Two of my doctors are mummy's boys

I have three doctors I see from time to time, all female, including a dentist and a GP (general practitioner or Hausarzt), who are both Russian speakers from Ukraine. 

Recently, I have had to get used to the idea that they are now being replaced by their sons. Firstly, I went to the GP with pains in my shoulders, especially the left one. I was asked whether I wanted to see Herr Doktor or Frau Doktor. I don't care, I replied, so long as I see a doctor.

So I got an appointment with the doctor's son, fresh from medical school in Bulgaria. Quite a good-looking guy, if you like beards. At my second appointment with him, after receiving the results of an MRI scan (MRT in German), he wanted to send me to see some specialist for a further test. At one point, he made a call and spoke in Russian. I thought he had rung up the place he wanted to send me to, but at the end I heard him say "Spasiba, mama", and realised he'd rung his mum up to ask for her advice.

Something similar happened at the dentist's. I needed my dentist to look at something worrying I had found in my mouth and after an X-ray, he said that the tooth needed to be pulled to prevent any infection. Reluctantly, I agreed, and he made an appointment for me at 9 a.m. the following Tuesday. "Mum will be there," he said, and I thought that meant she was going to pull the tooth. As I told him, I had only been to female dentists for many years as they had smaller than male dentists and yet were just as strong. He looked down at his hands and said, "I take after my mother." And I have to admit that his hands were probably smaller than mine. 

Anyway, it turned out that he pulled my tooth and his mum was just on site - just in case he needed her help. 

I find it touching that they are respectful of their mothers' abilities and superior knowledge and experience, but only time will tell whether I stay with them. We shall see.

Probably the most powerful poem you'll ever hear

Now, some of you might think I was being over-dramatic when I talked about being jumpy with all the lights from the mobile phones in the theatre in my blog on "concert rage". "What is she on about?" you might have thought. "How can she think she's in danger in a theatre? I don't get it."

Well, I studied at Manchester Victoria University. I've often said that Manchester was the most dangerous place I've ever lived in - and that includes London. During my three years there, I learnt to be very cautious. So many females students were attacked; a Japanese tourist had her handbag ripped from her shoulder by a jogger on the main street of Oxford Road - a busy street full of people; a grandmother was murdered in a nearby park; hands were thrust into student rooms through open, ground-floor windows in an attempt to steal whatever they could; there was a peeping Tom at the back of our student hall; security guards escorting female students from the nearby student hall of Owens Park Tower would attack and rape them instead. Even I was attacked from behind while going to visit friends in a private house in a residential area. The place was not safe. And, naturally, the perpetrators were all male. That is why all women were urged to be alert at all times.

But that was many years ago and you would have thought that things had improved by now. 

It seems not. Listen to this poem which was first broadcast on Women's Hour last week and was then on Pick of the Week as so many people contacted the BBC to ask if they could hear it again. If it's too fast, use the settings (the symbol that looks like a cogwheel or a daisy) to slow it down a bit. Or listen to it again and again... it's bloody good.

At What Point - by Caitlin O'Ryan

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOcNK-4xr34

Oh, the irony of German election candidates and their campaigns

As you probably know, there will be an early national election here in Germany on Sunday 23 February. When you walk around town, you will see election posters everywhere.

And also as you have probably noticed, there is a move in Germany towards being anti-immigration - mostly in an attempt to pre-empt the AfD and so prevent them from being voted into power. Even the other parties are now jumping on to the anti-immigration in an attempt to grab the popular vote.

But, oh, the delicious irony of seeing people who don't look at all like your vision of a blue-eyed blond German campaigning to keep foreigners out of the country.

Take this election video that I just came across on YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/tu_XGtx6lQ8

That's Sahra Wagenknecht, who upped and left the The Left party and created her own just a short while back: Bündnis Sahra Wagenknecht (what chutzpah - to call an entire political party after yourself, eh?). Does she look German to you? If it hadn't been for her Iranian father, she wouldn't be here today.

