Greg Tales(woo-oo) - Flying across the Tasman

In a previous post about the Australian Open Tennis hinted at my last night in Melbourne before going to Tasmania. This truly was a night to remember and a morning to forget...

I was in the TV room of the hostel watching tennis in a half-hope of seeing myself in my McEnroe garb. My flight to Tazzie was booked for the next morning. Jamey entered with some leaving gifts. Condoms, Lube and a bottle of whiskey. My flight was at 7:30 the next day and I protested that I really just wanted a quiet night and a clear head for the journey tomorrow. I may as well have been speaking to the ceiling. The whiskey was poured in very liberal measure.

 It has a funny name.

I sat and I drank, Jamey was drinking too but I noticed that my glass was being refilled very regularly and I slipped into abject drunkeness. Now I should give a little background. The hostel was owned by a couple of English guys named Colin and Bruce(or the chuckle brothers as we called them). They were idiots and responsible for all the bad things about the hostel whilst making life stupidly hard for the staff who did a great job at making things memorable for everyone who walked through the sliding door. I knew that Colin and Bruce were cleaning the hostel the next morning(in an effort to save money they wouldn't pay proper cleaning staff, so the place was filthy).

I decided(with some encouragement from Jamey i'm sure) to leave Colin and Bruce as much work as possible, and proceeded to dismantle the tv room. Sofas were flipped, condoms carefully placed over door handles and engorged over shower heads. And the crowning glory - an empty goon box sat on the tv with 'Colin and Bruce are cunts' defiantly scrawled in biro. This is my last memory of the evening.

 We even left some long term suprises.

Cut to the morning. I awake with a grunt and a pounding head. I look at the time on my phone. 7am. Wait? 7am? SHHHIIIIIITTT. My flight was at 7:30! I sprung from my bed, scooped up my bags and ran downstairs. Didn't bother with checking out, flinging my keys in the general direction of the reception. No time for getting my deposit back. I ran to the bus and fortunately it left as soon as I arrived. 

I got the airport and announcements were being made. Final call for Gregory Smith.ShitShitShitShit! I ran to the check-in and the very stressed staff hurried me through. I was the last person on the plane and it was delayed. I got some strange looks by my fellow passengers. Then I realised they weren't staring because of my lateness. They were staring at my shirt, which was covered in vomit. I felt bad for the guy sat next to me, luckily the flight was very short.

 maybe not quite this bad, but still, pretty fucking bad.

We arrived in Hobart and I went to the luggage collection. My backpack came around on the carousel and sure enough, it too was wearing a lovely coat of stomach-chunks. I hauled it into the bathrooms and cleaned it as well as I could. As I was walking the streets looking for my hostel I got a phone call from James, the hostel manager. He thanked me for the little suprise that I left him. Of course room 5 was covered in my effluence and he had to clean it up. Oddly enough our friendship was never quite the same. Colin and Bruce never discovered it was me who trashed the hostel and welcomed me back with open arms when I returned.

I'm a disgusting man, which is why you should follow me on twitter @GregTheBastard

Greg Tales(woo-oo) - Top Gun

It was summetime in Melbourne and every year in the botanical gardens they erect a large outdoor cinema and show a mix of movies, new and old. We were casually looking through the program and there was one name that stood out more than the rest. TOP GUN. 

 Before he was crazy.

I've always had a special affinity with this film. 'You take my breath away' by Berlin(incidentally the city I live in) was the number one single on the day I was born. I had also met Tom Cruise when I was a small child. I don't remember this but my father worked for the Royal Air Force for a while and we went to an air show. Tom Cruise was there along with some other famous actors and somewhere in a box in my parents attic is a signed picture of an F-14 jet.

Now in Melbourne, the tradition is not to simply attend, the philosophy is that everything has to become an event. So we started advertising and getting people signed up to the top gun experience. Booking as a group was considerably cheaper and we had been taking peoples money at the group booking price. We spent all afternoon trying to get through on the phone to no avail. eventually we had to give up - as we had to go costume shopping.

