Gallant Gossip

A Beautiful Wife

2011-07-17T19:00:00.000+02:00

Bob was sitting at a park bench, reading something - it really does not matter what, when he spotted an incredibly beautiful woman walk by. He was not one to ogle, but he had difficulties to divert his eye, and the woman's husband saw him. Bob immediately looked away and stared down his book. Five minutes later the man was there again. This time without his wife.

"You looked at my wife. Did you think she was beautiful?" he asked.

Bob, hesitated a little, but thought that honesty was the best course of action.

"Well, there are many beautiful women in the world, and your wife is definitely one of them. I say that just as an objective judgement. I'm sorry, if I stared at her. Believe, me have no further intentions with her, not more than with plenty of other beautiful women I happen to spot."
"No intentions?"
"None."
"None at all?"
"I can assure you."
"Would you be willing to reconsider?"
"What?"
"If you really fancy her, I could help you to get her."
"What????"
"I mean, why would I have any special rights to her?"
"Because you married her?"
"Well, yes, but I was just lucky, you know. It could have happened to anyone."
"You do not love her?"
"Oh, yes, I do that. Absolutely. The only woman in my life."
"She does not love you?"
"She definitely loves me."
"Did she say anything about me?"
"Not as such..."
"As such?"
"I do not think she actually saw you. But I am sure that if she only had noticed you..."
"Sorry, but this is too strange for me. I gotta go."

But the husband did not give up. A few days later, the doorbell rang at Bob's apartment, and the husband and his wife stood outside.

"Sorry to disturb you, a total stranger" (wink, wink), the husband said, "but our car just broke down outside your house. Can we borrow a phone?"
"Eh, don't you have mobile phones?"
"My batteries just ran out. And my wife cannot find her phone."

Bob noticed how the husband's trouser pocket protruded, as if it contained two mobile phones.

"Well, I suppose..."
"Good. What about this? My wife stays here with you and calls a repairman, while I go out and try to see if I can find the error."
"Look here..."
"That's a good chap. See you later, darling." He kissed his wife briefly. "Her name is Mary. It is a lovely name, isn't it?"

Mary apparently had no interest in Bob at all. She hardly noticed him.

"Hello, yes, listen our car just broke down. Strange noise from the motor. My husband was driving. Could you send someone over?"

They heard a car motor start outside.

"Hold on a minute."

The car started and drove off.

"Sorry, forget it. Wrong number."

Mary ran out on the street and shouted after her husband. Bob ran after, but she rushed after the car, and soon disappeared behind a corner.

A few days later Bob went to the theatre. He noticed that the people sitting next to him were the peculiar couple. They seemed perfectly happy with each other, and at first none of them showed any sign of recognising Bob. Suddenly the husband turned to him.

"What a coincidence! You here! Sorry for troubling you with the phone last week."
"No problem", Bob slowly said.
"You know, I think I really should go to the bathroom before the performance. That is always safer, isn't it?"

He sneaked out and left his wife with Bob. He did not come back. Bob had not expected him to come back. Mary was really an astonishingly beautiful woman.

"Listen, this is very awkward, but it seems your husband tries to set us up."
"Really? He does that sometimes. Don't mind him. He is a masochist, you see, and as you know there is no bigger pain than that of broken love."

It all came very sudden

2010-04-05T23:39:00.001+02:00

One day, the two colleagues Bob and Mary had a particularly bad fight. She started getting personal.

"You, who cannot even get a girlfriend."
"I could if I wanted to."
"No way!"
"I could even get married within a month, if I wanted to."
"And who would want to have you?"
"Look, do you want to bet?"
"What?"
"I bet you 10 Euro that I will get married within a month."
"You are engaged?"
"No. I swear. I am the same lonely bachelor today as yesterday and as last year."
"So you do not know who you would marry?"
"There is a candidate, but she does not know she is one."
"And you want to convince this poor girl to marry you within a month?"
"Yes."
"Ok. 10 Euro you cannot."

They shook hands.

"So, do you want to marry me?"
"What?"
"I said, do you want to marry me?"
"I am the candidate?"
"Yes, you are."
"You do not even like me."
"Correct."
"I do not like you."
"True."
"I already have a boy friend, who lives with me."
"Yes, but does he want to marry you?"
"Well, he hasn't said so. Not yet. But one day...."
"You prefer waiting for him to perhaps propose to you one day, or do you want to marry me now. Within a month?"

Mary was taken back. She had never in her wildest dreams imagined anything looking like a romantic relationship with Bob. And yet, here he was proposing to her. He was still the same vile Bob, but he looked kind of cute, when he proposed.

"Here is the phone. Call your boyfriend, whatever his name is, and tell him that you will not come home tonight. You will move in to me."
"Tonight?"
"Of course. It would be very inappropriate to live with someone who is not your fiancé."
"But..."
"I dial the number for you."
"You must be joking."
"Hello. This is Bob – a colleague of Mary's. She has something she wants to tell you. One moment."

He handed her the phone.

"Look, honey. This is... I do not know how to say this... But I will not come home tonight.... No, not tomorrow either. I am going to get married... With another man... You do?... What's her name?... What!... You bastard!.. You utter bastard!... I do not want to ever see you again in my life."
"Well?"
"Yes... We can get married tomorrow, if you want to. The civil register will be open by then."
"Let's wait until the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have a customer presentation, and you should really finish that report of yours."

She slapped him.

"Yes", she agreed. "Let's go for the day after tomorrow."

After the ceremony, he kissed her passionately. Then he held out his hand.

"My ten Euro, please."

She smiled and handed them over.

"It was absolutely worth it."
"It was, wasn't it. Do you want to play quit or double?"
"What do you mean?"
"I bet you 20 Euro that I can get a divorce within a month."

