Der Himmel über Berlin

I was in Latvia at the weekend.

It was tremendous, reassuring, old-fashioned fun.

And my mindless disregard for my own financial well-being might even manage to haul Latvia out of the depressed fug of overpriced everything and underpaid everyone.

Either that, or it will remind all Rigans that every English-speaking tourist is there to be utterly fleeced, especially the ones that rent out paddle boats and deliberately paddle under fountains. Five times.

Most especially the ones that impersonate well-known members of the Latvian Green Party.

Other highlights included an amazing 8-1 win for FC Skonto over their local rivals Olimpjs, that we would have seen had it 1). been played in the stadium it was scheduled to be played in, and 2) had it taken place at the time it was scheduled to have taken place at;

the Latvian seaside:
The most amazing diagram ever, EVER, at an open-air museum:

Creepy nouveau-traditional Latvian sculptures:

And and even creepier former Soviet government building

MIght have some more to say about the weekend tomorrow, might not. Time will tell.

Those who know me know that I am not a very ambitious or motivated individual. This has always been the case, through my late teenage years with admonishments of wasted talent ringing in my years, all the way up to modern-day mid-twenties me. The only difference is that now the admonishments come more from me than those nearest and dearest to me, concerned for my future.

Attempts to change this generally follow the same pattern - a couple of hour's dedicated job hunting, or soul searching, or checking out university courses, followed by me getting bored, taking a break for a cup of tea and forgetting all about my malcontent for another few months.

Reflecting on these pathetically brief mustering of energy always upset me. Am I really that incapable of hauling myself out of a rut?

But this last week has shown me why I am so tragically uninterested in professionally developing myself - I haven't seen anything that is truly right for me. When I do see it though, the application gets finished and sent in record time, and fingers get crossed to the point of making me look like a polio sufferer.

Like the private school in Charlottenburg looking for a part-time English teacher to work with sixteen to twenty year olds preparing for the school-leaving exams. Or like the translation agency looking for native English speakers to translate Italian football websites into English.

I'm quite vastly underqualified for both of them, but I want them both so badly and know that I would be very good at both of them. And they wouldn't interfere with my BCUK work or camp work.

*recrosses fingers even harder*

A friend of mine just sent me this link. He said that it reminded him of me.

Feel free to watch, but do not feel free to ask why. Be warned, it's a little vulgar.

(it's probably blatantly obvious anyway)

When I lived in Italy, one of my students game me a ticket to an Italy v Spain friendly game. Result, I thought, until I found out that the ticket was in the Genoa section, the hated rivals of my beloved Sampdoria. Undeterred, I went along anyway and spent the ninety minutes biting my lip - the only course of action available to a true and loyal Samp fan surrounded by the vitriol-spouting inbred oiks that are Genoa fans. I was Luke Skywalker among twenty thousand Darth Vaders, and they had no inkling of my true identity.

When I am back on the island, sometimes going to a religious occasion is unavoidable. Be it a christening, a funeral or Christmas mass, I have to sit quietly in the pews between my folks, trying my best not to burst into devil flame while sprouting horns and a forked tail. I might perhaps manage to muster up a prayer or blessing or two to continue the pretence. I bet even one or two of the blinder members of the congregation have mistaken me for a believer.

What I am trying to say is that sometimes, despite generally being something of a blunt loudmouth, I can manage to suspend my beliefs and blend into the background when necessary.

Tonight, however, these abilities will undergo their sternest examination yet.

I am going to a vegetarian buffet with my two favourite veggobblers, sweetymon and nittygritty, and am skeptical as to whether I will be able to resist the urge pick up the nearest animal and start chewing on it.

I promise to try my best though. I just hope nittygritty doesn't bring her dog along.

Oh you triangular wedge of joy
You are better than bananas
In the way that my favourite aunt is better than my second favourite aunt
Your tomato slice
Falls cheekily out
As I unwrap you
I want to eat you all in one go
But then you'd be all gone
And that would make me sad
Even though I wouldn't be as hungry

With all this BNP and election talk bouncing around my ears, all of which genuinely interests me, I think it's time I made a little confession.

I've never voted in my life.

