Bangers and Beyond

The Pink Ladies

Well, it was a touch on the chilly side back in London, but after 6 nights in sub-arctic conditions in Copenhagen, we felt like we were back in the tropics.  I never thought 6 degrees could have felt so balmy.  Didn't even need my beanie.  Thank goodness for that, soooo over hat hair.  OMG! It's like totally lame-o. LOL!  I'm inventing a new one - it shall be VAOY = vomit all over you.  And it's my now standard response to anybody who writes LOL.  As always, it was a two night stopover.  One day I'll have to tour the UK properly.  This time round though, it was plates of humous in the Lebanese restaurant on the corner, a far too brief rendezvous with my beloved Harry B - brain box and funny bitch -, collecting of outfits, and more hours at Harrods toy department.  A long but comfortable plane trip later, and there we were.  In the real tropics.  Good old Bangkok.  But just for one night, before we hit the beaches, exposed body parts that hadn't seen daylight in months, and made ourselves sick on banana shakes and pad thai.

Ladies in underpants - what else do you want from a holiday?

Forget bar hopping, multiple shots, and ping pong fanny parlours, we retired early for the evening like a bunch of family losers.   Ah, I remember the good old days in Bangkok.  A very memorable visit was the night my sister, (her then partner, now husband), Adam, Chalks and I spent having quite a number of drinks in "The Kok".  Early in the evening, Adam and Chalky had suggested the possibility of seeing women pop ping pong balls out their fannies.  They were shut down with indignation.  Wizzie and I were like "You guys are sick animals.  It's so degrading to women" and "Like we would ever want to see that.  You should be ashamed of yourselves"  "So sexist.....disgusting!"  "Fuck you!" "Creeps!" "Dickheads!".  Adam then privately admitted to Chalks that if he went back to Tasmania without having seen this phenomenon, his mates would seriously question his sexuality.  "Don't worry" replied Chalky discretely, "We will just get Wizzie and Em drunk, and before they realise what's happening we'll just go there".

What's that up in the sky?  Is it a bird, is it a plane? No it's Super Pussy!

Twenty drinks later, and Wizzie and I were chanting "Pussy Club! Pussy Club! Pussy Club!" as we piled into a tuktuk bound for the district of sleaze.  What can I say?  I actually enjoyed the show.  It was more funny than pornographic.  It was particularly impressive when the "ladies"  wrote "Welcome to Bangkok" holding a pen in their fannies.  The ping pong bit wasn't quite the shooting out scenario I'd imagined - it more kind of dropped out.  The whistle blowing really cracked me up though.  After all it's not everyday you see 4 women lying on their backs and able to make their fannies whistle a tune.  They would have been quite the novelty lifeguards that's for sure.

I'm confused about numbers 16 and 17

I'm not sure how it progressed to this level, but before we knew it, Wizzie and I were up and dancing with the Fabulous Fanny Foursome.  I started to wonder if I was up to their level in Pussy Artistics 101, when I realised to my relief, it was dancing only.  Looking around for my sister, I noticed she had taken it to the next level.  Not only was she up above, on centre stage, but once the lights were on her, she broke into "The Robot" as her signature dance move.  I was impressed and perhaps a tinge jealous.  I never knew she could pull off "The Robot".  You've got to admit, to really bust it out takes a certain amount of finesse.  She got more applause than any of the Ping Pong Gang, and as people left they were shaking her hand telling her how much they enjoyed it.  Who would have thought that "The Robot" would win over vaginas that actually possessed skills.  I managed to get a picture at the key moment, which surprisingly wasn't confiscated by security.  A picture that I thought was forever lost, after my old computer got stolen.  But, last summer, I came across the only surviving copy of this snap  - in a pile of photos on my grandmother's piano.  I have no idea what my Granny was doing with a photo of Wizzie and two half naked pussy girls dancing on a stage around a stripper pole in Thailand, but I was too relieved that one image had survived, to spend too much time working this out.  Maybe I should get my Granny a nice silver frame for it this Christmas.

Hell on earth yeah?

It was a toss up as to where we were going to spend our time by the beaches.  You have to make the big decisions.  Do you sacrifice your own enjoyment to be able to drop-kick your offspring into the Kids Club from daylight 'til dusk?  Or do you save yourself the "torture" of a large resort, and go somewhere for the place alone?  But then, you must be prepared to spend every waking moment putting on sunscreen, breaking up fights, and yelling at them not to scratch their mozzie bites.  We decided to break it up into two sections.  The first 6 nights in the McKids Resort, and then final three in the lush, but not-so-kid-friendly adults resort.  We initially tried to select the least offensive option, and went for a place about 100km from Phuket.  What can I say?  Any large resort is basically a large resort.  Look, it was pleasant, don't get me wrong.  How can it not be.  Pools, lush gardens, waterslides, nice beach, smiling staff, Thai food, massages.  To claim all of that doesn't equal heaven means you've got some serious issues.

The worst, the WORST - right???

Talking of serious issues.  It's always an informative (and often entertaining) move to read the reviews of any place you plan to stay at, on Trip Adviser.  Also just read the "Terrible" ones, as some of the nice ones are probably planted by management.  Some people are really fucked in the head though.  What particularly amuses me are the ones who complain about things like the weather, the waves on the beach, and the insects when reviewing the hotels and their facilities.  There was one particular reviewer whose lengthy criticisms really cracked me up.  Let me share with you a few favourite of his quotes:

I sensed that the bed linen and quilt cover were "not fresh".  

I had a large pillow bug bite on left of my face the next morning which proved my suspicion of unclean linens was right.  Unclean linens were the culprit.

 I finally decided to supervise the changing of all the bed linens to make sure housekeeping do a thorough job.  

I was victimized with unclean linens as this hotel goes for quantity and not quality.

I am a Guest and should not be victimized with unclean linens 

The weather was terrible with rain and strong wind 3 days out of the 4 days......the waves were high and strong and the sand was very coarse.  Actually the water was a bit yellowish near the shore because the current brought up the sand in the sea bed.....

 I resorted to swimming in the swimming pool but the water didn't seem to be totally clean as I saw particles on the water surface

And it goes on, and on and on.   I didn't even cover the six paragraphs on his dining experiences.  The dude really had a bad time.  I also think he may have a case of OCD, but hey I'm no professional.  Chalky thinks there could be a great book published out of some of the more amusing reviews on Trip Adviser.  I am inclined to agree.

But let's not waste anymore time on these matters- pack those mongrels up, and pack 'em off.  The kids I'm talking here.  Unfortunately we had a few issues with "The Penguin Club" at our resort.  This was unfortunate, as it was the only reason we were here.  They were apparently too young for Kid's Club.  God DAM it.  However, when we checked in, they assured us that it would probably be OK, as did the lady in Kid's Club that morning when we dropped them off.  Relief.  However, when I went to pick them up for lunch, the manager of  the Kid's Club laid into me like I was her naughty pupil.  At first I was on the backfoot, then I remembered my rights, caught sight of her nametag, and then Bitchfight Round 1 commenced.  Saunders vs "Pancake".  First Round was a tie, Pancake with the slight advantage.  I went to management.  I thought I'd got the upper hand, and then the manager found me at lunch and said I would need to hire a babysitter if the twins wanted to attend Kid's Club.  Pancake had got me. Round 2 to her.  So we were forced to agree.  A babysitter was hired that afternoon, and the girls were shunted out of our hair again.  When we went to pick them up, Valli and Cordi were the only kids in there.  They were watching TV, accompanied by a babysitter, and joined by three members of staff standing around doing jack shit.  It was back on!  We took it to higher management, and said something like "Come on - there's no children there, and a babysitter watching our children soak up cartoons, it's ridiculous".  He agreed, and assured us a babysitter wouldn't be necessary.  Round 3 update - we were in the lead.  Then shortly after, we got a knock at the door.  The manager came in looking crushed "Um, I've been speaking to staff members (i.e Black-hearted "Pancake") and you need a babysitter.  It's because of the toilet".  Our response = "Our children have been going to the toilet alone for over a year, they are fine".  Thus, we claimed the third round by a whisker.  But low and behold, he was back again "Um, staff members will not be able to assist your children in individual activities".  It was a challenge for Round 3.  Our response "Who cares?  They can do it themselves".  We managed to claim Round Three and thus overall victory.  We were the supreme title holders.

How can anyone be cross with a red Christmas Tree in the lobby?

