Boring for England?

No, I don't want to bore you. 

So these photos will be the last ones from my visit to London I'll show you, promised.   

They are more traditional, because Rachel complained that the others "could be everywhere"- 

These ones NOT: 

Ha, you might think: now I've got you! These could be from Paris! 

Maybe they could - but they are from Battersea Park. 

Glorious! 

And can you believe that the father of my friend Trish accompanied Mr.Churchill to the Wannsee-Konferenz? 

And that I saw a letter to her father, written by him: 

PS: "And what do you think of Britta's Dream Aga, Sweetie?" 

                                                  

"Absolutely Fabulous!"

... and VERY British 

And this I found - I swear - in London -  Street Art you could find anywhere? 

:

Anyway: I will return. Again. And again. 

(Promise to myself)

A quick run on Monday through London (Part II)

I visited museums for old and modern Art 

e.g. Tate Britain 

and Tate Modern

revelled in Street Art 

and felt refreshed by Nature 

saw Things battling hard to survive 

or having lost the fight against time already

 dreaming seclusively of times bygone

while others, overhauled,  look somehow like fakes: 

As it is Monday evening (but I promised to write, so discipline wins) I was a bit in a hurry, sorry - in a few days I will show you the last (condensed) part of my impressions of lovely London.

London - at last (and at length...)

Dear You, 
while I want to tell you about my stay in London, I feel like her, above - trying to play this:

yes: all those titles in the shop "The Duke of Uke" are adapted for ukulele - I ask you: can you imagine AC/DC on ukulele??? 

My friends could, evidently...

(While they plunked they still had enough power to withhold me from entering the pub of the legendary Kray-Twins in East End - on the other side of the Duke - from where they schemed their criminal activities in London - the twins, I mean). 

They didn't know that I have a special guardian angel - you can find him in Tate Britain (where my journey started, after meeting my wonderful friend Trish. 

My angel and I - in close embrace we reach our ideal body weight, BMI alright, I feel sooo protected!
When I had enough from ukulele chirping, I went to get some real music: the Saatchi Gallery exhibited the Rolling Stones (and kindly gave me a special solo (!!) concert of Mick - wearing the offered 3-D-specs - gosh! was I happy that nobody else saw me with them - only Mick - looking quite wintery but vivid, and very tiny ("Hi, Mick - love your latest! - but I also love my High Heels!)

You say that my impressions of  "London - Part I"  seem a bit hazy?

That has nothing to do with the huge Craft Beer Festival in The Oval (Space) (which was a bit difficult to find - because there is another "Oval" near Vauxhall station - but I just followed those guys whose body-type seemed to indicate that they do love beer - real ale..).

Now, sweety, I'll give you a short rest.

After the weekend we'll meet again in wonderful, wonderful London. "Nice to meet you, hope you guess my name... uh, uh..." 

In case you should have forgotten - due to my long absence from blog-land - it's:

Britta xxx

We Are Beer

"Not commenting makes me feel guilt-stricken and nervy. I am prone to that." - this I found on Mise's blog. 
Yes! Yes! Yes! - or: Same! Same! Same! (Dropped the "H" nonchalantly after meeting some real Londoners). 
Because my guilty secret is: 
I am back from LONDON - and VIENNA - and have neither written nor read posts for almost 2 weeks after coming home. 

Though actually I had such a sensational heading:  "SUNBURN in LONDON!" (And never in my life I had a sunburn before - but at the Craft Beer Festival in The Oval Space it (almost) happened). 
Outside of course - above you see the inside - at the beginning - later you couldn't put a foot into it -- too many people, too much beer on the floor. But: fun. 
I will tell you of my adventures soon. 

But before that I have to negotiate a contract with London's tourist advertisement: 
at last (thanks, Google, tracing every step of mine!) they noticed that every time I come to England - 
                                the weather is exceptionally HOT. 
They want to book me now. 

Will I EVER Reach My Destiny?

Will I EVER reach my destiny? (Of course I know that I should speak of destination... :-)
These days you hear strange tones from my bow window room: I'm practising the pronunciation of some places. I knew about Leicester, Clapham and Greenwich - and a few more - but am still astonished how I ever I made it to "Ho-bun", "Tott-num" and "Marly-bone".



But then: my pronunciation is always a risky one ... n'est-ce pas, Tom? - on the other hand: it peps up my conversation, so mysterious...





