I’m half lost in thoughts, half abstracted, walking down the nightly Prague like a robot. Off my way to buy chocolates.

— Sir?! Can you hear me? Come back please!

I’m turning my head slowly, seeing two coppers standing in front of a zebra, shouting at me. I’m slowly coming to face them, pretty sure what will happen next. Do I get what I’ve done? Have I seen the lights? I’m keeping mute; trying not to show any emotions, though it’s bubbling inside.

— Can I see your ID? — the copper with a strong Moravian accent asks.

I’m quickly opening my wallet and handing him my driver license. My NSW gold driver license. They both look at it with a kind of amazement. Their disbelief transforms into few stuttering words after a while.

— You, you speak Czech? — the Moravian one asks.

— Yo — I get myself to answer, not very convincing, trying to hide my delight seeing their astonishment. They obviously weren’t ready for such a treat.

— That’s a 2000 crowns fine, sir. You have money to pay? – Moravian tries to get things back on track.

— Nah — I say in even less convincing broken Czech. There’s no cars around at this hour and the whole episode looks quite bizarre. Yet I’m probably the only one realising the truth.

Now they’re stuck. It’s well after midnight and they don’t look they want to put down the report to fine somebody who crossed the deserted street, ignoring traffic lights. Moravian sighs. The other one just looks at me puzzled. Moravian hands me my ID back and tells me to be careful.

I’m crossing the street again. In the middle of the road, I look up to check the lights — and it’s a bloody red again! Turning back, I see those two standing in awe. I can’t help myself now, I burst out laughing and return.

They shake their heads — but hey, they’re laughing, too.

We used to call it meeting bingo, though some people use more explicit bullshit bingo instead and Wikipedia calls it nicely buzzword bingo. Still the same game. Impatiently crossing square by square, waiting for the release.

Fate it seems is not without a sense of irony, as Morpheus put it. Now, when I’m compiling a presentation I’m happy to add a vogue word here and there. Market growth, cross-selling, deliverance, goal-driven, partner activation, continuous campaigning, volatile market, streamlining, ease of use, in the pipeline — these are just few that made it to my last one. One could easily throw up just reading it, not even mentioning watching my pigface presenting such blatant nonsense.

But hey — I’m only doing it to hear BINGO!!! yelled at me at some point. ‘Cos I can leverage on my audience being activated by my streamlined presentation. In the volatile market, market growth results in the pipeline are all about goal-driven partner activation, continuous campaigning and deliverance through cross-selling and ease of use.

What was I talking about?

Just want to mention two personal experiences I had with Pink Floyd.

First, it was 1994. It was early September and Pink Floyd were cruising Europe with their Division Bell tour. I hanged out in Prague on the eve of 7 September and I was hesitating if to go to Pink Floyd concert or go home and see a girlfriend of mine whom I didn’t see for some three weeks. I guess you all know what I chose. Life’s always about making decisions. I’m not sorry and I’m sorry — it’s schizophrenic, I know. That’s the way it is.

It turned out to be the very last Pink Floyd tour; they disbanded afterwards and seeing them live became an unreachable dream. Well, until…

Second, eleven years later, 2005. I just returned from Australia, coming to Prague just in time for Live 8. And for my girlfriend’s birthday. I could swiftly fly to London and back, no problem, but Gabriel told me he wasn’t going there either. So I watched the concert simultaneously online and on the TV, almost crying hearing Shine On Your Crazy Diamond and them sending their love to Syd. That time I knew that was it. There won’t be any more chances. When Rick, Nick, Dave and Roger hugged on stage, it was the end. A very vivid but inevitable end of the legend.

We’re three years later and Syd and Rick are already over there, playing the great gig in the sky.

And I am not frightened of dying
any time will do, I don’t mind.
Why should I be frightened of dying?
There’s no reason for it, you’ve gotta go sometime.

If you can hear this whispering you are dying.

I never said I was frightened of dying.

Yes, it was me inline skating. My first attempt ever.

First off, I found it extremely difficult to stand — and once I managed to put myself to an upright position, even more fun started. Something that could vaguely remind someone of skating, I’d say. However, only vaguely, as I was unable to turn, unable to brake, unable to skate uphill or downhill.

Particularly downhill skating seemed to be the biggest issue. As I was unable to break — unless you wish to call a jump to a nearby bush breaking — gaining critical speed rolling downhill made me understand the value of life.

Yet I’m glad to report that I survived; so you hopefully get a chance to see the newest attraction of Prague — the waving wretch on skates sometime next weekend again.

