Basically our original plan (Liz and I) was to let a tidal wave of abuse let rip on the couriers, the male couriers. about their guilt, shame and sensitive alcoholic emotional natures. But as I said we ended up talking about Martini and calling everyone fucking cunts. So it might not read well.
We started off with our tales on Eindhoven and how we hit critical mass at this vital batch. I arrived from Utrecht with Murph, meeting her the day before it started with the rest of the posse.
I had been away from them for eight weeks lapping it up in my parents gaff in France(thats another post). My plan was to cycle from Paris where the pre event was, however the morning I awoke to follow the thirty something riders in District 18, I couldnt feel my legs. I crashed viciously the night before and drank most of my body weight in cheap as fuck French larger. Instead I followed the usual path of least resistance and got the train the next day with Murph. (thats also another post, fucking epic)
Cut to the end, I met Liz, the lads, the other lads, the Scottish lads, the American girl, the London lads, the older lads, the robbing lads and the new lads. oh and the Danish lads (sorry Liz). We got really messy and had a million adventures. some of which I'll post later.
Right now I have to go up to the base and pick up my cheque for a half days work a week ago. Che ching.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment