by When I got home last night there was a large envelope propped up against my letterbox that had come from Egelsbach in Germany, a stone’s throw from Frankfurt Airport if Google Maps is to be believed. Only it wasn’t for me. It was for a (presumably) young woman with the very common German surname Müller. I live at 2/19 Kowhai Street, i.e. the second flat of number 19. (My address isn’t exactly that but it might as well be.) In New Zealand they read 2/19 as “two bar nineteen” which struck me as a little weird the first time I heard it. I’d always called the / symbol a slash, or before web addresses became part of everyday life, a stroke. I never would have thought of calling it a bar. The sender, who I think was Miss Müller’s mother, had written the number 219 with a continental-style one which started with a long diagonal stroke. The postman took the diagonal stroke to be a slash (or “bar”) and the envelope, which contained pictures, ended up with me. I also noted that her mum had written her own surname as Müller with the umlaut (as a horizontal line) but her daughter’s name as Mueller. I trundled off down the road all the way to number 219 and sure enough Fräulein Müller lived there. I guess she was lucky that I’d lived in France where people do funny ones and crossed sevens. (I started writing crossed sevens when I lived there because I had to sit maths exams, and I still do them that way now. My ones are just a straight line though.) By the way, the word “mullered” was (is?) used in the UK to mean either what “munted” does in New Zealand, or extremely drunk.
This morning’s dullness and half-arsed but persistent rain reminded me of England. I met up with a friend at lunchtime (the last time I’ll see him before I go away − it’s getting like that now) and we stood in the cold in Civic Square for part of the low-key but worthwhile anti-TPP rally. Grant Robertson and some other politicians spoke. It’s a shame Robertson, my local MP, didn’t become Labour leader, but it’s good that he has the time and energy to attend events like this. (I know, his sexual orientation would make him less electable in certain parts of the country, even in 2016.) He was probably the most eloquent speaker there.
I had somebody (the sixth person or group) to look at my flat earlier this morning. It helps if I’m there because I can answer questions and build a some kind of rapport (even I can). I expected this place to be snapped up in no time, so the fact that it hasn’t been after nearly a month and that initial frenzy on Trade Me is a bit frustrating. The only people who were keen wanted it for too long and I had nagging doubts about them anyway.
I might − shock, horror − join Facebook as a way of keeping in touch with people when I’m away. If I do join the dark side it’ll only be to post photos and occasional updates of what I’ve been up to.
Update: I have just created a new Facebook account and man it’s creepy. How does their algorithm know that I worked with this person four years ago, and she might, just might, have a connection with Romania? How does it know that I went to an open home five years ago and that guy showed me around? How come it picked him and none of the other real estate agents I dealt with? What made it think that I’d want to “friend” him all these years later? (Your algorithm stuffed up there, didn’t it?) I logged off after five minutes but my creepometer had already hit 9 by then. If Fräulein Müller pops up the next time I visit Facebook…
