tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10353034584132851552024-03-06T12:49:16.269+11:00The Frankfurter FilesFrettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-89579709757470643832011-07-06T22:42:00.004+10:002011-07-06T23:03:47.864+10:00UFO SightingSo, you've probably had enough of my impressive crochet skills by now. Seasons have passed. It's time to post again.<br /><br />Sometime between crocheting those cupcakes and today we made a trip to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freiburg_im_Breisgau">Freiburg</a> with Matti when he was visiting and stayed in a nearby town called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emmendingen">Emmendingen</a>. Mads knew straight away that this was <em>our </em>town - for a start, the hotel we stayed at had a giant M out the front. There were 'M's on our pillows. We had soon formed a theory that everyone in Emmendingen had to have an M in their name somewhere. But the real proof that we were destined to go to Emmindingen was when Matti and Matt spotted my genie book in the window of one of the shops in town. I'd known that the German translation has been out in the shops for a while but I hadn't seen it anywhere. And there it was. In the bookshop window of Emmendingen.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXFfsBAN7nb7bih0kBd5aU2f2fJFksXH2W0T1eQVajhZ60evsDkZOjQ5WcJ-rtjhalH72mfZ8NxjTtjUYJh_rHziH_wAd7-HDW2btrT5JK-i454hh8fC2z1lHeZLJcfnSTCLtj605ToZ7/s1600/emindingen_cropped-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXFfsBAN7nb7bih0kBd5aU2f2fJFksXH2W0T1eQVajhZ60evsDkZOjQ5WcJ-rtjhalH72mfZ8NxjTtjUYJh_rHziH_wAd7-HDW2btrT5JK-i454hh8fC2z1lHeZLJcfnSTCLtj605ToZ7/s320/emindingen_cropped-pola.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626220909113050514" /></a><br />It's that blurry yellowish shape in the middle of the picture. Not a UFO. My book. Truly. We went inside and found it on the shelf. Then the bookshop lady came over and it turned out that she'd grown up in Australia. So then Matt suggested that I sign the book and there was a slightly awkward moment where I saw the thought flit across (let's call her) Mary's mind that perhaps I hadn't written it. Perhaps we were just a group of weird tourists who went into bookshops and signed other people's books. I offered to produce my passport but she smiled (a little nervously) and said it wasn't necessary.<br /><br />And then that was it. First sighting of one of my books in a foriegn land. We left the shop and headed off to the ice-cream shop. Mads had the green nutty flavour. 'Moustachio.'Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-74500838894393094692011-03-04T07:19:00.008+11:002011-03-04T07:36:19.611+11:00Cupcakes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1b8P2Qu3Sz0LVO9vH3xnFtg5cClpFbVey2rM7-O5-PQQfDbIytJqjq6DDNaNup9dEZhF9tn7TlyKf55UO85GrXvfjSmqdsHAEUQ99kt4Is5M3r9N159-v3Qtus4CyVB7obswTaEXqYpj/s1600/cupcake_03.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1b8P2Qu3Sz0LVO9vH3xnFtg5cClpFbVey2rM7-O5-PQQfDbIytJqjq6DDNaNup9dEZhF9tn7TlyKf55UO85GrXvfjSmqdsHAEUQ99kt4Is5M3r9N159-v3Qtus4CyVB7obswTaEXqYpj/s320/cupcake_03.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579952609561005778" /></a><br />There are many, many things I should be doing with my time right now. Finishing a book for instance. Packing for the trip to Australia next week. Maybe a little Spring cleaning. But at the moment all I seem to be able to do is make little woolly cupcakes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDDCl7hneNHtHLLac8UP-Yhmq6sYCBiLkXKQKwyix1IRyOmbIVJE_54nGazOX-2QNCjRLp-Utl6WbmZEnaaEhcSy-DgKLR-y-KGVdZtVI4-gGQG9jS2rQgpJNfNtDKVVbalXTtQohPQf6/s1600/cupcake_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsDDCl7hneNHtHLLac8UP-Yhmq6sYCBiLkXKQKwyix1IRyOmbIVJE_54nGazOX-2QNCjRLp-Utl6WbmZEnaaEhcSy-DgKLR-y-KGVdZtVI4-gGQG9jS2rQgpJNfNtDKVVbalXTtQohPQf6/s320/cupcake_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579951214684002946" /></a><br />I can't really explain it. Mads has enough now to set up quite an impressive bakery. And yet I keep creating them, night after night. It's like an obsession. I suppose I should just be thankful that I'm not churning out real cupcakes at the same rate.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKhyMv_M0G6YwRD0OZ1THHe99NuFAS4SSKAjuJN6SCGO3gv7rMqALqFcIF4D3XTr1MIMh4NDtxrIeimAGiinbiWvHzlTxOLe4ryk23Eg3g_m5lfyimcH2OOkR7OZOrKQFAobGWin_As93/s1600/cupcake_01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKhyMv_M0G6YwRD0OZ1THHe99NuFAS4SSKAjuJN6SCGO3gv7rMqALqFcIF4D3XTr1MIMh4NDtxrIeimAGiinbiWvHzlTxOLe4ryk23Eg3g_m5lfyimcH2OOkR7OZOrKQFAobGWin_As93/s320/cupcake_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579951755321259234" /></a><br />And in my defence (and in case my editor happens to read this) I have been working on the book during the day. And (in case my mum reads this) I have made a packing list so theoretically it should now just be a matter of chucking all our stuff in for a bag. It's just that of an evening I see the wool and the urge comes over me for cakes.<br /><br />Hopefully it won't last. Perhaps if I keep reading <a href="http://evilcrochetgenius.blogspot.com/">this blog</a> I will be able to wean myself off the cupcake habit and onto something a little less old-ladyish.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-54786614718784698812011-02-17T02:17:00.010+11:002011-02-17T02:41:16.030+11:00Finished<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9g_MlBfHOMDaITrqin6s2rQXILiP4L8LxnEGiJNFsUqprBhPLXWwGtvDfldDl44rnxDoMGMBVkYRp1DJMCGv_N__7DvsD82ujyfRD6mX6_5DiIhHk7BRpDMP1E3uGqhgfK7TU-veCCHhY/s1600/rug_mads_matt.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9g_MlBfHOMDaITrqin6s2rQXILiP4L8LxnEGiJNFsUqprBhPLXWwGtvDfldDl44rnxDoMGMBVkYRp1DJMCGv_N__7DvsD82ujyfRD6mX6_5DiIhHk7BRpDMP1E3uGqhgfK7TU-veCCHhY/s320/rug_mads_matt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574307130121822898" /></a><br />Here is a picture of M + M both looking extremely pleased that I've finally finished the large project that I've been working on for some time now. They are both thinking; 'Phew. Maybe she'll stop being such a cranky cow for a bit.' I'm not making any promises. Behind Mads you can see another recently finished project - my latest rug.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3YTGlm0JVeQ9U0uLyfGjIW7Xr2rnRNSApSD1l8T-cTPLITq0AG6Cs7t9oc9WSYQOsICLa8HX2T9kwjhRQNizVKAAfEw7nJQoYI29uDAkXAK8sOt1PVdl5ZOhwidku9iP4k3xhnJK0fzBB/s1600/rug_2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3YTGlm0JVeQ9U0uLyfGjIW7Xr2rnRNSApSD1l8T-cTPLITq0AG6Cs7t9oc9WSYQOsICLa8HX2T9kwjhRQNizVKAAfEw7nJQoYI29uDAkXAK8sOt1PVdl5ZOhwidku9iP4k3xhnJK0fzBB/s320/rug_2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574307786744653458" /></a><br />Go on. You can say it. It's really weird-looking, isn't it? This is what happens when you launch into a project without any real plan - nothing much at all beyond; 'I'd like there to be circles. And some red.' So I just started making it and it just got weirder and weirder. That strange purpley-pink colour. The orange. I don't know what I was thinking. Sadly it's reminiscent of the way I cook - adding stronger and stronger flavours one after another in a mad panic. The rug is far too ugly to inflict on anyone so I have it hanging over a chair in the dining room which is where I do most of my work and I'm hoping it will act as a reminder as to the importance of planning.<br /><br />Books have been arriving from everywhere over the last couple of weeks, proving that I'm not the only person who has been busy finishing stuff. First there was the German version of Tweenie Genie:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pDu-HEa7biOqdMRAlPO-U4U-sf49Y3XRFLaG891BbKCPMWJHF0Sp-i9FTOX1ZoJaosIm8Noh37Mh9Lcu1q3ACE-uo4IjunSm8G_L0h69IboIZ4gV4DSra6lBzUXuak_TR5J-fv5smrXF/s1600/german_genie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pDu-HEa7biOqdMRAlPO-U4U-sf49Y3XRFLaG891BbKCPMWJHF0Sp-i9FTOX1ZoJaosIm8Noh37Mh9Lcu1q3ACE-uo4IjunSm8G_L0h69IboIZ4gV4DSra6lBzUXuak_TR5J-fv5smrXF/s320/german_genie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574309173576975810" /></a><br />And then the paperback version of the Fairy School Dropout series which I find so pretty, especially the yellow one which is unusual as I'm not a big fan of yellow for the most part.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_0-VNgQLSt3qkjGai6lhI6kimUz8ICAwmhDwTbUh5A9DEdTsVcY_xfM0KPgbImImHzMGqPeDA6Esuagey00e8KVnQAQRyKIUkfEYTv2iuEUURWSIY_TvZ6TMCdOPVEGXgLh_W0-T5Erk/s1600/FSDO_paperback.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi_0-VNgQLSt3qkjGai6lhI6kimUz8ICAwmhDwTbUh5A9DEdTsVcY_xfM0KPgbImImHzMGqPeDA6Esuagey00e8KVnQAQRyKIUkfEYTv2iuEUURWSIY_TvZ6TMCdOPVEGXgLh_W0-T5Erk/s320/FSDO_paperback.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574309371494940210" /></a><br /><br />And then yesterday the Brazilian version of FSDO arrived:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzuZG1S-VP0y-PbnI4_twiH1IluXZEHCFnSo8CIkwohxvClNaKPxewPcm4PIWlJp1nNbSfEXqMH94K1o0WeCwYvkVbS1AJwPkgCN_PMtojxmIRojYmynPZOyiJ-UMFIii_wmAwbB3S4sy/s1600/portuguese_fairies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzuZG1S-VP0y-PbnI4_twiH1IluXZEHCFnSo8CIkwohxvClNaKPxewPcm4PIWlJp1nNbSfEXqMH94K1o0WeCwYvkVbS1AJwPkgCN_PMtojxmIRojYmynPZOyiJ-UMFIii_wmAwbB3S4sy/s320/portuguese_fairies.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574309713069471202" /></a>.<br /><br />I have quite a collection of Portuguese books now. If we end up going to Portugal this year perhaps I'll take them with me and give them to some kid.<br /><br />So what next? I've got a couple more things to finish before our trip to Oz in March and today I went and bought some more wool. Because I can't seem to sit and watch The Wire without something to do.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-47520148561191804242011-01-06T22:25:00.009+11:002011-01-06T22:58:54.970+11:00Christmas etc<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVEOqWtJ0TCL-26FbOpi2pcgYc2yMDDsFmJKh6kavPWNu2fIhSHNJ6YFaG6n698VFmFuI1WTSlb6IFidYyyNjQEoXPwQW0j1guuPYW3SZW5Es0qk6m-hFnJYWtETbRPNO_w5ZXZI4MtQ4u/s1600/clogs.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVEOqWtJ0TCL-26FbOpi2pcgYc2yMDDsFmJKh6kavPWNu2fIhSHNJ6YFaG6n698VFmFuI1WTSlb6IFidYyyNjQEoXPwQW0j1guuPYW3SZW5Es0qk6m-hFnJYWtETbRPNO_w5ZXZI4MtQ4u/s320/clogs.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559033880709903538" /></a><br />Another city, another pair of crazy shoes.<br /><br />Our ten days in Amsterdam with Trish, Ol, Kate and Jost went by in a cold, snowy, delightful flash. Kate and Jost moved into their new house on the 24th and while the last thing I would've done would be host Christmas lunch for 13 people the following day this is what Kate did. With grace and elegance. We did help though. For instance, Trish and I spent a delightful couple of hours trimming the Christmas tree on Christmas eve with Kate's gorgeous decorations. That's helpful, isn't it? It was supposed to be a kid-based activity but the kids could not have been less interested. We forced them to hang a few things on and then allowed them to escape.