Saturday, April 24

air openings

Sky is open again so I`m in Piddledorf, and the DB will make it to Berlin. Wish it was the other way round.

After the airline food I had a slightly insanitary accident at the Pension Fund´s neurohouse, where you´re not supposed to even wash your hands without then cleaning and drying the sink. I removed the evidence and I think I might have got away with it.

Tuesday, April 20

day off

Yesterday was a social whirl. Our hosts laid on superb nosh, lots of different tastes and textures, just what I like. Then we had a long and entertaining chat with the charge nurse, an ex squaddie with a heart of gold. During the conversation it emerged that he takes bliss pills too.

I've taken a sickie today, which means I'm excused hospital duties.

Stuck in the room today, I stayed in bed and watched daytime TV, and drank the cider I meant to take yesterday. A hangover at 3 in the afternoon is no help at all.

Looks like the planes might be flying again by the time we're supposed to attend the PPP assembly. A mixed blessing. I suppose everything has to balance up.


Decades ago, British TV on a Sunday morning was fab. Weekend World with Peter Jay then Brian Walden. And a Deep Purple theme tune. And there was an ongoing documentary about a couple building the country's first Eco house. Meantime, at the other end of the world, Sunday morning New South Caledonian TV was just test cards and test matches.

Fast forward to today. New South Caledonian TV has caught up, and most channels have a Weekend World style Sunday morning. But what's the Sunday fare now in Britain? Car racing and cricket. Wife Swap Challenge. Celebrity Fat Bums. How Clean Is Your Toilet.

Dearie effing me!

Sunday, April 18

imperial forces move east to the south side

I had arranged to visit Emperor Suleyman in the West, but old dear stuff spilled over so we couldn't go. Instead I grabbed some Kip at the housing department and tried to warm my bones.

Meanwhile, lo and behold! Suleyman The Magnificent assembled his tribe and descended on Edinburgh. We piled aboard the imperial carriage. Appointed navigator, I took us on a roundabout route but we ended up at just the right place, The Southsider.

There was welcoming staff, a big table by the fire, well priced good bar food, and two types of Erdinger. They let us open a tab and just keep ordering stuff. Man, I was so happy I reached into my pocket at the end and beat Suley to the draw.

After hot choc back at the housing department, they departed for the west, and we caught Frank Skinner on TV.

Tomorrow we'll have a nice chinwag with some other dear friends. Things are looking up. And thank goodness for double bliss pills.

Saturday, April 17

they came they saw they took

The old dear had kept saying "they're going to take me away" and we kept telling her she was being paranoid, that nobody was going to take her away. Besides, we wouldn't let them.

The psycho doc came today. Took one look. And took her away. "Can I go tomorrow instead?" "No."

There were no handcuffs, but let's put it this way: when she got to the hospital, there were no consent forms to sign.

Friday, April 16

snow job

At the same time as they're forecasting more snow next week, my radiation burns have got sunburnt to buggery. If this is balance, you can keep it.

Phoned the old dear just now.

OD: "He's dead in the bed beside me, please come immediately!"

Me: "Can I speak to him?"

OD: "Yes, here he is"

Him: "Allo mate, 'ow are ya?"


I was impressed to learn that the EU heid bummer writes haiku, the Japanese verse form that consists of three lines of five, seven and five syllables respectively.

Here is one of his haiku:

When the storm subsides
the sea finds its usual calm.
Fire scorches forever.

I thought I would try my hand:

Young folk get acne,
old faces get leprosy.
It all balances.

Thursday, April 15


I heard from the organizers of the putative Duneditin '10. Scheduled in a tea-house until someone realised that would discriminate against members with religious objections to non-alcoholic purchases.

If I was a Duneditin organizer, and if this city wasn't currently one of the coldest places in the universe, I would use the hut. That way, costs could be cut and rats could be cabaret. Fortunately I'm not on the committee so it's all out of my hands.

Talking of committees, the third member of the panel for the final solution to the old dear problem is coming at the weekend. Sunday's tour of nursing homes may have to curtailed if we're going to look in on the conference camper van. In the words of the old dear's current catchphrase, oh it's all too late.

For the record, blissheids of my acquaintance have an uncanny ability to consume large amounts of beer without becoming obnoxious. Loud yes. Unsteady on their feet, yes. But like Ruis or Luis against Haye, they can stay on their feet forever, even if they fall over the ropes sometimes.

Chauffeurs who drink on duty are advised to deposit their blissheid fares in a quiet side-street to avoid attracting police breathalyzer attention. But choosing a side street alongside police headquarters is counterproductive.

(on iPod)

Wednesday, April 14

housing department hotel

The office building where I worked in a dead-end job is now a hotel. Amd our room is in the exact place where my desk was, except on a different floor.

The back stairs haven't been renovated since my time, so walking up them brings the memories back. All those years I wasted! Except that I met Denny here.

In fact, come to think of it, our room is at the precise place where I first noticed Denny bending over. The thought of her perfect bottom should enhance the bedroom athletics tonight or whenever. We've got another week here.

