Not really a love story, but I did get laid with a prostitute in a rather amusing story.
It was on our second night out in Eastern Europe and I'm going back a few years here. We had decided to visit a strip club. Now, before we went, we'd been warned by just about everybody that we would be mugged. Especially in strip clubs. Because of this, my pal who organised the trip was instructed to research a strip club we wouldn't get mugged in.
We found one called Marylins. And were nearly mugged.
But let me rewind before I tell you about that. That Saturday morning, we awoke about 10 and me and my room mate headed out for a KFC for some reason. When we returned to the hotel, the other three were up and in the hotel bar. A few beers later and we decided to get on a tram and go explore Budapest, we were only paying around 80p a pint so drinking all day wasn't an issue. Now, first things first, it was lunch time so we decided to head over to a local gypsy restaurant. For some reason. Goulash was obviously what most went for. A pal of mine had a "Plate of Meat". This thing had meat I'd never seen in my fucking life on it. And a tongue. Covered in about 5 chopped onions. Surreal.
After this we jumped on a tram to head to some boozer we'd heard about, however, on the way there the smell was unbearable. Someone on that tram hadn't showered and it was about 30 degrees out there. Because of this we jump out in some spraypainted back alley and head into a pub. It's in this pub while playing table football that we meet Kriztian. A local Ferencvaros hooligan - sorry, that's all he was - who spoke English and wanted to be our friends. Pleasant enough, we chatted exchanged stories about football matches we'd been to, things we'd done that were the wrong side of the law.
It was about this point that we decided we could really go for something to supplement and asked our new friend what the crack was. "No problem" he said, put in a phone call, ten minutes later I'm in the loo with him and a Serbian businessman with a tattoo of a skull on his hand. Anyway, with a near death experience swerved, we head back to the hotel to get ready for the evening activities in the strip club. I don't know why but Kriztian was still with us.
Anyway, an hour later, fresher and livelier we get in a taxi and head to the strip club. Turns out our taxi drivers were employed by another strip club and we were inches from being battered by some bouncers before we realised and asked the taxi drivers to take us to Marylins, the pre-arranged club. I say asked, they weren't happy about it, but they took us after some strong words.
What a wise choice, Marylins is bouncing with Eastern European beauties. £2 a pint, table dances, long private dances, shower shows etc. Really a top notch place. While we're at this place, my pal is approached by an "employee" of the club who takes him back to his hotel. He later tells us that while she was "pleasuring" him, he wanted to pleasure her but the cost was an extra 5000 Forint, so he's on his knees, bollock naked tapping in the code to the safe getting more money out! Anyway, the night's going well, we've got girls hanging off us, we're on the stage in the shows etc. By the way, clubs in Budapest are different, turns out instead of girls hanging around waiting for you to ask for a dance, one will stay with you all night, go to the bar for you dance for you do whatever. Kind of like your own personal girl.
Anyway, I decided I'd like a piece of the action my mate had and ask this girl to come to my hotel with me so we can do the deed. She agrees, we set a price and off we go. As soon as we step out the club, this BMW pulls up and I'm instructed to get in. Fuck that. I take her round the corner to a taxi (turns out the transport is kosha and free) and pay god knows what to get back to the hotel. In the hotel I'm told to go shower. I know I only have to do my cock but for some reason I'm in there washing my hair. Blaming the booze I turn the shower off, come out and get to it. I'm doing her on my balcony when I realise there was an Italian school party on the floor above and I've got about 50 horny Italian teenagers shouting and whistling at me. We head back to the room and finish it all off. We come downstairs to go back to the club and I get in the transport provided this time.
On the way back to the club, the guy takes a different route and is all over the place, speeding, screeching round corners. At one point there's about three old bill cars surrounding our vehicle and I'm fearing a set up. However, for some reason, we make it back to the hotel unscathed. I don't know how. A top night was head.
In fact that was just a great holiday. There's a couple more stories available here that I'll share at some point. There's a lot of time and a lot to go on still.
To summarise this story. Budapest is fucking awesome, just great. Just do your research, don't take the piss and have a little trust in the locals. They're alright.
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Monday, 6 January 2014
The Milan Incident
I think the first story I want to tell is a good one. People always laugh about it and it doesn't involve anything that can get me into real trouble with the authorities. It takes place during a holiday to Milan a while back. It was one of these football and beer breaks. We were going to see Inter and had plans on causing havoc while we were there.
