Discombobulatory ramblings

Movable Type galley. Galera con tipos móviles.
Photo by Xosé Castro
I don’t know if I can say that I am completely suffering from writers block right now…writers malais possibly, writers half a job definitely…the problem I have is that I have ideas…see things, hear things that would normally dump me in front of my PC for a decent writing session.  Now, having ideas is not a bad thing, and definitely suggests that I am not blocked..but therein lies the trouble.  I can’t seem to get a cohesive post together about any of them…or when I do, it becomes a couple of paragraphs and consigned to the draft posts cold storage…never to return.

With that in mind, I thought I would just throw a few things in a post, lest these things never see the light of day at all

Oil Paintings
Today I saw, what can only be described as, the inspiration for every witch every artistically rendered.  Proper, proper ugly…hooked nose, sunken eyes…warts on the face, the whole shebang.  If you visited her house in the evening and she had one of those green facemasks on, that they always show in the movies, you would scream your bleedin’ head off…and possibly set fire to her.

Now, those of you that no me would probably say that I am not exactly Johnny Depp myself..followed by a series of bleeding heart “someone for everyone” and “beauty is in the eyes of the beerholder” nonsense..but seriously, proper ugly…I saw one guy actually stop eating his lunch after she smiled at him** Mothers and Fathers were shuffling their kids off to one side (in fairness, not out of fear of the childs trauma…more out of fear of kids propensity for pointing out things that parents DO NOT want pointing out).

Now, I am not suggesting that she should never leave the house again (unless she wants to), all I am doing is pointing out the wide range of technological advances that have been made in the home delivery arena…nothing more.

Football fans
Are rarely as bad as you think (at least not these days).  Some time ago, I took Zak and Brandon to a Liverpool match here in Germany.  It was only a friendly, so I didn’t really anticipate a full house, especially in the travelling Kop.  I was pleasantly surprised (and a little apprehensive) to see a full visitors section of over 700 fellow reds.

The kids were in awe, and having a great time…and when we went a goal down, a particularly hardened and haggard (old) fan, started chanting some rather abusive anti-german slogans.  He was all on his own, and immediately told to shut it by the rest of the fans.  Other fans took it in turns putting Zak and Brandon on their shoulders and making sure that they had room to stand etc..it was amazing, a proper family atmosphere.

There were a couple of stand-out moments though…bearing in mind that Liverpool fielded a team of people who weren’t even going to feature in the coming season, and in some cases…ever again.  Firstly, as I said..it was a sell out…but it was also a sell out for the home fans too…and it would appear that they were there to see us, the LFC fans.

LFC fans always sign You’ll Never Walk Alone both before the kick off and just before the game ends.  We were a couple lines into it when I realised that the whole stadium was silent, apart from us lot singing.  I thought it was a little strange, but carried on regardless..as you do.  When we finished..their fans gave us a standing ovation…it was bloody mental.  The second stand-out moment can be put down to the cultural differences between fans from different nations.  In the UK, stadium announcers announce the squad one by one.  Each name is read out in full and the crowd cheer or boo respectively (depending on which team you follow).  In Germany, the stadium announcer announces the first name of each player…and the crowd chant their last name.

So, in a perfect world in England…it goes something like this:

Announcer:  Number 9, Fernando TORRES

In Germany, this would be:
Announcer:  Number 9, Fernando
Crowd:  TORRES!!

At this particular match, therefore, it went something like this:

Announcer:  Number 9, Fernando
Crowd:  YEAHWOOPRARGONA…uh, hey what the TORRES..RES

I love football me

Why do fools….
…irritate me so much?  I can’t quite pinpoint the moment where my intolerance outgrew my tolerance.  I guess it could be age and I am just on the wonderful route to being a grumpy old man..which isn’t too bad as I hear that it means that I get a country for myself***.  I think I am still holding onto some vestiges of my previous easygoing nature, but more and more I find myself hitting rant mode (as anyone reading this blog recently will no doubt have noticed).  It could be something little like repeatedly pressing the open door button on the train whilst it is still moving, only to then not press it at all when, wait for it, THE GREEN LIGHT COMES ON TO TELL YOU TO!.  Maybe I have just reached an age where I expect a certain level of intelligence from the people around me, or maybe I am just a miserable git who expects everything to happen how I would do it…but is that so wrong – I mean, my ways clearly work….mostly :-P

It isn’t like I am really asking for much.  A little courtesy…some of my seat being available to me and not taken up by YOU with the giant paper to, no doubt, show your importance to the rest of the train.  Papers are sooo last decade anyway..you should at least be annoying everyone with incessant, psuedo-important, phonecalls and constant checking of the latest jokes important work related emails from your colleagues.  Or the smokers that insist on sparking up on the platforms in the No Smoking train stations, and worse than that….in the trains themselves.

