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Heads up
Well, all of my stuff did arrive eventually, although the place is still a perfect minefield of half-emptied boxes. On Wednesday my new DSL connection will go live and on thursday or Friday I'll set up a basic Moveable Type installation on my new home page www.kaymc.com.

So my Blog will continue!

Yay me! Yay my blog!

Anyhow, not much time to type at the moment. About to head off to explore the excitement that is known as Ulm.

Stuff watch: day two
It’s half past seven on this bright and shiny German Sunday evening and my flat remains completely and utterly devoid of stuff. Only the dust bunnies dare intrude upon this mournful desert of over-priced English newspapers, empty bottles and unread junk mail. Yet again I waited-in for the truck carrying my belongings and yet again I was disappointed.

A rather large bee buzzed in to say hello around eleven. A couple of hours later I dared the wrath of god by popping out to buy a bread roll. Around three I began composing witheringly sarcastic comments to cast before the tardy delivery men, if they ever deigned to show up. They deigned not. Too scared to deign, I suppose.

Boring technical stuff you should feel free to ignore
I’ve done a lot of thinking about this blog today. I know most of my old readers gave up months ago, but I’m keen to continue. I’ve decided to get myself a domain and go down the Moveable Type route.

I don’t know if I ever told you, but whenever I save my Blog’s template to the Blogger server it immediately becomes corrupt. It took the better part of three hours to get the truncated version you see before you to save in a workable form, and I’m loathe to tempt fate by trying to edit it again.

Someone once said: You get what you pay for. Well, it’s time for me to start paying and I hope that soon after this blog will start giving again. I really enjoyed those early months in the blogging community and I want to get back some of that excitement. Some time in the next week or so, I’ll be putting up a change of address notice. The address itself won’t change much, I’m just dropping the .blogspot, but I’m going to use the opportunity to commit myself to more regular and more interesting posts.

It’s time to turn a new page (geddit!) in this blog’s history.

An announcement (of a kind)
The wedding of Justin and Ramona has been rescheduled (again) and is now taking place later this month back in Eastbourne. There’s just no keeping these romantic funsters down, is there? So! Congrats all round. Looks like I’ll be back in old Blighty much sooner than expected. Apparently this requires the purchase of yet another ill-fitting suit. What was it Thoreau said about such enterprises?

Still stuff-less
This morning I woke up full of hope. Finally my belongings were due to arrive from England. I had hopes of sitting on a sofa (a sofa!) and watching a television (a television!) and of sleeping in a bed (a bed!). I would have books to read and CDs to listen to, DVDs and wotnots to watch and, perhaps best of all, My Computer, with its delightfully normal QWERTY keyboard, would once more be mine to command. You can’t imagine how comforting the notion of a keyboard where the Y is next to the T can be to a man who has miss-typed his password almost every single day since arriving in Germany.

According to the shipping company in England, my things had taken a little side trip to Switzerland but, I was assured, they would be back in Germany today, and on my doorstep sometime this afternoon. After a brief, though ill-fated, early-morning jaunt into town (I was looking for a shop that sold curtains), I spent most of todaz today moping about, looking for excuses not to keep reading Don Quixote and listening out for the sound of the missing truck.

A sound which never came.

Oh well, it has to arrive tomorrow, doesn’t it? I mean surely…

Other than the furniture and creature comforts, one of the things I am most looking forward to getting back tomorrow is my bike. The countryside around Überlingen is a cyclist’s dream, with purpose built-bike trails criss-crossing fields, winding through tall green forests and skirting the edge of the lake below. I’m really looking forward to exploring the area, and that should provide the motivation I need to get fit. Hopefully, with so much beauty to see, I will be riding every chance I get.

We shall see.

Well and truly gerschlunked
Just what is it about my appearance that inspires little old ladies the world over to ask me for directions? Since arriving in Germany I’ve been approached on no less than six occasions. In the same period I’ve had a grand total of just three and a half German lessons. If any of these old ladies wants to know my name or where I work or even what country I am from, you can be sure that I’m ready, willing and able to help. As for the best way to get to Gerschlunken-Strasse, well, you might as well ask the cat.

Getting about is proving to be difficult. While the UK was pretty much set up for people without cars, Germany really isn’t. I find it interesting that the only practical way to cope with the draconian recycling laws here is to have a car to carry everything about. I still can’t figure out how the hell getting an habitual public transport user like myself so pissed off that I go out and buy a car, just so I can recycle my bottles, can possibly be a net-gain for the environment.

Sometime Monday morning, men with a truck will be begin the long, lonely task of shepherding my worldly goods from a lock-up garage in Surrey to Dust Bunny Central here in Überlingen. So far they’ve been unable to give me an estimate on the delivery date, but I have hopes of it all arriving before the local telecoms people get my DSL line installed (“probably before the end of May”).

But enough complaining for now. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I don’t love it here. This evening, as Justin was driving me home from an afternoon at his place ironing my work shirts (yes, my life really is that exciting), I experienced one of those take your breath away, gasp-and-you’ll-miss-it moments.

