Assisting with tourists (18 rating)

Okay, so I guess I gave the game away already, but the point of a story is getting there, not the ending. And as with all the best tales, you'll have to wait for the surprise ending.

One of the few benefits of being a nonlocal, is that any other nonlocals who arrive in your city are instantly more attracted to you than to the locals. They assume you will be able to see all the other crazy eccentricities, and have invaluable advice about how not to get ripped off by taxi drivers. Tourists who come looking for a little extra-curricular fun, though, are a mixed bag. Most will also demand your advice about bars, clubs, and the rest. But some will split off, hoping to bag themselves a new, fresh nationality for the bed post.

And so it was that I got chatting to a nice Frenchmen, who, as it happened, was living in Stockholm. He was visiting for a few days, as part of his extensive travels, and I was very pleased that he seemed happy to meet up, since he was very nice looking. So we went for a drink in a crazy little bar I know. I tried to slowly make my move, but wasn't exactly fighting him off. At the end of our slow drink, I offered to pay, joking that he could get the drink the next night.

We wandered off into the night, and back to mine. After a few hours talking, and further slow movement towards physical contact, something managed to happen, and I ended up with a boy in my bed. In spite of the single duvet, and the still chilly weather outside (this was back at the start of April), it was very nice to doze off with someone's arms about me.

Come the next morning though, I detected a different vibe. "Oh no, I've been here before," I thought. Boys have this gift, whereby after they've slept with someone on a first night, they decide the other boy is such a whore, and how could they possibly see them again. Oh the hypocrisy. No kiss at the door - okay, it was Budapest, and perhaps it was a tad too romantic a gesture - before we went our separate ways.

I thought I'd risk a text though, and to my pleasant surprise he agreed to meet again that evening. We headed to Jelen for some grub, and I was happy once more. Tea at mine, but this time the Frenchmen decided to use his hotel bedroom for his sleeping, and the nearest I got was forcing a foot massage on him. He didn't even have his socks off!

Never overlook an enjoyable evening, though, even if it doesn't become exactly what you wanted it to. I am happy to say that we are still in touch via Facebook (somehow more legitimate than Gaydar!).

Back with the nightbus

First time on the nightbus proves a Saturday night out is exactly the same wherever you are.

I woke up early, ready to go to the flea market, but instead had a text from my friend who wasn't prepared to get up. So I popped on an episode of Seinfeld, then another. Before I knew it it was 11am, and the day was wasting away. I grabbed my bags and decided to do something practical, so went off on my merry way to Ikea. Sad to say, but on days when I'm not feeling so chipper, a bit of shopping certainly does the trick.

And so it was that I arrived back home, hands laden with goodies: a mirror, a standing lamp, a fruit bowl...

My favourite was this nifty set up I made with a light attached over the stove so I could actually see what I was cooking, similarly over the kitchen sink - hurrah, clean dishes you can see! Unfortunately my housemate decided she didn't want to go in with me on most of the bits and pieces. It's a sad fact that I've noted in the past, people don't want to pay for nice things they invariably use, but say they wouldn't have got.

I wasted the afternoon away with more tv, before heading out to a friend's birthday party, a colleague from work. On the way I made use of the time with a trip to the supermarket, picking up my weekly goodies, as well as a screwdriver set for the shower, and a LAN cable for the computer - practicalities.

The party was ok. Andras and I chatted, whilst everyone else talked in Hungarian, occasionally dropping over to say hello. And so we stayed for a couple of hours before heading home - Andras had a flight to catch the next morning. So we found the nightbus. And I sat there, with my shopping, while revellers jumped on. One girl asked me something in Hungarian, "Angol vagyok" (I'm English), I responded, she smiled and let me be.

Boozing at the British Embassy

After a less enjoyable week at work, I was looking forward to a party Zsuzsi had invited me to at the British Embassy. The early evening sun was still out, and extremely pleasant, as I met her at Deak Ferenc Ter. After a short catch up we walked over to the Embassy, not five minutes away.

After getting through security, a member of the staff pointed us to what was a rather crummy bar. Zsuzsi were both a little surprised, having expected rather more opulent surroundings, and a slighlty swankier crowd. The bar was currently being propped up by several old men, happily talking amongst themselves. Zsuzsi introduced me to her friend, who worked behind the bar, and organised us with our drink tickets.

The system at the bar was that you bought a 2000Ft token, entitling you to drinks up to that value. It was perhaps a bit of a swizz, since it forced minimum payments of that amount, but the drinks were very cheap, and there were free crisps, so who can complain. Zsuzsi and I chatted away about everything from politics, to culture, to men, and she agreed to accompany me the next morning to the flea market I'd been wanting to go to.

We even chatted with one of the guys on staff their, who gave us his email, and said if we ever wanted to come back, we just had to let him know, and he'd put us on the list.

Into the night with a double bass

Sally, Jane and I met at Castro Bisztro for some chatter and grub. The place has a great buzz, with eclectic music, including a fair bit of American 50s rock'n'roll. The food was dead tasty too.

There was some confusion with the waitress over whether Jane ordered a bottle or a glass, because apparently the words sound very similar. The matter was finally sorted though.

After a couple of hours of banter, we headed back to Jane's, where Sally showed clip after clip of Eddie Izzard sketches on YouTube, for the purpose of Jane's education. The man is most amusing.

We left at about 11pm, Jane hobbling down the street with her double bass braced against her. It was a special one, meant for the kind of folk music she was going to play at Gödör. She accompanied the band already playing, and it was terrific fun watching her.

Believe it or not, folk dancing is extremely popular in Hungary, even amongst the young folks. At these kind of events, the best male dancers show off, and are encouraged to do so by grateful applause. Hungarian folk dancing is one of those rare things, where the men do all the fun stuff, and the girls just get to twirl under their arms. That's not entirely fair, because the, often very very quick, couple dances require both the boy and girl to be extremely light and certain on their feet.

Working without chocolate eggs

That's right, while the rest of you got both Good Friday, and Easter Monday off, I worked both! Hungarians aren't savages like us Brits, and don't celebrate the day Jesus actually died. We are supposed to get the Monday off, but sadly the world of accounting chose not to see it that way.

On the plus side, the city was pretty damn empty (everyone goes out to see their family in the countryside for the weekend), which suited me very well. The day at work was stressful - as it was for the whole month-end week - because the girl who's supposed to be training me was stressed, and snapped whenever I asked anything. In fact, she kept doing everything herself, and left me feeling like I was asking too much to actually take things off of her, like it wasn't my job.

Oh well. I escaped for half an hour to get some fresh air. The miserable weather was adding to a pressure/stress head ache, and fortunately the time away from the office, pleasantly free of people on the streets, cleared it up rather.

