Before we went back to London from Sheringham we had a typical Sunday lunch in a restaurant. The meal was like you would imagine English cuisine, in every aspect. A choice of typical roasts: beef, pork, lamb, turkey and fish, with roast potatoes, cauliflower, cabbage, carrots and peas. The main criterion for a good meal seems to be quantity rather than quality.

A bad habit in restaurants today, which I also experienced in Hamburg, is the preparation of roast potatoes: boiled potatoes (home made or more often the small convenience stuff) are thrown into the chip pan for roasting. This will make a wonderful leathery skin and a mouldy tasting interior.

Michael and Reginald had to do to the sea after lunch. I was there the day before.

After just a short night we only had a small breakfast and the went on to Sheringham. Supplies for the train ride of 4 hours were bought on the way and as the boys had the trolleys I had to pay. A very friendly woman at the cashier’s desk asked me rapidly if I had a Boot’s card. As I did not know what she meant, I had to ask her twice what she meant. Everybody was talking English quite fast. If I ever get into a situation like that again I will simply say that I forgot my hearing aid. Well, onto the train and changing into a slow train in Norwich. Axel’s image captures an impression of the beautifully rebuilt Norwich station.

From here on it was like a journey into the past somehow as the scenery made me think that Peter Ustinov as Hercule Poirot would come around the corner at any moment. On the train we found a seat across from a gentleman, who might have been a retired colonel, and he told us a lot about the area. Right from the beginning he realised from my accent that we might be Germans and greeted us with some German words. At Gunton station he told us that there was a royal edict making every second train stop there, even if nobody would get on or off. Background to this edict was that Eward VII owned a the country estate Sandringham (still a royal estate) and therfore always used this train. This edict obviously still is in operation.

Note from Axel: The Gentleman obviously mixed two facts. A short research revealed that Gunton was built for Lord Suffield who lived there and was one of the main investors into the “Bittern Line“. Edward VII’s station is Wolferton, also in Norfolk but not on this line.

In Sheringham we still managed to go to the butcher’s and by some wonderful cutlets, as we wanted to prepare a common dinner. Most of the houses in Sheringham are decorated with big pebbles from the beach which are either used in half or wholly. There are nice gable decorations made from wood, painted in different colours, therefore all in all a picturesque scene.

Saturday we then for shopping. We had planned a dinner with friends of Michael’s which proved to be a success. Ironically two Germans prepared a typical English dinner and if we had found muffin forms in the house, Axel even would have prepared a Yorkshire pudding to accompany the roast beef. Doreen, a lady in her seventies, rounded of the imagination of remembrances from Agatha Christie novels. She had the blackest humour which I ever experienced in a lady of her age. Englishmen are much more tolerant towards foreigners I think due to the long experience with the British Empire and that continues until an old age.
It was a wonderful evening.

Hanna had complained about all the cables in the cupboards when travellin in the UK. And Michael said that he has the same problem. That was when I remembered one of the wisdoms of life:

“For any sock that (proverbially) disappears in the washing machine, an unused cable will appear in one cupboard”

Prologue

We still sat together before the usual Thursday Jour Fix as I still had some time because Gerd and Karsten were taking me to Ostkreuz by car.

First Act
Only when I went down the ramp from the platform towards the airport at Schönefeld station I realised that the jeans which we had bought at Ebay were “hanging buttocks trousers” (Axel’s expression). And now I walked towards the terminal, one hand at the waistband the other at the trolley handle, as the shuttlebus is no longer operational.

When I then sat watching the gate indication equipped with a cheeseburger and all flights with a departure time after ours were on, only mine was not called, I got slightly anxious. Hence I asked my nice young neighbours, Englishmen, what our gate would be. They told me, also slightly uneasy, that they did not know either, but that they were there since 7 am (it was past 8 pm now) as their first flight to Stansted had been cancelled. Therfore we were quite relieved when our flight was called.

