Frohliche Weihnacten!

                          

Greetings earthlings! Frohliche Weihnachten! That is Merry Christmas in German, oh uncultured ones. (I took the initiative and asked Jeeves). I have just returned from the land of gluwein and goulash with a giant Tyrolean jumper. I mean a proper one, with a reindeer pattern, a George Michael in the ‘Last Christmas’ video one. I’m sure it will make men quiver with lust on viewing. Disastrously I was in Innsbruck and only Salzburg has the Sound of Music tour but what’s a girl to do. So, my days have been fruitful and merry. And by that I mean that they have consisted of wandering around Austrian markets scoffing my face with bratwurst. Naughty!

                         

Still I was feeling Christmassy. It was snowing, there was yodelling, what more could you possibly want?  Well there was one problem.

The main issue arising from spending time in a snow clad ski resort is that if you don’t ski you look A) like a bit of a loser/wannabe middle class joy rider and B) you will be lacking in entertainment and variety big time! As a result, going up the cable car without skiing equipment in a very dodgy looking puffa jacket raised a few eyebrows from the too cool for school Austrian teenagers. Well screw them! If I want to go to the top of the mountains and pretend that they are the misty mountains of Mordor then that is my prerogative/sad state of affairs. I got to the top, or near to the top. Actually not very near the top. I sat on a bench near the café. I yelled a bit under the pretence of feeling the great might and awe of nature but really I just wanted to avalanche the Austrian teenage skiers into oblivion. You see, despite being terminally middle class, as a ski novice I have no notion of ski etiquette, particularly regarding the chair lifts which look like a particularly dangerous staircase to heaven. I decided in a moment of madness that it would be fun just to ride the ski chairs a couple of times. Who cares if I didn’t have skis or a snowboard, how discriminating! They go round and round like a conveyor belt so what harm could it do? Ski chairs are perfect for an over imaginative disposition. I was thinking along the lines of a fantastic James Bond moment when Roger Moore (it would be far too silly for Sean Connery) escapes the villains after some impressive skiing moves with a very ‘realistic’ body double and is subsequently propelled by an effective gadget onto the chair lift. After burying his victims in the snow, Roger Moore raises an eyebrow and utters, ‘Well, they’ve found themselves snowed under!’ chortle, chortle, sexist remark, smoulder. This is what I was thinking when I attempted to embark on my mission. I swaggered over to the skiers and tried to jump onto the ski chair. I was met with a very loud and angry Austrian man who promptly stopped the whole ski chair circuit. The party of skiers hanging in mid air were not impressed. Apparently if I had got on without skis I would have had to jump off at the top which, without skis, could have sent me hurtling down the mountain, or I could have stayed on the chair lift which turns upside down on the way back which would have sent me hurtling down the mountain. If I were James Bond I would have had a jet ski in my rucksack and would have reached the ground to safety just in time to bed the bimbo before the credits roll. Unfortunately I had no jet ski and left with my tail between my legs off the mountain under the gaze of the furrowed brow of the livid Austrian. Party pooper.

                      

In an attempt to redeem myself in Austrian etiquette, I thought I would take in a traditional Austrian classical concert. How civilised! Unfortunately for me I have not had much experience in this field of music. The last ‘classical’ concert I had been to was when I was 10 years old and playing the clarinet in one of those poorly organised school affairs where parents watch with glazed eyes and cotton wool shoved in their ears. I had been taking joint clarinet lessons for a year with a friend. She had progressed far quicker than me and had been given the coveted role of playing Elvis Presley’s ‘Love me Tender’ on the clarinet. Not wanting to leave me out, (although in retrospect I bet she wished she’d had) my teacher excitedly informed me that my great sonata would be the Eastenders theme tune, a piece revered by audiences all over and renowned in classical circles as being akin to Chopin, Schubert and Bach. So the big day arrived and my proud parents, brother and grandfather all took the front row to support my great talent. A lot of kids went before me, doing nice twiddly bits on the piano, whilst their pushy parents whooped and hollered at them like dissident politicians in PM’s question time. I think the only thing I thought I could do to alleviate this dire situation was to attack the ‘piece’ with force. I played the Eastenders theme tune with gusto but unfortunately was far too over exuberant and forgot to suck in my cheeks. I ended up looking like a blowfish on ecstasy and swiftly left the stage to lack lustre applause. More embarrassment was to follow. The next boy on the stage was clearly very nervous and clearly took music very seriously. He spent ages tuning up his oboe and clearing his throat authoritatively. Just when he was about to play the first note, my younger brother, who is an expert in spontaneous flatulence produced the greatest, longest, loudest rattler that I have ever heard in my entire life. Deathly silence followed. The boy on stage looked bewildered. Cue my dad, who could never resist playing the comedian. He ushered the immortal line ‘what a bum note’. I sunk deeper in my chair and hid my face in my hands. Everyone exploded with laughter and my music teacher gave my family a look of absolute disgust. It was as though we had wiped our arses on a Mozart script.

