Hello, I'm the Doctor or 'David Tries Being Productive'

This will turn into a mini-biography, I apologise for this!

My post uni life has always been a source of great concern for me. I've never really been sure about what I want to do with this life of mine! Since I was very little I've wanted to write books for a living. I used to go round my granddad's house and he'd staple pieces of drawing paper together for me so I could write stories. I remember writing a few pages of a book called 'The Secret Island' happily cross-legged in his front room. (I also remember him telling me there was a secret trapdoor under a creaky floorboard which I now realise was actually just a creaky floorboard but still.) I maintain after many years Lost stole my idea and promptly screwed it up in it's last season!

Anyway, writing stories has always been far and away my favourite past-time, I'm sure if I'd been more into playing football or music I'd have had a few more girlfriends in my life, but I've always jumped at any opportunity to write a story. I used to love creative writing in primary school, and loved reading stories out at the front of the class. They were probably all the same now I look back; some kind of James Bond meets the Famous Five extravaganza with car chases and lost treasure. 

I am very pleased to inform any reader therefore (with a certain amount of trepidation, knowing the harshness of the industry I so desperately want to be a part of) that my novel; 78,000 words which took me my entire childhood to get perfect, is currently being read by a literary agency and a publisher! A privilege not many people get. 

It's taken me a long time and many lonely hours to realise however, that you don't get published sitting in your bedroom tapping away at your computer. For so many years I was fed up with education and I took a gap year because I just adamantly refused to go to uni. An extremely lonely year which left me pale, skinny and ill-looking later I realised I did want to. One lecture in I found my love of learning rekindled, something I think I lost halfway through my GCSEs when I really started hating school for reasons nothing to do with what I was learning.

I think I could read as soon as I could walk (small exaggeration perhaps). I always remember my mum telling me that I wanted to learn things even before school, to read and write etc, and I carried that through primary school achieving many gold stars in Mrs Weatherley's year 5 class. And earning a trip to Eurodisney for getting commendations in Year 7! Nerd I hear you cry, but I feel now at the age of 21 I can be proud of this. And proud of being a nerd, and a geek, and all things associated. It's quite sad this was sapped from me in my latter secondary school years, but I'm very much glad that it's 100% back at the most important time.

I'm a firm believer that meeting people and a good group of friends can get you anywhere in life. I happened to take Irish Literature at uni, which I love so much I'm now looking into an MA which includes it as a module. Not only that but sitting in on my Irish lectures was a literary agent, the same literary agent who is now hopefully reading my book laughing and remaining attached to the edge of her seat.

The only way to get published in this world I firmly believe is through meeting the right people, and university has given me just this. The best friends in the world and the very best most inspiring group of lecturers and just general people I have ever come across. Where do I start? Do I tell you about the husband and wife linguistics expert lecturing team who should have their own sitcom? Do I tell you about the dry, intelligent dandy with the Hugh Grant haircut? The creative writing lecturer, the published author with the look of the mad scientist? The jack of all trades bouncy irishman/Beatles expert/general happiest man in the universe? Or my personal favourite, the jolly father christmas lookalike who proclaimed in a tragedy lecture that the Cenci by Percy Shelley was a 'fucking awful play!' I kid you not, he literally walked in and proclaimed it before greeting us with a cheerful 'morning gang!' And a fucking awful play it really is.

It's because of these people that I now want to learn everything I possibly can about the subject I love so much. It's only really occurred to me in the last hour or so that I want to be like them. I want to be the person at the front of the lecture hall inspiring people. I don't know why but that just sits right with me. I'm even excited about dissertations! I totted it up and between now and the end of the PHD I'll have to do, I'll have to write round about 150,000 words! Do I mind? Of course not! I'll be studying (hopefully) in London, the greatest most diverse city in the world, becoming an expert in things which appeal to me. All the while trying to get my own personal work published. Imagine the thought of having a dissertation or a PHD paper published! This is my dream and I will come out of this university with a first. 

And when I finish my PHD I'll say (rightfully) 'Hello I'm the Doctor' in my very best David Tennant impression and I'll be a happy man.

Go on, leave a comment, you know you want to.

The Monster Ate all my Cards! or 'David Tries Climbing a Magic Mountain'

No I'm not on an acid trip. Well what I tried was very trippy but I've not consumed anything adverse. I'm talking about a video game sadly for those of you who see video games as pointless and silly. If you're going to play one though and there's a PS3 anywhere near your current vicinity, I'd recommend hopping onboard the Playstation Network and spending £9.99 of your hard earned pounds and pennies on this game.