The rocket scientists smoking dope on the street…not even remotely covering it up.  The police that check my ID for 40 minutes when doing a random bar check…and try to stop me going outside for a smoke…even though they HAVE MY ID.  Or worse, the guy that was playing with a knife right in front of the police officers when he was told that he couldn’t go in the bar until they had finished, and on top of that decides to try and engage CW in conversation as if we were with him….moron.

What about the ridiculous contract situation with, well, pretty much anything over here.  Forget to cancel a few months before and it automatically renews for a year (or two) with no method of cancelling except paying in full.  The way that you are supposed to be greatful for being allowed to pay for their service.  The ability to freeze your accounts for a ?10 bill….fortunately not something I have dealt with.

I could go on and on…and I am speaking from a position of loving the country that I am in :-)

You have to be Joker’ing…

I read a while ago that Batman fans feel that Heath Ledgers portrayal of the Dark Knights arch nemesis was so good, that they want to retire the character and not allow any more Joker related storylines for any future movies.

Now, forgetting the fact that the Joker is arguably the best villain in the Batman story arcs, meaning that stopping useage of the character would effectively kill the Batman series…Penguin anyone?  No..you liked him, ok, what about Mr Freeze?  Need I say more?  Still, I said we would forget that though.  So my opinion is this, Heath Ledger was a great Joker…a superb Joker in a great film…but the definitive Joker?  I don’t think so…and I genuinely believe that the discussion wouldn’t have even arisen if he hadn’t died.  I actually thought that Jack Nicholson was at least as good as Ledger in the role…but all of them, including any that may come in the future, pale into insignificance when compared to Cesar Romero…the quintessential Joker if you will.  This man played the original Joker on the Batman TV show..alongside, may I say, probably the finest Batman ever portrayed.  You want “Faithful to the comic books”?..these guys even had the Zapp, Kerpow, Zing, Splats that were daubed all over comics of the time.  Gen-I-Arse I tellsya.  Can’t beat it…

There were others, but some of them were deleted and others were…well…shite.


** Ok, ok…that would be me….but still!!
*** Sorry, couldn’t resist

Here with the kids

Well, I have been in the UK a week with the boys now, and I am having a great time.   The amazing British weather has lived up to its world wide reputation and been absolute garbage one day and perfect the next…with a smattering of crap interspersed…you know…just to keep you on your toes.

I am driving the worlds smallest car that my brother was good enough to loan me and it has taken us to Swimming Lessons, Football matches and Sundown Adventure Land.   Sundown is a great place, a theme park for the under 10’s, which means you aren’t worrying about bigger kids upsetting or hurting your little ‘uns.   That said, I think it is some form of Chav Mecca…everywhere you turn, you are confronted with shellsuit wearing, 1 year old kid with earing having, obese parents that swear enough to offend a fleet of sailors (and trust me, I swear…a lot, so I know of what I speak).   All of them bowing down to the god of Burberry, ice cream and sweat.   It seriously makes me miss Frankfurt when I am surrounded by this.   Anyway, I wasn’t there to pray with the Chavs..I was there to have fun with my boys.

We took in attractions from Santas Sleigh Ride (in August….seriously) to The Robin Hood Ride and even ended up in Storybook village, where they have created little houses to represent some of the more popular kids bedtime stories…Jack and The Beanstalk was there, Goldilocks and the 3 bears and of course Rumpelstiltskin ( :-P CW)

The kids ate themselves silly with sweets, burgers, ice cream and drinks…made sure their Dad got soaked on the barrel ride and generally tore the place up.   They got to hug the Sundown Bears and went on everything that they wanted to…we even bought Grandad some clotted cream fudge…which was nice.   In an unusual manner, the weather held off until precisely the time that the boys were done and wanted to go home…meaning that we got absolutely drenched during the run to the car.

There was a birthday party for my nephew Josh the other day and, in true LaughingWolf Family tradition, we had a rain soaked barbecue…it was superb…all of the family were there and it was a great night to reconnect with my brothers and chat to everyone.   I don’t really do enough of that, so I should really make more of an effort in this department.

