Mahinda’s Little World

Right, dear readers. I left you with Jenita and I together in her hotel room. Time unspecified, but it’s after 5am on Sunday morning.

So, it’s now getting close to 7am, and the two of us are still awake. Jenita goes into the bathroom…and Piiya storms in, finds me there, and tells me in no uncertain terms that it’s time for me to leave. I don’t think she likes me

I get my stuff together, Jenita emerges, and we go into the corridor.

Now, I don’t know whether Piiya returned in response to a signal of some sort, or whether it was random. Jenita’s attitude in the corridor suggests that she’s sorry to see me go.

I promise to visit Tampere, and we embrace for a while. One last kiss, and I head out of the door, down the stairs, and into the bright morning sunlight.

It’s pretty much 7am now. I promptly head in the wrong direction, only to think about things a few seconds later, and then scan the distance for church spires - one of the churches in Old Town is believed to have been the tallest building in the world between something like the 15th and 18th centuries.

I see the familiar spire, and head towards it.

I get back at something like 7.20am, and head down to mine and Paul’s dungeon room. He stirs and calls me a dirty stop-out. Or words to that effect. I collapse into bed, asleep instantly.

Breakfast-time comes. Not a chance. I eventually wake, shower, pack my stuff, and groggily head outside, to the minibus that’s waiting to take us to the airport. I get a cheer from the lads, and several lewd comments. Oh well, you commit the crime…

Airport

Get to Tallinn airport, check in. I don’t get patted down, for a change - as a 20something Asian bloke travelling alone, I’ve become pretty used to getting patted down at every possible opportunity.

While milling around in the departure lounge, Ian points out that I’ve been called on the tannoy. I missed it entirely, in my very groggy state. He’d had the same thing, and it was basically a bag check.

I end up having to go back into the front section of the airport, then into a room where an Estonian women (who, rather impressively, had gotten my name right!) had my hefty rucksack on a table.

"You have alcohol in this?" She asked. Erm. I had quite a bit, as it happened.

"Yes" I replied, and extricated it all. Vana Tallinn and various other liqueurs.

"Vana Tallinn! Good! No vodka?"

"Nope."

Satisfied, she indicates that I should put my bag on the conveyor and proceed. Which I do. I have no idea why she was happy with me taking multiple bottles of 40/45% liqueur rather than vodka. Ho hum.

Back to the lads, eventually on to the plane. I’m rather hung over at this point.

As if by magic, though, a long and involved conversation with Mylo does the trick, and I reach Stansted in considerably better spirits, albeit still knackered.

Mike drives me back to his place, we watch the footy for a while (with me dozing off every so often), and I eventually decide that I really must be going.

The long drive up the A14 and M6 included a few service station stops, much coffee, and an hour’s nap. Definitely needed.

Home, and pretty much straight to bed. Which was nice.

And that’s all! Sorry about the delay - to say that I’ve been busy of late would be a bit of an understatement.

Jenita Update

Being the internet stalker that I am, I Googled Jenita, based on her name, where she was from, and her job. I found her, and an article on horse racing that she’d written. Lovely.

I also found her email address…which tallied with the one she’d given me.

I emailed her sometime in early September (once I’d gotten back from Sri Lanka)…and still haven’t had a reply

I’m guessing that she simply used me for a bit of holiday fun. Not that I’m complaining too much…it’s just that, well, we seemed to "work" together quite nicely, and it would have been nice to stay in touch.

I certainly didn’t get the impression that she never wanted to see me again. Women, eh? Rubbish!

A month after the event, and I’m still writing about it!

Afternoon II

It’s later in the afternoon, and I’ve returned to the hostel. Spent a while chatting to Mylo, who was sitting in the courtyard rather forlornly, foot up on a chair with a tea-towel cold pack.

Eventually, I decided to head off in search of alcohol. Rather than go anywhere in Old Town, I decided to head out and find somewhere non-touristy. Which I did, close to the Mexican restaurant we’d visited the night before.

I ended up buying loads:

• Vana Tallinn Cream
• Vana Tallinn Original
• Vana Tallinn "Export Strength" (45% rather than 40%)
• Honey liqueur
• Cherry liqueur
• Cigarettes for the parents

I rounded it all off with a Hesburger, and home I went. When in foreign parts, I usually try out their equivalent of a Big Mac or Whopper, just to see the difference. You’d be surprised at how much McDonald’s varies, never mind using other chains, e.g. Burghy in Italy. Hesburger is Finnish, and therefore inherently much more civilised than anything the Americans have to offer.

Indeed, the Big Hess was a mighty affair - exactly what a Big Mac should be! The lettuce was plentiful and crisp, the burgers themselves meaty, and the sauce rather tasty.

Now, Lawrence (I think) had a theory about why the Estonian women are just so damn gorgeous - it was because they didn’t partake of processed food. Sensible, I thought…until I walked into Hesburger, fully expecting to find Estonia’s entire quota of larger females. Nope, all still gorgeous as they chomped down on their Hesburgers, delicately wiping away stray globules of ketchup from the corners of their perfect little mouths……and I’ll stop there.

Suitably fed, I headed back to the hostel for a lie-down.

Evening

Peppersack was the plan. Phil couldn’t quite manage to get us into Olde Hansa, so second-best would have to do.

Mediaeval themed, and touristy, but good. We had a waiter who looked a bit like Luke from Star Wars IV: A New Hope, and a belly-dancer who bore more than a passing resemblance to Leia’s outfit in Jabba’s palace…Return of the Jedi? Either way, we weren’t complaining.