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbYE0V0tvJgA4ORUEgfNpEIjKnI8b-ZR_1JYWFhIzaqi7ZefQx5TqBw7eLRv68vVxjQ6gQ3xqTn8ACWdjbdYzC3uLVrAZynoHehQXD1E1F0Qrw4snWxSdLa62ggpirZHkW5lKZ0niqCQ_/s1600/Christmastree.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFbYE0V0tvJgA4ORUEgfNpEIjKnI8b-ZR_1JYWFhIzaqi7ZefQx5TqBw7eLRv68vVxjQ6gQ3xqTn8ACWdjbdYzC3uLVrAZynoHehQXD1E1F0Qrw4snWxSdLa62ggpirZHkW5lKZ0niqCQ_/s320/Christmastree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559035299130383618" /></a><br />The photo really doesn't do justice either to Kate's decorations or to the extrodinary trimming abilities of Trish and me. You'll just have to imagine it. It was stunning.<br /><br />Owing to the lack of a kitchen at Kate's place (it's being installed next week) Christmas lunch was an Australian-style spread with lots of salads and sashimi and prawns which was absolutely fine by me. There was also an impressive dessert-buffet which was absolutely fine by Mads. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNebPMR75B-HlD1m0Lk1wpGmNV51meU9N96NlsUEYsHhK-vjrQdU5b5zNRm7EnjPxyNdT2X5WXNCLSlnGpF-nF4lzdtz5bYCpFzjSN_L78XN3SZkXpdFsAd3w6URjFtYO-Le8LHYGvPDv/s1600/desserts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNebPMR75B-HlD1m0Lk1wpGmNV51meU9N96NlsUEYsHhK-vjrQdU5b5zNRm7EnjPxyNdT2X5WXNCLSlnGpF-nF4lzdtz5bYCpFzjSN_L78XN3SZkXpdFsAd3w6URjFtYO-Le8LHYGvPDv/s320/desserts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559036270141398050" /></a><br /><br />A large cardboard box had been installed in the middle of the kitchen-to-be as a sort of make-shift work bench and also to cover up some wires sticking up from the floor. Under instruction from Kate Trish and I wrapped it in Christmas wrap. I wish I'd taken a photo. We did a magnificent job.<br /><br />So it was a very nice Christmas and a very nice holiday. Kate's house is near the Vondelpark and every morning we would vondel through it, pretending to skate on the ice, admiring all the houses.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7fzumsuyef-kP6pmxAjvzxpEn4NCDDxgP0FWTMWHlF34WxJs5y31JaYWUcghOgmYb9_088XuFfAsGMmFV3qwALyb6avfFCJazMucysBlTuUDPDTvXbTz1zkILEkVxLUTr4PwDRxJ9SVsY/s1600/vondelpark.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7fzumsuyef-kP6pmxAjvzxpEn4NCDDxgP0FWTMWHlF34WxJs5y31JaYWUcghOgmYb9_088XuFfAsGMmFV3qwALyb6avfFCJazMucysBlTuUDPDTvXbTz1zkILEkVxLUTr4PwDRxJ9SVsY/s320/vondelpark.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559037427025278658" /></a> <br /><br />No one in Amsterdam seems to have blinds on their windows. Someone on the train told me this is because they are desperate to allow as much light in as possible but Kate had another theory. 'It's to prove that you have nothing to hide,' she said.<br /><br />One morning in the Vondelpark, near the iron igloo, we found this tree.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHZgMhmrhHXFJnBeJIjnm6VIUfK2aSk9-hOUFs4epUmr2Bfi2vgA1Z9qe5Lf50n0dI-fu4gz74kGcnHbFiPFfKLGagxJ360X3Ahkd6mxcojApy8CshyphenhyphenjtOrDDD74TFgM9GlviwY0I5CvL/s1600/snowface.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRHZgMhmrhHXFJnBeJIjnm6VIUfK2aSk9-hOUFs4epUmr2Bfi2vgA1Z9qe5Lf50n0dI-fu4gz74kGcnHbFiPFfKLGagxJ360X3Ahkd6mxcojApy8CshyphenhyphenjtOrDDD74TFgM9GlviwY0I5CvL/s320/snowface.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559037987808299634" /></a> <br /><br />The next day the temperature soared to 2 degrees and the face disappeared.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-10442441600383528052010-12-21T18:36:00.006+11:002010-12-21T18:54:26.268+11:00The Brief, Tragic Life of a Snowman<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmbK5gVVlwlp9w9FECgRER3mXyHbbQ7kX92oHnQtnGvZUp1VNYlHYSWWM9tPDH4K7SJSOoMOtqSzwupIBRxJrEllC8GljuLVmYw942Zea8dd_935LPR8P6YX3SUcZ_RRZM5zrQDyoOJQU/s1600/snowman.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfmbK5gVVlwlp9w9FECgRER3mXyHbbQ7kX92oHnQtnGvZUp1VNYlHYSWWM9tPDH4K7SJSOoMOtqSzwupIBRxJrEllC8GljuLVmYw942Zea8dd_935LPR8P6YX3SUcZ_RRZM5zrQDyoOJQU/s320/snowman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553037176731231522" /></a><br />On Sunday Thieu and Mads went to the Platz out the front of our flat and built a snowman. The only carrots we had were some left-over roasted ones so the nose was on the droopy side. Mads was unwilling to sacrifice any of the sticks in her stick collection for the snowman's arms and suggested Thieu use leeks instead. Which he did. In the typical way of snowpeople-building Mads lost interest fairly quickly but Thieu became deeply involved. <span style="font-style:italic;">Emotionally </span>involved. I started to worry. There are really only two main crimes around here - bike theft and snowman desctruction. With this in mind I took lots of photos of the one that Thieu and Mads' built. But after we returned inside Thieu kept checking out the window to see if the snowman was still there and growling menacingly below his breath whenever anyone got too close to it.<br /><br />Of course, the inevitable occurred. In the afternoon Mads and I went ice skating and by the time we returned home all that was left of the snowman was two frozen leeks, laying on the ground. I've no idea what happened to the roast carrot. <br /><br />We came inside and I decorated Mads' stick collection with baubles.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9EJVTOVZcQJdmsTDYmVFd0j0WF8_7VGOaZgzPAI6UIuuFDBZyF8D-ximaQ6seMK6xuev_MLbWlg7pPNczDxnCS12UpjaZscRAYpgioiNmftITHdgivaBNagPvflNPXx8HZYK5tGl2qTp/s1600/baubles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9EJVTOVZcQJdmsTDYmVFd0j0WF8_7VGOaZgzPAI6UIuuFDBZyF8D-ximaQ6seMK6xuev_MLbWlg7pPNczDxnCS12UpjaZscRAYpgioiNmftITHdgivaBNagPvflNPXx8HZYK5tGl2qTp/s320/baubles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553039059161528002" /></a> I knew I'd find a use for it eventually.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-90335292026363547582010-12-17T02:11:00.009+11:002010-12-17T19:18:15.523+11:00That Time of Year<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhzjrPo0J8XnvFYrDrLQ2LIho4t409Y_OCKym4t8hCEnq0sS8gIvCXFXy_hDf5I_2RbiXtuYH-DO1HisimYNzD__35Su4lO5shaSr5KD81jw_svSIbdKLfLSpulfyOTUzVemwNTvbba65/s1600/activity_scene.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDhzjrPo0J8XnvFYrDrLQ2LIho4t409Y_OCKym4t8hCEnq0sS8gIvCXFXy_hDf5I_2RbiXtuYH-DO1HisimYNzD__35Su4lO5shaSr5KD81jw_svSIbdKLfLSpulfyOTUzVemwNTvbba65/s320/activity_scene.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551303563758790946" /></a><br /><br />Last year it felt like one day I rounded a corner in Frankfurt and tripped over the Christmas market. I remember I was shocked. It seemed so early. I probably grumbled something along the lines of; 'I refuse to think about Christmas before my birthday,' which is the same thing I've been grumbling for some time now. But this year it was different. This year I was impatient for the market to appear. Perhaps it was because the market was so Glühwein-y good last year, despite the crowds, despite the high-tack factor. Or perhaps it was because I was happy for anything to come along that might stop me from thinking about my birthday. Which was rather a large one. I even decorated the Christmas tree two days before the Big Day because I was so keen to forget about the whole thing.<br /><br />Then the Birthday came and I must admit I sulked for most of the day, especially as Thieu was away and I was feeling rather neglected. But then in the evening my upstairs neighbour came down with a cake she'd made and the downstairs neighbour came up with a present and so I stopped sulking and invited them in for a glass of sekt and suddenly things were much brighter. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGm6N6PD6LQ-YtYakQqPND7p4QH8iWpprOo5Oxz5N18u4JKP3_tu4pOvu1__uqnjT5AtIur_zkY124sawmhM8wG9pM2YBFJqXOMSLN74NndtVUEz-Soapfj-sPXirUBHAIU8S334sWYKV/s1600/birthday.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoGm6N6PD6LQ-YtYakQqPND7p4QH8iWpprOo5Oxz5N18u4JKP3_tu4pOvu1__uqnjT5AtIur_zkY124sawmhM8wG9pM2YBFJqXOMSLN74NndtVUEz-Soapfj-sPXirUBHAIU8S334sWYKV/s320/birthday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551300285534977410" /></a><br />Then Thieu came home with flowers and Mads gave me the very lovely <span style="font-weight:bold;">Ü</span> you can see in the picture above and I started to feel quite cheery because I have always wanted an <span style="font-weight:bold;">Ü</span> of my very own and now I have one. And I also received a camera which I used to photograph the<span style="font-weight:bold;"> Ü</span>. And we went out for dinner across the road and I had goose which is the sort of thing people of my age probably shouldn't eat any more but I did it anyway and it was delicious. So it was all very fine in the end, you see? <br /><br />And since then we have partaken of many seasonally-appropriate past times. There's been much arranging and re-arranging of the new "Activity Scene" (as the kid calls it) which was delivered by St Nicholaus on Dec 11. Generally Saint N fills children's shoes up with lollies on this day - or sticks if they're naughty - but I think he was a little confused by Mad's announcement the night before that she hoped he would bring her 'a really nice stick' for her stick collection and he therefore decided that an Activity Scene was the safest option. <br /><br />What else? There's been much eating of snow. And also laying down in snow and moving arms and legs to make snow angels - something Mads learnt to do by watching Charlie and Lola. There's also been that fun parental past-time known as 'lugging around all the stuff that your kid peels off when she enters a train or shop'followed by that equally fun game; 'putting all the stuff back on when you leave the train or shop.' Yeah, we love those. And of course visiting of the Weihnacht Markts. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCQjlemzvk6JOVJaKFusNSf_kkdygn7nC_fhByc_7UwukvcT33aycNPMQiGFsXE08wbiAaY564AuhC1AgHPoqvvh6WqkFXbgT0BIxlyAtHPLdSrLDOxrR47IhH-F1i5JPU1OnMJ3ogSau/s1600/carousel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCQjlemzvk6JOVJaKFusNSf_kkdygn7nC_fhByc_7UwukvcT33aycNPMQiGFsXE08wbiAaY564AuhC1AgHPoqvvh6WqkFXbgT0BIxlyAtHPLdSrLDOxrR47IhH-F1i5JPU1OnMJ3ogSau/s320/carousel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551303466170110114" /></a>I've noticed a rather lovely symbiotic relationship between Glühwein stands and carousels. Where you find one you generally find the other not far away and it works beautifully for all concerned. Child goes around and around on the carousel while the parents keep toastily warm drinking wine. Happiness for all.