Halloween

Wednesday 31 October

By far and away my favourite festival of the year, Halloween has been steadily growing in the UK for some time, gravitating from humble trick-or-treat beginnings to full-blown crazy party madness that some, (including myself), plan 365 days in advance.  No sooner has the dawn crept up on the 1st November than I am plotting next years costume.  Last year was an epic fail in Honduras, having only my kilt to wear, so I was determined to make a decent…ahem…stab…for my current effort in the Czech Republic.  About a month ago I ordered yellow contact lenses, utilsing my tried, tested and successful Edward Cullen.  Yes I hate Twilight and all that sparkly vampire crap, but this is easy to do and it gets the housewives interested.

The lenses have not shown up come Halloween morn.  I’m in a fit of rage, with the party excitement building and people spending days, if not weeks on their costumes.  Of course traveling you’re at something of a loss anyway, as most don’t carry round a ready-made outfit in their gear, so with another disappointment looming, I launch myself into town to find a back up.

Perhaps it’s the (failed) actor in me, but I always need to go movie quality.  I can’t just rub a bit of paint on my face, stick a bolt on my neck and claim I’m Frankenstein’s monster.  Nor can I ever go as anything like a tomato.  Fuck going to Halloween dressed as a tomato.  Call it egotism, vanity, being bit of a wanker or what you will, but I need to look decent.  A 50p mask and a bed sheet will not do.  Interesting then that I manage to pull a costume out of the bag, yet you cannot even see my face.  The Invisible Man.  There’s ironic comments to be had here a plenty but I’ll leave them up to you.

Standing unrecognisable at the tram stop and I spot ‘perfect date girl’ hanging out with some friends.  I contemplate a wave, but feel that it might look more than a bit creepy.  I’m also quite thrilled at the power of the ‘invisibility’.  In the wake of drunken fights and messy relations, autonomy is a valuable weapon.  Why I’ve never thought of this before is beyond me.  Imagine a walk of shame dressed like this?  What walk of shame?!  Walk of glorious nonentity!

Even more ironic, is the fact that this costume is getting me more interest than Edward ever did.  I miss the fancy dress competition by a few minutes, which is a shame considering many commented that I would have won it.  I’m talking to more girls that have no idea what I look like that is actually comprehensible  Perhaps it’s the mystery, perhaps it’s the accuracy of the costume, perhaps it’s because they can’t see my face.

It was up there with one of the most entertaining All Hallows Eve’s I have attended.  Hanging out with Jesus, Ginny Weasley and a Werewolf was pretty cool, and not being able to see a thing, drinking through a straw and sweating my head off was a costume milestone for me.  I was just hoping that when the bandages were peeled away, I wouldn’t be so invisible.  Next year I’m going as a fart in the wind.

 

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Birthday bashing

Monday 29 October

I’ve neglected my writings of late, settling instead for building perfect model Spitfires, watching amazing new Bond films and chasing my first threesome.  The past week in a nutshell.  Fitting then that I should write about my birthday night out, which just so happened to be one of the most unusual I have ever had.  The quiet chocolate cake jumping-into-a-pool-at-midnight last year in Honduras seems to pale in comparison.

The day didn’t start well.  I’m still waiting on my parcel from the UK, which should have arrived this morning.  Apparently it’s not left the Post Office due to the coloured contact lenses being a ‘prohibited’ item.  My Halloween is potentially ruined if I can’t do my Edward Cullen.  I hate Twilight, but I can pull that off quite well.  It always gets a lot of interest, it’s just a shame that the majority are 15-year-old girls.

Late evening I begin to deal with some friends issues.  One has been recently dumped by his girlfriend and has turned to me for help in getting back on the horse.  I’ve introduced him to a girl last week with whom he’s had a few dates.  Now he’s turning up at my birthday drinks with his ex, but the new girl is also coming too.  Cue freak out melodrama.  I’ve actually got the two of them on facebook chat at the same time, as a go between.  He said/she said.  In the end I’ve managed to placate both, and everything is set for an interesting night.

The turn out it wonderful and really quite surprising.  Then it starts to get messy.  My friends’ new squeeze has turned up, she’s had a fight with him, he’s chosen his ex (also there), and then another friend arrives who turns out to be new girls ex man.  Honestly I couldn’t write it.  Coronation Street eat your heart out.  It all ends in tears (chaotic, psychotic, bunny boiling tears), and I’ve woken up with bite marks on my arms from where she was trying to get my attention.  She’s smashed her way round every other guy trying to make my friend jealous, finally ending up with some mis-guided, ill-informed suit in the club.  Car crash doesn’t cover it.

