So, here we are, out of the jungle of german bureaucrazy, which right even before relocation of Ali led us to go slightly crazily too, and mind you, we just have to deal with the EU legislation here….
So it happened, that after this circle of “finish-work-before-getting-forms-which-allow-you-to-continue-other-forms-which-are-allowed-after-finishing-work” it’s just a few little things missing, like for example the frighty-mighty-shinygonk, a relict left from times when foreign people needed a “Aufenthaltsgenehmigung” to stay longer than the usual three month, and which, after reading a bit in the forums, was related to a couple of other tricky little ways to go – of which one equaled another. A lovely way to keep people running!
Now, this little form intends to stay in Alis Passport for a while, and is needed to get the allowance to do a language course after EU Rights, for example. Funnily enough. We have been waiting for this a few days but finally got it in…and as Ali became more and more excited about it he simply gave it it’s new name…
A much prettier, easier in spelling and soft-to-the-ear spoken out Beauty…
which has simply replaced that odd little grey sounding paperdescription of the german named official “Freizügigkeitsbescheinigung”
I have recently been to the Rhinepark on the East-Bank,..or rather more passed through its linear neatness to cross the old railway bridge to the West -Bank…
See that “Rhinepark”,..it’s what we, that muck about in the countryside, would refer to as a “Nice Place”…an expanse of madly overtrimmed burnt grass, and a tight-knit group of “lollipop” trees, that are there to show just how much the municipal powers that be, care about the environment….
It’s a universal blight,..and a pitiful reminder of just how far removed we have become from the very roots of Nature,…there is no clover upon the grass….therefore no bees, the trees are to closely planted for them to ever grow full, just to be trimmed year in year out, their roots gleaning nought from the arid earth .
The frustrating thing is, that the nucleus of the idea is a good one!..
Yet the practice is eons away from the promise..Town Planners, just cannot seem to step away from the drawing board, locked in their anodyne World of neat and tidy idealism.
Now maybe I’m getting the whole thing wrong, and that Nature was never high on the agenda, when the Suits first put pen to paper,..but there ARE trees,..there IS an expanse of blatantly overmown grass, devoid of nutrients and cropped so close and obsessively, that the earth beneath is becoming like the concrete, that I imagine that this area is designed to contrast with…
Here’s the “Twisty Turny Bit”, though,…for as long as places like this exist, they will keep the “dudes” away from the REAL treasure of the West-Bank!..Maybe the Suits were master psychologists after all!..perhaps I’m not giving them enough kudos!..who knows?…but just in case their creatively starved minds WERE convinced that they were “naturalising” an area…all they had to do was take a look at the other side of the River to see how it REALLY goes down!
I’m an exceptionally ordinary human being,..in fact I’m probably a little too ordinary tilting towards the boring side of the social spectrum, I like football ( Liverpool FC , of course!), Music, Reading, Walking, Cycling, I write a bit of Poetry now and again, and I also happen to like Birdwatching..( this is where some people say something amazingly witty and original, like..”Oh Yeah?..what SORT of Birds, eh?..”……never heard THAT one before)…sounds pretty sad perhaps!..
To anyone who has never seen a Peregrine strike at a Pigeon, ( The Peregrine climbs, then dives from out of the Sun, reaching speeds of circa 190 miles an hour,…such timing and trajectory, the imperative for the kill…at the last moment the Peregrine brings its rear talon forward…and smashes into the Pigeon…I have even heard the impact….the spectacle is both amazing and shocking at the same time)…to a person who has never witnessed, the flocks of Wild Geese crossing the startled face of a full Autumn Moon…or a pair of Crag Martins ( like our House Martins) defend their nest against the black mass of a curious Raven,…AND send the Raven packing…Birdwatching must seem the realm of the impossibly dull.
To me, it opens both the eyes and mind,…AND it’s a real challenge too!