Solving a murder mystery - part one of one

2010-04-04T18:20:00.001+02:00

"So mr. Blob was found in his study this morning with a knife through his back. Is that so?"
"Yes, monsieur Poirutte."
"As maid in this house you must have seen everyone who entered the house, right?"
"Yes sir."
"There are no other entrances but the main entrance?"
"There is a back door, but it is not only locked, but it is also jammed. No one has been able to open it for the last few years. Now, there is even a raspberry bush that blocks access to it."
"Good. We will verify that door later on. Now, I want a complete list of everyone who entered the house yesterday evening."
"Well, there was young master Ernest Blob. He came home to pick up his golf gear."
"Did he spend the night here?"
"No. He left as soon as he got his things."
"At what time was that?"
"It must have been... around half past eight I would say."
"In the evening? Why would he need his golf gear at night?"
"He often plays at a golf course in the Midlands. He usually spends the night there and goes out to take an early round."
"We will have to verify if anyone can give him an alibi there."
"He may also have spent the night with..."
"Yes...?"
"I hesitate to say so..."
"Speak out! You must not hide anything. It is vital for this investigation."
"Well, there is a young lady in Rutherford. He sometimes spends the night there."
"So he has a mistress!"
"Oh, she is not his mistress, sir! He weeds her garden to get some extra money."
"Ah, so no mistress."
"Yes, yes. There is a mistress as well, Agatha Sringosh. But she is currently with her father, the mining director, John Sringosh, at his estate in Virginia. They see each other only a few times a year."
"So Ernest is in love with the daughter of a mining director. Presumably mr. Sringosh would not like his daughter to marry a poor man. In other words Ernest has a motive to kill his own father - to inherit his wealth, so he can marry the woman he loves."
"I guess that would be possible, sir, but he did not kill mr Blob. I can assure you that."
"We cannot exclude any theory, no matter how ghastly I am afraid."
"But he could not possibly have killed mr Blob."
"Why do you say that? Are there facts you have not divulged? Speak out, girl!"
"You have not really given me the opportunity yet, sir. I'm sorry sir."
"Well, out with it! What other facts are there that may help us elucidate this hideous crime?"
"The reason Ernest could not have killed mr. Blob, sir, is that I did."
"You?"
"Yes. I got fed up with his contempt and his shouting, sir. I could not help it but I killed him in a fit of rage. Here is a second knife I used for stabbing him in the stomach before I pushed the big knife through his back. Here is the gun I used to shoot him in the mouth, to make double sure he was dead. And here is the empty bottle that held the poison I poured in his dinner last night, to make him drowsy enough for me to kill him."
"Well, I suppose those facts may help us in the investigation. I will add you to my list of suspects."
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, miss. I will call you again, if I need more information. You have been most helpful."
"Thank you sir. Good bye, sir."
...
Next chapter: The butler is innocent.

Your child

2010-02-18T21:01:00.003+01:00

Bob had never intended to remain a bachelor all his life. However, he enjoyed the liberty of a life on his own, so he postponed Hymen's bands as long as possible. He was now in his early forties and more and more felt like the time was ripe.

One morning, the doorbell rang. He slouched to the door barefoot, past the piles of unwashed t-shirts and posters of Che Guevara and Bob Dylan.

When he opened, there was a stunningly beautiful woman standing outside the door.

"Mr Bob?" she asked. "I am ms Mary from the social department. I come here with your child."

Behind her, there was a small boy in dirty clothes and dishevelled hair.

"There must be some mistake. I do not have any children."
"I did not say you knew him, but it is your child. Sometimes, mr Bob, men get children without knowing it, you know."
"I assure you that I keep track of such things. I may sleep around, but i know with whom, and that is not my son."
"And you always kept track of all women you slept with?"
"Ever since I was a teenager."
"I believe you, mr Bob. Nevertheless, this is your child. Do you remember that school trip to Paris, when you were fifteen? You did not keep as good track of things at the time, did you? One of the girls you met became pregnant."
"Even if that would be true, that was 25 years ago. That child is no older than five. No way that is my son."
"I'm four", whispered the child.
"I never said this was your son, mr Bob. Your son and his wife died in a car accident two weeks ago. This is your grandson. As only surviving relative, you get custody. Goodbye. Be nice to granddad, Eric."

The chosen one

2009-10-25T08:55:00.002+01:00

The platform was full of people, men, women, young, old, rich, poor... There were some of the youngest adults you could imagine, who handled their stock portfolio on the back of their ABC book and there were some of the oldest children you could imagine, who stupidly banged their heads against a football in the narrow space. But most of them were perfectly normal citizens, just standing immobile and waiting for the next train to arrive.

Bob could not tell me what it all sounded like, and only barely what it looked like, because he was listening to a lecture in late 16th century anthropology in his mp3 player, and due to an iritis, he wore sun glasses in the dark space. It was a special model of sunglasses, fastened with a zipper in the neck, so they should not fall off. His eyes would survive well without them, but it was more comfortable to hide them behind these elaborate glasses for the duration of the illness.

As he was standing there, waiting for the train, he could see movement in the crowd. People turned their heads, and a young, fairly attractive, woman made the crowd let her pass, visibly shouting at them, as the people around her started every now and then. Not only that, but she also physically pushed them aside with her tender hands. She left a path behind her like the warm foaming water after a motor boat, as the people who had given her room were hesitating to once again occupy the space she had taken.

Suddenly she stopped.

She was just in front of Bob. She looked at him. Her mouth was moving, and he realised she was talking to him. He raised one hand to ask her to wait a moment, while the other hand went into his pocket to switch off the mp3 player. He then, carefully, removed the headphones, which were stuck deep into his ears. They were of the kind that expands after a few seconds to block out all external noise. He would not let them fall to the ground but put them in his shirt pocket.

She politely asked two things. The first was "Do you happen to know where the ticket counter is?" The second thing was, "Would you mind removing your sun glasses? I like to see the eyes of the person I talk to. Or with."

He put his hands behind his neck and unzipped the glasses. He folded them and put them in his waist coat pocket. He smiled at her with his most winning smile and answered "It is just over there. Turn right and walk ten steps."

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "You have grey eyebrows. I thought you were attractive."

Within three seconds she had disappeared in the crowd. And not in the direction of the ticket counter.

Crime does not pay as well as a good parking place

2008-11-18T19:18:00.001+01:00

An extraordinary thing could have happened to me today. As I was walking home, I noticed how a car slowly followed me. After a certain distance I got fed up, turned around and walked up to the driver. Before I even managed to ask him what he was up to, he pulled down the window and turned to me:

"Excuse me", he asked in a very polite way. "Are you by any chance going to your car? I'm looking for a place to put my car."

"No, I'm not. I came here by bus."

"Oh..." He paused for a few seconds. "Would it disturb you very much, if I asked you to do me a favour?"

"Probably not. What can I do for you?"

"Would you mind stealing one of those cars?"

"What?!"

"Yes, if you were to steal a car, then I could park there."

"And I would go to prison."

"I do not think so. Have you committed any crimes before?"

"No..."

"Well, they will let you off with a fine. First crime and so. I'm pretty sure about that. I will pay the fine of course."

"I would steal a car and.... well, why?"

"To make me happy. I would get a place for my car. I could show you how to break into one. And I'd pay not only your fine but something for your trouble as well."

"Do you ask people this question often?"

"Well, when there is no parking available, yes."

"And they accept it?"

"Some people do. Some people don't."

"And I suppose the people who don't accept it, are the ones who are clever enough to realise that they will get into the same impossible situation, having a car without anywhere to put it."

"Eh... yes..."

"Goodbye."

A very Precious Object

2008-07-27T21:31:00.002+02:00

Bill and Bob finally gave up clinging to the remains of their yacht. Bob even had a feeling that it was easier to float without the piece of plastic he had held in his hand, as if it had dragged him down. The island was now much closer, and they had no problem swimming ashore.

"We made it", said Bill. It was not a comment that was supposed to inform Bob of anything in particular. Bill did not doubt that Bob also had observed that they had made it. But he felt that they needed to say something. After all, he had built up a large amount of emotion that needed some outlet.

"Yes", answered Bob. "We made it." He did not have much to add to the subject either, but he did his best: "We really made it."

They had been sailing for about two weeks without GPS and compass. All electronics aboard was broken. There was no way to tell where they were currently, but at least it was land. Hopefully with some people, who could help them contact civilisation.

"What did you manage to rescue?", asked Bob.
"Not much. The shorts I'm wearing."
"Anything in the pockets?"
"My wallet... no, it's gone. Some... no, it is no longer there.... Just this platinum tie clip."
"A platinum tie clip?"
"Yes, I was scheduled for a business meeting next week. No time to go home and change."
"And you needed a platinum tie clip?"
"Well... I did not need it. But it does not take much place, so I thought, why not?"
"Yes, why not? Perhaps we can use it for something."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Bribe the locals to call for a helicopter or something."
"Yes, I suppose so. What did you rescue?"
"The pair of shorts I'm wearing."
"So far we are even."
"And... Dang! It does not have any pockets."
"So that's it?"
"I'm afraid so... No, wait, a piece of string."
"Why did you bring a piece of string?"
"I did not. It got tied up in the zipper somehow. I'm not even sure it comes from our boat."
"OK. We have a tie clip and a piece of string. I think we need to find people."
"I think you are right."

They walked around what turned out to be an island. It did not take much time, which perhaps was a good thing, but there was no trace of any human beings. Not even the remnants of any old cottage or anything. They walked around the island a second time. This time the other way round. They did not see anything different than they had done the first time.

They went through the usual things people do at deserted islands. They discovered how to make fire. They found edible fruits and coco nuts, and a very tasty kind of bananas. They found ways to fish, and they spent a lot of time watching the horizon for ships.

After a few months, Bill had enough. He had not liked the situation at all, but now he had positively enough.

"Give me the piece of string", he said.
"Why? It is useless."
"Not to me."
"What do you want to do with it? It is too short to tie anything securely. It is too weak to use for fishing. It is not enough to make new clothes. It is useless."
"If it is useless, give it to me."
"Oh no! I like it."
"So what do you use it for?"
"Nothing. I just play with it."
"I have seen that. I also want to play with it. I also want to tie it around my fingers, pull it between the thumb and the index, tie a little useless knot and then untie it."
"Well, you cannot. It is mine. You just play with your platinum tie clip."
"One cannot play with a tie clip. One can only clip ties with it. And there is no tie to clip on this island."
"Well, tough."
"Listen, I give you my platinum tie clip for the piece of string."
"Never! That's ridiculous."
"I know it is ridiculous. Your piece of string is not worth 2 cents, and the tie clip cost me 500 dollars."
"It may have cost you 500 dollars, but here it is not worth even 2 cents. It is useless and boring."
"Come on! Let's swap. Once we are saved you can keep the tie clip."
"No way. Who knows if we ever will be saved?"
"I give you the tie clip now, and 10,000 dollars, when we are saved."
"I cannot use 10,000 dollars here."
"No, but you will be able once we are saved."
"If we are saved."
"OK, if we are saved. 50,000 dollars?"
"Nope." Bob may not have fully realised the amount Bill offered, but he was not going to give in under any circumstances.
"My car. My house. My shares. Every single cent on my bank accounts."
"Including the Swiss ones?"
"Of course."
"You really do not think we will be saved, do you?"
"We may..."
"Or not."
"... or not", Bill agreed.
"Then I do not see any reason to give you the piece of string."
"Out of kindness then? Because we are stuck here together, and we need to help each other, we need to co-operate to be able to survive, and you can help me out of my desperation by simply giving me the piece of string. An act of charity?"
"For charity?"
"Yes!"
"And for all your fortune?"
"Yes! That too."
"And the tie clip?"
"Absolutely!"
"OK then."
"Really?"
"Yes, here it is."

Bill grabbed the precious string with eager hands, and tied it around first one finger, then around another one, and not only was he smiling. He felt genuine happiness, for the first time for several months.

Later that afternoon, a ship came and saved them.

Bill today lives in a cardboard box in a shady part of his home town. He still has the piece of string. He still is very happy.

This Message is for You

2008-06-20T21:50:00.002+02:00

You know there is something strange coming along, if you see someone looking one way and walking another. It is usually because the person, who may be your cousin, is very cautious, and because he tries to avoid being seen. Your cousin, whose name is Bob, the other day inadvertently scratched the door of another car, a Pontiac B67 Vital, and this made you look for ways to mend the damage to help him. You know the owner is a half-professional football player, and you know he does not take scratched car door lightly. Entering the proper search terms in your favourite search engine you stumbled upon this web page, where you, to your dismay, do not find any useful advice on car repair. This makes you really annoyed, and you feel like tearing the web page in pieces. My question to you is: why this anger? Would it not be enough to just look elsewhere and then update the comment section below with the proper instructions? You really need to control your aggression.

Uncompletely true

2008-06-20T21:36:00.010+02:00

They ran into each other at Berlin Hauptbahnhof. He was just between trains to get back home after a long day's work, while she for once was in Berlin just as a tourist with the sole purpose of enjoying herself. It was an unusual thing for her, but since she left the city for Leipzig a few years earlier, she had come to see the country's capital just as a source of tiresome business trips. She now wanted to turn around that picture in some way. But it was even stranger for her to see Robert again.

"Robert!" she exclaimed. "You are here!"

"Maria!" he answered. "What are you doing in Berlin? I thought you had left for ever."

At that moment all the memories of what they had been through together came back to her. It was as if every moment, every day and hour piled up in her consciousness within a few seconds.

"Not for ever, Robert. Not for ever." She did everything to prevent her tears to show, and she turned quiet.

"But what the ..." Robert finished the phrase with a word, one could not properly write down. It was a very unusual swear word, but still very efficient. "Could you not have called in advance?"

"I had forgotten you. I do not know how I ever could. But I did not think of you. Please, forgive me."

Robert answered with another expression that is unfit for print, but it was not in any way accusing.

"Do you want to..." she asked, mentioning something that really is not very important for this story.

"Now?" He raised his eyebrows a few more centimetres than she had thought possible.

She replied something I do not want to type, and without hesitation he answered: "Really?"

Finally they had to part, but they exchanged addresses to keep in touch.

As soon as Maria came back to her apartment in Leipzig, she got his message:

"Dear Maria, If you..." something "with several..." something "definitely..." and then a few pages later: "perhaps."

He had forgotten to sign it, but she immediately knew it was from him. She got all upset and sat down to write a reply. But as so often in this kind of situations, she did not know how to express what she wanted to say. She did not even know what she wanted to say. Ten days later, a bright Saturday at 9.37 in the morning, when birds were singing the praise of long forgotten bread crumbs, she finally sent her reply. It was full of things that would be improper to publish considering their right to privacy. Suffice it to say that he merely glanced at it when he received it.

It was not out of lack of interest, but he received it in the middle of an important business transaction, and that one took all his attention. He vaguely registered that he had got the reply, but he did not actually read it until three days later, after a good lunch with his brother and nephew at a Mexican restaurant not far from the main post office.

He read the message carefully but absentmindedly, and it was only the third time he read it, that he fully understood its implications. Like so often in this kind of situations he picked up the same book he always used to clear his thoughts. The book is a very well known one, but for different reasons it would not be right to write down its name. Even though he knew it almost by heart, he had difficulties concentrating on the reading. His thoughts only circled around Maria and her message.

For a few weeks he tried to ignore her message, but in the end he could of course not resist the temptation - the urge - to write a reply.

The reply did not contain anything that is in any way secret, so I could write it out in full here, but it really would not make any sense, as you did not get the opportunity to read the original.

However, the result was a perfectly happy ending for all involved, including Robert's nephew.

The story of Owowowowowoooowaaah

2008-05-12T15:29:00.007+02:00

Yesterday, I against my habit opened my spam mail box and browsed through some of the titles. One of them seemed even stranger than the other ones:

"Locked in a cage. Need help to get out."

The content of the mail was the following one.

"Dear Sir, because I gather you are not a madame." (So far the author was right.) "I, and my entire family are in a most embarrassing situation. We are locked in a cage at the zoo of x-town. Perhaps I should not be complaining, because we get nourishing food, good health care and we have enough space to get a decent amount of exercise. However, the mere feeling that we are locked in is frustrating. None of us has been able to travel around. We have not seen other countries. We do not even have access to a simple television set.

We share this cage with a large amount of birds. It is an aviary, where the public are allowed to walk around freely. However, there is a lock that verifies that an inner double door is closed before they open an outer one, so we have no way of getting out.

We have tried to call the attention of people of course. We have tried to communicate with them, calling for their compassion. But so far, they have not even shown any sign that they would understand us. It is as if they were speaking a foreign language.

Luckily, today, I managed to grab a laptop from one visitor's bag. He got distracted by some birds, and it was child's play to open his bag and take out the laptop. Luckily his bag also contained a few heavy books, so he did not notice that the bag got lighter. Just to make sure he would not notice anything unusual, I put a number of small pebbles in the bag.

The zoo has a secured wide area network, and I managed to pinch a piece of paper with the password from the pocket of one of the employees.

I googled for people who seemed to have compassion, and found your name. I implore you to help us. I, and the rest of the Northern lesser bamboo lemurs here will be eternally grateful, if you help us out.

Please, do not send any money. Just come to the zoo with a big empty rucksack. You will be able to get all of us out in just a few trips.

Yours faithfully
Owowowowowoooowaaah
(Northern lesser bamboo lemur)"

Wary of this kind of mails, I at first intended to delete it straight away, but in the end, I decided to at least verify it. The story sounded mad, but one never knows.

I went straight for the aviary at the zoo. It was a colossal building at the far end of the African section.

Before entering, I read through the list of species that was displayed by the entrance. Just as I had thought. There were no Northern lesser bamboo lemurs at all - just Southern lesser bamboo lemurs. Furious at their attempt to deceive me, I rushed in. I looked around inside for a short moment and spotted a bridge over a small pond. According to a National Geographic program last week, that is just the kind of place where those little rascals hide things. I grabbed my laptop and left without even saying goodbye.

Not a Northern lesser bamboo lemur at all.

Profitable work

2008-05-01T22:16:00.003+02:00

One day at work, I made an embarassing faux-pas. In the men's room, I looked over a door to see if a particular place was free, instead of pulling the handle to feel if it was locked. The doors are not very high, and it seemed so much easier to look over the rim than to noisily pull the handle. If I had thought about it, I would of course not have done it, but my thoughts were elsewhere, and I am not very good at multi-tasking, so there I was, gazing down over the edge of the door on one of my colleagues, who, to my astonishment, was watching a film.

He probably did not even see me. His head was bent down over one of those mp3 players that can show films with impressively high resolution. I realised that this was a strike of genius. He had clocked in. He was at work, so to say, and yet, here he sat watching a film of his own choice, minute for minute, perhaps hour for hour.

I badly wanted to do the same thing, but there was one problem. I do not have one of those little electronic devices. "You could buy one", you say? Not really, because I loathe them. Modern technology and electronic devices frighten me, so I stay away from them.

However, there is a solution to everything, if you only look for it.

The following day, I went in to the men's room late at night with a bucket of paint. I painted the walls and inside of each door with a nice matte white.

