Fiesta. No siesta.

I love travel. I love parties. I love celebrations. I love festivals. I am not that fond of sleep since it wastes so much time. Therefore I spend a lot of time on short trips to make the most of all of the above. Here are some experiences in flash format. 500 words (or thereabouts) for me to convey what the party was like. Enjoy.

Fiesta 1: Oktoberfest vs. Ibiza

For my best friend Laura’s birthday I bought her a trip for us to go to the closing parties in Ibiza followed by a trip to the Oktoberfest in Munich immediately after. Could two people in their thirties really handle such a trip? Absolutely they could. Kind of. We touched down on the party isle and made our way straight to the hotel. Room not ready on arrival. A cocktail at the beach bar eased the pain. We spent our days like all others on the island either by the beach, at the hotel pool and fighting over who go to use the lilo from one dip to the next. We were staying on Talamanca beach which had awesome beach front bars and restaurants to start our night. They were a million miles away from the image of San Antonio. After all; we didn’t want to get mistaken for the parents in an episode of sun, sand, sea and suspicious parents. Vodkas, beers and more cocktails later we made our way to our first proper club. Space. It was massive. It was crowded. It was awesome. We hit the dancefloor for many hours until the cats came home. Loved it. Our second night of clubbing was at Pacha which in my world was the most famous club on the island. Pete Tong played. We drank mango cocktails on the rooftop. We danced. We took a break. We danced again. We made plans to leave at 5am to head to our hotel to get the bus to the airport. At 5am we made plans to leave at 5:15am. At 5:15 am we made plans to leave at 5:30am. We left at 6am and just made our bus to the airport. We were on a high. We ate a Burger King and boarded the plane. I passed out. Laura was awake the entire flight trying not to chunder. We landed in Munich and I felt fine. Laura hated me a little bit right then.

Sightseeing in Munich was good. A contrast to the sunny climes of Ibiza. Green and historical I liked the city. A quiet night beckoned in order for Laura to detox. The next day it was time to retox at the Oktoberfest. It was huge. The “tents” are really minor towns. We managed to find a seat and didn’t move for the next 6 hours. One stein lead to another. The liquid diet lead to the necessity of food. A whole chicken later and time for one more stein. It went down a treat. It lead to table dancing and the purchasing of a hat in the shape of a fox. I was uber drunk. I went on some roller coasters. I got annoyed when Laura made me walk home rather than getting a taxi. I disliked her a little bit now. I passed out. I woke up and had my first hangover. It lasted 23 minutes. I puked. We then went on a daytrip to Neuschwanstein castle. It was beautiful and like a fairytale. 

Fiesta 2: La Tomatina

I had always fancied the famous tomato fight in Spain. In photos it looks like such fun. Streets turning into tomato rivers with tourists playing and having fun in them. It is a once in a lifetime experience but not quite as serene as those promotional pictures have you think. Steven and I were up early to catch the train from Valencia to Bunol along with every other festival goer. Many had started drinking. Many were dressed up. I had done neither but definitely should have opted for the former in order to numb the pain that was to follow. The fight takes place in one pretty narrow road. We made our way to the street and got a “space”. I have never been so squashed in my life. Groups of men were ripping t-shirts off other men and were throwing them across the crowd. Doesn’t sound so bad eh? We were also getting soaked with water so the t-shirts were very wet and hurt when they hit you. Flashback to being hit by a towel in the school changing rooms after P.E. Soon the fight started. The trucks with the tomatoes made their way down the middle of the street parting the crowd. The result? Me getting even more squashed and pushed against the wall with the guy in front of me having his back right against my chest. Cozy. Quite how the couple next to me was managing to snog was beyond me. The tomatoes hit us. It hurt. A lot. Being tall made me an extra special victim. A tomato flew towards me. It hit me across the face. Felt like a bitch slap. I was ready to leave. The goggles I was wearing were giving little protection against this massacre. We pushed our way through the crowd. Steven took a tomato on the forehead with some force. The words “Ah fuck” escaped his mouth. We made our way back to the train station. Had our wallet stolen. We showered in order to be allowed on the train back to town. We showered properly at the hotel and had some tapas. I still had ringing in my ears for the rest of the day from my bitch slap. It may not sound it but it was fun and we got some good photos with our waterproof camera. I am glad I did it but it is one ticked off the list and not to be returned to me-thinks.

Fiesta 3: Running with the bulls in Pamplona

Running with the bulls. The most macho event in Europe no less. Claire and I arrived in Pamplona to see the streets filled with party goers. I have never seen anything like it. We found our central hotel and checked in. We donned our white outfits as per the tradition of the festival. We ventured out and bought further accessories in the form of red scarves to wrap around us and some souvenir t-shirts. What trip is complete without that purchase? We sat on the floor in the main square to people watch and take in the atmosphere. Claire went to order two sangrias. She came back with one as it was a liter. That’s a lot of sangria for midday drinking. We drank it. And another. We needed the toilet and so walked around the perimeter of the square seeing if any bars would let us use the facilities. I popped into one called Hemingway’s and used the toilet. It was filthy. The bar smelt of wine and sweat. I came out and said to Claire she needs to smell this bar as it stinks. She joined me inside. We ordered a drink and stayed there for four hours. We danced. We dropped wine on each other which seems a tradition of the festival. We made friends. We laughed. We went outside for fresh air. We went back to the hotel to use a clean toilet. We ventured out again for more drinking and dancing like sluts. We debated staying up all night until the run at 7am the next morning. We lost the debate and caught a few hours of shut eye. Up early our mouths were dry. We made our way to the town centre and got a spot to watch the run. We weren’t game to join the activities on the other side of the fence. An 80 year woman was though. We worried about her. We assume she survived as she wasn’t in the headlines the next day. The bulls ran past. We didn’t think it looked so difficult to avoid them. Maybe next time eh?! We chilled out without sangria today and then fought our way onto a bus to San Sebastien to take in some sun, local food and drinks in a bar that didn’t smell of sweat. The town was divine. The bus journey there was odd. The girl next to Claire cried the entre journey. I wonder why? Sangria fear maybe? On my return I read Hemingway’s Fiesta which is set partially at the festival. It’s a fantastic book, a fantastic festival and possibly one of the best parties I have had the fortune to attend. Please go.

Fiesta 4: F1 in Monaco

I managed the Formula 1 account at work. They said I should come along to a race and why not Monaco. Work said I would have to pay for my own flights and hotel. So what? When else would I get a ticket to the most famous Grand Prix in the world for free? Never. That’s when. I made my way to Nice and kept quiet that I was actually staying in a hostel sine the hotels were all out of my price range. I like Nice. The promenade is lovely and makes for a lovely place to run each morning. Especially when the Baywatch theme tune comes onto your iPod. Yes, that did happen. Race day came and I booked a boat transfer to Monaco. Is there any other way to turn up to this race? I felt cool. The atmosphere in the city is electric. People everywhere. Not a space in the harbour for all the yachts. It smells of money. I met my Formula 1 contact and he took me on a walk of the pit lanes. The pre-races were happening and it was loud. The smell of oil replaced that of money and I loved it. I spotted Jenson Button. He was very skinny in real life. I made my way to the apartment where I would be watching the race. I was taken out on the balcony and my jaw dropped. I couldn’t pretend to be cool. The view was amazing. We were above the start line and had prime position. An unlimited champagne bar was setup on the balcony. It flowed freely. This was going to be a good day. I was given ear defenders and I implied I wouldn’t need them. You will they told me. The warm up lap happened. It was unbelievably loud. Wait until you hear the race start they said. They weren’t lying. It was louder than any thunder and the vibrations go right through you. I put my ear defenders on for the duration of the race. The race was exciting. There was a crash. No one was hurt. Sebastien Vettel won. I got the boat back to Nice and retired to my hostel room. I promised myself I would go to the race again regardless of the cost. The champagne clearly had taken over since I have never been back although I would love to. I would like to see another F1 race but where do you go after starting at Monaco? Perhaps it’s best left as a one off. Definitely that was one perk of the job I will never forget.

Fiesta 5: Glastonbury

The most famous music festival on the planet. To prove it they don’t announce a line up and yet it still sells out year after year. Natalie, Laura and I were at the Grand National in Liverpool when the Glastonbury tickets were due to go on sale the next morning at 9am. Post Grand National day (which incidentally is a great meet to attend) we sat upright in our beds in a glamorous Travelodge on the edge of Liverpool refreshing our web browsers desperately trying to get tickets. We did. Yay. Jay Z was headlining this year. It didn’t sell out. Four of us packed into a mini and drove down to Glastonbury. We arrived excited. It started to rain immediately. We got soaked. We were muddy. We put up our tent inside out. Twats. We were ill prepared it seemed. Once inside our tent I de-robed and felt better. Laura said she didn’t and what a waste of money it had been to have her hair cut that day. Indeed it was I said. We made our plan of which bands to see. It was going to be a busy three days taking in The Verve, Lily Allen, Mark Ronson, Leonard Cohen, Neil Diamond, Jay Z and Amy Winehouse. None of them disappointed and the latter was awesome. It was sad to hear so many in the crowd commenting that they guessed she wouldn’t be alive much longer. Regretfully they were right. We settled into our camping. It was quite rough being surrounded by other festival goers but weirdly you do just get on with it. Even when someone is puking their guts up outside your tent at 4am or when you hear conversations like “I can’t find my bag of coke.” These are both true of our time at Glastonbury. The first day was very muddy. At the end of the day I was stuck in my wellies. Literally. They would not come off. Panic set in. The shame of having to go to the ambulance tent to have them cut off. Fortunately Iain was pretty strong and after many attempts my legs were freed. I bought new wellies the next day. They were way too big but “safe”. We had our faces painted just because we could. The music acts were great but I loved the circus tent. I hadn’t realised how much outside of the music there was. You could actually go and not see one of the mainstream bands and still have a fantastic time. Stalls, food and men in wedding dresses were in abundance. I didn’t miss washing for four days and didn’t feel dirty until my return to London. I will return one day. This time with appropriate footwear and along with a tent I know how to put up.

Fiesta 6: Rock Werchter

Rock Werchter was a one day festival that took place not far from where I lived as a teenager in Belgium. The day before the festival I was hanging out (like you do at 14) with two friends who were going. They said I should join them for the day. I had enough pocket money saved so into Brussels we went and I bought a ticket. How vintage it being pre Internet days thus not being able to buy one online eh? I was excited to be seeing bands that were not typically in my genre. I was already a gig and concert goer but mostly to pop and some light rock. This festival promised Rage Against The Machine, Therapy?, Aerosmith and Sepultura. Each band did not disappoint and despite being a fourteen year old in denim cut off shorts drinking Coke I think I blended in to the rockers. Maybe not. The mosh pit for RATM was violet, crazy and fun. The moment of seeing a guy leave the pit with blood gushing from his nose was quite special. I felt rock n roll. So much so that I bought a RATM t-shirt just to let people know I had seen them and that not to judge a book by its cover. I wasn’t all just about the pop. The festival now is a four day event and still attracts top bands. I would like to venture back to relive those teenage years. And to wear denim cut offs once again. That fashion has come back around right?

Fiesta 7: White Nights in St. Petersburg

I had turned 30 and wanted a weekend away post celebration. I was prepared to spend a lot and therefore opted for Russia. It was expensive to get there, expensive for a hotel and expensive to get a visa. It was worth it though. We arrived late afternoon and had a wander around the city they call the Venice of the East. The architecture in the city is beautiful and being set on water is a nice Brucey bonus. We opted to do a canal boat tour which began at midnight. We were there on midsummer’s day so the sun was not due to properly set at all for 24 hours. Finishing dinner Claire asked Laura and I what time it was. 11:30pm I said. Fuck off she replied. Fuck off yourself I replied. Childish language and banter still was allowed in your 30s it seemed. It says so in the rule book. But I wasn’t lying. It really was 11:30pm and it was daylight. Going around the canals in the light at such a time was odd but exciting. It made the city intriguing. I have been to Iceland in January and experienced the opposite. Equally cool but not an experience to make you love the look of a place when it’s dark all the time. No visit to the city would be complete without seeing the mighty Hermitage. We queued 3 hours to get in. We had our doubts as the queue dragged on but it was worth it. Stunning is all that needs to be said. On an evening we ate sushi (Russians consume the most sushi of any nation outside Japan apparently) and we went to a traditional Russian dance show. It was great to watch. Wait a moment though. Is that female dancer scouting the audience for a partner to dance on stage? Fuck she is. She is headed my way. She caught me and within seconds I was on the stage. Mortification followed for me and hilarity followed for Claire and Laura. I held my own and thus would be expectant to win the Russian version of Strictly Come Dancing should that ever happen. My trip was cut short as I had to return to the UK to be with my Dad who was undergoing a lastminute operation. I still had time to buy some Russian sweets, a Russian doll and head back to Blighty satisfied with a set of lovely memories. I intend to go back one day for the White Nights Marathon. Watch this space.

Fiesta 8: Sydney Mardi Gras harbour party

Post Uni I went travelling for 6 months. Nothing out of the ordinary. The standard round the World ticket taking me to South East Asia, Australia, New Zealand and the US. It was a fantastic trip and I encourage all 22 year olds to do something similar if they are afforded the opportunity. I based myself in Sydney for 3 months. I arrived and checked into a central hostel as I just needed somewhere to stay. I stayed in that hostel for the full time in Sydney. It was a long term hostel and everyone there was so much fun. It wasn’t massively clean but it was cool and centrally located close by the harbour, shops, Hyde Park and bars so was all I was looking for. I shared a dorm with 11 others. When I think about that now I can’t believe I did that for so long but honestly I wouldn’t change the experience. If it had been a documentary it would have put Made in Chelsea in the shade and compared to The Beach the characters here were much more colourful. Many of the guys in the hostel were also gay and when it came to Mardi Gras the big party on the calendar was the Harbour Party. I had never been at a gay pride or Mardi Gras before. I was a virgin (in that sense.) We bought tickets. We bought outfits. I was an Aussie lifeguard for the night. I kept my t-shirt on which placed me in the minority. There was a lot of flesh on display. The Harbour Party was one of my last nights in Sydney and what a blow-out it was. Enjoying drinks and dancing in the most iconic harbour in the World overlooking the Opera House and Harbour Bridge was amazing. There were screaming queens. There were drag queens. There were bears. There were straights (if you looked hard enough.) There were girls (my friends Laura and Kate.) There were many opportunities for stranger danger. We took those opportunities. We have photos with them. If you didn’t know better you would say we appeared like lifelong friends with all of them. At lot of love was spread all around which is the idea of Mardi Gras n’est pas?  Since that night I have been to gay prides in London and Vancouver. They were good. They weren’t a patch on the Sydney Harbour Party though. Post Harbourside setting the party continued throughout the night in the bars on Oxford Street. Getting home in sunlight having been out in time for sunset over the harbour placed it as one of the most rock n roll evenings. It was one of the best nights ever. Full stop.

Fiesta 9: Bristol balloon fiesta

Sounds like a joke right? It’s not. It happens every August I tell you. I kept missing it due to holidays. But 2009 was my year. I had a friend living in Bristol so drove up from London for the day. It was a day out worth having for sure. Even if it is only to say you have been to the Bristol balloon Fiesta on Monday at work. Trust me, colleagues will question your sanity. The format is quite simple. Lots of people with hot air balloons gather in a field and mere civilians who can’t afford their own balloon (me) watch them inflate and then all being well lift off. There is a fantastic array of colours, shapes and sizes (of balloons not people.) Some are shaped like dogs, Scottish pipers and boxes and thus struggle to leave the ground. It doesn’t matter. They still look mighty impressive as they fill with helium and create excellent photo opportunities. That’s all there really is to this one but it is a marvellous opportunity to enjoy a fantastically eccentric British day out. A picnic in a field watching balloons = splendid in my book. For those brave enough to stay until nightfall you can enjoy the night glow. The balloons are back on the ground in the field and light up the night sky with bursts of helium flames lighting up the sky with the balloon’s colours. All done in time to music. I loved it and can handle the piss taking when I say I would go back every year if I could. One day if I can make it into one of the balloons for lift off that would make me happy. It’s free to go and makes a lovely day out. It may not be rock n roll or quite as impressive as the Albuquerque Balloon Festival which I one day hope to visit but it’s a fiesta you should put on your calendar. If nothing else the sight of 30 balloons in the sky will give you a Facebook cover photo that will be the envy of your friends.

Fiesta 10: Hard Rock Calling

A festival in London’s Hyde Park. The year was 2011. One headline band per day. Friday = the Killers. Saturday = Bon Jovi. Sunday = I can’t remember (not due to memory loss but because I wasn’t there.) Living in London allowed us to enjoy two days of live music and retiring to our own beds. Friday pissed down with rain. The sight of Brandon Flowers warmed me though (more than it probably should) and he has such a stage presence it was really captivating. The crowd was crazy for the band and as they knocked out hit after hit there was not an umbrella in sight. Nobody gave a shit about getting wet. It was all part of the event. After all; we knew we could dry off nicely at home. I retired to bed very much in love with Mr. Flowers. He’s a Mormon which means he can have more than one wife right? There’s a small dash of hope for me. Saturday was the polar opposite (weather wise.) One of the hottest days I ever remember in London. Laura and I returned this time as guests of Hard Rock so we had access all areas passes. A couple of words to sum up that experience. Fucking amazing. There was a London bus on top of which we had afternoon tea. They had built a Hard Rock café backstage where you could order anything you wanted. Sun loungers were in abundance and given the sunshine it was perfect to lie on them and just keep ordering cocktails. We had access to the front of the audience so if a band took your fancy you could pop out and see them and then return to the luxury back stage. We felt like celebrities. We (thought we) looked like celebrities. There were guitars set out for you to play. Laura tried. She thought she was really good. She was not. Bon Jovi headlined that night with a three hour set. It was fantastic. Jumping back and forth between being at the front of the crowd and then straight to the Hard Rock bar during lesser known songs was an experience never to be replicated. All the waiting staff was from Hard Rock cafes from around the World. So nice to talk to people from all corners of the Globe. The festival doesn’t happen anymore which is a real shame. Although maybe it’s best not to try and top a day like that. Could it be done? I don’t think so.

