On knobheads

I'm pretty misanthropic at the best of times, but once in a while I meet someone who reminds me where my misanthropy comes from.

Some right cock came in the bar last night. He was probably an ok guy but I hated his affected 'coolness'. He was a nerdy Indian looking English guy who looked like he worked in a bank but spoke with a cocky assuredness that made me want to punch him. First up he came over and asked what bottled beers we had. I began listing them and he said, "Yeah, Heineken sounds sweet. Don't reckon a bigger beer will be good right now with all the shit I put in my body last night." Yessir - I too have been drunk before and even indulged in other things, but I don't feel the need to share it with complete strangers. Then later on he came up, clapped me on the shoulder and said, "I'm off for a piss yeah, but bust me another Heineken on that table please." I should have literally busted the bottle and left him with a pile of broken glass to drink. Bust me a Heineken?! Who says that?

When I went to settle their bill he said "Thanks, you're a cool guy," which would have been decent of him, except he then made some lame joke about me being a cool guy for letting him off his bill, which had never been alluded too and made no sense. We're not old friends, we've shared no banter, so stop this act please. No-one on his table laughed. He then gave me a tenner for his 7.80 bill and when I gave him his change, rather than him saying I could keep it, he said,

"What the fuck is this?"
"It's your change."
"I know but why you giving it back to me?"
"It's your change"
"Shut the fuck up!"

He then handed it back as a tip proclaiming that "us Northerners gotta stick together," and finishing with, "Stay real bruv." I have a somewhat irrational hatred of twats like him.

On foreign language faux-pas

Two shorts here -

A couple of months ago, my friend from Sweden was visiting me here in Vienna. She did ok with speaking the odd word of German whenever needed but could never get the hang of the word for sorry or excuse me - 'Entschuldigung'. She said it reminded her of the word 'Golliwogg', since most people pronounce it kind of like 'shulligung'.

Anyways, following one particularly drunken evening, myself, her and another visiting friend got into a taxi. She decided to apologise for her innebriated state and so exclaimed, loudly, "GOLLIWOGG DRIVER!"

If you're unsure what a Golliwogg is, see here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golliwogg

So why was this so ill-advised? Well, since the taxi driver was a black man, I suppose her outburst is the equivalent of yelling "PAKI WAITER!" whilst sitting in an Indian restaurant.

Luckily, either he didn't hear, didn't understand, or somehow wasn't offended.

Then last month I was paying her a return visit in Stockholm. Whilst sitting on the underground I asked her how to pronounce a particular word I'd seen on a newspaper headline. The word was 'Flycktingen'. She found it hilarious that I couldn't pronounce it correctly, and I found it increasingly frustrating - apparently I was adding a 'h' sound after the 't' which shouldn't have been there, and this confused me greatly since when I asked her to say it correctly and then to say what I was saying, I could discern no difference whatsoever. That's why I suck at languages I guess.

Anyway, I sat there repeating the word over and over, until she started giggling and urging me to stop.

It was the word for 'refugee', and I'd been looking absent-mindedly (but probably staring aggressively in their eyes) at a family of Middle Eastern looking folk.

On laziness

I just re-read through this entire blog. All the good stuff's at the beginning. Either my life isn't as exciting these days, I'm not as accomplished an embellisher/storyteller anymore, or I've just gotten lazy and desperate.

I can think of at least three seperate events I've experienced lately that last year I would have made into some mildly amusing anecdotes, but I just never bothered writing them up and now the moments have passed.

If you're new to this blog, I'd recommend skipping back to its conception and reading those. If you like, then maybe read the new stuff. Or maybe not.

On ants

I fucking hate having ants in my flat. I've no idea how to get rid of them. It's not like there are ever large visible hordes of them (unless I leave food out) but it's still pretty vile having a few running around my bedroom and kitchen floor. What the fuck are ants doing hanging out on the 6th floor anyway?!

I have ant traps, but they're not much use unless I know where they are coming from. Yesterday, having tried and failed reasoning with them I decided to set a trap. I noticed a few on the floor in my room so strategically placed tiny pieces of ham and bread in their path. One went for the ham, so I painstakingly followed him, and to my dismay found that he went back into hiding via a crack between my floorboards! If that's how they are getting in and out I don't stand a chance against the little fuckers since there are literally hundreds of these cracks. Anyway, being the professional I am, I sellotaped over that particular one, leaving the little guy's followers somewhat confused. One of them then went for the bread, so I got down on my knees and followed him. After almost an hour of tracking (I think he was wise to my game as he kept doubling back on himself in an attempt to throw me off the trail) he finally headed towards a relatively large crack in the corner of the skirting board. The breadcrumb was a bit too large to get through so he hollered to his mates for help, and when they emerged, I squished the lot, taped up the hole, and laid the trap there. So far so good...

