We've actually had some work to do (shocking, I know), so it hasn't been all joy et jeux this week. I should probably start by saying that Peter was again besieged by women armed only with rusty scissors:



Before long he'll embrace the genius of using a breadknife, like me.

We're so sick of hearing the high-pitched intimacies of our neighbours' private lives through these paper-thin pre-fab-tastic walls. We've reached the unquestionable conclusion that the couple living next door are swingers as we always hear loads of people 'round there chatting, shortly followed by sounds of a morally disingenuous nature. When morning breaks we see people leaving with blow-up mattresses. It's even worse when both our neighbours are at it -- it's in surround sound!



There is a famous Hungarian dish called 'Paprikás Krumpli', but because it's so cheap to make it is thought to be a poor person's gruel, thus making it an unlikely dish to find in the [for the most part] fine eating establishments of Budapest. So I summoned up the cauldron; I divinely dispersed several kilos of miscellaneous food, probably full of Polish chemicals, and cooked it on the burning mouth of Betsy. I noticed the finished broth was a bit oily, so I scooped some out, but it just kept spontaneously creating more and more raw unhealthyness until we had a whole jar of fat and oil:



It's now been sitting on the balcony for a week. It's gone hard and nasty. Neither of us dare touch it. The food itself was good though.

We've had some interesting tram drivers recently. One thought it was fun to accelerate and decelerate at full power to make all the old ladies hold on for dear life (and to his credit it was quite funny). Another one started smoking in his little cabin, which slowly filled up with smoke until it became translucent. One driver just stopped the tram and stepped out of his cabin, crowbar in hand, and started hacking away at the tracks. Perhaps he was mending them, or changing the points, or killing a sleeping gypsy. I couldn't quite see. Which removes the likelihood of the latter, as gypsy killing is normally considered a fine spectator sport here. [cf - burning gypsy-lady last week]

Now, recent political news in Hungary is that about 150 MPs walked out of parliament and pushed down the barriers which are currently in place to stop anyone from protesting outside the seat of government. The police soon remedied this by padlocking every fence segment together:







Tensions seem to be running high. One may ask are they ever low over here, but it does seem that March the 15th may result in yet more tear-gas, stone-throwing, and rubber-bullet escapades. I do hope the government don't make the mistake of putting a tank in the centre of town... again.

In other news, I'm getting better at Hungarian now. I think I might go on their equivalent of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.



We're not sure how this happened:



I've found a revolutionary new way to dust pillows:



We never really noticed just how dusty some of this 1970s furniture is. But it simply adds to the glorious retro vibe.

I've been making a cake; it turned out to be bloody nice. It's a combination of scone and apple. Here's a photo of me posing - in a suitably effeminate and Delia-esque stance - with said baked ambrosia:



- Philip + Peter

P.S. Those of you who have seen the film "Kontroll" will understand the reference: