Couch Surf

I belong to a worldwide friendship collective called CouchSurf. I have been a member for about six months and have had the pleasure of hosting members from all over the world, and from these, lasting friendships are emerging. My pleasure is the meeting with new people from all sorts of backgrounds and cultures, and the opportunity to share some of my life's experiences with them. They in turn have somewhere to stay for a few days whilst on route, or, as is beginning to happen now, people are specfically coming to see me.

I wrote about Dorota and Pawel's banquet, so now wish to add a mention of the C.S. guests who joined us for the New Year. Amber and Teresa arrived on Dec. 29th, They are American girls presently living and working in Spain, part of a uni project back home.

The following day Judith and her two travelling companions, Jan and Marilyn arrived. They are from Quebec, but currently studying in Lithuania. So, with South African lodger Leo (pic taker) and Teresa's new Spanish boyfriend, Roberto, we were quite a mini-league of nations.This was us before they trooped off to the beach for the midnight celebrations, returning later to continue the party.
I wanted to take some pics then but me cam'ra wou'dn't work.
That is because I removed the memory card, anticipating you might have thoughts along such lines and capture snaps of my guests in uncompromising positions.

A special mench to Amber (she's the crazy bird blendin' in wiv the wall) with whom I had a most deep and meaningful interaction, resulting in she giving me three weeks to define 'ist'.
(It wuz you who sed she wuz crazy Zizz. Wot the 'ells a ist when it's at 'ome?
Well that is what I have to define Clive. There is a condition. She reserves the right to challenge each and everything I say or claim if it in any way is directed at her personally, ie, suggesting the suffix applies to her.
Like wot duz that mean?
Well, it means she does not subscribe to being an 'ist' herself.
Like 'feminist' an' 'mefferdist'.
Basically,
Or Boodist, eh Zizz. I wudn't 'av minded showin' 'er a few ov me rope tricks.
Any wordsmiths who fancy having a shot at defining 'ist' themselves, please go ahead. I will be most interested to read opinions on this off-beat subject, as I am sure my new-found young American friend will.
Well, I fort she wuz alright, even if she wuz madder than cheese. I'll remember 'er.
And so will I Clive, and not just for the bottle of Temperanillo they brought from the famed Rioja area where they reside.
'Ere Zizz. D'you remember that Monty Pyfon sketch about Oz table wines.
Oh yes. Eric Idle as the Australian wine expert. How did it go?......

......A lot of people in this country pooh-pooh Australian table wines. This is a pity as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palate but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain.

Black Stump Bordeaux is rightly praised as a peppermint flavoured Burgundy, whilst a good Sydney Syrup can rank with any of the world's best sugary wines.

Château Blue, too, has won many prizes; not least for its taste, and its lingering afterburn.

Old Smokey 1968 has been compared favourably to a Welsh claret, whilst the Australian Wino Society thoroughly recommends a 1970 Coq du Rod Laver, which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule: eight bottles of this and you're really finished. At the opening of the Sydney Bridge Club, they were fishing them out of the main sewers every half an hour.

Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is Perth Pink. This is a bottle with a message in, and the message is 'beware'. This is not a wine for drinking, this is a wine for laying down and avoiding.

Another good fighting wine is Melbourne Old-and-Yellow, which is particularly heavy and should be used only for hand-to-hand combat.

Quite the reverse is true of Château Chunder, which is an appellation contrôlée, specially grown for those keen on regurgitation; a fine wine which really opens up the sluices at both ends.

Real emetic fans will also go for a Hobart Muddy, and a prize winning Cuivre Reserve Château Bottled Nuit San Wogga Wogga, which has a bouquet like an aborigine's armpit.

Classic stuff.

Dorota Damian

It is now the dying embers of Christmas Eve. Being non-religious the date bears no significance to me other than had my mother still been alive, she would be celebrating her 107th birthday. As it was, she departed this mortal coil some 25 years ago, a victim of advanced senile dementia.

I sincerely hope that does not befall me. Living the experience of watching someone you regarded so highly degenerate into a vegetable is not recommended.

The past few years have been uneventful at this significant time, however, we currently have a young Polish couple, Pawel and Dorota staying at the house.

Pawel is a sensible and intelligent guy, and has fitted in so well, is now hoping to secure teaching work locally, enabling him to tarry a while longer on the Costa de Sol.

Dorota is a delight, and when I discovered her exceptional artistic talents, she deserves no less than a special mention, as, without a doubt, she WILL be famous.

Rarely do you meet a person of such tender years who displays such a collection of abilities. Multi-lingual Singer/Songwriter/Guitarist/Artist/Fashion Designer/Cook...and these are only the ones I have discovered to date.

She has such a beautiful, multi-faceted singing voice and her future undoubtedly lies in music. Coupled with exceptional song-writing ability, she guarantees longevity in the business.

I am not a gambler by nature but would certainly lay odds she will be well on her way to being famous this time next year.

But……on this night we have feasted on a sumptuous meal prepared by Dorota, (with Pawel's assistance) in accordance with their Polish traditions. A culinary delight, and my unreserved thanks to them for not only that experience, but for enriching my life with their company and friendship.

Watch for the name...Dorota Damian. A twinkling star who has certainly dazzled me with her brilliance, and her engaging and constant smile.