Pancake, however, was of the sore losing type.  So much hatred and venomous looks were thrown our way whenever we stepped foot in the Kids Club, that it was making us feel really uncomfortable.  That woman was evil, I can't believe she was in charge of innocent children.  One afternoon I was over it.  I decided to crush her once and for all.  After collecting the girls, and while they were putting their shoes on outside, I cornered Pancake by the ball pit.  "Now listen to me, Pancake"  I was actually worked up here "I have had enough of your attitude towards me and my husband (just practising).  I expect you to act like a professional and stop being so impolite to us every time we come here".  She responded with a look that could whither pubes "But I am doing individual activities with the children and sometimes with your children"......  What the?  Maybe she didn't speak English after all".  Yet I continued......"I'm not talking about that, Pancake (really spat the "P" out by the way), I am referring to your rudeness, and if it doesn't stop I will go to management.  I've had ENOUGH".  And from Pancake = "Yes Madame".  Could it be possible?  Had I crushed her once and for all?  Was there to be no return bout?  No "Come Back Match"?  It was really over???  It's true that there were a few more "Sawadee Ka"s coming from Pancake's direction.  But her hatred still ran deep, and she was not able to make eye contact ever again.  Let's just hope her second job wasn't in the kitchen preparing my food.

We also did what we typically avoid doing as a rule.  Made friends.  I don't care how nice people are, I'm not looking for friends.  I'm not recruiting, I have enough these days.  Look, you're pleasant and all, but I can't even manage to keep in touch with the few chums I do have lady, so what am I going to do with your email address???? Honestly.  How dare someone be nice to us.   It was the kids fault.  They met them in Pancake's Lair, and then bonded with them over feeding the fish in the pond after breakfast.  So much food did they offload into that pond, that each fish is going to have to get tested for diabetes and cholesterol upon our departure.  Especially after bacon started becoming the dumping fish food of choice.

Look at the size of those goldfish....

Two Girls and One Butt

I must admit though, the friendship was also partly my fault.  I believe it was, in fact, me that stared up the two hour chit-chat session with the dreaded words "So are your girls going to Kid's Club today".  Fuck Sanders, haven't you learnt by now?  It wasn't my fault, I was extra vulnerable after a short, but sweet visit from a dear friend Amanda "Hewbie-Lou" Hewson, who by miracle was in Phuket doing her typical adventurous stuff.  Boat racing, and being all sporty.  It was amazing to see her, and her hilarious partner again.  And meet her friends.  Although I had to clean the vomit off the toilet seat from the Thai girlfriend of one, who had lingering carsickness and spewed in our bogger......at least most of her aim was true.  Unfortunately for them, we had only just arrived and weren't able to lead them to a nice spot for lunch.  I hope they, and their wallets recovered.  Let's just say that the food wasn't exactly going to make the girl who was sick to her stomach recover well.  After lunch though, we were able to spot the resident baby elephant on the beach having a frolic.  It seemed so cute, until the following day when I watched it charge into the sea and attack a swimmer.  Never-the-less, a certain adventurous muffin of mine, lived her dream and rode the psychotic beasty the next afternoon.

Go Valli

and.....CHARGE!

Le Meridien Under Water

It was surprising (and tragic) to discover that our resort was completely decimated when the tsunami struck in 2004.  Where we were - Khao Lak - was one of the worst hit areas in Thailand, with 4000 people dying here according to official reports, while unofficial numbers are bumped up by the illegal Burmese workers that perished, and could really put the death toll at more like 10 0000.  Apparently 120 people died at the resort.  Lots of them were children, as the Kid's Club was on the ground floor and nobody in there could see people running away.  I was shocked.  After the hotel was re-built, the manager had to light the grounds really well at night, as the workers were so afraid of the ghosts they believe lingered on.  Truly tragic.  I read some of the stories from survivors from our hotel on the internet.  Of course, heartbreaking.

The water went pretty high

But all of this aside - other people's revolting offspring, tsunami ghosts, psychotic elephants and even more psychotic members of staff (sporting the name of a popular breakfast item) - we mostly enjoyed our get-away at Le Meridien Khao Lak.  Though, I honestly don't know how people could come here for a month, year after year, just as our new chums from breakfast do.  They did tell me some good stories about Ewan McGregor and Naomi Watts, who were staying at the resort while they were filming the latest Tsunami movie - The Impossible, which comes out sometime this month.  I'm always a sucker for insight into the private happenings of the famous (apparently she travels with 2 nannies and a personal trainer).  Plus, I will definitely want to see that movie.  Especially if it took place at the resort we stayed in.  But as far as basing your destination around your kids, and specifically one with a Kid's Club, I would say to you.  Don't. Do. It.  Location is everything.  And if you do decide to do it, against my recommendations, I have a final suggestion.  Don't partake in Pancakes......

The Princess and Me......

