Bookshop Babe.

I've rarely been able to walk past a bookshop without popping in to have a quick peruse. This day was no exception, and on leaving the gym I automatically ventured into a small retail outlet. Expansive reasonably priced book stores are one of the many things I miss. Polish bookshops are not anywhere near as interesting or diverse as back in Britain where we are spoilt with a wealth of wonderful reading and big bright coffee table books. In the UK you can buy a book on anything. My last trip down Charing Cross Road culminated in the purchases of Street Covers - a black & white photographic record of manhole covers, Meetings with Remarkable Trees, Last Letters of Audrey Beardsley, Fine Silks & Oak Counters - Debenhams 1778-1978, Decorated Paper Designs, Mythical Beasts, Wings of the World - Tales from the Golden Age of Air Travel, Beer Memorablia, The Fifty Worst Movies of all Time, and a beautiful lavishly illustrated extra large format volume Voyages of Discovery - Three Centuries of Natural History Exploration. One could not hope to find any books like these in Poland, or indeed any photographic books of interest other than about Poland itself.

On establishing that the stock of this particular premises consisted of the usual sparse collection of cheap quality paperbacks and touristy tomes on the Polish countryside, I was about to depart when a gorgeous girl in an outfit that could best be described as minimal asked me if there was anything particular I was looking for. Mmm... tempting, I told her I was merely browsing but of course always open to suggestions. She ended up recommending Paulo Coelho whom I've never read and she adores having whizzed through all but his last one Brigate (which they didn't have).

Somewhat distracted by this nymphet who continued to smile at me as I wandered round in a state of agitation, I sneaked out and purchased a card nearby and a copy of Brigate which I deposited with her a little while later. She sent me a text not long after that and we arranged to meet during the week.

Word of the week: Ksiegarnia meaning bookshop.

Letter to Daniel.

Dear Daniel,
Thank you for your news - I'm glad you're home safe and sound.
I have thought much on your hasty exit from what was an unsavoury affair and cannot help but deliberate on whether you will ever reappear on this side of Europe again. And I'm puzzled as to why you care if Agata knows about you and Marta. It was truly dreadful the way Agata treated you towards the end so why shouldn't you have had some fun from someone who valued your company? We were all incredulous at the text Agata sent one of the girls on your last evening in Lodz, saying that she intended to spend a nice night with you. Dear me... how she played with you Daniel. A local lad would never have tolerated being kicked around like a football, but you kept bouncing back to her.

Agata's female 'companions' told me how she came on to blokes when out on the town, and when your name was awkwardly mentioned she dismissed you as a 'short-term loser' with whom she would soon dispense. They told me how she embarrassed you. How she continually crushed you. As a Soft Foreigner she took huge liberties with you. Even before setting eyes on her I was wary as Darek had warned me - I value his judgement and of course I remembered how she had dealt with you over the phone when you came to stay at my place after she threw you out the first time. My fellow Londoner Jason described her simply as hateful, but I know only too well that even a misguided devotion can cloud the most coherent mind. Within half an hour of you introducing me to her in the pub she proceeded to be quite remarkable in her rudeness and had she not been with you I would have had her swiftly removed from the premises.

I warmed to you the moment we met and it was distressing for everyone that you could be so in love with a person who treated you with such contempt. Each time she tossed you into the street, all you could do was stare blankly at your mobile waiting for the faintest sign from her. It comforted her to know that you had no work and spoke no Polish. Had you not been so fixated and reliant on that woman you could have had a lot of fun here being single, but it's clear that she was your only reason for being around.

This brings me to the subject of Evelina and her English Language School. Evelina was exceedingly keen to hook up as she was (and still is) a teacher short. We discussed your visa situation and she could have dealt with that easily as she had done previously with other Americans, that was not an issue. The crux of the matter was not your ability (or your legal status) which was not in question as it was obvious that you would have been well-liked and up to the job. Evelina would have wanted you to commit for a year from September, but it quickly became apparent that without Agata it was unlikely that you would be hanging around, so we didn't go any further with it, and in the end that's exactly how it turned out.

I wanted to clear up the drug situation. You asked me several times to facilitate your quest for the purchase of cocaine, but it was ignoble that you should be seeking expensive recreational diversions - if you had spare cash to play with then your first thoughts should have been to pay back the money that had been given you. That surprised and disappointed me.

I hope you will find some satifying work my American friend and that the rest of your year is filled with success. It's a shame that your last weeks in Poland were so troubled but you yourself had made your bed and were unwilling or unable to remake it. You suffered a few late night beatings from Polish thugs and that saddened me, it's necessary to be alert here in these oft harsh climes - especially as an outsider.

