Author: Christopher-Dorset

This post has been promised for several weeks now. My apologies for the delay in writing it, I’ve been a bit busy with courses at university.

Trier was under the French zone of influence after the war ended, much to the chagrin of the Germans who lived there. Although the British and the people of the Commonwealth Dominions along with the Americans had fought valiantly against the evils of Nazi Germany, they generally showed little ill will to the conquered German people. They ensured that the Germans would be well treated and would have their basic dignity respected. The French did not. They would often brutally beat German civilians who had nothing to do with the war and could not have said anything without risking their own lives. Even decades after the way, the French were still there and behaving themselves dismally.

My mother, born in the early 1960s, was keenly aware of the French military presence. Continue reading “Little Green Hopping Creatures, Smelling Faintly of Garlic, in Germany.”

Here is a video from a Portuguese fado singer I like. It’s really a stunning video.

This is my last week of holiday before I am sadly obligated to return to that “other” place for the majority of the year with only small bits of time in which escape is possible.
The previous week has not inspired much optimism. Nutso the Clown, the strange little Chinese man who has come to worship the ground I walk on for no other reason than the accident of my having been born in Germany, left me 5 voice mail messages after not having bothered me for several months. Well, at least since that time he rang me up over 80 times in 2 days after I told him to sod off. (I’ll spare all of you the sordid details, but will state with full confidence that the man is a slime and more than a little disturbed)

Other than that, the university has inspired another rant. Continue reading “Sarcasm alert.”

The original content of this post was removed by the author to avoid giving further exposure to a likely fake letter. Apologies are extended to the site owners for not confirming the veracity of the letter and making what was proved to be an unsupportable critique of the management’s diligence.

While I was away on holiday this summer, my flat underwent a few renovations.

Though I had expected things to be a bit different when I returned, the state in which my tiny urban residence had been left was somewhat shocking to me. Chairs, art posters, and books were all thrown on my bed. Dust was everywhere, the builder made no effort at all in cleaning up after himself.

Even the work that he did was lacking. He had put a type of foam tape around the door opening to the garden, but had closed it before the new paint had fully dried. Much of it tore when I opened the door the first time. In his haste, he had also managed to get paint on my mattress.   Though these things did make me question his attention to details, it was not enough to displease me greatly.

There was one thing which, however, did sour my mood a bit. Though most of my furniture is admittedly cheap, the intent being to have something which would only be used for a couple years, I did buy one nice piece of furniture, an antique Japanese wardrobe. It’s a lovely, well-built piece which was made between 1910-1920. For some queer reason, the builder decided to stick a paper pin on top of it, leaving a nasty hole and taking out a small piece of woof.

My landlady will explain the situation to him, something which will become senselessly complicated as the man only bloody speaks Chinese. I admit that my mood is a bit sour about the entire affair, and I intend to seek compensation for damage done to the wardrobe, which under California law he is obligated to pay.

In my opinion, this is one of the better singers of her generation. Pleasant voice, not ostentatious. Someone who will probably live for some time yet and probably have a career for many years to come.

I’ve been gone a fair amount this summer, twice within the USA and once to China. It’s been interesting, to say the least. Surprisingly the USA, outside of the parentheses (The North East coast and the Pacific Coast states), is a wonderful place to be. My first journey, to Minnesota/Iowa/South Dakota, was an unexpected joy. Completely out of character, I was rendered unable to make a single sarcastic comment the entire time there. The people are warm, welcoming, down to earth, honest, and blessed with a dry sense of humour which makes life go by much more easily. This was a welcome change from California where life is, to say the least, at times a bit frustrating and the people irksome. There is something to the old cliché about the freedom of the road, the ability to tear down a highway at 90 miles an hour with the music playing in the background, nothing but empty fields and blue skies all around. By the first evening, despite being notoriously prickly and difficult to approach in California, I was sitting around the grill drinking beers with the other men telling jokes and exchanging stories. Continue reading “Where I’ve been.”

Please allow us to spare a thought for the poor, much-maligned King George III. He wasn’t such a terrible chap, having been one of the few to be faithful to his wide and respectful of parliament. Pity that a number of disgruntled colonists chose to throw a tantrum. Had they not, the United States may have turned out more like Canada or Australia, having also not put itself through a civil war which took the lives of 1/10th of its population — mostly civilian.