<br /><br />Now, does the kid look sick in the photo above? Not really does she? But apparently she had scarlet fever. It took us another two days to find that out and even the doctor who administered the test seemed surprised when it came up positive. No one over here seemed fazed by it. Perhaps it's just another seasonal past time. <br /><br />So that's the year I guess. This time next week we'll be in Amsterdam - or at least on our way. I wonder if they have Christmas markets there?Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-64661190109067267982010-11-10T06:17:00.007+11:002010-11-10T06:45:49.203+11:00MadridA couple of weekends ago we went to Madrid for the weekend to meet up with Malena and Raffa (who must, surely, win the prize for most chilled four-month old in the world), eat lots of Spanish food and, you know, see Madrid a bit as well. Most of our goals were achieved - especially the eating part. You know you're on holiday when your breakfast consists of doughnuts dunked in melted chocolate. Luckily we did lots of walking too - mostly just wandering around the old town and the gardens and wondering how long after doughnuts you need to wait before buying an ice-cream (answer: not very long at all). We did make it to<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guernica_%28painting%29"> La Guernica</a> but there was a lot that we didn't get to see. So I guess we'll have to go back. What a shame. <br /><br />Malena mentioned that children's flamenco outfits could be purchased from most of the tourist shops and that perhaps Mads, given her well-known love of dressing up, might be interested in receiving one?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_F0dMdNXDyWO3INZSB_EaYXtbZrj1Y-3GHUJePZxUCH0pEhA6CrNeUtWe_SudNFibqss3JdvLxaegKtwIfn5_q9T1TJDOy3WL3MDxG1Y6N4jPyjQQecgtmUJolH08s9MMA_BSkZzjEgwz/s1600/flamenco_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 315px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_F0dMdNXDyWO3INZSB_EaYXtbZrj1Y-3GHUJePZxUCH0pEhA6CrNeUtWe_SudNFibqss3JdvLxaegKtwIfn5_q9T1TJDOy3WL3MDxG1Y6N4jPyjQQecgtmUJolH08s9MMA_BSkZzjEgwz/s320/flamenco_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537632194312597874" /></a><br />She was. Her favourite bit were the polka-dotted "high heels". Did I ever think I would be the kind of mother who would buy high heels for her four year old? No I did not. Did Mads love them? Yes she did. They were so very <span style="font-style:italic;">clippity- cloppity</span>, you see, and there are so many cobblestones in Madrid to test shoes like these out on.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR33nKLVTtZzoRkd2YMBIE0QXqiAIzbvOh5NvzWPKgg9uOV_VuUpTW6G25aMsRgx2_aA2y6pwIobTtGXI-gDxpLCdnhzuNyESCqBE5rVIJmFt0oNLBW5I414rzZ1C7NA_5KjuUDmP6K9OZ/s1600/flamenco_03.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR33nKLVTtZzoRkd2YMBIE0QXqiAIzbvOh5NvzWPKgg9uOV_VuUpTW6G25aMsRgx2_aA2y6pwIobTtGXI-gDxpLCdnhzuNyESCqBE5rVIJmFt0oNLBW5I414rzZ1C7NA_5KjuUDmP6K9OZ/s320/flamenco_03.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537632781667170530" /></a><br />Mads wore the flamenco outfit all weekend - and she swore the shoes didn't hurt. If we'd been walking around in Frankfurt I'm sure we would've received a lot of disapproving stares from old ladies, but in Madrid all the old ladies thought she was gorgeous.<br /><br />Even when we weren't out reaping in the old lady compliments Mads continued to wear the outfit. Ever wondered what a flamenco dancer would look like on an exercise bike? <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutpmuPMB2Us011s866but8URY-ZPoeOTr-ybhDt7o-dqNyLy1dihxb_S5zgHjmoyKxQNA8TJR9zxGQaMr0EbHy3CWegU_nKPKdog7gWgmdZDgYoAdmcDKPOoeRQsW9Bf84A0D9ZkrkSrc/s1600/flamenco_04.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutpmuPMB2Us011s866but8URY-ZPoeOTr-ybhDt7o-dqNyLy1dihxb_S5zgHjmoyKxQNA8TJR9zxGQaMr0EbHy3CWegU_nKPKdog7gWgmdZDgYoAdmcDKPOoeRQsW9Bf84A0D9ZkrkSrc/s320/flamenco_04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537633941397490754" /></a><br />It was reminiscent of when she wore a Buzz Lightyear outfit for an entire summer. We have shots of her on the beach with her shovel and spade dressed as Buzz. Eating sushi dressed as Buzz. Asleep dressed as Buzz.<br /><br />Mads wore the costume back to Frankfurt on the plane and on the Ubahn back to our house. But since returning she's only worn it once. Perhaps she realises that she won't receive the same kind of adoring attention over here. Or perhaps she's saving it for mid-winter so she can pop it on over her snow suit.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-39557759810001623212010-10-05T05:41:00.007+11:002010-10-05T06:27:08.124+11:00The Chateau<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6wW2KZPU9Txsc0upCYezhb-IGBk40mG5MRNFnBn6_8_oqT642eVY5-iMTw-LcH3HlpsZbzfFkRwUhw8zOozNjeJZYMwtTUWzdIOWpJ3MZixwb9_itQq9xzy2KTUo2OK2bsZpt9Ns9XW5/s1600/chateau_01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6wW2KZPU9Txsc0upCYezhb-IGBk40mG5MRNFnBn6_8_oqT642eVY5-iMTw-LcH3HlpsZbzfFkRwUhw8zOozNjeJZYMwtTUWzdIOWpJ3MZixwb9_itQq9xzy2KTUo2OK2bsZpt9Ns9XW5/s320/chateau_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524263443209828882" /></a><br />A couple of weekends ago we motored down to stay at the <a href="http://www.chateaupercey.com/chateau/">Chateau de Percey</a>. I think you have to <span style="font-style:italic;">motor</span> to a chateau, don't you? <br /><br />We went with some visiting Australian friends who'd found the place on the internet, arranged a very reasonable off-season rate and also organised the car in which we did the motoring. Quite a bit of motoring as it turned out. I am finding it difficult to rid myself of that dearly-held Australian-falsehood that everything in Europe is close. I mean, I guess it is if you're say 'it take two hours to get from Frankfurt to France.' But that's only to the border. It took us almost 8 hours to get from Frankfurt to our Chateau. <span style="font-style:italic;">Our </span>chateau. I like the way that sounds.<br /><br />It was worth the drive, truly it was.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMqHjzCRT0LeFZEkSwKlX1ZZIBaoLOXxMc7kUkeelHmRfEa_xl-YDEcNKQkV6CmKXiy4isjpOY_HCKh1M04qh1dNkHFw8CVaPN1NHIKn7wWJzpzkQltIdwvqZKGPEyQa_MW7DF6kMtqyf/s1600/P9250089-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMqHjzCRT0LeFZEkSwKlX1ZZIBaoLOXxMc7kUkeelHmRfEa_xl-YDEcNKQkV6CmKXiy4isjpOY_HCKh1M04qh1dNkHFw8CVaPN1NHIKn7wWJzpzkQltIdwvqZKGPEyQa_MW7DF6kMtqyf/s320/P9250089-pola.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524265007636459250" /></a> And actually the drive wasn't too bad from my perspective as I simply sat in the back and drank champagne with my severely jet-lagged friend and sang Playschool songs at our bemused children. We stopped for dinner at what we think must have been a French version of TGIFs called <a href="http://www.kelmagasin.com/enseignes/flunch.html">Flunch </a>which yes, I'll admit, we went to because after half a bottle of champers seemed like the funniest name of a restaurant in the world. I think I understand where the name comes from now. It's the noise your stomach makes as you're leaving the restaurant.<br /><br />Luckily, after sleeping a night in the Chateau we became a little more classy and on Saturday morning we found a farmers' market in a neighbouring town where we bought far too much cheese and fish and local tomatoes etc than was necessary for a long weekend. We stood in a queue for some pain au chocolat that were so warm and delicious that once they were gone I almost got back at the end of the line and waited all over again. We went for a ride along a canal and Mads consolidated her newly acquired bike-riding skills. I learnt to ride in the quiet suburban streets of Adelaide. It took me ages to master it. Perhaps I would've learnt faster had I been learning in Burgundy - especially if falling off had meant tumbling into a canal. <br /><br />We went for a walk and discovered, to the consternation of one particular member of our party, that French <span style="font-style:italic;">Nacktschnecken</span> are not only as large as the German variety, but also bright orange. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO6svo7xwA4XNm7z0MNhU2TnfH1YgFZPLo-vIXwTZ7Hf2SlyT2nHUEKTnfcLfQBfZyTE8yruu55ZNo1h3rU2h6bxr7BwXClc0mzTJT7Lg0U3eiuJEgHRmQE6HZOsyk8ycaRehlUS1ibV1/s1600/nacktschnecke.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 310px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOO6svo7xwA4XNm7z0MNhU2TnfH1YgFZPLo-vIXwTZ7Hf2SlyT2nHUEKTnfcLfQBfZyTE8yruu55ZNo1h3rU2h6bxr7BwXClc0mzTJT7Lg0U3eiuJEgHRmQE6HZOsyk8ycaRehlUS1ibV1/s320/nacktschnecke.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5524267089651778466" /></a> You can probably imagine the horror.<br /><br />Then, when we were all exhausted and Mads had started whimpering, 'I just want to go back to the chateau,' we returned and had a three course dinner cooked for us - a present for me arranged by my dear Aussie friend in honour of a certain rather large upcoming milestone-type birthday. It was a wonderful gift. We talked about things we'd done over the twenty years since we'd first met, how amazing kids are in general and ours in particular, about living overseas, travel and about a friend who had died just the week before. One who'd only just made it to the milestone birthday we were now celebrating for me. It felt like the right setting for all of these conversations.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-42650988985830932482010-09-20T21:59:00.002+10:002010-09-20T22:19:39.040+10:00Slugs and SnailsAutumn is here and the rainy weather has delivered me a new favourite German word:<span style="font-style:italic;">Nacktschnecke</span>.It means 'naked snail' and it's what you called a slug over here. We learned this word on a train recently when we were going to meet some friends for a camping trip. A little girl came and sat across from us and stared at Thieu. 'Nacktshnecke,' she said, meaningfully. 'Nacktshnecke, Nacktshnecke, Nacktshnecke.' We had no idea at the time what it meant. 'I think she's saying she wants a night time snack,' whispered Matt, although it was clearly daytime.<br /><br />When we met our friends and the native German speaker translated the word for us. His English wife (who is also fluent in German) frowned. 'Is that the word for slug?' she said. 'I've been calling them 'snails without houses'. No wonder everyone sniggers when I say it.'<br /><br />Mads is terrified of the slugs. In her defence they are huge over here - way bigger than Australian ones. I commented on this to our friends and they looked quite proud. 'You may have huge spiders,' they said, 'but we win when it comes to slugs.' <br /><br />Perhaps Thieu still had snails on the brain the next day when he went to collect Mads from kindy. They were having their afternoon snack of crispbread known as Knäckebrot. Thieu likes practicing his German at the kindy. Generally if you try to speak in German over here the other person will sympathetically switch into flawless English. Kindy is the only chance Thieu gets for a decent convo.