Bloggiana is on the lookout for a lodger again. Jesus the practising Christian failed to materialise. A number of potential singles came forwards but they were carless and clearly unable to comprehend just how far away the nearest bus-stop actually is. A Chinese linguist said yes please, he would love to come and live with you Bloggiana, I bring many stories from the east and I will teach your children xylophone. So Bloggiana drew a blank and has now registered with a website called yesIhadnegativeequitytoodotcom. She is hoping this way she will find some hapless victim of the credit crunch who may or may not move in to ease the burden of her daily budgetary problems.
In the meantime, while we await the arrival of this seamless addition to our commune, we reminisce – back to the Days of the Poles. In the Days of the Poles, which coincided roughly with Bloggiana’s Days of Being most-Hard-Pressed Financially-and-in-all-other-ways, we enjoyed visitations by Magdas and Terezas and Mikolajs and Buseks. They came from Warsaw and Krakow and Sosnowiec and Gdansk. They travelled on buses for hundreds of hours and they brought bottom hugging black tracksuits, an unstoppable work-ethic, cheerful financial ambition and awful awful presents. Bloggiana still has a doll with a frilly hat, a leery plastic smile and something coppery about her hair which speaks ominously of bri-nylon. That was given to her by Magda.
Magda was the one who walked into a room and curtsied. She wore a look of general pain but it was nerve-wracking to ask her if anything was wrong because more often than not if you did, she would burst spectacularly into tears. Magda was the one with the perfect Polish face and the perfect Polish conviction that everything in Poland was much better. If Bloggiana was feeling generous, she would ignore this point of view. When Magda cooked up something that required four days in a row of cabbage-boiling, Bloggiana silently and scornfully rested her case. Magda was quite simply wrong, she hissed, through a clenched nose.
Tereza came with more dolls and some lace, made at great cost no doubt by her grandmother. The lace took the form of mats that seemed to be too small for plates and too many for a bedside table. Tereza was razor bright and wanted to follow her father into the chemicals industry, to analyse paint. She had a law degree and was a qualified teacher and rode a horse like a whirling dervish. Bloggiana quite liked Tereza but she could not stay long.
So we moved onto Mikolaj. He was funny and good looking and worked hard and thankfully stayed a mile away from the cooker. He was also caught lying to his previous employer and had to go back south to pay off a string of parking tickets, won illicitly while driving illicitly in his employer’s strictly out-of-bounds car. So Mikolaj segued into Busek and Busek was related to a redundant Polish aristocratic family. His paintwork became legendary in these parts and his manners were immaculate. But his cooking was devastating and after he left, Bloggiana had to have her curtains professionally cleaned.
Sadly it seems the Days of the Poles are over. Something to do with the euro and the credit crunchski and the fact that in Poland everything is now much better. Bloggiana logs into her website and seeks out new messages. It seems that a young man from Wigan may be interested.
In the meantime, while we await the arrival of this seamless addition to our commune, we reminisce – back to the Days of the Poles. In the Days of the Poles, which coincided roughly with Bloggiana’s Days of Being most-Hard-Pressed Financially-and-in-all-other-ways, we enjoyed visitations by Magdas and Terezas and Mikolajs and Buseks. They came from Warsaw and Krakow and Sosnowiec and Gdansk. They travelled on buses for hundreds of hours and they brought bottom hugging black tracksuits, an unstoppable work-ethic, cheerful financial ambition and awful awful presents. Bloggiana still has a doll with a frilly hat, a leery plastic smile and something coppery about her hair which speaks ominously of bri-nylon. That was given to her by Magda.
Magda was the one who walked into a room and curtsied. She wore a look of general pain but it was nerve-wracking to ask her if anything was wrong because more often than not if you did, she would burst spectacularly into tears. Magda was the one with the perfect Polish face and the perfect Polish conviction that everything in Poland was much better. If Bloggiana was feeling generous, she would ignore this point of view. When Magda cooked up something that required four days in a row of cabbage-boiling, Bloggiana silently and scornfully rested her case. Magda was quite simply wrong, she hissed, through a clenched nose.
Tereza came with more dolls and some lace, made at great cost no doubt by her grandmother. The lace took the form of mats that seemed to be too small for plates and too many for a bedside table. Tereza was razor bright and wanted to follow her father into the chemicals industry, to analyse paint. She had a law degree and was a qualified teacher and rode a horse like a whirling dervish. Bloggiana quite liked Tereza but she could not stay long.
So we moved onto Mikolaj. He was funny and good looking and worked hard and thankfully stayed a mile away from the cooker. He was also caught lying to his previous employer and had to go back south to pay off a string of parking tickets, won illicitly while driving illicitly in his employer’s strictly out-of-bounds car. So Mikolaj segued into Busek and Busek was related to a redundant Polish aristocratic family. His paintwork became legendary in these parts and his manners were immaculate. But his cooking was devastating and after he left, Bloggiana had to have her curtains professionally cleaned.
Sadly it seems the Days of the Poles are over. Something to do with the euro and the credit crunchski and the fact that in Poland everything is now much better. Bloggiana logs into her website and seeks out new messages. It seems that a young man from Wigan may be interested.
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