Growler!

Evening gents.

I've had an interesting week. Firstly, the managing director has been staying in my second bedroom. I thought it was going to be like living with a really awkward new flat mate. Secondly, Wednesday night was the only night I had that I wasn't absolutely off my tits.

Went up to New York last Tuesday on business. Took our client to one of the best restaurants I've ever been to. An amusing anecdote from this? She was talking about how her firm, that's just been taken over by a Swiss firm has changed, and how they now expect the women workers to only travel if their husbands allow (fair point?) This is a fairly awkward conversation with a client. This is a really fucking awkward conversation when you're the only bloke at dinner with 4 women, one of whom is pregnant. This led me to drinking...heavily. After sinking a bottle of red each, we got back to our hotel, where my friend Jaron was waiting for me. Head up to the roof top bar overlooking the empire state building. My two colleagues make there excuses-we had a 6am start to do some interviews, it's 11:30 and I'm not exactly sober. We are on expenses. Gin and tonics? Yes please. There was some decent growl in this place, and I had a hotel room downstairs. Get a phone call off my boss who I've been noshing, telling me to head over to hers, 10 blocks away. A decent option perhaps. This is why drink isn't my friend. In stead of going to bed at 11:30 like I should of, I wondered over to hers (too cheap to take a taxi) for around 12:30, shag her for an hour (LAD), and then have to wake up at 4:30 so that I can get into my hotel, before my colleagues are downstairs in the lobby. Why I didn't tell her to come to mine, I have no clue. Maybe because she makes double my wage, sets me work and is doing my review in 3 months.

I'm so tired and hungover when it comes to the interviews the next day, we are sitting behind one way glass in a darkened room, on really comfortable chairs. The inevitable happened. The guy they bring along to learn about consultancy, take minutes and fetch coffee falls asleep in front of a senior manager, someone 2 levels above him, and a client. Brilliant. I'd do anything for this blog (more on this later). The interviews finish at 7 and I get the train back and get in at 11. Surprisingly, my new room mate isn't in. I hear him stumble in 2 hours later, hammered. 48 year old, Scottish managing director LAD.

Thursday comes, rugby training happens, but gets called off half way through due to the biggest thunderstorm I've ever seen. Chatting to some of the guys, they're all heading out Saturday night after training. Brilliant.

Get back, my new room mate is preparing himself for the night. Really psyching himself up to get pissed. My theory is that he goes on these business trips once every 6 weeks to get hammered away from his wife and kids. What happens next in the evening is odd.

I'm going to get dinner and have a few beers, do you care to join me Peter? I'll expense it out.

Free dinner and beer? Honestly, I can't think of a time I'd say no.

Off we pop down to one of the bars. Over dinner, he tells me a few stories about him getting hammered. He explains that him and his group of friends from Uni, made up of people that are currently presidents of companies, managing directors, head teachers, and small business owners always have a holiday together. A group of 9 of them, not everyone always makes it, but there's always at least 6 that can get away from wives and kids. Last year they went to Octoberfest and drank until they couldn't take it. All the while I'm thinking that when all of us are making £200K+ a year when were all dads we are doing this. 'I'm a 22 year old stuck in a 48 year olds body, Peter'. Aside from this sounding remarkably like a mid life crisis, I respect him so much. He's a chancer, the ultimate 'yes man' who chatted his way to the top. He tells me I need to get stuck into as many American girls as possible whilst I'm here. Yes, I will.

Thursday night is 'cougar night' when all the 35-50 year old divorced rich, fit older women come out. Me and my new best friend are standing there chatting to a couple of them. The one looks me up and down and says 'you're absolutely gorgeous' (cheers boys) I know a great girl for you, let me take your number, and I'll give it to her.

'How about I have your number?'
'My husband's in there'
'But your taking mine!'
'I'll give you a missed call'

Boom. Number time. I bet my managing director he can't get a woman's number. Being the ultimate good looking older bloke, he struts up to one, chats to her, gets out his blackberry. He walks back over, 'she didn't want me to have it'. Unbelievable, I thought he was better than that. We chat to a few more guys around the bar, tell everyone how much better rugby is than football and start chatting to this hippie called Ray. Looks a bit like a rockstar, but obviously poor. Came out with a classic line: 'women and I have a great relationship-I look at them, and they don't look back, it suits me just fine'. Ouch Ray. Ray tells us about the cook up brunch he's having on Sunday and invites to join. My managing driector tells him he's not around. Looks at me, smiles, and says: "but I'm sure Peter would love come" I have no excuses. I take Ray's number, with the intention not to ring him or go. But that wouldn't make a great blog though, would it?

Next bar, he bets me I can't talk to some girls, I do, I crash and burn as I'm 8 pints and 4 gins deep and keep saying 'England' over and over apparently. It's now 2am. He tells me we aren't done, and he knows somewhere we can get a drink. He comes every time he's in town. It's a private members club, and he's paid the $70 lifetime membership fee. It's fucking seedy. We have another pint, and walk home chatting about how great we are, and how he's interviewing over the phone for a new director at 7am.

I feel shit Friday. Really awful. What really brightens up my day is an email I had from my MD at 11:09pm the night before. Nothing in it, apart from a phone number. That cheeky swine, getting his blackberry out to email it to me.. I'm definitely going to be doing this when I'm someone's boss.

It's bank holiday weekend, so we get work lunch out, and the option (if we've finished working) to leave at 3. Service was so bad at lunch, it took 2 hours, and I obviously left at 3:01. Come home and pass out on the couch. Ben (the MD) gets back a couple hours later, complaining of a migraine, and how we'll go out for food and a few drinks, but he'll drive as his family is flying into New York at mid day the next day. Fair enough. We watch the hangover before heading out. I think this gets Ben in the mood. Get into town, and he tests the water with a G and T. So do I. 2 hours later, we're 5 or 6 G and Ts deep. It's 10:30, so Ben says to me he's giving himself a midnight curfew. I tease him about being a shit lad and he can't handle it. It turns out we are very similar. We sink some cocktails and head on. Starting chatting to a woman who's come out with just her son's girlfriend. Weird. And they're rank. Ben turns to me and says 'you could have fun with that one' and winks. By 1:30 he looks at his watch, hammered and says: 'oh fuck I missed my curfew' 'Do you want to go home?' 'No I've just loaded up the jukebox'. We dance to the smiths and some other classics from before I was born until 2.

I have rugby the next day at 11. I get up at 10, find Ben in his pants saying he should have left an hour ago, and the one thing his wife said before he left is that he can't get hammered the night before he picks them up as he has to drive to New York to get them, then drive 5 hours to Washington for the bank holiday. He's absolutely hanging, searching for his car keys. When I left for rugby at 10:40, he was just about ready to walk out the door.

In the 25 degree heat, approaching 100% humidity and with a terrible hangover, Rugby was not fun. It was also one of the hardest training sessions I've been to in a long time. Chatting to a couple of the guys, one guy, Steve, turns out lived near Sydney for a bit, nice guy. Our conversation revolved around Aussie girls. Agree to meet him in the bar in town I'd been at until 2 the previous night at 3 in the afternoon. The barmen were all laughing at me for being back there, but one of them has promised to take me pheasant shooting whilst I'm here, which should be good. Have 6 or so $6 beers and a couple shots over the course of the afternoon. I was dreading my bill as the whiskey we were shotting were $8 each. They serve them in double shots. They were really getting to me. He charged me $21 all together. Unbelievable. I have made it my official watering station. The guy from rugby I met up told me he was going to a bbq then a house party and invited me. I wasn't doing anything else! It's for the blog.

Turn up to this bbq. I felt awkward anyway, not knowing the host and Steve not telling him I'm coming. Add to this that I'm pissed, haven't brought any booze, and start off by chatting to his wife. Bring them round to the idea of me eating their food, and they were very pleasant people. At one point, I got offered a cigar. Looked around, all the other men sitting on the porch were smoking one. I had to. Tried to light it. Realised I hadn't cut the end off. Schoolboy. Start chatting to this guy about shooting, he tells me he owns a shotgun. He runs home across the road to get it. He lets me hold it (not loaded). At this point I realise I'm sitting on a porch in the heat, smoking a cigar, drinking a bud and holding a shotgun. The one moment in my life I can officially call myself 'redneck'. Steve's bird swings by in her truck to take us to this party. Turn up, smashed, around 11pm. Steve's bird leaves. Walk in, there are about 15 people there playing on a swing attached to a tree, playing beer pong and drinking out of red cups from a keg! Steve and I survey the scene. Eye up a couple of good looking girls (7s). I send the accent in. I tell him I want the tall blonde, who looks similar, but perhaps better than my mate Jack's bird-Cuntface. (I honestly do like Cuntface, but have always questioned her opinion on me)

Chat to her for a bit, and get her to be on my side in beer pong. Steve takes the other one on his team. We finish playing and go sit down with them. Turns out my bird isn't drinking! Cock! The one Steve's taken on is now sitting on his knee. It is this moment in time Steve's girlfriend walks in. Amazingly awkward. They break up in front of everyone. This doesn't stop Steve and says to the girl he's got on his knee: 'I'm just going to fuck you in stead' What great balls Steve has. It works, an hour later-around 3am they are in one of the bedrooms fucking. I've been pulling this sober blonde girl. Take her round the back in the garden and starting pulling her more. I consider sticking a digit. I think that she'll never go for it, so decide not to try. Then I also remember I'm Peter Hunter and I have a blog to write. So I stick a finger in her. She doesn't particularly warm to it, but doesn't stop it. She tells me she's driving home, and I ask for a lift. Jackpot. Get back to mine and we're pulling in her car. Obviously ask her 23 times if she wants to come up. I even said: 'come up and I'll growl you out'. What person would say no? Granted, she didn't get it. She apparently has to be up early (so why is she out until 4:30am?) so drives off. I get her number, so will text her in due course. I've decided I'm more about playing a slightly longer game anyway than one nights, although they're great.

Get into my flat, and decide to ring Ray about brunch in the morning. He was happy to hear from me. Tells me the location and says I need to be there at 10. It's about 30 mins away. Encouraged by Ray's desire to speak to me, I also ring the fit older woman, she, unfortunately, doesn't pick up. Probably because she's in bed with her husband. I obviously leave a message. I obviously can't remember it, and I obviously haven't heard a thing yet. I pass out, wake up at 11. 2 missed calls from Ray. I don't ring him back.

As it's bank holiday Sunday, I have to get pissed. All the rugby guys are on a boat trip, so with no one to get drunk with I consider my options-bird from last night? Boss? My own?

I shamelessly go for my boss. She comes over, we have a bottle of wine, some coronas and half a bottle of gin. Head out to the I bar I'd been at all day the day before and drink about $60 worth of booze. Amazingly I get charged $10. Am now the most drunk I've been all week and my boss and I take 1.5 hours to do the 10 minute walk. Have to take breaks to throw up every 20 minutes. Get back and pass out before anything decent happens.

Have spent all of today shagging, but also in a world of pain. I ache from head to toe. I don't think I'll be drinking for a while. At least until I take this girl out for a drink some point this week, probably Thursday, given the volume of older women.

There are 2 things I've learnt from this week:1) when I'm 48, if I can take 22 year olds out on expenses of the company I run, I will be in a good place. 2) Americans are very outgoing and have a 'why not' attitude, this is exactly the attitude I need to adopt to get anything worth writing about on America Bosh.

Happy hunting

Peter.

All aboard!

Evening all.

I had originally planned to start this blog post off with an apology. After my rant at the end of my post about American intelligence, I had a heated email exchange with Robin and I feel he came out on top. American culture is after all unique, and there are some incredibly bright people who I work with. But that was originally, this is now. I've just got back from a pub quiz where 1 out of 7 teams knew the answer to the question: In what country are Melbourne and Darwin state capitals. Seriously.

Anyway, less of that and more of what we want: booze and growling birds out. Both of which I have been rather successful at this week. (I'm always good at boozing, but my growling is sometimes off). Haven't had an update for a week or so, so will start from a week ago.

Last Tuesday, work all day. Am firing a few emails back and forth with these two girls who planned to take me out on Thursday night. Nicely done, trying to get myself some guaranteed nosh in week one. Go to rugby practice on Tuesday night, the team is heading down to South Carolina for the National cup quarter final game. This turns out to be a fairly decent level. One of the guys knows a mate of mine from when I played (semi pro) rugby in Germany. They played together in the teams that lost to France and Fiji in the 2003 world cup. Not bad. Another guy, who looked like he slept in gyms turns to me and goes:

how old are you?
22
You like drinking?
Yes
Good.

He then turns away and walks off happy that I'm into the same things he is, I like this in a rugby club. A couple other guys are talking about how one of them had 2 girls naked in his hot tub and didn't convert. Without really thinking, I turn and say something along the lines of: no wonder with a face like that. An interesting decision on my part. Enjoyed it though. Do the fitness practice and play some touch, before setting off.

Wednesday was a bit more of the same. Email flirting intensified, didn't really get that much done and blamed 'jet lag'. Also one of the senior managers had a go at me for miss spelling the word otolaryngologist. I managed to convince her it was a British spelling. I love this country. People are so trusting, and if you can keep a straight face-something which all the years of lying to a certain someone, has led me to be vaguely good at, you can pretty much get away with anything. After work head over to Walmart to buy myself a mobile phone. Walmart's a funny place. I'm all up for equal opportunities employment, but when the retarded man can't tell you what kind of deal you're getting with a certain phone, and the guy in the wheelchair can't push the trolleys back in place, you wonder whether or not management should make them swap jobs.

People here are a lot more self confident in many regards. At home, you'd never in a million years get a woman ringing a radio station and saying how she was going to 'dump his ass cos he's a cheating son of a bitch, and that if she ever sees that bitch downtown, she knows I'll take her all the way to the cleaners baby. Fuck yeah!' Heard this and thought: you know what Pete, that's blog material.

Thursday comes, the day week one really kicked off for me. Get through the day safe in the knowledge that my welcome drinks were coming at happy hour between 5-7 and everyone from the office was heading down. The head of the office came down and told me she fully expects me to be hungover on the Friday, which was a great weight lifted off my shoulders. (Not really, but it was nice having her approval). It arrives. The 4 days of hard email flirting I'd put in have come down to this. 2 girls staying at my house and out for nothing but getting really pissed. I took a fairly long time to get ready-knowing full well that this will make me miss eating anything substantial. Get to the bar and get my first pint in. Tastes so good. Gradually one by one the managers leave and ends up just me and these two girls. I'm 5 pints and 3 shots deep and am really feeling the full force of not lining my stomach, brilliant, the exact effect I was going for. Move on to gin and tonics. The great thing about drinking here is that because people don't binge drink as often or as much, they put more spirit in glass and less mixer. It therefore tastes exactly how you'd make it if you were making it at home. Strong.

Casually slip into conversation how I was a semi pro rugby player. This goes down a storm, and I really big it up. The one girl with a boyfriend rings him up (as he played rugby at uni) and gets me to leave a message. I obviously shout down the phone how much better I am at him at rugby, and how much better a bloke I am. The one single girl there-Britany, is now fairly pissed. Chatting to her on the street, she tries to kiss me. Jackpot. Turn my head away and say:

sorry I don't really do kissing in public.
So you don't want to kiss me?

I have done this for 2 reasons: 1 I work with her so still want to be able to make the rational choice later on when I'm more drunk, and 2: there is greater chance I'd get to growl her out. Given reason 2 is a reason I did it, it made reason 1 very redundant.

Move on to the next bar and nail a few more gins and shots. Get refused alcohol for being too pissed. Go to the next bar, see they have karaoke. Sign myself up for 'ring of fire' by Jonny Cash. Whilst waiting for my name to be called, we are sitting at the bar having a drink. Look over and one of the girls, Mel, is swaying on her bar stool. Keep watching as think something funny is about to happen. She, still attached to the stool, topples over face first onto the floor. Amazing, really really strong drinking. I try to order her a drink to celebrate such an epic moment in her life, but get told that the bar is closing. I make the point that it's not as I am yet to sing, and question the barmaid on whether it's closing or if she just wants us out because we are causing a scene. She chose option 2. I like honesty.

Start walking home. Both girls are swaying, police walk over. I can't get arrested in my first week. Surely. They ask for our details. Brittany is so drunk she forgets her address. So I step in with the I'm new to the country card and we are on our way home. Takes 1 hour to walk the 10 minute journey back. Mel falls in a bush. I help her out, only to push her back in. Do this twice. She didn't learn. She runs off. Brittany comes over and I kiss her this time. She whispers in my ear: do you want to fuck me on the grass?

Obviously the answer's yes. But we had just been stopped by the police 200 metres up the road, so I say: how about I just fuck you in the house.

Find Mel who'd been hiding behind a car as she was angry about the bush thing. Get into the flat and proceed to have a pea fight with her. She passes out on the couch. Take this opportunity to get Brittany to bed. Growl her hardcore. A long time. I nearly passed out mid growl, but kept it going. I fuck her. Wake up in the morning, and she's very upset as she's never had a one night stand before. I convince her it wasn't as we work together so we have to see each other again. She's pretty hot so would do it again anyway. Mel leaves to go to work so we Brit and I shower together. Fantastic. Try a quick growl before work, but doesn't go down well (gag). Get to work, spend all day hungover. Have a welcome lunch organised which was amazing as it was in a fairly greasy restaurant.

In an interesting development, we have a meeting after lunch where Brittany is told that she will be the one reviewing me, in order to get her line management experience. Amazing, I send her so much chat about reviewing my performance. I've basically started a secret affair with my boss who is 2 promotions and 3 years my senior.

Get an email off her asking if I want to go up to New York on Friday to stay in her flat instead of Saturday. I agree, so travel up together, go out for dinner for sushi, and get some sleep (no growling) before the next days activities.

Wake up in her flat on Saturday morning. Meet all her flat mates, one of which is pretty fit. Head off out the flat and walk 40 blocks to my mate Jaron's. Go for a walk around central park and catch up a bit. Get a hot dog and a pretzel. Head for a bar in union square, but get caught up in some kind of street party, and hang around 'using my accent' to chat to girls. Incredible what being different (in a good way) can do. They just seem so interested. Head to a bar where it seems like they've employed all the out of work supermodels as barstaff. Watch the champions league final with $6 beers. Expensive, especially when you have to tip $1 a drink. Move onto next place where Jaron's mate joins us. Good lad, is in training for 2012 and will be rowing for the USA. He was the main man in the Varsity boat race a couple years ago. He informs us he's massively on it as he has just missed out on the men's 4s world cup squad, so has nothing to do but drink.

By 8 o'clock, I'm feeling it. Jaron has hit on the barman and offered him tickets to the daily show. Got his email address. A little odd, but we go with it. Also got some free pints in the deal, so aren't complaining. Head back to the girl's flat, and meet the rest of her friends-an average looking group of girls with 2 hot ones, and 1 stunner. Get stuck into conversation with the stunner, whilst I sink a bottle of red.

Head out to the boat party we had planned on going to at 10:30. I am so excited about this it's unbelievable. All you can drink, on a boat, sailing around New York. It did not disappoint. The evening was run by fairly pretentious people, but the key difference being, that at home, I wouldn't have a hope in hell with these girls, but here, one of the girls in the queue asked me if I wanted to fuck her on the boat. Yes, yes I did want to. Obviously didn't cos she was all chat. Got stuck in on the boat to a couple gins, and a jack daniels. The bastards only let you get two drinks at a time. All the guys on the boat were typically American Frat guys. One guy really fitted the bill. Started talking to him:

Hi mate, what's your name?

Dan, yours? You from England?

I'm Dan too. Yes I am. Are you a real life Frat guy? I wish I was a frat guy, you're all so bloody frat. FRAT DAN, YEAH BABY.

English Dan. YEAH BABY YEAH!!!

We screamed 'yeah baby' at each other a few more times before I got bored. He never once realised I was taking the piss. Chat to some birds downstairs and pretend to be American when one girl tells me to 'stop putting on that ridiculous accent'. I was so convincing. Back upstairs, see the statue of liberty go by, get so excited I pull my jeans down and get my party pants out. Americans love party pants it turns out. By this point I'm steaming, so pretend to be a pirate. Try to get more booze but get rejected. So try again. And again. Jaron is also having similar difficulties, they tell him that if he asks again, they will dock the boat and kick him off. I don't remember a lot from this point on. I danced, I took the piss, I chatted to some stunning women. Go home with Brit, and stay in the same bed as her for the 3rd night in row. Growl her out. I feel my evaluation will go well, but I'd prefer to nosh more than get a good review.

Wake up in the morning and go to all you can drink Champagne brunch. $12 dollars for the champagne and they litterally top you up after 2 sips. Must have finished off at least 2 bottles in the 3 hours we sat there for. Was hammered. Get another pint in at a bar, then go back to the flat for a nap and some nosh. Get the train back to Princeton and drive home.

Work was interesting today. Didn't do a lot. Got an email from Brittany telling me to check my phone. She had texted me some filth. Sent dirty messages back and forth for the afternoon, whilst doing the work she set me. Get informed by the PA the MD is going to be staying with me in my flat for the week. I'm happy about this because he is a hero. Let me tell you a story about him: Once he was out in Manchester chatting up a girl. She turns to him and says: do you really not know who I am? No, who are you? I'm your son Craig's primary school teacher. LAD.

He takes me out for dinner and a couple pints, chat about usual stuff you chat about with your boss, but he's still a good guy.

I'm off to New York on business tomorrow for the night, and working there all day Wednesday. Will be taking the client out tomorrow night, so I will see what mischief I can cause.

It's been a great week. But I'm only just starting. I am going out for a big night out with my new housemate on Thursday and then again with the rugby guys on Saturday.

My big thought for this week is this: I'm going to quit my job, move to London and run an all you can drink party boat, charging £50 a ticket. Brilliant.

Happy Hunting

Peter.

Bosh me, I'm here

Evening.

Peter here. Blogging away from America. Let's start from the beginning...

I work for a firm which consults pharma companies on marketing strategy. I'm doing a 14 week placement in the USA, in a small town about 45 minutes outside Philly. I flew in, after a cheeky 2 hour delay due to ash, on Saturday. There were a few upgrades going, so my American colleague and I (he has not been elevated to work mate status yet, and question if he ever will) decide to see who had better chat and get one. Great. Perfect chance to test out my middle class, Southern English accent on my first American bird-a middle aged check in woman named Zoe. The conversation went as such:

Me: Hello, this ash cloud's a nightmare isn't it, I bet it must have been a nightmare working in the industry a few weeks ago when it was really chucking it out the volcano.
Zoe: Not really, no one was flying
Me: Can't argue with that, at least you got to spend a bit more time in Manchester!
Zoe: Why would I want to be here any longer than I needed to be?
(At this moment, I realise I'm getting no where so go for the kill)
Me: Good point, I can't wait to get to Philly, I hear it's going to be a scorcher this weekend (Pause) So what's the deal with the upgrades? You pick your favourite customers to give them to?
Zoe: No, they are $400 each.
Me: I don't have that.
Zoe: Sorry, only our gold members get free upgrades. Put your bag on the scale.
Me: What do I have to do to be a gold member (gag)
Zoe: Woah that's a heavy bag, you're 3kgs over the limit. That's a $50 charge.
Me: Fuck.

So instead of getting an upgrade, I got charged 50 dollars for wanting to bring a couple extra pairs of pants with me. I should just follow Jack's example and go commando.

Get into my seat, sat next to a huge bloke called Herbert from Atlanta, Georgia. Start chatting to him, turns out to be 63, a health and safety officer for a company headquatered in Doncaster that specialise in producing metal wire for bridges. He was very proud of the fact he did the final health and safety audits for the Millennium Bridge. I couldn't shut him up. He then starts telling me about how he loves J20 and orders crates of 40 at a time as he can't booze (shit lad) cos he boozed so much he had to have a stomach operation (top bloke).

Anyway, 7 painful hours later, land and get picked up in a Merc by a Russian bloke. Turns out to be a freakin sweet ledge. He claimed to know the klichko brothers back home in Ukraine and sparred with one of them, and got knocked out. Reminds me of when me a Jeff sparred and I threw my shoulder. Although it's far more impressive to be knocked out by a world heavy weight title holder than your token black mate. Not taking anything away from you Jeff, but if I had to pick, he edged it on the story front.

Get to my flat in town, which turns out to be pretty decent. Big living room, 2 bedrooms and a balcony. A crate of corona in the fridge and a bottle of gin in the freezer. Jackpot. A lady from work, let's call her Claire, shows me around, the town is pretty quiet, fairly small. Now I try my chat on a real American. She bloody loved it! Giggling here, there and everywhere! Back in the game! Zoe was a grumpy bitch and a bump in the road.

Awake the next morning fairly jet lagged, but realise that Sarries Nothampton's on so find it illegally online after flicking through all 850 TV stations I get without even a mention. Obviously had to follow this up with Leicester Bath and then England Australia. Which actually takes up all my morning and about 3 hours of my afternoon.

I have a bike in my flat so decide to take it for a spin. Jump on, start peddling only to fairly swiftly realised I didn't check to see if the brakes were workin. It hurts a lot, both physically and emotionally, falling off at a fair pace onto the tarmac in front of about 7 of your new neighbours. Anyway, fix the brakes and go on a 24 mile bike ride. What an error. What amazed me the most, was the number of people jogging around the lake I rode around. Where are all the fatties? All I saw were blokes who are in better physical knick than even Robin! And he can bench 120!

Get back and walk into town, find a bar and get myself a bud. Get IDed for the first time in a few years. Was kind of hoping it would be like the scene in Love Actually where I walk through the door and have birds fall all over me. It wasn't, for 2 main reasons. 1) There were no birds 2) That probably doesn't happen in real life.

Strike up a conversation with the bar man, about boozing. He tells me there are over 50 places to by booze within walking distance. Jackpot. A bloke walks in an starts necking the half drunk guiness on the bar next to me. I turn to him and asked if it was his and he hasn't just done what I thought he had. A vaguely witty remark, and a great conversation starter for a newbie in town, if delivered in the cheeky manner which only Perter Hunter can. Not so witty if the bloke doesn't understand your accent and asks you to repeat it 3 times. Alas, I looked like a tit. Anyway, move on to start up my next conversation. This time with a real nice bloke named Phil sitting on my other side. Talk about Philly sports and how he's goes to the baseball all the time. Actually invites me with him, which is fairly odd, and I'm thinking I should be backing down before he gets the wrong idea, but to my relief, he starts talking about tits. Is he a good bloke? Do I want to go to the baseball with him? He whips out his iPhone and shows me photos of girls who go to games. One girl isn't wearing any clothes but has body painted the Philly kit on her. Amazing. Yes Phil, I will go with you. Well, I would of done, until he started trying to be British. Within 5 minutes, the whole bar was trying to copy my accent. I made my excuses and promptly left before I hit someone for asking me to say: "burn the witch at the stake". What the fuck. Burn the witch at the stake? Please, make me at least say something remotely related to everyday life.

I'm two beers deep, so get a bloody pizza. Go for the medium. It was so big, I made a gag at the vaguely hot, but definitely too young girl in the pizza place about how when it says medium, I didn't realise it meant medium sized family. She didn't get it, and told me they don't do refunds. I walk home, watch TV (amazingly the best thing on was a show about touring the country to find the best deep fried chicken-Jeff it's a place called Old Moes in New Orleans)

Get picked up for my first day at work at 8. Meet the team and have to introduce myself about 10 times. Also answered, what soon became the two most annoying questions in the world about 10 times: how was your flight, and are you jet lagged. My answers of Fine and not really, respectively did not appear to be cutting it on the high standards of chat they obviously expect (my reputation goes before me) and most were dismissed back to their offices. Strike up a conversation with the two girls who are taking me out on Thursday night (and staying at mine BOSH) about boozing, and how I love it. Tell them I'm thinking of hitting NYC this weekend, which turned out to be an awesome move. Get back to my desk and she has sent me a link to what she's got planned this weekend.

Her and 4 friends are paying $70 each to go on an all you can drink party boat which cruises around New York bay form 11pm to 3am. I dubious at first, but then I read on to where it says: all guests must have at least one item of clothing on at all times. SOLD. Hunter is going, and his party pants are going with him. Incredible.

Get my car at lunch and take 4 girls from the office for a spin. Get myself a bloody chicken burito and get back to the office where I pretend to be busy by emailing her about the party boat all afternoon.

Go to the local gym this evening. It's actually insane how big some of the guys are here. I consider myself on the stocky side, but now I think I'm actually a bit of a runt. One guy's biceps actually scared me, I had to go to the other side of the gym. Here I found a 50 year old man doing about 1000 sit ups and a 70 year old with bigger guns than me doing about 100 pull ups. I left with my head down.

My first few days in America can be summed up in 1 word: big. Everything is massive: cars, people, voices, egos, pizza and kids. The only thing that is not big is intelligence, and people's tendency to not get sarcasm. Ironically there is a news paper here called The Intelligencer, which I feel sums this up quite nicely.

Till next time.

Peter.