There was a swordfight too, and a strolling mariachi band.

The food was excellent, and of course the beer was tasty. I had Kesseler, mainly because I couldn’t figure out quite what it was. It turned out to be grilled smoked pork, and possibly my best meal of the trip.

After dinner, it was out on the town. Various locations were sampled, including Nimeta of course, before we headed down to Venus, just out of Old Town. Now, a proper nightclub with a rather Russian crowd, this promised dance and Europop until the wee hours.

Much silly dancing was done, complete with Iri and Wilko’s "fire in the hole" routine. Nice. Definitely of note was the quality of the two dancing girls…well, one in particular. The other one, well, let’s just say that we spent a while looking for evidence of an Adam’s apple

A rather pathetic 2am came, and most of the group had either left, or were leaving. Lightweights!

Hometime…Or Not

It’s about 3.40am, and the last four of us leave the cheesy dance and sultry dancing girls of Venus. Think it may have been Mark, Little Paul, Iri and I, but I really have very little idea.

3.55am and we’re almost back to Raekoja Plats…when I realise that they’ll still be serving at Nimeta Bar!

"Come on lads" says I, "we can catch last orders!"

So we did. I had my usual dark beer, and got some beer for the others too, I think. We just start drinking, when Mark gesticulates towards someone and says "Isn’t that the bird you pulled last night?"

I look round, see Piiya talking to some blokes, and reply "No, that’s just her mate." It took a couple of seconds for me to twig that, where Piiya was, Jenita was likely to be too. It took a couple more
seconds to spot her, after which I toddle over and say hello.

We talked. She seemed quite happy to see me. I turn round and see that the others have scarpered back to the hotel. Makes a change from the night before!

It turns out that Jenita and Piiya have got chatting to a bunch of Northern Irish chaps, who were staying at the same hotel as them.

I can’t remember the exact details, but the four of us ended up outside, Northern Irish chap and me chatting to each other while the two girls had a bit of a conference.

Oh yeah - Jenita led me outside so we could be away from the others. This time, I do get her email address - RESULT!

Anwyay, the conference ended. Piiya took NI bloke’s arm, Jenita mine, and we headed out of Old Town, towards the girls’ hotel.

It was quite a walk. Jenita and I chatted away happily. Her father, it seems, is an engineer, civil I think, so would approve of me. My father wouldn’t approve of her, I explained, but I certainly didn’t care.

We got to the hotel, Piiya and bloke a fair bit ahead of us. Jenita and I stopped by the water cooler in the hallway for a bit, kissing away contentedly, before heading back to the room she shared with Piiya, who’d gone to NI bloke’s instead.

It was lovely. I’m not going to detail what happened, suffice to say that we didn’t go anywhere near as far as some people have suggested.

I awoke at something like 9.15am. Either way, it was far too damn early. I tried to prod Paul awake, and then dragged my sorry self into the shower.

Our room being our room, there was no natural light. Not the best for being able to tell what time it is.

Anyway, I later emerged, fresh and clean, and awoke the stag.

We slunk down to breakfast just before 10am (i.e. jut in time) to find a few of the lads already there. Some hadn’t turned up at all, and some were considerably worse for wear than others.

I tucked into a sizeable mix of hot and cold stuff, including little bits of tasty frankfurter. Paul prodded a bit of frank around he plate before giving up, having had a mouthful or two.

Back to the room, to realise exactly how badly it smelt. Very.

Paul headed straight to bed, while I decided to join some of the others at 10.30am and mosey round town a bit. Think we ended up taking in the market. Lots of tourist tat, with some nice bits of craft thrown in. Definitely the place to go if you want something that makes you look like a multicoloured yak.

Paintball

The plan was to meet back at the hotel for midday, where Phil had arranged for two minibuses to take us out to a paintball venue.

Unfortunately, all was not well in the state of people’s heads. Not just heads, either - Mylo and Ian were definitely ruled out due to seriously bad ankles. Ian’s in particular looked really nasty, with the striations of his muscles showing up in various shades of dark purple against his pale and swollen skin.

Some others, unfortunately, had nothing to blame but excess alcohol. The general consensus was that paintballing was a bad idea. About two thirds of the group would have done it, but less than half were properly up for it.

The taxis arrived. We hung around in the hotel foyer. Phil was NOT happy, and understandably so. Fortunately, he’d not paid anything, so all we did was seriously piss off some Estonians with paintball guns. Oh well.

Wilko and I went and settled up with the (rather annoyed as well) taxi drivers - 100EEK for each one, i.e. a fiver, so not so bad really.

We all then split into small groups and went along our merry ways.

Afternoon

Mike, Ian, Little Paul and I first headed to a little local tearoom for a spot of lunch. Well, tea and cakes, anyway. This was Ian’s spot, and about 100 yards from the hotel. Good work - it proved to be very cheap and rather tasty. Full of old local women, which is always a good sign.

Here, I plumped for a bottle of random Vana Tallinn based alcopop stuff…which really wasn’t very good. The stuff just isn’t meant to be mixed with anything fizzy!

The cake and coffee were nice, though.

