Natural Suckage

Whenever some natural disaster strikes a place where I’ve been before, there’s always a hint of a personal tragedy for me.  (I don’t think I’m any different from most people, of course, but there it is.)

Such is the case with Ahrweiler in Germany, which lies on the banks of the Ahr River right before it empties into the Rhine at Remagen, and it’s a town that has many happy memories for me.

I remember that when I was there, about a dozen years ago, I thought that I could easily live in Ahrweiler — the town is gorgeous (although come the summer every year it floods, only with tourists), but the scenery everywhere you look is just spectacular.

The Romans thought so too:  the mountainsides are festooned with grapevines dating back to those days, and there’s a large Roman villa outside the town that was only discovered a year or so before I got there.

Some pics I took when I was there:

And the town is shot through with drainage canals and pipes: 

…which didn’t seem to help much.

One would think that Ahrweiler’s proximity to the Rhine outlet would spare the town from flooding — especially as the town itself is ringed by a wall dating back to medieval times or earlier:

…but that didn’t happen this time:

The people of Ahrweiler received no warning of the impending crashing waves.

Leonie from Ahrweiler had the terrifying experience of watching the water destroy the city.  At about 11pm Leonie and her family had gone to bed, but before falling asleep she was disturbed by loud noises outside their home.

The electricity had gone out and it was pitch black. The only way they could see was with candles and flashlights.

She looked outside to notice that there was a lot of water running down the street, but didn’t realise the severity of the situation until the water level started to rise to her doorstep.  She woke up her mother and grandfather and they started to bring food and water upstairs.  However, the nightmare had just begun – a massive wave burst through the front door, obliterating everything in its wake.

I should point out that Ahrweiler lies at the very foot of the Ahr Valley, which starts way up in the Eifel Mountains.  It’s a steep drop from up there to the Rhine Valley below:

I hurt when I think about it.

Studying Genius

I’ve studied music, sung it, played it and pretty much been into it ever since I could walk.

But I never got close to figuring out where Jeff Beck was going, ever.  I could only listen, marvel and appreciate the man’s endless artistry and talent.  And now he’s gone, leaving only his body of work for us to enjoy.

Probably my favorite Beck was his guitar on buddy Rod Stewart’s People Get Ready.  Haunting, melodic, beautiful and perfectly suited to the emotion of the gospel hymn, Beck’s soaring riffs turned it from lovely to sublime.

Yeah, sublime — that’s the word I was looking for.  Once again, the music world has lost just one more thing of beauty, and the world is a little less lovely.

Damn it, I can’t even write a proper obituary about the man and his music.

R.I.P.  Jeff.

Day Of Sadness

With the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, I mourn her death with all my Brit Readers.  We shall not see her like again.

If any non-Brits want to get funny in Comments, please don’t.  Remember that for the first seven years of my life, she was my Queen too.

The world will be a much worse place with both her and Philip gone.

R.I.P.

Death By Covid

You know, it’s one thing when Olde Pharttes like me are whacked by the Rona;  but this is just horrible:

Britain’s oldest pub has called time after more than 1,000 years
— due to the Covid pandemic

Ale was first served at Ye Olde Fighting Cocks in 793 but sadly the popular boozer has been unable to withstand the struggles of the past two years.
The pub in St Albans, Herts, has survived wars, plagues and previous economic crises. But landlord Christo Tofalli said he was walking away because the pandemic had been “devastating”.
He added: “I have tried everything to keep this pub going. However, the past two years have defeated all of us who have been trying our hardest to ensure the pub could continue. It goes without saying I am heartbroken.”
The much-loved landlord, who has run the venue for a decade, has been inundated with messages of support from around the world since his company went into administration.

“Messages of support?”  What about financial support?

Here’s yet another reason I would like to win a huge lottery:  I’d buy The Fighting Cocks (was there ever a name better chosen to get the hippies upset?), run it at a loss until business picked back up, and then give it back to the owner, who seems to be more than a decent sort.

And don’t talk to me about having the National fucking Trust step in to save this historic building.  First thing these wokist twats would do is change the name (because animal croolty), and then ban the sale of booze on the property.  Fuckers.

No, the Brits need to get behind this most excellent cause, with the rallying cry of

It deserves no less.