Bovine antics

I know, I know.  Not everyone is as interested in cows as I am.  But I remain faithful to my cause of promoting the bovine as a fascinating and much-underestimated animal.  Take Yvonne, the Bavarian cow who, since the end of May, has been on the run.  Yvonne is practically a star; at time of writing she remains at large, hanging out somewhere in a dense forest.  There is a ten thousand euro reward for the brave person who not only finds her but, if not actually catches her, keeps her occupied until the police/vet/farmer cavalcade arrives to take her home.  Various blurry photos of Yvonne have been broadcast.  Despite the poor quality of the pictures, the determined gleam in her eyes, the gleam that says, enough of twice-daily milking and perpetual pregnancy for me, is plain to see.  Apparently she is aggressive and extremely crafty, and suddenly the media is waking up to the fact that cows are not, contrary to popular belief, stupid.  The strong herd instinct makes them appear that way, but they are actually pretty wily.

Just over the road from us there is a cluster of large brown dairy cows and the clanging of their bells, a sound I found almost intoxicating when I first arrived last year, was beginning to get on our nerves.  It seemed pointless to put a bell on a cow that is in an enclosed space and cannot escape (unless it's called Yvonne).  Yesterday I noticed that only one of these cows is wearing a bell, and she spends her entire time following her fellow inmates around and trying to lean her head on their back or sides.  At first this appeared to be affectionately meant, but after a few minutes of observation I realised she is trying to muffle the bell, which is, naturally, driving her nuts.  It is a futile attempt but not at all stupid.

So I'm off to work again today.  Who knows what will greet me on arrival - perhaps a coachload of people off to a luxury spa, just waiting for me to turn up and manage the phones before they tootle away to Austria?  Come now, do not be so cynical (I address myself here).  After all, seeing my pay in my bank account yesterday gave me a lovely warm sensation and made it all seem worthwhile.  I was so happy that I agreed to take all three children out on a boat trip.  One of those pedalo things that you need long legs for.  All in all, it was a pleasant experience, though Titus leaping around the boat akin to a mountain goat prevented me from relaxing completely.   And then, when he started one of his Rumpelstiltskin tantrums, we got really nervous.  Hell hath no fury like a Titus scorned.  Luckily we distracted him by pretending he was Captain Smith of the Titanic, deftly steering his craft through the icebergs (orange buoys) back to shore (the jetty).  If only Captain Smith had done so - history would look so different.

The first snow of summer

Ah, thank you for the morale boosting comments from here and other quarters.  I shall carry them close to my heart as I trudge along the long and winding road towards acceptance.  Have to say, I've completely lost interest in new and challenging environments.  I just want to fit in, see to my daily affairs (aren't I the lucky one) and not have to get to know another person for at least six months.

The new car arrived yesterday (sadly not a Mini Cooper, but lovely nonetheless) and it was actually quite touching to observe the stir it caused in our little cul-de-sac.  Herr NN was beside himself with excitement.  He's been on a high recently anyway, as they've been having their house repainted and had to have scaffolding erected and so on.  I am surprised the painter got any work done, as Herr NN stood chatting to him the whole day long.  Plus he seemed to do all his painting with a cigarette hanging from his lip and a bottle of beer in his hand.  But I digress.  I had to push my way through the cluster of neighbours to make my maiden voyage yesterday evening, to guess where - the oh-so-thrilling Pennymarkt (we'd run out of Happy End toilet paper and I cannot contemplate another brand, in case the end is not so happy).  I also had to pick up Gaia from the station and am pleased to report that she likes the car and has now readjusted to being with her dreadful family after 3 weeks away, doing exactly as she pleased.

Today the temperature had dropped 26°C overnight.  I could see the first covering of snow on the higher peaks as I went for a lightning cycle ride this evening.  Funny how yesterday I was sent home from the office early (thank you, Mr Managing Director) due to the baking heat, and today I had to wear socks and a jacket for the first time in weeks.  I put some other clothes on too, in case you're wondering.  Life at home has taken a real turn for the better since we've had Brit-TV again.  CG is amusing himself by flicking through the channels and trying to imitate the various regional accents.  He was particularly tickled by Mancunian (Come Dine with Me).  I suppose it does sound a little strange, though nothing compared to Bavarian.

New kid on the block

Really felt like the new girl at work today.  Arrived at midday in the shimmering heat, sat down at my desk, was greeted with the words 'we're off to lunch now' - no problem in itself.  Then I'm offered a glass of champagne and OJ, which I accept, against my better judgment. Then all the female members of staff go off and have lunch together in an adjoining room, celebrating somebody's birthday (hence the Buck's Fizz), without a word of explanation, leaving me to man the phones. Even the cleaning lady had been invited.  They all looked a bit shifty and I have to be honest, I was hurt. When they weren't looking I chucked my drink away and sat there trying not to cry.  Until the rational side of me kicked in and said get a grip.  So I did, and smiled at them merrily when they emerged, burping delicately, from their exquisite repast. It's hard being the new kid when you're nearly forty.

Yesterday we bought a new car.  That is to say, we borrowed a lot of money to buy a new car.  It's red and black like a ladybird, though luckily the design is a little different.  And just as we were preparing to bid an emotional farewell to our trusty green Twingo, who has served us well for over nine years, it broke down and I had to be rescued by one of my new (male) colleagues in order to get home.  He recharged my battery - lucky me - and I juddered off back to Bovinia.  Twingo, you've got to hold out just a little bit longer.  Just until you are exchanged for the smart new red/black number and head off for the great Renault garage in the sky.  I've heard it's nice there - diamonds are forever (oblique reference to Renault logo).