After that, we traipsed off towards the old city walls, and had a look at the Alexsander Nevski Cathedral, which is a seriously impressive Russian Orthodox cathedral on the outside…and a seriously ornate Russian Orthodox cathedral on the inside. Much like the big cathedral in Riga. There’s actually a bit of a story behind it - it was built towards the end of the 19th century as a sign of Russian might, slap bang in the middle of what was one of Tallinn’s biggest squares. While building it, they demolished a statue of Martin Luther - as large chunks of the Baltic States and Scandinavia are Lutheran, that was quite a symbolic thing to do.

I also had a poke in the Toom Kirk (well, I think it was that one) - the local Lutheran cathedral and seat of Estonian churchdom. Big and sparse, it was impressive in a very stark and sombre way. On the walls were all the old coats of arms from the various provinces of the area - ornately carved out of old wood, some of these were a clear 4 feet in width, perhaps more.

Our tourist desires sated, we wandered back to the hotel, via many many steps and much sunshine.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - the girls in Tallinn are very beautiful indeed! One in particular springs to mind, who we kept spotting during the walk back to the hotel.

Anyway, that’s it for now. Part II coming up at some point, I s’pose…

This week, I are mostly been doing…stuff:

• Sunday
  Return from deepest darkest Gloucestershershire, sleep a little, meet Alsion in Kro Piccadilly, play tennis with Bethan, end up going out to Red Lion with housemates - first real Tenby Towers trip to t’local since Paul, Gillian and Tara moved in.
• Monday
  Work, shootin’ (of course!) followed by pub (Adrian, Clare, Rachel and me). Home and sleep, really.
• Tuesday
  Seems so long ago! Work, then the first Sale hockey training session of the new season. Well, for me anyway. Had a bit of a run around, then had to rush home and straight back out again. Actually, this day’s worthy of its own heading. See below…
• Wednesday
  Work, then it took FAR too long to get back for hockey. So I picked up Pete, headed down to Platt Fields, dropped off the sticks (and Pete), then headed back to my Tenby Towers. The plan was to do some stuff then head back for the last half-hour or so. Unfortunately, it got dark all too quickly, so I just joined them in the pub instead.
  I ended up dropping Jordan off at his parental abode, up in North Manc (Moston, in fact), in exchange for Buffy the Vampire Slayer seasons 1-6 on VHS. That’s a whole load of tapes! I gave him a box o’ beer too.
• Thursday
  That’d be today, then. Plan is to go to the theatre after work with Nicola - The Anniversary at the Altrincham Garrick, so handy enough. After that, I’ll probably join the MUGSSlets in whatever post Wine Evening thing they do. Tomorrow I’m off (with Sarah M) to sample the delights of Masham, home of the Black Sheep and Theakstons breweries. Nice.

Tuesday

Got home from hockey practice, aching slightly, then jumped on my bike and headed to The Friendship Inn for a late pint with Jo. She’s an Aussie girl who I "met" in the course of finding new housemates, and then actually met at the GBBF.

The Friendship was absolutely heaving due to the return of the scummy students

It was also pub quiz night, which didn’t help. It’s amazing how the students have all turned up at once this year - they usually meander along gradually throughout September, but it’s all happened over the course of a week this year. Possibly due to the early Freshers’ Week, which is, well, now.

So, one pint at the Friendship, and then last orders had passed already. So, off to the Drop Inn, who of course serve until midnight. The place was almost empty, which was nice.

Jo and I get on pretty well, I reckon - definitely a new friend there. She’s the type who goes out and does stuff, which is always good.

Bacon

I’ve been eating loads of bacon sandwiches this week, thanks to my purchase from Old Farm. SERIOUSLY good bacon - even the rind turns into quality scratching-like stuff. Mmmmm.

A Long Long Time

Sunday marked the 11th anniversary of my arrival in Manchestie. How scary is that?!

During that time, I’ve seen* the old Manchester get bombed to smithereens, and slowly get rebuilt. The city centre is only now anywhere near complete, to be honest, and it’s a lot better for it.

* Okay, not with my own eyes, but it happened since I arrived, albeit while I was back home for the summer holidays.

I came here a shy, unbelievably naïve 17-year-old. University shaped me an awful lot, and it was in Manchester that I really grew up. I’d say that the most formative stage of my life was that between ‘95 and ‘00, when I came to of my shell.

I’m now an office junkie 28-year-old…okay, so I’m not exactly shining out like a beacon, but I’m happy, busy and surrounded by friends. Which is nice.

Today be Int’national Talk Like a Pirate Day. Y’arrrrrrrrrrrrr!

So youse scurrrrrvy landlubbers should all be splicin’ yer mainbraces and a’talkin’ like proper piratical folks. Or ye deserve to be keel-hauled like the dogs ye are.

Y’arrrrrrr!

It’s a dark and stormy night…

Okay, maybe not stormy. It is dark, though. I’m walking along a long, straight road, white lines stretching away into the darkness.

It’s overcast and there’s precious little by way of moonlight. In fact, all I can see is the outlines of the trees crowding each side of the road, black silhouttes against the only slightly lighter sky.

So I walk on. The distant mooing of cows, coming from afar over the mist-clad fields, only serves to make it even more eerie. There hasn’t been another soul visible, and the single car that sped by earlier, almost knocking me on to the verge, seems a distant memory.

The trees and undergrowth close in on either side make it feel somewhat claustrophobic, and every little susurration has a sinister note. Owls hoot suddenly, and the undergrowth rustles menacingly with every bolting rabbit or badger. The disturbances further away intrigue me - the closer ones spook me.

