Oh, man.

I can't sing praises enough of Vocal Line, and quite honestly wouldn't do half as good a job at it as they do anyway. Also, I've been feeling lousy again all day, so my eloquence is somewhat shaken. So I will let them speak for themselves, or rather sing for themselves 'cause that's what they are best at. Inevitably, the videos and CD don't even come close to the sound of the live performance! It's been one of the best concerts I've ever been to and I did my very best not to give the photographers in the row in front of us a few well-measured sharp kicks in the head for repeatedly clicking during quiet parts. And this one, timeless classic I find is well worth listening to even when you're sweating and doubling over with stomach cramps...

What a pain in the a..

I would like to file a complaint:
For twelve days now I haven't been able to eat anything that didn't come straight out again in some bizarre way (no, not that way, the other way). I'm struggling hard here to edit out all the too-much-information bits, so imagine this first part a good deal longer and more detailed, if you will.
Suffice to say, it's not good. And it's certainly no fun. Eating being one of my principal hobbies (and I'm rather good at it, too, if I may say so myself), I have no talent whatsoever for asceticism and dieting and it's getting me down. Also, it leaves me unfavourably short of energy, which is always a bonus when trying to keep in check 30 adolescents.
But what I hate most is the way it's messing with my head. Every time I tentatively eat something I start watching my body for the immediate effects, scrutinize every tweak and twinge and subsequently formulate a new theory, because, let's face it, a regular gastrointestinal bug should surely have been on its way out by now?! So, what else can it be? I've so far been trying to cut out dairy products, then added a gluten-free diet to that for good measure and a couple of days. I really cannot recommend either, but you definitely shouldn't opt for doing both at the same time. Doesn't leave much except maize and rice to fill you up, especially if you've already abandoned fruit acids (what are the symptoms of scurvy, by the way?).
Anyhow, none of the above theories so far truly stood the test of time, or rather, food. So yesterday I carefully ventured back into the terrain of "normal" food (white bread, pasta, grilled chicken, watered-down juice) and was thrilled when it seemed to go down (and stay down, bahahaa... oh, stop it!) well. Until... I had a few pieces of shortbread earlier... So, here we are, back on square one, possibly headed for Lactose Intolerance Valley, calling at Bellyache Town and Cramp City Central.
Great.

Oh, and yes, I have actually seen two doctors about it, who weren't overly fazed at the time, but I guess I just might have to drag my sore ass down to the GP's again on Monday. See if he's intrigued now.
The queen meanwhile is not amused.

The unmitigated fabulousness.

There are a number of people I have adored, revered and cyberstalked so thoroughly and intensely over the years that I feel I know them better than most of my friends and relatives. Or rather, I have that sneaking suspicion that we could really hit it off, become the best of friends if only we could meet and I on that occasion managed more than a few pathetic morsels of awestruck, simpering gibberish.
One of these people is Stephen Fry. And truly, if only! He's the most intelligent, funny, humble, heartbreakingly spot on, entertaining relater of witty anecdotes and profound insights alike I can think of anywhere. Ever. Well, he's just all round lovely and gorgeous and I wish I had a tenth of his intellect, creativity and energy. As it happens, I also think I would fit in perfectly with his circle of friends. I really wouldn't mind grabbing a bite with Emma Thompson, Hugh Laurie, Dawn French and all the rest from time to time... So if you guys read this, gimme a shout - I'll drop over for a quick lunch any day!

Ohrwurm der Woche.

Über Nacht kamen die Wolken
und ich hab's nicht mal gemerkt.
Schon sind am ersten Straßenbaum
die ersten Blätter verfärbt.
Ich will immer so viel erleben
und verschlafe doch nur die Zeit.
Und kaum dass ich einmal nicht müde bin,
ist der Sommer schon wieder vorbei.

element of crime

Summer days driftin' away...

