Sexy faces, sexyfaces

Alessandro´s kitchen looked exactly like mine, or like Lucia´s, or like Hana´s. Or Malte´s. It bore the same dining table, the same overcrowded shelves, full of tins and cans, and the same oven that every week again would showcase an impressive display of grime and filth to be removed by hard-shrubbing cleaning ladies with loud voices and magic shrubbing devices (Jonathan loved chatting with them in his loud Bavarian English while they were at it, well-prepared as for any given fire drill with a cup of coffee, and flirting with them, laughing his Bavarian cannon shot). On the inside, Agnes Jones was Agnes Jones, wherever you roamed.

It was apparent that the international flock was bigger than I had believed it to be. Little Gracia from Brazil welcomed us by jumping on a chair and yelling for booze. We met Thomek from Poland, a tall handsome volleyball player, and one hell of a guy, who explained for me that Borat´s basic vocabulary was actually Polish. When I heard what he studied I believed Gaddafi´s son to be a student of the same subject, in Liverpool, which Thomek found interesting because that one time he had in fact talked with a Libyan guy, who got pretty angry when asked what life was like when ruled by a dictator. We laughed and wished Thomek a nice funeral.

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Our first Performance – of naked audiences and shaky knees

So when we were on our way to the Academy Restaurant in the Liverpool Community College at Duke Street, he chatted with the pretty Turk and they laughed and still danced a bit more in the street. There was something about the way she touched his arm. I am not sure he noticed but I was pretty sure Agnes did.

     Ken, with Hana´s help, had organized a posh dinner for us, and the caravan was drooling over the ideas the menu had inspired. Chicken and Bacon gateau with apricot chutney, smoked haddock and bacon rarebit, corned beef pilaf, chicken sauté Bourguignonne, a tian of braised oxtail, lamb with potato Fondant, vegetable primavera, apple tarfait and other things I could not pronounce. Continue reading

A Big Plate of Sideorders – A new moon

It was Lucia´s flat again. Only this time did Agnes celebrate her birthday. Everything looked adorably unhealthy.

For the first time I brought along my dainty new guitar. Agnes and I had gone downtown to scavage the local music shops for the cheapest one possible. For a handful of pounds we had purchased identical sisters and with all pride prickling in our fingers had brought them home. I baptized my new purring darling Annabel (Which was really a name out of nowhere, no implications, no burning houses), Agnes christened hers Chaos. Which probably would have been a fitting title for mine too. Now I was constantly plucking about on it, while we all, party garloons in our hair, were playing guess the celebrity. Charming we looked with the post-its on our foreheads. Continue reading

Meilė, muzika ir Lietuva

Prieš dešimt metų buvau Erasmus studentas Liverpulyje. Liverpulis – garsus Bitlų miestas. Ar ne įdomu, kad nesvarbu iš kur tu, nesvarbu kad Bitlai jau 46 metus nebeegzistuoja, Bitlų nežinoti yra praktiškai neįmanoma? Na, ir aš ten gyvenau kur viskas prasidėjo. Continue reading

A big Plate of Sideorders – Up the Anglican: Of Religion, old and new, and of looking down

When I woke up, morning had broken. It had also taken over the world with full force and knocked on my window for a few hours with its strongest beams, desperately trying to wake me up, and when it had grown tired of waiting for me, it had passed entirely.

I peeled my vegetable self out of bed and hauled it on the chair before the laptop. In garish colours, the chat programme spat the newest chunk of information into my face. Melli shared her idea of climbing the tower of the Anglican Cathedral at 12 sharp. A fine plan in my eyes. Until I checked the time. I had but twenty minutes. Continue reading

A Big Plate of Sideorders – Bad hair days, Chinese New Years and lots of music

“And when Tammy and I left the club, and Miguel shaw us together, ush, çe ashked, imagine what çe ashked! Çe ashked: Are you going for f-fucking now?” Giorgis still looked as if just confronted with the question. His mouth gaped. “I mean, can you believe that?!” And he touched his heart for the enormous impudence of such an enquiry. Continue reading