Pachty hard in Glesgey

"So", said the Lady. "I've got my tickets for Faithless and the Chemical Brothers next weekend in Glasgow. Now I've got to find somewhere to sleep." And I thought "I know people in Glasgow, I shall ask them." A little later I thought "I like the people in Glasgow. I should just come along and see them". To be honest, it took me quite a while to figure that out, but I didn't want to come along to the concerts (the lady mocking me for saying "sorry, not my cup of tee", here it goes in German, just as true and better in sound: "Des is net mein Ding, Junge, Vadder echt net. Wenn ich ehrlich bin, wa, dann mag ich am liebsten schoene leckere gute Musik, so richtig mit Melodie und richtig schoen gut, Junge, wa. Vadder..." sorry, I'm losing it ... where was I? Oh, yes, first I have to close the brackets:...)Anyway I thought I might as well come along and hang out with the boys while the Rach is bouncing away in the SECC. A little later all was arranged and we were on the bus to Glasgow. We bought some booze on arrival and took it to Renfrew Street, where we were served susage stew by the boys. I was at least, cause the Lady had to be off to the SECC before dinner was ready, muhuhaa-a. Jamie, the Kristian-man, Scottie (the Aussie! isn't that weird), Nick and meself were then chilling to the sweet and gentle sound of beer cans opening and Jamie's band's new record (Uncle John and White Lock, the new recors out on monday!). After the boys had loudly, clearly and repeatedly shunned the bottle of cider we had brought along (to the effect that it now sits in my fridge, haehaehae), I was told what the evening had in store for us. Following the inspiration of the poster in the kitchen we did the Dude, his Dudeness or, if you prefer, il Duderino and went BOWLING!!! It was a horrible place with ninetees Mucke of the rotten kind and lighting in un-be-liiievable colours. Plus I am totally crap at bowling but I had a hell of a time with the boys and their about 20 friends who all had names they didn't hesitate to tell me (I remeber ganze 2!) and welcomed me in their midst as if I had always been there. Maybe they're just on drugs all the time and really did think I had always been there...hm. No, I don't think so. Rachel joined us at about the time the DJ started playing spicegirls and the like, carefully feeling his way up to Duran Duran where he comfortably remained throughout the rest of the evening, which wasn't that long as the place closes at midnight. The whole gang trooped (is that a verb? Well, it is now.) to the Art School, where we listened to drum and base. I wasn't really in the mood to dance, as I couldn't find the cloakroom, thus wearing my turtleneck jumper and skijacket in a crowded club and also this is where the saying with the cup and the tee comes is again. I bereft Kristiano of his key before he had the opportunity to smoke a hundred joints and abuse a large range of chemical drugs and contently went up the street to our residence. As I had promised Kristian to let him in on his arrival there, I couldn't really fall asleep, kept on getting up all the time because I had thought I had heard him coming home (his flat has no buzzer, you see) and only really was in a phase of the deepest sleep hours later...when the boy actually came home and desired to be let in. Rachel had to wake me up, because I really really didn't hear anything and apparently I missed quite a show, starring Kristain Emans outside the door and shouting through the letter box "Scooottie, let me iiiiiiin...the Germans took my keeeeeeey...I can't enter my own flaaaaat..." and so on. I finally woke up and opened the door, and boy, was he glad to get in. He's normally very shy and not a physical contact kind of person, but chemicals and desparation can just screw a man's hugging habits up. I'm glad I didn't suffocate. He also brought the whole gang along, but as he is a very considerate man, drugs or no, he all took them downstairs to his room with him as we were sleeping in the living room. The night started with Rachel in the armchair, me on the couch and our cloths on the short couch and ended with me on my camping mat on the floor, Rachel on the short couch and Nick and his skateboard (!) on what had formerly been MY couch. Deep in the night (or rather early in the morning) I awoke when Nick was shoving his board under my feet and busying around on the couch table. I asked him "what are YOU up to?" and got the reply "I was just about to ask you the same thing". "???", I said, "I'm sleeping here!! At least I'm trying to!". He muttered something incomprehensable and then proceeded to try and lie down on the couch next to me. I tried to convince him not to do so.
Me: "Nick...go away!"
Nick: "You serious?"
Me: "Go away!"
Nick: "Honestly?"
Me: "Go! away!"
Nick: "Go away?"
Me: "Goaway!"
Nick: "Goaway??"
Me: "Goaway!"
(pause)
Nick: "Naaah, I'm not listening..."
Hooraaaaay for the happy pills he must have taken. He can't remember anything and I am actually thinking of blackmailing him. I just have to make up a story...
Anyway I eventually fled the scene and went to sleep on the floor, which was probably better for my back anyway.
We had bacon sandwiches for breakfast (God almighty, what an invaluable piece of information!)and then went on a sightseeing tour. Kelvingrove Park, University building, Huntarian Art Gallery and Macintosh House. But as we were a little tired after the previous night, our higlight was a meal in the local chip shop.
That evening Rach went to see Faithless while Jamie, Nick and I went to the other Nick's place for a poker night (Kristian for some reason being too tired to even get up from his couch). I met Nick on the street coincidentally (Ichso "Hey, mister Nick!" Erso "bloody hell!!!") and he assured me that poker skills were not essential as nobody had any. It was a good poker night with homemade indian food (gee, can that boy cook), lots of people (dougie was there of course and Eoghan the architect came around, too), a fridge full of beer and an episode of "Family guy" on DVD. The only thing missing to make it a perfect poker night was anybody actually playing a card game... but that didn't matter. Chilling and chatting war angesagt and I invited lots of people to both Edinburgh and Berlin. Nick told us the story of the King's dochtir and the Queen's dochtir and the Well at the End of the World in exquisite Highland Scots; me heid is still buzzing! We finally went home to have a good night's sleep. At some point during the weekend I also bought a jumper and we met Sietzke and her sister in the shop next door, but I cannae really remember when that was.
Anyway it was a brilliant weekend and I even did quite a big deal of preparation for tomorrow already.
The sun was shining on our way home, illuminating this beauty of a country in a way I almost had to cry.
Life is geat.
The world is a good place.

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!

The sun is always shining, we just live for fun...

Hier wohn ich.

Scheiss Ausblick, aber die Sonne scheint immer.

Gleiches Fenster, kleiner Schwenk, der gleiche Ausblick nur in geil.