Another attempt at Queen spotting

Teeheehee

It was basically a transit through London.  Two nights and one action filled day.  Typical London hotel room - an absolute rip off.  But that's just how it is here - accept and move on.  I didn't give a shit about the hotel room - I could have stayed in a toilet block and not flinched.  I had one thing on my mind and one thing alone.  How the living hell was I going to squeeze into that wedding dress of mine?  The deposit had already been forked out - there was no return.  In retrospect, two months in Italy was not a good life decision at this time.  I decided not to eat the day before.  Completely pathetic strategy I know, but the panic had made me irrational.  I was so light headed on the Tube that morning that I got the giggles whenever the announcer said "This train is headed for Cockfosters".  I was like "Cockfosters...hehehehe".  I really worry about my maturity levels often, and this was a prime example.  Got off, got lost.  Thus of course,  I was late, sweaty and apologetic.  Another typical me moment.  But the moment of truth had arrived.  Was the fucker going to fit???  I nervously tried to wriggle into it, waiting for the tearing sound....but, low and behold - it was on, and in one piece.  And I owe it all to one thing.  Spanx.  I am going to thank them in my wedding speech that's for sure.

Can I please Mummy?

Just like her mother

The main highlight of our trip to London though - especially for the rat bags - was Harrods toy department.  Oh my, that place is amazing.  Rooms and rooms jammed packed with the world's best toys.  Plus you are allowed to go sick nuts on them too.  None of this "don't touch" bullshit.  You can ride around on bikes, grab 200 Micky Mouse's off the shelf and make a Micky Mountain, whatever you please.  The girls dragged a stuffed Fraggle that was three times as big as them into a small tee pee and had a little party.  Cordi held onto a large plush Golden Labrador and wouldn't let go of it for 45 minutes.  She said she was protecting it.  Dolls were grabbed and adored, and then discarded on the floor.  There were kids in there running around like maniacs, shop assistants testing out toys for all the watching kiddies, a candy shop, where you could watch actual caramel and toffee being made, and try a bit too.  The whole joint was like Dustin Hoffman's Big Toy Shop - or whatever that annoying movie was called.  Even though the entire five giant rooms of kid's crap was filled with screaming kids, and their freaked out parents looking for them, I found it strangely relaxing.  Relaxing that I didn't have to wrestle the crap V & C pulled off the shelves from them, like when we go to toy shops usually.  Relaxing I wasn't cold (the outside temperature in Europe at the moment is rude).  Relaxing that my kids weren't the most psycho.  And relaxing that my own were finally happy, and not hassling the crap out of me because they were cold/hungry/tired/thirsty/wanted to be picked up......the usual......Plus I got to go and feast my eyes on the dollhouses.  I have never seen anything like it (except at my aunts house - but I think I know where she sources her goods from now).  Twenty roomed palaces, filled with miniature everything.  Working lights, and tiny little meals, laid on tiny little china plates, besides tiny little napkins in tiny little gold napkin rings.  I would have pushed kids aside and played in if there wasn't a big plastic covering blocking my eager hand.  Those Harrods toy floor managers are smart cookies.  All I can say that as soon as we are settled I'm buying one for myself Valli and Cordi.

Loves it

Different day, same dog, same obsession

Classic Copenhagen shot

Let me see what else?  I noticed that a lot of people seemed to be quite jolly - like cab drivers and public members, who I'd ask directions from while lost, late, and panicking.  That was nice.  I enjoyed speaking English as well.  It's always nice to be understood and in turn to understand.  But that pleasure was short-lived.  We were off to Denmark.  It was my second visit to Copenhagen, and I must say I definitely enjoyed it on both occasions.  The Danes are very cool.  It's an effortless cool as well.  They don't really seem like they are trying at all.  That makes it annoying.  They are also one of the happiest races of people in the world.  This is despite them having to pay 69% tax on their income.  A little steep somewhat.  However, all their education, health care, uni, childcare etc, is fully covered by the government.  Apparently it works well. You certainly never see any beggars in the street.  Even immigrants have proper jobs.  You never see them trying to flog crappy Chinese toys in the street at night.  Plus their furniture is ace.  A house full of Danish homegoods would make me happy.  One of our favourite activities is visiting the Danish design shops and blowing our loads all over the furniture section (not literally, that would be illegal).

Cleaned it up no worries

They wanted this $7000 chair for their room - no problem!

