Unintentional Gluttony, Brain Freeze and Rest

I revisited one of my favourite places for cake today (which also happens to be the location that this post took place in). I always become a little over-ambitious when it comes to dessert, so I tried to go light on the drink- to no avail.

Also (see, this post isn't just a lazy repost!) the last part of this post's title should really be 'Lack of Rest'. I've been burning my candle at both ends lately, with a full-time job, writing for four blogs in total, baking and recipe-creating for two out of those four blogs, looking into more writing work on the side to build experience and looking into training and courses for myself in my spare time. Then I exercise nearly every day, and snatch a few moments here and there for other hobbies like craft and music (ah the days when all of my spare hours were spent on the piano...) There are, quite literally, not enough hours in the day.

I love being busy, but I thought I was fine with energy levels until today on the tube, when I wandered onto two wrong trains in a row to meet my visiting friend today, and then straight away led her onto three wrong trains in different directions to a place that I go to all the time.

I think it's a sign I need some me-time. Looking at my diary, I think I can book myself a time slot for that sometime in June...

Mean Ice Cream Man

I went out for my first run since autumn last year today because the weather is finally catching on that it's spring. It was challenging- not because I'm out of practice (I found other ways to keep fit during the long winter)- but because there were so many other people out enjoying the sorely missed sun. My self confidence has fallen a bit, hiding under all the winter layers, so the real challenge was getting out there in all my Lycra glory. I needn't have worried though, because as soon as I took my first step, I felt awesome- I hadn't realised how much I'd missed running.

The biggest challenge was not chasing after the ice cream van like a rabid greyhound after a hare.

It was a reasonably hot and sunny day to be out running, and I was quite red in the face and obviously baking a little bit. Just as I came to the tough uphill part of my run, an ice cream van drove past- and started to drive really slowly just ahead of me. At first I thought he was looking for a place to pull up, and it dawned on me that he didn't even have the jaunty ice cream van music playing.

Then I realised he was trolling me.

I saw his stupid grinning face in his wing mirror and considered scowling back at him, but decided to act nonchalant. Even so, the horrible bastard continued to trail just ahead of me all the way up the hill, until we both came to the top and he sped off, laughing.

I hope he gets lemon sorbet in his eyes.

~Fin~

So I Went to Berlin and...

... Ate cake the size of my face:

Co-invented Treslechesblaubeerrosemarmeladehaselnusssahnekuchen:

Saw some funny stuff:

Saw some powerful stuff:

And drank some girly beer:

And again, like in Australia, nothing particularly crazy happened. I even had a free seat next to me on the flight home. There was one small weird (or rather uncomfortable) moment on public transport though, on the bus to Schoenefeld airport: I was sitting directly opposite a young French couple, close enough so out knees were touching, and they were pretty much eating each other's faces for the whole journey. I stared to resolutely out of the window that I had a crick in my neck by the time the bus reached the airport.

Other than that, it really does seem like the truly bonkers stuff only happens to me when I'm on home ground. Interesting...

Public Transport: Stuck in the Air

Next weekend I'm going to Berlin to visit my friend Vicky, and it'll be the first time ever I've travelled by plane all by myself.

I'm not scared at all- I'm rather excited actually. However there is just one small matter that concerns me, and it's the same with any form of public transport:

What the random stranger sitting next to me is going to be like.

Or even if I'm going to be stuck with a few choice weirdos, never mind if they're right next to me or not. Some of my best stories and strangest memories comes from tales of the general public whilst on a train or bus: from stoners performing magic tricks to get out of paying a fare, to stoners metaphorically crying on my shoulder about their life (I really wish I could remember enough of that bus journey to do it justice here), to massive guys stinking of rotten cheese and literally falling asleep on my shoulder and squashing me to being on a train full of drunken football supporters and dog show competitors (at the same time). Only this time I'm going to be stuck in a tin can thousands of miles up in the air with them.

Of course I've been on flights where there have been irritating people on board, from the classic screaming child and back-of-seat-kicker to, most recently on the way back from Australia, a guy who took his shoes off and put his bare (and smelly and quite dirty) feet up when food was being served. It's always different when you're by yourself though, as there's nobody to go 'Get a load of this guy!' to.

Maybe I'll come back and absolutely nothing wacky will have happened to me, which will go towards confirming my theory that weird stuff only happens to me in Britain. We shall see. To be honest, if the last time Vicky and I met up is anything to go by, anything crazy that happens will most likely be self-inflicted. In fact, my German doppelgänger out there is probably about to write a blog entry about two mad British girls...

