Paul’s Ramblings

With the twilight beginning to fade I’m watching my chooks cautiously making their way in to roost for the evening and this causes me to reflect on just how happy poo makes me.

Sure the chooks lay eggs, just perfect for a fresh batch of mayonnaise, but it’s the poo that’s got me well chuffed. They are veritable wing-ed poo-machines. They poo all over their roost, the floor of their cage and, now the fence is up, my yard. It’s fantastic!

While shoveling up small mounds of dried chook dirt isn’t to be sneezed at, it’s the results of all this poo that I’m really looking forward to; it’s the juicy Cuor di Bue tomatoes, the fractilous Romanesco Broccoli and the small forest of herbs that has me salivating in anticipation.

That is all I have to say on the matter of poo and happiness, for now.

Facebook is for girls; Twitter is for guys. Facebook is a marriage; Twitter is barely cohabiting. Facebook coerces you to befriend every bedraggled so and so you ever met, lest honesty undermine you. Twitter allows you to attract a thousand followers and yet acknowledge none. Facebook demands your engagement in the collective story of life; Twitter is an unfettered podium. Facebook is the gaggle around the coffee table; Twitter is two guys over a smoldering BBQ.

Facebook: will you acknowledge me as a friend?

Twitter: @monkeyman your farts stink.

When asked, I like to compare our time here to climbing a mountain. It begins with excited anticipation. You make a start but soon the reality sinks in; you realise you have a long climb ahead. Then it’s pain the whole way, with a few spectacular views from the top. After getting back down as fast as you can, you stop and realise what it is you just did and ask yourself, “why don’t we do this more often?”.

It’s been a long time since I updated my blog, but now that the coming of summer has thawed the icy veins of my depression I feel motivated to reflect upon my life once more; today it’s chess. Chess has been played for thousands of years, but I only really joined in over the course of the last 12 months. A year ago, whilst wandering the grounds of the school, I noticed the old gardener and his young apprentice battling it out on a regular basis and eventually my curiosity overcame my bashfulness; now I am the apprentice, getting a regular thrashing by both the chess master and his 12 year old protege.

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This is Blaine. This is me. And this is my dumpster. Fortunately for Blaine, he was in time to experience some of the Kiev “Love” as I call it (not the mail order type). Long queues for simple things, overcrowded buses, no hot water, no running water (on occassions) and general daftness. His slothful presence will be missed.

On the 22nd of August I turned thirty. Lauren and I celebrated the following day with a buffett breakfast at the new Hyatt in Kiev. Any words of wisdom at this early stage in life, you may ask? Find a great woman and don’t waste any time getting married to her; aside from that, the last 30 years are pleasant yet slightly surreal blur.

We made for the mouth of the Loire river to begin our tour of the Loire Valley and discovered this amazing concrete structure from the second world war. Constructed by the German Navy, it served as a protective fortress for the construction and safe harbour of German U-Boats. The Allies tried to take this place out by aerial bombardment but only managed to erase the nearby town, one look at this concrete monster and you’ll see why; its roof is 8 metres thick! I recognised it immediately from playing Enemy Territory online

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As mentioned in a previous post, I have taken to retro-shaving and decided to make the arrangement more permanent with a visit to specialist supplier of such goodies in Berlin; The Different Scent. Their range of straight razors and safety razors, brushes, creams, soaps and other accessories was outstanding. Nicholas did a great job of helping me select the bits of kit that were right for me and now, for the first time in years, shaving is a pleasure.

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If you haven’t heard me say how much I would love a litre of real milk then we probably haven’t talked in the last 12 months. Let’s just say that the milk in Ukraine … HAS ISSUES. But after many months of abstenance, broken only by some French long-life I acquired, I am pleased to be back on the real stuff: fresh, full cream milk. Let me just say for the record; the difference is like Diet Coke to Champagne! I know I’m not imagining things, this stuff really is FANTASTIC!!!