Dead
Yesterday it was Gabriele's turn to invite Don and Adriana (Canadian consul +wife) and yours truly over to her place. She'd made lovely food - tomato cream soup, Imam Bayildi (i.e. aubergine halves filled with a tomato-onion-garlic-pepper mix) and lemon sorbet. Things went as they always go, Don and Adriana left around midnight, and I stayed on for one more cigarette, which means I got home at 4 a.m. Woke up at 8 and don't feel overly well. Not overly bad either, because I don't have a hangover, but jittery. Since today is obligation-free, it doesn't really matter, because whenever I feel like catching up on sleep, I can do so.
That's the good thing about drinking dry white wine (during summer I don't really drink red): instead of making me sleepy, like red wine does, it keeps me awake. So we talked a lot and listened to music (I can't be grateful enough for having found a friend who not only has the same wicked sense of humour but also enjoys music the same way I do).
Speaking of Gabriele: It's official now, Mal'chik has FIP, and so Sophie has probably got it too (her results ought to arrive tomorrow). Unfortunately there are so many conflicting opinions on this disease - the only thing all the experts agree on is that it's incurable, but as to the rest, there's an ample spectrum going from 'Once it breaks out fully, the cat has a life expectancy of about 8 weeks' to 'With regular cortisone treatment, the cat may live for years and, in some cases, even overcome the disease'. Gabriele's sister, who is a vet, tends towards the latter. So let's hope she's right, and gorgeous Mal'chik and diminutive Sophie will have long, happy lives.
Ze boyz are happy, healthy and naughty as always. Yesterday I just had to take a picture of Cornelius' forepaw and turn it into an icon. He grumbled a bit about Padfoot originally being a dog, but I told him that 1) he didn't have a choice and 2) his lovely nutmeg paws are the quintessential padfeet, and therefore he ought to feel honoured. He seemed content and dropped the topic.
I don't quite feel like writing at the moment, probably it's because book 7 will be out in less than a month, and I really don't want to do any big re-writes. Since AU isn't my cup of tea, I'd feel obliged to do them, and so I prefer to wait and see whether JKR is going to leave some of my favourite charcters for me to play with (*cough*LuciusandHermione*cough*)
As you all know, administrative and consular work is what I do here every day, and - as in all professions where you have to closely deal with people - I come across the strangest people/situations/stories. I'm used to it, and I like it, because that's what makes this job worth doing.
From time to time, however, things happen which particularly amuse/enrage/exasperate me.
A young Turkish woman (age 22) came to the embassy on Monday, claiming she'd lost her passport together with her Austrian residence permit card. We usually question these people very thorougly, because sometimes it turns out they didn't lose but sell those documents. So we questioned her, too, and she admitted that she'd come to Turkey together with her husband, for a 3-week holiday, and that the husband had taken both passport and residence permit and gone back to Austria. The next morning, I received an email from the local authority in Austria, informing me that the husband had told them that 1) his wife has a boyfriend in Turkey, 2) she doesn't want to come back, 3) he wants to have her certificate of registration cancelled, 4) he wants to give back her passport and residence permit because she doesn't need them anymore.
I looked at their Turkish family register, which told the usual story, i.e. both spouses were bon in the same godforsaken, middle-of-nowhere village in Eastern Anatolia, they're cousins, and their marriage was probably arranged. And what does the bastard do? After 3 years of marriage, he decides he doesn't want her anymore and just drops her off in Turkey, goes back to Austria and tries to get rid of her by telling some cock-and-bull story. I asked her whether she was aware that her husband didn't want her back, and she said yes, she knew but wanted to go back. So I asked her whether she had relatives in Austria who'd take her in, in case the husband mistreated her in any way. Fortunately she does have two cousins there, so I issued the visa. But, bloody hell, did that man's behaviour make me mad! You take a wife, even though it's not a love match, and after three years you say, oh I don't quite like her, can I give her back? Bastard, bastard, bastard. And this happens all the time. And politicians are really under the illusion that they're doing a good job integrating immigrants? I don't think so.
