Adam Fletchers – The Zig

Pass me the ideology

// May 24th, 2010 // Comments // cultural differences

I’m not a principled man, its a topic that’s come up repeatedly between Annett and I as in contrast she’s a principal for every occasion, usually one that stops us doing what I want to do like buying a McFlurry or shopping in any store that contains the word discount in its name. Generally its one of the things I like most about her, she cares deeply about, well, everything and that encourages me to do the same and focus less on myself. It can also be annoying though and somewhat of a blocker to normal everyday living:

Adam: “we need toothpaste”
Annett: “well don’t buy one from x, they’re a minority shareholder in y who are raping the third world and oppressing women in uganda and such places, I will not have their products in our bathroom”
“can I buy this one then?”
“is it fair trade? From a co-op farm run by of female tibetan refugees?”
“jesus its just toothpaste”
“yeah well its easy for you don’t have any principals, you’re a capitalist pig”
“I do have principals, its just that they can be bought very cheaply, like toothpaste if you’ll just let me.”

On May 1st we attended the anti-capitalism rally here in Berlin. For readers in the UK I might need to stop here to point out that there are (allegedly) some alternatives to capitalism. I know, baffling. No-one ever thought to inform us! Growing up in the UK I don’t remember there ever even being a discussion about it, I don’t even remember using the word capitalism, there was no need for the word since there was nothing to contrast it to, without night, day is not really day anymore its just default right? I guess now the fact that the country is almost completely bankrupt and people don’t want to play with it anymore, some healthy debate would have done us some good but I digress and we had a good run while it lasted and we’ve all those pretty shoes and George Foreman grills and stuff so it was probably worth it in the end right?

Anyway, we attended the rally. Annett would join a rally for anyone, if red squirrels organized a rally to highlight their plight at the hands (do what squirrels have count as hands?) of the more aggressive grey squirrel, she’d be there with her whistle, nuts and Che Guevara t-shirt doing her bit. Okay so I’m exaggerating there, she doesn’t own a Che Guevara t-shirt.

So we joined, I was interested to here their proposals, unfortunately they didn’t end up really having any other than this is bad, that is bad etc etc. Afterwards we got caught in a mini riot between protesters and the police which was very entertaining and exciting and could be a topic of a whole other post.

I mention these anecdotes because while before I thought I was pretty principal-less, not really critical of anything, just a happy citizen of my own bubble world, it turns out I was wrong. I had some Hipstery related speaking gigs this month. It’s always fun to get out on the road and talk about the Hipstery, firstly because I’m really passionate about it and secondly because the reactions to it are so entertaining. It’s a really polarizing services, for some the click is instant and they’ll rush straight off to the corner and try it out, for others you’ll get a response the same as if you walked over to inform them you believe the world is flat or that jesus is a chocolate leprechaun.  That’s stupid, just stupid either they, or just their body language will say.

One of the conferences was in London and one here in Berlin at the Next Conference. In the audience was a guy from Spiegel Online whom it did seem to click with (the rest of the audience we’re more of the chocolate leprechaun disposition). We did an interview and it turns out Spiegel is one of the biggest sites here in Germany I was later informed. The informing didn’t stop there, for in the interview they listed me as not only an Internet Provocateur, but also a Consumption Critic! Well I never, who’d have known! Maybe I’m not just a capitalist pig after all…

I think Matthaus summarised it best when he said “You’re not really accepted here in East Germany until you’re a recognized critic of something. Congratulations,  you made it.”

Watch out grey squirrels, I’m coming for you next!

A Christmas with the English

// January 6th, 2010 // Comments // People, Uncategorized, cultural differences

One thing you can say about the English, we’re pretty good friends with politeness. Politeness is our first, middle and last name. Just a simple act like buying a pre-packaged sandwich (a daily occurrence) requires at least six of them, a  please, four thank-you’s and a cheers will normally suffice to not appear rude and mean spirited. Now bear in mind that is social etiquette when you are buying something, an act in which you actually do the seller a favour not the other way round, they should be the ones thanking you, which of course they will do, repeatedly, assuming they are proper Brits. Nothing is more important to us than

a) being polite
b) not causing offense
c) being seen to be polite and not cause offense

Yes I”m hinting here with c) that it’s not always a case of genuine desire not to offend, this is what makes us so good at subtext and intonation which is what I think gives us our very refined humour. Although I also heard that it’s because we went very quickly from being the worlds colonial super-power, to near irrelevance in record time. You take that badly, or you take it with humility and humour. Easy come, easy go.

