I like to dumneavoastra words into sentences, even when I don't know what they mean.

Today we went with our french comrades to a market concerned with goods that endeavour to replicate the quality and appearance of well known brands. Essentially a knock off market, much like the barras.
It was reasonably entertaining. In the middle they hard a large barbeque where we dined on undercooked meat and enjoyed a swift beer at around 11am. We both bough jumpers of differing styles and we've become rather attached to them. I had to take mine off when I realised it was exactly the same colour as my trousers and therefore made me look like I was wearing a onesie with a suit jacket.
While we were walking through the endless aisles of unmatched shoes and broken electronic equipment we saw a guy wearing a white shirt that was only half buttoned up, tight jeans and faux-armani sunglasses. Dave and I shared a giggle at his expense and dubbed him "a dick". Which he was; he simply looked the type. We're living in a country with a tenuous internet connection and no tv- we make our fun when we can. We continued to explore the depths of the market and pondered the existence of sentient life in the meat we consumed.
I strayed from the group slightly to check out some hats that caught my eye. I looked away for two seconds, turned back and saw Dave waving at a girl I didn't recognise.
Dave, I enquired, what on earth are you doing?
I don't know, said he, she waved first.
I waved also.
She waved back.
Eventually after much waving she wandered over and said hello, how are you?
We're fine, said we.
You don't remember me, do you? Said she.
Um... said we.
We met at a party? We all got a taxi together to Dark [the name of a local club], we had drinks?
Um... said we.
I decided that action was needed.
Of course I remember you! I'm sorry, I didn't recognise you. What was your name again? I'm afraid I've forgotten, said I.
And I've forgotten again in the process of telling this story. I think it has an H in it somewhere.
We said our goodbyes and promised to run into each other again. She sauntered off into the near distance into the arms of none other than The Dick. What were the chances?
We're in the middle of an enormous gypsy market in a town we've only lived in for a month where we meet a girl we met once at a club who just so happens to be enamoured with the only man in Timisoara we've decided was an arsehole.
Anyway, I've just been informed that I need to teach Dave how to play poker before some friends come over to play poker. He didn't see fit to mention this beforehand. Our Romanian friend Dana has aquired a romanian liquieur called...I don't know. It's considered toxic by British standards.
So long, and goodnight.