Last part of latest pseudo poetic outburst

[puddingdale]

As my last poem ended up in highly enlightening discussions bordering on identitiy crisis (on my part), and as it also gave me the most comments ever, it is your own fault that you will get another entry of that sort ;)
But rejoice: this time I will make much simpler confessions, I am sure there isn't a lot to discuss with those two... but who knows

Comments

[ispellit]

The first goes for Hamburg too. You'll get toast, eggs and tomatoes as well and I can chatter, chatter, chatter - chatterbox me. :)

As for the second: Is it an obvious expression or probably hidden a bit too well?

[puddingdale]

Yum! I am sure you would make a great landlady! When does your B&B open?

To the second:
It is quite obvious to me
but I guess few will agree.
:)

[ispellit]

As it stands, my B&B will not be opened until next year, I'm sorry.

It may be obvious to you
though
others haven't got a clue.
:)

[puddingdale]

I can wait *lol*

Well rhymed, sistah.

What clue should others hold,
my meaning's not that bold.
As soon as they are pissed,
they might still get the gist.

;)

[me_pirateship]

Brilliant as usual!!!!

During my year as a German assistant I completely wore out a pair of Doc Marten's (!!!)... so the first poem exactly captures my weekends - except for the missing landlady as I had my own filthy little hole of a damp basement room, not unlike the room P.L. O'Hara returns to in "An Awfully Big Adventure" - though not in Liverpool but in Hounslow. The rest of the house was infested with... other students. *LOL* And rats. So I kept walking the streets of London in order not to spend too much time inside.

Secons poem: Short. Concise. Expressive. (My day was the same... *LOL* Or aren't you talking of our profession?) :-)

[puddingdale]

Aaaah, I owned some Doc Marten's bacjk then as well. They were less good for my feet than the adverts would have it *lol*
Back then my "landlady" did nothing but take my money - no chattering or breakfast either. The room wasn't damp but so small, I could only store things on top of each other. Much like at the moment with all the boxes...
Still, it was a grand time - and that room really made me go out a lot - and meet people - and do line dancing *rofl*

Hey, I hadn't intended the second poem as a statement on our profession - nor on my mood. But it works well that way. I like it. Thanks for that new insight. I know the tiny poem applies to a lot of situations.

[me_pirateship]

Where exactly was that room? (North London, wasn't it?)

*LOL* - Mine was huge (the whole basement of one half of a semi-detached suburbian house built in 1890, about 30 square metres!). But is was so damp my shoes, mattress and books got moldy... and it was freezing cold in winter, because the only window was broken. In the room, there was no electricity, I had to pull the cable for my lamp through the door. The bathtub was rusty and leaking and the water didn't get warm. There were four of us and the Docs were my only pair of shoes... *ROFL*... actually, they were our only pair of shoes... we had to take turn leaving the house.... I'm getting carried away here... *LOL*. I'm Franconian, forgive me... no, wait,
Goodness, I've turned into a "Yorkshirewoman". *Sucking on a damp rat* (But now I'm a StRin z.A, and all will turn out well. *LOL*)

*A house?? You were lucky to have a HOUSE! We used to live in one room, twenty-six of us, no furniture and half of the floor was missing...*

[puddingdale]

That was in Hertford, about 40 train minutes from London.
Your accomodation at least was what was considered a typical British room *g* Yorkshirewoman indeed. It's a miracle you still must have liked it ;)