I finally finished what was left of my year-long work placement at University on Thursday afternoon and quickly upped and left for Riga on what promised to be a long weekend of debauchery and celebration/commiseration.
As I freed myself from one set of chains, old friend Jonny was celebrating his last few weeks of freedom before entering into another set by marrying Fliss on the 24th September.
I’ve tried my best to talk him out of it – really I have. Not a moment went past in the Latvian capital where I wasn’t telling Jonny not to do it (Jonny – if you’re reading this – don’t do it) but he plain didn’t listen....which is actually fair enough – Fliss is a total babe.
Aside from the 72 hours of drinking, laughter and getting dafter, ‘Best’ Man Kev organised a couple of excursions which included go-karting and shooting Danny DeVito with various arsenal (including shotguns, glocks, 8mm hand guns and Banana Bombs).
Riga itself is a beautiful Eastern European city with more to it than the 70p beer (although, given the circumstances, this was a lovely and delicious bonus). There was an impressive mix of gothic and contemporary architecture with evidence of its Cold War legacy. Old Russian statues, bullet holes in walls (not from my wayward shooting) and old concrete government buildings all provided imposing but memorable features and like Poland and Bulgaria, it was a humbling place to visit.
However, looking back, we were having too much a brilliant time to be humbled.
Conversations about a bad-ass football dream team (made up of ‘orrible bastards and hard men of history including Andre the Giant in centre midfield, Joseph Stalin at right back and Jeremy Irons on the left wing), spitting ‘Vegan Regan Rap’ lyrics and forging new rules for the DVLA’s theory test (which included drive-by's involving the Queen) all diverted our attention from the bulk of the culture.
What happened in Riga will always stay in Riga but, for those people interested, the photos on Facebook will tell much of the story.
After surviving a breakdown (vehicular rather than mental) on the return journey, I was in for a pleasant surprise on my return to Leeds when I was greeted at the front door by Andy who has returned to Yorkshire to work at Bingley Live festival this weekend. A few hours in Dry Dock and a day shopping with Fay followed which has sadly led to an almighty demise of my energy levels. I am pooped.
The prospect of finally seeing The Inbetweeners tonight with Andy, Si and Alli will hopefully perk me up before, devastatingly, heading to the library on Thursday and Friday to complete my freaking Placement Portfolio.
About Me
- Simon Nigel Danger Wood
- Born at the age of 4 in a woodcutter’s cottage in the Black Forest sometime next year, I’m a student at Leeds Met University studying Project Management. Despite the absolute lack of creative freedom, it’s alright and I’m quite good at it I suppose. Leeds Met is often referred to as ‘the other one’ in relation to its more distinguished cousin but I like to think it’s not important. We are all students of Leeds. I’m not an absolute ‘rah’ and I’m not a complete ‘spaz-tard’ – I’m very happily sandwiched in-between, all warm and snug. Anywho. I digress. I enjoy many things in life, from the humble Jaffa Cake and social intoxication to music and my attempts of being a ‘lad’. The idea of blogging has long been wandering aimlessly in my less-than-average sized head. During my previous life jumping when Yorkshire Water clapped, I put together a monthly newsletter which people seemed to like. So. Possessing a half decent grasp of the written word and the occasional tendency to be a bit of a douche, I thought ‘blogging’ could be a hoot. Enjoy. P.S. I must credit the late John Peel who I based my whole ‘born at the age of four...’ intro. Kudos, John. Kudos.
