GRABBED BY THE BALTICS

After somehow finding Butterfly’s gaff in the labyrinthine streets of Tallinn - with the unmistakable feeling that Vodaphone were squeezing my testicles as I made a few guiding phone calls - she drove us out to restaurant for lunch; a big place by the beach that looked like the upturned hull of a boat. The disaster-stricken sailors, seemingly unable to emerge from their tomb of crushed wood within, had taken up gastronomy, and cooked any fish that happened to wander in through an upturned port-hole. Oh, and also somehow they managed to make the wreck a Wi-Fi area. All of this is, of course, as bollocks as Vodaphone’s roaming rates, but my version of the history of Tallinn’s public eateries is far more interesting. Now, on the way back we went to the Pirita Monastery, and me an Courto when ghost-hunting in a dungeon. Most Haunted Live would’ve been proud, except the suitable creepy mood was ruined by having to dodge the pebbles that Butterfly kept throwing down every available hole. Courto was convinced that there was a wee ghostie in one dark corner, with a spooky pale pallor and drab ill-fitting out-of-fashion clothes sporting a stupid little beard; but I think he just saw me.
That grisly incident behind us, we retired to Butterfly’s where me, Courto and her Dad managed to polish a full-sized bottle of brandy during the course of the night, where I found my Estonian magically improved, as did my ability to drink Brandy in large quantities. It had a fierce kick off it alright: Oh! speaking of kicks, here’s a pic of a part of The Old Tallinn walls. I think its place name speaks for itself.