Oh, boy!

Posted on August 17, 2008 by Hails

I’ve seen so many statues and monuments now that I was getting a little bored with them, to be perfectly frank.

My enthusiasm was rekindled yesterday, however, during a visit to Brussels. I’d heard about this statue; I’d read about it; nothing, however, could have prepared me for the memorable (and slightly surreal) experience of seeing it for myself. It is a very famous tourist attraction in Brussels – and indeed, when I wandered down Rue de l’Etuve, hoping that I hadn’t missed it, it was the sight of a large crowd of tourists jostling for photographs that told me that I was in the right place. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you… Manneken Pis.

In case it’s not self-evident, that’s Flemish for “Little Man Peeing”. You wouldn’t think that there’s much more to be said about it, would you?

This tiny bronze statue is something of a Belgian celebrity. Nobody seems to know why he’s there, but they’ve had great fun making up so many stories and legends about his origin that it’s now completely impossible to know which one (if any) is true. The most official one seems to be that, in 1142, the troops of the two-year-old Lord Godfrey III of Leuven placed him in a basket and hung him from a tree as a means of encouraging morale. The baby lord peed on the enemy troops below, and the statue is a memorial to the grand victory that followed.

The story I prefer, however, is the one about a rich man whose son went missing. Heartbroken, the wealthy merchant organised a huge search party and vowed that if he ever got his son back, he would celebrate by making a little sculpture of the boy doing whatever he was doing at the moment he was found. A neighbour found the child cheerfully peeing in a garden… and so Manneken Pis was created.

I was very amused by the constant crowd of tourists that surrounded it, and even felt sorry for these sad individuals, until I realised that I was one of them.

There’s a lot of hype surrounding the statue, for all the size of it. It’s usually dressed in costumes, donated by celebrities and organisations, and changed at special ceremonies. Honestly. I accidentally wandered into one of these grand ceremonies as I was taking in the atmosphere at the Grand Place, and it was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There were costumes… banners… a full, marching brass band… and a replica of the statue, on a mobile podium, randomly “peeing” over the delighted and squealing crowd.

It was my favourite part of my visit to Brussels. I’m not even being sarcastic or condescending. I was tempted to buy a small, chocolate Manneken Pis as a souvenir, but I don’t know that I could have brought myself to eat him.

Filed under: Belgium, Brussels, chocolate, culture, day trip, fun, humour, Manneken Pis, peeing, statues, tourists | 4 Comments »

The Road Less Travelled

Posted on May 27, 2008 by Hails

“Let’s go this way,” says Riho, trotting off along a little sidestreet we haven’t seen before.

We are spending the evening exploring the Old Town. I am, by now, quite used to this type of excursion involving a weird feeling of having travelled back in time, but nothing could have prepared me for the gradual departure from reality that seems to have followed my companion’s seemingly harmless suggestion. One narrow, eerily quiet street leads to another, each with more abandoned, dilapidated buildings than the previous one. It’s strangely disconcerting, walking through this sort of place. I’m always heavily aware of the lingering presence of the past; my mind naturally craves stories and explanations. There are none. I remain silent, listening to the echo of our footsteps as we stumble along the uneven streets.

One of the boarded-up doors has been forced open, and I peer interestedly through the crack. “If you push it, it’ll open,” says Riho, close to my ear. I jump nervously and glare at him. “Shhh!” I hiss. Tentatively, I push the door. It creaks loudly, and I freeze. I am a product of Generation Teen Horror Movie, and I know that I should run away right about now, but I can feel Riho’s disbelieving stare boring into the back of my head. I give the door a firm shove. Crrreeeeeeaaak, it goes, falling slowly open. My heart racing, I step inside, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realise…

…it is just an old, run-down house. Well, what did you expect? This isn’t the Famous Five, you know.

Having said that, we do seem to see more bizarre things in the space of a few hours than I’ve seen over the course of my life. Rhio is particularly bemused, as he has never seen this area before, despite being fairly well acquainted with the Old Town. His incredulity mounts as we see:

  • A Ukranian Greek Catholic Church (complete with prayer letter-box outside, for prayers to the Blessed Virgin with Three Hands)
  • A number of unidentifiable ‘secret’ doors into the thick stone walls, including one which seems to be a theatre inside the wall
  • St. Michael’s Cheese Restaurant, where everything on the menu is made from cheese (or just served with unnecessary whacks of cheese, so that it fits)
  • A series of Genuinely Odd posters, including one that is apparently for a film called Nazis & Blondes (not a comparison I’m overly familiar with), with the tagline “Acting evil was their destiny”
  • A little courtyard* tucked away down an alleyway, in what looks like the back yard of a house that is literally falling down and being supported by wooden scaffolding, where there is a bar, a chocolaterie, a ceramics shop, and an assortment of randomly distributed and utterly bizarre accoutrements with no explanation whatsoever.

