I am now a bit everywhere in Europe, and didn't have any easy access to internet until now, so here are my notes day to day...



Friday 11th January 6am, coach to Luton Airport

Ewrg. Honestly, I am full of great ideas! If you're ever running short of a great idea on how to put yourself in a weird/unecessarily stressful/embarrasing/absurd situation, please get in touch. I frankly consider myself as an expert; that's what my life is all about!

Whoever is "upstairs" and gave me all those bright inspirations must have accumulated more serious laugher lines than a weed chain smoker from having so much fun at my expense!

Anyway, -don't listen to me I am probably still drunk- I had to deal with at least two of those specific situations in the past twelve hours... Lucky me!

Let me explain.
Today, I'm flying to Europe for work and probably a few job interviews as well...(let's see how it goes)
When I'm saying Europe, understand Germany, Austria, Italy, Noeway, another country I can't recall right now, all, in no specific order!

It might all sound very glamourous, but believe me, (at the risk of sounding somehow blase) it is not that glamourous when:
-you're doing this for the 70th time of your life,
-you absolutely entirely hate flying, (I gte seriously plane sick twice out of three times, hence my somewhat agressivity at the checking desk when I have to really insist "YES, an aisle seat. NO, NOT a WINDOW one! Understand I NEED emergency access to the bathroom!"
-you have to pay for your flights yourself, which explains why I am currently on a bloody coach to Luton. And, If I arrive on time (had to wait for said coach 50 minutes under the London pouring rain), lucky me, I'll have the great honour of paying eight pounds to enjoy an EasyJet sandwich than even the squirrels in Hyde Park woudn't want of...

But that's not today's topic.

Trying as hard as I can to be organised, when I recieved my plane ticket last week, I immediately put it in the very-important-safely-closing pocket of the handbag I was going to travel with.

Thta's where the problems come in.
That very-important pocket is also the one where I usually keep the condoms and a small bottle of lube...

There you go. On Monday night, as you do, I got somehow so worked up and eager to fuck French Guy's brains out that I threw all the content of the infamous pocket flying across the room... I didn't think about it twice, or not even once, if you ask; I was somewhere in between 5 and 20 orgasms in, so my brain had long ago given up on basic functions.

Until yesterday night, when I realised while finishig packing that my plane ticket and my passport had gone AWOL...

I was tired, stressed out, and really didn't have the time, or the will for any action below the belt, but my only option was to call French Guy and ask if I could pop by to get the papers back. Well, pop by, not exactly, because Monsieur's place is at one hour and fifteen minutes away from mine...

So I braced myself and spent the whole journey on the Hammersmith and Shitty line telling myself "Concentrate, concentrate, get the papers and out of there, you don't have the time for sex!'

Obvioulsym when I got there, it was the hardest part of the task.
Or, litteraly speaking, maybe not exactly. . .

I am proud to say I stayed under control and managed to escape 20minutes later before any action below the belt happened!

Terribly horny and frustrated, I had to take the tube back home. Not fun.
Especially since they decided to make it the Hammersmith and Very Very Shitty line for the night. I had to let to trains go before managing to squeeze myself in. And it was so packed it was pratically impossible to expand your ribcage just enough to gulp some overly smelly air.

Apparently, there was no roo for my bag either.
And no room for me to do anything but scream HOLLY SHIT!! when my bag started to make some weird cracking noises.

Yup. The bottle of lube. Exploded.

Once home, I spent the best part of an hour cleaning up my passport and plane ticket, not easy, since there's nothing on Google on how to do that!
And the papers are still, how would you put it, a mixt in between sticky and slippery.
A good look for me at the desk in a minute if you ask!
This, and the terrible hangover face I must be walking around right now, because, as luck would have it, the Usual Suspects, facing my not-so-good mood, insisted to drag me to the pub " for a very quick pint", which became maybe a dozen pints...
Clearly, I have no will power. And I might have just enough alcohol left in my system to fuel the plane to Hawai instead. Another great idea...
Oh yeah, I forgot, and my current state is sooo going to help with plane sickness!



