Friends from afar

I made an email friend at work; someone who could be virtually ANYONE.

Between Steinhagen and South Africa, we share some friendly banter, sometimes somewhate confusing and on other days a bit more fired up. Which now makes me contemplate all those battle-lines that took place between my great-great GREAT grandfathers and some Nazi hugging rioting frying friends under the African sun...

Let's not dwell on the heroic and sad past of some...Those are days bygone, and boy are we glad they have gone by!

Mr W, is the reserved type. So typical of most Germans. I gather he is fitness-mad like all other Germans, already going bald (guess work) and a grandfather of 10 little Nazis...u-rm...little German angels.

The only facts I have about Mr. W is that he once served in the army near New Castle, near York,near Scotland...

I'll share a line or two with you today, ringing like this:

ME: ARe you saying I'm a hell fire??? (gnawing my desk at work)
MR W: Yes, and... I AM A HELL FIRE!!!! (off on a rant, no stopping)


ME: Did you see the email about the boys getting baptised? (cute)
MR W: And there are more ways getting BAPISSED, such as with wine... (crude idiot)


That's correspondence with Germans for you. A great way of improving vocal-bollie-reasoning... I wonder if another Nationality could improve on that?

Chau-chau

Sabatical

Today I learned about something in my life.

I have been sharing my life with a ghost of some sorts. Impossible to give this thing a name, I have named it Ghost. I never realized until now, at the ripe age of thirty two just how the existence of this nameless ghost has crippled me and the pattern of my life. Over the past months, maybe years even it has become a real menace. It constantly follows me. It hovers and peeps over my shoulder. Dictates what I should and should not do. Make me feel unworthy and helpless and worst of all it, I feel imprisoned with it in a very lonely thoroughly sealed vacuum.

I’ve had it with Ghost’s constant nagging and tugging at my sleeves and yapping at me heels. I don’t want its frittering presence in my life anymore. No more breaking and entering into my life, hopes, emotions, and sleep when I turn and toss in restless dream-dilapidated limbo.

Ghost was officially retrenched today. It was “fired” and will be going on permanent vacation, leave or whatever suits it best.

I am also going on something... called a Sabitical of the Emotion & Intellect. Going to pull myself together and get priorities sorted. I am going to try and live my life as it was originally intended to be. Follow my destiny.

No more Ghost to blame – at least the weight of that piece of old baggage is gone now. If not hearing from me too often, my friends won't feel insulted - they surely will understand.

I am going to turn this hermit life into something with a wee bit more flair, color and tranquility.

And Bugger Any Adversities…

Roundabouts

Entering a Roundabout yesterday, the following happened:

A Volkswagen appeared suddenly to my left. The VW and its driver nearly nose bumped my elegant little VW. The outraged driver stuck his dark face out of the window, swinging his fists in the air and shouted with uncontrolled anger:

“HEY-YYY!!!!!!!!!!! You must wait there!!!”

I was so surprised that I simply drove on. The place where I intended to park was nearby and as I got out of my car I was ready to irk this idiot back into his car with the full truth of how roundabouts actually are supposed to work. But the bulldozing VW had disappeared.

I would like to know since when does traffic to the RIGHT give way to traffic from the LEFT? Why does traffic from the LEFT these days seem to have the right to shout abuse at oncoming traffic from the RIGHT? The results are often very confusing with the right driver left in a dumb stupor for being told-off about something they correctly deemed the right thing to do. Left in the dark about their legal road rights, that is to enter the roundabout first, they end up doubting whether they may have been left in the dark re. Some new legislation to the left, or if they perhaps might not have been in the right lane. The driver with the right of way may even then consider the fact that they may not be in the right frame of mind to even drive a car, or any other vehicle. Or wondering if they received the right driver’s license and not the one that Sipho with only one right eye left, have failed and then left at the traffic department after some bribing took place, which in turn has been left in Mr. Wright’s post box.

My opinion is that left-hand-swinging morons have some condition linked with schizophrenia when they enter circles, pushing their butts right in where they ought not to. I think that circle-dimwits charging from the LEFT should RIGHTLY be banned from our roads and roundabouts - just stay home.

Duh.

The Rites and Rules of Passing Places

The Rites and Rules of Passing Places
I once lived for about 6-weeks in a village named Corran. One of two villages, the other named Camusbane; it gives the area the name of Arnisdale. Situated amongst the mountains of Glenelg, it is the very last village one can reach by car. There-after you have the option to be air-lifted, shipped or walk further in or out, depending in which stage or state you are.

Corran is a tiny place with a Tea Hut, old Herring sheds – here some filthy over-the-wall hikers sleep, refresh their starved inners and make use of the only toilet available for miles. There is cluster of seven or eight cottages on the banks of loch Hourn. The Gaelic meaning of this beautiful loch indicates that it was named “The Loch of Hell” or “Loch Iuthairne” as some folks has been caught off-guard by its stormy winds and foul conditions.

A few meters towards the outskirts you will notice a sink cottage with a kayak next to it. Here lives a man alone with his dog and I was quite shockingly caught off-guard by the man’s unusual beautiful blue eyes as well as those of his dog with its wolfish-yellow eyes (Note, not the man although I was given the all-over curious glance that could make a woman blush from head to toe).

I remember the magical pebble beaches very well and find it hard to describe the clear water with long waving sea-grass and small creatures underneath – looking into it made one feel dizzy with a kind of upside down world feeling. The edges around the loch are overgrown with vegetation such as bog, ferns and wild rambling roses. I even stumbled upon a small tent once with a young couple sitting huddled and probably nearly frostbitten by a camp-fire – and accepted their invite to enjoy a beer with them before stomping off into some general directions afterwards…

Sometimes on my evening walks along the road, I would notice a young woman on the beach of Camusbane. She had a long blond plait resting heavily between two strong shoulder-blades and reminded me of a resilient kind of Viking woman. She'd be sitting and stoking a big fire on the beach, all alone by herself - I wonder what went through her mind?

One sunny early evening I took yet another familiar walk – on the single-track road leading away from Arnisdale. The view is nearly always something of hills, mountains, a few people around, sheep, ancient graveyards and the majestic Black Cullins waving from across on the neighboring Isle of Skye. I stopped dead in my tracks then as I looked twice: On those single track roads one more often than not will see road signs reading "Passing Place" - you are supposed to give way to other motorists or the cheeky Blackface sheep, not vice versa. It works so in their minds… Well, right there in my face stood yet another road sign, reading like this “Pissing Place". Some idiot had gone and painted over the "a" an "i". How many people do you think make this their "Stopping Place"?

Mentioning this to a friend later on, I was then told about a place in Austria with the name of “Fucking”. Apparently it is the most stolen road sign in the world – doesn’t surprise me!

I was also told that in Belgium, they have what is called 'the anal triangle'. Three towns called Kontich, Reet and Aartselaar. (freely translated: Bum, Ass and Anal-town). Gays apparently get mixed up when they come in the center of the triangle, where there's road signs indicating the way to all 3 places.

So apart from “Pissing Place”, “Fucking” and “The Anal Triangle” I guess the way can only get steeper, skiddier and perhaps I’ll not venture much further into these crooks and crannies today. Another time…