While I am on the topic of fleeing panic, lemme tell ya about the short aborted plan I had to visit Berlin and Deutsche Welle

way back in August or September, I have all the dates noted in my notebooks, I took to heart what I imagined to be the requests (actually teary pleadings at which he is very good) of Peter Dolle on Deutsche welle.

A shrieky girl in the backyard is shrieking, I assume Peter is a big hit in my compound, unlike Charles Hadlock who was first a convenient Pretext, every balding or fat male pretending to be him and the stupid compound staff thinking the bbc guy was him and all kinds of crap, and all the men around me holding their Penises in his name, thinking it would immediately fill me with wonder and amazement if they made a Penile reference and it has been a big effort to stay normally engaged with Penises given this constant barrage of insulting and lewd assaults and the constant hysteria of the religious talk show hosts about indriya (organs) and about a list of my real or imagined faults (lethargy, lust, anger hahahhahahahhahahahah to name but a few, all of which I seem to have acquired and nurture in magnificent proportions).

But Peter is a big hit with the compound people and so is Brent Goff and about as much, Ben Fajzullin, and I discovered, Jake Tapper and Charlie Gibson and a couple of others I have forgotten also started grinning happily when I mentioned them.

So ya see, I had booked me a room first in the Berlin Hilton and then when I discovered that they had the same Deutsche Welle deficiency as Hamburg, where I fled from in July, having a hysterical experience with the hotel staff, and local shops and hysterical crowds on most of the 7 days I stayed there, again in mostly isolation of the very DW people I had come to see, I unbooked the Hilton and booked in a posh hotel called Adlon Kempinski which had the channel DW and which had history and was posh and was next to the 4 horsies in the Brandenberg Tor, which David Eades and the Beebs had a habit of standing in front of, when they broadcast their stuff on Fifa world cup last year.

Only Terry Martin of DW usually stands in front of the horsies, but still I thought it would be a nice historic footnote and when I booked the reservation, I did not feel as cash challenged as I do now.

However within an hour or so of de booking the Hilton and booking the posh hotel, I got a nasty shock as Tina's gay boyfriend, Jim Ward called her, when he calls it is usually something way crummy and these DW people know him and seem to rely on him, which is creepy and horrendous and she came to me and threw my ipod on the ground, all of which is documented on my other blog, MinnieB9.

The maharashtrian staff at Cottage Industries in Mumbai andt at the hotel he was staying, grokked on to his creepyness pretty early when he visited here in November of 2006, at which time I was still remembering the boyish Jim who had cheerily visited me in Campbell, near San Jose and in San Diego, and not the hysterically nudgy and gesture making and bossy and judgemental person he had become.

I noticed a creepieness in him, where he hid his cell phone and came hysterically looking for it out of his bath tub in Shreveport when he visited me, prolly in 2004, and also when he raced behind me when I suddenly remembered I needed to shut down my computer which had a bad habit of tanking if you left it on too long. And he raced after me as if I was some fugitive who was trying to do a scurrilous deed, instead of a person who was walking up the stairs to her own apartment to do what she said, which was shut down the computer before it tanked during their outward trip.

There are nasty door slams in the compound, I dont know if they are a noisy slap down or a message from my imaginary friends on TV, but they are annoying as hell.

So Tina's hostility grew, and then I realized just wandering off and staying in Germany in an expensive hotel, with the quixotic notion of somehow going to DW offices and asking to have interviews with their personnel, and taking their pictures with my camera, so I could create an audio visual record was stupid as hell.

Especially since some of the German members did not seem quite as enthused and did not appreciate any abridging of my confinement as captive of the Press, (more nasty door slams) and Peter had first indicated that he expected me to go through steps to find him, then hurriedly agreed that I should come and locate them, and Brent indicated that I would find the same hysterical crowds in Berlin that I found in Hamburg.

So it did not look like a good idea at all, neither going to Berlin, nor returning home, so I cancelled the Adlon Booking and booked at a residence inn in New Rochelle, where I had once lived for a brief period, but which I thought would help me to locate a condo or apartment in White Plains or Armonk, so keeping me from having to return home.

I found however, that several people on my arriving plane still expected I could go to Berlin, since I had valid reservations on Virgin Atlantic and then British Airways, and a couple especially of the women instructors on the Cancer Medicine course, including one woman doctor, appropriately called Berliner, glared at me and indicated that they would prefer me to do my duty and go to Berlin.

Since the whole thing was a no go for the reasons above and even more of a no go, with dwindling cash, bad knees and scary chest, I quickly changed my Virgin Atlantic reservations and also truncated my trip to Oct 8.

But as I found, as even the short week progressed, I was panicky even at the thought of New Rochelle, where I had previously lived and the whole specter of locating a limo and paying for it and hobbling around trying to get on Metro North, just took the adventure and quixotic ness out of it and in my panicky state, residing on the couches in my Dad's living room, even with a potentially annoyed sister, seemed far less hazardous and scary and as I say I bolted Boston and returned home.

Some male is yelling Hey from below, I dont know for what, but it is extremely annoying and rude. Apparently my Brit and German friends think I should be sweet and docile and joyous when I get peremptory messages like this, but I had an encounter yesterday and my cumulative rage welled up and I yelled shut up, shut up at Nasr Mohd bawling at me from below, I have no idea for what, but apparently I had a visitor and I managed to shoo him off, becoz of the creepy and dysfunctional way they had of getting under my skin to let me know he was apparently there.