Let me just set the scene. It rained today, though not too heavily. The normally glass calm lake was a little choppy. It was about seven and we were driving through a little valley of golden Rape Seed plants just as the sun was just beginning to put in an appearance. At the top of the rise was a beautiful old country church with tall white tower. As we drove up the gentle hill, the lake below came into view behind the church. The clouds high above had a kind of purplish-golden tint as the sun started to peek through, while shining far in the distance, as clear as I’ve ever seen them, the snow-capped Alps suddenly appeared from nowhere to frame the scene.

I wish I’d had my camera, but then it really was a once in a lifetime moment. It’ll never be that beautiful again.

It just couldn’t be.

Moving swiftly on from the sublime to the ridiculous, sometimes it’s difficult being cursed with a 10-year-old’s sense of humour. I make one smart-alecky comment about the general size and shape of German Women’s noses, and the next thing you know it’s all, “Hey, Heidi! Kieran says you’ve got a big nose.”

It’s all so unfair. I’m not that person; I’m really not. I’m actually quite liberal on the old facial protuberance front. And frankly, living in Germany, you kind of have to be.

My cranky house
As I type these words it is just after 10pm on Easter Monday. I’ve been here in Germany for two weeks now. While I’m managed to get by so far with my four words of German (Ein Bier Bitter and Danke) I’ve reached a point where I am beginning to need more complex sentences. Say, for instance, I’d like to order two beers in a café; or even three! Just how would I go about it? Enquiring minds and all that…

So, tomorrow morning, before work, I will be attending my first German class. While I don’t expect to be reading Kapital in the original German any time soon, I have hopes of navigating the darker by-ways of German SQL Server error messages and being able to spot non-vegetarian ingredients on grocery labels before too long.

While it was great staying with Justin and Ramona (thanks guys), there comes a time when a boy just has to grit his teeth, plant his two feet in the earth and stand on his own.

For myself, I’ve chosen to stare down adversity in a shiny new, one-bedroom flat just across the road from the best-equipped hospital in Southern Germany. The whole thing is glass, stainless steel, beech-effect panelling and dust-bunnies. So far it’s pretty empty: just a laptop, an uncomfortable garden chair, a blow-up mattress, two suitcases full of creased clothes, a plate, bowl, glass, knife, fork, spoon and me.

I’ve decided to name the spoon Arthur.

I’ve also started to compile a pro-con list on the benefits of living next to a hospital (or Krankenhaus, as the locals amusingly insist on calling it).

Pro: [1] Nurses; [2] In case of emergency, am unlikely to die because of length of trip to hospital; [3] Nurses; [4] Err; [5] That’s it!

Con: [1] Being woken-up at all hours by Ambulances heading off to collect the remains of German motorists from their awful fate on poorly lit Autobahns; [2] Am so bored watching and re-watching my West Wing and Harry Potter DVDs I fear my head may explode (this is, strictly speaking, not the fault of the hospital, although I see no reason to be especially charitable given that the pro-list already has five things one it).

If you’ve ever visited this blog before, you should know that when I drink I am often prone to acts of general silliness, followed by declarations of undying love directed towards random waitresses. I’m afraid one recent drink-sodden night out in Überlingen may have resulted in my making an even bigger and rather less random arse of myself than usual. Work Tuesday may be a little weird, although with any luck… Oh well, the less said the better.

The first post (in Germany)
I'm alive and living in Germany! Umm, hooray?!? So far it's all work and flat hunting, but I won't bore you with that stuff.

The journey
Ryan Air and I seemed destined to keep bumping heads. Yet again I managed to miss check-in for one of their flights by seconds and yet again I was forced to hand over more cash.

There were two choices: Wait for the next flight to Friedrichshafen (the following day) OR catch a later flight to Frankfuhrt-Hahn and rent a car at the other end. Since I'd already handed in the keys to my flat, the only real option was to fly to Frankfuhrt.

So fly we did. To Frankfuhrt. Or so we thought.

Pop Quiz - If you were flying to an Airport in Germany called Frankfuhrt-Hahn, would you suppose that you were going to land: [a] in Frankfuhrt, [b] just outside Frankfuhrt or [c] next to some tin shed / strip mall in the middle of a wet field over 120 miles from Frankfuhrt?

So Justin and I drove through the night from this remote tin shed to his home 500km away in Owingen. A piece of advice, if you're ever in a car hurtling down a German Autobahn without any street lights at over 220 kph, make sure you know how to turn on the headlights first. Good avice, take it from me.

"They don't work!"

Well they did work, but Justin seemed unable to turn them on high until we'd been on the road for 3 hours (at least I think we were on the road). Not that I'm complaining, mind you, it's just that blind panic is not a look that really works for me.

More soon.

The last post (before Germany)
What a day! Yesterday, with Justin's help, was spent packing and disassembling and washing and boxing and lifting and throwing out and dieing inside, little by little. Most of my posessions now sit in a 50 squre foot lock-up just outside of Redhill.

Last night I slept on my floor.

Today I clean and scrub and vaccum and scrub some more and then, at the end of it I get to sleep on the floor again, only this time it will smell of Shake 'n Vac, with maybe just a hint of bleach. Make a nice change from all the dust last night.

