Imparare L'inglese: Extremely Funny Stories - Version Integrale g4d5w

Contents

Cover Audiobook Included Other Books by Zac Eaton Copyright Introduzione 1. A Day 2. Love, Romance and being Horny 3. Invisible Touch 4. Island Monkey 5. Welcome To My Life 6. British Cuisine 7. Broken Flowers 8. Audiobooks 9. A Day without Glossary 10. Love, Romance and being Horny without Glossary 11. Invisible Touch without Glossary 12. Island Monkey without Glossary

13. Welcome To My Life without Glossary 14. British Cuisine without Glossary 15. Broken Flowers without Glossary Thank You

Imparare l'inglese: Extremely Funny Stories Version Integrale Zac Eaton

Copyright 2014 Zac Eaton

Smashwords Edition ISBN 9781311306418

[email protected]

Audiobook Included

For your pleasure and learning I have included a recorded audiobook version of this story, which can be found on the last page.

Other Books by Zac Eaton

Learn English - Extremely Funny Stories Extremely Funny Stories is a running Series:

1. A Day 2. Love, Romance and Being Horny 3. Invisible Touch 4. Island-Monkey 5. Welcome to My Life 6. British Cuisine 7. Broken Flowers 8. Zac Eaton - The Collection (versione integrale)

L'inglese per chi ama (18+) +Audiolibro

Imparare l'inglese: Extremely Funny Stories Version Integrale Zac Eaton

Copyright 2014 Zac Eaton ISBN 9781311306418

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, ed or distributed via internet or other means, electronic or print without the author's permission. Criminal copyright infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov.ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

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Introduzione

Version Integrale

Imparare l'inglese può essere davvero divertente! Con "Extremely Funny Stories" di Zac Eaton imparerai l'inglese e conoscerai da vicino il famoso umorismo inglese: ironico e cinico. L'audiolibro incluso ti aiuterà ad apprendere una perfetta pronuncia. Attenzione: "Extremely Funny Stories" può creare dipendenza! Some Reviews:

“The lady at Subway called an ambulance because she thought I was having an epileptic fit. I just could not stop laughing!”

George Lamberty

“You better sort your life out, Son”

Dad

“I fell off the toilet laughing!”

Chris Schretzenmayr

“Such an uplifting and light-hearted read, I nearly shit myself laughing.”

Harley Buck

This is the complete Set of the Series "Extremely Funny Stories".

These stories of a journey of laughter, self depreciating humour and some seriously deep shit.

A Day

Suddenly*, the excitement* the beginning of the semester brings has come to an end and even though I still have at least a thousand things to do, I feel as bored* as a pacifists gun. It is Friday evening, I am 29, dying to be kissed and at the moment I think I feel the same way a condom feels when he is finally freed from his little package and then shamefully* used for a teenage party trick. That clearly was not its destiny*. Nevertheless*, things remain good. I am sitting here at my desk facing the open window and I can hear a dogs bark* faintly* in the distance while someone next door is shagging* a trumpet. [suddenly = improvvisamente, excitement = tensione, bored = annoiato, pacifist = pacifista, shamefully = infamante, destiny = destino, nevertheless = ciononostante, bark = abbaiare, faintly = debole, distance = distanza, shagging = scopare]

As I reflect* on the day I have just decided* to bore* you shitless and tell you how it was. Why suffer* alone? Telling someone how your day was can, if you are me, be quite embarrassing*, even damaging*, if, not like me, you have a good reputation* to lose*. So, you will see what I mean as I describe* my day. [reflect = riflettere, decided = deciso, bore = annoiarsi, suffer = soffrire, telling = raccontare, embarrassing = imbarazzante, damaging = dannoso, reputation = reputazione, lose = perdere, describe = descrivere]

After swearing* at my alarm clock a second time while jumping* out of bed, I danced* the funky chicken. Then I put on some boxers and walked barefoot* straight to the kitchen* to make a cup of tea. Knowing our fridge* was empty* I still walked up to it with a sway* of intention*, opened it, poked my head in and stared* into empty space at a lonely* tin* of mushrooms, which I have probably known longer than my ex-girlfriend and from which, to my surprise*,

mushrooms* are growing*. My facial expression* would tell you that I am thinking up a magical recipe* from this tin, but I am only analysing the smell. I took my fresh cup of tea back into my room, slammed* on the radio and did the Michael Jackson moonwalk to the bathroom where I shaved* a pretty face*. After realising* I am painfully late*, I dashed* out of the house leaving my untouched* steaming tea on my desk and jumped, in John Wayne style, onto my bike and we both sped of to uni. [swearing = imprecare, jumping = saltare, danced = ballato, walked barefoot = ha camminato a piedi scalzi, kitchen = cucina, fridge = frigorifero, empty = vuoto, sway = vacillare, intention = intenzione, poked = stuzzicato, stared = fissato, lonely = solitario, tin = barattolo, surprise = sorpresa, mushrooms = funghi, growing = grescere, facial expression = espressione del volto, recipe = ricetta, slammed = schianatato, shaved = rasato, pretty face = viso grazioso, realising = accertare, late = tardi, dashed = guizzare, untouched = intatto, sped = correre]

While ing the shop windows in Freiberg, it reminded me, as it always does, how happy I am not to bother* with that kind of stuff and I just enjoyed the fresh air, colour of the clouds* and the rain running* through my hair*. After chaining* my bike to someone else’s, I walked into whatever building* it was and then noticed* my flies* were open (I really do keep forgetting) and I quickly and VERY carefully tried to zip them up, but naturally* they got stuck* and the harder I pulled the more stuck they became. As usual, during this violent epileptic fit, the girl I have been trying to impress* for the last 6 months decides* to float past* that very moment and she probably once again* thought* to herself: “What a disaster.” Same shit - everyday. [bother = impegnare, clouds = nuvole, running = correre, hair = capelli, chaining = incatenare, building = edifici, noticed = notato, flies = patta dei pantaloni, naturally = naturalmente, stuck = infilare, violent = violento, impress = impressionare, decides = deciso, float past = sorvolare, once again = ancora una volta, thought = pensato]

Normally, when we have an exam*, I take a big shiny* book with me and place

it on my desk* just before the exam starts and everybody is nervously* waiting. So why should this one be any different*? You should have seen the uneasy*, curious* faces of my fellow students* staring its proportions while probably wondering* if that big beautiful book would have unlocked* the dark secrets of complex mathematical equations. Here is a conversation* I had with one of these fellow studies: “What’s that?” asks the guy behind me, leaning* forward, pointing* at the only thing in front of me*. “Sorry?” I replied, while turning around* knowing* exactly what was going to happen. “What’s that?” he repeats, again pointing at the book. “What’s what?” I echoed, only to scrape* a little more at his nerves*. “That there!” he points. “Ahhh, the book. It’s an excellent book from Constance-Lee-Fridgit (spoken fast = constantly frigid*). Do you know her?” I replied confidently*. “No”, he answered probably wondering if he should. “You should. Great mind*. Good writer. Just the ticket! Good luck!” I said with a degree of happiness and satisfaction only Alice in Wonderland with a ribbed vibrator would know of. While ignoring* his request to see it, I slowly turned away and opened my big beautiful “Kochen mit dem Wok” (Cooking with the Wok) recipe book and tried to pick* out what I will cook tonight. Looking at nice food always calms me down before an exam. [exam = esame, shiny = lucido, desk = scrivania, nervously = nervoso, different = diverso, uneasy = agitato, curious = curioso, fellow students = compagni, proportions = proporzioni, wondering = chiedersi, unlocked = sbloccare, conversation = conversazione, leaning = tendenza, pointing = puntando, in front of me = davanti a me, turning around = voltarsi, knowing = sapere, echoed = fare eco, scrape = grattare, nerves = nervi, frigid = frigido, confidently = sicuro di sé, mind = testa, degree of happiness = grado di felicità, ignoring = ignorare, pick out = selezionare, calms = calmare]

After the exam I quickly escaped* the gathering crowds* outside, only to avoid* all the chit-chat, comments, questions and students looking for a shoulder to cry* on etc. that, to be honest, can really cheese me off*. So I went to the next lecture* without a worry in the world, mainly because I didn’t really think of which lecture actually lay ahead of me… statistics! I will skip* that. Nothing to report apart from a room full of smelly* students and me managing to get a good block in Tetris. [escaped = scappato, gathering crowds = adunare folle, avoid = evitare,

shoulder = spalla, cry = piangere, honest = onesto, cheese me off = mi sta sulle scatole, lecture = lettura, skip = saltare, smelly = cattivo odore]

For lunch* my friends and I met up in the food hall where, you would never guess, we had some food. Hungry students can be quite ignorant and impolite* and most of them take their plates* form the counter in ignorant silence*. So, I came up with the undeveloped* idea of beaming* with a smile* and friendly look in the eyes, while saying thank you to the people serving the food when I take my plate. I think this confuses* them, but they probably think I have just overdosed* on some modern artificial drug that was not available* in their days or that I am on day release from the clinic* or that I obviously haven’t tasted* the food there before. Anyway, these things give me something to do. [lunch = pranzo, hungry = affamato, impolite = scortese, plates = piatto, silence = silenzio, undeveloped = sottosviluppato, beaming = brillante, smile = sorridere, serving = servire, confuses = confuso, overdosed = sovradosare, available = disponibile, clinic = clinica, tasted = provare]

We had the usual rumour spreading* ritual; who got to kiss the cute librarian* and what sadistic* techniques we would like to try out on the enthusiastic nerds who always hog* the front seats* in the lecture halls and as always we compared our latest “Ehrrrm” counting check lists of our professors. Occasionally*, my friends would flick* food at me as their from of self-defence* against my sarcastic comments* and the fish what blinked* at me from my dinner plate was actually very tasty*. [rumour spreading = le voci si diffondono, bibliotecaria carina, sadistic = sadistico, hog = confiscare, seats = posti, occasionally = occasionalmente, flick = Schnipsen, self-defence = autodifesa, sarcastic comments = commenti sarcarstici, blinked = ammicato, tasty = gustoso]

After visiting* my professor to pick up* some work I found* myself editing a scientific paper in which the author stated* in of his paragraphs that “it was a chicken and egg* question”. When I think about it I have not heard* of any of

the great philosophers tackle* the big question of what came first, the egg or the chicken or why did the chicken cross the road*? Instead they just start messing* with you by saying things like “I crossed the road, therefore I am a chicken”. Now this brought* me to my next point*: Apart from the job description*, paycheck* and motivation, what is the difference* between a philosopher and a lawyer*? Think about it*. Anyway, to get back to the chicken I wondered* that if the egg was travelling at the speed of light*, would it arrive* before the chicken? Well, that probably depends if the egg is traveling with the Deutsche Bahn, right? [visiting = visitare, pick up = andare a prendere, found = trovato, stated = indicato, chicken and egg = pollo e uova, heard = ascoltato, tackle = afferrare, cross the road = attraversare la strada, messing = prendere in giro, brought = portato, point = punto, job description = descrizione dei compiti, paycheck = busta paga, difference = differenza, lawyer = avvocato, wondered = chiedersi, travelling = viaggio, speed of light = velocità della luce, arrive = arrivare, depends = dipendere]

So, after revising* the papers and thinking up a load* of shit, I decided* I would ride home to rest* my eyes and went off to find my bike when I suddenly saw* that girl again, I, by the way, have never spoken* to. She was sitting* on the library steps* with some of her lady friends. While I carefully and nervously approached* my bike, which was only a few meters away from the girls, I noticed they stopped talking and started* to watch me. “Ok. This is the moment she will forget* all the clumsy* things I have done”, so I thought and planned* to do my cool and very sexy John Wayne climb* on the bike thing. As I tried* to raise* my leg over my bike it suddenly stopped halfway*. With my right leg frozen* in the air*, I tried to lift* further, but it was stuck* and wouldn’t move any higher*! I must have looked* like a dog* trying to take a piss on a nice, shiny mountain bike! It was a balancing act* I gave up on and then tried again thinking (or probably not thinking at all) it would work this time. It didn’t. After taking my leg back down from its dog urinating* position, I began to inspect* what the hell was going on, while still trying to look cool. After a worrying analysis*, what I found out was that I was not wearing* a belt* and my jeans had slipped* down my waist* quite a bit and was therefore stopping me from lifting my leg over the bike. Perfect. I pulled my jeans up, put my head down and as quickly as I could I disappeared*.

[revising = rivedere, load = collera, decided = decidere, rest = riposare, saw = vedere, spoken = parlato, sitting = sedersi, steps = i, approached = addossare, started = iniziare, forget = dimenticare, clumsy = impacciato, planned = pianificare, climb = scalare, tried = provare, raise = tirare su, halfway = mezzo, frozen = ghiacciato, air = aria, lift = tirare su, stuck = bloccato, higher = più alto, looked = avere l’aspetto, dog = cane, piss = pisciare, balancing act = atto di bilancio, urinating = urinare, inspect = ispezionare, worrying analysis = analisi allarmante, wearing = portare, belt = cintura, slipped = scivolare, waist = taglia, pull up = tirare su, disappeared = scomparso]

The ride home was nice. Peddling through the city centre, I returned* the compliments* by smiling back* at the people smiling at me, noticing* I was already smiling and couldn’t improve on it. So, I had no worries* if my flies* where open or if something else embarrassing was sticking* to me. They were only friendly* smiles returned. The dog incidence* was nearly forgotten*. I had a good exam and helped a fellow student closer* to a nervous breakdown*. The day was turning out* to be a good normal day in the life of me. Once I got home I sat down with the daily paper and a cold cup of tea I prepared* hours before and read about what was going on* in the world. [returned = ribattere, compliments = complimenti, smiling back = rispondere al sorriso, noticing = notare, improve = migliorare, no worries = senza preoccupazioni, flies = patta dei pantaloni, sticking = incollare, friendly = amichevole, incidence = accadere, forgotten = dimenticare, closer = più vicino, nervous breakdown = crisi di nervi, turning out = rivelarsi, prepared = preparato, going on = iniziare]