The day after was the first day of my active skyving. I told my boss I would make a short break. I then went to my car and picked up my 8 mm film projector, and rushed to the men's room. I switched off the light. That was not easy, as it is lit automatically, as soon as anyone moves in the room, so I had to loosen a lightbulb or two. I then went into one of the four toilets and set the projector up. There were no electric plugs, but I had brought a car battery that should produce enough current. The projector started with a happy crackling noise, as it slowly warmed up. I carefully attached the film roll and stretched the film through the machine. After a few minutes I could finally see the pictures of Casablanca projected on the inside of the toilet door.

At that instance someone opened the door to the men's room.

"Close the door!" I shouted.

The person quickly obeyed. He (I assume it was a he), seemed to feel his way through the room. I temporarily switched off the sound to hear what he was doing. I did this somewhat reluctantly, as Ingrid Bergman had one of her better lines at that moment, but the intrusion was disturbing.

The man (or boy) just washed his hands and then left the room, and I could go back to Bergman and Bogart.

Inevitably, within less than half an hour, someone else came in and tried to use the toilet next to mine. I asked him to flush quietly, and he apparently tried to follow my advice, but there is no volume control on the flush, so I missed an important line.

At 4 pm, I had watched the film twice, so I packed everything, to get some work done, before it was time to go home.

The following day, my boss called me into his office. There was a lot of talk about egotistic behaviour and not showing enough responsibility and respect for my colleagues. However, we soon came to an agreement:

My boss painted the mirror in the men's room white. We put the projector on top of the divider between two toilets, and through holes in the doors, each visitor could watch the film perfectly. My boss got the task to sell pop-corns to the audience, and we share the profits 50/50.

Lunch in the countryside

2008-04-20T21:17:00.006+02:00

Last weekend I went to a small village up in the mountains together with a friend of mine. The village has just one restaurant, and unfortunately it is a gourmet place, where one has to make reservations in advance to be sure to get a place. So we did.

To be on the safe side, we asked in advance if we had to wear ties, and to my dismay that was so. In addition they did not allow jeans, so we had to abolish my friend's plans of getting some pocket money selling trousers to the other guests during the meal.

The problem with the tie is something I have been able to handle before, and my method worked this time as well. The trick is to wear a tie when you enter the restaurant. You then make sure you carelessly bend over one of the lit candles so it starts burning. You make sure the flames are bright and nice. I usually do this by first dipping it in the restaurant's finest scotch whisky. It is important that the waiters see your problem, so I usually climb a chair screaming and waiving the tie around, as if I am trying to extinguish it. In fact, I waive it only so slowly that the flames get more oxygen, until I throw the tie in the ice bucket for the rosé wine. After this, the waiters usually do not insist on your putting on another tie, and you can eat comfortably without anything throttling your neck.

An additional problem here turned out to be that the restaurant did not allow sports shoes. It seems strange to have a restaurant close to a hiking trail, where people are not allowed to wear sport shoes, but that was the rule. My friend, who had that kind of footwear, politely took them off and left them in the cloakroom during the meal. His painted red toe nails looked very nice against the polished brick floor. Everyone agreed about that, except an old lady at the table next to ours, who offered him her own black stockings instead.

The meal was excellent. He had a sandwich de caviar d'esturgeon iranien, and I had a burger de foie gras.

Lost luggage

2008-02-20T19:17:00.003+01:00

Last time I left Seattle, it was for a trip to Vientiane (ວຽງຈັນ) to check out some Laotian Buddhist temples. As I was waiting for the bus to the airport in Seattle, I saw the software billionaires Dick Baites and Eve Palmer. I was sitting behind them in the waiting room, and inadvertently I picked up my parabolic microphone and directed it at their conversation.

They were going to a business meeting in Portland. To my surprise they were plotting how to get there as cheap as possible, but I could not hear the details. They left for a short moment with their large trunk. A few minutes later, ms. Palmer came back alone, with the trunk on a trolley. She checked it in at the counter and got a receipt for its transportation to Portland. Ten minutes later she boarded the bus and was gone.

My flight to Vientiane was not particularly interesting. I had brought a stack of DVDs to watch as we were crossing the Pacific, but the batteries of my laptop went empty after just ten minutes, so the rest of the time I watched out the window and counted clouds.

The passport formalities went surprisingly smoothly, with immigration officers an order of magnitude more polite than their American equivalents.

The only surprise came at the luggage belt, where a large trunk appeared - exactly the same size and colour as the one Eve Palmer had checked in at the bus station in Seattle. It even had her name label on it. From the inside I could hear desperate knocking.

I hesitated before opening the trunk. It definitely was not mine. But after the belt had rotated three times with just this knocking trunk left, I pulled it over and opened it.

Inside was a somewhat distressed Dick Baites. He had been watching films on his media player for hours, and he had realised that he was about to be late for the the meeting in Portland. He had, however, not realised that the transportation company mistakenly had delivered his trunk to the wrong side of the Pacific for the meeting, and he was perturbed by the news.

But you do not become CEO of one of the biggest software conglomerates for nothing. You have to be quick to adapt to new circumstances. Baites and I spent the week together walking between temples and sharing vegetarian meals with the monks.

Dialog

2008-02-05T21:02:00.000+01:00

a: I think I have done something stupid.
b: Why?
a: I did not know it was going to be stupid when I did it.
b: No, why do you think it was stupid?
a: What was stupid?
b: The thing you just did.
a: How do you know it was stupid? How do you know what I have done?
b: Ok, sorry. What is it you have done?
a: Well, I woke up this morning, had corn flakes for breakfast, brushed my teeth...
b: No, no, the stupid thing.
a: Which stupid thing?
b: You said you thought you had done something stupid.
a: Well, why do you think it was stupid?
b: I do not. I do not even know what it is yet.
a: Aha! So you are accusing me of stupidity out of ignorance!
b: Look, I am not accusing you of being stupid. I do not know if you have done anything stupid. I am just trying to figure out what you have done.
a: Why? Would you like to repeat it?
b: I do not think so. It sounds like it was something stupid.
a: Surely not.
b: Ok, surely not.
a: -
b: -
a: So you want to repeat it?
b: I do not know! What was it?
a: Now, you are showing your ignorance again.
b: Ok, I am ignorant. You have done something, and I do not know it. But I have done things you do not know of.
a: Like what?
b: Well, like today, I brought my lunch sandwich in a glass jar, in case it would rain.
a: That sounds pretty stupid.
b: I suppose it was a little stupid. I fastened the lid so tightly that I could hardly open it again.
a: So you are the stupid one.
b: Well, I did one stupid thing, but you did something too.
a: What?
b: I do not know.
a: Stupid and ignorant. I do not know why I waste my time talking to you.

