May's Prague Ramble

NERDS' Ramble No. 300. 12^th- 15^th May 2015.

Those Present – Sandyballs, Lafayette, Matt, Froggy, Paco, Curly Clarke, The Bish.

PRAGUE !!!

NERDS' 300^th Ramble! Who'd have thought it. Still all together and never a cross word spoken (except for rambles 84, 91, 104, 214, 277 etc etc etc............). People have come and gone - notably Jane (requiescat in pace), Philby (requiescat sub terra), B T (requiescat in Francia), not to mention drifters like The Captain who only comes at Christmas, Bronco who only comes over Crunchie, Dio, Matrix Man, who comes dressed in leather purely to excite Matt, Shaz, our occasional girlie who comes to excite us all, and many others who have graced us with their presence.

And that's not all. Look at all the other places the NERDS have been to in the last er...... twenty seven years or so.  Sussex...yeah, well...... Broseley, Dieppe, Fougax et Barrineuf, (where the f....?

Oh, yes, Brian's), Dublin, Villa Rosa (!), Louvain, and so on and so on. The NERDS has been an organisation founded to foster harmony and goodwill amongst its members ( hopelessly failed) and to increase their cultural knowledge and travel aspirations, but ended up with their going to foreign places, getting completely arseholed and quarreling in strange bars. And so to Prague - plus ca change.......

On day one dear, kind Pacito picked up everyone ( well, nearly everyone, as the Bish  had seemed determined to be different and stood outside someone else's house and nearly got left behind), and drove them to Gatwick. I shall leave aside the usual shenigans  which take place and which happen to the NERDS at major  airports. You know, the bits where Sandyballs over-eats in Wetherspoons and feels sick, where Froggy loses his boarding pass and throws a tantrum, where Lafayette gets frisked and all his knives and revolvers fall on the floor and he gets put in handcuffs and carted away. Thankfully none of these things happened (this time) and everybody took off and landed safely at Joseph Stalin International, Praha.

First off we had to find The Archibald City Hotel (who he?)

so the NERDS trailed around what was allegedly the red light district

 looking for this and hoping to see some exotic ladies of the night en route. Unfortunately it was no longer night time and the girlie pros were probably at home sleeping off their nocturnal endeavours.

( Just a thought, do les grandes horizontales sleep standing up vertically as a change, or do they just kip down lengthwise like everyone else? Cos if they do that then they must never get up, do they? What about when they wanted to brush their teeth, for example, did they do this on their backs while shagging or what? Lafayette thought this might be a good basis for doing research into his next doctorate if only he could get sponsorship from somewhere).

We were quite surprised at the weather in Prague. The forecast from the UK had foretold rain, wind and miserable conditions, and the NERDS had all come as if dressed for December. In fact it was warm and sunny

 and we were getting exhausted dragging our suitcases around. Nor were there any horizontal girlies around who might have been paid to do this onerous task for us. Eventually we found the hotel which was pleasant, modern, clean and with a charming receptionist called Katerina. Katerina told us she played hockey (this being ice hockey, and we found that every telly in Prague was showing some match or other. Then we found out it was actually The World Ice Hockey Championships that week in Prague and Czecho were in a critical phase of having to play the Finns to get into the semis) – they didn't seem to play much cricket here much to Sandyballs' chagrin. There were, strangely enough, a lot of Finns wandering around looking bleary eyed and pissed. Maybe there's a Finnish NERDS branch in Helsinki, hey there's an idea for the next trip!

So out we went to find a bar and have a beer. Well you didn't think we were going to stay in all afternoon and read Proust, did you?

A couple of streets away we found an outside watering hole which seemed to be serving aperitifs.

These were, like, mega glasses of czech beer which, according to the menu were about 20% strength. “That'll do,” we all thought. And guess what, the waitress was just Sandyballs' type, petite, blonde, superficially attractive and with a startling resemblance to Kylie Minogue. And so, of course, the place became known ever after as “Kylie's Bar.” If only the poor girl knew what wicked thoughts Sandyballs harboured about her in his addled brain those steamy three days!

Next, and suitably well oiled, the NERDS went down to the city centre and looked at the shops. 

There were ice cream shops (good for Lafayette)

, pipe shops, (?) watch shops and trams. The Bish seemed to have developed a certain sense of direction so he was made NERDS' Navigator

 and got us on and off trams and metros going in roughly the right direction. Good job somebody could!