I took Zak to his swimming lesson and was incredibly proud of the boy-fish that was before me…he is even able to do the correct breathing methods and everything…if I am ever in need of a brick to be saved, from the bottom of the pool…I will definitely be asking Zak to stick his PJs on t0 go and fetch it.   On top of that, on Thursday I had the pleasure of watching Zak play football in his team for the first time.   He was fantastic, his team won 5-1 and he scored.   He also survived a tackle that would have gotten most professional footballers red-carded and probably banned.   I was cheering him on like a good ‘un and filming him of course.   I can’t wait to take him next week before I head back to Frankfurt.

Brandon was joining in with a training session for his age group too and he looks to be a proper, tough tackling midfielder in the making…I am really looking forward to seeing his first game in the future too.

Today the weather was, somewhat unsurprisingly, shite…so we decided to bankrupt me further at an indoor play area.   At least I was able to have a sit down and a coffee while the kids knackered themselves out. Saying that, it took me 2 hours to get 17 miles….17 MILES!!   You would think that a large indoor kids play area would be signposted right?   I mean, especially one that is hidden away in the back streets of Lincoln.   Nope, not a sign in sight.   To make matters worse, the road that the directions insisted I followed….no road sign that I could see.   I went past it and instantly realised that it would be the road I needed…especially as I then had to drive around 2 miles at 5 miles an hour just to be able to turn around…and then back (past the road I needed…roadworks you see) 3 miles at 5 miles an hour, just to turn around again and have another go.   Still, the kids loved it and spent most of their time on what can only be described as a vertical drop slide.

So now I am turning into the rain gambler, trying to duck and dive to avoid those pesky droplets of impending bankruptcy and find things that we can do that won’t require me to actually sell one of the kids.

Anyone going to Stansted next week?   Giz a lift!   I’ll be the broken man with a small carry on suitcase, a thumb out and a head full of hopes.   Don’t ask me for fuel money though, Play Zone will have taken the last of mine for a sachet of tomato sauce…bastards.

Claim to fame?

Johnny Grant Star

Now I know that technically a claim to fame is only really valid if you have done something yourself, but I couldn’t think of another way to start this.

I suppose I do have 2 claims to fame in the truest sense of the term.   When my first long term partner and I got married, the run up and the wedding itself was fimed and broadcast by Sky for their Bride of the Day program.   We had to be interviewed and were filmed at home performing mundane activities that we shared together etc, all the normal contrite crapola associated with a couple in love.   We also had to play football together and “have fun” like two kids or something….totally false, but hey…it meant a free professional wedding video….and that’s valuable cashola that could go behind the bar at the wedding reception :-D

The 2nd time I got on the tele, was at Anfield during a Liverpool match.   We were sat directly behind the goal when Michael Owen struck the tamest shot in the history of football towards goal and I…noone else you understand….was caught on camera breathing in HARD in an effort to get the ball to get into the net.   I was particularly noticeable due to the fact that I had forgotten my jacket, it was 5 degrees and pissing it down…so I had to buy a rather expensive….and 2 sizes too small….jumper from the LFC shop.   I seem to recall looking like an inverted version of “larger” ladies that insist on wearing skin tight leggings at any given opportunity….oh god, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

That all said, I have been fortunate to meet some famous people in my time.   When I was a kid, Justin Fashanu had just been signed as the first 1 million pound black footballer to Nottingham Forest and we were staying with my Grandparents for a while.   Now Justin got banned from training by his manager and was wandering the Meadows area of Nottingham looking for something to do, when he heard the unmistakeable sound of people playing indoor football.   He stuck his head in the door and ended up training with my Dad, Uncles and Grandad for a 5 a side tournament.   If you ever read up on Justin, it was an absolute travesty the way he was treated, especially by his own brother.   Whilst I was very young, I still remember him vividly, I was sat at the side of the Gym, wearing his gold chains, watch and rings and watching this amazing footballer having a laugh and coaching my family…it was freakin’ amazing if I am honest.   He came by every day for 2 weeks if I remember correctly and was just this amazingly upbeat person.

Thanks to my Dad organising a football week when we lived at Guetersloh, I got to meet Murdo Macleod on a trip to Borussia Dortmund.   We trained (albeit briefly) at the Borussia facilities and got walked around the whole place.   Murdo was a great guy and  was quite happy talking to a bunch of starstruck kids.   That said, I am disgusted that SP, as a Scottish man who claims to like football…has no idea who Murdo Macleod is…pah I say PAH!

