Dirty Little Secret

                         What has this lady got in common with me?

Little did I realise when I met the missus a few years ago that she had a dark secret lurking (literally) in the back of our closet.

The true extent of the problem hit me hardest today when I was cleaning the house and looking deep inside places I don't usually take much interest in. I always knew she was a little eccentric, possibly even strange at times-I mean she was having a relationship with me.

I noticed some weeks ago, when I was moving our stuff that some of the boxes, which she had packed on her own, weighed a fucking tonne. What was in them?

Her "inclination" so to speak, was in its advanced stage. There are furry ones, ones with sequins, ones with hair and claws, elegant ones and sexy ones, kinky ones and hideous ones, ones with stripes and ones with lights, ones that look like a pig and ones made from a pig.

In fact, on last count, there was around 25 pairs. That's a different set for every fortnight of the year.

Let me introduce you to Karolina, my own personal shoe fetishist.

The Imelda Marcos of Krakow.



                                   Need wider lense

Greetings from Podgorze

Lots has happened recently. We moved. I play in a band. And my brother got married. I was best man at his wedding. The speech went fine -mainly due to the fact that dinner was delayed due to the Rugby. In other words- everyone was pissed by the time I got to talk.




I do feel more of a foreigner when I go to Ireland these days. And the weddings are very different in the two countries. Having to pay for your own drink is a bummer. Also one hot meal and not 4 takes some getting used to. But at least we danced as much as they tend to do in Poland. Irish bands tend to play more contemporary music. No Biały Miś unfortunately. :/



We now live just across the river from Kazimierz. What a novelty not having to check bus times when you go out for a beer. However, in a cruely ironic twist, even though we only live a short 20 min walk from the centre , we probably spend more on travel now than we ever did. Ah sure it's only 10 zl in taxi etc etc. Convenience is the mother of excess.

Having become well acquainted with the moving process by moving out ourselves recently and helping a friend only yesterday- I have noticed two things that are always constant.

1)Either the place you are moving out of , or the place you are moving into, will be on the top floor of a building.

2)There will be no elevator.

Thank god for friends. In a stroke of good fortune- my appendics operation prevented me from lifting heavy things for 6 weeks. Life has a way of getting you back though. Literally. My friend Philip's spinal issues being testament to this yesterday.

Anyway our block looks like a Sanitarium but we like the apartment. It's on the top floor and we can't hear the neighbours anything like we could in the old place. Thank f*^& for that.

Being a stones throw from the gates of the old Ghetto, we awake every morning at 8am to the dulcet tones of crowds of Jewish tourists gathering below our bedroom window.

A very Krakowian way of dealing with unwelcome noise was introduced to me some weeks ago. Inhabitants of an old Kamienice, who lived upstairs from a local bar with a recently extended beer garden, had the ingenious idea of pouring piss from bottles and shit smeared on rags (sometimes alight) down on top of the parasols which shielded the rowdy revellers. Such an extreme way of expressing your dissaproval seems a little barbaric but it works. Imagine yourself on a balmy summers eve, sipping an ice cool beverage with your sweetheart when you suddenly hear the faint trickle of someone's still steaming urine rattle off the top of your parasol until it becomes a niagarous roar. It sorta kills the moment.

Love in the time of appendicitis

After a stomach ache that wouldn’t go away I found myself in A and E at Rydygiera hospital on Monday afternoon last. At 8pm my belly was being kindly shaved my an even kinder nurse as I stuttered apologies in Polish for its largeness as a result of eating too much Pierogie Ruskie. Half an hour later I was speaking to people in green suits in the bowels of the building preparing for surgery on my appendics but not before trying to sell them English classes for medical professionals. Never miss an opportunity. I was just sorry I didn't have my business cards on me but then again I was naked apart from a very fetching smok. No-I am not Jewish. It transpired my appendics was inflamed and I should have gone to the hospital much earlier than I had. 

No more than 2 hours later I was staring at a group of surgeons who were standing around talking and sharing a laugh. 

Me: Jak Było?

Surgeon: Porządku.


Me: Duzy bole mnie brzuch (after the perfectly measured anaesthetic wore off it felt like a rabid vulture was slowly devouring my intestines)


Surgeon: Wiem (laughs). To jest naturalne.

Me: Wszystko naturalnie w Polsce ( very sarcastically)

Surgeon: (snort of laughter)

.....Out comes the morphine...


A friend who visited the next day told me he was full of foreboding when he heard I was in a hospital in Nowa Huta, likening it to something from the dark ages with rigid, putrid corpses being wheeled out as often as people were coming in. 
My experience in this hospital far surpassed anything I have had in Ireland previously. The makaron and twarog with a little hill of sugar was one of the more interesting dishes on offer at lunchtimes for sure. But maybe that was something to do with it being Friday and the fact that an ornately costumed priest always seemed to be lurking in the hall keeping sentinel on the kitchen staff and any attempt to put devil meat on the menu. He burst into my room every day of the 6 days I was there trying to force feed me communion. You have to commend the peristance of religion and how they try to take advantage of the sick. I nearly took him up on the offer one day but only because I was hungry. 

In terms of the care I received, the facilities, cleanliness and the diligent and dedicated staff and surgeons who work there-I couldn't have asked for more. I have a wonderful 3 inch gash in my gut also which I am delighting in showing off at every available opportunity. 

Life in Poland is certainly swings and roundabouts. As soon as you make a narrow minded assumption on anything, it has a way of showing you how prejudiced and completely wrong you are. I still hate Enion though. 



Thank the sweet lord for this ladder.

The lights are off but there's somebody home..

Can I just say as a foreword that living in Poland is generally a pleasant experience.


Having neglected my blogging duties for some time now, I suddenly have inspiration in the most unlikely of institutions. My muse is the Polish semi state electricity board-“Enion”. Uncannily similar in sound to “Onion” and in the affect it can have on your eyes after prolonged exposure. Oh yeah-they have a monopoly in our area. 

Two days ago I wrote this on paper by candlelight, with the odious stench of rotten pig carcass emanating from our lifeless fridge. 

On wednesday morning at 9.30 two young men came knocking on our door. They had ID’s and we presumed they were about to carry out a standard reading of the meter. As we were closing the door, they politely informed us that there was one more “thing” in a “by the way” type of tone. They were taking away our meter or in other words disconnecting our electricity supply. My jaw hit the ground. We had paid our bills promptly since we had lived in this apartment belonging to my friend. The irony was the last one had been paid just the day before. They explained that a contract had been signed by the owner sometime in the past but this had since expired. They weren’t supposed to be even talking to us about this as we were only tenants. But we work from home , I give lessons from home???? 
That logically led on to the next point. Why the fuck didn’t you inform us that such a “contract” had expired? We would gladly resign and continue as before. “I am sure we did” the young guy replied officiously. But we didn’t get anything???? And hold on –just one minute ago you didn’t even want to explain to me face to face what was happening, so are you sure you sent a letter????? They left. 

As the cold reality of the situation dawned on me –romantic evenings tripping up on my shoes in the darkness, mopping up a melting fridge, not to mention a pile of cancelled lessons and the money blown we didn’t have from being forced to eat out-I started to get angry. Really angry.

1)What “civilized” country in 21st century Europe goes to a paying, reliable customers premises due to a piece of administrative nonsense and disconnects their electricity supply without prior notice. Apparently kabul has a quicker electrical reconnection process than Kraków. Although that may just be because few own a house anymore so clients are thin on the ground.  If we had refused to pay our bills we would have had at least 12 months grace before being disconnected. I think my raucous laughter is a prelude to encraoching madness. If anyone can drive you bertie these fuckers can.

2) Surely an action of this magnitude deserves at least a phonecall –never mind a letter. Enion had all contact telephone numbers and correspondence addresses. Obviously not. The look on your clients face when you disconnect them of a basic human requirement in most modern countries, is way more funny. Also the 90zl reconnection fee increases revenue.

3) Isn’t it easier to call to a customers house with a new “contract” giving them the option of resigning rather than no option at all. See last sentence from point 2. 

4)Why is bureaucratic and procedural officiousness in central Europe so intent on pissing off everyday honest, law abiding people and making their lives miserable? The tentacles of this country’s communist past continue to paralyse large swathes of its institutions and have a very detrimental affect on the mental health and livelihood of its inhabitants.  

