Friday, 7 August 2009

On to greener pastures


I sit here in the kitchen of a house in some back-water English town, eating chilli coated peanuts and drinking raspberry cordial, and I wonder if things have improved. I'm still unemployed, still waiting for things to change. I'm still out here by myself with no real home and no real country, just a free radical bouncing from shelter to shelter not knowing where or who I'll be next.

Then I punch myself in the balls and, in the words of Barney Stinson, say "Stop being sad, and be awesome instead". Looking back I've been a sadsack on the Ginge for the past few months, blogging about what I'm doing, instead of ranting about head-butting pensioners or molesting farm animals like I should be. Luckily for you (and a little for me) I've recognised my ... error? Anyway, I've sorted out what the Ginge has been lacking lately, and part of fixing that means leaving the comforting cleavage of blogspot.

The new Mighty Ginge site has been created, tweeked and fondled over the last week, as well as a series of sub-domains for my side projects. Old time Ginge readers can expect a return to the original Mighty Ginge - no more "101 Things To Do Before You Die" updates, no more book updates, no more whining. All that shit is still going on, it just won't be making it onto the Mighty Ginge blog anymore. I'm running a seperate personal blog* for updates on what I'm doing, the 101 things, my book and other side projects. Unless it's fucking hilarious and hence Ginge-worthy, it's going elsewhere.

Jesus, I can't stop eating these chill peanuts - it's like they're sprinkled with PCP

And nothing will be happening on THIS blog anymore - I've transferred the posts that fit with the Mighty Ginge's new cut-down approach (eg. everything except the updates from the last few months), so this will be the last post for the Mighty Ginge on blogspot. The blog will stay up here as a fossil of the internet though - something for future interweb archaeologists to discover, ponder over and misinterpret.

Anyway, looking forward to seeing you all at the new Mighty Ginge, revelling in all it's majesty and contributing to it's continuing awesomeness.

All hail Larry, the one true King of Lemurs & Bad-Assery!


On the personal blog: Don't be offended I don't send you the link even if we've known each other since humanity decided to dig holes to shit in. It probably means a) you've made enough of an impact in my life to get a mention and I don't want you to be weirded out by it, b) I've mentioned doing stuff I'd prefer you not to know about, or c) I just plain don't like you. It's all entirely stream of conciousness, so I type shit and publish it without reviewing anything - going back over some of it now it's pretty dark stuff. Not for everybody.

If you're interested in reading it, send me an email/message.

Monday, 27 July 2009

Coming up for air

By now I'm sure you're all picking up on the fact that my post regularity is directly linked to the chaos levels experienced by my real-world counterpart. Needless to say, things have been pretty crazy for the last month - spent the week raising merry hell in London after I got back to the Astor hostel (highly recommend all of the Astor chain by the way). After a week of being a dodgy museum tour-guide for the most stunning little blonde* I've ever met, I was a complete wreck from lack of sleep and a busy week with my Royal Marines fitness preparation. To top it all off, Cat from the Monopoly Board Pub Crawl called me out Friday night, we watched movies till 5:30am, got 30mins sleep, then I had to run for 2 hours to get back to my hostel and check out on time, before running with my house on my back to catch the train to Exeter.

Spent the week in Devon again, and nearly blew my brains out dealing with hostel staff bullshit in the process. Got bumped out of the usual place in Exeter for 2 nights, and had to go stay in the sister hostel in Plymouth. By the time I got back, half my food and milk was gone, and everyone in the hostel had suddenly decided *I* was the go to guy for dealing with their social ineptitude. I'd planned to spend a few weeks there till the Edinburgh Fringe festival, but given I'd started to imagine skinning people while they talked at me, perhaps it was better that I booked a train the fuck out of there.
Polar bears - as lazy as they are adorable

Thankfully I'm back in London again. Back into the book writing, which has also been on hiatus lately, and hopefully more blogging. Regularity is the key here, and shorter posts. And having somewhere more regular to stay now will certainly help things. I have 12 weeks from today till I start training with the marines - 3 months to see how fit I can get, how much of the book I can write, and how much trouble I can get in.