Rearranging with ancient Chinese energy

The day was not nearly as productive as I'd hoped it would be - a fact I find all too common at the moment - but at least I managed to do some Tai Chi.

When I got home the previous night I checked the living room to see how the new sofa look, and discovered a mess, where Alexa had tried to drag it across the room, only entangling it in the rugs. So the next morning I agreed I'd help her move things around. Lots of lifting later, and compromising on exact positions, and the room looked decidedly better.

So next I put up a shower curtain, and did the washing up.

And finally headed off to try out my new Tai Chi book. I did all the warm up exercises, but found that those alone took over half an hour. How warmed up do you need to be Mr Tai Chi!?

(The book's not been opened since....lazy John)

Warming up with a fair few hands

The day (Saturday 3rd April) started later than I'd intended it to. I was waiting for Alexa to get ready, which invariably took a while, her dashing in and out of my room to check herself in the mirror. I got so bored I ended up taking the doors off my wardrobe, and replacing them with the curtains I'd taken down earlier that week.

We headed out, and passed a fun looking green sofa on the street. Checking around we decided it didn't belong to anyone, and attempted a feable lift. I had an apple in my mouth at the time though, and didn't want to put it on the street-fresh sofa, so we decided to leave it till later, and see if it would be there when we got back. So first we went to TreeHuggerDan's coffeeshop, which also sells secondhand English books. I didn't intend to buy anything, but of course I did, finding a book on Beginner's Bridge in the discount section. After picking up some back copies of the Budapest Time Out, we stepped back out into the sun. The shop's behind the Operahouse, which also has some cute flower shops nearby.

At the second bookshop, on Csengery Utca, I bought a book on Tai Chi, hoping I could mix it in with my yoga. I pondered while Alexa gave close examination to the Gender Studies section. The books here were better, but invariably more expensive.

Walking up Andrassy Utca, the sun was still shining, and I pointed out the spring buds. The biggest surprise was seeing pink forget-me-nots. Definitely a variety I'd like to see more in England. At Heroes Square, we popped into the shops of the two art galleries, and mulled over prints and diaries.

After a quick lunch in the park - during which we slipped a little set of salt'n'pepper shakers into a bag - we headed home. Or at least, Alexa headed home, because I was meeting a new Hungarian friend. He took me to a cute little hot chocolate cafe, which served various concoctions. I ordered the marzipan one, and was surprised to find, not some essence flavouring the chocolate, but actual pieces of marzipan floating on top. Finally I too headed home, with Andras in tow, not failing to pick up another little houseplant on the way back.

That night we were having some friends over, because Alexa had wanted a house warming. I popped out to buy a bottle opener and some plastic glasses, forgot the bottle opener, and came back with some glass glasses and a jug. A result of limited selection, rather than my ineptitude. Still, it did mean later that we had some fun opening the bottle of red I got.

After a few people had arrived, it was decided that we'd make an attempt at the sofa. Myself and four friends descended upon it, slightly intrepid (at least they were) towards the venture. It quickly became apparent that the sofa was far heavier than initially it had looked, and I'm afraid brows quickly furrowed. Fortunately when we were half way up the stairs a big American dude I know grabbed one end of the sofa, and the two of us carried it the rest of the way. The sofa was dumped, and we duly got back to the booze.

Without a bottle opener, alternative methods had to be found. These started off with pushing the cork in with a wooden spoon: FAIL. Banging the bottle's end against the wall to force the cork back out: Moved back to starting position, but ultimately FAIL. Then Tom managed to squeeze the cork in using the wooden spoon, and a teaspoon: HURRAH.

I ended the night by going to Szimpla with some of the guys, and trying to convince one that perhaps it wasn't a good idea to try kissing his female friend. On the way home Lovisa and I picked up a Lángos, the Hungarian equivalent of a late-night kebab. Yum.

Getting racially aware

Okay, so the vast majority of Hungarians aren't as racist as this guy, and I know that every country has a little xenophobia, but there's certainly a marked dislike of certain groups here. Namely, the Roma people ("gypsies"), Jews, Indians, and black Africans.

I was going for coffee with this one girl, who I'd met on the train on the way back from the airport on Sunday. She seemed nice, highlighted by the fact she'd agreed to have coffee with a perfect stranger. We started making the usual conversational rounds: back stories, siblings, jobs...

Somehow - and I confess I possibly brought us round to the subject a few times - we got onto the subject of these different racial groups.

Firstly she told me that, during her year in London, she didn't like the Indians, because they didn't integrate themselves, just making their own communities there, unlike the Eastern Europeans. I'm sure there are plenty of Brits who think Eastern Europeans have done just that, with Polish shops and delicatessens, and bars and estate agents. I corrected her as well, because most Indian families I know in the UK are as English as Terry & June, and she possibly meant Bangladeshi or Pakistani groups, which I think sometimes do still form mini-communities.

Secondly she mentioned that age old notion of a Jewish conspiracy, whereby there was some sort of agreement where they would work to get their own into work organisations they were in. I argued that the problem with this thinking is that there's always a certain nepotism with jobs, and that traditional Jews hold very much to their ties, but to put a slant on it that makes it so subterfuge is dangerously like butting heads.

Lastly, when she mentioned "gypsies" there was an almost pantomime aside, as if to say, 'those people'.

Eastern Europe has always been a melting pot of peoples, but tough conditions have made it more like a battle for resources, rather than a cosmopolitan dream. The Communist era continued to exaggerate notions of 'the other' and exacerbate racial tensions. It's going to take time for things to change, but at the moment, even otherwise very nice people can still spout racial obscenities.

I'm a foreigner in a strange land. What can I do when I'm trying to make nice with the locals?

She did give me details of a second-hand English bookshop...

What a wrench

Problem of living somewhere else #2 - Not having the right equipment, or knowing where to get it.

Miklos had pointed out to me why the shower was broken, that we needed a new tube. He unscrewed it with his hand, showed me, then screwed it back on. Problem, the idiot screwed it back on so tight I then couldn't undo it with my own hands later on.

So: a) In the UK I have several wrenches; b) In the UK I know exactly where to buy a wrench

In Budapest I have no wrench, and there are no Homebases or B&Qs, and little hardware shops are somewhat daunting (truly, I find hardware shops in the UK daunting, because the staff often talk to you like you're an idiot, unless you can talk hardware jargon). Also, they seem to prefer spanners here (why!? they only do one size fitting, wrenches are adjustable!!). So I headed off to my fallback option: Tesco. Sadly the little wrench I brought home was about 3mm too small. Grr!

I popped into a local shop and did the various mime actions one must for wrench, then being shown a spanner, and mimed a bigger spanner. The man did his best, but I decided his tool was too small.

I popped into another supermarket, which I knew had electrical goods, and chanced it. Pliers, but not much else.

