Birthday Party

Last night I dragged myself out of the flat to go to SH's birthday party. I've been feeling pretty rubbish and run down recently, so it felt like a huge effort, but I did think it would do me good to get out there and see a few friends and be all sociable.

SO, armed with yummy make-up gift and humourous card I trudged to the station under cover of the biggest umbrella I could find. Mr V met me at Old street station, so I walked through the Broadgate centre, which is one of my favourite 'urban public spaces' because it has lots of little paths and alleys and shops and I recently discovered a gorgeous 'changing colour lights in the floor' installation. Because of the rain it looked super shiny in the dark, so I stopped to take a few snaps. We had some dinner and I finished up with a very creamy Irish coffee in an attempt to give myself a bit of 'energy' for the night. Actually everything went really well, and seeing my old pals from Germany really cheered me up, and accordingly I drank mohitos and got silly.



Today I have a headache, a toothache and am all grumpy again. BAH! nevermind we are flying away for New Years fun tomorrow so that should cheer me up. I think I should pack lots of pain killers for the event.

Happy Christmas!

Yes, Happy Christmas!, this year I have spent my christmas in the full glare of the hardcore marketing and consumerism of Great Britian. I really felt it too, the advertising, and the simmering panic as the big day grew near. Last year I was in Ranomafana, Madagascar, with my friend EC, we went trekking in the rainforest to look for Lemurs, and ate freshwater crayfish for supper on Christmas eve. It was a beautiful place, in the middle of the forest, with the overwhelming sound of the nature all around us. One day we went for a walk, and got invited into a chapel to watch the children rehearsing their nativity and carol singing for christmas day. Madagascar is largely Catholic. It was Ranomafana where I bought my remarkably sturdy 'Chicken Basket', which I love because it has such great memories and it's so useful - although I refrain from porting live chickens in it, as they do in Madagascar.

This year I managed to get all my gift buying done early, but still got swept up in the last minute shopping frenzy thanks to Mr V. and his 'laid back' approach to buying presents. I found myself comicly negotiating Romford Market on Christmas Eve clutching a huge box containing 16kg of 'DJ mixing kit' whilst in the throwes of my customary Christmas cold. The look of joy on mr. V junior's face apon opening the (lovingly wrapped) gift was indeed, worth the pain. thank goodness.

So, in-between all this crazy shopping, we have been rushing about the country visiting friends and family, trying to sell furniture on E-bay, and I have been planning my removal. Next month I am officially moving to a place I shall refer to as "luckyland" , my Visa is almost done and the shippers are knocking down the door to carry my goods off to far flung shores. Instead of being all fairy lit and festive our flat looks like some kind of Oxfam Depot, while I try to determine what I would like to keep, sell, give away or take with me. It's Cathartic, depressing and exciting all at the same time.



And yet amidst all this I momentarily recall the rainforest and the peace and simplicity of the Christmas there, and realise how lucky I am to have been there, and hope that one day I can escape it all again.

chestnuts

Winter is officially here. the men are out with their rusty old oil cans roasting Chestnuts for the tourists. huzzah.

public convenience

I've just finished my first week of work in a new job, luckily it was not too taxing. I did get to travel up north to Leicester, requiring a visit to the new St. Pancras International terminal in London. I love the St Pancras building, I think it looks like a farytale castle. I picked my way through the japanese tourists, businessmen and Disneyland bound families, and eventually found the domestic ticket office, tucked shamefully away at the far end of the station. The 'automatic' door didn't work, so I had to squeeze and wrench myself through a small gap to get in and buy my (expensive) ticket. A minor teething problem I thought, especially since parts of the concourse was clearly still under construction, with empty shop units promising all kinds of exotic retail oppourtunities 'very soon'. (although why anyone would want to buy Belgian chocolates at the Eurostar terminal in london is beyond me.. after all, as they keep reminding us, Brussels is only 1 hour and 51 minutes away)