“100 Contemporary Teapots of what now?!” exclaims Riho finally, when a casual glance through a window reveals the winning sight of the evening. His voice has taken on an almost hysterical tone, and I find myself being hoisted up in an attempt to see the end of the Oddest Title Ever. We are none the wiser, but greatly entertained nonetheless.

And is that a giant cigarette next to the random teapot poster, or have I reached the Desperate And Hallucinating stage of nicotine withdrawal?

What a very strange night. Forget your monuments, scenery and natural wonders: this is tourism at its finest!

* This courtyard was my personal favourite sight so far, and I intend to return very soon. My official reason is that it deserves to be written about in much more detail, but really I just want to experience the delights of a French chocolaterie in Estonia…

Filed under: children's books, chocolate, church, confusion, Estonia, fun, mysteries, tourists, weird | 3 Comments »

It means I have issues with my father

Posted on April 12, 2008 by Hails

“Want a chocolate brownie?” calls The Sister from the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” I reply after the necessary moment of serious contemplation that the question requires.

The Sister appears in the living room and looks intently at me. “Are you OK?”

“Eh? Yes, I think so,” I say somewhat uncertainly, wondering if she knows something I don’t. There is a concerned expression on her face as she licks chocolate from a large knife in a very unsafe manner.

“You refused chocolate,” she says by way of explanation. “And I don’t know if you remember, but you did the exact same thing the day before yesterday. Are you sure you’re alright? Is there anything you want to talk about? Are you ill? Do you have any issues you need to discuss?”

She is beginning to scare me. I thought I was OK, but she paints an alarming picture. There are, perhaps, too many deeply insightful people in my life. Suddenly, the refusal of a chocolate brownie reveals layers of emotional trauma of which I was previously unaware.

And on a vaguely related note, I found this clip whilst browsing silly YouTube videos with Dirk the other night, and I fear that my resulting hysterical laughter may indicate severe mental issues. Perhaps, when all is said and done, I am as complicated as a cucumber.

Filed under: chocolate, confusion, conversations, friends, laughter, mental health, sheer silliness, singing, talking cucumber, weird | 5 Comments »

Looking Up

Posted on March 27, 2008 by Hails

A few months ago, I stumbled upon the blog of a young woman in Canada. She calls her site Finding Joy Every Day, and her delightful approach to life as a series of both simple and profound events containing joy, if only we choose to see them, has inspired this rather belated post in the middle of what I can only describe as a whirlwind few weeks of mixed emotions and occasional panic.

Sometimes it’s too easy to focus on the negatives, because they have a nasty habit of roaring up to you like a winter wave from the Atlantic Ocean and crashing over your head with sufficient force to knock you off your feet and leave you gasping for breath. Trying to be positive when you’re sitting on the wet shingle spitting out seaweed, fighting off jellyfish and coughing up salty water is no easy task, and yet if you take a deep breath and get back on to your feet, you’ll always be able to see the calm beauty of the horizon.

 Of course, I realise that this is all too serious for a blog that generally concerns itself with nothing deeper than a bit of a gripe about people with No Taste Whatsoever in coffee, or an occasional bout of road rage, or a psychologically challenged cat. The fact that I haven’t written a post all week should suggest that I’m a little preoccupied, but as Coffee Helps has generally been a light-hearted look at daily life, I’m not about to start turning it into a counselling forum. And so I’ve set myself the challenge of finding the positives, in an effort to save my blog and be true to its nature, before the coffee pot becomes permanently and tragically half empty.

The most positive thing I have encountered during the flurry of negative feelings is, without a shadow of doubt, the Cadbury’s Creme Egg. Pessimism is impossible when you’ve just hollowed out the egg and, in the midst of the ensuing sugar rush, placed the chocolate shell in its entirety into your mouth. There are no words. Mainly because it’s difficult to speak with an entire Creme Egg in your mouth.

Joy can be found in the simplest places. It is the discovery of adult-sized Petits Filous pots* on special offer. It is having your photograph taken when you’re standing approximately two feet behind a sign that reads Strictly no access beyond this point. It is the discovery of Half Decent Coffee in Wetherspoons for only 49p a cup (no Starbucks, but drinkable, and a fifth of the price!). It is laughing with a friend whose attempt to say “were you crying?” in French combines an understanding nod with the words “Ah, alors… il pleut sur le visage de Hails…”. It’s watching an episode of Ally McBeal, it’s driving into the sunset, it’s wondering “what if…?”, it’s listening to a song that brings back memories, it’s that delicious “you’ve got mail” moment when you log into your email account. It is hanging out with friends on an average night and finding yourself listening to something like this:

 Life is uphill at times, my friends. But there’s always love, laughter, music and chocolate.