Two ugly fat bastards are leering and lurching on every girl in sight.  They’ve offered my friend money for sex.  This is unacceptable.  I’ve gone over to have it out with them, and one has thrown ice in my face before following with punches.  I’ve slipped and he’s got me on my back, raining blows down which hit and miss.  The actual severity of it must have been pretty low, because I was using both my hands to cover my modesty.  My kilt had flown up and my penis was on show on the floor to the whole club.  The bouncer intervenes and for some reason everyone involved is allowed to stay.  By everyone, I mean me and fat bastard.  I’d just given 200 Czech crowns to a homeless man too.  Karma eh?

The night wears on, a giant woman tries to kiss me, I order several gins and fend off the advances of one or two I’m not really interested in.  My eyes are set on someone else.  Deciding it’s time to leave, we all pile outside and into a taxi.  It’s there that the meat heads are waiting for me, with strength in numbers.  Might have had something to do with the slit-your-throat gesture I made with my plastic Sgian Dubh earlier on.

He’s managed to find some friends.  Quite how I have no idea, but there are around six of them hanging outside the club.  I’ve closed the taxi door, and a guy I’ve never seen before has come over, opened it and tried to drag me out.  As he’s got hold of my cardigan sleeve (sharp with skinny black tie and white shirt combo), the original perpetrator has walked over and cowardly punched me in the face.  Finally the taxi driver decides to move off, and I smash the dashboard in frustration.  He screeches to a halt, I throw open the door and storm out, leaving friends in the back of the vehicle.

All but two.  Dave and Becca have disembarked to make sure I don’t do anything stupid, which I’m want to do, as I make a big, drunk arse show of going back to ‘get them’.  I only want one.  He must have had about six or seven shots at me and not so much as a bruise, although my face is a little tender writing this a day later.  I just needed one cracker on his fat face and my pride would have been restored.  A few minutes later I’m playing pool in a 24 hour sports bar.

As far as nights go it was up there with the best of them, although I’ve turned 33, not seen so much as a nipple, and got my head assaulted into the bargain   Still, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I’ve finally had something decent to write about from my weekly lethargy.  Olomouc has been one crazy time, but it’s time has certainly come.  With hell or high water, I intend to leave at the end of the week and see what Poland has in store for me.  If it’s anything like here I’m in for a laugh-a-minute.  Yet dented pride and broken face aside, I feel I’m getting closer to what I’m looking for.  Oh and I got a pin badge birthday gift from a friend which reads;  I’m Batman.

 

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Childish

Wednesday 17 October

I actually have no idea how I was managing to write every day when absolutely nothing of interest has happened in the past eon.  Of course it might have something to do with the fact that I’m lying around on my arse all day doing nothing at all constructive except for watching films and picking my nose.  I suppose I’d better get on with a little update to keep my gazillion readership happy.

After some gentle persuasion from friends, I have decided to remain in Olomouc for a little while longer.  I’m having something of a blast, and I am reluctant to make new buddies for my forthcoming birthday.  It makes much more sense to just wait it out here and party with people I have come to know and love.  The fact is that I adore this city and it is going to break my heart when the time comes to leave it.  Hopefully we can part on good terms.

Speaking of parting, but on bad terms, as of last Saturday night The Cat and her friend have deleted me from the book of face.  Now I’m wondering if this has anything to do with the gorgeous Czech girl I was wrapped in during the evening, but as far as I am aware nobody saw that.   Then again I was pretty off at ones nail.  Regardless, I’m a single guy and the last time I checked we weren’t dating.  Hell it took nearly three months for her to agree to go out for dinner, now I have to jump through the hoop?  Playground, immature tactics that smack of such childish behavior that I’m better off without.  She’s turned up at the hostel on the Monday and made a big show of ignoring me.  Then again she is a Gemini.  I consider it a bullet well and truly dodged.

Other than that I’ve not much to tell you.  Last night I sat on the floor in the middle of a flat party and sang a horrendous acapella version of Bohemian Rhapsody.  It’s lucky I wasn’t alone in this en devour, as my friend Dave was there to throw is weight behind such a monumental embarrassment.  It’s a wonder the Police weren’t involved.  Every Breath You Take would have been a good one to finish on.  Boom!  Crash!  Try the veal; I’ll be here all week.

No seriously…I will be.

 

 

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Autumn

Wednesday 10 October

It appears that the fruits of my labours before, during and after the greatest first date in the history of first dates have fallen on deaf ears, taking their (leaf) from the baring trees.  Not for the first time affections lie elsewhere and I’m left to rue what might have been.  Once again the proverbial dead horse is getting a flogging, and I’m staring miserably at my laptop screen desperately seeking witticisms to convince everyone I’m not bothered.  Seriously; I’m not bothered.  If by not bothered you mean shuffling through the autumn leaves with my hands in my pockets singing Don’t You Want Me Baby?

I wasn’t really doing that, I’ve not been out of bed all day.

