Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Plant plucking neighbour from hell

Loathe as I am to seem as though I am obsessed with nénis (the second largest plague and threat to civilisation as we know it next to zombies) I still can't believe what the old woman next door has done.

We came back from Paris to find that several of our plants had been plucked out and callously left to die, withered and unloved, beside the pot on the balcony. At first I thought that somebody just didn't like us, but then as I was leaving for work yesterday morning, I bumped into my next door neighbour.

She started off by saying how well my plants were doing, but then pointed out that some of them were weeds. She then plunged her gnarled old fingers into one of the plantpots and whipped out a plant in front of my eyes, proclaiming it be a weed. Now, I have to admit that I'm no plant expert, and maybe it was a weed, but the point is it was my weed. For all she knows, I'm trying to grow weeds. As I started trying to fend her busy hands off the other plants, the other nosy neighbour joined in and pointed out that around half of the other plants were surplus to requirements.

Personally, I'd rather wait and see how they turn out, as some of them look like they could be nice weeds. Am I going to have to carry out my threat of building an electric fence around the plant pots? Find something to do apart from playing cheesy songs on the organ at full volume and killing my plants, you old BAG!

OK, I didn't say that to her, as she is generally nice and has been bringing over pálinka, wine and food. Still, that doesn't give her the right to murder my plants.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

I am a big shitbag

I realise that what I'm about to say makes me sound like a big shitbag - which I guess is OK because that's what I am - but I really don't like flying. I could claim that it's the crying babies, the elbow wrestling for that single skinny armrest between the two seats or the horrible artificial atmosphere, but in reality I'm afraid of plunging screaming to my death in a huge fireball.

We had some fairly nasty turbulence on the way from Paris to Budapest on Sunday, and I have to admit I shat not just a brick, but an entire building site replete with hairy-arsed builders shouting sexual abuse at women, illegal immigrants working on dodgy scaffolding and many a wheelbarrow.

Frankly, I can do without being reminded that I am in metal bullet tearing through the sky and very much pinning my hopes on the mechanics not having forgotten to tighten that all-important bolt. I am considering starting a petition to ban turbulence, or at least to have heavy-duty sedatives available at the airplane entrance instead of newspapers.

Considering this background, imagine how I feel about having to fly Tajik airlines in September this year. I'm very much looking forward to the Habitat for Humanity house build in Tajikistan, but I suspect the building site I plopped out may well be dwarfed by the pants-kakking I will be doing on an ancient Soviet aircraft.

Not as evil as I thought

Believe it or not, I went to church on Sunday (not by personal choice and not as a means of worship), and I wasn't repelled at the front door by a large flash of lightning. I'm rather disappointed, as this means I'm not being evil enough. I'll need to start hatching plans to up my evil quotient. Maybe I should get an upside-down cross tattooed on my forehead. Mind you, the only problem with that is if I stand on my head it won't be satanic any more. I wonder if this is a probable for satanic gymnasts, or for Christian gymnasts for that matter? Tumbles could be very confusing: evil, good, evil, good, evil, good.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Farewell to Arthur Daley

And so, farewell to Stephen (name changed to protect the identity in case the coppers are in tow), Budapest's answer to Arthur Daley. He is finally, for the last time, honest governor, leaving town to go back to London, where he will probably be exchanging large dollops of filthy lucre with shady-looking characters up back alleys for a living.

Stephen is the man whose various enterprises have included flying to Switzerland to fill his suitcase up with duty-free fags to sell on in the UK, driving a Rolls Royce across Europe to flog it in Budapest (still looking for a buyer) and various other slightly-dubious-but-probably-not-worth-a-year-in-jail-locked-up-with-a-serial-killer type transactions.

If Budapest wasn't so hot, he would have been wearing a sheepskin jacket.

Thanks for the farewell barbecue, Stefan, I mean Stephen, and I look forward to seeing you in handcuffs on TV being taking to jail after defrauding some rich middle-class old lady out of her nest egg.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Prepare...before they strike

I received possibly the greatest present known to humankind at the weekend. I'm not talking about the gift of love, or friendship, or any of that namby-pamby nonsense. I'm talking about a practical book that could one day save my life: The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks.

I would urge everyone who cares about ensuring the future safety of themselves and their family to rush out and buy this book now. It is eye-opening. Zombies are OUT THERE! And they are ready to STRIKE AT ANY MINUTE! I can't believe there has been so much media hysteria over Bird Flu, Iran and Bin Laden when the largest threat to the world as we know it is being overlooked. Don't delay. Invest in your future and buy this book today (even though it doesn't have a section on Zombie Cows).

Nats is now possibly in for Wife of the Year award, as long as my other three don't do anything outstanding before the ceremony.

Saturday, May 13, 2006

Grin and bear it

They have found a really rare type of bear up in Canada; it's the first grizzly polar crossbreed to have occcurred in the wild. How did they find it? Because somebody shot it dead. For fun. Way to go, redneck!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/4766217.stm

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Attention all Hungarians!!!

Concrete is not a plant. If you water the pavement outside of your shop, it will not grow. The same goes for the stairs at metro stations. The only effect this has is to wet the shoes of passers-by, which do not grow either. Please stop before I take the hosepipe off you, shove it up your bum and let it run until you swell up to the size of Jo Brand.

Thank you.

Monday, May 08, 2006

Bird flu scandal rocks 8th district

Bird flu is here amongst us, right in the middle of the city, and the government are doing nothing. I just walked past a dead pigeon, lying right in the middle of the street, with no obvious signs of death by car or mauling by cats. Therefore, it must be BIRD FLU. AAAHHHHHHHH!!! FUCKING HELL! SOMEBODY SAVE US!

There is not one man in a white suit with a large stick to collect it, or a space-age like tent cordoning off the dead bird. I'm not waiting: I'm going to start culling, from my window, with a large blunderbuss that I found in the cellar (which will make a satisfyingly colourful splat of the pigeons, kind of like a firework, only with entrails). I'm also considering culling the dog-owners that let their pooches push out plentiful poop onto the streets.

I never used to kill anything. I used to take ants and cockroaches outside on pieces of paper, but ever since having a moth and cockroach infestation I've gone a bit P-S-Y-C-H-O. I conservatively estimate that I've killed about 200 moths in the last month, and maybe a few less cockroaches.

The moths go into the hoover, which seems to be the best way to get them. Actually, the same principle would probably apply to the pigeons, if I could get a big enough hoover. Not sure about the dog-owners, though.

Anyway, how do we assign value to a life (he says, stroking his beard thoughtfully, before taking off his sandals, lighting an incense stick and settling down to some erotic eastern massage)?

Obviously, MY life is worth more than everyone else's, because I am ginger and therefore genetically superior to everyone, but why should people be able to kill a moth without guilt or consequence, but go to jail for choking someone to death with a particularly large and slippery dog turd. Is that fair? Is it about size? If that's the case, is it OK to shoot someone when they're really far away, because they look small?

I'm now off to my weekly Sociopaths' currant bun social evening.