Christmas Christmas Christmas

So, after a month of searching high and low I have managed to fill 24 (!) bags with prezzies for my man. My kind of advents-calendar. Not the chocolate kind or where you get stupid plastic toys that noone needs. I invested time, thought and a pocket full of love (and also a bit of money ofcourse). I believe I have twenty-four presents that are a mix of sexy, useful, funny, delightful, agreeable, generous and attractive. So I look forward to every morning...

His face this morning, needless to say, was priceless. Last week we had talked about calendars for Xmas and he told me his mum used to craft and fill them herself with titbits: bit of money, sweets etc. Whilst he told me I tried so hard not to smile as I had already started filling the bags so long ago. Thank goodness I had my hot, spicy soup to accidentally choke on the stop myself laughing!

And the last week had been a back and forth with things he said he needed that I managed to postpone til today and obviously rearranged the contents of the bags to accommodate his wishes!

Obviously I can't tell you what is in the bags; he might read this too. But I can tell you this much: I think he will like every single one of those presents ;)

Get into the Christmas spirit with my fave at the moment: Michael Bublé:

Nan's Crackerjack Café and Milkshakes (2)

The last titbit of this chapter. I may consider not letting on too much about my book from now, so that you will be keen to buy it when/if it gets published ;)

“Riza! Hey! Wow! What’s up? Good news?” Lily spluttered and muffled through Riza’s coat and hair. “The BEST news!” Riza beamed as she stepped back and smiled at Lily. “But I’ll tell you when Natty is here.” She tore off her coat and threw it over one of the chairs. Riza was wearing a typically colourful and wonderful outfit with all shades of purple and pink. Lily loved Riza to pieces. They had met at University and had since been inseparable: soul mates tied at the waist. Except for the time after Stuart. But Stuart was a long story and Lily was never in the mood to tell it. After Stuart, Lily had spent a while in Berlin. She had always wanted to visit her roots in Germany and Berlin had been a great city. But she had missed Riza and Natty and her quaint English village life (well, it wasn’t that quaint but Lily loved wellies, English gentlemen and tea and scones and that all counted as quaint for Lily) and so she had returned. 

Riza was already diving into a full-blown story about her love life as they both saw Natty fighting her way through the crowd. “Alright? Do you mind movin’ a bit, love? This place is big enough for the both of us!” Ah yes, Natty loved to brawl. Lily and Natty had met at the Hard Rock Café on a particularly rocky night with goths, punks and all sorts. Natty was off her face drunk and had complimented Lily on her totally out of place head to toe white outfit amongst a sea of black leather and PVC (and the fact that Lily was not wearing a bra!). They had swapped numbers and been close ever since. 

“Hello Lovelies. God it’s full in here today: nightmare! And d’ya think I’d find a parking place when I’m wearing my Miu Miu’s and it’s bleeding knee deep in snow out there. Of course not! I had to walk ten minutes from the car. What a sodding winter!”
And so the afternoon with the ladies began.

Nan's Crackerjack Café and Milkshakes (1)

Following on from Friends, Gabba and Cosy Nights.... Promise to also find a way to categorise my posts to enable easier reading for you all ;)

The next day Lily had a day off. It wasn’t always easy working freelance. She found herself spending months with so much work: modelling, acting, translation work and the job at the boutique followed by a slump where she earned no money and had to use her savings in order to cover the most important costs. Frankly, she hated it. But on the rare occasion of having a day off, Lily liked nothing more than to meet with her friends and chat about life, men and probably shoes. 

Lily had decided to meet the girls in one of her favourite little cafés: Nan’s Crackerjack Café also known also Nan’s Crack (Awful, I know, but hilarious!). It was a fantastic little place. The owner, Patty Jackson, was a brand of her own. She seemed to have got stuck in the 50’s with her permed and perfectly styled jet-black hair complete with quiff and livid-red flower; flaming red lips; thick black eyeliner under perfectly arched eyebrows; heaving bosoms caged in a dark-blue and white polka-dot dress, covered scarcely by a crisp white apron; suspender tights in skin tone with a black seam and killer red heels. At the age of fourty-nine Patty had an enviable figure and was the life and soul of every party around town. Today, Patty’s kids were hanging about too. They were two adorable little things, who both dressed in the unmistakable fifties look. Jethro, the youngest of the two, had his hair slicked back expertly with pomade into a ducktail (John Travolta eat your heart out) and wore a tiny baseball jacket and dark blue Levis doubled at the hem. His sister Judy, loved pink. Everything had to be pink. Appropriately she was sporting a pink and white polka-dot ensemble with a white belt clinched at the waist, tiny white ballerinas and her mum had gone to the trouble of sewing the words Judy on the back of the gorgeous little leather jacket she was wearing. With her golden-brown locks loosely tied back and teased into an elvis quiff at the front she looked fit to take over the world if she wanted to. 

