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keiross

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It says I have been here for ten years.

Ten..... years.

Well, I'm back, sort of. I picked up a pencil again so I thought I'd upload some crap for old time's sake.

www.keiross.com
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I have started a blog chronicling my adventures in Berlin. If you're interested in my progress, or if you're just really, really bored, you can check it here:

keiross.com




blog



It was a decidedly lovely if oppressively hot Thursday morning in the office. The large, tall windows were open but there was no breeze so it was terribly stuffy. The sound of hundreds of fingers efficiently stabbing keyboards at 1,891,248 words a minute was cutting through the thick air.


As I typed at 14 words a minute an email notification raised its head from the bottom right of my desktop to alert me of something very important and serious to do with something very import and serious, I pursed my lips and lowered my eyebrows as it was clearly important and serious. The frantic cacophony of Germanic fingers rattling on keyboards continued unabated until another email alert peeped up over my task bar. As if it could be possible, this one was more important and serious. It read:  

Subject: BOMB FOUND!!! ATTENTION!!! VERY IMPORTANT AND SERIOUS!!

I read on, there were some incomprehensible words that I can only assume were German and referred to something about a very important and serious bomb being found. Thankfully there was an English translation...  


Hi everyone,

because of a bomb that was found at Oberbaumbrücke, we might get evacuated by the police. So please prepare yourself for the worst case, if you hear banging on your door it is the police, so that you can leave the building as fast as possible. We will let you know ASAP if the evacuation will take place.

Your office team


Cool! I already knew the office team were extremely efficient when it came to the timely provision of stationary, it turns out they’re great at crisis management too. Plus, the prospect of spending two hours in the beautiful sun as a result of evacuation was somewhat appealing.

It turns out that a few years ago the allies attempted to hit the Oberbaumbrücke Bridge (the one in the header image of my blog) but narrowly missed. I’m pleased they did, the Oberbaumbrücke Bridge is a truly beautiful one and despite its diminutive size it gives the Golden Gate a run for its money in terms of charm. (Current structure erected in around 1900, it spanned the border of East and West and in the Cold War apparently the Americans and Russians exchanged spies across it, now drunk people urinate there).

As details emerged, I learnt that a bunch of chaps performing maintenance on the bridge came across a dormant 250kg British bomb from WWII that could really do some damage. It had been snoozing in the River Spree for the last 60 odd years. I am reliably informed by the internet that is the equivalent of this man’s weight in high explosives. A scary prospect.

Confronted with this state of panic, two colleagues and I did what any wise and right-thinking people would and decided to head straight towards the centre of the bomb area and evacuation zone for a spot of lunch. We enjoyed a delightful vegan gratin served by a woman whose face was etched with fear. Each shout of ‘ACHTUNG’ from the Police loudhailer visibly filling her with more distress, she was keen for us to leave so she could move her outdoor tables in to safety. We duly bid her farewell although I was concerned she was about to have a heart attack. It is normally a very busy thoroughfare but the street was eerily deserted now, aside from Police shouting through loudhailers.

I felt partly responsible for the disruption and chaos and wondered if I shouldn’t go up and apologise and ask if I could take the bomb as technically it belonged to me. I observed the seven foot tall police officers decked out in armour and grave expressions I decided probably best not to.

I couldn’t really understand the fuss though. Apparently the discovery of benign bombs is common place in Berlin but it always causes a stir. One thing is sure, British engineering isn’t quite up to scratch and our stuff is always faulty so no wonder there are so many duds lying around. I guess we went for quantity instead of quality.

It turns out they dredged the bomb from the river bed and defused it on a boat surrounded by TV crews and cameras. I took the photo below after work on my way to have a lovely evening in Prenzlauer Berg. Once the issue had been resolved public transport resumed to normal precision timing and Berliners got back to important business of wearing hats, cycling and smoking.