I have been at a Paper Mill at dawn in the S.E of England, a place that was really no beauty spot, steam and paper-mulch fumes belched their fetid airs into the crispness of an early Spring day,..but this was soon forgotten as the voices of a dozen or so nearby Nightingales sang their hearts out to the ascending Sun.
They were there, simply because they could be!..although the area was , as mentioned, not the easiest on the eye,..it was, however , left to its natural device,…there were insects aplenty and the life-cycle of all were allowed to continue, relatively unhindered.
A lesson to be learnt, is that, There is NO such thing as, WASTELAND….there is only HABITAT!!!
Now, Habitat itself CAN, be improved upon if managed sympathetically, acknowledging the complexities and intricacies of natural life..and ultimately managed with respect,..look at the local flora to give an indication of what will grow in which soil type,..it really can be relatively simple things that make a difference…a lake for example, give it a gradual slope to the water,..this lets wading birds trawl the muddy margins, and allows other wildlife easier accessibility.
Take those trees in the Rhinepark,..they are desperately trying to put roots down in rock-hard terrain, …the way of a tree is a brilliant thing,..it takes from the soil, then gives back to the soil, and what is more removes all the shit from the air that we don’t like!…fantastic!…but the leaves that drop need a bit of moisture, and a few earthworms, to exacerbate that cycle..earthworms and other invertebrates, of course, as well as aerating the soil, are that vital link in the food chain…and so it goes!
If you are ever at the Rhinepark…try looking West!…there is treasure out there!..YOUR Natural Heritage!..embrace it while you still can,…because someday soon, the Suits will be sharpening their pencils, and peering across the water…. And, as for the birds?…well, even the most common of species,…let us say the “Starling” can be as cool as f%*k!!
Dieser Text mal wieder in Deutsch. Anders krieg ich es nicht zusammen und das Vokabular in diesem Fall ist begrenzt. So hoffe ich, dass ich wenigstens Ali alles übersetzen kann. Aber wer hier hereinschaut, wird das Wesentliche sicher erfassen…
Die deutsche, oder vielmehr europäische Bürokratie in einigen Dingen ist schon eine tolle Sache. Zumindest wenn es um Umzüge geht.
Das Wesentliche: Offiziell darfst Du dich nicht in einer Stadt melden, wenn Du noch nicht wirklich umgezogen bist. Umziehen kannst Du als Otto-Normal-Mensch natürlich nicht vor Arbeitsbeendigung. Die Meldebescheinigung brauchst Du aber, um Dich vor Ort als mindestens arbeitssuchend zu melden. Das wiederum möchte die letzten Bezüge sehen, die man mittels E 301-Formular eingeben kann, um eventuell Ansprüche mitzuziehen (hurra Europa, immerhin etwas!)…
E 301 gibt es nach Arbeitsbeendigung.
Und vor dem offiziell keine Umzugsmeldung.
Alles klar?
Egal….
Generell war die Agentur bis jetzt noch nicht soo schlimm, wie sonst erzählt. Aber das war erst der Einstieg nicht? Natürlich.
Die Aufnahme für die Weiterleitung? Hmmm…folgt strengen formalen Regeln. Eine Beratung ein englischer Sprache könne ich z. B. nicht erwarten, kam es von dem Mädel, welches die Personalien aufnahm. Eigentlich fragte ich nur, ob einer der Berater im Notfall auch englisch spreche. Das übrigens sind wir schon gewohnt, auch sonst, dass die Leute am liebsten den Hörer fallen lassen, wenn sich huch…! Ein Engländer meldet!!!!
Liebes Bildungsministerium! Eure sechs Jahre Schulenglisch sind offenbar für’n Arsch. Hier will keiner, kann keiner, und mag keiner in Englisch….so what? Vielleicht einfach fallen lassen die sprachliche Schinderei?
(Nur mal so.)
Dafür wurde der liebe Ali mal schnell zu “Frau Ali” und sein Zweitname zum Nachnamen funktioniert. Und das alles aus dem Passport. Europäisch versteht sich.