Lily also liked to make herself look pretty when she went to Nan’s Crackerjack Café (whose name had come about from Patty’s nan. She had owned a cracker manufacturing company with her husband, Jack Jackson. No one questioned the name of the café/diner but the nickname had meanwhile reached Patty who needless to say was less impressed!) Nan’s Crackerjack Café meanwhile had an outrageous list of special, famous guests but Patty liked to keep things simple. She didn’t roll out red carpets, nor did she adhere to special wishes for coconut water, organic baby carrots or colour coordinated M&Ms. She served great food, a mix of home cooking and diner specialities and mixed a mean mojito. From hot chocolate in the winter to fresh smoothies or cola floats in the summer, Patty stuck to her menu and strongly opposed to special wishes (which normally resulted in the celeb being kicked out by her burly husband; Grant). 

Today Lily had decided to wear her pleated coral-orange knee-length skirt with a crisp white blouse and a navy cardigan. She had decided to wear quite thick tights and little booties too alongside her winter coat that kept wonderfully warm in the bitter winter they were having and reached way over her knees but unfortunately looked like a sleeping bag!Lily brushed a few flakes of snow off her eyelashes and stomped the remnants of slush off her boots as she unbuttoned her coat and tried to make out her ladies, Riza and Natty. Nan’s Crackerjack was so wonderfully whacky and simultaneously heavenly homely. The walls were a gorgeous mix of turquoise and dusky pink and speckled with memorabilia that reminded of Elvis, the Beatles, children’s tea partys, ladybirds, Dame Edna and a Las Vegas show meets Cher meets Elton John’s glasses collections. From the big-bosomed, Beryl Cook inspired salt and pepper shakers to the Pop-Art Napkins and the red and white checkered table cloths Patty had managed to combine a thousand looks from all eras and make them look holistic and cosy. 

Lily inhaled deeply as a fresh apple crumble made its way past her on the white gloved hand of a waitress dressed in a sailor outfit with petticoat and navy boat hat. “Mmmm, that smells delicious…” Lily muttered under her breath, her mouth watering. She made her way past the first tables; artists, actors, writers, families, couples and even a few businessmen. Patty really pulled in a wide crowd. Finally she found a table upstairs in the attic space of the café: her favourite part. The attic ceiling was slightly skewed and had rustical tables made of old tree stumps and car motors with glass plates on them. There were hardly any chairs that were alike: it was a mixture of sofas, armchairs, swivel chairs, highchairs and interestingly painted ikea chairs (Patty had once had a creative phase in which she had painted everything that came into her hands!). Lily found a table made of three very worn (and interestingly painted!) mannequins with a glass plate on top. It was covered with an old lace tablecloth with napkins decorated with ladybirds next to bright yellow plates and tall glasses with lime slices drawn on them. Perfect. She slid onto a highchair that resembled a hand. Just as she was tucking her coat away she saw Riza legging it up the steps, panting like an athlete. “Lily! Lily, Lily, Lily! Oh my GOD!” she squealed as Lily buried her head in her hands with a smile and slowly pushed the chair back. Riza shoved a swivel chair aside, almost knocking it over, slammed into Lily and squeezed her tight. 

Don't forget to check out my youtube channel too:  themisslisa1984

A Train Journey in Hotpants

www.zaggora.de/hotpants/

Today I decided to wear my Zaggora Hotpants to work. But hold up: let me start from the beginning. A week ago I received my order from London. A pair of Hotpants with which I can apparently lose 2 clothes sizes in two weeks. Hey, it was reduced- so why not give it a shot! I'm lazy, lack self-control and hate jogging so why not try something where I actually don't have to do anything but put them on and go about my business. (Although even the thought of having to put them on and then also put trousers on feels one step too far for me. I'm telling you, I'm lazy.)

So this morning I thought yeah, why not. I have to walk quite a bit to work so hopefully it'll be worth it. The pants are relatively comfortable. Like a pair of riding shorts in wetsuit look, feel and smell kind of comfortable. But hey, losing weight isn't meant to be fun and games. It all fit underneath my clothes and apart from a slight diver smell it isn't noticeable either (nothing a little perfume won't cover).

And it proved to have been a good idea to put on a little more perfume than usual because my train journey was a nightmare. Packed like sardines and smelling like them too I clenched my bum cheeks together and braved the journey. Each stop emptied the train a little but also filled it a little more. I tried to concentrate on my loose knees trying to ying and yang my body in harmony to the start and stop of the train. It wasn't proving easy. The train jerked and I suddenly noticed a very foul smell. Like foul eggs; foul eggs that had been eaten by someone and let out again in gaseous form. I gagged. I've said it once and I'll say it again: my stomach is not strong in the morning. Quickly I grabbed my scarf and covered my mouth. It managed to stop the worst of it. A bike rolled over my foot. I love mornings.

Once out I gasped and breathed in deeply. It would be a lie to say I breathed in fresh air cos let's face it, this is Berlin. But it was a relief... And so I made my way to the bus station: fully aware that I would probably have to wait 15minutes. I walked in long strides trying to make the most of the hotpants. But my legs were still cold and frosty. And they still are pretty cold. But I'm sat down, the pants safely hidden beneath my trousers and can't wait for two weeks to check whether in two weeks I will notice a change.