It was just, wow! Is my response to it. I wish I could have filmed me playing it, because from my housemate's reactions it was a funny sight to behold. It was first brought to my attention by the humorous tweets of Dara O'Briain. Who I'd recommend following if you don't already, a very prolific twitterist. And an avid gamer if the hilarious section of his last tour is anything to go by! I remember annoying the people  around me with my hysteric cackle. He communicated the frustrating annoyance of stabbing at your controller and hitting 'toggle maps' or how every game in the world has a different button for 'crouch'.

Anyway, based on this, I trust his gaming judgement. I'm not a huge gamer, I have somehow collected all three main consoles over a number of years but if I play for longer than an hour I get a headache because I'm an old man. So my relationship with video games is - I like them and I'm always impressed with the latest advances in them, but I'm not on them all the time.

This was something a bit special. It's made by ThatGameCompany who have only made a couple of games before, a reportedly equally trippy Snake-like creation called Flow, and something that looked a bit airy-fairy by the picture on Wikipedia called Flowers. Journey took my breath away and my decision to buy it was based on a reply tweet from the big man himself! I asked Dara 'Journey yea or nay?' and he replied 'Journey, definitely yea' So about an hour of download later I was playing.

It's so different to any other game I've ever played. First of all the graphics are stunning. You take your simple cloaky character through a series of locations, I won't ruin it for you but you start in a desert and lets just say when you get to snow your breath gets taken away. I got very into it, apparently making scared noises and getting very sad when a monster attacked my little man who can't attack back! It was very cruel of the monster I thought!

It's so hard to describe, the only real objective is to journey (surprise surprise) towards this mountain, it shines and you want to get there. The vast majority of the game is moving towards shiny things. I'm not selling this very well. It only takes about an hour and a half to complete but it's genius, there are only a few controls, and you're never entirely sure what you're doing but you carry on playing and then you get to the end (SPOILER) and it catapults you straight back to the start and I'd play it all over again. I suppose they're probably trying to make some kind of profound statement about life but I'd play it again just for the mouth-dropping scenery and you never know something else might happen this time! What if there are different journeys and different ways to get to the mountain?! What if I can get my own back against the scary dragon monsters that attack me and eat my shiny jumping cards? (You get the ability to jump by absorbing this floating pieces of magic (probably)).

Or alternatively you can give your online playmates a jump by standing next to them. This is the other amazing thing about Journey. It's all online, everyone who plays is put into the same world and you journey together and sometimes help each other to get past obstacle. You can't talk you just help each other, and you can't hurt each other. I felt I should play the Beatles or the Grateful Dead, throw on some tie-dye and start swaying singing kum-bay-ya.

In short, I climbed the magic mountain, and I'd do it again.

I am this geeky, but I got a reply tweet from Dara O'Briain, worth it.

Oh and I also joined Pottermore, duel me! SeerWatch8159. A blog for another day when I figure out how to defeat Quirrell and Voldemort.

Does Anyone Love a Horse That Much? or 'David Tries Spontaneous Theatre'

The answer to that question, worryingly, is probably yes, but thankfully this blog isn't about that. I didn't go to see Equus.

I've had tickets to see Warhorse for a couple of weeks, luckily I saw a ticket on Seatwave for £25 and I thought why not? I've wanted to see it since it came to the National Theatre. We've all seen the adverts, the impressive, slightly eerie puppet horses, the world war one setting, the reports from other people that it made them cry. That's like catnip for David. Most things make me cry, apart from Schindler's List for some reason. Of all the things! Marley and Me? tearsville, Up? cried like a baby, but real life horror? No, shocked definitely but no tears! I felt quite bad to be honest. I think I was too shocked to cry, and that was true watching this as well. But I'll come to that.

The other day, while I sat at home with Michael watching David Tennant in 'The Minor Character', a monologue by Will Self that some intellectual chap decided to put on television to confuse the audience of great britain, I got theatre fever. I was going to see Warhorse in a couple of days so I could probably wait, but as the Family Guy fanfare graced our TV I started idly searching the National Theatre website to see if I could use my entry pass. Something I'd highly recommend if you're between the age of 18-25! You can get into National Theatre productions for £5 if there are seats left! Well worth it!

