Late nights in Lund

Two things I realised just now: the first being that two blog entries into this project and I’m already a week behind (last weekend was very busy…) and the second being that if I, as intended, write this on Sunday nights there is a very real risk that my blogs turn into match reports. So I’ll try to lay off the football as much as possible, but it has to be said – Tottenham won today against Portsmouth (unfair penalty, but what can you do), and against Slavia Prague on Thursday. Jippie! Ok, done now.

Since my last entry I have recovered from the Germany experience and spent an inordinate amount of time in my workplace – not necessarily working… A welcome addition to my life has been the start of the choir term which means that I get to sing once a week! Singing is good for the soul, of that I am sure. That, some yellowing leaves outside my window and the shorter days mark the relentless entry of autumn in our lives – an entry which has been somewhat delayed by the nice weather. Going from summer to autumn at some point in September always means a return to a more structured existence (none of this holiday nonsense!) and the routines of everyday life, but not, I think, in a bad way. Quite the contrary, I have always welcomed the coming of autumn as the coming of a new year, shaking off the summer lethargy and getting down to business. The crisp morning air, the university of Lund coming to life, the dazzling colours of nature in her autumn dress… a euphoria of expectations well up inside me that no new years eve has ever achieved; in January there is little to be excited about. This year, though, it has been a bit different – summer lethargy has spilled over into September, my life lacks structure on all levels and all of the sudden I find that it is October, raining and I’m in a limbo state of ‘not quite student and almost unemployed’. I shall endeavour to find structure in my writing – and hopefully the euphoria will return.

Last weekend there was the ‘Culture night’ in Lund, an annual event which, for those of you who do not know about it, is a great invention. It is basically culture. Of all kinds. In every available building. All evening. And going into all the different places is great fun in itself. We saw marimba music in the city theatre, jazz in the museum, a capella singing in the city hall, choir music in the grand hotel, more choir music in the market hall, brass band in the university park and a young band on a big stage in the main square. Lund is great – says the ex-pat living in Malmö. This weekend I was in Lund, looking after Quintus the cat in my mother’s absence. Busy days, with many friends, beers and late nights at Gloria’s – in itself a topic that could fill an entire blog… but for now I shall take my leave. It is Sunday night and in the interest of structure and autumnal bliss I have an early start tomorrow. Doing laudry.

My second home planet

I have just returned from Rendsburg, the home town of my mother’s family – a pleasant little place whose one claim to international distinction consists of having the longest (501 m) bench in the world. It runs along the canal which cuts northern Germany in two halves and is the thoroughfare of, among other things, the huge luxury cruise ships. These are such a frequent and, at least in my grandparent’s generation, popular presence that my grandfather proudly presented them as ‘our’ ships… The first evening was spent drinking a peculiar German brandy – sweet and bright red – while watching comic Bavarian TV-theatre from the early 90s. Not that the year really matters, Bavaria appears to be one of those places where time quite simply stands still. And where mildly misogynistic jokes are never quite out of fashion. Whenever I am here I seem to have the same thoughts, eat the same things, see the same things… precious little appears to change here, even if I am sure that that is mainly true of my grandparents lives. I went for a cycle on my grandmother’s bike one evening and saw some young people around. Again it struck me that everyone I know in this town is over 60, that it has always seemed to me that everyone else is as well (yes, there is an ageing population, but not quite as extreme as that) and that it would be incredibly interesting to get to know some younger people, to find out what their lives are like. Maybe some day I will. Or not. Until then I will continue to be amazed at the bizarre aspects of German culture to which I am treated (exposed perhaps being a better word) when I come here. Such as the ‘Folk music evening’, prime time television, Saturday night at 8 – an evening of, to me, peculiarities. Quite apart from the cheesy music, the clothes (purple suits…) and the fact that everything is performed with playback (always horrendous) some of the acts really made me gape dumbfounded in sheer amazement. How about Richard Clayderman (does anyone remember him? I actually do.) performing his by now 30 year old hit, on the piano – on playback! Seriously, what is the point? How is it done? Just as the band, always accompanying every act from their corner – and only touching their instruments, pretending to play on them. Or how about a guest performance of The Chippendales – who, decorously, only took their tops off – and were asked to perform a special dance with two Bavarian singers, a duo mainly known for the fact that they are dangerously obese? Quite obscene in its absurdity. The American lads must have felt as though they had ended up on a different planet, and at that point so did I. Compared to this, Heino, an ancient artist who in himself is the epitome of bizarre, seemed almost normal… The interesting thing is that I have always assumed that this must be a dying form of entertainment, only enjoyed by old people. But some of the artists, and quite a few people in the audience, were young; the presenter (purple suit) allegedly younger than me! ‘Schlager’, the next generation.