It's been a crazy month, it's going to be an even crazier 12 weeks - The Mighty Ginge will be shifting to it's own domain, I'm heading to the Fringe festival, the book is growing, and new adventures are happening everyday.

Stay tuned



*I've never been attracted to blonde women before, but luckily this one is actually a secret ginger. Lets be honest though - if you're naturally blonde, there's a damn good chance you're also a vapid whore.

Friday, 10 July 2009

Watch this space

Just trialling a new banner I just threw together - my complete lack of design skills are more apparent every minute. It'll stand for awhile till I sort something more permanent out.

Big shifts on the book happening at the moment - seems being away from that evil little soul-sucking hostel in Exeter and being in ANOTHER evil little hostel in London is doing wonders for my productivity. Looking forward to shifting back into the Astor hostel in Hyde park Saturday. The place I'm in at the moment was all that was available Thursday and Friday night, and it's horrendous - no wireless in the rooms, patchy wireless downstairs (but no powerpoints), rude staff, full of obnoxious french tour groups, nasty showers, nasty rooms..... the list goes on. I've actually snuck back into the Astor to sit in their lounge, recharge the laptop and sponge some wireless to type this out - and escape that other dump.
More appealing than the Foreign Legion
Headquarters I'm staying in at the moment

I'll be living in the wild for another 2 months now, since the Royal Marines aren't going to start training me till October 19th. In the mean time I'm going to try and annoy the delightful Miss Campbell on her week off this week (provided she doesn't pike out AGAIN), visit some old acquaintances from living in the Middle East, head up to the Edinburgh Fringe festival to see some of the gang from the Perth comedy scene plus some of the other acts up there (scored a free room anytime I'm in Edinburgh from one of the guys I did the PRMC with so I won't have to sell a kidney to stay there during the festival).

Also been hitting the "101 things to do before you die" list pretty hard (sitting on 40 completed at the moment), so all good news from there. They're mostly going in the book now, so don't expect any of that kind of stuff to pop-up anymore (other than the odd progress update). Got a little list of editors together to pour over my drafts when they're ready, so great progress all round. Part of me wants to keep going hammer and tong at making stories for the book, the other wants to stop, take stock of the chaos of the last month, and actually write the book.

Fuck it, I've got 2 months to go - I'll just take it as it comes.

Tuesday, 7 July 2009

News from the land of Oz

I know I'm running late on this, but just in case you missed the big news over the weekend,

DING-DONG, THE WITCH IS DEAD!

Seems everyone's favourite psycho is bailing out of the overwhelming pressure of Alaskan politics - what with the fighting for the little guys like BP and Exxon, the agonising decision over whether to build a bridge to nowhere
, protecting Alaska from the Red Menace, and fighting wars on three fronts against the combined forces of the new axis of evil. Oh, and some little nuisance about an ethics investigation or something too.

My only hope is now with all the time she has to be out hunting Beluga whales, there's an increased chance she'll gets splashed with water and melt.

Saturday, 27 June 2009

Running on a sugar high

So, I’m back in London again – I use that term loosely because Greenwich is hardly London. Feels like it’s closer to fucking Paris after having to get out here.

Whatever, I’m drunk.

And for some reason firefox at this stupid internet cafe has caught super-Aids and refuses to open java script, so I have to type this into word instead of directly into blogspot - which also, subsequently, has caught super-AIDs & Giraffe flu because it’s formatting is fucked. That’s right blogspot, you heard me – you’re formatting is fucked. I try and post a video of Rhino the hamster tearing more ballsacks than Germaine Greer, and you can’t even expand the formatting to fit it.

PHILLEEEEEP! I EXPWECT THIS SITUATION TO BE RECTOFIED!
(I told you I’d been drinking. People say I’m no fun when I’m sober - they just haven’t met me on Bundy)

Anywho where have I been, what have I been doing you may be asking? Actually, I doubt ANY of you are asking that cau.... oooooh I haven’t checked facebook! Be right back...

OK, cool I’m back. Where was I. Right, no one really reads this (although you’re all bound to spring out of the fucking woodwork now I’ve said that.... pfffft.

