An Englishman Predicts
So far, the year has gone remarkably well. It's only Friday and we've already had a day off. I have no idea where this random break came from, but somebody told me the last time it happened was 60 years ago, so I guess its something like a solar eclipse-a rare event you'll be lucky to see once in your lifetime. At least it gave me time to think about the next twelve months. In the UK it is traditional for columnists to make predictions for the coming year in January, partly because there is nothing else to write about and partly because, by the time anything does happen, everybody will have forgotten what the predictions were.
For Englishmen in Poland, January and February will follow the usual pattern: we will chuckle and be sarcastic about the incredible number of ads for flu medicine on the television, and then spend several weeks avidly buying and consuming them when we inevitably become ill. We will insist our illnesses are a unique form of British flu, far worse than the kind Poles are used to, and refuse to get out of bed until March. At some point in February, in between bouts of hallucinating fever, I hope to finally dicover where Polish guys buy those incredibly long single roses and why they carry them upside down.
March and April will see a new blooming of an emerging trend in Polish culture: the construction of giant versions of things. The giant Jesus of Świebodzin was just the start. Already, in December, we have seen the unveiling of the world's largest piano in Poland and all this snow and ice is surely contributing to the formation of the world's biggest pothole somewhere in the country. There is, literally, no limit to the possibilities. I do not have a Polish imagination, so my suggestions will probably be inadequate but, before the end of the year, I would like to see a medium-sized lake converted into the world's largest bowl of barszcz czerwony, a genetically engineered carp the size of a bus and, perhaps, a four-metre-tall man elected president.
The summer will be remarkable for its weather. I predict that last year's incessant rain and flooding was just the start of a series of weather-themed summers. In the future we will have summers consisting entirely of fog, hurricanes, blizzards or small frogs falling from the skies. Polish people will continue to claim that English weather is too unpredictable and refuse to go there. Fortunately, by this summer my ever-growing shoe collection will include footwear suitable for carpets of frogs.
In an attempt to lose his image as the most boring man in Poland the president will shave his head, have his nose pierced and take up snake juggling in September. Inspired by he-man Russian Prime Minister Putin, he will also attend the Sejm with his shirt off and offer to punch anyone who disagrees with him on the nose. When the United States finally reveals that the missile launchers it has sent to Poland actually contain medium-sized fireworks, Komorowski will challenge Putin to a wrestling match to be held on a small island in the middle of the Baltic. He will then paddle a kayak to Washington and draw a funny moustache on Obama’s face while he sleeps
As winter begins Polish scientists will discover a secret gateway in the Tatras that leads to a fabulous underground land where gold and diamonds are scattered like pebbles, fine wine flows in the rivers and multitudes of delicious wild boar voluntarily barbeque themselves every Thursday evening. Poles will visit but nobody will stay because there will be absolutely nothing to complain about.
Jamie Stokes