It’s that time of year again.

The time, when all sense goes straight out of the window and only one thing matters:

Brussel Sprouts.

The annual Brussel Sprout War is in full swing, as witnessed by myself in Waitrose earlier today.
I don’t know why people go crazy at Christmas time. You’d think everything was closed for the next eight weeks, the way some people are shopping.
Seriously, do you think you’re going to starve? That the shops run out of food by Saturday?
Worse, apparently it all hinges on a little green vegetable.

So…

Have you got your sprouts yet?

If not… you better bring a shotgun.
You’re gonna need it…

It’s the same thing every year.

Christmas Eve arrives and I get a little melancholy and homesick.

It all has to do with Christmas Tradition, the smell of the tree, the cookies I used to bake with my grandmother (Gutzle, if any Swabians happen to read this.), Butter-S’s, Glühwein!
Sorry, I digress. We didn’t really have Glühwein (Mulled Wine) on Christmas Eve. We had that during the run up to Christmas, because it was… well… cold.

We never used to bring the tree inside before Christmas Eve.
It was kind of a ritual, and the day went something like this:

Morning — Noon

We’d get the tree up three flights of stairs, into the living room. Eventually. When we worked out how to get a tree that was too wide, too tall and otherwise unwieldy, up those winding stairs and through that door, without leaving half of in on the stairs or in the banisters… One of us was always on a mission to unsnag snagged branches and hide the broken bits from mom.
There it would be erected and left to settle for an hour or so, while my dad, my brother and I climbed into the attic to go get the Christmas decorations down.
Then came the ritual "Oh no! You BROKE it!" of the dropping of any baubles that were breakable.
We would pull tinsel apart and lay it out, dig out the candle holders, the stars, the bows…
Then my mom would come in and we’d decorate the tree, taking extra care to put the candles where they wouldn’t burn anything. (Yes, REAL candles.)
Once we were all happy with our tree, we’d clear up the debris (there was always debris…) and leave the living room.
Usually by around noon.
Door shuts.
No one is allowed inside anymore.

Noon — Afternoon

I’d go downstairs to my gran’s and we’d make more cookies. (We started baking cookies on the 1st Advent, and after Christmas Eve you didn’t bake any more.)
Our cookies never lasted long. There were Butter-S’s, Vanillkipferl, Coconut Macaroons, Ausstecherle, Haslenut Macaroons… you name it, I’ve probably made it before.
Tons and tons of them. (And I’m still making them…)
I might dig out the recipes and post them some time, because they are worth preserving and making, they were that good. And there is nothing like baking with gran, or mom.
By 3pm we’d start asking if the "Christkind" had been yet. (In Germany, presents are not brought by Santa, but by the Christ Child.)
By 4pm we’d "help" my mother prepare Christmas Dinner. (I think she would have preferred us not to, but there you go… at this point we were unstoppable.)
By 5pm (it was pitch dark outside by then) we’d be camping in front of the living room door.

Afternoon — Evening

At 5pm, everything was silent outside. You didn’t hear a car move, or anything.
Then the church bells of all the churches in town would start to ring.
When they fell silent again, you would hear "Silent Night" ring out over the town, played by a trumpeter on the church spire.
I swear, I hear that, and I’ll be in tears. They probably don’t do it anymore now, but they used to, when I was a kid.

And that’s when a little bell would ring in the living room.
My mom turned all the lights off. Every single one.
It was a time when I held my breath, waiting… waiting for that door to open.

And then it did.
And all you saw was the lit tree, sparkling tinsel in the dark room, glistening baubles, stars…

Magic.

I tried hard to find anything that could do justice to that view.
Below is pretty close to what we’d see when that door opened.
 

Merry Christmas!

I hope your Christmas is a magical as mine used to be.

I’m off to London today, to show the husband of a fellow Critter around.

Of course, I just broke my camera — figures. I might grab one on the way in, and make Paul carry the box after we meet up with him "At work".

Things on the agenda:

The High Court

Temple Church

Holly Village / Highgate West

Waxy O’Connor’s (The pub!)

St. Pauls (I’ve lived here all this time and I’ve never been inside.)

Old Bailey

Maybe a trip on a "Duck".

We’ll see!

I was sent this and thought it was simply hilarious.

Enjoy!

Phase 1

You are listening to jazz — Your first day at work is great. Your coworkers are wonderful, your cubicle is cute, and your boss is the best!

Phase 2

You are listening to pop music — After a while you are so busy that you are not sure if you’re coming or going anymore.

Phase 3

You are listening to heavy metal — This is what you feel like at month end.


Phase 4

You are listening to hip hop — You become bloated due to stress, feel sluggish and suffer from constipation. Your coworkers are too cheerful for your liking and the walls of your cubicle are closing in. You have started thinking ‘WHATEVER’ about your boss.


Phase 5

You are listening to GANGSTA RAP — After more time passes, your eyes start to twitch, you forget what a ‘good hair day’ feels like as you just fall out of bed and load up on caffeine.


Phase 6

You are listening to the voices in your head — You have build a makeshift door on your cubicle to keep people out, You have a dartboard with your bosses picture on it in your cube, You wonder why you are even here in the first place.