I headed back to Tesco, and tracked down a bigger wrench, which looked barely bigger than the first I'd got there. "Cross your fingers, hope, and pray you get to Neverland," I said to myself. Fortunately, it turned out I did have a little pixie dust.

I was able to replace the shower tube, and we had a shower. Hurrah. Then we realised the head would probably need replacing, too, and we needed to unscrew it to check. Problem #3: No screwdriver. Oh well, another problem for another day.

Reinvention with wart remover

I refuse to actually take a photo of my own disfigured face, so needless to say these aren't my own lips. But I do have two of these hideous looking things, one either side, which unfortunately arrived due to shaving cuts. The knowledge that warts are in your DNA is deeply depressing, because it means they'll be back whenever they wish. These little pests are called filiform warts, particularly disgusting because they have finger-like tentacles, and you wonder whether an anemone has attached itself to your face.

I know. Yuck yuck yuck.

Try dealing with them in a foreign country though. Firstly I had to discover the word for pharmacy (gyógyszertár), then the word for filiform wart (fonalszerű szemölcs). That's right, you can now speak Hungarian.

My first attempt to go into a chemist and ask for something, whilst pointing at them had failed. So I wrote down the words, and handed it over the counter (at another store, to save humiliation). I came away with a little vial, and asked my colleague what the instructions meant.

That night I applied this most toxic of substances, after performing my favourite act of personal renovation. For about 7 years I've been letting my hair grow long, then shaving it all off, down to about 3/4 of a inch. Not only is this incredibly cost saving, it also gives me even hair, which is absolutely my preference. Only problem: standing there for 15-20 minutes going over and over and over until it's even.

The sign of success is people not immediately thinking you've done it yourself. The fruits of my labour were rewarded likewise the following day.

Returning with sweat and tears

Waking on Saturday morning I was understandably nervous. The weekend ahead was going to be stressful, tiring, and emotional. I had to get back to the UK, pack a van, take it down to my parents, get the train back to London, clean the flat, do the check out, then come back to Budapest. Thankfully my brother-in-law and best friend would prove utterly invaluable aides to my efforts.

Still feeling worse for wear, I got myself to the train station on a very sunny Saturday morning, and boarded the train. I was so unconvinced of Sally's guarantee that I could use my pass for the journey, I texted her to check once more. The ride took just 25 minutes, and with no guard to check I fortunately didn't have to test the theory. At the airport was one of those hideously long queues for check in. I only had a small bag with me, because I was planning to bring lots of stuff back, not the other way round, and quickly realised the benefits of online check-in.

After about 15 minutes of moving very slowly I noticed people appeared to be coming in at the side of the queue, and got very frustrated. In the end I shouted at one couple, and told them how rude the whole thing was. They didn't care, which left me more perturbed. When I got close enough, I saw a rather useless sign that said there were two queues, and, long story short, I was in the wrong one. Useless. Oh well, at least I made my flight.

Till that point I'd put off food and drink, my stomach being a little sickly. On the plane I realised though that in fact I'd been dehydrating myself, and with nothing in my tum, I was actually exacerbating things. I ordered a bacon baguette, and was much relieved. A quick clean in the tiny loo, and a slurp from the sink, and I was almost decent.

By the time we landed I was prepared for the big push, and very pleased we'd gotten there early. Little joy though when they had to bus us to another terminal. I got back to the flat, and was a little shocked by everything dumped in my room. The careful boxes of stuff I'd packed before I left had been swamped by all my other crap, which Sian had piled on top. Thank goodness Div had hired a van! Outside I found most of the plants I'd planted weren't doing so well, but was hopeful they'd burst into life soon. I went to unlock my bike, and set it free, since there was nothing else I could do with it. I laughed a little, but was also appalled to find someone had already cut my chain off and replaced it with their own. Not only that, someone else had tried to cut into this new one. C'est la vie.

It took far longer to put everything in the van than I'd planned, and we realised at best I'd only manage an hour with my family. Train services in the UK being what they are, I was buggered, whichever way I looked at it, since I couldn't even manage to get an early service back in time on the Sunday morning. Div drove the van for the two and a half hours back to Dorset, by which time it was dark. I had to grab some bits out of the back, much to the chagrin of my dad, who refused to help, cutting down further on the time I got to spend with him, my mum and my sister. Scarlet, her youngest was still up, but Poppy was in bed. Bugger bugger.

After wolfing down the food dad had prepared we raced back to Gillingham train station and I was off again. The guard on the train did that normal passive-aggressive deal, where they tell you they shouldn't really sell you a ticket, but will anyway. You can't have it both ways mate. Apparently I'm supposed to track down the guard when I get on board, anyone who gets on without a ticket is. How freaking ridiculous is that!?

By the time I got back to London, it was already nearly midnight. I packed my stuff as quickly as I could, and laughed off the change to British Summer Time depriving me an hour's sleep on this worst picked of weekends. I had to turn on the radiator in the wee hours, because the one blanket I had left wasn't really enough.

In the morning I baked a little breakfast for Sian and I, while trying not to make a mess in her beautifully cleaned kitchen. She'd really been such a star, cleaning pretty much the entire flat on her own, as well as packing up half my stuff. Bless her. When the check-out woman arrived though, it turned out it wasn't quite clean enough. She was a great gal though, and allowed us to finish it off there and then, saving us any professional cleaning fee (except a carpet shampoo).

Suitcases in hand, along with a bottle of champagne, we departed 57 Chiswick Village for the last time. We sat on the lawn for two minutes, just to get our bearings, before heading off for Turnham Green park, where we would try desperately to down the bottle of champagne, before realising it was impossible. I got a couple of Starbucks coffees, which hit the spot a little more accurately, and headed to Paperchase to pick up a diary. I wanted something pretty to make notes in, and keep myself sane back in Budapest. To my amazement, though it was only March, the only diaries they had were for the academic year starting in July! Ah well, c'est la vie.

Sian and I went our separate ways, and I started my trek home. The day before I'd realised the easybus ticket I'd bought was useless, because it got me to the airport too late, so had to make do with public transport. Bus replacement services are never fun, but quite scary when you actually need to get somewhere at a certain time. I just caught the train from West Hampstead Thameslink, but didn't have a chance to buy a ticket, so got a penalty charge when I got to the end. Bugger bugger bugger.

I asked the woman at check-in whether the spark lighter I'd bought on ebay would be allowed on the plane. She sent me to security, who confiscated it. Bugger!

I proceeded to spend most of the change Sian and I had divied up on calls to my parents and my sister. It was lovely to hear their voices, even if the payphones were deeply frustrating. They won't actually allow anyone outside to call them now, so you have to spend all your money. Bastards. Grrr. They've obviously never seen that bit in Love Actually about the airport arrivals gate.

