Monthly Archives: March 2008

Near death experience…..

Posted on by
2

…. ok, maybe not – But it could have been.

A couple of years ago, a few weeks into a new job, I started getting a real nasty pain across my back. This got worse as the day went on, culminating in me having to stop driving on the way home until it eased off.

That night, the pain got more and more intense and I was keeping Sarah awake. So, being ever chivalrous I told her to sod off downstairs and sleep on the couch…..OK, ok, so that would have caused me considerably more pain. What I actually did was head downstairs onto the couch for the worst nights sleep I had ever had (at that point).

The next morning, still in massive pain, I decide that it would be a really good idea to go to work. I still to this day have no idea what I was thinking, but try I did. It was at the point of pulling my trousers on that I collapsed backwards (and rather fortuitously) onto the couch. Pain the likes of which I had never felt before reduced me to tears, whereupon Zak comes sauntering downstairs and finds me.

“Whats up daddy?”

“Go and get your mum please son”

Off runs Zak back upstairs and tells Sarah that and I quote “Daddy is crying mummy, come and help him”. Now, you might all be thinking “awww, bless him”, you forget the male ego – All I was thinking was “Traitor, I will have my revenge when you decide to bring a girl home to meet the parents….”

Nah, just kidding – I was really pleased that the sight of his dad crying didn’t freak him out, and, at just under 3 years old, he was able to process the information and go get his mum.

Sarah arrives, notices (in this order) Dave on couch, trousers halfway up legs, Dave crying.

Once the laughter died down she decided to call the docs.

Now, it should be pointed out at this time that I hate hospitals. A lot. No really, I detest them. I will go great lengths to avoid doctors and especially hospitals. I am not a great believer in faith healing or anything hippy and new agey, I just believe that me and hospitals do NOT belong anywhere near each other.

The doctor arrives and I am now determined to show that there is in fact nothing wrong with me. I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn’t been for that pesky pain. Just as the doc has duly prescribed a day off to rest, the traitorous back pain flares up. I am now rocking backwards and forwards like a pregnant woman in the beginnings of labour.

Doc procedes to exam me again, only this time managing to find the exact series of spots that cause me to yelp, like a dog, a naughty dog that has just been hit on the nose with a rolled up paper for so much pee on the carpet. She made me yelp. Doctors. Are. Bastards.

I am then admitted to hospital immediately with gallstones.

Genius, morphine drip, TFT television I can pull just in front of my face and watch shite TV at the bargain basement price of £10 per day. Oh, and a built in telephone that charges more than your average 0898 sex chat line (apparently). Did I say morphine drip? Possibly one of the best inventions of the modern world. Ahh, blessed relief. I don’t recall phone conversations with family, but apparently people were phoning just to hear my random blitherings for a laugh, such was the effect of the Morphine.

Anyhoo, they keep me in for a few days and I get the miracle recovery. No amount of radioactive toxic poisoning from various scans reveals even the smallest gallpebble, let alone stone, and they let me go home.

Sarah collects me and we head home. About halfway home (15 minutes), I start to get a headache and feel a bit sick. No problem, I will ignore it, that method has served me so well just recently…

About 2 hours later I have one hell of a migraine (just a headache, it will pass) and another hour after I start being sick.

This continues through the very worst nights sleep I have ever had.

By the next morning I was really struggling, to the point of being unable to even keep a glass of water down for more than about 15 minutes. The headache now felt like I was being forced to listen to Steps and the Fast Food Rockers on repeat in my own personal hell. Sarahs wonderful boss told her she could stay home and look after me, providing she did the first two calls of the day (she was a care worker).

She got home an hour or so later and by now I literally cannot keep a sip of water down, but I am hella dehydrated, so I keep drinking anyway (Catch 22 anyone?).

As I am not an emergency apparently, the ambulance says it could be 3-4 hours to come get me. I am now so badly dehydrated that I am starting to hallucinate. I have vague recollections of the next few hours. I remember my mum and dad turning up, a small fight when someone tried to take my water away from me. The car ride from hell to the hospital (every bump was like a million smurfs pounding on my head with their little hammers of doom…they have those right?) and being put in a private ward so that…and I quote “He doesn’t freak the other patients out”. Did I mention that patients are bastards. I will tell you about my wonderful neighbour patients in a future post….