Of course when I give this little talk about the traits of the English I’m talking about the English middle class here, the lower class pikey chav clan you’ll know all about, but it’s the middle class of any country that usual give it its positive traits, the lower class provide the negative, the upper class are pretty much the same sorry bunch the world over, at least that’s what I think.

With all that discussed and agreed upon, now think about Christmas. Shouldn’t be too hard we just had it. What happens at Christmas? People give you stuff. Now just imagine how much enthusiasm is required when someone takes the time to personally select, wrap and deliver something to you! Then they’ll probably have the cheek to expect you to open it in front of them! Now you are in a pickle, you better show some serious appreciation, superlatives, love and thanks better rain down all over that gift and its giver. Even if it’s the pervy Uncle you’ve not seen in 5 years and is not even in the room, English social etiquette dictates that you act as if the Mickey Mouse socks he bought have unexpectedly ended your pursuit for life’s deeper meaning.

I’m reminded of this because I had forgotten this, logical huh? I was away last Christmas, Annett and I were in Australia and so it had been two years since I’d experienced a Fletcher family Christmas, which I’m going to assume is not uncommon to other English Christmas of my fellow island monkeys.

Firstly, my family exchange a lot of gifts, easily over one hundred and twenty and that’s not an exaggeration, I’ve done the math. We usual wait until mid morning, after everyone has had time for a few cups of tea, then we get in a circle and round we go. Next year I will count exactly how many times people say “nice” or “thanks” in this one session, my guess would be near one thousand, and yes again, I’ve done the math.  You can thank the women of the family for the vast majority of that though, being women they’ve got a little more to offer than men in terms of feelings and emotions. I like to think of emotions like a music. A set of individual instruments, noises, rhythms which when combines correctly produce beautiful sounds. I like to think that women are delivered their own personal emotional orchestra at birth. It’s hard to tell an individual instrument apart from the main, so when something is off it can take a long time to figure out exactly what it is that dragging the whole ensemble down. For many years it was all just noise, an uncontrollable wall of noise, but then they get better at understanding the various parts and what to listen and what to block out to make the best music. In contrast I think men are delivered two spoons and a thigh and told to get on with it. One spoon represents horny, the other hungry and from there we try to make the best of it. Okay let’s get back on point, I gotta learn to avoid these long sidetracking detours. Back on point Adam. Right, so we are in the circle, our presents are in a massive bag each at our feet.

Bear in mind this cycle will repeat until all the presents are opened and then for several hours more as you slowly revisit each one to reiterate again just how much you love them.

Mum: “Right, who is going to go first then?”

silence (another English trait, avoid the spotlight, resist being the center of attention)

Mum: “Dad? Ad? Gem?”

Gem: “Okay I’m excited I can’t wait, I’ll have the first one. Thanks everyone, so many presents, we are so lucky aren’t we?”

Collectively: ‘Yes, definitely, (trailing off) oh yes. Umm….’

Gem: “Which present should I pick? Ohh. Let’s go for this one”
(selects gift)

Mum: “Can you guess what it is?”

Gem: “No clue. But I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Mum: “I’ve still got the receipt so if it’s not right it can go back, no problem. I’m not sure you’re going to like it now, I think it might be a bit of a boo boo present. Can you guess now?”

I should interject here to tell you that despite this little game of ‘can you guess what it is yet’ you are absolutely not allowed to guess correctly even if you know absolutely with the certainty of Jobe what lies under that wrapping. To get it right could upset the gift giver who knows the mystery is over, their gift giving predictability exposed to the group. So you would guess around it instead, if you think its a DVD say a book? Pocket-sized Ethiopian? Hand flannel? What you guess is not really important, just don’t guess right. Back to it…

Gem: “I have no idea”

Mum: “have a guess”

Gem: “seaweed?!”

Mum: “not even close”

She’s got half the wrapping off now. It begins….

Gem: “oh wow….that’s great”

Mum: “If you don’t like it, you can take it back no problem. I’ve got the receipt.”

Gem: “No, it’s very me, I love it. Great. Perfect. What exactly is it?

Nan: “If I’d seen it I’d of bought that for you.”

Mum: “It’s a holder for your bag you take it with you and use this to clip it to a table or desk.”