At teatime we adjourned to The Sky bar. This was an open air bar situated on the top storey of the hotel

 where you could drink beer (surprise, surprise), sit on comfy chairs, get sun tanned (yes, really)

.

, and where another czech maiden with a passion for ice hockey would lend you binoculars so that you could look out over the whole of Prague.

 The view was fantastic; you were so high up you could see everything – the weirdo mediaeval spires of the churches,

 the round mosques (or synagogues), the extensive parks,

The green forests in the distance, the amazing architecture of the old houses,

 the people wandering around in all their different nationalities, the witches flying around on their broomsticks and all this in really hot sunshine. It was truly amazing.

 Just then Froggy rocked up and completely destroyed the calm atmosphere by accusing Lafayette of hogging the best chairs, drinking the best drinks, using the best binoculars and breathing the same air. “ Fuck off, “ said Lafayette, “ I like it here and if you don't, then take the whip and go get drunk somewhere else.” Froggy eventually calmed down a bit and started taking pictures with his NEW camera – except for some reason he couldn't turn it on, focus it, get it to speak to him or take pictures. Cue another tantrum while he blamed the camera company for ripping him off by selling him a duff camera...dear, dear, dear........

Matt knew about some fabulous restaurant somewhere, that involved a ride up a hill on a funicular railway

. Now these things are fun in so far as you wait for ages at the bottom of the hill, then you cram on board with lots of fit, young students (who offer you their seat if you are as old looking as Lafayette), then you travel about 100metres, like, upwards and then you get out near your restaurant. ie. You don't have to tramp up a load of boring steps

 and you arrive fresh and hungry. The restaurant was called Nebozizek which means “Oral Sex” in czech and goes some way to explain why it was full of japanese business men all sitting round their tables naked from the waist downwards, making a lot of noise and generally having a good time.

The food there was excellent and the waiter kept bringing on the carafes of rouge. The view over Prague from this high up was again spectacular but poor Froggy moaned that he had been forced by some communist conspiracy into sitting with his back to the view, and that his NEW camera wasn't working here either. Thankfully the japanese finally left with smiles on their faces and Froggy's camera reluctantly gave up its secrets to produce some quite reasonable photies. On the way home various NERDS still felt thirsty so popped into the local offie where Froggy bought a mega bottle of Jamesons and had a small party in his room with SB, Laf and Curly to celebrate his NEW camera beginning to work properly

.

Next morning while Froggy was sampling the beans at breakfast and pronouncing them of a satisfactory standard, Sandyballs went in search of the Bish who had failed to appear (again) and who, it was feared, might have died in the night due to his advanced age.

The Bish had not died however; apparently his delay at breakfast was caused by dropping his false teeth into the lavatory while wiping his arse (as you do) and having to fish around for them before he dared flush the bog. Bish appeared with the shit scrubbed off his gleaming teeth and prepared once again to navigate us to the beginning of the walk round Prague for the second day.

Curly was actually Route Meister

 for that day because he had a rough idea where to take us and he could read a map. First he took us round the Old Town where we spent time gazing at russian dolls; you know, the ones that fit inside each other (especially when they've had a drink or two). Then we went to The Old Town Square where we had a beer and gawped at the Prague Clock

. This was a rather magical device

 which, whenever it struck twelve, unleashed scores of fairies from its baroque interior who descended into the crowd of tourists and picked all the change from their pockets. You can now see how the Prague town council funds all the superb amenities it lavishes on its those who come to visit.

Lafayette was fascinated by a noisy band performing in the square under the name of “The Bohemian Bards”. They looked like a load of fierce Hells Angels (without their bikes). There were three or four

 of them dressed in black (of course) in presumably ethnic bohemian costume of chains, curly toed boots, long skirts(!) and weirdo instruments. Soft english folk music it was not, principally because their main instrument was a sort of bagpipe with four foot long pipe the music of which reminded  one of  The Ladies from Hell advancing on the Germans  with murderous intent during The First World War. The Bohemians attempted to modify this racket with the judicious use of a lute and a tambourine, but these were drowned out by the caterwauling in some bohemian dialect of the members of the band. Lafayette was approached by a young bohemian lady who tried to sell him a CD of this “music” but he politely declined.

