Neo Nazi’s and Porn stars

Friday 31 August

As it stands last nights frivolities appear to be remaining last night.  The social awkwardness moment doesn’t really come.  This is a good thing, since I expect to be here as long as it takes my supplies to come through.  I find it quite ironic that a GPS tracker has got lost in the post.

A few weeks ago I might have mentioned something about working in a hostel.  This hostel.  I enquired, the response was positive and a position available.  While I waited for everything to fall into place, including all the charity and fundraising gear, I could keep my costs low and stay for very little, if anything at all, and at the same time start to learn about how a hostel is run.  Some excellent experience towards my future plans.  After practically shaking hands on it, I was then informed a few days later that they had already been looking at someone, and they wouldn’t require my help.  Disappointed yes, but by no means upset or too bothered.  That was until the new ‘help’ walked in yesterday.

She had arrived about a week after me, had become very paly-paly with another staff member (Nervous Chameleon Boy), and returned from a weekend or so partying with him.  With the amount of time I’ve spent here now, I could practically do the work without being shown what to do.  Something smelled seriously fishy.  I decided that a raised eyebrow was all I should muster at this point, and bide my time until more facts emerged.  I went for a pint with a new dweller, a very friendly and entertaining 38-something guy from Manchester.  After expressing my concerns to him, and although we saw eye to eye, it wasn’t long before I was more focused on his bar antics and the prospect of him getting us killed.

Richard would talk to anyone.  When I say anyone, I mean even if you don’t speak a word of the language, he will somehow manage to form some kind of conversation, regardless of two people talking at each other, and neither of them has a clue what the other is saying.  Undeterred, out comes google translate on his smart phone.  Perhaps he’s just so infectious in his humour, confidence and outgoing personality, you can’t help but get swept along.  Yet alarm bells are ringing when he’s chatting up these two ‘enhanced’ peroxide blondes, standing at the bar with a leathery skin head, a Vin Diesel-alike, wearing so much gold you could melt him down and wear him as a chain.  A white B.A Baracus.

“You know these guys are probably some kind of Neo Nazi’s right?”  I whisper, having already been informed this place is something of a haunt for them and their trophy girls.

“That’s alright,” Richard grins, “I’m off to tell them I’m a Jew.”

He is, and he does, with barefaced cheek and wild abandon.   He’s tried to steal someone’s liquor in jest, and managed to defuse the situation so much that they’ve bought him a drink.  Then he’s bringing over pictures of these girls who have somehow turned out to be porn stars.  How does that seriously come up in conversation?  Ever?!

“So what do you do?”

“I’m an accountant.  What about you?”

“I’m a porn star.”

Seriously who does this happen to?!  Judging by the whirlwind of confidence storming the bar, it looks like it happens to Richard on more than one occasion.  There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and this, I was to find, was something I would be heatedly discussing over the weekend.  Right now I was content to almost beat a Nazi in an arm wrestle.

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Shitting on ones doorstep

Thursday 30 August

Having a title like that you know it’s not going to be something good.  I’ve had a couple of nights away from the party scene, so I’ve decided it would be silly of me to stay in an unprecidented third night in a row.  Goodness that’s unheard of.  It also happens to be the ‘Commie Disco’ tonight at a local club.  As I understand it, this is where they play a load of old Czech Communist classics for you to ‘dance’ to.  Apparently it’s one of the biggest nights of the week, the town descends on the club and everyone knows all the words to the old chants.  It needs to be seen to be believed.  I’m going with one of the girls who works at the hostel.  Ahhh and there is the rub, dear readers, the penny drops, the turd curled on the stoop.

“Not in here,” she panics, glancing nervously around.  “I know people in here.”


Oh I see.


No I didn’t.

The vague insult was lost on me (and quite frankly I couldn’t have cared less) as I marched her to where she didn’t know anyone; the ever-so-subtle locale known as ‘under a street lamp’, clearly away from prying, gossipy eyes and hearsay.  There the Kat was let out of the bag, so to speak.

Now this could prove especially awkward as I’m not exactly fleeing the area anytime soon.  She’ll be working early tomorrow and I’ll be lying, smellingly unconscious as she attempts to vacuum the room.  It’s probably a good job I don’t get out of bed until two.

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Ice hockey

Wednesday 29 August

NHL ’94 on the Super Nintendo.  Those were the days.  The only reason I actually managed to learn the rules of American sports was through playing computer games.  Madden ’95 I think was the other one, but American ‘football’ is crap, so I didn’t have that for long.  I’ve always had a passing interest in ice hockey on the other hand, and for a short time watched the Toronto Maple Leafs because a distant relative sent me a puck in the post.  That and you’re allowed to smash people into the wall and beat the crap out of someone you have an issue with, all this while whacking a deadly rock hard bit of rubber around a slippy surface, flying at breakneck speeds.  What’s not to like?

I can’t skate for toffee.  I’ve tried, I’ve failed.  My feet were not meant to be put on wheels, or blades, or moving things of any kind.  I have the coordination and balance of a pissed up tramp.  Not good for the self-esteem and ego while attempting to impress the girls down the outdoor ice rink at Christmas time.  There’s always one absolute tosser too, usually dressed in black, who speed skates ice into your face as you waddle and crawl pathetically close to the handrail.  I’d rather stay warm, drink mulled wine and keep my coccyx intact.

Of course these lads can put you to shame on the ice.  It’s such an impressive game to watch, really skillful and entertaining.  The refs are pretty quick off the mark to nip any fights in the bud, which is a bit of a shame, but even though this is just a pre-season friendly they’re going right at it.  One guy actually gets lifted into the air and thrown over the back of his opponent.  Bodies are everywhere. The puck flicks up high and smashes into the sideboards close to where we’re sat.  You certainly wouldn’t want that coming at your face.  Great to watch, terrifying to play.  Not too disimilar to cricket,  which is terrifying to play and atrocious to watch.  Unless you’re using a tennis ball.  I’m alright with that.  I’m not going to die standing in silly mid whatever.





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Tuesday 28 August

No news from home so there is once again little to do.  One of these fine days I’m going to get off my lazy behind and go and see something.  I say ‘fine days’ when actually it’s been pretty miserable here,  overriding grey sky and drizzle.  It reminds me of a true Scottish summer, without the stabbings.

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Monday 27 August

Once again each day seems to be rolling into one.  I’m ready to leave here, but since my hands are tied waiting on various useful and necessary bits and bobs from home, I’m staying put.  As you might expect, there is little to update you on, save that I have been watching a lot of films and hanging around the hostel, much to the confusion of the owners and guests.  Sometimes you need a little downtime.

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