As I finished scanning the paper I checked my post, emails and my mobile to see who hasn’t written* or called, which was every person on this planet. While I walked back into the kitchen for more tea, I bumped* into my flatmate FeelX. He decided to remind* me that since I am approaching* 30 and that since I am no longer* seeing my ex, my mother calls more often. Fantastic, thank you, FeelX. Returning to my room, my mood change* and I sat down on the couch*. I began to feel* how Phil Collins looks* and it suddenly dawned* on me that I

dance* like him, too. If you have seen his erotic moves when he boogies to “You Cant Hurry Love” you might understand my torment*. I started to wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have my imaginary friends* TKKG and what if Miss Marple was also just some wild fantasy*. My Babewatch videos have since been replaced* with Miss Marple’s DVD collection (Golden) and I recently* came to the conclusion* that my life has more in common* with Monthy Pyhtons’s “Life of Brian” instead* of my schoolboy hero* Mohammed Ali. [scanning = scannerizzare, written = scritto, bumped = cozzare, remind = ricordare, approaching = avvicinare, no longer = non più, mood change = cambio d’animo, couch = divano, feel = sentire, looks = guarda oppure sembra, dawned = imbrunire, dance = ballare, erotic = erotico, torment = sofferenza, imaginary friends = amici immaginari, wild fantasy = fantasia selvaggia, replaced = sostituito, recently = da poco, conclusion = conclusione, in common = in comune, instead = invece, hero = eroe]

I no longer have a problem accepting* that. Maybe dreams* are better dreamt*? But when I see my fellow students fresh into uni and spanking new out of puberty* bursting* with sperm* and ego, I feel the phase approaching 30 deserves* its own name that shouldn’t necessarily* dramatise* it, but merely* acknowledge* it. If it was up to me I would christen* it Herpidaty (don’t ask). Getting through puberty was a breeze*. Chest hair, a deeper voice and a chronic erection* at the cost of falling in love with anything with breasts and having a face like Bryan Ugly Adams made it worthwhile*, but what will my prize be once I finally get through Herpidaty? A spontaneous* erection? Senior hip in Miss Marple’s fan club? Listen. All I want to say is that I think the only bad thing about getting older is that it is happening. To cheer myself up* I dialled into the internet and ordered Stevie Wonders’s latest release* “See You when I See You” delivered in neutral packaging*. [accepting = accettare, dreams = sogni, dreamt = sognato, spanking new = nuovissimo, puberty = pubertà, bursting = scoppiare, sperm = sperma, deserves = guadagnato, necessarily = obbligatoriamente, dramatise = drammatizzare, merely = solo, acknowledge = riconoscere, christen = battezzare, breeze = brezza, chronic erection = erezione cronica, worthwhile = auspicabile, spontaneous = spontaneo, cheer myself up = incoraggiare, release = pubblicazione, neutral packaging = pacco neutro]

To skip* a walk* with melancholy and listening to Britney Cheers on the radio, I left the house to give the library a visit. The library is my favourite place* here, which says a lot. After getting sick of desk driving I took a manual on biogeoneochemistry to the couch. The combination of the lovely conditioned air, sound of silence and interesting elaborations* on the chemical composition* of the troposphere and a comfy* couch put me to sleep within minutes. After some time a lady woke me claiming, ”I was snoring* and that if I wanted to sleep I should go home and anyway, I was disturbing* the others”. Now, I am not a sensitive* man (sorry if I just crushed any hopes), so I didn’t care and wasn’t at all embarrassed so I told her that I wasn’t sleeping, only concentrating*. [skip = saltare, walk = eggiata, melancholy = melancolia, favourite place = posto preferito, elaborations = stesura, chemical composition = composizione chimica, comfy = comodo, snoring = russare, disturbing = disturbare, sensitive = sensibile, concentrating = concentrare]

Realising* this evening was going to be another uneventful* one in the Weltstadt Freiberg, I walked home with both hands pushed* deep into my pockets while dragging my feet. A scruffy* dog urinating on a lamp post was just a reminder of the day and the dark emptiness* and silence* of the streets pretty much reflected* my sex life. [realising = capire, uneventful = privo di eventi, pushed = premuto, pockets = borse, scruffy = scortese, emptiness = vuoto, silence = silenzio, reflected = riflesso]

AUDIOBOOK http://englishforlovers.co.uk/efl/EFS/ADAY.mp3

Love, romance & being horny

Three things* I do not recommend* you to do when you are going through a rough phase*. One: do not buy yourself a string-slip hoping it will change* your love life - because* it will. Two: get back together* with your ex-girlfriend or to be more specific*: my ex-girlfriend. Three – hmmm. [things = cose, recommend = raccomandare, rough phase = fase rude, change = cambiare, because = perché, get back together = tornare insieme, specific = specifico]

So, from the introduction you might have already guessed* that Bridget and I are a couple* again, rolling* in haystacks*, holding hands* in big beautiful buildings, kissing and touching* each other on every occasion* while feeling young and fresh again looking happily towards the future*. Well, you have guessed wrong*. Yes, we are back together, but it is love without romance*. Or is it called romance without love? What is the difference*, anyway? If you are a mathematician and have just set yourself to devise* a rational equation* arguing* that romance minus love and love minus romance produce the same effect or put in a mathematical term* with romance representing* A and love B that [introduction = Introduzione, guessed = indovinare, couple = coppia, rolling = ondeggiante, haystacks = mucchio di fieno, holding hands = tenersi per mano, touching = toccare, occasion = occasione, towards = in direzione, future = futuro, wrong = sbagliato, without romance = senza romanticismo, difference = differenza, devise = progettare, rational equation = equazione razionale, arguing = ragionare, same effect = stesso effetto, term = espressione, representing = rappresentare]

A – B = B – A,

then you can stuff your abacus up your arse. You couldn’t be more wrong.

Pulling it out* again, giving it a shake*, a nice clean* and little more thought*, maybe we can agree on defining the success of a relationship (Her) in a complex number consisting of two interchangeable parts, namely the real part - love (Cl) and the imaginary part - romance (iT) which we can express in the following [pulling it out = tirare fuori, shake = agitare, clean = pulito, thought = considerazione]

Her = Cl + iT

Taking the natural aspects of Cl (love) into consideration you will want to argue that Cl is infinite*, but since* all logic proves that love is irrational and highly complex* and with its description* also needing the introduction of various* able* finite physical bodies*, being infinite in the assumed context is therefore an impossibility*. Now taking an objective view* of the system, our observational understanding* will identify that both components Cl and iT are highly and randomly* dependant* on the inverse and conflicting* variable of being horny (He), which has experimentally* proven to be a singularity and for this reason is incompatible* to Cl, meaning that He cannot be integrated into Her, and that this, as a result*, is a heap of cow shit*. So, until you produce the world with a universal formula combining the fundamental interactions* of all three disciplines love, romance and being horny, you can stuff your mathematical reasoning* right back up your arse. [natural aspects =aspetti naturali, into consideration = in considerazione, infinite = infinito, since = da, proves = prova, highly complex = altamente complesso, description = descrizione, various = vario, able = responsabile, corpo fisico, impossibility = impossibilità, objective view =

osservazione oggettiva, understanding = comprensione, randomly = casuale, dependant = dipendente, conflicting = contraddittorio, experimentally = sperimentale, incompatible = incompatibile, result = risultato, heap of cow shit = mucchio di letame, fundamental interactions = interazioni fondamentali, reasoning = pensare logico]

Anyway, sat* on the couch, I was watching* the all important* football match of vs. England with Bridget leaning* against my side… [sat = sedere, watching = vedere, important = importante, leaning = appoggiarsi]

“Which one is Otto Rehagel, honey? “He’s dead.” “The guy kicking* the ball - is that Klinsmann?” “Klinsmann is the manager.” “What is offside*, honey?” “Sweetheart, I’m trying to concentrate on the game.” “I am only showing some interest in your hobbies. Don’t you ever tell me I am not interested in your hobbies.” [kicking = calciare, off-side = fuori gioco]

TV Commentary: Joe Hart claims* the ball…and thats a long clearance* into the German half of the pitch. Andy Carrol takes that down nicely…he knocks* it on to Steven Gerrard, who looks up and thats a lovely ball through to ROOONEEYYYY!!! [Claims = pretesa, clearance = eliminazione, knocks = colpo]

“Honey, … do you love me?

TV Commentary: AAWWWW…Rooney misses the goal by inches… but he hits a German policeman square between the legs! Ouwww! We all felt that one!

“Noooooo!!!!” I violently screamed*. Bridget rose* from the couch looking straight at me ready for combat*.

“What did you just say!?” “Bridge, please. I’m trying to watch the game.” “I asked you a question! Do you love me? “Yes.” “Say it!” “Yes. I love you. Ok?” “You’re just saying that because you want to watch the football!” Of course I am you clever bitch*, I nearly thought. “Don’t be stupid, sweetheart,” I said. “Listen, the shops are open late today, why don’t you give Sindy a call?” “Because I think we should be doing things together. We never do things together.” [violently screamed = gridava con veemenza, rose = aumentare, combat = lotta, clever bitch = stronza furba, thought = pensava]

I put my arm around her and shoved* a handful of popcorn in her mouth – in a romantic way, of course. She placed her head against my shoulder and made herself comfy looking at the TV. The game continued. [shoved = spingeva, way = modo]

TV Commentary: Ball played into Gerard. Nice bit of skill* there to beat this man. Oh be beats two!! And know he beats three!!! It is just Lehmann between* him and the goal - if he can keep his nerve… [skill = abilità, between = tra, goal = gol]

“Honey…” “Not now!” “…how much do you love me?” “Bridge, come on. This isn’t the time.” “Micky, I think there is no such thing as the right time and we need to talk about this. This is the problem, you see. We have to talk, I think, and now is a good as a time as any.”

TV Commentary: And Gerrard skips* past Neuer - Oh, but Neuer has caught *him and brought him down! [skips = scavalcare, caught = acchiappare]

“Darling, it’s the final,” I lied, “can we talk about this later, ok?”

“Football is more important to you than our relationship.” “This is a very important match, can we please just…” “So it is more important!” [relationship = relazione]

TV Commentary: Neuer's shown the yellow card – It's a penalty to England [penalty = rigore]

“Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaahssssss!!!” I shouted with quite a lot of joy. “Sweetheart, sit down!” I pulled her back to the couch. “Ok, I’ll tell you how much I love you. Count all the hairs on your body and multiply this by the number of times you think of having sex with me. Then add the approximation* of times we actually have had sex and exponent this by the number of condoms you think we should have used while integrating this into the occasions* I have warmed your cold feet for you, darling. Add the multiplication of the square root of my spots you have wanted to squeeze with the different ways I can kiss you and multiply this by the sum of children you think we can agree* on having and I am afraid* darling, I still won’t be able to tell you how much… I love you. [joy = gioia, approximation = avvicinamento, occasions = occasioni, agree = accordarsi, afraid = temere]

TV Commentary: Rooney steps up… and scores! The German keeper didn't stand a chance there, the ball flying straight into the top corner. And that's a goal for England.

“You’re sweet, Micky.”

“Yes. Can I watch the game now?”

Bridget placed her head in my lap and quietened down. I stroked her bottom with my bottle of beer.

TV Commentary: As England celebrate the goal the German team surround the referee. Still … still protesting about the penalty.

Bridget’s hands moved tenderly towards my private parts* and she started to unzip* my jeans while quite impressively* undoing my belt* with her teeth. [private parts = parti molli, unzip = aprire, impressively = impressionante, belt = cintura]

“Darling,” I said, “this is the highlight* of the year!” “Highlight of the year? But we had sex this morning*?” “No, I mean the match.” Her eyebrows immediately compressed and became one. “You and your damn football! Is this ever going to change? I have had enough. This is it. You have to decide*! Me or football: What is it going to be, Mr. Eaton? [highlight = culmine, this morning = questa mattina, decide = decidere]

TV Commentary: I have never seen anything like this before in my life. The German manager has just ran on the pitch and dropkicked the referee…

I simply stared* at her, stunned* by her ability to change moods* so quickly. This was just unfair. [stared = fissava, stunned = incredulo, moods = umore]

TV Commentary: Oohh, this is an absolute disgrace*. And now the.. the German players… they've got corner flags*… and they're beating* the referee with with the corner flags!!! [absolute disgrace = disgrazia assoluta, corner flags = bandierina d’angolo, beating = botte]

At the speed* of darkness the word “You” softly floated* my lips, but I was standing alone in an empty room in a cluster* of popcorn with my jeans around my ankles, as she had already stormed out* while making the point of not closing the door too gently*. [Speed = velocità, floated = sorvolava, cluster = gruppo, ankles = caviglia, stormed out = uscire infuriato, gently = morbido]

TV Commentary: … and somehow* both teams lost* due to a misunderstanding* in the playing field of love. Or was it romance? [somehow = in qualche modo, lost = perso, misunderstanding = malinteso]

AUDIOBOOK

http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/Love_Romance.mp3

Invisible Touch

Before hitting the bed sheets I walked around our crappy* little village to clear* my thoughts. It was when I was strolling* past a building I could hear loud music. Outside was a group of people standing* in a circle, when one of them peeled* away and walked towards me looking quite pissed* (drunk). She came up to me and then suddenly stopped as if she just walked into a glass door and shouted: It´s you! Michael! I was not sure where I knew this chick from, apparently* from a long time ago. She pushed through the invisible glass door and came closer and asked how I was and then told me that she and her friends used to think I was hot. [crappy = del cavolo, clear = chiarirmi, strolling = eggiare, standing = in piedi, peeled = staccarsi, pissed = ubriaco, apparently = apparentemente, pushed = spinto]

I was not sure if I should smile or run home crying* and my face expressed* exactly that. She rubbed* my arm, apparently sympathetically while gaping* at me as I stood there with a shivering* bottom lip*. Of course it was meant* as a compliment, it was her grammar that upset* me. Used to think? What about now? What is wrong with me now? Too old? Too nice? No longer hot? Anything wrong with grey hair or having a private pension* setup? After a tsunami of high blood pressure* and a thousand panic-stricken* questions, I wished* I stayed home and decided to quickly dash* back to safety and arrived just in tome to watch my soul-mate* on TV, Forrest Gump. [crying = piangendo, expressed = esprimeva, rubbed = strofinare, gaping = guardare a bocca aperta, shivering = tremante, bottom lip = labbro inferiore, meant = inteso, upset = scocciato, pension = pensione, high blood pressure = pressione alta, panic-stricken = terrorizzato, wished = speravo, dash = correre, soul-mate = anima gemella]

After watching and feeling like Forrest, I read a short article on senility*. Then I wandered* into the bathroom where I spent too much time staring* at myself in the mirror*, reflecting*, and then brushed* my teeth with a banana and some hemorrhoid cream*. I climbed* into bed still somewhat* satisfied with my day and an unusual* taste* in my mouth and I fell into a reoccurring* dream where I am laying in a softly windblown* field with the sun blazing* and the silhouette* of a girls head with long hair is hovering* above mine, teasingly* laughing. Again I was awoken* by what I assume* is the FBI torturing* some lady terrorist in the room next door. Jesus, she can scream*. Mean* bastards, these guys, I tell you. [senility = senilità, wandered = andavo, staring = fissando, mirror = specchio, reflecting = riflettendo, brushed = spazzolavo, hemorrhoid cream = crema per emorroidi, climbed = salivo, somewhat = in qualche modo, unusual = insolito, taste = gusto, reoccurring = ricorrente, windblown = spazzato dal vento, blazing = risplendeva, silhouette = profilo, hovering = volteggiavano, teasingly = in modo dispettoso, awoken = svegliato, assume = presumo, torturing = tortura, scream = gridare, mean = cattivi]