Slag of all slags

The last time I visited Copenhagen I had a really brilliant time.  Chalky and his business partner had set off on a 3 day business trip around Denmark, so me and Jodie (partner of business partner)  had ourselves quite the fun.  Cocktails, shopping and seeing the sights were right on the cards.  As was eating copious amounts of licorice.  The Danes really make good licorice - it's their best food.  Apart from Fransk Hotdogs - hotdogs jammed in a mayonnaise filled bun.  It's the ultimate slagfood - if you aren't counting hot chips covered in cheese and gravy, and cream buns (the ones in a yellow bun with that fake cream and line of red chemical stuff masquerading as raspberry jam - you used to get them from school tuckshops before they went all healthy and pissed off all the kids).   Anyway, along with the classic Copenhagen sites Jodie and I happened to visit (between cocktails), was Christiania.  And it wasn't just Christiania itself, but Christiania celebrating it's birthday, so quite the party was on.  Music, beers, friendly people....and the rest....

Get a job Hippie

Hello my long neglected old friend

Christiania, or "Freetown Christiania" is an area within Copenhagen that is a self proclaimed autonomous state.  It is viewed as a sort of hippie commune within the city's boundaries.  It exists outside the rules that apply in Denmark, and has a unique status of being regulated by a special law.  The main drag in Christiania is called Pusher Street, and naturally you can pick up some blocks of hash sold openly on stalls.  Or could.  Things have changed a bit lately for the 1000 or so residents, and their current existence remains a state of limbo.  However, it is still a popular tourist spot, and definitely a place that is unique to Denmark.  It has quirky homes, galleries, workshops, cafes, music venues and beautiful nature.  And joints.  Never forget the joints.

Speaking of joints - here's Mary's

Trying to bust in in 2008

This time around though there was none of that reckless abandonment - and not a single cocktail.  These days my life is controlled and regulated by the Special Twin Task Force - with their mission to stamp out my fun, enjoyment, and relaxation wherever they may find it.  On this visit we "enjoyed" a family apartment, warm milk, some Danish cartoons and freezing weather.  But like Chalks, I too had business to take care of.  An invite to the royal palace to have a catch up with Mary Donaldson a.k.a The Crown Princess of Denmark.  Last time I let my chance slide.  I actually went to the palace, but discovered upon enquiry that she was in Africa - helping the poor or something I guess.   I told the guard I could be happy to wait until she came back, and take tea in the gilded receiving room.  But I was met with the response pictured below.  My reunion with Mary was not to be.

Wouldn't let me pose with his gun either

So you got the rubies?  big deal....

This time I was sure to get it together - but if I did get an audience with HRH, what would I say?  "Mary! - Hi, um, any chance you remember me from The Mayfair Tavern in Tassie when we were all underage?  Um, I was the one usually drinking B52s, and then later lying across the stairs, sometimes in my own vomit??? Um, I was friends with most of your friends, but I kind of hated you because I went out with your ex (Hursty) and he still liked you and shunned me?  Not ringing any bells?  Mary.........Mary.....".  She is highly popular in Denmark though. She is found to be stylish, elegant, dedicated to her charities and children, hardworking, sporty.  Basically still perfect.  No wonder I had daggers for her.  Only nowadays she also swans around in the jewels that were made for Napoleon's first fiance - Desiree - that she wore at Napoleons Coronation in 1804.  Whatevs, so my jewelry collection is slightly lacking.  I did call the palace however, and leave this message on her answering machine.  I decided to make it punchy rather than desperate, so I went with this - "Yo Mezza - wotsup biatch? I'm like, kicking it in Copenhagen right now and wondered if you and Fred want to do Jägerbombs down at The Gulerod on the corner ? Or we could get on it in the palace - we could get blind and go rollerskating in the state rooms or something".  Didn't hear any answer though. Astonishing. Who does she think she is, the Queen or something....?

My invite to drinks at The Gulerod was bullshit anyway.  Gulerod actually means carrot, but is the only Danish word I know so I use it for every noun when in Denmark.  I'm sure it makes me seem mentally disadvantaged but I don't care.  I haven't practised it for nothing.  I mean how often do you get to say carrot in everyday life - it's a neglected word.  Maybe once, twice a fortnight?  Unless you order a carrot juice every morning - Ha! That's what I'll do next time...... I only know gulerod in the first place because, once a Danish backpacker told me it was the hardest Danish word to pronounce and made me say it, while laughing hysterically at me.  There are all kinds of guttural sounds going on there, so I'm imagining I appeared humorous.  Didn't inspire much confidence in my grasp of Danish though.  Apparently one way to piss a Dane of is to try and speak Danish to them.  Their grasp of English is so competent that it really grates them when dickheads test out their bad pronunciation of gulerod, or try and order a latte in Danish or something.  Next time I'll learn how to say "please can I have",  and then team that with "gulerod".....

