Category Archives: Uncategorized

238. One of these things is not like the others…

I’d popped into Lidl’s really for some packets of herb seeds.  I’ll not say this too loudly, at risk of causing a stampede – we’re not too far from the site of the Great Ikea Riot of 2005 – but you can get a packet of parsley seeds for just 49p in Lidl’s.  I know, amazing isn’t it! And then I spotted a packet of Mixed Annuals.

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237 Rambling On…

“So there we were, scrabbling around on the cell floor in front of the Naked Rambler, trying to pick up the papers and desperately trying not to look up and not to laugh…”

It broadens the mind does travel, and going away last weekend to celebrate a school-IMG_20170708_105718634_HDRfriend’s sixtieth brought us into contact with interesting people who had interesting stories to tell and different – shall we say – viewpoints.

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234. Shake well before use…

What with Manchester and London Bridge and elections, I’ve been tiptoeing around social media of late, in an attempt to avoid the slabs of pure venom which are scattered amid the good stuff.  So, it was only this morning that I hit upon a post sharing the shattering news that one of my heroes – Tom Isaacs, president and co-founder of the Cure Parkinson’s Trust – died last week.  His passing was, apparently, “unexpected and swift”.  He was just forty nine.

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228. Good luck will rub off…

What am I like? Here am I inviting you… nay, begging you …. to read my blogs – hundreds of the little blighters – (the early ones are the best: less parentheses) and not once have I given a moment’s thought to your safety whilst doing so.  Not a glimmer of a risk assessment has crossed my mind.

Yet, while immersed in the Jelly Chronicles (I have a particular fondness for number four), you might be putting yourself in all sorts of dangers.  Heavens, your solicitor could, at this very moment, be preparing a claim for damages!  I must remedy this remissness without delay.

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217.When troubles come…

Life can turn on a sixpence.

Ann from next door and I were chatting yesterday whilst sweeping leaves off the pavement.  Ann has an uncle – we’ll call him Pat – in his mid-nineties.  He’s been married for forty-seven years to his second wife.  Let’s call her Jess.  She’s about ten years younger than Uncle Pat, so mid-eighties.  There are two sons, both abroad.

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212. Day 16: It’s a small, small world…

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He was a bully, our History teacher; a sarcastic, nasty piece of work. If you were lucky, he’d throw chalk at you but he was just as likely to throw the blackboard rubber. “Do you need an extra chair?” he’d sneer at Michael, who was on the stout side. “Will you be in class tomorrow or are you taking the day off to celebrate Jewish Christmas?” he’d say to Rachel. And I probably didn’t see the worst of him; I suspect that was saved for when he took boys’ games.

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209. Day 13: Lucky for us…

I was honestly unsure what to expect from Germany.  Having grown up in the Sixties, my image of Germans came from war films, prisoner of war stories and comedy stereotypes.  As an adult, intellectually I learnt the difference between contemporary Germany and the Nazi party but until I saw it for myself, I’d not taken on board the incredible journey the German people have made.
This trip – and Nuremberg in particular – have been a real education.

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The cottage on the left is where we are staying as guests of the lovely Fabien: a young man who works as a property developer.  The building and the yellow house you can see to the right are more than five hundred years old.  Inside, he’s done a smashing job on restoring a mad jumble of beams and levels.

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All the other houses in the street are post-war.

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On the night of 2nd of January 1945, over ninety per cent of Nuremberg was destroyed in bombing.  All of the churches, the town-hall, more than two thousand preserved medieval houses as well as the residential area surrounding the centre were hit.

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The restaurant where we ate last night had photos of how it looked before and then immediately after the bombing.  Practically nowhere was intact.

This afternoon we went on a guided tour around the city and were able to see what a superb job the people of Nuremberg have done in its restoration.  They really have recreated a beautiful place from the rubble and are justly proud of their home.

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Yet again we were extremely lucky with our guide.  Anya was knowledgeable and enthusiastic.  She took us right through the history of the city from when it was part of Charlemagne’s  Holy Roman Empire to becoming a Protestant Centre after Martin Luther.  Luther himself visited the city twice and stayed in this car-park; only in those days it was a monastery.

Car park on right.

Car park on right.

We learnt about the little bays which became a fashionable adornment to houses.  Apparently, the city leaders wanted these forbidden on the grounds that a plain facade was more in keeping with the Protestant ideal.  The householders responded by saying that these spaces were simply to give them more room to focus on prayer.  Oh, that’s OK then,     said the council.  Go ahead.

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These became known as Ladies Windows as ladies liked to sit there and watch what was going on outside.  In between praying, of course.

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Albrecht Dürer spent much of his life in Nuremburg, so there’s a statue of him, and a museum about him, and a house (above) which belonged to him and an airport named after him, and this statue which is quite recent but was inspired by one of his wood-prints.

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Anya talked about the impact that the Nazi period had on the town.  There is an archive and visitors’ centre documenting the history of that time; as in Heidleberg, we were aware that there is a determination to acknowledge what happened and learn from it.

The stones from the Nazi parade ground have been reclaimed to restore the floor of this old peoples' home.

The stones from the Nazi parade ground have been reclaimed to restore the floor of this old peoples’ home.

There were many places left in ruins after 1945, of course.  But I’d never really appreciated how the German people after the War and then – for some – the Soviet occupation, had not just to reconstruct their buildings but also to completely rebuild their society from the ground up.  What a task!

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We’ve loved our time here: the places we have visited all seem clean and cared-for; all the Germans we have met have been helpful and friendly.  Their transport system works like a dream: the mix of modern trams and bikes must be a major reason why the cities are so clean and pleasant.  It’s been a brilliant country to visit and I’ve learnt so much.  Tomorrow, we head for France but we’re both keen to come back to Germany next time we go travelling.

Now, we’re going to back into the city for an evening stroll before packing up for the morning.

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208. Day 12: A night at the Opera…

 

Concert tickets bought on a whim – cheapest available – from a street vendor dressed in C18th garb (think Amadeus) – are never going to be the best seats in the house. Before setting off in our glad rags, however, I do check online to discover with some relief that the opera house does indeed exist, that we have paid the going price and, moreover, the concert is almost a sell- out. Continue reading →

207. Day 11: Take your partners please…

… for a quick waltz through today’s highlights.

  • A visit to the Albertina Gallery to see their ‘From Monet to Picasso’ exhibition.
  • ‘City highlights walk’ with our trusty Rick Steves audio guide.
  • Purchase of tickets for concert tonight of Mozart and Strauss
  • Packing up ready for tomorrow’s departure

and (drum roll)

  • Figuring out how the dryer works in laundry down the road so we now have clean and dry socks.

Now need to get scrubbed up for tonight.  Meanwhile, a taster from this morning:

Albertina Gallery

 

206. Day 10: A Viennese Whirl…

We’ve come to an agreement, this apartment and I.  I’m going to be grateful to it for providing a comfortable bed, reasonably priced, reasonably near the centre of Vienna. In its turn, the apartment will try hard to not resemble the set of a black and white cold war thriller starting Alan Bates and Richard Burton.

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