Days* soon evaporate* into weeks* and weeks condensate* gently* into months, which drip* in a tuneful* concert* into the buckets* of ing years*. The shadow* of time leaves behind eroded memories* and broken hearts continue walking on hospital crutches*, addictively* yearning* to satisfy* the moment of now through poignant* resuscitation* of what has been… So, the following day I awoke to see a blanket of snow had settled outside. I hate snow. Now don’t get me wrong. It is good to look at, but if I ever want to see it, it would be from a distance* or through an internet browser or on a postcard. I am as helpless* as a cow on ice when it comes to snow. [days = giorni, evaporate = evaporano, weeks = settimane, condensate = condensano, gently = dolcemente, months = mesi, drip = gocciolano, tuneful = melodico, concert = concerto, buckets = secchi, ing years = anni che ano, shadow = ombra, eroded = erose, memories = memorie, crutches = stampelle, addictively = in modo morboso, yearning = richiedere, satisfy = soddisfare, poignant = toccante, resuscitation =risuscitazione, blanket = coperta, settled = depositata, distance = distanza, helpless = debole ]

Realising* I had no food I faced* the dread* of going out in the snow to get some. Having no winter clothes, I somehow scraped some together from my fashion tasteless* flatmates. So, looking like a Yeti with no dress sense* and with my flatmates money in my pocket and without the shopping list I made, I paced* through the un-trodden* snow down the streets of Freiberg and trying to reconstruct* she shopping list in my head. It was then when I saw her. That girl. That girl I have been trying to impress* each time achieving* less than the opposite*. I could see her approaching* from the distance. She was walking with some guy and was as composed as Beethoven`s 5th. She had that Invisible Touch* Genesis put into what people like me call music. She turned heads* in all directions and then he kissed her. [realising = rendendomi conto, faced = far fronte, dread = paura, scraped = raggruppare, tasteless = senza gusti, dress sense = senso del vestirsi, paced = percorrevo, un-trodden = intonso, reconstruct = ricostruire, impress = impressionare, achieving = ottenendo, opposite = contrario, approaching = avvicinarsi, composed = composto, Invisible Touch = canzone dei Genesis, turned heads = girava la testa]

In that moment my world turned upside-down* and with my feet still stuck* in the air, I landed flat* on my back*. Every atom of my shattered* heart bounced* and scattered* off across the pavement* and while I lay* there, I watched in slow motion* how a humongous* mass of snow slowly slid *off the rooftop above me and within a split second* a white mushroom-cloud* exploded on top of me. I was, so to say, fully qualified into claiming* I was having a shit day. Now, when that kind of thing happens to you, the world stops turning and the moment intensifies*. You are afraid* to open your eyes, only because you would expect a 120.000 ton cruise liner heading straight at you. All sirens blaring*. [upside-down = sotto sopra, stuck = bloccati, flat = piatto, back = schiena, shattered = spezzato, bounced = rimbalzava, scattered = spargeva, pavement = marciapiede, lay = giacevo, slow motion = rallentatore, humongous = gigantesco, slid = scivolava, split second = frazione di un secondo, mushroomcloud = nuvola di funghi, claiming = affermando, intensifies = si intensificava, afraid = paura, blaring = suonano forte]

Somebody came up to me and asked in a friendly voice if I was ok. I knew it was them and flinched* in the snow. I ignored* them, as if laying* there was the most natural* thing to do on a Saturday morning. They asked again. My eyes quickly opened trying to look honestly* surprised* as I could be by their interest*. There he was, this guy with my girl his girl and in a concerned* voice he asked if it hurt. “More than you`ll ever know”, I answered while checking if my balls* were still where they should be. “What?” “No.” [flinched = sobbalzava, ignored = ignoravo, laying = giacere, natural = naturale, honestly = onestamente, surprised = sorpresi, interest = interesse, concerned = preoccupata, balls = palle/testicoli]

He knelt* down and in a considerate* gesture* started brushing the snow off me. His steroid pumped arms lifted me straight me to my feet, picked-up my bag* and with a smile that would neutralise* any woman’s defences* he handed* it to me, the bastard. [knelt = inginocchiava, considerate = rispettoso, gesture = gesto, lifted = alzavano, bag = borsa, neutralise = neutralizzare, defences = difesa, handed = dava]

Now, this might sound as alien* to you as it does to me, but he was very handsome*. If Pierce Brosnan and Brad Pitt were to ever have a baby together, he would be it. His face gave* the impression as if the ghost of Michelangelo had been at work during conception* and his hands also reminded me of some painting* of his. The woman of my dreams* was with every man´s nightmare*. In particular mine. [alien = estraneo, handsome = carino, gave = dava, ghost = fantasma, conception = concezione, painting = dipinto, dreams = sogni, nightmare = incubi, in particular = in particolare]

To say I was grateful* for the concern* he showed would be lying*. I hated* him more than I hated the ending of The Matrix 3, and that was bad. Dizziness and perplexity screamed through my system and I truly lost it. I kicked her pisser of a boyfriend repeatedly* in his crown jewels and while he was still bent over* clutching* his crushed* minerals*, I pushed* him headfirst through* the toyshop window*, destroying the PlayMobile display some kid was no longer enjoying and then, hand in hand ran off with his girl my girl. Well, maybe that is how I might have imagined* our encounter* to be. Instead, maybe I muttered* thank you while avoiding eye , either ashamed* of my feelings* or just hiding my thoughts, reluctantly taking my bag. [grateful = grato, concern = preoccupazione, lying = mentendo, hated = odiavo, dizziness = vertigini, perplexity = perplessità, kicked = prendere a calci, repeatedly = ripetutamente, crown jewels = gioielli di famiglia (palle/testicoli), bent over = piegato in avanti, clutching = stringendo, crushed = spaccati, minerals = minerali, pushed = spingevo, headfirst = di testa, through = attraverso, window = vetrina, destroying = distruggendo, imagined = immaginato, encounter = scoprire, muttered = mormorare, avoiding = evitando, ashamed = vergognandomi, feelings = sentimenti, hiding = nascondendo, reluctantly = controvoglia]

So, you might be interested in where she was during all the commotion*? She was on the phone arguing* with someone, too engaged* to notice me. Inbetween the moment of eloquently shouted "no way!” and hanging up, I quickly turned* and limped* away in my barmy attire* as quick as Quasimodo would, if he was told he had a French blonde waiting for him the Arc de Triomphe wanting his babies. [commotion = agitazione, arguing = litigando, engaged = occupato, notice = notarmi, shouted = gridava, turned = voltavo, limped = zoppicavo, barmy attire = vestiti stupidi]

FeelX was in the kitchen busy making sandwiches. He was broke. I could tell by the amount of tomato ketchup he was smearing on his miserable slice of white

bread or maybe just by the fact that it was only tomato ketchup he had to dress his sandwich with. [busy = occupato, broke = fallito, smearing = spalmando, slice = fetta]

My bruised body sat down with a cup of tea watching him, wondering if I should ask FeelX what I had in mind, doubting he had any hidden depths.

“FeelX,” I already regretted asking, “do you have any goals in life?” He turned with a determined look stuck to his face, holding up a knife dripping in red sauce and said: “I want to finally untie my heart and love a girl more than I love myself or even my family in fact and I want to raise a child to become a better person than me and I want to Higher Mathematics.” “Jesus,” I burped, “have you always known?” “The student office council are forcing me” he replied, pointing his knife to the opened envelope on the table and then he farted. [wondering = chiedendo, doubting = dubitando, hidden depths = profondità nascoste, regretted = pentivo, determined = determinato, untie = sciogliere, raise a child = crescere un figlio, burped = ruttavo, forcing = forzandomi, farted = scorreggiava]

Island-Monkey

FeelX was in the kitchen busy* making sandwiches. He was broke*. I could tell by the amount of tomato ketchup he was smearing* on his miserable slice* of white bread or maybe just by the fact that it was only tomato ketchup he had to dress his sandwich with. [busy = occupato, broke = fallito, smearing = spalmava, slice = fetta]

My bruised body sat down with a cup of tea watching him, wondering* if I should ask FeelX what I had in mind, doubting* he had any hidden depths*.

“FeelX,” I already regretted* asking, “do you have any goals in life?” He turned with a determined* look stuck to his face, holding up a knife dripping in red sauce and said: “I want to finally untie* my heart and love a girl more than I love myself or even my family in fact and I want to raise* a child to become a better person than me and I want to Higher Mathematics.” “Jesus,” I burped*, “have you always known?” “The student office council are forcing* me” he replied, pointing his knife to the opened envelope on the table and then he farted*. [wondering = domandavo, doubting = dubitavo, hidden depths = profondità nascoste, regretted = pentito, determined = determinato, untie = slegare, raise a child = crescere un bambino, burped = ruttavo, forcing = constringe, farted = scorreggiava]

For unexplained reasons I want to stick FeelX’s head between the fridge door

and close it with the force of a flying microwave, but the writing on the kitchen whiteboard caught my attention. It read:

GO ING NO WHERE IN LI F E

What? I quickly put on my glasses* and looked back at the whiteboard: [glasses = occhiali]

GO E O I NO H F X R Y INT D MIC EL C LL OTHER YOU CAT

SCH I DIE SO Y. T NA

I took them off, gave them a good clean and put them back on:

GONE SHOPPING WITH NORA, WHERE’S FEELX - RANDY INTERESTED. MICHAEL CALL MOTHER, YOUR CAT

SCHNUFFI DIED. SORRY. TINA

Suddenly, I received an SMS on my multifunctional* vibrator: MICHAEL SORRY BUT YOU FAILED MATHS [multifunctional = multifunzionale]

“Oh, by the way, Micky,” FeelX cut in smiling. “Some chick* came by with a load* of bags, helped herself to your food and then disappeared* into your room. She said she needed some sleep.”

Micky?? There is only one girl I know that calls me Micky… [chick = ragazza, load of bags = borse pesanti, disappeared = scompariva]

I stood motionless* outside my bedroom door. Slowly, I pushed it open. Bit for bit my room came into view and also the full degree of what was about to hit me… “Who do you think you are, wrecking* my bed, moving my stuff and doing the hell you like!” I shouted with both eyes shut tightly. “Your girlfriend” she answered frog-leaping into my arms, burying my face in her curly*, bushy hair. For a moment she smelled* like home… “Hang on*”, I paused, holding her back by the shoulders* with a face looking like an unfinished puzzle “what do you mean my girlfriend? We finished months ago!” “Not quite, honey. I didn’t finish* with you.” “Heh? What?” “I’ve been thinking, Micky. After speaking to your friends including your mother, we have all come to the same conclusion* that you need me. I am what is best for you. You just can’t see it right now, because you are confused*…”

“I’m confused!?!” “…but you will sometime in the future…” “…but…” “…and you’ll be thankful…” “…but…” “…I have taken you back…” “…but…” “…I mean look at you. Just look how you live. This is no life for my darling prince, and who the hell is that weirdo* in the kitchen Feel…” “Listen!” I shouted, “You cannot just walk back into my life, move into my house and expect* me to accept it.” “Well, Micky, it looks like I just have and you are going to have to accept* it. Now where did I put my clothes?” The word “shit” bounced* around madly inside my skull*. [motionless = immobile, wrecking = distruggere, frog-leaping = saltando come una rana, curly = ricci, smelled = odorava, hang on = aspetta, shoulders = spalle, unfinished = non finito, finish = finito, conclusion = conclusione, confused = confuso, weirdo = tipo pazzo, expect = aspettarti, accept = accetto, bounced = saltava, skull = teschio]

Then, she approached* me in that special way she has done many times before, with both hands held behind her back, looking down at my feet and then slowly upwards, focussing on certain parts of my tremendously sexy body while wetting* her bottom lip. She came up closer, held my stare* and after releasing* that wet bottom lip she said in her bedroom* voice “…and if you’re lucky, my little island-monkey, we can play with your banana tonight.”

“Thanks,” I replied, but I would rather have Stevie Wonder remove my pubic hair* with a chainsaw” and moved my stuff into FeelX’s room. [approached = avvicinava, tremendously = tremendamente, wetting = bagnava, stare = fissandomi, releasing = rilasciando, bedroom = camera da letto, pubic hair = peli del pube, chainsaw = motosega]

Life can sometimes really take a good piss on you and I was beginning to feel like the only functioning toilette in an overcrowded* football stadium. Not only am I now sharing a bed with my dope head masturbating flatmate FeelX, but Mr Universe is the with only girl I was ever been interested in (honest), I have failed Maths (again), my crazy ex is back, and Schnuffi, my cat, has committed suicide* (probably because we had the horny, hairy fluff-ball castrated* last week). [beginning = iniziavo, overcrowded = affollato, sharing = condividere, flatmate = coinquilino, committed suicide = suicidiato, castrated= castrato]

I had to get out and get out quick. After finding my bike, I paused ing* something and then carefully* pulled up my jeans and slowly lifted* my leg up over it, only to hear and feel a rip slice* through them - so I decided to walk. I had to see my three year old godchild, Ross. My Obi Van Kenobi. With some fresh cold air blowing up my partly exposed arse, I walked through the meandering* streets of our little city. I had invited his mother Patricia out for brunch. [ing = ricordando, carefully = piano, lifted = alzavo, slice = taglio, godchild = figlioccio, exposed = scoperto, meandering = contorte]

We met in one of those run-down cafés that popped out* of the ground in the mid-nineties and that hash`t been decorated since. It is not the kind of place I would like to take them, but it is all my mere existence* could afford*. I wouldn’t call it a designer café where people go to be seen, but one where you get the feeling that life is happening and just being there makes you feel part of

it, for a reasonable price, too. Looking around I could see people sat there talking and nodding* at each other while pointing at things in documents spread out* across the table and one man was reading the newspaper, while muttering* quietly into his mobile phone and if you look for them, you will always find a boy and girl holding hands under the table sharing a glass of coke out of one straw looking like they are not quite sure what to do next. Yep! There they are. Only this time the boy has a rocket in his pocket and his girl is sat there smiling at him with flowers growing* out of her eyes… [run-down = trasandati, popped out = saltati fuori, mere existence = mera esistenza, afford = permettersi, nodding = annuivano, spread out = esposti, muttering = facendo brusio, growing = crescevano]