Oblivion

2008-01-20T23:24:00.000+01:00

I had spent a few weeks on remote trekking in the Alps. When I came back to Milan, everything was the same. Almost. There were a lot more signs all over the place. "To open the door, turn the handle", and "please pay your bill before you leave the restaurant" and such things.

I did not think about it until later in the afternoon, when I looked at television sets in a shop. They had the news channel on. The announcer seemed agitated, and I switched the sound on, to hear what was happening.

"Reports from Turkey of horrible atmospheric cataclysms are now confirmed from Greece as well. The sun has gone below the horizon and shows no signs of coming back. The countries have gone dark, apart from lamps that for some reason light up the streets and houses. The streets are full of panicking people. The prime ministers of these and apparently many other countries have gone out with public announcements asking everyone to stay calm. The opposition in Greece asks the government to resign, as it clearly is not up to the task to handle this big crisis..."

It was the normal news hour and an announcer I had seen plenty of times before. He was one of the most boring persons I knew, and yet, he participated in this strange joke.

"Could you explain that to me?" I asked the shop keeper.

"It is a mystery, isn't it? Why would the sun go under the horizon? Poor people! I really hope nothing like that will happen here."

"What do you mean 'will happen here'? The sun sets every day. It set yesterday, and it will set today and tomorrow again."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know? I saw it happening. Do you mean you never saw a sunset?"

"I do not remember. Yesterday? It was a very long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Are you nuts?"

"I do not know. What was the question again? The impedance in the loudspeakers? Let's check the catalogue. I keep forgetting that kind of things."

Exasperated I left the shop and sat down at a café to have an espresso. It was already getting darker, and people around me looked increasingly nervous and looked at the sky. More and more of them took out their cell phones and called each other. The man at the table next to mine called his wife:

"Are you listening to the news? What is happening? Why is everything turning dark? They should call in the army to fight this thing!"

And he left without paying, presumably rushing home, even though I saw him run back and forth three times before he took up a map, which apparently told him where he lived, because he ran off into a small street and did not come back.

More and more people ran around panicking, and I was soon the only person calmly sitting down. Even the waiters left the bar screaming.

Most people ran around haphazardly in all directions, but an elderly lady came running straight at me.

"Do you remember?" she shouted.

"Remember what?"

"Yesterday!"

"Yes, of course I remember yesterday."

"Thank heaven! There is at least one sane person in the city."

"What is going on here?"

"I thought you remembered yesterday?"

"Well, yes. Yesterday I was crossing a mountain from Switzerland, where I spent most of last week."

"Oh", she said. "Alone?"

"Yes...?"

"I see. That's why you have not been affected."

"Affected by what?"

"Oblivion."

"Oblivion?"

"Yes. And don't say you have forgotten what that word means."

"No, no. But oblivion is a state. It is not a decease, is it?"

"I should probably explain. Last week oblivion started spreading like a decease. People started forgetting virtually everything. It spread as quickly as Ebola, but whereas Ebola limits its expansion as it kills off everyone who gets it, this oblivion never killed anyone. It just slowly crept up on people, who saw it coming to friends and neighbours, so a large number of reminder notices were written. Those pieces of paper are what keeps civilisation running right now. However, no one apparently thought it was noteworthy to write down that the sun sets every day, so people panic every day. It is nothing to worry about of course. They will soon get tired and sleep, and when they wake up tomorrow, they will have forgotten that it ever was dark."

"How come you are not affected?"

"I got stuck with a tricky sudoku in my apartment, so I stayed alone for several days. When I got out the contamination had affected everyone else, but the incubation period had apparently passed."

"Ah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Sorry, what are you talking about?"

Therapy needed

2008-01-20T23:00:00.001+01:00

"Bob, could you come to my office for a minute?"

Bob approached the chief editor's office without much enthusiasm but with plenty of confidence. He knew that he had written more articles than most of his colleagues the last few months, and he knew that they usually were more accurate than the other articles. Still, the chief editor had a way of giving bad feedback much more often than good feedback, so he felt something was going on.

"Bob", the c.e. began, as soon as the door was closed and they both had sat down in the comfy sofa which usually was reserved for customers and information sources which had a high risk of going to jail for their disclosures.

"Bob", he continued, because he wanted to be sure that this part of the message came through. He was not trying to keep any distance to his employees, but addressed them by their first name - at least when other people were listening. As no one else was listening here, it was clear that he really meant "Bob" when he said so. He looked at Bob and thought about saying the name a third time, but he suddenly felt unsure if Bob preferred Robert or Bob, and decided against it.

"Not everything is perfect. I think you know that."

"Definitely. Just look at the weather."

Bob's attempt at a joke fell rather flat, as the weather indeed was perfect that particular day, with a clear sun that gave a beautiful spring light without any excessive heat.

"Yes... no... I was not thinking about that."

Bob remained quiet. So did the chief editor unfortunately, so there was an awkward pause.

"Bob, I have read your political column for quite some time now. It is very lucid."

"Thank you."

"Ehm... for what?"

"For saying that it was lucid."

"That was not meant to sound good."

"It was not?"

"Of course not. Who wants lucid opinions? You argue so convincingly and clearly, that no one can disagree."

"And...?"

"If no one disagrees, there won't be any debate."

"Ah..."

"Without debate, we will not have long article series where people throw insults at each other. People want insults. Not that they say so, of course. No one would admit it. But if there are insults, there is interest. People will raise as one man, and shout different opinions on the subject as a choir of ad revenue generating angels."

"Oh..."

"You just tell the truth. It is so incredibly boring with truth."

"My wife says the column is very well written."

"And she is bloody well right. Why on earth do you stick to so elegant prose?"

"Eh...?"

"People want to feel superior. They want to laugh at us journalists and our miserable prose. That makes them feel good."

"Oh...."

"Don't oh, eh and ah me, young man! I mean Robert. Eh.. Bob! Or Robert."

"Bob is fine. That is my real name."

"There we are again! 'Real name'! Try to be interesting! Lie a little to keep me interested, to start a discussion, a debate, an argument. Please, say something I can disagree with!"

"I am sorry, but I have a hard time to think of anything."

"I know you have, but why do you admit it? Spice it up. Pretend you have something. Oh, this is futile. You will go on a therapy from next week."

"Why? What kind of therapy?"

