Ten seconds remaining in the Australia v Italy game and I have lost my love for football all over again and it has been relegated to the term wogball. Undoubtedly Italy are cheating bastards and they should never be forgiven. This is why the sport is un-Australian, it is accepted to dive in most of Europe still. Regardless, a great effort by a largely second division Australian team without Harry Kewell (how he missed the game with a disease exclusively the domain of people with a drinking problem remains a mystery though). Of course I didn’t sell my Croatian ticket and look back and laugh at the thought now. Before the game we met up with our housemates Rich and Wellsy and their mates and got into the cheer of things with 7 odd pints. Already in Stuttgart square the Croats were waving their flares. The build up was magical. The game continued the trend, we were sat in the heart of the Aussie crowd behind the goals. The feeling of anticipation from both sides was massive, this was someones last game and we couldn’t wait to rub it into the faces of the dirty Croats (note: Croats aren’t dirty, but this is standard vitriole that needs to be slung at any opponent, trust me). The game lasted about 20 minutes, an absolute blur. Kalac was a disgrace in goal and I sat their in disbelief swearing my head off for the first 10 minutes. Thankfully 20,000 other Australians agreed and joined me despite Fi’s protestations. Emotions were a see-saw as the Croatians took the lead, the Aussies clawed back, etc, etc. The Australian goals were glorious. The Aussie crowd went up as one and didn’t stop for a full 10 minutes, suddenly realising that the game was still going, it was mental. When the siren blew, I couldn´t believe it was over already, again everyone erupted (although this one lasted for longer, about 7 hours).
We had no accomodation for the night given its expense and lack of existence so decided to stay up all night until we caught a 6am train to Karlsruhe Airport (Still another good 2 hours away). The Aussies hung around the stadium after the game, we bumped into a mate from home, Alex Paltos and his brother, and watched with broad grins as the Aussies went through the full catologue of chants until we were finally ushered out by the kind police (The German hospitality by the way, especially the police have had such good humour, its a big credit to them, or very good tactics to avoid violence). The singing, dancing and general banging of walls continued on the train back to the city centre (there´s a great video of me doing a rendition of Waltzing Matilda which I didn´t get the chance to put up yet). Plenty of humorous Croatian jibes too. We caught up with Rich and the boys back in the city and to aid our plight to reach 6am with no sleep they joined us on a nightclub session. We found a cool spot full of all nationalities and proceeded to carve it up for the next 6 hours.
Thankfully the litre pints made the time fly.
We caught the train (just! sorry Fi!) and got a couple of hours sleep. We met another Aussie dude on board doing the same journey as us, turns out he´s just retired from AFL football and played for the Saints and Crows. Talked about Neil Craig for a while and how good he is. Once we´d got the plane, we had to get a Stanstead Express, a tube, an overland train, a bus and then walk for 15 minutes to get home. Needless to say on 3 hours sleep we were not in a great mood at this stage. Stupidly I got home, showered and got ready for my next event starting a few hours later - The Wireless Music festival in Hyde Park.
Massive Attack, Flaming Lips, DJ Shadow, Pharrel (N.E.R.D) and Gnarls Barkley soothed my pain somewhat along with numerous pints of cider, although I wore thongs which wasn´t a great idea in the mosh pit at DJ Shadow and I almost broke my ankle. Apart from the broken ankle however it was nice to sit in the park listening to some very cool tunes.
Defying rest, I was up at 9am the next day for Royal Ascot Races. For the first time in a few weeks I had to ditch thongs in favour for a suit to gain entry. 180 people crammed into 2 huge double decker buses to take the couple of hour long journey out to the big race day. The girls looked gorgeous and we were brimming with Pimms, antipasto and merriment in the strong London sun. This was my first day at the trots that I can remember, I had a small flutter on the main race without any luck. I knew I should´ve used my proven method of backing 8 horses in the same race - always works in the Melbourne Cup. The bus ride home was the one of the worst experiences of my life, I needed to go to the little boys room as soon as the bus lurched from its stop position. Stopping and starting in busy London traffic does not do wanders for the ailment of a full bladder. Mid-way through Putney the driver and bus lurched to their senses and a stop. Hate to get into details, but that fence had never been wetter. We went out that night to White House in Clapham, but I retired early at midnight due to exhaustion.
The past week has been fairly quiet. I watched some television at home, cleaned the house and obviously watched the football (or wog ball as it is derogitavely re-titled). On Tuesday I went and saw some Aussies playing at Wimbledon, I got there at 6am and was already queue number 1200 in the Southfields queue (there are two queue´s!). I got a ground pass, watched Wayne Arthurs get beaten by Fabrice Santoro (freaky double hander on both sides, freakier guy watching him called him ‘an artist not an athlete’). The aussies were spirited and in volume despite our loss the day earlier, plenty of jibes about Italians echoed the courts. Watched Philipoussis and Molik play a set each and a bit of Xavier Malisse, but then decided that watching tennis by yourself is actually really boring so I went home at 4pm. Wimbledon is a atmospheric place though, I think I was still worn out.
Had a nice sushi lunch with Fi at Canary Wharf where she works on Friday and caught up with Troy, a mate who worked at Royal Melbourne who´s just got a job over here. Celebrated with 2 pints by midday. Friday night I went into work to watch the Germany v Argentina game (can’t believe the Argentinians are out, I love them). Went for a picnic on Clapham Common with Fi, some Fish and chips from a nice little restaurant we used to go to. Caught up with Verity and her mates at a BBQ after that. Saturday we obviously watched the England v Portugal match. Not so much disbelief that they lost, but anger that Erikkson is such a bad coach. Sadly, yes, you adopt the England team over here. It was incredibly hot over here on Saturday and the pub despite volumous air conditioning wasn´t much better given that it was standing room only. Afterwards I headed off to Hyde Park again with Jules and his girl Jaz to watch Pink Floyd. Stupidly didn’t take the camera, but I can tell you it was an amazing event. To hear Dark Side of the Moon played in its entirity is something special and it was supported either end by all the other Pink Floyd big numbers - very very special.
Yesterday I flew out to Seville, southern Spain to continue the European journey. I´ve just got over a week long sore throat/coughing/exhaustion episode. Cold sweats are so much fun. Seville was 29 degrees when I arrived at 9pm. I found another guy, Daniel, looking horribly confused into a map of Seville and together we navigated to a local ‘Pension’, had a good local meal (helped by the fact Daniel has Japanese, NZ and Brazilian heritage, the latter meaning he speaks ‘close enough’ Spanish). Today I´ve caught a bus to Granada where I´m staying for a couple of days along with some time at Salobrena beach (directly south) before heading back to Seville to meet up with Kristi and Kelly for a couple of days who left not long ago from London and have been travelling Northern Spain.
Following that I’ll be going to Madrid, then doing as much of Bilbao, San Sebastian, Pamplona (running of the bulls) and Barcelona as I can fit in before the 18th when i´m due in Castillon, near Valencia, for the Benicassim festival. Glastonbury on the beach - the magic continues.
