Another Sunday, another hangover, another black hole in the bank account. It is comforting to know that some things are for certain.
Given last week's Russian adventure my mind was set on a very quiet weekend to recover a little. Frenty was out of town so good odds for making it.
Well, not surprisingly it did not work out. Frenty's trip was the coming week and on top of that he got a visitor from home plus that we had a company party on Friday. Change of plans.
After work Friday I rushed to Piccadilly Circus to meet up with Frenty and his friend, let's call him Art (The man works with import/export of drugs, just like Art Vandelay in the Seinfeld episode). I arrived on extra time of the Sweden-England game to see our side lose on penalties. Great game though. We proceeded to the party, did our thing, crashed on to Firehouse, ditched it and rumbled on to Rafflers, a cool place full of mirrors. I got lost on the way to the bar, not cool.
Throughout the night we exclusively drank 'Grosshandlers', that Art introduced. Cognac, limonade and lime. Excellent drink. Art managed to tip 33 Pounds for a drink order of 30, not reading the instructions right on the card machine. Hilarious. We also met a Hugh Hefner wannabee who was the pimp of fallen empire China White night clubs.
We tried our best to expense the entire night on our respective companies. Fingers crossed
Crashed home around 04. Not so bad had it not been for the fact that I was due at the office at 09.30 for an online info session. Tiptoed in with a bad whisky breath and a coffee at 09.25 to find a worried colleague waiting for me plus the sales boss and the president in the online chat room. Crap. Somehow I managed to type decently and not to vomit during the session. Work must be so easy for people who are not drunks.
I delegated the rest of Saturday's tasks to my lovely, underpaid assistant and met up with the boys at Builder's arms. Lunch with the boys means pints and food, in that order. Rough start the first couple of pints, but where there is will there is a way. We sat in the shade at Builders for five hours, laughing hysterically and being typically British loud afternoon drinkers. Travel adventures, Clown porn and commenting bypassing sets of tits kept us occupied for most of the afternoon before we picked up the biggest bill so far at Builders. The happy owner was kind enough to invite us to the pub's 10 year anniversary party next week.
Quick pitstop for food before we moved to Fulham to pass out a bit before the night was to start properly. A walking-by girl mooned us in the living room window.
We brought Frenty's flatmates to Firehouse, including the best looking legs since Russia, drank Grosshandlers until we could not hold any more liquor, took a limousine back to the flat and started the afterparty. Successful emptying of all the bottles took until late morning.
Stumbling home around 11 after sleeping in a chair I ran into a colleague at the bus stop. He was thrilled to see me in my prime and to get a stinking hug. I don't remember the actual bus trip.
Today Frenty and I have agreed that the coming weekend needs to be really quiet. Both Unibet and Ladbrokes have already stopped accepting bets on that we will fail.
P
söndag 28 juni 2009
tisdag 23 juni 2009
Shit Happens and Bye Bye
Privet tavaritj, I suffered from post traumatic hangover yesterday but here comes the summary of last weeks 'business'-trip to Mother Russia;
My first encounter with Russian administration came in customs; Christ, I stood basically still for one hour before I made it by a depressing looking woman and into Russia.
Well inside Russia I discovered what many have done before me, the classy Russian dames are absolutely top class! The others look like they escaped from a zoo.
I co-travelled with a colleague who had arranged for a private driver to take us around during the business part of the trip. In neo-classic Russian style we travelled in a huge Mercedes through beautiful contrast Moscow to our top class hotel. Very classy start. Food at nice restaurants is also very good and relatively cheap. Always served with vodka, that one is supposed to drink pure of course.
Day two was filled with two meetings and an event at the evening. Event one went well, with a translator of course. Hilarious. We passed by the KGB academy on the way to meeting two.
Meeting two was very different. We were greeted overwhelmingly and straight away taken to lunch. Borstj, salad and vodka of course. Then time to do business. After the same procedure with a better translator in a bigger office the Russians started arguing wildly before surprisingly letting us know that we could do business. In the office stood a prancing little pony statue. At its hooves lay hard cash and credit cards. Russian feng shui for success and wealth they said. Grasping the context I quickly donated 10 quid for a successful deal. Big cheer from the Russian comrades. I wonder how I shall go about expensing that..
The last event was held at very classy Marriot hotel. In short it went well. Yawn. So far only the best of the new Russia, country of contrast.
