Well, March has stealthily positioned itself into this temporal awareness which we call the now. I've got to worry about learning German and moving to Deutschland. Our Arrangements are finalised and "vee vill be inz Berlin vizout delay!"

Peter's Dad has been and gone; we did numerous interesting things. We went for coffee and cake at the Central Kávéház. Peter's dad ordered not just one, but two slices of Hungarian devilry. There was much annoyance at the pincérek (waiters) whom seemed to delight in ignoring us as we were grasping at our last breaths due to a lack of water. However, collecting Peter's dad from the airport was quite fun:



After a few minutes we realised that, of course, the whole flight was full of English people. English people who probably know who Davros is. We got some laughs, which was nice, and we intend to return dressed as Cybermen with a sign saying "The Master". Later that night we marched to the top of Gellérthegy, enjoyed the views and marched back down. Then went to Szimpla for a few drinks. Fun times. I write this so abruptly because we do it all the bloody time.

Later on that weekend we were on our regular tram and the driver decided that, rather than slow down, he'd just accelerate into a car, which we think was trying to turn round. Interestingly, a grumpy old Hungarian chap uttered something like: "A car was in the middle of the track. Unfortunately, he isn't dead"



We also saw a very large police presence seiging a bus. They stopped a passing tram and dragged a few people off it, promptly followed by a couple of skinheads who jumped out of the bus's windows and amazingly stupidly tried to run, unsurprisingly resulting in them being pinned against a wall. Our initial thoughts were that it was some kind of drugs/far-right sting, but according to [probably drunken] onlookers it was just some football hooligans. Quite an overreaction on the police's part if that be the case.





On the last night we went to Sir Lancelot's, which is another one of those medieval-themed restaurants where you drink flagons of ale and eat with your hands. We thought that a three-person feast plus starters would just be enough:





I almost died. But the starters were amazing -- a huge carved out loaf, full of thick onion soup with copious amounts of grated cheese. We ended up taking most of the feast away with, which Peter and I were still eating for the next few days.



The next day we awoke yet again to a snowy Budapest. Overall, the snow this winter has been shameful, but until I decide to walk instead of fly with EasyJet, I am in no position to blame others. Whilst waiting for the bus, we saw some footprints in the snow which, within the confines of human thought, must have been left by a one-legged but two-winged cretin:



We went with the American to see some live jazz in quite a posh venue just next to the 'Bazilika'. The real purpose was so Peter could collect some sort of technological gizamagaz for his image capturing wand (designed for girls, the FinePix Z3, it really is - Ed). The jazz was performed by, so we are told, the leading fellows in the Hungarian field. It was really good. It was mostly scat and highly skilled. The pianist was the best though -- a fat man wearing an argyle jumper, reminiscent of someone trying to desperately clasp on to his fleeting youth (and hair) whilst his sweaty palms tap out smooth tones (jaaaaazzz!). I wanted to take him home and add him to my glass cabinet, which currently consists of tramps that look like Rasputin, amazingly slow old ladies and gypsy flower women. Here he is in action:



All this reading of Greek philosophy has got to my head, leading me to show Peter the relevant merits of a Grecian toga as opposed to a Roman one. Regardez my attempt to mimic Aristotle:



Unless you've been living under a non-scientific rock for the past week, you'll know that there was a lunar eclipse recently. Peter tried to make a video of it, but the clouds kept getting in the way. He did get some good shots, however:



Lastly, Jeremy (the chap who is responsible for all of our social, economical and technical failings) decided to casually walk into a ladder and break a window. Naturally we've had to pick up the bill as Jeremy has not a shred of responsibility about his character. If he doesn't buck up his ideas, I'm going to 'Get Carter' him off the balcony. The twat muffin.

- Philip + Peter