I’m a national hero in Macedonia


I’m a celebrated man in Australia – much-loved writer, paramagliding extraordinaire, and highly-rated lover – but that’s nothing compared to how revered I am in Macedonia. I came to Skopje looking for a quiet few days, but ended up becoming a national hero, beloved of the masses. It happens.

Bustling Skopje

Skopje is a nice little place, and relatively free of disease. A massive earthquake tore through the place in 1963, so there’s not a lot of old stuff to look at, but what is here is brilliant. Along the the river are grand buildings that certainly look like they could’ve been built by the Romans, and plenty of restaurants and cafes and stuff like that. It’s a nice change to be in a place that’s not full of confusing laneways and rotting architecture.

He’s proud to be a flag!

But the most notable thing is the statues. They’re fucking everywhere, and they’re massive. The 10m-tall statue of Alexander the Awesome is the most notable, but there are hundreds of others scattered around. There are a couple of bridges that each feature about 20 statues. Sadly, they’re all up on pedestals, so I couldn’t simulate sex with them, which my therapist would say is a good thing.

What a handsome chap!

There’s a bazaar that isn’t that bizarre, to be honest, but is worth checking out. This place does have winding alleyways, and certainly has strong Asian influences. Like having sex with a girl who is half-Chinese, that’s certainly not a bad thing (well, until she throws you out of the house at 3am and you end up pissing into a Pringles can in a parking lot).

Abba are huge here – the Macedonians love Lars.. Ian, Sarah and… I dunno, Toni Collette?

After checking out the city I hit the turps, and on my eighth or ninth beer I heard people macking a fuckload of noise up the street. I thought they might’ve been left-wing dickheads torching cars while protesting against something or other, so I downed my drink and trotted up there to sort the situation out. But I didn’t need to start kicking heads, because it was just a few thousand people celebrating something or other.

You light a fire in my pants, baby!

“It’s Saints Cyril and Methodius’ Day,” lisped some effeminite dickhead in a silly hat, without being asked. ” They were two Byzantine Christian theologians and Christian missionaries who were brothers. Through their work they influenced the cultural development of all Slavs, for which they received the title “Apostles to the Slavs”. They are credited with devising the Glagolitic alphabet, the first alphabet used to transcribe Old Church Slavonic. After their deaths, their pupils continued their missionary work among other Slavs. Both brothers are venerated in the Orthodox Church as saints with the title of “equal-to-apostles”. It was at this point that I realised the cunt was just reading it off Wikipedia, and pushed him in the fucking river.

Being mobbed by admirers

I got closer to the mob and it looked like a Western Wanderers soccer match – heaps of ethnics chucking flares and acting like wallies. I was taking some photos and trying not to get a headache from the incessant banging of drums, when a young bloke draped in the Macedonian flag fell to his knees in front of me. “Saint Cyril,” he said. A fat bloke stopped banging his drum and fell to his knees, too, and then a couple of spunky chicks. I assumed they were looking at someone behind me and stepped away, but they followed me.

I fail to see the resemblance

Soon most of the crowd were either on their knees or patting me on the back. It seemed they thought I was this Saint Cyril dickhead (at least they didn’t think I was Methodius – he’s a wanker), and when one of the well-wishers handed me a beer and told me to drink, I went for it. A few of the young spunks started dancing around me, pushing their European arses into my crotch and trying to kiss me. I’m spoken for, so I ignored their advances, but hey, there’s nothing wrong with ejaculating in your pants.

The bloke standing in the street was hit by a car seconds later

I was chaired through the streets by my loyal devotees and showered with alcohol. And then… well, I don’t know, really, because the next thing I knew I was in a bin and it was midday. I had vomit down my shirt and half a kebab in my hand. Not the most dignified way for a national hero to act, but fuck yas.


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