I'll get to the point. The new station was grandly opened only last week by our very own Queen and amid much fanfare and press coverage. Why then, when I went to use the (free) public toilets, was I to find that one of the cubicles was out of order, another had no loo roll, and the next one I tried had a broken lock that didn't actually lock the door, meanwhile of the 2 attendants, one was chatting to a cleaner at the entrance and the other was squeezing her spots in the mirror (YUK!?). frankly I was astonished at the incompetence of the whole service, it just typifies the 'rubbishness' and lack of service that I have sadly come to expect from this country.

first day at work

Heaving myself out of bed this morning was not nice. the crazy thing is, that I usually get up early anyway. There is some psychcological thing about HAVING to get up, and knowing that you need to get out of the house, into the icy cold rainy morning and sit on a commuter train getting hotter and hotter, until you get off, and then jostle through the barriers at a London Terminal, across the concourse, and down into the underground, where you join a queue to go through the barrier to join another queue to get down the escalator onto the platform, gradually getting warmer and warmer in your wool coat, and there you wait for the train to come, and when it does it is too full of people, so you wait for the next one, and then it arrives and you push onto it and stand for 20 minutes with your face in someones chest/arm/back. lurching around and hoping that the sheer squash of bodies will keep you upright, because you can't reach a handrail to hold yourself steady. On arrival at the destination station, and re-emerging outdoors, the relief of fresh air is dampened by the rain and you now have to walk to the office, dodging puddles and praying that you are not sprayed by a curbing taxi or bus, or that you don't step on one of those nasty loose paving slabs that emit a jet of cold grimy water from beneath.

Aaahhhh .... London. I was welcomed back into the working world with the most horrible wet raining morning ever. I am now one of the commuter masses once again. I'm happy about the job bit, but the commuting...not such fun. I guess you can't have it all.

Stuff

I am going through a serious getting rid of 'stuff' phase. It is astounding just how much rubbish we cart around with us in our lives. Of course we don't need it all, but I guess there is a lot of sentiment attached to it, as if our 'stuff' defines us, gives us our identity. Where are we or who are we without it? Do we become lost, without our material identity?

I like my books, and I don't mean novels I just read the one time and then keep on the shelf for ever. I like my reference books, and my travel books. I like those blue japanese bowls that my mum and Dad bought me in Selfriges, and I like the old piggy bank that Dad bought from Sweden. I like the green dragon soft toy that used to belong to my grandmother, and I like all those old handbags I've packed away in boxes ( for design reference - apparently). But do I really NEED them? I could live without them, and my life would not lack comfort. The problem is that they just take up so much space, and there are so many things like that, which can be kind of justified as worth keeping, but are they worth keeping if only to be left in a box in a storage unit?

I'm taking the long term view, one day I'll live in a house, and have some room for all these books and toys and souvenirs. For now I'm content to be aghast at the consumerism around us, and try very hard not to accumilate too much more 'stuff'.

In his book "do androids dream of electric sheep" Philip K. Dick describes the detritus in our lives as 'kipple'. the word has really stuck with me, I like the sound of it, and it's what i call this 'stuff' to myself. I looked it up on Wikipedia:

'Kipple'
popularised by science fiction author Philip K. Dick in the book Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?. It refers to unwanted or useless junk that tends to reproduce itself. Some of Dick's descriptions of it suggest an analogy to entropy. According to two characters from the book, John Isidore stated that the first law of "kipple" is that "kipple" drives out "nonkipple"; Buster Friendly liked to declare, "Earth would die under a layer — not of radioactive dust — but of kipple."
Other forms of the word used in the novel include "kipple-ized", "kipple-factor", and "kippleization". People can turn into "living kipple". An apartment can become "kipple-infested".
"There's the First Law of Kipple," he said. "'Kipple drives out nonkipple.' Like Gresham's law about bad money. And in these apartments there's been nobody there to fight the kipple."

with the news programs constantly reporting on the need for us to produce less domestic waste, and recycle more, in order to save our environment, this description feels quite pertinant. But what can i do? I want to get rid of things, but not create waste, and am constantly accumilating more 'kipple' in my life every day. It's a dilema.