I’ve been walking ten minutes or so, with about the same to go. It feels like an eternity. My heart is pounding. I try not to think of wolves, bears or rabid squirrels.

It’s 2.50am and I’m somewhere between Moreton-in-Marsh and the small hamlet of Dorn, deep in the Gloucestershire countryside.

I’d been at Paul and Rowena’s wedding, at the rather lovely Manor House Hotel. Some of us had sat in the bar drinking ’til late, then gone our separate ways - the lads heading to the Swan Inn, just across the road, the Manor House residents staying put, and me starting the trek back to Dorn.

I was staying at Old Farm, a B&B on a proper working farm. I’d been pretty late in finding a place to stay, and everywhere seemed to be either full or a bit pricey. Just when I’d resigned myself to forking out, I’d found the Old Farm website. It promised rooms in a lovely 15th farmhouse, for a very reasonable £40, with locally sourced breakfast - including sausage, bacon and eggs from the farm itself! Needless to say, I rang up immediately, salivating, and booked myself in.

Dorn was about a mile away from Moreton as the crow flies (or as the footpath runs), but closer to two miles by road*…and I wasn’t going to brave an unfamiliar footpath, in the dark, wearing wedding clobber!

* Country B-road, no pavement. Fun.

The Wedding

The wedding itself was lovely. A short civil ceremony in a very warm room, to be followed by champagne cocktails (I think they may well have contained raspberry purée) in the gardens and then back into the room for the reception meal. After that, it was outside again and finally back into the function room for a disco.

The hotel garden made a lovely setting - pretty with lots of seating. You just had to watch out for the concealed steps

Rowena looked gorgeous in the Big White Dress, and Paul looked pretty smart in his gear. Just as well, really!

It was nice to see the old school bunch from the stag do - banter a-plenty…

*salacious details removed on request*

On the subject of the stag do, Myles turned up on crutches - during our kickabout, he’d actually broken his fibula. Ouch. Naturally, we all felt a bit guilty for the ribbing we’d given him in Tallinn for being such a great big girl.

The Reception

At the reception, I ended up sitting next to Emma G (née B), a friend from our uni days - Paul (etc.) had kept in touch, but I didn’t really know her as well as the others. On my other side were Ian & Nancy, with the rest of the table comprising Myles & Victoria and James & Sarah. I’d not seen James for a very long time indeed - he’s now back in England (he’d been in France for a while)…and a father. Eeeek. If you’d have polled us back at school about whose genes were least beneficial to the species, it’d probably have been him. I mean, who wants more ginger people?!

Anyway, the meal was lovely, and then it was on to the speeches. Rowena’s father’s was pretty good (a little fairy tale about her life), and Paul’s was entertaining. Phil’s started off badly - Little Paul was on hand for the A/V stuff, i.e. a PowerPoint presentation hooked up to a projector…and it went a little bit mad. Susie (Mrs Phil) stepped in and sorted it, though. It proved to be an excellent speech, with a good lot of pictures - Paul and Phil had been best mates from the age of about 2, which showed.

I was happy to find that the hotel bar served Hooky Bitter (Hook Norton Brewery)…and even happier to find it served in manly glass tankards

The Rest

More chatting, slightly more drunken this time, followed the meal and speeches, before the disco started up. I have to confess to not really dancing very much.

After the happy couple’s first dance (I wish I could remember what the tune was - definitely Beatles, but I can’t remember which song), It started with 60s stuff and moved on through the decades. As such, the last few songs weren’t really the best for the occasion. Oh well. The last song, though, was a real "everybody puts arms on shoulders and goes mad" number, which was a great way to end the night. Probably Come On Eileen, but again, I’m not entirely sure. [Phil points out that the first dance was Something, with the night actually ended by the Proclaimers and 500 Miles…that makes much more sense!]

More food was served at something like 10pm, which was very welcome - crispy prawny things and sandwiches, mostly. I particularly liked the rare beef sarnies - proper red raw gobbets of cow slapped between bits of bread. Mmmmm.

It all ended at 12.30am, and a few hardy souls retired to the hotel bar. Little Paul bought a round for Mike, Debs, me and himself, and we sat chatting for a while. Mike and Debs left, so Paul and I joined the remnants (schoolmates, Steve, Fiona(?) and Louise I think, plus a lad I didn’t know) for a while.

Silly banter was had, then we sloped off to our beds. In my case, via the aforementioned trek back to Dorn.

The Farm

So, I got back to Old Farm at close to 3am. On went my torch, as I walked through the entrance and towards the farm buildings. It really was dark.

Managed to open the guests’ door, aided by the security light in the courtyard, to find some corridor lights on. I tiptoed up the stairs, managed to remember where my room was, and settled down in the sumptuous king-sized bed for a good night’s rest.

The Morning After

Awoke far too early (8.30am) and stumbled down to the breakfast room to find the place’s other residents - an older lady whose name I didn’t catch, and Joe & Kate (I think), a couple who were there for a wedding on that day. At the Manor House Hotel too - I told them to watch out for the steps.

Old Farm only has three rooms, so breakfast was a friendly affair - we all had a nice chat around the table. As last down, I was also last to finish.

One thing we noticed in the breakfast room was that the photos of the pigs were above the photos of the children. Intentional?!

The breakfast itself was nothing short of BRILLIANT. Cereal followed by home-grown sausages, bacon and eggs (scrambled), with locally-produced mushrooms, bread, butter and apple juice. The bacon in particular was absolutely fantastic.

