A Police interview in Poland

A young woman opened the door and entered the waiting room, she then spoke to Policeman through his intercom. He pointed over to myself and HMRC lady. My eyebrows shot up in acknowledgement, she approached us.  At last someone who could speak English. She explained we would have to sit here for another five minutes in order to be seen, and then she would come with us and interpret.  This seemed pretty quick to me considering the last Police station it was going to take an hour just to be seen. Five minutes passed, ten minutes passed and another middle aged woman popped her head around the door. She looked at us, pointed a pen she held in her hand and spoke Polish. We shook our heads like idiots in unison and feebly asked "Do you speak English?" No reply. She stomped off.  Great back to square one again, where's the nice admin girl who spoke pretty good English. A few more minutes passed and said young lady turned up again.  She led us through the security door, advising us as we followed what was about to happen. They didn't need my DNA, saliva, piece of hair, to blow in a bag or to be beaten with a truncheon, thank god. We were about to be interviewed by someone and then we'd have a report written out. Of course everything would be in Polish. Well naturally it would be.  Up two flights of steep concrete stairs, the décor was uniform yellow paint. I guess it must help in the interrogation process when prisoners are led away.  Blinded by the blandness of style in an old building. Miss Admin pushed open a heavy old door, there sitting at the table was the pissed off Polish lady who'd pen pointed us earlier.

We had in mind just one objective, which was unfortunate. For when you have one objective it is easy to forget about details, those little things which are important. Not knowing the language probably worked in our favour. So it was, HMRC lady did a great job of describing what had happened; my camera had been lost or stolen but we didn't know what it was. HMRC described the walk from restaurant to bar or was it bar to restaurant and the alleged process of finding I'd lost my camera. To tell the truth I didn't feel of much use in the entire matter, on account of not being sure of how the thing had got lost and how it had really got lost in a different town.  Not this one.  Would they see through these untruths. HMRC got stuck on a point and looked at me. Oh shite, what did she expect me to say? We didn't get our story and facts sorted before we sat in this place. Hell I didn't want to contradict what HMRC said and I had a dose of rabbit in the headlights come over.  Were we put into separate rooms, the statements would of been a little bit different to say the least. Hell, in situations like this some people break down.  Fortunately Sparkling Eyes, (the love of my life) wasn't here she'd of had an anxiety attack walking up the stairs and I'd of been put in a cell for every armed robbery since Christmas, even though I was never in the country, all for the sake of a bloody lost camera. I replied in a confused and agreeable fashion to HMRC woman and reached for my passport. The magical document which opens doors, or could close them in some cases. It was handed over as part of the process for writing the report. The dour faced interrigatoress concentrated writing on her laptop. It was a Lenovo brand, and I noticed the fingerprint reader on it for security.  My details had now been entered into the Polish Police database. It seemed like ages we were in this room but it didn't take too long for the report to be written out. All the time seemed to be taken up by the interpretation process.  It came out of the printer and we were advised a senior officer had to sign it off then I'd get my copy. God, not another delay. As it turned out there was no delay at all, an unknown face behind another heavy door immediately dispatched it.

Miss Admin kindly escorted us out of the building, down the stairs through the secure door and off we went. Sparkling looked at us and said it took an awfully long time. She and L & B man didn't know what had happened to us. She'd even looked in the waiting room but we were gone. She said this with a chuckle and we got a cup of coffee for our troubles. What a relief it was all over for now.

A Lost camera in Poland

Whilst on our long weekend break in Poland I lost my camera. It was in a lovely but snooty place called Sopot and a typical tourist town, beautiful pier, nice sandy beach, not forgetting the obligatory street full of shops, restaurants, bars.  The poser street is technically called Monte Cassino Street, yes

it has a poser name as well.  Somewhere between a wobbly looking building and a restaurant called Pinocchio I seemed to lose, misplace or get pick-pocked my compact camera. There were a lot of photos on it as well. We looked everywhere, around the table we'd brunched a great breakfast and around a table we'd just sat at but had failed to get served. The distance between where I had the

camera and the place it was lost could of been no more than twenty metres/yards. And I was just about to take a picture of myself with a pretty beautiful, tall, chocolate, ice cream. All of this has something to do with being half a century old and preferring food, a lay in bed and a good movie to doing anything strenuous.

I'd purchased a good insurance policy, or I hope its good but yet to find out, from the Post Office, which cost enough so I do hope it is good. However, like anything else you just can't claim insurance unless there is some follow up evidence and this meant obtaining a police report on said missing camera. Honestly I'd of really preferred the camera to making a claim and certainly a lot more than going to a Polish Police station. Walking the length of Monte Poser Street we then took a right along a road and found the Police station. It seemed new and clinically clean. The reception desk could of come out of B n Q and been put up an hour earlier because it didn't look like anybody bothered to actually sit behind it. So I stood there with the crew. Except L & B man who had a call of nature at that time on account of his stomach problems which funnily enough always arise when he is in Poland, it's the eggs he claims.  Eventually a Policeman with a large belly opened a door and poked his head out. His belly was so large I could tell his feet never got wet. Funnily enough it doesn't matter if you have a large belly in Poland you can still carry a gun on your hip. In a bolshy way the fat man had a conversation (in Polish) of course with a young man sitting in the waiting area. It seemed he was trying to dissuade the fellow from brining a complaint to the Police by being arrogant, flashing his hipped gun and trying to make a joke, which failed on tourists who such as I who didn't know what he was talking about. Another waiting man was able to translate as HMRC lady explained with me looking like a out of place plumb in an apple basket. Apparently nobody at the station spoke any English, even though this was a major tourist town, and we would have to wait at least one hour before someone could see us, who didn't speak English. I suggested we should go and forget the whole thing. No wonder insurance companies make a lot of money, people just don't claim when they have to rapidly learn Polish but don't have a phrase book.

The next day we found the Police station in Gdansk. Sopot station may have been modern in stature but this building was old and typical of a civil servant premises. The Police here also wore guns on their hips. It must be some kind of Police fashion statement is all that comes to mind. Nevertheless they are a sight to see. But may I add not as intimidating as the automatic rifles I saw two Scottish Policemen holding at Glasgow airport on our return flight. The crew crammed themsevles into a small reception area, there behind a glass partition and intercom was sat a Policeman writing into an incident log on a table. The hallway we stood in would of been comfortable for a group of small people, under four feet tall, but we were without anywhere to run to. It was small. Sparkling almost immediately decided it would be a good idea if the rest of the crew went for a coffee and just left me in this dungeon looking place. I then said it wasn't right to leave me here all alone and required a bit of moral support. I was about to request a report for a lost camera. Of course our story had to change slightly because if I'd said it was lost in Sopot they could just as well send us back to Sopot for another turn with the fat man and his dry shoes. Regardless, it still seemed a good idea for Sparkling and L & B man to go and have a coffee. HMRC lady stayed with me and helped me tell the story of the lost or possibly pick pocketed camera. I'm glad she did, for Sparkling confessed later on she would of had to tell the truth, would of had to point at me and say "he's lying, it was lost in Sopot, cuff him up and throw away the key." She's like this is Sparkling.  The man looked up from his incident log writing and gave me eye contact. I said "I've lost me camera, do you speak English?" At this point Sparkling absconded, she had broken down into laughter but kept it to herself as she went out of the heavy wooden door with L & B man, abandoning me.

About an hour later we walked out of the Police Station with the report, Sparkling and L & B were enjoying a coffee and wondering if we had been put in a cell, locked up and strip searched. Sparkles had popped her head round the front door after about twenty minutes to see if we were still in the cramped waiting area. She was worried, sort of, possibly, or she could of been planning running away with the Johnny Depp look alike she'd met the previous day.

Only so she could then claim on the wonderful all inclusive Post Office insurance for a partner lost in the bowels of the Gdansk Police station. She must of been reading the claims process while having her coffee.

The camera is still lost and I've yet to put the claim in with the Post Office. It must be those guns, handcuffs and the thought of a Polish pick pocket laughing at my photos. Somethings you just shouldn't have to put up with on holiday not to mention Dippy and Deppy.

Deppy and Dippy

While on a few days holiday in Gdansk (Poland) myself Sparkling, L & B Man and HMRC woman enjoyed a few nights out. Fine dinning, followed by excessive amounts of alcohol, part of which is the obligatory few shots of vodka or Wodka as they call it and just enjoying the entire experience. Sparkling isn't used to doing much walking and when she does she tends to get a dippy hippy. It's the muscles in her leg and on account of one being slightly shorter or longer than the other. So her dippy hippy walk comes into play. Where she leans over slightly to the left and her bag sits on her right hip. Not a lot but it is one of those things. At least it isn't as bad as my own explosive farting, which is I am sure is related to carbohydrate intake. Nevertheless on such occasions Sparkling becomes Dippy. Well for this occasion she did.

We'd had a meal in the Buddha restaurant, which I must say I wasn't impressed by the samosas and then hit a club called Fahrenheit and just at the point when HMRC woman was about to fall off her seat and sleep, we decided to move on. On the way back to the hotel we passed another pub on a corner which unlike where we had come from was absolutely packed out. In due course mentioned this to the crew and said lets hit this place just for one shot of raspberry wodka, Dippy's favourite high spirited tipple. as we entered the small doorway there sitting at a bar was a short man, dressed with a brimmed hat, and long coat, he had black glasses on and his facial hair had grown in such a style it seemed like he could of been a Johnny Depp look-alike, except he was a little shorter and possibly even shorter than Dippy. Immediately Dippy sees him she heads directly to him, points a finger at him and says "you look just like Johnny Depp" followed by "can I have my photograph with you." The earlier few drinks had obviously broken down any doubts or inhibitions in Dippy's mind for the only thing that mattered now for the last part of our Gdansk holiday seemed to be Dippy's infatuation with Deppy. Although saying this Dippy did go walking off afterwards and sat at another table, leaving me to continue a conversation with Deppy. Who it turns out is a pianist and opera singer. His voice is a particular type and there are few people of that vocal range, he also does acting, but let me say not in the same league as the real Johnny, which would be absolutely silly. I chatted to Deppy about the ukulele, he chatted to me about how he loved to play the piano and his theory that there is a magical 10,000 hours of practice which changes a musician from amateur to expert. He was passionate about his playing and although I was non too impressed by being left with Deppy to continue this chat further he was actually better company than the rest of my companions. HMRC had captured to natives in a conversation about the welfare system of the UK, Dippy was in some way involved in this as well, considering how much wodka she had consumed I was better seated with Deppy. In the meantime, L & B man was periodically coming to the bar buying drinks, talking absolute and complete gibberish with the very few words he did speak, and sticking his middle finger up to Deppy from behind Deppy. It very much was a case of pretending L & B did not exist and I don't think he was sure he actually existed at this time as well.

Deppy had discussed with Dippy what he did, which was play the piano and sing in an opera. Dippy thought Deppy was playing the central role at a local theatre, we checked out this very old looking theatre like building and could not see Deppy's face on any of the posters. Dippy just couldn't make sense of it and it didn't help she was trying to remember something which had been said to her while drunk. Whilst L & B never remembers a thing just he had drank too many and was later the same evening found himself sleeping on the first floor hallway of the hotel rather than being in his actual room which was on the third floor. I wouldn't mind but even HMRC woman spent a few minutes on the floor outside her own room on account of not having an entrance card, which I might add I had to go three flights down the stairs to get. It's bloody lucky I wasn't sleeping on the carpet on the second floor hallway. To move on. So the next day on looking for Deppy and wherever he was performing we drew a  blank. Again after a few too many drinks we gently began to make our way back to the hotel and there outside the front of a pub/restaurant, in the rain, under a large umbrella was Deppy playing on an electric and suspect piano. Old favourites were belted out, such as the theme from the Godfather. Deppy certainly knew what he was doing. In order for Dippy and HMRC woman to get a bit of time alone listening to Deppy, I and L & B man were ordered to go walk past a possible prostitute and get some items for the hotel room.  As we approached the young lady with a Pink umbrella, she asked if we'd like to see a stripper to which L & B man said "no, we're gay." About twenty minutes later we returned from a shop back to the pub/restaurant.  Dippy went on to tell me how when we had walked off old Deppy was giving her the eye and she was pretty happy about it.

The night went on and it led to more over indulgence, but Dippy was exceptionally excited she was able to pull Deppy. Whereas I was gay.

Poof Juice in Poland

It was L & B man who said to me in his not so delicate way, while in Poland (Krakow) "have you got any poof juice?"  To tell the truth I wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about.  Maybe it was the Scottish accent, maybe it is because I am not in the know of what Poof Juice is.  It could be anything as far as I was concerned.  I asked what it was and got a reply "smellies."  We were about to go out and hit another Krakow  bar and he wanted to smell good.  It had been a long day and I must admit to getting more stinky myself the more weight I put on.  L & B man hit the bathroom and had a quick squirt of deodorant, that was the only thing I had bought along.  Always travel as light as you can when going abroad is my motto.  Sparkling is now just starting to understand this as well, I think I'm getting her trained in this one aspect of life.  While of course she trains me in all the other aspects of life.  It's a bit lopsided when I think about it.  So now I know what is meant when someone asks me about Poof Juice.  I also realise it is a colloquial and derogatory term which L & B man was using in referring to something which homosexual men were prone to wearing.  Yet, it was L & B who was making the request.  He's not gay by any means but he was the one who wanted the stuff.