I first of all booked to see One Man Two Guv'nors in a couple of weeks which I've very excited about. I then stumbled across something called 'The Pitmen Painters'. I don't know why it appealed to me. I like painting I suppose, I bought 3 canvases today from my favourite art shop in Berwick Street, Soho. Something about this play drew me in though so I read the synopsis. A group of miners in Newcastle in the 1930s start to go to an art appreciation class to try and better themselves intellectually and challenge the stereotype of the working class. The reviews said 'hilarious' 'touching' 'everyone should see this play' and see this play I did!

I used my entry pass because the play also ended today! Which is a sad thing because the Pitmen Painters was absolutely amazing. I've never laughed so hard in my life! The five men who took the class were all so different and the acting was incredible! I later found out that the play was written by the same guy who wrote Billy Elliot, Lee Hall, and funnily enough who also wrote the screenplay for the recent Warhorse film! I very much enjoyed my spontaneous trip to the theatre and I'll be doing this a lot more in the coming months. I find when I go to London I always find more things I want to see and do, and I've found that trying new things has led to quite a fulfilling way of life. I think I'm experiencing the same thing Danny Wallace did when he wrote Yesman, which I recommend to every person in the world! Saying yes to things does lead you to good stuff! Like when I finally send away that scratchcard for a sexy haircut and a river cruise.

The play got me thinking about art, I hate to going all pretentious, but it was a central theme of the play that the art the miners created was a personal thing for them and it was a message that they wanted to send people and their paintings being in galleries for people to see was important to them. I realised that if one rich person buys a painting and hangs it in a dusty corner of their mansion then that's selfish! I think art (if the artist wants it to be seen) should be for everyone, so they can all read a message from it. One of my favourite lines from the play (imagine it in a humorous geordie accent) was 'how are we supposed t' naa the meanin' if ye don' naa the meanin' of meanin''. The miners just wanted to know the message behind each painting as the artist put it down and it was the professor's job to teach them that each painting has a million meanings depending on who's looking at it. This is what I think about any art, paintings, books, music, films, the message is what you get out of it, and I love how a million different people can read something a million different ways. That's why I like galleries. I'm a geek.

On my way home, taking a slow, rather romantically wistful and thoughtful stroll through the rain nudging my way down the Strand, I decided to stop at the menus outside a few restaurants. I wouldn't go in by myself, that'd be loserish, but I like to stop and read the menus to make myself hungry. I like to think it gives me an adventurous air of someone richer than myself. So I stopped at a few until one caught my eye, it looked new, it looked tasty, it looked exotic to me. So I stopped and spent a good few minutes studying the menu.

'I must look so cool,' I thought to myself smugly.

I realised it was a Zizzi and shuffled away embarrassed.

Friday the 13th! Poppycock, I said to myself as I returned home that evening, I went to bed eager to return to the Drury Lane area the following day for Warhorse in my drama double bubble.

'Shit, shit, shit, shit' I said to myself and Michael as I did a little run through the living room at 12.30, my shoes in hand as I realised I was due to see the matinee of Warhorse, not the evening production. I'd rather been looking forward to drinking my tea and watching the tantalising prospect of Man City v Norwich which Sky Sports had decided to deliver this very Soccer Saturday (6-1 to City, my hero Noel Gallagher will be skipping round his mansion up north somewhere) I was quite worried I wouldn't make it, my spontaneous intellectual double header was lying in tatters by my new converse on the floor.

'You have time,' Michael said, cooly sipping his own tea.

I hoped I did, I'd been looking forward to this for weeks! I rushed out of the house and stood and paced as is my usual routine by the bus stop waiting for the 490.

Half an hour, that's right, not 12 minutes as the happy, optimistic sign by the bus stop said, half an hour later I found myself on the bus. My trying new things regime was being tested for the first time, I didn't want to write this blog with the embarrassment of saying that I had to enter at the interval because I didn't look at my ticket!

Well I have to say, thank the baby Jesus, Allah and Buddha, and most importantly South West trains for the fast train to Waterloo. I arrived in plenty of time. Sat in my cheap seat at the side of the stage, yes with a safety rail blocking part of my view but you can't complain with the cheap seats!

'It's dramatic isn't it!' I said to the girl next to me at the interval. Well, after chatting for a little bit, my actual opener was: 'Why don't we get ice cream up here?' Genius. And true! I could only drool (not literally, there was a lady present) at the box of Haagen Daas an usher was handing out downstairs. My slightly obvious statement at the drama production being dramatic was fitting though, I was on the edge of my seat the whole 2 hours 40 minutes (yes it's that long). I mean yes I was on the edge of my seat so I could peer over the safety rail, but I would have been safety rail or not.