An Italian waiter* came to our table, flipped* open his notepad and asked for our orders holding his pen slightly erect*. The slimy git* would not look at me and kept his pulsating* eyes fixed on Patricia. “She is with me!” I reminded him, feeling somewhat annoyed* by his stares and also quite stupid for stating the obvious. “Is it a crime* to look at a beautiful woman?” he answered smiling, sill staring, still ignoring, his teeth sparkling* with perverse confidence. Patricia smiled back looking a little embarrassed*. I felt like hammering the jerk* into the ground with Ross’s plasticky Fisher Price ghetto-blaster, but instead I decided to ignore the flirting and I placed my order which sounded more like a sigh*. It was just another one of those moments in life where I felt like a linesman* at a football match waving an invisible* flag. With his eyes doing press ups* on Patricia’s body he scribbled* something into his notepad, which was probably a good sketch* of her tits and as soon as he returned with our orders he looked at me with a such a friendly smile that in my eyes said: “I shit in your soup, sir.” [waiter = cameriere, slightly erect = un po’ rigido, git (slang) = stupido, pulsating = pulsanti, annoyed = scocciato, crime = delitto, sparkling = scintillante, embarrassed = imbarazzato, jerk = cretino, sigh = sospiro, linesman = guardalinee, invisible = invisibile, press ups = flessioni, scribbled = scarabocchiava, sketch = schizzo]

Anyway, Ross was silently playing with his food keeping his head down. As he sat there I could tell that something was wrong*. He did not talk to me and he did not even look at me. While feeling stupidly guilty* for the bad mood he was in, I turned my attention to Patricia while blowing into my cup of tea. She talked about the cost of living and of her lousy* fuck-around and fucked-off ex boyfriend and complained* about other men trying to take advantage of her difficult situation. She went on yapping* about some guy called Vincent and I just couldn’t help thinking about what FeelX had said in the kitchen when I had to interrupt her with “Pat, have you always wanted a family?” “Michael, what’s wrong with you? Who doesn’t want a family?” [silently = silenziosamente, something was wrong = qualcosa non andava, guilty = colpevole, lousy = schifoso, complained = lamentava, yapping = sbraitava, interrupt = interrompere]

And it is as easy as that, I thought, while wiping* Ross’s ice-cream from my face, taking a glance* at him laughing with his little arms raised up in triumph, beaming* at me with his winning smile that in the eyes of my heart* could end all wars. Naturally, I am only speaking of my own inner conflicts*. It was during these moments it occurred* to me that most of my friends are getting married, having kids, buying houses and are living in the present moment, while I am stuck* living on an endless building site. It felt like there is a master plan out there of which I don’t know of. Maybe sometime during my life upon the discovery of the master plan it was handed out on pamphlets* and broadcasted* on the TV and radio, but I guess I must have been too involved chasing that blond who lived two streets down from my parents house to take any notice or maybe chasing anything blond as a matter of fact*. [wiping = strofinavo, glance = sguardo, beaming = sorridendo, eyes of my heart = occhi del mio cuore, inner conflicts = conflitti interiori, occurred = succedeva, stuck = bloccato, pamphlets = brochure, broadcasted = trasmesso, involved = coinvolto, matter of fact = in realtà]

Feeling as depressed* as a vibrator without an owner*, I was lying on FeelX’s bed brooding* over the options my ex dictated. I was having to listen to him sing

along to the Flying Pickets “Caravan of Love” while he was adding his freshly clipped toenails* to his six year old toenail collection-box which he dreams of one day selling on eBay. FeelX was purely an eighties man. To him the eighties were the cultural and political climax since the dawn of civilisation* and he still lives in them, refusing to turn the last day on his 1989 calendar. His room was full of junk and symbolics*. A poster of a happy looking Bob Marley was hanging next to one of Margaret Thatcher wearing black latex lingerie thrashing* a whip* at the person looking at her. In other words: me. Beside his bed was a delightful novelty Marilyn Monroe lamp and a 2 meters long wooden marihuana-bong was lined up against the wall. It had kangaroos and other weird looking illustrations* on it. [depressed = depresso, owner = proprietario, brooding = pensieroso, toenails = unghie dei piedi, climax = culmine, dawn of civilisation = inizio della civiltà, refusing = rifiutando, symbolics = simbolismo, thrashing = sferzando, whip = una frustata, illustrations = illustrazioni]

FeelX dropped* his pants and then climbed in under the bedsheets. He was rearranging* his pillows when he said:

“You know what your problem is, Micky?” “Problem?” I enquired* with raised eyebrows*. “Your problem, mate, is that you always go for the most beautiful girl in the room.” “What is wrong with that?” I asked with lowered eyebrows. “Beautiful looking girls are like fresh coffee.” “You mean they`re too hot to drink?” “No, mate. The smell* is better than the taste*.” [dropped = abbassava, rearranging = sistemando, enquired = chiedevo,

eyebrows = sopracciglia, smell = odore, taste = gusto]

His hand slid* up between Marilyn Monroe’s legs, further up under her skirt* and with a quick movement of his fingers he switched* on the darkness. [slid = scivolava, skirt = gonna, switched = cambiava]

AUDIOBOOK http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/IslandMonkey.mp3

Welcome To My Life

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your pens down and hand over* your papers. Your time is up*.” [pens = penne, hand over = consegnate, time is up = tempo è scaduto]

The spoken sentence is reverberating* around the inside of your head, becoming louder* on each repetition* and awakens* you from your daydream. You open your eyes and look down onto your exam paper - it is empty*. The professor is standing over you stretching out* his trembling* grey hand. Your last attempts* to frantically* scribble* something down have failed. “You have had your chance like everyone else, now please hand over your paper!” With confetti still in your hair and a beer stained* t-shirt, all you have to offer* him is a handshake, a good tip on how to trick the fruit-weighing machine at the supermarket and an empty sheet of paper with a sad impression* of a smily scribbled next to your name. Ladies and Gentlemen - Welcome to my life. [reverberating = rieccheggia, louder = più forte, repetition = ripetizione, awakens = sveglia, empty = vuoto, stretching = allargando, trembling = tremante, attempts = tentativi, frantically = disperati, scribble = scarabocchiare, stained = macchiata, offer = offrire, handshake = stretta di mano, impression = impressione]

Have you ever dreamt* a chauffeur is driving you to church on a beautiful sunny* morning where you are to marry* the love of your life*, only to discover on arrival that it is your own funeral* instead*? Have you ever gone to a party you were looking forward* to all month only to discover that it was held the day before*? [dreamt = sognato, sunny = soleggiato, marry = sposare, love of your life =

amore della tua vita, arrival = arrivo, funeral = funerale, instead = invece, looking forward =aspettavi con ansia, day before = giorno prima]

Do you really want to know what it is like to become 30? Telling you it is nothing like that would be shamefully* lying*. It is the closest* I can get in less than 200 words and without having to bore* the shit out of you. Life begins at 40, they say, failing* to mention that it ends at 30. In a world that does not make sense* to me anymore, that statement* perfectly does. With all the perversities* terminal cancer* has to offer, becoming 30, on comparison*, at least leaves you with the option of an open end*… [shamefully = vergognosamente, lying = mentire, closest = più vinico, bore = annoiare, failing = tralasciando, make sense = avere senso, statement = affermazione, perversities = perversioni, terminal cancer = cancro terminale, on comparison = in confronto a, open end = fine aperta]

Anyway*, sitting at my desk I was ing* a conversation I recently had with a very good friend of mine, Christian. We talked about sex. He explained* to me that sex is like cake*. Everybody wants a piece*. Life evolves* around it. It is the reason* why we are here, quite literally*! There seems to be no discrimination* in this fact - all the woman and all men want cake. He claimed that if love springs out between the bedcovers* and a relationship blossoms*, then that would be the expensive icing* on the cake. More like a bonus. Our conversations are usually kept short, otherwise the universe might unspectacularly* implode* in self-pity*. So, after putting the phone down and looking up with a thoughtful expression painted across my face, the cosmos around me began to make a little more sense… [anyway = in ogni caso, ing = ricordando, explained = spiegava, cake = torta, piece = fetta, evolves = evolve, reason = motivo, quite literally = letteralmente, discrimination = discriminazione, bedcovers = copriletti, blossoms = fiorire, icing = glassa, unspectacularly = in modo non spettacolare, implode = implodere, self-pity = autocommiserazione]

The ringing* phone disturbed* my trail of thoughts. It was a girl I recently* met inviting me around for cake and to be more specific* a Chocolate Doughnut. Wow! She certainly cuts to the chase*. I told her I was absolutely flattered* and regard her directness*, but I am not interested in a Chocolate Doughnut, but maybe something more substantial* and anyhow, I had just masturbated* for the fifth time today so sex would be out of the question*. A geological epoch* silently ed through the telephone line after which she said, “What?!?!” So I explained that I still have feelings for the last cake I had and at the moment I cannot really look another* doughnut in the eyes. She then, after an even longer heavy silence replied* “What?!?!”, and I went into meticulous* detail, again explaining that my last cake was so good and rich that I need more time to digest* it. Having cake with her would sure be adventurous*, but I would have to turn her sexy offer down*. [ringing = squillo, disturbed = disturbava, recently = di recente, specific = specifico, cuts to the chase (saying) = to get to the point without wasting time, flattered = lusingato, directness = modo diretto, substantial = sostanziale, masturbated = masturbato, out of the question = fuori discussione, geological epoch = epoca geologica, another = un’altra, replied = rispondeva, meticulous = meticoloso, digest = digerirlo, adventurous = avventuroso, turn down = rifiutare]

She seemed somewhat* irritated* and tried to reach for a compromise* telling me if I wanted something more substantial we could have Banana Cake and that her flatmate*, Randy, might us. I told her that obviously• things are going a little too fast and that I don’t like fast food. Before I gave her time to try and persuade* me into having sex with her and her flatmate and also saving her the embarrassment of begging*, I wished her a nice evening and that I hoped things will still be the same between us and hung up*. [somewhat = un po’, irritated = irritata, compromise = compromesso, flatmate = coinquilina, obviously = sicuramente, persuade = convincermi, begging = elemosinare, hung up = riattaccato]

After hanging up on this obviously disturbed* girl, I went into the kitchen for

more tea. My own flatmate FeelX was in there as always doing something. I never know what he is doing, but he is always doing something. ing him at the breakfast table, I began to tell him of my conversation* with this girl. He was never really lucky* with girls, but I just felt like talking. Maybe I wanted to feel better at the cost* of others and I could not care* if it made him feel jealous* or significantly* smaller. Maybe making him feel these things would make me feel better? Then my gorgeous* ex girlfriend walked in and all my spoken letters and words instantly dropped* to the floor filling the room with silence. The blouse she was wearing was made up of strings and she wore my football shorts, which looked a size too small on her. They were hugging* the top part of her silk smooth* legs. She seemed relaxed and was humming* something from the Bangles… [disturbed = squilibrata, conversation = conversazione, lucky = felice, cost = spalle, care = interessava, jealous = geloso, significantly = significativamente, gorgeous = stupenda, dropped = cadevano, hugging = abbracciavano, smooth = lisce, humming = canticchiando a bocca chiusa]

FeelX grinned* and nudged* me with his elbow*, flicking* his chin in the direction of her bouncing breasts. I ignored* his games and continued talking again about the cake chick*. When I told him about Randy and her offer to have a threesome*, FeelX sat there frozen* with amazement*, staring open mouthed* into space. He held a piece of toast up to his mouth and his cream-quark was slowly creeping* off its edge*. He was dumbfounded*, shocked and with the most perfect swing knocked for six*. Finally, I had provoked* a reaction* in him. He was listening and he was hurting*. It was when I noticed* it was Bridget’s left nipple* that came out to say “Hello” that really captured* his attention*, his cream-quark slid* of the edge of his toast onto his fully erected penis. [grinned = sorrideva, nudged = dava una gomitata, elbow = gomito, flicking = schioccando, ignored = ignoravo, chick = ragazza, threesome = rapporto sessuale a tre, frozen = ghiacciato, amazement = stupore, open mouthed = a bocca aperta, creeping = strisciante, edge = bordo, dumbfounded = senza parole, knocked for six (saying) = the highest score that can be made in cricket with a single stroke, provoked = provocato, reaction = reazione, hurting = doloroso, noticed = notato, nipple = capezzolo, captured = catturato, attention

= attenzione, slid = scivolava, erected penis = pene eretto]

AUDIOBOOK http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/WelcomeToMyLife.mp3

British Cuisine

If I am left with any self-respect* for taking on this project of “EFS” then I hand* you what is left* of it here, on a plate*, literally*, by giving you an introduction to British Cuisine* (Yes, go ahead and Google it. The term* does exist!). Being British and living on continental Europe* for some time, I have naturally taken a lot of shit on this subject, especially from our shadenfreude loving Germans. [self-respect = auto-rispetto, hand = consegnare, left = rimasto, plate = piatto, literally = letteralmente, British Cuisine = cucina inglese, term = espressione, continental Europe = Europa continentale]

Reading my somewhat defence on our cooking, you might be a little afraid that your comfortable* world picture (Weltbild) may change forever, but do not worry. Words such as delicious*, succulent*, tasty*, scrumptious*, lip smacking* and mouth watering* are adjectives or metaphors you will not find in any form of combination. Not even used in a dark bubbling soup* of deadly sarcasm*. So please do not waste any time continuing reading. [defence = difesa, comfortable = comodo, delicious = delizioso, succulent = succulento, tasty = gustoso, scrumptious = favoloso, lip smacking = biascicare, mouth watering = acqua in bocca, bubbling soup = zuppa che bolle, deadly sarcasm = sarcasmo mortale, waste any time = non perdere tempo]

British cooking at its best is what you would get, you would think, from a Jamie Oliver cooking book. Although I like the guy whose nationality is often questioned, I have only one nice thing to say to him: “Jamie, be careful* with that knife - you might kill yourself one day!” [is often questioned = messo in discussione, be careful = sii attento, knife =

coltello]

The blind have eyes in their fingers and the British have their taste buds* up their arse*. The British, it is said, sacrificed* their ambition* to cook in favour* of playing football. Hmmm. Anyway, Gandhi once said: “To a man with an empty* stomach* food is God” Obviously that was before he visited Great Britain. Now if you are a historian you are probably just beginning to question** the real reason* behind India´s revolt leading to is separation from the British Empire. [blind = ciechi, eyes = occhi, fingers = dita, taste buds = papilla gustativa, up their arse = nel culo, sacrificed = hanno sacrificato, ambition = ambizione, in favour = a favore di, empty = vuoto, stomach = stomaco, God = Dio, obviously = ovviamente, visited = visitato, historian = storico, to question = chiedere, reason = motivo, India´s revolt = rivolta indiana, separation = separazione]