I've been struggling how to sum up my summer holidays, both for myself and when asked by others. It's just so much easier when you can reply something like "Oh, I went to Croatia. Simply marvellous, I can tell you! The weather...I heard it's been rainy back here? And the clearest, most turquoise water you might imagine...!"
But what is there to say about spending more than 4 weeks back home-home, doing nothing in particular?
Actually, contrary (well, that's me) to that short post at the end of July, I all in all had a great time. Once I had grudgingly accepted that I wouldn't be going anywhere much this summer, let alone anywhere near the sea - one of the main bonus effects of staying at my parents' being not having to pay for food or anything else for a month, thereby trying to contain the chronic leakage in my bank account - I actually settled down far too well and enjoyed doing, well... nothing much. Extremely relaxing!
So here are some favourite nothings:

There were strange sights to behold. Never underestimate the creativity triggered by the scrap found in a farm yard in rural Lower Saxony... Note the octopus in the bucket.

Another favourite sight of mine: Having the local outdoor swimming pool all to myself! Yeees, well, the grey clouds may be a hint as to why no one else was there, but that's really the only weather condition inducing my swimming-pool-misanthropic self to actually go. (I spent the best part of those four weeks practicing not to let those battleship-I-always-swim-in-lane-8-pensioners ruin my good mood...)

Well, definitely a favourite, this one! Instant moodlifter!

Of course, there was still plenty of time for hanging around...

Ah, yes, come to think of it, I did do something useful after all! I had the honour of being my mum's technical assistant for these 30 little actors' school musical production called "Life in Space". I must admit I was truly impressed by their fantastic memories and their goose-pimples-inducing energy when, arms linked, they bellowed the final chorus together. The songs were stuck in my head for weeks...

But somehow...
No other picture captures the mood of this summer for me quite like this one:

"A new shirt to mark the annual parish fair."

The business sense, the composition... oozing the quintessence of Lower Saxony... Perfect!

Perspektivwechsel.

Hach nee! Da quengelt man so gemütlich innerlich vor sich hin, dass man doch ins Freibad will und es ja aber immerzu regnet und nicht mal die Bonner Hallenbäder geöffnet haben und einem da doch tatsächlich die Hände gebunden sind ob des Besiegens von Schweinehunden und anderen übellaunigen Fabelwesen...
Und dann meldet der Aus(rhein)landskorrespondent aus der Heimat plötzlich sowas hier:


Das verdirbt einem doch das schönste Selbstmitleid!
Aber so schnell lass ich mich nicht abspeisen. Ich find schon noch was zum Nörgeln:
Da verbringe ich über vier (!) Wochen in der heimatlichen Kleinstadt und wann kommt das Hochwasser??? Klar, wenn ich grad wieder weg bin. Die Wochen davor hingegen passierte... quasi... so gut wie... Naja, davon eventuell ein anderes Mal mehr.
Tauschen mit den Leuten im blauen Haus und drumherum will ich nun aber auch wieder nicht. Ich hab neulich ja schon die Krise gekriegt, als ich eine kleine Pfütze auf meinem Laminat sah und ein undichtes Fenster vermuten musste! (Wenn der Argwohn erst gesät ist...) Die Vorstellung, dass alles, aber auch alles, was einem lieb und teuer ist, unter Wasser und Schlammmassen begraben ist... Uuuuh, nee. Da würd ich meine Steuerkarte und mein Abiturzeugnis ja erst recht niemals mehr...
Das ist so ein weiteres beliebtes Szenario für schlaflose frühe Morgenstunden: Was würde ich aus der Wohnung retten, wenn es brennt?/Wie würde ich mich aus der Wohnung retten, wenn es brennt? (Stichwort Holztreppenhaus)/Was würde ich tun, wenn durch Sturm nachts das Dach einstürzt?/Was, wenn der irre Nachbar nochmal vor der Tür steht?

Aber vielleicht muss ich vorerst das Hochwasserszenario doch noch nicht in meinen persönlichen Horrorreigen einreihen. Ist ja doch eher unwahrscheinlich im Dachgeschoss.

Amen to that!