The puppetry is some of the most impressive thing I've ever seen, the puppeteers who control the two main horses, Joey and Topthorn (going to have to give you a spoiler warning) became characters in their own right and though they don't speak, they give the best performances. How two hunks of metal and fabric who don't talk can have their own little character traits because of the brilliance of two people in a costume and a man controlling the head blew my mind. I wasn't expecting to be able to see the puppeteers to be honest, and if I'm honest, if I was to go again, I'd make sure I was looking directly at the stage, because I think my cheap seats view may have shown me a little more than I wanted to see. It was like sideboob. Although I wouldn't necessarily complain about that, maybe a poor comparison.

Oh I did cry, I told you a lie there at the start, when Topthorn died my eyes started leaking of their own accord. When Joey was about to be put down though, I was too shocked and tense to cry, never in my life have I wanted a puppet to live to the end of the play so much. And I don't say that a lot. I won't spoil that for you though, he is the main character after all.

The quality of the production was incredible, the horses themselves, the rotating stage, the parts of the stage that came away to reveal convincing trenches, more parts of trenches that fell from the ceilings, the gunshots, the smoke, the explosions, it was just incredible and I can't recommend enough.

Oh my favourite character, the goose. There's this puppet goose that a man wheels around quacking happily, and he tries to get into the farmhouse whenever Rose, the mother of the main character goes inside, only the door always shuts in his face and he quacks. Maybe a 'you had to be there' goose.

Oh and the songman! Bob Fox (I'm a nerd and bought the programme) a folk singer comes on with a violinist and assorted brass every now and again with an accordion and sings sad war songs between scenes. They were beautiful and fit so well and I'll be buying the soundtrack.

Oh I almost forgot, there was this woman in my row, she arrived last so we all had to stand up to let her in. Me and my interval friend were in stitches on account of her. First of all, the first thing she did when she sat down was crack open a relentless, this is funny in itself. Then (apparently, thankfully I couldn't hear) she kept on saying 'oh I love this bit' (imagine in a brummie accent) 'oh this bits sooo sad' throughout the play to my new friend's nan. I hope she was her nan not her mum. If either of you happen to read this I'm sorry! Unlikely, I forgot to ask her name!

Anyway, at the end of the play which is the highlight of my week, the actors all came out (including the puppeteers without their horsey costumes) as is usual to take an individual bow. After the actors the two horses came out and reared up dramatically. The brummie woman stood up and started cheering, pumping her fist and going 'wheeeeeeyyy'.

'Must be that relentless,' I said.

What a strange reaction! I mean I know it was dramatic, but the Muppets was dramatic when Kermit and the gang nearly didn't raise the funds to save their theatre, but I didn't cheer for Fozzie Bear! I mean I really liked the horse too, don't get me wrong, but 'wheeey?' really?

My one complaint, and it explains my title. Is that the boy, Albert love the horse so much! And he properly loves it. I've never had a pet so maybe I don't really get the animal love thing. I'm sure I will when I have one day, but even so, he loved it so much. Let me ask you a question, would you go to war for your cat? or your goldfish? or your sea monkeys? If the answer is yes then I'll shush, but have a think, I mean actually run away and go to the trenches in WW1.

I still absolutely loved the play, start to finish, and I'd go see either one of them again tomorrow.

Except it's the FA Cup semi final and my team's playing and I'm excited and otherwise engaged!

Too Doggy for My Liking or 'David Tries the Posh Seats'

No reader, get your mind out of the gutter, I did nothing of the sort. Naughty.

I of course am referring to my trip to Kingston Odeon yesterday to go to see The Hunger Games. And my highly amusing opening joke refers to my only complaint about it. But I'll come to that! (see, you'll keep reading now!)

Anyway, I feel obliged to say that this is your first and only spoiler warning. I find it strange that I have to give this warning. Since the film is an adaptation of a book which has been out for a number of years, I'm of the firm belief that the spoiler-line has been past. It's like someone saying 'oh you ruined the end of Harry Potter for me'. Although saying that, there are films of books like Clockwork Orange and Bladerunner that I haven't read or seen (though I intend to) and I'd be a bit miffed if someone told me how they ended. I was very annoyed for instance when I was reading Lord of the Rings and my brother gave away the ending to me! It took me weeks to get through them!

Anyway I digress, alright one more spoiler warning. There, that'll do.

