BLOG OFF
It's not so much the blogging I'm going to miss although I am sure I will have a mild withdrawal, it's not being able to read everybody else's that will cause me the most grief.
It's going to be like taking a break from watching Coronation Street and coming back to it only to wonder where Elsie Tanner has gone.
Oh well. Everyone stand by for a serious archives hit come September.
All the best, everyone and a special hug to y'all.
Amstelladagain is closed until further notice.
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
LAST ORDERS, PLEASE
Anyone desirous of receiving gifts from Hungary should speak now, time is running short. I shall be leaving on Thursday.
Blogging will be suspended until such time as I can convince my accountant that a lap-top is an acceptable expense. Well, actually my chartered accountant has been behind the idea for a while but the real accountant, the one who holds me accountable, the capa di tuti capi, has yet to be convinced.
Why is it that women are all too ready to embrace new technology regarding reproduction, weight loss, cosmetics and surgical enhancement and yet so Luddite when it comes to information technology? I must have missed the Oprah on 'partners I have lost to a computer'.
Well, now I've successfully, but not really intentionally, alienated the better looking part of my readership, I'll continue.
I have in fact, been doing the accounts today...by which I mean sorting out all the invoices and attempting to figure out which will stand a soupcon of a smidgen of an iota's chance of being accepted by the Revenuers as a legitimate expense for a language school. Those for the crates of Amstel, Stella and 2000 Pinot Noir have been binned but I have a few interesting Hotel bills that show some promise. I wonder whether or not the fact that, in most cases, the bar tab exceeds the cost of accommodation would sneak under their radar. Or would filing it under 'entertainment' allow it to pass unchallenged? One can but try. The ones for electronic goods are a constant source of worry. Especially as I rather went overboard with a PC upgrade and bought a TV, DVD player and Video recorder, all for educational purposes you understand. I am also in need of a really good quality digital camera...there's nothing like snapshots to get the students talking and the pictures on this blog really suck in terms of delineation and focus...I wonder. Argos Polaroid...your time may well be nigh. Maybe the Shrub can point me in the direction of a 'good buy' as I have been really impressed with his photos so far. If he tells me he scans them in from an analogue, I shall seek and destroy while I am back in the 'Septic Isle'. Should you hear of a dirty bomb going off somewhere in the Crookes region of Sheffield, the motive was purely photographic.
One also rather fancies visiting BDTBL on the 14th for the Reading game. Seeing as how I have become persuaded that meeting people from t'internet is not necessarily fraught with unimaginable horrors and complications, I have already taken steps to arrange face to faces with two of my fellow Blades. Whether they will even begin to approach what I have begun to refer to as the South African Nike experience...'Jess do it!' remains to be seen. I am optimistic though, 'tis my eager nature. So, Uncy and Weggie...gird up thy loins, the day of the Kan is nigh.
You fill up my senses...
Oh, and this just made my night!
Anyone desirous of receiving gifts from Hungary should speak now, time is running short. I shall be leaving on Thursday.
Blogging will be suspended until such time as I can convince my accountant that a lap-top is an acceptable expense. Well, actually my chartered accountant has been behind the idea for a while but the real accountant, the one who holds me accountable, the capa di tuti capi, has yet to be convinced.
Why is it that women are all too ready to embrace new technology regarding reproduction, weight loss, cosmetics and surgical enhancement and yet so Luddite when it comes to information technology? I must have missed the Oprah on 'partners I have lost to a computer'.
Well, now I've successfully, but not really intentionally, alienated the better looking part of my readership, I'll continue.
I have in fact, been doing the accounts today...by which I mean sorting out all the invoices and attempting to figure out which will stand a soupcon of a smidgen of an iota's chance of being accepted by the Revenuers as a legitimate expense for a language school. Those for the crates of Amstel, Stella and 2000 Pinot Noir have been binned but I have a few interesting Hotel bills that show some promise. I wonder whether or not the fact that, in most cases, the bar tab exceeds the cost of accommodation would sneak under their radar. Or would filing it under 'entertainment' allow it to pass unchallenged? One can but try. The ones for electronic goods are a constant source of worry. Especially as I rather went overboard with a PC upgrade and bought a TV, DVD player and Video recorder, all for educational purposes you understand. I am also in need of a really good quality digital camera...there's nothing like snapshots to get the students talking and the pictures on this blog really suck in terms of delineation and focus...I wonder. Argos Polaroid...your time may well be nigh. Maybe the Shrub can point me in the direction of a 'good buy' as I have been really impressed with his photos so far. If he tells me he scans them in from an analogue, I shall seek and destroy while I am back in the 'Septic Isle'. Should you hear of a dirty bomb going off somewhere in the Crookes region of Sheffield, the motive was purely photographic.
