With love.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Friday, January 20, 2006
Death awaits you...everywhere!
Boy, was I glad it was behind the fence. I was all alone and really don't know what I would have done if it had sneaked up and jumped on me.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Und by the way
gibt es im schoenen Edinburgh einen Stadtteil, der sich "Bloedekampflesben" uebersetzt, wie mir gestern beim Lesen von "Fleshmarket Close" auffiel.
Und natuerlich muss der naechste Satz lauten:
Da wohn' ich.
Und natuerlich muss der naechste Satz lauten:
Da wohn' ich.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Emmmm ... EIN GEDICHT!! ...
...doch aufgepasst, es reimt sich nicht.
white blue blue blue blue blue white
blue white blue blue blue white blue
blue blue white blue white blue blue
blue blue blue white blue blue blue
blue blue white blue white blue blue
blue white blue blue blue white blue
white blue blue blue blue blue white
Ich taufe dieses Gedicht auf den Namen
"Achtung, unbeschrankter Bahnuebergang!".
Warum? Weil ich es kann.
white blue blue blue blue blue white
blue white blue blue blue white blue
blue blue white blue white blue blue
blue blue blue white blue blue blue
blue blue white blue white blue blue
blue white blue blue blue white blue
white blue blue blue blue blue white
Ich taufe dieses Gedicht auf den Namen
"Achtung, unbeschrankter Bahnuebergang!".
Warum? Weil ich es kann.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Ha!
Here goes it, the big z.d.w.a.g. - photograph-kunundrum-butchery-battle!
Homerrrr's on our side!!
We are one pair of bad ass dangerous li'l bitches! with antennae.
before the tequila
after the tequila
sudden snow shower
Scheiss im Kreis
And don't forget to turn the other cheek, Goergens, there's a lot more where that came from!!!!! I've got a camera here and I'm not afraid to use it!
Homerrrr's on our side!!
We are one pair of bad ass dangerous li'l bitches! with antennae.
before the tequila
after the tequila
sudden snow shower
Scheiss im Kreis
And don't forget to turn the other cheek, Goergens, there's a lot more where that came from!!!!! I've got a camera here and I'm not afraid to use it!
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Breaking News - bulletin
Hello adulthood, I hate you
No Immatrikulationsbescheinigung in the world will ever get me a student's ridacard again.
In the eyes of Lothian Buses (your locally owned buses) I am now officially old - too old to possibly be a student any longer.
Nice one.
No Immatrikulationsbescheinigung in the world will ever get me a student's ridacard again.
In the eyes of Lothian Buses (your locally owned buses) I am now officially old - too old to possibly be a student any longer.
Nice one.
Every day life dialogues
Sabrina: "TV is bad!!"
Pav : "Says Sabrina with the Homer Simpson slippers."
Apart from that, the little ginger head with the spiky hair from second year pointed out to me today:
"There is a BAAD word written on that cardboard box...: poo!"
Pav : "Says Sabrina with the Homer Simpson slippers."
Apart from that, the little ginger head with the spiky hair from second year pointed out to me today:
"There is a BAAD word written on that cardboard box...: poo!"
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Breaking News
The Computer at school doesn't open my blog anymore because it contains too many bad words. ... Fuck, Alder!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Nightmare on Dark Street
So there I was, full of joy and merry to disembark the Easyjet cattle transport that had brought me to Newcastle late after I had spent one and a half hours sitting next to a close to hysterical woman and her boyfriend the age of her father. I was dead tired even before I started and everybody who has ever taken an Easyjet flight will join my manic laughter at the thought of sleeeping in the plane.
Anyway, had I known that this was just the start of one hell of a trip, I would have given in and booked a hotel right then and there.
I picked up my car. A Ford Fiesta. ... TOO SMALL, DAMMIT!! I felt like squeezing into a shoebox, started the 12 PS engine and tuckert off.
The road was really creepy, as between Newcastle and Edinburgh, you pass about two cities in an otherwise deserted stretch of country. There was practically no one on the road, it was late, I was tired and melancholic, it was dark, it was cold, it was raining, it was foggy and I just wanted to get the hell home. On the way I stopped in a town to change the CD, as I just didn't dare even thinking about stopping next to the unlit and lonely road.
I finally made it to more civilized regions, the first time I felt really good was when I passed the summit after which I could see the orange see of illuminated Edinburgh beneath me.
Eventually I reached the city bypass, took the right direction (heyhey!) and already saw me sitting in Lady Rachel's living room, sipping a cup of tee and then going to bed. I knew I had to take the next exit, so when the nice white line on my left hand side turned dotted, I pulled over.
Big fucking mistake.
There was a horrible bang, the car slowed down suddenly and the hub cap came flying over my head and crashed onto the street, where it was to be run over several times until this present moment.
Pandemomnium!!!
I stopped the car and got out.
The tire had retired. It was a goner! What I had mistaken for my exit was in fact the entrance to an emergency layby, which was seperated from the motorway by a kerb.
Which was completely unilluminated and in the dark not to be seen.
Which I had hit.
With the left front tire.
At 70 miles an hour.
Not good.
dramatisation
First thing I tried to call the Hertz people.
Which I couldn't with my german mobile.
I then went over to the emergency phone in order to call a towing truck. Which didn't work. (I didn't know that emergency phones can say "sorry, your call can not be copleted as dialled...", but apparently they can.)
I also tried to stop someone, but no-one did. Either they didn't see me or they are all a bunch of fucking cunts! Either way, I felt as low as a snake's belly in a pit.
I was cold, I was tired, I was all alone right next to a freaking motorway just ten minutes before home. I just needed someone to help me, pleeeease!
So I called Paraguay Woman, who got me out of this mess by calling the Hertz people for me who then sent someone to help me. A chubby little man with the worst accent I had ever heard. He was mumbling, too and also my towning-truck-man-slang kind of seems to need working on. At least the friendly little man changed the tire and also I had managed to call the police in the meanwhile. The Hertz guy had told me to and so I did. Whatever!
The two police officers arrived just after the chubby one had finished the tire changing. They just made sure that everything was fine and I could drive off.
After the shock had ebbed down, it dawned on me: it was just a silly flat tire. I had the spare tire. I had the tools. I could have changed that thing myself.
...OH NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! PANDEMONIUM STRIKES AGAIN!!! I'M A WOMAN DRIVER!!!! I WILL HAVE TO BUY A REAR-VIEW-MIRROR-DIDDL-MOUSE AND SOME STUFFED ANIMALS TO COMPLETELY COVER MY DASH BOARD!!! AAARHGGG!
In my defense:
My spirits were more then low. The help I needed was more of the mental and moral kind. Had I not been alone, things might have been different.
Also a real woman driver probably doesn't know what a dashboard is. (It's the thing in front of you, Ladies, the one covered in cute little stuffed things that will turn into cute little ballistic missiles once you have a crash which sooner or later you are very likely to!)
Sorry, I needed that for my ego.
Eventually, I drove off, direction of Brunswick Street, to meet my Lady saviour. Ten minutes later I turned a corner into her street, when I saw something bright and colourful in my rear view mirror. It was blue to be precise. And flashing. And it had "POLICE" written on it. They obviously wanted me to stop.
I had to think of Charly the Unicorn, yelling "I'm right here, whaddouyou want??"
There was a nice officer, almost apologizing for stopping me, asking me whether I would mind stepping out of the car for a second. Of course I didn't. Again: whatever!
He told me that there seemed to be something wrong with my car and I told him that I had recently had a minor accident. "When was that?" he asked and I looked him in the eye and said "I left the scene ten minutes ago." I also told him that there had been two collegues of him, which one of the other police men checked. He then took my details, asked me whether I had drunk anything that night and then was very impressed by my driving licence. ("Wow, that looks formal!" - "Yes, we Germans are very serious about our driving licences.")
Two minutes later I finally reached my destination, more dead then alive, tried to completely get over my shock and an hour or so later finally went to bed.
It was half three by then, and I had to get up at about ten, because, of course, no flat tire in the world can stop us from watching Gilmore Girls on saturday mornings.
The poor little car!!
It's not his fault he is that small, he got abused, hurt and, during the night, shat on twice by birds.
The lesson learned can only be:
Next time a bigger car again, everything else is bad luck!
Anyway, had I known that this was just the start of one hell of a trip, I would have given in and booked a hotel right then and there.
I picked up my car. A Ford Fiesta. ... TOO SMALL, DAMMIT!! I felt like squeezing into a shoebox, started the 12 PS engine and tuckert off.
The road was really creepy, as between Newcastle and Edinburgh, you pass about two cities in an otherwise deserted stretch of country. There was practically no one on the road, it was late, I was tired and melancholic, it was dark, it was cold, it was raining, it was foggy and I just wanted to get the hell home. On the way I stopped in a town to change the CD, as I just didn't dare even thinking about stopping next to the unlit and lonely road.
I finally made it to more civilized regions, the first time I felt really good was when I passed the summit after which I could see the orange see of illuminated Edinburgh beneath me.
Eventually I reached the city bypass, took the right direction (heyhey!) and already saw me sitting in Lady Rachel's living room, sipping a cup of tee and then going to bed. I knew I had to take the next exit, so when the nice white line on my left hand side turned dotted, I pulled over.
Big fucking mistake.
There was a horrible bang, the car slowed down suddenly and the hub cap came flying over my head and crashed onto the street, where it was to be run over several times until this present moment.
Pandemomnium!!!
I stopped the car and got out.
The tire had retired. It was a goner! What I had mistaken for my exit was in fact the entrance to an emergency layby, which was seperated from the motorway by a kerb.
Which was completely unilluminated and in the dark not to be seen.
Which I had hit.
With the left front tire.
At 70 miles an hour.
Not good.
dramatisation
First thing I tried to call the Hertz people.
Which I couldn't with my german mobile.
I then went over to the emergency phone in order to call a towing truck. Which didn't work. (I didn't know that emergency phones can say "sorry, your call can not be copleted as dialled...", but apparently they can.)
I also tried to stop someone, but no-one did. Either they didn't see me or they are all a bunch of fucking cunts! Either way, I felt as low as a snake's belly in a pit.
I was cold, I was tired, I was all alone right next to a freaking motorway just ten minutes before home. I just needed someone to help me, pleeeease!
So I called Paraguay Woman, who got me out of this mess by calling the Hertz people for me who then sent someone to help me. A chubby little man with the worst accent I had ever heard. He was mumbling, too and also my towning-truck-man-slang kind of seems to need working on. At least the friendly little man changed the tire and also I had managed to call the police in the meanwhile. The Hertz guy had told me to and so I did. Whatever!
The two police officers arrived just after the chubby one had finished the tire changing. They just made sure that everything was fine and I could drive off.
After the shock had ebbed down, it dawned on me: it was just a silly flat tire. I had the spare tire. I had the tools. I could have changed that thing myself.
...OH NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! PANDEMONIUM STRIKES AGAIN!!! I'M A WOMAN DRIVER!!!! I WILL HAVE TO BUY A REAR-VIEW-MIRROR-DIDDL-MOUSE AND SOME STUFFED ANIMALS TO COMPLETELY COVER MY DASH BOARD!!! AAARHGGG!
In my defense:
My spirits were more then low. The help I needed was more of the mental and moral kind. Had I not been alone, things might have been different.
Also a real woman driver probably doesn't know what a dashboard is. (It's the thing in front of you, Ladies, the one covered in cute little stuffed things that will turn into cute little ballistic missiles once you have a crash which sooner or later you are very likely to!)
Sorry, I needed that for my ego.
Eventually, I drove off, direction of Brunswick Street, to meet my Lady saviour. Ten minutes later I turned a corner into her street, when I saw something bright and colourful in my rear view mirror. It was blue to be precise. And flashing. And it had "POLICE" written on it. They obviously wanted me to stop.
I had to think of Charly the Unicorn, yelling "I'm right here, whaddouyou want??"
There was a nice officer, almost apologizing for stopping me, asking me whether I would mind stepping out of the car for a second. Of course I didn't. Again: whatever!
He told me that there seemed to be something wrong with my car and I told him that I had recently had a minor accident. "When was that?" he asked and I looked him in the eye and said "I left the scene ten minutes ago." I also told him that there had been two collegues of him, which one of the other police men checked. He then took my details, asked me whether I had drunk anything that night and then was very impressed by my driving licence. ("Wow, that looks formal!" - "Yes, we Germans are very serious about our driving licences.")
Two minutes later I finally reached my destination, more dead then alive, tried to completely get over my shock and an hour or so later finally went to bed.
It was half three by then, and I had to get up at about ten, because, of course, no flat tire in the world can stop us from watching Gilmore Girls on saturday mornings.
The poor little car!!
It's not his fault he is that small, he got abused, hurt and, during the night, shat on twice by birds.
The lesson learned can only be:
Next time a bigger car again, everything else is bad luck!
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Question of the day:
How many boards
would the Mongols hoard
if the Mongol hordes got bored?
Just wonderin'...
would the Mongols hoard
if the Mongol hordes got bored?
Just wonderin'...
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Berlin - a Christmas Fairytale
Someone up there must have dropped a huge bag of icing sugar or flour or Magnesia or cocaine or something. I like to think that it was Saint Peter or a tleast his stupid intern, but the local Newspaper (Der Tagesspiegel) tells me that it was indeed Tiefdruckgebiet Holger! The city looks like one of those lovely gingerbread houses decorated with Gummibärchen and lollipops and what have you, the sort of things WE never had because my mother just couldn't be bothered, but let's not talk about that.
Till deep in the night you can hear the screams of people racing down the hill in Viktoriapark on their sleds and I have to think back to Christmas 1984, when I got a Toboggan, a luvely nice red Toboggan for my birthday, which I loved a lot and which took me on extremely short rides, as we used to live in the valley of the Rhine, respectively extremely long and bold, sometimes almost fatal rides, or so it seemed to me, when I was staying with my granny, who lived on the top of a mountain in the Alpes.
Anyway, that was my Toboggan, my first ever ride (apart from my little blue bike, but that was used when I got it), and I sure wish it was with me now, because I want to go down the Viktoriapark hill screaming and yelling in the middle of the night, too! But there's no sled to be found here, as Jo broke his last year. Darn it. We haven't had that much snow in years and somehow I will get my hands on some go-down-the-snowy-hill-extremely-fast device in order to use it! In some way or other I will!
If you see a girl late at night, going up a hill with a black rubbish-bag in her hand... GO BUY HER A TOBOGGAN!!
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Zelebration!!
Having one's birthday at christmas time sucks big time, that's why I again celebrated a couple of days before my actual birthday, as has become the custom, and whoever yells "But that's unlucky" kricht von mir persoenlich direkt inne Fress...!
Anyway, last saturday saw this year's birthday party deluxe. First we had Pancakes Alsaciennes at my place and then we hit the road to the Centraal, next to the Pear Tree, not as hip but with a wider range of beers to choose from. And in order to quote one of Lady Rachel's students: I entirely recommend this experience! We even got a table after only about half an hour of standing arounf at the bar, juhuu!! and in the course of the evening nicked the little shiny party hats off the neighbouring table, where a christmas celebration had taken place and had loads of fun with them. I had my first tequila in ages, in fact I believe the first since I left school and as I happened to have a south american Lady at my side, we did it properly, Herrschaften! Binge drinking in style!