There is a famous scene in top gun where the leading men play volleyball and high five each other a lot. This is largely considered one of the most homo-erotic passages in cinema history so of course this was the theme of the costumes. We were to be 'Goose'.

 Not Homoerotic, Not homoerotic...

The fateful day arrived and we still couldn't get through on the phone to buy the tickets. We had hundreds of dollars from our prospective top gunners but no tickets. Myself, Jamey and Dene took our duties as ring-leaders seriously, so we headed down to the botanical gardens to secure our destiny. When we found the ticket office we found out why nobody answered the phone. It was deserted. After hassling several members of the technical crew who were setting things up we tracked down the office of someone who could help. Before we knocked we decided to get changed into our goose gear.

 

'45 tickets for top gun please!'

With the tickets acquired we had some time to kill, so we played some frisbee in our aviators, fake moustaches, taped up wrists and scandalously short-shorts. I managed to carve a deep gash into my knee when I collided with a tree whilst running full speed to catch the disc.

The hour eventually came when the doors were opened. We directed our horde of followers towards us and 45 close friends descended on the gardens. A small exciteable man ran up to us.

'I'm with the sponsors, do you mind if we take some photos?'

of course we obliged and as a reward we were treated to VIP seats with tons of free food. This is why dressing up is such a good idea in every situation. It was bring your own alcohol so the goon flowed freely(a very good drinking game is to watch top-gun and drink every time Tom Cruise has a close up). 

 All things to all men.

When Goose dies in the film a battery of engraved dog-tags were launched at the screen in despair. Eventually the film ended and we went off to take our drunkeness elsewhere. I vaguely remember drinking directly from a goon bag in the middle of the rooftop bar and managing not to get thrown out. Others came home covered in bubblewrap. From that day forward Top gun was even closer to my heart than before.

Greg Tales(woo-oo) - Mac Attack

Melbourne is a fantastic city and quite rightly proclaims itself as the sporting capital of the world. Part of this claim is the Australian Open Tennis tournament. I don't much care for tennis and considering that the main British hope was Andy Murray - from Scotland and there for unsupportable from my Anglo-Saxon perspective. My partner in crime, Jamey and I decided that the reason to go to the tennis would be to get on TV in the hope that someone at home might see us.

  Because we are cool like that.

We couldnt afford tickets to a big match so we knew we would have to make ourselves stand out in the crowds of thousands. We decided in that fine English tradition to dress up in ridiculous clothing. Original plans as being Venus and Serena Williams were deemed too controversial. So we settled on legend of 80s tennis John McEnroe.

 You cannot be serious, there I said it.

No expense was spared in the costume department. Big brown afro wigs and sweatbands were purchased. To imitate the skin tight apparel of the old-time tennis stars we acquired some polo shirts(aged 12) and some ladies very short shorts(a decision later to be greatly resented).

We looked the part but still we thought it would be a challenge to get noticed. the day came and we went off to Melbourne park getting plenty of attention on the way. Within two minutes of entering the grounds an eager guy from channel 7 bounded up to us "Hey guys, you look great, want to film some promos?"

Jamey and I exchanged a knowing look of a job well done. We stood in front of the cameras with the boom mike swinging above us. Tennis racquets in hand as we shouted the names of channel 7 programmes and various chants. We were told that we would definitely be on tv but maybe it would take some time for it all to be edited together. We went and enjoyed a very pleasant day at the tennis, safe in the knowledge that our mission was complete.

 Stars are born

The short shorts resulted in some truly epic sun-burn which got visciously slapped repeatedly, but still when we got home we planted ourselves in front of the TV and waited for our moment of glory to be broadcast to the world. We watched a lot of tennis but no sign of McEnroes.