It is at this point that I am relying on information provided by Sarah after I left the hospital. Apparently the following happened:

  • I was carried into the bed (no small feat, way to go strong nurses and dad)
  • Someone tried to take my water away from me
  • I freaked
  • Seriously freaked, like a small child when having his favourite toy taken away from him. I was hanging onto my water so hard they thought I was going to break the glass.
  • I had no idea where I was, and apparently who I was
  • I still wouldn’t give up the water..Sarah says I was literally screaming “You can’t have it, you won’t give it back” over and over
  • Oh yeah, the sink was less than a foot away from my bed, water aplenty

Eventually I relented apparently, some time around the time that my new best friend, the lovely morphine drip, came to visit.  Unfortunately, morphine drip clearly had far better things to do than take my pain away.  So I basically stayed awake, rocking like those people that normally get given crash helmets on “special wards”, until my body could literally take now more and I collapsed with exhaustion.

Now those of you with any experience of British hospitals can vouch for this:

The number of doctors, nurses, ward assistants and orderlies available at any given time to assist in the treatment of patients is in direct contrast to the amount of sleep a patient has managed.

Basically each time my body gave in and I fell into fitful sleep, in they came to wake me up by turning on 1000w halogen lights, examining me, changing drips and taking blood samples.  They managed to achieve all of this work in, probably, 1 minute over the time where I could have fallen back to sleep.  Meaning I am now awake and in pain.  Have I mentioned that doctors are bastards yet?  Yes?  Good.

In addition to the lack of sleep, the bloodwork comes back and with no small amount of joy, the doctor tells Sarah that I am not suffering from Meningitis.  After the joy subsided, I was stricken by the realisation that noone had previously mentioned this as a possibility.  Again, doctors..bastards…am I getting through?

So, in the absence of knowledge, they do what anyone would…they start giving me random cocktails of drugs in an effort to ease the pain.  Nothing works, generally I throw up within about 10 minutes of recieving said drug cocktail…this means that they can’t give me anymore for four hours due to not knowing how much I had digested… repeat ad infinitum

I think I was like this for 4 days

  • Rock with pain until around 2am
  • Fall asleep as body can’t take anymore
  • 2.10am, wake up to bright light and various proddings/exams.
  • 2.25am, feel like I could go back to sleep
  • 2.26am, proddings and exams finish..me now wide awake (albeit still exhausted)
  • 2.36am, throw up tablets…call nurse
  • 2.40am, nurse makes notes, recommends different drugs…which will be administered in 4 hours
  • Rock with pain until around 6am
  • Repeat throughout day…..

Good eh?  I liked it.

Now, whilst I maintain that doctors are bastards…Ward Sisters, now they are goddamn angels or something else totally genius and amazing..

After 4 days of hell, I am at the 2am rocking with pain stage when I get visited by an absolute vision….the Ward Sister.  She arrives in a blur of blue cotton…straightening, checking temperatures etc.  I assume I am in for the usual nightmare cycle.  Then it happens, and I remember this vividly, she stares at me rocking like a lunatic for a few minutes and says “Still no better eh?  Right, it ends tonight”.

“What do you mean?” says I, at this point glad of the bedpan as I am thinking mercy killing quite frankly.

“Give me 10 minutes” says she, and leaves….

I then hear, what can only be described as, raised voices and “heated” discussion.  I don’t know what is being said, only that this Ward Sister may be about to kill me.  Sure enough, 10 minutes later she arrives back in the room with a tray containing a syringe….cue another bedpan change.

While focussing on the syringe, it dawns on me that she is talking to me..

“Now Dave, I am going to inject this into your dripfeed pipe and I need you not to panic.  It is going to feel very strange and is important that you remain as calm as possible”

“What is it?”

“Morphine.  I am going to deliver it directly into your bloodstream, are you ready?”

Now, when she pushed the syringe, I literally felt the morphine rush around my system and punch (what felt like through the top of my head.  I lifted off the bed with the force of it and I immediately panicked (sorry Sister) and started hypervenilating.  The Ward Sister quickly ran round the other side of the bed and started calming me down with very soothing speech and stroking my head.  Within a minute I simply had a nasty headache – No more, no less.

Doctors may be bastards, Ward Sisters are genius – It’s that simple.

