Scribbling #24: An Englishman's Home is His Castle

Well, that's the idea, anyway.

So we are now moving again!  That's twice this year.  Once in February from Nitra to Sala, and soon from Sala to a village just outside of it called Trnovec nad Vahom.  We've already had plenty of experiences with village life without actually living there properly yet.  The next door neighbours used the 'improper' friendly form of greeting us for the first time, which is apparently a big no-no in the Snakes and Ladders game of Slovak manners.  Old people ride around on bikes and look like they are going to tip over at any second.  Instead of hoodies, we have a bunch of stray cats, all lined up and looking suspicious on street corners.  Old people also come into our house uninvited while we're trying to renovate.  Case in point:

Old uninvited person that we've met before and has just decided to open the front door and let herself in (AKA Gladys): Hellooooo!!!

Mrs. C and JC: Silence

Gladys: I saw the front gate open and decided to let myself in.  Did you know that your red light thing is on?

Mrs. C: No, but thanks for telling us.

Gladys:  Also, your cat keeps on meowing all the time.  It needs feeding! (switches to Hungarian) It needs feeding!

Mrs. C: What?

Gladys: (switching back to Slovak) It needs feeding!

Mrs. C: Yes, it's fine, it can go catch mice.

Gladys: Look, I'll go to the store and get it some food, right?

Mrs. C: No, you don't have to, it...

Gladys: (In Hungarian)  Look, I'll go to the store and get it some food, right?

Mrs. C: What?

Gladys:  (Switches to Slovak) I'll just get it some food...

Mrs. C: No, really, you really don't have to.  At all.  It's not ours, it's one of the strays.  Thankyou.

Gladys:  I'll just go to the store and get it some then!  Okay?

Mrs. C:  No, you don't... ok, she's gone.

JC: (English) What just happened?

Mrs. C: She's just gone off to get some food for the cat.  And there's a light at the back that's gone on.

Pause.

JC:  She's seriously gone to get food for the cat?

Mrs. C: Yes.

Vilo (our amazing, fantastic, painter/decorator): You're going to have some really nice neighbours around here.

Mrs. C: You think?

Vilo: shakes head

Ten minutes later...

Gladys:  Coo-ee! I'm back! 

(Well, she didn't actually say 'coo-ee', but that's the effect I'm trying to give here, like a retarded episode of Last of the Summer Wine - look it up on YouTube, Canadians)

Mrs. C: Yes.

Gladys:  I'll just feed the cat then, Christina.  And that's your husband there, James, eh?

Mrs. C: Yes, there he-

Gladys:  Make sure to tell him that the roof needs doing as well!

Mrs. C: Yes, I'm sure he-

Gladys:  Right, I'll go feed the cat then now!

Mrs. C: Okay, fine... well, we're just leaving now, okay?

Cut to: Gladys's mate, Doris, striding up the path after seeing Gladys and decides to let herself in as well.

Doris:  Oi!  Do you know that your red light thing is on...

Mrs. C: We really have to go!

And we leave, letting Vilo shut himself into the house and letting him do more work.

JC: Oh, yes, Canadians never leave their doors unlocked, because it's perfectly acceptable, and who would ever come through the front door anyway...

Mrs. C: Drop it.

So now, dear reader, the front gate is always locked after we go in, to keep the local Old Lady Mafia (henceforth known as the OLM) out and our sanity in.  We need as much of it as we can, since we're moving in while painting etc.  It started out looking like a ruin, and now we think its going to look awesome.  We just need to add the finishing touches.

Like a floor.

:-)

Scribbling #23: A Theory. Or Possibly A Hypothesis.

Picture the scene, when at the kitchen table in our flat (translation for Canadians and other exotic creatures of the 'Northus Americanus' variety: 'apartment') where myself and Mrs. Preggers Rev. C were having breakfast, I suddenly got a look of revelation.  A piece of my mind had taken a thought and ran quite a distance with it, before it metaphorically ran out of breath and couldn't be bothered.

Mrs. C gave the normal look of consternation when I had this 'eureka' moment, mentally preparing herself for the rubbish that was about to spew out of my mouth.

JC: I think I've just worked out why Slovakia has been invaded so many times...

Mrs. C: Okay. Yes?

JC:  Well... here's the thing.  Although my work is considered dull or horrendously exciting at any given time, there has been a couple of times when [insert long and boring explanation here of what I do for a living].  But basically, with the factory and all its noise, when someone shouts out that the 'dvojka' (second) product is wrong, then they have to ask again, to make sure that the other guy didn't say that the 'trojka' (third) product is wrong, so they can write it down on their production sheet thing, and the first guy gets agitated and yells it even more incoherently.  It gets very confusing sometimes.  Just like in battle, you know?  You have to know who's shouting what, there's lots of noise, it's really confusing.  Like chaos.

Mrs. C: Okaaay. (Chews thoughtfully on cereal)

Pause.

Mrs. C: I don't see what this has to do with Slovakia being inva-

JC: What happens when you want to fire number two cannon?

And that's exactly why Slovakia has been invaded so many times.  :-p