haonowshaokao

So, moving out.
An experience repeated over and over.
But there is no travelling without moving on.
Still, it is sad.

Nine hours until I go. Suppose I should go to bed really.
Last night I barely slept at all, kept awake by worry. Why should I care though? I accept I am a very very bad teacher, but the next week will result in payment whether I am useless or not. Just hope it’s not as bad as the previous course, where I forgot to bring entertainment and was forced to read “Headway” all the way through for something to do.
Stayed in for 8 hours cleaning the flat.
Today was Austin’s birthday, so we all dressed up in the most ludicrous costumes available and made our way to the bar. As expected we were the only people who made an effort. How many times before we learn to be boring? With nothing happening we made our way to a reasonable party some web guys were holding. Their site is like a porn version of The Onion. Will link to it soon.
When that died we returned to the eye. There was a penis shaped pinyata with challenges inside. I took the second hit at it, a direct one with scraps of porn falling out as I broke the shaft. There were a host of challenges inside so everyone went around carrying them out. I made animal noises for 15 minutes. Everyone was doing outrageous things, but the buzz had gone for me. They all made out and I came home, feeling vaguely sad.
Want to meet a new girl. All the ones I know are not the right sort. Does the right sort exist? Bit of a metaphysical question and a stupid one to boot.
Bah, I should go to bed.

Another two days to go. I am somewhere between joy, panic and boredom. Jacques thinks I am moving out in a week, but I will take him by surprise.
Quote of the day: “I think I would like to find someone to move in who is not a pig.”
There is nobody in the whole world who could live with him as long as I have without wanting to punch him in the face. I will help myself to his selection of alcohol when I go.
Got utterly fucking drunk last night on money I couldn’t afford to spend. Then went to the Acropolis and tried to get off with a Czech girl. I probably could have succeeded if I wasn’t so unable to make moves. She thought I was Czech myself. I said I wasn’t. She said that was good.
Still, Katka, who I vaguely know, is the new MC for drum & bass nights, very very strange indeed. But she’s good.
Today I ate bizarre soya “meat” and then went to Café Montmatre with Russ and Amanda. The processed proteins, meanwhile, made their way to the bottom of our stomachs and made it increasingly hard to prevent the dreaded food escape. Then we walked home in the bitter, bitter cold and I sat around, not getting started on any of the many tasks I have to complete by Saturday.
I will miss this place, a little at least. Especially the view, and the fact that Hulk Hogan works in the shop downstairs.

This weekend I pack up my shit and go to a ski resort in the mountains for a week, teaching English to ski types in a plush hotel.
When I return I am officially homeless, but since everyone is sleeping on someone else’s floor right now anyway I can’t say it really matters. People are on the case, though. I will have 4500 korun to pay for a flat including deposit, so sharing a room seems fairly likely.

I was just about to write a nice little peaceful passage about the joys of a week and a half away when a combination of factors riled me beyond all recall.
I am sitting on a dining chair typing with a Czech keyboard attached to a computer on my chest of drawers. Underneath the builders continue their usual incessant drilling, starting at 7.30am each day. Behind me Jacques paces around the flat, occasionally coming into my room and shouting at me for whatever reason he has thought of that particular moment.
“…and you never make anything, there are so many things, for example…”
“Jacques, can I have a bit of time, I’m trying to work”
“Oh, I am so sorry for being here and eating yoghurt!”
…two minutes later…
“And also I see you have not….”
Blah blah fucking blah into infinity.
I need a bath before I go to work in an hour and a half.

A week and a half to go. I have only the slightest leads on a new house, but the thought of being free from Jacques and all the other house shit more than makes up for the trouble. Today I was ordered to clean all of upstairs, including the upstairs bathroom which smells of Hamish’s clothes and hasn’t been used by me since the shower head broke off. Ah well, freedom is a bitter pill.
Last night was interesting too. I found out that it was Hamish who poached my classes. I kind of knew anyway, but the bitter pill for him is that I’m talking about it on here, though I’ve been asked very nicely by him not to mention that he is still in Prague. Well, no more. Hey, Hamish is here, everyone!
Next week: The grand launch of the Hamish Gossip Forum.

There’s been enough saying today is the day. Yesterday was the day. It was the day I finally had to come to the decision to leave my extravagant penthouse flat to go and find a reasonably priced shithole. I have two weeks, then I am homeless.
Jacques seemed pretty pleased to hear the news. He seemed even more pleased when he was spotted later that night in the Marquis De Sade. Those who know him will recall that he seldom drinks to excess. Now we know why. After taking bodyshots from every available person he made out with the previously heterosexual Matthew from Blind Eye, took off his shirt and stood on the table in his leather trousers, dancing and singing the French national anthem to the bar.
Thirty people looked on aghast, though only three of them share the burden of living with the man. I, for my part, managed to miss this entire scene, hearing about it secondhand from Amanda.
On balance, I’m glad I missed it all.

Another minor crisis. Rent was due on Tuesday and I still have none. I was to borrow money off Russ but he can’t get any till the school pay him for work 3 months ago.
The only thing to do then is try to avoid Jacques by going out and hiding in my room. The latter is hard when there are lessons to be taught and my book is in the kitchen. Yesterday I managed this feat by hiding upstairs until I heard him take the lift down, grabbing the book, running down to the 4th floor and hiding around the corner until I heard the ancient mechanism returning him to the flat, the rubbish presumably having been taken downstairs.
Book in hand, I managed to escape outside to continue the game by dodging tram fares.