Saturday, August 27, 2016

England, 2016, Part 10: Breakfast Rambles around Glastonbury

After the manic CIRCUS OF TRANSPORTATION of driving here yesterday, it was time to be transported yet again, but on a much more subtle level.

Or maybe, not so subtle.

If I had learned anything in my previous trip here 20 years ago, it is that Glastonbury is always surprising.

Even with all of the manic action of yesterday I was up early, silently giggling at the intensely overwrought room we were in. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the dark, laughing form of Herne staring down at me from the top of the headboard. Subtle.

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

England, 2016, Part 9: The Covenstead in Glastonbury

 Whew! It had taken us 9.5 hours to drive the 144 miles between Gatwick airport and Glastonbury, and it was a WHITE KNUCKLE RIDE pretty much the whole way. But, you know what? It was totally worth it.

Pilgrims, Seekers, Mystics and Shamans have sought out Glastonbury for several thousands of years now. The tiny town, nestled between and alongside its 3 famous hills, rises carefully out of the rivers, marshes and estuaries of Somerset, creating an island of sorts that came to be known as Avalon.

The archeological remains show a strange fact however: There are artifacts and Goddess Figurines and the remains of some pretty awesome bonfires, but very little domestic debris. For all of its geographic advantages and for all of its history, very few people - even our neolithic ancestors - ever LIVED in this place. 

Sunday, August 21, 2016

England, 2016, Part 8: Driving Across England

Okay. After spending all morning making bad TRAIN CHOICES, it was time to Drive Across Rural England (or ‘DARE’ for short). 

Let’s, do this?

It had seemed like a logical conclusion, way back when we were safely in the sensible states, surrounded by civilized, large-landmass folks who naturally drive on the right.

But now we were at Gatwick Airport, South of London, headed for Stonehenge (due West of us) and then Glastonbury (also due West). There were modern highways (Dual Carriageways) that looked like they linked these places. And there was not an easy train or bus plan that would have taken us to these places in a timely manner. 

After two nights in Glastonbury we would travel to the stone circle at Avebury and then back to London, again a royal (Royal) pain on public transport.

It seemed like a good plan, on paper.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

England, 2016, Part 7: Local Trains, Yokel Brains


Friday. The DAY BEFORE I had toured many of the most diabolical devices and schemes that mankind has ever concocted to do harm to itselves. 

And that was, you know, fun and all. 

But now, today, Friday was going to feature perhaps the worst thing that we, as a species, have ever allowed to see the light of day:

Driving on the left side of the road.

There. I said it. I know Angus-Land is a humor blog, and generally does not go in for such sober and horrific topics, but I feel in this case I must make an exception. This low-rung of our time on Earth must be reported and investigated. I cannot varnish or hide the above statement - witness the Truth, gentle-reader. 

Read on, if you DARE!

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

England, 2016, Part 6: The Imperial War Ferris Wheel

After my late night PUB ADVENTURE I slept in on all the way till 4am, as my poor, transported body continued to try to find its proper time zone. “Here? No, here? Well, poo (Loo): We’ll just put him to sleep for 4 hour stretches at random times, and eventually we will find the proper circadian rhythm again.”

My big Thang of the day didn’t open until 10am, so I wrote until 6am, and then showered and was first in line for breakfast when they opened at 6:30am. My stomach had completely forgotten about the forgettable meal I had had in the hotel when I slogged in last night and I was famished.

And I was treating myself to the full British Breakfast experience: Eggs scrambled and poached, toast, danish, fruit salad, grapefruit, tater tots, mushrooms, baked beans, stewed tomato and a small block of cheese. 

And TEA, of course.

Friday, August 12, 2016

England, 2016, Part 5: Late Night Delirium

After my epic DAY/NIGHT/DAY of travel, I totally, spectactularly crashed into my motel room bed in Waterloo at 6pm. This was going to be a sleep for the ages - poems and songs would be written abou -

I popped wide awake four hours later at 10pm.

It was nighty-night local time, but 2pm really local time, in my head. What I hoped would be my overnight sleep turned out to be just an afternoon nap for my poor, abused pineal gland.

*sigh

Thursday, August 11, 2016

England, 2016, Part 4: Whine the Rap

I have come SO FAR to be here, and I am so close to my destination: The Days Hotel in Waterloo, London. But I am running solely on the bitter fumes of confusion.

Car ride / Flight from San Jose / (tunnel walkies) / Flight from L.A. / Train from Gatwick / Walk to Hotel / Sleep the sleep of the Just.

I am at the train part! Yay! Only 30 miles (48 Kilometers) to go! This train system they have here is complicated, but figureoutable for a smart fellow (Chap) like myself.

IF I was on my ‘A’ game. Which I am not. I am more on my ‘mousetrap’ game, and some of the parts are missing.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

England, 2016, Part 3: Wednesday (I think) Flight

My connecting flight to L.A. was blissfully uneventful, and after the tense GYRATIONS of the afternoon I felt that my trip had finally begun.

But that didn’t mean that I was out of the woods yet: This connecting flight wouldn’t really count until I had, you know, CONNECTED.

So I exited from Southwest in the domestic terminal in LAX and somehow had to get to the international terminal and find my next flight. But everything in front of me was shepherding me to Baggage Check (not necessary) Dodgers merchandise (Eeewww!!) and Ground Transportation (Good lord, I hope not). Nowhere was there a place to go for Connecting Flights.

As the English say (in a prissy accent): It just isn’t DONE.

Sunday, August 7, 2016

England, 2016, Part 2: Terminal Afternoon is Never Ending

Recap from Part 1: I’m fucked.

My flight to London leaves from L.A. at 6:30pm, I am in San Jose at 2:30pm, and my connecting flight has been cancelled.

But I have the power of David Niven on my side!

The man behind the Southwest counter helpfully wanted to put me on their next flight to L.A., which leaves at 6:30pm. I explained, repeatedly (and quite calmly I thought), how this was slightly less than productive to my predicament.

He eventually saw the light of the dwindling day and refunded my ticket price. But I won’t see the money for at least 5 weeks, because…..reasons.

We had a classic “What is said is never what is received” exchange where the nice Mr. Gentleman - who had just been thawed out - was explaining to me…….in……glacial…….pace…..why it would take so long to get my money back. Meanwhile I am screaming in his face “WHICH. AIRLINE. HAS. FLIGHTS. TO. LAX. YOU. HUMAN. POSSUM.” while I was strangling him with my fanny pack.

England, 2016, part 1: Tuesday Afternoon is Never Beginning


Foreshadowing 

I loved everything about the plan for this trip to London, which is odd because I didn’t make the plan. Ya see, I don’t HAVE to be in charge of every little thing that comes out of my anal butt, but things run smoother when I do.

But this plan looked smooooth already. 

Except.

Well, one little thing.

Foreshadowing 

Sunday, May 29, 2016

50th Birthday Performance Party

For my 50th birthday I created my own museum and I became my own party entertainment. 

And it was all Mark's fault.

See, every year he records my 'Pagan Humor' seminar at Pantheacon. And every year he presents me with a pro-quality, multi-camera DVD, with pictures interspersed and a menu with chapters and so forth.

That no one but me will ever see. Because technically my performance belongs to Pantheacon, and they do not take kindly to having parts of their 'Con posted online, (Even if the audience isn't shown) because they hate having publicity and buzz and people talking about it and wanting to come and spend all of their disposable income and....WHAT-EVER - 

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Roller Derby, Revisited

The packs, each not skating as they try to corral the opposing
Jammer. Note the bored refs just standing there, the swath of
empty seats to the left, and the lopsided score. 
Lets check in on Roller Derby again, shall we?

Our story, so far, is that we fell in love with the sport and our local team, the Santa Cruz Derby Girls, in 2008. 

By 2010 we were season-ticket holders and marked our calendars in heavy ink for each raucous, sold-out bout. We even gave up watching a playoff Giants game to see a derby double-header.

By 2012 though the Santa Cruz Derby Girls had moved to the Kaiser Permanente Tent at the other end of downtown, and sadly that was the most the team was going to move, ever.