I was a fan of all 3 books before there was even a sniff of a film adaptation on the wind, and when I first heard about a well dressed Hollywood type buying the rights to it I must say my heart sank. This was before a certain change of heart I've had recently about book to film adaptations. I used to think that any film adaptation of a book was the worst possible idea and that books were far and away better. I did a module on book to film adaptations last semester though and my mind was changed somewhat for a few reasons. One, that so many films I loved were adapted from books, and two, a film can be as deep and involving as a book can, only in different ways. Maybe it's harder to read into, because (obviously) you're not actually reading into it. While books aren't obvious things and there can be layers of subtext, a film can be pretty much all subtext, and a small image in the corner of the screen, or a flicker in the actor's eye is just an equivalent of an author writing this down for you.

I'm going off on one here, but I was thinking about this as I munched on my salty popcorn in the highly worth it Premier Seats thanks to my Odeon card. I know what you're thinking! Salty popcorn, you mentalist! But I'm weird like that. I'd also choose cake and sweets over chocolate. And my favourite Lord of the Rings character is Sam not any of the cool fighty characters.

All this reminds me of a post I saw on Tumblr about ebooks, in that someone was perfectly happy for their films and music to be digitalised, but their books had to stay on paper because books have a soul. I do agree, a book is a person putting their heart and soul onto bits of paper for the whole world (hopefully) to read. But I think that films and music have just as much soul, it's just communicated in different ways. And this is why I buy vinyl records, and if I had money I'd buy a projector that played proper film reels. But it's also why I own a Kindle, and and Ipod and an inordinate number of DVDs. I love the soul, but I also love stuff and gadgets. I don't think the soul of something can be lost by changing it.

This is why, when I say down in row H, seat 17 (following my ticket and being a good boy) and switched my phone off, I didn't sit there with the amount of fear I usually would have about to view one of my favourite books being put on the big screen. I'm not saying there aren't bad adaptations of books. Sometimes things are made for the wrong reasons, money for instance. This though was different. The Hunger Games was just about perfect.

The casting was excellent, the mood was incredible, the shaky camerawork fitted beautifully and I was gripped from start to finish. Jennifer Lawrence was an amazing Katniss, and Josh Hutcherson an equally amazing Peeta. And Liam Hemsworth was a great Gale, mainly because (as in the books) I didn't like him. I was team Peeta from the first time the competition between the two was put into question. I thought Lenny Kravitz and Donald Sutherland shone in their roles despite their limited screen time (as Cinna and President Snow) Sutherland portrayed President Snow with all the slimy, cold, ruthlessness I pictured him with. It was almost as though someone had looked into my imagination and produced the Hunger Games as I had seen them. Even Haymitch (Woody Harrelson) who I didn't picture like that at all fit in my head. And his speech to Katniss at the end when he tries to protect her from the wrath of the Capitol I thought was one of the best bits of acting in the film. And I didn't think I'd be saying that about old Woody when I read he'd been cast.

In short, I cried, I laughed and I jumped as the Muttations jumped out at Katniss and Peeta. These are the three criteria that I think make the perfect film. I cried when Rue died for instance, and I laughed when Effie said 'THAT IS MAHOGANY', and when Peeta and Caesar Flickerman (Stanley Tucci) started sniffing each other.

In the Muttations I have my only complaint. As my title says, they were too doggy! The horrific thing about them in the books was that they actually had the eyes of the fallen tributes, so Katniss found herself looking into the eyes of a fierce, devilish monster with the eyes of Rue, the sweet little girl she covered in flowers. And maybe this was too horrible a thing to put in a 12A but I think kids can take a lot these days. It would have been tricky to do this I suppose, you don't really study the eyes of people to realise if a dog had them. Maybe I'm nitpicking, or maybe my astigmatism robbed me of this detail.

Apart from this I absolutely loved the film and cannot wait to see Catching Fire when it comes out.

And I would highly recommend Premier Seats, David 1, bum-numbing 0.

Potholing, Continental Shoe Shopping, a Nazi Regime and a Wet Bottom or 'David Tries Italy Episode Two'

Well I say potholing, what I really mean is climbing St Peter's Basilica.

Anyone who has tried tackling this ridiculously generously proportioned church will know what I mean. To get to the top (since the elevator only takes you halfway) you have to climb a bazillion flights of tight staircases which twist and turn up through the dome. I have advice, if you're in any way claustrophobic, or if you're any fatter than the people who survive on 4 fried eggs from a packet of Haribo and a Wotsit a day from Supersize v Superskinny, stay at the bottom. The view's good but no one wants to get wedged in a basilica. I'll try and post some photos at the end of this blog to communicate the kind of caves more at home in films like 'The Descent', that me and my family were forced to traverse.

