How I Became a Post-graduate Alcoholic….
AH, the days when all I had to worry about was where to lay my sarong on the long idyllic beach are long gone. A lifetime away it seems. I look at my pictures of Thailand and Laos and wonder who that tanned indigenous skinny person in the photo is… (just in case you get any funny ideas, I have NOT suddenly become fat! The difference is I am now back to my jaundice pastey self and looking over a bleak rainy English landscape). It was hard to come back to reality, but then again, when the ‘reality’ involves watching World Cup football from bed every morning things could be worse. And they did get worse, as I spent endless days doing nothing apart from writing cover letters and sending CVs in another depressing effort at finding a job in the real world.
But for a while things looked rosy, as I actually spent a relatively long extended period of time (a month or so) with a person of the opposite sex. I had met her at Dan and Jess’ wedding shortly after getting back from SE Asia. It was nice to be spending time with someone who I knew would not suddenly leave, or on the flipside, knowing I was not going anywhere too soon. It reminded me how much I lacked companionship in the last couple of years; it felt good. But it did not last long. No, she did not leave, but to all intents and purposes she might as well. It’s funny, but for some reason I get ‘dumped’ (I hate that word, but I don’t know what else to call it) on or near my birthday too much for my liking! Is it a conspiracy? “Happy Birthday David! Oh and by the way, I don’t want to be with you anymore.” Super.
I felt like a Vietnam War veteran that was having a lot of trouble to reintegrate with normal society! My ‘Vietnam War’ did not involve death, despair and politics, but rather the paradisiacal life in the Caribbean, and the jungle life in Ecuador, Venezuela, and Costa Rica. What was I to do?? Well immerse myself in the things I love (no, I did not cover myself in Nutella chocolate spread!): I volunteered with the Bristol Zoo, putting tattoos on kids, brass rubbing, badge-making, talking about the animals, chatting with old volunteer ladies about the state of the planet, making new friends (so what if they were all under ten or over sixty?!).
Family duties called too, which took me to the sunny isle of Ibiza again. There I coincided with my uncle and aunt and my three little cousins. It’s not often that you can go skinny-dipping with all your family in Ibiza (12-year-old twins, 14-year-old other cuz and his parents and my parents!). Now that’s a new Ibiza experience that most will NOT have had the privilege of undertaking… well, at least not with MY family!! I hope… But it was great to just not think about CVs and cover letters and jobs, or lack thereof. And let me tell you: when catching a glimpse of your 12 year old twin cousins’ little cocktail sausage-sized peni doesn’t make for a great past time but it does make you forget about job worries for a while!!
Soon after getting back to the Land of Eng (actually, straight from the airport) I was on a 12 hour-long bus journey to Edinburgh, the capital of the Land of Scot. You know when there are certain things in life that you MUST do, regardless of how time-limited or painstaking it may be to do them? Well, it was my very good friend Nick’s 30th birthday party. You will remember from a previous instalment of my Trials and Tribulations that I thought I would have rather crawled five miles naked over broken glass with Barry Manilow on my back than watch a shite video of a dog playing basketball in Thai... well, this is one of those moments where I WOULD have gone through that TO BE at Nick’s party. And was it worth it! I dressed up as Sunny Crocket from Miami Vice, although most people thought I was Andrew Ridgley from Wham! Ah, at this point I should tell you that the party had a theme: 80’s night! It’s not that I randomly decided to dress up like a cheesy 80’s Miami police officer… give me some credit. Anyway, I ended the night with nail scratches on my chest and hand…. Was that a sign of a very GOOD night!? Nah, it was from a pet rabbit that someone owned in the flat I ended up at! Honest, hand on my heart, scout’s honor, cross my heart and hope to die, blah, blah, blah.
Once back in Bristol I decided to apply for a Masters in Water Management at the Cranfield University here in England. I then went to see my English granny in Somerset and help her out as she had just gone through a hip operation. Within a few days I realised I would not need to still rent out the room in Bristol for two reasons: I would either get a place in Cranfield and start within a month or I would go to Spain to see my other grandmother and then possibly travel with Jillian in Portugal and Spain.
So I drove to Bristol in my granny’s tiny grey Nissan Micra and packed it to the max with my shit. As easy as that. The next week and a half was spent putting my granny’s bed socks on (on her feet, not mine), tucking her to bed, cooking for her, taking off her tights! I was a veritable nurse: Nurse David. I also did very colloquial granny-type things such as visiting the upholsterer, butchers, RSPCA; watching ‘Murder She Wrote,’ Proms with Blue Peter, countless gardening shows, the news at least four times a day. At times mind numbing, and at other times slightly depressing. One of those moments was escorting her to her past neighbour’s ashes ceremony at the local churchyard. Leslie Thompson had been my grandmother’s neighbour for as long as I remembered, so it was a little emotional to see him reduced to ashes in a small wooden box, even if he was an imperialist, xenophobic teddy bear maker... yes, he used to make teddy bears. Honestly!
But life with my granny resumed its random and bizarre pace. For example, one day I spent at least an hour searching for granny’s false back teeth all over the house! How she misplaced them when they were supposed to be IN her MOUTH I don’t know. She had wrapped them in some tissue paper, so we were looking all over the place. At one point I caught my granny sifting through the trash with her handy grabber mechanism (so she doesn’t have to stoop to grab things)! Anyway, I finally found her teeth in her hearing aid box!! Grinning at me from within the velvet-lined box. The same day I realized that I might have used her toothbrush, which she uses to brush her false teeth… Now, I have shared people’s toothbrushes before, but they have usually been girlfriends, not my 80 year-old grandmother! Another night I took my granny out for dinner at my great uncle Tony and Sue’s place – Harepits Farm. Sue is not doing so well these days either and so I was helping out with the cooking. At one point she goes to take the roast chicken out of the Arga (old-school oven). I hear her exclaim, “where has it gone?” and turn around to see her with her head half in the bottom oven with a bewildered expression on her face. “Sue, are you sure you put it in there?” After a couple of defiant “yes, of course” I decided to check the top oven in case. I mean, a chicken can’t just disappear just like that, can it?! Needless to say, she had put it in the top oven instead… and promptly forgot. Oh, and their plate-licking mutt Nala… saves on washing up I guess… After dinner I sat listening to Tony recount old war stories when he used to head up an Indian regiment in Iraq and Iran. And he also told me about my great great grandfather who was the Attorney-General of Fiji Island…. Cool? Well, yes until I found out he was supposedly responsible for quashing cannibalism on the island! Good going great great grandpa….
Road Trips. I love them, and would like to finally drive across the States someday (up for it Jillian?). But instead I had to conform myself with a mini road trip to Bedfordshire! I had been invited for an interview at Cranfield University you see. SO I put on some nice pants (trousers… well, I also had nice boxer shorts, but I digress) and a shirt, grabbed some tapes, a map, and off I went on my merry way. Around three hours into the trip, about an hour or so away from the university and my interview I stop for gas at a service station in Leighton Buzzard (oh yes, a real name for a real town). Kingston Bagpuize, The Butt… Huish Episcopi, Compton Puncefoot, Piddletrenthide, Broadwoodwidger, Westward Ho! (exclamation mark is part of the name), Shellow Bowells. All real towns in England if you can believe it. Anyway, I somehow manage to spill a sizeable amount of gasoline all over me. Shit! And I had the interview within the hour, and no change of clothes. This required a detour into Milton Keynes, the most sterile city in England for a pair of new pants/trousers. Anyway, long story short, ended up buying some body spray and then once I arrived late at the University apologizing profusely to all those I met afterwards for the funky gasoline/cheap cologne smell I was emanating! Nevertheless, it didn’t thwart my chances of getting accepted onto the MSc in Water Management (had it however been an interview for a position as a gas station pump handler…. ). I was graciously offered a place, to which I more than gladly accepted. At least it gets me off the streets.
With that I booked my flight to Spain to visit my ailing abuela in her residence in northern Spain. It was not the happiest of moments I assure you; watching your grandmother wasting away before your very eyes. Some emotional moments as I left the last day knowing that it may be the last time I see her…
From a sad moment one day, to a very happy moment the next, as I saw Jillian coming through the arrival gate at Barajas Airport in Madrid. It was not a huge coincidence, no. We had planned to meet up and either go to Ibiza or Portugal. We opted for Portugal. [For those who don’t know, Jillian was my very good friend from DC, who I had worked with there. I say ‘was’ because she is not my very good friend now. She is now my very lovely girlfriend and my best friend!] We had a laugh-fuelled 12 days driving through tiny picturesque towns in Spain and Portugal, staying in gorgeous walled towns throughout, eating like kings and queens… at times, and hatching new future travels we will undertake together. I won’t divulge any more on our wonderful trip together as Jillian and I are sole co-proprietors of those lovely memories. Sorry. And as for those future plans…. unfortunately these will have to wait until I finish my MSc… although I did seriously toy with the idea of shooting off to Australia with Jillian and starting afresh.
