Pieces to find

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:

rhine online

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

english speaking cologne

Well, we are not from cologne, we are not too far away neither. So let’s just have a watch and then

planetgermany

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!

Can’t wait to be over…
You know?

Ali

to the pub, my friend (and don’t mention the war)

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 nicht wirklich 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

(can’t wait for next week)

Prost!! Anja

(and thanks to Ali for ever sending me that link)

the good ones

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.

Hauptsache, es sind die Schwarzen!

Happy Yummie!

Anja

My Dearest One!

I believe that we have forgotten the almost mythical qualities of the “Rowntree’s” Wine Gums and Fruit Pastille
http://www.rowntrees.co.uk/range/fruitpastilles.aspx

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..

Mmmmmmm!!!

Ali

Sitting next to the “Emergency Exit”….

So!..we have, at last, managed to board the aircraft,..after suffering that ludicrous rigmarole of the whole boarding process,..where you see the true colours of the waiting hoards, staring silently ahead, as if oblivious toward anyone else around them, their churning mental maxim, ” I MUST be first on the plane!..I MUST have the choicest seat..at the front, aisle side, so I can disembark quickly!,..there is no-one here but ME…no-one here but ME!”……

Hey!…psssst!…we are ALL getting on the plane!..and it isn’t leaving until the last passenger is on,..AND rumour has it, that the steps on to the tarmac on arrival are going to be situated at the rear of the aircraft!…

How one sentence can cause somebodies little empire to crash around them!

Oh My GOD!..are you SURE, who told you this?…how do they know?…can you be certain?…perhaps I should wait,…tell no-one!, because there will always be seats at the back…just keep it between ourselves, eh?…it will be our little secret!..I promise to let you disembark before me!..is that ok?…”

CHRIST!!!!!!

Anyway,..I get on…and to my delight, there is “virgin” row, half way down the aisle!…untouched!…”Happy Days!”..all I have is hand luggage, and there is a window seat, from where I can gaze out across the candy floss cloud stacks, and peer below toward the the scale model landscapes and silvery seas…( I will never lose that!), so, I simply slip in, pop the bag beneath the seat in front, buckle up and chill my boots!..No Worries!..( I did have a peep at the window arrangement, and realised it wasn’t the usual standard port-hole, but thought no more of it)..the aircraft slowly filled, the seats next to me were taken…A Trolly Dolly swept past with a quick glance into our laps,…as she swished past, I swear I heard her say to her colleague, coming down the aisle towards her,..”Release the Little Gay Ginger Man”…I scratched my chin, and turned away slightly puzzled,…then, turned back, to see the Little Gay Ginger Man, leaning over me.

“Im afraid that you cannot store luggage beneath the seat in front of you for this is the emergency exit, and you will have to abide by these rules”..

LGGM, almost SANG these lines, with allot of hand flapping and gesticulating,…for a moment I believed that, perhaps he thought I was deaf, and was chatting to me via the medium of rudimentary sign language..but NO!, this was LGGM just doin’ his thang!

” Please pass me your hand luggage and I will store it neatly and safely in the overhead locker”

( as opposed to untidily and unsafely, I suppose)

I duly did his bidding, for fear that he may remove an eye with a wildly swinging finger

” Absolutely!, You are the Boss, and Thank you!” I replied, slightly confused at this conversational turn.

“Sir?, Sir?….I say!, Sir?”

Jesus!…He’s talking to me again, and those arms are going craaayzzeeee!

“Er?,…. Yep?”

“If you are not going to wear your jacket on the flight, would you be good enough to pass it hither, and I will store it it neatly and safely in the overhead locker, One must not have loose items of clothing in the Emergency Exit aisle,… You ARE aware this is the Emergency Exit aisle? and in case of an emergency it will be your responsibility to observe the Emergency Exit protocol, if you would be so kind as to take your time and study both sides of the pamphlet in front of you, then return it to its rightful place, this will be greatly appreciated,…NOW!, are you happy to sit?”

By this time, LGGM was in his element!..He was whirling like a windmill!..he was practically strutting!

