Classmates Reunion Part 1

Is the answer 42?  No.  In this case it is 41: 41 year since Grasshopper and I last saw each other, when we were cute little pads brats classmates at a British primary school near the East German border.

Praise be to Facebook!  Nearly ten years ago, Grasshopper and I got in touch after I had shared a 1977 class photo on our dads’ old comrades Facebook page.  Then there was the Big C Diagnosis on the last Wednesday of October 2017, since when Grasshopper and I have often chewed the cud, and bombarded each other with jokes and internet memes via Whatsapp.

Fast-forward to last Friday.  Too idle to take the bus from my flat to DUS airport, I take a taxi.  Having a bit of time to kill, I set up “office” at the ultra-modern McDonalds.  The day gets off to a good start.  Plenty of empty tables.  I take my breakfast with one large coffee (much needed to kick-start my day).  I sit down at a table on the edge of the restaurant.  Munch, munch, slurp.  Diary time.  Samuel Pepys/Adrian Mole/Konrad Kujau mode.  I check my smartphone.  Grasshopper’s plane has not taken off yet, according to the messages from LCY (London City Airport).  It’s delayed 45 minutes.  Time for another coffee and a quick lookaround to see where the toilet is… ah, there it is.  Just round the corner.

I’m looking forward to seeing Grasshopper in the flesh.  We’ve had some really good laughs over the years via the internet.  We’ve had some really good, deep conversations.  He’s a net contributor.  He’s a switched-on bloke, who does a lot of good work in his spare time for a youth organisation.  He has a similar warped sense of humour to mine.  He is also a big fan of Not the The Nine O’Clock News.

But will we get on when we meet?  “Captain Paranoia” keeps whispering in my ear.  People are different when you meet them in person, or if you mention Danny Jones, etc,  who you couldn’t stand, and then it turns that Danny Jones is in fact, best mates with Grasshopper.

I go order another coffee and make a few phone calls.  I surf on my smartphone and find a few cute animals videos to smile at and to forward to friends.  My bladder tells me it is time to stand up and move.  Toilet.  Off to gate to meet’n’greet Grasshopper.  Out he comes.

No hugs.  No embraces.  We pads brats don’t do that.  A good firm handshake and pleasantries.  Without further delay we head to our train, and then chat for England during the short hop to DUS Hauptbahnhof.

Twenty minutes later we two are sending Schatz a selfie from the Hbf, getting ready to explore my adopted home town.

Have a welcoming day won’t you!

[To be continued.]

grayscale photography of man walking on stairs

Photo by Flavio Ardito on Pexels.com

 

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I love radio – part 94

I’ve always loved radio, which is good in Germany, because German TV is mostly pretty dire.

As a pads brat in Wolfenbüttel, I used to love listening to BFBS and its evening yes/no game, your chance to win a beer mat courtesy of…  (I believe half of the GDR and Poland used to join me in listening to BFBS.)

When I was ten years old, my parents gave me a little transistor radio for my birthday.  I used to listen to BBC World Service on medium wave via a cheap earphone, with the radio under my pillow.

As a sixth-former, I used to listen to Nightowls, a phone-in show on Metro FM, from 10pm till 2am.  It was the station’s most listened-to show.  99% of the time, the breakfast show is the flagship show on radio.

On my year abroad in Russia, I used to tune into BBC World Service, this time on… hissssssssssssssss… shhhhhhhhhhhhhh… hisssssssssssss… short wave, generally in the wee small hours.

Nowadays life is easier.  I listen via TuneIn.  Mainly to BBC Tees, Radio 4 and Blue Planet Prank Radio.  Occasionally to Choral Evensong on BBC Radio 3.  Radio 1 I haven’t listened to since 1994.  Nicht mein Fall…

As for Radio 2, I haven’t listened to that for years.  But previously I listened to it all the time in the early 80’s, in the days of Terry Wogan and his breakfast show.  Not only, but also…  I remembered this comedy and music group, The Grumbleweeds.  I like bawdy humour, but I also like their corny humour with bad puns, etc.  Enjoy this clip.

Have a weedy day, won’t you!

 

 

 

Stalin is *not* Dead

This clip from TV Turkmenistan really does show a fine example of mass sycophancy, not seen since the day of Stalin in the USSR or Ceasescu in Romania.  Not so much HROSL (Huge Roar of Sycophantic Laughter) as HROSA (Huge Roar of Sycophantic Applause).

Here’s the clip.

https://www.rferl.org/a/our-hero-lavish-praise-for-turkmen-president-s-cutbacks/29521371.html

turkmen.jpg

Even Jeremy Corbyn wasn’t afforded this much obsequious applause and adulation at the Labour Party conference.  (And that is setting quite a standard, comrades, Genossen and tovarishchi…)

Have a sycophantic day, won’t you!

Tag der Deutschen Einheit

Tomorrow is Tag der Deutschen Einheit (Day of German Unity).

Over forty years ago, in the summer of 1978, I remember standing up in the Harz Mountains watching the GDR border guards rebuilding the fence and thinking and saying to the late Sunray, “The GDR will still be there when I’m gone.”

Then October 1989 happened, and the rest is, well, literally history.

mauerfall

Have a unified day, won’t you!

On this day…

Well, actually on this day yesterday… wind back 57 years… the Berlin Wall went up.  And the rest is history until the next milestone in 1989.

As a pads brat living in Wolfenbüttel 1975-1978, I never got to see the Wall itself.  Our family did make regular weekend trips down to the village of Mattierzoll to see the Inner-Deutsche Grenze (the “Inner-German Border”) and to be photographed by the Grenztruppen border guards… watching us… watching them… watching us.

Image result for grenzaufklärer ddr

These visits left their mark on me. On reaching the border, I used to feel nauseous, as if approaching a person that I knew had murdered hundreds of people in cold blood.

  • How can any regime imprison its own people?
  • How can it claim to be democratic?

Have a democratic day, won’t you!

berlin-wall-fall-57ed777240037-57ed777266e75

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

The place: Bordar House Cafe, Masham, North Yorkshire.

The year: 2003.

The time: 11:00.

Sunray and I are both enjoying a 10 000 calories belly-buster.  If you want to eat well in England, eat cooked breakfast three times a day.

brekkie

A random stranger walks in, decides he is God’s gift to comedy.

Looks like you two are enjoying that!  Is that your third one of today?

I look at Sunray.  Sunray looks back at me.  He nods and winks to me.  Mr Comedian wants to have some fun at us.  We’ll have some fun with him.

I am wearing my DDR (German Democratic Republic t-shirt).

DDRtop

I speak:

Wie bitte?  Ich hab’ überhaupt keine Ahnung was Sie sagen.  Tut mir leid.

Mr Comedian:

Oh, you don’t speak English.  Foreigner, yeah?

I point to my DDR logo:

Ja ja ja!  Bear-leen, Cher-mun-ee, ja.  Sorry, my English ist not gut.

Mr Comedian:

Oh right, bloody krauts, yeah?

G in G:

Ja, ja, crowd of chermans here, ja.  Big crowd at ze market place, ja!

Our man finally leaves us to our maple-cured bacon, baked beans and black pudding and sup our tea in peace.

Two minutes later…

Mornin’, Sunray!  Mornin’, Ginge in Germany!  How are you doin’, fellas?

Ron, one of the locals, had just walked in to order his Saturday bacon sandwich and had decided to greet us.

Sunray replies:

Morning, Ron!  Good to see you.  Come and sit down with us.

Mr Comedian hears Sunray, me and Ron chatting away (in English).  He realises the laugh is on him.  He scowls.  He purses his lips so tightly, that they look a cat’s anus.  He curses us as he leaves the cafe.

You two tw*ts think you’re so clever, don’t you!

Sunray and I laugh uncontrollably.  Ron asks:

Er, what’s the joke, fellas?

Have a Teutonic day, won’t you!