And that, as they say…

31st August 2011

With a deep thrust, I have crossed your wet border. The air is rich with the smells of tea, crumpets and national disinterest, the sun is out, spending its yearly allowance of British sunshine in one day, and still I am muttering a humbled “entschuldigen” when I bump into people. It feels weird to be back in a highstreet where people manage to walk with actual spatial-awareness, and even weirder to think that this is not a holiday, but rather I am back for good. The year has not been easy, there were times, especially during the winter months, where the cold and the isolation kicked in, but all in a year’s work of growing up. By the end, I was capping off what had been one of the greatest years of my life. A summer to remember. And a year to keep.

When it comes to going abroad, as both the Nike adverts and the slut down the street will tell you; Just Do It. To say that going abroad isn’t for you, is to say that the world isn’t for you. I have met so many incredible people, those I cannot thank enough, and those I cannot wait to see again. It’s an education, an experience and a broadened horizon in one three-for-one package. You even get your complimentary bow. I did not manage to say goodbye to everyone I wished I had, but as ever, it’s not what you part with that counts, but rather what you did beforehand. And we did it all.

You may have noticed that the last few blogs have each begun with a particularly rank innuendo; this would be because this blog is coming into its endo. Yes, now I am back in British soil, it’s time to hang up this pretence at intelligent thought and get on with being a suitable human being. Like that’ll ever happen. Perhaps, if I get a new objective, the dust shall be shaken off and words will once again whirl away. As the old song says, ich hab’ mein Herz in Heidelberg veloren. So with smiles, giggles, far too much energy and not nearly enough money, it’s time to find it again so that when I return, there’s twice the strength. Thank you, all 6,000 regular readers, I have no idea what broken part of your mind made you read these rambles, but good on you for humoring this rambling rangler. I have a new phone, a very shiny Samsung Galaxy SIII, which I’m sure will kick the bucket in the next half hour, but for now it shall be used to contact those around me for our scheduled catch ups.

So with this in mind, I bid you all a good night and a very good time surfing the internet.

Monkey Cuddles.

17th August 2012


Eh Meh Gerd! Itz Meh Final (D)eh!


Today, like all rather disappointing things, came too early. When last my blogging words gently caressed your screens, I had 7 days left and boy did I have a plan for those final daily blogs. However, what followed that post was day after day of truly, inconceivably fun adventures that pushed my ability to write words in English out the window. I have now run out of time to write these amazingly insightful, incredibly hilarious and unbelievably brilliant blog posts, so please just pretend you have enjoyed a week’s worth of genius and laugh heartily.

What I can comment on, however, is an educational Friday, where not only did I learn that no matter how hard I try, American Football is beyond my abilities, that it’s never a good idea to down a bottle of vodka and then jump in the river but also that apparently, buttholes and vaginas are equally as nice, no matter what may be in your grandpa’s backpack. This Barbecue, arranged by myself and Lavinia proved a success of many proportions which led smoothly into Saturday where road trips were the agenda, and naked bathing was the result. With the lovely chauffeur, Rob, driving away down the autobahn, Patricia, John, Dave and I took turns as backseat drivers and upfront spidermans until we arrived as Baden Baden. A place so good, they named it twice. Sort of.

This was the day I got to wear a suit. Let’s give that a moment to sink in. Yes. Being taken to a casino whose caliber made me feel like the dirtiest white trash, we suited up and took to the gambling tables like… well, gamblers. I even won twice. The night rolled on and the sekt poured in and, once again we became educated, this time as to why it’s never a good idea to have a bath in the middle of your hotel room. Giving the writers of The Hangover a run for their money, we carried on into the next day, where we got to throw off all our fabric illusions, bare our true sides and reveal our darkest places in the eponymous naked baths of Baden Baden. A place of saunas, scrub downs and ice baths, it was quite an education indeed. Being scrubbed raw by a middle aged woman who was also deciding to give me emotional counselling as to my self worth is not an event I’ll soon forget.

So yes, we’ve scrubbed up, kept it down and exploded out. I’ve drunk wine and watched the sunrise creep into Heidelberg from the valley, its broken golden glow crisp against the red of the rooftops. With more goodbye drinks with the fantastic remaining Erasmi, this has been a week of adventures, bounces, dramatic bandits and the best company. The time has come to start cleaning my room, I’ll do my best not do die from disease.


My Final (w)eek.

With the same level of horror as opening your laptop in the first row of a lecture and realising you’d forgotten to turn off your porn, I have come across the first day of my final week. With a rolling of wheels, squealing of confusion and probably a stolen German child, this time next Thursday, I will be in the car, alongside those people that created and (for reasons unknown) kept me, speeding down the autobahn to hit with the homeland. The days will continue to turn, with projects and gettogethers already in progress and preparation, I will be thrown back into the world of London whilst Heidelberg continues to roll its steady feet onward, forever unchanging in my memory.