So with this I and the chap next to me handed up jackets that were stored neatly and safely in the overhead locker, and started to study the safety diagrams in front of us, making appropriate,..”Ahh, I see!..” and, ” Oh well , that IS worth knowing”..type comments,

This satisfied LGGM totally,..he smiled a big ginger grin, raised his hands skyward, turned on his heels and minced off down the aisle….

and that was the last I saw of him.

Cannot wait for next weekend!!!

“Ohhh I saaaaay!”

Summery Puddings!

Ali

Oh you!! I know exactly what you mean. It seems a strange number of stereotypes going on when being on a flight. I still stand astonished regarding the eloquence of the cabin crew to put down their text even in turbulences. And they go on and on… If it was not for those slight hysterical outsteps of the lady when this disturbed “air-supply-flight” occured, one could think we have to do with disguised robots!

One of the reasons i keep away from the exit seats is exactly this, even though it might be a fortune missing: I cannot do without my bag. I just need it. To warm my feet. To get things in and out however i need them. Aaand “Noone touches my big red bag!!” Beware!

I fully know it’s a strange relationship having that bag with me in which i could carry around a cooking plate, as a friend once assumed, but i simply need it with me. Sometimes little changes in size and design perhaps, but most of all the big red one!

Hmm… Anyway…

What sense does it make having that jacket away when you are landing deep frozen in the water? Sometimes something is not really explainable to me…but i guess i am just simple in this…who knows…

Anyone seen my bag??

Anja

Something about Germans…and Englishs

“…Es ist schon okay, dass sie eine Demokratie und eine Chance haben, die Deutschen, nach dem Blut, das sie ja auch selbst vergossen haben. Aber: sie hätten sich ein wiiiiinziges bisschen mehr schämen können für das Grauen, das sie angerichtet haben. Stattdessen sind sie wieder so effizient…”

Mitglied der verehrten Monty Python-Gruppe Michael Palin in der Süddeutschen. Über deutsche Effizienz und englisches …ähm….Chaos in Anleihen, die immer noch aktuelle merkwürdig-komische Nazi-Mystifizierung und natürlich: Humor.

Like this! Anja

Sitting Pretty!

….

Sat on “our” bench on Saturday afternoon!, overlooking the water of Haysden Lake.. we shared a draught of local cider purchased from the shop at Penshurst Place, ( we had idled the halls and gardens of this stately home until time had gently ushered us on)..our feet would not touch the ground,..so we sat and swung our legs..back and forth…and it was good!..before us the Mayfly’s leaped, in their strange bobbing and curtsying way..”We are here for but a day!..so let us dance!”..seemed to be the pattern of their play..

We had the fortune to happen upon the Banded Demoiselle, this graceful Damselfly hawked the borders and banks on striped and glistening wings…a pleasure to behold!..

Later we heard a Cuckoo…then Anja, found it!..calling from the upper branches of a riverside Oak that overlooked the realm of the Reed Warblers, who will later be the surrogate parents to the Cuckoo’s offspring..

This weekend saw the return of the Painted Lady Butterflies,..clement conditions, below to the South must have carried them on, over the water..fifty plus in an afternoon.

Sat on “our” bench on Saturday afternoon

swung our legs back and forth..

and it was beautiful….

AliXXX

Oh…das war ein wunderschöner Tag. Und ich mag sie, diese kleinen Ausflüge für ein bischen Vergangenheit. Wie Ali schon sagte, alte Schlösser, schöne Landschaften, Gärten und das Sitzen auf unserer Bank mit schaukelnden Füßen…

Was mir gut tat, denn dass ich ein Landei bin, hatte ich über die Zeit schon ein wenig verdrängt, und so bescherten mir der lange Weg zurück kombiniert mit meinen sonst so bequemen Büroschuhen ein paar veritable Blasen. Und einen Schmerz, den auch der dekadent auf dem Weg zu uns genomme Cider nicht vollkommen wegpusten konnte.

