Before I wrote that last post I had no idea it would be the last one that would appear on this site. Even though I wrote it almost a year ago it seems I picked the title well.

It's been great fun writing this, but I'm moving on now.

Everything might not have ended, but it's certainly changed. Wardy Fireball was freakin ace, but along with all the great stories and memories, he belongs in my past.

I don't want to keep this going and dilute it. I want to look back and have great memories, from a time in my life when I felt truly indestructible.

It's time to close this chapter now, and start on the next one.

Wardy Fireball is gone. . . but it'll be hard to forget him.

Once again my time away from home draws near. I'm as skint as a struggling actor with only Hollyoaks bit parts on their CV. While the call of the mountains, the fresh air and the adventure is strong, I simply have no funds with which to stay out here. So in about a week I'm heading home to get the bank account stocked up again. Not all is lost though as I've managed to secure myself a job over here for next season. This means I've got half a year to try and get good at jumps on my board so I can come back here and . . ahem . . ?rip it up!?

Havnt had a joke backfire like that since I took the piss out of someone for having a Jewish nose.

My confidence was high. My turns were getting better and I was getting faster.

Sooner or later something had to go wrong.

Ok, nice one wardy. Going well now. Cracked this sucker. Right then, lets get up a bit of speed just for kicks.
Thats it, getting faster now. Turn right. Sweet. Turn left. Awesome. Just a touch of straight lining to get the blood pumping. Ace.

Go for the nice long right hander. . . oh . .oh thats good. Feel the edge grip. Now keep the speed up into a nice long left. Going straight now. Start the turn.

Start the turn.

Turn.

Turn?

Lean Wardy, get your weight moving. Twist the shoulders, point the hips.

Oh crap.

Going quite fast now, still not turning. Bend the knees. Weight on the front foot. Wait for the turn to happen.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Oh crap.

Right then, don't panic. You're in control you just need to try harder to tu . . ROCKS!! Big frickin rocks down the hill. I'm gonna hit the rocks. I'm gonna hit the rocks.

Lean damnit. Lean. Twist the hips. Don't panic. Everythings cool. Lean forward, lean forward . . . . stop leaning backwards . . stop leaning backwards . . .stop it. . . STOP.

Oh man, I'm soooo out of control. Don't panic, lean forwards and you'll get control back.

!! I'm going to hit the rocks. I'm going to hit the rocks. !!

Ok, battle stations . . lean, twist, panic, move weight, get on an edge, stop panicking, lean forward . . do it do it do it.

Rocks! I'm leaning back, oh man the front of the board is off the ground, I'm a sliding wreck waiting to happen . . ok, one more try to get this under control.

Lean, twist . . CRAP! I've hit the deck. . . . I'm sliding.

I'm sliding.

I'm sliding.

I'm slidi . . . Ouch! That was a bump. Still sliding

Man I'm sliding a long way. My elbow hurts.

Whoa!! ok, now I'm sliding sideways . . nope . . face first. I'm sliding down the hill face first.

Still sliding. . . . . . ok. I've stopped.

Awesome, I missed the rocks.

Balls, I'm right next to the T-bar.

Try and look cool, like nothing happened.

Nope, not working.

Ok then, grin like a lunatic and laugh out loud.

Much better!

I've got something on my chest that I really feel I need to say to everybody. It's a bit of a revelation for me, and while I'm excited about it, I'm also slightly nervous.

I know this is going to come as a shock to some of you, and I know those of you that I've emailed will have been expecting this, but I want to get it out in the open so that I can move on with my life and become more comfortable with it.

I'm Bi.

I started getting curious about this sort of thing when I split up with my girlfriend. I don't know if it was *because* we split up or *why* we split up. All I know is that after we were no longer together, I started to feel these urges.

Then I landed in New Zealand and the urges wouldn't go away. I met a couple of people here that were already living this type of life and we just clicked. We went out to a bar one night, I had a couple of drinks and everything snowballed.

I've always been curious I guess. I've a friend back home that has been this way for years. He's open about it. Will tell anyone that asks. Never shied away from it. You can kind of tell just by looking at him, the way he dresses, the way he acts . . . his movie collection.