So what is all the fuss* about? British cuisine has the world against it and even critics aren´t exactly sure why. Here, I will shed some light* on the subject and let you in on a secret*: British cooking is mainly* based* on boiling water*. We put hard* things in to make them go soft and soft things in to make them go hard. Pretty much like sex you are probably thinking. With ing time, you might want to think or hope* or even pray* that British cooking has evolved* and more or less advanced*, for example, by the invention of the simple application* of a non-sticking frying pan*. Give the British a frying pan and what do they produce? With a slice* of madness*, a pinch* of grounded* hope* mixed in with a few ounces* of thinly* chopped* sarcasm somebody came up with the delightful idea* of frying tomatoes, bacon and sausages in it together. In their supermarket freshness* they are laid into the sizzling* hot and intensely crackling* frying pan where you can watch them instantly shrink* in size and shrivel up*. Pretty much reminding* you of sex my guess would be if you are over 50. [fuss = agitazione, critics = critici, shed some light = gettato luce, secret = segreto, mainly = principalmente, based = basato, boiling water = fare bollire l’acqua, hard = dure, soft = morbide, hope = sperare, pray = pregare, evolved

= si è evoluta, advanced = avanzata, application = applicazione, frying pan = padella per friggere, slice = fetta, madness = pazzia, pinch = pizzico, grounded = tritata, hope = speranza, ounces = once, thinly = finemente, chopped = triturato, delightful idea= magnifica idea, freshness = freschezza, laid = poggiati, sizzling = che frigge, intensely = forte, crackling = crepita, shrink = ridursi, shrivel up = restringersi, reminding = ricorda]

[If you happen to be my professor reading this while coincidentally being over the ripe age of 50, I would just like to let you know that my editor is standing behind me holding a golf club to my head forcing* me to write this. Honest*] [coincidentally = casualmente, ripe = matura, age = età, behind me = dietro di me, forcing = forzandomi, honest = Sincero]

Is that all the British have to serve*? Now, I do not believe in trying to change other people´s views* and I also made you the promise* of not wanting to alter your world view. I will stick to this promise and will only take you gently by the hand and lead you and your willing* imagination* word by word through the following very short paragraph on British dishes: [serve = servire, views = opinioni, promise = promessa, alter = cambiare, stick to this promise = mantenere la promessa, lead = portare, willing = volenterosa, imagination = immaginazione, following = seguenti]

Cornish pasty, Yorkshire pudding, Cottage and Shepherd´s pie, Lancashire hotpot, Cumberland Sausages, pork and mice pies, Oxford marmalade, Devonshire Cream, muffins and crumpets, treacle tart and apple dumplings. Shortbread and saffron buns, Silton and Cheddar cheese and caramel cream (preferabley called Crème Bruleé or Crema Catalana)…

Still with me*? Well done. You culture-picking vultures* must have been through hell and back*. Anyway, in our kitchen of the Roter Weg in Freiberg

you could eat off the floor* and I am not saying that because it is clean* or anything. No. Actually you need snow boots*, a flame-thrower *and a bit of luck* to walk through our kitchen and survive*. If you are sat there reading this calling me a melodramatic sod*, then you are herewith invited* to share the jungle of adventures our kitchen will definitely throw at you. You will instantly confronted* and overcome* by a scary* new world where life and death walk in hand in hand and also where the term “biodiversity” was first used by humans trying* to describe* the mass variety* of life forms* living here (not as previously assumed* for describing the contents* of FeelX´s underpants*), though biodiversity would be the wrong word and biohazard* would be a more closer concept as the issue of the National Geographic will soon reveal*. [Still with me = Ancora qui?, vultures = avvoltoi, hell and back = all’inferno e ritorno, kitchen = cucina, eat off the floor = mangiare dal pavimento, clean = pulito, snow boots = scarponi da neve, flame-thrower = lanciafiamme, luck = fortuna, survive = sopravvivere, melodramatic sod = stupido melodrammatico, invited = invitato, confronted = confrontato, overcome = sopraffatto, scary = preoccupante, trying = alla ricerca di, describe = descrivere, variety = varietà, life forms = forme di vita, assumed = riteneva, contents = contenuti, underpants = biancheria intima, biohazard = rischio biologico, reveal = svelare]

Now, getting more to the point and more or less to my problem. Due to a misunderstanding* with a bottle of wine combined* with an unfortunate *phone call where I invited my girl Bridget around for a nice dinner to somehow try and smooth things over* and bury our problems, I stand before a new problem: I am British and surprisingly can’t cook. The problem being the latter* consequently resulting from the former*, right? You are always right. [more to the point = più al punto, more or less = più o meno, misunderstanding = incomprensione, combined = unito, unfortunate = sfortunato, smooth things over = riparare, bury = seppellire, latter = secondo, former = primo]

Somehow I struck up a deal* with FeelX where I promised not to tell anyone about his addiction* to Smurf* porn and in return he would disinfect the kitchen

and prepare* a traditional British meal for us: His very own version of Fish n Chips. Talk about mistakes. Since I know that most of you don’t believe me (damn you!) I have taken a picture. I am telling you. This guy is crazy! [struck up a deal = strappato un affare, addiction = dipendenza, Smurf = puffi, prepare = preparare, meal = pasto, mistakes = errori, damn you = accidenti, crazy = pazzo]

This story was written for Marcel in memory of Antje Fenner.

Broken Flowers

Freiberg is like the moon*. It has no atmosphere. To me that sounds more like a self-fulfilled prophecy*. Freiberg, it is said, only has two real parties and they are held in the Rue Erbische and the Roter Weg. That may be true, but I don’t care because we all love and live that kind of talk, don’t we? [moon = luna, atmosphere = atmosfera, self-fulfilled prophecy = profezia che si auto-avvera]

The Rue Erbische and the Roter Weg both stage large theme parties twice a year and it has become a fun tradition. I love them. You should come. I sincerely* recommend* them and I mean this from the bottom of my beer-bottle. These parties are the perfect occasions* to thrash out your creativity and construct a monstrous* costume in which you can cheerfully* look very silly*. In your costume you can pull up your curtains* and be yourself again or you can grab the opportunity* to reinvent* yourself, which, if you are me, can become quite a habit*. Also, you get to see how other students are living and especially when they are not looking, you can piss into their plant pots* (I have heard) and you can also make your own positive contribution* towards ’s demographic* problem by piercing* microscopic holes* into your host’s* condoms. Naturally, I am only kidding*. [theme parties = feste a tema, sincerely = sinceramente, recommend = raccomando, bottom = fondo, occasions = occasioni, monstrous = mostruoso, cheerfully = allegramente, silly = ridicolo, curtains = tende, grab the opportunity = afferrare l’opportunità, reinvent = reinventare, habit = abitudine, plant pots = vasi di piante, contribution = contributo, demographic = demografico, piercing = forando, holes = buchi, host = ospite, kidding =

scherzando]

Now, you can’t compare* these theme parties to the German Fasching (carnival) thing. These guys, now lets be very honest, are a bunch of mindless* chimpanzees. Humanity*, including the Americans, might one day forgive* them for their attempt* to inject* some pleasure* into their lives (sorry guys). One might describe* their depressing practice as “humour on prescription*”. [compare = comparare, mindless = stupido, Humanity = umanità, forgive = perdonare, attempt = tentativo, inject = iniettare, pleasure = piacere, describe = descrivere, prescription = ricetta]

Anyway, we are already at the party which had its usual* on-going’s. It was while I was scanning the room for somewhere better to scan the room from, when somebody caught my eye. I could see her standing* outside on the terrace* through the glass door. She stood there alone looking quite innocent* and content* and as if she was waiting* for something. The picture she projected* was magnetic* and I began to very slowly and very gently* float* towards her, like one would approach* a dangerous buffalo or to get you into a more romantic, sentimental mood - I began to approach* her as if I was approaching a beautiful, delicate* young deer which was peacefully grazing* on an open field*… [already = già, usual = usuale, standing = in piedi, terrace = terrazzo, innocent = innocente, content = contento, waiting = aspettando, projected = proiettato, magnetic = magnetico, gently = dolcemente, float = svolazzare, approach = avvicinarmi, delicate = delicato, deer = cervo, grazing = pascolava, field = campo]

So, the reality was that moving across the dance floor* I was being shaken* like a cocktail while looking and feeling like an idiot, but at least a determined* one. Finally, I reached her and simply stood there gaping* at her. I was so nervous* and captured in thought* that I actually forgot* to say something. “Hello!” I quickly blurted* as soon as this information reached* the useful* part* of my

brain*. Her face exploded* into a smile and she replied with a ... well, with a smile. Through her soft curtain* of hair* she gave me a look that you could have poured* on to a waffle*, or so I felt. [reality = realtà, dance floor = pista da ballo, shaken = scosso, determined = determinato, gaping = a bocca a parta, nervous = nervoso, captured in thought = catturato in pensieri, forgot = dimenticavo, blurted = sputavo fuori, reached = raggiunse, useful = utile, part = parte, brain = cervello, exploded = esplodeva, curtain = tenda, hair = capelli, poured = versare, waffle = cialda]

Moving across, I faced her placing* my hand, like hers, on the terrace railing. The smile she wore and her big blue planet eyes made the ice inside me crack* and begin to melt*. We talked about the party and costumes while I very slowly started to move my hand towards hers. She said something about feeling lonely* amongst a crowd* and wanting to escape the horrible* cigarette smoke. I think. I don’t know. I was too focussed* on moving my hand, very slowly and bit by bit closer to hers. She turned to me and before she said something, she paused* and her two big blue planets carefully* scanned my face. Icebergs* inside me began to crash* into my sea* of emotions* and my heart decided* to do its own version of Psy´s Gangnam Style. Then, in a soft voice she asked if I preferred* hip-hop or soul. “Soul” I replied without thinking, my eyes falling deeper* into hers, ... my hand still moving closer. [placing = appoggiare, railing = ringhiera, crack = spaccare, melt = fondere, lonely = solo, crowd = folla, horrible = orribile, focussed = concentrato, paused = fermava, carefully = con prudenza, Icebergs = iceberg, crash - crollare, sea = mare, emotions = emozioni, decided = decideva, preferred = preferivo, deeper = più profondo]

It was a still, cold night and we could see each others breath* and the trees in the garden around us seemed to stand to attention* as if they were holding their own breath, bracing* themselves for what was to follow*. The sky was clear and the stars* were dancing their own little ballet dance and the music in the background* suddenly switched* to a more romantic theme. It was as if life and nature had come together to create the moment of all moments. I was bursting*

with excitement* and the moment so full of suspense* just seemed to be everything. Our eyes connected and with one last push* our hands met and fingers overlapped* when a sudden rush* of warmth came from the opened terrace door accompanied* by a wall of noise* and the sound of FeelX’s voice squealing “MICKEY!!! ... MICKEEY!!!!” [Breath = respirare, stand to attention = stare sull’attenti, bracing = tenendosi forte, follow = seguiva, stars = stelle, ballet dance = danza di baletto, background = sfondo, switched = cambiava, bursting = strapieno, excitement = eccitazione, suspense = suspense , push = spinta, overlapped = incrociati, rush = assalto, accompanied = accompagnato, noise = rumore, squealing = urlando]

His alcohol-diluted eyes fired somewhat in every direction, but mine. “Your girl, Bridget,” he shouted*, “she is here looking for you and she is so to say pretty pissed off*!” (Ok, maybe I forgot to mention that we broke up again). Like watching* a tennis ball in game I silently* looked at FeelX and looked back at her and then I looked back at FeelX and thanked him through my gritted teeth, playing with the thought of one day happily throwing* him from a speeding train. [diluted = diluito, fired = puntavano, shouted = gridava, pissed off = incazzata, silently = silenziosamente, gritted teeth = denti stretti, throwing = lanciandogli, speeding train = treno in corsa]

He left and we were alone again still holding hands when I managed* to look back at her. I needed* to kiss her. Without hesitation* I leaned forward and I kissed her and she kissed me back, which became a long comfortable* river* of soft kisses and I pulled* her closer, lifting* her up, feeling her black linen dress* slide* over the top of my hands is what I wanted to write. Actually, what really happened was that she casually* turned her head away deflecting* my laserguided kiss. Her eyes drifted* off to some place I couldn’t follow and she peacefully* started to talk again... “Your girl, Bridget?” she said, gently shaking her head, smiling at the distance*. “So you are just like the rest; a romance junkie looking for a quick fix of romance. The normality’s* in your relationship have kicked in* and is therefore no longer a thrill* to you. So you go out looking

for a new beginning born beneath* some dazzling* firework display you create and worst of all* you think* you are butter, but you are so margarine.” [alone = soli, managed = riuscivo, needed = dovevo, hesitation = esitazione, leaned = appoggiato, comfortable = confortevole, river = fiume, pulled = tiravo, lifting = alzandola, linen dress = vestito di lino, slide = scivolare, casually = casualmente, deflecting = allontanando, laser-guided = guidato da laser, drifted = deviavano, peacefully = pacificamente, distance = distanza, normality’s = normalità, kicked in = entrato, thrill = brivido, beneath = sotto, dazzling = abbagliante, worst of all = peggiore, think = pensare]

She was right*. Bang on. What was there more to say? I am nothing but a sweaty* block of uncoloured* margarine keeping my options open under the somewhat pretense* of being a romantic. My only defence* was to stare at her hoping she was clever enough to recognise* my artless innocence*. She let go and turned* and scurried* off up into the garden* and disappeared* through the open gate leaving a trail* of broken flowers. [right = ragione, sweaty = sudato, uncoloured = senza colore, pretence = apparenza, defence = difesa, recognise = riconoscere, artless innocence = innocenza ingenua, turned = girava, scurried = correva, garden = giardino, disappeared = scompariva, trail = traccia]

AUDIOBOOK http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/BrokenFlowers.mp3

Audiobook

The Audiobooks are complimentary. For most stories an audiobook is available. Missing audiobooks will be updated.

1. A Day: http://englishforlovers.co.uk/efl/EFS/ADAY.mp3

2. Love, Romance…: http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/Love_Romance.mp3

3. Invisible Touch: (Available soon): http://englishforlovers.co.uk/efl/EFS/InvisibleTouch.mp3

4. Island Monkey: http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/IslandMonkey.mp3

5. Welcome to my life: http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/WelcomeToMyLife.mp3

6. British Cuisine (Available soon): http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/BritishCuisine.mp3

7. Broken Flowers: http://englishforlovers.co.uk/Stories/BrokenFlowers.mp3

The book is read with a British English accent by the author. It is spoken as clearly as possible, especially for those listeners who are using English as a second language. I am not a professional speaker or reader and have tried my best to create a good audiobook for you.