Deep sigh, deep sigh.  Work again tomorrow.  More smiling and fitting in. Glad to have a job at all; it's got to get better soon!  Surely?

The wrong baby

Thanks to CG I have the perfect subject for my first blog in three weeks.  We're staying with our friends Lance and Antje near Cologne this weekend, but that's largely irrelevant.  Yesterday evening, CG proudly showed me his new wallet, all his cards nicely arranged (it took him half a day to do this) and in pride of place were his photos of children and wife.  One picture caught my eye and I examined it more closely.  That's Hedda, CG assured me.  But guess what  - it is not Hedda, but an unknown child.  The upshot of this all is that my husband has been going around with a picture of the wrong baby for the last eight years.  When I woke up this morning I mulled over this a bit.  Am I being too naive?  Could it be that he has a secret love child? Does he have a different wife photo too? Have no fear, tis not the case.  But ask yourself this - if any picture of a cute blonde toddler will suffice, why go to the lengths of taking photos at all?

The situation has now been rectified.  The unknown child turned out to be my god-daughter, now resident in the USA, so it is not that bad.  I shall let her know that she has occupied a place close to my husband's heart for most of her life.  Now, somewhat hung over, we are about to catch a train into the city centre and look at the famous black cathedral.  Gaia is due back from her tour of Eastern Europe at 4.15 pm and only luck and a shoe string will ensure that she actually catches the train, does not get off at the wrong stop or fail to get off at all - both cases have occurred in the past.  Luckily Cologne central station is a terminus, so the worst thing that can happen is that she stays in her seat and we'll have to bang on the window to make her get out.

We had a wonderful week in Croatia - more about that another time.  Enduring memory - Titus screaming as a plastic bag wrapped itself around his leg whilst snorkelling in the Adriatic (he, not the bag).  Fat Polish men (sorry - note to self - stop making negative observations about Poland) in tight Speedos smoking and - guess what - scratching.  Why do men do that so much?

Cow on a stick

Really I mean cow AND a stick, but I thought 'on' sounded more interesting.  I chose this title for, on my way home from my new job this afternoon, I had to slow down for a very fat farmer, who was wobbling along on a bike and prodding a reluctant cow along with a big stick.  The cow looked most displeased at being prodded, and I wondered why she didn't kick out slyly and send Bauer Sepp (as farmers are known round here) flying.  Prodding cows along the road is a prominent feature of the summer months in Bovinia.  If you are unlucky, and particularly if you are already running late, you will get stuck behind as many as three different herds, all meandering slowly either to or from their byre, dropping dollops of cow-pat on the road and trying to eat  the hedge.

But enough of cows.  A few weeks back, I had the bright idea of asking the local dressmaker (yet another of the cottage industries in our street) to alter some clothes for me.  I went along with Titus and explained what needed doing, and she promised to have it done in a jiffy.  I am now questioning what a Bavarian jiffy entails, since I have heard absolutely nothing from her, though I pass her house regularly.  Rather than spying her bent over a hot sewing machine, I usually see her engaging in the local sport of chatting to the neighbours over the fence.  I look hopeful and try to catch her eye, but she is always preoccupied with swapping lawnmower tips or comparing chainsaws/tractor tyres/window boxes with Frau Schmidt next door.  Titus did try to warn me - he was aghast that I simply handed over my as yet unworn purchases - "she didn't even give you any money for them Mummy!  She just took them!"  Indeed.  As we are leaving for a sunny Croatian island at three tomorrow morning, I have had to abandon all hope of getting my summer dress back in time to take with me.  I had to poke around my bare wardrobe for some paltry alternatives.  CG had absolutely no sympathy.  Incomprehensibly, he thinks I have far too many clothes.  This, although I warned him years ago in the first flush of new marriage that a woman can and will never have too many clothes, shoes, or earrings.

So, in exactly six hours our alarm clock will ring, and we shall leap out of bed with zest and zeal and reach blindly for the coffee machine.  If I am going to learn some Croatian I'd better hurry up.  I feel rather unmotivated, it is true to say, but at the very least I shall try and master 'a glass of cold dry white wine please' or, failing that, just 'please' and point at the bottle.  Adieu, dear readers.  I'll be back browner, and probably plumper, in a week's time.

This and that - mostly that

Day Two of new job successfully completed.  Am devoid of humour, being completely exhausted from smiling and trying to fit in to the company image.  Livened up what was left of the afternoon by feeding the neighbours' goldfish to their cats.  Sorry, I mean and their cats.

Yesterday evening I took Gaia to the airport for her flight to Poland.  She has been paid a thousand euros by the Polish Tourist Board to go there, hold out for two weeks on a campsite at the Polish Riviera and come back raving about how wonderful everything is.  Hopefully the idea will catch on and Poland will become THE holiday destination of the future.  I jest, of course.  True, she has gone to Poland, with some misgivings, but the first SMS was extremely positive in tone - off to the beach following tasty breakfast.  As for what she'll get up to in the evenings, I have no clue, nor do I want one.  Definitely a case of what the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve after.

I was about to tell you about our planned trip to Croatia, but I fear Titus has just been kidnapped by a local farmer, so must dash.  Said farmer likes to drive around with children in his tractor cabin.  Sounds harmless enough, but I'll take a look just in case...