Scots v Krauts, dead people, red light districts, Baaaaaaaarthalonaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Scots v Krauts
It was VfB Stuttgart against Glasgow Celtic, UEFA Cup, and it was sold out over a month in advance, so I was lucky that a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend had died, and obviously couldn’t go. The game was on Thursday evening, but the Scottish fans jetted in Wednesnday arvo, and most stayed until Saturday, obviously deciding to teach Stuttgart a proper lesson (not realising that I have already tried to do this several times, and have discovered that Stuttgart just doesn’t listen). Walking through town on Wednesday I swear there were more Scots than Krauts, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing (nah, just jokes!).
Two of my friends (female, I might add) were accosted on their way to the gym by drunk Scots demanding that they shag them. One guy said “Oh go on, if you don’t sleep with us, we’ll have to find some prostitutes”. Needless to say it worked like a charm, so I’ve added that line to my repertoire (I’ve even bumped it up to top spot!).
The game itself wasn’t too shabby – Celtic led 3-1 from the first leg, and were 2-0 up within about 15 mins of this game, so it seemed all over. We promptly took the piss out of all Germans within earshot, and directed a rather large proportion of vitriol towards a little german kiddie who was a bit too loud for our liking. Naturally looking back on the incident I am very ashamed of my actions, but what can I say? Mob mentality rules (he had it coming though, the little shit).
Stuttgart made a better fist of it in the second half, going 3-2 up on the night, plus hitting the bar. But, it wasn’t to be and the Scots went home happy as Larry. Or Jock, as the case may be.
The train ride back home was interesting – I was with an English friend, and so naturally we were talking English. I think this is what caused one Stuttgart fan to lean in very close to my face, launching a full scale assault on my personal space, and shout “If you hate the fucking English clap your hands!” *clap clap*.
I just smiled at him and said “I’m not English”, which shut him up, heh heh.

I saw dead people
This will sound strange at first, but bear with me. I don’t know if you’ve heard about him, but there’s a German doctor (Gunther von Hagens) who does interesting things with dead people. He cuts them up, uses a process called plastination to preserve the body parts, and then reassembles them, so you can see how the body is put together – skeleton, joints, muscle, veins, digestive tract, lungs, skin – it’s all there, exposed for you to see.
Yes, I know – it’s strange. Some find it disturbing (not ol’ iron guts though! . . . that’s me btw). But, it is bloody interesting (geddit? bloody?). What I did find disturbing though was my reaction to one of the, errr, exhibits. He was a professional basketballer, I think he had died while he was still a professional, so was quite muscly. And I remember thinking “Gee, those muscles are quite big. I reckon you could make a damn fine steak out of them. Hmmm, wonder if there’s any tomato sauce around here . . .”. So when I’m arrested for cannibalism, you know who to blame – Dr. von Hagens. Anyway, if you wanna know more, check out www.bodyworlds.com - it’s fascinating stuff. I think the most fascinating exhibits were the guy holding his own skin, the woman who had died 8 months pregnant – you could see the baby inside her, and the lungs of a non-smoker and a smoker, side by side. Unbelievable stuff. Because it was so popular, it was open 24 hours, and we got there at 6 am and queued for 2 hours to get in, and it was well worth it.

Love those red light districts . . .
I went back to Amsterdam for a weekend – it was a mate’s 21st and some of us from Stuttgart met up with a few of his mates from England in Amsterdam for a massive weekend. Problem was, I was beginning to get sick, so I didn’t really have a massive weekend. We did the usual Amsterdam thing that I did before – checked out the red light district, wandered around, got cultured a bit . . . y’know how it is. But I think the most memorable incident occurred on the last night. We were in a big dorm together (11 of us, plus 3 randoms). Sleeping in the bed near me was Nick (English bloke in Stuttgart) and his German girlfriend. She has nightmares – vivid nightmares. Apparently she has broken a few doors down in her time, woken up next to the CD rack with scratches and bruises, and generally sleep walked and caused havoc whilst having a nightmare.

It’s Monday morning, 3 am.
All is quiet in dorm 307 (even the cockroaches are sound asleep)

A bloodcurdling scream emanating 1 metre from my head wakes me up. This girl thinks she is dying, and she is screaming for her life. I have never had so much adrenaline instantly start running through my veins. This is the most horrible scream you could possibly imagine. It isn’t just like a scream from the movies – this has an intensity that is terrifying, a realism that is horrifying – she genuinely believes she is about to die.
Her screaming sets off two other blokes, who start yelling as well. All hell is about to break loose, but the light flicks on, and the screaming stops. It lasted at most 3 seconds. The guy nearest the light switch had done an amazing ninja impersonation, and in the one motion flew out of bed and kicked on the light switch.
Everyone looks at the German girl who is blinking innocently, wondering what all the fuss is about. The room gradually settles down as people realise no one’s dying, and I heard someone mutter “Oh my God, that was horrible”. And they were right.
Lovely girl though, as long as she’s not screaming her lungs out.
So that was Amsterdam – had a great time, but came back sick as a dog, had the next week off work (damn tonsils) plus a god awful scream that wouldn’t leave my head. I nicknamed her Munch after that (y’know, Edvard Munch – Norwegian guy who painted The Scream).

