Boston You’re a Beauty

13 10 2010

 

A Day Out At The Liverpool Red Sox

 

Culture is always the first port on any Pauliday (that’s a cross between Paul and holiday… sorry I’ll never use it again). A bit of a hike outside the main city is The Museum of Fine Arts, unlike DC and NYC I have to pay and, even after flashing the student ID of money saving fun, I cough up $20. A vast building that, for some reason, puts all the crappy pots and coins at the front and you have to make your way upstairs and to the back to see some of the gems.  I’ve seen a lot of Van Gogh’s on my holiday but the MFA provided me with by far my favourite as well as a feast of Monet.

I spend three hours here and my ticket is good for a second visit within the next week, I decide I shall make use of it, work my way around and look at more crap pots and a chair from China?

Enough culture time to drink. Jake arrives in and we try out some of the variety of Irish pubs on offer. Boston is a university town and that means I get asked for I.D. everywhere; each time feels like a compliment. We end up in Whiskies and I see the most beautiful bar maid I could ever imagine. She’s the kind of gorgeous where you could make her the biggest movie star in the world. Can she act? Doesn’t matter. Sorry I’m digressing; I shall have a long hard think about her later. The only problem is she’s turned to place into a sausage factory of admirers so we decide to try somewhere classy.

A few doors up we go to a snaaazzzzzyyyyy bar. Shit, it looks expensive.

“I’ll get this round” Jake informs me.

“You sure?” I say, “thank fuck” I think.

This is the point where everything gets hazy, I know I spent the last hour before bed sitting on the floor trying to compose a song on a guitar hero guitar; no television or wires, just the guitar.. There was shots, beer, brandy, I got a hug from a scouser, drunk driving behind a cop car, no water with Mc Donald’s even my new best friend looked concerned for the state I got myself in.

 

My new BFF

 

The last few days have merged into one. Went to see the Red Sox and went to the top of The Prudential building, cracking views up there, tries to watch a game of American Football but went for a lie down instead, let other people barbecue for me, met the other lesbian Shelli (lovely couple who also have a lovely dog) and made use of the fridge buy filling it full of beer and then emptying it.

Boston is like a European city, the town planners obviously thought fuck that grid system shit, just  put streets wherever; resulting in a wonderful maze of skyscrapers towering over little churches, hidden parks full of hot women and more awesome second hand book shops.

My MFA ticket is good for another visit and… well… it’d be rude not to. I spend an hour staring at the same paintings and ignoring the pots and chair. Stopping for lunch I’m a bit annoyed at having to pay $10 for a sandwich. Then the sandwich arrived or as it should be called a breeze block. I don’t eat for the rest of the day (no wonder I’ve being doing massive poos for the last fortnight). It’s my last day in Boston and I soak up every second wandering aimlessly before heading back out to Jake’s.

 

A Normal Bookstore

 

We go out to celebrate my last day and I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t remember leaving the pub, but I didn’t get a hug from a scouser. There was, however, a pub quiz on and amongst the team names were Nailin’ Palin and Fat babies ruin great vaginas. I’m wearing the Boston uniform which is a Red Sox cap backwards.

On my last day I visit Salem, where the famous witch trials were held and buy a copy of Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot, makes sense but different Salem. Shit.

Then it’s over.

Jake runs me out to the airport and the adventure that began in DC two weeks ago, but really began in Rome last May has ended. I’m sad to leave but what a fucking incredible way to end the best summer ever.

 

Lots of this

 

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