Orphans' Easter

There is a delightful tradition in Hungary originating in the countryside that on Easter Monday the boys come to the houses of the single girls and they 'water' them to presumably make them cleaner (?) or more attractive (?) so as to help them find themselves a man, while chanting some little poem to speed up this process. The girls, in exchange, give the boy brightly painted eggs. Of course modernity and city-life has considerably altered this little custom. Now it is more often than not cheap perfume that is sprinkled, leaving you stinking to high heavens at the end of the day if you are not careful. It is possible that instead of eggs the boys are given money(!); how terrible is that? And the poems have gradually transformed from cute, into flirty to outright offending sometimes. But no matter how much modern times have altered the habits of Easter Monday, today I am definitely longing for them. To eat ham, hard-boiled egg and horseradish sauce with the family! To wake up to my father mischievously sneaking into my room and soaking me in my own bed and then cook for the boys, family members or friends, who trickle in during the day for a bite, a painted egg and to see my sister and I standing in front of them, in raincoats, prepared for the screaming and the shower to begin.

All I want is a bucket of water to stick my head in this hangover Monday morning. Friday's housewarming was a success, we managed to not piss off any neighbours and friends from all parts of my life seem to bond with each other and with M. I just let about two hectoliters of beer somehow trickle down my throat, so I just sat in the corner lovingly and sentimentally admiring all this bonding. Saturday, M and I started exploring our territory, marking it not (necessarily) with urine samples, but with the (non-) memories of alcohol fueled nights. First on the list was the two centrally located, non-paying Camden establishments, the World's End and the Camden Eye. Cool-randomer numero uno of the night was the old dude who, out of his numerous fanny-packs, was selling cigarettes for 4 quid and tiny bottles of vodka for 3. Or lighters if that was what you wanted, and I am sure that wasn't the whole extent of the contents he carried around, just to make you the deal of your life. Cool-randomer numero dos was the guy dressed in black with large circles of make up around his eyes, from Glasgow. Surprisingly we did manage to understand him, and he shared with us the reason for his celebration, as around supper-time he managed to bump into Pete Doherty and was extremely excited about that. On this note I gotta say, maybe his story left such an imprint on my mind that I could've sworn I also saw PD from the bus the next day jumping into a cab with two other people. Anyway, the PD fan from Glasgow decided to hug it out with M, he kept saying that we are such good people and extensively wishing M good luck on his start in London. I think M was just simply over excited about his first drunken chat in London. Well, I understand. The dude was fun. 

Hoping for a quiet night in, because I was aiming to go to the library the next day, I laid low, trying not to arouse the attention of anyone who might want to party. This of course shot to hell, when a friend appeared with a bottle of vodka, which I of course topped up with an other one, and we proceeded to have a raging night in Proud, the hip-hop, tip-top club, Camden's belle-de-jour. The two main rooms contain different and ever-changing music styles, but if you want to drink yourself silly before hopping on the dancefloor you can do that in the stable boxes located all the way to the terrace kept up for the crazy smokers. Really great place, will be returning soon. 

And now, for your viewing pleasure the photo of the day