 "haha, you slapped my sunburn, very funny. I WILL DESTROY YOU"

I had a flight to Tasmania booked so I departed(there's another story about my horrendous Tasmanian departure later to come) and got back to nature with lots of hiking and outdoorsy stuff to detox from a very heavy stint in Melbourne. I forgot all about the tennis.

I was in Launceston cooking the typical backpacker meal of pasta when I got the call.

"We're on!"

Quite some time had passed and I was sure the tennis was over by now, but no. It turns out we were shown, smiling and shouting for 2 seconds during the prime-time Womens final. 350 million viewed that match around the world on BBC, eurosport, ESPN as well as channel 7. That's right, I'm a superstar.

In The Office Recap

Filming is complete for the first season of Ben and Greg: In The Office, and the last episode airs probably at the end of this week, provided the editing fairies don't get drunk again. So keep up!! email us, twitter us, and you may become famous in our viewer resposnse videos as well as being entered for our fabulous prize draw!




Ben & Greg: In the office "Internet - part 1" (Season 1, Episode 3) from Well Safe Productions on Vimeo.

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Greg Tales(woo-oo): Steve Masturbates to the Simpsons

During the years that I lived at Steg(a really clever portmanteau of Steve and Greg) many strange occurences happened, but one of the oddest things happened one day when I had come home from work early because I had flu. I was feeling justifiably sorry for myself half asleep in my bed. Then Steve arrived home, unaware that I was in the house as usually he returned home before me. I could not see what follows but the sounds created painted a clear picture.

 I was about to be scarred for life, but not as badly as this kid.

The door slammed and feet hurried up the stairs and into his room. A belt jangled as work clothes were removed. Then the unmistakable sound of hardcore pornography. Very loud moans of pleasure mixed with a fair amount of pain ensued, then abrubtly stopped. More hurried footsteps, this time going downstairs and to the living room. The TV was turned on. The theme to 'The Simpsons' played. About 2 minutes later the belt buckle jangled again as the trousered made their ascent. Steve had finished himself off whilst enjoying the sight of Marge Simpson.

 Only having three fingers makes fisting so much easier.

I waited for some time before I had the courage to venture downstairs. There was a look of pure terror on his face when he realised that he hadn't been alone for his little adventure. We gave each other a knowing look, he knew he had been busted, I knew that he knew. We never spoke a word about it.

Wasting The Time of the British Royal Famiy

As an Englishman who lives outside of the realms of Her Majesty's power, I do sometimes miss the warmness of Her Madge's bosom. I'm no patriot but I am a royalist, Queen comes over country for me. And now we are mates!

At work, we were postulating that the Queen(and more specifically her secretaries) would answer almost every piece of mail that is received. Ringo Starr tried and failed at this feat, but Queenie would surely fare better(and is probably more adept at the sticks than Mr Starkey too). So, under the guise of an 8 year old parrallel of myself, I sent Lizzy a letter.

I accidentally spelled it 'Bunkingnam Palace' for added authenticity.

The text of the letter is as follows:
Dear Your Majesty,
My name is Gregory and I am 8 years old. I was born in England but my family moved to Germany. I live in Berlin with my Mum and Dad but I miss living in England so they told me I should write to you as you are the Queen of England and it will help me not to forget to still be English.
I know you have lots of corgis and I want a dog too. Are corgis a very English dog to have? I think I would like one or maybe a labrador. Hopefully I will be allowed to have a dog for Christmas. Are there special things that queens and kings get or do you just have normal stuff like everyone else?
I would really like you to write back so I can show my German friends at school that the queen has written to me and I think they will be impressed. I hope you have a good christmas and I have drawn you a christmas picture. Please write back!


Yours sincerely,
Gregory(aged 8)

Stirring stuff. Then I sent the letter to the best address in Britain:

I bet she forgets her address all the time.

And then we played the waiting game, although considering that the Queen is incredible I got my reply after just 12 days! Look!

