I've decided to get rid of the flatmates. The novelty of them running around in their underwear has worn off after three months of constant cleaning... they are filthy. I've asked them on numerous occasions to buck up but they still don't know where the hoover is kept... "just tell us what to do," they whinge. Why should I have to tell them?
It was an accumulation of reasons that has finally led me to eject my two temptresses. Lola warned me from the beginning telling me that Brunette Flatmate was 'loud, vulgar, and primitive' whilst Bookshop Babe felt I was foolish to offer so much in return for so little. They were right. A well presented cleavage makes for a lot of leeway but the final straw came last Friday when I cooked for my lazy lodgers.
Poles have no table manners. Restaurants were almost nonexistant in communist Poland, only the occasional Bar Mleczny (milk bar), a no-frills cafe offering cheap dairy-based dishes. Despite having deeply rooted Jewish, Lithuanian, Ukrainian, Belarusion and Russian traditions, the people of Poland now prefer the dubious delights of cheap pizza, kebab and McDonalds which have opened in abundance. Lodz is the second largest city in Poland and there is only one decent restaurant which is closing due to lack of interest.
I've sat for the last eight years at the same dinner table as Poles and it is truly horrendous. They pile their plates high and scoop scran into their gullets like there's no tomorrow. They manage to talk and display every chewed morsel at the same time. They reach right across you if they need something from the far end of the table and napkins are not required. Courses come in random order, often the soup together with the main, and once the food lands on the table Poles do not hesitate and do not stop for breath. If you pause even for a moment then surly waitresses assume you have finished and take your plate from you, I have often had to fight for a half-eaten meal. There is no custom of putting one's knife and fork together when finished, indeed, there is no custom of any kind. It would be fair to say that a great many Poles consume food like pigs.
I remember a date I had with a divine looking girl I met when I first arrived in Lodz. I made the mistake of asking her out to dinner. The way she bent over her bowl and threw the food into her mouth, spitting it out at me as she jabbered away, and the lettuce dangling from her greasy chin swiftly eradicated any romantic notions I'd entertained. I shook her off faster than an unexpected daddy long legs.
So, there I was at my place on Friday night with my legendary pasta steaming away. I created a fine salad too but of course it was wasted on my guests as they are brought up on frozen and canned junk and are quite devoid of taste buds. Nevertheless, I sat there aghast as Brunette Flatmate and her halfwit boyfriend shovelled my cuisine into their mouths, spraying the table with red pesto and half-chewed olives. As she prattled on at me I winced at the food sitting on her tongue, she almost elbowed me off my chair as she dived over the table for another helping. It was unbearable, although she spared me from the usual plate licking. Of course I spent the remainder of the evening washing-up, Blonde Flatmate breathed over my shoulder "we'll do it in the morning" but I've come to understand that as "we might get round to making a start on it after three or four days."
I'm forced to deal with a lack of table manners in the pizzeria's and kebab houses but I can't tolerate it at home. They have six weeks notice. They'll be sorry to go as they certainly won't get it so good elsewhere in this city.
Word of the week: Wyprowadzic sie meaning to move out.
Saturday, 13 December 2008
Monday, 8 December 2008
Tired.
I couldn't sleep due to the ambulances screeching around the city centre in the early hours. A Sunday night with not a soul to be seen but the ambulances do not let up.
In the morning, still groggy, I left the house with the dogs for the park. Two men were pissing in the courtyard as is usually the case. I stepped over discarded vodka bottles and more piss before we climbed into Esmeralda and set off.
On the road we were cut up on all sides by maniac drivers honking furiously. They also like to drive inches behind me 'right up my arse' as it were, aggression is the norm on Polish roads. In order to avoid a headache I played with the radio hopelessly trying to find a station not playing horrid heavy rock and ended up turning it off as is usually the case.
On arriving at the park the dogs jumped out and I was told immediately by two policeman to 'control' them. Polish law states that dogs must be muzzled and on a lead everywhere and at all times. As soon as the police were out of sight I let them lose again. Even here in the greenery you cannot escape the wailing of ambulance sirens which circle the parkland. I had to witness at least another half a dozen men pissing, they don't even bother going into the bushes but do it on the path. Some youths who had been drinking paused to smash their bottles on the ground and have a piss before exiting the park.