Now, I should point out that before we went I was ill. We were flying at something stupid like half 7 which meant a 4.30am start. My mate stayed at mine the night before, and, as I was ill I was asleep at the sensible time of 9pm. When I woke up, my temperature was through the roof, I was shivering and my head was pounding. Not to worry though, a quick bottle of Carlsberg should sort that. It didn't. The Sambuca at 5.30am at the airport did though.
The rest of the day is quite boring, just a lot of drinking in Milan and no specific dramas. Maybe the only noteworthy tale that day was a friend ordering a bottle of Budweiser in the Dolce and Gabbana bar and forking out €16 for the privilege. Or another friend pulling the massive mint leaf out of his Mojito and munching it whole. But fairly standard lad stuff.
The Sunday, we were to head to the San Siro for the game but spent the morning in a bar a few train stops away. When we alighted the train at Lotto station for the ground, we took a route through what can only be described as an Italian council estate. I still don't know why we did it there was a perfectly good route elsewhere. Anyway, while in this estate we encountered some 'vocal opposition' to our presence by some chaps on mopeds and scarpered.
When we finally headed to the ground, around 2 hours before kick off we were disappointed to be told that once we entered the ground there was no booze on sale. However, first thing we saw in the ground was a bar so managed a couple more beers. But, we were promised this was definitely the last opportunity to buy alcohol. In the ground, some chap is then selling little bottles of Sambuca, probably had a shot each in them. After around 8 of these, my best mate and I decided to leave after around 70 minutes...
Anyway, we're lost, strolling about trying to find our way to the station and happen to come across this moped parking place. Long story short, I recognise these as belonging to the chaps who didn't like our presence earlier... Next thing I know, we're toppling this heavy BMW moped and chucking it at the rest, kind of like dominos. Not sure why, none of them were damaged but it made us feel better.
The big lesson here is, plan you escape before you do anything. We scarpered from the scene, straight towards a load of Italian riot police...
Later in the night, we're in the hotel, it's only about half 11 and we're having a few tins and plan to go find a club. You'd think that'd be easy in Milan but it's half 11 on a Sunday night and we weren't exactly central. We figure the hotel reception will know what's going on so we go down to ask him, only it's unmanned. So instead of waiting we go on his PC, put him on some porn site, answer his phone and speak French, generally amusing harmless stuff. My mate even nicked his stapler.
This didn't seem to be an issue, we disposed of the stapler later on in a pizza place. On the way back there's a bit of a laugh, swapping the magnetic signs on two identical vans over etc. However, next morning, my pal and I are stopped by a rather angry receptionist with CCTV footage. Turns out he's trying to track down his beloved stapler. The threat of the police seems ridiculous to us until we remember the San Siro... So we offer to pay up. Thirty fucking Euros the guy wants for it. After much arguing we decide to pay up, then on the way back to the airport, we spot the stapler lying in the street. We decided to run it back to the hotel and get our money back. Bad idea. The guy launches into a rant in Italian which ends with a chorus of "WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN COME TO MY COUNTRY AND BREAK MY STAPLER".
In summary, Italy is alright, just try not to upset anyone. It always goes too far...
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Now, I should point out that before we went I was ill. We were flying at something stupid like half 7 which meant a 4.30am start. My mate stayed at mine the night before, and, as I was ill I was asleep at the sensible time of 9pm. When I woke up, my temperature was through the roof, I was shivering and my head was pounding. Not to worry though, a quick bottle of Carlsberg should sort that. It didn't. The Sambuca at 5.30am at the airport did though.
The rest of the day is quite boring, just a lot of drinking in Milan and no specific dramas. Maybe the only noteworthy tale that day was a friend ordering a bottle of Budweiser in the Dolce and Gabbana bar and forking out €16 for the privilege. Or another friend pulling the massive mint leaf out of his Mojito and munching it whole. But fairly standard lad stuff.
The Sunday, we were to head to the San Siro for the game but spent the morning in a bar a few train stops away. When we alighted the train at Lotto station for the ground, we took a route through what can only be described as an Italian council estate. I still don't know why we did it there was a perfectly good route elsewhere. Anyway, while in this estate we encountered some 'vocal opposition' to our presence by some chaps on mopeds and scarpered.
When we finally headed to the ground, around 2 hours before kick off we were disappointed to be told that once we entered the ground there was no booze on sale. However, first thing we saw in the ground was a bar so managed a couple more beers. But, we were promised this was definitely the last opportunity to buy alcohol. In the ground, some chap is then selling little bottles of Sambuca, probably had a shot each in them. After around 8 of these, my best mate and I decided to leave after around 70 minutes...