Finally on the plane home, I felt deeply lost. Why was I going back, and leaving all this? The tears came, I sat with myself. When we landed though, my first thoughts were about getting home to my new flat, and I felt much better. On the train back into the city, a guard checked my pass, and it was okay - Sally had been right all along. Soon I would have everything unpacked, and a little more of me over here.

It had been a difficult weekend, and I wasn't looking forward to going back to work, but at least I'd managed everything I had to, and could have a nice relax in just five days.

Mixing with mixers

Friday was in the diary as a team day. I awaited it with trepidation, because, in spite of the joy of not working (not that I was doing any work), it meant being with all these people who chatted to each other in Hungarian, leaving me in a little world of my own. Isolating to say the least. In the first session I turned to one girl, and felt the waterworks starting. We shuffled off to the printer room, and I confessed my feelings. She said she'd speak to our manager for me.

I coped as best I could, back in the room, trying to keep my composure. My manager suggested we go for lunch together, a little place near the office. I told him how I was feeling, trying not to start crying again. He suggested things would get easier once I got to know a few people, and that if I could make the effort today it would really help. I jokingly suggested that if I refused I'd be automatically fired. He agreed, with a knowing smile.

In the afternoon we headed off to the National Bank, which was free to attend, complete with tour guide. The team were very excited, which I couldn't understand, since it sounded like a very dry event, nothing like go-carting, or hauling logs to make a bridge. I was proved right, as most of them quickly became bored. I found it interesting though, and enjoyed that the guide seemed to take something of a shine to me.

We left the Bank, and headed for a drink. Most of the team ganged together on a few tables, leaving the stragglers, including me to grab a couple of high stools. I got chatting to one girl, and we got on well. Everyone went their separate ways, intending to meet later at one of the managers' flats. The girl and I headed back to hers, and I ended up repotting one of her plants. Grubby fingernails filled with soil is a deeply comforting look for me.

Later, at the party, I felt a little uncomfortable, but was determined to make the effort. Helped on by alcohol, I got into the groove with anyone, and actually had quite a good time, though I'd certainly managed to drink too much. They were heading out to a club, so I popped off for a tactical, and escorted them there, before making my way home, wary that I had a flight the next morning.

Rooming with a friend-of-a-friend

So Alexa arrived on Monday, but was so tired from her travelling - she started at 6am in Wales - that she'd gone straight to her friend's to crash. She texted me on Tuesday morning, and I arranged for her to come and take a look at the flat that afternoon. After a short chat, and some of the usual questions, we decided that we would live together. The flat was just what she was looking for, and she seemed reasonably normal to me, so all that was left was running it by my landlord. We went for a drink at Jelen to finalise the deal.

My landlord was fine with it, partly because it means a little more rent for him, so Alexa came to get my keys to have them cut. By the time I got home from work she'd moved her stuff in, and it was nice to have someone there to say hello to. At the same time, it was a bit of a shock to the system, and I realised there would be some getting used to for me. I rearranged the food in the fridge so we could each have a side, and it was nice to see some fresh toiletries in the bathroom. Now if I can just get her to turn her music down a little...

Spring with bumps

The radical change in weather last week brought Spring rapidly to Budapest, such that suddenly the crocuses and even the daffodils were out. Starting my first full week of work, I headed into the office, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the fountain in the courtyard (previously covered over) was now gushing forth water. Elsewhere I saw bobbing golden heads (a la Wordworth), which I subsequently discovered are called Nazis here. Ok, not actually Nazis, but Nárcisz (like Narcissus), they sound remarkably similar though (I wonder....).

The Friday before I'd found out that a friend's friend was moving to Budapest and was eager to see whether they'd be interested in becoming my new flatmate. The day passed with my friend and I exchanging details, and waiting for her friend to arrive here. After work I was scheduled to have my first Hungarian lesson, but it was cancelled, because my teacher was ill. Boo.

I went home, checking my phone all the time to see if this girl had called or texted. Nothing. So I headed out to Tesco, in order to do my weekly shop (which I'd substituted the day before for buying of roses). I also had to get some celotape to put on my mailbox downstairs. I was appalled to find it was around £2.50 for two rolls, which to me seems an exorbitant price, especially in Tesco.

I headed home, and met Miklos, the bane of my life, on the street. He was due to come over to collect money for bills. We'd been trying to arrange this for a week, me agreeing twice, then him calling to ask if he could do later in the evening, and me already having plans. It was all a little frustrating. Trying to make conversation I told him my teacher was ill, which descended into my attempts at mime, which readily failed, and a desire to bang my head against a brick wall. When we got upstairs it turned out he didn't even have the bill, and would have to come another day. Hmmph.

Well, still no news from the girl, so I decided to make the best of a bad lot and go to Ikea. I'd already managed to amass around a dozen plants (I'd purchased three in Tesco that day - shocking impulse buying), and they were beginning to demand proper homes. Fortunately I got there before it shut at 10, but had to race round a little. Ever the savvy-buyer/out-and-out-thief, I snipped cuttings off a couple of plants there, which I'd later pot up at home. I came back with some mugs and a clothes basket too. It would have been rude not to.

Oh well, not such a successful day, but my plants looked happy in their new pots, and I had some new mugs. Time for tea...

Planting hopes with a little compost

For the last four mornings I'd woken up at 8am or earlier, in spite of what time I went to bed or intended to get up. So I was pretty knackered by Sunday morning. I didn't have much planned for the day, and intended to keep it that way.

I arranged to meet a new friend for coffee, and we ended up having brunch in a little cafe on Liberation Square. It was exceedingly pleasant, including the cute little dog owned by the proprietor. He took me to an English bookseller nearby, and I was a little forlorn at the price of the English magazines, which were almost triple their UK price. No Esquire, Economist or GQ for me.

In the afternoon I decided to make a quick trip to Tesco. There I picked up three rose plants and the necessary accessories, which I potted up at home for the balcony. I'm very excited about seeing them come up in a month or so.

Later a friend popped over for a quick cup of tea, then left me to my own devices.

The evening passed peacefully, watching a little TV, falling asleep in front of it, and finally getting myself prepared for another week of work.

Lovely.

Getting happy with a Cuban dictator

For those of you who've been reading my blog regularly, you'll be pleased to hear Saturday was a very good day :) This little papier mache dude was on the corner outside a shop.

In the morning I got up and headed off to meet Judit at the big market I went to on my third day. After a quick look round, we headed off to meet her sister, Zsuzsi for coffee, at a little place called Castro's, near Deak Ferenc Square. The cafe was very cute, with eclectic music, and free internet. While we were there, Judit sorted out the delivery of my new internet on Tuesday, much to my relief. We chatted about lots of things, and one of Zsuzsi's uni friends showed up to pick up some dog collars Judit had made her. After that we had a quick look inside St Stephen's Basilica, where Judit and her husband, Phil, were married. And I saw the wretched hand of St Stephen, which is over a millenia old, and the English translation of its history, which some tourist had seen fit to correct.

