I’ve decided after a day in the city that I really should have researched what I was getting myself into when I agreed to come to Rome. The average November temperature is around 12 or 13 degrees (what the hell happened to the MEDITERAINIAN climate?) and the average rainfall is something like three hundred metres per square metre per day. Seriously it’s done nothing else but rain for the last 28 hours. Today was fun though – walked around town for most of the day and got as far as St. Peter’s church in The Vatican. That was muchos impressive, but I am totally soaked through. My shoes are completely saturated which is worrying but meh – I suppose I’ll survive. Anyway this keyboard is giving my the shits (it’s even worse and more displaced than the UK version!) and there are a few people wanting to get onto the internet so I’ll leave on this note: Rome is a beautiful place, but come here in the Summer – there is a reason why it’s called high season.

Pete

Well I’m off tomorrow, or rather later today, now that it’s past midnight.

For all you budding terrorists out there, I’m on the 10:45am Ryan Air flight from Stansted, and will arrive in Rome to see Kia sometime before 3pm local time. I’m a little worried about finances, but I’m only in Italy for a little over a week and I go back home (to Australia) soon after I get back to London, so I suppose I should just go out with a bang.

Anyway for something completely different, I met my uncle from Cornwell today along with his middle aged daughter – my cousin – as well as her youngest. It was interesting – I’ve always wanted to meet my 63 year-old hippy of an uncle but I must say he left me feeling a little disappointed and slightly angry. He was smoking in front of and with no regard to his 5 year old grand-daughter, and was just generally disappointing in person after so much build up, although to his credit he did hold interesting conversation. I suppose I shouldn’t be so harsh on the bloke actually – he may be a pot head but it was me that made little Courtney cry twice.

Once we got home from meeting the relies, I started packing for my little trip tomorrow. Well, actually I lie – I’m on the computer now waiting for my clothes to dry so I can actually start packing… at 1 in the morning. Nonetheless this computer time gave me an opportunity to talk to Dad on MSN for a while. Uncle Brent and Auntie Angela have offered me the prospect of spending Christmas in the UK, but it would require extending my homeward departure date from the current 10th of December date to one after Christmas (obviously). Apart from that slight inconvienience and possible charge associated with changing flights, the thing that made me really decide against such a path was this evening, talking to Dad, and doing the same with Samo (and Jake… jesus!) last night. These two conversations made me realise how much I am really missing home life, and this week’s first frost was the climatic prompting I needed to realise that a good Aussie summer is what I really need right now. After this series of events, I’ve come to a final conclusion: I’ve had a great year, maybe it’s time to pull the curtains.

Anyway see you after (or maybe during, if you’re lucky!) Italy!

Pete

As all Australians know, there aren’t too many things better than beating New Zealand. It doesn’t matter what the competition is, whether it’s a reality television show about backyard makeovers, arguments about number of sheep per square kilometre, or one of many sporting disciplines. For example, I’ve spent many a Sunday morning completely absorbed in the inter-tasman lawn bowls championships on the ABC (as I’m sure countless others have found themselves doing). However, one thing that IS of course better than beating the kiwis is beating the poms. Which of course is why i’m posting this up – when we get the chance to do both countries in at the same time, well it’s obviously a time for celebration, possibly even a public holiday or nationwide festival.

The fact that I was in England today when the mighty Wallabies played those oafish, bloody English boys made the 21-19 win even more special for me (especially after a rather disastrous loss to the Springboks in August), and to my absolute delight Punts’ boys are mercilessly making mince meat of the New Zealand cricket team in Adelaide, after an equally impressive beating at the ‘Gabba in Brisbane. I can die a happy man.

[EDIT 20:11] Well, we beat the rugby league British Lions 44-4 this evening. That’s two rugby wins in only a few hours! Extremely good news.

Pete

Ahhh what beautiful colours.

Yeah I know: You can’t see the text, and it’s ugly to start with but I’m lazy and unskilled, and christmas IS around the corner now, so you have to hack it.

Anyway for those who are blind and didn’t notice, there’s a christmas theme up on dialagranny.com! “How festive!” you may say, however it is more like How bloody unoriginal. That’s three separate links, by the way.

Oh the pains of peer pressure.

Pete

This morning, after my usual lazy-day 11am (yes, 11am suckers!) rise I realised I had a couple of messages on my phone. Both were from Lilly, who I was meeting in Rome next week along with Kia, Izzy and a few other friends. Basically she told me that she doesn’t have the money or passion for travel right now, and that I wouldn’t be seeing her in Rome afterall. Great – the main reason I was GOING in the first place is no longer going to grace us with her presence.

