Euro Adventure ii

Carousels, Pubs and Pints

crowie — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 16:05:00 GMT

And the carousel stopped……. my heart sunk. I looked up to see my flight number disappear off the overhead screen……my bag hadn’t made it. I comforted myself by thinking “If you are going to lose your bag, you may as well lose it in an English speaking country.”

Dublin airport has supplied me with “character building” travel experiences in the past, this time was no exception. I wondered over to the Aer Lingus help desk knowing I only had 20minutes before my bus was due to leave. Even the lady behind the counter was amazed they had lost my bag from Heathrow to Dublin. There were forms to fill out, Irish accents to decipher, phone numbers to find……. All the while the clock inside my head was ticking……loudly!

In a rush I told the lady behind the counter I had to go or I would be stuck in Dublin and any further info she may need she would have to call my friend in Ireland, Marie. (Travel lesson 1436, always arrive in a country with plenty of phone credit, as it also costs to receive calls when roaming.) Again I was running in an airport……….

I had some rough instructions where to catch to bus and ran in the general direction. I was over half way when it dawned on me that I had changed countries and thus currencies……back to the terminal. The clock in side my head was now deafening.

Unlike last time I had no Euros in Dublin Airport I had a card that worked, just no time to find an ATM. So I ran straight to the Bureau de Change at the front door and handed over my £20 note and hoped what I got back was enough for the bus. As I burst out the terminal doors I was met something very Irish…... rain.

With just my stop memorised from an SMS on my phone and a company name I was running in the pissing down rain checking every bus along the line. There were 30 or 40 coaches at the bus stop and coaches were departing all the time. I kept thinking to myself “I hope that one wasn’t mine.” The coaches were all nosed in and sometimes I had to squeeze down in between them to read the bus company. I should have known to run srtaight to the end of the line. There was my bus, engine running, just about to pull out. My 20 quid converted to just enough for the ticket and I took my seat puffing and dripping wet. As the coach pulled out I thought “At least I still have my Coolangatta Gold shirt and my good running shoes.”

I had faired OK in England as a drinker… Ireland is another storey. The Irish CAN drink. It was the usual warm welcome from my Irish friends at the bus stop….. then straight to the pub. After loosing everything except the clothes on my back I was well in the mood for a few pints.

The little town that I was visiting, Greig na Manor, is just outside Kilkenny and now feels like a second home. The crew at my favourite pub (O’Dricals) have a punishing way of deciding you need a new beer, its about two sips out of the one in your hand. Before you know it you’re double parked.

After we had settled into a bit of a rhythm I started to meet some new lads. There was one stand out, he runs by the name “The Boy.” He is roofer, skolled his first pint of Guinness when he was 11 years old and is a drinking machine. He had been working on a roof all day and had earned a thirst. We made a good drinking team. By the end of the night I was glad I wasn’t going to be working on a roof the next day.

In fact as it turned out, I woke up late to a giant home cooked breakfast of bacon and eggs, much easier than facing a hot roof……then back to the pub. I had timed it for the Irish summer racing carnival and those that couldn’t make it to the course were sitting in O’Driscals drinking pints of cider placing phone bets over the bar.

Des was my drinking partner for the day. He is Marie’s partner. I first stayed in Ireland with Marie a few years ago. Back then she was a friend of a friend who offered me a place to stay in Ireland for a few days…… 10 days later I returned to England with 5kgs of beer gut that I didn’t have before. Spoilt rotten.

Des doesn’t mind a punt and new his way around a form guide bloody well. So that equated to us drinking all afternoon for free on our winnings. In the evening I challenged my now pretty drunk drinking buddy to a game of pool. Des was like “Well, you might want to mind yourself, I can play a good game of pool you know.” I was thinking to myself, “So can I mate.” Before the game we had a quick discussion of the rules and as expected there were some differences on how many shots on a fowl ect. After Des’ first turn with the cue, I was wondering if I should have discussed if they make you do the lap around the table with your pants down if you don’t sink a ball in Ireland. I felt like I had a victory because I sunk a ball near the end of the game. I challenged him to another game and was fairing a little better, then Marie called and said she was on her way to pick us up. He then hung up the phone and cleaned up the whole table and said “Well, we best be heading out the front then”…… demoralising!

