The market

Recently, a rather naughty person transformed the 3 ft tall letters forming the signage to the section L, U and T of the university. An additional three foot tall letter S was cut out from black card board and somehow attached to this wall location. The letter had been removed the other day - it could mislead visitors as section S is located further down. I should add a photo of this and put in here. See, this is the kind of exciting stuff that happens around here.
Well, I discovered a market in Bielefeld. They do sell like fresh veg there! So, find me there early Saturdays. Though, despite having stuff on offer they haven't lost their special personal warmth. I asked for floury potatoes and frisée. The response were rants on how I could possibly go about and ask for stuff like that on a warm and sunny day. Apparently, I had no clue what I did and hence, had to be told. This involved farmers, how and where they grow and after all, people don't buy frisée not to mention floury potatoes. From personal interest, what do people do with their waxy potatoes in this country? Chips are deemed to be the most unhealthy thing. And what else could there be?
My journey went on to the cheese stall. Actually, that is a normal place. They do cheeses of different countries, all sorts of makes from solid to creamy, old and young, with lots of stuff on them or just little. I know that because a group of three ladies was being served right in front of me. They tried almost everything but bought only little. More interestingly, there was a man with the second assistant buying large amounts of stuff. Like 60 oz of each sort. Also, he engaged the lady who owns the stall in a conversation about their goats. How much milk they produce, how many they had, how many nannies a buck could serve (40) and so on. During these conversations, the sunshine was taken over by clouds, a shower started and stopped again, and more sunshine returned. Finally, I got some cheddar (semi mature), some Le Jersy (no, this is not a typo) and some Italian stuff whose name I always forget.
Earlier that week, I handed my suit to the dry cleaners (actually a single little lady). On my collection, she tried wrapping it in some sort of plastic bag using sort of a primitive hanger with rolls of bags attached. Having failed her initial two attempts and completing the task with a long sigh, she looked at me (or shall I say scanned me top to bottom and up again) and looked at the suit. From her assessment, she concluded "You look different. Are you French?" My surprise made her explain, that it is alright to look different these days. There is a growing number of people looking different these days. My enquiry revealed the issue at hand were my proportions (or the size of my suit that gave her such a hard time). I'd look smaller (i.e. shorter, less wide, less long), but fiddling around with the thing she found, I was less smaller than her initial assessment. Just I appear to be more less than I am actually less. Nevertheless, less. I am not sure I am reproducing this properly.
Having been confronted with all these Olympic events, I have to spread some random fact, right? So, here we go. The winners of the 1896 Olympic games received a silver medal, an olive branch and a diploma. There was bronze for second place and nothing for thirds. Tug of war was recognised as an Olympic sport from 1900 to 1920. The highlight of the 1896 games was the marathon won by the local boy Spyridon Louis. According to myth, he figured that there was a competition and started spontaneously-ish. During the race, he stopped by the local in Pikermi and had a glass of wine (or an Orange and a Cognac). He quizzed the people on how much ahead his competitors were. Once being presented with the facts, he declared he would catch up and win the race, so he did.