Lucky April

I am so lucky to have been born in April! Seems like the weather is always lovely for my birthday. And it always seems to be even better, because the long winter is just behind us and spring has already got off to a usually shaky start.

Have invited friends for dinner on Sunday - that's my actual birthday. Only question now is, which restaurant to eat at? Round one corner is a good French one, round the other corner a good Italian one.

Will decide tomorrow morning.

More Alcohol Please, We're British

I'm always amazed how many people don't seem to understand the words "No thanks, I don't drink alcohol". Actually I've only not been drinking alcohol since last summer, but before that I only drank beer if I drank alcohol at all, and I was always amazed then how many people didn't seem to understand the words "No thanks, I don't drink wine" or "No thanks, I only drink Pils".

The response was usually, "But this is a really good wine" - even from people who knew me quite well and had never see me drink wine in their lives. Or, "Come on, you just have to taste this cocktail. No, you really have to" and before you knew where you were, you had it thrust into your hand or under your nose and were still trying to smile and remain polite before you waved it away or placed it untouched back on the table. People do seem to get very offended by that.

Yesterday I was invited to a brunch with some people I don't know very well and all of a sudden I found a glass of champagne in my hand. "Thanks, but I don't drink alcolhol", said I, to be greeted with the response, "But you have to - it's Thomas' birthday!"

Thomas was at the other end of the table and he'd just purchased a bottle of bubbly and here it was being opened at ten past twelve in the morning.

"Well, I'll just raise my glass, but I won't drink any", I said and everyone looked at me like I was a nut. "But it's only champagne!"

Indeed it is! I think it has about 13.5% alcohol volume! I don't understand why I should be forced to drink an alcohol that I don't like or any alcohol at all if I don't want it. Nobody would dream of trying to make a non-smoker smoke, so what's the deal with drink?

Continuity At The Gym

Continuity is very important to us. We need rituals and rules and continuity to secure and anchor us. Some of us need it more than others. So for example if I find a restaurant or café that I really like, I will go there a lot and usually try to sit at the same table.
Change is all very well in its place and time, and of course especially if it is for the better. Without change we wouldn't have progress. But maybe that's the active side. Passive continuity, perhaps, is more important. Like having continuous peacetime not interrupted by war as a backdrop providing security, which means that on the surface, things can  progress and change for the better.

Queen Scenes (Number Seven)

Queen: “I say Philip, this is simply too ghastly for words.“

Philip: “I’ll say it is! I distinctly remember asking for poached salmon today and so far I’ve been eating asparagus. And the Hollandaise sauce appears to be Béarnaise!”

Queen: “One’s not referring to luncheon, Philip. Harry says he’s been defriended on Facebook.”

Philip: “Absolute poppycock! Are you sure it isn’t someone who wanted to poke him instead and pressed the wrong button?”

Queen: “Apparently one of his followers defriended him without so much as a selective tweet. Appalling behavior!”

Philip: “Well what do you expect me to say, OMG?”

Queen: “OMG has now been incorporated into the new OED, from what one reads.”

Philip: “Hardly distinguishable from it in fact, what with being 3 letters and starting with an O. And I suppose you’re tracking William’s relationship status and are worried that it’s complicated?”

Queen: “Don’t be ridiculous Philip. William doesn’t maintain his relationship status on Facebook. But while one is on the subject, it might not be a bad idea if you maintained yours!”

A Simpler Life

Tomorrow morning our garbage is collected, so everyone puts their garbage bins out on the street the evening before. When I came home from work today I put mine out, and everyone else's was already lined up. The street was so full today that there was almost no room for my bin. Goodness knows where they all came from this week!

This is the collection for the recycling waste. Our garbage is split up into recycling waste and what's called residual waste, which gets collected next week.

Dear Sirs And Dumb-Belles

When I was a kid, my Dad had a little book that must have been published in the US either during World War II or shortly afterwards. It was called "Dear Sirs and Dumb-Belles Lettres" (with that spelling) and it was a very small paperback with a bright yellow cover. Possibly it was printed in this small, softbacked format so that soldiers could carry it around with them.

The book was a collection of letters and excerpts of letters from and to US soldiers during World War II, usually from or to the draft office, the Army or their wives and girlfriends, and it also contained some cartoons. It was very funny. They had chosen all the humorous parts of letters to print.

