Last night I was in England with family and friends.
Walking on the quay, at some point I asked our tour guide “How far are we from London?”.
“463km”, he claimed. Again I asked “How long is England, anyway?”, to which he responded “463km”.
That amazed me, as we have obviously been on the “other side of England”.
Though, I started thinking since when is London on some edge from which one would count those kilometres, but didn’t feel like going in deeper on that.
Across the sea we saw Norway. It was so close that we jumped in and swam towards.
The side we swam to had no shore we could get out on, so we swam to the other side of the shore (’twas a gulf of some sort).
When we were close enough to the shore, I touched a giant cube of ice and was thrilled how I actually “touched Norway”. Btw, I don’t remember being cold at all and as we got nearer to the shore it was sunny, spring-like weather.
We climbed onto a concrete-based shore, to realise we’ve got no clothes on.
Seeing some beach towels on the grass, we asked the gypsies who were near them if we could take them to which they laughed.
I think that I miraculously started wearing an army-green shirt which was long enough to cover my naughty bits, as I had no other clothes on.
Then, they introduced us to their family - they had 4 sons (all in range from 11 to 16 years of age) and each of them had a defect of some sort and accompanying name (such as Deafy, Dummy, and such)
* Unfortunately I had to leave for uni and stopped writing here, thus I forgot some details forth on *
Even though I recall having some adventures with the gypsy family, I can’t recall which.
The next thing I remember is that I was still wearing the said shirt, but I was in Rijeka. Some friends of mine and myself were trying to find some underwear so I wouldn’t have to worry about the length of the shirt any more. That was the tricky part since even in the city centre no stores selling clothes were about. We even went to “the forbidden shore” (where it was utterly dark and everything was in the greyish-green tones). We asked some youngsters if they know where do their parents buy them underwear (since it was obvious that only parents knew the secret place of underwear world).
Defeated since we couldn’t finish our quest, we went back home.
In a while, my Dad came back from work saying that he managed to find something, but that it might be inappropriate.
It was supposed to be 10-pack of undies, but when unpacked it turned into 10-pack of synthetic pants, which were just too big for me (in both length and circumference). I looked back at my father in confusion (with “Are you a complete idiot?” look) and he said “Well, I did think something is wrong with them… Well, feel free to take them back” after which I looked at him again thinking “Yes, I should walk around the city half-naked again… Sure, why not”.
Next thing I remember I was fully dressed (yay!) and on some party. Lots of kids (10-ish) were around the kitchen, and their parents were in the living room. I went to the kitchen to take some orange juice and said some joke mocking the Bosnians (*) to which all the kids giggled. When I entered the kitchen, a fat kid eating a cream-whipped ice-cream looked me with the saddest look saying “…but I am a Bosnian…”. To make him feel better, I claimed “Naah, you can’t be!” and went on taking my juice.
However, I couldn’t hold it in and I laughed quite loudly saying “Sorry kid, with that head of yours and such an accent, you’re a prime-time Bosnian”.
Then he, or some other kid, got angry and wanted to punch me. As he was taking his swing, I put my fist on the spot so he would hit it (which I planned to turn into one of those metal “handshakes”). But, as he hit my hand, he hurt himself by hitting my ring and started running to the living room crying and shouting for his mother.
I got pissed, took my jacked and said “fuck this, I’m leaving”. Some chick that was around looked at me as if she wanted me to stay, but my mind was made and I left.
Now I was at Henri’s place on a small move-in party. All of us there spent the whole day showing the city to Henri. As we came in, he introduced us to his wife (who was some redhead ) and I presented myself by both name and nickname, though saying “Dachaz… iliti Darko” with obvious use of Serbian slang between the two names. She looked at me strangely for that, and asked me if I also wasn’t from around to which I responded “no, I live just next door!”.
Then all of us started drinking, talking (in English) and at some point the wife-person started kinda hitting on some bloke who was there. Henri got pissed, walked out on the balcony and had brought their baby son in shouting “Remember THIS?”. As I was closest to the door, I took the little bugger and was amazed as he was the prettiest baby I had ever seen. I even claimed that out loud, and people started agreeing with me, one by one.
At the other end of the room Chandler and Monica, from Friends, were sitting. I fingerpointed at Chandler and said “you wanker, why are you afraid of making one yourself?”. Monica backed me up on this, of course.
Then I woke up.
* for the US people who know of Bosnia just as just another warzone - the joke, of course, wasn’t referring to the war but to the prejudiced ones how Bosnians are the dumbest nation with the biggest craniums.
I have honestly never seen a pic of Henri’s son, nor of the baby’s mother, but there’s just one thing I hope and that is that Henri doesn’t keep his kid on a balcony!