time for 'confession', the venue just happened to be a place called 'The Walkabout', which was located in a small and relatively quiet haven known as Shepherds Bush! If the cast from 'Revenge of the Nerds' had been involved, this may have caused quite a stir for Dudley 'Booger' Dawson, but they weren't so it wasn't!!!
Shepherds Bush Walkabout!!! As an Australian in London, could it possibly get any more stereotypical and backpacker-esque than this? If you were doing one of those lame 'on-line purity tests', then this would surely tip you over the edge, and probably into the category of "Stupid fucking aussie that needs to go back to Australia, or hang out with people that aren't Antipodeans", but since this is not one of those lame tests, we don't have to concern ourselves with such theoreticals. Hell, who'd be caught dead doing an online test, it's right up there in the farcical stakes as a) writing an online blog, or b) reading someone else's. Fortunately, we can escape such things.....
Actually, that reminds me, it was during this time that S-Rob and I were talking about our lives (as drunk guys do) and considering the things we ideally could/would do in the future. And it was at this time that the-debacle-that-is-this-blog was truly born! S-Rob was talking about how cool it would be to become a sports journalist, and since I was pissed that he'd used my idea, and it didn't seem particularly tenable, I decided to go with either option 2; taking over from Hugh Heffner, or finally, attempting to write an account of various life aspects whilst over here, as the 'reality' of a profession change, didn't look to be occurring in the foreseeable future.
Anyway, after a really damn good night of chatting to complete and utter strangers, it was time for S-Rob and I to head back to his crib, and as finding a bus or cab was nigh impossible, the most sensible option was to accept/pay for a ride with a complete stranger who was moonlighting as a cabbie, which at 1am makes a bunch of sense.... no really, it does!
Midway through the journey, said moonlighting-cabbie, pulls over to a petrol station and demands cash from us. S-Rob is not particularly happy, and my comment of 'I'm sure I can do more than £15 damage if you try shafting us' didn't go down particularly well, but I've never prescribed to the notion I'm a particularly sharp operator, and this was clearly yet another bona fide example, that I'm shrewd in some respects.
But our angst was quickly forgotten as there was a really cute girl with a Staffordshire Terrier in line, and S-Rob went straight to work...sometimes there's no stopping a leviathan like this once the momentum has kicked in!
Without a word of a lie.....S-Rob walks up and starts patting the dog, totally disregarding the owner, who it must be said would have been able to command attention in any film featuring the likes of Rocco Siffredi. She was good looking, really! S-Rob was about as interested in her as any man would be in Germaine Greer. I've seen many things, but nothing can explain this.
S-Rob:- "Whose the cute little doggie!"
Rubbing dog's belly....
S-Rob:- "You are! YOU are the cute little doggie!
Girl getting annoyed she's getting ZERO attention...
S-Rob:- "You're a cute little doggie that likes getting his belly rubbed, aren'tya?!"
Girl not happy, threatening to walk unless attention is forthcoming.
S-Rob:- "You cute little doggie.................."
It was like I'd stepped into bizarro world! The next thing I expected to see was the UN actually concerning itself with the Oil-less countries self combusting, Telstra Dome not running out of fresh pies, the average reader understanding my references and people suddenly finding my bizarro examples remotely humorous, or inoffensive!
Nevertheless, it wasn't a bad looking Staffordshire!
After the 'cabbie' dropped us in Willesden, we hit the local kebab house, loaded up with some tucker and headed back to see what had happened to Tugger.
Tugger had surprisingly made it back alive - and what's more - alone, which was fortunate in some respects, but it led to an hour of some of the best mocking encountered in NW London. S-Rob - god bless him - showed a clean pair of heels on this contest.
Although.............
I still don't think that either Tugger or S-Rob washed their hands after their respective displays of 'patting the dog', and surely none of us are better for this experience.
Verdict:-
The Church; worth a visit!
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