CaucAsian

One of my Japanese friends once asked me if I could tell the nationality of a European person just by looking at them.
I thought it was an odd question and replied that that would be very difficult. In some cases, of course, you might have a typically-looking Italian person, maybe with dark hair and a slightly more tanned skin, and a typically Nordic person with blond hair and blue eyes. But that would by no means be the rule and it would be very difficult in a line of ten people to get all the nationalities correct.
My Japanese friend told me that in Asia, it was quite easy to tell the nationality of people, and I realized of course that he was right. It seems almost kind of odd to me now that in Europe, this is not really possible.
It is an interesting issue. Is it because the European peoples have interbred more than the Asian peoples, so that now it is really hard to tell them apart?

Tala Svenska

My friend and I decided to do a Swedish evening class.

I know! Like we haven't got enough to do.

Anyway, we missed the first class, which seems to have put us at a major disadvantage. But we have been to the last three classes and I think that now I can safely say I can speak three sentences in Swedish (and they are all quite short and would be useless in an emergency situation).

I must be one DVD short of a box set! I spend all day translating from German to English, and occasionally from English to German, and one day the other week I even translated from French to German. And now I am spending one precious evening a week learning another foreign language!

The teacher has the approach of, the more she speaks just in Swedish, the more knowledge we will kind of just acquire through osmosis, or similar. This has the effect that I, at least, stare blankly at her for a lot of the time, probably with my mouth open. And sometimes I actually laugh because some of the words sound like English with the Swedish chef speaking them.

Honestly, how ignorant is that of me! If I were teaching someone English and they were laughing I might just get up and walk out!

Last night my friend had to formulate a question from some of the pictures in the exercise book and she thought that the picture of a bed (which stood for a hotel) was a picture of an elk. It did look like an elk and other people in the class also thought it was an elk. It came out as a very strange sentence. I laughed so much that I actually cried.

I think, though, it is because the class is so late (from 7:45 p.m. to 9:15 p.m.) that I find it so exhausting. It is a bit of a shame, as it has long been my ambition to learn Swedish.

Boulevard Bear

My son has just arrived with the Sunday issue of the "Bildzeitung", which is the most famous and successful of what we call the "boulevard press" papers (popular press).

He has told me that the paper devotes 2 pages to the issue of Libya, half a page to Japan, and 4 whole pages to the death of Knut the Cute, the polar bear star of Berlin Zoo, who was yesterday found floating in a pool.

Deficit omne quod nasciture.

Queen Scenes (Number Six)

Queen: I say Philip, this is too ghastly. Have you seen my pen?

Philip: Can’t help you old girl. Anyway, I thought you’d given up all that diary nonsense and were writing a blog on the Internet.

Queen: Neither of those assumptions is correct, Philip. Despite that, one is not talking about one’s Conway Stewart, but the plastic blue Bic that one keeps to do The Times crossword.

Philip: Well I’m blowed if I’ve seen a Bic floating about here. Perhaps Harry’s gorn orf with it. Using it to add a couple of his pals to William’s wedding list I shouldn’t wonder! That crossword will just have to wait. At least you won’t have to worry that someone else around here is going to finish it for you!

Queen: While that may well be true Philip, any disturbance in the general rhythm of one’s day causes a nuisance. You might recall, for example, the publican in North Dublin who has exhibited an anti-monarchy sign banning one from his premises. While one was not planning to visit his pub anyway on one’s State visit in May, such controversial action simply leads to unnecessary disruption.

Philip: And it's all absolute poppycock! As if you had intended to go to the §%&$ pub!

Queen: At least not before finishing The Times crossword! Are you sure you haven't seen my pen?

Too Much News

Honestly – seems like you never need to get offline these days. There’s so much going on online that life off it is positively boring. Most evenings I go to the gym for an hour, and even that seems so much more relaxing than pressing the News button on Google, which can keep you glued to the screen for hours!

This is why I’ve spent a lifetime trying to avoid the news. It’s way too much excitement and worry for a Cupcake, and it keeps me awake at night. Last night I was still top fit and tossing and turning at 2 a.m., so I decided to get up and read the news, which I can tell you did nothing to help me at all!

