der Bauberzerg

 der Bauberzerg

Preface

No, I did not pinch Thomas Mann’s choice of name for one of his most famous novels. I adapted it by assigning to it a wee swap. In computer science terms, it’s a mini three-way swap, aka Trinity Swap (by the way, Alan Turing said no; so actually I made this bit up just to give Trinity another poke, hopefully neither in the eye or up the nostrils). 

To complete a three-way swap, you need another bit of space just big enough to accommodate one letter. You then take the ‘Z’, de-capitalise it, put it in the little container (let’s call it Container C because why not), then you take and capitalise the letter ‘b’ (now ‘B’) and put it in the head of the queue where ‘Z’ (now ‘z’) has left, and lastly, you take ‘B’ from container C and put it in the midst of the queue where ‘z’ has left. 

Congratulations, now you’ve managed to complete a three-way swap. Feel free to chuck container C down the bin, or re-initialise it aka return it to the database to save precious memory. 

If the above talk put you off, send you to a coma, or by any means compromised your health either mental or physical, please do not hesitate to seek help. Staff at Barbaret Bobin are the best. All of them. Both nurses and security officers. My hat off to you all. 

I’m the worst when it comes to preface. H.O.Sturgis would have done a much neater job by quoting a poem. Of everyone that I know of that had been to Trinity, Sturgis is the only one I admired right from the beginning, before I even wikipedia-ed him and discovered he was actually from Trinity. He only wrote three novels his entire life. I have read but two, and let me put it this way. Sturgis did not write prose; he wrote poem. His sentences are poetry disguised as prose. They serenade, whisper, rhyme and shimmer, like some pebbles down a shallow yet translucent stream. You could reach out to attempt to grab them, but once you do, you disturb the peace of the water and the pace of the stream, and you lose that sense of mystical wellbeing we call beauty. 

The likes of Sturgis could preface a novel with a line of poetry. I can’t. I simply do not possess the right type or amount of brains required. I am verbally incontinent on a permanent basis, so my preface itself is an essay, not really a preface. I have just pre-essay-ed my essay with an essay. Now that’s what I call off-putting. 

Here comes the essay.

der Bauberzerg

Barbaret Bobin is a sanitarium, or should we call it a respite centre just to let the Latin language have a break and let her return to her eternal slumber. I, being naughty as well as nasty, choose to use the word sanitarium, so here we go.  

Barbaret Bobin’s real name is, of course, not Barbaret Bobin, any more than Cambradelaide’s name is, well, Cambradelaide. It’s a twist on the real thing for decency’s sake, not so much for privacy, though. 

By the way, Barbaret reminds me of Barbara, and Barbara reminds me of a tongue twister on Barbara, cake, dwarves, and the barbers. Here it goes: 

Rharbarberbarbara 

In einem kleinen Dorf wohnte einst ein Mädchen mit dem Namen Barbara. Barbara war in der ganzen Gegend für ihren ausgezeichneten Rhabarberkuchen bekannt. 

Da jeder so gerne Barbaras Rhabarberkuchen aß, nannte man sie Rhabarberbarbara. Rhabarberbarbara merkte bald,

dass sie mit ihrem Rhabarberkuchen Geld verdienen könnte.

Daher eröffnete sie eine Bar: die Rhabarberbarbarabar.

I’m not going to post the whole thing in case someone passes out. Whole thing can be found here: https://www.oezeps.at/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/Rabarberbarara.pdf

Anyway, Barbaret Bobin Centre is a lovely place. It’s part of the Southerner’s Hospital here in Cambradelaide, and yet it’s also very much a little creche on its own. I had the misfortune or pleasure (the two sometimes do go hand in hand) of having stayed here for around a fortnight covering both sides of Christmas, end of last year. The stay itself wasn’t entirely pleasant; as with any Christmas getaways, there’s surprise, resentment, rebellion, and then, resilience. I got the whole lot; apart from surprise, I got all Rs. Not the mediaeval or Victorian three Rs on childhood education, no. Mine is entirely different despite forming yet another trinity. 

Trinity, we all know you are one of the greatest colleges that a certain group of Cam river-based old crumbly buildings would ever have the honour of owning, so please, dear Trinity, please just leave people alone. People want to get a move on with their lives, not having you up close in their faces all the time. 

I might break this essay into several chapters and refuse to admit it’s very likely going to turn into a novella. I would like to introduce to you all (with privacy and confidentiality in mind) some of the more memorable moments during my stay as well as some of the more interesting characters, ward mates and staff alike, and let this be a lovely little memento dedicated to the wonderful little creche that is Barbaret Bobin Centre, Cambradelaide.