Kurzes Stutzen. Ein freundlicher Hinweis auf die Fehlleitung und der noch etwas unbeholfene Einwurf Alis: “Ich bin ein Frau mit Bart” mit einem Blick quittiert, der uns wohl besser unter die Tische rutschen lassen sollte. Wäre das Dingelchen nicht noch etwas jung gewesen….hmmmm…
Ansonsten alles prima, liebe Agentur für Arbeit! Ihr seid unflexibel, bürokratisch und fremdenfeindlich. Europäische Gesetze sind vorhanden, aber ungern gesehen. Kann ich mir vorstellen, Ihr Lieben. Bewegen tut auch was weh. Fällt ja angesichts unserer “Kundennummer” auch in den Bereich “Kundenfreundlichkeit”. Hach, und da spreche mal einer von Servicewüste….
Aber: macht Euch nix draus. Man kann ja immer noch besser werden. Und man lernt nie aus. So wie wir.
Glück sei Dank haben wir alles in die Reihenfolge bekommen, unter der man geringstmögliche Schikane erwarten kann.
Vielleicht.
Immerhin: Ali hat noch drei Wochen Arbeit in England und ist ansonsten offiziell Duisburger! Wenn das mal nicht ein Anfang ist. Ich freu mich!
“Naaa….Plumpudding….” he said with that sort of slightly terrified voice trying to put up an example for the bad reputation of the classical english kitchen, and i still have it in mind, the voice of my father when i was perhaps around twelve, listening to his stories.
To be fair, i don’t really know if ever he really had some of the english dishes, i rather guess it might have been just some matter of style just to pretend as if. Being around just a bit and of course finding a lot of “cooking culture” influences in Germany i find, that every nation has got something nice to give.
Like this i was quite a bit amused to find Ali getting all excited about the fact of having some “summer pudding” in these late days of summer, searching for recipes in the net, pushed by the fact of having some blackberries from around the rhineside and always open to give it a try…
What can i say? A bit of work but not too much, the right ingredients, freshly put together, a bit of time and love, of course, made up a nice little dish (the trial version though…haha..) which with some whipped cream gave us a bit of a taste of summer:
tasty stuff in summer times, 1st try
So, next time, whenever talking to my dad again i might well give him some warm words about dishes from other countries…and perhaps a little piece of summer pudding, too.
THAT was fine! And more to the point, the whole venture was a wonderful return to an “older” way!
The tasting of that Summer Pudding was made all the sweeter for knowing its genesis!..The time spent gathering the fruit , down by the water, on a perfect Summer’s evening, where the the corona of a spent Sun, left its last in the water-meadows, the river bank, the high arc of a sepia sky..even the usually strident and stark monoliths of industry that dominate the Eastern bank, were tamed, their glazed facades rippled back the bowing gild..their reflections resigned to a soft edged submission, honed by the Seaward flow of the Rhine,
There was no breeze to mention, just a serene stillness..Hot Air Balloon pilots ply their trade well, on such evenings, indeed their crepuscular activity depends on such conditions..several bobbed along silently,..rising and falling, chasing Sunsets somewhere, far down river, like cartoon expressions of drowsy, pleasant thought..