Anyway, we're lost, strolling about trying to find our way to the station and happen to come across this moped parking place. Long story short, I recognise these as belonging to the chaps who didn't like our presence earlier... Next thing I know, we're toppling this heavy BMW moped and chucking it at the rest, kind of like dominos. Not sure why, none of them were damaged but it made us feel better.
The big lesson here is, plan you escape before you do anything. We scarpered from the scene, straight towards a load of Italian riot police...
Later in the night, we're in the hotel, it's only about half 11 and we're having a few tins and plan to go find a club. You'd think that'd be easy in Milan but it's half 11 on a Sunday night and we weren't exactly central. We figure the hotel reception will know what's going on so we go down to ask him, only it's unmanned. So instead of waiting we go on his PC, put him on some porn site, answer his phone and speak French, generally amusing harmless stuff. My mate even nicked his stapler.
This didn't seem to be an issue, we disposed of the stapler later on in a pizza place. On the way back there's a bit of a laugh, swapping the magnetic signs on two identical vans over etc. However, next morning, my pal and I are stopped by a rather angry receptionist with CCTV footage. Turns out he's trying to track down his beloved stapler. The threat of the police seems ridiculous to us until we remember the San Siro... So we offer to pay up. Thirty fucking Euros the guy wants for it. After much arguing we decide to pay up, then on the way back to the airport, we spot the stapler lying in the street. We decided to run it back to the hotel and get our money back. Bad idea. The guy launches into a rant in Italian which ends with a chorus of "WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU CAN COME TO MY COUNTRY AND BREAK MY STAPLER".
In summary, Italy is alright, just try not to upset anyone. It always goes too far...
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The first entry
So this is my first blog. I'm not sure why I'm writing one, people just kept telling me I should write down all the stupid shit and stories I tell about what I've done etc. Hopefully a few people read it and find it entertaining.
Some stuff that goes on won't exactly be the standard shit done by our regular upstanding citizens so I'll obviously be changing the names involved. We don't need any more trouble than we already find.
I guess I should start by explaining a bit about myself, I'm a 20-something male, live in the affluent South East and I spent my time from the age of 15 getting fucked at the weekend. Sometime it was on lager, sometimes I would enjoy a bit more than that and sometimes I'd end the night getting fucked by a bird. Sometimes I'd go to football (I won't say who), have a some cans of lager and have a fight but those days are behind me now, no one wins there (although there are a few fucking good stories to tell).
I should point out that while I've got some decent stories to tell, I'm a father now so although some stories will be recent, they're mostly historic. I do have a holiday planned with the lads to watch football and get hammered in Germany so hopefully there'll be a few tales to tell there.
Some stories will be funny, some will be tragic and just a few will be about someone learning a thing or two about life. Mostly, they're about someone getting drunk though.
If you want to follow me on Twitter I can live Tweet some adventures. Just click here to do it... TWITTER!
And I guess finally I should say (for legal reasons) that these blogs are based loosely on real life and things that may or may not have happened. Any similarities with any individual etc is entirely by coincidence...
Some stuff that goes on won't exactly be the standard shit done by our regular upstanding citizens so I'll obviously be changing the names involved. We don't need any more trouble than we already find.
I guess I should start by explaining a bit about myself, I'm a 20-something male, live in the affluent South East and I spent my time from the age of 15 getting fucked at the weekend. Sometime it was on lager, sometimes I would enjoy a bit more than that and sometimes I'd end the night getting fucked by a bird. Sometimes I'd go to football (I won't say who), have a some cans of lager and have a fight but those days are behind me now, no one wins there (although there are a few fucking good stories to tell).
I should point out that while I've got some decent stories to tell, I'm a father now so although some stories will be recent, they're mostly historic. I do have a holiday planned with the lads to watch football and get hammered in Germany so hopefully there'll be a few tales to tell there.
Some stories will be funny, some will be tragic and just a few will be about someone learning a thing or two about life. Mostly, they're about someone getting drunk though.
If you want to follow me on Twitter I can live Tweet some adventures. Just click here to do it... TWITTER!
And I guess finally I should say (for legal reasons) that these blogs are based loosely on real life and things that may or may not have happened. Any similarities with any individual etc is entirely by coincidence...
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