I might turn to the humble car boot sale to sell some things, perhaps this will provide me with a guilt free way to reduce my 'kipple'

excuses excuses

yes, It has been a while since I put anything out here. Last time I saw DH in sausageland, she scolded me for not writing. I must say I was a little surprised, as I find it hard to believe that anybody actually reads this blog. I even forget about it half the time.

So what is my excuse? well firstly, do I need one? actually no, but you're getting one anyway, since it's a way of divulging what I have been up to in the last 6 weeks.

Mr V and I have moved back to London. We are in our own little place now, which is cute, For cute read 'small' it's a world away from the luxury appartment we had in sausageland. Moving in was a total farce, due to the vast amount of furniture and 'stuff' that we have,and we are still negotiating boxes while moving around the flat, even though a large portion of it has been put into storage.

I am today, for the first time in almost 2 years, facing an imminent re-entry to the rat race. Yes, finally I have secured myself a job, and they want me to start on Monday.. typical. I expect they will want the clothes designed yesterday as well. Listen to me! I'm already complaining.

I have only just sorted out the internet connection. We can blame the ever rubbish BT for that one. How can they send the BILL to the correct address, and then give the wrong address to the delivery company for the wirelwss box doo da. numpties. OK, that is a rant waiting to happen.....they only need to slip up one more time, and Smak! they are going to get it from me.

more soon.

rain

Today is the first time is has rained for a while. The main difference being that I am back in London now. Living in a little appartment in Spitalfields, bordering the city. How dismal. I have been woken buy a gigantic pneumatic drill, digging a hole right outside the flat. The building was literally shaking with the force of the drill. Does nothing change in England? As I speak another machine has just added to the chorus, flattening down the freshly laid tarmac from yesterdays dig. I sopose I should be grateful that there is work being done, rather than a hole and no workmen.

There is something quite exciting about being back here, and my head is alternately filled with dreams of finding a good job and a nice little house within reach of the city, OR "sticking it out" for as long as I can and then making a fast exit to a place very far away and with a less dreary climate. I think the current plan is to stick it out and see how it all feels in a few months.

Not very handy

There are times in this land, when I still get caught out and infuriated by the over organised and officious manner of the place.
For example, I went into the T.Com shop the other day, where I got my mobile phone from. They call mobile phones 'handy's' here. Handy? why? because it's 'to hand', ie. in your pocket when you need it. I've always found it a very amusing appropriaion of English.
I wanted to cancel my contract because I'm leaving, simple, right? you tell them, and then a month later they cut you off? WRONG. Even though I have had the phone for 2 years which was the original contract I signed up for, now, because I didn't give 3 months notice to terminate, I have to have the phone for 6 more months. That is nuts. I'm sure it's all in the contract, but did I read that? ERRRR...NOOOO, something to do with it being in German, and me arriving in here 2 years ago and not speaking any German. All the Sausagelanders probably read their contracts in detail. This is, after all a nation where examining any kind of paperwork is a major pastime. Checking supermarket reciepts immediately after clearing the checkout is virtually a national sport.
Pah! to the phone company. I might just close my bank account so they can't have my money, ha! wow - I am so clever.
Oh, this reminds me of the on-going histoire with the GEZ...It's a long one so I might have to make a seperate post.

mobile phones - there is no escape.

moving again

Only one week to go!, well, less in fact. We have got a flat to go to in Spitalfields, London, and we are driving over in the fast car on Sunday. Now all that is left to do is pack. I'm using the oppourtunity to chuck out LOADS of stuff. It's very refreshing. It's also rather shocking the amount of 'crap' we keep in our lives. I have kept all sorts of rubbish, I mean, can keeping the instructions for every piece of Ikea furniture I have ever built, really be justified? I suppose the number of times I've moved in the last few years, it could almost be considered sensible. I counted the other day, and since 2004 I have moved 6 times.