 And coffee most definitely helps.

*I mean, obviously, that the portions are intended for adults, and not that I have recently puchased an 8-pack of monstrous, 5′ 10″ fromage frais pots. 

Filed under: Ally McBeal, blogging, chocolate, coffee, confusion, contemplation, conversations, Fear, friends, laughter, life, memories, worry | 10 Comments »

Cat Woman

Posted on February 1, 2008 by Hails

I think my landlady is descended from cats. This may sound like a wild, unfounded allegation, but, like all theories, it must not be dismissed until proved unreliable. Let’s look at the evidence.

Men in general have a dislike of cats because, as Red puts it, “they’re sleekit, sneaky, underhanded, and you just couldn’t trust them”. Some, like my friend Jay, have even attempted to extend the hand of friendship to a particular cat (who shall remain nameless), having been lured in by its look of sweet innocence, affectionate glances etc, only to be deeply wounded when said cat lashed out in sudden, unprovoked, vicious and unforeseen attack. Man retreats, hurt and angry; cat resumes innocent purring as if butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth.

My Landlady called round last night.

“I meant to get in to see you before Christmas,” she said apologetically as I hastily ceased my happy, doorbell-inspired dance and opened the door for her, “so this is a belated ‘Little Something’ for you.” She handed me a box of Milk Tray and a bottle of Chardonnay. How lovely! I have the best landlady ever, who brings wine and chocolates and calls in for a cup of coffee and a natter instead of a full-on house inspection.

We chatted for ages over our coffee, and she was a pleasure to talk to. I received so many compliments about my clothes, weight, figure, smile, hair, perfection as a tenant and general ability to breathe that my head was spinning by the time she stood up to leave. What a lovely, sweet lady.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, reaching me a sheet of paper as an afterthought, “would you mind awfully if we asked you to change the way you pay your rent?” I glanced at the page and saw some new bank details. “It’s just we’re tidying up our finances and trying to get one account sorted out for rent money, so if you could maybe cancel your standing order and just set up a direct debit into this account instead…?”

I nodded agreeably, anxious to please this pleasant, likeable woman. “No problem. The rent goes out on the 10th of the month, doesn’t it? So I’ve got time to get it sorted for February’s payment. I’ll get that organised ASAP.”

“Err… yes, yes, great. Good. Well, I’ll be off,” she said, sounding a little flustered. She took off into the wind and the rain, and I cheerfully waved goodbye. “Good to see you!” I called after her.

I have now looked more carefully at the page. She’s only gone and written a new list of dates that the direct debits should be made, so that the rent now falls due every four weeks instead of every calendar month. Which, to put it simply, means I now make thirteen payments per year instead of twelve. Having sat angrily punching numbers into a calculator, I have found that this means I’m now paying nearly £40 extra per month.

Do I look like I have £40 spare in the month? Do I?! (Clue: I shop in Lidl’s and my socks all have holes in the toes.)

I am forming a strongly worded phone call in my head, yet I will be incapable of making it because she brought me gifts and showered me with compliments. It would be like kicking the cat for leaving pawprints on the floor, when she’s nuzzling me with her furry wee head and purring sweetly.

Landladies, cats…. no difference, they both walk all over me and I apparently just sit here and let them.

Filed under: anger, cat, chocolate, complaining, conversations, greed, landlady, Lidl, money, one big fat money-making scam, rant, rent | 4 Comments »

Dreamin’ A Little Dream

Posted on January 31, 2008 by Hails

I’ve been nominated!!!!!

I am very excited (you can always tell this by my inclusion of unnecessary exclamation marks). The nominations for the 2008 Irish Blog Awards have been announced and I’m in the running for Best Newcomer! I have no expectations of being on the final shortlist, but I admit to having had several pleasant daydreams throughout today. Obviously these have all involved switching on the computer, looking up the shortlist, and finding my blog there. I think I would cry!!!!

However, to put this dream into perspective, I must also point out that I had other daydreams over the past week or two about a rather cute (scruffily handsome) guy who actually seemed to take an interest in me. Unfortunately, he turned out to be a bit strange, and, to be perfectly honest, downright rude. So. Another one bites the dust. The moral of this story is that while it’s fun to dream about finding romance and being shortlisted for blog awards, real life more often than not involves staying on the longlist and waiting for Mr. Right. [That's actually pretty good! Somebody make a note of that and remember I said it.]