Rui built The Love Lednička — lednička means fridge in Czech. I’m putting it exactly as he had — half English, half Czech. The four-wheeled lednička was equipped with a freezer (for drinks), a seat (for kids during the presentation, for Rui during the race) and breaks (a really essential part). Painted in blue and green, with a spoiler and with a crew of five crazy misfits dressed a bit hippie, with large bushy wigs, funny glasses and unstoppable good mood, the gang of Flower Power was ready to rock and roll.

Fun started on Saturday night. Roughly 200 contestants were united in a party, together with bunch of great looking Red Bull girls. Without going too much into detail, truth is that vodka with Red Bull is a killer drink. Everybody knows, though.

Sunday was boiling hot. Competitors were presenting their vehicles to endless brownian-motion-like moving crowd and trying to find an inch of shade wherever they could. Heat was hardly bearable, waiting for our turn was agonising.

What we did to kill the time and entertain the spectators was… a song. Rui was singing Marley’s Is This Love and playing guitar so we quickly changed the words. Our world-class collaboration brought this Red Bull song to life in less than ten minutes:

I want Red Bull
And drink it right
We have Red Bull
And a cool life

We love Red Bull
Help us win the fight
We drink Red Bull
Every day & every night

This is love
This is love
This is love
This is love
Love lednička

Those few simple lines were enough to last us until it was Rui’s turn to trip downhill. He went down with grace, waving onlookers as he passed by. And the breaking at the finish was top-notch. Overall, we earned the sixth place out of 45 teams!!

And I’m already thinking about another trolley or maybe a plane… And more so, about another beautifully senseless song.

Take The Beatles. I can link their music to the particular time of my youth. I was listening to Help! when I was in the seventh grade; Rubber Soul was my favourite in the eight one. White Album by the summer of that year, just before Let It Be took over completely. Lennon came next and Plastic Ono Band ruled my days as I advanced to the grammar school.

I remember discotheques by a DJ’s favourite track. T Club, a Uni club where I used to hang out while underaged — Forever Young. A high school ski trip — What a Wonderful World. A disco at school premises — I Love To Hate You. My last trip to the border of civilisation with a bunch of young mathematicians — Violently Happy. I could go on and on like that for hours.

Mentioning What a Wonderful World, there’s something else crossing my mind. Songs that are forever a part of one’s memory because of technology: people have learnt to set their own ringtones or alarm tunes that follow them through months until they become annoying and get changed. I had few ringtones replaced, yet I’ve been waking up to Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s rendition of What a Wonderful World/Over the Rainbow since 2005, and it seems it’s not giving up.

Then, there are numbers that are shared and have untouchable intimate quality… ‘Cos one happened to listen to them while being with someone exceptional; and those are moments that are rendered unforgettable. It may be ironic enough that one can recall also tunes used to heal (or enjoy) a broken heart. How good is Stand by My Woman or Into My Arms? How weird can Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft sound?

And a very special category are the songs written for somebody. I managed to pen one or two clumsy ones (with indisputable Gabriel’s help) and seeing they work, they give a loved one goose pimples or make her cry — because she’s been touched! — is the most rewarding experience. Simply amazing.

Of course, fame and money would not hurt either. (But hey, that’s just me trying to be sarcastic to hide that I’m sentimental…)

Having lived in Prague for just a short period, I am not acquainted with a lot of people around but through a lucky coincidence I got to know a lovely young lady called Leona Prokopcová. Leona is a jazz singer and a regular in a downtown jazz venue Agharta.

Seeing Leona on stage is always an occasion — unlike a large number of other musicians, notably those who perform a deeper genre such as jazz — Leona is not afraid to communicate with the audience, poke a joke or tell a story to introduce a song. I guess it’s often the attitude that makes all the difference. Of course, she’s also an impressive singer — hearing her live is an uplifting and stirring event without fail.

Unfortunately, I just cannot get my timing right — I missed her last concert not knowing she was to perform and I’m gonna miss her next one this Saturday as I’m out of town. And I’m seriously worried how many more chances I get to see her as she’s supposedly leaving Prague for Denmark in few months.

So for those of you who have a chance, go see her gig, it’s well worth the time. But if you run into me afterwards, please don’t rave too much, all right? I’m already sorry I’m not gonna be there.

Shopping as such does not thrill me. How can it? There’s no passion in pushing a supermarket trolley for oneself or — to be more accurate — to push a trolley for one’s mother, girlfriend or girlfriend’s mother. That’s exactly how I remember shopping for some thirty-plus years. Of course, there’s always a bonus of having to avoid collisions with a myriad of other trolleys, ill-mannered kids and then — when the crusade seems to be almost accomplished — there’s a never-ending snail-paced queue to be conquered.

