Now I know what I miss

I work from home. Every working day (and often on Sunday and public holidays - as will be the case this weekend), I sit at my computer from around 7 in the morning to the late afternoon or evening. All my meals are eaten while sitting at the keyboard. As I sometimes drop food onto my lap, because I'm too absorbed in what I'm reading online, I wear my oldest jeans and often place an old tea towel on my lap to catch any falling morsels. On top, I wear old long-sleeved T-shirts or, in winter, plain woollen pullovers. Why sweat into one's best clothes if no-one is going to see them?

This is why, whenever I have a chance to go further than the bins, the post office or the supermarket, I change out of my grotty clothes and into an outfit with a bit more thought behind it. Even going into town on a Saturday, just to sit in the library with a cup of coffee and the latest papers and journals, makes me want to put on some smart clothes. After all, I might meet the love of my life while on my way there or while reading Good Housekeeping. One never knows.

At the last count, I had 12 dresses, around 7 skirts and a plethora of blouses, both long; and short-sleeved. Then there are all the T-shirts and tops, some of which are older than my youngest evening class students.

When have I worn all these things most recently? Well, not in the last three months, that's for sure.

Life has become pretty boring always wearing the same two old pairs of jeans and three long-sleeved T-shirts. I'll even wear them tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow (as Shakespeare once put it) when I go walking over the long weekend. Why wear out good clothes when all you're going to do is get them dusty and sweaty?

I mentioned this to my singing teacher on Tuesday and she requested that I wear a dress to her next lesson. I might wear the one I bought for my sister's wedding. I don't think I've had it on in 10 years. If I were to follow the rule of getting rid of clothes I haven't worn in the last 6 months or so, then I'd be left with some pretty shabby clothes. I shall, therefore, hold on to what I've got in the hope that better times will come. Laissez les bons temps rouler - as they say in Louisiana.

Cute renaming of local bar

Not far from my flat is a small bar where the trendy young folks go - or at least those who think they are trendy, hip and cool.

It's called Kassette (English: cassette). As the restrictions are still in place, they are now offering a 'takeaway' service, so they have temporarily renamed the place: "Kassette to go: Walkman".

Genius.

Happy Towel Day, you hoopy froods!

The day has snuck up on me again. Every year, I faithfully record it on my calendar and then I neglect to look at it and am surprised by photos online depicting hoopy froods all around the world proudly displaying their towels, often casually draped over a shoulder. Well, at least I happen to have done a towel wash this morning. Thirteen of them are drying on the clothes horse in the kitchen.

What am I blethering on about is what you are probably asking  yourselves.

Towel Day occurs every year on 25 May, which happens to be the birthday of the genius writer that was Douglas Adams. Every year, fans all around the world commemorate him by not forgetting to take their towels with them, because as every fool knows, a towel is just about the most useful thing in the universe. I quote from the book, my comfort book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy:

A towel is just about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can carry. Partly because it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand combat; wrap it around your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of theRavenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you — daft as a brush, but very very ravenous); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course you can dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, washcloth, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet-weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitchhiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitchhiker might accidentally have "lost." What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the Galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Hence a phrase which has passed into hitch hiking slang, as in "Hey, you sass that hoopy Ford Prefect? There's a frood who really knows where his towel is."

Personally, I don't carry a towel with me all the time...but I do always carry a scarf with me and that pretty much fulfils the same functions.

Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund...

...is one of my favourite German sayings. Word for word it means '[the] morning hour has gold in its mouth'. Or in English: the early bird catches the worm. Now, I like worms since, without them, we wouldn't have the world as we know it. Very useful, they are. However, the German saying is more 'sunshiny'. 

And one time when I really appreciate that saying is when I'm off for an early morning walk, which today started at 8.05 a.m. when I arrived at the S-Bahn station in Gerresheim. Off I strode and before long, I was on this magnificent ridge walk, with the ground sweeping down on either side ,even though I myself had barely climbed any height. The trees rose almost alarmingly high above me and I got the feeling that I was in some green cathedral. I passed only one woman and her dog. 

Then I came out into open fields with beautiful dips in the ground and curves to the pathway and a view over Erkrath. I stopped to chat with a man with two Australian sheepdogs. Curving round the town and passing its swimming pool complex, I swung right and was once again surrounded by trees that rose so high it made me dizzy just to gaze at them. I had to tilt my head so far back I thought it would drop off. 