This is why God made chocolate. And Brad Pitt. I am going to spend time appreciating both of these creations tonight, with the help of a box of Milk Tray and a DVD of Meet Joe Black. Thank you so much for voting for me, whoever took time to do so! I am honoured, delighted and flattered.

It’s like the Oscars!

Filed under: awards, blogging, boys, Brad Pitt, chocolate, dreams, romance | 3 Comments »

Survival

Posted on January 15, 2008 by Hails

“How was your day?” asks Sister as we set about making dinner. “Sincerely rubbish,” I reply, chopping a red pepper with unnecessary vigour. “I am fed up with my job, I might as well not be there, I am worth nothing to anyone, my car is going to fail the MOT, I am bored, I have a sore head, I think the cat has been possessed by some kind of demon, and there’s nobody to even give me a hug and say they give a damn.” I throw the peppers into a pan of hot oil and watch sadistically as they sizzle. “You?”

Sister makes a lot of noise firing pasta into a saucepan. “Also crap. I’m sick of my job, The Ex Boyfriend keeps phoning, I have no money to pay the car insurance, my belongings are all over the place, and today one of my colleagues ‘fixed’ a part of my car that fell off by taping it on with Scotch tape.”

We complain solidly for an hour and decide to give up on ever achieving happiness.

Then we go grocery shopping, and somehow return with 3 bars of chocolate. We make Rice Crispie buns. We eat most of the melted chocolate, finally taking to the bowl with teaspoons.  We gradually  conclude that life, after all, is not a total disaster.

We decide to give tomorrow a try. There’s always more chocolate.

Filed under: chocolate, complaining, conversations, decisions, woe, work | 6 Comments »

Comic Relief

Posted on November 23, 2007 by Hails

It’s with a heavy heart and an angry mind that I stomp around the kitchen, tidying, loading the dishwasher, emptying the bin, muttering darkly about mindless fools who crash into your car and then drive off. Changing the cat litter, taking out the rubbish, rooting through the cupboards for chocolate of some description, throwing imaginary rocks at heads of said mindless fools.

In the middle of all this, Kat has discovered the mop bucket (complete with dirty water) sitting at the back door. She clambers on to the low window sill to get a better angle for investigation, and sticks her head in.

“KAT!” I bellow with unmerited rage, “Get your stupid head out of the mop bucket NOW!”

Kat scuttles off, offended, and I pause from my general madness to respond to a text message. I find some Reese’s Cups* behind the teabags. As I sit down to eat them and read some blogs, I hear a series of clunks, a howl, and some frantic scuffling.

Kat has fallen into the mop bucket.

I get up to make sure she hasn’t drowned, and then just stand there laughing as she flies past me, dripping and traumatised. “I warned you,” I call after her as she disappears into the hotpress to dry out.

Sometimes it takes something simple, like the cat falling into a mop bucket, to give you back your perspective. You see, this is exactly why I have a cat.

*Dirk introduced me to Reese’s Cups at the cinema one night. They are chocolates with peanut butter inside. They are truly amazing.

Filed under: accident, animal cruelty, cat, chocolate, laughter, Mishaps | 4 Comments »

In Which I Try My Hand At Writing A Consumer Review

Posted on November 10, 2007 by Hails

I spent this afternoon in Tesco. Yes, all of it. In its entirety. The whole flamin’ afternoon.

I’m not one to get all excited when a new shop/store/supermarket opens, and run there instantly with the hordes of people who are for some reason all excited. Zed is – she went to the WNT (Wonderful New Tesco) on whatever night it was last week that the blasted place opened. “Have you been to Tesco’s yet?” she asked everyone for the rest of the week, with an air of smuganicity. Apparently they had 80,000 people through the doors on their first day. Choirs sang at the entrance and there were balloons and various forms of entertainment. Why? Why??!!! It is a supermarket, not some kind of awesome rocket-launching event.

Anyway, it so happened that today it was time for my once-fortnightly grocery shop. I also had to get the car washed, as it has been becoming increasingly difficult to see out of the window lately, owing to the layer of muck and grime being sprayed on by passing lorries (probably Tesco ones, although I do not wish to make any unfounded allegations) on a now daily basis. Thus, having used the very efficient car-washing people in Pennybridge, I decided that I might as well do my shopping in the WNT, since it was marginally closer to my current location than Lidl.

Parking was troublesome. I swung round a corner to try scanning a new row for a space, and found myself in a very long, very still queue. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was queuing for, so I waited interestedly for a while, quickly got bored, and followed the example of various others by inching out of the queue, turning, and scarpering. I found a space, after some confusion and a small incident with a runaway trolley, and got out of the car, several miles away from the WNT.

