Cons and Pros.

So, as the Big Move (to Belfast) draws ever closer (some time in July), I'm beginning to worry about some things, and rejoice about others. There are the practical worries like "will I get into university?", "how long will The Husband's visa take?" and "how the holy jiggedy fuck are we going to move all our crap there?"

There are other worries to be taken into account as well. Like, what am I doing moving back somewhere I never thought I'd be pre-retirement age? Or at least "settling down" age. I'd be worried that that's what I'm doing, except that it's hard to settle down without a proper job, a house or the means to procure either. I am also feeling some slight trepidation about re-involving myself with a society that is somewhat less open minded than where I am now, with regard to religion, race and sexuality. Though, who knows? I've been more or less away for three years. For all I know it's like Sodom and Gomorrah on Buckfast by now. No rules, no judgment and mind the weird purple-brown puke on your way out. Here's hoping.

But yes, with cons comes pros. Lovely, lovely pros. Like the aforementioned Buckfast, and the oft-mentioned Scampi Fries. And pubs with fires and people in them who talk and laugh LOUDLY. And family, and old friends and maybe a little kitten to call our own. And a new city, and new beginnings and EXCITEMENT.

Pros ALWAYS outweigh the cons. 

Ach, Jaysus.

So all my Lenten promises came to nothing and I reverted to my usual ways in an alarmingly, but not exactly surprisingly, short space of time. My usual ways consist of spending my time drinking wine, watching Never Mind the Buzzcocks and not writing anything. Oh well, you win some you lose some.

I have also been doing other things like enjoying the FANTASTIC WEATHER this weekend by drinking by the Landwehr Kanal, which probably THE BEST thing to do in Berlin. It is also very much in keeping with the purported theme of this blog (no, not mad-woman-rants-about-strange-love-for-Katy-Perry's-single-Waking-up-in-Vegas, but rather stuff-to-do-when-broke-in-Berlin). If you're visiting Berlin* in the sunshine I cannot recommend highly enough grabbing a few cold Augustiners (green label, creepy old man face picture) or Tegenseer Hells (pretty pretty blue and white Bavarian flag label) and parking your butt by the canal. I like the bit near Prinzenstrasse U-Bahn, with the boat restaurant, swans and close proximity to the ER visitor toilets in the hospital. Very roomy and, seeing as it's a hospital, pretty fucking spotless. Useful if you're the kind of person who, without fail, pisses on their own feet when trying to pee discreetly in bushes after dark.

* If you're actually living here and you haven't already been doing this at every available opportunity what exactly have you been doing? 

Happy St Patrick's Day!

I am, obviously, not out and about getting drunk and proclaiming my Irishness to the world (by getting drunker) because I am still a bit sick and every time I laugh I have a fantastically disgusting coughing fit.

But yeah, have a good one. It's days like to today (when it pisses with rain) that I miss Dublin. Where the pubs have cozy fires and scampi fries.

I miss my iPod.

Yes, I lost my iPod just after Christmas. The third I've lost because I am a total fucking tool. Left it on the plane like a tit and didn't notice for ages. Too weary and disillusioned to phone the airline (I flew Ryanair) so now I am forced to spend my days listening to German teenagers and maniacs' inane chitchat on the BVG. Grr, argh. Along with the blissful, blissful removal from others' conversations that portable music devices bring I miss my freakin' music, man. In particular I miss The National. They make me so very, very glad I have ears. No mean feat as my ears and I have always had an uneasy relationship, though this has improved slightly since I achieved what my mother always promised I would and "grew into them". But yes, this band are truly, truly fantastic. I also miss the hip hop playlist that me fella put on there, that I would put on when I was in a pissy mood/it was raining/I'd no cash to buy a Ritter Sport*, put my parka hood up and stomp around to.




* Yes, these are the problems in my life, pretty much. I should be shot for ever complaining.

The Guardian's New Europe

So the Guardian are doing a series on "New Europe", whatever the dickens that means, and this week Germany ist dran. This article might be a little on the facile side but generally I found it fairly accurate and amusing. Any other Berliners/Germans/random people who have ended up living in Germany out there who feel differently? I am interested in how nations see themselves, and how this correlates with other views, however (un)informed*.

Me, I quite like the Germans, deep down. Except that it takes you bloody ages to reach "deep down", as opposed to Ireland where time required to move from near-strangers to near-best-friends = approx. half a pint/full normal-sized cuppa. And until you get there it's all Frau Chamberlain this, Sie that. Formal and restrained and just the teensiest bit cold. At least in my experience.

* If this sounds like I'm soliciting for material for some sort of thesis, I'm not. Just really, really nosy.

Things I do now that I'm married...

...that I'd never have done before.

#1 Contemplate buying a house. When my uncle (who is "good with money") suggested this when we were asking for advice as to what to do with money accrued from the wedding I very nearly passed out. Seriously, I went all pale and weird and started stammering that I wasn't a grown-up yet and that it seemed "too permanent". But I've more or less overcome that now, just about in time to discover we probably couldn't afford to do anything of the sort. Ach, well.

#2 I have started collecting interior design images in my special folder on the hubby's Mac. My laptop finally died you see*, so I'm using his, and he made me the special folder to stop me "messing up the whole darned desktop"**. I went shopping today not for clothes or other trinkets but for a laundry "hamper". I actually used that word in my head and all. A "hamper". Ker-ist.

#3 I am contemplating making a spreadsheet to sort out our finances. I figure this will be the final nail in my hip-and-cool-gal-about-town persona's coffin, but, and this is the really worrying bit, I really don't care. When I'm not having a silly, hangover induced freak-out about how "boring" my life has become (it hasn't at all), I am perfectly content pottering about doing domestic things. At least for the moment, I'd imagine the novelty of domestic bliss would wear of pretty sharply if I was to follow through on the threat I made today and just become "a stay-at-home little wifey". But for the moment, for these next few months before the Big Move location and career-wise I'm going to try and glean all the enjoyment I can out of the simple miracle that is me being a lovestruck newlywed.

* To be fair, it didn't completely. I just finally ran out of patience with the fucking thing.
** The husband doesn't actually used words like "darned" unless he's being ironic. But sometimes, him being Texan and all, I like to have him speak like a cowboy in my head.

Being A Better Me

So after a weekend of doing fuck all but drinking myself into an increasingly pissy mood and thus being horrible to my lovely husband (a man of immense patience, thank the good lord) I have decided that enough is enough. I am (seriously now) going off the drink until Good Friday. I know if I was going full Lenten hog it would be Easter Sunday, but we're going on our honeymoon that weekend, and I want to be able to enjoy a beer or two* on the banks on the Donau (we're going to Regensburg, in which the husband used to live, and which is apparently gorgeous). Wish me luck!

* Seriously, I am going to have to become one of those people that says "going for a few drinks" and actually means just that. I just cannot handle it otherwise.