To Begin

Hey!

Is there a way to properly start a blog? Like giving it a name, and always addressing it as that, as if writing to a pen-pal? My friend told me, he once upon a time, for about a day and a half, kept a journal and every entry began with "Dear Bob". This was a way Jacek, who I'm currently living with, offered his encouragement to begin this blog. So you can take that as a justification of my negligence.

Alright, I'm already boring myself, so I'll quickly get down to the point. I'm living in London. North-London, Enfield to be specific. North Circular Road to be exact. In a squat without electricity; which entails no hot shower, no television, no internet, and no lights. For heat, we run the stove as often as possible. This is also a way to get hot water by boiling it on the stove in a two gallon bucket, and since there is no bath, I wash directly from the bucket (not when the water is boiling, of course, but after mixing it with cold toilet water). It's surprising to me that two gallons is plenty of water to wash and rinse in. For evening recreation I spend most of the time in the kitchen, by the stove, smoking cigarettes and reading by candle-light. Jacek works as a taxi driver at night, hence, the evenings are romantically lonely. Rather they would be, if not for the beer and the books.

I haven't worked up the balls to go to Zone 1 yet, to central London. Fucking three quid for a one way ticket on the Tube. Instead, during the days, I come to the library, charge my gadgetry, download some porn, and return home. On the way back, I usually stop by Morison's (English supermarket) and pick up a few candles, some beer, and milk for the morning coffee (and by "morning", I mean afternoon).

Up until two weeks ago, I'd stop in at "Mr. Bagel" for a cup of joe before heading into the library, but I've burned that bridge, involuntarily. The situation went a little like this: In London, Polish is probably the second most spoken language, right after Turkish, and right before English. I like this dynamic, thinking it is really easy to interact with a fellow Pole, whether it's on the bus, or at the store, or at Mr Bagle's. I assumed it would be a great ice breaker. This is not the case, apparently. It seems there is a competition of some sort going on amongst the Polish immigrants, an underlying hostility and prejudice. Anyway, I stopped in at Mr. Bagel and ordered a coffee, the bagel girl, to my expectation, was Polish. So I didn't even waste my English breath and ordered my coffee, in Polish. She smiled politely and returned with "czy cos wiecej?". And so we started chatting a bit, in Polish. To the question of which part of Poland she was from, she answered she was living in London for two years already. I said, that that is all nice, and that I've just arrived, not mentioning from where. At this point the smiles and inviting gestures were gone from her appearance, and the conversation started sagging. Despite this, I resolved to ask her out for coffee, and I translate:

Me: Would you be willing to go for coffee with me?
She: You know, I'm really busy...
Me: Really? that busy?
She: Look, I have a man, ok?

and I walked out. Later that day, after recreating this seen to Jacek and his friends, I learned the truth, and I quote: "all you had to do was pretend you're not Polish". And I wonder?

The weekends hold most promise. Jacek usually returns early Saturday morning (and by "morning", I mean a bit passed midnight) and we usually find ourselves quite drunk by Saturday afternoon. For this coming weekend, we've planned something special. Ladies and gents, this weekend, I'll be in Paris! Three days, no place to sleep, no hotel, no hostel, no friends to take us in. Free.