After about half an hour of disbelieving anger, I got on the computer to write her something rude and lengthy but instead found Kia online, who was feeling similarly. She and Lil started travelling together but split ways in Thailand a couple of months ago. I think Ki feels the same way I do now – not bothered enough to care anymore. WE are still going to Rome, and WE are going to have a great time – with or without Lilly. Infact on that note, I think it’s time for some altered U2 lyrics.

WITH OR WITHOOOOUTTT YOOOOOOOUUUUU
WITH OR WITHOOOUUUTT YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUU
I CAN‘T LIIIIIIVE (AND GO TO ROME)
WITH OR WITHOOOUUTTTT YOOOOOUUUU

Pete

Gah. Life this week has gone from great, to good, to not so good.

Firstly, mum rang the other day. Auntie Dee died. As mum said when I talked to her, I think thats the end of that generation. Next in line for ol’ grim are the parents. Gulp.

Secondly my finances have gone to hell. The reason I chose in the end not to get a job here was that I had a cool £500 coming my way, thanks to a nice little cheque that I had finally squeezed out of O&J car sales in September. It was hell this end as well, proving who I was and where I lived to open a British bank account. However, 4 weeks after I arrived here, I finally wandered down to the bank with newly created account details, and banked the fuck of a cheque, finally rid of the bugger and happy to finally be in the black again.

However, the gods did not smile on that particular cheque. I don’t think it’s bounced as such, but the explanation the bank gave me when they returned it shed no light on the situation whatsoever:

Dear Sir/Madam

RE: CHEQUE/S FOR ZAR 12000.00

I enclose the above-mentioned cheque/s, which we are unable to process, because Exchange Control Regulations have not been complied with.

Please contact the drawer of the cheque to arrange an alternative method of payment.

Yours Faithfully,

Some Scumbag, NatWest.

See what I mean? Exchange Control Regulations? Well the South African embassy has no idea what they are, and NatWest told me that to ask a question over the phone I’d need to sign up for telephone and internet banking, which would take 10 working days. I went into the branch and they skirted the question, telling me it was somethign to do with lack of information about the cheque. There was my name, O&J’s company name, a cheque number, an account number and the bank’s seal. WHAT MORE FUCKING INFORMATION DO YOU WANT? So I gave up, deciding instead to write a rude letter to O&J’s hoping to get the money out some other way.

HOWEVER my saviour has since arrived. Peter Broster, the principal of LEAF has offered to jump into the ring on my behalf, and try to squeeze the money out of these crooks at O&J’s. What a champ. I’m in the process of writing up a Power of Attorney, a rude letter to the dealer and a nice thankyou for Broster. Maybe there is a silver lining on this bastard afterall. However, I realise I must at least recognise there is a possibility that I’ll never see this money. Becky won’t be happy, but then it’s not my fault, is it?

Oh, just to tip the scales that extra bit further and piss me off even more, my iPod’s broken. Corrupt bloody hard dive, and there’s no way of formatting and fixing the bugger. Because it’s out of warranty (by a measly month or two!) Apple charge $250US (£125) to fix it. Thankfully, some chap in Kent will do it for less than £100, saving me a lot of time and money. Also mercifully, all my music made it to Uncle Brent’s computer before the little thing blew up. Yay!

Pete

Here’s something to get your teeth into, you ravenous, rabied fans! If you care to glance up to the top of the menu pane on the right, you’ll notice three additions. Firstly, an about page which quickly explains in laymans terms the rise and rise of dialagranny.com, then secondly there is a link to the struggling Webcam portal, which gets so little use these days I don’t know why it’s even there, and then finally, the real reason why I added this is a link to Photogenic, my photo gallery. I really should put more photos up there, but now there are just 3 albums, totalling about 270 photos. Anyway read the about page, check my photos out and be merry!

Pete

Ahh where have I been these past few days, you ask?

And I answer: Hell On Earth. The city I now dislike more than Adelaide and the whole of New Zealand put together – Birmingham.

Madi, the girl in the photo a couple of posts ago invited me to come see her at university almost as soon as I arrived in the country. As much to my glee as it was to have friends around the place, I got lazy and didn’t bother going up to see her. Then she invited me to her home in the country somewhere 2 weeks ago, and once again I declined (this time due to bad timing). I know this is starting to sound like I was avoiding her, but trust me, I wasn’t.

Then last week in Nottingham she cornered me, and made sure I promised to come and see her at uni this week, so on Thursday I packed my bags again and headed to Birmingham. Mads met me at the station and we caught a bus to her uni halls, where I spent two nights. It was an interesting experience to say the least, and has at least made me slightly interested in staying on campus myself next year – student life is grand. However, accomodation on campus is fucking expensive, and why bother if home is only a few kilometres away?

