Brad Possesses The Worst Flatulance, Known To Both Man And Beast.

It has been a while since the last time any of us posted. And a lot of you are probably treating this lack of updates as the first indication of our waning interest in maintaining one of the webs most frequently visited Blog sites - but this is untrue.

We're just firstly A) Short on cash - internet access can cost upwards of $AUD10 an hour. And B) We're lazy.

From Cork, which is I think we're we left off - a large Irish town seperated by a toxic brown river, accompanied by an interesting social scene, we headed (under the suggestion of 2 local sandwich bar owners) for the beautiful town of Killarney. Camping was cheap in the past - so why not give that another ago? Sure. You could of imagined our expressions when the lovely Canadian/ Irish (I dont know what nationality she was, she sounded Canadian, but we we're in Ireland...) so you can imagine our expressions when the receptionist ask us for £28.5 . Thats £9.50 a night - for camping. Swallowing hard, our eyes watering from the pain caused in our wallets, we admitted that perhaps we we're in fact saving. Being this far from the main shops in Killarney, there would be less temptation to spend. So, in that light...Sure, it was cheaper. Trying to do it cheap, our meals were mainly Soup, Noodles, Bread Rolls and tuna sandwhiches. And Brad, with a smile, would love looking at you so as to catch your reaction when you smelt his flatulance for the first time. And this flatulance wasn't of any normal callibre. It was something truly horrible. And we were confined to the tent. Normal farts just smell bad, and usually thats it. But Brads lingered, they hung round like they were impervious to neutralising. And Brads, Im sure have caused me some internal damage. Id rather be headbutted by a goat in the abdomen then to have to ever smell one of his farts again - I thought my Dad was bad. He has nothing on Bradley. Nothing!!

On the fourth day in Killarney we decided to stay in a Hostel, as it would be more convenient to catch that bus for Belfast at 9 in the morning than it would 27 miles out (not really, but don't I love to exaggerate) at the campsite. What we didnt anticipate was that it was going to be a big night out. The best nights we find, are the ones that often occur spontaneously. Sitting down in the dining area with 2 pints, soon we're caught chatting to some Irish folk. A Patrick, then Donna and Karl, who we were happy to discover stayed at the very same campsite while we were there. As it gets when your drinking with Irishmen, It started getting serious. There were more beers, then more, then more, then a little more just for good health. The fantastic part was that both Brad and I had stopped buying after the 4th drink, and we had been probably given something closer to the vicinity of a further 4. (Or in Brads case a further 6 or 7.)

It goes black for a little while...then its 7:45 in the morning and I realise that if we dont move now, we're probably not going to make it. Poking Brad in the back he grumbles something similar to the noise a horse makes when it shits while still moving. "NEEeeufff....." Aaand with enough perserverence (oh we were slow to get going), we crossed the road and made our way to the Bus terminal for our trip to Northern Ireland.

Belfast was scary upon arrival. Most people would know Northern Island has always been infamous for the divide between Catholics and Protestants, and so me and Brad were prepared for something a little questionable, something a little testing and upon leaving the Bus depot, what it was we found was that the streets - all the streets were empty. Like they had called an evacuation "Infected Monkeys escape from Zoo - EVERYBODY FLEE!" or that everyone had gone underground to avoid the next wave of bombings. We managed to find another couple of backpackers, Canadians and we shared the same observation. We were all lost, and a friendly Irishmen stopped and asked whether we were alright, admitting we were a little lost, he happily agreed to take us to where we wanted to go. He did, smiled and wished us a happy life, then took off on his own way. Entering the Canadians hostel, and receiving directions for ours, we left not to shortly afterwards and walked the streets basically all alone, except for the odd bum or drunk. We found comfort again at our Hostel, surrounded by people in numbers and the sound of people. We found out later that the reason the streets were empty was due to a strategy the Govt. employed to principally fight crime, violence and drunkedness of the citys youth.

The highlight of Belfast was A) Finding 2 Bill Bryson books in a fantastic 2nd hand bookstore and B) GOING TO A MUSIC FESTIVAL WERE The SHINS and The KILLERS were playing. Needles to point out, B) was the real highlight. The Shins sounded exactly as they do on their CD's which is to say fantastic. Truly an incredible band - especially to sound the same live as they do in studio. Then there was Albert Hammond Jr. (Strokes fame), Mark Ronson, an instrumentalist who does covers of Coldplay and Radiohead (FANTASTIC surprise), Kasabian and of course The Killers. The Killers were the headline, and me and Brad bopped like a couple of groove masters and sex gods. Girls were pouring themselves on us. Well, sort of. Ok not really. But doesn't the story sounds better when I say it like that? One girl almost poured herself on us litereally - she was so drunk she had even lost controls of her voice box. She sounded somewhere between the brakes of a bus being shortly and sharply applied and the squeak of a sneaker on a basketball court. Seeing The Shins play was a seminal moment in this trip for me. I can tell you the Killers were the same for Brad. Incredible putting faces to the music. Turning around (as we made our way to the front of the concert, due to our sneakiness) and stood on our tippy toes, there behind us stood a sea of people, almost to the horizon (or at least to the hamburger stand). And below this see of people was a miniature rubbish pit of beer cups, burger wrappers and chip boxes that did its best to trip you, or tarnish you shoes.

Our final night we spent drinking Cider and reading. My Ears are still ringing from the festival so currently I am boycotting the Ipod. The 35 minute walk to the Ferry, carrying bags that are slowly putting on wait like some junk food addicted moron, was an accomplishment that will forever go unnoticed. The trip, which we thought was the one and only fare, was only a fraction of the journey to Scotland when considering the following train ride we took to Glasgow. Upon disembarking, we were surprised to be charged at the end of our journey, and additional £17.50 ontop of the £23 for the ferry. Now in Scotland, I think the idea is to look for employment. But by the looks of this city so far - (its rougher than a pot scourer) I think I might be looking for employment somewhere else. Somewhere...country.