It was a good source of entertainment. My German colleagues also took a refreshingly light hearted approach. However it did make me think that it wasn’t so long ago Europe was in such a state of turmoil that it makes the current Middle East situation look like a minor scuffle.



blog




keiross.com
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I have started a blog chronicling my adventures in Berlin. If you're interested in my progress, or if you're just really, really bored, you can check it here:

keiross.com




blog



Oh hi, I didn't see you there! It's difficult to see you from 1974 which is where I'm sending this funkadelic message from. It's pretty 'far out man'. How's it going over in 2011?!  

I'm not really in 1974 of course. That'd be silly. If I was, it'd be just like my favourite film over here called 'Zurkück in die Zukunft' in which 'wir befinden uns im Jahr 1985 - aber nicht für lange' apparently. I'm talking about Back to the Future, of course. I actually purchased it on DVD weeks ago but still haven't got the stomach to watch it in German. My recent encounter with German Homer emotionally scarred me and has put me off their attempts at dubbing for a good while. Although if I do view 'Zurkück in die Zukunft', perhaps I'll be able to wow German women with my encyclopaedic knowledge of time travel and 1950's trivia. "Eins komma einundzwanzig jiggawatten!". Or, you know, perhaps I'll remain single.

So anyway, it just feels like I am writing this message from 1974 because I'm sitting in my studio flat. Again. It's like a bizarre wormhole that penetrates the very fabric of the space time continuum and leads straight into the seventies. I wish to share with you, if I may, some general details of what it might have been like to live in 1974 and also of the general standard of accommodation.....

I live in a grey concrete box consisting of six or seven floors. I'm fairly sure the architect must have been feeling suicidal when he was working on the plans. It has about as much character as a grave stone with no engraving. Sitting in my room, glancing around at the decor and furnishings, I'm fairly sure that everything is still original, from the woodchip on the walls to the grey streaked tiles on the floor and yellow-tinged electrical outlets. The lampshades are particularly hideous, they look a bit like those cones you put on a dog's head after it has undergone surgery. This could all of course be contemporary cutting-edge German design, but I wouldn't be comfortable making such assertions about the aesthetic sensibilities of my host nation.

The big, metal, jaggedy, pipe-based radiator looks exactly like the ones you used to get in school that had flake paint on. I try not to look at it.

The television cabinet and cupboards which dominate the room are vintage 1974 fare, with a nice (if you're blind) royal blue trim. I could see it being presented as the booby prize on a very early edition of Bullseye. I couldn't have picked finer myself – unless I had consumed an entire bottle of Jägermeister first (which is, admittedly, not too far-fetched a prospect). The TV is new though which means I can subject myself to the horrific torture that is German programming in full technicolour and stereophonic sound. This, I must warn you, is about as much fun as how I imagine completing a mountain stage of the Tour de France on a bike without a saddle but the saddle post remaining would be.

To my surprise, upon my arrival a few weeks ago it appeared I was being stationed at a branch of the British Embassy. The manager's office is clearly signed 'Home Office'. I thought perhaps the coalition government might actually be functionoing and there was a strategic Lib Dem instigated u-turn to embrace the EU. Perhaps Theresa May might be helping administer my accommodation. I was wrong. The building manager is actually large, aging and growing a moustache (come to think of it, that's not entirely dissimilar to Theresa May).

I quite like the building manager though. Despite his slightly creepy, almost sinister manner, unnerving enthusiasm for organisation and efficiency (and passion for scarily immaculate/camp dungarees) he managed to get my surname wrong. This is good because I don't like my surname anyway. Consequently outside my door, underneath my door buzzer (which, incidentally, it's possible hasn't been used since 1974, until by me in a moment of inexplicable drunken confusion a couple of weeks ago) it says 'Edmonda'. I actually prefer 'Edmonda' to my real name so I'm considering changing it. I like to think it adda certain mysteriousa Italian quality to me. Perhaps I'll start unbuttoning the top six buttons of my shirt. Along with the name change I'd also have to buy a shirt.  

