Der Falsche Herr

As I pushed open the solid white door I had a feeling something wasn’t quite right. There was an unfamiliar smell. However, it was relatively early on Saturday and I was in my third European country this week so you have to make some allowances. I moved through the small anteroom with its hand basins and into the next room. It was odd that there were only two, both vacant, cubicles but it was a small place in an out of the way corner of the Dusseldorf airport so it is possible they just used the space wisely. I pushed open the door to the nearest cubicle and locked it behind me. Once inside I looked around and realised that even in a European toilet, a disposal unit for feminine hygiene items was not normal in a man’s lavatory.

Oh boy! Now I was in trouble. I’m in a ladies toilet in a German Airport. But I was sure I had passed the door to the ladies right next to the door I had just come through. Regardless, my major concern was now ‘How was I going to get out of here’? Should I just do what I went there for and the leave? Then I realised I had my camera-phone with me – how was that going to look? There was nothing for it but to just try and get out immediately. I unlocked the cubicle door just in time to hear the click of high heel shoes approaching through the anteroom. I shut and relocked the cubicle door. Holding my breath I heard the door to the stall next to mine open and shut followed by the rustle of clothes. I decided it was ‘now or never’; I certainly didn’t want to hear anymore. I grabbed my backpack and burst from the stall. Two steps to the door and back into the small ante room - six steps across that and out!

I half expected a gaggle of people to be waiting outside laughing but luckily no one seemed to notice. Moving away from the door as quickly as possible I just had a chance to glance at the door next to the one I had just emerged from and it too was a ladies toilet.

Dammit! Caught by the old two-toilets-the-same-next-to-each-other trick! Cunning people those Germans.

Auf wiedersehn

<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>


Bazza

Where in the world...?

This week I am (mostly) in the land of 'bread and cheese with everything' - The Netherlands. I say mostly as I arrived in Brussels, Belgium and leave from Dusseldorf, Germany.

More on the travels in due course

An introduction to Speedy and Sparky.

I was born and raised in a city and I have lived in cities all my life so coming to Connecticut has been a bit of a shock. One thing about being raised in a city is, excluding pigeons, drunks and other humans, there is very little wildlife. I did see a rabbit in Chicago once and a few rats and mice in the London Underground but pretty much that was it.

So now we live in a much more rural environment. For instance our house has a grass bank which slopes gently down to a small road about 30 yards away. From our large kitchen window you can sit and watch the trees and the occasional car. It’s a pretty peaceful scene really. Then one Saturday morning in early April, while we sat eating breakfast by the window, we were intrigued to see a small critter poking a cute reddish brown head out of a hole. We watched him for a while and then he darted away and disappeared but next day he was back again. As he clearly lived nearby I decided he needed a name and after much discussion we deemed that ‘Sparky’ seemed to be appropriate. A couple of weekends later we noticed there were actually two of the critters living in separate holes. Damn! We had to find another name. Do you know how hard it is to name a critter (that’s why the bat is called bat-e but that’s a different story)? After a lot of debate we plumped for Speedy.

Turns out that Speedy and Sparky are Eastern Chipmunks or Tamias Striatus. Throughout the summer months they have been pretty easy to spot stood, sometimes for minutes without moving, on their hind legs. Occasionally dashing at speed through the grass or crouching tremulously by their burrow entrances. They’ve grown a little and their colours have deepened to a lovely reddish brown. It took a while to get that knack of locating them but on Saturdays after the football season had ended, it was a very pleasant way to spend the breakfast half hour.

Speedy is by the tree, Sparky is to the right

I never thought I’d find watching small rodents so interesting but then maybe I’d never had to watch Connecticut local news before. Trust me after watching channel 8 News, chipmunks are the height of excitement.



<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>

Bazza

Lets Go (away) Cubbies

Well that was all a bit unimpressive. They could at least have put up a fight!


Oh well. "There's always next year!"

Home

Not so long ago I was riding in a car with two female friends, one from Dallas and one from Chicago. One of them asked me where I felt more at home, Connecticut, Chicago or London? I couldn’t answer; in fact I couldn’t even define home. For my friends on that journey, home was obvious and I envy them. There can be few other words in this language that are so relative. Home has a different meaning for practically every human being on the planet.

For me the word home has always been strongly linked with location and I have always felt you can only have one home at a time. Therefore, home can refer to one of three locations depending on where I am. I reside in Connecticut, arrived there from Chicago but was raised, and lived longest, in and around London. Indeed a couple of years ago, on a flight to London from Chicago, the person in the seat next to me asked:
"Going home or leaving home?" To which I could only manage:
"Yes".

As stated above I currently live in Connecticut and it is taking some getting used to. This makes me miss Chicago and the life I had there a lot. Does that make Chicago home? I really miss some of the people I know in London. Does that make that home? I don’t’ miss Chicago’s flat landscape or the litter strewn, narrow streets of London though. When I am in Chicago for more than a week I find myself wanting to get back to a place that is ours and where my guitars and other pointless distractions are. Does that make Connecticut home?

Maybe it’s just that each time you really settle somewhere and then move, a little bit of your heart gets left behind (ask Tony Bennet!). Even if you choose to move, still something remains where you were. So when you do get to that next place there is not so much of a whole heart left to feel with. Maybe the meaning of home becomes a little diluted with every move.

In London I could walk to a pub but in Chicago I feel safe on public transport and Connecticut has hills and beautiful scenery. Nowhere can be perfect again because there was always something that was better somewhere else.

So home is a word I hear a lot but maybe for me, and anyone who moves and settles and then moves again, it may never be as real as it once was.


<Enter stunningly witty and clever tagline here>

Bazza

BTW the Cubs actually winning something really made me miss Chicago more than ever.

Go Cubbies (Correction)

Ooooppppssss!!!!!!
As pointed out by anonymous (don't you people have names?) my last blog should have read:

Congratulations to the Cubs --- 2007 NL Central Division champions!!