I suppose I simply had to act on my curiosity. For months now I could do nothing but think about it. How does it feel, does it give you a rush . . . does it hurt?

The first time it did hurt. A lot. I could barely walk the next day. What made it worse was that I was so excited to get started I didn't use any protection. I always thought I was smarter than that but I guess I just got caught up in the moment.

I thought about giving up, it didn't feel right. There was something in my head saying this just isn't natural. But then I started to read magazines and websites for people like me. The men all looked so relaxed. They looked happy. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. If they could do it and still smile, so could I.

I was worried about doing it again. I mean, this was all new to me, was I taking it too fast?

Even though I had my hesitations, I couldn't help myself. A whole new world had opened up to me and I wanted to explore it all. It felt so right, how could it be wrong.

I've been practicing for a few weeks now and I cant try to hide it any longer.

I'm Bi.

Bi-rotational.

I can turn both ways on my snowboard.

Have It!

On the way back from the mountain one day I mentioned in the car that I would like to learn how to ride a horse. I was immediately set upon by a girl that told me that this dream was 'totally gay'.

Now I know Brokeback Mountain may have influenced some people but to brandish all horse riders as 'totally gay' seemed a bit harsh to me.

This then led on to a discussion of types of people that we didn't like. By the time we had got home, our list looked something like this.

Horsey people. ( Gawfaww, bwoke her in myself you know )
People who act 'student'. ( smelly, dirty, drunk, get over yourself types )
People who describe themselves as crazy.
Angry Northern girls.
Girls that act like sassy black women when they actually come from Romford.
People that wear band tshirts when they have never heard the bands music. ( The Ramones, The Smiths )
People that move to London and become all 'city'.
Anyone you can look at and instantly recognise them as coming from Art School.
Mimes.

So if I do learn how to ride a horse, I'm not allowed to become a tight trouser wearing, laugh through the nose, serry drinking pompus scab on the landscape.

Or wear a Smith tshirt.

Childbirth.
Hollyoaks Omnibus.
Rectal Prolapse.


I think it was when I hit the deck and heard my lower back pop like Rice Crispies that I realised I would be in some pain in the morning.

I think it was in the morning when my lower back ached more than Cliff Richards testicles that I realised I would be in some pain for the rest of the week.

I went to look at a car the other day. I'd been told that this car was the 'executive edition'. Sure it was old, 20 years old, but it's not like I've won the lottery recently so you've got to make cutbacks. I got into the drivers seat and the first thing that struck me was the leg room.

Absolutely none.

I pushed the seat back as far as I could, didn't make any difference. I basically had to chew my knees to fit in the drivers seat.

So yes, the first thing that struck me was the leg room, but the second thing that struck me were the buttons.

Everywhere. Buttons . . . everywhere.

I love things with buttons. Buttons do things. Each one something different. This means the more buttons something has, the better it is, because it does more stuff. Logic.

This car has stacks of buttons. And then I noticed the mother lode. Right next to the stereo, which had plenty of buttons let me tell you . . . right next to the stereo was . . .

oh my . . I'm going to need a moment here

. . there was a graphic equalizer.

Whoa there.

Built right into the car. Right there next to the stereo. With lights above it that moved with the music. This was my dream car stereo, sat infront of me in a car I could buy. Joy, I tell you, was upon me.

Then there was the dashboard. There was not a dial on it. Nothing mechanical at all to impart information to me. If I needed to know anything about the car, the speed, the fuel, the temperature, it was all displayed to me with lovely digital displays. A car full of buttons, with digital displays everywhere you looked. Have it.

Then there was the engine.

Utter crap. Seriously. It was rubbish. The cambelt was shot and the clutch needed changing a good 15 years ago.

I'm back to car hunting. Only I've been told I run the risk of being taken off car hunting duty. Apparently I look for 'gimmicks' and 'stupid stuff' in cars instead of what's important.

Important? What? Do these people even know what a graphic equalizer is?!

Never been a fan of quiche. Until now.