On the way back I stopped at a hypermarket for provisions. It is the only place where I can find olive oil and cheddar cheese, for a small 3" square I have to pay nearly 6 quid. About to enter the shop, I stopped and held the door open for a man coming out who did not say thank you or even look at me, I'm used to this although will never like or understand it. Once inside the security guard stared at me. Wandering up and down the aisles people walked right in front of me and two barged into me without a word of apology. I strolled through the processed and long-life fare and once at the cashier I had to tell the woman behind me to stop pushing her trolley into my back. On leaving the security guard continued to stare accusingly.
On our return I passed a car collision, three cars all write-offs, no sign of any passengers. This is yet another daily sight which has long ceased to shock me. If Poles had any brains they would just drive a little slower, it's not as if they are need to be anywhere in a hurry as there is nothing of any importance happening in this town.
Back at the flat I sat down and thought about Christmas. I am unable to get back to London for Christmas due to the fact that there are so many Poles now moving back and forth between the UK and Poland, especially over the festive season. And they buy up all the Ryanair tickets months in advance for a fiver.
I'm tired of it. Tired of the hostility. Tired of the spitting, pissing and shitting. Tired of the jingoism. Tired of the pushing and shoving. Tired of the rudeness. Tired of the ignorance. Tired of the bigotism. I'm tired of Poland. I want to be back amongst civilised people.
In the morning, still groggy, I left the house with the dogs for the park. Two men were pissing in the courtyard as is usually the case. I stepped over discarded vodka bottles and more piss before we climbed into Esmeralda and set off.
On the road we were cut up on all sides by maniac drivers honking furiously. They also like to drive inches behind me 'right up my arse' as it were, aggression is the norm on Polish roads. In order to avoid a headache I played with the radio hopelessly trying to find a station not playing horrid heavy rock and ended up turning it off as is usually the case.
On arriving at the park the dogs jumped out and I was told immediately by two policeman to 'control' them. Polish law states that dogs must be muzzled and on a lead everywhere and at all times. As soon as the police were out of sight I let them lose again. Even here in the greenery you cannot escape the wailing of ambulance sirens which circle the parkland. I had to witness at least another half a dozen men pissing, they don't even bother going into the bushes but do it on the path. Some youths who had been drinking paused to smash their bottles on the ground and have a piss before exiting the park.
On the way back I stopped at a hypermarket for provisions. It is the only place where I can find olive oil and cheddar cheese, for a small 3" square I have to pay nearly 6 quid. About to enter the shop, I stopped and held the door open for a man coming out who did not say thank you or even look at me, I'm used to this although will never like or understand it. Once inside the security guard stared at me. Wandering up and down the aisles people walked right in front of me and two barged into me without a word of apology. I strolled through the processed and long-life fare and once at the cashier I had to tell the woman behind me to stop pushing her trolley into my back. On leaving the security guard continued to stare accusingly.
On our return I passed a car collision, three cars all write-offs, no sign of any passengers. This is yet another daily sight which has long ceased to shock me. If Poles had any brains they would just drive a little slower, it's not as if they are need to be anywhere in a hurry as there is nothing of any importance happening in this town.
Back at the flat I sat down and thought about Christmas. I am unable to get back to London for Christmas due to the fact that there are so many Poles now moving back and forth between the UK and Poland, especially over the festive season. And they buy up all the Ryanair tickets months in advance for a fiver.
I'm tired of it. Tired of the hostility. Tired of the spitting, pissing and shitting. Tired of the jingoism. Tired of the pushing and shoving. Tired of the rudeness. Tired of the ignorance. Tired of the bigotism. I'm tired of Poland. I want to be back amongst civilised people.
Friday, 5 December 2008
Breaking the law.
Outside my bedroom window down on the street about a hundred yards away is a crossroads complete with traffic lights. Newly installed speakers give off a loud penetrating clacking when the green man is shown. Despite this cars are still allowed to speed in between people crossing. There is never a time which is reserved just for pedestrians to move safely across the road. The loudspeakers are horribly loud and go on every time the green man appears, every couple of minutes all through the day and night. I (and almost certainly a hundred other residents living around the junction), have not been able to sleep.
So what to do? This is the main street of the city but it's residents are never consulted on anything, we have no voice as to what goes on. During the summer ghastly rock concerts are organised all along the street which go on til three in the morning, drunken people shout and stagger along the road stopping to spit and piss, ambulances speed down the supposedly pedestrian thoroughfare with ultra-loud sirens and horns blaring, ugly metal signs are chained to lamp-posts and clutter up the pavement etc etc. Residents signing petitions for the council to consider is unheard of and the idea would be laughed at.
Weighing all this up, tired and irate that my sleep had been interfered with, and will be from now on, and with seemingly no other option, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Around midday I left the house armed with a spanner, wire cutter & stepladder. I'd already done a reconnaissance and knew what needed doing. There was a speaker perched on the top of each red/green man light unit on every corner of the junction - 4 in all. Within a few minutes I had the 2 located on the nearest corners in my bag. During that time at least three police cars past me - they drive up and down the street with nothing to do, interspersed with screeching ambulances. 80% of the traffic on this main avenue is police, ambulances, and 'security' vehicles which is a Polish obsession. What a weird place Eastern Europe is. I was dressed like a builder on a paint covered step-ladder, no-one took any notice and besides which Polish police like to intimidate but are brainless. They are paid a pittance and are all open to bribery, many have second jobs. My kitchen was fitted by a numbskull copper who couldn't put a nail into a wall. The British don't know how fortunate they are. Nevertheless, I left the remaining two speakers as it should now be decidedly quieter, and if not I'll finish the job in the next few days. I hope it will not be neccessary to remove the final two as the silence would be noticed sooner rather than later and the speakers possibly replaced.
If the lights, and their co-ordinating speakers, were activated by someone pushing a button in order to cross then I might be able to tolerate it, although it's pointless anyway as cars do not stop. But why should I (amongst many others) be kept awake all through the night when the streets are deserted? An automatic system that serves no purpose except to keep people awake.
So what to do? This is the main street of the city but it's residents are never consulted on anything, we have no voice as to what goes on. During the summer ghastly rock concerts are organised all along the street which go on til three in the morning, drunken people shout and stagger along the road stopping to spit and piss, ambulances speed down the supposedly pedestrian thoroughfare with ultra-loud sirens and horns blaring, ugly metal signs are chained to lamp-posts and clutter up the pavement etc etc. Residents signing petitions for the council to consider is unheard of and the idea would be laughed at.
Weighing all this up, tired and irate that my sleep had been interfered with, and will be from now on, and with seemingly no other option, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Around midday I left the house armed with a spanner, wire cutter & stepladder. I'd already done a reconnaissance and knew what needed doing. There was a speaker perched on the top of each red/green man light unit on every corner of the junction - 4 in all. Within a few minutes I had the 2 located on the nearest corners in my bag. During that time at least three police cars past me - they drive up and down the street with nothing to do, interspersed with screeching ambulances. 80% of the traffic on this main avenue is police, ambulances, and 'security' vehicles which is a Polish obsession. What a weird place Eastern Europe is. I was dressed like a builder on a paint covered step-ladder, no-one took any notice and besides which Polish police like to intimidate but are brainless. They are paid a pittance and are all open to bribery, many have second jobs. My kitchen was fitted by a numbskull copper who couldn't put a nail into a wall. The British don't know how fortunate they are. Nevertheless, I left the remaining two speakers as it should now be decidedly quieter, and if not I'll finish the job in the next few days. I hope it will not be neccessary to remove the final two as the silence would be noticed sooner rather than later and the speakers possibly replaced.
If the lights, and their co-ordinating speakers, were activated by someone pushing a button in order to cross then I might be able to tolerate it, although it's pointless anyway as cars do not stop. But why should I (amongst many others) be kept awake all through the night when the streets are deserted? An automatic system that serves no purpose except to keep people awake.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
Polish Patriotism.
A quick browse on Facebook, MySpace, Bebo and other social networking websites lay bare the thousands of profiles of young Poles living in the UK and shouting to all about how great Poland is. They send moronic messages to each other in Polish saying that 'Poles are the best!' and how 'shit' it is in Britain. They write in (a hideous version of) English, they assume English names, they take everything that Britain has to offer but are ungracious about their adopted homeland. They wave Polish flags as if they were still here in Eastern Europe - which of course they are not.