On the chamomile fringed margins of a water filled scrape, a Common Sandpiper sought sustenance within the soft cloying ooze..having gleaned its fill, it flicked away over the placid pool, piping its sprightly ululation, to be lost from sight against the backdrop of shingle, its camouflage such, that one would be oblivious to the little bird’s presence were it not for that fluting call…
In a few weeks time, Our Sandpiper will have swapped industry and economy, for Wildebeest and Savannah..what purpose drives that tiny heart to the fury of flight?..Natural law branded deep with in the cellular structure, as if it flies to honour its evolution, lest the idle wing would have its form regress to the earth-bound sluggishness of the Dinosaurs it’s kind fled from,..it pipes and flicks, for the tricks of Archeopteryx, The Great Escapologist!..fly while you can, Little One!…over land over waves…flee the shadow that grows in the mind with every passing pulse…fly until the shadow consumes you..until you return to the Earth..and can fly no more…. The Berries we picked were the bulbous and bursting sweet sculptures of the Story of Seasons,..formed in the frosts..flowered in Spring, hardened and ripened through Sunshine and Shower!..offered amid challenge of thorn-stab and wasp sting..to reach their bushes, we cycled..we picked and tasted their plump august vintage, ..our fingers wine-stained and sticky!..bottles and pots were filled,….light ebbed still further, as Cicadas strummed for the waking of the Moon..we returned, laden, gifted,contented,….and smiling…
A more beautiful evening, one could not wish for….both company and purpose were priceless…
thankyou…
Next stop “Blackberry and Apple, Cinnamon-Topped Crumble!”…( Christ!, Yes!)
“Ich bin ein Frau mit bart”…its official!…( I hope I have got this right!)
I am, currently in quarantine, courtesy of “Swine Flu”..
It is an idle nether-world of dragging minutes and colossal hours, a strange enforced limbo, due to the hype and panic surrounding this virus..which,..if we are honest,..is just the “Flu”..but given Ribbons and Bows!..but , of course, if it is to “go BACK in to pigs and mutate”..then we are in REAL trouble,…surely the answer to this is simple,..
“Stop hanging around with Piggies!”..leave the those little pink snorters to do their thing!..they just want to grunt around and squeal a bit, and find the odd truffle or two, and produce cute little piglets!..we don’t NEED to be socialising with them, ..taking them out for drinks,…bringing them home for a night of wild passion, surely!!…just leave them be,..and we will all be better soon,..both Human AND Piggy-Kind!..
My lovely Anja, has been very supportive, always so cheery, and always so kind..always leaving me smiling away after a conversation!,..Iam truly blessed with this!..Thank-you so much!!!!
Perhaps it was the fevered state that first flared the thought, I am not sure, but I was given to ponder on the possibility of there being some metaphorical Porcine behavioural traits, to those that have met this virus..I have experienced nothing physical..no curly tail has suddenly sprouted from my posterior..nor have I developed trotters….( but I am boiling some potatoes , at the moment and am having to suppress an urge to sling them into a particularly muddy patch on the lawn, and go in after them on all fours…hmmm!),..However, I believe that in SOME sufferers, there is certainly a more…how shall I put this…”descriptive” element to their behaviour, pertaining to swine…
On Saturday night, my neighbour came home…steaming drunk…I mean, “Ripped”, “Wankered”,.”Totalled”, “Stocious”….name it what you will, he was inebriated beyond all recognition,..in fact the acronym FUBAR, wraps it neatly in paper and pops it under the tree!..
He asked me how I was..( I think!)…”Haaas yoooooo biooooryt …aday?”….( Have I been alright today?)…
“Eeeem….compleeshly ppp–issssssttt..My..grrrfreeeen …essss a…cok!….an m…gon t bare…” ( I have partaken of too much ale, the Lady in my life is not all that agreeable to me, and for this I shall seek my rest)
“Ok..! Have a Good One”..I replied, hoping that I could hide my disappointment well, at not being able to continue this intellectual badinage.
And off he swayed up to his pit….
All was quiet for a moment,…then I heard a window open..and what sounded like a bucket of water , splashed down on the bush, just outside my window…
Yep!…He had thrown open the window,..and vomited onto the Laurel…obviously the wastepaper bin would not do for a sick-bucket, because that was full,..how to remedy that?…simple!..empty that out of the window too!..and just for good measure..another copious amount of vomit onto the already sick and rubbish laden bush beyond the glass!…hoorraa!…
He’s got Swine Flu too…and he is obviously a Pig, so there could be something in that thought process..
