Saturday

Dagmar doesn’t normally like shopping but she sort of danced round Ikea, which made her bottom wobble very nicely. We bought a big bed and a chest of drawers and put them into the car. Ikea is huge, but not as huge as the one on the north-circular in London, which is like going abroad for the day. We managed to just about get everything into the car.

I gotta say, that I still smirk when I see my car in a car park and when I open it with the remote, it makes that nice clunky sound and the four ways flash at me nicely. It’s mine, mine, mine!!!

We tried to call Honza as we were getting close to the flat, no reply, called again, no reply. We got home and started to struggle upstairs with the bed and chest. The lifts been out for 2 days now. Honza was engrossed on the computer again, but helped us in the end.

Ikea furniture; already quite well known I reckon. It’s a bit frustrating at times, this time the bed went up easily but the chest was a nightmare. To top it all off, the instructions had half the pages missing and the other pages repeated twice. Honza looked for the instructions on the internet and Dagmar called Ikea, but in the end we put it together without their help. Then we all went down the pub.

Czech pubs are definitely ok. The beers cheap, at less than a quid a pint. The beer’s also very good. There’s normally a table service, they mark your bit of paper and you pay the end of the night. We went to this place in the centre near the main square, it brews the beer on the premises. When you stand at the bar you can see the big copper thingies where the next load of nectar is happily bubbling away for us happy, smiley, slightly flushed customers.

We had dinner, something Czech, Honza went home.

Dagmar’s a hoot to go out with, she gets pissed on one beer, after 2 she’s either giggling hysterically or weeping her head off. Tonight it’s shrieking giggles, something about Czech food and why don’t English people know more about it. Then it’s some gossip about a colleague of hers who’s got a hygiene problem. She’s been asked to tackle it, and she’s reluctant to take my direct approach, I suppose that calling someone a fat smelly c*** is a bit over the top, but Dagmar shrieked the place down and people looked.
We were just about to go home, when my phone rang, it was Johnny. Johnny never rings me.