Least favourite lines

OK, thus the situation:
imagine you would have to catch up on a lot of sleep, because during the last four nights or so you just couldn't fall asleep and once you did kept on waking up, thus being knackered and feeling ill all the time. But the merciless alarm clock, which you hardly hear for the plugs in your ears you put there before you went to sleep in order to get some kind of a chance to rest, starts yelling at you at six o'clock in the morning after seven hours of sleep that just couldn't make up for the long hours of sleep you desperately needed. You briefly contemplate on just calling in sick, but being a dutiful little fucker and having a responsibility now and having to be a role model and bla-di-blafuckoff you eventually get up at seven, sleepwalk into the bathroom and leave the house about half an hour later, looking like shit and feeling it, too. You manage to stay awake on the bus, but only just, and reach school at eight fifteen, fighting your way up the street and to the entrance through myriads of pupils, unbelievably walking even slower then you do. You reach the staffbase, throw a tired little joke at the french assistant just to piss him off, because of the way he looks and because he's french and just because he's there. Lessons start at 8.40, and at quarter to nine, you finally make your way to this day's first classroom, sighing all the way with tiredness and disbelief you're really hear.

Now, what is the last line you would want to hear?

"Oh, Sabrina, sorry, I forgot to tell you that I will go through the exams with them so I don't need you today."

Aarrggh.
Keep smiling.
No problem.
Aarrrrgh.h.

So, as I was already switched to work mode, I helped above mentioned Damien with the DVD player and the TV, because he's a guy AND french, so he just couldn't do it.
Just joking, Damien.
We watched the first half hour of "la Haine", a film about neds in a small french town and police raids and scheiss bullenstaat.
Someone had had the brilliant idea to add white subtitles to a black and white movie.

On the bus with Irvine Welsh

They're real. ... They're among us! They have real names and beerbreaths and ... grey anoraks. And they ride Lothian Buses (your locally owned buses). The average Irvine Welsh novel character. They're not fictive. Not that I ever assumed so, but yesterday on my way home from Ocean Terminal, reality kicked in like with an empty bottle of lager. I took the bus number 1, the one that goes down Easter Road, passing the Hibs' stadium. It had been a football sunday. And there he was. He was sitting with his two sons in a four people compartment with a table; I took the remaining seat and had a close look at the average working class wasted life loser as they describe them in the books I read. He was sitting opposite me, the two kiddos - they were about five and seven - occupying the seats next to the window, through which they were staring silently out into the night during the whole duration of the ride. They had Hibs scarfs and the one next to his father had a wee golden earring and freckles. The father looked grey and worn, the way you look after too much drink and too much shit in just too short a life, with leathery skin and thin hair. Every now and again he would say something to the kids, mainly asking them wether they wanted him to bring them back to their mother, adressing them as "son" after every sentence, as if to prevent them from forgetting they were his sons. The kids would say nothing, hardly reacting at all to what their father said or did, and just kept on staring out of the window with their sad little faces. And the father would stop saying things and just take another sip of the can of Tennents that he was holding on to.
His whole existence seemed so clear to me: shagged a random girl when he was younger, she got pregnant, so they married, both hardly old enough to do so. They had another kid, after which she couldn't take his drinking habits any more and ran away with another guy who took her to Paris (or any other fancy stereotypical place) and they got divorced, after which he hasn't anybody left, his only remaining pleasure being taking his boys to see the Hibs every now and again to stop them from calling the other guy "Dad".
But maybe I just didn't finish "Glue" long enough ago.

