How it Feels Leaving Britain… Again or my Adventures in Great Blightain

Hello, people! I think I know what you want to hear, so… I am in Dahab. I am sitting at the helm of my PC. We arrived yesterday. I am now going to tell you about how crap it feels to leave home. It feels… upsetting. I wanted more time there. But it also feels… good. As in, good to be leaving the cold.
Good to be leaving the government, the rain, the… airport. I think it felt best to leave the airport. The other places were likable, in their own way. Except the government. I won’t miss them, the oily, cynical bastards. Not that I saw them.
Anyways, it was sad. For a start, I didn’t get nearly enough time with my friends. No sir. In conclusion, I didn’t get enough time to see relatives. I might have felt a bit better, in hindsight, if mum hadn’t been plastered right up to the point at which she woke up in Luton. And then later sort of blamed me for her missing tickets.
Enough whining, though. I can’t write an entire post about how sad I felt on the plane to Geneva (and then Sharm). So, let’s start with Kinder Castle. What is Kinder Castle? A castle. A CASTLE. David rented it. David is a futures trader. David is a lord.
Seriously. We gave him champagne (well, fizzy). The others gave him such things as cufflinks, a jumper, a “Bathtub Duck Shoot” set and… a lordship. Yes, my cousin is now Lord David. He owns a square metre of land in Obscuristan, Scotland. Okay, I lied. Obscuristan isn’t in Scotland. It’s in Siberia.
I don’t know what he’ll do to his square metre. I’d be impressed if he could find it. Anyway, it’s probably got a crappy tree on it or something. But anyway. Kinder Castle. Kinder Castle is a small, well-kept castle in the Peak District. It’s owned by the National Trust or something.
It was built during the European Dark Ages, but restored during the 17-1800s to make it the perfect English “Summer” home. Well, I say Summer… you know what I mean. That time of year when the sun shines down upon the world… then quickly hides because Britain’s appeared.
Anyway. I enjoyed that. But what did I actually do? Hm, good question, quote mark-free person in my head. I… watched an awful lot of TV. I… shot things with the water pistol that came with Dave’s bath toy. And I flew a kite. That’s mostly it.
Sure, I played with Dave (they had a Wii), I messed about, I iced a mini-cake, I… built a fort. Oh yeah, that. Minor detail. I figured out that the Sky box in the lounge worked, and then I noticed the huge array of cushions and footrests that would help with my fort. And I thought it was a good idea.
Not everyone was happy with the new arrangement. But I liked it, and I thought it was cool. Even when I had to deconstruct it at checkout time. So, I spent most of the time in my fort, with the telly. I spent some time with other stuff. But… it was the fort that mattered. Really.
So, erm… yeah. Telly, fort, water, cake, kites… yeah. Then we drove off. Then we drove back, a day later, for a first aid course. CPR, metal-splint-things… OKAY, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. I will continue this in another post. Stay tuned for first aid, airports and… probably kittens.

©blah blah blah lawyers blah 2013 blah lasers blah

Fatamorgana Gelato – not a sponsored post

This isn’t a sponsored post! Noooooo. It’s a gelato place! I’ll probably end up making this a short piece however I cut it, so I’ll try and keep it sweet too. First, I would like to obsessively splog about their incredible selection while totally not salivating.

Kentucky-flavoured, homemade, organic and gluten free ice cream (nearly put fat free in there – not that anywhere in the US would be… #ohsnap) may not sound so appetising, but I assure you that it has nothing to do with the state. Well…

Well, maybe the whole tobacco thing… yeah, it’s chocolate and tobacco flavour. Sound good? No? Well to hell with your opinion, I thought it tasted fine. (Note that as I graduate from tweens to teens, my posts will likely become lippier.) I’m also not suffering symptoms of nicotine withdrawal… so, extra points!

Then… um… black tea and dark chocolate, anyone? No, I don’t either. But mum… mum was all up for it. It sort of had a smoky aftertaste. Mum seemed to like it, and… I guess it was fine. Maybe even pretty good. You may ask why I chose to write a post about ice cream. Well, let me finish the bastard review first, m’kay?!

But guess what? Mum ruined her selection. With what, you ask? With… mango. Yes, mango. But apparently it would have gone fine if it was tangier. Personally, I’d have gone with another chocolate. But then I don’t recall ever having had more than two scoops of ice cream.