One also rather fancies visiting BDTBL on the 14th for the Reading game. Seeing as how I have become persuaded that meeting people from t'internet is not necessarily fraught with unimaginable horrors and complications, I have already taken steps to arrange face to faces with two of my fellow Blades. Whether they will even begin to approach what I have begun to refer to as the South African Nike experience...'Jess do it!' remains to be seen. I am optimistic though, 'tis my eager nature. So, Uncy and Weggie...gird up thy loins, the day of the Kan is nigh.
You fill up my senses...
Oh, and this just made my night!
Sunday, July 25, 2004
WHY? WHAT? TELL ME AGAIN.
To every end, a beginning. And to every beginning, an end. Why is it that we can always recognise an end? Why are they so much more sharp, more clearly delineated? Maybe it’s because they come upon us so quickly, so without warning, so bloody relentlessly. Something is no more, the strings which held it together are now asunder and we are adrift…floating, bereft of fixed point…no frame of reference.
Does it have to be this way? Must I always submit…bend like a reed? Prostrate myself before the winds of fate? Just accept, helplessly, the inevitability of it all? Or can I recognise that tide in the affairs of man and by grasping it at full flood, direct it to my will?
Such a tide is upon me now, dear friends. Alcohol induced it may be but ’tis no less real for that. And I let the ropes fall aside, not knowing whether or not they are attached to anchors any more substantial than my hopes. There goes my daughter, overboard. There goes my love. There goes another and another. Each to its own box and yet, I see they are connected, some by strong bindings and others by tendrils almost invisible, yet these webs, I have woven. I am at the centre, my feelers on each thread…measuring, judging, evaluating. Holding the lives and fears and trust and beliefs of others nervously in the palm of my hands.
And still the question, who am I? The father…for years to come omnipotent? The lover? And to whom should I address that question for fuck’s sake? Does anyone have a monopoly on my love? The teacher? God forbid. What the fuck do I know anyway, that I should pass on with any degree of confidence or certainty? The man? That would do nicely, thank you but I have a suspicion I would not qualify on numerous counts. No, not the man tits, you pretzel. It’s just I have an idea, an ideal…a man, who man himself would be…take it away Percy.
… must rule the Empire of himself,
in it, must be supreme,
establishing his throne on vanquished will,
quelling the anarchy of hopes and fears,
being himself, alone.
Bollocks. Dingly dangly, fuzzy bollocks.
To every end, a beginning. And to every beginning, an end. Why is it that we can always recognise an end? Why are they so much more sharp, more clearly delineated? Maybe it’s because they come upon us so quickly, so without warning, so bloody relentlessly. Something is no more, the strings which held it together are now asunder and we are adrift…floating, bereft of fixed point…no frame of reference.
Does it have to be this way? Must I always submit…bend like a reed? Prostrate myself before the winds of fate? Just accept, helplessly, the inevitability of it all? Or can I recognise that tide in the affairs of man and by grasping it at full flood, direct it to my will?
Such a tide is upon me now, dear friends. Alcohol induced it may be but ’tis no less real for that. And I let the ropes fall aside, not knowing whether or not they are attached to anchors any more substantial than my hopes. There goes my daughter, overboard. There goes my love. There goes another and another. Each to its own box and yet, I see they are connected, some by strong bindings and others by tendrils almost invisible, yet these webs, I have woven. I am at the centre, my feelers on each thread…measuring, judging, evaluating. Holding the lives and fears and trust and beliefs of others nervously in the palm of my hands.
And still the question, who am I? The father…for years to come omnipotent? The lover? And to whom should I address that question for fuck’s sake? Does anyone have a monopoly on my love? The teacher? God forbid. What the fuck do I know anyway, that I should pass on with any degree of confidence or certainty? The man? That would do nicely, thank you but I have a suspicion I would not qualify on numerous counts. No, not the man tits, you pretzel. It’s just I have an idea, an ideal…a man, who man himself would be…take it away Percy.
… must rule the Empire of himself,
in it, must be supreme,
establishing his throne on vanquished will,
quelling the anarchy of hopes and fears,
being himself, alone.
