A Greek Tragedy

Sydney Opera House by nightIt’s called the Opera, but since it seems to have gone out of production quicker than in, it’s more like a Greek tragedy to me. I seem unable to even contemplate the purchase of one. One of these, I mean: http://ysin.co.uk/show/nl/content/2,18.

How brilliant is that? A beautifully designed luxury Klappkarr’n with most advantages of a caravan, but still some of the I-am-free-under-the-sky feeling of a tent. I am guessing that the price tag would have been quite excessive; judging by their marketing pictures, the whole thing is made to very high standards.

I am now contemplating a visit to the Motorhome and Caravan Show at the NEC, Birmingham. Maybe not this October and maybe not for purchase this year, and maybe not exactly a klappkarr’n designed by Axel Enthoven, but there is no harm in dreaming, and performing a reality-check, is there?

 

Enhanced by Zemanta

Enigmatic Insomniatic Trick

DSCF0327The best cure for insomnia is a good night of sleep, but on that night, the cure wouldn’t come to me.

Un the upside, I do remember clearly that, when I left work at university late that afternoon, I confidently walked across the car park to where I’d left the car, only to find it gone. Stolen, again! The car’s gone, and strangely so are my keys and my coat.

What bothered me immensely, and kept me further from finding much wanted sleep, is that I couldn’t remember for my life whether I had a car with me on the day to begin with.

The world of dreams. Brilliant stuff; too bad it only happens while asleep.

 

Enhanced by Zemanta

I’ve Never Done That Before

30% I believe it happens to many, in various forms and variations, but I don’t think it has ever happened to me before:

The stupid camper van‘s rotten breaks failed to break properly, as I drove down the hanging serpentines into some coastal town in the Cornwall. I pulled the handbrake, shifted into second gear and licked the break pedal through the floor as hard as I could, but the stupid truck would not slow down. Instead, it slowly increased speed, and there were another 3 or 4 bends to come.

I don’t know how the body manages to avoid the worst. After an almost fatal accident in one of the bends, where I could actually feel the van losing balance and was then certain that it would tip over in the next bend, I woke up.

I lay awake for at least half an hour, thinking about the options I had, whether the mechanic in that small costal town would replace the break pads, if the rental company would reimburse me for the break pad replacement, whether or how I crashed.

I have now had a shower and gained some distance from this night’s dramatic events, but honestly, I still feel a bit shaken. I hope not to make a habit of those dreams. I can do with whacky and surreal, but failing breaks? Not me.

 

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

The Universal Cure for Anyone

coffeeInStockholm She promised to help anyone address, solve and deal with, any issues you might have – anything. That’s interesting, I think to myself, let’s see what she can do for me.

I notice her classroom audience is entirely made of women, who sit in benches and listen attentively, while being completely naked. Oh, I think, this must be a good exercise in self-confidence, and I am even more intrigued.

She then proceeds to enumerate the many maladies and insecurities her method is guaranteed to cure, and presents us with a little goodie bag. No informative material, but a reusable shopping bag and some body lotion. How nice.

Now she’s talking again. In the manner of a great mathematical proof, she daisy-chains one conclusion to the other and, with the help of a few nice diagrams, flipcharts and whiteboard, tells us just who might benefit from her powerful technique. Some people just aren’t suitable for her plan after all. Turns out she’s focussing on those who don’t have any issues to deal with at all.

I am about to raise my voice in half protest, half mockery, but then three things happen all at the same time: I get stung by a mosquito, one of the builders knocks at the front door, and I wake up.

Lovely. The Kopfkino didn’t play me a real nutcase dream in a long time, but in this case, the nutcase is me.

Reblog this post [with Zemanta]

She-Who-Can-Not-Be-Named

lainmoral_1 The Conservative Party was close to winning the campaign. In a last-minute effort, they stage the two town drunks and make them give speeches.

This was too embarrassing. I broke away and went to the nearby church hall to collect my things. A woman followed me, cornered me inside the hall, hugged and explained:

You owe me a kiss.

Before I could figure an elegant way of inquiring the kind lady’s name, she proceeded to take what she thought was hers.

I have a faint recollection that there might be some truth in her claim, but struggle with the details, as this would go over 25 years back.

At the same time that I am both unable to speak and think of her name, my wife enters the room. We break apart in time, and she says cheerfully

Your wife? Come on, won’t you introduce me?

How very embarrassing. Thankfully, the alarm rung and got me out of this tight spot in the last moment.

Technorati Tags: