Vale Billy Thorpe - Or Alternativly, stay strong Smokey Joe Camel

So its not been the strongest 24 hours to be a Lovell.

First we learnt that family talisman Jan 'the man' Ulrich had decided that the accusations where too much and he was quitting cycling, all of a sudden July was looking a lean month for Lovell expectations. Then, far too early for one so young, Billy Thorpe, leaving honorary Lovell member, B K Warwick without a hero, passed. We all have a favorite Billy Thorpe memory, but let me just say that trying to remember what mine was has left people saying I'm acting a little crazy...

Anyways, there are always positives in this sort of situation. First of all Kapitan I urge you not to cancel your flights for june/july until you read this story:

http://www.foxsports.com.au/story/0,8659,21299418-23218,00.html

Second, it has been Smokey Joe Camel's birthday over here (no idea what date it is over there) and a few remarkable things have happened.

1st. old Joe Norks had an ephinany this morning, she realised that smoking was a bad thing, and she has decided to give it up- so next time you see her, if she is smoking, be sure to go mad at her.

2nd. We all got drunk (it was her birthday)

3rd. I had a whole list before but have forgotten them as I began writing this post.

So let me just bring you up to speed. Had a job interview for a slightly decnet job today, all fingers are crossed (especially Joe Camel after I promised her I would move out for her birthday if I got a job).

and that's about all, I'm sorry, when I started writing I thought I would have a lot to talk about, but really, I have found out that your very own TGO was first to bed on Saturday (otherwise known as the Pickle House Warming) but as I have tried to explain I am the worlds champion at early nights at house warmings (lousy the tunny's and their Cuavar ? who the fuck knows?) anyways, what do peiople expect of me, i propped the party up for as long as I could (if you know what I mean) if it turned into an extended bridge game after I went to bed what can I do?)

So anyways, thats the end of the post, except to say that the first call old Smokey Joe got for her 41st birthday was from one David K Lovell, now I don't know if that means that old Linda J Mcdermott/lovell/hall/Warwick is slipping or if the old man is getting better after 30 years of practice, but it is still a debate topic.

Cheers

The FA Cup

So not many posts in recent times- because so much has been happening you ask?

Well not really.

Things have been progressing along nicely in terms of living a life as an English person. When I last posted (in what is arguably the greatest piece of Gonzo seen on this or other blogs) I was suffering amnesia from the Wytangi day misadventures and was beginning to approach the point of being too poor to go on living the high life. How quickly things change. As luck would have it just as I began to notice that the dwindling of my cash reserves was becoming chronic a nice company offered me some work as a temp- so that is what I have been doing with my week days for the last week and a bit.

But the fun story's come from the weekends, so that's what I should talk about.

I will say nothing of the weekend, two weeks past, but to comment on the fact that none of you replied to my hilarious txt message regarding the Frogs croaking at Croke Park when they played the Irish. I will also comment on the quality of the Rugby- high quality indeed.

So after a quite weekend with Joe Norks in Australia for the weekend and APF hanging out with Amelie, I was keen to get up to some mischief this last weekend, and thankfully our young friend RDP came to the party by organizing tickets to go the FA Cup on Sunday afternoon.

A fixture on nearly everyone's list of things to do when coming to this town is to go to a Football match at a major club, so when young Mr Paul asked if I was interested I said Yes.

Sunday afternoon then, came around far too quickly, as I had spent the previous two evenings taking in the various venues in the area surrounding the Pickle. Friday at the Barracuda Bar watching the mighty Stormers prove that my tipping powers are truly returning (a world cup year, was there any doubt?) and then the Horse and Groom talking loudly and very quickly with old Joe Norks, who wasn't nearly as drunken as I was so not talking nearly as loudly or quickly. Then Saturday turned into quite a pub crawl as a long day on the couch (dealing with a sore head) meant that I had more then enough energy on Saturday night.

So Sunday morning was spent also with a mild hangover- a common state it seems with these heavy English Lagers (Fosters that is). But finally it was time to go to the match, and so finally this post begins to go somewhere.

We headed out to Craven Cottage (near to were RDP lives) home of the cleverly named Fulham Football Club to see the home team take on the might of Tottenham Hot Spur (now thats a name for a team) on a freezing cold afternoon. The stadium is right on the Thames so gets all the benefits of the breeze off the river that the likes of the Shangri La and Marquise enjoyed, except that in sunny old England that is most often not the best thing to have.

So anyways, the game, it was cold (have I mentioned that) but that wasn't going to stop me going to watch the beloved Hot Spurs do there thing to the hated FFC- I was channeling the might of Archie Thompson and knew, deep down in the place we don't often talk about at parties, that the Spurs (who have been terrible for the last month and a half) would not let me down.

And they didn't- 4-0 to the away teams end- FANTASTIC. Although to tell the truth it wasn't really that fantastic- poor old Fulham, played there little hearts out, but in this world of Mega clubs and then not so mega clubs there was no way that they would beat the might of Spurs- the game was fucking boring- yes the standard is a lot better then the A League, and the passing more precise etc. The goals were good, but came from no where, not the scintillating build up of attack that you hope for, but lucky breaks leading to even luckier strikes, that went past the desperate hands of the very unlucky Fulham goal keeper, and then there was no replay screen so you couldn't even see the goals a second time. All in all I would have chosen Suncorp and mighty Dario's two goals in September (?) over this occasion.

