Apparently Iran reckon that Israel should be 'wiped off the face of the earth'.
I'm so glad that Iran are trying to build a nuclear weapons program, it's these kinds of issues that make the world such a vibrant place.
Question is, what will the West do if the Israeli's decide to lay waste to Iran?
No doubt the UN will keep it all above board. ;-)
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Little India...
Last year I travelled to India, and for six or so weeks, I wandered the earth, seemingly in search of Shangri La, or as truth would have it, good curries! It's fair to say that in the six weeks that I was travelling in India, I was exposed to some fascinating sights, but one thing that did 'stick out' - and is rarely written about, or discussed - was the large proportion of extremely old and ugly people there. Now don't get me wrong, I actually find many Indian women extremely attractive, but with the exception of old Aboriginals, I doubt that there are an uglier group of people in existence, apart from the in-bred, inuit or South Australian, who we all know aren't bona fide people anyway.
I bring this up due to my travel habits, at least those which include Heathrow as a transit point, and because of my enterprising spirit - or more specifically my tendency to avoid London Zone 1 at all costs - I take the worlds most convoluted travel route to get there.
From home I;
- Catch the 245 or 182 buses to Wembley Park,
- Catch the 83 bus from Wembley Park to Alperton,
- Catch the tube from Alperton to Acton Town,
- Catch the tube from Acton Town to Heathrow.
The curious thing, is that between Wembley Park and Alperton, you go through the Wembley area, and this place is dead-set Little India. Everything Indian is in abundance here, silk clothing shops, bazaars for bartering, shitloads of leather belts, poorly constructed sports bag, and the largest proportion of ugly old Indians, you'll ever have the priviledge to see. And what is it with the Indians? Do they all live to be 127 years old, or something? There needs to be a rule against this, or a cull. Yes, a cull, that's decidedly what's needed to curb the lack of transport in this area.
You see, once you hit Wembley Central station, roughly thirteen thousand Indians get on the bus, and 87.32% of these are at least 100 years old, and they have have baggy skin, impossibly skinny limbs and that look that really old people have which makes you want to scream out 'HOLY FUCK, KEEP AWAY FROM ME YOU FREAK, TAKE MY WALLET, TAKE SOMETHING, JUST GET AWAY FROM ME!'
And then I saw her.
It was one of those sights that forever change your life, like Bo Derek running towards Dudley Moore in, '10'.
It was the sight of a 143 year old Indian woman walking down the bus to me!
I could not move, breath or scream.
Time stood still, or at least I thought it did, it was merely the fact that she was 143 years old and moved slower than evolution itself, almost the speed of Brett Spinks, but moved nonetheless.
She thought that she needed a seat, and I was on the back seat of the bus, giving her a 10 meter walk, and after three minutes she had almost made it. I was truly transfixed, was this seriously happening? This 'thing' was drawing closer, and I was reminded how no-one could resist Samara Morgan, in 'The Ring'.
Bones'n'Skin was nearing ever closer, and she was trying to sit next to me, so I shielded myself from the inevitable, her old withered hand touching me, and shrank from her, leaning over to the beggar on the other side of me, somewhat uncomfortable for both of us, yet The Wraith, still managed to lay her boney hand on my leg.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' i screamed silently.
And after about 15 seconds, she started to try and stand up, using my petrified leg as leverage, meaning only one thing, I had to lay the smack-down on her boney arse!
I shifted my leg, and she fell forward almost cracking her head open on the seat in front, and I was caught in one hell of a dilemma; do I a) try and stifle my laughter, or b) pretend to help? Neither seemed applicable, and to be fair, she needed the forward momentum.
Why is it that old people feel the need to touch, continue breathing or trying to sit down on a bus, particularly given the fact that they're going to get off at the next stop.
After about two minutes she got near the rear door of the bus, which coincided precisely as the bus put on the breaks, sending her careening into two 118 year old men walking in the other direction. There's comedy, high comedy, and 3 100+ Indians having a pile up in the back of a bus. Roll on forward momentum!