Massive digression but the point is….. well there is no point really. I just wanted to get a fart joke in. The festive spirit of Innsbruck is contagious and I am now spending my nights dreaming of Captain Von Trapp in lederhosen. I mean he is divine, no wonder Maria didn’t want to be a nun. She practically had an orgasm every time he blew that dog whistle! (this is a reference to the film and not some fetishistic innuendo).
 
                      
Quite frankly the Austrian concert passed without any amusing incidents and was dull as dishwater. I think next time I’ll stick to the old boy with a zither. He was high on a hill with a lonely goat herd……

Disclaimer: Contrary to what this blog might have you believe, I did not travel to Austria by myself on a Mr Bean style holiday.

                     

I love my friends!

"I do not wish to treat friendships daintily, but with the roughest courage. When they are real, they are not glass threads or frost-work, but the solidest thing we know."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

      

 As Emily Dickinson says, ‘my friends are my estate.’ I love my friends, so here is a little humorous look at all the different friend types I have been blessed with in my life. Some are generic, others you may be able to work out! All were written with affection.

The Cameo:  The friend that is flakier than a 99p flake. This is the kind of person that rocks up to pre drinks an hour late, downs a bottle of wine, and then wanders off never to be seen again. Often found passed out in bushes, their company is fleeting yet rewarding. This friend often makes outlandish excuses to get out of social occasions. For example, he/she was supposed to look after his/her mother’s favourite houseplant and it died. They now have to go out and purchase a cactus to replace the plant with a more exotic counterpart. Which will mean flying to Mexico. Sorry.

The Pseudo Intellectual: The friend, usually a male, who fancies himself as a smarty pants but in reality is a little bit of a phoney. Usually found misquoting Nietzsche, this friend can fool many, but you’ve got him sussed! He is frequently found watching foreign films and documentaries about the Atom Bomb. He thinks that Tolstoy’s War and Peace is the dog’s bollocks….despite only reading the first 100 pages ... and he never has a structured an argument to back up his elaborate points. He usually illustrates his ‘intellectualism’ with flowery vernacular not dissimilar to the assertive feminist. He protests about Tibet. He is a friend who goes through many phases to make himself stand out. He might participate in ju jitzu, learn Klingon or read Chomsky in his spare time. He is also a big fan of travelling, however only if it is for spiritual or intellectual ‘enlightenment’.  He has sampled cuisine from all five continents and frequently whips up Asian inspired entrees. He believes that he is the thinking woman’s crumpet. Wears waistcoats.

The Early Riser: This is the friend, usually a girl, who has a tattoo of carpe diem on her foot. Every day is a challenge, an opportunity to be seized. She revels in achievement from dawn til dusk. She has never got up past 9am in her life, even with mammoth hangovers. In these situations, when everyone else has lost the power of speech and are attending to their panda eyes, this friend has been up for two hours, washed her hair, got dressed and done a few sudokus.  A mesmerizing force of optimism and energy. She usually has an actual talent, a talent that makes your year 5 rendition of the Eastender’s theme tune on the clarinet at a concert deplorable. Occasionally displays geeky tendencies that are not discernable to the naked eye. You know though, you’ve seen her sci-fi collection in her room!  

The Love/Hate pairing: The two friends in your friendship group that simultaneously love and hate each other. It’s all a game of cat and mouse and pig-tail pulling, as they pretend to argue about everything! Music, politics, comedy, adverts. When I say pretend, I mean pretend. These two friends probably have more in common than Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee and clearly enjoy some good sparring. There are lots of affectionate insults flung around and the sharp tongued jibes are laced with sexual tension. Of course the love/hate friends are unaware of this tension, but that’s what makes it all the more entertaining. You have always found it amusing that for two people who vehemently express their loathing for each other, they spend an inordinate amount of time in each other’s company….  

