This blog post is dangerous. So much so that it must be read whilst wearing a high-vis vest and sturdy shoes. It's dangerous because it threatens to be boring and as you'd know that could be a contravention of the cardinal rule of blogging: a blog must be interesting. So how about some music while you read to divert your attention?
Remember too that this blog is a part consolidation of adventures had to date, so no promises. Also the London riots have settled down now, so life is just like watching test cricket just before the rain forces an inevitable draw. Right then, expectations lowered, we shall proceed.
We begin at the train station where anything can happen. Except this time it didn't. It was remarkably uneventful actually. Get on, sit, get off. Then half an hour or so of pretending I am oh so important in the British Airways tosser lounge (where the automatic double doors open outwards for added theatre), scoff some reasonable pastries, liberate some magazines and all the newspapers I can carry, slurp some barely reasonable coffee and then onto Madrid, which I recall looks exactly like this:
for a long weekend of meat, mojitos (because it really is the weekend drink of champions- who thought of that?) and art in that order. And a cable car. But more on that later.
Well the meat was good.
Salty, not eye wateringly expensive and there was truck loads of it. I didn't know the good stuff from the Tuesday stuff, maybe that's because I liked all of it so I wasn't really paying attention since I was too busy stuffing my face with it. In fact, I was trapped in a circular reality of salty meat gluttony.
Next stop the Art, where there was enough smut and violence to make Bill Henson's work look positively Walt Disney drab and certainly not worthy of some prime ministerial revulsion. For instance a rape painting set the tone:
Then it was on to a bit of sex, drugs and rock and roll, and ... er torture in that order:
Some father daughter incest perhaps? (look at his spooky eye):
and then finishing all that off with some father -daughter wet nurse porn:
Charming. Or is that priceless? Anyway Mr Henson, you are hereby excused. Sorry about that.
But thankfully it wasn't all smut. There was also some really weird shit too - like this:
and this:
which was commented on in the toilet of the museum by an up and coming art critic in the following way:
Oh and the Cable Car. All I can say is if you want to scoot over some baren rocky landscape in the boondocks of Madrid then its a must see and quite a nice hour or so diversion from the salty meat, mojitos and smut. See for yourself and meet my stunt doubles while you're at it:
Madrid. Love it.
Ireland. Love it too.
But the ferry sucks arse. Actually some of the orks that caught it with me should have been drowned on the way over. But first I'm missing a real highlight: the train station in Wales with a long name (well how else do you describe it?):
Now, the ferry. On the way over it was niceish except for the buses that kept us cooped up for months each side of the terminal and smelt like this, but smellier. But thankfully Ireland's got lots of fresh air, so I was quickly immersed in it from the comfort and protection of my air conditioned train, chugging past more green fields than you could poke a leprechaun at. See exhibit A:
And then onto Derry where lefties go to die or at least go "wow" a lot. Anyway, its got a pub with a Eureka flag in it:
a rather interesting history:
and very bad food. Just the ticket.
Then it was back to the dreaded Ferry. I was lucky enough to be accompanied by a someone's child all the way across the Irish sea. This photograph shows him torturing a stranger while his parents have fled to seek refuge ... from him.
And then I was truly blessed. He caught the train with me all the way back to Chester. We had a marvellous four or so hours together in a confined space.
Here he is again trying to climb over his parent's seat, before he approached mine and I threw him out the window.
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