<br />'Are you enjoying your Schneckerbrot?' he said, cheerily. Schneckerbrot means snail bread. A number of the four year olds literally fell off their ikea chairs laughing.<br /><br />Mads and I had a play-date with a kindy friend last week. The mother said 'I heard about the Schneckerbrot incident.' I assumed she'd heard it from her son, but no. The kindy teacher had told everyone about it at a parent night we didn't attend. Apparently there was much mirth.<br /><br />Today it is sunny and I'm looking forward to going to the airport to pick up Fi, Peter and Thomas. Thankfully there are no Nacktschnecken to be seen.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-42602086435700750742010-08-27T04:47:00.015+10:002010-08-27T05:25:27.572+10:00So, how was Norway?Why, thanks for asking. Norway was very pretty.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBa75PTDvO9p0O5fV3UT8v8pSyDvgphuROc_0MVKPfuS0t2SNUlk3052xjd3kzCZAmf8t1lceEKNOVE0DA4qg6OIQ-Bn1cRpQJxIVdvZatrOPCEW6KMxDJgLJ4fS98Z2yjahOEYR2prZn/s1600/hilly.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBa75PTDvO9p0O5fV3UT8v8pSyDvgphuROc_0MVKPfuS0t2SNUlk3052xjd3kzCZAmf8t1lceEKNOVE0DA4qg6OIQ-Bn1cRpQJxIVdvZatrOPCEW6KMxDJgLJ4fS98Z2yjahOEYR2prZn/s320/hilly.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509795138288821458" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRp_WwYO7fKr6cZD91YyKv0WyThSL_HrglImQbdqiPCFnSjguqSwkR0aQ7oD6AFE-iK5igU2xeZOD6ZYfmGMxz66Ycq-2ySZcBuzk3QQrnSqZrAPtvDylVfi8QvrUCzQzJkDpFGWnEWssA/s1600/pretty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRp_WwYO7fKr6cZD91YyKv0WyThSL_HrglImQbdqiPCFnSjguqSwkR0aQ7oD6AFE-iK5igU2xeZOD6ZYfmGMxz66Ycq-2ySZcBuzk3QQrnSqZrAPtvDylVfi8QvrUCzQzJkDpFGWnEWssA/s320/pretty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509795520045456978" /></a><br /><br />And pointy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL37hgZBJlXX1sbwObDHRxMBjbYXfcDScBZhzM-xTEZN8EhC3NlapyLXKCE32rJ1KGCr_6Ud5QkX8rVDN6Aoh7U5wno_jgKmK-6Y3qKwmyT3EufG4JtA-BPilvsRxk7YE4rL4VzkwT3LQZ/s1600/mountain.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL37hgZBJlXX1sbwObDHRxMBjbYXfcDScBZhzM-xTEZN8EhC3NlapyLXKCE32rJ1KGCr_6Ud5QkX8rVDN6Aoh7U5wno_jgKmK-6Y3qKwmyT3EufG4JtA-BPilvsRxk7YE4rL4VzkwT3LQZ/s320/mountain.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509795859769795762" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifF-uuql4oJlKUq7fIQCvQTO7gxva3vnllGRtwUlkGvb3r6DQw6anl5c5Q_kVAT1Bui4FNQJgyWXG1f2f1b9hlIuSNc42oGcrTLtR8eyI32yRxPFy1A6jC82cyuSV-MovoNhZCs4HGE0vD/s1600/poser.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifF-uuql4oJlKUq7fIQCvQTO7gxva3vnllGRtwUlkGvb3r6DQw6anl5c5Q_kVAT1Bui4FNQJgyWXG1f2f1b9hlIuSNc42oGcrTLtR8eyI32yRxPFy1A6jC82cyuSV-MovoNhZCs4HGE0vD/s320/poser.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509795949333212210" /></a><br /><br />It was also grass-roofy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbVkmfzlB_-bkto5XrNnAGZzfj4kGudQZNnB3F897IBwSulrm5n2rQEZAAtyYHQkLU-3deF5IrqSJVG90u710hlq9YLR26cei931v65dVe34I58_lFEVeTZkA5uylYA3UwmSEoXhGzOak/s1600/grassy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGbVkmfzlB_-bkto5XrNnAGZzfj4kGudQZNnB3F897IBwSulrm5n2rQEZAAtyYHQkLU-3deF5IrqSJVG90u710hlq9YLR26cei931v65dVe34I58_lFEVeTZkA5uylYA3UwmSEoXhGzOak/s320/grassy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509796122866324994" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLyVTJ3EM93YeePA8fVk8V9vHKifBXOls95Inyt8BItNLwPhbpOR5MpXkV1ux2TmD-uxFdXpLnq_4iqKoyRcyiRgpsPMU3VlYNHTqYsveN4nUugDlSHKQylBOSqPaMXuzFxaMMsLCOyLp/s1600/grass_roofy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkLyVTJ3EM93YeePA8fVk8V9vHKifBXOls95Inyt8BItNLwPhbpOR5MpXkV1ux2TmD-uxFdXpLnq_4iqKoyRcyiRgpsPMU3VlYNHTqYsveN4nUugDlSHKQylBOSqPaMXuzFxaMMsLCOyLp/s320/grass_roofy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509799727600032850" /></a><br /><br />And although summer it was still a bit snowy<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFIxH4UTuYSvPjioriw2A6iuhXDDfNDpVCpD75muLuAeBkoB3tSqeqnpSeQWx6mK41E5KP6fMQ0rYGY5yEf_Ig2G-jLcw6DIMESK5CaPfx3_lIf390h85JUQ3XWC7amOM8DZNDledXjRt/s1600/snowy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFIxH4UTuYSvPjioriw2A6iuhXDDfNDpVCpD75muLuAeBkoB3tSqeqnpSeQWx6mK41E5KP6fMQ0rYGY5yEf_Ig2G-jLcw6DIMESK5CaPfx3_lIf390h85JUQ3XWC7amOM8DZNDledXjRt/s320/snowy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509796600354284866" /></a><br /><br />though more often it was green-y.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjip5qIfDwPUyQpffPAEYLgsIxUnrNY9vSsj6IFy1IdreMpnJyKuHJsAI4rl2yPME_vwdifgQPhxPcZ_2JAnFB6VQuaOx9SyRhCkRfNpdjU6NywQYyNjmdmaZzlUWxMESfEd7sivBk6hPRy/s1600/rock_sit.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjip5qIfDwPUyQpffPAEYLgsIxUnrNY9vSsj6IFy1IdreMpnJyKuHJsAI4rl2yPME_vwdifgQPhxPcZ_2JAnFB6VQuaOx9SyRhCkRfNpdjU6NywQYyNjmdmaZzlUWxMESfEd7sivBk6hPRy/s320/rock_sit.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509796833864997298" /></a><br /><br />In some parts it was quite stinky.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDROCoYdafVvtzossyw2GoZUpbx5ISoGInrDVIJcSm3kUmlhNgRCPF3dwWv6tmV34Dahglhr04eWxbb1ucemHRkz77jFF7RGKXa4FQZc1MYsviN73wujTQcVzcD046xFx_QsRDcp_s0ZzG/s1600/fish+for+sale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDROCoYdafVvtzossyw2GoZUpbx5ISoGInrDVIJcSm3kUmlhNgRCPF3dwWv6tmV34Dahglhr04eWxbb1ucemHRkz77jFF7RGKXa4FQZc1MYsviN73wujTQcVzcD046xFx_QsRDcp_s0ZzG/s320/fish+for+sale.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509800551044672642" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPx-glYBhrQeJXFqTHPt_UZ2USqHGv-kZrUOWi0_jOwhmq251P24l9ymry0dqr5gXCStk89dcQ3ayM9qCpN2EdHxtLMS72KKOB4tZiPOCUH6oBMpc2gEktMESjjzxx3ifL88e4i3FL-XFb/s1600/stinky.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPx-glYBhrQeJXFqTHPt_UZ2USqHGv-kZrUOWi0_jOwhmq251P24l9ymry0dqr5gXCStk89dcQ3ayM9qCpN2EdHxtLMS72KKOB4tZiPOCUH6oBMpc2gEktMESjjzxx3ifL88e4i3FL-XFb/s320/stinky.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509796957164934002" /></a><br /><br />It was also surprisingly empty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5unZ0kguSOQQ907z_-iaP6YaZIUkU6w7y7v_zijA5M6AFYog495YaGlTBD2jVryGCyqOohzlYJ7tj-VWB_md7CDSy-6iX5fB9iHPoFLaf_7edeBZc-0LS4wgusWpn-DFSk7xgmYL1KJNR/s1600/empty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5unZ0kguSOQQ907z_-iaP6YaZIUkU6w7y7v_zijA5M6AFYog495YaGlTBD2jVryGCyqOohzlYJ7tj-VWB_md7CDSy-6iX5fB9iHPoFLaf_7edeBZc-0LS4wgusWpn-DFSk7xgmYL1KJNR/s320/empty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509800734900623618" /></a><br /><br />There were lots of Whew Points for photo opportunities.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2YWADEvY1FU1NzSsRRVJVsxMTxs_zUKhK_LSs4OV8EIr8uF-6DvfE27KCpL8TLdZzx4KGztrnCsksDChx23zqsvIbBVQvHc67b5aO0UanTIfA0WC3FE2cZSYpLys_UjQlgWFogdKj9mQ/s1600/whew_point.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj2YWADEvY1FU1NzSsRRVJVsxMTxs_zUKhK_LSs4OV8EIr8uF-6DvfE27KCpL8TLdZzx4KGztrnCsksDChx23zqsvIbBVQvHc67b5aO0UanTIfA0WC3FE2cZSYpLys_UjQlgWFogdKj9mQ/s320/whew_point.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509797229333138770" /></a><br /><br />Not too many of these, luckily:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiP07sI5B0ncgH31ZblP6Kmmvv0wCxMjqgnTX5CW5SHJvWMWoOApIJdOUNPtQP5ZkQJjVYnoGWeP2QPMuEho-PAvmVXF4pRE3aJyjQyK4GR5PQxGdBDPh8knbtjJ5YymiPnCZK_B9TjBA/s1600/hell_hotel.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiP07sI5B0ncgH31ZblP6Kmmvv0wCxMjqgnTX5CW5SHJvWMWoOApIJdOUNPtQP5ZkQJjVYnoGWeP2QPMuEho-PAvmVXF4pRE3aJyjQyK4GR5PQxGdBDPh8knbtjJ5YymiPnCZK_B9TjBA/s320/hell_hotel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509797106851202690" /></a><br /><br />But still a few of these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7dA2MSueThfBc_BkLY82PO-RjZ0u-Cw5_sHnOaSkrsPrwFsGt2PqDzlPoE-j_iE_s4AZJuSZKhJIB0Cv2m1pEBvivu_aNtN4Fa95sGV4rkyYIyss1tyP0FCM39AvOvwc5rUpk-F4VN24/s1600/viking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7dA2MSueThfBc_BkLY82PO-RjZ0u-Cw5_sHnOaSkrsPrwFsGt2PqDzlPoE-j_iE_s4AZJuSZKhJIB0Cv2m1pEBvivu_aNtN4Fa95sGV4rkyYIyss1tyP0FCM39AvOvwc5rUpk-F4VN24/s320/viking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509797433552174930" /></a><br /><br />So now we're back - and happy to be back, really, especially after staying in 12 different places during the three weeks. It's nice to be in the one place. It's going to be a busy few months leading up to Christmas - lots of work and some visits from some Melbourne people which is already being feverishly anticipated.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-48503349817841759712010-07-30T19:18:00.012+10:002010-07-30T20:14:35.078+10:00Kitsch Kitschy Coo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1urXUU5eOqOHI32CfBUxTcy_2ZqLdtorX_mGrD0lVGD4Vv-m_IXaHeooOpAdTlSve7lGGwP_2Gr2Q6EZSFa6cyWMGfTjMlTnu4erfz9J8l-vs7b5anI5sWuY4E92xOMNO0sTYGHt9EMSQ/s1600/plates_01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1urXUU5eOqOHI32CfBUxTcy_2ZqLdtorX_mGrD0lVGD4Vv-m_IXaHeooOpAdTlSve7lGGwP_2Gr2Q6EZSFa6cyWMGfTjMlTnu4erfz9J8l-vs7b5anI5sWuY4E92xOMNO0sTYGHt9EMSQ/s320/plates_01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499632267640148946" border="0" /></a><br />There have been a few (accidental) plate breakages recently around here the cupboard was looking kind of depleted. Given that there is bound to be further breakages in the years to come I didn't really want to shell out a whole lot of money on replacements. But I couldn't quite face Ikea either. So at last Saturday's flea market I looked out for something that would do for the time being. At the very first stand I found a set of 14 Christmas plates (1975 - 1988) all with blue and white images of a nearby town called Darmstatt. At first I was struck by the fact that someone had been able to find 14 separate scenic shots of Darmstatt to photograph (clearly there's more to Darmstatt than I had realised), then that someone else had chosen to turn the somewhat bleak images into plates, then that someone had bought them at great expense(one of the plates had the original price still stuck on the back - 67.50 Deutschemarks). Then, as I gloried in their incredible kitschness I realised the most astounding fact of all: I had to own them. Yes. All fourteen.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ANsPsXq0iw3tXaryq6KZvWIO36dlfwyzVLtzhVtXlPv0hmMkBOHllVwfjGUamjDjuHACixVZyRUtAJ1zF_1ekoBWlrMXXRdKY_WBSXMFqypu34V_DrrAilX_lmxiOkPs7lStdLlcdMdi/s1600/plate_03.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ANsPsXq0iw3tXaryq6KZvWIO36dlfwyzVLtzhVtXlPv0hmMkBOHllVwfjGUamjDjuHACixVZyRUtAJ1zF_1ekoBWlrMXXRdKY_WBSXMFqypu34V_DrrAilX_lmxiOkPs7lStdLlcdMdi/s320/plate_03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499626580089116770" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Thieu managed to talk the man into selling the lot for 30 Euros - which works out to be just over 2 euros each. Bargain. Of course, Thieu started googling when we got home to see if they were worth anything but, surprise surprise, they're not. I don't care though. I'm dying to use them. They even have hooks on the back so perhaps I should <a href="http://www.designspongeonline.com/2010/07/sneak-peek-lisa-grue-of-underwerket.html/lisa5-2">hang them on the wall</a> when they're not in use? I kind of like just casually telling people to grab themselves a plate off the wall when they come around for dinner.