Monday, 28 March 2016

Home from Home - Prague Diaries 1

As I've been in Prague for a few days not I thought I would share some of my Prague Diaries from this trip. 

It's strange having two homes, I guess most people would envy me, but it is not always easy. I've always felt when travelling between Prague and Cardiff that I am going 'home' whichever direction I'm travelling in. But now I actually have a flat in each place, I really am in a home from home. I wonder if I’m the only person in the world who gets homesick while snuggling down in his own bed reading his own books and drinking from his favourite mug. Maybe!

My problem  is I like both places. Each has its ups and downs. In Cardiff my washing takes about a month to dry in my cold, wet flat, but in Prague it dries on the same day. But in Cardiff when I run out of data on my phone it’s easy to sort it out. 
I kind of wish that I could get out of bed on the left and be in Cardiff and get out of bed on the right and be in Prague. But it doesn't work, I've tried it. If I get out of bed on the right when I’m in Cardiff, I smash my knee on the wall, and getting out of the left hand side of the bed in Prague is what has landed me in this sticky situation.
In Cardiff I jump out on the left, slip my slippers on, it's too damn cold to go anywhere without slippers, go through the bedroom door and hey presto, I’m in the toilet. At 3am last night I did just that. I should have realised the problem when I couldn't find my slippers, or when the bedroom door felt a bit stiff, but then the familiar cold air hit me and I prepared to relieve myself.
Now, I very rarely get heckled when I’m urinating, and by very rarely I mean never. So it seemed weird that someone was shouting at me as I aimed Percy at the porcelain. Even more so that he was doing it in Czech.
“Ty vole, co delate?” the voice yelled.
“What are you doing in my toilet?” I said back.
It was then I became aware that there was something a little wrong. I wasn't in my cold Cardiff khazi, I wasn't in Cardiff at all. The door I'd gone through was my balcony door and the cold air was the Prague spring night. The person who was talking to me from my toilet was an irate and rather wet Czech policeman standing on the street down below.
So now I sit here in this cell and wait to see if they will buy my story and let me off with a warning and a dry cleaning bill, or if I will be charged with indecent exposure and urinating on an officer of the law. 

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