We strolled on to the West End shopping centre, where Judit was going to ask the people at T-Mobile how much I owed for going over my internet limit. We were all on tenterhooks, fearing the worst (that I might owe £100 or more). As it turned out all was well, and the deal I had would only ever cost the flat rate. The only catch was that internet speed will drop dramatically after I go over my limit, but that I could live with (especially since I was getting a new internet connection at home). The mobile internet would just be a bonus now.

Next we wandered around Margaret Island, which is noted for being the only real large spot of green in the city centre. The entrance was difficult to get to because of works on the bridge, and the warm weather bringing out a lot of park-going people. You could tell it would be a nice place for the summer. I still missed luscious English parks though. Turns out we're quite spoilt in London.

The girls headed off, and I went to meet Sally, who was out shoe shopping (unsuccessfully). I met her and Lovisa for coffee, then we headed to Tesco to buy some grub for supper (and, so it seemed, a yoga mat for me!). Sally's flat was very nice, and the communal entrances had been renovated beautifully. It's hard to know whether there's more charm in some of the grumbly facades and entrances (like mine), or whether the renovation knocks the dazzle into them. Either way, you can't help but keep noticing beautiful buildings all over Budapest.

Finally we headed out to the rugby, and watched England get unfortunately beaten by the French. Then Sally and I headed off in search of a bar. She took me to a small place near Astoria, which was nice, though suffered from relatively expensive wine. With some red in side me I began to get a little emotional, and we had a long chat into the wee hours, before heading homeward on a nightbus. It's nice being just one stop, and 5 minutes from your home.

I arrived back at the flat feeling a little drunk, and had found a small rug on the way back there. It seemed a few people had belatedly put their rubbish on the street, and with all the poor interlopers out of the way, I was determined to find some second-hand goodies. I headed out into the night, and by 3am had staggered home with a chair, a very large blue rug, and this rather lovely drinks cabinet. I was most proud, because it was real wood, unlike a lot of the junk I'd seen chucked out earlier in the week.

Heading to bed, rather chuffed, I put on the first Terminator film, until my eyes decided it was too much, and fell asleep, anticipating a rather quiet Sunday.

Getting crafty with jazz

My favourite thing is to stumble upon things quite by chance: serendipity is a wondrous thing. I left work happy to have got through the week, and looking forward to a well-earned weekend. Walking out with two of the girls in my team, we headed off talking about weekend plans. At the crucial point I had to decide which way to get home, and decided to go with Dia towards the metro. Changing at Deak Ferenc I managed to walk to the wrong line, decided to take it and use an alternative route, but ended up going in the wrong direction. Oh well I thought, why not take a look at the Danube in the dusk light.

I climbed the steps out of the station, and was pleasantly surprised to find I'd accidentally arrived at a little Spring festival. It was just like the commericalised, standardised 'fair', with little wooden huts, and 'crafts', that you find all over Europe now, but extremely pleasant nonetheless. There was a stage with folk music, and the traditional dancing, where the men slap their thighs. Oddly Hungarian folk dancing is almost entirely about the male dancers, who just twirl the girl under their arm, before going back for a good thigh slap. The stalls were very cute, but I didn't buy anything, because it was all quite expensive. I meandered towards the river, and gently strolled back to where I could get a bus, past the very pretty, and grand Belvarosi Plebania church.

Sally and I headed to a little jazz cafe off Blaha Lujza in the evening, called Jelen. There wasn't anything live music that night, but we got in some cheap wine, and enjoyed some very edible grub. Again I marvelled at the tremendous amount of space in Budapest bars, a far cry from the tight, crowded ones you find everywhere in London. Tim and Lovisa joined us, and I decided to show them my flat, which has hardly had any guests so far. Sally serenaded us on my piano, which is even more out of tune than I'd realised. Hopefully she's going to find someone to tune it, on the proviso I allow her to practice here. It's a pretty fair deal. How often can you get a concert pianist to play in your flat for free?

Quizzing with the expats

One of things I was sorry to leave in the UK was our regular pub quiz at The Castle, every Tuesday. So I was pleased to discover early on in my new city that Caledonia, a pub run by two Brits here, has one every other Thursday. Phew. The usual rounds, and guessing at random photos... What fun!

After two weeks of unusually cold weather, including snow, Spring finally arrived, and I actually trotted to work without a scarf. Walking home, I decided to head off in a slightly different direction from my normal route, and found some fresh beautiful buildings. Central Budapest has an almost Parisien feel at times, and felt so much more inviting in the balmy Spring late afternoon glow. After days of feeling rather despondent, I was hitting a good mood. Then I wondered back towards my normal route, and ran into all the annoying rubbish pile owners again. They didn't seem to care about blocking up the pavement, and neither do normal Hungarian pedestrians. As a confirmed fast-walker, I despise people a) getting in the way without giving a fuck b) refusing to be polite and always making you move out of there way. Nearly back at mine, I actually stood stock still because a woman was walking straight at me, in spite of my leaving plenty of room for her to walk on my left. She decided to barge past me out of spite. I'd had enough. Perhaps one day I'll become like my father and actually full-on shout at people. One day...

In the evening I headed out to the pub. There seemed to be so many people on the streets, presumably lured out by the change in weather. Caledonia's not far from me, up near Oktogon, and it didn't take me long to get there. Sally was there with her friends, many of whom I'd not met before. It was one of those places where you can't really hear someone more than a metre away, so unfortunately I didn't get a chance to really meet anyone else, except for a splendid American girl, who was very amusing.

In the end we didn't did okay - in spite of coming second from last - because there were only 6 points between us and the winning team. The usual questions we should have got right were there (I knew the Harlem Globetrotters were from Chicago!), but it was still a very fair showing. Well done us. See you at Caledonia in two weeks for the rematch.

Dodging the rubbish keepers

In the morning I walked to work, and saw that piles of rubbish were sitting outside people's homes. I didn't have time to stop, and couldn't have carried any of it in with me to work, so I had to pass up on a trawl through it. At the end of the day I hung around at work on the pretext of sorting out various accesses to programmes I'd need, hoping to give my sister a call. I tried twice, but she didn't answer. So I finished up my pretext and headed home. It was gone six, and dark outside. Feeling tired I jumped on a tram, and headed for Blaha Lujza Square. I'd hoped to pass a couple of the piles on the way home, see if I could grab something.