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRX2YFW036rVkHrSsMBosfdMardwQ8jlRFifE137aaRLheAk_O2mjNUVxqs-n-AMAoHhxxGLBaNeWIXgrxBNhpQV3QDMBHJAAR474YEzrngTz0Anzr7gGF-llOw07rR-pSUUDm3EWadQil/s1600/plate_04.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRX2YFW036rVkHrSsMBosfdMardwQ8jlRFifE137aaRLheAk_O2mjNUVxqs-n-AMAoHhxxGLBaNeWIXgrxBNhpQV3QDMBHJAAR474YEzrngTz0Anzr7gGF-llOw07rR-pSUUDm3EWadQil/s320/plate_04.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499635690092702834" /></a><br /><br />I have subsequently spent a lot of time thinking about the plates, wondering if there are other towns with Christmas plates (presumably there are) and how far back in time they go. I've also wondered about the previous owner. Some of the plates were still in their boxes. Maybe they were unwanted Christmas pressies to a mum or grandma? Or maybe they're shop remnants. I wish I knew. Of course, kitsch and it's associated high risks of pathos and sentimentality is almost definitely bad for the digestion. Oh well. If people start weeping during dinner at least I can blame the Darmstatt Christmas plates and not my cooking.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0m2Xk6Ddm6Ouj_LJsMWd1d4L2ro3Y9XI2lpYc7ha8pHqT0khHoFFNDpQETLWKNWy3k_8JveZ3hEgvIl5hsI9tPn_7fGx3h-4xLYlfvyJ6QPQSlkKdSr7ogKSi6J6qxrSsAGVGhg0oAVlN/s1600/plate_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0m2Xk6Ddm6Ouj_LJsMWd1d4L2ro3Y9XI2lpYc7ha8pHqT0khHoFFNDpQETLWKNWy3k_8JveZ3hEgvIl5hsI9tPn_7fGx3h-4xLYlfvyJ6QPQSlkKdSr7ogKSi6J6qxrSsAGVGhg0oAVlN/s320/plate_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499635462008381778" /></a><br /><br />The weather is cooling here in Frankers and I have a feeling summer might be over. Just like that. At least this year I felt like I was onto it, wearing skirts even when I was actually freezing, going for picnics and swims in the local lake. We were going for lots of bike rides too until Thieu's bike was stolen from the back yard. Bummer.<br /><br />We are off the Norway for three weeks on Monday. Auntie Hil said that Norway always reminds her of Adrian Mole's poem and once she pointed that out I couldn't stop thinking about it either:<br /><br />Norway! Land of difficult spelling.<br />Hiding your beauty behind strange vowels.<br />Land of long nights, short days, and dots over 'O's.<br />Ruminating majestic reindeers<br />Tread warily on ice floes<br />Ever aware of what happened to the<br />Titanic.<br />One day I will sojourn to your shores<br />I live in the middle of England<br />But!<br />Norway! My soul resides in your watery <s>fiords fyords fiiords</s> Inlets.<br /><br />I plan to keep an eye out for ruminating majestic reindeer plates while I'm there.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-90237667250467066342010-06-30T05:28:00.002+10:002010-06-30T05:33:45.187+10:00Still here...Yes, much slackness on the blogging front and this is just a placeholding post to say I am still here, I'm not abandoning the blog, just dealing with a pressing deadline. Hopefully all will ease off mid July. <br /><br />It's summer. Finally. Today it even reached 30 degrees. I know! Insanity. Some kindergartens even closed early owing to the <span style="font-style:italic;">extreme </span>weather conditions. The beer bike is back doing the rounds. Perhaps I'll celebrate meeting my deadline by taking one out for a spin.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-45297072786149885072010-05-08T00:40:00.004+10:002010-05-08T01:17:20.458+10:00The Long HaulAs we settled into our plane seats in Frankfurt last Monday afternoon, about to take off on the first leg of our 22 hour journey, the kid said 'I'm not going to watch any television on this trip.' I felt my stomach drop. 'What?' I said. 'Why not?' Mads shrugged. 'Don't want to.' 'What about the ipod?' I said. 'There's lots of stuff on there for you to watch or play.' <br />She shook her head. 'Nope.' <br /><br />I then found myself entering into one of the surreal reverso topsy-turvy conversations I often seem to have with my daughter. I began pleading with her to at least try watching some television, just a little bit maybe. Perhaps she'd enjoy it. There wasn't much else to do on a long haul flight after all. I even explained to her, in quite a bit of technical detail, how the whole 'eyes going square' thing simply doesn't happen on a plane. I may have even said; 'If you don't watch television you can't....' But what could I threaten exactly? On a plane? None of it made no difference anyway. She was firm. No TV. <br /><br />'You realise,' I said to Matt, 'that we are the only parents in the history of parents who have tried to force their child to watch tv.' It reminded me of the time that I'd heard myself saying to her; 'OK that's enough broccoli for today.' She'd eaten almost an entire head of it. Raw.<br /><br />'So what are you going to do to pass the time?' I asked. 'Because mummy's going to be watching a lot of television.'<br />'And so is daddy,' said Matt. Mads pulled out the flight safety card. <br />'I'm going to look at this,' she said. Then she smiled. 'I really hope we get to use those inflatable slides this time.'<br /><br />She stuck to her word about the no tv. The only time she watched anything was when they played the obligatory 'Welcome' videos as we approached KL and then Melbourne. I'm not exactly sure how the rest of the time was spent. We drew. We read. We made a book to give to Sally Rippin called 'The Magical Fat Man and his Hat.' We made a rattle for the niecephew out of a juice bottle, some paper and a hair elastic. We played a game with the two toys I'd shoved in her bag at the last minute - a manky My Little Pony (handed on to us pre-manked by another child) and a plastic brontosaurus called Hungry. Do you know how hard it is to make up a game involving a glittery pony and a brontosaurus? I was really wishing I'd grabbed at least one carnivore. I used my old favourite plotline and had one be mean to the other one and then the two of them made up and put on a concert. <br /><br />Just as we were doing the big finale number the steward came over with a small orange bag. 'For the baby,' she said, smiling at me sympathetically. Mads and I looked around in alarm. Had a baby somehow managed to sneak into the seat beside us? But no, the steward meant Mads. And the present was a rattle with a blue elephant's head. When she left Mads whispered; 'She must know about auntie Hil's baby.' 'Yes,' I agreed, so, so thankful that Mads hadn't hit the roof about being referred to as a baby. She's kind of touchy about such things.<br /><br />There are positives though, of course. Luckily the kid slept for the KL to Melbourne leg. Luckily we didn't get to use the inflatable slides. Luckily we're here - here where the birds look like jewels and sound like they're screaming obscenities, and where old ladies smile at your kid rather than looking at her like she's some kind of pustulant growth. Luckily I made it here before the niecephew arrived. And luckily it's several weeks before I have to get back on a plane and go through it all again. Hooray-ness.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-82422059850809755642010-05-02T05:20:00.002+10:002010-05-02T05:27:21.560+10:00PreparationsThe volcanic ash seems to have cleared from the air so it looks like we'll be boarding a plane on Monday. I can't say I'm looking forward to the flight - I always smile bitterly when they say 'Now, sit back and enjoy your trip.' Yeah, what fun. I'm also becoming a much more nervy traveller in my old age. It doesn't help that I spend way too much time with air traffic controllers who blithely say things like 'we're due for a major air disaster you know. Hasn't been one for a while.' Thanks for that. <br /><br />Still.<br />It will be worth it once I get there. There will be babies to admire and people to catch up with and shops to visit. I remember last time it took me a few days to adjust to understanding <span style="font-style:italic;">everything</span> that was going on. It was way too much information all of a sudden. I wonder if it'll be the same this time? <br /><br />OK, better go and pack.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-40228933477296672832010-04-24T22:12:00.005+10:002010-04-24T22:32:32.584+10:00Spring Fever<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTg9i5fg_DgNOAn6J65a26v9dxNA1w1HSgpAHj6MGKMTW8BIOhTysrfDGb4M0fSufZnFc_9w-HQY66JGFzRo4zABDdW-jKdf0ZvM3DQvOU_y4Jx_UINX60ZPOosakkGSOrWMyU3uDugU5/s1600/cutout2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTg9i5fg_DgNOAn6J65a26v9dxNA1w1HSgpAHj6MGKMTW8BIOhTysrfDGb4M0fSufZnFc_9w-HQY66JGFzRo4zABDdW-jKdf0ZvM3DQvOU_y4Jx_UINX60ZPOosakkGSOrWMyU3uDugU5/s320/cutout2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463676046699184722" /></a><br />It was <span style="font-style:italic;">Wald Woche</span> at Mads' kindergarten last week, which meant they spent every morning in the nearby woods. Mads, despite a firmly-held love of sticks and a new-found passion for the Faraway Tree books was not keen on Wood Week and protested loudly each morning as we headed off. So on Friday she said she didn't feel well ("my eyebrows hurt...") I assumed it was a wood-avoidance technique and used the very same lines used on me all those years ago by my own mother: 'Well, get up and see how you feel after breakfast" - the follow-up to this being "Well, you're up now so you may as well go." A magic, unbeatable technique. I didn't have a single day off school until I was 14.<br /><br />When Thieu picked Mads up after lunch she silently wrapped her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder. Oops. The eyebrow ache had developed into a headache, her cheeks were pink and hot. She had a feverish sleep last night, calling out strange, random things like 'But I <span style="font-style:italic;">must </span> get to the boat!' and around 1 am she held out some invisible item of clothing and asking me to assist her putting it on. Consequently I have spent most of the last 24 hours either reading or patting (and of course, adjusting the invisible clothing). <br /><br />While she was dozing yesterday afternoon I sat on her floor and made the little characters in the photo above, being deeply inspired by this <a href="http://madebyjoel.blogspot.com/2010/04/paper-city.html">blog post</a>. My idea was originally that Mads and I would do them together, but she's not up for it right now. <br /><br />Outside it's glorious. In here the shutters are closed and the kid is asleep.