Children: High on Life

Children are miniature addicts, and their drug is simply 'Living'. Every day is an impossible, invincible high, peppered with occasional intermittent moments of tantrumous* lows. Some study somewhere done by someone** reckons that children laugh over three hundred times a day, whereas us gloomy adults only manage just under twenty.

I reckon a couple of kids let me borrow a laugh or two, today.

While doing the weekly shop this morning, I got a glimpse into someone else's life- the life of a parent of two little girls. They were about four and six years old- the oldest couldn't have been any older than seven. In any case, they were both at that stage of life where you have bundles of energy, a limitless imagination and where the world is your own personal playground.

The two girls were jumping around like grasshoppers and chattering non-stop, punctuating their animated conversation with plenty of sound effects. I glanced up at the dad, who was pushing the trolley, and had to stifle a sympathetic smile: he had bags under his reddened eyes, a slumping posture and a general Could-Have-Used-A-Few-Weeks'-Worth-Of-Sleep aura about him. Still, he'd automatically snap to attention if one of the bouncing girls was about to ricochet into the TV displays, or if one of them asked a genuine question (because sometimes children ask all sorts of things when it's clear they don't really care what then answer is- you'll answer them and they'll already be off like a rubber ball). So as exhausted parents of two young children go, he was pretty much as on the ball as you can get.

Just after he managed to deflect a potentially expensive bounce towards the electronics section, I heard him try to distract the girls by engaging them in proper conversation.

"Mummy said we need to get -x-, should we get it now? I think we should. Can you tell me which aisle you think it's down?"

There was a sudden, thoughtful silence. Then I heard one of the girls announce:

"I have decided that I want to be a feather."

And which much 'Wheeee!'-ing and 'Yaaaaaaay!'-ing the girls bounced off again.

Nice try Dad-Of-Two, but you just can't reason with these life addicts.

~Fin~

*When life hands you a situation that can't be summed up in one word... make a new one?

**Found on the internet and therefore completely irrefutable, of course...

I'm Not Wealthy, but I'm Rich all the Same

(A follow-on from A Mixed Bag of Nothing):

A couple of days ago I was sitting in a café in London, looking out of a window that faced outwards into Chinatown. Behind me and to the side of me were lots of white and European people- in front of me outside were lots of Chinese people- and there I was, both physically and metaphorically smack dab in the middle of both sides. It gave me the warm fuzzies.

Tonight marked the first night of Passover and my family and I held the Seder night together. At the end of the service, as I cracked out the traditional Jewish sweets I had baked the day before, my mum told me:

"It's not so long ago we were celebrating Chinese New Year, you know. Tash, you have no idea how rich a background you come from."

Oh, I know, Mum. I know.

~Fin~

You Made my Day

Dear Tall Guy,

Thanks for catching me when I nearly wiped out on the tube, today. I did thank you at the time (albeit in a flustered, grinning 'ohmygoodnessthatwasembarrassing' kind of way), but I thought I'd say how much that little gesture meant to me, because it went against the usual big city 'People Don't Care' attitude. You probably saw me in front of you, reaching out but unable to grab at any of the holding bars because of this other guy who refused to budge up, and knew I was going to tumble backwards as soon as the train pulled off- and if you didn't see it coming, my imaginary hat goes off to you for your ninja-fast reaction.

You probably didn't think twice about such a small thing. I know I don't when I occasionally get to help out a random stranger. However, I've never myself experienced that sort of common decency from a member of the general public before.

Hell, the last time I fell over on a train, everyone around me in the carriage actually backed away from me in order to give me a clear shot at the floor. The worst incident was when I was at the top of the stairs on a double decker bus and the driver braked sharply, causing me to fall down the stairs in a heap: everyone made a point of looking away, and no-one asked if I was okay, let alone came to help me.

Over the years I've become quite disenfranchised with the general public, and I've been getting to the point where I've been considering giving up on being someone that looks out for others. But you reminded me today that not everybody is only out for themselves, and that there are still a few people left that give a damn, even if just a small damn. Even through it's not many, it's not nobody- and the world needs all the people who are willing to catch a falling stranger it can get.

I wouldn't say you've restored my faith in humanity- I still think we suck in general- but you've definitely restored my faith in the importance of looking out for your fellow man (or woman). So, thanks.

Yours sincerely,

Toppling Girl

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Afterword

Maybe I should be sad that something that should be seen as (and was, once up on a time) 'common decency' has been elevated to 'an act of kindless'- but it just made me happy that there is any common decency left in the first place. A sign of the times? Yes. A sign to give up? Not today.

~Fin~