You seem to have a Sylt infection.

Well. Here we are. I seem to write that far too often. News news. Well. (un)Luckily for you I’ve had a few blog worthy experiences between last night and this afternoon. After a week and a half of living at the circus, (thanks to those of you who cared to notice by the way) I find myself with less exciting news than well one would seem, living at a circus and all. So here’s the scoop. Besides the fact that I could seriously indulge in some sort of icy creamy substance at the moment. Weather report by the way. I’m feeling a little bit ADD in terms of writing as you’ll soon notice. Weather report! Who doesn’t love to talk about the weather? I know you do. It’s funny how it’s the worst excuse for a conversation we have. That, and how long my hair is. And Brittney spears. But more on her later.

Okay. So the first week I was here, we had torrential downpours everyday. Cold, torrential downpours with thunder, and rain so loud it wakes everyone up in the middle of the night threatening to claw through the roof and instead actually just pooling up so much it finds the cracks and slowly drips a few inches away from your head as you sleep causing you to wake up in a mildly damp pond of ceiling/roof whatever rainwater. So we moved luckily. We as in myself and the three girls I’m sleeping with. Well, not sleeping with in…umm…sleeping with like sleeping in the same room together, not together, together…(unfortunately). Anyways! These storms were so extraordinary that when you look out the window, there is no longer rain, it’s more or less just all water falling from the sky. Well that’s what rain is. Obviously. What I’m talking about is the effect of standing under a swimming pool. Alright, so this swimming pool is suspended, and you happen to be under it as whatever was holding all that water up decides to disappear. This was not rain, this was the North Sea being relocated. Seriously. I’ve never witnessed something like this before. This was a very regular occurrence and I was starting to think that I had just moved to an island for the summer where I will be wearing my winter jacket for the entire duration. Today however, it’s decided to be +35. Nice breeze, blue sky, cloudless. Of course the sky is blue, irrelevant…would it change colours on an island of northern Germany? Well...actually…

Okay. So what else. Actually, what spurred me to write in the first place was my Friday night. Last night actually. Well, think of Germany. Not large lederhosen wearing, accordion playing men with absurd facial hair drinking beer and bratwurst, but rather the geographical blob that is the Germany. Now Germany, go up to the very top and you’ll meet the Danish border (you learn something new everyday) Under this border, about an hour away on the coast you have chunk of “anchor shaped” land suspended in the North Sea, completely and utterly self obsessed, to nearly a fetish but I’ll get to that later. Okay so on this tiny, I mean, miniature chunk of land, one can drive from the top to the bottom in less than an hour- that kind of tiny. On this flea of geography, there is the main village of Westerland, outside of Westerland is another village, Wenningstedt beside that village is where I live. Today however there was some sort of deal happening in the village outside the village. For those who are familiar with the shanty of Lumby, you may relate to this. There was a yearly summer event in the villiage of Wenningstedt today, in which I was actually asked to perform in with the circus, and would have been happy to do so if they had not asked me to do so last night. Anyways. This was worse than Vernon. Worse as in only one bad waterclour stand to look at instead of four, and the usual gem collectors, bored elderly making crafts out of bizarre things etc etc. It was quite the party. A party nearly half a block long. A party with the average age or 60, sort of like where I went last night, but we’ll get to that. I did however learn some fun facts while looking Wenningstedt up on good ol’ wikipedia though. Wenningstedt is known for the red cliff and the Denghoog stone grave, a walk-in grave made of huge stone walls from 3000 BC (fun fact, I can see the Denghoog from the door of my trailer). Sylt (the island), which occupies an area of 38 square miles (99 square km), is connected by rail with the mainland via the 7-mile- (11-km-) long Hindenburgdamm (causeway). A magnificent beach extends along the smooth west coast, where the Red Cliffs of glacial moraine rise to nearly 100 feet (30 metres). The island is dotted with prehistoric megalithic tombs and other structures. Blah blah blah, also symptoms include being suffocated in Sylts self absorption, trampled by massive, looming, obnoxious and absentminded tourists, drowned in overpriced everything, sneezing, painting your white picket fences whiter once a week and joining a circus. Funny how things work out eh? Prehistoric megalithic tombs don’t have to eat the same bean salad for lunch everyday at least. I’ll be so full of absurd glee when I’m able to cook for myself once again…food with real flavours and all sorts of crazy things.

So it turns out that you’re going to have to wait like the patient little audience that you are for the next installment on the Friday night to remember due to my battery doing its little flashing dance thing. Ta~