I was also invited to a party, the 80^th birthday of the nice man who plays the organ in my grandparents (Catholic) church. Masses of food and wine, all during the day (we congregated at 11.30!). As ever I was the only one of my generation, every one else being over 50 or under 13… The day after I met all of the people again, this time at mass. The theme of the sermon was the acceptance of difficult situations – and the need to accept and integrate new people in the community. Good topic, but given a peculiar slant when the priest also started talking about the recent speech made by the pope on religion and violence and at one point said that we should not talk about the crusades, practically excusing them as something unfortunate which was born out of the frustration and despair created by the fact that the Muslims had destroyed Christian churches (‘they started it’, basically). Hmm. Despair and frustration abound in the world at the moment, nobody understands anybody else, ‘the other’ is evil and we are all scared of each other. Fear is at the root of all evil. After mass we were treated to cake and brandy (yes, this was just after 10 in the morning, still in the Catholic church) and I had a rather interesting conversation with a friend of my grandparents before I was spirited away to the forest for some mushroom collecting in the company of a cheerful little dog.

To sum up, I’ve had an interesting and eventful weekend and have returned with new insights: 1. I shall never manage to acquire the one character trait that, by grandparents, is valorised above most others: being uncomplicated. 2. Anything, even bizarre German television, can be overcome and even enjoyed with an accommodating sense of humour and plenty of brandy.

Beginnings

How does one write a web log? And just when did our languages acquire the word ‘blog’ – a word which I have just had to add to the dictionary of my edition of Microsoft Word, but undoubtedly already exists in newer versions. I suppose that the idea of keeping a public diary which not only becomes a way of keeping record of one’s own existence but also a way of communicating it to one’s friends and something of a weekly (or even daily!) column by means of which it is possible to inflict thoughts and opinions on an innocent audience makes all kinds of efficient sense. Three wishes in one, as it were, and with the redeeming feature of being very unassuming: after all, nobody can force anyone else to read their blog. It is there, up for grabs, to be read by millions or nobody at all. So there, if the president of Iran can do it, so can I. Fewer people will read mine, fewer people, hopefully, will be offended.

Dear friends, some of you will remember the group-emails I sent from the road five years ago. Surely you haven’t forgotten ‘Fuggley’? I never will. It was always an interesting (and sometimes laborious!) task to find an internet café and there was usually just enough time to write one email, a travel narrative that went out to everyone. Most of them have been lost in cyberspace, but I remember how much fun it was to write them and the nice feeling of interconnectedness (as Dirk Gently would have it). This, I suppose, is a slightly updated version of the phenomenon. A way to let you know what I am doing and thinking; texts which you can peruse at leisure. It is also a very selfish way for me to efficiently combine the things I listed above – diary (which I never get around to writing when I have to use pen and paper), general info about what I am doing to people who want to know and, also quite importantly, an opportunity to write. In general. As most of you know I am, or should be, writing my dissertation on Elizabeth Bowen and writing is like any linguistic output – use it or lose it. This seems to be a wonderful way of using it, and killing lots of other birds with the same stone. As I was working on Virginia Woolf I found that she wrote, apart from her novels, articles, letters and kept an extensive diary. Every day. All the time. How she managed to spend so many hours reflecting, in writing, on her writing is beyond me, as is why she never complained of sore hands and why she never managed to get her punctuation quite ‘up to scratch’… If mine falters, do let me know. And if I bore you – stop reading!