Holy Shit. We finally have internet.

Holy Jesus that took a long time. If anyone is thinking of getting internet with O2, don’t. They’ve dicked us around like wild animals. Well, anyway, it’s finally done, we have internet, and I hope someone is able to read this as I’m sure you all gave up hope since we’ve been gone so long. We’re not dead, so don’t worry. Well. How about I get started on some stories so you can all catch up with us. First of all. Let me regale you with a tale of a terrible fight.

It happened like this you see. Morgan was away on a visit to Canada and I found myself wandering the streets like the man-whore I am, when from behind a theatre I heard some alarming noises. “ You fucking bitch!” Slap, smack smack, cry, slap, BITCH! Slap and so on. I cautiously turned the corner and saw a man pushing a woman and yelling at her, and throwing his hands at her in a most unappetising fashion. I looked around to see if there was anyone to help, usually the streets are crawling with police, but alas, there was nobody around and her thrashing continued. I approached them both, and gently told the man to stop hitting the woman. He turned and I noticed he was rather large. ‘’Shit’’ I thought. He wasn’t too happy with my request and he yelled out that I was ‘’ a stupid yankee’’ or something to that effect, and he struck me in the face. Luckily as both of my brothers are well aware, I’m a terrible flincher so as he swung I gasped and jumped back quite a bit, softening the blow to my eye. Before I had time to shit my pants, I punched him in the gut and elbowed him square on the top of the head. He went down, and my pants were left (thankfully) unsoiled. The woman gave me a quick ‘’thanks’’ and ran off. I took a quick look at the man and briskly rushed off in the opposite direction.

So, I won. Ha. I guess I should thank Aaron for always giving me a smack as I passed by. Har Har Har. England is certainly a strange place. One where avoiding fights seems to be necessary anywhere you go. I suppose I’ll tell you about my short lived job at a pizza place. I worked there (you guessed it) making pizza’s. Nothing too interesting about the actual job except there was always an old log of shit in one of the bathrooms because the toilet didn’t work and you constantly had to mop up the water that leaked from it, as well as the water that leaked from the roof. Other than that, making pizza’s was the agenda. Though, my time there was not without it’s share of interesting experiences. The first night there, a man came in looking extremely pale and coated in a thick layer of sweat. His eyes darted around furiously like he was trying to track a single bee in a swarm of insects. He shook too. Well, his lower lip did anyway. He walked up to the counter and asked for a pizza. A blank look rested on my face as I waited for him to elaborate. “ I.. I’ll t-t-take a pizza thanks, thank you. Ya, I’ll have a pizza, ok, yup, a p-p-pizza.”

What kind would you like sir?

A p-p-pizza thanks. Just a pizza, i have money to pay for it.

At this point he took out his passport and set it on the counter. ‘’Will that be enough for the pizza?” His eyes continued on a rampage about the room, darting about wildly. ‘’No sir, we need money, a pizza costs 6 pounds. What KIND of pizza do you want?’’ He looked through his pockets and the took his passport off of the counter, put it in his pocket, then fished around some more before taking out his passport again and asking, ‘’Is this enough for a pizza?’’. No sir, that’s a passport, we only take money, it doesn’t look like you have enough money, I can’t give you a pizza if you don’t give me money. He frowned a comical frown, the corners of his mouth just about reaching his chin. ‘’You don’t understand me! I just want a pizza, I’m giving you money and you won’t take it! This is against the law, I’m g-g-giving you money for a pizza!’’ He was getting genuinely angry, and I’m certain it was made worse by whatever drug he was on. Tracy, a lady who works at the pizza place took my place in trying to get him to take his passport and leave as I went to make pizza’s. When I returned, he was still there, the colour had completely left him and his eyes welled with tears, and finally he left, exiting with a loud ‘’fuck you!’’. What a lovely man he was.

The next night, after finishing my mopping duty, I went to the front of the store to ‘make-a-da-pizza’, and as I arrived, Tracy directed my attention to a large man chasing another man through the street. The large man then slipped and his head made contact with a metal handrail, resulting in a most fantastic sound as his face slid on the pavement. Stunned, Tracy and I both watched, wondering weather or not he was dead. He wasn’t moving so I ran out of the shop to him and stupidly asked him if he was alright. He lifted his face off the pavement, leaving a bit of it behind and told me he was fine, and that he should probably go home. He was out of it. I tried to stand, and failed miserably, slipping back to the ground. I helped him sit, and noticed the huge hole in his cheek and the blood running from the top of his head. His eyes were glazed and he kept sticking his finger into the hole in his face, prompting a slightly upset stomach. Me, not him. He couldn’t walk so we called an ambulance to check him out. The rest of the night went on smoothly. What an interesting place this is.

If you don’t mind, I’m going to post some of the dreams I’ve had. I’ll continue to fill ya’ll in as I rack my memory for...memories. Thanks for reading, and expect some new posts soon, as we have internet!!