And then there was the top, and the view. Now the view was breathtaking, don't get me wrong. It's an interesting fact that the basilica is still the tallest building in Rome, not because of any rule or religious obligation, it just is and no one wants to build anything higher! I like little traditions and peculiarities like that. It is impressive standing looking out across the rooftops of Rome trying to take artistic photographs.

This however I found a challenge. The viewing platform at the top of St Peter's might as well be the Somme, or downtown Baghdad, or any number of frightfully unpleasant places. I mean no one died, which is a plus point for any holiday destination, but up at the top, it's absolute mayhem. The way up isn't controlled at all after the queue where you have to pay €7.50, probably to line old Pope Benni's pockets a bit more, and people are allowed to stay up there as long as they like. So people stay gawping at the view while yet more people come up behind them. And then there's no direction to go around the platform up there. It's round so any sensible person might suggest putting up a sign that says 'walk clockwise please' or 'stop shoving me' or 'these shoes are new, stop stepping on my toes'! In Italian of course. Therefore my experience up at the highest point in Rome was tarnished severely by this lack of organisation.

The Vatican is incredible though, I'd definitely recommend going. It was a recurring theme in Rome, everything's so big! The Vatican, the Pantheon, the Colisseum, wherever you are you constantly find yourself craning your neck to see some more intricate carvings or mosaics on the ceiling, or finding something yet more impressive to sit on the front of your 'my Roman Holiday' facebook album, which reminds me I still need to do. I took 600 photos! My poor iphone got very tired. I'd recommend the camera on the 4S though, I'm really rather proud of some of the photos I took! (see below to see if you agree!) It's a whole new level of amazing to think, when looking at a statue, or a mosaic, how long ago some of these things were made. It's especially mind blowing when you visit places like Pompeii, to look at things and think 'a Roman made that!' And especially amazing to think that these things survived Mount Vesuvius erupting. I'm not sure I agree with the bodies of people who died in the disaster being put on display in glass cases though, it's all a bit sad for my liking. And a bit rude, if I die tomorrow, number one on my list of wishes is to not be put on display in a glass case for tourists to gape at.

One other annoying thing about the otherwise amazing Vatican, was the Sistine Chapel. It's amazing, don't get me wrong (again), but I didn't really enjoy the way you get treated in there. Another interesting titbit of info, is that many moons ago Nikon bought the rights to the Michelangelo paintings on the ceilings and walls, and therefore you're not allowed to take photos. You get led into the chapel, pushed shoulder to shoulder like a herd of sheep, and get incrementally shouted at for so much as sneezing in the direction of a painting. It was all a bit Nazi for my liking! I did very much enjoy my trip to the Vatican though, I feel like all I've done is moan. I urge you to go and do all that's on offer! Take a guided tour though, we'd have got lost if we hadn't been guided round by a chirpy Lithuanian tour guide who looked like Meg Ryan.

So I tried many new things on my Roman Holiday. Where to start I ask myself! First of all, I was confronted on the very first night in our hotel, by a scary looking device which I'm sure unsettles many a holiday goer. A slightly worrying looking bowl-like object which sits in the corner of the bathroom just daring you to have a seat. I of course am talking about the dreaded bidet.

I felt as though I wouldn't have been doing my job as a trier of new things if I didn't give it a go. I'll spare you the details. However during my bidet adventure, many questions arose into my head as to what kind of numpty invented this ridiculous bit of plumbing. Ok how to deal with this delicately. What do you do? Are you meant to sit on the bowl? No thanks I'm not an animal! This leaves the only other option being hovering. Already the sweat was on my brow and to be honest it was adding a whole level of worry and stress to my bathroom experience that I really could have done without.

Then there's the using of the thing which is awkward in itself, then you're done. Now what? You're confronted with a very wet bottom yet you're still fully clothed hovering over a bathroom appliance. This is not where I wanted to be on my first night in Rome. A cleverer man might have seen this coming and brought a towel across the room with him to the bidet. But I was a bidet virgin I didn't know! So all in all not my favourite experience ever. Nobody wants to walk with their trousers around their ankles, it's well known to be the hardest thing anyone has ever had to do! And the wet bottom just added to this. My first failure of trying new things.  It was bound to happen I suppose. Maybe I tried too much too soon? Anyway, I implore you to learn from my mistakes and leave this most peculiar of bathroom fixtures to it's own devices in the corner. When I come to power I'm going to make them illegal I'll say that much.

