"I'm NOT an idiot!" - "Are you sure about that?"

I'm still trying to figure out why a certain cyclist believes he is not an idiot.

This happened about a month ago. There I was, leading a walk, when all of a sudden, I saw a cyclist hurtling determinedly towards us. "He's got to stop soon," I thought to myself. "He's got to stop some time." Then a second later, "Why isn't he stopping???" And I cannot remember what I said to the woman walking next to me, but I do know that I used the word 'idiot', which happens to be the same word in German, just with a capital letter, i.e. "Idiot". 

At this, the cyclist finally came to an abrupt halt. "I am not an idiot," he stated. What was said then, I cannot remember at all. 

At one point, however, I looked behind me to see what the cyclist could see and what I saw was this: 17 grown people, two large metal barriers, staggered and designed to force cyclists to dismount from their bikes, a narrow path only wide enough for two people and a slope, since we were on the side of a hill. And this "I am not an idiot" person thought, "Oh, it's okay. I'll just cycle through this crowd of people and metal barriers on a narrow path on the side of a hill."

For the next few nights, every time I closed my eyes, I had visions of the cyclist slipping and sliding into at least two people and throwing them down the slope. Would this "I am not an idiot" cyclist have looked after anyone with a broken leg? Would he have paid compensation for pain or loss of earnings? 

What if we had had a dog with us that might have leapt up as he passed, thus causing him to skid? What if one of us had some condition that meant he or she had jerky movements, which might have startled him - and caused him to skid? What if one of the 17 of us had not seen him coming as they were watching where they put their feet or looking at their phone and stepped in his path?

All this went through my mind as I saw this moron cycle towards us, but he himself saw 17 people, two metal barriers, a narrow path and a slope and thought: "Perfectly safe, I'll just cycle through all this."

What an idiot.

Exploding eggs

You know how they tell you not to put whole eggs into the microwave because they'll explode? Well, I have no microwave - much to the shock of my former Japanese hairdresser who asked what I did with any leftovers of a meal - to which I replied "What leftovers?". No, I don't have a microwave but I have still managed to make three eggs explode within the last week.

And how did I manage that, you may well be asking. Well, I'll tell you. Just put a pan with lots of water and an egg or two on to boil and forget all about it. Eventually, from another room, you'll hear a small explosion and you will realise that, once again, you've let a pan boil dry, which is why the eggs have exploded. 

The first two were still edible, the third wasn't, so I gave up and bought pre-boiled painted eggs from the supermarket. Not so nice as warm eggs, but I won't have to fear the destruction of yet another pan.

The safer option.

Maps, apps and saps

As some of you may already know, I have been leading walks through the local German countryside on and off since 2013. (One of the 'off' periods was, naturally, the lockdowns necessitated by the pandemic.)

I prepare myself pretty well for these walks. Mostly, I get my ideas from books published by Droste. First, I read the description in the book, do some research as to how easy it would be to get there and back and then I take out one of my large maps and study the route on it - as well as on Google Maps. The final step before deciding to walk the route to see if it's suitable for a guided walk with me is marking the route on the large big paper map. That is one skill I learnt in Geography at school: the ability to read a map.

Often, however, when I whip out my map along the way, I am gently teased for being so old-fashioned. Apparently, I should have something like a small, hand-held Garmin that will guide me through the countryside. Instead of getting ideas from books, I could let myself be inspired by, say, Komoot. 

I shall stick to my way of doing things for as long as possible. For one thing, if I dropped some electronic device onto a path in the pouring rain and didn't notice that for at least a quarter of an hour, I doubt whether it would still be useable. Whereas, when I did do this about 3 years ago, all I needed to do was spread the paper map out in my hotel room and let it dry out. I won't say that it's "as good as new", but it definitely is still useable.

Once, I remember going round in circles because the path wasn't marked very well and the map ran out at that point. Two women came by with a smartphone. Were they able to help? Nope. No signal. 

Two days ago, on Wednesday, I was going to a class in my gym when I came across a woman holding a smartphone and looking completely lost. Naturally, I asked if I could help. 

The Google Maps website was already open and we could see where we were on it, thanks to a little blue pulsating button. However, do you think she could figure out how to get from there to where she wanted to go - which was marked by a bright red marker? Nope. One problem with these apps on smartphones or other electronic devices is that the damned map is soooo small that you can't see the surrounding area. And if you zoom out, you can't read the markings on the map.

I've seen these saps (i.e. foolish people) in the countryside, too. They stand there, looking at this small screen with just a few markings on it. When they zoom out, the image is still not sufficiently detailed for them to work out where to go.

Once, I went on a guided walk with someone who relied on the instructions coming from a device. Readers, we went round in circles. And this was an experienced guide who had, until then, used real maps, i.e. maps made out of paper. Wonderfully large maps that give you a really good overview of the area you happen to be in.

This is why, even when I go to cities, I get a guide book out of the local library and study the relevant maps contained therein. Whenever I get to my destination, I then zoom off and within 10 minutes of walking around in the town, people are asking me for directions! Whereas the poor saps who think that a teeny-weeny map on a teeny-weeny screen is a sign of progress are still standing on the pavement in front of their hotel trying to figure out which direction they should take.

After moronic cyclists, now we have a moronic jogger

This morning, I made my way to the main station for a 20 km walk with my walking group. I was striding along a quiet side street when I heard a noise behind me. Startled, I looked back in case it was someone who wanted to mug me (you don't get through three years of living in Manchester without developing a sense of danger). But no, it was just a female jogger about 7 metres behind me. 

I look to see that there is at least 1.5 metres space between me and the building to my right and carry on.

The next thing I know is that this woman nearly runs into the back of me and what does this idiot say to me? "Vorsicht!"

Vorsicht? Vorsicht? Me? The German word literally means 'before/in front sight'. That is to say you should look ahead of you to see what's coming.

This woman, at least in her mid 30s, runs along a pavement and nearly runs into my back and has the temerity, the effrontery to tell me that I should watch out.

When I shouted to her as she ran past me, she didn't react at all. Probably because she had earphones in her ears and so couldn't hear anything happening around her. What a bloody idiot.

How can people like this be allowed out on their own without supervision? How can they survive to their mid-30s? 

I tell you...when I'm dictator of the world, I'll put moronic cyclists and now joggers into an institution, where they can live and work under supervision. And they won't be allowed out on the streets. That should make the streets a whole lot safer.

My favourite German cheese

You might have thought I was a little harsh when I ranted on about bland, yellow German cheese the other day. You might well have thought that I find nothing to like about German cheese. Well, you'd be wrong. There is one German cheese that I like above all others, the one I would not like to give up, but it is one that looks weird, most uncheese-like and that is Harzer Käse. It looks like plastic, like some organic growth in a swamp rather than an actual cheese.

It always looks golden and plasticky, but when it is immature, it's solid white at its core. My mother might like it like that, but I prefer it when it is fully mature, when it's golden all the way through. It tastes even better when it goes beyond the 'just right' stage to the 'starting to look a bit putrid and smell like feet with a serious bacterial infection' stage. Basically, all varieties of cheese that smell like sweaty socks taste absolutely fantastic. 

When I was growing up, we would get a parcel from Berlin at Christmas time - if we didn't happen to be in Berlin for Christmas, naturally. And my gran would buy two very fresh and immature rolls of Harzer Käse, wrap them up in tinfoil and then put them into a plastic bag before putting them into the box with the other Christmas presents. She knew how much I'd appreciate them. 

One year, the parcel didn't arrive. We waited and waited and it finally arrived at Easter time. Instead of going to Deganwy, Wales, it had gone to Gdanya in Poland. 

The poor postman stood at the door and said to my mum, "I don't know what you've got in here, but, please, take it." 

The odour was so strong and the cheese so mature that it was almost liquid that my mother forbade me to eat it. Shame. I'd have loved it on hot buttered toast.

I think this picture will give you some idea of its weirdness:

It often comes covered with caraway seeds (good for the digestion)

And here's another version of it with one bit showing the white bit inside that disappears as the cheese matures:

Hot buttered wholemeal toast - or any other bread - with slices of that and some slices of Schlesisches Gurkenhäppchen (slices of a sort of sweet pickled gherkins)....food of the gods.

Open your eyes and look about you

Last Sunday, my usual walking group did a 17 km walk north of a large town to the west of the Rhine. Rather flat but lots of woodland. Snow still lay on the ground, icy in parts. There were only eight of us, plus the guide. 

Due to the ice, we often had to look down at the ground to make sure we weren't stepping on ice and to find the best way around the icy parts. This did not prevent us from talking, though. Natter, natter, natter.

At one point, I noticed a large brown and beige bird that landed on the ground and when I looked in its direction, it moved and flew up to a nearby tree. All of us stopped and looked up; the movement had attracted people's attention. All except for the two people who were walking with the group for the first time ever. They had decided to walk more in preparation for a holiday in a year's time. They stood on the path and kept on talking to each other. They must have noticed that we weren't walking any more and yet they were not curious enough to see what it was that had caused us to stop. They didn't look up at all. They didn't hear people say, "It's a buzzard." I kept thinking, "How can they not be curious? How can they not look up?"