So what better way to start an MSc than that eh?! Of course I would rather have Jillian here, but I am very happy right now. I was also privileged at being at Jim and Sarah’s (Edinburgh University flatmate and friends) wedding down in Kent a week ago. Lovely place, lovely wedding, very old door (1000 yr old church door). I covered the whole of southern England in 3 hours in a lovely Fiat Estilo. Love to travel in style! (bada booom! Thank you, thank you). The Wedding reception was very plush. I didn’t know many people so I just danced with random elderly ladies who were hovering around the dance floor itching to shake their booties. One flirted with me – how dare she! She was old enough to be my grandmother! Another lady who I think was Jim’s aunt thanked me profusely for whisking her onto the dance floor and complimented me on my foxtrot… HA! I had no fucking clue! I just twirled her about here and there.
And that brings me to here – Cranfield University in Silsoe, just off the A6 between Bedford and Luton (the arsehole of England). A funny moment the first day I was here. I was trying to get back to the University after dropping the rental car back in Luton Airport. I finally negotiated a semi-fair price with a British/Pakistani guy in the deserted center of town. He was either a very strange man, mentally disturbed or high on some shit. Perhaps all three: I guess they aren’t mutually exclusive conditions… After a couple of minutes in the car, out of nowhere he asks me “does this blue collar look stupid?”!!! You see, it was a bowling type shirt…. So under other circumstances I would have pissed myself with laughter and acknowledged the fact that the t-shirt was as hideous as they come and I would rather have my foreskin stapled to the ceiling of his taxi than be caught wearing something so vile. However, I checked myself and as deadpan faced as possible said no, it looked fine. “Well I saw my ex-girlfriend just now before picking you up.” Pause… “Oh, so she didn’t like it?” I ventured. “Nah, she didn’t say nothing… but she laughed at me new beard… (?!?!) …. She’s gorgeous ya know. Real looka’. I felt like gettin’ her doggy style and rammin’ it right in er. But I’m married you know, with two kids.” Now what the hell do you say to that coming from a bearded stranger you just met?! I think I uttered something along the lines of “aaah… ha. Yes well… no, best not if you are married with two children” and commented on the weather or something.
I am now a full-time student again! Scary, but at the same time it feels right now. And to have people all around to socialise with is a new concept as well. People from all walks of life. I love it. This week was sort of a Freshers Week, except we jumped right into studies and assessments etc. But I attended some social events at the campus’ bar, The Stumble Inn. One of those was aptly named Drinking Games… I had just got off the phone with Jillian and was just going to pop in for A beer. I ended up getting roped into some drinking games which included Boat Races, passing water-filled condoms under our chins, threading a ball of string under our clothes, and the piece de resistance: Yard of Ale Competition. I, in a momentary lapse of sense challenged this guy doing Medical Diagnostics (how this tidbit of information adds to the story I DO NOT KNOW…) that if he beat the record of 3min 2secs I would do it. Well, he beat it by TWO seconds, and so I stepped up to the stage (having previously relieved myself of all fluids and nonfluids from my system to make space for 3 pints!). [in case you weren’t aware a yard of ale is 3 pints or 1700 ml of beer in a long funny shaped glass]. Suffice to say I finished it in 2mins 58secs!!! Not amazing, but I won my bet… and in doing so made another guy have to do it, whence he promptly trashed my record. But a large Libyan had the last laugh, downing it in 1min 20 seconds!! I learnt how to say “Go, Crazy Man, Go” in Libyan…. Haid, Mabula, Haid!!!