 

A Madonnina for me

Dear You,
last Sunday I went to a little flea market in Berlin - and was vexed to see that I was late and them all packing up*. It was half past three - and at 4 pm they have to be off.
So I just did a hurried round - and then, at the very last stall, I found this little Italian madonna.
As I "collect" shop window mannequins with my camera, I saw that it resembles puppets that were made in the Forties or even earlier. She is tiny: about 25 cm height, 15 cm width - and has two impressed signatures, but I have to wait till my Italian friend Gloria, "la mia insegnante", comes back from her holidays in Italy to read what it is. I think there were lots of them in Italy at their time, and it will be nothing special. (I bought it for very little money - one advantage of coming late).
But I instantly fell in love: I love her aura - the expression of the faces is fine - and she exudes serenity.
I found a wonderful place for her on the wall of the bowfront of our flat.
And if someone thinks it a bit "kitschig" - I don't care!

 -

* PS: When I look at this sentence - the grammar - am I right to believe I should stop seeing "Ashes to Ashes" for a while, because glorious Mr. Gene Hunt's dialect dazzles my (broken) English?

...life is just a bowl of cherries...

...and if it isn't, I go to the market and buy some... draw them ... eat them... feel much better. 

And put on my blue sued shoes... 

... take a walk on the wild side through the Royal Park Charlottenburg, filled with bizarre flowers, 

meet a Cupid,   

and the Linden drone on and on that summer proceeds. 

Life is sweet, and all in all we have great choices. 

and when I look at all that bliss I have my head in the clouds again. 

Tired.

I'm a bit tired. I know: that is not a good way to start a post.
I don't write on my blog about politics. Which does not mean that I don't care.
When the Optimistic Existentialist asked in his last post: "Should we really lose faith?" I was on the optimistic side - and still am: I think life has not become worse. It was always tough (and sometimes very much more), but now it seems to the generation after WWII that it is nearer to our doorsteps.
I feel so deeply with the victims. Their next-of-kin.

Beautiful Monday - and Jonathan Spottiswoode

Dear You, 

I had a beautiful week-end, and I hope you too! A friend of mine, Jonathan Spottiswoode (half English, half American) and a friend from Hildesheim, Matti Müller (who has two other bands) gave two concerts here in Berlin - wonderful! 

Here is a taster from one CD that I love very much (I think I've already mentioned it before, but, as Mae West said: "Too much of a good thing can be wonderful", and: I really love Mondays). 

And if you are in London or New York: Jonathan often performs there. 

Shivering in Hull? (Warning to "very conservative children": Film will show painted naked people)

I just  read a book by Virginia Ironside, very amusing, about getting older (and the fun of it). Included is a chapter called: "Boring for Britain."
Now I found another hobby people can indulge in: Shivering for Britain.
See: I discovered an article in the Guardian: more than 3.ooo people in East Yorkshire this morning took part in an Art project in Hull, by photographer Spencer Tunick. Naked, their bodies were painted blue and green, (and maybe the the cold at 3 am has deepened the hue of blue?). One man, 80 now, is part of his installations for the 20th time.

"He said he did get a little chilly during the shoot, but added it was nothing compared to Tunick’s installation in Dublin in the summer of 2008. “That was frightening,” he said. “My children are very conservative. They don’t think it’s totally proper to have their father’s butt on a museum wall, but I love it.” Janssen said it will be the last time he takes part in one of Tunick’s works."  The Guardian 

Imagine: the shot took about 3 hours!

Change of Perspective

Sometimes you get stuck in a rut. (Or I, to be more precise).
Miss the forest for the trees.
After an exhibition on "Harry Graf Kessler - Flaneur through Modern Era" we needed a coffee. Harry was such a restless Dandy, knowing so many  people - Isadora Duncan, Josephine Baker, Henry van der Velde, Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Nietzsche, to name just a few. He connected people. Diaries of 10.000 pages - a man full of seemingly contradictions, political and cultural,
So we sat in front of Starbucks with full view of the Brandenburger Tor (between the columns tarpaulins - behind them the fan park for the European Football Championship) and the sun was shining like mad. No shade, no parasols.
But I wanted a coffee (so much that I even accepted Starbucks').
And so I changed perspective.
I had an umbrella in my handbag - and used it the Japanese way: saved!
I'd never expected that at this stage of my life I would often have to say: "...for the first time in my life!" Surprise! (though the whole last year sometimes teeth-gnashingly, wiping away a tear).
Voluntarily or not: after doing it I suddenly feel - vulnerable in a pleasant way, alive.
Side benefit: I see solutions. So I say:
"If you brexit, my friends - I'll change perspective. You leave - so I will come. In August."
Looking forward! Westward Ho!  

Solace

"for the young at heart". Everytime I think about age and growing older, I know where to go to when it really frightens me: I walk off those disagreable feelings by going for a stroll through the beautiful park of Schloss Charlottenburg.
And nature teaches me that everything is relative, and depends utterly on your point of view.
Here you see a Bald cypress in the middle of the photo.
And the very consoling text on a chart about it starts with the words:

"Despite its youthful age of only 225 years, ..."  

Ha, ain't that good news??