This, however, is nothing new to me. I remember one walk that I led with a larger group. At one point, I asked some women, "Did you see the deer?" 

"Deer?" they replied in amazement. "What deer?"

"The large herd of deer you just passed in that large field," I replied.

Nope. They'd not noticed a thing, so busy were they with their chat. Yes, you have to watch where you put your feet, but you could always look up from time to time to check where you are and what there is about you.

It seems a lot of people go through life like this - seeing, but not actually noticing anything. I remember watching some corny four-part series called Mistral's Daughter, with Stacy Keach in the starring role. He played an artist and at one point, he put an apple on a table and asked his little daughter to tell him what colour it was. "Green," she replied.

"Look again," he ordered. And she did. Then she noticed the green apple had flecks of yellow, rust, orange and red and the stalk was dark brown and black, 

It's like looking out of the train and saying, "Oh, there's some green countryside" and not noticing the colourful houses, the yellow bales of hay, the red berries, the grey tree trunks, the red tractor, the blueness of the sky reflected in the pond and so on and so forth.

One summer, when I was waking up early because of the light, I went on walks through the town for an hour before breakfast and I took my camera with me. I uploaded lots of photos onto Facebook and some people were amazed that I had taken photos of things they'd never noticed before. 

Just because you have eyes and are not blind, you can be said to 'see'. That does not, however, actually mean that you notice much. There are so many interesting and beautiful things that surround us, but most people never see them.

This reminds me a bit of something that the great Irish wit that was Oscar Wilde once said: We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. 

Raise your eyes from the pavement and look around you and notice things. It makes life more interesting and uplifting.

Don't save things 'for best'....

Or, in my case, that should read "Don't save things 'for the right temperature'."

Last week, we had snow, for the first time in around a decade. And in the sales ten years ago, I bought some very warm boots with very thick rubber soles. They're not the kind I would usually buy since I prefer leather to synthetic fabric. Nevertheless, I was willing to use them once the temperatures got down to minus zero degrees Celcius.

And that is what happened last week: freezing-cold temperatures. Hence, on Wednesday, I finally put them on for the very first time after trying them on in the shoe shop, and trudged to the gym. Before putting them into the locker, I looked at the soles to see that they were clean, and they were.

Walking the kilometre back home, I noticed that the left heel didn't feel right and when I looked down I saw that the sole of the shoe had burst open and was in tatters. I was shocked, thinking that maybe someone at the gym had sabotaged my boots (I had noticed that the padlock hadn't closed properly). 

However, on consideration, I realised that, over all this time, the rubber had degraded and when I checked online, my suspicion was confirmed.

So...after all this time, when I finally used my spanking-new, wonderfully warm and toasty boots, they immediately disintegrated and I can now just throw them away. After one single wear. 

What was the point of keeping them safe and clean for all that time? Couldn't I have worn them when the temperature was, say, 5 degrees C instead of waiting for minus 2?

Although the boots had been bought in the sales, they turned out to be a waste of money.

A lot of people do the same: they keep things for a certain situation, which often never comes. My German gran had a lot of lovely household linen. And most of it was still unused by the time she died at the age of 100 years and 8 months. What pleasure had she got out of possessing all this lovely stuff? None whatsoever.

Now over the last few years, a lot of my neighbours and the neighbours of my German aunt in Berlin have died:  4 of my neighbours (2 women in their late 80s/early 90s), a woman of 62, a man of 58) and the two neighbours of my aunt in Berlin (one year apart from each other to the day, he was 92, she was in her late 70s).

You know what happened with the stuff in their flat? All thrown away. One son didn't even bother to accept what his mother had left so the landlords had to pay to get someone to cart everything away. The niece of the 62-year-old threw everything out apart from some sentimental items belong to her grandmother. The family of the 58-year-old? Everything onto the street for the bulky rubbish collection. The son of my aunt's neighbours? He has allowed some people to take what they want and the rest will be taken away by a stranger and sold off. He wants nothing of his parents' possessions.

And apart from the niece, no-one bothered to sift through any stuff. All junked en masse without being sorted or looked at.

As existentialism  teaches us....you live, you die, and everything you treasured is just thrown away.

The moral of the story is, therefore, that you don't save anything for a time that may never come. Enjoy all your nice stuff now.

Here is more on the subject: https://invisiblyme.com/saving-it-for-a-special-occasion-wasting-your-life-away/