deconstructing mark
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Friday 29.8.03 | SO here we go, really the last few days... Just been to de-register with the police, which was, as predicted, grim. Having battled through the rain and the wind to get to the place, I joined a queue of about 400, meekly sitting in the waiting room suddenly feeling more normal than I ever have before (just to cite one example, a bloke walked in and sat down next to me; I thought he was comparatively sane until I noticed he was carrying a number-plate with him); plus of course there was the obligatory crying baby, drilling going on somewhere nearby, smelly old woman and mad German drunk berating everyone (and even the potted plant) in the room. Joy. Concert tomorrow. Saturday 30.8.03 **MY year abroad: A summary** Time spent away: About 10 months New cities I have got to know: Two very well, few others Amount of work done: Approximately 12 hours Amount of time spent pointlessly gassing: Approximately 8 months two weeks Amount of wine drunk: Enough to launch a cruise-ship (repulsive thought) Amount of calories consumed: Please don't Amount of calories burned: Approximately 10 Yoga sessions done: 1 Answerphones programmed: 1 Ironing boards broken: 1, this morning, fell apart in my hands People met: Quite a few People met whose names were instantly and irrevocably forgotten, leading to much embarrassment as I know several of them quite well now: A fair proportion Amount of times swore at the French: Lots Actual amount of French spoken: About 10 minutes' worth Amount of German spoken: Lots more than French Amount of German learned, however, which is useful: Around 10 words. A bloody good year, methinks. Sunday 31.8.03 I hate packing. Concert went quite well in the end. We fucked up one piece really quite spectacularly (but then I always say that if you're going to do something, you may as well do it properly) and, after two glasses of crap fake champagne afterwards, I suddenly began to feel quite drunkenly emotional, although the fact that I never have to sing 'Something inside so strong' with 60 Germans is something that will be of eternal comfort, I must say. Monday 1.9.03 SHIT, shit, shit, it's September, just realised how ridiculously little I have acheived in the last 350 days (can't BELIEVE in two weeks it will be a YEAR since I moved to Nice, yarg) and I've got to pack today and I feel like my head has been attached for several days to one of the very fast German express trains that chunter back and forth between Bonn and Berlin because I drank far too much last night. Ugh. Worst was that I felt obliged to get up and say goodbye to my flatmate this morning, who was off to write an exam. Embararssingly, I couldn't bring myself to speak for several minutes while he stood and giggled at me. Never mind, never mind. Well, it's all over, this really is it. I know I should probably be sprouting some sort of sentimental claptrap about how wonderful Germany is, but if you've been reading half-attentively recently (and if not why not, praytell?) you would know that (a) I love the place and (b) I'm not an over-emotional sow who goes on about things like this at length, so fuck that. Oh god, am incoherent this morning. Am going book-shopping. Yes. Oh god, but just before I go, I managed to break the hoover in the flat yesterday. Why is it, right, that just as I am gearing up to go, I turn into Calamity sodding Jane? | |||||||||