Apart from this minor setback though Rome was rather good! I plan to return there one day when I'm rich * to the area around a (once again) very big site in Rome called the Spanish Steps. There were so many designer shops that I would just love to stroll into and buy one thing for a million pounds! They even had the watch James Bond wears! An Omega Seamaster (I'm a JB nerd), it's a sexy piece of kit! I urge you to give it a google! It was Price on Application though. A worrying thing to see on a price label. It means you suggest a price and the seller either agrees or disagrees. I very much wanted to suggest €10.50 and a packet of Skittles but I think they might have laughed me out of the country. One day I'll return though! I'm determined! It's like the time I was about 13 and sat in a Ferrari in a supercar garage and the snippy man from upstairs ran down and shooed me from the shop! I will return to that garage and buy a Ferrari one day and I shall laugh in his face with my black American express card. Or some other kind of card with the word 'platinum' in the title, that's always good. For the sort of prices I expect they'll ask for that watch though I'd want it to shoot laser beams and make my tea like James' one does!

One thing I was able to do though which I was very happy about, was buy a new pair of Converse! In Rome! It was in a Foot Locker so I know they're real! But you can't get them here! I can't find them anyway. You probably can, but for now I'm going to say when someone asks where I got my beautiful new Converse, I can reply 'oh Rome' like a rich bastard! I do like the occasional taste of the high life, like when me and Stu decided to opt for the Sainsbury's own brand pasta rather than Sainsbury's basics to treat ourselves. We know how to live!

Continental shoe shopping was tricky though! Another piece of advice on going to Italy is learn some Italian. It should be obvious but I'd really recommend it. It's not like Spain when every man and his dog knows English. Which is fair enough I think! It's rather good really that they haven't succumbed to it because Italian is a rather beautiful language and a future new thing to try will be learning it! I bought two Italian cookbooks to help me with this. So when I translate them and make tasty foods hopefully I'll pick some up.

One last thing, which rounded off my holiday perfectly was on the last day, after power-walking around Pompeii constantly checking the mountain wasn't on fire, and after a starter of mozzerella, tomato and basil and battered seaweed (give it a go, it's wonderful), the waiter said the phrase 'shutuppayourface' to his daughter, and I have honestly never been happier.

I do hope that coin I threw in the fountain of Trevi does indeed bring me back to Rome one day.



Potholing in St Peter's

 The biggest church in the world (must be said in the voice of JC...Jeremy Clarkson not Jesus Christ)

 Oh those sexy Italians...

 My beautiful new Converse

 A rather nice Italian scene (it says Happy Easter on the wall, I thought it was topical)

 One of my favourite pictures from one of Rome's many, many, many fountains

Arrivederchi!


*the method of attaining this level of richness is still a puzzle to me, but I really think it was my life's calling! I'd be so good at it!

P.S. I also tried planking, it's a lot of fun I'd advise giving it a go

Kettlegate and the Taxi of Doom or 'David Tries Italy Episode One'

You might think it strange starting a blog about Italy talking about kettles. Probably a bit rude and uncontinental - oh that’s not a word, it should be! That’s mine, I’ve invented that, hands off! I’m going to be rich!

Anyway kettles. My dad is a huge fan of tea, as am I, and tea is a central part of my family’s lifestyle and I’m quite happy about this. It’s the most British of things a good old cup of tea with a saucer and a jaffa cake, in a mug suitably sized for dunking. I’ve recently discovered there are people who don’t dunk their biscuits in their tea! Isn’t that unconstitutional or something? I know we don’t have a constitution in Britain but if we did, rule number one would be ‘thou shalt dunk thy biscuit’. 

Because of this love of the hottest of tasty beverages however there arose an issue in my household. My dad suddenly became very worried that there would be no kettle in our hotel room. I know, a scary thought for anyone. Therefore, naturally, my wise old father decided that the only logical solution to this problem was to take our home kettle and put it in a suitcase and bring it across europe with us. Of course mum disagreed seeing that with Argos’ extensive range of travel kettles (2), taking a full-sized kitchen appliance cross-continent was stupid. These were not her exact words but this is a family friendly blog! These discussions continued throughout the whole time I returned home from uni until my dad finally relented and was forced to travel to Argos to shell out £14.99 for a travel kettle. The settling argument being mum’s ‘the kettle or me’. A shrewd womanly tactic which won through as I now sit in the rather nice Hotel Petra with the waft of darjeeling finding my nostrils. I did think it was a dangerous one. Words cannot describe how much the man loves tea. He’s like Wallace with cheese, so suffice to say, it was a close shave. *

This, an unlikely, rather humorous episode that can only occur in my family, therefore I’ve devoted the first part of my first Italian adventure to recount this to you. 