Bollocks. Dingly dangly, fuzzy bollocks.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
FROGGY METAMORPHOSIS
Some day, her prince will come...and break my heart.
It's the Frog's fourth on the 29th but we'll be heading off to England soon, so we thought we'd give her a party here before we leave.
She wanted to be Sleeping Beauty for the day, hence the dress. I don't think she's quite got the hang of the sleeping bit though, she's been running us off our feet all day.
Anyway, the guests will be arriving soon. Zsuzsi is taking care of all things comestible and I have been, rather foolishly in my opinion, put in charge of the water bombs.
Unless I can conquer my competitive instincts, there'll be a lot of very wet toddlers and it'll all end in tears.
And I'll be sleeping with the Alsatian tonight.
Some day, her prince will come...and break my heart.
It's the Frog's fourth on the 29th but we'll be heading off to England soon, so we thought we'd give her a party here before we leave.
She wanted to be Sleeping Beauty for the day, hence the dress. I don't think she's quite got the hang of the sleeping bit though, she's been running us off our feet all day.
Anyway, the guests will be arriving soon. Zsuzsi is taking care of all things comestible and I have been, rather foolishly in my opinion, put in charge of the water bombs.
Unless I can conquer my competitive instincts, there'll be a lot of very wet toddlers and it'll all end in tears.
And I'll be sleeping with the Alsatian tonight.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
I WAS THERE
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he this day that drank Woodford with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
That day sure fucked up his condition:
And all you sods in England now abed,
Should think yourselves accurs'd, you were not here,
And hold your manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks
Who supp'd with us this legendary day.
There is so much I could tell you. About how my life changed and yet remained the same. About how what I have forgotten means more to me than most of my combined accumulated memories. About confirmed expectations and confounded fears. About the mirror held and the same gazed into. About joy and tears. And most of all, about love.
And what is it that I am going to tell you? Nothing, rien, semmit, nada. Maybe I could tell you that our feat of alcohol consumption was of truly epic proportions. I could tell you but you were not there. The male of the species was not disgraced, that much I can vouchsafe. I could tell you that the hangover involved no pain but you would have no idea as to its intensity. I could tell you that at least one person would not hold his manhood cheap and that he still has the moustaches to prove it.
So what can I tell you? I can tell you that I lost my keys and that I leapt over my fence with a liquidity of which Olga Korbut would have been proud. I can tell you that we "screwed our courage to the sticking place" and returned to the scene to be blown away by one of the finest jazz sets I have ever witnessed and be astounded by the virtuosity of a ragtime band who rapped their way through 'Sweet Georgia Brown'. And I can also let slip that Roger would have loved the trombonist.
Suffice it to say that a very important person passed through my life this weekend. And everything has changed and yet everything is how it was. I am a very lucky man.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he this day that drank Woodford with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
That day sure fucked up his condition:
And all you sods in England now abed,
Should think yourselves accurs'd, you were not here,
And hold your manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks
Who supp'd with us this legendary day.
There is so much I could tell you. About how my life changed and yet remained the same. About how what I have forgotten means more to me than most of my combined accumulated memories. About confirmed expectations and confounded fears. About the mirror held and the same gazed into. About joy and tears. And most of all, about love.
And what is it that I am going to tell you? Nothing, rien, semmit, nada. Maybe I could tell you that our feat of alcohol consumption was of truly epic proportions. I could tell you but you were not there. The male of the species was not disgraced, that much I can vouchsafe. I could tell you that the hangover involved no pain but you would have no idea as to its intensity. I could tell you that at least one person would not hold his manhood cheap and that he still has the moustaches to prove it.
So what can I tell you? I can tell you that I lost my keys and that I leapt over my fence with a liquidity of which Olga Korbut would have been proud. I can tell you that we "screwed our courage to the sticking place" and returned to the scene to be blown away by one of the finest jazz sets I have ever witnessed and be astounded by the virtuosity of a ragtime band who rapped their way through 'Sweet Georgia Brown'. And I can also let slip that Roger would have loved the trombonist.
Suffice it to say that a very important person passed through my life this weekend. And everything has changed and yet everything is how it was. I am a very lucky man.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
Friday, July 16, 2004
Thursday, July 15, 2004
HURRICANE WARNING
What began as a small disturbance at 10 000 feet somewhere over the mid-atlantic has now increased in force, intensity and, most pertinently, proximity.
Hurricane Jess is due to arrive over Budapest some time around midday tomorrow. Airport bars and shoe emporia will be closed and boarded up in anticipation. Inhabitants of the capital have been reassured that the danger will be only fleeting as she will divert in a south-westerly direction should the jet-stream (read VW Passat) arrive as forecast.
The prognosis for the weekend is wet. Very.
I visited my friend, our host at the jazz festival, yesterday and he does indeed have ample stocks of 60% by volume Hungarian pálinka. His wine store is comprised of the eminently drinkable...the bottled stuff and the even more drinkable straight from the barrel last year's vintage...even if it does only come in two varieties, white and red.
These supplies may prove unecessary, although I rather doubt it, should we decide to fully explore the possibilities of my own cellar prior to hailing a cab for Cserfő.
So, expect pics shortly and anon. I rather suspect blogging time will be sacrificed for drinking time and, should you not hear from me awhile, fear not. 'Twill simply be embarrassment at having been out-bendered by a girly.
A hip flask in the glove compartment might just be in order. I have some really vicious pálinka. Happen I can nobble her before we even get home. If not, I have a suspicion that I may well be doomed.
What began as a small disturbance at 10 000 feet somewhere over the mid-atlantic has now increased in force, intensity and, most pertinently, proximity.
Hurricane Jess is due to arrive over Budapest some time around midday tomorrow. Airport bars and shoe emporia will be closed and boarded up in anticipation. Inhabitants of the capital have been reassured that the danger will be only fleeting as she will divert in a south-westerly direction should the jet-stream (read VW Passat) arrive as forecast.
The prognosis for the weekend is wet. Very.
I visited my friend, our host at the jazz festival, yesterday and he does indeed have ample stocks of 60% by volume Hungarian pálinka. His wine store is comprised of the eminently drinkable...the bottled stuff and the even more drinkable straight from the barrel last year's vintage...even if it does only come in two varieties, white and red.
These supplies may prove unecessary, although I rather doubt it, should we decide to fully explore the possibilities of my own cellar prior to hailing a cab for Cserfő.
So, expect pics shortly and anon. I rather suspect blogging time will be sacrificed for drinking time and, should you not hear from me awhile, fear not. 'Twill simply be embarrassment at having been out-bendered by a girly.
A hip flask in the glove compartment might just be in order. I have some really vicious pálinka. Happen I can nobble her before we even get home. If not, I have a suspicion that I may well be doomed.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
NEXUS
I was in a bit of a quandry this evening. Whether to continue mowing the lawn or to mark a few more oral examinations.
The mosquitos rather put paid to the former...little bastards have obviously developed an immunity to the 'Off' spray I employ on these occasions...and a sense of propriety over the English language rather stymied the latter.
So...all things being equal and free will being paramount, I watched all three episodes of the TV adaptation of 'Dune' and got spectacularly drunk on Booker's bourbon.
Hey ho. Bollocks. Hic. Bastards.
I would also direct you to one of the most restrained and honest pieces of writing I have ever read...if you can read this and remain unmoved, you are without doubt bereft of even the slightest touch of humanity.
I don't know you, Jon, but by all that's reasonable, I feel for you right now. There is no God.
I was in a bit of a quandry this evening. Whether to continue mowing the lawn or to mark a few more oral examinations.
The mosquitos rather put paid to the former...little bastards have obviously developed an immunity to the 'Off' spray I employ on these occasions...and a sense of propriety over the English language rather stymied the latter.
So...all things being equal and free will being paramount, I watched all three episodes of the TV adaptation of 'Dune' and got spectacularly drunk on Booker's bourbon.
Hey ho. Bollocks. Hic. Bastards.
I would also direct you to one of the most restrained and honest pieces of writing I have ever read...if you can read this and remain unmoved, you are without doubt bereft of even the slightest touch of humanity.
I don't know you, Jon, but by all that's reasonable, I feel for you right now. There is no God.
Friday, July 09, 2004
Thursday, July 08, 2004
sKOdad
Bastards. Scum-sucking, furd-wangling, gonad-scratching, bilge-drinking, crotch-sniffing, whore-mongering bastards.
The phone rings this morning. I'm only on my first cup of coffee but I pick it up nevertheless.
"Uh huh?"
"Good morning, sir. This is Peter from the showroom. Your car's arrived and we really need you to pay the 55% cash you promised us, sir. Could you..."
I get to the showroom just as he's replacing the handset, hand over the readies and ask him for the keys.