Der Rest, der war herrlich. Penshurst Place, schloßartiger Wohnsitz(?) des Earls von Leicester mit Geschichte und abgezirkelten Gärten, vielen Galerien, einem Porzellan, bei dem man unwillkürlich an Köpfung derjenigen denkt, welche jemals ein Stück falsch hielten, Holz, Stuck, Gobelins und unausgesprochene Gesetze, derer man kichernd gewahr wird, wenn jemand wie Ali spitzzungig bemerkt, dass die Inzucht aus Jahrhunderten auch an der Herrenfamilie nicht spurlos vorübergegangen sein mag…

Kleiner Schelm, der

Blauer Himmel, Wälder und grüne Wege, das Sitzen am See und der Tanz der Eintagsfliegen… es hätte nicht besser sein können. Kent ist toll!

Merci!! Anja

Vanity shines

It is a strange thing that brings me here, ..

There is , of course, a love of the written word,.. a fascination for  richness of language that may weave a tapestry of image and emotion into the mind of the lucky reader, “spelling”  ( as in conjuration!) mesmeric in its appliance..

And yet a subtle serfdom infiltrates our once vital minds,  with passive and lackadaisical ease our subjugation to the platforms on the Internet is total

And we are consumed.

There are platforms which ask us to be “Fans” of  various media forms

As a teenager, my room was covered in various posters etc,..it was a rudimentary tribal thing, a sense of belonging to something,..however vague that maybe, it was also in hindsight, the remedy for insecurity..these were my “badges” to wear, people could see who I was…although maybe I never knew myself at all

Even before this, there had been some progress, the toys that I played with as a child were put away..and eventually passed on,..there WAS some evolution on play!

With reference to those teenage years above,..my posters came down too, I was slowly..( very slowly!) emerging int the World as an adult!

Much water has flowed beneath the bridge since those times, many emotive issues, and many lives have changed forever, some things for the better, somethings for the worse, yet ALL has been , in its own way, progressive.. lessons have been learnt along the way

Yet “Here” we are in free-fall  regression!..We are commended to relegate our standing back to the hallows of the vacuous “teen!”…we are encouraged to shout around in idiotic patter,..the World has never been this noisy,..or with so many people bawling out their meaningless banter..the new angle of an appearance fixated generation, that  seems to be treading water afraid to be “themselves”

Who are we really?..

I mean, beyond the “Likes”, “Dislikes”, “Star-Signs”  et al,…over the “Listening to”..or “Following”

Are we just interested in the “hits” our sites achieve?

Are we just the same as we ever were,..the attention seekers meddling in a different field?

Someone wrote of “Twitter” saying, that “Those who shout the loudest often have the least to say”

I am not beyond reproach, and frankly, my hypocrisy is extraordinary, after all, do I not write to be read?..I sometimes struggle with this completely…to me, this is often the stream of consciousness, being nailed to the cloth so to speak, sometimes it is an urge, a tsunami of  cathartic musing that NEEDS to be exorcised..it is as natural as the storm that breaks over the rooftops as I write these lines…

Give me ruined castles,…not airbrushed images of  mock neo nonsense!

This is not written to offend anyone who uses those platforms, it is more of a self – critical analysis..maybe the problem lays with me,

Perhaps there is a real nugget of truth in Romans 12  verse 2!

Just off to the shop to get some smokes!

( I’m going to get wet)

Hallelujah!

Ali

Pleased to meet an old friend

Heute machte ich draußen meine erste Fahrradtour in diesem Jahr. Und traf etwas wieder, dass im letzten Jahr zuerst sah, bei dunstigem Wetter, in trauriger Stimmung nach ein paar sehr verdrehten Tagen, meine Zeit am See verbringend.

Heute war das Wetter fast genauso dunstig. Die Blüten knallgelb und viel mehr und ich fuhr lächelnd weiter.

This one is dedicated to Ali:

(you know best)

Sometimes, I’m melancholic,

Sometimes…I’m not!

Anja

 

 

That is beautiful to see once more, and will hopefully remain in bloom ( or at least , one of it’s kind), when I am next over

Thank-you so so much for that, Bog Iris tends to outshine the Sun!..it is a wonderful explosion of ochre delight that can stop me in my tracks….lovely!!