Fiesta 11: Brit Awards

The Brit Awards. A key calendar moment in my teenage years. I wanted Geri’s Union Jack dress (still do for that matter.) Stereotypical yes but I don’t care. I salute her. So for Laura’s 29^th birthday I was pleased as punch (with myself) to have been able to get two tickets to the show. Yes we would be at the back looking on to celebrities below enjoying their dinner and collecting awards but who cared? We were going to the Brits. We arrived at Earl’s Court and saw a few bands arriving. Top atmosphere. Our seats were also top (of the auditorium.) Pints in hand the show started. Kylie, James Corden and Matthew Horne were presenting. The beer flowed and we were thoroughly enjoying the performances. Coldplay, U2, Take That showed us their stuff. The Ting Tings featuring Estelle singing American Boy was a highlight, we thought it was amaze. We watched their performance back the next night during our hangover party on the sofa. It was dreadful. How was it we heard something so different? Post show we were drunk. We wanted more. We asked a security how we paid to get into the after show party. She didn’t know and pointed us to another area. We sneaked in to the celeb area and were amongst the tables. Celebs had mostly left and gone to the party. We sat down at a table and enjoyed a bottle of wine each. More inebriated we made our way to the stairs to join the after show. We made friends with Dave Berry and Mark Durden Smith who were ahead of us. They tried to get us in. We were denied. We tried another door. We were denied and defeated when the security man said to us “guys, just give up.” Walking away a lift opened its doors and inside the man operating it asked if we were going to the after show. Of course we were. We hopped in. We tried not to laugh and didn’t look at each other. I thought the doors would open on the same bouncers who had already denied us. They didn’t and we reached wonderland. We were in! Everything was free. We drank (more), we ate cakes, we danced, we played on the bumper cars and we had our faces painted. Rock n roll. I have a vague recollection of also using a skipping rope (for skipping and nothing else.) Not sure how we got home but we woke up in our beds and made it to work. Despite showering I still had glitter everywhere. It was a work day. My boss noticed the glitter. Full of glitter shame I went for a burger at lunch time. It was a fantastic night and one of the best blags ever. We daren’t ever buy a ticket to the show again because that evening could never be replicated. Lesson to be learnt? Never give up trying to get backstage. Eventually you’ll find a way to bypass security.

Fiesta 12: The Oscars

I love movies. One day I would like to attend the Oscars. In the meantime I best just host a party on the night to celebrate the event. Living in the UK means 8 hours ahead of L.A. Not ideal to host an Academy Awards party but I gave it my best shot. Everyone dressed to impress. It was 2011 and the film that was due to clear up (in my opinion) was Black Swan. My sister turned up at my party as the Black Swan. It was unbelievable. My sister is also called Natalie. Coincidence? Almost better than having Natalie Portman in attendance. House parties are pretty standard in the UK. Provide some nibbles. Provide plenty of alcohol. All will be fine. I wanted to go one further. I hired a dwarf to help take people’s coats when they arrived as well as serving drinks and vodka jelly babies (a staple at my parties.) A dwarf is pretty easy to find online it seemed. Especially when they call themselves “Nick the dwarf.” He dressed as an Oscar and fulfilled his duties with care and attention. He was pleasant all night and made the party. The photos are classics and hold such memories for me. We didn’t even watch the actual Oscar’s ceremony as it was on too late but awaking from our slumber it was great to see Miss Portman had been victorious. So why share the fact I had a house party. Yeah ok you had a dwarf serving which is very Freddie Mercury (according to urban legend) but so what? The best bit was a couple of months later when I received an email from a friend with the title “Isn’t this the dwarf from your party?” Opening the Daily Mail link (yes that’s right) and staring at me was a picture of Nick the dwarf along with a story about how he wanked on a train whilst looking at a 17 year girl. Dreadful. How could my dwarf who had been the life and soul of the party do that? That’s a sentence I never thought I would say. However; when the headlines hit a few months later that he did it again that was it. He was dead to me. Still; it’s a story worth sharing I feel. One day I will make it to the actual Oscars. I hear that you can get a job as a “filler” whereby you take the seat of actors who are either presenting an award or receiving one. Now that sounds like a job for me. Would beat getting drunk in my kitchen with a gold dwarf for sure.

Fiesta 13: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is the holiday you know of but have never celebrated (unless you are American.) I had seen the parade on TV (on Friends of course) and wanted to be part of it. Steven and I were travelling on standby to NYC the day before Thanksgiving. So was everyone else it seemed. Two flights came and went without us and the later ones looked just as busy. There was an open spot on a flight to Boston. We took it and would work out how to get to NYC on arrival. We were determined to see the parade the next day. And so #operationthanksgivingparade began. We arrived in Boston ready for the challenge of how to make it to the parade which started in 19 hours’ time. A quick dash on the free bus to central Boston and there was a train in 20 minutes time to NYC. Credit card slammed down we were then on the train and were racing to make it in time for the theatre we had booked. I felt like I was in Planes, Trains and Automobiles or some other movie where they run to make it against the odds to a destination. We travelled across Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut and into New York State. We arrived at Penn station. We made it. We missed the theatre but who cared. We were in NYC for Thanksgiving. A stop at a diner for a bite and a shake and it was time for bed ahead of the parade. At 7am we left the hotel to almost deserted streets. Downtown was clearly still waking up. As we made our way to 6^th Avenue it became busier with crowds waiting to see the balloons in the parade. Starbucks red cup in hand we waited on the side of the road. Chilly but well wrapped up I was excited. The balloons did not disappoint. Snoopy, Spiderman, Paddington, Hello Kitty and a Smurf just to name a few. It was fantastic and worth the planes, trains and automobiles day to get there. Just before the finish of the parade it snowed. Amaze. Couldn’t have planned it better. Post parade we lunched at a bistro on the lower East side. A very pleasant walk there worked our appetite up for the pumpkin soup and pumpkin pie that followed. The Americans know how to do it. Next day was Black Friday. Sales offering 40-50% off everything in the shop. Not just a selection of goods in one corner of the shop but everything I tell you. Good offers. The stores downtown were pleasant to shop in. The ones in times Square not so much. Crowded, huge queues and irate people = a nightmare in Manhattan. Quickly departed that area of town to enjoy the rest of the weekend (which kicks off the holiday season as the Yanks call it) in lovely restaurants, bars and coffee shops. Mimosas, more Starbucks red cups and channeling Carrie Bradshaw were the orders of the subsequent days. A fabulous weekend and one that if you can experience please do so. Standby flights home were also busy. We made it on (albeit on separate flights to each other!)