The rent is around €500 a month, warm. In Berlin 'warm' means it's bills all in, or it's over 6c. I don't even have to pay for he hideous pictures on the walls, which is good because I'm not sure if they're from 1974 or FROM HELL, or maybe from both and painted by the devil while he was on some bad acid, as I hear was the way at the time.

When I start looking for a new place I should be able to get somewhere nicer for €500 that doesn't have hideous artwork, and also has like, y'know, a bedroom. This would mean I wouldn't have to eat, sleep, type, work, relax, stare, read and cook in what is essentially the same room (that has woodchip walls). Despite rising property prices in this part of Berlin (due to annoying twats like me) it's still much cheaper than the shoe boxes that are available on the outskirts of London. And this location is brilliant, far and away the best aspect. However, the chances of me successfully finding a new place any time soon are looking slim, much like the female population of Berlin (must be the all the cycling as one friend pointed out, and yes they have saddles). Thing is, I can't successfully purchase a ham and cheese bagel so embracing the complexities of property renting in a country that has an innate love of bureaucracy might be a bit over ambitious at this stage.  

But!

I do have a balcony! Furthermore, I can fit a chair on the balcony. Even furthermore, which is now considerably further than before, it gets the sun from noon till 7pm assuming it is sunny. This is possibly the second best aspect of the property and affords me the chance to dramatically accelerate the ageing of my skin and chances of contracting melanoma (since I've been in Berlin I've been continuing my quest for the complete set; lung, liver and skin. It's good to have goals).

By the way, the third best aspect of the flat is the shower. It appears they made good showers in 1974. However, there's a rather unfortunate issue with my lavatory. About 30 seconds after each flush, from deep with in the bowels (pun intended) of the building, the pipes heave and omit a sound reminiscent in both tonality and volume to that of a fog horn belonging to an oceangoing cruiseliner. I have consigned myself to the realisation that my neighbours are now keenly aware of each and every time I happen use the facilities.

In the basement of the building where the Home Office is located, you encounter not ministerial offices and public servants as one may expect, but a door that leads to this weird and creepy network of wooden corridors. It's dank and dark. Spiders skitter across the floor like shadows, the cobwebs and particles of dust that hang in the putrid air are only illuminated by a shard of light that is projected from a tiny window next to the ceiling at the other end of the room. It is silent. There are rows of wooden doors each with large a lock. It must be used for storage of resident's possessions. Either that or for locking kittens and children in until they die of starvation and the kittens feed on the bodies of the dead children to stay alive until they then die as well and are then turned into schnitzel.

I'm beginning to go off schnitzel.

Next to the dungeon full of rotting child and kitten corpses is the 'Wash Room'. This is a communal and unisex space where residents can shower and bathe naked together in one large, brightly lit facility. It's not really. I made that up. It's actually where the washing machines are located. All two of them. They are also from 1974 and remind me of something the Russians might have put a monkey in and fired into space. I don't like them. The washing machines I mean, I don't have anything against the Russians. But I do hate the tumble drier, of which mercifully there is only one. It strikes the living fear of almighty god into my very soul.

The other thing that strikes the living fear of almighty god into my very soul is interacting with intimidatingly good looking women. Thus, I haven't spoken to the girl that lives two doors down, and I don't like that I'm actually starting to sound like a stalker now so I will begin to wrap this blog up.

I am concerned you may have mistakenly arrived at the conclusion that I don't like living in an out-dated, poorly decorated, soulless, box-like, cold-war building that resembles a cheap hotel and lacks any discernable character, and that the fact that every time I open my fridge my whole bedroom smells of Camembert and sweetcorn might be too much to bear...... but actually, it's cool. It's not bad. I can see myself here for another couple of months. The location is great and it's so nice being able to walk to work. I'm willing to overlook the rotting children and kitten corpses in the basement just for that.

