Strange times, Erasmian late nights

“Welcome to Abercromby Square!” bellowed Peter in perfect Michael Buffer style. “And as usual we have a late-night concert for you. Tonight it will be the wonderful Hana from the beautiful Czech Republic!”

The gang clapped. As the sun went down on the beautiful little park in between the university buildings, right next to my department of Ancient History, we sat on or in front of one of the benches, some bottles of wine with us, the seagulls wheeling overhead, and waited for the music to commence. Continue reading


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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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

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