And then there is Iranian-born thoracic surgeon Dr Lida Azarnoosh of the FDP party (Free Democrats). Take a look at her campaign poster:

https://www.instagram.com/fdp_ddorf_ov3/reel/DEsEdmiMIA7/

According to her "Migration: even good will must have its limits". 

She's been in the country since 2015 and is already telling the Germans what to do.

With a declining German birth rate (1.35 per woman according to an official source), if we don't import people, then who is going to do the jobs and pay the taxes to fund all those German pensioners? 

If the AfD gets into power, the plan is to "re-migrate" all the foreigners - even those with German passports. Like me. I keep telling my classes that they may have to find a German English-teacher in future as I may be kicked out of the country - which makes them look alarmed.

Let's hope it doesn't come to that. 

We truly live in "interesting times".

"Please, sir, I want no more."

You might have recognised the line from the musical of Oliver! that I have appropriated and amended for my own purposes in the heading for today. In the musical based on Charles Dickens's book Oliver Twist, poor orphan Oliver is in the workhouse and, one day, he is chosen to ask the workhouse manager, Mr Bumble, for another portion of gruel, a thin watery soup, saying, "Please, sir. I want some more."

Well, I've been trying out various sauces out of jars and I didn't see that the 'African bowl' (with a whole load of veggies in it) also included 'vegan meat' based on peas. 

All I can say is that 'vegan meat' has the texture and consistency of burst balloons. Chomping down on those small pieces is a most unappetising experience. Horrible. Even the enamel on my teeth can sense that it's just not natural. 

Personally, I don't see why they just don't throw in the peas rather than use them to recreate the texture of meat. Peas are full of protein, just like beans and pulses. If you want to insist on vegan dishes, celebrate the veggies in all their forms. But, please, no more of this rubbery, unpleasant 'meat'.

Here's the scene in the film in question:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYCu9-r6B8E

And as a bonus, here's my favourite song from the musical.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ly7PONiKGUs

"Concert rage"

Back about 20 years ago, "road rage" - uncontrollable anger as experienced by drivers culminating in violence - was all the rage. 

Well, back in December of last year, I experienced "concert rage" and had to leave as soon as possible (which happened to be during the break) in case I started to harangue (jmdm. eine Standpauke halten) the two women sitting directly in front of me.

It was like this. I had finally got to go to a concert that I thought I was going to an entire year before. I was a bit down in the dumps in December 2023 and saw a Christmas concert given by local singer Tom Gabel being advertised in an e-mail. "Oh," I thought. "That might cheer me up." I'd seen him on stage before and knew how good he was. When the ticket came through the post, I realised that I wouldn't have to wait just two weeks for the concert, but 54 weeks instead. Doh!

Anyway, I was really looking forward to the Christmas concert to put me in a good mood and, I have to say, the Savoy Theatre was packed out. It was heartwarming to see; it seemed that the social-distancing of the pandemic was now a thing of the past.

However, as soon as he and his band came on stage, some women (I didn't see any man do this, so I'm not being sexist), some women whipped out their mobile phones, held them up and started filming. Including the two women sitting right in front of me. 

Don't people realise how incredibly distracting it is to have lights coming on and off in the darkness of the auditorium? Apparently not. Growing up in the UK and having studied in Manchester and having worked in London, a single woman has to be vigilant and on constant guard. A sound over there, a light over here - they draw your attention and make you check what's happening. Is there someone hiding in the shadow of a doorway? Don't go too close to a van or large car in case a door opens and you are dragged into the vehicle. I am not kidding. This is the level of vigilance we female students at Manchester got used to during our studies.

However, the distraction of the light from the phones was not the stupidest thing about the situation. No, what was really stupid was the fact that the women were holding up their phones to film the concert, and watching the concert on the phone - to make sure they were filming properly. I wanted to scream at them, "Women, put the bloody phone down. He's standing 15 metres in front of you. Live and in the flesh. And you want to watch the concert on a small screen. ARE YOU MAD?"

That made me so angry that as soon as it was possible to do so without disturbing the others, I left. It was a shame as Tom Gabel really is a good singer - in the style of Frank Sinatra. In fact, if you close your eyes, you can persuade yourself that you're listening to Ol' Blue Eyes in the flesh.