"There is a company that has specialised in removing perspicacity and lucidity from the minds of people. After a few sessions, you will lose most of your common sense, and soon you will be able to write outrageously interesting articles again."

"You must be joking."

"I am not, Bob. I hope you appreciate it."

"Oh, sod it!"

"Thank, you Bob."

Fish

2007-09-07T00:24:00.000+02:00

I was recently at one of those sea food restaurants located at a pier in a harbour - I think it was in Monterrey, California. Or was it in Marrakech? Well, a place beginning with an M anyhow.

Who came in there, if not Umay Faliff, the famous actor! Faliff was most famous for Doctor Smertyago, of course, a movie about a young loving couple who were completely unaffected by the Russian Revolution of 1917. Umay Faliff's interpretation of the title role, The Doctor (Доктор), is widely regarded as one of those things you cannot forget, no matter how much you desperately try.

The now elderly mr. Faliff sat down and studied the menu as meticulously as members of his religion always do. As the waiter passed him with a lobster, mr. Faliff suddenly shouted:
"Jean-Jacques! Is that really you!"
He grabbed the waiter's sleeve and begged him:
"Please, don't kill him. This is my childhood friend, Jean-Jacques. He got killed in his previous life as he disobeyed his mother and ran with a pair of scissors. Who dies when one is a bad boy will inevitably be reborn as a lower creature."

The waiter first tried to laugh the thing away, but mr. Faliff did not let go of his sleeve. The waiter then tried to reason with him, questioning how he could recognise Jean-Pierre at all. Besides, the customers at another table had already chosen this lobster... In the end the waiter gave up and served another lobster to the other customers. They probably could not tell the difference anyhow. I personally do not think the lobster could tell the difference either. He was eaten by a couple from Liège a few hours later, just after Umay Faliff had left.

When it was Faliff's turn to order, he chose trout. There were tasty looking trouts swimming in a big fish tank and he pointed at one, seemingly randomly. The waiter put down a net to pick the trout up, when Faliff pulled him in the sleeve again.
"Could I do it, please?"
"Do what?"
"Kill it!"
"Well, I guess so..."
"Great. Now, Pierre-Patrick," Bob turned to the fish, "the time has come to settle counts."

He gave a manic laugh as his claw like hand dashed like an arrow through the water and grabbed around the fish's neck.

What followed was too atrocious to be written down in detail. Umay Faliff treated the fish with utmost cruelty and fervour, and in spite of all the waiters' coming to separate them, the trout and the man were like one. The waiters did manage to pull Faliff and the poor fish into the kitchen, so their struggle would not disturb the other guests more than it already had done. I was sitting next to the kitchen door and had a fairly good view of the events.

As Faliff saw the kitchen utensils, he got one evil idea after the other to torture the trout. In the end the poor fish was so much in pain that it did what no fish had done before: it managed to jump up to one of the windows, bit the handle and rotated its entire body so the window got unlocked. As it swung out over the port basin, the fish let go and swiftly swam away.

It promptly started a society for the protection of animals against cruelty. The society's motto is: Eat us with respect.

Ill chosen words

2007-08-05T20:00:00.000+02:00

He woke up in the middle of the night by a soft buzzing noise. A mosquito! He grabbed after it. He slapped after it. He slapped himself where he thought it might be sitting, but it happily buzzed on. He lit the light and tried to find it. The buzzing continued, but he could not localise it.

"Stop that cowardice!" he shouted. "Come out and fight like a man!"

It was only then he remembered that he was Merlin, the wizard of all wizards. In two seconds the mosquito grew to six feet. It pulled its sword and held it against Merlin's throat, as it made a tiny hole with a dagger on Merlin's wrist. The mosquito drank half a drop of blood. Then it buzzed off.

Media focus

2007-06-08T22:25:00.000+02:00

Let's for the sake of an argument assume that there is a person who cannot sing, cannot act, cannot write and who does not exercise any sports and knows nothing about finance, but who inherited a business empire worth dozens of millions of dollars. Would that person automatically make headlines? Certainly not.

But let's then further assume that the person makes an ass of him- or herself, by handing out the secret phone numbers of dozens of celebrities to the public and by committing unnecessary serious traffic offences and by popping in and out of prison for health reasons.

Bingo, we would have something newsworthy - stupidity!

The sad thing is that we humans like reading stupid things. That's why I read my own blogs.

Listen to me! Please!

2006-12-04T19:55:00.000+01:00

As I was watching television the other day the local television station broadcast a message:

"Do you know which group of islands Mallorca belongs to? Call our hotline and win 20 euro! Is it a) Svalbard, b) the Kuril Islands (Курильские острова) or c) the Balearic Islands? Call now at [some number I have forgotten]. 2 euro a minute."

I was surprised at the ignorance of the television station. That kind of thing is of course something anyone can forget, but why did they have to ask every single viewer to call them and give them the answer? They must be really desperate.

Always willing to help, I took out a piece of paper and my fountain pen and started composing a letter.

"Dear Madame, Sir", I wrote. "You will certainly be happy to learn that the question you posed us viewers today finally will get an answer. I have after long research and several verifications...."

To my big surprise, the television station repeated the question the following day. And the following. Certainly, by now they would have received my letter.

I sent them another letter - much shorter this time, where I gave them not only the answer, but also a friendly recommendation to look Mallorca up in an bleeding Atlas.

But the question was repeated for several more days on prime time.

Perhaps, I said to myself, they got so many letters on different topics, that they had not found mine in the pile. But there was a solution to this.

I had the answer engraved on a thick brass plate, which I brought to the television station to hand in personally. But the receptionist did not let me in!

Angrily I shouted the answer across the reception area, so everyone who came in, got to hear it and could forward it to whoever wanted to know it.

In the end I had to give up. No one seemed to be interested.

But late that night, when they had stopped broadcasting, I went back with the brass plate. I snuck in through an open window and smashed the brass plate against the marble floor. I pressed one of its sharp corners against the floor and made inch-deep scratches of letters, about one meter high each, across the entire reception area: "Mallorca is in Svalbard!"

Just so they know.

Since then they stopped broadcasting the question about Mallorca.

Instead they have started asking if anyone knows who vandalised their reception area. I think I know that too, but this time they really have to figure the answer out themselves.