On calling the office we were patronisingly informed by a gormless automaton that it was very important to be aware of this “contract” which we never knew existed. Surely the idea of a “fixed period” contract for electricity is like having a comparable one for water?. Ie a contradiction in terms. Yes I’ll only need it until January then you can disconnect me as there is a low pressure front on its way. She was also unable to tell us that even though this contract had seemingly expired why they had been giving us estimations up until june. Basically they were talking out of their arse. No surprise there then.


Anyway- we are off to the office with my friend and his house deeds (hahahah), 90 zl in 5 and 2 gr coins, some rancid pork and a bag of defrosted peas from my now weeping freezer. Oh the joy. 

To be continued. 

Our house- Wednesday 6.30pm. That's me on the right in the smoking jacket with the knife.

Some thoughts on the season...

Fleeting flakes of snow rest on my weary mind

Only flickering silent shadows remain as Winter holds His breath

Restraining a heavy sigh, Animals sleep in their snowy beds.

A sharp scent of years past dances through my window ajar

Blinding blue light- My senses!

Wooden sleighs, empty turf sacks, soaked slacks and red flared nostrils, Ice-

Lunches packed and nowhere to go

The Earth – Frozen under my foot, like the shrill laugh of youth

I turn for comfort to your sweet smell, your sleep-filled dreams

Who is dreaming? 
Who is the dream?

Darina Allen did it

After 2.5 months of watching Polish builders "reinsulating" the outer walls of our apartment block, I had had enough.Who were these clowns? Was there any end to their silliness? I was exasperated.  Underwhelmed. As the work approached its 3rd month, I was sure I was caught in some sort of "candid camera" experiment with a prankster Polish Jeremy Beadle jumping out from behind a jack hammer some day as I left for work.

Being awoken every morning for a season at 7am on the button by drilling, shouting, hammering and heartfelt pleas of "Kurwa- Co Robisz?" had really laid its mark on my psyche .These guys were certainly punctual. I was a shell of a man. And why did the noise always stop as soon as we got up? I was convinced. They were fucking with us. 

Two things did become very clear to me as the end came in sight and they started collecting their cursed bits and bobs, in a futile effort to make the perimetre of the building looks less like a nuclear wasteland.
They were as follows:

Blocking the entrance to an apartment block containing 200 people at any time of the day from 7am to 5pm is ok. All inhabitants must wait until the highly skilled workers can finish their detailed labours which involved much profanity (see above), smoking of cigarettes and other assorted goons standing around vacantly watching the procedure. You may have to wait in sleet and snow until they give you the go ahead to enter your own apartment half frost-bitten. But at least when you do,  you know the job will be done well. Don't you?

Having 50 metre drapes coming down the side of the building covered in the word BOLIX is perfectly normal here and in no way reflects the quality of work provided by said company. 

Having electrical cables and exposed wiring/sockets hanging from every orifice of a building at every angle is acceptable and people just deal with it-however disgruntedly. 

Inhaling one kilo of obliterated styro foam every day has no effect on your manners or the amount of cigarettes you smoke or where you smoke them. It was quite a surreal scene though. Snow in August. Who'd have thunk it??

That large  bottle on your balcony that says "Wisniówka" and that gradually becomes smaller as the day progresses, isn't being used to clean the brushes. 

All in all, a truly unforgettable experience. And all for the wrong reasons. 

On a happy note-here's some pictures of our Pumpkin jam and a Mercury Rev gig I went to in Sosnowiec where I narrowly avoided getting my head ruptured open by a full can of harnas. The insult of it all. The bastards didn't even give me the privilige of getting killed by a decent fucking beer. 

The angry whingings of an Irish man in Poland should become more regular in the new year. 

Media Markt don't do miracles..but if they did.......

Snickering away this evening with a smug grin on my face I was . I had been told the news that the German owned, electronic supplier Media Markt had made a bit of a faux pais with one of their badge shipments recently (the llittle things you wear on your jacket). The staff who do the stock orders, seem to  have a fantastic sense of humour. The irony isn't lost on me considering who they are working for. Sales are brisk apparently and sure why not.

But the item does seem a little out of place next to the electric toasters and kettles.



A humble fashion accessory for every red-blooded male. Now available at your local Media Markt.
While stocks last!