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-35226681638937117682010-04-20T20:42:00.007+10:002010-04-20T21:22:46.727+10:00Bookish<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDB3tQzSELvB47rXdz3gD93YS8QhuOxbjutMN2UFV92HCUrLygGL-PwmtX2u1_8qTiUq9Iu8YnQd_DFDaF8GReu7fgRcGh_B8UMCfmW15XkBzZzX7RDZ8eTAzJvOPWgTL6cK5qaXXJ3ok2/s1600/billie_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDB3tQzSELvB47rXdz3gD93YS8QhuOxbjutMN2UFV92HCUrLygGL-PwmtX2u1_8qTiUq9Iu8YnQd_DFDaF8GReu7fgRcGh_B8UMCfmW15XkBzZzX7RDZ8eTAzJvOPWgTL6cK5qaXXJ3ok2/s320/billie_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462176178090860034" /></a><br />Is there a nicer person in the world than <a href="http://sallyrippin.blogspot.com/">Sally Rippin</a>? Seriously, I think you'd be hard pressed to find one. When I heard about the new series she was writing for Hardie Grant called <a href="http://www.hardiegrant.com.au/Egmont/Books/Billie_B_Brown/Billie_B_Brown.aspx">Billie B Brown </a>I knew I needed it. I had planned to buy it during our Oz visit next month but Sally beat me to it. A set of Billie B arrived in the mail today. Such happiness! Thanks Sally. I already love them and I know Mads will too.<br /><br />There are a few other books I need to pick up when in Oz. My sister Hilary's new series, <a href="http://www.hardiegrant.com.au/Egmont/Books/Space_Scout/Space_Scout.aspx">Space Scout</a>, for one. And also Ebony McKenna's book <a href="http://www.angusrobertson.com.au/book/ondine-the-summer-of-shambles/6908403/">Ondine</a>. My own bookish news is that the first of my Tweenie Genie books has been picked up by a <a href="http://cms.thienemann.de/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=193&Itemid=142">German publisher</a> and will be released, fully-translated and re-illustrated (in a more German style) in Spring 2011. Most exciting and good.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-79072228657507542512010-04-19T05:01:00.003+10:002010-04-19T05:12:01.773+10:00Something Missing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWrBuSh7FIQ6CaJQiCG3iEbprwp3okaK5HzH-GQyUj-4f7MYgo_0IRIQU5MLrPrSlbvurumCH7imEDSgbyWv1nH4wwqqdxNkq3hd430Tj8miaG3q0WbVJDD6K5LHh_g3GmCQSk29QJnRT/s1600/shouldercarry-pola.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWrBuSh7FIQ6CaJQiCG3iEbprwp3okaK5HzH-GQyUj-4f7MYgo_0IRIQU5MLrPrSlbvurumCH7imEDSgbyWv1nH4wwqqdxNkq3hd430Tj8miaG3q0WbVJDD6K5LHh_g3GmCQSk29QJnRT/s320/shouldercarry-pola.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461554789076062466" /></a><br /><br />The air traffic in Frankfurt is so constant that you don't notice it most of the time - except maybe on very clear, blue days if you glance up and see the sky completely criss-crossed with contrails. From our dining room window we can see a constant stream of planes - as one leaves the right-hand side another appears at the left. So it was strange looking out the window on Friday morning and not seeing a single plane anywhere. I had a brief moment of claustrophobia, and then I just enjoyed looking at the smooth, perfect sky.<br /><br />The weekend was fine and we spent most of it outside, in our upstairs neighbour's Schrieber Garten on Saturday and walking to a beer garden in the forest on Sunday. What we kept noticing was the silence - no rumble of planes except for the occasional whirr of a light aircraft.<br /><br />At the end of our forest day today as we neared the tram there was a familiar noise above - 747 approaching Frankfurt. It looked strangely unfamiliar and wrong.<br /><br />We enjoyed the quiet and the perfect blue skies for three days - but at the same time I am hoping we will have no troubles getting to Australia in early May.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-1188087875719801422010-04-06T20:54:00.006+10:002010-04-06T21:21:45.364+10:00Hysterical Towns<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB4lvuvbveVxW8TwoX-Zho0x9zMf2pI5oTxIdODq2OIrennn6ZbGrfAzaeY8Zr4HkVqBatlVzRfU723za_DC1FFZLrS7ML_6kREnFoTMGYQLXI5MYn-HFt249pYvmV6qz-SNNMz1pmkr7/s1600/neuschwanstein.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB4lvuvbveVxW8TwoX-Zho0x9zMf2pI5oTxIdODq2OIrennn6ZbGrfAzaeY8Zr4HkVqBatlVzRfU723za_DC1FFZLrS7ML_6kREnFoTMGYQLXI5MYn-HFt249pYvmV6qz-SNNMz1pmkr7/s320/neuschwanstein.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456976379808927314" /></a><br />Yesterday we arrived back from a ten day Easter trip around what is known at the 'Romantic Road.' This includes a number of historic towns such as Dinkelbuhl, Rothenburg and Augsburg. We also went to Fussen so we could visit Castle Neuschwanstein as Mads has been bitterly disappointed by the broken-down, crumbly castles we've dragged her to so far. No kid could argue with the castley-ness of Neuschwanstein. You can see it behind our heads in the photo above. I'm not quite sure why Mads and I are pulling those faces. I think perhaps Mads is yawning. And maybe mine was meant to mean 'You really think I'm going to get this kid to walk up there?' Or maybe it's a hangover from when I travelled around Europe with Shell. She often used to convince me to copy the expressions of statues or monuments we saw, then she'd take a photo. So maybe I just don't feel right unless I'm doing something dumb in a picture.<br /><br />As we headed home yesterday Thieu said 'I don't ever want to see another historical town again.' And I had to agree with him. Once you've walked around one for a while and gone 'isn't it quaint?' and 'aren't the doors low?' a few hundred times you start getting bored. So then you have a bad coffee served to you by a grumpy-looking woman in a dirndl. And you stare at wrought-iron pot-plant holders shaped like cats or dogs with springs for necks in the shops and wonder, both silently and aloud about who would ever buy such a thing. Especially in a historical town. Then you wander past a torture museums and insist that your family pose for a photograph, even though there's no way you're going in. Because why should you be the only one photographically humiliated for posterity? I told them to pull 'baddie' faces for the shot below. Mads, as you can see, took this direction very seriously. It looks like her face is imploding from the badness, don't you think?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwfMRINEBYLzbT92dST1xJ-1_SMmykxSlxSy4mSh-fGUbTJhJwbdrp7k2XLWMm6SaJUysf5rJF_13gOTMQynsCoD8n7GlO1tyga1kUq3qotdpSaPlcgaS7Y3ofPA_9fTnU6HVVtRty3Ei/s1600/stocks.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwfMRINEBYLzbT92dST1xJ-1_SMmykxSlxSy4mSh-fGUbTJhJwbdrp7k2XLWMm6SaJUysf5rJF_13gOTMQynsCoD8n7GlO1tyga1kUq3qotdpSaPlcgaS7Y3ofPA_9fTnU6HVVtRty3Ei/s320/stocks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456980502455520274" /></a><br />I had a shocking <a href="http://translate.google.de/#de|en|schnupfen">schnupfen</a> for most of the time too, so although it was nice to have a holiday, it was very very nice to return home. It was especially nice to see these appearing everywhere:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhGTPz5NdS_nwaD39gR3oWHpcjXLh70VZVaAeq3ENSdHkWHe8-B6vIffyfKO6Rda4UQa_upBmHLv9twMSwUXRpx5XzG6coXOJYdb9jvPL8xPS4APDqCJQemxzeQl6YnFtIZuzvJ_0e3Wr/s1600/spring_shoots2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhGTPz5NdS_nwaD39gR3oWHpcjXLh70VZVaAeq3ENSdHkWHe8-B6vIffyfKO6Rda4UQa_upBmHLv9twMSwUXRpx5XzG6coXOJYdb9jvPL8xPS4APDqCJQemxzeQl6YnFtIZuzvJ_0e3Wr/s320/spring_shoots2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456980658051202050" /></a><br />Thank God.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-72329304924286392010-03-22T22:20:00.005+11:002010-03-22T22:34:45.591+11:00& now what?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfeaxLL4-1pG0ROnrrQmLL1fn2iuiHOsFcovuMq0lOq__UH0duh9GW-TkexDqHm_cVK82oNK2HC_LTWJ5byLQv6DG5u1evntA1j-oNsOG1UkYSfIrd6vhr6rElhs1qMhlaPb-xCoHfo2t/s1600-h/ekke.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmfeaxLL4-1pG0ROnrrQmLL1fn2iuiHOsFcovuMq0lOq__UH0duh9GW-TkexDqHm_cVK82oNK2HC_LTWJ5byLQv6DG5u1evntA1j-oNsOG1UkYSfIrd6vhr6rElhs1qMhlaPb-xCoHfo2t/s320/ekke.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451416694499151282" /></a><br /><br />One of my current favourite German words is <span style="font-style:italic;">die Puppenecke</span> - the dolls' corner - with 'Puppen' being dolls and 'Ecke' being corner. Mads and I had fun the other day coming up with other types of '<span style="font-style:italic;">ecke</span>'s, like, the corner where all the snails hung out would be <span style="font-style:italic;">die schneckenecke</span>. OK...so that was the only one we came up with. But I still like it.<br /><br />My favourite Ecke in the flat recently has been the cane chair by the window where I've been working on the blanket for my unborn niecephew. It's a light, sunny spot to work, close to the teeve and the cd player. I've spent some very pleasant - between-drafts time in this corner, working away, listening to music or watching DVDs (Madmen, The Sopranos, Breaking Bad). <br /><br />Then on Saturday I finished the blanket and I feel a little lost. I can't really justify watching tv without a project to work on. It doesn't seem right. Besides, there is a new book to start work on and there will be revisions to the teen novel too very soon. Looks like the days of the sunny corner might be over for now at least.<br /><br />p.s. cushions by <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/auntycookie">Auntie Cookie</a>.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-18993216779918441592010-03-19T06:34:00.007+11:002010-03-19T06:46:56.309+11:00Toothy Car<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvsq-Hi2u1zTwP35ersfRxS1sarF7b1pp564vhdYiYNoUTuQyZbstjs_FEOUfMPlEWCs_oFXQGMl5kjh0QHcGX8o8OWT7VkLo86ZnsqInZJ-ebD2yXOOt0TKNRtnxaakLuZift8sXEdIw-/s1600-h/teeth_car.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvsq-Hi2u1zTwP35ersfRxS1sarF7b1pp564vhdYiYNoUTuQyZbstjs_FEOUfMPlEWCs_oFXQGMl5kjh0QHcGX8o8OWT7VkLo86ZnsqInZJ-ebD2yXOOt0TKNRtnxaakLuZift8sXEdIw-/s320/teeth_car.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450059661945097266" /></a><br />It was a sunny 15 degrees today in Frankfurt and we were sweltering. A perfect day for grabbing the camera and taking photographs of strange things. The van in the photo above was by far the strangest thing I saw. It's so weird and somehow menacing. In my eagerness to photograph it I forgot to pay any attention to what it was actually advertising, and now I can only wonder. Mobile dentist perhaps? Because I can be a bit thick I was actually marvelling at how amazing it was that the smile had so perfectly lined up with the rest of the face when the van had stopped. I literally only realised ten minutes ago that, of course, the mouth probably doesn't spin around at all. I wish that it did though. How cool it would be to see those gleaming white teeth rotating endlessly.