lettuce green cardigan

003. your blogger’s flatmate, a jewish andorran postgrad named ofra haza (yes, like the singer), got home excited a couple of nights ago.

ofra: ‘I heard there’s a crafts market in the arts centre!!’
alfredo: ‘yes, indeed’
ofra: ‘have you been? how is it?’
alfredo: ‘yes I’ve been, it’s pretty interesting.’
ofra: ‘I must go there tomorrow.’
alfredo: ‘yeah.’

the following day, meeting up for coffee and an overly expensive mushroom fricassée at a crowded arts centre café at lunchtime, your blogger chats away with sedaka and a couple others.

other #1: ‘the christmas market this year is rather sad…’
sedaka: ‘why would you say that? have you no christmas spirit whatsoever?’
other #1: ‘well, just look at what’s on show!’
alfredo: ‘actually I think there are some nifty things here… the refuse wood pieces for instance…”
other #2 (ironic): ‘… the cardigans…!’ (smiles)
sedaka: ‘Omg – those cardigans are sooo-o-o awful!’
[everyone laughs stupid, people in neighbouring table staring curiously]

yours truly got home that night, when ofra was having a coffee with her icelandic friend, ashley.

ofra: ‘so, I stopped by the arts centre today…’
ashley (who does not attend aber uni): ‘what’s up there?’
alfredo: ‘it’s a christmas market of sorts. quite opportunistic actually.’
ashley: ‘but it’s not even halloween yet…’
alfredo: ‘bullseye!’
ofra: ‘anyway, I got myself a nice cardigan’ (distressed) but then when I came home and looked myself in the mirror, I noticed the shoulders were lifted…’
ashley: ‘was there not a mirror there?’
ofra: ‘no’
alfredo: ‘let’s see it, c’mon…!’

ofra runs up the stairs and stomps back down 30 seconds later. the vision was one of hades’ underworld. the lettuce green cardigan – or luminescent green, really! – covered her all the way down to the knees, had lifted shoulders, and could easily fit two ofras inside.

ofra: ‘so, what do you think?’
alfredo: ‘oh-my-god!’
ashley: ‘hmm… very nice.’
ofra: ‘no, really, what do you think?’
alfredo: ‘take that out, please take that out it’s hurting my eyes.’
ashley: ‘ofra, that’s so ugly!’
ofra: ‘you think?’
ashley+alfredo: ‘yes!’

later that night, your deKruiff wrote an e-mail to sedaka and mentioned that one of the arts centre’s cardigans had made its way to the house, via ofra’s hand. his laconic reply was:

‘well somebody must buy them – and now we know who!’

ofra returned the cardigan the following day, and it will probably go back to the town of cardigan, another welsh middle-of-nowhere in ceredigion county.