What changed? Well apart from the fact that is was double the thickness of any quiche I've seen in England, and forgetting that is was crammed full of roasted vegetable goodness, the thing that sold me on this quiche was the crust.

Was it the flakiest most golden crust ever? No.

Was it the moistest, most delicious pastry ever? No.

Was it made out of sausage meat?

Ohhhhhh yeah.

A sausage meat crust. Now that my friends is how you make a quiche.

I've been in my first earthquake.

Didn't feel a thing. Gutted.

I've been assured there was an earthquake, and I've been assured that things did shake, there was movement, small children were frightened. Me, I went the whole day completely unaware that a child worrying incident had just taken place. My personal items remained unshook, and the only erratic movement I can recall was when I burnt my mouth with hot coffee.

I've been in my first earthquake.

I survived. Awesome.

I've finally got myself a universal adapter so I can use my laptop again. Like an old friend returning from war, with chocolate and a bottle of Talisker, we are reunited.

I cant turn left. Simply wont happen. I've been trying to get to grips with this snowboarding lark but my body just wont let me go left. Going right is fine. Not a problem. Could do it all day, and actually have to due to the lack of left turns. I'm thinking that booking an actual lesson with an actual snowboard instructor might be the best way to sort this out. For while it's been fun so far, I just know there is more fun to be had by being able to do this thing properly.

The annoying thing is, I could turn left in England. I was still rubbish, don't get me wrong, but at least I could do it. But out here that seems to have been robbed from me.

I ride goofy so leave any handy hints in the comments box, or simply ridicule me for me mono turning ways. Up to you, you cursed two-turners!

The house I'm staying in has a wood burning heater in the lounge. It is almost impossible to sit in there at night infront of the telly without getting all warm and drowsy. By half nine I'm a wreck. Falling asleep where I sit and spilling hot Ribena down myself. So I get up and go to bed where I have an electric blanket, a thermal sheet, a wool sheet, a duvet and a throw, and I snuggle down to the cosyist nights sleep you could imagine.

But this brings a new problem. For while it's nice to get all wrapped up in a warm bed, cosy and tight in the duvet, come morning when you can see your breath, getting out of bed is an absolute mission.

Hopefully I'm going to buying my first car in the next couple of days. Having little money means I get little choice over what kind of run into the ground rust bucket I get to pick from. However, if it gets me to the top of the mountains then it will do me fine. If it has a working heater, I'll be even more grateful.

Seeing as I know less about cars then I do modern dance I'm going to be taking someone along with me to kick tires and lift the bonnet and do other car-checking things. Then a test drive, a haggle, an exchange of cash for keys and then the inevitable uncontrollable spending that follows buying an old car to keep it on the road.

First car . . . I'm so excited!

It was so scarily easy to sort the visa thing out I'm worried I've still done something wrong. I went to immigration, handed my medical forms in, waited three days and got my visa papers through.

I have the papers in my hand and yet there is the nagging voice, the one that demands hassle and long waits, the one that wants me to get my visa card out, fill in more paper work, talk to more people and then wait again.

This went so smoothly. Here is my paper work. Thank you for the visa.

Mint.

I created a Skype account simply to call NZ immigration from Thailand. I called them and I was assured that I could apply for my working holiday scheme visa online, and then land in the country and finish my application there by handing in my medical certificates in person. I was assured that I did not need a ticket out of the country if I showed proof that I had enough money in my bank account to purchase such a ticket.

It should have been so easy.

For a start, my taxi driver didn't turn up to take me to the airport. I called him to see where he was and in doing so woke him up. It was 5 in the morning. I had a plane to catch. Right there and then I realised that this was going to be a loooong journey.

I got to Singapore without too much difficulty and then went to the Early Check in counter to get my boarding pass for the leg to Melbourne. ?Oh? said the man at the desk, ?there has been a change to your itinerary.?

I now was no longer getting a flight straight from Singapore to Melbourne. Oh no, now I had to stop at Bali inbetween.

Bali. I frickin hate Bali.