We then went (my hand still securing the waistband) to the farthest corner of the departure hall and I even found a seat. However, no plane arrived. Instead there was an announcement that we would take off about 90 minutes later than scheduled. I managed to call Axel who was affected similarily, so that we were about to arrive at the same time in the end. We agreed to buy the tickets for the train from Stansted to London on the plane already as he thought that the trains to London would run until 1 am at least.

When in the end we were seated on the plane after more than one and a half hours, the admirable pilot told us that it wouold last about 20 minutes before a deiceing machine would be available to prepare the plane for takeoff. When I asked him the steward told me that there would be a continous bus shuttle between Stansted and London. I just accepted my fate.

Second Act

After the arrival at Stansted I went to the baggage hall as fast as my trousers permitted. In the meantime it was 1:15 am and I hoped to meet my beloved husband there. But he was not there as he had the same wish for a cigarette, he was there much earlier than me and already had collected all information for our trip to London. My mobile still had enough energy to call him and, pacified by the call, I got my suitcase from from the conveyor belt with the help of my new female acquaintance. All the men just hung around and did not help me. Finally I then found Axel and after 5 hours was able to smoke a cigarette in front of the building.

It took another 30 minutes until we arrived at the correct stop with (unfortunately) more than 100 other travellers. Of course the first bus left without us and the next arrived within 20 minutes with a very reliable driver. He first loaded the luggage onto the bus before checking the tickets and then allowing everyone onto the warm bus. Even if the seats were more comfortable than Ryanair’s waiting in the cold had the effect that I was not really able to relax during the trip. Well, in the end we arrived at about 3:10 am (4:10 am Berlin time) at Liverpool Street Station.

Third Act

I saw a cab and asked Axel for the duration of the walk to Michael’s and he answered that I already had walked it and the it was ok., about the distance from our flat to the Ostkreuz station. After 5 minutes walking he corrected himself and said it was more like the distance from our flat to the policlinic in Grünberger Straße. After a further 10 minutes I refused to walk on and sat down at a bus stop. I was about to cry and my trousers still were slipping, even if Axel already had taken control of both suitcases to make it easier for me. Axel’s persuasion in the the end made me to walk on, well, there was no bus running anyway, and in the end we arrived at Michael’s, me be thrown back to the mental state of a five year old petulant child.
Epilogue

If somebody goes on a journey… I never thought that a trip to England would be as exhausting as one to Toronto. Michael’s reception in the middle of the night however was that cordial that in the end I even thought to have arrived in Canada, with my family.

On 9 February I was reminded of a variant of an old joke: Two snowflakes meet in mid-air an one asks the other: “Where are you going?” – “To the Alpes to enable wonderful skiing for people. And you?” – “To the UK to really disturb air traffic.”

In winter one should really avoid taking an airplane. After I had the “Italian experience” at the and of January, since the 9th it is the “Stansted experience”. During the morning of that day there was snow in the UK and some airports had to close down for a couple of hours. Until lunchtime the landing strips were free again, but all schedules had broken down.

Hanna wanted to fly from Berlin and I from “Hamburg (Lübeck)”. My flight was supposed to arrive 40 minutes later than Hanna’s, and we planned to go to London together comfortably. But comfortable it was not to be. Ryanair’s schedules were severely disrupted, my flight from Lübeck was 70 minutes late and I started to worry that Hanna had to wait too long. But no, she had not even landed, her flight was 2 hours and 20 minutes late and was the last to be at the gates in Stansted at 1:08, so it lasted until half past one until she finally appeared.

That really was not a severe problem, even if the last train went at one, but fortunately there are buses running all night long. However, not only our flights were late, and therefore there were masses of people at the bus station to get a seat. Of course we did not catch the first bus and had to wait for half an hour in the cold.
In the end it took until half past three until we reached Michael’s place. We then had to recover before going to the North Sea to Sheringham the next (same) day.
The image above by the way shows the totally cosy departure lounge in Lücbeck, a provisional construction, which may be recycled as a beer tent when no longer needed at the airport.