On a refreshing change from the norm - a continuation of sorts

Fucking mental perhaps, but also refreshing. Here's the deal:

My last post here detailed the gist of my trying to get an internet connection sorted at my new flat here in Vienna (I can't be bothered to check what I wrote right now so I may well repeat a bit here - deal with it).

Basically, I spoke for longer than accustomed to, to a slightly odd, yet very friendly lady on the phone, who began asking questions about my personal life, albeit in a non-invasive way. She'd informed me that within a couple of days I'd receive an email with a form I needed to fill in and return and then Id be internetagogo. A couple of days pass, no email. It was vexing me slightly as it means I have to patronise various pubs and cafes in order to use their free wireless, since the one I was leeching from a neighbour suddenly stopped working. Lousy neighbor. I sent my crazy internet lady an email asking when I'd be likely to receive the forms. She emailed back explaining how she'd had a busy Monday so hadn't been able to call but would try to call me the following day. OK, fair enough I thought.

A cople more days passed and still no contact. I tried calling the number she'd left but apparently it didn't exist. Frustrating. Then I got a call from her last night:

"I'm very angry," she said. "You have to understand, I thought I could count on people." She did indeed sound distressed.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Already I'd decided she was nice, and that it probably wasn't her fault."
"He sent the forms to the wrong email address, the idiot," she protested, "I didn't know. I can't be expected to check on every outgoing email here. Thank you so much for your email - I would never have known otherwise."

he more she spoke, the more endearing I found her, her accented English making her plight (which was really my own) seem even more heartbreaking. She explained that she'd see to it that the forms were resent, to the correct address, immediately, sighing and apologising the whole time. I stressed that it wasn't a big deal and thanked her for her attempts to recify the error, a smile on my face the whole time. She sounded so sweet and well-meaning.

So we got that sorted - end of phone call right? But then she wished me a good evening and began telling me how she had the weekend off and would be going to Prague. And then it got odd, but amusingly, rather than irritatingly so. She'd just bought some Stoff (she implored me to tell her the English word - it's material), and with it would be constructing hats.

"I'll make one with fishes. Fishes on Stoff. It'll be like wearing an aquarium!" (giggle).

I'm stifling giggles myself here, but wanting to hear more, so humouring her as best I can.

"And one hat will be red with bells. Like a wizard's hat!"

God bless this lady and her hatmaking eccentricities.

The conversation, post internet sorting, lasted 20 minutes, and left me with a grin and aching cheeks

I truly hope she has a good time in Prague. When my internet is sorted I will be calling her regularly with invented problems, just to hear her madness some more.

On stupid people and odd people

I just moved into a new flat here in Vienna and have been trying to get hooked up to the internet. I chose the package I wanted - I'm a bit ignorant when it comes to all the technical terms, but I knew it had the download speed I wanted, and I could use it via ethernet as my computer's not set up for wireless. I ordered it online and waited for a phone call.

A couple of days ago it came, from a lady who didn't seem to have a clue. After the initial greetings and confirmations, her first question relating to the actual setup was, "Which kind of Fritz Box do you want?" I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in not having a fucking clue what a Fritz Box is. So I asked. She laughed as if I was an idiot for not knowing and then proceeded to explain:

"Well, the free one is an old model. The newer one will cost you 39 Euros, or something like that, I'm not sure exactly."

Well, that's cleared it up. Thanks.

"What is a Fritz Box?"
"It's the modem you need."
"Ah, ok. And what benefits would the one I have to pay for give me?"
"Well, it has 3 antennas."
"Three antennas for what?"
"Well, the old one only has one."

You're shitting me - what kind of a sucker uses only one antenna?

"What do I need antennae for?"
"It's for wireless..."
"Ah, yeah, like I explained before - I don't need wireless. Give me the free one."

I thought that was settled, but she proceeded to talk nonsense for ages, before I practically had to shout at her to just give me the free one.

