Swearing in Slovakian

The phone never rings when you need it to; it lies there quiet as the grave on a slow day. You listen to Michael Torke’s ‘Corner in Manhattan’ and smother your chip roll in brown sauce. Life doesn’t get any more juxtaposed.

The neighbours next door were fighting again last night; the police came to my door seeking my views– I stay neutral and say ‘I know nada – not my problem’.

Best not to get involved.

He’s a big hockey-playing Slovakian half my age. He’d tear my head off like Withnail says Jeff Wode would.

I read my Guardian wishing the big Slovakian would fuck off back to Bratislava or wherever the fuck he’s from.

Life just got more juxtaposed.

Easy to be prejudiced about people, much more difficult not to be. What do you do when your neighbour is a heavy drinking Slovakian ice hockey player who is built like a wall? No-one prepares you for that!

Do you wish that your neighbour was a heavy-drinking Scottish shinty player? Not really! There’s nothing worse than ale-slurping Scottish shinty players, especially when you live next door to them.

I sat with the Slovak after his worried girlfriend chapped on my door saying she was scared for her safety. She’d called the police on a previous occasion and if she did so again they’d charge him and he was the father of her child after all!! Would I come in and calm him down (I must seem like the sort of guy who has a calming influence on inebriated East Europeans).

She’s very pretty and I’m as soft as shite so I agree, however reluctantly.

He’s totally blootered and falling about the place and clearly resents the introduction of this neighbourly presence. She buggers off with the babby and leaves me to it.

One slight problem. He doesn’t speak much English and I possess literally no Slovakian so my attempts to discuss the ‘velvet revolution’ proves fruitless. “Lubo Moravcik” I offer, knowing the little Celtic midfield magician is a countryman of his. This he drunkenly understands and we spend the next five minutes bandying that name back and forth like a ball in a tennis match. “Dr Josef Venglos” I change the mood slightly feeling lucky to support a team that has employed two Slovak nationals. He doesn’t know this name and offers again “Lubo Moravcik”

I can’t spend any more time merely saying “Lubo Moravcik”, no-one can. Imagine how tedious life would get if all one could say was “Lubo Moravcik” all the time. He seems to want to go out on the landing so that he can smoke. Even in his moroculous state he is well-trained enough not to smoke in the flat.

He starts criticising his girlfriend in what sounds like aggressive Slovakian the odd word like ‘bitch’ sneaking in. “Lubo Moravcik” I respond but he eyes me with bleary disgust. He is very unsteady on his feet and I fear he may tumble over the bannister down the three flights of hard stone stairs.

In the morning he chaps my door and blearily asks in pidgin-something if I have any drink in the house. “Drink I very must have” he says and I shake my head. “You have money? Girlfriend will give you back”

I think for a few seconds and say..

“Lubo Moravcik”

I think I at least now know how to swear in Slovakian.