Having spent a full day with a polite business smile it was a great relief to join forces with old friend 'the Colonel' and his friend S for some evening drinks. Let the debauchery begin;
1st stop; The red square, the Kreml and the cathedral 5 minutes from the hotel. Threw a coin outside a circle in the absolute centre of Moscow for a great night with my friends.
2nd stop, small club. Fabulous place, all vodka was served with a pint of beer. Not the other way around. This is Russia, mind you. We got nicely drunk. Then we moved to Solyanka, a bigger club. Gorgeous women, more vodka and soon my meeting the day after seemed distant. Somewhere in time my phone magically disappeared. About the same time as the Colonel. Sheit. Luckily I had subconsciously anticipated this and had the card to the hotel with me. Moscow is brighter than Stockholm in the summer and since the phone was my only time control I was a bit lost.
I think I took a cab home to the hotel. Took a deep vodka breath and strolled up to the concierge to get the phone barred. Must have been a sight for gods. I remember being very, very proud to remember ordering a wake up call to 9.30 as I had a meeting at 11. Also remembering that I had the Colonels no. on facebook I crashed in bed quite content knowing that I would get through the next day.
Sudden awakening as the phone rang in my unconsciousness to wake me up to an interesting day. It took a couple of seconds to remember why this was. Ok ok ok I figured. First a great breakfast, then the meeting before I could work for a while or go to the hotel spa and a police station. I think I took a shower before rolling down to an empty breakfast room. The waiter was kind enough to tell me that it was 12.15. Euuuh sheit.
-'I ordered a wake up call at 09.30' I grumbled with shiny red eyes to the kind woman in reception.
-'We called you at that time Sir, you did not answer'. Euuuuh Sheit.
-'What time is check-out?'
-'12.00 Sir'. Euuuh Sheit.
I made a quick check out. Then checked back into the business centre to resolve everything. Fortunately service at the hotel was top class and everybody spoke good English.
No number to the Colonel on Facebook. Crap. Moscow has some 30 million inhabitants. Slim chances to run into him on the street. Managed to get a hold of his number through my operator. Tried to resolve the case with the insurance company. Need to go to the police they said. No shit. Magically the Colonel was not at work as planned either and actually answered the phone. Phew.
We joined forces at 15 in the hotel, both having seen better days. Off to the closest police station, and officially the end of the luxury part of the trip. The local police station was a shack full of tired guys with machine guns and a supposed prostitute. Not a word of English was spoken.
Plan B; bar. After a pint and a coffee we managed to get a Russian flatmate to come down to help us translate. His job was to take pictures of people handing out flyers to make sure they did their job. Hopeful we went back. This time it went better, me and flatmate Sasha were escorted into the back room to the detectives. The room consisted of three old computers, two tired cops, one microwave oven and a tiny Matruschka doll. Nothing in the room had been cleaned for ten years. One of the guys looked mentally challenged to say the least. I struggled with keeping from laughing.
After being led out, and listening to all the cops, military police (and the prositute) argue we were told to go to a police station in another district. No extra effort for a 200 pound salary a month.
Very well, we toured to the next station. It rained a bit of course which was quite nice considering the hangover. We mistook a liver croissant for a chocolate one. Interesting.
Station two was one big room with reception to the left, waiting hall in the centre and a counter next to a primitive cell to the right. The old style cell, containing three prisoners was so close to the counter that they easily could reach whoever stood there. about 1,2 meters separated the bars from the counter. Charming. Of course this was not the correct station either.
Station three took the price. As we were told for the third time to go to another station we finally realized that changing the location for loosing the phone to the closest metro would solve the problem. We took a piss at the worst toilet I have seen. The dirtiest thing was the soap.
With our successful change of strategy we were once again escorted by a man with a gun to the back room, this time containg a total of three smoking Russians. Not understanding sheit of the conversation I looked around the room. Posters of Che, Vodka, porn and a little playboy sign sat on the walls. It was like walking in to a shop floor in the car industry 20 years ago. I had a hard time not smiling. After some 10 minutes of argumenting one of the cops stood up, looked at his watch, concluded that it was now after working hours and that we were not his problem. He sent us off in decent English with a 'shit happens and bye bye'.