Gem: “Oooh brilliant. That’s great. Cos otherwise so many germs collect on the bottom of your handbag. That’s brilliant. Great. Look at that everyone? Did you see that yet? Dad? Did you see?”

Dad: “Very nice.”

Gem: “Did you see that yet Kathers?”

Kathers: “Oh great. I love it. What it is?”

Gem: “It’s a clip for your bag.”

Kathers:  “Brilliant.”

Nan: “Oh I get it now, a clip for your bag, brilliant. Whatever will they think of next? Great.”

Gem: “Chuffed with that. A real humdinger. Oh that’s a nice colour. Oh yeah. Very nice. Yeah very nice, great, thank you. Wonderful.”

Mum: “I’m wasn’t sure if you’re were going to like it or not, but I thought it was very you with the colour and stuff and with you having a bag and not liking dirt and that, phew that’s a relief.”

Gem: “Who’s opening next? Ad, your go ay.”

Mum: “Hang on, first is someone making a cuppa?”

Collectively: “Oh yeah, I’m gasping.”

The funniest moment from my gift opening was when Kev gave me these:

I didn’t start laughing. I just looked at them and then everyone was looking at me like I wasn’t grasping something. Being a sweet sugar coated ball of innocence I was saying “Big Chicken? Big. Chicken.” in my head was:

back and forth, back and forth. Is it an insult? I was groping in the dark for the deeper meaning when I was shut down by Mum shouting “COCK!” at me. Hang on?!? I’m not the quickest but there’s no need to be mean. “Cock, it means Big Cock”.

Ahhhh…..

Incase you ever have to open a present in the company of the English I’ve produced this handy flowchart which should help you (click it to view full size).

Learning German and German Class

// May 20th, 2009 // Comments // Germany, Language Learning, People, cultural differences, oddities

photo credit: raindog

I haven’t written for a while and I know I should, but then I also know I should be nice to my Grandma, call my parents, have medical insurance and wash my socks but I don’t, so go figure. Sometimes life gets in the way. I’ve also found it hard to write or reflect on things lately because my brain has been completely clogged up like a cheap U bend – with the German language.

I and anyone who knows me would say I’m not a natural language learner. They might also say I’m prone to understatements.

For some people it’s as if words and sentences are floating constantly around us, buzzing around our heads. They need only to glance towards them and they’re sucked down almost by osmosis, directly into their vocabulary to be reborn as beautiful, grammatically correct sentences. I too see these floating words and they see me, in fact the words are in cahoots, they like to form a tight fist and then repeatedly punch me in the face! I can sit for hours like this at my desk dizzy from their blows, emotionally battered and staring down at my Hausaufgaben.

photo credit: greenkozi

Adam, Adam come on now, you’ve forgotten the context. Ah yes, I’ve enrolled in an intensive German class, 3.5hrs a day Montag bis Freitag. In one day I put in more effort than I did in the entire year that I lived in Germany before. That sounds impressive, but then 10×0 would be still zero right?

The course is held in an adult learning center with a sweat old dear for a teacher who somehow remains happy and upbeat despite on a daily basis being faced with great ineptitude on a daily basis. The class is full of characters and watching their interactions and the humour they provide me, is the main reason I get up at the ridiculous hour of 7am every day to attend. Of a class of 15 people I’m the only native English speaker. There are 5 people from China, one from Vietnam, one from Syria, one from Malta, 5 from the Ukraine and one from Iran.

photo credit: kamshots

My least favourite but most entertaining classmate is Bejan, the one from dem Iran a fact he gets wrong almost every day when he tries to demasculinate it to be das Iran (German language joke alert). He’s about 45, always looks slightly haggard in that ‘hard life’ kind of way. He’s bald as a badger and shuffles his way into class every day with his little metal flask and lunchbox looking down at his feet.

Every class has their show off, and Bejan who appears to feel not a hint of shame that he’s in a Level 1 German Beginners class but has lived here for 9 years, is that show off. He loves nothing more than to give you one nanosecond to answer your questions before jumping in and answering it for you. Bejan knows just about every German word, I think he attends just to bolster his self-confidence, or at least that would be the case were he were to get a lot of the answers right. While he knows an incredible number of individual German words he has little idea what to do with them. Let me construct a building metaphor  here (pun intended) – while his garden might be full of bricks, he can only make rubble. He sits next to me, not by choice exactly, I missed the first day and there were no other seats. When I get stuff wrong, which occurs only 99% of the time he likes to tut, which drives me insane.