However two nights in uni dorms, apart from the hideously uncomfortable floor I was so generously provided with (here’s thankful Pete for you!) was great fun. Plus there was a very decent fireworks display just for residents, which made up for the lack of decent explosions on November the 5th. However, one thing that I keep telling myself, and keep finding myself forgetting is that I really must stay off the tequila – even if it is extraordinarily cheap.

Thanks mads for a wonderful couple of days – love you to bits! Oh and I wasn’t serious about the hell on earth bit. Apart from the bromie accent, and the miserableness that the place simply oozed, it is a fun loving and very interesting little place

Pete

Throughout the year, or at least the last few months this blog has been full to the brim of rants and raves regarding my living conditions with a one Rebecca Russell Gallman. Although a lot of it was done in jest, I didn’t really realise how much I hurt her. Maybe she is a little sensitive, but mainly it was because I was an asshole. I knew it at the time, but because of my constant exposure to her, forgiveness meant much less and required a lot less effort.

I talked to her for the first time in a month the other night on MSN. She and I had played with the idea of travelling Europe together since very early in the year, and I had been loking forward to it. Towards our departure from Africa however, Becky picked up some baggage in the form of a pommy boyfriend (great bloke by the way, apart from the nationality ), and so recently the little trip for two I had been so looking forward to was suddenly a planned trip for five. Now don’t get me wrong, I really like all of the people that she had invited, but I got upset at the fact that she completely missed the point – that I wanted to travel with HER, not an entire circus troupe. Although we weren’t in person, and we had spent a month away from each other, the mood of conversation followed pretty closely to what has been established as typical. Starting with casual chit-chat, we start arguing like hell and then somehow I feel like I’m the one that should cave in.

That’s not what I’m doing here, however I have seen the error of my ways – it was selfish of me to think that such a trip could actually be pulled off, rude of me not wanting to take in the other people to our little crew, and stupid of me for thinking that Becky’s logic paths would have changed at all in the last month. Hopefully I can fix this all up, travel with the lot of them, and just forget that any of this happened. After all – I can always pretend that it’s just two friends enjoying Europe.

Pete

Well well well Nottingham was quite fun. A 6am rise on a Saturday morning isn’t exactly the start of a perfect weekend as I see it but seeing all my Swazi buds was a LOT of fun.

On Saturday I made my way into London to catch the 8:30am bus up to Nottingham – a medium sized English city about 3 hours north of the capital – and was met by Henri, who was too busy looking for bread to really greet me. We made our way back to her house, where I learnt that the weekend away was actually just so that we could become cheap (or free) labour at Henri’s dad’s 70th birthday party. After lunch, which consisted of the most brilliant leek and stilton soup I have ever had the priviledge of devouring, the others arrived. ‘The others’ were Tom, Tarun and Madi, three of Henri’s Swazi crew that I met briefly in Durban and more extendedly in Cape Town, but became really good friends with, when taken into account how little time I actually spent with them.

Anyway after the rest of the cheap labour arrived we headed down to a hall to decorate and generally arse around in. Eventually guests started arriving and beer appeared on the drinks table, much to my delight. THEN the festivities started – the party was one of the folk-dancing variety. All were gay and happy for the next few hours, stuffed with all food imaginable and wearily carted back home where a growing mob of us then decided to go out. That’s about where my memory got fuzzy – we went to a bar that Dave, Megan and I visited on our pub crawl earlier in September, and just stayed there, merrily drinking the night away with good friends and a nice atmosphere.

Woke up Sunday morning feeling, all things considered, not too bad, although crushingly tired. A bunch of us that stayed at Henri’s watched some Simpsons on tape, ate more soup for lunch and then started heading home.

The bus back was far more boring for the lack of music. My iPod, which has been playing up recently has finally given up the ghost, forgotten what music it had on it, and keeps rebooting to file system errors. I think I’ll take the little bugger into the Apple store tomorrow, although I’m afraid I must have broken just about every clause in the warranty statement. The most recent modification (and the one that probablly started it’s downward spiral into non-workingness) was a self-service battery replacement, at which time the hard drive also came unstuck, possibly killing systemy stuff. Anyway Apple can have a look – it’s only 18 months old so it shouldn’t be dying quite yet – even through the torturous year it has spent in wild Africa.

Anyway enough babbling, time to get off to bed. Oh check this photo out – from left to right is Tom, Tarun, Myself and Madi, and on the wall is a photo of the birthday boy in the bath…. freaky.

Pete