If an event takes place but you can’t remember it, did it really happen? As the (mostly) sober one last night, I can very much confirm that yes, yes it did. Anticipating an enjoyable yet quiet evening, I turned to my room only to find that the mini oven my housemate bought had turned its back on me forever, refusing to cook the frozen pizza I had spent an entire euro in purchasing. Turning to my frying pan, I covered that biznitch in olive oil and fried the hell out of it. Take note; it was fucking gorgeous. A common cuisine choice in southern italy, fried Pizza is one of the most flavour-entrapped pieces of food I have ever come across. It was at this point, whilst nomming away that Bee texted, deploring the amount of work left to clean for her flat before moving out, so we avengers assembled and took to scrubbing, mopping, refitting and tidying up the rooms. An act that took us until nearly 2 in the morning. At which point, the droopy haired monstrosity that is Kevin called up, inviting us out. Horrified, we dragged our depressed, mortified selves kicking and screaming into a good night out that culminated in the closing of an entire street of clubs and an after party that continued until the pint Graham and I were sat, bedraggled but grinning at the bustop unter the 7am sunshine.

From this night I have learnt that Will.I.Am makes great cleaning music, you can turn a bed into a door and political conversations are some peoples’ aphrodisiac.

Running for Gold


There was a time, before my wrinkles set in and my back flipped out, where I was, what we would describe as… ‘bleh-Olympics’. “They could be spending that money on better things,” I would cry from my pedestal, scoffing brand name food. “It causes unnecessary stress for residents,” I would shout over my unnecessarily loud Music System, turned up to drown out the obnoxious cries of my neighbours. “It destroys the country side”, I would proclaim looking out my metropolitan window. But now in the age of my own city’s hosting, I feel the pang that any hipster too busy being alternative has when he sees people genuinely having fun.

Never having any predisposed association to my home country, I wasn’t unpatriotic so much as I was preparing myself for being an “Earthling” for the inevitable alien invasion. It does evoke a sigh to see so many people enjoying their contentious attitudes against something as internationally sporting as the Olympics. To be honest, I think we’re all just jealous that we can’t live in the Olympic Village which must just be the greatest orgy of hormonal, perfectly chiseled young athletes that this planet has to offer.

I’ve never felt more British than when I came to Heidelberg. For me, I wasn’t just in Heidelberg, I was in Germany, a different country from my own. Suddenly I was aware of what cultures thought of my own and which idealistic planes we met upon and those which we differed. But thankfully, as linguistic and cultural comparisons dwindled, this little town stopped being an object of its own and became home. There must be a transitory period, different for all, where a place stops being a novelty, and becomes truly a home. There’s home and then there’s home. Heidelberg for a long time was the former, a place I felt safe, rested and happy in, but it was still something other. Now, in the final few weeks, it feels as if it’s become somewhere I could spend the rest of my life, I feel as I imagine I would one year into a new city or job, where finally your place is found and you can see its future stretch before you. A place of true home-grown independence, and a place of home to return to in the near future. I think nothing of speaking German now, given last year I didn’t even know what “what” was “was” in German.

But as Marina said, it’s always good to get a little German in me. Just tell me his name and I’ll happily oblige.


And that’s another one?

A particularly crook-like photo from As You Like It

In the words of Richard Nixon; I am not a crook. Except, I actually mean it. I am not a computer-hating, techno-troubled button-bashing bastard of broken bodies. My heart is weak from the shock and so I shall make it quick (though overwritten). I awoke this morning to a perfectly working iPhone. I sent a text inviting a friend to lunch. I put the telephonic communicative device down on the table, wave off those going on many a money-earning adventure, return to my phone nigh 5 minutes late, to see an error message that the phone is now in need of a factory setting restore, not being able to restart, I give in and attempt a restore, only to be told that after wiping my memory, the phone could not be restored due to an unknown error. So with my man’s sword, my elf’s bow and my dwarf’s axe, I am going to head into town, and try to explain away why I deserve to be helped, despite the physical condition of the phone itself…

At the end of this, I couldn’t contact my friend. *sob* Methinks I should return to the backwards caveman lifestyle where I belong. Before I become the thing little phones have nightmares about when they go to bed and mummy phones use as a way of getting them to behave or else the Laurence will come after them.

Summer Heights Nigh


Regardless of when our production may be set, I think it would be suitably anachronistic to be playing with a smart phone on stage. For this reason in last night’s test performance on stage, I ducked my phone out of view somewhere backstage. And there it stayed. Hopefully I can pick it up but having no phone, this makes arranging to meet somewhat difficult. Alas poor iPhone, I knew you brief. The performance on the hand was great fun, getting to have fun on the stage was a good experience of progression as it enabled us to see what quite works and what doesn’t; the Keller stage is very weird. And yay, I only forgot one line. That’s… Ok, right?

The Euro Cup is well underway, with Germany hitting in a wicked win against holland last night. I had been rehearsing during the England game but was told in a delightful phone call from Isabel that apparently the second half was soporific to say the least. Mind you, this was a phone call made before I had left my phone in the theatre. Though that would have been skilful.

So today is the second day of the End Of Year Show back in Surrey. Hopefully they’re enjoying the Skream, Feeder and other gig nights that are going on. Not to mention the obliteratingly wonderful hog roast on PATs field which everyone should totally go to for a good porking. Beyond conception is the idea that those smelly british lot are finishing their year whilst I have another 2 months to go. That’s a point, I’ve confirmed my return; 16th August shall see my final morning under the Heidelberg sun. Or Heidelberg rain, cloud or sleet. Nothing surprises me anymore. And then it shall be driving back to Britain, to do… I’m not quite sure what.

Hmm, I should probably start making plans.