"Oh no, sir. You can't possibly take it away today."
"But I've just handed you two and a half million forints cash!"
"I appreciate that, sir. But we have to register the car first. It doesn't have a number plate yet. And then it has to be tested and..."
"Yer wot...tested?"
"Oh yes. MOT and emissions tested."
"But it's a new fucking car!"
"I know, sir. Bureaucracy, sir."
"So, why in the name of all that's sensible did you ring me this morning and tell me my car had arrived? Would it not have been more humane to wait till I could drive it away?"
"Possibly, sir. Thing is that until the bank has confirmation that you have, in fact, stumped up your slice of the dosh, nothing can proceed."
"Okay then. So when can I pick it up?"
"Er...let me see...registration 2 days...test it on Thursday..."
"Thursday?!"
"Oh yes, sir. They only test on Thursdays."
"Today's Thursday."
"So it is, sir but until it's registered, they won't test it. Friday afternoon okay, then?"
"Is it buggery. I've got to go to Budapest on Friday to pick up the Shoe."
"Saturday morning it is then, sir."
"I'll still be fucking drunk on Saturday morning. Bollocks!"
Bastards. Snot-gobbling, slime-trailing, arse-dangling bastards.
Bastards. Scum-sucking, furd-wangling, gonad-scratching, bilge-drinking, crotch-sniffing, whore-mongering bastards.
The phone rings this morning. I'm only on my first cup of coffee but I pick it up nevertheless.
"Uh huh?"
"Good morning, sir. This is Peter from the showroom. Your car's arrived and we really need you to pay the 55% cash you promised us, sir. Could you..."
I get to the showroom just as he's replacing the handset, hand over the readies and ask him for the keys.
"Oh no, sir. You can't possibly take it away today."
"But I've just handed you two and a half million forints cash!"
"I appreciate that, sir. But we have to register the car first. It doesn't have a number plate yet. And then it has to be tested and..."
"Yer wot...tested?"
"Oh yes. MOT and emissions tested."
"But it's a new fucking car!"
"I know, sir. Bureaucracy, sir."
"So, why in the name of all that's sensible did you ring me this morning and tell me my car had arrived? Would it not have been more humane to wait till I could drive it away?"
"Possibly, sir. Thing is that until the bank has confirmation that you have, in fact, stumped up your slice of the dosh, nothing can proceed."
"Okay then. So when can I pick it up?"
"Er...let me see...registration 2 days...test it on Thursday..."
"Thursday?!"
"Oh yes, sir. They only test on Thursdays."
"Today's Thursday."
"So it is, sir but until it's registered, they won't test it. Friday afternoon okay, then?"
"Is it buggery. I've got to go to Budapest on Friday to pick up the Shoe."
"Saturday morning it is then, sir."
"I'll still be fucking drunk on Saturday morning. Bollocks!"
Bastards. Snot-gobbling, slime-trailing, arse-dangling bastards.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
SAINTS PRESURFERS
I shamelessly nicked this quiz from the Presurfer. Apparently...
You are an SECF--Sober Emotional Constructive Follower. This makes you a hippie. You are passionate about your causes and steadfast in your commitments. Once you've made up your mind, no one can convince you otherwise. Your politics are left-leaning, and your lifestyle choices decidedly temperate and chaste.
You do tremendous work when focused, but usually you operate somewhat distracted. You blow hot and cold, and while you normally endeavor on the side of goodness and truth, you have a massive mean streak which is not to be taken lightly. You don't get mad, you get even.
Mmmmmmmmmm.
I shamelessly nicked this quiz from the Presurfer. Apparently...
You are an SECF--Sober Emotional Constructive Follower. This makes you a hippie. You are passionate about your causes and steadfast in your commitments. Once you've made up your mind, no one can convince you otherwise. Your politics are left-leaning, and your lifestyle choices decidedly temperate and chaste.
You do tremendous work when focused, but usually you operate somewhat distracted. You blow hot and cold, and while you normally endeavor on the side of goodness and truth, you have a massive mean streak which is not to be taken lightly. You don't get mad, you get even.
Mmmmmmmmmm.
THE MEN IN MENOPAUSE
It's got to be hormonal...maybe it's enzymes, endorphins?
Whatever it is, I've burst into tears three times recently. The first time was while watching Robbie Williams Live at Knebworth on Hungarian HBO...next was watching Sharapova win Wimbledon and the latest was when giving 15 out of 15 to an absolutely flawless piece of creative writing about the Scottish clan wars.