Then next day was spent checking out the town of Kilkenny and chasing the airport about my bag. By this point I had all but accepted that it was gone. Then I started to ponder was it better to miss the bus and stay and make sure I had given the lady all the correct details. I had run out of phone credit on my UK sim card and had no way of recharging it in Ireland. This was causing panic in that if they did find it, they couldn’t call me anyway. My only hope was that they would call Marie’s number as an alternative. We tried to call the lost bag department and got one of those very helpful voice recognition computers. If the bloody thing said “I’m sorry I didn’t hear that correctly” one more time……”

It was later that day we did get a recorded message that it had been located. Now the problem was it would be sent to Grieg na Manor and I was leaving in the morning. If my bag didn’t arrive that night I would pass it on the way back to Dublin. My kingdom to speak to a human! Marie did some quality time on the phone wrestling with the voice recognition computer until she got a human and it was agreed it would be in my possession that night. Oh the sweet feeling of clean clothes and seeing something that you thought was forever gone. Next day it was back on the road to Dublin then back to Paris.

I had my revenge with the airline on the way home. I jagged a ticket back to Paris on a discount web site for an amazing 1 cent. Take that you bastards.

Parties, Mansions and BMW's

crowie — Tue, 7 Aug 2007 10:32:00 GMT

How much is your life worth? I guess I have never put a dollar figure on it, but I have been in situations when I have asked myself “am I prepared to pay the price?” I have asked myself that question big wave surfing on my clubby malabu board. So to just before clicking 5^th gear with the throttle wide open on my old CR250 as I screamed into a forest track corner. You know if you pull it off you get to experience a feeling precious few ever will. I guess it’s more about weighing up risks against potential thrills, during my trip to the UK I got to ask myself that question again.

“The cab is probably downs stairs.” We were running late for our plane, situation normal for me. Liss hadn’t been fully exposed to my pre-flight faffing before now. Many a lap had been walked around my bag, and every room had to be checked and rechecked. I’m sure there is a name for my condition. The cab was waiting down stairs and we had less than an hour to catch our plane, with at least 30mins drive to the airport, it was going to be tight. To add to the complications, we had attempted to print out boarding passes at home. The printer wouldn’t print, so we had booked in, but had no boarding pass, not a good place to be when in a hurry. We get to the airport and sure enough it is a massive hassle that we don’t have the boarding passes. The guy that was there to “help” new less about what was going on than Liss did. Eventually a signature was sorted and we got through the first gate…………. the plane had started to board. Liss put on her best Pommy accent and got the British Airways lady to push us to the front of the line………we could have been saved. Enter the Cromack factor.

As we were going through security my first mistake was to be wearing a hat, airports don’t like hats. Then in the panic of it all I went through the metal detector with my wallet still in my pants…….the plane is all but boarded. ‘Right Sir, step over here.’ Then comes the gold, my head was whirring and I didn’t understand a word he said so using my excellent new French skills I say ‘Parlez vous Anglais’ (Do you speak English) ……… He was a Pom! I had really pissed him off now. ‘I am speaking English Sir!?’ He went through my wallet, emptied my bag…….there was an aerosol can in there, that just pissed him off more. I though ‘Oh shit here comes the rubber glove………my sphincter tightened.’ Eventually he let me go……… ‘here we go again.’ I think to myself.

We ended up running to our gate with me carrying most of the contents of my bag, my belt and jacket flapping like a gollywog up a flag pole in a 40 knot southerly, hoping the door of the plane was still open………we make it and take our seats. As we sit down I look over at Liss and say ‘that went well’……………….. ‘Yes dear’

That was the start of 10hrs of planes and trains. I said good by to Liss at Heathrow. She was off to work in the London office, I was off to Barnstaple to get on the piss with the Pommy lads I have met in Yamba over the last few years.

The train pulls into Barnstaple Station, Strel (the God Father) is waiting there for me on the platform. He is the consummate gentleman, he lives in a mansion, sells BMW’s and…………looked like an Afghani bomber. ‘Crowie, good to see you old son’ he says. ‘Good to be here mate’ I reply. ‘What’s with the beard’ I ask. ‘All will be revealed in good time………. all will be revealed in good time.’ My liver quivered, this was going to be a hectic 48hrs.