The NERDS then had a Biergarden lunch – olive oil and bread,

 and beef and dumplings, and proceeded to Prague castle. This, of course was impressive and reminded one of Colditz, especially the large well in the courtyard into which they used to chuck their spare witches in The Olden Days before asylum and appeals had been invented. Froggy managed to take a picture of a) his fingernail and b) the edge of a bridge. Today the technology was defeating him, must have been the influence of last night's Jamesons and all the czech beer that we were consuming.

Back for a snooze and a quick trip to the Sky bar

 to top up our tans and to make sure that the Finns hadn't bagged our seats by putting their towels on them ( The Czech/Finn hockey game was still to be played).  Then we all regrouped to go out to find any old restaurant which sold czech food and wine.

After a lot of faffing about on trams we arrived in the vicinity of the Lord Charles Bridge

 where we went in a pleasant looking restaurant. You would have thought that its combination of sophistication and rustic interior should have appealed to all. Fat chance. First of all the waiter wore a bow tie – always a sign of some sort of personality disorder – then the beautiful moravian wine which Lafayette ordered “didn't taste nice,” according to the moron NERDS who were too drunk to taste anything but peppermint cordial.

Then The Bish broke a glass which was considered an ominous sign of bad luck, especially before a meal, and especially by a Bishop. Mr Bow-tie failed to open a second bottle of wine, Froggy tried to help him but brought to the table the same skills he had shown with his camera. When the wine was finally open and dished up it contained sludgy lees at the bottom of the bottle (doesn't all sophisticated wine?), and the meal seemed to be to no-one's satisfaction except Lafayette's.

Sandyballs was heard to bellow, “I didn't get where I am today by coming to Prague and eating czech food!” Lafayette pointedly told him that was exactly why he had come to Prague to which Sandyballs accused Lafayette of  having no taste and being willing to eat anything that was put infront of him (This might be completely true but Lafayette was so so hurt that SB had revealed one of his deepest secrets).

Hee, hee, the quarrel raged on in the true tradition of NERDS' quarrels born out of tiredness, drink, jealousy, frustration etc. etc.

Lafayette had indeed drunk so much that he really didn't give a toss what he ate as long as he filled his face, and Sandyballs was obviously going through one of his awkward moods where nothing could please him. It was now Dog eat Dog and the pack closed in on Lafayette blaming him alone for the poor standard of service, the bad food, the poofy waiter, how all czech girls were ugly, and another thing......etc. Lafayette responded by waiting till no-one was looking and hoovered up all the food left on everyone's plate. The Bish missed a chance there; he could have got almost limitless extra food if he had sided with Laf. and pulled the same trick.

Utterly exhausted by all this passion the NERDS repaired to another nearby bar to sober up (!!) and calm down. Paco shakily brought out an emergency cigar he had been keeping to calm his stressed nerves and we all resolved to go back to Kylie's for a night cap because she had the ability to make everyone think of love and sex and kisses and comforting stuff like that. (Notes don't record if Kylie was there this time, but I expect she was, although nobody got anywhere with the love and sex and kisses.)

It was next day. Matt wanted to buy a painting. You know how  rich people have a problem knowing what to do with their money and so they collect things, hide them away, get them out, fondle them and then lock them away so that no-one even knows? Well Matt's big secret was that he was an avid collector of erotic art.

Thought you hadn't seen the Venus de Milo recently? It's in Matt's back room. Missing the many copies of David from outside the Uffizi? The original's in Matt's attic. Then there's that somewhat overblown Botticelli Venus emerging from the waves. Guess where that is. Yep, it's under Matt's bed for those private moments when he's alone and needs the presence of a beautiful woman.

And so, something in Prague had taken his eye. We were taken to a little known street market

 where everyone spoke out of the corner of their mouth, and where large bundles of cash were wont to change hands for priceless and often smuggled artefacts. Matt slipped round a side stall, looking left and right to ensure the Antiquities Squad were not around. After the previous evening's dog eat dog episode Matt wasn't even sure that none of the NERDS was not wired and prepared to betray him for cash or drink.

