St Patrick's Day

'Yah rder yahrhaving  sidebrrrah *yardiyaarrrrr' Man with facepaint in the toilet.

Dublin. What a place. I had the chance to either go to Loughborough Uni or to Trinity Uni in Dublin. After long consideration I opted for the former one, mostly based on the content of my modules. As much as I have come to love the people in Luvbro, I must say it stings a bit to know that I missed out on the chance to take over such a wonderful place as Dublin.

(I deliberately left some pics bigger, to make justice to the content. Scroll to the right for full visual pleasure. It's a bit unpractical for the reader, yes, but one must get the full experience.)

They have excellent beers, the city is just the correct amount of wide and long streets and they have the goaddamn euro!

Anyway. We went there to celebrate the late, great St Patrick who made Ireland Catholic (I guess? What was the deal again?). Planning started a month ago, even though it never got anywhere. Planning ahead is not my thing, I usually just improvise and go with the stream. In the end we only did have two days, but I feel we made the best out of the short time we had.

On st Paddy's I wore facepaint all day, which was received with mixed reactions. Yes, it was a bit uneven, but in my defense, I had 5 minutes to apply it and the green kept getting on the white. Anyways. The tour guide in Jameson told me I looked terrifying in the dark while he tried to explain the process of mixing the barley. He said I reminded him of Slade from Arrow. Sara said I was a Joker. A random man on the street simply put his arm around me and took a selfie with me. And then there was the man in the toilet of O'Finneys (What was the first bar called, guys? I keep forgetting!?). He had similar face-paint and he yelled something indistinguishable at the look of my face, which I replied with equally nonsensical yelling. In the toilet. As we boys do.

The Hotel

I had great expectations for Clifden House and they were exceeded. We had a whole apartment: two stories with a nice living room, kitchen three bedrooms and a double-bed. A good alternative for a hostel. Also, Peter <3 gave the best service! I swear, the man would run to town in the middle of the night to fetch you a fresh bagel, if you asked him.

Howth

Simply breathtaking. 25 minutes outside of Dublin by train, the old town simply is an embodiment of my future as a hermit.

The Old Man and the Sea

I tell you, that will be me, walking up the cliffs of the old town with my Irish Setter, whose name I cheekily will steal from my Dad's dog, my best furry friend, Puskin. Each Sunday, we go for some fish'n'chips and a cool ale. As a side-note, we had the joy to taste some brew by Hope Brewery (The Handsome Jack was one of the better IPA:s I've tasted in a while, check it out https://www.ratebeer.com/beer/hope-beer-handsome-jack/361690/).

Jameson Distillery

Becoming godsized

Yes. We took a tour in the Jameson Distillery. As people might know, I work with alcohol so the trip was purely professional. The tour consisted of a short video introduction, a simulated walk trough the distillery and a whiskey tasting.



We compared Jameson to a Scotch one (I fail to remember which one, but it was a 12 year old, the only kind of 12 year old a man is allowed and expected to desire) and (gulp) Jack Daniels. I impressed myself by finishing the presenters sentence about american bourbon being made of maize and corn.

A Scot, an Irishman and a Yank walk into a bar

'It's distilled three times, which gives Jameson its distinct smooth taste'. I feel like I heard this sentence a lot. The tour was definitely worth the money and time. We were offered complimentary drinks. We could pick between a regular whiskey, but we opted for the drink, which had lime and ginger mixed with the booze.

The St Patrick's Day Parade

Nobody knows, but it was great

You've all seen this on TV and know the drill. Let the picture talk for themselves. I think it was Lucie who commented that I smiled throughout the parade. It's true. I felt like a little child watching the craziness and genuine good spirit.





Ireland seems like a country that has established its own strong identity, that any tourist is happy to adopt. It was nice to see a national parade, where nationalism did not seem like a threatening thing. It was all bout the love for a great people.