BUT HEY! I ENJOY WRITING IT SO SUCK MY SUGAR-COATED GINGER BALLS

Okay, the situation is this: I’ve just finished the Potential Royal Marine Commando course (the PRMC) where you basically get butt-fucked by big men with green berets for 4 days. It’s..... goddamit Silversun Pickups are playing in Vancouver like a month after I leave, I’m gonna go drown a puppy. Sorry – the PRMC is supposed to be a chance to see what training to become a royal marine is like, and for the training staff to assess you’re fitness and determination. Fitness is a big one – there’s a basic need for a high level of fitness obviously (at 32 weeks long it’s the longest and arguably the hardest infantry training course in the world), but more than that is a pig-headed determination to push on regardless of what they throw at you.

In a nutshell the first of the two testing days is to see if you’re fit enough, and the second day tests to see if you’ve got the balls to push through when the pain sets in. I blitzed through the first day, scoring consistently in the top 20 of 60 guys in everything they threw at us – 3 mile run, push ups, sit ups, chin ups, beep test, everything. Second day started off with jumping out of a 50 foot tower and using a short length of rope to slide down the main rope at a million mile an hour – fucking awesome. From there it was onto the obstacle course: charging over water traps, swinging on monkey bars and climbing 12 foot walls, ect.

Jesus I’m sobering up already – need to hurry and post this before more sweet, sweet alcamahol
As soon as we finished the obs course, it was time for the determination test – with wet boots, heavy jackets and pants, and rooted from the obs course it started. It began with push ups, sit ups and burpies. Then they started us running up and down hills. Then more pushies, sits and purpies, Then through the water under the monkey bars. Then more runs up the hills. Then more pushies/sits/burpies – you get the idea.

I was rooted, but I certainly wasn’t pissing and moaning like some of these pommie fucks – I’ve never heard a grown man cry for his mum before, it was genuinely embarrassing. If we’d gone on for a few hours, I might have understood but this was 20 mins into it. About 30 mins into the determination test, they decided we needed to pair up with people of equal size (being a pygmy I wound up with someone 6 inches taller and 10kg heavier), and drag them on our backs for a hundred meters. Once one got to the end, we swapped over and the other dragged them back. THAT was fucking tough work – you could feel the legs burning and couldn’t breathe. But the second drag was with the dragger walking backwards and their arms under the other’s armpits. Pure pain. It was halfway through that I asked myself if I really wanted to do this. When the answer came back that I wasn’t going to let these limey English fucks beat me after I’d traveled so far to to do this, I knew I had everything I needed to finish it off. We finished the drags and it was all over - we'd passed.

I’ve hiked the tallest free-standing mountain in the world and reached the summit in -56 degrees, climbing a 45 degree hill (you could reach out and touch the snow standing upright) with a foot of slippery snow under foot in a fucking blizzard. I’ve dived in pitch black water to nearly 90m, breathing mix gases that would kill you in an instant at the wrong depth. But until that second drag I’ve never questioned whether I could do something before - whether it's all just too hard. It’s a hell of a feeling to be forced to ask that question, and come back not just with the answer of “Yes I can” but “Yes I fucking will do it, and I’m going to do it faster than the moaning bitch next to me”.

May have gotten a little angry with myself for thinking of quitting...

There wasn’t so much excitement as contentment when they handed me my pass certificate this morning – I knew I’d passed the moment I decided to drag that weak willed momma’s boy across the line the day before (he started saying he couldn’t do it at one point – I started screaming in his ear that if a ginger Oompa Loompa could drag him there, he could find some fucking balls to drag me back).
For some of the guys it was their second time around, having failed the PRMC previously and sent away for 9 months to train up. Some others got through but will never make it through the 32 weeks – totally the wrong attitude. But at this stage it’s just a test of whether you’re fit and determined enough, and they were.

-------------
The Next Day
-------------
Okay so yesterday was pretty wild.

