Fire, Football, and House

The past month has been a blur of fun. Since coming back from Christmas, I've been keeping myself busy as can be.

Side note: I meant to get this out sooner, but oh well. Soon to come: The Wedding and Carnival.


Timmy, one of my roommate's friends from home, stayed with us for a few weeks. It was a great time even if our flat was a little more crowded than usual. Surprisingly, it took him just under a week to find a place of his own. He beat me by a few days.

When it was time for him to move, we helped with his stuff and were off to his new place. To say the least, it was a pretty nice place. A little far away for me (Fulham), but worked well for him as his job is over there.

Anyway, let's get on to the main point. After moving his stuff and walking around Fulham, it was time for dinner. We decided to go all out and have something amazing. So we stopped at the Waitrose on the way back to get some steak (all the butchers were closed) and it was game on.

Johnny took care of most of the cooking, and it smelled amazing. But, we had a snafu during the mushroom sauce. It called for us to use sherry, or some sort of alcohol to heighten the flavour. Unfortunately, we didn't have exactly what it called for, so we improvised with some of the bourbon I had brought from the US. Turns out, it wasn't an easy replacement as the bourbon was 94 proof.

I'm sitting in the living room, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I see the hallway light up. Like, really light up, as if someone had lit a fire in the kitchen. Turns out, that had basically happened. The flames had engulfed the whole stove fan, or so I'm told. After rushing into the kitchen to see what was going on, the pan was already out in the garden and all the smoke detectors in the house were blaring.

We got it all sorted within a few minutes, and we were back on schedule for dinner.


When I say football, I mean soccer, but I really mean football. Over the past few months the change has been instilled in me, and in an effort to not seem so American I've taken to it. You wouldn't believe how many times I get, "Yeah, so that football game... [turning to look at me] I mean soccer, you know right?"

Anyway, a group of us at work started playing pickup games at the local pitches. So far we've had a few games. A smaller indoor pitch for the first few, but we've switched to a wider one recently.

Even if I'm am the worst one playing, it's a phenomenal time. Now we have something to do on Thursdays, which used to be bland other than the occasional drinks.

FIFA has match commentary, so why shouldn't we? The day after our games, commentary is delivered via Skype in the same style of room pick drafts and everything else we did for Lambda Chi. Thanks to Clay and Carney for providing examples long before necessary.


Obviously playing off the song for this post, it wouldn't be complete with various trips to clubs.

My roommate and I ended up at two clubs over a prior weekend. Friday we ended up meeting a dude who went to school with my GC George. I think it was the biggest coincidence of a "small world." I mean, c'mon. Standing in a line to a club in the UK asking if you knew my friend I met in the States from New Zealand. Sounds a little crazy right?

Anyway, Friday was at XOYO and Saturday at the Egg. I've only heard good reviews about both, and to tell you the truth they didn't disappoint. Since Friday was a last minute kind of thing we didn't have tickets, but plenty were said to be available at the door.

When we first got there the line moved pretty quickly, but then with only 10 feet separating us from the entrance they started the 1-in-1-out policy. And so our wait began. Over the hour and half we met some girls from out east. They really liked the differences I saw being from the US. One example being bin is a name for a trash can. Weird. Met that New Zealand dude, whose birthday it turned out to be. And finally met some Welsh fucks who were drunk as shit and actually cut in line.

That last part actually makes me remember another observation. Brits and queues. Someone cuts the queue, Brits will silently berate them. Never confront. Very passive aggressive. While in the States, most places that wouldn't fly without hearing something from someone.

Until next time...

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