'You either wanna take mushrooms or go to St Paddy's. It has the same effect'. So one traveler hilariously pointed out to me. They played Irish bagpipes, they played David Bowie, Michael Jackson, Blackeyed Peas, the Star Wars Theme, and that one kick-ass song the Dropkick Murphy's covered and was featured on tHe Departed (I'm Shipping Up To Boston), and they even played some crazy .. I wanna say techno, which was almost as weird as the Eye the were dancing to in the pic above.

'Your haircut i ooot-deyted!' ('outdated' in stout-fueled Irish) Irishman in Parnell's Clubhouse

Lil Constantin and his two green fairies

A man came over and told me this. Not once but four times. I must say, I admire the Irish for their bluntness and great sense of humor. The man was clearly taking the piss, and I just could not help but laugh. I love the quick wit and cheekiness.

Next stop. Tipsyville

So. This was pretty much a stream-of-consciousness kind of text. I did not sleep last night as we spent it at the airport. I went straight to my lecture once I arrived to Luvbro and I'm writing this with my last power of staying alive.. awake. Still have some paint on my face, as the sideburns are red on one side and green on the other. Whoa. Hopefully You found this a fun read. And hey! If I sold this well, I hope someone got inspired and wants to celebrate the next St Paddy's with me in Dublin, as I'm definitely going!

Good pie!

On online commentators and arguments in general

I've been preoccupied to write anything lately and feel slightly disappointed in myself. This blog has taught me some things about myself. Not via the things I write, but rather what I do not write. Or what I choose to leave unpublished.

Last week, dear reader, You were spared of my rant fueled by social justice and arrogant (?) worldsavingplans. I started the same text three times about the same subject but could not get myself to finish it. I was mostly annoyed by the way I chose to write. See, I have little respect for bad online commentators. This makes me extremely critical of my own online opinions.

For this, I am surprised at how many online discussions I have engaged in on Facebook, Helsingin Sanomat, you name it. As I rarely do this, I wonder if studying abroad somehow has affected me. Because I only argue about stuff currently happening in Finland. I do however only comment on stuff I know something about, and can say I have more to give than just a bleeding heart.

I crave good argumentation. I do not feel a discussion needs to end in one party 'winning the argument'. For me, the most important is that each party gets their point through in an adult, and logical manner. The 'truth' should be determined by yourself only. If someone  convinces you to think differently then you might have learned something new. But most people forget that arguments are not the same as convincing the other that you are right. It's supposed to be an opportunity for each to explore every aspect to a matter and possibly find common ground. There is not always a common ground. And that is okay.

Post-modernists have argued that all should be perceived reflexively. This means that everything should be questioned. Everything is political. There is no 'truth'. You just have to keep on to your best sources and hope you are well-informed.

Global warming. It's man-made. But one might also say that we've only measured the climate for a billionth of the earth's existence, so can we really prove the globe is warming? I do know where I stand on this issue, but if someone else does not, I cannot blame them! Humankind is dependent of science, but it is strictly political which voice is correct, yo!

These issues hindered me from writing my blog-text last week. I was appalled by a discussion program that was broadcast last week. I know exactly what went wrong in the program, as non-white people were racialized by many participants and the journalists did not problematise any statements made by either party of the panel. Yet I held my rant for myself mostly because I did not feel i had the energy or the will to write the umphteenth blog-rant about these issues. I assure you, the social media was filled with these the next day. I do not have the best answers to these questions, and I leave them to the smarter people. My wish is that I one day am an expert of some kind on issues (I dunno, culture, urban politics, whatever job I get eventually) and that day I will actively write blogs about these issues and try to provide some answers.

My point is, I avoid doing any holier-than-thou-statements online as long as I do not have concrete answers to give. I can go on about the right and wrongs with my (bleeding) heart, but what do I achieve by fighting an illitertae redneck online? To all internet commentators I wish they would take their time to try to understand the opposing part. Left, right, liberal, conservative, marvel, dc, apples, oranges, whatever. Things do not need to be polarized and labelled.