On Saturday we had another curry night, 10 people came round, and we had, Beef Madras, Chicken Vindaloo, Tandoori Chicken, Prawn Jalfreizi, Onion Bhajis, Dal, and Rogan Josh. Not to mention loads of Popadoms, and naan bread. Everyone seamed to enjoy it except E, who is Czech, and can be excused from liking curry on account of the fact that it is not her national dish. We rounded the night of by rolling into town and saying goodbye to a couple of bars.

I can't believe we are going so soon, it's all happened so fast.

BLIMEY!

it has been AGES since I wrote. Does that mean my life is boring? well, it could, but actually I've been quite busy, I went to London for a bit, and gave in to the lure of Toni and Guy, getting my harcut buy a Japanese stylist was about as close at I could get to my previous oriental haircut. I was not dissapointed.

A week in Cyprus was another of my adventures, where Mr V and I were able to lounge around in the gorgeous sunshine, as well as do some diving and eat loads of yummy mediterrean food. We went back the same hotel as we went to in May. I am never quite sure about doing that kind of thing, after all, there are so many different place to go in the world, why go back to the same one twice? In fact it was better this time than last time, so I guess that somewhat dispells my theory that going back again could be a bit mundane. I would probably go back there again as well, so I am truly converted, or perhaps just getting older and turning into a creature of habit (heaven forbid).

Now, with my tan fading fast, it is time to address the fact that we REALLY ARE MOVING BACK TO ENGLAND. Secretly, I am quite excited at the idea, and can think of several reasons why, although I have to play it down, as Mr V is really not happy about going back at all. The big reason for me is that I can get some proper work there. Since April I have lived in a kind of limbo, not getting a job, but wanting one, and trying to make a start on this small business of mine ( which has, to say the least, been sporadic and slow) Now I feel like I have some purpose and oppourtunity ahead. It's a kind of relief. I'm also looking forward to seeing all my old friends at home, most of whom are either pregnant or with babies and small children, so stuck here I'm missing all the fun. I am not looking forward to the extremely high cost of living and the nightmare public transport network though, and I feel perhaps it will not be long before we attempt a bid for freedom abroad again. It is strange how I get frustrated with not being settled, and yet, when the oppourtunity presents it's self, I get bored and want to move on. My mother always said I could never be amused as a child for more than about 20 minutes, before I got fed up and wanted to do something else.

It's a bit sad

so, finally we know what will become of us here in our comfy little place in Sausageland. Mr V and I will be returning to the UK at the end of September. It's a bit dissapointing, as we quite like it here!

On a more cheerful note, We will be able to see friends and family a lot more, and I will at least be able to find a job in smelly old London. we shall see how it pans out, for there will be more changes in the future I am sure.

no more tea

I'm running low on my favourite teabags! this is fairly serious, since I drink it all the time and I can only get the teabags in England. Twinings decaf Earl Grey. Some might not see the point in drinking tea without caffeine in, it's much like ordering a decaffeinated coffee in Starbucks, The staff generally look at you as if to say 'why are you bothering?' . I do go through phases of preferring decaf or caffeinated tea and coffee. The coffee here in sausageland is very strong, and affects me somewhat, so I try to avoid it, but it's hard, as I do love the taste. So I think I shall be sending out a plea to someone soon in England for some more teabags, as I am currently in a 'no caffeine' phase of my ever erratic life.

I need a haircut

I haven't had a haircut since February, when I was in Shanghai. It was a fantastic haircut, and I now face the terrible situation of chosing a hairdresser here in my adopted hometown. Last time I got my haircut here I went to a 'safe bet' Toni & Guy salon, but was pretty dissapointed with the results. Hairdressers sometimes have this annoying habit of seeing long hair, and just combing it straight when it's wet, and cutting an inch off around the bottom. I think this is just lazy, and expect much more for my 50 Euros quite frankly.