A day later I am on the phone to my nan, who is persuading me to have a lumbar puncture.  A lumbar puncture, for those that don’t know, is where a doctor inserts a large needle right next to your spine.  The purpose of this is to extract spinal fluid for testing.  I of course was happy to do this without even the slightest argument…Hence the call from nan.  Dammit nan, you were supposed to be on my side.

So eventually I get told that the procedure will take place at around 1am..the doctor arrives, looking like he really needs more coffee, and starts prodding my back.  When asked why he was doing this, I am told that he needs to feel for where the needle goes in, oh and I shouldn’t move.

Thats right ladies and gentlemen, unbeknownst to me, this is a blind procedure, BLIND….as in CAN’T BE SURE ABOUT LOCATION

Cue bedpan

Sing it with me, “Doctors are bastards”

A short while later I am diagnosed with Meningitis (Yep, after they said it wasn’t already).  Fortunately it was Viral and not Bacterial they say.  Phew says I, caught a break there*

Everyone smiles and a days later I go home.

* I checked wikipedia for Meningitis some days later.  Whilst Bacterial Meningitis is a really quick killer and I was definately lucky not to have that one…here is what it says about viral:

“Viral meningitis
Patients diagnosed with mild viral meningitis may improve quickly enough to not require admission to a hospital, while others may be hospitalized for many more days for observation and supportive care. Overall, the illness is usually much less severe than bacterial meningitis.”

USUALLY???

Doctors. Are. Bastards 

Back once again..

Posted on by
Reply

So on Friday 14th all hell broke loose due to my server being attacked.  This in turn took down every site attached to it (around 15-20), a couple gameservers and a voice chat server.

At 21:03, I recieve this email

Hello!

Please stop this or your server will be disconnected.

“List of attacks to other server.”

I probably don’t need to explain that this was sent approximately 1 minute before they acted on their word and disconnected the server.  The Laughing Wolf was offline.

I didn’t recieve this email until I got everything back online at around 03:20 the next morning.  Based on the information recieved from the datacenter and from the logs on the server, my machine was an unwitting accomplice in a DDOS (Distributed Denial Of Service) to some company in the States (sorry America, I didn’t know I promise).

Now, techy and geeky as I am, my linux skills are just about on a par with my underwater basket weaving skills.  Basically, after I thought it would be a great idea to get my own server and install linux on it, I then realised I had to get the thing configured.  I managed this with a little help from people on the net, google and a whole lot of luck.  As a result, when the box was up and working, I was terrified to change anything in case it didn’t work again.

I therefore subscribed to the mantra “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”.

Now, whilst this may work for your TV that you have to tape the power button down on, unfortunately, even the most technically naive soul will be able to tell you that security updates to software happen for a reason…

So anyway, after about 6 hours of work, trawling through logs and files that, frankly, I have no real understanding of, I start to see a pattern of new users, groups and services running on the server.  I duly remove these and a weary Laughing Wolf limps back onto the interweb.

A day goes by and all appears well.  Another day passes and I am feeling pretty confident.  By Tuesday morning, the server is still up, I check my email, pat myself on the back and head to work as norml.

Idiot.

Arriving at work, I quickly check my email again….no response, server down. Bollocks.

A quick call to the server host confirms that the attack started up again.

So, to cut a long story slightly less long.  I spent Tuesday night after work until Wednesday morning at 05:30 rebuilding the thing from scratch with a completely new (and up to date) operating system, with all new (and up to date) software.

Just in time to start painting my apartment for the impending move.

  • Was I semi-useless – Yes
  • Am I glad that I had 2 friends to pick up the slack – Yes
  • Is my apartment now a pearly, blinding white -  Yes

I better get  going as there is more painting to be done.  More stories from my past soon and I may even have something mildly amusing.

She just canna tek it capn, we don't have the pooer

Posted on by
Reply

LAN party goodness - The left side ended up with no power…A while ago I used to run LAN parties (I mentioned my general geekiness before right?), they started off with about 9 people taking over my house for the weekend, and ended up with some decent numbers and some excellent prize giveaways. It was fun, bloody hard work, but fun.

So anyway, we were running our 7th, LAN in an old building where power requirements were quite….tight shall we say.