Ciao,
Keir Edmonda.


keiross.com
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I have started a blog chronicling my adventures in Berlin. If you're interested in my progress, or if you're just really, really bored, you can check it here:

keiross.com




blog



When I had found out I'd got a job in Berlin I started furiously Googling to get more information about the city and the Berlin way of life. I read Wikipedia and all the rest of it, but I wanted to know what life in Berlin would really be like for an outsider; the nitty gritty of day-to-day life. In one of my deeper Google searches I stumbled across a terribly presented blog written around 2007 by some American bloke who had spent a summer in Berlin.

I can't even find the link now, but I read it all at the time. He blogged about mundane and everyday stuff and he wrote in a matter of fact style. It took me two sittings of about two hours to read through all his posts, I guess he wrote it for his family and friends back home at the time. It was well written and conveyed the sense of a friendly city, with an open attitude in which lots of fun and new experiences could be had. It filled me with assurance and hope.

I'm keeping this blog in the hope that one day there will be someone in the position I was in back in February, and they'll stumble across it and despite all my failed attempts at humour and smart arse comments this blog will be as useful and insightful to them as the American dude's blog was to me. That's assuming I like it in Berlin of course.

I am also writing it for myself, partly because I am self-obsessed but also because writing is a hobby I enjoy that doesn't involve debaucherous behaviour.


keiross.com
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The bear. Much maligned, feared and admired in equal measure. Have a think about the bear. There are many variants. There is the solitary Polar Bear, stalking the icy wilderness of the Artic, using its cunning and brute force to kill helpless seals and eat their young. The imposing Grizzly Bear, dominating the northern forests of Continental America, using its cunning and brute force to kill helpless Canadians and eat their sandwiches. (There is another type of large hairy bear that likes to feast on a different kind of meat, but this is a family site so I won't go into that). Let us also not forget a personal favourite of mine, Snuggles the Bear (srsly wtf, that is so.... creepy) which helps stop staticy cling on clothes while also adding freshness. And of course, last but not least there is the ever-reliable Teddy Bear, mainly found living under duvets around the world, providing comfort, friendship and reassurance to millions. (If you didn't own a teddy when you were young and instead had a blanket or something, you were either one of those weird kids or your parents were poor).

So, we can't deny the mighty bear's importance to human civilisation, the tumble drying process and large hairy homosexuals. Could it be that the bear is the most utilitarian, adaptable, majestic and charismatic beast to ever grace God's Earth? Friends, I am beginning to think that this is the case.

Now did you know that some cultures emblazon their flags with the bear. Proudly flying the beast high above their cities and rooftops as a representation of their dignity and pride. As I discovered on a recent six month stay there, one such flag is that of California.



bear



California. A state of America which I once thought was a bit shit, but have now come to realise is surely one of the best places in the world to live (let's face it though people, NorCal pwns SoCal) represents itself with the bear. So with my wonderful experience of life in California and its bear themed flag, I decided I must live in another place that has a similar flag paying homage to the all powerful beast.

The only problem is I live in London, our flags depict things like lions that we stole from other countries centuries ago, oh, and roses. Neither of those appeal to me much. So.... where to base my life?

But fear not! On a recent trip to continental Europe I made a wonderful discovery! There is another such flag! One that flies above the rooftops of a city, proudly displaying a bear in all its glory - bristling with teeth and claws... and a slightly weird tongue.



bear




Friends, this is the flag that represents the great German city of Berlin. And so there it was! That was it! This is where I will have to move and live. I am not actually joking when I say the glorious site of the iconic Berlin flag had a positive bearing on my decision to up sticks and relocate.

And so..... it is again time to say good bye and Auf Wiedersehen to London, sorry old friend but it is time I moved on to live under the wonderful image of the bear once more.





Note to reader: I don't actually give a shit about bears, I just got offered a really cool job in Berlin. I'll tell you about it later, wish me luck and see you on the other side.
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