I’m really anglophile and so much in love with: Britain, Britons, British Airways, Burberry, Bentley, Battersea Park, Big Ben, Branson, Brigitte Bardot – who is not British, indeed. But Buckingham and so on. And please, don’t let us talk about Brexit.
After an endless winter finally it’s spring outside and my ginger head gentleman is back. Every morning from March to October he stands in his amazing garden here in this town somewhere in Good-old-Germany. He walks a few steps around while smoking a cigarette, listening to the birds, watching all the flowers and the green that surrounds him, before he disappears back into his house. Maybe it’s his last half ’n hour before he goes to work. I assume he’s big in business – he must be – as gorgeous as he is. Or maybe he worked all night. As a writer? A painter? Something special! But that’s only speculation and my fantasy while watching him with bright eyes.
His name is Fine Frenzy. Not in reality of course, but that’s what I call him in silence. “Fine” because he’s so neat, gentlemanly and looks so smart and educated. “Frenzy” because he nearly drives me crazy – in a very charming way. My pleasure, Mr. Frenzy!
So he’s standing there in his English garden between the pink Dutch tulips at the lush German grass which must tickle his naked feet. A soft breeze is going through his shiny dark red hair kissed by the sun presented in the best way you can imagine.
The wonderful meadow in this garden and a full-of-wonder-view from my small little flat in the third floor where I stand to watch him. Watching him in silence while he walks around and feels every step on the smooth ground and I’m feeling it too. And when he’s looking at all the beauty around him it starts being more beautiful for me: Blossoms in soft colours, marzipan white und pastel rose and the scent of spring and a new fresh happiness
Randy Andy, my little greyhound girl yawns bored every time I stand beside her to watch Fine-Frenzy-Fantasy from our small window. Yearning for the warmth of the morning sun and for him.
R-Andy is lying on her cosy Biedermeier couch: A small piece of old felicitousness in a light brown wood with rose velvet. And like the piece of furniture she looks lovely and gorgeous at the same time when ever she lies there in her enormous enjoyable pleasure. I pet her silver fur. A beauty and aware of this. She’s the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen, but it’s so easy to love something which belongs to someone you love.
Her gaze is following my stroking hand in a sweet arrogant manner, looking up to my face, back to my dress. I’m wearing PetissaPan and R-Andy is a peculiar animal and really interested in all kind of beautiful stuff. The tunic is a feminin dress, a wraparound in a flowerful frangipani print and a wink from a smiling face. The long soft belt with the print of red roses falls softly to the length of my knees and strikes my thighs on every step. The dress length is short and outside I prefer to wear it with jeans.
“Well R-Andy, know looking quite fabulous in this dress.“ What a pity, my handsome neighbour hasn’t seen me yet. I’m still a hidden observer. Only Randy Andy knows about my secret desire for him and sighs. He amazed me the day he moved in two years ago. Strolling in his light green bath robe through his garden with Burberry checked slippers on his feet. His ritual. Thank God it’s springtime! Gosh, asking me out for a drink or two would be fine, Frenzy.