Which side of me will win?

Metalcamp 2011: Insults, Compliments and Boners

So where were we? Oh yes, we were at Peter’s camp drinking beer. After a while two friends of Peter’s come to pay him a visit. Some slightly awkward and confusing introductions are made. They’re awkward and confusing because it’s almost totally dark, but their names are Anja and, I think, Urska. Pretty much all of Peter’s friends are called either Anja, Urska or Maja, so there’s a high probability I’m right.

Anja uses her phone to shed some light on us, then almost immediately asks if we have any sexy friends. This light-hearted – and probably unintentional – insult sets the tone for a number of insults between… well, mostly between Peter and everyone else.

I enjoy verbally sparring with Peter because he realises the fact that he dishes out insults to everybody else almost constantly means he has to accept anything that gets dished back, and he never gives up, no matter how bad a verbal beating he’s taking. I think he enjoys it too, probably for similar reasons. Slovenes definitely have a very similar sense of humour to us Brits. I might go into that in more detail at a later date, but for now here’s a sample exchange (it’s as accurate as I can remember, but I’m probably distorting the truth to make myself seem funnier)…

Peter has just referred to Anja and Urska as ‘emo’. I berate him for this, saying he’s really stepped over the line now, then…

Me: Are you disappointed that your favourite band, My Chemical Romance isn’t playing Metalcamp this year, Peter?
Peter (after a long pause): That gave me a boner.
Me: No it didn’t. You can’t get a boner.

Peter’s friends seem to thoroughly enjoy seeing Peter get a taste of his own medicine, as does Nina. Ash seems a little perplexed, perhaps not having yet acclimatised to the Slovenian sense of humour.

Anyway, this round of insults is followed by a couple of compliments. First, Anja tells a friend over the phone that she’s met some cool English people. Cool, sexy English people would have been better, but you can’t have everything. Then she asks me how old I am. I tell her I’m 33, then I think there’s some brief Slovene chatter and she says, “How old are you really?” I’m really 33. Given how dark it is, her disbelief is probably less to do with how youthful I look, and more to do with how the idea of someone as ancient as 33 coming to Metalcamp, especially from such a long distance away, must seem incomprehensible to a 17-year old. But fuck it, I’m still going to take it as a compliment.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some small children screaming very loudly a short distance from my open living room window and I need to stop writing this while I go and smash them about the head with a flying-V ukulele ‘til they scream even louder… then eventually stop.


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