Anja?..You and I ?..How about a dose of “Bear Flu”..just go out a bit, gather some nuts and berries, then have a bit of a stretch and a yawn, then curl up in a little ball,..and have some sleeps….
Love that! Luv,n Spuds!
Ali
Ali? You are so right on this. And especially your neighbours should be examined entirely on this, as…as far as I’m concerned…they seem to be much more infected by this sort of illness than anyone else around. Worth a second view..haha…
From our point, i am pretty happy that in the end it did not turn out any spooky thing as is told in the media over here and slowly but surely i get a feeling of being terribly brought on wrong pathways on this. Regarding the news, one should be affected by this in a way, the modern sort of zombie film genre brings to us. “You are bitten, you start screwing eyes and behave wildly against anyone around to infect them too, until we all are a bunch of non-thinking personas starting to take-over the world…
Well…apparently…who then are the real zombies? It’s just a flu in the end and was already over when you arrived here. So, mind you if WE are about to get it.
You never know.
It could have modified.
We could start vomitting out of the windows. For example.
Little sidestep in history and a bit of a personal entry. Last weekend has been the bye-bye trip to UK for a little while, as big changes are supposed to happen.
As so very often, tension breaks in jokes and jests on our way back to Gatwick which this time included the invention of “the sign of 3″, a dark and sinister thing which just takes place for this week, the second of July, and just for a few nights of the year of 2009, and then shall be reduced (imagine a dark voice here!!).
Actually…we had a tiny bit of fun with it
(nice we are)
(as long as we choose to be)
(bit of Yoda-speech implemented?)
(in the end: all fine!)
So time went by, a little bit of tears suppressed, and for those to know about the sign of the 3: two of us doing it, means six. Six weeks to go until Ali comes here to stay…
Could get no nicer reason, no? no!
Love ‘n Peace!!! Anja
My Dearest One!
I truly cannot wait to be over,…those Airport partings, are bloody awful moments to endure!
That moment when our hands slip from each-others grip,..that last kiss, that last intake of your sweet aroma before the queue, ushers you on, that last look into your eyes…that silent prayer for your safe passage,..my clenched teeth, and slow swallow, as I try to suppress that misting of vision..
You turn for the last time, wave, we have those smiles that try to project that laughter we shared an hour before, but our eyes tell a better truth, we mouth the words ” I love you”..blow a kiss….and then you are gone…
It is such a “Soul Drop” moment!, as if time has stolen the vital part of essence, I cannot do anything, but look downwards at the neon gilded floor.
Then with a deep breath, and a gathering of some strange reserve of purpose, I head for the platform, and wait for the train,..the journey back is one of quiet contemplation, peppered with smiles as incidents and moments replay in mind, as I gaze across the blurring miles..
Upon opening my door,..knowing that, only hours ago, we were together, and seeing the cups that we drank from, placed side by side as some memorial to our last morning,.. Well!…those “Ol’ Airport Blues” strum their melancholy chords across the heart-strings , once more.
I am sure that those who have known the same long pathways will understand!!
Looking forward to next week!!!.
( sign of “5″!!..Oh YES!)
Luv, ‘n’Smiles!…( and big respect to ANYONE who works in a “Meat Factory” and is seeking further employment from another source, and writes upon the pending application , ” I am good in the sausage department”)
Ali!!
Oh YOU! I know full well what you mean with that last sentence. And yes, it really IS a bit mean suggesting this to an applicant who doesn’t have a clue… shame on you, Alistair!!
Before going on with any sort of complaint against German ugliness in times (yes, we can do this too, obviously) just wanted to announce that in September it will happen for Ali to relocate here, which i really am looking forward to! Of course a bit of excitement is also go, how could it not, it’s a giant step for both of us.
