You have to admire the ambition of these two guys and their make a million plan, although I’m a little unconvinced about their chances of selling:

http://www.budapesttimes.hu/index.php?head=7&issue=93

However, I hope they do sell it, if just to remove 1 million dollars from some large corporation’s sweaty paws.

As I type there is a death metal band playing in the car park outside my office. I shit you not. They have cleared the cars and set up a stage, and there are many bearded, spotty and black-clad youths moshing in the rain. And that’s just the girls (boom-boom). One of the blokes was wearing a t-shirt with the slogan “Smoke crack and worship satan”, which might give you an idea of where the bands are coming from.

So far they have played two songs. As far as I can tell, the first one was called “Blllooooaarrrghhh, blaaaaaaaghhhhh, Saaaaaataaaannnn!” and the second one was called “Grooooooowwwwl, Blooooooarrrgggh, Bloargh!!!”

The windows are vibrating. I can only hope for an electrical fault and a mass-electrocution brought on by the rain , which could well be taken as divine intervention against the satanists.

Actually, the third song has begun. It’s called “Bo-wahhh, bo-wahhhh, bo-waaaaaaaaaarrrrggGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!”. I quite like this one.

As I type there is a death metal band playing in the car park outside my office. I shit you not. They have cleared the cars and set up a stage, and there are many bearded, spotty and black-clad youths moshing in the rain. And that’s just the girls (boom-boom). One of the blokes was wearing a t-shirt with the slogan “Smoke crack and worship satan”, which might give you an idea of where the bands are coming from.

So far they have played two songs. As far as I can tell, the first one was called “Blllooooaarrrghhh, blaaaaaaaghhhhh, Saaaaaataaaannnn!” and the second one was called “Grooooooowwwwl, Blooooooarrrgggh, Bloargh!!!”

The windows are vibrating. I can only hope for an electrical fault and a mass-electrocution brought on by the rain , which could well be taken as divine intervention against the satanists.

Actually, the third song has begun. It’s called “Bo-wahhh, bo-wahhhh, bo-waaaaaaaaaarrrrggGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!”. I quite like this one.

Loathe as I am to seem as though I am obsessed with nénis (the second largest plague and threat to civilisation as we know it next to zombies) I still can’t believe what the old woman next door has done.

We came back from Paris to find that several of our plants had been plucked out and callously left to die, withered and unloved, beside the pot on the balcony. At first I thought that somebody just didn’t like us, but then as I was leaving for work yesterday morning, I bumped into my next door neighbour.

She started off by saying how well my plants were doing, but then pointed out that some of them were weeds. She then plunged her gnarled old fingers into one of the plantpots and whipped out a plant in front of my eyes, proclaiming it be a weed. Now, I have to admit that I’m no plant expert, and maybe it was a weed, but the point is it was my weed. For all she knows, I’m trying to grow weeds. As I started trying to fend her busy hands off the other plants, the other nosy neighbour joined in and pointed out that around half of the other plants were surplus to requirements.

Personally, I’d rather wait and see how they turn out, as some of them look like they could be nice weeds. Am I going to have to carry out my threat of building an electric fence around the plant pots? Find something to do apart from playing cheesy songs on the organ at full volume and killing my plants, you old BAG!

OK, I didn’t say that to her, as she is generally nice and has been bringing over pálinka, wine and food. Still, that doesn’t give her the right to murder my plants.

Loathe as I am to seem as though I am obsessed with nénis (the second largest plague and threat to civilisation as we know it next to zombies) I still can’t believe what the old woman next door has done.

We came back from Paris to find that several of our plants had been plucked out and callously left to die, withered and unloved, beside the pot on the balcony. At first I thought that somebody just didn’t like us, but then as I was leaving for work yesterday morning, I bumped into my next door neighbour.

She started off by saying how well my plants were doing, but then pointed out that some of them were weeds. She then plunged her gnarled old fingers into one of the plantpots and whipped out a plant in front of my eyes, proclaiming it be a weed. Now, I have to admit that I’m no plant expert, and maybe it was a weed, but the point is it was my weed. For all she knows, I’m trying to grow weeds. As I started trying to fend her busy hands off the other plants, the other nosy neighbour joined in and pointed out that around half of the other plants were surplus to requirements.

Personally, I’d rather wait and see how they turn out, as some of them look like they could be nice weeds. Am I going to have to carry out my threat of building an electric fence around the plant pots? Find something to do apart from playing cheesy songs on the organ at full volume and killing my plants, you old BAG!

OK, I didn’t say that to her, as she is generally nice and has been bringing over pálinka, wine and food. Still, that doesn’t give her the right to murder my plants.

I realise that what I’m about to say makes me sound like a big shitbag – which I guess is OK because that’s what I am – but I really don’t like flying. I could claim that it’s the crying babies, the elbow wrestling for that single skinny armrest between the two seats or the horrible artificial atmosphere, but in reality I’m afraid of plunging screaming to my death in a huge fireball.

We had some fairly nasty turbulence on the way from Paris to Budapest on Sunday, and I have to admit I shat not just a brick, but an entire building site replete with hairy-arsed builders shouting sexual abuse at women, illegal immigrants working on dodgy scaffolding and many a wheelbarrow.

Frankly, I can do without being reminded that I am in metal bullet tearing through the sky and very much pinning my hopes on the mechanics not having forgotten to tighten that all-important bolt. I am considering starting a petition to ban turbulence, or at least to have heavy-duty sedatives available at the airplane entrance instead of newspapers.

Considering this background, imagine how I feel about having to fly Tajik airlines in September this year. I’m very much looking forward to the Habitat for Humanity house build in Tajikistan, but I suspect the building site I plopped out may well be dwarfed by the pants-kakking I will be doing on an ancient Soviet aircraft.