Happy New Year April 7, 2006Posted by BiB in Uncategorized.
No, I’m not getting my Pesachs mixed up with my Rosh HaShanahs. I mean happy 2006. It’s been a busy start to the year in the Bib household and I seem to have done nothing but work and worry since January 1st. Anyway, yesterday was declared a public holiday and we decided to go and have some art therapy, preceded by a bit of emergency retail therapy and succeeded by a bit of drinking, eating and smoking therapy. (Darlings, NEVER go to Amrit on Oranienburgerstr. It’s impossible not to eat twelve times your bodyweight, even if you just ask for a small glass of water and a slice of cucumber you’re inundated with rice and sweetmeats and all sorts of subcontinental delicacies.)I’ve explained before that the Russian(s) think(s) fun is a sin. Ease is also a sin, so every operation of any kind must be made as difficult as possible to make sure a hint of suffering somehow enters the equation. If the phone bill comes, and you have money in your bank account to pay it, hide it in a murky draw until you get the reminder and threats to cut you off and a fine making the whole process nicely more expensive. That kind of thing. Similarly, if you want to buy a new screw because one has fallen out of the back of your computer, or replace the quarter-watt – or is it amp? – lightbulb from the fridge, don’t go to the nearest shop but do three days of surfing to virtually shop around beforehand and then find a shop in Spandau that’s open for half a minute a month for the sake of saving 3 cents. And so it was yesterday when paper had to be bought. Not wall- or news-. Just paper. Plain white, A4 paper, for when we want to print something out, which happens about once a millennium. “We can probably get that in the shop fantastically conveniently located nearby, can’t we, and not have a detour on the way to our art therapy class?” “No, I want the type that’s made from recycled Albanian deciduous forest cowdung, which you can buy in Charlottenburg.”
But darlings, I shouldn’t complain. For as we shopped for Albanian paper, I got my year back on track. Not that it’s been THAT off track. But I’m sure it would have been EVEN more on track had I only had 2006 pages in my filofax. Now I have. (Honestly, you think they’d have been reduced by April. Cost a bloody fortune.) So now the year can begin, and I can pen in the hundreds of social occasions I’ve only got synapsed in currently (once I’ve written to all the people who’ve promised to visit to remind me when they’re coming. Oh, and the annual summer Euro-wedding).
This might turn into a longy. Maybe it needs to be one topic per post. We’ll soldier on. Let me know if you’re still with me…
So, with the Albanian cowdung paper, filofax pages and emergency underwear and sock replenishment purchases having been made – whatever did happen to the ablative absolute? – we S-Bahned ourselves to Melancholie.
No, no. Too much for one post. Melancholie can wait, as we had to, for half an hour to get in…