(no subject)
I've just booked a holiday to Hamburg.
This is because my mother has a friend who comes to visit every Tuesday. I made this friend - let's call her J - a cup of tea. J is an amazing woman; I hope to be like her when I'm 72, but maybe with my mother's dress sense instead. Anyway, after the momentous tea-making, I stayed in the room.
My mother brought up the subject of a leaflet we got through the door; it was advertising river cruises through Europe. She asked me to identify some of the German cities. Then J asked:
"Why don't you go on holiday? You're young; you'll regret it if you don't go."
Appeal to youth. Youth and youth's folly.
Surprisingly, my mother concurred. "Go to Germany! You love Germany." Which is true, but...
Then I remembered I had €300 in a purse under my bed, and that settled it. Germany. I speak the language, I had enough money to get there, and would you believe it - I've never been to Hamburg. I know two things about Hamburg: the river is the Elbe, and Bill Bryson spent an afternoon in the Reeperbahn looking at blow-up dolls.
Actually, I know a few more things about Hamburg. The composer Johannes Brahms was born there. It's the second-biggest city in Germany. It's on the Baltic coast. It was the centre of the Swingjugend movement in the 1930s (Lord knows I do love a good subculture). And there's an art gallery with a lot of Caspar David Friedrich in it. I like Friedrich almost more than I like chocolate. Well, that settled it.
I'm going to Hamburg on Monday, and though I am fretting about how much it's costing I think it's because I have some sort of pecuniary thrifty gene. My parents are openly encouraging me to spend money on this. And to be honest, I am looking forward to going...
I intend to keep a journal of my trip there, given that it's just hit me I have bought a ticket that sentences me to almost 24 hours on a bus. And that's just to get there. I do hope I don't end up with someone dribbling on my shoulder in the small hours. And I hope I don't miss my connection in Brussels. Imagine being stuck in Brussels. Doesn't bear thinking about.
This is because my mother has a friend who comes to visit every Tuesday. I made this friend - let's call her J - a cup of tea. J is an amazing woman; I hope to be like her when I'm 72, but maybe with my mother's dress sense instead. Anyway, after the momentous tea-making, I stayed in the room.
My mother brought up the subject of a leaflet we got through the door; it was advertising river cruises through Europe. She asked me to identify some of the German cities. Then J asked:
"Why don't you go on holiday? You're young; you'll regret it if you don't go."
Appeal to youth. Youth and youth's folly.
Surprisingly, my mother concurred. "Go to Germany! You love Germany." Which is true, but...
Then I remembered I had €300 in a purse under my bed, and that settled it. Germany. I speak the language, I had enough money to get there, and would you believe it - I've never been to Hamburg. I know two things about Hamburg: the river is the Elbe, and Bill Bryson spent an afternoon in the Reeperbahn looking at blow-up dolls.
Actually, I know a few more things about Hamburg. The composer Johannes Brahms was born there. It's the second-biggest city in Germany. It's on the Baltic coast. It was the centre of the Swingjugend movement in the 1930s (Lord knows I do love a good subculture). And there's an art gallery with a lot of Caspar David Friedrich in it. I like Friedrich almost more than I like chocolate. Well, that settled it.
I'm going to Hamburg on Monday, and though I am fretting about how much it's costing I think it's because I have some sort of pecuniary thrifty gene. My parents are openly encouraging me to spend money on this. And to be honest, I am looking forward to going...
I intend to keep a journal of my trip there, given that it's just hit me I have bought a ticket that sentences me to almost 24 hours on a bus. And that's just to get there. I do hope I don't end up with someone dribbling on my shoulder in the small hours. And I hope I don't miss my connection in Brussels. Imagine being stuck in Brussels. Doesn't bear thinking about.