All Blacks on a grey day

First of all: of course I cheered for Scotland, that goes without saying. I even bought eleven pounds worth of fan paraphernalia, namely one fluffy fleece hat with a flag on the forehead and a scarf, displaying both the scottish and the New Zealand colours an flags, with two hands doing a friendly handshake in the middle. Nice.
We arrived at Murrayfield quite early, as it said on the tickets that you would not be let into the stadium if you arrived any later then half an hour before kick off. So I thought, OK, they obviously want people to be there early, no problem, I can do that. But apparently, having to be there before, in this case, two doesn't mean that they actually let you enter the premises until one. So we had plenty of time to literally stroll around the ground and were among the first people to make our way to our seats (which we found, after only very little confusion, after about ten minutes). Now looking around, the seats seemed to be coloured in a strange way, green an white and blue and pink. I only realised half an hour later that they actually all together made a tartan pattern. (What else!? Could have thought of that before!)
The show startet with about seventy Pipe Bands playing together, which was impressive, a salute from a modern Kanone, which was kind of scary, and two jet fighters flying low over the stadium, which was unexpected and crazy. All this was answered by the teams entering the pitch and the All Blacks doing their famous challenge dance, the name of which I keep forgetting. So, all in all, when it comes to showing off to the other nation and challenging it, I think it was a draw.
The match itself was phantastic, too. The Scots really went for it, put up a tough fight and really didn't make it too easy for the Kiwis. The half time score still was Scotland:3 - New Zealand:22. The supporters gave everything, too, from the singing of the national anthem (of which I only know the first and the last line "Oh, Flower of Scotland ... someting something someting ... and sent them home tae think again", meaning of course the English) throughout the game, people were shouting their lungs out, Kenny Campbell, the Craigmount teacher who got us the tickets, being one of the loudest of all. All the same, the general mood was very friendly and there was a bigger sense of hospitality than I have ever witnessed in the Olympiastadion.
In the end, New Zealand won 29 : 10, which isn't too bad, and also in an unattended and unobserved moment I could run on the pitch to take these pictures that you see above.
It was a great day, and I will definitely go see another match, probably Scotland - England next year, which will surely be less friendly (see national anthem). Auf's Maul und zwar big time. Also it was probably the last opportunity to see the Kiwis' famous captain, Tana Umaga, and I'm glad I seized it.
And I'm also glad I'm not in the middle when the two teams smash together. My GOD, the guys are massive!! I sure like rugby!

The wee lesson of Scots slang - especially for Jahmsen

Baltic
To be freezing cold.
"Shut that windae - it's baltic in here."

Ausserdem geschah heute folgendes:

George Best is dead
The Belfast born football legend, who scored seven million gazillion goals in the 1968 European final, thus guaranteeing Manchaster United the title as the first English Club EVER!, and furthermore played for ManU for 11 years, helping to establish the club in the European Cup, died today at lunchtime (thus were the newsman's words I swear) of multiple organ failure, due to a lifetime of heavy drinking.
I also want to say that this was already his second liver giving up.
Georgie, or The Belfast Boy as he was nicknamed, was the best player of his generation, one of the best the Isles have ever produced and was also the prototype of the football playboy super star. He coined the famous quote "I spent millions on birds, alcohol and fast cars. The rest I just squandered."
Georgie Boy will be dearly missed by millions of football fans (even those of Manchester City) and thousands of middle-aged frustrated housewomen who fancied him big time thirty years ago when they were young frustrated housewomen.
The Old Trafford was drowning in flowers even before he had drawn his last breath.

The wee lesson of Scots slang - Part Three

Big Tam
The famous Hollywood actor Sean Connery is better known in his home town of Edinburgh as Big Tam. Connery once worked as a milkman (!) and, according to Edinburgh folklore, his round was almost as long as Santa Claus's.

Fett UND frech

There you go. Here I am, trying to convince the fat fluffy to jump into the deep fat fryer, which you can't see as I am hiding it in my enourmous jacket. (Das Zirkuszelt vom Zirkus Krone, wo die im Sommer mit auf Tournee gehen.) I failed (much to Omas delight) as the grey blob saw me through just in time to limp away on its fat feet.

Hooray for Internetuebersetzungsmaschinen

Aehem...

"Der gerechte Anschlag, der an mir weitergeht und verlassen mich allein."

So.
Denkt mal darueber nach. Einfach mal sacken lassen.
OK, das genuegt.
Logischerweise bedeutet dies:

"Just stop going on at me and leave me alone."