One of the improvements since my day (apart from the obvious one, the bar) is the pool. I swam yesterday. The only other folk in the pool were a jolly peasant couple, a tattooed bruiser and his svelte consort.

After my swim, when I went into the changing room, he was there already. I was about to take my swimming breeks off when the girlfriend walked in to ask him for his wallet or something. I paused, waiting for her to leave, but then I thought - hang on, she shouldn't be in here. So I went right ahead and wandered past her in the buff. It's not every day you get a chance to flash a babe and get away with it. It felt fantastic, not in a sexual way but in a nudist way. Obviously there was nothing in it for her - she's clearly into big guys and I'm utterly normal sized. The only frisson I could think of laying on for her was a fart, but sadly I was all out of gas.

I had to be subtle, because her man was probably on steroids, and could explode in a homicidal rage. The night before, I had watched a heavyweight fight between, I think, Haye and Luis or Ruis. Totally different boxing styles. It was an exciting fight, with much to admire in both fighters.

Friday, April 9

psychic chambermaid

I was just saying in a recent post about the Bavarian porn that came on the TV in the middle of the night and tried to force its way past my defences.

And how I used pure willpower to change the channel and avoid embarrassment with the chambermaid in the morning.

Anyway, in the morning something spooky happened. The Moroccan chambermaid knocked at the door and offered, in broken Bavarian, to clean the room. Magnanimously I told her not to bother. But then she got quite agitated, strode over to the bed, pulled back the covers and pointed at the sheets. She kept saying "wichsen! wichsen!" which is Bavarian for "wanking".

I was flabbergasted. For one thing, how could she know that the thought had crossed my mind in the night? And how unfair of her to assume that I had succumbed to the thought. Or had I perhaps ended up coming in my sleep? I was about to say "but honestly I didn't" when I twigged what was going on.

The word she meant was "wechseln", which is the Bavarian word for changing the sheets. Apparently she gets into trouble if she doesn't change all the bed linen. Thank goodness we cleared that up.

The pea soup the other night was served cold after all. I couldn't risk an explosion in the kettle. Even cold It was miles better than South Caledonian pea soup. Is there nothing these Bavarians can't do? Actually come to think of it, they cannot make decent TV (porn excepted).

On my last night in Bavaria, DIY room service menu was mostly by courtesy of the all-you-can-eat breakfast table - pumpernickel with cheese, liver pate and salad, accompanied by two varieties of weissbier. Dessert was yoghurt, followed by coffee and muesli bars. There may be no such thing as a free lunch, but free dinner was still on the menu.

Wednesday, April 7

waitress love

The blonde Bavarian breakfast waitress I tipped yesterday is there again this morning. I think she's in love with me. She half-saluted as she sprang to fetch my order. And she's wearing trousers today, deliberately showing off the shape of her bottom.

I'm typing this at the table as she works. God forbid that I suffer a heart attack and she finds this and reads it. Actually that might be the very way to get the ball rolling in our life together. I fake unconsciousness, she reads what I'm writing then holds my hand saying "don't die mein Herr, we have so much to look forward to". This brings me back to life and I ask her to marry me. If she turns me down, well it was just the delirium talking.

Right now she's clearing tables, making a hell of a clatter. Normally I'd wince, but the noise she makes is special.

I can hear her in the back now, loading the dishwasher at a frenetic pace. Efficient as well as everything else! I can see our life already. After her second or third orgasm she leaps up to stack the dishes while I take a hot shower to wash off various bodily fluids, and on special occasions, solids. Then I take her somewhere nice for Kaffee und Kuchen, where we analyse our love-making in a whisper. Did you like the kisses on the bottom? Jawohl. And did you like the other stuff on the bottom? Oh ja! Shall we do it again next week?

They have wifi in the breakfast room, so I can upload this over the last cup of tea, before starting our new life together.

But now she's gone off duty! Probably a blessing, as I've no loose change with me for a tip this morning. There'll be plenty of time after we're married to let her discover my stinginess.

I heard her tell the other waitress that she's getting the flu. The poor girl doesn't realise she's really lovesick. Tomorrow's my last day, and if she's not back on duty, she may never get over it. I know what you're thinking, there'll be waitresses in Dunedin. But will they salute and be thorough? Of course not.

Monday, April 5

moving in mysterious ways

In his new book Julian Barnes says "I don't believe in God but I miss him".

The rewards from yesterday's expedition into godism have begun arriving already.

My first reward manifested itself in the middle of the night, when I put on the TV at about 3 am. I had forgotten another of the things that the Bavarians do so well - porn. None of your American obsession with head shots of head jobs, and proctological exams. No, the Bavarians work wonders with just the basic curvaceous areas, but with imaginative scripting and locations, the results are a delight. And at 3 am they get under your defences and straight to the pleasure zone.

Fortunately, I was saved by good sense and the need to build up my health. Otherwise I would have had to tip the chambermaid in the morning.

