Like in the movies

On a scattered evening of confused locations and lost shoes, Heidelberg got weirdly violent. Out we had gone to celebrate the coming of age for the glorious Nik. We learned never to drink an Embryo but to always let Chuck Norris tickle the back of our throats. However, because there wasn’t enough drama on this fun-filled festivity, it came time for me to get chucked out of the club, for doing the terrible act of touching a disco ball.

And by that I literally mean a sparkly ball used in discos.

Grabbed by the back of the neck I waved ceremoniously goodbye to everyone else as I was carted out the building, where after being pushed out into the street, I had to calm down the furious German I’d been thrown into causing his drink to spill. Still fairly sober and waiting the alcohol to hit, I kept up a text rapport with those inside and grabbed a drink in the Brass Monkey, where I was overcome with glee thrown at me from the two French fancies, Manon and Anais, the latter of whom was visiting after having finished her Heidelberg semester in February.

After many a banterous laughter, I got a text saying everyone else was going home, but not wanting to waste a night, I joined a group into The Cave, meeting more Monkey staff on a night out, joining the groups together we set out for a late night of fun, that is until we left the club to find ourselves in the middle of a “brawl” between two young fellas. Angry at one another for something, they tore at each other’s throats, ripping their shirts, revealing their chests and more ripped shirts… With more… Manly chests… And… Chests…

Sorry got distracted.

When the fight pushed into our group causing a ruckus, a few of us got involved, after initially pushing them apart I ended up grabbing one into a full nelson whilst the wonderfully multilingual barmaid, Lucy told him off auf deutsch. Relenting, the fight diffused until the drunken guy I’d held struck me across the face randomly and went charging after another fight. Fairly sozzled ourselves, we gave chase until I caught up, grabbing him into another arm lock, and getting him to the ground until everyone was able to actually calm him down, speaking words I could never hope to pronounce.

By this point it was nearing 6am so we all went home, the sun peeking over the mountains as I felt my fingers rising into a bruise. Clumsy goose. A bizarre night of great varieties, Saturday certainly gave enough things to laugh about the next day over a recovery brunch, though not sure how much I’d like to repeat them.

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The awkward moment when you wake up, thankfully in your own bed, but with no recollection as to how you got there. That was the predicament on Saturday morning when after a full bottle wine and a night trip to Halle 1, I found myself surrounded by pasta and confusion. The first big night out with pretty much the entire group, it served a fantastic, if belated 21st Birthday to the ever delightful Sinead of O’Reilly land. We drank much, got out, hit the floor.

And then it was Saturday.

And I had a headache. The first proper Heidelberg Hangover after a week of almost continuous drinking was not wholly undeserved. It’s been a great week, but I think my liver needs time to recover. The stigma of Erasmus being a year of alcohol consumption is proving to be more a character trait where I’m concerned.

It is also an interesting day of Birthdays and Deathdays. Three exceedingly important people have either aged up or… gone further into negatives. The first, with a joint age of 44, are the incredible Hannah of Surrey (well Bracknell but we’ll ignore that) and Katie of London. Two very important people, Katie the best fellow Guinness drinker and Rugby follower I could have hoped for, from the many awkward trips into full pubs, to swooning over Jonny Wilkinson (If only for his looks, when he talks he is one boring stooge) to fantastic holidays in Spain, Katie consistent charm and charisma is something you can only ever hope for in a friend. Hannahramma was one of the people to actually coerce me out of my shell at uni, auditioning for her production of “Snow White” as the incredibly masculine and totally hetero Goodford, to encouraging me to Assistant Direct “Little Shop of Horrors” and to eventually become President of the society, where as Sexretary, her advice and guidance were top notch, with a chest that seems to inflate on Skype and a laugh that can be heard from Germany, she is fairly awesome. I wish both of them a fantastic birthday, here’s your German shout out =D And to you, Will.I.Am Shakespeare, happy Death Day. Because you’re dead and all, but your words are still better than what most people could ever hope for. Shame about your plots.

There’s an outside world?

A conclusion can only be reached through consistent, empirical evidence and with that in mind, I conclude that the Camera is the animal kingdom’s laxative. Going to the Zoo with Lena and a fellow Surrey student who was on holiday, Matt, we were met with teasing posers, each striking a different stance ready to be photographed, to only drop a dump every time our shutters went click. Despite this, and some rather over-eager Goats, it worked out a good first visit the eponymous Heidelberg Zoo. Which is actually a lot larger than I first realised. As is an elephant’s penis which we found out to our dismay when one rather randy Mammoth of a beast attempts to do the sacred dance with a flaunting female, only to get rejected and then try it on with a fellow bloke Elephant.
I have returned to the world of the internet, now that the guy living downstairs with WiFi has finally returned, I was able to exchange the passcode for kleine geld. After having spent so many months resorting to heading into town for the Library PCs, I now have access to all the important things like… emails… facebook… ‘n’ stuff, right from the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Counting those chickens

Shouted at a German man today… A German man. Grermanman? GerMan? Odd conjugations aside, I didn’t actually shout but this was possibly the first time I raised my voice in a store. In the next step of the ever going mobile phone narrative, I had a run in with Vodafone. My €50 sim card deal gives unlimited texting and internet for a further €9 a month, cool. You top up in person and if you’re not there to top up, they move you onto the lower tarriff, cool. As I had been in England, I got moved to the lower tarriff without my knowledge, so ended up getting charged for texts and interwebs. Understandable… I guess.

Went in on Monday, not knowing of this tarriff thingy and was told that I was still on the free text/net deal, so handed up the compulsory €15 to cover it. To find last night I was down to €2, so I went in today and tried to get some info. The man I met, who insisted on talking over me at the start of every question, stated that I was not on the tarriff I was, and would have to buy the tarriff for another €50. He kept telling me I was wrong until I showed him my receipts at which point he realised his mistake, rang them up and switched my tarriff back onto the original setting. However, for this I would have to hand over another €15, but what of the previous €15 that I presumed I was handing over on Monday at the mistake of the member of staff attending? Well, after ten minutes of reiteration, some of the most unintentionally venomous “sir”s I’ve given since secondary school, I appear to have May’s credit for free…But have still had to hand over €30 in 3 days. Bleh.

Received an inadvertent compliment yesterday, in that my brave-face extroverted suit of armour I developed to shield my introverted side, is in fact so convincing that the latter isn’t even noticeable. Maybe there’s hope for the acting yet. For better or for worse. With no classes today as the seminare scheduled has been pushed back by 2 weeks, it’s time for sun frolicking and bier getrinkening! Why butcher 1 language when you can do 2?

Cocking Education

I have come to the conclusion that German students are exceedingly sneaky. What they say and what they do vary more than Lady Gaga’s wardrobe. And seem to be just as insane too. After timidly and awkwardly introducing themselves in class, giving off the impression of humble, calm minded, unadventurous students, their written work is driven, sharp and intimidating. Certainly not the stuff you’d expect from someone who said they took the Masters course because they “read the books and really, really liked them.”

So the new Semester has begun and with it, new modules!

Mark Twain Led by what looks like a giant American Einstein gone wrong, this Hauptseminare seems to offer a ridiculously broad analysis of Twain’s literary canon. The class itself was more than a bit quiet, but as I said, this could be nothing more than a deceiving performance. The Professor is wild, intelligent and loud, just my cup of tea. He also doens’t think Secondary Reading is that important. I love him.

The Victorian Age I chose this class partly because I really do not know enough about Victorian Literature, and so far, I’m not sure I will know that much more. In the first session we blasted through Matthew Arnold we left bits of him on the wall. A plus is it’s led by H Grundmann who led Colonialist Shakspeare last year and was one of the reasons I chose to attend, her energy made the insanely packed and ridiculously quiet class interesting.

Unreliable Narration Now this is what I’d been looking forward to. One of my favourite literary theories and ideals… reduced to what felt like the most uninteresting and soporiphic concept ever. Intricate but vastly over complicated as a course, the tutor, though kindspirited, seemed very fixed in her point of view in regards to unreliable narration and didn’t seem to want to sell it to any of us. Rather she wanted us to read her articles that she’s been writing over the past few years. One contentious American student aside, this class was unfortunately rather disappointing. But who knows, maybe she’s just leading an unreliably narrated course and we need to sort out the truth ourselves?

Victorian Britain: An Age in Retrospect. Easiest session I’ve ever had, as the class had been cancelled.

All in all, mixed impressions. Looking forward to seeing these develop. One day left and then 4 day weekend =D

Multilingual parenthood.

It’s a tad worrying when you go to see a film in German and realise you understand more of the innuendos and swear words than the actual plot. Such was the experience last night, after an innocent trip to The Hard Rock Cafe for their delightful €1 beers,  involving catch ups and plannings, Shelby got word of a 10.30pm preview showing at the local cinema, being only 2min walk away we’d be fools to miss the chance. €4 entry and the film is a surprise until you actually get into the cinema.

What we were blessed with was a German dubbed french film, the name of which escapes me, from memory it ran along the lines of “Der Vater und andere atrocitian” … or something. Basically girl didn’t know who her father was hired some actor to pretend to be her father to walk her down the aisle. Turns out the actor’s friend who comes along for the ride is the girl’s real father and apparent hilarity ensues. Or something.

Yeah it’s probably a good point to make that into this cinema, Shelby’s friend Alex snuck in Orange Juice and Vodka. It made the film a lot easier to watch.

Ersten Woche zurück!

One week in and I’ve gotten used to the taste of German sausage in my mouth. After a long, long drive to Germany, involving rain, an angry Irish TomTom and lots of Hunger Games, I hit Heidelberg. Unsurprisingly, there’s no Internet. Maintaining a tradition kept since December, I have no Internet whilst at home. I am currently writing this sat in the Brass Monkey pub rather than focus on the Chelsea game playing on the screens. I think you can understand my choice.

However, already this week has presented enough new experiences; living in a great new place has opened up the social door even further, meeting my new housemate originally gripped me with nerves, not knowing who you’re going to be living with for the next few months makes you very self-conscious as to the volume of your secret video collection. As it turns out, Joris is as awesome as any Dutchman can be (a standard which seems to be on the rise), and his roomcrawl (an accommodation bar crawl of sorts) introduced a brand new, shiny, just-out-of-the-pack group of maties that made for a fantastic night out.

Throw in some wunderschon catch up sessions over the odd pint or so. Not to mention showing my parents just what beauty Heidelberg has to offer, and the calm sense of contentment has already arrived. It’s good to be back. And it’s also good to have a kitchen not 10km away.

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