Copying my friend: probably not for the last time

I'm a genius at wasting time, at disappearing down black holes of the internet. Probably so is pretty much anyone my age. The picture above is taken through an iced up car window two days ago in south Bavaria - today it is spring again, sunny and 20 degrees Celcius. I said "Man, I could almost go swimming in the lake today!", and my wiser younger sister talked me out of it. It isn't the ocean, she says - it becomes seriously much colder in the winter.

So instead I read my beautiful friend's blog, where she posted about her love for a poet - and I disappeared down a rabbit hole of associated acts and found this, which seems so poignant and perfect when I'm here in south Bavaria at my recently deceased Opa's house, probably for the last time - certainly in terms of the house being how it is now; in terms of it still being his. I'm sitting in his study and his notes to himself still seem so fresh.

Excerpt from 'Poets at Lunch'

by Stanley Moss

Last leaves no time to hesitate.

I would drink strong coffee before my last sleep.

I’d rather remember childhood, rehearse forgiveness,

listen to birdsong or a Spanish housemaid singing,

scrubbing a tiled floor in Seville—

I’d scrub and sing myself. O Susanna

Susanna, quanta pena mi costi.

I would strangle the snakes of lastness

like Herakles in his crib

before I cocked my ear to Mozart for the last time.

There is not sky or clouds enough to cover

the music I would hear for the last time.

In Transit: Sydney and Dubai

You know how on the plane they always give you way too much food, way too often, but you can't help but eat it all (down to the last cracker and cheese), because like, what else are you going to do?

So anyway, I arrived late, sweaty and flustered at Karen's house in Sydney (the taxi driver, the single worst of my life, dropped my sister and I off in the wrong place) - and I was thinking, oh no, she's such a sweetheart, she will have cooked us something amazing and I am SO FULL. I mean it. Stuffed. Don't need food.

Well. Yes she was cooking us something, and let me tell you, Karen's potato greek salad was a) just what the doctor ordered anyway (fresh food!) and b) so good I forgot all about how full I was. Then I drank gin and tonic. Then I ate that piece of cake. Yep. I am the boss.

Anyway, I think I'm making a name for myself - internationally no less - as the World's Worst House Guest. I turn up, flustered and lacking in charm, eat your delicious food, get slightly drunk and then pass out at 9pm before getting a taxi back to the airport at 3am - which means you need to get up to lock the door. I won't always do that exact combination of things, but similar - for instance, in Wellington, I drunkenly snuck in to my friend's house (albeit with her consent), borrowed her boyfriend's tent and left before she ever saw me. Oh and ate their bircher muesli and drank their excellent coffee. I am a true blue. (I think these kindhearted idiots must see me as some kind of 'long term investment' ... dear me!).


Anyway, back to important topics: dessert. Above: the pomegranate flavoured frozen yoghurt my sister bought me in Dubai airport. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. Way to combine my top favourite things ever in one genius idea. Also, yeah, fresh blueberries, raspberries, blackberries and pomegranate seeds just sprinkled on top. The Middle East fucking rules and don't let anyone else ever tell you any different.

Speaking of - see my window view of science-fiction Dubai below, featuring the Burj Khalifa tower and the Palm Islands.