Then she started asking questions about where I was from, and why I'd moved to Vienna and did I have a girlfriend here... fucking hell! Just hook me up to some internet already!

Then on Tuesday, at the pub I work in, this occurred:

"Hi, are you open?" (I had 3 tables of people in already)
"Yes."
"I saw the sign outside. I'd like to order breakfast."
"I'm afraid we only do breakfasts on the weekends."
"But it's Tuesday."
"Exactly."
"Could you not make me eggs and bacon please?"
"No. I have no eggs. We buy them on Saturday morning for the breakfasts. Which is only served on weekends, as the sign says."
"But you don't look busy. Just some eggs and bacon."
"I have no eggs, regardless of whether I'm busy or not."
"But Billa (supermarket) is just around the corner."
"Then you'll be able to get yourself some eggs on your way home. Now, can I get you anything else?"

With that she grunted and left. Stupid bitch.

Today I had an experience with a more pleasant weirdo.

First she came up to me and asked what year the film The Gift was from. I said it was 2000 and for some reason this made her laugh and say, "It doesn't matter."

Then she went downstairs to the video shop, which was closed, and started looking around in the dark until I called her back up.

Then she said, "If I want to eat a salad, where should I sit?" I told her she could sit anywhere she pleased, gestring to all the empty tables and handing her a menu, saying, "All our salads are listed inside. Take your pick." Again she laughed and after studying the menu said, "I saw some green leaves and tomatoes. If I wanted tomatoes in a salad, what should I order?" I recommended the tomato and mozarella salad. So I made this, she ate it and expressed how delightful it was.

Finally, she asked for "a coffee with Irish". I said, "an Irish coffee?" and she said, "No," and pointed to the menu, where it said 'Irish Coffee'. I made her this, she drank it, grinning, and then came and asked for the bill. It came to 16 Euros for the salad, coffee and a ginger ale, and she gave me 30, saying keep the change. The odd thing is, she didn't look weird at all. Kind of like someone's mum, or a teacher.

On a very odd man (2)

Hmmm, having one guy regularly providing me with entertaining if

slightly insane snippets of conversation may well mean this blog

receives more updates in future.

Today's conversation:

- Stuart, what is the musician?

- You're gonna have to be a bit more specific there I'm afraid.

- Hmmm... a British musician, from the 60s. Not Bob Marley... the

other one.

- OK. Well, Bob Marley was neither British, nor that active in the 60s.

- No not Bob Marley. The other one.

- The other British musician from the 60s. Let me see...

- Like a rolling stone...

- Ah, Bob Dylan?

- Yes!

- He wasn't British either.

- Bob Dylan. So, does he play? Here?

- Does Bob Dylan play here?! In this pub?!

- No. *thoughtful pause* Is Bob Dylan Bob Dylan?

- Is Bob Dylan Bob Dylan? You're asking me if Bob Dylan is himself?

- Yes. Is Bob Dylan Bob Dylan?

On a very odd man

This post is dedicated to a guy who comes into the pub I work in, every single day. He's harmless enough, but can get a little annoying at times. Still, he makes for choice entertainment during slow shifts. I'll attempt to explain a little about his basic nature. He's quite capable of holding a normal conversation, and in fact talks a lot. Too much. He'll slip from bursts of hearty laughter, often completely random and unrelated to the topic of talk, and bouts of earnest concentration, which usually precede a question, uttered in the most serious tone of voice despite the fact that they are usually something mundane. Example: He'll look you in the eye, and talk in a low voice, as if a doctor informing you you have terminal cancer, and then his question will be, "Do you enjoy sports?" Whatever the answer, he'll either consider it a little and ask a follow up question, or just chuckle. If you join him in the chuckle, he'll chuckle louder, and I've discovered it's quite possible to induce the heartiest of guffaws, if you gradually increase the volume of your own laughter. Fun.

Sometimes, his questions are utterly random, as if he's just voicing the end of a thought process that's been going on inside his head for a while, but which obviously no-one else has been privy to. Example: He'd evidently been considering the concept of vegetarianism, and had possibly had a prior conversation with someone about it. His question to me, preceded by nothing related was, "Stuart. Tell me, would you ever eat a fish without a face?" From this I can only assume he'd been involved in an earlier conversation in which someone had mentioned that they wouldn't eat a fish served with its head still attached, but coming out of the blue like that, it threw me a little. I humoured him and told him that faceless fish are the only kind of fish I'll consider eating, and now he's obsessed with finding out more about these mythical faceless fish.