Countenance

Dear You, 
Can you see it?
At least in the shop windows of Germany there are more and more mannequins standing slumped (I can hear my late mother's voice: "Stand tall!" Not easy when you are 14 and 1.78m tall).
By now I know that standing tall is a wonderful way to look ten years younger - but the puppets don't need that, because then they would have to sit in a pram...
No, really: they crouch! I "collect" with my camera window mannequins for decades. And think about them.
For example: You have every reason on earth to be VERY worried if they change their expression from normal "haughty" ("Don't dare to enter this shop, you louse!")

to "smiling".
If they smile, economics will be very, very bad.
And now there are those sapless stooping ones.
The only interpretation I can think of:
most people nowadays walk and stare into their smartphone at the same time - "BUMP!!!" "Oh, sorry!" --- they bend their heads, even when standing somewhere (they might miss one of those ingenious super-special breathtaking news that drop in every second :-)
And the window puppets are always a mirror, mirror on the wall.

I can't control myself...

Susan Flett-Swiderski made me think of the Troggs (just can't control myself :-):
Happy week-end to all of you!

No Comment Moderation

Dear You , 
You might have noticed that I - quite unusual for my blog - had installed "comment moderation" for two days.
No - no vicious comments had come in - the only reason was that on my blog www.burstingwithhappiness.blogspot.com I had overlooked a helpful comment by Mr. Sackerson for quite a while - so sorry! And I thought that with comment moderation on I might be reminded of a new answer.
But I find it too inconvenient - so: everybody is free to say what he/she wants.
Without comment moderation -
and, as I know you all quite well: moderation will not be an issue :-)

Urban Sketchers

Dear You, 

A few weeks ago I bought an interesting book about Urban Sketchers.
Since then you find in my bag not only lipstick, handkerchief and comb, but also a little sketchbook and at least one pencil. I enjoy sitting on a bench and drawing what I see: it forces me to look more precise, and is a bit like meditation.
I draw the line with sketching people: I don't. Can't. Won't. (They tell you to do it when you sit in the underground - hahaha: I think you won't sit there unmolested very long. I wouldn't want to be sketched by other people either).
Same as with photographs: I often visit photo exhibitions, and of course I look interested at photos of people - often in black-and-white. But I wouldn't do it.
I see a lot of situations that would make good snap-shots. BUT I think it is impolite.
One has to respect everybody's private sphere, I think. And I mean everybody's.
I observed a tourist who went to the big fountain on the Wittenbergplatz where a young man sat hunched in an unnatural pose. Sunken, in a way. The tourist took out his smartphone, took a photo - and went away! I was shocked. Neared tentatively - I'm not a fool, I am urban-wise - but this young man might be sick - and was quite relieved that a heavily built Turk neared too. He touched the young man kindly, spoke two or three words with him - and then we looked at each other, relieved: the youngster only had drunk a bit too much.
I think that it is important to look at 'things' not only through a photolense - that reminds me of Andersen's fairy-tale about the snow queen who had that icy splinter in her heart/eye - but with compassion.
That puts everything into the right perspective, I think.
For drawing I just practise that: perspective.

The scent of Linden makes the bees pot-headed...

Dear You, 
first week of June over - and no entry here!
If you come to Berlin: this would be a perfect time. The Linden (lime) are openening their millions of little flowers, soak the warm (well: at the moment: very hot) air, make your head giddy, make your soul sing with joy, your whole being can bathe in it - gorgeous!
(You see: it really gets me too :-)
And for a day that might not be filled with that natural drug, yesterday I bought a reminder in a bottle: at "Frau Toni's" near Checkpoint Charly they produce a room-perfume "Linde". Normally I abstain from all these scented things for the house - but this is simply great.
(A month ago I found there a real perfume - for me to wear - which contains a lot of "violet". It was the favourite perfume of Marlene Dietrich. Violet is very difficult to get in Germany - I told you that I found a sufficiently nice whiff in my preferred perfume 'Balenciaga - Paris". And now I found out, that Serge Lutens, who works for Shiseido and on his own, has created a very deep violet perfume, too - but: he only (!!!) sells it in Paris, in his own shop.
So:
one good reason more to go to Paris.
On the other hand: I would feel becoming dangerously near to an excentric man, whom I truly and deeply despised when I was young: an arrogant dilettante cook, Wolfram Siebeck. In the early Eighties he wrote that he 'always hopped on a plane to Paris' - every time he needed the little "haricots verts" (those very slim beans, almost as slim as knitting needles) - not available in Germany then.
At that time, hearing it I thought furiously about lamp posts and 'cake for hungry people'-quotes, and revolution, (later my mother's blue blood diluted all that and made me more gentle).
I hope that there are thousands of other good reasons to go to Paris - as many and as intoxicating as the scent of lime-flowers.