Whilst on a course for work where I ended up staying in a hotel in the center of Manchester, I bumped into and ended up having drinks with Davey Boy Smith…the British Bulldog of WWE(F) fame.   I remember being completely shocked that he was there and even more shocked that he invited me for a drink with him.   I have never asked a famous person for an autograph, most of them I have seen when they are clearly having time to themself and I always feel that the last thing that they would want is people hammering them to sign stuff.   So my approach was a simple “I hope you don’t mind, I just wanted to say that I admire your work and to say hello, sorry to have bothered you”.   With that he invited me for a couple of drinks and we talked about all sorts.   A genuinely nice fella that guy, not in the slightest bit conceited about his fame.

I sold Jonah Lomus cousin (I think, could have been his brother..bloody eggchasers) a PC, this only stands out to me as his knuckle was horribly swollen and black n blue.   I found out later that he had gotten in a fight with a bouncer.   I sold Colin Jackson a fax machine, and in the process discovered that I lived about 2 minutes walk from his place.   I sold John Toshack a PC and barely spoke the whole time as I was completely awestruck.   I was the senior member of staff on duty when Rod Stewart wanted to close the bloody store down so that he could wander around….and refused :-)

I used to live down the road from Duncan Norvelle (he of “Chase me, chase me” fame.   Oh, and my mum had a McDonalds at the next table from that fat black woman who broke the garden table in Big Brother 93 or whatever.

Not bad eh?   Although I have to say that my fave claim to fame isn’t even about me.   A friend of mine (we shall call him J) is responsible for Gary Glitter being arrested.   I was the technical center manager at PC World Cardiff, and my friend was the same in the Bristol Branch.   Mr Glitter brought a PC in for some software issues and (as usual), to test software issues you basically go to the application and load something from the recent documents history…what he saw made him throw up whilst phoning the police…followed shortly after by a phonecall to me.

I am just glad that aswell as being a sick pervert, he was stupid too.

Good times

Steal the thunder…

Kevin Smith

Writer, director and occasional Silent Bob actor Kevin Smith said it best during his “An evening with Kevin Smith” DVD.   He refers to using “Steal the thunder” humour, where he will put himself down about his weight etc, which leaves nothing for people to hit you with.

I have followed the same mantra for many years now and it works.   I think a lot of people would assume it would be depressing, but honestly it isn’t.   It is pretty bloody funny to watch people flounder for a comedy put down when you have just used the best material available on yourself.

You may have noticed this particular style elsewhere in this blog, it’s something I personally find funny, especially watching people flounder.   You can also steal the thunder following an insult.   Now just to explain, I am pretty good in an argument and have been known to fire off some snappy comebacks in my time.   Usually when you catch people off-guard with a comeback, they result to the most base defence….the personal insult.

Being of the larger persuasion (I didn’t take much persuading though, truth be told), it is no surprise where their poorly developed intellect takes these morons in the search for a retort to the snappy comeback:

Me: Some snappy quip
Idiot: Shut the fuck up you fat bastard

See…classy huh, right up there with the best of them really…

Me: Oh dear god, the fat comeback.   Shit, I didn’t see that coming, I hadn’t prepared….it could only really get worse if you spot the cleverly concealed fact about my hair loss..and my tendency to look like the bastard love child of Uncle Fester and a shaved panda.   Oh no, not the panda comment.   You sir have cut me to my very quip, I am mortally wounded, my intellect bows and scrapes at the feet of a master of witty repartee, a mind the speed of a whippet and the generally aquired wiseness of the longest living owl.   I apologise and beg you, please do not waste your god given talents of intellectual prowess on me, a mere imbecile who is not worthy to walk past you, let alone enter into discourse with you.
Idiot: …..

See?   Fun isn’t it.   I wouldn’t mind, but that actually happened.   Same as when someone called a friend of mine (who has alopecia and is therefore completely hairless) bald.   I think I replied with something along the lines of “3 cheers for Captain Obvious, don’t tell me, for your next feat of put down prowess you will call me fat?   Am I right?   Do I win a prize?”

How I don’t end up in more fights is beyond me…really…I can’t stop it.   I guess it isn’t so bad over here, if a German insults me, I probably have no idea how to respond.

Must learn more German

I think I am losing my edge.   I have to say though, my favourite two comebacks are directly attributable to Marc (He of Hop Pole Fame).

#2 – We were in a nightclub when an absolute stunner walked past me.   I couldn’t help myself, I just kind of…well gawked really.   She turned to me and said “What are you fucking looking at?” (no kidding, she was a classy one…).   Without batting an eyelid, Marc leant in and said sweetly “Don’t worry love, he thought you were attractive, but he was quite obviously mistaken..”

