To the queen

I feel sick. Not because of what I'm about to do, but because of what we did last night. A bizarre memory returns, myself and 2 Germans toasting our very own queen Liz with tequila, repeatedly. My head pounds with the beat of a thousand shot glasses being slammed onto the bar, upturned and void of any trace of alcohol as it now courses it's way through my blood to my brain. I feel strangely calm, I try to read but sleep is needed more. My names is called and I empty my pockets, fags, phone, coins, tickets and other souvenirs from last night. I slip into a sexy blue jumpsuit, just too short in the legs and arms. I step into the harnes and have it buckled around me. It's getting more real by the second, but still no panic, no fear, only wonder. I stand in the sunlight and watch as the previous load returns to earth, their chutes pink and green stand out against the baby blue sky. I meet lottie and she asks if I can take her for a ride today, workplace humour, a joke told to thousands more before me. We head to the plane. Small doesn't cover it, the tv screen on my flight over was bigger. Within seconds we are out on the runway and gaining speed. I feel unsafe to say the least, but I notice a smile beginning to creep across my lips. Lottie nudges forwards and straps on to me, places the oxygen mask over my face. Yes, that's right, oxygen mask. I thought these were only supposed to come out in an emergency. How high were we going??? We reach 13000ft and the door opens, the other two tandems slide out casually, the door slams shut and we begin to climb again. At 165000 ft we slide to the door and I even have to help open the bloody thing this time. New Zealand below, sky above. I dange my legs out the doorway, the mind is icy cold against my pale English skin.I still feel calm. We rock back and forth 3 times then drop...and every cell, atom, molecule in my body screams " you are going to die now", 5 seconds later we are dropping at 200km p/h, the landscape tearing towards us. I can't breathe, the air is forcing its way into my face so fast I can't breathe out. I'm gasping, lottie sticks her thumb up in front of my face and I'm praying for the breath to tell her to go to hell. Infront of us is the Tasman ocean, the white horses crashing across the seemingly endless beach, we begin to spinand Auckland city comes into view, the sky tower poking above it all. My mind has wandered enough and breathing, though still difficult, comes easier and more natural. My ears begin to quite literally scream at me as the pressure tries to equalise. All of a sudden it's over and lottie pulls the rip cord and whoomf, the deafening noise and pounding air like sandpaper both sease, replaced but the gentle flapping of the chute. Now I begin to laugh out loud at how completely and utterly mental the whole thing is. In 75 seconds I had just decended nearly 12000ft and I was now dangling above new Zealand underneath a silk handkerchief. I finally find the joy and look around me in absolute awe. We begin to swing round, lottie steering us to the landing site in the strong wind, every turn we pull 3gs and my balls get squashed in the harness. We get close and closer to the ground. 30ft, 20ft, 10ft, then a gust of wind takes us, we miss the grass and slam ass first onto the runway. E wind catches the chute and we dragg back a few metre S till the ground crew get the tag and realise the chute. Holy fuck, I'm alive. Once I'm changed back to my civi's I stand and have a smoke and look at the sky. It feels like a dream, I can't really imagine I've just done that. My brain just can't handle it and my sanity has gone to hide the broom cupboard. I'm glad I did it, but I think I'll stick to ground asked activities from now on, I much prefer the feel of powder beneath my feet than bugger all.

amazeballs

Ive a half writtenblog from Oz which will post soon, but my ipad batteriesflat.

So down to the wire. Time is running out faster than ussain bolt with a ferret in his troosers. Ive sacked in the Grill, myposition as a glorified glass washer will go to some other unlucky s.o.b. Ive decided to spend the next week doing dangerous things. For a while I was planning on hiring a camper and busting around teh north island seeing some sights and taking photo's, but as I still don't have a camera and I would have to do all the driving myself it hardly seems worth it. And I dont have the $2000 bond for the camper, so that will go on the back burner till Al finally tocuhes down and maybe we pitch in and buy a vehicle for the duration of our trip.
So today i jumped 192 metres from the top of the southern hemisphere's tallest building. With the mother of all harnesses snuggled around my back sack and crack I walzted out onto the platform, bright as a button and to my suprise not all that shakey. I had a small camera strapped to my wrist which has documented my bemusement during the whole experience. I look oddly calm on the edge before the jump, although perhaps a trace of "what in Jebus' holy name am I doing up here' plays across my face as the last checks are completed by the techs. Hanging over the edges, toes inches from the drop, the tech counting down from 3, my only though is 'will I actually have the balls to step off?'. I quickly glance around at the harness and wires connecting my fragile frame the life saving winch, just to confirm that I am indeed attatched and probably won't die, probably....6 seconds and a whole lot of F@*#&%$ing later I hit the ground. I feellike the guy in Steigman's Blown Away picture, hair thrown back in a messof golden locks. I feel exhillerated and I just want to do it again. Then i think,  That was only 400 feet...I can go higher......