But in the end the quality of the match didn't matter at all- I am sure the lads who were at the Reddies on Saturday would agree- in these types of intense match's (local derbies and fifth round cup ties don't happen every week) the crowds are so amped up that what is happening on the field was really a sideshow. The home support was well organised, loud, and extremely passionate for the cause. However, I am afraid to say they were shamed by the undeniably far more incredible performance of the away teams end.

The Spurs supporters were out numbered by at least 3 to 1 (there being 4 sides to a football pitch and them taking up one end makes that claim at least slightly feasible) but were much louder and having a much better time (which is easy when your team is leading 1, then 2, then 3, and then farcically 4 - zip). The two best moments of the afternoon came early in the match, in the early sections of the match both sets of supporters were doing their best to inspire their lads to better things- first the Fulham supports tried there hand at singing a version of When the Saints Come Marching In, and immediately upon finishing the Spur's supporters started their version (aptly when the Spurs come marching in) and blew the roof of the stadium, they were twice as loud, and twice as well organized- and it must have meant something to old Keane who immediately converted the softest goal I have seen scored since Spurs own Paul Robinson let that back pass through when playing for England a few months ago. Which lead to the second best part of the afternoon- watching the away team go absolutely nuts- like you see on TV when a goal is scored they were jumping up and down and waving their arms around and all sorts of other crazy acts that would have you believing that it was the fans themselves, not the lads on the pitch who had scored the goal.

The last thing of note to tell you about is the funny old man who was sitting directly behind us. Now all the world knows that your B A Tron is a passionate die hard for the likely lads from White Heart Lane- so there was no way I wasn't going to be cheering for them when they won 4-0 in the cup (the last bit of silverware they are still in the running for this season) even if we were sitting in the home supporters section(when I stood up to cheer the 3rd goal I was the only person standing up in the entire stand). Now I had spent Monday night reading Fever Pitch, so I was ready for anything the pommie soccer hooligans could throw at me (some would think I was looking for it) but I wasn't ready for the funny old man. This was a guy who was at least 60- at the game with his old lady, so you wouldn't expect that the only prospect of soccer vilionce we would face would be from him- but as I jumped for joy with the fabulous third goal, all reports indicate that he either nearly killed me, or killed himself in what could only be called a fit.

I apologize for the slightly disjointed narrative in this post- I am busy doing other things at the moment as well so this post is coming together slowly.

So anyways, the FA cup- a good time out, although with no replay screen, no drinking in the seats, fucking cold, lame arse home team, did I mention no drinking in the seats ? it wasn't necessarily something I would do every week.

Oh yeah- as a bit of a post script- after the game I headed back to the Willie the IVth for Sunday Roast and a movie at the Loft- which was uneventful but for the moment when Joe Knorks sat on a plate of Ass Jam Tarts- its a long story but try imagining a Smoking Camel walking around with an Ass Tart stuck to her butt, doing a dance to My Little Buttercup (from the Three Amigos)- an image that will live with me for ever.

cheers

Waitangi Day

So last Saturday, after some emotional moments watching the mighty QR QLD Reds do there thing I headed off to meet RDP and friends at the Waitangi Day Circle Line Pub Crawl.

For more info see here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circle_Line
For an example see here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqanmTarrEU

Basically its just a pub crawl around the Circle Line tube line (clever name) where your supposed to have a drink at a pub near each stop then catch the tube to the next station and have another drink, all the way around the line until you get to Westminster where everyone goes out onto the Parliament Square for the Haka at 4pm.

Now Google is telling me that my spelling of haka is wrong! is it?

So anyways I jumped the Central line to Notting Hill Gate station where I was to catch up with RDP and friends not really knowing what to expect. I'd had a couple of breakfast beers watching the Reddies so brought some roadies for the trip, by the time I got across town I was a little tipsy. I hadn't ventured to Notting Hill before so I was hopeful that Robbie would be somewhere near by and easy to find (Mobile's don't work in the Tube so for the 30 minutes I was traveling I was uncontactable) So I come out of the tube, and in my belligerent, slightly drunk state don't realize I am shoving a cop out of the way in order to leave the station, and my friends I can't really describe the scene that confronted me.

The nice policeman I had shoved out of the way was standing there because they had SHUT the tube station! The high street outside the station looked like something of CNN coverage of downtown Bagdahd, lots of rubbish and lots of rubbish on the ground, high police presence, it was weird. There were so many people standing around drunk on the street I couldn't believe it. I called RDP - We've moved on to Gloucester Rd.
-Well Fuck you Robbit- I thought, then turned back to try and get into the station, this is when I realised that the Bobbies were there to shut the station. I needed some quick lines to get back into the station. At first I tried the 'but I'm an Aussie not a Kiwi' line but unfortunatly my Wallaby jersey was still in the laundry from Aussie day, the copper thought that Waitangi day was an Australian thing anyways, and finally I was wearing a Black t-shirt in an effort to fit in with all the fucking Kiwi's- so I was batting 0/3 at that stage, but some how my next trick of pretending to have nothing to do with the circle line crawl- What there something happening today? was clever enough to trick my way onto the train.