Strel walked straight over to the hottest looking BMW I have ever seen. ‘This is our ride?’ I exclaim. I throw my bag in the tiny boot and jump in. The car attracts a lot of attention. Strel looks over to me and says ‘Everyone thinks you’re an arsehole if you drive a Beema, especially when you’re 25………….. who are we to disappoint them.’ We leave the car park sideways with smoke pouring from the AUD$800 a piece tyres.

Now I mentioned before Strel and the boys live in a mansion, the Pimp Place. It is four storeys high, has its own spa, sauna and tanning room! ‘The winters over here can leave you a bit white and pasty Crowie’ Strelo says as he gives me the guided tour. I lost count of the number of bathrooms and bedrooms, trust me when I say it’s just nuts.

Slowly the lads started to gather at the Pimp Palace, preparations for the Pigie Power Piss Up were in their final stages. This is the name of the party I had come for. It started as a Birthday party for one of the boys, Johnny. It has since turned into a monster. It costs about AUD$3000 to put on, they have there own merchandise and a frightening amount of ‘Pigeon Powerade.’

A few of the boys are in a band, the Yum Yums. The boys were having a practise session out in a barn, just out of town. We sorted out the T – shirts for tomorrow, grabbed some beer and headed out to the farm to see the final practice session before tomorrows gig. We were in a precession so the pace down the narrow hedge lined road was pretty cruisey. The BMW was just itching to unleash its power.

I met all the lads in the band, we all had a few beers and the show for tomorrow looked the goods. We were all talking about the need for a quite one before the party tomorrow, but we still managed to knock back a few cleansing ales. It had come time to head back to the Pimp Palace. Jet lag was starting to set in and as I walked out to the car I wasn’t sure if my feet were touching the ground.

A few of us poured into the BMW and we were the first to leave the barn………..the Beema had a clear path. Strel lit her up as we left the driveway and dumped 2^nd gear. The road was dark and wet, no room for error. ‘I guess you’re not used to these narrow roads Crowie’ Strel says not taking his eyes off the road. From the back seat comes ‘And the best part is just behind the hedge is a stone wall on both sides.’ Strel pops 3^rd. The note coming out of this thing was amazing, and she just rev’s forever. We fly around a blind corner, Strel using the night to his advantage, as you could “hopefully” see the on coming traffic’s headlights. We hit a hump in the road, the car lifts off the bitumen………..Strel slots 4^th. The boy can drive, I look toward to the back seat, one eye still on the road. ‘How’s it going in the back there boy’s, this air bag in front of me is very comforting, a nervous giggle comes from the back. We are coming to the end of the narrow section of road where we enter onto a new road and head to the left. The approach is about 25 degrees off perpendicular, Strel asks me should we stop and look or just take it. The approach angle is perfect to just slide the car into the corner and roar down the road, but if there was something coming we would all be in the shit. I asked myself “am I prepared to pay the price?” The boys in the back seemed keen ‘Just punch it’ Strel puts the car into a four wheel drift, we were more committed than a single mum with two morgages. The onboard computer was using every nano second to compute the right suspension settings and keep the power down on the road…………..Strel pulls her back straight and drops the hammer. The rest of the drive into towns seemed pretty subdued after that for some reason.

I woke up in the morning and went to one of the many bathrooms to discover I was sporting a Merv Huges style moustache. ‘Barstards’ I thought as I checked for other signs of tampering. With the jet lag I was easy prey, I slept through the whole thing. The boys had all shaved up when we got home and thought it might be fun to shave me in my sleep. That wasn’t the only unsavoury thing to happen in that bed.

The rest of the day was all about Pigie Power. I was given the task of creating the punishment for failed tasks or for initiating Pigie Power virgins…….of which I was one. There was a way to avoid having to skoll one of the vials…….make it to the top 10 in the skolling competion. How nasty would you make the punishment if you were in the firing line for one of the vials?……well an Aussie boy has gotta back himself against Poms now doesn’t he. There was raw egg, curry powder with Tabasco sauce, something I found in a share house fridge mixed with tuna………it was nasty. ‘Better wear your drinking shoes tonight Crowie’ I thought as I placed the vials in the Pigie Power brief case.

We loaded the van with the bar, piss and other paraphernalia and headed to the coast which is about 20mins up the road. Now no-one new Johnny was coming from Australia, except me and his brother, so Rob was running proceedings. He made a grand entrance to the field by riding a pink kid’s bike, while wearing a pink suit, through ‘the Hoop of Fire.’