Ja. Nich Rilke. Aber ... dafuer kurz.
Courtesy of babelfish.altavista.com/tr

The wee lesson of Scots slang ... continued

Bairn's Airm Haudin An Apple ( A Child's Arm Holding An Apple)
A flattering description of a well endowed gentleman's wedding tackle.

Bar-L
Nickname for Barlinnie Prison in Glasgow. Also known as The Big Hoose Wi The Wee Windaes or The Niddrie Hilton.

Barry
A common Edinburgh expression for anything good or enjoyable.

The wee lesson of Scots slang

Away An Bile Yer Heid
Taken literally this means "Go Away And Boil Your Head". It it a phrase which expresses disbelief or dismissal. Similar sentiments can be expressed in the following: Aye Ma Auntie, Away And Cuddle Ma Humph, Yer Erse Fell Off or the ever popular Away And Fling Shite At Yersel.

A walk to Leith

Aaaahhh, whadda good life this is! The sun is shining all day long (which means like 5 hours a day), Wednesday is payday and yesterday I spent a perfect distinguished elderly lady day with Rachel. First we hit Princes Street to check out two cheap book stores, where I spent 20 Pound on six books, each of them containing "scotish" or "scots" in their title, exept one, which is titled "Greyfriars Bobby", a story as Edinburgh as it gets. Damn, I felt like a tourist, but, hey, what can you do... We then took a nice long walk to Stockbridge, a beauutiful part of town with nice coffee- and charity shops and lovely georgian houses. After some window shopping, we reached the Royal Botanic Garden, where I met the fattest shabby pigeon I ever saw. (Ich hoer schon eine bestimmte Dame schreien "Die WAR gar nich fett, die war nur aufgeplustert", aber glaubt mir, das war diese Taube heisst Molly Luft! die war so fett, die hatte gar keinen Hals mehr, auch wenn sie sich grade nicht aufgeplustert hat. Ihr Kopf guckte grade noch so aus dem riesigen grauen Fettklumpen, der ihr Koerper war, raus. Das Teil hatte fette Fuesse! Das Viech war FEEETTT!! Aber seht selbst.)




After this freakshow, we took a bus to the Leith Market, which we didn't find as it was already closed when we got there. But, hey, as I said before: if you get lost, enjoy it. And enjoy it we did, Leith is beautiful and all these mariner pubs ("Skipper's", "The Old Port Inn" and the like) somehow felt like home. Which is very strange, considering the fact that I grew up as far away from any coast as you possibly can in Germany and I should be reminded of home when I look at a beautiful mountain range. Which I do. Whenever there is one.
Anyway.
The next stop was Rachels place. The TV didn't work so we actually had to talk during our microwave dinner (cottage pie with mash). The lady was tired afterwards and so I took the bus home to also have a nice nap and meet up with Rachel again at seven in front of Greyfriar's Bobby's Bar (there we go again). The Lady slept in but we made it in time to the Bedlam Theatre for an evening of "Acts of Love", three one act plays, the first of which was ... how can I say this ... crrraap! (This guy!! Gosh, he was awful, it really hurt to watch him. This whole "Im on a stage, saying something, so, erm, I'll just take a step forward and then put my foot over there cause that's what actors do; they move" thing! Horrible!) The other two plays were actually really funny, the third one being entitled "The Love Shop", telling the story of a magic tea pot and starring Dave Finlay as a plumber, gold chain and all.
At the end of the Theatre Evening I learned that Australian and New Zealandish are like cabbage and brussel sprouts, the latter being the condensed, tougher, meaner variant of the former. ... O - keey ... Another day, another lesson learned.