I did try a little local salon up the road once as well, but the brusque girl who served me, handed me the hairdryer to dry it myself after she had cut it. After she saw my cunfused expression, she explained that I had to pay an extra 10 euros for her to dry it....I find this quite bizarre. The unhelpful girl then proceeded to lecture me on how it was such a waste of a blow dry if I didn't have anything special on to warrant an extra fee for her drying my hair...WHAT??!! If I want her to dry my hair and I'm prepared to pay 10euros more, then so what? It's none of her business what I'm doing that night or why I want my hair dryed nicely so it doesn't look like a total frizz ball for once. she certainly won't get me back in her salon, the cow.

I think my anxiety about finding a decent hairdresser in this bossy place is quite justified. Perhaps I should go for a 'top stylist' rather than a junior.. especially if I have highlights, which I am considering, since the lack of sunshine this summer has left my hair looking rather boring. Failing that I could go for a total re-style, something short, hmmm, I'm not sure that would be altogether satisfying though. I might regret it deeply, and have to wait ages for it to grow back.

It is perhaps testament to the mundanity of my life that I am even remotely concerned about my haircut. It's simply long and messy, and need to be shorter and neat, not exactly brain surgery, but girls do love to fret about their hair.


Shanghai haircut

lunch with a stone

ha ha, well not exactly. I went for lunch with my friend AM today, and we went to my favourite cafe by the river, Marcels. It's clearly the place to go, as Ron Wood also decided to lunch there, and we sat on the table next to him, and all his minders/translators/friends. The Rolling Stones are playing here tonight, so I was not surprised to see him, just thought it was quite novel really. I'm not one for rushing up and bothering famous people with requests for autographs and cheesey photos. If anything I go the other way and kind of ignore them, almost to the point of being rude, which is a bit silly. AM is actually going to the concert tonight, but she couldn't remember which one of the Stones he was, so didn't feel that it would be appropriate to approach him and ask his name....

Mr Wood was quite loud and I couldn't help but overhear much of his conversation, although this might have been due to his speaking English. Living in a foreign country, one can't help but get over sensitive to spoken english in public, my ears can syphion it out from all the foreign languages at a good 40 paces. He was very nice to a couple of enthousiastic fans who waited paitently to approach him as he left the restaurant terrace, he shook their hands and posed for a photo before being bundled into a big silver car and driven away. What a nice man! mind you, it is his job, and he's had enough practice.

Now, I can hear a few voices out there crying in anger and shock..."Why didn't you corner him for a peck on the cheek and a photo!!" I know, I know, I'm rubbish like that...but some experiences are best left to the memory, I'm not a huge fan of the Stones, and not about to pretend to be one for the sake of his celebrity. It's like the time George Best and I smiled at each other as I passed him in his dressing gown on the stairs at Champneys. I couldn't stop and shake his hand, or pretend I'd ever seen a football game he'd played in...It would just have been wrong.

Just a Trifle

As mentioned in my last post I was having some difficulty procuring custard powder. I promised Mr V that for his birthday I would make him a trifle, his favourite pudding. It is also my favourie pudding, so I was quite happy to have the task. All the ingrients were simple, except the Custard. I was all set to make it from scratch with some help from Delia Smith, but, to my great relief and joy, our friend SJ smuggled some instant birds over from England. Hurrah!

The final debate was what to put on top, I am a great believer in toasted almond slices, but Mr V was adament that it should be hundreds and thousands. The argument raged all week long, all the way through the various stages of the trifle preparation. In the end I conceded, and let him have his way, after all it was his birthday.

On saturday night we had great party, at which, being the hostess, I forgot to take any photos, and drank way to much white wine and soda. Mr V cooked his famous Chilli, presented with a flourish at around 10 pm, only to be devoured by the ravenus hoardes in a matter of minutes. Mr V jr.complained that it was served too late, pah! I say, who cares? I'm just happy that all the trifle was eaten as well. there is nothing worse than left over trifle hogging the fridge.