We setup the LAN, everyone started arriving and setting up, the games had commenced and fun was being had by all. We even had Lindsay and her friend doing a cafe type thing in the Kitchen just off the main room.
I think it was the next morning where we experienced our first power outage. Bang, the whole room tripped out and we had essentially melted the main distribution board. We managed to limp back into life, but only with half of the LAN running. Now with tournaments to run, beers to be drunk and various other distractions, I didn’t need 50% of the attendees bored out of their minds.

We phoned around for a generator, a friend of a friend apparently had one that could power half the world if necessary. Unfortunately, the friend of a friend had decided to take his entirely family on holiday to have fun in the sun. Selfish Bastard.

With that down, another friend mentioned that he had a small generator that could probably power 5 or 6 PCs. We jumped at the chance, and the “smoking room”, quickly became the power core. It also became ridiculously loud and with a distinct smell of petrol. All was well, if you class well as having 5 PCs fading in and out like something out of Star Trek when some alien ship/being starts to drain the power.

In fear for their PCs, the attendees decided to switch off…probably a good call.

At this point, with stress levels at an all time high for me and Lee (more stories about Lee later), we were probably minutes away from people starting to leave…when this happened:

Scene Right: Entrance: Lindsay approaches stressed Lee and Dave across the room, she is carrying something.

Close up: Dave/Lee: They acknowledge Lindsay but do not see what is being carried – They appear distracted

Close up: Lindsay: (In a cheerful tone) “You will figure it out guys, here – Have a coffee”

Close up: Lindsays hands: Lindsay proffers not one but two cups, there appears to be a milky brown liquid inside and possibly smoke coming from them.

Pull back: All 3: Dave and Lee gratefully accept steaming hot coffee, each take a sip and place their cups on the table in front of them

Close up: Dave: “Thanks, I really need this”

Close up: Lee: “Me too, thanks Linds”

Close up: Dave: “How the hell are we going to do this?”

Close up: Lee: “No fucking idea mate, but we better think fast”

Pull back: All 3: Dave picks up coffee for another drink – Dave: “Nice coffee Linds, thanks again”

Close up: Lee: “Yeah, it’s good – Where did you get it from?”

I think you can all see where this fine script is heading…

Pull back: All 3: Lindsay: “From the kitchen, why? Do you want another one”

It was at this point that Lee and I made a mad dash to the kitchen to discover that it remained blissfully unaffected by the power issues we were having…Lee told me afterwards that commercial kitchens have to run off of their own, high capacity, ring main and distribution due to the requirements of some commercial kitchen appliances.

After beating him repeatedly about the head for not telling me that in the first place, we hastily looped some power through into the kitchen and the party was in full swing once more.

We. Are. Idiots

Honesty is the best policy

Posted on by
1

A few years ago, the elder of my two younger brothers got married.

It was a fantastic day and everything that it should have been for the married couple.  Everything went superbly from the “Mad Professor” organist to me spinning my Nan around in her wheelchair because “she would love to dance with everyone, but can’t these days”*

My youngest brother gave the speech, and quite frankly blew everyone away.  Who knew he could be so eloquent and funny….clearly he has my share.  I was trying to take photographs of the speeches, so I can’t remember the entire speech, but the opening was fantastic.

“Being asked to be best man is kind of like being asked to have sex with the queen…. It’s a great honour, but nobody really wants to do it”

I don’t know if that had been done before, but a lot of photos came out blurry just after that Grin 

Now, as has already been mentioned, my dad was in the RAF, so as such we led a pretty fantastic life.  I wouldn’t say that we were spoilt, but we certainly weren’t left wanting for anything.  Living in the security of the British Armed Forces, you have experiences that a lot of people may never get the opportunity to have.  You tend to have a very dry and sarcastic sense of humour.  You also get used to certain things.

One of those things is (in my case) RAF bars.  RAF bars (to the uninitiated) run at cost for the most part, and tend to be staffed by service personnel as part of their job.  Let me give you an example; A single shot of Smirnoff Vodka in a normal UK bar would set you back around £2.00, in an RAF bar you would be expecting to pay around £0.60

 To my family and I, this is perfectly normal.  To people that are close enough to my family and I to be invited to bases regularly, this is normal.  To most of the guests of my brothers wedding, most of whom have never been to an RAF base…let alone a bar, this is not normal at all.

 I recall buying a round of drinks for 10 people and getting change from a tenner…yes folks, it is THAT good.  I recommend applying to your nearest RAF recruitment center Grin

Now, to the title of the post.  After this happend the first time, I actually stayed at the bar so that I could watch the reactions of people when asked for payment. 