    Those who know me, know I like Achmed, the Dead Terrorist.

    Well.

    I now have him as my ringtone.

    If you want it, you can download the MP3’s here:

    Knock Knock

    I kiel you.

    Enjoy

9 WORDS WOMEN USE

FINE
This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.

FIVE MINUTES
If she is getting dressed, this means a 1/2 hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

NOTHING
This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine. (refer to #1)

GO AHEAD
This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!

LOUD SIGH
This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing.
(Refer back to #3 for the meaning of nothing.)

THAT’S OKAY
This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That’s okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

THANKS
A woman is thanking you, do not question, or Faint. Just say you’re welcome.

WHATEVER
Is a women’s way of saying F@!K YOU!

DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, I GOT IT
Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’
For the woman’s response refer to #3.

I came across this and… giggled.

"IT’S A GUY THING"
Translated: "There is no rational thought pattern connected with it, and you have no chance at all of making it logical."

"CAN I HELP WITH DINNER?"
Translated: "Why isn’t it already on the table?"

"UH HUH," "SURE, HONEY," OR "YES, DEAR"
Translated: Absolutely nothing. It’s a conditioned response.

"IT WOULD TAKE TOO LONG TO EXPLAIN"
Translated: "I have no idea how it works."

"I WAS LISTENING TO YOU. IT’S JUST THAT I HAVE THINGS ON MY MIND."
Translated: "That girl standing on the corner is a real babe."

"TAKE A BREAK HONEY, YOU’RE WORKING TOO HARD."
Translated: "I can’t hear the game over the vacuum cleaner."

"THAT’S INTERESTING, DEAR."
Translated: "Are you still talking?"

"YOU KNOW HOW BAD MY MEMORY IS."
Translated: "I remember the theme song to ‘F Troop’, the address of the first girl I ever kissed, and the vehicle identification numbers of every car I’ve ever owned, but I forgot our anniversary."

"I WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT YOU, AND GOT YOU THESE ROSES."
Translated: "The girl selling them on the corner was a real babe."

"OH, DON’T FUSS - I JUST CUT MYSELF, IT’S NO BIG DEAL."
Translated: "I have actually severed a limb, but will bleed to death before I admit that I’m hurt."

"I CAN’T FIND IT."
Translated: "It didn’t fall into my outstretched hands, so I’m completely clueless."

"WHAT DID I DO THIS TIME?"
Translated: "What did you catch me at?"

"I HEARD YOU."
Translated: "I haven’t the foggiest clue what you just said, and am hoping desperately that I can fake it well enough so that you don’t spend the next three days yelling at me."

"YOU KNOW I COULD NEVER LOVE ANYONE ELSE."
Translated: "I am used to the way you yell at me, and realize it could be worse."

"YOU LOOK TERRIFIC."
Translated: "Oh, please don’t try on one more outfit, I’m starving."

"I’M NOT LOST. I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE WE ARE."
Translated: "No one will ever see us alive again."

Many years ago, when I was a little too podgy, too short, too… well, when I was a kid, I used to have a Shetland Pony.

One year, I spotted an advert for a horse race held at Iffezheim (Baden Baden) Racecourse, called the "Bauernrennen".
This raceday is pretty unique. It’s the day when the racecourse is handed over not to Thoroughbreds — but to any horse out there. Be they Heavy Horses, Warmbloods, or Shetland ponies, Arabians, or any other horse.
If I remember correctly, this is because some time in the past, the local farmers saved the racehorses stabled there from starvation, and in return the race club established a race day for them. (I could be wrong, but that’s how I remember it.)

So on a bright and cold morning some time in June (If I remember right) we rolled up in Iffezheim with my Shetland. I knew it was probably the last year I could ride him, I was simply getting too big for him.

We had a little trouble. He was a stallion and he behaved accordingly, so we had to keep him away from the other horses.
Then, later that day, the race was on. Despite my weight, my little childhood companion (who wasn’t the most friendly of shetlands) raced into 3rd place in amongst some 20 others.

I didn’t care about prizes, I was way too happy to have taken part, but my prize was a set of Parker Pens. The real prize for me was the memory of the day, but that’s something else.

I have had, and used, those pens for years. I still have the Ballpoint of the set, but somewhere during the years, I lost the fountain pen.

I was gutted. Then forgot about it, then remembered and searched again… only to be gutted again when I couldn’t find it. It is lost.

So a while ago, when I started to pick up my fountain pens again, I tried to track down which model this was. Well I found out, they were Parker P25’s. Black ones, which are relatively rare. The P25’s tend to be silver colored. My hopes of replacing my lost pen were… not very high.

PARKER P25

A kind member from the Fountain Pen Network spotted a black P25 on Ebay and messaged me, because I’d mentioned wanting one.

I put it on my watch list. I messaged the seller, because the only shipping option listed was the US.
Well we got that part cleared up, so now I had to wait for the auction.
I sat in front of the TV today when suddenly I thought "Hang on. I think that auction finishes today. Better go check."
To my complete horror, when I logged into Ebay, there were 30 seconds left to go on the auction.
I added a bid, hoping to snag the pen, when Ebay goes "Would you like to log in?"