And to make sure, he might not be feeling too foreign over here, just have been strolling around the net to find some other blogs, as yet, it’s a task for him to read the german ones. And mind you, once you start, you might find a whole bunch of other ones too, which i might take into the blogroll sooner or later, starting with these ones:
An all-around-the-rhine-area-page to find out about the newest things to happen, picked up in the towns’ suggestions of the easyjet magazine, which itself contains some links to
which Ali might find amazing, as it picks up some pretty nature related topics obviously and seems very lovely to read. I mean, growing purple cauliflower for one who has got nice experiences regarding “cauliflowerheads” might do very well (insider…haha..sorry)
So let’s watch them all, and see, what we can find next.
Can’t wait for September! Anja
Oh Sweetheart!..That was lovely!
and I have a theory on the Purple Cauliflower ” thing, and although the link maybe somewhat tenuous, at first glance, ..hear me out and see what you think..
I think there is a complex and subliminal relationship between “Cauliflowers” and Pensioners of the female persuasion…( Little Old Ladies!…although that is not very politically correct,..phew!..good thing I didn’t write that on the blog, eh!???..)..
Anyway, there seems to be a time in a Woman’s life, when, one Morning, they get up, draw back the curtains, look longingly and lovingly upon the first sights of day, smilingly head towards the kitchen to make a coffee, and think, “It’s time to be the proud owner of a mass of white, tight curly hair!..I wish to be at One with the Cauliflowers”
When One draws a Pension it is, of course, “Party Time”..this is the time of life when the Old Un’s, give it ALL back!…walk down the street four abreast across the pathway…walking ..oh so slowly….and getting kicks out of it too,..being well aware that it is rush hour, and we are all heading for the trains..all the Men dressed in Tweed Jackets and cloth caps!..( where the HELL do they get those from..I know of NO store that sells them!)..stopping and pointing at Houses saying, “I remember when all this was fields”…
Bless ‘em!…Old Men saying those lines has only ever worried me twice, ( A) when an Old Geezer was saying it in a field,..surrounded by other fields,..and ( B) When a particularly runny- nosed Gent, was pointing outwards with his stick on board the Dover to Calais Ferry.
ANYWAY!..I digress!
The Grannies have taken to shocking the shoppers in the Supermarkets, by hiding in the Vegetable section, and the obvious choice is?…Yep! You guessed it!, ” The Cauliflower Section”
Now, Fruit ‘n Veg, always looks good,..but until you give it a little squeeze, one cannot be certain..so I had it in mind, one evening, to make a nice and scrummy Cauliflower Cheese,..next day, I walked to the Supermarket and made my way to the Vegetable section,..upon finding the Cauliflowers I spied four beauties right in the middle section,..I gave them a little squeeze…and to my surprise, I heard the sound of giggling!..I looked around, to see if anyone else had heard it…turned back to the Cauliflowers, to see four Little Granny faces smiling up at me!…” Off you go you Pervert!..” they cackled..and sank down among the vegetables again with a cry of, “NEXT!!!”
I was up for some fruit too, but that experience certainly made me change my mind about the Bananas.
So!..Yes!..there we have the “Cauliflower/Granny” link,..and, what is more, these ladies are sometimes partial to the odd “Purple Rinse”..could it be, that somehow a “Purple Rinsed Cauliflower Haired Granny”..has, possibly interbred with a Wild Cauliflower, in a bizarre cross pollinating shocking mutation?
Its worth a thought…( just a small one)..but, Hey!..You NEVER know!.. I saw stuff like that on the X-Files..( remeber that?)..so it CAN happen!
“The Truth is out there”
Brilliant Pages, my Love!!!!
Thankyou so much!!!!
and, so far, I have been welcomed most warmly and enjoyed meeting with Kasi too!
Jedes Land hat seine kulturellen Begebenheiten. So im Großen und Ganzen ist der Menschen Wunsch Auszugehen natürlich einfach nur der Wunsch Auszugehen, Geselligkeit zu haben. Und soo unterschiedlich sind die Kulturen hier natürlich nicht.
Trotzdem ist es eine wundersame Sache, sich mitten in England (nicht London!) auf Abendtour zu begeben. Und lustig, hier und da. Anstrengend auch.