It is only with age, sadly, that we can see the mistakes we have made and the opportunities that have been missed. I have also wasted time although, even in the thickest of infatuations, I've never allowed myself to be humiliated or degraded. Now you are back home, you are around people who genuinely care for you, there will be much to do and I know you will be more content. I wish you well and if you ever happen to be London bound then I would be delighted to see you.

Thank you for scooping up Magnus's jacket on Saturday night, it has made it's way to Lola so presumably will be in the hands of it's owner very soon.

The instructions you gave me for downloading films from the internet are indeed detailed, although I must say I don't know if I will get round to doing it. It takes quite a while, and besides, they're cracking down on internet downloading! It is of course appreciated.
Send me a picture of yourself with pals in Baltimore.
Best wishes

A memorable journey.

I have an old theatrical friend in London called Percy who asked when I was going to be back in town. Ryanair and the new local airport make it easier than it was, but because of the density of Poles now in the UK and the consequent mass movement back and forth from Poland to Britain, it is quite challenging to find cheap seats as they are all snapped up well in advance.

Percy (who never flies) wondered why I didn't get the train like he always does, and I'll certainly look into it. Long train journeys can be blissful but sometimes cost the earth. I remember last Christmas it was impossible to find a reasonably priced plane ticket as they had all been bought up months before, and so I was forced to pay a fortune or take the coach, which in the end is what I did...

26 hours of arse-aching monotony, and any chance of reading was frustrated by brainless Hollywood action films with loud Polish voiceovers which were shown throughout most of the journey. Poland is as flat as a pancake and the Autobahn through Germany all look the same, so the view isn't too exciting. On reaching the coast one does not even have the ferry crossing to look forward to as the coaches now go through the channel tunnel.

Still, it was certainly more memorable than most flights and it's easy to strike up conversation. The highlight of the journey was when at 4am and just about to cross into Germany, we stopped off at a truckers type cafe which was annexed to a small motel. Suspended in a nocturnal limbo between sleep and reality, I stumbled out of the bus and into the bitter winter night. Taking in several other sleepy souls, we crept carefully across the ice like extras from a zombie film and entered the gloomy foyer of the motel where I instantly felt I'd been transported back 30 years. Heavily made-up females, looking deeply available, lounged in large brown leather-look armchairs and with a twinkle in their eye surveyed all who passed. A short splindly fellow with a handlebar moustache and a polyester suit stood pouting at the reception, presiding over a wall of empty pigeon-holes under which hung rows of keys. A turn to the left took us through a dimly lit corridor and into the 'restaurant' which teemed with life. A brassy bleached blonde wearing a grubby apron stood commandingly behind a formica counter dishing out hot broth with chunks of stale bread. Bigos and sausage were also on offer. Big bellied bruisers sat round tables hunching over bowls of gruel which they shovelled down their gullets, half of it running down their chins. Groups of middle-aged women downed shots of vodka between hysterical bouts of laughter and thick cigarette smoke engulfed all. The din was equal to that of any nightclub in the West End on a Saturday night.

"Sounds marvellous" said Percy in all seriousness. I'm not sure I could put my posterior through that again, although it's preferable to paying 300 pounds to fly. That coach trip across Europe cost me a mere 50 quid return.

I come here to cry.

Over the summer Polish cities become very quiet. Schools and universities close until October and shops and businesses shut down for a whole month. Most people have a place outside the urban sprawl where they spend July and August, these range from small wooden shacks to huge and hideous breeze-block houses surrounded by high concrete walls. In the past travel abroad was difficult and expensive but now since Poland's accession into the European Union many more people are taking advantage of budget flights to venture further into the continent and overseas.

The new airport in Lodz (paid for with EU funds) provides quick and cheap travel to London, Edinburgh, Liverpool, Dublin, Shannon, Rome, Tunisia etc. The majority are flying for the first time and the Ryanair staff are endlessly pleading with the roudy mob to stop pushing, switch off their mobiles and refrain from smoking in the lavatory.

Being one of the few left in town is pleasant albeit hot as there is no river through the city or any lakes to speak of. Fewer lunatic drivers means less roaring traffic and hostility, and the tranquil parks provide solace as I was poignantly reminded yesterday.
"I've seen you often," an attractive woman in her fifties said to me... "I recognise the dogs." Her husband and sons had all moved to the UK two years ago and she was alone, although they visited. She did not want to leave Poland as she spoke no English and had an aging mother here. She whispered to me that she came to the park frequently to cry. She gazed into the distance as though she were concentrating on someone far away...
"Maybe you could help me, but I don't think so..."

My years here have hardened me and consequently I have long stopped reacting to such ambiguous requests. It is not the first time a stranger has opened up to me, especially in the public gardens which seem to attract an army of lonely individuals, all wandering around aimlessly.