I'm flying out tomorrow for Germany tomorrow afternoon, and start work bright and early Tuesday morning.

Hopefully, I see you there.

Auf Wiedersehen, Zicklein. Auf Wiedersehen.

Why I'm not all packed yet
The van is booked for tomorrow AM, so I really should have everything all squared away by now, but I don't.

I wish I had a good excuse.

But I don't.

One thing I do have is this incredible talent for ignoring really important things. I can push an uncomfortable thought out of my mind so fast, it would make your head spin.

Need to have your entire life packed into a box by 6pm? No problem, just go have a glass of grape juice instead.

Packing is just another thing for me not to think about.

Like my mother.

Ok, I can see that this is post is not going to be one of the funny ones, so I suggest you hit the Back Page button now.

My mother died over eight years ago, but in a lot of ways it might have just happened. Thinking about her, about the end, still hurts like hell.

Dreams. Have I told you about the dreams? For the first few years my mother would make drop-in appearances in my dreams, and it would surprise me. My dream self would say something like "aren't you supposed to be dead?" and then I would wake up.

For the next few years she would still appear, but I stopped being surprised. In my dreams it was like she had never died. I suppose I must have drawn some comfort from that. Maybe I needed her to be there.

Mum continued as a regular in my stock of dream characters, sometimes playing leading roles, but more often, as time wore on, she became something of a bit-player.

These days I hardly ever dream about her. I sometimes go for months without even thinking about her, and when I do, rather than mist up, I push the thought aside, and promise to "think about it tomorrow."

Just like Scarlett.

Being able to ignore the big things can be useful, but I'm not sure it's terribly wise, because eventually tomorrow does come. And tomorrow is not just another day.

Stolen prayers
Three posts in one day? Can't remember the last time I did that, but once in a while you find something so fantastic that you just can't help wanting to steal it and pass it off as your own share it with others.

For the record, in reproducing this piece, I am not offering any political commentary on the various rights or wrongs of the current conflict. I'm still very much in the undecided column on that one, but one thing I cannot stand is hypocrisy, and there's an awful lot of it flying around these days. Mark Twain could smell hypocrisy a mile away. He wrote his short story The War Prayer as a satircal response to Philippine-American War of 1899-1902. Here is the actual prayer contained in the story. Enjoy.

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle-be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our eloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with t refuge of the grave and denied it -for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen."

Thanks to Dominion of Skeptical Blog for reminding me of this fantastic piece.

Stupid quiz result of the week
I haven't done one of these stupid blog personality quizzes in a long time, so I guess I was due. Apparently this is how I'm going to horribly kick the bucket. Can't wait.


You will drink too much gin. Not the worst way to
die, but you won't remember too much of your
life. Hey, at least you made some people laugh!

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

See me panic
Just in case you were unsure, I am insane.

On Friday the 4th day of April I finish my final day of work with my current employers. In England. Four days later I start working for a new company. In Germany. With me so far? Good. So, given that I'm changing my job, moving house and country and all that, you might think that everything would have been organized long ago. But you'd be wrong.

That's right, I have done nothing whatsoever to arrange the removal of my stuff. Nada. Zip.

Squat.

Well, perhaps that's not entirely true. I have packed a lot of my stuff into boxes. That's a start, right? Oh who am I kidding! I haven't even called the Electricity or Gas people yet.

I am just so unbelievably bad at this kind of thing, but today, one week from the day I'd hoped my stuff would be picked up, I've realised that pure blind panic is the only thing I have going for me right now. I'm as scared as hell, and I should be as scared as hell. It's the right thing for me to be at this point.

Entirely appropriate.

On pirates being the new monkeys
I love pirates, I've always loved them. Ever since I saw my first swash-buckler as a boy I've wanted to grab a sword, a wench and a parrot and hit the high seas. Pirates are cool, they just are. There's no explaining it. And finally, it seems, the rest of the world is starting to catch up.

"Pirates are the thinking man's monkey," states Ryan Yount, author of the essay "Pirates Are the New Monkeys."

"I mean, sure, monkeys will always be funny, by virtue of the fact they are, well, monkeys," says Yount in SFweekly . "But pirates. Pirates have a whole world to draw from.

"Think about it: A monkey puts on clothes, and it's funny. A monkey gives you the finger, pulls out a gun, eats his own shit, it's funny. Pirates can do all that, and more."

Well, quite.

But he's right, isn't he? Pirates may be murderous, heartless bastards, but funny heartless bastards, you know? They slice and dice with verve and wit.

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel down the front of his pants.

The bartender says, "Hey, you've got a steering wheel down the front of your pants."

The pirate says, "Arrr, I know. It's drivin' me nuts."

We all remember the corny pirate jokes from our childhood.

"What's a pirate's favourite letter?"

"Arrrr, me matey! Arrrr!"

Think you're above those kind of puns? Pirate jokes too juvenile for you? Well, have I got news for you! Thanks to the folks at McSweeney's here are a bunch of Pirate Riddles for Sophisticates.

Convinced? Are you ready to go piratical? If you think you can pull it off, Dorothy of Cat and Girl fame has the some helpful fashion tips, so you won't look out of place on the Spanish Main this summer.