The drinking games started early, first the knock out rounds. The Pigeon Powerade was a mix of Vodka, Apple Cider, Wine and juice. Potent and sweet. I won my first round, there was a discrepancy in the second round and we had to have a 3 way skoll off. 3rd round was a decisive win. . . . . .then there was 12. To qualify top 10 there was a nearest the pin golf shot, the boys had a mate called pin, so he was the target. I had my shot, well feeling the effects of the Pigeon Powerade and sent it straight at “the Pin”, the bastard ducked, but it was good enough to get me to the next round. There was one guy who had asserted himself as the biggest Pommy threat, he had taken out two Aussie lifeguards and the boys were backing me to take him out. I met him in the semi finals, I had to win this to have a shot at the trophy. By this point in the game we were standing on a stage in front of about a hundred pissed idiots all wearing the same shirts. The atmosphere was electric. I was the last Aussie standing. I was called to the stage and introduced, then the giant Pom jumped up, my boys were going berserk. With my stomach full, I was starting to rethink having those few beers between rounds. “Hey look, Crowies having a bloody beer in between rounds” One of the boys exclaimed. It was all part of the mind games.

“Chink” our glasses touched…….gulp gulp….it was down. I raised my glass in victory…….but there was a call to go to the video ref. It was all on film……after several replays the victory went to the local boy……what can I say “It was Close.” The final was an unlikely one. The giant pom vs a chic. The Giant Pom had skolled his way to the final, she had spilt her way to the final. The more she split on here shirt ……… well you get the picture. All protests fell on deaf ears. Ready….. set…..go, she spilt the Pigeon Powerade all over herself and was declared the winner. At this point I was glad I went out when I did. Johnny later surprised his mates by making an entrance in a pink pigeon suit, it was classic.

The night ended up in a club, the Yum Yums played and rocked the house. We all drank way too much and soon it was time to grab a cab home. I had two Aussie mates there with no where to stay so I told them they could stay at the Pimp Place. I lost them just as the cab pulled up. I was on the phone trying to direct them to where I was in a town I didn’t know. The cab kept filling up. By now the cab only had two seats left, I gave them to the boys. The cabbie didn’t want to know about one extra……think quick Crowie. I said “No worries” and turned to walk away while giving one of the boys a wink. I ducked down and dived in around everyone’s feet as the door slammed shut, I was in.

We paired off and went to bed, I ended up with Hughie Dougherty as my bed buddy. He has more Australian titles in the surf than most and was a top 10 finisher in the Coolangatta Gold. What’s all this hair in the bed, “ummm don’t worry about that mate.” That would be the least of his worries, I woke up about 3hrs later cold thinking “Why am I wet…………..”

Gallery: Euro Pics

crowie — Fri, 3 Aug 2007 01:47:00 GMT

Broken Maps in Paris

crowie — Thu, 2 Aug 2007 22:26:00 GMT

Click click click…… playlist……..click click click……..recently played……..play. Good Charlotte – Dance Floor Anthem jumps to life on my ipod. I love the driving bass line in this song. The cool Parisian air fills my lungs as I walk down the business district of Paris. I have just walked Liss to work and now have a day to kill in my favourite city in the world. Life needs a sound track and thanks to Apple mine now does. As I walk past all the suits Good Charlotte adds to the electricity that Paris exudes. I swear Travolta had nothing on me; I was strutting Saturday Night Fever style. My sound track has slightly less squeaky voices on it though.

I had no plan other than to just walk and take in the sights, this was always risky. With no plan anything could happen……. This would be the start of over 10hrs of walking. I walked past the Arc de Triumph, the Eiffel Tower, went up into the Montparnasse building, cruised past Notre Dame, the Pompidou, the Louver and about every other land mark in the city. It’s lucky that most of the attractions are tall and you can use line of sight to get to most of them because it became clear to me early in the day that my map was broken.

The French are well, French. They are very passionate about their food, they pride themselves on shit service and are a bit wiffy to share a lift with. It is not uncommon to have a waitress stand there, look at you, then just not serve you. It used to piss me off, it is just part of the game now. I’m sure the more relaxed you are about it the more it pisses them off. I have accepted many a beer with a big smile and a friendly “Merci”, after waiting forever. Their reaction is almost one of shock. “Why is zis stupid Ossee smiling, doesn’t he know I am French and it is my duty to piss toureests off”. I love it.

