After2beers -dupa2beri literally

Two weeks after arriving in the UK, my Albanian friend decided that the time has come to show me London at night time. Wandering around Soho is what he had in mind and little did I know at the time that London will become my home,

otherwise I would have paid more attention. My friend - Gzim spoke no English but he insisted that I shall call him Gaz instead of Gzim even thou I warned him that Gaz means gas in Romanian. I was happy to call him Gaz instead of Gzim as it takes a bit of practice to pronounce his name right.

We met a few days earlier at an international party - when he was about to push a beer off the table with his elbow. As I was seated next to him I had to say “ be careful “ in English. He looked at me and didn’t a say word. A few moments later his elbow was dangerously close to spill the beer in my lap.

‘Cade ! I said in Romanian instinctively. He turned back to me and with a glorious smile on his face asked “ Do you speak Italian? “

“ I do a bit but you will spill that beer on me even if I don’t.”

Cade is a common Romanian-Italian word for falling. It might be in Spanish too but I don’t speak Spanish. The Romanian language is derived from Latin and is the closest language to Latin from all Romance languages. The Italians - Spaniards - Romanians share so many words that they can actually understand each other without even speaking the language.

That’s how our friendship began, mostly due to the fact that neither of us did really know anyone at the party. I did get to meet a Czech girl who came to me and took a sip from my glass of wine. I wanted to say something but I was speechless. Gaz came to my help and said “ she is a gipsy and her family is here ..” Thinking that she might speak Italian and understood what he said, I pretended that I don’t know him and drinking from a glass of a complete stranger is something I do too as a hobby.

Now here I am, hanging out with an Albanian guy who’s been in London for over eight months and spoke no English as a tour guide in the bus 109 towards Central London. My Italian was poor and his Italian slightly better than mine, but because I didn’t really have any friends in London - I thought this might just do for the moment.

Gaz knew more about Soho than he did about London. I remember him talking to me about how Soho is an area where you can meet Romanian prostitutes. When I asked him if you can meet Albanian prostitutes, he replied “ Albanian girls are not like Romanian girls”

“ Is it because they are ugly? “

“ Its because Romanian girls have occupied all the prostitute jobs available”

“ I see - you tried to get a job as a male prostitute and you have been refused for being too ugly. You should try wearing make up, it will bring out the colour of your IQ out in the open.

“ That’s a compliment coming from a gipsy. Everyone knows that Romania is where all the gypsies are coming from.”

“ And how do you know that? “

“ I learned from school, in Albania“

“There is no such things as schools in Albania. Even your country doesn’t exist. Its been made up by you. “

Soho and Chinatown are so close to each other that you don’t really know where one starts and where the other one ends. I remember walking the streets and trying to assimilate what is around me. I was looking at the shops and people thinking that perhaps they might know something I don’t because I was the only one getting fat on geography, architecture, people, weird clothing and risking to be run over by black cabs.

Finally Gaz dragged me into a club. I walked into the club trying to look like I have been there before. At least that’s how Gaz told me to act in front of the main door. Trying to stay close to Gaz even thou I knew he needs me more than I need him as he spoke no English - I spot a table next to the entrance.

“ That’s not a good table he says. We can’t see the girls from there and every time someone comes in - we don’t see them either”

I walked behind him , becoming someone who is stretching and sharing the European Union into UK and the UK into me. I can see the table in front of me, I can see the chair where I am supposed to seat and have fun later on , but I can not see what am I doing here. We sat and waited. Then we waited and sat again before someone brings us a menu.

A beer is over £ 8.00. A glass of cheap wine is £ 11. 00.

“ We can’t afford this I say to Gaz. “

“ I know, but did you see the tits on the girl that just went past? “

I am looking at the ceiling and I think about what needs to be done. Sometimes I think that I think too much. Thinking that the girl that just came over to me and asked me to buy her a drink - she doesn’t know that I am thinking. I am thinking that I like her bum and I like her eyes. Thinking that I don’t have the monies to buy myself a drink let alone to buy a drink for both of us. I am thinking that she will not buy me a drink even if I ask her to do so.

“Mergem acasa ! “ I say to Gaz in Romanian

“What? Can you speak in Italian? “

Gaz is looking at me and I am looking back at him. The bastard knows that I know he knows what I said.

“ A- CASA! HOOMME GRINGOO! We are going home !”

Well, we didn’t really go home. He did go home eventually - few years later and I can assure you that Albania does exist. One day I might go there and help Gaz milk the chickens. Right now I am still in London and I feel that London is my home. I have become a bricklayer and I am getting fat on life and slim on thoughts.

I am from London and if you don’t believe me - I can post o picture of a parking penalty and a copy of my Council Tax.

d2b,  www.dupa2beri.co.uk