Doch sehen Sie selbst:
In India, the Tiger doesn't go into the tank but comes in a bottle.
The Dave and the I
Ladies with hats (very upper class...we'll go to the horse race next month.)
Ladies Fra and Siets: get moving but don't get up
Hackfressen competition - I win.
Anyway, last saturday saw this year's birthday party deluxe. First we had Pancakes Alsaciennes at my place and then we hit the road to the Centraal, next to the Pear Tree, not as hip but with a wider range of beers to choose from. And in order to quote one of Lady Rachel's students: I entirely recommend this experience! We even got a table after only about half an hour of standing arounf at the bar, juhuu!! and in the course of the evening nicked the little shiny party hats off the neighbouring table, where a christmas celebration had taken place and had loads of fun with them. I had my first tequila in ages, in fact I believe the first since I left school and as I happened to have a south american Lady at my side, we did it properly, Herrschaften! Binge drinking in style!
Doch sehen Sie selbst:
In India, the Tiger doesn't go into the tank but comes in a bottle.
The Dave and the I
Ladies with hats (very upper class...we'll go to the horse race next month.)
Ladies Fra and Siets: get moving but don't get up
Hackfressen competition - I win.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Today's Lesson for Life:
The guy who invented the water flush toilet was called:
I mean the Edisons or the Bells are probably immensely proud of their ancestors. But, let's face it, the Crappers are pooped. (I only say pooped because some excrement of a superviser cencored my little innocent f*****d. Das prangere ich an! But we all know what they really are!)
Zurueck ins Funkhaus und gute Nacht.
Thomas Crapper.
What a wonderful and useful thing he invented, unimaginable what our lives would look like without it. And what kind of appreciation does he get? He gets shite named after him.I mean the Edisons or the Bells are probably immensely proud of their ancestors. But, let's face it, the Crappers are pooped. (I only say pooped because some excrement of a superviser cencored my little innocent f*****d. Das prangere ich an! But we all know what they really are!)
Zurueck ins Funkhaus und gute Nacht.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Breaking News
Brian Lee Harvey, formerly of East 17 (the short guy with the stupid hats) is currently convalescing after a car accident.
... He run HIMSELF over.
I didn't even know that was physically possible (how can you be IN and UNDER your car at the same time???) but when it comes to stupid things, Brian Harvey can do it.
It's actually not even funny, because he really nearly died, braking his legs and hip and all sort of things.
...Ok, it IS funny...in a way...
... He run HIMSELF over.
I didn't even know that was physically possible (how can you be IN and UNDER your car at the same time???) but when it comes to stupid things, Brian Harvey can do it.
It's actually not even funny, because he really nearly died, braking his legs and hip and all sort of things.
...Ok, it IS funny...in a way...
Thursday, December 15, 2005
My baby is back!
After almost two weeks of absence due to a fixing vacation, the tv finally came back today. Whoever he stayed with, they even cleaned his screen!! And now he's safely back in the kitchen, next to the play sation (who was so lonely without him).
Ten minutes later, that's me. I already forgot how to read and my weekend will mean some serious upcatching on Neighbours and Eastenders!
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Run, Santa, Run (zu deutsch: Santa Rennt)
German Santa dancing the Eminem
Now we know what's under the Kilt...
Some folks I don't know
Ist es ein Vogel? Ist es ein Flugzeug? Nein! Es ist Weihnachts-man!
OK, guys, this is a first:
Who'd have thought that one day, I'd put on a Santa dress and run two laps around West Princes Street Gardens? Many of you, I gather, but who'd have only begun to think that I'd even pay TEN QUID for it??? Exactly.