I was convinced to try some of Sarah’s recently (the day before, I think) produced damson jam, which the farm’s kids had pronounced "the best jam ever". Maybe not quite the best jam ever, but definitely up there.

After breakfast, I grabbed a much needed shower and a quick lie down before checking out at 10.30am - I bought some apple juice, bacon and sausages from the farm shop…how could I refuse?!

Then it was back to the Manor House Hotel to say one last goodbye to the wedding party, who’d be partaking of tea between 10.30am and 11.30am…or so I thought. It was actually 10am-10.30am, and I got there at 10.50am so missed most people. Still, it was nice enough.

Feeling slightly hung over, back to MancLand I drove, via a few country lanes for good measure - the countryside down there really is lovely, in a "ye olde middle England" kind of way. In fact, just about everything in that part of the world is old - old sandstone pubs, old windy lanes, magnificent old churches, right down to the 300-year-old mulberry tree in the Manor House Hotel’s courtyard.

The Chelt

The wedding was on Saturday afternoon. On Friday evening, I’d driven down to Cheltenham to visit Mike and Pam, who I’d not seen since June (or thereabouts).

They fed me with pizza and plied me with wine before dragging me to the Swan, a rather pleasant pub. There we had a few pints before heading back to their flat for yet more wine and conversation.

Poor Pam was limping around rather badly - she’d fallen while bouldering and hurt her ankle rather badly. Not broken, fortunately, but still pretty bad. Get well soon, Pamela.

I’ve been back a whole six days now, and still not unpacked fully. Getting closer, mind!

Anyway, it was a fun two weeks - much more so than I expected, anyway. A quick summary of the trip goes something like this:

• Day 0 - work; leave Blighty
• Day 1 - stag/hen night; bridesmaid #1
• Day 2 - health spa thing; out clubbing (Clancy’s); bridesmaid #2
• Day 3 - with parents; not doing a lot
• Day 4 - BIG wedding
• Day 5 - electrical work on dad’s flat
• Day 6 - bride’s mother’s birthday party
• Day 7 - more work on the flat; BIG spider
• Day 8 - nothing much
• Day 9 - BIG homecoming (big post-honeymoon party thing)
• Day 10 - little sis arrives
• Day 11 - party at the Jayawardene residence; up all night
• Day 12 - staying with friends (wedding party); not a lot
• Day 13 - shopping, out clubbing again (H2O); more about bridesmaid #1
• Day 14 - more work on flat; BIG snake; party at our place
• Day 15 - long drive towards beachy resorty areas; muchos rain; drive back; little sis moans a lot
• Day 16 - last-minute shopping; legal stuff; fly home
• Day 17 - get back to Blighty; sleep a bit; meet up with Alison; play tennis with Bethan; completely fail to unpack

I think that’s about it.

Stag/Hen Night

I did my usual trick of being up for nigh on 24 hours (see recently completed write-up of Tallinn Day 1):

• Thu 9am (BST) - wake up
• Thu 9pm - on plane
• Fri 5pm (SLT) - off plane
• Fri 7pm - get to "21" (house where mum + half of wedding party are staying)
• Fri 9pm - festivities commence
• Sat 6am (1.30am BST) - eventually get some sleep

Given that I had no more than the odd half-hour snooze at Doha (transfer point in Qatar) and on the plane (I just can’t sleep on aeroplanes), it’s no surprise that I was absolutely knackered at the end of it all - pretty much 40 straight hours on the go!

The festivities were at Uncle Atley’s (sp?) flat - we "surprised" Shaluki (the bride) and had some dinner, then the blokes headed off to Chaminda’s place. There, well, we just talked about cricket and stuff while drinking. Eventually we decided enough was enough, ditched Uncle Dudley (father of the bride) and the other older folk, and scarpered back to join the hens. Admittedly, this was respectably late.

It became something of a house party, really. Eventually, the parents (well, mothers) fell asleep, leaving us "kids" chatting away in the kitchen.

Wedding

The wedding itself was a huge affair, in basically one of the most prestigious venues on the island - the Mount Lavinia Hotel, which is an old colonial affair complete with comedy porters. About 300 people there, and it was definitely one for show rather than for the happy couple. What with labour being cheap, there was a team of about eight black-clad photographers and assistants, which made it all very paparazzi. It looked pretty cool initially, but proved bloody annoying as they were just so damn intrusive - the complete opposite of the (excellent) photographer at Ian and Nancy’s wedding.

Of course, Mahela (Jayawardene - SL cricket captain, and close family friend on the bride’s side) turned up with wifey - this would be the equivalent of Michael Owen or Stephen Gerrard turning up to an English wedding, so there was much excitement.

There were an awful lot of people who were clearly only there for show, and the meal. At one point, Maria (bridesmaid #1) came over to sit with us, and one of the guys sharing our table* had met her in London. "So, are you anything official for the wedding?" he asked. Maria looked surprised, glanced down at her special ornate sari, and replied "Erm, yes - I’m a bridesmaid!" I mean, how can you miss that?!

* The seating plans had gone all to pot, so it ended up a bit mix-and-match.

As Paul, the groom, didn’t have any family or friends over (parents dead, living in London and originally from Mauritius - even his best man was the bride’s brother), some of us got roped into being part of "the groom’s party". So I got a front-row view of the ceremony, which was all a bit strange. A Buddhist ceremony, which was a curious match of subcontinental and, well, English, probably due to the colonial influence. Anyway, I may officially be Paul’s brother now

Homecoming

The traditional wedding was a pretty formal affair - while there were certainly elements of a reception, it wasn’t quite as let-your-hair-down as you might expect. Actually, that may just be because my parents were around.

