Girl Friday

It turns out that Friday is quite a treat in the Old Fella's Bar; the girl serving could have been a Helmut Newton model (or a model for Barbie, or any of such stereotype). She clomps around in her heals around the old fellas swishing her little skirt and her hair and you get to think: this is how all old peoples homes should be, it adds a sense of encouragement! She has the air of somebody who has said, 'well I never did so well at school, but then.....I grew these legs!' Mariachi music plays, the old men whistle along, she bounces about, I reach for my notebook. She probably has a phd.

Our friend Volker turns up, he's the backslapping type and we know nothing about him at all. He says to Julie (about me) 'better a crazy fool than a lumpard!' gesturing angrily to the outside world. 'I can see you like it in here ~I can smell it' he says, then 'everything is music, even squirrels running up the tree!' and spreads his arms wide (minus one finger from a wood chopping incident) in appreciation of an all too feasible beautiful world. Now Volker has lots of views on how to succeed in life, rather at odds with our just sitting in a bar. He demonstrates his new plan to mass market russian transponders that permanently track the whereabouts of your car.