This is an example of a typical Polish 'poem' found on Bebo:
My Polish pride
I will not hide
My Polish race
I will not disgrace
My Polish blood
flows hot & true
My Polish peeps
I will stand by you
thru thick & thin
till the day we die
Our Polish flag
Always stands high
I yell this poem
Louder than all the rest.
cuz every 1 knows
Poland IS THE BEST!!!
Polish Pride in my mind
Polish BLOOD is my kind
So step aside and let me through
Cuz its all about the Polish crew
Life sucks and then u die
but if your Polish
You die wit sweet ass pride
It would be hard to find a young Briton as proud, but here self-glorification is instilled into the population as infants. And yet what are they so proud about exactly? Poland has never won a war, nothing has ever been invented here, Eastern Europe is grim and oppressive in the extreme, a hostile police state in which people are rude, aggressive, anti-semitic, anti-gay and completely lacking in manners or style. Primitive Polish men in shell suits spit and piss everywhere in public. Thousands of Poles are continuing to leave Poland daily headed west but they have their pride crammed into their suitcases.
Poles abroad, if you love Poland so much then why don't you return to your beloved country and STOP BORING US WITH YOUR PATRIOTIC DRIVEL.
Word of the week: dumny meaning proud.
This is an example of a typical Polish 'poem' found on Bebo:
My Polish pride
I will not hide
My Polish race
I will not disgrace
My Polish blood
flows hot & true
My Polish peeps
I will stand by you
thru thick & thin
till the day we die
Our Polish flag
Always stands high
I yell this poem
Louder than all the rest.
cuz every 1 knows
Poland IS THE BEST!!!
Polish Pride in my mind
Polish BLOOD is my kind
So step aside and let me through
Cuz its all about the Polish crew
Life sucks and then u die
but if your Polish
You die wit sweet ass pride
It would be hard to find a young Briton as proud, but here self-glorification is instilled into the population as infants. And yet what are they so proud about exactly? Poland has never won a war, nothing has ever been invented here, Eastern Europe is grim and oppressive in the extreme, a hostile police state in which people are rude, aggressive, anti-semitic, anti-gay and completely lacking in manners or style. Primitive Polish men in shell suits spit and piss everywhere in public. Thousands of Poles are continuing to leave Poland daily headed west but they have their pride crammed into their suitcases.
Poles abroad, if you love Poland so much then why don't you return to your beloved country and STOP BORING US WITH YOUR PATRIOTIC DRIVEL.
Word of the week: dumny meaning proud.
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Gone fishing.
Fishing is peculiar to men and something that I've never really understood. As a muddy boy I messed around with small nets scooping up sticklebacks in the Regent's Canal which runs through east London, but that pastime didn't last long. And sitting for hours watching an illuminous stick in the water for the slightest movement has never appealed... I'd rather read.
And yet fishing is very popular in Poland. It is illegal for people or dogs to swim in most public ponds, rivers or lakes but fishermen can do what they want, and do, leaving a trail of hooks and line and litter.
I managed to contain my excitement when a couple of the boys down the pub invited me on their weekly jaunt in search of carp and the like. On contemplation and always open to an odd adventure I thought 'Why not?' Maybe I will discover what it is that Polish men find so fascinating by the waterside... apart from a free lunch of course.
We set out at dawn in a giant jeep, four of us and piles of equipment. On the journey through the rain and out of the city I imagined an idyllic setting, the gentle trickle of a stream or occasional splash of a duck on a pond, dew steaming from the soft luscious banks, a remarkable tree under which to plant oneself and gaze out at the drizzle and a misty horizon, a book to hand when mighty and mysterious marine life were not tugging on my line, etc etc.
An hour later we turned off the main road and headed down a dirt track for five minutes before arriving at what looked like a rubbish dump. After leaving the jeep next to a couple of abandoned cars we made our way past a breeze block house encircled by mad dogs chained to tractor wheels. We entered a compound via a metal gate and, stepping delicately along wet wooden planks, we crossed over small tanks which were heaving with condemned fish. Continuing single file in between mountains of discarded washing machines and other debris we reached the edge of an expansive and very man-made looking reservoir. Concrete shelters especially built for fisherman were located around the whole circumference of the water, each just a few yards from the next. I was already looking at my watch as we unpacked the tackle.