The quality of the postmarks was befitting of royatly

And then the letter itself. Along with the letter was a special factsheet about the Queens animals, but I will be going into detailed analysis of that another time. Behold my new prized possession:

Dear Gregory(Handwritten)

The Queen wishes to thank you for your letter and for the Christmas picture whic hyou have drawn for Her Majesty.

The Queen thought it was kind of you to tell her that you and your parents now live in Germany, and that you miss your life in England.

Her Majesty was interested to see the questions you have asked and, although the Queen does not have time to personally reply to the hundreds of people who write to her each day, she was very glad to hear from you. I am enclosing a little information that you may like to see.

Her Majesty hopes that you will soon settle down and enjoy living in your new home, and that you and your parents have a very happy christmas.

Yours sincerely,

Richenda Elton

Lady in Waiting

All you dark hearted republicans be gone. Long live the Queen.

Follow my regal adventures on twitter @GregTheBastard

Greg Tales (woo-oo) - Amsterdam

I come from Norwich. "A fine city" or so the motto likes to say. in Norwich we are truly blessed to have an international airport. Sadly the destinations were not that glamourous. To an eighteen year old, Geneva is not a name that sets the pulse racing, nor is Aberdeen or the East Midlands. But one glorious summer they decided to add a new name to the list. This was a name that instantly conjured up visions of exotica and erotica that to the hormonally charged adolescent male could not be resisted. 

Amsterdam.

 One of these is a Fine city, one is a Fiiii-iine city.

Between our friends we managed to rustle up the typical English herd of 'lads on tour'. Think of every stereotype of young British tourists and you have a fair representation of the group. I, of course being the paradigm of maturity was interested only in the quality of the architecture of the churches. The idea of coffee shops and windows of naked young ladies barely caused the slightest flutter in my stoic heart..........

So we set off for the short hop over the channel and before long we found ourselves in a coffee shop, where the only thing thicker than the laughter was the acrid smoke coming from an array of over priced spliffs. As the evening drew on those of us not immobilised by the potent combination of smoke and booze dared to venture to some of the less reputable establishments that Amsterdam half-proudly boasts.

Sure enough, we managed to promptly find our way to the seediest, grottiest brothel in town. A slightly older lady listlessy went through the motions with a rubber appendage for the dubious pleasure of the onlookers. Here in the story enters my old and dear friend Steve. Now apart from his many other talents and quirks, Steve has a reputation as being quite a sexually adventurous fellow. True to form, at some point he disappeared and it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was up to. Eventually we decided to head to our hostel and let Steve make his own way back.

The next morning we find Steve sitting over breakfast with a disturbingly large Cheshire-cat grin. Naturally we asked him what happened. Steve had set his sights on one of the ladies and asked probably the worst question that could possibly be asked in that setting.

"What is the dirtiest thing you will do?"

He was escorted into a back room where these encounters take place and was confronted by a bed covered in a clear plastic sheet. They get down to business in the standard fashion until the girl grabs a small tea towell, ties a knot in it and with great efficiency, popped it up his arse. Taken aback, Steve politely said "What the fuck?"

"Trust me, just tell me when you're about to come" Came the respose.

 The secret to infinite pleasure.

Once more, they got underway and once more came a knot up the bum. Eventually Steve had three pleats up his person. Steve being the bodily extrovert that he is, was getting into it and finally he got to the climactic point. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come!!"

At this point the mistress yanked the towell out with full force ans Steve's bowells evactuacted completely. Everywhere. And he promises to this day that it was the best orgasm he had ever had by a million miles.

Sadly the mistress felt like earning her money that evening and proceeded to start rolling around on the bed(with now obviously neccessary plastic sheet) and smear herself in his recently departed fluids and solids. That was Steve's cue to leave. We have been trying to discover how much he paid for the privelege of this service ever since. He has never told us but we are assured it was alot.

Hear more about my disgusting past by following me on twitter @GregTheBastard.