There's something about that name that just begs it to be pronounced in the Slavic tones of the mythical bastard lovechild of the Count from Sesame Street, having mated with a female Dracula… 'ah-ah-aaaaaahhhhhhh'.
Anyway – just back from a knackering weekend away, nailing a new country for my list in the shape of Slovakia, though not helped by:
1. Our joyous arrival back into the UK last night on a Ryanair flight (clearly dreadful in its own right)
2. Which we had nearly missed (who'd have thought a piddly little airport like Bratislava might have two terminals, and that we were in the wrong one at 11pm, all obsessively playing Train Conductor on our respective pieces of portable technology?)
3. And which was running late, with people picking fights, so landed late (now that sounds far more like a budget airline)
4. To be met by a queue for Customs of, I kid you not, about 1000 people (sporting approximately double the number of tattoos, divided by a fair portion of velour sleepsuits)
5. And which was then held up further by the highly dubious charatcers trying to enter our lovely nation, ranging from the 'I don't speak english and have no other form of identification other than a dog-chewed plastic wallet' to the 'I look like a state wrestler and the only luggage I have is a rolled up magazine, which undoubtedly does contain the gun I am about to assassinate some luckless Eastern European dissident with'
6. All the while watching on TV, the charming scenes of Britain rioting like the sales at Ikea, as we and the other 996 queuing masses wondered if we had in fact landed somehow in the Congo….
7. To then finally escape the airport and be met by the cab driver, very not-keen on taking us back to London as 'I've got brown skin and I don't like the look of the riots'. Still, for an extra £20 on the fare, it's amazing how riot-proof he quickly became…
Anyway – was a good weekend over there. Pretty tiny city, where the highlight for all was hiring segways – yes, those laughable upright electic pogo-sticks. And then terrorising the whole of Bratislava, as you could pretty much cover it end to end on said ludicrous transport in an hour or so.
Soph fell off hers three times. Nicky was somehow the fastest but had her helmet on at such a jaunty angle that she looked liek Dad's Army on wheels and Vicki inexplicably slow until her speed limit was taken off for the return half of the trip and she and her trusty underarm handbag could pick up the pace like never before…
In fact Brat was so weeny that we actually went to Vienna for one day as – factoid – they are the two closest capital cities in the world. Where we then did a hop on/hop off city tour and bored ourselves senseless looking at quite dull Viennese architecture in between large slices of strudel and overpriced tea.
Right – photos to follow, must do some work. Bit tired as having got in at 2am, H leveraged the wifely heartstrings this morning and got me to drive him to the station so he could fly to Ireland, at a very undesirable 6am. Brownie points for Scotty well & truly in the bag, and a night on the sofa (after taking Mum for supper tonight) to follow, hurrah hurrah (ah-ah-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah).
S x