And also I wonder what this is supposed to mean:

Call me IT-nerd

Aaahh, the wonderful possibilities of the internet! I am currently in the process of uploading all my pictures to my yahoo photo album. And I mean ALL the pictures I ever took with my magic little silver shiny Matilda. So far I have uploaded, what? 19 albums, so if you want to have a look at a couple of interesting (and a few not that interesting) pics, the site you have to go to is

http://de.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/fleggi/my_photos

It will take another couple of days for me to upload the rest of them (as i have other things to do from time to time...there's this bunch of kids in Corstorphine who desperately want to know how to say "tramp" in german - in order to call their mother like that) and I will also from now on upload them regularly, as it is a phantastic possibility to save my photos when I have to give back the laptop next month.

End of entry notice: We're freezing our asses off here...

A story about Mother Destiny and her baseball bat

Yesyesyes, she strikes again.
This morning I missed my bus. For about 30 seconds.
So far so good.
About a minute after I had reached the stop, guess who came whistling round the corner??? David everything-I-learned-for-life-I-learned-from-Harry-Houdini Finlay! If I had run for the bus (haha, fat chance!)we would have missed each other for some rediculous 57 seconds or so. Anyway, I had last heard of Dave on saturday two weeks ago when he called me to say he would be at my place at eight o'clock the latest and never showed up (a phenomenon that, as the detention board in the staff base teaches, is called "no-show", often accompanied by the word "again"). As I said, two weeks ago. No call, no mail, no message, no nothing; he could have flushed himself down the toilet this time for all I knew.
So this morning we were waiting for the bus together and I asked the (obvious) question: "So?". Pause. "David". Pause. "Whathappend?" Erso: "Happened to what?" I actually was expecting some highly inspired and elaborate answer like "Oh, I'm so sorry, Miss Fleck, the darndest thing; I had to take my Grandmother to South America, cause she's ill and needed a special treatment consisting of some ointment which can only be won by spending two weeks sitting naked on a small plant that only grows in this remote Peruvian village. And then a monkey stole my phone...", you know, the kind of thing Sebastian Plappert would make up. What I got was "Sorry, my battery run flat." Talk about disappointing excuses.
Anyway, there is Dave Finlay; lost and found and lost and found. When he got off the bus he said "I'll definitely call you, I promise." Yeah, well.
You know Dave, if you don't call me, I will just call YOU! Mark my words: There is no escape!

Every day life dialogues

Me: "Pav, I'm gonna block the bathroom for the next half our or so."
He: "Really? What you're gonna do?"
Me: "Well, ... walk in and lock it from the inside basically."
- understanding nods on both sides -

Zelebration!!

Yesterday evening I tried to call a very special Lady for her birthday. But, silly as I am, I forgot that by the time I called it was already hoechste party time in Germany and therefore the special Lady wasn't home but probably lay singing under some pub table. But I still wanted to send her best extraordinary birthday wishes. So I organized a bonfire that was so big and shiny that I hoped it could be seen in the far away capital of Germany, made the whole city party with me and got rediculously drunk myself.
Happy birthday!

Le weekend bon(fire) - Part I

On Saturday, the whole of Great Britain celebrated the 400th anniversary of the hanging, drowning, quartering and then burning of Guy Fawkes (talk about holding a grudge, these people sure are unforgiving), who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament with 36 barrels of gunpowder in 1605. He failed and has been burned annualy ever since. People were busy buying firework equipment throughout the last two weeks or so. We had heard rumors about a big official bonfire on North Bridge, but were unable to find out the time. So Raquel, Francesca and me just met at my place and went to Arthur's Seat, where myriads of hobby pyromaniacs were having a party. It looked great and although we didtn't make it to the top (well, basically, we didn't try; too much effort), it was a really impressive sight. Matilda's batteries were giving in two minutes after we had reached Holyrood Park, but Rach helped me out and I took some nice goergens-style pictures with my magic little beloved camera.
With the smell of gunpowder and gasoline (!) still in our noses we then went to the girls' place (with a tiny trip to Ocean Terminal, as Lady Galeano was slightly unlucky with her choice of buses yesterday;)) and had a kind of spanish dominated house warming party, of which i somehow don't remember that much although I wasn't really drunk. Or was I?... I know I had some very delicious paraguayan dish and Strongbow by the bucket. I met another scottish guy (!!!), but I don't remember what he told me. Unfortunately I went home too early and I missed Andrea dancing his back to potato mash... That must have lookes awesome.
Anyway I walked home at about half two, arrived there at three and slept absolutely souuuundly. Like a dead stone.