The object of his searches, nay the object of his lust, was a small painting of a young couple doing indescribable things to each other, and which had allegedly been painted by the little known swedish artist Lars Wankingssen during the febrile fin de siecle movement known as Masturism. Matt found a little old woman, the secret dealer, and in a trice the deal was done. Many millions of euros were handed over, a selfie of Matt and the dealer was taken for security reasons and the painting was cut from its frame and rolled into a tube to be smuggled into the UK via Easyjet. Now Matt would no longer go on cruises, no longer would he come on rambles; his whole future would now be taken up with slyly taking out and viewing his new treasure, and getting personal and often eruptive  pleasure from knowing he had the only one.

The rest of us bought a few trinkets, The Bish bought a hat, Paco bought a packet of cigars and a teeshirt with “Prague” on it.  We went to a nearby cafe and drank stuff. Froggy moaned about their being too much froth on his dark beer. Matt complained that he'd only been given one teabag in his pot of tea, Lafayette and Sandyballs sat looking in different directions, pointedly not speaking to each other. The drama of the morning had dissipated, things were back to normal.

Lunch was noodles (for Laf) followed by a river trip along the River er..... whatever it is in Prague. (Vitara, I'm told). This was nice. We glid

under bridges

with commentaries in most european languages and with yet another keen czech girlie who brought us drinks. “But, only one each, you naughty english gentlemen,” she breathed heavily. “I know Vot you are like after two or three, you just can't get your singies up.”

 (Was it she who said this or was it some other czech female in a different place? Lafayette's memory was beginning to fail. So many czech girls, so little time.)

We wandered round a park

which was full of grass and very green and had lots of big tents set up in the centre. What was this?  Maybe they sell beer or something. Indeed they were going to. It was apparently some mega beer festival covering acres and acres of ground, which was due to go on for about a fortnight and where you could buy a season ticket for an extortionate sum. We examined our finances and declined. After all we were going home tomorrow (sob) and had lots of cultural things to do.

 Outside the park Sandyballs took us to the Dancing House (yes, really, although we thought our perception of this may have been influenced by a surfeit of absinthe). We were now in the Prague rush hour and getting almost run down on the pavement by segue scooters

(bloody teenagers) so thought we'd comfort ourselves by going back to see which one of us Kylie had decided to marry.

Fortunately she was there that day but told us that in fact her name was Veronica (how dull) and that she had no intention of marrying anybody  since we were all too old and ugly, except perhaps the one with nice curly hair or the one who was obviously rich and was a famous art dealer.

With most of our delusions shattered we decided on a slap up dinner since it was our last night. This involved an incredible amount of titting about, of indecision, of hesitation, because nobody wanted to actually have to choose the restaurant and be accused of spoiling everybody's evening through lack of judgement. Finally we decided on a reasonable looking italian restaurant

 (so that nobody would be forced to eat any more nasty, czech food). Unfortunately, however, the waiter this time was not over familiar, incompetent, or economical with the cost of the bill. He was, in short, plain and simply an Arsenal Fan. Ho, ho, thought Lafayette; one in the eye for Sandyballs (Tottenham fan). Sandyballs just put his head in his hands and groaned. If the restaurant had even just sold Greene King beer things could not have been worse. Still the meal was OK and the wine

 had no sludge in it so most of the NERDS were happy.

So back fo a final drink of Jamesons in the dark at the top of the Skybar. Lafayette went to get refills of beer from the binocular girl and found her dancing in the corridor with her boyfriend (another waiter and future trainee Arsenal fan). They were both very happy, she told Lafayette, not because they had just got engaged, oh, no, no, no, but because Czecho had finally beaten Finland in the ice hockey and were through to the semis next week. Who said sex isn't dead amongst young people. On returning to the fold with this breath-taking news Lafayette was treated to a violent strop from Froggy either because he had been secretly supporting Finland all the time or else because the bottle of Jamesons was empty.

And so next day we travelled home. It had been a good trip full of culture, excitement, quarrels, tantrums and strops. Fairly average really for a NERDS trip of more than one day. Prague was a really interesting place to visit and a fitting venue for the ….ahem three hundredth ramble. Thanks must go to Froggy

 for picking the really good hotel, to Paco

 for driving everyone to the airport and back and to Curly

 and Sandyballs

 for the routes. Thanks go to everyone else for their entertainment value and we look forward to going to Helsinki for the return ice hockey match.

Love you all, really.

Lafayette.