It is often moving to find pockets of natural wonder, where perhaps one would not consider looking
My way down to the station in Tunbridge Wells, sees me negotiate an insignificant little path that curls it’s way behind the station and down towards the platform,..it is a cobbled stretch of bumpiness,..bordered by unkempt earth..rough old scrub that the council trim back circa once a year..it is all empty bottles and crumpled newspapers..a poorly lit passage that holds nothing of interest to most..
However, down from the turn, along the right hand edge grows a rugged Buddleia..and the last few nights have seen a lone Hawk-Moth patrolling the steps!
A totally unexpected pleasure dancing beneath the sulky amber glow of the only lamp light..

You, Me, a bit of Sun, and Penshurst Place Gardens and Tea Rooms…
Love that!!!!! Ali

Living in magazines oder: “Kauf mich!” schrie es

Also, ich muss zugeben, es ist nicht gerade so, dass die Deutschen wahnsinnige Stilikonen wären. Nein, wirklich nicht. Der Deutsche an sich gibt sich gerne ein Bild von “Halbglatze, Bauch, Sandaletten, weiße Socken”. Ganz besonders, wenn er im Urlaub ist. Und die Damen greifen ab und zu auch mal gerne daneben, wenn es nicht gerade die Variante “Jeans und T-Shirt” ist.

Da fällt mir zum Beispiel diese Dame ein:

(Mann, mann, mann! Unsere Kanzlerin. Aber auch schön luftig, so...)

Oder (Himmel hilf!), gar jene?

(Und Sängerin Sarah Connor. Ja. Jaaa! Ojeojeoje....)

Neulich aber, da fiel es mir auf, frisch in Gatwick angekommen, und irgendwie wohl auch zuvor auf den Straßen.

Was ist mit den englischen Damen eigentlich so los??

Der Teufel offenbar. Er steckte in englischen Kaufhausklamottenreihen, zwischen den Hängerchen in Pink und grellgelb (und vermutlich zuvor schon in Magazinen und grellen Vorabendserien) und flüsterte eindringlich: “Kauf mich, ich bin die Verführung pur. Wer mich trägt, ist furchtbar hip”

(Mit Betonung auf “furchtbar”)

Und dann machte er sie noch ganz schnell blind. Damit sie nicht merken, was sie dort tun.

Nicht, dass es wirklich soo schlimm wäre.

Es fällt nur auf.

Wenn man nicht blind ist.

Und hochhackige Schuhe, die müssen auch sein.

Und nicht nur das. Kälteresistent machte er sie offensichtlich auch. Anders läßt sich das Stehen im luftigen Top bei gerade mal 10°C nicht erklären, denn so richtig wie frisch vom Mallorca-Urlaub schauen sie auch nicht gerade aus.

Macht aber Sinn, wenn man so darüber nachdenkt. Holen sie sich den Tod, da macht der Teufel ein gutes Geschäft mit, oder? Und schlecht geht es dem sicher auch nicht, sitzend zwischen Kleiderstangen, die Damen der Gesellschaft beguckend.

Und so kommt es, dass wenn man nach England einreist, das erste Bild ein wenig schreiend wirkt: Junge bis mittelalte Damen in (*setze hier quietschbunte Farbe ein) Top und schwarzen Highheels. Alles etwas bunt, alles etwas luftig.

Da möchte man fast eine Strickjacke drüberwerfen.

Aber was sag ich.

Viel besser war ich früher wohl auch nicht.

Wenn ich an manches so denke…

(örgs)

Nicht wirklich.

Und trotzdem:

“Achtung, freilaufende Hühner!”

Cheers! Anja

“Udders and Sisters!..Pump up the Volume!”

