Ich hasse Präpositionen.
Ulisse wrote me. He’s just come home from das Wachen Festival. Do I want to visit him? Am I alive? Am I engaged to any war criminal? No, I replied, but I was just wondering what he was doing, and I just need new pants, since the ones he gave me are now in rags. He was still full of beer, I asked him to supply more beer, I’m going to visit him.
I finally have a photo of him.
He seems such a bad guy, doesn’t he? Cops ask him questions every time he goes to an airport. But he’s sort of best friend to me. I don’t like “best friend” as a way to describe someone (what’s “best”? We’re human beings, not tanks; we’ve too many facets to decide who’s the best one), but he’s the one who taught me what a “friend” may be.
Yes, I’m going to be on his sofa, drinking beer, he’ll touch my arms and legs and repeat I should do exercises. And him too – his arm is but bigger than my head. Et cetera…
(Damn, I have a Weiß in my fridge. Good news.)
Yes, I need this stuff.
Hope and Glory, Britain 1900-2000 (The Penguin history of Britain):
One traditional motive for looking at history, especially national history, has been for inspiration and encouragement.
Say to Peter Clarke (the author) that “apology” and “history” aren’t exactly the same thing.
… But I enjoy “International Law”.