I have another ticket to see the Rat Pack (obviously not the originals) in May. Let's hope that there's a classier audience in that concert hall.

In the meantime, here's a video of Tom Gabel singing. Enjoy!

Start with the second song here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAxfzu4nbdE

In praise of stories and old-fashioned libraries

 A few days ago, Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, had an article published in The Guardian.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2025/jan/05/barnsley-library-home-narnia-gormenghast-hundred-acre-wood

In it, she describes how it snowed so much once that she couldn't leave the library to go home. She was snowed in. At lunchtime, a librarian gave her a sandwich and in the evening, she was preparing to make a little nest in the corner of the library to spend the night in. Eventually, a policeman came to take her home. "But I am at home," she wailed.

I know what she means. Here is an extract from the article:

Later, when I discovered books, I realised that home could be Narnia, or Gormenghast, or AA Milne’s Hundred Acre Wood. Growing up as a bookish child, my natural home was the library: there I explored other worlds, other lives. There I could not only be myself, but anyone else I wanted to be.

That's my take on books, too: with your nose in a book, you can travel through time and space. You can live in the Roman era or fly through outer space in a rocket. You can have scary and daring adventures, and still be home in time for tea. You can read the most macabre tales and still sleep safely in bed at night. 

Apparently, it is a Czech proverb that says "Those who know many languages live as many lives as the languages they know."

You can say the same thing about books. If you read widely, you can experience many different lives. I used to read so many westerns by the British writer J.T. Edson that I practically lived in the Wild West. For two years of my Master's degree, I read so much about the Victorian era and so many books by Victorian writers that I feel I have lived in Victorian England. Thinking about that time still makes me feel slightly strange. Like a well-known place has now been lost forever. 

But Joanne Harris was reading in an old-fashioned library, with nooks where you could hide yourself away in. In the kind of library where people positively glared at you if you made the slightest noise. That's the kind of place where, in the silence, you can sink into another world - such as that of Narnia, the Hundred Acre Wood, Wonderland or the Magic Faraway Tree. Bliss.

Frohes Neues Jahr! - Or maybe not, then

In a desperate attempt to finally shift some of the pandemic pounds I gained during lockdown, I have started walking for 2 hours a day. I pull my boots on, wrap a scarf around my neck a few times, zip up my anorak, jam a hat on my head and put some gloves on and off I go, pounding the streets of this town, window shopping along the way.

Now, I'm a bit of a shy person (anyone who knows me will probably laugh incredulously at this point), so I have to force myself to perform some of the "social niceties", and one of them is saying "Happy New Year" or "Frohes Neues Jahr" to people as you pass by them in the street. 

The streets were fairly empty on New Year's Day, and yet, everyone I passed didn't say a word, not even "Hello", not even a nod in acknowledgement of seeing a fellow human being on such a quiet day. And on 2 January, walking in a greener area, things were no better. I said "Frohes Neues Jahr" to people and they just stared at me. Not even a grunt in return. 

This is just so puzzling. I've never encountered such rudeness before. Normally, it's me who has to reply to others. I mentioned this to a German journalist this morning and she said she had also had the same experience. She thinks that people may think that the innocuous phrase "Frohes Neues Jahr" is much too personal to say to any Tom, Dick or Harry you may encounter. Personally, I am not convinced by that. I believe that such unfriendliness may have two causes: 1) the increasing amount of time people spend online at home - especially since the pandemic and 2) the media that stirs up mistrust of other people.

It's been years, probably a couple of decades, since I watched the news. These days, I don't much listen to the news either. No, what I prefer to do is to trawl through the newspapers - online or in the library - because they offer two advantages. Firstly, you can read different slants on news events by reading more than one paper with different political views. Secondly, even the most morose newspaper includes a few upbeat articles, a few snippets of good news, a line or two that might raise a smile.

We need to remember that even though the TV news programmes want to stir up our fear and despair by showing us the worst of humanity, all humans are not inherently wicked and that there is more good than bad in the world. 

Having said that, may I wish everyone a Happy New Year! Onwards and upwards! Never give up - never surrender!