There’s one part of German class that I like more than any other, if it happens several times in one class my heart literally fills with joy, I come home like I’m returning from carnival – I’m of course talking about Bejan getting answers wrong. Yesterday we were practicing learning the numbers up to einer Million. Bejan had the simple task of saying “hundert”

Teacher: “hundert”

Bejan: ‘”hunder”

Teacher: “nein, hunderT”

Bejan: ‘”hunder”

Teacher: “nein, Bejan, nein – hunderT. tttttttttt”

Bejan: ‘”ttttt, hunder, tttttttt”

Teacher: “nein. ok. tttttttttt”

Bejan: “ttttttttt”

Teacher: “tttttttttt, hunderTTTTTTTTTTT, hunderTTTTTT

Bejan: “tttttttttttt, hunder, tttttttttt, hunder, tttttt”

Teacher: “um, ok, nächste Frage”

I was giddy with happiness, I felt like a small child in my pyjamas on Christmas morning coming downstairs to see a bicycle shaped lump under the tree.

One day a Vietnamese woman entered the class and had a perfectly proficient, long conversation with our teacher in German. When a new student arrives we get to ask them questions such as

“Wie heißen Sie?” / what is your name

“Hast du Kinder?” / do you have children

Yes she had two, one in Germany and one doing an internship in the USA

“Bist du verheiratet?” / are you married?

She’s SE Asian and over 35 so this one was pretty much a no brainer.

“Was sind deine Hobbies?” / what are your hobbies

Kochen, Kino, Music hören and the rest I’ve forgotten

“Was ist dein Beruf?” / what is your job?

She was a Hausfrau (housewife)

“Wie lange sind Sie schon in Deutschland?” / how long have you lived in Germany

10 years.

Bejan was floored, I thought he was having a panic attack next to me “10 jahre, aye, aye aye” he repeated to himself chuckling away unaware of the irony.<

Life is simple when you’ve just started learning a language. It’s organized and formulaic and can be neatly folded and placed in its appropriate box because you don’t yet have the vocabulary to critique the theories of Nietzsche, or Cultural Relativism. So instead we repeatedly tell each other our names, how old we are, if we have children and what our hobbies are. Responses are delivered in the best butchered German we can muster:

I am 25yrs now,

my hobbies are – well that was a tricky one as I didn’t know the word for to ride so I was saying “Fahrrad spielen” which you could interpret as “playing bicycle” , as in my hobby is to get down on my knees and pretend to be a Bicycle.

I have no child…

Everything becomes simple, and your expectations shrink down with it. In English it’s not that easy to entertain me, if it’s deep and meaningful or makes me laugh then there’s no problem. What you had for dinner last night (sorry twitter, although ironically I didn’t tweet what I just had for dinner) is not really going to cut it. If you can’t even say what you had for dinner last night because you lack the vocabulary, then either you’ll be completely bored or your entertainment expectations in that language must decrease which is what’s happening with me, and I guess with other people as well. Exhibit A:

Valery (a guy from the Ukraine) made a joke yesterday that went a little something like this:

Teacher: Valery, hast du eine deutsche Frau?

Valery: Nein, ich habe keine deutsche Frau, doch ich habe viele deutsche Frauen!

HAHAHHHAA, give this man a stage and a microphone I thought! When he delivered the punchline in German I thought my sides were going to split, the room erupted in laughter it was a veritable humour riot. Jokes that good could end wars. Yeah that’s right, I said wars.
Nochmal, in English this time:

Teacher: Valery, have you a German woman?

Valery: I do not have a German woman, I have many German women!

Ba boom….In English it’s barely Christmas cracker worthy, which I guess goes to show just how vital and fascinating and awe worthy language is.

It also highlights what you’re reduced to when you can’t speak it – you are just a 25 year old man, who is not married, has no children, comes from England and likes to impersonate a Bicycle.

Rainbows

// June 28th, 2008 // Comments // New Zealand, cultural differences

“Look over there, those dark clouds, that’s the end of the world right? The apocalypse has reached south Auckland and now we’re mere miles from certain death?!”

“No it’s fine, look over to the north there’s bright streaks of sunshine up there.”

“How many different weathers can you count?” We both spin and count the weathers surrounding us from this elevated vantage point.

“233? 312?”

“Hum, could be.”