A couple of nights ago, this conversation happened:

- Stuart. Who is this playing? the music.

- It's Joni Mitchell

- Ah *customary thoughtful pause* and... is it an album?

- No, just some odd songs

- OK. Did you... buy... the album?

- It's not an album. Just a few songs.

- Oh? And where does it come from?

- I downloaded the songs. They're on my iPod. It's playing from my iPod.

- *really confused look and pause* It's...*thoughtful pause* ... a computer?

- No. It's playing from my iPod. Through the computer.

- *slightly scared look* But... how does she get here? How does she come through an iPod into the air here?

So now he thinks Joni Mitchell is some kind of futuristic sorceress.

On homesickness

Well, it's been a considerable time since I updated, so uneventful has my life been in recent months. So long in fact, that I'd forgotten my login details. There was a mildly amusing incident involving a desk, a stolen trolley, a hill, and lots and lots of sweat, but as I began to document that I realised just how mild the amusement was. 

This post isn't really a worthy addition - if you're after gags and interesting happenings, stop now and go read something by Charlie Brooker instead.

This is about me, and my really missing home for the first time since leaving sunny England one year ago, almost to the day.

Even last September, when my life pretty much hit an all time low, I still never craved a return to home shores - I lost my girlfriend here, my home, my job, and almost my parents, yet I still didn't miss the golden gloomy sunsets of England.

Things are good now. I have a relatively well-paying job that I enjoy, and a comfortable living arrangement which as yet, remains rent-free - just as well since as yet, my finances haven't recovered from those 2 and a half months of unemployment I experienced here whilst still paying rent.

A couple of weeks ago, two of my good friends here left Vienna permanently, and whilst I still have friends here, their leaving gradually had an impact on me. One in particular is the dearest, most selfless person I have ever met and Vienna has a very different level of appeal now that he's not around.

Around the same time, I booked a flight home. I'll spend 10 days there in which I'll see my family and friends for the first time since Christmas and for only about the third time since I moved out here. In fact, some of them I've seen even less than that. I have mixed feelings about this. I'm so excited to see them all again, but I know that it will make the few weeks following my return that bit bluer - I've never taken my friendships for granted, and I know those back home will always be the best friends I ever make, so it's hard seeing them only once or twice a year, and missing out on all the shenanigans we used to have, which they're now having in my absence.

I also realised how out of touch with things back home I am. I was never an avid TV viewer, but I do miss being able to turn on the box, whatever's on, and just have English voices fill the room. I miss watching football on a Saturday - it's possible here, but it means going to the pub to do it. I miss English newspapers, even the shit ones. I miss other aspects of my homeland too - sitting on a bus or train and being able to overhear and understand all the cconversations around me, however dull they may be. I miss good sliced bread.

With all this in mind, I have begun to question why I'm even in Vienna. There's nothing really solid keeping me here, although certain relationships would make me sad to leave. It's a nice city, but not one I would have ever chosen to move to without a reason, and there's nothing here that isn't a person, that I would really miss if I left. But I'm definitely not ready to return to England, and I'm not sure I can face the hassle of moving all my belongings and attempting to settle somewhere entirely new, not just yet anyway. Besides, my wallet wouldn't let me.

On spirits

I went to the pub I used to work at last night to meet a mate and stayed for 7 beers over 5 hours, leaving at 10pm, still pretty sober. I went straight home.

At 1am, My flatmate came home to find me in conversation with someone. She asked who I was talking to as there was no-one else here and I said a girl. She decided I was hammered and humoured me, asking if she was pretty. I said no, she was pale and gaunt looking and and asked where she'd gone. Vicky said maybe she's in the kitchen so I went to look there and was then really confused. I remember thinking I'd been talking to someone but don't remember the conversation or the person. I found out this morning from Vicky how I'd described the girl - Vicky couldn't remember the word gaunt and at the time didn't know what it meant (she said "you said the girl was, something that sounds a bit like cunt and means thin").

So, having been soberish at 10 when I left the pub, how come at 1am I was hammered and delusional despite not having had a drink in 3 hours, and what the fuck was I doing for those 3 hours?! And this is the second time this year that I've had lengthy conversations in our flat with people no-one else could see.