I was of course enjoying myself tremendously during this 5 hour adventure. None less when buiying a bottle of fine vodka for 3 pounds and returning to the Colonels flat. Without exaggerating it was in worse shape than the police station. The mould in the shower room roof had its own life and the flat was packed with people and random stuff. A japanese family lived in the stairway. Where I lay my head is home so no problem. Especially after walking around Moscow in office shoes.
At the pre-party I managed to get the Colonel to write down his address on a piece of paper thinking last night might happen again. Ditched the party and some random women to go to a hip club. Took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of a train track. Walking an extra 30 minutes around it was not an option. We crawled under a train and climbed over a steel construction surrounded by barb wire before jumping down and passing through the VIP line into the club, James Bond style.
The club was awesome to say the least. Apparently we had a great time as I lost all my cash and my sweater there before we returned to the club of the day before. Surprisingly I lost the Colonel again and ended up on the street outside sometime in the morning without a phone and no cash. Deja-vu. Resourceful I found a cash machine and a cab, found the address note and off we went.
At arrival the place did not exactly ring any bells. But then I had not been there more than once either. Some dumbass had gated the only entrance unfortunately. Having a mind without limits helps. I slimmed down and started to crawl under. A passer by must have had a laugh when he spotted me, stuck with my arse under the gate at 8 in the morning. I pushed through, only to learn that it was the wrong house and being thrown out by a guard. Great success.
This was not the best part of the trip. Wrong address, no phone and the bar I found was closed. Incredibly lucky I was when a bypassing woman allowed me to use her phone to wake the Colonel up. Even more luck was that he answered and knew where I was at. Content I leaned on a wall to not fall on the street.
The colonel himself had mysteriously picked up two girls at a McDonalds line, so he was not too thrilled to come and get me. Even less thrilled when we discovered that they had taken off when we got home. I cared less and slept like a child on the floor.
We surfaced at 15. Flight time was 2130. Time to go to the local market. After the must-have vodka breakfast we came to the market and saw two live bears in leashes try to fight. Sad but cool. Little time to spend there in the vast amount of souvenirs. First time I have bargained to buy postcards. In the end I found the grand price, a Liverpool Matruschka doll. Stevie G is the big one, inside him Torres, then Kuyt and Alonso before a tiny Hyypia appears. Hilarious.
Rushed to the airport with the train, to the airport bar and a last vodka race befopre I almost missed the flight home. They were nice to let me on in fact.
You know that you have had a good weekend when;
-You wake up and the stewardess feeds you an hour after everybody else.
-She brings water without you having asked for it and asks how your weekend was.
-She asks if you liked the Russian vodka much
-At landing she asks if you will be all right since they worry about you.
In short, this was an absolutely fantastic trip.
Spatsiba
Piotr
-
My first encounter with Russian administration came in customs; Christ, I stood basically still for one hour before I made it by a depressing looking woman and into Russia.
Well inside Russia I discovered what many have done before me, the classy Russian dames are absolutely top class! The others look like they escaped from a zoo.
I co-travelled with a colleague who had arranged for a private driver to take us around during the business part of the trip. In neo-classic Russian style we travelled in a huge Mercedes through beautiful contrast Moscow to our top class hotel. Very classy start. Food at nice restaurants is also very good and relatively cheap. Always served with vodka, that one is supposed to drink pure of course.
Day two was filled with two meetings and an event at the evening. Event one went well, with a translator of course. Hilarious. We passed by the KGB academy on the way to meeting two.
Meeting two was very different. We were greeted overwhelmingly and straight away taken to lunch. Borstj, salad and vodka of course. Then time to do business. After the same procedure with a better translator in a bigger office the Russians started arguing wildly before surprisingly letting us know that we could do business. In the office stood a prancing little pony statue. At its hooves lay hard cash and credit cards. Russian feng shui for success and wealth they said. Grasping the context I quickly donated 10 quid for a successful deal. Big cheer from the Russian comrades. I wonder how I shall go about expensing that..
The last event was held at very classy Marriot hotel. In short it went well. Yawn. So far only the best of the new Russia, country of contrast.
Having spent a full day with a polite business smile it was a great relief to join forces with old friend 'the Colonel' and his friend S for some evening drinks. Let the debauchery begin;
1st stop; The red square, the Kreml and the cathedral 5 minutes from the hotel. Threw a coin outside a circle in the absolute centre of Moscow for a great night with my friends.