We’re standing on the rim of an extinct volcano, call Mt Eden. I had never stood on top of a Volcano before, so I was pleased to place another tick against this activity on my mental to do list. Like any hardened couch surfer, I had dressed appropriately for climbing a wet, grass covered extinct volcano by putting on my flip flops. This meant I wouldn’t actually be doing a great deal of standing, and that tick should really have been demoted to a half tick as I spent the rest of the time slipping down the volcano on my ass as this picture will testify:

It’s here that we first noticed just how amazingly versatile the weather is in Auckland. In front of us as far as the eye can see invisible deitys were hosting a gigantic weather battle. The elements are fighting for supremacy, “I’ll see your overcast and raise you hail.” “Hail? Ha! Bring forth the thunder.” “Thunder? That all you have?! Time for my trump card – the rainbow!”

Hang on a minute, rainbows? When was the last time I saw a rainbow? I thought only children could see rainbows. I thought it was a skill just they had, like not feeling self conscious when naked ie something we all grow out of. Rainbows are little more than weather unicorns aren’t they? Now I know that to be false. If I had a New Zealand dollar (worth about 3p) for every rainbow I’d seen since we moved here I wouldn’t have to go trying to locate their end to be in the possession of a pot of gold.

Surrounding us were Korean tourists, whose agendas must be packed tighter than my overdraft, as their tour bus drove them all the way up to the top of the mountain, delivering them to the knockout views which they had 3 minutes to enjoy before being herded back on to the bus. Watching it is a little reminiscent of a tourist sheepdip, albeit with a very pleasant volcanic backdrop. I felt like running round and stapling all their eyelids shut, for they had not earned the pleasure of these views by getting lost and walking several miles around, and around, and around the volcano before walking slowly up. Cheats!

When Crowded House sang about experiencing “four seasons in one day” I always thought they were talking about England, an observation they probably made on a wet monday, on a ringroad, in Wolverhampton. But it cannot have been that which inspired such a sweet slice of 90’s pop. Now I know better. It can only have been about New Zealand weather. The weather here changes its mind faster than a woman, no wait, faster than an army of women all attempting to navigate from one map.

One minute it’s beautifully clear, with bright sunshine then a blink or two later the heavens have not opened, they’ve erupted! But these rain eruptions, despite being some of the heaviest I’ve ever seen only last about 5 minutes and then it’s fine again, bright and sunny like nothing happened. I’m used to this from Asia, where it would last for 30 minutes or so a day and you got the feeling that if it didn’t people would probably die, so it was fine. Here, we can have 12 or more of these 5 minute torrents a day. At an absolute minimum 2, as there’s always one on my walk to work and one on my walk back. It’s as if we’re plumbed directly in the pipes of some higher power, and whenever he turns the taps on to wash his hands or prepare a caesar salad he unwittingly, temporarily, floods Auckland.

I’m used to rain, I’m English, I have an MA in rain. But in England you know where you are with rain. When it rains, it rains and then it rains, when it’s bored of raining, it breaks the tedium with – rain, like that non-stop for two weeks. You make a plan, you open the curtains, you see the rain, you close the curtains, you make a new plan starring the indoors this time. Here I don’t even know if you can let the weather stop you doing anything, as it’s not cold, and only rains for about one hour a day. But if you get caught in any of those five minute mini floods, you’ll be wet until the next one.

“It never rains, it pours” he says, “It never pours, it floods would be closer to the truth” I reply. I was talking to a guy at work, as we watched the latest downpour drown a few of the weaker swimming pedestrians who left home without their umbrellas lifejackets. He said that the best thing to do is prepare to go out whilst it’s raining, then by the time you’ve left it will have stopped and you have a good 15mins to do whatever you wanted to do before the next onslaught. Weather strategy huh, time to update that MA.

The other thing I find strange, is not how changeable the weather is, but how different all our experiences are of it, within such a small place. Because of Aucklandians backgrounds (it’s not actually that easy to find Kiwis here, almost everyone in CBD seems to be immigrants – Korean, Japanese, Spanish, Irish etc) Talk to a Kiwi and “oh, the winter’s here now, horrible and cold” they moan. But that’s about it, another jumper and they get on with their business. For our Singaporean friends, it’s a different story “you don’t want to do anything when the weather’s this freezing” they say. Geez, no wonder we can’t get them out of their house, this is a hibernation worthy winter to them. For us, its a perfectly pleasant but endlessly fascinating 17′c hourly lottery….

