We are missing our tomcat Linus, who went astray on 22 September, so very much.…..and now we believe that he is dead. This makes us so unbelievably sad. Axel is trying to lift my mood by pointing out advertisements for cats on the net….but there is no room yet. Smokie’s (our other cat) approach is much more down to earth. He is looking for Linus on the attic every morning, miaows pitiably, but is easily distracted by playing with him, until he runs to the hallway again and cries out for him. I am dreaming of Linus every night and find many grey-brown tabby-cats, but he is not among them. Smokie is lying in my arm every night and when our neighbour’s cats come to feed, we both hope him to be among them. We miss him so very much.

Excitement is catching on: Next week we are going to Toronto and stay with Nata and family on the cottage over Easter. Sounds simple if you don not know anyrhing about the circumstances: according to this week’s weather forecast there was snow and the temperature is something like -10 degrees Celsius. The first person arriving will have to start the fire and as we have rented a normal car, we won’t be the first without a four-wheel-drive. One will get water only by melting snow or thawing ice, but on the other hand this is just the feeling of nativeness which is fascinating the middle-European about Canada. Monica, Axel’s boss, will come to the lake as well and I hope that her Swedish part id acustomed to such circumstances. I don’t sleep very well becaus of excitement, I think about what I will have to pack, will go to the dentist this week and so on…. well it is the usual prickle I always feel before going to Canada. In summer everything is normal and well rehearsed, but I never was ther in late winter or early spring. People living north of the polar circle celebrate farewell to the winter at the end of March, surviving the winter’s climax. However, it does not mean that spring has arrived. We will have a close feeling of what this means up Noth of Toronto.

Addition by Axel: Those wanting to know where the cottage is: at the end of the dog trail (Name by Hanna’s family) on this Google Map.

While my beloved one was in Toulouse, I hung up three baskets with bulbs and hibernated plants on our roof terrace. Our neighbours across the courtyard were out in the sun as well, hooray, the open air season will start soon.

Roses, clematis, wine, the Chinese lantern and the dipladenia are outside already as well, the bulbs that started to grow in autumn turned out to be irises and are already blooming quite beautifully. If I were able to photograph I would add an image as well. Soon Karsten will finish the gas heater on the terrace and the the only thing blocking the first hours on the roof is the ruin of a table, as we did not manage to get a new one.

By the way, here is a good tip against the greenfly: let 5 bags of peppermint tea brew in a pint of water and then sprinkle the roses with it… my greenflies fled immediately. I hope they stay where they are now, if not the procedure will be repeated in 3 days. This was a recommendation from the flower shop. And, oh yes, one now may start to apply fertiliser to the roses.

I do not even know when I got the old record player, as I only got stuff not wanted by my sisters any longer. With the player I got two records… Emmerich Kalman’s “The gypsy princess/Countess Maritza and Mozart’ “Eine kleine Nachtmusik”. I still know the lyrics and melodies of both operettas and I accompanied the kleine Nachtmusik on the recorder. Both did not go well with my friends who were reading teenager magazines and put up huge star posters into their rooms. Somehow the record thing then suddenly stopped, either the player was broken or the radio or both, not repairable at least taken the abilities of my father. And then I only had music equipment again when I married in 1970… Maybe that is where my phobia towards music equipment and technical devices comes from. What little Hanna did not learn…

When we left Sheringham, on the other side of the road you could see the train engine Thomas, which left the station in  the opposite direction with a lot of steam.  Those not knowing Thomas should watch the children’s series produced by the BBC.

To watch then also was the motto of the boys as arriving in London (this time at Liverpool Street King’s Cross (Note. Axel). We went to see the architecture of St. Pancra’s Station. Even if Michael said he was not really interested in railways I found a lot of books at his place covering this topic.

On Monday we managed to get through Oxford Street in spite of a lot of rain and wind, but the offers in the shops did not suit my taste and even less so my purse. We then spent the evening with a sandwich and Visconti’s Il Gattopardo.

Even more than on the day before I realised that Berlin is not more than a village. I roamed in the areas of Liverpool Street at lunchtime an found out that people do not walk but run and to safely cross the street a group formed at every corner. A wonder in these crowds are small, but well-kept miniature parks as Finsbury Circle, where you find wonderful, fully blossowing camelias in many colours. Their flowers are much larger than thos of hibiscus or clematis, they really are admirable exotic beauties.

Plants are further than in Berlin not changed by the snow during the week before, England’s climate facilitates an earlier spring. Tomorrow I will try to go to the Museum of London or towards St. Paul’s. And in the evening I will get back to my beloved small BERLIN, MEANING GOING HOME.

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.

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.

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.

Yesterday I visited my mother again, and when crossing Warschauer Strasse at the traffic lights, he hit me, the young bicyclist. He had managed to pass several other pedestrians without reducing speed, but I was too much of an obstacle and directly came towards me and hit me, I fell down. In spite of my protest he did not see the need to stop, as I was still showing signs of life. To the contrary, after briefly glancing back he chased away, it was clear to him that several people had seen him ignoring the red light. Well, I just had some abrasions and a bruise near the knee, but I was somehow shocked that he was just letting me lie there to save his own skin.

Axel really has made so wonderful reports from Prag, that I have some difficulties to add my comments. Normally I try to buy books about the history of the city I am in. This time Axel was with me and found a wonderful book published in 1999 and therefore I was able to understand why Czech people really avoid the German language. They really were the underdogs under Habsburg rule, several attempts to govern the city, in which they had an 80% majority, failed.
Today the lingua franca for trourists is English, there are masses of them and they like to perform their sightseeing tours in groups. Therefore I was not identified immediately as foreigner (I was alone) and by error got the menu for Czechs in the restaurant, with many cheaper offers. Just when I asked something in English, the menu was confiscated again. Well, the average income of the natives probably is lower than that of tourists, therefore it might be ok.

By the way, the nastiest nationalists are and were in the past the Sudeten Germans, who talked and wrote lowly about their fellow Czech citizens.