So the hour is drawing nigh when I must leave this barren land and seek my fortune in a new country.  Olomouc has become alarmingly small, and it appears everyone knows everyone else.  As beautiful as it is, as wonderful and memorable as my time here has been, I need to move on.  I would have stayed longer, but a decision has been made that is out of my hands.  With a bit of luck, my supplies will finally come through next week, and all being well, I should be in Poland by next Friday.  A pang of sadness resonates as I type.  Oh what might have been, what is, and what will be.

Forgive my melancholy dear readers, but I’m blaming Autumn.  Forever my favourite time of year, as I’ve always felt a certain romance exudes from the changing leaves, the chilly winds, the firelight and the season drawing in.  That and Halloween is two days after my birthday.  Hint, hint.  It heralds a summer long gone, a harbinger of dark nights, scarves and gloves.  If you’re in a relationship, there is no better time.  If you’re not, perhaps only Christmas is worse.  The only downside is The X-Factor.

So I’ve cheered myself up with boiled eggs, toasty cheese soldiers and a freshly made hostel bed.  It’s the small things.  In a few hours I’ll no doubt be nursing a pint in a rowdy bar, vacantly talking to some pretty girl, musing delusions of grandeur that she could be ‘the one’ while there is someone else on my mind, meanwhile Autumn desperately tries to force me into a seasonal relationship.  Or I might just stay in and watch porn.

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The perfect date

Sunday 07 October

After a year away I have come to the decision to stop writing an entry every day.  This has come about twofold; one, because I’ve fallen into something of a rut and have very little interesting to say, and two, I’m boring both myself and you, dear readers, with trivialities.  Therefore in an effort to improve the quality of my writing, from now on forth I shall limit entries to interesting days.  Interesting days like last Friday.

Remember my friend James Peter Alden?  Well he’s not my friend, because he’s me.  Rather he is an extension of me, an alter ego if you will.  I can make him do what I want, and protect myself at the same time.  I’ve either been inspired by Bukowski, or I’m doing it to look cool.  That and it allows me poetic licence and plausible deniability.  If I say that Alden has had a sex session with five hookers fueled by a diet of booze and cocaine, then it probably didn’t happen.

So my creation met a really nice girl.  Was it real?  Well.  I suppose in order to explain quite simply the best date I’ve ever been on, I’d better come clean.  Only there is a slight problem, in the time it’s taken to see her again, I’ve been told she’s in love with some other dude and there’s no point.  She refuses dinner, but somehow she agrees to go for a drink with me.  It’s time to pull out the big guns.

On the Thursday night I fell into a hole.  I’ve gashed my right hand and scraped filth down the side of my jeans.  Consequently a new pair is required, however, my sister has managed to send me through the wrong debit card, so I’m living on borrowed funds until the new one arrives.  I need to get new jeans and survive the date with little money.  Somehow this turn of events has coincided with the need to do some off feet sweeping.  Anything less just won’t cut it.

I’m running around like a headless chicken looking for a good bottle of wine, strawberries and a pair of jeans.  I’m also not thinking at all straight, jittering nervously and doing bizarre things like staring at tins of olives for five minutes with a blank look.  I’ve gone into the shower with my toothbrush.  This can mean only one thing.  I’m nervous.  I’m never nervous.

So the plan is meet her for drinks, then whisk her away to the park for a midnight picnic.  I’ve borrowed a blanket, corkscrew and single candle from the hostel, and managed to buy jeans, strawberries and a nice red.  A friend in a local bar lends me two wine glasses.  I’m all set.  I’m pacing the room.  As an afterthought, I bring my guitar.  The last time I did something remotely like this I dated the girl for three years.  Not to hex it or anything.  Hopefully she’s not a Gemini and her parents are still together.

It’s all or nothing.  She looks at me with a little mistrust as I’m carrying a rucksack and a guitar.  I’m either going to blow her mind with the romance of it all, or it’ll go down like a lead balloon.  She tells me the guitar brings bad memories of her real father and she’s recently been attacked in the park.  At least she’s an Aries.

Nonetheless she decides I’m not a serial killer, and following a couple of drinks and entertaining conversation we make the short walk to what turns out is her favourite park.  It’s a clear and relatively warm night, and the lights among the leaves are adding to the ambiance.  With her refusal to come to dinner, out comes the mysterious bag of goodies, flourishing with sticking the candle in the grass to bring dinner to her.  Well, strawberries and red wine at least.  Removing the cork from the corkscrew, I’ve also pulled out a biro pen to write the date on it.  OK so I was bordering on some serious cheese, but the wine wasn’t helping.  I’ve asked her to describe the night with one word, then I let her keep the cork.  “Perfect”.

As dates go, it was the best I’ve ever had.  I’ve finished with playing her my favourite song on the guitar, just for maximum ham and cheese, but in spite of this it’s clear she’s had a wonderful evening.  I walk her home hand in hand through the trees and a hedgehog crosses our path.  I hope they’re as lucky as black cats.

 

 

 

 

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