If you have passed the German education system, no matter at what level, you surely have encountered Homer at some stage., and I do not mean Homer Simpson. Ancient times and Greek and Roman history belong to the curriculae and some may have cursed this old stuff.
But even our modern times are full of images from old history. Sportsmen very often have problems with Achilles’ tendon. And that is where we meet Homer, who has described the half god Achilles, who practically was invulnerable, had there not been the small error when the goddess held him at his heel and who therefore spoiled the protection when bathing him in the mythical liquid. In the end this small error sealed his fate. In German myths this also was the case with Siegfried in den Nibelungenlied, whose protection was spoilt by a leave on his back.

Well, you might say that these are old fairy tales, what do they tell us?

Achilles was an important figure in the Troyan Wars described by Homer in the Iliad. After long years these wars were decided by a cunning manoeuvre, the proverbial Troyan horse. The  besiegers gave a wooden horse to the Troyans as a gift, in which some warroirs were hidden who the open the city gates from inside.

A Troyan horse, short Troyan, therefore means a “posionous” gift, aone that is looking good but has a negative effect. Many computer users accept such gifts by clicking on a promising link which then installs a program, which sim ply takes control of the computer. This gift may come in an Email (yes, there are supposedly users operating their computers in the net without antivirus software and the still open spam mail) or maybe through infected web sites, mostly with porn or other stuff of this kind.

But you do not necessarily have to click, there are other method of smuggling a Troyan onto a computer. Then it sits there, opens a back door and transmits any data it wants to the outside world.

The German Federal Criminal Agency had remembered this old manoevre in the “war against terror” and was thinking of spying useres compputers without their knowledge. This practice has been recently stopped by the German Federal Constitutional Court, who ruled that privacy is of higher value than the wishes of terror investigators.
Of course this decision ultimately will not stop the intrusion onto computers forever. But the Germans will have to find a law which will regulate these practices and rule, when these methods may be used, probably under supervision of a judge.

This at least is something.

Sometimes it is suprising how small the world is: my niece recently started a voluntary social year in Berlin. And it is an organisation where a good friend of ours is working. I always say there is no auch thing as “coincidence”. But this time I was not involved, in contrast to other occasions.

By the way, the voluntary social year is an interesting practice. Years ago I worked on a study for the European Commission investigating the programme “Youth for Europe”. There also is a component called “European Voluntary Service”. In this context I visited the managing organisations for this programme in Oslo, Helsinki, Copenhagen, Bonn, and the Netherlands. In Germany and in the Netherlands it was not difficult to find suitable posts while it was a severe problem in Scandinavian countries. Reason was a profound cultural difference as Scandinavians say that social service is a normal service which has to be paid accordingly. Therefore the tradtion of a voluntary social year with only a kind of pocket money as compensation  was totally unknown in Scandinavia.

In Germany those offering such posts always say that this service was founded in 1954 by the protestant bishop of Bavaria. The history however is longer in Germany, first requests for a working service for all youths were voiced. This idea howver was discredited by the paramiltary working service in the 30s, which was compulsory for all male youths before military service and which was complemented by a voluntary service for women. This kind of year therefore has a slightly longer tradition.

When my beloved husband had left the house, the usual happened: clear the room, start the washing machine, start the dishwasher, make bank transfers, receive Lara, my day care dog. But something is different today. Heaven is blue again and the cats chase each other on the terrace when ventilating with open windows. We wanted to go to a blog reading in Prenzlauer Berg, but the weather kept me in bed for a long time and ultimately from leaving home. But today I feel that spring is coming even if it is cold still. But the light is getting different. Firstly more and secondly lighter. Everything comes more easily and the Clematis, which we placed in the hallway fore safe hibernating is flourishing wildly. Only a couple of weeks and we may take her out. Resumee is a deep content sigh.

This is my Tarot Card:

You are The Sun

At the corner of Wühlischplatz to Holteistraße is a small staue of a hippo. Nohbody really expected winter’s arrival, except one person who crocheted a measure-made winter protection.

Friedrichshain cares for its art objects.