Rumours have been flying – and perhaps even tweeting – their way around the blogosphere regarding the possible explanation for the rohlik purchasing, mushroom hunting, Grandma visiting Girl in Czechland’s most recent silence. Here’s a brief taster of what’s been alleged:
1. Having spent so long experiencing life in a post-Communist state, Girl in Czechland decided she wanted a first-hand taste of life under socialism and eloped with a dashing Cuban called Juan, notorious throughout Prague for his sexual prowess and his love of hand-rolled cigars. It is suspected that she is now documenting her experiences under the new moniker, Our Girl in Havana. She still teaches English and gets very upset when her students claim they live in ‘the Cuba’.
2. Girl in Czechland finally fell victim to Communist-style censorship but this time in her own home. Finding himself to have been the butt of Ms Girl’s jokes once too often, Czechman decided to show the world who wears the trousers in their household by hacking into the Girl in Czechland blog and censoring it. He is in fact writing this post and is finding it very strange to talk about himself in the third person. He would like to take this opportunity to point out that it is not stingy to refuse to order a drink with lunch even if you are thirsty just to save 15kc. That’s a massive fifty pence, British readers.
3. Having dared to suggest that Czechs may be somewhat sartorially challenged (she means we have no fashion sense – Czechman – Get lost, this is my blog! – GIC), Ms Girl was, as predicted, set upon by an angry mob wearing teplaky (comfy jogging bottoms) and pelted with stale rohliky, an essential staple of the Czech daily diet.
This was only the first stage of her public humiliation. The second part involved a gruesomely realistic re-enactment of the Defenestration of Prague with Ms Girl being flung from the first floor of Prague Castle. She has since been recovering in hospital but is taking copious notes with her remaining good hand and plans to blog about the experience at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime, the devoted Czechman visits her daily and feeds her through the mouth hole of her full body cast.
5. Girl in Czechland was not set upon by an angry mob and has thus been spared a long stay in hospital but she has been poorly. An unfortunate combination of drugs (the officially prescribed rather than the recreational kind) led to her feeling generally terrible and having to take a whole month off work while her doctors struggled to work out what was wrong. Sigh. This has given her yet another opportunity to try to assert herself in Czech (‘just why exactly *do* I have to carry on taking these tables if they’re infering with the operation of my internal organs?’) albeit not very successfully.
No prizes for guessing the real reason for my lack of posts is number 5. And a bit of number 4 also, I think.
A fascinating Girl in Czechland fact: this is blog post number 50. My erratic output since I began sharing my thoughts with still somehow manages to add up to something, dare I say it, substantial. To celebrate this milestone, I’ve decided to try something new: a competition!
I challenge you all, dear readers, to come up with interesting, quirky GIC-style ideas for new blog posts. Email them to me and the best one will win a prize: a brand-new shiny paperback from the new(ish) Penguin Central European Classics series. One of the Czech ones obviously. And I’d be interested to hear which posts you liked best: not just to stroke my pathetic little writerly ego but so that I can get a feel of what you’d like to see on here in future. I’m not doing any more bread related posts for a while though – or anything which mentions a ‘notebook’ of any kind.
Yesterday was a bank holiday. I don’t normally give much thought to the reason why any particular day has been declared a national day of rest but this time I couldn’t fail to think about the real reason behind it. 21 years ago Czechland had its Velvet Revolution. Major historical events can seem distant and remote, even ones from relatively recent times. However, if it weren’t for the collapse of the Iron Curtain, I wouldn’t be here. No Czechman, no housky, no quirky adventures.
It’s a strange thought.
The photo below is the last of my boxes from England. The delivery driver sweated buckets hauling them up to the fourth floor of the building so I gave him a generous tip. Watch out Czechland: it seems I’m here to stay…