It's arrived!

yes, the moment I have been waiting for, the arrival of MY NEW SEWING MACHINE. Now it may seem rather odd to those non-sewers of you out there, but I can admit freely that I have always hankered after an industrial sewing machine. The fast staight line stitching, the ability to glide through several layers of fabric, and even to sew chunky denim and wool, are all attractive capabilities, you have to agree.

I decided I must have this wonderful piece of equipment after making the first few prototype handbags for my business, after much snarled up thread, and several frustatingly slow sewing hours, I realised that my 2 small domestic machines were really too feeble to match my ambitious plan for sewing. I scoured E-bay, and found a couple of things, but had no real idea what I was looking at, so contacted a dealer in the UK, who gave me the number for Mr L, in a town up the road. I went to visit Mr L, and he showed me his big warehouse full of machines, I phoned him up the next day to let him know what I had decided I wanted, and hey presto, here it is, or should I say 'here she is'? hmmm, should a sewing machine be male or female? I think perhaps I shall reserve judgement on that question, until continued use reveals the machine's reliability.

At this point I should let you see a photo of the fantastic thing:

and, of course, thank my Grandparents, who's post mortem generosity has enabled this business investment.

Mr and Mrs T came to stay

Only for 2 nights, which was enough, and not very long at the same time. On Friday night we went to a brewery called Schumachers, for a bit of traditional Schweinhaxe, and sausages (of course!), with Saurkraut and kartoffel puree on the side. Luckily, Mr T. has been blessed with an extremely healthy apetite, and hollow legs, so the vast portion we were served was well eaten by the time our waiter came to clear the table.

Our weekend was one of food, shopping, and rest, which went down very well on all sides, especially since Sunday was really dreary and rainy. I often feel when I have friends or family to visit that every moment should be of fantastic excitement, and those visiting should leave with the feeling that they have been totally entertained and their every whim has been catered for. Mrs T. reminded me that this is actually not as important as getting a good rest, the chance to eat some nice food and do a bit of 'nothing' for a while. This takes the stress of entertaining down a notch or two I must admit, especially since our humble abode will be invaded by guests for the coming 2 weeks almost constantly.

This revelation has left me free to focus on the important things in life, such as 'where does one buy Bird's custard powder on the continent?' It appears that the answer is 'nowhere'. Im therefore dusting off Mr V's edition of Delia's Complete Cookery Course, in the hope that my meagre culinary skills might enable me to make it from scratch....fingers crossed!

Festival trip

Our favourite bar manager (and my old boss) VC invited us along to a trance festival. I was slightly apprehensive, as I haven't been to a festival for a long time, but went along to see what would happen. we ended up having a really good time, as did all the others in our 10+ group of people. the 6 hour drive was not too bad, epecially as I managed to get away with only a 2 hour stint. we arrived just before sunset on friday and our tent was alredy pitched for us by friends. cool!

we danced all night under a starry sky and, on saturday relaxed in the sun, while the local fire service hosed down some of the crowd, clearly the dissapointment of a lack of runaway barbeque fires was too much. Some of us were 'eaten alive' by the mosquitoes, luckily I do not suffer from them much, but VC was suffering badly.

By day
Saturday night was the big night, and the visitors numbers grew through the day. we sat drinking chai in the afternoon. At 9.30 the main dance floor started up with a big firewoks display, and live music. It was great, after dark, the lights and decorations made it look as if we were inside a massive marquee, but in fact we were outdoors. really clever. Until it started to rain. It rained all night and we all got wet. At least our tent managed to keep out the rain.


By night
all in all I would say that my fears of it being a strange disaster weekend were unfounded, and a good time was has by all, plus I discovered a fab new drink called becks lemon, it tastes like lemon, but has the effect of beer. brilliant!

All the fun of the Fair

It's called a Kirmes here. This one comes every year, and spends 3 weeks setting up on the banks of the Rheine, and is open to the public for 10 days. I've never been before, so I just HAD to go last night when some friends invited me. Someone told me it is the biggest kirmes in europe, but I'm not sure. It has apparently over 4 million visitors in it's 10 days of opening. It is also, I discovered, connected to the parade on Sunday (see my last post) celebrating the schutzenfest (shooting festival)
More info here (in german though!)