In one of our shopping adventures in Krakow we hit a multi chain drug store.  Amongst the items on display were Man's perfume (EDT) or Poof Juice if you want to use the other phrase.  I spent some time looking at a large display of EDT.  Trying these out on sampler cards and sniffing them.  I looked at the from price and the to price.  They all had quite large from prices whilst the cut down to price was substantially lower.  I thought to myself this must be a great place to get a bargain.  The only problem was I didn't really know what the real price of any of these products was in the UK.  I was going on the notion of UK tax being higher than most of the world so what was on display had to be a bargain.  Together I and Sparkling picked up a bundle of items.  Her's included various pots of face cream which she said would last her for at least the next 3 years.  Mine had two different kinds of Poof Juice.  I liked their smell, especially the Givenchy Pi.  Hmmm.  But then again what a man thinks is a nice smell may not be what a woman thinks is a nice smell.  Together we spent over a £120 on a small basket of goods.  I went away quite happy, got back to the hotel room, smelled both of the EDT's and put one on.  It's always good to think you have got a bargain.  I felt warm inside, happy with myself for hunting out a bargain.  For not spending my hard earned cash in the UK for so long.  Making my own EDT last forever.  Until I checked Amazon.

Blow me down.  The same two Poof Juices were there on the screen.  The ones I bought and carried hundreds of miles from Poland under the belief I got a bargain.  They were cheaper.  CHEAPER.  I laughed to myself because it really doesn't matter too much anyway.  When I put them on I am reminded of Krakow and our short holiday there.  One thing Amazon can't give me.  The joy of opening up a parcel dropped of by the Post Office isn't nearly as warming.  Wonder if I should wear it in bed?  It could cover up the whiff from my farts, much better than a cork.

Two Americans in Krakow, Poland.

Yesterday I came back from Scotland, and a day earlier I was in Poland, Krakow to be exact. I always think it is incredible when returned from a holiday to think only a few hours ago I was in a different country some hundreds of miles away.   It was real.  I did it, have the photographs, drank the beer, vodka and mushroom zupa (soup) and even made a momentary Polish friend.  Who couldn't speak any English which was just as good because I couldn't speak any Polish.  He happened to be a doctor as well.  But even doctors sit in pubs, smoke and drink beer.  Yes.  In Poland you can smoke in the pub provided it is in the designated area where smoking is allowed.  Which was OK for the people I went with as they were all fumigators.   In a bar on two separate occasions we met Americans.

On the first occasion it was a woman.  She was from Chicago, was suffering from job burn out and had decided to see Europe.  Sparkling saw her looked at me and through her glazed sparkling eyes, because she'd drank a few vodkas at this stage said "you love her," I didn't know I loved her, Sparkling said I did.  It was just an American girl.  The truth being I hardly spoke to her at all, it was L & B man and the woman from the Revenues did.  Although the American girl seemed a lonely figure, at first she did not engage in conversation and sat quietly to one side.  My response to Sparkling she was the only one I loved, through dazed dizzy sparkly eyes her reply was "awe," followed by a flicked pointed finger.  Sparkling was happily merry, she lazily closed her eyes and had a hiccough under her breath.  These were to continue to plague Sparkles when she took the raspberry vodka.  Almost like clockwork.  Revenues woman was engrossed in conversation with the American girl.  After about an hour it seemed Revenues had enough of the American and left her with L & B man.  Revenues said the American girl was nuts.  She didn't seem to know where her heritage was and disagreed with Revenues woman over Schindler being a hero or not.  Her view was he was an opportunist capitalist.  She had read some literature on him and she also had a grand parent or mother who was either Jewish or German but knew more about it.  I can't say for sure because the conversation seemed oblique.  As some discussions are when you are sitting in the pub and suffering from a dodgy belly.  Krakow belly in my case.  About another half hour passed and we left with L & B man shortly leaving his conversation with the American Girl who may or may not of been nuts but clearly Revenues didn't quite like.