The French obviously assume tourists are smarter than, well……me. For a lot of the attractions the signage stops about a block or two away from the site. This may also just be a french ploy to piss off tourists. I must have been within a 2 block radius of the Pompidou a few times but it took me nearly 2 hrs of walking to find it. I was running out of time and my knee for some reason was starting to hurt. I ended up in a really seedy red light district, sex shops, strippers, prostiutes…..they were all there. It was a culturally enriching experience to say the least. After lapping around for a fair while I had deserted the idea of going into the Pompidou and now it was just a matter of principle to find it, my knee began to swell. It was at this point I worked out the signs stop when you are close to the attractions and I finally clapped eyes on the damn museum. It is the funkiest building I have every seen, huge colourful pipes and tubes surround the exterior, if you haven’t seen it, google Pompidou, its full on. (ahh the internet….adjectives will soon be of the past, well its quicker than trying to explain it).

I was now on a mission to get back to Mels unit, I was running a little late but should be there in good time, I finally decided to pay for a Metro ticket. I figured Mel might not appreciate me getting locked up over a few euro. I never really thought about it till after I got back to Oz last time but a guy got shot a few years ago for jumping the barriers and running away from the guards in Stanstead station, London. The frenchies have fully automatic machine guns, I thought that might hurt a bit, best pay for the ticket. It hurt almost as much as being shot, but I handed over the money.

I popped out of the Metro right near the Arc de Triumph, ‘Sweet’ I thought just a short walk home……at least it could have been. Every street of the over sized round about looks the same. All lined with the same trees, same buildings and same bastard French names. I consulted the map, it was still broken. I have a GPS system in my phone but it only wanted to talk French. I had a few text messages and a missed call from Liss, she had left work early and had been waiting at home for me for hours. Mild panic washed over me. I had only enough credit for one text to her and not enough to make or receive a call. I hoped she had her phone with her. I told her I was proper lost at the Arc, she sent back some directions. As I scrolled down to read the last of the text………’and when you get to the bottom of the hill turn……………. The battery goes dead. ‘Le fuck !’ I thought.

My knee by now was causing me to limp like and injured sea monkey but I was desperate to get home. ‘Time to sack up Crowie’ I thought, and started to run down the hill. Was it left or right? I took a punt, left….things started to look familiar. I ran through the markets, through the tunnel and straight to Mel’s door. I had made it………almost.

To get into Mels building you need a code, one that was stored on my phone, the phone with the dead battery. I tried to turn it on 50 times, it was dead. I tried about 50 codes on the door, nothing. I had finally made it back home but was stranded at the front door. I thought about just screaming out….Meeeeeeeel,……..Melllllllllllllllllllllllll! We have all seen Homer do that one to Marge, its not a good look, she would never have heard me anyway on the 7^th floor.

The French are renown for being arrogant bastards, something I have experienced first hand, but don’t judge them all. A random lady was walking past and muttered some Paris talk to me, I looked at her and pointed to the key pad. I was exhausted, in pain and patiently challenged. She reaches over and punches in the door code, it opens……..I can tell you I gave her a big smile and a friendly “Merci”.

Sinapore Sling

crowie — Wed, 1 Aug 2007 09:29:00 GMT

“It’s not fair”, tears well in Mum’s eyes. She has fallen victim to the flu going around Yamba and can’t make the trip to Brisbane to see me off at the airport. After an emotional hug I jump in the car. JK one of the boys from the Golf Club Friday night drinking team is riding shot gun with Dad to keep him company more so for the trip home. This is the start of 30 something hrs of travel to Charles Degaule air port in Paris.

After much discussion about the weather we arrive at the airport in plenty of time, not a situation I’m familiar with. After a quick feed I shake Dads hand and head down to passport control. The reality that I have turned my back on my now thriving business for 5 weeks starts to set in, so to the fact I’m actually going to see my girl in Paris. My head is whirring with excitement and in trepidation.

I settle in my seat on the plane and start to read the first pages of Kelly Slater’s Auto biography, it was about page ten when I ask the girl sitting next to me “are we driving to Singapore or flying?” It was the longest taxi I have ever done. I was five or six hours into my journey at this stage and keen to get on with it. The engines started to scream and we were in the air, the journey had officially begun.