Kaltspiel
Coldplay came to Stuttgart a while back, so I went and saw them live, and they were really quite good. They rocked it up a bit more than you’d expect, so it wasn’t as mellow as the album stuff usually is, which was good. The lead singer dances around like a bit of a nonce, but we can’t all have the moves that I do can we? (Thankfully no, I hear you cry.)

Yep, still love those red light districts
Well, I’ve almst moved out of my luxury apartment in the incest capital of Stuttgart – the small farming village that is Sielmingen. Incidentally, in the local rag there was an article about a Sielmingen chick marrying an Aussie bloke! Nice work mate, dunno how you did it, cos I sure as hell haven’t met any Sielmingen chicks worth marrying. Oh, and Dom, I was impressed about your Spanish 1600s fort, but did you know that my village was founded in the 1400s!! So ha! Anyway, I digress.
The new place I’ll be in is in the heart of Stuttgart’s red light district! It’s not a patch on Amsterdam’s district, but what is really. In fact, the ground floor of our building has a few glowing red hearts in the window every evening. Thankfully we’re on the third floor, so we probably won’t hear any humps in the night. Or screams. If you’re in the area, feel free to drop by. And once you’ve finished your business downstairs come and visit us upstairs. Boom boom, I'm here till Thursday, you've been a great audience, g'night!
I discovered a few days ago that we are also next to the Burundi consulate. Who would’ve thought, those dirty Burundians moving in next to a whorehouse!
One of the reasons we (me and another Aussie bloke) were interested in the flat is the fact that it’s furnished. We didn’t count on it being furnished with complete and utter rubbish. A giant double bed (resplendant in pink, replete with mirror on bedhead) that creaks, a flourescent yellow, pink and green stuffed pig, crap japanese prints, more doilies than your grandma has, and 70s style rickety display cabinets with more shit in them.


Baaaaaaaarthalonaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
I had originally planned to go to Barthelona over Easter with some friends, but then couldn’t find anyone to go with. However, my sister came through with the goods, and suggested I hook up with her boyfriend and some of his mates who were planning on going to Barthelona then as well. Well, once word got out that it wasn’t just me going, all of a sudden heaps of people wanted to come along as well. So it ended up being ten of us: two Aussies, a Yank, two Brits, a Finlander, an Irishman and three Kiwis.
I know what you’re thinking – “Three bloody Kiwis??!? How did you cope?” but they weren’t that bad (just jokes, you guys were choice, eh bro.) And it worked quite well, basically with ten of us it was a choose-your-own-adventure kind of holiday. There was usually someone else who wanted to do what you wanted, and at night we usually met up, had a meal and a few drinks . . . you know how it is.
It may be hard to believe, but the worst thing about Barthelona was American Football. The yank (Suz) convinced us to go to an NFL Europe game – Barthelona Dragons vs Amsterdam Whores (okay, so I made that moniker up, but it’s better than their actual one) – because one of her friends from school is the star Barthelona quaterback, and got us free tickets. But Suz, I’m sorry to say, it was really shit. The Barthelona cheerleaders were tops (the Amsterdam ones certainly did not live up to expectations), but the game was “like, totally shit, dude”. I never want to see a game of American Football again. The game is 15 minute quarters, and the maths gurus out there will realise that makes 1 hour. The game kicked off at 5:30, and ended at 8:30. How the hell does a one hour match turn into a three hour “spectacle”? (although I think debacle is a more approproate word). That’s not a sport for chrissakes! Give me Olinda Grove on a cold, rainy, blustery winter’s day, with Uni Bohemians the star attractions, and I’ll show you sport in it’s finest hour!

The highlight of Barthelona was definitely the works of Gaudi. This Spanish architect designed some amazing stuff – La Sagrada Familia, Casa Battlo, La Pedrera, Park Guell. I wish I could describe these things to you, but I can’t be arsed. Instead, I bought a big coffee table book all about him, so when you visit me you can look at the pretty pictures.

Barthelona could also be called the city of piss – I wandered through the dodgier side of town on the last day, and it really stank of piss. I think I even trod in a puddle. Speaking of piss, one of our group (the English lass) went to use the bathroom at La Sagrada Familia, and once she’d done her business, prompty dropped her camera into the toilet. Being the dirty little grot that she is, she fished it out, cleaned it off a bit and then made unsuspecting me take a photo with it. Don’t trust cameras with a zoom lens that smells of piss, that’s all I can say (apparently the photos turned out alright, and none were in sepia tones, despite being soaked in urine).
Despite the unwelcome urine incidents, Barthelona is an amazing city. I’m going back to tread in more piss, that’s for sure.

Well, if you got this far, well done. This email has been waiting ages for me to finish it, so that’s why it’s so long. Sorry. I’m off to Greece on Sat for a week, cruising round the islands . . . la la la!

PS
On the weekend I scored a cracker of a goal – received the ball 30 yards out with my back to goal, skun my marker like the dog he is, took a touch, pulled the trigger –back of the net! Keeper didn’t even move! Powerful and accurate my friends, powerful and accurate . . .