I was by no means sober when we checked out of Gogarty´s. Packed up the remainder of our items, threw in my contacts, brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my game face and headed out. Not before snatching the leftover 3/4 bottle of wine from the night before. Check-out consists of telling the front desk attendant that we are leaving. So begins our second chapter. The excursion to the bus/ferry is riotous. Neither of us are close to top form, the sun is barely up, we each have a backpack in front and one on our back, and plan on finishing a bottle of wine en route. Our 7:00am jabber went something like this:
A: Do they have open container laws here?
T: I think so, didn't we see some guy getting written up by the Garda the other night?
A: Think they are enforcing it right now? takes strong pull of wine while repeatedly pressing crosswalk button
T: Yeah, the Boondock Saints are coming for you.
A: Hopefully they leave the guns at home, I'm trying to meet the judge because it's obviously a leprechaun.
T: Definitely, I heard you have to pay your fines in pouches of gold too.
A: (In an Irish accent) That will be 12 gold pouches, thrice spanks with the meter stick, and four Hail Mary's
T: Yessir, Master Leprechaun.
Amidst this mindless squabbling two realizations were made.
1. I can count on one hand the number of leprechaun jokes made in Ireland. Seriously? That is dismal. You don't even need a segway for leprechaun jokes in Ireland. You can just tee them up, one after another, and hit them out of the park. It's law.
2. When you are walking to a bus stop to catch a bus, pay attention to buses and bus stops.
We missed our 7:30am bus to the ferryport. In retrospect, I'm fairly certain one of us looked and pointed at the bus we needed and said something snide along the lines of, "Righty-oh chaps! Are we keen on this coach? Fancy that, bugger, bugger, long live the queen."
In our minds there was no feasible reason the bus would be anywhere other than where we expected it to be. End up catching a taxi. Fantastic choice as our driver was absolutely hilarious. Once he found out we were going to Ibiza the gay jokes came spilling through the flood gates. Unfortunately, they are inappropriate for this forum.
The ferry ride consisted of several games of tummy and a ham and cheese panini. Oh, and there was a Time Crisis 3 arcade game. It tempted us for the first hour and every time we stood up to play some child would grab the gun and pretend to shoot things without even putting money in. Eventually we got our turn and the game is a fluke. I lost MAYBE three lives on the first level and it said I lost five. I dodged that throwing ax TC3.
Once in Holyhead we immediately caught the train to Liverpool - multiple people mentioned that Holyhead is not a place you spend time. It was during this train ride that I started to feel the detrimental effects from the night before. I found myself in a cold sweat, slipping in and out of sleep, and suffering from my standard queezy stomach hangover. This mild misery continued in Liverpool as we hoofed around much of the city in search of accommodations for the night. Once the rain began to fall, my patience began to falter. I almost went Hot Rod on one particular inkeep who wouldn't look up from her Vodafone or O2 or whatever the he'll mobile devices the English use these days to inform me they were fully booked that night. When asked if she had any suggestions for us she retorted, "no, not really." Deep breath, tongue bitten, move along.
Our savior was the Madhatter's hostel. After booking a room we scheduled our bus to Gatwick airport for the morning and got a bite to eat. Hangover in full effect, my BBQ chicken sandwich and French fries proved to be a poor choice for some reason. The gutters of Rodney Street (hahaha) felt the wrath. I'll venture to say I'm the first person ever, in the history of Liverpool, to lose their lunch on Rodney Street. That evening was delightful, however. Found a cozy restaurant where we sat in lounge chairs near the entrance and watched the rain fall. A few games of billiards and a soccer match later and we moved on. Grabbed a single pint at a pub near the hostel where we met two lovely locals. This led to the displeasure of meeting Carrie's younger sister an her significant other. She is 18, her boyfriend probably older. They have two children - 3 months and 13 months old. She was an incredible bitch - we were warned by her sister before she sat down - and he wasn't much better. As she sat at our bench and did her makeup, her gem of a boyfriend talked about leaving the kids with the grandparents every weekend and their fundamental dislike of "the blacks." Arrogant isn't strong enough a word for these two. Outspoken racists and parents of TWO - I was shocked by this encounter. My malevolence toward them quickly transformed to pity and concern for their children. It made me hope that ignorance is a recessive gene.
Only one thing was on our mind the next day: Get to Ibiza. I put a massive dent in Storm of Swords during the bus ride to Gatwick and got mentally prepared for what lie ahead. In the Gatwick airport we met an Englishman from Oxford also on our flight. Archie was a tall, lanky, outgoing gentleman wearing a blue Polo, white pants and white shoes. He had no luggage or money with him.
Memorable Archie quotes:
- When referring to a newspaper, "I normally don't read this periodical. It's actually filth, half the stories aren't even true but it's damn entertaining."