Impressive, very impressive

They are all good looking though.  The Danes, I mean.   What a handsome race of people.  Nice fresh skin and small noses.  Mostly blonde.  The natural kind mind you, not the dye-job frizzy blondes you spot everywhere else in the world.  All dressed in their thick lined jackets and matching boots.  Makes me feel sick.  I need to go home and hang with some bogans or something.  Get my confidence back.  Wear a crop top and far too tight jeans with a white g-string underneath.  Go back to my roots. Instead of practising gulerod in the mirror every morning and sticky-rollering the fluff off my once gorgeous and new, but now scrappy and shabby coat and trying to blend into society as a deaf mute.  I also have another word that describes Denmark right about now.  Make that two words.  Fucking.  Freezing.  There are all kind of chilly going on there.  It is so cold that it made it pretty much impossible to just stroll around.  We took the girls to the Tivoli Gardens for their special Christmas lights.  Absolutely amazing.  The Tivoli Gardens opened in 1843, is the second oldest amusement park in the world.  The oldest one is also in Denmark.  Obviously they liked a bit of amusement in the 1800s.  They have all kinds of classic old fashioned rides and fun things, but the Christmas lights for a few weeks in November/December are unbelievable.  The Russian Zone is particularly beautiful.  I took Valli on an old fashioned Ferris wheel, and we all walked around looking at everything and trying not to stop too long in case we snap froze into an unusual position.

St Petersburg style light display at Tivoli Gardens

Love-ly

Sort of love-ly

Crush them for me would you Santa....

By far the most exciting thing was when we spotted a very large authentic looking sleigh with eight reindeers cruising around it.  Then in front of us, a lit up house.  We peeked through the windows and who was sitting in a room, with a fire crackling in the background, surrounded by toys, presents and a large Christmas tree, but the big guy himself. The man of the moment  -  Old Santa.  The girls were star-struck.  I think I was too.  I have never seen a more authentic Santa in my life.  I think his beard and hair were natural.  He was also pretty chubby (no pillow down those pants) so he looked majestic in the red and white suit.  He was also the kindest jolliest looking fellow I have ever laid eyes on.  I would now like to proclaim him the World's Greatest Santa.  There were kids lining up to have an audience with him.  I asked Valli and Cordi what they thought, and they seemed keen.  So line up we did.  Ten minutes later and the girls were propped up on that couch being offered a bonbon by Big Nick.  They all had a cosy chat.  Santa asked a lot of questions.  Valli answered in a loud voice while Cordi was fixated on opening her bonbon.  Photos were taken and that was also all kinds of cuteness.  As they said goodbye,  they promised to be good.  I was thrilled.  And now the Great Lie becomes multi-layered.  The photo just reinforces not only his existence, but also their need to buckle down and be bossed around by Mumsie.  I was smug in victory.

The elves hard at work crafting Valli's top spot Christmas desire - a unicorn

Santa's sleigh and snoozing reindeers ....

Who needs to buy icecream?

By the time we had finished all of this, Chalks and I were beyond freezing.  Even though the entry fee was extremely steep, we had to get out of there.  We couldn't take it anymore.  The girls seemed ok, much to my astonishment.  My feet were iced over into a solid position, and had to be self massaged back into feeling and movement once we got home.  That night it snowed for the first time that winter, and there was a lot of excitement. All the girls wanted to do though, was eat it.  The first day after it snowed we were like "Have a munch munchkins".  After a couple of days we were screaming "Nooooo that bit is black and has rocks in it"  and "NOOOOOO! -  that bit is yellow because it's frozen dog's piss, don't touch it, don't EAT it for fucks sake Cordi.....".  Then there was snow throwing, kicking and snowball making.  I'm all for the snow and the fun that comes with it it, but jesus kids, can you take any longer to walk everywhere???

Eating it straight from the sky this time

That tongue can catch a lot

As I said before, I missed most sights this time around, and as for Mary, I am still waiting for her to call.  I know we will one day be best friends.  If only she'd acknowledge my existence.  It's a good place to start.  Perhaps a nude demonstration outside the palace gates might get her attention.  Not by me, I'll pay a backpacker to do it and then push her out of the way once Mary comes to the window.  It's a fool proof strategy.  Wish me luck.  And if she still blanks me, I'm going to set my daughter on her....

You will meet my mother and you will like her

Krampus, The Castle and Pus Sticks

"BB gun this year eh Gingersnap?  I think you'd better ask for some new ears instead" SNAP!

