So Many Wars and So Little Time

 

How is life going, you say? Simply spiffing! I’ve somehow managed to reclaim my motorcar from the chap I foolishly sold it to *winks* and it seemed a capital idea—until my Gyna reminded me that now he can spot me tooling about town *sighs theatrically*

Who is he in the photo you ask? An old friend, a proper gentleman, and, by sheer coincidence, the British consul. He’s regaled me with so many war stories I might just attempt to pen them—once I figure out how to write without tripping over my own inkwell, of course.

I’ve been in hiding these last few days, like a cat avoiding the dog, making sure the actual owner of my beloved car doesn’t stumble upon me. Fear not! I shall reappear soon. For now, I feel like a tinned sardine in this grimy little hole I’ve the misfortune to call home.

Cheerio, my darling Berliners!

xx
Connie

Moves

 

Hasan Baglar’s ‘Danlock’ has been crowned the grand prize winner of last year’s Cewe Photo Award (Image credit: Hasan Baglar)

Right then, I suppose I may disclose a few further morsels from our most hectic Berlin existence.

My darlings Gyna, Herr Ross and I may — may, I say — be up to something distinctly improper. Though really, “proper” is terribly overrated, is it not? One does not relocate to Berlin in these spirited times in order to behave like a parish hymn.

I cannot reveal particulars. Not yet. Let it suffice that the day demanded celebration, and celebrate we did… with a dance.

And upon examining the photographic evidence thereafter, I was reminded of an image my rather mysterious driver from Real Life, once shared with me from some distant future (see above). Tell me truly — were our movements not suspiciously akin to those of a praying mantis?

If so, I shall take it as a compliment. One must admire a creature that knows precisely when to sway… and when to strike.

And that shall be all for today! One mustn’t serve the entire feast upon a single plate, my darlings. *wink*

I trust you are doing scandalously well — or at the very least, interestingly so. Do try not to languish in dull corners of existence.

And please… do not forget…

Life is terribly short, reputations even shorter — so if you must misbehave, do it with style.

Until next time.

XX

Connie

Herr TopHat and New Accommodation

 So the story goes…

I have been compelled to abandon my charming little apartment above the Keller. Apparently jazz at ungodly hours does wonders for the soul but very little for one’s nerves. And, as my RL driver so dryly informed me, the place possessed “too few prims,” which I assume is modern slang for “architectural insufficiency.” One never argues with the woman who holds the (virtual) steering wheel.

Thus I have relocated to the in-famous Hof.

Now, before you gasp into your teacups, allow me to present the advantages:

First — I reside at floor level. This is significant.  It opens thrilling prospects for enterprise. A lady with a door directly onto the street is a lady with possibilities. Interpret that as you will.

Second — I am in delicious proximity to dear Dorothy, and directly opposite Gyna’s most extravagant sky-level residence. She remains suspended above us mere mortals in the finest building in town, heroically sustaining herself through her writing. I admire this greatly, though I suspect she also enjoys looking down upon us — artistically, of course.

Third — I have entirely forgotten number three. It's escaped me mid-sentence and fled into the ether. Ah! But wait — it returns!

I now live beside a new Berlin resident: Herr TopHat. A fellow American, no less. And another writer. Though where I dabble in prose, he appears to flirt shamelessly with poetry. He bears an uncanny resemblance to a rather improved edition of Edgar Allan Poe — handsome, but still carrying that faint air of beautiful doom. One half expects a raven to deliver his post.

He is delightfully witty, very pleasant in conversation, and mercifully does not rehearse tragic monologues at dawn. This alone makes him an excellent neighbor.

There are, of course, other novelties unfolding in town, but a lady must preserve some mysteries — and her typing fingers.

I leave you with a few photographs for now.

May your Sunday be restful, mildly scandalous, and accompanied by excellent spirits.

Küsse 

Conniexx