The aulde toon

Dazu nur ein vertraeumt dahingesaeuseltes: Yeah - man...!

That's it...

...I must be positively completely and irrevocably insane.
I went to bed at about four o'clock this morning, after coming back from Emma's and leaving Pav in the kitchen armchair to fall alseep there. (It must have looked really awkward, the boy is about two metres tall.) Anyways, this morning at nine I got a phonecall from a very excited Rach, screaming on the other end "I found them, it's on, it's on! On saturdays at nine and again at ten, I found them, aahahahahahahaaa!!" I'slikewhaaaaaaad? and it took some time for my tortured brain to understand that Rach had finally achieved to find the Gilmore Girls on tele, a task we had appointed for her about a week ago when it was clear that she would have cable TV. Before I even processed this information, I heard myself say "I'll be right there." ... my place - her place...half an hour walk...which I had to do as I had forgottenmyridacardOFCOURSE! So I kinda sleepwalked to Leith Walk (hey das reimt sich), only to, on crossing the threshold, be given the news "...oh, it's actually the old season."
I don't need to say we watched it anyway.
So I had an early morning breakfast on over-sugared tea and McVitties milk chocolate digestives. And that's how all my saturday mornings will look as long as there's cable tv in 76 Brunswick Street.
Sabrina Fleck, Edinburgh, for Real Radio.

And the winner iiiis...

The world had been waiting for it: Andrew, Emma's husband-to-be, and my humble self during tonight's dinner party came up with the winners in the following categories:

The World's Most Stupid Creature:
No legs: Jellyfish
Two legs: Chicken
Four legs: Cow (although Joy had serious doubts about this one)
More legs: Spider

The World's Most Ugly Creature:
No legs: Polar Shark
Two legs: Chicken
Four legs: this naked kind of cats with no fur whatsoever
More legs: not the spider but somehow in a way it is

Apart from that we had some delicious Beef Pie and homemade mintchocolate icecream with maltesers for dessert and I learned that Emma is terrified of birds (!??).
Good fight
Good night

Road Trip Part Three

We left Durness early in the morning and made our way back south towards Inverness, where the girls were to leave Rach and me and catch a coach back home to Edinburgh. So this time we didn't go along the coast but right through the heart of the Highlands, along nameless lochs of outstanding beauty and serene remoteness. I was so delighted I stopped the car every once in a while just to take 1)a picture and 2)in the charm of this country. I really felt like my own dad for doing this and I remember how annoyed I was of this habit of his when I was a child. But I guess we're all just getting older. (By the way, looking through the photos, Pav sceptically remarked: "You're quite into landscapes, aren't ya?" Yes, I am, son; just grow a little older and you will be, too.)
Flying along the SINGLE TRACK ROAD!!!, my only worry was the Tanknadel that wouldn't stop racing towards that merciless red square und find ma ne Tanke in the middle of the Highlands. We finally reached something like a town, refuelled the car and sent the girls to the loo. It was after that tragic stop that I hit the curb and damaged our poor beloved noble jeans-coloured steed... dammit, shite, fuckinsakeaaaarrrghhhh!
We reached Inverness in the early afternoon. Inverness, Capital of the Highlands, Nessies own hood and home to the place where we had a rather shabby meal and did some food-shopping (Hob Nobs, Hob Nobs, Hob Nobs!!!!). Actually when we first had been in Inverness on Saturday, we went straight for the afeway (the S had fallen off) but were soon to find out why it looked so huge but really come down; it was closed. When we reached the carpark this time, the afeway had already turned into a feway, but it was good enough to park the car there.
After wishing Tattie and Sietske farewell, Rach and I went up north again, this time along the east coast, which is beautiful but I truly honestly have to say no match for the west coast. But we enjoyed it anyway, took a walk along the beach in Golspie and for the first time on the trip did not spend the whole day driving but went for a hostel in Rogart. The hostel consisted of several train carriages transformed into four sleeping cabins, a kitchen, a dining room (wuhuhuaa, big word) and two bathrooms each. In the compartments, the seats on one side had been removed and replaced by a two storey bed, while on the other side, the original seats had been left as the were. It had a very comfy touch to it, but would probably have been problematic for tall people, as the beds were rather short. We met a nice couple from New Zealand there, who invited us to hop on a plane and come over to their place. Rach is really considering doing it after the FLA year and I envy her, cause it will only be back to plain old Uni again for me once I leave Scotland...
That evening we took a walk and met the locals (the furry ones) and came back in time to see one of the three trains per day pass the Rogart station. That's how I know it must have been about six or half six in the evening when we were back at the hostel (sleeperzzz.com). We then decided to take a little nap and after that spend the rest of the evening chatting with our new friends Jeff(65) and Karen(62); the nap lasted until eight 'o clock... the next morning.
After breakfast (partially sponsored by Jeff who let me have some canned pears), we were on the road again, heading north and reached John O'Groats after again having a walk at a beautiful beach, where the sea was wild and emerald green, in the early afternoon. We drove up to the lighthouse and took a short walk to Duncansby Head, Scotland's north east corner, and had a look at the Duncansby Stacks. It was beautiful and wild and rough and darn windy. We then drove back to the village where I managed to find what must be Scotlands only pay toilet. Me not having coins ready almost led to disaster...
We then looked at wonderful photos (of ships, Whales, Dolphins, Otters, ships, the sea, ships in the sea and amazing ones of the local aurelia borealis(please correct me if the phenomenon is called something else, this word somehow soesn't look right to me)) in the local Gallery. After that we went on to Thurso and booked two beds in a luxurious en suite room in the local hostel.
Leaving our bags there, we saddled our steed again and drove about half an hour to a prehistoric site. We couldn't see much of it, but we knew it was there. From there, we went to see a lovely little chapel in the middle of nowhere, dating from the 12. century. We had to leave the car near a farm and walk for about twenty minutes, guided by our own black and white guide dog to show us the way.
Back at the hostel in Thurso, I realized being tired and havin caught a tick, uaechbaechjak.
We got up at half five the next morning, which should be our last in the Highlands and drove back to Duncansby Head, where you can see the sun rising out of the see. Well, theoretically at least. Unfortunately it was too cloudy to really see much, we were far too early and also it was horribly windy. I had to hold on to a post of some fence in order not to been literally blown away (metaphorically I was of course). We spend half an hour in darkness and storm, amongst the sleeping sheep and with the sea raging about 100 feet below us, coming up once in a while and throwing bits of foam in our faces. At half seven we were back in the car and made our way south, passing Inverness again, driving along Loch Ness and stopping in Fort William for some fish and chips for our remaining five pounds. We couldn't find a space to park our car, as you had to pay everywhere, we were out of money (fish and chips) and the town seemed to consist of traffic wardens, so wham-bam, goodbye Fort William, fuck you very much!
We headed towards Loch Lomond, which Rach was anxious to see, driving through Glen Coe in the first bad weather of the trip. The clouds hung really low in the valley, it was really coming down, everything was grey and spooky and I thought even in the worst of weathers, this place still looks amazing and impressive.
We reached Loch Lomond shortly after, had a short walk, made sure to take a picture and touch the water and then set off home, driving through Glasgow during rush hour (mjejemjee) and reaching the Edinburgh City bypass tired and exhausted about an hour later. Fortunately I took a wrong turn in a roundabout, so we didn't enter E-burgh from the west, which would probably have meant queuing through the whole of Costorphine and straight into the city center, but from the south, which was much less complicated.
After we had taken back the car I don't remember much. I think I slept most of the time, even when I was awake.
But it was an excellent trip, we will definitely do it again, there are many places we want to see again and even more that we still don't know. I want to go to the outer Hebrides, Orkney is right at John O' Groates' doorstep and the single track road along the north coast between Durness and Thurso is calling out for me to discover it. Nine months in this country just is not enough time...