Well the train ride was something, it turns out that the station was shut because there were so many people coming from up the line that each train was packed, luckily I'm big enough and mean enough looking that I could force my way on board. Anyways, this story is starting to get longer then it needs to be so we'll skip ahead. I got to Gloucester Rd and hurried out of the station with about a 1000 other kiwi's to get in on the fun, when one guy pulled out a Conch I started to have a little Lord of the Flies moment in the middle of the pressing masses rushing out of the tube stop, but luckily I hadn't been near any strong liqour at that stage so any homicidal urges I was having were easily quashed.

So we come out of the tube and into the Caxton St Seafood and Wine festival, at least that's the deja vu moment I had for a little bit. It the only way to describe it, except that instead of stalls set up they just have off liscences (which quickly ran out of beer). Anyways, I found Mr and Mrs RDP and their friends and we stood around drinking for an hour or so, and then decided that the only thing to do was to join the streaming mass on its walk to Victoria, the next stop, at this point all thought of trying to get on the Tube was abandoned.

A mob of a couple of hundred or so left the Gloucester Rd mob and walked the couple of blocks to Victoria to join another bigger mob of a couple of thousand or so, and we stood around drinking some more. It was at this point that the lack of sleep (love the super 14) and many beers started to combine, the problem was a complete lack of Hurricanes jerseys to heckle. But finally I saw one and?

a) kept quiet
b) pretended to be a Kiwi and called him Bro
c) got Mouthy

OK who was right? the answer was C- TK would have loved it. The problem is over here I don't quite have the posse that I once had, RDP is a stout enough lad, but the and Co part of the group consisted of Mrs RDP, and there two house mates, and one other girl- not quite a fighting bunch. But luckily enough we have spent enough time treating the Kiwi's like a younger sibling that they are far to timid to fight back against a full blown Aussie assault despite being in a crowd of a few 1000 of their brethren.

RDP decided not long afterwards that it was time to move on, so we decided to skip ahead a few stops and go to Parliament Square to try and get a good spot to watch the dance (which is what I might have started calling it). We jumped the Tube and I was quickly told that you weren't allowed to hold on while the train was moving- Tube Serfing in a very crowded train, good times. Eventually we arrived and headed up onto the aprk. Try to picture (or watch the Youtube link above) a crowd of about 10 000 Kiwi's standing around in a park drinking (I guess you could also just go to any Auckland city park on a weekday to see the same) but anyways where off topic.

10 000 Kiwi's standing around in the park, framed on one side by the Parliament and Big Ben, the other by Westminster Abbey, on a perfect London winters day- it was really quite a scene. A couple of hours drinking went by until about 3:45 when B A Tron and RDP decided to try to get into the middle of the crowd to have the best view of the dancing- which was a lot of fun. One thing about being used to seeing so many Maori's at rugby is that when your mixing with the prodimently white crowd of Kiwi's that is in London you realise that your much, much bigger then most of them. So with some pushing, and cajoling (its amazing home many people got out of the way when I told them that RDP (the whitest man alive) was performing in the dancing) we started to make some head way through the crowd.

Our progress became really impressive all of a sudden, it was like the crowd was melting away, moving the other way, this went on for about 30 seconds until someone told us we had missed the dancing and that it was all over- Duh!

So that was it, I was officially without sight at this point, RDP and Gang wanted to kick onto the Walkie with the other 10 000 people, but I declined going instead to find the nearest pub to watch the England Scotland game. it gets hazy after that, I remember being in the bar trying to hide that I was drinking a beer I had brought in from outside, I remember booing when Wilkinson kicked his drop goal, I remember making a hasty retreat when I realised that no one else was booing the field goal, I remember going to an ATM to get cash out and then finding the cash I had all ready gotten out somewhere else, and i remember getting of the bus a couple of 100 metres past the stop on the Shoreditch High St. but that's all.

Good times.

The Pick and Go

How do I love a pick and go? let me count the ways.

So I thought today would be the hardest of the trip, the one where I had to miss a Reds home game. I missed one last year (thank you very much Ben and Ali), but to that point I hadn't missed one in a long, long time. From memory it was the Otago match that was played when we were on our duke of Edinburgh trip in grade 10 canoing to Stradbroke (there also may ahve been an otago match in the last year at Ballymore- but its more romantic this way).

But it has not been hard to miss at all. After a panic stricken couple of hours on Friday when it became apparent my 1st choice for streaming (damn you Rugby Channel online) wouldn't work I eventually found away to watch the game. and what a game- dispite having to put up with Marto and Clarky during a Suncorp match it has been great to watch, for a fairly slow of foot prop like me, who has based his entire career on picking, and then going (have I ever thrown a pass? I wonder what that feels like) to watch the mighty red heavies do it for at least 77 minutes (this game ain't over) has been special- now I go onto the Whytangi day Circle line pub crawl- ask Tio, you would be impressed- so a good day all round. more later.

B A Tron