<br /><br />My other favourite sighting of the day was this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLg9EL62AarPsIhE10xc-r0ZqB7YKYMX-oUMZXYasLrufHEoYczDda46cpj5ZszGhni8Q9JDl30m5ZWk5Cc-hECU85KhWELVicm7_m6BVDFqreYfHcPLLWOC6t7qAmiOdWI_uNIhWRtjdq/s1600-h/bearded_lady.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLg9EL62AarPsIhE10xc-r0ZqB7YKYMX-oUMZXYasLrufHEoYczDda46cpj5ZszGhni8Q9JDl30m5ZWk5Cc-hECU85KhWELVicm7_m6BVDFqreYfHcPLLWOC6t7qAmiOdWI_uNIhWRtjdq/s320/bearded_lady.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450061679399615842" /></a><br />because I've always been partial to a bit of texta-facial hair action and because from a distance it looked so real that I did, just for a moment, think it was really a bearded lady.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-29933659784067141592010-03-17T06:14:00.005+11:002010-03-17T06:47:20.512+11:00Frühlingsmüdekeit<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTQnt2rWZK-vOxGXBU6QmfRRnH6nyCLOQN-h60HY4DjqZIHrhoXEP6abNZ1tP2GlPyNcXwiiPAr1aTX0e2zK5F9sLUrS31SjNysNYRSmO2tVXBgNj_3hMaRPAkLD3Z-c-8U1FtfiytBST/s1600-h/spring_sky.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZTQnt2rWZK-vOxGXBU6QmfRRnH6nyCLOQN-h60HY4DjqZIHrhoXEP6abNZ1tP2GlPyNcXwiiPAr1aTX0e2zK5F9sLUrS31SjNysNYRSmO2tVXBgNj_3hMaRPAkLD3Z-c-8U1FtfiytBST/s320/spring_sky.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449320496136238338" /></a><br />In Germany there seems to be a festival for things I've never considered celebrating before (the arrival of asparagus, for instance) and there is a word to describe concepts or phenomena I've never experienced before.<br /><br />At a friend's house for dinner on Saturday night Thieu mentioned he tired a lot lately, and low in energy. I pointed out that Mads has been the same - she even went back to being a <span style="font-style:italic;">schlafen kind</span> at kindergarten after not having a nap there for months. <br /><br />'That's because of <span style="font-style:italic;">Frühlingsmüdekeit</span>,' said our friend. 'Haven't you noticed everyone going on about it?' Well no, we hadn't. Apparently feeling exhausted and lethargic is a common complaint at this time of year. Your seratonin levels are low after a few months of low sunlight and, traditionally, a lack of fresh fruit and vegetables (although of course now everything is just imported. I bought strawberries just last week). Frühlingsmüdekeit basically means 'spring tiredness'. <br /><br />'You need to exercise,' said our friend. And so, on Monday I went to Aldi, having been tipped off that they were selling rollerblades this week. Ah <span style="font-style:italic;">Aldi</span>. Remember how the Faraway Tree is always growing different fruit everytime it's visited? Aldi reminds me of that. One week it's selling trumpets. The next it's unicycles. Then car radios. And you find yourself grabbing things you never knew existed but suddenly must, must have. You have to be prepared to brave the fearsome old ladies who ram you with their shopping trolleys if they think you've taken more than your fairshare of rainpants (another Aldi speciality) but it's worth it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ObRKZXEQ0IbEdFg8KR2Wan-XBa5ZRmw-V6ahQzOpYgUzlK97oFZ-H4RPEwZKgjvcquFmriTpOCYxRf00tn3itCckPn2_zQFzwrzScDK5aeNCkke-Xuy7KJ4ehNzWVs3-pOvwRuNGrNIH/s1600-h/roller_blades.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ObRKZXEQ0IbEdFg8KR2Wan-XBa5ZRmw-V6ahQzOpYgUzlK97oFZ-H4RPEwZKgjvcquFmriTpOCYxRf00tn3itCckPn2_zQFzwrzScDK5aeNCkke-Xuy7KJ4ehNzWVs3-pOvwRuNGrNIH/s320/roller_blades.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449316418498450642" /></a><br /><br />Mads was thrilled with the rollerblades. We headed down to the park after kindy yesterday so she could bask in the envy of other children. Simulataneoulsy I stumbled across another cure for <span style="font-style:italic;">Frühlingsmüde</span> - laughing at your kid as she learns to rollerblade. <br /><br />(Luckily Aldi was also selling knee, wrist and elbow pads).Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-24497185898989911592010-03-11T20:06:00.005+11:002010-03-11T20:51:10.455+11:00Something to Chew On<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEp0EDhjEjRZzN0eT1DR9zdAxQH-LD6hagbd523cSqfjawaynOSalDfvysz6Q6mIAMqDJgwVyL-YEbYIYNL7kArx4Up5p42gAIpFLif2xSMA4ecN3U11YnQuSAPCSvr83CK2rAPwaEvPI/s1600-h/blanket.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEp0EDhjEjRZzN0eT1DR9zdAxQH-LD6hagbd523cSqfjawaynOSalDfvysz6Q6mIAMqDJgwVyL-YEbYIYNL7kArx4Up5p42gAIpFLif2xSMA4ecN3U11YnQuSAPCSvr83CK2rAPwaEvPI/s320/blanket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447307620840451714" /></a><br />There are two things that I continually do which by this stage in my life I should have learned not to do. One is tell Mads about play-dates in advance (because she's so, like, <span style="font-style:italic;">devo </span>when they fall through)and the other is to get overly excited about an up-coming event. <br /><br />Our trip to London last weekend was kind of a disaster. We didn't even take any pictures because the whole thing was mostly traumatising. There were good things about it, of course - catching up with friends, mostly understanding stuff on the TV - but there were a whole lot of things that weren't so good. Missing our flight from Frankfurt for one. We decided to be super-smart and take only hand-luggage which we figured meant that we wouldn't have to be at the airport quite so early. Clearly we were too cocky because when we arrived at the gate it had close 5 minutes before and they wouldn't let us on. <span style="font-style:italic;">Oh bother</span>, as Mads would say. <br /><br />So then we had to buy new tickets (for a a lot more than the original price) and endure a lecture from the Lufthansa rep on making sure we arrived two hours before an international flight. Afterwards it dawned on us that if we'd checked in luggage they would've been much less likely to take off without paging us. Shtoopid.<br /><br />Then it started to snow. Heavily.<br />Then the flight was delayed.<br />Then they made us board and sit in the plane for an hour and a half before taking off.<br />Then there was the hot stinky tube ride into the British museum where our friend had been waiting for us for two hours. <br />And that was just Saturday. One Sunday there was my near-death experience. <br /><br />The previous weekend's hilarious near death experience was almost being hit by flying roof tiles as we went sight-seeing in Strasbourg (during a cyclone - yes, smart). This weekend it was near-death by choking. I met up with an old work friend who is living in London and we decided to get all Englishy and have a roast lunch and a cider. And it was all going well until a piece of beef became firmly lodged in my throat. Gaspingly, blue-in-the-face lodged. I think it's the closest I've ever come to actually dying and all I could think while it was happening was; 'this is <span style="font-style:italic;">so </span>humiliating.' I just knew that it would taint everyone's sympathy for my passing because of the comic way I'd departed. People might not laugh at first, but after a little while it'd be 'Oh yeah Meredith. She's the one who choked to death on a Sunday roast. Ha ha.' Too, too embarassing.<br /><br />Somehow I managed to force the bit down and I am seriously considering a return to committed vegetarianism. Either that or a baby food only diet. <br /><br />On the whole I was happy to return - alive - to Frankfurt, where I have continued working on the blanket I'm making for my sister's unborn child. Crochet is my daggy secret - it has none of the urban-cool of knitting - but as I am now nearly 40 now I don't really care so much. In fact, I'm nearly at the stage where I'm prepared to crochet in public. Nearly, but not quite. I have finally finished the squares and am in the process of joining them up and sewing in the loose threads. I have totally ripped off the design and colour scheme from <a href="http://www.beehandmade.com/my_weblog/2008/02/baby-blanket.html">here</a> although I added green to the middle and I'm joining the squares up with caramel because I aint no copy-cat OK? (Now I think about it white would've probably been a better joining choice than a baby-poo colour but perhaps this will end up being a good thing). <br /><br />My blanket won't look nearly as neat and professional as the <a href="http://www.beehandmade.com/my_weblog/">Bee Handmade</a> one as I am a terrible corner-cutter and I also can't count which is kind of important with this sort of thing and means that some of my squares are a little wonky. But as a project-abandoner from way back I'm proud of myself at having stuck at it. <br /><br />So this week my plan is to finish the blanket. And remember to chew.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-17355607161954307092010-03-05T07:02:00.011+11:002010-03-05T07:42:25.594+11:00Haupt Bahnhof<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9xlsKfGUqn7Mv6x8Sfgm_BWYdrGt8tolAFvtMB_hfaAt0uOxRzWzj4p70e-tuE77U6gAAGejwXi3WOhurldLGzZwUnK4IKcNw0F8jWT9AzaNw8WHS5N9Pn9xPLTdc1wTB2nqPbhkuEcxC/s1600-h/was_nun.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9xlsKfGUqn7Mv6x8Sfgm_BWYdrGt8tolAFvtMB_hfaAt0uOxRzWzj4p70e-tuE77U6gAAGejwXi3WOhurldLGzZwUnK4IKcNw0F8jWT9AzaNw8WHS5N9Pn9xPLTdc1wTB2nqPbhkuEcxC/s320/was_nun.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444878377995022658" /></a><br />What do you want to hear about? There was the whole Faschings Carnival thing a couple of weeks ago, where the locals went bezerk and dressed up (the adults more than the children) as pumpkins, lone rangers, clowns, sexy she-devils etc and paraded through the streets throwing lollies at the crowd. Thieu had made himself a very tall crown to wear to the main parade which the lollies kept landing in. Mads was <span style="font-style:italic;">mortified </span>by the crown and told him that perhaps he should just leave it at home. Which of course Thieu didn't. And the success with catching the lollies in it has him already making plans for next year's hat which will be shaped like a satellite dish.<br /><br />And then there was our spontaneous trip to Strasbourg last weekend where we woke up and said 'yeah, let's go to France' and were there in time for baguette avec fromage at lunchtime. We walked around admiring the lovely old buildings constructing sentences in our new hybrid French-German language (Frerman) and then narrowly avoided decapitation when the strong winds started blowing the roof tiles off the lovely old roofs. <br /><br />There's also our upcoming visit to London this weekend which I am so, so looking forward to - I'm tired of my muteness and looking forward to catching up with some friends.<br /><br />But I don't know if I can be bothered writing about any of these things. I've got mid-book laziness and don't feel like writing much at all.