Le weekend bon(fire) - Part II

I got up at about eleven, spent some time in the flat, enjoying being useless and watching Amit losing money playing poker on the internet. I ate something and basically unbusied away in the kitchen and my room. At about three I set out again to Rach's place to watch Chealsy vs ManUtd. The lady had had a much harder (and longer!) night than me and was waaasted, although she made a brave face for someone who had been woke up by her mom after too much alkohol and too little sleep. We made ourselves comfortable on the sofas (as in reeeeal comfy), had some microwave cottage pie and watched the match. (Errm...ManU won)
After the Fussi was over, we discovered .... KNIGHT RIDER !!!! on Bravo! Aaaaaahh, the blessings of cable TV. Unfortunately it was one of the episodes that is on the DVD so I had seen it lately...like ten months ago, but did I care? Did I care?? Of course not!! I was flattered! The hairdos, the shoulderpads, the tight jeans on David Hasselhoff's legs....aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrghh!!
After singing along to the title melodie (dumdududummdumm dummdududummdudmmm dididididi dididididi daedaedaedaedae...DAE-DAE!) I went both home and creative and desingned a conversation board game for my second years, coloured boxes and playing cards and all...
And now here I am and it's Monday. I had mostly supervising tasks at school today and tomorrow I'll be driving a nice clean car to Newcastle to pick up my nice clean (so I hope) boyfriend.
Slainte va!

Morgen kommt mein Freund!!!!!

...und so sieht er aus.










And for my french/italian/english/paraguayan friends: put your hands together for ... The Jo!

Eine wahre Geschichte

Eines Tages sagte Gott zu seinem Praktikanten Thorsten "Thorsten,...das Treiben der Menschheit missfaellt mir sehr. Ich glaube, es wird mal wieder Zeit fuer eine deftige Abreibung. Es wid mir nicht mehr geflissentlich gedient, und den Planeten, den ich in muehevoller Kleinstarbeit gebaut habe, den haben sie auch schon fast zusammengerosst. Zur Strafe schickte ich ihnen Cola Light und als das nichts half auch noch Dieter Bohlen, aber das alles hat nichts geholfen. Schicke doch bitte mit der Mittagspost eine anstaendige Plage raus!" "Das geht nich, Chef", antwortete Thorsten, "die Heuschrecken sind alle und die naechste Lieferung kommt fruehstens in drei Wochen und dann muss ich sie erst zusammen bauen." "Wie waere es, wenn wir eine Show im Fernsehen machen, die zeigt, wie andere Leute sich Stuecke Fett aus dem Hintern schneiden lassen?", fragte Gott und freute sich ueber seinen creativen Einfall. "Das haben wir schon probiert", sagte der Praktikant. "Hm", sagte Gott der allmaechtige, "das ist aber aergerlich. Nuja. Junge, ich fahre zum Golfen nach Hawaii und ueberlasse dir den Laden fuer drei Wochen. Denk dir was aus und wenn du deine Sache gut machst, ist vielleicht eine Befoerderung drin. Tschuess!"
Da strengte sich Thorsten ganz doll an, dachte Tage- und Naechtelang nach und hatte schliesslich eine prima Idee: er entwarf kleine gruene Bushaltestellenwartehaeuschenbaenke, deren Sitzflaeche nach vorne wegkippte und die eine unmoegliche Entfernung vom Erdboden hatten, so dass muede Fuesse nicht etwa erleichtert wuerden sondern sich noch viel mehr anstrengen mussten als jene, die einfach stehen geblieben waren. Er entwickelte eine komplizierte Formel und fand schliesslich die eine Form, die ausschliesslich unbequeme halb-steh-halb-sitz Positionen zuliess, welche die Gelenke belastete und die Menschenfuesse in ihren Schuhen nach vorne drueckte. Auf diese Weise sollte dem frisch von der Arbeit kommenden Mensch stets Verdruss gebracht werden, wenn er auf den Bus wartete und mit den Gedanken schon zu Hause bei seinem Mittagessen und seinen Hausschlappen war. Thorsten freute sich ueber diese exzellente Idee sogleich ein zweites Loch in den Arsch (denn als Gottes Praktikant konnte er das) und machte sich in der Werkstatt ... aeh... ans Werk. Aber weil er halt doch nur der Praktikant war und seine Skills noch nicht ganz ausgereift, schaffte er vor Gottes Rueckkehr doch nur genug Bushaltestellenwartehaeuschenbaenke fuer eine Stadt, und weil er persoenlich Busse mit Tartanmuster hasste, waehlte er Edinburgh.
Als Gott aus dem Urlaub zurueck kam, war er sehr zurieden und hackt sich seitdem immer in Edinburghs Closed Circuit TV System ein, wenn er mal wieder einen Hals auf die Menschen hat. Er lacht sich eins in Faeustchen ueber die Menschen, die mit verkrampften Beinen und krummen Ruecken auf den Bus warten und nimmt seine Lieblingsstellen auf Video auf. Zum Beispiel steht da immer so eine Bruenette mit roter Jacke in Costorphine an der Glasgow Road, hahahahahahaaaahaha, und die hat auch noch so ne albern unpraktische Tasche ueber der Schulter haengen, die sie nich auf den Boden stellen kann, weil es ja oft regnet und das sieht dann noch viel alberner aus als alles andere sonst, hahaha, koestlich!!!

