Rockin’ in the free world or How I am more culturally-imperialistically ingrained than I thought I was, but pleased to note I could ditch that quickly

Tony wondered if I would go to see him in a proper, non-third world country. So I did.

If you want to spend a bit of time gawping, all my photos are in a collection.

What can I say? I will probably forget it while I type, but I will try not to. Nor to make illogical statements. Here, I’ve an idea. A list. And if you meet me, ask me to elaborate.

1. The food. The best in the world. (The elk curry was great, as was the boar, and the hare, and the bear, and the fish of various hues. Every man needs a forester’s wife. Presuming he is the forester to start with, I guess…) The service was always fantastic. Including what must be the swankiest place I have ever eaten, with the waitress putting on a white glove to pour our wine. Or the perfectly-timed one in the restaurant located in a wine cellar underneath the city walls.

2. The architecture. Go look at the pictures if you haven’t yet.

3. The churches, museums, tour buses, streets…

4. Mad Russian blokes explaining why Hitler/Stalin/some Iraq dude are on all their tat

5. The company, of course.

6. The sense of individual responsibility and no CCTV camera watching my every move

7. Muumis everywhere. But we can blame that on the Finns, who arrive and buy the cheap booze.

8. Everyone else has said it to me, so I should also elaborate. The chicks. The blonde Russian ones (with makeup) and the dark Eesti girls (with no makeup). But not counting the one in the strip club window with the cowboy hat who waved at us. Nor the old peasant women, of which I was disappointed to see there were only a few.

9. All the other things I have forgotten. Expect to hear them from me. (More in Real Life™ than here, all the same.)

So, again, thanks to Tony for inviting me to stay. It was fantastic to be asked, fantastic to be there, fantastic to see him and all round I had a fantastic time. I am a fan of Eeklandia. A tastic one, at that.

Cassandra wouldn’t want to live there, but she may be convinced on cuckoo clocks. The campaign starts here. Because, people, us here in Engerland (and worse, the colonies) don’t realise how bad things are. From leaving last week, and laughing out loud at the ludicrous concrete blocks (to stop dirty TERRISTS from crashing their cars into the terminal building) to returning and being reminded that we are told exactly what we can do with our lives via signage, this is a poor and impoverished nation. I know I have been banging on for ages that the UK is sleepwalking towards a properly authoritarian state, but it is too late. The control-freak left wingnuts, the pervasive social engineering misanthropes, the compliant unquestioning handout-expecting populus. This place is at its end. Much as the blame lies with the political left, the population let it happen.

But I don’t wish to turn this into another post pointing out why socialism is an inherently evil system, nor about what is wrong with the English (and British, too, and Irish) psyche. There’s something wrong, something rotten here.

It doesn’t have to be so. Regime change begins at home.

Taillinn just rules