Singapore airport is unlike any other airport I have been to, you almost want a longer stop over so you can experience all it has to offer. As it would turn out, I almost got my wish. After about ten Cognac’s(who can afford to drink it, but when it’s free what’s a man to do) I arrived at Changi (Singapore Airport). I walked straight of the plane and straight into a massage. This was after all the start of a holiday. Terry my little Singaporean mate was my therapist and he worked his poor little hands within an inch of their life. Still feeling the effect of my free Cognac I headed back down stairs for a beer. I ended up drinking with a young lass from Copenhagen and I was surprised she was unaware that her country was famous for ice cream in Australia. I then went on say that I was looking forward to going to her country and would hope to go to Amsterdam during my travels……..oops, wrong country. I bought her a glass of Yellowtail, Aussie Chardonnay, and decided to check what time my plane left. I pulled out my boarding pass and double checked what time my plane was leaving. I looked up at the screen to see my plane had boarded 10 minutes ago……..my heart sunk. So as any self respecting Aussie would do, I skolled my beer first………then ran. For those of you that have not been to Changi, it is massive. It takes over ten minutes to clear the shopping center and get to the terminals……..if you walk.

I often go for a run to clear my head, push myself hard enough that the only thing in my head is my next breath, this was a different kind of run. In an airport that I wasn’t familiar with I started to run, I had no idea which direction to run, only that I needed to go in a direction fast. Gate 47, I won’t forget that in a hurry, not just because I was late, not because it was the last two digits Boeing gave the type of aircraft I had to catch, more so that it was the furthest away. With my back pack in hand I was running through one of the busiest enclosed spaces in the world trying to set a new world record. There was no clearing of the head on this run I was thinking a million things, mostly Melissa is going to kill me. “ So Paul why did you miss the plane?”. “Well baby, there was this chic from Copenhagen”……… I ran faster.

When I got to Gate 47 there was another passport check and they need to process your boarding pass. “I’m sorry sir, the gate is now closed” the little trolley dolly says to me with a smile, with her head to the side. It is at this point some of the skills I learnt from my last trip to Europe came in handy. I was low on cash by the time I got to Paris a few years ago and couldn’t afford to ride the Metro (train). So I learned to jump the turn styles and run away from the guards. I could see the plane was still on the ground my only hope was the door was still open. I jumped the turn style and ran down the shute with the little trolley dolly shouting, sir…….SIR! The door was still open and I attempted to casually walk onto the plan, breathing harder than a man who had just finished running with the bulls in Spain. It was an anxious wait until the plan started to back away from the terminal, I was sure security would come and drag me off the plane. The adventure had officially begun.

1 Day to go

crowie — Sun, 22 Jul 2007 12:47:00 GMT

This should be my last trip to my shop....I've said that quite a few times already. The potential for procrastination and faffing is enourmous.Does my ipod have enough new songs....no, need to download some more, have I downloaded all the maps I'll need onto my new phone. All the important things. I have a rather large to do list, none of it sensible like don't forget passport or make sure you have your plane ticket.....like I'm going to forget those things!

With around 24hrs left before I'm on the plane the reality that I'm going is setting in, so to the fact I still haven't packed.How long could that take anyway? Those of you that have travelled with me before would be either laughing or just reminded of the painful frustration that is watching Cromack try to pack a bag. Seems simple. Place the items you want to take with you in a bag, zip it up and carry it outside. But for me there are the less obvious things like....walk around the bag 7 or 8 times, check in the bathroom for no apparent reason, look under the bed for the 19th time. Its even painful for me, I just can't help it.Hopefully all will be in order by the time I hop in bed tonight.

I have checked out the website for Singapore Airport, seems I can have a quick workout in the gym and get someone to massage me!That would be a novel idea, I'm sure I will spend the whole time like, no...no thats not how you do that....ohhh that one feels good I wonder how they do that one, finishing with for Christ sake brain just shut up and relax!

If life pans out remotely as expected, my next email should be from Singapore Airport, hopefully with nothing terably eventful to report.

Crowie

1 Week to go

crowie — Sun, 15 Jul 2007 13:23:00 GMT

Like all good travel storeys, this one also starts with me running off to the toilet............I'm back. With 1 week left before I embark on my next mission through Europe my stomach has sensed I'm leaving the post code of 2464 and I'm sick. Excellent! The body aches and feverish sweat has only really started to kick in over the last few hrs......damn Grafton races. Looks like its going to be another one of those trips.