The zig goes Barcelona pt.2

// June 12th, 2007 // Comments // cultural differences

This time the view of the fluent, but chief Spanish basher Nettski:

My first festival experience ever – tick.

After three hours of refreshing sleep and early birding, I started into my festival-Barcelona-adventure.

I’d like to start with the sense and nonsense of coupons on the festival, as we were clever enough to buy 50 the first day and then drink all the time the vodka we smuggled in and cheated when paying with those stupid coupons.

Apropos smuggling, my German honesty certainly helped, with a top secret bottle-hiding trick and open the bag so willingly and making a straight honest face, they didn’t look too thoroughly.

Although music on Saturday was a bit lame, in general, it was really great, nice atmosphere, relaxed and easy going people, a lot of unknown bands and clean portaloos all night long! I paid tribute to my mother tongue speaking to myself in German every once in a while.

I want to thank those who invented earplugs, painkillers and I truly appreciate the German love of organizing, planning and arranging; taxis for all! Here, they would have brought more taxis to remove people after one concert than exist in the whole of Barcelona for an entire festival! Especially after having wandered around aimlessly in the industrial area and ended up where we started two hours ago (I heavily doubt that men actually do have a better sense of direction) The mere sight of a taxi became a Fata Morgana, wishful thinking with every step we took (especially after a very, very short night before) in the unlikely event of becoming reality the taxis were either occupied, didn’t want to pick us up at all or weren’t willing to go in our direction – lovely! One day, even Spanish people catch on capitalism…

While I’m bashing Spanish people, I found it, let’s say, interesting to see Spanish people ALWAYS addressing Adam, although it was crystal clear that he neither understands nor speaks a word of Spanish; despite the constant interpreting situation they refused to talk directly to me and what does a Brit in Spain do? Right, he answers in German; very nice! Transnational communication!

Sunday was Festival-off so we got a brief touristy view on Barelona: Parque Güell, Plaza Catalunya, La Rambla, the beach and Sagrada Familia, more tapas and more cheekies

The Zig goes Barcelona

// June 10th, 2007 // Comments // cultural differences

I came, I saw, I ridiculed, the zig goes spain….

Warning – this post contains the usual wide sweaping generalisations made by the english about cultures that we dont understand. It is probably best not viewed by anyone. Or certainly anyone spanish.

Read the full post 

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Concerts + German people = frustration

// March 27th, 2007 // Comments // cultural differences

Its the number one stereotype. When I told people I was moving here, it was the thing that was brought up most. Very rude people the germans. No sense of humour at all. Silly little moustaches. Okay, so i made the last one up but you get the idea. I really couldnt agree less with these stereotypes, on the whole I find german people incredibly honest and kind, even if they are students of the “punch you in the face” direct style of communication, particularly in english.

But there is one situation where they gleefully live up to their reputation – concerts…..

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Klapper Klaus

// November 26th, 2006 // Comments // cultural differences

Why do i find it so hard to eat healthily in a country where your deemed morbidly obese if your clothing size has two numbers. its lunchtime I’ve just finished breakfast, and now I’m tucking into a smarties “klapper klaus”. Its a 10inch high chocolate Santa Claus with smarties inside. Target age probably about 7. This was the conversation I had with myself when I saw it in the supermarket (Mone took me to this almost english sized one on the outskirts of the city):

Oooh the Easter eggs are out. These dont like like our easter eggs, snigger snigger backwards german people and their lame attempt’s at commercialism….

Maybe they don’t have easter eggs here, maybe they have klapper klaus’ instead…

Well in that case its my cultural obligation to purchase one then if they are an important part of german easter.

I pick one up (consuming as much german culture as possible is a top priority, apart from the language of course

A few minutes later after being literally flawed by the prices in the alcohol section…

Hang on a minute, this isn’t a quintessentially german easter egg, its not easter, its christmas. hang on the guy with the beard on it looks familiar?! klapper klaus?! hum, klaus that word sounds a little familiar,come on brain try to translate…. what could it be, klause—-pause? nope, —snores? nope, —chores? getting closer, but not quite –clause? nearly- claus! jackpot. the fuckers, they tricked me this no german easter egg its some novelty christmas chocolate. easters in april, how can I be so dumb. Oh well,  culture is over-rated anyway and i’m having it now. Once somethings in the trolley an emotional bond is created that is far to strong for mere rational thought to break.