Elegant Parking

2006-09-19T19:16:00.000+02:00

I went to the shopping mall today, and it was as full as it always is on Tuesday mornings - in other words, not at all. Nevertheless, I tried to get as close as possible to the entrance, and those aisles were of course jam-packed. As I was cruising along, believe it or not, suddenly Mally Gibbon appeared. How he managed to get away from the film team, I cannot tell, but there he was in flesh and blood. I know he is currently recording a film about a television chef's sad life, 'The Tastiest Temptation'.

As soon as he spotted me he waived his sexy hairy hand at me, and started chewing on his cap. We usually do that when we meet. I did not have any cap in the car, but I bit the steering wheel real hard, to show that I recognised him. The teeth marks are still there, if anyone wants to check.

He looked around and spotted a free space, so he waived at me to follow him. I got further and further into the aisle, until he suddenly stopped me. Apparently he was mistaken, and there was no free place. He looked around and saw a free place down the parallel aisle and made me reverse back out to get to it.

When I was halfway down the next aisle, he suddenly stopped me again. No, there was no place there either. This aisle was bent in a curious shape, and it was not very easy to get out, but Mally guided me. Until suddenly there was a big bang. I had hit another car. I tried to get out of the car, but Mally told me to stay where I was. "I take care of this", he said and bent down where I could not see him. I heard some strange noises, and finally decided to get out.

Funnily enough Mally had disappeared. So had my four hubcaps. Luckily, the only other damage to my car was the dent where Mally had kicked it.

Spotted

2006-09-17T21:29:00.000+02:00

I was walking a tour with John Kliss along the Croissant in Monaco, the posh promenade on the mountain side, where all the rich and famous walk. The Croissant is also known as the Philosophenweg by the Germans, as this is the place where the famous Spanish philosopher Fred Nichtich committed suicide, presumably because he realised he had failed to understand something about the meaning of life. Or because he had lost all his money at the casino.

Anyhow, as we were walking there late in the afternoon, there suddenly was a flash. As we turned around, we saw a woman taking a picture of her husband standing just below the Croissant. As he was standing between the lady and us, her camera was pointing right at us. John went mad.

"OK, young lady", he said. She was probably ten years older than him, but that did not seem to disturb him. "Hand me the camera, and we'll delete that picture."
"What? But why?"
"Look at me. I did not shave this morning and my shirt is hopelessly out of fashion. If that picture gets out people will be horrified, and I will be forgotten before anyone can say 'est-ce que t'est-que tais!'"
"Excuse me, but who are you?"
"You see! You have already forgotten about me!"
"No, actually, I am pretty sure I have never seen you before."
"Not in real life perhaps, but I am John Kliss, three time nominated for a Golden Boar, title role in block busters like 'His Majesty's Secretary', 'Sherlock Holmes' Uncle' and 'Vienna, the city of nightmares'. And you say you already forgot me!"
"Oh..." The woman looked uncertain. "Well... In that case, I guess I'll delete the picture." She showed him how she deleted the picture in the camera, and he looked happy.
"Remember me?"
"Eh?"
"Do you remember me now?"
"Well, you are John Kliss, aren't you?"
"That's better. I'll give you an autograph."

We walked away, and John looked much more relaxed. The strange thing is that I have known him for more than 25 years, and during all that time, I'm pretty sure he has had done nothing else than being janitor at a hospital. I pointed that out to him.

"Oh, my gosh! Even you forgot about my movies!" he cried. He wrote me an autograph, which I accepted to calm him down. It was written on the back of a patient's registry form.

The Left Cable

2006-09-15T22:56:00.000+02:00

Bob McTartny called me today, and asked me over to share a glass of Simpleton's whisky with him. I gladly accepted, and bought a copy of The Moon for him, so he would have something to read, while I was drinking.

Bob has changed a lot since the Reapers disolved in the 1960s, when I first met him. To start with, he no longer is so tall that I have troubles reaching his trouser pockets. Second he has become one of the richest persons in the USA - probably only behind Ingvar Kamprad and the Queen.

However, this time he was not interested in bragging about his money. At the hotel, where he was staying, he had played poker with some other guests. By a pure coincidence, all seven of them had received a telegram that particular day. To make the game more interesting, they had played about the telegrams. No one had opened their envelope, and the winner of each game could choose any telegram he wanted.

Bob had not had one of his best days. Quite the opposite actually. If there ever had been a bad day, this was it. He lost game after game, and he saw how the other players happily pocketed one cable after the other from the pile.

In the end there was just one cable left, and poor Bob had had to take it. It had been for one of the other players, called Windola. The content was unfortunately not of the uplifting kind, and Bob is now called to stand trial tomorrow for five bank robberies and one speed limit transgression.

The Right Cable

2006-09-15T22:22:00.000+02:00

A brief glance into Radioshack today was not enough to find that perfect screw-driver to disassemble my DSL-modem. However, I could not help noticing a rather short man with a pink and green velvet dress, who checked out different cables.

After I had had a sushi at the Mexican place in the Foodcourt, I went back to Radioshack, to look a little more thoroughly for that screw-driver.

The man with the dress was still there, carefully touching the different cables, and every now and then sniffing them as if to ascertain whether they smelt as if they could take 500 volts.

Suddenly he turned around. It was no man. I could tell that from the person's décolleté. And her beautiful sweet face, with just one tiny imperfection: a walrus moustache. But it was of no use. I could recognise her anyhow. It was Windola Reiter, known from her magnificent interpretation of Bo in Noisa Key Elpott's famous girl's novel Little Use. In spite of her sweet appearance, Windola had occasionally left the straight path of a law-abiding citizen, but it was at least a full week since her latest bank robbery. And it was clear from the contours of that dress of hers that she had come unarmed.

I will keep you in suspense no more. I will tell you how it all ended. I did not find any screw-driver, but Windola bought a beige cable of six feet for $2.24.

A famous encounter

2006-09-15T21:32:00.000+02:00

It was only after the bus almost arrived to the shopping mall, that I realised that the person dozing next to me leaning his head against my shoulder, was no other than the famous actor Tim Krauss. His ex-wife, the star Colliere Tiddvan, was sitting at the other side of the aisle, and she was bombarding him with small balls of chocolate wrapping paper. Her body was still as impressively gargantuan as ever. She smiled her lovely smile, each time a ball hit him where she knew it would hurt, and I simply had to ask for her autograph.

Before leaving the bus I carefully crumpled the autograph in the ashtray in front of her. I love the feeling when famous people write something for me, but I really have other things to do than to collect useless pieces of paper - especially with chocolate stains.