Phuh.. a text about nothing but random thoughts. Hopefully it gave you something. At least I got to let out steam. I will one day maybe, provide You with actual pictures and just updates on my life in Lufbra. Writing a normal journal just proves to hard for me. Anyway, in a couple of weeks I will probably travel a bit, so maybe you'll get sunny pics of buildings and food then.

All of my love to all! Peace

And just to make it clear: 'illitertae redneck' was a joke. I know how to spell-check illiterate. Not on whatsapp thou..

Settling in to Luvbrah

It's been three weeks now and I can finally say I've settled in to Luffbra.

On the poor side:
- The lecturer who sounds like Ali G / Borat. You keep speaking hardcore-level sociology, but all I hear is "Jungle is massive! Want to meet my siister? She iss also my-a wiiife, it'sa niiice".
- Why is my bed so short? My feet go like 15 cm over the edge of the bed.
- Why is the sink so low? My back will turn into a horseshoe by the time I get back to Finland.
- What the hell is the kitchen supposed to be in my apartment? Luckily pizza is not far away.
- When Brits say 'Sorry', do they mean to apologize, or to condescend me for not moving out of the way in time?
- Man-flu, not cool, brah'!
- Food-challenges.. still? I've dug a hole for myself.

On the rise:
- The deep-fried everything I eat here.
- Two desserts, all day erry day.
- Interesting lectures.
- All people local and international.
- Food-themed events <3.
- The lecturer who sounds like Ali G / Borat. You keep speaking hardcore-level sociology, but all I hear is "Jungle is massive! Want to meet my siister? She iss also my-a wiiife, it'sa niiice". As distracting as this is, please continue :D

So that's basically how I experience everyday life here. Without going too much into detail, I study semi-regularly but also manage to go out almost every evening. Which is great! We have a whatsapp-group, which constantly reminds us there's jazznight/ pool @ the Griffin / pres / hangover-burgers somewhere anytime of the day. Pick one!

My favorite events so far have been the traditional beers at Amber Rooms every Thursday, even though we never score well in the quiz; the Rock/Metal-night organized by the Union; and most recently the Wine & Pancake-evening, mostly because it was filled with wonderful human beings and because I did not need to do anything else but drink my sauvignon blanc and munch on that pancake.

The people here.. oh crap. This is going to turn into one of those very cheesy "Erasmus life is the best", but here we go. Yes, it's great! We have hobbits, french-men, the borderline-alcoholic who keeps bringing up fascism in every conversation, smoking pipes, crazzy dancers, the pool-players, the american (who everyone tries to convert into a Berner), people with excellent musical taste, the people who appreciate all things Marvel, people who will discuss politics deep into the night, and the best "walking back home from town"- team.

Another highlight was last week when I started a conversation with two real Englishmen, who after almost perfectly guessing my nationality insisted on me hanging out with them for the rest of the night. They were crazy and really funny. The first Brits I've hung out with since I came, actually. The highlight was that they insisted on calling me Constantyne (phonetically Kon-stan-tain), which is how my favorite comic book character, John Constantine, pronounces his surname. Constantine, of course, starred in his own series called Hellblazer, after which I named this blog. The pub-scenes in Hellblazer (by Garth Ennis) are what mostly made me want to come to England in the first place. The pub is just such an experience.

I prefer Constantyne, but it's still okay to call me Con or Cossu, which I guess some do..? (SAAAAM)

I guess the next blog will be either the obligatory reinforcing of, or the deconstruction of myths about Finns. Stay tuned and listen to Hiatus Kaiyote!

Peace!

Kill your idol!

Ever hear the saying 'Don't meet your idol'?

I've dreaded the day I'd get the chance to tell Todd McFarlane how he gave me a new inspiration to keep illustrating. To tell Snoop how he's the master-lyricist of all rappers. How RATM subconsiously made me understand that the way I perceive the world is called the sociological imagination and that I had no other choice but to start studying sociology.

Dread, you ask? Well simply put: people tend to be assholes. Not everyone. But those I end up idolizing usually turn out to have a really unlikable side to them.