Today's Lesson for Life:

If you're stupid and you know it, alsways make sure to have enough money on you to make up for it. The minimum sum should be two pounds for a bus ride to school and back.
This lesson is for free.

Today's Lesson for Life:

This time by Kenny Campbell when talking about Ewan McGregor falling back into scottish accent every once in a while:

You can get the boy out of Scotland, but you can't get Scotland out of the boy.

Gut gebruellt, Loewe.

This is not

an introduction of the best flatmates in the world.
This is just a tribute. (Don't we all love Tenacious D?)
Ladies and Gentleman, I give you:
Li'l known facts on Amit Bhaduri:
1. Had me watch Cricket for two weeks. I eventually ended up switching it on even when he was not around...
2. They call him Sporty Spice. (They being me that is)
3. His two best friends are a Cricket bat and a little rubber ball (although I have to say he has neglected them lately).
4. With his innocent 22 years of age, he is currently writing his dissertation (God, I feel like a failure) and will soon become a doctor, white coat and all...
5. Doesn't know yet that I will force him to bring me a Sari back from India where he will go for Christmas to see his family.
6. Has complained repeatedly about not appropriately being mentioned on this blog (das haste jetz davon, Freundchen);)
7. Number one victim for Rach's "I-used-to-torture-my-pupils-with-these-jokes"-jokes.
8. You can tell his dad is the landlord by the fact that he has the en-suite room (Amit I mean, the father I don't know)

And here comes Pav(el Nikolayevich Marceux):
1. Amit and I named my little Kuehlschrankmagnet-monkey after him, but, shhhh, he doesn't know it yet.
2. When we first met we talked about our countries and the ex DDR and he said "sorry for fucking up your country" and I thought about the war ("don't mention it!") and said "yeah, man, dito". Klare Fronten also.
3. Most of the time he goes to sleep shortly before I get up for work and doesn't get up until quite a while after I've returned.
4. The guy I share my bathroom with.
5. Number two victim for Rach's "I-used-to-torture-my-pupils-with-these-jokes"-jokes.
6. Studies economics'n'history and, like Amit, is about to finish. (God, I AM a failure, I got LOSER written all over my face!)
7. Is also going abroad for Christmas to see his family; Moskow.

In the picture: Amit, Pav and Playsi.

Siggi Freud would have a picnic...!

The other night I had the strangest dream; I dreamt I went on a field trip with Raquel. We took the train on a single track line and finally arrived in some city, where we got off the train and found ourselves at our designated destination, a huge victorian building. I know it was meant to be a bank building and it should have displayed the bank's name on the facade. But instead of "Royal Bank of Scotland" it said in plain and accurate letters: "Watch me not getting a bank account today". Ich schwoer!
Today I got my HSBC card in the mail.

You should also check out

Raches' and Tattie's blogs:

www.taddie-goes-edinburgh.blog.de/main/
www.cheama.blogspot.com

machet!

Durness impressions

the village

durness sunrise

durness beach by night

The story continued

After spending the night in the Sligachan bunkhouse (we tried to get in touch with Peter McDonald from the Flora McDonald Hostel, but he didn't answer his phone), we hit the road early in the morning and had a closer look at the island, just taking a small road and following it until it reached the sea. We finally ended up in a place called Elgol, which even has a primary school (one teacher, five pupils I guess) and it really felt like the end of the world (a feeling that was to accompany us throughout the trip). We climbed the rocks at the beach and had lunch there. After that, we retraced our path past mountains, meadows and sheep back again to the bridge to the mainland and made our way up along the beauuuuuuuuutiful west coast. The landscape was so wonderfully breathtakingly extraordinary that it almost almost made me regret having to drive! Driving was fun, too! What a difference to german bumper-to-bumper autobahn and packed city streets! It felt like flying rather then driving, between the mountains, up and down, always sloping and ever so EMPTY THESE ROADS!!! Unfortunately, Tattie is liable to getting car sick, which as you will agree is not the best combintion with me as driver, so I had to pull meself tegither and drive slowly and gently. I failed most of the time, I know, Tattie, I'm sorry for that! I am weak...
Interlude:
As we passed some village, I happend to immediately and professionally scan the surroundings out of the corner of my eye and beheld: five peacocks strolling around in a side street in front of a building site... ? "Wahaaaaahahahaaaa???defuck?"
End of interlude.
The weather was a bliss!! I took this as a personal present from Caledonia herself, who was smiling upon us with splendid sunshine and only a few picturesque clowds...lovely! We reached Kinlochbervie before sunset, hey hey! but couldn't stay in the local bunkhouse as it has been blown away by the last storm, irrgs. So went went another hour up north, it got lonelier and lonelier, much to my delight (single track roads!!juhuuu!!!) and we finally reached Durness...by nightfall, of course! Now Durness is the main town/village/settlement of the north west region and it is about the size of ... Neumuehl if that means anything to you. We got ourselves four tartan covered beds in the Lazy Crofter hostel and after a little snack took a walk to the beach. (see picture below, the one with the moonlight) It was a-ma-zing! It looked like a part of a very cheesy fifties film, with the moonlight reflecting on the water, the little bay and the dunes. We spend about half an hour speechless there, everybody deep in her own thoughts. What else is there to do in such a place? Again, it felt like the end of the world, with nothing between there and the north pole (exept water, is klar).
Sietzke, Rach and I got up before dawn the next morning to watch the sun rise over Durness bay. What can I say? I'm not an early morning person as Jo will confirm, but this really made up for being upright and walking at six in the morning! I was sitting on a mossy stone that had been put there for me, eingemummelt in my anorak and watched as the light and, with it, the wind were slowly coming up. Wow!!
We then got back to the hostel to check on Tattie who had meanwhile been shopping. She had bought some fruit and chocolate for the driver, mjammjam!
End of part two

Bank of Scotland: Spalter!!!

Anfang dieser Woche bekam ich einen Brief von der Bank of Scotland, bei denen ich jetzt seit sechs Wochen versuche, einen account zu oeffnen. In diesem Brief sagten sie mir, dass sie das immernoch nicht tun koennen, weil eines der Dokumente die ich ihnen schuk nicht datiert war. Es gab zwar die genaue Dauer meines Areitsvertrages, aber der Brief selbst war nicht datiert. Ich ging also gestern leicht gereizt zur B.o.S branch in der Chambers Street und bat sie hoeflich aber bestimmt, sich ins Knie zu ficken und mir meine Unterlagen zurueck zu senden und zwar bisschen pronto. Vorher war ich bei HSBC gewesen und habe nachgefragt, wie lange es wohl bei ihnen dauere, ein Konto zu eroeffnen. Die Dame sagte mir, sie brauche einen Brief von meinem Arbeitgeber (ich hab so einen, aber er ist in Leeds bei BoS) und dann sollte alles ganz schnell gehen. Ich rief also beim Council, meinem geschaetzten Arbeitgeber, an und orderte einen solchen brief. Ich hatte unseren heiss geliebten George Reid am Telefon, der mich nicht nur weiterleitete an eine Nummer, die ein Fax ist, sondern mir auch noch gleich die Krankengeschichten des ganzen Ladens erzaehlte, als Ausrede dafuer, dass er selber nicht mal eben diesen beknackten Brief tippen koenne. Die circa sechste Person mit der ich sprach erklaerte sich dann aber zustaendig und bereit, mir diesen Brief zu schreiben und ihn an der Rezeption zu hinterlegen, so dass ich ihn morgen (also heute) abholen koenne.
Ich verliess das Haus um zehn Uhr. Um viertel nach elf war ich zurueck und stolze Inhaberin eines bank accounts. Die ganze Prozedur dauerte so ne geschaetzte viertel Stunde.
Haette mir auch gleich klar sein sollen, dass ich als supporter von H(ertha)BSC am besten zu HSBC gehe, ich mein das liegt doch auf der Hand, meine Herrschaften! Ausserdem sponsorn die die Formel1. Das klingt doch nach meiner Bank oder what oder whie!
Also: Bank of Scotland: Boooooooooo! - HSBC: Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Bald reich,
die Ische

Das Hilton von aussen

Das Tattie und das Isch.

And what would a brave knight be without his noble steed?

Dieses photo musste es geben. Klar, oder?

Neidischmachbilder vom 2.Tag

der gar nicht der zweite tag war sondern der dritte, das ist nur beim Photos benennen etwas verrutscht. Macht aber nichts. Die Bilder entstanden auf dem Weg von Skye nach Durness. Cape Wrath sollte es sein, daraus wurde aber nichts, weil wir nicht auf die naechste Faehre warten wollten. Wir waren etwas unter Zeitdruck und konnten deshalb nicht bis April warten...
Das auf dem Felsen bin ich ;)

Vic's place

First part of the trip

Weeell, weeell, weeeell, due to Alan from Hertz being a total idiot, our trip started with a five hour delay: time we used for foodshopping and a good breakfast. At two in the afternoon we finally were on our way, enjoying the car that was somewhat bigger then the one we had booked. (so that was the good thing about Alan being an idiot.) We hit the road northwarts, passed the Firth Road Bridge, made our way to Loch Muick and reached the Bothy after nightfall, according to the tradition. The Bothy was already occupied, the nationalities present thus being French, German, Paraguayan, Brazilian, Israelian and one Scot (!!) whom we had met on our way there. After an haute cuisine meal (chicken roasted on the open fire, aluminium foil potatoes with mushrooms and soup in cups), we settled for a rather cold night, as we discovered all our sleeping bags were crap. In the morning, Raquel and Sietzke got up really early to catch the sunrise over Loch Muick (with my camera, as Rach had found out hers cannot swim, not even in the shallow creek by the Bothy); Tattie (as we've come to call Tatjana who doesn't really like to be a potatoe but the rest of us think it is so cuuute) and I decided to sleep in. Nonetheless, we left Loch Muick before ten and took the long way round the southern shore back to the car.
On our way from Aberdeenshire to Skye we had almost been killed in a carcrash as some idiot decided to pass us immidiately before a harsh bend in the road. A second after he had left our sight we heard a crash and when we came round the bend ourselves we saw his car lying on the roof. He was unhurt and crwaling out of the wreck that had been his car. Seconds earlier and he would have hit us. After checking wether he was alright I got back to our car, shaking first with shock and then with anger. I could have kicked him, the fucking bastard. There was no need to pass us in that spot (or indeed at all, I'm not likely to drive people behind me crazy by drivin to slow as you know) and he could have killed not only himself but also us, people on the street, people coming towards him or God knows whom, for there was no way for him to see what was behind the bend. Well, he won't be able to speed with that car anymore. Stupid asshole, serves him right!
After some deep breathing we continued north west and reached the Sligachan bunkhouse on Skye by nightfall.
End of Part One

I'm back

Heeeeere we are, born to be Kings!! Yes, the obligatory stop at Eilean Donan. Couln't miss that, could I!? More pics when I washed myself, my clothes, me sleeping bag, me shoos, me backpack and me brain. Cheeriogaehhhn.

Schoen wenn Arbeit Fruechte traegt...

und wie kamma nur ne Ueberschrift mit drei Umlauten schreiben, wenn man gar keine hat! But that's beside the point.
It happened on the school corridor this morning just before third period: I was fighting my way through the crowd to the staffbase when all of a sudden somebody yelled "WAS GEHT" in my face. I turned around to see Natallie (die schreibt man wirklich so) and a fat grin sitting in the middle of her face. As I had only just arrived at school and hadn't spoken at all that day to anybody yet, surprise got the better of me and I could only utter a very weak and questionmakrpregnant "einiges??". But it looks as if these kids were finally learning something sensilble. I got the same impression an sixth period, when my beloved (...not!) Advanced Higher Germans at last showed some signs of life when passionately playing hangman! Who cares for german childcare, forget about that strange woman Angela Merkel, but these guys can guess the word "Schwarzwaelder Kirschtorte" anytime!
Did I mention I have a week off next week? This break is more then welcome not only to me. Ian Miller came into the staffbase today muttering "I hate children", Federica looks as if she had been crying all the time and Lorna asked for a strong Gin Tonic for lunchbreak. Anyway, I'm fine. I will be off tomorrow at nine, driving around the countryside, going to Skye, Cape Wrath, Glencoe, Loch Muick (crazy bitch that I am), and lots of other places in this lovely country.
The rain had been heavy for the last couple of days, but this morning the sky had cleared and the sun was shining. Of course, I have to take this as a late welcome present from Caledonia herself. She never let me down, and I knew she wouldn't this time. Weather forecast is full of sun symbols for the weekend. Haaachja. ... I'll send you the pictures.

Lesson of the day

Nachdem ich seit montag (erfolgreich will ich sagen) dabei bin, den Kiddos das traditionelle altdeutsche Grusswort "Was geht?" beizubringen, natuerlich mit adequater Antwort ("einiges!!"), lehrte ich den Higher German Maedels heute diese Lektion. Weil es wichtig ist. Weil es mir nahegelegt wurde, dies zu tun. Und weil ich nur fuenf Minuten mit den Maedels hatte, da hats halt net mehr fuer ebs gscheites g'langt...

Craigmount High

Mein zweites Zuhause... Ich hab sogar ein Fach mit meinem Namen drauf.

The people of Silverknowes

My home...my castle

Portobello

Seeluft!

Introducing

Lady Rachel and meself on top of Arthur's Seat. As always, we were almost blown away...therefor the scarf on the heid.

Ooooohhhh.....

Das war naemlich mein Ausblick... jetz wohn ich hinten raus. Damn.
Das da hinten is uebrigens das Meer, bitteschoen.

Klappe die zweite

Dinge, die ich heute fand auf meinem Weg nach Silverknowes:

1. eine lebige Muschel (warf sie in den Firth)
2. einen Golfball (took it home)
3. eine Spuelwurmkackhaufenstadt
4. that, suit or no, drunkards in the bus, trying to sit in your lap, SUCK BIG TIME.



Things I found today on my way to Silverknowes:

1. a living mussel (threw it in the firth)
2. a golfball (mit nach Hause genommen)
3. a dishwashingwormshitheaptown (when it comes to translating seacreature names, I'm really useless)
4. dass, Anzug hin oder her, Besoffene im Bus, die versuchen sich auf einen drauf zu setzen, scheisse sind.

Today's Lesson for Life:

If, on a night out and on the way from one bar to the other, you are asked by two arbitrary strangers who are about as drunk as you, wether they could have some of your freshly purchased Chips'n'Cheese, give them a smile and let them have some! Take the opportunity to make some people really happy and at the same time to get rid of some of this horrible deep fried stuff that you shouldn't have eaten in the middle of the night in the first place.

One of those days

Yesterday I met Corinna, my pre-predecessor of the room I live in. She studies in Freiburg and originally comes from Konschtanz (ja, richtig gelesen), also schonma gewonnen. She brought along Britta from Cuxhaven and the three of us bagan to establish good German traditions and culture...Vodka Ahoibrause galore!! The Li'l Ones (as I have come to call my anglo-russian/anglo-indian flatmates) were quite delighted and surprised by the strange bubbly warm feeling in their mouths, guts and, eventually, in their heads. I caught the event on camera... I myself refrained from drinking Ahoivodka, as "tomorrow is a school day". Actually I intended to go to bed once the others were on their way to the pub, but NOOOO, falsch gedacht. They literally dragged me along to the Bannerman's in Cowgate and I, despite the ever gnagging thought of having to teach kids at eight thirty in the morning, had a hell of a good time and was in bed about two this morning. ... ... Oh, boy, was I in trouble when the merciless alarmclock went off at half six! I finally managed to get out of bed and out of the house without forgetting anything important such as my notes or my trousers. Amit had promised to fix me breakfast...Hahahaha...yeah, men, wha'eva.
At the bus stop I met my bus stop enemy. He usually stands there at about the same time as me when I have to teach in first period. ... I hate him. He alsways smokes one fag after the other, sucking them as if he wanted to inhale a whole chicken farm through them, his mouth looking like a beak and the smoke always blowing...of course...in my direction. This scenery creates a whole little aggression steam train in my throat so that I feel like bying spiky boots and kicking his arse like real hard!
I was late for my first class, (because I had to make one million gazillion photocopies beforehand) sounding like a drunkard, feeling like a drunkard and, yes, methinks also smelling like one. One of the first human sounds today was fourth year's Greg saying "Hahaaa, you have a hangover", which by the way I had not, thangyouberymudch, "I once had one, too." The boy has just turned fifteen. Oh boy!

Day X

Ok, I know, sooner or later it just had to happen, I just thought I'd last more then four weeks. Today this one Kid, Kyle, refused to copy a couple of words I had written down on my own personal flipchart and after I had asked him for about the fourth time to do it, I suddenly heard myself going: "I told you to copy these, what the FUCK is so difficult about that?" That might not be all that shocking to us, but you have to keep in mind that I now live in a country where you can't even say "bloody" without people leaving the room and 45year old classroom assistant Sheron getting a beamer!
So Kyle was in heller Aufregung, called me terrific and threatened to tell Isobel McArthur I swore in class. I said I would tell her that he had made me swear so he would going to be the one in trouble. He did eventually give me away but apparently I was right in my assumption as Isobel didn't mention it. And in case you wonder: yes, I do still have my job. Ask again next week...

Today's Lesson for Life

Enjoy getting lost in the countryside. There's treasure everywhere.

Today is

PAYDAY, PAYDAY, trallalalalalalaa! My employer, the City of Edinburgh Council sent a cheque today! Unfortunately, I won't be able to transform it into good solid money, as I would need a bank account to do that and the Bank of Scotland just is not so fast. But that minor problem couldn't stop me from dancing around the kitchen (approximately 20 minutes before almost settig it on fire, but that is beside the point... und du fragst einfach nich warum.) and laughing like a Madman. You know, like the one at the end of Michael Jackson's "Thriller".
Apart from that, nobody can say that I don't earn my money like-real-hard-yeah-big-time. I had this second year group today. There were only five of them but I fought!
I give you ... "The Boomtown Brats":
Dean: Did you meet Hitler? (These kids are so obsessed with this guy. Do spanish people ever get asked about Franco?)
Me: No, he died like 60 years ago.
Dean: Did your parents meet Hitler?
Me: No, they're too young as well.
Dean: Did your grandparents meet Hitler?
Me: No, but my grandfathers had to fight in the war.
Dean: Did they die in the war?
Me: No, my grandfather died about six years ago.
Dean: Was he shot?
Me: No, he died of cancer.
Dean: Did you cry?
Me (slightly impatient): Of course.
Dean: Was your grandfather a Nazi?
Me: No.
Dean: Are you a Nazi?
Me (slightly puzzled): No...?! What do you think?
Dean: I think you're a Nazi.
Me: Why would I be a Nazi?
Dean: You're German.
Me: ... right.
Dean: Do you fancy Mr Campbell?
Me: No.
Dean: I bet you fancy him.
Me: Yes, alright, you got me, but don't tell him I do.
Dean: Do you ever fart?

I SWEAR I didn't make that up, this is what happened! About ten minutes later I sent Dean back to his class and under the supervision of the above mentioned Mr Campbell, who was less then delighted about Deans behavior. The little brat spent the rest of the period copying the school's code of conduct (which contains things like "we respect each other" or "we don't discuss flatulence with our teachers") and writing down an apology for me. "I'msorryforbehavingsillyandsorryforbeingcheekyitwon'thappenagainIpromise." It had better not, boy!

Today's Lesson for Life:

Do not approach street corners at high velocity if you can't make sure (beforehand, mind you) that there is nobody coming towards you from the other side.
...
Just don't.

Great things

are about to happen! Yesterday, Raquel et moi discovered, that during our autumn break, which starts on the 14 Oktober, we just have to go on a trip. So I will again venture to rent a car. But this time, I will avoid this bloodsucking motherloving sons of witches watsisname selfdrive, but I will go for Hertz. The plan so far involves Raquel and me, two other campers, whom we have yet to find, Loch Lomond, Glen Coe, Urquhart Castle and Loch Ness, the north west coast between Ullapool and Durness, Cape Wrath, Aviemore, Loch Muick, Dunnottar Castle and then back home. Considering I made this up between waking up and getting up, this is not as bad a route, is it? We have one week, bacause we want to be back in time for the Garbage concert. And just in case you are wondering: yesyesyo, on thursday is payday!! So, if any of you fancies to go on a tour of Scotland with a german and a paraguayan FLA, let me knoooo! We'll start in only three weeks time, so the weather should be ... yea, well, alrightish. It's gonna be great!
Yesterday, us two lovely Ladies went to the open doors day. We saw lots of disgusting things in the natural history biology Labs (including all kinds of parasites). We quite quickly decided to leave that place. We then went to the geology-thingy where we learnt a lot about seismology, earthquakes, Tsunamis and the sun and had almost had tea and biscuits. After that we went to the Royal Observatory (Capital Letters indeed!), where we met a bunch of other FLAs, had a real enthusiastic astronomer (who actually was german) show us his giant telescope and dark and cold (4000 degrees) spots on the sun. Again, we almost had tea and biscuits. We also tried to get into the scottish parliament, but we didn't make it in time. Instead, we went to the chippy. Raquel and I then went to her place to get her DVDs and then to my place to watch them. After the film we still weren't tired, so we went to a pub on Cockburn street (the Malt Shovel) together with some other Foreign Language Assistants. At the literal end of the day, we had tea and biscuits (!) at Tatjana's place, who not only is from Bremerhaven, but also owns the same coat as Frau Zwilling (the red one that you dyed brown). What a good day.
Now I have to go to Tesco before I can have breakfast, because I'm clearout of white Schlabberbrot.
Ewan McGregor still not spotted.

Summer

now officially is over, the days are getting colder. ... Bugs are dying by the truckload, hahaaa! Good riddance to 'em all!! I sure like fall.
But apart from that, I woke up this morning with the sun in my face, a cloudless sky ... errm ... in the sky and pigeons' butts wiggeling twiggeling above my window, while the pigeons' fronts were drinking from the rainpipe. What a nice thing to wake up tho that sight and the new day's first thought being "Arsch".
My new favourite radio station ("... with the real breakfast show; Real Radio!") plays a nice chanty about someone who has just come from the Isle of Skye ("and all the lassies say hello" or something) and I can't wait to head off to the west coast (or, especially for Stephan Scheeder: West Siiiiiiiide!!). Well, maybe in spring. What a good thing to have come here for the winter. These frickin' PAD people just don't think straight!

Ha!

Today, I briskly walked up to Mr Ian Miller, Head of Department, and asked him in a firm voice: "...ermm...about the laptop... ...? ... you told me I could borrow one from the school... . ...Ermmm, that would be just great." And he said: "Oh, yes, sure." And then he just walked into the next room and took a laptop out of an innocent looking drawer. And just handed it over to me. And I thought "Oh, that was simple, maybe I should ask for a Lamborghini next time." No, I didn't actaully think that, I'm thinking that right now. Damn. Anyway. I took the precious thing home and plugged it in. And I saw that it was good. Then I attempted to install the software for my magic camera. And it worked. And I saw that it was good. And then I tried to get into the internet, and after a little help from my own personal cricket expert (he goes by the name of Amit), that also worked. (Me: "Do you know what you're doing? He: "Nope.") And what can I say: I saw it was frickin' good! The only thing that is not good at all, is that I haven't managed to PUT SOME PICTURES ON THE FUCKING BLOG. Darn. It should give me the option of uploading pictures. But it doesn't. Well, I'll see to that.
By the way, the above mentioned Amit has already complained about insufficiently being represented in this blog. So beware! A detailed introduction of both the boys living here will follow, how did Dr Antonio (or who was it?) put it, in due course. You may start looking forward to that ... NOW.

Interior decoration

Children of the night, please help. The walls of my room are bare as a baby's butt ('part from the dirt), and I have no means of stuffing them with ... stuff, you know. Please send my nice things to make my Kemenate look nicer. Even nicer I mean. Also whenever you go to places, please send me postcards to show the kids at school, they don't know nothin' about anything. (Danielle: "But when there was a wall around the city, that must have been a good thing, because people could not fight with the people on the other side." Ich so: "Hae?") SO send me nice things, especially photos of yourselves so that I can have a look at your netten Fressen everyday.
Heute ess ich Haggis!
Roberta Fleck

Edinburghs most important pair of H's

Eftir watching Cricket for two weeks or so (did you know that it involves little sticks of wood which are not supposed to fall off of other sticks of wood, that one match takes about a week and that the actual trophy, that England won back last week from the Australian Surferboys, is the size of a good sized Schnappesglas? One or two more months and, who knows, I might have eventually understood what it is all about...) ... where was I.. achso, yes, I'm finally back to good ol' Fitba! Yesterday, Hibernian FC or Hibernian Edinburgh or Edinburgh Hibernian FC or whatever the correct title may be, played Divn... Drvni...Diver...Dvrnr...some ugly blokes from Ukraine. And do you know that one scene in Ocean's Twelve, where that black guy (you know, the one whose name I always forget, but who was brilliant in Ocean's Twelve, where he put on a London accent although he is in fact from Califoornia or Texas or Alabama and who was also brillliant in Hotel Rwanda) sits in his hotel room, working on the bomb or something and watching tv where they pull down that huge hotel and in the back there's the window where he could actually see the building coming down but he doesn't because he can't take his eyes off the fucking tele. ... complicated explanation for a rather weak point... Jedenfalls: that's exactly what I experienced yesterday while I was watching football. They played at Easter Road, a place I can see from my kitchen window. I could even see the big screen because the stadium is really close but I was sitting, back to the window, in my kitchen watching the whole thing on telly. Strange. And that with me beeing so thankful for the Hibs. Everytime I get stuck in class because I can't think of any more questions to ask, I say the magical three words an let them linger in mid air for a second. They go like this: "Hearts or Hibs?" These are guaranteed to trigger off the most livelyest of discussions. Not in german, but so what? The thing is, I haven't decided yet on what team to support, Heart of Midlothian or Hibernian, and so eveybody is of course trying to convince me of his or her team. Well, ... I will have a look at Hearts as soon as possible and of course I will let you know of the results of this crutial question.
Tune in next time for the
Sabrina Fleck ... ... Gaalaaaaaaa!!!

brats!

My new favourite game is to play "true or false" with sentences containig comparatives.
Me: "True or false: Die Queen ist juenger als ich."
Connor sitting in the last row: "Ich as in you or ich as in us?"
Me: "Either one, smartypants! And thank you."
Ewan: "But ye dinne ken how old we are..."
... ...
But I know how old thwe Queen is, and if I look older then her already, it's all their fault. By the way, the average estimatet age of the above Lady is of 112.
Tschuus.

Freedooooooooommmmmmargh...

Lads and Lassies, es ist wieder soweit. Naechstes Wochenende jaehrt sich zum (gott, jetz muss ich auch noch rechnen, aehhm...)691. Mal die Battle of Banochburn. Festlich begangen auf dem Originalschlachtfeld mit grossem William Wallace Lookalike Wettbewerb, Englaenderweitwurf und Dudelsackkaraoke. Ausserdem wird die Schlacht originalgetreu (mind you!) reinacted, dieses Jahr unter dem Motto O "Brochan Lom, tana Lom", das ist gaelic fuer "Ich hab dir schon frueher gesacht net allsufest haue". Erwartet wird die creme de la creme der Schlachtenbummler (echt jetz)und Guns'n'Roses. Ohne Scheiss. Tickets gehen weg wie warme Semmeln, ich persoenlich werde es wohl leider nicht schaffen, weil mein Kettenhamd noch in der chemischen Reinigung ist und ich mit meinem Zweihaender in keinen Bus gelassen werde. Schade.
Dafuer entdecke ich Schritt fuer Schritt Edinburgh. Heute fand ich heraus, dass man auch hier bei Waterstone's Buecher erstehen kann (fataaaaal!!) und dass sich ausserdem direkt an der Princes Street, wenn man eine zu frueh abbiegt, eine Kirche mit anschliessendem Church, Verzeihung, Kirkyard befindet. Quasi in der Mauer Gruften, auf der anderen Seite der Mauer Bushaltestelle. Strange. But interesting. Wenig spaeter sass ich dann mit meinem neu erstandenen Buch (seufz) (Terry Pratchett: Eric) in den Princes Street Gardens und wartete auf den Ein Uhr Kanonenschuss, als ein gaenzlich unattraktives Stueck Mann den Huegel herauf gestelzt kam. Ich sah sofort: Hose Arsch, Kaeppi Arsch, Schnauzer Arsch, alles Arsch. Er kam auf mich zu und sagte "ixkjus mi, kenn ju schoh mi se vee tu se casl?" Und ich dacht, ha als de Buggl nuff, was meinsch denn, straight out of Pforzheim? Besann mich aber anders und schickte ihn mit feinstem Englisch rauf zur Esplanade. Den langen Weg. What can I do, I'm just a tourist!
Well anyway. Bye for now aus Edinburgh. Und vergesst nicht: Sie moegen uns unser Leben nehmen, aber niemals nehmen sie uns unsere Freiheit!!

