Ben needs a new bed.
The 'high bed'* that we bought four years ago thinking it would see him through to adulthood is not long enough for his increasingly lanky frame, we think he's almost 6 foot but this cannot be independantly verified because he has that teenage ability to be as unaccomadating as humanly possible, bless him.
So the challenge in the remainder of the school holidays has been to take a reluctant shopper to furniture shops to find something new for him to lay his head on at night.
Buying a bed here is a serious business (if you're surprised by this fact then you're clearly new to this blog). The first shop Ben and I went to we were pounced on by a little old man (it was like being served by a grandpa who was on day release from the local Altenheim), he showed us the appropriate beds and told us what it would cost either with or without the head board, then we talked mattresses and were reliably informed that anything under 400 Euro was 'schrott'** - but then he would say that wouldn't he?
So far, so logical.
But the little grandpa wasn't done. We would also have to buy the slats for the bed ('cos otherwise the mattress doesn't stay in the frame very well) It was at this point Ben and I both went "huh?" I'm used to buying a bed complete with slats, but this being Germany not only are there about a billion types of mattress but there are many, many different types of slats, some that will withstand more bouncing than others, some with specially shaped shoulder slats***, some that are motorised so that you can elevate the head and shoulders or feet...you get the picture? We walked away from the first shop with our heads reeling, and it gave me a masochistic thrill to text Si to inform him that yes, we'd been to check out a furniture shop for beds for no. 1 son and that he wouldn't see much change from a grand.
The bed has now been ordered, although not from the first shop (that'd be far too easy.)
First we got the frame and headboard and slats sorted out. That trip took over an hour, due to the inability for the two males involved (1 who had to choose and 1 who had to pay) being unable to agree on something they both liked and we kind of ran out of time.
Friday we got the mattress sorted out and were served by another Altenheim escapee, a lady called Frau Lichtblau - now what kind of a surname is that? Mrs Lightblue? How can that be a surname? A colour choice for a carpet maybe but as a surname? We were meant to go to one of the many mattress shops that people German towns in the way that charity shops do in England (although clearly mattress shops are a little larger, seeing as you need a fair bit of floor space if you want to have matresses out for people to bounce on) but Ben and I were left to our own devices (seeing as he who must be obeyed (tongue firmly in cheek here) is out of the country) and we both thought that they (mattress shops) all exude a sleaziness, something not helped by the rumours that are spread about money laundering and anyway, I just don't understand why there are so many mattress shops around, it seems weird.
Mrs Lightblue very patiently explained the different mattresses to me and Ben, suggested that I try them as well (yes I might be the one paying, but Ben and I have very different tastes when it comes to a mattress, he declared my choice to be too firm and I thought his was like lying on marshmallows - although not as sticky or sweet) and then tried to convince me that a memory foam topping was ideal...didn't get that at all, why would I want my mattress to retain my shape, isn't that like sleeping on some dodgy old hotel bed where it dips in the middle? Not convinced, although I'm sure there's some clever German logic to it.
Now all we have to do is wait for the phone call to say it's all in stock and then worry about finding a home for the old bed...any takers?
* a single bed on very tall legs that could have a second bunk beneath it or a desk, but actually has just a pile of junk/Simpsons comics beneath.
** schrott translates literally as 'scrap iron' but is used colloquially to mean rubbish or junk.
*** which just seems wrong to me, surely a mattress needs to be on a flat surface so that it doesn't get disformed and result in a shorter life expectancy - maybe that's their cunning plan?
Monday, August 29, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday Snaps 76
How do you dispose of a corpse or two or in this case five?
My sunflowers are well and truly dead and have been removed from the garden (not without a great deal of effort, it has to be said) but now I have the problem of how to dispose of them. They're all well over 6 foot tall and some of the stems are as thick as my wrist, they wont fit in the wheelie bin - even if it was empty!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Book Reviews #22
The Help - Kathryn Stockett
I've had this book stored on my eReader for maybe a year, I downloaded it after reading a review and then went onto to read other stuff and forgot all about it.
Wow. What a read. I read it in three days, thanks to being on the kind of holiday where lying in the sun and reading is obligatory while the kids refuss to do anything other than jump in and out of the pool.
The book is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960's around the tine of Kennedy's assassination. The rest of the world was starting to take heed of racial relations whilst the state of Mississippi decided that it alone was right and the rest of the world should align itself with them.
