Beside the Seaside

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In Which Being Right Is Very Wrong

September 6, 2008 by Mike

Sutomore

Dangnabbit.

Yesterday's positive impressions of Serbia and the Serbs were spoiled first thing this morning by the drummer from last night's support band, one of the drinking gang, who collared me on my own first thing this morning to ask if I had any contact details for Skrewdriver, because he's involved in "ultra-right wing politics and I want to know if I can help them."

(Skrewdriver= an odious, thoroughly stupid neo-Nazi band in the 80s and early 90s. They couldn't even spell.)

I made my excuses and left the conversation at this point which, as there were only the two of us, may possibly have seemed abrupt to the point of rudeness. I do hope so.

It's left a bad taste in my mouth, because what my general impression of Serbia and the Serbs doesn't need right now, at this finely-balanced juncture, is a reminder of some of the many reasons why Serbia has such a terrible reputation in the world.

(NB He's not much cop as a drummer, he dresses with the panache of a blind brick and he's got an offensively stupid haircut.. a mullet shaved over the ears but not enough to be a mohican; he's overweight, comically sunburned, spotty, bow-legged and fearfully physically unattractive. He drools slightly when drunk -- something I was happy to overlook last night when he just seemed a bit simple. The Nazis are welcome to him.. though I rather suspect he'd be one of the first they'd line up against the wall. It wouldn't be a great loss.

And it turns out that another of my buddies from yesterday was in the Serb forces that besieged Sarajevo. He mentioned it in passing, like I wold mention having been at skool. Bad bad bad bad bad.

I know we have to forgive.. but I can't forget.

It was a slow-ish day, otherwise. 500 of us popped into the next town, Bar, on our bikes this afternoon -- police escort, running red lights, stopping all traffic, streets lined with civilians taking pictures and cooing and pointing. Heh. Of course, as I was on my bike myself, I wasn't recording said precession for posterity -- or this site. We made a lovely sight, and a lovely noise.

Here, though, are some other faces and moments from the Moto Camp "Lloyd".

So much for me being warned not to wear anything khaki in the former Yugoslavia -- "in case anyone mistakes you for a former combatant"

Beside the Seaside

In Which Being Right Is Very Wrong

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