This is not a blog-posting about how we regular people engage in celebrity-culture and create a reality that is not there. I will not impose my sociology on the reader, this is written purely to get out my disappointment in the heroes of my youth. This is pure fanboy-outburst, with a revelation in the end.

Those who have any interest in metal music know the controversies surrounding Phil Anselmo. In the end of January 2016 he performed at Dimebash 16, and ended the gig by making a nazi-salute. Yeah, one could just shrug it off as a joke made in poor taste, and say that reacting to "Sieg Heil" at a concert is needlessly PC. Thing is though, one cannot let this be. Youtube has many videos where Anselmo's possible racism is discussed, and I've seen all of them. Most of the material is from the 1990's and I guess it just has not been a topic in recent years until now.

What can I say? I must admit, I myself do extremely bad jokes every now and then. I usually know how to pick my audience and I make sure everyone knows it was a joke. But I commit the deed: I make something very offensive. And let's be honest, I will keep doing this until the end of days. My point is, I cannot really condemn him and play innocent myself.

However Phil is a metal-icon and his actions have consequences. When he makes the salute many of his fans will more easily act like racists. Not saying his salute turns them into racists, but they might think its okay to wear the white hood if even Phil Fucking Anselmo agrees with the cause. But no. The guy even made a video begging for forgiveness. So he kind just comes off as a jackass who just can't control his liqueur and is a white trash tool.

So, I i turned to one of my earlier idols, Henry Rollins, whom I recently rediscovered. The straight-edge angel, The performer, the writer. The guy who started out as a singer for Black Flag, continued doing music as a solo-artist for the following decade, who then turned into a spoken word-artist. A man, who with no formal education to his name is an extremely deep and insightful human being. I told my american friend about how mesmerized i was by his spoken word-gig in Finland way back in 2012. For exactly three hours, this man made my laugh, think, cry, cry deeply inside, laugh like an insane man and made me think some more. For three hours. That felt like 1 hour.

I've also read many of his books. They're mostly written in diary-form from his time on the road (Black Coffee Blues, check it out. Or don't.). But then there are the short essays. They're angry. I don't know why, but I get fascinated by this man's past aggression which he dealt with through his texts. He combated it with his intellect. Such a punk-icon.

And then i saw this video of him from what I believe is 1984, during the artistic peak (up for debate, I'm sorry, I just enjoy sludge) of Black Flag. His being interviewed by this scrawny kid who clearly adores the band. And Rollins just dismisses him as a scene-kid, who contributes to the whole selling-out of punk music. And it's just so mean. Henry, a big muscular man basically bullies this kid, who makes a video for other fans like himself. This was back when you couldn't just spread anything on Instagram and Youtube so in my eyes the kid did the scene a favor. But Henry just ridicules the kid. I was thinking he might have been trying to teach the kid to open his eyes to the absurdities of life and the commercialization of whatever. But me, as a sociology-student who's read his Adorno can recognize that there was no good argument there. Henry clearly just wanted to prove his superiority and mark his alpha-status by terrorizing the kid mentally. What a dick.

And what do I think about these videos of Phil and Henry? The guys who taught me not to let anyone fuck me over. They're pathetic. Phil, I know you won't read this but it's shameful how you every now and then just get too drunk or high and act like an asswipe with your redneck opinions. Henry, I know you're in a better place now, but come on! The story of the scrawny bullied kid who got over his issues by weight-lifting and inner improvement was not supposed to turn into what he hated the most.

And then I just accepted it. Those guys are just regular people. But I don't want to know about the regular mundane imperfections of their psyche. They were supposed to be the real-life supermen, who endured a lot of shit and then rose above it. And they did, which is why I've heard of them in the first place. But no one is perfect. It's like figuring out your parents are as shitty as the people they warn you about. You believe it for some time, until you are forced face to face with the ugly truth. Everyone has a little asshole in them.