It's a delicate topic, I know. And I suppose there's no recipe for 'doing it right'. However, making immigrants understand that their wives are human beings with human rights and not pieces of cattle would be a step in the right direction.
End of rant. I think I'm going to treat myself to some late breakfast now.
That's the good thing about drinking dry white wine (during summer I don't really drink red): instead of making me sleepy, like red wine does, it keeps me awake. So we talked a lot and listened to music (I can't be grateful enough for having found a friend who not only has the same wicked sense of humour but also enjoys music the same way I do).
Speaking of Gabriele: It's official now, Mal'chik has FIP, and so Sophie has probably got it too (her results ought to arrive tomorrow). Unfortunately there are so many conflicting opinions on this disease - the only thing all the experts agree on is that it's incurable, but as to the rest, there's an ample spectrum going from 'Once it breaks out fully, the cat has a life expectancy of about 8 weeks' to 'With regular cortisone treatment, the cat may live for years and, in some cases, even overcome the disease'. Gabriele's sister, who is a vet, tends towards the latter. So let's hope she's right, and gorgeous Mal'chik and diminutive Sophie will have long, happy lives.
Ze boyz are happy, healthy and naughty as always. Yesterday I just had to take a picture of Cornelius' forepaw and turn it into an icon. He grumbled a bit about Padfoot originally being a dog, but I told him that 1) he didn't have a choice and 2) his lovely nutmeg paws are the quintessential padfeet, and therefore he ought to feel honoured. He seemed content and dropped the topic.
I don't quite feel like writing at the moment, probably it's because book 7 will be out in less than a month, and I really don't want to do any big re-writes. Since AU isn't my cup of tea, I'd feel obliged to do them, and so I prefer to wait and see whether JKR is going to leave some of my favourite charcters for me to play with (*cough*LuciusandHermione*cough*)
As you all know, administrative and consular work is what I do here every day, and - as in all professions where you have to closely deal with people - I come across the strangest people/situations/stories. I'm used to it, and I like it, because that's what makes this job worth doing.
From time to time, however, things happen which particularly amuse/enrage/exasperate me.
A young Turkish woman (age 22) came to the embassy on Monday, claiming she'd lost her passport together with her Austrian residence permit card. We usually question these people very thorougly, because sometimes it turns out they didn't lose but sell those documents. So we questioned her, too, and she admitted that she'd come to Turkey together with her husband, for a 3-week holiday, and that the husband had taken both passport and residence permit and gone back to Austria. The next morning, I received an email from the local authority in Austria, informing me that the husband had told them that 1) his wife has a boyfriend in Turkey, 2) she doesn't want to come back, 3) he wants to have her certificate of registration cancelled, 4) he wants to give back her passport and residence permit because she doesn't need them anymore.
I looked at their Turkish family register, which told the usual story, i.e. both spouses were bon in the same godforsaken, middle-of-nowhere village in Eastern Anatolia, they're cousins, and their marriage was probably arranged. And what does the bastard do? After 3 years of marriage, he decides he doesn't want her anymore and just drops her off in Turkey, goes back to Austria and tries to get rid of her by telling some cock-and-bull story. I asked her whether she was aware that her husband didn't want her back, and she said yes, she knew but wanted to go back. So I asked her whether she had relatives in Austria who'd take her in, in case the husband mistreated her in any way. Fortunately she does have two cousins there, so I issued the visa. But, bloody hell, did that man's behaviour make me mad! You take a wife, even though it's not a love match, and after three years you say, oh I don't quite like her, can I give her back? Bastard, bastard, bastard. And this happens all the time. And politicians are really under the illusion that they're doing a good job integrating immigrants? I don't think so.
It's a delicate topic, I know. And I suppose there's no recipe for 'doing it right'. However, making immigrants understand that their wives are human beings with human rights and not pieces of cattle would be a step in the right direction.
End of rant. I think I'm going to treat myself to some late breakfast now.