Not being an experienced fair-ride traveller, I chose to go on the 'Euro-star', the biggest mobile rollercoaster in the world and scareyest ride in the whole fair. Brilliant! Of my fellow riders, TI was unimpressesd because it was not as smooth a ride as the rollercoasters in her native Canada, Mr V loved it, and I was stunned into silence and just grateful that I could still walk and talk when I got off, come to think of it CP was also rather quiet, and mysteriously dashed off home after the ride...


Following all the excitement, we calmed our nerves with a beer, and found a nice 'push penny' arcade to play on. I won a haky sack and a toy motorbike, great! I did also go a bit crazy taking pictures, what with all the 'pretty lights' and stalls. you can see them here.

Altstadt Parade

Having spent the last three weeks afraid to leave my flat without an umbrella, I was most elated to see that this weekend the forecast was hot hot hot, with lots of sunshine. It was sweltering in fact, and on sunday mr V and I ventured into the Altstadt to sample the delights of the annual 'Frankreichfest', (french festival) which I have to say was somewhat lacking in frenchness. Granted there were a few stallholders from france, but there were also several Sausageland ones, masquerading as french............Shocking! so we ate 'brie' on bread, as it slowly melted onto the plate, and washed it down with 'pink' champagne, which was probably sekt, pah! such a hard life. We purchased some sweaty cheese, and turned our attention to the marching bands that were circling the town. Now, I do love marching bands, all the uniforms, the xylophones, drums and well, marching....i think it's great...and if there is one thing that they do well here, it's a parade.



I have no Idea what the parade on sunday was all for, or who the groups were, or why they were marching, and strangely I can find no reference to it in the local events magazine. Perhaps it was just an oppourtunity to get dressed up and show off a bit while there were lots of people in town, who knows...but i enjoyed it. I think my fascination for these parades stems from rememberance day parades in the village where I grew up. We always went and marched with the guides or brownies, or whatever organisation we belonged to, and there was always a really big parade since we had a large army base just next to the village, who came out in force, with bands and everything. It was kind of exciting and serious at the same time.



Dispite the 30+ temperatures, the 100% sunshine, and lack of breeze, these guys soldiered on with their formations from 1 till 6pm, marching about all over the place. I think a few snook off for a glass of the local altbier, but who can blame them really?!

Grandpa's Honey

 

this is my favourite kind of honey. thick and pale. I got this jar from my grandpa's house, when I went round with my parents after his funeral. It is a bit sad eating my dead grandpa's honey, but it comes from his village, and I'll probably never have reason to go back there. It is nice to remember him everytime I have toast.

Demolition

they are knocking down the block at the end of my street. there is some kind of strange satisfaction about seeing the insides of a building as the outside is stripped away. It was a perfectly good building before.

One Night in London...

Well, leaving at 4am in the morning to go back to London for a night out does sound a bit drastic, but it was K's 40th birthday, so I think the occassion justified it. Besides, you can go really fast when there is no traffic on the roads here.. another good excuse. Mr V. chose to go out for drinks on friday night, so with only a few hours sleep we charged off into the dawn on Saturday and by 9am we were having tea and toast in Essex. wild. We trundled down to Southend on Sea for a spot of last minute gift shopping, and could not resist the lure of Fish and chips, by the sea, overlooking the funfair. Ah...the Great British Summertime. They even had Daddies sauce which went down very well.



It had only dawned on us as we drove over that this weekend is probably the most hectic weekend to visit london and it's congested surroundings. Wembly stadium was playing host to 90,000 Live Earth concert goers on saturday and The Tour De France was making it's first Stage on Sunday. There were the Mens and Womens Finals at Wimbeldon, Plus the date was 7.7.7. so naturally every engaged couple in the land was getting married. Oh, and there was a grand Prix, but that was outside London.