Go, Zaggora, go! And only a few more days of stuffy, over-filled trains... yay.

From Neukölln to Charlottenburg: a Trip for all senses

My journey this morning must be documented. I know, many people witness (and survive) the journey too, every morning, but I have to get it off my chest.

Neukölln: 

So the journey begins in my hometown Neukölln; known for many things. Amongst others, multicultural, great food, fantastic markets, small families (and extremely large families), murders and döner shops. I have decided to split this into certain categories that I experience in order to show a comparison of both worlds: 

Religion: From my front door to the bus it is not unusual that I encounter several mums with headscarves and children. Religion is big in this area and the deeper you go into the heart of Neukölln the more elaborate and colorful headscarves you will see. The closer I get to Kreuzberg the more I encounter others. Particularly interesting is the probably around 65-year old woman standing at the Görli train station with some sort of brochure in her hand talking in strange tongues about the end of the world. But with music on my headphones I decided that today I am not going to let myself be converted. 

Clothes: It begins again as soon as I leave my front door. Most interesting is the football fan that seems to live outside the off-licence infront of our home. Come rain or shine he is stood there with a beer sometimes with an equally horrifically dressed woman in his blue and white scarves jabbering something about the team that no one really cares about. He is not the only one that cares for following a tribe of lemmings. At the bus station I encounter the typical young turkish man: jeans casually slung around his hips, sports jacket (smelling ridiculously clean) puffed up around his slender body. He's joking with his pals and they're mumbling incoherent, discriminating trash about each others' mothers. Once in the train the scenario changes ever so slightly. There is a young girl with a woolen orange headband, a norwegian, washed-out jumper, denim shorts, thick grey, coming apart tights and trekking boots. I look down at my tidy shirt and jeans and polished boots and sigh. Either I'm not going with the trend or I don't want to look like I'm about to climb Mount Everest and have a hippy party at the top of it. Either way: the fashion is eclectic in the train. 

Smells: enough said, actually. From the hobo in the corner of the row of seats with his minging foot, rotting under a blue plastic bag to the 80-year old, coated in cat hair, bedraggled and falling apart woman muttering to herself under her breath and reaking of everything from cat to perfume from a few decades ago. It triggers an urge to puke every morning: my stomach is just not that strong at eight a.m.  

Bus drivers: my final anecdote to the morning in Neukölln. It's not as if I want everyone to be happy all the time. But I like it when some people are happy most of the time. And it's not as if I skip and prance at 8 a.m. but when the bus driver cuts the corners and three kids and an old woman go flying through the bus and you're lucky if you find a seat before he sets off and sends you flailing from seat to seat in a mad frenzied attempt not to run into other people or trip and fall I wish for just one minute that somebody had given the bus driver a kiss and told him he's a good dog. 

So, it takes about an hour until I reach Charlottenburg. And the people coming and going certainly change over time. Here goes: 

Charlottenburg: 

Religion: upon arriving in Charlottenburg I immediately run into a nun. That was so predictable. On the morning that I am cursing and screaming blasphemous nothings into the cold autumn air I just happen to run into a nun. Damn it. Ooops. Needless to say, she smiles at me and I feel even worse for being such a bad person although hey, everyone needs to swear sometimes. And it wasn't my morning. 

Clothes: now this is the most obvious change. As soon as we hit the beginning of the shopping mile the scene changes drastically and I begin to feel like the girl with the norwegian jumper and denim shorts. From left to right all I see is Wellensteyn, Louis Vuitton, gold, Swarovski and heels. Clackety-clack with their underarm, sweat-catching handbags. Bleurgh. I hate them for their manicured nails and perfectly applied make-up. I want to chuck a bucket of water over them. Sorry, nun. 

Smells: these are also a change of night and day, urge to puke and urge to run. It doesn't get better: it's just different intense smells. The first woman to plop off the bus is doused in what smells like three bottles of different perfumes. Clearly her nose must be bunged up because she hasn't noticed that everyone in the bus is moving seats to get away from the putrid smell. And it appears as if her male pendant is stood infront of the BMW Showroom as I get out of the bus. In his Barbour jacket he also appears to have bathed in some ridiculously biting and intense cologne. I forget how long I've held my breath and quickly exhale and cover my mouth with my scarf to hinder any further stench seeping into my lungs and nose. Yuk. I can still taste it now...

Bus drivers: what shall I say- this is Berlin. Bus drivers are annoying, speed-raging maniacs everywhere in town! No difference in Charlottenburg!

From one world into the next. And the only thing that stayed constant was my smile. Because let's face it: what's the point of frowning? From one world to another I wish you a good day: whatever world you're in...

Moopy

I'm new, I'm cool and I am spreading the word:
don't worry, be Moopy.

you can find me on here on facebook.

and here on Twitter.

moopy on T-Shirts