But after 7 minutes of walking, 30 seconds of sitting, and another two minutes untangling herself from two other unfeasibly old Indians, she'd reached her destination...the offices of Guinness Book of Records, I guess.
I bring this up due to my travel habits, at least those which include Heathrow as a transit point, and because of my enterprising spirit - or more specifically my tendency to avoid London Zone 1 at all costs - I take the worlds most convoluted travel route to get there.
From home I;
- Catch the 245 or 182 buses to Wembley Park,
- Catch the 83 bus from Wembley Park to Alperton,
- Catch the tube from Alperton to Acton Town,
- Catch the tube from Acton Town to Heathrow.
The curious thing, is that between Wembley Park and Alperton, you go through the Wembley area, and this place is dead-set Little India. Everything Indian is in abundance here, silk clothing shops, bazaars for bartering, shitloads of leather belts, poorly constructed sports bag, and the largest proportion of ugly old Indians, you'll ever have the priviledge to see. And what is it with the Indians? Do they all live to be 127 years old, or something? There needs to be a rule against this, or a cull. Yes, a cull, that's decidedly what's needed to curb the lack of transport in this area.
You see, once you hit Wembley Central station, roughly thirteen thousand Indians get on the bus, and 87.32% of these are at least 100 years old, and they have have baggy skin, impossibly skinny limbs and that look that really old people have which makes you want to scream out 'HOLY FUCK, KEEP AWAY FROM ME YOU FREAK, TAKE MY WALLET, TAKE SOMETHING, JUST GET AWAY FROM ME!'
And then I saw her.
It was one of those sights that forever change your life, like Bo Derek running towards Dudley Moore in, '10'.
It was the sight of a 143 year old Indian woman walking down the bus to me!
I could not move, breath or scream.
Time stood still, or at least I thought it did, it was merely the fact that she was 143 years old and moved slower than evolution itself, almost the speed of Brett Spinks, but moved nonetheless.
She thought that she needed a seat, and I was on the back seat of the bus, giving her a 10 meter walk, and after three minutes she had almost made it. I was truly transfixed, was this seriously happening? This 'thing' was drawing closer, and I was reminded how no-one could resist Samara Morgan, in 'The Ring'.
Bones'n'Skin was nearing ever closer, and she was trying to sit next to me, so I shielded myself from the inevitable, her old withered hand touching me, and shrank from her, leaning over to the beggar on the other side of me, somewhat uncomfortable for both of us, yet The Wraith, still managed to lay her boney hand on my leg.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' i screamed silently.
And after about 15 seconds, she started to try and stand up, using my petrified leg as leverage, meaning only one thing, I had to lay the smack-down on her boney arse!
I shifted my leg, and she fell forward almost cracking her head open on the seat in front, and I was caught in one hell of a dilemma; do I a) try and stifle my laughter, or b) pretend to help? Neither seemed applicable, and to be fair, she needed the forward momentum.
Why is it that old people feel the need to touch, continue breathing or trying to sit down on a bus, particularly given the fact that they're going to get off at the next stop.
After about two minutes she got near the rear door of the bus, which coincided precisely as the bus put on the breaks, sending her careening into two 118 year old men walking in the other direction. There's comedy, high comedy, and 3 100+ Indians having a pile up in the back of a bus. Roll on forward momentum!
But after 7 minutes of walking, 30 seconds of sitting, and another two minutes untangling herself from two other unfeasibly old Indians, she'd reached her destination...the offices of Guinness Book of Records, I guess.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Late night calls....
Although I'm not Bill Bryson, I still feel that I have enough experience to dispense travel advice, and given the occurrances on my recent trip to Spain, I feel that I am qualified to dispense it now.
- When - in an inebriated state - you return to your hotel at ~4:00AM, do not make international calls to Australia,
- If you do make calls to Australia, be sure to keep the duration to a period less than 40 minutes,
- During said calls, be sure to address the fundamental rationale that precipitated the call,
- Be assured that if you use lines similar to "We're here in Spain, you're not - you c*nt!!!" and repeat it 5-10 times, it can eventually become far more hilarious than possibly imagined...well if you're a witness to the events unfolding, it is.
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