The Twin, Norwich, March 2011

I have a twin brother. At this stage it is extremely important to establish that this does not mean I am half a person. I was in my own egg. Also, contrary to popular belief, it is genetically impossible for girl and boy twins to be identical. Every single time I say my brother is my twin, it's the same lines:-

Douchebag: "Ohmygod you're a twin!"
Me: "Yep, wouldn't wish it on anyone"
Douchebag: "Are you identical?"
Me: *hangs head* "No. He is a boy"
Douchebag: "Oh you know what I mean"
(secret me-voice in head: "Yes I understand you are alluding to the fact you're a fucking muppet who just realised they said something fucking ridiculous")

Almost everyone I tell has asked me the same question, so don't feel bad if you've asked me, I only secretly think you're a tool. 

I went to visit him after he bitched at me about not seeing him enough when I go up to Norwich (where I am not from. I was not born there), so I went straight to the pub he works in and sat drinking until he finished, at which point we went to another pub round the corner with his colleague/flatmate who can also be classified as his no.1. Mancrush, and vice versa. It's quite sickening to watch actually, they really don't mind their love for each other being out there on display.


It was a typical evening with him; getting drunk, cracking jokes, and the thing that makes everyone around us leave after a while - we start regressing to when we where children and throwing punches, telling on each other, and generally being the most irritating we can possibly be in a short period of time. We think it's hilarious, but then again this in the regression-time: we think that we are children and being funny. In reality, when/if you grow up, it becomes painfully obvious that children are not funny. There, I said it. They aren't, I don't care if you think your kids are, because they are not. They might be for about 0.5-1.5 minutes but anything above that is serious frozen-smile time for witnesses. 


So my brother and I get drunk and I demand he makes me a snack, which he has to do because I am 20 minutes older than him so he has to do whatever I say. Then I crash out on his sofa, the awful/hideous sofa that I have seen him throw up on countless times.  A typical evening really.

The Dutch Guy, Amsterdam, March 2011

Way back in 2002, I was working at a horrendous backpackers resort on the East Coast of Australia. Many backpackers passed through that shitbox (to quote a fellow worker) but few stayed. The staff end up hanging out a fair bit, mainly to test the theory that a problem shared is a problem halved. Incidently, that theory is bullshit. And so our story begins with one of my co-workers here; The Dutch Guy

 The Dutch Guy will always be fondly remembered by me as a bit freakin crazy man. I couldn't talk to him for long periods of time because he's possibly the longest person in the world, and I'm vertically challenged, so you'd get neck ache looking up at the clouds trying to chat to him. He also had better English that me which is kind of humiliating...

One of my favourite memories is when he crashed the rubbish van into a ditch because he basically couldn't be fucked to drive it properly. He was the bin man, and I took various odd jobs to get bed and board (pool cleaning, painting, gardening, cleaning up backpacker vomit and dog poo that looked suspiciously like backpacker poo). To quote a line he said frequently: "They do not pay me enough to bother". Oh how right he was.


Now, my trip to Amsterdam was very much off the cuff (agreed with a mate to take a road trip so drove over there, which would have be fine except for the car acting like a fucktard). So, after not having any dialogue with him for 9 years he offered me a room without me even having to ask - this actually came about from asking for recommendations via facebook. He is a proper legend and by this point I'm already psyched about visiting him.

I spend two nights at this former Fire Department in Amsterdam, where he is living for next to nothing whilst the Firemen decide what they want to do with this place. It's HUGE, he has about 60 rooms and I instantly try to mask the terror I'm feeling about the likeness to The Shining. At one point I actually had to sprint back to my room from the bathroom because I'm freaking out about child-ghosts in the corridors. The endless, massive corridors *shudder*

From the second we arrive he's friendly, welcoming and I see straight away that he's not changed that much at all - just the usual mellowing out you get as the years go on. We hang out and he takes us to a random nightclub that squatters go to (in shifts I assume) and we have a great time.

I found out he comes to town from time to time on business so we're meeting up next time he's about. Really good start to this...although it's set the bar high and I'm kind of shitting myself about how low the bar can go...