How cool is that? One is sweating or freezing, depending on an air-con settings, can’t wait to get out of there and then the cashier cannot find/scan an item or there’s a dispute about a bill. Or the computer system goes down. Or anything.

On the other hand, there’s a late night shopping. And I do mean late by saying late. ‘Cos in Sydney, many people think a late night shopping is shopping till 8 pm. They’re wrong, obviously. Late night shopping means shopping late at night. Like, let’s say, 3 am (my favourite time). Obviously, one has to live in a larger city and in a proximity of a non-stop shopping centre, sometimes called a hypermarket.

Now, before we move further, let me explain etymology of a hypermarket in short. Once, there were ordinary shops. Then, there were supermarkets; those were selling more or less anything from groceries to toothbrushes. And then, later on, hypermarkets took over. If super means kilo in a marketing newspeak, then hyper stands for mega.

A hypermarket is a place where you can buy almost anything you may need late at night. A fresh apple. A toothbrush. A Milli Vanilli CD. A plasma TV. A bicycle. A new sofa. Anything you please.

Imagine such a hyper vast space, no customers, a tranquil night — and it’s yours to shop. That’s what a late night shopping is all about. There’s no screaming children, there’s no trolley traffic jams, in fact there’s no need for a trolley at all, unless one’s getting more than they can carry, and there’s no queues at registers. It’s like a sci-fi in making. All but masochists and slow-witted must understand definite advantages for a a human being — time saving, mental health protection and the like.

I have enjoyed shopping at night ever since they had opened a hypermarket close to my home about a decade ago. Back then, it was me encouraging friends to go shopping after 11 pm, and now again, it’s me strolling through isles when everybody sleeps. Clearly, it’s a great way to fight insomnia. Having been shown keys to a new pad in Prague recently, there’s also lots to shop for. During my first night, I bought myself blankets, sheets and pillows. A number of small appliances followed. Then a book or two.

Hm… That reminds me that I was planning to get an armchair tonight. I’ve heard it’s simple to beat insomnia sitting in an armchair, reading classics and listening to some, too. Maybe Kafka & Dvořák will happen to be a good combination, being in Prague. I just get that armchair first…

Have been reading a lot lately, both the real books and the Internet. History of Czechoslovakia seems to be my late night passion. The more I know the more interesting it gets. Different points of view make me realise there is no simple truth, it’s multi-layered, it always has been and it’s only getting more complicated as people get more inputs to make decisions.

I do enjoy reading old books and hanging out in second-hand bookshops. Found one, properly stocked, bargain-priced, complete with an enthusiastic owner. Plus, it’s not too far from my base to be.

My base to be; an important point. I am finally about to move in sometime next week. Hopefully. Everybody’s invited to housewarming, of course.

It’s been a bit tiring, being insomniac, homeless and unemployed for such a time. Though I’m exaggerating and it may as well turn out to be holidays rather than a real unemployment. And my homelessness ain’t real either. Thankfully.

So I’m only left to beat insomnia and everything will be fine again. Perhaps I could give it a go.

Good night.

I have a different winter in mind. A real scary one. A winter during which mercury hardly reaches zero, staying permanently underneath that frightening mark. A winter with snow flying in the air, or even better, covering the ground, with foggy wet days and bright super-cold ones, with people hiding in their beautifully warm dwellings with double-glazed windows and central heating — both inventions virtually unknown to the population of Australia (though I cannot talk for the Tasmanians).

I have thrown myself into a winter like that. Voluntarily. One day baking my bones in Shark Bay, next one numbly walking through shopping alleys at Dubai International, third one pushing my way through hordes of Arsenal fans in London suburbia and finally fourth one being spitted out in sensationally grey and gloomy Prague. And wintery one, too.

I guess I knew the theory. This was to be expected. Maybe not as classy as snowstorm, yet equally effective. The beauty of thermal inversion. The eerie of darkened foggy days leisurely metamorphosing into eerie of even darker foggy nights and than back again. And again. And again.

Nine days and nights. Suddenly, one begins to understand why Michael Hutchence chose Prague for the set of their most melancholic video. Or how Kafka could trip here without a need to use hallucinogens.

The weather has cleared just in time for New Year’s Eve. Seeing starry skies after such treatment felt like winning a lotto. Emotionally, I mean. Starry skies have nothing to do with bank accounts, as far as I’m concerned. Uplifted now, it’s somehow easier to wish everyone a happy and successful new year.

So. So. I wish you, for both of us of tm91, a happy and successful new year. And please, do not forget to have a towel handy at all times.