So here I am, at the age of 27, downing Yards of Ale and consorting with Libyans… while hoping to get an MSc in a year… wish me luck. And send me mail, email, anything. My address for the WHOLE YEAR (wooohooo!!) is:
Don Butler Close, #2
Cranfield University at Silsoe
Silsoe, Bedfordshire
MK45 4DT
Tel. (01525) 863-219 (only incoming calls, so CALL ME PLEASE).
Love to all,
MABULA!! Aka David
PS A pic of Jillian and I in Spain somewhere.
But for a while things looked rosy, as I actually spent a relatively long extended period of time (a month or so) with a person of the opposite sex. I had met her at Dan and Jess’ wedding shortly after getting back from SE Asia. It was nice to be spending time with someone who I knew would not suddenly leave, or on the flipside, knowing I was not going anywhere too soon. It reminded me how much I lacked companionship in the last couple of years; it felt good. But it did not last long. No, she did not leave, but to all intents and purposes she might as well. It’s funny, but for some reason I get ‘dumped’ (I hate that word, but I don’t know what else to call it) on or near my birthday too much for my liking! Is it a conspiracy? “Happy Birthday David! Oh and by the way, I don’t want to be with you anymore.” Super.
I felt like a Vietnam War veteran that was having a lot of trouble to reintegrate with normal society! My ‘Vietnam War’ did not involve death, despair and politics, but rather the paradisiacal life in the Caribbean, and the jungle life in Ecuador, Venezuela, and Costa Rica. What was I to do?? Well immerse myself in the things I love (no, I did not cover myself in Nutella chocolate spread!): I volunteered with the Bristol Zoo, putting tattoos on kids, brass rubbing, badge-making, talking about the animals, chatting with old volunteer ladies about the state of the planet, making new friends (so what if they were all under ten or over sixty?!).
Family duties called too, which took me to the sunny isle of Ibiza again. There I coincided with my uncle and aunt and my three little cousins. It’s not often that you can go skinny-dipping with all your family in Ibiza (12-year-old twins, 14-year-old other cuz and his parents and my parents!). Now that’s a new Ibiza experience that most will NOT have had the privilege of undertaking… well, at least not with MY family!! I hope… But it was great to just not think about CVs and cover letters and jobs, or lack thereof. And let me tell you: when catching a glimpse of your 12 year old twin cousins’ little cocktail sausage-sized peni doesn’t make for a great past time but it does make you forget about job worries for a while!!
Soon after getting back to the Land of Eng (actually, straight from the airport) I was on a 12 hour-long bus journey to Edinburgh, the capital of the Land of Scot. You know when there are certain things in life that you MUST do, regardless of how time-limited or painstaking it may be to do them? Well, it was my very good friend Nick’s 30th birthday party. You will remember from a previous instalment of my Trials and Tribulations that I thought I would have rather crawled five miles naked over broken glass with Barry Manilow on my back than watch a shite video of a dog playing basketball in Thai... well, this is one of those moments where I WOULD have gone through that TO BE at Nick’s party. And was it worth it! I dressed up as Sunny Crocket from Miami Vice, although most people thought I was Andrew Ridgley from Wham! Ah, at this point I should tell you that the party had a theme: 80’s night! It’s not that I randomly decided to dress up like a cheesy 80’s Miami police officer… give me some credit. Anyway, I ended the night with nail scratches on my chest and hand…. Was that a sign of a very GOOD night!? Nah, it was from a pet rabbit that someone owned in the flat I ended up at! Honest, hand on my heart, scout’s honor, cross my heart and hope to die, blah, blah, blah.
Once back in Bristol I decided to apply for a Masters in Water Management at the Cranfield University here in England. I then went to see my English granny in Somerset and help her out as she had just gone through a hip operation. Within a few days I realised I would not need to still rent out the room in Bristol for two reasons: I would either get a place in Cranfield and start within a month or I would go to Spain to see my other grandmother and then possibly travel with Jillian in Portugal and Spain.
So I drove to Bristol in my granny’s tiny grey Nissan Micra and packed it to the max with my shit. As easy as that. The next week and a half was spent putting my granny’s bed socks on (on her feet, not mine), tucking her to bed, cooking for her, taking off her tights! I was a veritable nurse: Nurse David. I also did very colloquial granny-type things such as visiting the upholsterer, butchers, RSPCA; watching ‘Murder She Wrote,’ Proms with Blue Peter, countless gardening shows, the news at least four times a day. At times mind numbing, and at other times slightly depressing. One of those moments was escorting her to her past neighbour’s ashes ceremony at the local churchyard. Leslie Thompson had been my grandmother’s neighbour for as long as I remembered, so it was a little emotional to see him reduced to ashes in a small wooden box, even if he was an imperialist, xenophobic teddy bear maker... yes, he used to make teddy bears. Honestly!
But life with my granny resumed its random and bizarre pace. For example, one day I spent at least an hour searching for granny’s false back teeth all over the house! How she misplaced them when they were supposed to be IN her MOUTH I don’t know. She had wrapped them in some tissue paper, so we were looking all over the place. At one point I caught my granny sifting through the trash with her handy grabber mechanism (so she doesn’t have to stoop to grab things)! Anyway, I finally found her teeth in her hearing aid box!! Grinning at me from within the velvet-lined box. The same day I realized that I might have used her toothbrush, which she uses to brush her false teeth… Now, I have shared people’s toothbrushes before, but they have usually been girlfriends, not my 80 year-old grandmother! Another night I took my granny out for dinner at my great uncle Tony and Sue’s place – Harepits Farm. Sue is not doing so well these days either and so I was helping out with the cooking. At one point she goes to take the roast chicken out of the Arga (old-school oven). I hear her exclaim, “where has it gone?” and turn around to see her with her head half in the bottom oven with a bewildered expression on her face. “Sue, are you sure you put it in there?” After a couple of defiant “yes, of course” I decided to check the top oven in case. I mean, a chicken can’t just disappear just like that, can it?! Needless to say, she had put it in the top oven instead… and promptly forgot. Oh, and their plate-licking mutt Nala… saves on washing up I guess… After dinner I sat listening to Tony recount old war stories when he used to head up an Indian regiment in Iraq and Iran. And he also told me about my great great grandfather who was the Attorney-General of Fiji Island…. Cool? Well, yes until I found out he was supposedly responsible for quashing cannibalism on the island! Good going great great grandpa….
Road Trips. I love them, and would like to finally drive across the States someday (up for it Jillian?). But instead I had to conform myself with a mini road trip to Bedfordshire! I had been invited for an interview at Cranfield University you see. SO I put on some nice pants (trousers… well, I also had nice boxer shorts, but I digress) and a shirt, grabbed some tapes, a map, and off I went on my merry way. Around three hours into the trip, about an hour or so away from the university and my interview I stop for gas at a service station in Leighton Buzzard (oh yes, a real name for a real town). Kingston Bagpuize, The Butt… Huish Episcopi, Compton Puncefoot, Piddletrenthide, Broadwoodwidger, Westward Ho! (exclamation mark is part of the name), Shellow Bowells. All real towns in England if you can believe it. Anyway, I somehow manage to spill a sizeable amount of gasoline all over me. Shit! And I had the interview within the hour, and no change of clothes. This required a detour into Milton Keynes, the most sterile city in England for a pair of new pants/trousers. Anyway, long story short, ended up buying some body spray and then once I arrived late at the University apologizing profusely to all those I met afterwards for the funky gasoline/cheap cologne smell I was emanating! Nevertheless, it didn’t thwart my chances of getting accepted onto the MSc in Water Management (had it however been an interview for a position as a gas station pump handler…. ). I was graciously offered a place, to which I more than gladly accepted. At least it gets me off the streets.
With that I booked my flight to Spain to visit my ailing abuela in her residence in northern Spain. It was not the happiest of moments I assure you; watching your grandmother wasting away before your very eyes. Some emotional moments as I left the last day knowing that it may be the last time I see her…
From a sad moment one day, to a very happy moment the next, as I saw Jillian coming through the arrival gate at Barajas Airport in Madrid. It was not a huge coincidence, no. We had planned to meet up and either go to Ibiza or Portugal. We opted for Portugal. [For those who don’t know, Jillian was my very good friend from DC, who I had worked with there. I say ‘was’ because she is not my very good friend now. She is now my very lovely girlfriend and my best friend!] We had a laugh-fuelled 12 days driving through tiny picturesque towns in Spain and Portugal, staying in gorgeous walled towns throughout, eating like kings and queens… at times, and hatching new future travels we will undertake together. I won’t divulge any more on our wonderful trip together as Jillian and I are sole co-proprietors of those lovely memories. Sorry. And as for those future plans…. unfortunately these will have to wait until I finish my MSc… although I did seriously toy with the idea of shooting off to Australia with Jillian and starting afresh.