And don't even get me started on Frank Miller's borderline-crazy cartoon-like racism..
https://danhf.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/pu_holy_terror_084.jpg


PS. I just realized all the people I noted as heroes for my teen years were white men, with the exception of Snoop who I don't even know how to classify these days. Godfather of Cool, beyond ethnic labels.

I do however want to name one more as a reminder to myself. Ann Nocenti wrote Daredevil in the late 1980's- early 90's and definitely left a mark in me. Her stories not only showcased the troubling psyche of my favorite literary character but also tackled such themes as gender issues, the environment, political corruption etc and definitely had an impact on the path I have taken since those days.. All of my love to Ann and the rest, whatever you're up to nowadays. Even to Frank. Hope you stop being crazy soon!!

Recommendations:
1. Youtube. 'Henry Rollins Rips Kid During Black Flag Interview'. By iView tube.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HGb7yo4SFM

2. NME. Adele regrets working with Damon Albarn'.
http://www.nme.com/news/adele/89473

3. Cracked. Written by Gladstone. 'The 4 Worst Things That Happen When You Meet Your Heroes'. http://www.cracked.com/blog/the-4-worst-things-that-happen-when-you-meet-your-heroes/

Neljän Kuun Massakausi

Kun Hugh Jackman on mutanttileffasarjan kuvauksissa, hän heräilee käymällä äärikylmässä suihkussa. Kun minä yritän saada inspistä uuten blogikirjoitukseeni, käyn naurettavan kylmällä säällä lenkillä pelkässä t-paidassa ja shortseissa. Ja lenkki itsessäänkin kesti ehkä 15 minuuttia.

Ihmettelet ehkä vähäistä pukeutumistani. Britit eivät tunne kylmää. He liikkuvat hyvin vähissä vaatteissa olivat he sitten menossa urheiluradalle, tai sille paremmalle radalle. He ovat jonkin sortin superolentoja. Tai sitten he säästävät roposiaan narikalla, kun eivät tuo takkia mukaan. + 5 asteella ei sen väliä.

Olen itsekin vaiheittain vähentänyt vaatetustani ulkoillessani. En enää käytä kaulahuivia, ja takin alla saattaa olla vain t-paita. Pohjoismaisena luulin, että kestän kylmää mutta nämä paikalliset vievät kyllä voiton. Kai GB oli syystä suurvalta aikoinaan.

En oikein tiedä miten jatkan tätä blogia, sillä en koe tarvetta käydä kronologisesti läpi viikon tapahtumia. En ainakaan säännöllisesti.
Päätin, että kerron eri asioista jotka tulevat mieleeni täällä ollessani. Aloitan ruokailusta täällä, sillä kuten moni tietää, syön paljon. Olinhan vielä pari vuotta sitten opinahjoni Undisputed Champion of Overeating, kunnes nuoremmat kundit päihittivät päihittivät minut lajissa, jossa kerrankin olin hyvä.

Saamme täällä kolme ateriaa arkipäivisin ja ruoka täällä on hullun epäterveellistä! Ja minua hävettää myöntää, että olen siitä aivan ekstaasissa. Aamupala on perinteinen British breakfast (kananmunineen, pekoneineen, valkoisine papuineen). Lounaaksi saa ohjelman mukaan "hot protein meals", jotka tähän mennessä ovat edustaneet roskaruuan tähtikaartia: pizza, hampurilainen, fish&chips. Illallinenkin on "hot protein meal", mutta sitä kehtaa jo kutsua oikeaksi ruuaksi. Pääruoka annostellaan lautaselle.

Hyvää tässä on se, että salaattipöytä on vapaa, ja lisukkeita saa ottaa loputtomasti. Ja laatu on oikein hyvää. Jokaisen aterian yhteyteen kuuluu myös kaksi hedelmää, jotka voi syödä esim kirjastossa. Yleensä lautaseni on niin täynnä etten vaan saa sitä yhtä banaania mahdutettua. Huonoa tässä on se, että lämminaterioihin kuuluu makea jälkkäri. Ja se, ettei aamupalalla kukaan valvo kuinka paljon pekonia lautaselleni pistän. Kaipaan ulkoista kontrollia! My main man, M Foucault, where you at!? Niin ja lisäksi, kasvisvaihtoehdot on aika hanurista.