12:30pm

In Vienna, I was supposed to stay at my good friend V's place who was unfortunately working whole day and couldn't give me her keys to the flat. So I dragged my suitcase along with my old bones from one coffee to the other until 6pm.
After all, Kafe Konditorei are, with Mozart Kugeln (litteraly Mozart's balls) what Vienna is famous for, right?
I did my cultural bit then.



11:30pm, V's neighbour's House Party

I stumble across the corridor, hurt my head against the door handle, eventually manage to crouch down and start searching for my bag and leather jacket amounst the huge pile of coats, scarfs, etc. I find it, struggle for a good five minutes to work out how to put it on with my spinning head, call out "Danke shon!", make my way through the door when I realise someone has managed to re-strip me off my jacket in a pathetic attempt to keep me in the room.
I turn around.

The Russian Guy. Again.
Handsome in a kind of way, but weird in many, many ways... First of all, I'm not even sure he's straight.

"Pleesss! You can't leave naow. Come weet I: Vodka und smoking gestures, ok?
-Fuck off! I'm off my tits and i have to work tomorrow.
-Pleess!"
Obviously, I gave in, but only after warning him that I'd sue him, was I to loose my job because of the hangover which would inevitably follow the next day.
Silly me, I didn't even take his name, but I am proud to say I didn't even loose my job!

Because my memories become kind of blurry from that point on...
I remember smokimg way too much pot with Russian Guy.
I remember trying as hard as I could to remain serious, hence sticking to the Gin tonic -that I was downing by the pint before long...
I remember the music: whoever did the selection was a pure genius!
I remember dancing with all those fit, very fit boys who took their shirt off. (V's neighbour happened to be a ballet dancer and had invited mostly collegues)
I remember catching a glimpse (ok, to be fair, I took more than a good look) of some serious action going on in the bedroom in between God knows how many girls and boys. Not the couple kind.
I remember mentally screaming at myself "NO, no NO! Focus! You're not here to get any action of any sort. You're working early tomorrow, and you are very dedicated to your job, remember?"
But, I also remember myself on a sofa, kissing someone while stroking his perfect torso... The Russian Guy?
Let's hope it was him indeed, because he's the only one whose face I can recall...



Saturday 12th January, 6am, local time

Aaaargh. Things would have been so much better if I had died last night. Quick check: Am on V's sofa. Alone. No naked body around. And am myself fully dressed.
I might start to believe in God.
This, or Russian Guy is gay and still in the cupboard.


7:05am

Amazingly so, I'm at work, and 5 minutes late only!
"SHIT! Anyone knows how I did to get here from my friend's flat?"
Apparently, some collegues saw me arriving in a taxi. Wow! Wise move. I'm self impressed. I just hope I didn't gibe the driver a too generous tip, because I really don't remember anything. Just happen to get my spirits back at work. Meaning am probably still drunk/stoned. Shit.


7pm

"V, I'm sorry but I'm going to bed. Am too old for all this!"
Mental note: Never ever stay at a friend/coke addict's place ever again, unless you're planning to indulge. Being coke free, no way I can keep up.
Even if V is a very nice girl and it saved me loads of money.



Sunday 13th January

No party. Work work work. In a much more civilised state.



Monday 14th January, or official train-day.

What I did and where:

-stocked up on Sudoku books in Vienna.
-smoked a fag in Bratislava.
-slept.
-smoked a fag in Brno.
-took pictures of the landscape through the window.
-smoked a fag in Prague.
-tried to have phone sex with French Guy in the train's toiletten, but gave up after half an hour and no success because I grew bored of "Honey, hang on a minute, here comes a tunnel, I'll call you back!"
-got into a conversation about long distance relashionships with a train controller.
-caught up on notes.
-sudoku.
-smoked two fags in Dresden.
-slept again to wake up my head resting on the shoulder of an obese german woman. Eww.
-slept in the first internet cafe I could find in berlin instead of worrying a bit more about where I am going to stay tonight...