madhatter’s coffee.

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I love to go boar hunting. I love they way they grunt and pose with their tusks. I love the significance family has for them and how fiercely they protect their kin from any intruder. The way they charge and the  intimidation combination of power and rage they wield on you.

As long as I play an MMORG.

Now they like my compost and I can’t say I would agree. And it is a bit frightening to get woken up by the grunts of quite a numerous horde of boars which obviously find the remnants of my meals far more interesting than I usually do. And don’t ask me how they made it through two other gardens and across the road at 7 am. There’s some serious traffic on that bloody road at seven in the morning – and I counted six boars without the need to sniff at their trails… the way they wandered off into the woods when they heard me coming can only be described as the ultimate form of Gemutlichkeit.

And if there is one thing I have a greater dislike for than boars, then in is boars that practise Gemutlichkeit. Uncooked.

Right. I’m back in Berlin. This could be a wonderful line if the town I had to leave wasn’t Edinburgh. Not that Edinburgh compares to Berlin in any way, but even then – you leave a lot behind. It might not be the ultimate insight, but one year does not only mark you with all those nice wrinkles that make a middle aged man attractive – you leave marks somewhere as well. And since everything man produces he also seems to see as a sort of possession, I definitely lost some stuff.

(And that doesn’t include the 12-year old whisky bottle those bastards took from me at the check-in. I’d forgotten that one litre of schnaps is definitely more than the 50-something mililitres of liquid you’re allowed to take through the controls. (OK, – since this seems to become a longer story, i’m going to start a new paragraph.)
A n d  I find it ridiculous that just after the controls you’re free to buy another bottle. Unfortunately not one that was as good as the one I just got robbed of. I’m sure this bloody security guy just took it because he knew what he held in his hands. Bloody Scots. And sure, how would a duty-free area survive without a security that confiscates every ounce of alcohol before you enter it.
Excuse me. That had to be said. Stream of consciousness it is, isn’t it?)

Anyways… you leave a lot behind. Apart from so obvious things as friends and my Baby … I left home, for example, once again (this seems to develop into my most favorite subject) and the feeling of belonging somewhere. Security also, because suddenly you have to readjust everything – which is language in my case as well – and the side of the street.

You win: a new life.

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