Skip anyway

Skip anyway It's been a while, as always. So I'm at 35000 feet, above the Tasman sea on my way to Sydney, and as one is prone to do with ones head amongst the clouds, amongst the gods I finally begin to open my mind again to something a little more extraordinary. To put it quite simply I realised why I havnt written in two weeks. I've had nothing to write about other than the same old generic boozing and boring work related banter. You don't want to hear about which waitress shagged who last night, or who started the war with the kitchen that ended with no dinner for three days and coffee roulette with the tobacco sauce. I have yet to take a single photograph on this journey, for a few simple reasons. Firstly despite all our fantastical modern technology, a 20 megapixel photo simply cannot do justice to the shimmering turquoise, green, lapis, sky and a thousand other kinds of blue sea that I saw one fine day in march on new chums beach. The sun beating down, the luscious green trees swaying in the gentle breeze, the clouds gods breath on a cold morning. My words are yet to do such a sight justice, but I'm getting there. Picture tells a thousand words? Show a thousand people the same photograph they will see the same picture, show them the words describing it and what they imagine in their own minds will be far more wondrous. Secondly, you should bloody well come and see it all for yourself. I'm back in the spirit. I am once again in the air on my way to another country, new people, new places, new faces, new stories. Get born living or get born dying. Bob Dylan To live would be an awfully big adventure J.M.Barry

Catch 22

Two weeks since I last wrote. I could have sworn it was only 6 or seven days. Mostly not interesting, work, drinking, work , drinking. I have been to waiheke island though. Made the mistake of hiring a bicycle. Massive hills. 8 vineyards and one brewery later, bicycle seemed like a better idea. Not in a writing mood much. Havnt been home for 2 days, feel like death. May e tomorrow

Jog on Bieber

Jog on bieber I woke up this morning (2:30pm) with little clue where I was, how I got there. Luckily I had a very interesting list scrawled on the back of my left hand with which to piece together my night. And day: Sailing Morph suit/mariachi Fiddler Scotland vs USA (friends) Drink 4-5 years Pavarotti Under wear -pink and frilly The is one more word at the bottom of the list but most of its rubbed off onto my face after a night sleeping on it, I think I might get a dictaphone. Sailing : after a heavy night out in town I woke up Saturday morning on a sofa in base backpackers from a slap in the face from Niall, and was confronted by a small shaggy looking spaniel who insisted on telling me how good I was at sleeping. Then the rest of me woke up and the short spaniard told me he had saved me from several tea baggings and having cocks drawn on my face. I staggerd out into the sunshine a went straight for the harbour, via a cafe for a full English (which included a sausage that looked suspiciously like a roasted hedgehog) I booked myself on a Trip around Auckland harbour on the NZ Americas cup sail boat. So I spent the afternoon learning how to sail an 80ft boat in the glorious sunshine. Morph suit /mariachi: Walking up queen street, trying to decided where to eat and if another beer will help my situation or put me on dialasys. All of a sudden my shadow tears itself away from me and goes running up the high street. I suddenly realise it is in fact someone in a black morph suit. Head to toe in a black single piece of spandex, this(I can only assume going by her voice and size) teenage kiwi girl begins to moonwalk up the street. I over hear her say "you know, when no one can see your face it just makes you want to dance". At that exact moment a mariachi band busking round the corner strike up, morph screams " sombrero" at the top of her voice and begins to throw some shapes. Fiddler: a small Irish pub, where the beer is cheap, the staff are friendly, and they have a Justin bieber assassination fund collection jar on the bar. I donated generously. Scotland vs USA: my Scottish friend Niall got into an argument with an American outside the pub. No holds bared, he goes right for the 'your whole country is ignorant' argument, while the American rightly assumes Scotland is full of loud angry drunks. I don't know how this argument started but it's finish was fantastic. Niall :"the tv, the telephone, Tarmac, all Scottish inventions. What have have Americans got? Friends..." Drinking 4-5 years: the Grill staff and myself in the fiddler, talking about booze as you do when your full of it. We all work out that with the exception of illness, none of us had had a single day from drink in the last 4-5 years. Oh dear. There is a beer in a pub in Nz, made by Belgium monks, it's so rare and so amazingly good that it costs £101 a bottle. I want some. Pavarotti: I have absolutely no idea why I have that written on my hand. Good singer though Frilly pink underwear: I'll leave that one to your imaginations.

blur

everything is a

Cookie monster

12 days been and gone, some interesting times have passed. Tuesday night I spent out with the globe crew on a pub crawl. Spent a few hours drinking teapots full of cocktails then it was Mermaids strip club till 5 am. Akd despite all warnings you CAN catch the shuttle home from sky city if you are pissed as a ferret. The weekend bought Easter around. Now this was odd. To an englishman and (technically,well maybe historically) a Christian the Easter weekend is and has always been about having a 4 day weekend and getting pissed in e pub at every given oportunity with family and friends. Having worked in the hospo industry for the last 6 years I myself rarely had chance to experience this to the full extent the ever age working joe enjoys it to. My Easter weekends traditionally consisted of 4 back to back double shifts, a perpetual nightmare of 12-15 hour shifts broken up with a heavy night drinking to drown out the nightmarish memories from the day. The kiwi's do it differently. Taking the lead from America, a specifically secular country as defined by e founding fathers, separating church and state has of course led to the country being predominantly Christian despite the heavy Maori influences. Bloody missionaries. Back to the point. At midnight, at the start of Easter Friday every listened premises in new Zealand that is not food led (restaurant, cafe etc) must close its doors for 24 hours. The same again on Easter Sunday. Right, so to celebrate the death and rebirth of the lord Jesus Christ your saviour, you give everybody 4 days off work the celebrate, then close all the pubs. Smart thinking. That's like giving someone the keys to a brandnw Austin Martin db9, and then Breaking both their legs. I don't think Jesus would be very happy with that. I think he would be down the local reservoir trying to turn it into a nice full bodied pino noir. Thankfully the Irish were on the ball, and friday night we got out early as it was so bloody quiet, what with everyone at home praying, and The Fiddler round the corner opened its doors bang on midnight. We all got steaming drunk and Phils girlfriend stole enough cookies from Subway to fill a small van. For e first time in 6 years I enjoyed Easter sunday and Monday off work. And what did I do? I spent all day Sunday inside watching tv, and spent all day Monday in the pub.