Siis, en ikinä uskonut sanovani tätä, mutta alan jo kyllästyä pekonin makuun. Onneksi on muitakin vaihtoehtoja, mutta oon vähän hullaantunut. Kelaa nyt: Olet jo maksanut ruokailusta neljän kuukauden edestä, tottakai otat kaiken friteeratun tietäen, että jopa Homer Simpson tuomitsisi. Homer voisi kertoa minulle että kannattaa ehkä vähän katsoa mitä mahaani pistän. Eli Homer, joka pistää voita kahviinsa.

...

Olen sanaton. Butter in my coffee on mun lemppariläppä keltaisen perheen telkkarisarjasta ja etsin siis linkkiä siihen kohtaukseen. Mutta löysin tämän https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V28FMhk8wQg . Is this a thing?

Toisaalta en ehkä vaan oo tarpeeksi fiksu tajuamaan, että tuo on läppä. Onko? Moving on.

Sanoin monelle kaverille, että aion palata Suomeen timmissä kunnossa, sillä LoveBrah (tai Loughborough University, jos olet kalkkis) on tunnetusti (hehe  ei kukaan tunne tätä paikkaa) urheiluyliopisto. Tavoitteena oli kehittää lihaksia ja palata 100-kiloisena.

Tämä tulee todennäköisesti toteutumaan, mutta ehkä eri tavalla kuin olin ajatellut. "Brendan gained 8 kilos while here, it's insane!", joku varoitteli minua. Oh god. Siitä siis kirjoitukseni otsikko "Neljän Kuun Massakausi", joka sattumoisin on tulevan raudanpumppaus-hooceebändini EP:n nimi, joka viittaa mun lihomiseeni.

Viikonloppuisin emme siis saa safkaa vaan se pitää tehdä itse. Ja äiti sanoi, ettei aio lähettää postissa mulle ruokaa, joten se pitää kai sitten tehdä itse.
Pilailen! Tykkään kokkaamisesta, ja omasta mielestäni olen ihan hyvä keittiössä. Minulle kokkailu on sitä, että näkee mielessään kokonaisuuden ja tuo eri komponentit yhteen, jotta saa aikaan orgastisen hyvän lopputuloksen. Mutta jokainen yksityiskohta on yhtä tärkeä kuin toinen, eikä mitään saa jättää huomiotta, muuten ei synny mitään nautintoa. Tämä muistuttaa minua toisesta lempipuuhasta... Btw en tiedä onko orgastinen oikea sana. Enkä usko, että se sitä on. Eikä oikein kiinnosta Suck it!

Eiku ilmeisesti se on.. daamn.  http://www.suomisanakirja.fi/orgastinen

No vastapainoksi päätin, että teen viikonloppuisin kasvisruokaa. Se menikin ihan pipariksi. Asuntolan keittiö on ihan mahdoton! Keittiötarvikkeisiin kuuluu mikro, hella, vedenkeitin. Ja hieman veitsiä, haarukoita ja parisen lautasta. Täällä on jääkaappi, johon ei oikein mahdu mitään omaa tavaraa. Missä on kaikki tarvikkeet?

Yläkerran keittiöstä taas löytää keittiöveitsiä ja leikkuulautaa, mutta ihan järkyttävässä kunnossa. Jos en tuntisi naapureitani paremmin luulisin, että yläkerran keittiö on narkkarin kolme vuotta sitten hylkäämä. Mutta siellä asuu siis kymmenen 19-vuotiasta opiskelijapoikaa. Hauskoja tyyppejä, mutta get your shit together! t Vanhus (lisää ikäasioista myöhemmässä kirjoituksessa.)
Kuten SnapChat-seuraajani tietävät (etsi mua nimellä "Cottbert", juttuni ovat toisinaan aika hauskoja), keittiöveitsi oli tylsempi kuin latinanopettaja mustamaijapelissä ja ruuan valmistaminen oli hemmetin haastavaa. Ensi viikolla ostan kunnolla keittiötarvikkeita ja vaikka lahjoitan ne tälle paikalle. Tai utelen saisko parempaa tavaraa. Se tältä erää!