My pals armed me with a worm on a hook at the end of a long rod. I stood awkwardly freezing my nuts off for 15 minutes staring out at the water. My thoughts turned to the paperback protruding from my jacket pocket but I was given strict instructions not to take my eyes off the bait. Suddenly one of the boys shouted at me "pull pull!" I instinctively yanked and a tiny silver thing came flying out of the water and landed half a mile behind me in the midst of the wreckage, I rescued the poor creature from a lingering death under an old Zanussi and returned him to the water. He had been about four inches long, not record breaking but the first catch of the day! From then on, with a slight flick of the wrist, I was to land one of these blighters every few minutes while my comrades looked on bewildered. I was experiencing the renowned Beginners Luck, but I soon bored of it and sent them on their way as soon as I had unhooked them. The reservoir was crammed with fish, I spied armies of them chomping on anything and everything and it didn't seem like much of a challenge.
Back in the boozer a few days later propping up the bar with Blonde Flatmate, one of the beefy bouncers and leader of our expedition wandered over and asked if I'd enjoyed the day.
"Oh... wonderful." I enthused... "simply marvellous."
Blonde Flatmate turned to me mystified, "but you said it was boring!" She will be facing a dramatic rise in the rent if she doesn't acquire some brain cells quick. Despite her interruptions I managed to convince our leader that I had had a life-changing experience.
None of us landed anything bigger that day although since that outing my friends have regaled me with tall tales of colossal carp and tempestuous tench fighting to the death. They keeping asking when I will be accompanying them again but I'm just so busy at the moment... and will be for the next few years.
And yet fishing is very popular in Poland. It is illegal for people or dogs to swim in most public ponds, rivers or lakes but fishermen can do what they want, and do, leaving a trail of hooks and line and litter.
I managed to contain my excitement when a couple of the boys down the pub invited me on their weekly jaunt in search of carp and the like. On contemplation and always open to an odd adventure I thought 'Why not?' Maybe I will discover what it is that Polish men find so fascinating by the waterside... apart from a free lunch of course.
We set out at dawn in a giant jeep, four of us and piles of equipment. On the journey through the rain and out of the city I imagined an idyllic setting, the gentle trickle of a stream or occasional splash of a duck on a pond, dew steaming from the soft luscious banks, a remarkable tree under which to plant oneself and gaze out at the drizzle and a misty horizon, a book to hand when mighty and mysterious marine life were not tugging on my line, etc etc.
An hour later we turned off the main road and headed down a dirt track for five minutes before arriving at what looked like a rubbish dump. After leaving the jeep next to a couple of abandoned cars we made our way past a breeze block house encircled by mad dogs chained to tractor wheels. We entered a compound via a metal gate and, stepping delicately along wet wooden planks, we crossed over small tanks which were heaving with condemned fish. Continuing single file in between mountains of discarded washing machines and other debris we reached the edge of an expansive and very man-made looking reservoir. Concrete shelters especially built for fisherman were located around the whole circumference of the water, each just a few yards from the next. I was already looking at my watch as we unpacked the tackle.
My pals armed me with a worm on a hook at the end of a long rod. I stood awkwardly freezing my nuts off for 15 minutes staring out at the water. My thoughts turned to the paperback protruding from my jacket pocket but I was given strict instructions not to take my eyes off the bait. Suddenly one of the boys shouted at me "pull pull!" I instinctively yanked and a tiny silver thing came flying out of the water and landed half a mile behind me in the midst of the wreckage, I rescued the poor creature from a lingering death under an old Zanussi and returned him to the water. He had been about four inches long, not record breaking but the first catch of the day! From then on, with a slight flick of the wrist, I was to land one of these blighters every few minutes while my comrades looked on bewildered. I was experiencing the renowned Beginners Luck, but I soon bored of it and sent them on their way as soon as I had unhooked them. The reservoir was crammed with fish, I spied armies of them chomping on anything and everything and it didn't seem like much of a challenge.
Back in the boozer a few days later propping up the bar with Blonde Flatmate, one of the beefy bouncers and leader of our expedition wandered over and asked if I'd enjoyed the day.
"Oh... wonderful." I enthused... "simply marvellous."
Blonde Flatmate turned to me mystified, "but you said it was boring!" She will be facing a dramatic rise in the rent if she doesn't acquire some brain cells quick. Despite her interruptions I managed to convince our leader that I had had a life-changing experience.
None of us landed anything bigger that day although since that outing my friends have regaled me with tall tales of colossal carp and tempestuous tench fighting to the death. They keeping asking when I will be accompanying them again but I'm just so busy at the moment... and will be for the next few years.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
Let there be light.
I rent two garages from the council in which to house Esmeralda and Edward. In Polish terms the fees are steep, I pay more than what I receive from the flatmates, that's how much I pay... an exorbitant amount. There is no electricity, the doors are hanging off and both roofs leak. In one of the garages I have a source of illumination... a single bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
The building administration told me that certain neighbours have complained about my garage light. Why? The electricity comes from the communal source and therefore everyone pays for it. The light is hardly used and costs next to nothing but no matter. I paid for new communal central heating pipes to be installed as it was necessary and the admin said they didn't have the funds, but let that pass. I pay for the cleaner who does the staircases as the admin has no money, but never mind. Every year I hold a Christmas party to which all come and have a rollicking time, but that is of no consequence. I regularly give money to their begging children who play downstairs but that is irrelevant. The neighbours refuse to pay what is an insignificant sum simply because it is not their light. And I mean insignificant. The cost of one 40W light bulb (switched on for maybe 10 minutes a week) shared between 26 households. Insignificant.
"Okay," I said, "get the council to bill me and I will pay."
"But you do not have an electricity meter in the garage... you must install one. And then you must go the council and tell them and sign a contract. Then you must go to the electricity board and tell them and sign another contract."
This is typical and after six years in Poland does not surprise me. The council made no mention of this when I first rented the garage (they probably didn't know) and now I must go to the time and expense of installing an electric meter for them so that they can bill me a few pence every month... and for those dilapidated shacks I pay a kings ransom in rent.
When I lament about life in Poland all I get from my Polish pals is...
"Welcome to Poland!"
The building administration told me that certain neighbours have complained about my garage light. Why? The electricity comes from the communal source and therefore everyone pays for it. The light is hardly used and costs next to nothing but no matter. I paid for new communal central heating pipes to be installed as it was necessary and the admin said they didn't have the funds, but let that pass. I pay for the cleaner who does the staircases as the admin has no money, but never mind. Every year I hold a Christmas party to which all come and have a rollicking time, but that is of no consequence. I regularly give money to their begging children who play downstairs but that is irrelevant. The neighbours refuse to pay what is an insignificant sum simply because it is not their light. And I mean insignificant. The cost of one 40W light bulb (switched on for maybe 10 minutes a week) shared between 26 households. Insignificant.
"Okay," I said, "get the council to bill me and I will pay."
"But you do not have an electricity meter in the garage... you must install one. And then you must go the council and tell them and sign a contract. Then you must go to the electricity board and tell them and sign another contract."
This is typical and after six years in Poland does not surprise me. The council made no mention of this when I first rented the garage (they probably didn't know) and now I must go to the time and expense of installing an electric meter for them so that they can bill me a few pence every month... and for those dilapidated shacks I pay a kings ransom in rent.
When I lament about life in Poland all I get from my Polish pals is...
"Welcome to Poland!"
Monday, 24 November 2008
First Snow.
As a Londoner snow was a rare treat, arriving like an unexpected romance and lasting just as long - I always loved it. Crisp air and dazzling sunshine, brisk walks in the park, sipping port in pubs with open fires, the shops invitingly lit up from within, cosy sundays watching old matinees.... winters were easy to enjoy.
That was then. In Poland the first snow signals four or five months of bitter sub-zero temperatures. The snow stays and the rocky pavements disappear under inches of ice and become deadly. Moronic motorists continue to tear through the unlit streets with no regard for anyone. There are no street cleaners. Polish winters are dirty, depressing and dangerous. I dread them.
That was then. In Poland the first snow signals four or five months of bitter sub-zero temperatures. The snow stays and the rocky pavements disappear under inches of ice and become deadly. Moronic motorists continue to tear through the unlit streets with no regard for anyone. There are no street cleaners. Polish winters are dirty, depressing and dangerous. I dread them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)