The story is told through different voices, there is the voice of Aibileen, a maid in her 50s whose only son died a few years back. Then there is the voice of Minny, a younger maid who has four or five chldren (and by the end of the book is pregnant again) with a husband who drinks and beats her, Minny is forever getting the sack from her white employers because she talks back.
Miss Skeeter is the lone white storytelling vooice, the only one of her group still unmarried and living at home at the ripe old age of 23. An oddity who they try to matchmake for. She wants to be a writer but is told by an editor in New York that she needs to get as much writing experience as she can before she'll be taken seriously. Skeeter gets a job at the local paper writing the 'Miss Myrna' column of household tips, the irony being that she has to ask her friend's maid (Aibileen) for these tips as she hasn't got a clue how to answer the problems like how to stop a rubbish bin from smelling or how to remove a limescale ring from a bath tub.
Skeeter then has an idea for a book which the New York editor likes the sound of. A collection of first hand accounts from coloured maids working for white families. The editor likes the idea because it is the year of the Martin Luther King march and there is a real sense of history about to be made, unfortumately for Skeeter Aibileen says no, it's too dangerous for her to help, when the son of a friend has just been blinded after a beating becausd he accidentally used the whites only toilet. Fortunately for Skeeter, Aibileen has a change of heart and so the book project gets started under the greatest of secrecy, everyone adopting psuedonyms, all identities changed, and more than that I shant tell.
It's a great book, I thoroughly recommend it, get it, I don't think you'll be disappointed.
I've had this book stored on my eReader for maybe a year, I downloaded it after reading a review and then went onto to read other stuff and forgot all about it.
Wow. What a read. I read it in three days, thanks to being on the kind of holiday where lying in the sun and reading is obligatory while the kids refuss to do anything other than jump in and out of the pool.
The book is set in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960's around the tine of Kennedy's assassination. The rest of the world was starting to take heed of racial relations whilst the state of Mississippi decided that it alone was right and the rest of the world should align itself with them.
The story is told through different voices, there is the voice of Aibileen, a maid in her 50s whose only son died a few years back. Then there is the voice of Minny, a younger maid who has four or five chldren (and by the end of the book is pregnant again) with a husband who drinks and beats her, Minny is forever getting the sack from her white employers because she talks back.
Miss Skeeter is the lone white storytelling vooice, the only one of her group still unmarried and living at home at the ripe old age of 23. An oddity who they try to matchmake for. She wants to be a writer but is told by an editor in New York that she needs to get as much writing experience as she can before she'll be taken seriously. Skeeter gets a job at the local paper writing the 'Miss Myrna' column of household tips, the irony being that she has to ask her friend's maid (Aibileen) for these tips as she hasn't got a clue how to answer the problems like how to stop a rubbish bin from smelling or how to remove a limescale ring from a bath tub.
Skeeter then has an idea for a book which the New York editor likes the sound of. A collection of first hand accounts from coloured maids working for white families. The editor likes the idea because it is the year of the Martin Luther King march and there is a real sense of history about to be made, unfortumately for Skeeter Aibileen says no, it's too dangerous for her to help, when the son of a friend has just been blinded after a beating becausd he accidentally used the whites only toilet. Fortunately for Skeeter, Aibileen has a change of heart and so the book project gets started under the greatest of secrecy, everyone adopting psuedonyms, all identities changed, and more than that I shant tell.
It's a great book, I thoroughly recommend it, get it, I don't think you'll be disappointed.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
I hear thunder
The concensus is that this summer has been rubbish (weatherwise, that is) back in April (and that was early April) we saw crazy temperatures of 30 degrees C, but since those heady days it's all gone downhill (at least here in Germany anyway) This last week we've had the odd day of proper summer, where it's too hot to be outside and all Jas wants is to play with water and all I want to do is sit and hide in the cellar, where it's blissfully cool and where the dog retreats as well, but these occasional days of summer have to be paid for with either thunderstorms or days of rain, or both. Fun.
Last Thursday the sky went black shortly after 6pm, the day had been scorching so of course there was a fee due. By 7pm the storm was in full flow. There was thunder and lightning and rain and winds that threatened to overturn the useless* sun umbrellas. Over the noise of the storm we could only just hear the fire engine sirens as they were kept busy removing fallen trees and pumping out flooded cellars. The damage was all too evident the following morning, paths covered with gravel washed from the flowerbeds, branches littering the roads and my poor sunflowers now mere bald heads, their petals strewn throughout the garden.
Sunday was another decent day (at least where I live, my German teacher who is 30-40 minutes away** reported a day of such crap weather that the only activity that made sense was to decamp to the cinema) hot enough for me to suggest going down into the tourist hotbed that Kettwig becomes on a sunny weekend and getting an eiscafé (me) and an erdbeerbecher*** (him). The charge for such a lovely day was a thunderstorm that raged for over an hour in the evening. Sheet lightning this time, not fork and at one point pretty much constant thunder. I love a good thunderstorm (I blame my mom) but part of the fun is counting the gap between the lightning and the thunder to find out how close the storm is, this is kind of ruined when the thunder is continuous! Logan however, was not amused. He struggles with his immediate reaction which is to flee to his place of safety (under the stairs in the cellar) or staying next to me****, during a long storm he will do both, probably hoping that I'll follow him down to the cellar.
Yesterday was a pretty typical (for this year) summer day, grey to start with and coolish, the odd rain shower and then as the afternoon progressed the heat increased. There was nothing to suggest that payback would be required. So I was quite surprised to wake up in the middle of the night, and on a trip to the loo feel I was going to be hit by lightning - we have a velux window in the roof of the bathroom and the storm (or at least the lightning) was clearly right overhead. I didn't linger. Of course neither child was awoken by the following storm, it was just me that was kept awake for an hour while the thunder rattled the roof above my head.
A final thought; I do find it funny that two of Rudolph's reindeer mates are named Donner (thunder) and Blitzen (lightning) especially when the others are called such normal 'horsey' names - Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet and Cupid, maybe that was what fitted the rhyme, unless of course the names preceeded the song...
* useless only in the sense that there has been too little strong sun to warrant their use, they do actually function perfectly, when there is sun that one needs to be shaded from.
** traffic and weather dependant.
*** strawberries and icecream in a bowl topped with cream, almonds and strawberry juice (it's big)
**** and I mean next to, I might have been standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the arial action but he was trying to get under my skirt.
Word for the day; das Gewitter - thunderstorm
Last Thursday the sky went black shortly after 6pm, the day had been scorching so of course there was a fee due. By 7pm the storm was in full flow. There was thunder and lightning and rain and winds that threatened to overturn the useless* sun umbrellas. Over the noise of the storm we could only just hear the fire engine sirens as they were kept busy removing fallen trees and pumping out flooded cellars. The damage was all too evident the following morning, paths covered with gravel washed from the flowerbeds, branches littering the roads and my poor sunflowers now mere bald heads, their petals strewn throughout the garden.
Sunday was another decent day (at least where I live, my German teacher who is 30-40 minutes away** reported a day of such crap weather that the only activity that made sense was to decamp to the cinema) hot enough for me to suggest going down into the tourist hotbed that Kettwig becomes on a sunny weekend and getting an eiscafé (me) and an erdbeerbecher*** (him). The charge for such a lovely day was a thunderstorm that raged for over an hour in the evening. Sheet lightning this time, not fork and at one point pretty much constant thunder. I love a good thunderstorm (I blame my mom) but part of the fun is counting the gap between the lightning and the thunder to find out how close the storm is, this is kind of ruined when the thunder is continuous! Logan however, was not amused. He struggles with his immediate reaction which is to flee to his place of safety (under the stairs in the cellar) or staying next to me****, during a long storm he will do both, probably hoping that I'll follow him down to the cellar.
Yesterday was a pretty typical (for this year) summer day, grey to start with and coolish, the odd rain shower and then as the afternoon progressed the heat increased. There was nothing to suggest that payback would be required. So I was quite surprised to wake up in the middle of the night, and on a trip to the loo feel I was going to be hit by lightning - we have a velux window in the roof of the bathroom and the storm (or at least the lightning) was clearly right overhead. I didn't linger. Of course neither child was awoken by the following storm, it was just me that was kept awake for an hour while the thunder rattled the roof above my head.
A final thought; I do find it funny that two of Rudolph's reindeer mates are named Donner (thunder) and Blitzen (lightning) especially when the others are called such normal 'horsey' names - Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet and Cupid, maybe that was what fitted the rhyme, unless of course the names preceeded the song...
* useless only in the sense that there has been too little strong sun to warrant their use, they do actually function perfectly, when there is sun that one needs to be shaded from.
** traffic and weather dependant.
*** strawberries and icecream in a bowl topped with cream, almonds and strawberry juice (it's big)
**** and I mean next to, I might have been standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the arial action but he was trying to get under my skirt.
Word for the day; das Gewitter - thunderstorm
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