I went to my first Berlin flea market on Sunday. My friend had wanted to go, and it's been on my list of things to do, but Stevie has never been keen on going, and if I went on my own Im sure he wouldn't be that keen on having to be the one getting up early with the kids on a Sunday morning while I am out buying up presumably things with fleas. I really enjoyed it. It had a different feel from the car boot sales I've been to in England. We took the car (in case of any large purchases) and I felt terribly chuffed with myself at finding a parking space right at the side of the flea market.
It was when I returned to the car to drop off Hamish's new (old) balance bike (for only 10 euros!) that I realised just how I'd managed to get such a great spot. I had parked in the turning lane, just before the traffic lights. I ran into the policeman writing tickets and tried to explain that I hadn't realised and was awfully sorry and maybe he could drop by later when my boyfriend throttled me. He had no sympathy. He tried to frighten me with his gruff German and to be honest he succeeded. The chapter in my German book all about 'darf man' this, and 'darf man nicht' that seemed to be getting read out to me. He told me that I had to show him my drivers license (which of course I didn't have on me) and then he told me I wasn't allowed (that's the darf man nicht bit) to drive the car until I showed him my driving licence. I had to phone the angry boyfriend and get him to cycle down with it.
But strangely enough he was less angry about my poor parking & brand new fine, than he was about my brand new dog. That's horrible. That's so horrible I am not letting you bring that in to the house. It cost 3 euros? Well I guess that's 3 euros we just have to write off. I am never letting you go to one of these things on your own again. I knew you'd come back with a bunch of crap. But that? That's one of the most horrible things I have ever seen.
And so on. But I like it. In fact, I rather love it. I love its face, it's size, its character, its scruffiness, I just like it. I can see him in my living room peeking round from behind a corner of a sofa, just adding a bit of interest to a dark, dull corner near the fireplace. Stevie sees it adding character to the inside of the wheelie bin. Orla loves it. He is as she says her dog. I tried hiding him in her wardrobe to save him from a wheelie bin death...
But Orla asked if he could sit on top of the bookcase and watch over her while she slept in her bed. Of course I obliged. Then the evil daddy went in and took him away and stuck him in a corner. He couldn't understand why Orla was crying hysterically and asked me to go in and see to her. I managed to decipher that Daddy had moved her dog and so I moved it back and told her to keep quiet or daddy would be back in. My plan worked except Stevie wanted to know how I managed to get her settled so quickly. So I told him and now my dog has found his home.