As I once again whether the exaggerated Computerdaddelei my older son was a little angry just now, I asked him whether he would want to compost his brain about alive himself.
The saying of course he did not care.
An hour later, but the unexpected happened.
On the way back from the required purchases we came namely a perhaps fifty years, very neat man, something Indian-looking, over, but in fact carefully in the middle of the street in the tanner's quarter, with a sponge and bucket, its 30 to 60 inches high Buddha statues washed, so reverently as thoroughly, and the thing also made sense, because the not yet washed Buddhas were in fact partly a little whitish cloudy anverfleckt (was The stone or cast from a dull dark blue-greyish tone), looked after them angediehenen body care already much better.
My defeat of having previously not yet recovered completely, I said, almost simultaneously, my son allda boldly matter if he did not, perhaps, be Buddha scrubber, the slightly surprised but still friendly responsive master whether he probably still a pen, er, would set an apprentice who could learn from him. (more ...)
