Schillervogel

Alnatura has recently opened up beside me.  Everything there is organic, except possibly for the man in the funny hat doing the greeting at the grand opening, who seemed nice but might well have been synthetic.

I thought this would mean I'd start eating healthily.  Which, given my limited cooking skills and suspicion of misshapen vegetables, means I thought I'd put chickens that had had happier and less drug-addled existences into my fajitas and curries.  Realistically, I'm not going to go into a butcher's and use my clumsy German to utter the names of body parts I wouldn't dare mention elsewhere, so until now I was left with only the suspiciously cheap bits of particularly well-endowed three-breasted birds stocked by Netto.

But it turns out that funding the sort of lavish lifestyles and thorough educations that Alnatura birds have presumably had doesn't make me feel any better.

I do intend to ponder animal rights and ethical eating issues one day, but preferably at a point in my life when I live near a mid-priced organic store.

Frankfurt 3 v Wolfsburg 0 and/or 1

I went to my first German football match last week.

So now I'm a Frankfurt fan.  That seemed the most sensible option.  Approximately 40,000 of the people were Frankfurt fans, with just one miserable sliver of Wolfsburg green nestled in the far corner of the stadium.  Best to stick with the majority, especially when the majority of the majority are drunk, even if they are cheerfully drunk.

And polite.  It's nice for English-tuned ears to hear loud German crowds chanting in entirely non-sinister settings, and the interactions between the announcer and crowd typically went something like this one when Gekas scored:
- Theofanis...
-- GEKAS!
- Frankfurt...
-- THREE!
- Wolfsburg...
-- NIL!
- Thank you!
-- YOU'RE WELCOME!

So they can be polite, even if they'd elbow you out of the way in a queue.  I was impressed that everyone knew, seemingly instinctively, what to shout back.  Although there were suggestions of revisionist history whenever they all stuck stoically to 'nil' for Wolfsburg, even after they had scored.  I didn't approve of that.

But I suppose it shouldn't be surprising, given that their common word for 'history' is the same as for 'story' (Geschichte), and the word that means 'history that really definitely properly happened' (Historie) looks stolen from another language, and doesn't turn up that much in daily life.

Medical Zoo

I walk past this sign most days.

I've not yet felt compelled to visit either the medical clinic or the zoo, but I'm curious.

Regrets

Sometimes, when I walk to work before really having woken up, I faintly catch the scent of events going on around me, but saunter sleepily on without paying any real attention to them.

Then, a few steps later - when it's too late - I suddenly realise that, actually, the scene was intriguing enough that it really would have been worth checking out more carefully.

That I will now never know the story behind the morning with the lady, the older gentleman, the brushes and the mysterious tantalising cloth is one of my bigger regrets in Germany, and in life generally.

The Effortless Skateboard

Although it is quite natural to make less effort in some (or all) aspects of life whenever one senses that a relationship is rock-solid, it should nevertheless be kept in mind that there is always a danger of pushing this reduction in exertions too far, so that the other might even begin to feel taken advantage of.

The Owner

I'm not quite sure if I saw a man with his dog or a dog with his man, but in any case a quick computation of their relative strengths led to the conclusion that the whims of only one of them could really determine whether their walk would, in the final analysis, be considered a pleasant stroll or a terrible bloodbath.

The Spectator

Even if (almost) everyone loves a good love story (provided it's not too sickening), it was striking to note, from the momentary observation of a brief flicker of an expression, that when a young lady does happen to find her handsome and (remarkably) tall prince, the whole world might not necessarily join wholeheartedly in the celebration.

Living the dream

The racing blue convertible.

The young, blonde girlfriend.

The large, green leafy plant.


Most genies offer precisely 3 wishes.

His satisfied grin as they waited at the traffic lights was the proof that, if you're clever about it, it's enough.

Maltesers

Last week, I had a delicious, if mildly unbalanced and slightly overwhelming, conversation with a very friendly girl about Maltesers.  Although, looking back with the benefit of some extra googling, it might have been about Malteser.

The musical relationship

After watching a little girl drum up quite a bit of support, I have concluded that there exists an inverse relationship between the innate cuteness of a street musician and how talented they need to be.

Ought to be able to hold a violin, more or less unaided.

Should be able to play pretty well.

Must be incredible.

Although there would then be a lower bound, below which musical talent is no longer particularly necessary.

May benefit from an ability to hold eye contact.