Dispite all of this excitement, we managed to get a cab to go out (a miracle) have lots of fun, and not get mown down by cyclists, showered in confetti or stuck in any train delays or traffic jams. I think we did rather well. We did get stuck in a massive traffic jam passing Bussels on the way home, but I fell asleep and ignored it.

Down to business

Well, as I keep telling everyone, I'm starting my own business. So, what exactly is it all about? I have finally made my first 'prototypes', and took the opportunity to show them to a couple of friends, (& potential customers), to get their opinion. Fortunately, they liked them, and with perhaps a few slight adjustments, I could have someting actually saleable on my hands. Brilliant!



Next step is to get sewing and start finding local shops to sell them in.

Curry night

Well, I somehow, and at very short notice got myself involved in cooking curry for 8 people on Saturday night. I read a recipe book, trapsed around all the finest foodstores I could find, looking for the right ingredients, and came up with a selection of dishes to offer my friends. I did also manage to use up some leftover Sharwoods curry that I'd made earlier in the week (CHEAT!)

One of the major drawbacks of sausageland is that they, as a nation, are not curry lovers. They do have a favourite dish known as 'currywurst' but anyone who has sampled it will know that it is a very poor form of curry, most probably made using curry powder ketchup and water, pored over a chopped up 'wurst' (sausage). I refuse to eat it, and as a result me and my rostbeef friends are resigned to cooking for ourselves or going to the very expensive "shalimar" restaurant.

SO, after a MAJOR stressful saturday cooking and shopping, dinner was served at 9pm, and everyone enjoyed it, thank goodnes, and as yet, no reports of food poisoning. hoorah! The dinner was followed by the customary visit to Fatties Irish bar. my memory ceased to function beyond my first drink, which was certainly felt the next day, as I spent to whole day in bed watching the second series of Monk. I've not been so sick in ages, and, as usuall...I'm never drinking again!

Fatties!
all the pics

Post office drama

Being the generous sort that I am (some might call it "mug") I offered to post a rather delicate shadow puppet back to the Uk for my dear friend RV. Having beautifully wrapped it in a rather individual way, which I thought made the package much more exciting, I set off down to the 'postbank' to send it on it's way. Whilst walking through the park, a chirpy 'nordic walker' woman made some comment to me as I passed her. Understanding not one word she said I just smiled stupidly, and went on my way. On arrival at the post office, the lady behind the counter looked rather pained when I produced my 'paket', firstly I think it was incorrect by her estimation, that it should be refered to as a 'paket'....she queried me, and I appologised my my inadequate language, as is customary in these situations. Then there was the question of the 'corner', or rather lack of it. I had fashioned my parcel rather like an oblong shape with one corner missing. This shape was clearly not conforming to the post office's regulations of handling. I was aghast, mostly at the thought of having to return home with the parcel and 'build' a corner onto it. I mean REALLY? The woman cross-referenced her doubts with her colleagues, and they all agreed that, I could by all means send it, but it would probably be rejected by the sorting office, due to being the 'wrong shape' leaving me in all sorts of trouble, what with having to collect it and then re-pack it and re-send it and so on. Classic tactics for deferment of descision making. I was cornered by their logic, and had no choice but to return home and make it a boring oblong shape for the boring sausageland postbank. I trudged off home, praying it didn't rain on the way, and hoping that I didn't see the Nordic Walking lady on her second lap of the park, after all she'd probably been trying to warn me about my dangerous parcel shape when I passed her earlier....

peace at last

well, for the fist time since my return from travelling, I'm actually having a weekend of rest, getting the chance to potter about the flat and do lots of nice things, like go out on my (new!) bike and write my blog. I can't believe it's been almost 16 weeks since I returned. What on earth have I been doing? ....Well, I've been over to the UK about 5 times, I think, a week in London, a week in Dorset, and a few short trips. I had a week in cyprus and a weekend in Antwerp. we've had a few visitors as well....All in all I feel more exhausted than I did back in April when I arrived home.