So many things I’d like to talk about! I think I’d better start at the beginning with my love for Stansted airport. So many eventful things occurred here! Firstly, (and fittingly) in an optimistic ‘trying new things’ mood, I had baked beans with my all day breakfast! It’s always been a source of annoyance to me (and probably others) that I’ve lived my life bean-phobic. I don’t know why, I think I found the texture strange or something when I was young. But today I tried them and my God they were good. That first forkful of sausage/bean/bacon/mushroom was a delight I wish to repeat and I can see for many years I’ve been foolish. Beans are good, and shall feature in my fried breakfasts from this day forward!

I do like Stansted, it’s set out so well! I always recount (and probably bore) people with my finding it impressive how it separates check-in, passport, control and shops in one big hall. And then there’s the Stansted magic rollercoaster rail thingy! The one that transports you to your gate with views of the runways! It always awakes a childlike joy in me when I get the chance to take a ride in it. I’m a very easily pleased human. My mum however never has a particularly good experience at my favourite airport. Twice her hand luggage was searched for bombs and/or drugs. I’ve never thought my mum looks like a drug pedalling terrorist but airport security clearly think otherwise! Poor mum! She’s lovely really! **

So after two hours of drinking Starbucks and trying on things I can’t afford in the Sunglasses Hut (the  favourite activity of any airport goer) we boarded our plane (me with luxurious foot-space but a worrying emergency door responsibility) and two short Kindle-laden hours later we landed in Roma!

Now to the crux of this blog. Taxi drivers.

An interesting fact I learnt on the Million Pound Drop the other day while me and my friend Jocy relaxed after dinner, was that the word ‘taxi’ is the same in all languages! Well, English, German and apparently Italian anyway. I’m an English student, this puts my nerd radar on red alert and now it’s a favourite fact of mine!

On following the helpful ‘Taxi’ sign in a sea of sexy looking Italian words we found our way into an equally sexy little white Fiat. I’d like to make the point that my dad was too scared to sit in the front with the taxi driver so I had to endure about 15 minutes of British embarrassed silence while having dance music forced into my ears. My dad’s ‘I forgot the passenger goes on that side’ excuse is a tad suspicious don’t you think? I don’t mind, I like being a man, and sitting in the front with the taxi driver on holiday is textbook man-zone. And I don’t usually act the man, I like to use Herbal Essenses ‘Tousle Me Softly’ for instance. And I very much like baking and home interiors. I care not, one day a lucky lady will enjoy soft tousleable hair, tasty cakes and a chic house to enjoy both these things in! So I like being the man at other times, like calling British Gas, and driving without a satnav and sitting with taxi drivers.

This was no ordinary taxi. This was Italy’s answer to Indiana Jones. This was the Taxi of Doom. I noticed on the (thankfully short) trip to the Hotel Petra, that Italian drivers are insane. I hate to stereotype. Alright, the cars I saw, and our taxi driver was insane. He was on his phone, using his opposite hand to change gear, weaving this way and that, complaining in fast Italian at even worse drivers. (I replied with a helpful, agreeable ‘hmmm’ to this) I constantly found myself checking my mirror and stabbing my foot at a brake pedal I didn’t have access to. 

Strangely I found myself thinking ‘So this is what it’s like to have a child’. One day off in the future, I’ll be sitting in an Apple iCar with my young excited child and I feel I’ll go through that experience all over again. Hopefully though my child won’t swear (presumably) in Italian at other drivers and look like Alice Cooper. Thankfully though I am still alive and itching to get out exploring Rome! 

I’m glad I started this blog, I always feel a bit unsettled on the first evening of a holiday. Especially when it’s night. But good old writing, saved the day again! Hope you enjoyed this part one of my Roman holiday! 

Ciao for now!

• I apologise for the in-joke if you haven’t seen Wallace and Gromit: A Close Shave. If you haven’t and you’d like to try a new thing today I’d highly recommend giving this or indeed any Wallace and Gromit a watch.

      ** My mum is actually an extremely lovely human lady whose activities include sending    hilarious texts during football and accompanying me to concerts because of a very cool taste in music!