As strange as the things one can find around here are the others that are missing. Take, for example, the everyday washing-up sponge, it’s friendly hue of not quite yellow sprouting a crop of dark green scouring pad hair, here consigned to the base role of bathroom maintenance. Kirsten’s family rely primarily on the dishwasher, a devilish device I abhor.
While I agree its premise is sound, in practice it functions, as near as I can tell (given the steel door blocking sight of its active machinations), in the following way. Warm water is ingeniously applied to items held prisoner within its walls in order to subtly separate any dried on remainders of an earlier meal. So far so good. Its brilliantly engineered twin blades then proceed to hurl it around leaving an even coating on every dinner plate, steak knife and novelty coffee cup within its confines. In instilling a sense of the brutality of absolute equality it is unrivalled — art, even. In terms of cleaning, it sucks.
We spent the weekend in Hamburg visting Moni and Tommy. After a three hour train journey and a slight struggle with assembling her new bed (inherited from a colleague at work, it was missing a few vital bars) Saturday evening involved a great dinner party even though we (St. Pauli) narrowly lost the football (to Bayern Munich, which is perhaps to be expected). Kirsten seemed slightly worried that I was drinking alongside two much larger German men but I think I held my own respectably. In fact it seems my stomach was better suited than Tommy’s to the Tabasco-fuelled “Mexican” shots. Both he and Moni found themselves very ill the following day so sightseeing was cancelled in order to look after Moni in the flat. It was still a pleasant weekend away.