- "I told my girlfriend I was going to France for eight days and she told me to make sure I saved some money for Ibiza. Now I'm out of cash and she will have to cover me. It's her birthday weekend, as well."
- "My mates are going to Space tonight, I'm planning on walking to the club from the airport."
1:20am, August 22, 2011. Commence Operation: Ibiza.
A: Do they have open container laws here?
T: I think so, didn't we see some guy getting written up by the Garda the other night?
A: Think they are enforcing it right now? takes strong pull of wine while repeatedly pressing crosswalk button
T: Yeah, the Boondock Saints are coming for you.
A: Hopefully they leave the guns at home, I'm trying to meet the judge because it's obviously a leprechaun.
T: Definitely, I heard you have to pay your fines in pouches of gold too.
A: (In an Irish accent) That will be 12 gold pouches, thrice spanks with the meter stick, and four Hail Mary's
T: Yessir, Master Leprechaun.
Amidst this mindless squabbling two realizations were made.
1. I can count on one hand the number of leprechaun jokes made in Ireland. Seriously? That is dismal. You don't even need a segway for leprechaun jokes in Ireland. You can just tee them up, one after another, and hit them out of the park. It's law.
2. When you are walking to a bus stop to catch a bus, pay attention to buses and bus stops.
We missed our 7:30am bus to the ferryport. In retrospect, I'm fairly certain one of us looked and pointed at the bus we needed and said something snide along the lines of, "Righty-oh chaps! Are we keen on this coach? Fancy that, bugger, bugger, long live the queen."
In our minds there was no feasible reason the bus would be anywhere other than where we expected it to be. End up catching a taxi. Fantastic choice as our driver was absolutely hilarious. Once he found out we were going to Ibiza the gay jokes came spilling through the flood gates. Unfortunately, they are inappropriate for this forum.
The ferry ride consisted of several games of tummy and a ham and cheese panini. Oh, and there was a Time Crisis 3 arcade game. It tempted us for the first hour and every time we stood up to play some child would grab the gun and pretend to shoot things without even putting money in. Eventually we got our turn and the game is a fluke. I lost MAYBE three lives on the first level and it said I lost five. I dodged that throwing ax TC3.
Once in Holyhead we immediately caught the train to Liverpool - multiple people mentioned that Holyhead is not a place you spend time. It was during this train ride that I started to feel the detrimental effects from the night before. I found myself in a cold sweat, slipping in and out of sleep, and suffering from my standard queezy stomach hangover. This mild misery continued in Liverpool as we hoofed around much of the city in search of accommodations for the night. Once the rain began to fall, my patience began to falter. I almost went Hot Rod on one particular inkeep who wouldn't look up from her Vodafone or O2 or whatever the he'll mobile devices the English use these days to inform me they were fully booked that night. When asked if she had any suggestions for us she retorted, "no, not really." Deep breath, tongue bitten, move along.
Our savior was the Madhatter's hostel. After booking a room we scheduled our bus to Gatwick airport for the morning and got a bite to eat. Hangover in full effect, my BBQ chicken sandwich and French fries proved to be a poor choice for some reason. The gutters of Rodney Street (hahaha) felt the wrath. I'll venture to say I'm the first person ever, in the history of Liverpool, to lose their lunch on Rodney Street. That evening was delightful, however. Found a cozy restaurant where we sat in lounge chairs near the entrance and watched the rain fall. A few games of billiards and a soccer match later and we moved on. Grabbed a single pint at a pub near the hostel where we met two lovely locals. This led to the displeasure of meeting Carrie's younger sister an her significant other. She is 18, her boyfriend probably older. They have two children - 3 months and 13 months old. She was an incredible bitch - we were warned by her sister before she sat down - and he wasn't much better. As she sat at our bench and did her makeup, her gem of a boyfriend talked about leaving the kids with the grandparents every weekend and their fundamental dislike of "the blacks." Arrogant isn't strong enough a word for these two. Outspoken racists and parents of TWO - I was shocked by this encounter. My malevolence toward them quickly transformed to pity and concern for their children. It made me hope that ignorance is a recessive gene.
Only one thing was on our mind the next day: Get to Ibiza. I put a massive dent in Storm of Swords during the bus ride to Gatwick and got mentally prepared for what lie ahead. In the Gatwick airport we met an Englishman from Oxford also on our flight. Archie was a tall, lanky, outgoing gentleman wearing a blue Polo, white pants and white shoes. He had no luggage or money with him.
Memorable Archie quotes:
- When referring to a newspaper, "I normally don't read this periodical. It's actually filth, half the stories aren't even true but it's damn entertaining."
- "I told my girlfriend I was going to France for eight days and she told me to make sure I saved some money for Ibiza. Now I'm out of cash and she will have to cover me. It's her birthday weekend, as well."
- "My mates are going to Space tonight, I'm planning on walking to the club from the airport."
1:20am, August 22, 2011. Commence Operation: Ibiza.
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