#1 – We were at Anfield, watching our beloved Liverpool play Aston Villa, and the Villa fans were chanting over and over that one of our recent signings was inclined to entertain Mrs Palm and her 5 lovely daughters on occasion.   If I recall it went something like “Heskey is a wanker, Heskey is a wanker…na naaa na na”, or something equally well thought out and intimidating.   When there was a break in play, the Villa fans had just finished with their eloquent prose and the ground was particularly quiet.   Marc stands up, in the middle of the stand we were sat in and replied….at the top of his lungs, “He’d rather be a wanker than a bruuuuuummy”.   Marc is now revered as an Anfield legend.

Sometimes you just have to fight fire with fire…

Uncle Fester??

Christopher Lloyd as Fester in The Addams Family film (1991).So I thought I would explain about the whole “Uncle Fester” thing..Although it could quite easily be about a shaved panda.

Many moons ago I was the main guy responsible for support of an up and coming software company.   When we started having some serious issues.   To cut a long story short, I ended up averaging 21 hours a day, 7 days a week for 9 weeks.

After I collapsed from exhaustion, I have ended up with huge black bags under my eyes whenever I get even slightly tired.   When I get really tired….I look like Uncle Fester.

I just wish I had the clothing style though – I just can’t carry off the goth look unfortunately.

I was a workaholic for a long time and often put work ahead of personal life.   When I was doing this, I managed to convince myself that I was doing it to enable a great personal life.   Bollocks, I was doing it for the praise and success.

For a guy who is skint all the time, its weird that I place more stock in praise rewards rather than financial.   Once again…damn you mind of mine.

More recently I realised that I could work harder during the normal working day and achieve just as much.   Unfortunately this has now managed to kick me in the arse too.   I guess I can’t always win.

Still, a company came a’knocking from Zurich the other day.   You never know, I could end up there in the next couple of months.   If it happens I will be in the land of skiing….meaning I can find new and interesting ways to fuck up my ankle.

Speaking of Switzerland (nice link eh?)…I have been watching the Euro 2008 Championship and am following Spain with particular interest (as are most Liverpool fans I think).   I read somewhere the other day that an English football chant has been converted for just this purpose by a load of Liverpool fans.

Normally we take the “H A P P Y, I’m H A P P Y, I know I am, I’m sure I am, I’m H A P P Y” song and convert it to “England till I die, I’m England till I die…etc”

The latest conversion seems to be “Spain until July, I’m Spain until July…etc”

Sounds good to me

Viva espagna….or something

What is it with parents??

I was talking to Sarah last night and the subject came up of Zak and Brandon about to start doing Karate and Judo respectively.

Nothing particularly strange there, until Sarah mentions that it is ok, until both of them end up in competition on the same day in different places. How will she be in both places at once etc… We then move on to the statement that obviously, if it is a big competition, I will fly over for it. I wouldn’t be able to get there for every competition, but big ones would be no problem.

I mean wtf, the lads haven’t even joined the clubs yet and we have them entering multiple competitions and some major ones, where I will head over from wherever I am and cheer them on. They will probably become world and olympic champions and get a series of hollywood movies written for them, based on their martial arts prowess alone!!!

Babysteps…babysteps – We should probably at least allow them to join the club and buy the uniform first – I think that sounds reasonable. They can get their movie deal next year.

I don’t know if this is a normal leap of faith for parents, or if I am about to turn into “overly competitive Dad”

Jesus I hope not, I met a few of those when I was a kid playing football and frankly it was quite scary to watch these really talented kids losing any interest in the game thanks to their Dad giving them a hard time for the slightest mistake. Thankfully my Dad wasn’t like that for me and I don’t intend to be like that for my kids.

It does remind me of my time playing football as a kid though, I played for a couple of different teams while we were in Germany. My first was a team called Schwarz Weiss Elmpt, a German team where I made an immediate impact on my debut…..by scoring an own goal. I went on to do quite well, although I would probably be most remembered for my Mum turning the lovely black and white kit turning a distinctly grey colour :oops:

Also, playing on shale pitches was never fun, looking back I understand now why most of my team mates wore tracksuit bottoms under their shorts. Being a manly and oh-so-tough Brit, I continued to wear shorts, despite losing skin faster than a shedding snake. Still, I had a good time and even got to play against the Borossia Muenchengladbach junior side, which was nice.