<br /><br />The photo above is from a current advertising campaign and translates as (or so google translate tells me) 'What now, dear parents?' I've seen it around a lot but this one was spotted at the main train station - Haupt Bahnhof - before we boarded the inter-city to Strazzers. <br /><br />The other thing that we always visit at the 'hof is the model railway. Mads is fascinated by it:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEhlLc_qOvZNvHiE2gS7yvA8WAgDepWUrxCM5UdfNwaUEN_G6zOzofpXRHuSrN9vaT706rs39bN4FkAfA3UqktZkCb9BAovG7Qih_VIw_trR46KA5D94mV_AApz6yqhyphenhyphen1zIOSKHgV1cXO/s1600-h/model_train_01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXEhlLc_qOvZNvHiE2gS7yvA8WAgDepWUrxCM5UdfNwaUEN_G6zOzofpXRHuSrN9vaT706rs39bN4FkAfA3UqktZkCb9BAovG7Qih_VIw_trR46KA5D94mV_AApz6yqhyphenhyphen1zIOSKHgV1cXO/s320/model_train_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444880798922714242" /></a><br /><br /><br />It's very detailed. In fact, I'd visited it a few times before I noticed one particular detail on the wall around the miniature playground:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3OOeZpE_OyjJPaKKtNBKJCJGvVurIpipOosPH14fMvZewzkMAb9coHLLPbTbcSk-fnTUfAiyVufR6UgZTVYSmXIungzp6duYGqgXdgeY4KmqeFWhTU0Jbt6IyiaKSD1vbqnrXk0pS-R5/s1600-h/model_train_02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 308px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy3OOeZpE_OyjJPaKKtNBKJCJGvVurIpipOosPH14fMvZewzkMAb9coHLLPbTbcSk-fnTUfAiyVufR6UgZTVYSmXIungzp6duYGqgXdgeY4KmqeFWhTU0Jbt6IyiaKSD1vbqnrXk0pS-R5/s320/model_train_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444880959984700642" /></a><br /><br />I pointed it out to Thieu. <br />'A swear word,' I said. 'In a model train diorama.'<br />'I don't know why you're so surprised,' he said. 'That newsagency over there has a range of crack pipes on display in its front window.'<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyINLel5wTwNsbrxPTKfwa0wSmzfyUlmjAxgiTlIRIBVHVr6KOtf-o7u669tnHtD3KMuu96rQFh6zQv5ioq0ewfuVMq-0vH79gwo27fWilTBVMg3nefcCzW5yeHgm1-dz7C3wVZI1s3LM/s1600-h/crack_pipes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyINLel5wTwNsbrxPTKfwa0wSmzfyUlmjAxgiTlIRIBVHVr6KOtf-o7u669tnHtD3KMuu96rQFh6zQv5ioq0ewfuVMq-0vH79gwo27fWilTBVMg3nefcCzW5yeHgm1-dz7C3wVZI1s3LM/s320/crack_pipes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444876522727185154" /></a><br /><br />To finish, here's a picture of Mads looking through a round thing in Strasbourg. Our dad used to like photographing us examining leaves. Maybe he was hoping to turn us into botanists. I like photographing Mads looking through round things. Not sure why.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAq4PsABDjg2XMTPNYbahCU86n3AKMGSicIuVGm49RiYCIVgvwQOqMKh3WHQoUfm6S8rhnEg4ZdtrGhrGAjz2p6knSwBzMeOmgm-_2Jo2pf2-3niEvFdQxtTtSENPWPKvXVNs_L4Kv3hz/s1600-h/round_thing_strasbourg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkAq4PsABDjg2XMTPNYbahCU86n3AKMGSicIuVGm49RiYCIVgvwQOqMKh3WHQoUfm6S8rhnEg4ZdtrGhrGAjz2p6knSwBzMeOmgm-_2Jo2pf2-3niEvFdQxtTtSENPWPKvXVNs_L4Kv3hz/s320/round_thing_strasbourg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444879297314794994" /></a>Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-91998055189708917862010-02-16T05:01:00.007+11:002010-02-16T05:52:59.708+11:00Clemintine's Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCfsAcOex68w-6DNO5gJ5kAdhMFXnhcC7xnAfN-53TdNebohZ6v2FW8g90OMW1YcWhy6ZugNorem3R7-FexvSdQlQVfStcHlGP2OIRpOOo8XdDHEpX5-DRNOkJ3CXG_K_IXH0zEPx0D-F/s1600-h/clementines_day.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQCfsAcOex68w-6DNO5gJ5kAdhMFXnhcC7xnAfN-53TdNebohZ6v2FW8g90OMW1YcWhy6ZugNorem3R7-FexvSdQlQVfStcHlGP2OIRpOOo8XdDHEpX5-DRNOkJ3CXG_K_IXH0zEPx0D-F/s320/clementines_day.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438531982287555666" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes other people's blogs - the ones written by people I don't know - make me feel bad about my life. They are often filled with beautifully lit shots of their organised homes, their possessions and the delicious-looking batch of something they've just whipped up using all organic ingredients. Their blog lives seem so perfect, so effortlessly dirt-free, so full of gorgeous stuff and there is this suggestion of limitless time. <br /><br />But then yesterday I thought 'to hell with it, I can pretend to be like that too.' So observe above: my artfully arranged tulip (a Valentine's Day gift from Thieu) laid over some clemintines, because Mads gets 'valentines' and 'clemintines' confused and presented me with one in the morning. Isn't that adorable? <br /><br />What you can't see is that just out of frame the entire contents of our cupboards is laid out on the floor because Mads wanted to make a house for the bottle opener, that she has named 'Spanner.' And you also can't see the bags under my eyes because she'd been sick for three days and Thieu and I had undergone some sort of sleep-deprivation torture where every half an hour during the night she'd woken up yelling 'I need to blow my nose!' or 'I'm thirsty!' and then, later 'I need to go to the toilet!' In this photo you also can't hear Mads getting upset every time I tried to thank Thieu for the beautiful necklace he <span style="font-style:italic;">most</span> unexpectedly gave me in the morning, saying that I just wasn't praising <span style="font-style:italic;">her </span>gift enough - a set of pen drawings on individual squares of toilet paper (as well as the clemintine, of course). And you also can't see that I'm at that point with my latest draft of my latest project where I hate every word I've written, even the 'ands'. <span style="font-style:italic;">Especially</span> the 'ands'.<br /><br />But now of course I remind myself that there are plenty of 'bare my soul' and 'rip my guts out' blogs I could be reading, if I so chose, but I'd actually much rather read the ones that show people's enviable homes and perfect lives and sigh a little sigh of envious pleasure. <br /><br />Have another look at my photo. Nice, isn't it? <br /><br />Anyway. Hope you had a Happy Clemintines Day.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1035303458413285155.post-1758321144508577112010-02-09T08:03:00.008+11:002010-02-09T08:33:40.336+11:00Signs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl82R7V8ZgGhKhdyhZD34p_uxZTlII9jfGjfwwWtMt6OsLTqQA7YjjuCeHOpfFkVvHYHsUEF9Y068cW2PPIygyykpDGjCAW-I7POqGyawxiTepdixCxXmY-LKpG21_mDRnCypexWLKf_S8/s1600-h/sign_dachshund.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl82R7V8ZgGhKhdyhZD34p_uxZTlII9jfGjfwwWtMt6OsLTqQA7YjjuCeHOpfFkVvHYHsUEF9Y068cW2PPIygyykpDGjCAW-I7POqGyawxiTepdixCxXmY-LKpG21_mDRnCypexWLKf_S8/s320/sign_dachshund.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435981444222176306" /></a><br /><br />On the whole I'm not really big on dogs. They smell damp, I'm irritated by their blind devotion and I don't like the little plastic bags of poo that seem to go with dog ownership. But having said that, if I had to have a dog, I'd choose a dachshund. It's the ridiculous proportions, I think. Long body. Stumpy legs. It's funny. I pass this sign when I'm dropping M off at kinder and I always admire it. I like the way it's so specific: <span style="font-weight:bold;">No dachshunds on this grass - any other type of dog ok</span>. I also love the way the dachshund has just skillfully slid out from underneath the red line, like it's saying 'yeah, well just you try to stop me. My stumpy legs and ridiculously long body makes it easy for me to escape your stupid sign.'<br /><br />Further down the same path is this sign:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYJaHzlPCps2hDdEJL30YhWRSu7rlK_eHvdCN-U_SFG6o4t9iwZKxB1WmOdyt9HRYNmefX6y7hokHH4hnn7RG8yCrrOTR-hu8beB4-t_bqKI0HC3pMAZGUbbUxueHbhxnRG2yO92Farks/s1600-h/sign_dog.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYJaHzlPCps2hDdEJL30YhWRSu7rlK_eHvdCN-U_SFG6o4t9iwZKxB1WmOdyt9HRYNmefX6y7hokHH4hnn7RG8yCrrOTR-hu8beB4-t_bqKI0HC3pMAZGUbbUxueHbhxnRG2yO92Farks/s320/sign_dog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435982892149552386" /></a><br /><br />I don't know what kind of dog this one is, but it's not nearly as sneaky as the dachshund. It's just standing there passively, letting that red line hold it back.<br /><br /><br />Another favourite sign of mine belongs to a chain of health food shops:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91fDsn6Rs5HjNl-kcU5Ss0S9n30YsCzxnLmf9lDeqPUPdHRlUETn4X3Qj3pdPLGZjEm4muAr2WreYp1rkiVA46SPSkMOUbaL6SMlK1ip8o9S7x8XVngey1XaMSOmggJjA_VFwJT4qRnZe/s1600-h/reformhaus_freya.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj91fDsn6Rs5HjNl-kcU5Ss0S9n30YsCzxnLmf9lDeqPUPdHRlUETn4X3Qj3pdPLGZjEm4muAr2WreYp1rkiVA46SPSkMOUbaL6SMlK1ip8o9S7x8XVngey1XaMSOmggJjA_VFwJT4qRnZe/s320/reformhaus_freya.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435983597480064210" /></a><br />I noticed this sign first because I have a second cousin called Freya. Then the more I noticed it, the more I realised there was to love about it. Firstly, how great is it to have a health food shop called a reformhaus. It sounds so severe and punitive. Reformhaus Freya sounds even better - it makes me think of the title of a cheap paperback from the 50s with a lurid cover.<br /><br />Here's another shop sign I love: <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGA5-DPn9Bui_D70qVy1VxTSQyWgXboaxGdFiQvHXRaqEmVAZ-X7znSCSamIwvuqT2jzU9Nyhhgoh3crR5Um-q4yLO0LluuIh_6jfxKww_IjaT0zLzWK1wDl6YkCj1rGRSsydQyUZEGwu_/s1600-h/schrumpf.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGA5-DPn9Bui_D70qVy1VxTSQyWgXboaxGdFiQvHXRaqEmVAZ-X7znSCSamIwvuqT2jzU9Nyhhgoh3crR5Um-q4yLO0LluuIh_6jfxKww_IjaT0zLzWK1wDl6YkCj1rGRSsydQyUZEGwu_/s320/schrumpf.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435984913646920642" /></a><br /><br />Doesn't Schrumpf sound <span style="font-style:italic;">exactly </span>like the noise of biting into an apple?<br /><br />This one is good too:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IhOwCxuAHvaWEkpGzB2MzuPct8Ne1xO6-LGrT_RsgKtKgBvet7lNWIJcSDJWaZzER05cgmmBMJurV1Vwo83F1hCuJp228t8tNDAG3P-XOvylkrWEIHtd0Tv9ReUDXYM9Um0h7AH36JpP/s1600-h/habel_schlapp.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IhOwCxuAHvaWEkpGzB2MzuPct8Ne1xO6-LGrT_RsgKtKgBvet7lNWIJcSDJWaZzER05cgmmBMJurV1Vwo83F1hCuJp228t8tNDAG3P-XOvylkrWEIHtd0Tv9ReUDXYM9Um0h7AH36JpP/s320/habel_schlapp.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435985259224998658" /></a><br /><br />I would love to meet Herr Schlapp - or maybe view him from a distance. I can picture him so clearly. He'd be some leering, red-faced middle-aged man with large hands and a cheap suit. I'm always on the lookout for names that would hyphenate well with Badger and I think Schlapp-Badger is pretty much perfect. I bet he causes poor old Herr Habel no end of grief.Frettinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05217926838359098944noreply@blogger.com4