I blog when I go abroad, and occasionally when I do stuff in the UK too. There's a nicer interface over here.

Sunday, March 02, 2014

My goodness

So, like, it was Friday. I was in Sydney in holiday, from work (sort of...) and my diet and the UK and UK weather and stuff. Which means what I really wanted was to live my UK pre-diet life. Two aims for the day: a burrito, and a Guinness.

UK weather had come to me, as the rain from Friday persisted and was forecast to last until I left. Foodwise the burrito place by Manly wharf was my aim, but the weather was shitty and I missed my bus, so instead I headed into the city. More than a week ago I'd spent some time in a mall in Kuala Lumpur which reminded me of Westfield, but in Sydney I found a mall which was even more reminiscent - largely because it was the same as the others, but called Westfield. There were loads of food places on the top floors - I'd use numbers, but I entered on a ground floor numbered 2, and left by a different ground floor exit numbered 3. What?

The burrito was pretty average. Unlike everywhere else I've bought burritos, you don't order subway style - I just said "spicy chicken burrito please" and got handed a receipt with a number, as if I was in Argos. 45 seconds later, here's my pretty average burrito. Ah well. I ate it wandering the streets towards Ultimo, a district of Sydney clearly named either after washing powder or a rubbish super hero. I only skirted it, as I was heading to Chippendale, a district of Sydney clearly named after a male stripper. In reality it was a district just south of the backpacker-student-hobo-bad architecture area which borders Chinatown. Even though the weather was rotten and I was inadvisably in a coat and hat, I was walking a good 3.5km in search of Guinness.

The internet - which had previously NEVER EVER LET ME DOWN EVER - told me a good pint of Guinness was to be found at the Duck Inn in Chippendale. It's nowhere near any tourists would ever go. I was double wet when I got there, from both sweat and rain. Walked in, perched at the bar, and asked for a Guinness. Which of course they didn't serve. This reminded me of my last trip to Oz, not because of an Australian experience but because on the same holiday me and Ellie walked a few km through awful parts of a Thai beach resort to the only Guinness vendor on Koh Chang Island only to arrive and be told the a Guinness was off. DAMN IT.

I had a dark ale, and walked back to the CBD. Kevin had told me days previously that PJ O'Brien's in the centre was a guaranteed Guinness hole, and 3km later so it proved.

That was a shit pint of Guinness. And a second shit pint of Guinness. But at least the surroundings had improved, and darts was on TV. There were 3 sets visible from the bar, all showing the same channel, yet one of them was around 2 seconds out of sync with the others. How can that possibly happen?

While in PJ O'Brien's I got a phone call, caller ID withheld. I refuse to answer calls like that normally, but since it was only 5am in the UK I figured it might be something worth answering, about my journey home. "Mr Foreman, I'm calling about your chauffeur service on Sunday...". Clearly I was on the home stretch now.