When we moved to Gutersloh, my Dad took over the RAF Gutersloh Junior football team for my age group and we had no end of fun. We got promoted pretty rapidly and I remember warming up for a game against the team that were top of the league (we were 2nd at the time). We were in the dressing room before they arrived and were on the pitch before they were, and the speculation was mounting about the type of team they were. Based on some of the teams we had played already, the general opinion would be a team of man mountains.

When they finally came out of the dressing room, it was a team that seemed to consist entirely of Munchkins. It was almost like they had sent out the team about 3 ages lower than ours. So we thought we would have a little fun and run riot. We hadn’t anticipated them being a bunch of dirty bleeders. I got fouled by one and , while I was on the ground, another one stamped on my chest. They were doing this all over the pitch and we started to get pissed off. Eventually we got the upper hand, I think I broke the ankle of a guy I tackled. I used the often derided block tackle method, where you literally trap the ball between their foot and yours and then (if you are nasty….I was) lean into them.

It was a rough and tumble league and, as a defender, I was regularly in the wars. I got taken out (I know, it sounds a bit extreme, but I can’t think of another phrase) by a team whose name will stay with me, long after I have forgotten my name, my address and what a car key is for. FC Kaunitz. Bastards. Their entire team must have been 18-20, most of them were shaving, or not…they had beards FFS. I was playing for the under 16s at the time, so imagine my joy at performing a back somersault after a guy simply ran through my leg as I passed the ball. I landed in a position that I simply refer to as “Awkward” (yes it deserves the capital A) and, through tears of pain, looked up to see my Dad with his hands wrapped around the throat of the referee.

Good times.

Umm…where am I going with this?

Parents have silly expectations of their children?…..maybe, but no

Turkish adult males playing in an under 16s football league are bastards?

That’ll do

Just call me Mr Helpful..

Carrying on from the initial part of my last post, I bring you a demonstration in helpfulness…

So, it’s the summer of ’06 and the World Cup is underway. England are playing Paraguay here in Frankfurt and the local authorities have setup massive screens on…check it….ON the river. Around 20,000 England fans are lining the river bank and generally enjoying themselves.

I have, without a shadow of a doubt, the two cutest kids on the planet BTW – I submit into evidence, exhibit 1:

No...they are not under arrest. (Left: Zak, Right: Brandon-Lee)

No…they aren’t under arrest, they are doing their bit for international relations :lol: This shot should give you an idea of how many people were on the river bank. Bear in mind that there were the same number (if not more) on the side where I took the photo. Also, exhibit 2 for the cuteness stakes:

Woah Dad, how many lunatic Englishmen?

Unfortunately, all efforts to remove the screen and get it into my apartment were in vain… I did consider building a new apartment simply around the screen, but felt this may have been obvious to the authorities.

Anyhoo – Onto my generous, helpful and, dare I say, caring nature…

On the way back home following the game (and immediately after the 1st pic of this post was taken), I was approached by 2 bright lads from Manchester. I say bright as I was carrying my kids, whilst wearing an England top, carrying and England flag, next to Sarah (also wearing an England top) and with Brandon-Lee on my shoulders (in full England kit) and Zak next to me (full England kit also. Do you see a theme? I am also fairly certain you can guess what comes next….

“Do you speak English?” says bright chap #1 and possible Mensa member.

“No, we are from Botswana and speak very little of the English language you refer to in your initial question” <— Word for word I promise.

“No need to be sarcastic” says bright chap #2 (who at this point raises my opinion of his intelligence by a factor of 10). We will ignore the fact that it is me, so therefore there is every need to be sarcastic…however, he doesn’t know me so I apologise and we continue.

To save you having to read a page of quotes, the upshot is that they would like to know if I know of anywhere they can stay for a couple of nights, the local YMCA* equivelant is full apparently.

Being the helpful soul I am, I direct them to the nearest place that I can think of that has lots of rooms, plenty of beds and a decent maid “service” (ahem)….. I live in Germany, do I really need to explain more than that?

Ok, ok, get on with it.

A brothel….I sent them to a brothel. It would probably be ok if I hadn’t sent them with instructions…

“Head over to the big hotel building over there, the one with the pink curtains on every floor. Head through the pair of giant Betty Boop legs** and into the building. You will have to wander around until you find a room where the door is open. When you do, walk in and that can be your room. If you bump into one of the maids…just ask them how much”

Aren’t I a helpful soul?

And yes, I watched them go over the bridge and into the “hotel”

* Cue references to gay tribute bands and bad karaoke renditions of “In the Navy”
** I shit you not, I will post pics as soon as I remember to take some