For technical questions or other issues on the please write to: [email protected]

Love Zac Eaton

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

A Day

Suddenly, the excitement the beginning of the semester brings has come to an end and even though I still have at least a thousand things to do, I feel as bored as a pacifists gun. It is Friday evening, I am 29, dying to be kissed and at the moment I think I feel the same way a condom feels when he is finally freed from his little package and then shamefully used for a teenage party trick. That clearly was not its destiny. Nevertheless, things remain good. I am sitting here at my desk facing the open window and I can hear a dogs bark faintly in the distance while someone next door is shagging a trumpet.

As I reflect on the day I have just decided to bore you shitless and tell you how it was. Why suffer alone? Telling someone how your day was can, if you are me, be quite embarrassing, even damaging, if, not like me, you have a good reputation to lose. So, you will see what I mean as I describe my day.

After swearing at my alarm clock a second time while jumping out of bed, I danced the funky chicken. Then I put on some boxers and walked barefoot straight to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Knowing our fridge was empty I still walked up to it with a sway of intention, opened it, poked my head in and stared into empty space at a lonely tin of mushrooms, which I have probably known longer than my ex-girlfriend and from which, to my surprise, mushrooms are growing. My facial expression would tell you that I am thinking up a magical recipe from this tin, but I am only analysing the smell. I took my fresh cup of tea back into my room, slammed on the radio and did the Michael Jackson moonwalk to the bathroom where I shaved a pretty face. After realising I am

painfully late, I dashed out of the house leaving my untouched steaming tea on my desk and jumped, in John Wayne style, onto my bike and we both sped of to uni.

While ing the shop windows in Freiberg, it reminded me, as it always does, how happy I am not to bother with that kind of stuff and I just enjoyed the fresh air, colour of the clouds and the rain running through my hair. After chaining my bike to someone else’s, I walked into whatever building it was and then noticed my flies were open (I really do keep forgetting) and I quickly and VERY carefully tried to zip them up, but naturally they got stuck and the harder I pulled the more stuck they became. As usual, during this violent epileptic fit, the girl I have been trying to impress for the last 6 months decides to float past that very moment and she probably once again thought to herself: “What a disaster.” Same shit - everyday.

Normally, when we have an exam, I take a big shiny book with me and place it on my desk just before the exam starts and everybody is nervously waiting. So why should this one be any different? You should have seen the uneasy, curious faces of my fellow students staring its proportions while probably wondering if that big beautiful book would have unlocked the dark secrets of complex mathematical equations. Here is a conversation I had with one of these fellow studies: “What’s that?” asks the guy behind me, leaning forward, pointing at the only thing in front of me. “Sorry?” I replied, while turning around knowing exactly what was going to happen. “What’s that?” he repeats, again pointing at the book. “What’s what?” I echoed, only to scrape a little more at his nerves. “That there!” he points. “Ahhh, the book. It’s an excellent book from ConstanceLee-Fridgit (spoken fast = constantly frigid). Do you know her?” I replied confidently. “No”, he answered probably wondering if he should. “You should. Great mind. Good writer. Just the ticket! Good luck!” I said with a degree of happiness and satisfaction only Alice in Wonderland with a ribbed vibrator would know of. While ignoring his request to see it, I slowly turned away and opened my big beautiful “Kochen mit dem Wok” recipe book and tried to pick out what I will cook tonight. Looking at nice food always calms me down before an exam.

After the exam I quickly escaped the gathering crowds outside, only to avoid all the chit-chat, comments, questions and students looking for a shoulder to cry on etc. that, to be honest, can really cheese me off. So I went to the next lecture without a worry in the world, mainly because I didn’t really think of which lecture actually lay ahead of me… statistics! I will skip that. Nothing to report apart from a room full of smelly students and me managing to get a good block in Tetris.

For lunch my friends and I met up in the food hall where, you would never guess, we had some food. Hungry students can be quite ignorant and impolite and most of them take their plates form the counter in ignorant silence. So, I came up with the undeveloped idea of beaming with a smile and friendly look in the eyes, while saying thank you to the people serving the food when I take my plate. I think this confuses them, but they probably think I have just overdosed on some modern artificial drug that was not available in their days or that I am on day release from the clinic or that I obviously haven’t tasted the food there before. Anyway, these things give me something to do.

We had the usual rumour spreading ritual; who got to kiss the cute librarian and what sadistic techniques we would like to try out on the enthusiastic nerds who always hog the front seats in the lecture halls and as always we compared our latest “Ehrrrm” counting check lists of our professors. Occasionally, my friends would flick food at me as their from of self-defence against my sarcastic comments and the fish what blinked at me from my dinner plate was actually very tasty.

After visiting my professor to pick up some work I found myself editing a scientific paper in which the author stated in of his paragraphs that “it was a chicken and egg question”. When I think about it I have not heard of any of the great philosophers tackle the big question of what came first, the egg or the chicken or why did the chicken cross the road? Instead they just start messing

with you by saying things like “I crossed the road, therefore I am a chicken”. Now this brought me to my next point: Apart from the job description, paycheque and motivation, what is the difference between a philosopher and a lawyer? Think about it. Anyway, to get back to the chicken I wondered that if the egg was travelling at the speed of light, would it arrive before the chicken? Well, that probably depends if the egg is traveling with the Deutsche Bahn, right?

So, after revising the papers and thinking up a load of shit, I decided I would ride home to rest my eyes and went off to find my bike when I suddenly saw that girl again, I, by the way, have never spoken to. She was sitting on the library steps with some of her lady friends. While I carefully and nervously approached my bike, which was only a few meters away from the girls, I noticed they stopped talking and started to watch me. “Ok. This is the moment she will forget all the clumsy things I have done”, so I thought and planned to do my cool and very sexy John Wayne climb on the bike thing. As I tried to raise my leg over my bike it suddenly stopped halfway. With my right leg frozen in the air, I tried to lift further, but it was stuck and wouldn’t move any higher! I must have looked like a dog trying to take a piss on a nice, shiny mountain bike! It was a balancing act I gave up on and then tried again thinking (or probably not thinking at all) it would work this time. It didn’t. After taking my leg back down from its dog urinating position, I began to inspect what the hell was going on, while still trying to look cool. After a worrying analysis, what I found out was that I was not wearing a belt and my jeans had slipped down my waist quite a bit and was therefore stopping me from lifting my leg over the bike. Perfect. I pulled my jeans up, put my head down and as quickly as I could I disappeared.

The ride home was nice. Peddling through the city centre, I returned the compliments by smiling back at the people smiling at me, noticing I was already smiling and couldn’t improve on it. So, I had no worries if my flies where open or if something else embarrassing was sticking to me. They were only friendly smiles returned. The dog incidence was nearly forgotten. I had a good exam and helped a fellow student closer to a nervous breakdown. The day was turning out to be a good normal day in the life of me. Once I got home I sat down with the daily paper and a cold cup of tea I prepared hours before and read about what was going on in the world.

As I finished scanning the paper I checked my post, emails and my mobile to see who hasn’t written or called, which was every person on this planet. While I walked back into the kitchen for more tea, I bumped into my flatmate FeelX. He decided to remind me that since I am approaching 30 and that since I am no longer seeing my ex, my mother calls more often. Fantastic, thank you, FeelX. Returning to my room, my mood change and I sat down on the couch. I began to feel how Phil Collins looks and it suddenly dawned on me that I dance like him, too. If you have seen his erotic moves when he boogies to “You Cant Hurry Love” you might understand my torment. I started to wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have my imaginary friends TKKG and what if Miss Marple was also just some wild fantasy. My Babewatch videos have since been replaced with Miss Marple’s DVD collection (Golden) and I recently came to the conclusion that my life has more in common with Monthy Pyhtons’s “Life of Brian” instead of my schoolboy hero Mohammed Ali.

I no longer have a problem accepting that. Maybe dreams are better dreamt? But when I see my fellow students fresh into uni and spanking new out of puberty bursting with sperm and ego, I feel the phase approaching 30 deserves its own name that shouldn’t necessarily dramatise it, but merely acknowledge it. If it was up to me I would christen it Herpidaty (don’t ask). Getting through puberty was a breeze. Chest hair, a deeper voice and a chronic erection at the cost of falling in love with anything with breasts and having a face like Bryan Ugly Adams made it worthwhile, but what will my prize be once I finally get through Herpidaty? A spontaneous erection? Senior hip in Miss Marple’s fan club? Listen. All I want to say is that I think the only bad thing about getting older is that it is happening. To cheer myself up I dialled into the internet and ordered Stevie Wonders’s latest release “See You when I See You” delivered in neutral packaging.

To skip a walk with melancholy and listening to Britney Cheers on the radio, I left the house to give the library a visit. The library is my favourite place here, which says a lot. After getting sick of desk driving I took a manual on biogeoneochemistry to the couch. The combination of the lovely conditioned air,

sound of silence and interesting elaborations on the chemical composition of the troposphere and a comfy couch put me to sleep within minutes. After some time a lady woke me claiming, ”I was snoring and that if I wanted to sleep I should go home and anyway, I was disturbing the others”. Now, I am not a sensitive man (sorry if I just crushed any hopes), so I didn’t care and wasn’t at all embarrassed so I told her that I wasn’t sleeping, only concentrating.

Realising this evening was going to be another uneventful one in the Weltstadt Freiberg, I walked home with both hands pushed deep into my pockets while dragging my feet. A scruffy dog urinating on a lamp post was just a reminder of the day and the dark emptiness and silence of the streets pretty much reflected my sex life.

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

Love, romance & being horny

Three things I do not recommend you to do when you are going through a rough phase. One: do not buy yourself a string-slip hoping it will change your love life - because it will. Two: get back together with your ex-girlfriend or to be more specific: my ex-girlfriend. Three – hmmm.

So, from the introduction you might have already guessed that Bridget and I are a couple again, rolling in haystacks, holding hands in big beautiful buildings, kissing and touching each other on every occasion while feeling young and fresh again looking happily towards the future. Well, you have guessed wrong. Yes, we are back together, but it is love without romance. Or is it called romance without love? What is the difference, anyway? If you are a mathematician and have just set yourself to devise a rational equation arguing that romance minus love and love minus romance produce the same effect or put in a mathematical term with romance representing A and love B that

A – B = B – A,

then you can stuff your abacus up your arse. You couldn’t be more wrong.

Pulling it out again, giving it a shake, a nice clean and little more thought, maybe we can agree on defining the success of a relationship (Her) in a complex

number consisting of two interchangeable parts, namely the real part - love (Cl) and the imaginary part - romance (iT) which we can express in the following

Her = Cl + iT

Taking the natural aspects of Cl (love) into consideration you will want to argue that Cl is infinite, but since all logic proves that love is irrational and highly complex and with its description also needing the introduction of various able finite physical bodies, being infinite in the assumed context is therefore an impossibility. Now taking an objective view of the system, our observational understanding will identify that both components Cl and iT are highly and randomly dependant on the inverse and conflicting variable of being horny (He), which has experimentally proven to be a singularity and for this reason is incompatible to Cl, meaning that He cannot be integrated into Her, and that this, as a result, is a heap of cow shit. So, until you produce the world with a universal formula combining the fundamental interactions of all three disciplines love, romance and being horny, you can stuff your mathematical reasoning right back up your arse.

Anyway, sat on the couch, I was watching the all important football match of vs. England with Bridget leaning against my side…

“Which one is Otto Rehagel, honey? “He’s dead.” “The guy kicking the ball - is that Klinsmann?” “Klinsmann is the manager.”

“What is offside, honey?” “Sweetheart, I’m trying to concentrate on the game.” “I am only showing some interest in your hobbies. Don’t you ever tell me I am not interested in your hobbies.”

TV Commentary: Joe Hart claims the ball…and thats a long clearance into the German half of the pitch. Andy Carrol takes that down nicely…he knocks it on to Steven Gerrard, who looks up and thats a lovely ball through to ROOONEEYYYY!!!

“Honey, … do you love me?

TV Commentary: AAWWWW…Rooney misses the goal by inches… but he hits a German policeman square between the legs! Ouwww! We all felt that one!

“Noooooo!!!!” I violently screamed. Bridget rose from the couch looking straight at me ready for combat.

“What did you just say!?” “Bridge, please. I’m trying to watch the game.” “I asked you a question! Do you love me? “Yes.” “Say it!”

“Yes. I love you. Ok?” “You’re just saying that because you want to watch the football!” Of course I am you clever bitch, I nearly thought. “Don’t be stupid, sweetheart,” I said. “Listen, the shops are open late today, why don’t you give Sindy a call?” “Because I think we should be doing things together. We never do things together.”

I put my arm around her and shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth – in a romantic way, of course. She placed her head against my shoulder and made herself comfy looking at the TV. The game continued.

TV Commentary: Ball played into Gerard. Nice bit of skill there to beat this man. Oh be beats two!! And know he beats three!!! It is just Lehmann between him and the goal - if he can keep his nerve…

“Honey…” “Not now!” “…how much do you love me?” “Bridge, come on. This isn’t the time.” “Micky, I think there is no such thing as the right time and we need to talk about this. This is the problem, you see. We have to talk, I think, and now is a good as a time as any.”

TV Commentary: And Gerrard skips past Neuer - Oh, but Neuer has caught him

and brought him down!

“Darling, it’s the final,” I lied, “can we talk about this later, ok?” “Football is more important to you than our relationship.” “This is a very important match, can we please just…” “So it is more important!” [relationship = Beziehung]

TV Commentary: Neuer's shown the yellow card – It's a penalty to England.

“Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaahssssss!!!” I shouted with quite a lot of joy. “Sweetheart, sit down!” I pulled her back to the couch. “Ok, I’ll tell you how much I love you. Count all the hairs on your body and multiply this by the number of times you think of having sex with me. Then add the approximation of times we actually have had sex and exponent this by the number of condoms you think we should have used while integrating this into the occasions I have warmed your cold feet for you, darling. Add the multiplication of the square root of my spots you have wanted to squeeze with the different ways I can kiss you and multiply this by the sum of children you think we can agree on having and I am afraid darling, I still won’t be able to tell you how much… I love you.

TV Commentary: Rooney steps up… and scores! The German keeper didn't stand a chance there, the ball flying straight into the top corner. And that's a goal for England.

“You’re sweet, Micky.”

“Yes. Can I watch the game now?”

Bridget placed her head in my lap and quietened down. I stroked her bottom with my bottle of beer.

TV Commentary: As England celebrate the goal the German team surround the referee. Still … still protesting about the penalty.

Bridget’s hands moved tenderly towards my private parts and she started to unzip my jeans while quite impressively undoing my belt with her teeth.

“Darling,” I said, “this is the highlight of the year!” “Highlight of the year? But we had sex this morning?” “No, I mean the match.” Her eyebrows immediately compressed and became one. “You and your damn football! Is this ever going to change? I have had enough. This is it. You have to decide! Me or football: What is it going to be, Mr. Eaton?

TV Commentary: I have never seen anything like this before in my life. The German manager has just ran on the pitch and dropkicked the referee…

I simply stared at her, stunned by her ability to change moods so quickly. This was just unfair.

TV Commentary: Oohh, this is an absolute disgrace. And now the.. the German players… they've got corner flags… and they're beating the referee with with the corner flags!!!

At the speed of darkness the word “You” softly floated my lips, but I was standing alone in an empty room in a cluster of popcorn with my jeans around my ankles, as she had already stormed out while making the point of not closing the door too gently.

TV Commentary: … and somehow both teams lost due to a misunderstanding in the playing field of love. Or was it romance?

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

Invisible Touch

Before hitting the bed sheets I walked around our crappy little village to clear my thoughts. It was when I was strolling past a building I could hear loud music. Outside was a group of people standing in a circle, when one of them peeled away and walked towards me looking quite pissed (drunk). She came up to me and then suddenly stopped as if she just walked into a glass door and shouted: It ´s you! Michael! I was not sure where I knew this chick from, apparently from a long time ago. She pushed through the invisible glass door and came closer and asked how I was and then told me that she and her friends used to think I was hot.

I was not sure if I should smile or run home crying and my face expressed exactly that. She rubbed my arm, apparently sympathetically while gaping at me as I stood there with a shivering bottom lip. Of course it was meant as a compliment, it was her grammar that upset me. Used to think? What about now? What is wrong with me now? Too old? Too nice? No longer hot? Anything wrong with grey hair or having a private pension setup? After a tsunami of high blood pressure and a thousand panic-stricken questions, I wished I stayed home and decided to quickly dash back to safety and arrived just in tome to watch my soul-mate on TV, Forrest Gump.

After watching and feeling like Forrest, I read a short article on senility. Then I wandered into the bathroom where I spent too much time staring at myself in the mirror, reflecting, and then brushed my teeth with a banana and some hemorrhoid cream. I climbed into bed still somewhat satisfied with my day and

an unusual taste in my mouth and I fell into a reoccurring dream where I am laying in a softly windblown field with the sun blazing and the silhouette of a girls head with long hair is hovering above mine, teasingly laughing. Again I was awoken by what I assume is the FBI torturing some lady terrorist in the room next door. Jesus, she can scream. Mean bastards, these guys, I tell you.

Days soon evaporate into weeks and weeks condensate gently into months, which drip in a tuneful concert into the buckets of ing years. The shadow of time leaves behind eroded memories and broken hearts continue walking on hospital crutches, addictively yearning to satisfy the moment of now through poignant resuscitation of what has been… So, the following day I awoke to see a blanket of snow had settled outside. I hate snow. Now don’t get me wrong. It is good to look at, but if I ever want to see it, it would be from a distance or through an internet browser or on a postcard. I am as helpless as a cow on ice when it comes to snow.

Realising I had no food I faced the dread of going out in the snow to get some. Having no winter clothes, I somehow scraped some together from my fashion tasteless flatmates. So, looking like a Yeti with no dress sense and with my flatmates money in my pocket and without the shopping list I made, I paced through the un-trodden snow down the streets of Freiberg and trying to reconstruct she shopping list in my head. It was then when I saw her. That girl. That girl I have been trying to impress each time achieving less than the opposite. I could see her approaching from the distance. She was walking with some guy and was as composed as Beethoven`s 5th. She had that Invisible Touch Genesis put into what people like me call music. She turned heads in all directions and then he kissed her.

In that moment my world turned upside-down and with my feet still stuck in the air, I landed flat on my back. Every atom of my shattered heart bounced and scattered off across the pavement and while I lay there, I watched in slow motion how a humongous mass of snow slowly slid off the rooftop above me and within a split second a white mushroom-cloud exploded on top of me. I was, so to say,

fully qualified into claiming I was having a shit day. Now, when that kind of thing happens to you, the world stops turning and the moment intensifies. You are afraid to open your eyes, only because you would expect a 120.000 ton cruise liner heading straight at you. All sirens blaring.

Somebody came up to me and asked in a friendly voice if I was ok. I knew it was them and flinched in the snow. I ignored them, as if laying there was the most natural thing to do on a Saturday morning. They asked again. My eyes quickly opened trying to look honestly surprised as I could be by their interest. There he was, this guy with my girl his girl and in a concerned voice he asked if it hurt. “More than you`ll ever know”, I answered while checking if my balls were still where they should be. “What?” “No.”

He knelt down and in a considerate gesture started brushing the snow off me. His steroid pumped arms lifted me straight me to my feet, picked-up my bag and with a smile that would neutralise any woman’s defences he handed it to me, the bastard.

Now, this might sound as alien to you as it does to me, but he was very handsome. If Pierce Brosnan and Brad Pitt were to ever have a baby together, he would be it. His face gave the impression as if the ghost of Michelangelo had been at work during conception and his hands also reminded me of some painting of his. The woman of my dreams was with every man´s nightmare. In particular mine.

To say I was grateful for the concern he showed would be lying. I hated him more than I hated the ending of The Matrix 3, and that was bad. Dizziness and perplexity screamed through my system and I truly lost it. I kicked her pisser of a boyfriend repeatedly in his crown jewels and while he was still bent over clutching his crushed minerals, I pushed him headfirst through the toyshop

window, destroying the PlayMobile display some kid was no longer enjoying and then, hand in hand ran off with his girl my girl. Well, maybe that is how I might have imagined our encounter to be. Instead, maybe I muttered thank you while avoiding eye , either ashamed of my feelings or just hiding my thoughts, reluctantly taking my bag.

So, you might be interested in where she was during all the commotion? She was on the phone arguing with someone, too engaged to notice me. In-between the moment of eloquently shouted "no way!” and hanging up, I quickly turned and limped away in my barmy attire as quick as Quasimodo would, if he was told he had a French blonde waiting for him the Arc de Triomphe wanting his babies.

FeelX was in the kitchen busy making sandwiches. He was broke. I could tell by the amount of tomato ketchup he was smearing on his miserable slice of white bread or maybe just by the fact that it was only tomato ketchup he had to dress his sandwich with.

My bruised body sat down with a cup of tea watching him, wondering if I should ask FeelX what I had in mind, doubting he had any hidden depths.

“FeelX,” I already regretted asking, “do you have any goals in life?” He turned with a determined look stuck to his face, holding up a knife dripping in red sauce and said: “I want to finally untie my heart and love a girl more than I love myself or even my family in fact and I want to raise a child to become a better person than me and I want to Higher Mathematics.” “Jesus,” I burped, “have you always known?” “The student office council are forcing me” he replied, pointing his knife to the opened envelope on the table and then he farted.

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

Island Monkey

FeelX was in the kitchen busy making sandwiches. He was broke. I could tell by the amount of tomato ketchup he was smearing on his miserable slice of white bread or maybe just by the fact that it was only tomato ketchup he had to dress his sandwich with.

My bruised body sat down with a cup of tea watching him, wondering if I should ask FeelX what I had in mind, doubting he had any hidden depths.

“FeelX,” I already regretted asking, “do you have any goals in life?” He turned with a determined look stuck to his face, holding up a knife dripping in red sauce and said: “I want to finally untie my heart and love a girl more than I love myself or even my family in fact and I want to raise a child to become a better person than me and I want to Higher Mathematics.” “Jesus,” I burped, “have you always known?” “The student office council are forcing me” he replied, pointing his knife to the opened envelope on the table and then he farted.

For unexplained reasons I want to stick FeelX’s head between the fridge door and close it with the force of a flying microwave, but the writing on the kitchen whiteboard caught my attention. It read:

GO ING NO WHERE IN LI F E

What? I quickly put on my glasses and looked back at the whiteboard:

GO E O I NO H F X R Y INT D MIC EL C LL OTHER YOU CAT

SCH I DIE SO Y. T NA

I took them off, gave them a good clean and put them back on:

GONE SHOPPING WITH NORA, WHERE’S FEELX - RANDY INTERESTED. MICHAEL CALL MOTHER, YOUR CAT

SCHNUFFI DIED. SORRY. TINA

Suddenly, I received an SMS on my multifunctional vibrator: MICHAEL SORRY BUT YOU FAILED MATHS

“Oh, by the way, Micky,” FeelX cut in smiling. “Some chick came by with a load of bags, helped herself to your food and then disappeared into your room. She said she needed some sleep.”

Micky?? There is only one girl I know that calls me Micky…

I stood motionless outside my bedroom door. Slowly, I pushed it open. Bit for bit my room came into view and also the full degree of what was about to hit me… “Who do you think you are, wrecking my bed, moving my stuff and doing the hell you like!” I shouted with both eyes shut tightly. “Your girlfriend” she answered frog-leaping into my arms, burying my face in her curly, bushy hair. For a moment she smelled like home… “Hang on”, I paused, holding her back by the shoulders with a face looking like an unfinished puzzle “what do you mean my girlfriend? We finished months ago!” “Not quite, honey. I didn’t finish with you.” “Heh? What?” “I’ve been thinking, Micky. After speaking to your friends including your mother, we have all come to the same conclusion that you need me. I am what is best for you. You just can’t see it right now, because you are confused…” “I’m confused!?!” “…but you will sometime in the future…” “…but…” “…and you’ll be thankful…” “…but…” “…I have taken you back…”

“…but…” “…I mean look at you. Just look how you live. This is no life for my darling prince, and who the hell is that weirdo in the kitchen Feel…” “Listen!” I shouted, “You cannot just walk back into my life, move into my house and expect me to accept it.” “Well, Micky, it looks like I just have and you are going to have to accept it. Now where did I put my clothes?” The word “shit” bounced around madly inside my skull.

Then, she approached me in that special way she has done many times before, with both hands held behind her back, looking down at my feet and then slowly upwards, focussing on certain parts of my tremendously sexy body while wetting her bottom lip. She came up closer, held my stare and after releasing that wet bottom lip she said in her bedroom voice “…and if you’re lucky, my little islandmonkey, we can play with your banana tonight.” “Thanks,” I replied, but I would rather have Stevie Wonder remove my pubic hair with a chainsaw” and moved my stuff into FeelX’s room.

Life can sometimes really take a good piss on you and I was beginning to feel like the only functioning toilette in an overcrowded football stadium. Not only am I now sharing a bed with my dope head masturbating flatmate FeelX, but Mr Universe is the with only girl I was ever been interested in (honest), I have failed Maths (again), my crazy ex is back, and Schnuffi, my cat, has committed suicide (probably because we had the horny, hairy fluff-ball castrated last week).

I had to get out and get out quick. After finding my bike, I paused ing something and then carefully pulled up my jeans and slowly lifted my leg up over it, only to hear and feel a rip slice through them - so I decided to walk. I had to see my three year old godchild, Ross. My Obi Van Kenobi. With some fresh

cold air blowing up my partly exposed arse, I walked through the meandering streets of our little city. I had invited his mother Patricia out for brunch.

We met in one of those run-down cafés that popped out of the ground in the midnineties and that hash`t been decorated since. It is not the kind of place I would like to take them, but it is all my mere existence could afford. I wouldn’t call it a designer café where people go to be seen, but one where you get the feeling that life is happening and just being there makes you feel part of it, for a reasonable price, too. Looking around I could see people sat there talking and nodding at each other while pointing at things in documents spread out across the table and one man was reading the newspaper, while muttering quietly into his mobile phone and if you look for them, you will always find a boy and girl holding hands under the table sharing a glass of coke out of one straw looking like they are not quite sure what to do next. Yep! There they are. Only this time the boy has a rocket in his pocket and his girl is sat there smiling at him with flowers growing out of her eyes…

An Italian waiter came to our table, flipped open his notepad and asked for our orders holding his pen slightly erect. The slimy git would not look at me and kept his pulsating eyes fixed on Patricia. “She is with me!” I reminded him, feeling somewhat annoyed by his stares and also quite stupid for stating the obvious. “Is it a crime to look at a beautiful woman?” he answered smiling, still staring, still ignoring, his teeth sparkling with perverse confidence. Patricia smiled back looking a little embarrassed. I felt like hammering the jerk into the ground with Ross’s plasticky Fisher Price ghetto-blaster, but instead I decided to ignore the flirting and I placed my order which sounded more like a sigh. It was just another one of those moments in life where I felt like a linesman at a football match waving an invisible flag. With his eyes doing press ups on Patricia’s body he scribbled something into his notepad, which was probably a good sketch of her tits and as soon as he returned with our orders he looked at me with such a friendly smile that in my eyes said: “I shit in your soup, sir.”

Anyway, Ross was silently playing with his food keeping his head down. As he

sat there I could tell that something was wrong. He did not talk to me and he did not even look at me. While feeling stupidly guilty for the bad mood he was in, I turned my attention to Patricia while blowing into my cup of tea. She talked about the cost of living and of her lousy fuck-around and fucked-off ex boyfriend and complained about other men trying to take advantage of her difficult situation. She went on yapping about some guy called Vincent and I just couldn’t help thinking about what FeelX had said in the kitchen when I had to interrupt her with “Pat, have you always wanted a family?” “Michael, what’s wrong with you? Who doesn’t want a family?”

And it is as easy as that, I thought, while wiping Ross’s ice-cream from my face, taking a glance at him laughing with his little arms raised up in triumph, beaming at me with his winning smile that in the eyes of my heart could end all wars. Naturally, I am only speaking of my own inner conflicts. It was during these moments it occurred to me that most of my friends are getting married, having kids, buying houses and are living in the present moment, while I am stuck living on an endless building site. It felt like there is a master plan out there of which I don’t know of. Maybe sometime during my life upon the discovery of the master plan it was handed out on pamphlets and broadcasted on the TV and radio, but I guess I must have been too involved chasing that blond who lived two streets down from my parents house to take any notice or maybe chasing anything blond as a matter of fact.

Feeling as depressed as a vibrator without an owner, I was lying on FeelX’s bed brooding over the options my ex dictated. I was having to listen to him sing along to the Flying Pickets “Caravan of Love” while he was adding his freshly clipped toenails to his six year old toenail collection-box which he dreams of one day selling on eBay. FeelX was purely an eighties man. To him the eighties were the cultural and political climax since the dawn of civilisation and he still lives in them, refusing to turn the last day on his 1989 calendar. His room was full of junk and symbolics. A poster of a happy looking Bob Marley was hanging next to one of Margaret Thatcher wearing black latex lingerie thrashing a whip at the person looking at her. In other words: me. Beside his bed was a delightful novelty Marilyn Monroe lamp and a 2 meters long wooden marihuana-bong was

lined up against the wall. It had kangaroos and other weird looking illustrations on it.

FeelX dropped his pants and then climbed in under the bedsheets. He was rearranging his pillows when he said:

“You know what your problem is, Micky?” “Problem?” I enquired with raised eyebrows. “Your problem, mate, is that you always go for the most beautiful girl in the room.” “What is wrong with that?” I asked with lowered eyebrows. “Beautiful looking girls are like fresh coffee.” “You mean they`re too hot to drink?” “No, mate. The smell is better than the taste.”

His hand slid up between Marilyn Monroe’s legs, further up under her skirt and with a quick movement of his fingers he switched on the darkness.

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

Welcome to my life

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your pens down and hand over your papers. Your time is up.”

The spoken sentence is reverberating around the inside of your head, becoming louder on each repetition and awakens you from your daydream. You open your eyes and look down onto your exam paper - it is empty. The professor is standing over you stretching out his trembling grey hand. Your last attempts to frantically scribble something down have failed. “You have had your chance like everyone else, now please hand over your paper!” With confetti still in your hair and a beer stained t-shirt, all you have to offer him is a handshake, a good tip on how to trick the fruit-weighing machine at the supermarket and an empty sheet of paper with a sad impression of a smiley scribbled next to your name. Ladies and Gentlemen - Welcome to my life.

Have you ever dreamt a chauffeur is driving you to church on a beautiful sunny morning where you are to marry the love of your life, only to discover on arrival that it is your own funeral instead? Have you ever gone to a party you were looking forward to all month only to discover that it was held the day before?

Do you really want to know what it is like to become 30? Telling you it is nothing like that would be shamefully lying. It is the closest I can get in less than 200 words and without having to bore the shit out of you. Life begins at 40, they

say, failing to mention that it ends at 30. In a world that does not make sense to me anymore, that statement perfectly does. With all the perversities terminal cancer has to offer, becoming 30, on comparison, at least leaves you with the option of an open end…

Anyway, sitting at my desk I was ing a conversation I recently had with a very good friend of mine, Christian. We talked about sex. He explained to me that sex is like cake. Everybody wants a piece. Life evolves around it. It is the reason why we are here, quite literally! There seems to be no discrimination in this fact - all the woman and all men want cake. He claimed that if love springs out between the bedcovers and a relationship blossoms, then that would be the expensive icing on the cake. More like a bonus. Our conversations are usually kept short, otherwise the universe might unspectacularly implode in selfpity. So, after putting the phone down and looking up with a thoughtful expression painted across my face, the cosmos around me began to make a little more sense…

The ringing phone disturbed my trail of thoughts. It was a girl I recently met inviting me around for cake and to be more specific a Chocolate Doughnut. Wow! She certainly cuts to the chase. I told her I was absolutely flattered and regard her directness, but I am not interested in a Chocolate Doughnut, but maybe something more substantial and anyhow, I had just masturbated for the fifth time today so sex would be out of the question. A geological epoch silently ed through the telephone line after which she said, “What?!?!” So I explained that I still have feelings for the last cake I had and at the moment I cannot really look another doughnut in the eyes. She then, after an even longer heavy silence replied “What?!?!”, and I went into meticulous detail, again explaining that my last cake was so good and rich that I need more time to digest it. Having cake with her would sure be adventurous, but I would have to turn her sexy offer down.

She seemed somewhat irritated and tried to reach for a compromise telling me if I wanted something more substantial we could have Banana Cake and that her

flatmate, Randy, might us. I told her that obviously• things are going a little too fast and that I don’t like fast food. Before I gave her time to try and persuade me into having sex with her and her flatmate and also saving her the embarrassment of begging, I wished her a nice evening and that I hoped things will still be the same between us and hung up.

After hanging up on this obviously disturbed girl, I went into the kitchen for more tea. My own flatmate FeelX was in there as always doing something. I never know what he is doing, but he is always doing something. ing him at the breakfast table, I began to tell him of my conversation with this girl. He was never really lucky with girls, but I just felt like talking. Maybe I wanted to feel better at the cost of others and I could not care if it made him feel jealous or significantly smaller. Maybe making him feel these things would make me feel better? Then my gorgeous ex girlfriend walked in and all my spoken letters and words instantly dropped to the floor filling the room with silence. The blouse she was wearing was made up of strings and she wore my football shorts, which looked a size too small on her. They were hugging the top part of her silk smooth legs. She seemed relaxed and was humming something from the Bangles…

FeelX grinned and nudged me with his elbow, flicking his chin in the direction of her bouncing breasts. I ignored his games and continued talking again about the cake chick. When I told him about Randy and her offer to have a threesome, FeelX sat there frozen with amazement, staring open mouthed into space. He held a piece of toast up to his mouth and his cream-quark was slowly creeping off its edge. He was dumbfounded, shocked and with the most perfect swing knocked for six. Finally, I had provoked a reaction in him. He was listening and he was hurting. It was when I noticed it was Bridget’s left nipple that came out to say “Hello” that really captured his attention, his cream-quark slid of the edge of his toast onto his fully erected penis.

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

British Cuisine

If I am left with any self-respect* for taking on this project of “Extremely Funny Stories” then I hand* you what is left* of it here, on a plate*, literally*, by giving you an introduction to British Cuisine* (Yes, go ahead and Google it. The term* does exist!). Being British and living on continental Europe* for some time, I have naturally taken a lot of shit on this subject, especially from our shadenfreude loving Germans.

Reading my somewhat defence on our cooking, you might be a little afraid that your comfortable* world picture (Weltbild) may change forever, but do not worry. Words such as delicious*, succulent*, tasty*, scrumptious*, lip smacking* and mouth watering* are adjectives or metaphors you will not find in any form of combination. Not even used in a dark bubbling soup* of deadly sarcasm*. So please do not waste any time continuing reading.

British cooking at its best is what you would get, you would think, from a Jamie Oliver cooking book. Although I like the guy whose nationality is often questioned, I have only one nice thing to say to him: “Jamie, be careful* with that knife - you might kill yourself one day!”

The blind have eyes in their fingers and the British have their taste buds* up their arse*. The British, it is said, sacrificed* their ambition* to cook in favour* of playing football. Hmmm. Anyway, Gandhi once said: “To a man with an

empty* stomach* food is God” Obviously that was before he visited Great Britain. Now if you are a historian you are probably just beginning to question** the real reason* behind India´s revolt leading to is separation from the British Empire.

So what is all the fuss* about? British cuisine has the world against it and even critics aren´t exactly sure why. Here, I will shed some light* on the subject and let you in on a secret*: British cooking is mainly* based* on boiling water*. We put hard* things in to make them go soft and soft things in to make them go hard. Pretty much like sex you are probably thinking. With ing time, you might want to think or hope* or even pray* that British cooking has evolved* and more or less advanced*, for example, by the invention of the simple application* of a non-sticking frying pan*. Give the British a frying pan and what do they produce? With a slice* of madness*, a pinch* of grounded* hope* mixed in with a few ounces* of thinly* chopped* sarcasm somebody came up with the delightful idea* of frying tomatoes, bacon and sausages in it together. In their supermarket freshness* they are laid into the sizzling* hot and intensely crackling* frying pan where you can watch them instantly shrink* in size and shrivel up*. Pretty much reminding* you of sex my guess would be if you are over 50.

[If you happen to be my professor reading this while coincidentally being over the ripe age of 50, I would just like to let you know that my editor is standing behind me holding a golf club to my head forcing* me to write this. Honest*]

Is that all the British have to serve*? Now, I do not believe in trying to change other people´s views* and I also made you the promise* of not wanting to alter your world view. I will stick to this promise and will only take you gently by the hand and lead you and your willing* imagination* word by word through the following very short paragraph on British dishes:

Cornish pasty, Yorkshire pudding, Cottage and Shepherd´s pie, Lancashire

hotpot, Cumberland Sausages, pork and mice pies, Oxford marmalade, Devonshire Cream, muffins and crumpets, treacle tart and apple dumplings. Shortbread and saffron buns, Silton and Cheddar cheese and caramel cream (preferabley called Crème Bruleé or Crema Catalana)…

Still with me*? Well done. You culture-picking vultures* must have been through hell and back*. Anyway, in our kitchen of the Roter Weg in Freiberg you could eat off the floor* and I am not saying that because it is clean* or anything. No. Actually you need snow boots*, a flame-thrower *and a bit of luck* to walk through our kitchen and survive*. If you are sat there reading this calling me a melodramatic sod*, then you are herewith invited* to share the jungle of adventures our kitchen will definitely throw at you. You will instantly confronted* and overcome* by a scary* new world where life and death walk in hand in hand and also where the term “biodiversity” was first used by humans trying* to describe* the mass variety* of life forms* living here (not as previously assumed* for describing the contents* of FeelX´s underpants*), though biodiversity would be the wrong word and biohazard* would be a more closer concept as the issue of the National Geographic will soon reveal*.

Now, getting more to the point and more or less to my problem. Due to a misunderstanding* with a bottle of wine combined* with an unfortunate *phone call where I invited my girl Bridget around for a nice dinner to somehow try and smooth things over* and bury our problems, I stand before a new problem: I am British and surprisingly can’t cook. The problem being the latter* consequently resulting from the former*, right? You are always right.

Somehow I struck up a deal* with FeelX where I promised not to tell anyone about his addiction* to Smurf* porn and in return he would disinfect the kitchen and prepare* a traditional British meal for us: His very own version of Fish n Chips. Talk about mistakes. Since I know that most of you don’t believe me (damn you!) I have taken a picture. I am telling you. This guy is crazy!

Read through again without the translations and see if you the vocabulary.

Broken Flowers

Freiberg is like the moon. It has no atmosphere. To me that sounds more like a self-fulfilled prophecy. Freiberg, it is said, only has two real parties and they are held in the Rue Erbische and the Roter Weg. That may be true, but I don’t care because we all love and live that kind of talk, don’t we?

The Rue Erbische and the Roter Weg both stage large theme parties twice a year and it has become a fun tradition. I love them. You should come. I sincerely recommend them and I mean this from the bottom of my beer-bottle. These parties are the perfect occasions to thrash out your creativity and construct a monstrous costume in which you can cheerfully look very silly. In your costume you can pull up your curtains and be yourself again or you can grab the opportunity to reinvent yourself, which, if you are me, can become quite a habit. Also, you get to see how other students are living and especially when they are not looking, you can piss into their plant pots (I have heard) and you can also make your own positive contribution towards ’s demographic problem by piercing microscopic holes into your host’s condoms. Naturally, I am only kidding.

Now, you can’t compare these theme parties to the German Fasching (carnival) thing. These guys, now lets be very honest, are a bunch of mindless chimpanzees. Humanity, including the Americans, might one day forgive them for their attempt to inject some pleasure into their lives (sorry guys). One might describe their depressing practice as “humour on prescription”.

Anyway, we are already at the party which had its usual on-going’s. It was while I was scanning the room for somewhere better to scan the room from, when somebody caught my eye. I could see her standing outside on the terrace through the glass door. She stood there alone looking quite innocent and content and as if she was waiting for something. The picture she projected was magnetic and I began to very slowly and very gently float towards her, like one would approach a dangerous buffalo or to get you into a more romantic, sentimental mood - I began to approach her as if I was approaching a beautiful, delicate young deer which was peacefully grazing on an open field…

So, the reality was that moving across the dance floor I was being shaken like a cocktail while looking and feeling like an idiot, but at least a determined one. Finally, I reached her and simply stood there gaping at her. I was so nervous and captured in thought that I actually forgot to say something. “Hello!” I quickly blurted as soon as this information reached the useful part of my brain. Her face exploded into a smile and she replied with a ... well, with a smile. Through her soft curtain of hair she gave me a look that you could have poured on to a waffle, or so I felt.

Moving across, I faced her placing my hand, like hers, on the terrace railing. The smile she wore and her big blue planet eyes made the ice inside me crack and begin to melt. We talked about the party and costumes while I very slowly started to move my hand towards hers. She said something about feeling lonely amongst a crowd and wanting to escape the horrible cigarette smoke. I think. I don’t know. I was too focussed on moving my hand, very slowly and bit by bit closer to hers. She turned to me and before she said something, she paused and her two big blue planets carefully scanned my face. Icebergs inside me began to crash into my sea of emotions and my heart decided to do its own version of Psy ´s Gangnam Style. Then, in a soft voice she asked if I preferred hip-hop or soul. “Soul” I replied without thinking, my eyes falling deeper into hers, ... my hand still moving closer.

It was a still, cold night and we could see each others breath and the trees in the garden around us seemed to stand to attention as if they were holding their own breath, bracing themselves for what was to follow. The sky was clear and the stars were dancing their own little ballet dance and the music in the background suddenly switched to a more romantic theme. It was as if life and nature had come together to create the moment of all moments. I was bursting with excitement and the moment so full of suspense just seemed to be everything. Our eyes connected and with one last push our hands met and fingers overlapped when a sudden rush of warmth came from the opened terrace door accompanied by a wall of noise and the sound of FeelX’s voice squealing “MICKEY!!! ... MICKEEY!!!!”

His alcohol-diluted eyes fired somewhat in every direction, but mine. “Your girl, Bridget,” he shouted, “she is here looking for you and she is so to say pretty pissed off!” (Ok, maybe I forgot to mention that we broke up again). Like watching a tennis ball in game I silently looked at FeelX and looked back at her and then I looked back at FeelX and thanked him through my gritted teeth, playing with the thought of one day happily throwing him from a speeding train.

He left and we were alone again still holding hands when I managed to look back at her. I needed to kiss her. Without hesitation I leaned forward and I kissed her and she kissed me back, which became a long comfortable river of soft kisses and I pulled her closer, lifting her up, feeling her black linen dress slide over the top of my hands is what I wanted to write. Actually, what really happened was that she casually turned her head away deflecting my laser-guided kiss. Her eyes drifted off to some place I couldn’t follow and she peacefully started to talk again... “Your girl, Bridget?” she said, gently shaking her head, smiling at the distance. “So you are just like the rest; a romance junkie looking for a quick fix of romance. The normality’s in your relationship have kicked in and is therefore no longer a thrill to you. So you go out looking for a new beginning born beneath some dazzling firework display you create and worst of all you think you are butter, but you are so margarine.”

She was right. Bang on. What was there more to say? I am nothing but a sweaty block of uncoloured margarine keeping my options open under the somewhat pretense of being a romantic. My only defence was to stare at her hoping she was clever enough to recognise my artless innocence. She let go and turned and scurried off up into the garden and disappeared through the open gate leaving a trail of broken flowers.

Thank you for reading my stories.

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Love Zac Eaton