The second reward came this morning in the shape of a new breakfast waitress, milky skinned and blonde, not beautiful but, more importantly, sexy and good natured. Sadly I was unable to pay tribute to her charms in the way that I had seen Bavarians doing on the TV, so I left a tip instead, a new experience for me.

the breast and the big shiny organ

This morning I spent so long at the eat-till-you-burst breakfast that I was running late for the Mass and had to hurry through the red light area, the icy wind blasting the urine smells up my nose. Still, as I got closer the scenery became more like Amadeus and cathedral bells got louder and louder until it seemed amazing the spire didn't shatter. I got there just as the last peal sounded, and I slipped into the very last seat in the last row.

The organ I had admired yesterday didn't disappoint, and as the modernist improvisation swelled I was glad of the earplugs.

I had never seen an RC service before, so it was interesting. The sermons and bible readings weren't as interminable as I remember from a Protestant childhood. Incredibly ritualistic and choreographed, and all guff of course but historic guff, given the setting.

The music between acts was good and varied, and the incense was a nice change from the stink outside.

When the overflowing collection plate was passed back to a kid near me, he dropped the thing on the floor and there were coins and notes everywhere. And of course the only couple with a screaming baby was right in front of me. At one point they tried breast feeding to placate it but I think it was too old. I could have craned my neck to see the breast but I didn't know the RC etiquette, and besides it could have triggered a screaming neck outburst.

I lasted an hour, and managed to do most of the movements but when they were forming queues for drinks and crackers it was time to
leave before blowing my cover.

This afternoon faced with deserted cold streets or 20 dreck TV channels I succumbed to jetlag sleep. I woke to Dr Who and realised it's been ruined in the same way they spoiled The Bill, by flooding it with enraged pouting ladettes.

I've just opened the black white beer and can tell you it's too hoppy. It's going to be hard to finish the bottle but somebody's got to do it.

Sunday, April 4

big city bavaria

I'm standing at a street stall in big city bavaria, at one with the world. Good coffee and cake. The guy on my right is chain smoking, and I've decided to treat the fumes as a positive experience. Thank jah I don't have to do that any more. There's a crosswind at minus 2 degrees and starting to rain and I don't care.

Half an hour ago I sat at a communal table in a crowded farmers' market in the square, eating fried potatoes and sauerkraut.

Jammed in amongst Bavarians, I sat up straight and thought - I'm where I belong. We are blockheads and we are proud.

As a poetess with whom I first travelled to Oz used to say: the universe is unfolding as it should. Mind you, she also used to say: there are no shoulds in the universe.

Tried to buy gloves but they said they had withdrawn them from sale "because it's summer now". Reminds me of Princes St or Byres Road in April when tough people change into tee shirts at the first sign of sun.

With lunch at the market I drank cheap apple wine from a barrel. Not a great taste but it makes you happy. Reminds me of drinking Merrydown with Dances one Friday night after school. It was so long ago, neither of us can remember which of us fell asleep with his head actually inside the communal sick-basin.

Which reminds me, dinner tonight will be vegetable casserole, done in the hotel room kettle. The only hard part will be deciding between the white weissbier ( €2.30 at the station shop, a rip off) and the black (80 cents for a big bottle in the supermarket).

Saturday, April 3

albert's diary

Albert has sent an extract from his personal log, in case it might help me understand my own situation. I've had to edit out the toilet material, but otherwise it's verbatim.

" For personal understanding purposes.

2 months out, I began successful Pilates morning exercise regime for the back.

1 month before, virus with long recovery.

Work backed up, with deadlines.

Cellmate adding stress.

Old dear condition worrying everyone -> family static over phone.

1week out, hot water boiler blows up, I research and arrange replacement solar system.

For weeks, nightly sleep is 4-5 hours. Eating a lot.

Plane to Prisonage with Cellmate is good despite the usual distancing.

At Prisonage airport I let go of my long-established plan to rent a rest area in the day hotel in terminal 3. Even though you normally have to book, at 5 pm there were two available. But trying to coordinate/compromise w Cellmate meant we missed the chance.

Before her flight to the Old Dart and mine to Bavaria, Cellmate was off the emotional air and I was doing ambivalent soothing gestures.

So no sleep before the second, 12 hour leg. Very old 747, poor seats and I was too tired to work out what I'd need to do to make it screaming-neck-pain-compatible (I only adjusted for back and that at least was successful).

Neck went critical because I had a brief sleep lolling back on low headrest.

Took pills: panadeine, panadol, disprin all x1. Also T4, bliss pills, and one of homoeopathic (!) melatonin.

Half an hour later in darkened cabin, suddenly felt highly nauseous. Ran to bog. Threw up. If I could have spent the whole flight there, I would've, but I couldn't face the inevitable door banging by passengers and eventually by crew.

Over next 9 hours of flight, nausea slowly lessened but could't face food. The only way to stave off the screaming neck was to sit bolt upright and fight the sleep waves.

Lessons I learned?
- Reclining seat always makes it worse.
- Should have gone for what I want re the nap room.
- At least the pilates back protection work paid off"

It's not always clear what Albert's on about, but I admire his perseverance in the face of record stress levels, even by his own standards. The Prussian officer-class genes must be helping.