Bohemian like me
Bonjour mes amis, et bienvenu a the usual load of tosh
Yes, as you may have guessed, I'm trying to pick up a wee bit of French. As I live with two genuine (well, maybe only one) French speakers, I thought I should learn some so I can listen in to their crazy code-like gobbledy gook.
Life here's ok. It's been pretty stressful re: the aforementioned flat situation, but hopefully now things will be turned down to Threat Level Orange, instead of the angry Red it has been for about a week. As this is my blog, it's mostly about me, so to be terribly self-centred, I've been a bit sad and upset about it all. Who knew that living with two ex-girlfriends could be uncomfortable? Certainly not me, although if I'm honest, I maybe had a suspicion. So yeah, me.
I've been to Prague a couple of times, which frankly could not have been more different experiences if they dressed themselves up as Night and Day. Trip Number One was with Stevie, Simone and Laura to celebrate Stevie's 30th. In the pub on the Friday we were joking that we should have learned the Czech for: "Excuse me, my friend seems to be drunk, can you tell me where the hospital is?", as Stevie has a bit of a totally-earned reputation for drunkenness/hospital visits. Imagine our surprise then, when he disappeared on the Friday night! As it was his 30th, he had set himself the not-altogether-unachievable-but-maybe-at-the-same-time-not-particularly-great-idea of drinking 30 beers. 30 years, 30 beers. The concept is stunningly brilliant, but alas, the practice was harder. After a manful 17 pints, he nipped outside for a breath of fresh air, and we didn't know what had happened to him for another cold and alarming 4 hours, at which point we discovered he had been taken to the hospital's drunk tank. The drunk police were really quick because he walked round the corner for what I've been reliably informed was only about 30 seconds before disappearing. This makes me think of a van and a man with a big net, much like the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. This amuses me. Also, for his troubles, the kind people in the van relieved him of about £45 and his mobile phone. In the morning we had to go and collect him and pay another roughly £80. The hospital was charmingly in the arse-end of Prague, and was not a pretty sight/site. This effect was amplified by the blood on the chair outside the drunk tank. In the wee nurses office there was a sign on the wall that said "Glasgow Coma Scale", which conjured up fantastical images of men in coats examining drunk Glaswegians, and using this as a yard stick for all other drunks. Here's my scale:
1. Work fit: swaying slightly and chewing the unlit fag in the mouth, but ready to toil in some industrial hell hole.
2. Partick Thistle fan: seen demonstrated in those who sometimes just need to forget.
3. Old Firm Day: bottled someone in the street before asking if they have any change to call your ma. Prone to bouts of historical analysis that is unbelievably biased, stupid, and centuries out of date. Do not allow near glass.
4. Rangers European Away Day: very rare, particularly around the start of the year, but extremely volatile. All giant-screen repairmen should avoid people who are afflicted in this way, as well as any one else with functioning senses.
Not only is this quite amusing to me, it also ties in to my dislike of Weegies. Everyone's a winner. Sadly though, this is not the origin of the scale - it was made by professors at Glagow Uni. Stupid dream-crushing internet.
The rest of the weekend was significantly less beer filled, and almost dangerously cultural. Needless to say it was a relief to get back to the airport and be surrounded by stupid Italians who have apparently never been on a plane before.
The next weekend was very nice. My wee sister got married and is now Debbie Hartlova. Although she is painfully shy, she looked lovely in her dress, and can I just say that it was a relief to see her join another family. It was nice to see ma and pa again, but I'll be seeing them and maybe YOU again very soon, as I'll be back in Edinburgh from the 18th to 28th December. There's not a lot else to say about Debbe's wedding I don't think: it was a very nice day; Jakub seems like a good sport with the same sense of humour as me (I just need to get him liking football and beer); and I had strange and previously unknown feelings of pride for a member of my family. Wonders will never cease.
Going to Prague from Milan is quite strange, as I passed through Milano Centrale (central train station) which is basically a monument to Fascism, with lots of faux-religious paintings and eagles dotted about. Then Prague, at least in the outskirts, is itself a giant collection of house-shaped monuments to Communism. Very dull, uniform, and bleak. Just how I'd imagined it.
On the Fascism and architecture tip, there's a building I teach in that a big oil company owns here in Genova. In one of the staircases, part of the design on the banister is a row of solid brass swastikas. You'd think they'd have got rid of them, but no, apparently.
So, to wrap up with the customary football chat. I came back from Prague on the Saturday because there was the Derby della Lanterna, which the glorious Genoa romped home to a thoroughly convincing 3-0. Sampdoria were so bad, it was almost embarressing, but then I remembered where I was and what I was doing, so went back to laughing and making rude hand gestures. Sempre ospiti! Sempre ospiti! Good times!
Take care y'all, and as I may or may not post again before Christmas, consider this your present.
Au revoir!
Yes, as you may have guessed, I'm trying to pick up a wee bit of French. As I live with two genuine (well, maybe only one) French speakers, I thought I should learn some so I can listen in to their crazy code-like gobbledy gook.
Life here's ok. It's been pretty stressful re: the aforementioned flat situation, but hopefully now things will be turned down to Threat Level Orange, instead of the angry Red it has been for about a week. As this is my blog, it's mostly about me, so to be terribly self-centred, I've been a bit sad and upset about it all. Who knew that living with two ex-girlfriends could be uncomfortable? Certainly not me, although if I'm honest, I maybe had a suspicion. So yeah, me.
I've been to Prague a couple of times, which frankly could not have been more different experiences if they dressed themselves up as Night and Day. Trip Number One was with Stevie, Simone and Laura to celebrate Stevie's 30th. In the pub on the Friday we were joking that we should have learned the Czech for: "Excuse me, my friend seems to be drunk, can you tell me where the hospital is?", as Stevie has a bit of a totally-earned reputation for drunkenness/hospital visits. Imagine our surprise then, when he disappeared on the Friday night! As it was his 30th, he had set himself the not-altogether-unachievable-but-maybe-at-the-same-time-not-particularly-great-idea of drinking 30 beers. 30 years, 30 beers. The concept is stunningly brilliant, but alas, the practice was harder. After a manful 17 pints, he nipped outside for a breath of fresh air, and we didn't know what had happened to him for another cold and alarming 4 hours, at which point we discovered he had been taken to the hospital's drunk tank. The drunk police were really quick because he walked round the corner for what I've been reliably informed was only about 30 seconds before disappearing. This makes me think of a van and a man with a big net, much like the child catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. This amuses me. Also, for his troubles, the kind people in the van relieved him of about £45 and his mobile phone. In the morning we had to go and collect him and pay another roughly £80. The hospital was charmingly in the arse-end of Prague, and was not a pretty sight/site. This effect was amplified by the blood on the chair outside the drunk tank. In the wee nurses office there was a sign on the wall that said "Glasgow Coma Scale", which conjured up fantastical images of men in coats examining drunk Glaswegians, and using this as a yard stick for all other drunks. Here's my scale:
1. Work fit: swaying slightly and chewing the unlit fag in the mouth, but ready to toil in some industrial hell hole.
2. Partick Thistle fan: seen demonstrated in those who sometimes just need to forget.
3. Old Firm Day: bottled someone in the street before asking if they have any change to call your ma. Prone to bouts of historical analysis that is unbelievably biased, stupid, and centuries out of date. Do not allow near glass.
4. Rangers European Away Day: very rare, particularly around the start of the year, but extremely volatile. All giant-screen repairmen should avoid people who are afflicted in this way, as well as any one else with functioning senses.
Not only is this quite amusing to me, it also ties in to my dislike of Weegies. Everyone's a winner. Sadly though, this is not the origin of the scale - it was made by professors at Glagow Uni. Stupid dream-crushing internet.
The rest of the weekend was significantly less beer filled, and almost dangerously cultural. Needless to say it was a relief to get back to the airport and be surrounded by stupid Italians who have apparently never been on a plane before.
The next weekend was very nice. My wee sister got married and is now Debbie Hartlova. Although she is painfully shy, she looked lovely in her dress, and can I just say that it was a relief to see her join another family. It was nice to see ma and pa again, but I'll be seeing them and maybe YOU again very soon, as I'll be back in Edinburgh from the 18th to 28th December. There's not a lot else to say about Debbe's wedding I don't think: it was a very nice day; Jakub seems like a good sport with the same sense of humour as me (I just need to get him liking football and beer); and I had strange and previously unknown feelings of pride for a member of my family. Wonders will never cease.
Going to Prague from Milan is quite strange, as I passed through Milano Centrale (central train station) which is basically a monument to Fascism, with lots of faux-religious paintings and eagles dotted about. Then Prague, at least in the outskirts, is itself a giant collection of house-shaped monuments to Communism. Very dull, uniform, and bleak. Just how I'd imagined it.
On the Fascism and architecture tip, there's a building I teach in that a big oil company owns here in Genova. In one of the staircases, part of the design on the banister is a row of solid brass swastikas. You'd think they'd have got rid of them, but no, apparently.
So, to wrap up with the customary football chat. I came back from Prague on the Saturday because there was the Derby della Lanterna, which the glorious Genoa romped home to a thoroughly convincing 3-0. Sampdoria were so bad, it was almost embarressing, but then I remembered where I was and what I was doing, so went back to laughing and making rude hand gestures. Sempre ospiti! Sempre ospiti! Good times!
Take care y'all, and as I may or may not post again before Christmas, consider this your present.
Au revoir!
posted by michael | 10:15
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