The Genius with no common sense: This friend, it has to be said, is usually a male. He is possibly considered one of the great minds of the day, has studied medicine, law, economics at a prestigious University. He has probably already had something significant published in a journal. He excels at all academia, and yet he is an idiot of unquantifiable proportions. He lacks a lot of social awareness, is tactless and cannot hold his drink. Usually oblivious to his surroundings, this friend will lie across a tram track after a glass of shandy and pass out at inappropriate occasions. Often wears oddly matched socks.

The Whimsical Daydreamer: This is a floaty type of friend, usually a girl, who seems to exist in her own mind. Often adorned in hippy attire, this girl seems to glide into a room, like a bat in a poncho. She is distressed because the last leaf of the sycamore tree in the garden has fallen. This represents destruction. This friend often has a quiet, silvery voice and makes her own jewellery. She likes art house films and conspiracy theories, particularly if they indicate that the end of the World is nigh. She likes clothes with toggles on them. Toggles.

 The Singing Sensation:  This is a friend who sings everywhere! In their room, in the shower, on the toilet, in the garden, walking to work, walking from work, in the living room and over the TV. This friend probably loved musicals as a child and still has dreams of Broadway. Unfortunately this friend is completely unaware that his/her singing sounds like a bag of cats been thrown against a brick wall and unassumingly irritates you all with his/her less than perfect pitch. Probably owns a guitar. Probably can play the guitar much better than he/she can sing. He/she is unaware of this. Extremely complex songs are often attempted with disastrous consequences. Dido should never ever be attempted if you have a flat voice!

The PR Guru: Your friend, who outside your friendship group may be referred to as a control freak. This friend could rule the world, like Pinky and the Brain but the Brain does not like to share power with Pinky. In this metaphor, we, as the ‘other’ are Pinky. This friend is an organising machine and occasional megalomaniac, it’s his/her way or the highway. This friend is obsessed with tiny details and woe betide anyone who does not live up to expectations. However he/she is the first to organise surprise birthday parties and ‘spontaneous’ city breaks. This friend always gets the drink to nibble ratio at parties right, and is a connoisseur when it comes to diplomacy. This friend is fabulous at advising how to avoid tricky social situations and is swiftly turning PR Guru for your friendship group. Move aside Max Clifford.

The Assertive Feminist: Ah, the female friend who is extremely fierce. Not Beyonce fierce. Like scary fierce. She is usually known for being a master of the eye roll. She is pretty good at the eyebrow raise too. This usually occurs after a misogynistic comment by a male. A misogynistic comment she feels was masquerading under the pretence of laddy banter! She is a fan of Germaine Greer and spends a lot of time reading feminine discourse and defending her sex. She is probably an expert in the field of forced female circumcision. As a result she over compensates in the aggression department on occasions and scares a lot of men. Ironically though, most of her friends are men as she regards overly girly behaviour as something that must be thwarted. Despite this, she is genuinely nice to her few girl friends. Opinionated, sharp, and sarcastic, this girl uses unnecessarily elaborate vocabulary to make her point. She does not understand most of it. For the few who know her well, she is actually a massive baby and can often be found crying to Joni Mitchell and Eva Cassidy. She has a penchant for stray dogs. Oh, this friend type is often placed in the love/hate pairing.

The One with Peter Pan syndrome:  Usually a male friend who is not growing up at the same rate as most of your friendship group. It’s the end of university and most of your friends are settling down with long term girlfriends, getting jobs but this boy is still planning the next chunder induced pub crawl. This friend usually accuses other male friends who have serious girlfriends of turning into dullards. He resents change, and quite frequently harbours Freudian  homoerotic desire for his ever dwindling circles of lads. This friend mainly sees relationships as suffocating, but does not mind an anonymous tryst now and then. Often found smacking the gluteus maximus of a trampy, inebriated fresher at the student ‘cheese’ night. Despite such flaws, this friend is endearingly vulnerable due to his childishness and flocks of premature mother hen types rush to his assistance…. He usually seduces them.