Quick one…

I had to post, I don’t feel even remotely that I am an expert in the art of what looks good on a woman, my usual response to “What do you think of this <insert random item of clothing>?” is :

“Throw it on the floor and if it looks good there, take it”

Anyway – Even I can tell that this doesn’t work*


Go on, tell me I am wrong, I dare ya…

* Apologies for the blurry image, on an escalator taking a camera phone pic of a womans legs who is above me….even I could see the “British man arrested for upskirt shot attempt” headline

The test

Speaking of Brothels…..well, my helpful post mentioned them a bit.

I recall when I first arrived  in Frankfurt, a beer soaked evening where a “friend”…we  shall call him Englebert*  decided to introduce me to some of the more ilicit pleasures that can be found in this fair city.   Namely, the Red Light District.

Now by introduce me to, I mean he thought it would be funny to take my reserved British self and try to embarrass me by walking me through one of the larger “Houses of negotiable affection”.

Did I say that we were drunk already?   Did I also mention that it seemed like a bloody good idea at the time?   No, ok, let’s move on…

Let me just say that these places do not score marks for planning.    I am not the fittest person in the world and (in this particular one) there are around 6 floors that are only accessible by very steep steps.   This leads me to 2 conclusions, #1 is that the “ladies of negotiable affection” on the lower floors are incredibly busy and, #2 by the time anyone manages to venture to the top floors, they are too knackered to do anything and essentially just throw their money away.   It should be mentioned at this point that the building is also split into two separate wings, more on that later.

Anyway, enough of the architectural critique.   We wander around all the floors, being tempted (read: women trying to negotiate some affection with you by such cunning methods of wearing very little and repeatedly shouting their price, like so many veg market salesmen) by what can only be described as some of the least attractive women I have ever encounterd.   It begs the question as to why so many blokes are around the place, but meh.

That said there were a few stunners amongst them and so with a spring in my step and a whole in my wallet (joking) we left to partake of more beer and laugh at the mottley examples of men wandering in and out of these establishments.

It was at this point that the title of the post becomes apparent.   Englebert hits me with a question.   Quite a simple question you might think to one so widely experienced such as myself.   The question was this:   “Which wing of the building had women in it”

After mulling this over and sensing the inevitability that this is a trick question, I responded thusly “Say what now?”.   This clever response did not elicit the “heh, just kidding” statement that I expected.   My response simply forced Englebert to repeat the question.

Panicked, I started mentally reviewing the negotiables for evidence of meat and two veg’iness and drew a blank.   Finally, I remembered that one wing had decidedly more “negotiables of Asian extraction” than the other.   Armed with this most heinous of sterotypes, I made my guess**.   I was correct, thank <insert deity here>.   I also managed to deliver my response with a cockiness of tone that somehow managed to hide the fact that I had no real clue, so I scored points there too :-D

What is the point of this story?   Nothing really, but if pushed I would have to say that Bangkok now officially terrifies me, no seriously.


Oh, as a PS to this little story, Englebert just reminded me that as we left the negotiables behind and headed for more beer, I was approached by a drunk, female homeless person.   She stank to high heaven and had almost no teeth at all, wearing that seasons classic tramp attire (I personally think of it as a timeless classic).   This woman asked me for money, and when I said no, asked if I wanted to pay her for sex….I don’t think I could understand the type of person that could leave such a building and then agree to go with that, each to their own I suppose (but seriously..WTF!).     After I finished we went for that beer……..

* Too much Eddie Izzard on DVD recently..
** No, I am not telling you which wing….if I meet you, I may test you ;-)

I am currently….

…happy – There is no other word for it right now.

Lets look at the contributing factors:

  1. Liverpool won last night, which means we* are in the Quarter Finals of the Champions League
  2. I managed to replace my fire damaged cooker extractor fan unit for â??25
  3. I have the blog bug**
  4. I have confirmed that I have an apartment to go into when I leave the one I am in
  5. Said apartment will save me shitloads of cash a month
  6. And will have Sky TV fed in by the landlord
  7. I have had 2 random phone call approaches about jobs in the last 2 weeks (ego massage anyone?)
  8. I stunned my boss into speechlessness (is that a word) with an improvement plan he never saw coming
  9. I sent my kids 2 giant Kinder Surprise easter eggs
  10. I am really enjoying my conversations with Sarah

Not bad really, especially the Sarah thing.    As you probably gathered from  my first post, I still care deeply for her.   So I am very happy that I can still make her laugh, and she is still doing the same for me.

What does that mean?   No idea, probably nothing.   But it is nice and it contributes to me being happy right now.   Of course, I have to head to work in a few minutes, so that could all change very shortly…

Just to talk about number 2 for a second (hahhah I said number 2), a few months ago I was cooking one of my favourite German junk foods, Fleischkase.   For those of you with German language skills, this literally translates to “Meat Cheese”.   If that sounds disgusting to you, you are probably a normal and well adjusted individual.   However, it tastes….well…..genius, if I am honest.

Anyway, the best way to cook “Meat Cheese” is in a frying pan with a little oil and serve with loads of pimmel  (sic) and then the junk condiment of your choice.   I prefer what is referred to here as Rot/Weiss (Ketchup/Mayo).   So there I am, heating up the pan with a little oil and the phone rings.   I answer the phone (as most of you would have done..don’t judge me), but then do I

  1. Go back into the kitchen and either turn down or at the very least monitor the hot oil in pan situation.   Or
  2. Go and sit on the sofa and have a 30 minute conversation

Tick tick tick  – We are going to have to hurry you……

For those of you that picked #1, you clearly don’t know me very well.   I opted for a well thought out sofa chat, whilst leaving an open frying pan with hot oil to catch fire.

I didn’t notice this fire until after the conversation, by which point the kitchen was entirely black.

Suffice to say, I am quite lucky to still be here and more lucky that the apartment is.

Meat Cheese flambe anyone?

* Yes I, like all men, feel the need to describe my favourite football team as if I am one of the players…or more accurately, owners
** Possibly contagious, but as yet unproven to be terminal (time and upcoming posts will tell though)