Worcester and Gloucester - Cheese rolling!!

Here are some pics from our road trip to Worcester for the Hadley Memorial Cricket Team's annual tournament, and Gloucester for the cheese rolling. For anyone that doesn't know that is where a bunch of crazy idiots chase a nine pound cheese ball down the steepest, muddiest, ditch ridden hill ever to win the awesome prize of... personal glory!! And lots of cheese.

The Hadley Memorial Team

The Worcester Cathedral

More shenanigans

Trekking up to Coopers Hill after the most massive downpour!

Coopers Hill (of death!)

My Norwich Life is Finished!

A big update for everyone, I have left my Norwich days behind and am now living in London!! My new address is *hmm, thanks for the advice ringo maybe not the best idea to publish that*. I have a new job working for a record company in Camden (a really funky part of London with lots of markets) and I love it! Was really sad to say goodbye to all the awesome friends I made in Norwich, but much excitement lays ahead. My europe trip starts in 5 weeks!! Here are some pictures of the new house.

Number 26

The view down our street

Our first session of 'Pump it Up': Inderwick Road's favourite workout video! Haha!!

My hot water is running pink. Oh, how I love Waveney.

Easter Long Weekend

I spent Easter long weekend driving around London and other bits of England with my good friend Ben in his new van. Here are some photos from our weekend, both the scenic and the ridiculous!!

Saturday: The Road Trip - Windsor Castle and Stonehenge

Loading up the van, couch and all!

Some of the castle, I couldn't take a photo of the whole thing it was too big!

Just a small park!

Boys being silly again playing hacky sack

Changing of the gaurds at Windsor Castle, not that you can see it!

Kind of creepy isn't it..

Stonehenge Shenanigans

Umm..

Driving Away

Easter Long Weekend cont.

Sunday: London Touristy Stuff

Big Ben really is uhh.. big!

Monday: Kew Gardens, Camden Markets

Ben walking on water

People really live in those boats!

The Londoners Visit Norwich

On a fine but chilly friday evening, resident Londoners Meika, Musa and Ness arrived in Norwich to find out for themselves 'why?'.
(A question I get asked quite often... ie: Cass: I study in Norwich
Other person looking alarmed: why???)

What followed was a weekend that brought them back to their student roots, with cheap wine, dodgy pub food and finally for the nightlife depraved - a bit of a nightclub boogie. Due to lame weather we basically spent the weekend eating (mmm £2 brekkie at Bell Hotel), drinking and watching sport.. Lucky for Brad!

Here's my one and only photo of the weekend... courtesy as always of Mercy Nightclub.

Beautiful London Ladies!!

Pub Golf - another sport I'm crap at!

What is pub golf you ask? The game consists of 9 holes (or 13 in this particular game) each played at a different pub. At each hole players must drink the specified drink ranging from a pint of Guinness, to a shot of Sambucca, to an aftershock (evil , evil shot) within specified 'par' (number of gulps). For example, a shot is a par one, this Guinness was a cruisy par 5. Additional rules apply including that all players must be clothed in the gentlemanly (or womanly) golfing fashion. A great time had by all surviving players.

Some random photos cos I felt like it. It's my blog ok.

Out with Rachel and the girls
Margo and I
Ben's lost his marbles (and his hair) Drinking before bowling makes you score 22! (Yes, that is possible)
Brian and his awesome girlfriend, we showed her the Norwich nightlife alright.

Found this today... probably written by some American idiot, but some of them made me laugh!!

You Know You're From Australia When...

You don't actually use the words 'sheila' or 'shrimp'. You're wearing a cap emblazoned with 'Get A Dog Up Ya.' (umm, WHAT??) You feel obliged to spread salty black stuff that looks like congealed motor oil on bread and actually grow to like it. Democracy means the freedom to draw caricatures of John Howard. Your idea of a lethal weapon is a slug gun. The closest you ever got to going overseas was your packet of 5 Days In Rio grundies. Your most offensive curse also doubles as an exclamation of awe or amazement, like, "fark orf!" All of your internationally famous people don't live here. You think footballers dressing up in drag on TV is funny (but your son being gay isn't). You relish test cricket - the longest, slowest game in sport (and that's not even counting the replays). After all, what else gives you an excuse to sit on your arse for five days, watch TV and sink piss with your mates? You can compress several words into one - ie 'g'day', 'd'reckn?' This allows for more space for profanities. You favour either Holden or Ford - or a souped-up WRX with new kit and a bootful of subwoofer. Driving down the main street/beach road playing bad techno is your idea of a perfect Saturday night / Sunday arvo. You make kooky films, sometimes about wayward road trips (across the outback preferably). Quite a few are crap. You know all the words to Khe Sahn but not the national anthem. Your nickname ends in 'a' or 'o'. You have a customised stubby holder. Your soap stars become pop singers and move to the UK. You've ever used the words - grouse, tops, ripper, choice, sick, rad, exo, ace, wicked, ballistic - to mean good. And then you place 'bloody' in front of it when you really mean it. Your cooking apron has plastic breasts on it. The "Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi oi oi!" chant has been a religious experience in the past. Your politicians believe than sticking the prefix 'un' in front of your nationality is an effective way of making you sit down and shut up. The barbeque is a male-dominated arena. And the women do the salads. An eight-hour trip to go camping for the weekend isn't out of the question or excessive. You take pride in living in a tolerant multicultural society but firmly believe that all Poms and Kiwis are fair game. You insist on asking every celebrity who steps of an aircraft what they think of Australia. If the response is not overwhelmingly positive, they should be subjected to immediate public ridicule. The private lives of footy and cricket players become more important than local and national news stories. Slick pick-up lines like 'Wanna shag?' and 'Carn, show us yer tits' can constitute male-to-female conversation. You say 'no worries' quite often, whether you realise it or not.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.... I think not!!

St. Patrick's Friday Night.. We decide to go out for a few quiet beverages to reflect upon the meaning and signifance of the holiday.... WHEN,

BAM!!$%^&#* some dude tries to bust out his kung fu moves, so I roundhouse kick him down Prince of Wales Road...


But then some dude getting high steals all my money... muttering something about a rainbow ...??? (stoner)


We decide to call it a night but walking to the laxi line we are confronted by this hooligan and his glowing white goodies...


Only to run to a taxi, jump in, and find this man driving!!

All said events leading me to realise that St Patricks Day is really evil... and in no way happy at all.