Yritän siis jatkossa kertoa monipuolisesti eri havainnoista, enkä aio edetä kronologisessa järjestyksessä. Tulevaa matskua:
- ikäkriisi vol 3
- We are not VIKINGS!!! and the weird misconception of being a Finn
- kuinka luen Suomen uutisia vaihtarina ja ajatuksia Some-aikakauden apokalypsinjulistuksesta
- epäkiinnostavaa faktaa uusista kavereista
- haha, you had it coming: saatanasti ajatuksia tulevista sarjisfilmatisoinneista! Myös phdintaa sarjisleffakulttuurin aiheutttamasta ähkystä ja "true" fanien menetetystä hegemonisesta asemasta
- Tom Hardy, ihannemiess, vai käärme, joka vie kielletylle polulle?

kiitos että avasit kirjoitukseni ja ehkä jopa luit sen. Otan mielellään palautetta sisällöstä: oliko liian pitkää, oliko tylsää luettavaa. Jos olet Liisa Vartiainen, onko mun suomen kielen taito yhtään parantunut? Huonontunut?

Niille joita kiinnostaa, alla linkki ruokalan menuuhun:
http://www.lboro.ac.uk/services/campus-living/food-drink/halldiningfooddiaries/cateredhallmenu/

Days one and two

Silmät ei kanna, selkä on murskana ja polvi vihoittelee taas. Takanani on toinen päivä Loughboroughin yliopistossa (tästedes Lboro) ja vaikka ensilause tuntui vanhan miehen vihoittelulta se ei sitä ollut. Olen fyysisesti aivan väsy, mutta en voisi olla elämääni tyytyväisempi.

Miten päädyin tähän tilaan? Edellinen viikko meni kavereiden hyvästelemiseen, enkä oikein antanut itselleni tilaisuutta nukkua. Ensimmäisen päivän Englannissa vietin Lontoossa vanhan ystäväni Luken luona. Oli hyvä hengata lapsuudenkaverin kanssa jota ei valitettavasti oo ehtinyt nähdä viime vuosina tarpeeksi. Käppäilimme joku viisi tuntia ja Luke piti mulle hissantunnin. Mieletön tyyppi. Opin hemmetisti Lontoon eri hallitsijoista ja menneisyydestä.

Sunnuntaina tapasin Rikun, jonka kanssa matkasimme Lboroon dösällä. Tutustuimme paremmin ja kävimme läpi odotuksia tulevalta vuodenpuolikkaalta. Siinä vaiheessa huomasin, ettei selkä kestä kun pitää liikkua pitkiä matkoja julkisilla kantaen kahta 20 kg:n laukkua ja käsitavaralaukkua. You know, meikeille sen sellaista.

Anyways. Emme tienneet mitä odottaa, ja urheina lähdimme etsimään asuntoloita. Tässä vaiheessa saimme ekan maistiaisen paikallisesta hallinnon viestintä-ongelmista. Eli löysimme paikan, josta hakea avaimet kämppään, mutta opiskelijakorttien (jotka meille luvattiin) sijaan saimme väliaikaiset vierailijakortit käyttöömme. Kysyttäessä, mistä mahtaisimme saada ID-cards, jotka toimivat henkkareinamme, kulkukortteinamme yms, saimme kuulla lauseen joka on tullut vastaan usein parin päivän aikana: "You'll have to ask someone else".

Jaa.

Loppupäivä meni paikan kartotukseen. Olen facessa kertonut että paikka muistuttaa Tylypahkan ja inttikasarmin risteytystä. Selvennän. Tämä on kuin pieni kylä pikkukylän sydämessä. Paikka ei ole aidattu mutta väkisin tulee mieleen Tylypahkan eri talot sekä polut pubiin jossa tarjoillaan hunajaolutta.
Menipä taas horinaksi. Vasta opettelen tätä.

Eka ilta päättyikin sitten pizzan ja kaljaan, josta pelkään syntyvän meille traditio. Mun vieressä on pikkukauppa josta saa kaiken tarvitttavan: hygieniatarvikkeita, kynää ja paperia, ruokaa ja kaljaa kylmästä. Vieressä on pizzeria josta saa kaksi pizzaa yhden hinnalla. Läski kun olen, söin heti molemmat. Seurasi spotify-maratoni, stand-uppia youtarista ja paaljon puhetta.

Seuraavana päivänä kävimme taas läpi kampusalueen ja herrajumala. Puolet pinta-alasta on huippu-urheilulle pyhitettyä. Ette uskokaan kuinka pahalta tuntuu kun 50% vastaanulijoista on timmissä kunnossa. No mitä me tehdään? Lähdettiin jokaiseen (kaksi kuntosalia ja uimahalli yhdessä minikylässä) urheilumestaan kyseleen hintoja.. Päätin että JOS mulle suotaisiin matkastipendiä niin 150£ maksussa salijäsenyydestä ehkä olisi järkeä. Olut taas on aika halpaa. Saas nähdä mitä tapahtuu.

Niin. Loppupäivä menikin sen selvittelyyn missä ja milloin meidän kurssit menee. Saimme mailailla ja kiroilla tuntikaupalla ennen kuin saimme vastauksia. Lopulta saimme mailin, jossa kerrotaan mitkä kurssit meillä on mutta ajankohdista ei tullut infoa. Ihan älytöntä touhua. Täyttä dadaa. Voisin mennä vaikka mihin yksityiskohtiin mutta teksti on jo niin pitkä ettei kukaan oo tähän asti lukenutkaan joten säästän sen yhden ihmisen joka actually avasi tän blogikirjoituksen.

ID-kortit saimmekin jostain syystä respassa, josta meille ei ennestään kerrottu. Eli se on sillä hyvä, mutta emme tajua miksi meille mailissa kerrotaan että ne annetaan asuntolassa. Siis niinkuin Riku sen niin mainiosti ilmaisi, "asiakaspalvelu täällä on mahtavaa, mutta kaikki skulaisi paremmin jos he satsaisivat vähemmän iloiseen palveluun ja enemmän johdonmukaiseen viestintään ja käytäntöihin" (DISCLAIMER: Niin kuin aina, keksin sitaatit suoraan omasta päästäni, mutta tämä oli hänen sanomansa, so shut up). Ja tottakai, ID-korttihan toimii myös ruokalipukkeena, mutta haettuamme ekat safkat niitä ei oltu vielä aktivoitu. Anyways, meidän ruokala hakkaa Unicafen 6-0. Sori vaan UC-Simo :'( näemme taas kesällä.

Tunti sitten tapasin pari naapuria rappukäytävässä, jotka kutsuivat bisselle paikalliseen pubiin. Mut lisättin rappukäytävän whatsapp-ryhmään, mutta jouduin 20 min sitten kiittämään kutsusta ja pahoitella että jään simahtamaan kämppään. Suomessa kello on tosiaan 2 tuntia enemmän enkä oo antanut itseni nukkua taas vaihteeksi. Next times, blokes!

Onneksi olkoon lukija. Pääsit loppuun asti. Tosiaan, perustin blogin. Asia mitä olen harkinnut yli vuoden mutta en vaan kehdannut aloittaa. Mitäkö voit odottaa? Näillä näkymin pohdintaa (roska-)kulttuurista, kaupunki-ilmiöistä, yhteiskunnasta, somesta, mun kasvavasta man-bunista sekä oman psyykeeni regressiivisestä murenemisesta. Positiivisella mausteella, tottakai :D

Horns up!