Oh, how quaint are these Czechs with their holiday customs and habits…

In temperatures of minus 15° men gather round huge tubs on the street corners. 24-hours a day they stand by, smoking cigarettes, ensuring a steady supply of water and on the killing day, they machete away.

The British eat turkey (incl. turkey neck and turkey gizzards!!!) on the day in question. Kapr is the Czech delicacy; Carp; 3,000 of them drowning, gasping for air in these street tubs. And then along comes Babicka (Granny), who points, and then Whack, Crack, and into a plastic bag.

Next comes little Honza and his sister Hanka. The large majestic Carp goes straight into the plastic bag. No stun. No water. Then at home into the bath. “Tepid water” says Mr Carp. And there he swims for two or three days.

The street is a bloody gibblety mess at day’s end. The men hose down, still smoking and at 4 in the morning the fish van arrives, with another batch. Mr Carp in the bath now has a first name Karel (Charles) “the King” carp. And the children care for him. Of course he’s a “he” you damned feminists. The Millennium has come and gone. Don’t bug me with your dated “ism”s. Millenniumism, where a man is a man, a fish is a fish and a fish is a penis. Get ready to be castrated!

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Even in Prague children are the product of a penis entering a vagina. Relax, stay with me please, just for the moment. Fast forward to Easter holidays in the Czech Republic. Witness the man whipping the woman with his pomlaska (stick made out of willows) (pomoc=help, laska=love). And she in return gives him presents of brightly painted eggs. Men will be men and always get a little over-excited.

She then pours water over him.

Nine months later – another lovely Czech tradition. She’s on her back in a hospital somewhere. Out it struggle, from her primordial slime (never be afraid of our watery history). The man of the family is informed and performs the next exquisite tradition. He settles himself in the bath and gets systematically wasted (drunk). In this state he is no good to anybody.

It must be admitted that the children get a little upset at Christmas when mummy says we must kill Karen “King” Kapr. “But mummy he’s our pet”. “He’s our Christmas dinner” says mummy as she fishes him out of the bath and serves him neatly on a plate with traditional potato salad.


Bruce is an Englishman living in Prague. He is currently going bertie bonkers.