I cottoned on that this was something of an annual thing, or at least not too often, when the citizens of Budapest throw out their odds and ends onto the street, and it's picked up by a council service. In the mean time, the local gypsies (as they were described to me, though I doubt they are Romany, probably just the poorest people), come and take from it what they will.

But on the way home there was a slightly scary energy to it all. One woman shouted at a man who was picking up an old rug, and I assumed it was because she'd claimed it first. Suddenly there were lots of people in the street, hanging around, and these are streets where there's normally no one. They all seemed to be looking, with this slightly intense energy. Each pile seemed to have been claimed, with someone standing guard, who I assumed was looking to sell things. If it had been Brick Lane I might have stopped to browse, but in the darkness, in a foreign country, it was slightly scared, and decided to head for the safety of home.

It's such a shame for me, because I'm such a skip-diver in the UK, but it seems I won't get the chance here, even though the flat could still do with a lot of cool stuff.

The folks with the cimbalom

After a hard day at work, sitting around with my eyes become bleary, and watching an American guy get excited about systems on an online training video, I was, unsurprisingly, looking forward to a change of pace, and some Hungarian folk music.

Before I left, my new Brit friend, Phil, and his wife Judit, came round to drop off the old computer monitor they'd promised. Along for the ride was a tiny little pup that Judit called Shitty. The monitor was a godsend, and has revolutionised my life: I am eternally grateful. While they were there, Judit also checked over the contract for my internet, with pessimistic sucking in of air. It seems I could have been a tad screwed over. They're going to do their best to help me though. And Judit and her sister are meeting me for coffee on Saturday, and taking me round the huge food market by the Danube.

I called Sally, who gave me some directions to the pub where they perform folk music weekly. It was a little place, reached by a kind of garden gate in the wall, on a street near Njugati station. The band were playing in a converted beer cellar, and it had a terrific 1940s feel to it. They were a four-piece (though a slightly random guy, my friends call the King because of his outstanding moustache, was singing along occasionally), and this included the cimbalom. It's a traditional Hungarian instrument, in shape like a harpsichord, but in fact more like a xylophone with strings instead of blocks. With some inexpensive wine in me, it was a most enjoyable evening, and I'll probably end up there again some time.

Celebrating revolutions with rosettes and hussars

March 15th is a national holiday in Hungary, commemorating the revolution of 1848-9, when the country made a bit for freedom from those evil Hapsburgs. This year hussars were dotted around the capital, rather like those cows that popped up all over the place a few years back. For some reason the city decided English tourists would be interested in the history of the various regiments. As usual, the rather literal translations had a somewhat comic nature.

I'd been warned several times about potential political riots going on, but had not seen anything, and twitter told me things were peaceful thus far. Everyone was wearing a little rosette of green, red and white, which are apparently called something like 'cocado'. I shuffled off to an old lady and bought one for 200Fts. I like to think she put the money towards her own revolutionary fund. One old dear actually had some medals attached below the rosette (plastic ones), and I wondered if they were from her time spent revolting 150 years ago.

I met up with one of my new Hungarian friends, who had a friend of his in tow, and we headed off for one of the funicular railways that runs up one of the Budapest hills. At the bottom we tried a local sweet thing, biscuity balls - one coconut, one orange - which were quite pleasant, and sat briefly in the sun, trying to ignore the bitterly cold wind. On the way up the hill I repeatedly pointed out the snow to my companions, who said that Spring was coming. We talked about the corruption that plagues Hungarian politics (a fact all too common for most national governments, if not all). They seemed confused when I asked whether there were ever public enquiries. Apparently not.

At the top we popped into the children's railway. Not a railway for children in the traditional sense, but one run by them. It was something of an early achievement for the socialists; my friend joked that it was because they'd even got the children into the labourforce. Now it's something of a novelty, but the little station still has a beautiful mosaic above the ticket kiosk, depicting the children playing their little socialist games, ensconced in nature. Apparently the red squirrel was something of a celebrity back in those days. As much as Tufty??

We made the long walk (we didn't know how long when we started), along the road and through the woods. On the top of János Hill, at the highest point of Budapest, stands the Elizabeth Lookout (Erzsébet-kilátó, built in 1908-1910). The views are terrific, showing all of northern Budapest, as well as a lot of the surrounding countryside. At present all the trees are brown, but no doubt it will be an even more beautiful sight in a month's time. On that day though the wind almost knocked us over, as we intrepidly made our way to the top. After taking in as much as we could we made our way back into town.

I waited at home for some other friends, when I received an urgent phone call from Tim asking me to leave the house as soon as possible. I wondered why it was so important I meet them right now. It turned out it was because his girlfriend's hair was still wet from the baths, and she was getting cold. I thought it might be vampires (a little hooked on True Blood at present). I marched to the tram, and made my way to Oktogon. At the pub they were already eyeing the snack menu. We settled in for beer, snacks and cards. And that was how my day ended. No rioters in sight.

Glossing over the past without much care

I tried going on a date with a guy in his forties today. Needless to say it did not go well. While I stood there waiting for him I saw loads of old people around, and got a horrible preminition. Obviously I've got nothing against age, per se, otherwise I wouldn't have been there, but when he showed up he did not look good. His skin was almost translucent, and his nose had that thing where you could see lots of red veins. I knew it was a lost cause, but didn't have the heart to say so immediately. I thought I'd give it a chance, he might be a nice guy, and perhaps we could be friends.

Sadly it was not to be. He was from the old Buda part of town, and didn't know Pest at all, so that he didn't even have any suggestions of where we should go. His energy levels were really low, and he wasn't going to inspire me, which was what I was sorely needing at present. We went to find a restaurant for lunch, though he said he'd already eaten. I made the best of it and tried some local dishes, which were more than adequate. When I took him to the tram he asked if we'd meet again. I had to tell him that I didn't think it would be best. He seemed a little surprised.

He represented the split between Buda and Pest so well. The older, more sedentary sit on the westbank, generally better off than their Pest counterparts, often older, and feeling that their part of town is better. The younger people live in Pest, with its newer vibe, which is increasingly what the tourists want to see, but is also being stepped upon by foreign companies and cultures. The Danube is dividing more than just land.

When I got home I pondered what to do with the rest of my day, and asked an online contat for the best place to buy a new computer monitor, so that I could work on my laptop while watching films. He recommended a place in the West End mall, which, incidentally, was the place I'd gone on the first day to sort out my T-Mobile internet. I got the tram there, and walked quickly to the shop. Discovering a screen would set me back around £100, and a cable another £10, I left slightly disappointed, and wandered round the mall.

It was just like any number of shopping centres back in the UK: soulless yet flashy, and full of eager faces. I saw all the gloss and glitz, and evident new money in the place, and bemoaned the fact that Hungarians were obviously choosing to spend their money here rather than updating their beautiful capital, which is so clearly in need of an injection of funds. It's so sad, yet so common nowadays that people choose to live moment to moment, with selfish material fashionable objects, rather than taking care of what is and always will be: their lands and houses: their homes: their environment.

Despondency clung around me like an ill-fitting cloak as I headed home. The door to my floor refused to open again, causing me to struggle for five minutes with the key, fearing it would snap and all would be lost. When I finally got into the flat I sent an email to my landlord telling him all about it, but appreciating there was little he could do, it being a communal door.

The English guy who'd stalked me on twitter came up on msn, and started talking to me. He's a terrific guy, and everso helpful, having a lot of compassion for the plight of Brits in Budapest. He lives here with his wife, and, I soon discovered, four dogs - I asked if it was possible to borrow one on occasion. All my problems were solved, as he kindly offered to bring me over an old computer monitor on the Tuesday evening, when his wife would check my T-Mobile contract, and see if it would be possible to relieve me of it. Along with information on a nearby Lidl, a promise to bring over a whole load of films on his harddrive, and advice on other internet providers, he put me in touch with his young sister-in-law, who would show me around the town. Good things come to those who wait....

Breaking bread with the expats

Having spent the morning in Tesco, I was ready for a break, and a change of scene, and headed off to watch the rugby with Tim and his girlfriend in Legends, the sportsbar near the Elizabeth Bridge. I don't often go to see it in the UK, but was hoping to meet some more expats, and stretch out my circle of friends a little more. Expat communities are potentially problematic though, brought together with one common sense, but still potentially as disparate as any group.

The Tesco hypermarket near where I live is the kind of place where people push dwarf conifers around in their trolleys, and actual bob-bobbing fish float around in a tank by the fishmongers. Everyone seemed intent on running into one another, and blaming the other person for it. It wasn't long before I felt like full-on shouting in someone's face. I was still not in a good mood, but trying to make the best of a bad lot, and had gone to stock up on juice, frozen veg, and various teas. On a whim I decided to buy a kettle. I knew it was a luxury (a £7 Tesco Value kettle), but I felt it was well worth it. At home I quickly unwrapped it and made my first cuppa.

The bar was across town, and looked easiest to get to by bus. I'd put off using the buses thus far, because I wasn't sure I'd know where they went or when to get off (trams and the metro are far clearer in that respect). I didn't realise I'd missed my stop till I had, then it did exactly what I'd feared, racing on for another ten minutes, before finally stopping, in spite of my frequent 'pings' on the bell at other stops. I wasn't sure where it had dropped me, so crossed the road and waited to make the return journey.

Making the short walk to the pub I noticed a dog that looked decidedly like a mop, and had to take a quick photo. It's apparently called a Komondor, and is one of the most famous breeds of Hungarian dog. This one had a little rosette around its neck, but I doubted it had been at Crufts (which was on this weekend). I bustled into the pub, feeling rather like a wrinkled mop myself, and made my apologies.

During the match various people arrived, who Tim knew in varying degrees. At our end of the table were his girlfriend, and another English girl he'd met watching another match a couple of weeks back: they were both lovely. The rest of the people seemed to keep more to themselves at the other end, and I wasn't quite sure what to make of them. I was wearing a vesttop, which appeared to cause some consternation. I hate it when people base their opinion of you on such a trivial thing. The game ended in a draw, which roughly represented my sense of the two groups, and my bittersweet feeling towards it all.

Our end headed off to Szimpla bar, where the others promised to join us later. It's a terrific place, which feels rather latin, and made a nice change from the spaceless bars and clubs of London. We found a table and continued on with the general banter we'd been having on the way over. The rest of the guys joined us, and we broke up into little groups, fluidly moving between one and another, conversation and drinks flowing. At about midnight we decided to call it a night, and left the others to it. All in all I was not convinced we'd become bosom buddies, but was very enamoured with our little group.

The expat community in Budapest is there for anyone that wants to find it, and largely it's quite an open group, which you can slowly discover, swinging from little groups like this to others, like Tarzan. Your openness to other people, and willingness to compromise will prove the extent to which you'll make friends, and you'll quickly find yourself making those sort of choices. Be brave enough to say hello, but also to hold your own and know when it's best to say no.

Girls may not wanna have fun with Brits

Friday mornings are always extremely easy and extremely hard: knowing that you're so close to that magical lie in, but you're still one day away. I wasn't convinced I'd get any nearer figuring out what it was I was actually supposed to do, in spite of a two hour training session in the afternoon.

At lunchtime I went out with the girls this time, to a restaurant near Kalvin Ter, an area more frequented by tourists, a sign that it was unlikely to be as bargaintastic as the previous day. Indeed it wasn't, but it was still very reasonable by English standards. I went for chicken livers, and unfortunately my meal looked decidedly less attractive than theirs. I consoled myself with the fact mine was probably the healthiest. Surprisingly though the girls were very quiet, and seemed a little nervous. I imagined it was because they'd normally natter away in Hungarian, and so my presence was a decided complication. Ah well, perhaps I'd grow on them.

The afternoon training was very tiring, running through a long overview of the accounting processes with several powerpoint slideshows. It was educational, but frightfully dull, and I was glad to have an excuse to get out a little early, needing to get a form signed by the HR douche before he went on holiday. Come five o'clock I was very pleased to be going home, and looked forward to plans I had.

As I got to my door the phone rang. It was the annoying guy who acts as representative for my landlord. After a frustrating phone call, where I once more tried to make myself understood without antagonising him to much, I found myself spitting feathers, and wanting to hit things. He was going to come round on Tuesday with my bills. I was amazed at the cost giving that I'd been here less than two weeks! But trying to ask whether they were just from the period I'd rented the place was useless. Thank goodness he'd not called the night before, when I was already feeling overwrought and weepy.

Unfortunately the plans I had for the evening quickly got cancelled, and I faced a rather depressing night in alone. I managed to convince a friend to come over, if only for a few hours, and set about doing a little housework in the mean time. There is something deeply satisfying about clean dishes, and a very appetising, if utterly simple supper (cheap man's risotto). Roll on the weekend...and another trip to Tesco!!

Crashing with soggy feet

I woke up for the second morning feeling very tired. Knowing that I had a doctor's appointment at 9am I'd woken up at about 6am, and never really got back to sleep, assisted by thin curtains and noisy dustbin men. Clambering out of bed I saw that it was snowing quite heavily outside, and tried to dress accordingly, the only problem being I'd not packed for snow. In a few hours my feet would be soaked, but it wasn't till the end of the day that my spirits were truly dampened.