2nd stop, small club. Fabulous place, all vodka was served with a pint of beer. Not the other way around. This is Russia, mind you. We got nicely drunk. Then we moved to Solyanka, a bigger club. Gorgeous women, more vodka and soon my meeting the day after seemed distant. Somewhere in time my phone magically disappeared. About the same time as the Colonel. Sheit. Luckily I had subconsciously anticipated this and had the card to the hotel with me. Moscow is brighter than Stockholm in the summer and since the phone was my only time control I was a bit lost.
I think I took a cab home to the hotel. Took a deep vodka breath and strolled up to the concierge to get the phone barred. Must have been a sight for gods. I remember being very, very proud to remember ordering a wake up call to 9.30 as I had a meeting at 11. Also remembering that I had the Colonels no. on facebook I crashed in bed quite content knowing that I would get through the next day.
Sudden awakening as the phone rang in my unconsciousness to wake me up to an interesting day. It took a couple of seconds to remember why this was. Ok ok ok I figured. First a great breakfast, then the meeting before I could work for a while or go to the hotel spa and a police station. I think I took a shower before rolling down to an empty breakfast room. The waiter was kind enough to tell me that it was 12.15. Euuuh sheit.
-'I ordered a wake up call at 09.30' I grumbled with shiny red eyes to the kind woman in reception.
-'We called you at that time Sir, you did not answer'. Euuuuh Sheit.
-'What time is check-out?'
-'12.00 Sir'. Euuuh Sheit.
I made a quick check out. Then checked back into the business centre to resolve everything. Fortunately service at the hotel was top class and everybody spoke good English.
No number to the Colonel on Facebook. Crap. Moscow has some 30 million inhabitants. Slim chances to run into him on the street. Managed to get a hold of his number through my operator. Tried to resolve the case with the insurance company. Need to go to the police they said. No shit. Magically the Colonel was not at work as planned either and actually answered the phone. Phew.
We joined forces at 15 in the hotel, both having seen better days. Off to the closest police station, and officially the end of the luxury part of the trip. The local police station was a shack full of tired guys with machine guns and a supposed prostitute. Not a word of English was spoken.
Plan B; bar. After a pint and a coffee we managed to get a Russian flatmate to come down to help us translate. His job was to take pictures of people handing out flyers to make sure they did their job. Hopeful we went back. This time it went better, me and flatmate Sasha were escorted into the back room to the detectives. The room consisted of three old computers, two tired cops, one microwave oven and a tiny Matruschka doll. Nothing in the room had been cleaned for ten years. One of the guys looked mentally challenged to say the least. I struggled with keeping from laughing.
After being led out, and listening to all the cops, military police (and the prositute) argue we were told to go to a police station in another district. No extra effort for a 200 pound salary a month.
Very well, we toured to the next station. It rained a bit of course which was quite nice considering the hangover. We mistook a liver croissant for a chocolate one. Interesting.
Station two was one big room with reception to the left, waiting hall in the centre and a counter next to a primitive cell to the right. The old style cell, containing three prisoners was so close to the counter that they easily could reach whoever stood there. about 1,2 meters separated the bars from the counter. Charming. Of course this was not the correct station either.
Station three took the price. As we were told for the third time to go to another station we finally realized that changing the location for loosing the phone to the closest metro would solve the problem. We took a piss at the worst toilet I have seen. The dirtiest thing was the soap.
With our successful change of strategy we were once again escorted by a man with a gun to the back room, this time containg a total of three smoking Russians. Not understanding sheit of the conversation I looked around the room. Posters of Che, Vodka, porn and a little playboy sign sat on the walls. It was like walking in to a shop floor in the car industry 20 years ago. I had a hard time not smiling. After some 10 minutes of argumenting one of the cops stood up, looked at his watch, concluded that it was now after working hours and that we were not his problem. He sent us off in decent English with a 'shit happens and bye bye'.
I was of course enjoying myself tremendously during this 5 hour adventure. None less when buiying a bottle of fine vodka for 3 pounds and returning to the Colonels flat. Without exaggerating it was in worse shape than the police station. The mould in the shower room roof had its own life and the flat was packed with people and random stuff. A japanese family lived in the stairway. Where I lay my head is home so no problem. Especially after walking around Moscow in office shoes.