Aber von vorne.
Gehe ich in Deutschland weg, so kenne ich Niedersachsen im großen und ganzen, ein bischen Hamburg, ein bischen Berlin, viel Kassel übernacht, die alte Heimat Braunschweig und das, was in “Ruhrarea” so geht: Neuss über Nacht, Essen marginal und Düsseldorf so lala. Kaum Duisburg. Wie auch immer das geht. In niedersächsischen Umfeld gab es viele Cafés, ein paar Kneipen, ein paar Kneipen-Café-Gemische, ein paar Kneipen-Café-Disko-Gelegenheiten, oder ein paar gediegene Nachtclubs und was man so dazu macht. Auch mal Theater, auch mal Kulturveranstaltungen. Und Konzerte. Alles in allem nicht so schlecht, abgesehen davon, dass der persönliche Wohnort ein wenig Aufholbedarf hätte. Vielleicht sind aber auch nur die Ansprüche zu hoch? Who knows….
Gehen die Leute aus, so wird es schick für Theater, ebenso für Essengehen und kulturkonform je nach Musikrichtung und Wille. Kneipen sind im Wesentlichen für alte Leute, oder sie gehen wieder in Richtung Café, oder haben etwas Besonderes. Für jeden ist etwas dabei und jeder geht, wie er es für richtig hält. Abgesehen von der “schicken” Fraktion natürlich. Gerne in Cliquen und Grüppchen oder mit der besten Freundin/dem besten Freund.
England:
In England gibt es Kneipen.
Und Bier.
Und Ladenschlußzeiten.
Und vorwiegend junge Menschen, die männchen- oder weibchenweise in Rudeln auftauchen. Die Damen geschniegelt und gestriegelt wie für den Abschlußball, die Herren in Poloshirt.
Dem schnellen Absturz frönend.
Ein wenig belustigend für den Anfang, aber nach zwei drei Pints, oder, in meinem Fall, vorzugsweise “Pear-Cider” (wir kennen das Gesöff hier unter Cidre und es kann durchaus gefährlich werden so im Laufe des Abends) gluckert man einfach so unter…
Wenn da nicht…
Wenn da nicht die leicht verhängnisvolle Tatsache wäre, dass ich nichtwirklich aus England bin, mindestens einen komischen Akzent spreche, der mir letztens als bulgarisch ausgelegt wurde, und mein lieber Freund in großer Vertrauensseligkeit fallen ließe: “she’s from Germany…”
…
…
…
Hier bitte nun Tusch, Sirene, ein Blaulicht und das Nummerngirl mit dem Schild “DON’T MENTION THE WAR!” vorstellen.
Genau so.
Genau so läuft es. Alle vorherige Konversation geht den Bach runter, denn mindestens Betroffenheit, wenigstens etwas Vorurteil und ein großes Interesse für “wie es uns denn jetzt so geht” führen fortan die Liste. So finde ich mit wieder mit Hooligans, die mich erst “Helga” nennen, um dann später große Verbrüderung zu feiern, unbedarfte Jungmänner, die von ihren Reiseplänen nach München erzählen, um mal zu sehen, “wie es früher so war” oder immer noch Feindliche, die mich angucken wie frisch aus dem Schützengraben gehüpft, und dann vollends entsetzt sind, wenn ich unbedarft fröhlich einen von “Globalization” in die angeschwippste Diskussionsrunde werfe.
Wow…
Großes Kino.
Der Möglichkeiten des Umganges damit viele. An sich habe ich mir vorgenommen, nächstes Mal einen Knicks zu machen, mich artig zu bedanken, dass “die” uns freundlicherweise rausgeholfen haben aus der Misere.