Anyway, the big party is the homecoming, which is to greet the bride and groom when they return from their honeymoon. Uncle Dudley threw a HUGE party at his place (21 Rev S Mahinda Mawatha - basically "21 Mahinda Street") for many many people, featuring scaffolding, a live band, security guards, and even a police presence!

The homecoming was, well, warm. Us "kids" spent much of the evening in one of the bedrooms, mainly because it had a nice fan to keep us (relatively) cool. I had a vodka-and-lemonade poured over me by Iro (bridesmaid #2)…fortunately she didn’t have much left in her glass.

BIG Spider

In our flat one evening, I went into the bathroom…to find a big hairy beast of a spider happily munching on a cockroach. It was a fairly large cockroach, yet the spider was big enough, fierce enough and hairy enough to (a) chase it, (b) catch it, and then (c) kill it. Well, almost kill it - it was still struggling a bit.

With its legs stretched out, the spider would probably have been saucer-sized. I could see its individual eyes from over six feet away. It didn’t seem too bothered by my presence.

Now, I’m not good with spiders, and I reckoned a flipflop just wasn’t enough ammunition…so I went and fetched mum. Manly, huh?

Mum just grabbed a bit of newspaper, picked up both spider and ‘roach in her fist, and chucked them out the back door. The benefits of growing up in semi-rural Malaysia, I suppose - she’s also rather good at killing chickens, although I’ve never seen that particular trick in action.

(continued from Part I)

Plink…plonk…plink…plonk…

19:00 - 20:00 (still on Eesti time)

The Plan. Right at the start, way back in late 2005, Paul had requested (I think) a superhero theme - for one night out, we all go around dressed as superheroes. Phil sounded people out, and the response was less than keen. I was up for it, Paul’s always had a thing for Batman, and that might have been about it.

So, a plan emerged to stitch Paul up. He’d be given the instructions that it was all going ahead, but everybody would have to keep their superhero identity secret until the big night. Ashley, who would have been sharing with Paul, was to borrow my hastily-put-together Batfink outfit (as used for Sarah’s birthday party two year ago…or was that the cartoon characters one?) so he could hoodwink the stag. Of course, Ashley dropped out so the job fell to me.

As we’d gone to our room earlier, Paul had told me what he thought, i.e. he was pretty convinced that no-one else had a costume. He’s suspicious by nature, that boy. Fortunately, I had the Batfink wings in my bag, so I feigned total ignorance and, showed him a bit of black cardboard, and said that I would be dressing up, as far as I knew.

So, back to the correct time period. Got back after football (after getting a little lost atop the hill of Toompea) to find a Paul who basically said that Myles had no costume (Paul had accompanied Mylo in a cab and back to his and Mike’s room, remember) and neither did Mike. Ah. I repeated the line about me not knowing anything about it all, and txted Phil while Paul had a shower. We decided that it was all still worth trying.

Went into the bathroom for my shower. Halfway through, I heard voices outside. Mike had admitted the plan to Paul. Well, it’s probably more a case of Paul becoming totally convinced. It was a fair cop, guv’nor.

Still, Paul was well up for a bit of BatAction, and agreed to wear the suit out for dinner, before changing out of it for the subsequent carnage. Given that it was a one-piece and therefore almost impossible to get out of quickly, that was probably a good move - bladder control is all fine and good, but we’re only human!

We were due to meet in the hotel foyer for 19:45. The clock was plink-plonking towards 20:00…

20:00 - 21:00

Get together in hotel foyer. Full Batman outfit garnered much amusement. BTW, it’s classic Batman, in the true Adam West style. None of this dark new Batman rubbish! The suit had cost Paul £45 or so, and it was great - complete with padded 6-pack and superhero pecs!

Here we embarked on one of the highlights of the trip - walking all the way out through Old Town, including the lively Raekoja Plats, and then out through the old city gates towards the ultra-modern Hotel Viru and the Amarillo Mexican restaurant at its foot.

People were staring, laughing, commenting, taking photos, humming the Batman theme (or the Superman theme in a few cases). The general reception was a good one - especially from younger folk. There were some serious comedy double-takes! My favourite was the teenager (probably 17 or 18) who exclaimed "Hey dude, fresh gear!"

We crossed one of Tallinn’s main streets at a busy crossing, which was pure comedy, and waited on the other side for some laggers/cripples. As we were waiting, a girl in pink started crossing the road…and got stranded in the middle, between lanes of traffic! Holy traffic control, Batman!

Needless to say, we started singing the Batman theme and tried to push Paul out to save her. Which he did, eventually, running across when there was a gap in the traffic. The girl took one look at him and, looking generally terrified, scarpered across to safety…from both the traffic and the nutter in Spandex.

Anyway, we eventually got to Amarillo, where we were greeted with a wood-carved area full of sub-rooms…and the usual stunning waitresses. Have I mentioned the sheer beauty of the Estonian women? Probably. Are they worth a second mention? Definitely

We were ushered to a long table right at the back of the restaurant and presented with menus. Beer all round, follows by chips-’n'-dips and some chicken wings as starters. Paul/Batman was, completely unrexpectedly, presented with a large shooter…which the waitress would only describe as an "Adios Motherf*cker". This term, of course, was carried forward throughout the weekend.

