If this sucks I apologise I’m moving out in 10mins and I’m lacking in prooof reading time….I wrote this on the plane, on the way back to Germany.

Before this trip i’d of told you the only thing I miss about england is prepacked sandwiches. Sure it feels a little wrong that after 23yrs the country of my birth hasn’t seeped deeper into my psyche than a sandwich, but only the english it seems understand the fundamental importance of a good sandwich. So I was at peace with it. But I think after this trip i’ve realized that there is more than that, so i’ll try and give england a little break for a while. I think maybe its a little like picking on the fat kid at school. Its an easy option, but its hardly an intellectual workout in mockery. So lets throw England in a special category along with the disabled, and the USA and make them exempt for today.

Why this sudden england love-in? Well I think it was the 2 days I spent in Nottingham with Fraser my roomie of 3 years at Uni. Its actually a pretty great place. The best bars anywhere (even beating Leipzig), the best music scene bar London. Its actually a pretty great place to spend your twenties. There are a few downsides of course like the overabundance of english people (sorry couldnt resist that cheeky one) and its not easy to find a job that pays more than 15k. I think I under-estimated how many good memories I have from there and just how well I know the city. Its a close to home as I’Ve felt in a city in England which makes sense as actually I spent a fair amount of time there, and it was the first place I moved out from home to.

Friday night saw me playing wingman to Frasers tried and tested Napoleon Dynamite persona. It had been so long that I enjoyed the friday night moron show that takes place in its city centre, the scantily clad women, men that makes those strange primal noises which i’m pretty sure we outevolved just before we discovered the “poke” as a communicative tool. But these drunkmonkeys seem somehow to get the complex messages they are trying to convey across with a simple

“ooooaaayh”

translation:

“you are a level of attractiveness or I’m a level of drunkeness that would allow me to have sex with you. Right here in the street if you like? Or perhaps in the alley? Anyway let me know i’ll be over here crushing a beer can on my head and pissing on my shoes”.

I wouldn’t reccomend it for every weekend, but once in a while its a nice mini-break from civilisation. We first hit the Ropewalk and played two gruelling scrabble deathmatches (in which Fraser cruelly shat upon the space I had reserved for my seven letter “repented”, with a strategically placed time waster and won by 2 points). If theres a better way to spend your Friday evening patent it, quick. Then off to the indiegoodness of the Rescue Rooms (even played a Ryan Adams track) saw people drinking shots from a teapot, narrowly avoided an annoying evacuation as someone made a fire in the toilets and then moved on to the Cookie Club another valut of indie goodness. To say we started the party would be an understatement, only two people beat us in there. I guess you know what happened in the next few hours, we drank danced like buffoons to the beastie boys, walked home narrowly avoiding an expensive run-in with the casino.

What happened next was a master stroke as we both managed to mangle my instruction of “I have to take a train at 7:30am, can you set an alarm at 6:30″. Instead both setting it at 4:30am. Beautiful time of the morning, populated only be the dead and new parents, the difference mere technicalities.

Anyway the planes beginning its decent now, so far i’ve not been called in to pilot it. So i’ll knock this one on the head. You know what England, your alright duck, go away and work on your cost of living and come back and see me in a few years and we’ll talk again.