Belgian budget travellers.

One night whilst sat at the bar in walked two soaked youths having got caught in the rain. They were from Belgium and had travelled from Poznan in the west of Poland. On alighting in Lodz they followed some people into the town centre and the nearest pub. They were planning to journey all over Poland for a month, sleeping rough or in their tent. Their funds stretched to under 3 pounds a day.

We chatted and I plied them with vodka seeing as even to buy a drink would cut deep into their budget. Surely it would be better to stay half the time and have a little more money to spend? They shrugged off that notion telling me that they do this every year in different countries and always get by. They had been unable to get a lift on their first day so ended up getting the train. I told them that the only way to hitchhike in Poland is to hold out money. An agreeable pair, although not particularly engaging, I offered to put them up for the night as it was late and wet. It occurred to me that they were reliant on the kindness of strangers as it really is impossible to travel anywhere in Europe on 3 quid a day. They were also painfully unaware of the harsh realities of Eastern Europe.

In their early twenties, the first character, who never took his baseball cap off, did most of the talking and was basically a bum with no work or ambition of any kind. The second was toying with the thought of starting a gardening company on his return home but his pal pooh-poohed the idea. They had known each other since school.

I invited them to stay the following night too as I was cooking for friends. On the third day I set them on the road to Warsaw, they had refused to take the train. I had found a Belgian travel guide on Poland which I gave them and they were pleased to have (they hadn't even invested in a travel guide!) and wished them well. It's a long walk to Warsaw but doubtless they arrived in one piece.

Mad as a March hare.

I bumped into a woman that I haven't seen in a few years, she is the mother of an ex-girlfriend called Monika who now lives in London.

When I first arrived in Poland six years ago Monika was studying at the same university where I was learning Polish. After a year together we broke up but remained good friends. I had taken her to London and she decided to move there after she graduated.

I fell out with Monika sometime later after she told me about an incident that occurred on a London bus involving her and her then current Polish boyfriend. They had been sat downstairs alone with just one other middle-aged man sat nearby. The man got off and had left his mobile on the seat at which Monika's boyfriend promptly reached over and pocketed it. Two stops later the man, having run after the bus, jumped back on - breathless and sweating - and checked where he had been sitting. He then asked Monica and her bloke if they had seen the phone to which they feigned ignorance.

When she told me this she was in hysterics, as though it was the funniest thing that had ever happened to her. I had given her quite a lot of money up until that point to fund her life in London as the useless boyfriend was not working and they couldn't pay the rent. The first time I went to visit them one sunny afternoon at their flat in north London, he was lying on the sofa watching television and didn't even get up to greet me. She couldn't understand my anger on hearing her 'funny' tale, I've had my mobile stolen in the past and there is nothing even slightly amusing about it.

Since then I have not had any news from her until this week when I said hello to her mother on the street. She proclaimed proudly that Monika is still living in London and got married just two weeks ago, elaborating on how there were people from all over the world at the wedding, this was something truly astonishing for her as in Poland foreigners are few and far between. Her attempts to impress were futile, I am a Londoner and born of immigrants, although I'm used to Polish people talking to me about Great Britain as though I've never even been there. On inquiring about Monika's new husband, her mother told me that he was from Zimbabwe and that they were going to move there. My incredulity must have been plain because she went on to stress that he has a beautiful house there. Mmm... one might have inherited a mansion in Afghanistan or a palace in Iran but would one really consider relocating? Love can make people do extraordinary things.

Word of the week: Szalony meaning mad/crazy/deranged/insane/demented/unhinged/unbalanced/nuts/off one's rocker/round the bend/off the wall/barmy/batty/bonkers/barking/crackers/loony/loopy/not right upstairs/off one's trolley/not the full shilling/sandwich short of a picnic/screw loose etc.

Spartacus in Lodz.

In 1966 Kirk Douglas visited the film school in Lodz. I watched a grainy black & white short film entitled Welcome Kirk which recorded the rather bizarre event. He was surrounded by film students and fans and had a translator who seemed to be part of the crowd.

I am still in the dark as to what brought him here, he himself seemed to be a little confused. It was certainly an unusual move considering that Hollywood had not long before been in the grip of Joseph McCarthy's Communist witchhunts and the Cold War was still at it's chilliest.

The film star wandered around somewhat bemused while the students had set up mock Wild West outposts and, donned in cowboy outfits, straddled horses and trotted around 'shooting' at each other. It was more Abbott and Costello than Gunfight at the OK Corral. Kirk entered into the spirit of it and - strapping on a six-shooter - demonstrated various gun pulling techniques.

Mercifully, there were no loined-clothed Spartacus impressions.