We ordered, and that’s probably the end of that hour.

21:00 - 22:00

I’m using txt msgs wot I received to help me work out the timings for the weekend. My phone shows that I received one from Pete* at 21:26…so bang on, then!

* Kindly telling me the result of my Battrick qualifier - I won! Up to Div III for me now

Our food arrived. And very nice it was too. I’d ordered a large whiskey steak, medium rare:

38. Amarillo Whiskey Steak … 168eek (~10.70€) / 198eek (~12.70€)
150g/250g of fillet of beef brushed with Jack Daniel’s cola oil, jalapeno butter, marinated red onions, red wine sauce and grilled corncob. Served with French fries.

It was absolutely spot on. A lovely bit of beef, just bloody enough, as tender as they come. The others report foody goodness, too. Recommended!

All through our time at Amarillo, the waitress was instructed to keep Paul’s shots coming. And they did.

I also had my first dark beer of the trip (well, not counting the deliciously deep brown honey ale at Olde Hansa) - as with much of continental/Eastern Europe, tasty dark lagers were available to anyone who looked.

22:00 - 23:00

It was at roughly this point that Paul started to feel the main disadvantage of the Batsuit…the fact that it was a one-piece outfit…and he’d been drinking beer.

So, as agreed, I was to walk him back to the hotel, where he’d change before we headed back out to join the others. At Nimeta Baar, it was agreed.

Back across into Old Town we went, having left 300EEK for the bill (which turned out to be more-or-less correct). The streets were now full of a slightly older crowd, out for drinks rather than returning from tourism or shopping. We went down a quieter route to the hotel, Batman visibly needing to relieve himself. Holy urinal, Batman!

In room. Batman urinated, with audible relief, then changed into his regular Bruce Wayne clobber. I took the opportunity to lie down for a few minutes. And then we headed back out.

Plink…plonk…plink…plonk…

We walked back towards Nimeta Baar. A street corner or two before we got there, however, we encountered some very pretty young Estonian girls, most of whom were clad in the strange flat caps favoured by the 2006 flavour of fashion victim. And other clothes, of course. They were out on a hen night, it seemed, with the bride holding a big placard saying, basically, kisses for cash. The plan was to charge blokes and put all the money towards a nice big wedding gift - what a plan! So, I think Paul paid something like 100EEK (£5; or was it 200EEK?) for the privilege, and got a bit of a smooch with all six (or so) girls. Definitely good value

If only the others had been there to see it.

23:00 - 00:00

We walk into Nimeta Baar (translation: "The Bar with no Name") and Paul found a group of Watford fans sitting around. We chatted with them for a while, one of them proving to be an accountant at the same firm as Phil - a worryingly large proportion of our group, including both Paul and Phil, had lapsed into the dark arts of accountancy. Falls nicely into the HABS schoolboy stereotype, to be honest. Phil reckons he’s had more to do with said Watford accountant now than ever before - coincidence, or some shady secret handshake thing?

We spot the others, and crowd into some chairs/tables. Paul regales all and sundry with tales of kisses, neglecting to highlight the fact that he had to pay for them. We all proceeded to drink stuff, mainly dodgy-looking colourful cocktails, which were shared out by the pitcher. Mostly blue, IIRC.

Being a real man, I stuck to beer, and the dark variety at that. Even though the barman tried to serve me Guinness rather than the tasty local dark lager.

Nimeta Baar was a generally hip and happening joint - last time I visited, it was a bit more pubby in character. Now, the place was set up by a bunch of Scots who stayed over after a Euro 199? qualifier (or was it for the World Cup? Not sure), and used to feature loads and loads of European flags…with the notable exception of St. George’s Cross. There were far fewer flags now, and even homage to the English rugby team!

What can I say? The girls were pretty, and the beer flowed easily.

00:00 - 01:00

The evening continued along merrily. Note that this was meant to be a fairly low-key night, in preparation for a monster stag Saturday. More about that later!

While at the bar (going for yet another dark beer), I got chatting with a cute little brunette, Sophie, who turned out to be from Harrow. She was on a trip with two mates, one of whom was called Emma, and was something like 21. Now, given that many of us went to school not a million miles from Harrow, it was an easy talking point.

Anyway, Paul then muscled right in. I suspect it’s the "I’m going to get locked away forever but I can still get the girls" reflex that seems to come out on these occasions, and he was going for it! Whenever anyone in the group got chatting to a girl, Paul was quick to home in.

A few of the others eventually sleazed over and got in on the act. They were pretty girls, admittedly.

01:00 - 02:00

The girls were going to move on to Club Hollywood, so we did what all red-blooded stag party males would do in that situation, i.e. tagged along. Ian, Steve and Phil decide to stay at Nimeta rather than chase youthful Harrovian skirt, and the rest of us leave.

We arrive at nearby Hollywood, to find that it’s a huge opera house style building with an equally huge queue outside. Bugger.

So we wait. And wait some more. We move forward a couple of feet, and just keep on waiting. Well, at least there was plenty of eye-candy in the queue.

I was starting to sober up. Never a good thing. So I was pretty glad when we decided to turn tail and return to Nimeta.

As a side note, reading some reviews, it’s a pity we didn’t bother with Hollywood in the end. Or at least get there a bit earlier.

I can’t remember whether or not the girls returned with us, but I don’t think so.