Da das aber dann wirklich ein Minenfeld würde, und ich nicht wirklich kopflos zurückfliegen möchte, wohl eher so:
Wann immer Du in England bist (nicht London!), und sich ein Unbekannter über Deinen Akzent wundert, sag einfach, Du bist aus Bulgarien
Aaalso. Zugegeben, es gibt mehr kulturelle Unterschiede, als sich über Süßigkeiten zu unterhalten. Dennoch muss ich es hier und heute mal loswerden: Ich liebe englische Süßigkeiten. Abgesehen davon, dass die Schwächen überhaupt auf Chips und Lakritz liegen, die zweifellos irgendwie länderübergreifend sind, wären da noch die englischen Wine-Gums und die Frage, welche die Beste von allen Sorten sein mag? Sofern bekannt, bislang, kann dies nur entschieden werden zwischen “Bassetts” und “Maynards”.
Also…?
Bassetts, englischer Klassiker, und das Einzige, was wohl überhaupt in Deutschland zu bekommen ist. Immer etwas hart, immer heftigst kauend zu erledigen, aber auch mit ansehnlichem Lakritzsortiment im Rücken, so dass eine Tüte in Zeiten auch in Deutschland immer drin war…
…bis…
Maynards kam! Fruchtig würziges Kaubonbon mit einem Hauch mehr..mmmhh…was eigentlich? Jedenfalls, schnell am Flughafen aus dem Automaten geholt, avancierten sie hier doch zum Lieblingsrenner an der Weingummi-Front. Nicht so hart wie die guten alten Bassetts, und mit irgendeiner Zutat mehr.
Kann man sich drüber streiten, was dann mehr hermacht.
Jedenfalls gar nicht gehen tut die Marke, die im Rahmen englischer Wochen einer Supermarktkette hier angeboten wurde…und sich als dröges “Haribo” entpuppte.
Und wenn Ihr uns so fragt: Letztlich egal, ob Bassetts oder Maynards.
Oh My Goodness!..these are FINE!..although in all fairness, sometime ago, possibly in the early 90’s the classic Fruit Pastille went through something of a renaissance, possibly an EU directive, that lessened the sugar content and added artificial sweeteners,…(the time that the “Marathon Bar”..a sort of Peanut-y, chocolaty, nougat-y type bar…changed it’s name to “Snickers”…)…strange things were indeed afoot in the World of pleasant confectionery..the once “hard as nails” fruit gums had been tailored toward a malleable shadow of their former selves,..and believe me, these buggers WERE hard!..they could snap a molar, or if hurled with only medium velocity via a rudimentary sling-shot, made from a school tie, could pass through a bedroom window with the acuity of a bullet…( I found many uses for Sweets in my day..besides the obvious!)
The fruit gums themselves came in the standard “roll packet”..and often to my delight, there would be several stuck together, therefore if the roll was offered around, one could invariably, and with luck, take a few at a time, and be absolutely justified in doing so,..the fact that these “few” would take the best part of an hour to properly consume, was neither here nor there..and often the congealed mass of chewy gums, would cement both top and bottom sets of molars, tight together,..this would be fairly amusing for the first thirty seconds or so, but any longer than this and the whole thing could easily tip into blind panic..I have often had to push one hand hard up against my forehead, whilst cupping my chin with the other hand and pulling in opposite directions..with strange strangulated cries of exasperation.
The fruit Pastilles were always a challenge,..”See if you can eat one without chewing” was the order of the day…we would stand in a circle and take a Pastille each…and place them in our mouths,..then scrutinise the other contenders for the signs of mastication!..we used to work these babies down to thin wide slivers of sweetened stained glass..as quickly as we could, then swallow the lot!..our reward was to be able to sample the delights of Pastilles in the way God intended, and we would chew away and smile, our faces turned toward the Sun, and eyes closed!
Rowntree..?
Whoever you may be, we salute thee, for you see ,your sweets are fine and fruity, and saviours of economy,via cosmetic dentistry, essentially, fundamentally , our mouths fixed so expensively, that we borrow from the Banks just to utter humble thanks, with canines fine and shiny ….
Salutations Mr Rowntree..