It was a strange sight, hundreds of people dressed as Santa Clause (and who ALL had payed ten pound to be allowed to do so), santa-bagpipers and all, but it made for some good pictures (you know, santa-bagpipers and all). We even got to keep the Santa dresses! Isn't that just grant? Aaaand we got a medal. Aaaaand our ten bucks will help fulfill wishes for terminally ill children, get them to Lapland (where, as we all know, Santa lives (???) in an Igloo (???)), have snowball fights and feed Reindeers (or was it ON Reindeers??).
HOHOHO for charity (ein Hoch auf die Charitee)!
Monday, December 12, 2005
GOERGENS...!!!
I declare the Big International Intercontinental Indiefresse Picture Battle (BIIIPB) officially started!
TAKE THOU THAT!!!
Today's Lesson for Life:
If you're at the bus stop and you feel like dancing and singing with nothing better to do and Elvis in your ear: dance, baby!
Neues Visarecht in Grossbritannien
Kevin hat ein Reiseverbot ... Einreiseverbot! Striktes! Scheckes!
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Friendly Pilotes...
... und ich zitiere woertlich:
"Einen schoenen guten Tag, meine wunderschoenen Damen und Herren auf Ihrem Flug nach Edingburg."
...
"Ziehen Sie die Schwimmweste ueber den Kopf und achten Sie dabei natuerlich auf Ihre Frisur."
...
"... wir hoffen Sie haben eine gute Weiterreise; wie haben Sie sehr gerne. (Pause) ... nach Edingburg geflogen. Merry Christmas."
Da sach noch einer was ueber Servicewueste und sowas.
"Einen schoenen guten Tag, meine wunderschoenen Damen und Herren auf Ihrem Flug nach Edingburg."
...
"Ziehen Sie die Schwimmweste ueber den Kopf und achten Sie dabei natuerlich auf Ihre Frisur."
...
"... wir hoffen Sie haben eine gute Weiterreise; wie haben Sie sehr gerne. (Pause) ... nach Edingburg geflogen. Merry Christmas."
Da sach noch einer was ueber Servicewueste und sowas.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Welcome to Britain...
...where people turn on their shower without actually being in it in order to heat up the bathroom, where empty batteries are thrown in the bin and heaters cannot be turned down in public buildings, which leaves you with the one and only possibility to open the windows wide if you don't want to suffocate and stop caring about the heater working on full power.
It only makes sense that it is in a place like this that you have a heater - installation company called... und jetz ratet mal...
"Global Warming"
It only makes sense that it is in a place like this that you have a heater - installation company called... und jetz ratet mal...
"Global Warming"
Monday, December 05, 2005
Frage des Tages
Lebt eigentlich ollen Plappert noch? Ich habe ein Geschunk fur ihm und muss ihn ausserdem des weiteren uberdies noch wissen lassen, dass die Glasgows dachten, ich nennte ihn Fluffy (in echtigkeit sachte ich naturlich Plappi) und wir folgerichtig beschlussen, ihn furderhin offiziellst desgleichen zu betiteln.
Ich glaub, ich muss jetz erstmal was essen, ich fuehl mich unterzuckert.
Ich glaub, ich muss jetz erstmal was essen, ich fuehl mich unterzuckert.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Oink
Drawing a pig on this frickin' little pad on this frickin' little laptop is frickin' difficult...
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.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, November 28, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
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!
Friday, November 25, 2005
The wee lesson of Scots slang - especially for Jahmsen
Baltic
To be freezing cold.
"Shut that windae - it's baltic in here."
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 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.
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.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
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
"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
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
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:
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:
Saturday, November 19, 2005
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...
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...
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
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!
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!
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
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 -
He: "Really? What you're gonna do?"
Me: "Well, ... walk in and lock it from the inside basically."
- understanding nods on both sides -
Friday, November 11, 2005
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!
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
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.
Monday, November 07, 2005
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!!!
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!!!
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Saturday, November 05, 2005
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
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!
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