Upon arriving at Bali we were subjected to 45 minutes of searching. I went through 4 scanners, got frisked twice and had somebody go through the entire contents of my hand baggage before I was turned around and told to get on the very same plane I had just been told to get off.

I was tired by this point. I'd managed to get aisle seats on the two flights before and so was in some desperate need of sleep. I got back on the plane, back into yet another aisle seat and looked forward to the next 5 hours of insomnia.

I finally landed at Melbourne after almost 24 hours of being on the move and catching no winks. I went to the next check in desk to get my boarding pass for New Zealand.

And now it gets a bit tricky.

Now they tell me that I do need a return ticket or I'm not allowed to travel to the country. I explain the bank account thing. They say it doesnt matter. They call NZ Immigration for me. I explain to the guy on the phone my predicament and he says don't worry about it. He says that my Working Holiday Visa has been accepted so all I have to do is buy a ticket leaving NZ at any point and then just never use it as I'll have a years visa.

It's a drag I think to myself, and it's more money I'm having to spend, but hey, these things happen. So I buy a ticket leaving NZ at some point in the future and get on the plane.

I'm a bit gutted that I spent loads of money on a medical in Bangkok but I'm happy to finally be on my way to NZ so I don't let it bother me too much.

I land in NZ, tell the lady at immigration the story, she checks on the system and my visa has not been approved. But I talked to a guy not 3 hours ago I tell her, and he said it had been. Please step this way sir she tells me. Yes, I'm taken to the side at immigration.
I've watched Airport.

I'm screwed.


I explain once again to a lady what has happened. By this point I'm pretty aware of the fact that I'm completely at the mercy of somebody behind a desk. I'm on thin ice. They take all my paperwork, go into an office and chat for a bit. They come back and say they'll give me a one month visitors visa to sort myself out.

One month. If I'd have simply landed and said nothing I could have gotten a 6 month visa simply for being British. This one month visa is quite simply immigration taking the piss out of me. But it's your fault this has happened I tell them, I did everything I was told to, I went and got a medical, I bought a ticket, I have all my paper work on me. You have to apply for the Working Holiday Scheme from outside the country they tell me. I did I tell them, I applied from Thailand. I was told to bring the paper work here and I would be able to hand it in myself. I tell them that when I phoned from Melbourne I was told I'd been approved which is why I asked. I tell them that if I'd have said nothing I could have gotten a 6 month visa. You have a one month visa they tell me, take it or leave it, and by leave it they mean leave the country.

I take it.

This means I'm now in the country with only a one month visitors visa. I'm going to the office tomorrow to try and sort this whole mess out. I've spent a fucking fortune trying to get this visa sorted. What with the whole mess Thailand managed to make out of it, to get to civilisation and still get dicked around is what can only be described as slightly annoying.

This could end up being a very short trip for me.

I've put so much money into this visa now, I literally cant afford to not get it. If I don't then it's home time for me. If I cant earn over here then I've got to leave basically straight away. I don't have the resources to holiday here as I've got to buy a ticket to the other side of the world to get home.

I'm so pissed off right now it's just not funny. How hard can it be for something to go right.


Ps ? the mountains are beautiful, the snow is ace, I've already been boarding, the people are superb, my accommodation is lovely and my landlady is cool as school.

I hate having to write catch up posts but seeing as I seem to be more slack than not, I'm simply going to have to make do.

A number of things have been happening to me recently.

There was the case of the stool sample. Was it needed? Would I have to travel to Bangkok to shit in a pot? Did anybody at the hospital have the faintest idea what was going on?

There was the long distance, heavily delayed telephone call with Immigration. What documents did I need? Are they sure? Are they really sure?

There was a whole night of pretending to be from Eastern Europe so I could put on a silly voice and talk absolute nonsense to a hooker.

There was the Australian girl who lost my phone. I'm assuming she threw it in the lake because the ?I put it on the table next to you? story doesn't add up.

There was the Australian guy who became shockingly rude when I pointed out that his whole country was built on the waste product of English society.

There was an Australian girl who wanted to sell me 3kg of cocaine. Sure love, I'll buy 3kg of cocaine off your 'friend' . . . . . idiot.

