{"id":54768,"date":"2025-07-12T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2025-07-12T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54768"},"modified":"2025-10-17T20:17:21","modified_gmt":"2025-10-17T19:17:21","slug":"the-boy-who-got-it-both-ends","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/?p=54768","title":{"rendered":"The Boy Who Got it Both Ends"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/a>
Not the actual donkey<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Sunday Overrun: When the thing you plan on doing\u2019s outdone by the doing thing you thought you\u2019d finish sooner. The Mathematician and I set down coffee cups, book, and stitching needle and stare out of the window. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s nearly lunch,\u201d I say. \u201cHow \u2018bout we eat first, then<\/i> go out. You know, otherwise we\u2019ll be out an hour, we\u2019ll get hungry\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll get hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRight, and we\u2019ll be looking for a place to eat when we\u2019ve good food here at home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine. But no watching Buffy while we eat \u2014 just music. I don\u2019t want to get stuck in the chair.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAgreed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook at the legs on that!\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

A swift lunch later, we\u2019re off out to the Plei\u00dfe. We\u2019d normally cycle farther, take in a couple of lakes, but The Mathematician\u2019s bike\u2019s decided that pedals are pass\u00e9 and taken to casually spitting its crank-arm nut. So we\u2019re going \u00e0 pied, French for slow.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s pleasantly warm in the shadows, unpleasantly not in the sun. We walk where the high houses hide us, find trees where they can\u2019t. An old coach creaks onto the Schleu\u00dfiger Weg and soils the underpass. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGod,\u201d says The Mathematician, covering her mouth and nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMore like Satan,\u201d I say, wondering how long I can hold my breath(*).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The air\u2019s better by the river, sweetened by the work of middle-aged rowers churning southwards to the rhythmic call of a coxswain. I\u2019m quietly impressed. When we reach the Biergarten, I\u2019m more vocally so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, look, it\u2019s open,\u201d I say, noting all the jolly sorts in shades and shorts. \u201cLots of trees in there. Lots of tables, chairs … a view of the river (kind of).\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Mathematician\u2019s tempted. I\u2019ve a rucksack with two flasks of water, but there\u2019s something perversely appealing about paying for what you already have, albeit goldener and gassy. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFine. But I want to go to the cherry man first.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The cherry man. He sits most of the year in the shade of a nearby linden, close to the bridge(**), selling apples. When summer comes, he swaps his stock for tasty, dark-red joy balls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDeal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, you must<\/i> be here for cherries,\u201d he says as he sees us approach.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I smile. It\u2019s nice to be read.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow long will you sell these for?\u201d asks The Mathematician as he upends a tray into a blue plastic bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, a good few weeks yet, I think. Don\u2019t worry. But don\u2019t wait too long,\u201d he winks. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe won\u2019t,\u201d I say, paying him with a note that matches the bag. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cherry-laden, we turn around and walk past the racks of red kayaks to the Biergarten. We pass the small play area with slide and plastic donkey-on-a-spring and, seeing plenty of tables free, both go up to the bar. I smell fresh chips in yesterday\u2019s oil and see cakes in need of a home. There\u2019s a card advertising the Drink of the Day: Yeast Smoothy. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey mean beer, right?\u201d says The Mathematician, noticing it. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I smile. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monk\u2019s lubricant in hand, I retire with TM and her Radler to one, then another, then a third table, this last beyond the lines of cigarette smoke, beneath something tall and leafy. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How nice it is to watch the clouds go by. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLook at the legs on that!\u201d says The Mathematician, drawing my attention. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I see where she\u2019s pointing and whistle. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thirty flies swarm over a slug-sized turd. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A family of four comes in, young boy in a baseball cap leading. He slows by The Mathematician, seemingly fascinated by the way she\u2019s sitting. The parents look around for a free table (many remain) and whilst they do, cap-boy drifts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWow,\u201d I say again. He\u2019s stepped with one sandalled foot squarely in the shit. \u201cHow did he miss that? It\u2019s not like it\u2019s hidden.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Mathematician shakes her head, bemused. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the family decide on the nearest table, they steer cap-boy away, who takes the turd with him in its entirety. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe it was<\/i> a slug,\u201d I say. \u201cI mean, there\u2019s nothing left on the ground.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We watch his foot as he walks, watch the black mass rise and fall. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhatever it is, I wouldn\u2019t want it on my shoe,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\u2019s his cap still on?\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Not too much time passes before cap-boy\u2019s bored. Not being able to partake in the liquid laughs of his parents, he wanders off to the donkey and hops on. He gets some motion going, back and forth, back and forth, until the burro\u2019s a bronco, straining on its spring. Soon there\u2019s a bop<\/i><\/b>, bop<\/i><\/b>, bop<\/i><\/b>. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan you hear that?\u201d The Mathematician says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nod. \u201cIt\u2019s the donkey,\u201d I say, pointing behind her. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe donkey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turns and sees cap-boy riding so wildly, he’s smacking the mule\u2019s head into the mud with each swing forwards. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow\u2019s his cap still on?\u201d she wonders aloud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not all,\u201d I say, telling her I watched him wander over. \u201cHe\u2019s a sticky kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cap-boy … leaves the saddle to give donkey dunking a try.<\/p><\/blockquote><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Seems things don\u2019t just attach themselves to him, they gather about. Another two boys head over, drawn to the percussive violence. They devise a game: pull the donkey\u2019s head down to the ground, then release it and see if the rider can hold on. Soon they\u2019re all laughing. Cap-boy, already having ridden long and hard, leaves the saddle to give donkey dunking a try. But the new rider\u2019s not up for it and smacks cap-boy upside the head. (The cap stays on.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The cowboy\u2019s response? He walks off, crying. The other two play on. He wanders back to his parents, past our table. The Mathematician looks at me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s still there!\u201d she says, in her best stage whisper. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the parents clear their empties and make space, we decide to head off. Not into the sunset \u2014 it\u2019s not that kind of movie and we\u2019ve not been sat that long \u2014 but home, past Clara\u2019s flower gardens and The Round where the Peanut People(***) pass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHoly shit, it\u2019s hot!\u201d I say, as we step into the sun. \u201cIt\u2019s burning my back!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I wonder how cap-boy sat in that sun-baked, plastic saddle. Maybe he’s not so thin-skinned after all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(*) Not long enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(**) By the <\/i>bridge I mean the nearest to the Biergarten. There are several on this stretch of the river alone. <\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

(***) I mention the Peanut People here<\/a> <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A river walk, a drink, and a donkey wrangler. Nothing’s off the table in Leipzig’s wild west.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":54769,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[213],"tags":[248,214,249,209,250],"class_list":{"0":"post-54768","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-cf","8":"tag-biergarten","9":"tag-city-fables","10":"tag-donkey","11":"tag-leipzig","12":"tag-river"},"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54768","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=54768"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54768\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":54895,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/54768\/revisions\/54895"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/54769"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=54768"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=54768"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/urbanmole.is\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=54768"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}