This is not completely my fault. Soon after my eighteenth birthday, I registered to vote in what I think was probably the 2002 General Election, only to find out on my arrival at the polling station that my registration had been cocked up and that my barely-broken voice would be smothered by the marvellous party of ineffiency that takes place in Irish administrative services on a daily basis. Add my departure for foreign shores soon after into the equation and I almost have a valid excuse.

I always declare that I have very little interest in politics, but I am beginning to see that that is not strictly true. I couldn't care less about Presidential or General elections - I don't feel that they affect my life in any real way. I would vote if I had the chance, but more to prevent someone I didn't like from getting into office. There is no BNP equivalent on the Little Island, and since I don't believe that Ireland will have an O'bama anytime soon - a radiating beam of light, vanquishing all the feckless rogues that have populated the Irish political scene in the interest of self-service for as long as I can remember, my voting card is quite likely to remain dusty and invalid for quite some time.

Certain referenda, however, I would like to vote in. The Lisbon Treaty, for one - if I had thought for one moment that it would be rejected, I would have registered. Maybe I'll sort that out for round two.

Maybe.

Someone I know has just moved into an apartment near Berlin's well-known Bergmannkiez - an area full of little cafes, restaurants, pubs and shops of every description.

Going to visit this person is a monumental effort of willpower for me.

Not because I don't want to see her, quite the opposite.

But when I am assaulted by the delicious smells of Tibetan, Italian, Thai, Turkish and Indian food from all angles (and this only on the one-minute walk from the u-bahn station), my desire to eat goes out of control, regardless of how full I already am.

So, in an effort to restrain me, we have decided to systematically eat in every single restaurant and cafe on the block, in order. We started last Monday in the Tibetan place directly downstairs (thank goodness the glorious aromas don't waft up to the living room - if they did I would surely have jumped out the window in a frenzied fit of gluttony by now).

It's probably going to take the whole summer to get through them all, but we are determined, we are focussed, and most importantly, we are gluttons. Or, at least, I am - and that will be enough to see us through.

Of course, if anyone wants to help us, you are more than welcome to pop by for a feast. Just be warned - it won't be pretty.

This morning, two people were having a blazing row right outside my bedroom window. They were standing face to face, bellowing at each other.

Even though they were speaking German, it was still a language I don't understand. Shouting really is beyond comprehension for me (disclaimer: not when it is to do with football) - how can anyone possibly think that the best way to get someone to see your point is by raising your voice and getting aggressive?

There is a large part of me that tries as much as possible to avoid conflict, due to general pacifism and apathy but much more so due to how frustratingly emotional and close to tears I get when dealing with difficult and belligerent people.

However, on the few occasions in my life that a discussion has resulted in someone shouting at me, it's been like an enormous weight off my shoulders. At that point, I calmly ask the person to stop shouting at me, and then calmly walk away. I am safe in the knowledge that that person is not in possession of the requisite brainpower to have a discussion, and is therefore no longer worthy of my time.

By the time I came down the stairs to head off to blog HQ, the pair were still standing face to face, but in a far different pose from the one I had witnessed from my bedroom window.

Different strokes for different folks.

My sofa has been transformed from a bed back into a sofa, the living room is no longer a bedroom and my little bed is my own again.

The washing machine has been going non-stop, cleaning stinky fart-ridden sheets and clothes caught in unpredictable and aggressive summer downpours.

The kitchen has been sterilised from top to bottom and leftovers polished off in swashbucklingly gluttonous style, well in keeping with mood of the previous few days.

Yes, the Second Berlin Blogmeet is over and done with, and I am filled with the warm contentment that comes with knowing that a long and sober sleep is coming my way very shortly.

I want to thank everyone that came all the way over here to hang out and see Berlin and blog HQ. And to anyone who was disappointed by blog HQ, I did warn that it was just a boring office, albeit one always stocked with a crate of beer...

I love this town and I love blogging, so if you all left here feeling a little more positively towards those two things, then I feel that it was a very successful and worthwhile weekend.

And if not, well, I still laughed a lot, ate a lot of excellent food, drank a lot of excellent beer and all in all had a bloody good time.

Thanks, y'all.