So what better way to start an MSc than that eh?! Of course I would rather have Jillian here, but I am very happy right now. I was also privileged at being at Jim and Sarah’s (Edinburgh University flatmate and friends) wedding down in Kent a week ago. Lovely place, lovely wedding, very old door (1000 yr old church door). I covered the whole of southern England in 3 hours in a lovely Fiat Estilo. Love to travel in style! (bada booom! Thank you, thank you). The Wedding reception was very plush. I didn’t know many people so I just danced with random elderly ladies who were hovering around the dance floor itching to shake their booties. One flirted with me – how dare she! She was old enough to be my grandmother! Another lady who I think was Jim’s aunt thanked me profusely for whisking her onto the dance floor and complimented me on my foxtrot… HA! I had no fucking clue! I just twirled her about here and there.
And that brings me to here – Cranfield University in Silsoe, just off the A6 between Bedford and Luton (the arsehole of England). A funny moment the first day I was here. I was trying to get back to the University after dropping the rental car back in Luton Airport. I finally negotiated a semi-fair price with a British/Pakistani guy in the deserted center of town. He was either a very strange man, mentally disturbed or high on some shit. Perhaps all three: I guess they aren’t mutually exclusive conditions… After a couple of minutes in the car, out of nowhere he asks me “does this blue collar look stupid?”!!! You see, it was a bowling type shirt…. So under other circumstances I would have pissed myself with laughter and acknowledged the fact that the t-shirt was as hideous as they come and I would rather have my foreskin stapled to the ceiling of his taxi than be caught wearing something so vile. However, I checked myself and as deadpan faced as possible said no, it looked fine. “Well I saw my ex-girlfriend just now before picking you up.” Pause… “Oh, so she didn’t like it?” I ventured. “Nah, she didn’t say nothing… but she laughed at me new beard… (?!?!) …. She’s gorgeous ya know. Real looka’. I felt like gettin’ her doggy style and rammin’ it right in er. But I’m married you know, with two kids.” Now what the hell do you say to that coming from a bearded stranger you just met?! I think I uttered something along the lines of “aaah… ha. Yes well… no, best not if you are married with two children” and commented on the weather or something.
I am now a full-time student again! Scary, but at the same time it feels right now. And to have people all around to socialise with is a new concept as well. People from all walks of life. I love it. This week was sort of a Freshers Week, except we jumped right into studies and assessments etc. But I attended some social events at the campus’ bar, The Stumble Inn. One of those was aptly named Drinking Games… I had just got off the phone with Jillian and was just going to pop in for A beer. I ended up getting roped into some drinking games which included Boat Races, passing water-filled condoms under our chins, threading a ball of string under our clothes, and the piece de resistance: Yard of Ale Competition. I, in a momentary lapse of sense challenged this guy doing Medical Diagnostics (how this tidbit of information adds to the story I DO NOT KNOW…) that if he beat the record of 3min 2secs I would do it. Well, he beat it by TWO seconds, and so I stepped up to the stage (having previously relieved myself of all fluids and nonfluids from my system to make space for 3 pints!). [in case you weren’t aware a yard of ale is 3 pints or 1700 ml of beer in a long funny shaped glass]. Suffice to say I finished it in 2mins 58secs!!! Not amazing, but I won my bet… and in doing so made another guy have to do it, whence he promptly trashed my record. But a large Libyan had the last laugh, downing it in 1min 20 seconds!! I learnt how to say “Go, Crazy Man, Go” in Libyan…. Haid, Mabula, Haid!!!
So here I am, at the age of 27, downing Yards of Ale and consorting with Libyans… while hoping to get an MSc in a year… wish me luck. And send me mail, email, anything. My address for the WHOLE YEAR (wooohooo!!) is:
Don Butler Close, #2
Cranfield University at Silsoe
Silsoe, Bedfordshire
MK45 4DT
Tel. (01525) 863-219 (only incoming calls, so CALL ME PLEASE).
Love to all,
MABULA!! Aka David
PS A pic of Jillian and I in Spain somewhere.
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