An announcement (of a kind)
The wedding of Justin and Ramona has been rescheduled (again) and is now taking place later this month back in Eastbourne. There’s just no keeping these romantic funsters down, is there? So! Congrats all round. Looks like I’ll be back in old Blighty much sooner than expected. Apparently this requires the purchase of yet another ill-fitting suit. What was it Thoreau said about such enterprises?

Still stuff-less
This morning I woke up full of hope. Finally my belongings were due to arrive from England. I had hopes of sitting on a sofa (a sofa!) and watching a television (a television!) and of sleeping in a bed (a bed!). I would have books to read and CDs to listen to, DVDs and wotnots to watch and, perhaps best of all, My Computer, with its delightfully normal QWERTY keyboard, would once more be mine to command. You can’t imagine how comforting the notion of a keyboard where the Y is next to the T can be to a man who has miss-typed his password almost every single day since arriving in Germany.

According to the shipping company in England, my things had taken a little side trip to Switzerland but, I was assured, they would be back in Germany today, and on my doorstep sometime this afternoon. After a brief, though ill-fated, early-morning jaunt into town (I was looking for a shop that sold curtains), I spent most of todaz today moping about, looking for excuses not to keep reading Don Quixote and listening out for the sound of the missing truck.

A sound which never came.

Oh well, it has to arrive tomorrow, doesn’t it? I mean surely…

Other than the furniture and creature comforts, one of the things I am most looking forward to getting back tomorrow is my bike. The countryside around Überlingen is a cyclist’s dream, with purpose built-bike trails criss-crossing fields, winding through tall green forests and skirting the edge of the lake below. I’m really looking forward to exploring the area, and that should provide the motivation I need to get fit. Hopefully, with so much beauty to see, I will be riding every chance I get.

We shall see.

Well and truly gerschlunked
Just what is it about my appearance that inspires little old ladies the world over to ask me for directions? Since arriving in Germany I’ve been approached on no less than six occasions. In the same period I’ve had a grand total of just three and a half German lessons. If any of these old ladies wants to know my name or where I work or even what country I am from, you can be sure that I’m ready, willing and able to help. As for the best way to get to Gerschlunken-Strasse, well, you might as well ask the cat.

Getting about is proving to be difficult. While the UK was pretty much set up for people without cars, Germany really isn’t. I find it interesting that the only practical way to cope with the draconian recycling laws here is to have a car to carry everything about. I still can’t figure out how the hell getting an habitual public transport user like myself so pissed off that I go out and buy a car, just so I can recycle my bottles, can possibly be a net-gain for the environment.

Sometime Monday morning, men with a truck will be begin the long, lonely task of shepherding my worldly goods from a lock-up garage in Surrey to Dust Bunny Central here in Überlingen. So far they’ve been unable to give me an estimate on the delivery date, but I have hopes of it all arriving before the local telecoms people get my DSL line installed (“probably before the end of May”).

But enough complaining for now. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I don’t love it here. This evening, as Justin was driving me home from an afternoon at his place ironing my work shirts (yes, my life really is that exciting), I experienced one of those take your breath away, gasp-and-you’ll-miss-it moments.

Let me just set the scene. It rained today, though not too heavily. The normally glass calm lake was a little choppy. It was about seven and we were driving through a little valley of golden Rape Seed plants just as the sun was just beginning to put in an appearance. At the top of the rise was a beautiful old country church with tall white tower. As we drove up the gentle hill, the lake below came into view behind the church. The clouds high above had a kind of purplish-golden tint as the sun started to peek through, while shining far in the distance, as clear as I’ve ever seen them, the snow-capped Alps suddenly appeared from nowhere to frame the scene.

I wish I’d had my camera, but then it really was a once in a lifetime moment. It’ll never be that beautiful again.

It just couldn’t be.

Moving swiftly on from the sublime to the ridiculous, sometimes it’s difficult being cursed with a 10-year-old’s sense of humour. I make one smart-alecky comment about the general size and shape of German Women’s noses, and the next thing you know it’s all, “Hey, Heidi! Kieran says you’ve got a big nose.”

It’s all so unfair. I’m not that person; I’m really not. I’m actually quite liberal on the old facial protuberance front. And frankly, living in Germany, you kind of have to be.