Things not looking too rosie here either

In Alpine countries during the Christmas season, they take the old "be good or Santa won't give you any presents" child control technique about 100 steps further.  Not only will you no longer get a Barbie Private Jet from good old Saint Nick, but you may in actual fact get a little visit from a more sinister Yuletide character.   He goes by the name of "Krampus", and he also has free access to everyone's living rooms on the night of December 24th.  Krampus is no softy either.  Forget missing out.  You are put either in a sack to be taken back to his lair to be eaten, or loaded into the bathtub he often carries on his back for the specific purpose of drowning naughty children.  He is also known to carry children off on a one way ticket to hell - another cheery option.  I bet those unfortunates really regretted not tidying their bedrooms after Mummy asked them to do so three times.  Hell for eternity does seem a rather intense response to that though.......According to a series of very popular 1800s postcards, other wholesome activities Krampus enjoyed were ripping pigtails out, leading children off a cliff, sadistic ear-pulling, putting pre-teens in shackles, forcing children to beg for mercy, and drowning children to death in ink and fishing out the corpse with a pitchfork.  And I thought it was all about gingerbread, eggnog and Ho ho ho's around here.

why send a baby Jesus card when you can go with this?

This is the kind of thing that terrifies me, and I know it's a mask

The first two weeks of December is when Krampus really gets centre stage in Austrian cities, and particularly on December 5th.  The streets are full of young men, totally pissed, dressed up like the scariest monster you can imagine.  They are rattling chains, whipping kids and young women with birch sticks, and generally being so terrifying that the streets run brown with the shit of fearful under twelves.  Sounds like a great party.  I'm in.  Jeeze, if we are blown away as to how successful we are in gaining child control with the calls to Santa, imagine if we started texting Krampus, and urging him to pay a visit.  The mind boggles with thoughts of child cruelty.  My meanness is already haunting me, as Valli panicked with a "Pleeeeease....Noooooo" with a little tear on her cheek when I got my mobile out yesterday.  I was only checking the time.

I just don't remember him from the Hobart Christmas Pageants

The tongue seems to be a theme here

Old City Bratislava

Speaking of haunting, I got my wish, and on our last day in Austria we decided to hire a car and visit Slovakia.  We headed first to Bratislava which was an hour away.  Amazing how you can drive for an hour and everything can be so incredibly different.  I'm not just talking about the language either.  The city seemed to still have that hangover from 40 years or so of Communist rule.  The grimness, the shabbiness, the poverty.  It made me realise again, just how affluent Austria is.  Startlingly obvious.  It's also interesting that it's been nearly 30 years since Slovakia broke free of the Iron Curtain, but still, the effects persist.  I liked it there though.  There are still some really pretty buildings and areas.  The Old City for instance is gorgeous. The Christmas market in the old town square was especially old fashioned and festive.  Crepes seemed to be a popular choice, as were meat and onions in bread rolls, authentic toffee apples, and more bloody mulled wine.

Chocolate crepe = 30 hysterical laps around a fountain

The sugar rush was undeniable.  And immediate

Iceskating in town - one day girls

There she blows

Aerial perspective

But, lets not lag too long.  I had a date with the ghost of the Blood Countess, and was running late.  I really didn't want to be stumbling over the ruin in the dark....I could fall through a concealed shaft onto a giant pile of the bones of 650 peasant girls.  It gets dark here early at this time of year.  By half past four it's already stumble time.  Cachtice wasn't that far from Bratislava - maybe 50 minutes.  As we drove into the town I spotted the ruin up on top of a hill.  It was huge.  At least we had an idea of what direction to drive in.  But surprise of all surprises, there was a small sign that said "Kastel".  So much for not being able to drive there.  The approach was eerie.  Very Blair Witch, with that grim spindly forest look.  My heart was actually racing (I told you I'm a complete history nerd).  We drove up to the former castle of Elizabeth Bathory, and what should greet us at the end of the road?  A wire fence, with about fifteen bits of shabby dirty paper stuck to the fence in a variety of different languages that simply said "The Castle is Closed".  Fuck.  They weren't taking any chances, there way no way you could have claimed not to understand the meaning of a fence, a large number of multi-lingual signs and a barbed wire side blockage.