My selection? First, passionfruit. A delicious, tangy ice cream, with all the passion of the Christ, but none of the Melware. Also, it was delicious. And sour. And… according to the girl working there, it was a “good choice”. Though I had my doubts, seeing as I’d coupled it with…

Stracciatella. What is that? Choc chip. “Oh,” you say. But it was delicious! Tasty vanilla ice cream, lovely dark chocolate chips… though my ice cream did end up looking like one of those “Eggs Benedict” that mother is ever so fond of. Mmm…

…Christ, I’ve extended this past my usual length. Oh, and you were asking why I, in Italy of all places, chose to write about gelato. Because mum will write about Rome, Venice and Florence. Well, whenever she finishes putting each day of our Mongolia trek into 400-word Grauniad columns. Any month now…

The locations of Fatamorgana’s branches are: Via Lago di Lesina 9 (rione Trieste Salario), Via G. Bettolo 7 (rione Prati), Piazza degli Zingari 5 (rione Manti), Via Laurina 10 (Via del Corso), Via Aosta 3 (Re di Roma), and another one which isn’t on the card. 38 or 36, big sign saying “GELATO”, find it yourself.
Oh, and we’re in Italy.
© 2013 Zac Sutcliffe. All legal bullshit is strictly enforced by bazooka-toting lawyers on cybernetically enhanced, flying alpacas.

Meanwhile In Paris

Hello. I was in Paris. Paris. Paris. Mean anything to you? No? Okay. The city of Paris is the capital of Fran- oh, you know that already? Right. So first I saw the Arc Du Triomphe. Big, ever-so-slightly pretentious Napoleonic monument. Then the Eiffel Tower. I climbed up as far as the stairs go, then (dad) paid 1€ for me to have a few minutes looking through a telescope.
Dinner? Pizza at a place recommended by a friend of dad’s whom we stayed and ate with. The only reason I’m mentioning this is because a homeless person came to our table. He pointed at the pizza and mumbled something in French. Then he took a slice. While he was eating, dad took a peek. Clean clothes, clean shaven. Not homeless, just über drunk. We left soon after he fell asleep.
Highlight? Futuroscope. It’s a science-y theme park. My favourite bit was the animals of the future, a fun ride utilising Virtual Reality. It’s great. They project 3D images onto your goggles and you have a thing on your hand so you can interact with the virtual world. You’re strapped into a train. At the end they turn your partner into a green slimy monster. Many screams at this point.
Oh, and we had a little bit of Louvre. I’ve had too many museums. The Mona Lisa was smaller than I expected. I preferred the Futuroscope. You must go there, if you like that sort of thing.


And now he goes skiing

That’s right, readers, I have gone to Bulgaria. Why? To go skiing (read the damn title) and to meet up with the Burns family (Our Travel Lifestyle). And it’s been fun. Apart from a few incidents, it’s been fantastic. Summary:

Day 1: Around 60 mins of snowboard lessons, another hour of using snowboards as toboggans, ten minutes of falling over on the training slope.

Day 2: Switched back to skiing. Did a few refreshers. Got back to my former level of confidence and gung-ho-ness.

Day 3 : Tackled brutal Bulgarian ski runs. Ski’d down to the bottom cable car.

Day 4: Skived with mum. Ahhh, blissful Minecraft.

Day 5: Back to the slopes. I enjoyed myself, but there was lots of wind on the top- which we ski’d through.

Day 6: Learned to do parallel turns with Emil, the mountain’s best extreme ski-er.

Day 7: Hurt my arm on a red. Then I went right up top. I was going to ski right down to the bottom, but then I messed up and badly bruised my shin. And that’s just lovely, innit?

Day 8:  That’s today. So I started with a skype-based maths lesson. I then worked my way up into another bruise on the same shin (ow!) and whimpered my way down (with a lot of help) to the middle cable car. Thanks, Emil!

Day 987: The  Earth is invaded by Martians and Humanity is wiped out. :(

Now what? Now we spend two to three more days ski-ing and then go to, um, Plovdiv. And then we go to Sofia. And fly back to England. Hooray. T_T Okay. That’s it. Thanks for suffering through this.