There is nothing to be saied and done. I just wait for the opportunity.
I have to write some texts, to recherche some things, to meet some people – oh yes, I am busy: I DO all this.

I just want to: Fill it in.


A bicycle

I came on Clough Willimas-Ellis because he wrote a book about the royal tank-corps he served with. The greater was my surprise to “meet” this man again when I looked for informations about a TV-series I had seen in my childhood: It was about a man who was kidnapped and held as a prisoner in a strange holiday-like kind of village – yes, the connaisseurs under the readers of this blog will have recognized it: Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner.
I remember especial scenes with a balloon coming out of the water and the bicycle. And I was always eager about the new “Number Two”. There are some sites dealing with this show – just google it out -, and of course there is a kind of society, and of course they quarrel with each others – ah humans …

Where is the connection between above mentioned tank-officer and a forgotten late sixties TV-series?
Clough Williams-Ellis built Portmeirion, that served as location for the series’ shooting. He put a south-european style kind of village into Wales. This is the new catch of the week.
Some day I will visit this place and see it with my own eyes.


Yes, back home. No major damage. Except that I started to smoke some cigarettes in the night to Sunday all went well. But I will not start to smoke again, I had some wine and sat in smoke-blue kind of yard and listened to some strange people telling strange stories. Enough for the next 12 months. I am pretty good with german dialects, but how these folks pronounced …
No good news, no bad news, no news at all. I try to land a job at some teaching or educational facility, a friend today told me about them looking for lecturers. Topics can be computer basics or internet for beginners, political basics, german language – I am ready to teach anything except maths.


I was in a supermarket today standing at the long conveyor belt where you slam all the goods on. Ahead of me was a father in his fifties with his girl of -say 5 ? years of age. She was lively, talking and pronouncing good, and climbing on this supermarket-trolley in a way that my heart nearly fainted: I automatically stood behind her for the case of dropping down. I know that kids can climb, yes, but a trolley can roll away, especiall when kiddy is moving and shaking the thing after father exhorted her to be careful … Daddy did not look with his arse let alone an eye.
He grabbed the trolley and moved on. He slammed his goods on the belt and I noticed that a packing was dripping. I first thought that it to be water but it was oil. It was one of the last things before my goods followed and I noticed the cashier by pointing at it. She took the package, showed it to daddy and asked whether he would take it, what he accepted. Then she got up and went for a bag or a kind of towel or something to wrap the oily thing in.
Now superdad started to tell his daughter that she broke the thing. And how sad he would be now. She already excused herself, but superdad told her that he could not accept that, because the package – well it IS broken. And it is her fault. In a tone and a voice dripping of false pity and lousy pathos, making a big show when he finally took the dripping package in a plastic-bag the cashier brought by and put the thing in the trolley.
I stood there in amazement. I looked at the cashier. She looked at the girl, that saied loud and clear: “I did not want to crack that thing. Do I have touched it? I excuse myself.” Superdad kept on brabbling that he would be not contend now. Finally he paied by card.

This miserable lousy bastard plants into this child self-doubt, insecurity, the feeling to be guilty and to be never sufficient. At the age of five she learns that she is the one that makes the mistake and father is not content. I would have happily kicked his arse, but than i would not sit here.
And it changes nothing.

Some people really can not handle love.