Riding the tram out to the westbank (Buda), I got off and went into the underpass, intending to head south. The snow was thick and I hoped the surgery wasn't far along the road, since it actually went off the bottom of my map, which was getting damp in the flurrying white drizzle. After walking for about fifteen minutes, and phoning the receptionist to tell her I'd be late, I found someone to ask for directions. Quickly I discovered that I was in completely the wrong place, having confused two of the bridges, and tromped off northward, back to square one, my feet slowly stewing in my shoes.

Eventually I found the doctors, and after a twenty minute way, during which I filled in their form and read a little of the copy of Ovid Joel gave me, I was ushered into the exam room. A very attractive female doctor saw me, and began asking the usual questions. She couldn't understand why I'd left England for this 'poorly-paid wasteland', where she said she got no respect, and a terrible wage. I didn't ask her why she'd left the Middle East to come here herself. When she read on my form that I'd once attempted suicide she was stunned. She couldn't fathom why I might do it, and basically told me how utterly crazy and foolish I was. I suspect it was a cultural misunderstanding, since there are still a lot of people, primarily those outside the US and the UK, who hold this sort of view, and can't really understand depression at all.

Formalities through with, I set off for the office. To reach there it seemed necessary to me to find an enormous puddle, and plunge into it, so that my already soaked shoes took on a ratio where they were more water than material. At my desk I quickly removed my shoes, and even my socks. Whenever I had to go and see someone I slipped my shoes back on temporarily, and relieved myself once more when I could sit down. It was to be another day where I understood very little, and gained even less knowledge of what it was I was to do there. Endless computer systems, with their usual puzzling abbreviations, and complex processes of acquiring access to them.

Some of the guys at work kindly took me out to lunch with them, to a place near the office that served huge portions for miniscule prices, and was apparently called something innocuous, like 500 Eyes. This is what was left of the Baked Alaska I ordered, and I was certain could sustain the entire population of that outer US province. I was a little surprised, because the guys I was with were so very friendly, and didn't seem at all phased by my being gay. We chatted quite happily, about various things, including my views on chicken farming, and the Body-Mass-Index of suitcases.

By the time I was heading home, though, I realised I was reaching a mini crisis point. Going home in the dark, feeling very tired and needing to go to Tesco, life felt very bleak, and I wondered why the hell I'd moved all the way here if there weren't to be any perks. I felt sad, lonely, and despondent of the tired monotony of the daily grind, especially since I didn't feel in the least sure when I'd be able to go into work and just get on with my own bits. The dream seemed to be crashing down around my ears. I texted my sister to say as much, and she tried calling to offer solace. Sadly I missed her call, and had not a clue how to pick up my voicemail.

Coming back from Tesco I resolved to be proactive and figured out everything I needed to do before bed: cook some dinner, write my blog, have a shower, and catch up with my sister on MSN. I managed three out of four, and considered it a fair score. Setting the alarm for the morning, I cuddled in under my bedclothes, and tried to make the best of things, if not entirely convinced.

Nearly not nine-to-fiving with a douche

Fully intending to go to work that day - my first day of work, I hasten to add - I woke early (7.30am is extraordinarily early for me), and headed off to the tax office once more. A little nervous about them not understanding English, I had the note in Hungarian my colleague had written down for me. In spite of the nearly two hour wait, and a woman who looked rather like a character from Bo Selecta, I managed to get my tax number, and was on my way to the heady world of the Hungarian workplace. Or so I thought...

Calling the HR man (here after referred to as "the douche"), he informed me, in a way that made it clear I was unimportant to him, that he would be able to see me that afternoon at 2pm, after lunch. Though it was not quite 10 in the morning, apparently there was no way he could fit me in sooner, even though it had been arranged for a month that this would be my starting date at the firm. God forbid I disturb him, and especially his hour-long lunch. Douche.

So there I was, left to my own devices for the next four hours. Knackered I took advantage of a little lie down with an episode of something on my laptop, and enjoyed the opportunity to relax. (I'd nearly fallen asleep earlier, in the tax office.) Checking the various online websites I use, I arranged to meet a New Zealand guy, who was passing through town, for a coffee. An hour or so later, we met in Blaha Lujza Square and headed off. Spotting a picture outside a sort of restaurant that looked something like congealed custard, he decided it looked simply devine and that he must try it. Tentatively I agreed, considering that it would at least be interesting to see if it could actually manage to be any worse than it looked. When he sat down to eat it, it was apparently delicious: I was not convinced.

As it turned out he was the classic anglo-saxon gay male from western society I have become so very used to. Quickly it became apparent that he felt he was better than me, and spending time in my presence was a terrible bore. What made me laugh was that he was an aspiring novelist, and in spite of being ten years older than me, he couldn't see the incredible cliche that he was. His novel was a) everso interesting b) something everyone who read it had loved and c) far more compelling an idea than mine. It reminded me of one of the poor ITV attempts at writing 'new' Miss Marple episodes. Of course this means it'll probably be highly marketable, like Dan Brown, or the novel is Tom Sharpe's fun book The Great Pursuit. Two douches in one day, I was clearly on a roll.

Later at the office I signed all the various forms thrown at me. I couldn't understand, given that the douche had had all my information for weeks he hadn't figured out a way to copy and paste it across them, before requiring me to do just that by hand. Next he informed me of a small exam I'd have to take next month, something which apparently had slipped his mind, and then, the piece de resistance, he had forgotten to get me to take my medical. I'd been there over a week, and at any other point, while I was fannying around with nothing to do, I could easily have got it done. He told me not to mention it to anyone, since strictly speaking I should have had it before I started, but oh well. The douche.

The afternoon passed reasonably, meeting with all my new colleagues, and instantly forgetting all their names. I asked the girl I sat next to to help me right a quick aide de memoir of them all. The big joke though, was that they'd given me reams of paper about fire safety, etc, but because of budget cut backs on stationery I got one pad and one pen for the next three months. "We have to request it quarterly," she told me. The punitive measures are clearly causing staff morale to falter.

That night I met up with an English guy I met through a friend of a friend on Facebook. I've come to accept that spurious connections should not make you think twice, and are just as rewarding. We went to a sports bar to watch the Man U v AC Milan match. The first one we went to was called Champs (sports bars all over the world truly have the most ridiculous names), and was full of men I found a little scary, because they all looked decidedly able to beat me up. We headed off because there was literally no where to sit or even stand really. Even the table with car seat chairs was gone! (Probably a favourite with regulars.) So we headed off. Tim, decided the one offering girls girls girls sounded just a touch seady, so we wandered off to Legends. Of course the streets near it each had strip joints on, with those freaky men outside trying to lure you in...or should that be leer you in??

I headed home after the match, a little worse for wear, given the double whisky chaser I added to the large beer. Tim was adamant that Prague is superior on all counts. I told him he should go and marry it then. I managed a meat-spread sandwich, and fell asleep...