Do you know?..it is the strangest thing that occurs, around this time of year!..Give us Brits a flash of Sunlight..after the clocks have moved forward, then as far as we’re concerned, it’s Summer, as you rightly mentioned, it could be as cold as the inside of a Polar Bear’s fridge,..but that doesn’t seem to affect us..Oh No!
The race to wear that frazzled tan is on!..and , of course those pastel shades of low cut tops will compliment that crusty epidermis to the Max!
The amazing thing is the statutory conformity that exists throughout!
There is a desperation to be “in”, to be “current” that exists to the detriment of rationality!
Let us look at the state of the “Suntan”..now back in the good ol’ ’70’s,..our Parents used to cover us in oil, throw us onto the beach with a cry of “Cook!..Child!..Cook!..and don’t come back from the sand until you have changed colour completely…”
Not sure what that was about at all, but I guess it was something to do with the fact that we are convinced that those “with tan” are the ideals to aspire too..
We have wised up somewhat since then, there is information and books upon the now unchecked power of ultra-violet,..there is sunblock and clothing to protect us from harm.
BUT there are those who cannot weave their thought processes away from the subliminal mantra of “Tan”..
How to get around this problem then?…

Of course, there are the “Tanning Booths”..but, to be honest, I’m not sure what’s going on here,..I mean, does one stroll into a Tanning Booth, lay down under those tubes, and pretend it’s the real deal?..because this beggars the simple question, “Why not cover yourself in Sunblock, then?”….because this is what we do on our Holidays…yes?
Taking this to it’s logical conclusion, it would be simpler to walk through the Tanning Booth door, hand some cash to the “Tanning Person”, then leave…miss out the middle bit all together.
Notwithstanding the dubious claims of some Psoriasis researchers,..why, why why, would anyone want to purchase melanomas?

But the one that truly leaves me scratching my head and pacing like a village idiot,..is….

The Fake Tan

Oh My Christ!…

What is THAT all about?
…It’s O R A N G E!!!

That is NOT the colour of Tan, anywhere in the World…

” What is it Spock?”

“Well, according to the sensors,…it’s “Tan” Captain,…but not as we know it”

Having said that being Orange wouldn’t have stopped Captain James T fro having a go!

This strange “Orange” hue is no servant of gender, either

David Dickinson, is a well known TV host over here, a jolly little cheeky Spiv of a fellow, a compere of meaningless game-show televisual dross fodder..who also pops up on Antique related programmes from time to time,..( nothing like a bit of dichotomy, eh Dicky?)…who is blatantly Orange..the fascinating thing, here is, that he seems fluctuate with degrees of “Orange-y-ness”..sometimes it is slight..like the mention of first light after late rain,..other times…ferocious like a burning building!..it is truly, both bizarre and unnatural…not big, OR clever!

Rumour has it that his wife gave birth to Satsumas….hmm!..not sure, though!

The upshot of all this, though, is that we simply cannot break away from our youth, indeed we are encouraged not too!..
“Mutton dressed as Lamb”, describes those Mothers who dress like their daughters”
“Mutton dressed as Ram”, describes the likewise male equivalent
It is a sad and sorry venture to be fair!..Those that dictate and design “trend” must be pissing themselves with laughter!

“Hey!,..Tarquin!…what do you say to you and I designing a little pair of pointy socks with bells on..and massing down the Junta at H&M…and watch those suckers ride?”

Sounds like a plan!…( although, in all fairness, I have NO idea what that means)

My Dearest Anja!..You hit the nail on the head!
Nice One!!!

Everybody hop to the Charity Shop!

Big Ones!
Ali

Farewell to the Land

The Hawthorn is in bloom..it erupts among the green like Roman candles, spilling sparkling white and aroma exotica into the very breath of day..one cannot help but pause, close eyes and inhale the spirit of the hour..
I notice it more this Spring.
There is a change in the wind, there is truth and reason hushing in on warming zephyr.
There is a calling, not through air, but through the fibres of my being, through all that I am,…
I am not beyond tears..
I am not beyond trembling…
Destiny embraced with a collage of memory..
My Father and I, at last, reconciled
The ashes of my Mother at rest beneath the turning years…
I, too, can now turn and make my way to where I belong
If anyone should ask of me, “Where are you going?”
I shall stop,
smile
look into their eyes
and tell them that I’m going Home.

Caught on the cusp of an Indian Summer!
Ali