It was very easy to classify family and regular visitors, their behaviour is thus:

  1. Order
  2. Pay
  3. Thank barman/woman/person <— damn political correctness
  4. Make the statement “And one for yourself” to the barthingy <— this is how they earn a bit extra
  5. Take drinks
  6. Leave

It was also quite easy to classify those that have been to an RAF bar or two in their time:

  1. Order
  2. Pay
  3. Thank barthingy and laugh about how cheap it is
  4. Make hysterical comment about how you would never leave etc etc 
  5. Wait for polite laugh of embarassment from barthingy to confirm that you are indeed a comedy genius
  6. Take drinks
  7. Leave

It was also easy to spot those that were in an RAF bar for the very first time… However, they fell into two distinct categories:

Category 1 behaviour:

  1. Order
  2. Ask for price
  3. Show moderate disbelief and ask for price again
  4. Confirm that barthingy hasn’t forgotten to add the <insert multiple beverage here> to the bill
  5. Ask for price again
  6. Pay
  7. Thank barthingy and laugh about how cheap it is
  8. Take drinks
  9. Leave

Category 2 behaviour:

  1. Order
  2. Ask for price
  3. Raise eyebrows for a split nanosecond and fumble in wallet/purse for money quick
  4. Practically throw money at barthingy
  5. Whilst waiting for change, beckon friends to sprint over and get all the drinks
  6. Take change
  7. Smile to self and skulk away before someone notices that a £30 round just cost you £5

It was category 2 that kept me at the bar for the better part of an hour, that and the £0.50 cost of the ApfelKorn Grin.  I guess what I found the most funny about this was that, their behaviour was repeated every time they came to the bar.  Although they would try and send someone else each time, I assume that this was just in case the barthingy realised that they had made a mistake and came after them.

What is the point of this?  None really, although observing this behaviour gave me an evil thought.  It may also have been the Apfelkorn, I can never be sure…

I waited a little longer until I saw a category 2 male heading to the toilets and followed.  When he was on his way back, I took him to one side and told him that the barmaid had been sent home (true, she had been working 8 hours and someone else came in to take over).  Apparently the till was around £90 lighter than it should have been.  I also may have mentioned that, as the barmaid is a member of the RAF, she would not get fired, but she would be arrested by the Military Police on grounds of theft.  I couldn’t quite commit to, but recognise the possibility that, I may have also said that it is likely she would be courtmarshalled.  I also seem to recall a voice, not too dissimilar to mine, mentioning that this particular barmaid had already been questioned before about undercharging and possible theft, which is why it was so serious now.

My explanation for not turning him in, my dad was in the RAF and had vouched for every person on the base for the wedding, even if he didn’t know them, and he could get in trouble for this.

I told him that if I happened to “find” the missing money, I could claim that she had dropped it whilst counting the till (quite impressed he bought that tbh)…I said that people would believe me because of my dad, but that we only had about 15 minutes before the MPs arrived.

I waited for him to round up the money from his cohorts and told him I would go and “find it”**

The moral of this tale?  READ THE FUCKING PRICELIST ON THE WALL NEXT TO YOU

People can be idiots

* How I didn’t make her throw up is beyond me…she always loved having fun - RIP Nan, I am always thinking about you…

** I did give it back later. No honestly..I really did

Don't panic!!!!

Posted on by
3

Ok, so after the break up I have been somewhat of a procrastinator – I haven’t quite packed as much as I had planned, nor have I started redecorating for the new tenant after I leave.

I have found time to blog recently, but seeing as I do that on my 2nd monitor whilst watching TV shows, that probably doesn’t count as an actual activity…

Now all of a sudden everything kicks off. I get a message from Sarah to tell me that they now have a house from Monday and to get my arse in gear, and get the stuff over to the UK. At the same time, I find a tenant to take over the lease when I leave.

Cool, thinks I, 6 weeks to get sorted – Nice one…not so, tenant lady needs to be in on the 1st of April

Holy.Fucking.Crapola

So, I now have 17 days to finish packing, decorate, deliver practically the full contents of a 3 bedroom house to the UK and move into my new apartment. Damn you procrastination, damn you to hell.