There just is no escape

You can run but you obviously cannot hide...

Dinge die heute geschahen

1. Mein Mitbewohner nahm heute morgen erfreulicherweise den Staubsauger zur Hand, um den Kuechenboden zu reinigen. Allerdings wusste er nicht, wo das Kabel aus der Maschine kommt. Das gab mir zu denken. Ihm nicht.

2. Ich lief richtung Pub durch die Hanover Street und stellte fest, dass diese nur einen Konsonant und wenige Pints entfernt ist von der hangover street und frug mich ob dies ein gutes Zeichen sei ich glaube nicht.

3. Ich bekam eine Einladung nach Belfast.

4. Ich sah am Nebentisch eine Bilderbuchtuse (Edinburgh style, langer weisser enger Pulli mit einem Guertel auf dem Teil fixiert, was wohl mal eine Huefte werden sollte, Haarband in den schwarz gefaerbten Haaren mit farblich (also zum Haarband) abgestimmten Lidschatten (lila) und mir-egal-dass-ich-meine-Haende-jetzt-zu-nichts-mehr-benutzen-kann Fingernaegeln) und wollte schon frohlocken "Schlampenalarm auf zwei Uhr", als mir schmerzhaft gewahr wurde, dass niemand diese meiner Meinung nach ausgesprochen poignierte Bemerkung verstehen wuerde, weil man in Paraguay, Frankreich und Italien das Wort "Schlampe" nicht kennt (ein ungeheurer Missstand, dessen Beseitigung ich mir zur Aufgabe gemacht habe) und niemand da war, mit dem ich sonst so herrlich ueber diese Tusen laestern konnte (Goergens, wo biste wenn man dich mal braucht??).

5. Ich ass Bolo-Sosse mit Tortilla Chips um zwei Uhr morgens und schaute einen Bollywoodfilm ohne ein Wort zu verstehen, weil synchronisieren in diesem Land nich is.

6. Ich traf einen waschechten Schotten!! Er sprach franzoesisch.

Das alles passierte in den letzten 17 Stunden und jetzt bin ich muede wie ein Pferd. Ein muedes Pferd.

untitled

Today's Lesson for Life:

If you had a lousy day, there is no better cure then Ewan McGregor, Renee Zellweger and Cadbury's (no, dear Prompt-people, not butterfingers) chocolate eclairs!