Guten Tag

sagte der kleine Blonde aus der ersten Reihe, um mich gleich darauf zu fragen, ob ich verheiratet sei. Er fragte das ungefaehr vier mal. Und dann nochmal, nachdem sein Kumpel mir die gleiche Frage gestellt hatte. Das erinnerte mich wieder daran, dass ich mich in dem seltsamen Zustand einer Ms befinde (stimmhaftes s). Das bedeutet, keine Miss, eventuell verheiratet, vielleicht geschieden, aber vielleicht auch nichts von dem. Mysterioes halt. Anyways, nachdem ich fuenfmal verneint hatte, verheiratet zu sein (wobei ich nicht sicher bin, ob die kleinen irgendwelche Absichten hatten oder nur schwer von Begriff waren), ging es lustig weiter mit Adjektiven und sonstigen Arten der Beschreibung von Schule, den Faechern, den Lehrern, Mitschuelern etzettera. Das sollte zum ersten Hoehepunkt des Tages fuehren, der sich etwa so anhoehrte: "Main Deutschlehrein izt saehr ald uend haeslick." Gemeint war im Uebrigen nicht ich, sondern Mrs Isobel Macarthur, eine reizende Dame Ende vierzig, Boss des Departments of Modern Languages, in diesem Moment direkt neben mir und einen Augenblick sprachlos. Aber nur kurz. Nach dem lunch gab es eine lustige Hoerverstaendnisuebung mit Tape in der Klasse von Emma (Prototyp der Hairstraightener und spitze Stifeletten Damen aber trotzdem nett), in der nicht nur jemand sich selbst als klein und dick bezeichnet (grosses Gelaechter natuerlich vor allem bei letzterem Feature), sondern auch eine Frauenstimme aufgeregt quakte "Ja, Herr Kellermann! Natuerlich, Herr Kellermann! Ich habe lange rote Haare, Herr Kellermann!" Gaaaanz grosses Kino im Klassenzimmer, Herr Kellermann. Sach doch ma einer dem Kellermann bescheid, dass er in einem Deutschbuch namens Guck Mal erscheint.
Die Beschreibung von Schule und Faechern ist wohl grade ganz grosses Thema, denn kurz vorher (in der Klasse von Kenny Campbell) war ich durch die Reihen gewandert (total lehrerlike) und habe die grossartige, sofort von mir zum statement of the week erkorene Stilbluete entdeckt:
"Ich mag Kunst. Kunst ist geduldig." Ich dachte mir, du hasso recht und hab nix gesagt.
Gestern haben wir (mein Mitbewohner und einige seiner Medizinkommilitonen) zu sechst in einen Nissan Micra gequetscht und sind zu einer Zelebration der Asiatischen und vor allem Indisch/Pakistanischen Kultur gefahren. Ich ass eine Portion Chicken Tikka. Allerdings hatte ich vergessen, was passiert, wenn Inder indisches Essen fuer andere Inder machen. ... Jesus Fucking Krishna on a Turban! Kennt ihr das famose saying "Das brennt zweimal"? Ich dachte bisher, haha, brennt zweimal, lustige Bildersprache. ... Leck mich am Arsch, Bildersprache, deine Mudder Bildersprache. Der totale Burner!!
Mehr News aus dem Verdauugstrake in Baelde.
Es sagt auf widoersaehn und Hare Krishna, Hare Rama!
RamaRamaHareHare,
die Isch

Home sweet home

Nicht nur, dass bei mir um die Ecke ein Lidl ist, bei dem ich lecker Essen und dringendst benoetigtes Reinigungsutensil kaufen kann (und EriK: das mit den Reformhaus hast du falsch verstanden, im Moment steht mir der Sinn noch nich so sehr nach Nuesschen und dried prunes, my choice is Lidl), der Hoehepunkt meines gestrigen Tages war ein encounter of the Freako kind, welches mich fast wieder nach Berlin zurueck beamte, zumindest mental. Ich sass auf dem Rueckweg von der Schule im schoenen, eifrig mit Tartanmuster ausgeschmueckten 31er Bus. Schaute aus dem Fenster. Hinter mir dass ein Typ (mitte 40, unattraktiv, wahrscheinlich Buchhalter), der die ganze Fahrt dabei war, sich zu raeuspern. Nur leider schien er keine Ahnung zu haben, wie man das macht. Zwischendurch gickelte und brabbelte er mit sich selbst, so dass ich also sans cesse eine Geraeuschkulisse hinter meinem linken Ohr hatte, die ungefaehr so ging: Hmhihi, husthhhhhhm hhhm hhhhhmmmmmmmmmmhihi, husthihihmmmmmm hmhmhm hmmmmmmmmm hhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmwhatdefuck hmmmm. So oder so aehnlich. Und es endete so, wie solche Situationen immer enden: alle im Bus, die in Hoehrweite sassen, fingen eifrig an, sich zu raeuspern. Diese Personengruppe beschraenkte sich diesmal leider nur auf mich. Hhhmmhhm.
Gut zu wissen, dass Berlin nich das Spinnermonopol hat.
Ceersmates!
Ms Brown

Dears,

ich hatte einen ueberaus erfolgreichen Tag. Er bagann damit, den richtigen Bus zu nehmen, der mich directly von meinem Haus zu meiner Schule kutschiert. Als ich da war, hab ich viele Leute kennen gelernt, die alle Namen hatten. Ausserdem hab ich mich mit 14jaehrigen (das Wort sieht so echt bescheuert aus) ueber deutsche Fussballteams unterhalten. Dass sie Schalke und Bayern kennen, hat mich nich weiter ueberrascht, aber als dann das Wort Aachen viel, war ich doch fuer einen Moment verunsichert. Der Rest meines Tages bestand aus ans Meer fahren (!) und danach mit Julia aus Leutesheim auf Arthur's Seat klettern und die Sonne versinken sehen. Oder viel wahrscheinlicher wurde sie vom Wind weggeblasen. Jetzt sitze ich in einem Laden namens Honey Pot und hab mich mit Belgian Topped Fries (auf deutsch Pommes rot-weiss) vollgestopft.
Voll gerne wuerd ich euch Photos schicken, aber dazu muss ich erst nen Computer finden, auf dem ich die Software fuer meine neue geile kleine master-of-se-universe Zauberkamera installieren kann. Ich spiele mit dem Gedanken, mir ein Laptop zu kaufen, aber vielleicht frag ich auch einfach Amit, meinen lieblings Medizinstudentenmitbewohner, ob ich seinen Rechner missbrauchen darf.
Oh Gott, bin ich vollgefressen, mein Hirn is ganz verklebt.
Ach so, ja, ich hab auch kuerzlich geheiratet. Meine Ridacard tells me so, auf der in Grossen Lettern geschrieben steht:
Mrs Sabrina Brown.
Heidiho sach ich.
S. Brown, esq.