We walk into Nimeta (with its refreshing lack of queue, entrance money or indeed door policy), to find the lads who’d stayed sitting with three cute blondes. One of them was dancing, gyrating away but a foot or two from Ian’s face. He wasn’t quite rubbing his thighs and sneering like Paul Whitehouse, but it was pretty damn close. Lucky beggar. 

It later transpired that she’d tried to get Ian to go up for a dance, and gotten rather keen, but he basically wasn’t up for it. He’s married and wasn’t going to play away from home. Good lad.

I got chatting to the other two blondes, but honestly cannot remember anything about them. Pity. Actually, I do remember something about them being on a "we hate men" night out…so, of course, they came to a bar full of tourists and spent their time in the company of…well…men. Female logic, obviously.

02:00 - 03:00

People start drifting off back to the hotel. I get my last tasty dark beer of the night.

Lawrence has spent some time dancing with this rather cute blonde girl, who claimed to be 19 I think. Hmmm.

Iri was "dancing" (this is Iri, after all) with an increasingly bemused looking blonde. Think Wilko and a couple of the others were there too, so I joined them. I got talking to the girl, to find that her name was Jenita and she was from Tampere, Finland. I pulled the masterstroke of asking whether that was the place with the huge castle…which it was. Finns aren’t used to Brits knowing anything about their country.

*salacious details removed on request*

I left Jenita alone in the company of Iri - drunken stag do logic figured that, well, he was giving it a good try.

03:00 - 04:00

There aren’t many of us left now…or indeed all that many people left at Nimeta. Iri’s left, so I go over and dance with Jenita - we’re getting on quite well, I reckon. It turns out that she’s a sports journalist who knows nothing about football. She’s there with a friend, Piiya (I have no idea how to spell that), who lives near Tallinn for some reason. Although it can’t have been that near, as they were sharing a hotel room.

Things are definitely going well. Piiya has disappeared a while back to some recess at the back of the bar, in the company of a chavvy Estonian bloke. I’m on the dance floor with Jenita.

Then Paul meanders over, on his way home with Mike, Little Paul and Mylo I think. Again, that "stag about to lose all freedom" reflex kicks in and he heads straight for Jenita. And talks. And talks some more.

Little Paul and Mylo go home. Jenita and I are exchanging "why won’t he just leave?" glances. I’m pleading with Mike to just get Paul home.

Paul is dancing like a loon. Mike, Jenita and I are getting a little exasperated. I’d noticed a board proclaiming closing time at 4am, and was starting to think that it wouldn’t be my night after all…

[cut-shot of me glaring at my watch]
[second cut-shot of Paul dancing away]
Plink…plonk…plink…plonk…

04:00 - 05:00

4am arrives, and they stop serving at the bar. There’s no sign of the house lights coming on, however, and the music still plays.

"Jump Around" by House of Pain comes on. An absolute classic from our school days. Paul, of course, knows all the words, and boasts of this to Jenita before making some shapes in true faux-rapper stylee.
 
Jenita’s thoughts? "I can’t understand what your friend is saying. What does he mean?"

I’m starting to think that the bar will close any minute now, and am close to actually praying for Paul to stop. Inadvertently, he’d become something of a chaperonal Duracell bunny. He asks Jenita whether she prefers Mike or himself, refusing to give in until she proclaims Paul to be the more attractive.

Mike finally removes Paul at about 4.40am, possibly even later. He pretty much dragged Paul away by the belt buckle.

As soon as they were out of the door, Jenita and I headed straight for each other. Which was nice. Very nice indeed. Piiya and Estonian Chav turned up, too.

05:00 - 06:00

5am and the lights come on. The music stops as well, so Jenita and I head to the street outside. Nothing much gets said. We kiss, she standing on the kerb. We were the same height that way.

Now, I must confess to having entirely forgotten the girl’s name at this point. Not a good state of affairs. So I asked her how to spell it, which I reckon represents an unusual amount of cunning! "J-E-N-I-T-A" she replies, and asks me the same. Jenita - if you’re reading this (let’s face it, it’s not exactly hard to Google), I’m sorry!

Piiya comes out, sans chav, and seems very anxious to leave. Their hotel is out of Old Town.

We say our goodbyes, kiss once more, and go in our separate directions. I walk back to our hostel, kicking myself for not exchanging email addresses and realising that I’m never going to see Jenita again.

I checked my phone, to find txts from Pete and Mia, and replied to them thus:

I’ve just pulled a gorgeous Finnish girl called Jenita, and I’m never going to see her again

In fact, it must have been later than I thought - according to my phone, that was at 5.42am. Maybe the lights at Nimeta Baar came on later than I thought?

Back to the hotel, down to mine and Paul’s dingy dungeon room, and straight to bed. I only get a few minutes thinking about Jenita (and my folly) before sleep sets in.

 

Okay, so that’s actually 25 hours (3am-4am UK time), but the extra hour was an important one!

Okay, so I returned to Blighty on Sunday. What with Paul’s imminent wedding, the filming of Big Chimp at the end of the month, and trying to sort out a weekend away in Masham, I’ve been far too busy to blog.

First, there’ll be the conclusion of the 24-style Tallinn weekend day 1 write-up. Then will come a summary of the Sri Lanka trip before I write up the rest of the Tallinn weekend.

After that, there’ll be time for other stuff, possibly write-ups of Paul’s wedding and then the Masham trip, plus fleshing out the details of the Sri Lanka trip - and there are definitely some tales to tell!

It’ll probably be October by then, anyway