MFU gets into bearpit: The Swiss Story Part 4   Leave a comment

Oh, I forgot an episode from the previous night where me and Phil were playing table football and it was like 9-all and then this great big muscular Eurorocker with a swoosh cut comes up and indicates that we is challenged, as indeed we are, but mainly by a dearth of da skillz and a surfeit of da drink. Phil comes round my side of the table and we take on the SUPREMELY CONFIDENT NEW WAVE VIKING, who kicks our laughing asses round the table of course. After every goal he does a little dancing motion that is mainly a thrust at the hips, but he is soundless throughout. When we are finished being good and thrashed he steps back from the table and throws out his arms majestically, and then walks away, leaving us giggling goofily and asking ourselves whether that really did just happen.
So then I wake up in the morning and feel like THE SHIT OF DEATH, and then I feel like I might live and after some confused discussions and an apple each we decide to head out into town to see a bit of Bern before we have to leave. The weather is absolutely gorgeous but the heat starts to waken my nausea and before long I am struggling to deal with crossing roads and avoiding trams and the very gentle culture shock of Switzerland in general. By now the whole heroin thing has become a bit of a running joke and as we pass by a big Konzert Haus I am kidding Phil that the next time he comes he’s going to be playing there with a 60-piece orchestra to loads of old Swiss rich people in too much gold and fur, but that they’ll all be nodding out. A huge valley divides Bern and we keep having to look down hundreds of feet to the beautiful river below, but this is just a big mixture of hangover and vertigo for me, and I keep thinking about the flight home.
We lastly visit Bern’s bear pit, which features real live bears that sit about sadly waiting for people to chuck morsels of sweet modern crud at them. Phil sort of gets into it because he’s got German bear blood in him or something.
Finally we hurry back to the Reitschule and after awkward goodbyes (which mine always are) we hop back into the hire car, which hasn’t been tagged like expected, and embark on a really fucking nasty motorway journey to Bern. I’m the worst passenger in the world and my nerves are shot to fuck. You would have thought I’d been to Vietnam or something. I basically hate all forms of transport right down to bicycles.
Then we hang around Geneva Airport for 4½ hours and I spend money on tiny little cans of Kronenbourg rather than food and continue to feel rough. The terrace café is a real jet set place though and it’s kind of cool to watch the planes landing and taking off in the sun, with a backdrop of impressively mountainous terrain.
Last of all we eat a packet of crisps, get on Flight 911, and I cane vodka but survive.
Now it’s two days later and I feel really flat and without motivation, but not unhappy. My urge to get fucked all the time has been lost in transit too, so I’m having some kind of unconscious detox. This is without historical precedent. Doubtlessly the urge will soon return.

Posted September 24, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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