Notice the naughty boy behind the fence that says "Closed"

This is it....here I go

People had been over though.  By the looks of it, they'd pushed down the wire and hauled themselves in.  Pretty stupid really.  The fence didn't quite reach the other end, so it was easy to walk around the side of it with little effort.  Look, after making the journey, there was no way any line-toeing was going to happen.  "We'll just walk up a little way"  we said to each other.  We had to keep the car in sight as the rug rats were out cold.  It was definitely a bit spooky.  The light was fading, and the castle was so isolated.  Perched up on top of a high hill, you could easily imagine how Elizabeth Bathory had command of the surrounding country and it's inhabitants.  The tiny village of Cachtice seemed insignificant, almost cowering in the valley below.  It certainly was in ruins though.  I don't think it survived the final sacking it received in the early 1700s and since that time it has been left pretty much to decay.

I've got chills, they're multiplying

It was fascinating though.  I really love how sometimes you can just let your imagination go wild and try to reconstruct what it must have looked like in it's heyday.  While on Ghosthunters International, the stellar team of fearless paranormal experts actually gained access to the cellars and tunnels below the castle.  This is where the tortures were said to have occurred.  I didn't actually want to go down - just to see the entrance would have been chillingly satisfying enough.  We went under a small tunnel, and it opened up into the central courtyard of the old castle.  Chalky said to me "Imagine if an old hunchback came shuffling over?" and at that exact moment we heard voices.  Oh Jesus!  There was a small group of men standing in one of the corners of the courtyard.  We spun on a dime and tried to tiptoe out of there.  My boots were of the clomping kind.  Thus, there was a "HIE"!!! and the sound of thumping footsteps.  We bolted.  They were after us, yelling, and it wasn't a good thing.   We ran all the way down the hill as fast as we could, and squeezed around the fence.  I yelled "Unlock the doors, unlock the doors".  Chalks accidentally popped the boot.  Boot was slammed, doors were unlocked, engine was started and accelerator was stepped on.  As our car sped away into the gloom, we didn't even look back.  Valli and Cordi = asleep as usual.

Well, it wasn't exactly the unearthing of new evidence, apparitions, landing on bones, or viewing Elizabeth's walled up prison tower - but it sure was thrilling.  Where did those people come from? - That's want I want to know.  There were no parked cars there or anything.  Not one in the near vicinity.  It was strange.  On the way up to the castle,  we talked about how if it was in the US,  it would be a Horror Themed Disneyland or something.....rides, souvenirs, reconstruction, wax models of peasants on the torture devices complete with screaming soundtrack.  And in the gift shop - Lizzy  B fake blood capsules, and mini torture weapons for mantlepiece displays.  But here in Slovakia, nothing.  Barely even a sign.  As I've said before, the Cachtice villagers don't want the attention the castle brings.  There were two nasty incidents - namely a group of con artists who pretended they were making a movie about "The Blood Countess", and took advantage of not just young women who wanted to be actresses, but other villagers who'd scored a "role" too.  A man actually pulled his front teeth out so he would resemble one of the Countesses accomplices.  Dumb move dude.  Also, the townspeople in general, felt like real idiots, because they had provided the "film crew" with free accommodation and food for quite a considerable time.  I think it still remains a sorepoint, although it happened over 40 years ago.

The other incident involved the theft of the only known, and original portrait of The Bloody Lady herself.  It was stolen from the Mayors office about 15 years ago, never to be seen again.

Who knows - maybe they'll restore it to it's former impressive appearance afterall

But now, they might see the benefits of this association with the, so called, worst female serial killer in known history.  The castle is now closed for restoration until 2014.  Cachtice might get a Horror Theme Disneyland after all.  What a shame.  Hopefully the restoration work will only make the ruins safe for all the macabre obsessed tourists who like climbing all over it - I really could have been in danger of falling onto some 500 year old skeletons.  Anyway, it remains to be seen.  I'm glad we went there though.  It was fascinating.

It's all in the presentation - the cream is the tastiest thing in sight

The next day it was auf wiedersehn to the land of Krampus, Kasekrainer (cheese filled sausages lovingly referred to as "pus sticks" by the locals) and Sachertorte (I don't rate this either - as my friend says, there is nothing remarkable about dry chocolate cake with raspberry jam in the middle).  We were off to the first English speaking country we've been in for four months.  Thank fuckery for that.  I'm sick of being viewed as a pitiful dummy.  Can't wait to say "top of the morning" to everyone, and swan around eavesdropping on people's conversations again.  Also, if we do any trespassing here we'll be able to understand the abuse hurled at us as we run for our lives......ah the good times.

Pus Sticks - It helps to be pissed.  (I think that's the advertising slogan)