And finally, after descending a slope and walking along a road for a few hundred metres, I passed the site where the remains of the Neanderthalers were first found. I walked up past the museum and had just a 10-minute wait for a train back to civilisation. I had walked 11 km in 3 hours. 

Not many people were around because the day was a bit cold, windy and overcast. By the time the train came, though, lots of people were getting off at the station or parking their cars, off on a walk of their own. I was glad I had set off early and had had all that lovely countryside nearly to myself. Truly the morning does have the 'golden hours' of the day.

German-English puns

Walking through town on Saturday, I came across two billboards with these pictures on them:


This is a pun on Heidi Klum's TV show "Germany's next Topmodel", where young women try to become fashion models egged on by the so-called model that Karl Lagerfeld didn't think much of.

And then there was also this (Pflegekraft = carer)...

'Social distancing' - another misnomer

Since the emergence of this virus thingy (I won't use the 'c' word as I know some people who are allergic to it and break out in hysterics every time they hear it)... since the emergence of this virus thingy, we have been ordered to practise 'social distancing'. This entails staying at home and, if one does come across a real live human being, not touching them, shaking hands with them, and remembering to stand at least 1.5 m away from them.

I would, however, argue that since these restrictions (I also dislike the word 'lockdown'), I've had more contact than usual with people. In the first week of staying at home, at least five people from my walking group rang me up, including one I don't see much on walks any more. Even now, I sometimes get three calls a day, plus e-mails. And I've contacted some older people, too, just to let them know that they may be out of sight, but they are not out of mind.

Surely, therefore, the social distance between people is as close as it ever was, maybe even closer, and this practice of keeping one's distance should really be known as 'physical distancing'. What do you reckon?

This virus thingy is getting to me

In order to keep up this year's resolution of reading two French books a month, I toodled off to the largest bookshop in town and picked a couple up last Monday.

One of them is a crime story by Jean-Luc Bannalec, a name I was already familiar with. "Great," I thought. "A new French crime writer." The story is called "Un été à Pont-Aven".

Imagine my astonishment when, sitting comfortably at home,  I read the information on the first few pages of the book that tells me that Jean-Luc Bannalec is the pseudonym of a German writer. What a swizz! I'm reading the French translation of a book originally published in German!!

Notwithstanding my slight disappointment at not reading an original French book, I plunge into the story. At one point, the main character, Commissaire Georges Dupin, goes to eat something in a cafe. And as he sits down at a table outside, what thought wandered through my mind? "I hope he's sitting far enough away from other people there."

It gave me a bit of a jolt to realise that these so-called 'social distancing' rules were now pretty much ingrained in my mind. I wonder whether these sorts of rules will crop up in novels that are set in this period of time. It'll be interesting to see.

I think I'll move to Austria

I always find it strange that, when I ask my students in class what their favourite English words are, they mostly give me a blank stare, as though I've asked something absolutely ludicrous. And yet there seem to be regular surveys in the UK as to what people's favourite words are. I can only recall the answer of one student, the youngest in my Friday class (17), who said he liked the word 'petrichor', which is a word I had heard of but I couldn't recall its meaning. This is its definition: "a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather."

That's a pretty nice word, wouldn't you agree? My favourite in terms of meaning is 'serendipity' - "Occurring or discovered by chance in a happy or beneficial way. 'Her career was a collection of serendipitous and fortuitous events that entice one to believe she was fated to succeed." (according to the Oxford Dictionary).

When it comes to German words I do not like, however, there is one clear winner: 'lecker' (in English: 'tasty'). I hate hearing the word 'lecker'. For me, the sound of that word is like the sound of a knife scraping against a plate or fingernails scratching a blackboard for other people. The worst thing is that it's a word that's not limited to Germany. No, South Africa and the Netherlands also use the very same adjective. And it crops up in ordinary conversation as well as in advertising - in print as well as on the radio and TV. The word is ubiquitous. You can't escape it.

It's not the sound per se that I dislike. I can cope with hearing the word 'Bäcker' ('baker' - which rhymes with 'lecker'). Maybe it's because I have visions of a long tongue unhygienically licking the tasty morsel in question, since 'lecken' means 'lick'. 

So what has this go to do with Austria, I hear you asking. I'll tell you what this has to do with Austria. Yesterday, I stumbled across an article online that listed seven German words that the Austrians can't stand and word No. 7 was 'lecker'. You should never say "Die Kekse sind lecker" ("The biscuits are tasty") in Austria. No, you should say "Die Kekse schmecken gut" ("The biscuits taste good") and that is a phrase that doesn't make me shudder at all.