The PRMC went half a day longer than I was expecting, so I had a mad dash from the train to the hostel in Exeter to pick up the rest of my gear, charged into the local recruiting office to tell them I'd passed and ask when could I start training, and try and make another train to London all within 30mins. Obviously missed the train, and had to buy another at an absurd price. Add to that my phone dying and being unable to let Cian know what was going on, my hostel being in the distant colonial outpost of Greenwich, not knowing WHERE my hostel was once I was in Greenwich, and carrying more than my body weight in backpacks - the first celebratory drink was looking better every moment.

Finally got settled into the hostel, had a well earnt shower, had a Bundy and coke, and called Cian - to have the piker pike-out on mucho drinkys with me. In her defense though she had been "working" all day in an "office" and was "tired"; whereas I'd only been sleep deprived and tested to my absolute physical and mental limit for 4 days straight.

Little Miss Pike-Alot :
"Hmmmm, do I go out and drink with Red or do I stay at home like an old nanna?
Well I DO have alot of knitting to do"


So I started drinking in the bar below the hostel, and had some random Canadian chick drag me to where all the stragglers were drinking together. Cut a long story short: I got obscenely drunk with a guy from the old home town, chatted up this stunning American, but then somehow wound up passed out in the hostel's common area with no pants on - which is where the bar staff found me. And so far today I've had a late breakfast, went for a short walk that ended with me nearly throwing up said breakfast, and have been recovering and trying to type the last of this in the comfort of the common area's air con.

I fly to Vancouver on Tuesday for Boeta's last week there - he's pulling the pin after his plans went rather askew. Hopefully he'll go back when he's got some more money and things are more stable for him, but we're going to destroy Vancouver before he leaves. Going to tick a bunch of things off the 101 things list while we're there too, and hopefully leave all the women of that fine city emotionally scarred. It'll be freaking awesome.

NEWS JUST IN

Just got on Triple J back in the land of Oz, with the dreamy Paul Verhoeven on the phones and the Yeti-like Dave Callan in the studio, talking about my distinct lack of pants when the bar staff found me passed out in the common room last night. Also had them refer to me as "The Mighty Ginge" on air, rather than give my real name. Ended a little awkward though - I ran out of credit halfway through the call and got cut off.

My awesomeness, however, knows no bounds.

Thursday, 18 June 2009

Down with the rural charm, in the country

So I've been in ye olde Devon for just over 2 weeks now, and I thought it high time to give the rest of you uncultured heathens a taste of life in the old country.

The Good
Straight out the greatest thing about the UK is that every day seems to be "Tits Out Tuesday". What other first-world country has several high-distribution national newspapers that feature the likes of Lucy Pinder and Michelle Marsh cuddling topless staring you in the face as soon as you open the front page? And what the fuck are they feeding these women? The average nork here is GARGANTUAN.
Lucy Pinder - Relative under-achiever in the
UK
mammary stakes

The Monday I arrived in Exeter was sunny, warm and mind-blowing. The walk from the St David's rail-station was like a magical stroll through an erotic jelly factory – there were jiggly bits as far as the eye could see. I started getting really excited, thinking the UK might be so progressive that they celebrate Tits-Out Tuesdays a day early – turns out it was just a warm up, because Tuesday was a whole other league again. By Wednesday, I honestly started expecting to start seeing topless Valkyrie wearing white-flowing skirts riding around on fucking unicorns, because I'd clearly died in a train wreck on the way here and had instead arrived in Valhalla.

Unfortunately the valkyries never eventuated, and the norkage has died off a little after a few rainy days – seems limey fun-bags are fair weather fighters. But whenever the sun comes out for more than a few hours, so do the weapons of mass destruction. And we're not talking flabby jubblys either. Sure, a lot of the more boob-alicious girls are a little “cuddly” too, but given the number of bicycle and foot paths around, plus the restrictive traffic control - the general rule is growth hormone-induced super boobs (thank god they force feed battery hens steroids) on quite athletic women.
I'm going to destroy this town once my marines
application process finishes


The Bad
The one risk living here in Exeter though (besides suffocating under a breast of a Page 3 model) is the prevalence of jail-bait. Since the average hooter here is big enough to be used as a three-seater couch, it's impossible to tell if a girl is only 15 or she's brought shame to her family for only being endowed with double-D's. Combined with my complete inability to judge people's ages and I'm having to be especially careful.
Even so, I was very nearly trapped in my first week here. Started chatting up an absolutely stunning girl at the recruiting office here when we'd both headed in to do our aptitude test. Got talking about what we were both applying for, what she was doing for work, where I was staying; all the while flirting horrendously.