Infact, there's been quite a lot of activity on the Ozzie front.

And there was the most amazing fight I've even witnessed as Richie ' the Rino' Prior took a beating for 3 rounds before kneeing the absolute hell out of some Thai guy. What a night. He now has 5 stitches in his forehead. Classic.

And finally, but for me most importantly, there was my decision to leave Thailand.

Sure, it's been fun, and it's been an experience, but I'm off.

This is why I've not been updating for the past fortnight. I've been very very busy sorting myself out and getting ready to move on.

So, if any of you good people are going to be in New Zealand this year, come visit me.

Yes, I'm off to the land of mountains to try again at this whole 'life' business.

My nomadic ways are still going strong and I'm going to move even further away from England. Once again I've got a one way ticket to some far flung corner of the earth that I've never been to. Once again I'm going to try and make a go of it. Once again I'm not coming home and I'm not getting a 'real' job and I'm not getting a mortgage and I'm not getting married and I'm not being sensible and I'm not thinking about my future and I'm not taking the easy road and I'm not worrying what my CV looks like and I'm just not giving a shit.

I'm going snowboarding instead.

Bite me.

I've been told I blink too much when I'm in the ring. Every time someone throws a punch at my face, I blink. This is not good. So to train this out of me, drastic measures had to be adopted.

This found me with my back to a punch bag, my head resting onto it, while someone punched me repeatedly in the face. I tell you, it's just not that easy to keep you eyes open while this is happening.

The situation was not made any easier because I was killing myself laughing. Stood there with my eyes wide open while someone rains punches down on you just isn't my normal Wednesday morning routine.

Well, not since I left Coventry anyways.

The letter inbetween "H" and "K" on my computer is broken.

Good ob that's not annoying while hunting for employment.

As usual over here when I go to training regularly, my feet get all soft on me and start shedding skin as if a new, bigger foot, is trying to get out. This means I'm left with all sorts of raw parts on the soles of my feet from the running and bouncing around in the ring. Not one to let this stand in my way I went out and bought a bright red washing up bowl so that I could soak my feet at night in salt water to dry everything out.

I went to the chemist to buy some Epsom Salts but, to my avail, could find none. There was however, something that looked like it might do the same. I took it up to the counter, showed them the scars on my knuckles, explained that I was going to soak them in water with whatever it was that I was holding, and asked if it would help. They assured me it would, so I bought three packs and headed home.

I put a film on my laptop, put my feet in the bowl, poured some water in, added a packet of the powder, splashed it around and settled back to watch some second rate thriller with Vince Vaughn and John Travolta.

After the first half it became painfully apparent that the film was complete toss, so I turned my attention away from that, and towards my feet.

Now the bowl I had was bright red, so it passed my attention that when I added the powder to it, it turned the water bright red, it also passed my attention that it was slowly turning my feet red. It passed my attention so much that after an hour of thrill-less thriller, my feet had turned quite the shade of rouge.

I jumped in the shower hoping that a firm scrub and warm water would fix this problem.

Nope.

Luckily it wasn't a bright bright red, it was more a strong burgundy. But whatever colour you want to call it, it isn't a colour that you want your feet to be. After scrubbing away with very little success I conceived that I might just have to wait until it wore itself off naturally. Up until that point though, I would have to wear shoes instead of sandals, which would soften my feet up again, which would cause more blisters and loss of skin, which would mean having to go through all this again. Not a route I particularly wanted to take.

I needed to do some shopping anyways so I put some shoes on and headed out to the supermarket. As I was buying vests, shorts and rubbing alcohol I saw something and immediately hatched a plan.

A kitchen scourer.

Now I know what some of you might be thinking. You might be thinking. Wardy, did you not try this in your second year of University when you dyed you forehead, ears and neck blue? And did you not end up with horrendous burns on your forehead, ears and neck from the experience? And did you not learn from that?

Well it would seem that I did learn, because this time I was a LOT more careful.

Seeing a bike shaped dint in the side of a truck, along with a pool of blood on the floor, is possibly the most efficient way of making me slow down on my bike.
Just glad it wasn't me.