And if you're wondering what the other 6 German words that the Austrians can't stand are, here is the full article for your delectation and enlightenment:

https://metropole.at/7-german-words-will-piss-off-austrians/

I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue

Yesterday evening, Saturday, I tried to find something interesting to watch on UK TV. The choice was dire. The same drab game shows and mindless programmes.. or I could watch for the umpteenth times episodes of Murder, She Wrote, NCIS or Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple. Or possibly some repeated documentary on World War II.

German TV? Seeing as how I'm paying over 17 euros a month for German TV and radio. Don't make me laugh. I noticed that 'Shetland' was going to be shown - but after 11 p.m. German TV bosses think that 'Candid Camera' ('Verstehen Sie Spaß?'), a show that has been going for 40 years, is still a great idea and fantastic prime time TV viewing. I saw a couple of episodes of the UK version as a child. If I recall correctly, they were 30 minutes long. I have no idea how they can keep this going in Germany for 40 years with each episode being 180 minutes to 195 minutes long. 180 minutes - that's 3 hours!! Very cheap TV indeed. No need for scriptwriters, actors, or any film crew.

I checked out BBC Radio 4 and didn't fancy anything there either.

So.. I turned to YouTube. Good old YouTube. A veritable gold mine if you just poke around there a bit. And I found the only filmed episode of I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue from 2008, the last episode chaired by jazz trumpeter Humphrey Lyttleton.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ohQt_P_wpU

'Clue', as it is fondly known by its many loyal fans, is a radio programme that has been devised to be the 'antidote to panel games' and it's been going since 1972. Unlike Verstehen Sie Spaß? it does not rely on schadenfreude to get its laughs. And you never know what the panellists will come up with. The best thing is that they have such fun together. Barry Cryer is particularly generous with his laughs at other people's jokes.

Sadly, many of the original players have passed on. Humphrey Lyttleton in 2008 - after 35 years at the helm. The wonderful Willie Rushton, whom I still miss very much, played from 1974 to his much too young death at the age of 59 in 1996. And then just a week ago, the man whom I always regarded as 'the youngster' of the gang: Tim Brooke-Taylor, who played from 1972 to 2020. Barry Cryer (who is already over 80 himself) and Graeme Garden (a mere 77) are still going. And one must mention the much maligned pianist: Colin Sell. All names that are music to my ears.

If you watch the video of the filmed episode, you can see just how large an audience this long-running radio game show (72 series so far) can attract. Tickets are free - but try getting your hands on one. Not easy.

It's a sad thing when the TV channels of the UK and Germany have nothing to offer than can beat listening to old episodes of a small group of old men larking around in a radio studio.

If you want to do the same, someone on YouTube has kindly uploaded lots of episodes from various years:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCigprW0Q1WiwB9wadUbWoag/playlists

Enjoy! I certainly am doing just that.

Early to bed...

Recently, I've been enjoying the deliciously wicked feeling that comes from going to bed early, sitting there, reading and sipping something, with the curtains wide open and seeing the sun still shining in the evening.

What's so 'wicked' about that is what you are probably now wondering. Well, for me, the daylight hours mean that I have to be 'productive', that I mustn't waste time. Rather like a peasant, I am sensitive to light, which means that the earlier it gets light as of spring time, the earlier I wake up. At the height of the summer, this means 5 a.m.

I grew up hearing my mum say as soon as she sat down on the sofa in the evening: "No, I can't sit down and do nothing." Upon which, some knitting would come out. If you hear that often enough over the decades, it worms its way into your own consciousness and the idea of always being productive, of always doing something is firmly fixed in your own mind. You can, therefore, imagine how long the days are in the summer when you feel you have to cram every daylight hour with doing something useful.

Even when I was still at school, this was already influencing me, so much so that I felt a bit naughty for going to bed early on a Thursday evening - but the music programmes on BBC Radio 2 were too good not to devote myself to listening to them for three hours. Two of those hours were Wally Whyton's Country Club. Sheer heaven. All the old stars. What I call proper country music. Followed by big band and Latin American music - both with half-hour programmes.

These days, now that all my evening classes have been cancelled, I've taken up the habit again and sometimes I'm in bed at 7 p.m. - always with a good book - and relishing the luxury of doing nothing but reading and not being 'productive' in any way. Bliss.