Fiesta 14: Notting Hill carnival

The Notting Hill Carnival. Floats. Drugs. Beautiful dancers. Caribbean music. Jerk chicken. All of these are what I thought the carnival would offer. Yet after three years of trying the festival out I have yet to locate these. I will admit that yes I have had a good day out but mainly because I consumed so many cans of Red Stripe that it would be impossible not to have fun and explore a bit of stranger danger with those that you find dancing next to you in the street. However; I have never seen a colourful float that seems to don the front pages of newspapers the following week. Where are they? I have witnessed only trucks driving along with a couple of people dancing on (in plain clothes) to very loud music from a mediocre sound system. There must be a better show to be seen as people do go back year after year. I am willing to try again. I just need a volunteer to take me to show me the good parts. Anyone up for the challenge? That is all on this one.

Fiesta 15: Hogmanay

I used to live in Perth (Scotland not Australia.) New Year’s Eve is a big thing there. In my teenage years NYE consisted of the following. House party. Alcohol. Spice Girls. Mixing drinks. Snogging (as in other people snogging each other and me still dancing to Spice Girls.) I was now in adulthood and despite still spending NYE in a drunken stupor (either in G-A-Y or the Disco Cab in London) I wanted to experience a proper Hogmanay in Edinburgh. I didn’t want to be out in the cold amongst the crowds on Princes Street. I wanted to be classy for a night. A group of us booked a table at a restaurant called The Tower. It offered a nice menu and a terrace with view over Edinburgh Castle. I wore a kilt to get into the spirit. I didn’t have underwear on. I rather enjoyed it. The food was fantastic and seeing the fireworks from the terrace at midnight was a sight to remember. We had sparklers and it lived up to my expectations. Post meal we descended to street level to be amongst the civilians and ended up in an Irish bar getting wasted. It seems I was destined not to be classy for an entire night. The next two days I was pretty ill. Not from a hangover I might add but a virus called man flu. I blame going out in the Scottish winter with no underwear on. That must be how I caught it. A special trip none the less and city very much worthy of spending your well-earned new year break in.

Fiesta 16: My 30^th

Not a party that is known the World over but one I want to share very quickly so please indulge me. I went to gay day at London zoo with my boyfriend. I promise you that’s a real event. You don’t have to be gay to get in. It merely had gay events on including songs by the gay men’s choir as well as stalls of other gay clubs in London you could join. They had a BBQ at the outback area of the zoo. It was a fantastic setting and had me thinking I could hire it for my 30^th birthday party which was coming up in 1.5 years’ time. The next day I started negotiations with the zoo to bargain on prices and menus. I got a good deal and my 30^th was to be spent at the Mappin Pavilion overlooking the outback. Nothing to report that will rock your world except that I got to spend the night with my family and friends in a location unlike any other. I loved it. I want to turn 30 again to do it once more. I can’t so I will have to plan something else for my 40^th. London Aquarium maybe?

Fiesta 17: Venice festival

I’ll fly any airline. Apart from Ryanair. That’s my mantra now but back in my early twenties I used to frequent the blue and yellow bullets in order to keep travelling on a much reduced budget. Their pricing model works well for an organised soul like me. We booked to spend 24 hours in Venice for Laura’s birthday which also coincided with her 24^th birthday. Still in that boozy youth phase the weekend took place as follows. Found out Ryanair fly to Treviso and not actually Venice itself. Flight diverted an hour before landing to Bergamo due to fog in Treviso. 3 hour coach ride to Treviso. A coach into Venice. It meant our 24 hours were vastly reduced. We found out it was the Venice festival. We admired people’s face paints. We would have liked to buy a Venetian mask but we were on a budget and needed beer money. We bought colourful hats instead as they were cheaper and wore them all weekend. We went on a gondola. We stood in St Mark’s Square for shameful photos wearing our hats. We ate pizza. We drank wine. We got hammered like true Brits abroad. We mistook an Internet Café’s prices for the door charge to enter a nightclub and thought that you had to pay per 15 minutes you were in the club. A clear sign we should retire to the hotel. We did. The next day half of us were up for breakfast. The other half forgot to change their clock so were too late for it. We had a last wander in town and saw the Bridge of Sighs. I bought some underwear that was modelled around Michelangelo’s David. We made our way back to Treviso and flew home. Therefore we didn’t experience the festival to its full potential; however the colours and winter look of the city were beautiful and we did actually get some scenic photos to keep. Note to self upon writing this. Must go back to Venice festival to experience it properly. And actually fly to Venice and not somewhere approaching the Italian border.

Fiesta 18: Circle Line pub crawl

I was turning 25. A big celebration was needed. The Circle Line pub crawl on the London Underground was a bit of an urban legend amongst young Londoners. The Circle Line is quite obvious. It goes in a circle. Well it used to. It now actually does have a branch away from the circle which surely goes against its name? The pub crawl was the idea of having a drink in a pub at every stop on the line and completing it in one day. That’s 28 stops. That’s a lot of in and out of tube stations and pubs. I had heard of people starting it and giving up after 4-5 stops. I wanted to complete it. So I made up my own rules. I picked 11 out of the 28 stops to actually leave the station and have a drink in the pub. The others I would jump off the tube whilst the train was in the station and do a shot in front of the station sign on the platform before jumping back on the same train to continue the journey. It was ambitious but I thought I could do it. We took the day off work. We started early. We were heading to Embankment to start the day at 10am. My friends gave me a Bacardi Breezer to drink on the way. Bastards. I drank it. We stopped at a tourist stall before beginning the journey. I bought a jester hat. I thought it looked good. Laura knocked over a few union Jack mugs on his stall by accident. They broke. I laughed. She was embarrassed. Surprisingly the stall owner didn’t make us pay. The pubs we visited en route were nice. The tube wasn’t crowded. At the time it was still legal to drink on the tube so there was no need to be discreet. Friends joined us at different stops. We ignored the eating is cheating rule and got some bar snacks along the way. We stopped at High Street Kensington. We had some drinks in a bar. We got back to the tube station. The next Circle Line was not for another 7 minutes. All Londoners will agree that this is a ridiculous amount of time to wait for a tube. To make the minutes fly by my friends decided to challenge me to do a shot on every platform in the station. There are four. It meant crossing the bridge, standing on the other side facing them before returning to refill my glass and then crossing the bridge again to the next platform. I did it. I made them laugh when I boarded a train on the other side to wave at them. The shouted for me to get off before it went. Of course I did. Our last pub stop was Westminster. We drank outside the pub at sunset with views of Westminster. I am lucky to live in this city with views like that. We finished the entire line by about 9pm. I did a victory headstand against the Embankment tube sign. It doesn’t look comfortable on the photo. We then had more drinks on the Hispaniola boat on the river. I wasn’t full yet. We got the last tube home. I was drunk but not as drunk as you would have expected. I completed the challenge. Now it’s your turn…..

Fiesta 19: Wimbledon

Wimbledon is the tennis tournament to end all tennis tournaments. It’s iconic. The players always look immaculate. I love the logo. It’s played on grass. Everyone eats strawberries and cream. It’s very British. That extends to the weather which has on many occasion put a stop to play as the rain has come down. Well not anymore. They had been building a retractable roof to go over center court so that play could continue. Marvellous. My boyfriend bought me a ticket to the “test” match where some top players would play under the closed roof for the first time. I was a lucky boy. The players were Steffi Graf, Andre Agassi, Tim Henman and Kim Clijsters. The compere was Sue Barker. Andy Murray was there for an interview. Katherine Jenkins sang to us during the 20 minutes it would take for the roof to close. The tennis itself was exciting. Watching some of the greats play was surreal. The sound of the ball was perfect. Not so nice when it hit Kim square in the stomach. Ouch. The players enjoyed it (bar that moment.) The crowd enjoyed it. The Pimms went down a treat. It was a perfect British day out and one day I hope to be on centre court during the tennis tournament itself. It’s good to dream.

Fiesta 20: Royal Ascot

My birthday had rolled around again. What to do this year? I had never been to the races at Royal Ascot. Let’s do it. An excuse to drink champagne in the daytime. An excuse to get dressed up to the nines. An excuse to take a day off work. We bought tickets to the silver ring. Sounds glamorous. The racecourse itself is lovely. We bagged our picnic spot just next to the fence. Prime spot. The Royals arrived and were just in front of us. The Queen looked radiant. The races started. We won some. We lost some. No matter…it was all good fun. However; the rain set in. We thought we would move back into some of the marquees. We tried. They were packed. Everyone inside them was shitfaced. The music was uber loud. There were people snogging. There was mud everywhere. People looked a state. It wasn’t what I expected from an event like this. We decided to leave and finish the afternoon off in a more civilized venue in the form of the BFI on the Southbank in London. On the train we got out the rest of our picnic. A man on the table opposite did a line of coke in full view of the rest of the train. Slightly odd a 5pm it has to said. I would return to Royal Ascot but perhaps only if I managed to bag a ticket in one of the more exclusive enclosures. Does Prince harry need a date for next year perhaps?

Fiesta 21: The Jungle Party in Koh Tao

We were backpacking in Thailand. We were living off street food, noodles, Chang and Sang Som. What backpacker doesn’t? We had experienced the hectic side of Bangkok, the temples of Chiang Mai so now it was time to head to the beach for relaxation and to impersonate Leonardo Di Caprio. We opted for Koh Tao on the basis that it was “less commercialized” and “off the beaten track.” I hate it when travelers say this as surely everywhere is commercial but essentially we did want to differ from the usual Koh Pha Ngan and Full Moon Party traveller. After a very long journey (completely trusting local boat drivers) we arrived on the island and found a hut for the mere price of £2 a night. It wasn’t luxurious but it was right on the quiet beach. Swimming in the calm sea, getting a henna tattoo, drinking and beautiful sunsets were order of the days that followed. We spotted a sign at a local shop for the Jungle Party. It took place once a month. Lucky us to be there at the right time. We bought tickets. We drank whiskey on our balcony and watched the sun go down. We made our way to the local bar for a few drinks prior to the pickup time. We were drunk. The transport to the jungle was literal in that it was a pick-up truck. Backpackers crammed in and were taken deep into the jungle. Would you trust someone doing that in your home town? I don’t think so. We sang S Club 7 songs along the way. Rock n Roll. Safely arriving at the jungle party we saw fire eaters, people dancing dangerously on rocks over sheer drops down the valley, vodka and redbull being served in individual buckets and hula hoops. We joined in all of it. It was fun. Perhaps a little too much. I must have thrown a few too many shapes on the dancefloor as my left chest / tit area hurt a lot. The alcohol didn’t numb it. We retired back via pick-up truck to our hut. The next morning we wandered along the beach to clear the cobwebs and get some breakfast. Many other travelers were asking how my tit was. Had I publicly announce it had hurt before I left the party? Who knows? All I do know is that Koh Tao was a beautiful place to spend five days and the jungle party is a night I have yet to replicate. I’m pretty sure I will never be able to.

Fiesta 22: Circa Waves

My cousin Kieran is the front man of Circa Waves. I am super proud of this fact. Amazing he followed his dreams of making a living out of his music sticking at it for a good ten years before he formed the band and reached success. The gigs started off small. A tiny pub in East London first. I met Kieran for a burger in the bar before the gig. It came with a side of “crystal meth.” Of course it was sweets but was a nod to “Breaking Bad.” The gig was amazingly loud. I felt the vibrations through my body for days. Totally worth it. The next gig was in the slightly larger Lexington pub in Angel. They already had a single out at this time. Post gig the band signed the vinyl I had bought. It was great. The next gig was in Heaven; so bigger once more. Were they aware this was normally a gay club? They weren’t and of course nor did they care. The crowd were crazy. It was fantastic and post drinks went on until 2am on a school night. Naughty us. The next and by far the best gig came next. Shepherd’s Bush Empire. A venue I had seen Amy Winehouse in. They had made it. We were in the standing area. Everyone around me was pretty young. One of them asked us if we were 30. Are they kidding? 35 more like. Circa Waves started and the crowd went nuts from the off. It was fantastic. They started “Get Away.” My sister said to me “shall we go for it?” “Fuck it – yes” I replied. We made our way to the front. Fantastic. A young guy asked if he could go on my shoulders. How cool he asked me. I still replied no though. He found another pair of shoulders to be on. I was super proud of Kieran. We were given access to the VIP bar afterwards. The beers (and occasional tequila shot) flowed and again the band signed the vinyl I had. This time it was their album that had gone top 10 the week before. Amazing night. It felt great to be able to say genuinely “I’m with the band.”