Dignity In Japan

I have so much that I would like to write about the current situation in Japan but I cannot at the moment because I am too emotional. I went to Japan many times, I fell in love with Tokyo and I have many friends there.
But I would like to say that we should all learn a lesson from the Japanese, who are going about their daily business with dignity, calm and order. At the moment it is all I can do not to break down, and I keep myself very busy all day with work, but I can hardly sleep at nights and I constantly cry.
Let us praise the heros who are battling to try and cool the reactors, without thought for themselves. Let us praise all those people who are going about their every day lives with the cool and composure they are known for.
My heart goes out to you Japan and I pray for you.

How Cold My Nose (Tiddley-Pom)

Do you remember that Winnie-the-Pooh "pome" that went something like this (and I quote very loosely):

The more it snows (tiddley-pom)
The more it goes (tiddley-pom)
The more it goes (tiddley-pom)
On snowing


And nobody knows (tiddley-pom)
How cold my toes (tiddley-pom)
How cold my toes (tiddley-pom)
Are growing

This could have been written about me! It is so cold at the moment that all those parts of me that feel as if they have been stuck on to unnecessarily poke out (ears, toes, nose and fingers) just seem to freeze up as soon as I leave the warmth of any building.

Don't mention the word Hat to me. I have tried every kind of Hat, starting with a navy-blue Very English Hat that I purchased in Petticoat Lane, London, and which the authorities at Bangkok Airport managed to squash out of shape in an automatic hand-luggage squashing machine. It took years to unsquash. This Hat is no good in the winter as it does not keep any part of my head or ears warm and also attracts too many stares.

I have bought the navy-blue velour Hat, which covers the top parts of my ears and at least stops heat escaping through my head but is too English Schoolgirl.

I have tried the beret which only makes me look rather peculiar and not at all French.

I have tried the woolly cloche Hat, which, in order to keep my ears warm, needs also to be pulled over my eyes and nose.

I have tried the hood of my coat, which causes people to call me a gnome.

Whatever happened to that perfect of winter Hats, the balaclava? The Hat made slightly unpopular by bank robbers and terrorists, the balaclava, which in my early youth belonged to the staple winter uniform of almost every child seems to have virtually disappeared. Clearly, bank robbers and terrorists are able to purchase them, so where are they getting them from?

Chopin's Opus 69 No. 1

I have been very much enjoying my piano lessons, which I started to take up again a few months ago. I had piano lessons until I was 18, and although I am sure I am not very talented, I really enjoyed them and passed quite a few exams (music grades set by the London music schools). Between the ages of 18 and now, I was just trying to teach myself new pieces and playing the (very) old ones that I used to play when I was at school. I wasn't really progressing so I decided to start lessons again last October.

The lessons are pretty expensive and I take them at the music school in our town. I'm the oldest pupil in the school! I'm even older than most of the teachers! But of course they have helped tremendously. And I have a lot of freedom in what I can learn and play, not like when I was at school and I just had to work for the music exams all year.

Things have been going pretty great with my teacher as well, up until the moment about 3 weeks ago when I said I would like to learn how to play Chopin's "Waltz Opus 69 No. 1". I've been teaching myself Chopin from a book with simplified arrangements of Chopin's music for the last few years. This is a new piece which I hoped that I could learn together with my teacher.

The trouble seems to be that Chopin is very popular, and his works appear as background music in various films, saunas, elevators, even supermarkets. And everyone has their own interpretation. I guess I have heard so many different interpretations of Opus 69 No. 1 that I don't know what it's supposed to really sound like. I try really hard to play it properly, but my teacher - strangely - has almost no patience when I play this piece. She keeps telling me that I have the timing wrong, but (and I don't really understand why this is) for some reason, I really can't understand how she wants me to play it.

It's got to the stage where I'm really nervous about playing it at all! And I'm beginning to think I must be a little stupid not to be able to understand what I should be doing.

Last week my teacher made the comment that as there were not very many notes in this arrangement, it shouldn't be that difficult for me to play it without so much misinterpretation.

That would actually be quite a funny comment if I could see the funny side of this! Clearly, the world of music is not less sarcastic than the world of business.

Vielen gleichfalls

I have to tell you I'm beginning to find it quite confusing how often we have to congratulate and wish people well these days.
It wasn't like this when I was growing up in the 1960's! Back then you got on with your life and you were lucky to get a "Bless you!" when you sneezed!

Move Over Meryl

I have just got back from my theater class. I know! As if I wasn't busy enough!

I put down to join the theater class in September, but it was full and I got a mail saying I was on the waiting list. Last Friday a lady called and said that there was now a place free and I could join if I was still interested. So this evening was the first class.

It was fantastic! In fact, it was so good that I am now wondering what I am doing wasting my time running this little company of mine. I should be on the stage for heavens' sakes!

I think I have reverted to my childhood. Seems like now that I have got to the age that I am, I am starting all over again. Well, not from the very beginning, of course, I mean I am toilet-trained! But I used to have acting lessons and do exams and certificates and all that stuff and was always appearing on the stage somewhere until I was 14. (Later, I started again and spent many years dancing, but the acting had disappeared). Also, I had piano lessons till I was 18. And of course did lots in the writing department.

So a couple of months ago, I decided that now that my children are all grown up, I can go back to doing all the stuff that I really enjoyed doing before I had children (which seems like an entire lifetime ago - well it is, it's their entire lifetime ago!). This means that I am now doing one creative writing class, one theater class and one piano lesson every week (I don't think I mentioned the piano lessons yet).

It's all go in Casa Cupcake!

And there's homework too. This week for creative writing we have to write, among other things, a Haiku. Here is mine (it's in German of course):

Der Sonnenaufgang

An diesem trüben Herbsttag

Lässt mein Herz lächeln

It's not possible to translate that literally into English, so I've had to change it a bit in the English version:

Vermillion sunrise

On this gloomy autumn day

Makes my sad heart smile

Ha! Not bad eh.

The "Working You"

I have joined a creative writing class.

Yes, me! As if it is not enough for me to be writing all day in my work, and then on top of that writing in this blog (which, admittedly, I haven't done for several weeks), I now have additional assignments from my writing class.

There are seven of us in the class - six women and one man. Most of us are around the same age, except for two of the women who are clearly pensioners.

The lady who teaches the class is also a woman. In the first class, indeed in the first few minutes, she established the ground rules of the class. One of these was the way in which we should address each other.

In German, there are two forms of addressing another person - the formal "you" ("Sie" in German, like "vous" in French) and the informal "you" ("Du" in German, like "tu" in French). Normally, we would all be addressing each other in the "Sie" (formal) form, as we don't know each other. Especially, we would be addressing the older ladies in the "Sie" form, as German etiquette dictates that it is the older person who "offers" the younger person to use the "Du" form.

However, our teacher proposed that we all address each other as "Du" (informal) straight off. This is actually normal when you take a class. But it might have been a little bit of a problem here because of the two older ladies.

Both the two older ladies accepted it, although one of them did mention that she found it a little unusual because she came from an older generation, and even in her student days she had been addressed as "Sie". (Seriously she doesn't look that old, but who knows).

Our teacher justified the informal "Du" by calling it the "ArbeitsDu" (the "working you"). She suggested that we all address each other using the "working you" while we're in the class, but if we see each other outside the class we can revert to the formal "Sie".

I think this is so complicated that in the meantime we have all forgotten about it. Anyway, it has all worked so far.

Qu'est ce que jolly c'est

In honor of my father, who died in 2006, I wanted to list a few of his favorite phrases here. Actually I should have done this on his birthday, which was July 24, when he would have been 84 this year, but due to laziness and pressure of work... no actually, just laziness, I didn't. So here they are now. (I have listed a few of these in previous posts):

- Qu'est ce que jolly c'est?

It's funny, this is the worst phrase, and Lord only knows where he got it from, but every time something a tiny bit unexpected happens, I say this, and of course no-one can understand it.

- This is a one-eyed joint

Likewise, who knows where he got it from, and if you look in Google, apart from this blog, it appears once, and I'm not quite sure why. He did, however, say it all the time to describe places which did not come to the expected standards.

- I say, you chaps

Well, pure Billy Bunter, and my father was in boarding school from 1933 until I'm guessing, 1944. No mystery there. My father always addressed the family en masse in this manner. Actually, he usually prefixed most sentences with the words "I say".

- What?

My father usually finished up a sentence with the word "what". He wasn't asking a question. The "what" was used as the "n'est ce pas" in French. For example, "Well, it's nice weather, isn't it, what?"

