I’ve just been scammed. I thought it would be too good to be true and it underlines a common theme I see running underneath society. If you want something, or lots of it, then you have to work to get it and even if that means pressing the ‘Follow Button’ 10,000 – then that’s what it means. I paid $39 to buy myself 10,000 twitter followers. I got them, all 10,000 of the slanty eyed cantonese symbols – couldn’t read the names of any of the fuckers. I couldn’t even get a decent conversation out of them. I kept on getting offers for ‘Quik sex’ and a ‘Good times’ and more thousands of followers. I bet that Justin Bieber doesn’t get this problem – the cheeky little cunt.
I checked my Iphone this morning while making coffee and noticed that 8500 of those rice noshing followers had duly unfollowed or were booted from the Twitter system by bots or some other program. I could have done the shopping at Lidl with $39. Fuckers. Top Tip Readers – don’t fall for it. You may as well risk the Repetitive Stress on the digits if you want oodles of followers.
Where the fuck is Belarus and who the fuck is Lukashenko!?
Too close for comfort….
Anyone heard of a place called Belarus? You’d be forgiven for your ignorance. It’s kept itself quiet. It pales in significance and poses no threat to anyone in Europe. The only thing remarkable about this landlocked, marshland is the film ‘Resistance’ (starring Daniel Craig), it’s USSR (Communist) buildings/ shrines/ logos/ motifs and an incredibly fast acting (no fucking around) Health service.
The Film Resistance is about the Bielski brothers who were partisans during WW2 and they made the Germans occupation a headache. I started reading the book and saw the film. Not a bad tale. The last of the brothers died in Israel in the 1980s I think and the film only came out recently. The end of the film was spoilt by a dramatic, hollywood battlescene against German armour. Similar to the arrival of US armour and aircraft at the end of ‘Saving Private Ryan’.
The country is run by a diluted down dictator who seems to get sanctioned only because he wins every election and the opposition are likely to meet a nasty accident. He’s bald, but that doesn’t stop him sweeping his hair over ‘Rab C Nesbitt’ style. Beneath his nose he sports a larger version of Adolf Hitlers moustache – though I wouldn’t compare him with that over ambitious dictator. Lukashenko has been described (by the US no doubt) as the last dictator of Europe, after the Balkans debacle in the 90s. In good dictator style he has pictures of him everywhere and the old vanguard are everywhere too – Lenin’s statue stands in the City and you’ve got Lenin street and Sovyetska street etc etc.
The capital of Belarus is Minsk and it’s second city lays on the Ukranian border near Chernobyl. Our destination was the second city with a distance of only 290 kilometres. I could probably clear that in 2 – 3 hours in UK, but there it took 5 hours. No mountains, no dramatic scenery that would take your breath away. Perhaps that’s why many of the German soldiers went barking mad on their way to the oil fields. It’s swamp, marsh and woodland. Trillions of mosquitoes and spiders – the perfect setting for Mirkwood. There are towns where the houses are entirely made of wood and that’s exactly what they’re made of. Dachas or country houses as the dictionary describes them. It’s where the city folk go on the weekend to get away from the smog covered city and its industrial 19th Century engine.
Gomel is the name of the second city, an unremarkable city on the troubled border of Ukraine. It has two main corporations that host most workers; the power station and the oil company. Natural resources naturally with barely a Hybrid motor in the city. Russian cars will weave in and out of the traffic at twice the speed limit, a danger to the public, like the ignorant cunting German BMW drivers. I don’t blame these childish drivers but the incompetent police who don’t catch them.
One phenomena you will see here is the number of beautiful women. There’s loads and they’re nearly all slim. All the young ones are slim most of the old ones get fat. Not sure what sparks the transformation, maybe it’s marriage or childbirth or the realisation that there’s fuck all left in the city and their dreams are dashed against the crumbling, graffiti strewn walls they walked past every day. That’s called a lack of expectation management. Like the Iraqi and their counterpart Kurds every fucker is hooked up to a phone. The mobile is perhaps one of the most important gadgets of their time, alongside the car of course. The mobile turns them into virtual zombies. I remember on the way to the ‘In-Laws” Dacha we came across an accident and the car in front stopped. The driver got out. He was a balding man sporting one massive gut. He had Nike trainers on and a clip on earpiece. He thought he was one cool motherfucker, a sex symbol for the ladies. It was the earpiece that got to me though. We skirted around the police and the trashed vehicle only to find out the driver had climbed out the wreckage and expired, spread eagle some 5 metres from his car. A valiant effort, I say to get to the road.
As well as mobile phone proliferation, you will see a high number of visible alcoholics. They congregate at the base of the blocks and stumble and shout. It seems that this behaviour is silently accepted and just have to move on and they ignore you anyhow. This is the place where you can buy Vodka that’s cheaper than water. The bottles of Pivo are about 1 litre to 1.5litres – that’s a 3 pint bottle. You can get 1 litre cans of beer too – they look absolutely marvellous. I tried one, took me ages to get through it.
We took the kids for a walk in the park. Fuck me, that was an eye opener. We kept on telling our son to stop speaking English or we’ll have every alky around trying their bestest English and talk about Manchester United. I’ve got to admit the park does look nice. There’s an area that has little children playhouses made of wood – what the designers didn’t take into consideration was the junkies and alkies that would used these as free accommodation despite their cramp conditions. We avoided this area and went to the pond. People come here and fish, drink, drink and drink. There’s a group of rowdy drunk men dancing and shouting – I’m advised not to take photos, and I don’t – I’m not stupid. Well, not much anyhow. One the way back we pass through an area that looks like it’s a scene out of the walking dead. Not the people, but the state of the place. There’s a play area for the kids. That’s what the wife said it was, it looked like metal poles shaped in various twisted shapes to match the twisted mental state of the designers. I wouldn’t send a group of young soldiers over this area because of the very restrictive company Health and Safety rules.
Mutant fruit too heavy for the tree.
The in-laws have got this little country house called a dacha and it’s about 20 kilometres from the city. The dacha is bursting with life. I mean, one of the apple trees in the garden has a broken bough that cannot support the weight of the fruit. I don’t know if reactor 3 at Chernobyl, 28 years ago did any good when it blew up, but apparently 60% of the fallout landed here in Belarus. Must have had an effect on the plants. The apples don’t exactly have eyes and ears, or hurl abuse at you as you’re about to pick them, but they’re pretty big.
There’s a van that comes around every day and sells his goods. A queue of people stand by and get what they need. Dadushka comes back with some ice cream and a bottle of Kvass. Kvass looks just like beer, except it isn’t – it’s a malty, fizzy drink, apparently it’s good for you, so the adverts go. Reminds me of the 1950s adverts boasting the healthy properties of coca cola and cigarettes etc etc.
There’s a split in this little dacha community. One one side there are workers of the power plant and on the other side, the oil company. The road in the middle is perhaps the most unkept here as they’re pretty house proud, these lot. That’s the responsibility conundrum there. Dadushka (Grandad – Father in law) was given the plot of land and the house from his place of work. It stems back to the old USSR times when everyone had something and there were hardly any oligarchs – the only Oligarchs were in the Kremlin. Now they appear to be in every major city, while the little villages have to fend for themselves – which they do pretty well by the look of things. They live off the land and sell their vegetables at the side of the road, outside of their houses. On small tables plates of vegetables and fruit mounted up ready to be sold to any passerby.
“Oh – look a dog! Somebody call the local radio station and inform the listeners that there’s a dog without an owner wandering the countryside!” I shouted this out while pointing at a lone dog, but the lone dog turned out to be a pack of 8 dogs and they looked hungry. In the UK, present day, this would be a terrible site – lock up your children, they’re going to be eaten! Back in the 70s there were packs of domesticated dogs whom the owners had let out the house to get some leg stretch. Pussy present day society, molly coddled and fed by the state. Don’t get me started.
Tumours and the NHS
You don’t need a Tardis to travel back in time.
Off topic here, but there’s a story in the newspapers about some kid with a brain tumour. The parents took their son to Spain to receive treatment he couldn’t get on the UK NHS system. Funny that isn’t it? If we were to wait for all the bureaucratic NHS bullshit to get round to operating on my daughter’s head, it would likely take up to 10 months to do. Waiting for a GP, Dermatologist, Pediatrician, then approval for operations, tests etcetera etcetera. That’s my pessimism showing through there, but I think that family that hit the news struck a chord and while our case was not as dire as theirs, it certainly has similar strands. Needless to say the hospital we took our daughter was a broken down, 1960s, building – being repaired and constructed whilst still in operation. Potholes in the entrances to the hospital and heavy plant equipment moving with no demarcation. A Health and Safety Executive would have a field day here, if they had any power or any legislation to wield. There were telephones that looked like they’d been dragged out of a UK museum – they had the ring piece on them that you dialled. They nurses used ring folders and wrote in pen! Actual pen! No computers at the desk of the children’s ward.
She was operated on and the growth on her scalp was removed. From start to finish, it took six days to be done. No fucking around with approvals here or there. From an initial appraisal, to seeing the actual surgeon, to getting it done. All for £60. Wow.
The doctor here, is pretty hardcore, he had a go at an elderly woman who was feeding her grandchild a pizza. He chastised her on her poor choice of food and the damage it was causing her granddaughter.
A lone 2 year old boy ran down the corridor past queuing people holding children.
“Is that yours?” A nurse asked a woman, who was chatting on the phone. The woman nodded.
“Well. Go and get him then.” She demanded and the woman trotted off down the corridor in her high heels to catch her son.
There was no fucking around here with all that PC bullshit and I was happy with that. Mollycoddling motherfuckers in the UK. Sorry about the language, but all this PC shite has caused the UK to be in such a turmoil with people taking the piss. Race, Religion, Culture, Benefit, disability cards being played and people being afraid to verify the bullshit. People afraid to be accused of being racist… sexist…. nazi…. hate crime ist….. fuck it. It’s about education and telling people what they can and can’t do and the fucking legal system is making a mint out of it. Those fucking lawyers, solicitors and claims companies are laughing as the ordinary person turns on each other and their employers in order to squeeze money out of them.
The next time I need a speedy operation, I know where I’ll be going next. We had scans done, blood tests done and all the results came through during our time there. That’s top quality despite the hospital looking like a dystopian vision of the future. Our daughter’s just been to the hospital – the doc’s had a look and said they will book another appointment for her. This morning we got the appointment confirmation and in good NHS timely style it’s in 2015. What fucking use is that? If we hadn’t have taken her to Belarus to get the lump removed it would be talking to us by the time we got it removed by the fucking NHS.