Fiesta 23: The Boat Race versus The Goat Race

The Oxford versus Cambridge is a tradition which in the not too distant future will celebrate its 200^th anniversary. I count myself in the Cambridge camp. No, I didn’t study there. No, I’m not from there. I just like it as a city and thus support them each year. Sometimes they are victorious. Sometimes not. Being lucky enough to live in London means it is easy to head down to the river and watch it. I have sampled some different vantage points over the years. Putney, where the pubs fill with people very early and who a lot of the time are too inebriated to watch the race when the time comes. I include myself in that. Hammersmith, my parents and I watched from the gardens of my office at the time on the embankment to see the rowers take the largest corner of the race. It was very quiet with just the three of us sat on a bench with our sandwiches watching the race go by. Quiet but lovely. Barnes, numerous riverside pubs to stand right at the river to drink and watch. Similar to Putney but feels a little more refined. Just be warned, despite there being room to stand on the bank right at the water’s edge remember that once the boats go past the waves will come in and try and get you forcing you into the embarrassing backwards run in order to stay dry. Every rookie has made this mistake. The boat race is a great tradition and on a sunny day can provide a wonderful day out in London. Britain is known for its eccentricity. A rival race could therefore be setup. Enter the goat race. Held on the same day in Spitalfields City Farm as the name suggests two goats race (one as Oxford and one as Cambridge.) I still sit in the Cambridge camp for this affair.

Fiesta 24: The Chelsea Flower Show

There were lots of flowers on show. That’s all. Just kidding. It has a little more substance than that. I left work and jumped in a taxi. It took a lovely route along the embankment of the Thames. Past Westminster Abbey and the House of Parliament. Truly my favourite city in the World. Especially on moments like this. Soon I was in Chelsea. I jumped out the taxi by the Royal Hospital and entered the Chelsea Flower Show. It was much bigger than I ever thought it would be. There was lovely live music. Lots of impressive gardens. Lots of flowers. I couldn’t spot any pansies though (of the flower variety.) It was £13 a glass of Pimms or £26 for a pitcher. Economics tell you the pitcher is better value. There were stalls selling all kinds of homeware and garden accessories. I bought a 5 foot candelabra. It was my most Liberace moment to date. A few more flowers later and it was time for dinner on the King’s Road. I love this city and West is definitely best.

Fiesta 25: The Day of the Dead

I was in Mexico City for the Day of the Dead (Dia de los meurtos) celebrations. It happens every year on the 1^st November and has changed how I view death. On Halloween the grand Avenue Reforma was closed to traffic and it was filled with people on bikes, foot and roller boots. The majority had amazing make up on. I didn’t. Gutted. The next day was the big event. I went to a cemetery in the north of the city during daylight. It was crowded with flower sellers, people and food stalls. Not your average cemetery. Families picnicked around loved ones graves. They laughed. They talked. They sang. They brought balloons and presents. It was almost like a birthday party for the deceased. The same happened when I visited a cemetery at midnight in the south of the city. This time people had brought more candles with them. I had never seen anything like it. Overall people seemed to be having a positive celebration of their loved ones. I saw a man in his thirties lying on a grave by himself having a beer with a solitary candle next to him. It made me sad he was there by himself. I laid a candle at a grave that seemed bare. I ate Pan De Muertos. I had my face painted. I came to experience the festival but to also celebrate my parents whom I had lost in the past three years. During my two weeks in Mexico the following happened. Hurricane Patricia hit the coastline. The hostess of the VIP club in my hotel in Cancun was called Patricia. Someone sang a Spanish version of “I only want to be with you” in a bar I went to. A family played “Let It Be” by The Beatles at a grave as I walked past when all other music was traditional mariachi. I went on a traditional boat trip and the boat next to me was called Patricia. Why so important? Because my Mum was called Patricia, we played “I only want to be with you” at her funeral and her and my Dad both loved the Beatles. I am sure they were with me on that trip. I will remember to celebrate those I have lost and not simply mourn their passing. I will try and do this daily and not just on the 1^st November.

Fiesta 26: Semana Setanta

The Easter break is one I always love. It seems to be one of those holidays that creeps up on you and before you know it you have two very welcomed extra days off work. Despite this “unexpected” holiday I had been organised many months before and booked a trip to Seville for Easter. With Spain being a very Catholic country the celebration is a serious one in particularly in Seville. The week is known as the Semana Setanta, the Holy week. I had seen pictures of the celebrations and had wanted to see if for myself in the flesh. We arrived in Seville on the Thursday evening and checked into our central hotel. The roads were already closed for the celebrations. The lady on reception told us to head down to the river for the best procession at 2am. WTF? I had no idea the processions would be so late. We enjoyed some tapas, had a snooze and set the alarm for 1:50am. The scene was unbelievable. I’m not referring to my very present bed head when I say that. Hundreds of people made up the processions (not parades as Steven kept referring to them as) kitted from head to toe in cloaks and hoods. Some wore white. Some wore purple. Some wore back. They carried huge floats, crosses and candles. It looked amazing, although somewhat KKK. These traditionalists must be annoyed the clan stole their outfit.  The aroma of incense followed the processions. There was the occasional waft of weed too. The latter being from the younger crowd members I might add and not the holy walkers. Some processions were silent. Some had music. Either way at the end of the Easter weekend all that remained as evidence was the large amounts of wax left on the street. A superb way to spend Easter and I recommend having a glad of Sante de Cristo post parade (sorry procession) as a night cap. My only first world disappointment from the weekend was not being able to have churros. Why did nowhere have them ready for me?

Fiesta 27: The US Open

NYC is an amazing city. Tennis is a great sport to watch. The NYC Subway has a lot of personality (and air conditioning.) I made it through the long queue to get in but was drenched with sweat. I made my way to buy a new t-shirt at the merchandise stand when I got in. By the time I decided on the one to purchase I had actually cooled down. Purchase cancelled. We watched Nadal play a gruelling first match in the heat in the main stadium (complete with new roof.) The atmosphere was totally different to Wimbledon with much more of an emphasis on enjoying yourself through the means of hot dogs, music and chit chat. The ball boys and girls threw the balls to each other rather than rolling them. Some were good catchers. Some needed to work on their hand / eye coordination. Background rap music accompanied Nadal’s match point. We kept moving seats to avoid the blazing sun. I couldn’t believe the players could cope in this heat. One spectator clearly couldn’t as he was pink. I mean really pink. With a layer of sweat over the top. Nice. In my seat at the back of the stadium you could see the city skyline. It was superb. We enjoyed the famous Honey Deuce cocktail before leaving. I had a splendid day.