At the pre-party I managed to get the Colonel to write down his address on a piece of paper thinking last night might happen again. Ditched the party and some random women to go to a hip club. Took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of a train track. Walking an extra 30 minutes around it was not an option. We crawled under a train and climbed over a steel construction surrounded by barb wire before jumping down and passing through the VIP line into the club, James Bond style.
The club was awesome to say the least. Apparently we had a great time as I lost all my cash and my sweater there before we returned to the club of the day before. Surprisingly I lost the Colonel again and ended up on the street outside sometime in the morning without a phone and no cash. Deja-vu. Resourceful I found a cash machine and a cab, found the address note and off we went.
At arrival the place did not exactly ring any bells. But then I had not been there more than once either. Some dumbass had gated the only entrance unfortunately. Having a mind without limits helps. I slimmed down and started to crawl under. A passer by must have had a laugh when he spotted me, stuck with my arse under the gate at 8 in the morning. I pushed through, only to learn that it was the wrong house and being thrown out by a guard. Great success.
This was not the best part of the trip. Wrong address, no phone and the bar I found was closed. Incredibly lucky I was when a bypassing woman allowed me to use her phone to wake the Colonel up. Even more luck was that he answered and knew where I was at. Content I leaned on a wall to not fall on the street.
The colonel himself had mysteriously picked up two girls at a McDonalds line, so he was not too thrilled to come and get me. Even less thrilled when we discovered that they had taken off when we got home. I cared less and slept like a child on the floor.
We surfaced at 15. Flight time was 2130. Time to go to the local market. After the must-have vodka breakfast we came to the market and saw two live bears in leashes try to fight. Sad but cool. Little time to spend there in the vast amount of souvenirs. First time I have bargained to buy postcards. In the end I found the grand price, a Liverpool Matruschka doll. Stevie G is the big one, inside him Torres, then Kuyt and Alonso before a tiny Hyypia appears. Hilarious.
Rushed to the airport with the train, to the airport bar and a last vodka race befopre I almost missed the flight home. They were nice to let me on in fact.
You know that you have had a good weekend when;
-You wake up and the stewardess feeds you an hour after everybody else.
-She brings water without you having asked for it and asks how your weekend was.
-She asks if you liked the Russian vodka much
-At landing she asks if you will be all right since they worry about you.
In short, this was an absolutely fantastic trip.
Spatsiba
Piotr
-
måndag 8 juni 2009
Swedish Steel vs British Pints
It seems a long time ago and it is, that the lads from home came to visit. This is the story of the weekend of the year;
A four man strong team stumbled upon London, Pepe, The Rev, Bagish and Rhodansch. The city of London shivered and pub owners saw light at the end of the tunnel. We started with moving the lads to a decent hotel from the shithole they had originally booked. The new place was as big as a booze cruise so it took us some time to get organized and hit the bars.
Six lads on a Thursday night is a tricky crew to maneuver into a trendy club. Smooth Frenty and Mr Stirling got us a nice table equipped with bottles of vodka ( iiiih) The boys were taken away by the club and the hot women. For a while I think that we actually had them fooled that all of London was like that all the time.
Day two was a bit tough as I had to work a bit. Whilst I was smiling to clients in a suit, the boys made it down to the embankment and a beer-boat. It was a sunny day so by the time I arrived they could easily have been confused with rednecks from South USA. Wifebeater tans, half of the faces burnt randomly red, and drunk as boys who have been in the sun drinking for 5 hours normally are. Tears in my eyes. I quickly ordered a tray of pints to get to the right level.
That night I think we went to eat at PJ;s, a classy burger place. It is difficult to be sure as Rhodansch does not have any recollection of having dinner at all. Then we hit Collection like a storm (well) More bottles, more laughs and Pepe met a charming working woman named Fortune. She had limits apparently as she asked us to take care of him when the place closed.
Day 3; Burger breakfast in South Ken. All present except for Bagisch who from this point on had more than small issues with magisch. The remaining heroes went to the white horse to fuel up again in the sun. During the course of the day both Pepe and I got messages from women with unknown numbers which we suspected were from the night before. It was a mind puzzle that we did not manage to solve. We guessed that Pepe's mystery girl was his Lady Fortune but mine remained a secret.
As it was 'El Clasico' that night (Yes, these kind of weekends actually happen) we took command of a floor of our own in a pub to watch it on a projector screen. Even Bagisch made it to see Barca crush the Merengues totally with a degrading 6-2. All happy, save Pepe who was extatic. As the night was still young and we were not coordinated enough to dance we continued drinking, this time at Firehouse. At this time the super detectives also discovered that Pepe and I had texted the same woman all the day. MI6 next...