And then the comment "When I finished school last year..." came out.
She's was 17

Now I knew ALOT of girls from high school that regularly went out with guys who were 6 years older than them. Hell, I knew alot of girls who went out with guys who were 10 years older than them. But I vowed back in school to never to be one of those guys. Partly because it destroyed any chance I had in school with the girls myself, but mostly because 17 is 3 years younger than my sister and that makes it fucking creepy.

The Ugly
It led to an interesting indication of the guys of Exeter though - or maybe just of the weirdos staying in this hostel. When I told them about hot underage recruiting girl, their collective reaction was "Awesome dude, did you get her number?" and "If there's grass on the wicket!". Very creepy.
It's been a real struggle to write ANYTHING with these assholes hanging around too. Since I've been here blogging, emailing, book writing, anything, has become nigh on impossible because every one of these failed human beings seems hell-bent on stopping me (or any other member of society) from contributing anything to the rest of the species. I've automatically become the most interesting person here because I'm trying to work on my laptop. The moment I sit down to write something, some troglodyte is hanging around to;
  • Find out what I'm doing,
  • Stop me from doing it,
  • Read what I've written over my shoulder,
  • Tell me some inane story about them abusing a council worker,
  • Piss and moan about the hostel owner, or
  • Have the hostel owner tell me to go outside and get some exercise
Initially I thought listening to music might have stopped some of the conversation, but buying massive headphones and wearing them all the time doesn't seem to have done shit - suddenly everyone thinks you're "rude" because you're not answering along to another one of their bullshit stories about molesting a farm animal. No no, they still talk to me when I'm typing, wearing headphones and staring at a screen - they just think I'm ignoring them (which incidentally is true).
What part of "leave me alone" are
you not getting here?

Oh and of course because I'm here to join the Royal Marines, every one of these flabby white poms suddenly either has decades of operational military experience or are a hardened gangster. I never realised a quiet little hostel in some backwater of the English country-side could be the central meeting place for every former Ranger, Commando, SBS, SAS, Recce and modern-day Al Capones that's ever existed. The funniest thing is though, none of them are travellers. None of them are on a world-trip, meeting new and exciting people, seeing the world. Instead these guys are mid/late 30 local dole-bludgers who are staying in a hostel because it's cheaper than renting. I thought I was being weird for staying in a hostel for a month during my application. One of them (the "ex-Ranger" who loves telling me he was involved in the real "Black Hawk Down" over and over and over again) has been staying here for over 18months now - he's a "rock band photographer" now (read: groupie with a camera).
Andy Warhol - A monumental asshole, even during a firefight

Since I've been here, we've had just 2 other "travellers" come through - a pair of lovely Canadian girls on a working holiday who I chatted to quite abit. But they only stayed for a night then moved on. Which strangely enough is what people in hostels do. They were fun, but eventually I'd love to meet some other actual backpackers in this backpacker hostel.

The Conclusion
Quite simply, the south-west of England is full of over-sized breasts on bicycles, under-age supermodels and neanderthals. I don't know whether to cup my balls, punch them or marvel at their staggering relative size.

Friday, 12 June 2009

A Belated Celebration

Well it's been a week now and no one else has said it, so I'd just like to be the first to say,

Congratulations to Swine-variant H1N1 on hitting the big leagues!
It's officially a pandemic!

Swine-flu has also received the auspicious honour of getting Afghanistan's only pig locked up. It's only the start though - swine-flu only has 163 on the board so far, paltry in comparison to some of the all time greats of the Pandemic World Series - legends like The Spaniard, The Yellow Menace, Jackie Chan and of course Jew Hunter. We should also note some other living record-holders in the pandemic championships, like Love Machine and The Shit Monster.

H1N1 has a long way to go, but a big round of applause for getting this far - here's hoping we have a new future champion on out hands!