To say nothing of the fact that I have to work all day throughout the week, leaving all this work to my scheduled TV time Confused

Ahh well, back to The 4400 and Flight of the Conchords….

….Oh, as an aside – Just got this in my email

A “Unique” blend, methinks

I have GOT to get me some of that Grin

I love the smell of napalm…

Posted on by
Reply

…although perhaps not the taste.

It was long ago, a simpler time when men were men and New Years Eve BBQ street parties were brought together by the contents of what looked like a dark green varnish tin, but in fact contained a purple jelly like substance known as Napalm.

The thing about Napalm, the important thing to remember about Napalm, is that it is not listed on very many outdoor cooking sites as a suitable BBQ lighter fuel.  The reasons for this should be relatively apparent….toxic sausage* anyone?

So the scene is set:

  • Grassed area usually used by kids for football, taken over for party - Check
  • 4 giant oil drum BBQs – Check
  • 3 12×12 RAF tents to store….stuff – Check
  • Enough food to supply an estate of people with around 600 houses – Maybe not, but some people won’t come – so… Check
  • 1 x Organiser with serious shortcomings in the sense of humour area – Check
  • Oh… and booze – Lots of booze – Check

The party starts getting underway, is in full swing some might say.  I, at approximately age 14, and along with my friends, have found the backup booze stash and started “experimenting” with different concoctions in a Stein.  This does cloud my actual memory somewhat, so some of the specifics of the night escape me.  I do know that this was my first experience of a beer induced pavement pizza…

Things that may or may not have definitely possibly happened:

  • Napalm smoked BBQ food scattered everywhere after taste #1
  • Organiser type person completely unable to put out the Napalm induced BBQs….as this is the way Napalm works – FFS**
  • 200 people decided that they would follow my Mum and Dad*** to their cellar bar for a “Proper Party”
  • “Argumentative Couple” have their weekly argument, things get broken and the Military Police show up
  • My Mum decides that the best use for Napalm flambe sausages is to plug the police cars exhaust pipe like in the movies****
  • Police car makes a decidedly unhealthy noise, some would call it a bang, I called it an explosion and the engine breaks
  • My Mum and her cohorts try to sneak back to the party unseen and fail…miserably
  • Some stupid 14 year old kid, whose name escapes me*****, walks right up to his parents and announces that he is not drunk and has not just been sick.
  • Same 14 year old kid throws up in front of parents
  • Then falls in pavement pizza
  • Parents respond by laughing uncontrollably
  • Organiser type person begins shovelling mud/grass from field into BBQ to try and quell heat/flames
  • Rest of street party attempt to squeeze into my Mum and Dads cellar bar – Most end up in my bedroom (in cellar at my request btw)
  • Topfer Strasse collective party hard and almost nothing gets destroyed in either the cellar bar or my bedroom – Result!
  • Organiser person refuses to recognise that his party died hours ago and stays resolutely at his post, seemingly cooking the field now
  • Organiser persons wife and kids are forced to stay with him whilst the rest of the estate are in our cellar
  • New Year comes and goes
  • Nobody notices
  • Last person leaves our cellar at approximately 8am

That was the night that was – I do not recommend napalm smoked sausages – But I can recommend parents like mine that managed to save an entire estates New Years Eve party….even if it did annoy organiser type person…. yey!

* Oh come on, there has to be a band called Toxic Sausage…”Please put your hands together for Toxic Sausage, and their number 1 hit single…Napalm BBQ”

** Seriously, someone from the RAF that has access to stores of Napalm MUST have even the most basic understanding of how it works

*** Now, I know other people claim to have the coolest parents in the world OK Seriously for example - I just want to go on record to say that actually mine are at the top.

**** See!!!!

***** Me Confused

I love Germany

Posted on by
1

I am a bit busy tonight, so just a quick one.

The genius of living in a foreign country, is the products…. Clearly the marketing people decided that this would not be shipped to any country where English is the native language.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you….

mmm salty goodness…

If you click the picture, you may well notice that not only is this liquorice, it is SALT liquorice

mmm salty goodness

LOL

Quick one…

Posted on by
Reply

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

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

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

Just…no

Go on, tell me I am wrong, I dare ya…

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

The test

Posted on by
1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never
Visiting
Bangkok
Ever!

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

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

I am currently….

Posted on by
1

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

Lets look at the contributing factors:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meat Cheese flambe anyone?

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