"Damn all"

"I've got damn all time", "There's damn all to see on the telly".

Oh, I will think of more.

Queen Scenes (Number Five)

Queen: I say, Philip, the press appear to be rather concerned about your health. Apparently you have not made any politically incorrect comments for at least a month! And you seem to be restraining your politically incorrect activities to an absurd norm.

Philip: Absolute poppycock! I whacked that blonde housekeeper on the arse last Monday.

Queen: Is it possible that one needs to make a more public demonstration of such activities? I see that you will be opening a new Sainsbury’s in Peterborough on Thursday, perhaps you could wave an indecent hand in the direction of one of those ladies who might be operating the check-out counter, or whatever it is called? After all, one doesn’t want rumours of Altzheimer’s disease or worse appearing in the press.

Philip: The “§$%& press! The only thing I’ve ever known them concerned about is their own circulation! If I kicked the bucket tomorrow, that would sell a few million papers, and if I whacked a cashier on the arse it would sell a few hundred thousand!

Queen: One’s not asking you to kick any buckets, Philip. Whacking or kicking something else is another matter altogether. But, in line with your previous history, it might be appropriate to drop a racist comment or similar, simply to keep the herds at bay.

Philip: Well, I’ll tell you what. If I whack a blonde cashier on the arse, can you get rid of those bloody Paki call centers? Last time I tried to do something on my offshore account, I was transferred to Islamabad!

Dracula Bites Thumb

The plays and musicals of the open-air theater in our town are currently running all summer!

Last week I attended an excellent performance of the musical "Dracula".

And last week I had a little Dracula experience myself.

As a victim of the menopause, I have been trying out all kinds of therapies, hormones, etc. All expensive and unsuccessful, not to mention the side-effects.

So it was through the Internet that I learned of a new therapy, in the form of a cream that one rubs on various parts of one's body twice a day.

Well, it only cost €19.95 and according to reviews, is the miracle therapy of the 21st century.

So I hotfooted it to the website and ordered it.

The miracle cream arrived last Saturday morning. I had thought that I was ordering it from England, but in fact it was sent from a company in the Channel Islands, La Guernsey to be precise. More confusing was that when I tore open the package and found said cream, the description on the little tub said that it had been "Manufactured in the USA".

The little tub was enclosed in one of those welded-on plastic covers that it is impossible to remove. You know the type. First you break two fingernails, then you exercise some energy with a pair of scissors. You throw the tub around the room a couple of times, then you nearly burst a blood vessel trying to tear it apart. Finally you find your sharpest knife and attack it in a manner that you know is going to lead to tears or even a call to the emergency services, but you do it anyway.

In this case I was able to make a tiny tear in the plastic but an even larger tear in my thumb. Blood sprouted profusely, it was clear that I needed to divert my attention to that rather than the opening of the tub. So I fumbled around in the plaster drawer.

Less than 3 minutes later, I had managed to stem some of the bleeding with a plaster. The plaster drawer was quite full of blood by this time. I decided a second plaster was required, which led to more blood in the plaster drawer and quite some blood on the kitchen floor.

I turned my attention back to the little tub, while realizing that my blood was now spurting out through the sides of the plasters and depositing itself over more kitchen surfaces. Cursing, I snatched a couple of sheets of kitchen roll and attempted to stem the blood flow by wrapping the kitchen roll very tightly around my thumb.

The kitchen roll was soon soaked through and after clutching at more roll from the dispenser, which was now empty, I attempted to find a new roll in a cupboard. Blood was now being freely dispersed into the cupboard, into the sink, the bin and again, the floor.

Cursing further, I realized that the only way to stop the flow of blood would be a visit to the emergency doctor. The emergency services are located about 10 minutes walk from my flat, so donned with a further 5 sheets of kitchen roll and clutching the entire roll, I made my way there through the pedestrian precinct.

Already visualizing the headlines in our local paper: Dracula Bites Thumb, Distraught Woman Sighted With Kitchen Roll.

It must have been a good 35 minutes after the accident that the emergency doctor finally viewed my thumb, which was still bleeding! He bandaged it up, apparently not very well, as blood was still flowing faintly around 5 p.m. And when I returned, I needed to clean the entire kitchen.