After a pleasant hike through the rain, I entered the WNT, and instantly found myself involved in a minor scuffle with a harrassed-looking woman who was too engaged with screaming at her out-of-control infants to care that she was ramming her trolley into my hip bone. This did not bode well for the immediate future. I gripped my trolley with grim determination.

I do not want to talk about the rest of my experience, other than to express my annoyance at the narrowness of the aisles, my anger at the rudeness of a large number of my fellow Ballymenians, my confusion about the layout of the store, and my extreme regret at not having gone to Lidl’s. By the time I emerged, aching and exhausted, the car park seemed to have been transported on to the M2, and the tailback reached the outskirts of Belfast. Cursing the experimental part of my brain that had told me to ‘just go and see what it’s like’, I trudged around the (now dark) car park trying to find Rio the Clio, loaded my shopping, returned my trolley, got into the car, and moved forward approximately 2.5 inches to join the queue. Then I sat there for three quarters of an hour. I swear, three quarters of an hour, just to get out. How? Why??!!! I couldn’t see what the hold-up was, and the only explanation I could find was that every motorist in the area was trying to get as far away from the WNT as possible, all at the same time. There were cars queuing from every direction.

My frozen veggies dripped sadly over the back seat. I banged my head dismally off the steering wheel several times. I have been at venues like The Odyssey and the Waterfront, where several thousand concert-goers are attempting to leave the car park at the same time, and it doesn’t take as long as it took me to get to the exit of the WNT car park. It makes No Sense Whatsoever.

Anyway, I’m home now. I have refrozen my frozen goods and will no doubt contract salmonella at some point in the near future. I will keep you – and Tesco – informed. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to purchase some chocolate and crisps. I hear them calling to me.

Filed under: Ballymena, Car, chocolate, complaining, confusion, driving, freak-out, Lidl, rant, road rage, sheer silliness, shopping, tension, Tesco | 3 Comments »

Musings of an Un-Grown-Up

Posted on September 15, 2007 by Hails

This has to stop.

I am going to be 26 years old in one month’s time. 26 is, like, really really grown up. The problem lies with the fact that, as you may have noticed, I am really, really not grown up. When I was a teenager, I watched Friends obsessively, with a sense of awe and real curiosity at this glimpse into grown-up life. They lived on their own, had jobs, went on dates, made clever jokes, met up for lunch and hung out in the coffee shop. How cool, I thought enviously, to be a real grown-up.

Then, I remember Monica lying about her age to a guy she was dating. She was 26. I thought that was really old, and felt a bit sorry for her because she hadn’t managed to get a husband yet, or a career, and there she was, zooming towards 30 and lying about her age. How smug I was, as a 16-year-old. Enchanted, I watched those characters every week, wondering if my life would be like that when I was a real grown-up, like them.

Now, here I am, aged 26. I still love Friends, and like to escape into their world via my DVD box sets. However, I cannot tell you how utterly soul-destroying it has been to find myself growing older than those characters. There they are, paused in their late 20s/early 30s forever. Meanwhile, I zoom towards 30, with no husband and no career, still thinking of them as real grown-ups and myself as a teenager. It’s disorientating, frightening, and just plain unfair.

It has to stop, I tell you.

I have, with a grand flourish of irony, become the Monica I felt sorry for. And it’s not like I have hidden ambitions to become a chef – talents and dreams just waiting to be poured into a fulfilling career. Nor do I have a Chandler – that male friend just on the verge of falling in love with me and ending the crappiness of feeling like a spare part in a world made for couples. No, I have an abundance of lovely male friends who lavish their affections on their significant others, and an equal number of female friends who get to go home and cuddle up on the sofa with someone who loves them. I have a cat. A cat!!!! There is no Chandler, not even a Ross. I would settle for a Ross. (Joey might be pushing it a little.)

Woe, I repeat from yesterday, woe. I am nearly 26 and I have given up drink and I have given up cigarettes and I have given up every nice kind of food there is (and yet, to my disgust, have only lost about a stone, according to the scales Zed lent me the other day). I am sad and lonely and suddenly a grown-up, and I am not ready to be grown up. My central heating doesn’t work and I have toothache and the grass needs cutting and my cat hates me and there are 3 billion hormones playing tag inside me.

So sod this. I am going to eat chocolate, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop me.

(Woe.)

Filed under: cat, Chandler, chocolate, escapism, freak-out, friends, hormones, Monica, old age, relationships, tears, woe, worry | 9 Comments »

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