Fiesta 28: In search of the light instead of the US inauguration

Ever since Steven heard that Hillary Clinton would run for president he wanted to be there on the day of her inauguration. I would be there with him. As the campaign trail started we were excited for our trip to the US and for the show that would demonstrate the biggest testament to girl power the world had ever seen. We booked our accommodation one year in advance. We had planned to visit both Washington DC and Philadelphia over a four night trip. Donald Trump then threw his hat into the ring to become president. It should have ended there for him. He then became the republican candidate. It should have ended there. He publicly stated that Muslims should be banned from entering the US. He mocked a disabled reporter. On each occasion it again should have ended for him. It didn't. Election night came. I texted Steven good night and said I hoped our trip would still be on come the morning and that that man wouldn't win. I awoke at 2am to go to the loo. Trump seemed to be ahead. No key states had been declared. Phew. I awoke at 4am. Key states had been declared and he was still ahead. I woke up fully at 6am and he had won. Devastated. We cancelled our accommodation to which the owner replied one line - "I don't blame you." So what to do with our time off? We put it to Facebook. We asked for friends to vote between Beirut, Iceland or any other submission. Iceland got the clear majority, seeing off Beirut and other submissions like Madagascar, Australia, Dubai and Toronto. We were off to the cold. We landed in Reykjavik and enjoyed window shopping (far too expensive to purchase), hot drinks, alcoholic drinks and the penis museum. It's all about dicks. It's a treat and a must see. We then headed to a cabin in the golden circle. It was remote. The cabin was cute. It had a hot tub. We visited Geysir (the name gives away what the main attraction is) & Gullfoss waterfall both of which were spectacular. We came back to the cabin where I was then alone for an hour or so so spent time in the outdoor hot tub in the cold air occasionally thinking that at that exact time Trump would be being made President of the US. How things had changed. That night we weren't fortunate to see the northern lights which was a shame but that's nature. You can't guarantee it. It was still much better than seeing that man become commander in chief. DC, Philly and the northern lights I will still visit and see you one day. This time it just wasn't right for us to be together. Iceland, thanks for being a truly wonderful host. The public got it right when they voted for us to visit you.  

Fiesta 29: Midsummer in Sweden

I love Sweden. I love Roxette. I like ABBA. I'm partial to the odd Ace of Base song. I am infatuated with Nordic design. All the makings of a desire to be in Sweden for midsummer and in June 2017 I finally made that happen. The week went like this. An amazing start in one of my favourite cities on Earth, Stockholm. It was a glorious sunny day. I met some friends at a hilltop bar overlooking the city. It was stunning. I enjoyed a few beers and spotted a bird stuck in a wind tunnel over the city. Turns out it was a kite. Take the shame and keep drinking I thought. We ate, we played shuffle board (a tradition when in Scandinavia) and went to a bar where they serve each patron with a balloon filled with laughing gas. It's not illegal Christian said to me. Yes, but I also think this bar won't be open for too much longer before the city closes it down. Balloon and beer had we ended the night in a rooftop bar enjoying the views over the city whilst the sun rose at 12:45am. Crazy but beautiful. Post alcohol the next day featured a private running tour around the city before it woke up. Crossing 5 of the 14 islands that make up the city we certainly covered some ground. I loved it. Post breakfast and the ABBA museum beckoned. A marvellous way to spend a Sunday. Monday came and it was time to hit the road to Vasteras. Due to stay at the one room Utter Inn I called the owner to confirm my arrival time. He asked if I was ok to eat chicken and beef with peanuts for dinner. Yes, not a problem. Arriving at the port he took us out on the speedboat (over the bumpy waves) to the floating shed that would be our home. I loved it. What an amazing place. He arrived back with our dinner which rather than the hand made dinner he had implied on the phone it was indeed a Chinese take away. None the less, it tasted good. Being out on the lake, 1km away from everything was superb. Sleeping in the underwater room was rocky but great. I would go back in a heartbeat. Next stop, Jonkoping. A beautiful place by a lake which is so massive it looks like the sea. A one hour run along the shoreline is one of my favourite leisure runs I have ever done. I only wish I had taken photos of it. Post breakfast we had a lovely stroll along the beach before getting back into the Volvo (yes, we did hire it on purpose) to make our way to Halmstad. We checked into the stunning Tylosand hotel. Owned by Mr. Gessle of Roxette fame it is possibly one of my favourite hotels ever. Located right on the sand dunes of the beach we enjoyed a sandwich on arrival lying amongst the dunes. An afternoon in the spa and an early evening drink watching Fame in the pool (via a superb cinema screen) was a real treat. Enjoying some Per Gessle wine (he owes a lot of his fortune to me I am sure) we made our way to the hotel pub which was covered with Roxette memorabilia. It was like my bedroom in the 90s. Marvellous. A further two days at the hotel allowed me to enjoy the photography on the walls, running on the stunning beach and lunch in Wayne's Coffee in Halmstad. I love a good Wayne's. So the road trip continued, listening to Swedish radio which had an advert on a lot stating "great rewards, no bullshit". Still not sure what it was actually advertising. On to Oland, the island made famous (for me) from the Roxette video "Listen to your heart". We crossed from the mainland onto the island via the bridge in the video. I could see the castle where the video was filmed. It was stunning and also a little nostalgic as it took me back to my childhood. It was also midsummer. We cooked a BBQ and enjoyed watching the youngsters staying in our place also making use of the outside seating area, mostly for drinking rather than BBQing though. They made their way to the party on the beach. They asked me to go. I almost wish I had said yes just to see their face when the old guy enjoying a sausage and a beer went to the beach party with them. I heard the party on the beach, I saw the aftermath on my morning run (and the youngsters looking rough at breakfast.) They had had fun. And so had I. The Swedes know how to live well. One last stop staying in the cockpit of the Jumbo hotel at Stockholm airport would mark the end of our summer road trip. Sweden has it all. I love it in Summer or Winter. I will be back. Hopefully staying in further quirky hotels. And maybe dancing around the maypole on midsummer.