ARRRRGHHHH!!!!

I got in with 2 seconds to spare, or thereabouts. LUCKILY my bid was high enough to win!

I am getting my beloved black Parker back! So yeah, I’m floating now.

And this time… I’m not going to lose it again!!

The Bugatti Veyron is the fastest production car in the world.

Faster than an F1 Racecar.

253 mp/h.
That’s 407 km/h
Hellish. Seriously hellish.

Damn it’s sexy!

(It’s also the world’s most expensive car £850,000 — and I didn’t get any zeroes into the wrong place. It really is over 3/4 million pounds.)

I was messing around on the web again (as you do) and I found the ULTIMATE geek icecube tray!

A Tetris Ice Cube maker. How cool is that?

I so want one. I do!

I like photography.

Since I will forget what I want to do, I will add it here, in the hopes I can remember I did this list!

England

Highgate Cemetery East - Thornton’s Grave (Piano) (Sadly the lid is missing now, apparently)
Highgate Cemetery West - Sleeping Angel, Liontamer grave and various others.
Highgate - Holly Village (Swains Lane)
(Holly Village, as this eclectic collection of nine cottages is known, was built in 1865 under the auspices of Angela Burdett-Coutts to provide homes for her retired servants.)

Spain

Parque Güell, or Guell Park, by Antoni Gaudi, 1900 to 1914, Barcelona
Casa Batlló, Barcelona

I will probably add more at a later date.

Well, as my critique partners have found out… I like fiddling with 3D Art.

When I’m not writing, I render. My gallery is linked here now, since people keep asking.
I am a self-taught “artist”. I put this in brackets because, frankly, I don’t really think of myself as an artist. I just play around until it looks right to me. There are people who are much, MUCH, better at this than I am. I can’t draw to save my life, but give me a decent figure, and I’ll texture it, stick it into contortions people can’t hope to survive, put clothes on them that are guaranteed to make any opponent faint, or um… in some cases no clothes at all.
Here’s hoping my mom never finds the site.

Anyway, I figured I’ll give a bit of a heads up what I get up to when I don’t write.

And if you want to check it out — http://www.digitalmagic.tv is the address of my online gallery.
I might even post up the girls I rendered some time… *cough*

So… as I said in a previous blog post, I always wanted a Parker P-51.
I started to hang out on Ebay and bid on a few, pulling out every time when they became too expensive.
Late on Sunday another one came up, I’d been eyeing it a while, but wasn’t sure.
In the end I thought oh what the hell, I’ll try. I’d made up my mind that I won’t pay more than £30, because… well I work only part time, money isn’t something I have plenty of.

I got it! I am now the proud owner of a 1950’s Parker 51.

Click if you want to see larger images.

I went shopping today.
I needed some decent sandals I can walk to work in and I hate shopping — especially for shoes.

So while I was in town (Most of the day) I obviously had to treat myself. I did. I bought a new fountain pen.
I love fountain pens, and calligraphy ones especially.
I’m actually appalled at how few fountain pens there are for sale now. Everything is a ball point or a gel pen. While gel pens are nice… nothing beats fountain pen and ink.
When I was about 14 or so, I persuaded my dad to let me ride a race. A horse race.
We came third and I won a nice Parker ballpoint pen and fountain pen.
Unfortunately I seem to have lost the fountain pen somewhere in the moves, but I still have the ball point and it’s my favorite pen, because it’s really good quality.
Naturally, I wanted a fountain pen again, and while I like the Parkers, I love the Cross ones more. They just have something… something. You know what I mean?
However… you cannot get one for love or money in this damn town. I settled for a nice Calligraphy Parker instead.
Naturally, I need something to write on, too. *whistle*
I picked a Paperblanks Charlotte Brontë wrap cover journal. Not my first choice, by far. I want the “Fragment of a Speech” one (Abe Lincoln) but no one bloody sells it in the UK and all the sources I found online don’t ship to the UK. ARGH.
Nevermind.
My other choice would have been the “Book of Kells” hand-stitched ones. I WILL eventually get them, but damn…
Also… I’m eyeing several Parker 51’s on Ebay. I’ve always wanted one. I WILL get one. Maybe.
I’m also eyeing a gorgeous Waterman Carene and a vintage Schaeffer…
*starts to drool*

Can you tell I love pens, paper and journals?

I know most writers love to write, but my handwriting has become appalling over the years, so I decided to keep a journal, with a decent fountain pen. Perhaps I can fix the atrocious hieroglyphics I use these days and turn them into pretty, flowing prose again.

My adult dragons:

And my current eggs:

All of them: http://dragcave.ath.cx/user/53176

This sky is protected. Yesterday marked the 50 year anniversary of the first lighting ordinance ever enacted, which restricted searchlight advertisements from sweeping the night skies above Flagstaff, Arizona, USA.

I thought this was too cool a photograph not to share it! Click the link if you want to see the full version

read more | digg story