On a separate night we met the second American, a man.  The conversation barely lasted five to ten minutes and then he went off, but he left an impression.  He appeared confident and loud in my mind.  Immediately I saw him I took a dislike and thought he was a tosser.  He was asked by L & B man what it was which bought him to Poland.  The American man said "the girls."  This was followed by another comment which pissed me off even more, "why be a poor American in American when I can be a rich man in Poland?"  I thought he was abusing his relative wealth.  It's true, Polish people did not seem to me to have much of a mixture of the classes.  They appeared generally poorer.  But they also gave the impression of being very honest people.  They didn't like to be over tipped I found.  Although there was the one or two who would accept large tips at the bar or possibly over charge.  Generally speaking they seemed like very respectable people.  Of course I'd be careful about their Police, because I've heard stories.  I won't go into them.  I liked the Polish people and even leaned to say Thank-you in Polish.  The American didn't give the impression he respected them or anything else, the impression he gave was he would take advantage of them, and probably frequented prostitutes because relatively speaking they were probably a lot cheaper by his standard of prostitute.  It was no surprise after this very short time Sparkling through her dizzy haze said to me "you see him, he is all I hate about Americans," this was followed by "when he comes back I'm going to knock him out."  She might of been inebriated but I certainly wouldn't of put it past Sparkling to have tried to of landed a punch on the American.  She repeated this a couple of times.  The American man didn't come back.  He probably had a sense.  If he had though and even faintly responded to Sparkling had responded back, both I and L & B man would of waded in for a full bar brawl.  Regardless of having Krakow belly or not. The girl and the man were two very different people.

We may be going again to Krakow in December, our taxi driver told us it could get as cold as minus 25 degrees at this time.  The prospect of this doesn't excite me, however I'm sure a chilled vodka would go down even better.  Then I can purchase a real Russian hat as well.  Better get the phrase book out and learn some more words.  Now, how do you say? "no raspberry vodka thanks, it gives me the hiccoughs."

No more gym and some thoughts of traditional Polish food

Four days have passed now since Sunday morning's jog, at last I can walk without the pain of lactic acid in my thighs.  They are still a little stiff, but it's been a long time, now I'm conscious of a knee feeling a bit wobbly.  I'm beginning to understand being told by a friend who used to be significantly older "whatever you do don't get old." Well as if I am about to come across the fountain of eternal youth and stay young.  I always wondered what that stream was under the money tree in my back garden.  Knowing my luck if I did have a money tree it would be in Turkish Lira, making pretty good kindling and nothing else. Now I hesitate to contemplate whether I should go for another run.  Maybe tomorrow morning.  But I'm also due to get the train to Scotland tomorrow as well.  Sitting still doesn't burn much calories up either.  In fact when I think of everything I do physically, none of it helps.  Maybe I shouldn't of cancelled my membership at the gym.  I was under some impression by actually cancelling membership I would lose weight.  It has only been since I joined the gym some 15 years or so ago I put it on.  I never thought it was a great place for exercising, it's too neat, too tidy, too artificial, people don't more in the way the machines make them exercise.  It creates technique which is bad for you, well it's my opinion.  I could just be saying this to justify the reasoning behind giving up membership.  Sod it.  What have they done for me?  Make me poorer and fatter.  I think I deserve keeping my dosh in my own pocket.  Especially when considering I'm not going to get a wage rise between now and when they give me the boot.  When they do then maybe I'll lose more weight again.

Yes, Scotland tomorrow.  I get to see Sparkling Eyes again and give her a big hug.  Although I think I will have to probably make my own way to her house, but I'm no stranger to the bus.  It's good because when I wake up in the morning I will actually hug her rather than wrapping my arms around myself wishing I was getting a hug.  There is something about touching someone you love.  It must release chemicals in the brain.  A bit like they say it's good to stroke pets, they have a calming influence.

We will be heading off to Poland early on Sunday morning.  Taking a flight from Edinburgh.  I should of got a tourist book on Poland but just haven't had the chance.  The agenda is open, we will do whatever takes us away from shops and chain stores.  I want to eat real Polish food not a hamburger.  Something traditional.  Something which only tastes good when you are in the actual country, because it is only there the ingredients can be put together the way they should be.  It's like going to China Town.  There are so many Chinese restaurants around they have to be up to standard or they will not get customers.  Except for the unfortunate rise of the "eat as much as you like" troughs.  Where the food just doesn't taste quite up to standard.  Polish traditional food looks earthy.  Basic but good.  British food has been bastardised so much we no longer know what traditional British food is.  I'm sure if a questionnaire was asked of the general public most would think Spaghetti Bolognese was British.  We have forgotten how to make our own traditional foods.  As a country we get our food in instant packets from supermarkets, and then accept what is put in them as sustenance.  It's not, it just looks it.  If all the food in Poland is traditional I am going to be happy and probably put on a few more pounds.  In which case I'll probably have to consider purchasing some Polish clothes to fit my larger girth.  Damn I'd have to think about dieting and exercise just when I'm about to get a chance to stuff myself.