We were joined by colleagues and friends for a night out. Thanks to one of our friends, no names but let's call him Erik, we had to navigate through many a nightclub lines before we were actually let in to a small downstairs club. More bottles=redneck boys went dancing. I danced graciously into and over a little table and down on the floor. End of romantic dance with unknown blonde.
At the end of the night Frenty and I lay on a sofa screaming cheering songs to Pepe who actually managed to pull a girl. Impressive really. Quite a good song too at the time :-) To the melody of the Steven Gerrard song it went like this;
''-Einaaaar Einaaaaar, half Swedish and haaalf Spaniaaaard,
He is big and he is fuckin' haaaaaard, Einaaaaar Einaaaaar''
Minutes later we were thrown out. Totally worth it.
The sad and physically relieving day when the boys took off I spent hiding in bed before taking off on a shaky tour around Europe for work. Could not imagine a better preparation :-)
In the next eposode of this fairytale of a life we fly to Colombia with imaginary swine flu for vacations.
Cheerio,
P
A four man strong team stumbled upon London, Pepe, The Rev, Bagish and Rhodansch. The city of London shivered and pub owners saw light at the end of the tunnel. We started with moving the lads to a decent hotel from the shithole they had originally booked. The new place was as big as a booze cruise so it took us some time to get organized and hit the bars.
Six lads on a Thursday night is a tricky crew to maneuver into a trendy club. Smooth Frenty and Mr Stirling got us a nice table equipped with bottles of vodka ( iiiih) The boys were taken away by the club and the hot women. For a while I think that we actually had them fooled that all of London was like that all the time.
Day two was a bit tough as I had to work a bit. Whilst I was smiling to clients in a suit, the boys made it down to the embankment and a beer-boat. It was a sunny day so by the time I arrived they could easily have been confused with rednecks from South USA. Wifebeater tans, half of the faces burnt randomly red, and drunk as boys who have been in the sun drinking for 5 hours normally are. Tears in my eyes. I quickly ordered a tray of pints to get to the right level.
That night I think we went to eat at PJ;s, a classy burger place. It is difficult to be sure as Rhodansch does not have any recollection of having dinner at all. Then we hit Collection like a storm (well) More bottles, more laughs and Pepe met a charming working woman named Fortune. She had limits apparently as she asked us to take care of him when the place closed.
Day 3; Burger breakfast in South Ken. All present except for Bagisch who from this point on had more than small issues with magisch. The remaining heroes went to the white horse to fuel up again in the sun. During the course of the day both Pepe and I got messages from women with unknown numbers which we suspected were from the night before. It was a mind puzzle that we did not manage to solve. We guessed that Pepe's mystery girl was his Lady Fortune but mine remained a secret.
As it was 'El Clasico' that night (Yes, these kind of weekends actually happen) we took command of a floor of our own in a pub to watch it on a projector screen. Even Bagisch made it to see Barca crush the Merengues totally with a degrading 6-2. All happy, save Pepe who was extatic. As the night was still young and we were not coordinated enough to dance we continued drinking, this time at Firehouse. At this time the super detectives also discovered that Pepe and I had texted the same woman all the day. MI6 next...
We were joined by colleagues and friends for a night out. Thanks to one of our friends, no names but let's call him Erik, we had to navigate through many a nightclub lines before we were actually let in to a small downstairs club. More bottles=redneck boys went dancing. I danced graciously into and over a little table and down on the floor. End of romantic dance with unknown blonde.
At the end of the night Frenty and I lay on a sofa screaming cheering songs to Pepe who actually managed to pull a girl. Impressive really. Quite a good song too at the time :-) To the melody of the Steven Gerrard song it went like this;
''-Einaaaar Einaaaaar, half Swedish and haaalf Spaniaaaard,
He is big and he is fuckin' haaaaaard, Einaaaaar Einaaaaar''
Minutes later we were thrown out. Totally worth it.
The sad and physically relieving day when the boys took off I spent hiding in bed before taking off on a shaky tour around Europe for work. Could not imagine a better preparation :-)
In the next eposode of this fairytale of a life we fly to Colombia with imaginary swine flu for vacations.
Cheerio,
P
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