I'm worried...very worried.
It's got to be hormonal...maybe it's enzymes, endorphins?
Whatever it is, I've burst into tears three times recently. The first time was while watching Robbie Williams Live at Knebworth on Hungarian HBO...next was watching Sharapova win Wimbledon and the latest was when giving 15 out of 15 to an absolutely flawless piece of creative writing about the Scottish clan wars.
I'm worried...very worried.
Friday, July 02, 2004
SEMMI
Unatkoztam. Az egész nap. Nem volt semmi más dolgom, csak a munkám. Megint elment a családom, hogy tehessem zavarás nélkül. Bárcsak, hogy valaki zavart volna…a postás sem volt. A telefon se csengett…semmi. És esik az eső, nagyon.
És milyen a munkám? Borzasztó. Már javítottam több, mint két száz vizsgát ugyan az a szinten és bár, hogy úgy gondoltam, hogy nagyon pesszimisták a magyarok, úgy tűnik, hogy amikor jelentkeznek kell a vizsgához, túl optimisták vannak. Jól tudok ám, hogy mindenkinek kell a „First Class Pass”-ra elérni de általában nem élnek a stabil földen.
Aztán észre vettem, hogy elfogyat a macska eledel és az ásványvíz. Irány a boltba. Annyira esett, hogy 50 méter alatt a gatyám is vizes lett. Az összes vásárlás közben szortyogott a víz a cipőmben…cukrot akartam venni de nem mertem felvenni a nedves kezemmel. Vártam kellet ameddig nem volt száraz.
Hát, jól van. Legalább nyertek a görögök, hajra Dellas. Micsoda ember. Egyszer pengő, mindig pengő. Az nehéz lesz azoknak akinek nincs tudománya az angol fociról.
Sokszor azt mondtam a régi tanulóimnak, hogy olvasnak kell a blogomat, hogy lehet nekik javulni az olvasási ügyességeket és kíváncsi voltam, hogy lehet nekem egy egész blog-at magyarul írni. Hát, úgy tűnik, hogy igen.
Végzem most egy viccel. Nagyon büszkén vagyok magamra, hogy tudtam megtalálni egy magyar szóviccet, amit senki nem ismert eddig. Egyszer azt mondta nekem valaki, hogy „Hányingerem van.” Mit szóltam én? „Mit tudom én? Számold meg!”
Köszönöm és jó észokát mindenkinek.
Unatkoztam. Az egész nap. Nem volt semmi más dolgom, csak a munkám. Megint elment a családom, hogy tehessem zavarás nélkül. Bárcsak, hogy valaki zavart volna…a postás sem volt. A telefon se csengett…semmi. És esik az eső, nagyon.
És milyen a munkám? Borzasztó. Már javítottam több, mint két száz vizsgát ugyan az a szinten és bár, hogy úgy gondoltam, hogy nagyon pesszimisták a magyarok, úgy tűnik, hogy amikor jelentkeznek kell a vizsgához, túl optimisták vannak. Jól tudok ám, hogy mindenkinek kell a „First Class Pass”-ra elérni de általában nem élnek a stabil földen.
Aztán észre vettem, hogy elfogyat a macska eledel és az ásványvíz. Irány a boltba. Annyira esett, hogy 50 méter alatt a gatyám is vizes lett. Az összes vásárlás közben szortyogott a víz a cipőmben…cukrot akartam venni de nem mertem felvenni a nedves kezemmel. Vártam kellet ameddig nem volt száraz.
Hát, jól van. Legalább nyertek a görögök, hajra Dellas. Micsoda ember. Egyszer pengő, mindig pengő. Az nehéz lesz azoknak akinek nincs tudománya az angol fociról.
Sokszor azt mondtam a régi tanulóimnak, hogy olvasnak kell a blogomat, hogy lehet nekik javulni az olvasási ügyességeket és kíváncsi voltam, hogy lehet nekem egy egész blog-at magyarul írni. Hát, úgy tűnik, hogy igen.
Végzem most egy viccel. Nagyon büszkén vagyok magamra, hogy tudtam megtalálni egy magyar szóviccet, amit senki nem ismert eddig. Egyszer azt mondta nekem valaki, hogy „Hányingerem van.” Mit szóltam én? „Mit tudom én? Számold meg!”
Köszönöm és jó észokát mindenkinek.
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